#while with something like his introduction/name

[buckets-and-trees]

There was a tradition at Vikings weddings (or maybe it was for all Nordic medieval) that the bride was given kittens, because they were symbol of goddess Freya. You know where I'm going with this ask, right? 🥺👉👈 Kittens from viking Steve? 🥺🥺🥺

Ceremonial Rituals

Characters/Pairings: Viking King Steve Rogers x curvy Female!Reader Word Count: 6.7k

Content/Warnings: DARK newly established relationship - kidnapped wife; explicit smut: rough sex, unprotected vaginal intercourse, insemination; use of pet name (little wife, little bride)

Notes: Takes place within a week after So Black the Darkness Hums (Come Down from Battle would take place a month or so after this).

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Six mornings after being ripped from your home, warm water envelops your aching body as unfamiliar hands move across your skin. Two women, their faces stern and focused, scrub at your flesh with soft cloths, working suds of soap over your skin. Their touch is not unkind, but there is no warmth in their eyes when they glance at you—only a wary curiosity.

Five nights passed at sea since you were ripped from your home. 

The voyage had been mercifully brief but miserable with your unfamiliarity of the churning sea that had you retching over the side of Steven's longship while he laughed and called you his "delicate flower." The warriors had sung and drank through the journey, celebrating their successful raid while you huddled beneath furs in Steven's private quarters, your body aching from Steven's relentless claiming of your body each night. He'd taken you in every way imaginable, a few times gently, more often rough, always leaving you confused by the pleasure he forced from you despite your circumstances.

You close your eyes against the memories of those nights at sea, the taste of salt on your lips, the rhythm of the waves beneath the ship matching the rhythm of his body against yours. You had learned quickly that resistance only made him rougher, more determined to break you. When you yielded, sometimes his touch would soften, and those moments of gentleness were almost more confusing than the brutality.

Five nights at sea, and then a late arrival after dark the night before. Steven had lifted you onto a horse waiting for him and brought you nearly straight to his bedchambers where he’d fucked you, then allowed you to sleep - a genuine rest without the rocking of a ship. Then just after dawn, he’d ushered you out of bed and into the hands of these two women for bathing. 

"Keep still," the younger woman mutters as she works a comb through your tangled hair. Her strong fingers work methodically, untangling knots with practiced efficiency. You hadn’t realized you were fidgeting. 

From their actions and a few of their murmured words to each other, you gather they're preparing you for some kind of ceremony. A formal introduction to Steven's people, perhaps.

"Stand," commands the older woman, her silver-streaked hair bound in complicated braids. She helps you from the wooden tub, wrapping you in soft linen that feels like a luxury after days at sea. 

The younger woman approaches with an undergarment garment of creamy white, richly embroidered with silver threads along the neckline and sleeves. The fabric is finer than anything you've ever worn, even your wedding dress.

"Arms up," she instructs.

You comply, allowing them to slip the garment over your head. The fabric settles against your skin like water, cool and smooth. They cinch it at your waist with silken ties. 

The younger woman leaves the room, saying she’ll be back presently. 

The older woman begins working oils into your hair, the scent of lavender and something spicier filling your nostrils. Her fingers move with practiced precision, weaving small braids at your temples before gathering them back. You wonder if this is how Steven's people prepare all their captives, or if you're receiving special treatment as his tribute. 

The door creaks open on iron hinges, drawing your attention from your somber thoughts. Two women enter the chamber—one balancing a wooden platter laden with a modest breakfast of bread, cheese, and sliced apples, while the other carefully carries a small woven basket from which tiny mewling sounds emerge. 

Your curiosity momentarily overcomes your apprehension. "What is that?" you ask, gesturing toward the basket as the woman sets it near the hearth.

“From the king.” She pulls back the cloth covering, revealing four tiny kittens tumbling over each other—one black, one orange, and two with mottled gray-and-white fur. “As is tradition,” she adds.

Before you can fully process this unexpected gesture, the younger woman who had been helping you bathe returns. Your breath catches as you see the gleaming white fabric draped over her arms. It's unmistakably a wedding gown—more elaborate than the one you wore just days ago, with intricate silver embroidery matching your undergarment, and small blue stones sewn into the bodice that catch the morning light.

"The king requests you wear this," she says, her eyes watching your reaction carefully. "The ceremony begins at midmorning." 

Your heart plummets and while there is yet the smallest of swoops in your stomach as understanding crashes over you. The bathing, the oils, the fine undergarment, the ceremonial gift of kittens—all of it suddenly makes terrible sense. Steven doesn't mean to merely present you as his captive or concubine.

He means to marry you. Today. Now.

"No," you whisper, the word escaping before you can stop it.

The older woman's hands pause in your hair, her expression softening for the first time. "It will be easier if you do not fight," she murmurs, so only you can hear. "The king has chosen you. That is... rare."

You swallow hard, fighting back tears. "I was already married. In my village—" 

"That marriage no longer exists," the younger woman interrupts firmly. "King Steven has claimed you. What came before means nothing now." 

The older woman resumes braiding your hair, her fingers gentle despite her words. "My name is Helga," she offers quietly. "I have served in this household since before Steven was born. The girl is Astrid, my granddaughter." 

You meet Helga's eyes in the polished metal mirror before you. There is kindness there, but also resignation. She has seen many things in her years of service, you realize. Perhaps even other women in your position. 

"Does he... does he do this often?" you ask, your voice barely audible. 

“No, you are the first woman he’s ever brought back.”

Astrid approaches with the gown, her expression neutral. "Arms up again."

You comply mechanically, too numb to resist as the heavy fabric slides over your head. The dress settles around you, surprisingly light despite its elaborate embroidery.

"Eat," Helga says, pushing the platter toward you. "You'll need your strength."

You take a small bite of bread, though the taste of it doesn’t register in your mouth. Your stomach churns with anxiety, but you force yourself to eat, knowing Helga speaks true about needing strength.

One of the kittens, the orange one, tumbles from the basket and pads across the floor to bat at the hem of your new gown. Despite everything, a small smile tugs at your lips as you watch its playful antics. 

"They are a traditional gift," Helga explains, noticing your interest. "Of course the king would send kittens for the new queen, to bring fertility and protection to the household as is customary for any new bride." 

"Queen?" The word feels foreign on your tongue, impossible. 

Astrid nods as she arranges the folds of your gown. "King Steven has no wife. He has had women, yes, but never a queen. You are to be the first." 

The implications of Astrid's words leave you reeling. Not just a captive or concubine, but a queen. Steven's queen. The thought is as terrifying as it is bewildering. 

"Why me?" you whisper, more to yourself than to the women attending you. 

Helga's weathered hands pause in their work, her eyes meeting yours in the metal mirror. "That is for the king to say," she replies carefully. "But I have known him since he was a boy at his mother's breast. I have never seen him look at a woman the way he looked at you last night or this morning."

Your cheeks burn, remembering the intensity in Steven's gaze during your nights together. The mixture of cruelty and desire, possession and something else—something you cannot name. 

The orange kitten pounces on your gown's hem again, tiny claws catching in the delicate fabric. You bend to disentangle it, grateful for the momentary distraction. The tiny creature purrs as your fingers brush its soft fur, and for a fleeting second, the simple pleasure of touching something so innocent calms your racing thoughts.

"It is time," Astrid announces, glancing toward the window where sunlight now streams fully through the leaded glass. A distant horn sounds, its deep note reverberating through the stone walls of the chamber.

Helga secures a silver circlet atop your head, nestling it among the intricate braids she's woven. "A queen must look the part," she murmurs, stepping back to assess her work. 

Your reflection in the polished metal is that of a stranger—a woman adorned like nobility, her eyes haunted with memories of another life. The white gown, with its silver embroidery and blue stones, transforms you into someone you barely recognize. Is this truly to be your fate? To be queen to the man who destroyed everything you once held dear? 

"The orange one seems to have chosen you," Helga observes as the kitten winds between your ankles, purring loudly. "A good omen. The goddess Freya sends her cats to women of strong spirit."

A knock at the door silences further conversation. Astrid opens it to reveal two warriors in gleaming armor, their expressions solemn. 

"The king awaits his bride," one announces. 

You take a deep breath, straightening your shoulders. Whatever ceremony awaits, whatever life stretches before you as Steven's queen, you will face it with dignity. Not for him, but for yourself. The tiny orange kitten mews plaintively as Helga gently returns it to the basket.

The warriors escort you through stone corridors adorned with tapestries depicting battles and hunts. Servants pause in their work to stare as you pass, their expressions ranging from curiosity to pity. 

You are taken to a clearing at the edge of the forest. There are many people assembled, but it’s the natural and wild beauty of the place that steals you breath away. There are wildflowers everywhere, and you can see snow-capped mountains in the distance, so different from the rolling hills of your homeland.

Sunlight filters through the ancient trees that encircle the clearing, dappling the ground with shifting patterns of light and shadow. At its center stands an enormous oak, its massive trunk gnarled with age, branches reaching skyward like outstretched arms. Beneath it waits Steven, transformed from the brutal warrior you've known into something more regal—a king in truth, adorned in finery that complements your own. 

His tunic is deep blue, embroidered with silver that catches the light with each breath he takes. A heavy cloak drapes his broad shoulders, and atop his head sits a simple crown of polished silver. His eyes find yours immediately, and the intensity of his gaze pins you in place.

The crowd parts as you approach, their murmurs rising and falling like waves. You recognize the hard, weathered faces of Steven's warriors mingled with—those of villagers, craftspeople, and servants. Some appear curious, others wary, but all watch with rapt attention as you're led toward Steven, wondering about the foreign bride their king has brought home. 

A wizened old woman waits beside Steven, her white hair flowing loose over her shoulders, adorned with feathers and bones. Her eyes, milky with cataracts, seem to see through you rather than at you.

Steven extends his hand as you draw near, his expression unreadable. You hesitate, heart pounding against your ribs like a trapped bird. To take his hand is to accept this fate, to acknowledge yourself as his queen. To refuse before his people would surely bring consequences you dare not contemplate. 

Your fingers tremble as you place your hand in his. His grip is firm, warm, drawing you closer until you stand beside him beneath the ancient oak. The old woman begins to speak in a language you don't understand, her voice surprisingly strong despite her age. You catch only fragments of meaning—words about bonds, strength, and the joining of two souls.

Steven's eyes never leave your face as the old woman speaks. The intensity of his gaze makes your skin prickle with awareness. For the first time, you notice a different quality in his eyes���not just possession or lust, but something deeper, more complex. But it’s gone in an instant, quickly masked when he realizes you've noticed.

The ceremony continues, the old woman producing a length of intricately woven cord. She binds your hands together—your right to Steven's left—the symbolic joining making your heart race with the finality of it. The cord is soft against your skin, dyed in shades of blue and silver that match your wedding attire. 

"This binding joins not just flesh, but fate," the old woman says, switching suddenly to the common tongue. Her accent is thick, but her words are clear enough. "What the gods have brought together, let no mortal tear asunder."

Steven's hand tightens around yours as the old woman produces a small silver knife. She pricks first his finger, then yours, pressing the wounds together so your blood mingles. The sharp sting barely registers through the haze of unreality surrounding you. 

"Blood of his blood," the crone intones. "Flesh of his flesh. Two souls bound by the ancient ways." 

The crowd murmurs their approval, the sound rising like a wave around you.

"You are mine now," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. "My queen. My bride.."

Before you can respond, Steven kisses you, a claiming, his kiss thorough, but it’s the dangerous grip of his hands at your waist that has you trembling - something none see, but you feel.

The crowd erupts in cheers and shouts as Steven's lips claim yours, the noise washing over you like a physical force. When he finally releases you, your head spins—from lack of air or the sheer enormity of what has just happened, you cannot tell. The binding cord is ceremoniously unwound from your joined hands, but the symbolism remains, invisible chains now linking you to this man, this conqueror.

"Smile, little bride," Steven murmurs against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. "They expect their new queen to look pleased."

You force your lips into what you hope resembles joy, though your heart pounds with a mixture of fear and confusion. 

"Come," Steven says, his voice carrying the unmistakable tone of command. "My people wish to celebrate their new queen." 

He leads you through the throng, his large hand firmly clasping yours. People bow as you pass, some reaching out to touch the hem of your gown for luck. Their faces blur together—a sea of strangers who are now your people.

The festivities are already underway, musicians beginning to play, the people laugh and sing, some raise horns of mead in celebration. A feast has been prepared, you realize, as servants begin bringing forth platters of food to tables set up at the edge of the clearing. 

Steven guides you to a table set on a raised platform, ornately carved chairs positioned at its center. The place of honor for the king and his new queen. As he seats you, his hand lingers possessively on the small of your back, a subtle reminder of your position. 

"Eat," he commands, gesturing to the array of unfamiliar foods being laid before you. "You'll need your strength for tonight's celebrations." 

The implication in his words sends a shiver down your spine. You reach for a piece of bread, if only to have something to do with your trembling hands. The food is rich and abundant – roasted meats, fresh fish, cheeses, fruits, and breads sweeter than any you've tasted before. Despite your churning emotions, your body betrays you with hunger after days of sea sickness and meager rations. 

As you eat, Steven leans close, his beard brushing your ear. "My people approve of you," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that only you can hear. "They see your beauty, your strength. You will make a fine queen."

You swallow your bite of bread, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "I know nothing of being queen to your people." 

A smile plays at the corners of his mouth, somehow both predatory and amused. "You will learn. I will teach you our ways, as I've already begun to teach you other things." 

Heat rises to your cheeks at his implication, memories of your nights together flashing unbidden through your mind. You look away, focusing instead on the celebration unfolding before you. Warriors drink and boast of their exploits, young women dance to the music of drums and pipes, children dart between the tables, snatching treats when their elders aren't looking.

People approach to offer congratulations and gifts—intricate jewelry, finely woven textiles, weapons of exquisite craftsmanship. You accept each with a gracious smile. It was not they who stole you from your home. 

As the celebration wears on, a strange feeling settles over you. These people—Steven's people—treat you with a deference you had not anticipated. Their eyes hold curiosity rather than malice, and some of the women offer shy smiles as they present their gifts. You realize it’s unlikely they know how you came to be here, that their king took you by force from another life.

"You're quiet, little bride," Steven murmurs, his hand coming to rest possessively on your thigh beneath the table. "Are your thoughts still with your village?" 

You tense at his touch but force yourself to remain composed before his people. "I'm merely... overwhelmed," you answer truthfully. 

Steven studies your face, his blue eyes searching. "You will learn to love it here," he says with no room for argument. "Our lands are rich, our people strong. And you..." his fingers trace a path up your thigh, "...will want for nothing as my queen."

You suppress a shiver at his touch. "And what of my duties as queen?" you ask, hoping to divert his attention from the intimate caress. "What will be expected of me?" 

Steven leans back, taking a deep draught from his ornate drinking horn before answering. "You will oversee the household, settle disputes among the women, bear my children." His eyes darken at these last words. "Strong sons to carry my bloodline." 

The thought of bearing his children sends a confusing mix of emotions through you – fear, resignation, and something else you dare not name. You take a sip of mead to hide your expression, the sweet liquid warming your throat. 

Your eyes fall on a group of children playing near the edge of the clearing. They chase each other, laughing, carefree in a way you can scarcely remember feeling. One small girl with wild blonde hair catches your eye and waves shyly.

"The feast will continue until nightfall," Steven says, following your gaze. "But we need not stay that long."

Your stomach tightens at his implication. Despite all he's already taken from you, despite the nights on his ship, the thought of the wedding night still fills you with a mixture of dread and a burning you do not wish to acknowledge.

"More mead," Steven commands a passing servant, who hurriedly fills each of your cups at the royal table. 

As twilight approaches, the celebration grows more boisterous. Warriors compete in feats of strength, their muscles glistening with sweat as they heft logs and stones to impress the crowd. Women dance with increasing abandon, skirts swirling as they weave between fires that now burn bright against the darkening sky. 

You've slowly nursed many cups of mead as pressed on you be Steven for hours, the sweet honey wine making your head swim pleasantly, dulling the edges of your fear, but as you’ve dutifully eaten throughout the day and not drunk too swiftly, you feel you still have most of your wits about you. It is something else that truly affects you - Steven’s hand has not left your thigh, occasionally venturing higher in a possessive caress that each time sends unwanted flares of heat through your body. 

"It is time," Steven declares suddenly, rising to his feet. The crowd falls silent, all eyes turning toward their king. "My bride and I thank you for your celebration, but now we must consummate our marriage." 

A raucous cheer erupts from the gathering. Several warriors pound the tables with their fists. "To the king and his bride!" someone shouts, and the crowd roars even louder. 

Your heart hammers in your chest as Steven pulls you to your feet. The crowd's cheering grows louder, more insistent, as he leads you away from the feast. Some of the men call out crude suggestions that make your cheeks burn, while women toss flower petals in your path—a strange juxtaposition of vulgarity and tradition that leaves you dizzy. 

"Must you have announced it so boldly?" you whisper, struggling to keep pace with his long strides.

Steven glances down at you, amusement playing across his features. "It is our way. The consummation is an important part of the ceremony." 

"We have already..." you begin, then falter, unable to speak the words aloud. 

"Yes," he agrees, his voice dropping to a growl that sends shivers down your spine. "But not as husband and wife." 

The walk back to the great hall feels both endless and too swift. Steven's hand remains firmly at the small of your back, guiding you through torchlit corridors. Servants bow as you pass, their eyes carefully averted. The sound of celebration fades behind you, replaced by the echo of your footsteps and the thundering of your pulse in your ears. 

You recognize the door to Steven's chambers—your chambers now, you suppose. Two guards stand at attention outside, their expressions impassive as they open the heavy oak door. Steven leads you inside, and your breath catches at the transformation of the room. During your brief glimpse this morning, it had been merely a bedchamber—impressive in size and furnishings, but ordinary. Now it glows with dozens of candles, their light dancing across walls hung with tapestries of rich blues and silvers that match your wedding attire. The massive bed has been strewn with fresh furs and linens, and scattered with petals of blue wildflowers. The air is heavy with scents of beeswax, pine, and something sweeter—perhaps meadowsweet or lavender.

The door closes behind you with a heavy thud, and you flinch at the finality of it. You are alone with him now—your captor, your king, your husband. 

Steven moves to a table that holds a flagon of wine, fruits, and honey cakes—sustenance for the long night ahead. 

His back to you, he speaks, "You performed well today, little bride.”

"Thank you," you murmur, uncertain how else to respond to his strange compliment. Your fingers trace the intricate silver embroidery at your sleeve, needing something to occupy your hands. 

Steven pours deep red wine into two goblets, the liquid catching the candlelight like blood. When he turns to face you, his expression has changed—the public face of the king replaced by something more primal, more intimate. More dangerous. 

"Come," he says, extending one of the goblets. 

You cross the room as slowly as you dare, taking the offered wine. Your fingers brush his, and even that small contact sends a jolt through your body. The wine is rich and heavy on your tongue, warming your throat as you swallow.

"Are you afraid?" Steven asks, watching you over the rim of his goblet. 

The question catches you off guard with its directness. "Would it matter if I were?”

Steven's eyes narrow slightly at your question. He sets his goblet down on the table with deliberate care, the soft clink of metal against wood echoing in the quiet room. 

"Yes," he says finally, surprising you with his answer. "It would matter." 

He steps closer, and you resist the urge to retreat. His hand rises to your face, fingers tracing your cheekbone with unexpected gentleness. 

"Fear has its purpose," he continues, his voice low. "It keeps us alive, makes us cautious. But there are different kinds of fear." His thumb brushes across your lower lip. "The fear of a warrior before battle is not the same as the fear of a child in the dark." 

You take another sip of wine to steady yourself, to buy time before responding. "And what kind of fear do you think I should have, my king?" 

A smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "The kind that quickens your pulse and makes your hands tremble." His hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in the intricate braids Helga had so carefully arranged. "The kind that heightens every sensation, makes every touch more intense."

You swallow hard, acutely aware of the heat radiating from his body, the scent of him—leather and pine and something uniquely male—filling your senses. His proximity affects you in ways you wish it didn't, your traitorous body responding to him despite everything. 

His hands move to the silver circlet atop your head, removing it with careful precision. He places it on a nearby table, the metal catching the candlelight with a soft gleam. Your heart pounds as his fingers begin to work through your elaborately braided hair, unraveling Helga's careful work with methodical patience. 

"Do you know why I chose you?" Steven asks, his voice a low rumble as he frees the last braid, allowing your hair to fall loose around your shoulders. 

You shake your head, not trusting your voice. 

"When I saw you in that wedding dress, fleeing through the forest..." His fingers trail down to trace your jawline. "Most women would have hidden, cowered. But you led others to safety. There was fire in your eyes even as my men dragged you before me."

His eyes search yours now, as though seeking that same fire. You stand perfectly still, afraid that any movement might break this strange moment of honesty between you. 

"And then," he continues, his voice dropping even lower, "when I took you to my bed that first night, you fought me in ways no one has dared in years. Not with weapons, but with the defiance in your eyes, the tension in your body even as it betrayed you with pleasure." 

You look away, shame burning your cheeks at the reminder of how your body had responded to his touch. His fingers grasp your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze once more. 

"Look at me when I speak to you," he commands, though his tone lacks the harshness you've come to expect. "A queen must never lower her eyes, not even to her king." 

"Is that what you want?" you ask. 

His eyes darken as he looks at you. "I want a queen who knows her place."

The gentleness vanishes in an instant. Steven's hand suddenly tightens in your hair, yanking your head back with brutal force. His mouth crashes down on yours, teeth clashing, nothing like the ceremonial kiss shared before his people. This is possession, pure and raw.

"Enough talk," he growls against your lips. "You are my wife now, and I will claim what's mine."

In one swift motion, he tears at the delicate fastenings of your wedding gown, the sound of ripping fabric filling the chamber. The beautiful silver embroidery that had caught the light so elegantly now lies in tatters as he roughly yanks the garment from your body.

"Did you think marriage would soften me?" Steven snarls, shoving you backward toward the bed. "That a ceremony would change what I am?"

Your back hits the furs, and before you can recover, Steven is upon you, his massive frame pinning you down. His mouth crashes against yours in a brutal kiss that has nothing of tenderness in it. His teeth catch your lower lip, the metallic taste of blood blooming on your tongue. You gasp, and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss, his tongue invading your mouth with the same ruthless determination he'd shown in conquering your village.

"I may have made you my queen," he growls into your mouth, "but never forget who you belong to."

His hands are everywhere, rough and demanding, leaving no part of you untouched. The thin undergarment provides little barrier to his exploration, and soon that too is torn away, leaving you naked beneath him. 

"Mine," he snarls against your throat, teeth scraping the sensitive skin there. "Say it." 

You remain silent, a last, desperate act of defiance. His hand finds your breast, fingers pinching your nipple with painful intensity. 

"Say it," he demands again, twisting harder. 

"Yours," you gasp, the word torn from your throat. 

A triumphant gleam lights his eyes as he releases your nipple, his hand sliding lower across your stomach. "Again," he commands. 

"I'm yours," you repeat, the words burning like poison on your tongue. Yet beneath the bitterness lies something else—something you dare not examine too closely. 

Steven's eyes flash with satisfaction. "Yes," he growls, "mine to take, mine to pleasure, mine to rule." 

His mouth descends to your breast, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before his tongue soothes the sting. Despite your resistance, your body responds to his touch, as it has ever since the first night he claimed you. Your back arches involuntarily into his caress, and he chuckles darkly against your skin, the vibration sending shivers through you.

"Your body knows the truth even when your mind rebels," he murmurs, his breath hot against your dampened skin. 

His hands push your thighs apart roughly, settling his weight between them. You can feel him hard against you, still clothed while you lie naked and vulnerable beneath him. The disparity in power is evident, but that’s not why you’re unhappy he’s still clothed - you want to feel his flesh pressed against your flesh. 

The realization startles you, this unwanted craving. Your fingers find the fastenings of his tunic and begin to work them open. Steven's eyes widen slightly at your unexpected boldness, then narrow with renewed hunger. 

"Eager, little bride?" he taunts, but allows you to continue undressing him. His tunic falls away, revealing the muscled torso you've come to know intimately during your nights at sea. The candlelight plays across his skin, highlighting scars both old and new—a map of battles won and lost. 

Your fingers trace one particularly jagged scar that runs from his shoulder across his chest. "How did you get this one?" you ask, surprising yourself with the question. 

Steven's hand covers yours, pressing it flat against the raised flesh. "A Saxon blade, three summers ago. I killed the man who gave it to me and six of his companions." 

His admission s no surprise, yet still makes your blood chill. 

His voice holds no remorse, only pride in his lethal skill. You wonder how many men have fallen to his sword, how many villages like yours have suffered under his raids. Yet here you are, naked beneath him, your body responding to his touch despite everything he's done. 

"Does that frighten you?" Steven asks, his eyes studying your reaction. "To know you lie with a killer?" 

You meet his gaze steadily. "I've always known what you are." 

Something flickers in his eyes—approval, perhaps, at your honesty. His hand leaves yours to continue tracing the path of the scar, fingers trailing down his chest to the waistband of his breeches. 

"And what am I?" he challenges, voice dropping to a dangerous purr. 

"A warrior," you answer. "A conqueror." 

“Your husband,” he says, guiding your hands to the laces of his breeches. 

"My husband," you repeat, the word still foreign on your tongue as your fingers work at the laces. The fabric parts beneath your touch, revealing him, hard and ready. 

Steven's eyes darken at your words. "Say it again," he commands, his voice rough with desire. 

"My king," you repeat, louder this time. Something shifts between you in that moment - not submission exactly, but acknowledgment. This is your reality now, whether you chose it or not. 

His hand cups your face, the touch unexpectedly gentle despite the ferocity in his eyes.

"And what does a wife owe her husband?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that resonates through your body.

You swallow hard, meeting his gaze. "Her loyalty," you answer carefully. "Her obedience."

"Yes," he agrees, his thumb tracing your lower lip. 

"And what else?”

"Her body," you whisper, the words sending an unwelcome heat through your veins.

"Good," Steven growls, his approval darkening his eyes further. "And will you give your king what he is owed?"

Your heart hammers against your ribs as you realize this is no mere question—it's a test. Not of submission, but of understanding. Of acceptance. The wine and mead from the feast swim in your head, but not enough to blur the reality of your situation. This is your life now. This man—conqueror, king, husband—is your future.

"Yes," you answer, the single word sealing your fate more surely than any marriage ceremony.

His eyes flash with triumph, but also something else. He sheds his remaining clothing with efficient movements, then looms over you once more, gloriously naked, his body radiating heat in the candlelit chamber. Your eyes travel the landscape of his form - the broad shoulders, the muscled chest tapering to narrow hips, the powerful thighs. A warrior's body, honed by battle and hardship. 

"Look your fill," he murmurs, arrogance coloring his tone. "All this belongs to you now, as you belong to me."

His hand slides up your thigh, fingers tracing patterns on your sensitive skin. Your breath catches as he moves higher, his touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. When he reaches the apex of your thighs, you can't help the small sound that escapes your lips.

"So wet for me already," he taunts, his fingers circling your sensitive bud with practiced precision. "Your body betrays your true feelings, little bride." 

You turn your face away, eyes squeezing shut against the building pleasure. It's not fair how easily he can manipulate your responses, how thoroughly he knows your body after a handful of nights. 

"Look at me," he commands, his voice rough with desire. "I told you a queen must never lower her eyes, and certainly not when I have you like this." 

Reluctantly, you obey, meeting his intense gaze. His hands slide beneath your thighs, lifting and spreading them wider as he positions himself between your legs. The head of his cock teases your entrance, hot and insistent. Despite everything, your body responds to his touch, growing slick with need.

"Tell me what you want," Steven demands, his voice husky with desire.

The words stick in your throat. To voice your desire feels like the final surrender, an admission you're not sure you're ready to make. Yet your body betrays you, hips shifting restlessly, seeking the friction he denies you.

"Say it," he growls, nipping at your earlobe. "I want to hear you beg for your king's cock."

"Please," you whisper, the word barely audible.

Steven's hand grips your throat, not hard enough to cut off your air, but firmly enough to demonstrate his power. 

"Louder," he commands, his thumb pressing against your pulse point. "I want to hear you, wife." 

"Please," you say, your voice stronger now. "I want... I want you inside me." 

A slow, predatory smile spreads across Steven's face. "As you wish, my queen." 

With one powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you. Your body, already accustomed to him after the nights at sea, accepts him more easily now, though his size still stretches you to your limit. He groans in satisfaction, his hand releasing your throat to brace himself above you.

Steven sets a relentless pace, each thrust driving deeper than the last. His hands grip your hips, positioning you perfectly to take all of him. The bed creaks beneath your joined bodies, the sound mingling with your gasps and his grunts of pleasure. You find yourself clinging to his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he drives into you.

"Is this what you wanted, little bride?" he growls against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. "To be fucked by your king on your wedding night?"

"Yes," you gasp, the word torn from you by a particularly deep thrust that hits something exquisite inside you. The shame you felt at your responses has begun to fade with each passing night in his possession, replaced by a hunger that frightens you with its intensity.

His rhythm never falters, each powerful thrust driving you closer to the edge. One of his hands slides between your bodies, fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves. Your back arches at his touch, a cry escaping your lips. Steven's mouth crashes down on yours, swallowing the sound as his fingers work in time with his thrusts.

"Come for me, wife," he commands, his voice strained with his own approaching release. "I will have you shatter around my cock."

The command in his voice triggers something primal within you. Your body obeys before your mind can protest, pleasure crashing through you in waves that leave you gasping and trembling beneath him. Your inner walls clench around him as you peak, drawing a guttural groan from deep in his chest.

Steven groans in satisfaction, his pace becoming erratic as your inner walls clench around him. With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his release filling you as he groans your name—not "little bride" or "wife," but your actual name, the sound of it on his lips strangely intimate in this moment of abandon.

For several moments, the only sound in the chamber is your mingled breathing. Steven's weight presses you into the furs, his body slick with sweat against yours. You should feel crushed, should want to push him away, but there's a strange comfort in the solid weight of him—an anchor as your life has been untethered from everything you knew before, in an ocean of unknown future. 

Though he's buried to the hilt in you, Steven's hand still clutches your hip in a bruising grip, his breathing ragged against your neck. The candlelight flickers across his sweat-slicked shoulders as he finally stirs, pressing his lips to the tender spot beneath your ear in an unexpectedly gentle gesture. 

"Mine," he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. The possessive word should anger you, but instead sends an unwelcome shiver down your spine. 

He shifts his weight, pulling out of you with a slick sound that makes your cheeks burn. Instead of rolling away, he gathers you against his chest, one muscular arm banded around your waist as if afraid you might flee. His heartbeat thunders against your back, gradually slowing to a steady rhythm. 

"Your people seemed pleased with their new queen," Steven says after a long silence, his fingers absently stroking your lower back. 

"You did well today," he murmurs, his voice rumbling through his chest beneath your ear. "My people are impressed by their new queen."

You remain silent, unsure how to respond to praise for a role you never sought. Steven draws a finger beneath the line of your jaw, gently forcing your chin to look up at him.

"You will learn to love it here," he says, and though his tone is soft, there's an undercurrent of command. "This is your home now. These are your people."

"And if I don't?" you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it. 

Steven's eyes narrow, his jaw tightening at your question. For a moment, you fear you've pushed too far. Then his expression shifts, something almost like admiration flickering in his gaze.

"Then you will pretend, until the pretense becomes truth," he says simply. "You are no longer a village maiden, but a queen. My queen." His fingers trace idle patterns on your bare shoulder. "And queens must sometimes do what is necessary, regardless of their personal feelings."

You consider his words, the pragmatic truth in them. What choice do you have but to adapt to this new life? Your old one is lost to you forever.

"I'll try," you whisper, the words more honest than you intended. It's not submission exactly, but acknowledgment of your reality. You cannot change what has happened, can only move forward in this strange new life. 

Steven's expression softens slightly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. "That is all I ask."

And then he presses your face up to meet his hungry lips, devouring yours again in a kiss.

And when he breaks it for a moment of air, he adds an ominous, "For now," before demanding to drink more from your mouth.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

SEQUEL: Come Down from Battle

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[h3catee]

Introductions Are in Order

Paring: Robert Reynoldsx Fem!Witch Reader! Past Avenger!  

Summary: Bucky asks a favor of you and ends up getting you entangled with one of Valentinas ploys. 

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS*,  talks of mental health, depression, anxiety. Some violence (bc its marvel), some language. Trauma. Angst. Decent amount of Hurt/ With some comfort! 

Word count: 2.7k

AN: Hi! Welcome to my fic! this is probably multi part idk my plans yet. I'm leaning more towards multi-part bc I'm usually a chapter by chapter writer so there isn’t a lot of Bob in this one but I hope its a good intro to maybe a 2-3 parts. I literally fell in love with Bob's character during Thunderbolts and this man gave me motivation to write again. I didn't have a Beta reader for this one so pls forgive any grammer or silly mistakes. Forewarning (y/n)’s powers based off of the Marvel character Morgan le Fay just to throw that out there, she’s definitely not Wanda but definitely not Morgan. Think morally gray/ hates everyone except like 3 people/ witch trained by the past avengers. Next part will have more Bob I promise, just wanted to introduce the story here >:3

Song for the chapter: https://open.spotify.com/track/09fDemXgXzRReTfb7UWxjD?si=7e0b5d606b824813 

xoxox

⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆

“I need your help with something.” 

You sighed heavily before responding, “Hello to you too Senator Barnes!” You heard the man grumble from the other phone line. 

“You know I hate when you call me that,” Bucky said. 

“Well…what do you want, Buck?” You said, rolling your eyes. You look around your empty apartment for something to fidget with while Bucky chews your ear off about calling him another stupid nickname. 

“Y/N, Valentina’s got this guy apparently named Bob-” 

“Bob?” You ask, cutting him off. Who names their kid Bob in this day and age? 

“Yes, Bob! I’m with Nat’s sister and she said we have to go get him because he’s part of some Sentry project,” He explained, voices yelling at him in the background of the phone call. “Can you just meet us at the tower?” 

A wave of nausea rolled over you, “The tower? Bucky, I don't go around there anymore.” 

“I know, but I wouldn’t be calling you if I had anyone else to call.” 

“How nice,” you taunt. You were never any of the Avengers first calls. To be fair you weren’t sure if it is because they were scared of you or your lack of social skills. “Also Nat’s sister?” 

“Later,” Which means he says he’ll tell you later but in reality he’s never going to bring it up again unless you find the answer yourself. 

You sigh, walking over to the bookshelf in your apartment that’s filled with books, both regular and magical, and pictures. Your hand brushes across a photo of yourself, Steven Strange, and Wanda, “I don’t fight anymore Bucky. You couldn’t just ask Sam?” 

“He’s uhmm..busy,” He answered, “I know how you’re feeling y/n.” 

“You don’t,” You interrupt. How could he possibly understand how you’re feeling when he barely reaches out to you unless he needs something. Him and the rest of the remaining team abandoned you, after Wanda, you had no one to turn to. You felt the all too familiar dull ache in your chest. You chewed on the skin around your nails waiting for Bucky to respond. 

“ I think we need you for this one.” Which means in Bucky terms that whoever they are fighting is a mutant and something he can’t fight. 

“Fuck,” You mutter to yourself. 

Ever since Wanda vanished you refused to step back out on the field.She was the only one that truly knew what you were capable of considering she was the one that found you all those years ago. Not even Thor, a god, could hold you back during training sessions and the only avenger to understand your pain was Wanda. And now she’s- 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to ground yourself. You haven’t been able to sense her magic anywhere. No matter what realm you went to, you couldn’t find her. 

Fuck you Bucky Barnes. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆

“She already knows we’re here,” You try to explain to the group in front of you. Bucky gave you and the rest of the team a run down of Sentry and what Mel, Valentinas assistant, told him about Bob. That doesn’t stop them from driving a truck through the lobby destroying the front of the building in the process, “Awesome,” You have no choice but to join the fight to defend the group. Defense only, you tell yourself 

While Walker has his back turned, a soldier on the ground fires a few stray bullets, you toss your hand up and redirect the shots to the wall behind him, “Watch yourself walker,” You growled. Before he could reply you went back to the fight. Using your magic to cast illusions into the minds of the soldiers fighting to give the group an advantage when attacking.

“I just had that drywall put in. You can just come up, you know that right.” Valentina’s voice rang out over the intercoms, “But I know you knew that already y/n. Come on up!” 

Yelena and Ava looked at you, knowing you had previously stated that and they had just refused to listen. You just rolled your eyes at them before motioning them to go in the elevator. 

“You are not coming,” Yelena asked as the group of 5 squeezed into the elevator. 

You shake your head before pointing up. You close your eyes and feel the familiar stomach reeling feeling of teleporting to where the penthouse once was. Where you shared few but long lasting memories. Your eyes wander across the empty walls and fairly empty room before you look at Val. 

“Ah! Y/N, so lovely to see you darling. You see I’ve always wanted to work with you,” The woman said. 

“Can’t say the same,” You said in a sarcastic tone. 

“Hmm, well maybe he’ll change your mind.” You just raise an eyebrow.

You don’t have the chase to question her because Bucky and the team come through the elevator doors ready to arrest her for crimes. You look between each person and back to Valentina, honestly not sure what is going on. 

That's when you feel it. A humming. Power. You look around only to notice no one else in the “Thunderbolts”, as Alexie is calling them, notices it. You try to pinpoint a mind to tap into to find where this power is from but you can’t, a black shadow blocking you out. Shit. 

“Meet Sentry.” 

You look up to where a man is clothed in a…ugly suit, with unnaturally yellow blonde hair. 

“Hey guys,” He greats. You study him for a second, the power dripping off of him but there's something else there, something all too familiar. You try to invade his mind but there's something keeping you out. You pull and claw at the black void keeping you out. 

“Y/n.” You vacate the attempt on his mind and meet his eyes. You cock your head to the side, he knows what you were doing, “That won’t work,” his voice coming out cautious. 

“Take care of them Robert,” Valentina orders. 

“I don’t want to hurt you guys,” Bob says, looking around at all of them in front of him, “Please just give yourselves in.” 

“Wait-” Yelena tries to interrupt. 

Alexie yells before running towards the man. Instead of following the rest of the team you stand back and observe. Everything they throw at him gets blocked or countered. Teleportation. Flight. Strength.

Bucky shoots at Bob only for the bullets to be sprayed back at him and Walker. You hold your hand up blocking the bullets and directing them towards the already broken window. Thats when Sentry notices you. 

“I knew I liked her,” Walker says to Bucky, getting ready to fight again. 

“Wanda’s not here to save you this time.” 

You barely move after hearing the voice in your head when the rest of the Thunderbolts move to attack Bob. You shake your head as if to clear your thoughts but you feel his eyes on you. Instead of the blue you saw earlier, Bob’s eyes have a golden hue. 

“She left you, just like you told her to.” 

“Stop,” You whisper to yourself, rage boiling beneath your skin. 

The fight breaks out and you watch as Bob grabs Bucky's Arm. 

“God damnit,” You whisper, before running towards the two to save Bucky. Bob tosses Bucky to the side, his arm now torn off. You shot a blast of energy towards him only for him to teleport out of the way. I don’t want to hurt you, You try to telepathically tell him. 

“You can’t hurt me,” He says aloud. 

“Says who,” You taunt. Your feet leave the floor before you can’t register your rage taking over. Blast after blast and nothing is hitting him. 

He teleports in front of you and grabs your neck. What he doesn’t expect is to look behind you and see a beach. A sunset. He furrows his brows as he looks around in confusion. 

That gives you enough time to grab his wrist and teleport out of his grasp. 

The illusion collapses around the two of you as you lose contact. With every fight you’ve been in, usually your opponent will be thrown off once coming out of the illusion but Bob…He raises a hand before you can counter and you slam into the concrete wall of Avengers Tower, the wall cracking behind you. 

 You feel an arm hook under your shoulders and begin to drag you to the elevator which you see is already occupied with the rest of the team besides you and Yelena. “Get off of me,” You grumble. You teleport out of her grasp and out of the tower completely. Your knees are wobbly beneath you and you assess your surroundings. Guard still up. 

“Are you hurt?” You turn and see Bucky running towards you, the rest of the Thunderbolts following in suit. 

“You know I’m not,” You used your magic to heal yourself immediately after the hit, “I tried to help Buck but I’m not strong enough anymore. I’m leaving.” 

“No, let us regroup and we can go back in,” Alexie tries to argue. 

“All of you just got your asses beat, you especially-” 

“Well I am just rusty but now I am ready to go,” The older super soldier bellows. 

You see Yelena put a hand over her eyes. You just laugh out of disbelief and begin to walk down the street. 

“Wait y/n,” Bucky follows after you, “Just wait-” 

You turn, he can feel the rage dripping off of you, “What!” You shout, “What do you want from me?” 

He just stares at you, “I was going to ask if you were okay.” 

You laugh, “Am I okay? God, you should've asked me that when Tony died. Or when I lost Vision and then lost Wanda. Or Nat. Or Steve.” 

“You acted like you didn’t even care about half of the team, what did you expect me to do?” He argues. 

“I didn’t want to hurt any of you!” You exclaim, letting your emotions run wild on the streets of New York, “If you think that up there I used all my power, you're wrong. I didn’t want to hurt any of you so I stayed away.” 

“But Wanda-” 

“But Wanda understood me, more than you or Tony or any of them. You don’t understand what I went through, what I’ve done. Bucky, you don’t know who I really am.” 

There was commotion behind you, taking your concentration away from the conversation. Citizens were pointing up towards the sky. You and Bucky exchange glances before running to where you could have a clear view of what they were looking at. 

A shadow of man floated above Avengers Tower. You watched as he raised a hand and all of a sudden a helicopter came crashing into a crane. Concrete and rubble began to fall from the buildings that were hit. People were screaming. 

Typical avenger in New York occurrence. 

You and Bucky split off to protect the people from being crushed. You used your magic to stop concrete from crushing a family and urged them to get into a building. 

“You’re alone,” You turned to see the man closer to you now. You recognized the voice from just minutes ago, Bob, “You’ve always been alone.” You just stare at him, “It eats you alive doesn’t it, y/n.” 

People are screaming, you turn to look behind you and see shadows of people spread across the floor in dark black smoke. You heart drops, what the fuck is this guy. 

“The pain goes away. Just come with me,” Bob captures your attention once again, “I can make it go away.” 

“How?” You whisper. He reaches a hand out to you. 

“Y/n! Stop!” Bucky shouts behind you but something in your mind is telling you to go. Telling you that everything will stop if you accept his hand. Everything will be quiet. Will the pain finally go away? 

“Y/n,” The distorted voice urges. 

That’s when you close your eyes and walk into the void. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆

You open your eyes and find yourself in an all too familiar room. One lined with archaic symbols preventing you from escaping. Your heart drops because you see yourself, younger, wounded, broken standing on the other side of the room. 

You know this day, you recognize it by the energy alone. This was the first time you killed someone. The first time you disintegrated someone's body and brain. 

“Y/N, Before you is a man who is being convicted of crimes against countless women, including your own mother,” You watched as your younger self balled her hands into fists, “Your task is to eliminate him.” 

Younger you nodded. 

“N-no,” You ran over to where you stood and wrapped your arms around your younger self, “you don’t have to do this,” 

“Get off of me,” Your body is thrown a few feet away from your younger self. That's when you feel it, the pain of a curse of 1000 sharp white-hot knives digging into you, you scream and writhe on the floor. That was your punishment when you were captured, if you ever disobeyed or failed, they cursed you over and over. 

“Stop,” You sob, the curse diminishing, “Stop,” You whisper, tears falling onto the floor beneath you. Your mind whirls and your limbs ache, like you’re gripped by a fever that burns through you like wildfire. 

“Y/n?” A male voice. 

You look towards a doorway where Bob stands, not Sentry, not Void but Bob. You squeeze your eyes shut to stop crying. 

“Oh god, I-I’m so sorry,” He runs over to you, “I-I can’t stop it,” He apologized. 

“I don’t understand,” Your voice comes out as a whisper, “What is this?” You finally sit up and watch the rest of the scene play out in front of you. 

You watch as younger you raises her hand towards the man and he begins to scream in agony. You watch as his skin flairs and melts. 

“Don’t look,” Bob urges, grabbing your arm and pulling your attention from the memory. There are tears in his blue eyes. He has brown hair now instead of the fake gold that Val gave him. He’s clothed in a sweater and tan pants. He honestly looks like he’s going to pass out. “I can’t do anything right, I’m so sorry,” He mumbles, “I-I don’t even know you and you’re stuck here with me. It’s this…void.” 

“How do we get out?” You ask, looking down to study your shaking hands. 

“I-I don’t know. There’s different rooms and each one just gets worse. I’m so sorry Y/n,” He begins to cry. Your heart shatters for a moment thinking about what he must go through if he deals with this constantly, now with the serum it must have fully taken over him. 

“Let’s just get out okay,” You place your hand on his thigh and he tenses beneath you. You squeeze his leg in reassurance before standing up, “P-please don’t tell anyone what you saw, I-I can’t. No one knows.” 

“I won’t, Why would I tell them?” He asks sincerely. All you can do is nod, “Y-you can trust me.” Once again, you just nod. 

“Do you think everyone else is in here?” You ask, trying to change the topic. 

“M-maybe,” He saying, shrinking in on himself. 

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m fine. We’ll all be fine,” You soothe, “Let’s just find them.” 

Thats how you ended up finding the team, fighting Bob in a chicken outfit, and getting out of the void. Only to have Valentina throw a new title on the group right after. 

The New Avengers. Including you. Awesome. 

And that’s how you ended up here, living in the tower after some much needed renovations. Bob didn’t remember anything after the Void incident but something told you to tell him. So you showed him through your magic. He apologized profusely to the team and kept his distance since then. Honestly, he reminds you a lot of yourself when you first joined the Avengers with Wanda. But you refuse to let him fall into that dark of a hole like you did. 

You want to save someone for yourself, for once. You want to save him. 

[bwobgames]

She remembers the first time she met Nina.

It was when He took her home for the first time.

They had mistook the deadline for an assignment, and they had to rush part of a project in very little time. Seeing as He lived closer, they made a run for it.

“I should still have an unopened pack of energy drinks and enough coffee for 20 cups so we might just make it”

“Leave that for later, start planning the introduction!”

“This is gonna be worse than my metroid run”

He unlocks his door at record speed, because of course he does.

“I'll get the things I printed. You get settled”

“Alright, grab me a-”

There is a woman.

There is a sleeping woman at the table.

“...There's a really bad intruder at your house.”

“WHAT?!”

He runs over, somehow not dropping any of the papers he messily put together.

“Agh, you scared me for nothing, grab these”

“Eugene who is this.”

Actually, she can recognize her a little. She has seen her talking to him on campus sometimes. New roommate?

“It's Nina. World's number one champion at giving bad first impressions. Hey, wake up”

“Noooo”

“We have visitors”

“awawhat?!”

While that is an expression Marigold could never see on Eugene, somehow this girl looks like him.

She connects the dots

“Your sister?”

“Obviously. Oh, wait. I didn't tell you before?”

“Whoops. Mistake. I'm a bit too used to people seeing us as a pair”

“Excuse me! Are you Miss Marigold? I've been told wonderful things about you! It's a pleasure!”

“Uh. Likewise”

She offers a cold handshake.

At the time, she couldn't understand how those two were in any way related. And her grumpiness at the time didn't help.

How could a man as hardworking as Eugene have a sister who simply decides to take a nap on a table?

Then she found out Nina's studying to become a teacher. In this economy.

Does she have any ambition? Any sense of responsibility? Or is she planning on mooching off Eugene's career?

Nina is everything her parents warned her about.

She helped in keeping them awake that night, bringing drinks and making noise, but due to their busy work they didn't notice.

Of course, as her friendship with Him started to develop, Marigold found it beneficial to befriend his sister. Perhaps befriend is too much. She is now colleagues with his friend's sister.

But that changed the day of her birthday.

They were out of a hard test, going for a walk in the city.

“Ok, I calculated everything and even if I completely fail I still pass, so it's fine!”

“There's no way you failed, you're awesome!”

Marigold is aware that Arnold is only befriending Kevin for his parents connection to the wine industry. And Kevin is in no way worried about his grades because he's aware his parents could sue the teacher easily. Again.

Now Ashley is going to pipe in with something about celebrating, as she has no cares in the world. She is married after all.

“We should celebrate that it's finally over!”

“Yeah!”

This is a great opportunity for Mari for more networking. If she can get them talking about other friends she'll get a bigger network.

Maybe if she gets them a little drunk…

“Wait, Marigold, isn't it your birthday today?”

Oh. Surprise Kevin interjection.

“Oh, I forgot about it”

“We were so busy studying, it completely flew over our heads”

And here's a wildcard, Eugene Coli. Someone with a name like that clearly wasn't a wanted pregnancy.

They are similar, in a way. They are both ambitious, they both need to work their way to the top. They both know what's right.

She can see potential in him. She can see a future where they are strong, on top.

She could use him.

And as she has found out in drunken stupors, he might enjoy it!

They pass a toy shop.

“What about something from here? For the birthday girl? Might make you feel younger”

Well now that's just rude. A lot of her male classmates are still not used to dealing with ladies.

“What will I get from that? An useless thing to gather dust in my room? Please, if I wanted that I would get a Philosophy degree”

It makes everyone laugh, as she foresaw. Thus redirecting their rude comments somewhere else.

A lady cannot be rude. And an entrepreneur cannot risk losing connections.

This is the correct way.

There are many contradictions in her head. She ignores them.

“Let's do a double celebration then, for us and Marigold. Oh! I want pizza!”

.

.

.

.

.

When all her classes are finally over for the day, Nina of all people asks for help retrieving something she forgot in a locker.

Why couldn't she bother someone else was a mystery, but Marigold needs the Coli connection anyways.

She wonders if it's really worth it, it's not like he talks much about his sister anyways. Maybe they grew separately.

But while the data is not clear, she'll go with her.

The weather was lovely.

<PREV START NEXT>

[solivagantingrebel]

The "Actually, I believe he prefers to be—" "That'll do." Exchange lives rent-free in my brain like. What was Soap going to say? Was it 'L.t'? But I think technically Alejandro is higher ranked than him (Ghost) right(?) So I'm not sure if that works entirely and 'L.t' seems to be something that other marines/or soldiers under their command picks up anyway (probably from Soap idk, but others do call Ghost that). Was it like, 'Simon' or 'Si'? I know he calls Ghost Simon occasionally and maybe the quick shutdown of Soap's sentence comes from Ghost wanting to keep the emotional distance from others. But considering the absolute vitriol of which Ghost says, nay spits, "That'll do." I wonder if Soap has gotten away with introducing Ghost with the stupidest names, like 'Ghostie' or 'Sisi', in the past 💀

[nkogneatho]

— 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐖, 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐊 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐍

—characters: gojo, toji, geto, sukuna, nanami, choso

—cw: lactation ofc, fem!reader, nicknames, aphrodisiac (the milk), intoxication, masturbation, semi-public, dry humping.

—a/n: i have officially surprised myself with how insane i can really be. ya gurl so thirsty she created her own universe where men gib milkies 🧍🏽‍♀️

introduction to the universe:

Evolution took place a little differently in this universe. A mutation caused hormonal presence that triggers monthly lactation in men for 3 to 5 days, and it usually starts in their early 20s. It is studied that it does not serve any purpose of feeding like female lactation, but might be an indicator to arousal, and even a mating call due to accurate findings of natural aphrodisiacs in the milk produced by the thin gland located in a breast. It also pains a lot and causes swelling of nipples. While scientific advancements have yet to develop a pill that might solve this problem, the most effective natural method to be proven is letting another person suck it.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

It had been quite a long day at work. You knew you were the last to arrive home when you found his boots messed on the floor.

“Toru?” You called out his name, failed to receive a response. “Toru, baby, ' m home.” The wooden door of the shoe cabinet creaked as you closed it after placing the footwear in their place.

The house smelled…sweeter, felt warmer than usual. Making your way to the bedroom, you found clothes scattered on the floor near the entrance. The door was ajar which means your eyes had quick access to what was happening.

“Fuck! Ah! Ah! Mhmm.” You watched in surprise as your boyfriend kept fisting his cock, but wait. Something was different. You moved closer and found his hands squeezing his tits, milk oozing and drenching his naked body. But his heat doesn't arrive until next week. You thought. It was not uncommon for heats to arrive irregularly. It only meant that his hormone level had increased due to sexual frustration. Your eyes scanned his position, his movements. A hand reaching down to rub the wetness forming between your legs. You couldn't take it anymore.

“Need a hand?” You asked, announcing yourself in the room to let the man know he wasn't alone.

“Oh fuck! I thought I locked the door,” he panicked, yet he didn't remove his from his cock, just another arm covering his chest.

“And deprive me of this treat? I don't think so, baby.” You walked closer until you were hovering over him, kissing softly. Heat always has Satoru acting needy and you knew it.

“Touch me, doll. Please.” You smiled at his eagerness.

“I will do more than just touch.” Slapping his wrist away that were blocking the view of his lovely tits, you pushed him until he was laying flat. Your clothed pussy grinding in his naked cock as you leaned and took one of his nipples in your mouth.

“F-fuck.” he stuttered. “Don't. I am early this month. The flow is too much—ngh—you'll get high.” As if that was going to stop you? You started sucking more aggressively. He was right. The flow really was too much because you found yourself gulping a mouthful of his sweet milk, as your other hand reached down jerked his cock.

“Baby…ah! Keep doing that. I am close.” He is so silly to think he can relieve himself on his own when it never works. “Holy fhhuuck! Gonna c—aahhh!” You watched as he arched his back, white spurts covering your hands and other white liquid wetting your jaw. You sat up, removing your top as you already felt dizzy.

“We're not done, Toru. Wan'you to fuck me nasty while I suck your milk.” And he was hard again at your words.

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

You loved spring. It was your favorite season to go out. Not too cold. Not too hot. Just the perfect amount of wind and sun. Apparently, it is also a perfect season for outdoor dates. You and Toji preferred to stay in most of the time but the cherry blossoms were too precious to be enjoyed from your windows or TV screen.

“Toji, you ready?” you asked your husband, packing things in your cute pink purse.

“Uhm, princess? Think we might need to cancel the date.” His muffled voice emerged through the bedroom.

“What?” You yelled as you stomped to the bedroom. “What do you mean we might need to c—oh…" Your legs stopped, body taken aback as you stared at his shirtless body, tone muscles and triceps flexing as he squeezed his tits, squirting the milk out.

“I am over-lactating.”

“What happened to the breast cups?”

“Look at me princess. 'm leaking too much. They ain't gon' hold it. Agh fuck!” He spat angrily as you watched the milk travel down his abs, covering it in sweetness.

“Fuck the date. I have a better plan.” You winked at him.

“Shit. Calm down, ma—ugh. Y'er gonna bruise my tits." You were riding his cock, rocking your body back and forth on his crotch while sucking his swollen dark peachy nipples. Your hands struggled to hold his chest because they were bigger than it, causing your nails to dig into the skin.

“Mmh lvove yvour mwilk shwo mwuch.” Your dirty muffled comments vibrating on his skin.

“Y'er drunk, ma. Ya like to get drunk on daddy's milk, hmm?” He cooed, planting a spank on your ass.

“Lwove it.”

“Hm mhh,” he chuckled. “Nasty fucking girl. Move—ahh! Move faster. Need to cum.” You followed his orders, not looking up once to meet his eyes but busy soaking in the drug and flavor of his milk.

“Ngh—twoji, too much. Wan' a break.” You complained, but he was not going to let you stop. This was your plan after all.

“Nuh uh! Don't pull that now.” He grabbed your ass and started bouncing them up and down. You felt so insides bursting with pleasure, cheeks burning up, eyes rolling back. “Gonna cum, ma. Make sure this pussy drinks all my cum as you stuff your mouth with my milk—gahh! fhuck fhuck! fuuuuck!” He was talking as if you had a choice when one of his hand forced you down on his cock as he painted your hole in his cum, while the other hand pushed your face further against his tits. He watched as milk overflowed from the side of your lips. “Such a good girl f'me. You wan' more?”

𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍

Sukuna tend to get a bit crazier when he was in heat. He fucked you with more strength, came a lot more than usual. It was hard to keep his mood balanced. You tried to suggest him some diet during those days of the month, but he refused to eat greens. A big man like him fancies flesh. Furthermore, why does he need a diet when he has the most proven effective method?

“K-kuna…agh! Too biiig." You cried. Sukuna had you on top of him, his big body splayed on the king-size bed—that surprisingly was almost the same size as him—your thighs trembling, kneecaps digging the mattress as you struggled to keep hi dick inside. Your head was telling you to get off it. Yet, your tight little cunt craved more of him.

“Hmm,” he chuckled. “Your pussy has a habit of biting more than she can swallow.” His teases were humiliating. Your hands rested on his chest, tongue reminiscing the sweet taste of his milk. Even though you were not completely dominant in this relationship—it is hard to be one when you are dating a man like sukuna—there were times when you initiated the things he would usually pester you about. Your lustful eyes gave him a look he hadn't seen before. Soon, he felt your hands tightening around his tits. Now he knew what you were up to.

“Want a taste, my woman?” All you could do was give a light nod because most of your strength was busy rolling your waist on his cock. “Go ahead. Suck my milk out.”

Without a second thought, you found your lips kissing his puffy pink nipples. You could feel the veins throbbing as you were suckling his juice out. Sukuna's milk was sweet with a hint of tanginess. Nevertheless, you loved it.

“Shhit! Calm down woman. I am not going anywhere.” His words were just background noise to you because all you could hear is squelching of your pussy and your slurps on his tiddie.

“Mmghh! Don't tell me you're planning on getting drunk.” His shoulders adjusted themselves to get a better position. “If you are—fuck. Then don't expect me to go easy tonight.” You unlatched your mouth from him for what seemed like after fifteen minutes to finally speak.

“Want you to ruin my pussy, kuna. Mmh,” you jerked your hips forward. “Want you to fill my mouth with milk as you do it.”

“Get off.” His tone shifted from somewhat sweet to serious. You followed his orders anyway. You both exchanged positions so now he was on top of you.

“My dirty human. Better stick to your words, darling. I am not planning on stopping until you're drenched in my cum and my milk”

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔

You always knew Suguru's heat cycle. As the days approached closer, he used to become more and more whiny and clingy, arguing with you over petty things. His behavior did a 180° on these days.

Earlier today, you had a discourse over chores. He nagged at how you should keep things in place, or you won't find them when you need it. You understood where he was coming from, but the work had taken quite a toll on you that you barely had energy tonight. He just wouldn't let it go, and you grew more frustrated. You yanked him by his wrist, dragging his giant, muscular body to the shower. And here you were, stroking him off as you nibbled, and suckled on his tits. The continuous pour of warm water stimulating both of you.

“This is what you wanted, right, sugu?” you looked up, chin nuzzling in his cleavage. “Nagging me the whole day. You just wanted your tits sucked.” His brows scrunched together. A large hand approached your face, cupping your cheeks. He had his fingers digging the muscle on your face until they squished together.

“Behave,” his voice stern. “Just 'cause 'm in heat doesn't mean you hold the upper hand, baby.”

“Oh, but I do, Sugu—*spank* Ah! What was that for?”

“For teasing me. I know you love drinking my milk, princess. Get to it 'cause I can't take it nomo.” He pressed your face against one of his boobs, your nose pressured a little above the nipple, forcing the spurts of milk out.

“You gon' let it fall down the drain?” Your immediate action was to cup his tiddy with both of your hands—his chest was too big to use one—massaging all of the juice out. You opened your mouth and let it aim at your tongue.

“Fucking hell! This is why—mmghh easy, princess. 'Tis all sore.”

“I gotchu, sugu.” You eased out the movement of your hands, gently kneading them.

“Fhuuck, yes. Just like that.” Other hand travelled back down, grabbing his throbbing boner, squeezing the base as you squeezed his nipples. Geto planted a kiss on top of your head. “Holy shit. Still can't believe you're mine.” Your lips morphed into a smile, teeth still grasping his nipple. “Look at'cha. My milk's getting your high already.” He picked you up bridal style, your tongue still licking his puffed chest, as he kicked the bathroom door open that lead to your bedroom. “You got your treat. Time f'me to get mine, princess.”

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

Working 9to5, staring all day at a computer screen is what your life had been all about. You switched companies to think you might get something new to do, but to no one's surprise, it was the same. Except, this one man you were crushing on since day one.

Nanami Kento was a gentleman they described in those fairytales. Always so respectful, kind and damn he was a big feminist. Although, with him being the perfect husband material, you were still never going to cross the line because you were co-workers. That didn't mean you weren't allowed to crush.

“And then Mr. Sasaki from HR department knocked the beer over,” your TL chattered. Nanami wasn't the one to gossip, but Sakurako-san was your team leader and older than everyone. She wasn't a bad person but oh boy did she love tea. You fake gasped to give her the reaction she wanted, as you side-eyed Kento who looked a bit uncomfortable.

“Then he had the audacity to—”

“Excuse me,” Nanami withdrew halfway from the conversation he wasn't even participating in much, walking away abruptly.

After a few minutes, you decided to look for him to make sure he was alright. Of course, as a co-worker, you should. Nothing related to the heart eyes you give him, right?

You stomped towards the corridor almost making a left until you heard loud coughs reverberating through the walls of the men's washroom. You swore it was him. Furthermore, you shouldn't have gone in. What were you thinking? It was a men's washroom, for fuck's sake. But what if something happened to him? Sure.

Pushing the door in a hurry, you entered, almost tripping. “Nanami-san—” You did not whether you should be embarrassed, shocked or horrified. Maybe all three.

“Are you okay?”

“You shouldn't be here, l/n-san.” True. But seeing him squeeze his tits, and milking himself down the drain was the sight you were blessed to see. You locked the door behind, the clicking of the latch making Nanami hold his breath, “What are you doing?”

“You're going to let all that milk go to waste, Kento?” His dick twitched. You never called him by his first name, and now you were asking inappropriate questions along with calling him Kento.

“L/N-san, this isn't right—”

“Shhh. Just wanna help you. We're colleagues, aren't we?” He nodded.

Without breaking any eye contact you hopped on the counter, hands reaching for his nipples glistening with milk under the off-white light. You pressed your palm against his chest, feeling the liquid staining it, only starting to cramming the swell more. Kento lost his composure, hands falling flat on the counter, head on your shoulders. Couple of shaky breaths, fading soft moans leaving his lips. Pushing him back for a second to only latch your tongue on the dark pink bud, you were sure you're way past the appropriate relationship of just work buddies.

“L/n—ah! Can I?” He darted his eyes down where the tent peeked out his gray formal pants. You smiled. Knowing he needed friction, you adjusted your pencil skirt, and wrapped your legs around him, boner pressed against wet patch on your panties. Nanami felt like he was in heaven. He started humping against your clothed pussy, being rough contradictory to his gentle innocent touches to you before. But it was only reasonable given the fact that he was in heat.

He never knew the feeling of being milked from both ends, but now when he came, he ruined his whole expensive suit. The edges of the mustard yellow shirt becoming translucent with his milk, with a dark spot on his pants between his legs. He let out a shaky breath, apologizing as he slowly came back to his senses.

“What are you apologizing for? I started it,” you said as you hopped off the countertop. “Let me know if you ever need more help, Nanami-san.” A wink from is what caused his cheeks to turn red. “I'll bring you spare clothes from your desk.”

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎

Most lactation in men started in their early twenties. Although, it wasn't unusual for some to start late. There was nothing medically wrong with them. But you've heard things about. How much more it hurts, and how more they leak on their first heat if they do get late.

You've been dating your boyfriend Choso for almost a year now. He hadn't start lactating yet, which is why you researched enough on this topic just in case. Personally, you've never been physical with men when they're in heat. Not because it is not your thing, but your relationships were too short to actually be comfortable in experiencing it. Of course, you would never do anything with Choso at his displeasure just because you wanna try it. You love him too much. But the thought would never leave your mind. What would he act like in his heat? Well, it was your lucky day. Because you came home to a whining lactating man.

“Cho…baby, are you okay?” You rushed to him in concern. Choso was on the bed, hair down with tears in his eyes as he pressed his chest together.

“Babyyy, It hurts. I don't know what is happening.” His hold on your wrist a little too tight. “Fuck. It hurts so bad. Make it stop. Leaking too much and my cock hurts too.” You could hear—feel the desperation in his voice. His cock was on full display as his boxers dangled near his ankles. The swollen tip shining with pre-cum seducing your mouth. But your mouth was needed more elsewhere. You remembered your first sex education class, how men in heat can be relieved if you milk and suck their tits. You discarded your clothes, getting bare and settling on his lap. Your hole rubbing against the body of his shaft as you pressed your tits against his, kissing his forehead.

“Cho shhh. Baby you're fine. You're just in heat. 's gonna be alright. 'm here, okay?” He sniffled as you pampered him. “Gonna take good care of my boyfie.” You left a trail of lipstick stains as you kissed his body, slowly trailing towards the puffy nipples. You looked up at him for consent, only to continue when he whispered a “please”. With your tongue darting out, you soaked in the view before licking a stripe.

“Shit,” Choso cursed. You do it a few more times until you're finally sucking on it like a popsicle. “Fuck. Ah!” It was indeed too much because with only fifteen seconds in, your mouth was already full of his milk, leaking from the corner of your lips. It wasn't a normal amount. But given the fact that it was his first, that too at this age, you brushed it off, focusing back to sucking. You gulped the milk, each sip making you dizzy. It made you grind harder against his cock, moaning along with him. His whimpers making you wet, and his dick enjoying your slippery pussy.

“Wanna cum. Please. Wanna cum, baby.” He begged and you started fastening your pace. The sheets were wet, along with your neck and tits as he shot spurts of sweet milk in your mouth that dripped down your body. Some of it sneaking its way down between his dick and your cunt. You held on to his shoulder, giving his chest a few slaps, making him rut harder against you that the bed started creaking.

“Cumming. Fuck, I am cumming. Ah! Ah! Ah! Ngh—holy fuuuuck!” Your own orgasming cunt could feel his dick twitch as it shot a load out. His hardened nipples turning soft. He immediately cupped your cheeks, pulling you up. “I love you so much, fuck. Thank you.” He said before he kissed you, his tongue lapping against yours, tasting himself on you.

@kiffenisstupid @pastelle-rabbit @lxnarphase @teddybeartoji @rizzmin @yuta-nation @evxelisy @hellkaiserinphoenix @ffsg0jo @princessoflalaland @baekinola @chuuyasboots @cathybarn @togamest @katsukichu @blkkizzat

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Serious Oblivious Dating Trope

AKA "Damian thinks flirting/dating entails a lot more violence than the average person and Danny's confused as to why this vigilante keeps prepositioning him for battles" idea!

Okay, so, I know Damian went to live with Bruce when he was still a kid, 10 or something, but what if he joined the Batfam when he was older? Like imagine he's had an entire childhood and adolescence in the League of Assassins, so he's raised in this culture of being The Best (i.e., strongest fighter, intelligent and knowledgeable, etc.). And maybe the LoA typically follows the tradition of arranged marriages, but you may court someone if they're seen as an equal. Talia with Bruce, for example. And!! It's not courting like the "sweet serenading, fan-fluttering, going for a walk in a park with a chaperone" Bridgerton-type courting.

In the League of Assassins, you court by battling your intended's guardian to the death.

So, fast-forward to Damian learning how to assimilate into Gotham city culture. He still struggles to learn his place in the Batfam, but he's older and has a better grasp on his emotions; no trying to kill Tim, no constant threats of death and dismemberment, no jealously protecting the title of Heir. He's... kind of like Bruce actually. Damian is scarily competent, logical, and level-headed but super intense.

Danny, who's been living in Gotham for awhile and has gotten to know the Batfam fairly well, meets the newest addition while on patrol. Let's say he's still Phantom but cosplays as a Meta. Bruce let him stay in Gotham because he's a sucker for a black-haired, blue-eyed, abused kids.

Their introduction goes about as well as the Batfam expects. Damian is all business, only offering a quick nod and his name before returning his focus to patrol. Danny's maybe a bit taken aback but doesn't take it too personally since he'd already been given the rundown by Tim.

Damian and Danny end up patrolling together while Batman and Cass investigate some lead by the docks or something. Their night turns pretty badly when Clayface attacks. Damian ends up being the damsel in distress since he's only ever faced human enemies; even the deadliest opponents in the League could still be killed using swords or the usual combat weapons. Danny ends up using his powers to defeat Clayface before Batman can come back.

And then Danny goes home, content that he was able to let loose a little without Batman there to supervise him, and doesn't think about it after. Damian, however, is downright enamored because Danny was terrifying while fighting. His movements were lupine like a panther, a comfortability in his posture that spoke of decades in combat; his eyes turned Lazarus Pit green, chilling in its intensity. His skin took on a ghostly pallor and Damian could've sworn his teeth sharpened. He looked like a deity of War.

(Danny doesn't know this, of course; he was just happy to enjoy a really good fight since he hasn't unleased his Full Ghost powers in a long minute.)

A couple weeks pass and Danny's invited to a Wayne family dinner. Except when he shows up, Damian - who he thought he'd kind of bonded with since he'd literally saved the guy from Clayface - tries to kill him. Straight up: full assassin regalia, recently polished sword, genuinely throwing his all into the battle.

The Batfam try to intervene but Damian easily (and painfully, as Jason was flipped face-first into a table, Steph was stabbed, Dick broke his elbow) fought off. In the end, it was Danny who froze Damian and yelped a frazzled, "What the fuck, dude?" Bruce agreed to dethaw his son if he never, ever drew his sword at the dinner table again and explained why in the world he randomly attacked Danny unprompted.

Except Damian's response is to apologize and formally proposition Danny to a "battle to rights"... and the Batfam are all like, wtf?? What is that?? They're thinking maybe the rights to the Wayne inheritance, but Danny was never adopted by Bruce (he'd had enough of millionaires trying to adopt him so he'd politely declined all the Batfam's attempts to rope him into the family; Dick, Babs, and Jason of all people included).

The thing is that Danny's parents disowned him, he doesn't consider Vlad to be his guardian, and Jazz isn't really in the picture here. Bruce isn't considered his adopted father figure, either. So, Damian concluded the next reasonable course of action was to fight Danny for his right to marry him.

Cue months of hilarious misunderstandings where the Batfam try to keep Damian separated from Danny since he keeps trying to fight him... and worse, is that Damian loses every damn fight. Danny has non-human powers and endless knowledge of dead languages, cultures, space, history, etc. Damian likes him so, so much but he can't win the battle to rights and it's driving him insane!! He calls his mother to vent his frustrations and she only encourages him, tells him that he shouldn't want to marry someone he can beat so easily, that he picked his intended well.

It gets to the point where Damian's trying to use any and all knowledge of Danny's weaknesses. It just makes him more obsessed because there doesn't seem to be any (there are, but they aren't on Earth and/or are locked down in the Fenton Works labs, untraceable to anyone not in the GIW).

And Danny's just like, what the hell!! Why the hell is this guy targeting him over and over again? The worst part is that Damian is actually very intelligent and thoughtful - during their duels, they quip back and forth in ancient languages, discuss thought-proving topics, and when Danny beats him, they have a quiet moment to compliment each other's fighting styles. They discuss ancient history and art together. Damian is one of the few people who can actually match Danny's odd tidbits of random knowledge, as he'd been extensively educated while in the LoA.

Finally, Danny just asks, "Why do you keep trying to fight me?? Do you just hate me or something??" (He hopes not. Danny's starting to like Damian a bit too much, especially after their fights when Damian offers to cook him some of Alfred's most popular recipes. Danny's a terrible cook so he actually looks forward to having a surprisingly good meal, sans the attempted poisoning at times.)

And Damian just... stops. He's utterly flabbergasted and perhaps a little bit exasperated since it's been months of being unable to win the battle to rights. "Why would I request to court you if I hate you, habibi?"

Danny's like, "Huh???"

Damian explains how courting works in the LoA and why it's been on-sight ever since the Clayface fight. And everything just clicks for Danny!! He's also kind of... flattered? Like, he's never been wanted so badly that someone would fight to the death for him (Danny's just like "he's confused but he's got the spirit!" about the whole "if Danny doesn't have a guardian, I'll just fight him instead" logic).

So, he's like, "Of course, I'll date you!!"

It'd probably be an adjustment period since Damian's idea of a romantic date is watching his boyfriend go Full Ghost on supervillains. He'd just be heart-eyeing at him the entire time. And it's not like Danny's not having a good time!! He just expected there'd be more date-night activities and less patrol-night activities. So, Danny introduces Damian to more "regular" hobbies, like going to the zoo, movie nights, bookshop dates, etc.

(another side idea in my head is Damian introducing Danny to Talia and Ra's al Ghul, like, "This is Danny Fenton, my intended." But Danny is decked out in his Ghost King attire, crown included, and introduces himself as King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead. Meanwhile his boyfriend is just looking at him with this look of utter besotted lovesick pride. There's so much potential!!)

[jamminvroomvroom]

give me a reason.

LN x fem!reader

in which… ‘the one where’ lando needs to get his shit together, or lose the love of his life…

hi! it’s me! back again with angst, fluff and filth! i needed to get this the hell away from me bc i worked on it so long that it kinda stopped making sense so i fear this isn’t my best work oopsie! anyways, thanks for being the best bunch ever and pleaseeeeeee let me know what you think - likes, comments and reblogs are so appreciated and make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside soooo you know what to do…

songs to set the vibes: hoax by t swizzle, no i’m not in love by tate mcrae, come over by noah kahan

warnings: 18+!! minors BEGONE! smut, angst!! but also fluff sooo..! friends to something worse to lovers, lando needs to be shot ngl, lando is so messy, max is yet again a victim, r loves wine a lot, alcohol use, swearing, lando has a bitchy gf (we hate her!) for a bit, r is just a girl, p in v, general sex acts, unprotected sex (sigh)

8.2k words

you’re perched at the edge of the booth watching. pietra plies you with drinks, knowing full well that it’s the only way you’re gonna make it through the evening. max sits beside her, an arm wrapped loosely around her shoulder as he glares at his best friend at the bar.

“he’s such an idiot.” max sighs, polishing off the rest of his drink in one. he knows he’s about to have his ear talked off about lando’s latest fling.

“such an idiot.” p scowls. you just laugh, reach for another shot of vodka.

“what do you guys expect?” you sneer, faking a smile as the bitter liquid warms your belly.

“you guys are meant to be together.” max states. p nods quickly, but pauses.

“not sure if he even deserves you though, baby.” she coos, squeezing your arm softly. you thank her with watery, bleary eyes.

lando’s on his way back over now, the pretty blonde he’d been chatting up for the last ten minutes tucked under his arm. that shuts you all up, but the cold air blasting out of the dimly lit booth could give lando and his mystery woman fatal hypothermia.

“guys, this is casey.” lando grins toothily, ushering you to move around in the booth so they can sit with you. you end up sat between pietra and casey, smushed uncomfortably into the sticky pleather. lando makes the introductions.

“my best friend max, his girlfriend pietra, and,” he clears his throat when his eyes fall on you. “and, um, my other friend.”

my other friend.

you didn’t think he could reach a new low.

“wow.” you hiccup, wriggling closer to pietra.

“i thought she was your best friend.” pietra narrows her eyes at lando, keeps her voice light and teasing.

casey is beautifully oblivious, sky blue eyes remaining firm on the racing driver at her side. you want to throttle them both.

“course. yeah.” he laughs it off awkwardly, before placing all of his attention on his latest conquest. it sounds harsh, sure it does, but you know lando and you know how he operates.

“i’m going. thank you,” you say directly and loudly to max and p, who are shuffling from the seats so you can get out of this prison of couples that you’d been so cruelly trapped in. “for a nice evening.”

you don’t bother to say goodbye to lando.

-

you spend the next morning crying into a cup of coffee, wrapped in three different blankets. deeply, devastatingly hungover.

you spend the afternoon that follows on the phone with max.

“it’ll be over in days, hun, don’t even worry about it. he’s probably trying to get her out of his place right now and can’t even remember her name.” max reassures, and while history would suggest him to be right, something inside of you twists with dread. “i don’t know what he’s playing at.”

“you told me that he… you said he liked me, max.” you groan, hot with embarrassment.

“he did! he does! he thinks you aren’t interested so- “

“i don’t wanna hear it max. i went to abu dhabi, flew in just to surprise him, to finally fucking tell him, and… well you know what happened.”

you’d walked into his hotel room and found him balls deep inside someone else.

needless to say, you weren’t convinced that he was as hopelessly, pathetically in love with you as max claimed him to be; as hopelessly, pathetically in love with you as you were with him.

“i know, i know, but he was hurting. doesn’t excuse the, uh, emotional warfare, but he doesn’t know how you feel.”

“well, at this rate, max, he never will.”

-

you’re stupid for being excited for the group dinner you’ve planned. everyone’s coming, max and p, martin, some of the boys and some of your girls. and lando. you haven’t seen him for a week, not since caseygate, and if you’re being earnest, you don’t really want to. at least he’ll be alone, you think. he doesn’t bring his hookups to group plans.

you think, and god laughs.

he’s the last to arrive, the same blonde with the same striking blue eyes tucked under the same stupid arm. you sink your glass of wine before they even get to the table, leg bouncing frantically against the chair. you swear you see pietras lips recoil into a snarl.

“did you know he was bringing her?” she hisses quietly to max, looking at you cautiously.

“obviously not!” max defends, nostrils flaring.

“sorry we’re late.” you hear from the head of the table. “everyone, this is casey.”

-

half an hour later, after having the magical story of their blossoming relationship shoved down your throat, you escape to the bathroom.

you’re fixing your lipgloss when the door swings open. in casey walks, complete with a hair flick and a tacky, expensive handbag.

“oh, i didn’t even realise you were here tonight.” she speaks, sickeningly false. “i thought i’d notice such a good friend of lando’s.”

you suck in a breath.

“i wouldn’t get too used to little old me.” you shrug, meeting her condescending grin with a better, badder one. “or lando, quite frankly. he’ll get bored soon.”

you leave her in the dust, only letting yourself shake with rage when you know she can’t see you. you bypass the table completely, shoot p a quick text that says you’re going home, and wait for the maître d' to hand you your coat. you wait outside the restaurant for your uber, glance back to see if anyone had even noticed you’d gone. by anyone, you mean one person, and one person only.

lando’s looking around the table, something vacant in his eyes. it’s perhaps the first time you’ve properly looked at him all night. there’s something withered and haunted in his eyes, even from so far away you can see it. he seems to be searching for something, something that he can’t place. someone.

you see that same tired face in your dreams that night, joined by a pretentious, condescending smile, taunting you while you toss and turn.

-

casey becomes such a constant that you’re shocked that lando eventually comes to a party without her. it’s pietra’s birthday, and max is throwing her a party at their apartment.

you’re there early to help max set up when lando walks in, better rested than the last time you’d seen him. he’s wearing a loose white button up and light wash jeans that sit just right, curls a crown atop his head.

“no casey?” max asks subtlety as him and lando hug. you make no move to greet him.

“nah, she had other plans.” he scratches his nose as he says it, and you know it’s a lie. it’s been his tell as long as you’ve known him.

max stares awkwardly between you both, gesturing his head wildly towards you when he knows you’re not looking. lando shrugs, frantic silent conversation transpiring between them until you turn around.

“fuck, forgot candles. silly me! be back in ten.” max doesn’t give you a chance to breathe before he’s darting out the door, jacket slung over his arm. you glare as he disappears out the door.

“you gonna talk to me?” lando questions, hands shoved deep in his pockets. he tries to sound light, nonchalant but it just comes off standoffish, an awkward reminder of just how much distance there is between you now, and how much there has been since he made it his personal mission to sleep with every woman he laid eyes on. except you.

“depends.” you reply flatly.

“on?” you can hear his footsteps against the hardwood floor, inching closer and closer. your hands shake as you untangle the balloons, pouring them out of the packet onto the table. you feel the heat of him before you see him, closing in on you. it’s been so long since you’ve been this close to him that you can anticipate each movement before he even makes it, your senses ultra heightened.

your breath shakes.

“on?” he presses, aware of just how stubborn you can be. “what’s going on with you?”

“nothing, lando. tired, busy, the usual. nothing crazy.” you attempt to shrug him off, but apparently he’s not done with you.

“then why can’t you look at me? did i do something?” he chokes out a laugh, a revelation of how uncomfortable he is.

you brave the sight of him, turning slowly until you’re face to face. he looks beautiful, freshly shaved, curls tamed back but not enough to stop them from hanging over his forehead to frame his face. just the way you like them.

“see? nothing wrong.” you smile tightly, wondering if he can see the effort it takes to make your face move for him, if he can see the tension coursing through your veins like electricity. he seems to scan your face, taking his time, before he sighs, hums like he’s finally satisfied.

“so you’ve been busy?” lando asks, trying to revert to your status quo, but you can’t bare the agony of pretending. “hardly seen you since, uh, abu dhabi.”

“yep.” you quip, disappear into the kitchen just as you hear max’s keys in the front door.

-

a few hours later everyone’s had too much to drink, and the party is in full swing. lando’s persisted more than you thought he’d bother to, and you’ve managed to exchange sentences made up of more than three words apiece. you’ve left your circle to get a drink, about to slip into the kitchen, but hushed whispers stop you from entering.

your blood runs cold when you realise that one set of frantic whispers belong to lando, the other to max. you feel that you should leave, come back when it’s all clear but something tugs on your heartstrings and ties you to the threshold of the room. maybe it’s the possibility for closure, or worse, hope.

“mate you called me basically crying, telling me how in love with her you are, and when she gets there, you’re fucking someone else! what the fuck do you want from her, man?” max spits.

“how the fuck was i supposed to know she was gonna show up?” lando retorts, an edge of desperation in his voice.

“the real question is: why would you sleep with someone if you feel that way about her? why are you fucking around? why are you with casey?”

“because i was hurt, max! she’s been going on all these dates, talking about guys she’s seeing and, what, i’m supposed to put my life on hold waiting for her to love me back? i can’t do it anymore. i can’t.” lando’s voice cracks at the end and you lean into the wall, unable to feel your legs.

“you could have told her, you idiot.” max is having none of the pity party, it seems, finally ready to knock some sense into your mutual best friend.

“and ruin everything? she clearly didn’t want to be with me.” lando argues. max sighs.

“if you actually think that, then you’re a lost cause, mate.” you hear what you assume is. sympathetic slap on the back.

“i’m doing fine with casey, i’m finally getting somewhere. jesus, i haven’t even slept with her yet.” lando whines. your heart stops on the other side of the door.

“so, it’s serious then? you and casey?” max asks, skeptical.

“it could be.” lando admits.

you put yourself out of your misery, loudly opening the door to the kitchen. you act aloof, surprised to see them, but the crease in your forehead is all max needs to see. he knows you heard at least some of it. fifteen years of friendship with him means he can read you like a book. fifteen years of friendship with lando has done nothing but break your heart.

“sorry, guys, didn’t know you were in here.” you feign nonchalance. “just need a drink.” you slide past lando, watching the way his back ripples with tension at the slight brush of your body against his. you let out a deflated breath, wrapping your hand around a cold can of god knows what. all you know is you need a drink, and you need to get out of this fucking kitchen.

you find pietra on the makeshift dance floor, join her and your friends to spin and twirl and forget about the man who’s stood in the corner doing nothing but watch you.

-

a week passes. lando’s wine drunk. you’re laying across one of his sofas, sharing with him, and max and p sit on the other sofa. you’re all giggling about nothing in particular, latest gossip, old anecdotes, random shit that no one’s sober enough to not laugh at. it feels like balance is being slowly restored, like the good old days before it all went sour.

“still can’t believe you did a whole lap of the ski lodge naked.” you tease lando, smirking at him from your end of the sofa. you nudge his thigh with your foot, and he grabs your ankle, thumbing over the sensitive skin.

“a dare is a dare.” he replies, grinning back at you, his gaze lingering even when max interjects.

“again, mate, no one fucking dared you to do that.” max shouts, and you all descend into laughter again.

“i did not need to see some of the things i saw that night.” p grimaces playfully, and you can’t help but flush at the memory of lando’s bare ass disappearing into the snow.

“agreed.” you say, drawing lando’s eyes back onto you.

“you know you loved it.” he raises an eyebrow at you, and you stare bashfully into the wine glass in your hand. you feel his hand squeeze, nails ghosting above your ankle, making you shiver.

“got an early morning tomorrow, fuck.” max groans. “better get going.”

you hug him and p goodbye, graciously offering to help lando tidy up a little as the couple leaves the driver’s london apartment for their own.

you’re carrying empty glasses into the kitchen when you spot it, and it stops you dead in your tracks. the same handbag that casey had carried into that bathroom all those weeks ago. your skin tingles, a phantom touch making you burn.

“so you and, uh, casey are getting serious, huh?” you mumble, finally making it into the open plan kitchen.

lando stands on the opposite side of the marble counter, a tea towel slung over his shoulder, disgustingly domestic.

for her, though. never for you.

“not sure.” he responds flippantly.

“must be, can’t remember the last time you kept a girl around this long.” your attempt at a joke falls flat, even though he’s still tipsy, flushed with alcohol.

“s’that supposed to mean?” lando asks, boyish and defensive.

“nothing, just… you haven’t really seemed in a relationship-y place.” you remark, trying to appear casual as you place the glasses on the countertop.

“i wasn’t but i realised i needed to get my shit together. haven’t even-“ he starts, but cuts himself off abruptly.

“haven’t what?” you press, finding a cloth to wipe the marble clean.

“don’t wanna make things weird by telling you that kinda stuff.”

“lando, you called me when you lost your virginity and couldn’t find your way out of her apartment building. commando. you can tell me.” you deadpan.

as much as you could do without a play by play of his newfound relationship and changed ways, he’s your friend first, and he seems like he needs a shoulder. it would be careless, cruel, even, to deny him of that.

“well, we haven’t, uh, you know.” he looks at you intensely.

“oh. still?”

lando looks at you strangely, wondering what on earth you mean by that, but you swoop in with a get out of jail card that stops him from figuring out you’d eavesdropped.

“i mean, haven’t you guys been together for like a month?” you continue.

“yeah but i guess i figured i should take it slower, deviate from my, uh, usual way.” he admits, scratching his neck.

“oh, that’s… nice.”

“not according to casey.” he mutters, slinging the tea towel across the counter, frustrated.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you enquire, avoiding eye contact.

“i don’t know, she’s just… she wants it and, fuck, i was trying to be a good fucking guy for once.” lando sighs, disheartened. his eyes are trained on you but you can’t meet his gaze, it would destroy you. “i spent so much time unhappy, wanting something i can’t have, so now i just… what would,” he inhales sharply, centring himself. “what would you want?”

“huh?” you squeak, daring to look at him. the room fades away in the intensity of his stare, his eyes boring into yours. the counter that separates you grounds you, stops you from dropping to your knees and begging him to love you.

“what would you want? how would you want that to be, your first time with someone?”

you stop breathing, curling your fingers around the cool marble.

“i… i don’t know.” you whisper.

“sorry, i knew this would be weird.” he rushes out.

“no, it’s not! well, yeah it is, but,” you inhale deeply. “if it were me, i guess i’d want you to… catch me off guard.” you murmur, leaning against the counter, the swirled marble cool against the bare sliver of skin that your ridden up t shirt exposes. “you know, with a really good kiss - soft at first, but the kind that… as it gets deeper, you know something so good is about to happen.”

lando stares at you, mouth hanging open as you speak softly, so earnestly, into the empty space between you. it seems like a million miles keeps you apart, and his eyes go wild, hungry, like he wants to crawl over the surface and pin you to it as he hangs on to your every word.

“i don’t really know,” you continue, trying to brush it all off, pretend that your entire body isn’t on fire, like you’re not itching for something that cannot be scratched. “but i suppose you’d pull me close, so i’m pressed up against you, and then it would get kind of sweaty, blurry… and then it’s just happening.”

lando seems to be bracing himself, holding position, a tension running through his body that wasn’t there before. he’s flushed, and if you squint, there’s a bead of sweat slowly dripping down his forehead, giving him away. your nails dig into your palms, a reboot to your system, and you shuffle backwards awkwardly, recoiling from the counter that keeps you from him.

“okay. uh, okay.” he whispers, nodding rapidly. “i’ll keep that it mind.”

“i’ll put the glasses away in the dining room.” you tell him hurriedly, grabbing the stems and hurtling out of the kitchen. when you reach his dining room, where the air seems to be much thinner, normal, you exhale shakily and book an uber.

“thought you would stay here.” lando strains when you tell him, watching you shrug your coat on.

“can’t tonight.” you reply, clipped.

“can we… can we get dinner this week maybe? just us?” lando pleads, doesn’t even try to hide the desperation in his voice.

“lando… i don’t think that’s a good idea.” you finally give up the ghost, looking him right in the eyes.

“why not?”

“you know why.”

he breathes your name, takes a step closer to you as you take a step back.

“no, i really don’t. why have you been so distant? i know what you saw in abu dhabi was weird but-“

“do you know why it was weird, lando? do you know how that made me feel?”

“no, because you haven’t said anything. tonight was the first night in months that you’ve seemed okay and now you’re being off again.”

“imagine finally thinking that the guy you’re in love with finally feels the same, only to walk in on him fucking some random person.” you bellow, tears slipping over your waterline. you breathe heavily, the admission taking tons off of your shoulders.

“what?” he gasps, jaw going slack.

“forget it.” you mumble, backing away towards the door. you can’t believe the relief you feel, exhausted from the pretending. you can’t even bring yourself to care about the repercussions.

“no, i- what the fuck did you just say?” lando’s eyebrows are drawn together tight, confused.

“you heard me.” your words are hushed, shy, laced with a tremble that makes his chest ache.

“i didn’t know.” is all he can say, staring at you with a desperation that makes you want to stay. you know better.

“it doesn’t matter now. you said yourself, you wanna be happy with her. so do it, go be happy with her.” you tell him, your lack of malice astounding.

“why can’t you fight for us?” he whispers, finally dares to go there.

“i did. abu dhabi. that was me fighting for you.” you scoff at his audacity. “why can’t you fight for us?”

“i didn’t know.” he repeats, voice going up an octave with annoyance. “imagine watching the girl you’ve been in love with for years go on dates, listen to her talk about the guys she’s seeing.” he hits back.

“maybe we’ve both made mistakes, lando, but i tried to put myself out there and got hurt. why would i do that to myself again?” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest protectively. your heart pounds in your chest, flustered at his admission, as much as you try and hide it from him. it hits different to hear him say it to your face; it didn’t cut as deep when you’d heard it lingering outside max’s kitchen.

“if i thought for a second that you felt how i felt - how i still feel - none of this would have happened, abu dhabi, casey, none of it.”

“but now you’re with her and, great, that’s fine, i’m just not sure how to be your friend right now.”

“no, no, we’re not throwing that away. even if we can’t be together,” you both visibly deflate at the word. “i know it’s so fucking selfish but i can’t lose you like that too.”

“give me a reason, lando. because right now? you’ve already lost me.”

when you get into the uber, you’re sobbing, and you’re sure the poor man that had the misfortune of picking you up understands when he turns the radio up - taylor swift is playing - and smiles at you sadly.

-

he’s spinning aimlessly in his gaming chair when max finds him.

“what the actual fuck is wrong with you?” is all max has to say, looming in the doorway to lando’s office.

“what happened to a simple ‘hello’?” lando grumbles.

“you’ll get a simple hello when you stop being a dick.” max replies, matter of fact.

lando laughs bitterly in response.

“just tell me one thing. one thing that makes no fucking sense to me. why are you still with casey?”

“i don’t know if i ever really was.” lando observes, eyes vacant and tired. “she was a distraction and i’m an asshole.”

“well, at least you know.” max mutters under his breath. lando can’t even muster a glare his best friends way.

“i ended it about an hour ago.” lando starts. “she told me that she was gonna go public, call me a cheater, say that i used her as a pawn. don’t even get me started on what she was gonna say about…” lando trails off, can’t even say your name. he feels like he doesn’t deserve to.

“fuck.” max sighs, finally walking into the room. he takes a seat on the small sofa. “what are you gonna do?”

“spoke to my team. they’ll deal with her. told me that they all deserve a pay rise and i don’t disagree.”

“and what about…” max echos his friend, trailing off. he leans forward with anticipation.

“i don’t know, man. i love her but i know i don’t deserve her, not after all this. she deserves to be happy and all i seem to do is make her miserable.”

“mate, she wasn’t miserable because you were just friends. she was miserable because you were ignoring her, choosing randoms over her. you know that, right?” max says, finally something resembling gentle in his tone.

“if i couldn’t even be a good friend, how the fuck am i gonna be a good boyfriend?”

“figure it out, you knob. all this feeling sorry for yourself isn’t working out. be honest with her for once, tell her how you feel. it’s not rocket science, lando. she loves you more than you deserve, so pull yourself together and fucking show her that she is everything to you.”

-

the next week is spent working far too hard and sleeping far too little.

you don’t hear from him, and he doesn’t hear from you, but it’s how it should be. if there’s no distance, you’d have a whole set of problems on your hands, forced on you by a can of worms that needed to stay sealed. it’s better this way, you relentlessly tell yourself.

max and p bring you dinner the night things change.

“you sure i can’t convince you to come work at quadrant?” max prods, taking in the ridiculous amount of papers and spreadsheets that have taken over your living room. “wouldn’t be as intense as this.”

“for so many reasons: no.” you shoot him a look, one that says leave it alone. he nods, gets the hint, and drops onto the scrap of sofa that isn’t covered in paperwork.

“you’ve been sleeping though, yes?” pietra asks, eyebrows raised with concern. she knows how you get.

you hum in acknowledgment, avoiding eye contact as you plate the food they’ve brought. p sighs.

“have you spoken to him?” max finally asks, and you know it’s taken everything in him to not ask, in the short five minutes he’s been in your flat.

“max!” pietra hisses, and he raises his hands in surrender.

“c’mon, you knew i’d have to ask, especially considering he’s been a little bitch all week.” max defends.

“i haven’t. told him i needed space.” you shrug.

“how’s that working out for you?” max gestures to the mess that engulfs the room, swallows it whole. again, you shrug.

“fine.” you stress, digging in to the chinese food. max scoffs and you snort with a mouthful of noodles when pietra glares at him.

“well, he’s miserable, and you’re behaving like someone who’s gonna end up on a true crime documentary, so sue me for asking.” he scolds sarcastically.

“okay, you want the tea?” you roll your eyes. “he told me they hadn’t had sex. i gave him advice - against the better judgment of literally anyone ever, by the way - tried to leave and he fucking ambushed me. wanted to have dinner with me, as if he hasn’t been pushing me away for months, and then had the fucking audacity, max, to ask me why i won’t fight for us, for him - oh! and he still has a girlfriend! so, you know what, you got me, i’m not doing so great but,” you choke out a laugh, opening the box of prawn toast. “too fucking bad.”

“i promise you, this will pass and casey will be gone and then-“

“and then me and lando can go back to pretending and avoiding and hurting each other. can’t wait.”

max shakes his head in defeat, knows he has to let lando fix this himself. he has no chance of winning this one with you.

“eat your noodles.” is all he has left. pietra disappears into your kitchen, and returns with a bottle of wine.

you eat together, put on netflix, slumped into the sofa as you try and relax. you’re halfway through your first drink when your phone buzzes. assuming it’s your overbearing boss, who apparently doesn’t sleep either, you pick it up and quickly wish you hadn’t.

lando: can you come over

like now

if you can

please. please please please please

we broke up.

“holy shit.”

you sit up suddenly, scan the room for your bag and a jacket. you don’t care that you’re in old sweats, you just feel the need to move, to get to him before common sense kicks in.

“you good?” max asks.

“uh, i need to go, like right now. stay and finish the wine if you want, but i just need to go to-“

“lando?” max and p ask simultaneously, and you burn with embarrassment.

“i can’t even try and lie to you right now. is this pathetic?” you question.

“no! go!” max shouts, exasperated, standing to usher you out of your own apartment.

-

twenty minutes later, you knock on his door.

when it opens, he’s disheveled in a way that makes you hug him immediately, his touch disturbingly foreign, and you feel him sink into your hold. he pulls you inside, kicks the door shut, and doesn’t let you go.

“sofa?” you murmur into his hoodie. you feel him nod, and you part, pad towards the lounge as you shrug off your jacket.

“hi.” he says tiredly, as soon as you’re both sat.

“hey.” you coo back. your eyebrows are drawn together as you take him in, concern woven through your features. “sorry about casey.” lando scoffs.

“don’t be, don’t even know what i was thinking.”

“well, neither do i,” you retort. “but i’m still sorry. did it happen just before you texted?” you ask.

“no, a week ago.”

“a week ago?” you gasp. “but that would mean…”

“yeah. right after you left here. asked her to come over and ended it. she told me she was gonna go to the media with a whole load of shit, so i’ve been sorting things out.”

“i’m so sorry.” you whisper.

lando laughs.

“you’re sorry? god, you’re way too fucking good for me.” he scoffs, bitter with self deprecation. “i can’t believe you even came, to be honest.”

“course i came. i might be angry at you, but you- you wanted me to, so…”

“i don’t even know where to start. i’m just so sorry about the last few months. i thought i was losing you and it drove me insane, but i should have never, ever taken my shit out on you.”

“what do you mean? losing me?”

“the dates, the guys. god, it was awful of me but it killed me.”

“that was only because i didn’t think i had a chance.”

“well, if it makes you feel any better, i didn’t think i had a chance either.” he laughs. “so what you said about abu dhabi… was that why you came? to tell me?”

“yeah, kinda. after some… encouragement from a mutual friend, i was gonna tell you that i wanted us to be more.”

lando shifts closer, your thighs pressing together. you can feel his body heat, so warm and inviting, drawing you closer.

“more.” lando repeats, tasting it on his tongue, the weight of everything he’s ever wanted since he was sixteen and fell in love for the first time.

“yeah, and then it seemed like you didn’t want that.”

“you must know by now that i also want more.” he murmurs, fingertips brushing your forearm. you keen into the barely there touch that traces over your skin.

“i’d say that’s been implied, yeah.” you joke, searching his eyes. they’re hooded, swirling with an intensity that you never thought you’d experience with another person. “um, i heard you and max. the night of pietra’s birthday.” you admit.

“fuck,” he sighs, shoulders sagging. “i’m so sorry, i swear, i never meant to put you through any of this. ‘m so, so sorry.”

“i know you are.” you whisper, loaded with a sincerity that only you could give him. “but you can never, ever treat me like this lando. i mean it.”

“i need you to know that i never meant to hurt you.” he swallows down a lump in his throat, voice wobbling just enough for you to notice.

“i do, lando.” you grab his hand, squeeze it tight.

“what do you want from me now? anything you want, i promise - i’m yours.”

“i want us to try, to see where this goes. i think we owe it to ourselves to see.”

“i never thought i’d ever get a chance with you.” lando laughs softly, the hand on your arm travelling to ghost over your cheek.

“why?”

“because i don’t think there’s anyone on this planet that’s good enough for you.” he confesses, leaning in until your foreheads touch.

“i don’t think that’s true, at least not where you’re concerned.” you breathe.

“how are you real?” it’s barely a whisper, barely audible, but it hits your ears like an alarm.

“don’t go all existential on me now.”

“then what should i do?”

“kiss me.”

“doesn’t that go against your whole ‘catch me off guard’ philosophy?” he murmurs, one hand reaching up to cup your jaw. your foreheads are still pressed together, eyes roaming each others.

“you’ll have plenty of time to surprise me.” you whisper.

you take a second to admire one another, the proximity mingling your warm breaths. when your lips finally brush, it’s slow, tentative, silent exploration. he tilts your head so that he can kiss you deeper, fingers sliding from your cheek into your hair. you emit a quiet moan, open up for him so he can taste you, and the feeling of him licking into your mouth sends your mind utterly blank.

he’s all consuming, totally intoxicating, a fresh blend of mint and something so blatantly lando that you feel like you’re floating. you find his neck, threading your fingers through the short strands at the nape of his neck. you hear something from deep in his chest, feel the vibrations of the low rumble as he presses you even closer to him.

when you inevitably break apart for air, he looks dazed, grinning like a fool as he smoothes his hand through the loose strands of your hair that fall around your face.

“i’m sorry that took so long.” lando hums, leaning in to peck your lips again. you can’t help but smile into it, in a daze of your own.

“me too.” you manage between smiling dopily up at him.

“you’re so beautiful.” he coos, still entranced. “you wanna stay here tonight?”

you hesitate for a second. he notices, interlacing your fingers with his.

“for the record, um, she never did. i couldn’t have her that close.” he mumbles, looking down at your hands guiltily.

“why?”

“didn’t feel right. she wasn’t,” he inhales shakily and meets your gaze again, piercing you with hazy blue hues. “she wasn’t you. i think that’s the real reason that i couldn’t… you know, with her.”

“i’ll stay.” you whisper, nodding softly. it’s all you can formulate as a response.

“i can make up the guest room.” he says wearily, posing it as more of a question than a statement, putting out the feelers. you scowl, eyes sparkling with a mischievous danger that leaves lando’s mouth bone dry.

“don’t bother.”

-

the grey linen of his bed sheets are soft against your skin as you sink into his mattress, watching intently as he pads around his room. you can smell him everywhere, a tangy, fresh musk that you want to bottle up and keep forever. lando glows in the dim, warm light of his bedroom and you feel a pang of regret that it’s taken this long to get here, muddled with a sense of relief that finally, you’ve made it.

“‘m gonna take a quick shower, okay? make yourself comfortable.” lando says, pauses for a second to take in the sight of you in his bed.

“okay.” you smile softly, eyes heavy with sleep as you relax further into the cushions. you hear the water running, white noise that allows your thoughts to run wild. the slide of the shower door grabs your attention and you think of him under the spray of water, bronze skin damp, hair slicked back.

when will it be your turn to see him like that, you wonder, musings of him pressed against you, bare and firm, flitting through your wandering mind. you realise, then, that you have him; he’s yours. why delay the inevitable?

slowly, you rise from the mattress, breathing shakily as your shirt comes off. your sweats follow, a trail of your clothes leading to the en-suite door. you can hear him humming to himself, the echo barrelling through your shaking body. you’re frantic with tension, a tinge of embarrassment, but then you consider his beautiful words, his confessions of love, and banish the feeling of shame that threatens to ruin you before you’ve even started. you unhook your bra, shimmy out of your panties, and grip the door handle. it turns slowly, steam spilling out of the room immediately, yet you shiver with anticipation.

“room for one more?” you call, and he jumps, turning suddenly.

you can’t make him out clearly, the fog painted across the shower door concealing his lean frame, and it draws you in closer, anticipation swirling in your belly.

he responds by sliding the door open, and you join him under the hot water. his eyes stay firmly on yours, body opening up to invite you in, hold you close as the spray hits you. the heat loosens your muscles, and you sink into him.

“fuck.” you hear him whisper, more to himself than to you.

“hi.” you breathe.

“am i dreaming?” lando blinks, a slow smile spreading across his face as he not so subtlety rakes his eyes over your frame.

“no,” you purr. “i’m real. this is real.”

his hands find your waist and you loop your arms around his neck, the kiss he pulls you into heated with a slow burning passion that makes you ache.

“you’re so pretty.” he pants into your mouth, firm and desperate - so sincere that it shakes you to your core.

“you’re perfect.” you choke out, mesmerised, alight in his thick hands.

“let me show you,” he starts, pauses briefly to kiss you. “wanna worship you.”

his words make you chase him for a kiss that doesn’t come. instead, he turns you to face away from him, your back to his front. you feel the cool spread of shower gel against your back, calloused hands working it into your skin gently. your hair, heavy with water, is pushed over your shoulder and you turn your head just enough to find his lips. your mouths move with intent as he works the soap down your back and over your waist. it tickles and you keen into him, enough that he holds you tighter, angles your hips away from his.

“careful, baby.” he warns lowly, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear.

“don’t wanna be careful.” you half moan, but he grips your hips even harder.

“not tonight, yeah? let me look after you. need you to know that i’m serious about this.” lando pants, his self restraint thin as it hits your ears. you smirk.

“you back on your ‘good guy’ bullshit?” you tease, throwing him a look over your shoulder. you catch sight of his lip caught between his teeth, wet curls matted against his forehead, and a wave of pure need washes over your body.

“for you? fuck yeah.” he manages, crouches down to lather soap down your legs. his hands roam your inner thighs, dangerously, painfully close to where you really need him to touch you, and you groan defeatedly.

“you’re horrible.” you sigh when he’s back to his full height, facing you once more. he flashes you a cheeky smile, fingertips smoothing over your arms.

“wanna get this right.” he shrugs.

“we could get it right - right here, right now.” you pout.

“patience.” lando cautions, rubbing over your sternum. he grazes over the underside of your breasts, daring to go even higher. you let out a broken sigh, shuddering at his incessant attention.

“asshole.”

“we already knew that about me, baby.” he winks. he maintains eye contact as he cups your breasts, massages them just enough to leave you wanting. his touch vanishes, then, and the elastic band of tension seems to snap. “rinse off, i’ll leave a towel for you.”

just like that, he’s gone.

-

you stretch like a cat across the mattress, the low sun sending the early light streaming through a devastating crack in the curtains. it leaves you disoriented - the sun never hits your own bedroom like that.

quickly, you remember you’re not in your own bed, partly because of the heavy arm that sprawls over your tired body, pinning you to the mattress. his breath hits your bare shoulder in heavy puffs that warm your skin, leaving your tingling as your curl further into the curve of his body. your movements nudge his head into the crook of your neck, his nose bumping the sensitive skin there and he stirs slightly, puckers his lips into a gentle kiss at the base of your throat.

you roll over, his arm weighing heavy against the curve of your waist the whole time. when you’re face to face, his eyes are still closed, unfairly long eyelashes dusting his cheekbones, but a smile is painted languidly across his lips. he looks so soft, boyish, perfectly unreal that you snuggle closer to him.

“go back to sleep.” he groans, hardly opening his mouth as if it’s too much work in his cosy state.

“not tired anymore.” you whisper into the slight space still left between you. your lips find his jaw, trailing across it until you find a sensitive spot just below his ear. he shivers, but he still doesn’t open his eyes. you smirk, tracing your tongue carefully over the definition of his jawline. you suck, bite down gently.

“really?” he murmurs, still smiling like a fool, only intensified by your movements. you hum in response.

“go back to sleep, baby.” you coo, sealing the hickey you’ve left with a delicate kiss, one that contradicts the harsh mark you’ve left.

“drives me insane hearing you call me that.” he sighs, almost pained. the newfound friction against your thigh explains why.

“does it, baby?” you murmur, right in his ear.

“roll over, honey. get comfortable for me.” is all he says in return. electricity shoots down your spine as you oblige, resuming your previous position.

“that’s it, c’mere.” lando rasps, sliding impossibly closer. you can feel the full length of his body pressed against yours, heat seeping from his bronze skin onto yours. your eyes flutter shut, a delicious buzz coursing through you as the anticipation grows.

you can feel where he’s hard, solid against the curve of your ass and you keen into him, arched into his front as much as you possibly can be. your thighs clench together, liquid heat pooling between them. your mouth hangs open as his hand grazes the outside of your thigh, smoothing over the thickness of them before he pulls them apart. his hand slots between them - a perfect fit - and he wastes no time grazing his knuckles over the damp cloth of your panties.

“lando.” you sigh, utterly content. it’s been a long time coming, but it already seems like it was worth the wait.

“you’re so wet for me already. you want me?” lando growls against the shell shell of your ear.

“touch me, baby.” you plead, pressing your ass harder against him. he hisses, thumbs hard at your clit in response.

you mewl, squeezing your thighs around his hand but he forces them apart, his arm tensing as he does. you grip it hard, nails digging into his forearm but he doesn’t relent. he rubs firm circles into the bundle of nerves over your panties, fingers dipping down to press into the wet patch quickly pooling in the lace.

“take them off.” you urge.

he quickly complies, fingertips grazing your hips as he slides the material off of your frame. as one hand settles back between your thighs, two deft fingers pinching your clit, his other snakes under the old mclaren t-shirt he’d leant you. he traces the pudges of your belly, scaling up, up, up, tickling across your ribs until he caresses the curve of your breast, his whole hand engulfing it. he plucks a nipple between his fingers at the same time he slides a digit between your folds, spreading your wetness around.

“feeling good for me, honey? do you know how sexy you are for me, making a mess, wearing my shirt?” lando muses, dangerously low. his voice is strained, a side affect of the hold your have on him, of how entranced he is by the way you writhe against him.

“so good.” you choke, rolling your hips to meet his hand. “need more.”

“more? is my girl greedy?” he taunts, circling your entrance with the tip of his finger.

“please?” you’re not above begging him. it does the trick.

you both moan at the way he stretches you around one finger, the single digit sliding deep. he grinds it into you, palm nudging against your clit with every move he makes. one finger becomes two and you gasp out his name, your hand finding his under the shirt, holding it to your chest. he squeezes your flesh, tweaking at your nipple until it’s hard between his fingers and your ass is grinding faster into his crotch. when he moves on to your other breast, you choke out a moan that tears through the both of you, the tension so thick in the room that it’s stifling.

“c’mon baby, i need you inside of me.” you beg, your voice a pathetic garbled whine, one that makes him falter and suck in a harsh breath.

“not sure you can take it, pretty girl. so tight just around my fingers.” lando challenges, slowing his fingers so that you can hear exactly what he’s doing to you. he curls them with every thrust, reaching a spot that temporarily leaves you blinded in the throes of his searing touch. “you’re gonna cum for me like this first, yeah? and then we’ll see if you can take me.”

“can’t- lando please just-“

he shushes you.

“you’re gonna let me give it to you, honey. you’re gonna take it all, because you’re a good girl, right?” his voice is so condescending, so commanding that it makes you throb around him, his fingers flexing harder and faster as he senses your lurking orgasm. “that’s it, honey, i can feel you. come on.” he urges.

your body spasms hard against his as it hits, any semblance of sleep shaken out of you as you fall apart. he holds you close, rides you through it - palm flat on your overstimulated clit while his fingers gently coax you over the edge. he’s hitting every spot, toying with every piece of you he can get his hands on. the hand alternating between your tits roams up to your neck squeezing briefly, just to tease, before he cups your jaw, turning your head enough so he can capture your lips in a feral kiss. it’s needy, full of greed as he swallows your cries of pleasure, keeps them all for himself.

when you go limp against him, the coils of tension finally loosening, he slips his fingers out slowly. you’re panting against his chest, descending back to reality, when you hear the telltale hum, a soft pop - he’s sucking his fingers clean.

“taste so fucking good.” he finally speaks, slick fingers pushing your shirt up your body and you manoeuvre it over your head. it’s tossed away, lost to the shadowy room.

“lando,” you hum. “i’m ready.”

it’s a plea that he can’t ignore, the duvet rustling around you. you feel him kick off his boxers and then he’s pressing his cock against the curve of your ass once more. its big, leaking already, and your mind goes completely and utterly blank.

“you feel so good against me.” he notes, dazed at the sensation of your bare flesh warm against his. “you sure?” he mumbles, pressing a firm kiss against the base of your neck, his hands working to reposition your legs so that he can slip into you.

“never been more sure in my life.” you promise, tingling with the anticipation.

he’s so close that you can feel the pulsing heat of him between your parted thighs. the head of him nudges over your clit and he drags himself up and down, coating his cock with your wetness. you’re frustrated - ready to flip the two of you over, fuck yourself full, but he beats you to it. the stretch of him makes you gasp, knuckles white as you grip the soft bedding. when his hips meet yours, he pauses, teeth sinking into your shoulder, utterly overwhelmed. you’re not doing much better, one hand snaking up behind you to find his curls, tugging softly on the messy strands. he likes it, groaning into the marks he’s leaving on your shoulder, lips trailing messily up your neck.

the sunlight streams harshly through the crack in the curtain, momentarily blinding you. it leaves you with only the feeling of him, a golden haze invading your other senses. he’s gripping your hip so hard that you’re certain that you’ll be able to map out each of his fingerprints after.

“can i move?” he rasps, punctuating his request with a delicate kiss just below your ear. you shiver, clenching around him tight, and he bucks into you inadvertently. it sends sparks shooting up and down your spine, an electric wave of pleasure that has your eyes fluttering shut.

“you better.” you implore.

“you’re fucking perfect around me.” he grunts, beginning to build a rhythm. it’s one that leaves you both breathless, brainless, unable to utter anything besides the relentless chants of each-others names, the needy wanton moans that neither of you can hide.

lando’s hands are everywhere, your hips, your ass, wrapped around your sternum to pull you back into him, plunging himself even deeper into you. you claw blindly at any part of him you can reach, braindead from the way he’s fucking you. you and him are like a tidal wave, surging closer and closer to shore after years of dormancy, of an aching, crushing build up. now, as it peaks, it could destroy you, wash you away and leaves you nothing. you know he won’t. you know by the way he’s holding you, by the soft whimpers he lets you hear, by the way he makes you feel more alive than you have in months.

“i’m so close.” your voice quivers, pleasure bleeding into the edges of your words.

“i’m gonna get you there, pretty girl. you’re so good for me.” he promises, one hand slipping between your thighs. he finds your clit, plays with it between his fingers. messy swirls combined with precise flicks make you shake “i can feel you, honey. can feel you holding back. let it all out for me.”

he sounds wrecked, like he’ll die if he can’t feel you let go around him. you feel the start of your orgasm crawling from the tips of your toes, up your legs, and into the fire pit of your belly.

“that’s it, give it to me.” lando whispers, his voice so far away, even though he’s right there, talking you through it with his lips pressing the shell of your ear.

“i love you, lando.”

with that, you shatter into a million pieces, convulsing around him, against him, trying to get impossibly closer to him as you simultaneously try and squirm away. he holds you close, barrelling into you with fast, deep rolls of his hips. each thrust taps into your special spot, stars clouding your vision, his name the only word on your lips, the only word that has ever existed.

“where do you want it?” he asks quickly, urgently anticipating his own end.

“inside of me.” you pant, delirious, but he’s not in the space to do any critical thinking - you love him! - so he takes your words at face value.

a guttural groan hits your ears like a sonic boom, his body tight and firm against your sweat slick back. he squeezes you tight as he fills you up, submitting totally to the heat of your core, to the intoxicating way you draw him in.

“i love you, too.” he mumbles into your shoulder, kisses the words into your flushed skin. “i always have.”

he flops onto his back, slipping out of you carefully first, a lazy smile on his face. his eyes are shut, angelic once more as if he hadn’t been whispering filth into your ear just a minute prior.

“we gotta do more of that.” lando laughs, blindly reaching out for you. you slip into his welcoming arms, draping yourself over his body.

“think i need a shower. maybe you can make up for leaving me in there last night.” you giggle, agreeing that, yes, you absolutely need to do more of that.

he hugs you closer, a kiss placed atop your forehead.

“you can have anything you want, honey.”

-

phew.

-

taglist.

@mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @formulaal @carlandoxlestappen @cmleitora @pianor481 @costkappen

[differenteagletragedy]

Part three of Simon Riley x Single Mother <3

Part one -- Part two

It rains the next day, and the day after, then Simon gets the orders — he’d be leaving on a mission for a week or two, maybe more.

While he’s away, he thinks of you more often than he’s comfortable with. He wonders if you had the baby yet, and if you did, if the delivery went smoothly. He thinks of how you’d told him that it was just you and Charlie, and how he hopes you’re managing everything on your own.

It’s too much and he knows it, but he thinks it all the same.

By the time he gets back home, it’s been a little over a month. A few days are spent holed up in his apartment, decompressing and trying to remember how to breathe, then he’s back to it.

To you.

More walks, by the park, around the perimeter then a lap through town and back again. Eyes scanning each time, ears perked in case the little boy comes calling.

No luck — at least, not for a while. But a week or so later, during one morning stroll, there you are.

Your big belly is gone, save for a tiny little swell, and in its place is a baby carrier, which seems to be securely strapped in place, but he sees you hold onto it anyway. Sticking out of the bottom of the carrier are two impossibly tiny socked feet.

If he thought you looked tired the first two times he saw you, it’s nothing compared to how you look now. You look exhausted, weary down to your bones, but you still smile as Charlie, energetic as ever, shows off on the monkey bars.

Simon slowly makes his way over, stopping a few feet away from you. The movement makes you notice him, and you give a small laugh.

“You sure like this place, huh?”

He shrugs, hands in his pockets, and says, “Trees are nice.”

There were a few cherry trees that were blossoming now, growing along the sidewalk by the street, and he did always think they were nice-looking. You didn’t need to hear, at least not yet, that he’d found something much more beautiful to see in the park now that he’d noticed you.

At the sound of Simon's voice, Charlie jumps down from the monkey bars and runs over, putting a hand on one of the baby's feet.

"This is my baby sister, Emma," he tells him. "She looks like me but you have to be careful with her because her head is soft and her neck doesn't work right."

He chuckles, then uses Charlie's introduction as an excuse to take a glance at the baby resting against your chest. He can't see much with the way the carrier is situated, just a tuft of hair sticking out of the top, then Charlie pulls his attention back to him.

"You never said your name," the boy points out.

"It's Simon."

"I'm Charlie."

"I know."

"This is Mum," Charlie says, tugging on the hem of your shirt. "She has a different name too though."

You laugh softly, and hold your hand out to Simon, telling him your name: it's your third time meeting each other, and finally, a proper introduction.

The morning goes by much the same as your last park playdate went. Charlie bounds from the jungle gym to the slides to the swings, demanding attention and applause. Simon keeps a bit of a distance and tries to ignore just how much closer he wants to be. But with how tired you are now, or perhaps now that you know Simon just the tiniest little bit better, you speak more freely.

It does absolutely nothing to stop his yearning.

Finally, Charlie starts showing signs of slowing down. He gets a little less talkative, doesn't have quite so many tricks to show Simon, and then he stands, going to you and grabbing one of your hands away from where it rests on the baby carrier.

"Can we go home now?"

You nod, smiling at the boy, and he lifts his arms expectantly.

Simon notices you frown, just a little, before telling your son, "Baby, you know I can't carry you, I've got your sister."

"But I'm tired."

"Can you walk for me?" you ask.

He sees Charlie look from you to the baby and back again, tears welling up in his wide bright eyes, and it's enough for him to speak up.

"I could carry him, if you like."

It would be a big step in your friendship, if you could even call it that at this point, him carrying your son home, but he's ready to take it. Moreso, he's ready to offer it -- he'd take so much more, anything you offered.

"... You don't mind?"

Soon enough, the four of you are on the sidewalk, with you leading the way. Charlie is already asleep on Simon's shoulder as he holds him in his arms.

"The baby woke him up early," you explain as you walk. "I thought he'd last till his afternoon nap, but then you showed up and he had to show out."

He smiles, and when he feels the warmth spreading through his chest, he knows he's in even more trouble than he thought. It was one thing, being interested in you, but it was another to be interested in the whole package.

But of course, he had been all along, hadn't he? You drew him in, something about you seeped inside him right away, digging in its claws and holding on tight, but he couldn't deny, at least not anymore, that there was something more, too. Charlie had been, every moment he'd seen him, sweet and precocious and disarming, and now the baby ...

"Everything go all right?" he hears himself asking, speaking softly as Charlie lets out a gentle snore by his ear. "The delivery and all."

"Oh, yeah," you answer, turning down a little residential street. "Quick and easy, or I guess as easy as birthing a human can be."

"You got someone helping you?"

You shake your head, smiling up at him.

"Nope, just us. We do all right though."

You guide him through a rickety little gate towards a house, cute but rundown, and unlock the door, stepping inside and letting him come in before closing the door behind him. You show him to Charlie's room, and he lays the boy down gently in his little twin bed.

"Want some tea?" you offer, and he agrees. Anything to just stay a little longer.

While you're filling the kettle, the baby starts crying. She'd fussed a bit here and there at the park, but this sounds more insistent, Simon thinks, and you sigh, the exhaustion clear on your face.

"What can I do?" Simon asks.

And before he knows it, he's in your kitchen, taking over the tea while you sit on the couch, feeding little Emma. He can hear you as he hunts through the cabinets for cups, can hear your quiet little shushes and her little coos and gurgles as she feeds, and it's easily the most domestic scene he's ever taken part of.

By the time he meets you in the living room, two cups in hand, the baby is resting in your arms. He can see her little face fully now. Charlie was right, she does look like him. And they both look like you.

You excuse yourself for just a moment to lay her down, then come back, baby monitor in hand. You set it on the coffee table, trading it for your cup of tea, and sit beside him on the couch.

For the first time, it's just the two of you.

"Can I ask you something?"

It's not the most reassuring way to begin the conversation, but he nods, having an idea of what you might have on your mind.

"What's all ... this?"

"All what?"

You give him a look -- he knows what, but he can't very well say it, so he hesitates, trying to find the best way out of this. But you, in another show of how perfect you could be for him, give him an out.

"Look," you begin, "my thing has never not been being unable to see red flags. My thing is actually kind of zeroing in on the red flags and running straight for them. And that's not you."

"... No?"

"No," you reply. "You're yellow at best."

He smirks. "I'm a yellow flag?"

You nod, smirking back, and god, he just wants you more.

"And how's that?"

"You've got ... something. You've got sad eyes. Like you've seen a lot of stuff and like you maybe don't know how to deal with it. Something to keep an eye on, but not something that's going to destroy someone else."

"You sure about that?" he asks.

"I wouldn't let you carry my kid home if I wasn't."

He nods, taking a sip of his tea. Just when he thinks he's in the clear, you say, "But that still doesn't answer my question."

Simon considers for a moment. He barely even understands the pull he feels towards you himself, how can he explain it? But you watch him with patient eyes, close enough to touch, and he knows that if he's ever going to have a shot at actually having this, for keeps, he's going to have to try.

"I ... has there ever been something that you've never had, but you still knew you wanted it?"

You give him a small smile, and there’s understanding in your eyes — of course you have.

“And what is it that you want?” you ask.

But it’s not really a question. You know, and he can see that. So he doesn’t answer, but keeps his eyes on you steady.

“Simon,” you begin, and he has to force himself not to focus on how sweet his name sounds on your lips so he can hear the rest of what you have to say. “I don’t … why?”

“Just hit me that day,” he explains, his voice low and quiet. “Don’t know why, but it hasn’t gone away.”

“And … Charlie? The baby?”

“Charlie’s a good kid. Can’t imagine the baby will be much different.”

You stay silent for a beat, then tell him that you need to go check on the kids. He’s alone again, and he’s on the cusp of something with you, he just knows it.

When you come back a few moments later, you sit a little closer, a look of resolve on your face, and he waits.

“I’m kind of a mess,” you tell him.

“That’s fine.”

“I have two kids, and their dad is … he’s not in the picture.”

“Doesn’t bother me.”

“… Simon, I have a newborn.”

“I know, I met her. Head’s all soft and neck doesn’t work right. I remember.”

You laugh, but it’s nervous laughter, your eyes darting around the living room like you’re trying to find more reasons for him to want to run, but with every passing moment with you, he’s more and more sure that he wants to stay.

Finally, you speak again, your hand coming to rest on his arm.

“Just … I don’t know, ok?”

“You don’t have to.”

You don’t have to know, he wants to say, because he does. He knows you fit, and that he could take care of you and your children. He could carry Charlie home when he gets tired from playing too hard, and he could make you tea while you feed Emma. He could paint the house, fix it up, replace the gate with something good and sturdy. He could fix that leak in your kitchen faucet and make your life easier and do the best thing he’d ever do, with you and your family.

But you’re not ready to hear that. And he’s a patient man. He can wait.

PART FOUR - PART FIVE - PART SIX - PART SEVEN - PART EIGHT

[flowersforbucky]

i got it bad

logan howlett x reader (worst!logan x reader)

word count: 4.9k

summary/prompt: logan can't help that he has super hearing and overhears you - wade's seemingly sweet, shy neighbor - telling vanessa what you fantasize about doing to him. believing that you won't ever act on it, he takes matters into his own hands.

or - getting yourself off on logan's abs

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only mdni, reader is afab, no use of y/n, logan's pov, porn with a little plot, male masturbation, teasing, nipple/breast play, some tit slaps, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, cream pie

Ever since Logan first met you, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his fucking head.

Which is really unfortunate for him, considering you seem indifferent to his existence.

Wade says that you're just an introvert, and that it takes you a while to get comfortable around new people, but after living across the hallway from you for the last few months, Logan is sure that you have no interest in him outside of simple, polite conversation whenever the two of you run into each other.

He first notices you from across the room when you enter Wade and Althea's apartment – his apartment now, too, he supposes. The small space is crowded, but you're impossible for him to overlook. He instantly recognizes you from the polaroid picture that Wade had showed him in the Void.

You’re greeted by Vanessa, who kisses you on the cheek and shoves a drink in your hand before dragging you over to where Logan is listening to Wade and Althea bicker about – what were they bickering about again? All he can focus on is the way your dress hugs your curves and the lipstick imprint that you’ve left on the champagne flute in your hand.

He needs to get out more. Go to a bar, get a job, maybe even try out one of those dating apps that Vanessa has suggested to him – something to get him out of this fucking apartment that he's stayed holed up in since arriving in this universe, because he should not be this flustered by a complete stranger.

“Earth to Peanut,” Wade snaps his fingers in front of Logan’s face. He barely processed anything Vanessa had said while she introduced you. Blah blah, neighbor, something something, lives down the hallway. “Jesus, did you get into the white powder under the floorboard? Your pupils are as big as saucers right now.”

“Oh, go easy on him, Wade,” Althea scolds. “It’s natural for pupils to dilate when looking at a pretty girl.”

The expression on your face matches how Logan feels – surprised, embarrassed, slightly mortified.

“You don't even know what she looks like. She could look like me for all you know,” Wade snorts.

“She brings me homemade cookies and she always smells good,” Al retorts. “I don't need to be able to see her to know that she's pretty.”

“Nice to meet you,” Logan finally speaks up with a forced smile. Leave it to his two roommates to make a simple introduction as awkward as possible. “And no, I am not high on cocaine,” he adds with a pointed glare at Wade.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Logan,” you return the sentiment with a chortle and shy smile. “And don’t worry, I never pay attention to anything Wade says.”

Yukio and her girlfriend with the long ass name that Logan has yet to memorize then walk up and gain your attention, leaving Logan wishing he could redo the entire interaction.

He spends the rest of the night hoping for an opportunity to talk to you again, and feeling disappointed when that doesn’t happen.

The next couple of months go similarly. He runs into you frequently – in the elevator, and the communal laundry room of the apartment complex, and when you’re both checking your mail at the same time.

You always greet him with a smile and ask the typical casual conversation questions – how he's liking his new job (he’s not, but he tells you it’s going fine), if Wade is staying out of trouble (no), and how Laura is doing (she’s doing great, actually), but it never progresses much past that.

As soon as the conversation starts to venture into more personal territory, you seem to shut down. You’ll make some excuse about having somewhere to be, wish him a good day, and then you’re gone.

He can’t help himself. He sees how carefree and talkative you can be with Vanessa and hell, even Wade – and he wants that. At least then he may feel a little less crazy for spending so much of his free time racking his brain for ways to get closer to you.

Maybe it’s because it has been so long since he’s had a crush on anyone, but sometimes he thinks he might be losing his mind with how often he thinks of you – your smile, your eyes, your scent, your voice, and the way that having a five minute conversation with you always leaves him feeling for the rest of the day.

That’s why when he’s walking to his apartment one evening, and hears his name come from inside your apartment, he stops dead in his fucking tracks.

God, he knows he shouldn’t listen. He knows he should keep walking, go into his apartment and close the door.

But it’s not like he has his ear pressed up against your door. It’s not his fault that he has super hearing and that the apartment building has paper thin walls.

His brain is yelling at his feet to move but they stay planted firm right where they are.

“He thinks you don’t like him, you know,” Vanessa says. Logan doesn’t need to be able to see to know that there’s a smirk on her face.

He’s tempted to cause some kind of commotion in the hallway and then dash into his apartment, just to stop Vanessa from saying whatever the hell she’s about to say.

“Logan?” You sound appalled. “Of course I like him.”

“I know that you like him,” Vanessa chuckles. “But I can see why he would think otherwise. You act like you can barely stand to be in the same room as the guy for five minutes.”

“That’s not true.” Your voice shoots up several octaves higher than normal.

Logan sends a silent prayer to whoever the fuck is listening that no one walks down this hallway in the next few minutes and sees him standing still as a statue next to your apartment door.

“It’s not that I simply can’t stand to be in the same room as him,” you continue, lowering your voice back down to its normal volume. “It’s that being in the same room as him makes me want to jump his adamantium bones.”

For a second, he really believes that his two hundred year old heart might stop beating.

“I’m fucking pathetic around him,” you huff. “Last week, I saw him pull his t-shirt off in the laundry room to put a clean one on, and ever since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about grinding my pussy against his abs. Something is seriously wrong with me, Nes.”

But Logan doesn’t hear Vanessa’s response, because he speed walks away while she’s still cackling. By some miracle, Wade isn’t home, so Logan darts past Althea and locks himself in the bathroom.

What the fuck, Jesus Christ, and holy shit all play on a loop in his mind while he tries to ignore the bulge that has quickly formed in his jeans.

The last words he expected to hear anyone say today were jump his adamantium bones and grinding my pussy against his abs – but the fact that he heard those words come from your mouth in your sweet voice has his cock throbbing so hard that he can't think of anything other than you doing exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about.

Images of you straddling him with your bare, wet cunt rubbing against his happy trail, getting yourself off on his body as he plays with your pretty tits –

He let’s out an audible growl and rips the shower curtain open before turning on the water – straight to his normal hot temperature, too. He knows a cold shower isn't going to do him any good right now.

Standing beneath the hot stream, he thinks of what has transpired in the last five minutes and strokes himself in his hand until warm, white liquid follows the water down the drain.

When he finishes, he stills hears your voice in his mind and gets hard again within minutes.

••••••

Logan hasn’t seen you in three days. Three days might not seem like a long time to go without seeing your neighbor, but it feels like a long fucking time for him. In fact, it’s the longest he’s gone without casually running into you since he first met you months ago.

There’s a reason for this, though – he hasn’t checked his mail in days, hasn’t taken any of his laundry down to the basement in days, and has generally tried to avoid leaving his apartment as much as he can out of fear that he’ll see you. He even went as far as to pretend to be napping when you came by with some fresh baked brownies for Althea yesterday.

He wants to see you, of course. Goddamn, does he want to see you. But after overhearing your conversation with Vanessa earlier this week, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to look you in the eye and pretend like he hasn't been making himself cum to the thought of you on top of him every time he takes a shower.

But after three days, he finds himself missing you too much to keep up his attempt at distancing himself from you.

What if he’s being ridiculous, staying cooped in this apartment to avoid you? What if you’re just down the hallway, thinking about him at the same time he’s thinking of you?

He's tidying up the kitchen when he sees the pink Tupperware container that you’d brought the brownies in yesterday sitting in the sink. The brownies were long gone – they’d all been eaten by him, Wade and Al within the same hour that you brought them over.

Taking the Tupperware back to you would be the nice, neighborly thing to do, right?

With Al already retired to her bedroom for the evening, and Wade out with Vanessa, he takes it upon himself to wash and dry the container.

It’s a Friday night, so he knows there’s a chance that you’ve got plans and might not even be home, but he still takes a few minutes to fix his hair and swipe some deodorant on before walking down the hallway towards your apartment.

As he approaches your door, he realizes that you are home. There’s light spilling from the crack at the bottom of the doorframe and he can hear low music playing inside. A mix of anxiety and anticipation sets in, but he clears his throat and knocks on your door before he can chicken out.

He hears your footsteps approaching and attempts to wipe any sign of nervousness from his face – he’s just returning your Tupperware, for Christ's sake.

“Logan,” you breathe as you open the door. “I haven’t seen you in a few days,” you greet him. He can’t help but relax at the smile that grows on your face when you realize it’s him. “What are you up to this evening?”

You lean against your doorframe, and Logan has to force himself to maintain eye contact. You’re wearing a matching pajama set – a cute pair of velvet shorts and tank top that shows more of your skin than he’s ever seen before.

“I – uh,” he stammers, holding out the Tupperware container to you. “I just thought I’d bring this back to you. They were great, by the way.”

Your smile spreads to your eyes at his compliment.

“Oh, thanks,” you beam. “I’m glad you got to have one. Wade told me that you were asleep when I came by yesterday so I figured he’d have them eaten by the time you woke up.”

“I’m sure he would have, but Al made him save one for me,” he laughs.

He tries to focus on the conversation at hand, but the fact that you look fresh out of the shower definitely isn’t fucking helping. Bare faced with the scent of your body wash and lotion on your skin, his thoughts begin to stray into dangerous territory fast.

“I don’t wanna interrupt your night, though. I’ll let you get back to—”

“You’re not,” you say quickly as he begins to step backwards. “You're not interrupting. Are you doing anything tonight? I just ordered a pizza and there’s plenty. I was gonna watch a movie, if you want…” You trail off, glancing back and forth between him and your apartment behind you.

He can't help but notice that your voice sounds hopeful.

The invitation excites him more than he cares to admit. Sure, the two of you have hung out plenty of times, but it's always been in a group setting – at one of Wade’s get togethers or movie nights, surrounded by other friends.

But never just the two of you – definitely never in your apartment.

He could never think of saying no to you. Especially not when this is what he's been hoping for since he first me you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd really like that.”

You hold the door open for him, letting him enter your apartment. Right away, he notices how different it is from the one that he lives in. Then again, there’s three people cramped into Althea’s – you're the only person who lives here, so you're able to make it entirely your own.

It’s cute, and cozy, he thinks. From your furniture adorned with throw pillows and blankets, to all of your shelves stocked with books, knick-knacks and candles, to the various plants occupying space throughout the living room, it feels endearing and welcoming right away.

“So, where’s Wade at tonight?” you ask as he ventures into the living room. He notes a large cardboard box with an untouched pizza in it on your coffee table. His stomach growls at the sight, and it hits him that he actually is fucking starving.

“He’s out with Vanessa. Fourth time this week,” he answers, turning to find you retrieving two plates from a cabinet in your kitchen. You're angled away from him, and when you raise your arms to grab the plates, your tank top lifts enough to give him a clear view of your midriff. He quickly averts his gaze, pretending to find something on your bookshelf particularly interesting.

“I’m just really glad that they’ve worked through things and seem to be happy now,” you sigh. “He wasn’t in a good place after their breakup. Barely ever left his apartment for the longest time.”

“They’ve got something special, that’s for sure,” Logan agrees.

You hand him a plate, walking past him to your couch. You toss some of the decorative throw pillows to your recliner, making room for him on the sofa. You pat the empty space beside you, an invitation for him to make himself at home.

“Who knows, maybe they'll even get their own place soon and I won’t have to share the living room with him anymore,” he says as he sits down beside you.

It’s a pretty small couch – really more like a loveseat – so it’s a snug fit for the two of you. The skin of your exposed kneecap brushes against the fabric of his jeans as you lean forward to grab yourself a slice of pizza.

“Sounds like you just want Blind Al and Mary Puppins all to yourself,” you tease. You hand him a piece of pizza and close the box before propping your feet up on the table. You lean back, looking at him with a smirk and raised brows.

“If he moves, that dog is going with him and you know it. There’s no way he’d leave her behind,” he shakes his head.

“There’s no way Althea would let him take her. She's grown to be as attached to her as Wade is. I think even you like her more than you care to admit.”

“What can I say? She has a way of weaseling herself into your heart,” Logan sighs.

“Oh, it’s definitely the tongue,” you shrug through a bite of pizza.

Logan grimaces as a vivid image of Mary Puppins French kissing Wade awake flashes through his mind, but he can't help but laugh.

You turn on some action-comedy that Logan has never heard of, and the two of you eat and take turns making comments about whatever is happening on the screen for the first half of the movie.

He tries to stay focused on the film, he really does, but every now and then you readjust your position on the couch, causing him to catch a whiff of your perfume or your thigh will brush against his and he'll have to force his attention back to the characters on the screen.

No matter how distracting he may find your mere presence beside him, he's enjoying himself. This is by far the longest the two of you have hung out together, without the additions of his roommates and other friends. He dreads the moment that the movie ends and he’s obligated to tell you goodnight before reluctantly going back to his own apartment.

During the second act of the movie, he wonders what you’re thinking - if you could possibly be feeling the same way as him – when you randomly sit forward, grab the box of the leftover pizza off of the table in front of you, and stand to take it to your refrigerator.

It's then that he picks up on an odor – not the light floral aroma of your perfume but something new. A scent that answers the question of exactly what you had been thinking about. It’s musky and pheromonal, and even though it’s been a while since Logan has been intimate enough with a woman to smell the scent of her arousal, he recognizes it right away.

When you sit back down beside him, the sweet smell washes over him again and he bites the inside of his lip so hard that he tastes blood. The wound disappears as quickly as it’s formed, but the same can’t be said for the erection that begins to strain against the confines of his boxers.

He eyes the pile of small, decorative pillows that you had tossed to the side and wishes that he could grab one to place over his lap.

The words that you’d said to Vanessa a few days ago begin replaying in his mind for the thousandth time since he’d first heard you say them, reminding him this isn’t one-sided. He may be sitting here attempting to conceal a raging hard-on by shifting his position and subtly adjusting his pants, but Logan’s heightened sense of smell tells him that your underwear are probably starting to feel as uncomfortable as his do at the moment.

Without turning his head, he risks a glance at you. Your eyes are on the movie, and your face is neutral, but your posture gives you away. Your arms are crossed over your chest, the tips of your fingernails digging tiny crescent shaped indentations into the flesh of your upper arm. You have one of your thighs crossed over the other, locked together tightly but that doesn’t stop him from being able to smell how fucking wet you are.

“You know, if my sense of smell is as good as my sense of hearing, then I think I have a pretty good idea of what you’re thinking about right now,” Logan starts, his voice low and gruff. He watches from his peripheral vision as you freeze, your form going rigid.

“But I’d really like to hear you say it.”

You turn to him, your eyebrows quirked but your face otherwise impassive.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. What exactly is it that you’d like to hear me say?” you ask innocently. You give him doe eyes that make his cock finish filling with blood.

He huffs a laugh, picking up on the way that your heartrate accelerates when you look at him.

“I'd like to hear you say what you said to Vanessa a few days ago,” he hums. “I can’t remember exactly, but I think it had something to do with you rubbing your sweet little cunt on my abs. Does that sound familiar to you?”

“Hm,” you feign contemplation. “That doesn’t really sound like something I'd say.”

He knows you’re trying to play it cool, but there’s certain things that you just can’t hide from him – like the way your heart is beating a mile a minute and the way your nipples have pebbled beneath the thin material of your tank top.

“You’re right. It doesn't sound like something you’d say,” he snorts, and leans in so that your face is just a few inches from his. “So imagine my surprise when I walked by your apartment to hear you talking about jumping my adamantium bones.”

He doesn't miss the way your breath catches in your throat or how your eyes flicker to his lips.

“You gonna do it? Or you just gonna keep thinking about it while you're sitting beside me?”

For a second, you say nothing and Logan struggles to read your expression. Then, without taking your eyes off of him, you slowly stand in front of the couch. You reach for the hem of your tank top and pull it over your head, leaving you naked from the waist up.

Logan's mouth goes dry. Suddenly, he's all out of smart remarks.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your pajama shorts, pushing them down your thighs along with your panties, and let them both drop to your feet all while holding his gaze.

With you now stark naked before him, he leans forward, grasping you by the backs of your thighs and pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him, gently pushing him back against the sofa.

He tugs his own shirt over his head while you undo his belt buckle and pop open the top button of his jeans, your hands fumbling when he sheds his shirt.

Logan doesn’t typically think too much about his physical appearance. He knows he’s in good shape, and thinks he’s conventionally attractive enough. But he could see himself getting a bit of an ego, if he had someone looking at him the way you are right now on a regular basis.

You help him shimmy his jeans and boxers down far enough for his cock to spring free. You take him in your hand, using your thumb to smear the thick bead of pre-cum across the head.

“You should be careful listening to people’s conversations outside of their doors,” you hum as you pump him in one hand. You hunch over, lowering your mouth enough to spit down his shaft, lubricating the length. You smirk, glancing up at him from beneath your thick eyelashes. “Other people might not react as happily as me.”

Fuck, he knows it’s been a long time since he's even felt anyone’s hands on him, but he feels a little pathetic at the way his balls are already tightening and feeling so heavy just from the way you’re languidly stroking him.

And as much as he’d love for you to keep your hands on him, there’s time for him later. Right now, what he wants more than anything is the feeling of your pussy on him.

He pulls your hand off of him and then tugs you over his erection, trying his hardest to ignore the way the wetness between your legs glides against the tip of his cock, until you’re flat against the hard expanse of his lower stomach.

“This is what you wanted, yeah?” He grunts. You whimper in response, tightening your thighs around his sides and rocking back and forth with the smallest amount of friction. “Don’t be holding back, wanna feel you make a mess on me.”

His words seem to erase any remaining reservation that you may have had. You brace your hands on his chest and begin dragging your center across his lower stomach, your slick coating the thick trail of hair that goes from his belly button to his waistline. With every backstroke, the head of his cock juts against your ass.

You glide across him easily. Soft, wet, and warm, Logan thinks that if you feel this good on his fucking stomach then there’s no way he’ll be able to handle being inside you.

He leans his head forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. You hold his head in your hands, tugging on his hair with your fingers as he teases your nipple with his tongue and teeth.

He pulls his mouth away from your breast with a wet pop. “You like this? Using me to get yourself off?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod frantically, your answer coming out as a moan. He gives a quick, firm slap to your other breast. Judging by the sound it draws from you, you like it, so he does it again.

He'd pictured this exact scenario a shameful number of times in the last few days, but his thoughts hadn’t done you justice. Every little noise you make, every little whimper and moan as your clit brushes against the thick bulges of his muscles again and again, sounds sweeter than he could've dreamed.

He places his hands on the meat of your hips, guiding you forwards and backwards across his abdomen at a fast pace.

“Fuck,” you gasp, clenching your thighs around him as tight as you can. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum—”

“That’s right,” he coos. “Come on, cum on me.”

You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, drenching the hair on his stomach as you ride out your orgasm on him with a cry of his name.

You collapse against his chest, going still with your face in the crook of his neck as you steady your breathing.

“Look at me,” he whispers after a moment. It hits him that despite the fact that you just humped him until you came all over his abdomen, he somehow hasn’t even kissed you yet.

You pull away from his neck, looking down at him with a dazed expression. He brings your face to his mouth by the back of your neck. He wastes no more time, instantly slipping his tongue past your lips.

He holds you by the globes of your ass, which hovers just above his erection. You grind down, causing the tip of his cock to nudge against your entrance. He groans into your mouth, his cock past the point of feeling like it’s going to explode if he doesn’t fucking feel you.

“We can stop here,” he murmurs against your lips when he breaks the kiss, even though the thought kills him. He doesn’t want to stop kissing you, touching you, tasting you. It’s only been a few months, but it feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime for this and the last thing he wants is for it to come to an end. “Don’t have to go any further if you don’t—”

“No,” you exclaim with a breathy laugh. “No, I don’t want to stop. Do you want to stop?”

He grins up at you, taking his length in his hand and teasing it through your folds from below you. He coats the head in your juices before nudging it against your hole.

“Definitely don’t wanna stop, sweetheart.”

You sink down onto him at the same moment that he tilts his hips up enough to slip inside you, causing the entirety of his length to fill you at once.

You both go still, adjusting to the new sensation of each other. Your walls, velvet soft and so warm, constrict around him like a vice. He knows you’re likely tired from riding him through your first orgasm, so he begins thrusting his hips slowly, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix.

“You’re big. So, so big,” you moan – something between a whine and a praise.

“I know, but you’re doing so good, honey,” he encourages as he eases himself in and out of you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You latch your lips to his again, and it’s hard for him to hold back. The feeling of your tight, perfect cunt around him and the taste of your tongue in his mouth is overwhelming. He wants to memorize every movement, every sound you make.

You snake your hand between your bodies, your fingertips finding your swollen clit and massaging languid circles. He feels you flutter around him as you start meeting his thrusts with movements of your own, and he knows you’re close.

“Not gonna last much longer, honey,” he grunts with a sharp thrust. “Feel too fucking good.”

“Cum with me,” you murmur against his mouth.

Your command causes something in him to snap. He releases a throaty growl, pistoning his hips upwards at a harsh pace as he fills you up from below. You constrict around him, crying his name into his ear as you ride out your climaxes together.

You collapse against his chest once more, his cock still nestled inside you. He loses track of how long the two of you stay like that, neither of you wanting to be the first to move.

“Remind me to eavesdrop on your conversations more often,” he huffs a laugh, still slightly out of breath.

You bring your lips to his, smiling as you give him a light kiss.

“I’ll know if you do. I have a doorbell camera. You didn’t notice that?”

thank you so much for reading <3 comments and reblogs are super appreciated. here are a few more of my favorite logan pieces that i've written ✨️

for always and ever is always for you - old man logan x healer reader

diet pepsi - old man logan x reader limousine sex

lavender and velvet - worst variant logan x neighbor reader

[reginyani]

Bed Chem | s.reid x fem!reader

summary: Derek Morgan hits you up for you and Spencer Reid, a genius FBI agent, to connect. One things leads to another, and you both have really good bed chem.

warnings: 18+, mdni, nsfw, drinking at a bar, p in v, unprotected sex, softdom!spencer, sub!reader, use of y/n, spencer comes in reader (if im forgetting something let me know)

word count: 3.2k

authors note: felt like its been 20 years since i've posted a fic, but here ya guys go!! i love the song bed chem, so this fic is sabrina carpenter themed💋. i don't really like this, but its been sitting in my drafts for a while now so i hope you guys enjoy(the smut isnt my best work im sorry!). if you did, just remember to like and reblog:)!

Spencer Reid wasn’t the type to go to bars, but when the team had finally wrapped up a particularly exhausting case and a few of them decided to head out for a drink, he couldn’t exactly say no. He didn’t mind spending time with his colleagues, but when the plan shifted from the corner booth to the bar, he felt his nerves start to rise.

Derek Morgan had a gift for getting people out of their comfort zones, and today, he’d decided that Spencer was due for a little socialization. 

Spencer sat awkwardly at the far end of the bar, sipping a glass of water, watching the team interact with ease. His eyes wandered around the room, but then they unintentionally froze when they landed on you. You were sitting with a friend near the center of the bar countertop, laughing softly at something your friend had said. There was an easy, effortless charm about you that made Spencer’s heart beat a little faster.

But, as usual, he couldn’t bring himself to approach you. His mind spun with a thousand reasons why it would be awkward— why he wasn’t the right person to start a conversation. What if you didn’t like him? What if he said something weird? What if he wasn't good looking enough for you? He ran his fingers nervously through his hair, trying to shake the unease. He tended to self-sabotage things like these.

Derek, who had been watching the entire conflict play out with a grin on his face, noticed Spencer's hesitation. He chuckled to himself, shook his head, and stood up. “I’ll handle this, pretty boy.”

Spencer glanced over, his eyes wide in disbelief and embarrassment. “What are you—?”

Derek flashed a mischievous smile, already walking toward your side of the bar. “Trust me.”

Spencer’s heart skipped a beat as he saw Derek in the corner of his eye approach you. He couldn’t help but watch the whole thing go down. 

Derek walked up with his signature charm and a smooth smile. “Hey, ladies,” he greeted, leaning casually against the countertop. “Mind if I join you for a second?”

You glanced up at him, surprised, but smiled politely. “Sure, go ahead.”

Derek didn’t miss a beat. “Thanks. So, I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room,” he said smoothly. “Especially when I’ve got a buddy over there who’s been staring at you for a while.” He pointed behind him, subtly motioning to Spencer, who was frozen in the corner of the room, clearly aware that the jig was up. Spencer immediately felt the heat of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

You glanced over at Spencer, catching his eye for a moment before he quickly looked away. You raised an eyebrow. “He’s shy, huh?”

“Yeah,” Derek said with a wink. “But he’s a good guy. Just a little... socially awkward.” He chuckled. “But I think you might make him a little less awkward.”

You smiled, intrigued now. “So what’s his name?”

“Spencer Reid,” Derek said, a little too smugly. “I think you should text him. He’ll appreciate it.”

Derek pulled out a piece of paper with Spencer's number already on it, like he had already planned this the whole time. “I’ll let him know you’ve got it,” he added with a playful grin.

You looked at the number in your hand. “Well, I’ll have to think about it,” you said, teasing Derek. “But thanks for the introduction.”

With a wink, Derek gave you a nod. “Don’t keep him waiting too long,” he said before turning back toward Spencer, who was now practically melting into his seat with embarrassment.

A few minutes passed before you decided it was time to approach him. You slid off the seat and slowly walked up behind Spencer, tapping him on the shoulder. He quickly turned around, clearly startled by your sudden touch.

"Uh… Spencer, right?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He gulped before responding, staring at you for a quick second. "Yeah…" 

"Nice to meet you. I'm Y/N; wanna get a drink?" You give him a friendly smile, trying to make him feel comfortable enough to come back to your side of the bar with you. 

He smiles back and nods quickly. "Yeah! Yeah... sounds good." He slides off his chair, letting you guide him back with you. You can feel his friend's eyes all on you as you walk away with him, leaving them speechless.

As you both sit down at a barstool, Spencer fidgets with his fingers rapidly. You look down to see his shaking leg and him picking his fingernails.

"Hey, it's okay. I don't bite, I promise." You chuckle, making him look up into your eyes with his own beautiful puppy eyes.

"Yeah, I know. I just… never really show my face at the bar. I'd prefer reading over this, but… here I am." he says with contempt as he slowly nods his head.

You smile, agreeing with a nod. "Yeah, me neither, to be honest. My friends dragged me out here, which I'm assuming yours did as well." you laugh.

"Yeah… but hey, I'm with you now, so…" he says, leaning his arm onto the bar countertop. You smirk.

"Your friends seem nice. How do you know them?" you ask, trying to keep the conversation as interesting as possible.

"Uh—you know... We're co-workers." He responds blandly, not wanting to reveal his place of work in case you were to get intimidated by it.

"Oh really? What do you work as?" You continue to ask him questions, pushing a response out of him. You were curious.

He hesitates a moment. "I—uh... well, I'm an agent at the Behavioral Analysis Unit," he finally says, taking a sip out of his drink awkwardly.

"FBI, huh?" You smirk, looking him up and down. "That's sexy. Do you carry your creds?" you ask, looking up into his eyes.

"Yeah… Uh…" his cheeks burn a crimson red as he fumbles around for a second before finally pulling out a foldable wallet. He opens it smoothly, holding it up for you to see. 

His picture looked nothing like how he does now. His hair smooth and slicked back with a side part, and a completely blank and pale face. 

"How many years ago was that picture taken?" you chuckle, scanning it one last time before he flips it over to see himself. 

"A long time ago." He laughs, his voice softening as he closes the wallet and slides it back into his pocket. "I should probably get it updated, huh?"

 

You tilt your head playfully, taking another sip from your alcoholic beverage. "I don't know, I think it's cute. Kind of shows how far you've come and grown." 

Spencer blinks, not expecting the compliment. He adjusts his tie nervously, his fingers brushing over the fabric. "Thank you. That's... nice of you to say."

You lean in slightly, resting your chin in your hand. "So, Spencer Reid, FBI agent," you say, your voice teasing yet warm at the same time. "What's something you don't know everything about?"

He chuckles, his lips twitching into a shy smile. "Plenty of things, actually. You'd be surprised at how much I still have to learn."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "Like what?"

He pauses for a second, as if genuinely thinking about your question. "Well… I've never really been good at small talk," he admits, sheepishly smiling. "Or, uh, anything involving this…" he gestures vaguely between the two of you, his cheeks flushing again.

You laugh softly, the sound making his heart skip a beat. "I don't think you're doing too bad." you assure him. "And for the record, I'm not much of a fan of small talk either. Let's skip it—tell me something real about you."

Spencer quirks an eyebrow at your directness, but there's something about your tone that puts him at ease. "Okay, something real about me…" He thinks for a second. "I have an IQ of 187, have an eidetic memory, and can read up to 20,000 words per minute, but sometimes I wish I could slow down, y'know?"

You blink, completely shocked by this brand new information. "I— No… I don't know." You laugh, still completely taking it in. "That's... insane," you finally manage, shaking your head in disbelief. "187 IQ? You're like, literally a genius."

Spencer tilts his head a bit, clearly a bit embarrassed by your reaction. "Well, technically, yeah. But it's not as impressive as people think. It just means I remember a lot of things. Well… everything."

You grin, leaning a little closer. "Okay, Mr. Modest. If you're so smart, hit me with a scientific fact. Blow my mind." 

Spencer's lips quirk into a shy smile, but there's a glint of mischief in his eyes now. He pauses for a moment, as if sorting through the thousands of facts stored in his mind. He looks directly at you, his voice soft but steady.

"Did you know," he begins, "that during intense physical contact, your brain releases tons of chemicals, including dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins, which heighten pleasure and create emotional bonding?"

You blink, the corners of your mouth twitching upward as the suggestive undertone sinks in. "Intense physical contact, huh?" you repeat, tilting your head at him with that same smirk on your face. "That’s a pretty specific fact to share."

Spencer's eyes widen, his mind now racing and wondering if maybe you took that fact to offense. "I just meant… It's a common and well-documented physiological response. I wasn't implying—" 

You laugh at his fumbling words, cutting him off before he goes and spirals even further. "Relax, Spencer. I'm just teasing you." You lean back, taking another sip of your drink, your eyes twinkling. "But hey, maybe we can test that out sometime." 

His mouth opens, seemingly caught off guard. He looks at you, not sure whether you're joking or not. "Uh… yeah," he says, barely audible. "Maybe."

You smile, tilting your head a bit. "Hey, wanna get out of here? Maybe go to my place? We can call a taxi," you say suddenly, finally finishing your espresso martini and putting the glass down with a clink.

He hesitates for a second, looking back at his coworkers with an open mouth. "Uh… Yeah, sure. I don't see why not." 

The ride back to your apartment is quiet at first, with Spencer sitting stiffly beside you in the back of the taxi, his hands fidgeting in his lap. You can practically feel the nervous energy radiating off of him, and it makes you smile.

"You alright over there, genius?" you ask softly, tilting your head over to look at him.

"Yeah," he says quickly, too quickly. He clears his throat and glances at you, his lips twitching into a sheepish smile. "Sorry. This is just… not exactly something I usually do."

You nod slowly in understanding, trying your best to make his discomfort fade away. "No judgment. I don't either, to be honest, but you seemed too interesting to leave back at the bar."

This earns a laugh out of him, and his shoulders relax a bit. "Well, uh… thanks." 

When the taxi finally pulls up to your apartment building, you pay the driver and lead Spencer upstairs. He follows closely behind, his eyes darting around as he takes in his surroundings.

"This is a nice apartment complex," he says as you unlock the door and step inside, gesturing for him to follow.

"Thanks," you say, flicking the lights on and setting down your bag on a nearby chair. You toe off your shoes and look back at him. "Make yourself comfortable." 

Spencer hesitates for a moment before awkwardly shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the back of a chair. He stands there for a second, unsure of what to do, until you notice and step towards him.

"You don't have to look so nervous, y'know," you tease gently.

"I'm not nervous," he replies, though the slight tremor in his voice was surely nervousness. 

You tilt your head, studying him. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?" 

His lip stretches into an upward shy smile.

"So I've been told," he admits.

You laugh softly at his words, and you gesture towards the couch. "Sit down. Do you want something to drink?"

He shakes his head, making his way to the couch and sitting on it stiffly. "I'm alright. Thanks."

You sit down beside him, close enough to brush shoulders but not so close as to make him uncomfortable. For a moment, there's silence, and then you glance up at him with a playful smile.

"So… want to share another one of those scientific facts of yours?" you ask, leaning slightly closer to him.

Spencer chuckles, his shoulders loosening as he meets your gaze. "Only if you're ready for it." 

"I'm ready," you say, settling in and giving him your undivided attention.

He thinks for a moment, then smirks slightly as he chooses one. "Did you know that the human brain processes the sensation of touch faster than almost any other sensory input? It’s why even the lightest touch can feel so intense."

You raise an eyebrow, the corners of your lips curving upward. "Is that so?"

He nods, his confidence growing as he begins to explain. "It’s because of specialized nerve ending called mechanoreceptors. They send signals to your brain almost immediately, making touch one of the most primal and powerful ways to communicate."

You hold his gaze, letting your hand grab his cheek. Now your voice is soft but laced with curiosity. "And what exactly do you think touch is communicating right now?" 

His breath hitches slightly, his gaze flickering down to your arm as it reaches his face.

"I think," he says, his voice quieter now, "it’s.. saying a lot."

"Good," you murmur, leaning in just a little closer, "because I think I like what it’s saying."

Spencer’s eyes meet yours, wide and full of something you can’t quite put into words. And for the first time all night, he doesn’t hesitate, and in one swift motion, his lips are crashing into yours.

  The kiss started off soft and warm but quickly grew heated. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer. You could practically feel his nervousness melting away as you two continued, replaced by confidence. Gone was the shy, awkward man from the bar.

You tilt your own head, your fingers sliding up to his head, tangling in his soft hair. Spencer's breath hitched at your touch, and he let out a quiet whine that sent shivers down your spine. For someone who looked and sounded to be inexperienced, he sure as hell didn't make it seem like that.

When you both pulled away, it wasn't forced, it was synchronized. You searched his face, cheeks flushed with a deep pink, and his eyes watery as he stared into yours. 

You both stood up from off the couch and pressed your lips together once again. But this time, it was slower, as you savored the way his hands gripped your hips.

 

Spencer broke the kiss this time, looking at you before saying, "Where's your bedroom?" You smirk, grabbing his hand and leading him to your bedroom before slamming the door shut. 

When you both finally make it to your bed, you lay down, him on top of you as his lips trail down your jaw to your neck. "God, you drive me insane, Y/N." He murmurs, his words muffled against your skin.

You tilt your head back, groaning as his lips continue to work against your skin. "Fuck, Spencer…" 

His hands fumble around your body until his fingers finally catch onto the zipper of your dress. His fingers quickly move to unzip it, then skillfully move to take the straps off your shoulders. You whine in disappointment as he takes his lips off of your neck to slide the dress down your body and off at your legs. He throws it somewhere on the floor before quickly going back to press his lips to yours.

You squirm as his fingers graze over your lace panties, practically teasing you in a place you need him most.

"Spencer…" you let out, huffing audibly. He quirks an eyebrow, the erection in his pants growing by the second.

"Yes, baby?" he coos, his fingers continuing to trace circles on your panties.

"I need you..." You whisper, embarrassed at your own neediness. He smirks, pretending to not hear you.

"You what? I need you to speak up for me," he teases, and this drives you mad. 

"I need you!" You yell in desperation, tired of the teasing. "I want you to… fuck me," you mumble, looking up into his eyes.

"Didn't exactly take you as a begger, Y/N," he snickers, continuing to look down on you. "But all you had to do was ask." His hands swiftly move to his pants, quickly unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants. He pulls them down, still stuck on his thighs.

He looks down and slowly moves your panties to the side. "Already wet, huh?" he teases. He then grabs your legs and swings them over his shoulders. "Ready?" he asks softly. You nod your head, squinting your eyes shut. 

When the tip of his cock hits your entrance, you squirm slightly, getting out a small whimper. "Oh, god…" you murmur.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, he slams into you, making you let out a loud yelp as he continues to slide his cock in and out of you with swift movements. He groans, the feeling of your warm pussy making him throw his own head back. 

"Holy shit… you're so tight, baby…" he says breathlessly, the loud sounds of heavy breathing and clapping filling your bedroom. "Look at me," he demands. "I want to see those pretty eyes of yours."

You follow his command, your watery eyes looking into his wide brown eyes. "Fuck, Spencer… right there!" you're practically yelling at this point.

Both of your bodies are moving at the same time, practically glued together, stuck together like magnets as your body bounced on his cock. Your hands gripped your baby pink sheets harshly, knuckles turning white as you arched your back.

"Sweet girl… 'm going to come." he warns, breaking eye contact with you to throw his head back once again.

You finally feel relieved, knowing you were chasing your own high. "'M almost there, baby. Oh, god…" your voice cracking between each word, warning him of your own orgasm.

As you begin to rock your hips, you finally moan, "Come inside me, baby! Please, yes, please!" and that, finally drives him over the edge. 

As your body starts to give out, you and Spencer release at the same time. Feeling the warmth of his release spilling inside of you as you both moaned in one synchronized motion, making your own orgasm feel even better.

When he finally pulls out, his body collapses next to you, both of you breathing heavily as you try to catch your breath. You turn your head to look over at him, smiling softly.

"Well, I guess you can say you seduced me with your scientific facts," you admit, laughing lazily, which earns one out of him as well.

tags:

[nereidprinc3ss]

pretty little things

in which you can't keep hiding your stuffed animals from your boyfriend. spencer would like a formal introduction.

fluff! warnings/tags: gn!reader I think, newish established relationship, they're so cute, reader is still kinda shy around him, I'm really obsessed with this dynamic actually, implied intimacy if you decide to interpret it that way, kissing/maybe mildly suggestive a/n: this is dedicated to my friends @parfaitblogs and @gublersg1rl bc in another universe we are actually just three jellycat plushies on someone's bed which is where the inspo for this little thing came from. and thank u willow for naming your fox. ok bye love u hope u enjoy !! :D

The first time you’d shown Spencer your room, and the handful of times he’s been in it since, you very intentionally hid your stuffed animals underneath the bed. After all, you’re an adult. You have a grown up job. And you don’t need him thinking you’re some kind of freak this early into the relationship. You like him too much. 

Today, however—you didn’t have any warning. He comes over unannounced, which is all well and good, until you bring him to your bedroom so he can sit on the bed while you change from work clothes into something comfier for movie night. As soon as you open the bedroom door, you see them, lined up neatly by your pillow, and you know it’s too late. 

“Uh…”

Spencer runs into your back and takes it as an excuse to settle his hands on your hips as he peers over your shoulder. 

“What?”

You slip out of his easy hold and skitter to your bed, practically throwing yourself on the mattress and sitting unnaturally as the little beaded eyes of your friends dig into your back. Even your brightest smile doesn’t distract Spencer. He’s like a bloodhound for the truth. At least, that’s the sense you’re beginning to get. 

“What are you doing?” He tries again, eyes narrowed and closing the door carefully behind him. 

“Nothing!”

The urgency with which you say it has his eyebrows raising. Obviously delighted by the embarrassing secret he’s sure to uncover, he approaches. You lean back further even as he towers over you until you’re almost on your back and he’s folded over you, menacingly (and dizzyingly) close. This sort of position is still new-ish and has your heart pounding, even if it’s entirely playful and ostensibly innocent. 

“Nothing? Are you sure?”

You nod, still shying away from him into the pile of pillows. Without looking he reaches under you and pulls out your pink bunny. You squeak and hide your face. 

“What is this?” He laughs, and you yank it away, sitting up so he’s forced to give you some breathing room. The bunny is cradled protectively in your arms, though you try to hold it a bit more casually when you notice. 

“I said it’s nothing.”

“What about the other two behind you? The fox and the… what is that? A deer?”

“No—”

“I didn’t even know they made deer stuffed animals—”

“Spencer, stop!”

He does, at the desperate tone of voice and the way you’re still hiding from him. 

“No, no! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to tease you. Don’t be embarrassed. I’m sorry.”

As usual he’s over apologetic, now sitting knee to knee with you on the mattress and leaning down to try and catch your eye. You huff and grant him some eye contact just so he doesn’t go over the edge with worry. 

“But it’s embarrassing.”

“No, it’s really not,” he laughs. “It’s cute. I can’t believe you’ve been—what, hiding them from me? This whole time? That’s like not telling me you have kids.”

“It is not like that.”

“Hm. I don’t know, I think you should probably introduce me.”

You give him a look, letting your head fall to your shoulder. “Spencer.”

“I’m serious. I’m going to be apart of their lives now. You can’t keep shoving them under the bed every time I stay the night.”

This nerd is going to be the death of you. 

Eventually, you groan reluctantly. 

“Fine. Okay, um—this one is… well—her name is Bunny. It’s not… very creative, but it’s—that’s just her name, okay?”

Spencer doesn’t react to your unjustified defensiveness—only grabs your bunny’s round little pink paw and shakes. “Enchanted.”

“Shut up.” Your face is so hot as you bury your smile and set Bunny aside, making sure she’s comfortable against the pillow before bringing out your deer. Spencer doesn’t have the shit-eating grin you were partially expecting when you glance up at him from beneath your lashes—he’s smiling, but it’s so soft. A little twisted, like he’s holding back the full extent of it for your sake. But you wouldn’t mind it at full power. It’s like he’s hiding the sun in a saucepan and the lid’s not on quite right. And he’s looking right at you. Like you’re the source of all his joy. 

A moment passes. You clear your throat and look back down. “Um—this is Bambi. ’Cause—you know.”

“I do,” Spencer agrees genially, nodding as if this were a normal conversation. “Kind of a dark thing to name your deer, though.”

“You’re judging,” you accuse balefully. He chuckles and his hand finds your knee, rubbing apologetically. 

“I’m not, I’m not! I take it back. I retract it. Continue, please.”

For a moment you only pout, but it doesn’t deter him—he simply looks at you expectantly, and now those syrupy eyes come with the added bonus of his hand on your leg. Fine. He wins. But not without a deep, tortured sigh from you while you’re grabbing your fox that makes the corner of his mouth twitch up. 

“This one is…”

The name dies on your tongue, too ridiculous to be said out loud. 

“Tell me,” Spencer pleads in that gentle voice and with those big eyes that you’d consider burning him at the stake for because that look on his face has to be witchcraft. 

“Okay but you can’t laugh,” you insist in one quick breath, giving him a serious look that he can only partially reciprocate. 

“No laughing.”

“It’s… Mr. Cuddles.”Spencer bites the inside of his cheek to keep his promise. You melt inside both from embarrassment and from the way it only further defines an already superbly sculpted bone structure. “Do not.”

Spencer scoffs at your warning. “Don’t what? I’m behaving.”

“Don’t make fun of Mr. Cuddles!”

“Does it look like I’m making fun of him?”

“Her.”

“What?”

“Her. Mr. Cuddles is a girl.”

“I see… can you explain that to me?”

“If a human person said I am a girl and I would like you to call me Mister, would you question that? Would you ask them to explain it to you?”

“I guess not.”

“Exactly. Don’t be rude.”The way Spencer is looking at you now, eyes so clear and still so full of affection, like you’ve got some sort of heavenly spotlight trained on you, lips parted as if to say something but still silent, has you forgetting your momentary confidence. You shrink. “What?”

“I just… you’re amazing.” You throw Mr. Cuddles at his chest and fall into your pile of pillows with a groan. Spencer only continues rubbing your leg. It’s very nice, actually. He’s gentle. And patient. “You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t believe you came to this conclusion just because I introduced you to my stuffed animals.”

“Not solely because of that. There are a lot of contributing factors. I mean, the stuffed animal thing helped.”

“It’s embarrassing,” you insist for the umpteenth time. 

“It’s adorable.”

Spencer pushes pillows aside and lies next to you so you’re eye to eye. It’s nice how his presence isn’t exhausting the way people sometimes are. He’s easy to exist with. He makes you enjoy existing a little more than usual. Even now. 

You raise your eyebrows and speak, cheek squished against fabric. “I’m a serious adult.”

“I know you are,” he assures with a solemn nod. 

Your eyes narrow ever so slightly. 

“Okay… well… don’t go forgetting that. I’m fun but I can also be not fun.”

“I’d love to see that.”

“No you wouldn’t. You would hate it. You’d be so scared.”

Spencer gives up on holding back a smile and moves his hand to tuck hair behind your ear. 

“You’re right. I’m already terrified. The anticipation… it’s killing me, you know?”

You’re giggling as you roll over on top of him and he roots his hand in your hair, pulling you in for a long, smiley kiss like he knew it was coming. Only when he blindly throws your stuffed friends from the bed do you pull away—just by an inch or so. 

“No respect,” you scold playfully. He kisses you again, tangling your legs and hands wandering. 

“Can I apologize later?”

You’re good with that. 

[anisespice]

Hey girl got a request,so like let’s say bonten is having a meeting with a new criminal organization gang that came in to come up with a deal,and while we are just sitting in the back looking at our new sparkly items Koko bought us,and the new criminal organization gang calls us out saying it’s disrespectful and rude calling us names..And bonten doesn’t like that one bit..So yeah I want them to react to that

hope it makes sense 😔😍🤺🤺

SAVE ME FROM MY WRITER'S BLOCK, ANON - HERE WE GO, NO MARIO. Hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting~!

pairing: bonten x fem!reader

warnings: mature language, misogynistic undertones (from another gang), implied violence, guns mentioned, reader is criminally oblivious (love that for her), guard-dog!bonten supremacy, sanzu gets his own warning lol and i think that's it.

notes: yall. can you believe i actually wrote this in one sitting? without stopping?? wild concept for me, haven't been able to do that in a good minute *knock on wood*, but i hope you enjoy! more stuff coming soon ♡

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @spacegirl05, @neverlandlostchild , @darks-pet-shadow, @captaincyberqueen

Upon the arrival of the recently developed organization, officially known as Kaiju, things already weren’t off to a great start. They were late, clocked at about twenty minutes past schedule. Excuses poured from them like a broken faucet, blaming their tardiness on traffic, which the members were willing to give the benefit of the doubt, some more than others. Then, they were unprepared. Scrambling about with their half-assed introduction mixed with a sloppily thrown together presentation, it was insulting at worst. 

Here they were, biggest in the game, offering an opportunity to help underground operatives make a name for themselves..and this is how they want to showcase their potential? Mikey waved it off when his number three voiced this flaw, merely chalking it up with inexperience–Everyone has to start somewhere, right? 

But. Finally came strike three. The one thing, the most damning thing they could’ve ever done to have mercy jump right out the window and straight to hell, was when one of their foolish members spoke ill of you. 

It was supposed to be taken as a joke, something controversial in a room amongst men, locker room talk if you would. Unfortunately for him and the rest of his team, Bonten didn’t see it that way. What was said wasn’t important, but the intent behind it was enough to make them hostile. And Kaiju would soon realize it too late despite no one laughing on that side of the room. If anything, the room grew colder. No matter who you looked at, venom consumed their gazes, a deathly aura building from their leader all the way to the advisors. The only reason no one reached for their gun, mowing them down in an array of bullets, was because you didn’t hear the disrespectful comment. 

All gazes shifted over to you briefly, sitting pretty in your little area they set up just for you. They liked having you close by, even during something so mundane as a meeting, watching you happily paint your nails or open up all the shiny new trinkets they bought you. Kaiju should count themselves lucky that you had headphones on, blissfully listening to music, not a care in the world.

And it was going to stay that way. 

By now, the dumbasses before them caught on to their grave error. Especially when Sanzu made a show of santuring over to you upon Mikey’s silent request, swiftly gathering you in his arms and carrying you to the head of the table. You squealed slightly in surprise, headphones slipping off your ears in the process as you held on to the pink-haired gangster, confused smile on your face. “Haru! You scared me!~” 

“Sorry, doll. Boss wants ya to sit right here.” Sanzu gently sets you down on your awaited throne, Mikey having made room by scooting his chair back, welcoming you with open arms. 

Still confused though not complaining, you merely shrugged before making yourself comfortable, snuggling more into the leader before putting your headphones back on. Mikey held you possessively, arms locked around you like a shield, placing a small kiss to your forehead. Message was sent; message soon received. 

Kaiju’s leader began blubbering out more excuses, reprimanding his subordinate in the same breath for saying such a thing about Bonten’s trophy wife–

Guns are drawn instantly and zeroed in on every last one of them. Stunned to horrified silence, as were his underlings, they all stood frozen in fear as they stared down multiple barrels in every angle. Koko scoffed, “You must got a death wish, huh?” 

“She’s no trophy, have some goddamn respect,” Mochi added, earning a sardonic chuckle from Ran. 

“Big ask from idiots who have none. Couldn’t even bother to show up on time, now they wanna make jabs at our [_____]. I say we’ve been more than courteous, wouldn’t you agree, otouto?” 

“Tsk. Let’s just waste ‘em. We’d be doing the streets a favor.” 

“Great idea,” Sanzu and Takeomi answered in unison, the former sounding twice as eager. 

The only ones placid were Kakucho and Mikey, one quietly observing whilst the other made sure you remained ignorant to the situation, angling you in his lap to where you were practically straddling him, phone still in hand as you watched a music video your favorite k-pop group dropped recently. The only sounds in the room were the panicked breathing of Kaiju and your melodic humming to the song. Mikey patted your head, satisfied that you were still your happy self. If any of those bastards made your smile drop even a centimeter, he would have their bodies fed to the dogs. With a small sigh, he and Kakucho eventually made eye contact. Then, he gave a small nod. “You were right. Should’ve killed them after that shitty presentation. Handle it.” 

Kakucho gave a curt nod, then signaled for Kaiju to be apprehended. With guns still aimed at them, leaving them no choice but to grovel for mercy, the Haitanis along with Mochi and Takeomi forced them to march out of the room, and to their inevitable deaths, not wanting to startle you with the sight of bloodshed so early in the morning.

Sanzu was already dialing up reinforcements to help with cleanup and disposal, face beaming as he practically skipped out of the room. Kakucho gave one last look to you, then Mikey, then politely bowed before closing the door behind him on his way out. You jumped slightly, the song ending right when the door slammed shut, making you lift one of your headphones and look around in shock.

“Oh, is the meeting over already?” 

Mikey reached up to thumb your lower lip, then reached up to playfully pinch your cheek. You grinned, gently swatting him away, so oblivious to the men you inadvertently sent to their demise all to protect that very smile. The former blonde shook his head, leaning on the armrest to rest his chin atop his knuckles. “No. Ended up being a waste of time. Don’t think you would’ve liked them.” 

You chortled. “Doesn’t matter if I like them. It’s your business, silly.” 

“Mm, you are our business, angel. And we like you more.”

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[doctorsiren]

Okay, doodle request:

Reigen meeting Serizawa before Claw got to him. Maybe helping him start leaving his room?

I had a lot of fun with this one. I wanted it to parallel the scene of Serizawa meeting Suzuki, and so pages 6-8 are directly referenced from the manga (just in a flipped format so it reads left to right like the rest of the pages) and I also referenced some shots from the anime (like the final panel of page 10). For the dialogue in those middle pages, I referenced lines from the unofficial English translation of the manga, the official English translation of the manga, and the anime. (I was picking and choosing which lines I liked better). I also had fun with the colouring, which is something I love to do in comics especially. It starts out with Reigen in a muted, paler, desaturated palette with no highlights. But when he meets Mrs. Serizawa (I gave the name “Azumi” because it means something along the lines of “safe home/harbour”), she’s much more warmer and saturated and she has highlights. Once she starts explaining her son’s situation, that’s when Reigen has the variation of colour as well as the introduction of some small highlights. Then, the colour palette changes in every panel after that point. Serizawa is done with a grayscale palette, with the only colour on him being the bright light of the TV screen (reflecting video games as his only joy and his escape from reality). As Reigen talks to him, Reigen slowly start to lose some of that variety and saturation (AKA hope) he got from Mrs. Serizawa until he goes grayscale as well when he thinks that Serizawa might know he’s a fraud. He decides to switch up his approach and actually open up, which is what causes the variations in colour to return. Serizawa stops being grayscale in the panel where Reigen reveals that he too is lonely. (He’s a gray-blue palette, but it’s not true grayscale). The next page is in bright colours as Reigen opens up and doesn’t lie, which causes Serizawa to have bright colour as well, since now there is light and hope. In the page after that, Serizawa’s colour fades until he is grayscale again because it’s him not believing fully and still having doubts, while Reigen maintains that bright colour. (Also silly Falsettos reference on that page). I have Reigen’s colours shift from yellow until he reaches pink which is the colour I just have assigned as His Colour (since his tie is pink). Serizawa gains colour again and he shifts from that muted dark blue to finally orange (which is his colour) as he finally accepts Reigen’s help. The light from the TV is no longer coloured, and is just white, because Serizawa now has a new source of colour in his life (that being a real friend.) It ends with them being in their normal palettes at a normal happy saturation, contrasting the muted colours of the start of the comic. With the umbrella, I still wanted to include it and give it a role in the story, but in a different way from how Suzuki used it. While Suzuki used it to directly manipulate and control Serizawa, Reigen used it as a way to open up a choice for Serizawa to either let Reigen stay or make him leave. He asks Serizawa if he can sit and stay for a while since it’s raining outside and he didn’t bring an umbrella, despite clearly having done so. And then I ended the comic with a shot of the umbrella to emphasize that point.

Sorry for the long and probably unnecessary explanation. I just really love explaining my intentions and symbolisms in my art. Yeah I just had a good time over the last few days doing this :) I thought it was an interesting idea and I couldn’t think of a way to reflect it better than in a comic (which was also partially inspired by this wonderful Ageswap AU comic made by @fend13th about Reigen helping Serizawa)

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere manager who was never gonna let you get famous.

Nsfw for this one! MDNI!

Warning for noncon/dubcon!

Yandere manager who holds a high position in a prestigious entertainment company. He works with so many prolific stars, so he's surprised that your pitiful little portfolio ever even made it to his desk. You've got no experience, no connections, and you're not exactly industry standard in terms of beauty.

Yandere manager thinks it's kind of funny that a cute little thing like you thinks they can make it in such a cutthroat industry. he's kinda curious about what you're like though, so he calls you in for an interview. He can't help his large, sleazy grin that forms on his face when you sit there in his office stuttering through an introduction.

Sure he'll hire you, but you've gotta get on your knees.

Yandere manager feels a sick thrill run up his spine as he goes over contract details while your pretty little lips are spread around his cock. Your eyes are filled with tears, and he can feel your little whines and sobs vibrate in the back of your throat, and he groans. He has to admit it, you've got that special something about you that certainly has him captivated.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a deal, sweetie," He grunts out playfully and signs his name as he forces your head down further and came down your throat.

Yandere Manager who only books you for enough gigs for you to justify staying with him. He makes you fuck him whenever he asks, and whenever you want an actual job, you have to do something more extreme to get it. A modeling gig? Yeah sure babe. You've just got to dress super slutty and let him take you in the middle of a crowded club.

Yandere Manager who rails you violently whenever he catches you trying to network. He bets you think you're so smart and clever for chatting up some pervy, old director to get a spot in a music video. Does he not give you enough? You don't need all that attention unless he's giving it to you. You don't even know how many people are gonna wanna bury themselves in that tight little hole of yours, how many people would take advantage of you. At least with him, you knew what you were getting.

You're fucked so thoroughly, and Yandere manager loves watching you stumble around after he's stuffed you full of cum. He's started making you wear plugs afterwards just so he can watch the discomfort on your face as he takes you out shopping or for meals.

Yandere manager starts to feel a bit fond of you in not just a carnal way. As much as he loves seeing your cute little asshole twitch and stretch around the toys he pushes in you, he also likes seeing you smile, hearing you laugh. He likes the way your eyes light up when he allows you to do a photo shoot. He starts liking the way you shudder and squeal when you orgasm, too.

He's not a sappy guy by any means. Really, he sucks. Even he knows that, but maybe now that you've got his initials tattooed on your plump, well spanked ass cheeks, he can start making you like him too.

He's gross, and he knows it. But he loves fucking you so much he can't find it in himself to care. I mean you're not going to get away when he's got you coming back to him with the promise of success that he's never ever gonna let you have. Not for the risk of his favorite, cute little fucktoy leaving him.

[nerdygirlramblings]

did someone say omega!soldier? here you go

previous

The next two hours are a complete whirlwind. You find yourself back in front of Adam, who has the most shit-eating grin, being officially and properly introduced. He holds out his wrist for you to scent, and as you finally tell him your name, you hold out your hand to him. Price passes him your transfer papers and tells Adam to pull together everything he needs to make sure the transfer goes through smoothly. He makes you sign releases for your service records, so your skills can be paired with those of the other 141. His smile freezes momentarily when he apologetically says, "You're going to have to re-qualify on your weapons and do another PT check."

Price cuts in and says, "I'll make sure we get that squared away, Adam. Ye'll have 'er new quals within a fortnight."

Adam also makes you release your medical records. "Need to know anything that would be necessary if you're injured on an operation and can't get to base medical."

You're pulled into a virtual standing meeting with Laswell who was apparently anticipating this and promises to pass this news up the chain of command on her end as well. Price also has you record a quick introduction for him to send along to Farrah and Ale, names that mean nothing to you yet, whom he says are members of other military units who often work closely with the 141 in certain areas of the world.

You're given a tour of the task force's barracks by a grinning Soap who tells you, "Noo tha' you're part 'a the team, you're welcome here whenever ye want."

You end the day walking with the 141 into the mess for supper. The conversations quiet when you walk in after Ghost with Gaz at your back. Hushes comments spreading from the tables nearest the door to further back in the room. It's not like half the base didn't see you with them yesterday, but there's something different now. Yesterday they met you there; walking in together, everyone knows a dynamic has changed.

As you pass by the alpha whose nose you broke, there's the scent of burning ozone wafting from the table, and you hear someone mutter "fuckin' slag."

Before you even register what's happened, you're overwhelmed by the acidic scent of burning rubber. Ghost leans over, grabs the offending soldier by the scruff of his neck, and slams him into the table top. You're standing close enough to hear Ghost when he growls in the other man's ear, "I ever hear ya fuckin' disrespectin' a member 'a my team again, I'll kill ya." Ghost then shoves the man back into his seat and glares around the now silent mess. "Eat," he commands, and heads get quickly buried back into meals, conversation ticking up to cover the oppressive anger still radiating off Ghost.

He stalks silently to a table in the back of the mess, the rest of the pack and you following in his wake. None of the others seem surprised or fazed by Ghost's behavior. You're a little disturbed, in part because you've never been on the receiving end of such protective behavior. Your omega, however, is preening over the alpha's display.

You're sat between Soap and Gaz again, but this time it's Price and Ghost who collect food for the table. You watch them head for the line, their eyes constantly scanning the room, pointing at little pockets of soldiers. You turn to ask Gaz what it means only to find him glaring at other tables, seemingly at random.

When Price and Ghost get back, you're quiet throughout the meal, trying to follow the conversation that clearly picks up threads of things you know nothing about. You perk up when Ghost rumbles your name. "Yer wi' me on the range tomorrow mornin'," he says. "Hear Adam needs new weapons quals." He glances at Price, who nods. "Gunna see wha' ya can do."

You blink at him for a moment. "Er, yes, sir. Er, half five, sir? Or does earlier work better?"

The pack shifts a little. Soap tilts his head quizzically while Ghost asks, "Wot? Why on earth would we be on the range so bloody early?"

You feel a ripple of shame work its way down your back. "Er, I usually go early. Before it gets too crowded." Now Price is looking at you, too. You can see he's trying to guess what you're not saying.

Ghost huffs, grasping things quicker than Price. "Ya mean, ya go before ya piss off alphas simply by being an omega wi' a good eye." You shrug in response, eyes on the table. "Fuck 'em if they can't handle 'ow good ya are." He looks at you, and you can feel his stare burn your cheek. When you can't take it anymore, you glance at him. He catches your eye and says, "Oh eight hundred, sharp, yeah? Ya show me if yer as good as Garrick keeps sayin'."

You swallow quickly, throat bobbing, as you reply, "Yessir. I'll be there."

next

series masterlist | main masterlist

[hyperprosexia]

cw: 18+ | omegaverse au; a/b/o dynamics; sexism; curvy/fat!reader (some physical descriptions); strangers to lovers/mates; eventual smut

pairing: omega!soap x fem!alpha!reader

part I

it all takes but one glance at you and johnny doesn't know left from right anymore.

pair that with the captain's introduction of you being his new personal assistant and the 141's secretary and being a bloody alpha and johnny's whole being is in a sudden frenzy.

a female alpha he's rarely met one in his life.

most females serving in the military are betas. female alpha's choose different careers due to the military being a male dominated field, and everyone knows that female and male alphas don't get along most of the time.

or it takes lots of work and, in some cases, lots of fights for dominance to balance out a pack order and the cycle repeats itself until someone is transferred or, in the rarest of cases, someone gets injured.

but you don't look like a typical alpha, certainly don't smell or behave like one.

you look comically tiny next to captain price, his packs alpha, his leader. you look tame, well-mannered, friendly and... warm... soft.

he can barely imagine you in some feral alpha rut, and oh there goes his heart skipping a beat that leaves him straightening his stance, rolling his broad shoulders.

and as a male omega, johnny knows the struggles; he knows how difficult it is to look a certain way, but present another.

he doesn't look like an omega, doesn't behave like one. never has.

johnny isn't dainty nor soft or small. he's not some darling docile omega that alphas go wild for. he's a large bloke, rugged and strong, and before people get a dulled whiff of his scent through his scent suppressants, they usually take him for an alpha or even a beta.

the alphas he's met have always given him an ick, left him feeling anxious, weak, and with the need to flee and rather find comfort in solitude or with other omegas he trusted, like his sisters.

johnny gets lost in his thoughts until the captain dismisses everyone from the briefing, and suddenly, he's left alone in the room while you sort out some papers at the front desk.

ever the social one, he decides to approach you directly, despite his past experiences with strange alphas.

"john mactavish," he says, holding out his gloved hand confidently, "but everyone 'round here just calls me soap."

and as you look up at him through your lashes, lips splitting into a bright smile, his knees nearly go weak.

you take his hand and shake it firmly as you give him your name personally and with the right pronunciation, not like price had butchered it previously.

"aye," he replies, eyes glinting mischievously as they drink in your supple curves underneath your neat office skirt and blouse combo.

"soap's your callsign, i take it?" you ask with a curious adorable tilt of your head as you release his hand, and goddammit, johnny hopes your scent will stick to the fabric of his gloves, so he can sniff it later while stroking his pathetic omega cock.

he licks his teeth. the buttons of your white blouse look bloody near ready to pop; the lace of your white bra faintly imprinting through the thin fabric. his instincts are buzzing to life despite suppressants, and it's taking him off guard in your presence.

and then you chuff with a chuckle. "you don't smell like soap. definitely not like the military-issued kind."

oh. so you're a playful one.

his broad back straightens. not even trying nor bothering to make him submit. you're giving him space, treating him like a normal person rather than his secondary gender. that's new.

and he fucking hates it.

are you not interested in him like that? it's his omega wailing inside him for the first time since his youth, when everything was still new and foreign, and his first heats almost made him go mad without a bloody alpha to soothe him.

"ah i " he gulps. struggles to come up with something witty as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, causing your scent to drift to his nostrils. he inhales deeply.

it's not intrusive or sharp like alphas usually smell to him, but his breath stutters in his lungs anyway. you smell like the wildflowers one can find in the highlands, saccharine, spicy licorice schnaps, and burnt bark mulch.

his omega whines inside him, wants him to submit, to be good for you, to make you see what he could be for you. don't you want to smell him, too?

"are you okay, sergeant?"

he blinks and his dark lashes flutter as he peers down at you. fucking hell, your voice your concern. it's making his chest feel tight. what the bloody fuck is happening?

"aye, ah'm jus' "

you reach for his right hand and bring it up to your face, and johnny doesn't pull back like he usually would.

"it's fine," you reassure him as your thumb pushes the fabric of his tac glove to the side, exposing his small scent gland there. a shiver runs down his spine.

"you're just tired, hm?"

he swallows down a whine, grits his teeth to keep it together before he nods slowly.

"guess so," he rasps, sounding like he's spent the past week in the desert. thirsty... needy. "been a few tough months." years, really.

you hum understandingly. "may i?"

he nods again. john mactavish, lost for words, a bloody rarity.

he wonders if you're just doing this because of your duty as an alpha to soothe some poor, pathetic omega like him, or because you truly want to get to know him. he'd certainly prefer to believe the latter.

and then his breath hitches when your nose brushes over his scent gland the one that shouldn't feel as sensitive as it does right now. you're scenting him, getting to know him, and he almost purrs. almost.

you're absolutely gorgeous. everything he ever secretly craved in an alpha, and he's suddenly so aware of how ugly he is compared to other omegas.

an ugly scottish bugger.

his omega thrashes inside him, whines and snarls in distress, and his hand clutched in your gentle grasp, balls into a fist when his scent sours and your nose wrinkles.

you pull back, gaze up at him in question, still holding on to his wrist, but johnny doesn't have an answer for your unspoken words.

"dinnae know what ye're doin' to me."

all he knows is that he wants to be yours.

》 continue