#whimsy!reader

[marauder-misprint]

hello hello tis me again, the regulus fanatic. im not aware if you saw my message yet but i ADORED your regulus fic and so i’ve prepared another if you’d like

get this, regulus x (once again, im obsessed) whimsy slytherin reader where she’s touchy and affectionate towards everyone especially close friends and one day regulus finally works up the nerve to ask her iut and shes just like ‘sure😃’ thinkings its just a normal day and reggies just acting weird

cut to like a week later when regulus leans in for a kiss and readers all like ‘WHOA😲’ cue awkward conversation about how they’ve been dating fir a week then readers rushes to tell everyone because she’s been pining for him for YEARS

sorry if thats a lot and have a wonderful wonderful morning evening and night!

Hello again! I had so much fun writing this! ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎Still getting used to whimsy!reader so I hope it's okay that reader is highkey a yapper. They are both pining in this and just, augh! Fluff.

My turn to yap: I had a similar situation to this when I was younger. Fully convinced I was dating this guy for a few weeks before finding out that he had a girlfriend and he thought we were just "hanging out" despite going to very date-like places.

This story is nothing like my experience - Thank you for this very cute request ❤︎

Mr. 'Allergic to touching'

Regulus Black x Whimsical!reader

4k words

cw: fluff, pining,

Personal space isn’t a concept you’re familiar with. Well, it is but you like being in everyone’s, especially those you are close friends with. You’ll lean over the backs of chairs and couches as your friends sit in them, often reading or occasionally doing homework. You are always holding hands with your friends as you walk to class together. When you are relaxing somewhere, you are either draped over someone’s lap or pulling them into yours. That is just the edge of it too. You greet everyone with a hug, even if you are meeting them for the first time. It is just how you are. And you are blissfully unaware of how it bugs some people. 

Regulus, however, isn’t one of those people. Everyone expects him to be with his cold demeanor, how he snaps at first years for being too loud, and the fact that he doesn’t tolerate that amount of touching from anyone else. There is something about your touch that makes Regulus feel warm and content. That’s why he doesn’t mind it, but he won’t tell anyone that. Barty and Evan would call him ‘soft’ if they heard that. It would be even worse if they knew how Regulus fully feels about you; they know that he’s friends with you and tolerates your touches, but that’s all they know. 

Still, the idea of having your gentle touches and words of affection to himself makes Regulus smile. It’s a vice, he tells himself. He’s supposed to keep a plain expression, to be indifferent toward frivolities of his peers and their petty drama. You have a knack for breaking his resolve, especially when it’s lap you’ve laid down in or his chair you’re leaning over to see what page he’s on in his book. 

“Oi, Regulus, you coming?” Barty calls from across the common room. 

“Yes,” he replies dryly from where he is sitting near the fireplace.

Your friends are going to the library in an attempt to study and actually get something done. A group of third years playing exploding snap in the common room wasn’t allowing any of them to focus. Dorcas had been the one to angrily slam her hands into her book and swear at the younger students, and then you suggested the library. At least Dorcas would be able to study there. Regulus assumes that he’ll end up sitting across from you, or next to you, and he won’t be able to focus. 

Regulus follows behind the group. You’re in the middle holding hands with Pandora. You have a floral print tote bag slung over your shoulder that likely has Pandora’s things in it as well. Maybe he’d be the one holding your hand and carrying the bag one day… And now he’s smiling. 

“Excited to write that essay for Slughorn or something?” Barty asks, falling into step with Regulus. 

The smile disappears as quickly as it appeared. “Because essence of dittany uses is such an interesting topic,” he says sarcastically. 

“You’re the one who was smiling, mate. Something made you crack.” 

“Remembered something funny. Merlin forbid…” Regulus gives Barty a sideways glance, hoping that his answer would satiate him. 

Barty just flexes his eyebrows and adjusts his stride to match Evan’s. Regulus doesn’t mind that the rest of the walk is silent for him. The rest of his friends, including you, take part in livelier conversations, but Regulus is content just listening in. 

Just as he predicted, you sit down next to Regulus in the library. You place a hand on his arm.

“Could you help me with this Charms assignment? Unless you’re doing Potions with Junior?” you ask. 

He had already finished that assignment, but it is you asking. How could he say no to you?

“It’d be my pleasure. Have you started it?” 

You shake your head.

“Alright. That’s no problem. Let’s get the books you need.”

He stands up and you follow him into the shelves. You hum to yourself as he selects a few books. You like how easily he finds everything in the library and that he just knows which books you’ll need for the assignment. He doesn’t hold them out for you to carry. You see it as a polite gesture. Regulus is just nice like that. 

Back at the table, Dorcas is working earnestly on her homework. Evan, Barty and Pandora are having a hushed discussion that gets even quieter as you and Regulus retake your seats. Regulus starts flipping through the books to find the pages you’d need to reference. You watch him for a minute before realizing that you should be taking the assignment out. 

Once you look ready, Regulus moves one of the books right in front of you and explains which part of the assignment the passage relates to. Instinctively, you scoot your chair impossibly closer to his. Regulus tenses slightly; being so close to you will certainly make focusing on your assignment. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. You don’t notice. You’re too focused on trying to understand the point of a knitting charm. 

“But I can knit. I enjoy knitting. Why would I bother learning a charm to do it for me?” you ask in a defeated voice. 

“Well, what if I needed something knitted? I don’t know how to knit,” Regulus says in a fairly quiet voice, being that you are in the library. 

You tilt your head slightly and rest your chin on your hand. “I could knit it for you. I’m quite good. Remember that shirt I knitted for Cas’ girlfriend?” 

You casually leave out that you charged Dorcas for the shirt. You wouldn’t charge Regulus. If he needed something, you’d be more than willing to make it for him. 

“Then it’s for all the poor sods who don’t know the same wonderful people I do,” he says before realizing that he’s just called you wonderful. Outloud. To your face. 

His face burns in embarrassment.

“Oh, you’re so sweet!” you coo, hugging Regulus and being completely oblivious to the red shade of his face. Then you school your own emotions and turn back to your assignment. “Right, poor sods who are lonely and friendless.” 

Regulus puts all of his attention on the assignment. He needs to ignore the way his body still feels your warmth minutes after you let him go. 

“Right, ‘m bored. Kitchens?” Barty announces after some time. 

Pandora and Evan agree immediately and stand up. Dorcas waves them off, still working on her homework. The three don’t even wait for you or Regulus to respond. You both had your heads down, exchanging whispers about your assignment. Regulus is trying not to think about how close you are, and you’re grateful that Regulus is being so patient with you. 

After a while, Dorcas excuses herself and says she’ll see you back in the common room. It’s just you and Regulus now. You’ve almost finished your assignment. You’re tired of it, if you’re being honest. You would have given up a while ago if it was anyone else helping you, but it’s Regulus so you’re trying your best to stay focused. 

“And you’re done!” Regulus says with a small smile. “You did it.”

“Thanks to you,” you tell him. “I would’ve turned in a half-finished assignment.”

“Do you do that often?” 

You shrug. “When the assignment is stupid and pointless.”

Regulus chuckles softly as he stands up to put the books back. He wasn’t expecting you to follow him into the shelves but you did. You don’t say anything, rather humming to yourself again and watching Regulus. You like the way he carries himself and he’s just pretty in general so who wouldn’t want to watch him? Once your things are packed up from the table, you walk back to the common. In your usual fashion, you’re holding onto Regulus’ arm, which means you’ve unintentionally disabled his ability to think clearly.

“Sorry you didn’t get to work on your Potions essay,” you say.

“Don’t be. I wouldn’t have made much progress on it anyway.”

“You know, I find dittany to be quite pretty. Wish it grew naturally around here. My mum grows them at home, a large section of our garden actually. It’d actually be helpful if our dorms weren’t in the dungeons. Then I could grow it in our dorms. I’m sure Pandora agrees with me,” you ramble and you keep going. 

Regulus can’t help his smile as he listens to you. He fully meant what he told Barty earlier; he didn’t find dittany, nor its essence, all that interesting. Your appreciation for the plant? He’d be willing to write down every word that was coming out of your mouth. Before you start to descend down the final staircase before the common room, Regulus puts a hand on yours where it's holding onto his arm. His gut is telling him it’s now or never. 

“Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?” he asks, his voice steady but stomach flipping with nerves. 

“Of course! If the weather’s anything like last weekend, it’s going to be beautiful out. Although, I wouldn’t mind if it was a tad less windy.”

“It was windy last weekend, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” 

You give his arm a little squeeze before you head down the stairs and into the common room. Once in the common room though, you spot Pandora and Dorcas and rush over to them. Regulus doesn’t mind your sudden departure. The warmth of you on his arm not only lingers, but the fact that you agreed to go on a date with him? He could catch a snitch without his broom. His smile doesn’t falter as he strolls through the common room and disappears into his dorm. 

“Oi, you’re smiling again,” Barty says when Regulus sits down at his desk with the intent to work on that stupid Potions essay. 

“Smiling illegal now?” he deadpans. 

“No… but it’s weird when you do it. You’re not a smiler.” 

Regulus doesn’t answer, but he knows what Barty means. He can’t help it though. You agreed to go on a date with him.

---

You meet Regulus at breakfast on Saturday, dressed nicely and casually at the same time. Regulus outdressed you easily, but that was to be expected. Even his most casual outfits tended to be more formal and expensive. He is a Black, afterall. 

Regulus did eventually tell Barty about the date. After some teasing in their dorm, Regulus managed to convince him to not make a big deal about it. If it didn’t go well, Regulus didn’t want everyone knowing about it. He fully hopes it’ll go well, but given the chance it doesn’t, he wants to be able to move past it without any issues. 

You grab Regulus’ hand when you leave for Hogsmeade. Holding his hand rather than his arm makes Regulus’ heart pound in his chest – oh, the effects you have on him. 

“Do you need to go into Spintwitches? Didn’t you say you were running low on broom polish?” you ask.

Regulus stares at you for a moment before nodding. He barely remembers having said that sometime this week, before he even asked you out. He appreciates that you actually pay attention to what he says more than he can express.

“Okay, so we’ll go there and then, if you don’t mind, can we walk around Tomes and Scrolls? I’ve been talking to the owner about expanding his stock on Divination products and I want to see if he’s got anything in yet.”

“Erm, yeah. Anywhere you want to go, darling.” 

Even though you’re on a date and holding hands, Regulus’ face still heats up when he realizes he let a pet name slip. He silently thanks the fates that Barty and Evan didn’t “just happen” to tag along today; if they had heard him call you that, Regulus would never hear the end of it. While you notice him looking away from you, to hide the blush, you don’t think much of it. It’s just an odd quirk that he’s been doing around you more and more. 

Regulus tries to not take too much time in Spintwitches. He only ever uses one brand of polish, but since he’s buying it, he has to mentally debate if he needs more rags or a sharpener for his tail-twig clippers. He decides against both. The whole time in the store, you held onto his hand until he needed it to get out his money to pay. 

You swing his arm a little bit as you head to Tomes and Scrolls. As soon as you step into the shop, you pull Regulus toward a “New!” stand. Regulus feels apprehensive as he eyes the stand. It has more mainstream Divination books, but also ones that are more focused on crystal energies and aura readings. Regulus has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from scoffing at a “Nargle Repellant Kit.” He is fairly certain that nargles don’t exist. You scan the whole stand, even dropping Regulus’ hand for the second time so you could crouch to see the lower items.

“This is brilliant!” you exclaim, pulling out a book with depictions of constellations and crystals on its cover. “Dora will be thrilled when I show her this!”

You almost make a comment about how you’re surprised that she didn’t come today. It’s rarely ever just you and Regulus. You like that it is, but the point still stands. It’s not common. 

You grab two more books and head to the register. When the owner tells you the cost, you go to grab your money, but before you can even open your coin purse, Regulus has placed the correct amount on the counter. 

“Oh, I could’ve gotten that,” you say, a bit shocked.

“It’s my treat.”

“Then thank you, kind sir.”

Regulus gives you a soft smile and takes the bagged books from the owner. It wasn’t your tote of school supplies, but it was close enough – Regulus would carry it until you returned to the common room. 

“Anywhere else you want to go or should we go for butterbeers?” Regulus asks. 

“Hmmm…” you hum, taking Regulus’ hand again and giving it a squeeze. “Butterbeers. And then Honeydukes before we go back to the castle. I will eat all my Bertie Beans in the Three Broomsticks if we stop at Honeydukes first.”

Regulus chuckles. “That I know. Nothing like butterbeer to wash down the delightful flavor of earwax.”

You giggle and squeeze his hand again. The Three Broomsticks is busy, which isn’t surprising in any way. You find a booth for the two of you and a small wave of guilt falls over you. It feels wrong to take up an entire booth with just two of you. You make a mental note to invite any of your friends over if you see them. 

“Tell me, how did you get Mr. Brown to order these books?” Regulus asks, patting the Tomes and Scrolls bag next to him.

“It was so difficult. But really, I think Dora and I just wore him down. You know, asking and asking for these type of books and telling him it’s vital to our education. Little bit of forgery…”

“Forgery?” Regulus repeats.

“Well, he wanted a note from Professor Dawntry saying that they were necessary, or beneficial at least. And do you think she’d write that? No. So… we took it upon ourselves to write it. It’s all thanks to Junior for forging her signature. I think that really sold it to Mr. Brown.”

Regulus smirks. “And what if he ever talks to Dawntry in person? Asks her about the books that she’s endorsed?” 

“I already purchased the books, silly,” you say with an affectionate eye roll. “You purchased the books technically. But what’s he going to do? Force me to return them?”

“I suppose business is business.”

“Exactly! And it’s not like I’m requesting books on the Dark Arts.”

Then you start to explain the more intricate details about this particular branch of Divination that you’re looking into and how the Hogwarts library only has so many books on it. You’ve even read the books on it that are in the Restricted Section with real notes from Professor Dawntry. 

“That’s where we got the signature for Junior to copy,” you say.

Regulus nods and you continue. He’s more than fascinated while listening to you ramble. He hopes his staring is more ‘attentive listener’ than ‘creepy stalker’ or ‘you have something on your face.’ 

You’re pleased that Regulus doesn’t look bored with you right now. You’ve talked about this subject in the past to a variety of people and most of them give you skeptical looks and try to change the subject. And then there are the few who look more bored than the average student in Professor Binns’ class. Regulus is just attentive and it fuels the butterflies in your stomach. 

After a few butterbeers, Regulus hands Madam Rosmerta a few galleons before you head over to Honeydukes.

“I can pay you back for that,” you say, once again reaching for your coin purse before Regulus puts his hand on your arm.

“Don’t. Told you, it’s my treat.”

“What? The whole day? Reg, you already got my books!”

“I invited you, darling. Today’s on me.” 

A faint blush dusts your cheeks. “Damn, you should invite me to Hogsmeade more often.”

That’s the plan, Regulus thinks. He feels it would’ve been too forward, too flirty to say out loud, but it is the plan. If today continues to go well, he plans on being your Hogsmeade date quite often and being your date to the Yule Ball and asking you to wear his extra jersey to quidditch games and being your study buddy and… He is getting ahead of himself. He needs to finish the first date strong before he can plan out the rest of your relationship. 

You don’t take long in Honeydukes. Both of you know exactly which sweets you want and where they are. Having stopped there every visit since you started going to Hogsmeade in third year, it’s a well rehearsed visit. Once more, Regulus pays for your things. You don’t protest at all this time, knowing that he’ll insist that it’s his treat. It’s a tad bizarre the longer you think about it; you don’t recall him paying for anyone else that often. Usually when the whole group goes to the Three Broomsticks, everyone throws a galleon or a few sickles on the table before you leave, based on how much each drinks or if someone ordered food. Your solution? Just don’t think about it. He’s being nice and you don’t complain when someone is being extra nice to you. Definitely not when it’s Regulus. 

On the way back to the castle, you tell Regulus about the games you used to play with cousins using Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. Some of the games you’ve played at Hogwarts through the years, but your cousins have their own rules and methods of telling the flavors apart. Regulus tells you about the Chocolate Eternals that Sirius would sneak him when they were younger.

“He’d have to remind me not to chew them every time. Mum’s only given me enough to get two so we each get one. They don’t melt. Make it last.” 

You give him a slightly pitiful look. “I guess sweets weren’t too common growing up?” 

“No. Mother believes they are for special occasions and even then, they are limited… Come to think of it, I’m not sure Mother actually gave Sirius the money for the chocolates. He probably nicked it from her purse.” 

Regulus chuckles at the idea and you’re glad the conversation returns to its previous light-hearted nature. Regulus is able to keep his unspoken promise to carry your things all the way back to the common room. 

“Thanks for everything, Reg,” you say, giving Regulus a hug before taking your things back to your dorm. 

Regulus smiles to himself as he heads back to his. He feels proud of himself. He had a great first date with you and you seemed to enjoy yourself. 

---

Regulus starts placing himself next to you as much as he can. Or, at least, that’s what it feels like. You’re not complaining by any means. It’s nice and you like it. It’s just different. But you do notice that he’s becoming more relaxed around you, more himself. There have even been a few times where it’s just the two of you and you fall into easy conversation. 

After dinner on Friday evening, you sit next to Regulus on the plush couch in the common room. He’s got out the Transfiguration textbook, clearly doing the assigned reading. You have no intention of doing so. Regulus becomes less stiff as you sit down. It’s a miniscule change but you notice it. You scooch closer to Regulus and he moves his arm around you, holding you closer into his side. 

Pandora and Barty, having witnessed this, exchange curious glances. Regulus had told Barty that the date went well and he just assumed you were on the same page, that you are now dating. You had told Pandora about Regulus buying and how sweet he was the entire time, followed with a desperate ‘Do you think he might like me?’ Both Pandora and Barty had never seen Regulus put his arm around someone like that and he definitely never pulled someone in closer to him. His apparent tolerance of touches applying to only you was one thing; this was a whole new level. 

“You smell good,” you mutter into his chest. 

“Hm, thank you,” Regulus says quietly. 

Then he musters all his courage and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Your eyes go wide and you sit up, staring at him. Pandora and Barty have similar looks of surprise on their faces. Their quiet and previously boring evening in the common room just got interesting. 

“You… just… You kissed…” you stutter out.

You’re unable to actually finish your thought. You aren’t completely oblivious. You know that Regulus doesn’t give affection. 

“Erm, is that okay?” he asks, suddenly looking bashful and unsure of himself. 

“You don’t… You don’t… do that?” you say, sounding very, very unsure of what just happened. 

He wets his lips nervously. “I thought it’d be okay, with you, you know, since we’re dating?” 

You sit up even straighter. 

“We are?” you gasp. 

Regulus’ face burns bright red and out of the corner of your eye, you can see Barty trying not to fall out of his chair with suppressed laughter. 

“Since when?” you add. 

“Last week? I asked you on a date and it went well? At least, I thought it went well… I had a good time. Did you not?” 

You gasp louder and throw yourself at Regulus, burying him in a hug. 

“Merlin, I didn’t realize! No, it did go well!” You pull back from him with the widest grin he has ever seen. “You like me?” 

Regulus adjusts himself next to you, turning slightly to be more facing you. So apparently you weren’t on the same page about everything, but you seemed open to it.

“He doesn’t go around kissing everyone, sweetheart,” Barty chimes in, earning himself a glare from Regulus.

“Is that why you paid for everything? Because it was a date?” you ask Regulus.

He nods and you pull him into another hug. 

“So we’re dating,” you say.

“If that’s okay with you?” Regulus says, still sounding unsure of himself.

You pull back again and this time it’s you nodding. Then you get off the couch and practically jump onto Pandora’s lap.

“Did you hear, Dora? I’m dating Regulus!” you say happily. “Oh, I need to find Dorcas! She needs to know!”

And you are bounding away in search of your friend. You don’t hesitate to tell everyone that you pass that you’re dating Regulus Black, yes, the Regulus Black. You can’t help it – you’re just so excited that this yearslong crush has manifested into something real.

“About time too,” Pandora says once you’ve disappeared up the stairs toward the girls’ dormitories. “She’s been smitten with you for years.”

“I’d say you’re perfect for each other. Mr. ‘Allergic to touching’ and Ms. ‘Always touching,’” Barty adds. 

Regulus throws a pillow at Barty, which sends him into a cackling fit. Barty knows that Regulus must really like you to let him get away with that comment. After all, Regulus could’ve thrown his Transfiguration book at him. 

Tags: @navs-bhat

[saidinpassing]

pocketful of sunshine, s. reid

`✦ ִֶˑ ִֶ𓂃⊹જ⁀➴

in which, spencer valiantly defends your honor. as best as he can, at least. it's cute, i promise.

`✦ ִֶˑ ִֶ𓂃⊹જ⁀➴

trope: whimsy!reader x spencer, coworkers/friends

warnings: no smut, fluff, comfort, honorable mention of spencer's hands, defensive spencer, asshole cop wc: 2.34k

summary: The BAU cases are always dark, but you're like a little pocket of wonder in the chaos — always carrying odd little trinkets for good luck, quoting poetry at random, and doodling stars in the margins of case files. Spencer tries to act unaffected, but he starts picking up the habits too: absentmindedly quoting literature back, carrying a lucky coin you gave him, and smiling when he sees your sketches. Of course, being a glowing pillar of light in most rooms has its downs.

`✦ ִֶˑ ִֶ𓂃⊹જ⁀➴

You like the concept of tarot cards. It gives you a good sense of control, of stability in a job that tends to try and make things tumble out of their place, a way to have hopes for destiny. If you believe in that sort of sentiment. It stops the books from flying off the shelf. The awakening engine of the jet snaps you out of your thoughts as you raise your attention from the tarot cards sitting untouched in your palm. It's only a bit jarring, as always; planes startle you a bit. Emily sits across from you, book in hand, although you can tell she's not reading it. She's already falling asleep, the absent hum in the background serving as white noise for her napping. You flip through the tarot cards, brow furrowed in concentration as you turn three of the top ones over. The Lovers, the Fool, and The Hermit. The Fool's upside down. Hopefully that's not a bad thing. You slip the cards back into their respective places in the deck and pop up to get a coffee, careful not to bump Emily as you shuffle down the aisle. It's getting humid outside--condensation creeping up on the windows and clinging for dear life--you don't doubt it'll start raining soon.You're just about to pour your steaming hot black coffee when Spencer materializes behind you, and you almost spill all of it on yourself. "Crap! Spencer, what're you doing?"

He smiles apologetically, sheepishly. "Sorry, I--um, I was just wondering if we had any sugar." He holds up his own coffee mug, a black one with a cat on the front.

You sigh, handing him the mini sugar packet. "Don't apologise, some people just tread lightly. Scarily so, apparently." You smile back reassuringly. He nods, not moving away as you stir your coffee. You can feel his eyes on the back of your head. "So..." Oh, no, I've said the dreaded conversation opener. Don't panic, your charm will save you. If I even have any. He watches you intently, taking a sip from his coffee. He looks just about as if he'll hang onto your every word. It's making you nervous, and maybe it's making your face hot too, but you hope the lights are dim enough for it to be unnoticeable.

"What're the details of the case?" You finish up the coffee combo, turning so you're leaned against the back of the wooden counter.

He jumps into action, the awkwardness easing up as he shares details. "Looks like a 30-year old female victim, 27 year old male, about 23 stab wounds to the chest, arms and abdomen."

"Wow. That sounds...angry. Rage induced, I mean." You correct yourself, wincing mentally at the wording. You're smart, really smart, you just tend to forget technological terms in front of him.

"It looks like it." He hums as you both head back to the seats, sinking down across from one another in the leather. "The MO wasn't vehemently consistent, except for one thing." He pauses for dramatic effect. You nod, prompting him to go on as you cup your coffee mug in your hands.

"Crows."

You blink, tilting your head inquisitively. "...crows?" He nods rapidly. "Yeah, crows, carved in by the stabbing. As far as I've deduced, it matches up with an old poem about the meanings of amounts of crows. One for sorrow, one for birth, and so on.""Huh." Shuffling the tarot cards, you cross your legs. "So our unsub's intelligent. Maybe he thinks of himself like a poet?"

Spencer's shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. "It's too early to tell. It's a message, that's for sure." That sentence catches you a little off guard. Usually Spencer's determined to figure things out, determined to do everything he can to work out a puzzle as baffling as this one. But for some reason, he's quieter. More sullen, in a way.

You're not one for frowning, but one crosses your features anyways. "You okay?" He looks as if he's been caught, raising his brows and making a soft, dismissive noise. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just haven't slept too much."

Of course he'd say that. You're still worried, but nonetheless exhausted from the day. It's always a good idea to catch a nap on the jet.

"You should just sleep through the flight. We both should, catch some Z's."

That wording just about makes you pinch yourself in frustration. You keep saying stupid things around him, and you're still not sure why to this day. All you know is that it annoys you severely. As you both drift off into a half-awake half-asleep state, you're too delirious to note the almost frivolous, unnoticeable detail of Spencer holding your lucky coin between his fingers as you fall asleep.

`✦ ִֶˑ ִֶ𓂃⊹જ⁀➴ When the jet hits Georgia, it apparently wants to hit you too. You're woken from the peaceful slumber by the turbulence, disoriented and bleary as you peek out the window. God, it's sunny. Too sunny for sensitive morning eyes. Nonetheless, a sense of your usual hope fills you as you peek out the window, think of a short sacrament to the sun and let her continue her slow burning of the Earth.

Spencer wakes up across from you as well, his expression adorably confused as he blinks. You observe. Wonder how his under eyes always stay the same hue of dark grey, then you go back to pedantically staring out the window. Apparently you two (with the exception of Hotch--does he ever sleep?) are early birds. The team's still dozing. Your eyes wander back over to him eventually, spotting the coin in his hand. "Hey, you kept it." He tucks his hair back behind his ear then smiles, just a little. "Oh. Yeah, I did. I don't usually believe in luck, but it's kept me safe so far." The words make something grossly warm and sticky build up in your chest and you snort, putting on your best 'newsperson' voice. "Rare sighting. A man of science carries a lucky coin." Spencer laughs. God, that's a pleasant sound. It's about just as sweet as he takes his coffee. There's a comfortable silence for a little period of time, just the two of you sitting there. Unsure of what to do or say. As you sit there, you end up watching the movement of his fingers around the coin. Flip. Flip again. You've always been somewhat aware of his dexterity, but just silently watching him now brings heat to your face. Nimble fingers, neat fingernails and ridges between his knuckles that you just want to trace with your own touch. Of course, said silence is eventually broken by Garcia's chirping tone. "Good morning, good morning, my loves, I am souped up on five coffees and feeling amazing." There's a collective groan between JJ and Morgan. Derek rubs his forehead, sitting up from the visually uncomfortable-looking position he'd taken on the couch as they start to land. "Babygirl, there are better ways to wake us up than singing in our ears." "Derek Morgan, if we were alone right now, I can assure you I'd be waking you up differently." Garcia jokes in her usual sultry tone, their casual friendly flirting making both you and Spencer roll your eyes. It's another three minutes before the others come to, and another five before they've drunk enough coffee for them to be able to profile efficiently. The little TV lights up with Garcia's face again, and she smiles. "I return, bearing less of a zapped, coffee-fuelled mind. Let's get into it." After you all go over the details of the case, discussing patterns in the signature and the whole crow thing Spencer mentioned before, you get off the jet with your go-bags. "It's bright." Is the first thing you can muster, cupping your hand above your eyes to avoid the harsh glare of the sun.

"Really bright." Reid adds on, frowns on both your faces. You get a little pouch out of your bag, picking out the gem of the day. Alexandrite. Brings balance, and luck. Also, it's pretty. The greeny-purple hues glimmer a bit in the sunlight as you turn it over.

"Let's get moving." Hotch says firmly, the rest of the team tagging behind albeit in a fatigued manner. It's going to be a long drive. `✦ ִֶˑ ִֶ𓂃⊹જ⁀➴ The station is quiet, it's the first thing you notice. Except for the papers rustling about, the typing, and scattered talking, it's not as busy as you'd expect it to be in a place that's currently rampant with serial killings. Spencer looks mildly horrified at the state of some of the officer's desks. "Do they not sanitize? There are at least over 10 million bacteria on a standard office desk." "Spence, I don't even think they sanitize their hands." You comment, noting the intern in the corner eating his takeout and typing. The expression on the genius' face after seeing it is comical. You almost want to laugh, but you're reminded it genuinely disturbs him, so you're just left giving him a brief, reassuring shoulder pat.

Ah, yes, the shoulder pat. The one form of human bodily communication cue your hand just itches to choose in pretty much any conversation. It's a problem, frankly. He doesn't seem to mind too much, anyways. Your hand drops from the fabric of his cardigan as you enter the tiny briefing room they have set up. It's a little more accommodating; a nicer table. "Okay, what do we know?" Hotch crosses his arms, letting the team file things away in their heads. You squint and focus on every aspect of the photos propped up on the board, your mind sharpening. Crows. Your thoughts fall down that rabbit-hole again, the interest peaking a bit. On this particular body, there are six. Six for gold. You can't understand the sentiments of the act at the moment, or at least, not the connections that the unsub was thinking of when he carved specifically six. If that was the intention, that is. "The MO isn't consistent with that of an organized killer but he's still careful enough not to leave behind DNA or anything obvious. Just obvious things on the bodies." Spencer pipes up, explaining his crow theory to the group a little excitedly. It's cute to watch from a different perspective.

A burly man--who you assume is the higher-up here--approaches Hotch with a firm handshake and a nod. A very, very quick moment passes between the two. A silent sharing of thoughts, if you will, and you just notice it before it's gone as if it was never there at all. Then introductions, and when Hotchner gets to you, the old man looks a bit...baffled? Maybe the better term is nonplussed. Flummoxed. Either way, he's looking at you like you're a different species. Your way of dressing, the trinkets and odd bits n' bobs pinned to your pants. It's not like you're unused to this sort of reaction. He's just sort of...pushing it. Making a hyperbole out of something that's not even a sentence at all. Then again, he seems like the type of guy to get annoyed with someone for licking an envelope wrong, so you just give him a blank stare back. "You're a bit...unorthodox." The officer raises a brow. You squint, unsure of how to reply. You're usually loquacious, but when it comes to backhanded insults you sort of just...shut up. The team seems stumped as well, but not pleased either way. "She's a valuable asset to the team." Hotch says stoically, tone flat. You just stand there. You're sick of this. Not the comments, but the wasting time. What if someone else is being murdered right now? And this station is what, sitting around eating Thai food and waiting for a saint to show up and fix their problems? It doesn't work like that, not in your head. The officer seems to like talking. "Well, I know, she probably is, but does the FBI really let its agents dress like that?" He makes a gesture to you with his hand. You eventually take a brief look over at Spencer, and it puts you into a state of momentary shock when you see he's bristling, jaw wound tight and frown creasing his brow. "She's good at her job, how she dresses isn't relevant, I think you'll find." The usually socially aversive doctor doesn't hesitate to shut down the chief's observations, brushing past him so he can get to the pin board. "I think we should review the crime scene instead of talking about things that aren't important at all." You raise both eyebrows. Okay, this is weird. Spencer's still going over the board, but it's obvious enough that he's not pleased. His mind is racing about two million miles a second as he tries to take his mind off that idiot who thought it'd be okay to try put you down, even mildly. Eventually when things have calmed down a bit, you sidle up next to him, peeking up at the board and pointing out a few small things. He lets out a huff of air, relaxing a bit at your presence. More pointing, then two or three infodumps later, he turns to you. "Are you alright?" He peers into your eyes with his own brown ones. They're like actual melted chocolate, so inviting and addicting. Like little chestnut pools of dopamine. You snap out of it so you can answer his question. "Oh, right. I'm fine. Little peeved, but fine." His brow furrows further as he observes, analysing your micro-expressions to judge whether you're actually okay or not. "You're sure?" You nod gently, leaning against the round wooden table propped in the middle of the room. "I'm sure, I'm fine." His hand hesitantly, very, very, hesitantly touches yours, another smile on his face, this one more embarrassed and trying to gauge your reaction so he'd doesn't mess up. "I need just one more confirmation to be sure. Think of it like a three-step verification, in a way." You sigh, little, pleasant pins and needles flickering up your arm in the form of goosebumps when he touches you. "I'm fine. There's number three." You take his lucky coin out of his pocket and hold it in front of him, your fingers intertwining with his in your free hand. "And, this can count as a number four." You're not sure what you mean or whether it makes sense, but Spencer can take that up with the universe later. "Sounds good to me." `✦ ִֶˑ ִֶ𓂃⊹જ⁀➴ a/n: PLEASE DONT HARRASS ME I WROTE THIS AT 1AM ON MY PERIOD WITH NO RELIEF I KNOW IT MIGHT NOT BE GOOD

`✦ ִֶˑ ִֶ𓂃⊹જ⁀➴

[lovlidollie]

i love whimsy!reader soso much… i was wondering if rafe joins in on making tea blends or perfumes w her or jus hovers over her making sure she doesnt make a mess? also i would love to read whimsey!reader making him some sort of cologne unprompted nd his reaction cause we all know this boy is feining for some attention and praise….

hello lovely nonnie thank u so much for this !!! not proofread so pls ignore typos c:

i think in the beginning he’d try to, kind of like it being his way of wooing her or impressing her. whimsy would think it’s just sooo sweet that he’s willing to do something that she loves so much, and would just give him free rein to do whatever he wants. the issue arises when it becomes glaringly obvious that he’s actually shit at choosing notes and complementary scents. his candles end up smelling like bog water and the mini perfumes he make seem to evaporate before they’re even on skin.

i think there’d be a similar issue with tea, starting with the fact that this man simply does not drink tea in the first place. i feel like he’s more of a coffee guy as it is, so green/black tea just never sounded appetising. HOWEVER. i think he falls in love with whimsy’s chai. like it’s got that milky element that he likes, it’s got the caffiene, and it just tastes that fucking good. his favourite would be her version of kashmiri chai; the little boy in him feels emasculated over ever enjoying a pink drink, but his tastebuds win him over everytime he takes a sip.

now whenever she is actively making her lil potions, rafe hovers. he’s a hover-er. he watches everything like a hawk; making sure her hands don’t get too close to any open flames, moving any jars she’d precariously left near the corners of her table. he’d always be reminding her to wear her gloves and apron and has that ‘disappointed dad’ expression whenever she accidentally burns herself whilst making candles. with the perfumes, he can’t stand to be in the room for too long, all the fumes and smells giving him a headache. he’s always asking whimsy how she can even survive in there, then realises he needs to start taking her out for fresh air whenever she becomes too absorbed; he wonders if the gases have had some sort of effect on her.. bc it would for one explain her ‘weirdness’.

he’s very good at collecting all her dried flowers though ^_^ i think his favourite thing to do is bag all the rose petals and organise her drawer of tea blends. he’d surprise her with expensive tea plants that he’d especially gotten imported just for her </3

if she were to gift him with a cologne out of nowhere, he’d literally be speechless. so that’s why he wasn’t allowed in her studio (he was like a lost puppy just sitting outside her door begging to be let in). she’d be like “just wanted to give my sun a little stardust. i tried to make it smell like things that remind me of you.” it’s literally the most thoughtful gift anyone’s ever gotten him, and his heart stutters painfully when she reveals it’s called ‘ray.’ a perfume for him, under her nickname for him. (you just know she got it good that night….)

you can bet your ass he’s going around shoving it under everyone’s noses. “look what m’girl made me. yeah, she’s reaaal talented, she’s uh — she’s good at what she does. n-no. no, she doesn’t take requests, the fuck…”

[overflowingteacupoflove]

"Am I weird?"

"Yeah. but so what everybody's weird." Whimsy!reader x fratboy!chris NNN Day 2!

You're a pretty confident girl. You're sure of yourself and dont care what others think because you know what you like and who you are, doesnt matter what any other insecure people think.

But you're only human and in this world other humans are mean to people they find threats, even if that threat is just a self-assured, confident, whimsy lady.

You have hobbies that other people would consider weird, but you never care. Why would you?

you're swinging from your silk rope, more of a curtain, twisted and tangled in it as you practice your aerobatics- Chris on his phone sitting silently in a corner.

This is the routine between you and your boyfriend. After both of your classes are done Chris drives you to the gymnastics and aerobatics place you practice at and then he sits in the corner until your done. Then you and him drive around the town-maybe smoke a joint on the occasion- although you don't do it much. You tell Chris that it "messes with my aura! makes it all dingy."

And normally its silent.

But today you had been talking to one of your friends about a new crystal shop that opened up and how you need to get some more crystals. Two sorority girls walked by you two and laughed about it saying something along the lines of "She's so weird. I don't know why Chris dates her." And although you pretended you didn't care it really hurt your feelings. So now your aura is really dingy- and not from weed.

"Hey, Chris?" You spin down from your silk ropes and land softly on your feet. Untangling yourself from the ropes and then walking over to sit down on the floor by Chris's chair.

"Yeah, little lady?" He asks and looks up for a second from his phone. "You ready to go home?" He checks the time and its maybe 30 minutes before the time you usually like to leave at. He's not surprised when you shake your head.

"Just had a question." You pick at your nails and dont meet Chris's eyes even though they hold a shit load of concern. You seem sad, or dingy as you like to say, and it's scaring him.

"M'all ears." And he really was. Turned off his phone, set it to the side, and everything.

"Do you think I'm weird?"

You're question caught him off guard, because what would make you think that? But in Chris fashion he answers "Hell yeah I do. But, so what? Everybody's weird." He shrugs. "In their own ways. You're just more out there with your weirdness. It's why I like you."

He flashes you you're favorite lopsided grin when you finally look up. You cant help but smile back and lean your head on the side of his thigh for a second. He rests his hand on top of your head, and you sigh softly. "Okay." You finally answer in a soft voice. "Yeah?" Chris tilts his head, hat tilting to the side, almost falling off.

"Yeah." You mumble and bounce back up to go hook your legs over the ring you practice on, Chris gets up too, to pull the rope that suspends the ring so you can practice.

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

a pr3ttyf4wn scroll !

[lovlidollie]

whimsy!reader lwk ..

do you want to hunt me for sport later

[nanamiskentos]

★ 🐚 🫧 GONNA' MATCH MY FREAK? jujutsu kaisen. 呪術廻戦.

prologue ⋆ ★ getting down and nasty with some fine men? yes, please.

pairings ⋆ ★ sukuna, toji, geto, hajime, choso, gojo genre tags & warnings ⋆ ★ afab/she+her!reader, making it fít, trueform!sukuna, against a wall, créampíe, bréeding, ríding, temple séx, mild mention of smoking (geto), unintentional public séx, óral (f), inappropriate use of jujutsu (electricity), backshóts, mentions of voyéurísm

word count ⋆ ★ 5.1k a/n ⋆ ★ going thru it 😝 was gonna add noritoshi kamo because he's my #bias #ult but i wasn't sure how to write him yet...

RYOMEN SUKUNA ៹ the king of curses

"now yer' just being stubborn," the blush-haired demon is grousing, dark nails clawing at the bare juncture of your hip, as though he's trying not to let his gaze leer downwards. to linger where your bare cunt is straddling over both his tattooed cocks. hefty, and weighty against the meat of your thigh.

"i can take them, 'kuna, know i can," and it's got sukuna sighing at your stubborn nature, as though he's not already being plagued by the most delightful visions of you swaying those delightfuls hips as both his tips swab at your entrance. oouh, tempting, tempting indeed.

you're already getting ahead of yourself, positioning your leaking folds over the first cock, the one stacked on top of the other, letting the fat tip snag at your gummy walls, and fuck, sukuna genuinely fears he may just be in love when you give him those insufferable, pleading doe eyes, "can y'help me fit them in, 'kuna?"

oh, can he ever. sukuna's ducking his face into the crook of your neck, nipping at the shell of your ear, so you can't see the warm flush painting his cheeks, hands heavy on your waist as he gently props you up, two arms wrapped in coils around your torso, and two softly positioned underneath your shaking thighs.

slowly, carefully, lowering you down. angling you just right, so your cunt eagerly begins to swallow him up. slick already drooling and painting treacly strands over his cock, trickling down to the base of thick, curled pink hair that gathers at his groin.

"haahh," you're sighing, lips parting in a way that makes sukuna feel like someone just hit him with a shovel, dumbfounded at the sight of you, only you, "bigger than i thought, 'kuna."

and the king of curses won't admit in, no, he's loathe to lower himself thus, but his heart (and his cocks) only swell at the praise, the knowledge that you're still just so eager to take him, to ride him on his throne, his kimono opened bare across your pretty form so he can lave sharp, stinging kisses over your chest.

"t-taking it so well," sukuna bites out, doing his best to fight the crack in his gruff tone, for the sake of his dignity. or at least, that's what he tells himself, never mind at how he feels lightheaded from the way your cunt is almost kissing the base of his cocks now, and the sound is absolutely filthy, echoing through out the empty hall. all damp sloshes of pre that's leaving smears over your innermost walls.

he has to focus over the buzzing in his ears to catch your sweet words, a hand coming to rest on the back of your head, tilting you closer to him, "mhm, yer' sayin' something?"

you're nodding, breathless and hazy, steadying yourself now in his lap, groping at the little divot that's already formed where his tip(s) now lie, "does it feel g-good for you?"

sukuna stares at you, half-clouded with the tight heat of your pretty, swollen pussy swallowing him up, "what?"

you're pawing at his chest, nails digging into hardened skin, grazing over dark tattoos that have lasted a millennia, "wanna know if 'm making y-you feel good, 'kuna."

oh, he's in love with you. ryomen sukuna is absolutely, foolishly, pathetically head-over-heels for you. his pretty, little woman that's balanced on his hips, rocking yourself back and forth to feel that glorious friction against your sweet spot.

ugh, fine. just this once. dignity be damned, for he's got you.

a large hand cups your jaw, resting against the curve of your neck, as crimson eyes bore into you, "you are what i want, brat," and sukuna means it, planting a heavy kiss against your lips, "just you, just like this. couldn't be b-better."

"you're getting soft." gentle, teasing as you watch watercolour flush paint pretty pink over sukuna's handsome features. for someone who fancies themselves a rather stoic king of curses, a fearsome sorcerer that can command life and death, he does a poor job of hiding how just how much you undo him.

a low grumble erupts from sukuna, gripping at your hips, pulling you closer to him in a way that you feel his cocks jostle within you, brushing against that sweet, sweet spot, "careful, there. don't wanna' break m'favourite human." yeah, you know that idle threats means that you've really got him blushing.

TOJI FUSHIGURO ៹ the sorcerer killer

"heh, thought you said we were gon' get on the job," toji's guffawing even, but that smug expression quickly flitters away when your wandering, wanting hands are feeling him up. gripping at his pectoral muscles that strain against his black, tight top.

"we are on the job," you fiercely gasp against his mouth, feeling that rough scar twitch against your skin, "jus' need you, that's all."

you can see stone-green eyes flick upwards, heightened senses scanning for any intruders, any unwanted peepers to this show that he's about to put on, before kicking the rusted, weathered steel door closed. sealing you in this storage closet with him.

"so," toji simpers, and you know better than to trust the faux-concern on the assassin's face, "what does she need help with?" large hands patting at the clothed juncture of your thighs, running up the thick band of your holster, "couldn't even wait till we shot the damn' bastard, and took home a niceee paycheck."

you push at him, arms using as much as force as you can muster but it does very little to move this solid block of a man. but toji's clearly humouring you, letting you shove him against the reinforced, but worn-out walls, "how 'bout i give you an advance for the job?"

toji's wrapping a muscled arm around your waist, pulling you closer so he's nudging against your lips, "hah, a little taste then?" tugging at the waistband of your pants, "don't mind if i do."

and before you can even take a second to blink, he's whirling the two of you around. balancing you with inhuman levels of strength against the wall, so your ankles dangle in the air. quickly hooking against his waist, while toji thumbs at your underwear, eager to slide any remaining fabric away.

"stay focused now," toji murmurs, "got a big stretch for ya', heh."

and fuck, he wasn't exaggerating. you've never gotten used to it, the way his thick, girthy shaft melds into you, swabbing at the swollen, dripping walls that toji loves to call home. you're not sure if you're losing your mind, but you swear, you truly swear that you can feel the pulse of that one, angry vein that runs along the underside of his cock (yeah, you're pretty familiar).

"ngh –" you babble, "s-so big, fuck," your mind's gone entirely blank, grasping for the right word to encompass just how enrapturing toji's cock is, "so deep."

toji seems to like that, cheeks flushing the most adorable shade of peach and pink that he seems desperate to hide and deny, "y-yeah? deep in ya'?" he's rustling you in his hold, eager to hit bullseye on your cervix, to see you rolling your eyes to back of your head as you take him.

and if toji tears his gaze downwards, he can see your puffy folds parted, inches stuffed into your cunt. painting such a pretty sight that if toji were a less jealous, lecherous man, he'd hire a photographer to come capture the sinful view. hmm, maybe the new paycheck can go to a camera? oh, yeah, he's havin' ideas.

"t-toji –" you mewl, hands grasping at the firm curve of his pectorals, defined and taut underneath the fabric that stretched across his chest, "that's it, hah, jus' what i needed."

"mhm?" toji chuckles against the shell of your ear, "got so fucked out on the job, needed me to come take care of you like t-this?" he can feel your legs trembling in his hold, turning to mush and quivering, as he batters hit after hit against your mound. he shifts, readjusting himself for the right angle so...

plap! each smack of his heavy, laden sack rings throughout the abandoned storage room of this fuck-ass hideout, repurposed for something far more pleasurable. brows furrowed, sweat dripping down tanned skin as toji squeezes his eyes shut, feels every cell in his body unravelling (or well, something like that, he's not a scientist) as your tight cunt swallows him up, takes him apart.

"hnngh, fuck, girl, look what you're doin' to me," toji gasps, rocketing his hips to dig as deep as possible, cock twitching and practically sending s.o.s signals despite this being the first round of many.

he knows he's close, knows that tell-tale tightening in his groin will only lead to him shooting ropes out, so he pulls you in for a filthy, clashing kiss, "where do ya' want it? gon' have to tell me quick, – dunno' how long i can –"

"inside," you murmur, sounding as breathless as toji fushiguro feels, legs deliciously arched against his back, "want it inside, toji." whimpering the most beautiful, sweet groans against his ear.

toji wishes he was a stronger man, he truly does. wishes that he had some restraint, and sense but the very second your mouth parted to form those syllables, he felt the world go blank. ropes upon ropes of thick, cloying seed stuttering out of him, making the assassin feel off-kilter, "think it took, doll?" toji scoops some of the creamy release against your sloppy cunt, "or wanna' try one more time? or two?"

GETO SUGURU ៹ the worst curse user

"eyes on me, pretty," geto's panting, glossed lips parting, and you can see just how affected he is, that soft tremble of his mouth giving away the cracks in his composure.

but are you shocked? well, nah. you've learnt there are several ways to undo geto suguru, to unravel him until he's a trembling mess and your favourite way is to plant your hands on his bare chest, and rock your hips until the two of you are seeing stars.

and god, you feel as though your mind is turning to a sludgy mush, a faint whine building up between your ears until you realise that the sound is coming from your own parted mouth. geto's got a hell of a package down there, and he sure knows how to use it. every tilt of your pitching hips has his fat tip swabbing smears of silky pre against your inner walls, "mhm – feels s-so good, sugu', fuck!"

it's quite a sight, this you know. you had managed to paw off a decent swathe of geto's thick robes, still stained with a splash red that you're not eager to identify. pooling the silk on the cool tiles underneath the broad man. the taper of his broad, solid thighs keeps you well balanced as you crinkle your nose, plucking the lit stub from geto's smoky mouth. tossing it onto the tiles of the temple, so the flame patters out in the stained, warm glow of this sanctuary.

"hey, i was enjoyin' that," geto glowers, violet eyes subdued into a mauve, lustful haze, and you dig the very tips of your nails into the meat of his shoulders, opting for a harsher, sharper angle to slap skin against skin.

"enjoy this, instead," your eyes roll and fall to the back of your head as geto's grip on your hips tighten, almost bruising in the most delicious way possible. but a large, calloused hand travels further along, coming up to cup the underside of your tits, tweaking and pinching appreciatively. predictable, like an ant to some honey.

"heh, q-quite a sight," geto purrs, watching how your captivating form writhes and shakes. knowing that it's solely due to his thick shaft working inches into you, hitting spots that you weren't even aware of, "always so perfect for me, pretty."

you lean down, capturing his waiting lips in a sloppy, heavy kiss. a clash of your eager tongue against his, teeth sinking into plush lips. geto seems to been hit with a spark of some new idea, for he's suddenly pushing you back, murmuring a gentler kiss against your lips as an apology.

manoeuvring his broad frame so he's sitting up now, with you still balanced in his lap. the change in the nasty angle is so prominent, for his cock feels deeper than ever before. each thick vein scraping and pulsing against the walls of your swollen cunt, leaving no surface unclaimed.

"s-suguru, 'm there, right –" the sentence leaves you, mouth parting in a wordless, mindless oh! for the fat, creaming tip of his cock must have brushed past that delicious patch, that g-spot, and it has you trembling, climax washing over you in the most, delicious pulsing waves.

but geto suguru never lets up, never lets his best girl off the hook that easy. he doesn't stop bucking muscular hips up into you, sticky skin slapping over and over again in an addled cacophony of pleasure, determined to have you fall apart all over again. and he needs it to be asap.

"g-gorgeous, heh," he's tapping fingers against your cheek, pushing and pulling at your mouth, "what did i say about wanderin' eyes? keep them on me, love. need ya' to be lookin' at me when i split you apart."

"fuck, 'm feelin' –" you almost sob from the pleasure, crystalline tears pooling at your lashes from the sheer overstimulation. geto's cock absolutely heavy and weighty in you, kissing at your walls, and pecking your most sensitive spot.

"yeah, yeah, i k-know," geto gasps, feeling his own orgasm knocking on the door, thin strands of wispy cum already beginning to shoot out, but he's determined. a man on a mission, so a wide hand reaches in between the tight space, slapping sloppy circles against your sensitive clit in a way that has you sinking teeth into the side of his thick neck.

he's looking at you expectantly, like he knows exactly what's arriving. and when. long fingers twirling at your sloshy cunt, flicking over your throbbing clit, "three," he murmurs, "two..."

"and one –" geto's climax hits him at the exact same time, the hypnotising pulse of your pussy practically sucking any restraint out of him. translucent ropes of cream and ivory pumping into you, until you can only lay limp and boneless in his arms, with him still sprawled against the floor of the temple and...oh.

"suguru, baby?"

"hah, yeah," oouh, geto sounds ruined. his voice a rock-salt rasp, still quivering from the earth-shaking climax.

"did we leave the temple door open? and aren't all your guests meant to be arriving today?"

HAJIME KASHIMO ៹ the god of lightning

"tch', thought you said you weren't gonna move, silly girl."

hajime's been going at it for hours, now. well, you can't truly be sure for the world has become slow and hazy, but it certainly feels like an eternal passage of time, rife with that familiar, cloying buildup of pleasure shaking your abdomen.

you're whining, glossy and reddened lips being gnawed and worried into, aching fingers curling into loose strands of cyan hair that's come loose from the knots that hajime seems to favour, "i k-know. but it's –" you squeal when sharp fangs bite at the inner flesh of your thighs, "it's so much, and i've already –"

the sorcerer fixes you with that piercing stare of his, that disconcerting gaze of jewel-cerulean that is a direct shade match with his soft hair, "you've what? finished already? twice? thrice?" the man's getting cocky, you murkily wonder, scraping the tip of his tongue against your throbbing clit, "that's the point. but 'm waiting for something else, y'see."

you can only what else he could possibly want from you, for hajime's got you splayed out for him. bare thighs spread across the edge of the clean bed, the heat of your cunt sensitive even to the cool chill of the air, as he continues to kneel in between your legs. humming, murmuring, as he toys with your slick, sweet folds.

but you know one thing for certain, hajime is a man who will never accept defeat. he's competitive as fuck, and he shows it in all aspects, but especially when it comes to pleasuring you.

"look at you," hajime's cooing, pink mouth blooming a vivid magenta, painted a mirror sheen of your arousal, "jus' falling apart from my mouth? already?"

turquoise hair bunched around hajime's shoulders, falling over his white robes in thick, silky swathes, as he wraps his lips right around your sensitive bud, cheeks hollowing to suck. slender, wiry fingers littered with scars trace mindless circles around your entrance, pushing at your gummy walls until he's the one sucking in a breath.

"heh, s-so tight," hajime mutters, bestowing a filthy kiss upon your cunt, all sloppy and so loving, "have half a mind to just fill you up instead, have ya' pressed under me." he seems dazed by the way that you're still taking his fingers so readily, never mind the six orgasms that he's ripped from you already.

and you would be lying if you said you weren't desperate for the thin but lengthy curve of his cock, pressing up against your cervix as he was so prone to doing when he had you in a tight mating press.

"why don'tcha, then, 'jime?" you're mewling, hands moving away from his sea-green hair to paw at the thick padding of his ivory robes, "want y'in me so, so bad." you're all but sobbing, for hajime's delighted with how you're taking a third finger, and he's crooking the digit up. searching, searching for that sweet spot.

"patience, woman," the rough pads of hajime's fingers swirling thick arousal back into every cranny and divot of your walls, "hmm, 'm gonna' try something." he's grinning now, face splitting into an electrifying smile that you are all too familiar with, "just need to relax for me, sweet thing." pulling sodden fingers out of your cunt, ignoring your needy cries at the sudden loss of sensation.

you can practically feel how restless the sorcerer is, bruising the fingertips of his left hand into the fat of your thighs, amused at how they leave gloss-streaked smears over the skin. but the other hand is slowly stroking at your folds, teasing as hajime takes joy in watching your hips buck up continuously, desperate for some stimulation.

and that's when you first feel it. it's a little jolt at first, something stronger and almost harsher than what you're accustomed to. you can't even help the wanton, candied moan that falls from your lips at how the pins-and-needles quickly turns pleasurable, and how hajime's eyes have become aglow, cursed technique ever so delicately ramping up.

"hahh, 'jime," you're not even sure what to say, to cry out and hope that the words are able to form themselves, and not fall out in slurred groans of pleasure, "more, m-more!"

the sensation is warm too, each small spark sets you alight. far more heated than the cool tips of hajime's fingers that you're used to. and you're certain that you can attribute the involuntary twitching of your leg to the small, controlled electricity being channeled through hajime's skin, each pinch at your clit having you arch your back in the most filthy, whoreish of ways.

"aha," hajime angles a finger in you once more, resuming that gentle push-and-pull pace that he's kept for hours, so the messy pop! rings in your ears each time that he glides away and bottoms his fingers out once more, "i think 'm getting the hang of this, wouldn't ya' say?"

you must look absolutely out of it right now, for hajime's cursed technique is running jolts and buzzes through you in such a way that you know jujutsu was never intended to be used for. tongue falling out of your mouth, whining, as you squeeze your eyes shut. feeling the pace pick up, and hajime's fingers hit bullseye when they brush that spot.

"there, there, t-there, 'm gonna –"

you faintly catch the satisfied, thrilled look on hajime's face when you climax, spraying all over his chin. droplets of clear release that he's eagerly digging into to lap up, hah, you know he's glad to have achieved a victory like this, exhilarated just from achieving your pleasure. tongue sloppy as it works you through a mind-numbing orgasm, slick dripping over his faintly-tanned chin.

"see, i knew y'had it in you," hajime's standing up now, and you bite back a bratty comment about how a four-hundred year old sorcerer was able to stay on his knees for so long, gulping as you see him reach for the loose ties on his martial pants, "and i wanna' see something else now."

CHOSO KAMO ៹ the death painting

"are you sure, my love?" you've barely even touched him, and choso already sounds ruined, tremors wracking his sensitive form. he's beautiful like this, broad-shouldered and thick with hardened muscle. a dark curtain of inky, clingy hair falling around his face as he looks down at you, from where he's hovering with his beefy arms on either side.

"i'm sure, cho," you whimper, inching your legs up to wrap around his waist, pulling him in and closer to where your hot, glossy folds are practically begging for his touch. or rather, for his cock — all his glorious inches that beam an angry, sensitive shade of scarlet.

choso brushes his nose against yours, as intimate as he always is, "jus' don't wanna' hurt you," thick tip snagging against the very entrance of your glistening, winking hole, "tell me if it's too much."

"i will, oh, i –" the air is punctured from your lungs, like your very breath has been stolen away from you in the most searing kiss. that first, initial stretch of choso's cock in you is nothing short of delicious and eye-opening. he's always like this, so intoxicating and sweet, and mindful of how the body of a human may differ to that of a half-curse such as himself, so he's running a thick hand against your abdomen, soothing as he bullies another inch into you.

"not too much, love?" choso gasps out, spellbound by your tight, loving grip, and he thinks he's already lost his mind, hand kneading at the sudden divot that's formed under your skin, from where his cock is settling.

"mhm, mm!" you shake your head, unable to speak from the instant swipe of his cock against your sweet spot already, determined not to wantonly start moaning and gasping in his ear before he's already bottomed out.

choso's worried thumb comes up to swipe at your lower lip, pressing into the kiss-stricken flesh, "hey, i like hearing you. always sound so pretty." pressing his lips to your mouth again, as though he could stay there forever. like this, with you. in you.

"ahh, cho, 's good, really," and you're telling the truth, for his thick cock is rendering you senseless, and so in love. nails lightly clawing at his peach-toned skin, certainly leaving small, crescent marks that you know will make choso flush later. raking your nails down as choso finally, finally bottoms out with a pop!

the sound of skin slapping and sliding against skin makes you flush, your arousal practically drooling out of swollen folds, as thin strands delicately balance between your hips before snapping into creamy puddles, creating an absolute mess underneath you.

"it's like i can feel all of you," choso groans, silky ends of his dark hair tickling your cheek, "and yer' so, so pretty," he's gnawing at his lips, blood-hued, fucking you absolutely stupid on his endowed cock. hitting you with solidified rams against that rough, sensitive spot, drawing senseless, pleasured sounds of your gaping mouth.

choso's weaving his hand in between the two of you, determined to reach for your glistening, throbbing clit. to run sloppy, mindless shapes over the bud that make the most filthy sounds, that soft and pulling sound of your translucent slick sloshing over choso's broad hand.

"you gotta' finish," choso heaves, hauling you a little closer to him, so he can do his very best to draw circles around your clit, despite the slick making it nigh impossible for his fingers to stay on course, "gotta' see you fall apart f'me."

and what a glorious sight for choso's eyes, to see how your lips moisten and part. eyes tight and shut, brows drawn together like a bow releasing a quiver of arrows, he thinks he'd be content to stay like this forever. to have your body tremble underneath him, orgasm painting over you in the most gentle shade possible, hips bucking further into him.

"wait," choso looks almost sheepish now, ears a glowing shade of berry-red, kissing away the last tremours of your climax, "can i turn you around? wanna' see how you look from the back."

GOJO SATORU ៹ the strongest

"w-what? here?" gojo groans, but god, he's never one to complain. hard for him to even find one fault in the world when you're straddling his thighs, looking so lustful and dazed above him.

you're nodding, lips pressed into a frown that gojo immediately swipes away with a kiss, "been wantin' you for days, 'toru." hands already pulling aside his haori, digging into the soft bands of his white pants, "always soo busy, everyone's takin' your attention."

oh. you're needy. and gojo's not ashamed to admit that he loves to play into it. loves to see how his pretty wife's brows furrow and lips part when she's desperate for him.

he snickers, looping a muscular thigh in a way that he's able to flip the two of you over. splaying you out on all fours for him, him only. your knees digging into the soft mats in the training rooms that gojo's certain he locked when you dragged him in here.

he's biting at the shell of your ear, rough hand slithering up your top to cup at the fat of your tits, "y'do know that everyone's on me because they wanna' check in about my fight with sukuna." rocking you back against his tight bulge, "and i did say i would face...him before the twenty-fourth."

"you're the s-strongest, – fuck, that's so –" hah, gojo's already a step ahead of you, sheathing both girth and length into your drooling pussy, leaning back to admire the way your swollen folds snatch and eagerly swallow him up, "and you're always trainin', i was getting lonely."

"my, my," gojo purrs, running a large, broad hand down your spine, slamming your hips back into his so the white curls at the base of his cock kiss the heart-shaped juncture of your ass, "if i knew m'wife was this jealous, i'd have brought ya' in to train with me." gojo's figuring that life's kinda short, and he's gotta live a little — revving up six eyes without any shame, desperate to see the curve of his cock drill home into your tight cunt.

you squeal when he rams his thick, rosy-toned tip deep into your sticky, slimy walls. and for each squelch! when he pulls out, there's a coating of gloss that drips from his cock, entrancing the white-haired man, "well, we're kinda' training now, s-satoru."

"heh, you're right, wifey," gojo decides to take it all the way, looming his frame over you so the tight weave of his dark tee presses against your back, his chest firm enough against you that it bows your back down in the most pleasurable arch, rummaging his cock all over, "see, what would i do without ya'?"

if you crack open bleary, hazy eyes, you can make out the cracks and fissures that run deep in the walls here, plaster splitting apart to reveal brick underneath. wondering, vaguely, whether it was the force of gojo's cursed technique tearing apart the foundations of this building. but it doesn't make you shudder, no, what truly makes you quake is the smack! of gojo's palm against the fat of your ass, and his thick, muffled groan against your ear.

"can't believe i've been neglecting ya', sweets," gojo whines, churning at your pussy in determined rolls of his hips, "and her, too, of course." he's got you bent at such a determined angle, that you're not sure whether you can muster the energy to even tilt your head back. but you certain that the hot drops that quickly cool upon your shoulder are leaking from his stormy eyes, prickling at his long-white lashes. gojo's always been so sensitive during sex, always so easily riled up and undone.

he doesn't let up on the place, continuing to smack the fat head of his cock against your cervix, as though he's desperate to not miss the right spot to spill thick wads of buttery release, and you know that gojo won't, not with those superhuman, heightened senses of his.

"close? close? is m'wife –" gojo hoarsely rasps, "are ya' close? because i think 'm gonna pass out, ouh, yeah. snatching me way too good, heh, been missing out on this training," already pussydrunk and babbling as he tends to do, running his mouth at the same pace at which he's slamming his cock into you, "you know i lo –"

gojo's never one to withstand a rude interruption, not even when its his own orgasm snatching the words out of his mouth, so even as steaming, slick strands of his climax pump themselves into you, he's mouthing and kissing at your neck, gently pulling you up from all fours to balance your arms wide, splaying your thighs wide apart — all while he's still filling you up, "love you, love you so much, i fuckin' love you."

[neoheros]

there are very little things in this world that sakusa deems valuable enough to not risk – his game, his career, his reputation, his name.

he isn’t a gambler but he is an athlete and when you’re in his shoes, playing in the big leagues, thousands of people watching, looking, judging, there are a lot of risks you have to look out for.

he has to be quiet, polite, say the right thing, say it in the right tone, say it in the right time, otherwise, he risks his job and reputation.

he has to be focused, agile, ready for any change in the volleyball world the minute - the second - it happens, otherwise, he risks getting left behind, getting replaced by someone better, newer than him.

he has to be a lot of things and the risks of not being any of it puts him in a corner - cold and confining.

all of it, he hates with a passion, he hates with an effort. so he doesn’t take any risks at all. not when it comes to his game, his career, his reputation, his name.

but you – you are probably the riskiest person he has ever met.

i mean, you guys work together for god’s sake. it’s an HR crisis waiting to happen. it puts everything he’s worked hard for at risk — his game, his career, his reputation, his name.

but still.

you always know the right things to say to him, always know the right time he’s gonna be there or the right place to sit where he sees you so clearly even in the middle of the court.

everytime you talk to him, everytime you touch him, everytime you say his name or bring him coffee, everytime you watch him play or everytime he sees you outside of work — there is a feeling in his chest and he almost hates it.

“there’s a new ramen restaurant in miyagi that i’ve been wanting to try…” sakusa clears his throat, standing a few inches away from the lockers as everyone gets their shoes on.

it’s a little bit after 4pm, practice for the day had just ended, and well, meian always tells him he needed to socialize more with the rest of the group.

the locker room is stuffy and sweaty and to be honest, he’s never really been fond of the smell wafting in the air, so he always makes it a point to be the first one out the door after he’s done changing.

today though, he stays, hangs around everybody, and even if he hates it, he goes, “does anyone want to come with me tonight?”

hinata looks up at him from his shoes, “sorry omi, gotta take natsu to the dentist after practice, i dunno how long it’ll take us.”

he gives hinata a short nod — that’s fine.

“kaashi and i are seeing a movie around 7, but next time, man, i promise.” bokuto says, his hand on his neck, apologetic, almost.

another nod — that’s fine, too.

well, at least now, sakusa couldn’t say he didn’t try to socialize more. it’s the preferable outcome for him anyway, he’s better going off on it alone.

atsumu’s voice tears him away from his thoughts, loud and too cheerful for someone who just performed 4 diving laps, “i could go with ya, omi!”

and out of instinct, he replies “no, thank you.”

his blond teammate looks like he’s gonna say something after his response but you speak before he gets the chance to.

“well, i don’t mind coming, omi.” you say, and he blinks - how long have you been there?

there’s a knot in his stomach. “tonight?”

(he thinks, please say no, please say no, please say no.)

you nod at him, “it’s gonna be snowing so some ramen would be perfect.”

he nods at you - unable to say anything else, really - and he clears his throat, looking at atsumu, who he’s now just been really appreciative of for existing all of a sudden.

“then it will be you, me, and miya?” he asks, and he wants to keep his voice quiet now, untrusting of it.

(in the corner of his eye, he sees hinata step on atsumu’s foot and he goes “ow, whaddya do that for!” bokuto gives him a look, similar to the one hinata has, and atsumu catches on.)

sakusa gives the three of them a warning look, begging, actually begging, anyone who’d listen in that silly head of his for them not to do anything stupid.

“sorry man,” atsumu flashes him a grin, and he feels his knees go weak. “i forgot i had some plans tonight, i don’t think i’ll be able to go.”

lord, forgive sakusa kiyoomi for he’s gonna kill somebody.

he wants to say something, but before he could, you beat him to it.

“perfect.” you smile, “more for us then. right, omi?”

sakusa swallows the lump in his throat, and gives you a short nod, “yeah.”

you gather your things in your hand, “i’ll come over to your place, then?”

(words that make his knees feel even weaker.)

another nod. “yes, that’s fine.”

and he regains his composure, the worst of it over, but before you turn to leave, you flash him another one of your smiles, and he wishes you would just go so he can feel his pulse return to normal again.

“it’s a date.” you say, and you’re out the door.

sakusa’s face has a whisper of a light pinkishness to it and unable to think about it too much, he blames it on the open window letting the cold in.

the second the door closes, the locker room erupts in cheers, “way to go, omi!” “you’re going on a date!” and “it’s finally happening!”

there’s a knot in his stomach, and atsumu claps him on his back.

he rolls his eyes at the group, shaking his head as he whispers something along the lines of “whatever” or “its not a big deal.”

but his face feels hot and his pulse feels like its drumming against his skin, but, he can blame that on the cold too.

the sun goes down quicker than sakusa hoped it would, it’s 6:47pm now and you’ll be arriving in no later than 13 minutes.

he takes a good look at his apartment, ransacked and messy, the complete opposite of its usual state.

there’s a knock on his door and he feels his heart beat out of his chest at the sound.

he opens it with a fervor, “i asked you to come 30 minutes ago.”

“it’s a 30 minute walk.” behind the door is atsumu, sheepish smile on his face, hands shoved into his pockets as he pushes past the brunette and into the apartment.

“woah, this place is a mess.” atsumu says aloud, even him surprised at the disarray.

“i didn’t know what to wear.” sakusa admits, and he feels embarrassment course through his skin.

“i’ll say.” the blond replies, but he doesn’t tease. “you alright, omi?”

sakusa sighs – he really isn’t. his nerves are killing him and there’s an intense nervousness that pools in his belly. you make him nervous, did you know that?

“maybe i should cancel.” he says, and he looks at himself in the mirror again — coat, scarf, gloves, check, check, check.

“what? don’t do that.” atsumu shakes his head, “it’s five minutes ‘til 7.”

he’s probably right, sakusa thinks, you’re probably on your way by now, and even with the chilling weather outside, he feels way too hot for his own good.

he takes off his gloves to alleviate some of the warmth, placing it on his dresser as he paces.

“you’re an asshole, right?” sakusa says suddenly, “punch me in the face, take me to the ER, and i will reschedule whatever this night is to when i’m readier.”

(he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready, to be honest.)

“even if i do really want to punch you in the face right now, that is so not gonna happen.”

“being your friend is useless to me.”

“yet, i’m the one you called over here.”

the doorbell rings and the both of them freeze in their places, sakusa looks over to the clock and how is it 7 already? and must you be on time for everything?

you’re already here and his place is a mess and atsumu freaking miya is standing in the middle of his apartment.

he says the first thing he can think of, “hide.”

atsumu looks at him, “what?”

he insists, “hide now.”

“are ya nuts? your apartment is a shoebox, where the hell am i hiding in here?” atsumu shakes his head, and he follows sakusa’s eyes in response as he tilts his body to look over to the bed.

“no fuckin way, nuh uh.” he backs away, “i am not hiding under there.”

the doorbell rings again and atsumu feels the nerves getting to him too.

“please. i’ll owe you.”

and atsumu wants to say no - really, he does - he’s not some teenager caught with his pants down and has to be stashed away under a bed, but sakusa looks at him in a way that makes him unrecognizable.

sakusa may not know it, but everyone can tell, every single one of them on the team knows, just how much this means to him.

(after all, the only people in msby black jackals who don’t know that sakusa likes you are sakusa and you.)

so he relents, and he gets on his knees near the bed before he scurries off under it. “you so owe me for this.”

sakusa feels embarassed – ashamed, really. he’s actually invested in this - in this date, and he wishes he was kidding, but he’s not, and he hates it.

he opens the door, and you’re there, and it’s always nice to see you outside of work.

“hi.” he says, and he doesn’t know what else to say.

“hi.” you say back, and for a second, it’s quiet.

another second passes, “can i come in?”

and he wants to kick himself, “yes. of course.”

“it’s freezing tonight.” you make polite small talk, “good thing i wore my coat.”

“it looks nice.” he nods, and he is grateful you don’t say anything about the mess of his apartment. it takes him another beat to realize what he said, and he feels embarrassed, although he doesn’t know why, so he follows up, “the coat.”

he wants to hit himself. he sounds like he’s just talking about the coat.

“you as well.” he says again. “not just the coat, i meant to say. you and the coat are nice looking. both of you.” he wants to stop talking – why is he still talking?

he looks at you, “where’d you - uh - buy it?”

great, now he sounds like he wants to take the fucking coat.

there’s a sound almost like snickering coming from under the bed but before you could look over to it sakusa clears his throat again.

“i’m ready to go,” he says suddenly, “are you?”

you haven’t been able to get a word in all night it seems, but it makes you smile - amused, and you nod, “yes.”

the night starts off okay, it’s quiet though, and he thinks, are dates supposed to be quiet?

“you okay there, omi?” you break the silence, and he wonders if you can tell what he’s been thinking.

“yeah.” a short reply, “just cold.”

you nod, “ah.”

in an effort to keep the conversation going, and the sudden realization that he may be the reason why it’s such a quiet evening, he looks to the side, and tells you, as the two of you walk the pavement to the train station:

“i forgot my gloves.”

there’s a pink hue on his ears, and he’s grateful you don’t tease him about it.

you stop walking for a moment, so he stops too.

he watches you as you work, taking the left glove on your hand off and he says nothing when you ask him to give you his left hand.

“here.” you slip on your left glove on his left hand, and it’s a snug fit, but it is warm.

then you say, “do you mind?”

and he doesn’t know what you’re talking about until you put your - now, ungloved - left hand to his -also, ungloved - right hand. fingers interlacing.

“this way, it’ll stay warm, don’t you think?”

he doesn’t trust his voice and he’s more grateful for the snow now as he finds it being his excuse for how red his ears are getting. he can only nod his head, keeping his nose tucked in under his scarf.

his lips tremble and he’s not so sure if it’s from the cold or from you.

sakusa doesn’t gamble. he doesn’t like the risks of it all. he always feels there’s always gonna be too much to lose rather than gaining anything beneficial for him.

so no – there are very little things in the world he cares enough about for him to risk anything for.

“better?” you say, and he tries harder to focus on your voice rather than your warm hand.

“yes.”

you smile and he thinks it’s really nice. “so, why was atsumu under your bed?”

his face feels hot now, his first instinct to deny that there ever was any man named atsumu under his bed, but he knows that look you’re giving him, and he knows it would be pointless to lie.

still, he doesn’t know what to say to you.

“omi?”

but then again, he never knows what to say to you.

“… i asked him to come help me get ready.”

you tilt your head, “get ready for?”

the silence becomes your answer and sakusa feels his face burn. it feels like embarrassment – but it also feels like something else.

“oh.”

and unexpectedly, you laugh, and when he hears it, for the first time all evening, his nerves finally cool on him, and he laughs too.

you bump your shoulders with his, playful, “if it helps to know, i was nervous too.”

“because of me?” he doesn’t really believe you, he doesn’t think anything can make someone like you nervous, but you, on the other hand, make him nervous all the time.

“well, you don’t really talk to me at work,” you shrug, your voice sounding teasing, “i didn’t think you liked me all that much, to be honest.”

“sorry.” he says in quiet laughter, and he can’t bring himself to look at you.

you look at him though, and he wishes that you wouldn’t. he can hear the smile in your voice still, “for what?”

“for this shitty date.”

that makes you laugh even more and he feels like it’s gonna make him fall over.

“well, we haven’t even gotten to the restaurant yet so jury’s still out on whether it’s shitty or not.” you squeeze his hand, teasing.

(and he rolls his eyes, nerves gone, and feeling much better now that he’s talking to you.)

you are probably the riskiest person he’s ever met. you put everything on the line.

by all things considered, he should stay far, far away from you — you jeopardize it all, you could take all he’s ever worked for away.

but everytime you talk to him, everytime you touch him, everytime you say his name or bring him coffee — there is a feeling in his stomach that envelops his entire body and the corner he’s been backed into doesn’t feel as cold or as confining.

you smile at him and he wants it all: he wants to wake up next to you, he wants to fall asleep and you’re the last person he sees, he wants to drive you to work and he wants you to come home with him after the day is over.

“besides,” you say, and the snow may be cold, but his face feels warm.

your voice is soft, “you can just keep taking me on them until we get it right.”

the risk is you could take everything he’s ever worked for, his game, his career, his reputation, his name. but you smile at him and your hand is warm against his and your laugh feels like it’s gonna make him fall over, and he thinks, okay — take it all, it’s already yours anyway.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Wouldn't you like to see something strange?

HI I know the new Halloween character isn't out yet but I needed an outlet for my excitement (Yes, I am unfortunately a Nightmare Before Christmas girlie) 💀 so please be advised that he may not be in character here, I'm just writing based on vibes! This is technically a twisted!Jack Skellington x Reader fic, but the Reader is basically playing a role similar as Sally from the film.

P.S. I want everyone to know that I busted out my drawing tablet to make this special border for him the same day he was first announced... Yeah...

Boo.

On the nights with full moons, he liked to steal away to the Spiral Hill on the outskirts of town.

The outcrop of land overlooked a vast graveyard and field laden with pumpkins, perfuming the air with the crisp sweetness characteristic of autumn. Beyond it, uncharted territory. When he squinted into the darkness, he could make out the vague shapes of naked trees, their gnarled branches like fingers beckoning him to approach, whispering his name.

He draped his long, lithe legs over the hill, letting them hang in the frigid air. Spindly as he was, the wind easily blew them, knocking his legs around like the straw-stuffed limbs of a scarecrow. He kicked with the breeze, carefree as a child on a playground swing.

The moon stitched his pinstriped suit and tattered cravat with silver thread, touched his pointed crown at its highest points. Even the white ribbons ribbing his jacket and the pattern of bones tugged over his gloves seemed to glow under the celestial light. He liked the view, and the view seemed to like him, too.

Held in his skeletal hand was a single flower. He stroked a silken petal, then slipped another finger under it, plucking the petal free. The wind claimed it, setting it sailing off into the unknown.

He continued. A second, a third. So on and so forth, until the flower was left stripped down and barren, even robbed of its leaves.

He dropped the stem off the hill. The pumpkins below consumed it, and the once lovely flower’s body became one with the patch.

"I figured this is where you were."

He lowered his dark circular lenses. His bright eyes slid to the figure that had approached from behind, on feet so swift they hardly made a sound. They came in with the sweetness of deadly nightshade, the trace of a poisoning committed at midnight. "Not a lethal dose, just enough to knock the doctor out for a few hours," as they always said. "How else would I sneak out to see you?"

Dry, ghostly lips dashed with hatch marks pried into an open smile, both teeth and the gaps between them. Charming, in a crooked sort of way. "My dear. You've come."

You bent down. “If you don't mind, I'd like to join.”

“The spot beside me is always reserved for you.” He patted it, inviting you to take a seat.

"Such a gentleman." You sunk down, folding your hands in your lap. "And so handsome when you're brooding. You're terribly good at that."

He was, he was, especially silhouetted by the moon. The man was practically monochrome, but bathed in silver like this, his pale skin was less sickly and more ethereal. He almost appeared like a cruel angel in the light, descending to expunge evil.

"I'm not brooding," he pouted, "I'm dreaming."

“Dreaming." You reached out and tucked a strand of alabaster hair behind his ear. "Father says it’s a ridiculous, wild thing.”

"Ah, but that's what makes it so much thrilling. Life’s no fun without a good scare.”

His mouth quirked to one side, and his smile became off-kilter--as his ideas often were. "He'll bring us to ruin with his crazy, new-fangled thinking and flights of fancy," your father would complain. But you adored that about the boy. How spontaneous he was, how his curiosity was never-ending. He'd race about like a child, picking items up and sticking his face where it probably shouldn't go.

Full of life in this otherwise lifeless town.

"What's this? What's this?" he'd say. "I must know!"

"He's gone daffy," your father would declare.

"Mmm." You nodded absentmindedly, tracing your fingers along the shell of his ear and down to his arm. "What were you dreaming about today?"

He lifted his head, looking beyond the hill and to the woods. Not a word was exchanged. None had to be.

"The Hinterlands?" you whispered. "But we don't know what's out there. No ghoul or monster has ever ventured out that far."

"Then sounds like I'll be the first! They’ll put me down in the history books as a pioneer." His laughter brightened up the gloomy night. When he quieted, his gaze was solemn—more solemn than you'd ever witnessed him. "... Don't you wonder about what's out there? Stuff that's cold and fluffy and falls from the sky. Things that come in colors we haven't seen."

"Sometimes," you admitted quietly, "but those are just dreams. I don't chase them."

"Maybe you should. We should," he mused, fingers tucked under his chin. "I bet there's all sorts of things we've never even dreamed of, too. And wouldn’t you like to see something strange?”

"I would. I really, really would," you told him in a soothing tone. Trying to reassure him as much as you were yourself. "Let's not doing anything dangerous though. I sense something in the wind—tragedy at hand. I can't shake that feeling that something bad is around the bend if you tread that path."

You gingerly laid your hand over his. Behind tinted lenses, his eyes widened.

"Stay here with me," you begged. "We can be together. Gaze at the stars. Be safe in one another's arms."

“… Sweetness, I would love for nothing more than to have you and to hold you ‘til death do us part.” His voice fluttered like the brush of a falling leaf upon your cheek. He regarded you tenderly, locking his fingers with yours and squeezing. “But you know that’s not the kind of man I am.”

“Yes, you’re every flavor of foolish imaginable,” you replied, pressing your forehead against his, “and I love you for that.”

“As do I.” He brought his icy lips to the back of your hand. A chill spider-walked up your arm, and you shivered.

“Then…”

“That’s why I must depart one day.” He pushed his glasses up. You caught the tragic reflection of your face in his lenses. “Out there… something more awaits us. I’m sure of that. I intend to find it and revive our town, this season that’s gone stale.”

“I won’t stop you if you decide to go,” you murmured. “And I will count the days until you return to me.”

“I knew you’d understand.” His smile—now it was touched with sadness, the knowledge of soon parting ways. “Thank you, dearest.”

He stood slowly, drawing you up with him. Your feet followed, as if pulled along by a puppeteer. How in sync the two of you were, how nicely molded your bodies were to one another’s. Your joy melded under the watchful eye of the moon.

“Shall we share a dance? One for the road,” he crooned. An errant breeze tousled his pallid hair, his tattered coattails—but to you, he was fairest of them all. “Our last dance for a while.”

“Alright, let’s make this one count,” you chuckled, “so I can send you off on your travels with a smile.”

“Excellent 🎵” He slid a hand around your waist, guiding you to lean into him. “Let the merrymaking commence!!”

“Yes…!!”

The midnight waltz began.

He led you, step by step, and you trailed after. Movements easy and effortless, like two intertwining maple leaves, spinning and spiraling. Their partner, the center of their universe.

“It’s as plain anyone can see,” he breathed.

“We’re simply meant to be,” you returned.

They danced as if possessed or an enchantment was cast upon their footwear. The moment too sweet, too succulent, to relinquish so soon. They wanted to savor it, indulge in it—and each other.

For never was there a more perfect pair than the Pumpkin King and his consort.

[puckinghischier]

Quinn 1000% percent is the type of boyfriend who quietly takes care of you. He may not be flashy with his gestures but they’re always endearing.

i will live and die by the fact that man is the most intense but gentle lover there ever is.

it’s like, day by day his love is quiet and reserved, but looking back over the course of your relationship, you realize just how intense his love really is. because of course he’s vocal about the fact he loves you, never leaving it unsaid anytime you two part, even if just for a few minutes.

but really, it’s all the things he does you don’t even know about. it’s the days you come home and forget there was a pile of laundry you told yourself you needed to do, because it’s done already.

it’s the moments when you talk about needing to go to the store to replace your favorite coffee creamer, but groggily opening the fridge the next morning to a fresh bottle, not even registering the added weight in your hands.

it’s never running out of your favorite skincare products, somehow always having an endless supply. always having your favorite snack on hand. always having a full tank of gas. always having a soft blanket on your side of the couch.

day to day, these things don’t even cross your mind. your routine is so…routine, that you never wonder why all of these thing are. they just are.

until you see quinn come home after practice with a few bags in hand, one branded exactly the same as your favorite nighttime serum. or a grocery bag with a familiar looking carton poking through the frosted plastic.

you don’t question it until you walk out of the bathroom after a shower to him sitting a full cup of water on your night stand, that way you can crawl right into bed. not until you step into the living room to see him folding your favorite blanket, freshly washed, and tossing it over the back of the couch where you always sit.

your suspicion isn’t there until you get back from a walk to see your car gone, but quinn’s still in its parking spot.

you never wonder why your favorite flowers on the kitchen table never wilt until you see the branded brown paper from the local florist in the trash can.

the point is, you never think about it because you don’t have to. quinn does everything he can to show he cares about you, he loves you, he sees you. and he does it quietly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

so yeah, day to day he might be quiet, focused on hockey and his team, watching footage of old games and opposing teams while you’re reading next to him on the couch, but he’s never quiet with his love for you. not really.

when you look back on all he does for you, with no complaint or mention of it at all, it’s almost suffocating. it’s suffocating in the best way, to know how intensely he pays attention to you and how effortlessly he shows you, without you even knowing.

[chiscribbs]

I had an idea for a one-off Rise episode plot and just wanted to quickly sketch up some visuals for it.

The plot goes as follows: Donnie attempts to invent a cloning machine and, due to some kind of science-y mishap, ends up cloning himself...a lot. But there's a catch to this - the clones aren't exact copies of Donnie, they each possess just ONE of the various facets of his personality (i.e. brainy, broody, sarcastic, passionate, dramatic, mischievous, etc.) and a small portion of his mystic powers. Don tries his darnedest to keep the whole situation under wraps while he searches for a way to fix it, but some of the more rambunctious Donnies quickly escape and begin stirring up trouble in the Lair, so it doesn't stay a secret for very long. To make matters worse - the real Donnie starts to slowly disappear (something having to do with his existence being divided among the Donnies or blahblahblah fake science explanation). So, while he and the scientist Donnies continue to look for a way to reverse the cloning effect, his brothers and Co. set to work gathering up all the other Donnies so they can put them back where they belong and keep Donnie Prime™ from vanishing.

Hilarity, wholesomeness (and some mild angst) ensues.

(Note: I meant to include April in that second-to-last image, but ran out of room. Just know that she, Splinter, and probably Casey Jr. are all there, as well.)

[whimsyvixen]

Hi! I just read your Rusty Nail fic, and I was wondering if you have SFW and/or NSFW head cannons for him? I love your writing and hope you're doing well :)

A/N: ~I'd like to apologize for waiting two years to answer this ask 😭. I've been watching slasher movies again and my motivation was brought back so I decided to have fun with writing this! Once again, I'm very sorry for the late reply but I hope you and every one else enjoys this! 🫶~

~

NSFW Alphabet | Rusty Nail | Joy Ride

Pairing: Rusty Nail x Female Reader

Rating: 18+

Synopsis/Excerpt: He also loves how easily you bruise, a smug grin forming in his face when he sees his marks of ownership scattered all over you.

Tags/Warnings: explicit content, dubcon/non-con themes, unprotected sex, choking, creampies, brief mention of captivity/kidnapping, overstimulation, large cock, vaginal sex, Rusty being sweet and a monster at the same time.

Minors do not interact

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He's very affectionate, peppering kisses along your flushed face and caressing the dips and curves of your body as you're fighting to catch a breath after his vigorous fucking love making.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His hands are his favorite instrument, large enough to wrap around your throat and squeeze until his veins protrude from the force. He loves every dip and curve of your body, not knowing where to start because of how obsessed he is with your fragility and softness. He also loves how easily you bruise, a smug grin forming in his face when he sees his marks of ownership scattered all over you.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He's a big man with an equally big set of balls and dick. When he cums, it's in copious amounts and he always makes sure to come inside, ignoring your distressed cries and your hands pushing against him when you feel the sudden heat in your spasming walls. He licks your tears away, grinding his hips further into your puffy pussy to make sure none of his cum escapes your womb.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He read books by Nicholas Sparks and liked them. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He's very experienced. He prioritizes your pleasure over his because he loves seeing you come apart under his ministrations. Once you're twitching from the neverending pleasure, does he spread you wide and spears you with his cock in one smooth thrust. He listens very intently at every little gasp and moan escaping your lips so he can discover the rhythm and technique your most vocal on.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

His favorite position is cowgirl. He loves seeing how shy and nervous you get when you're hovering over him, licking his lips in anticipation when your pussy presses down on his engorged cock. He lets you go at your own pace, fighting the urge to thrust his hips up as you're slowly taking him inch by inch until your pelvises smack lewdly against each other. It is when your legs grow tired and your movement goes sluggish, that he takes charge and brings you down to clash with every upward thrust into your welcoming pussy. His eyes roam greedily between your sexes smashing violently together and your fucked out expression every time his cock kisses your cervix.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He enjoys teasing you, especially knowing how flustered you get when he whispers dirty things to you. Lacking any sexual experience prior to him, your face quickly gets heated and you can’t look him in the eye when he’s promising to drown in your pussy and fuck you until the bed breaks. If he's feeling humorous, he might start to tickle you to get you to smile and shriek to make you forget your embarrassment at his words.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He's a hairy man. His hair grows rather quickly so he needs to shave often, but he prefers to trim instead of shaving anything off fully. The hairs on his chest often tickle your nose when you're laying on him and the raspiness of his beard leaves a pleasant tingle behind on your skin when he kisses your cheeks. You have to look away when he stretches, his happy trail bringing memories of how deep you’ve had him in your throat, your nose pressed right against his pubic hair and smelling his manly musk before he proceeded to face fuck you to oblivion.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He wasn't always kind to you. Your refusal to accept your place as his beloved had forced him to be the bad guy early on in your relationship. However, after months of secluding you from any form of contact besides his, you've become dependent on him and jump into his arms when he releases you from your prison in the basement. As he's stroking your back and hugging your hiccupping form, he hushes your whimpers with sweet murmurs of never leaving you like the people that abandoned their search for you long ago. When he’s making love to you upstairs in his bedroom, he confesses his feelings for you and worships every inch of you with his mouth and hands. He will make sure you would be protected and loved by him and him alone. 

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He tries not to think about you while on the road because of how easily just the thought of you makes him hard under his pants. When explicit memories of you won’t leave him, he grumbles in frustration and tries to find somewhere secluded to rub one out. Once he’s parked his vehicle, he opens his glove compartment to find the piece of cloth he tore from you earlier that day. He then pleasures himself while sniffing the remnants of your cum soaked panties, shuddering at the musky scent and envisioning your pussy wrapped around him and your mouth begging him for more. 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

The man has a breeding and lactation kink. He often places a pillow under you so his cum can stay in place inside your unprotected womb and sucks on your nipples to the point of pain imagining you plump with his baby and leaking milk into his mouth. 

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

He'll have sex with you just about anywhere. He particularly enjoys doing it in his truck, reclining his seat back to watch you bounce up and down on his fat cock in the middle of nowhere, dirty praises trickling past his lips about how much of a pretty slut you are for him and how good he'll give it to you later at home. He loves having you for dessert when he gets home from work (and killing) too, kneeling under the table in the kitchen to eat you out as you're struggling to eat the food you cooked for him while he gnaws at your clit and folds.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

It's your skittish behavior and the way you bite your lip when he's near you that drives him crazy. Despite your stubbornness not to give in to his lecherous hands, he has you bent over before you can voice out a protest. He runs his fingers lightly along your trembling legs, eyeing the way your soaked panties cling to your vulva and asking what you want him to do to you. If you stay silent for too long, he’ll lean down and threaten to leave you as you are, pressing his hardened cock between your cheeks all the while. Just as he’s about to pull away, you push your hips back and look at him pleadingly. You’re still too shy to tell him what you want so you’ll open your legs wider hoping he catches your drift. He’d want to tease you further but even he has a limit. Your panties are torn off and the clink of a belt is heard right before the room is filled with wet smacks of flesh and breathless cries and grunts echoing throughout the house. 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He would never share you. He'd kill any man or woman who dared touch what was his. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Over the years, he entertained himself with a few lot lizards and learned how to perfect his technique with each encounter. By the time he met you, he knew exactly where to kiss, lick and suck to have you creaming in his mouth within minutes. He's never tasted a pussy as good as yours and will often eat you out for long periods of time, ignoring the way you're tugging on his hair to try to remove him from your overstimulated clit and quivering walls.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Depending on how well behaved you are, he can make it slow and sweet for you. He prefers his sex fast and rough, but will be gentle when your sex is sore from the poundings he gave it. However, his gentleness goes out the window when you start acting rebellious again. If you disobey him and try running away, he will catch you and  fuck you in a rage until your crying and begging for forgiveness. He'll fuck you like a bull all night until you pass out from exhaustion. You'll wake up alone and locked inside the basement again, what little freedom you had earned gone in an instant.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He's not a particular fan of quickies because he likes to take his time with you. He enjoys seeing how your will chips away with every stroke of his hands, mouth, and cock, your body fighting against your mind to reach its climax and forcing you to cry out for him after the pleasure becomes too much for you. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Considering how creative he is when torturing his victims, you can bet he’s just as creative in the bedroom. He's a bit of a sadist and will be curious to find out what your limits and pain tolerance is. He smiles at you when you freeze at the rope and chains he has in his hands. You’ll cry out when he handles you none-too-gently, having little time to protect yourself when he wraps a hand around your throat and forces the other down your panties. He’ll tighten his hold on your neck, wheezes and choked gasps escaping you as your eyes beseech him for mercy. In the midst of this punishment, you are horrified to feel your arousal spike, strands of your slick running down your legs as he fingerfucks you roughly. Once he finds out how much you can take, he will subject you to the same painful pleasure at a later date.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He’s only human and has to suffer through a refractory period so he makes sure you cum multiple times before he does. He is able to accomplish this by pumping his fingers inside your pussy, stimulating your g spot while he is forcing his tongue down your throat to muffle your mewls. He’ll have you cumming on his fingers within minutes, allowing you to witness him licking the residue of your orgasm before trailing his body down to the juncture of your thighs. He’ll bury his face in your cunt, holding you in place with one hand on your stomach and stroking himself with the other. Once he’s successfully made you cum again, does he line himself up along your soaked entrance. It is a challenge not to cum once his cock is enveloped by your heat, your walls constricting like a vice around him and making him grit his teeth to prevent himself from spilling inside you too soon. He’ll pump his hips slowly at first, trying to adjust to your gummy insides and closing his eyes in concentration. His careful pace gets shot down to hell when your heels brace on the bed, tilting your hips up and colliding with his next downward thrust. He opens his eyes startled, taking one good look at your disheveled appearance and your chest heaving in a tantalizing fashion before he grabs on to the headboard and slams his hips down in one meaty smack. Within a few moments, you orgasm two more times and your head is lolling to the side by the time he fills you with his cum.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

While he does use restraints on you, he does not own any toys. He's aware of their existence but has never really thought of using them on you. He's confident in his ability to bring you pleasure by his touch alone. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

As was said before, he enjoys teasing you due to your inexperience with sex. His sexual innuendos and jokes make you fidget and squirm where you’re at. No matter how often he’s fucked you, he can never seem to rid you of your embarrassment when you’re both naked and touching each other intimately. It amuses him how cute you are, removing his shirt purposely in front of you before tackling you down playfully on the bed to begin teasing you further.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He'll grit his teeth to lessen his gasps and groans, preferring to hear the sweet symphony of your pleasured cries and moans instead. He'll hide his face on your neck, bracing his knees on the bed before pummeling you hard enough to make the bed creak and your voice rise with each snap of his hips. Heated puffs and throaty moans would spill from him once your walls constricted around him and coaxed him to cum inside your warm heat. 

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

It was a passing conversation he heard between truckers on the cb radio while he was driving. One of them mentioned how he and his lady kept their sex life interesting and alive for so many years. They did this by role-playing and wearing salacious outfits to spice up the sex. Rusty listened on to the conversation, his mind conjuring up images of you dressing up as a scantily clad nurse or maid, waiting to treat him and service him in any way he desired. It was another trucker’s similar experience but with pet play that had him stunned. A flux of images of you on your knees in cow print lingerie and a collar around your neck stormed his brain, triggering his lactation kink and imagining you whining about the fullness of your chest and needing his help to ease the hurt. That night, he didn’t give you a chance to welcome him home. He ripped your clothes off in a frenzy, paying special attention to your tits while you let out confused moans not knowing what’s gotten into him. He fucked you especially hard, your sweaty bodies colliding violently as his silent determination to get you pregnant echoed like a mantra in his head. 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Being well over 6 feet tall, the dick must match the man. The first time you saw it in its entirety, you had quickly slammed your legs shut out of fear. Now you knew why you were always so sore. His cock bobbed out in the open, the weight of it nearly dragging it down as he walked purposefully towards you on the bed. It took very little effort to spread your legs, slapping your hands away when you tried to hide your sex from him. A gasp left you when the heavy weight of his cock slapped on your pubic mound, the length of it reaching your belly button as you lay frozen in place. You could feel it throbbing angrily along your soft belly, your pussy twitching like crazy as you imagined it splitting you open.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive nearly kills you. He's always ready to go and he is not ashamed to grind his erection against your ass so you can feel how much he wants you. Even after he cums, he will continue to play with your body, ensuring you’re always ready for him once he gets hard again. 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Once he is completely spent, he's a heavy sleeper. It's hard to get out of his arms when the brute barely feels you squirming and continues to snore softly above your head. You have to bite him to get him to wake up.

A/N: Believe it or not, writing this killed me. Next time I make one of these, I'm only doing certain letters of the alphabet, not the whole thing 💀. Anyways, I hope you guys really enjoyed this! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated 🫶!

Aand I've got a nice treat for my followers to go with this writing~🖤

🔞Full NSFW image here🔞--> <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>

[cowboyemeritus]

i do love how we're collectively characterizing perpetua (for the time being) as the quiet type BUT i think he should make up for it by being an avid sexter

You've just barely dozed off when your phone pings. You recognize Perpetua's text tone and perk up immediately, reaching for the device on your night stand. The screen comes on, washing you in blinding light, and you grimace. That's not going to disrupt your sleep cycle at all. Definitely not.

Hope you're not asleep yet.

You smile to yourself. It's a little more eloquent than a "u up?," but you know the intent is the same.

i was close

i'd much rather be talking to you tho

The blood is pumping now. No way you're falling asleep any time soon.

You flatter me, darling.

Already, your room feels stiflingly hot. You kick off your comforter, putting your next attack into motion.

figured i could stroke your ego in lieu of something else ;)

He starts typing, stops for a moment, and then starts again.

Straight to the point.

I like that about you.

You roll onto your stomach, kicking your feet. He's so reserved in person, so it's exciting, exotic, when he gets like this.

oh yeah? what else do you like about me?

What is he doing right now? Is he in bed, like you? Maybe he's fresh out of the shower, stripped of his mask and paints, clad in nothing but a towel. Maybe he's completely naked. The thought makes your mouth water.

Definitely your humility.

You chuckle, rolling your eyes.

That beautiful body is a close second, though.

Heat rises to your cheeks. You twist your legs together, the slight pressure sending a tremor down your spine. Wetness is gathering at your center already.

i've been told i've got some nice ankles

You couldn't resist. It brings you joy, pushing his buttons like this.

You think you're so funny.

i'm hilarious >:)

You should know better than to tease your new leader.

Ah, so he's pulling rank. You're in for a treat.

what are you gonna do about it, Your Dark Excellence? throw me in the dungeon? sic your ghouls on me?

You would just love that, wouldn't you?

they like to fuck, right?

He spends a prolonged period of time typing, and for a moment you worry you've put him off.

Like the animals they are, but they know you're mine.

It makes your heart throb and your pussy flutter at the same time. A devious idea pops into your brain. You peel off your baggy t-shirt, push your breasts together, and quickly snap a picture. Biting your lip, you press send.

you're right. all this is yours, papa

For a solid minute, there are no signs of life from Perpetua. It fills you with a smug satisfaction, knowing a simple titty pic can affect him so dramatically. He talks a big game, but at the end of the day, he's as weak for you as you are for him.

Just look at what you've done.

You lick your lips when the picture appears on screen. He's got his cock in hand, fully erect and flushed the prettiest shade of pink. The foreskin is completely pulled back, revealing the full bell shape of the tip, a bead of precum, like a pearl, oozing from it. Recalling the taste of him, you clench your thighs together, feeling your heartbeat between them.

fuck it looks so good

i wanna suck you off so bad

With the mental image of those silver claws twisting into your hair, your hand slinks downwards, creeping into your underwear. You quickly find your clit, drawing slow, lazy circles around it. You're in no hurry to finish this, not when it's just getting good.

You would do anything for it.

You've already done a few heinous things for dick, and he knows that.

pretty much

I bet you're fucking soaked just thinking about my cock in your mouth.

Seeing his composure start to slip, you grin, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You eye the time, tempted to take this further. It's fucking late though, already close to midnight, and you need to be up at 6:00 tomorrow morning.

The temptation is too great. Fuck work.

you know

i'm just down the hall

you could come find out

There's a pause. He's considering it. You hold your breath when it shows that he's typing again.

Be there in 5.

[frostedsugarcookiehearts]

you can travel the world, (but nothing comes close to the golden coast!)

୨ৎ

being a man of your word was important, sure. okay, technically he did say that he'd never move to LA, but... times change, alright?

ted was overjoyed. it freaked schlatt out a bit. the fact that he was moving to this hundred-degree hellhole wasn't something to squeal and scream over―

wait, why was he moving here again? oh yeah, because of you.

every moment he spent with you felt like deja-vu and whiplash and a wicked high, and it was an indescribable feeling when you locked eyes with him. a few years back when schlatt was in LA for a chuckle episode, well― he'd had to drag him to a proper california party, right? to get the full experience, obviously.

schlatt didn't know what 'the full experience' was supposed to mean. he'd drink out of a sad red solo cup like he was sixteen and not twenty-five, roll his eyes at the thirsty party-goers and try not to grimace if someone recognized him. typical party behavior. and no, he wasn't a wallflower, thank you very much.

he found a seat on the couch that didn't have a... suspicious, to say the least, stain on it, and promptly flopped down onto his now designated seat for the rest of the long-ass night. but seconds into his peaceful lounging, he felt a weight flop down onto the couch next to him. schlatt looked to his right to see a burst of color― there was tinsel in your hair and colored extensions, your makeup made you pop, your clothes and your style― woah.

you were unapologetically yourself, for sure. but all of a sudden, those pretty lips started moving at record speed:

"if you were a marble, would you rather be stuck in the corner of a fishtank for the rest of your life or be in a never-ending rube goldberg machine? y'know that those are, right? the little loopdeedoops―"

he holds up a hand gently, nodding to himself. "yeah, toots, i get the picture. let a man think, will ya? yer askin' life-changing, thought-provoking questions here." he scoffs. "didn't think anyone in LA had half a thought at all with all that plastic surgery, let alone deep ones."

bursting into giggles, you put an arm on his bicep, all smiles. "you're funny. wanna get married?"

his face flushed, but he managed to play it off, scoffing. squinting, he leaned in a little closer, surveying my face and eyes. "are you drunk?"

"are you not?"

rolling his eyes, he grumbles, "i'm not getting married t'ya."

"i promise to put out on our honeymoon?" you bat your eyelashes animatedly, grinning.

"well that sweetens the deal, sweet'art, don't it?"

"suppose so." you lean back on the couch, propping your feet up on the coffee table and accidentally knocked over someones' line of coke with your shoe. "you're just a man. unless you aren't, and i'm sloshed as hell. i'd still hit if you were a chick, though."

"i'm just tickled pink." he deadpans.

too drunk to think straight, you bluntly ask, "man?"

"yes, i'm man. pretty obvious, at least to us who are sober."

you let out a surprised laugh, sloshing your drink around in the red solo cup. "bullshit you're sober. no one's ever sober in LA."

"nuh-uh. i am."

"nuh-uh, i am." you mock his voice, high-pitched and whiny. you point a finger at him accusatorially, your brow furrowing as a teasing smirk crossed your face. "you so got beat up as a kid. it's like, your villain origin story. or something."

"hey, the fuck? i did not, bitch." he barks.

"defensive. denial is the first stage of trauma, honey―"

"―oh, don't give me that honey bullshit, you're the whore that puts out on the honeymoon―" schlatt exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air.

you raise your voice, "―you know what, i don't even want to marry you anyway!"

"oh, boohoo. i'm losing such a catch, clearly!" he drawls sarcastically, huffing as he petulantly crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.

"yeah, ya are! i have bigger muscles than you do!"

he sputters, looking genuinely offended. "bull―shit!" he flexes, squeezing his bicep. "the ladies kill for these."

you roll your eyes, sarcastically letting out a little "yuh-huh." you guffaw at the last part, grinning to yourself as you spit back, "i think i speak on behalf of all ladies when i say, she's as dry as a desert down there."

"yuh-huh. fuck you, dumbass." he barks, holding his red solo cup so tight it starts to break under his grip.

"tallass."

he snickers. "drunkass."

"fatass."

schlatt's eyes widen and he pretends to be offended, but you can see a smirk grace the corner of his lip. "hey, ease up now, sugar! it's called a dad bod, and the ladies love it."

"if by 'ladies'" you put up air quotes, "you mean middle-aged white ladies named suannah with a criminal amount of letter repetition in her name―"

he takes one look at you and quips, "you're so drunk you can't even spell susannah."

"yes i can."

never one to back down from pissing anyone in a five-mile radius off, he prods, "do it then."

"S-U-Z," schlatt lets out a satisfied snort, "-A-N... U-H."

grinning from ear to ear and clearly smug as hell that you butchered it so bad, he teases, "dumbass."

"you wanna get out of here?"

he shoots you a serious look that reads 'don't play with me'. "you're drunk." he states.

"not that kinda guy?"

he shakes his head. "nah."

"damn, i found the only one." you pout, dramatically draping yourself on the couch.

schlatt mocks, "oh, woe is me―"

and it was like a flip switched from your snappy, biting personality to a cheery, happy, unicorns-and-rainbows version. "hey, wanna be best friends?" you grin.

he was a little taken aback by this new peppy version of your personality. but what harm was a yes, right? "yeah, sure, LA. don't get a big head 'bout it though, it's just 'cause i pity you."

"humor me and say it's cause i have big tits." you giggle, leaning in real close and looking up at him.

"didn't say that wasn't one of the reasons, now did i, toots?"

you burst into giggles, the only coherent thing he can manage to hear escape your lips is― "it's the best reason."

"for sure." schlatt smiles at you, for real this time. "i'll call us an uber."

୨ৎ

this edit inspired me. infact, it always inspires me. this edit i love. this edit i consume (yes i eat it). this edit me likey.

okay in all seriousness have a good night/day guys lol.

divider credits @omi-resources

[lovlidollie]

I just read your whimsy!reader and for some reason their relationship with rafe just made me think of the tiktok sound "you think the wind is trying to tell us something we don't know how to hear anymore?"

"I just want you to stop saying odd shit"

Like in a living way lmao

i had to search it up but oh my god that’s literally her lmaooo 😭 she genuinely says the most out of pocket shit and rafe just has to go along with it

“do u think that raindrops get jealous of the ocean sometimes? like they just wanna join them?”

“…. i’m jealous of people who don’t have to hear this shit.”

[gremlin-girly]

From the Ashes

Whisk & Whimsy Part 4

Dividers by: @/bernardsbendystraws | Banner by me, made in canva, images from canva and Pinterest (credit to the original creators)

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI machine.

Tags/warnings: violence, injury, blood, fluff, miscommunication

Summary: You kindly offer to help pick up the pieces. Even if that means letting Bucky stay with you for a while.

Word count: who knows

A/N: Very sorry who saw this prematurely post last Sunday - but I hope you enjoyed reading through the notes 😭💀

I want to give this series the attention it deserves so I'm taking a two week break to get my brain back on track and then we will be back to weekly postings. Thank you for all the love on this series so far! X

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Collection

Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The reactions of the bikers were instantaneous.

They each sprinted to their bikes and hurriedly packed away things. Bucky's face was like a storm as he barked out orders; Sam to go straight to the hospital and give updates on Hoskins and Joaquin, Alexei and Natasha to find Piertro, Wanda and Yelena and for Punisher to go with Clint to hunt down Walker and find whoever did this. Steve was to go straight to the club and meet Bucky there.

"What about me?" You asked teetering behind Bucky, gasping as he half threw you onto the back of his bike without warning.

"It's not safe for you, Cupcake. 'M taking you home." Bucky left no room for argument as the engine roared to life and he peeled away from the off-road with White Wolves in tow. "Now, hang on!"

You curl into Bucky, the wind howling in your ears and whipping your hair wildly. You clutch at him tightly, your mind flitting to young Joaquin's smiling face, his polite yet playful demeanour towards yourself and his superiors, and dread settles in your stomach. You didn't know Hoskins well, but liked him well enough; he was friendly and helped ease Walker's apprehension of...well, everyone.

You hoped, wished, prayed that they would make it through.

When Briarridge came into view, all of the bikers wordlessly split off to complete their tasks. Bucky kept speed, barrelling through the quiet roads until he pulled up outside Whisk & Whimsy. You hadn't even realised you'd stopped, eyes squeezed shut. The smell of smoke was strong, settling like a fog over the rooftops.

"Come on doll, hop off." Bucky says stoically.

"Take me with you." You say firmly, not removing your hands from his waist. The fire and stabbings had nothing to do with your beef with Bucky, and you wanted to help the friendly bikers that had been nothing but nice to you. "Let me help."

Bucky's chest heaves, you can feel the push of his ribs against your hands, his frantic heartbeat. "Fuck doll - I can't be wastin' time like-"

"Then DRIVE!" You growl at him and he starts the ignition again with a sigh, turning back on himself and heading in the direction of the club.

What should take thirty minutes takes ten with Bucky's driving and when the bike skids to halt beside Steve, Steve gives you a curious glance.

"Hello again," He says before looking at Bucky with the unvoiced question; you brought her with you?

Bucky shrugs. "She wouldn't get off the damn bike."

The three of you look to the remnants of the club and you can see Bucky's shoulders visibly slump in defeat. The club is still being doused with water from the fire engines but there are no more flames, only smoke and ash. The building is black, everything inside from what you can see is smudged in hues of charcoal and graphite and your heart aches for Bucky and the White Wolves.

The neon sign exploded from the heat, and the glass has melted into the entry way. No more dubiously stained carpet. No more bar. No more more club. No more home.

"Fuck." Bucky sighs, dropping his hands to his thighs. "This ain't good."

"You're telling me, pal." Steve looks forlorn as he looks at the building, or what's left of it. "This was premeditated."

You're still clinging to Bucky and rise up slightly, feeling a little dazed. "I'm so sorry."

"What are we gonna do Buck?" Steve asks, folding his arms firmly. You're not even offended that the two men ignore your apology.

"We're gonna find who did this and make 'em pay." Bucky growls. "Insurance'll cover most of the damage and thankfully nothing important was kept in the club but-"

Bucky takes a deep, long breath and you can feel the anger - the rage - brimming underneath the surface of his skin.

"That's not the point. Whoever this was attacked our own." Bucky kicks a stone near his boot. "They waited until we were out of town. This was personal."

"You can stay at mine tonight. I'll take the sofa." Steve offers dutifully to Bucky who contemplates his offer before you chime in.

"Stay with me."

Both men's heads whip towards you and you feel a little out of your depth for a moment before shaking it off; the image of Bucky's uncomfortable cot in his office plaguing ypur mind.

"You're gonna need all the rest you can get." You say, fixing Bucky with what you hope is a stern but sympathetic look. "I have an air mattress and a spare room."

Bucky's rage dissipates for a moment to blink at you before looking over at Steve, who's smiling with surprise.

"Careful there, Cupcake." Bucky teases softly. "People might actually think you like me. Now, where's that useless sheriff?"

An hour later Bucky's slumped into your couch, tattooed hand over his face. Your heart aches for him, losing so much in such a short space of time was incomprehensible. Your belongings, your home, a friend. Maybe even two if Joaquin didn't pull through.

The loss of the club you could chalk up to karma for threatening your business and others but the rest? That was plain unfair. Kindness was a virtue you had yet to reign in and your brain, bless her heart, tried to rationalise Bucky being on your couch. You hated him, didn't you?

So why did you offer him your couch when he could've stayed at Steve's?

You try not to grumble to yourself as you bring two mugs over to the small couch. You curse yourself for cheaping out now that your legs are pressed against Bucky's and you can't sit at least an arm's length away from him.

"Hey," You say softly, holding out a mug of tea. "Here."

Bucky peeks out from under his hand and blinks tiredly at you before taking the mug from your hands, ringed fingers brushing yours. Tingles tan up the expanse of your arm as you pulled it back towards you, trying to suppress a shiver.

"Thanks, doll." He says gruffly, looking into the ripples on the tea surface.

The only sound you can hear in your heart in your ears, thudding hard and fast. You should say something... but what? What do you say to a man who's lost everything in less than a day?

"I'm..." you start speaking before you can stop it and you feel Bucky's eyes on you. You roll your shoulders anxiously, fighting to try and find the words, before settling lamely on a "sorry."

"For what?"

You expected a grunt and a nod not a conversation. You shrug helplessly.

"Uh, well, everything - I guess?" You stammer out, dropping your gaze to the mug in your hand. Wisps of steam rolled over the surface and you took a deep breath, prolonging the sigh for as long as you could.

It still didn't help.

"I really had fun today until... you know, it wasn't." You clear your throat. God, why was this so hard? Why is your heart beating so fast? Is it because you're trying to comfort the man you're supposed to hate?

"I can't... I can't imagine being in your shoes. With everything that's happened today and - yeah - I'm sorry." You rush the end out quickly and, noticing Bucky hasn't spoken for a while, look over at him with a weary but sympathetic smile.

Bucky's only looking at you. He nods and says nothing for a few moments, just looking. You want to look away but something stops you. Your chest is tight with anxiety, you're only comfort is the warmth of the mug permeating your palms as Bucky looks - no, gazes - at you like he's a million miles away. His blue eyes are locked onto yours, and the more you focus, the more you see.

His eyes aren't just blue; they're periwinkle with with flecks of a misted green close to the iris. Where you'd thought, or better yet assumed, they were cold and cruel you now see that they're soft and worrisome. At the corners of his eyes where thick, dark unkempt eyebrow taper, you can see the faint crinkles of smile lines. It wasn't a surprise to you that he was attractive, you noticed that the first day you'd met him. But in the midst of a tragedy and him not even a foot away from your face, on your sofa no less, you've only just made the realisation that perhaps you've made one too many assumptions about the biker before you and had ignored the fact that he wasn't just attractive; he was soul-destroyingly beautiful.

"I could... put on a movie? You ask after clearing your throat, hoping the silence would be a little less awkward and help you to ignore your new-found revelation.

"Yeah, sure." Bucky murmurs, tearing his gaze away from you to look at an interesting piece of wall and sip his tea.

You turn on the TV and boot up Netflix, flicking to the movie section and eyeing up the genres.

"Guess you'd want an action movie huh?" You joke, hoping to get a rise from him to ease the strange feeling hanging in the room. It works - he bites.

"What's with the assumption?" He raises an eyebrow at you, smirking slightly. "Maybe I'd kill to watch - what was that one? Go back... Maybe I'd like to watch 13 Going on 30."

You snort. "I apologise profusely for thinking the only two movies you'd like were Mad Max and Mad Max Fury Road."

"You forgot Furiosa too." His eyes twinkle and he hides a smirk behind his mug as he takes a sip and despite the day you'd had, you find yourself smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

"Bucky Barnes, biker leader and film connoisseur." You chuckle. "Quite the title."

"I wear it with pride." He grins. "But I'll settle with something I don't have to think too hard about."

You manage to find a light-hearted action-comedy to stick on but Bucky only makes it through the first forty minutes before his head slumps against your shoulder. You startle and go to move him when you see how soundly he's sleeping, not a peep escaping his pink lips, long lashes curled against his skin. He looked like a cherub; round-faced, innocent and angelic. Such a contrast to the man that he is. However, you don't move him, letting the leader of the White Wolves rest his weary head on your shoulder for a restful while.

You don't remember seeing the end of the movie or feeling your eyes grow heavy. All you remember is that by daybreak, when the orange sun peeks it's way into your living room and the birds begin their morning sonatas, you wake up on Bucky's chest with a blanket draped across you both... and willfully close your eyes and go back to sleep.

The incessant beeping of a fire alarm jolts you from your slumber. Panic clutches at you as you think your home, your café, your dream, is on fire. You're on the sofa - alone - and fight your way out of the blanket cursing Bucky for leaving you, falling to the floor with a thump. The floor creaks unsteadily and you curse. You should have gotten that hole fixed.

You can see the grey smoke descending and the smell of burning....

Bacon?

"Doll, are you okay?" It's Bucky's voice. You rub at your eyes and clamber to your feet, ready to run.

What you see, instead of a burly man fighting his way through fire to rescue you, is Bucky waving smoke away from the detector. He curses loudly and looks behind him to the stove where more plumes of smoke rise whilst you make sleepy sense of the situation.

"I tried making breakfast." Bucky says, slightly panicked, giving you a sheepish smile. "But I think I ruined it."

You really, really want to frown but instead a laugh sputters free from your throat, your heart taking its time to settle to a calm pace. Bucky's face lights up and he chuckles softly giving you the sweetest puppy-dog eyes he can muster. Had he always looked at you like that? Lips perfectly pouted, eyes gently pleading for your sympathy? Surely not.

"Perhaps I should've left the cooking to you."

You find yourself smiling - still not frowning - when your eyes meet his. "Perhaps you should've. What havoc have you wreaked on my kitchen?"

Thankfully, the only damage Bucky had wrought was on the bacon; utterly singed to black curls in the frying pan. You shoo him away as you scrape the remains into the trash and start afresh with a pot of boiling water and a now bacon-ash free frying pan.

Four small, colourful sllicone bowls get a swipe of olive oil on a ball of kitchen roll before being filled with one egg each. Bucky watches on, fascinated with your fluid movements around the stove. The fresh bacon sizzles softly in the pan and you place the egg bowls into the boiling pot before clanking the lid on top. Bread gets thrown into the toaster - four slices - and you shoot Bucky a smug smile as you flick the kettle on.

"I take it you like your bacon crispy?" You tease and Bucky chuckles sheepishly.

"I do like it to have some crunch." He says, reaching up to the cupboard you point to and pulling out two mugs. You try not to let your eyes linger as his shirt lifts as he reaches for the mugs and focus yourself on pulling out the instant coffee, sugar and butter from the fridge.

The toast pops and the sound of cold butter scraping along the crisped surface fills the space between you and Bucky while he adds coffee and hot water to your mugs. As you pull the bacon to lay it across the toast you instruct him on how many teaspoons of sugar and how many dashes of milk you take. The next step is removing your eggs from the pot, slowly, carefully and using a spoon to carve into the curvature of the silicone; removing a perfectly cooked, runny poached egg. Once two of the eggs are placed on one plate, you hand it to Bucky before repeating the same onto your plate. You slice open your egg yolk with a knife and let it run over your toast before pushing a piece onto your fork but before you take a bite you glance to Bucky and find he's braving his breakfast with his hands and a dream.

"This is delicious." He says around a big mouthful, a stray golden tear of egg yolk escaping the corner of his mouth. "Thanks, doll."

"Don't mention it, fire hazard." You chuckle and inwardly stall. Talk about insensitive on your part. "I'm not just a pretty face."

"Mm." Bucky nods, licking away the yolk from his chin, unperturbed by your terrible nickname."You're not."

As quickly as heat begins to bloom in your stomach, you squash it back down. Just because you fell asleep on him - technically twice, but who's counting? - and made him breakfast didn't mean things were different now somehow. You let him stay and made breakfast because you're a good person.

And because you're hoping Bucky will appreciate your kindness and not extort you. Right?

Right.

"I hate to ask this but I'm going to have to call a meeting today," Bucky says, thumbing away yolk residue and cleaning his thumb with a kiss. "Could we use the café as a meeting point?"

You make a sound of uncertainty and ponder his question. On the one hand, you'd miss a day of business and have your café filled with upset and frustrated bikers. On the other, there's the whole not being extorted thing and you can catch up on inventory, stock and prepare anything else.

"Alright." You half-sigh. "I'll get some admin done and give you guys lunch."

"Doll, you don't-" You hold up a hand and his mouth snaps shut.

"I insist. If Joaquin and Hoskins are awake, I'll get Sam to take theirs to them." Your eyes meet his and you smile. "But you're doing the dishes."

Seeing the White Wolves look so upset made your heart break, though you weren't surprised to find that once they'd all arrived, most of your floor space had disappeared too.

Sam had arrived first, tired and worn after spending the night sick with worry at the hospital. Both you and Bucky had cornered him the moment he stepped foot over the threshold.

"Are they okay?" Both you and Bucky say in unison. Sam looks between you both and shakes his head.

"Joaquin is stable and under supervision." He says and then looks to his boots. "Hoskins is in ICU."

"What about Walker? Maximoff?" Bucky asks.

"Piertro got the girls to safety thanks to Joaquin, Hoskins and Walker. Walker was trying to fend off two attackers." Sam gives Bucky a concerned look. "However, Walker is AWOL. He's not with his family or in the usual spots around town."

Bucky grumbled and shook his head shooting you a "you shouldn't hear this" look, prompting you to announce you were going to make a start on lunch. By the time everyone else had arrived, lunch was ready and waiting and Bucky took the opportunity to update them on whatever he and Sam had spoken about while they ate and you busied yourself in the store room. Eventually, you stepped back out to your serving counter to do basic inventory (and sneakily listen for updates) while they discussed next steps.

"Steve, call the Destroyers and Panthers. See if they've heard anything." Bucky scratches at his stubble thoughtfully. "Meanwhile, I want someone around Torres and Hoskins twenty-four-seven. If they were cowardly enough to attack the younger members when we were out of town I wouldn't put it past them to try and get into the hospital."

Everyone nods in acknowledgement.

"Punisher and Clint, you both find Walker, if you can. I have questions that need answering. Alexei, you stick with Steve. Anything happens I want updates."

Yelena pipes up. "What about me and Wanda? We have school and work to go to."

"Take sick days." Bucky huffs impatiently. "You're always playing hookie Lena, that shouldn't be too hard to do."

Some of the bikers chuckle and Alexei pats Lena's shoulder and she looks sheepish. There's a few more questions about Hoskins and Joaquin, their injuries and about their families before Sam asks the million dollar question.

"Where are we gonna congregate now that the club is gone?" Sam glances over to you and then back to Bucky but before Bucky can come up with an answer, you're already speaking.

"Come here. I may have customers some days but you can come through the storeroom out back." You point through the open door behind you. "It leads up to my apartment."

A few of the bikers and do a double take and glance at Bucky as if to make sure they're hearing you correctly. You're not even sure if you're hearing you correctly.

"You heard the lady." Bucky shrugs, crossing his arms, leaving no room for negotiation. The surge of pride that swelled in your chest at the acknowledgement and respect made a little voice in your mind nag - but you chose to ignore it. "Come through the storeroom. As for the club, Nat, I need you to call the insurance company and get that sorted out."

When the Wolves disband, more focused when they entered, Bucky sighs heavily sagging against the counter. You slide him a mug of fresh coffee with a sympathetic smile and he looks up at you, looking ready to melt into the floor.

"You okay?"

Bucky's eyes are tired - even though he'd had a full eight hours the trauma, stress and general discomfort of sleeping on the sofa had done a number on him.

"I just... hate the waiting." He says quietly after clearing his throat, sipping the coffee. "I don't know what to do with myself."

"There's a hole under the sofa that needs fixing, if you want something to do." You joke but Bucky's eyes light up with purpose.

"I could fix it."

"A-are you sure?" You stammer awkwardly. "You don't have to, I was kidding."

"Least I could do, Cupcake." Bucky purrs back with a smirk. "I'll get some supplies. You said the air mattress is up in that spare room too?"

You nod, feeling a little dumbfounded. You'd given up your apartment without a second thought but at least Bucky was making himself useful. "In my office. Sheets and spare comforter are in the closet."

Bucky nods back, stealing your notepad and making a short list of some items in a scrawl you almost can't decipher. He tears out the page and tucks your pen behind his ear, winking at you as he heads towards the entrance of the café.

"I'll be back soon. The boys won't need to meet until maybe tomorrow unless anything happens so feel free to re-open."

Soon, as it turns out, was almost two hours later. Bucky had borrowed Alexei's truck - a beautiful, beat up red flat bed - and had returned toolbox in hand and a plank of thin plywood over his shoulder.

You're busy serving customers but everyone stops to watch him saunter behind the counter and disappear up the stairs, whistling a made-up tune.

"Was that-" The customer your currently serving points to the back of house where Bucky had been moments prior.

"I'm just getting some work done." You say quickly, handing her her coffee. "He came highly recommended."

Throughout the day you can hear various bangs and clashes from upstairs and, finally, after closing you make your way upstairs to your apartment, fearful of the mess that may await you.

You're pleasantly surprised to find the place is as you left it. The hole under your sofa has been expertly repaired, the plank of of plywood serving as a mis-matched replacement. Bucky rounds the corner from your bathroom cleaning a wrench with a rag and huffs in surprise when he sees you before breaking into a grin.

"You done for the day, Cupcake?"

You realise you've been staring and blink owlishly at him. "I - uh - yeah."

He points behind him to the bathroom, tossing the rag over his shoulder. Your pen is still tucked behind his ear, keeping hair from his face. Maybe you should let him borrow a hair tie.

You kick the thought to the curb as soon as it enters your head. You're not roommates. You're not friends. You're helping out... an extorter?

"You had a leaky faucet that was driving me nuts." He says nonchalantly. "And the water pressure in the shower's fixed too."

"I - well, thank you." You knew the bothersome faucet well, as well as the finicky water pressure. Bucky had just saved you at least a few hundred dollars instead of calling out a plumber. "You didn't have to."

"Eh, well," Bucky shrugs, giving you a boyish grin that made his eyes sparkle. "We'll call it even after I get us dinner."

"Dinner?" Your stomach growls on command. After re-opening you didn't get the chance to eat real food. "Please don't tell me you're going to cook again?"

Bucky chuckles and leans against the wall, making it harder for you to concentrate for some strange reason.

"Ha Ha, real funny doll. No, there's a great pizza place in town that delivers." He raises and eyebrow at you. "If you're okay with pizza?"

"Who isn't okay with pizza?" You challenge playfully and Bucky's grin widens.

"Good. I'll put an order in and shower." He heaves himself away from the wall. "I'll let you choose the movie again, but this time make sure it's good."

Bucky disappears into the bathroom and when you hear the water running, you're surprised to find your heart is fluttering wildly in your chest and you're smiling again.

Despite it not being a good sign in the slightest, you have to admit that Bucky's handiness has saved you money and his company isn't an entirely abhorrent experience. Plus, you're now getting free food.

Begrudgingly, you give Bucky a point his own tally; making you even.

You - One.

Bucky - One.

After enjoying a delicious pizza and a terrible movie you actually managed to watch this time, you'd both headed to your separate rooms to retire for the night relatively early. You were glad Bucky had chosen not to tease you about the sofa-sleep-cuddle situation; you'd think you'd combust if you spoke about it out loud but it played on your mind the entire night.

The following day, Tuesday, was an errand day. Which meant mostly shopping. You were prepping an itinerary on the sofa, comparing it to your stock list you took the morning before when Bucky emerged from the spare room. Despite being on an air mattress this time, Bucky looked even worse than the day before.

He wasn't just tired, he was zombified. No amount of caffeine could fix that.

"You sleep okay?" You ask, voice laced with concern. The last thing you needed was him to be grouchy.

Bucky shakes his head, brown hair falling in front of his face, before yawning loudly. "Just restless."

You hum disbelievingly but your mind flits to the cot in the club, to the sofa you're sat on and then finally to the air mattress. None of these were entirely comfortable.

"Sleep in my bed tonight." You offer with a soft smile. He definitely needed the sleep and a small comfort in this trying time.

Bucky seems to do a double take, tripping over his words. "Are you - you want - you're okay with that?"

You snort a laugh, confused but still trying to be a gracious host. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Bucky blinks and beams at you. "It - nothing."

You shake you're head with a smile. He really must be tired - his brain clearly isn't functioning properly. "Oh! I'm also going shopping today so if you want anything just text me."

"Alright. Thanks doll." Bucky smiles before padding to the bathroom. "I'll see you later?"

"Yep. I should be home around three."

The stores were busier than you'd anticipated and instead of being home at three like you'd wished, you were home around four-thirty.

You had, in fairness, taken a bit of a detour stopping at a department store to pick clothes up for Bucky.

Bucky had been wearing the same clothes for two days now and you had come to the sinking realisation that all of his clothes must have been at the club and he didn't think to buy himself anymore when he went out Monday. Besides, the last thing you needed was Bucky walking around naked while you washed his clothes.

No lights were on when you entered the apartment which was odd. No TV, no sound, merely the drip of the kitchen sink.

"Bucky?" You call, wandering into the living room and flicking a light on. Most of your groceries had been packed away downstairs in the bigger fridges but you'd brought the new clothes and the more immediate-use groceries upstairs in carrier bags. You dumped all but the clothes-bag next to the kitchen counter and wandered to the rooms.

"Hey, I'm back."

You wonder if Bucky is napping or if he'd gone out since the shower wasn't running, but there's no light from anyone of the rooms.

With a hapless shrug, you open the door to your bedroom, flooding it with the warm light of your living room, only to be greeted with Bucky smirking over at you, lying on his his side looking so very damn seductive it should be a crime.

"Making me wait all day for this," he purrs. "You're cruel, Cupcake."

You stagger back with a shriek and cover your face, dropping the bag of clothes at your feet. You can feel the burn of a blush scald your palms. Bucky was in your bed. Naked. His bare, beautiful ass on your bedsheets.

"Ohmygod!" You breathe, but his image has already been burned into your retinas.

"I haven't even done anything yet, Cupcake." Bucky teases smugly and you can see him move to flex his abs between your fingers. "Why don't you come over here an-"

"You pervert!" You shrill, kicking the bag over to him. "Why would I- you- urgh!"

"Pervert? I-" Bucky's cheeks burn bright when he opens the bag to find new pyjamas, jeans, shirts, boxers and socks neatly folded inside it. "Oh."

"Oh?" You squeak, glaring at him. "OH?!"

Bucky looks up at you with wide eyes, looking incredibly sheepish. "This morning you said I could sleep in here tonight."

Your eyes bulge at him. "And I would take the air mattress?"

Silence falls as you both stare at each other; realisation of what you had meant turning Bucky's face into a tomato. You don't like how the air thick and stuffy, nor do you like how your eyes are desperate to look down at his bare torso or study the tattoos on his left arm.

Would it be so bad? He's been a perfect guest, he's attractive and those abs - no.

No.

No no no no no.

After a few more moments of staring, and worrying another organ that wasn't your brain was about to make a terrible decision, you turn on your heel and walk briskly from the room, slamming it shut behind you.

"Goodnight Bucky." You squeak out and you can hear the creaking of springs from your mattress as Bucky shifts and your face heats up even more as images of what could have been appear in your mind's eye.

No!

"Doll, wait-" You can hear Bucky scrambling, feet hopping around your bedroom floor as you sprint to the sofa. "Hey!"

Bucky emerges from your room clad in a new pair of boxers following after you. The boxers are tight in all of the wrong places and you look to the cieling hoping some higher power will smite you on the spot.

"I didn't know!" Bucky's face burns red with a thousand suns. "I thought we'd -"

"Don't finish that sentence." You shriek desperately. He can't put it into words. Not now. Not ever.

"I- I thought...." Bucky stammers and swallows thickly. Then he looks at his feet with a small shrug.

"Uh, is this a good time?"

Both you and Bucky's heads whip around to see Steve standing in your doorway. He's smiling and rosy-cheeked, obviously trying to contain his laughter.

"How the hell did you get in?" You snap and Steve, still smiling, shrugs.

"Door was open." Before you can argue with him, Steve gestures between you and Bucky. "Chris and Curtis think they may have found something. Am I interrupting?"

You clamp your mouth shut and glower at Steve, embarassment overpowering you as you storm to the bathroom. "No, you're not! Take him! I'm having a shower."

You slam the door and turn on the shower, your heart hammering so hard you're sure it thuds against the door. You can still hear Bucky and Steve over the water.

"Don't you dare tell Sam about this." Bucky growls.

"Oh, I am so telling Sam about this." Steve laughs back and you can hear hushed muttering and Bucky padding back to your room. After a few minutes, you hear Steve laughing again and you bury your face in your. However, when you glance to the mirror, you can see that you're smiling despite the embarassment.

The whole thing was pretty funny if you thought about it hard enough.

Although, you'd almost let yourself be tempted by Bucky and that was dangerous, in the grand scheme of things, Bucky was ultimately more embarassed than you, so that was a point in your favour.

You - Two

Bucky - One.

Moments later the front door closes as Steve and Bucky disappear into the night.

The door slams open hours later, startling you from a light slumber. You'd been watching trashy TV, unable to settle once Bucky had left. The longer the hours dragged the more worried you became and the more frustrated.

Frustrated that Bucky made you worry about him.

You jump to your feet seeing a figure half slumping in your doorway and in the dim flicker of the TV, periwinkle blue eyes with flecks of misted green meet yours and you rush over to Bucky.

You smack on the light switch and Bucky winces at the sudden blinding light. His left eye is red and swollen, ready to bruise to a plum over the next few days. There's a cut to his right cheek, his lip is split and bloody and there's blood seeping between his fingers that are clutching his right bicep.

"What the fuck happened to you?" You yell

"Good evening to you too, doll." Bucky groans, shuffling his feet inside your apartment. Your face glowers up at him from his armpit as you wrap your arm around his waist and take his left arm in the other to hurriedly guide him to your sofa.

He collapses onto it with an "oomph" and much to his surprise, and yours, you begin to focus your attention to his injuries. It's like a switch has flipped - you're concern for the injured trumping your alleged hatred. Your mind races with what you can see. Swollen eye. Cuts. Stab wound.

"Keep pressure on your arm. I'll be back." You order, flying past your door and locking it before heading to your bathroom sink and ripping out its contents like a wild animal. You wade through plasters to find a long-lost surture kit and a tiny first aid bag before sprinting back to Bucky.

Bucky's breathing is laboured, teeth gritted in pain as you settle on the floor beside him, pillow under your knees for a small comfort while you try to remember your first aid training.

Blood supply. You needed to slow the blood flow.

You don't even ask permission as you begin to remove Bucky's belt. Bucky's eyebrows shoot up into his hair.

"Woah, if I knew getting stabbed would have you this feral, I would've-"

"Shut up." You hiss at him angrily as the belt slithers free from the loops. You wrap the belt tightly around his shoulder, just above the entry wound, and pull it tight. Despite Bucky's curse of pain, the wound pulses under the strain and the skin surrounding slowly goes white as blood slowly stops flowing as fast.

You're quick but clumsy, ripping open a sterile antiseptic wipe and cleaning around the wound so you could see it without blood getting in the way.

"Have you ever done this before?" Bucky asks as you toss the wipe in favour of a new one.

"Nope." You reply, eyes not leaving the wound. Bucky growls as you drag the wipe over the wound finally, and can see what damage has been done. "Talk to me about tonight. What happened?"

Bucky braces as you wipe at some congealed blood gently, inspecting further, but begins to rattle off the events of the night. He and Steve had managed to find a lead that led to a bar on the outskirts of town but when they had got there it was empty. However, upon leaving they'd been ambushed in a brawl.

"Came outta nowhere." Bucky huffed. "Luckily, Alexei and Sam had disobeyed orders to follow us so they were outnumbered. But not before I got this souvenir."

You glance up and see he's looking down at you, trying for a smile with his bloddy split lip. "But you shoulda seen the other guy."

"You're lucky it's only a few centimeters deep and not serious." You huff with a frown, releasing the skin in favour of a third wipe. "I'm glad Alexei and Sam were there too. I like that you all look out for one another."

"They're family. Family takes care of eachother." Bucky grunts before hissing as you drag an antiseptic wipe over the cut again.

"By extorting people and not getting a real job?" You snap, raising a challenging eyebrow at Bucky, who only grins back, infuriating you further as you work on his arm.

"I guess you could say that." Bucky half shrugs. "I could see why an outsider like you would think that."

"An outsider?" You press, anger brewing as you inspect the now-clean cut. Bucky winces when you pry it open slightly, double-checking for any debris that may have lodged itself in his flesh. "Oh please elaborate."

"Everyone in Briarridge pays the fee - if you haven't noticed, the police around here don't do much." Bucky huffs hair from his face. "We are the law. This place used to be decrepit. A festering pit for illegal activity. We had to do something. I had to do something."

"So you're a hero?" You scoff, opening the suture kit. "Some hero. If the people of Briarridge are so thankful, why did one of them stab you in the arm?"

"I said everyone pays, not that everyone is happy about it." Bucky sighs, bracing as you push the threaded needle through his arm. "We still have enemies."

"That narrows the list of suspects." You grit out, all of your focus on haphazardly stitching the wound together. Bucky's bicep twitches, his jaw sets from the pain but he refuses to make a sound. When you're done, you tie and snip the thread, sitting back to wipe away the sweat on your brow with the back of your hand.

"At least they didn't get my tattoo arm." Bucky jokes.

You glare at Bucky's playful expression and you're sure that when you sigh through your nose, smoke billows out. Irritating. Smug. Asshole.

Yet, the corner of your lips still curl upwards.

"Asshole." You mutter, getting to your feet. "Stay there I'm not done with you."

"I think I like you being my nurse, doll." Bucky calls to you as you pad to the bathroom. "You're a lot gentler than Steve is. That punk damn near gave me sepsis last time he fixed me up."

You chuckle to yourself as you grab the petroleum jelly and a large bandage from the bathroom cupboard stepping over your earlier mess, imagining Steve's giant, grubby pastry-crumbed hands trying to fix Bucky up. You wash your hands quickly and try to hide the blush that graces your cheeks at Bucky's compliment before you step back into the living room.

You sit back down next to him, crossing one leg underneath you and popping the lid of the jelly. Taking a dollop onto your fingers, you drag it over the fresh stitches you placed.

"What are you doing?" Bucky whispers, watching your fingers cover the wound in the cool jelly.

"This will keep dust out," you tell him, wiping your fingers onto your pyjama bottoms. "Help it heal over instead of clotting. Hopefully, you won't have much of a scar but you should still see a real nurse."

There's a loud pop as you open the bandage packet and begin to unravel it.

"How did you know to do that?"

"I've worked in more than one kitchen," you glance up at him with a sarcastic smile. "First aid is important."

Bucky nods and swallows, moving his arm outwards slightly when you tap it, allowing you to wrap the bandage around his thick bicep with ease. Even if you were adding a bow a little smugly.

"Thank you." Bucky says after a few moments, staring at his arm, then at you, eyes brimming with sincerity. "For everything."

The suddeness and sincerity of Bucky's words have you doing a double take and you roll an awkward shrug. "It's no problem."

"You're something else, you know that?" Bucky murmurs, leaning closer. "You're tougher than you look."

To your inner most horror, you start to lean in too, mesmerised by those blue eyes that are full of playful sincerity and plump lips that are just begging to be kissed.

"You're an asshole." You murmur back, but there's no venom behind it.

"I don't doubt it." Bucky chuckles lowly. "But you like it - if you didn't, you wouldn't have offered to let me stay."

You didn't like the accusation - the call out - and open your mouth to protest but Bucky continues.

"And," His breath is warm against your lips as he crowds you, his tattooed hand cradling your face; not to stop you from pulling away, but holding you suspended in place. "If you didn't like me just a little, you wouldn't have picked my bike to ride on. Picked me to cling to for a day."

All the air in your lungs has dissipated. You don't pull away, you're speechless, voiceless; lost in a moment. But Bucky has tethered you, he is a lifeline, and with a gentle caress of his thumb you breathe again.

"Well, Cupcake?" Bucky presses, eyes boring into yours. "Cat got that whip-smart tongue of yours?"

You blink and try to think of an ample excuse, a quip, anything but Bucky. But there's nothing and you knew there would be. Since moving to this town and meeting him, he'd consumed your thoughts, your dreams, every waking moment. You had tried to scheme, to plot, to ploy and yet all you had done was deny the inevitable. You'd tried to fight it. But goddammit, he was infuriatingly sexy and he knew it.

Knowing when you'd been beat was a lesson that most people learned lying down, and you were no exception. When Bucky had no answer, an answer in and of itself, he'd pressed his lips against yours.

His hand moved into your hair; a warm comfort against your scalp, urging you further towards him. He was gentle, unlike how you'd imagined (or pretended you didn't) over the last few weeks, his lips his lips slowly moving against yours like he was preparing you for ruin, despite the fact you were melting like butter in a hot pan to his touch.

You'd argue that he caught you off guard. You hadn't expected an attack of passion at all. An unplanned attack that, even if you gave yourself a point for fixing him up, you remained even.

You - Two.

Bucky - Two.

Chapter 4 - END

A/N: ohoho it seems the enemies have become lovers 😏

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[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Could I please request Thranduil with a breeding kink with the lavender field prompt? 🔥🔥 thank you so much!! Your writings lift my spirits!

Here you go!

"Lavender Haze"

Pairing:  Thranduil x Fem. Reader (elf/second person POV) | Location: Greenwood the great

Themes: Smut | Soft

Warnings:  Kissing | Explicit language | Mild dirty talk | Breeding kink | Sex in an open field | Penetrative sex | Rough sex | Cream pie

Word count: 1.6k words

Summary : A game of hide of seek take place in a lavender field. What price will the loser have to pay? 

Rating: 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 🔞  | You are responsible for the media you consume

Rules and tag form here | Prompts for requests here

 A lavender haze. 

That was all you could see in the periphery of your vision—an endless haze of the richest lavender swaying with the wind. The blooms rustled, murmuring with a hushed voice of their own every time the wind rose. It was sheer happenstance when you came across this field of wild lavender. Thrilled with this new find, you made haste to ride back to Amon Lanc and tell its prince. Thranduil listened with rapt attention and insisted that you take him there. No one knew of such a field, and he wanted to see it with his own eyes. 

The prince came. And he saw. And believed. And a merry chase then ensued. No one besides the two of you knew of this little slice of paradise, and Thranduil wanted to make the most of it. Others would learn of the field's existence soon enough, and the opportunities to be alone within it would grow sparse. 

You ran and ducked behind tall bushes. Hid behind the thick trunks of gnarled trees with branches so low they kissed the soft grass that grew beneath them. And Thranduil chased you still, calling out for you and searching for you, the heady rush of the chase working its magic on him. 

"Where are you, meleth?"

You clapped your hands over your mouth and kept still. Thranduil was close to the oak tree you were hiding behind. You could not hear his footsteps; the prince moved like a wraith, not making a single sound. You press against the bark of the tree, wondering if he heard you or if he knew where you were hiding. 

"Meleth?"

It was as if he were further away now, but you keep yourself concealed anyway. When it sounded as if he had moved quite a distance, you peered around the tree, pleased to find him no longer there. You take off again, giggling and smug, confident you have thrown him off your trail. 

"There you are!" Thranduil ran in from behind and threw his arms around you. He cackled when you squealed and squirmed and tried to free yourself from his hold. His moving away from where you were had just been a sly trick. He was there the entire time, hidden, waiting for you to come out into the open. 

"Th-thranduil!" Giddy laughter ripped through you when you tried and tried, and he simply continued to carry you deeper into the field. "Let g-go!"

"No!" Thranduil's laughter mirrored yours. He listened to you grumble and plot your escape, and laughed again, louder this time. "Yield, meleth. Escape is futile. Surely you know this by now."

"Never!" That never lasted no more than a few moments, when you realized you would not be able to extricate yourself from his vise-like grip no matter how hard you tried. You give up and go limp against him. 

Thranduil sets you down amidst fragrant purple blooms. "Now, tell me. What was our wager again?"

"If I win, you are to be my slave for the turn of a moon," you answer quickly, more than a little disappointed that losing the wager meant not having Thranduil wait on you hand and foot. Literally. 

Thranduil smirked, clearly pleased with himself. "And if I win?"

"I am to let you have your way with me. In whatever way you desire."

"A prospect that does not disappoint you, yes?"

You huff and cross your arms. How easy it was for him to read you! "It does not."

Thranduil smiled wolfishly and sat down, extending his hand to you. "Come, meleth. It is time to pay the piper, so to speak."

You narrowed your eyes and made yourself comfortable next to him, lying down on the grass as you did so. The sky was beautiful, all puffy white clouds against a field of the palest, clearest blue. You rest your head over your folded arms and watch while they stay low and move slowly. Thranduil is content to watch you. He lays down beside you, an enchanting smile slowly working its way across his face when you turn to face him. His eyes light up when you smile in return. 

"I will pay," you reply with a grin. 

Thranduil beamed and leaned forward, the sweetness of his kiss pouring into your throat when his mouth opened over yours. Deft, experienced hands worked on the clasps and lacing on your robes. Your gown loosened beneath his touch. The prince helps you out of your clothes, barely taking a moment to marvel at the sight of you exposed. Thranduil then sat up, his clothes rustling while he rid himself of his tunic and undershirts, belt and sash and boots. They all joined the growing pile by the side. He slipped out of his breeches, sighing in relief when his throbbing cock sprang free. He did not give you time to even think or breathe. He simply captured your lips with his. 

Your nerves were aflame; every inch of you was heated and sensitive to his touch. And you were bold, reaching out to ghost a finger over the crown of his member. Thranduil moaned lustily and drew away, content again to watch, this time while you took him into your hands. He moved his hips, thrusting in time with your strokes. The warmth and frenzy of your pace were unceasing. It nearly undid him and almost made him cum all over your hand. 

"Not like this." Thranduil loosened your grip and pushed you onto your back. "I would much rather finish inside you."

He was so warm when he lowered himself onto you—slowly and carefully—and tried not to lose control of himself and hurt you. He did not enter you immediately. Thranduil kept still while you touched his face and his hair, and ran your hands over his arms and chest and back. The prince was perfect, like an exquisite marble sculpture come to life. 

"Mine," you declare without even hesitating. "All mine."

Joy welled within Thranduil's heart. "As you are mine," he exclaimed with pride before dipping his head. 

He kissed with tenderness, then hunger, then fury, when your mouth parted for the warmth of his sinful tongue. Thranduil knitted his tapered fingers around yours, moaning into your mouth when your free hand slid around his waist and nails dug into his flesh. 

"Naughty girl," he breathed wistfully. "Now open those beautiful legs for me."

He groaned under his breath when your legs slid open and hooked around his hips. Thranduil pushed in, inch by agonizing inch, sinking his shaft into your slit. The prince was built bigger than most, and you felt it in the pressure around your core. He kept still, his chest heaving and his heart racing wildly, while you adjusted to his size. Arousal pooled in your belly when even the slightest movement sent shock waves shooting up your spine like lightning. You no longer wanted him to stay still. You wanted him to move. 

"I am ready."

Thranduil's pace was merciless. He rutted into you like a wild beast, growing drunk on your transported moans.

"Look at how well you take me," he cries against your throat. "It is as if you have been made for me."

All you could do was hold onto him while he bucked his hips against the insides of your thighs. "Perhaps it is because we were made for each other."

"Yes," Thranduil agreed. "Meant for each other. You are mine, just as I am yours. We belong together."

His grip on your hand tightened. He plunged deeper and harder. It made you see stars. "More," you plead shamelessly. "More. Please."

Thranduil grunted softly. "Look at you. Listen to how desperate you sound. Should I deny you?"

"No!" you keen. "Please do not do that."

"Pathetic." Thranduil hissed hoarsely, his hips now undulating every time he thrust. "But I suppose I will concede to your plea. I am going to finish inside you, so you know who you belong to."

"Please." The knowledge of him filling you with his seed unraveled you. "Do it. Please."

He nearly fell apart when he heard. Thranduil let go of your hand and gripped your chin, forcing you to open your eyes and look at him. He wanted to see how your words could undo him. "Are you ready?"

You did see. You saw how his eyes had darkened and how raw, unbridled lust flashed in them. And you were so ready for him.

"Yes," you sob in relief. "So ready."

Thranduil ran his tongue along the curve of your throat. It made you tremble beneath him and whimper against his shoulder. His thrusts grew erratic and relentless. It sent you spiraling and made the world grow dark in your eyes. Thranduil gasped sharply while your walls contracted and milked his cock. It shattered him and made his orgasm rip through him. He glanced at your belly, his thoughts running riot with visions of his spend filling your cunt. It heightened the bliss he was already drowning in. With one last, satisfying grunt, he came to a stop, his arms and body trembling from the exertion. 

Nothing could be heard save for the wind rustling through flowers and leaves and the deeper sound of ragged breathing. Thranduil slowly moved onto his back, taking you with him. You sighed in contentment while he held you against his chest. When you moved, he stopped you. 

"Keep me inside you a little longer," Thranduil insists. "Just a little longer, then you and I can go for a swim in that pond nearby."