#{ when darkness turns to light; (anon) }

[spirallingstarcases]

we want to hear the unhinged things!

i completely forgot abt this ask skdhdhsh but ok!im gonna put it in the tags! no one but freaks allowed in there!

(here are the photos again for ref)

[pikanari]

Random Ask (always accepting) || Anonymous asked:

Would you take ass if you could? If so, who's would you take?

"Well, I mean, I do have a boyfriend soooooo..."

[monster-disaster]

I have a request for you!

A female reader that is happy-go-lucky and carefree. She frequents a monster brothel very much to the annoyance of the owner, a large gruff skull headed male demon. All the workers outright refuse to accept any payment from her because she's that good of a fuck and they also slack off during work hours to chat with her. She's very amusing and has an infectiously positive attitude, becoming a pseudo therapy dog for them. He considers her a menace to his establishment.

The next time she comes in he gives her an itemized bill and tells her she is barred from entering until she pays up. The workers start making a fuss and his hubris kicks in and makes a bargain. He'll see if she is that good of a fuck, and if he runs out of stamina before her he'll pay for everything.

He's thinking that she's going to end up under him out of energy and breathlessly moaning his name. If only he knew the opposite is going to happen..…

Dear Anon, I love your brain.

demon!Ezek x human!Reader Good to know: smut

The demon stands outside, framed by the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp. His arms are crossed over his chest, muscles straining the fabric of his shirt as he watches you round the corner. His dark, angular face twists into a scowl at the sight of you walking towards him with a spring in your step, light and easy as if you are simply meeting an old friend rather than the very creature who sent you away with a hefty bill only weeks ago. His sharp eyes narrow with suspicion, and annoyance rolls off his spine in waves. Yet, when your gaze meets his, you flash him a grin, bright and carefree. Your lipstick glints under the light of the setting sun still peaking out between the tall buildings. The glow gives you an orange blush that makes the deep color of your eyes shine with something that makes him grumble.

"Little pest," he greets you with a grunt. "I thought you wouldn't come."

The curve of your lips turns sly as you peek at him through your eyelashes. "You thought wrong," you tell him. "I missed my boys too much not to come, anyway."

Your words hit their mark. The tight frown etched into his bony features deepens at the use of your words. He almost scoffs. His annoyance lingers in the air, but he says nothing, only stares at you with that simmering, barely contained displeasure.

Your boys...

And he can't even argue with that. Ever since he sent you away with that bill, his men have treated him like the enemy rather than their boss. They grumble under their breath, shooting him looks like he is a storm cloud hanging over their heads. They have become a flock of offended hens, huffing and puffing whenever they catch sight of him. Their loyalty to you has been a thorn in his side ever since.

You have been the thorn in his side ever since you first set foot in his brothel years ago, slipping through the front door like a breeze that none of them saw coming. You charmed your way into his men's good graces, winning over their hearts with a flick of your little finger. It got to the point where his men wouldn't even accept your money, brushing off your attempts to pay with dismissive waves and toothy grins. It was a rare sight, seeing the lot of them, usually gruff and hardened, melting under your influence like snow under a warm sun. They'd offer you drinks on the house, pull up chairs beside you for conversations, and treat you like one of their own, much to his growing frustration. He’d seen how their eyes would light up when you arrived, and the playful banter that used to fill the rooms whenever you were around. To them, you were a welcome break from the usual grind, but to him, you were nothing but a nuisance, one he couldn’t quite seem to rid himself of no matter how many times he tried to draw boundaries.

"Come, then," the demon rumbles, jerking his head toward the entrance before opening it in front of you with a rough motion. The hinges creak in protest, blending into the noises of the traffic around.

"Where are the others?" you ask immediately, your gaze sweeping over the empty, dimly lit hall as you step through the doorway.

"I sent them home."

The deal he made with you spread through the brothel within a few hours. The whispers and knowing glances bounced from one monster to another like wildfire, and before the demon knew it, the place was unbearable with the sneaky exchanges. He felt like the butt of a joke, and he couldn't stand it any longer.

"Oh," you reply. The disappointment in your voice only adds fuel to his growing annoyance. "I wanted to ask Blake how his family gathering went."

Ezek scowls down at you. His features, all bones, seem haunting. The deep crimson of his skin darkens as he glares. "What?" he asks, irritated. Then, he shakes his head dismissively. "Don't answer. I don't care."

You huff in answer. "Rude."

He rolls his eyes, exhaling sharply as he gestures for you to follow him. The impatience buzzes beneath his taut skin, making his movements rigid while he leads you down the corridor. Each step he takes is purposeful as if he is trying to outrun his annoyance simmering just below the surface.

After he’d had enough of his men’s antics, he finally made the decision to call you. He swore he felt Hell freezing over when you answered the line, all chirpy and upbeat as usual. It was infuriating how effortlessly you managed to sound cheerful when he was at his wit's end at the brothel.

"What can I do for you?"

Ezek snarled before he forced the words out of his mouth. "I have a deal for you."

His idea was simple: you could come and go as you pleased for free, as long as you showed him why the monsters who were supposed to work for him and generate profit acted like you were the one who owned the place. It was a way for him to regain some semblance of control while getting rid of you for good.

"I will be there," you agreed.

The room he chose is simple, with low lights that cast a warm, inviting glow all over. Neatly arranged sheets lie atop the bed, their sweet scent filling the air and mingling with the subtle hints of something floral and fresh.

"I need the bathroom first," you say, already putting down your purse and making your way to the other door.

"Sure," the male grunts in reply with a hint of disinterest in his voice as he loosens a few buttons of his shirt. The fabric parts, revealing a glimpse of his skin.

He settles down on the bed, leaning back against the plush headboard while waiting for you. He can hear you moving around, and without realizing it, he steals glances toward the bathroom, his mind racing with thoughts he can't quite pin down. You are a lively little thing, radiating so much brightness that he has no choice but to feel both frustrated and intrigued at the same time. It doesn’t matter, though. After this night, he will show you that you have no place here, and everyone can move on without making his life impossible. The thought solidifies in his mind. He’s determined to reclaim his authority, to restore order among the chaos you've brought. This night will serve as a reminder to both you and his men that while your presence may be captivating, it’s also fleeting, a temporary distraction that he intends to put an end to.

When you appear at the doorway a few minutes later, he can’t help but be surprised at the sight of you. He expected you to go all out to impress him, but instead, you are clad in nothing but simple white underwear that fits snugly over your curves. Ezek feels a mix of admiration and irritation stir within him as he lets his gaze rake over your soft body. It’s disarming, and he can’t shake the feeling that you are effortlessly turning the tables on him, challenging his resolve in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

"What do you think?" you ask him with a big smile on your face. You twirl around to show him more, though there isn’t much to reveal when it comes to your underwear. It looks soft and comfortable, but his attention is quickly drawn to the plush curve of your ass before you turn back to face him. "I bought it just yesterday."

For a long second, Ezek is silent, taking in the sight of you. Did you really buy this for tonight? But he doesn’t voice any of this, though. While you’re nothing but an annoying little pest in his life, he has no desire to hurt your feelings or damage your self-esteem. Besides, he knows his men would burn him alive if they sensed he’d crossed that line. Instead, he clenches his jaw, torn between frustration and a reluctant admiration for your naiveness.

"You look stunning."

And he isn’t lying. Your natural confidence shines brighter than any lingerie ever could. The soft glow of your skin under the dim lights enhances your allure, and he can’t tear his eyes away from the thin fabric of your bra, clinging to you and showing off your hard nipples. It’s a sight that pulls his focus, stirring something deep within him that he’s too annoyed to confront. Even in something so simple, you manage to captivate him in a way he didn’t expect, and it leaves him grappling with a newfound awareness of just how potent your presence can be.

Moving on the bed, Ezek lets his legs fall onto the plush carpet as he leans slightly onto his knees.

"Come here," he commands, locking his gaze onto yours the whole time.

Maybe he is struggling to find his footing in this situation, but he sure won’t let you lead this dance between the two of you.

_

His long fingers grip your hips with bruising force, digging into the soft skin as he struggles to find control. It’s as if he can’t decide whether to stop you or urge you to move faster, making you bounce harder on his lap. It feels like his brain shut down the moment you climbed onto his lap an hour ago, and now all he can focus on is the heat of your body. Your warmth presses into him in a way that makes it impossible to think straight. Every shift of your body and every roll of your hips sends a fresh jolt through him, and he’s not sure if it’s pleasure or frustration that makes his grip tighten even more. Probably both. His breath comes out ragged, catching in his chest as he tries to steady himself, but it's a losing battle. Every time he thinks he is regaining control, you shift or press closer, and the edges of his thoughts blur again.

You are on his lap, riding him with a relentless rhythm. Your warm, slick heat envelopes him with every bounce. The sound of your bodies colliding, skin slapping against skin, fills the otherwise quiet room, blending with the soft creak of the bed beneath you. If Ezek could muster even a shred of sanity, he’d be irritated by the rhythmic noise. He sure will change every bed in this damn brothel the moment he can think again. But right now, every coherent thought slips through his grasp like sand. His fingers press deeper into your soft flesh, trying to steady you, or perhaps himself, as each movement sends a fresh surge of pleasure through him. It’s maddening, the way you ride him, guiding the pace with a confidence that both frustrates and excites him.

"Ezek," you moan above him. The high, desperate sound wraps around him like a vice, pulling tight, and he feels his erection jerk inside your wet, clenching heat.

A low growl rumbles from his chest. His teeth grind together at the way you moan his name, and then your hands slip from the headboard to wrap around his horns. The sudden, sharp tug on his skull makes his vision go white-hot at the edges as a shudder of raw sensation courses down his spine. His hips buck upward in a frantic, uncontrolled thrust that has him driving deeper inside you. The pressure of your grip on his horns leaves him reeling, forcing out another growl from deep in his throat as his body responds to you in ways he can’t quite rein in. He holds you down, forcing you to stay tight and snug around his cock as he grinds his hips up into you. He can feel the slick warmth of his previous release as it seeps out of your used hole, dripping around the base of his cock with every thrust. The sensation is filthy, spurring him on further to push into you with a rough determination that leaves your pussy clenching around him.

"Fuck," the demon snarls, his voice rough and guttural as he pushes himself up on the bed.

He moves with a sudden, feral urgency, crowding you beneath his larger frame. With a swift motion, he flips you onto your stomach, forcing your chest down into the rumpled sheets while your surprised squeal echoes in the room. His palm presses down firmly on the small of your back, pinning you in place as he shifts one of your legs to the side, spreading you open. The position leaves your pussy swollen and easily accessible.

"Ezek!" His name falls from your lips like a breathless plea as he drives into you again. Your body arches instinctively, responding to the overwhelming pleasure. His hips snap forward with an animalistic force. Each stroke is deep and unrelenting as if he’s determined to imprint himself into every part of you. You can feel him everywhere, the heat of his body against yours, the way his presence fills the space around you, making it feel both electric and consuming.

The male leans over you, his breath is hot against your ear as he growls. "Cum around me, Y/N." The weight of his body presses down. Your ass is soft and plush against his pelvis. Each thrust drives him deeper, pushing you closer to the edge.

The demon's muscles are taut as he holds himself above you. He can feel the familiar tingle at the base of his spine, a sign that he is nearing his own release. His balls pull tight, the need to fill you up almost primal, urging him on with a ferocity that makes his heart race. He digs his fingers into the sheets, anchoring himself as he quickens his pace.

“Y/N,” he growls, his voice low and raw. "Let go for me."

The tight, urging command is the final push you need. He swears he could break his own teeth by the force he closes his mouth as your warm pussy clutches and pulses around him. The feeling of you milking his already sensitive cock snaps the molten heat pooling low in his stomach. It’s as if every nerve ending in his body ignites at once, stealing his breath away for several long seconds. The tight grip of your warmth around him pushes him to the brink, and he can't help but growl as he feels his release barreling toward him, unstoppable.

With a final, deep thrust, he lets go, filling you completely as he shudders in ecstasy. Thick spurts of his cum paint your tightening walls. The warmth of him floods you in waves that send shockwaves of pleasure coursing through both of you. He can feel the pearly white liquid drip down, smearing over your joined skin.

As he finally catches his breath, he collapses onto the bed next to you, chest heaving and the world still spinning. For a long while, both of you lie sprawled out on the bed, the air warm and thick with the mingled scent of your arousal. He turns his head to glance at you, and a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. The dim light casts a soft glow across your features, highlighting the contentment etched on your face. It’s a sight that sends a wave of satisfaction through him.

He takes a moment to soak it all in.

Until you break the silence.

“Do you think if I give you some time, you’ll be ready for another round?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows. Your voice is hoarse, yet as cheerful and bright as ever.

The question catches the demon off guard, leaving him momentarily breathless as he stares at you in disbelief. “Wha'?”

You shrug with a playful glint in your eyes. “You are better than I thought.”

The praise ignites a fire within him, causing his blood to boil. His usual scowl returns, hardening the sharp lines of his features as he processes your words.

For a few silent seconds, you hold his gaze, tilting your head slightly as if trying to decipher his reaction. “That’s a no?”

The demon groans, frustration creeping into his voice as he glances up at the ceiling. “Go and find your boys.”

“And what if I do that thing with my tongue again?” you ask. The sultry tilt in your voice sends a jolt of arousal and pain through his already spent cock, making it twitch in response.

Well, call him a machoist... "Give me ten minutes."

He will hear about this from the others anyway when you saunter into the brothel, so why shouldn't he enjoy it while he can?

[pathologicalreid]

what goes bump in the night | s.r.

in which Spencer's struggling with violent nightmares after prison, and you find yourself on the receiving end of his tossing and turning

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: reader gets whapped in the face. don't like don't read, please. blood, prison arc, black eye, a lot of guilt. therapy. word count: 1.89k a/n: (this wasn't a request but shout out to the anon who told me i had to repost this after i deleted it) this is some dark shit but i have to admit i do think about the possibility a lot. take care while reading my loves.

Several years in the BAU had inadvertently trained you to wake up at any slight movement or noise. While some might call it paranoia, you considered it to be a finely tuned skill.

Spencer didn’t sleep talk before prison, and even now, he only mumbled in his sleep when he was having a nightmare. Normally, he didn’t move, he just tossed his head around and begged for whoever he was seeing in his nightmare to just hold on. Tonight was different, he sounded like he was pleading for someone to leave him alone, and he was thrashing more than usual.

You knew there was a risk of waking him, but you reached out and gently shook his shoulder anyway. “Spence,” you whispered, not wanting to hurtle him out of his darkened dreamscape.

There was no response. No sign of him coming even close to waking up.

His thrashing became worse, and his mumbling became even less intelligible like something was covering his mouth in his dream. Reaching out from your side of the bed, you tried to grab his hand, hoping it would be something that he could use to ground himself. Gripping his hand, you said his name again, more forcefully this time.

The pain didn’t even register at first. The first thing you recognized was the sensation of having something stuck in your eye, a small twinge in the outer corner that sent your hands flying to the side of your face.

Oh.

With your uninjured eye, you looked up to see Spencer, awake. Breathing heavy, sure, but awake. Very slowly, his breathing slowed, but he had seemingly forgotten that he was sharing a bed with you until you felt liquid trickling from your nose and scrambled to the bathroom before you got blood all over the sheets.

His wide eyes followed your shadow through the bedroom, putting the convoluted puzzle pieces together as he came out from under his nightmare-induced fugue state only to find a different type of panic. You faintly heard him curse and rustle the sheets as you shut the bathroom door harder than you intended.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, your right eye was tearing up as a result of the impact, and your nose was trickling blood down your face. Grabbing a wad of tissues from the box on the counter, you pressed them to your nose, blinking the tears from your eyes to the sound of your heart beating through your chest.

Spencer knocked on the bathroom door, followed by a larger thud that you assumed was him leaning his head against the door. “Can I come in?”

You tried not to sniff, hating the sensation of your nose being covered, you responded, “It’s your bathroom.” Your tone was far too blasé, and Spencer was going to see through it immediately.

“That’s not what I asked,” he told you, a slight tone of desperation ringing through. You knew what he wanted to know; he was asking if you were comfortable with him being in the same room as you – if you’d feel safe with him in the same room as you.

Leaning your head back, you took as deep of a breath as your body would physically allow you before you answered, “Yeah, you can come in.”

Before you had even finished speaking, Spencer had opened the door to the bathroom, letting the light stream into the bedroom, “Fuck,” he murmured when he saw you, “Hey, don’t lean your head back. You don’t want the blood to run down your throat.”

“Okay,” your voice quavered, watching him lift his hands like he wanted to guide your head down until he realized he didn’t know what to do with his hands – he couldn’t bring himself to touch you. Leaning over the sink, you let coagulated blood fall from your mouth, watching it go down the drain before you looked up at Spencer, who watched on in horror at the mess he had created. “Can you grab more tissues?” You asked him, giving him a job to busy his idle hands.

Instantly, Spencer grabbed a handful of tissues and held them out for you, within your range of motion. Still leaning over the sink, you took the new tissues and held them to your nose, haphazardly dropping the soiled tissue in the basin beneath you. “I don’t… What-“

Cutting him off, you spoke, “Do you still have those ice packs? The first aid ones from last year,” you made a new request, giving him a job to perform so that he wouldn’t apologize to you. He’d apologize until he was blue in the face, but you still wouldn’t know how to respond.

He nodded, crouching in front of one of the cabinets and filtering through a first aid kit, hoping to produce a disposable ice pack for you to place near your eye. With the timidness of a newborn foal, Spencer set the plastic on the counter next to you.

Your boyfriend watched as you carefully peeled the tissues from your face, checking to see if the bleeding had stopped, only to quickly replace the tissue when you noticed a trickle of fresh blood making its way down your philtrum. “Aren’t you supposed to pinch it or something?”

“Yes, you can pinch the bridge of your nose to staunch the bleeding,” Spencer said, grabbing your discarded Kleenex and putting them in the garbage bin. He watched intently as you reached up your free hand to pinch your nose, “Does… does it hurt?”

Giving him a quick shake of the head, you met his eyes through the mirror, “I don’t think it’s broken,” you told him, avoiding answering most of his question.

He loosed a sigh of relief, “Thank god,” he murmured, keeping an eye on you as you wondered how terrified he must have been to invoke the name of a deity he didn’t believe in.

Once you were finally able to drop the last of the tissues in the sink, you were faced with an even worse reality. There was no way of escaping the black eye that you already had forming, the tender skin would be further marred with time. “I think it looks worse than it actually is,” you offered meekly, reaching to your side and grabbing the ice pack off of the counter. You popped the center of it before wrapping it in a towel that Spencer had set out for you.

Holding in a hiss as the towel touched your face, you allowed your eyes to wander across the rest of your body. Your shirt had drips of blood on it, but the larger issue was red encrusted all over your face. With the urgency of a sloth, Spencer took a different towel from the drawer and ran it under the tap, wringing it out before holding it up, “May I?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, thankful for your newly cleared airway as you extended your neck, giving him the access he needed to wipe the blood from your chin and neck. “Spence-“

“I’m so sorry,” he interjected, his movements faltering as he let his hand drop to your shoulder.

You shook your head, crinkling the icepack in your hand, you blinked rapidly, hoping to clear your vision. “It’s okay, I shouldn’t have grabbed you,” you told him, it was the truth. He had obviously been having a violent nightmare, and you grabbing him had likely triggered a fight or flight response.

Spencer sighed dejectedly, “I burst a blood vessel in your eye. I’m so…” his voice trailed off in the middle of his sentence, leaving you unsure whether he was going to apologize again or go off on a self-deprecating tirade. “I hit you,” he breathed, abruptly yanking his hands away from you, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you.” Setting the washcloth on the counter, he put his hands up in surrender and stepped away from you.  

Leaning against the bathroom counter, you wished for an inkling – anything you could say to him that would prevent his auto-villainization. “I wish you wouldn’t say it like that. Saying you hit me sounds so…”

“Wrong? That’s because it is,” he said harshly, and you could almost see the storm of self-loathing that was brewing in his mind.

Shaking your head, you adjusted your grip on the icepack before looking up at him, “but it makes it sound like it was intentional. You didn’t hit me, you… thwapped me.”

Spencer loosed a shaky sigh, “I’m not so sure that’s better.”

“Would you prefer bonked?” You proposed, looking at him and hoping for a small smile, but being disappointed when you were met with the same haunted expression. “It was an accident,” you insisted, reaching out your unoccupied hand and taking his hand in yours, “I am fine.”

He scoffed dismissively, “I should have had a better handle on myself.”

You frowned, “You were asleep, Spence. You couldn’t have had a better handle on yourself. It wasn’t on purpose, and you’re taking care of me now,” you told him softly.

“But you’re scared of it happening again,” he challenged you.

When he had come home, you knew he had been changed. Not necessarily for the better or for worse, but he was most certainly changed. You had heard everything in bits and pieces, what had happened in Millburn, what had happened with Cat, but nothing had prepared you for the harshness of your new reality. He was capable of harming others, but that didn’t mean you thought he’d hurt you again. “You’re disappointed in yourself, but you don’t believe you get to feel that way. You’re projecting onto me,” you told him, taking your hand back.

Spencer flinched back, “Don’t profile me.”

“You, Spencer Reid, would never knowingly lay a hand on me,” you insisted, you believed it. You believed it even if he didn’t believe it himself.

The two of you sat in an angst-filled silence before he stood up straight, gently starting to usher you into the bedroom. Handing you a t-shirt from your drawer to change into, you could see his internal struggle as he grabbed a pillow from the bed and made his way toward the door.

Despondently, your shoulders slumped forward, “Where are you going?” You asked softly, hating to watch him leave your shared bedroom over this.

“I’m sleeping on the couch. I’m gonna… I’ll try to set up a meeting with my therapist in the morning. I just…” his voice trailed off as he looked at you with wide, sad eyes, “You’re okay?”

Your heart ached at his voice as you nodded, opening your arms for him and letting out a sigh of relief when he returned to you for a hug. Reaching your free hand behind him, you rubbed his back comfortingly, “We’re going to make it through this, mark my words.”

He nodded in affirmation as he pulled away, “For my own peace of mind, I’ll sleep on the couch for a while.”

You accepted it, knowing that he needed to deal with this in his own way, he closed the door behind him, effectively leaving you alone. Laying back on the pillows with your icepack still clutched to your face, you sighed, wondering how long it had been since your boyfriend felt any semblance of peace of mind.

[23victoria]

“what did you just call me?”❁

f1 grid x fem!reader

ft. lewis hamilton, max verstappen, lando norris, oscar piastri, charles leclerc, carlos sainz

authros note: thank you anon for the request!!! hope you like it🤍! just fluff and comedy ig!! any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!! also sorry if your name is April!! 😭

f1 masterlist

Max

You are sitting in your apartment, the scent of Max's cologne lingering in the air. The two of you have just come back from dinner, and you're now nestled comfortably on the couch. Max is s through channels on the TV, looking relaxed in a simple T-shirt and jeans.

"Hey, Marcus, can you pass me the remote?" you say absentmindedly.

Max freezes, his hand hovering over the remote. He turns to you, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What did you just call me?"

You look up at him with innocent eyes. "I called you Max."

He shakes his head slowly, his piercing blue eyes narrowing. "No, you didn't. You called me Marcus. Who the fuck is Marcus? That’s a ugly ass name."

You feign surprise. "No way, Max. Why would I call you Marcus? I don’t know anyone named Marcus."

Max leans forward, his expression a mix of amusement and irritation. "Are you fucking with me?"

You bite your lip to keep from laughing. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, Marcus."

Face turning red, he crosses his arms, his biceps bulging slightly. "You definitely called me Marcus. You got a boyfriend named Marcus I don’t know about?"

You laugh, unable to keep up the act any longer. "Alright, you got me. It was a prank. I would never call you by someone else’s name baby, you know that."

Max's stern expression softens into a grin. "You and your pranks," he says, shaking his head. "Don’t do it again, you had my heart racing."

You lean in and kiss him on the cheek. "Promise, Max. You're the only one on my mind."

Lewis

You're in the passenger seat of Lewis car, the city lights of Monaco illuminating the night. Lewis, ever the style icon, is dressed impeccably in a designer jacket and sunglasses, even though it's already dark.

"Lucas, can you turn up the music?" you ask casually.

Lewis takes his eyes off the road for a moment, a look of disbelief crossing his face. "What did you just call me?"

You glance at him with a confused expression. "I called you Lewis."

He shakes his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "No, you called me Lucas."

You maintain your innocent demeanor. "Lucas? Why would I call you Lucas? I think you're hearing things, Lewis."

He pulls over parking the car and turns to you, "I know what I heard. You said Lucas? Are you thinking about someone else while you're with me?"

You try to hold back your laughter. "Of course not, Lucas. Why would I think about anyone else when I'm with you?"

Lewis' jaw drops as he stares at you in shock. "Right there!?! Just now! You called me Lucas? Who the fuck is Lucas? And why is he on your mind?!"

You finally let out a laugh. "Alright, alright. I’m sorry baby! It was a prank."

Lewis shakes his head, sighing in relief, smiling. "You love messing with me, don't you? You almost made me shit my pants. I was getting ready to drive back home and say ‘fuck it’ to dinner."

You grin and laughing. "Not you getting ready to cancel dinner! You was gonna let me starve?!”

“Hell yeah! Coming in my car calling me another mans name!” he’s says exasperated.

“Baby, you know I would never call you by the wrong name." you say rubbing the back of his neck.

He reaches over and squeezes your thigh as he kisses you. "Just making sure. Because there's only room for one man in your heart and that’s me."

Lando

You're at the beach, lounging on a sunbed next to Lando. The sound of waves crashing against the shore is soothing, as the sounds of people laughing fill the air, the sun shining brightly making your skin glow.

"Levi, can you pass me the sunscreen?" you ask without thinking.

Lando sits up, his relaxed expression turning serious. "What did you just call me?"

You look at him with wide eyes. "I called you Lando."

He frowns. "No, you said Levi."

You tilt your head, pretending to be confused. "I’m pretty sure I know my boyfriend's name is Lando not Levi."

“Well I'm pretty sure you don’t since you called me Levi, I heard you, unless I’m turning deaf at 24.” he says with an annoyed tone.

He takes his sunglasses off, his boyish face looking a bit hurt. "Are you sure you're not mixing me up with your side piece named Levi?"

You stifle a giggle. "Side piece?!? I’m not cheating on you, Lando. Why would I do that?"

He narrows his eyes at you. "Because you just called me another man’s name."

“Okay, but what makes you think you're not the side piece?” you say with a straight face.

He freezes staring you at jaw dropped, in shock not knowing what to say, “Wha-“

You burst out laughing, unable to keep the charade going. "I’m joking baby. It was a prank!"

Lando still stares at you trying to comprehend what just happened. Frowning he says “Why would I be the side piece?”

You start to laugh uncontrollably, “That’s what you're focused on! Seriously! I told you I was just playing with you!”

Lando's frown turns into a slight smile. "Yea but, I’m not side piece material, I’m main piece material.” he says softly.

You smile, shaking your head. “Yes Lando, you are main piece material, that's why you're my boyfriend.”

You take his hands in yours, “You being more offended being called a side piece than another man’s name is concerning.” You say in humor and slight disbelief.

He leans over kissing you on the nose. "Because we all know I’m boyfriend material. Unlike whoever this “Levi” is."

“You’re something else.” you say laughing at his antics.

Charles

You're in the kitchen, helping him cook dinner. The aroma of fresh basil and tomatoes fills the air, making your mouth water. You take the freshly chopped onions and throw it in the pan.

"Chris, can you pass me the olive oil?" you ask casually.

Charles stops chopping vegetables and looks at you, bewildered. "What did you just call me?"

You give him an innocent look. "I called you Charles."

He shakes his head slowly, a puzzled expression on his face. "No, you said Chris."

You blink at him. "Did I? I don't think so, Chris."

He narrows his eyes, a hint of frustration in his voice. "You just called me Chris again.”

“No I didn’t, I just called you Charles.” you say seriously.

“Nope, you didn’t.” Putting down the knife, walking towards you. He says, “Who’s Chris?"

"I don’t know. I don’t know anyone named Chris.” You say trying to keep a straight face.

Charles steps closer, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Well clearly you do because you just called me his name."

“I’m telling you I didn’t call you that. You’re just hearing things.” you say starting to get nervous.

“Am I?” he says, staring at you.

You can't help but laugh nervously. "Alright, holy fuck! It was a prank! Stop being all scary!"

Charles shakes his head, chuckling. "You're lucky I knew you were just joking. Just don't let it happen again." He says as he moves closer to your wrapping his hand around your neck squeezing it softly as he says “Your mine and mine only. Yes?”

“Yes.” you say breathlessly as he kisses you briefly before pulling away, smirking as he says “You burned the onions.”

“Oh shit!” you say turning around to turn off the stove as Charles laughs.

Oscar

You're sitting in the living room, watching a movie together. The lights are dimmed, and the atmosphere is cozy and intimate.

"Oliver, can you pass me the ice cream?" you ask, your eyes glued to the screen.

Oscar pauses the movie and looks at you, confused. "What did you just say?”

“I asked if you could pass me the ice cream? you say confused.

”No. What did you just call me?" He says turning his body towards you.

You glance at him, playing innocent. "I called you Oscar."

He shakes his head, a slight frown forming. "No, you said Oliver."

You feign surprise. "Who the fuck is Oliver?"

He leans back, crossing his arms. "That’s what the fuck I’m trying to figure April, sorry I mean Y/N?

You gasp saying “Who the fuck is April?”

“I don’t know, who the fuck is Oliver?” he says as he shrugs his shoulders.

“Babe I called you Oscar so why the fuck are you calling me April?” you say trying not to laugh.

“Why the fuck did you call me Oliver, April? Why are you thinking about this man instead of paying attention to the movie?" he says.

You struggle to keep a straight face. "Stop calling me April!! And I’m not, Oscar. Why would I think about anyone else? Why are you thinking about some girl named April?"

He narrows his eyes, his face holding a scowl he says, "Because you just called me another man’s name, April."

“My names not April, Oliver.” You shaking your head while rolling your eyes. "I was just trying to annoy you, it was a prank."

Oscar's frown turns into a smile. "I know April. You really like messing with me, don't you?"

You grin and nod. "Yes Oliver, I can't help it!”

“But you know I would never actually call you by the wrong name baby." you say as you crawl into his lap straddling him.

He wraps his arms around your waist bringing you closer, kissing you. "I know baby, just making sure."

Carlos

You're outside in your backyard, relaxing by the pool with Carlos. The sun is shining, and the sound of water gently splashing adds to the tranquil atmosphere. You lean back in your chair, enjoying the warmth, and then decide to add a bit of fun to the moment.

"Babe, could you get me a drink, please?" you ask sweetly.

Carlos gets up with a smile. "Sure thing baby!"

As he heads to the kitchen, you call out, "Thanks, Marcus!"

Carlos stops in his tracks and turns around, raising an eyebrow. "Marcus?"

You feign innocence. "What? I said Carlos."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "No, you definitely said Marcus. Who's this Marcus guy?"

You giggle. "What are you talking about? I said Carlos."

Carlos narrows his eyes playfully. "Alright, if that's how you want to play it."

A few moments later, he returns with your drink and hands it to you. "Here you go, my love."

"Thanks, Marcus," you say with a grin.

Carlos doesn't miss a beat. "Oh, okay." Without warning, he scoops you up in his arms.

You scream, "Carlos, put me down!"

He grins devilishly. "You said Marcus, remember?" And with that, he jumps into the pool, taking you with him. You both splash into the water, and when you come up for air, you sputter, "Carlos, what the hell?"

He laughs, brushing the wet hair from his face. "Oh, looks like you do know my name."

You roll your eyes but can't help but laugh along with him. " Of course I know your name baby."

He pulls you close, still smiling. "I know you do. I can play games too, cariño, if you want me to."

You both laugh, “No, no. You win.” you say pulling away from him. “For now." Then, with a quick motion, you splash water into his face and make a dash for the edge of the pool.

Carlos wipes his face, laughing. "Oh, that’s how you want to play cariño, you're so going to get it now!" He starts to chase you as you scramble out of the pool, both of you laughing.

© 23victoria 2023-24 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate or claim my work as your own

[pandapetals]

You're Too Good for Me

Logan has a nightmare which causes him to spiral thinking you deserve better. He hurts your feelings then tries to make up for it.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

a/n: request from anon and i ran with it. I’m on my period so im emotional. also i think the song head over feet by alanis morissette describes their relationship perfectly.

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

Logan hadn’t had a nightmare like this in a long time—dark, violent, pulling him back to places he thought he’d managed to bury. He woke up gasping, drenched in cold sweat, fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. He barely registered your hands on his shoulders, your soft voice coaxing him back to reality.

"Logan," you whispered, brushing a hand gently through his hair. "It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m here."

As he sat up, breathing ragged, he could feel the old shame tightening in his chest, coiling around his heart like a vise. You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to be woken up in the middle of the night to deal with his demons, his scars that never truly healed.

In the dim light, he glanced at you, your concerned eyes, the gentle way you held him as though he were something fragile. Something that needed fixing. And it cut deeper than he expected.

"Go back to sleep," he mumbled, pulling away from your touch, trying to put space between you. "You don’t have to… just go back to bed."

You watched him, hurt flashing across your face before you masked it with understanding like you always did. But that only made it worse. Logan felt like a burden, an anchor holding you down when you could be with someone lighter, someone whole.

It was selfish, he realized bitterly, for him to have married you. To drag you into his darkness, to let you tether yourself to someone so broken. You could have had happiness with someone who didn’t carry the weight of a hundred lifetimes, someone who wouldn’t drag you into his nightmares.

The day that followed was unforgiving. The mansion was chaotic with the energy of kids excited for the upcoming weekend, their laughter and chatter echoing through the halls. Normally, Logan found a certain kind of peace in the routine, in the noise and laughter. He’d steal a moment to find you, just to see the way your eyes lit up when you spotted him across the room, the way you’d smile like he was the best part of your day.

But today, he couldn’t bring himself to look for you. Instead, he kept his distance, trying to hold onto the feeling of solitude he hadn’t felt in so long. He couldn’t shake the gnawing thought that he was ruining your life, that every day you stayed by his side, you were giving up a piece of yourself for someone who didn’t deserve it.

Still, avoiding you completely proved impossible. In the late afternoon, he wandered into the library to drop off a book one of the students had left in his class, and there you were, seated at one of the old wooden tables, a notebook open in front of you, scribbling something with that quiet intensity he loved so much.

As if sensing his presence, you looked up and caught his gaze, breaking into a warm smile. "There you are," you said, your voice light, teasing. "I feel like you’ve been avoiding me all day."

The words hung in the air, playful but carrying an undertone of uncertainty. When Logan didn’t respond, your smile faltered slightly, concern filling your eyes.

"Logan," you started, your tone softening, "what’s going on?"

Logan let out a long sigh, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Sweetheart," he said, his voice gruff, "don’t… don’t try to make me feel better, alright?"

You blinked, taken aback. "I’m not… I don’t even know what’s wrong. I’m just… trying to understand." Your voice wavered, the usual confidence slipping as you searched his face.

He looked down, feeling the weight of his own words pressing on him, but they spilled out anyway, rough and raw. "I don’t know why you stay with me. You’re too good for someone like me."

The hurt in your eyes was immediate and stark, cutting through him like a blade. Usually, you would have brushed off his self-deprecating comments with a witty remark, or maybe a kiss, but this time…the pain was visible.

"Wow, Logan." Your voice was quiet, almost disbelieving. "I guess if you say it enough, maybe I’ll start to believe it."

He felt his heart clench as he watched you, saw the way you pulled back as if shielding yourself from him. Before he could say anything, you’d gathered up your things and walked out, leaving him alone in the library, the silence heavier than any nightmare.

Later that evening, Logan sat in Xavier’s office, staring at the floor as the Professor studied him with quiet patience. Logan had come here for advice, though he hadn’t known how to ask for it. After a few minutes of silence, Xavier spoke.

"She loves you, Logan," Xavier said gently, his voice filled with the kind of understanding that only came with time. "And yet you push her away despite being married for years now. Why?"

Logan swallowed, struggling to put his feelings into words. "She… deserves better than me," he muttered. "I drag her into my mess. She’s always the one tryin’ to fix me, to hold me together. I don’t wanna keep holdin’ her back."

Xavier regarded him thoughtfully, folding his hands. "Perhaps," he said softly, "she doesn’t see it as a burden, Logan. Perhaps you’re the one who’s still carrying that weight." He paused, allowing the words to sink in. "But by constantly questioning her commitment, by doubting her love, you’re hurting her far more than any nightmare ever could."

Logan’s jaw tightened, shame flooding through him as Xavier’s words settled in. He’d spent so much time convinced he was protecting you by keeping you at arm’s length, he hadn’t realized he was driving a wedge between you. He was the one putting cracks in your relationship, making you question the very foundation of what you’d built together.

Determined to make it up to you, Logan planned a small, thoughtful evening, something that would remind you of the early days, back when things felt simple and uncomplicated. He knew he’d hurt you, and there was no grand gesture that could fix it. But maybe he could start by showing you what you meant to him.

He set up a cozy picnic under the stars in the mansion’s quiet garden, the same spot where he’d taken you for one of your dates. There were blankets laid out, soft lanterns casting a warm glow, and a small table with your favorite food—he’d even found the wine you’d both liked that night.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you finally came outside, your expression wary but softened by curiosity. Logan’s heart thudded in his chest as he stood, waiting, feeling more vulnerable than he ever had on a battlefield.

"What’s all this?" you asked quietly, glancing around the setup with a mixture of surprise and hesitation.

Logan rubbed the back of his neck, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. "I… wanted to make it up to you. I know I’ve been a real jackass," he admitted, his voice gruff. "I’ve got this… damn habit of pushin’ people away. And I know I’ve hurt you by doin’ it. You didn’t deserve that."

Your expression softened, and you stepped closer, your eyes searching his face.

"There’s a… note," he mumbled, pointing to a folded piece of paper on the table. "I wrote it… y’know, in case I couldn’t say all of it right."

You picked up the note, unfolding it carefully. His handwriting was rough, scrawled across the page, and the words were raw, unpolished, but every line held the weight of his heart:

"I know I don’t say it enough, but you’re the best damn thing that ever happened to me. You’re my light, my peace, even when I don’t think I deserve it. I’d be lost without you, and it scares the hell outta me sometimes. I’m sorry for doubting what we have. I love you more than I know how to say, and I’m the luckiest man in the world to have you by my side."

You looked up at him, tears shimmering in your eyes, but there was a soft, unwavering smile tugging at your lips. "Logan… you don’t have to do all this to prove anything," you murmured, squeezing his hands. "I know how much you love me. I’ve always known."

Logan gave a half-shrug, but his expression softened as he took a tentative step closer, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. "Maybe," he muttered, his voice rough, almost vulnerable. "But I’m a damn stubborn fool, and I know I don’t say it enough. Hell, I’m lucky you haven’t given up on me yet."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in close until your foreheads were nearly touching. "Logan," you whispered, your voice steady despite the emotion welling up in your chest. "I knew exactly what I was getting myself into the moment I kissed you that first time. You seem to forget… this is a two-sided relationship. I chose this, and I chose you—all of you. The good, the bad, and even the ugly."

A small, wry smile crossed his face as he held you tighter, his hand splaying against the small of your back. "Guess there’s plenty of that last one," he murmured, his tone filled with self-deprecation.

You shook your head, lifting a hand to cup his cheek, guiding his gaze back to yours. "I don’t want some perfect, easy life. This marriage hasn’t been easy—no one ever promised it would be." Your voice softened, and a flicker of pain crossed your face as you thought back to the late nights, the nightmares, the moments of doubt. "But I wouldn’t trade a single second of it."

Logan’s eyes softened, the weight of your words sinking in as he searched your face. There was a flicker of something vulnerable, almost boyish as if he still couldn’t quite believe that someone like you would stay through it all. "Even with all the times I’ve messed up? Pushed you away?"

"Especially then," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I chose you, Logan, knowing every scar you carry. I chose you because you’re worth it. Because beneath all that gruff and growl, there’s a man with a heart bigger than he’ll ever admit."

Logan’s gaze softened, his usual guarded expression melting as he took in the honesty in your eyes. His fingers tightened around yours as if grounding himself in the warmth of your touch.

You swallowed, feeling your throat tighten as you searched for the right words. "Besides, you act like you haven’t been there for me—like I’m the only one giving in this marriage. But that’s not true. You’ve carried me, held me up when I couldn’t stand on my own." A tear slipped down your cheek, and you felt a tremble in your voice as you continued, more vulnerable than you’d ever allowed yourself to be. "I guess… I guess I need to tell you much you mean to me more, because if I ever lost you—"

Your voice broke, the unspoken thought hanging in the air between you. Logan’s hand moved to your face, his thumb gently wiping away the tear that had escaped. He looked at you with a raw intensity, like he was seeing you for the first time and realizing just how deeply his presence affected you.

"I don’t know what I’d do," you whispered, voice barely holding together. "Without you, it’d be like… losing the part of me that makes sense of the world. You’re my safe place, Logan. I don’t want a life that doesn’t have you in it."

A faint tremor ran through Logan, and for a moment he just stood there, absorbing your words. Then, in a rare, unguarded gesture, he pulled you against him, burying his face in your hair, his arms wrapping around you as if he could shield you from everything—himself included.

"You won’t lose me," he murmured, his voice rough, barely more than a whisper. "I’m here. And I’m not goin’ anywhere. Not ever."

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palms. "Promise me," you whispered, your voice filled with both a plea and a demand.

Logan’s hand came up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he met your gaze, raw and steady. "I promise, darlin’," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "As long as I’m breathin’, I’m yours."

You nodded, a soft smile breaking through the tears as you let out a shaky breath. "Good," you whispered, a hint of your usual fire returning. "Because I’m not letting you go. You’re stuck with me, tough guy."

A smile finally broke through Logan’s serious expression, a low, rough laugh rumbling from his chest. "Well, I guess I got the better end of that deal," he murmured, his thumb tracing softly over your lips, his gaze warm and unguarded. "Lucky me."

You let out a laugh, sniffing as you swatted his hand away playfully. "No, I’m the lucky one, and don’t go thinking otherwise." You shook your head, the emotions bubbling up as you looked up at him. "You’ve seen the darkest parts of me, Logan. You know it wasn’t always easy for me either."

Logan’s smile faded slightly, his hand still cupping your cheek as he looked down at you, his brow furrowing. "Yeah… I guess sometimes I forget that," he admitted quietly, his voice carrying a hint of regret. "I… I let that damn nightmare get the best of me last night. Pulled me into my head, made me feel like I was poisonin’ your life somehow." He sighed, looking away for a moment. "I let it eat at me, let it convince me that I was only draggin’ you down."

He trailed off, his thumb idly brushing against your cheek, almost as if grounding himself in the warmth of your skin. "Guess I let that fear carry me away," he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. "And I hurt you because of it."

Your hand found his, squeezing gently as you shook your head. "You don’t have to apologize for feeling like that. I know what those fears can do. I’ve had them too, remember?"

He frowned, a hint of confusion flashing in his eyes. "You? I… I didn’t know you ever doubted us like that."

A soft smile played on your lips, tinged with a hint of sadness. "Oh, I’ve had my moments. There was a time, back when we were dating when I thought I wasn’t strong enough for all this." You looked down, your fingers tracing small patterns on his hand as you continued. "There were days I felt like I couldn’t handle the weight of what you carried… like maybe I wasn’t enough for you."

Logan’s hand tightened around yours, his gaze darkening as if the thought alone pained him. "I had no idea," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

You gave him a soft, reassuring smile. "Because you already had so much on your shoulders. I didn’t want to add to it. But… there was one night that changed everything."

He tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowing in curiosity. "Which night?"

You took a deep breath, a nostalgic smile crossing your face as you remembered. "It was that night when I got that phone call about my dad being in the hospital. You remember? I’d barely told you anything about him, about my family, because… well, I thought it was easier not to talk about it."

Logan nodded, his gaze intense, recalling the way you had looked that night—pale, shaken, trying to hold yourself together. "Yeah," he said softly. "You were tryin’ to act like you were fine, but I could see you were fallin’ apart inside."

You laughed lightly, nodding. "Exactly. I was a mess, trying so hard not to let it show. But then… you showed up. I was packing a bag, trying to figure out what to do, and suddenly, you were just there. You didn’t ask questions, didn’t push me to talk… you just held me." Your voice softened a hint of awe in it. "And then you drove me to the hospital and stayed with me all night, even though I told you it was fine and that you didn’t have to."

Logan looked down, a faint blush touching his cheeks, as if embarrassed by his own gentleness. "Didn’t seem like you should be alone," he muttered, almost to himself. "Couldn’t leave you to deal with that by yourself."

"Exactly," you whispered, lifting his hand to press a soft kiss to his knuckles. "That night, you made me feel like… like I was worth being cared for. Like I could fall apart, and you’d be there to catch me. That’s when I knew I loved you, Logan. Not because you’re some ‘tough guy’ who protects everyone around him, but because of the way you love—with everything you’ve got, even when it scares you."

He swallowed, visibly moved, his thumb still tracing your cheek as he looked down at you, the weight of your words settling over him. "You’re tellin’ me that one night… that’s what made you fall for me?"

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "It made me fall more for you and since then, every time you’ve shown up, every time you’ve let your guard down just enough to let me in… it only made me love you more."

Logan exhaled, his hand slipping down to rest over your heart as if feeling the steady beat under his palm reassured him of something he could never put into words. "I don’t deserve you," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "But… God, I’m gonna try like hell to be the man you see me as."

You leaned up, brushing your lips softly against his, pouring every bit of reassurance and love you had into that kiss. "You already are," you murmured against his lips. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. I wouldn’t trade you, or this life, for anything."

A soft laugh escaped him, full of relief and something tender. “Well,” he whispered, pulling you close, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m done lettin’ my own damn fears get in the way of us."

“Good,” you whispered. “Because marrying you was the best thing I ever did.” 

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss. His hand moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer as if you might slip away. When you finally broke apart, he looked down at you with a gaze so soft, so full of unspoken devotion, it made your heart ache.

[sangdelune-archive2]

╰ ☾ ☆ * : ･ ⁞ — ˗ˏˋㅤ𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐃𝐔𝐌𝐏 — general tags !

[lalunanymph]

୨୧ zayne decides to take matters into his own hands when he notices you've been neglecting your health lately

✧･ﾟboyfriend!zayne, fem!reader, established relationship, mentions of food, reader neglects her health, reader calls zayne 'sir' once, spanking, soft dom!zayne -> lifestyle dom!zayne, light Dom/sub elements, swearing, unprotected s[e]x, petnames (my aurora, my darling), thigh humping, size kink

✧･ﾟthought about lifestyle doms from an anon's ask and suddenly this idea came to me about zayne doubling down on making sure you're taking care of your health ugh i need this man biblically

The life of a Hunter is anything but easy, and Zayne knows that well.

However, he can't help the feelings that surface every time he sees you coming back home, tired and even more worn down than when you had given him a goodbye kiss this morning.

And this isn't the first time, either.

He notices—he always does. It's in his very nature to be trained to catch even the slightest deviation of the norm; a blip in your composure, your routine.

Nowadays, you were sleeping for 4 hours max, pushing your body everyday at work until bruises litter your limbs; skipping meals to hand in Jenna's reports before the stipulated deadline, barely finishing up your 500ml water bottle he so diligently helps to fill up every morning...

... and all of it piles onto the guilt he feels when he realizes how little he can do to take care of you.

It festers and festers and festers till he snaps the very second you come back home, exhausted and puckering your lips for his usual welcome back kiss.

"No."

It breaks his heart—truly, it does—to see the hurt shining in your eyes.

Why? You struggle to understand why he's being so cold all of a sudden. From warm snuggles to an icy cold glare—Zayne's mood shift was scaring you. 

Instead of answering, he goes into the kitchen and reappears a second later, holding a cup of water.

"Drink this all up and then I'll kiss you." 

His tone is deadpan, sharp green eyes never losing their sternness. 

To add insult to the injury, he scoffs, "Your breath probably smells after a whole day of not drinking water. The bacteria on your tongue alone could kill off a mouse." 

You gape, affronted. "Hey! Don’t be mean—" 

"Drink. Up." He leaves no room for you to argue; to huff your disbelief. Deciding to not be too difficult, especially when you've already had a hard day at work, you gulp down the water dutifully; a little too quickly until you choke and he pats your back. 

Once your coughing fit subsides, he tilts your head up, and like the first touch of cool morning dew on skin, his lips meet yours.

"More," you mumble, nails sinking into his soft dark hair, tugging slightly on his roots to voice your need.

Something about your sweet primary care physician boyfriend who's always yielding and gentle—restraining you from indulging in him until you did, as he said—made you throb all over. 

Zayne's minty cool breath fans across your face, his voice smooth as dark chocolate when he whispers, "You need to eat first. I know you haven't had a full meal today." 

Rubbing your nose against his, you whine. "If I do eat, can you kiss me more?" 

In answer, Zayne wraps his arms tightly around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "Of course," he mumbles into your skin. "I'll give you so many kisses till you're sick of them."

Never, you thought. You would never get over the feeling of his lips on yours. Or the rough rasp of his palm on your thigh, gently kneading the flesh as you quickly ate the meal he cooked. 

If you thought his spur of tough love would end after tonight, you were sorely mistaken.

Kisses held hostage turn into refusals of even hugging you until you promise to finish your lunch at work. 

You feel Tara's stare burning holes into your side profile, brows crinkled as she looks past her desktop at your antics. 

Today, your phone leans against your monitor, and you were taking huge bites of the noodle dish Zayne prepared the night before.

"Filming a mukbang?" Tara inquires innocently. 

You shake your head, expression sour. "No," you quickly swallow your bite of food, and fix her with a look that speaks volumes. "Zayne." 

"Ah." 

Tara nods. "Dating a doctor isn't easy. I bet he tells you to pay attention to your health all the time, huh? But, you know what they say—an apple a day keeps the doctor away. At least, he'll stay off your case if you take care of yourself." 

Only she could make it sound so easy.

When you were called into the city to investigate a strange flux pattern, you had forgotten to let Zayne know you weren't coming home in time for dinner. 

How were you to know that the very second you stepped foot at home, he was already waiting with a scowl in place? 

"Zayne—" you start when you see him leaning against the kitchen doorframe, expression impassive.

He shushes you, tall and imposing; still in his pristine work suit from today.

"Have you at least had something to eat in the last 6 hours?" 

Remembering the little pact you both made, you nod quickly. "Mhm hmm! All my food is finished—cross my heart." You even remove your container from its insulated bag, shaking it lightly. "See? All empty." 

A shadow of a smile graces his lips. "Good. And how many cups of water did you drink?" 

Immediately, the smile drops from your face. "Uh... one? maybe two. I can't remember..."

The look in his eyes would've made you shrink away, if you couldn't already predict your boyfriend's next words.

"You are highly irresponsible with your own health, my darling." 

You wait for him to nag, but back up when he starts to approach you; the look on his face is unreadable. 

"What do I do with you, Y/N?" he sighs, and before you can react, cages you against the wall. The smell of his cologne—fresh and expensive—invades your nostrils.

Your head spins, all the blood going straight to your toes; your stomach falling when he leans forward, lips right at your ear.

"I guess I have to force you to take your health seriously. How do you think I will do that?" 

Zayne doesn't wait for you to answer. In one swift move, he has you in his arms, using his strength to carry you into the bedroom.

"Zayne," you squeak and gasp when he tosses you onto the bed. 

The mattress dips under his weight, his face inches from yours. Despite the change in his behavior, you tilt your lips up, needy and ready to feel his kisses. 

But, he never gives it to you. 

Instead, his large hands pin your wrists to the headboard, those sharp green eyes peering at you through half-mast lids. 

Zayne licks his lips, and subconsciously, you track the minute movement, biting on your own lower lip. 

The air turns heavier; sweetened with the promise of an unforgettable night. 

You accidentally tick your hips up, catching the front of his slacks. Your eyes widen when you feel an unmistakable bulge digging right into your crotch; Zayne's loss of composure pushing right into the heat of your thighs, demanding for your attention. 

In contrast, his expression doesn't change; an almost bored emerald gaze fixed on your every reaction. 

"You do know what will happen tonight, right?" 

Trying hard not to shiver, you nod. 

"Yes," you mumble, suddenly meek. 

"Yes, what?" 

You swallow, darting your gaze over his shoulder. He grunts, squeezing down on your wrists with enough pressure to make it throb, but not enough to leave a bruise.

"Sir!" You yelp. "Y-yes, Sir." 

One corner of his mouth ticks, and exhales a short huff. "Good. You still have your manners intact, I see."

Leaning up, he unbuttoned his vest. Using one hand to gather your wrists together, the free one was left to tug on his tie; Windsor knot giving way to a strip of his pale skin. 

You eyed the expanse of his neck hungrily; unabashed, even when his lips curl into a sinful smile.

“It seems like someone here has missed me,” Zayne whispers, and you fight back a shiver when he leans in, close enough for his breath to stir the loose locks on your cheeks. 

“I’m… sorry,” was all you could offer him weakly. Zayne’s thin lips curl into a smirk. At this point, you weren’t even sure why he wasn’t fucking you yet—what he was waiting for. “Please…” without a second thought, you clip your hips against his, trying to ease the tension between your thighs. “I need you, Zayne.”

His grunt was low—a warning. “Do you think you deserve it? I can’t keep reminding you to put yourself first, my darling. What if I’m gone? What would you do?” 

Even though it was a hypothetical question, your chest couldn’t help but squeeze at the thought of a Zayne-less life. You would rather feed yourself to a Wanderer than go a day without him.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, earnest this time. “I was careless. I should’ve listened to you. I… I’ll try my best to take care of myself.” 

Zayne gives you a look, like he doesn’t believe you for a single second. It has you scrambling your ringing mind to say something else. 

But, before you do, the world tilts, and you’re in his lap. Zayne’s lips were an inch away from yours. You zero in on them. Missing how they would feel gently slotted against your own—when you disregard the hesitation to plant your mouth on his. 

Patiently, like a martyr or a long suffering saint, Zayne lets you kiss him. He doesn’t respond back, at least not like what you expect.

No flames, no passion. It was as good as kissing a stone statue.

There was no yield in his gaze; those flinty green eyes refusing to thaw.

You repress a full body shiver. 

Suddenly, the coolness of the room becomes more pronounced. You feel the chill on your skin, where his long fingers wrap around your fleshy hips spilling past the Hunter-standard pants.

“I should punish you for that.” 

A flurry of movement. Your face meets the downy mattress, mouthful of cotton stoppering your protests. 

Sharp, stinging pain explodes across your ass. The sound of a large palm meeting skin echoes around the room again; your surprised yelp bouncing from wall to wall.

Soothingly, he rubs the ache from your tender globes, and in a voice dripping with sympathy, whispers, “I apologize for having to do this, my Aurora.”

Your back arches, the sudden awareness of your vulnerability penetrating your fuzzy mind. Pinned to the bed, his bigger frame pressing down on yours—you were trapped in the eye of a frigid storm.

“Zayne,” you whine, too aware of how warm his body felt on yours. 

I promise to take care of you, his voice rings in your head. Of memories during summer nights, skin stuck to skin, your head on his chest. I can’t lose you—not to the Wanderers or your own carelessness.

Zayne ceaselessly kept that promise—his devotion unmatched. And you were carelessly throwing it away every single day, right in his face. Denying his care, his treatment.

It all became clear to you in that split second.

He was past waiting for your excuses and apologies; all he wants is to make sure you never forget yourself ever again. 

Zayne props you on his lap once more, leaning back against the headboard.

“I want you to cum—”

It’s embarrassing how quickly you perk up only to be let down when he disclaims his generosity with a contradictory footnote.

“—without my help.”

He rests his head back, the arch of his neck tempting you to plant kisses down the pale stretch of skin; his Adam’s apple bobbing. The silence grows; you feel like you could suffocate from the chill spreading between your two tense bodies.

You shift forward, incredulous. “What the heck do you mean by that?” 

Zayne flickers his gaze to where your crotch snugly fits on top of his thigh. “You’re a smart girl… I’m sure you will figure it out soon.”

You huff, a pout pushing your displeasure right into his face. 

“You’re mean. I already said I was sorry.” 

But, he wasn’t going to budge. If there was one thing Zayne would never compromise on, it was caring for you. Sometimes, it scared you—how utterly serious he took his job as your caretaker in and out of the hospital walls. 

No amount of reasoning could change his mind. It was either you play his game, or walk away with that pit gnawing right at the bottom of your stomach—unfulfilled and gaping.

You lean back. Friction, burning hot, zings up your spine, and suddenly, what he wants you to do clicks in. 

“Oh.” 

You swallow. Outside, rain begins to splatter on the windowpane. The world goes blue and dark, holding its breath in tandem with yours.

Locking your hands on his shoulders, you lean forward. Then, shift back. And do it again and again until you feel the heat burning you up; razing your self control down to ashes as you let out a small, shaky moan. 

“Good girl,” Zayne whispers into the dark of your room. “You’re so pretty like this—getting off on my thigh.” 

You peel your teary eyes onto his softening ones. His jaw clenches, and a vein throbs in his temple. He fights back the urge to thrust up—to meet your sensual grinding. It was a losing battle. Every needy whimper slipping past your wet lips sends a pleasurable jolt to his cock. But, he can’t give in just yet. You had to learn your lesson the hard way. 

There’s an indecent spot of wetness staining his slacks. The dark material of your pants hides your arousal well, but Zayne can practically smell you. 

Sweet musk and a fragrant vanilla. 

His heart thrums wildly, staccato beats that match the constant pulsing of his aching cock. 

I need her so badly. He wants nothing more than to be buried in you; to watch you fall apart under his tender care. 

Every mellifluous whimper dripping from your lax mouth makes him see stars; coated with ecstasy, your eagerness continues to seep into the expensive fabric of his slacks. 

Zayne makes a mental note to get it dry cleaned at his earliest convenience. 

It should’ve annoyed him—this extra chore on his already burdened shoulders. But, he doesn’t care much for the cost of sending his expensive, tailored suits to the best dry cleaners in Linkon City. 

He would let you squirt all over them ten times over if it meant he could bring you to your zenith of pleasure and back. 

Those beautiful emerald eyes never leave yours; devouring every reaction. Studying your shifts and dips. Calculating his next move in his head.

You might’ve thought Zayne was hewn from rock with how quiet he was. 

But, if you would look closer, you would’ve seen how his hands were stuffed into fists right by his side. The shake in his breath when you toss your head back. How he could barely keep his jaw from tightening when you mewl out his name.

I promise to take care of her—no matter what. Caleb and your grandmother were witnesses to his solemn vow. 

He would keep his word. Do everything in his power to keep their precious girl in line—even if she thought it was unfair.

“Zayne, please,” you try to beg again. He only scoffs. 

Mean. He was so, so mean. 

You were aching all over, yearning for it. Needing his touch and attention on your body to drive yourself over the edge. 

Unfortunately for you, his self-control is immaculate. It doesn’t fold nor break. In the operation room, and outside of it, his priority was to maintain a level-headed calm wherever he went. 

But, inwardly, with you on his lap; all pouty, kissable lips and pussy dripping her excitement on his thigh, Zayne finds his famed composure cracking under the weight of your desire.

“Zayne,” you hiccup. “Please. Please. Touch me.”

Large, veiny hands grip your thighs, dragging you close. 

His mouth finally presses on yours, and it feels like a sparked flame striking near a mountain of straw.

He tries to keep his wits—he really does. Reminds himself not to indulge you again; to finally make you see how much he cares for you through this cruel game.

Like a fluctuation cutting through permanent winds that flow steadfastly North, only you had the power to sway his decisions. 

"Zayne," you moan into his mouth.

Then, in an instant, the flame sparks. The mountain of dry yearning goes up.

Every carefully constructed ploy is destroyed. 

Zayne kisses you like his life depended on it. Messy, clacking teeth, spit mixing and running down chins; hot hands grappling any inch of skin available. 

Your clothes were pushed off your body and onto the floor. Zayne’s luxurious vest and button down shirt was almost torn from his body by your eager hands. 

The bare lines of his torso and muscular thighs fit perfectly with yours, his body slotting in between your spread legs. 

Sharp lines bloom down his back, your nails dragging down his skin; his eyes almost rolling back into his head when he sinks into your heat.

“Shit,” he cusses, almost inaudible. The sound of wetness meeting in the darkening room, your moans and his heavy pants fill the air. 

Good girl. Move your hips like that. You’re doing so well for me. I love you. I love you. If you disobey me again, your punishment will be more severe. You’re everything to me, my Aurora. 

“Zayne!” your cry shatters like a bullet unloading from a smoking gun. He almost flinches back when you squeal right in his ear, back tensing and arching like a taut string.

Slipping a hand in between your bodies, he nudges and plays with your clit, drawing your high to an unbearable tension.

He feels your heels digging into his hips, your sweet pussy squeezing down on his length like the world’s most precious love declaration. You bury your face into his neck; feel his pulse fluttering against your lips.

“Inside,” you whimper, as if you could read his mind. “I want you inside, Zayne.”

He grunts, his entire body trembling from the force of the tight band around his lower body. 

Zayne ruts up into you, little more than an animal in heat—the ridges and bumps of your pussy gets him in a higher state of mind, delirious enough to start moaning shamelessly. 

You grip his face, touching your foreheads together. Zayne’s lips find yours, and within that split second you believe something fundamentally true. 

That in every life, every form, every stretch between space and time—you would never forget how his lips feel like on yours. 

A shuddering breath right on your neck. The twitch of his cock nudging right on your sweet, golden spot. 

You tense, toes curling—

—and shatter around his cock gloriously. 

Warmth spreads deep in your body, taking over your toes and fingers. Driving you heady with the taste of him on your tongue. 

Zayne finishes inside you, breathing hard against the shell of your ear. 

The silence is broken by his soft gasp, and you feel the wet pull of his cock out of your puffy pussy. Immediately, he replaces the emptiness with the full circle of his arms around your tired body.

You sigh, sticky and filled with longing, face protected right in the crook of his neck.

“Zayne?” 

“Hmm?” 

He plays with a loose lock of your hair. Not one for many words, Zayne’s actions speak louder and sweeter than any poetry you had ever read.

Rolling you over, he hovers close, lips gently brushing your cheeks, temple and finally, your lips.

“I love you,” your confession spurs something primal and tender in his soul. He kisses you once, twice, to wipe out the dark need to claim you again and again until every fiber of your skin is written with his name.

“I love you, too.” 

He presses one long kiss onto your forehead and chuckles to himself.

"Come on. Follow me to the kitchen. Don't think I forgot about those 8 glasses of water you didn't drink today..."

a/n: if this man wants me to watch for my health, i'll make sure my medical report comes back with an A+

— feedback and reblogs are loved in this house iykyk

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, translate, or claim as your own.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

please do one where they were like in a secret relationship and one day reader went live for her fans and idk maybe Tom walked in and now the secret's out. It's up to you how you go abt it. Have a nice day!!

Caught in 4k || Tom Blyth x gf!reader

A/n: Anon you read my mind.... I had this idea sitting in my drafts for quite some time!

Warnings: none!

Wc: 983

Divider by @pommecita

You stir in your sleep when you feel light kisses on your arm. "Good morning, love," He says, his morning voice making you smile as you turn around and place a kiss on his cheek, a smile adorning his lips. His arms wrap themselves around your waist as you both lay still, neither wanting to pull away from the embrace.

"I'm going to go for a shower," You say against his neck, his hands coming to your hips as he massages them. "Can I join?" His tone teasing as you consider the idea. "I fear if you do, we won't make it out of the bathroom for quite a bit," A smirk forms on his lips as you get out of bed, his hand still clinging to yours.

"I don't mind!" He calls out as you flip him off, not bothering to turn around as you shut the door behind you. After the calming shower, you wrap your body in a fluffy white towel as you squeeze out the excess water from your hair, letting it air dry.

You start to brush your teeth as you hear the bathroom door opening. Tom enters in only his boxers as he makes his way to you, arms wrapping around your towel cladded body as you lean back against him. You smile at him through the reflection you mouth frothy with the toothpaste as he smiles back at you.

You bend over to spit out the toothpaste as Tom pretends to fuck you from behind as laughs erupt from your mouth. You lean back up, slapping him across his chest as he smiles innocently at you. Going on your tippy toes, your arms loop around his neck and place a kiss on his lips, a few actually, as you both smile in between them.

"I feel like making pancakes, do you want blueberries or chocolate chips in yours?" You ask him whilst applying lip balm on your lips as he turns the shower on. "Chocolate chips please," He grins at you as give him a thumbs up and walk out picking out an outfit.

You pull back the curtains revealing dark clouds that littered across the sky of Brooklyn. You smile to yourself knowing today was going to full of cuddles and watching Harry Potter films with Tom. Walking down stairs, a thought plagued your mind.

You wanted to go live on Instagram as you felt as if it had been too long since the last time you did one. You leaned your phone up against a fruit bowl as you start the live. "Hey guys!" You smile as you watch thousands of people join in a matter of seconds.

You then continued to pull out the ingredients to make pancakes as you answer some of the questions that people asked. Tom walks down a few minutes later, wondering who you were talking to as your voice travelled upstairs.

He sees you in the kitchen, your back towards him as you talk about the weather. He decided to surprise you so he slowly walked up behind you and wraps his arms around you as you slightly jump. "Fucks sake, you scared me!" You sulked as Tom laughs, peppering the side of your face with kisses as your hands go up to his arms around your neck.

"Oh shit," You silently curse as you freeze, remembering you were still live on Instagram, "What?" He asks confused. You discreetly glance back and mentally face palm yourself as your phone was directly aimed at the two of you which meant that thousands of people witnessed it and most definitely concluded that you and Tom were together, which was very much the truth.

"I'm live on Insta," You whisper as you feel Tom physically pause as well, probably processing your words. He turns his head and makes eye contact with himself on your phone as he awkwardly chuckles. "Oh hey.." He trails off as you burst out laughing. "I'm going to go put a shirt on," Tom quickly says as he runs up stairs to get one.

You watch as comments blow up and you couldn't contain your smile. Everyone was going crazy as they flooded the comments with questions. You hear Tom walk back down, a shirt on his previously naked upper body as you hold out you hand and he takes is. "Well, guess it's out," He chuckles as the both of you read the comments.

Tom leans his hand against the counter as you rest your head on his arm. "Shit, I almost forgot the pancakes!" You panic as you go back to the stove and continue cooking the batter. You and Tom kept your relationship as private as you could, fans speculated that you were dating each other but nothing was confirmed, well until the live of course.

"How long have you two been together?" Tom reads out loud as you get plates for the two of you. "3 years now is it?" You say as Tom thinks about it, "Yeah, 4 years coming this September," he smiles. You come up beside him, resting your chin on your hands that were on the counter as you read through the comments, too immersed to notice that Tom was staring down at you with a huge smile on his face.

A comment mentioning how Tom is looking at you makes you look behind you, "What?" You shyly laugh as he says nothing, shaking his head. Tom takes over with making the pancakes and eventually they are done. "Well guys I'm going to end the live here and eat these pancakes with my wonderful boyfriend, bye!" You say as you end it.

You make eye contact with Tom as you both start laughing. He hugs you and kisses your forehead. "At least we don't have to keep hiding this in public anymore," He says as you agree with him.

[adragonprinceswhore]

Make You Feel My Love

Aemond Targaryen x Ex-Girlfriend

Summary: A few months after you break things off with your boyfriend, Aemond, you start receiving strange messages and phone calls from an unknown number. Things escalate when you’re sent a video secretly filmed half a year ago, of you and Aemond having sex.

Warnings: 18+, dark themes (mind the tags!), obsession, stalking, exhibitionism, blackmail, threats of violence, emotional manipulation, DUBCON (drunk sex), degradation, dirty talk, fingering, deepthroat, breathplay, spanking, P in V, hairpulling

A/N: Based on a request by anon, I hope you like this! Another spooky fic for the spooky season, Happy All Saint's Eve! 🖤

Word Count: 5100

Your breath turns into small clouds in the cold air as you step out of the office building, the chill of late autumn biting through your wool coat. 

It’s already dark outside. The tall lamp-posts lining the empty streets cast a pale light over Cobbler’s Square, the business hub of King’s Landing. As you fumble with your gloves to put them on, your phone vibrates, breaking the silence of the still night. You glance down and see a message from an unknown number:

"Working overtime again?"

Your eyes linger on the screen. The message makes you shiver, it’s uncomfortably familiar yet oddly unsettling. You scan the sidewalk, wondering if someone from work might be pulling a prank at your expense, but there's no one around, just the faint murmur of traffic in the distance. 

After a second of consideration, you decide it must’ve been someone texting the wrong number, so you slip the phone back into your pocket, and head toward the underground.

The one good thing about staying late at the office is that there’s always a free seat on the train. You take a seat, put in your earbuds and close your eyes, relieved that another stressful day is behind you. 

Still, the strange text you’d received leaves a knot of unease tightening within you. 

Your mind drifts to recent news reports about a man harassing women across the city. He’d been lurking around office buildings, the stories said, learning his victims’ routines, showing up at the same places, always at the wrong times. 

The coincidence is eerie, almost too frightening to think about. So you pull out your phone, trying to distract your wandering mind. 

You scroll through recent news, and just as you feel yourself relax a bit, another reminder of your recent distress pops up on your screen,

Aemond Targaryen.

It’s hard to keep up with recent affairs and not bump into him. 

A member of the Targaryen family, one of the most powerful media dynasties in the country, he was untouchable, the kind of person people said was destined to rule the world. At first, he’d seemed like the everything a woman could wish for: captivating, attentive, always ready with grand gestures.

But as time passed, his attention turned darker. 

His texts became constant, then invasive. 

He’d ask where you were at all hours, demanding you kept your location tracker on at all times. He would question your friends, arguing they were ‘beneath you’. He even hinted at you quitting your job as a political reporter, a position you had studied and fought for for 8 years, to come work for him. “I’ll make you my personal assistant”, he’d said, “Keep you close in case I need anything.”

His controlling tendencies, paired with his arrogant worldview was what ultimately led you to break things off with him . And when you finally did, he’d accepted it with chilling calm; no fight, no anger, just a quiet nod.

You force the thought from your mind, stepping off the tube and onto the platform. 

Once you’re home, you kick off your shoes, lock the door, and sink into the quiet solace of your apartment. You’re pouring a long-awaited glass of wine when your phone vibrates again. 

The screen lights up, the same unknown number.

"I hope you got home safe."

The pit in your stomach returns.

It started off with little things. 

Strange texts that seemed harmless enough. Then came the letters, always printed and neatly folded, never including a return address. 

At first, you brushed them off. It was easy to wave away the unease, convincing yourself that it was a prank, a mix-up, maybe just a wrong number. They were never addressed specifically to you anyway. 

A little discomfort, nothing more. But as the days turned into weeks, the messages began to change. 

They weren’t just random or generic anymore; they became specific, too personal, with a familiar vocabulary that made your skin crawl. Whoever was sending them seemed to know you intimately; your routines and habits. 

Things you had never shared with anyone. 

The messages were like an invisible set of eyes, always watching from places you couldn’t see.

You still remember the first time you felt true fear. It was a Friday night when your phone rang, and you answered to hear nothing but dead silence. 

No voice, no background noise, just the suffocating, empty void on the other end of the line. Stunned into silence, you waited, but the call never broke the silence. 

Eventually, you hung up, convincing yourself that it was nothing, probably a misdial. But then the calls started coming more frequently. And with each passing second you had to listen to the silence on the other end, your unease grew. 

The letters were even worse. 

They began appearing not only in your mailbox, but slipped under your door as well, tucked into the gaps like sinister little secrets. 

You remember holding one, your fingers trembling as you read the words, each line making your apartment feel smaller, as if the walls themselves were closing in on you. The messages never outright threatened, but their tone was unsettling, implying that the sender knew where you lived, what you did, even how you spent your quietest, most private moments. 

Before they were impersonal, now they included your name as well. 

You really shouldn’t walk alone at night. 

The city is full of dangers, and someone as precious as you deserves better. I watch you sometimes, you know. 

I watch the way you clutch your bag a little tighter when the shadows loom over you, how you shiver when the wind cuts through your coat. It makes me want to keep you safe.

You work so hard, staying late at the office. It must be exhausting, always pushing yourself. But don’t worry. I’m never far away. Watching. Waiting. Ready to step in if you ever need me.

Sleep well tonight. 

I’ll be thinking of you.

The animalistic fear the letters brought out in you caused tears of despair to shine in your eyes. Never before had you felt so unsettled; robbed of your sanctuary and stripped bare under the unrelenting gaze of an unknown threat. 

When you thought things couldn’t get worse, you notice it in the corner of your eye whenever you get off the tube. Someone has started following you home. 

As with the other terrors, it began subtly. 

A shadow moving just out of your line of sight, footsteps that kept the same rhythm as yours, only to fall silent when you turn to look. 

Initially, you brushed it off as paranoia. The strange texts, calls and letters had made your nerves stand on high alert at all times. So you walk faster, clenching your keys in your hand, telling yourself you were imagining it.

But by now, it’s become undeniable. 

On more than one occasion, you’ve glanced back and caught the outline of a figure lingering just far enough away to melt into the darkness. 

Once, you thought you saw someone duck into an alley when you turned around too quickly, and the image haunted you for days. 

Each night, the walk from the tube station to your building feels longer, the streetlights casting distorted shadows that play tricks on your mind. In retaliation, you cross the street randomly, change your route, but the feeling never fades.

The worst part is that the presence doesn’t make itself known. 

It doesn’t shout or approach. 

It simply waits. 

Watches.

Now, whenever you walk home, every gust of wind and rustling of leaves makes your heart beat fast and hard. You know someone is out there, tracking your every move. 

Always lurking just out of reach. 

The world around you has become a riddle of dark mysteries and hidden threats, and the sense of safety you once had feels like a distant memory.

You feel it every evening, that unnerving prickling sensation of being watched. 

At the office, you catch glimpses of people who seem too familiar, faces that never linger but somehow stay with you. 

On the train, you feel eyes on you, shadowy figures that seem to mirror your every move. Once or twice, you’ve even taken detours down different streets, slipping into shops just to lose whoever’s following you. But somehow, they’re always there, just at the edge of your vision, close enough to make your skin crawl but too far to confront.

Tonight, as you step onto the station platform, your heart hammers in your chest. It’s crowded, people weaving through the tiled halls, but even among the sea of strangers, you feel that presence nearby, watching. 

You keep your head down, slipping into the crowd with hurried steps, your fingers gripping the strap of your bag like a lifeline. Your throat feels tight, and each breath becomes an effort as you board the train and move toward an empty seat.

Sitting by the window, you try to focus on the reflection in the glass. Your face looks pale and unfamiliar; a distorted version of yourself, yet it’s the background you watch carefully, searching for that familiar silhouette or lingering stare. The lights flicker across the train’s interior as it pulls away from the platform, the steady hum of the tracks doing little to calm the creeping dread in your chest.

You finally reach your destination and exit quickly, walking down the street to your house in hurried steps. 

Your eyes scan the dimly lit surroundings, every shadow and alleyway filling with the possibility of someone lurking. Halfway to your building, you spot it—a figure across the road, barely illuminated by the faint glow of the surrounding lamp-posts, watching you. 

They don’t approach.

They don’t call out. 

Just watch.

A chill crawls up your spine, but you force yourself to keep walking.

Each step feels like a lifetime as you quicken your pace, the distance to your front door stretching endlessly before you. The familiar sound of footsteps follows behind, soft but persistent, a reminder that you’re not alone. 

You fumble for your keys, fingers shaking far too much for you to be graceful, and the moment the door swings open, you slip inside, pushing it shut and twisting the lock with a desperate click.

Safe. 

At least, you think so.

You move to the window, pulling the curtains tightly closed and double-checking every lock, heart still racing. The eerie silence of your apartment only serves to amplify the tension, and you try to steady your breathing, pressing your back against the wall, reassuring yourself that you’re alone. But then your eyes fall to your phone on the counter, the screen lights up, casting a cold, unsettling glow across the room.

Another message from the unknown number.

“You looked scared tonight. No need to be. I’m just looking out for you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and the room suddenly feels colder. 

They were there, watching, close enough to see the fear in your eyes. You swipe through the messages, reading the last few words again and again, each one making it feel like the blood in your veins slowly turns to ice. 

Every instinct tells you to delete everything, to block the number, but it won’t change the fact that they were there. They saw you. They know where you live, and they know you’re alone.

You check the locks once more, willing yourself to believe it’s just a cruel prank. But deep down, you know this is no mistake, no accident.

Tomorrow, you tell yourself, you’ll file a report. You’ll talk to the police, maybe find a friend to stay with for a few nights. But as you lay down, staring into the dark, the words echo in your mind,

"No need to be scared. I’m just looking out for you."

You close your eyes, but the sleep you need feels too far away to be attainable, and all you can feel is that presence. 

Just beyond the walls. 

Watching.

Waiting.

It’s late at night when your phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up the dark room. 

You’ve become almost numb to the sound of notifications, each one feeling like another weight to the stones of anxiety heavy on your chest. 

You almost dismiss it, too exhausted to care for more ominous messages, but then that rush of fear washes over you once more. 

It’s not a text message. 

It’s a video, sent from the same unknown number that’s haunted you for weeks.

You hesitate, one finger hovering over the screen as dread, dark and thick like petrol, pools in your stomach. 

Slowly, you tap to open it, holding your breath in fear of moving even slightly. The video is shaky, filmed through a crevice from a distance, as though captured by someone hiding just out of sight. 

Still, you recognise the setting instantaneously. 

The Targaryen summer house. 

The video depicts two silhouettes; one laying on the bed of one of the many guest rooms of the vast mansion, the other with their head between the first person’s thighs. 

The filmer zooms in on the long, silver hair of the person kneeling next to the bed, and your heart beats so fiercely it feels like it’ll leap out of your chest as the camera moves upwards, until it lands on your face, twisted in pleasure. 

You remember the day clearly. 

It was Aemond’s brother Aegon’s yearly summer party, an elaborate excuse for the Targaryen’s oldest boy to get shit-faced with the elite of Westeros. 

Aemond, never a fan of crowds or parties, had lured you into one of the guest bedrooms for some ‘quality time’ together, which quickly escalated into sex on the crisp, expensive cotton sheets. 

You raise the volume, and can clearly hear the shameless moans leaving your mouth as your ex boyfriend makes you come on his tongue. 

Your stomach turns. 

The camera lingers far too long on your face, zooming in and out, capturing not only the sounds of your bliss, but each twitch and change in your face. 

An overpowering sense of nausea washes over you as you realize that even then, someone was there. 

Someone was watching, recording your most vulnerable moments from the shadows.

The video cuts off abruptly, and a new message appears beneath it,

“Even then, I was closer than you thought.”

Your blood runs cold, and your hands start to shake. 

The message confirms your deepest fear. 

This isn’t a recent obsession. 

Whoever this person is, they’ve been watching you for far longer than you imagined, lurking in the background of your life, inserting themselves into your most private memories. 

You try to breathe, to think clearly, but the walls of your apartment once again close in on you, trapping you inside your body, fighting to run yet with nowhere to go. 

The sense of violation is suffocating, and questions flood your mind. 

How long have they been there? 

How much have they seen?

Desperate and out of options, you swipe your thumb over the screen of your phone, and call the only other person who might have some answers. 

Aemond’s fingers tap restlessly against the rim of his coffee cup. The twitch in the corner of his mouth tells you he's annoyed, and the speed of which his eye darts around the coffee shop, refusing to look directly at you, lets you know it’s your fault. 

You’re not sure if he can see the tears shining in your eyes, he’s barely looked at you since you came. He always saw crying as a sign of a weak mind, and so you do your best not to blink, scared a tear will fall and reveal just how pathetic you feel. 

It’s not like you’re doing a good job hiding it anyway. The dark circles under your eyes and the paranoid pleading in your gaze betray all your recent troubles. 

“I-, I’d like to thank you for coming here after how things… ended”

Your voice is steady, yet there is a thickness in your throat that makes you sound a bit strange, like you’re trying too hard to remain neutral. A performance you’re not quite pulling off, despite your best efforts. 

“Mm”

He’s still not looking at you, stern face reflecting both disinterest and agitation. The relentless tapping of his finger continues, practically screaming at you to hurry up and confess why you asked your ex to meet up. 

“I’ll get straight to it. Yesterday, I received a video of… us. At that party where we-”, you search his face for recognition, chase his eye so it meets yours. Your voice lowers, practically a whisper, 

“-you know” 

“No, I don’t” 

“Aegon’s summer party… We snuck off to the guest room and-, you know”  

Aemond finally lets his gaze meet yours, inspecting your features with a narrowed, suspicious eye. 

Does he not believe you? 

Before he can call you crazy, or dismiss your clear distress with a condescending laugh, you pull out your phone and show him the video. It’s a bit dark and gritty, but it’s clear that it’s the two of you, Aemond’s head between your legs, your own thrown back on the bed in bliss. 

“Do-, do you know who could’ve done this?” 

Aemond takes your phone and watches the video closely, pausing and zooming in on your half-naked body. He’s seen you bare and crazed with desire countless times when you were dating, yet your cheeks heat up and you feel unexplainably vulnerable as he carefully examines the video. 

After a few moments of contemplation, he hums again and hands your phone back, 

“I’ve no clue. I’ll ask Criston for the guest list, probably just one of Aegon’s insufferable friends having a laugh” 

He stands to leave, and you momentarily panic at the thought of being alone again. Just as he turns towards the door, your hand desperately grabs the fabric of his coat, and those tears that had been threatening to spill from your eyes do just that, 

“Aemond, please, I have more” 

You sound so small. So defeated. 

He looks at you with the same harsh, unimpressed look even as you silently cry. 

So cold. 

Maybe it’s what you deserve? 

“I need you, Aemond. Please just stay for a few more minutes and let me explain” 

He’s frozen for a while, contemplating whether he should indulge you or leave, surely eager to dismiss you just as you had done to him, only a month ago. 

With a sigh, his features soften somewhat, and he steps back, once again taking the seat opposite you. 

“Go on then” 

“I-, I’ve been getting all these-”, your voice breaks into a sob as you speak about your recent nightmare. 

You hadn’t dared speak to anyone about your recent terror, too afraid to acknowledge that what had occurred wasn’t simply some insane fever dream. 

“-all these messages and letters from the same number that sent the video. I don’t know why but this person seems obsessed with me” 

You hide your face behind one of your hands, mortified by the humiliation of openly crying at a cafe, next to your ex nonetheless. 

Aemond observes you for a moment before reaching out to place his hand over yours, warming the skin of your cheek. He catches one of the tears falling from your lashes with his thumb, 

“Send me screenshots of it all and I’ll have Criston’s team look through them. You know we own majority of King’s Guard Security, we’ll find whoever’s harassing you” 

A sigh of relief escapes your lips, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe without a heavy stone of anxiety crushing your lungs. 

You grab Aemond’s hand, warm and strong in your trembling grip, and squeeze it slightly, 

“Thank you, Aemond” 

Aemond convinces you to take a taxi home, lock the door, and distract your unease with something calming, like taking a bath. 

You do just that, and the warm water enveloping you feels wonderfully comforting. 

You sink deeper in the tub, disappearing into the calm warmth. Just as you breathe out a deep breath that had been stuck in your throat for far too long, a sharp knock to your front door disturbs your peace.  

It’s as if a bucket of ice cold water has been dumped over you, and suddenly you shiver in the warm bath, feeling a chill overtaking you from within. 

Another knock. 

You’re frozen in place.

Immobile.

Stuck in fear. 

You don’t know how long you sit in the tub, waiting for the courage to stand, dry off, and peek out of the bathroom. 

There are no more knocks, and when your fingers are wrinkly and stiff, you finally get out. 

Peering out of the bathroom and at your front door, everything looks the same. Your eyes dart around the room until they fall on the small, white piece of paper on the floor. 

You pick it up with trembling fingers, and open it. 

Before, the letters you’d received had been neatly placed in envelopes and never hand-written. 

This note is different. 

Let me in. 

Tears of desperation well up in your eyes once more and you toss the piece of paper away as if it had burned you. 

Utterly hopeless, you reach for your phone, dialing the number to the one person that had been occupying your mind all day. 

Aemond sends for a car to come pick you up, going as far as instructing the driver to personally come get you from your flat since you feared the stalker was still somewhere nearby, watching you. 

It was Criston Cole himself that showed up at your door, a high-ranking security specialist at King’s Guard Security, often invited to do risk analyses for the government. 

Being reduced to a chauffeur was definitely far below his station, but when Aemond Targaryen hands you a task personally, you comply. 

You wearily eye the pistol strapped to his waist as he walks you to his car. Your glad that precautions are taken to ensure your safety, but also devastated by the fact that it's even necessary. 

Will this be your new normal? 

The drive to Aemond’s place doesn’t take long, and when you arrive, he offers you a slightly awkward hug in reassurance before pouring you a double whiskey,

“To calm your nerves” 

You accept the drink and take a seat on the leather sofa placed in the middle of the large room. In front of you, tall windows show an exquisite view of King’s Landing, including all famous landmarks like Maegor’s Holdfast. To your right, tall bookcases of dark wood line the wall, cutting into the modern sleekness of Aemond’s home, making it more him. 

You take a large sip of the whiskey, not minding the sharp taste that overtakes your mouth. The numbness of alcohol feels inviting after being on edge for so long. 

Aemond takes a seat next to you, his knee bumping into yours as he sits closer than necessary on the wide sofa, 

“You can stay here as long as you want” 

“Thank you, Aemond. That’s very kind of you” 

A small smile forms on his lips at your compliment, and he looks down at his hands. It’s almost a bashful look, and suddenly you guilty for the way you had so cold-heartedly dumped him. 

Sure, he had been controlling, but if the last couple of weeks had proven anything, it was the fact that danger really lurks around every corner. 

Maybe he had only been so controlling because he knew how dangerous King’s Landing truly is for young women? He had direct access to all cases filed with King’s Guard Security, he’s surely seen a lot. 

When you’ve finished your glass, Aemond wordlessly tops it up. 

You finish that too, chatting a bit about work and what you’d been up to recently, prompted by Aemond asking and eagerly listening. 

Your cheeks feel hot from the whiskey, and when you’ve finished your second drink, you place it on the glass-covered coffee table and lean into Aemond only a little more, surprisingly relaxed. 

Your eyes feel heavy as you look up at him, 

“Thank you. For everything today” 

When he smiles, those dimples that you once adored appear in his cheeks. He’s so beautiful in the soft light. So inviting. 

“Don’t mention it. The only thing I care about is that you’re safe” 

You’re not sure if it’s a sudden wave for adoration, the long-awaited relief, or the whiskey, but when you stretch your neck to kiss him, Aemond cups your cheek and runs his tongue over your lower lip. 

Your fingers feel tingly as they play with the buttons of Aemond’s crisp shirt. Your face is still comfortably warm, and when his kisses travel down to your neck, you sigh in content and throw your head back. 

You watch the skyline of King’s Landing through the tall windows of Aemond’s home; white lights decorating the skyscrapers competing in height. There’s a strange, red dot decorating one of them, occasionally blinking. 

Your eyes narrow to inspect it further, but quickly close as Aemond’s fingers slip into your underwear, 

“I’ve missed this”, he murmurs into your neck, and sucks at the skin. 

“Me too”, you sigh. 

His fingers know exactly how to work you, and after a few more tender kisses to your neck and deliberate flicks to your clit, you meet his fingers with your hips, desperate for more. 

Just as you’re about to fall apart, Aemond withdraws his hand. 

He slowly licks your essence from his sticky fingers, amused by your pathetic frown, 

“Please, Aemond. Don’t be mean” 

Seeing him savour the taste of your cunt only makes it ache more. 

“I’m not. You know what I want” 

Maybe if you had less alcohol in your body, you’d realise how bad this is.

Fucking your ex is never a good idea. 

But the heat of the whiskey warming your senses makes you reckless, and you smile as you kneel on the floor in front of him. 

With eager fingers, you pull down his zipper and take his cock in hand, already hard and pulsating in arousal. Wasting no time, you lean forward to lick the tip before ungraciously taking him into your mouth, sucking as if your life depended on it. 

Aemond tuts above you, a disapproving noise you know from when you were dating. You look up just as he moves his hands to cradle your face, mischief dancing in his eyes,

“You can do better than that” he says and pushes deeper, until his cock is in your throat and you can’t breathe. 

He releases a prolonged sigh and stays buried in your throat, stealing air from you. 

The harsh pounding between your thighs intensifies as the oxygen to your brain cuts off. You look up at Aemond, who regards you with a sinister grin, and shoves his foot between your kneeling legs, pushing at your clit.

It’s the last push you need, a playful kick to your swollen nub, and you come with his cock still deep in your throat. 

With no air to inhale and an excruciatingly consuming orgasm coursing through your body, you feel too light-headed to keep your eyes open, ready to succumb and disappear into the abyss of bliss that is the orgasm Aemond forces out of you. 

Before you lose consciousness, Aemond pulls out, a glistening sting of spit falling from your lips and spilling down your chin. 

Your ears are pounding from the rush of finally being able to breathe again, yet you hear it, like an echo in the distance. 

He’s laughing. 

“Fuck, that’s a good little slut”, he praises you, “Getting off on choking on my cock” 

He catches the drool on your chin with one hand, and forces you to stand with the other. Your legs still shake, and you stagger forward, almost falling into him. 

He laughs again, amused or condescending, you can't tell, and manoeuvres you to kneel on the sofa facing away from the city landscape. 

He brings the hand covered in your drool between your cheeks, and trails it down to your clit. You gasp at the sting of overstimulation, but Aemond’s hand doesn’t budge,

“You weren’t supposed to come from that, dirty girl”, he taunts you with a playful yet harsh smack to your ass. You whine and try to pull away, it’s all too much. 

“I wanted to tease you for a bit longer”, he whispers into your ear, and you can feel the leaking tip of his cock press between your cheeks, 

“I won’t be mean though. My precious girl deserves better” 

He slides in easily, the mess of your slickness, spit, and Aemond’s precum easing his path. 

You lean forward to brace yourself against the backrest of the sofa as he starts to fuck you, pace quick and hard, just as you remember him liking it. 

"Aemond", you moan and he goes harder, the smacks of his hips hitting the meat of your ass loud and vulgar in the quiet night, 

“Say it again”, he orders and pulls at your hair so your head falls back, “Just like that, baby, you look so fucking hot when I fuck you”

When you don’t comply fast enough, he pulls at your hair harder. You cry out his name, and he rewards your submission with a kiss to your cheek, 

“Good girl” 

After that day, things change. 

Aemond sends cars to pick you up from work so you won’t have to get on the tube. He distracts you from the eerie shiver that’s settled into your bones by bringing you out to dinner, to the cinema, to a new wine bar. 

He allows you to lean against him whenever you talk about the nightmare that the last few weeks have been. He even puts an arm around you, and occasionally presses his lips to the crown of your head. And he always listens carefully. 

The controlling tendencies that had previously chased you away now provide comfort. 

He knows where you are at all times, so no one can steal you away. 

He always answers your calls, so you never have to feel alone. 

He always meets your needs, whether it’s letting you talk shit about your boss for hours, or excitedly chat about a book you just read. 

He's always near. 

Always ready. 

Always watching.

A/N: Thanks for reading! If you liked this and want more, check out my fic The Commune!

[fairyhaos]

◈ the worst day of the week // choi seungcheol

seungcheol x gn!reader, 1.2k+ words

tags: requested by anon, fluff, established relationship, slight hurt/comfort, soooo domestic oof

warnings: pet names (baby), reader eats cereal at 2am

summary: everyone has days where they don't want to go to work. for you, it happens every monday, but fortunately, you have a lovely boyfriend who will do anything to make you smile, even on your worst days.

“What are you doing?”

You flinch at the stern words that sound over your shoulder, and pause with your hand held midair. You can't turn around, frozen in place. 

“Um.” You swallow nervously. “Nothing?”

There's a tense silence, and you can hear your heartbeat thrumming in your ears as you breathe slowly, too afraid to make any more noise. The person is still standing behind you, a looming presence, and maybe, if you hold still for long enough, then they might end up going away—

Seungcheol sighs, and walks around the kitchen table until he's facing you. “Y/N. What are you doing?”

Your shoulders slump as your boyfriend's face comes into view, his hair all sleep-mussed and his eyes droopy with drowsiness. But his gaze is focused on you, the disapproving turn of his lips clear even in the faint light provided by the lamp in the corner of the kitchen. 

Weakly, you attempt a smile. “I'm having a bowl of cereal?”

Seungcheol blinks. A long, slow, unimpressed blink. “You're having a bowl of cereal at two in the morning?”

“Yeah. It's like… the new ‘it’ thing. Everyone's doing it.”

He raises an eyebrow. You slowly shove another spoonful of cereal into your mouth.

“No, they're not,” Seungcheol says, and with a sigh, tries to reach over and pull the bowl away from you. “Y/N, baby—”

“Hey, no, don't take my cereal away,” you protest, grappling for the cereal and tugging it towards you before he can take it away. Seungcheol frowns disapprovingly, and you wilt a little. “It'll go all soggy if I don't have it now. I need to eat it.”

“You need to sleep,” he returns firmly, and then sighs again. “Y/N, it's two in the morning, and you have work later. Why are you awake, and eating cereal? You don't even like this kind of cereal.”

He's right, and you don't, because it's the tasteless variety that grates irritatingly against your gums but you just needed something to do, because it's a Monday tomorrow and it's literally the worst day of the week and you don't want Monday to come. 

Well. Technically, it's already Monday. But thinking about it like that makes you feel even more terrible, the little worms digging even uglier holes into your stomach, and you grimace. 

So that's why you're awake now, shoving tasteless, soggy cereal into your mouth because you don't want to go to bed. 

Seungcheol regards you with sad eyes, like he knows exactly what you're thinking.

Knowing him, you think sulkily, he probably really does.

He doesn’t say anything, though, and just continues watching you with those sad eyes as you slowly eat your cereal. His gaze makes you feel strangely guilty, heart twisting weirdly in your chest as you eat, feeling like you’re doing something wrong.

By the time you finish, your boyfriend still hasn’t said a word, but he does pinch your cheek fondly and take the bowl from you once you set down your spoon.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, and he's looking at you with those big, earnest eyes, the sincerity and warmth making his gaze meltingly soft even in the darkness of the room. When you hesitate to answer, his eyes seem to melt even more. “Do you want a hug?”

And oh, there's something about the way he says it that makes you begin to tear up, feeling so overwhelmingly comforted by his voice. 

“Oh, baby…”

Before you know it, he's gotten up from the table, walked over to you, pulled your chair back and enveloped you in a hug. 

He's wearing one of his oversized hoodies, and the material is soft under your fingers as you cling to his shoulders, burying yourself into the crook of his neck as he holds you securely. He just smells so much like him, all gentle and kind and willing to be there for you and all your worries and fears about the dreaded day ahead of you make you dissolve, kitten-weak, into his arms. 

“Shh, don't worry baby,” Seungcheol murmurs, still bent over you, hands rubbing secure circles into your back as you cry. “Don't worry. It's okay, shhh, don't cry, I'm here. I'm here for you.”

It only makes you cry harder, hearing the care in his voice, but Seungcheol doesn't seem to mind. He stays over you, hugging you, until your tears begin to subside, and then he helps you out of the uncomfortable kitchen chair, one hand around your waist and the other keeping your fingers interlaced with his own as he guides you out and up the stairs, back to your room again. 

He's gentle, the entire way, whispering words of comfort and pressing reassuring kisses to your temple as he helps you up the stairs. 

“There we go, that's it, I love you,” he says softly, when you make it up the final step. He squeezes your hand, once. “I love you.”

He's babying you, even more than his normal boyfriend-level of Doting™, but you can't even bring yourself to feel embarrassed about it, more focused on how nice it feels to be held by him, to be treated so delicately. And even when your nose is still running and your eyes feel all horribly swollen, Seungcheol still calls you beautiful, still says he loves you. 

“Here we are,” he says, smiling, as he tucks you into bed before moving round to the other side to climb in himself. “Rest, baby. You need to sleep now.”

You mumble something, incoherent even to yourself. Seungcheol just chuckles softly, pressing another kiss to your temple. 

“Rest,” he repeats, the word warm against your cheek as he kisses you again. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” you say, a little drowsy. A beat. “Still don't wanna go to work t'morrow.”

Seungcheol chuckles again. “I know, baby. But I'll be here when you come back home, you know? You won't be at work forever. I promise.”

“Mhm. Feels like forever, though.”

“Maybe.” Seungcheol is silent for a moment, thoughtful. “How about this. After work tomorrow, we'll go out on a date.”

You look over at him. “A date? On a Monday?”

“Just a small one,” Seungcheol says, and you can see his mildly embarrassed smile, even in the dimness of the room. “It'll give you something to look forward to, no?”

It certainly would. You can't help but smile, a blush creeping up on your cheeks because he just somehow makes you feel so loved even when he's smiling bashfully at 2am on the absolutely worst day of the entire week. 

“Yeah,” you say, and roll over to snuggle into him, rubbing at your swollen eyes until they feel a little better, relaxing into him with a contented sigh. “Thank you, Cheol.”

“Of course, baby,” Seungcheol says, and then presses another kiss to the top of your head, gathering you in his arms. 

You look up at him, and with your eyes, you trace the adoration on his face even in the darkness. You smile. 

“I love you.”

Seungcheol squeezes you against him, and kisses your forehead yet again, his lips as warm and soft as the gentlest of promises.

“I love you too.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @sakufilms @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @raevyng @isabellah29 @kikohao

[pikanari]

Give my character a "character shaming" label || Anonymous asked:

Kaminari "I can't taste anything worth a shit cuz I fried my taste buds" Denki

"HEY!! My taste buds work perfectly fine, thank you very much!" No, they don't. Denki there is a reason why Bakugou banned you from the kitchen.

[000-pawz]

zzz (bnd) ˚ · .

cuddling/sleeping with bnd, ot6 headcanons, fluff!!!, established relationship

more under the cut!

a/n: thank you sm for your cute request anon!!! ^___^ <3

sungho ˚ ⋆｡˚

𐙚₊˚ randomly kisses your forehead or the top of your head

𐙚₊˚ tucks his head into your chest with his hair falling into his eyes, and you brush it away so you can see his face before dozing off <3

𐙚₊˚ will fall asleep in the middle of a sentence >< "yeah, earlier i was thinking that...." and he's gone

𐙚₊˚ he sleeps with those blackout curtains, so if you guys ever separate in the middle of the night, he'd probably pat around the bed blindly until his hands find you, sighing in relief that you're still there before falling asleep again <3

𐙚₊˚ slings his arm over your body in his sleep and makes it impossible to get up so you have to physically pry him off of you

𐙚₊˚ pouts a lot when he wakes up and hugs the blanket to his chest as you volunteer to look for his glasses (that somehow magically disappeared in the middle of the night)

˚ ⋆｡˚ riwoo

𐙚₊˚ likes when you lay your head on his chest so you can hear his heartbeat

𐙚₊˚ intertwines your fingers together, his thumb stroking the back of your hand... probably plays with your fingers until he dozes off

𐙚₊˚ doesn't care if he's the big spoon or the little spoon, but he just loves when you're pressed against him, sharing body heat <3

𐙚₊˚ if a nightmare wakes you up, he'll stay up with you!!! he'll ask you to tell him what it was about, stroking your hair with his eyes closed <3 he's sleepy, but sleep isn't more important than your comfort

𐙚₊˚ sometimes he does that boyfriend twitch in his sleep and you're always like ??? is he good ???? but he's just dreaming <3

𐙚₊˚ somehow ends up in a fetal position in the morning with no pillows or blankets in his vicinity

jaehyun ˚ ⋆｡˚

𐙚₊˚ weaves his limbs together with yours until you are completely wrapped up in each other

𐙚₊˚ his entire body melts when you hold him like he goes limp ><

𐙚₊˚ gets even more talkative when he's sleepy because he wants to spend more time with you (even though you guys are literally glued to each other)

𐙚₊˚ halfway through the night, he ends up sprawled out like a starfish with the blankets kicked to the end of the bed because he got too hot ><

𐙚₊˚ if you try to leave the bed during the night, he wakes up with a gasp and sits straight up!! when you tell him that you're going to the bathroom, he just mumbles "bathroom...." before falling asleep again

𐙚₊˚ needs at least 25 minutes to turn on his brain after waking up >< probably follows you around like a puppy in the morning with his arms wrapped around your waist before he remembers he has free will

˚ ⋆｡˚ taesan

𐙚₊˚ turns on a quiet playlist for you guys to fall asleep to!

𐙚₊˚ mindlessly plays with your hair, his fingers trailing down your neck before moving to rub soft circles on your back

𐙚₊˚ pulls the covers up over your heads and kisses you, soaking up your giggles and shy touches in the dark

𐙚₊˚ if you don't move for at least 2 minutes, he's out like a light... especially if your body is halfway on top of him like a weighted blanket

𐙚₊˚ if he wakes up and your backs are turned to each other, he'll turn around and spoon you from behind, pecking the back of your neck before dozing off again

𐙚₊˚ probably won't speak at all for that first hour he's awake. he'll just nod and shake his head to your questions ><

leehan ˚ ⋆｡˚

𐙚₊˚ he would probably be a little playful before falling asleep! whispering in your ear, nuzzling his nose into your skin, quietly recounting his day to you

𐙚₊˚ kisses your forehead before tucking you into his neck, his chin resting on top of your head

𐙚₊˚ sometimes he starts mumbling in his sleep!!! mostly random sentences that make no sense, or a declaration to take over planet mars are something... but stroking his cheek and kissing his forehead soothes him <3

𐙚₊˚ takes off his socks in the middle of the night (and somehow, yours too)

𐙚₊˚ you'll wake up sometime during the night and see him sleeping like a sickly victorian child, flat on his back with his hands folded over his chest

𐙚₊˚ can probably sleep through your entire morning routine, breakfast, and mid-day brunch... you have to physically shake him awake to make him get up

˚ ⋆｡˚ woonhak

𐙚₊˚ definitely loves sleeping face-to-face so he can look at you, holding you tight in a hug with your legs intertwined!!

𐙚₊˚ giggles a lot when you guys make eye contact and buries his face in your neck

𐙚₊˚ #1 blanket stealer!!! he'll roll over in his sleep with the duvet clutched between his fingers so you'll have to shuffle over and steal some back ><

𐙚₊˚ his nose twitches in his sleep and he softly smiles sometimes while dreaming

𐙚₊˚ beware of the arm flails and random kicking (he always apologizes in the morning, but he's so cute so you're never upset <3)

𐙚₊˚ as soon as he wakes up, he's waking you up because he gets bored when he has to do his morning routine alone!!! he wants to brush his teeth with you and chat over breakfast so please wake up!!!

reblogs are greatly appreciated! thank u...<3

masterlist

[shaisuki]

𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗦𝗘 𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗦

ft. bully! gojo satoru and geto suguru

content warnings college au, heavy bullying, gaslighting, noncon, dubcon, implied sexual assault, allusions to depression/suicide, alcohol consumption, drinking, implied drugging, fatphobia, overdosing, naoya zen'in is an asshole, humiliation, threats, minor oc character. dead dove do not eat.

notes this might come as disappointing since some of you wanting revenge what this two idiots had done to reader. their are some matters that i think is too complicated and impossible so i came with this way as the breaking point where reader starts to retaliate/plan her revenge. will get to it later and to that anon, who asked for the revenge, i will get once i start to finish this one up. please read the warnings, i don't want someone bitching in the comments telling me that the contents above is uncool. it truly is not cool. that's why it have warnings. it is on a fictional context. do read the warnings before continuing. also do let me know of what you think of this chapter.

read part one, here. two here.

SERIES MASTERLIST

synopsis you let them take and take what they can from you. you were a nobody after all but everybody have their breaking point.

the world is a blur to you. colors of red and blue dances in your vision while voices whispers to you. what's happening? you can't move. it's like your body were made of lead. you can't understand what they were saying. multiple faces stares at you, are you dead? is this what you see when people surround you while they lower your casket. is it? you hope it was, cause you didn't plan on living anymore. there's nothing worth moving forward and the world around you turns black.

there's a beep and then silence. you hear before you see and when you opened your eyes, all you can see is a bright light above you. it took you minutes to adjust your vision and realize where you are. you're in a hospital. laying on a bed and you started to get irritated at your oxygen mask. you tug at it. getting frustrated why it keeps coming back at you before someone put their hand on it. completely removing it and there you breath. your sight darted to the hand who helped you until your sight travels to his arms and then to his face. a brief recognition flashes through you.

“nanami?” you call his name unsure but you know it was definitely him. it was hard to mistake him for someone. there's his blonde hair, neatly parted. his pristine beige sweater paired a dark colored trouser, not a crinkle in sight and his signature silver watch in his wrist. you met him once at the literature club and decided you were going to be there too not until it changed due to some circumstances. his lips parted but before he can speak, a cheery voice interrupted him.

“she's awake!?” said haibara, you also knew him since he and nanami were always together. seeing your confused state, his voice died down. “what happened?” you asked them and they exchanged looks before haibara answers you.

“we found you passed out in the lawn. thought you were drunk but you weren't breathing.” haibara's voice was soft while he slowly breaks down the reason why you ended up here.

a doctor comes inside to your room before haibara can finish. you took note of her pristine white coat with her surname embroidered on it. clicking her pen and whipping out her clipboard she pulled out of nowhere. you were distracted by it. the doctor's eyes is on you now and you began to frown.

the doctor coughs clearing her throat before speaking. “hello, ms. (y/n). i'm glad you're awake now.” noticing your confused expression she pauses began answering the question. “to answer your question you were unconscious for two days and is brought for possible assault. we need your con—”

“no!”

“ms. it would help for you t—”

“you heard me!? i said no!” you scream at the doctor and your tears appeared in your eyes. you didn't realize you were screaming. nanami and haibara stand there in silence but the looks on their face said otherwise. concern painted in their faces and the doctor bows before leaving. looking at the men inside in your room to call her if you need anything.

cause if they would test you, they would find the remains of their sperm inside you and then report? who will believe you? it would be buried like the case of another girls like you who were too afraid nor fight their abusers. you don't find the point of that. they would twist the words out of you. it was easy to believe than you.

you curled up in bed and did the next thing you can. cry. now, you're in here and the events before this plays in your head in repeat.

“f-fuck”

satoru curses out while suguru bites your ear. your body like jello as they spilled their load for the nth that day. both of them lowered your body after fucking your brains out. warm up, they say. you shiver as you feel their cum running down your thighs. feeling disgusted as it began to stick after being exposed to the air. you grab the wipes but suguru stopped you, grabbing it from your hands and cleaning you up. fixing your skirt in the meantime.

“worth every penny.” suguru mutters. staring at the new clothes they bought for you. a baby blue corseted puff-sleeved, square neck top matched with a black skirt that rests on your mid thigh is what they forced you to wear. it feels tight. intentionally buying it one size smaller than you usually wore and it more feel you like a stuffed sausage rather a comfortable piece of clothing. you can't say no to what they wanted. you're a bit of grateful that they allowed you to wear your white sneakers rather than those kitten heels that would put your feet in blisters.

satoru's fingers brushes through the expanse of your exposed flesh. playing with the small bow in your top. sighing, “suguru, can we have more with (y/n)-chan?” his best friend chuckles at him. “idiot, we're already running late, after that we can.” satoru pouts. “tch, party pooper.” he ignores gojo and moves his attention to you.

“smile, this is your first real party. you're going to enjoy this.” suguru lifts your chin up with his finger and you obediently nodded. “ditch and you know what will happen.” he warns.

it was a bad idea. the moment you stood in the front door. the party was already in motion. you can hear the people inside shouting profanities and booming music mixed with already drunk frat members and student bodies. this was never really your crowd and when you were shoved inside with gojo and geto you were done and you already felt like crying. you look at the duo in front of you. they were already engaged in conversation with the other people here.

“gojo, you son of a bitch. you fucking came.” a guy hollered in the side and you see more of his features as he gets nearer. a snarl in his face with multiple piercings in his ear. a hair dyed blonde with green accents.

“ah, zen’in. wouldn't missed this just i could wipe that smirk off your face.” gojo mocks him and before the guy whom gojo called zen’in darts his sight to you. he raises a brow. “you two in fat bitches now?” pointing at you with hand cupping a plastic cup. gojo scoffs. “none of your business, zen'in.” glaring at him but he can't see that gojo's looking at him with dark glasses in the way. “then you two wouldn't mind me using her.” he suggested and suguru gaze darkens at him. “fuck off, naoya.” almost growling at naoya and the latter raises his hand in mock defeat before finding shit he could entertain himself with.

suguru scowls after naoya left, he looks at you like you just turned his mood sour. “you're an embarrassment.” he says and you bit your lip. keeping the tears at bay and you don't really want to embarrass yourself more at this party. “hey, hey suguru.” gojo taps his shoulder. “let loose, don't naoya get to you.” satoru glances at you. his blue eyes peering in his glasses. “you're right.” his stare cold at you. “find a seat, (y/n). you're embarrassing us now with you around.” you nod and you find yourself in a vacant corner. near to those already wasted or just plain chilling in the couch in front of you.

what did you expect? that were all sex talk or when they're in good mood. all those praise and compliments are just enough to feel you good about yourself for a bit and then they'll come destroying it. you stare at the view through the window. the night's particularly beautiful and peaceful except the place you're in and you're already missing the comfort of your bed.

you take a sip from your cup. a girl gave it you earlier saying that it's a special concoction that's only made at this parties. unsure you took it. not wanting to show ungratefulness to someone whose only been polite to you and she seems nice. you cringe slightly at the taste and the burning of the liquid as it flows down your throat. coughing you bring down the cup, not used to drinking.

your first time being a party, your eyes wander how your peers lost their selves in the influence of alcohol. some where dancing and mingling. talking like they were friends and you caught of others taking their business upstairs. you were kind of jealous how everyone are the life of the party and you sit here in your misery. you continue to observe everyone and you caught gojo. it's impossible to miss his tall stature and his white hair standing in the crowd. a petite woman is linked to him. her thin arms are wrapped around his neck and it was clear what they were doing. there they stood in the crowd. kissing.

“satoru.” gojo was taking a swig of his drink when a girl approached him. calling his name like they were lovers but it was more like an ex-fling. never had a relationship with her. she was only a temporary fun. “ah, sar—ah, sayuri.” he almost curses at himself. sayuri playfully pouts at him and there it is, the batting of eyelashes. “that's mean, satoru. you already forgot me.” her lips puckers before placing a hand in his chest. if this was a another party of gojo and he really liked this girl. he would have taken her upstairs. he caught you in the corner. you were like a child in awe at the people in this house. gojo almost chuckles at your cute antics but suppressed it and then a cruel idea pops in his mind. “missed me?” he asks sayuri and there was no answer needed as he crashes his lips to sayuri. his sight never leaving yours and when you caught him. he watch as your eyes widens, you lower your head in embarrassment before chugging that drink in your cup in one swig. he smirks in the kiss as he watches you wiped your tears away. he always liked making you cry.

you should have ditched this stupid party, even it means getting punished by those again. you were hurt. they always like to torture you. listen as they tell you how worthless and unlovable you are while they keep girls who are clearly not you by their side. those girls were perfectly fit for them to be seen in public and you were there for them to humiliate you. with your head lowered, you stifled a sob. wiping your tears with your hands shaking. they kept flowing and you kept messily wiping them and with that you slowly made your way outside. discreetly making your way through the door and you almost laugh. you were a nobody. you're not made for pretty things and this goddamn outfit you wore only added to your misery. you never felt beautiful and it looks ugly on you. wrapped a sausage with a different and it will still look the same.

no one noticed you leaving except for suguru's watchful gaze.

suguru finds his friend making out with a girl he definitely doesn't remember. suguru slaps his back and satoru broke the kiss. wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and ignores the girl he was just making out seconds ago. suguru points the door where you left earlier. you're really looking for trouble and with that they left following you.

sayuri was stunned being shoved aside again. she was angry. how the fuck did you get those two's attention especially gojo's? she's beautiful. she's thin. academically excelling and you, a fat nobody bitch easily made those two fall for you. she knows they were just playing at you and sayuri could take it but being shoved again by satoru isn't what she expected tonight. she's going to be satoru's bride. it was decided from the start and satoru knows it. their fathers friends since their college days had made a decision to marry their son and daughter before they were even born and she did everything she can just to have satoru's attention but why can't she even get to look at her without her trying. it's your fault. it's your fucking fault! you deserve to die. you're fucking stupid for accepting that drink like you're a fucking saint and now, maybe you'll rethink your choices of making those your own and satoru will only have his eyes for her and only her.

weird. why are your hands sweating? it's cold. freezing cold. you know this temperature at night is normal but why are you freezing cold. hah, your vision's starting to get funny too. where there always stars in the sky? ahh, i want to go home. i wonder if akira's still awake. i didn't told her that i was going away tonight. my eyes hurt. you were crying. this was your thoughts as you walked away.

it was to easy to catch you with their long strides. satoru grabs your flabby arm angrily. “we told you, you don't leave without us. do you really want to get punished, (y/n)-chan?” his voice snarky as he digs his nails in your arms. it hurts. it really must really hurt but you're suddenly numb to feel anything. you just stare at him in confusion and then you hear voices. they were calling them to get back.

gojo scowls at them. your knees buckled and you sat in the ground. geto tsked. “we're going back to you later.” he says and they left you there and there were loud cheers. you lay there in the ground. numb and your vision fades away.

you blinked as you stare in the nothingness. that's what you last remembered. they left you there and you hoped you died. you can't take another bullshit of what they put you through. the tears continuously flows from your eyes and your blanket is wet with tears. haibara puts a comforting hand in your shoulder and you bursted crying again. this was the real kindness you felt since the accident. they didn't blame you. they only stayed and made sure you were resting enough. stranger they maybe or an acquaintance. you would never forget this kindness from them.

days. nights. you stayed in the hospital until you were cleared. you made nothing of what happened to you. putting it in the records as an allergic reaction in which the hospital agreed. just like that even when you're in the brink of death of what happened to you. if you took the procedure for assault. they would be guilty but it was days old now and bruises are left in your skin as nothing but reminders of the humiliation of what they did to you.

for now, you're going to cry. cry until there's nothing left to cry for.

[porcelian]

YOU'RE MY MAN (OF BRIGHT LIGHT)

PAIRING: jason todd ✗ gn!reader ;

SYNOPSIS: While at a fair with your sweet boyfriend Jason, you run into an unexpected, but welcomed suprise ;

ANON ASKED: " Okay, but Jason taking the his secret girlfriend to the fair, they're having a good time playing games, winning prizes, eating funnel cake, when they run into the bat fam and he's forced to make an introduction and once he sees how great they all get along, all his anxiety dissipates. She does comment on how insanely good they all are at those precision games. " ;

WORD COUNT: 1.4k ;

NOTES: cross posted on my AO3.

♯ MASTERLIST ; NAVIGATION.

THE LIGHTS COVERING THE FAIR HANG LIKE STARS IN THE SKY ABOVE YOU. The bright colors dance across the fair as you and Jason walk hand in hand down the painted road. The different stalls and stands covered in red and white striped tents spread an infectious sweet aroma in the air, warming the atmosphere around you both.

Jason can feel your hand tighten around his as your eyes dart around the fairground, following anything that catches your eye.

The day has been spent checking out rides, such as the turning Ferris Wheel and the fair blanketing the ground with its vivid hues as you both watched from such a height. He remembers how thrilled you were looking down, grasping his hand with yours.

He also remembers only looking at you, the sea of tents, balloons flying high in the sky, and people mingling long forgotten.

You had all his attention.

The lights from below reflect in your eyes. “Isn't it beautiful?” you question.

Jason focuses his gaze on you. “It is,” without a doubt, “beautiful.

*****

The picture of you and him in that cramped photo booth appears in his mind over and over again. The walls were decorated with a rainbow of colors; the glitter spread through the narrow space, sticking onto your clothing and messy hair.

Surprisingly, he doesn't feel constricted and trapped in such a place. A carefree grin breaks out on his face, a matching one to your glowing smile.

You move your hand to his face, pushing the strands of hair away. You say something about him being handsome, and he feels the warmth rise to his cheeks.

He can only huff and turn to face the other way as you let out a small giggle, “You are handsome; why deny it?” The same pink hue appears on your cheeks as well. The words are engraved into his mind, not that he has the courage to say that yet.

The camera flash snaps him out of his reverie. The black-and-white strand of photos rests in his hands as a thumb caresses the surface. The picture of you two side by side, hands intertwined, is forever burned into his mind.

*****

It’s something about your face when you're focused that enamours Jason. Maybe it’s the way your eyebrows furrow together when you are concentrating. Maybe it’s the way you bite your lip, lost in thought. Or it’s the way you are oblivious to the world around you.

Oblivious to his stare that won’t leave your frame.

Even now, as your hands grip the water pistol, fingers tense yet precise, Jason can’t tear his gaze off of you.

You groan as you miss another shot at the moving duck. “Oh, for god's sake,” the yellow-colored cutout stares at you mockingly. “This is so rigged!” Your gaze is stuck on the Nightwing plush sitting on the stand as a prize, with its dark blue and black suit. “I need that plush.”

Jason chuckles at your predicament before being shushed by a glare from you. “You give it a try, big guy,” you say, shoving the orange-blue water pistol in his hands. It looks comically small in his hands.

“Watch and learn,” he gives you a smug smirk as he steps closer to aim at the ducks moving in rows above the light blue waves, until a familiar mess of blonde and raven-blue hair catches his attention.

Shit.

“Jaybeans?” Your concerned voice rings through his ears. “Are you okay?”

The voices of Steph and Dick grow closer and closer as he gives you a panicked look, which you only answer with a confused, wobbly smile. They don’t know about you; you don’t know much about them! The only time you have interacted with his family was a baking competition with Alfred (in which he used salt instead of sugar, but that’s beside the point).

He didn’t want it to go like this! He wanted to invite you to dinner with his family (and pray they don’t scare you away with their antics).

He remembers when Dick caught a glimpse of your guys’ text a few weeks back, something along the lines of Get back home safe, honeybee, from you. He can still picture Dick's shocked and teasing face as the older brother held the phone high up away from Jason's grasp.

Honeybee? Isn’t that adorable?

I swear to God if you don’t give me that back—

He snaps himself out of the memory and tries to convince you to check out the funnel cake nearby. “I heard it’s delicious.” His eyes dart around as you give him an unimpressed look.

“Nearby?” you ask, “isn’t it on the opposite side of the fair? I’m not walking that far; my feet hurt!”

“I’ll carry you.”

“But, what about my Nightwing plush?” You pout as you point to the mini version of his brother; granted, you don’t know that it’s his brother. Curse that plush.

“Jaybird?!”

Well, shit.

You both turn your heads to the source of the voice: a girl with messy blonde hair and jeans (with a purple heart sewn into it, you note) and a taller man with blue eyes approach you and Jason.

Jason feels as if he’s going to break the water pistol in his hands in two.

"Didn't you think we’d see you here?” Stephanie speaks up first before turning the attention on you. The three of you break into a conversation. Jason’s the only one who sees the teasing glances his siblings send his way, while you stay oblivious to it all.

He should be happy that you are getting along with his family. Heck, this is what he was preparing for all these months. But he didn’t want it to go like this! On top of that, it feels as if he’s being left out of the conversation.

“So, are you two on a date?” Steph asks, putting the emphasis on the date part of that sentence.

“Yep, we are!” You answer with a glowing smile, “It’s so nice to finally meet you guys.”

Jason is glaring daggers at the two of them, but Dick and Steph don’t seem like they're going to let this go (their grins seem to confirm that).

They shush any attempt of his at getting in the middle of you three, their attention all on you. Questions like: How’d you meet? When did you guys become official? Are you working for any villains as a henchman, by any chance?

You answer with the same elegance as Jason loves about you, holding your head high and easing into conversation.

It’s only when Dick turns to look at the water pistol in Jason's hands and the lone Nightwing plush resting on the prize shelf does he address his little brother, “Trying to win the Nightwing plushie, are you Jaybird?”

Jason can feel his cheeks burn up. “...Yes.”

Dick gives him a small, genuine smile, one that speaks of that one sentence that he always hears from his brother: I’m proud of you, Jay. Maybe this isn’t so bad. He feels all the worries slowly leave his body as the scene finally sinks into his mind. His siblings are here, and you are here, talking and having a truly good time.

Yea, this isn’t so bad.

“Oh!” Steph speaks up, “Let me try!”

“I’m warning you, those ducks are rigged so you lose,” you tell the blonde before moving closer to watch, eyes curious.

“Watch and learn!” (Just like Jason) She aims, and it hits the swimming duck, “bullseye!”

“Whoa,” you exclaim, “that was perfect! Where did you learn to aim like that?” you ask, genuinely curious.

Steph's face freezes up in surprise. She fumbles with the plush being handed to her before pushing it your way. “It’s a talent, I guess? Aren’t I lucky?”

“Runs in the family?”

“..Yes?” She mumbles with a wobbly smile before throwing an arm around your shoulders. “So, you ever need to win another plush; you know who to call.”

Dick lets out a small chuckle while Jason glares at the Nightwing plush in your hands. “A fan?” Dick asks.

“Duh, but Jaybeans over here is more of a Red Hood enthusiast.”

“Babe—”

“What?”

The voices of his siblings and you slowly drown out the sounds of the fair. Jason watches the three of you talk and joke like you’ve been friends for ages. He might deny it, but god, he feels so happy right now. Happy that his family is getting along.

He feels at peace, and it’s all thanks to you guys.

© ROBINSFILM ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[dotster001]

Waking Him up with a Kiss

Summary: Malleus/Silver/Jamil x Gn!Reader. You wake your lover up with a kiss.

Requested by an anon. Fuck you, Tumblr.

CW: Jamil is kinda sus but I wouldn't be doing him justice if he wasn't.

Also! Always get consent from your partner before kissing them in their sleep! That's a cool kid thing to do!

He'd been hinting at this for a while now. All his life, Lilia had regaled him with fairy tales where the sleeping prince or princess was woken with true love's kiss. Malleus had always been a hopeless romantic, and, damn, did he want that!

He'd left the books out when he slept over. He made sure that if he knew you would come looking for him, he'd nap on his back. He sighs dreamily (and loudly) whenever he rereads those fairytales next to you. He waxes on and on about how romantic being awoken with a kiss is. He knows he's dense. But he thinks you're worse.

Lilia giggles and says to be patient, Silver says to just tell you what he wants, and Sebek says to just banish you for the treason of making him sad. He decides that Lilia has never steered him wrong before, so he decides to be patient.

And one day it happens. He's dreaming of you, walking through a meadow, hand in hand. You turn to him, your radiant smile glowing brighter than the sun of his dreams. You press your lips to his, gentle as a cloud, and it feels so real that he doesn't want to wake up.

But he does, and he moans a little as he regrets losing the dream world. But the feeling of your lips doesn't fade. Light as a cloud, gentle as a dove, a feeling that makes him feel so full inside he thinks he'll burst.

His eyes flutter open, and there you are, on your knees in the grass, smiling softly as you push one of his dark bangs away from his eyes. He smiles sleepily, putting together that his dream came true.

“Now that you've given me a taste, I hope you know that I am insatiable,” he said, his voice still husky with sleep. You giggled, as though you thought he was joking.

Oh, you sweet little human.

He is not joking.

He has told you this on many occasions. If you are hanging out, and he falls asleep, do whatever you need to to wake him up. He originally tried to be chill about it, but eventually he let on just how much it distressed him when he missed time with you. He didn't want to miss out on any time with you. Yes, it was partially for you. But if he was honest, it was mostly for him. It hurt his chest to think about losing time with someone he loved. Being around the fae taught him every moment mattered.

Usually, you try everything. You shake him, you steal his pillow, you bang a pot, you set three alarms to go off at the same time. But today, you tried something different.

Silver blinked his eyes open, only to be met by your uncertain ones staring back at him, your face hovering a few inches above his.

He gently lifted a hand to his lips, the ghost of your kiss lingering. He may not have been fully awake for it, but he knows it happened.

His mind was immediately transported to a moment in his youth. He was sitting by his father, sniffling sadly because he fell asleep during Lilia's birthday party. 

“Ah, my sweet son,” Lilia said with a warm smile, gently nuzzling his cheek against Silver's. “I know it's not your fault. Even doctors have told you you can't help it. I am not upset at all.”

“But it's your birthday,” Silver sniffled. “I feel like I must be cursed.”

Lilia's eyes widened in understanding.

“That must be it!” He said excitedly. He ran to the nearby bookshelf and pulled off a book, before nodding sagely.

“Yes, that must be it, look,” he flipped to a page in the story, pointing to a picture of a sleeping princess being kissed awake by a knight in shining armor. “I know this curse! When you find true love, perhaps their kiss will save you!”

Silver excitedly nodded at the picture, his eyes wide.

Lilia snapped the book shut, authoritatively. “But until then, I don't want you to be sad when you fall asleep. Your hero will save you one day. And they might be sad that they took a long time to save you. So if you are less hard on yourself, it might help them feel better. Promise?”

Silver nodded happily.

Lilia is a menace, filling his son's heads with fairytales. /Affectionate

In the present, Silver smiled softly.

“Did you kiss me awake?”

“Sorry, I know I should have asked, but I figured when you said wake me up however I can-”

“That's correct. I could have said it plainly, but this is definitely what I pictured when I said that. But in case you need me to verbally say it, yes, please continue to wake me up like this. I think I will wake up every single time.”

You smiled at him, still hovering over him, making him long for your kiss again.

“You know, I wasn't awake for the last one. Would you please kiss me again?”

You giggled, then leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

“I feel like I need more ways to show my love for you,” you said thoughtfully. Jamil sat next to you on your bed in Ramshackle, reading over your report, and checking for mistakes.

“And what makes you say that?” He hummed in amusement.

“Seriously? You do everything for me! And I'm just kinda here!”

“I'm perfectly satisfied with that. In fact, I'd rather do all the hard stuff so that you have the energy to shower me in affection when I'm done,” he snickered to himself. If anything, a small selfish part of him liked the idea of you feeling like you had something to prove. It made you a very physically affectionate lover to “make up for it”. And while he was easily flustered, he very much liked the gentle caresses, warm embraces, and hungry kisses you gave him.

“Tell you what,” he hummed, handing you back the marked up report. It would take you hours to make the corrections. He loved you, but you were at a disadvantage when it came to college courses in the laws of magic. “I'm going to take a nap. When you finish, I'd really feel loved if you kissed me awake.”

He laid down, resting an arm over his eyes. 

“You could just stay the night if you're that tired,” you said in that tone of voice that only came when you were pouting.

“Can't. Kalim has a test tomorrow, and I need to make sure he wakes up for it.”

You grumbled something, but he was already out cold.

He felt…warm. He softly sighed, as he felt your kiss deepen. Still not opening his eyes, he wrapped an arm around your neck, and continued sleepily kissing you. Yeah. This is the life he wanted. To be rewarded for his hard work with your affection.

He finally opened his eyes with a scowl when you pulled away.

“I didn't say to stop. This is about expressing your love, right?” He snickered.

You pouted. “I miss when every single thing would fluster you.”

He scowled and stood up, stretching away the sleepiness as he prepared for his trek back to his dorm.

“I don't.”

You smiled sweetly, then reached out for his hair.

“Luckily,  I can still make you all blushy when I play with your hair.”

Tag list- @shytastemakerthing @eccedentesiast-sapphic @leoll @stygianoir @pikeru565

“Good night love,” he scowled as he stormed out of the room.

....