#((but he's still sketchy the rest of the time))

[conherofrost]

So what exactly did you pretend to be when you was a “hero” I couldn’t really understand when you explained (I might be dumb)

The only thing I understood was that you worked with orphanages (yeah I’m definitely dumb)

Don't beat yourself up over it, I'll gladly elaborate.

I took on many a task as a pretend hero, but my main racket was playing the part of a vigilante who would take on my own space pirates when they would attack a planet. Of course, the initial plan would have them pretend to convulse in pain when I just barely grazed them, but I had to start fighting more seriously when I had other heroes of justice, like a few troops from the Sadalan Saiyan Defense Forces, joining me in combat- and I'm kind of thankful because WHAT A RUSH THAT WAS!!

Anyway, the confrontations were either quickly taken care of, a solid day tops, just to get a little boost to my popularity (and a bit of my ego) or they were extended battles that would really ruffle things up.

The longer conflicts benefitted the real estate side of things. Think of it like house flipping, except the house is a whole planet of plots and you need a little war first to create some fixer-uppers.

The smaller fights didn't really net real estate profit; most money I gained from those were claiming my own pirates' bounties. They were really just to keep a routine of vigilantism and get a reputation booster. My presence brought some attention to a few planets and they got some sales, but those didn't go through my shady ring of work so I never saw a cent... wish I could have gotten some sort of cut from all that beachfront property...

Most other tasks were reputation boosters and padding to my good guy narrative. A bit of humanitarian aid on a few planets on my radar (some I felt too bad about the idea of pillaging). There were some corrupt systems that I had nothing to do with and weren't part of the script, but I simply did so because my sense of duty still burned within. Of note, I liberated a group of orphans forced into corrupt labor working for "the man"- helped them get adopted into good homes or at least made sure they were placed in a properly run foster facility.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Cherry Red.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader x Yandere!Geto (JJK).

Written in conjunction with this ask from @eevwrites.

Word Count: 1.9k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Nonconsensual Drug Use, Implied Stalking, Kidnapping, Obsessive Behavior, Overstimulation, Biting/Marking, and Slight Dehumanization.

Really, your only mistake had been choosing the wrong savoir after Satoru had slipped something into your drink.

Satoru was obviously, visibly, undeniably a creep. That much was obvious from the second he approached you, neon pink cocktail in-hand and that degenerate grin plastered across his lips. He was sketchy, but he was also rich, and fun, and willing to dance with you hours after the rest of your friends had called it a night. Suguru wasn’t a creep – or, he didn’t look like one, at least. When your vision started to darken, when it became harder than it should’ve been to put one foot in front of the other, it was his chest you stumbled into, using what was left of your consciousness to beg an imposing, aloof stranger to get the bartender’s attention and help you. It was what anyone else would’ve done. It was what you would’ve done, if the roles had been reversed.

It wasn’t until you felt his arm wrap around your waist, until you heard him call so lovingly to Satoru, that you realized how badly you’d fucked up.

Still, stumbling halfway across the club and throwing yourself at a total stranger must've attracted some attention. As Suguru gathered you in his arms, the bartender rounded towards you, eyeing your limp form and Suguru's slight smile warily. “Someone had little too much to drink,” he explained, nonchalantly. “It’s fine. Her boyfriend and I are going to take her home and make sure she gets tuck her in.”

‘Your boyfriend’ being Satoru, apparently, judging by the way he clung to Suguru’s side as you were carried out of the club entirely and piled into the backseat of an inconspicuous black car. Suguru drove and Satoru hovered over you – gnawing hickeys and bruises into your throat until you were too far gone to care.

Whatever they’d dosed you with, it was strong. You were strung out for most of the ride, only vaguely aware of passing scenery, Satoru’s keening whines, and Suguru’s gentle reminders to ‘wait, ‘toru’. By the time you felt your body being lifted, you were beyond the point of deliberate movement – your mind hyperactive, eager to latch onto every little sensation and spiraling thought, but unable to do much more than remind you to breath as you were hauled through a shrine courtyard and into a small, dimly lit backroom; the priest’s personal barracks, if you had to guess. Satoru babbled while Suguru lowered you onto a large, plush bed, and despite your best efforts, you caught most of it. “—and that’s when I knew it had to be you.” Suguru spared you an apologetic smile, his nimble hands moving over your body as he carefully removed your dress, then your shoes, then your panties, stripping you bare with all the care and all the tenderness of an avid collector undressing his favorite doll. “I mean, it took a few months, but I wanted it to be romantic, y’know? Suguru doesn’t get it. He thought I’d be happy with just anyone.”

“It took me a while to come around the idea. I might’ve gotten a little jealous.” You could only wish he would’ve stayed that away. “Come here, I need to show you what you’re doing.”

Suguru dragged you into his lap, keeping your upper body propped against his chest while spreading your legs apart in front of him. Satoru took his position eagerly between then, his eyes fixed on your cunt. “This,” he started, using two thick fingers to spread the folds of your labia apart, “is what you’re gonna fall in love with. Make sure you’re always paying attention to her clit – aw, look, it’s already poking out.”

It was humiliatingly clinical – how he touched you while explaining your anatomy in-detail, using the pad of his thumb to show Satoru how to play with your clit, dipping two fingers into your entrance while extrapolating on the importance of proper preparation, gathering your arousal up to make sure Satoru knew what it would look like when he was doing a good job. “Remember to be gentle. She’s going to be a lot more delicate than me,” he said, while curling two fingers inside of you, filling the bedroom with a rhythmic, humiliatingly wet sound. Your couldn't seem to open your mouth, and yet, little whimpers of discomfort and mewls of pleasure escaped your parted lips without resistance, each new noise drawing Satoru that much closer. “You’ll just be using your mouth, for now. We can talk about hands once you’ve shown some restraint.”

And yet, Satoru’s hands still found their way to your thighs, kneading mindlessly while Suguru split you open on his fingers. You tried to shake your head, to squirm against him, to tell him to stop, but the closest you got to anything coherent was a pitchy, keening sound not totally dissimilar to the whines Satoru would let out every now and then as he ground half-consciously into the mattress. You tried not to feel anything, either, but Suguru’s hands were so big, and his chest was so warm against your back, and with Satoru all-but drooling over your pussy, it would’ve been impossible not to come undone the second his palm ground against your clit and he spread his fingers apart inside of you, nursing you through your orgasm while making sure you were on fully-display. “See how she’s clenching down? That means she’s trying to milk your cock – you’ll get what I mean, once your inside of her.”

If only for a moment, your panic overshadowed your paralysis. Thrashing to either side, you did your best to fight against Suguru’s ironclad hold and finally spit something out, even if your voice was still barely stronger than a whimper. “N-No, don’t, you can’t—”

It was Satoru who cut you off, this time, albeit without breaking his nonverbal streak. His mouth crashed into yours with enough force to bruise, teeth clashing against yours as he shoved his tongue down your throat in less of a kiss and more of a prolonged attempt to choke you to death. It hurt, and you tasted blood, and if you hadn’t known better, than you would’ve thought this was his first—

Oh, god.

As if this couldn’t have gotten any worse.

He didn’t stay focused on your mouth for long. His attention drifted downward – first to your throat, then your collarbone, then your chest, latching onto one of your nipples and sucking harshly. You hadn’t realized how sensitive you were, not until his teeth dug into the plush of your breast and you let out a fractured sob, tears blurring your vision. Suguru’s response was instantaneous. In a fraction of a second, his slick-stained fingers were tangled in Satoru’s hair, prying him off of you entirely. “Gentle,” he repeated, his tone strict, authoritative. “Before I decide you need to be muzzled.”

For what it was worth, Satoru seemed apologetic. After Suguru loosened his hold, he nuzzled into your chest, lapping over his past love bites with the flat of his tongue. “’m sorry, just got excited.” And then, smiling up at you, “You didn’t mind, right? I mean, she definitely doesn’t.”

You had no idea what he was talking about, not until his head dropped to your cunt and he buried his face between your thighs, his attention suddenly solely dedicated to your pussy.

There was no attempt made to use his hands. Despite Suguru’s instructions, he ate you out like a starving animal – his tongue fucking into your cunt as the bridge of his nose ground mindlessly against your clit. Suguru kept his hand in Satoru’s hair, petting gingerly over his scalp as he watched Satoru drool and lap at your cunt. “Use your entire tongue, and don't inhale. She’s not going to be impressed if you manage to drown yourself in pussy.” Suguru tugged lightly, and Satoru let out an unabashed moan, the reverberations going straight to your core. “Don't get distracted, either. Don’t you want to know what she tastes like cumming on your tongue?”

Another moan, another rough buck of Satoru’s hips into the now disheveled sheets. He was terrible, and messy, and loud, and it was humiliating how quickly you lost control of yourself – going stiff against Suguru as Satoru all-but tore your second climax out of you. Suguru grinned against your throat, almost purring with satisfaction. “Good boy. So dedicated, so sweet.” He let go of Satoru’s hair – cupping your face, instead. It was only as his thumb traced over your cheek that you realized you were crying in-earnest, now. “She’s tearing up, ‘toru. That means she wants you to keep going.”

A mix of your arousal and his saliva stained the inside of your thighs, dampening the sheets underneath you, but he didn’t pull away – too caught up in your taste or Suguru’s praise to stop. It might’ve been the overstimulation, or the drugs, or some impossible, nebulous factor you couldn’t so much as begin to guess as, but time seemed to blur together, reality buckling under its own weight as Satoru wrung another orgasm out of you, then another, then another, as Suguru continued to shower him with praise and affection and promises that you liked him, that you wanted this, that you were only crying and thrashing and trying to snap your thighs shut because you felt so good. At some point, you lost the will to keep your eyes open, and minutes later, the harsher edges of your consciousness began to soften. For once, you couldn't be mad at your own body's instinctual submission.

You knew you were going to black out, but you weren't scared. By the time your vision flickered out and everything went black, the only thing you could think to be was grateful that you’d be fortunate enough to miss the main event.

~

You woke up what felt like days later, still lying on the bed you’d blacked out in. Their paralytics had worn off, but trying to make a run for it was out of the question. Every part of your body ached – from your hickey-painted chest to your aching hips to your poor, abused pussy – and even if you’d been able to move, it wouldn’t have done you much good. Familiar bodies caged you in on either side, Suguru’s chest still pressing into your back while Satoru clung to your chest, his arms wrapped around your midriff and his nails embedded in your sides. As if you hadn't already been thoroughly marked.

Suguru stirred first, predictably. It wasn’t hard to tell who was in charge between the two of them. “Our little sleeping beauty,” he muttered into your hair, kissing the top of your head as he sat up and shook Satoru away. “We were starting to get worried – must’ve pushed you too hard last night. You almost missed the most important part.”

Something caught in your throat. “…almost?”

“Yes, princess, almost.” With a groan, Satoru sat up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Immediately, his gaze fell to you, and just as quickly, he was on top of you – pinning you to the mattress, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “You should be thankful that Satoru had the patience to wait. I wouldn’t have been so nice.”

You felt Satoru’s hands paw at your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist as he aligned his stiff, leaking cock with your entrance. He moved enthusiastically, but mechanically, like a trained dog. Like he was following instructions. Weakly, you tried to push at his chest, to get him away from you, but you gave up quickly.

You’d been wrong to be grateful. It would’ve been better to get this over with last night.

At least, then, you might’ve been out of it enough to miss the twisted, blissful, lovesick grin painted across Satoru’s lips as he buried himself inside of you.

[greenglowinspooks]

Honestly I think the fics where Danny’s a Kryptonian have a lot of potential, so here’s me throwing my hat into the ring

Danny was born a human. He was born to two loving (though slightly neglectful) human parents in the painfully mundane state of Illinois.

Then, he died, but he didn’t do it right. He became a Halfa; too alive to be a ghost, but too dead to be human.

Then, through strange, uncontrollable circumstances, that changed as well.

He had been heavily injured, missing a large percentage of body mass, and was at the cusp of either dying fully or just fading from existence.

(Perhaps it was an ordinary fight. Perhaps it was the GiW, or his parents. Perhaps it was a simple accident. That didn’t matter now.)

He fled, phasing through the ground, trying to bury himself as deep as possible.

(Perhaps he didn’t want to be unmasked in death. Perhaps that was already too late, and he just wanted his body be able to rest in peace.)

Unfortunately for him, he was in Metropolis, and ended up in a secret genetics lab below the earth.

Danny detransformed, completely exhausted, falling onto a table covered in different labeled specimen containers. He closed his eyes, and prepared himself for what would happen next.

And… nothing.

Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes.

Danny sat up, brushing off the foul-smelling liquid from the specimen jars, petri dishes, and assorted vials.

He felt…fine.

No, better than fine. He felt normal. Healthy.

He felt like he wasn’t missing most of his internal organs anymore.

Danny looked down at his stomach, and saw that the wounds that were killing him had completely disappeared.

(The blood blossoms, if there had been any, were still there, but they no longer hurt. At most, they itched a little, or maybe just tickled a bit.)

He wanted to question what in the hell had just happened, but he didn’t want to jinx it. He just quietly changed back to Phantom, going invisible and phasing out of wherever he had found himself in, ignoring the loud alarm system that had begun to blare when he broke the samples on that table.

Life mostly went back to normal after that.

If, like Danny, you ignored all the physical changes in a valiant effort to remain in denial that something was horribly wrong.

His skin was tougher, now; he didn’t get scrapes or cuts, even when he accidentally fumbled a knife while trying to cook. His ghost form was stronger, too; he was barely knocked down by his old rogues anymore.

He could fly, even in his human form. Though, admittedly, the flight was much different. It was like using a muscle he hadn’t known existed beforehand. He didn’t just ignore gravity or wind resistance, though he felt more graceful in the air now than he ever did as Phantom.

There were more powers popping up, lasers and cold breath, x-ray vision and super strength. His lungs and heart were larger, and he could handle temperatures much easier. He didn’t have to transform to handle the pressure and cold of space anymore.

His reaction time had improved, becoming much faster than ever before. His senses were much stronger, and he had even seemed to gain a sense of electric fields, like a shark.

The only thing that separated him from a Kryptonian was that he had developed electrokenesis, which he had never seen any of them use on TV.

So, surely, he was fine.

Everything was normal, he hadn’t been transformed by alien DNA in a sketchy lab, he had just had a really weird and specific metagene activation.

—

Clark Kent, Kal-El, was panicking.

It had been around a month and a half since a particularly brutal fight between Intergang and an unknown assailant, and it seemed that Intergang was determined to draw out whoever had scorned them.

Their method of doing this, of course, was trying to level the city.

He and Jon were doing their best to stop them, but with both Kon and Zor-El away on their own business, it was difficult.

And by difficult, he meant almost impossible.

Slowly but surely he was driving them back, but not without massive amounts of damage to the city, especially with only Jon on dedicated rescuing duty.

He was distracted, trying to draw a group away from a heavily occupied building, when a projectile hit him in the back of the head.

The world spun for a moment, and then it went black.

(It was, probably, then, some sort of Kryptonite-metal alloy. Intergang at its finest.)

He woke slowly, forcing his eyes open. He felt like he had been hit by an eighteen wheeler.

Clark jolted up, preparing for the worst.

To his shock, though, the city hadn’t been reduced to rubble while he was out.

Jon seemed to still be working on evacuation, either unaware that he had went down or forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

Then, a lightning-quick figure flew into view, and Clark’s mind went blank.

He thought, for a moment, that Kara was back. But, no, that wasn’t right, she was supposed to be off-planet for another week or so.

Besides, this new figure didn’t move like her. They were lankier and more slender, and they flew quicker than any member of his family.

Their powerset was different, too; they focused mainly on using blasts of ice and electricity to drive enemies back, only occasionally using their strength or lasers—ones which came from their hands instead of their eyes.

He had woken up at the tail end of the fight, it seemed. The remaining Intergang members were fleeing from the mysterious metahuman.

They stayed in the sky, motionless, watching them leave.

As if they could sense him staring, they turned.

They were small, still clearly young. Probably around Kon’s age, or maybe even younger.

Instead of the colorful clothing he had inherited from his family, the stranger wore black and white clothes which looked similar to a hazmat suit, their face covered by some sort of gas mask.

Interestingly enough, instead of the S-shape crest that he was so used to seeing, the stranger wore the letter D on his chest.

Kal’s heart sped up.

From up in the sky, he heard the stranger’s heart, on the left instead of the right, speed up in return.

But before he could say a word to them, they sped off, disappearing into the deep blue sky.

[reiderwriter]

I Won't Let You Forget

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: When you wake up in a familiar yet unfamiliar bed with no memory of begging your long-time work crush to sleep with you, you have even less recollection of him actually agreeing. Small memories of pleasure haunt you as he tries to figure out why you're suddenly so distant.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!!!! Alcohol use (whole BAU team, and as a precursor to sex), implied smut, on page (?) smut, dom-ish!Spencer, male masturbation, marking, nipple play/torture, edging, penetrative sex, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, semi-public sex/ make out, creampie, reader is very into male moans. That should be it.

A/N: I forgot about this fic TWICE, but it's here!!! Posting again for @imagining-in-the-margins FWB challenge, and I feel like this one slightly misses the mark but it works anyway. Gif inspiration is at the end for anyone familiar with Business Proposal lol

Masterlist

Being an FBI Agent means you'd slept in - and woken up in - some sketchy places on jobs. A number or motel and hotel rooms across the backroads of America, planes, cars, and office desks. You could usually orient yourself pretty well upon waking, and remember how you'd gotten yourself there quickly.

There was something strange about that morning in particular, though. The bed was comfier and warmer than any motel you'd ever seen, and the fact that there was one meant no jet or desk. It was pitch black outside, though, so visually, you were out of luck. The sheets smelt fresh and familiar, and if weren't for a small warning bell in the back of your head, you'd have shut your eyes again and huddled against the large body pressed against your back.

‘Ah,’ you thought, inwardly cringing. ‘That would be it then.’

Slowly, you pulled what you assumed to be a man's arm from around your midsection, trying to extricate yourself quietly from the bed without any notice.

Whoever was asleep behind you, though, was a lot stronger than you had bargained for, and he quickly pulled you back into him.

Your back hit his chest as he nuzzled into your neck, and you heard his groan out a greeting before stilling and returning to the land of rest. If anything, for your troubles you just came to an understanding that whoever was behind you was just as naked as you were, and based on the way your body seemed over stretched, and well-rested, you had no doubt about the events leading upto your discovery.

You just had no memory of it either.

You wracked your brain, trying desperately to recall where you were, who you were with, and what you were going to do to get out. Unluckily for you, your brain was at about half capacity as his hands worked their way between your legs, even as he slept.

His hands were soft, his touch light on your skin, as if he were tracing words along a page. You twitched under him, stomach flipping as your hips bucked backwards, and your eyes dropped closed again.

You hadn't a clue who you'd climbed into bed with, you simply had the greatest regret that you'd likely never see him again, and would not remember what was likely a deeply, deeply satisfying night.

In abject mortification, you tried once more to free yourself from the very pleasurable prison you'd found yourself in.

Thankfully, his hands chose that moment to fall limp, and you took your chance, hopping up and searching the floor for at the very least your underwear before chancing a glance around you.

Like an arrow through the heart, you realised the room was familiar because you had slept here before. You'd slept over at Spencer's house many times, after work ran late and you needed a place to crash.

Never naked, though. Until now.

You pulled on your clothes as fast as you physically could and tried not to squeak out your disbelief. You almost wondered if you hit your head hard enough against the bookshelf, some braincells would knock together and produce the memory you'd been desperate to make for half a year.

You had finally succeeded in bedding Spencer Reid. And you didn't remember a moment of it.

It was grief that drove you out of his house at 5 am. on a Saturday morning, and definitely, absolutely no regret.

Stepping outside the dark building and being greeted by the first hints of a sunrise, one single, trifling memory slipped back into your brain.

“Something casual,” you giggled, every 's' sound slurring together with each letter touching them. “Something casual and naughty, and fun.”

You didn't remember his exact reply, but though a flicker of arousal ran through you at the memory of the deep rumble of his voice. He had been close, his mouth next to your ear.

You supposed now that his reply hardly mattered when you knew the outcome anyway. It'd been the man himself wrapped around you in bed that morning, his fingers grazing your skin, his cock hard against your ass, his dreams obviously clearer than your own memories.

“It's not like we have the time to see other people,” you'd said to him the night before, hand pushing up his thigh to signal your intent. “We can have some fun. Share a motel room now and then.”

Four sentences.

Four sentences were the extent of your memories, and each one of them had been said by you. Not even a single reply flittered through your brain anymore, a single reaction.

You'd have thought it all a dream but for the fact that you were hunched outside the main entrance to Spencer's building, sans pair of panties you couldn't locate, thanking the gods that your very expensive bra was still around and that you'd worn pants the night before.

To say that Spencer was similarly disorientated when he woke hours later was an understatement. Of course, with the caveat that he remembered every word, every breath, every touch and movement. Instead, he was surprised to find you gone, without a word.

You'd promised as much last night, though.

Casual sex. That's what you'd asked for, and what he'd spent the better half of an evening trying to talk you out of, first with words and then with actions.

It didn't take a night together with you for Spencer Reid to realise that what he wanted quickly bypassed casual. Even now, alone in bed with the memory of you, your scent buried deep in his sheets, the history of your lips branded into his skin, he felt an overwhelming longing.

His body protested against his interrupted plans. He'd hoped to wake you up much the same way he'd put you to sleep the night before, limbs tangled, his cock buried deep inside of you. Instead, he swung his legs out of bed and looked for any trace of you.

It didn't take him long to find your accidental gift. He'd been the one to remove them from you the night before, and he had a good grasp of what the room was supposed to look like, so spotting a pair of fire truck red panties tucked by the door wasn't hard.

It was less spotting them and more staring at them until he convinced his body to calm down, which in and of itself was like fighting a losing battle.

He'd woken up hard, which he didn't doubt was due to dreams of you. He tried his best to ignore it, but before he knew it, he was laid back down with your discarded panties in his hand, pressed up to his mouth and nose as he worked out his frustrations.

Usually, he tried to get himself off as quickly as possible. Time was a commodity, and he always had to be somewhere doing something. That morning, though, he gladly sat back and indulged.

His brain queued up the memories of the night before, playing them chronologically so he could enjoy the feeling of your lips on his, your legs gripping around him, your tongue flicking at the tip of his dick. When he finally came, it was with the disappointment that he hadn't gotten to the best bit yet, finally pushing inside of you.

But after a night of activity and a lonely morning, he let himself rest again and turned his mind to other objectives.

1. Get your panties back to you without being put in handcuffs for indecency.

2. Have enough casual sex with you that you realise you no longer want casual, but something more.

3. Change the bedsheets.

The following week at the BAU was - thankfully - a blur of cases, consultations, and computer files. You were swept off on another case by Sunday evening, back in two days and off again by Thursday morning. Before you knew it, an entire week had passed, and you hadn't had to discuss anything with anyone.

Every morning walking into the bullpen was like walking on shards of broken glass. Willingly.

You'd said less than four sentences to Spencer since you'd accidentally on purpose thrown yourself into his lap, and you found yourself suddenly lacking the vocabulary to actually bring it up.

Instead, you'd simply chosen to sigh after him as he did anything at all in the office, with a single thought in your head: ‘Did he keep the glasses on while we fucked?’

He'd been wearing them all week, and you always thought they made him look hotter than he already was. A little nerdy, but in a Superman way. You couldn't for the life of you get the memory to pop back into your head, though, despite prompting it with many out of pocket daydreams.

“What's got you all introspective?” Derek asked, striding up beside you in the office kitchenette.

“Nothing in particular, what makes you ask?”

“Well, Princess, you just poured salt in your coffee, and from memory, you don't take it that way, so maybe there's something going on with you.”

You cursed and emptied your cup quickly as the man laughed.

“Take it what way?” A voice called out from the doorway, and every hair on your body stood on high alert. There was something about Spencer saying ‘take it’ that should've been so casual, but sent shudders across your body as you heard the words whispered into your ear.

“Take it like a good girl, that's right. So good for me.”

Your cup almost went crashing to the floor as your ears pricked, but you refused to turn around for fear he'd read the truth on your face.

“Nothing kid,” Morgan said, chuckling as you rinsed your cup and kept rinsing it until you felt yourself cool down a bit.

“What's up with the glasses? You've been wearing them a lot this week.” Derek asked, and you cursed his sudden onset curiosity, knowing there was no way to dismiss yourself from the room without garnering an entirely new set of questions.

“I just ran out of contacts,” Spencer replied, but you heard the grin in his tone without even having to look at him.

“You should just throw out all of your contacts,” you'd said, as you nipped at his throat. “I swear I'd jump you every day if you looked at me like that down your glasses.”

You tried to remain composed as the memory of straddling him and grinding down against his hard member hit you like a freight train. You felt you managed it well until you looked down to see another ruined, salty coffee.

“If you ever want to fuck me, just, like, come in wearing the glasses. I'll know,” you'd moaned as his hands gripped your hips controlling your rhythm and pressing you harder into him. “Fuck, I’ll know.”

“I give up,” you mumbled and took off, avoiding all eye contact as you left the small space.

A small part of you had wished that Spencer had your memory of the night. The smallest, teeniest part of you that didn't want a do-over that was. Getting possible confirmation that he remembered everything you'd said while drunk on dick (and tequila) was a lot to take on at 2 pm. on a Friday.

As you walked away, you sent up a prayer to every deity you could think that the memories came back whole and intact, and quickly, and preferably while you were alone and not in company.

Because you wanted nothing more than to relive that brief bite of pleasure you'd been granted.

The weekend came and went fairly obstruction free, even if your dreams, waking and not, were filled with the image of Spencer's head tipped back as you raked your teeth and tongue over sensitive areas.

It took you all the way until Monday morning, when you'd returned to work and seen Spencer in the glasses once again, to remember the meaning of the words you'd thrown at him.

Spencer wanted to fuck you again. Still. Continuously?

The thought made you a little apprehensive - he already knew your body, from the sounds of it, he'd definitely been competent enough, and you was left stranded on the desert island of short term memory loss. He wanted to fuck him you again. Was there a reason? Was there something you did that he enjoyed? What were his boundaries? His kinks? What positions did he like?

Half your days now, it seemed, were filled with questions about sex with Spencer. So it wasn't a surprise you'd kept up your staring. You couldn't fault him for having his eyes trained on you more times than not as well.

You were so glad that your emotions on the subject were so tangled and crossed that no one else could read them there.

BAU 0-1 EMOTIONAL TURMOIL

It was lucky, though, that you were watching him near constantly and were the first to notice the flash of purple against his neck as he loosened his tie.

You stood with a startling bang, hitting your knee against the table as you sprinted over to his desk.

Leaning over him, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and, tugging him around so he was facing you, began buttoning it for him.

“Y/N,” he whispered, looking up at you and trying to play this off as a daily occurrence, to not alert the room full of human lie detectors to suspicious behaviour.

“What are you doing?”

“Your tie is loose. Strauss is always visiting these days. Let's not give her petty reasons to penalise us.”

He relaxed more into your touch and let you work, tilting his head so your hands could get where they needed to be.

“So you're being a good friend?” he asked, and despite the obvious bait, you answered.

“Yes.”

“Good friends help each other out.”

“We can still be friends, Spencer,” you'd begged as you fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to get it off so you had more skin to taste. “Good friends who help each other out from time to time. Like this.”

“Your neck is still purple,” you whispered, changing the subject and moving on to his tie as you untied it and levelled it again, ready to twist back up.

“Is yours?”

“You can see my neck, it's fine.”

“That's not what I meant.”

You met his eyes finally, completing the last loop of the knot as you challenged him.

Or rather, challenged yourself to not drop your eyes to his lips.

“Say what you mean,” you glared, straightening his shoulders and brushing off non-existent dust as you attempted to slip away.

“The purple marks on you. I didn't leave them on your neck. Are they still… bright?”

You looked around you. Emily and Derek seemed to be giving you slightly weird looks, but both seemed trapped on business phone calls that wouldn't end anytime soon.

You'd noticed the marks straight away, of course, across the tops of your breasts and surrounding them, as if that area had been the coordinates for a targeted assault. Now, though, with his eyes burning a path down from your eyes to your chest as loudly as a person could ever look, you knew just how true that was.

“Spencer, fuck YES!” You had moaned the second your back hit the mattress of his bed. You'd been drinking together on his sofa, but were ecstatic to graduate to the bedroom and lose half your clothes in the process.

With greedy hands, he'd ripped away your bra, and immediately he'd latched on with his mouth, sucking, biting, licking, fondling. He bruised one spot with his mouth while his hand tortured a nipple, first ignoring it, circling it but not touching it directly, and then pulling it to the border of pain and pleasure before switching hand and mouth and repeating the process.

Back in the present, you looked down at Spencer in his seat, breathed deeply, and replied.

“You know as well as I do that you made them to last.”

“So we match, then?” he asked, and you gave a quick nod before escaping back to the relative sanity of your desk. His eyes didn't leave your chest though, and for the whole afternoon, you wondered if he'd invented a way to look so hard that you bruised further.

If you had to give one reason why you loved your job, you'd probably say because you spent your day solving riddles and puzzles and getting to the bottom of situations. You liked clear-cut explanations for things and couldn't stand the roundabout ways people in other professions had to talk to each other. You'd listen to Hotch walk laps around other lawyers in legalese enough times to know you were no fan of espionage or double talk.

So there was only one downside of the job, and that was having to be covert. If you'd wanted to spy, you'd have joined the CIA instead.

Your most recent case, unfortunately, had landed you doing exactly that. It had also landed you in a closet, chest to chest with Spencer Reid, as you listened into a conversation between two likely suspects.

In the first five minutes, you gained the important information you needed, and the next forty-five was a waiting game to see when they'd finally get out so you could escape.

If you'd been alone, you wouldn't have minded. But with Spencer's 6 foot something frame practically wrapped around your own, your spine was ramrod straight, your thoughts turning back to frustration as you urged your brain to give back the night of memories you'd lost.

Because if he felt this good just stood next to you, you would go crazy imagining how good he felt inside you.

The most you managed to squeak out, after nearly an hour wrapped around each other, though, was “Do you get a sense of Deja Vu here?”

It was the first time you'd turned your head to look at him, having been looking to the door the entire time. But your gaze returned to him, and even the shadows of the closet couldn't hide the obvious list dripping from his eyes as he covertly stared down your shirt. Your breasts had popped up a bit more with him squished up against you, and your hands were pinned to the wall beside your waist should you need to draw your gun quickly if found.

Your companion, instead, was in a world of his own, and you were suddenly grateful that he'd kept at least an inch of space between your hips, knowing that you, too, would be a goner if you had to stand against the hard line of his cock for this long.

“Hmm?” He whispered, still staring at the little speckles of faded yellow and purple that popped out of your suddenly too low shirt.

“Deja vu?” You asked again, slightly breathless and dizzy, a side effect of his lusty gaze.

He raised an eyebrow and gave a slow nod, his hands gripping your waist and pinning you more firmly to the wall as he debated giving into temptation. “We've definitely been here before.”

A snippet of a memory caught you unaware, and you gasped in response.

He pinned your hands above your head against the wall as you crashed your way into the bedroom, his fingers too impatient to undress you to start pleasuring you. Without a warning, he slipped a hand up your dress and down your panties, keeping you in place with one impossibly large hand as the other skilfully drew out moan after moan with soft caresses.

“So fucking wet for me,” he groaned against your lips, as your memory melted away to reality.

You were being edged by your goddamn frontal cortex, and you had absolutely had enough. As soon as the suspects left, you raced out of the closet as fast as your feet could carry you away from the torment.

A week of solid case work, avoiding Spencer and hitting your head against a brick wall in your spare time later, and you found yourself attending a hasty work celebration with the team.

A murderer had been caught job well done, or whatever excuse you needed to unwind after work over a few large pizzas.

“All I'm saying is, a deep dish every now and again would be appreciated. We're never that far from Chicago.”

“We're 613 miles away from Chicago.”

You laughed at the tired face Derek flashed the team before biting into his slice, your other coworkers similarly tucking into the late night meal.

You'd landed at 11pm, and starving, had come to your last resort.

“Is anyone else's pizza wet?” Emily asked, picking up her slice and letting it drip onto her cardboard plate.

You shrugged at the comment, just happy to finally be filling your stomach with something other than coffee for the first time in what felt like forever.

But there seemed to be no rest for the wicked, and you caught Spencer's eye as you tugged the cheese into your mouth.

“Mhmm. So wet.”

There was no reality in which you stopped yourself from choking on your food then, as he kept a quiet smile on his face as the others offered you drinks and tissues.

Perched next to him, you shot him a dirty look out of the corner of your eye and were about to turn back to your meal when he moved again.

Bringing a tissue to your lips, he wiped away the grease from the corners, quietly berating you as he cleaned you like a child.

“So messy. Don't choke on it next time.”

The double entendre didn't go unnoticed, as Derek piled on quickly, not noticing the unsettling mix of deep, bitter embarrassment and utter arousal warring on your features.

“Kid, you don't have to tell the woman to swallow. I'm sure she's perfectly capable.”

Each memory that hit you came with a wave of matching mortification, as you tried to keep every reaction to yourself.

But remembering the feeling of Spencer Reid's cum shooting across your face was something you'd much rather have experienced privately. You stayed trapped into much too intimate eye contact with him anyway as he kept tending to your small spills. He wiped away the drops of grease on your legs, gripping your thigh much tighter than you could ever have possibly needed.

Evidently, your coworkers had found some satisfaction with the pizza, as they all seemed to not notice the tension a simple touch had snapped between the two of you. Using their hunger as a shield, you quickly excused yourself from the table to clean yourself up.

The door to the bathroom was only a step away from the door to the alley, and you quickly let yourself out into the crisp night air. Not even two minutes later, Spencer was with you.

“Y/N?”

“Oh god, it's happening again. I can hear his voice!”

“Y/N, please, come back inside.”

“Sure, if you stop trying to eye fuck me in front of my boss!”

With the words finally out in the open between you, you stood still for a best or two, letting Spencer pick up the slack in the conversation.

“The… The others were talking about going to get some drinks,” he started carefully, afraid you'd spook at any moment. “After pizza?”

“Drinks?”

“Alcohol.”

You gave a short bitter laugh and brushed a hand through your hair as you turned your face away from him.

“I seem to make a lot of mistakes when I'm drunk.”

“Mistakes?” He said. The word was so quietly hurt that you instantly winced, realising your mistake.

“No. No. That's not how I meant it, Spencer, I just…” you grabbed your hair in frustration again, trying desperately to find the words to explain the gaping void where pleasing memories should've been.

“Everyone… everyone is still inside, right? No chance of a surprise visit from anyone.”

“They're debating Hawaiian pizza, I think we have time. Why?”

Another minute passed as you thought through your next actions, leg shaking as you processed every possible emotion.

Lunging toward him, you grabbed a hold of his shirt and pressed up to meet him in a kiss. Responding quickly, his hands gladly claimed a hold of your body as he walked you back against the wall, his mouth furiously engaged with your own in a battle of lust.

“I don't-” you gasped between kisses, unable to get more than a word in as his tongue works his way into your mouth. He pulled away eventually, but only to distract you further with a wandering tongue exploring the plains of skin already on show. Neck, lips, cheeks, collar, nothing is safe from the hear of his tongue tracing up and down the length of you..

“Don't what?” He said, finally finding the willpower to pull back for more than a millisecond.

“I don't remember. Any of it, I can't remember. God, I'm so stupid. Why don't I remember?”

For a second, his tongue kept up its journey, and you moaned as he nipped at the edge of your ear. That was until your words hit his ears and his hands flew up faster than you could've ever pushed them off.

“What?”

“I don't-” panic surged in your voice as you felt it tremble and shake, gulping it down to continue.

“I don't remember anything. And I woke up in your bed, and it felt so good and nice, but I couldn't remember it until you started doing things, and then I remembered… small parts?"

He raked a hand through his hair and took a deep breath as you continued, desperate to get every word out as fast as possible.

“I-I-I, shit Spencer, I woke up feeling so good, and then I saw you there, and I couldn't remember a thing. Do you know how long I was waiting for something to happen? I couldn't even remember one stupid fucking kiss, let alone anything else we did-”

“You seriously don't remember anything.”

“That's what I've been saying.”

He nodded and let out a shaky breath as you stepped closer to him, desperate to explain your predicament.

“You don't… you didn't just regret It and decide to leave?”

“I can't regret something I don't remember.”

Worrying his lip, he looked away for a minute and looked back, and you found yourself creeping closer again until his hands were gripping your hips again as he looked back to you.

“If you could remember, would you regret it?”

In a heartbeat, you had your answer.

“No.”

His lips crashed into yours again, and you gladly moaned into this one. With one hand buried in curls and the other pulling him closer by his loose tie, your hands stayed fastened to his body, clutching him like there was nowhere else you'd rather be.

His hands followed suit, falling down to your thighs as he spread your legs further apart, holding you against the wall and lifting you just slightly, angling your hips together in a way that numbed your senses.

Everywhere you touched left you craving further exploration, to be closer to him, and you whined in his mouth as if to let him know what you so dearly craved.

He listened and gave in, his fingers pushing to the centre of you, mere centimetres away from where you wanted him.

It was as if God was laughing down at your struggle, though, as just as he was about to make contact, a shout of your names rang out around the corner. Just as Penelope rounded into the alleyway, you shoved Spencer away, accidentally flinging him to the ground as you desperately righted yourself again.

“There you two are. What are you doing out here?”

“Earring,” you gasped, praying it was just dark enough for Penelope to not notice that your lipstick and Spencer's lipstick were the same shade.

“I dropped an earring, and Spencer is helping me look for it.”

Slightly confused, Spencer quickly went along with your lie, patting the ground where he'd fallen to look for the imaginary jewellery.

“Okay. Well, we're hopping over to the bar next door, and no! This is not optional, Emily already ordered the first round.”

Without another word or explanation, or anything to really help you figure out what was going on with you and Spencer, the two of you awkwardly followed Penelope into the bar and to your seats.

You stuffed yourself into the seat beside Penelope, and were not at all upset when Spencer climbed into the booth right beside you, sitting shoulder to shoulder with you knees bumping every now and then from the movements.

And just like that, you found yourself drinking for another two hours, unable to process any of the emotions you'd been through in the alley.

Elation. Desperation. Sadness. Arousal. All stuck in your tiny, tiny brain as you tried still to remember any small detail you could about your last encounter.

Your look of concentration didn't go unnoticed.

“Y/N, what's with the pensive look?” Derek shot at you across the table as he finished the last dregs of his beer. “Is it perhaps the melancholy of singleness?”

“That's not a word,” Spencer mumbled into his own drink.

When Penelope joined in, you knew you'd been backed into a corner.

“Are you not seeing someone?” She asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“There was that guy you mentioned last week, right?” The sound of betrayal came directly from the other side of you, and your head whipped from Penelope to Spencer so fast, you were sure you'd be feeling it in the morning.

“What? What guy, Y/N? You never mentioned a guy to me! Spencer knows, but I don't know. How is that fair?”

“No, Penelope, he's-”

“Spencer, what do you know? What's this guys name? What does he look like? What does he do for a living? When you say she mentioned him last week, was it a mention mention, or just a mention?”

“Penelope, slow down.”

“Well-”

“Spencer! Do NOT answer her.”

“You don't want me to tell her about the guy you wanted something casual with. You said you were around him a lot, so you might as well try it at some point.”

Your face burnt in shame as you narrowed your eyes at him. Had you really said that? Had that honestly been your opener for hitting on the man you'd wanted for the longest time?

“Mhmm, really? And what else did I say?”

“I don't think you'll want me to say-”

“No, please, jog my memory.”

“You said, and I quote, that he had a ‘very rideable face.’ You followed up with, ‘it would look very pretty buried between your legs.’”

The chorus of laughter that rang out only set you more on edge after the flush of memories that hit you once more. He had looked very pretty sat between your legs licking your cunt, lapping up your cum as your legs shook and you fucked yourself against his face. He had simply pressed a hand to your stomach, held you still and kept up the good work. His eyes sparkled with passion and his lips glistened with cum. It was quite the picture, now that you remembered it.

You were just annoyedeniugh, so you had to shoot back a retort. You were just too slow to realise “yes, well, I can recall that I was, in fact correct,” wasn't the right retort.

Another half hour of questioning later, and you'd finally been allowed passage out of the bar, into a taxi, and back to your apartment, alone but for the shame.

Spencer, perpetually sober-ish, had been put on designated driver duty to get others home, and it wasn't as if you could protest.

You threw yourself down onto your bed as soon as you got into your apartment and stayed there until you were about to fall asleep. A knock at your door pulled you back into the world of the woken, and you dragged yourself to the door.

You weren't surprised to see Spencer back at your side an hour after you'd left him. You knew it was a possibility, though you thought you'd be waiting another 12 hours or so.

It took less than 12 seconds for his searching eyes to find whatever silent consent he was looking for before he stretched out and claimed you. He softly cradled you as his lips met you, his gentle touch delicate where his soft lips were hard and insistent. He closed the door. He pushed you back a step at a time until you were out of the doorway. Pausing, he pulled away and took off his glasses, putting them down on the side table, before cupping your cheek and stealing your breath. Again.

You moaned into his kiss, and he slipped his hand down to your neck, gently squeezing as he moved you back towards the bed.

“Spencer…” you begged wordlessly.

“Remember now?”

“N-No.”

He nodded and continued, his other hand loosening his tie once more, as you clung to him like glue, hands not daring to move from the holds you had on his shirt, afraid you'd trip and lose sight of him all over again.

You reached the bed, and he sat you down, tearing his lips away at last, but still choosing to keep hold of your neck, standing above you.

“Are you sober?” He asked, as though he hadn't watched you drink only virgin cocktails all night. You shook your head, yes.

“Good.”

“Are you going to fuck me?” You blurted out, unable to help yourself, even without the liquid courage.

“You wanted the experience, right? And then you forgot all about it, so it's only polite…” His hands began massaging your neck, shoulders, pushing down into your shirt to get the top of your chest, too.

“I don't want the experience,” you said quickly. “Not- not a casual experience, Spencer, I want… I want…” His hands distracted you as your shirt stretched to allow his hands to grope your breasts. He slipped into your bra and began his assault of your chest, still looming above you as he listened to your explanation.

“I… don't want a casual thing, Spencer, I want- I want…” you moaned as he pinched your nipple hard, seething as you attempted to not shout out.

“What do you want, Y/N? Be specific.”

“I want you!” You moaned, chest pushing into his touch, trying to avoid the mixture of pain and pleasure pulsing through you with each flick of his finger.

“For how long?” He asked, and your brain short circuited as you whined and pouted up at him, his fingers still tugging at your nipples, still kneading your skin, and pretending his touch was nothing.

“D-don't.”

“Don't what?”

“Don't make me give this an expiration date.”

Spencer's eyes locked with yours, and you found yourself on your back swiftly after, his lips pressed to yours as he held himself over you. Instead of assaulting your chest again, he was slower, more delicate as he gently removed your shirt, encouraging you to move further up the bed as he planted himself firmly between your two legs.

Everywhere he kissed and licked and sucked was a distraction from his attempts to uncloth you, to make you forget that he was still fully dressed and you were about to be laid out plain as day before him.

You covered your chest when he stole your bra, but you couldn't push your thighs together quick enough when he got your panties, and his hand slipped between your folds before you could even catch a breath.

“Good girl,” he whispered, as his fingers found your clit, dipping into your wet spot before tracing along your bundle of nerves and rocking his fingers back and forth, eyes always on yours.

He dropped his forehead to yours and watched silently as your mouth widened to an ‘O’ as you grew wetter, more desperate, more aroused, until you hit your peak and came apart on his fingertips. He hadn't even put a finger inside you, and your whole body was awash with satisfaction.

Another kiss stolen ended all thoughts of contentment as he slid in a finger into you while slipping his tongue back into your mouth.

If his fingers on your clit had been gentle, probing, curious about your release, the fingers stretching you out were the opposite. He knew your limits, had taken pleasure in your pleasure and now he was testing it, seeing how far he could push you until you did everything once again.

His free hand reached up to your face, and before you knew it, two fingers had been inserted into your mouth. You sucked instinctively, desperate to please him as your hips jumped upwards, trying to ride his hand. But every time you so much as moved, he withdrew slightly, pulling that pleasure you so desperately sought from your grasp.

“Spencer- please-” you said as he pulled his fingers from your mouth.

“I'm not going faster. I want you to remember every second, I want this to last as long as possible, okay? Can you do that?”

You pouted as he stroked your cheek with his wet fingers, gathering the spit from your chin before pushing it right back into your mouth. You kept sucking.

Every time he felt you tighten around him, his fingers withdrew, or they stilled, or he moved in a slightly different way, and you were set adrift again on the tide of arousal. He edged you for what felt like days to your pleasure addled mind, and you kept up your task, too.

“Good girl. No more cumming. Not yet.”

Finally, he withdrew his fingers, your legs shaking from the tension of holding off your pleasure.

He stood and removed his shirt, unbuttoning his pants just enough to free his swollen cock, but not removing it entirely.

The sight of him almost made you weep in relief, so sure that now you were going to be able to cum, that he'd enter you and your get to release around his cock, to suck him in deeper.

Instead, he got on his knees in front of you and gave another sharp order.

“No cumming, remember Princess.” Without waiting for a response, his tongue dragged across your folds, before reaching your clit. His lips wrapped around your nub and your whole body reacted, convulsing inwards as you shouted your pleasure.

“Spencer! Spencer, no, please - please!!” You clawed at the bed as you fucked his face, hips pleading with his tongue to finish the job he'd begun an age ago with his scant fingers.

You desperately wanted your release, but he was equally desperate to frustrate you, pinning your hips and pulling back to just spit on your cunt when your thrusts became erratic, close to the edge.

He touched everywhere except the part where you needed him, content for a moment to listen to the moans turn to tears, turn to anger and frustration and longing as you clawed a hand in his hair and humped his tongue like a beast.

Finally, you came, more than happy to use his tongue like the pillow you'd stuffed between your legs in your horny adolescence.

He wasted no more time entering you, rigid and hot, and more than welcomed by your aching cunt.

He pushed in inch by inch, and the eternity that passed before that point was nothing in comparison to the millenia caught between one breath and the next, between him readying himself, and him thrusting into you in his entirety.

He filled you perfectly, as if you were born to let him take you, to despoil your cunt again and again, until the scent of him never left you.

He moved, pushing your knees up as you welcomed somehow more of him, as he hunched over you and began.

It was animalistic, and noisy, and messy, and fuck, was it hot. The bedsheets were wet already from your water show foreplay session, but with his cock locked inside of you, you couldn't hold back, and you came with a spurt.

You screamed, not expecting your pleasure to squirt out of you, as he fucked you harder, your breaths mingling with the wet, sloppy sounds of your cunt being used again and again and again.

“Spencer, fuck, I'm-”

“You're what? Use your words.”

“I'm… safe, just- Fuck, just fill me up.”

He groaned into your ear as he made his thrusts more and more shallow, slowing down just enough to pull back from you and let you watch him claim you again and again.

He swiped his hair out of his face, biting his lip as his hips rolled into yours, and you swear if you had it left in you, you'd have came on his cock once more watching him do that.

You committed to memory every line of his body, every bruise, every scratch, every line, every hair, everywhere a bullet had nicked him, everywhere on his body that held pain, every gesture on his body that was registering pleasure. You cared less for your own now and more for his as you bucked up into him, meeting him silently as he sucked in a deep breath.

You watched him forget himself inside of you as he tipped his head back in pleasure and, with a small moan, emptied himself inside of you.

His breath crashed back into his body, and you felt every heartbeat resonate through him and into you.

“If you forget this again,” he panted, wrapping his arms around you again. “I'm not waiting another 20 days for a reminder.”

You smiled as his hair tickled Your neck, nuzzling into his neck as you enjoyed his warmth. You tried your best to memorise his scent, too.

“Wake me up bright and early, then,” you smiled, letting your brain settle as you replayed the day back in your head over and over again.

XXX

The inspo:

(Kim Mingue one fucking chance... one chance Kim Mingue...)

[lamaery]

This time it is Rlain's turn to gaze. :D There's a reason mateform makes you unfocused. Here is Renarin looking back

ID: The first image features Renarin through Rlain's loving eyes. In all, Renarin glimmers with handsomespren. In none of them is Renarin looking back at us. They paint a beautiful vision of being in love with a man who prefers not to make a lot of eye contact. In the first drawing, Renarin looks out from a slightly ducked posture, his attention focused elsewhere and his expression privately delighted, as if he'd just thought of something wickedly clever that he hasn't yet shared. The light catches his features in an alluring way, and the viewer knows exactly what Rlain loves about his boyfriend's brilliant mind. In the second drawing, Renarin looks out into the middle distance, his expression serious and emotionally neutral, but somehow weighted with responsibility. His wide Blackthorn jaw seems slightly clenched, but unconsciously. His collar is tantalizingly open, allowing Rlain to enjoy the elegant length of his neck and that secret hollow of his throat. In the third sketch, Renarin is seen from above. He's leaning back in a chair, his head resting comfortably and uninhibitedly, supported by the chair's curved back. He's looking in the opposite direction from the viewer, but he smiles with teeth. His collar is wide open, and he looks so comfortable in his own skin. Like, he's so completely relaxed, so uninhibited, like sharing his personal space bubble and his body with Rlain is effortless. In the fourth sketch, Renarin stands across the room, about twenty feet away. His weight is subtly on his back foot to compensate as he holds up at an arm's length an impeccably pressed, regal knee-length Kholin jacket. In his other hand, he holds his shorter Bridge Four jacket, in a way that will keep the collar from being creased. He's wearing an undershirt that my heart knows was custom made for his measurements with a pair of pants with a line of coy, delicate little buttons down the split in his lower pants leg, from knee to lower calf. The split shows a tantalizing sliver of calf, and he doesn't even realize how handsome he is. His pants make his butt a little flat, but we all must cope with devastating trials in this mortal realm. He has elegantly boned feet and there's a slim musculature behind his leanness now, and isn't that all that really matters in this universe? Rlain thinks so. In the fifth drawing, Renarin leans over a few scribbled pages, one hand pointed outward as it presses flat against the table.  He seems deep in conversation with Glys, attention focused inward as he focused on the complexities of a mystery.  He's wearing a buttoned-down version of a fancier outfit: a tailored cross-body vest that emphasizes the slimness and sleekness of his build. and matching trousers.  Beneath that is a button-up shirt with an open collar and rolled-up sleeves, because Marie loves us and she wants us to be happy. The second image, at the top right, is a very cartoonishly minimalistic and humorously stylized illustration of mateform Rlain standing with absolutely zero chill, his arms crossed in a way he wants you to think is relaxed, but clearly isn't relaxed at all.  He's staring forward and sweating, the words "Trying very hard to concentrate." snaking around his head.  He's also wearing a very wide open collar in harmony with his stouter overall physique.  He also has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, because everyone deserves to see their favorite forearm circumference represented in media. 3 and 4 are a trio of very quick and sketchy but also ADORABLE illustrations, Rlain grabs a surprised Renarin's vest front, which draws a deep blush and a very enthusiastic and eager little grin.  Surprises are not always great, but he's 100% down with this one!  They meet in a kiss, craning over the table between them, Rlain's hand still clutching a fistful of Renarin's vest and Renarin reciprocating with passion, cradling the back of Rlain's neck with one hand, one finger running up the bare skin where neck meets skull.  Passionspren fall thickly around them.

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | the end of the season '24

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : quiet nights at the hotel after a long race

୨ৎ : genre : some are happy & some are sad ୨ৎ : tws : none ୨ৎ : word count : 2531

୨ masterlist ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : i am so proud of lando for being able to secure that wcc for mclaren, but i am SO sad seeing carlos drive in red for the last time, and seeing lewis have his last drive with mercedes :c

ʚ・max verstappen

the post-race buzz of abu dhabi had faded, leaving a quiet calm in max's hotel suite. he sprawled on the sofa, phone in hand, scrolling through memes with that trademark deadpan expression. p6 wasn't great—definitely not how he wanted to wrap the season—but the world championship trophy on his shelf said it all. he was untouchable, even on an off day.

you dropped onto the couch next to him, giving him a small smile. "not quite the result we were hoping for, huh?"

he tilted his head, barely fazed. "meh. one bad race doesn’t erase a good season." he tossed his phone onto the table, already over it. "at least now i don’t have to hear the word 'tyre degradation' for a while."

"exactly," you agreed, nudging his arm. "just endless beaches, lazy mornings, and maybe some sketchy tourist traps."

he smirked, his eyes lighting up for the first time all evening. "knowing you, that probably means camel racing or some falcon photo op where i end up holding a bird for instagram."

you laughed. "don’t pretend like you wouldn’t secretly enjoy it."

"maybe," he admitted with a faint grin. "but only if there’s good food after. priorities, you know?"

as you leaned into his side, you felt the tension melt away from him. the season was done, the pressure gone. and for once, max verstappen, the reigning world champion, was just a guy on a couch, ready to trade apexes for sunsets and podiums for bad tourist selfies.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

a bittersweet stillness filled the room—p4 after starting sixteenth was nothing short of remarkable, but tonight marked the end of an era. his last race with mercedes. the silver star that had defined his legacy, his dominance, was now in the rearview mirror.

you leaned into him, your head resting lightly on his shoulder. "what a drive, lewis," you murmured, pride laced in your voice. "it was magic out there, just like always."

he smiled faintly, his gaze fixed on the city lights beyond the window. "it felt good, you know? pushing through the field like that. it’s how i want to remember this team—fighting, always fighting." his voice was steady, but there was a weight behind it, a depth only you could hear.

"it’s hard to see this chapter end," you said softly, running your fingers along the edge of his hand. "so many years, so much history. but watching you today—watching you fight with every ounce of heart you’ve got—it’s impossible not to feel proud."

he turned to you then, his eyes warm, a quiet fire still flickering in them. "it’s sad, yeah. mercedes is family. but every journey has its end, and every end makes way for something new. it’s time. time for a new challenge."

you smiled, squeezing his hand. "and ferrari red will suit you, no doubt about it."

that earned a laugh from him, light but genuine, his shoulders finally easing. "we’ll see. it’ll be... different. but i’m ready for different. i have to be."

"you’ll thrive," you said, meeting his gaze with steady confidence. "because that’s who you are, lewis. you don’t just race—you redefine what’s possible."

he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "and having you by my side, that makes it all the better."

the evening stretched on as you reminisced about mercedes—about the victories, the struggles, the growth. there was sadness, yes, but also hope, an electric anticipation for the future. ferrari would be a new challenge, but lewis hamilton was built for challenges. and you? you’d be there, through it all, cheering him on as he wrote the next chapter of his already legendary story.

ʚ・george russell

the air in george’s hotel room was thick with emotions. lewis—his teammate, his mentor, his benchmark—was leaving for ferrari. the weight of it sat heavily on his shoulders, a silent pressure he hadn’t quite found the words to unpack.

you settled beside him on the bed, your hand resting lightly on his back. "you drove brilliantly today, george," you said softly, your tone filled with pride.

he gave you a faint smile, though his usual spark was dimmed. "thanks. it’s just... weird, you know? lewis not being here next season. he's been... well, everything. a teammate, a rival, someone to learn from."

"it’s a huge change," you agreed, your voice gentle. "but today, you showed exactly what you’re made of. you didn’t just race—you fought, george. and everyone saw it."

he turned to look at you, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "but can i really lead this team now? without him?"

you met his gaze firmly, your conviction unwavering. "you don’t have to be lewis, george. you’ve already proven you're your own kind of leader—sharp, determined, and always hungry for more. you don’t need to fill anyone’s shoes because you’re carving out your own legacy."

his shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension giving way to a spark of confidence. "it’s just... lewis set such a high bar. and stepping into that space—it’s a lot."

"you don’t need to step into his space," you reminded him with a reassuring smile. "you’ve earned your own, george. you’ve fought for it, and you’re more than ready to take the reins."

he took a deep breath, the weight on his chest easing as resolve began to take its place. "this is my chance, isn’t it? to really prove myself."

"absolutely," you said, squeezing his hand. "and i’ll be right here, every step of the way, cheering for you."

his smile widened, more genuine this time, and he leaned in to kiss you softly. "thank you, love" he murmured. "that means everything."

as the night stretched on, you stayed by his side, feeling his determination grow stronger with each passing moment. george russell was ready to rise, ready to lead, and ready to show the world exactly why he belonged at the front of the pack. and you couldn’t wait to witness it all.

ʚ・carlos sainz

arlos sank onto the balcony of his hotel suite, the cool night air brushing against his skin, a sharp contrast to the adrenaline and heat of the race. it his last race with ferrari, the team that had become more than a job.

you slipped behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, resting your chin lightly on him. "carlos," you said softly, your voice thick with emotion, "you were amazing today. truly incredible."

he let out a quiet sigh, leaning back into your embrace, his eyes fixed on the city lights. "yeah, it was a good one. but leaving ferrari? that’s… it’s hard. really hard."

"i know," you murmured, your cheek pressing against his. "you and charles, ferrari… it felt like it fit, like it was meant to be."

he nodded slowly, a small, wistful smile tugging at his lips. "we were a good team, weren’t we? two competitive guys who somehow managed not to kill each other every weekend," he joked, though his voice carried a faint sadness. "but, ah, next season? it’s going to feel strange not seeing his stupid smile in the garage."

you chuckled softly. "but you’ll always have the memories," you reminded him. "and you’ll make new ones, new rivalries, new podiums."

he turned to look at you, his warm brown eyes meeting yours. "do you remember my first race with ferrari?" he asked, a grin breaking through the sadness. "lando was on the podium with me. and now he’s here again for my last one. crazy, no?"

"it’s like the universe has a sense of humor," you said, your smile mirroring his. "full circle moments like that don’t just happen by chance."

he laughed softly, his shoulders relaxing a bit. "yeah, maybe. or maybe it’s just one of those little things that reminds me to enjoy the journey."

you held him close, knowing how much leaving ferrari meant to him. the passion, the heart, the pure determination he’d poured into every single lap. but you also knew that carlos was unstoppable—wherever he went, whatever he faced, he would find his way to the top.

"wherever you go, whatever happens," you said, your voice steady and filled with love, "i’ll be right there, cheering you on."

his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in tightly. "i know," he whispered, his voice thick with gratitude. "and that’s what keeps me grounded. thank you, mi amor."

ʚ・charles leclerc

the roar of the abu dhabi crowd had faded, leaving only the soft hum of the air conditioning in charles’ hotel room. he sat on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the trophy for his third-place finish. starting p19 after that engine penalty, clawing his way up to the podium—it was an extraordinary drive. but there was a weight in his gaze, a shadow of disappointment.

you sat beside him, your hand finding his. "charles," you said gently, your voice full of admiration, "that was incredible. you were on fire out there."

he offered a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "it wasn’t enough," he muttered, his voice heavy with frustration. "we were so close to the WCC... but mclaren just had too much."

"you did everything you could," you assured him, squeezing his hand. "no one could have driven that race better. you started from the back, charles. and you still ended up on the podium. that’s... that’s amazing."

he ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. "i know, i know. it's just hard. we were so close. it stings."

you gently cupped his face, lifting his chin so his eyes met yours. "charles leclerc, you are one of the best out there. don’t let this one race make you forget everything you've accomplished this season. you fought for every position, you never gave up, and you made us all proud."

a real smile tugged at his lips, the weight on his shoulders easing slightly. "thank you," he whispered, leaning into your touch. "i needed that."

there was a brief pause, and a flicker of sadness passed through his eyes. "it’s gonna be strange without carlos next year," he said quietly, his voice low.

you felt a pang for him. you knew how close he and carlos were, both on and off the track. "i know," you murmured, your heart aching. "but you'll still have him as a friend. and you’ll both keep achieving incredible things."

he nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "he’s like a brother to me. it won’t be the same without him."

you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. "i know it won’t," you whispered, running your fingers through his hair. "but i know you ,charles. you'll adapt. you’ll keep shining."

he held you tighter, drawing comfort from your embrace, "what would i do without you mon amour."

you let out a soft laugh and place a gentle peck on his lips, "you'd probably be a mess without me, i love you."

"i love you too." he told you, snuggling closer.

ʚ・lando norris

the echoes of the abu dhabi celebrations had finally faded, leaving a peaceful quiet in lando's hotel suite. he was sprawled on the sofa, the trophy resting on his chest, his eyes half-closed as a contented sigh escaped his lips. the excitement from the victory was still buzzing inside him, but a calm had settled in, like he was finally letting everything sink in.

you curled up beside him, your finger tracing the lines of the trophy. "still can't believe it, huh?" you whispered, a soft smile on your face.

lando chuckled, a grin tugging at his lips. "yeah, it's still kinda crazy. like, i feel like i'm dreaming, but don't wanna wake up."

"you were amazing today, lando," you said, your voice filled with pride. "and the whole season, really. you led mclaren to victory. it’s historic."

he grinned, his eyes lighting up. "yeah, it really is, isn’t it? bringing mclaren back to the top after all this time... feels unreal. but in the best way possible."

"you deserve all the praise," you reassured him, snuggling closer. "you’ve worked so hard, and you’ve grown so much as a driver. i'm so proud of you."

he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you in closer. "couldn’t have done it without you, honestly," he murmured, his voice warm. "you’ve been with me through all of it—my biggest supporter."

"and i always will be," you promised, feeling your heart swell. "through the wins, the losses, i’ll be right here."

he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft kiss. "and that's all i need," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

as you lay together, bathed in the soft glow of the hotel room lights, the weight of his achievement settled in. lando norris, the man who led mclaren to the top of the world again, securing the WCC after 26 years. this moment, this victory, would be something you both would remember forever. the future was bright, and you couldn’t wait for the next adventure—together.

ʚ・oscar piastri

back in the comfort of his hotel room, oscar kicked back with a grin plastered on his face, the adrenaline from the race replaced by his usual playful energy. p10 wasn’t the podium he’d wanted, but who cared? mclaren had just clinched the WCC, and that was more than enough for him.

“we did it!” he shouted, arms thrown up in the air, his grin wider than ever. “champions, baby!”

you chuckled, shaking your head at his excitement. “you guys were incredible today, oscar. especially lando, bringing home the win.”

“yeah, lando was on fire!” oscar agreed, grabbing a celebratory drink from the minibar. “though, i wouldn’t mind a podium myself…” he paused, a glint of mischief lighting up his eyes. “if it weren’t for someone deciding to use my car as a brake early on.”

you raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your smile. “ah, yes. max verstappen. saw that incident. bit of a rough start, huh?”

“rough is putting it lightly,” oscar grumbled with a smirk, taking a swig of his drink. “the guy treated me like a bowling pin! swear i saw stars, maybe even a few constellations.”

“well, you can’t deny it made for some exciting racing,” you teased, nudging him playfully.

“exciting for you, maybe,” he shot back with a grin. “i was just trying to survive out there! dodging debris, angry drivers... felt like a demolition derby.”

“but you made it through,” you pointed out. “and you contributed to the team’s victory. that’s what counts.”

he gave a dramatic nod, his humor returning full force. “true, true. who needs a podium when you’ve got bragging rights for surviving a verstappen torpedo?”

you burst out laughing, unable to hold back. “that’s the spirit babe."

as laughter filled the room, you couldn’t help but admire oscar’s resilience and ability to keep things light, even when things didn’t go his way. he might’ve been a little salty about the verstappen incident, but he was genuinely happy for the team, and that’s what made him such an asset. next season was going to be one to remember, and you couldn’t wait to see what this rising star would achieve.

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[floralscented]

bed chem — jj maybank x pogue!reader!

part of the short n' sweet x obx collection, found here!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤincludes, pogue!reader. best friends... with benefits?. making out. fade to black ending.

❛ how you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things, that's bed chem! ❜

jj was very obvious in the way that he wanted you. he’d preach the outdated no pogue on pogue macking rule to the moon and back, and then show up at your house, practically down on his knees begging for just one chance.

just one! he’d treat you so right, that’s all he needed. 

and you did love him, he was one of your best friends, but you weren’t going to jeopardize your friendship for one night with him. he was hot, but not hot enough to lose. 

you two were practically attached at the hip. you spent every moment with him, or him and the rest of the pogues, and he spent every moment with you that he wasn’t crashing at john b’s. 

it really was inevitable, that slowburning transition between friendship to attraction. you just thought that you’d always be strong enough to ignore it. 

but you’d never been this high with jj before. he always kept a blunt on him, especially on days that he came to see you, but this time, he’d brought a sketchy looking bag of edibles along with him. “ricky made ‘em,” he’d snickered on his way into your house, shoving the door open with his shoulder before you could even fully open it, “and they work fuckin’ good.” 

and so you ate an entirety of one of the brownies ( because jj dared you wouldn’t do the whole thing, and you can’t just let him win ) and you shared the blunt with jj while the sunset dipped into deeper shades of orange. 

and jj stares at you like you were the one responsible for hanging the moon poking between the trees. 

and you stare back. 

and suddenly he’s leaning in, and suddenly it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, does it? his white jacket clings to his strong frame, tight around the shoulders, and at some point he’d lost his shirt even though he immediately started complaining about being cold, and you can see th expanse of his muscles from his chest down to—

“nuh uh,” you say once his nose brushes yours, shoving him away with a palm over his face. “this is a bad idea.” 

your voice sounds weak in your own ears. and it must be even worse in jj’s, because his grin is lazy and borderline a smirk, chapped lips against the heel of your palm. 

“m’not really one for good ideas,” he mumbles, and his lips trail a hot line from your palm and up; your inner wrist, the inside of your arm. 

shivers trail down your spine from those simple touches alone. heat pools in your lower stomach, lower, and it’s a bit embarrassing that such little things are affecting you like this; but you’re about as baked as those brownies, and it’s not really you’re fault. 

“mm, i’m gettin’ to ya,” jj says, and for a second, the illusion he had you under shatters. he always ruins it by opening his mouth, reminding you that he’s still that best friend of yours since you were toddling around the sandy shores outside of his house. 

unfortunately for you, that’s seeming less like a factor to keep him away from you and more like a reason to pull him closer. in reality, who else out there would know what you liked and needed better than someone that’d seen you almost drown a few times when learning to swim? or was there and helped after you greened out for the first time? 

yeah. he really was getting to you. 

but you honestly didn’t seem to mind much at that point, with the way your fist uncurls and your fingers land in his hair, pushing back the soft, tangled strands from his forehead. 

his eyes close. yours stay open. and in a blink, you’re leaning over the edge of the porch chair you’d been sitting in, and your fingers are using the light grip you had on his hair to pull him closer. 

and you’re kissing him. god, you’re kissing jj maybank. he’d seen you in diapers. you’d seen him drink so much that he threw up three times in the same ten minutes. he’d seen you cry over wilting flowers when you were high. you’d seen him eat a cricket for five bucks. 

there wasn’t anyone else in the world, you realized, that you wanted between your legs than him. right now. like, right now. 

he’s already got his tongue past the barricade of your closed lips, half raised out of his own chair so he can grab onto the front of your shirt and pull you closer into him. 

he tastes like dark chocolate and weed and bad decisions. he tastes like the best thing you’d ever put in your mouth. 

before you know it, he’s dragged you into his lap, his back falling haphazardly backwards until it presses into the pillowed cushion behind him. his hands are on your ass, fingers digging into the soft skin beneath your shorts. 

“think we should go inside,” he mumbles into your mouth, barely making the effort to stop kissing you to push the words out of his lips. “don’t want you gettin’ mosquito bites on your pussy because of me or somethin’.” 

you splutter out a laugh, breaking the kiss to shove firmly at his chest. “oh my god, jj.” 

“oh my god, jj,” he mocks in a higher cadence, leaning up to capture your lips in another lazy, slow kiss. “you gonna let me hear you cry that out tonight, or you just gonna blue ball me again?” 

he was so infuriating sometimes. so stupid, and infuriating — so why was your mouth drying up all of a sudden at the thought of getting him in bed with you? 

it must show on your face, too, every stage of denial you tried to enforce on yourself before you conceded, because his red-rimmed blue eyes darken. 

jj’s hands slip down from your ass to your thighs, scooping you up and standing in one fell swoop. you’d think it was impressive for how inebriated it was — if he wasn’t high all the time enough to have gotten good at this kind of thing. 

you don’t regret anything. at least, right then you didn’t. not when he knows without having to ask where your bedroom is, and not when you know he intends to make well on his promise to only need a night to get you addicted.

[emmyrosee]

tw // jokes about being tied up, jokes about "kidnapping," all for the sake of comedy. no kiyoomis were harmed in the making of this post ❤️

-----

“I have a plan.”

Kiyoomi chuckles softly as his thumb continues to scroll through his phone, the other gently rubbing back and forth over your shoulder. Your legs are tossed over his lap, arms around him, while his free arm encases you in a loving, safe hug.

Silence fills the room, a lightness to the air that only comes from your sacred time together, time where there’s no Miya barking in his ear, or Bokuto excitedly yelling. Time where your own boss isn’t in your mind, time where your thoughts are only filled with each other and only each other.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about my plan?” You ask.

He shakes his head and juts out his lower lip in thought, “nah. No, I’m good with just lettin’ you think.” When you reach up to grab his lower lip, he tucks it away, “oh my god, fine, what is your plan?”

You smile sweetly up at him and curl deeper into his side. He, taking your bait, puts his phone away and cradles your body, his head resting against yours and holding you as close as his long arms can gather.

You press a kiss to his neck, and the tender skin there bursts out in goosebumps from the unfamiliar sensation, skin that probably should be used to your affections by now, but perhaps that means you should just do it more.

“Okay,” you sigh happily. “Here’s my plan.”

“Go for it.”

“I’m gonna tie you up-“

“Dear god, not where I thought you were going, okay.”

“-and lock you in the attic, so like, no one can see you, except me and your family.”

“I’m glad you’re allowing my family to see me,” he chuckles, shaking his head, “but you can’t kidnap me.”

“It’s not kidnapping,” you defend. “It’s tactile hiding.”

“Okay, it still sounds sketchy and illegal,” he snorts. “You can dice it however you want. What about my team?”

“You’re trying to convince me to not kidnap you and you use your job as a defense?” You scoff. “They see you sweaty and perfect and handsome every single day, what if Meian steals you from me?”

He laughs softly at your words, pulling back to look at you sweetly, "sometimes, I would love to hear what goes through your head when you look at me that conjures such feral thoughts."

"Aw, sweetie," you coo, kissing his jawline. "No you don't."

"You're right, no I don't."

[readwritealldayallnight]

A Stranger is a Friend You Haven’t Met Yet… (Part 2)

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 5.5k words

(18+ mdni) warnings/tags: kinda barely enemies to lovers, tension, grinding, dry humping, finishing with clothes on, Ghost does not do feelings™️, mask stays on (for now)

‘Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst’.

That was something something you told yourself often, working as a woman in close contact with the military. Especially so when starting new assignments for the first time, landing on a new base, meeting new faces. More often than not the grand majority of those faces were men. Large, intimidating, burly men. Some of whom sometimes held certain feelings about a woman being brought in to work alongside them.

The first time you’d met Captain Price on yet another new base for yet another new assignment, shaking hands with the tall man, you’d once again repeated the familiar phrase to yourself. If only you could have known there was no real way to prepare for meeting the 141.

He walked you through numerous zig zagging hallway and corridors that made up the heart of the base, leading you towards the briefing room where you’d be meeting the rest of the task force your employer turned friend Laswell had assigned you to assist. Your work as a highly skilled translator meant that your unique credentials made you a vital asset to anyone you worked for. You were only a year out of finishing your degree when Laswell had scooped you up, seeing the potential in you.

As your mind shifted to her, you halted your steps, cursing yourself silently. You’d promised Laswell you would text her and let her know when you’d made it to your hotel safe last night. After the chaos of being left out in the dark, pouring rain at the wrong address following a 10 hour flight where they put your luggage on the wrong flight, being unable to find reception walking along a sketchy, desolate road in search of a way of calling a cab, being rescued by a large, mysterious, enticing stranger on a motorcycle, you’d forgotten to text Laswell before you crashed on the hotel bed that night.

It had equally slipped your mind the next morning when you woke up in a panic, only a few hours later due to the early start time of the briefing, shoving your still wet clothes into the questionable hotel dryer, hoping it would be good enough in time for your mad dash to the base. All this to say, the last 24 hours had left you frazzled, and you’d completely forgotten to get back to her.

“I’m so sorry Captain, I-”

“You’re welcome to call me Price, if you’d like. You’ll find we’re not always so formal ‘round here.” The older man replied, also pausing his foot steps so as to not leave you behind, offering a kind smile that crinkled the corner of his eyes.

“Price,” you corrected, offering him back the best smile you could muster up at that moment. “You’ll have to forgive me, I just need 60 seconds to contact Laswell, that’s all. I was supposed to-”

“Say no more.” He interrupts, holding his hands up as if in a display of mock surrender, taking one small step back towards the door to the briefing room. “If it’s Laswell, I don’t want to held responsible for upsettin’ her. Used up enough favours with her already to finally have her send you over our way.”

You offer him a genuine chuckle at that last comment, knowing that Kate is in fact more often than not bombarded with requests for your skills, and that the head of the 141 was one of those little birdies often chirping in her ear.

“I’ll give you a few minutes. Come in when you’re ready.” He kindly offers you before excusing himself into the briefing room. You take a steadying breath, pulling out your phone and quickly typing out a message to your friend, not wanting to cause a worse first impression than you might already be currently doing. The soft whoosh sound of your text being sent has barely touched your ears before you’re hiding your phone away, ready to get this show on the road.

Your hand is reaching out to twist the door handle, catching the tail end of Price’s deep voice telling someone that he’s “been tryin’ to get ahold of her for a long feckin’ time now.” before an excited Scottish accent adds “So it is a lass??”

‘Hope for the best, prepare for the worst’ you thought one last time before opening the door and walking in to meet the 141.

“Last time I checked, yes, I’m still a ‘lass’.”

To your utter surprise, the transition into working alongside the 141 had been the easiest, dare you even say, the most fun, you’ve had in a long, long time. Price is a kind and fair leader, always looking out for his teammates. You, Soap and Gaz have gotten along with ease from the get go, the Sergeants taking an immediate liking to you.

“Is it really 11?” Gaz had asked you during that very first briefing between the five of you, a playful smiling stretching across his young, handsome face. Soap was gazing at you beside him with equal, genuine curiosity across his features.

“Yes, it’s 11.” You confirmed for them, used to the question at this point. It was a fair question, and you knew that. It wasn’t every day that they met someone who was perfectly fluent in six languages, fairly fluent in 3, and knew enough to effectively translate in another 2 languages. Sometimes, if you stayed on with a team for long enough, you forgot how ‘odd’ your work was, seeing people’s reactions for the first time, raving about how they wish they had your ‘gift’.

In actuality, your knowledge felt like the furthest thing from a gift, some days. Your skills were the result of hard work, blood, sweat and tears. You’d been raised in a household where 3 languages were spoken on a daily basis, and so though you did have that advantage early on in life, when you chose your path after high school graduation and decided to learn more than the 3 you already knew, you’d dedicated more effort to your pursuits than you ever had before.

Discovering your love for learning languages, your nose was never not in a book. This is how one of your first every contracts gifted you with the nickname that stuck with you to this day. Though you weren’t technically military, only working with them, the call sign was deemed too perfect not to be yours. This was something Soap was very curious about upon meeting you, and wasn’t shy to hide it.

“And the wee call sign? How’d a sweet lass like you end up being called that?” He questioned, earning a sideways glance from his superior, who was beginning to open his mouth to probably scold him before you laughed and reassured him it was fine.

“I was just starting to study Russian when I’d landed on what would be my longest job at the time. And Russian is really hard to learn, let me tell you. 33 letters in their alphabet, I was working more so had less time to study, anyways I was just reading a lot, always had my nose in a book.” You explained to the men, a familiar story you’d recounted countless times now. “Eventually that got me the nickname bookworm, which over time got shortened to, what it is now… worm.”

“Ach, nowhere near as fun as I’d been hopin’.” The Scot huffs out as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Thought maybe you’da been forced to eat a worm at some point or-”

“Sergeant MacTavish!”

That first meeting had been a few weeks ago now, and you were pleasantly surprised at how well things were going. Well, almost everything. Because as kind as Price was, and as friendly as Soap was, and as inviting as Gaz was, those men only made up 3/4 of the task force. There was one other member of the 141, and the issue wasn’t that he’d been missing from that initial briefing, it was that he hadn’t said one goddamn word to you.

The entire time, the massive, intimidating, beast of a man sat in the corner of the room, eyes hidden by the shadows that the skull plated mask he wore cast over where his eyes should be, almost giving off the impression as if the figure behind were not alive. Price had introduced him as simply, Ghost, the Lieutenant. And that’s exactly what he was, a ghost hovering in the space, listening in on the stories that those alive and well were sharing around the table, never saying a word, never making a sound, never even moving.

It wasn’t until the briefing finally ended, Price explaining that he would show you towards the room that would now be yours for the indeterminate future, that you finally saw any sign of life from him, as he took no hesitation in standing to his feet and swiftly leaving the room, all without a word or look of acknowledgement in your direction.

“Don’t you be worryin’ yourself over him, wormie.” Soap had insisted one evening as he helped you spar in the gym. You were by no means a soldier, and were not expected to fight. However more and more often you work was requiring you to be on at the heart of the chaos, translating for your team on the spot in tense, increasingly dangerous situations. It was vital, no, necessary, to Price that they go over what sort of self defence you knew so that they could judge for themselves what was adequate and what needed improving before he deemed you fit to be defending yourself from more than your colleagues.

“It isn’t just you, he act this way with anyone new.” Gaz added as well from where he was stood on the edge of the mats, observing your progress (or the lack thereof rather). “Takes him time to warm up, ya see. He just doesn’t know ya yet.”

“He’s still warmin’ up to me, even now! If you’ll believe me, bonnie!” Soap had joked, wanting to squash your concerns.

The days dragged on however, and the Lieutenant’s behaviour became increasingly odd. He still would not speak to you, and so you never tried initiating contact, reading his message loud and clear. But there were times where you’d be holding multiple folders, if not boxes, of files and information on the way to a briefing, and you would run across none other than Ghost.

Rather than continuing to ignore your presence and continuing his way to the briefing room, he’d wordlessly pluck the items from your hands, carrying them in your place, pace quickening as if to leave you behind. Another time, you were practicing strapping on gear that you’d apparently be expected to wear at times depending on the climate and the situation, intent on heading straight to the gym afterwards to practice sparring, as per his idea to have you practice in actual equipment.

You knew Ghost was somewhere in the room as well, polishing some weapon or another, but you were focused on your task. That’s part of why you were so caught off guard when you stood up, thinking you’d finished gearing up correctly, and found your path to the door blocked suddenly by the Lieutenant’s immense frame taking up your line of sight.

You’d gasped in surprise at his unexpected closeness, finding your mouth gone dry when his large gloved hands reached out to your front, adjusting the straps of your tactical vest without a word. As quickly as he had appeared before you, he’d completed his task and disappeared, leaving you spinning from the interaction.

The next time, you were in the mess hall, standing awkwardly as you tried to leave a conversation but didn’t know how to do so politely. The young Sergeant had suddenly introduced himself to you as you were walking out, and the man had yet to take a single breath to allow you to speak and excuse yourself. Something apparently caught in his throat however, when he quickly clammed up, eyes going wide, gaze trained over your shoulder, before he suddenly had to be somewhere and dashed out of sight.

When you’d turned around, you’d barely caught enough of a glimpse, but you were certain it was Ghost you saw turning the corner, confusing you even further. You couldn’t make any sense of his behaviour, unsure of what to make of the situation. Things came to a head however, when Price decided it was time for the Lieutenant to begin handling your training.

Ghost casts a quick glance around the gym as he walks in, finding that he’s the first to arrive this morning, something he’s thankful for. He’s still not sure how he’s going to go about this. When Price had approached him, saying that he believed the sergeants were going too easy on you in your training and that he wanted him to take over, he knew he was not in any position to refuse.

After all, how was he meant to explain to his captain that he’d rather not be left alone with you. Not when he’d been trying to avoid you at every cost, realizing that out of the dark and the rain, wearing his usual Ghost mask that had been absent from his face the night he met you on his motorcycle, you hadn’t recognized him. And why would you? The only identifying feature you might remember from that night, was his voice, and he’d been making every effort to avoid speaking you thus far.

At first, he wasn’t sure why he was going to such lengths to avoid you, a complete 180 to the way he’d gone out of his way to help you previously. Deep down though, he knew why.

You’d called him a good man.

He’d gone back to base and touched himself, relieved himself, came all over his first like a damn teenager, all to the thought of you, the thought of your sweet voice calling him just that, a good man.

But you had only called him that because you didn’t know him, not really. Your idea of that hero riding in on a steel steed, saving you when you needed it, was not something he wanted to taint, to ruin, with the revelation that that man was actually him, the farthest thing from good there could ever be.

Realistically, he knew he couldn’t avoid you forever, not when you’d apparently be working together. God, what a shock that had been to see you stepping into the briefing room. His intention wasn’t to ignore you completely, at least not indefinitely. He only wanted to buy himself some time, give himself a chance to think of what he might say should you somehow recognize him. But then every time you were in his line of sight, the only thing he could think of was his exit strategy, how to get as far from you as possible.

And yet, even as the days turned into weeks, Simon’s avoidance of you couldn’t hide the growing affection that beginning to take form in the recesses of his heart. Any time he was within hearing range, his ears were tuned in to every word that left your mouth. When your back was turned to him, his eyes were following your every move. Even his own body was beginning to fight against his mind at times, taking initiative before he could realize that he was adjusting the straps to your tactical vest, the thought of you being in a high risk situation without being properly secured leaving a foul taste in his mouth, finding his hands relieving you of the load of whatever paperwork you were bringing to the briefing that day.

Or worse, he finds himself intimidating any man whose eyes land on your figure for a fraction of a second too long for his liking, or who has the balls to actually speak to you. Acting as though he had any right to act as your protector, to involve himself in your life like this without having ever even had the courtesy to speak to you. He really was going about this all wrong, wasn’t he?

Any further self destructive ideas Ghost might had come up with are instead cut short when he hears the hinges of the gym door squeaking open once more. His head swivels in the direction of the noise, eyes landing on none other than you. He’s seen you in your sparring sessions with the sergeants, seen you walk in full of energy, enthusiastic about proving your abilities and learning how to improve them. This morning however, you appear almost timid, trying to make yourself appear smaller as the loud thud of the door slamming shut behind you resonates out, only further emphasizing how alone you and Ghost are now.

He knows he has to be the one making you feel this way, and you aren’t without good reason. Clearing his throat, Ghost acknowledges he’s stalled as long as he can, if you’re going to recognize him, it’s just going to happen.

“Alright?” His deep, gravelly voice rings out in the space. You nearly jump in surprise but manage to school your expression. You wonder if his voice always sounds so rough, or if its a by product of the early morning hour. Whereas Soap and Gaz, ever the gentleman, had asked you what time you’d prefer to train, leading to late night sparring sessions, Price had informed you that Ghost would be meeting you in the gym before the sun had even come up. Damn military men and their early wake up times.

“I’m alright, yeah. How uh- how are you? Sir.” You reply, slowly stepping towards the training mats where Ghost is stood, muscular arms crossed over his huge chest. You tack on the ‘sir’ at the end, not wanting to get on his bad side before you even have a chance to begin training.

“Ghost will do.” He corrects you, ignoring your question otherwise. Ghost finds himself feeling antsy, almost out of his element, he doesn’t like that you’re messing with his head so much already. He’d rather get this over with. The less chit chat (and the less odds of you recognizing him by his voice), the better. “You ready?”

“Yes, I stretched before coming so, should be ready.” You answer him, finally stepping near enough that you’re within reaching distance of one another. Fuck, he’s suddenly extremely thankful you chose to do that before coming here, he’s not sure how he would’ve managed watching you bend over every which way to stretch.

“Right. Let’s see what the sergeants have taught you then.”

All in all, you’re actually not as bad as he might have expected, for someone who wasn’t a soldier. Obviously, he was going easier on you than he would’ve if it were Garrick or MacTavish he were sparring with, but he wasn’t completely letting you win either. You were fast on your feet, slippery in his grasps (maybe that’s why they should’ve named you worm), quick to think and to dodge his movements. He finds himself actually surprisingly quite pleased with you.

What he isn’t enjoying as much, or rather is probably enjoying too much and that’s the issue, are the fucking noises you keep making. Your small grunts of exertion, your puffs of breath drenched in effort, the groans you let out every time he lands a soft blow on you, not nearly as hard as he’d hit an enemy, but with enough force you knock the wind out of you each time. He’s also noticing the way the sweat drips down your neck, across your collarbone, sneaking into the heaving valley between your breasts.

There’s stirring happening in Ghost’s sweatpants and suddenly he needs this session to be over with sooner rather than later. He’s about to call it good enough for today when you open your pretty little mouth and say:

“Why are going easy me?” You’re panting, cheeks reddened with the blood pumping through you and his continues to gather somewhere it really shouldn’t be right now.

“What?” He grunts out, turning his back to you. He reaches a hand behind his neck with a towel, wiping at whatever sweaty skin his balaclava exposes.

“Look I’m not trying to pick a fight with you-” He’s cursing himself silently already at your words. “But not even Garrick or MacTavish treat me like I’m that weak. And they don’t have any issues with me being here.”

“Don’t have any issues with you.” He attempts to reply coolly, still not facing you, though he’s finding himself standing up straighter.

“With all due respect, that’s pure shit.” You retort. At this, he swings around to look at you, eyes narrowing. So she’s got some bite to her. “You’ve had an issue since I arrived, and that’s fine. I don’t need you to like me. But if you’re the one who’s apparently going to be training me now, I’d appreciate if you didn’t treat me like a kid. I’m here to do my job, and do it right. Can I expect the same from you, Lieutenant?”

If you were anyone else, he’d have you running laps around the entire base by now for talking back to him like this. Except you’re not anyone else, you’re you. And now you’re stepping closer to his space, this small thing daring to get into his face over him not training you hard enough? If harder is what you want, then harder is what you’ll get, little worm.

“You want me to go harder on you, s’that it?” He questions, taking the final step forward until your chests are now touching, and you’re having to crane your neck back to maintain eye contact. He’s close enough he sees you swallow at his question, but you don’t dare back down. Good girl. “Treat you like a big girl, s’that right?”

Suddenly struggling to find your voice, you manage what you hope is a confident nod. He’s never been so close to you before, and you’re noticing that the scent of him, even covered in sweat and likely morning breath behind his balaclava, is dizzying. Nearly intoxicating. He smells like a pure man, and you’re internally berating yourself to stay focused.

“Careful what ya wish for.” He says, barely allowing a second to pass before he’s suddenly throwing you onto the mat, flipping you onto your back, both of your hands pinned above your head in one of his large palms, his large, heavy body holding you in place underneath him, all in the blink of an eye. “What now, little worm? How are ya wrigglin’ your way out this?” He presses his mask covered mouth next to your ear, feeling a shiver go through your body at his words.

He’s careful to keep his now raging erection away from you, leaning his hips back but still pressing enough weight on you to keep you from budging. To your credit, you do try to get out from underneath him, but it’s a losing battle from the start, you’re no match for his size, especially with both hands above your head like this. Your cheeks are reddening in a mix of effort and embarrassment, and Ghost finds himself enjoying this view far too much.

“See, I was actually bein’ quite nice to ya,” He adds, barely tightening his grip on your hands, as if to remind you that he’s not even using his full strength with you. “But out there, wormie. They’re not gon’ be so kind-”

Whatever Ghost was going to say is cut off by a genuine, ragged gasp erupting from behind his mask. In your effort to free yourself, you’ve lifted your hips, unknowingly rubbing yourself against the bulge straining in the front of his sweatpants. Shocked by his reaction, you stay frozen in place, still pressed against what you can now tell is his throbbing member. And from what you can fell, it’s huge.

You’re momentarily caught off guard by his reaction to you. You weren’t exactly expecting… this. But his delicious, masculine odor is filling your nostrils, it feels as if every inch of you is pinned down by every inch of him, you can feel every twitch of his muscles and can practically count the steady beating of his heart through his cock pressing intro your thigh. And though you’ve always prided yourself on thinking first, acting second, you can’t exactly explain why you find yourself slowly beginning to rock your hips forward.

“This is you bein’ nice, Lieutenant?” You attempt to ask coyly, though you can’t hide the breathy way your voice comes across. Before you can pull your hips back anymore however, Ghost is suddenly releasing you from his grasp, standing to full height and dashing out of the room before you have a chance to even sit up.

Well, that went well.

The birds have only just begun to chirp when there’s a loud banging at your door early the next morning. You’re confused, prepared to tell whoever is on the other side of the door that it had better be a matter of life or death, when you come face to face with none other than a Ghost.

“What are-”

“If training starts at 0500, then you are to be in the gym at 0500. Understood?” His gravelly voice demands. A quick glance to your watch tells you it’s 3 minutes past 5 in the morning. You had been certain after yesterdays debacle that Ghost would never want to train with you again, assuming that he’d speak with Price about handing you back over to the sergeants somehow.

So why does the sight of this gigantic masked man standing in your doorway, so large he blocks most of the light coming in from the hall, someone who’s done nothing but piss you off so far, arriving in absolute insistence that you continue sparring together, have your thighs suddenly clenching together?

“I thought that-” You cut yourself off as you watch him tilt his head, almost as if daring you to finish that sentence. “Yes sir.”

“Get changed. You’ve got 60 seconds.” He informs you before reach to shut your door for you.

That’s how you find yourselves alone in the gym a short time later, training resuming. To his credit, Ghost does not go as easy on you this time as he did yesterday, genuinely challenging your abilities in self-defence and close quarters combat, teaching you moves that Soap and Gaz had apparently not considered necessary.

“If you’re ever in a situation where it’s your life on the line,” he had said between clenched teeth as he taught you to dodge his blows more effectively, as if the thought of you in actual danger enraged him enough to chip a tooth. “I want you doing anything necessary, to get out o’ there. Understood? You make it out.”

By the end of the session, Ghost himself is panting with exertion, the both of you having put in more energy than you would have, were you sparring with anyone else. You watch him, hands on his hips as he catches his breath, head tilted slightly to the ceiling, and you decide it’s as a good opportunity as any to try and catch him off guard, feeling confident in yourself.

Foolishly confident.

Before you even manage to land a finger on him, he’s flipping you into the very same position as you found yourselves in yesterday, you on your back with him above you, one of his hands pinning the both of yours above your head as his other is planted by your waist, warm breaths meeting in the middle.

“That, I never want to see you do again.”

“Was worth a try.”

“Was it?”

You slowly raise your hips, unsurprised when you make contact with his steel hard cock above you, teasingly rubbing yourself against his length.

“Maybe.” You whisper, eyes searching his glazed over expression. You find his pupils have darkened to the point they eclipse almost all colour, specks of black eye paint smudged around his eyes have caught onto his eyelashes. He’s so close to you, you’re able to make them out as blond. Something about being near enough to the mysterious, alluring Ghost to know that he’s blond under that mask causes the blush on your cheeks to darken further.

As caught up as you are in the obvious want you find behind his eyes, there’s something about them that almost, somehow seem familiar. As if you’ve looked into these eyes before, in a different place, a different context, a different time.

Any rational thoughts are cut off however, when you both hear and feel Ghost growl, the hand that was planted at your side now coming to sneak between your back and the floor, pulling your front somehow even closer to his muscular chest. There isn’t an inch of space between the two of you now, your heads falling beside each other, temple to temple, as his grip on the situation finally slips, his resolves breaks, and he begins to grind against you.

You let out a gasp, the feeling of his pulsing member rubbing against your centre, even with all the layers of clothing, is sinfully delicious. You suspect he’s feeling the same way, because his grip on your waist tightens, hips bucking already with more insistence. His grunts are music to your ears, as are the small moans and whimpers you let out into his neck. You’ve wrapped one leg behind him, widening your hips as far as they’ll allow, granting him as much access to your core as his large frame needs. Having released your hands to allow himself to explore the soft squeeze of your breasts through your workout shirt, your fingers in turn are roaming up and down his back, across his shoulders, fingers nails scratching at the fabric of his shirt.

Ghost knows he’s not going to last long. When he’d gone to get you this morning for your sparring session, he was determined not to let yesterday’s events get in the way of his professionalism. You were right, after all. You both had a job to do, and he would ensure you could do it right. He would sleep better at night anyways, knowing you were properly trained in how to defend yourself. Trained by him, and his hands. He hadn’t intended for the session to end the way yesterday’s had, with you laying beneath his raging erection on the sweaty training mats, though he wouldn’t lie and say he hadn’t hoped for it in some small part.

He knows he’s not going to last long because he’s finally, somehow, got you here underneath him, and your small sounds of pleasure are better than anything his twisted imagination could have ever conjured up. He shouldn’t take it any farther than this. This is already going too far, humping you into the ground of the gym fully clothed like a pair of teenagers who can’t keep their hands to themselves. But that’s exactly what you make him feel like though, isn’t it?

No, he won’t go farther than this, won’t allow himself to take more than this. This alone is more than he feels he deserves. God, how he wishes he could give you what you deserve though. Releasing your breasts from his continued groping, he snakes his hands down your stomach, meeting the hem of your pants, allowing his digits to slip beneath the band of your underwear, fingers instantly finding your pulsating clit between your soaked folds. Your moans only grow louder as he begins to quickly bring you closer to your peak, one of your hands coming to cover your mouth should anyone happen to be walking by.

It feels as if the two of you are caught in a raging storm, two inevitable waves colliding with one another in a fury likened only to mother nature’s doing. You’re both reaching your peaks together, tumbling over the edge into pure, mind numbing bliss, as you continue to hold onto one another, as though you’re life preservers in the sea, seeing each other through to the end of the end of the fall.

Ghost can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed at the fact that he’s cum in his pants. Not when he’s searing your blissed out expression into his mind forever. You’re both panting now, coming back to your senses, remembering your surroundings, as well as the fact that with the time that’s passed, it’s becoming increasingly likely for anyone to walk in.

Taking one last look at you, squeezing your side with what might just be affection, Ghost begrudgingly rolls himself off of you, coming to stand, readjusting the front of his now wet sweatpants. He turns himself around, extending a hand out to you, which you accept, allowing him to pull you up.

Only you don’t let go of his hand right away. Instead, you tighten your grip on his palm, pull him closer to you, narrowing your eyes at him, a cheeky smile spreading across your lips.

“So,” you say, licking your lips. “Same time tomorrow?”

Longest chapter ever and first time writing sort of smut! Feel like I’m earning my place on tumblr lol

Reader gets a call sign and a bit of a back story! Hope it wasn’t too long or boring to read, it’s literally only because I really wanted to justify naming reader as ‘worm’ because there is absolutely definitely without a question eventually going to be a chapter where worm is drunk and crying about how the boys are saying they wouldn’t love her if she turned into a worm thank you that is all

- M 🫶🏻

[smileyerim]

what’s mine is yours

if mark isn’t going to make a move on you himself, his friends will surely find a way to make one on his behalf. the opportunity arises after an evening of drinking at mark’s apartment that lands you tangled in mark’s sheets wondering if he feels the same chemistry that you do.

pairing: mark lee x reader

genre: fluff, suggestive !!MDNI!!

length: 4.9k

warnings: adults drinking alcohol and getting drunk, dialogue about sex, both reader and mark are drunk the entire time, mark is a pussy!

net tags: @kflixnet @k-labels

Drinking with the boys always led you into sketchy situations. There was the one time Haechan insisted on breaking into a waterpark to ‘visit the mermaids’. Or the time that Renjun ordered a cab for all of you to go over to his ex-girlfriends house to win her back. Jaemin once threw up in the kitchen sink and didn’t tell anyone until morning.

So, yeah, drinking with the boys always led you down odd roads and tonight wouldn’t be any different.

“Okay!” You exclaim drunkenly, head previously falling forward as you dozed in your spot.

“Which one of you gentlemen are going to drive me home?” Your eyes lazily trail across the room at the boys all scattered about in various positions.

“Uh, I’m not good to drive,” Mark says and shoves his thumb into Jeno’s shoulder to ask “you good to drive?” Which earns him a shake of his head.

The rest of the group reacts now, all to let you know that none of them were sober enough to be behind the wheel.

“Okay…” you drag out the word and pull out your phone to open the rideshare app and struggle to type in your apartment’s address.

“Uber is $65.” You say bluntly, again scanning your eyes around the room expectedly. When you don’t get a response, you speak up again.

“This is the part where you say ‘Oh, here Y/N, we’ve got it.’” You tease and Haechan just rolls his eyes and groans.

“Just stay over. It’s fine, you can take the couch.”

“I call dibs on the couch.” Chenle’s voice is muffled from where his nose is nuzzled in the cushions. You’re genuinely surprised that he’s still breathing. You’re not too sure how, though, he’s buried pretty deep. He’s clearly not about to move any time soon.

“Fine, you can sleep with Mark.” Haechan says, hand signaling to the boy who was too distracted by his phone to keep up with the conversation until his name was spoken.

“Wait, dude, what?” Mark exclaims, his wide and glossy eyes switching between you and Haechan quickly. His drunk brain can barely keep up.

You hear a snicker from over your shoulder, “That’s a good idea, Y/N, why don’t you sleep with Mark?” Jaemin’s hand sits lazily on your shoulder.

You frown, a little too drunk to pick up the pieces and put them together.

“Yeah, that’s a great idea.” Jeno says, his own giggle escaping his lips. The two aforementioned boys had smoked earlier, leading to a fit of giggles shared between the two.

“Why is this a better idea than walking her home?” Mark panics, watching you slowly absorb all that’s going on around you. It doesn’t seem like you’ve picked up on how obvious the boys are being and he’s thankful for that.

“It’s cold out and we’re all tired. Just take one for the team and let her sleep in your bed.” Haechan argues. He’s getting more and more frustrated by the minute. Mark has been complaining for weeks about his crush on you, and the moment that Haechan finally does something about it, Mark protests?

“Where will I sleep?” Mark stupidly asks and Haechan’s head falls back onto the couch when he rolls his eyes.

“With her, Mark.” He says with a frustrated tone, his eyes shut and squeezed.

Before Mark can object again, you finally put the pieces together and move to stand, nearly falling into Jaemin’s lap behind you in the process.

“Come on, Mark.” You say, your hand is out in offering for Mark to grab. His slow brain goes a bit numb, too focused on the gold ring on your middle finger. He hadn’t noticed you wear it before.

When he doesn’t move fast enough, Haechan groans and rolls his eyes, grabbing Mark’s arm by the wrist and placing his hand on yours.

“I have to do fucking everything around here, don’t I?” Haechan says to the group, excluding you two who have already begun your drunken trek to Mark’s bedroom.

The vibe is much different when you’re in his room behind a closed door. He keeps his room tidy usually, but his unmade bed and loose bath towel on the floor suggest he wasn’t anticipating company. You prefer it this way, it makes you feel less like a guest. Especially when you’re about to use his bedroom as a hotel, nonetheless.

It also helps when his ruffled sheets make his bed look all the more inviting and comfortable. You flop your belly down, snuggling into his pillow. It smells faintly of tea tree shampoo and musk. You wonder when the last time he washed his sheets was, but you aren’t sure you want to know the answer. It smells like it’s been quite a while but you’re too drunk to care.

“You want some clothes?” He says from his standing position. He wasn’t expecting to see you so… comfortable. You look as if you’re at home in his bed.

He can’t believe it. You’re here in his bed. Sure, you’ve been in his room a million times, you’ve sat on his bed a million times, you’ve even cuddled with Mark on his bed a million times. But this time is different. You’re sleeping here, you’re going to wake up here, you’re going to be lying side by side with Mark for a minimum of 8 hours and he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold it together that long.

“No,” you say looking down at your athletic shorts and crop top. You weren’t wearing a bra, anyways. “A toothbrush would be nice, though.”

He scurries off to the adjoined bathroom and rifles through his drawers quickly, praying that he’d have at least one clean spare toothbrush.

“Unless, of course, all your hoes have used all of them.” You tease. You aren’t quite sure where that comment came from or why you felt compelled to say it but it has an effect on Mark as he stills for a moment before continuing his search. He finds one and walks back over to where you’re still lying on the bed.

“My hoes don’t ask for toothbrushes.” He says in half-honesty. It’s true, no girls have ever asked him for a spare toothbrush. Sure, that’s due to the fact that he’s never had a girl stay over before, but it’s still the truth nonetheless.

“Ew. Good to know I don’t have much competition then. At least I have basic hygiene.” You say, already loading up the toothbrush with his toothpaste.

His brain goes haywire at the comment. Does what you said mean what he thinks it means? Why are you including yourself on the list of Mark’s “hoes”? Do you want to be one? His only one?

Once you’re done, Mark has already changed into his outfit for bed. He’s hesitant on whether or not to wear a shirt. For your comfortability he probably should, but you’ve never been bothered by his bare chest before in all the times you’ve been over. What would make this time any different?

He decides against it as he gets himself ready for bed, trading spots in the bathroom when you go back to bed. His heart is beating out of his chest, which is saying a lot for how much the alcohol still present in his system has relaxed him.

He’s equally thankful for and also angry at Haechan for the stunt he pulled to get you into his room. He’s wanted this for a long time, thats no surprise, but is this how he wanted it? He wants you to know that you’re special to him, is a drunken night sleeping in the same bed enough to tell you that? His head is spinning and it comes to a halt when he sees you lying in his bed on your phone waiting for him to come to bed.

You look natural there, like you’ve always belonged.

“I’ll be right back.” He panics and runs out of the room before you can acknowledge him.

He sulks out into the living room once his door is shut behind him where all the boys still remain. Only Haechan and Jeno are still awake, playing some video game on the TV.

He plops down on Haechan’s left, careful not to sit on Chenle’s knee which Haechan is resting his back against.

“How’s it going in there?” Jeno asks and Mark groans in response, pouring himself his final shot and downing it quickly. The burning sensation in his esophagus is a welcomed distraction from the flurry of thoughts in his head.

“I don’t know what you want, Mark, honestly.” Haechan says, eyes still trained on the TV in front of him.

“I know, I know. I just want her to know that she’s special to me and not just another girl.” Mark groans, playing with the idea of pouring himself a second nightcap shot.

“Did you tell her that?” Haechan says like it’s obvious.

“She’s drunk, Hyuck.” Mark counters, deciding finally to pour himself another shot of the room temperature liquor. Mark is drunk too, so he’s not too sure why that factor matters right now.

“Did you try telling her?” Haechan repeats himself, earning a shoulder check from Jeno.

“What he’s trying to say is that it’s in your hands at this point. You know what you want and you know how to do it. You just need to grow the balls and get it done.” Jeno says and Haechan leans his shoulder on Jeno’s shoulder to signify a quick hug in thanks.

Mark doesn’t move up from his position in an act of procrastination, and Chenle, who Mark previously thought was sleeping, kicks Mark swiftly in the lower back to force him to his feet.

“Go before she falls asleep and you lose your shot again.” Chenle says, head still buried deep in the cushions.

“How the fuck are you breathing, dude?” Mark asks dumbfounded.

“He has his ways.” Haechan responds, an arm wrapping around Mark’s hips to shove him out of the way of the TV screen.

Clearly, Mark is no longer welcomed out in the living room with his friends, so he moves back to his room with you, quietly opening the door in case you had fallen asleep.

You haven’t, of course. You’re far too concerned about Mark to relax long enough to fall asleep.

“If you want me to go home I can just get the Uber it’s fine.” You say the moment Mark walks through the door.

Fuck, he thinks to himself. He can’t even have one second to think.

“No, you can stay.” He says, heading back into the bathroom to brush his teeth again after the two shots he took.

“You just seem a little off, so I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. It’s no big deal, really.” You say, already moving to stand up out of his bed, moving at a much slower pace than normal due to the alcohol still in your system.

“No, please, stay.” He says, walking over to your spot, essentially blocking you from standing.

Your face still doesn’t seem convinced so he shares the truth in the best way he knows how, “I want you to stay.”

You still don’t seem fully convinced, but you lie back down anyways and wait for Mark to join you. He’s stalling at this point, moving around the room and unplugging every socket he can see.

“Big fire hazard guy?” You tease from your position in bed, his pillow parallel to your chest where your head lies. There’s something about the hopeful anticipation in your eyes that makes Mark’s head spin.

Or maybe it’s the alcohol. Probably the alcohol.

He laughs dryly, finally laying down next to you. His head is flat against the mattress, blocking your view of his face from your position atop the pillow beneath you.

“Oh, here, you want it?” You say, offering him the pillow. Mark chastises himself internally for only owning one pillow.

“Nah, you take it, you need one too.” Mark waves you off and adjusts to bend his arm behind his head, resting on his forearm.

You think for a moment before replying, “Well… you’re here aren’t you?”

“Wh-“ Mark’s question is cut short by you sitting up, placing the pillow beneath his head, and then laying your own head on his chest.

He hopes you can’t hear his heartbeat when you ask, “Is this ok?”

He, very boldly in his opinion, responds by wrapping his arms around your body. One over your shoulders and one around your waist. Thank you, alcohol!

“Just peachy.” He says, voice cracking.

His limbs are still stiff around you, but you don’t mention it as you sit up one final time to flip the light switch by the door.

You feel him jolt when you lie your head on his chest again. You feel like rolling your eyes at his dramatics.

“Seriously, Mark, I can go home.” You say, gauging his level of discomfort by the stiffness of his limbs and the sound of his breath that he’s clearly attempting to get under control.

“Nope.” Is all he says as he wraps his arms around you tighter and pulls you in. A beat passes as you feel his muscles relax beneath your head.

“You’re confusing, Mark Lee.” Is your message of acceptance as your fingers find his collarbone, tracing circles around it and scratching into the caverns gently.

He scoffs at your words, “I’m confusing?”

“Well, you say you want me here but you’re clearly uncomfortable.” You retort. He just wishes you would let the conversation settle. He’s trying his hardest.

“I’m not uncomfortable.” It’s a half truth and he knows it, but he’ll say anything to get you to shut up.

“When’s the last time you had a girl in your bed?” You ask and thankfully you can’t see him roll his eyes in the darkness.

“A while.” He swallows. He can tell where this is going and he doesn’t like it.

“You could’ve just said that!” You say with a soft, almost condescending, tone as you coo, digging your head further into his chest.

“It’s not that. You think you have me all figured out but you don’t, so just drop it please? Let’s go to sleep.” Mark pulls you even closer at that and it’s your turn to stiffen.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into his pec and he sighs, the hand around your waist holding you tighter.

“It’s fine, just settle down.” He says and you try your best, but your mind is now running a mile a minute.

What the hell did that mean? If you aren’t making him uncomfortable, and if it isn’t that he’s just out of practice, then what is it? Why is your best friend acting so weird?

Your mind can’t help itself but say, “Are you drunk?”

“Very. You?” He says honestly. You smile against his bare chest.

“Very.” You giggle and he does too, his hand traveling down your body to grab at the back of your knee to hoist your leg to rest over his. The ice has been clearly broken as he relaxes into the new position.

You nuzzle in closer to his chest, your hands continuing to explore the dips and curves of his shoulder.

“Did you drink more when you went out there?” You ask, not really wanting to go to bed just yet. You have an odd feeling that your night isn’t over.

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’ sound. He can’t tell if you’re prying to try and collect information or if your drunk brain is truly just curious, so he keeps his answers brief.

You giggle out your question, “Why?”

“You don’t usually have this many questions.” He deflects, but you catch him.

“You don’t usually avoid answering.” You retort and he sighs, chest rising and falling slowly below your head. It’s a nice feeling, you think.

You’re anticipating an answer, but he doesn’t give you one. Frowning, you move your head so that your chin rests on his chest, your eyes level with his cheek from where he’s lying back. He looks down at you in the dark of the room to notice your impatient stare.

“Just needed a little extra liquid courage, that’s it.” He shrugs and you frown deeper. That answer just gave you more questions than answers.

“But-“ he cuts you off.

“Just let it go, please.” He begs, his voice genuinely sounding desperate. Usually you have a free pass to tease Mark, but something is different about him tonight so you don’t pester him any further. You lie your head back down over his chest and continue to stroke his shoulder lazily. You seem to be getting more and more comfortable with each other here, which pleases you.

He appreciates the gesture, clearly, as the hand that was previously around your waist travels back down to your leg to grab a large handful softly, his thumb stroking over the side of your thigh near your knee gently.

It’s a nice moment, you think, and before your brain can tell you otherwise, your lips are puckering to leave a gentle kiss to his bare skin beneath your head. His breath hitches softly at that, so you move your head gently away from the spot to rest your forehead against his chin.

Truth be told, you aren’t quite sure why you did it. You and Mark have cuddled a million times before, but you’ve never kissed him. You’ve never even given him a cheek kiss as a greeting. Your lips have never touched Mark Lee, but for some reason tonight you felt compelled to. It was innocent and short enough that you could pretend it didn’t happen at all.

You can feel Mark slowly turning his head, your heart beating at a mile a minute at the sheer unknown of how he will react.

Just as your mind begins to conjure up rejection scenarios, you feel something.

His lips make contact with your forehead, his warm breath fanning over the top of your hair as he stays in his position, gentle lips kissing your forehead. You hold back a gasp, and your heart picks up pace. He still hasn’t moved, which you’re thankful for, as you absorb the feeling and attempt to process your emotions quickly.

That was a move.

That was a move.

Mark is making moves on you. Do you want him to? You can’t lie and say you haven’t thought about him romantically before. He’s your best friend, he’s seen your lowest and your highest and he’s stuck around through it all. He’s also undoubtedly attractive and your type. But you’ve never imagined him in this context.

But you wouldn’t want to take advantage of him. This is Mark you’re talking about here. There is no “casual fun” with him. Whatever is happening is already changing the course of your friendship, do you want to keep it going and take it further?

He doesn’t give you the opportunity to decide before his hand finds your chin, pulling up to signal that he wants you to look at him. You comply, of course, with probably too much ease.

His eyes dart between your two as he tries to read you. He wants this. He knows he wants this. What he doesn’t know, though, is whether or not you want this too.

“Are you too drunk to know what you’re doing?” He whispers and you can feel the air from his words hit your lips and it only makes you want him more.

“No.” You whisper back meekly, your eyes trained to his lips. He’s never looked so kissable. In fact, you’ve never even considered the idea of kissing Mark. Now that you’re here, though, you can’t believe it’s not crossed your mind before. You want him so bad that it feels like you’ve wanted him forever.

Your answer was clearly all he needed to brush his lips over yours. It feels like the wind is knocked out of you as you lie there, not even pursing your lips, just allowing him to adjust to the feeling of being so close with you.

The moment is beautifully intimate, you won’t lie, but you’re feeling a bit impatient and if Mark spends any more time cherishing the moment rather than seizing it you may combust. So you take the next step and officially slot your lips over his, your hand coming up to grab at his jaw to keep him steady on you. He reacts without hesitation, kissing you back with as much force as you’re giving him.

The kiss is remarkable in all the ways that it truly isn’t. There’s no sparks or fireworks, and it takes you a while to get into a rhythm. Your teeth knock his a few times and you both miss the opportunities to insert your tongues into each others mouths. It’s almost laughable how bad the kiss is from a black and white perspective, but you’re satisfied. Because, above all else, the kiss is natural and it feels right.

Once you’ve found your rhythm though, you’re fully emerged in the feeling. He’s a slower kisser than you thought he would be, clearly still attempting to savor the moment with everything in him, and you let him.

It’s nice, you think, being here like this. Every first kiss you’ve had has spurred an emotional rollercoaster inside of you. You’re typically too preoccupied with doing the right thing, looking hot enough, memorizing the other person’s likes and dislikes, and thinking about the future when you kiss someone. Kissing Mark is different. You aren’t full of worries, you’re simply enjoying it. A part of you tries to pin it on the comfortability that comes with being as close friends as you are, but another part of you that’s been hiding for a long time tells you otherwise.

Your adrenaline spikes at the thought, and it spurs you to make the next move to straddle across his waist. He reacts instantly, his hands finding your hips as he kisses you harder.

You like Mark, you realize. Perhaps your heart is a little behind your head as you’re already kissing him, but the realization sparks something in you nonetheless.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he admits when his lips leave yours to trail down your neck. You aren’t sure if Mark is intending to bring the heat up, but it’s working when he finds that one spot near your carotid.

You hum, hand threading in his hair to keep him close. You love this. You love this moment. You never want it to end.

As if he hates you, Mark’s mouth leaves your neck to look at you to do precisely that.

“Are we doing this?” He says and you’re startled by his honesty and boldness. Is this the same Mark who was too scared to even sleep in the same bed as you?

“Define this.” You ask. It’s a valid question, he has to say, but he’s not bold enough to say it by name. Sure, he can grow a pair when he absolutely needs to, but his natural instinct is to quietly observe the other person, not be observed himself.

He doesn’t respond with words, but with an action much more bold than he realizes when his hands find your hips again and move you down to rest over his crotch. He’s not hard yet, but you still get the gist of what he’s trying to say. A gasp escapes you, earning a coy smile from the man below you.

“I take that as a yes?” He teases and you aren’t given the opportunity to respond before he sits up fully, meeting you in your sitting position to wrap both his arms around you tightly as he kisses you again.

Now the kiss is hot. His hands are busy all over your body, lighting fire in its path. You moan encouragingly into his mouth when his hands graze the underside of your breast. He catches the message quickly and moves his hand higher to officially grab you, both of you moaning at the contact. Your mouths connect sloppily, and you begin to feel a poke from underneath you.

It takes all the self control in your body to slow things down, but you owe it to Mark to talk about this.

You say his name into his mouth quietly, which he interprets as a moan, and responds with his own groan right back.

“Mark,” you say a little more firmly this time, your hands finding his shoulders to signal that you have something to say.

“Are you sure?” You ask and his previously anxious eyes soften.

“Are you?” He retorts and you roll your eyes deliberately at him.

“I asked you first, idiot.” You say and he smiles, bringing you in for a hug, his nose finding the crevice between your neck and shoulder. You can feel him relax below your fingers when you hug him back, your hands threading into his hair. The moment from before is long gone, but you prefer this.

You smile from your position on his lap. This is easy, you think. Much easier than it ever has been. It almost scares you how natural this feels with him, but you don’t allow your brain to indulge in the anxiety of it all. You’ll happily wait as long as Mark needs to give you an answer if he’s holding you like he is now.

“I’m sure that I want you, if that’s what you’re asking.” He says and it makes you smile again. He’s trying to get you to say it first. Your best friend has never been very sly, although he likes to think of himself that way.

“That is what I asked, but that’s not what I meant.” You say, throwing the ball back into his court.

All this back and forth is giving you a headache. Under any other circumstance you’d have been fed up with all the pussyfooting and made an actual move, but you want to give Mark the chance to say what he needs to say. You have a feeling that he needs the floor more than you do.

“I want to fuck you, but I don’t think it would mean the same thing to you as it does to me.” He says finally and you melt at his indirect confession, holding him tighter and slightly swaying your bodies side to side.

“Then ask.” You say simply, still not taking the power he clearly wants you to. He’s used to you being the bolder one, he’s never had to fight with you to get you to offer your mind.

“You’re making this really difficult for me, aren’t you?” He jokes and you let out a genuine laugh, kissing the crown of his head once you’re done.

“You’d regret letting me take the lead.” You read him honestly and he scans his brain for a conflict, but you’re right. He would regret it.

“You know me so well.” He says, resigned acceptance on his voice as his hand rubs wide circles into your back.

“I know, that’s why you like me so much.” You snark and Mark leans back to look you in the face with a shocked expression of offense.

“You said you’d let me take the lead!” He whines and you giggle, hand coming to rest on his cheek.

“You’re taking too long.” You attempt to justify yourself.

“I wanted to tell you.” He pouts and you move to grab the other side of his face with your other hand.

“You still can.” You gently inform him, quieting down and looking deep into his eyes.

You had anticipated a confession right then and there, but he continues to stare back at you. You can see the wheels turning in his head and you roll your eyes once more in faux annoyance, a teasing smile on your lips.

“Now, Mark.” You taunt with a giggle and he breaks out into nervous laughter, leaning away from your hands and you let him go hesitantly, resting your hands back on his bare shoulders.

He clears his throat and averts his eyes to the bedpost as he gathers his thoughts. It’s cute, you think, how flustered he is. All of this drama for you? Mark is this nervous to confess to you? You’re not a self conscious girl by any means, but you feel a little out of bounds by the idea that Mark Lee is flustered over you.

He’s amazing. Why doesn’t he think that you would notice that about him? Why does he look like he’s preparing himself for rejection right now? Does he really think of you that highly? Or worse, does he think of himself that low?

He clears his throat once more, saying your name quietly and grabbing your hands in his. You feel as if a bit more distance has been put between you now as you’re no longer holding him, but you allow him to guide.

“I’ve been into you for a while,” He says, taking in a sharp breath after the phrase is out. Although you were expecting to hear it, actually being in the moment feels more intense than you thought it would be. Your toes curl in anxiety as you attempt to keep your cool.

“and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before I kissed you— that I genuinely blame on the alcohol—but this is all me.” He says with a sigh at the end. If the confession had been pretty, it wouldn’t have been Mark’s. But you love it all the same.

A smile slowly creeps over your face as you look at him through your eyelashes. You don’t want your reaction to influence him, you want him to fully own this moment.

“Say something please.” He says with a cute impatient lilt to his voice that makes you laugh.

Your poker face, if you even had one in the first place, slips when you open your mouth to respond.

“Mark, I’ve been into you for… well…. not that long,” you say and he laughs in response, hopeful eyes and expectant smile on his face.

“but this is all me, too. I swear if I had known before I would’ve done something before.” You draw an x with your finger over your heart and Mark grabs your hand and presses a gentle kiss to your fingertip. Your heart melts as he grabs your hand with his two and draw them down to his chest.

“I like that you let me.” Mark says, leaning in as if he was about to kiss you. You smile, tilting your chin to meet him.

“Thank you.” He whispers before meeting your lips together in a sweet kiss.

i wrote this all in one day and only proofread it twice so if it sucks…. uh….. yeah! if you did enjoy my little brain dump of a story, please reblog and send feedback! your engagement means waaayyy more to me than you realize.

[anothertimdrakestan]

Pinky Promise - Damian Wayne x Reader !Soulmate AU

~ where your birthmark is where you'll first touch your soulmate ~

A pinky finger is an odd place to have a soulmate mark. Most people had full hands, a set of lips marked on their cheek, or a hand print on their hip. Yet yours was just the length of your left hand pinky finger.

No matter, you'd had the habit of locking pinky's with people since you were born. Call it natural habit or a desperation to link fingers with your soulmate, it was your thing.

So when you started your internship at the Bludhaven Police Department Sheriff's office and got finger printed you didn't think anything of it when officer Grayson paused on your last finger.

"This your soulmate mark?" he gestured to your pinky, which was darker than the rest of your skin colour.

"Funny right! Just the pinky. Most people have normal ones! Where's yours? Wait. Is it on your lips?" you glanced up at the officer with a grin as he flushed.

"We all meet our soulmates in strange ways." he mumbled with a smile.

"Truth or dare? Or Suck and Blow? It had to be a party game right?" you leaned in as Officer Grayson pressed your pinky into ink.

"It was more of a greeting, she's not from around here so it was her way of saying hello." he stated, eyes twinkling with a familiar joy. God you wanted that. He continued, "I'll tell you, I know a kid with a pinky mark too. Cant remember which hand though. I'll bring him in soon, though neither of you seem like each other's type." you noticed his brows furrowed thinking about the "kid" he mentioned.

"Bring him in like, a bad guy? Not sure that's my type! I'm just here to learn about forensics!" you giggled. The officer just shook his head and told you to go start reviewing the steps to finger print collection and storage. Sounded super fun and interesting (not).

Turns out there's a lot to learn about crime forensics. By the end of the day you had a backpack full of materials to study on your transit ride back to Gotham. Hiking up fire escapes to the top of your apartment building, you decided to study via the lights from the top of your building. Nothing like the haze of Gotham to comfort you through pages of reading.

"Glad to see you're back." A familiar voice chided from your side.

"C'mon, you're excited to see me!" you grinned into the darkness, willing the shadowy figure to come forward. Like usual, he did.

"Good to see you, Robin." you waved with a teasing smile as he visibly shook his head.

"Can't say the same Y/N. I had more peaceful nights when you weren't here. What's got you up late this time?" he grumbled, keeping his distance as you held up your bunches of papers exclaiming "studying! Always studying."

"And you can't do that from the safety of your apartment?" he questioned. You shook your head no in response. "Need I remind you of the multiple times I've had to throw people off this balcony for you?" he yawned, gesturing to the ledge of the rooftop.

"Aren't I so lucky you're protecting me!" you teased. He wasn't wrong, sketchy people had on more than one occasion lurked on top the Gotham's tallest buildings, but you enjoyed the view and trusted Robin far too much to change your place of comfort.

"Protecting Gotham." he retorted, moving towards the rooftop to jump towards a night full of crime fighting. You never tried to stop him from leaving, you still thought it was insane that he even paused to talk to you, so you just waved and watched as he launched into darkness. Curling back up with your notes you appreciated the blanket of safety his presence had placed on you.

~

"Damian I'm telling you she has the mark on her pinky!" Dick screeched, chasing after Damian who was not willing to hear anything he had to say. "What do I care Grayson? I don't want a soulmate, I'm busy," he retorted, cascading through the batcave to get away from Dick's prying eyes.

"Just let me see! I wanna know!" Dick cried but Damian had already slammed his door closed.

"Word on the street is Dames found a rooftop girl. You didn't hear it from me though." Tim called from the adjacent room. The two were usually stuck on patrol together so it did make sense. But Dick still couldn't believe it.

"Which goddamn rooftop." Dick's voice was a low hum, the determination dripping from his tongue. He had a theory.

~

"Morning Officer Grayson!" you called down the hallways of the BPD office. You'd finally gotten a full night of sleep last night because you had finished studying a couple days ago, free from the piles of work. Your morning glee quickly dissipated when you were promptly handed a stack of papers and binders.

"You're doing great work, so we're moving you up to sample analysis. Lots of reading for ya!" the officer sounded congratulatory as he handed you the piles of paperwork. You couldn't deny, this was what you wanted, but it was definitely more work than you could do in one day. Needless to say, you hoped you'd get to see a familiar bird brain that night.

~

Cozying up on the rooftop you were so deep into the inner-workings of a microscope you hardly noticed the shadowy figure that had appeared across from you.

"Studying again are we?" Robin's snarky voice made you jump, eyes snapping to his face. "Tons of work! Calls for an all nighter, what about you?" you simply replied.

"Patrol." His response was curt but you wanted more this time.

"What after? Tell me- what does a hero do in his free time?" you leaned in with a teasing smile. To your surprise Robin leaned back against the railing and responded "I like to draw." Giving you more of a key into him than you'd ever gotten.

"I'm a terrible artist but I bet you're amazing! Keen eyes and steady hands always make for good art. You should show me sometime! If you want!" you rambled with a grin. You figured it would be an automatic no, but the corner of his mouth twitched up, almost like a smile as he said, "maybe I will." Something blossomed in your chest.

"Well, you're always welcome here! Like, all night. It's brutal." you joked, gesturing at the piles of papers in your lap.

"I may just take you up on that, my brother has been overwhelmingly obnoxious at home. Have a good night." Robin muttered as he left over the rooftop railing once again. You smiled to yourself, he likes to draw and he has a brother? Fascinating.

You were practically asleep in your notes when you felt something bump into your chest. A surprisingly elegant paper airplane. From the shadows you could see Robin sitting across from you, back against the rooftop railing, a notepad and pencil in his arms as he starred up at you.

"What? You were practically snoring." he said matter-of-factly.

"For the record, I do not snore. Also, how'd you make this? It's beautiful!" you exclaimed, delicately holding up the paper airplane to appreciate the little curves of the thick paper.

"I was into origami for a while. It's almost mathematical, very satisfying." his reply was short again, seemingly focused on the sketching at hand. So you fell into silence with him, focusing up on your note taking.

You didn't exactly notice the sun starting to rise. It was hard to see in Gotham, smog and all, but the inkling of light from the hazy sky gave you a clearer picture of the boy wonder then you'd ever gotten.

It felt strange but he was gorgeous. Silky black hair tousled from running his hands through it in between pencil scratches, when he was focused he bit the inside of his cheek, eyebrows knit into determination. You appreciated the reds and yellows of his costume, noting the various weapons hitched across his body. But the rest was hidden. Whether behind his domino mask, his suit, or his silence.

"It's rude to stare at a working artist" he grumbled, chin tilting up to show that his eyes were meeting yours.

"You've never stayed this long." you replied breathlessly. Squirming in your chair, knowing that you couldn't get any closer without him running off.

"Your presence isn't, unbearable, for what it's worth." his voice was so low but you could hear the sincerity in his voice. "Same to you." you whispered back, letting your tired eyes drift back to your notes which were pretty much done. It was an all nighter after all.

It felt like a few minutes but the billowing light from the rising sun told you it had been longer, and your head was severely drooping into your lap. "Y/n, you need sleep. Go to bed," his voice was warm but stern, enough to get you to lazily collect your papers and stand up with a yawn.

"Well! Thanks for hanging with me!" deliriously you held out your fist, Robin tilted his head to the side in confusion. You chuckled, "it's a fist bump dumbass." And to your surprise he closed the distance between the two of you, and slowly touched his knuckled to yours. His gloves were cold but you were focused on the fact that you were just inches from the boy wonder.

But a few seconds was all you got to realize how much taller he was than you before he melted back into the shadows. You stood stunned for a moment before stumbling back to your apartment, desperate for sleep.

~

"You look like hell kid" Officer Grayson greeted you with a questioning look as you waved him off of you. "Your fault for giving me hours of reading buddy." He grinned glancing down at the now filled notebook you'd brought to work. "You actually look dead kid, on lunch break we'll grab coffee," you rolled your eyes at his promise but knew you needed the caffeine.

Getting to know Officer Grayson, Dick, was surprisingly rewarding. He had years of experience and hundreds of stories that had you folded over from laughter. But there was something you were begging to learn more about, someone rather.

"Have you worked with Robin much?" your question broke the calm silence. Dick's eyes shone with some sort of pride, "I have, yeah. Good kid. Cold as hell but a damn good hero." and you nodded in reply, although cold wasn't exactly the way you'd describe Robin.

Dick's eyes lit up at something behind you, he shot up out of his cafe chair and said "look what the cat dragged! Glad to see you lil bro!" A loud enough exclamation that you turned around and locked eyes with a boy with jet black hair and piercing green eyes. The boy stood stunned at the door, starring at you and Dick before slowly approaching, eyes trained to yours before Dick pulled him into a hug. Immediately, he pushed himself out of Dick's embrace with a scowl, you couldn't help but grin at the reaction.

"Y/N meet Damian, Dames this is Y/N she's an intern at the office! Damian has classes over here so I figured we'd catch him during our break!" Dick babbled as he forcefully guided Damian into the seat next to him. Damian looked almost stunned, eyes flicking between you and his brother.

You broke Dick's rambling saying "Hi! You're a student too?" and he nodded slowly, glancing between you and Dick. "Studying what?" you tried to guide the conversation but he interrupted:

"You live in the area?"

"Nope, Gotham."

"Oh, me too." was all Damian muttered before his name was called, and he shot up, mumbling a "nice to meet you" and giving Dick another glare. Dick just grinned in response and the two of you soon headed back to the office.

~

"You had no right to do that!" Damian's roar was echoing in the cave that night. He'd just finished throwing almost everything on his person at Dick who was still uncontrollably laughing.

"C'mon Dames, were you just gonna visit your soulmate every once and a while on a rooftop for the rest of your life? Make a move lil bro. You're Bruce's kid you've got to have some game!" Dick teased back before a stray batarang was lobbed towards him.

"I've got it handled." Damian retorted angrily.

"Fine. fine. But blame Tim cuz he's the one who snitched on the rooftop hookups." Dick cooed before ducking out of the room to avoid further assault. Another screech filled the cave.

~

A few nights later, you were perched on the rooftop once again. This time you didn't have nearly enough work, but were hoping a certain distraction would stick around this time.

And he did.

"Hey" his voice was soft, and your head rose from your book to smile into the shadows.

"Hi! Whatcha got?" you noticed the silhouette was holding something.

"Come see." you could hear his chest rumbling. You felt like you were floating towards the thick railing of the rooftop.

And there he was again. Holding a sketchpad.

"You brought drawings!" you cooed, grinning as he inched closer, leather gloves flipping pages as you drank in the beautiful sketches, watercolours, and poems that filled the pages.

"What do you think?" he whispered, you swore warmth was vibrating off of him, just a few inches away from each other.

"They're beautiful" you quietly replied. He flipped another page, and it was a pencil sketch of you half asleep in your studies, on the rooftop. "From the other night!" you giggled, delicately tracing the sketch with your pinky. Robin drew a sharp breath, loud enough that your eyes were drawn up to his domino mask.

"I've got one more sketch to show you. But, I fear you won't like it." his head dropped slightly, his gloved hand toying with the bottom of the paper, as if debating whether or not to flip it.

"I'll be okay! Promise." you nudged his shoulder, holding up your pinky, a true promise, and a dangerous solution to the question making you dizzy standing next to him.

He shook his head, "look first, promise after" to which you nodded, dropping your hand and eyes to the paper.

As the page turned, you couldn't help but gasp. On the last page of the sketchbook, in the most intricate detail, were two hands. Pinky's locked.

"Take your glove off." you shot your gaze back to the hero.

"Wait." he took a step back.

You took one forward, reaching for the glove yourself.

Back again. "Y/N, wait." you froze at your name on his tongue.

"You and I both know what's under my glove, but I'm giving you an out. I've sat here for months thinking about doing this, wanting to do this. But, you deserve someone who doesn't throw their life away, who can be there for you, someone who isn't... isn't me" he gestured to his outfit, stocked with weapons.

"Who can be there for me? You've protected me more than anyone else in my life. Someone who deserves me? I'm not a trophy, I'm, I'm your soulmate."

"I know, but-" he began but you weren't finished:

"All I deserve, is someone who can love me. Can you do that?" you closed the distance, and he didn't back away.

"It's all I've ever done." he whispered. Delicately, you reached for his hand. He let you draw it from his side, holding desperately still as you peeled the glove from his left hand. And there, in the same pattern as yours, stood his mark.

"You promise?" you gave a small smile, holding up your pinky for the final time.

"Always." he closed the distance, locking your hands together as a warmth like you'd never felt spread through your hand, dancing up your arm, and bursting in your chest.

"Oh my god do you feel that?" you asked breathlessly, your right hand touching your chest.

He nodded, letting your hands drop as his right hand tilted your chin up, your eyes once again meeting a mask.

"I never thought I'd ever do this" his voice was soft, drinking in your closeness to him.

"I would've found you" you said with a grin, you had always had the sixth sense that Robin's visits to your study sessions were more than patrol.

He scoffed, "yeah my brother was gonna make sure of it."

"Your brother?" you dug deeper, fighting the itch to reach up for the mask he wore, your heart begging to see his eyes.

You felt him tug his pinky from yours, "I suppose a promise is a promise." he reached up for you, pulling the mask from his face as familiar green eyes met yours.

"Oh. My god." your jaw dropped, fitting the puzzle together.

"I guess the universe decided I was taking too long and put Richard Grayson on job. I must apologize for the coffee shop, I wasn't expecting to see my Gothamite soulmate seated across from my brother, in Bludhaven. " he sighed, eyes twinkling. You laughed in agreement.

"Quite the wingman" you mused.

Damian nodded, closing the distance as he said "don't ever tell him, but I'm thinking he was right all along" before pressing his lips to yours.

~

Weeks later you were far less sleep deprived, still loving your job in Bludhaven. Especially because a certain student was always waiting to pick you up for the ride home.

"Hi Dames!" you strolled up to your now boyfriend, pressing a kiss to his cheek while he locked your pinky in his, the two of you strolling towards the cafe that has become your shared favorite place. Settling down in a booth, you both fell into routine: sketching and studying while enjoying the other's presence.

A crazy few weeks, a huge change to your life, but a good one nonetheless. You had to hand it to-

"I knew you lovebirds would be here!" The bell on the cafe door rang, drawing you and Damian out of your focus. Damian rolled his eyes with a scoff and you gave Dick a wave.

Dick was stroll strutting around, "call me cupid the way I matched you two up!" he crooned.

Damian dryly replied, "Richard we are quite literally soulmates." but the oaf wasn't listening, too busy pretending to shoot you both with an invisible bow "cupid style".

You smiled to yourself, if only Dick knew how grateful you and Damian were to have each other... thank to him.

~~~

A/N: pure fluff for your timeline <3 hope you enjoyed!

[jobean12-blog]

Where You Belong

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader (pre or no!outbreak Joel-Friends to Lovers)

Word Count: 2,743

Summary: You and Joel have been friends for a long time and the tension has been building. It's hard to ignore and when he comes to your rescue it's all the push you need.

Author's Note: Just a little something because I love protective boys and love friends to lovers and Joel. Thank you so much for reading! Much love always!❤️❤️❤️ Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics Thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: sweet and fun fluff, some light tension, slightly sketchy boss no one likes, soft and protective Joel, kisses, friends to lovers

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

“Do you want me to come with you?”

You turn to Joel who’s splayed out on your couch, his arm tucked under his head and his tee shirt riding up just high enough that you can see a sliver of skin.

After staring for a beat too long you shake your head no and he sticks his bottom lip out while making a disgruntled sound.

“I mean you can, I want you to,” you back track, “but it’s a work thing and you’ll probably be bored.”

“Is your new boss goin’ to be there?” he asks with a raised brow.

“Yeah. Unfortunately, he’s the one who organized it. Claims he wants us to get to know him better.”

You roll your eyes before turning away and searching for the mugs in the cabinet above the stove. Spotting the ones you want you reach up, straining and standing on your tippy toes.

“I don’t like that guy,” Joel grumbles.

“You met him once…for like a minute,” you counter.

“That was enough for me to know,” he says.

“Ugh!” you mutter when you still can’t grasp the mugs.

Suddenly, you feel his warm body press against your back as his arm rises above your head and easily grabs one mug then the other.

“These?” he asks with a boyish smirk.

“Yeah,” you sigh and take them from his hands. “Thanks. What would I do without you?”

You turn and face him, still trapped against the stove when he smiles and says, “I have no idea.”

Pressing a palm to his chest you shove him away and head for the coffee maker. You don’t even ask if he wants a cup, knowing already that he definitely does and just how he likes it.

An hour later when the coffee’s all gone and you’re too comfortable to want to leave you check your phone anyway and sigh.

“Guess it’s time to go,” you say but instead stretch out along the couch and stuff your feet under Joel’s arm.

“You look ready to go,” he chuckles.

Your eyes close but you can’t hide your smile and when he starts tickling your feet you instantly come alive and start kicking at him.

“FINE! I’m going. If you wanted to get rid of me that badly you could have just said so,” you tease.

“I’m at your house babe,” he replies and does nothing to hide his grin.

“Oh. Yeah. Well…” and your words trail off as you stomp into your bedroom to change.

When you emerge from your room, dressed and ready, you’re looking through your bag for your phone and you don’t notice Joel resting along the wall.

“Wow,” he says, louder than intended.

You startle and look up.

“What?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly.

He clears his throat and waves his hand dismissively before grabbing his keys.

“Maybe I should come with you,” he says, more to himself than you as he tries to keep his eyes glued to your face and not traveling down the rest of your body.

“You’ll hate every minute of it” you tease.

Before you reach your door he’s there and holding it open for you and when you walk toward your car he follows, opening the driver’s side door when you click the lock.

“Ok, well, have fun,” he says.

“Thanks. I’ll try.”

“Call if you need me.”

“I will,” you say quietly.

He presses his fingers under your chin and tilts your head up until you’re looking directly into his eyes.

“Promise?” he whispers.

“I promise,” you tell him.

His gaze softens and wanders over your face, then he presses a delicate kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You plop down into the seat of the car and wait for him to shut the door. He backs away and watches you pull out of the driveway before heading to his pick-up truck.

“So where is everyone else?” you ask as you sit at the bar and sip your drink.

“Not here yet I guess,” your boss shrugs.

You shift and let your eyes sweep the bar space, silently willing someone else from work to walk in. Your new boss was hired about six months ago. He’s not much older than you and at first seemed nice enough but the more time you’ve spent in his presence the more you notice his lingering glances and unwanted touches.

Thankfully, it’s never gone far enough where you’ve had a problem but you’ve spoken to Joel about it and of course he wants to kick his ass.

Your boss, Scott, leans in closer. Too close and you try to remain unbothered, pulling back only slightly and holding your smile.

“So, tell me more about yourself. I know you’ve been at the company for over a year but since I’ve only been here half that time I’d like to get to know you better,” he croons.

“Umm,” you start as an uncomfortable feeling creeps along the back of your neck. “Well, I uh…love this place. The food is great. You made a good pick.”

He smiles triumphantly at your praise. “Great! Let’s get some dinner then!”

Before you can protest he signals the bartender.

“What’s your suggestion,” Scott asks.

The bartender’s eyes slide to you, a question hanging silently in his gaze, and you smile before saying, “the burgers are really good.”  

“Sounds great,” Scott smiles. “Make it two burgers.”

The bartender nods and walks back toward the kitchen.

“Shouldn’t we wait for the others to show up?” you ask.

“They can order something if they come.”  

“If…?” you question, but your next thought is interrupted when he lays a hand on your knee.

Your urge to pull away overrides everything else and you swivel on the stool, placing your drink down on the bar and standing.

“I’m just going to use the restroom before the food comes,” you explain, keeping a strained smile plastered to your face.

Scott smiles back and as you walk away from the bar you can feel his eyes on you the whole time.

When you reach the bathroom you rush inside the door and lock it, quickly grabbing your phone.

“Hey babe,” Joel answers after the first ring, “missed me that much already?”

“Can you come get me?” you ask in a hushed whisper.

“Are you ok?” he asks, his voice suddenly hard and alert.

“I’m fine…I just need you to come and get me…pretend I need to come home or something. I don’t know. Just make it work.”

“Are you sure you’re ok?” he asks again and you can hear his keys jangling.

“Yeah, just hurry. My boss is the only one here and he’s being sketchy.”

“Where are you now?”

“In the bathroom.”

“Just stay there. I’ already in the truck.”

“I can’t Joel. I have to go back out. I can’t make this look too weird.”

“I knew I didn’t like this guy. He’s an asshole. I should knock him out flat when I get there.”

“Joel,” you plead.

“Ok sweetheart,” he relents with a softened tone. “I’m already on my way.”

“Ok. I’ll be at the bar.”

You hang up and wash your hands then take a deep breath.

As you walk back to the bar you see Scott searching for you, his smile widening when he spots you approaching.

“There you are,” he says as you sit. “I ordered you another drink.”

“Oh,” you answer, looking at your first drink that’s still half full. “Thanks.”

You make small talk, trying to keep the conversation neutral and focused on easy topics like movies and music. He orders his third drink before the food arrives and you can tell he’s starting to get a little drunk.

The bartender shows up with your food orders and when you don’t take a bite your boss frowns.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

You get the impression he’s waiting for you to take a bite before he does so you pop a fry into your mouth.

“These are really good,” you mumble through the mouthful.

He looks pleased and takes a bite of his burger.

“So is the burger,” he says after swallowing. “Good idea.”

Your eyes slide to the door of the bar when you hear it open but it’s not Joel and your shoulders deflate.

“Everything ok?” Scott asks.

“Oh yeah, yeah,” you answer quickly and drag your eyes from the door.

As you’re slowly sipping your water you see Scott’s fork pause halfway to his mouth. His eyes are trained on something over your shoulder, by the door, and you know Joel has arrived.

You place your drink down and turn. He’s standing just a few feet away, covetous dark eyes focused on you. A familiar awareness races along your skin, heating it but at the same time making you shiver with anticipation.

He starts to move toward you with purposeful steps, his jaw set in determination and his fists clenched at his sides.

Without removing his gaze from you he slowly slides his hand across your shoulders and down your arm, taking your hand in his and lifting it to his lips. He kisses your palm and then hauls you off the stool into his arms.

You visibly relax and your eyes go bright with relief as he looks you over.

“Hey,” he says softly. “I’m here.”

You press yourself against his chest and grab a fistful of his shirt.

“Hey yourself.”

Scott clears his throat and it snaps you out of your cocoon of comfort. Reluctantly you put some space between you and Joel and open your mouth to introduce him.

He beats you to it.

“Joel,” he says, holding out his hand. “Her boyfriend.”

Scott looks surprised at first and then skeptical as he reaches his hand out. You can tell Joel shakes it with a death grip and you try to suppress a giggle.

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” Scott says.

“Well, she definitely is” Joel answers with a hard grind of his jaw.

“That’s too bad for me,” Scott says.

Joel’s arm tightens around your waist and you can hear his growl of disapproval. Scott seems oblivious to his inappropriateness and you want to punch him yourself.

Instead, you ask Joel, “so what’s going on? Is everything ok at home?” You signal as you best you can with your eyes that he better come up with a good excuse as to why he showed up at the bar.

“Right,” Joel says. “I don’t mean to disturb your work get together,” and he says that with a wry smile and a sarcastic tone, “but I need you to come home.”

“We haven’t finished eating,” Scott chimes in.

“We’ll get it wrapped,” Joel replies cooly.

You give his side a little squeeze, hoping to prompt him to elaborate.

“The dog threw up all over the floor. Think she ate something funny. I figured you would want to come home and check on her.”

He says it all in a rush of words, looking worried.

“The dog!” you exclaim. “Oh poor thing.”

Your boss looks between the two of you. “I didn’t know you had a dog either,” he says.

“Well, you mentioned you wanted to get to know me better,” you say, hoping you sound sweet enough.

“So this is my boyfriend Joel and we live together with our dog…Macaroni.”

You can feel Joel’s body shake with his restrained laughter.

“That’s an interesting name…” Scott muses.

“She’s a light beige color and wiggles a lot,” Joel adds. “It fits.”

You laugh and it’s not forced, the whole made up story sounding more and more like a life you could easily and happily live.

When you spot the bartender you ask for a to go container and pack up your barely eaten food. Joel takes out his wallet and drops some cash on the bar.

“I’m sorry I have to run off like this,” you say, feigning disappointment.

“It’s ok,” Scott answers. “It was nice to hang out. Even for a little while. See you Monday.”

Joel nods his goodbye without another word and slides his large hand to the small of your back, directing you toward the door.

“I want turn around and wipe that smile off his face with my fist,” Joel whispers as he leans down close to your ear.

You giggle and walk through the door he holds open for you, taking a deep inhale of the damp night air.

“That was some story you threw together,” you say with a laugh.

“Yeah, well, it worked right?! Now let’s get home and check on Macaroni.”

He takes your hand and tugs you toward his pick-up truck.

“But my car,” you say as you pass it by.

“I’m taking you home,” he answers.

“But…”

You reach his truck and he spins you around, pinning you against the door.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Please.”

You blink at him. “Ok.”

“Are you sure nothin’ happened?” he asks for the millionth time.

“I am. He just makes me uncomfortable and I didn’t want to be there anymore.”

“And you called me,” he says, stepping closer and crowding you against his truck.

At the feel of his body pressed along yours you suck in a breath of air.

“You told me to call…” you start in a whisper. “And you’re the only one I want to call anyway.”  

The wind picks up, whipping around and mussing his hair, the dark curls falling over his forehead. You lift your hand to brush them away and the first raindrop falls, cold and heavy.

“Shit,” Joel mutters when he feels several more drops hit his shoulders.

The sky opens up and the air is filled with the sound of the raindrops pelting the truck. The two of you are quickly getting soaked and his shirt starts to stick to his skin, highlighting every dip and curve of muscle. His dark lashes are thick and damp and his hair hangs loosely around his face, with just a curl at the ends.

His gaze sweeps down your body as your dress does the same, clinging to your wet skin and revealing the lace of your bra.

When his eyes are on yours again they’re filled with unbridled heat and you react by pressing yourself closer and tracing the broad width of his shoulders, your arms circling around his neck and your fingers delving into his hair.

Your lips hover just an inch apart and a low moan slips out of you, the sound making him release a sharp breath.

“Joel,” you whisper, barely audible over the rain.

He presses his palm to your cheek, his thumb brushing along your skin and wiping away a drop of rain before he cradles your face and drags your lips to his.

Despite the coolness of the rain his touch is warm, the feeling spreading along your skin as you become soft and pliable in his arms.

You cling to him, matching his heaving breathing when he pulls away. He runs his calloused thumb across your bottom lip, groaning when your breath hitches and your eyes flutter closed.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his expression almost pained.

You lick your lips, a clear invite for more, and he almost loses his last thread of sanity.

“Fuck,” he breathes out as his gaze dips to your mouth again, studying your lips like he wants to devour them.

The rain has completely soaked through your clothes but you could care less and when his lips find yours again you can feel the growl that moves through his throat. It sends you over the edge and you slide your hands down his chest, grasping at the wet material until you can slip your fingers under and feel his skin, keeping him impossibly close.

When you pull back, only to catch your breath, you follow the trail of a drop of rain as it runs down his temple and across his cheek, collecting on his upper lip. You gently suck it off, moaning when his hands grip your ass and he rocks his hips.

His hand smooths along the curve of your spine and his lips fall to your neck with a soft kiss.

He gathers you against him, running his nose along your throat until his warm breath fans your lips and his eyes are focused on yours.

“You’re so beautiful it hurts,” he whispers. “Let me take you home. Let me make you mine.”

@lizette50 @hiddles-rose @lorilane33 @kmc1989

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

Losing My Mind over Veilguard 8/??

See, I waited a perfectly reasonable amount of time before coming in swinging again but I actually cannot get over how dead the game is. Literally. (Me ranting about an early game quest in Minrathous incoming)

Spoilers below the break

So. The first time you go to dock town? And Neve says in one of seventy different ways "no you don't have to come with me, this is my home not yours, I can handle this myself if you want to stay back" ?(but the showing not telling argument is for another day so I'll refocus and conserve energy for another day). Anyways.

This quest. The one where you go into the chantry in Minrathous and surprise!

Dead bodies absolutely EVERYWHERE.

I took a screenshot and then lost it, but it's worth mentioning that in my game, Neve's line of dialogue above about tracking down family and friends of the deceased didn't even trigger. If it had, however, I still would have lost my mind.

Why, you might ask?

Because after counting, losing count because I was counting so high, and then recounting about seven thousand times I can confidently tell you that plus or minus two to three more corpses, there are EIGHTY SIX dead bodies in the CHANTRY. The holy center of an incredibly popular religion! And even if it weren't that! It is a massive grounds with EIGHTY SIX DEAD PEOPLE who were KILLED HORRIFICALLY BY THE VENATORI AND DEMONS. How are you going to have the time to track down next of kin for that many people? And WHY are we acting like this is NORMAL?!

Dock Town is played very one-note already as a neighborhood where sketchy things happen and people go missing and it's best to just keep your head down if you're not in a position to do something about it.

But oh my sweet baby Maker come onnnnnnn.

You aren't going to recover from this if you're this branch of the Chantry. Presumably, you've just taken a massive hit across all levels of your religious hierarchy and that takes time and training to fill. And dock town is poor as hell, so where are you going to get the funding to fix this sudden staffing issue?

How does this affect (per @housederiva's iconic posts) Viper? Ya know, the guy we have found out through datamining is literally the Black Divine?? All we see (in the scenario where Treviso is saved) is him sadly sitting outside the chantry going "we remember the fallen" and that's presumably for the people lost when the dragon attacked, with nothing spared for the (again, I can't not lose my mind over this) eighty six dead people who were devoted to the same cause he is!

A whole smattering of holy women have just been yeeted off the mortal coil and it means absolutely nothing to your immediate party save for some of the emptiest lines ever, the city as a whole, or in the larger lore of the game. At all.

There are so many moments like this that had me rapidly oscilating between screaming at my ceiling and looking exactly like this:

And this isn't even something they can pass off as being too tied to the source material and wanting to start "fresh". This is just lazy, empty, disappointing storytelling and it's why I lose my mind a little more every time I see an ardent defender of the game tell an older fan to "get over it" or "let go of your expectations."

Because having something like (so sorry) EIGHTY SIX DEATHS go down with actually NO ripples throughout the rest of the game coming from ANY studio, let alone one that used to kill this kind of thing, is crazy to me. And I will die on that hill, even if it means Neve just kind of skips over my body on her way to find my next of kin only to never spare me another thought again.

[gi4hao]

slumped on one of your bar chairs, hoshi simply cannot stop complaining about how red his hand looks. but he’s the only one to blame, you’d never have slapped his wrist so many times if he’d just stop dipping his finger in the cookie dough.

“it’s not good for your stomach! also these are for joshua” you emphasize for the hundredth time as you catch him eyeing the sweet dough from the corner of his eyes.

“yeah but what about soonyoung?” he whines, getting off of his chair as you open the oven to put your second batch in. he slowly makes his way to you, his lips spread in a slight pout.

you chuckle, trying your best to ignore him and get back to your cooking. but he’s not letting you go that easily, keeping you close to him with his hands on your back.

“just let me have one and then i’m out of here, i promise!”

your lips pursed, you feign a deep consideration of his offer… which you obviously end up declining. and as if to punctuate your words, you turn around - still held close to him - and grab a cookie to take a bite.

“hey!” he exclaims, his hands unintentionally tickling your sides.

your mouth still half full, you burst out laughing as you try tu push him away; but you already know there’s no use. instead, you just let him grab your hand and open his mouth to put the rest of the coveted cookie in his mouth.

the delighted expression on his face lets you know everything you need to know about how it tastes. he’s got a few crumbs stuck to his lips, and you’re pretty sure you have some too.

“okay you had one, so now it’s time to leave remember?” you tease him, wiping the corner of his mouth with your finger.

with a frown, he points to his ears: “can’t hear you, too busy chewing” before slightly bending down to place a kiss on your lips.

you were expecting a quick kiss, the kind he gives you when he comes back home after a particularly tiring day, or before you leave the car after he’s dropped you off somewhere. but that kiss lingers, making you smile against his (particularly sweet) mouth. your left hand is resting on his waist, but the right one is still brushing against his shoulder.

but as your fingers start tracing their way down his arm, you sense something sketchy. and indeed, you end up feeling his hand digging inside the cookie box on the counter.

“GET. OUT!” you scold him, suddenly breaking the kiss as you point to the kitchen door “no more cookies for you until you learn how to behave yourself!”

“i was just joking!” he tries to defend himself, reluctantly heading for the door. “guess i’m just gonna go lie down and reflect on why you hate me so much…”

you scoff in front of such drama as you roll up your sleeves to keep the baking going, watching him exit the room defeatedly. but you know your boyfriend’s never sulky for long, especially not with you.

and just as you planned, it doesn’t take more than a few seconds for him to reappear in the doorframe:

”i’m gonna go buy dinner while you finish, text me what you want” he whispers like it’s a top secret information before blowing you a loud kiss, “love you!”

and he disappears again, leaving a smile on your lips as you put a handful of cookies in a smaller box and put it to the side.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Chapter 1: From Tradegy to Fantasy - Awakening in Another World

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Warnings: reader's death, language

Genre: Isekai, Romance, Fantasy

Synopsis: Your life takes a tragic turn as you perish in a car crash, only to awaken in a whimsical world of fantasy with none other than Jujustu Kaisen characters as its main protagonists. But as if that wasn't enough, you're about to marry the prince version of Gojo Satoru. How will you navigate through this world of history and fantasy? Does your life take the same sudden twist of fate as that of your favorite characters?

Next Chapter ->

„Are you reading those strange stuff again…What was it called? Manga?”

“I’m only watching the anime because of that hot blindfolded guy.”

You don’t even try to look up from your phone, currently reading the newest publication of the Jujutsu Kaisen manga over some sketchy site online. That hot blindfolded guy…You’ll never understand why some girls are only watching Jujutsu Kaisen because of him, Gojo Satoru. This world has so much more to offer, so much more than this overpowered character not even Gege himself likes.

“It’s not exactly reading”, you mutter, so sunken into the drawn fight in front of your eyes that you simply can’t look away.

“(y/n), come back to reality. We have some classes to attend.”

Out of instinct, you roll your eyes. You’ll probably have to listen to that one professor who always talks about himself and simply reads through his presentation for three hours straight, not even allowed to look at your phone and do something useful instead. Urgh, being an uni student sucks.

“Give me a minute, I’m just finishing this chapter.”

When your friends start walking, you follow them without paying attention. This is it, the fight you’ve been waiting for. Maybe this time someone is able to defeat Sukuna, maybe this will be the day you’ve been waiting for. Fuck plot armour, fuck all the horrible things that happened last, all the beloved characters that had to die. Damn, you still miss Geto to this day. If they would have noticed sooner, he might be still alive-

“(Y/N), WATCH OUT!”

You always wondered about how death must feel like. Getting consumed by darkness, getting dragged into sheer empty space. Does it hurt? Will you die right on the spot and feel absolutely nothing? What about that myth about reminiscing your own life shortly before your death?

The second you looked into those blinding car lights, you knew exactly that you are next, that there is no way you’ll survive the hit that will sweep you off your feet, that throws your body into the air like a plastic bag.

How pathetic to die like this. Getting hit by a car while being glued to the sketches of fictional characters on your phone. What will your parents say, your family, your friends? You don’t want to die like this, but still…

You allow your eyes to rest against your harsh light, your phone dropping to the phone. You can’t escape the hit. Maybe, just maybe, you will wake up in a better world.

If stuff like that even exists.

When you open your eyes again, you brace yourself for an immense wave of pain hunting down your body, for getting greeted by those way too harsh hospital lights. But instead, your eyes open with ease. Instead, you get greeted by the dim light of a golden chandelier in and a well-painted ceiling in all different shades of purple.

“Where on earth…Am I?”, you mutter to yourself.

The second you look down on you, your heart drops to the floor. You aren’t wearing a pair of leggings and an oversized tee like you always do. No, you are covered in the softest white fabric you ever felt from head to toe, an elegant lavendel ribbon tied around your waist. And that delicate jewellery...

Immediately, you yank out of bed and almost trip over the hem of the white dress, coming to a stand in front of a mirror.

This isn’t possible. No, this has to be a feverish dream. Maybe they put you into coma after…

You swallow hard, reality hitting you with full force. You died. As soon as the car hit you, you were dead right on the spot and you knew it instantly. But why does everything feel so damn real? Frantically, your hands wander around the sweaty face that looks back at you in sheer horror through the mirror, stare at the lavendel eyes that don’t look like yours at all. But those facial features, the way your hair falls.

Is it…you?

A violent scream escapes your lips before you’re able to stop it, guts turning so uncomfortably that you feel like puking every minute. This can’t be true. This can’t be your reality now…Just before your feet give in, you grab the cool golden frame of the mirror, allow your spinning head to rest for a second.

“Lady Zenin, are you alright!?”

That distant voice, who is it talking to? Lady Zenin…Like Toji, Mai and Maki Zenin? Maybe you didn’t die but got kidnapped into a pervert cosplay party. Slowly, you turn around, face sticky in cold sweat.

But the man standing in front of you doesn’t look like a creep at all. No, he’s a truly elegant man. Maybe in his 50s, but it is clear that he’s taking care of himself. His eyes look at you worried, his gloved hands stretched out in order to help if you fall.

“Where…Where am I?”, you press out.

This isn’t your hometown. Fuck, this isn’t even your home country, not even your timeline. The stuff in this room looks so old and somehow magical, let alone that dress you’re wearing.

“I don’t understand, Lady Zenin. You are in your room”, the man replies visibly worried.

“What country?”, you probe.

“My lady, we are still in Avaloria…Are you feeling unwell? Shall I call the doctor-“

“In Avaloria. And I’m Lady Zenin…”, you mumble to yourself.

This doesn’t make any sense. You didn’t pay that much attention to geography, but you know for a fact that Avaloria isn’t a real country and that your last name definitely isn’t Zenin. But oh that last name is definitely familiar to you, so familiar that it’s frightening. Suddenly a shiver runs down your spine, dark foreshadowing letting your fingertips shake.

“What is my father’s name?”

You don’t want this answer. No, all you want to do is waking up from this dream, from this nightmare. You aren’t a lady, you aren’t a Zenin. You are nothing but plain (y/n) who adores anime and manga a little too much and still goes to university. You are nothing but a normal young woman.

“Your lordship…Your lordship is called Naobito Zenin, my Lady”, he stutters.

“And my brother’s name is Naoya, huh?”, you huff out.

This has to be a bad joke, right? What is this man, a stand-up comedian, maybe? You cross your arms in front of your chest, force your body to stop shaking. You need to put this madness to an end right now.

“Yes, exactly my Lady!”, the man in front of you literally cries out in relief while the ground is pulled underneath your feet.

No, nothing about this is right. These men, their names…They are nothing but an invention by Gege Akutami, nothing but drawn figures in a book adapted into an anime. They are nothing but fantasy, nothing but fiction.

“B-But…”

Your voice fails as your mind can’t process anymore. Is it really possible that…You were reincarnated into a world like this?

“Are you causing a scene again, sister?”

You don’t recognize the voice speaking behind you, but something inside you tells you that if you turn around, you will be greeted by…

Cold, sharp brown eyes.

Your very own orbs widen in sheer horror. Those dark green roots, the annoyed look on his face, his tall muscular frame. He looks exactly like the manga made him appear. But instead of wearing a kimono, he is dressed in a black uniform with golden and purple details.

“You’re looking like a fucking prince…”, you breathe out.

“Are you trying to upset me, (y/n)?”

“Master Naoya, the lady doesn’t appear like herself today. Shall I call the doctor?”, the older man speaks with low voice.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

He grabs your chin before you’re able to stop him, his cold glare hitting you with full force.

Naoya just touched you. Fucking Naoya Zenin is standing in front of your very own self, his fingers wrapped around your chin, staring at you so intensely that you feel like fainting any given minute.

“Don’t you dare to mess today’s meeting up because of your weird acting. It took father and I months to arrange a meeting with that lousy prince. Let’s hope that he finds liking in you or else I’ll marry you below your status”, he hisses into your face.

“You can’t just arrange my wedding. Who the hell do you think you are?”, you spit into his face out of instinct.

“All the attention must have gone to your head, (y/n). Who do I think I am? I am your big brother, father’s right hand. And you are nothing but a woman. Your only worth is to marry into a wealthy and influential family. I will never understand why the prince of our country found a liking in you. Apart from a pretty face, you have nothing to offer.”

He yanks your chin away roughly, forces you to take a few steps back and almost sends you onto the floor with the sheer force of his fingertips. Your body quivers in anger, hands balled into fists so tight that your knuckles stand out white.

“I don’t need a prince, I know my own worth you fool!”, you demand.

“Who taught you to talk like this? You are a lady, (y/n). Finally start to act like one or I will tell father about your behaviour. Maybe a venesection will cause your mouth to finally shut, what do you think?”

“A vene-what?”

“Urgh, just be quiet and get yourself ready. You will meet the prince as soon as you are presentable. And don’t you dare to disappoint us”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

And then he’s gone in the wind while you stand in the middle of the room, still unable to catch your shaky breath. Who the hell does this guy think he his? Where exactly are you, what world is this? Your head begins to spin so violently that you fear to lose your balance, your whole life crashing down on you like a house of cards.

This isn’t 2024 on mother earth anymore. This…this is something completely different. And that man who introduced himself as your brother made it all too clear that there’s no way you’ll survive here if you don’t play along. Maybe it’s like in that anime you just watched, the one with the girl names Raeliana. If that’s the case…

“Please call in my maids. I wish to be dressed”, you speak out monotone.

“Of course, Lady (y/n).”

You will play along. But there is no way in hell you’ll let him force you into a marriage with some strange prince you don’t even know. Your eyes are fixated on themselves, the new lavender color gleaming back at you being so unknown as well as all those women who scurry around you.

Who is this prince, anyway? If you’re really in some strange jujutsu kaisen verse, it must be another character. Maybe Geto…Oh, that would be nice. But what if it’s Sukuna? You shake your head, haunt away your stinging imagination. No, you won’t marry the king of curses. Actually, there aren’t many men you’d like as your husband.

How is this supposed to turn out good?

-at the salon-

You feel like fainting any given minute, heart pounding so roughly against your well-dressed ribcage that every beat sends a shiver down your spine. If the man standing in front of you isn’t called Geto or Nanami, you don’t want him. And apart from that…Aren’t you too young to marry anyway? Why does your family want to get rid of you so badly?

“It is so nice to finally meet you in person, Lady (y/n).”

Your heart drops to the floor.

That voice.

Fuck. It’s no doubt that it’s him.

“Let me introduce myself properly: I’m Prince Satoru, the future king of Avaloria.”

The second your brother steps aside, you get greeted by bright blue eyes and a cheeky grin.

This is Gojo Satoru, that “hot guy with the blindfold”, one of the last men you’d like to marry even if he’s dressed in a fine suit with red and blue details. Out of instinct, you cross your arms in front of your chest, narrow eyes staring him into the ground. You will never understand the hype behind his smile and eyes when it’s all too clear that he’s a player, a womanizer. A man like Gojo Satoru isn’t the husband you were imagining, not the man you were looking for since you were a child.

“I’m not marrying that man”, you announce into the silence of the room.

Soo, this was the very first chapter of my new series and it makes me beyond excited! So please, if you enjoyed it, it would make me beyond happy if you like/comment/reblog that work of mine and let me know what you think. Thank you guys so much for your constant support, it means the world 🤍

Tags: @m0k0k0 @lees-chaotic-brain @sanicsmut @risuola @fire-loving-siren @sunshine7queen @gatitam @kentocalls

[babeyun]

falling alone ✩ l.hs [teaser two]

✩ series m.list | taglist form ✩ synopsis: cold cases were heeseung’s specialty, and he cracked every single one. cold hearts were your specialty, and you have yet to make a single chip in your husband’s. ✩ genre: established relationship au | hurt-comfort ✩ pairing: lieutenant!lhs x housewife!reader ✩ word count: 1.4k | [full fic: tbd] ✩ rating: 18+. minors dni. ✩ warnings: a little more pining between husband!hee & wife!reader, a bit of outsider help. nothing explicit ✩ author's note: hello everyone! i just wanted to let you all know that i am trying my best to get this fic out before the end of the year (and if i don't, i do go on winter break from uni in early december! so we can expect a few fics in that time.) this being said, i will add a taglist link here as well as the series masterlist because i cannot for the life of me keep up with urls at the moment. the people tagged below have already been added to said taglist, but if you wanna jump on and don't see yourself tagged, please fill out the form linked above! thanks!

Heeseung knows that Dr. Bahng told him to leave work at work. However, Dr. Bahng said nothing about bringing home to work. He said nothing about thinking about you at work, or missing you, or daydreaming about you instead of analyzing the reports that a pair of rookies messed up. He also said nothing about reading articles by some sketchy romance columnist on how to keep your relationship alive, which is exactly what Heeseung was scrolling through right now. 

There are things in a relationship that must always be shared in order to avoid, or resolve conflict. How the other person is making you feel, how you are making them feel, and how to tackle both negative checklists properly. It is key to always remember that it must be you and your partner against the problem, not you and your partner against each other.

You make Heeseung feel…alive. You make him feel loved, cherished, and even at some bizarre times, worshiped. You make him appreciate waking up at the ass crack of dawn, your sleeping face relaxed as he peppers kisses across your warm skin – something he's thankful never manages to wake you up, but it adds to all the adoration he holds in his heart for you.

How does he make you feel? Dejected, neglected, rejected. Pushed aside for the true love of his life – work. You never bring it up unless he asks. You never brought it up until last July, when he was slumped in his office chair after drinking half a bottle of sherry whiskey, listening to music and thinking about yet another dead end that deterred him from finding Soyoung. You had approached him with a gentle gaze, a soft touch to his shoulder and asking about taking a shower together. You never questioned him, you never pressured him, you never tried to make him something you assumed he just wasn't – an attentive, doting husband.

And he remembers how he asked you, too. He remembers spinning around in his chair, asking you if he was everything you'd ever wanted. Asking you if he was living up to your expectations, as a husband, as a life partner, as a friend, even.

And he remembers the way you sighed carefully before perching on his desk. "You're everything I've ever wanted, and I'm sure you'll continue to grow and be even more deserving of the love I hold for you." You had smiled, your hand coming to rest on his cheek. "Nothing we can't work through, you know? If I was given a choice in another life, another world – I'd still choose you."

He will never forget it, and he can still feel the warmth of your lips against his as you led him to the bathroom. He can still feel the ache of your love on his skin from the way you held him under the running water, quietly basking in his presence as the mint of your shampoo filled his nose. Nothing is as special to him as you are. 

There are things that should routinely be shared in order to maintain a homeostasis of the calendar. Asking how their day was, if you have any ideas for dinner tonight, or if you'd like to do something this weekend to celebrate the mundane. It shouldn't be difficult to establish a routine with your partner, if you are in tune with them. A kiss goodbye in the morning, a warm embrace in the evenings. A shared meal, a shared bath, a shared bed. 

Heeseung can't remember the last time he fully checked in with you – you always have something to do. You always attempt new creative projects, and his fingers toy with the fabric of his slacks as he remembers that you hand stitched them. He thinks about how you waited for him all night yesterday, and the disappointment you must have felt when he arrived late. He thinks about how he just doesn't make time to tackle the problem that you two are constantly glossing over by being intimate – he knows you don't feel loved. 

He didn't ask you about your day yesterday, or the day before, or last week. He didn't ask you if you were sewing anything new, learning any new pieces on the piano collecting dust in the living room. He hasn't asked about your mother, but at least he knows you don't like to talk about her. 

Heeseung hasn't asked you a single thing about yourself, or your life, and he doesn't know how long it's been. Even last night, your eyes were focused entirely on him – the way his lips twitched when you said you liked the wine he chose, the way he pulled your leg over his in the booth you were sharing. You asked him about work, and he just shook his head as he pointed out the new menu items. 

You love him so selflessly.

Something that works for my partner and I is parallel play. We aren't necessarily doing something together, but we are present in the same room and doing our own thing. Knowing that he is there, and that if I need him, I can reach for him, adds a comfort to our relationship. Aside from this, we also come together every two weeks and address any issues we may be experiencing – both in our relationship and our individual lives. We resolve the issues about us together, and advise the other on our personal issues. Balance!

You do this a lot. If Heeseung is home, you'll wander to wherever he is and sit down where you can, and quietly go about your business. Sometimes it's a new cross-stitch, sometimes it's just putting a headphone in and listening to music. Sometimes you're giving yourself a pedicure, sometimes you're just sitting there staring at his corkboard of paraphernalia while matching your breathing to his. It was subtle, something you thought he'd never notice.

He sighs, exiting out of the tab before grabbing his coat off the back of his chair. Tugging it on, he uses one hand to log out of his computer when he hears three knocks on the door. A lightness of the rapping knuckles similar to yours…and your smiling face appears as you crack open the door. "Surprise?" He hates that he can't bite back his smile, a few of his fellow officers wide-eyed at his expression. He nods silently, and you extend your hand for him when you hear his coworkers whispering about you. With a dejected look, you tuck your hand back into the pocket of your jeans, "Guess we don't want them gossiping, right?" "Right." He mumbles, his own hand twitching around the doorknob as he pulls it shut behind him. He wants to reach for you, embrace the warmth you bring, show you off to the people he often calls his friends. Sunghoon catches his eye, a quizzical look on his face before shaking his head. 

Heeseung reaches for you, but you've already made your way towards the door. Your smile has lessened as you open the door, holding it for him. "How was work?" You ask as he joins you in the cool air, and he wastes no time wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you in close, his nose buried in your hair. You hesitate to wrap your arms around him, instead leaning back to try and meet his eyes. "Hee?" "Don't ask me about work." He mutters, before pressing his lips to yours softly. You let out a noise of surprise, but you can't melt into his touch before he pulls away. "I hate talking about work, let's talk about you. Over lunch." He takes your hand in his, gently pulling you to his side as he makes his way to the car. He doesn't see yours in the parking lot, so he only assumes you got a rideshare before you clear your throat. "Are you okay?" The words are slightly jumbled as he leads you to the passenger side, opening the door for you, helping you step in. "Hm? Why do you ask?"

"Well…you're actually out of the office. And you want to go to lunch…and you don't want to talk about work?" Your voice is meek, and it makes his chest ache as he reaches to buckle your seatbelt in for you. "I just want to spend time with you. Shall we?" His smile is a little forced, until he sees the soft gloss of embarrassment over your eyes. "Okay."

BABEYUN © 2024. no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

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