#I hope you’ve been able to take care of yourself!!

[solxamber]

Desperate Confessions with: Riddle Rosehearts , Leona Kingscholar

Riddle Rosehearts

It’s almost dark when you finally step out of the library. The entire campus is steeped in the quiet warmth of the setting sun, casting long shadows and filling the air with a golden glow. You spot Riddle just a few paces away, standing by the ivy-laden wall, seemingly waiting for you. His usual composure is absent, replaced by an odd stillness in his posture, a tension that you can feel even from here.

"Riddle?" you ask, concern coloring your voice as you approach him. He turns, and for a moment, he doesn’t seem like himself. His face is flushed, his gaze intense, almost… desperate.

“You’re here,” he says quietly, almost in relief, though the softness of his words belies a turmoil simmering beneath. "I didn’t expect you to come out this late."

You tilt your head, trying to read the unspoken thoughts in his expression, but he doesn’t give you a chance. “I… need to tell you something.” His voice is tight, as though he’s struggling against himself to form the words. His hands are clenched at his sides, and he looks as if he’s trying to steady his breathing. “It’s—it’s been too much lately, and I don’t think I can keep pretending I’m…unaffected by you."

For a moment, he closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they hold a vulnerability you’ve rarely seen. "You’ve haunted my thoughts, day and night. Every time I see you, I—I’m left wondering if I’ll be able to speak without… without feeling like my heart will burst. I feel like I’m losing control of myself whenever you’re near.”

His cheeks flush deeper, but he doesn’t look away. "I’m embarrassed by it. This—this lack of control.” His voice breaks, just a bit, and you can hear the self-criticism beneath his words. “I’ve spent my whole life restraining myself, and then you—” He takes a shaky breath. “You come into my life, and suddenly… I can’t.”

Your chest tightens at the rawness of his confession, at the deep-seated need he’s barely holding back. Before you can stop yourself, you close the gap between you, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him close.

Riddle’s breath catches, but he doesn’t pull away. His eyes are wide, a hint of disbelief mingling with hope as he gazes at you, unspoken words trembling on his lips. And in that moment, you realize that there’s no need for more words.

You surge forward, capturing his lips in a fierce, unrestrained kiss. It’s hard, almost desperate, and every ounce of feeling he’s kept bottled up seems to crash over both of you at once. Riddle’s arms wrap around you, and he clings to you as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

He kisses you back with the same intensity, almost a little shyly at first, but it quickly deepens into something far more passionate. His hand slips up to cup the side of your face, and you can feel his fingers tremble ever so slightly as he pulls you closer, kissing you like he’s wanted to for far too long.

When you finally part, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting together as you catch your breath. Riddle’s eyes are shining, his lips swollen from the kiss, his face flushed.

He looks at you with a kind of wonder, like he’s still not entirely certain this is real, and then, almost shyly, he whispers, “I didn’t… I didn’t know it could feel like this.” His voice is soft, reverent, as if he’s savoring each word, the remnants of his vulnerability lingering.

Leona Kingscholar

It sneaks up on Leona, this feeling he doesn't know what to name. At first, he thinks it's just irritation—that persistent gnawing that comes with your endless presence. You’re always around, talking, laughing, pulling him into things he swears he doesn’t care about. He assumes it’s only a matter of time before he finally snaps. But then you’re not there one day, and the world feels off-kilter.

He spends that entire afternoon restless, eyes flickering toward every entrance as if expecting you to walk through it. But you don’t. The gardens are too quiet, his naps too still, and he’s left with a strange emptiness that he can’t shake off.

The next day, you’re there again, and the weight lifts. He scowls when he catches himself relaxing, brushing it off, but it keeps happening. Days pass, and it’s clear—he misses you. This realization grates on him, bothers him in a way nothing else has. How could he, Leona Kingscholar, find himself so wrapped up in someone else?

Then, today, he’s back in his usual spot in the garden, the shade cooling his skin as he lounges, pretending to nap. He can hear your footsteps before he sees you, and he opens one eye as you approach, carrying a basket of food, smiling that soft, familiar smile of yours.

"Thought you’d like something to eat," you say, setting the basket down with that easy grace of yours that makes his chest ache.

And that’s it. That ache in his chest spills over, and he can’t hold it back anymore. It all comes rushing out, like a dam breaking.

"Why?" he says, his voice rougher than he intended. "Why do you keep coming here, even when I’ve given you every reason not to?" He’s sitting up now, leaning toward you, the intensity in his eyes making you blink.

He huffs, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "I thought you were a nuisance at first. Always hanging around, always in my space." His voice drops lower, rougher, almost as if he’s frustrated with himself. "But the truth is… I’m the one who’s a mess without you. You leave, and everything just… feels wrong."

There’s a pause, and he looks down, jaw clenched, hands clenched in his lap. "I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but I don’t care anymore. All I know is… I want you here. Always." He raises his gaze to yours, the desperation flickering in his eyes a vulnerability that catches even him off guard.

Your heart swells, and as his words sink in, a smile breaks across your face. Tears well up in your eyes, unbidden, but you can’t help it. Before you know it, you’re leaning in, cupping his face, and pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s as gentle as it is profound. The warmth of him, the rough texture of his skin against yours, grounds you, and you kiss him deeply, tasting the intensity of his feelings, the rawness he’s bared just for you.

As you pull back, his thumb brushes across your cheek, catching a stray tear. He leans forward, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his own lips brushing lightly against the salt of your tears. "Even that," he murmurs, his voice a soft rumble, "even the taste of you like this… I want it all."

And you hold him close, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your palm, realizing that this is where you both belong.

Masterlist

[rootedinrevisions]

Rooster Comes Home to His Girls

SUMMARY: There are not a ton of plot points, just Husband and Dad Bradley coming home to his girls.

WORD COUNT: 1.4k

WARNINGS: None (Pure fluff on this one)

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

A/N: I need something fluffy in my life and saw this picture on Pinterest and the idea just kind of flowed from there. Between everything going on in the country today and the stuff that's been going on in my personal life the past six months or so, I needed some pure, sickeningly sweet fluff. So here it is! Hope you enjoy!

The quiet hum of the baby monitor filled the kitchen as you stood at the sink, rinsing out a bottle. The rhythmic motion had become almost meditative over the past few weeks, a small way to keep yourself grounded while you waited for Bradley to come home. It had been a long deployment, and the days had felt heavier as they passed, each one marked by the absence of his presence, his laugh, his steady, calming voice. Now, he was finally on his way back, and your heart beat faster with every small sound outside, every imagined footstep near the door.

Suddenly, the soft creak of the front door reached your ears, and you froze, breath catching in your throat. You turned just in time to see him step into the house, his duffel bag dropping to the floor as his eyes found yours. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. He looked a little worn, a little tired, but his eyes shone with the same warmth, the same love, that had carried you through his absence. And just like that, the weight you’d been carrying slipped away.

You barely noticed dropping the kitchen towel as you moved toward him, your feet quickening until you were close enough to feel the warmth of him, smell the familiar, comforting scent of his cologne, and the hint of jet fuel that clung to his clothes.

Bradley pulled you into his arms with a gentle strength, as though he was afraid you might break, his hands settling firmly against your back as he held you close.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion as he buried his face in your hair.

His embrace felt like home, solid and sure, grounding you after weeks of doing everything alone. You leaned into him, closing your eyes as his hand gently cradled the back of your head, holding you close, as if he never wanted to let go.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, feeling tears well up as you clutched him tighter, the reality of having him here again making your heart ache in the best way.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, letting your eyes drink in every detail of his face—the familiar curve of his jaw, the warmth in his gaze, the slight shadow of exhaustion under his eyes.

And then, without a word, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was soft, tender, and filled with all the words he hadn’t been able to say. You kissed him back, pouring all your relief, your longing, and your love into that moment. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away a stray tear as he deepened the kiss, as if he needed to reassure himself that you were really here, that he was really home.

But then, the soft crackle of the baby monitor brought you both back, followed by a familiar whimper, a little cry that quickly turned into a wail. You sighed, feeling the exhaustion return as your mind shifted back to reality. You started to pull away, ready to go to her, but Bradley stopped you, his hand gently catching yours.

“Hey,” he murmured, giving you a soft smile as he looked toward the monitor, where your daughter’s cries continued. “I’ve got it. Let me take care of her.”

You hesitated, feeling the instinct to take over, to keep doing what you’d been doing alone for so long. “Are you sure? I don’t mind—”

But Bradley shook his head, his expression gentle but firm. “You’ve been doing this on your own for weeks. Let me be the dad for a while,” he said softly, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your heart swell. “You look tired, sweetheart.”

You let out a breath, feeling the truth of those words hit you. “It’s been… a lot, but it’s okay. It’s what I signed up for.”

He gave a small shake of his head, his expression softening into something even more tender. “No, it’s not okay for you to do this alone. Go, relax. Take a bath, take the whole night off. I’ve got her.”

You felt the last bit of tension in your shoulders finally start to ease, the exhaustion you’d been holding back settling over you. You nodded, giving him a grateful smile as you whispered, “Thank you, Bradley.”

He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before he let go, watching you with that same soft smile as you stepped back, finally allowing yourself to let him take over.

You paused at the doorway, glancing back as he turned and headed down the hall toward the nursery, his broad shoulders silhouetted in the soft glow of the nightlight spilling from your daughter’s room.

You took a deep breath, letting yourself sink into the silence, the weight lifting as you headed to the bathroom. It was strange, letting go of the constant watchfulness, but you trusted him completely. He was here now, and that was all that mattered.

In the bathroom, you ran a warm bath, sinking into the soothing water as the tension slowly faded away. For the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to truly relax, closing your eyes and letting the warmth envelop you. You didn’t have to be on alert, didn’t have to listen for every small sound—Bradley was here, and he had everything under control.

After a while, you slipped into your pajamas, feeling more refreshed than you had in ages. You padded quietly down the hall, and as you passed the nursery you heard your daughter’s laughter  filling the air.

Quietly, you made your way to the doorway and peeked inside, stopping when you saw Bradley kneeling beside her crib. He had a teddy bear in his hand, making playful growling noises as he wiggled it toward her, his eyes bright with joy. Each time the bear touched her belly, she erupted into giggles, her little hands reaching out to grab it.

You leaned against the doorframe, smiling as you watched them. Bradley’s face softened as he looked at her, all the strength and resolve he usually wore dissolving into pure love. He was so gentle with her, the way he brushed a strand of hair from her face, the way he whispered silly little things to make her laugh as if he was trying to make up for every minute he’d missed while he was away.

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, but you didn’t wipe it away. Moments like this remind you why you fell in love with him in the first place.

Even after everything, the deployments, the late nights, the lonely stretches—you knew he was worth it.

You then watched as he picked her up, bringing her into his arms in a cradling position. He began to sway gently as he whispered to her, his voice a low, soothing murmur. She reached out and curled her little fingers around his thumb, her big, sleepy eyes fixed on him as though she was entranced.

You leaned against the doorway, watching the two of them, your heart full as you took in the sight of your husband cradling his little girl, his own eyes filled with pure love.

“Daddy’s home. I’m so sorry I was gone for so long, but I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.” He whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Your daughter blinked up at him, her little hand reaching up to touch his face, her tiny fingers brushing against his cheek. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, a tear slipping down his cheek as he held her close.

You felt your own eyes misting as you watched him with her, the quiet love and devotion in his expression a balm to your soul. He looked over, noticing you in the doorway, and gave you a small, tender smile.

“Caught me,” he said softly, a touch of playful warmth in his voice.

You walked over, wrapping your arms around him as he shifted slightly, making room for you to lean in, resting your head against his shoulder as you looked down at your daughter. “I love seeing this side of you,” you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

“She’s grown so much,” he murmured, looking over at you with a mixture of pride and sorrow. “I feel like I missed so much.”

You shook your head, stepping closer, resting a hand on his arm. “She’s been waiting for you, Bradley. We both have.”

“I’m here now.” He reached up, his hand covering yours, a silent promise in his touch. The three of you stood there in the soft glow of the nursery, wrapped in a moment of love, peace, and quiet joy—a moment you knew you’d hold close to your heart, long after he had to leave again.

For now, though, he was here, and everything was just as it should be.

[simplydannie]

Trigger Warning ‼️ : mention of pregnancy loss and blood.

A small story focusing on the twins parents, and Vivian’s beginning journey of trying to have a baby. Before the twins, the journey wasn’t always rainbows and butterflies… unfortunately it involved loss.

It was about three in the morning when Vivian awoke.

The blankets were draped over her and her husband after sharing one amazing night. Vaughn was asleep, his arms wrapped around his wife tightly, his face nuzzled at the back of her neck. She giggled gently trying to unwrap his arms from around her torso.

“Baby,” She laughed, “Baby, I have to go to the restroom.”

“Mmhm.” He murmured in his sleep as hestitantly let her go, “….Hurry back..” He was still half asleep, facing the ceiling with his arms draped over him. Vivian couldn’t help it, he was to handsome, she kissed his cheek before getting out of bed. She clothed herself with a robe and reached into her night stand pulling out a small box she had been hiding for weeks….a pregnancy test. Tonight wasn’t the only night her and Vaughn were together. She’d been keeping track. They’ve been married three years now, and Vivian has yet to concieve, being the way they were with each other, she had to get pregnant at some point…and she was hoping this was it.

Vivian waited twenty minutes pacing back and forth as she lay the test down in the sink, “Please, please, please, please…” She prayed over and over again. Her and Vaughn weren’t using any blockage to prevent her from being able to concieve….so why hasnt’ she yet? Viviain looked at the clock on the bathroom wall, one more minute.

“Please, please, please….A baby…Just one baby at least.” She continued to pray. Time was up….Taking a deep breath she leaned over the sink to look at the pregnacy test….

….. There it was…..

….. a positive pink sign.

She squealed, quickly covering her mouth. Vivian grabbed the test and hid it somewhere good; she wasn’t going to tell Vaughn, not just yet. She was going to wait just a little bit more.

Vivian looked at herself in the mirror, a smile growing across her face, “Finally!” She beamed. She had wanted to make him a father so, so bad. She wanted to give him the reason to leave this lifestyle behind and maybe just get out of Rageous all together…. And finally they could.

Vivian turned off the bathroom lights and made it back to bed. She crawled in next to her husband and hugged him tight, unable to wipe the smile off her face. Vivian nuzzled her face into his bare chest as he wrapped his arms around her once more… everything was perfect…

A week passes when she’s finally able to get a doctor to come around their home. Vaughn was out, so she had to be quick….

“Well, you’re nearly two months pregnant.” The older Rageon smiled as he began putting his things away.

“Two months? I’ve been pregnant all this time? I didn’t feel any symptoms or anything.” She places a hand over her stomach.

The doctor laughed, “You don’t need to show symptoms. It’ll just happen. The baby is looking good, so please, continue to take care of yourself just as you’ve been doing. I’ll see you again in another four weeks?”

…Till then, now that she had the confirmation, she began planning on how to break the news to Vaughn. Vivian wanted it to be special…it would be their first baby after all. He noticed her more than happy mood, the way she was much more affectionate. Vaughn was curious as to what surprise she was hiding, what was it she was planning. Before heading off one day he decided to ask.

“Okay. There’s something your planning. What is it?” He cocked his head to the side, a smile on his face.

A small blush came to her face, was she really that bad at keeping a surprise a secret? “Well, if you must know. It’s a surprise. A surprise you wont know about till you get back home. Now out!”

He chuckled, “Normally you don’t want me to leave, and now you’re practically kicking me out of my own home?”

“Yes. I love you. Be careful. Now shoo.” Vivian proceeded to push him out towards the door, but with maximum effort, he was nearly twice her height. Vaughn chuckled as she continued to try and push him out the door as he effortlessly just stood there, “Vaughn!” She complained.

“I haven’t had my goodbye kiss you know.”

“….You’re a menace.” She smiled grabbing his face and pulling him into a deep long kiss, “There. Now leave! I need to finish getting your surprise ready.”

“Fine. Fine.” He smirked as he walked off.

“…Stay safe.” Vivian murmured as she closed the front door, “Okay. I have to finish setting everything up!”

The hours went by and Vaughn finally made it back to the manor. When he walked in it was quiet, no Vivian to greet him as she normally did. A house maid walked by, “Where is Vivian?” He asked as he set aside his things.

“Oh, the mistress has been upstairs. Seems like she was getting something ready for you, sir.” She gave him a light smile.

He nodded, “Thank you.” He made his way up the steps towards their bedroom, “Vivian?” He knocked, when he heard no answer he pushed open the door….

CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE BEEN PROMOTED TO DAD!

The banner read across their bedroom. He was in shock. This was her surprise to him…all this time….she was pregnant. He wobbled at his knees a bit as the realization hit him….he was going to be a father. A mixture of emotions ran through Vaughn: happiness, joy, anxiety. He wont deny that having a baby with Vivian was one of his goals, but would he be a good father? Especially in the life he was brought into? One thing was for sure….there was another precious life he was going to protect.

“Vivian! Vivian, this was your surprise all along?! Come here so I can hug you, darling!” He walked into the room looking for his wife, “Vivian?”

CRASH.

A sound was heard coming from the master bathroom. Vaughn bolted,sliding to a halt as he saw Vivian kneeling on the floor….blood surrounding her.

“Oh my god!” He rushed to her side, grabbing some towels, cleaning her up, “Baby, what happened? Look at me. What happened?” He brought her face to meet his, tears falling down her face twisted in agony and pain.

“….I just….I just needed to use the restroom…then…Blood….it wouldn’t stop….why is there so much blood.” She began to shiver, her voice cracking as the tears began to spill out again. Vaughns eyes trailed where the blood was coming from…his heart sank to the pit of his stomach.

“….Oh Vivian…” He pulled her to an embrace as she broke down once again. She clung tightly to him as her body shook, letting out her pain and cries.

“…We were going to have a baby…a baby….everything was fine. The baby was fine…” She cried, burying her face into his chest, “Why? Why?”

“I don’t know sweetheart. I don’t know…. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“….No…no….I’m sorry….You were finally going to be dad…” She sobbed, “You were finally going to be a dad….i messed it up…”

Vaughn grabbed Vivians face, making sure she looked him square in the eye, “Don’t you dare think that you hear me. Don’t you dare. This is not in your control Vivian. Because if it was you wouldn’t have lost it. You would’ve fight to keep it….This is not your fault do you hear me. This isn’t the end. One day, Viv. One day.”

Her lipped quivered and she clung tightly to him. Her cries filled with pain and agony, “….Hold me….Just hold me and don’t let go…”

“…Always, Viv.”

Hearing the cries, house maids and guards came up to find them, but Vaughn signaled them to leave…he didn’t want anyone helping his Vivian another than him right now. He wanted to be her comfort…and so he was. He allowed her to cry in his arms till she couldn’t no more. Vaughn bathed her and changed her. Carried her to the bed, tucking her in, then went back to clean the blood…

When he went to check on her, he saw she had fallen asleep. Vaughn went to turn off the lights to leave the room.

“…No…No stay with me..” He heard her say. She looked at him with red eyes, holding her hand out to him, “…I don’t want to be alone…and I don’t want anyone else….Just you..” She told him. Vaughn smiled. He went to change himself then crawled into the bed next to her, wrapping his arms around her. She nuzzled her face into his chest….whenever she was like this she felt safe, comforted, secure….

“…Never let me go…”

“….Never, Viv…Never.”

[dakota1435]

Moonlight Blood – Vampire!Sylus X Reader ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

Word Count: 2.8k

tags: NSFW!!, blood mention, sylus is consent king

(Previous chapters on my page)

Chapter 5

For the rest of the time, you don’t see Sylus nor the twins. It astonished you a bit, how much they left you alone. Given such privacy, you decided to wander down the same hallways, same corridors. There were definitely parts of the mansion you haven’t seen yet, but maybe that was for the best. You enter a broad common room, one that actually has a large glass window. The sun was rising, you noticed. Your sense of time has been skewed since you’ve arrived, considering there were a lack of windows, and mostly saw Sylus at night. Oddly enough, you didn’t really feel different.

As you stare out of the window, watching the sky blend with colors, you hear a low voice behind you.

“Do you miss the sun?” Sylus asked. You turned around, a little unphased at his sudden appearance. He lounges comfortably in a large leather chair.

“I do,” you answered honestly, “but I never saw the night sky as much. It is beautiful and comforting in some way.” Sylus takes a glance at you as you spoke, but doesn’t respond. “Where were you?” You spoke again, hoping to fill the thick silence in the air.

“Wrapping up some loose ends from the auction earlier.” He smirks, his canines flashing. You didn’t know what to say to that.

“The sun is coming up, shouldn’t you…be away?” You said, choosing your words carefully.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No! No I—”

“The sun isn’t going to kill me, kitten, it probably takes a lot more than that,” he interrupted, finding entertainment in your anxiety. “But, I don’t like it either. I was going to leave soon,” he admitted. It made you realize you just didn’t know anything about Sylus. Mysterious as ever. He stands up and calmly walks towards you. It takes a few paces before his height is towering over you. You don’t move, unsure if it was fear or curiosity that kept you rooted in your spot. He tucks your thick, long hair behind your ear. He looked down at you as if you weren’t real, that touching your hair brought him back to reality.

“Can I ask you something?” You felt a dash of courage reach up to you. So far, you’ve been able to speak freely in front of Sylus. But you were never going to push the limit.

“Speak.”

You take a breath, as if preparing your question. “How often do you need to… feed?” The last word barely came out. You averted your gaze, almost embarrassed you were asking such a question. It felt too personal for someone like Sylus. Much to your surprise, he snickers.

“I take care of myself when I need to.” His words were a bit vague. A thought popped in your mind and you blurted it out without thinking.

“Are you feeding from other people?” As the question leaves your lips, you feel something uneasy in your gut. Your heartbeat begins to pick up, no doubt Sylus wouldn’t notice. You don’t know why you would feel uncomfortable with Sylus feeding from someone other than you. Sure, you didn’t want him to hurt innocent people. But that’s what he bought you for, right? In the two weeks you’ve been here, he’s fed once. It keeps you on edge constantly, always mentally preparing yourself for Sylus. When did you become so submissive?

You feel Sylus standing deathly still. It doesn’t help the growing anxiety in your chest. “It’s not easy to control myself with someone like you. But it hurts, doesn’t it? The bite. I don’t exactly want to scare you off, kitten. I paid good money for you.” He places a soft hand under your chin, compelling you to look into his eyes. You realized he didn’t exactly answer your question, which was an answer itself. His touch was comforting, but his words reminded you of what you were to him. Just blood. That’s the only reason why he bought you. He’s taking care of you, because you are blood. Something churns in your stomach, a feeling you couldn’t quite grasp.

“You can’t scare me off.” A lie, but you wanted to come off stronger. That you weren’t weak, even if that meant willingly submitting yourself. You hold the eye contact between you two, standing your ground. A smirk teases his lips.

“I suppose you’re stronger than I’d like to think.” It sounded like an insult. He lowers his head close to yourself, his lips inches away from your ear. “Tell me, then…” his voice grew darker, huskier. It gave you goosebumps. “If I bit you right now, would you resist? Would you squirm in the pain I give to you?” His sudden change in demeanor makes you hold your breath. He slowly lowers his hand down to your wrist before firmly grabbing it. A soft gasp escapes from your mouth from the rough contact. He stands himself up, looking back at you again. Still holding your wrist, he brings it up near his mouth. You watch, silently, as he touches his lips against the pale of your skin. Not exactly a kiss, but something else entirely. It’s…Intimate.

“It doesn’t have to hurt so much, you know,” he said, dropping your arm back down.

“It doesn’t?” You questioned, trying to find the answer before he gave it to you.

“Give yourself to me. Give me all of you,” he urged. He slightly bows and extends his hand out to you. He was inviting you. “Let me guide you through the pain. Let me take care of everything.” The pink morning glow started to fill the room. You take a look outside before back at Sylus. His palm, face up, is waiting for you. Beckoning you, in a way. His tone was seductive and sweet like warm honey. You realized he was telling you to trust him. You feel your mind hesitate, but your fingertips tingle with anticipation for what’s to come. Sylus was difficult to read, but you knew that he was trying to be gentle with you. In his own way, at least. You take a deep breath, mentally preparing for what’s to come. If the pain won’t be as bad…then surely it can be more bearable. You take a deep breath as Sylus’ unwavering stare burns into you.

He won. Steadily, you reach back out to him. A wicked smile flashes his lips, his white fangs reminding you of what was to come. Your hand just barely rests above his.

“Come,” he commanded. Without warning, you are instantly transported into a dark, windowless room. You still grip onto his hand, afraid you’ll trip. A few warm lights emit in the room, giving it a visible glow so that you could see. Sylus doesn’t take his stare off of you. It was like he was observing every part of you, every reaction and movement. Taking a look around, you found yourself to be in the same room you woke up in after being bit the first time. Given on Sylus’ choosing, you assumed this was his personal room. “I hear your heart pounding. You are still frightened,” he pointed out. You didn’t realize your heart has been pulsating since you grabbed your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, unsure why you were even apologizing in the first place. Everything about this situation was unpredictable. You didn’t know what to think, let alone feel.

“Relax,” he commanded again, “you can handle it.” His confidence in you was harsh, but mildly comforting. He slowly closes the distance between you two, his close proximity causing you to be still. He caresses your jaw, his touch feather-light. It felt like electricity, his touch lingering with a buzz.

“Tell me,” he says. You look up at him, a little puzzled. He takes a step closer, your bodies almost touching. The back of your legs were close to the edge of the bed. If Sylus comes any closer, you’d have to sit yourself back on the bed. “Tell me that you’ll give yourself to me. All of you.” He lowers his head and places a gentle kiss on the side of your neck.

Oh.

You can feel the rapid heat swell in your cheeks. If your heart was already pounding, you weren’t sure if it was going to keep beating much longer. Sylus doesn’t move another inch as he awaits your response. You swallow, preparing for the words about to leave your mouth.

“I…I give myself to you, Sylus.” You whispered. He shifts forward a bit, causing you to sit on the bed below you. His body now hovered above you, his leg placed deliberately between yours, causing you to open up a bit more. Never, in your life, have you thought this is where you would be. Your head swam with racing thoughts of what was about to come. But, there was something in his touch that made you feel warm all over. It soothed you, like a heavy-weight blanket. You felt dizzy, your nerves tingling where he touched. It felt like fire and ice at the same time. He places another kiss on your neck, the sensitivity makes you want to squirm.

“Be a good girl. I’ll take care of you,” he reassures you again, sensing your nervousness. His lips brush against your ear before you feel his hot, wet tongue trace up the skin. The sudden feeling betrayed the breath you were holding, causing you to sigh out loud. “Don’t hide anything from me. You said you would give me all of you.” His tone turns darker, possessive even. You had no idea how to process any of this, it all felt like it was moving too fast. Your body and mind were at war with each other. You craved more, desired more, but your mind told you this was still a predator. A very big, hungry monster. His body presses closer against you, one hand embracing the side of your neck while the other grasps just above your hip bone. Another kiss to your neck.

You haven’t experienced another experience this close. Sure, there were people you flirted with. Talked dirty with, made out with. But this? It was something on another level. It felt ethereal, as if Sylus was a fallen angel made for you. Each touch, each kiss felt like liquid sin. It was rather intoxicating and since you were this far, you already decided you would give yourself wholly. You feel yourself become softer as his touch continues. You wrap your free arm around him, holding his head as you let him continue. Your reciprocation gives Sylus a silent permission to go further. He lifts his head to stare at you, his crimson eyes filled with desire like you have never seen. You find yourself already breathing hard, knowing your cheeks are red and eyes glossy.

At this moment, this was the point of no return. Holding the side of your face, Sylus lowers himself to kiss you. It’s soft and gentle, but as you return the kiss it becomes more greedy. His grasp on you tightens and you’re both moving with uncontrollable desire. You feel his tongue over your lips and without hesitation you open your mouth more. You didn’t care you were at the mercy of your buyer, a blood thirsty vampire. Dangerous and a killer. You numbed the thoughts with the current pleasure. He doesn’t want to hurt you, you told yourself. You feel your body becoming hot all over, a dampness forming in between your legs. A soft moan escapes your lips when they aren't occupied with Sylus’.

“Do you want more?” He breaks the kiss, his voice husky and deep. Your lips tingle from the kissing that you didn’t want to stop. Unconsciously you graze your fingers over your lips, feeling them plump and wet. You nod in response. “I need to hear you say it,” he said darkly. Sure enough, he didn’t move until he heard you speak again,

“...Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed, flustered at his teasing behavior. “I want more.” On cue, Sylus leans back down to kiss you with passion. You feel his hand trace down your chest, over your stomach, and stopping right above your core. With ease, he slips his hand under your clothes. Your breath is caught in your throat as he begins to touch you. You hold onto him tighter, as if you could seep through the floor. He begins kissing your neck again, along with your jaw.

“Already so wet, are you?” Sylus snickers under his breath. You wish you could bury your face, a little embarrassed at your extreme sensitivity. His hand teases you below, causing you to whimper. Without a doubt, you were utterly soaked. He sits himself up, still playing with you. His brows were a little furrowed and his breathing labored. It turned you on more, to see that he had the same desire. You could tell from his piercing gaze he loved to watch you twitch under his touch. He wanted to see all the faces you could make, all the sounds coming from your pretty little throat. Sylus teases your entrance before putting a finger in. You gasp, looking up where his hand is. It was just one finger…yet it felt already enough. It slips in with ease, prompting Sylus to slowly move in and out. You couldn’t hold back the moans anymore as he thumbs your clit, lazily rubbing in circles.

If this is what heaven felt like, you were ready to go.

He added another finger and you felt full. You couldn’t imagine anything more than that. You dramatically reach out to him, desperate to hold and cling to. You take your courage and crash your lips to his again. Your lead takes him by surprise, but he doesn’t falter. His hand is working harder now, your moans slipping in your kisses. The pleasure made your mind blank, only focusing on one thing only; Sylus. Sylus, Sylus, Sylus.

“...Please.” You mumble. You could barely think straight. Sylus lifts his head, and his hand works harder.

“Please, what? Speak sweetheart.” You were already drunk on your own pleasure. Words pop in your mind but fade as you feel yourself getting closer. It’s as if he knew every sweet spot about you. Everything about his touch was perfect and it made your muscles feel like jelly. He takes his two fingers out for a moment, earning a whine from you, before he slicks them against your throbbing clit. He slips them in again, back to their original position. Feeling wet all over, a new form of pleasure overtakes you. You feel your core tightening.

“Don’t stop,” you breathed, trying to concentrate on every single thrust and touch he gave you. You were becoming undone so easily beneath his touch. Your eyes glazed over him, seeing his starving expression. You think, now, it was time. You put your head to the side, exposing your neck as best as you could. You could feel your legs tremble, knowing you were close. “Bite,” you barely managed to get out. Your moans were uncontrollable, it was a miracle you weren’t hyperventilating.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” Sylus said, his voice dark with lust. His mouth was slightly parted as he breathed fast, his fangs slightly exposed.

“Mmmf– Bite!” You yelled out. Sylus doesn’t hesitate after the words leave your lips. He licks up your neck before sinking his teeth down. While he still fingered you, his bite created a new form of pleasure like you have never experienced. Instantaneously, you come on his hand. Your thighs shake as you dig your nails into the back of Sylus. He cautiously removes his hand as he still drinks from you. Your breath was rapid, a light headedness coming in heavy. Well, you thought to yourself, it didn’t really hurt. Your grip on Sylus loosens, causing him to pull away from you. He looks at you with wide eyes, a drop of blood falling past his lips. He must’ve thought he went too far, but seeing you were still conscious, he gives you a rare, soft smile. A sheen of sweat wears on you, your cheeks still flushed. You were glowing from the after pleasure. As your breathing becomes more in control, Sylus speaks.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked plainly. You can’t help but laugh, feeling sheepish knowing you came just from his hand and bite.

“Yes.” You smile back at him, feeling your muscles worn with exhaustion. As you calm down from the orgasm, you can feel your eyelids getting heavy.

“You did well,” he praised, tucking a wild strand of hair behind your ear. Something about his constant praise made you blush. “I’ll draw you a bath,” he said, before promptly lifting himself up off of you. The physical absence made you ache in a new way, a way you never felt before. He goes into the master bathroom before you hear a rush of water pouring in. For the few seconds you have, you recall what happened. You feel your neck, the wounds already healed.

Something deep buries in you, and you knew this was just the beginning

[peepthatbish]

Sending you warm thoughts!

*gasp!!!* Brea!!!!

I quite literally just had you on my mind! Ty for the warm thoughts!! I’m definitely stealing them to help me deal with this cold weather😭

Have you taken care of yourself today/tonight?? Have you eaten? Drank some water?? Had a lil snack?

[kbwrites]

“Achoo!” 

You sneeze again, rubbing your nose, you feel absolutely.

Terrible.

All day, you’ve barely been able to do anything but blow your nose and lie down for five minutes before your head starts spinning. Just when you think it can’t get any worse, you hear the doorknob click.

Shit.

You promised to make dinner tonight.

“I’m home.” his deep voice fills the air, sending you into a mild panic as you scramble toward the kitchen, hoping to whip something up in time.

He steps in, towering figure leaning against the doorframe, eyebrow quirked up in confusion.

“Sorry Ryo! I’ll get you something to eat soon.”

He doesn’t respond at first, just watches you with narrowed eyes. Then, he moves closer, his steps slow and deliberate. Before you know it, he’s right in front of you, staring down. 

He stretches a hand out, touching the back of his hand to your forehead.

“You… are ill.” He states, furrowing his brow.

“It’s just a cold—“

He grunts, clearly annoyed. “Why would you try to cook in this condition?”

“Because I promised… and I didn’t want you to get mad.” you say looking down at your feet. 

Sukuna lets out a low, irritated growl, turning on his heel and stalking toward the kitchen. 

"Sit down."

You blink, watching him in surprise as he opens the fridge and starts pulling out ingredients, his movements efficient and swift. He spares you a glance, and you hesitate before shuffling over to the couch.

"You shouldn’t be doing this for me." your voice laced with guilt, watching his broad back as he chops vegetables.

Sukuna grunts, his eyes flicking toward you, sharp and unyielding. "I am not that idiot you dated before.” he says flatly, the disgust in his voice unmistakable. "You’re sick. I’m not letting you do anything."

The words hit harder than you expect, and you feel a warmth settle in your chest.  As he seasons the food with the same precision he brings to everything, you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

The soft clink of the spoon against the pot is the only sound for a moment before his voice cuts through again, harsher this time. 

"If you ever push yourself like that again, especially for me, I’ll make sure you regret it."

Your smile fades, but there's comfort in his rough concern. "I won’t." you promise.

A short silence follows, broken only by the bubbling of the soup. When he finally brings the bowl over, he sets it down with a firm thud, crimson eyes watching you closely. "Eat."

You pick up the spoon, feeling overwhelmed by how cared for you are. "Thank you."

His eyes narrow slightly, lips curling in disdain. 

"Tch. The bar's in hell if you think I wouldn’t take care of you."

[lovelybucky1]

Ain’t as Good as I Once Was

warnings: old man!logan x AFAB!reader, riding, bratting, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, age gap, punishment, degradation, 18+ minors dni, divider from @strangergraphics

“C’mon, girlie, if you want it, you’re gonna have to take it yourself,” Logan’s gruff voice says from below you.

You’re sitting on his lap, trying desperately to fuck yourself on his cock as he sigs back and watches you. Despite your begging, Logan refuses to do the work for you.

“I’m too old for this shit. If you’re that fuckin’ horny, you can take care of it yourself,” he told you smugly.

You sank down on his cock and have been trying to bounce on it, but the strain on your thighs is too much to reach a satisfying pace.

“Please, Daddy, can’t you just fuck me?” you whine pathetically. Logan smirks a bit and chuckles through his nose.

“I ain’t as good as I once was, dollface. I doubt my old bones can fuck you the way you want me to,” he says, not seeming apologetic in the slightest.

You know he’s full of shit. He may be old and gray, but his healing factor keeps him in peak condition. He’d be able to fuck you just fine, he’s just a crotchety old man who wants to see you suffer for his entertainment.

He places a large hand on your hip and starts gently guiding you, urging you to rock back and forth. You follow his movements and while it’s better than what you were attempting, it’s still not what you want.

“You’re a spoiled fuckin’ princess, that’s the problem. So used to Daddy takin’ care of ya, you forgot how to ride, is that it?” Shamelessly you bite your lip and nod.

You wouldn’t call yourself spoiled. Well cared for is a better term. Logan never lets his girl go to bed unsatisfied, and now he’s suffering from the consequences of his actions.

“C’mon, flip me over and fuck me,” you say.

Logan raises an eyebrow at you.

“Who do you think you are, givin’ orders? If I want you to ride my cock, then that’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna fuck that pretty pussy with it until she’s had her fill.”

Logan lets go of your hip but you keep up with the same pace he set. With his hand now freed, he reaches over to the nightstand to grab his cigar and lighter. He lights up and smokes it as if he were at the bar, not in bed, deep inside his girl.

He looks up at you, bored, as smoke pours out of his mouth. You’ve been riding the edge of just enough for the past fifteen minutes and you’re getting increasingly frustrated with Logan’s lack of help. You briefly consider being more of a brat in hopes of egging him on enough to punish you with a hard fuck, but with the kind of mood he’s in, it’s likely that the punishment would be stopping entirely.

You let your head hang down as you brace yourself with your hands on his chest. The solid muscle covered in gray hair is hot, unnaturally so, under your touch and you desperately want to feel that heat on your back while he fucks you from behind.

“Daddy,” you plead quietly.

“What’s the matter, dollface?” he asks, playing dumb like the tease he is.

“I can’t do it.”

Logan smirks around his cigar like you just said the magic words he’s been waiting to hear this whole time.

“What’re you saying?”

You pout down at him. “I can’t make myself cum. I need you to do it for me”

Logan, surprisingly, grins at you. “Bet you regret calling me an old man now, huh?”

You furrow your brows in confusion, but you quickly realize what he’s talking about. Before this all started, you pounced on his lap and asked him to fuck you. He told you he was busy reading his book, and in your usual bratty fashion, you replied, “What, you can’t get it up, old man?”

“I didn’t mean it, Daddy,” you whine. “I swear, I was just teasing you.”

Logan hums but makes no effort to move. “Guess you better start behaving if you want something from me.”

“I promise I’ll be good. I won’t talk back anymore,” you attempt to bargain.

You both know that’s about as empty of a promise as you could give, but Logan doesn’t seem to care. He prefers when you’re trouble anyway; it’s the game you play. He’s the grumpy and mean and you’re the spoiled, demanding princess.

Logan stubs his cigar out in the ashtray on the nightstand and places both hands on your hips. He lifts you off of him with ease, something that never fails to amaze you, and sets you on the bed next to him.

He moves so he’s kneeling between your legs and holding them up around his waist, his cock lined up at your entrance.

“Spoiled fuckin’ rotten, you are,” he mutters as he pushes inside.

Logan always makes sure his girl goes to bed satisfied, no matter how much of a brat she is.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Sanemi lashing out on his pregnant wife only to beg her for forgiveness later

Pairing: Sanemi x pregnant!reader

Word Count: 3,1k

Synopsis: Like every week, you find yourself on your way back from Shinobu's estate and your pregnancy check-up. Little did you know what horror awaits you at your own home with your husband almost killing two kids...

Warnings: Sanemi is mean in this one and I mean it, extreme hurt but also comfort in the end so don't worry, full Shinazugawa package regarding language and violence lol, not proofread because I have to leave now

Thank you sooo much for that cool request @itsmscoco and I'm sorry it took a while. I really hope you like what I came up with 🤍

You rub your minor belly. For a woman, a pregnancy should feel like a trip to heaven. After all, you are blessed with developing a child that is half you and half your husband. Oh, your beloved and surprisingly gentle husband who always makes sure that you get enough sleep, that you nutrition yourself properly. But even the wind hashira can’t do a single thing against your constant sickness and pain.

“Please try this out, (y/n). Don’t hesitate to come here again if you need something else. You really have an unfortunate pregnancy when it comes to nausea”, Shinobu comments gently while giving your belly a little massage.

“Don’t get me wrong, I am so excited about the honor of caring for a child in my own body. But honestly, I’m so glad when this pregnancy is over”, you huff while taking a deep breath in.

Please, don’t vomit all over the insect pillar who’s just trying to help. You’ve been here what feels like everyday since finding out you’re pregnant. Well, to be exact, Shinobu is the one who suggested that you might expect a child.

Because of your never-ending sickness.

“Oh, there’s nothing to get wrong at all! After all, your pregnancy is a rather difficult one. But I’m sure Shinazugawa is taking good care of you!”

“He definitely does. My husband is an angel”, you reply in an instant.

You can’t wait to go back home. Even though your sleep-drunken eyes won’t be able to stay open longer than maybe a few hours, even though you weren’t able to catch a proper glimpse at Sanemi’s part in the on-going hashira training until now, you can’t wait to go back home. Back into your estate, back into the arms of your beloved husband.

“Not quite the codename I’d use for him, but that’s just what love does, right? I will send a kakushi along with you. Otherwise, Shinazugawa might show up and threaten me”, Shinobu jokes while helping you to get up.

“Thank you for your help. Again.”

You pull the insect hashira into a deep hug. How lucky you should consider yourself for the opportunity to call Shinobu your friend, that Sanemi laid his eyes on you. Out of all the countless women around, the ones with faces like porcelain and bodies so well-formed you can’t hold a candle against every single one of them. But still, he chose you.

“Come on, (y/n). Why are you crying?”, Shinobo whispers into your ear while rubbing small circles onto your back.

“I’m just a little overwhelmed from everything I guess”, you mumble against her comforting shoulder.

Just a few months ago, you would have laughed at anyone who told you that your life would turn out like this. Of course, you’ve lost countless good friends and family members on the way and living with a suborn husband like Sanemi isn’t always easy. But somehow, the two of you always make it work.

Right?

-at the wind hashira estate-

“We are almost there. Are you feeling alright?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m just a little tired from walking, that’s all!”

Truth is, your feet hurt like hell. Shinobu reported about women who don’t even feel their baby until the second trimester. Why are your feet already swollen, your belly bloated, your guts constantly turning? And there’s still so much ahead.

“Looks like Shinazugawa-sama received a new bunch of trainees after the other corps members all landed in Kocho-sama’s hospital wing”, the kakushi next to you comments dryly.

“Was it really that bad?”

Of course you heard about the rather brutal training methods of your husband. After all, even the walls of his estate aren’t thick enough to stop every single scream from reaching your ears. But still…

“It was pretty bad. Some of the-“

Glass cracking. Screams from afar. Out of instinct, you pick up your pace until you dash towards your home, sweat now dripping from every pore. What happened? Is Sanemi alright? He wouldn’t leash out on one of his students like that. Something must have happened. A demon? No, it’s still daytime. But what is it?

“He’s back! He’s back! That cold-blooded man! Lie down and pretend that you’ve fainted!”, a blonde-haired boy screams while almost collapsing onto the floor.

“What are you talking about? What’s going on here?”, you press out.

Your lungs threaten to fail you, breath already tasting like pure iron.

Until your eyes find Genya.

Your guts twist and turn in every direction, almost force you to vomit all over the place. Genya shouldn’t be here. Out of all people, it shouldn’t be him. And who’s the boy next to him. That familiar scar, you’ve seen that boy before. Is it possible that…

“Kamado Tanjiro”, you breathe out.

Maybe that is even worse.

Your eyes dart around the area without an aim. Where’s Sanemi? Did he find them already? They need to leave before he finds out that they’re here, carry on with another hashira training.

“Please stop now!”, Tanjiro suddenly shouts while stretching out his arm in defence.

An uneasy feeling crawls up your spine, the dark claws of sickening foreshadowing. All you can do is standing death still right where you are and watch in sheer horror as your husband stomps out of your estate motion.

Is that your husband you love and adore, though? You know how untamed he can get especially when getting confronted with his painful past. It was never easy for him to see Genya join the demon slayer corps or realize that his mother could have been saved like Tanjiro’s sister.

But never in your entire life have you seen him like this. The empty shell of your husband, muscles tensed to the maximum and his empty orbs directed towards the two boys in front of him.

In this very moment, you’d trust him to actually kill them.

“What are you going to do? Are you planning to kill Genya?”, Tanjiro continues passionately.

Your glossy orbs are set on your husband. Would he really do something like that? What if you witness the father of your unborn child taking the life of two other human beings? Your heart can’t take it, knees threaten to fail you.

“Hell no, I’m not going to kill him. It would be easy enough to kill him, but since it’s against the rules and all…I’m going to ruin him beyond recovery!”

Until your blurry head finally makes a decision and allows your feet to run.

Straight towards the two boys.

Straight into the firing line.

Straight into the sight of your now maniac husband.

“You won’t do any of these things, you hear me?”, you jeer at him with your new-found courage.

“(y/n)”, Genya breathes behind you.

“How dare you to talk to innocent children like that, Sanemi?”

The man in front of you furrows his eyebrows, hands clenched into tight fists while taking a step towards you.

“Get lost. Right now”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

You swallow hard, all nerves now tingling in sheer horror. This is the first and last warning, without any doubt. The look on his stone-cold face tells you more than urgently that Sanemi isn’t playing, that he doesn’t want you here.

Maybe it’s best if you go back inside and pretend that nothing happened. He himself said that he won’t kill them, after all…

“I’m not leaving”, you bite back.

But that would mean leaving Genya alone. That would mean giving up all of your principles.

“Will you act out like this towards our child as well?”, you continue while growing bigger and bigger in front of the two boys.

He might be your husband, the love of your life. That doesn’t mean you’ll always have to do what he tells you, tough. Instinctively, you clench your hands into tight fists with your glossy eyes almost piercing through him. Enough is enough.

“If our child acts as dumb as you do, I sure as hell will!”

Oh.

Your heart drops to the floor when a nauseous wave of agony hits you with full force. Sanemi is and has always been a hot-headed man who never thought twice about the things he said. But never, not even once in your entire relationship he insulted you.

Until now.

“Is this really how you feel about me? We should support each other, you should listen to me as well as-“

“Spare me with that bullshit, (y/n)”, Sanemi spits at you.

“Get.out.of.the.way. Can’t you hear me?”

It’s like you stop living for a moment. All this time, you did your best to understand him and his grief. Everything Sanemi does comes with a logical reason behind it, even though it’s hard to see from time to time. But lashing out at you like that?

“Stop being so disrespectful to me right now. I am your wife-“

“Right now, you’re my problem”, he jeers back.

“And now get off my sight and let me finish this real quick-“

You don’t know what made you act the way you just did. Was it his cruel behaviour, the way his words cut through your heart like a thousand knives? Before your husband is even able to finish his sentence, your palm races towards his cheek with full force.

The world around you goes silent, frightful gazes glued onto you while you can’t stop your tears from falling anymore.

“Is this how you’re acting around your pregnant wife by now, how you’ll treat innocent children? If that’s the live you chose, I’m not a part of it anymore”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

Suddenly, the urge to get as far away from him as possible becomes unbearable. Your feet start sprinting towards the estate on your own, carry you into your now so empty-feeling bedroom.

And finally, you allow yourself to break down and cry.

Is this really the man you love, that you’d give your life for? Your shaky fingers caress your belly mindlessly.

You can’t stay here. Not when Sanemi showed you a completely different face today. Not when this place doesn’t feel like home anymore.

-a few hours later-

“Fuck!”, Sanemi cries out on top of his lungs while dashing towards Obanai over and over.

Why can’t he get your stupid words out of his mind? The way you stood there with tears in your eyes, how he was literally able to hear your heart crack when those damned words left his mouth. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, to drag you into the fuckery with his little brother and that Kamado boy.

But why did he say all those dumb things, then?

“You seem off, Shinazugawa”, Obanai comments dryly, hitting the wind hashira with full force again.

“I guess I fucked up”, Sanemi mumbles.

What if you won’t forgive him for today? Your last words haunt him since the moment you left him standing in the rain.

“I bet you can talk your way out of it-“

“Hell nah. I don’t think she wants to see me tonight.”

“Did you ask her, though?”

“Who the hell do you think you are anyway? You’re the one to talk, not able to confess your feelings to Mitsuri”, Sanemi barks at the man next to him.

“But yeah, maybe I should get going…”

Coming home never fuelled him with so much fright. What if you’re still angry at him, if you refuse to even talk to him? Or even worse, what if you’ll really leave him?

Sanemi’s guts turn in an instant, feet now picking up their pace with every step. He can’t lose you. Not you, the light of his life. Not when you are the only ray of sunshine in this rotting hell. What the hell did he do? The fact that he even raised his voice at you is unforgivable.

Finally, his fingers grab the door that leads to your shared bedroom, finally he’s able to make up for his mistakes of today-

His eyes widen in sheer horror.

You’re gone.

Right there where your head should rest, there’s absolutely nothing.

Panic starts rising up his chest, forces his heart down his throat.

Did you leave?

He yanks out of your shared room, eyes roaming around each and every corner of your estate. But you aren’t there. You aren’t here.

“My lady is at the love hashira’s estate.”

Sanemi darts up immediately, greeted by the oh so familiar voice of your personal crow.

“Is she fine, why did she-“

“With all due respect, I suggest you to control yourself before making any more insensitive comments to my lady-“

“Who the hell do you even think you are you-“

“Your earlier spoken words really troubled her and my lady certainly does not deserve that.”

Without another word, your crow disappears into the darkness of night again.

Sanemi swallows hard. Fuck, did he really hurt you that badly? He never wanted you to feel bad, never wanted to hurt you. Damn, he only wanted to show Genya and that Kamado boy their places. It shouldn’t have hit you. Out of all people, why did he have to hurt you?

“I need to tell her”, he mumbles under his breath before dashing towards the love hashira estate.

-at Mitsuri’s-

“I can’t believe Shinazugawa said something like this to you, (y/n)! You are super far away from being dumb, after all! Here, eat another pancake and stay as long as you want.”, Mitsuri babbles while handing you another plate.

Your dry eyes are barely able to stay open any longer. All the grief, explaining, fighting and crying did apparently really wear you out. Good for you Mitsuri’s estate is near by and you just know she’ll always open her arms for you.

“Thank you so much for taking me in, Kanroji. I really don’t deserve your kindness”, you sniffle.

“You have to be joking, (y/n)! It’s my duty as your friend to be there for you anytime you need me! And also, I-”

Three violent knocks on Mitsuri’s wooden door almost send you over the edge. It’s past after midnight, the time closer to the morning than evening. Who would knock on Mitsuri’s door this late at night?

“Do you think that’s a demon?”, you mutter in horror, both pairs of eyes set on the door.

“I don’t think so. Let’s see!”

Before you’re able to stop Mitsuri, she rips open the door.

And reveals no other than your husband.

“Sanemi”, you breathe out.

Tears start swelling up your eyes in an instant when a flood of memories crushes you all over again. Just a few hours ago, your husband made very clear that he doesn’t want to see you again anytime soon. How did he find out that you’re here?

“(y/n), can we…have a talk?”, he mumbles with icy voice.

“Do you want to leave me?”, you blurt out.

“What?”

Is that really how you feel, what you think of him? That he’ll turn his back on you after a fight? He did say all those nasty things to you, though.

“I think I’m going out and…cook!”, Mitsuri announces while sprinting out of the door, leaving you alone in the room with all that tension and him.

Him, the man you love more than anything else in this world. And also him, who broke your heart like he never did before.

“You have to be kidding me”, Sanemi mutters under his breath.

You turn away before you lose your composure completely.

“Why are you here, Sanemi?”

“Do you really think I’m here to dump you!? You, my pregnant wife!? You can’t be fucking serious about that!”

In the matter of seconds, you find yourself surrounded by his usual so comforting arms that now hurt like daggers against your skin.

“Please, let me go, I can’t do this ri-“

“(y/n), please.”

His suffocated voice forces your eyes to dart upwards.

Instantly, your heart drops to the floor.

Is this really your husband, crying against your shoulder while pressing your body against his?

“I’m sorry for all the shit I’ve said, I’m sorry for making you feel this way. I’d never leave you, not when I’m even lucky for calling you mine. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this, I just…I just can’t stand them…”

“Sanemi…”

“And I get that I don’t deserve you and that I’m a jerk for hurting you. I know you could’ve had every man you wanted-“

“Sanemi!”, you snap at him, holding onto his face tightly.

“But you’re the one I want”, you finally cry out.

“But your words hurt me. Is this really how you feel about me? Do you really think I’m a burden?”

“I was out of my fucking mind for saying that to you! You’re my blessing, my everything, the sunshine in this rotting hell. You’re…You’re my wife, right?”

That innocent look on his now tear-soaked face runs shivers down your spine, reminds you that even though he acted out today, this man is still the Sanemi Shinazugawa you fell in love with years ago.

“I am your wife”, you press out before a new wave of tears haunts you down.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). So so sorry”, he mutters again and again while kissing every tear away that escapes your eyes.

“And I’ll never talk to you like that again, I promise.”

“Will you promise to not treat Tanjiro and Genya like that ever again too?”

Sanemi shifts his weight underneath you, his orbs growing hard again. Was this too much to ask for? No. Even though you love Sanemi’s rough side as well, he simply can’t do something like this again. Not when you’re his wife, not when you are expecting his first very own child.

“I will. But only if these jerks leave me alone”, he grumbles before giving you a passionate kiss.

“That might be manageable. I want to go home now…”

“No problem, I’ll carry you-“

“You really don’t have to carry me-“

“Oh, but I sure as hell will.”

“HAVE A GOOD NIGHT YOU TWO! AND DON’T ACT LIKE A JERK AGAIN, SHINAZUGAWA!”

“Did you have to tell her everything?”

“She’s my friend, Sanemi. Of course I had to.”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @laurencrsnt

[amiableness]

Kiss and Makeup Up

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Summary: James ruins reader’s date and attempts to make it better.

Word Count: 2829

Warnings: Jealous!James; kissing; and reader wearing heels, jewelry and makeup.

A/N 💌: A quick James oneshot that’s been on my mind, but I’m heavily consider making a second part to this.

As usual, thank you to @moonpascal for reading!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Go on, kiss and make up!” Sirius' voice trails after you as you hurry down the corridor, James close on your heels. On any other day, you might have tossed a playful jab back at Sirius, well-accustomed to his relentless teasing about you and James. But today, the weight of everything made your throat tighten, leaving you silent, your focus fixed on reaching the safety of your dorm.

The sharp click of your heels echoed off the stone walls, and James' muttering about your surprising speed in heels barely registers. Your anger simmers, blocking out his words as you storm ahead and shove the door open. James is right behind you, catching it just before it could slam shut in his face, determined not to let you shut him out.

“Get out, Jamie.” Though your voice was laced with anger, the way you used his nickname gave him a glimmer of hope. It wasn’t hopeless—there was still a chance to make everything better.

“I’m not leaving until we figure this out.” James says, stepping forward and leaning against the post of Lily's bed as he watches you roll your eyes and turn into the room. He doesn’t say anything as you begin furiously grabbing clothes and scattered heels off the floor—remnants of you getting ready for a date, now tainted by the tension hanging between you two.

“There’s nothing to figure out! You ruined my date, plain and simple.” You spin around, clutching a black heel in your hand, and for a fleeting moment, James braces himself, half-expecting you to launch it at him in a fit of frustration. But it’s you, his sweet best friend—the one who cares so deeply for others that you always put them before yourself. It’s a trait that drives James a little crazy sometimes, knowing you’d sacrifice your own happiness without a second thought.

The realization only sharpens the sting of your anger, an unfamiliar weight he’s not used to carrying. He can recall times you’ve been disappointed—maybe after one of his careless pranks or his thoughtless disregard for someone’s feelings—but never this. Never this level of anger.

“I said I was sorry.” He tries, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you scoff and turn away, angrily kicking off your heels. You bend down to pick them up, and despite himself, his eyes drift to the curve of your body. He knows he shouldn’t be looking, but he can’t help it—he’s never been able to take his eyes off you. And now, a bitter feeling twists in his gut, knowing you're dressed all pretty for someone else.

“You're not, though. Why the fuck did you feel the need to scare him off?” You toss the heels into your trunk and turn to face him, arms crossed. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words die before they form—because he doesn’t know how to tell you the truth. He knows exactly why, but admitting it out loud would change everything between you. And he’s not sure he’s ready for that.

The silence between you stretches, heavy and unspoken, as you wait for an answer he isn’t ready to give. You both know exactly what you're waiting for—a proper explanation.

One you’ve been holding out hope for, quietly, for years.

“It's not fair, you know.” You let out a deep sigh, turning to face your desk, your gaze falling on the mirror. James watches as you begin to remove your jewelry, your back turned to him, but his reflection still catches glimpses of you. The anger in your voice has softened, but he knows that if he says the wrong thing, it could all flare up again, as sharp and sudden as before.

“What isn't?” He hesitates, watching you carefully as he takes a cautious step forward. His eyes follow the way your lips part in the mirror, the soft exhale of frustration escaping you as you fumble with your necklace.

He wants to step forward, to gently brush your hair aside and unfasten the clasp, to press a soft kiss against the back of your neck once the necklace slips away. But he can’t—so he remains still, trapped in silence, as he watches you instead.

“Why is it that you go out with girl after girl, but when I show interest in a guy, you scare him off?” You already knew the answer—weren’t blind to it. It had been clear to everyone that you and James had been circling each other for years, dancing around unspoken words.

But he refused to admit that he cared for you as more than friends. It felt pointless to tell him how you felt when it was clear James was intent on keeping you in the friend zone.

From the moment crushes became a part of your life, James had been yours. But you were never certain about his feelings—until that one night when he got blackout drunk and confessed he was in love with you. He has no memory of that drunken night, but you overheard him later, telling the boys he’d never drink that much again because he wanted to actually remember the parties he went to. You’d felt a pang of disappointment, but you were gathering the courage to confront him about it. Then, the next day, he hooked up with a girl from Ravenclaw, and just like that, all your resolve crumbled, leaving you feeling more invisible than ever.

He didn’t remember what he’d said, and if he was out with other girls, it was clear he didn’t care enough to mention it while sober.

That was a year ago, and you still hadn’t brought it up. 

So, to cope with the mess of it all, you went on a date—a rare one, the first in nearly a year. And now, here was James, wrecking it all over again.

“I—” He stops himself, clearing his throat, the tension in his voice betraying the lie before he even finishes. “I don’t think that’s true. You go out on dates.”

He knew he spent a lot of time flirting with girls—whether it was during class, when he should have been paying attention, or at parties where conversation flowed too easily. But when someone showed interest in you? That was a different story altogether. He’d like to blame it on the fact that you were his best friend, but deep down, he knew better. He was protective of you because he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone looking at you the way he did. Was it selfish? Definitely. But the thought of losing you terrified him more than anything.

“You know that’s a lie. You saw how excited I was! Why did you take that from me?” You were fully aware of how weak and accusatory your voice sounded, but you didn’t care. You were hurt, and it was clear in the way you shook your head, disappointment heavy in every movement. James watched your reflection, noticing the way you swallowed hard as if trying to shove down the swell of emotions threatening to break free. And with that, a wave of guilt slammed into his stomach, settling there like a stone.

“I just didn't want him to hurt you!” 

"So you decided to take that off his hands and hurt me instead?" You scoffed, making James flinched as if you had slapped him. It probably would have hurt less if you had.

“Merlin, no! Sweetheart, that wasn't what I was trying to do—”

“Then what were you trying to do, James? Because I'm getting tired of this little game, we have going on.” 

He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes following your hand as you gently remove one of your earrings. For a moment, your gazes meet through the mirror, and the weight of it all presses down on him. He wishes, desperately, that you would just turn around and face him.

He was racking his brain, searching for the right words, trying to find a way to fix this. He considered stepping back, giving you space like he did when you got agitated with him. But this felt different. It wasn’t just about a moment of frustration—it was something deeper, something that could damage your friendship permanently if he didn’t speak up. He knew he had to fix this.

“You guys make up yet?” Sirius hollered, and James could practically picture him standing at the  bottom of the stairs with his hands cupped around his mouth as he shouted at the both of you.

Sirius' words from earlier echoed in his head as if they were taunting him, swirling around like a cruel mantra. 

Go on, kiss and make up.

It felt like an accusation, a reminder of how much he’d messed up. He could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, twisting in his gut. Every nerve in his body screamed that his next move would either make everything worse—digging the hole even deeper—or finally give him a chance to tell you why he’d ruined your date. But the fear of losing you pushed him forward.

“Tell me to stop, sweetheart.”

“Stop what—?” You ask, tossing your last piece of jewelry into the ceramic dish with a sharp clang before turning to face James. Your breath catching in your throat as he moves closer, and without thinking, you instinctively take a step back, bumping into your desk. The sudden movement rattles the items on top, sending a soft, anxious clatter through the room.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as James reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb grazing the edge of your jaw. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, and James can’t help but think how pretty you look—more than he’s ever allowed himself to admit. 

He’s never been able to admire you like this before, not without the constant fear of you catching him.

His hands are shaky, and his proximity to you is making him nervous in a way that he couldn’t quite shake. But he didn’t know how else to explain himself. So, tentatively, he let his fingers graze your skin, admiring how you melted into him. He watches, heart pounding, as your lashes flutter and your lips part in surprise at the softness of his touch. The anger in your eyes had faded, leaving behind disbelief and something that looked dangerously close to hope.

He startles both himself and you when the words slip out, low and raw: “You make me so fucking nervous.” You blink up at him, silent, processing the confession. His gaze drifts over the mascara you’d carefully applied, the gloss glistening on your lips—details he hadn’t noticed before, but now felt like a punch to his gut. The jealousy flares, burning hot and fast in the pit of his stomach. It was devastating to realize you were all dressed up, and it wasn’t for him. Those heels, those glossed lips—they were for a guy who hardly knew you. 

Not like James knew you.

You part your lips, and James unknowingly silences you with a gentle brush of his thumb just beneath your lower lip. A soft, satisfied smile tugs at his mouth as he hears the gasp escape you. His hand rests on your left hip, pulling you closer, grounding you against him. The tension in the room thickens, and just like that, your anger has melted.

“If you want me to stop, just say the word, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his voice low and thick with intention as he edged closer. His fingers caressing your jaw, tilting your face upwards, bringing you within a breath of him. The air between you crackles, heavy and charged, and you feel the pull—the tempting, intoxicating proximity. He was so close now, you could feel the warmth of his breath, and all it would take was the slightest movement for his lips to claim yours.

You thought about saying it—the words were right there, just on the tip of your tongue. But then his lips brushed against yours just barely, and everything else faded away. You couldn’t bring yourself to say no—not when this was something you’d wanted for years. Even with the anger simmering inside you, the frustration over James ruining your date, you couldn’t pull away.

Not now. Not when he was so close.

If anything, a strange sense of relief was starting to wash over you—relief that he had ruined it. Because if he hadn’t, it might have been another guy standing where he was now, and the thought of that made something tighten painfully in your chest.

“Last chance.” He mumbled, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, searching for any sign that you might stop him. The only sound between you was the uneven rhythm of your breaths, erratic and heavy, pulsing with the desire that surged between you both. When you didn’t say a thing, no rejection, no hesitation—only the warmth of your breath mingling with his—he offered a barely-there smile before leaning in, his lips finally capturing yours with a slow, gentle kiss.

He started slow, cautious, as if afraid he might push you away. But the wrecked hum that escaped your throat—the sound of pure desire—told him everything he needed to know. You wanted this as much as he did.

It was overwhelming how quickly the kiss shifted—what started as sweet and searching, quickly turned frantic and hungry. The slow, deliberate pace gave way to a fiery urgency. The gentle brush of lips became a desperate meeting of mouths as the two of you gave into years of pining.

Your hands, which had been gripping the edge of the desk hard, moved slowly toward him. You let your fingers trail up his stomach, feeling the dips and ridges before reaching his chest. Your other hand found its way into his curls, you tugged softly, the motion pulling a low, pleasure-filled groan from deep within him. That sound, the sound of him unraveling, seemed to shatter something inside James. In an instant, he stepped closer—if that was even possible—until your bodies were pressed together, the heat between you two undeniable, consuming.

He pulled away just an inch, and the desperate whine that escaped your lips was enough to pull him back in, his arms circling your waist before effortlessly lifting you onto the desk. You gasped his name, the sound caught in your throat, as his lips claimed yours again, urgent and hungry. One hand slid around your thigh, pulling you closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours as he stood between your parted legs. His grip on your hip was firm, grounding, while his other hand found its place at the side of your throat, fingers warm and possessive.

You had never been kissed like this before. It was overwhelming—an all-consuming heat that ignited deep in your belly as James kissed you with a hunger, as if he'd been waiting for this moment his entire life.

And it was ruining you, because if this was how it felt to kiss James Potter, you never wanted to be kissed by anyone else ever again.

He rocked his hips against yours, the pressure making you gasp, and that breathless sound was all he needed. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth, tasting you as if he couldn’t get enough. You were so completely immersed in him—the feel of his lips, the taste of him—that the low, teasing whistle from your doorway barely registered in your mind.

“Bloody hell, I didn’t expect you to actually go and kiss her.” Sirius’ voice rang out, loud and unfiltered. The words struck a panic through you, your body warming with embarrassment as you instinctively tucked your head into James’ chest, hoping to hide from the intrusion. You would recognize Sirius’ voice anywhere, and you knew you would be teased about this for ages.

James, with you still propped on the desk, remained a shield, his body pressed protectively against yours. He glanced over at Sirius and Remus, who stood by the doorway. Sirius, leaning against the doorframe, raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, while Remus stood next to him, his usually calm demeanor showing signs of awkwardness.

“Fuck off and shut the door, mate.” James groans, his arms pulling you tighter as he fights the urge to hurl a book at Sirius and Remus. Instead, he sends them a warning glare and brings a hand up to the back of your head, the heat of the moment still burning between you, and silently dares them to say anything more.

The boys hesitate, but not before Sirius calls out with a teasing smirk, “Didn’t know you had it in you, Potter. You finally got your girl.” And just like that, the door slams shut, leaving the air thick with tension and you cringing in embarrassment.

Maybe telling him you loved him wasn’t that pointless after all.

please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write and spread my work! 🤍

[mostly-imagines]

At Least I’m Not Alone at the Wake

jason todd x fem!reader

aka how jason feels safe even when he feels like he’s dying

HEY today we’re going to play a game where we practice reblogging fics: if you read this and like it—reblog!! ie, if you like and dont reblog i might block bc im getting sick of the lack of decorum

warnings: angst w comfort throughout

It took less than thirty seconds for the silence of the night to drift into sounds of shrieks echoing off the buildings along the street. The sharp contrast had you and Jason bolting upright on the couch, ears on alert. It only took a few seconds more of listening for you to realize you’re not hearing shouting—it’s laughter. Maniacal, uncontrolled laughter. 

There’s a beat as you both freeze upon the implication, the unsettling realization dropping in on you. You barely have a moment to process it before Jason’s pushing up from the couch and heading towards the bathroom.

“Close the window,” he grumbles.

You blink as you register his words before jumping up to do as told, quickly sliding the frame shut and locking it. He returns soon with an armful of towels in hand, and you stand back as he stuffs a couple along the window sill with rough movements. He goes throughout the apartment, doing the same to the other windows. He rounds back to the living room window, looking down at the street with a heavy look on his face. 

You trust that the towels will do their job in preventing the laughing gas from getting in the apartment, but they’re unable to block out the bellows of hysteria.

He backs away from the window, letting the living room wall hold his weight. You both listen to the harrowing echoes with still bodies. 

You watch him, waiting for a reaction. You don’t mean to, but you know you’re looking at him like he’s a loaded spring. You try not to, you know how much he hates how his family does that to him, but fuck, it’s hard not to worry about him.

When Joker incidents have come up, they’ve usually been something you’re able to ignore or even get ahead of and drive out of the city. But this is raucous and chaotic, clearly enough to shut down the city from the inside. Besides, Jason would be booking it out of here if he thought there was any chance of a clean getaway in this.

But you know he’s got no interest in inserting himself in anything Joker related, especially something so destabilizing.

While you know Jason’s family cares about him, of course they do, but you’ve noticed they sometimes put Gotham’s needs first and his second. So the severity of this attack is concerning for you for two reasons.

“Will they…” you shuffle, “Will they need you?”

He’s quick to answer, voice firm. “No.” A long moment passes before he adds on, quieter, “They won’t want me out there.”

You nod to yourself, trying to relax your body. You being on edge isn’t going to help him.

You watch as his head thumps against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. He’s tough—you know he’s tough. He can withstand a hell of a lot more than you’ll probably ever even know. But even for Gotham, this is a lot. And even for someone who hasn’t been through what Jason has, the ringing repetitions of laughter are maddening. You wonder if this is what the Joker hears in his head. You wonder if this is what Jason heard.

The intensity of the laughing increases, more people likely becoming exposed to the gas. You think you can hear it in one of your neighbor’s apartments too.

He thumps his head against the drywall again, hands clenching at his sides. It takes one more forceful thud for you to move over to him, cradling your hand to the side of his head, holding him still. He lets you, though he still doesn’t open his eyes.

“Jay,” you say softly, stroking his hair. “Let’s take a shower, yeah?” Normally you’d try for a bath to calm him instead but you hope the waterfall from the shower might be enough to drown out the noise.

He takes a second to respond, letting your hand bear the weight of his head. “Yeah.”

His voice is splintered though, and his shoulders droop as he stands up fully. He waits to move until you start to lead him, flinching at every spike of laughter. You reach back and take his hand, giving it two squeezes. He squeezes your hand back but doesn’t loosen his grip.

As you enter the bathroom he wastes no time getting straight to the shower nozzle and turning it on. You press the door shut behind you, sealing out a decent portion of the chaos. You decide against turning the overhead light on, opting instead to let the small pink-shaded lamp provide a warm glow that you can easily maneuver throughout the shadows in. You figure he needs a more tranquil atmosphere than the harsh white light the bathroom ceiling can provide.

You turn to him in time to catch him pulling his shirt up harshly, movements jerked and impatient.

You place a gentle hand on his forearm, “Hey.”

He pauses his actions, eyes on the floor.

You don’t say anything else, but he understands your objection regardless. You remove your touch and he peels his shirt off slower, kinder to himself. 

You wait to make sure he continues this method with the rest of his clothes before you start to remove yours.

The downpour of water on the tiles does it’s intended job in creating your own little sanctum away from the noise. You climb into the shower after him, standing in the stray mist sprays that made their way past him. The bits of water that do manage their way to you are hot—not scalding, but hot enough that you know his chest is going to start getting numb very soon standing in front of the stream like this. 

You trace lines over the muscles of his back, outlining them and every little indent of a scar. When you run out of canvas on his back you move onto his arms, right then left.

It’s not until you trace down his wrist that you realize his head is angled down. You don’t need to be standing in front of him to know that his focus is zeroed in on his scar and you’re not sure how long it's been that way. Too long, in any case.

“Jay,” you say so softly that the water nearly drowns you out. “Will you look at me, please?”

He does turn to you, slowly, but he doesn’t look up.

You hold his face in your hands, nudging him to look up at you. He looks tired, drained. 

You know he has to hear that laughter in a different way than you do. It’s uncomfortable and frightening for you, but for him, it’s layers upon layers of the sound he heard while he was being beaten to death. And even beyond that horrible trauma, the reminder of it brings forth every memory of what happened afterwards, not to mention the heavy baggage you know he feels over being here at all. And you can see it all mulling behind his eyes.

“You know I love you,” you tell him with sincerity. His gaze stays heavy and you can tell it’s a struggle for him to hold the eye contact.

You lean up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, catching his bottom lip slightly. Your next kiss meets his lips fully. You have to push up on your toes a little bit but he does the work of meeting you halfway. It’s a slow, intimate exchange, as fluid and serene as breathing.

“I love all of you,” you murmur against his lips. You let your hands fall to his chest, resting as gently as they can over his pecs. “Everything about you.”

You kiss the top of his Y scar, trailing down soft pecks to where it forks off. You feel his shoulders sag a bit, tension forcing its way out of him. You lean down to continue your kisses down the vertical line marking his abdomen, your hands lightly following in your wake.

He says your name painfully, like he’s begging you to stop. You’ll give him partial reprieve, taking his hands in yours and kissing his scarred knuckles. It’s his instinct to push affection away, you know that, but you also know that he needs it. That’s why he doesn’t stop you now—he knows he needs it—it’s just a lot for him all at once, emotionally. Which is why he gives no warning before he picks you up by your thighs and pulls you close. 

He’s got you a full head higher than him and he uses the difference to hide his face in your neck. Sometimes he feels like that’s the only place he can go. He maneuvers you around so your back is pressed up against the wall as you hold each other tight.

You stay in there like that until the water runs cold, and then some. You have to nudge him a bit into setting you back down then, but he does, letting you collect and wrap the both of you in towels. The second the water turns off you can hear the cackling through the walls. 

As you return to the bedroom, he only bothers to pull on a pair of boxers before collapsing his weight onto the mattress. The lack of layers won’t help him any, but you know why he did it.

He can’t always look after himself the way he should—he disregards his own needs and has trouble even thinking of what could help him. You’ve developed a mind for it though—for him—and you know that being exposed and vulnerable like this isn’t going to help him calm down. He prefers being covered up when he’s stressed, it gives him more security, you think.

You open up the dresser and dig through for his most comfortable hoodie and sweatpants. He takes them from you, but he looks remiss at the thought of exerting anymore energy right now, so you help him tug on the clothes, successfully blocking out the now icy air from the AC. 

Once he’s fully clothed he pulls you forward to sit on his lap. You stumble a bit on the way but he compensates by holding you very tight, not giving your body any option to fall. His grip on you tells you that he’s not concerned with you getting dressed too, which you’re perfectly willing to oblige.

You have to force him to let you break away a little bit so you can reach over to the nightstand and grab your phone and earbuds.

“Movie or music?”

He doesn’t say anything, only nods his head once at the end of your sentence. You take that to mean music and open up your playlist on your phone, handing him the headphones.

There’s a harsh spike in the hysterics outside, mixed with what sounds like screams, and it has Jason flinching hard. You think you can see tears welled in his eyes as he fumbles to get the headphones in his ears. He takes the phone from you and picks the first song he sees and turns the volume up, up, up.

You shift yourself around so that you’re laying back against the pillows, giving him room to lay down over your legs, wrapping his arms around your waist with a firm grip. You pull the hood up over his head, but keep your hands woven underneath, threading through his hair. 

His cheek mushes against your bare stomach, and with the way he’s laying, you’re sure the earbuds are digging uncomfortably into his ear. He makes no effort to move in any case. You can hear the song playing word for word, and while the noise exposure concerns you, if there was ever a time to let it go, it would be now.

You’re both wrapped up nicely in the blankets and you can only see the tip of his nose and a few strands of ivory hair strewn past his forehead. Despite all the snug layers, he shakes a bit under your touch.

He falls asleep before the problem outside gets wrapped up, and you turn down the music. Not all the way, just enough that he can rest in peace. 

After a while the giggles die down and aside from a few first responder sirens, things get quiet again. About twenty minutes later, Nightwing ducks in through your window and scares the hell out of you. The interaction does not, however, wake Jason up, which is how you know tonight took a very heavy toll on him.

Even though the lights aren’t on in your bedroom you slide down from the pillows a bit more and let the blanket and Jason drown your chest out from visibility.

Nightwing gives you a silent, if not awkward, wave and scans over Jason. Even in the dark can see the worry in his eyes. He looks back up at you and throws up a questioning thumbs up with a tilt of his head.

You nod and he nods back slowly as he takes one more look at his brother before hopping out the window.

You peer down at Jason and brush his curls back gently. His hold on you tightens just a bit as he turns in his sleep.

reblog or get out seriously

[alicentofhightower]

the cost of a dragon

pairing: addam velaryon x wife!reader

synopsis: addam is covered in cuts and scrapes from falling and running in the forest, and now you must take care of him.

includes: fluff, episode 6 heavy spoilers, probably historically inaccurate w some parts but we’re just gonna Let That Slide, not proofread again oops

wc: 1.3k

a/n: i love him so bad. rn my top 3 tb characters are rhaenyra rhaena and addam. he’s so sweet!! i really hope we get to see a lot more of him in the next few episodes

-

Addam is bewildered when he returns to your home, panting, eyes wide and mouth agape. You’ve never seen him like this, but you guess that it’s the dragon laying beside your house that’s done it.

“What’s happened?” You exclaim when you see the way he’s stumbled in, bleeding from a cut on his cheek.

“…The, the dragon,” He mumbles, locked hair spilling over his shoulders. Addam walks over to where you stand by the kitchen table, hands gently grasping your forearms, as yours do his, thumbs running over your skin to ground himself. He smells strange, like something otherworldly. Could it have been because of the beast outside your door?

“It came to me, followed me through the woods by the shore. I think I’ve claimed him. Yes, that’s what I’ve done. I must go.” Addam attempts to retract himself from your grip, but to no avail.

The pots and pans inside rattle when the silver creature lay its head on the yard outside, no doubt resting from its flight. “Please, my love,” Addam insists. “I need to go and see the queen myself. She is in need of more dragons herself, is she not? If I serve her, perhaps she will allow you and I to live at Dragonstone with her. This is our chance.”

You shake your head, apron ruffling from the beach’s wind blowing through the window. Addam has always been ambitious, has always wanted the best for you and himself. He’s fiercely loyal to you, a quality that made you want to marry him in the first place.

“Addam.” Your hands fly up to cup his cheeks, stopping him from continuing on with his tangent. “You’re covered in gashes and dirt and sand. At least let me lend you a hand.”

He softens at that, jaw seeming to unclench. Addam’s brown eyes have always been expressive, and now they seem to look at you as if you’re the sweetest person he’s ever known. “…I suppose you’re right,” He mutters, “but we must make haste.”

Finally, you let go of each other. You use one of your hands to intertwine your fingers with his, and the other to grip your skirts as you lead him to your room. It’s small and modest, mostly swallowed up by the bed you share. “Sit,” You say, almost commandingly, quickly fetching a spare piece of cloth by the tub in the main room and a bowl of water.

Addam’s eyes almost glint at the way you flounce about before him. He spreads his legs so you are able to stand between them, chin tilting up so he can make eye contact with you while you fix him up.

“Let me see.”

He holds out his right arm, palm up, covered in tiny scratches and sand from his poor attempt to escape from his new dragon. Seasmoke, he remembers. Addam squeezes your right hand lightly while the other cleans him up.

You barely manage to suppress a heavy scoff at the mess in front of you, but you dab gently at it with the towel anyway, soaked with water. “What did you do?” You ask, brows knitting together. “Did you try to run from it?”

“Yes,” He admits, face scrunching together at the fresh memory. You’ve told him to be careful of the sky-beasts constantly looming over the two of you, and he knows he’ll be scolded for trying to escape the damn thing.

You shake your head, mostly to yourself, and Addam’s shoulders deflate. “Well, what would you have done?” He asks, exasperated. “My apologies for wanting to come home to you tonight.”

You pinch his arm. “I only worry for you,” You say, voice soft. Addam and his brother, Alyn, are the only family you’ve left; you’d never known your father, and your sweet mother had died of a fever shortly after your seventeenth nameday. She hadn’t been able to last, to see you wed the man you love so dearly.

“…What will you say, when you see Queen Rhaenyra? She may think you are coming as a foe, to battle rather than service.”

Addam hisses as you brush against a particularly deep cut, eyes squeezing shut. “Sorry,” You say, and he only tips your interlaced fingers up to his lips and kisses the back of your hand.

Your husband pauses after he lets your hands back down, considering the weight of whatever his words to the Black Queen will mean. He almost thinks of it as a duty, to you and his brother. To further your ever so small family.

“I suppose the words will come to me when it happens.” He swallows harshly, eyes averted from yours, darting around like he’s telling himself to fucking think.

You’ve moved onto his other arm, now, and suddenly the odor of him has become unbearable. It’s nothing like anything you’ve smelled before.

Grimacing, you drop the washcloth and cover your nose with your hand, taking a step back. “What?” questions Addam, clearly confused. “What’s the matter?”

“Gods, you fucking stink. What is that?”

Addam laughs. He laughs, tension seeping out of him as he does. “It must be the dragon,” He claims, reaching out to grab your waist and pull you back towards him. “Don’t mind it, please.”

You’re unable to fight the smile you feel blooming, because despite the fact that your husband reeks of his new dragon sleeping outside your home, and your feet are sore from walking to the markets, only to find nothing, and your nerves are set ablaze thinking of his meeting with Rhaenyra, Addam is here. He’s here with you, holding you, safe in the comfort of your humble little home.

The feeling is fleeting, only settling in you for a moment, but you tip your head down to press a kiss to his mouth. “You must be vigilant,” You plead when you pull away, ignoring the way Addam’s lips seem to chase after yours. “And you must return to me. I do not know what I would do if I were to lose you.”

“I will be. I swear it.”

You brush away the dried blood on his cheek with the cloth, frowning. “We should leave, shouldn’t we? Fly to Essos, where we will be safe without the threat of war. That dragon is large enough to saddle three, isn’t it? We can go-“

A thumb soothingly presses against your lips, silencing you. “…If I can put the thing to use, it will strengthen us. Strengthen whatever I have with my father.”

Addam had always been desperate to get the same attention from Lord Corlys that Alyn had always seemed to receive after he’d saved the man. You’d never spoken to the Lord Velaryon yourself before, but it was hard to miss the way he’d stare at you when you visited your husband in the shipyard, almost melancholically.

“I do not care for jewels and gowns and for you to be gilded in glory, Addam,” You state, pushing his wrist away from your face. “I care for you. Should we not go now? I could find your brother.”

“No.” He shakes his head, standing from the bed, now towering over you. His fingers, callused from his seemingly never-ending work on Lord Corlys’s ship, caress your waist almost reverently.

Almost every inch of your skin heats up when Addam leans down to kiss your chest, right where your heart is. The skin is covered by the sea-blue gown you wear, a white apron tied about your waist, and you shudder at the feel of his lips on such an intimate spot.

He kisses up from your bosom to your mouth again, firm and sweet and longing. There’s no guarantee you’ll ever see him again, but some strange part of you feels that all will be well. It’s a naive thought, perhaps, but one you welcome nonetheless.

“I will come back to you,” He promises, voice rasping. “I love you.”

[moonstruckme]

OMGGGGGGG

the first kiss was so cute!!! perfect!! james was so sweet and gentle w her😍😭😭

can’t wait to see there dynamic from now on

Thank you gorgeous! I held onto this so I'd have something to post this last part to, hope you don't mind <3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

James is buzzing while he makes breakfast the next morning. Golden morning light pours in through the front windows, brightening the kitchen and warming his back where he stands in front of the stove, the buttery smell of pancake batter wafting up from the pan. He’d gone to bed later than usual last night and slept hard but woke jittery, desperate to do something about the commotion in his chest. 

A run hadn’t done it, nor had replaying the previous night in his head, and now he’s convinced he won’t be able to rest until he can kiss you again. It’s your fault, really. Your little sighs, your careful touches, the way you’d tugged at the roots of his hair when he asked you to, like all this time you’d only been waiting for permission. You’ve fucked him. James will never be able to get over it. Now, all he can think about is getting more. 

He’s made more pancakes than a family of five could eat when he hears the stair creak. 

“Good morning,” he says, turning around just as you pad into the kitchen, quiet as a ghost. 

Your eyes are bleary, but they still manage to widen slightly as you take him in, along with the precarious tower of pancakes beside him. You’re in that sweatshirt he loves so much, sleeves hanging limply from your hands and hem hitting just above your knees. 

“Morning,” you say, softer than soft. 

“How’d you sleep, lovely?” 

You shrug, not quite looking at him. “Fine. You?” 

James grins. “Beautifully. You want some pancakes?” 

Your gaze goes again to the stack beside him, and he can practically see the quip brewing in your eyes. Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice. Are you planning to feed an army?

“Sure,” you say in that same quiet voice. “Thanks.” 

James studies you, intrigued. “Great. C’mere, sweetheart.” 

He plates up a few pancakes, keeping one eye on you as he does. You seem disinclined to look even in his general direction, finding distractions with the stove, your plate, the weather outside. 

“How’s this?” He turns around with the plate. You take it cautiously, by the complete opposite end to avoid any possibility of making contact with his hand. James’ heart warms at the way your fingers just peek out from the sleeve of your sweatshirt to grasp the plate. He wants to kiss you until you don’t know what day it is. “Too many? Not enough?” 

“This is good.” 

“Yeah?” He doesn’t let go of the plate. He tilts his head, trying to catch your eye, but you evade him. He has a hunch that if he were to touch your face (and god, does he want to) he’d find it burning hot. “Are you alright?” 

Your eyes flit up to his for a half a second before fleeing again. You hum, the sound tense and pitchy. “Mhm.” 

“You sure?” he asks, matching your soft tone. “Don’t go getting shy on me now.” 

You look like you stop breathing. 

And ordinarily James might feel bad, but post-kiss James cannot be prevailed upon to treat you as cautiously as he ordinarily might. Unfortunately for you, your secret’s out. You’re lovely, you’d said, voice soft and breathy and mere inches from his own mouth, I like having you around. I do. I really like you. Also unfortunately for you, post-kiss James knows things. 

He slips his palm alongside your face, working his hand behind your ear and letting his fingers burrow into the hair behind it. You melt, leaning into the touch. Your eyes meet his. 

It’s grueling work to keep from smiling. “What’s wrong, angel?” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say, still quietly but now with more of yourself in your voice. 

“Really? Because you’re acting like we’ve just met.” 

“Don’t you—don’t things feel different to you?” You seem almost distressed, eyebrows hooking upwards just slightly, pretty eyes imploring. Your voice softens again, now more with intimacy than reticence. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to talk with you about.” 

James lets his smile loose, thumbing at the skin behind your ear before letting you go. “We can talk about anything you want,” he says simply, grabbing his own plate and leading you into the living room. 

You’ve got a perfectly good kitchen table but almost never use it, each preferring to eat your meals on the couch. He flops down, careful not to tip his pancakes onto the cushion as he crosses his legs underneath him like you’re at a sleepover. 

“So, have any fun dreams last night?”  

You smile. It’s as heart-stoppingly lovely as always, and James thinks his own probably doubles in magnitude in response. 

“A couple,” you admit. 

“Oh? What about?” 

Your smile goes sheepish, bottom lip slipping in between your teeth as if to impede its progress. You fork clinks against the plate as you start cutting up your pancake. 

James’ brain short-circuits. 

“You were in my dream,” he blurts. 

Your eyes flit up to his warily. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. It was one of those weird, super vivid dreams where nothing really happens, you know?” You seem to relax a bit. James douses his pancakes in syrup, starting to cut them up as he talks. “We were here, and someone had spilled something on the rug—probably Sirius, to be honest—and it made this huge stain. I’d tried to pour baking soda on it, but the whole box had collapsed and it got everywhere. We were both sitting right there scrubbing with literal toothbrushes, and I think I was worried you’d be upset with me but you were just laughing.” His heart warms at the pseudo-memory, the hazy feeling of contentment that had permeated the dream. The sound of your laugh, exactly as sweet as in real life. “Your hands were totally covered in baking soda, and the rug was ruined, but we were both laughing our heads off.” 

You’re smiling again, a small, knowing thing. “Had you said something to make us laugh?” 

“No,” he says honestly, “I think it was you.” 

James is aware that he’s barely functioning. It’s almost too much to talk and cut his pancakes at the same time while you’re looking at him like that, like he’s the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen. It makes it both a relief and a disappointment when you drop your gaze. 

“Do you think the stain might’ve been a premonition?” you ask. 

He raises his eyebrows. “How do you mean?” 

You laugh, and he’s instantly spellbound, caught somewhere between fantasy and reality. It takes him a second to realize you’re touching the edge of his plate, tipping it up. James looks down. It had been nearly falling off his lap, his pancakes cut up into tiny pieces and syrup pooled near the rim. 

You look up at him, seraphim with the morning light brightening your features and the hint of a smile playing on your lips. He thinks of how soft they’d felt on his the night before, the way they’d fallen open like welcoming him home. 

“You were almost spilling syrup onto the rug,” you say, that rare and beloved teasing lilt to your voice. “It would’ve taken more than baking soda to get that out.” 

“See?” he asks. “You know how to talk to me just fine.” 

You look surprised, then self-conscious, though not nearly as bad as when you’d come into the kitchen a few minutes ago. He covers your hand with his to keep you from going anywhere. Sets his plate on the coffee table. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Your eyes are wide. “Again?” 

“Yes, again,” James laughs. “And again after that, preferably. Only if it’s okay with you.” 

You shake your head, looking something akin to bewildered. “Yeah. Yeah, please.” 

He starts to lean toward you, and you meet him halfway. Already, it’s a bit different. There’s no tentative stillness, no slow yielding. Your lips are pliant and eager, parting and closing around his like you’re trying to get as much of him as you can. Your fingers wind in his hair without instruction, and James responds by placing his hand in that spot you’d seemed to like it so well last night, the material of your sweatshirt soft beneath his touch. You taste like his pancakes, the syrup sweet on your tongue. 

“Keep talking to me,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your lips worshipfully, “okay?” 

Your voice is breathless. “Why?” 

“Because I like you.” He tugs at you, wanting you closer. “And I think I’ve put in the work for you to warm up to me, if it’s all the same to you.” 

You make a tiny, amused sound. “Fine,” you say. You grow bolder, kissing your way up his cheek, the top of his eyebrow, until your nose is nestled in his hair and your lips are caressing his forehead. “Consider me warmed.” 

James grins, unable to help himself. He thinks that becoming your friend didn’t go quite as he planned, but he feels as though he won in the end.

[rememberwren]

Threshold

Simon asks you to take his virginity, just not in so many words. Or any words at all, really. 5.7 k

cw: virgin!Simon, PIV, oral sex f and m receiving, stop and start sex, lack of communication (typical Simon), poor writing, soft!Simon, hints at past trauma, contraception.

-

A Ghost shaped shadow falls over the table. Your eyes lift to find him standing there, the neck of his beer bottle held loosely in his hand. His mask is drawn down below his chin, revealing to you one of your favorite parts of him: his mouth. Simon has a pretty mouth, scarred though it is. Maybe you have such an affinity for it because it is so often hidden away from your sight, or maybe it’s what that mouth is capable of, being just as likely to crack a poor dad joke as it is to cut a grown man to the bone with just a few words. 

He takes the seat across from you, the screeching of the chair on the floor lost to the ambient sounds of the pub. The others are playing pool (Gaz is taking all of them to task), and the place is packed with bodies, a cacophony of voices and laughter. Feeling overstimulated, you had sequestered yourself away to this little corner hoping to catch your breath and tether yourself back to the earth instead of spending the rest of the night in a dissociated haze. 

The sight of Ghost is like a light slap to the cheek, rousing you from your stupor. Lights burn brighter. Sounds are sharper. If you wrack your brain you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve ever been singled out by Ghost, so you know whatever is about to happen is out of the ordinary. Leaning in, you lace your fingers together on the table top and nearly have to shout to be heard as you say: “What can I do for you, Ghost?” 

“We should hook up,” he says. Then he takes a long drink from his bottle, eyes sharp and dark where they are narrowed in on you over the top. A sniper’s eyes. 

“What?” you shout back, positive that you have misheard him. 

He shrugs. He won’t repeat himself. 

“Me—and you?”

He raises his brows, looking around the empty table as if to ask, Who else?

“Why?”

He takes another drink, and you see him mulling over his potential answers this time, sucking on his teeth as he thinks. What you wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall in his head. He’s got you on tenterhooks, leaning forward onto your elbows, fingers absently (anxiously) playing with a condensation ring left by someone else’s drink earlier in the night. 

Finally, he says, “Why not?”

-

His hand rests low on your back as the two of you say goodbye to the others. You see the downright thunderstruck looks Gaz and Soap throw at each other at your announcement that Ghost is driving you home, but the deeper meaning hardly registers. Who cares if everyone knows that you’re taking Ghost home to fuck him? You’re both adults; you need no one’s permission. Still, as soon as you are outside, you press your palms to your heated cheeks, wondering how you will be able to face any of them in the future. 

“You driving?” you ask him. 

He lifts his hand, showing you the keys in his palm. He doesn’t open the car door for you—not that you had really expected him to. It isn’t as if this is a date. It’s just two adults hooking up.

Inside, he shifts the vents towards you and turns on the heat, soothing the goosebumps that had begun to bloom on your arms. He waits until you’ve buckled your seatbelt before backing out and onto the street. It’s only then that you remember what Soap says about Ghost’s driving. You wish you had a second seatbelt. 

“So what brought all this on?” you ask, feeling remarkably shy in the passenger seat. You’re beginning to sober up from your drinks at the pub, not that you had ever been that drunk to begin with. Maybe this was a mistake. You’re already suffering from nerves, and you haven’t even gotten back to your apartment yet. How were you supposed to fuck Ghost without looking like a fawn, your knees knocking together coltishly, nauseous from anxiety? 

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he admits. 

Alright. Downright digestible news. Before tonight, you wouldn’t have even considered you and Ghost friends, necessarily. More like friend-adjacent, thanks to your mutual friendship with Johnny. It’s good to know that apparently you had caught his eye somehow, even if it was by being the only woman among a male-dominated group of friends. 

You can’t leave it alone. “But why?” 

“That’s what people do, isn’t it?” he asks, like he’s not a person, like he’s only ever heard about what it’s like to be one from a friend of a friend. “They think about fucking each other. Don’t you think about fucking me?” 

Your mouth goes dry. You do. You think about fucking Ghost a lot than one might expect for how few minimal interactions you’ve had. Being perfectly honest, tonight is sort of becoming a dream come true. You’d had an attraction for Ghost ever since you’d met him, even before he’d taken the mask off and you’d seen that he has such a pretty face underneath. 

You’d be willing to examine under a microscope your affection for aloof, seemingly unaffected men on a different day.

Ghost looks at you, trying to interpret your silence, the car swerving slowly into the other lane. You make a sound remarkably close to a screech and reach out to adjust the wheel, but he adjusts it before you do, batting your hand away softly. 

“We don’t have to do this,” he says, eyes firmly on the road now. “I’ll just drop you off.” 

“No, I want to,” you say. “It’s just—it’s been a while for me. I want to, though.” 

Ghost casts you a doubtful glance. He pulls into your apartment complex’s parking lot and the two of you head up together. True to form, you feel his eyes taking in all the new sights: the man behind the desk who doesn’t even look up as you both enter, the elevator that was last inspected two years ago, the proximity to the neighboring apartments.

After you unlock the door but before he crosses the threshold, he reaches up and runs his hand along the top of the doorframe—and easily pulls away your spare key. For a moment he holds it between you both, staring. He seems nearly as surprised as you are by his own actions. Reaching out, he sets it down on the end table just beyond the entry and says: “You couldn’t find a better hiding place for that?” 

“Goddamnit, Ghost,” you whine, slipping off your shoes. “You’re not here to assess my, my security measures. You’re here to fuck me. Will you get in?”

He comes in and makes a circle of the living space, his steps silent in a way you’ve never been able to replicate, not even here in your own living space. You cross your arms, wondering what he’s thinking. Does he think you a slob? A terrible interior designer? You told yourself that you didn’t care. The space was yours, and yours alone, and you liked it well enough. He could survive being in it for one night.

“What’s the verdict?” you ask after the silence stretches too thin. 

“It’s nice,” he says. Then he amends, or perhaps adds: “It’s you.” 

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment. Do you…want a drink?”’ 

“No,” he says, taking off his jacket and resting it on the arm of the couch. “Want you to c’mere.” 

Your feet obey before your mind even thinks to question it, padding across the living room in your socks until you stand in front of where he has seated himself on your frayed, careworn loveseat. He looks up at you, eyes dark and all-seeing. His hands find your hips, testing the width of them, and he makes you feel like something small, something precious, something to be cradled in the palm of his hand like a gem or jewel.

“Sit down,” he says. So you sit beside him, close enough to breathe in his clean scent. 

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “As soon as you say you’ll let me.” 

“I’ll let you.” 

His lips are soft as they look, mouth warm and insistent as he coaxes you to part your lips and taste him—as if you need the incentive. He tastes like Price’s whiskey that he had sipped at the bar, like he would settle warm in your belly and everywhere else. His hand relaxes his hold on your chin, choosing instead to cup your jaw, suffusing warmth throughout your cheek. 

It turns into the longest makeout session you’ve had since you were a teenager. You kiss until your jaw aches, until your lips are raw, until you’re throbbing between your legs. Each time you try to move things along, Ghost gently deflects your advances, seeming content to kiss you for ages. If this is how he fucks, it will be an all night affair. 

“Ghost please,” you mutter against his mouth when you feel liable to burst, when he won’t even let you slip a hand beneath his t-shirt. 

“Here,” he mutters, hauling you onto his lap. That’s headed in the right direction. Your thighs spread obscenely wide to accommodate him, lowering yourself until you feel that hard line beneath his jeans. Instinct has you lining yourself up until you can rub off against him, a choked sound rising up in the back of your throat at the blissful friction. 

He sighs into your mouth, a trembling little exhale of air, his hands finding your hips and pinning you in place. Pulling back, he mutters: “None of that.” 

“Why not?” you pant. “Feels good.” 

“I’m trying not to embarrass myself. Work with me.”

The two of you move to the bedroom. You stand on legs that are already shaking, stripping clothes off along as you go: socks here, leggings there. The typical anxious thoughts have just started spiraling in your head—what underwear are you wearing? Have you shaved recently enough? Is the light flattering? When did you last change the sheets?—when Ghost catches you, looping his forearm around your waist and pulling you back against his firm chest. 

“I wanted to undress you,” he says against the nape of your neck. 

“I can put the clothes back on if you like.” 

“Think I’ll just do the rest myself, if it’s all the same to you.” 

His hands are remarkably gentle for his line of work as he helps you out of your shirt, your arms lifting obligingly to help him. The light from the lamp in the corner is actually quite flattering, casting shadows across you both in a way that is artful. His fingertips, calloused but careful, trace up the lengths of your arms and around to your back. 

He fumbles a little with the clasp of your bra. 

“I hate those things,” you breathe once he finally gets it figured out, coaxing the straps off your shoulders. 

“Me too,” he says in that dry, bland way that you’ve come to associate with his humor.

All that’s left are your panties. He presses you back onto the bedspread and hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, peeling them off your thighs. Your legs try to close on instinct, but he is quick to wedge himself between them, thumbs finding the creases where your thighs meet your pelvis and stroking the sensitive skin until you don’t know whether to laugh from being tickled or cry from being teased. 

“Fuckin’ pretty, aren’t you?” he murmurs, eyes on your pussy. Maybe he’s talking to it and not to you. “Want to get my mouth on you. Can I?” 

God, how long has it been since you’ve gotten head? You nod, near frantic. Even if he’s no good, some effort will be better than nothing. Besides, a part of you has high hopes for Ghost as a lover; so far he has been thorough and careful, both points in his favor. He leans up and kisses you again, your nipples brushing against his t-shirt, reminding you that you are naked while he is still entirely dressed. He seems content, and as desperate as you are to see him naked, you’re even more desperate not to break this blissful little soap bubble you both have somehow managed to find yourselves in. 

Nudging your head up and to the side with the tip of his nose, he trails his mouth down your neck, tasting your skin and searching for your most sensitive spots. When he finds them, he drags his teeth against them softly until your heels are digging into the bed beneath you, hips up and searching for any kind of friction, even if you have to rub yourself against his jeans to find it. 

Ghost continues down over the plains of your chest, teasing first one nipple and then the other with his mouth and his hands, testing the heft of your breasts in his huge palms. He explores your body with an admirable single-mindedness, not the perfunctory, half-hearted way some of your past lovers had. His eyes are never far from your own, categorizing your reactions; for what purpose, you aren’t sure. 

After kissing a line right over your navel, he grips your thighs in his hands and spreads you wide. That close to your cunt, he must be able to smell how desperate you are, must be able to see the way it drips from you. He ghosts a thumb along your slit, turns it towards himself until your slick catches on the light. That thumb disappears into his mouth, and it takes all your breath and all your thoughts with it. His hum of approval vibrates against your calves which are pressed to either side of his chest. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

You nod, unable to trust your voice. 

He leans down and kisses your folds, chaste and sweet as he might have kissed your mouth. He uses the fingers of one hand to spread you open, and there is a rush of warmth as he lets the saliva pool on his tongue and then flood against your sex, leaning down to chase it with his mouth. 

He is all merciful tongue and lips, no hint of teeth as he licks and sucks at that hidden knot of flesh at the top of your sex. He barely pays your entrance any attention—which is fine by you, honestly, his tongue is direly needed elsewhere—but shifts an arm free to sling it over your pelvis, palm resting over your mons, thumb pulling back that hood that seeks to keep your most sensitive parts hidden from him. 

Your hands grip fistfuls of your bedspread, unsure if he’s willing to let you touch his hair. The noises—gasps and whines and choked groans—coming out of your mouth would have your soul leaving your body if only you could hear them over the sound of blood rushing through your ears. 

He’s strong, fighting against your natural urges to clamp your thighs shut around his head. Instead he presses you open wider, leaving no where for you to run to or hide as the pleasure in your pelvis blossoms, swells into some sweet fruit that bursts all over his tongue, your back arching into a neat bow. 

You find out then that Ghost eats pussy the same way he kisses. He seems content to lap you clean and continue sucking at your swollen flesh, and even though you don’t think you could cum again, it still feels good. You melt into the mattress, boneless. Against your better judgement, your hand finds his hair, tucking back the longest strands that just begin to tickle the tops of his ears.  

His mouth stutters against you at the touch, losing its easy rhythm. He pulls back until he is out of your reach. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, throat raw. Your hand falls to rest on your soft belly, feeling exhausted.

“You can touch. Just don’t pull. I don’t—“ he stops, like he is searching for the right words. “—I don’t want it to hurt.” 

“Not at all?” 

“No.” 

“Me neither. Would you kiss me again?” 

His only answer is to shift upwards so that he can meet your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue. His cock, still confined in his jeans, brushes against your thighs. One of your hands wanders down his firm chest, down his belly, til you can map the shape of his erection with your fingers. His biceps tense around you where he braces himself on the bed to keep from putting his weight on you, head dropping til his forehead rests against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. 

“You should get undressed,” you remind him. 

He lets out a breath through his nose that sounds suspiciously like a sigh, leaning back onto his haunches to tug his shirt off over his head. You stare, awed. He’s so thick, all over: muscles hidden beneath a nice layer of soft padding, chest hair broken up by the odd scar here or there. You reach out toward his belt but he stops you. 

“I can do it,” he says. He stands and strips himself naked in one fell swoop, like ripping off a bandaid. He’s thick here too, just as you had suspected: thighs and cock included. Already you can feel the phantom stretch of him between your legs and in your jaw. It burns away the last bits of sleepiness your orgasm had given you. 

Throughout your perusal, he stands still, at attention, mouth turned downward in its most comfortable frown, meeting your eyes with an almost obstinate persistence. You kneel up and crawl to the edge of the bed, letting your legs dangle off of it. 

“Can I touch you?” 

“Alright,” he says. 

You start at his shoulders, tracing over the broad width of them. Everything about him displays his strength. Even his scars, which some might consider signs of failure, only showed his persistence for survival. You ran your hands across his pecs, pausing to toy with one pale, pink nipple, so soft beneath your fingers. With each breath he takes, his abs are thrown into sharp relief. 

“God, Ghost,” you mutter, tracing a line down to his cock. 

“I know,” he says dully, though what he knows, you’re unsure of. “Condom’s in my pants.”

“We don’t need one.”

“I don’t want any surprises.”

“You won’t get any. Here.” You take his hand and guide it to your upper arm where your implant sits just beneath the surface of your skin. He flinches, unsure what he is touching. “It’s my contraception.”

“That’s horrifying,” he mutters. 

“Do what I do—don’t think of it.” 

“Right.”

You shift backwards up into the bed, thighs falling open invitingly. Instead of filling the space between them, he lays next to you, rolling you til you both face each other. 

He runs his calloused palm up the length of your leg and grips your thigh, tugging it up and over his hip until you are spread open for him. There’s a question in his eyes, a slowness to his movement that gives you ample time to deny him this if you don’t want it—but you do. God you do. You ache for it—for him. 

He reaches down and slips two fingers into you, easy as anything in your wet, relaxed state. The fullness is divine, even more so when he decides you’re ready for that third finger, the one that stretches your entrance and makes you hiss a breath through your teeth. 

Ghost doesn’t even fuck you with them, just leaves you stuffed full of his fingers while he kisses you more. He waits until you’re the one shifting and thrusting against his touch before pulling out and wiping your wetness across your tender folds. 

He grips his cock, guides it to your entrance. Hesitates. 

“Please,” you mutter, face flushed with heat, hoping he doesn’t want you to beg. You’ll debase yourself, but it will be painful. 

Whether or not it was your word he was waiting for, he slips inside you, a near-unbearable fullness and pressure that has you burying your face in his chest. His own breaths are stuttered, shallow as he sinks as deep into you as your body will allow and no deeper. Once he’s inside you, he seems to relax, like some great race has been run, some threshold has been crossed and now he can rest. 

“Let me know when I can move,” he says, running his hand up and down the length of your back, down over the curve of your ass. 

“Not yet,” you beg. “Feels like you’re in my fucking throat. Jesus, Ghost.” 

His cock twitches. You both suck in a breath. 

“Don’t say that shit,” he mutters, breathless, fingers digging grooves into the soft flesh of your hips. “Lean back. I want to look at you.”

You uncurl yourself away from his chest, tilting your chin up towards him. The last twinges of pain in your cunt have receded until all that lasts is that ceaseless fullness. He moves at last, laying down his arm so you can rest your head on his bicep. Only then are you aware of how painfully intimate this position is. There is nowhere to turn away to, nowhere to hide. You’ve had sex with partners less intimate than this. 

“You can move,” you assure him, hoping for a distraction. 

He takes a breath so deep his chest brushes your own. The pace he sets is downright agonizingly slow, less thrusting and more of a solid grind against you that has you a shivering mess in his arms. There’s little chance you could cum at this pace, but it feels good, and all of it is strangely secondary to him. 

There’s a look in his eyes. You don’t understand it. Is it tenderness? Genuine affection? Gratitude? You’ve never had sex with this much eye contact before, never felt like breaking that gaze could take you out of the hazy headspace you’re in. Ghost finds your hand and grips it—doesn’t lace your fingers together but instead holds them like a tiny bundle of sticks in his giant hand.

He rests his forehead against your own. His eyes fall shut for just a moment, and it gives you the freedom to examine his features freely: the low brow, the curve of his nose, the pink scars tinged pale purple in the low light. You feel like you’re seeing him for the first time. You feel like you’re the first person to ever see him. 

That strange thought starts a domino effect in your mind, sets off a chain reaction, slides a dozen puzzle pieces into a Ghost shaped puzzle and all at once it hits you. 

“Ghost—stop.” 

He stills, eyes opening. Reverses, withdrawing from inside you. “What hurts?”

“Nothing,” you assure him. “But—I’m sorry. You’ve done this before, right?” 

He doesn’t respond. He’s meeting your eyes, but he has that obstinate, pained look again, like he’d rather be looking straight at the sun. 

Your voice pitches upward with a hint of panic. “Ghost??”

“Fucking hell,” he groans, rolling onto his back, cock slipping free and leaving you feeling bereft. The mattress dips, making you sway toward him. You shift away.  “What gave me away?”

“Oh my god. You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re joking.” 

“Bloody wish,” he mutters, arm thrown over his eyes. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The fuck would I tell you for?” He sounds genuinely baffled. 

“So I could—I don’t know! So I could have known!” 

“Didn’t want you to fucking know,” he says, letting his arm down so that he can glare at you fiercely. At the sight of you huddled at the other side of the bed, naked, arms wrapped around yourself, the fury seems to melt out of him. His shoulders sag. He palms at his eyes briefly, like a headache is brewing.

“Fucked it,” he mutters to himself, going for his jeans and sitting on the edge of the bed to put them on. “Fucked it all.” 

“You didn’t,” you offer hastily, though it does feel a little fucked. Suddenly you realize that your chance to fuck Ghost is slipping through your fingers like so much sand. What had started as a dream come true was turning into a nightmare, and you couldn’t bear the thought of letting him leave. Not like this. 

At your words, he tosses you a look, and how a human can fit so much skepticism in a single expression is beyond your belief.

“Really. I just wish I’d known so I could have been better for you.” You don’t realize the truth of the statement until you say it. The last thing you wanted was for him to look back on this moment with disappointment. 

He shakes his head and mutters: “You’re mad.” 

“We could still—you know.” 

He stops, jeans halfway pulled up his thick thighs. “What, fuck?”

You find a loose thread on your bedspread and twist it around your finger, shrugging. Aiming for cool and missing by a mile. 

“You want to.” 

“Well, yeah.” You abandon the thread, feeling too exposed. Tucking your legs up toward your chest, you wrap your arms around yourself. “Like you said in the car. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“About fucking me.”

“Are these questions?” you ask, face warm. “Yes, I think about it. Thought about it. I have thoughts.” 

His lips twitch, a ghost of a smile, gone before you can imagine what a full-fledged grin would even begin to look like. “You’re serious.”

“Really serious,” you offer, sensing that he might be coming back around to the idea himself. Though you’re no vixen, you let your body unfold just to watch the way his eyes drop to look you over. You never knew eyes could be hungry. “Pants off? Please?”

He’s still and quiet for several long moments, but at length he shoves them back down his thighs, naked once more. He’s only half hard, but no less intimidating in this state. You eagerly shift to the edge of the bed and off, back down onto your knees in front of him, palms against his thighs. 

“Is this okay?” you ask, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, aware that this is one of your most flattering angles. 

“Go on,” he says. He sounds doubtful. You are too, unsure if you can find the same rhythm you both had going before. Unsure if you want to, now that you know him better. 

You take one of his hands and coax it into cupping your cheek, then slide it back and up into your hair. “Don’t pull. No pain, right?” 

Something hard in his expression softens marginally. His fingertips scratch gently at your scalp, a silent praise as he agrees: “No pain.”

Leaning forward, you nuzzle at his cock. It is velvety soft against your cheek. His scent here is more concentrated, masculine and warm. Above you, he sucks in a breath through his teeth. 

How much you enjoy giving head usually directly depends on your partner, and Ghost is brilliant to suck off. Some might find him stoic or unaffected, but his expressions are just understated. When you place an open mouthed kiss against his shaft, his fingers twitch in your hair. When you take the tip past your lips to rest heavily against your tongue, he lets out a shaky exhale. By the time he’s nudging the back of your throat while you work the excess inches of his cock in your fist, he is grunting in between in sharp breaths. You find yourself becoming hyper attuned to his reactions until each minuscule motion feels exaggerated to your brain. A twitch becomes a caress. A sigh a moan.  

“I’ll cum in your mouth if you don’t stop,” he grits out. 

You pull off, jaw aching, lips slick. “I’d rather you came inside me.” 

He pulls you to your feet and kisses you. All the kisses tonight, and this one has been the most honest, the most needful, the most raw. Had he never even kissed anyone before tonight? you wonder. It’s hard to believe that the answer might be yes. The way he kisses melts your brain, fizzles your thoughts. 

“Ghost,” you breathe when he gives you a moment to come up for air, his mouth dipping low to your collarbone where he sucks softly. 

“You know my name,” he says, mouth against your skin. “Use it.”

Simon. You have to say it in your mind first to get used to it. Simon. Simon. Then he finds one of those sensitive spots in the crook of your neck and you are whispering it, voice trembling more than you’d like: “Simon.” 

“I like the way you say it,” he admits. “You’ve got a pretty mouth.”

“So do you.” 

He snorts softly, shaking his head, like you have said something very silly. 

“Up.” He grips your waist and helps you up onto the bed. You scoot back, making room for him between your thighs, and he fills the space so fucking snugly. His cock nudges at your sex and reminds you of how you ache all anew. 

This time when he slips inside you, it punches a sound out of you that is remarkably close to a whine, your toes curling. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” you gasp, hands scrabbling for purchase against his broad shoulders, careful not to scratch him. 

His head drops, forehead resting against your own, eyes shut. “Fuck’s right. Not a chance I’ll last after being in your mouth.”

“Wait for me,” you choke out, working one hand between you both until your fingers can find your clit. The angle isn’t the best, not with him so close, but it’s made up for by how blissfully full you are, by how Simon’s arms are trembling where he holds himself up above you. Briefly you let your fingers take a side trip, teasing his cock where he stretches you open, and Simon groans. Fuck, it goes right to your head. It makes you feel like you could walk on water. 

You find his mouth and kiss him, kiss him til your head is light with lack of air, kiss him til your thighs are shaking with how close you are from your own expert touch. 

“Fuck me, now, fuck me please,” you beg into his mouth.

He draws back until just the thick head sits inside you, giving your fingers room to work for a moment before he thrusts back in slow and smooth, pinning your fingers against your clit and that simple pressure—it’s enough. Your body bows against him, choked sounds lost against his mouth as he swallows them whole, fucking you so softly through the peak of your pleasure. 

Simon stiffens not a handful of moments later, cock twitching inside you. The burst of warmth is pleasant, making you shiver. He drops down til his chest presses against your own, careful not to crush you with his weight. 

“Don’t pull out yet.” 

His softening cock twitches inside you. All he says is: “Alright.” 

You hum, warm and sated. Sleepy. “You sleeping over?”

“Didn’t plan on it,” he murmurs, lips against your shoulder. 

“But the walk of shame is a valuable part of the experience.”

“‘M not ashamed of fucking you,” he says. 

You’re strangely touched. “Me neither.”

“Did you fake it?” he wonders.

“I’m no good at faking,” you admit. He leans up so his eyes can scan your face, looking for any hint of deception. Whatever he finds must satisfy his curiosity because he lowers his head back to rest against your shoulder. 

He rolls you both onto your sides, and his soft cock slips free with a rush of seed. You make an unhappy sound in the back of your throat. Afterward is always your least favorite part, when you feel so empty.

Simon hushes you as he slips from the bed. “Bathroom,” he tells you. 

“Through there.”

“Not for me, for you.”

“Why?” you whine, tired and petulant. 

“Because pissing afterward is a valuable part of the experience for you. Can you walk, or did I break you?” 

When you don’t answer, he grips one of your ankles and pulls you toward the end of the bed. You shriek, rolling onto your belly, but it’s no use. Looping his arm around your waist, he tosses you over his shoulder and carries you to the bathroom like you weigh nothing more than a sack of potatoes, which is patently untrue. 

“Are you going to watch me go, too?” you ask. 

“Kinky,” he says, already disappearing into the other room. 

By the time you clean yourself up and take care of any “valuable post-sex experiences”, Simon has dressed himself. His clothes are gone from the floor in your bedroom. You can’t help but feel disappointed; a part of you really had been hoping he’d stay.  Slipping on your panties and a clean shirt, you chase after him hoping he hasn’t left only to find him toying with your spare key at your door. 

The way he reaches for your hand and draws you to him soothes some of the ache of seeing out. He thumbs your pulse and says: “I have to be ready to leave for work at a moment’s notice or I’d stay.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“You’re lying,” he says, pressing his thumb more firmly against your wrist. “Don’t lie to me, or I’ll know. Do you want tonight to happen again?” 

“Are you seriously copping a feel of my pulse to see if I’m being truthful?”

“Evading the question,” he says, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Thanks anyway, for tonight. I’ll see myself out.”

“Yes! Alright, yes. Of course I do.” 

His mouth quirks upwards, his grin a little crooked thanks to the scar, but no less precious. His thumb strokes softly. “I don’t need your pulse to tell when you’re lying. I just like to feel it racing when you look at me.”

You groan, burying your face in his chest. How embarrassing is that? 

“Next time, I’ll stay,” he promises. “Alright? Repeat it back to me.” 

“Next time you’ll stay.” 

“Next time,” he murmurs softly, turning away. He takes the stairs.  

[shegetsburned]

❝ the duke’s proposal ❞ w. satoru gojo 𝜗𝜚.

BRIDGERTON AU⌇

• — dearest gentle readers. the time has come for us to place our bets for the upcoming social season! marriage-minded mamas must consider the oldest of the gojo’s family thrilled to conquer hearts with his wits and undeniable charm. having officially announced his wish to find a bride, we certainly hope to see the young rake, on the dance floor, turn the tides and find a wife after much seasons of avoiding his duty. may the best lady win! • — a/n. i know @grumpchua asked for this and i believe it will feed some of y’all, so here’s the food <3

.nsfw.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who you’ve known ever since your debut and has been a inconvenience in your life for quite a while. like a tick biting into your flesh, only bringing trouble and worry for yourself. truth is, the duke loved pestering you about failed courting attempts or clumsy men coming to steal your hand, only to fall with them into a life of misery and depths. you undoubtedly did not attract the smartest and wealthiest of them all and satoru took advantage of this unwanted success.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who’s audacious. far from being a gentleman. the cockiest of all rakes. you did not only despise the man, you thought he was without honour, unromantic and arrogant. lord satoru was, in fact, everything you thought he was, but loved to show you personally every single one of his flaws.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, despite your best efforts, thought no better but to follow you around at every ball and "unexpectedly" bump into you at the market or when you walked out of the modiste. lord gojo was high in the instep, purposely shoving his strength of character and title in unfortunate suitors’ faces every time they deemed to approach you. needless to say, he took pleasure in crushing your chances of ever securing a proposal.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who has never really shown any interest in you, before. he would rather amuse himself by courting pretty debutantes only to leave them hanging and being chased by the impatient mamas of the ton. that was until his status caught up to him and forced the man to consider a serious marriage proposal. unfortunately for you, an idea blossomed into the young rake’s mind when he realized his need to find a bride was more urgent than he hoped to be.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, one evening, during a tranquil promenade, abruptly stops and steals you from your mama, offering his hand for you to finish your walk beside him. he obviously had a plan and it involved the lady that despised him the most in this entire ton: you— and who would be better than you to not catch feelings and be able to execute his plan perfectly?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who proposes an alliance. knowing you only attract the worst suitors possible, he assures you that more eligible men will throw themselves at your feet when they see the famous duke gojo court you. he swears it’ll only be temporary until he can find a suitable bride of his own without hundreds of ladies begging for his attention when you’re wrapped around his arm. you’ll be found desirable and he’ll have the peace he desires. what could possibly go wrong?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, for the first days, tries harder than any other years you’ve known him. the first day, your carriage’s waiting downstairs to meet him in the parc. he’s holding your umbrella above your head the whole time and acting like quite the gentleman, for once. he laughs with you, readjusts your hair and takes care of every single one of your needs. this masquerade goes on for two weeks where, each day, he surprises you with gorgeous flowers, kind gestures and words you would’ve never thought to hear. until one night, it’s an invite to his mansion that’s waiting for you, which you accept thinking it’ll just be another public appearance with him by your side. oh, but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who welcomes you in his home, one gentle hand resting against the back of your corset to escort you to the ballroom where people were gathered and seemed to be enjoying their evening. everything would’ve seemed in order if not for the many men eyeing you from across the room. it seemed odd now, considering you hadn’t had this kind of attention for weeks, but it also seemed like satoru’s plan had worked and you couldn’t be more satisfied.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who listens to you converse with one of the gentlemen who had introduced himself to you. he seemed kind, polite, educated and of high status, which couldn’t have been more perfect if it hadn’t been for the duke terminating the conversation with a harsh remark and by guiding you to the dance floor without even writing his name on the card around your wrist. he had lost his temper in a matter of seconds and you were more than surprised by his lack of manners.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who tries to convince you to play along but you know this is entirely about something else. his grip around your waist and hand has never been so tight. he’s pulling you closer until his breath tickles your face and his words are whispers when he reminds you that your deal isn’t over and you’ll have to wait until you are allowed to let yourself be courted by other men. you try to respond but he spins you around gracefully. his fingers trail your column when he catches you and before you know it, you’re dancing with him and no one else is in the room.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo whose deep gaze startles you. he hasn’t left your eyes and does not plan to until he gets a proper response from you. satoru’s piercing blue eyes linger on your lips with a cocky smirk and you don’t know why your heart is beating so fast. he had never shown this facet of his before and it made your chest flutter. would he have preferred your attention was entirely on him, this evening, and not on the handsome suitor that had caught yours? no. you hated him. he was tricking you to make it seem real.. right?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo whose tension is enough to fill the room with curious whispers surrounding your odd pair. you two made it seem like you had shared more than simple dinners and promises. in front of everyone, you looked used to being so intimate with satoru, but you were trembling in your shoes when he leaned forward, grazing his lips against your ear to try and make you understand that he wouldn’t allow any suitors to approach you just yet.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who pulls you away from the crowd, stealing you away to his bedchamber in front of indiscreet pairs of eyes. he seems more impatient than ever when his instinct takes over and, god, your innocence has an unexpected hold on him. you question satoru with incomprehension in your eyes until he finally closes the door to answer you.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who skillfully shows you everything you’ve been missing and every little sinful activity he’s been partaking in with innocent debutantes such as yourself. only this time, he means it. his hands touch every sensitive spot, his lips cover yours and trail down to your exposed chest. his fingers slipped under your dress, letting him discover your body with your help as you take him in, whining at his insensitive touch.

you’ll never know, that night, if duke satoru gojo meant to lose his mind over you in front of everyone else for his scheme and personal gain or if it had been purely accidental and you had just mesmerized the rake in a matter of weeks to the point where he couldn’t think about anything else but to have you in his bed for the rest of his life.

© shegetsburned 2024 please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.

[avocado-writing]

Not sure if this is enough to go off of but I loved the poly!poolverine fic where they rescued the reader. I was wondering if we could get some more of them being protective of the reader 🙏🏻

The bar is pretty crowded tonight. You nurse a rum and coke and hope Logan and Wade are able to find you in the corner booth you managed to snag, because you know the second you go to order another some opportunistic patrons will take your spot - and you’ve been on your feet all day at work so there’s no way in hell you’ll let that happen.

You take a sip. It’s warm now, ice long since melted in the heat of the room. You grimace at the taste as someone slides onto the bench next to you. 

It is not one of your boys. 

“Hey, baby.”

He’s big. Kinda guy who goes to the gym every day big, which isn’t inherently bad - but from the way he uses his size to press up against you there’s a little bit of unease rising in your chest. He puts his elbow on the table so that he can rest his jaw in his hand, biceps flexing in the tight shirt he wears. 

“I’m waiting for someone,” you say, as calmly as you can, hoping this will deter him. It does not. 

“So? We can have a little talk, can’t we? Not hurting anybody.”

His hand goes to cover yours where it rests on the table. You snatch it back. He frowns. 

“Dunno who you’re waiting for, but they probably shouldn’t have left you here alone. Looks like they don’t care about you, honey.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, annoyed, deciding it’s not worth it. He won’t go so you will. You slide out the free side of the booth - but you’re forced to stop when he grabs your wrist. 

“I wasn’t done talking to you yet,” he says. Okay. Now you’re panicking. You manage to shake yourself free of his grasp and quickly push through the throng of people, hoping to lose him in the crowd. No such luck. He knows where you’re heading. 

The air is cold on the street as you speed up; not running, never running, that might incite a chase. He’s on your heels anyway. 

“Hey, are you just gonna keep ignoring me?”

“I told you I’m not interested!”

He grabs you again, harder this time. A grip you can’t break free from. 

“You know, you should learn not to be such a bitch —”

“Oh! Isn’t this fun! Sorry to interrupt this little show of misogyny in action but it’d be great if you could let go of our pookie.”

You’ve never been more relieved to hear Wade’s voice. Suddenly you’ve got someone either side of you: the brick which is Logan on your left, and the snark which is Wade on your right. 

The guy who’s holding you does not drop your arm. He frowns. 

“Who the fuck are you?”

“They’re who I was waiting for,” you say quickly, as if this will deter him. The man laughs, loudly, cruelly.

“Sorry, you’re in some kinda threesome with this old fucker and whatever this dude is? Fuck, honey, you really need someone to show you what a real man—”

He does not get a chance to finish. Logan’s fist has collided with his face with such ferocity you can hear his nose break. The man yelps and staggers backwards, you bring your hand to your chest for safety. 

“Should’ve let go, bub,” he mutters, massaging his knuckles. Wade deflates. 

“Aw, I wanted to get the first hit in!” He peers over at where the guy is laid out flat. “Go on, get back up. If I don’t throw a punch it emasculates me, and I’m very sensitive about it.”

You roll your eyes, tugging at his sleeve. 

“Let’s just go, guys. I don’t think he’s gonna follow us.”

“One sec.”

Wade strolls over and puts his boot on the guy’s chest, pushing down until he’s wheezing.

“You wanna apologise?”

The guy groans out a sorry, and you give a curt nod when Wade turns to see if you’ve accepted it.

“Don’t do this bullshit again, with anyone, or I’m gonna find you, rip your dick off, then feed it to my adorable, hideous dog.”

They cage in around you as your turn, two loyal hounds at your beck and call. You throw a couple of glances over your shoulder as you leave but it’s as you suspected: the guy remains on the cold concrete. When you’re far enough away to feel safe they slow to a stop. 

“You okay?” Logan asks, lifting your chin with a finger so that he can get a good look at you. You nod. 

“Yeah. Thanks for being there in time.”

“I’m sorry baby, we should have got here earlier, but peanut here tore a guy’s arm off so we had to go and clean up first—”

“Oh god, stop,” you say, pulling a face. You don’t want to know about their line of work, very happy for the business and personal life gulf to be a wide one. “Let’s go get some pizza and head home.”

“Anything you want,” says Logan, squeezing your hand. 

Anything where you’re between them is what you want. Safe and happy, they’ll make sure you’re both. 

[pathologicalreid]

always, i'll wait | s.r.

in which spencer dedicates himself to pulling you out of your depressive state

margotober

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: severe depressive episode, dissociation, medication, reader not taking care of herself, not eating, death, corporeal mark word count: 2.16k a/n: if even one person understands what i was doing when i wrote this then i can die happy. based on this request! i hope you enjoy!

The cushion beneath you was slowly becoming displaced. Your body descends into the cavernous no man’s land that is the crevice of your couch as you stare straight ahead. The TV screen went dark moments ago. The blackness following the Are you still there? screen of your show.

Tugging the knit blanket you had curled up with last night under your chin, you close your eyes, the tears that were welling falling sideways down your face until they land on your flattened pillow. The blanket still smells like Spencer, and you can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take before the scent of his tea tree shampoo fades away entirely.

You could lay on the couch for the rest of your life, and you’d still never be able to understand your actions from the past few days. Distracting yourself from the ache in your heart by wondering if your decomposing body would leave a corporeal mark on your couch.

When you open your eyes and find all too familiar ones staring back at you, the only reasonable explanation is that you’re already dead. You’re dead and your punishment is having Spencer Reid give you puppy dog eyes for the rest of your eternal damnation.

And you’d deserve it.

“How long have you been lying here?” Spencer asks you, using the coffee table for support as he shifts from a squat to a kneel. Tentatively, his hand rests on the couch cushion, just in front of yours.

You blink absently in response. Not only are you being forced to look at the man whose heart you broke, but he’s seemingly intent on making you face the fact that you’ve been on the couch since last night.

The concern deepens on Spencer’s face when you don’t respond, “Can you hear me?”

In the back of your mind, you wonder how he managed to get into your apartment without a key, but you don’t air this concern to him, you just look at him.

Slowly, he reaches into his pocket, typing out a quick message on his phone before leaving the device face down on your coffee table. “Honey, will you talk to me?”

Wanting to avoid the visage of your ex-boyfriend in front of you, you let your eyes fall shut again, grunting when your punishment grows sentient and gently shakes your shoulder.

“Hey, uh uh, eyes open,” he chides, revealing himself as the real version of Spencer.

You frown at him, partially in disbelief and partially in distaste, “What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice garbled from lack of use.

His concern softens slightly at the sound of your voice, “No one’s heard from you in two days.”

Lifting your head from the pillow, your eyes widen slightly, “Days?”

Spencer nods in confirmation, “Have you been on the couch this whole time?”

Furrowing your brows, you rest your head back on the pillow, “No, I’ve been… It was… what?”

Gently, he reached out and rested a hand on your head, gently using the pad of his thumb to gently smooth hairs from your forehead, “What’s the last thing you remember?” His question holds no accusation, the honey-sweet tone nearly enough to make your bottom lip quiver.

“Breaking up with you,” you breathed. The text that you had sent in a flurry of tears being the only thing that resurfaced in your memory.

Hi, we’ve gotta break up. Sorry.

Admittedly, it wasn’t the most eloquent text message that you have ever written, but at the time, you weren’t yourself. At least now you knew that you were in the early stages of a dissociative episode. “I broke up with you,” you repeated, more for yourself than for him. “What are you doing here?”

Softly, Spencer smiled at you, cupping your cheek before standing up and grabbing your TV remote, switching the screen from the muted black of standby mode to the pitch black of being completely off. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat, “That won’t work for me.”

Peering up at him, you prop your head up in your hand, “What do you mean?” Confusion ruminated through your already troubled mind.

He raised his eyebrows, went over to the curtains, and opened them, allowing rays of light to stream into your living room, the daylight made you cringe, but eventually, your eyes would adjust. “You do not get to drop off the face of the Earth. I won’t let you get lost like that,” he told you, his sugar-coated tone cracking as he grew sterner.

Spencer never minded the way you sank to the bottom of your brain, he was always willing to make the trek to rescue you, but you didn’t want that anymore. “Well, I’m up now,” your body was beginning to settle into your skin once again, “You don’t have to stay.”

Your boyfriend—the jury was still out on that one—scoffed in response, sitting himself down on the corner of your coffee table, “Fine, I’ll just wait here until you can give me a valid explanation for ending our relationship via text message.”

Parting your lips, you hauled yourself to a sitting position, “I thought… I didn’t—” No, he completely had you there. You owed him more than a text message, but you didn’t have the dignity to face him. You knew he’d talk sense into you.

“What happened two nights ago?” Spencer asked, resting his elbows on his knees and watching you intently. “Did something happen to you that you felt like you couldn’t share with me?”

Shaking your head, you reached up and wiped your nose with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, “No, nothing like that.”

His expression softened, looking at you, desperate for an explanation, “Then what was it, baby? You know you can tell me anything.”

Your throat burned with emotion, and holding back tears didn’t take any effort—your body was so devoid of water that none even bothered to form. Even so, you hiccupped a dry sob, covering your mouth with your hand to muffle the sound, “I didn’t want you to have to worry about me.”

Spencer’s face fell. Your heart broke even more than it had when you sent that text, “I tried to text you back. I called you. Everyone called you.”

You hadn’t the slightest idea where your phone was, patting around the couch for any sign of it. “I didn’t hear anything,” you frowned, unsure where it had ended up.

“Are you missing time?” He asked, checking in on where exactly you were mentally.

Nodding, you leaned into the couch cushions. You couldn’t account for anything the night before last, you had sent that text and disappeared into the depths of your own mind. An organ that was necessary for survival playing wicked games with your life.

His lips parted, readying himself to ask a question that he clearly didn’t want to, “Are you off your medication?”

You flinched at his question, screwing your eyes shut and nodding again. “They’re at the pharmacy,” you told him, “My head hurts.”

“You’re coming back,” he said, watching the way your eyes flittered around the room anxiously. “Have you eaten anything?”

His question was innocent enough, but you found yourself unaware of the answer. Surely you had eaten something in the last twenty-four hours, you hadn’t been truly withering away on your couch—had you? The tremble of your hands told a completely different story, you steepled your fingers together to keep them from shaking.

Taking your silence as a response in and of itself, Spencer nodded, “Do you want breakfast?”

“I don’t want you to take care of this,” you told him, the response coming out harsher than you had initially intended.

Realization washed over Spencer’s features, looking at your situation in a completely new light. “That’s what this is?” Hurt seeped into his voice, cocking his head to the side, “Baby, you’re warping your need for independence into a reason to push me away. Why?”

Taking a ragged breath, you shrugged helplessly at him, “You’ve spent your whole life taking care of people, and I don’t want to add to it anymore.”

“Has it occurred to you that I like taking care of you?” He asked, voice softening as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your hairline. “Go take a shower, I’ll get breakfast going,” he instructed you, tenderly tugging the knit blanket off of your body before helping you to your feet.

You grimaced at the feeling of your feet on the floor, “I don’t want to shower.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion,” Spencer said over his shoulder as he made his way into your kitchen, reaching in the cabinets for your frying pan.

You unceremoniously returned from the shower; strands of damp hair draped over your shoulders. “Are you going to tell me how you got into my apartment in the first place?” Despite the length of your relationship, you’d never given him a key to your apartment. The leasing office had only given you one.

His back was to you, his expression literally unreadable, “Your landlord did.”

“And why did she do that?” You asked, pulling the glass of water that you assumed he poured for you across the granite countertops.

Spencer turned the frying pan on its side, scraping the scrambled eggs off of the Teflon surface and onto a plate. “I told her she was either going to do it for me or for the police when I call for a wellness check,” he informed you, placing the plate in front of you and pushing the saltshaker over to you. He must’ve noticed the face you were making at the eggs on your plate, because he spoke up once more, “You need the protein.”

You recognized that this wasn’t an overreaction to the situation. In fact, Spencer had maintained a completely calm demeanor when speaking with you, but you saw further past his façade. You saw the way the vein on his temple popped when he clenched his jaw, taking the saltshaker into your hand, you added some on top of the eggs before mixing them around, “I scared you.”

While Spencer lived in the district, your address was in Maryland, and you knew he wasn’t above calling Will at MPD to do a wellness check on you, “Yes.”

His answer was simple, and yet, your chest clenched at the brevity of it, “You’re mad at me.”

“Yes,” he answered again, resting his hands on the countertop and leaning over it. He watched as you stirred the eggs around on your plate, steam rising from them as you did. “Do you want to come with me to pick up your prescription?”

You hummed as you shoveled the first bite of eggs into your mouth. “Sure,” you said, watching him dig a carton of blueberries out of your fridge.

Dropping a handful on your plate, careful to make sure they don’t roll into the eggs, Spencer seals the container again, “Antioxidants and vitamins,” he murmured to no one in particular.

“How can you forgive me?” You asked Spencer, watching him endearingly pop a few blueberries into his mouth before placing the container back into your refrigerator.

He shook his head, “It’s not a matter of forgiveness. It wasn’t your fault.”

You couldn’t help but feel like you needed to shoulder the blame, “Then whose fault is it, Spence?”

“There is no fault. At least, there’s not one that falls on either of us. I can’t fault you for your brain. No matter how misguided you might have been, you thought you were acting in both of our best interests,” he admitted, rinsing the pan in the sink.

A beeping sound caught your attention, “Did you start a load of laundry?”

He nodded, scrubbing lightly at the dish in the sink, “Your hamper was full.”

“You’re doing too much,” you told him, pressing your lips in a thin line.

Setting the pan on a drying mat, he dried off his hands before walking over to you, hooking a finger beneath your chin before he murmured, “How is what I’m doing for you right now any different than when you took care of me after I got shot in the leg?”

Your jaw slackened. You had unofficially moved in with Spencer last year when he had been shot in the knee by an UnSub, helping him with everything from walking around the apartment to cooking.

Taking your lack of response as an answer, he nodded to himself, “I am always here for you.” He nodded his head in the direction of the door, “Come on, the sooner we get to the pharmacy the sooner we can start getting your apartment back in order."

He walked around you, pivoting on his heel as he held out a hand for you to take. Eventually, you accepted the hand he had extended, following him outside, into the light.