#I saw it in my minds eye as I was drifting to sleep last night......... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loulovingho · 1 month ago

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Sleep Talking

(Dedicated to my niece, who wakes me up weekly with very detailed sleep discussions about roblox)

Before Buck slept over for the first time, Tommy had given him a warning.

“Sometimes I talk in my sleep,” he'd said. “It's not always, and usually only when I'm overly tired or stressed, but... just in case, wanted you to know.”

He'd given Buck the option to change his mind. He could stay in the spare room, or go home if he wanted, but Buck simply pulled him closer and told him there was nowhere else he'd rather be than right here.

Nothing happened that first night, or the next time they slept together, or even the next time.

Buck was starting to wonder if this was something from Tommy's childhood. Something he'd grown out of a long time ago, he just didn't know it.

And that's when it happened.

“I don't want those teeth,” he'd mumbled out, pushing a hand out in front of him. “No. Thank. You.”

He'd just gotten off a 48 that turned into a 52 and had barely gotten any sleep. He'd passed out as soon as his head hit the bed, and Buck sat up beside him, quietly reading a book with the lamp light on low.

Buck was a little startled at first, looking over at him with furrowed eyebrows. “What?” he'd asked, thinking for a split second that Tommy had woken up with something to say.

But when he saw Tommy's eyes shut tight, his face scrunched up in that way it did when he was annoyed, Buck knew.

He was sleep talking.

So, Buck waited. He waited to see if Tommy had anything else to say.

A couple minutes went by, and Tommy's face relaxed again, so Buck went to turn back to his book, then-

“I'd rather die then get veneers.”

Okay, so maybe he wasn't done.

“I just don't like them,” he continued, again shoving his hand out like he was pushing something away. “Take it all. Not my pearly whites.”

Buck closed his book and laid it on the nightstand, shutting off the light and scooting further into bed. As he did, Tommy turned and immediately snuggled into his side, resting his head on Buck's chest. “I go home with all teeth,” he commanded.

Buck wrapped his arms around him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You'll get to keep your teeth, Babe,” he whispered. “I promise.”

“Hmph,” Tommy huffed. “Giddy up says the cowboy, I guess.”

Buck tried and failed to contain his laughter, but still he held Tommy closer as he drifted off to sleep himself. Luckily, he didn't mind the noise.

*****

“I don't care if she wants to go home. She is here, her leg is'a half mile down road. She going to hospital now stat!”

Tommy had mentioned having a difficult day at work. Buck was already at his place when he got home, food coming out of the oven and ready to eat as soon as Tommy showered and got changed.

They'd had a comfortably quiet dinner, Tommy mostly speaking about how good the food was, and asking Evan to please stay the night.

He didn't need to be convinced.

They'd fallen asleep with their naked bodies tangled together, too lazy to get out of bed and put anything back on.

If it wasn't for the fact Tommy was talking nearly directly in Buck's ear, he probably wouldn't have even woken up.

“Lady, you don't have a leg to stand on. Literally. I'm takin' you to hospital and you get help with leg.” He moved his head as though he were turning to speak to someone else, “And help with brain,” he muttered.

Buck tried to unravel himself from Tommy. Get some distance between them so he could go back to sleep without Tommy talking right in his ear. But as soon as he moved, Tommy was rolling over and wiggling around until his head laid directly over Buck's stomach. “People are so stupid,” he whispered into Buck's bellybutton. “This is a comfy sandwich though.”

*****

“Evan makes better casseroles than this.”

It was the middle of the day, and Tommy had fallen asleep on the couch. They'd spent thirty-six of the last forty-eight hours moving Buck's things into his place, and that was after Tommy had come off of a forty-eight hour shift. So, while Buck and Eddie finished eating lunch at the kitchen table, Tommy had decided to lie down and rest his eyes for a few minutes.

“This casserole tastes like sewage.”

Eddie peered into the living room, then looked over at Buck, who was eating his sandwich like nothing was happening at all.

“What's he talking about?” Eddie asked.

Buck's eyebrows furrowed. “What? Who?”

“Evan uses chicken breast. So much better than this.”

Eddie waved in Tommy's direction. “Come on, Man!”

“Oh! Yeah, he's just sleep talking. Does it when he's overly tired.”

“He... He sleep talks about your casseroles?”

Buck smiled, nodding. “He really likes them. You know, I wasn't sure if he was just telling me they were good to be nice, but he doesn't have a filter when he sleep talks so that's how I know.”

Eddie glanced at Tommy again. “Does he ever sleep talk about me?”

Buck's posture straightened and he pursed his lips. “I can't break that trust, Eddie.”

“He does!” Eddie exclaimed. “What's he say? Did he talk about Muay Thai? Because headbutting is an illegal move so technically he didn't win.”

“I said I can't break his trust,” Buck repeated, getting up to throw his trash away. “Although, if someone was losing so they made it look like they got headbutted... Well, I wouldn't know anything about it.”

“I knew it! Your man is such a sore loser, Buck.” Eddie got up and walked over to Tommy, crossing his arms over his chest as he spoke. “I spent my day off unloading boxes for you,” he whispered over him. “I could have left you alone with Buck. Everyone else made excuses but I didn't.”

“Only thing better than casserole is his soup,” Tommy said, one hand going to his stomach. “I call it sex soup, cause it goes down the throat 'n straight to my-"

“Okay,” Eddie grimaced, walking away. “I'm about to lose my lunch.”

“Did he mention sex soup?” Buck asked.

“Mhm.”

Buck nodded. “Always ends up there after casserole.” He shrugged, “It is really good soup though.”

“Ugh,” Eddie groaned. “I hate you both.”

*****

Buck learned over time that Tommy's sleep talking from being overly tired versus his sleep talking from being stressed were two very different things. Overly tired Tommy was funny, sarcastic, and a little bitchy. He was much like awake Tommy, things just made less sense and he had no filter whatsoever.

Stressed Tommy was like listening to the saddest, most angsty drama you've ever heard in your life.

“Please,” he muttered out, sounding like he was on the verge of having a breakdown. “Please, listen to me.”

Buck was mostly used to the sleep talking now, but the difference in Tommy's voice shook him awake. He knew Tommy had a bad day. It was the anniversary of his mom's death, which was already rough, but then his dad called and said he'd be coming into town. He expected Tommy to meet with him for lunch. When Tommy declined, there was a fight. Mostly on his dad's side, with Tommy sitting there and listening, becoming more and more disconnected with each word. His dad just kept going and going until Buck reached out for the phone, taking it from Tommy's hand and hanging up for him.

He'd gotten quiet after that. Withdrawn in a way Buck hadn't seen before. He was usually an open book about his life. He'd told Buck all the good and the bad, and there was a lot of bad, but something about the phone call was different.

“I don't want you,” Tommy groaned, his head moving left to right so quickly his neck made a popping sound. “I want...” his voice trailed off. Buck slowly lowered his arm over Tommy's waist, hoping that would help him rest, but it only seemed to stir him back up. His legs kicked out quickly as he turned onto his side, facing away from Buck. “You don't listen to me!” he exclaimed. It made Buck's heart race a little. He never usually shouted when he was sleep talking.

“It should have been you, not her!”

The next noise Tommy made sounded less human and more like a dog crying out in pain. His body thrashed out, his arm nearly smacking Buck on the chest.

“You always hated me,” he said, quieter this time. “I see it in the mirror.”

That was all Buck could handle. He quickly sat up and turned the lamp on. “Tommy,” he whispered. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him, but he knew that was probably the worst idea at this point.

“It's not... It's not fair. It's not fair. I don't-”

“Tommy!”

Tommy's eyes shot open as he sucked in a breath of air.

He blinked a few times, eyes darting around until he met Buck's.

“Was I..?”

Buck nodded. “I think it was a nightmare though. You- I couldn't touch you.”

Tommy looked so tired, his eyes struggling to stay open even as his chest heaved. “I'm sorry.”

“You don't need to be sorry,” Buck replied, moving closer to Tommy now that he was awake. “I was just worried.”

“Was it... about him?”

“Yeah, I- I think so.”

Tommy pulled Buck close, nearly wrapping their bodies together like a pretzel. “I really hate him, Evan,” he said, voice breaking as he settled his head into the crook of Buck's neck.

Buck ran his hand up and down Tommy's back. “I know you do, Baby. I know.”

*****

There was one conversation Tommy had in his sleep more than any other, and Buck never got tired of that one.

“He's so pretty. Like a teapot.”

The things he called Buck were always different, but the overall message never changed.

“This Evan, he is love my life.”

Buck grinned. He loved when Tommy missed a word here and there.

“Nah, he won't bite you. Only me.”

Tommy let out an exasperated sigh before speaking again. “He's my special on menu. I like him and me like peanut butter and jelly. Apple jelly, duh, are you crazy?”

Another sigh, and Tommy wiggled his legs a little. “I know you drive thru, I wants fries with that. He's my chicken nugget. Love my chicken nugget.”

Buck turned to his side, pressing his body against Tommy's and wrapping an arm around him. He pressed a kiss to the back of his head. “Your chicken nugget loves you too.”

#bucktommy #911 #evan buckley #tommy kinard #eddie diaz #my niece will never know this exists but still it must be dedicated to her lmao

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dollgxtz · 1 month ago

Note

I gotta know when you’re posting the Zayne CNC fic??? I’ve been checking your blog multiple times a day for it!

But realistically, no pressure 😂 I know writing is hard, and I can wait, lol. It’s worth the wait. I just want to show support for you and your craft. ❤️

Also, I love your yandere!Sylus fic! I’m only on chapter four and I see so many asks about it and I have to physically stop myself from spoiling it for myself, lmao. I’m so excited to read more! Your writing and your tics are a highlight of my day. 😊🥰

Edge Of Control

Word Count: 6.2k

Tags: zayne x fem!reader, cnc, cutting, tw slight blood, scalpel play, choking, biting, degradation, blowjob, degrading names, pet names like darling, pain play, home invasion roleplay, primal play, aftercare in the end

AN: Hi everyone! I know this was a LONG awaited fic but I wanted it to be absolutely perfect for my second husband ^0^. Also ty anon for the very sweet words! I hope this fic makes up for the amount of time you had to wait!!!

It was well past midnight, and the house felt eerily quiet without him. You lay on the couch, wearing nothing but a pair of Zayne’s boxers, the soft fabric a small comfort in his absence. A half-empty bottle of wine sat forgotten on the floor beside you, each sip doing little to calm the restless energy humming beneath your skin. The TV flickered, casting shadows across the room as you absentmindedly flicked through the channels, though nothing could hold your attention.

Your mind kept wandering back to Zayne, a dull ache settling in your chest. He was on another one of those grueling shifts—long hours with no word, no way to reach out to him. The pit of anxiety in your stomach tightened. You didn’t know exactly what his job as a surgeon demanded of him, but you could see it weighing on him more and more. His face had grown tired, the usual sparkle in his eyes dulled by exhaustion. You noticed the way his shoulders remained stiff, tension knotting in his body like a rope pulled too tight, barely holding it together.

Every time he came home like this, you saw it—the frustration simmering just beneath the surface. His body brimming with pent-up energy, adrenaline coursing through his veins with no way to let go. He was so tightly wound, like he was carrying the weight of a world you couldn’t fully understand. And every time you saw him like that, it broke something inside you. You wanted to help him. You wanted to be the one to take that edge off, to give him the release he so desperately needed but would never ask for.

You remembered the last time he came home with that storm in his eyes. Desperation had driven you to plead with him, to offer yourself as an outlet for all that tension, that frustration. You had begged him, your voice trembling, to let go, to take what he needed from you. But he refused. The worry in his eyes had cut deep, his voice firm but laced with guilt as he told you he didn’t want to hurt you.

That memory lingered now, thick in your chest. He was always so controlled, so careful. You knew he loved you, but there was a part of him that he kept locked away, too afraid to unleash it. But you wanted it—you craved it. You wanted him to feel safe enough to lose that control with you, to trust that you could handle it. That you wanted to handle it. But no matter how much you tried to reach him, he kept that wall up, afraid of what might happen if he let himself go.

You took another slow sip of wine, feeling the warmth of it spread through your chest, slightly loosening the anxious knot that had taken residence in your stomach. You always drank more when he was away—needed it, really. It dulled the sharp edges of worry that kept you up at night, made sleep feel a little less impossible. Without him beside you, the house felt too empty, and your mind raced with thoughts you couldn’t control.

Your eyes drifted shut, and the thought crossed your mind again—he could hurt you, if he wanted to. God, he was strong enough. His hands, so skilled and sure in the operating room, could easily push you beyond your limits if he ever let himself go. He knew the human body better than anyone; he understood exactly where and how to apply pressure, how to control every reaction. And then there was the scalpel—his precision tool of choice. He was so adept with it, using it in ways you’d never imagined.

You remembered the first time he’d worked it into one of your nights together, after you had begged him to try something more daring, something that would leave you breathless. He had been hesitant at first, but the results... God, the results. The thrill of that sharp edge glinting in the dim light, the cold metal kissing your skin before it pressed just enough to break the surface. You shivered as the memory washed over you, your body tingling with the vivid recollection.

The pain had been brief, but it was the anticipation, the unspoken threat, that had driven you wild. You could still feel it—the delicate line of fire it had traced across your shoulder, a stinging reminder of his control. And then the blade had hovered at your throat, a silent promise lingering in the air between you, making your pulse race and your breath catch in your throat. In that moment, you had never felt more alive, more his.

Your hand had barely slipped down to your heat when the sharp trill of your phone cut through the quiet. Heart pounding, you snatched it up, the suddenness of it snapping you out of your haze.

“Hello?” you answered, your voice a little breathless, still tangled in the memory of him.

“Is that offer still on the table?” Zayne’s voice poured through the speaker, low and worn, with that familiar undercurrent of exhaustion. But there was something else this time—something darker. His words dripped with a kind of danger, smooth and sweet like black honey, making your stomach flip.

You swallowed hard, a spark igniting low in your belly. “Uh, depends which one,” you managed, trying to play it cool as you sat up, bringing the wine bottle to your lips for another sip. Your heart was racing, anticipation thrumming under your skin.

“The one where I use you.”

The words hit you like a jolt of electricity, sending a thrill straight to your core. The raw need in his voice was unmistakable, and it struck every nerve you had. You faltered for a moment, caught off guard by the intensity of your own reaction. You tried to cover the sudden loss of words with another drink, the wine sliding down your throat as you let the tension stretch between you.

One more sip—just one more for courage. Then, finally, you answered, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Yes.”

“Is the wine good, darling?”

The question hung in the air, and your heart skipped a beat. “What?” you murmured, glancing around the dark living room. The flicker of the TV had left your eyes hazy, still not fully adjusted to the shadows creeping through the room. How did he know you’d been drinking wine?

Your breath caught as an icy chill swept through the house, raising goosebumps on your skin. Instinctively, your gaze darted to the front door, and your stomach dropped. It was wide open, swaying slightly as a gust of wind pushed against it.

You hadn’t heard a thing. Not the lock turning, not the door creaking. Nothing.

How had he gotten in without you noticing?

You stared at the door, frozen in place, watching as it swung shut on its own, the soft click of the latch echoing through the quiet. A chill ran down your spine as the realization hit—you hadn’t heard him enter on purpose. He wanted you to know he’d slipped in unnoticed, that he’d been watching you this whole time. Your mind spun with the thought: How long had he been there?

The phone slipped from your grasp, and you barely registered the sharp whine of the line going dead, drowned out by the thundering pulse of your heartbeat in your ears.

The soft but deliberate sound of shoes against the ceramic floor snapped you back into focus. Your senses sharpened, instincts kicking in. He was coming closer—fast.

In the low, flickering light of the TV, you saw him emerge from the shadows. Long strides brought him swiftly across the room, his form cutting through the dim light with an air of purpose. His form caught the harsh glow—the broad shoulders of his body, the sharp angles of his face—only partially revealed, but enough to make your breath hitch.

Then, without warning, the TV blinked out, plunging the room into complete darkness. The sudden silence was deafening. The sound of his footsteps, which had been closing in on you, vanished as if he’d disappeared into the night itself.

But you knew better.

He was there, somewhere in the blackness, waiting for you to realize it. The tension in the air was thick, every hair on your body standing on end as you strained to hear the slightest movement, feel the faintest brush of his presence.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body coiled tight. The tension crackled in the dark, your senses heightened by the weight of his silent presence.

Suddenly, the TV blared a sharp noise from the movie, flooding the room with light for just a second. And there he was, Zayne, only a few feet away—moving like a shadow, so silently it made your skin crawl. His face was bathed in the cold glow, and the way the light played off his sharp features made him look almost predatory. His expression was intense, dark, and unreadable, as if he was walking a line between control and something much more dangerous.

Your brain screamed danger. Fight or flight surged through your veins, heart hammering against your ribcage as self-preservation took over. Without thinking, your hand tightened around the neck of the wine bottle, the glass cool and smooth in your grip. Before you could second-guess it, you raised it high above your head and hurled it straight at him, instinct driving your every move.

But then—he catches it. Effortlessly. The bottle freezes mid-air, his hand snapping up to grab it as if it were nothing more than a tossed pillow. He doesn’t flinch. His stride doesn’t break. His hazel green eyes, burning with that same dangerous intensity, never leave yours for even a second. The best defense you could muster didn’t even make him blink.

Calmly, as though the act hadn’t fazed him at all, he places the bottle on the side table, his gaze still locked on you. The silence between you feels deafening as he closes the distance, his steps slow but deliberate.

Panic shot through you like a wild animal, adrenaline making your limbs tremble. But something else flared right alongside it—something that sent a pulse of heat straight to your core. It was fear, raw and visceral, but it was tangled up with desire, twisted into something you couldn’t quite understand but craved all the same.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body coiled tight. The tension crackled in the dark, your senses heightened by the weight of his silent presence.

Like prey trapped in the gaze of a predator, you couldn’t move.

Couldn’t look away.

And you almost didn’t want to.

You whip around, adrenaline taking over, and try to run—but you barely make it a few steps before it’s too late. You don’t even hear him behind you. The silence is terrifying, disorienting. Then, out of nowhere, his hand clamps around your elbow, and a startled shriek escapes your lips, cut off as he uses your momentum against you, spinning you sharply into the wall.

Your back collides with it hard, knocking the breath from your lungs. A whimper slips out, unbidden, from the shock of the impact. Before you can recover, Zayne’s voice, low and commanding, hisses in your ear.

“Don’t fight it,” he growls, the words sharp like a promise. “You asked for this.”

Panic surges through your body, instinct screaming at you to get away. “Let go!” you cry out, fear pulsing hot and fast through your veins. But your voice is weak, barely masking the excitement that’s battling for control inside you.

He doesn’t. Instead, he’s on you again, his mouth descending on your neck with a hunger that makes your pulse quicken. One of his hands grips your jaw with rough precision, calloused fingers pressing into your skin, holding you in place. You try to twist away, but he holds you firm, his touch demanding, possessive.

His lips travel down your neck, finding your pulse point first, then moving lower, grazing the soft curve beneath your ear. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and despite the panic swirling in your chest, a desperate whimper escapes. Your body betrays you, your hips instinctively rocking toward him, already aching for his touch. The heat between your legs flares, want burning through the fear.

His tongue traces a line down your neck, the warmth of it lingering only for a moment before the cool air chills the wet skin. Then his teeth sink into the muscle above your collarbone, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to make you gasp in pain. You wince, your body tensing as the sharp sensation rolls through you.

Your hand flies up to his head, fingers tangling in his hair as you try to push him off, your grip weak and trembling. But Zayne doesn't budge. His strength overwhelms you, his body pressing against yours with an intensity that leaves no room for escape. His breath is hot against your skin as he continues, relentless, leaving you caught between fear and an overpowering need that consumes you both.

"Zayne," you whimper. He releases his teeth from your neck with a chuckle that curls fear inside you…

His hands take your wrists, leading them above your head. You try to squirm out of his grasp. Partly because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of pinning you. Partly out of the fear of what he could do if you can’t push him away, his entire aura shifted to something more angry and dangerous than usual.

"Don't pretend like you don't like it," he says into the angle of your jaw. He leaves soft kisses there while he effortlessly pins your arms above your head. He holds them there with one hand.

The other gropes and squeezes it’s way down your body. Your chest, your side, your waist. He grabs a hold of your hips, thumb perfectly lining up with the dune of your hipbone. He pulls your hips towards him harshly enough to draw a noise from your lips. He works his knee between your thighs, then pushes them open. He swallows any attempted protests with a kiss. His knee presses against your sensitive cunt and you whimper against his lips in response.

“Oh, what happened to all the struggling?” Zayne mocks you, punctuating his words by squeezing your wrists hard enough to bruise. His hand comes up under your t-shirt and you shiver against the sensation of his fingers on your bare skin. You melt. Fucking putty in his hands.

You open your mouth to protest, to say anything that might break the tension or reclaim some of your control, but before the words can form, Zayne grinds his knee into your core. The pressure sends a jolt of raw pleasure through your body, and the only sound that escapes is a desperate, breathy whine. His reaction is immediate—he hums with satisfaction, his lips curving into a smug smile. He does it again, harder this time, and you can feel him reveling in the control, in the power he has over you.

Your mind scrambles to catch up with your body, which is already responding in ways you can’t hide. You try to meet his gaze, desperately wanting to say something sharp, something biting, anything to regain your footing. But the moment your eyes lock with his, whatever witty retort you had dies on your tongue.

His face is half-hidden in the darkness, but his eyes... there’s something in them that makes your heart stutter. Not just the hunger, not just the dominance—it’s deeper. There’s a flash of genuine anger simmering beneath the surface, something darker that you hadn’t expected, and it sends a ripple of unease through you. The intensity of it levels you, catching you off guard.

Suddenly, this feels like more than just a game. Warmth floods your chest, your body still responding to him in ways you can’t control, but a new sense of apprehension takes root. You’re playing with something dangerous, something unpredictable. The heat between you is no longer just desire—it’s the burn of real fire, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for the flames.

Your breath comes faster as you take in the sight of him. His chest rising and falling, his lips parted slightly, the way his muscles tense beneath his skin. You’re mesmerized, caught between the fear of what he might do next and the undeniable pull he has over you.

You take him in, eyes sweeping over the familiar lines of his body now that he’s standing in front of you. His white lab coat is gone, discarded somewhere behind him, leaving him in his crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows as if he couldn’t be bothered to fully undress. His shirt is buttoned neatly up to the collar, accentuating his thick, muscular frame in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. The tie around his neck is still knotted, slightly loosened from a long day’s work, but there’s something disheveled about him now—something raw and untamed lurking beneath the polished exterior.

His dark slacks cling to his legs, perfectly tailored to his build, emphasizing his long leg now settled between your core. The soft fabric sways with his movements, while his polished shoes make almost no sound against the floor, their silence unsettling given the tension simmering between you.

His arms cage you in, closing off this small corner of the world to just the two of you. It feels like there’s nothing outside this moment, no one else but him—towering over you, his strength radiating off him in waves. The air between you feels thick, charged with tension and unspoken desire. Your gaze travels back to his face, meeting his intense eyes, and despite the weight of the moment, you can’t help but smile mischievously.

Without a second thought, you turn your head and sink your teeth into his arm, biting down just enough to feel the resistance of his skin, tasting the salty warmth of him. At the same time, you grind your hips down against him, pressing into the hardness beneath his slacks.

You expect him to react instantly, to snarl an insult or degrade you for your boldness. To throw out one of his usual threats—punishment, discipline—his voice dripping with disdain for your insolence, for the way you always push his boundaries. You brace yourself for it, for the sting of his words, the sharp crack of his tone that would send heat rushing through your body.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, he goes completely still. The tension in his muscles shifts, tightening under your bite, but his silence unnerves you more than anything. You can feel it—the raw power coursing just beneath his skin, his body vibrating with restraint. His muscles flex under your teeth, taut with the effort of holding something back. You release your grip slightly, confused, nervous. But Zayne says nothing. He’s a coiled spring, quiet, calculating, like a predator biding its time.

Methodically, he moves, his hands sliding down your arms, his touch precise, controlled, like he’s performing surgery. Each motion deliberate, calculated. His fingers glide over your skin, and with each inch he covers, the nervousness inside you builds. His control feels absolute, every movement designed to unsettle, to leave you wondering what’s coming next.

Then his hands reach your head, enveloping it completely. His fingers curl around your skull, not rough but firm enough to make you feel small, trapped in his grip. His thumbs rest near your temples, steady, as if he’s taking his time to savor the way your breath catches. The weight of his touch presses down on you, making it impossible to move.

With one harsh movement, he’s pushed you down onto your knees. He undoes his belt and pulls himself free, his beautiful cock glistening with pre-cum. One hand presses hard into your jaw. Harder. His thumb pressing against the muscles there until you open your mouth for him. The head of his cock comes to rest against your lips.

The taste of salt and Zayne’s soap is too tempting to resist. He was usually such a giver, and when you went down on him, he always liked it slow. You lick up the length of his cock and he shivers in response. He drops his hands to your shoulders and you watch his forearms flex in pleasure. Your tongue swirls around his soft tip, and then you take him into your mouth soft and sweet.

Except... this time he doesn’t respond with shaking breaths and high pitched whimpers. Not even an utterance of your name. Insecurity flashes through you - you were sure this is how he usually liked it. Were you not doing well enough for him? You cast your eyes upwards for guidance, barely able to see him in the dark.

“You really think that’s going to cut it?” His voice is cold and hard. Then his hands are on the back of your head, pushing you down onto his cock so fast and deep you almost gag. You pull away to drag a sharp breath into your lungs, abdomen muscles flexing.

“You want to be fucked like a slut, you’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls you back down onto him.

Suppressing the urge to gag brings tears to your eyes, and it isn’t long until they’re falling down your cheek, mingling with the saliva making a mess of your mouth and chin. Wet, choking noises echo into the empty hall. When you start to slow, whimpering from the effort, he’s quick to pick up the slack. He thrusts his hips forward, pinning your head between him and the wall. You choke and gag around him, struggling to adjust around the brutal pace he sets, fucking your throat like you're nothing to him but a toy. Your hands come up to his hips, but he wrenches them away with a furious grunt.

He pulls out suddenly, thick strands of saliva dripping off his cock. His breathing is hard and sweat rolls down the lines of his ab muscles. Your shoulders slump and you try to catch your breath. You’re absolutely spent. How humiliating that he didn’t even have to touch you to keep you wet for him, a vague sense of disgust emanating through your core.

“Was that good enough?” you weakly ask, but you might as well be begging him to fuck you for the look in your eyes. You don’t even bother to wipe the spit from your chin or the tears from your cheeks. You hope the sight gets under his skin so he can fuck you just as rough as he did your throat.

“I don’t buy it,” he says. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and frustration.

“What?”

“I just don’t buy that you want me to fuck you.”

You’re about to ask what you can possibly do more to prove it when something hard presses against your warmth, pushing your soaked boxers against you. You look down do see Zayne presenting his shoe. Polished and tightly tied, the mere sight of them gave obvious impression of what he wanted from you. But why?

You look up at him, but all he does is look back at you, expectantly. Your can feel the heat creeping up your neck as you adjust to straddle his shoe. You keep hoping he’ll just end your suffering by mocking you for even considering it, but it never comes. The cold, hard leather against you sends a wave of electricity through your body. Your hips are moving on their own. Your body desperate for anything it can get, chasing it’s high no matter how humiliating. You turn your face away from him, unable to stand him looking at you like this. Grinding against his shoe...

“There they are. My desperate little darling,” his voice has the first touch of warmth it’s had all night. It’s enough to spurn you on, the heat coiling in your abdomen. You pick up the pace against your will, your body chasing ecstasy like an uncaged animal. And Zayne just watches you, expression never changing, never reaching down to touch you. God, were you really going to cum on his shoe while he looked at you like that?

He kneeled down to one knee, doing his best not to disturb your work. His strong hands take hold of your hips and push you harder against his shoe, dragging your hips up and down. You moan, tears collecting in your eyes again. You can’t believe you’re enjoying this. Even - no, especially because it hurt. You were getting closer, your moans coming faster.

“Beg for it,” Zayne orders.

“Please let me cum, Zayne, please!”

“Tsk. Not that,” he pulls his shoe away like he's disgusted and you whimper in protest. Then, as if you were light as a feather, he’s tossing you to the side. You catch yourself on your elbows and feel them scrape against the ceramic floor. Your hips grind against the air as they searched for any friction at all that would send you over the edge. They found nothing.

“Silly girl.” He sounds bored as he stands to his full height above you.

You watch as his hand pulls a scalpel from his pocket. It captures his full attention, glinting in the light of the TV behind him. When he speaks, it's almost to the room.

“Isn’t this your favorite part? Where you try and fail to escape?”

You don’t move. He flips the scalpel in the air, catching it by the tip of the blade, and then again to catch it by the handle. He admires it as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Start crawling,” he suggests.

You push yourself onto tired, shaking limbs and try to get up. They give out on you. You pull yourself forward on your elbows instead. You hear the nearly silent creak of his shoes. The another. Then another. You feel small crawling beneath him, listening to the gentle whirl of the scalpel as he tosses it in the air. His shoes creak again, then again.

You turned to look at him. You were almost overwhelmed at how he towered above you. His broad shoulders blocking out the light in the hallway. One hand busy toying with the scalpel, the other pulling his pants further down his hips. He was clearly taking his time.

“You ever wonder why you like to fight so much?” You watch shoe follow shoe in lazy strides until they were at either side of your ribcage, standing above you.

“Should I let you get away again?” he asks, but then he’s dropping to his knees, pinning you beneath him. Fear takes hold of your vocal chords and you make a desperate noise, pushing at his legs. “Will you just give in already?”

With a calculated shift, Zayne turns your body to face him, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst from your chest. The tension between you crackles in the air, and before you can fully process what’s happening, his hand finds your neck, fingers wrapping around it with unyielding force. His palm presses against your throat, squeezing just enough to send a jolt of pain through you, sharp and undeniable.

"It takes about 10 seconds for pressure to the jugular to result in unconsciousness," Zayne says calmly, his voice low, almost clinical, as if reciting a fact from one of his textbooks. His grip tightens again, harder this time, and the sensation of control he wields is overwhelming.

The edges of your vision blur almost immediately, the world around you starting to fade. You feel lightheaded, like the ground is slipping away beneath your feet, your body caught in the thin space between pain and pleasure. But beneath the intoxicating sensations, panic begins to swell. The lightness in your head grows, and then you feel weightless, disconnected from reality as the darkness creeps in around your sight.

Your body starts to respond, instinct driving you toward the rising sense of panic. The pleasure and thrill that had mixed with the danger of it all suddenly feel too real, too much, as Zayne relentlessly pushes you to your limits.

You bring your hand up weakly, your fingers trembling, and tap his arm three times. The motion is small but deliberate, your safe signal.

For a brief, terrifying second, you wonder if he’s noticed.

He releases and you gasp for air. He lets you catch your breath, and for a minute you’re almost angry. But the growing wet between your legs betrays you to yourself, forcing you to admit you liked being pushed to the edge. An exhilarated smile picks up the corners of your mouth and Zayne, intently waiting for you to lead, just watches.

“More,” is all you need to say, and he’s on you again. Hand lighter on your throat, he brandishes the scalpel to catch your eye. It makes contact with your skin and you fight to control a shiver.

It glides around your shoulder, then down your collar bone. The razor sharp point leaving a thin, red cut beneath the bone. You gasp, back arching into the sting. He withdraws.

“If you keep squirming, I’m going to hurt you for real.” It’s as much a warning as it is a threat, and the dark rasp of his voice sends a chill down your spine.

Then you go still again, he continues. The scalpel crosses your chest, taking it’s time tracing each and every one of your ribs. He draws a bead of blood there, before lifting the blade again. You moan, squeezing your thighs together to keep from moving your hips. The anticipation almost too much for you. But the movement catches his eye. He pockets the scalpel, and then he’s prying your thighs apart so hard you feel the ache in your hips. You try to shimmy away, but his hands hold your thighs fast against him.

“I said hold still,” he grunts, squeezing his hands around the squish of your thighs hard enough that you make a noise. "What part of stop squirming do you not get?"

Your hand comes up to his hips, trying to hold them at a distance, but it doesn’t help. He pulls you closer to him and you feel his cock hard and leaking over your boxers. Fuck, you almost come undone all over again. Feeling him pressed against you like this... his cock easily reaching your belly button, reminding you how deep inside you he could be.

“Zayne, please,” you whimper.

“Please what?” He asks. You feel the cold blade against the tender, exposed part of your thigh.

“Please fuck me.”

He grunts, a noise that commits to nothing. He pulls the fabric of your boxers off your body and slips the scalpel beneath it. He cuts the thin fabric off of you in a show of strength and skill that intimidates you.

He leans over you slowly, his hips pressed flush against yours, his cock pressed against where you want it most. A hand comes up to your face then, holding your jaw hard as he turns your face away from his. The scalpels beautiful surface approaches your cheek. Your breath picks up, fear coursing through you. He says nothing, and it makes it all the more terrifying. Your instincts freeze every muscle in your body.

“You asked for this,” he reminds you, tracing the curve of your cheek. You bite your lip.

He pockets the scalpel once more, and you realize then that he's still entirely dressed, his pants only pulled down enough to fuck you. He shifts his hips, lining up with your needy hole. You’re already moaning for him.

“Begging me to use you like this, begging me to hurt you like this.” He pushes into you, your cunt struggling to adjust to his size. He only makes it a couple inches. He pulls out of you, then thrusts again, moaning as he does. This time when he pushes into you, he completely fills you. You both release an almost victorious sigh.

“Always fucking struggling. Can never just make it easy,” he growls, that angry look in his eye. His jaw flexes. Your cunt tenses around him.

He thrusts into you again, and again, so hard it feels like he could fuck you in half. He dips his face into your neck, moaning.

"You want me to force you onto my cock." His voice tightened with effort, but never lost that black-honey edge. "Can't say no to you. Do this because I love you."

You reach up and cling to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric. His words shouldn't thrill you, but they did. Your eyes flutter closed. Your body shook beneath him.

“This is messed up,” Zayne’s hips start to pick up their pace. You wrap your legs around him, encouraging him, pulling him deeper into you. You find yourself moaning his own words back at him; so messed up, so messed up.

Fuck, he felt so good. The two of you dissolved into senseless babbling, saying whatever it took to push each other closer to the edge. A meaningless cloud of fuck and just like that and you begged for this until neither of you could form words at all. Your pace became erratic, moaning into each other’s necks, limbs tightening around each other as you both approached your highs.

“Fuck, fuck, m’so-” you barely manage, panting and moaning through your words. Your thighs tighten around him and he groans in response.

And then you’re coming undone together. His hips driving his cock as deep as they can with the primal need to fuck his cum deeper inside you. You take it, greedily, breathlessly as your own climax rocks through your body like an earthquake.

He rests his forehead against your chest while he pulls out of you, then collapses onto the cool ceramic floor of the hallway beside you. He turns you onto your side and buries his head against your back, forearms tight against your chest while he hugs you close to him.

“I didn’t think,” you take a deep breath, trying not to pant through your sentence, “that when I asked you to use me after your work shifts, that it’d be like that.”

“Bad?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically small.

“No, no,” you rush to recover the situation. You lace your fingers with his, “Of course not.”

He says nothing. You turn to look at him, and there’s that distant, tired look on his face.

“Are you okay...?”

“I will tell you about it soon, darling” he says. You hum as acknowledgement, wishing you could say anything, but feeling like nothing was the right thing to say. Instead you just let him hold you for awhile.

Zayne held you close, his body a solid, comforting weight against yours, his bodily warmth gradually soothing the whirlwind of sensation still buzzing under your skin. But then, you felt him shift. His fingers, cold and precise, began to ghost over the cuts he had made, tracing the delicate lines he’d etched into your skin with surgical precision. You shivered at his touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

His eyes softened, and in a voice barely louder than a whisper, he said, “I need to tend to these.” His words were gentle, but firm, a quiet reminder of the care he always took with you, even now.

He pressed a tender kiss to your temple, the warmth of it contrasting with the coolness of his fingers, and then he pulled away. You watched him button his pants, his movements deliberate but unhurried, before disappearing down the hall. Even through the exhaustion weighing you down, you heard the faint sound of him rummaging in the bathroom, retrieving what he needed.

When he returned, Zayne knelt beside you, his medical kit in hand. His usual calm, professional demeanor was still there, but this time it was softened with a tenderness only reserved for you. Gently, he began to disinfect the cuts, his touch as light as it was thorough. The sting of the antiseptic bit into your skin, making you wince, but his hand found yours, his thumb brushing reassuringly over your knuckles. It was a silent promise: I’m here, I’ve got you.

With every stroke of the gauze, every carefully placed bandaid, Zayne’s focus never wavered. His gaze remained trained on you, on the cuts he was tending to, but there was something deeper in his expression—something protective, almost reverent, as though he was caring for a part of himself.

When he finally finished, he sat back slightly, his hand resting on your arm, his eyes searching yours as if to make sure you were truly okay. You could see the tension from earlier still lingering in the set of his jaw, the concern etched faintly into the lines of his face.

“I’m okay, I promise,” you murmured, your voice heavy with exhaustion, your body finally giving in to the weight of the night. Your limbs felt like lead, but your heart fluttered at the care he was taking with you, the gentleness of his hands now so different from the intensity you’d felt earlier.

“I’m just…so exhausted now” you sigh, briefly closing your eyes as another wave of tiredness washed through you.

Zayne’s expression softened into a small smile, one so full of adoration it made your chest tighten with affection. He stood, helping you up with careful hands, supporting your weight as he guided you to the couch. His arm stayed wrapped around you, keeping you close, steadying you as he laid you down gently, as though you were something fragile.

He settled in beside you, his body curling protectively around yours, pulling you against his chest. “We’ll clean up later,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft kiss. The warmth of his breath and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulled you, the scent of him comforting, grounding you.

You nestled deeper into him, the tension of the night melting away in his embrace. Wrapped in his arms, in the safety of his presence, your exhaustion finally caught up with you. Your eyelids fluttered closed, the world around you fading into the soft haze of sleep. And there, in the quiet of the night, you both drifted off together, tangled in each other, with nothing but the sound of your breathing and the quiet rise and fall of his chest.

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egoistars · 1 month ago

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REASONS WHY SAE ITOSHI THINKS YOU'RE A MURDERER

you're kinda fucked up but not a criminal! but don't worry, sae kinda likes it

happy late birthday sae itoshi ur a cunt i love u

THE APARTMENT

The first time Sae meets you is at Aiku’s birthday party. He hadn’t intended on going, but it was either going to the function or have Oliver and the rest of the U-20 team get on his ass for being a no-show. Both options sucked, but Sae ultimately decided on wearing some plain, black button-up and one of the five identical black slacks he owns (they were bought at the same time, Sae doesn’t know why he did that but he had an urge and he had the money). When Aiku opened the door to apartment 408, the first thing Sae noticed was you, still dressed in creased and suspiciously stained pajamas, dragging a black garbage bag across the floor. He made the wrong decision, Sae concluded.

It was at the party where he got formally introduced and learned your name. He expected to forget it but that night, he found himself searching it on Google, making sure you weren’t a criminal just to sleep without worries. Before drifting off, he swore he saw a search recommendation as “...’s victims” but he’d rather not go to practice the next morning with the heebie jeebies.

THE DEPARTMENT STORE

A shelf of pots stood in front of Sae, each one lined perfectly with each other as a row of pans hung from above. Sae ran his fingers across the handle of a black stainless steel pan, feeling the cold metal glide across the rough calluses of his fingertips. Ever since he landed in Japan and moved out of his parents’ place, his diet was lacking and blasphemous for an athlete of his caliber. The culinary skills he had acquired in Spain were put to waste in his apartment that looked more like a rent listing.

“Oh, Itoshi? Good morning!” At the sound of his name, Sae shut his eyes and inwardly groaned. The last thing he needed to deal with was a fan approaching him in public but the recognition of an oddly familiar voice urged him to take a slight glance at whom it may be. In the corner of his eye, there stood you, holding the largest butcher’s knife he had ever seen in his eighteen years of living.

The blade was the size of your head, reflecting the beaming smile on your face, one too bright for your menacing stance. Your eyes glimmered underneath the department store’s white lights as you grabbed the handle of the weapon with both hands after rapidly waving. Sae’s heartbeat intensified and he placed the reason for the imminent threat before him—there could be no other definitely more rational reason.

Sae grumbled back a “good morning” before walking off with a sturdy saute pan. He could not answer if it was out of fear, to be polite, or maybe a secret (and evil) third option.

THE ATTEMPT

Hot steam had fogged the mirrors of Sae’s bathroom when he stepped out of the shower. As he dried his hair, the screen of his phone lit up with a new notification. Recently, the only phone alerts he had been getting were from his manager and occasionally his parents. It wasn’t that Sae Itoshi was a loser—he just hated almost everyone in his contacts. But when he opened his phone to an unknown number, his brows furrowed in confusion.

YOU: hi its y/n!!! oliver gave me ur number hope u dont mind ^_^

SAE: <thumbs up>

YOU: thumbs are my fav finger by far they look so chewy

SAE: Wtf

YOU: do u wanna get lunch together tmrw :D

SAE: Ok

SAE: Why tomorrow

YOU: I know what your entire schedule is.

YOU: Meet me at my apartment at 12:00 PM

YOU: Do not be late.

SAE: <thumbs up>

Sae looked out of his window and made sure all his doors were locked before going to bed (but he also stood in front of the full-body mirror in his room, holding different shirts and pants up to himself, wondering what you would like to see).

THE ATTACK

Apartment 408 smelled strongly of herbs and spices when you opened the door for Sae. The cologne he had put on that morning would be overpowered by your cooking and he’d drive home reeking of a hearty lunch rather than designer fragrance. On the kitchen island, a pot of stew rested on a large coaster as a rice cooker was set to “Keep Warm” on the counter. The strong aroma was delightful to his senses and the slight rumbling of his stomach led him to sit and quietly thank you for cooking.

“What do you want to drink? I got all kinds of tea and beer ‘cause Oliver is kinda an alcoholic,” you ask, holding the refrigerator door open waiting for him.

“Water is fine, thanks.”

You grab a pitcher and glass for him then move back to the dishwater for plates and utensils. Before sitting, you untie your light blue apron and fold it next to the kitchen sink. If Sae were any other person, he would almost miss the suspicious red stain in the inside of the pocket but considering the two of you were in an environment with several potential weapons in the vicinity, Sae decided keeping quiet was the smartest choice.

“I hope you like beef stew, Oliver says it’s the least potent thing I make and would have the best impression on you,” you confess. “Help yourself, I don’t think I put anything lethal in it.”

“Don’t think?” Sae questions with a raised eyebrow.

“Who knows with all the chemistry shit that happens, maybe I made mustard gas without knowing…”

“You invited me over, shouldn’t you care more about the guest’s safety?”

“Not really, it’s more exciting this way. Aren’t you feeling a thrill right now?”

“I’m only feeling concern for myself.”

“Isn’t that so fun?” you inquire with too much glee for the predicament. Sae thinks you’re 100% fucked up in the head and thinks he has around a 80% of making it out alive. “It’s like Russian Roulette!”

"Haven’t you considered that the average person doesn’t want to die from poisoning?”

“Who said you would die?”

“You?”

“Oh. Whoops. Still exciting though! Let’s see who wins!”

It didn’t take long for Sae to finish the last of his meal—it was unfortunately tasty. Sae wiped his mouth clean with a napkin you gave him and brought his dishes to the sink.

“Guess you didn’t kill me,” Sae nudges you with a smug grin. “You should try harder next time.”

“Wait—next time?”

“Yeah. Try again text week, I’ll text you my schedule.”

“Thank you so much for that, you don’t know how much I had to spend to get this week’s schedule from a stalker fan,” you confess in relief, blissfully unaware of Sae rapidly turning his head to stare at you.

“You what?”

“You’re literally the best; rent’s coming up so I really need that.”

Sae concludes you’re a danger to society but to keep himself and the public safe, he has to see you again. Sitting in his car, he quickly pulls out his phone and sends his manager a text to keep Tuesday of next week free—that’s when you have the most time (to spend with him). He puts the date in his calendar and this time, turns the notification on.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk #bllk itoshi sae #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x reader #blue lock itoshi sae #blue lock sae #bllk sae #blue lock fluff #sae itoshi fluff

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lightseoul · 2 months ago

Text

cw. worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), cussing (bkg-typical), not many warnings needed for this one chat

words. 1.3k (i had to split it so that the chapter wouldn't be a whole ass novel. also for pacing purposes :0)

masterlist | part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 8, part 9

Your eyes lazily trail the movement of the colleague you speak to at most twice a year as they give a presentation up front, the words they’re uttering slowly turning into a slew of blah blah blah, proper name, place name, backstory like in that TikTok you saw before falling into a fitted sleep the night prior.

Without you noticing, November has finally rolled around, and with it came one of the most important meetings involving Bakugou, Kirishima, and the agency’s department heads aimed at preparing the leaders for the year-end processes and reports.

The very meeting that you find yourself barely getting through at this exact moment.

Tanaka, the said colleague, seems like he’s explaining a pie graph about Dynamight, Red Riot, and their sidekicks’ stats, you think.

You shake your head in an attempt to bring your attention back to what’s in front of you, but your efforts appear to have been in vain as your mind, once again, drifts to the past, and you find yourself mulling over what Mina said two weeks ago.

It’s something that hasn’t left your mind since then, trailing behind you like a damned poltergeist who doesn’t know when to let up.

And as much as you’d hate to admit it, it’s caused considerable confusion on your part, and you don’t like how it may have inadvertently affected how you act around Bakugou, too.

You’re more fidgety, now, and you’ve since beaten your record of how fast you get flustered and stuttery around the man. Although if he’s noticed this humiliating, inexplicable change in your behavior, he isn’t showing it.

At least, not by much.

His gazes have been lingering for a beat too long whenever you stammered your response instead of doing so calmly like you usually do…

“Hey.”

You sit up in sudden attention, dizziness instantly hitting you from having been violently pulled from your reverie. You look at Bakugou, who’s staring you down from the end of the table, and scan the area around him, only to realize that everybody has apparently left, leaving the two of you alone in the conference room.

“Wha—”

“You weren’t listening, were you?”

You feel yourself flush in embarrassment. Guilty.

He shakes his head in what you think is disapproval, stacking the documents in front of him in a neat pile. You take that as a cue to follow suit, gathering your folders in front of you and hurriedly standing up to beeline out of the room.

The last thing you need is for these glass doors to magically lock you in, too.

But you don’t even get to reach the doorway, ass barely lifted a breadth away from your cushy office chair when he speaks up.

“I overheard you in the breakroom.”

You freeze in your tracks, lifting your eyes to meet his. “What?”

“Earlier this morning. You said—” he pauses, eyes shifting to your rear, “Sit back down, dumbass. Your knees are gonna kill you if you keep this up.”

You’re about to retort with a comeback when it dawns on you that the guy has a point, so you begrudgingly take a seat.

“As I said,” he shoots you a pointed look, “I overheard you saying you didn’t have plans for next week.”

“Next week?”

“Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, yeah,” you absentmindedly scratch your right cheek. “My family will be on vacation and all my close friends have plans with their relatives.”

One of his eyebrows raises in question, “And you won’t be tagging along?”

You shrug, “I don’t want to impose on my friends, and being with my family on a holiday isn’t exactly the most relaxing experience.”

Bakugou merely hums in response, seeming as if he’s pondering something in his head. Unable to sustain his gaze, you opt for looking around the room instead, suddenly finding the plain, gray ceiling wildly interesting.

A few moments pass before you decide that yes, this silence is going to kill you if you don’t get the fuck out now.

You lift yourself from your chair, “Well, I should get go—”

“Come over.”

As if you’re in a slapstick comedy, you, once again, freeze. “W-what?”

He clears his throat, “C-come over, to my parents’. For thanksgiving.”

You stare at each other for what feels like an eternity before his eyes gravitate toward your rear again, only this time you plop back down before he can order you to reseat yourself.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow…”

He sighs like he’s teaching you basic ass mathematics and you’re not getting it. “The old hag has been begging me to let them meet you ever since, you know…”

The news of you two “dating” broke out. Right.

You mentally slap yourself for forgetting Bakugou had parents who would eventually also catch wind of your silly little dating scandal.

At the thought of meeting the people who raised Bakugou, your throat suddenly feels a bit too dry. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” you manage to get out.

It’s one thing to go and pretend to be Bakugou’s girlfriend in front of the man’s fucking parents, it’s another to do so in this state that you’ve been in ever since that get-together with his friend group. You don’t exactly know why, but you’ve been fundamentally reconfigured since that fated night, and whatever the fuck is causing it, you’re sure won’t mix well with being in the same room as Bakugou’s parents. That, on top of having to act all lovey-dovey with their son around them.

You’re about to defend your case as to why they should just scrap the idea entirely when Bakugou responds.

“It’s either that or she visits us here in the agency.”

Your jaw drops, “Is that a threat?”

He draws his lips in a thin line, shaking his head. “It’s an ultimatum.”

“That’s more or less the same thing,” you counter.

“My mom likes to play with the shitty technicalities,” he retaliates, tone abrasive as ever.

You can only gawk at the guy as he shifts in his seat rather quite uncomfortably.

Is he seriously going along with his mom’s wishes now?

What happened to the ever-notorious Bakugou who just goes for what he wants without minding everyone else?

You study the man for a beat, weighing your options in your head. It’s obvious, which of the two is the wiser option. It’s a matter of going for where there are fewer pairs of eyes watching you and Bakugou’s every movement. But the real question is, why do you have to choose in the first place?

“I don’t understand,” you start, “Why can’t you just tell your mom that we’re not ready to do the whole ‘meet the parents’ thing yet?”

“Why don’t you be on the receiving end of her fucking nagging, hah?” he snaps, voice defensive and loud enough to make you jump.

“Okay, okay,” you immediately concede, tone placating, not willing for this to escalate into a fight. The last thing you need is for somebody in the building to overhear you, think you’re having a lovers’ quarrel or whatever the fuck they call it, and run to the media to gush all about it.

You’ve had enough media exposure to last you for a lifetime, thank you very much.

Chancing one last glance at your boss, you find him staring a hole into the pile of papers directly in front of him, a prominent scowl etched on his face.

His mom’s nagging must be weighing him down more than you thought.

As you study the visibly bothered man, you’re acutely aware of all the fight evaporating from your body, and you eventually find yourself slouching in your seat in what you reluctantly identify as defeat.

“…What’s your parents’ address?”

“Don’t bother,” he almost instantly replies. “I’ll pick you up.”

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik @bunnysaursushii @beab19 @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lovra974 @chelbyisbord @k0z3me @meeeepsworld @asura-rose @dragonscribble @moonz33 @citrustsuki @deadhands69 @lemuhr @rosemarygalaxy @iluv-ace @eyesforbkg @carpe000diem @shushbruv @matchat3a @ttalgi @bakunianadecorazon @the2ndl @keiscwsz @onlyisaa @aizawa19

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 they make such a huge difference! have a lovely day ( ˘ ³˘)

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #mha imagines #bnha imagines #mha scenarios #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagine #bakugou drabble #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n

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loonylupinblack3 · 1 month ago

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This Isn't Over

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: toxic!rafe, swearing, physical alteration, hints to domestic violence

Summary: you accidently spend the night at your friends house and Rafe has something to say about it

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: more rafe 🤭🤭 this one has him being a little (😬) toxic so be warned!!

You’d fallen asleep at John B’s house. You knew that because it was barely 8am and your phone was ringing its head off, a sleuth of calls and messages lighting up your screen. You let out a groan, rolling over on the pull out mattress in John B’s living room, untangling yourself from Kiara whose limbs were spread out like an eagle on the bed, and picked up your phone.

Your eyes were bleary as you blinked at the screen, already knowing who was sending you all these messages. Like you’d expected, you saw Rafe’s name all over your phone, missed calls and countless messages lining up your home screen.

You’d made the mistake of telling Rafe of your plans to visit John B and his friends last night. You’d had a good relationship with them a couple months ago but had started to drift apart when you and Rafe started seeing each other. Wanting to remedy that, you’d all planned a bit of a party, just between friends, to catch up.

Rafe hadn’t been happy when he found out. At first he told you not to go, adamantly raving about how crazy John B and his sister were. When you informed him you would be going, because they were your friends and you’d known them way before Rafe started disliking them, he made you promise two things to him. One, that you wouldn’t drink, and two, that he’d be able to see you the next morning.

Looking around with groggy eyes and noting the many empty beer cans, you realised belatedly that you’d broken both your promises.

“Shit,” you mumbled, sitting upright and rubbing your eyes.

JJ gave a groan from the mattress a few steps away. “I will smash whoever’s phone that is if they don’t shut it up right now.”

You gave a sheepish smile even though he couldn’t see you, noticing the other’s restlessness too. “Sorry guys, my bad. Rafe’s just texting me.”

That caught their attention, JJ sitting upright immediately and the others stirring into separate states of awareness. You winced; you should have known better than to mention Rafe, because for all that your boyfriend didn’t like them, your friends disliked him more.

“What’s got him so riled up?” John B asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

You cleared your throat, trying to grab your bearings as you looked around for your shoes. “Oh, I was just supposed to meet him this morning and forgot so…”

Pope raised his eyebrows. “So he’s blowing up your phone? And why were you supposed to meet him at-” Pope checked his watch. “-8:07am?”

You hesitated. “Well, I didn’t set a time, it's just he wasn’t expecting me to sleep over so he probably came early to see me and found me missing.”

Sarah gave you a look, probably the most tired out of all of them but still in her right mind enough to tell you, “that’s like, a walking red flag.”

You laughed slightly, though it was forced. “He just cares. Speaking of, I should probably, y’know, answer his texts.”

There were mumbles and mutterings but no one spoke against you as you looked at your phone, reading the most recent texts from Rafe.

Where are you?

Why aren’t you home?

Did you stay at John B’s for the night? You better not have had anything

What the fuck Y/n. Where are you?

I’m coming to John B’s

Shit. Rafe couldn’t come here. There were so many ill feelings with him in the mix and you didn’t want anything to unfold between him and your friends.

You texted him back hastily but he didn’t reply, telling you he was already on the way. Shit.

“He’s coming here?!” Kiaria read, leaning over your shoulder. You were quick to hide your phone but the damage had already been done, all of your friends certainly wide awake now.

JJ let out a disbelieving shock. “Wait, wait, Rafe Cameron is coming here? Did I get that right?”

You cringed. “Um. Kind of? But I’ll meet him outside, you guys won’t have to see him at all-”

Rapid pounding on the door cut you off. You saw Sarah pale and couldn’t help but feel guilty. How fast had Rafe driven to get here?!

“John B,” Rafe called through the door. “John B open up.”

It was as if a switch had been flipped. Instead of your friend John B who teased you and begrudgingly accepted your choice in boyfriend, it was John B who hated Rafe, a dark look in his eyes as his hands curled into fists by his side. No one spoke. “I know you’re in there!” Rafe’s voice got louder; he was shouting by now. “Where’s Y/n? What’d you do, huh? You hurt her? Because I swear to God if you did-”

John B was up and striding to the front door before any of you could stop him. He was like a man possessed, his usual calm persona replaced with an indescribable anger that could only come from countless bad experiences.

He opened the door with a slam, barely avoiding hitting Rafe who didn’t look pleased with the fact. “You think I’d hurt Y/n? She’s my best friend.”

Rafe let out a low scoff, and you could tell he was pissed just by the tone of his voice. You loathed to see the anger on his face. “I wouldn’t put it past you. Where is she?”

John B seemed to still be stuck on the fact Rafe thought so low of him. “I’ve known her since we were four,” he argued.

“You’re a Pogue,” was Rafe’s immediate response.

“She’s a Pogue!”

Rafe was silent for a moment. “Where is she?”

“No, let’s go back to the fact you think I’d be the one to hurt her-”

“Where is she?!”

You heard the sounds of a skirmish and immediately went for the door, as did the rest of your friends. You should have gone earlier but didn’t want to have to be in the middle of whatever had been going on with Rafe and John B.

When you turned the corner you saw Rafe and John B wrestling. Rafe must have tried to get in and John B forcefully stopped him, which led to John B pinned against the wall with Rafe’s arm pressing on his throat. They were both glaring at each other, wearing similar expressions of loathing on their faces. Rafe looked like an entirely different person, a hint of something wild and scary hidden in his eyes.

“Rafe, stop.”

At the sound of your voice Rafe paused, the pressure on John B’s throat lessening. He turned to look at you, his whole face softening at the sight. There was a look of relief on his face that had guilt eating at you as he took his arm away from John B’s throat, the boy coughing as fresh air entered his lungs.

“Y/n,” Rafe breathed, taking a few steps towards you.

Until your other friends took a step forward, crowding you behind them. The same hostility took over his face, the wild look you’d seen in his eyes increased, his pupils dilating slightly.

“I’m fine,” you whispered frantically to your friends. “Seriously. Let him through.”

You admired your friend's loyalty. It warmed your heart to see them caring about you that much, even when faced with this quite frankly terrifying version of Rafe you hadn’t experienced. It was misplaced though, because Rafe would never hurt you.

They reluctantly did as you said, JJ needing some hasling from Kiaria before moving away. And as soon as they did the softness was back in Rafe’s expression and he was in front of you, wrapping you in a tight hug, hands holding you as close as possible to him as he kissed the top of your head.

“You alright?” he murmured into your hair.

You nodded into his chest, his comfort sinking into your very bones. Rafe seemed to act the same, his tense posture relaxing as he held you in his arms, inhaling your scent and letting the comforting smell of you calm him down.

He pulled back suddenly, a hint of irritation on his face. “Why didn’t you answer my texts?”

You looked down guiltily, feeling like a child being reprimanded by a teacher. “I was asleep.”

“Here?”

You flinched at the stern tone of his voice. “Yeah…”

“Did you drink?” When you didn’t answer him he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Did. You. Drink?”

“That’s enough man,” JJ spoke, stepping forward again.

Rafe shot him a dirty look. “Stay out of this Maybank.”

“No I’m serious, stop manhandling her,” he insisted, gesturing to Rafe’s fingers still curled around your chin.

“Don’t tell me what to do with my own girlfriend, you pathetic little Pogue,” Rafe hissed.

You let out a gasp, pulling away from your boyfriend. “What the fuck Rafe? Don’t call him that!”

Rafe turned his murderous expression on you, and for a second it stayed murderous, causing a sense of unease to start churning in your gut. It lessened to irritation but you couldn’t get the anger of his previous expression out of your mind, the feeling that in that moment he would have done anything to get his way.

“Y/n-” he started, a hint of frustration in his voice, but JJ didn’t even let him finish.

He moved forward, placing his hand on your stomach to gently guide you behind him. You only let him because of your sudden hesitance around your boyfriend, but this seemed to only make his mood worse.

“Get your hands off my fucking girlfriend.” Rafe surged forward and you let out a gasp, barely moving in time as the two men toppled to the ground, fists being thrown and legs kicking. You were screaming at them to stop but neither man listened to you. John B finally managed to pry Rafe away, only for your boyfriend to immediately turn to him.

You ran into the middle of it before he could, and you swear to God even after recognising you for a second there you were sure he was still going to go for the hit. He managed to restrain himself, however, and said through very gritted teeth, “Y/n, get out of the way.”

You stood your ground, refusing to budge. “Stop hurting my friends.”

He scoffed, looking at you like you were a naive child. “Friends? You consider them friends, Y/n? You can’t trust them. They don’t care about you like I do. No one does. The only person you can trust is me.”

“You sound fucking psycho man,” JJ sneered, blood running from his probably broken nose. He wiped it away as he spoke, smearing it over his face.

“Mind your damn business,” Rafe snapped. He turned to you, grabbing your arm almost desperately. “Let’s just go, yeah baby? We’ll leave, and forget this shit ever happened.”

He started leading you out of the house and you let him, until you were standing in the doorway with him out of the building, which was when you stopped, taking your arm away from him. Rafe looked at you questioningly.

“I’m gonna stay here for a while longer, Rafe.”

You watched him still, hands flex before curling into tight fists, his jaw clenched.

“What?” that one word, so quiet you could barely hear it, filled you with overwhelming dread. You’d never heard this tone before, this quiet, deadly tone. He was always explosively angry. This felt like the calm before the storm.

“I’m going to stay here,” you forced yourself to say, grateful your voice came out even.

Rafe took a deep breath, thoughts spinning in his head, before giving a yell and kicking the empty bottles on the steps of the porch, causing the glass to smash and shatter. “Are you serious right now? Are you fucking serious Y/n?! After everything I’ve done for you? You were a dirty fucking Pogue before me that no one wanted to touch. I made you into something and you repay me by doing this?!”

He was yelling. Screaming. Eyes full of rage focused solely on you as he moved forward to grab you. Your friends were quicker, John B, JJ, Pope all standing in front of you. Kiara and Sarah both grabbed each of your hands, giving you the support you so desperately needed.

“Time to go, Rafe,” John B said, voice low. “You can’t take on all of us.”

Rafe knew he was right. You could see him, the fight in him not so much deflating as it was changing, realising he wasn’t going to win by brute force alone. He looked at you behind your friends, a frightening anger in his eyes. What was worse was you could see through it, to the sickening desperation underneath, the knowledge that he needed you ringing in your head.

You dropped your gaze, guilt and fear warring inside you. Rafe let out a low scoff, hurt and disbelief coating it. You heard footsteps and risked looking up, finding Rafe leaving the porch. At the edge he turned back though, eyes finding you immediately, and spoke in a low, almost threatening tone before leaving without another glance:

“This isn’t over.”

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sttoru · 1 year ago

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♯ 𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊.

⟣ sypnosis. kento has been extremely busy lately, going on business trips and so forth. he decides to surprise you by coming back earlier than expected. that’s how you end up finding your lover on top of you, showering you in his affection at 3 in the morning.

⟣ tags. nanami kento x female reader. fluff, bit of angst, suggestive towards the end. reader gets called 'sweetheart, angel, dear' wc: 1.8k

⟣ note. okayokay finally an adition to my event heheh ive almost forgotten about it but then i saw this prompt & was like . ok nanami , i must write this rnnn no delaying anymore so here i am :3 its also very bad. i hate it sm LOL i hope u at least like it t_t

kento often asks himself why he had returned to the world he despised — the jujutsu society; his old high school. the sprawling curses everywhere are the main cause of his current misery.

he had been sent out on missions left and right, not catching a break in hopes of reducing any more civilian causalities than necessary. kento had even thought that maybe his previous 9-5 job wasn’t as bad as he had considered it.

overtime was every day for the sorcerer now. that wasn’t the worst thing - no - the fact that he was pratically living a long distant relationship with his beloved irritated him most.

a thought he had in his high school days reoccured in a moment of distress: ‘why not leave all those missions to gojo?’

you were still pretty understanding of his situation. kento appreciated that, though the guilt still ate away at him whenever he tried to sleep. an empty bed welcomed him each time he re-entered his hotel room — you saw the exact same scenery when returning home to your shared apartment.

both of you were adults; both knowing that life was unfair. the two of you being unable to see each other from time to time was a part of your life. kento and you still maintained a healthy relationship. that was all that really mattered in the end.

11:49PM. . . tonight wasn’t unlike any other night; you were preparing yourself to go to bed—changing into your pyjamas after showering, snuggling to a pillow under the covers and texting your lover one last message.

‘good luck on your mission as always! stay safe, i love you.’

you stare at your phone screen for a minute longer than intended. even if you tried to be mature about it — you longed for kento’s warmth and undivided attention. you want him with you, his strong arms holding you to his chest as you rest, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine in the best way possible.

you sigh defeatedly and put your phone down on your nightstand. just two days until you could see your partner again. you can hold onto that hope to keep you calm.

despite you trying to stay positive, you tossed and turned in your bed as you thought about kento’s safety. there was always a chance of him not coming home to you — always the possibility of that bed to be empty for the rest of your life.

all you could do was pray for his safety in your head whilst your eyes eventually closed from fatigue, your mind drifting off to a deep slumber.

03:14AM. . . kento opens the door he had wished to have opened way earlier. the door that lead to the place where his heart lays; the person who claimed his heart and soul for eternity. you.

he didn’t think he’d actually do it. kento had originally planned to finish his last job as soon as possible and then get home afterwards, but there seemed to be a change in routine.

the special grade sorcerer simply assigned the mission to ino — the person whom he could trust most to finish the job in one piece. as much as kento dislikes to put his juniors in possible risky situations, there are also situations where it’s fine to depend on them. besides, the mission could easily be done by a grade one sorcerer.

kento sighs. the familiar scent of your home was one he could recognise from miles away. one that could calm his nerves instantly. it was that same distinctive scent you carry; thus why your lover sometimes calls you his home.

‘i can’t wait to be home’ ‘i want to be home’ ‘i’m going home’ — all these sentences, which kento has uttered before in earlier conversations, weren’t referring to a place. rather to a person he held dear.

“oh, my sweetheart.” the blonde man whispers under his breath as his eyes catch the shape of your figure under the blankets. he quietly enters the master bedroom and closes the door behind him, not making a sound as to not interrupt your well-deserved sleep.

kento slowly undoes his dotted tie, along with the upper buttons of his blouse. he probably needs to go take a good shower before he could settle down with you — but that’d risk waking you up.

you look extremely angelic in his eyes. especially with your left cheek squished by the soft pillow your head rests on. you never once fail to convince him that you are indeed the woman of his dreams; the woman kento ever had and will have eyes for. it’s like you get more attractive to him as the days go on.

“mh,” your sudden and soft groan makes him realise just how disturbing his behaviour could be interpreted as. kento’s body was hovering over your sleeping one and he was just. . . staring at you with a soft smile. a smile which he didn’t even notice had permanently found its place on his weary face.

kento sits down on the edge of the mattress, callused hand gently tucking you in properly, putting the blanket over your shoulders to make sure you didn’t get cold. he can’t rest if you’re not comfortable— even if he himself was exhausted to the point his eyes were starting to feel heavy.

yet that exhaustion doesn’t last long. it never does when kento’s able to see you again after a tiring week of countless missions and other jobs. your presence alone grants him the energy to stay awake and take care of you. and himself. you’re the reason he keeps it going.

“i love you so much, my beautiful girl — my angel.”

kento sure was a romantic. even when you’re unaware and asleep.

he couldn’t help it; the feeling stirring inside of him. the feeling of adoration and love for you. you are simply resting, yet kento felt an urge to kiss you all over, show you the unending love he has for you. but. . that’d probably be disturbing your peace. you are sleeping after all. he

not that that would stop kento.

your eyes flutter open due to a sudden presence hovering over you. your entire face and neck area was feeling ticklish, like someone was placing tens of kisses all over the skin.

strands of blonde hair is the first thing showing up in your blurry vision. kento’s face follows afterwards as his head tilts back up, the warmth against your jawline disappearing along with it —

“ah, i’m sorry.” a low and almost guilty chuckle tumbles out of his sore throat. the visible confusion on your face makes him let out another, “shh, shh, it’s just me, sweetheart.”

your arms flew around kento’s torso the second the realisation dawns upon you. your heart went from a slow pace to one that caused your entire body to warm up immediately; the adorable reaction and increase in heart rate not going unnoticed by your lover.

you wordlessly hug him — almost still in shock by the sudden appearance. kento doesn’t fight off your tight embrace, instead, welcomes it with open arms. the delicate kisses on your skin continue, each being placed with precision whilst one of his hands keeps your head tilted a little — rough fingers being a contrast of the gentle grip they had on your jaw.

“i missed you lots,” kento murmurs, eyes closed as he basks in the warmth of your body, his lips refusing to let go of your neck, “i couldn’t wait anymore. i couldn’t be separated from you any longer or i’d lose it.”

his gruff voice sounded even deeper than it usually would. maybe due to the overuse of it during his missions. the lone thought makes you pout — the thought of kento working super hard just to provide for you both.

“i missed you more, love.” you mumble, bottom lip trembling a little as kento’s hug triggers a whole lot of emotions in you. his hugs were special, his muscular arms giving you a sense of comfort you couldn’t find anywhere. no one could hug you like he did, “you did well. you did so well.”

those were all the words kento needed. his lips come to halt right above your collarbone, his breath a bit heavy from how much he's holding himself back from doing more. one hand moves from your cheek to your waist, fingers toying with the fabric of your shirt.

“thank you, dear.” kento says. his words carrying a load of unending affection. your simple words of appreciation and encouragement makes him shiver in delight. this is what he longed for; this is what he did it all for.

it was clear. the answer to his question - of why he had returned to the jujutsu world, to become a teacher at his former high school - it was all for you. to be able to be with you, see you and hold you like this. to have someone like you appreciate all of his efforts.

“may i?” kento asks through a quiet whisper as he gently removes the blanket covering your figure, his eyes darting down towards your cleavage. he's asking for permission to cross that barrier — to cover you in the love you deserve.

you just stare at the blonde man above you for a second. you watch as he climbs onto the bed with you; the bed which was once empty and dull, now suddenly becoming your favourite place to be at. your fingertips graze against kento's sharp cheekbones. a habit you always did when you were appreciating his looks.

“go right ahead.” you answer with a confirming nod.

both of you were touch starved and had been deprived from each other's embrace for way too long. now was the perfect time to make up for all the time lost.

kento wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip past him. he smiles at you, a gentle and handsome smile, whilst a few of his blonde locks fall over his left eye — his hands already prying away the blanket covering your shape. it was time to show you just how much he has longed for you.

“hold on to me, sweetheart. i’m not stopping until you realise just how much i’ve missed all of you.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #nanami x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #jjk fic #jjk fanfic

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cornsoupflavour · 5 months ago

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Sorry, I Found Better (Twice NSFW Smut)

[ New Collaboration Pt. 2 – See Pt. 1 ]

⚠️18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI⚠️

TWICE Mina Myoi x Manager!Male Reader

Tags: 3.5k words, semi-cheating, multiple creampies, sweat, sharing, manager x idol, romance, wholesome, possible breeding/impreg, body praise

Months after her encounter with the new idol, Mina realised that she wanted more. Not more of him, but more of that feeling he gave. After some reflection, she realised he didn’t satisfy her as much as she wanted him to. Even the collaboration faded into the back of both their minds. After the two drifted apart despite the hope he had for the both of them to continue to see each other, Mina was left feeling rather empty – both physically and figuratively.

The feeling became worse after the whole incident with you and Momo. That whole ordeal made her feel some type of way, like that was what she wanted. She wasn’t sure if it was you, Momo or the both of you, she wanted to get a taste of whatever you two had. But alas, with the fact you and Momo were dating now, it felt as if that were to never come true.

It’d been a while since she treated herself to some retail therapy, and thought that might be what she needed at the time. She grabbed her things, put on a really spicy outfit, and headed out.

She walked around the mall, checking out branded bags and jewelry when she heard a familiar voice call out to her.

"Mina?"

Mina turned around to be greeted with Momo’s bright smile and tantalisingly curvy body. Mina’s smile widened even further as she saw you approaching from behind Momo.

"Momo!"

The two girls leaped into each other’s embrace excitedly. It’s been a week or so since they last saw each other in person but it seemed as though that was long enough. The girls chatted for a bit, giggling and gossiping. You couldn’t help but notice Mina, sneaking in glances at you, once in a while.

You flashed a warm smile each time you felt her gaze on you. You might be with Momo, but you couldn’t deny the allure Mina had on you.

"Anyway, I’ve gotta be somewhere now, you two have fun, alright~?" Mina chimed as she pulled Momo in for a really tight hug. "Mr. Manager, huh? Good job, Momo... Say, you up to share?"

"With you Mina? Of course~ TWICE’s J–Line has to stick together right?"

Wow, she thought Momo would be more possessive... Maybe this could be the start of something new and special.

"Mhm~"

"But I mean, I won’t say no if the other girls ask to share him either... As long as I remain his favourite~"

"Hehe~ Of course~"

Your eyes shifted around, unable to discern what the whispering was about. But as quickly they embraced, they pulled away. Mina gave Momo a fluttery wave before turning to you and winking.

As Mina left, Momo wrapped her arms around yours before continuing the errands you had to run.

Later on that night, as you had settled into a comfortable routine with Momo by your side, nestled in your bed. You were about to drift off to sleep when your phone buzzed. It was Mina.

"What? It’s like... 11PM..."

Momo turned over, her beautiful eyes locking with yours with a soft gaze.

"Who is it, baby? Is it Mina?"

"Yeah, how’d you know?"

Momo giggled, bringing her hand up to your cheek and caressing it gently.

"Us girls just know... But I encourage you to go, trust me."

A soft smile graced her lips as she leaned forward and planted a soft but longing kiss on yours. A few moments later, the both of you pulled away. You nodded reluctantly as you got out of bed, walking over to your closet to grab some new clothes.

"If she asks to head back to her place, do it. I’ll be fine tonight, baby. Don’t worry about me~"

You frowned a little, as you approached her side of the bed to give her a soft kiss on the cheek. "Are you two planning something?"

"Hmm... You’ll just have to find out~"

You shook your head amused before grabbing the keys and heading out. "Love you, Momo. If you need anything, just call, alright?"

Momo nodded, "Love you too, Y/N~ Bring my beloved Mr. Manager back in one piece, alright?"

"I will," you chuckled as you left your home and made your way to the meeting spot Mina had picked. Luna Cafe...

Upon arriving, the lights around the cafe were dim. Not in a ‘scary, dangerous alleyway’ dim but more of a ‘romantic evening with your spouse’ type dim. You walked in, amazed that a cafe would still be open at this time of night. The lights within the cafe were the same romantic dim, a soft jazz tune playing in the background.

You scanned the patrons before spotting Mina, seated in a corner. Her eyes zeroed in on you the moment you walked in. When your gazes finally met, she waved you over. She wore a white turtleneck, a black coat and some tight black jeans.

You approached the table, a soft smile on your face as you took a seat. "So, Mina, you wanted to see me? What’s going on?"

"Mr. Manager... I have to come clean... Earlier this year, I met a new idol..."

Mina began to explain her situation and what she did. You sat there listening attentively. Once done, she sighed.

"But, I don’t know. Something felt missing between us. Or well, it felt as though HE was missing something..."

"What might that be?"

"I can’t exactly put my finger on it, but... when we caught you and Momo in the hotel room the other night... I realised that was what he was missing."

You blushed deeply. You and Momo had already slept and fucked well over three times now, but somehow, you still feel embarrassed and shy when someone brought it up. "W–What do you mean? What did you realise?"

Mina breathed a deep sigh before placing her hands onto yours, her thumbs tracing circles on the back of your hands. "I realised... he wasn’t you, Mr. Manager..."

"...I guess I’ll just come out and say it... Mr. Manager, I want you to fuck me the same way you did Momo."

Your eyes widened. Did she really just say that? "Mina... Y’know, I..."

"If this is about how Momo would react, don’t worry about it. I made sure to discuss this with her and Jihyo before this. Please, Mr. Manager... please show me that you love me as much as you love Momo and the others..."

You froze. This was... quite the temptation. You took a moment to yourself to think. As you looked into her eyes, her motherly yet youthful appearance, her gummy smile and her toned body... You couldn’t say no.

"Alright, Mina. I’ll do it. Is there anything else you’d want me to do before we go through with this? I take it you want to join my relationship with Momo."

Mina's eyes lit up with excitement, a wide grin spreading across her face. "Yes, please. Let's go to my place. It's not far." she said, standing up from the table.

"Like right now...?"

Mina nodded, a slight seductive glint in her eye. That’s when you remembered what Momo said and decided to go with it.

You followed her out of the cafe, the two of you strolling through the quiet streets. The night air was cool, the city lights casting a soft glow over the surrounding area. The both of you engaged in some small talk, discussing music, the latest gossip within the industry and what it’s like to be dating THE Momo Hirai.

"Y’know, you’re a lucky man. In–charge of a group of attractive girls, even dating one of them? I know people who would kill to be in your place..."

"Yeah, I really lucked out. Momo’s the best thing to have ever happened to me... besides becoming TWICE’s manager, of course."

The both of you chuckled as you felt her body leaning slightly onto yours. She wrapped her arms around one of yours as you walked. Initially, you felt a little put off, but you slowly warmed up to it. If Momo says it's alright, it's alright.

A few moments later, the two of you arrive at her apartment. Mina's apartment was cozy and filled with a sense of warmth. The smell of recently–baked cookies lingered throughout the space. There were posters of various artists adorning her walls, including TWICE and some of her solo endeavors.

"Comfortable, right?" Mina asked, leading you to a couch.

"Very much so. I didn’t think you’d keep all the posters I gave all of you for each of your tours..." you replied, taking a seat.

"Yeah well, you gave them to me, so I gotta, right?"

Mina sat beside you, her hand gently brushing against yours. "I appreciate you coming here, Mr. Manager. I know this is a little confusing for you, especially since you're already with Momo."

"It's alright, Mina. Momo’s alright with it and I want to make you happy too," you assured her.

Your gazes locked as she slowly brought her face closer to yours. Your lips met, your tongues dancing together in an intimate embrace. Mina's hands slid down, gripping your waist before moving lower to unbuckle your belt.

She pulled away momentarily, "Mr. Manager–"

"Please, Mina... call me Y/N."

Mina blushed slightly, "A–Alright, Y/N... I want you to breed me, alright?"

Your eyes widened, unsure if what you heard was right. Breed? Like... start a family? Mina could sense the shock behind your widened eyes.

"You heard me right, Y/N... I discussed this with Momo... she said that she’d allow you to get me pregnant... but if you want to breed her first, I’d totally understand."

You stuttered, unable to get words out of your mouth. Before long, your body moved on its own, leaning forward and joining your lips together once more. It appears your decision has been made. Whether it happens or not, you are going to attempt to breed Mina.

As the makeout continued, Mina pulled away once more. "Y/N, wait. Let me get changed into something... nicer for you~"

Your hands lingered on her hips, almost not wanting her to leave but a little wink from her left a smirk on your face. You waited patiently, checking your phone for any messages. Momo had just sent some.

Momo 🥰🥰: hey baby~ everything going well?

You: everything’s fine here baby, im back at mina’s

You: how about you? everything alright back at home?

Momo 🥰🥰: mhm

Momo 🥰🥰: just missing my beloved man is all~

Momo 🥰🥰: anyway, im not gonna bother you

Momo 🥰🥰: breed her well okay, baby? im trying to be an auntie here~

You chuckled to yourself.

You: alright baby, ill do my best

Momo 🥰🥰: okay~ get home safe, and if youre still not satisfied, im always open for a breeding~

You blushed hard as the both of you bid farewell. As you put your phone away, you looked up and felt your cock spring out from your undone pants. Mina sauntered in, her tight and fit body adorned in a beautiful feathered–blue jacket and a sexy light blue top and skirt.

Your mouth hung slightly agape as the goddess of a woman entered the room.

"So? How do I look?"

"...I need you so fucking bad."

You leaped up and wrapped your arms around her waist, engaging in a hot makeout once more. You dragged her back onto the couch and adjusted your member so that its tip is perfectly aligned with her slit.

It felt as though you weren’t in control any longer as you impaled her onto your cock, the tip bottoming her out almost immediately. She moaned loudly, arching her back to meet your every thrust. "Fuck, Y/N, you're so fucking big~! Just like Momo said you’d be~" she cried out.

You increased your pace, slamming your whole length into her as you showered her upper body with kisses. You began to lick her breasts erratically, it felt like you’d gone insane with lust.

As the intensity increased, Mina’s moans grew louder. "Ahhh, Y/N... you’re making me cream all over your cock," she panted.

You grinned, loving the wetness engulfing your length with each plunge. As you drowned in the sensations, you reached up, fondling her breasts while you ravaged her pussy. Mina arched her back, her heaving chest begging for more as her moans morphed into cries of pleasure.

"Mmmm, Y/N... you feel... so fucking good..." she groaned, her fingers digging into your shoulders.

You could feel her warm folds begin to quiver around you, a sign that she was nearing her climax. Her walls clenched tight, making you feel like you were the owner of the most sought–after toy.

"Gnnnngh... Y/N... oh, fuck... don’t stop..." Mina pleaded, her nails digging into your flesh as her orgasm claimed her.

Her cunt milked you like a greedy monster, and you couldn’t help but match her rhythm, feeling the familiar tinge of your own impending release.

"Mina, I’m close, baby..." you warned, your voice raspy.

"Knock me up, Y/N..." she cried out, her voice shaking as she looked deep into your eyes, urging you to fill her with your seed.

Your thrusts became more erratic, your hips bucking as you lost all semblance of control. With a loud grunt, you exploded, flooding her insides and filling her with your hot cum.

Mina continued to shake, her orgasm reasserting itself as you spilled your load into her. When your orgasm subsided, you collapsed onto her, panting heavily.

"Holy shit, Mina... you’re... unbelievable..." you said, your breath still catching in your throat.

Mina smiled, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment. "Momo said you’d say that."

You began to pull out, admiring the evidence of your defilement on Mina’s thighs. Her hand rested on your abdomen. "Hold on, you didn’t think we were gonna stop after one round did you?"

Mina gazed longingly into your eyes as she pushed her lips against yours in a deep and passionate kiss. "Until further notice... I’m claiming you... You belong to me and Momo now~"

The both of you smirked before Mina broke the kiss, a wicked grin on her face. She readjusted herself as she made you lay back on the couch. Before long, she straddled you again. This time, however, her demeanour was different; she was in full control... Mina was in–charge now. Her hands gripped your shoulders tightly as she lowered herself further onto your cock, her pussy swallowing your whole length once again.

"Ahhh, Y/N, I’m..." her voice quivered as she bounced, her sultry voice pleading for more of your thick shaft. Mina began to ride you, her movements slow but deliberate. Each time she rose, she’d slide almost entirely off you, teasing your tip with her wet entrance.

"Mmmm, Y/N... you feel... so fucking good..." Mina’s tone was demanding, taking charge of the situation. She set a relentless pace, her slender thighs gripping your hips, her pelvis rocking back and forth. Her hands rose to her soft breasts, groping and squeezing them desperatrely. You did the same.

"Gnnnngh... Y/N... oh, fuck... don’t stop..." She cried out, her moans deafening within the small apartment. She leaned in, her lips brushing against yours. "THAT’S IT– YOU’RE MINE~"

Mina began to bounce faster, her cries growing louder as the scent of sex began to fill the room. Her hand reached between her legs, rubbing her clit while she rode you. Within minutes, she began to shake, her inner walls clenching you tightly.

"C–CUMMING–! C–Cum with me, Y/N!" Mina begged, her voice trembling.

Your hands gripped her hips. You didn’t think either of you could cum again this quickly, but Mina has shown you her sexual prowess and you just couldn’t hold back your own release anymore, your hips bucking to meet her rhythm.

Together, you both climaxed, Mina’s orgasm pushing you over the edge. You pumped her full once more, your seed spilling into her as she collapsed on your chest, her hair draped over your face like a veil.

Panting, she whispered into your ear, "You better get used to this, Y/N. Momo and I are going to milk you dry."

"Oh, Mina... What do you think Momo has been doing with me the past few days?" You chuckled, sweat dripping down your forehead. "But hey, I’m not complaining, Mina."

Mina hugged you tightly, her heartbeat syncing with yours. You both remained intertwined, sharing this intimate moment in silence, savoring the afterglow.

She leaned up slightly, her outfit messy but still intact. The way her back arched made you shoot a little cum into her still impaled body.

"One last time?" she asked.

"I can’t say no to you~"

Mina leaned all the way back, your cock still engulfed within her folds. She arched her back a little, pushing her tits upwards. You could see the outline of her ribcage but for some reason, that turned you on that much more.

The both of you were now positioned in this desperate and hungry missionary, you began to drive yourself into her, your thrusts quick and forceful. Mina arched her back, her breasts jiggling with each plunge. She gripped your shoulders tightly, her nails digging into your flesh as her moans grew louder with each thrust.

"Aahh, Y/N, I’m... oh, fuck, Y/N, don’t stop..." Mina panted, her voice almost hoarse from all the screaming.

Your brows furrowed as you gritted your teeth. You’ve grown sexually frustrated. It’s like you couldn’t get enough of this woman. You kept thrusting, your hands reaching forward to squeeze the wonderful pair of mounds in front of you.

You could see a slight bulge on her abdomen form each time you thrusted inwards. Her loud yet sultry moans pushed you forward. You squeezed her hips, your hands gripping tightly on their sides.

"Fuck– Mina– I don’t think I can ever get enough of you– Momo was so right to invite you to join us– FUCK–"

Your own breathing grew ragged as you neared your limit yet again. Mina's sweat–soaked skin glistened under the light, her ribs visible beneath her smooth skin.

"Mmmm, Y/N... you feel... so fucking good..." she cried out, her words becoming more and more desperate.

Each thrust was now a battle for dominance, both of you vying for control as you forced your bodies to submit to the rhythmic pounding.

"Gnnnngh... Y/N... oh, fuck... don’t stop..." Mina begged, her voice now a mixture of pleading and demanding.

You slammed into her one last time, the sound of your flesh meeting hers echoing in the small room. "That’s it, Mina, squirt for me–" you groaned, your voice hoarse. Mina began to scream out in pure ecstasy and pleasure.

"OH MY GOD– FUCK~ KNOCK ME UP, Y/N– DO IT–!"

Mina's walls convulsed around you, triggering your own orgasm. Together, you both unleashed powerful orgasms. Her cries of ecstasy intermingled with your guttural grunts. Your seed flooded her once more, the heat of your release igniting another wave of pleasure for Mina.

With both of you completely spent, you collapsed onto her, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweat dripped from your brows, coating both of your trembling forms.

"God damn, Mina..." you whispered, panting.

Mina smiled, her cheeks flushed from exertion. "I–I’m glad you approve, Y/N."

"Approve? I don’t think I ever wanna be away from you anymore... I guess it’s official, you’ve joined my relationship with Momo."

Both of you stayed entwined, sharing this intimate moment, the room now filled with the scent of sex and the heavy thumping of your heartbeats. After a while, Mina let out a content sigh, her body relaxing beneath you.

A few hours later, you were back at home with your beloved Momo. She could see the look of a man who had just been drained of what is essentially his soul. She playfully called out to you.

"Y/N, baby~ Come and sit with me."

As you waddled over and sat down, she gave you a soft kiss. You reciprocated.

"So, how was it? Looks like you had fun~!"

You nodded.

"Yeah, baby... Uhh, Mina’s gonna join us now... like you and me, us..."

"Mhm! I told her she could, I mean, you didn’t seem to mind when Nayeon was actively touching herself to us..."

"You’re right... I love you so much..."

Momo smiled, knowing she made the right choice, both for herself, for you, and for the both of you combined. Knowing that, you and Momo look forward to whoever else that would be interested in joining your little circle here.

You and Momo shared another sweet and loving kiss as she straddled your lap. Just then, you both heard a knock at the door. You stood up, walked over and opened it. There stood Mina in a white tank top, a tight blue jacket and a short yellow skirt. She presented her phone to you, a message already typed out to who you presumed to be the idol she slept with a while back.

Mina: hey, i dont think we should see each other anymore

Mina: sorry, i found someone better

Your gaze met hers as you brought her in for a passionate kiss. As you did, you brought your finger to the send button and pressed it. As the kiss broke, you brought Mina in to see Momo and the two sat on the couch together and faced you.

"Wait, what’s happening now?"

"You know~"

[Let me know if you want a part two or if you want me to make this a long running story. And let me know who else you'd want to see a fic about.]

#kpop smut #x male reader #girl group smut #x male!reader #male reader #smut #fanfic smut #mina x male reader #mina smut #twice x male reader #twice smut #female idol smut

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wyvernest · 2 months ago

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cregan stark x f!targaryen!reader

first part - previous part - all chapters list

>>Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North.

chapter cw: smut, fluff, ANGST, explicit description of a wound

Wind's howling. The sea simmers with wrath and death.

The deck creaks and groans under you like an old beast waking from a decade-long sleep, bones cracking and jaws grinding with vengeance.

There is no crew, no captain. The ship is a wraith, and you, a speck of dust in the darkness.

You step towards the taffrail, looking down into the abyss. Terror washes over you, a raw instinct of deathly peril. Your heart thumps in your ears, and you feel the blood race through you.

Deep below, a wreckage drifts on the tides, carried by charred tongues of fallen beasts, licking its last life away. Atop, a small, frail creature, claws at the damp wood, drained and wounded.

Your throat tightens, a deeply rooted, dreamlike feeling of being bound to the creature rushes through you like wildfire. It tenses and crawls, its blood seeping into the black waters like a frozen breath leaving warm lungs for the last time.

The wind wails louder as you bend forward, seeking help, life, hope, with terror biting at your every sense. You slip over the ledge, and the void swallows you in your fall.

You awaken in your bed, the night barely pierced by the first lances of sunlight through the clouds. The fear slowly retreats, your breathing slowing down.

Cregan is still asleep next to you, lying on his stomach and facing away from you, his hair splayed messily over his shut eyes. You get up, quietly leaving his side to soothe yourself with cold water.

The castle is silent and imperturbable, a welcomed calmness following your nightly terrors. You walk like a ghost through the halls, lulled by the newfound safety, yet your mind is still imprisoned in thought.

Why would I even dream of such things? I cannot recall the last time I saw a ship, I cannot recall the last time I saw a storm at sea.

It is long past four moons since you first arrived in Winterfell, four moons since you last saw Dragonstone, your family, your brothers and sisters. The tenth day of the twelfth moon of 129 A.C. And for four moons, you haven't missed them nearly as much as now.

Perhaps it is the war, the news of Rhaenys, the murder, the unavoidable dread of death that knows no borders. Whatever it is, the dream shook you out of any serenity Cregan has struggled to settle in your heart.

“This is war. And the finality of death harrows even the toughest of men.”

But it was not the harrowing of your heart that woke you now. You would accept the night terrors every time you slept if it meant you could see your family alive and well again.

When you return to your chamber, Cregan shuffles to look at you, still lying down. He smiles, lazy and content, until he notices the strain between your brows, something you did not mean to bring back to him.

“My love?” He calles for you, but you push him back down before he could rise. You fall beside him, letting his warm hand cup your freshly washed cheek. “Did something happen?” His voice is still groggy with sleep, and the closure subdues your bleak worries.

“Just a dream.” You whisper, closing your eyes. His hand brushes over your hair lovingly.

“Tell me.” His hand moves to caress your back, pulling you closer to him.

“There is no need. All is good now.” But is it?

And yet you cast your worries aside when he drags you nearly under him, his free hand running over your waist and hip, dipping into the valley between your thighs. You cast your worries aside when you feel the coarse hair of his abdomen brush up against your belly.

Your mind goes numb when his massive body encompasses yours, as he breathes hotly into your neck, slipping himself inside you lazily; when he whispers to you of how he'll protect you, ah, love, you're mine own now, no harm will come to you.

But when his warmth leaves you, deep in the nights to come, the dreams find you again.

The second time they came with the same black waters, the drifting wreckage, but now shadows danced in the skies. Sinister serpents, prowling like enormous crows above a fresh cadaver. They pushed the clouds beneath them with behemothic wings, and you felt as though the whole night sky was coming down on you, in all its weight and darkness.

You dared look up once, up into the mirroring abyss. And then, you saw it. Through the gloom and mist, a ghost of a citadel atop a sunless hill. Perhaps there are many castles you may confound in such obscurity, but this was not one to be mistaken for something else.

Estrangement, guilt, it was, that claimed you in all these nights. A terrible shame, inexplicable for your position. You were sent North, you did not abandon your cause. But the creature in the sea bled every night, clung to the wreckage every night, and died every night.

It soon became an obsession. And weeks past, well near the end of the twelfth moon, your uneasiness bolts as Cregan receives another raven from Dragonstone.

The flying shadows. - is your first thought upon reading. The serpents swarming the skies. Though the letter should soothe you, with the notion of the Blacks’ forces finally recuperating, all you see is the black sky in a cobweb of smoke and thunderclouds. You see them much clearer; your family’s dragons stalking above the seas like starving vultures.

A broad hand on your lower back makes you turn back to Cregan.

“Word of this reached me shortly before the raven arrived.” He admitted, referring to new riders. “Your brother waited until the last dragon was mounted to write to us, but the people have been spreading the news like the plague ever since he first called for willing men.”

An overwhelming feeling of helplessness muffles out his voice. It's all amounting to the dream.

“They have fighting dragons.”

“You have fighting dragons, beloved. I dared not believe it without his testimony.”

You force yourself to smile at him, laying your head on his collarbone, the message still in hand.

“This is wonderful news.”

He kisses your forehead, taking the small scroll away. You briefly rub your fingers in its loss, as if the news had burnt your very skin.

“I am glad to know that I was able to please you, as well.” He remarks smugly, his tone laced with the honest surprise of seeing your brother quite literally tell on you.

Sudden nervousness momentarily rips you from the illusions of your distress. You scrunch up your face, as if you hadn’t already given him your maidenhead.

“Few brides have the comfort of wedding handsome men. Fewer, able men, and even fewer kind men. But …” You trail off, taunting his patience. He gazes at you, eyes squinted, the corners of his mouth ever so slightly raised. Even as a wolf, he often times held the cunning gaze of a fox, which amused you to no end, for you know it was only reserved for you. How he had the talent of drawing you out of dark thoughts with nothing but a jest or a tease.

“Well, don’t stop now.” His voice went down an octave, now sly and intimate.

“But to gain all three …” You kiss his cheek, dangerously close to his mouth.

His arms wrap around you in response. “To find yourself next to a man so strong-” another kiss, on his jaw. “- so resourceful -” another, on his lips, but so hasty that he doesn’t catch it.

“ - and yet so considerate and gentle. You hard warriors have no idea how important that is.” You stop, softly pushing him away to speak, your tone masquerading a scold. “You think it’s enough to butcher away any foes and any peril. But after that…” a kiss on the bridge of his nose. He looks at you like you’re preaching the word of gods. “ - to be able to lie in his arms, to know that these hands, that bathe in blood to protect her, will only ever touch her to caress, to fondle, to hold so dearly.” Your voice spills into seriousness, and he heeds your confession.

“That is when she truly feels safe.” You smile at him, accentuating your discourse by playfully shaking him twice by his shoulders. “And to have that, is more than any woman bargains with the gods for.”

He kisses your face, the slyness faded from his eyes.

“...And I can’t say you don’t look the part.”

He giggles, and your heart beats a little faster.

“I did not yet have the chance to truly protect you, love.” He corrects, and your heart sinks at his humble words, or more so at the recollection of your worries. “I haven’t yet spilt blood for you. Trust that I will , should the occasion arise.” That was no longer a jest, you realise. “And afterwards …” He leans into you, and seeing you do nothing to flee, he kisses your neck. “I’ll hold you, however you want, wife.”

Tonight you can barely shut your eyes without your heart thumping in your chest. After tossing and turning beside your husband, tiredness finally takes you and the visions creep over.

The nightsky rains with arrows. They snap and ring against the wooden shipwrecks like so many sharp teeth of jaws closing in on utter desolation.

Faceless, weightless, you step on the waters while the black wings dance and stalk restlessly, as the shafts hit the debris in a cacophony of wails, winds, tides crashing and roars of wrath.

And in this moment, it feels as though this cut is too deep even for time to mend. This place would never recover from such decay. Chaos has conquered the bay, irreversibly.

Death itself growls in the heavens above, blocking out the light of the moon. The sea heeds the call and drowns whatever escaped its claws, and the Red Keep stands still and cold and silent on the shores, an ill omen of rot and ruin.

The man on the rubble is dead. A snapped arrow coated in blood bore into his neck, the impact twisting his upper spine so unnaturally that he lies lifelessly atop the wreckage like a mayhem of boneless limbs discarded.

Only a hand quivers away in agony, the last semblance of a decapitated animal’s tremble.

You stomach turns.

Jacaerys!

You awaken in a sweat, with a shriek that rips Cregan from his slumber as well.

“ ‘S alright, come here, you're safe.” He cradles your still shivering hands to his chest, running a hand over your hair and back.

“ ‘m sorry.” You speak, muffled, remorseful and ashamed.

“It's no fault of yours.”

“...Cregan?”

You whisper, your limbs still tangled with each other. He hums, as attentive as he always is. The sun is just starting to show, and the dimness of the morning makes him look astonishingly beautiful.

“Would you do anything to shield me from pain?”

“ ‘course I would. What do you need of me?”

You hesitate. You know he would forbid you from fleeing, though you can not bring yourself to hide from your husband any longer. Whatever needs to be done, you ought to discuss it together.

“I need to fly South.”

There is a moment of complete silence. His face, for all you’ve grown to know, is now as impenetrable as The Wall. You cannot tell if you, indeed, sense anger or if it is only your expectations, for asking such a thing. You both get up as tension becomes unbearable.

“My men are already gathering at the White Harbour.” He speaks with patience and softness, understanding of your predicament, though stern and clearly unwavering. “In Barrowton.” He continues, “Roderick Dustin should be ready to march by week’s end. I-”

“ ‘Should’, and ‘by week’s end’…” You repeat to yourself in sorrow, too late releasing you quite rudely interrupted him. But the urgency of the issue can no longer afford gentleness nor much civility. “My family needs me, now. I dreamt of it, Cregan. You must believe me! And even if it’s wanton, even if the peril is still at bay, then I shall return safely. You mustn’t worry.”

“Wife.” His tone is demanding. It silences you, but deep in your heart you loathe him for it. You loathe him because of your dreams, because of the war, because greybeards can only ride so fast and so far, and will definitely not head for The Blackwater Bay.

“I have faith in your courage.” He begins, still holding you, yet the frost in his gaze is anew. “I do not doubt your loyalty. But as husband, I cannot allow you to risk such a thing. As warden, I cannot allow you to forsake the Queen’s command.”

“That’s your desire to protect me!” You speak hastily until your voice breaks, yet you go on. “What of me? How am I to live on knowing I could have saved someone so dear?! How am I to live with the remainder that I saw what would happen and did nothing?!”

“Dreams can be bad omens. But what if it was nothing more than a dream?” His voice escalates into the clear image of your demise in his mind. “What if you die for nothing? How would I live with that? Knowing I could have prevented it?”

“Cregan.” You brush an arm over his shoulder.

“I will say no more. You are not leaving Winterfell.” It is a command. And yet you hear him mumble, “I can’t lose you.”

Your heart sinks into your chest, and your throat tightens with unspoken pleas and cries.

Fortunately for you, Cregan is a heavy sleeper. He was still off soundly when you roused, during the hour of the wolf.

He was still undisturbed when you gently kissed his cheek, as an apology and farewell. He was unmoved when you slipped out of bed, changed into riding skirts and threw chainmail over your chemise and underneath the leather cloak.

“Lady Stark.” A reverential voice echoes in the halls when you depart from your shared bedchamber. For a heartbeat, your blood freezes at the thought that Cregan might, at last, awaken because of it.

“I have orders from Lord Stark to ensure your safety. Allow me to accompany you.”

“Oh, there's no need. I only mean to clear my mind on the battlements.”

Before he could reply, you turn your back to him and stroll off to the winding stairs. Your footsteps feel heavy, heavier than your masked armour, heavier than the dagger at your belt.

The cold, high winds hit your face as you reach the top of the castle. The merlons thin out the howling of winter gusts, but the cold dread is no less horrifying.

“Māzīs! Aderī!” (Come! Quick!)

The Godswood shivers with the call, but it does not matter. No one in the yard could be fast enough to catch you now.

Soon enough, a high pitched shriek answers as a slithering, white ghost of a cloud emerges from behind the high walls of Winterfell.

The silence of the night wails, broken, as Suvion brings his wings down, and with one, two swings, he's landing atop the tower, his hawk claws scraping the stone.

He brings his head to you, slightly frenzied by your tone and distress.

His icy scales shine with the dampness of the snow he had been dousing in, and his sheer beauty in the moonlight soothes you. He has grown. His wings are stronger. The cold had hardened him, as it did me.

“Sister!”

You halt, right before mounting.

“Sara.”

“Off on a nightly prowl?” she jests, but the moment she comes closer, eyeing your attire, her playful smile fades.

“Tell Cregan” you hesitate, pondering, “-to tell the lords he sent me on a secret scouting mission.”

She frowns, disheartened, lost, confused. After a few beats of unbearable ache, she speaks, as icy as Cregan had.

“Did you loathe it all from the beginning?”

“Sara, I cannot-”

“Is this what you'd always hoped to do?”

It's not an accusation. It's forlornness. Betrayal, and the grief of it.

“If I don't go, I will carry this burden with me for the rest of my life.”

She remains silent, but even Suvion twitches at the sound of her soft weep. You mount, shivering, with the cold, with regret, with doubt and fear, and guilt.

“If I do not return by the new moon's end, I loved him. Tell him I loved him. Tell him it's not his fault.”

With nothing but the sound of his wings, Suvion takes off from the tower.

a/n: that was quite the chapter

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queenofwands89 · 4 months ago

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Stolen Hearts and Cuddles

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader

Summary: While cuddling, Jake tells Y/N that she made him believe in love at first sight.

Warning: Tooth rotting fluff.

Notes: Hello, this is my first Jake fic. I just watched twisters with my family last week, and it got me back in my Glen Powell feels (Always been down bad for him the movie just reignited that spark lmao), so yeah I hope you enjoy byeeee.

The sun has set, and the soft glow from the table lamp casts a warm, cozy light across the living room. You’re nestled together on the plush leather couch, your head resting on Jake's chest as you listen to the gentle hum of the city outside your window. The faint aroma of popcorn lingers in the air, remnants of your impromptu movie night.

Jake's arm is draped protectively around you, his fingers tracing absent-minded patterns on your shoulder. You find solace in these moments – the simplicity of being close to him, away from the chaos of the naval base and the pressure of his duties as a aviator.

“Y’know,” Jake's voice breaks the comfortable silence, a confident lilt even in his softer moments, “I used to think love at first sight was just a myth. A fairytale people tell themselves to make life seem a little more magical.”

Tilting your head slightly, you look up at him, your curious eyes meeting his green, mischievous yet earnest gaze. “Oh really?” you tease, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “The great Lieutenant Jake Seresin, charmer extraordinaire, didn’t believe in love?”

A chuckle rumbles from his chest, making you vibrate with the sound. “Hard to believe, huh?” he smirks. “But yeah, I was always about the next mission, the next challenge. Love seemed like a distraction.”

Your fingers play with the hem of his navy blue T-shirt, your touch sending electric shivers down his spine. “So, what changed?” you ask softly, genuinely intrigued.

Jake’s expression softens, the cockiness melting away to reveal the depth of his feelings. He gently cups your face with his hand, his thumb caressing your cheek. “You,” he says simply. “You changed everything.”

Your heart flutters at his words, and you lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against your skin. “How?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Jake’s eyes lock with yours, reflecting a sincerity that’s often hidden behind his confident exterior. “The first time I saw you, it felt like someone had flipped a switch inside me. Suddenly, life wasn't just about flying high and chasing adrenaline. It was about finding a way to keep you by my side, to protect you, to love you.”

He takes a deep breath, as if steadying himself to say something deeply personal. “You didn’t just capture my attention, Y/N. You stole my heart. Completely and irrevocably. And for the first time, I realized that love isn’t a distraction. It’s what makes all the risks worth taking.”

You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, your emotions welling up at his heartfelt confession. “Jake…” you begin, but he gently hushes you, his gaze soft yet intense.

“I’m serious, Y/N. You’re my everything. My whole world. The one I’d sacrifice everything for,” he continues, his voice filled with unwavering conviction. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as your lips meet in a tender, passionate kiss. Each touch, each breath seems to reaffirm your bond, a silent promise of the future you will build together.

When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, your heart racing. “I love you, Jake. More than words can say.”

“I love you more baby,” he replies, his voice a soft murmur in the intimate space you share. “More than you could ever know.”

You settle back into his comfortable embrace, the weight of the world outside disappearing as you lose yourself in each other. In that moment, in the safety of your love, you find a tranquility you have never known before.

As you drift off to sleep, the world outside continues to spin, but for you and Jake, your universe is right there on that couch – wrapped in each other's arms, in a cocoon of stolen hearts and unyielding love.

#jake seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #jake hangman x reader #top gun fanfiction #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x you #tgm #top gun #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fic #jake seresin imagine #hangman fanfiction #hangman imagine #glen powell #glen powell fanfic

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dontsh0vethesun · 5 months ago

Text

cigarettes out the window

masterlist

emily prentiss x reader

18+: smoking, alcohol, smut; semi public sex, fingering, lotta kissing and biting, wine is passed from mouth to mouth :)

a/n: title from ‘cigarettes out the window’ by tv girl | word count: 1.7k

The hunt for Gold Star had left little room for relaxation. With both of you working overtime, your shared apartment with Emily currently housed two members of the FBI with heightened blood pressure and an elderly black cat who pestered you for food every chance he got.

Your jaw ached from the clenching of your teeth you can seldom seem to stop and you stared at the ceiling while Emily caught a few hours of sleep. You slipped out from beneath the duvet without her stirring, holding your breath until you were sure you’d reached the doorway without her waking.

With a quick glance in her direction, you made your way to the hidden packet of cigarettes you were sure she would’ve found by now, balancing the unlit stick between your lips as you poured a hefty glass of merlot. You kept the padding of your feet as quiet as possible as you tipped a handful of kibble into Sergio’s bowl, scratching him behind the ear as he purred before you stepped out onto the balcony.

Every movement you made was calculated, keeping yourself as silent as possible before the hiss of gas filled the quiet of the night air; the spark of your lighter accompanied the distant hum of car engines and with your first inhale you could finally ease some of the tension built up in your shoulders. It was a vice you wish you didn’t have but in times like these you find yourself in dire need of a crutch to hold you up.

Your arms rested on the metal fencing as you peered over the edge, watching the gentle breeze knock at the branches and the empty streets below. The bitter swig of wine burned your throat, and you made a mental note to buy a different brand the next time you went grocery shopping. You let your mind drift to nothing in particular, letting yourself sink into the silence until you heard the telltale creak of the sliding door behind you - you didn’t think twice before you flicked the half-finished cigarette to the ground below, blowing out the mouthful of smoke before you turned around.

“Shit, I thought I hadn’t woken you,” you spoke, quickly spinning to face your only half-awake girlfriend. She’d lazily pulled her robe around her underwear-clad body and brushed a strand of her mussed-up hair behind her ear.

“You didn’t, don’t worry,” she smiled. “I woke up for a glass of water and saw you’d gone,” she added - you almost missed her lie.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you returned through a sigh. “I guess neither of us can at the moment.”

She hummed in agreement, but the way she eyed you let you know she wasn’t oblivious to what you’d been doing.

“I thought you’d quit.”

“I have; I just needed fresh air,” you shoddily fibbed, only earning a raised eyebrow in response. “I thought you’d quit,” you added teasingly.

“I have.”

“So, what’s that in your hand?”

“What? Oh- these are yours,” she mumbled with a glance at the box in her grasp. “I found them in the dresser.”

“Emily Prentiss, are you telling lies?” you teased her with a laugh.

“Wha- no. No, I’m not.” She shook her head so profusely that even without any knowledge of profiling, a person could read her from a mile away.

“We both know that’s not my brand, Em,” you pointed out. “And, hiding them in the dresser? I thought you’d give me a little more credit than that.”

“Okay, fine,” she laughed with a playful roll of her eyes, finally coming to stand beside you with the small of her back pressed against the railings. “I guess we’ve both got filthy habits.”

She peered at you through her lashes as she spoke, bending her head with the last of her words uttered around the butt of a cigarette; your hands sheltered it from the whisper of wind as the flame licked the end with a crackle at her first inhale only so audible because of the palpable quiet passing between you.

You took a sip from your glass as she let smoke pass from the corner of her lips.

“It’s nice to have a quiet moment with you,” she breathed, pushing the end of the cigarette between your lips. “It’s been a long week.” You hummed with an agreeing nod.

“And it’s only the beginning,” you sighed.

“It’s made me think,” Emily began, plucking the glass from your hand to take a sip for herself. “That we should make the most of any moment alone we have at the moment.”

Her free hand didn’t shy away from tracing a finger along your thigh, nudging the t-shirt you were wearing upwards to brush her touch against your hip. She took in the view of your face, cheeks blanketed by the yellowed glow of the moon, a small plume of smoke passing from your lips into the twilight sky and she couldn’t help but lean in closer.

Your head tilted backwards as her lips ghosted the skin of your neck, giving ample access for the kiss she aches to place there. She could practically feel the thrumming of your pulse beneath her tongue, revelling in the salty-sweet taste of your skin with a gentle scrape of her teeth.

She felt the movement of your neck as you took a drag of the cigarette, hearing you exhale shakily above her. She was nothing less than ravenous in her assault, nipping at the skin beneath your ear to lay her claim, taking hold of your waist just as harshly. She only pulled away to catch her breath, observing you with plump red lips and pupils blown to match.

“Don’t hog that,” you teasingly pouted as she took another swig from the glass, only tutting when she took another with a smirk. Wordlessly, she nudged at your chin, hovering over you with her mouth full of wine and her eyes of something just as fruitful. With just a pointed crook of her brow, you knew to slacken your jaw to allow the earthy merlot to pass from her lips to yours, swallowing it down obediently.

The smile of satisfaction did nothing to quell the needy ache you pooled with; your body practically hummed with need beneath her unwavering gaze. She's sure she could take in the sight for eternity. She placed the glass aside to take what was left of the cigarette between her fingers, balancing the filtered end between her lips while the palms of her hands set your hips on fire.

Your own touch crept beneath her robe, soft and pliable skin warm and peppered with goosebumps. You couldn’t keep your kiss away from her chest, scattering pecks along her collarbone with your hands desperately kneading her breasts through the lace bra that got in your way. She hummed in pleasure, pulling you hopelessly nearer with her nails scraping the flesh of your thighs, grabbing and groping with her mind settled on taking any hold of you she could.

Emily’s fingertips nudged at the waistband of your underwear, and though your hands tangled themselves within the salt and pepper tresses of her hair and your face nestled in the crook of her neck, she heard the desperate mewl and felt the twitch of your hips to urge on her movements.

When she slid a finger through your folds, you finally pulled away to breathe - to take in the sight of your lover with the end of a cigarette lazily hanging from her lips and her hair mussed from your touch. Her free hand pulled it from her mouth with a final exhale of smoke, flicking the butt over the balcony without taking her focus from the digits she pushed into you.

And, though your lips melded together with the bitter tastes of smoke and wine, it couldn’t be any sweeter. Her tongue fought against yours and her thumb drew circles over your clit, fingers curling within you whilst your hips chased the feeling with aimless rutting against her hand.

“God, I needed this,” Emily breathed. “I needed you - just feeling you like this is all I ever need.”

You met her eyes with yours with words on the tip of your tongue, sentiments to match hers that fell short with the way she made you feel, digits moving with precise choreography - she only smirked at the way she can make you fall apart so easily. She had you trapped between her own body and the railing behind you, but the pain of metal against your back was washed away by the pleasure of impending release.

You kept your mouth against her jaw, sinking your teeth into her neck to quell the sounds she pulled from you. Though Emily may want to hear how she affects you, you would rather not wake up the entire street with the gasps and moans that threatened to spill into the quiet night. She kept up the rhythmic pace of her fingers pumping into your cunt, feeling the slick of your arousal against her skin and the way you clenched around her with the pleasure pulsing through you.

“C’mon, baby, let go,” she rasped, feeling you teeter on the edge of climax before she pulled you to topple over. She hissed at the way you muffled your moan with a bite to her neck, but with your release, the both of you felt the stress of the week begin to melt away.

She slipped her digits away from you once she’d ridden you through the high, sucking them clean of every drop as though it were her lifeline. Your heart thumped against your chest and you held your body up with your arms looped over her shoulders; you could hardly trust your legs to keep you upright.

“Fuck, Emily,” you breathed through a laugh, one that she mirrored with her lust-blown eyes focused on you.

“I’m that good, huh?” she cockily teased, chuckling at the playful shove you planted against her chest.

“Come on,” you grinned, taking her by the hand to pull her behind you back into the apartment.

“Where’re you taking me?”

“To bed,” you stated, turning to face her with your hands on her waist as you let her guide you backwards. You couldn’t keep away from her - you never can - but right now she’s all you could ever need. “I want you. But don’t expect us to get much sleep.”

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x female reader

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er-osion · 5 months ago

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Stumble In(to my life)

pairing: Jason Todd x gn!Reader

summary: You tend to Red Hood after he’s mildly injured on patrol, he then sticks around a little.

word count: 2.6k

warnings: none, fluff

author’s note: you can find part 2 here

∾∾∘⋅∗⋄⋆⋄∗⋅∘∾∾

You looked up from your books to the soft thump outside your window. A normal person wouldn’t have heard the noise at all, but your ears had become accustomed to listening for it. It was late, far later than you should be up, but tonight was a night filled with studying and anxiety, so sleep evaded you. You put a bookmark in your textbook and closed it, being careful of your notes, and got up from your couch. You just reached the window as a large armored figure clamored through. Backing up, you gave the beast of a man space to gracefully tumble through your window and into your apartment. The sound of sirens off in the distance became muffled once again when the man closed the window tightly behind him.

Red Hood never said much. A man of few words you supposed, at least when he was injured —which was the only time you saw him. You couldn’t recall when this little arrangement between the two of you began, maybe around a year ago. The Red Hood crashed and stumbled into your life one fateful night, and had been doing so ever since. But only when he needed a patch job, and he never took off his helmet. Even when you could tell he had a head injury that needed tending, he wouldn’t remove the red helmet. You knew he trusted you, clearly a lot more than he trusted others, but a part of you was still a little hurt. You'd known him for so long and still yet to see his real face or hear his real voice unmodulated. Oddly enough, you’d call Hood a friend. Even if you didn’t know his real name along with many other things about him, and even if he knew very little about you other than the basics, you’d consider him a good friend. And deep down you’re sure he thinks the same.

Hood slumps down on the couch, but you notice he’s careful to avoid being anywhere near your textbooks and notes. You silently appreciate the move, since last time he got blood on your papers and you had to come up with a believable story for your professor explaining why there were blood splatters on your homework.

“Rough night?” You ask jokingly as you get out the first aid kit. Hood gives a ‘Hmpf’ in response and rests his head against the back of the couch. You move your school stuff off the coffee table and set out the supplies from the first aid kit. You let your eyes roam his figure to try and find the injuries you’d be taking care of tonight. You slyly take in Hood’s toned muscles as you look for wounds, taking the action as a less obvious chance to check him out. However secretive he may be, you can’t deny the man looks good. Actually, “looks good” is an understatement, his abs could cut diamonds.

“How many bruises are you gonna have in the morning?” You ask as you help him take off his leather jacket which is crusted with dried blood here and there.

“Too many.” He’s short with his words but by now you can hear the underlying exhaustion in them. His voice sounds robotic from the mask, but it still brings you a wave of comfort to hear.

“Anything I can’t see?” This phrase has become your way of asking where his most concerning injuries are, and whether or not he’s comfortable with you dealing with them.

“No, tonight’s just the obvious stuff.”

“Not any less painful I presume.”

“And as usual, you’re right, angel.” Your lips quirk up in the ghost of a smile at the nickname. You’ve started cleaning the gashes on his arms and wrapping them with gauze and bandages. Hood relaxes a bit more into the couch, tensing only when you start cleaning wounds with the cold water and saline solution.

As you’re working your mind drifts into thinking about the nature of your relationship with this vigilante. Part of you is proud, honored even, that the elusive Red Hood trusts you enough to seek you out for medical care. But another part of you, the part you don’t really want to acknowledge, is angry he only ever visits when he needs fixing. He doesn’t tell you anything about himself, not even ice-breaker facts, and he doesn’t really ask about you. He doesn’t drop by anytime he’s not injured and he never tells you when he’s coming, he just shows up at your window injured without warning. Your heart stings when you think that you might be dead last on Red Hood’s priority list, especially considering he’s first on yours. Does he really only think of you as a patch job? Someone who will treat him without asking any questions? Does he even have any interest in your life at all? Does he ever think about you when he’s not around, like you think of him? By now, you’ve lost yourself in the spiral of your thoughts and are blankly working out of muscle memory. You don’t even notice, but Red Hood does.

Jason watches you work through the eyes of his helmet. He can see the distance in your eyes and can tell you’re thinking hard about something else. But even as your mind wanders, your hands do not. You work efficiently and effectively on cleaning and wrapping his wounds. You take care to check for broken bones and remove any debris you find in his skin. He appreciates you. He’s certain he appreciates you more than you’ll ever know. He didn’t realize how lucky he was when he stumbled through your window all those nights ago. He didn’t realize that night that he’d gain a safe haven. He’s never felt more secure than when he’s with you in your apartment. Jason’s never felt more comfortable than when in your presence. He thinks it’s a little odd. You don’t know what his face looks like, hell, you don’t even know his real name, but his trust in you is an ever flowing river. Jason trusts you more than he trusts himself sometimes. Jason blinks out of a trance he didn’t realize he was in and focuses back on you. The lamps in your apartment provide the only measly light for you to work with, but right now they aren’t crummy. No, the lamps have painted your figure in a warm glow that has Jason’s heart stuttering in an unusual way. The homey furniture melts into the dim background and you're the only thing in focus in Jason’s vision. It’s moments like these when Jason is hit with a flurry of emotions he doesn’t understand. You finish wrapping his last bandage and look up at him with the most gentle but curious eyes he’s ever seen and Red Hood suddenly feels like he’s about to choke. His chest swirls with feelings and he can’t even begin to grasp what they are or what they mean. He wants to say “thank you, thank you for always looking after me even when I don’t deserve it,” but the words get caught in his throat. There’s a tranquil silence that follows where you just look at each other, of course, you can’t tell exactly what Red Hood is looking at but you can feel his gaze on you. When a minute passes you get up slowly and start to put the first aid kit away. Jason watches you from behind the safety of his helmet and moves to help you package everything back up.

Hood’s gloved hand picks up a roll of gauze and brings it over to the kit, but you quickly —albeit gently— put your hand over his to stop him and take the gauze yourself. “You don’t have to do that. You’re injured, rest.” You say with quiet authority and go back to cleaning up the table. Hood doesn’t say anything but leans back into the couch and doesn’t continue to help, though deep down he wants to. He feels he owes you, he knows he owes you. He wants to do something, anything to pay back the kindness you’ve shown him but he can never think of the right thing to do.

“You’re welcome to sit here for a bit, regain some energy before you head to wherever it is you hide during the day. I’ve just got some notes to finish for class.” You provide as you sit down in the chair next to your sofa, repositioning all your textbooks and papers. Hood just nods in reply. “Oh, and you can turn on the tv if you’d like, I don’t mind.” There’s a pause before you see the vigilante move to grab the remote and turn on your tv. You smile a bit at your papers, finding a small happiness in the fact he’s able to settle into your home so well. You secretly wish he’d come and watch tv with you just for fun, not because he needs to recover from a stab wound.

Every once in a while, Jason’s eyes drift from the tv screen to where you’re seated taking notes for your class. Jason does his best to memorize this moment and neatly pack it away in a safe little box in his brain. He wants to remember this quiet moment of togetherness forever. He wants to say something, he wants your beautiful eyes back on him but he also doesn’t want to disrupt the pleasant quiet that swirls around your living room.

Red Hood clears his throat and shimmies into a straighter posture. “Thanks by the way.” You look up at the vigilante and tilt your head in confusion at his remark.

“For what?” You let out a small chuckle, the confusion is evident in your voice. Jason’s lips quirk up in a small smile under his helmet at your confusion at his thanks.

“For all this to start,” Hood motions to himself “and also just for letting me in here. For letting me into your home without fair warning. Your patience with my bullshit seems to know no bounds, you deserve an award merely for that. So… thanks.” Thank you for letting me into your life and making me feel cared for, Jason wants to add on, but that seems a little too open about his feelings for the moment. He hopes you’re able to pick up on the subtext of his words, he hopes you can put together the puzzle pieces of his words that form the colorful picture of his appreciation for you.

You smile lightly, “Of course, Hood. Believe it or not, I actually enjoy having your giant smartass around.” You took a deep breath and let loose a shot in the dark. “I just wish you’d stumble in here when you weren’t injured sometimes, just to hang around.” You awkwardly divert your eyes to the floor and take a major interest in the small stains in the wood. Hood is quiet and unmoving and you can’t tell if that’s good or bad, you can’t tell if you crossed an unspoken line. Jason’s mind is reeling, trying to catch up with the implications of your words. Do you mean you want him around more? Do you mean you want a deeper friendship with him? Do you mean you truly enjoy his presence so much you want more of it in your life? You risk a look back up at Red Hood and when Jason sees the genuine look in your eyes he hopes the modulator in his helmet doesn’t give away the deep breath he had to intake to try and calm his heart.

“Well, maybe I’ll have to drop by more often then, angel.” Hood tries to play off the deepness of the moment with suave teasing, he has to retain at least a little dignity in front of you.

You smirk at his clearly playful comeback, “Just make sure you show up with takeout or some groceries. I can’t be providing everything for you all of the time.” Hood huffs out a laugh.

“I think I can manage that.”

“Good.” You smile warmly at him and Jason mirrors you beneath his helmet. There’s a soft silence that follows where the two of you just look at each other. Then you go back to finishing your notes with the smile still plastered on your face. Jason is already planning out his schedule so he can drop in just for fun as soon as possible without seeming desperate to hang out.

“My cuts are pretty sore by the way and I’m quite fatigued so I might have to stay for a bit longer.”

“Hm, well if that’s what you need to do then I can’t deny you. I’m not going to kick Gotham's hero out of my apartment while he’s down.” You know he’s not really that sore or fatigued. You can tell by his body language or his tone of voice when he is. You know he’s just saying that to ask if it’s okay if he stays a bit longer than usual. Of course, you’d never say no. You’d offer him to stay the night but you don’t want him to get uncomfortable, though deep down, you’re desperate for his prolonged presence.

“Tch, that’s a relief. However, I’m afraid I might also need some moral support, as you can see, your poor hero of Gotham has had a rough night.”

You smirk and raise an eyebrow but don’t deny him. You get up from your seat and move to sit next to him on the couch. Your finished notes are left forgotten on your previous chair and you dial into the show Hood was watching on the tv. “Well then, I guess it’s a good thing my hero of Gotham and I have a similar taste in tv —it makes giving moral support easier.” You feel Hood’s quiet chuckle through the vibrations of the couch, a feeling you want again and again. Jason tries not to think too hard on your use of the word ‘my’ or how it’s echoing in his head like a tantalizing mantra.

“A good thing indeed.”

“I didn’t realize vigilantes had time to pick favorite tv shows.”

“How else do you think we pass the time waiting for a store to be robbed during patrol?”

“I figured you just brooded the entire time, seeing as you costumed weirdos can never get over anything in your entire lives.”

“How rude, us weirdos do get over things, like buildings or cars when chasing down our enemies.”

“Hardy har har, I bet you think you’re clever for that one.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think, I know I’m clever for that one.”

“So arrogant.”

“Not arrogant, confident.”

“If that’s what you want to call it, sure.” The lighthearted banter between the two of you fills the room with the warmth of familiarity. Neither of you seemed to notice how close you’d gotten to each other on instinct. Your shoulders are just brushing his and you can feel his body heat seeping into your skin. You’re fighting the urge to press closer and unbeknownst to you, Jason is doing the same. Your body and heart is begging you to rest your head against Hood’s leather-clad shoulder but you push the thoughts down in fear of making things awkward or scaring him off. Jason’s mind is running rampant with internal pleas for you to rest against him, he wants nothing more right now than to feel the comfortable weight of you against his side. But Jason doesn’t act or speak any of these thoughts into reality, worried he’ll cross a line or make you uncomfortable. So the two of you sit there on your couch for who knows how long. Mingling on the side of cuddling but not quite reaching the threshold. Both of you sit contented with the closeness and security of spending what had been a rough evening together, but silently desperate for more. But more is for a different evening, another night when Red Hood stumbles through your window.

#jason todd x reader #x reader #jason todd #jason todd x you #fluff #dc comics #dcu #red hood #red hood x reader #dc fanfic #dc jason todd #dc red hood #dc universe #jason todd imagine

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