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rafayelxsylusho · 2 months ago

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How do the LADS men react when they catch you reading smut. 🫣 Part 4

I present to you brat tamer Zayne, enjoy!!

TW: Smut

Part 1 (Xavier)

Part 2 (Caleb)

Part 3 (Sylus)

Part 5 (Rafayel)

You step into the cozy restaurant, the warmth of the interior a stark contrast to the biting winter chill outside. The aroma of freshly baked bread wafts through the air, making your mouth water. You spot Zayne already seated at your usual table by the window, he looks up as you approach, hazel green eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

"Sorry I'm late," you apologize, sliding into the seat across from him.

"It's fine, I already ordered the usual is that ok?"

You nod, smiling warmly at Zayne as you take off your coat and drape it over the back of the chair. "That's perfect, thank you."

"How's work? I'm glad we could squeeze in this lunch date today, I've really missed seeing your face these past couple of days, Zayne." You offer him a playful smile, your cheeks flushing slightly as your eyes meet his intense gaze.

You listen intently as Zayne speaks, noticing the slight furrow in his brow and the weariness in his voice. "Busy" doesn't even begin to cover it, you think to yourself. He's been running himself ragged at the hospital, pouring every ounce of his brilliant mind and skilled hands into saving lives. It's what he does, what he lives for - but it also means long hours, missed meals, and precious little sleep.

As the waiter arrives with your shared meal, you dive in enthusiastically, savoring each bite. About halfway through, Zayne's phone begins to buzz on the tabletop. He glances down at the screen, his brow furrowing with apology as he meets your gaze.

"I'm so sorry love, but I need to take this call. It's one of the surgeons from the cardiac ward." He stands up, already moving towards the entrance of the restaurant. "I'll just be a moment." Over his shoulder he tosses a reassuring smile your way before stepping outside, the door swinging shut behind him.

You quickly finish the rest of your meal, knowing that your stolen moment with Zayne is fast slipping away. As you set down your utensils with a soft clink, the restaurant door swings open, ushering in a gust of cold air and Zayne's tall frame.

He strides over to you, his expression a mix of apology and urgency. "I'm so sorry about that. A patient's condition took a turn and I need to get back to the hospital immediately." He reaches for his coat, already shrugging it on as he speaks. "I'll give you a ride back to the Deepspace HQ, if that works for you. I know it's not ideal, but..." He trails off, hazel eyes filled with regret as they meet yours.

You feel a flicker of annoyance spark through you at the interruption, your voice reflecting a hint of that irritation as you respond. "Fine, Zayne. A ride back is fine." You start gathering your belongings and you slip your arms back into your coat with a sigh.

"I understand your work is important, but..." You pause, meeting his gaze with a pointed look. "I thought we could have a bit more time together today. Just the two of us." The words come out with a slight edge, betraying your disappointment at the cut-short lunch date. Still, you know better than anyone the gravity of his responsibilities at the hospital.

Swallowing your frustration, you offer him a small smile. "But of course, your patients need you. Let's get going." With that, you stand up, ready to follow him out to the car.

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As Zayne starts the car, the engine purring to life beneath you, you settle into the passenger seat and fasten your seatbelt with a soft click, the interior is warm and cozy. You turn to face him, ready to strike up a conversation, eager to catch up on the lost time. But before you can utter a word, his phone begins to ring once more, the shrill tone piercing the relative quiet of the car.

You let out a sigh, feeling your shoulders slump slightly as you lean back against the leather seat. Zayne glances over at you apologetically, one hand gripping the steering wheel.

It's been too long since you've had Zayne to yourself, too many nights spent aching for his touch, for the feeling of his skin against yours. The phone rings again, a second time, the sound grating on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard. You know his work is vital, lives literally depend on his brilliance and skill, but damn it, don't you deserve some of his time too? Don't you need him just as desperately?

As Zayne answers his phone, you hear the concern in his voice, the urgency in his tone. You know instantly that this call is going to take longer than the short ride back to HQ, and that your chance to catch up, to steal a few intimate moments, is slipping away once more. With a sigh, you reach into your bag and pull out your headphones, you take your phone from your pocket, tapping the audiobook app open with your thumb. You click on a novel you bought recently, a romance story that had drawn you in from the very first chapter, a tale of love and passion that you had been eager to lose yourself in. You tap the play button, the soothing voice of the narrator filling your ears as you settle back into the leather seat, letting the story unfold around you.

Suddenly, you remember the part where you left off, the male and female leads, both strong willed and passionate, had been locked in a heated argument. Their voices, filled with frustration and unspoken emotions.

You listen intently, feeling the intensity of their disagreement, the way their words cut through the air like a knife. But as quickly as it began, the tone shifts. The anger in their voices softens, replaced by a charged silence that hangs heavy with unspoken desires. You hold your breath, feeling the tension building between them.

Suddenly, in a moment that catches you off guard, their fight turns into something else entirely. The passion behind their words transforms, morphing into a raw hunger that you can feel through the speakers. Their argument turns into a battle of a different sort, a war of touch, taste and need.

You sit up straighter in your seat, your heart starting to race as the scene unfolds in your headphones. The male lead's dominant actions send a shiver down your spine, his forceful yet tender touches painting a vivid picture in your mind. You feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you listen to the female protagonist's breathy gasps and needy whimpers, her body responding to his skilled ministrations.

A sudden ache throbs between your thighs, a longing that you didn't even realize you had been suppressing. The way he takes control, commanding her body and mind, ignites something deep within you. His dominance, his raw masculinity, the way he makes her his... it's everything you've been craving without even realizing it. Your fingers clutch at the hem of your shirt, your knuckles turning white as you grip the fabric tightly. The car feels hotter now, the air thick with a tension that mirrors the scene playing out in your imagination.

You feel Zayne's fingers tap gently on your arm, the sensation jolting you out of the heated scene unfolding in your mind. Startled, you jump slightly, your heart pounding in your chest as you turn to face him. With a slightly trembling hand, you remove one of your headphones, allowing his voice to filter through the lingering echoes of the audiobook.

"We've arrived" Zayne says, his deep voice cutting through the haze of your lustful thoughts. You blink up at him, realizing that in your distraction, you hadn't even noticed the car coming to a stop outside the towering building that houses your workplace.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize we were already here," you murmur, feeling a blush spread across your cheeks.

"Thank you for the ride," you say reaching for the door handle. As you step out of the car, the chilly winter air hits your flushed skin and you pull your coat tighter around you.

Before you close the passenger door you hear him call your name again. "Y/N, wait," he calls out, his deep voice reaching your ears as he mutes his phone call "Don't forget, you have an appointment scheduled with me today for your monthly check-up."

You nod, a soft smile playing at the corners of your lips. "I know, I haven't forgotten. I'll be there, Dr. Zayne," you roll your eyes at him as you close the door. The way his title slips from your tongue feels strangely intimate.

You slip your headphone back into your ear, eager to catch the last few minutes of the heated scene unfolding in your audiobook. The narrator's deep, soothing voice fills your ear once more as you turn to walk towards the headquarters building. You have about twenty minutes left of your lunch break, and you're determined to make the most of that time

As you walk, you reach into your coat pocket to retrieve your phone, intending to rewind the last few minutes of the audiobook that you had missed. However, as your fingers search the depths of your coat, a sense of unease begins to creep in. Your phone, usually nestled securely in your pocket, is nowhere to be found. You pause on the sidewalk, patting at your other pockets, a growing sense of panic rising in your chest.

Suddenly, the narrator's voice falls silent in your ears, the audiobook coming to an abrupt end as your headphone loses its connection to your misplaced device. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, in your distracted state, in the haze of lust and longing that the audiobook had induced, you must have left your phone behind in Zayne's car.

"Fuck"

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Later that day, you find yourself sitting in the modern waiting room outside Zayne's office, your knee bouncing nervously as you await your monthly check-up. The white walls and the faint scent of disinfectant do little to calm the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You can't shake the feeling of embarrassment that has been lingering since you realized your phone, and with it, your audiobook, were left behind in Zayne's car.

As you sit there, your mind wanders back to the heated scene you'd been listening to, the male lead's dominant actions and the female protagonist's responses echoing in your thoughts. You had been so engrossed, so lost in the intimate moment, that you can't help but cringe at the idea of Zayne potentially overhearing even a snippet of it. The thought of him knowing what you had been craving, the desires that had been stirring within you, makes your cheeks flush a deep shade of red.

You try to push the thoughts away, taking a deep breath to compose yourself as you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. The door to Zayne's office swings open, revealing his tall, broad shouldered frame. He's changed out of the dress shirt and tie he had on earlier, now wearing a crisp white lab coat that accentuates his professional demeanor. His hazel eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you swear you see a flicker of something in their depths but it's gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the cool, collected gaze of your doctor.

You rise from the chair, your legs feeling a bit unsteady as you walk towards Zayne's office. As you brush past him, you feel the heat of his body, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air between you. It's enough to make your heart race and your cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red.

The room feels both intimidating and comforting, a testament to his brilliance and dedication to his craft. You perch yourself on the edge of the exam table, smoothing your skirt over your thighs as you try to calm the nervous energy coursing through you.

Zayne closes the door behind him, the click of the latch sounds like a gunshot in the otherwise silent room. You watch as he approaches, his movements efficient and focused as always. A glimmer of hope sparks within you at the realization that perhaps he hadn't overheard the explicit scene from your audiobook after all. Some phones are known to stop playing media once disconnected from headphones, aren't they? Maybe, just maybe, yours was one of those right?

"Alright, let's begin love, we only have 15 minutes" Zayne says, his voice low and smooth as he reaches for his stethoscope. He listens intently to your heartbeat The cool metal of the stethoscope sends a shiver through you, making you all too aware of the intimate proximity of his body to yours.

Zayne's brow furrows as he listens to your heartbeat, his eyes flicking up to meet yours with a questioning gaze. He removes the stethoscope from your chest, letting it rest around his neck as he reaches for your wrist, his long fingers finding your pulse point with practiced ease.

"Your heart rate is elevated," he notes. His thumb brushes over your skin, the sensation sending a small jlt of electricity through you. "Did you run here?

You shake your head as he places the stethoscope against your chest once more, urging you to take a deep breath. As you inhale, your lungs expand, your ribcage rising gently. But as you exhale, you feel your breath catch, the air leaving your lungs in a shaky, uneven stream.

Zayne's brow furrows again, a flicker of concern crossing his face. He listens intently to your breathing, his head tilted slightly as he focuses on the sound. After a long moment, he straightens up, allowing the stethoscope to rest around his neck once more.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice filled with a gentler concern. "Your breathing is a bit erratic. And your cheeks are flushed..." He trails off, his gaze drifting over your face, taking in the deep red hue that still paints your skin.

Before you can answer you feel Zayne's body heat radiating against you as he leans in closer, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangle in your hair. Your heart races, your breath catching in your throat as you think, for a moment, that he might close the distance between you and press his lips to yours.

"Were you in the emergency room two days ago?"

His words reach your ears, and the spell is broken. Your eyes widen in surprise as you realize that he's not about to kiss you at all. Instead, he's demanding an explanation for something far more serious.

"W-what?" you stammer out, your voice coming out sounding more breathless than intended. "I don't know what you're talking about, Zayne."

Zayne's eyes narrow, his grip on the back of your head tightening slightly. "Don't play dumb with me, Y/N" his voice low and dangerous. "I just got off the phone with Dr. Greyson. He told me that you were in the emergency room two days ago after a run in with a pair of wanderers. Is that true?"

You roll your eyes, trying to brush off Zayne's concern with a dismissive gesture. "It was nothing serious, Zayne," you insist, your voice taking on a slightly defensive tone. "I just... I passed out, that's all. It happens sometimes after a tough hunt."

You can see the frustration flashing in his eyes, his jaw clenching slightly as he takes in your words. He's not convinced, and you can tell that your attitude has only served to anger him further.

"Nothing serious?" he repeats, his voice rising slightly. "You could have been killed. Those creatures are dangerous, and you know the risks better than anyone."

You swallow hard, feeling a flicker of guilt for not telling him sooner. But you also feel a spark of defiance, a stubbornness that rears its head in the face of his disapproval.

"I had it under control," you argue, your chin jutting out slightly as you meet his intense gaze. "I've been training for this, Zayne. I know what I'm doing." Even as you say the words, you can't help but think of the way your heart had raced, the way your vision had started to tunnel before everything went black. Had you really had it under control? Or had you been in over your head, just as Zayne seemed to think?

You blink, wondering if you imagined the hint of a smirk on his lips. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a stern, disapproving frown. You can't be sure if it was a reaction to your defiant words or if it was a fleeting moment of amusement at your stubbornness.

With a sigh, Zayne releases his grip on the back of your head and steps away. He moves to sit behind his desk, the sleek chair creaking softly as it accepts his weight.

"Come sit down, Y/N," he says, his voice still tinged with that underlying frustration.

You feel a flicker of unease as you make your way over to the chair. Settling into the seat in front of him, you smooth your skirt over your thighs, suddenly feeling self conscious under Zayne's scrutiny.

"I said, come sit down but I never said where, did I?"

"Oh," you breathe out, suddenly feeling flustered. Your gaze darts down to his thighs, where his fingers tap impatiently against the fabric of his dress pants. The gesture is both commanding and intimate.

You stand up from the chair, your heart pounding in your chest as you take a tentative step towards him. But before you can sit down on his lap, as he so blatantly implied, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a familiar object. Your eyes widen in surprise and a flicker of panic as you recognize it as your phone.

"Were you looking for this?" Zayne asks, a hint of amusement in his voice. A wave of embarrassment crashes over you, your cheeks burning hotter than before. You can only imagine the thoughts running through Zayne's mind, the conclusions he must be drawing about your... tastes. The realization that he now knows about your secret desire for dominant men hits you like a punch to the gut.

Zayne, I..." you begin, your voice trailing off as you try to formulate a coherent response. But what can you say? How can you possibly explain the fact that you've been craving the very thing he's always held himself back from giving you?

"Your taste in literature is quite interesting love" The way he says "love" sends a shiver down your spine, the single syllable dripping with a raw intensity that makes your knees feel weak.

Zayne leans back in his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath his shifting weight. A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth, he's enjoying this, enjoying the way your embarrassment and flustered state have given him the upper hand.

Zayne glances at his watch, his brow furrowing slightly as he takes in the time. "Will you look at that," he murmurs "We only have five minutes left, so I suppose there won't be a chance for you to sit... anymore." His gaze rakes over your body, his eyes lingering on your curves in a way that makes your heart race.

You reach out for your phone, your fingers brushing against Zayne's as you attempt to take it from his hand. But at the last moment, you hesitate, pulling your hand back as if burned. The sudden movement causes the phone to slip from Zayne's grasp, tumbling down to land softly on the plush carpet at your feet.

Without a word, you sink down to your knees, the soft fibers of the carpet cushioning your legs. You lean forward, your hair falling over your shoulder as you reach for your phone. As your hand closes around the device, you pause, your gaze drifting up to meet Zayne's.

He's watching you intently, his eyes dark and unreadable. You can't help but smirk up at him, your lips curving into a playful grin, phone clutched in your hand.

His eyes widen in surprise as your hand suddenly drops the phone again and reaches for his belt. Before he can react or push your hands away, the ring of his office phone pierces the air, startling you both.

Seizing the brief distraction, you waste no time in your actions. Your fingers unbuckle his belt, the leather strap slipping free with a soft clink. Zayne's breath hitches, his body stiffening slightly as your hands move lower, grasping his zipper. With a slow tug, you lower his zipper, the metal teeth parting company with a soft hiss.

Zayne's eyes, which had been flicking towards the ringing phone, snap back to you as he realizes your intentions. His gaze is intense, blazing with a mix of shock, desire, and restrained hunger. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but the words die on his lips as you reach inside his boxers and wrap your hand around his hardening length.

His cock is hot and heavy in your palm, already stiffening and swelling from your touch. You can feel the weight of it, the thick vein running along the underside, the velvety soft skin that sheathes the rock hard flesh beneath. A thrill of power surges through you as you realize the effect you have on him, the way his body responds to your touch despite his attempts to maintain control.

Zayne's jaw clenches, his eyes never leaving yours as he struggles to regain his composure. The phone continues to ring, its shrill cry growing more insistent, demanding his attention. But in this moment, his gaze is solely focused on you, his body trembling slightly as you stroke his now fully erect cock.

You freeze as a knock sounds on the door, the sharp rap of knuckles against wood jolting you like a shock of electricity. Acting on pure instinct, you quickly duck down, hiding yourself beneath Zayne's desk just as the door begins to open. The plush carpet brushes against your skin as you crouch there, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

You barely have a moment to catch your breath before Zayne is pushing his chair forward, the wheels rolling smoothly across the carpet. The sudden movement catches you off guard, and before you can react, his chair is pressed flush against the desk, leaving you with no room, to hide his now fully exposed and throbbing erection.

You can hear the creak of the door hinges as it swings open, the sound of footsteps entering the room. Zayne clears his throat, his voice slightly hoarse as he greets his visitor.

"Yes, Yvonne, what is it?"

You can hear the faint rustle of fabric as Yvonne moves closer to the desk. "Dr. Zayne, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I wanted to let you know that your next patient, Mrs. Hartley, called to cancel her appointment for this afternoon. And I've just checked the schedule, you don't have any more appointments booked for today."

As Yvonne speaks, you find yourself face to face with Zayne's throbbing erection, the swollen head mere inches from your lips. The musky, masculine scent of his arousal fills your nostrils, making your head spin with desire. Unable to resist the temptation, you lean forward slightly, your parted lips brushing against the sensitive flesh.

Zayne inhales sharply through his teeth, his body tensing above you as your mouth envelops the head of his cock. His hand grips the armrest of his chair, knuckles turning white as he fights to maintain his composure.

"Is that all, Yvonne?" Zayne asks, his voice strained as he tries to keep it level. The effort it takes for him to maintain his professional demeanor is clear in the tightness of his jaw, the slight waver in his tone.

You can only imagine the show of willpower it must take for him to keep himself from reacting, from giving away the secret that you're hidden beneath his desk, your lips wrapped around his cock. The risk of getting caught only adds to the thrill, the forbidden nature of your actions sending a fresh surge of heat rushing through your veins.

"Well I have your schedule for tomorrow, do you want to go over it or should I just email it to you?"

"Just... just email it to me" he manages to grit out, his voice tighter than before. The sensation of your tongue dragging along the sensitive underside of his cock is making it increasingly difficult for him to think straight, let alone carry on a coherent conversation.

Yvonne hesitates for a moment. "Alright, I'll send it over shortly then. Is there anything else you need before I go, Dr. Zayne?"

As Zayne opens his mouth to respond, you take the opportunity to wrap your lips around his cock and take him deeper into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the thick head. A shudder runs through Zayne's body, his fingers tightening their grip on the armrest as he bites back a groan that threatens to spill from his lips.

"N-no, that's all for now," Zayne manages to say, his words coming out slightly clipped and strained. "I'll... I'll look it over when I get your email."

You feel Zayne's hand move to your hair, his fingers gripping the strands tightly the slight pain of his grip only adding to the pleasure of having him in your mouth.

Yvonne's footsteps pause, and you hear her ask, "Did Y/N leave already? I didn't see her leave earlier."

For a moment, there's a beat of heavy silence, the only sound being the pounding of your own heart in your ears. Then, Zayne's voice cuts through the air, strained and tight.

"She's... she's currently in the bathroom," he manages to say, his words coming out in a slightly husky murmur. The lie rolls off his tongue, but you can feel the effort it takes for him to maintain control.

Yvonne hesitates for a moment, and you can almost picture her brow furrowing in slight confusion. "Oh, I see," she says, not sounding entirely convinced. "Well, I'll just... I'll be heading out then. Have a good rest of your evening, Dr. Zayne."

As Yvonne turns to leave, you hear her call out, her voice louder than necessary, " Tell her I said goodbye, would you? I'll see you tomorrow."

The moment Yvonne is gone, Zayne's grip on your hair tightens, his hips rocking forward slightly as he pushes himself deeper into your mouth. His deep, powerful thrusts send waves of pleasure radiating through his body, but also push you to your limits. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you struggle to accommodate his thick length, your throat constricting around him.

A particularly forceful thrust causes you to gag, a spurt of saliva escapes the seal of your lips, dripping down the side. The sound of your choking and the feeling of your convulsing throat around him almost send Zayne over the edge.

With a sharp intake of breath, he pulls you off his throbbing cock. You gasp for air as your mouth is freed, tears streaming down your face and your chest heaving with ragged breaths.

Without a word, he uses his grip on your hair to gently pull you up and onto his desk, the smooth wood cool against your skin. You sit there for a moment, catching your breath and wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand.

Before you can regain your bearings, Zayne leans down and grabs your ankles, his strong fingers curling around the delicate bones. With a swift movement, he places your feet on the edge of his desk, the heels of your boots digging into the polished wood. The action causes your legs to spread, your skirt riding up to reveal your panties.

Zayne leans in, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. "Tell me, love," he whispers, "Do you think Yvonne is stupid? Huh? Why do you have to be such a fucking brat?" The word 'brat' comes out as a growl, a sound that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. At the same time, his hand finds its way back to the hair at the nape of your neck, gripping the strands tightly and using them to angle your head, forcing you to meet his intense gaze.

Before you can formulate and answer, Zayne sits back down in his chair, releasing your hair only to use both of his strong hands to push your legs even wider apart. The movement is forceful, almost rough, the desk creaking slightly beneath the sudden shift.

Not wanting to waste any more time , he hooks his fingers into the delicate fabric of your panties and tugs them roughly to the side. The cool air of the office kisses your newly exposed flesh, making you shiver. But you barely have a moment to register the sensation before his mouth is on you, his tongue delving between your folds with a hunger that takes your breath away.

"Ah!" you gasp, your back arching at the sudden, intense pleasure. He doesn't hesitate, he licks and sucks at your most sensitive places with a single minded focus, his tongue circling your clit and dipping inside your cunt.

His knowledge of your body is intimate and extensive, allowing him to play you like an instrument. His tongue dances over your most sensitive spots with practiced ease, the slick muscle circling and flickering against your clit. He can feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering around his invading tongue as he drives you towards ecstasy.

And just as your climax begins to crash over you, your vision blurring at the edges and your toes curling in your boots, Zayne suddenly pulls away. Your hips buck up off the desk, seeking more of that delicious friction, but Zayne holds your thighs firmly in place, denying you the release your body cries out for.

"No," you whimper, frustration and desperation coloring your voice. "Please, Zayne, I... I need..." But the words die on your lips when you feel his palm crack against your sensitive flesh. You gasp, your hips jerking up off the desk at the sudden contact, your eyes flying wide open in surprise.

Didn't you hear what Yvonne said?" His grip on your thighs tightens, his fingers digging into your soft skin with a possessive force. "We have all night, love. And brats like you don't get to cum fast... and certainly not when they want to."

With a deliberate, almost teasing slowness, he unzips your boots and slips them off your feet, letting them drop to the floor with a soft thud.

"Lift your hips for me, Y/N," Zayne commands. "I need to remove your skirt and panties. Now." His gaze is intense, his eyes burning into yours with an unspoken demand for obedience.

You quickly obey, lifting your hips off the desk as instructed. Zayne makes short work of your skirt and soaked panties, roughly tugging them down your legs and off, leaving you bare and exposed.

As you start to reach for the hem of your shirt, intending to remove it as well, Zayne's hand shoots out and grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His grip is firm, his fingers wrapping around your wrist like a manacle.

"Ah ah ah, not so fast," his voice a warning growl. "If you don't listen, I'm going to have no choice but to tie those hands of yours. And trust me, you won't like the consequences of testing my patience any further."

Without warning, he leans in and starts trailing hot, open mouthed kisses along your sensitive inner thigh, his teeth grazing the delicate flesh. You feel the sharp sting of his bite, followed by the soothing caress of his tongue, leaving a trail of marks in his wake.

He works his way up, alternating between sucking and biting, until he reaches the apex of your thighs. Just as you think he might finally give you what you want, he pauses, his breath hot against your core.

Then, with deliberate teasing, he spreads your pussy lips using his thumb and middle finger to expose your throbbing clit and extends the tip of his tongue to graze it, the faintest whisper of a touch.

Your hips jerk, a strangled moan escaping your lips at the teasing caress. But before you can gain any real pleasure from it, he pulls back, leaving you wanting and desperate once more. He chuckles darkly, the sound vibrating through his chest as he takes in your needy expression.

He continues his maddening tease, the tip of his tongue flicking against your clit in feather light strokes. He can feel your body tensing, your thighs trembling on either side of his head as he pushes you to the brink time and time again. Each time you feel your climax building, your walls starting to flutter and clench around his tongue, he pulls back, denying you the final push you need to tumble over the edge.

As much as you try to keep your impending orgasm a secret, Zayne knows your body intimately. He can feel the subtle changes, the way your muscles tighten and your breathing hitches. And so, just as each climax is about to crash over you, Zayne pulls away once more, leaving you on the edge.

"No!" you cry out, frustration and desperation coloring your voice. "Please, I... I can't..." But your pleas fall on deaf ears as Zayne refuses to relent.

Finally his hands reach for the hem of your shirt. With rough tug, he pulls it up and off, tossing it carelessly to the side. Your bra quickly follows, the clasp unhooking easily under his fingers. The lacy garment falls away, baring your breasts to his hungry eyes.

He takes a moment to admire the sight of you, laid out naked and wanting before him. His eyes darken with lust as they roam over your curves, taking in every dip and swell. Leaning down, he places open mouthed kisses along the soft underside of your breast, his tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh until he reaches the hardened peak of your nipple.

"Zayne, please," you whimper, arching your back to press your breast more fully against his lips. Your plea is cut off by a sharp gasp as his teeth close around the sensitive bud, his tongue flicking against it teasingly. Your fingers tangle in his hair, gripping the short strands tightly.

He pauses, his breath hot against your breast as he looks up at you with a stern, expectant gaze. "Next time you find yourself in the hospital, are you going to let me know right away? are you going to be a good girl and call me first thing, before anyone else?"

His tongue flattens against your nipple, the slick muscle dragging over the sensitive peak as he laves attention on the hardened nub. At the same time, he thrusts two long, strong fingers deep inside you, your walls instantly clenching around them.

He pumps his fingers slowly, his thumb circling your clit in teasing strokes as he suckles at your breast.

"I'll be good," you gasp out "I promise, I'll call you first thing if anything happens." You can feel your climax building, your walls fluttering wildly around his fingers. Tears of frustration and overwhelming pleasure sting at the corners of your eyes.

"Please, Zayne," you whimper, your voice breaking on his name. "Please let me cum this time. I'll be so good, I swear it. I just... I need it so badly. Please, I'm begging you..."

"Not good enough," Zayne whispers as he pulls his fingers out of your cunt, leaving you empty and aching. Tears stream down your face as he denies you the release you so desperately crave.

"Zayne, please," you sob, your voice choked with emotion. "I need... I can't... Please don't do this. I'll do anything, just please let me cum. I'm begging you." Your hips buck up off the desk, seeking any friction, any pressure to alleviate the throbbing ache between your thighs.

In a blink, Zayne flips you over onto your stomach, your bare breasts pressing against the cool surface of his desk. Before you can catch your breath or process the sudden change in position, he's gripping your hips and pulling them back, forcing your ass up to meet the heavy weight of his erection.

You feel the thick, hard length of him sliding between your cheeks, the tip smearing trails of precum all the way down to your dripping entrance. Your hips twitch and buck reflexively, your body craving the feel of him inside you, filling you up in the way only he can.

You reach back to grab Zayne's hip, your fingers digging into his flesh as you try to pull him closer, desperate to feel him inside you. But before you can, he grabs both of your wrists, pinning your arms above your head and holding them down against the desk.

"If you keep being a bad girl, Y/N, how am I supposed to fuck you properly? Hmm?"

He punctuates his words with a sharp smack to your ass, the stinging pain blossoming into a warm, tingling pleasure that makes you clench around nothing. The head of his cock catches on your entrance, teasing you with the promise of what's to come.

Zayne releases your wrists only to grab them again, this time bringing them behind your back. Before you can react, you feel the cold metal of his stethoscope as he wraps the tubing around your wrists to bind your hands together, leaving you helpless and at his mercy.

"There, that should keep you from being too troublesome" His hands smooth over the curve of your ass, gripping the flesh hard enough to leave fingerprint shaped bruises in their wake.

"Now, let's see if we can find a way to make you behave," Zayne growls, his hips surging forward to bury himself to the hilt inside your tight, wet heat in one powerful thrust.

You scream in a mix of surprise and overwhelming pleasure as Zayne sheaths himself fully inside you with one hard, deep thrust. Your back arches, your tied hands fisting behind your back as you try to adjust to the sudden, intense intrusion.

Zayne lets out a groan, his voice echoing off the office walls as he hilts himself deep inside your clenching, grasping heat. "Fuck," he grunts, his hips pressing flush against your ass as he savors the feeling of your walls gripping his cock. "You feel fucking incredible."

He doesn't give you a moment to adjust to the feeling of his thick cock buried deep inside you. Instead, he grips the tubing binding your wrists and starts to move, using it as a handle to pull you back to meet his powerful thrusts. His hips smack against your ass, the stinging pain blending deliciously with the intense pleasure radiating out from where you're joined. The movement and force of Zayne's thrusts causes the items on his desk to clutter loudly, some falling to the floor with a crash, papers scatter and pens roll off the edge.

Don't worry, love," Zayne grits out through clenched teeth, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his release. "This time, I'm not going to stop, but if...fuuuuck...if you keep clenching around me like that, I won't last long"

"Zayne, I'm gonna... I'm about to..." you stutter out, your words dissolving into a high pitched keen of pleasure as you feel your climax fast approaching. Just as you're on the brink, ready to tumble over into pure ecstasy, Zayne does the unexpected.

While one hand stays gripping your bound wrists, the other snakes around to your aching, swollen clit. But instead of the gentle rubbing or flicking you crave, Zayne pinches the sensitive nub hard between his thumb and index finger, sending a shockwave of intense sensation coursing through your body.

Zayne whispers harshly in your ear, "If you ever roll your eyes at me again like you did today, twice, your punishment will be far, far worse than a few spanks. The only time your pretty eyes should be rolling is when I'm fucking you just thrust like thrust this thurst, until you can't see straight."

To emphasize his point, he gives you a particularly brutal thrust, grinding his pelvis against your ass and forcing you to take every last inch of his cock. "Is that clear, Y/N?"

He lets go of your clit, the sudden rush of blood back to the sensitive nub sending jolts of intensified pleasure shooting through you. As your body trembles he angles his hips just right, and on his next thrust he lightly runs a finger along the side of your now swollen clit.

Your scream of ecstasy echoes off the office walls as you come, your vision going white with the force of your orgasm. "Yes, Zayne!" you cry out, your voice breaking on his name as your walls spasm and clench wildly around his cock.

As your body convulses and shakes through the most intense orgasm of your life, you hear Zayne let out a string of curses. "Fuck! Shit, Damnit! I can't...I'm cumming!"

His grip on your hips tightens to a bruising level as he slams into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt inside your still fluttering walls. His cock pulses and throbs as he starts to unload, flooding your insides with his hot, thick seed.

You can feel each twitch and spurt of his release, his body shudders above you, his breath coming in harsh, ragged pants as he rides out the waves of his own climax.

"Good girl," he whispers "you took my cock so well" He gently removes the stethoscope from your wrists, rubbing the reddened skin to ease the discomfort as he helps you up, his strong arms supporting your trembling body.

"Come on," he says softly, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. "Let's go clean you up and then we can head home. We have to stop by the store to get a new stethoscope, and then we have to figure out a way for me to hide my embarrassment every time I have to talk to Yvonne"

You can't help but laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all, your cheeks flushed and eyes bright with lingering pleasure.

He smirks at the memory, chuckling lowly as he helps you gather your scattered clothes.

Note: I don't know if a stethoscope is strong enough to handle that but you get the idea 😉

Rafayel is next!!!

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sobbingscripter · 3 months ago

Text

Tags: [mlw][mdni][friends to more?][tw: forehead mention][rex is a girldad, prove me wrong][fingering][ex!fwb][spooning][lil' bit of a daddy kink][creaming][doggy style][spit][

"You know, that baby looks a lot like you." Mark hums softly, attention shifting between the toddler that stands between Rex's muscular thighs, chubby hands gripping the fabric of his sweatpants and green eyes stare up at him.

Rex's gaze lowers to meet Winnie's, wide eyes that mirror his own staring at the ice-cream cone in his hand, rosy lips wetting themselves with a pink tongue as she shifts on her tiny feet.

He does see the resemblance a bit. In her mannerisms, her appearance. Shit, even the way she instinctively shows Cecil her index finger whenever he walks into the room. Rex knows that's not the finger she wants to show.

"Nahh." Rex dismisses, lowering the treat just enough for Winnie's hand to grip at his wrist, unsteady legs keeping her up as she licks at the cone. "It's cause me and her mom are close. It's like when your cat start to look like you."

"Babies aren't cats, Rex." Mark deadpans, slender fingers tapping on his thigh as he stares at Winnie.

"Do you know who her dad is yet?"

Rex shakes his head, his pudgy thumb wiping away the smears of strawberry ice-cream before looking back towards Mark.

Before shrugging his broad shoulders.

"Doesn't matter. I'm basically her fun uncle." Rex boasts before looking down at Winnie, dimples deep in his honeyed cheeks, green eyes sparkling. "Ain't I, tubby?"

"Dlickwee!" Winnie giggles.

"Don't call me a dickweed, you dyslexic shit."

"Rex, she's a baby!" Mark defends, hands hooking underneath Winnie's chubby arms, tugging her up into the air before ultimately settling her on his thigh, chonky fists immediately moving to tug on the collar of his shirt.

"When are you gonna tell him?" Sam's voice is quiet, turning away from where Rex has Winnie cradled and she stares at you, shovelling spoonfuls of ice cream into your mouth.

"I kinda wanna watch him figure it out himself." You speak through a full mouth, before looking back towards Rex.

"He'd make such a good dad if he wasn't....you know..." "Slow?"

Kate interjects, gaze lifting from her book and you purse your lips, reluctantly nodding your head.

"So, are you like, around all the time?" Mark questions, attention divided between where Winnie toys with the chain around his neck, and where Rex is lounged, one muscular leg extended over the armrest of the sofa and the other foot planted on the carpeted floor.

"Mhm." Rex hums. "I basically live there. You know, cause the kid's dad's a fucking deadbeat."

And Mark scratches the back of his neck, almost awkwardly, gaze shifting.

"Yeah, well, you know, he might... Not know he has a kid." Mark mumbles and Rex shifts, green eyes regarding Mark with a scrutinizing gaze. Before looking between him and Winnie.

The way how she's always been so affectionate with Mark, excitedly clapping whenever she sees 'Unca Mar'. And Rex sucks on his teeth, brows furrowing with suspicion.

"Real fuckin weird thing to say. Defending a deadbeat." And Rex shifts, elbows resting on his knees and he leans forward.

"You got a confession, dickhead?"

"Wha— No. No. She's not my k— I've never even had sex with anyone other than Sam."

And Rex snorts.

"Real sad confession, buddy."

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨💥୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

There's no way to explain the demonic horniness that shrouds you like a thick mist when you see the way Rex gently brushes Winnie hair, bristles gentle against her soft strands and she simply keeps her gaze focused on the toy in her hands.

Beside him, lay an assortment of different hair accessories. Glittery hair ties, elastics, bows, and an assortment of clips, all decorated with various yellow things. Plastic gummy bears, bananas, stars, hearts. Everything that came from a superhero salary in her favourite colour.

"Okay, Pooh, what's the look for today?" Rex questions Winnie, brilliant green gaze focused on her, her small body settled between his muscular thighs, the sleeves of his T-shirt rolled up to the apex of forearm.

Veins bulge beneath the surface of the skin, scaling all the way up to wear the bunched fabric rests, wrists decorated with an assortment of jewellery. Namely black bands, brown beads and one very yellow friendship bracelet. Big, chunky beads that look jelly-ish, puffy letters that read 'WINNIE'.

Winnie babbles incoherently, pitch varying as her chubby hands continue to twist and turn the cube in her hands. Trying to assemble the colours in order.

"Hm.. s'thinking pigtails too. To minimise your mom's forehead genes." Rex snickers. "Dome headed."

And Rex divides the hair, carefully putting her hair in pretty pigtails like he's done many, many times before. Yellow decorates that gingery hair, green eyes obscured by yellow star-framed sunglasses and he waits until she lets out that squeal at her reflection before setting her down on the floor.

And she scrambles out of the room, excitedly, and Rex lets out a groan, arms stretching overhead before glancing towards you.

"Fuckin creep." He mocks, barely ducking the folded towel that's meant to collide with the back of his head.

"Fuck you. My forehead's normal sized." You defend, before shuffling properly into the bedroom, arms crossed over your chest and like clockwork, Rex's warm, warm hands move to grasp your hips, tugging you onto him unapologetically.

Your knees dig into the mattress on either side of him, your ass planted on his lower belly and your hands move towards bracing yourself on his chest. And Rex snorts.

"Muscle memory, huh?"

And you suck your teeth, rolling your eyes as you grab for the excess clips, sliding them into Rex's hair, your fingers carding through the tangerine strands, watching the way the silky tresses slip from your grasp with ease.

Rex swallows, gaze locked on your face. Taking in that wide eyed expression, perfect lips pursed in concentration as you continue to fuss with his hair, gorgeous eyes framed by the prettiest and longest lashes. And Rex's tongue brushes across his bottom lip, before he shifts beneath you.

And he just keeps staring.

Not only because you're just... So pretty to him, but he's looking. Really, really looking. He can see where Winnie gets her expressions. Pretty lashes with your eyes, that same... Thoughtless look behind them. God, it's like the lights are on but there's no one home.

His thumbs brush over your hip bones, the soft skin exposed by where your shirt rode up and Rex inhales sharply when he feels the way your thighs twitch at his sides.

And he's trying so hard to not look at your tits, pressed flush against the fabric of your shirt. God, pregnancy did you good.

"There's something we need to talk about later." Rex murmurs, swallowing down and he watches the way your movements halt, brows scrunching in confusion.

"Why can't we talk about it now?" You question.

"Because you might get mad and I don't wanna argue in front of the kid." Rex breathes out. "Not good for the developmental shit."

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨💥୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

Immediately when Winnie's with Mark and Sam, Rex is letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding and he's setting you down on the sofa.

Taking the seat across from you, and he crosses his arms over his chest, thick thighs spread and he leans back, doing the hip thing. You try to not focus on the bulge in the front of his sweatpants, and instead, on his face.

"What'd—"

"I wanna adopt Winnie."

It feels like a weight in your belly. Heavy, pointy edges poking into your intestines and you swallow, fingers fidgeting. And honestly, you don't know what's worse.

The fact that you'll have to admit the obvious truth, or the fact that either way, you'll be stuck with Rex indefinitely.

"I'm basically her dad already. I sleep here, I get her ready in the mornings, I feed her, I buy her that stupid Lab— what the fuck even is that?"

"It's a Labubu." "Well, it's La-expensive as fuck. Why can't she just play with socks like I did when I was a kid?" Rex huffs, and your brows raise.

"Was CPS ever called?"

"This isn't about me." And Rex inhales sharply. "I wanna... Officially co-parent Winnie. Like... As her dad and not her... fun uncle."

And you swallow.

"Rex... " You speak so softly, your fingers fiddling and you keep your gaze lowered.

"You remember... That one time in Cecil's office?"

"Which one? There were," He snorts, "quite a few times in Cecil's office."

"When... You were like, really depressed and you were kinda desperate, even though we were mad at each other. And like, you called me and I came and—"

"Oh, you came. You came three times." Rex boasts, before shifting in his seat. "But what about it?"

This is nerve wrecking. You'd think a former assassin would be a smart guy but no. Rex is dumber than a bag of rocks.

"Well... We didn't use a condom. And you didn't... Pull out either, because I didn't wanna make a mess and—"

And Rex's expression darkens. Brows form a deep frown, his jaw clenches and you're preparing for him to... Well, blow. Especially when you see that low, almost angelic glow beneath his skin and Rex takes a deep breath.

"I have a fucking kid and you didn't think to tell me?" Rex grits, blunt nails digging into his biceps as he tries to reign in the anger that's settling at the pit of his belly.

He's just mad that you didn't tell him.

"I thought you'd know by now." You murmur. "You sleep over a lot, she looks like you, she acts like you."

"I thought it's like fucking cats!" Rex groans, hands moving to card through his hair, muscular fingers tugging his hairtie off and he takes a deep breath.

"Rex, you haven't not been here, for the last two years. Are you even fucking?" You question.

"No, because— oh shit, I'm a dad." Rex mumbles, the reality sinking in. "...and I'm not beating her."

"I think you're still eligible for me to call CPS."

Rex doesn't really know how he didn't put it together as soon as Winnie popped out of you.

Literally.

He was in the delivery room, fingers laced with yours, wiping away the sweat from your hairline and making sure you didn't pass out from exertion.

He should've known when you tested her name out on your tongue, murmuring 'Winnie Sloan' as she nursed from you. And he definitely should've put two and two together when he found himself attending Daddy & Me classes.

Fuck. You'd even hummed 'she has your eyes' offhandedly as you fell asleep, in his arms.

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨💥୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

"I'm gonna watch a movie. You wanna watch?" Rex leans against the doorframe, arms folding across his chest, muscles bulge and green eyes watch you avidly as you pull a T-shirt over your head.

"What're you watching?" You question softly,

"The Mummy." Rex hums. "Brendan Frasier's one."

And it isn't even long before you're curled up, Rex's arms wrapped around your waist, his face pressed against the curve of your neck and his eyes are basically shut.

Even breaths leave him, his body warm against yours, your legs entangled and his palm remains splayed across the soft flesh of your belly, tucked away behind the fabric of your thin T-shirt.

"You want me to turn the movie off?" You ask softly, shifting a bit closer to Rex and he shakes his head.

"Hm-hm... m'listening, baby."

His voice is a low, sleepy rumble, body pressed so firmly against yours only for his lips to ghost the curve of your shoulder, the ball of his nose pressing against your pulse.

"..you smell good..." Rex mumbles lazily. "...really good."

And he shifts behind you, his free hand moving from being tucked beneath you, and instead, moving to your inner thigh. He guides your legs to part, calloused fingertips pressing into the soft flesh as he shifts your body, until your thigh's tossed over his legs.

And his hand nestles between your thighs, warm palm pressing against your even warmer cunt and he coos sleepily. Flimsy panties do nothing to tamper with your sensitivity, and Rex lets out a sleepy breath.

"I haven't had sex in two years."

Rex's voice is lazily, a sleepy murmur that's nearly drowned out by how fast the blood is rushing in your ears, your breaths just a bit uneven as his fingers press against your clit. Softly, gently. Circling the bud as his half-asleep brain pieces together the words.

And you nod your head, trying your hardest to keep your mind easy and clear, your chest heaving.

"You're gonna let me fuck you right?" Rex breathes out, pressing lazy kisses against the skin of your neck, his fingers tugging your soaked gusset aside, before dragging along your cunt. Slick fingers trace your slippery slit and he lets out a breath.

"Right, baby?" He murmurs softly. "You gonna let me fuck you nasty?"

And two fingers plunge into your cunt, warmth blossoming in your belly and if feels like electricity's crackling just behind your mound with each flutter of his fingers. And you nod your head, weakly.

"Uh huh?" Rex coos softly. "You gonna let me?"

There's nothing that's preparing you for the way that his fingers are fucking into you, curling against all the right spots while his other hand cups your chest, thumbing over your nipple until it pebbles beneath his thumb.

"Mhm... m'gonna let you..."

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨💥୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

And by God, do you let him.

Nothing prepares you for the way his cock bullies it's way into your cunt, your back arched like a fucking cat, cheek pressed against the pillow and your hands grip the sheets.

And Rex's hands move to palm the fleshy globes of your ass, spreading them just so he can watch your drooling pussy swallow him whole, inch by inch. Nothing separating you, and Rex's plump bottom lip is wedged between his pearly teeth as he watches that unexplored hole clench and flutter.

And he rolls his hips against yours, cock sloppily kissing your cervix and smearing precum against your walls, his gaze remaining locked on that pretty, furled target.

"God, you're so fuckin sexy..." Rex breathes out, hands moving to grasp your hips instead, pulling you back to meet each brutally slow thrust of his hips.

You're so warm, gooey walls fluttering around every inch and vein, slick oozing down your inner thighs and you're breathing heavy. Sounds muffled by the pillow, the fat of your ass bounces off his hips and he watches as one of your hands weakly attempts to reach behind you, fingertips ghosting over his lower belly to push him away.

"Rex...." You whine. "S'too deep.."

"Move your fucking hand." Rex grunts, one of his hands moving to pin your hand at the small of your back, and he watches your other hand move, reaching out towards the headboard instead.

And the glimpse of faint scratches against the headboard makes his head spin in that way that has him letting out a weak whine, leaning over you to grasp at the headboard. The muscles in his forearm flexes with his grip, his hips snapping unforgivingly against your ass until your cheeks burn red.

His other hand presses down in the centre of your back, forcing your back into an even deeper arch, listening to the way your moans are muffled.

Your cheeks are deeply flushed, skin glistening with a thin sheen and Rex pants, brows knitting into a frown when he feels your walls flutter and spasm, almost uncontrollably.

And he pulls back, until only his fat, mushroom-y tip remains buried in your warm cunt and your holes flutter when you feel the way he spits on your cunt, before pushing back inside.

And before you know it, you're coming around his cock, a frothy ring forming around the base of him, and he moans.

"That's it, baby. Come for daddy." Rex groans. "Be my nasty girl."

Rex has you in a fucking headlock before your brain's come down from your orgasm.

Your throat nestled in the crook of his elbow, bulging bicep against the side of your face and his weight is pressing you into the mattress, hips rutting wildly and his teeth are sinking into your shoulder.

And Rex is fucking you like an animal.

Groaning against your shoulder, weighing you down until your knees are weak and threatening to give out beneath you and he presses a kiss to that spot just behind your ear.

His voice low and just a bit hoarse.

"Let's see if I can make you remember..." He takes a deep breath, hips grinding against yours and you feel the way his cock twitches,

"who's your daddy."

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@coldvirginbitch 🩷

#sobbingscripter #rex splode x reader smut #invincible rex splode #rex sloan x reader #rex splode x reader #rex splode #invincible show #invincible #rex sloan x reader smut #rex sloan smut #rex sloan #rex splode smut

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moonstruckme · 5 months ago

Note

hi !! can i request a sirius x whimsical! reader? maybe sirius and reader meeting for the first time or him revealing their relationship to the other marauders? Whatever you like best <33 Happy New Years !!

My shayla <3333 Thanks for requesting angel, happy new years to you too!

cw: near-miss motorcycle accident

Sirius Black x whimsical!reader ♡ 843 words

Sirius likes to take his bike out at night. He’ll find any excuse to do it, a shortage of sugar or a hankering for chips or an urge to visit James across town. And tonight is perfect for a ride; the wind is cool as it whips past his jacket and tangles in his hair, the roads are near desolate, and neon signs and lit windows smear across the edges of Sirius’ vision as he flies through green lights. This is to say, he’s really having a rather good night when you nearly end both of your lives.

You’re hardly a shadowy figure stepping out into the road, gaze skyward and green traffic light casting you in ghostly silhouette. Sirius’ breath catches in his throat as his tires squeal against the asphalt. He barely manages to come to a stop.

“Oi!”

You turn towards him like you’ve only just realized he’s there. You probably have. The light casts a green halo around you and obscures your face, but Sirius can see your eyes fall on him curiously.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, walking out right in front of me?” he asks, heart beating a mile a minute.

“I’m sorry.” You’re surprisingly calm for someone who’s just faced death. Your voice is like the wind whistling through trees. Sirius finds himself leaning forward to hear it. “Was I in your way?”

He laughs, appalled. “Yeah! Yeah, I’d say so, seeing as I was going up to a green light and suddenly you were in the middle of the street.”

“But…” You glance down at his bike. “...couldn’t you have gone around?”

Sirius might laugh again, if you didn’t sound so genuinely curious. As it is, he’s shocked into silence. A single, disbelieving breath puffs into the space between you.

You take a few steps toward him. Your features come more into focus, pretty and innocently perplexed. Your brows bend with concern.

“Are you alright?”

Sirius finds himself nodding. “Yeah,” he says. “Though I wouldn’t have been, if I hadn’t seen you in time. Neither would you.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again. You seem to mean it.

Sirius leans his elbows on his handlebars, bike still rumbling beneath him. He finds, oddly, that the anger at your transgression has left him. The light is red now, but you hold his gaze, still standing in the middle of the crosswalk. You seem unsure of what to do next. Sirius has the inexplicable sense that you won’t leave until you feel things have been righted.

He asks, “Why are you wandering about at this hour, anyway?”

It’s not his business and he knows it, but this doesn’t seem to occur to you.

“I was looking for the moon,” you say.

Sirius blinks. “The moon.” He was expecting you to be out for milk or biscuits, not the moon.

You nod.

“Why?”

“I can’t see it from my apartment,” you say, as though that explains it.

“But why do you need to see it?”

Your brow furrows like Sirius has said an odd thing. “I want to,” you reply simply.

Sirius sucks his teeth, considering you. “I got a glimpse of it earlier,” he says, pointing East with his chin. “Over there. It wasn’t very impressive, I have to tell you. Only a sliver.”

At his description, your face lights up. “Really?” you ask, as animated as you’ve been this whole while. “How thin? Was it bright?”

Clearly, Sirius isn’t going to dissuade you.

“I can try and help you find it, if you want.” He says it without any plan to, like the words are simply pulled from him. “My bike’s a bit faster than going on foot.”

You smile. It’s sweeter and more brilliant than the moon could ever hope for. “Really?”

“Sure.”

You look eager, but hesitate. “Are you going to abduct me as revenge for crossing the street in front of you?”

Sirius laughs, but sobers when he realizes you’re not joking.

“I did think about it,” he says, “but I’ve decided not to, no.”

“All right, then.” You step up to his bike, sliding one leg easily over the seat in back of Sirius. You take hold of him without him telling you, and through the material of his shirt your hands feel cool against his abdomen.

When the light turns green again, Sirius sets off at a crawl. You press closer, winding your arms tighter around his waist. He’s going slow enough that the breeze barely catches in his hair. He turns to speak to you.

“I have to ask,” he says, “do you really believe I won’t kidnap you just because I said I wouldn’t?”

Your lips come so close to his ear Sirius has to fight a shiver when you speak. “I don’t think you’re a liar.”

“So you don’t think I’d lie, but you did think I might kidnap you?”

“You don’t seem like a liar; you do seem like someone who enjoys revenge.”

Sirius grins into the wind. You might just have him figured out.

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elliespassagerprincess · 18 days ago

Text

Under her desk - ellie williams x reader

pairing: ceo!ellie williams x secratery fem!reader

requests are open, send me your thoughts:)

Warnings: MDNI Explicit sexual content (18+): intense sexual tension, implied oral sex, semi-public workplace sex, voyeurism, jealous/possessive behavior

Summary: You're her secretary—organized, polite, and always on time. She's the boss—cold, brilliant, and merciless. But every glance from Ellie lingers too long. Every touch burns. And every closed-door meeting gets harder to forget.

masterlist

MONDAY

The first time Ellie Williams looks at you that way, you think you imagined it.

It’s just a glance. A flicker of her eyes up your legs as you place the morning reports on her desk. But there’s a pause—half a second too long before she meets your gaze, green eyes heavy-lidded and unreadable behind wire-rimmed glasses.

“Thank you,” she says. Her voice is a low hum, raspy from lack of sleep or too much coffee. Or both. You nod, trying not to look at her mouth. Trying not to notice how she licks her lower lip when she turns back to the screen.

You walk out of her glass-walled office trying not to blush, legs unsteady under your pencil skirt. You shouldn’t have worn that lipstick. But the thing is—you know what you’re doing.

And so does she.

WEDNESDAY

Ellie Williams is brilliant, successful, and terrifying. She doesn’t waste time with small talk. She hates lateness. She reads contracts like they’re storybooks and intimidates men twice her age with a single look.

She’s also annoyingly hot.

You’ve spent the last three weeks working under her, literally and figuratively, and she hasn’t so much as smiled at you. Until now.

“Shut the door,” she says one morning, not looking up from her laptop. Her voice is low, authoritative.

You close it behind you, pulse skipping.

“Come here.”

She slides a file across her glass desk. You step closer than necessary, your hand brushing hers as you take it. It’s electric. It feels intentional.

“Read this clause,” she says, tapping a page. “Tell me what’s wrong with it.”

You lean over. She leans back in her chair, one leg crossing over the other slowly, eyes fixed not on the paper—but on you. You can feel her stare. Your skin burns under it.

“That’s… ambiguous wording,” you murmur. “It leaves too much room for liability.”

Her lips curve just slightly. You did well.

And then she says it: “You’re smarter than you look.”

You swallow. “You don’t know how I look.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Don’t I?”

It’s dangerous. Everything about her is. But you leave her office feeling like you just passed a test.

FRIDAY NIGHT

The building is empty.

You stayed late because she asked. A simple email: Stay after hours. Need you to help draft a response.

No “please.” No “thank you.” But you came.

Her office is dimly lit. Just her desk lamp and the amber glow from the city skyline outside.

Ellie’s jacket is off. Her sleeves rolled up. Tattoos exposed. Her jaw tight as she types. You stand nearby, heart pounding.

“Come here,” she says again, voice lower now. Rough.

You step beside her. She gestures at the screen, scrolling through a client proposal. But her hand brushes your hip. She doesn’t move it.

You don’t breathe.

“You smell like cinnamon,” she murmurs suddenly, almost distracted.

“It’s my lotion.”

“I like it.”

There’s silence.

You turn to her—slowly.

Ellie’s eyes flick to your lips. Your knees go weak. She leans in. So close. Not kissing. Just hovering—like she’s daring you.

“I’m your boss,” she says, whispering it like a sin.

“I know,” you whisper back.

“I shouldn’t want you.”

“But you do.”

Her hand grips your hip. You don’t know who kisses first.

But once her mouth is on yours, everything blurs. She pulls you onto her lap, fingers tangled in your hair, tongue sliding past your lips with a groan that makes your spine arch.

Her mouth is hot, desperate, possessive.

But the moment is short-lived. She pulls back, breathless, eyes wild.

“Get out,” she says harshly.

You freeze. “Ellie—”

“I said get out.”

You leave shaking. But she doesn’t stop you because she regrets it. She stops you because if you stayed, she would’ve had you on her desk.

WEEK LATER

She avoids you all week. Short emails. Clipped instructions. Barely looks at you.

It hurts. But you understand.

Power. Rules. Risk.

Still, she calls you into her office on Thursday. You go, heart hammering.

She’s pacing. Frustrated.

“I can’t think,” she snaps. “Not with you out there.”

You blink. “Did I do something wrong?”

Ellie stops. Looks at you like you’re the problem and the solution.

“You’re perfect,” she whispers. “That’s the problem.”

And then she’s kissing you again—this time rough, frantic. She shoves everything off her desk in one motion, making you gasp.

“Sit,” she growls.

You do.

And then her mouth is on your neck, your blouse unbuttoned, her hands everywhere, as if she’s waited months for this.

You moan her name—soft, breathy. She freezes.

Then she says it: “You’re mine.”

You nod. “Yes.”

You start sneaking around. Closed doors. Locked meeting rooms. Lingering touches behind your desk.

Ellie becomes obsessed.

She buys you new pens just because she saw you chewing the caps. Schedules “private reviews” that last way too long. Texts you when you’re home just to say, "Wanna come back and help me ‘finish something?’”

She doesn’t date anyone else. You check. But she doesn’t call you her girlfriend, either.

Power. Risk. Rules.

But in her eyes—in the way her thumb traces your lips after she kisses you—you know.

You own her, too.

MONDAY

The worst part isn’t that you kissed your boss. It’s that you keep doing it.

Ellie’s office becomes a second home for secrets: stolen kisses, whispered confessions, shaky breaths against frosted glass. But it never goes further than that—not fully.

There’s always a line.

Sometimes you think she’s drawing it. Sometimes, you think she’s one step from erasing it completely.

And every time she stops, the excuse is always the same.

“I can’t afford to lose you.”

You don’t know if she means as her assistant… or something more.

TUESDAY

Ellie starts acting weird.

She stares at you when she thinks you don’t notice. She double-texts you at night, then apologizes. Her fingers shake slightly when you hand her coffee. But she still never says what she wants.

And you’re getting tired of pretending.

“Are we going to talk about this?” you finally ask, one evening after everyone’s left. You’re leaning in her office doorway, arms crossed. She’s behind her desk, eyes on her screen but clearly distracted.

She doesn’t look at you.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Ellie.”

Now she looks up. Her jaw tightens.

“It’s dangerous,” she says quietly. “This is my company. You’re my employee. If anyone finds out—”

“I’d be the one who gets fired,” you cut in.

Her face shifts. There it is. The truth.

“I would never let that happen,” she says, voice low and deadly. “You have no idea what I’d do to protect you.”

You step forward slowly. “Then stop hiding me.”

She looks like she wants to say something. Instead, she stands. Walks around her desk. Stops a breath away. Her hand brushes your wrist.

And she whispers: “I don’t hide you. I hide us. Because once people know, they’ll want to take you from me.”

There’s something unhinged in her voice. Soft, but sharp. Like she’s thought about it too much. Like she’s scared of how far she’d go.

FRIDAY

You try to act normal.

Emails. Schedules. Morning coffee runs. But Ellie keeps breaking the façade. She calls you in five times for "review." Never talks about work. Just stares at you. Sometimes says something ridiculous like, “You wore that on purpose” or “I had a dream about you.”

And then there are the nights. Her texts turn softer, needier.

Ellie: Are you in bed?

Ellie: Can I call?

Ellie: Just wanna hear your voice.

You let her. And when she breathes your name into the phone, quiet and rough, it makes your heart ache. Because this doesn’t feel casual anymore. It feels like it’s killing her to keep you a secret.

SUNDAY

You show up to her apartment for the first time.

Ellie doesn’t even pretend to play it cool. She opens the door in a black tee and sweatpants, hair a mess, eyes tired like she hasn’t slept in days.

“You came.”

“You asked me to.”

She pulls you in without a word. Kisses you like it’s oxygen. Like she’s been holding her breath all week.

You don’t leave until 3AM.

There’s no sex. Just tangled limbs. Soft kisses. Ellie’s head resting on your chest like she needs to be near your heartbeat.

You stroke her hair, whispering, “Why do you make this so hard?”

And her answer is quiet. “Because if I ever lost you, I’d never recover.”

WEDNESDAY

It happens. You get caught.

You didn’t even notice the door was cracked open.

You were leaning on her desk, Ellie between your legs, her hand up your thigh, whispering something filthy against your neck.

And someone—probably an intern—saw it.

You don’t find out until later, when HR sends Ellie a request for a "private meeting." That afternoon, Ellie storms into your little cubicle, eyes wild, pulse in her throat.

“We’re not hiding anymore,” she says, grabbing your hand in front of the whole floor.

“Ellie—”

“Let them talk. Let them guess. I don’t give a damn.”

She pulls you into her office, slams the door, and kisses you like it’s the only thing that matters.

And that night, she finally takes you home again—but this time, there’s no restraint.

This time, she makes love to you like she’s claiming territory. Like she’s trying to memorize everything, in case the world tries to take it away.

ONE WEEK LATER

Ellie is pacing. You're seated across her office, legs crossed, heart pounding.

“You’re not just my secretary anymore,” she says. “You haven’t been for a while.”

You look at her. “So what now?”

She stops. Walks to you. Kneels—yes, kneels—between your legs and rests her head in your lap.

“We rewrite the rules.”

You card your fingers through her hair.

“And if they fire you?” you ask

Ellie looks up at you with that same fire in her eyes.

“They won’t. But if they do? I’ll build my own damn company. Put your name on the front. Hire myself as your assistant.”

You laugh. You kiss her.

And you both know you’re done pretending.

MONDAY

It starts with a look. Ellie walks in late—coffee in hand, sleeves rolled up, jaw sharp—and heads straight to your desk. She pauses. Leans down.

You think she’s going to whisper something.

But no.

She presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

Right there. In front of everyone. You freeze. So does the office.

Conversations stop. Keyboards go quiet. Someone drops their pen.

Ellie stands up straight, totally unfazed.

“Good morning, baby,” she says like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

And then she heads to her office. Just like that, everyone knows.

By lunch, the office is buzzing.

“Did you see that?”

“I thought she was single.”

“Isn’t that her boss?”

“There’s no way that’s allowed.”

“I heard they were already hooking up for weeks.”

You try to focus on your screen, but it’s impossible. Every glance in your direction lingers too long. You hear your name more in whispered tones than anyone should in a professional setting.

But Ellie? She acts like it’s nothing. Like she hasn’t just lit the entire building on fire with one kiss.

The next day, HR calls Ellie in again. You sit at your desk, sick with anxiety.

She walks out 30 minutes later, face unreadable. You follow her to her office, shut the door behind you.

“What happened?”

She exhales. “They’re not happy. But technically, I didn’t break any rules.”

“Technically?”

She shrugs. “We’re adults. Consensual. No direct coercion or manipulation. I didn’t promote you or change your pay. Legally, they can’t fire either of us.”

“But they’re watching now,” you murmur.

Ellie steps closer. “Let them.”

You overhear two coworkers talking about you in the breakroom later that week. Something crude. Something about how “you must be really good at keeping her attention” if the boss is that obsessed.

You walk out before they see you. Embarrassed. Furious. Ellie notices immediately.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lie.

She doesn’t believe you. Of course she doesn’t. Twenty minutes later, you hear her voice—raised—from down the hall.

“Say it again. I dare you.”

You stand up. Heart racing. Ellie’s got one of the men cornered, towering over him with a calm, cold fury that could freeze lava.

“She’s smarter than everyone in this damn building. And if I hear you speak about her like that again, you won’t be working here anymore.”

He stammers. Apologizes. She doesn't back off.

“She’s not just mine—she’s the best thing about this place.”

The entire office hears.

You’re both in her car. The sun is setting. You’re quiet. Ellie’s gripping the steering wheel a little too tight.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she mutters. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

She looks at you.

“Because I want to protect you so badly it scares me.”

You reach over, touch her arm.

“I’ve never had anyone stand up for me like that.”

She exhales slowly.

“I’m yours,” you whisper.

And Ellie—tough, stoic Ellie—closes her eyes like she’s holding back tears.

“I’ve been yours since the first day you walked into my office,” she confesses.

THURSDAY

You didn’t think she’d go public with it. But she does.

At the company-wide meeting, Ellie is cool and composed as ever. She addresses the quarterly goals, talks profits and projections. Then, at the end:

“One more thing.”

She glances at you.

“I want to address the elephant in the room. Yes, I’m in a relationship with my secretary. It’s not a secret anymore. And if anyone has a problem with it, take it up with HR. Or better yet, with me.”

Silence.

Then applause. Actual applause. You’re stunned.

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t wink. Just steps down, professional and poised, like she didn’t just dismantle the gossip mill with a single announcement.

Later, in her office, she pulls you in by the waist and murmurs, “They’re never touching you. Not even with words.”

Ellie books a meeting room. Not for work. Just to eat lunch with you away from the eyes. She brings you your favorite sandwich. Sits close. Hands brushing under the table.

“Is this okay?” she asks quietly. “I know it’s messy.”

You smile. “I’d sit under your desk again if I had to.”

Ellie laughs—real, unguarded.

Then she leans in. Presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“I’m not letting them shame us. You’re not a secret. You’re everything.”

MONDAY

Things have mostly gone back to normal.

Well—office normal. People don’t whisper quite as loudly anymore. HR stopped breathing down Ellie’s neck. And you’ve found a quiet rhythm with her—sneaking kisses in her office, flirty texts during boring meetings, soft nights tangled in her sheets. But there's still a tension in the air. Like something’s waiting to snap.

Like you’re both still holding back.

TUESDAY

His name’s Jordan. New hire. Tech department.

Cute in a safe, unthreatening way—gelled hair, bright smile, button-ups that are a little too fitted. He’s harmless. Probably.

Until he starts showing up at your desk. First it’s innocent. A shared joke. A smile. Then it escalates.

“You’ve got the prettiest eyes in this whole office.”

You glance up from your computer. “Thanks.”

“Bet that’s how you got hired, huh?” he laughs, like it’s funny.

You go cold. “Excuse me?”

“I mean—c’mon. The boss is, like, obsessed with you. Can’t blame her.”

You stand up. “That’s completely inappropriate.”

He just smirks. “Relax. It’s a compliment.”

You don’t even answer. You walk. Straight to Ellie’s office.

You barely shut the door before her voice sharpens. “What happened?”

You tell her everything. She’s already grabbing her jacket before you finish.

“I’ll talk to him,” you say quickly. “You don’t have to—”

But her eyes have darkened.

“I do have to. Because he crossed a line and because you’re mine.”

You swallow.

“Ellie—”

“No. I’m done being polite.”

The entire office is silent again.

Ellie’s voice slices through the air like a blade.

“I don’t care if you’re new or stupid or both. You don’t talk to her like that. You don’t look at her like that. You don’t breathe near her unless she wants you to.”

Jordan stammers. Ellie steps closer.

“She’s not your peer. She’s not your flirt project. She’s mine. And if you can’t understand what respect looks like, you’ll be out of a job faster than you can blink.”

Jordan nods, practically shaking. You’ve never seen her like this.

Furious. Cold. Protective.

And so, so in love.

She slams her office door shut. You sit quietly.

Ellie’s pacing. Her hands run through her hair, jaw clenched. She won’t even look at you.

“Are you okay?” you ask gently.

She stops.

“I hate it,” she whispers. “I hate the idea of someone touching you. Someone thinking they have a right to you.”

“Ellie—”

“No. I’ve been trying so fucking hard not to say it.”

You freeze. She walks up to you slowly. Cups your face in both hands.

“But I’m in love with you.”

Your breath catches.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” she murmurs. “Didn’t want to say it too soon. But I love you. And I’d burn this whole company down if someone hurt you.”

Your heart is racing.

“Say it again.”

She leans in, forehead to yours.

“I love you.”

You kiss her like you’ve been dying to for weeks. Deep. Grateful. Starving. And when you pull back, breathless, your smile is shaking.

“I love you too.”

Ellie’s whole body relaxes. Like she’s been waiting to exhale for months.

You’re at her place. You’re in her bed, skin warm from her touch, her fingers brushing your bare spine.

Ellie whispers into your hair: “You’re mine. And not because I’m your boss. Not because you work for me. Because I chose you.”

You whisper it back. And when she falls asleep with her arms around you, you realize something:

You were never under her desk. You were always under her skin.

FRIDAY, 6:42 P.M

The office is nearly empty.

It’s the end of the quarter. People went home early. Laughter and footsteps faded around 5:00. The air has that hollow, humming stillness that only comes after hours. Fluorescent lights dimmed. Elevator chimes long gone.

You should go home. You both should.

But Ellie’s door is closed. And your back is pressed to it.

Her mouth is on your neck, hot and open and needy.

You moan quietly, hands fisting the front of her shirt, body arching as her thigh presses between your legs, her grip firm at your waist.

“Ellie,” you whisper. “Someone could—”

“Shh.” Her voice is low, rough. Her lips brush your ear. “They’re all gone.”

You glance toward the glass panels. She’s pulled the blinds halfway, but it’s still risky.

And yet… You don’t stop her.

You're sitting on the edge of her desk now. Skirt bunched. Blazer long gone.

Ellie’s shirt is open—collar popped, chest rising fast. She’s in her chair between your knees, one hand gripping your thigh, the other sliding dangerously high.

“Look at me,” she commands softly.

You do.

God, you do.

Because Ellie in the office chair—tie loosened, hair mussed, eyes heavy with lust—is your undoing.

“You always sit here like this when you’re typing,” she murmurs, dragging her fingers up your inner thigh. “And you expect me to focus?”

“Ellie—” you gasp.

Her fingers brush against your soaked underwear. She smiles.

“Such a fucking distraction.”

You kiss her hard, teeth knocking. Desperate. Uncoordinated. Hot.

Then she slips her fingers beneath the lace and—

“Hey, boss, I—oh my God—”

You jolt.

Ellie jerks away, instantly on her feet, shielding you with her body. Your heart is pounding. Face flushed. Skirt still hiked. Her hands still warm on your hips.

In the doorway: Jordan. Eyes wide. Frozen.

“GET. OUT.” Ellie’s voice is a snarl.

He stammers, backs out, slams the door behind him.

You’re gasping.

Ellie’s jaw is clenched so hard, you think it might crack.

You fix your clothes in a daze. Ellie watches you. Still breathing heavily. Still angry.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “That was reckless.”

She walks up behind you. Wraps her arms around your waist. Buries her face in your shoulder.

“I don’t regret it.”

You turn, eyes meeting hers.

“Are you okay?”

She nods. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Ellie—”

“Not literally. Probably.”

You laugh, a little shakily. She presses her forehead to yours.

“I can’t keep my hands off you.”

“I don’t want you to.”

MONDAY

The entire office knows. Again.

Jordan’s quiet. Pale. Avoids you like the plague. Ellie calls a full department meeting. Not for discipline—but for clarity.

She looks every single employee dead in the eye and says: “Yes. We’re together. Yes, it’s serious. No, it’s not casual. And if anyone thinks about violating our privacy again, I will escalate it to legal.”

You feel the burn of her protectiveness long after she finishes speaking.

She pulls you into her office. Locks the door. This time, just to kiss you slow.

“Maybe I should move you out of the secretary role,” she murmurs. “Not because of the rumors. Because I need you close—and this isn’t sustainable.”

“Are you firing me as your secretary?”

“I’m promoting you,” she says with a smirk. “To something safer. Something that means I don’t have to hold back.”

Your heart flutters.

“Is that even allowed?”

“I’m the boss,” she says. “It’s whatever I say it is.”

409 notes · View notes

sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 3 months ago

Text

High

(Dean Winchester x female reader)

Summary Rowena douses you and Dean with some magical weed. CWs The drugs made them do it. Or did they? Idiots in love. 18+. 2.3k words.

Dean Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

There’s something in your teeth and while you’re in the bathroom you use the moment to poke around. It’s something small and hard and just as you wonder what the hell it could be, your fingernail catches it and you pull your hand back to look at it.

It’s a tiny crumb of brilliant green, like a splinter from a crystal. You frown.

“Dean?” you say, voice raised so he can hear you from the bedroom.

“Yeah?” you hear back.

“Was there anything weird about those brownies Rowena left?” There’s silence, then Dean’s voice again.

“Weird how?” he replies.

You turn around, walk into the bedroom still looking at the tiny crystal on your fingertip.

“Because I could be totally wrong,” you say, walking to where Dean was cleaning his gun when you walked into the bathroom, “but I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this type of crystal before, and it’s not—”

You fall quiet when you look up and see that Dean has put his gun and cleaning kit to the side and is just wiping some crumbs off his face with the back of his hand. You stand there and stare at him, finger still raised, and then he slowly chews and then swallows.

“I’m pretty sure she roofied us,” you say, deadpan, as you watch Dean’s throat move. It’s fascinating.

“Oh,” he says, nodding slowly.

“Did you eat all of them?” you ask. Dean frowns at you.

“No,” he answers, sounding offended.

“It’s fine if you did,” you reply. “It would just be important to know.”

“Okay, Mom,” he says, rolling his eyes and you make a face at him.

“Dean, these are moss crystals,” you say, indicating your finger although there’s no way Dean can see the little crumb on your finger. “That shit will fly you to the moon. How much did you have?” Dean shrugs.

“Like, two,” he says, and you nod.

“Okay, that’s not so bad,” you say. “I’m guessing you have a bit of a…tolerance.” Dean chuckles.

“Sam’s the pothead of the family, not me,” he says, moving his gun back in front of him.

“I mean because of the drinking,” you clarify. Dean shrugs again and you drop your hand, sigh.

“Well, I guess there go your plans to go out and get laid tonight,” you say just as Dean starts taking apart his gun.

“’S fine,” he says, not looking at you. “I don’t need to go to a bar. We can watch TV and order pizza.” You nod.

“Great,” you sigh.

Tripping out with Dean. That should be fun.

You don’t know how you end up on the carpet. It’s like you blink and the next moment you are looking up at the ceiling, body stretched out.

You’re completely calm, you feel great, actually, and only then you notice that Dean is lying next to you. You’re unsure if he was there before or if he just laid down.

“I think it’s kicking in,” you say, and your voice sounds like it’s coming out from deep in your belly.

“Yeah, I think so too,” Dean says, adjusting a little so he’s lying exactly next to you. You pull down the corners of your mouth.

“It’s not bad,” you say and hear Dean exhale.

“Yeah,” he says again. You take a deep breath, sigh.

“Hey, do you think we should go after her?” you ask, arm flopping up as you’re gesticulating, then dropping down again, this time touching Dean’s arm, the skin where his shirt is rolled up.

“Yeah,” he says again, for the third time, then you hear him turn his head towards you. “Who?”

“Rowena,” you clarify and a second later you and Dean both realize at the same time that you’re rubbing the skin of your arm against his. You both look down your bodies and you stop your arm, realizing that you probably shouldn’t do that.

“That felt nice,” you hear Dean say. You blink up at him, slowly. It did feel nice. With the reservations that would usually stop you gone, you run your fingertips over Dean’s arm, from the crook of his elbow down to the back of his hand. When you start pulling your hand back, Dean turns his and you card your fingers into his.

Dean brings his hand up, still holding yours, closer to both of your faces while you study it. He makes a little noise deep in his throat and it’s almost like you can see the sound waves of it traveling through the air.

“Your skin is amazing,” Dean says, voice echoey. For some reason, it makes you giggle. He looks at your face, soft smile on his.

“You’re high,” you say, but still you roll onto your side, towards Dean. He turns to you too, still touching your skin. He smells incredible, and you can’t believe you never noticed. Sandalwood and leather and motor oil. Maybe some caramel.

Dean runs his fingers from your arm over your shoulder, lets it rest there. Then the idea hits you. Uncoordinated, you slap your hand against his chest.

“I have the best idea,” you say and Dean just grins.

You saw the pool earlier and it’s so late that you’re pretty sure no one will catch you. Or that’s what you would think if you were thinking about stuff like that at all. You’re not. You walk up to the side, Dean close behind you.

“I don’t have any swim trunks,” he says, looking at the blue water below him, then turns to you, but you’re already tugging up your shirt.

“Woah,” he says and you grin at him as you wrestle it off.

“Come on, Winchester,” you say, “nothing I haven’t seen before on other, less Winchester-y people.”

It makes you chuckle and Dean laughs, then, with some issues in coordination, he starts tugging off his flannel. You’re already pushing down your jeans, feet bare from when you were in the motel room. Dean looks back at you, eyes running over you and when you return his gaze, he grins and looks away.

“Perv,” you mutter and he shakes his head as he opens his belt.

“Just worried about you getting your underwear wet,” he replies. Your hands shoot to behind your back, opening the clasp of your bra as you let it drop down your arms. Distantly you feel like that is not something you should be doing, but Dean’s eyes going wide as saucers and his mouth dropping open is enough to distract you.

“Not gonna get wet,” you say with a wink.

The warm night air feels amazing on your skin and you want to feel it everywhere, so while Dean is battling with his fly, you tug down your panties and before he can look your way again, you jump into the pool.

For a few seconds, you’re underwater, and it is the best feeling in the world. You feel like you’re floating, like gravity has left you. When you dive back up you run your hands over your face and hair.

“Oh my God,” you say, eyes still closed against the water. “This is incredible.” You blink your eyes open. Dean’s still standing a few feet from the edge of the pool. His black t-shirt is hanging off both arms but he managed to get his jeans, socks and boots off.

“What are you waiting for?” you ask, swimming towards the edge. Dean looks down himself as you cross your arms on the edge, frown at him.

“I think I got a boner,” he says and for a second it’s just something he said and then it’s the funniest thing in the world. You laugh so hard you’re glad you’re holding on to the edge of the pool cause you think you might drown otherwise. Dean’s laughing too, but he’s sputtering defensively as well.

“Just get in,” you say, leaning your head back. “Who cares about your stupid boner.”

Dean huffs and then takes the rest of his clothes off.

Oh, you think. You care about his stupid boner.

You only see him for a second though, because then he starts running and cannonballs into the pool. He comes up, hands rubbing his face roughly as he swims towards you. The drops that are clinging to his long lashes and the way his hair sticks off his head make your breath catch in your throat.

“That is incredible,” he says and you grin at him. Without knowing why or wondering if you should, you swim towards him and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Dean wraps his around your waist. He looks so breathtakingly good that it makes you feel dumb.

“Thanks,” Dean says, and you’re not sure if you said what you were thinking out loud. You run your fingers over the skin on his upper back. It’s perfection.

“You know what I think would feel amazing?” Dean says and you don’t know when his face got so close to yours. You nod, and just as you wonder if Rowena’s magical weed is kicking in again and if you could possibly be getting higher than before, you feel Dean’s erection glide through your palm. He moans into your mouth, and again, you’re not sure when he got this close but you really couldn’t care less.

Yes, you’re definitely higher than you were before but then your back hits the side of the pool, gently, and suddenly Dean pushes into you, the sensation of him making your eyelids flutter, and his lips run over your jaw, and you’ve never felt anything as perfect as that.

“Oh God,” you pant, trying to drag him closer to you with your arms but he’s already as close as he can be. “I think we should—”

You’re on your back, the fabric of the blanket under you rubbing against your naked skin feeling as good as you think a high-class massage must feel. The pillows have been shoved up on the bed, the blankets to the side and you’re opened wide, not a millimeter of your body hidden from Dean as he moves over you.

You’re breathing hard and it feels like your entire body is covered in static, and every time Dean touches you somewhere the static discharges there, only to build up again immediately. You grab for his face, pull him close, desperate as his hips keep driving against you in the smoothest motion you have ever felt or seen. You throw your head back, and it feels like your eyes are about to see the inside of your skull.

“That feels so good,” you moan and pull Dean in to kiss him, but then suddenly his face isn’t in front of you anymore but behind you, pressing against your neck as he pulls your leg higher, making you moan.

“You’re so soft,” he pants into your ear and then you go flying, both of you lifting up, the bed, then the town, then the country, then the world disappearing below you, but it doesn’t matter, because at the center of your universe, Dean’s cock is driving into you, setting you on fire.

His hand goes to your front, cups your breast, his nose rubbing into the sensitive spot below your ear.

“Don’t stop,” you moan and Dean doesn’t. His hand goes to your face, turns you towards him.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long,” he pants, his slow, deep thrusts still unraveling you.

“I know,” you say, bringing your arm back to behind his head. “I did too. I just didn’t want to be – oh my fucking God, Dean, yes – I—I didn’t want to be just another, ah, another conquest.”

Distantly you think that you’re being very eloquent for someone whose brain is in the process of melting.

“Oh sweetheart,” Dean almost purrs, and his hand wanders to your clit, drawing warm, wonderful circles that spin outwards until you wonder if they could affect the planet’s gravity. “You’re so much more than that.”

You pull Dean in, kiss him, run your tongue over his. When you come, it’s like all the stars turn into supernovas at once.

You sit up, sure you’re gonna be sick for a moment. Your hand goes to your forehead, then rubs through your hair. If ever anyone has claimed to have a worse headache than you have now, they must have been lying.

The bottle of pain killers lands on the blanket near your knees and the sound of the pills shaking within their plastic confinement is so harrowing that you almost throw up. You reach for it with a groan, deposit two into your hand.

“You get your beauty sleep?” Dean asks from the bathroom door, toothbrush in hand. He looks about as destroyed as you feel, but he’s clearly showered and dressed and managed to fix his hair, so he’s got that on you.

“I’m gonna kill that asshole witch,” you say as you fish for the bottle of water on your nightstand. Dean nods.

“Yeah, I’ll join you,” he says. You take the pills and drain the rest of the water, then frown.

“Did we… did we go in the motel pool?” you ask, turning back to Dean. He looks off into the distance for a second.

“Maybe?” he says after a few seconds.

“I remember swimming,” you say, slowly, hoping that if you keep your voice down your skull won’t punish you. “And flying.”

“Pretty sure that was the drugs,” Dean says and you make a face at him.

“No shit, Sherlock,” you reply, then narrow your eyes at him.

Eyes. Dean’s green eyes. You remember seeing them up close, and something else.

“Oh my God,” you say as the memories come rushing back, and Dean at the same time says: “Holy shit!”

#dean winchester x you #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #fanfic #spn #supernatural #fanfiction #spn fanfic #sorry's fics #sorry's kinktober #sorry's kinktober 2024

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riddleswhcre · 5 months ago

Text

────۶ৎ a whisper of serpents

tom riddle’s hissed parseltongue isn’t just words—it’s a spell, coiling around your throat, your thighs, and your will.

warnings: smut, parseltongue, slight enemies to ??, public sex.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

cool air in the slytherin common room whispered along stone walls, and the green light of the magic lamp flickered. you sat in your usual place in the corner by the fire, scratching your quill on your potions paper. the air was filled with the smell of black and sand, a smell that reminded you of tom riddle struggling with essays and exams.

tom riddle. a name that evoked both ire and admiration in equal measure. the boy was brilliant—too brilliant, you thought, the instant his black eyes darted across the room to you over the desk. he sat at his desk, posture precisely straight, lips curving in triumph, as though he knew he would best you in tomorrow's potions.

“enjoying the thrill of inevitable defeat?” he breathed, his voice cutting as effectively through the silent room like a knife.

you looked up, decided not to let him bug you. “i’ll let you know after i see the marks. should i save a seat for you in second place, riddle?”

a dark light glittered in his dark eyes, and his smirk deepened. “confidence suits you. shame it’s misplaced.” the rivalry had always been this way—sharp, laced with an undeniable tension that neither of you acknowledged. still, tonight you noticed a difference. the second time tom spoke, his voice was softer and his rhythm was more even. he muttered something very quiet and soft that you couldn't really hear.

you froze.

it wasn't english. it was something ancient, something primal.

your eyes narrowed as you leaned forward. “what was that?”

“hmm?” he looked up, feigning innocence, though the curl of his lips betrayed him.

“that. just now. what did you say?”

he shrugged, turning back to his parchment. “nothing you'd understand.”

it clicked then, the penny dropping in your brain—you'd heard rumours, of course, among quiet whispers, huddled as your classmates were on hushed subjects. tom riddle spoke parseltongue, a gift said to be rare enough that not only did they not live alongside muggle-born witches or wizards, they would think those with parseltongue came from gods. of course, you didn't, though: a tingle down the back of the spine was left as well, it seemed.

in the following weeks you became increasingly aware of him. it wasn’t just his flawless academic credentials or the ruthless intellect he wielded as a weapon. it was also the way he moved, the way his voice slithered into that serpentine language when he thought no one was listening.

finally, one night, you stepped up your game and decided to confront him late at the library. the two of you were all alone in the room, and the silence was often broken by just the sound of a flipping page.

“you know, i’ve been meaning to ask,” you said, doing your best to sound casual, “how does it feel to be a walking myth?”

tom didn’t even look up. “you’ll need to be more specific.”

you rolled your eyes and moved to stand beside his table. “don’t play coy. parseltongue.”

this time his head cocked, slight but a glimmer of interest on his face. “what about it?”

“i’ve been listening to you,” you said, your voice lower now. “in the common room. during herbology, when you thought no one was listening. you do that on purpose, don’t you?”

"maybe,” he said slickly, leaning back in his chair. your eyes met his dark eyes, and for a single moment, you forgot how to breathe. “does it bother you?”

“no.” words came out a little too fast. you cleared your throat. “well, it's unusual, but no…”

suddenly his gaze became sharp.“unusual,” he repeated, his voice lowered a shade. “that's one way to put it.”

something seemed to shift in the air between the two of you. it was slight, so fine as to be almost imperceptible; but the weight of his attention pressed against your skin, and you found yourself unable to look away.

“you like it,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

“i didn’t say that.”

“you didn’t have to.”

from then on, tom appeared to seize every opportunity to taunt you, slipping into parseltongue during your arguments or mumbling it just close enough that only you could hear. every time, your pulse raced, your cheeks flushed, and you hated how easily he unravelled you.

one evening, you’d reached your limit.

you knew you’d find him alone in the common room. and there he was, his long fingers expertly flipping through the pages of the thick, ancient tome. he didn’t look up as you approached, but you knew he sensed you there.

“do you enjoy torturing people, or just me?” you demanded.

a corner of his mouth lifted. “you make it so entertaining.”

“you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, here you are.”

you were about to shoot back a retort, but the words failed you when he spoke again.

“come closer,” he said, in parseltongue, the words coiling around you like a corporeal touch.

your knees weakened. you hated him. you hated how much you needed him.

“what did you say?” you said, though you knew perfectly well.

tom stood, the motion smooth, predatory. he moved closer enough that there was hardly space between you, breath ghosting against your cheek.

“do you really want to know?” he said, reverting to english.

“yes.”

a certain tension crackled between you, thick and unrelenting. tom’s dark eyes were locked onto yours, the corner of his mouth twitching in the ghost of a smirk. his presence was magnetic as if he had a gravitational pull, and while all logic and reason screamed at you to step back, your feet remained rooted in place.

“tell me what you said,” you ordered, but your voice didn’t follow you with the tone.

tom cocked his head and examined you as though you were some especially intriguing puzzle. “why?” he wondered, his voice silky smooth.

“because—” your words abandoned you as he closed the distance, the faint scent of parchment and dark spice encircling you. “because i want to know.”

he smiled a little wider, a little deeper, and he tilted his head down just enough that his lips almost brushed against your ear. “do you?” he said in parseltongue, the syllables curling through you like a forbidden spell.

a shiver surged through your body, involuntary and ungovernable. heat rushed to your cheeks, and your breath caught. the language was intoxicating, the sound of it vibrating in a place you didn’t know existed.

“stop,” you gasped, although your hands betrayed you, the fingers curling into the edge of the table behind you for support.

“stop?” tom echoed, half mockingly, half in wonder. his hand lifted, lightly sweeping a single lock of hair away from your face, deliberately slowly. his touch was cold, his fingers grazing your cheek before retreating. “you don’t want me to stop.”

you opened your mouth, but you couldn't deny it: the words died on your tongue; and before you could think of anything to say, he spoke again, soft and low.

“do you know what i’m saying?” he asked, his tone nearly tender now. “do you feel it?”

“i can’t understand it,” you confessed, voice barely at a whisper.

“but you like it,” he whispered, his lips brushing so close to your ear you could sense the warmth of his breath. “you like how it feels.”

your knees buckled a bit, tom’s hand flying out, gripping your waist, steadying you. his grip was solid and his fingers sprawled over the curve of your hip as though staking a claim.

“you’re flushed,” he observed, his voice nearly clinical. “your breathing is uneven. your pupils are dilated. all from a few words.”

“shut up,” you said, not without heat, but there was a tremor running through you.

“why should i?” he dared, the grip tightening just enough to get your adrenaline-fuelled. “you’re mine to unravel, aren’t you?”

the audacity of his words sent a surge of defiance through you. you threw your hands up and pushed against his chest, though it was a half-hearted attempt at best.

“you’re insufferable,” you hissed.

“and yet,” he drawled, his lips twisting as he leaned in closer, “here you are, trembling in my arms.”

he didn't waste any time; it was almost startling intense when his hand caught your chin before his lips crashed into yours, fierce and unrelenting. the kiss was searing and desperate, like a starved man. his other hand found its place at your waist, tugging you closer until even the air dared not to linger between your bodies.

his lips were demanding, his movements precise but passionate. the hand on your chin moved in your hair and tangled in such a possessive way while tilting your head to kiss deeper. an involuntary sound came out of your mouth; it was a soft whisper surrender, which tom devoured greedily. his tongue teased the seam of your lips, coaxing, commanding, until you parted them to let him inside.

he was dark and heavy, sweet and dangerous like stolen wine tempered with poison. his body pressed against your own—firm and unforgiving. his hands moved with unerring confidence, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your back, as if he had memorised every contour. it was a heady contradiction between precision and raw need, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

the next you know, the edges of the common room table were cutting into your thighs as he turned you with a masterful grip while manoeuvring effortlessly; books and parchment flew in a frenzy, pages whispering against the stone floor, but it seemed like tom had no time nor paid any attention to it. the dark glint in his eyes promised that he was completely absorbed in you.

he bent you over the table, leaving you no time to protest or think. the cold surface was nothing like your flushed skin. you gasped when he started to push your skirt up with deliberate, unhurried hands. the sound of impact between his palm and your skin broke the weighty silence, leaving a swift sting and warmth behind with it.

the sensation sent a jolt through you, heat pooling, making your folds wet and insistent as his touch lingered. tom’s presence was overwhelming, his control absolute, but there was something in his movements—some barely contained intensity—that betrayed just how deeply you unravelled him.

“t-tom… what are you doing?” your voice trembles, a mixture of nervousness and anticipation slipping through as the words escape your lips. your body betrays you, shivering under the chill of the room’s air, your bare skin prickling with goosebumps. the vulnerable position you're in only heightens your awareness, thoughts swirling chaotically in your mind. tom noticed. of course, after all he’s very skilled at legilimens.

tom’s breath brushes against you, sending an electric charge down your spine. “so eager for me,” he murmurs, his voice dark and laced with something primal. the unfamiliar hiss of parseltongue wraps around the words, a forbidden melody that makes your body react instinctively. your core tightens in response, a flutter of sensation you can’t suppress.

“what… what does that mean?” you stammer, craning your neck to catch a glimpse of him. your breath hitches as your eyes meet his—a smouldering gaze fixed on you, devouring the sight of your exposed pussy. his tongue darts across his lips, slow and deliberate, his expression one of barely-contained hunger.

tom doesn’t falter. every movement is deliberate, exuding raw confidence. in one swift motion, his trousers fall to the floor, pooling at his ankles. his eyes stay locked on yours, dark and smouldering with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. the air between you is electric, charged with unspoken tension.

his hands find yours, firm but not harsh as he guides your wrists behind your back. his grip is unyielding yet measured, a silent promise that he’s in control, but not without care. there’s no cruelty, only purpose.

with a sharp, deliberate tug, the material of your tights gives way, the sound of tearing loud in the charged silence. he doesn’t flinch at the destruction; it doesn’t matter. he can just get you new ones later.

the other hand grips his cock, his hard cock at the sight of you like this. with deliberate slowness, he rubs it along your wet folds, blending his precum with the heat of your arousal. his lips curve into a dangerous smirk as he leans close, the whisper of his breath ghosting over your ear.

"be quiet for me, sweetheart," he murmurs, the words curling like silk, dark and intoxicating as they spill from his lips—in parseltongue.

a shiver courses through you, a mix of the forbidden magic in his voice and the wickedly possessive way he moves. your moans escape, unbidden, half driven by the sinful pleasure of his thrust, half by the raw power that drips from every syllable of the serpentine language.

he thrusts into you, rough and unrelenting, his desire consuming him like wildfire. pain and pleasure blur together, and you feel the force of his need—not just a craving, but a deep, primal hunger that won't be denied. his movements claim you completely, leaving no room for anything but him.

a low moan escaped your lips as the sharp mix of pleasure and pain surged through you, his thick cock stretching you in ways you never imagined. the absurdity of it all struck you briefly—getting off to tom riddle speaking parseltongue, of all things, while he fucked you so thoroughly. this felt like a fever dream, surreal and all-consuming. you turned your head to look at him, needing to see the man unravelling you so completely.

tom reached for the hem of his crisp white shirt, tucking it between his teeth as he pulled it over his stomach. the fabric bunched at his chest, revealing the sharp ridges of his abs and the defined cut of his v-line. the sight alone made you clench involuntarily around him. his piercing gaze snapped to yours, and the subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth set your pulse racing. you hated that smirk—hated how smug he always looked. but merlin, he looked devastatingly good right now.

a muffled groan left his lips, raw and unrestrained. "f-fuck, yes. just like that," he rasped, his voice breaking as the shirt slipped from his teeth, falling to obscure his torso again. his tone dipped, sliding into parseltongue as his hips began to piston into you with relentless precision. "you take me so well," he hissed in that serpentine tongue, each word coiling around you like a spell.

your cheek pressed against the cool, unyielding wood of the table, a faint sheen of drool escaping from the corner of your mouth as you lost yourself in him. "tom, please," you begged, voice trembling with need, arching your back in a desperate bid for more.

his response came swiftly, cutting through the haze of your mind. "such a filthy little whore," he growled, the final word spilling from his lips in parseltongue, each syllable dripping with sinful allure. "so greedy for me." his hands gripped your hips firmly as he withdrew his cock, leaving you unbearably empty.

a whimper fell from your lips at the sudden loss, only to be silenced as tom flipped you effortlessly, laying you back across the desk. his dark eyes bored into yours, a dangerous glint of control and desire reflected in their depths. he didn’t waste a second, shoving his cock into you with a maddening slowness.

it was torturous—the deliberate pace, the teasing stretch that left you gasping and clawing for more. "tom," you whined, the word escaping as a desperate plea. he chuckled lowly, a sound rich with amusement and wicked satisfaction. "shhh, darling," he murmured in parseltongue, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

you didn’t understand the words, but they set your nerves alight nonetheless. the cadence alone sent a shiver racing down your spine. unable to resist, you reached up, cupping his face gently with trembling hands and pulling him closer. your lips met his in a searing kiss, your desperation pouring into it. tom responded in kind, his hips snapping forward with sudden force, tearing a moan from your throat.

tom seized the moment, sliding his tongue into your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless. his kiss was relentless, consuming, leaving no room for thought. one of his hands snaked up to your neck, his fingers curling around it. he felt the heat of your pulse, the rhythmic throb against his fingertips igniting something dark and primal within him. his grip tightened, just enough to make your breath hitch—a perfect blend of restraint and domination.

it was all you needed. tom riddle, his hand firm on your throat, his lips devouring yours, sent your mind spiralling. a delicious haze clouded your thoughts, a mix of the airlessness and the intoxicating way he kissed you. he pulled back briefly, his piercing gaze sweeping over you, satisfaction flickering in his dark eyes. then, he leaned in, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth.

the sharp sting of his bite made you gasp. you tasted blood, metallic and warm, as his tongue swept over your lip, soothing the pain while claiming every part of you. the sensation of him inside you was overwhelming, each thrust sending shockwaves through your body. his free hand drifted from your neck, trailing lower with purpose. when his fingers found the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs, the pressure made you cry out.

“tom…” you moaned his name, the sound drawing a deep groan from him. his lips curled into a smirk as he watched you writhe beneath him.

“i’m close,” you gasped, your body trembling. the way his fingers moved, the rhythm of his hips driving into you, was pushing you to the edge.

“do it, whore,” he commanded, his voice low and laced with parseltongue. “come on my cock.”

the forbidden, guttural language sent you over the brink. ecstasy ripped through you, your muscles tightening around him as waves of pleasure crashed down. you cried his name, your legs wrapping around his waist, trembling as the aftershocks hit you.

tom’s control faltered, a guttural growl escaping his lips as he drove himself deep, holding your waist tightly as he cums inside of you. his hips moved in slow, deliberate motions as he rode out his climax, his weight pressing into you.

when it was over, he collapsed onto you, his breath ragged, his forehead damp with sweat. for a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your shared breathing. slowly, your hand drifted to his back, tracing soft circles until the rhythm of your breaths aligned.

after a while, tom pushed himself up, his expression unreadable. he muttered a spell, cleaning himself with a flick of his wand. without a word, he dressed with practiced precision, his movements calm and calculated. then, with another spell, he tidied you up, fixing your dishevelled appearance as if nothing had happened.

you adjusted your skirt, tossing your ruined tights onto the chair nearby before running your fingers through your hair. when you glanced at him, he was already watching you, his intense gaze locked on yours.

with a surprising tenderness, tom reached out, his hand resting on your cheek, thumb rubbing against it slowly. the simple gesture sent warmth rushing to your cheeks. you blinked, startled—not by his touch, but by the realisation that tom riddle, of all people, had just done something so unexpectedly intimate.

“i suppose i should speak parseltongue in front of you more often,” he murmured, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

you couldn’t stop the blush that deepened as he stepped back, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

with a flick of his wand, he summoned your discarded tights into his hand. “a souvenir,” he said smoothly, tucking them into his pocket before striding out, leaving you stunned.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

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wonderjanga · 5 months ago

Text

You Knew the Demon Head?

For this AU, I suppose we’d have to pretend that Ra’s al Ghul isn’t hundreds of years old, but rather thousands. So pretend for that this specific post he is.

Billy got a call from Nightwing. The man said he’d meant to call for Batman but had instead fumbled and called him instead for help. Cap still came to see if they needed anything. See, it turned out that Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and Robin were all patrolling when one of them found Lazarus Pit. So, now all four of them, now with the added Captain Marvel, were all standing around the Pit watching the green liquid.

Marvel: “Geez it’s been a long while since I’ve seen a Lazarus pit.”

Red Robin: “You know what these are?”

Marvel: “Yeah, I had a friend who used them to stay young.”

Robin!Damian: “The only people who use them for that purpose of the League of Assassins.”

Marvel: “Oh? You know about the League of Assassins, Robin five?”

Robin!Damian: “Robin five…?” *looks him up and down before shaking his head* “I was apart of them.”

Marvel: “Wait, really?”

Robin!Damian: “Yes?”

Marvel: “Wow… Y’know, I haven’t heard that name in so long, and think I get to meet a real life member again. You’re sort of young, but I do remember Ra’s mentioning taking in orphans.”

Robin!Damian: “You say that like you knew my grandfather.”

Marvel: “Ra’s is your grandpa?” *looks him up and down* “I don’t really see the resemblance.”

Robin!Damian: “I’ve been told I look more like my father.”

*silence*

Nightwing: “Uh, Cheese? How do you know about the League of Assassins? Let alone Ra’s al Ghul. I would’ve thought something like this was a little too… gritty for you.”

Marvel: “What’s that mean?”

Red Hood: “He means you’re like a ball of sunshine, and that people like you don’t really associate with stuff like assassins. You normally fight mad scientists or witches or whatever.”

Marvel: “Uh… Red Hood? Your name is Red Hood right?”

Red Hood: *nods head*

Marvel: “I fight against monsters, mind control, and Nazis on an almost daily basis. This isn’t really above me.” *looks back to Nightwing* “Anyways, you asked how I knew him, right?”

Nightwing: *nods head*

Marvel: “Well, you see, a long time ago we used to be best buds!” *all smiley*

*another silence*

Nightwing: “What…?”

Red Robin: “You were best buds with the head of a- sorry, the organization of assassins.”

Marvel: “Yeah! Me and Ra’s go away back. Like thousands upon thousands of years back. I was actually apart of the original LoA if you think about it.

Robin!Damian: “So you and grandfather were comrades?”

Marvel: “Guess so. But we stopped talking ever since I died.”

Red Hood: “Huh…?”

Marvel: “I die, I revive as a new person, and then I remember who I was before, if that makes sense. That’s happened multiple times.” *trying to be as vague about the Champion of Magic stuff as possible*

Red Robin: “So you reincarnate?”

Marvel: “Something like that. It’s not really reincarnation because it’s not my soul that gets reincarnated, it’s mostly just my memories. I become a completely different person.” *looks to Damian* “That’s probably why when your grandpa and I met again, he was a little upset that I wasn’t the me he knew before.”

Robin!Damian: “You’ve both met again?”

Marvel: “We’ve met multiple times over the years. He’s still a little salty whenever he sees me, but I think it’s gone down a little bit.”

*silence*

Nightwing: “I’m still confused though! How do you just become besties with the Demon’s Head?”

Marvel: “Well, he wasn’t always the Demon’s Head, Robin one. He used to be a healer.”

Robin!Damian: “Grandfather was a healer?”

Marvel: “Yeah, he understood germ theory before literally anyone else. You know that right? He was a brilliant man, really. Anyways, when I was just a normal kid before I got my memories, we became friends. Then, when I got my powers and memories back, me and the tribe helped him take over the city.”

Red Hood: “What city?”

Marvel: “You know, the city. The one that Ra’s and his tribe took over after a king sentenced him to killing his own wife, even though the prince of that city actually killed wife.” *said all of that in one breath*

Robin!Damian: “I have a grandmother?”

Marvel: “Yup! I have no idea who your parent is though because when she died, I don’t recall them having any children.”

Red Robin: “I love how you’re dropping all of this lore like it’s nothing.”

Marvel: “Fun fact, after taking over the city, that’s when he started calling himself the Demon’s Head I think.”

Marvel continued to drop multiple lore bombs about Ra’s after that. Meanwhile, Ra’s is minding his own business somewhere else.

Ra’s al Ghul: *pauses whatever he was doing* “Something just happened…”

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #fawcett #fawcett city #fawcett comics

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tokeposts · 6 days ago

Text

𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜!

pairing: racer!bakugou x crew cheif!reader

warnings/genre: cussing, sexual innuendos, reader’s a bit on the bossy side (no bullshit, typpa attitude)

notes: thank you cars 1/3 for this inspiration.

1.3k | being the crew chief and his boss would be easy if it weren’t for all the feelings.

the sun beats down on the road, the asphalt shimmering like it’s on fire. engines roar in the background, a chorus of machines begging for speed. you watch as the blur of orange and green pass by again, bakugou’s car (queen explosion murder god, you hate it just as much as anyone else) takes a sharp turn on the track. his engines screeches before shooting back to life again.

bakugou grumbles, you hear it in your earpiece, but it’s not enough to make out exactly what he says. you imagine he’s gripping his steering wheel like it has personally offended him, lips pressed into a deep scowl.

you stand in the pit, arms crossed. your attention shooting up from the screen to the real life race every now and then. it’s your job to watch, to notice so when his vehicle jerks slightly to the left. you hesitantly reach out towards your ear piece.

it’s just an inch, your brows furrow, but that could cost us the whole thing. having made up your mind, you tap your mic on and it crackles to life.

“you’re overheating. pull back.”

bakugou scoffs, but before he can protest you cut in again, “or i’ll get on that damn track and make you do it myself.”

“no way,” his rough voice echoes in your ear. “i’ve got half n’ half on my ass.”

you sigh through the line. not a nervous sound, a knowing one. bakugou imagines you pinching at your nose bridge. the thought is enough to make him crack a smile.

“and you’ll keep him there if you listen to me.” you look up at the track. out of the corner of your eyes, a yellow flag waves in the air, a saving grace to your oncoming headache that is bakugou katsuki.

“yellow flag. shoto’s gonna pit. you need to pull back—“

“are you fucking—”

“now.”

your tone leaves no room for argument, bakugou curses under his breath, but he adjusts. you’re the boss after all, the only one who can talk him down, talk him through, or talk him out of punching someone in the face after a race. the fire to his gasoline.

you’ve been on his team for a while now, climbing up from tire specialist to chief, and every step you took felt like a battle especially with him. bakugou is impossible. reckless, arrogant yet equally brilliant and completely genuine.

and the worst part? despite his loud mouth and his glare, he is a winner.

and you adore him for it.

even when he leans in too close at team meetings. even when he causes yet another upset worldwide when he proclaims he’ll win this race and every other race afterwards. even when he snaps at reporters and then looks for you across the paddock like he needs you to calm the noise in his head.

it is unfair, you think, but everytime it happens there you are right by his side yet again. it makes your breath hitch how quickly he looks past the cameras, searching for you. it makes your chest ache with the idea of something more.

but you’ve known him long enough to know though that if katsuki bakugou wanted something more from you, he’d have said it by now.

that fact is set in stone when you made your way up the chain of command, promotion after promotion. seeing his face more often and seeing his resolve go from the cocky rookie to masterful vetern. your permanency was stitched in red thread across your chest right under your name: crew chief.

you are technically his boss, whether he admits it or not, and that alone was what made you draw a hard line in the sand when it came to anything other than racing.

though there were times when that line was blurred. one specific night comes to mind. bakugou’s first back to back of the season. a team celebration, filled with loud music, endless champagne, and confetti. everyone was riding the high, it showed in the way they all laughed too hard, talked too fast.

you were there, drink in hand, smile pulled tight and practiced. but the buzz was already fading from your system. you’d never liked being the center of it or at least not like this. not when it felt a little too shallow.

so you slipped away.

you found solstice in a quiet balcony. your shoulders sagged. for a second, it was just you. the stars. the wind. then— bootsteps.

you didn’t turn.

“you always duck out like that?”

his voice cut through the quiet, low and rough.

“i don’t like noise.”

he leaned on the doorframe, champagne glass in one hand, half-buttoned race team shirt open over his fireproofs. hair messy. smudged with glitter and a bit of soot like the celebration just couldn’t wash him clean.

he finds his way next to you leaning on the balcony. your team’s celebration echoes through the walls, the laughter fading away into cricket chirps.

bakuogu sighs, “everyone’s talking about your calls.”

you shrugged, swishing the champagne in your glass. “just did my job.”

you don’t know when, but he was closer now. too close.

“damn good, though.” his red hues flicked to the side of your face, searching. “you got me over the line.”

“sure, but you still didn’t listen to half of what i said,” you clicked your tongue, shaking your head.

he huffed a short laugh, “but you still brought us home.”

you hum and the silence that followed was softer. quieter. the stars your only witness to the way his eyes shimmered when you finally met his gaze.

you don’t remember who was the first one to lean in.

something in your chest tightens. a scoff echoes through your mic and you can hear bakugou’s shit eating grin even before he speaks.

“you alright, cheif? or are you done riding me?”

you shoot out of your seat in the pit box, eyes wide and jaw clenched. this fucking guy.

“if i don’t ride you, you crash. so shut up and win.” you grit.

silence. then a low laugh from the other end of the line. you hear him take a breath, anticipating a snarky reply from the driver himself but then—

“uh… just a reminder to keep this line clear so we can communicate openly.” a warm voice crackles in your ear. you look over at the pit and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you, “whatever denki.”

tufts of eletric blonde hair, peek out from the pits. he waves you off, a drill in his hand, with a knowing grin and wink. there is no word from katsuki, but his engine revs in the distance, prompting you to turn away from kaminari. it’s like he knows you’re watching him because your mic cracks to life again.

“shut it, box dye.” kaminari protest, but you do not care to listen. you can hear bakugou’s grin through the mic.

“win? yeah, yeah. i’m on it, chief.” his voice is softer, kinder like there’s something there hidden between the lines. it makes your knees weak, flashbacks of that night play in your head.

later, when the race ended and he climbed out of the car, face flushed and sweat-slicked, his eyes found you across the track. he pulled his helmet off, grinning with sharp teeth like a warrior.

you marched up to him, a weird combo of rage and thrill mixed in with every step. “you ignored my call to pit on lap 92.”

he looked down at you, smug. “still crossed that damn line first.”

“you could’ve—”

“but i didn’t.” he stepped close. “you trust me?”

you didn’t back down. “i do. doesn’t mean i won’t kill you if you die on my track.”

his gaze dropped to your lips. “then i’ll just keep giving you reasons to keep me alive.”

you hated how hot your cheeks felt under the oil-stained brim of your hat. you scoff, walking forward towards your team who’s already celebrating.

“don’t start something you can’t finish, katsuki.” you don’t expect him to say anything back, as your getting closer and closer to the team, but even with how well you work togethere— you should also know by now that he’s full of surpises.

“oh, i always finish, chef.” he murmurs in passing, jogging slightly ahead of you. he doesn’t look back, but you already now he’s smiling.

#mha #bnha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #mha fluff #mha smut #mha angst #bakugou fluff #bakugou smut #my hero acadamia #my hero academy

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shanastoryteller · 7 months ago

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HAPPY HALLOFUCKINGWEEN SHANA!! 👻🎃 🧛 Atla with Rainbow Fire zuko (zukka) please and thank you 🌈😘💖

Sokka squints on the window. "What the hell is that?"

Zuko doesn't look up from his scroll. "Fire."

Not for the first time, he considers the merits of killing a fire lord. He did it once, surely he could do it twice. It's unfortunate he's married to this one. "Why is it so many different colors?"

The flames lighting up the palace have all shifted to brilliant greens and blues and purples, beautiful but not exactly fire-like.

"Celebration for some sort of cosmic event, the stars are in alignment. Or maybe out out alignment. I don't know, ask Uncle."

There's almost no question he wants answered badly enough to get stuck drinking tea with Iroh for several hours. "Not really what I was asking. How is it so many different colors?"

"Salt," Zuko answers.

He thinks of how fucking difficult it was back home to get the salt they needed to preserve food, scooping up sea water and simmering and scraping it into containers. Sometimes it's not the gold and silk that reminds him of the opulence of his current life. It's shit like using salt to make pretty fire. "Can't you do it without salt?"

"I can," he says. "Aang can. But having a fire lord or an avatar standing outside to make pretty colors seems a bit like resource mismanagement."

Aang would probably love it, actually. It's too bad he's in the Earth Kingdom right now.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #atla

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4m0r1m · 1 month ago

Text

You're So Stupid, But I Love You

SUMMARY: You're scared. He's stubborn. And the Triwizard Tournament just might break you both.

WORD COUNT: 2,154 words

PAIRING: harry potter x girlfriend!reader

You’d never known fear quite like this.

It wasn’t the sort that crept up in the night or made your skin crawl — it was heavier. Sits in your chest. Dulls your appetite. Keeps you up at night staring at the ceiling of the girls’ dormitory with tears drying on your cheeks and your heart pounding in your throat.

Harry had been chosen. Your Harry. Your boyfriend. Your best friend. Your world.

You could still see the blue flames spitting out that slip of parchment. “Harry Potter.” You could still hear the whispers, the betrayal in Ron’s voice, the confusion on Dumbledore’s face. But all you could feel — then and now — was fear.

And anger.

Because when you’d tried to talk to him that night, tried to beg him not to go through with it, he’d just looked at you like you didn’t understand.

“You’re not even supposed to be in it!” you’d shouted at him, your fists clenched at your sides. “This is madness, Harry. They’ve got no idea how dangerous it’s going to be! Why won’t you just—”

“I didn’t put my name in!” he barked back, eyes flashing. “You think I want this?”

“Then why are you going along with it? Why not refuse?”

“Because I can’t!” His voice cracked. “It’s some kind of magical contract — I have to compete. I didn’t ask for this. But it’s happening. And I’m not going to run away like a coward.”

You’d blinked, stunned by the weight of his words — and the way he’d looked at you. Defensive. Frustrated. Hurt.

“Fine,” you’d said coldly. “Then go ahead. Be the stupid bloody hero.”

And you’d stormed off, ignoring the sound of your name echoing behind you.

You hadn’t spoken since. He’d tried — bumping into you in the corridor, sending Hedwig with small notes, asking Hermione to intervene — but you weren’t ready.

You couldn’t bear to look him in the eye and pretend everything was fine while he stood on the edge of danger. You didn’t want to say something cruel. And truthfully, you didn’t trust yourself not to cry the second he apologised — or worse, the second he didn’t.

And now... now it was the day of the First Task.

You sat high up in the stands, knees bouncing anxiously, fingers twisted in your school scarf. The entire stadium buzzed with anticipation — students, professors, guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. All of them here to watch four students risk their lives.

You didn’t care about the others. Your eyes were only searching for one person.

And then — there he was.

Harry emerged from the tent, clutching his wand, pale but composed. His green eyes scanned the crowd nervously. And for one brief second, they found yours.

You saw it. A flicker of surprise. Then relief. Then... pain.

He still looked for you. Still wanted you there.

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest.

I’m here, Harry. I’m here.

The task began. You couldn’t breathe.

The announcer’s voice faded into white noise as you watched the Hungarian Horntail rear its hideous head. The spikes. The flame. The way it charged. The entire arena gasped, but you were already on your feet, hands clutching the railing as Harry ran.

He was brilliant. Terrified, but brilliant. You screamed when he summoned his broom. You clapped when he dodged the first blast of fire. And when he soared into the air, taunting the dragon into open sky, your jaw dropped in awe.

“Come on, Harry,” you whispered, unable to tear your eyes away. “You can do this...”

And then — yes! He got the egg.

Cheers erupted all around you. But you didn’t cheer. You bolted.

You didn’t even realise you were running until you reached the tent. You ducked past a distracted official and burst through the entrance just as Harry was setting the golden egg down on a table, sweat-soaked and trembling.

He turned, startled — and froze.

“...You came.”

You didn’t say a word. You just walked up to him slowly, tears already blurring your vision. He looked rough — blood on his shirt, a burn on his arm, hair windswept and eyes wide.

But he was alive. He was okay.

And he was Harry.

“I’m still mad at you,” you said quietly, voice cracking.

“I know,” he whispered, taking a step closer.

“That was the stupidest, most reckless thing I’ve ever seen you do.”

“I know that too.”

“You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t.”

You let out a shuddering breath.

And then you threw your arms around him.

He caught you instantly, arms wrapping tight around your waist as you buried your face in his shoulder. The sobs came without warning, silent but fierce, tears soaking his robes as he stroked your back and whispered your name again and again like a prayer.

“I was so scared,” you breathed against his neck. “You absolute idiot. I couldn’t even look at you. I was just... I thought I was going to lose you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His face was close. Closer than it had been in weeks. You could see the little freckle near his jaw. The way his bottom lip trembled. The hurt in his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to push you away. I just—everything happened so fast, and I felt like no one believed me. Not even Ron. But I never wanted to lose you.”

You reached up and cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the dirt and ash from his skin.

“You didn’t lose me, Harry. I was just too scared to watch you walk into danger without fighting it somehow.”

“I know,” he murmured. “But I had to do it. And I’m glad you came.”

Before you could reply, there was a click. Then another.

You turned sharply and spotted her.

“Rita Skeeter?” you snapped.

She lowered her enchanted camera with a wicked little smile. “Don’t mind me. Just capturing a tender moment. Readers love a good romance... especially when it’s forbidden. Tell me, dear, are you the tragic sweetheart left behind while Harry battles dragons?”

Harry growled low in his throat. “Go away.”

“Oh, but this will make such a powerful headline. ‘Boy Who Lived Finds Love on the Battlefield.’ Or perhaps something juicier — ‘Secret Girlfriend Comforts Champion Potter.’”

“I swear to Merlin—” you began, but she was already sashaying off with a smug grin and her camera in tow.

You turned back to Harry, exasperated.

“She’s vile.”

“She’s insufferable.”

You both laughed.

And just like that, the tension cracked.

Later that night, you found him alone in the common room. The fire was low, his egg was sitting unopened on the table, and he looked tired.

You sat beside him in silence. For a moment, all you did was hold his hand.

“I really thought I was going to mess it up,” he said finally. “I kept thinking about you. What you’d say if I got burnt or dropped off my broom or—”

“Don’t,” you whispered. “I can’t even bear the thought of it.”

He looked at you, his eyes glassy. “You matter more to me than all of this. Than glory. Than the bloody Cup. I’m sorry I didn’t say that before.”

You blinked away tears.

“I love you,” he said simply.

You stared at him, stunned.

But it wasn’t panic that washed over you — it was peace. Like hearing something you already knew but had never dared to say aloud.

You leaned in and kissed him. Slow, tender, and warm. The kind of kiss that said please don’t do anything that dangerous again, and I forgive you, and I love you too.

When you pulled back, you were both smiling.

“You’re still stupid,” you teased gently.

“And you’re still stubborn,” he shot back.

“But we’re okay?”

“We’re okay.”

And with your head on his shoulder, the fire crackling softly beside you, the fear finally started to fade.

A/N: Please let's imagine that Harry's older than 18😭😭

Hope you like this!!

#fanfic #oneshots #reader insert #imagines #romance #writing #harry potter #harry potter imagine #hp fandom #harry potter fandom #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you

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auroreliis · 8 months ago

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Honestly if I was batsis I'd pretend to have a crush on the batboys close friends(excluding Damian because he and Jon are still babies) just to annoy them. Jason bring Roy over? Suddenly I'm very interested in his tattoo's and I want to know all about archery. I catch kon in the kitchen in Tim? Suddenly i'm very into the conversation they're having and am making eye contact a lot with Kon. I feel liked they'd do something like this; Batsis: You know I really like your tattoos. Roy: Oh thanks. Jason: ... You gotta go, like, now. Roy: What-

Brilliant, anon!! What a great idea!! This was very fun to write :)

(don't mind the spelling mistakes please lol. i am tired out of my mind)

For starters, when Bruce first introduced the members of the Justice League to you (it took a lot of convincing), you just couldn’t help but flirt with them.

I mean, just LOOK at Aquaman. The moment you laid your eyes on him, you felt a spark. He hadn’t noticed you staring, but surely he had felt it too. Bruce, however, had noticed you staring. He didn’t seem particularly amused, almost as though he saw you daydreaming about your wedding with Aquaman. Just when you were making your way over to them, Bruce scowled and swiftly led Aquaman away. After that, you never saw him ever again…

Or that one time when Green Lantern came over. Wow. What a man. You didn’t waste a second walking up to him and introducing yourself. The giggles you were suppressing nearly slipped out after you saw Bruce’s eye twitch. Green Lantern entertained your advances, though you knew he wasn’t interested in you. Whenever Bruce started with his, “Hal. We should leave”, you would always interrupt him with more questions directed at Hal.

“So…do you like pasta? I’m actually really good at making it. You should come over, you know? I could treat you!” You all but winked at him.

Hal found it very interesting, don’t get him wrong, he thought you were very funny, but when Bruce is standing right there beside him, he felt…intimidated. So intimidated, in fact, that he can barely reply to your questions.

“Oh…um…” he nervously glanced at Bruce. “Green. You know what, kid? Your father and I have some business to attend to…so…see you next time. Good luck with the um…yeah, never mind.”

Hal sped off, leaving you and Bruce alone. You had been in the mood to laugh until your father turned to you with a serious expression. Suddenly you weren’t in the mood to laugh anymore. To put it simply, it was a clear warning: Don’t do it again, his look communicated.

Now, Constantine, he was fun to hang around with, likely because he isn’t as scared of Batman as the rest is. And also, he’s hot. “You are so cool, honestly. It’s really impressive how often you’ve escaped death”, you leaned against the wall. To be honest, you weren’t even listening to what he was saying, all you needed to hear was his strong English accent and little sprinkles of humor.

After some bribery, you had gotten Tim to tell you that Bruce was most concerned about you meeting Constantine. For some reason, you figured…

“So…I like older men, what about you?”, you batted your eyelashes at him. You didn’t have Bruce in your periphery, as you were focusing on John, but you could imagine him shaking in fury.

“Yeah, I like older men too”, he replied nonchalantly. Dammit, he got you. Well, he was a funny guy.

Bruce seemingly relaxed at that, but that’s not to say that he was satisfied with the interaction taking place. “You’re funny, are you single-”, you could barely finish your sentence before Dick dragged you away to spend time with you. Though, you believe that Bruce asked Dick to get you away just so you couldn’t talk to Constantine like that.

Bruce had way too many attractive friends. Well, almost all his friends were attractive: Wonder Woman, Superman, Flash…hell, even Martian Manhunter. I mean, he can read minds! Just imagine the potential…

“So, I heard you can read minds. Read mine right now”, your grin was…suspicious. Bruce couldn’t read minds like J’onn could, but he could imagine what you were thinking about. No, actually, he didn’t want to imagine it.

“J’onn.”, Bruce, ever so stern, called out and gestured towards the door. The J’onn in question had merely walked off in that direction silently, as though having understood Bruce’s point from one word. Martian Manhunter hadn’t read your mind that day, to your dismay. However, you had managed to make Bruce uncomfortable, so that was considered a win.

Dick himself had very attractive friends. Wally West, quite the flirt, was among them. Though, oddly enough, you had imagined him to be more flirty. It couldn’t be that Dick took a page out of Bruce’s book and told him to watch it, right?

“So, you’re fast, huh?”, you looked Wally up and down. “I happen to be”, Wally glanced at Dick.

“Okaayyyyy, Wally, you should leave”, Dick spoke with a strained smile.

“Yeah. Oh, by the way, what about the-”

“Now.”

Wally looked around awkwardly, “…right.”

And Raven—what a woman. Plus, Cyborg and Starfire filled your thoughts. Though Wally was the first and last friend of Dick’s you ever saw. A pity. He seemed to have learnt his lesson…

Now Roy Harper, Jason’s friend, was quite something. Tattoos? Archery? Hell yeah.

“Wow, so you like engineering books? Well, the manor has a huge variety. You should come by more often”, you smiled innocently.

“Um, actually, he will NOT be coming over ever again”, Jason frowned at your words.

“Why not?”, both you and Roy turned to Jason.

“BECAUSE I said so”, you and Roy made eye contact awkwardly.

“You”, Jason points at Roy, “Get out.”

“What? But you said you needed my he-”

“NOWWWW. Do NOT make me repeat myself.”

Yeah, Roy leaving was more awkward than anything else that had happened so far.

Jason didn’t have that many friends, as far as you knew at least. In other words: You would never see Roy ever again…

Now Tim, being charming himself, had many attractive friends.

For starters: Conner Kent.

You hadn’t had much contact with the Kents, however Conner had come over a few times. And wow. Despite being overly confident (and often obnoxious), he was very, very attractive. However, you have never talked to him. The reason? Tim makes sure he keeps you at arm’s length. In fact, you’re not sure you could ever find a way to interract with Tim’s friends…unless…

“Hey, Tim!”, Jason called out, “Bruce says you need to go to the cave right now.”

“What? But I have guests over…”, Tim eyes Jason suspiciously.

“I mean, if you wanna get in trouble with him, be my guest”, Jay raised his hands defensively.

“I-…fine. Conner, just a second, I will be right back. DO NOT move”, Tim sighs.

After Tim left, you shot Jason a thumbs-up and went to mingle with Superboy.

“Good evening. You must be Conner. I’ve heard a lot about you from Tim”, you say, taking it slow.

“Good evening! Hopefully you only heard good things!”, he grins.

“Oh, plenty of good things. Say, if you really can fly, then why don’t you take me for a ride? I haven’t ever seen the sky from…well, up in the sky”, you copied his grin.

“Ah, well, I would, really, but I’m not sure how Tim would feel, you know? I mean, he’s a bit of a-”, Conner started.

“A bit of a what.”, a new voice shocked the both of you.

Tim. Where the hell did he come from?

“I though I told you to leave if they started talking to you?”, Tim ignored you, only focusing on scolding Conner.

“Well, that would’ve been incredibly rude…”, Conner struggled to defend himself.

“You.”, Tim turns to you.

“Me?”, you said, though you weren’t scared of him anymore.

“Yes, you. What’s the big idea? Why did you pull that just to talk to Conner? I don’t know what you have planned, but forget it immediately. If you don’t leave right now, I’ll tell Bruce to reinstate the therapy sessions. Then you can explain to him why you enjoy sabotaging others so much.”

That was, quite frankly, terrifying. You hadn’t been this scared of Tim in a while.

Well, safe to say you won’t be doing this again…

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animeficsworld · 1 month ago

Text

Hands Made to Hold You

Umemiya Hajime x Reader

Summary: Umemiya’s hands were made for fighting, but when it came to you, all he wanted was to hold on tighter.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

The first time you met Umemiya, it was pure chaos.

You had tripped outside the café you worked at, sending coffee cups crashing to the sidewalk and before you could even panic, a flash of green caught your eye.

A boy with messy hair, a wide grin, you’d ever seen had crouched down and started helping you pick everything up like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Whoa, you okay there, Sunshine?" he asked, flashing you a smile so bright it nearly knocked the air out of your lungs.

You’d blushed like an idiot and nodded.

He’d laughed, a warm, easy sound that stuck to your ribs even after he left.

You didn’t expect to see him again.

You definitely didn’t expect him to become a regular.

At first, he just came for the coffee.

Always the same order, black, no sugar. Always leaned on the counter with that same crooked smile, tapping his fingers on the wood like he had too much energy bottled up inside him.

Then it became different.

He’d start asking about your day.

He’d bring you random things—like a little cactus in a cracked pot "Thought it looked lonely like you sometimes," he said, winking or a keychain shaped like a cat, "Matched your vibe.".

Sometimes, he’d walk you to the bus stop if it was late.

He never asked for anything.

You didn’t know how to tell him that just seeing him, messy hair, bruised knuckles, heart shining so obviously through his stupid, brilliant smile, was starting to mean more to you than you could handle.

One night, it rained.

Hard.

The streets flooded, the buses stopped, and you were stuck at the café with no way home.

You were standing at the door, staring out miserably at the storm, when you heard a familiar voice:

"Hey. Thought you might need a ride."

You turned, and there he was.

Soaked from head to toe, holding a too-small umbrella, grinning like he’d just conquered the world.

"You’re crazy," you said, laughing, wiping your hands on your apron.

"Maybe," he said, stepping closer, "but only about you."

The words hit you like thunder.

You blinked up at him, heart slamming against your ribs.

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. "I, uh, figured—y'know, if you wanted... I could walk you home. Or, hell, carry you. Piggyback style. I’m strong, you know. Or, uh, if you hate that idea, I’ll just-"

"Ume," you said softly, cutting him off.

He froze.

You’d never called him that before.

It felt intimate.

"I’d like that," you said. "Walk me home."

You ended up under the tiny umbrella, pressed so close your hands brushed every time you shifted.

His hand kept twitching like he wanted to grab yours, but didn’t know if he could.

Finally, after two blocks of unbearable silence, you slipped your fingers into his.

His hand jerked in surprise, but then squeezed back so tightly you thought he might never let go.

"You’re really warm," you mumbled.

He laughed under his breath. "Yeah, well. Got a lotta heat to share, sunshine."

The rain kept falling, soaking through your shoes.

But it didn’t matter.

Not when he was looking at you like you were the reason he showed up at all.

Not when you realized you were looking at him the same way.

Later that night, after he dropped you off at your door and turned to leave, you tugged on his hand.

He turned back.

You stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, quick and shy.

He stood there frozen, like you’d short-circuited him.

Then he laughed and swept you into a hug so tight it knocked the breath right out of you.

"You’re stuck with me now," he whispered against your hair.

And you whispered back, "Good."

Because you didn’t want to be anywhere else.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

#Umemiya Hajime x Reader #Umemiya Hajime x you #Umemiya Hajime #Umemiya Hajime imagine #Umemiya Hajime imagines #Umemiya Hajime scenario #Umemiya Hajime scenarios #anime scenarios #anime fanfic #anime imagines #wind breaker scenarios #wind breaker anime #wind break #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker

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meazalykov · 1 month ago

Text

floral fragrance

niamh charles x f!reader

nobody is obsessed with your signature scent like she is

warnings: established relationship. spicy at the end

it is rainy and the grass damp beneath your boots kind of bothers you, however, you decide to not let that stress you out today. it smells nice outside, the post-rain atmosphere making the grass look so green and smell so earthy.

to the rest of the team, it's the floral fragrance they smell and not the rain. it trails you, a soft whisper of jasmine and rose that cuts through the sharpness of sweat and turf. it’s your signature, as much a part of you as the pink training kit clinging to your frame.

naimh, your girlfriend of three years, is already warming up across the field, her eyes finding you like they always do.

she’s all focus but the moment she spots you, her lips curve into a smile that’s just for you.

“you smell like a bloody garden again,” she teases later, when you’re stretching side by side. the woman’s voice is low, meant only for your ears, and her hand brushes yours deliberately as she adjusts her shin guards.

“you love it,” you shoot back grinning, “don’t pretend you’re not sniffing me every chance you get.”

naimh laughs with a sound that makes your chest feel light. she leans closer, her breath warm against your ear, “guilty, but i can’t help it when you’re this distracting.”

on the pitch, you and naimh move like you’re tethered by something invisible. you’re a midfielder, weaving through opponents as your sharp passes get to your forwards. naimh, your defender, is a shield, her presence steady.

during a tense moment against arsenal, an opponent barrels toward you. the ball is knocked off of your feet as you tumble to the ground but naimh is there, intercepting with a clean pass up to catarina that sends the ball rolling out of danger.

as she gets up, she winks at you. during a corner kick from cat, you catch a faint trace of your girlfriend’s cedarwood-scented deodorant mixing with your floral notes since she stands behind you.

after the whistle blows with london staying blue (ahhhh) you’re both sweaty and exhilarated.

naimh jogs over, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“you were brilliant out there,” she says, her voice soft but proud, “that assist to sandy was filthy.”

“you weren’t bad yourself,” you reply, leaning into her. your fragrance clings to you even now, and you notice her inhale subtly, her eyes half-closing for a second.

“keep wearing that scent, and i’m not letting you out of my sight tonight,” she murmurs, her tone playful but edged with something deeper.

outside of football, your love blooms in quiet moments. you and naimh share a flat in london, a cozy space filled with plants you both tend to and framed photos of your travels while with the club team (and national team if you’re english).

one saturday morning, you’re in the kitchen, brewing coffee, your floral perfume lingering in the air. you’re wearing a loose sweater and jeans, your hair still slightly messy from nine hours of sleep, but naimh can’t stop staring.

she’s sprawled on the couch, pretending to scroll through her phone, but her eyes keep drifting to you.

“stop doing that. you’re gonna burn a hole through me,” you call out, pouring coffee into two mugs.

“sorry, can’t help it,” she says, setting her phone down and crossing the room. you know she is never sorry.

she wraps her arms around your waist from behind, her chin resting on your shoulder.

“you smell so good, it’s unfair. like, how am i supposed to function knowing you’re in my senses?”

you laugh while turning in her arms to face her, “you’re dramatic.”

“and you’re addictive,” she counters, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. naimh’s lips linger, and you feel her breathe you in, like your scent is something she needs to ground herself.

“i’d bottle you if i could.”

you spend the day wandering through a local market, hand in hand. naimh insists on buying you a new perfume. it is a floral one, of course, with notes of peony and lily.

“it’s not as good as yours,” she says as you test it on your wrist, “but it’ll do for when you’re not around.”

you roll your eyes but spritz it on, and she pulls you close right there in the shop, ignoring the amused glance from the cashier.

“yep,” she says, her nose brushing your wrist, “still prefer the original.”

another evening, after a long training session, you’re both at a team dinner. the restaurant is calm but your teammates laughing and causing chaotic conversations. naimh’s attention is on you.

you’re seated next to her, your floral scent mingling with the aroma of pasta and wine. she’s got her hand resting on your thigh under the table, her thumb tracing lazy circles.

“you’re quiet tonight,” you say, leaning toward her.

“just thinking about how lucky i am,” she replies, her voice soft enough that only you can hear.

“you, this team, us. and, you know, how you smell better than anything in this place.”

you nudge her with your elbow, but your cheeks warm, “shut up, you’re such a simp.”

“only for you,” she says, squeezing your thigh gently. naimh’s bright eyes hold yours, and for a moment, the noise of the restaurant fades. it’s just you and her. teammates notice, but decide to just leave you to yourselves and leave the teasing for another day.

later, when you’re back home, the mood shifts. you’re in the bedroom, changing into pajamas, and naimh is watching you from the bed, her gaze intense. you catch her eye and pause, a smirk tugging at your lips.

“what?”

“come here,” she says, her voice low and inviting.

you do, and she pulls you onto her lap, her hands sliding under your shirt to rest on your hips. “you have no idea what you do to me,” she murmurs, her lips brushing your collarbone. your floral scent is stronger here, warm from your skin, and she breathes it in like it’s a drug.

naimh’s kisses trail lower, teasing but deliberate, and you feel her smile against your skin as you shiver.

she whispers, “you are going be the death of me.”

you laugh softly, but it catches in your throat as her hands wander, her touch light but electric. it’s a dance of restraint and want, her adoration woven into every brush of her lips. you pull her closer, and the world narrows to the heat of her, and the floral notes that cling to you.

#niamh charles #niamh charles x reader #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #chelsea fcw #chelsea women #lionesses #lionesses x reader

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andy-15-07 · 1 month ago

Note

More tommyyyyyy

Can you write sth where there's a misunderstanding and he thinks f!reader doesn't want him bc he is too old ? (Reader of course does not care and is deeply in love with him...) ❣️

Old Bones, Younger Hearts

PAIRING: Tommy Miller x reader

Word Count:1885| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

The Last Of Us Masterlist

Tommy’s boots crunched softly on the frost-hardened dirt path as he made his way back to your little cabin on the edge of Jackson. Dawn’s pale light was just brushing the sky, and the settlement was stirring,guards taking up posts, chairs scraping porches, and the distant click of the generator sputtering to life. He paused at your front door, squared his broad shoulders, and rapped twice, heart thundering in his chest.

When you opened the door, yawning, hair in chaotic ringlets, and a steaming mug of coffee in hand, something constricted his chest. You offered him that brilliant half-asleep smile that always felt like sunshine after too many months underground. “Morning, cowboy,” you murmured.

“Morning,” he replied quietly, stepping in. He glanced down at himself,worn leather jacket, faded jeans, scruffy brown hair mussed from sleeping in his clothes. Nothing too awful, but still. He brushed past you toward the tiny kitchen area. “Coffee’s good.”

You poured him a cup and set it on the battered wooden table. Your cabin was modest,two rooms, a little wood-burning stove, a rusted record player in the corner. You’d painted wildflowers along the windowsill, and on the wall hung a photograph of you and Tommy from last spring: standing in the field outside Jackson, sunlight dancing across your faces. He sat heavily opposite you, eyes flicking around the room until they settled on that photo. He cleared his throat.

“We need to talk.”

You blinked, surprised. “We do?” You reached for your own mug. “Uh… okay. What’s up?”

He lifted the photo off the table and turned it face-down. His hands trembled,something you’d never seen before in him. You swallowed. “About New Order duties? The supply run?”

Tommy shook his head. “Not that.” He leaned forward, the low morning light catching in his green eyes. “It’s… us.”

Your heartbeat spiked. You’d sensed something off this morning,a flutter in the pit of your stomach,but you’d chalked it up to the cold. “Tommy…”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I,I’ve been thinking. About us.” He closed his eyes, as if bracing himself. “I think maybe… maybe I’m too old for you.”

The words hit you like an ice shard. You stared at him, uncomprehending. “Too old?” you echoed, voice small.

Tommy’s eyes snapped open, the guilt and fear swimming in them. “It’s,look, I know you’re young. I’m thirty-two,hell, I feel like fifty some days. You’re what, twenty-five? Twenty-six? And you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Then there’s me… I’m old. My bones ache, my reflexes aren’t what they used to be. One day I’ll be gone, and… and I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

Your heart twisted in your chest. “Tommy, come on. You know how I feel about you.”

He shook his head, voice quavering. “You deserve someone who can sprint through a warehouse, dodge a clicker, haul you out of trouble without breaking a sweat. Someone who,”

You slid off your chair, stomped over to him, and grabbed his face in both hands. “Stop.” Your voice was fierce. “Listen to me. I love you. Not some version of you that’s forever young and strong. I love you,right now, with your laugh, your stubborn jaw, your crooked smile, your… your scars. All of it.”

His eyes glistened with moisture. He swallowed hard. “You’re just saying that so I don’t leave you.”

You pressed your forehead to his. “I mean it, you idiot. You think I care about age? You think days left on your body matter more to me than the moments we have together? You can’t,” You choked on the next words. “You can’t let that stupid, fucking fear steal what we have.”

Tommy’s lips trembled, and he swallowed. “I don’t want you wasting your life on me.”

“You’re not a waste of anything.” You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the stubble along his jaw. “You’re my life.” You paused, breathless. “Now please, stop talking crazy.”

He closed his eyes against your palm and nodded slowly. “Okay.” His voice was muffled. “Okay.”

You laughed softly, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. “Good. So.” You stepped back. “How about breakfast?”

Tommy glanced at the stove, then back at you. “I think we’ve got some stale biscuits. And those eggs I traded for last week.”

You grinned and moved to the counter. “Sounds perfect.” As you cracked eggs into the pan, you heard him drop the photo of you two back onto the table. It slid, face-up. When you caught his eye, he said quietly, “Don’t ever hide that. It’s beautiful.”

You smiled back, heart soaring. “I won’t.”

Later that day, you found Tommy sitting on the porch of your cabin, guitar in his lap, playing a few soft chords that caught the sunlight. You carried out two steaming mugs of lemonade, handing him one. He looked up, surprised.

“Thanks,” he said.

You settled beside him on the weathered bench. “You know,” you said casually, “I was thinking we could go shooting at the range this afternoon. Dust off your elbows.”

He glanced over, half-smile tugging at his lips. “Think I can still hit a target?”

You nudged his shoulder. “Let’s find out.”

He set his mug down and scooted closer. “You’re sure you don’t mind the… age gap?”

Your eyebrows rose. “Tommy Miller, will you drop it?”

He closed his eyes, pained. He picked at the guitar’s body, as though turning the wood grain would unstick his thoughts. “I can’t help it. I worry I’m not gonna be around as long as you. I… I don’t deserve someone with so much life ahead of her.”

You reached for his hand. “Age doesn’t scare me. I want a man with some stories under his belt.” You poked his arm playfully. “Like music lessons from Harry the mechanic, two fights in Pittsburgh, and the time,and I quote, you got kicked by a horse and said, ‘That’s the Spirit of Jackson for ya.’”

He snorted, tension easing from his shoulders. “I said that?” He grinned. “Well, I meant it.”

You smiled, leaning against his shoulder. “You’re perfect.”

He tapped at his guitar strings. “I’m a little rough around the edges.”

“Edges are good,” you murmured. “Keeps things interesting.” You pressed a light kiss to his temple. “Now let’s go embarrass you in the shooting range.”

He stood, stretching like a cat. “Fine. But only if you promise not to laugh when I miss.”

“Oh, I’ll laugh,” you admitted. “But only after I miss in an even more spectacular fashion.”

He laughed, and you felt it in your bones: the worry, the misunderstanding, the fear,it all washed away. He looped his arm through yours, and you made your way down the dusty road together, hands clasped.

At the range, you set up two old wooden targets twenty yards downrange. You handed Tommy his revolver; you took your 9mm. The sun was high now, baking the ground, and the air smelled of sand, oil, and spent gunpowder.

“First shot to ten yards?” Tommy asked.

“Deal,” you said. He nodded, took aim. You backed up to the line.

He fired. Crack. The bullet tore through the bull’s-eye. He fist-pumped. “Ha! Beat that.”

You peeked at your own target,your shot was just outside the circle. You frowned, then turned, feigning offense. “What? Those wooden targets are unfair!” You moved five yards back. “Rematch.”

He laughed. “Here we go again.”

You fired twice,both shots smack in the center. You jumped up and down. “Yes!” Your laughter echoed off the walls of the range.

Tommy laughed too. “Alright, alright, you got me there.” He holstered his revolver. “So… guess I still got it.”

You stepped closer, pressing your hands into his chest. “You got more than ‘got it,’” you said softly. “You’ve got me. And no… no damn clock on your bones changes that.”

He wrapped his arms around you in a fierce hug. “Thank God,” he whispered, voice thick. Then he dipped his head and kissed you,slow, sure, everything you needed.

That evening, as the sun dipped behind the mountains, you and Tommy climbed onto your cabin’s roof, legs dangling over the edge. The sky blushed pink and orange; a gentle breeze cooled the heat of the day.

You nestled into his side, arm across his waist. He draped his jacket over your shoulders, the collar still smelling like him,leather and patchouli soap.

“Promise me,” he said suddenly, voice low and trembling, “Promise you’ll still want me when I’m gray… and limping around with a cane.”

You turned in his arms and lifted his chin. “Promise I’ll love you in a wheelchair, a walker, or strapped to a rocket bound for the moon.”

He laughed, breathless. “Rocket to the moon?”

“Anything to keep it interesting.” You winked. “Besides, you’ll still have that charming devil-may-care attitude.”

He grinned. “Guess I’ll have to work hard to keep you.”

You pressed your lips to his. “You’d better.”

Silence settled, warm and comfortable. You traced constellations in the sky,Orion’s Belt, the Pleiades,telling him their stories in a soft, wandering monologue.

“Did Travis say he’d join us next time?” Tommy asked.

You smiled. “He did. Wants in on our rooftop tradition.”

“He’d better bring snacks,” Tommy said.

“I’ll hold him to it.” You relaxed against his chest. “You know… I almost worried today. Thinking you might push me away.”

Tommy’s grip around you tightened. “Sorry.”

You shook your head. “No apologies. You just… you showed me how much I mean to you. And that,” You paused, smiled. “That means everything.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “You mean everything.”

Two nights later, you found him again on your porch, guitar in lap, humming a tune. The night was still, stars glittering like spilled diamonds.

You slipped out in your pajamas, bare feet on the cold wood. “Writing songs now?”

He gave you a crooked grin. “Thinking about it.”

You settled beside him. “You know, if you’re gonna write me a ballad, you’d better make it good.”

He strummed a chord, then looked at you. “Let me try something.” He cleared his throat and began:

“Old bones and younger hearts Meet where the firelight glows, Age is just a number drawn In lines only love shows…”

Your breath caught. His voice was rough but tender. You sank further into his side. He continued:

“If time is thine enemy, Then love is our disguise; We’ll dance through fleeting years, Hand in hand ’neath these skies…”

By the time he finished, you were blinking away tears. He set the guitar aside and cupped your face. “I wrote that with you in mind.”

You leaned in and kissed him, fierce and grateful. “It’s perfect.”

He chuckled softly. “Good. Because I don’t think I could write another one.”

You laughed. “Don’t worry. You’ve got plenty of time.”

He pulled you close. “Yeah?” His voice was hopeful.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m here for every minute.”

He held you tight and buried his face in your hair. “I love you,” he murmured.

You stroked his hair. “I love you too, Tommy Miller. Old man, young man,whatever you are, you’re mine.”

He hummed contentedly, and you both sat there in the gentle glow of the porch light, two hearts beating in time, age nothing more than a number lost in a song.

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