#THIS IS A LONG WAY TO SAY 'no' but dig in if you want to

[navydoves]

Bunny!Xavier and his strange affectionate habits

there’s always something new with your bunny boyfriend. his habits are so strange!

✎ᝰ a/n: i guess this is a series now lmao. if i were to do zayne or caleb, what animals would they even be. cat and dog? we’ll have to figure this out >_>

dragon sylus version

mermaid rafayel version

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❥ he nibbles on you! it’s gotten to be a little bit of a problem, but xavier can’t help himself. he’ll nibble on your skin and hair until there are tiny little red marks painted on you. at first you thought these were little hickeys, but the real explanation is much more innocent.

bunnies nibble to groom you! he’ll especially groom you when you’re bed rotting or are too lazy to get up. he wants to make sure you’re clean and if you’re not taking care of yourself — he will! but he also nibbles to get your attention. xavier is known to be pouty and clingy, so if he’s low on your love today he’ll forcefully sit on your lap and nibble on your face until you give in.

❥ he hides in your hair. whenever xavier feels overwhelmed or stressed, he’ll go straight to you and dig his head in your hair. it’s a combination of your scent and your shielding hair strands that gives him a sense of safety. he likes the way your hair feels against his skin along with the way it keeps him warm.

but still — wet, dry, tangled, brushed; he really doesn’t care what your hair is looking like, as long as he can bury his nose in your scalp and close his eyes. this also makes for a good cuddling session!

❥ he eats everything. xavier has the appetite of three elephants and then another three elephants. whether he can cook or not is irrelevant, even if he burns something to the point of it being inedible, he’ll still eat it. snacks you’ve saved for later or baked good you’ve left out gets gobbled immediately by him, and it was only ‘til you scolded him that he stopped. stopped taking you food that is, he’ll still beg.

if he smells a meal in the house he’ll quickly sit next to you and smile silently, hoping that you’ll spare him a piece. he’s learned to be less greedy, go easy on him — but he’ll become extremely elated if you give him a quick nibble. he wouldn’t even ask for a full piece of chicken or bread, just a little slither is enough to keep him happy. he thinks of eating together as bonding.

❥ he mimics you. sometimes consciously, mostly unconsciously, xavier will pick up and mimic your habits. if you have a habit of playing with your hair, xavier will also start playing with his hair to mirror you. if you touch your necklace in thought, xavier will also touch his imaginary necklace while he thinks. it wasn’t until he picked up on your manner of sneezing that you realized you left an impression on him.

you didn’t say anything at first: finding it rather endearing how xavier unknowingly imitates you. but once you brought it up in passing xavier tilted his head in confusion. did he really mimic you that much? he was a little oblivious to that fact, apparently. but even with that realization, xavier doesn’t try and stop himself learning from you. in fact, he tries to tease you by imitating you even more. he loves being like you because he simply just loves you.

❥ he teases you with his ears. xavier knows how much you love his ears, so he’ll use them to his advantage to play. when you’re asleep and he wants you awake, he’ll climb the bed, lean into your face, and move one of his ears over your cheek to stir you awake. in a similar fashion, he’ll use his ears to wrap around your head or wrist as another way to embrace you. the fluffy feel of his ears was always welcome on your skin, it felt like a hug from a pillow.

but by far his favourite way to use his ears on you was when he lightly traced your midsection and thighs with the very tips of his fluff. it tickles you slightly, but the purpose of this tease was to get you riled up and beg for a little more contact. he obliges, of course, but slowly. he loves taking his time with you. by the end of it all, his ears around wrapped around your thighs as he satiates his hunger in a different way this time.

❥ he claps when he’s happy. this can be mistaken as a normal human habit, but xavier does it much more often and eagerly than any regular person. his hands will patter together rapidly to create a very quiet but joyful sound. he has no “normal” way of clapping, he only does it in one specific way to show how content he is. if he thinks the sound is too distracting for the moment, he’ll hide his hands behind his back and pitter-patter them there.

even over small things like finding his favourite ramen in-stock at the store, he’ll clap very quietly to himself before putting it in the cart, and later on, when he gets to show you what he got from the store, he’ll start clapping again from how happy he is to share his excitement. as reserved as he is on the outside, xavier is very chipper on the inside.

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[allfearstofallto]

When it Comes to You

Yandere! Childe x Fem! Reader

TW: 18+ MDNI, Yandere content, bribery, blackmail, Dub-con, Reader works at a brothel (is not a courtesan)

AN: I've just been watching a lot of apothecary diaries tbh and I needed to write something

A job is a job, you often thought to yourself as you tried not to cough from the smell of booze and tobacco, and mora is mora. You didn't have the luxury of denying yourself a single cent. Every little piece of gold, shiny and polished or scuffed and dirty was one step closer to your goal and another away from your debt. Away from him, who didn't try to hide that he was finding his pleasure in watching you drowning under the weight of your obligations.

You were to pour drinks. Whether it be tea, water, or wine. Scurry around the large main hall, entertain the guests waiting for their chances with a lady of the night and pour their drinks. Keep a smile on their faces and their pockets empty. Keep them distracted from just how much they were spending, keep their cigars lit, keep them cheerful and drunk. All simple tasks, in theory. In practice you ran around like a chicken with its head cut off, all while the guests leered at you like a piece of meat. It was dehumanizing, but it paid well and paid quickly. You'd receive a bag of mora at the end of every shift, the amount varying based on how well you'd done that day.

Most of it, you couldn't keep. After paying for necessities, you'd walk on your aching feet to the northland bank and pay off a bit more of your debt. You were barely chipping at the high fortune that you owed, but anything was better than the alternative.

And much to your dismay, the alternative was sitting at one of your tables. With that same empty eyed smile and one long leg casually crossed over the other. He tapped his finger against the rim of his empty glass, taunting you in the one place where he knew you couldn't retaliate. Another lady approached him, head bowed while she attempted to pour his wine, but he shooed her away just as quickly with a wave of his hand. He didn't want her, he wanted you. He wanted you to see and know that he wanted you.

You couldn't look angry, nor annoyed, anything less than an enthusiastic smile meant less pay. So with your lips curled too tightly, to the point of near pain, you kneeled next to his table and filled his glass with the cooled liquid. Ajax seemed pleased with your service. Although, he always seemed pleased when you were around. He kept a smile on his face in your presence , not because he had to, but because he wanted to, like he was incapable of looking anything but smug when near you. With that same expression, he took a singular sip of his wine before sitting the glass back on the table. 

“Stay,” he ordered quickly when he saw even the flicker of possibility of you leaving. You stayed kneeled next to his table as you were told, the last thing you needed was him complaining to your boss, a habit he'd made to keep you as in debt as possible. And Ajax was a high paying customer, one that they wanted to keep. His words were like law to your employers, anything less than perfection with his service would be met with the dock of your pay.

Ajax wanted you to be as poor as possible. He wanted you to be pressed under his thumb, to be weak to his will and in need of his favors. It was those same favors that'd gotten you into this mess now, and those same favors were only digging your hole deeper. You owed him a lot. Not him, per say, but the Northland bank. Usually owing money meant you'd be shaken down by a low level fatui foot soldier, yet Ajax had taken a particularly notable interest in you. One that did more harm than good. It bordered on obsession, although he'd play that observation off with a smile.

“You're late,” his words were followed by another sip of wine. He didn't have to tell you what you were late on, you knew he was referring to a payment. There was a happy chirp to the way he spoke, a playful sweetness to his tone that would've been charming, had he not been smiling at your misery.

“I paid yesterday,” you insisted. It was difficult getting your anger across with a forced smile on your face, but your strained voice and gritted teeth would have to suffice.

“You paid the principal,” he playfully tapped your nose with the cold tip of his finger and you resisted the urge to snap and bite, “Not your interest.”

“I was told I could pay it later, I'll have it by the end of the week,”

“Told by whom? Was it me?” He looked so proud of himself as he spoke watching you grow more and more frustrated while being unable to express it, “If it wasn't by me then it wasn't part of your arrangement.”

“I can pay at the end of the night if you wait for my shift to be over,” you sighed, letting the smile drop for only a moment. You thought it strange how sweetly the teller at the bank was when she insisted that you could pay the interest later. Against your better judgement, you listened. Why were you dumb enough to think you had allies on your side? To think that he wasn't still pulling strings, even when he was nowhere near.

An expression crossed Ajax's face. A familiar one. A bad one. The look he made when an idea struck him. Or, perhaps when he knew he'd finally be able to get what he wanted. That's the look he gave you, and felt your heart sink. 

“You won't make enough,” there he was again, saying those harsh words with a singsong tone, reveling in your misfortune, “With the late fee on top, you'll be short.”

You scoffed, letting the cheerful facade drop. There'd never been a late fee before, but Childe was insistent in getting what he truly wanted from you. Your one slip up was going to be your detriment, and his greatest achievement so far. You could see it in the sparkle in his dead, hollow blue eyes. He was anticipating just this, almost as if he'd plotted the entire thing himself. A conspiracy like that wasn't far off in terms of what the man in front of you was capable of, the one who was looking down upon your pitiful kneeling form in delight about the ownership of you that he dangled over your head.

“Take me as a client tonight and consider yourself cleared of this weeks payment-”

Your glossed lips parted quickly to stop his train of thoughts, but he cut you off by placing a finger against them. You couldn't see it, but you could feel the soft shade from your lips smear across his digit and onto your cheek.

“-and the next,”

You felt your world stop at this statement. Suddenly, the brothel that was so noisy and overbearing, was silent. Two weeks with no payment? Childe was never that generous. But he was also a man who was always two steps ahead. He'd been wanting to bed you since the day you walked into that bank the first time. All smiles with a hand resting too low upon your waist while selling you a loan that would essentially take your entire life to pay back. You were naive then. Naive and desperate. And somehow, you were worse now.

When things were rough and you knew you didn't have the money to pay him, he'd accept little things. A date. Handholding. A hug. There was even a day where he accepted a kiss upon the lips in exchange for a week's payment. 

A real kiss. 

He wanted you to initiate. He wanted you seated on his lap, your tongue in his mouth, he wanted to claim you completely, while making it feel like you desired it too.

The kiss was suffocating and vile, not romantic at all. It was a kiss that screamed ownership and possession, nothing close to a true affection. You couldn't even pull away when you wanted to, his hand was holding the back of your head, keeping you in place while he lapped at the inside of your mouth, slurping at your tongue while simultaneously tracing his fingertips over your cheeks.

“I don't take customer's, I'm not a-” you couldn't bring yourself to speak the word, but all he did was cock an eyebrow at your silence.

“Anything can be arranged,”

A deal that feels too good to be true, is usually just that. His smirk, mischievous and cold spoke of a desire that wouldn't end with one taste of your body. Silently, you were cursing yourself for even considering it. Having your head above the water, even if just for a week more would be like a balm to your soul, but at what cost?

“Two weeks?” You peaked up at him through your lashes. The way his smile spread told you that you were already making the wrong decision, but you didn't turn back, “You have to promise me Childe, do you mean it?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” his words made you feel even sicker as he mimicked the childish gesture.

His hand was outstretched to you, fingers long and lanky, still wet and cold from the condensation of his glass. The sight of that hand was familiar. The last deal you'd made with the man being the reason you worked yourself to the bone now. The last time you'd shaken that same, cold hand, you'd done something stupid. It was a bad deal. It was always a bad deal with him. There was always some hidden clause or play of words that you didn't decipher quick enough, always something hidden up his sleeve, especially when it came to you.

And despite your better judgement, you still shook his hand. Instead of feeling the weight of the world fall off of your shoulders, you only felt it grow heavier upon your already weak body. It was better to give it to him now, than have him take it later, right? Who knew what he had planned for you if you couldn't pay.

“Shall we take a room upstairs?” He pointed to the staircase. Only courtesans and their clients used those stairs. You were sure he knew that, yet he spoke as if he also knew that there would be one free for the two of you to use together, like he'd planned this very scenario from the get go.

The thought wasn't lost on you. Ajax always planned things to a tee, when it came to you.

[skyguytoast]

Swipe Right for Trouble - Dilf!Anakin x you

SYNOPSIS: Dilf!Anakin joins a dating site and comes away with more than he bargained for.

WORD COUNT: 5k

WARNINGS: +18, infidelity, cheating, age gap (Anakin is in his 40s and the reader is of legal age), sexting, both masturbating over video call, daddy kink

A/N: Hello everyone, this idea came to me out of nowhere and kept on hammering in my mind until I wrote it. I hope you like it, comments, reblogs and suggestions are always appreciated, kisses ;) Dividers by @cafekitsune

Sexting isn’t cheating.

Anakin repeated the thought like a mantra as he filled out the registration form. Technically, this wasn’t even a dating site. From what he’d read, it was more of a… transactional arrangement—an online space where men could chat with young women, spoil them with gifts, and, in return, receive whatever favors both parties agreed upon.  

It wasn’t as if his marriage had collapsed overnight. That would have been easier to accept. No, it had been a slow, agonizing unraveling, a gradual drift until the distance between him and Padmé felt impossible to bridge. He couldn’t only blame her long hours at work or the way exhaustion made intimacy rare. He was just as guilty—guilty of giving up, of letting the silence stretch between them for too long, of resigning himself to wanting more but never asking for it.  

Regret was useless now.  

He exhaled sharply, scrolling through the feed. Most of the profiles were deliberately vague—faceless photos, silhouettes, glimpses of lips, collarbones, and hands. The usernames were just as cryptic, an endless parade of Kitten, Doll, and Baby designed to keep things impersonal.  

Then, one caught his eye.  

The photo showed nothing but a cascade of silky hair and a princess tiara perched atop it. Something about it—the soft, innocent playfulness—made him pause. Bunny. The name made him smirk. Cute.  

A second later, the screen blinked. MATCH.

Anakin’s lips parted slightly. That was… fast. His stomach twisted, fingers hovering over the keyboard. What the hell was he supposed to say? How do you start a conversation like this?  

A sharp ding cut through his hesitation.  

You had messaged him first.

Anakin rubbed his jaw, still slightly in disbelief that he had actually gone through with this. It wasn't like him to engage in such... base activities. Especially not now. But his marriage had grown so distant, and he needed something—someone—to fill that void.

Just take a deep breath and respond, he told himself as he clicked on your message.

Bunny: Hi there, stranger~

Anakin blinked at the casual greeting, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Stranger? He chuckled softly to himself, realizing that, in this context, that was exactly what you were. Two anonymous figures behind a screen, playing a game neither of you had fully defined yet.  

Hi yourself, he typed back, trying to match your easy tone. I like your tiara. It suits you.  

The response didn’t come immediately, and in those few seconds, doubt crept in. Was he being too forward? Too personal? Was this a place for compliments, for flirting—or just for transactions?  

Bunny: I like shiny things… and pink.

Short. Coy. Playful. The way you phrased it made something tighten in his chest. A flicker of amusement, curiosity, something dangerously close to interest.  

I’ll remember that, he replied, his fingers moving with a newfound ease. Do you have a favorite shade of pink?

It was a simple question, innocent on the surface, but it carried weight. He wanted to keep you talking, wanted the conversation to stretch just a little longer. This was a break from reality, from work, from duty. A moment that felt light, free.  

Bunny: Uhm… mostly pastel colors… ballerina pink, bubblegum pink. 

He was about to type a response when another message popped up.  

Bunny: Do you want me to send you the color hex so you don’t get my gift wrong?

Anakin laughed softly at the dig, shaking his head. So you had a sharp wit. He liked that.  

No need for that, he typed back. I have a good eye for color. And I’m not planning on buying you a gift just yet.

There. He had said it—acknowledged the possibility of yet, of something more. It was a dangerous game, but one he was suddenly very willing to play.  

Unless… He hesitated just long enough to let anticipation build. Unless you’d like to earn one first?

The reply came quicker than he expected.  

Bunny: And what exactly do you want from me to deserve it?

A slow smirk spread across his lips. He had a feeling this conversation was only just getting started.

Anakin swallowed hard, a pulse of heat rolling through him at your bold question. He could feel it—something deep and dangerous stirring inside him—but he didn’t look away from the screen. Instead, he leaned in, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he considered his next words carefully.

Well, for starters… He typed slowly, deliberately, letting the anticipation stretch. Tell me more about you.

It was a simple request on the surface, but the words carried weight, unspoken possibilities.

What does a cute little bunny like you do for fun?

His lips curled into a smirk as he hit send, already wondering just how far you'd be willing to take this game.

But you didn’t answer right away. 

Anakin exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. Damn it. Maybe that was stupid. Cringe—wasn’t that the word people your age used? The last thing he wanted was to come off like some awkward old man trying too hard. 

Before he could spiral further, his screen lit up with a new message. 

Bunny: I love going to amusement parks—feeling my hair fly on the roller coaster, the Ferris wheel, the carousel…

Anakin smirked, the tension in his chest easing. There was something so effortlessly sweet about that answer, something playful. Of course you liked amusement parks. He could almost picture it—the wind in your hair, the sparkle in your eyes as you laughed on a ride. 

And just like that, he wanted to know more.

Is that so? he typed back, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. I'll have to keep that in mind. Maybe I'll take you to a park sometime... among other things.

He paused, letting that statement linger on the screen. Let you wonder, let your imagination run wild. He certainly knew his was.

Tell me, do you have a favorite ride? he asked. One that really gets your adrenaline pumping?

Bunny: Probably the Ferris wheel, I love going there several times... I'm a little scared of the ghost train, however, I might try it if you promise to hold my hand.

A light blush crept across Anakin's cheeks as he read her message, a small smile tugging at his lips. Of course, a Ferris wheel was your favorite. He could picture it now—you sitting beside him, your shoulders brushing as you slowly rotated at the top, looking out over the park and the rest of the world spread out below you.

Don't worry, he typed, his fingers moving almost eagerly across the screen. I'd hold your hand through anything.

He paused, then added playfully, Besides, I think I'm pretty good at killing ghosts. Both the real kind and the fictional ones.

Your response was immediate.

Bunny: Oh, that’s good to know because I think my room might be haunted. Maybe you could come take a look?

Anakin sighed, shaking his head with a smirk. Gosh, you’re being so flirty.

Not that he minded. Not one bit.

Anakin leaned back in his chair, taking a moment to read your flirtatious message again. His smirk grew wider.

Well then, he replied, a playful lilt to his words. It looks like I'll have to schedule an investigation soon.

He paused, letting the innuendo linger for a moment. But he didn't stop there.

Of course, you know that ghost hunting can be quite...intense work. It may require a thorough search of every room. Every surface.

He knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. There was something about you, a freshness and boldness that drew him in.

Bunny: in my bed too? even under the covers?

Anakin's heart raced as he read your brazen message, a flood of improper thoughts rushing through his mind. The image of you tangled in the sheets, perhaps already flushed and breathless before he even arrived, was too much to ignore.

Especially under the covers, he typed back, not holding anything back. You never know where a ghost might hide, after all. I'll have to search everywhere, just to be safe.

He paused, letting the implication hang in the air. Then added one final line.

And I'll make sure to check every inch thoroughly. For any...abnormalities.

｡･ﾟ♡ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

As the days passed, your messages became more frequent, more daring. What started as playful teasing had turned into something else—something charged, something electric.  

The flirting was relentless, a slow, delicious game neither of you wanted to stop. Anakin knew he was toeing the line, but God help him, he didn’t care. You were intoxicating—the way you teased him, the way you played innocent one moment and wicked the next.  

And every time his screen lit up with a new message from you, he felt that same rush, that same heat pooling low in his stomach.  

You had him hooked.

He knew he should put an end to this, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. It was like a drug, a dangerous high he didn't want to come down from.

Tell me... he paused, his fingers hesitating for only a moment. What do you usually sleep in at night? Or out of...

Anakin's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening as the image loaded. The dim light of his quarters cast an intimate glow across his face, a face flushed with a growing heat that had nothing to do with the temperature. He leaned in closer, squinting to make out every exquisite detail of the photo, his eyes roaming hungrily over the exposed skin of your shoulders, the way the thin strap of your nightgown clung precariously to your frame.

His heart pounded in his chest as he watched, almost in slow motion, the strap slipping ever so slightly. He felt his mouth go dry, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as anticipation built inside him like a palpable force. And then, like a revelation, he caught sight of the swell of your breast, the tantalizing curve that promised so much more if only he could see just a little further.

Bunny: do you like to see more?

Fuck, he breathed, his voice low and rough with desire. I'd love to see more.

You send another message.

Anakin's heart raced as he stared at the image on his screen, his breath growing ragged. The sight of you kneeling there, clutching at the fabric of your nightgown, teasing him with a glimpse of the lace barely covering your butt, sent a jolt of lust straight to his aching cock.

Sweetheart, you're playing with fire, he typed, his fingers trembling slightly as they flew over the keys. Keep this up and I might just burn in the flames.

He palmed himself through his pants, unable to ignore the growing bulge that strained against the confines of his clothing. The urge to touch himself was overwhelming, but he resisted. He wanted to savor this moment, to draw out the delicious torture of anticipation.

What else do you want to show me? he asked. Where else would you like my eyes to wander?

Bunny: Uhm, I don't know, maybe you could buy me a lingerie set to wear just for you

Anakin's eyes darkened with lust as he read your suggestion, his mind racing with the possibilities. The idea of you modeling lingerie just for him, a matching set in a soft, delicate shade of pink, was almost too much to bear.

I think I'd like that very much, he replied. What color would you prefer? I'm thinking something soft and sexy, maybe a shade of pink to match your sweet smile.

He palmed himself more firmly through his pants, his cock throbbing beneath his touch. The urge to whip out his length and stroke himself to completion was strong, but he held back, wanting to make this moment last.

And maybe... he paused, letting the anticipation build. You could send me a picture of what you'd look like in it. Give me a little preview of what's to come.

Bunny: you know my address to send

Anakin couldn't keep the grin off his face as he hit the 'Confirm Purchase' button, his heart racing with anticipation. He had splurged on the most beautiful lingerie set he could find—the perfect shade of bubblegum pink, soft and shimmery, with delicate lace detailing. He couldn't wait to see it clinging to your curves, highlighting every inch of your gorgeous body.

I took your suggestion and one upped it, he typed, smirking to himself. It should be arriving at your doorstep tomorrow. I hope you like it as much as I think you will.

He paused, his mind already filling with the filthy images of your modeling it just for him.

Send me a picture as soon as you put it on. I want to see how stunning you look.

The next day, the first message was from you.

Bunny: Oh baby, I love it, give me a minute to put on my lingerie and we can do a video call

Anakin's breath caught in his throat, his heart hammering wildly in his chest as he read your response. A video call—that would be even better than any photo. He could see you, really see you, in the lingerie he had bought just for you.

I can't wait to see you in it, he typed back, his fingers shaking slightly. Meet me on a video call in 5 minutes.

He ended the message with a winking emoji, his mind already racing with the possibilities. The room was dim, the lighting soft and intimate, perfect for a private show. He could already picture you, perched on the edge of your bed, the pink lace clinging to your curves in all the right places. 

Anakin took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He had to get his head in the game, had to remember that this was just a bit of fun, a distraction from his marriage's problems and the weight of his responsibilities. It didn't mean anything. 

But even as he told himself that, he knew it was a lie. This meant something, even if he couldn't quite put his finger on what. All he knew was that he wanted more of you, and he would do whatever it took to get it.

Anakin locked the bedroom door, exhaling slowly as he leaned against it. He mentally thanked Padmé for the extra shift—how ironic. Not long ago, her long hours had been a source of frustration, the widening gap between them something he resented.

And yet here he was, grateful for the distance.

Grateful for the excuse.

His fingers hovered over his phone, anticipation thrumming through him. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. He knew this was dangerous.

But when your name lit up his screen, all reason faded.

Anakin took a deep breath as he tapped the button to accept the video call, his heart pounding in his chest. The screen flickered to life, and there you were—stunning, breathtaking, even more gorgeous than he had imagined.

His eyes widened as he took in the sight of you, clad in the lingerie he had purchased just for this moment. The soft pink lace clung to every curve, highlighting the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the tempting flare of your hips. It was everything he had hoped for and more.

“Fuck, you look incredible,” he breathed, his voice low and rough with desire. “That color was made for you.”

He couldn't take his eyes off you, drinking in every detail. The way the lace seemed to shimmer in the soft light, the way it hinted at the treasures hidden beneath. He felt his cock twitch and harden, straining against the confines of his pants. 

“Turn around for me, sweetheart,” he instructed, his voice a low command. “Let me see all of you.”

You smiled amusedly. "Like this" you said happily, turning to show every bit of your skin to him.

Anakin's breath caught in his throat as you spun around, putting yourself on display just for him. The way the lingerie clung to your every curve was mesmerizing, the delicate lace accentuating your breasts, your toned belly, the gentle flare of your hips, and the tantalizing globes of your ass. He couldn't look away, his eyes roaming hungrily over every inch of exposed skin.

“Fuck, you're stunning,” he breathed. “I can't believe I bought that just for you. You look good enough to eat.”

He palmed himself through his pants, unable to ignore the ache of his hardening cock. The urge to reach down and free himself was overwhelming, but he resisted—for now. He wanted to savor this moment, to drink in every detail of your heavenly beauty.

“Lie back on the bed for me,” he instructed, his voice low and commanding. “Spread your legs, and show me what's mine.”

"Oh, baby, you're so bossy," you retorted softly, before biting your lower lip mischievously, adjusting your phone before approaching the bed. "But, I kind of like your dominant ways."

Anakin felt a thrill run through him at your playful words, his cock twitching in approval. He loved seeing this side of you, bold and teasing, more than eager to obey his every command. It was intoxicating, addictive, and he knew he could easily become drunk on the power.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice a low rumble as he watched you adjust your phone and get in the bed. “You're going to be so perfect for me.”

He drank in the sight of you settling onto the mattress, the soft pink lace a stark contrast against the white fabric. His heart raced as you slowly spread your legs, revealing more of your smooth, creamy thighs, the lace of your panties riding up to showcase the junction between your legs.

“That's it, sweetheart. Nice and slow,” he encouraged, his eyes glued to the screen, not wanting to miss a single second of your tantalizing display. “Show me everything you have to offer.”

Anakin's breath hitched as he watched you slip your delicate hand beneath the lace, his cock throbbing almost painfully against his pants. The sight of you touching yourself, your eyes fluttering closed in pleasure, was almost too much to bear. He could see the growing damp spot on your panties, evidence of your arousal, and it made him ache to be the one to bring you to the edge of ecstasy.

“You're so beautiful like this,”he breathed, his voice rough with desire. “Don't stop touching yourself. I want to watch you.”

He couldn't tear his eyes away from your hand moving beneath the fabric, imagining how soft and smooth your folds were, how wet and ready you were becoming. His own hand drifted down to palm himself more firmly through his pants, squeezing and stroking along the hard length of his cock.

“Tell me how it feels,” he commanded, his voice a low, urgent growl. “Describe it to me in detail. I want to know everything.”

"I'm so wet for you, my fingers are slipping so easily" you whimpered, touching yourself, sighs of pleasure escaping your mouth.

Anakin groaned as he listened to your breathy words, the sound of your pleasure shooting straight to his aching cock. He could picture your fingers gliding effortlessly through your slick folds, your body responding to your own touch, preparing itself for him. The knowledge that he was the cause of your arousal was intoxicating, fueling his own desire.

‘Is that so?” he growled, his hand drifting to the fastenings of his pants. “I can hear how much you're enjoying yourself. How wet you're getting just from my command.”

He popped open the button of his pants, freeing his straining erection. It sprang forth, thick and hard, the head already glistening with precum. He wrapped a hand around his throbbing shaft, squeezing and stroking himself in time with the rhythm of your breathy sighs.

“Touch your pretty pussy, baby,” he ordered, his voice a low, dominating rumble. “Rub those pretty little circles around it, nice and slow. Pretend it's my fingers touching you, pleasuring you.”

"Your fingers are so much bigger than mine, they would feel so good in my pussy," you whimpered.

 Anakin's breath grew ragged as he listened to the obscene sound of your fingers plunging in and out of your dripping cunt, your sweet little whimpers and sighs filling the air. His cock throbbed and leaked in his hand as he picked up the pace, stroking himself faster in time with the slick sounds of your touching.

“Fuck, I'd love to sink my fingers deep inside your tight little pussy,” he groaned, his voice strained with lust. “To feel your velvety walls squeezing around me as I pump in and out.”

He could only imagine how perfect you would feel, how hot and wet and ready you would be for him. His cock ached with the desire to plunge into your depths, to stretch you open and claim you as his own.

“Slick your clit with your juices,” he commanded, his breath coming faster now. “Get it nice and wet, just like your hungry little hole. Pretend it's my tongue, teasing and circling as I taste your sweet cum.”

You moaned, your hair spreading across the sheets as you rubbed yourself harder. "tell me what to do, tell me what your good girl needs to do?"

Anakin's heart raced as he watched you come undone on the screen, your hair splayed across the sheets, your hips rocking against your hand as you rubbed yourself with wanton desperation. Your breathy moans and whimpers filled his ears, spurring on his own desperate stroking.

"You're being such a good girl for me," he praised, his voice a low, approving growl. "Touching yourself just like I told you to. So eager and obedient."

He could see how soaked your panties were, the lace darkened with your juices, your pussy aching to be filled. His cock throbbed in his fist, the head flushed a deep, angry red, leaking steadily now.

"Take off your bra," he ordered, his voice a commanding rumble. "I want to see your perfect tits bouncing free. Play with your nipples as you fuck yourself with your fingers."

Anakin's breath caught in his throat as he drank in the perfect sight of your breasts spilling free from your bra, the delicate pink of your nipples a perfect match to the lingerie that hugged your curves. They were even more beautiful than he had imagined, full and round, the peaks already hardened into tight little buds just beginning to be touched.

"Your tits are perfect," he breathed, his voice rough with desire. "Even better than I dreamed they would be."

He tightened his grip around his throbbing cock, pumping himself faster as he watched you on the screen. The sight of you touching yourself, playing with your dripping cunt and your perfect breasts, was almost too much to bear.

"Pinch your nipples," he commanded, his voice a low, dominating growl. "Roll and tug on them, just like I would with my fingers. Imagine it's my mouth, my teeth grazing the sensitive flesh."

He could only imagine the taste of you, the feeling of your hardened nubs against his tongue as he sucked and teased, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. His cock throbbed in his hand, the pleasure building to a fever pitch as he watched you pleasure yourself just for him.

With one hand you squeezed your breast, pinching the nipple until it hardened completely, without ever stopping touching yourself. "Uhm, talk dirty to me, tell me what you're doing, what my body makes you feel."

Anakin groaned as he watched you touch yourself with wild abandon. "I'm stroking my hard, aching cock as I watch you. Watching you play with your perfect tits, squeezing and pinching those pretty pink nipples until they're stiff peaks."

"I can feel every inch of you, even from here. The way your tight little pussy clenches around your fingers as you fuck yourself, so desperate for more. The way your breasts bounce and jiggle as you touch yourself, just the way I want to touch them."

He pumped his cock faster, the slick sounds of his stroking filling the air. "I'm imagining burying my face between your legs, my tongue delving deep into your sweet cunt. Licking up every drop of your juices, fucking you with my tongue until you scream."

"I want to bite down on your nipples, to mark you as mine. I want to suck and tease until you're writhing beneath me, begging for more. Tell me what you want, sweetheart," he growled, his breath ragged and intense. "What does my good girl need?"

"I want to cum, daddy." You whimpered, confused in your haze of pleasure, taking a few seconds to realize what had slipped from your tongue.

"Daddy?" Anakin retorted, his deep voice filling your room and making you open your eyes, your cheeks flushing.

Anakin froze, his heart pounding in his chest as the words echoed in his ears. Daddy. It had slipped out, a moment of unguarded passion and desperation. For a moment, he felt a pang of unease, a flicker of doubt. This was wrong, he knew it was. He was crossing a line, one that he shouldn't be crossing.

"I'm sorry, I, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," you mumbled nervously.

But as he looked at you on the screen, flushed and panting, your gorgeous body on display just for him, he felt his resolution crumble. He wanted you, more than anything. And if you wanted to call him daddy, if that's what got you off...

"Shh, it's okay, sweetheart," he soothed, his voice a low, intimate murmur. "I like it. I like it a lot."

He stroked himself slower, more deliberately, putting on a show for you. "Tell me what you want daddy to do to you."

He wanted to hear you say it, to put voice to the filthy, forbidden thoughts running through your mind. He wanted to be the one to bring you to the edge, to make you scream and shake and cum harder than you ever had before.

"Beg for it, baby. Beg daddy to make you cum."

"Please, daddy, I want to cum so bad, I want you to guide me, let your voice take me to heaven" you whine, feeling the descent of your hips warming up.

Anakin's heart raced as he listened to your desperate pleas, his cock throbbing and pulsing in his hand. The way you said daddy, the need and longing in your voice, it set him on fire. He stroked himself faster, the slick sounds of his hand pumping his shaft filling the room.

"Fuck, I love hearing you beg for it like that," he groaned, his voice a low, approving rumble. "Like a needy little girl begging her daddy to take care of her."

He could feel your desperation, the way your hips were rocking and grinding against your fingers, chasing your climax. He wanted to be the one to give it to you, to feel your cunt clench and flutter around his cock as he fucked you into oblivion.

"Focus on my voice, baby. Let it guide you, take you higher," he commanded, his breath coming faster now. "Imagine it's my hands on your body, touching and stroking every inch of you."

"Fuck yourself harder, sweetheart. Shove your fingers deep inside your greedy little cunt. Imagine it's my cock, stretching you open, filling you up." Anakin murmured, his voice husky and engaging. "Let yourself go, baby. Cum for daddy. Cum all over your fingers like the good little girl you are. Let me hear you scream."

Anakin grunted and shuddered as he watched you come undone, your body convulsing on the screen as the intense waves of your climax crashed over you. The sound of your scream, raw and primal, filled the air as you cried out his name, your pussy clenching and fluttering around your fingers in ecstasy.

"Fuck yes, that's it! Cum for daddy, baby! Cum hard on your fingers like a good girl," he roared, his own orgasm surging through him as he stroked himself to completion. Thick ropes of hot, sticky seeds erupted from his cock, spurting onto his hand and stomach as he rode out the intense pleasure.

He couldn't take his eyes off you, drinking in every second of your pleasure, the way your gorgeous tits bounced and jiggled as you writhed and bucked beneath your own touch. He felt a surge of male pride and possessiveness, knowing that he had brought you to such heights of ecstasy.

"You're so fucking beautiful when you cum for me," he breathed, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "Such a perfect, perfect good girl for daddy."

"And this is just the beginning, sweetheart. Wait until I get my hands on you for real."

"I'll wait, daddy," you whimpered, your eyes blinking back to focus on his face after your mind-blowing orgasm. "I'll count the days until it happens."

Anakin's heart raced as he heard your breathless promise, a thrill running through him at the thought of the forbidden future that lay ahead. The knowledge that you would be waiting for him, eager and ready, made his spent cock twitch and started to fill and harden once more.

"I'll be counting down the days too, baby girl," he murmured. "Already thinking about all the naughty, filthy things I'm going to do to this sexy little body of yours."

He took in the sight of you, flushed and panting, your skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat from your intense climax. The lingerie you wore, the lingering desire for you... it was all seared into his mind, a deliciously sinful memory to treasure.

"But for now, you should get some rest, sweetheart. Recover your strength. Because when I finally have you in my arms, I'm going to need you at your best. I'm going to fuck you in ways you've never been fucked before."

He reached out to caress the screen, wishing he could feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. "Sweet dreams, my little girl. Dream of daddy, and all the dirty, wonderful things we're going to do together."

"Until next time," he promised darkly, before ending the call with a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

[quandaryqueen]

Psycho Sweet

Sub No Goggles Mark Grayson X Dom Reader

🔞 Minors DNI

Pet play, knife play, edging, Dom/sub dynamics

Mark stayed still like the good boy he prided himself as. Situated in your bed, the headboard sporting dents and chips from his misbehavior and lack of control, he didn’t need to be handcuffed, nor tied anymore.

His strength, he can control. Though his patience waned, he promised to remain behaved. His whines and whimpers, however, he could never get a grasp on, not even gags could muffle this little fucker. He has come a long way from being a rabid little thing. It gives him comfort and pleasure to know that he was being good to his owner, the reward was a bonus. You deserved the best, after all, and he would be damned to give you anything less. Such a good, disciplined pet he was. A sham of a Viltrumite, yet the thought does not cross him with guilt, no, he wore it like a badge of honour.

The situation before him had him panting like a dog, penetrative gaze refusing to stray from you. The wanton noise held from the back of his throat slips out when the light catches to the kitchen knife you held, glinting dangerously, oh so deliciously in your possession. Not allowed to touch himself, he fisted the sheets under him to assuage the inferna in his body.

“What are gonna do t’me, master?” he pleads, thighs pressing against one another. “Make me bleed on the sheets? Give me new holes for you to fill up? Stuff me with the knife?” Those, he said with utmost yearning, as suggestions. “O-or, I can stay quiet and let you do the work, master.” He added meekly, like a puppy tilting its head down after being kicked, pathetic brown gaze wielded methodically, designed to fawn.

“That’s a good boy,” Mark perks up upon hearing your voice, beaming further when you place yourself on his hips, right where you belong. He must have given you one of the most pathetic looks of wanting in his life that you sighed in a relenting manner, “What do we say?”

“May I put my hands on you, master?”

“You may, pet.” Not waiting to be told twice, Mark had his hands on your hips the instant words left your lips. Thumbs smoothing over your hipbone, he peers through his lashes like a flustered schoolboy when you chuckled at his display of eagerness. That earns him a hearty headpat, which he leans into, he would purr if he can.

“To answer your previous question, no, nothing too intense today,” you rumbled, words punctuated with a hypnotic twirl of a wrist as you admired the handiwork of the knife. One could see in his eyes that he almost deflated, but then you added something that made him perk up. “Maybe later.”

Poising the tip of the blade on his bare chest had Mark's breath lodged in his throat. The hammering of his heart accompanied his shallow breath, almost craving for the rise and fall of his chest to touch the point and poke him. He couldn't help but notice the knife's handle being his colours, your attention to detail impeccable as always.

Mark chants under his breath, a cry for relief. "I'm not fragile, I'm not fragile, I'm not fragile, you know that. More, more, more—"

The cold metal glides along his chest, dull-part against his skin, much to his disappointment, and impatience. He wanted his blood pooling in his skin, streaming down your sheets, staining your hands. But he knew to behave in the midst of anticipation. Gratification is tangible if he was on his best behaviour. It traces around his nipple, the cold colliding against sensitive flesh causing them to pebble at the contact. Letting out a pitiful moan, his back subconsciously arches to meet the sharp tip.

"I'm going to cut you now."

The knife trail upwards, grazes his skin, the first taste of pain sending him reeling fow more. The first cut drift from his sternum to his collarbone. A shallow incision akin to a kitten's scratch, beading with pricks of blood that remained stationary on the tiny cut.

"More, please." Mark breathes out, fingers digging into your hips, before apologetically smoothing his thumbs upon it with circular motions.

The second cut was made, applied with a little more pressure, from the expanse of his left collarbone to his shoulder, a pattern of spirals against his skin. This time, ample amounts of blood began to drip from the wound. Mark was breathing in the coppery miasma drifting in the room like his personal supply of drug.

Then another, under his rib on his left flanks where you wrote your initials. That had further tipped him on the precipice. Y/N'S. His master's pet. Just a little more...

"Mark," his own body corrects him, straightening up at the sound of chiding reprimand of your tone.

He swallows thickly, unaware of the drool dripping from the corners of his mouth. "Please... Cover me with your name. With... With hearts. Pretty, pretty please?"

In the haze of his pleasure, he found your smile the most heavenly of them all. Like the comforting, reassuring gesture of an angel. He will get what he wants.

His body was littered with your name in varying depths. Mark wished they could scar permanently, but on the bright side, you could always rebrand him. On his chest, arms, abdomen. Marks breath hitched when your knife approached his shaft after you carved your name on his hip bone. He bucks his hips forward eagerly when your gaze settled to his, in a imperceptible manner of assessing his reaction.

"Y-you can," he whines. "Let them know this cock is yours."

[sshnzsr]

adidas boy

warnings: dom!sunghoon, unprotected sex, slapping (pussy and ass), p in v, orgasm denial, sex with no feelings attached, creampie, semi-public sex

wordcount: 0.6k

-

Sunghoon tilts his head for your camera, the Adidas gear hugging his frame as he locks into the pose. He’s the new brand ambassador, and it shows—every sharp line of his body screams confidence. But his eyes aren’t on the lens. They’re on you. You circle him, snapping shots, your voice cutting through the air with crisp commands. “Chin up. Look at me.” He does, and the heat in his gaze catches you off guard—professional, sure, but edged with something that sends a jolt down your spine.

You lower the camera for a second, smirking as you meet his stare. “Not bad,” you say, keeping your tone light but letting a challenge slip through. “You might actually make this work.”

He steps closer, his smirk mirroring yours. “Might? You’re underestimating me.” His voice dips, low and deliberate, testing you. You don’t back down, just raise a brow, and that’s all it takes to light the fuse.

The crew starts to scatter, their chatter fading as they take a break, but neither of you moves. His hand finds your waist, pulling you against him fast and hard. Your camera hits the table with a thud as his lips crash into yours—hot, messy, and straight to the point. No hesitation, just raw need. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails catching on the fabric, and he presses you back against the surface, his hands sliding down with intent.

“Door,” you gasp between kisses, your breath uneven. He breaks away just long enough to stride over and lock it, the click loud in the quiet. He’s back in a heartbeat, pinning you to the wall this time. His mouth trails to your neck, teeth grazing your skin as you arch into him, a soft moan escaping before you can stop it. It’s like throwing fuel on a fire—he takes it and runs.

Your jeans are gone in moments, his pants following just as quick, the Adidas gear pooling at his feet. His hand cracks against your ass, sharp and stinging, pulling a gasp from you. “You like that?” he growls, watching you squirm. You glare at him, defiant, but the way your thighs press together gives you away.

“Shut up and fuck me,” you snap, patience wearing thin. He doesn’t waste time, lifting you until your legs wrap around his hips and slamming into you with one brutal thrust. No barriers—just heat, friction, and the stretch of him filling you completely. The pace is relentless, skin slapping against skin, your choked cries mixing with his low grunts. It’s not gentle, not sweet—it’s about getting what you both want, right here, right now.

Your nails rake down his back as he shifts, hitting deeper, and you feel yourself unraveling. “Close?” he rasps, sensing the way you tighten around him. You nod, desperate, but he slows just enough to keep you hanging on the edge. “Not yet,” he says, voice cold despite the sweat beading on his brow. You curse him, frustration boiling over, but he smirks, spinning you around to take you from behind.

Another slap—this time between your legs—makes you whimper, your body shaking as he thrusts back in. He’s merciless, driving harder, the tension coiling until it snaps. With a groan, he spills inside you, the warmth pushing you over too, your walls clenching around him despite his earlier tease. It’s messy, reckless, and exactly what you needed.

You stay like that for a moment, panting, sweat-slicked and spent. Then he pulls out, stepping back as you brace yourself against the wall. He tugs the Adidas pants back on, cool as ever, while you fumble with your jeans, hands still shaky.

“Next shoot should be interesting,” he says, grabbing a water bottle and heading for the door.

You snort, picking up your camera. “Don’t hold your breath.”

But the faint smirk tugging at your lips says you’re not entirely ruling it out.

[rafes-slut]

Rafe x Pouge Reader request (pretty please)

He’s never made her feel like she does not belong in his world or by his side, but she slowly and slowly starts feeling like she has no place by his side and people make it known she’s not wanted there. Maybe Kook people ask these ‘’touchpoint’’ questions to see what her status is and when it’s revelaed everytime she’s a Pouge, the vibe/energy shifts and they longer are interested in talking to her, making passive aggressive comments about her clothes etc. Some gossip girl inspo but maybe a super old money grandma of Rafe’s straight up says like ‘’You don’t belong here. We may all speak English but YOU will never understand us. Do him a favor and let go of him. He belongs with girls like -------cue perfect rich girl’’. LOTS of angst and Reader storming out in tears, breaking up with him but he does not let her, not in a toxic way more like ‘’if you said you didn’t love me anymore fine, but I won’t loose you over this’’

Foreign Tongue

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Pogue!You

Warnings: Angst, classism, emotional distress, social exclusion, elitism, tension, language, hurt/comfort, crying, protective Rafe, break-up attempt, possessive but not toxic behavior, mentions of alcohol, mentions of family pressure, insecurity/self-doubt.

You never thought they’d get to you.

Rafe had never made you feel like an outsider. Not once. Not when you showed up to Figure Eight parties in your thrifted dresses and worn-in sneakers. Not when he introduced you to his friends, his world, his life. You’d always felt… safe with him. Like you belonged.

But that was before you realized people were only waiting for you to slip. Watching. Waiting. Judging.

And it started slow.

Touchpoint questions, Rafe had called them once, laughing about how Kook moms gossiped. You thought they were harmless — until you noticed what they were actually doing.

“Where did you say you went to school again?”

“Oh, is that… on The Cut?”

“I’ve never been to that beach. That’s… interesting.”

And then it would come. Every time.

“So, you’re a Pogue?”

Like a record scratch. And you’d nod, because what else could you do.

The vibe always shifted. Eyes flicked over your outfit — cheap, wrong. Polite smiles turned into passive-aggressive digs. Conversations suddenly “had to be continued.” People walking away mid-sentence, leaving you standing there with your drink and a fake smile that started to feel like a mask slipping.

You tried to ignore it. Tried to tell yourself that as long as Rafe was by your side, none of it mattered. But it did. God, it did.

The final straw was the brunch. You shouldn’t have gone, but Rafe wanted you there, so you said yes.

It was all white linen tablecloths and laughter that didn’t feel real. You were just trying to make it through when she approached — his grandmother. The one with pearls around her neck and disdain in her eyes.

She sat beside you like a queen addressing a peasant, her words dipped in venom masked by a smile.

“You know, dear…” Her hand touched yours, ice-cold and unwelcome.

“We may all speak English, but you’ll never understand us.”

Her eyes, sharp and cold, bore into yours.

“Do him a favor and let him go. He belongs with girls like Katherine.”

You blinked.

Katherine. Tall, blonde, perfect. A girl who’d been circling Rafe like a vulture, smiling at you like she already knew you were temporary.

You didn’t stay long after that. You couldn’t. Your heart was hammering in your chest, shame burning your cheeks, vision swimming.

You stormed out, tears hot and fast, pushing past Rafe who’d been deep in conversation, unaware. He called your name, but you didn’t stop.

He caught up to you outside, grabbing your wrist, breathless.

“Hey—hey, what happened?” His voice was tight, scared.

You couldn’t look at him. “I can’t do this anymore, Rafe.”

“What?” His eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t belong here,” you choked out, voice breaking. “I never did.”

“Bullshit.” He stepped in front of you, forcing you to face him. “Who said that to you?”

“It doesn’t matter!” You yanked your hand from his. “Everyone thinks it. Everyone knows it. Your grandma basically told me I was—trash.”

His jaw clenched, rage flickering in his eyes, but he focused on you. “She’s wrong. They all are.”

You shook your head, backing away. “This is your world, Rafe. I don’t fit in. You deserve someone who—who understands it.”

His hands fisted at his sides, trembling. “If you told me you didn’t love me anymore—fine. I’d let you go.” His voice cracked then, raw and low. “But I’m not losing you because of them.”

You stared at him, heart breaking, torn.

He stepped closer, cupping your face with shaky hands, eyes searching yours. “I love you. You’re my world. I don’t care about them. Don’t let them take you from me.”

Silence stretched between you. The wind carried the sound of laughter from inside, cruel and distant.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, but you didn’t pull away.

And slowly, Rafe leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, his breath shaky.

“I’m yours. Always. Don’t leave me.”

[winchestergirl2]

But it's kind of hard to tell them their son is trying to make my ass into a pincushion."

This line 😂😂 made me burst out laughing! Brilliant!

Not only does he bring you more cake, but you watch him eat three whole slices before he asks you to dance.

My kind of man 😉😂

Ok, when he took her home... I have no words. I think my brain short circuited...

“Sorry. Gonna need to take a raincheck,” he says. He hurries to find his clothes strewn all over your bedside floor.

Oh no. There was a glimmer of hope this might be more than a one-time hook up, but I have a feeling that this action (even though it's genuine) might put a dampener on that.

you shook me all night long,

Ooo, a little nod to AC/DC.

“Nothin’, I was just thinking of that night,” he says. “I had a good time.”

This really does sound like the beginning of a booty call type of phone call.

Well... that is a bomb shell to drop at the wedding isn't it?

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll help you. Don’t worry,” he says.

Of course, he will Dean’s a decent guy. He took that news remarkable well, and I could picture him reacting this way to that news.

"Is it the same reason you're not drinking?" he asks. "You and Dean earlier..."

Of course, Sam has put two and two together and realised what is happening. I can also picture the look on his face, waiting to see what Dean's response was to the news. I could completely imagine his response if he didn't like the answer he got.

Dean can tell that he knows, just in his Big Bird body language. He’d also recognize that accompanying Bitch Face anywhere.

😂😂 Dean definitely knows his brothers tells.

“If you want, I can recommend a holistic diet to help you get your body back after the baby’s born,” Lisa offers. “No pills, no chemicals. Just good clean weight loss.”

Oh ok she's one of those women... offer 'help and advice' when really it's a way for her to have a subtle dig.

Is that why Dean likes you? Because you’re bendy? Bet if I sat on you, you’d pop like a fucking balloon.

Another laugh out loud moment 🤣 😂

I absolutely loved Dean's reaction to hearing her talk negatively about herself. He was not having any of it, and I imagine he wouldn't be too happy if he found out that Lisa's 'helpful' comments were the reason for it.

IF I STAY - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Yes, here’s another firefighter AU! Based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @redhoodieone. She requested pretty much all the major beats of this story, so hopefully I did her request justice! This is also partially inspired by Fools Rush In, a beautiful movie with Salma Hayek and Matthew Perry (Rest in Peace, King).

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis

Word Count: 8.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, thick thirty, hints of body insecurity, but also body appreciation, angst, and hurt/comfort.

❤️‍���� If I Stay Masterlist

Part 1: Fools Rush In

Slowly, your eyes slide open into the waking world. Your head is resting on something warm, firm…and a little sweaty. You pick your head up, despite the disorienting, muddy feeling of a slight hangover.

A groan bubbles in your throat. Your gaze travels downward, and you realize that what you’re looking at is more of a who.

Your eyes widen. Oh…my…God…

Not only are you very naked, but your firm pillow is too. It happens to be your best friend’s brother.

Yes, holy fucking shit! You slept with your best friend’s brother.

Biting the inside of your lip, you can’t help but take him in, here in the raw light of day as he lays peacefully on his back. His head lolls to the side on your usual pillow. Your eyes roam over the bow of his lips, the dark eyebrows, lightish brown hair that's softer than it should be between your fingers.

He’s painfully handsome. There’s a slight hesitation in your touch, but you softly trace the cut of his jaw and the stubble spread across it. That roughness feels familiar, and not just under the pads of your fingers, though the thought makes you blush. You begin to remember the night before, almost like a movie reel through your mind… 

Ooooh, right. That’s what happened.

It starts at Sam Winchester’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party at a nice hotel downtown. He and Eileen aren't the "strippers and coke" kind of party couple. They're more the "wine and brie en croute with pickled olives" on the expensive crackers you can't afford—kind of couple.

They look perfectly in love, if a bit long-suffering while Dean gives a hilarious, somewhat inappropriate, but still ultimately heartwarming toast to their happiness. After lowering the glass of champagne from his lips, his gaze catches on yours in the crowd. You suck in a subtle breath. 

Technically you’ve met him already, being one of Eileen’s bridesmaids, but there’s something about his green eyes that pin you to the floor. When he hands over the mic to Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, his head turning away from you to offer her a smile breaks the spell. It allows you to breathe.

Dean later finds you by the bar. You’re drinking a rum and coke with your slice of cake, trying not to get a single crumb on your dress. You've put a lot of work into affording it, let alone fitting in it. He leans his elbows casually on the counter and looks over at you.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he nods at you with a smile, subtly taking you in first. Then, his eyes go to your plate. “Ooh, red velvet. Gotta get me some of that.”

You smile back at him. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, looks good in your hand,” he says, adding a teasing wink for good measure.

You don't know why that does it for you, but a half-flattered, half-nervous laugh tumbles out of your mouth. Sam has warned you before about Dean. Apparently his older brother is a bit of a flirt; a ladies’ man.

A man whore, are the words Eileen used.

You’re honestly surprised he’s talking to you when Eileen’s other bridesmaids, Lisa and Jo, are sipping martinis together down at the other end of the bar. Guess they didn’t want cake.

They look beautiful in their lithe, strapless little cocktail dresses. You’ve had to give up chocolate, bread, and cheese for three months straight to fit into this dress, something slinky and red that drapes over your thicker, curvy figure. But you’re proud of the fact that you’re letting yourself eat cake tonight, even though you’ve often felt like Mrs. Doubtfire while standing for pictures next to Lisa and Jo.

They’re Eileen’s friends, not so much your crowd. No matter how much you’ve tried to get to know them while helping the wedding planning in whatever way you can, you still get a high school clique vibe from the women, if with more “polite smiles.” Then they’ll typically go back to talking about crystal centerpieces—or whatever in-depth conversation they were having before you were there. 

But right now, Dean’s focus is on you. When he asks you more about yourself, you tell him about recently earning an elementary education degree.

“Ah, but you already knew that, because Sam told you we graduated college together,” you realize, with warmth tingeing your cheeks. That subject came up pretty quickly when he introduced you to his brother.

Dean’s smile confirms your suspicions, so you just keep filling the silence on reflex.

“Well, I actually just started teaching my first ever semester of second graders. They’re a bit of a handful, but overall, they’re really sweet.” Your smile falters. “Except for this one kid who likes to put little tacks on my chair. He’s kind of a menace, but I think if I bribe him with enough lollipops, he’ll give it a rest. I mean, it’s a behavioral issue and I should probably call his parents. But it's kind of hard to tell them their son is trying to make my ass into a pincushion."

Dean's laugh comes out in a sharp burst, like he wasn't expecting what just came out of your mouth. You didn't either, honestly. You giggle more out of embarrassment, ducking your head.

"He’s in second grade, you know?" you say, in between laughter. "I don't think that little footnote needs to end up on his permanent record. But then there's Micah. He's so friggin' smart. He can read at the fifth grade level already. Can you believe that? And I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, but his grades on his spelling tests get him a spot in the comfy bean bag chair pretty much every Friday. Honestly, I think that's what I like about working with kids. I get to see that spark on their face when something just finally clicks for them. Their little faces get all bright and happy and…ugh. God, I'm sorry. I'm rambling, right?”

You stop yourself with a hand sliding over your mouth, not quite covering your smile of embarrassment.

Dean’s grin just widens, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

"It's okay. I kinda like it," he teases.

You duck your head, biting your lip against a groan. He chuckles and reaches out for your hand, earning your nervous glance. He quirks his head.

“Hey, you're passionate about what you do, helping kids. That's nothin' to be ashamed of,” he says, brushing his thumb over your hand. “But sweetheart, I gotta ask. Am I making you nervous or something?”

God, yes, you think, especially at that sweetheart thing. It’s making your heartbeat tick up a syncopated rhythm, but you shake your head, biting the straw of your rum and coke.

“No, not at all,” you say, in a hopefully “breezy” kind of way. You touch your fingers to his wrist. “Tell me about you though. Sam mentioned that you’re a firefighter?”

“Ah, yeah. Firefighter in training,” he says, with a more genuine smile.

He just started at the Fire Academy, and he tells you about all the drills he’s had to learn and all the training he’s had to do to be able to keep up with his classes. You subtly eye him while you sip at your drink, and you notice the crisp cut of his buttoned-down shirt and leather jacket, the definition of muscle across his thighs under the slacks, even while he casually sits.

Your gaze subtly travels down his long bowed legs, smart dress shoes. His cologne is woody and masculine, but not overpowering; maybe bergemot and sandalwood. It pleasantly wafts under your nose every time he gestures with his hands while he talks.

“Aw man, I can’t hold out anymore. I think I need to get me some of that cake before it’s gone,” he says, getting up from his chair.

You’re a bit disappointed that he’s leaving, until he stops short.

“You want another piece?” he offers, gesturing at your empty plate that’s been resting on the counter.

You blink in surprise, but you shake your head. “Oh, no. I probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not? It’s a party,” Dean reasons. His grin is too damn infectious. It has you smiling, and begrudgingly agreeing.

Not only does he bring you more cake, but you watch him eat three whole slices before he asks you to dance.

The rest of it flashes through your mind like strobe lights—the way he’d started small and respectful with his larger hand closed over yours and the other along the curve of your waist. He guided you closer and closer, until you were turned around into his arms, and you could feel his warm breath on your neck.

You felt his lips teasing your skin. Then those hands tantalizingly drifted down your every soft curve, as if showing you a preview of everything he could do to you, and every way he’d make you come apart. You believed him.

And when he whispered in your ear, asking if he could take you home, you let him.

You let him drive you in that big black piece of history he drives. Used to be my dad’s car, he said. A Chevy something. You couldn’t really remember much when his hand was drifting up and down your thigh like that.

His presence burned hot at your back when you two eventually got to the front door of your apartment, your hands just barely shaking as you got the key in. Twist and click—

He waited until you flipped the lights on. Then he turned you around slowly in his arms and pulled you in close, all the while asking you with his eyes and raised brows. This okay? You want this?

“Do I still make you nervous?” he asked, his lips twitching at a smile when yours do.

You nodded, uttering a small giggle. “In a good way.”

That was when he finally kissed you, hot and slow, like he meant to devour you whole. He moaned at the taste of you, at the feel of your ass squeezed in his hands. You clung onto him strong, breathing into his kiss and trying to meet every single demand of his lips.

It soon became a fiery tear to your bedroom, one lamp flicked on, hot breaths and nice clothes crumpled to the floor. You didn’t feel self-conscious even once when he guided you under him on the bed, because he wasted no time in taking you apart, inch by inch.

His lips kissed and licked and sucked a burning trail down your neck, over your collarbone and between your breasts. You felt his hardened length trapped between your bodies while his hands explored you, teasing your breasts and sensitive nipples, and he mapped his way down with his lips.

You explored every part of him you could—every dip of muscle, firm shoulders and the slopes of his back, and then back up to tangle in his hair. Your heated gasps and whimpers filled the room when his sinful mouth found what it was looking for between your legs.

It wasn’t often that you had a strong pair of shoulders to rest your thighs on, but Dean’s grip was hard enough to leave deep fingerprints of pressure on each thigh while he slipped his tongue through your folds and feasted on you.

“D-Dean, oh God,” you gasped. Every sound you made was a sensuous symphony in his ears, washing over his skin and making the well of his desire churn hot in his lower belly. He had to roll his hips into the mattress for some relief for his aching cock, even while he moved his mouth up to your clit, circling the swollen bud with his tongue. He had enough room to slip two fingers deep inside your sopping wet channel, exploring you deeply, stroking and twisting to find what you needed.

Your thighs trembled and squeezed tight on either side of his head. When he sucked your clit tight between his lips, you uttered as gasping moan as that coil snapped its release. Your inner walls fluttered around his fingers. Yours clenched tightly in his hair, threatening to rip out a few strands.

Dean stroked you all through your first orgasm, giving slower licks to your clit. He seemed to sense when you couldn’t handle anymore though. You tugged more sharply on his hair, and he finally pulled away, moving back up your body to gauge your reaction.

You’d collapsed boneless against the bed, but you still managed to smile up at him as you caught your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked. But his self-satisfied grin almost made you laugh. You took his glistening face between your hands and pulled him down for a grateful kiss.

After a moment to savor your lips, he broke away for a second to catch his breath himself. You stroked his back all the while.

“You know, for a minute down there, I thought you might not let me come back up,” he teased.

You choked on a laugh, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Honestly wouldn’t have minded if you did suffocate me,” he chuckled, accompanied by a slap to your left ass cheek. You squealed, and blushed hotly at the way he was grinning down at you.

“Ready for more, baby? Or you want to call it a night?” he asked. His tone was playful, but it was actually a serious question. You blinked in surprise. You’d never had a guy be this, well…generous, and not expect anything in return, especially not for just a hookup.

But you shook your head and sat up, slipping a hand behind Dean’s neck. After a beat of hesitation, you guided him down to you for a slow, sensuous kiss.

“No, I don’t want to call it a night,” you whispered. Your hand drifted down his bare chest, and lower still. You showed him just how well you could return the favor.

And now, come the morning, you’re blushing down to your neck as each scene flashes through your mind. You feel the ghost of his hands all over your body, and how you’d never quite felt quite as bold and sexy and beautiful with a near stranger as you had with Dean effing Winchester. Your best friend’s brother.

You begin to worry your bottom lip with your teeth. How the hell are you going to tell Sam? Especially after he warned you about exactly this. Plus, there’s a reason you don’t typically do the one-night stand thing, and this has the potential to become something very complicated.

You know what, it’s fine! you think. We’re two consenting adults. We’re both single. And maybe…maybe it could be more than a hookup. Maybe we can see each other again, see where it goes.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Dean says, his voice croaking with sleep.

You look down at him in surprise. His eyes have cracked open and he has your hand captive, stopping you from continuing to idly trace patterns on his bare chest. You smile in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you say. Again, you bite your lower lip. “Um, good morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” he grins lazily. “You sure wore me out last night.”

Your smile becomes more genuine, even if you turn your face away somewhat shyly.

“Aw, don’t do that,” Dean says. He slides his hand up your arm and behind your neck, tangling into your already tangled hair when he guides you down to his lips for a kiss. “You were awesome.”

You giggle against his lips. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, kissing you again.

You shake your head a little. “You were…”

Amazing. Unbelievable. Probably the best night I’ve ever had.

“Perfect,” you decide. Because it’s the truth. The word comes out of your mouth before you can filter yourself though, making you pause. Dean does too, but after a beat, he slowly smiles.

“Oh yeah?” he asks.

You lick your lips, and you nod. “Definitely.”

“Well, then,” he says. His hand moves down to squeeze your hip. “You down for a repeat performance?”

You smile. “Only if I get a turn.”

Bracing your hands on his chest, you slide your thigh across his lap so you can straddle his hips. Dean grins and goes along with your idea. He gets a nice healthy handful of your thighs and helps settle you on top of him. But first, he reaches over into your nightstand drawer and finds another condom, ripping it open with his teeth.

Just like you did for him last night, you take the packet, as well as his generous length in your hands. You gently stroke him to full mast, smiling pleased at his groan of pleasure. Then you carefully fit the condom over him.

“You’re so gentle with me,” he teases. 

“Just returning the favor,” you quip, just before you position him at your wet entrance. Slowly, you sink down over his cock.

You both moan at the feeling of him stretching you again, warm and thick and fitting perfectly nestled deep inside. There had been moments last night where he wasn’t all that gentle, actually, but his passion had only spurred yours on more. You know you’ll probably find fingerprint marks on your thighs and ass, but it’s fucking worth it, you think, as you begin to bob a rocking rhythm that serves you both.

Dean arches his back underneath you, his knees coming up to press against your ass.

“Goddamn, baby. Givin’ me quite a show,” he says, in a panting voice that’s deep as sin.

You utter a breathy laugh.

Dean means it though. He’s enjoying the way you brush your hair out of your face, your beautiful tits in his face while you truly let loose for him. He guides you by the stronghold he has on your hips, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh as he ruts up into you, meeting your thrusts.

Your breath quickens, your nails digging into his chest on reflex, and your heart races as that delicious pleasure builds. But when Dean snakes a hand between you and further parts your folds to massage tight circles over your clit, your vision flashes white. You utter a scream of pleasure on his name, your inner walls choking him tight as you throb around his cock. His release hits him like a goddamn freight train.

“Aw, fuck,” he grunts.

He slams your hips down hard, making your thighs slap against his. A ragged groan escapes him in a rush. His hands move to your thighs just under your ass, where his fingers press into flesh hard enough to leave forensic ID, giving him leverage to bury himself deep into your pussy as he spills a hot release into the condom.

Goddamn…

He can almost imagine that he’s coming free inside you, that you’re milking his cock for every drop, until there’s nothing left for him to give.

The thought surprises him. It almost takes him out of the moment, honestly. That’s not a thought he’s ever had before—not with a woman he barely knows (which is most of his hookups, if he’s honest).

In that delicious, fractious moment just after it hits, it’s like those few seconds are suspended in zero gravity. Your arms are shaking, and your forced to collapse against his chest. Dean welcomes you there for a little while, letting you come down while he smooths a hand over your hair.

Though he can't help the urge to let his big hand drift down over your dewy skin, down the gentle slope of your back and over the curve of your generous ass. He gives one cheek a teasing slap. The sound echoes in the room.

"Goddamn perfect ass," he says roughly, smirking at your squeal. You end up grinning hard against his neck.

"'S that my new nickname?" you quip.

He chuckles deeply, moving you along with his chest. "Hell, sweetheart, if you want it to be."

Eventually, you lean back to give him a smile and one last kiss before you pull away from him. You slip off his lap to find your robe, at least. You definitely need a shower.

“So I’m thinking, after we get cleaned up, I could make us some breakfast,” you offer. “Or if you want, maybe we could go somewhere. I know a little diner down the block.”

“I like the sound of food,” Dean agrees with a smile. Ge reaches over for his phone on the nightstand, to check the time. His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

He has to get his ass over to the Fire Academy. He has class in barely twenty minutes.

He tears out of bed and nearly trips on the coiled sheets.

“Sorry. Gonna need to take a raincheck,” he says. He hurries to find his clothes strewn all over your bedside floor.

“What’s the matter?” you ask with wide eyes. You cross your arms under your breasts, but it’s more like you’re hugging yourself over your robe. You watch him tear through your bedroom in a tempest of movement.

Dean spares you a glance, but not much else as he yanks up his slacks and belt and dress shirt.

“Gotta get to class,” he confesses. Thank God he has his uniform in the trunk of his car for exactly these kinds of emergencies. He grabs his phone, wallet, and keys, and quickly kisses you on the cheek. He gazes down at you apologetically. “Sorry I gotta cut and run, sweetheart, but it’s been fun.”

Your smile barely reaches your eyes. He’s pressed for time, but he still notices.

He slows himself down and cups your cheek. “Hey.”

He gets your pretty eyes looking up at him, and he gives you a real kiss, nice and slow. He cradles your cheek and brushes his thumb across your skin.

“Thanks,” he says. His now familiar grin manages to make you smile. “And I mean that.”

You shake your head at him. “Okay go, Mr. Future Fireman. Be safe out there, okay?”

He gives you a playful salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

You can’t help but laugh. This guy’s too much. But you don't think you've had this much fun having sex in...

All right, let's not put a timeframe on it.

You watch him leave your apartment, even though you have a sinking feeling in your chest. You knew this was just a hookup for him, for both of you. Part of you just couldn’t help hoping that it could’ve led to something more. 

Dean means to call you.

He really does.

After that truly awesome, you shook me all night long, kind of a night, he thinks about you more than he’d like to admit over the next few weeks. However, he finds himself locked into his training. He’s so close to finishing strong and earning his badge, he just can’t afford any more distractions.

Still, he should’ve known that Sam would find out—either through Eileen, or through you directly. He also should’ve expected the way his brother let him have it.

“And you didn’t even fucking call her. See? This is why I don’t set you up with any of my friends anymore,” Sam bitches at him from his side of the small two-seater dinner table. They still share an apartment, though in just a month and a half, Sam’s going to be moving out. He and Eileen already found a house that they’re moving into after the wedding.

“Look, I was going to call her, man. They’ve just been bustin’ my ass at the Academy!” Dean argues.

“Bullshit.” Sam levels him with the same finger that holds his beer.

Dean’s brows raise, high and annoyed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. Because if you really liked her, respected her, and respected me, you would’ve made the time,” Sam says.

That falls heavy between the brothers for a moment while they eat their pizza.

“Look, I know her. She doesn’t do hookups that often, which means…she probably liked you,” Sam adds. “And honestly, when are you going to give it a real try with someone? You can only visit that free clinic so many times.”

Dean shoots him a glare. He’s had a clean bill of health from said clinic for six months straight.

“Jesus Christ. Enough, all right?” he grouses. “What’re you, Mom?”

“I’m just saying,” Sam says, lowering his crust to the plate. He levels his brother with a more earnest look, lightening up from his anger. “Look, if it’s about what happened to Dad—”

“What, you mean the way he drank himself to death after Mom died?” Dean says. His voice cuts through whatever softball glove Sam is trying to handle him with. “You think that’s the kind of thing I should be looking for in my life?”

“Oh, and what, do you think I’m making a mistake marrying Eileen?” Sam counters.

Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Damn it, don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying, it’s just…I don’t know. Maybe that kind of life—the house, the wife, the 2.5 kids and the dog. Maybe that’s just not my life, okay?”

Sam gives him a long look. He lets go of a deep breath, and he shrugs.

“Okay,” he says. “If you think hooking up night after night for the rest of your life is going to make you happy, then fine.”

Dean nods, glad that they can put an end to this little After School Special.

“Okay.”

Still, he can’t finish his third slice of pizza. He keeps picturing your face when he left you that morning. No matter how you tried to hide it, he still saw the tinge of disappointment in your eyes. It brews something uncomfortable in his stomach, and a sting in his chest.

You’re eating lunch alone in your classroom, finally on your break, when an unfamiliar number flashes across your phone screen. You look down at it in confusion, but with all the caterers and florists and things you’ve helped Eileen with on the wedding, you figure it could be important. You pick up the call and greet whoever’s on the line.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

You drop your ham and cheese on your keyboard, gaping in surprise.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he chuckles slightly. “Sorry, I know it’s been a minute.”

You frown, because you’re confused more than anything.

“Yeah, like almost a month,” you reply. You put the call on speaker so you can grab up your sandwich and quickly brush off the crumbs from your keyboard. You struggle to say something cool, clever, sexy even. “I’m okay. Just, um…what’s up?”

Smooth, real smooth. You cover your eyes with your hand.

“Nothin’, I was just thinking of that night,” he says. “I had a good time.”

Your frown deepens, despite the beginning of a blush warming your cheeks. If he’s calling you just for another hookup…

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.”

And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

“I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

That part throws you though, you’re not going to lie. What, is this a Netflix and chill situation—with a side of fries?

You consider it. You weigh pros and cons at a frightening speed in your mind, almost like Sherlock Holmes contemplating the layout of a dead body and deducing within moments that his wife committed the murder, despite the man no longer wearing a ring.

You want to let yourself be bold and spontaneous and carefree...but it's just not who you are at your core. You're a planner, a cautious person who looks three ways before crossing the street. Letting Dean take you home that night was certainly one of the most spontaneous, wild things you've done since your friends took you out to a strip club after you aced your final round of exams back in college.

(Sam hadn't been there that night, but he did get an embarrassing drunken text from you at 3:00 a.m., along with a few shame-ridden pictures fueled by questionable substances. Yes, he still had the evidence.)

You just don't know if it's smart to let yourself hookup with Dean again. Mostly because you know your heart has the tendency to get attached, no matter how much you warn it not to.

“You know, Dean, I’m pretty busy with my job right now. I just started here a couple of months ago, and I think I just need to focus on that right now,” you say. Part of it isn’t a lie, even though your soft heart is stinging.

“Ah, okay. Yeah. I get that,” he says. You hear his disappointment too. “But I just need to say, I really am sorry for not calling you sooner.”

Your lips tug at a smile. “It’s okay, Dean. Look, you’re Sam’s brother. I just feel like, maybe it’s better if you and I stay friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Dean says wryly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t have three rounds of steamy hot sex with any of my friends.”

Your blush comes swiftly again, burning in your cheeks.

“Be that as it may,” you say, “I just don’t want to do anything that will distract from Sam and Eileen’s wedding.”

“Oh, I’m a distraction, huh?” Dean says flirtatiously. 

You begin to smile in earnest. “I think you know damn well what you are, Dean Winchester.”

His deep chuckle practically resonates through the phone and into your chest, going straight down to your pussy. You clench on nothing just at the sound of his voice, making you cross your legs under your skirt. Dear God…

How are you supposed to be even remotely normal around this man now? 

But for Sam’s sake (and your own), you’ll have to try. 

Two months later, Dean has taken Sam’s dating advice to heart. A week or so after you turned him down, he ran into Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, while he was at the grocery store buying beer and Twizzlers. She was a smart, sharp, sexy brunette. A yoga instructor, he soon found out. So he took a chance on asking her out. They’ve been going slow and steady ever since. 

Dean hasn’t heard from you since the rehearsal dinner, but he sees you again at his brother’s wedding. All the bridesmaids are wearing long, royal blue dresses that drape off the shoulders and hug the bust and waist, flaring gently at the skirt. Lisa and Jo wear it beautifully, their hair perfectly smooth and coiled. 

But when you step out into the hall outside the church ballroom to join them, Dean actually pauses in what he’s saying to his brother. He nearly double takes when you enter his line of vision—mostly because he hasn’t seen you in a dress since that night. You were sexy as hell then, a lady in red. 

Today, you’re absolutely stunning. 

After greeting Sam with a warm hug, you turn to him with a nervous kind of smile. “H-Hey, Dean.”

With that, he snaps out of it. Dean smiles, eyes crinkling, and goes over to give you a hug as well.

“Good to see you,” he says, trying not to inhale too much of your nice perfume. It’s even in your hair.

“You too,” you reply. Your smile is a little brighter, more genuine. Though there’s something behind your eyes that he can’t quite place.

What he doesn’t notice is the way Lisa is watching you and her boyfriend, a hint of suspicion on her face.

You do though. You pull away from Dean and assemble into a line with Lisa at the helm. As the Best Man, Dean stands with her, followed by Jo and Brady, another one of Sam’s buddies. You and Benny bring up the rear. Benny’s dad used to work with John, Sam and Dean’s father, on the police force.

According to Sam, John Winchester worked a beat for twenty-six years before his liver finally gave out on him. Dean almost went to the Police Academy to follow in his dad’s footsteps, but Benny, already working his way up to Lieutenant, suggested Dean become a smoke eater instead. The suggestion stuck.

Benny Lafitte is slightly shorter than Dean, but just as broad-shouldered, his auburn beard neatly trimmed. Even though you might’ve thought he was rough around the edges at first, his kind blue eyes spoke the contrary. He offers you his arm like a gentleman.

“Well aren't I lucky, getting the prettiest girl on my arm,” he says, with a charming smile.

You smile, and even begin to blush at the way he subtly takes note of you from head to toe.

“Well, thank you. You’re very handsome yourself. Although, hold on.” You slip your arm out of his for a moment so that you can fix his tie. It’s slightly crooked. You make sure that it lays flat under his collar, smoothing down all the edges and picking off any small dust particles that landed on his collar. Benny watches you with an indulgent smile.

“Am I good?” he asks.

“Very,” you reply.

“I appreciate it, thank you,” he says. You don’t know if he means to sound flirtatious, but his voice is a deep drawl that washes over you pleasantly. You find yourself blushing down to your neck as you slip your arm back around his.

You also don’t notice how Dean glances at you and Benny over his shoulder.

As much as you love Sam and Eileen, it’s difficult for you to keep your mind from spinning into fractals as the ceremony goes on. You can’t help but glance at Dean. He stands there behind Sam dutifully, but you see brotherly pride in Dean’s eyes, in his smile. It makes you smile too. You too love Sam like a brother, and it brings a well of happy tears to your eyes to watch him have his moment with his new wife.

It just also reminds you of what you need to do.

After the ceremony ends and the bridal party files out behind the bride and groom, you excuse yourself from Benny apologetically. You wait until Lisa and Jo go off to take pictures with Sam and Eileen, and you grab Dean’s wrist, pulling him aside.

“I need to talk to you,” you whisper.

Dean gives you a confused look. “They’re gonna need us for the pictures.”

“I know, but this is important,” you say. Your voice trembles with nerves, and so do your hands. Dean notices, frowning in concern. He grasps your arm to try and steady you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Just come with me,” you implore him. You take his hand and lead him into the women’s dressing room attached to the church sanctuary you all just came out of.

Dean raises his brows at the mess you and the rest of the bridesmaids have made of the room—pantyhose and makeup and clothing litter the floor and most available surfaces, while leftover breakfast sandwiches, grapes, salami, and cheddar cheese cubes are splayed out across one of the vanity counters. Dean is tempted to steal a morsel, but he focuses on you first.

You close and lock the door, which makes his brows raise high again. You know he has a girlfriend now, right?

“Uhh, look, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but—”

You heave a sigh. Again, you take his hand and guide him to sit with you at the vanity. The old stools squeak, the overhead lights a bit too bright. This is not where you want to do this, but you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Dean, I’m pregnant,” you confess.

He freezes. His breath stills in his lungs. His eyes slowly widen as the words click in his brain.

“What?” His head tilts, as if he didn’t hear you right.

You squeeze his hand; to ground him or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I’m about two months pregnant. I found out last week.”

Dean swipes his free hand over his mouth while he tries to compute. He squeezes your hand, tighter and tighter. He points to himself.

“It’s…it’s me? It’s mine?”

You give him a weary smile. “You’re the only one I’ve been with in the last few months. It could only be you.”

Oh fuck. The man’s face begins to pale as he descends into shock.

“But we…I used a condom,” he reasons. “All the—all the times!”

You bite your lip. If you weren’t freaking the fuck out yourself, you’d probably be laughing right now. Granted, you’ve had a bit more time to process this than Dean.

“I know, I was there,” you reply, releasing yet another sigh. “One of them probably broke. That’s all I can think of… Honestly, Dean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just didn’t want to disrupt the ceremony or cause a scene before the wedding. But now you know.”

Dean falls silent then. He hasn’t let go of your hand, which you think is a decent sign. He’s likely forgotten that you’re still holding it as he stares off into the middle distance for several seconds.

Eventually, he shakes his head and returns his gaze to yours. He looks uncertain, his handsome face the true epitome of holy fucking shit.

You know the feeling.

But he asks the most important question.

“What do you want to do?”

Briefly you close your eyes as you take a breath. You squeeze his hand before you let go of him.

“I’ve thought about this a lot, and…I’m keeping the baby,” you tell him, though you raise placating hands. “I don’t want money, or anything like that. I just wanted you to know that it’s yours. How much you want to be in his or—or her life, that’s up to you.”

Dean takes a beat before he answers, but you don’t have to wait so long holding your breath.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll help you. Don’t worry,” he says.

And just like that, all the time you spent giving yourself pep talks for this, telling yourself that you’ll need to be strong no matter what he says, all of it crumbles into relief. Your lower lip trembles, and your body shudders as you break into tears. You try covering your face to hide your shame, but Dean grasps your shoulders.

“Hey, hey. It’s all right,” he says. He tentatively pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You nod into his dress shirt, probably staining him with your running makeup.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you so much.”

He holds you a bit tighter in response.

You and Dean agree to keep this to yourselves for now, at least until Sam and Eileen get back from their honeymoon. It’s difficult to explain why your eyes are all red and your makeup is smudged, but you promise Sam that you’ll tell him later. You know it’s pointless to lie to him though. As a lawyer, his bullshit meter is far too high.

However, you also know that he’s half guessed it by the time you all make it to the reception. When you and Dean came out of that dressing room to join the bridal party for pictures, you're sure that you looked emotionally wrecked. Dean had looked pale as a sheet, his body coiled and tense, as willing himself to seem normal. Sam had clocked both of you with a raise of his brow, but he didn't say anything then, especially after you gave him a pleading look.

While Eileen greets her family without him for a moment, Sam pulls you aside. He notes your glass of diet coke, in a moderate sea of guests drinking champagne and cocktails.

“Are you okay?” he asks knowingly.

Tears well up in your eyes again. You don’t know if it’s your damn hormones going haywire, or just the way Sam asks you, with the love of a friend in his eyes. He squeezes your shoulder gently, prompting you with your name.

“Yeah, I think I will be,” you say.

"Is it the same reason you're not drinking?" he asks. "You and Dean earlier..."

You hesitantly confirm with a nod. Sam blows out a harsh sigh, raising folded hands to his mouth as he processes. You begin to look around on reflex, trying to see if anyone's watching you and Sam have this conversation in the middle of the reception. To your relief, everyone around you seems occupied with drinks, hours d'oeuvres and conversation.

“What did he say when you told him?” Sam asks. His gaze is firmer. You get the idea that if he doesn’t like what you tell him, then he’s about to go grab his brother by the ear himself.

You grab his wrist and give a placating squeeze. “He said he's going to help me, be there for me.”

“Damn right. So will I,” Sam nods, and glances back at Eileen, his new bride, with a smile. “We both will.”

“I know,” you nod as well. “I’ll be okay, Sam. You don’t have to worry so much. Just enjoy your wedding day. It’s the only one you’re gonna get. Well, you know…hopefully.”

You tease him with a wink.

Sam laughs, cupping your cheek. He kisses your other cheek.

“I love you, you know that right?” he says.

You give him a trembling smile through your tears.

Meanwhile, Dean has a beautiful woman in his arms. He turns Lisa on the dancefloor, trying not to trip on his own dress shoes, all the while knowing that his brain isn’t here in his body. It’s across the ballroom, watching you talk to Sam. Dean can tell that he knows, just in his Big Bird body language. He’d also recognize that accompanying Bitch Face anywhere.

“Dean, what’s wrong,” Lisa asks him, and not for the first time. She’s getting annoyed, he can tell. She finally looks over to where he keeps glancing, and she notices you with a frown. It’s also not the first time she’s caught him staring at you tonight.

“What was that earlier in the dressing room? She didn’t really get food poisoning, did she?” she asks pointedly. “What, did you two used to date or something?”

He gives a wan smile. “Yeah, kinda. We…had a thing once.”

“What kind of thing?”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to keep himself calm. He’s pretty sure if he tells her the truth right now, she’s going to find the nearest cocktail and dump it over his head.

But shit, here it goes.

“Well…”

After a long day at school, you drive over to Dean’s apartment. You’d agreed to meet there and wait for him to get off his shift at Firehouse 83, where he just started as a full-fledged firefighter on probation. When he gets home, he’s supposed to go with you to an important appointment with your OB-GYN. 

You were hoping he’d already be done with work by the time you got to his place, but Lisa's there to open the door for you. Apparently, he’d already given her a key.

Moving kind of fast, but okay, you think. A second later, you could’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. Pot, kettle, me. Got it.

Lisa greets you with a “polite” smile at best, but she does offer you water at least. You really can’t blame her for not liking you though. She found out her boyfriend got another woman pregnant right before he started dating her. Really, she has more balls than you for staying with him. You wouldn't put it past Dean to somehow have smooth-talked her into giving him a chance.

Or she really loves him. The thought sobers you as you lower yourself down to the couch beside her. Both of you sit there in silence for a moment, trying to figure out something to talk about.

“So, you’re what, six months pregnant?” she asks.

You correct her in thinly veiled annoyance. “Three months, actually.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why I thought it was six.”

You have a feeling her awkward chuckle is fake, however. She knew good and damn well that you’re not six months pregnant. In her eyes, you must be the size of a parade float. 

“If you want, I can recommend a holistic diet to help you get your body back after the baby’s born,” Lisa offers. “No pills, no chemicals. Just good clean weight loss.”

You feign interest. Honestly, you’d like her to cram that offer right up her hooch.

“I can even give you a discount if you want to try out yoga,” she says. “It’s low impact, but you burn plenty of calories. I have a beginner’s class, not too strenuous. Even my least flexible clients manage to do the poses.”

Is that why Dean likes you? Because you’re bendy? Bet if I sat on you, you’d pop like a fucking balloon.

You hide all of these thoughts behind a “polite” smile of your own.

“That’s really nice of you, thanks,” you reply. It’s non-committal enough, but hopefully it’ll get her off your back.

No such luck.

“You know, maintaining a healthy diet is really important for the baby’s health too,” Lisa adds. “It’s not just about avoided raw fish and dairy products. Oh, and processed food is obviously a no-go. Like, I’m sure you haven’t been hitting Taco Bell and all that stuff, right?”

As a matter of fact, you’ve been eating clean since long before you got pregnant. Not that it’s any business of hers whether you enjoy the occasional quesadilla or not.

Your temper snaps at its leash. You open your mouth to reply, when the front door unlocks and opens to Dean, stepping in through the threshold.

Thank God, you and Lisa both think. She gets up quicker from the couch than you, greeting her boyfriend with a kiss. You avert your gaze while you begin to get up yourself.

Dean reaches out to help you, grasping your arm in support. You shoot him a smile.

“I can still get up by myself,” you snip.

“Yeah, all right. Just in case,” he says with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s rock and roll,” you say, trying to hide your worsening mood. You’re exhausted, and irritated, and probably more than a little hangry. Except now, the idea of food just has you feeling guilty for even being hungry.

“Bye, hun. Hope you have a good appointment,” Lisa says, giving your shoulder a pat. You give her the most genuine smile you can muster as you thank her. It's possibly that she's one of those women who don't realize when they're being cunty, but you find it highly unlikely. She's too smart for that.

You follow Dean out the door and over to his car, big and black and sleek as you remember. You settle into the passenger seat with your arms crossed in silence. Dean switches the cassette to one of his favorite Led Zeppelin albums, though he notices your grumpy face.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

You give him some side-eye, but you’re reluctant to say anything. You just shake your head. As irritated as you are, you don’t want to be the friend who badmouths his girlfriend.

God, are we even friends? You wonder. Or am I just his knocked-up baby momma?

And again, you realize that this whole situation is probably hard for Lisa. You just don’t know if she’s jealous, or if she just…doesn’t like you.

“I’m okay,” you tell Dean.

He raises a skeptical brow. Looks like Sam isn’t the only one with a finely tuned bullshit meter.

“All right, how about this,” Dean says. “Let’s grab some burgers after this, huh? From your favorite spot. Shake Shack, right? Side of fries, frozen yogurt. I think I’ll get chocolate this time… Hmm, I doubt Lisa will want anything. She’s gone on an all-vegan kick or something.”

For one shining moment, you were happy and touched at his consideration. But now your body stills in your seat when you remember Lisa’s words. Tears well up in your eyes with a hot sting, and a sob escapes your throat.

Dean is cut off from thinking about getting extra bacon on his burger. He looks over at you in alarm. “H-Hey, what’s the matter?”

You scoff at him through your tears. “Are you kidding me? I can’t eat burgers anymore, Dean. I was already fucking fat. Now it’s just gonna get ridiculous.”

“What?” Dean’s brows knit together in confusion, along with his deepening frown. It gets worse as he tries to watch the road ahead, while at the same time, watching you continue to crumble.

“And after the birth, I’m just going to be an even fatter slob who can’t take care of her baby,” you sniffle and weep, trying in vain to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself.

Dean grits his teeth, his jaw twitching. Fuck it.

He turns the steering wheel sharp enough to startle a gasp out of you.

“Dean!”

He pulls the car over onto the side of the road, ignoring the honking SUV behind him. He shifts into Park and shuts off the radio—a big red flag, in your opinion. He’s upset too, and fucking serious, more so than you’ve ever seen him. You stare back at him with wide eyes.

“I’ve never once heard you say that you’re fat,” he says.

You blink at that, but eventually, you’re able to get your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth. You wipe the remnants of tears from your cheeks. Your face is already hot from your upset, now tinged with embarrassment.

“You haven’t known me very long,” you say quietly.

It doesn’t help. Dean’s jaw ticks again.

“Well, I’ve never thought it. Not even once,” he says. His jade green eyes are firmly set on yours, and he gestures between you and him with a pointed finger. “The reason you and I are here right now, is because the minute I saw you, I wanted you.”

One corner of his lips kicks upwards. “And that night, you didn’t disappoint.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. You don’t know how to respond, but you do know that a full blush is warming your face and neck. His words have power, and unbidden, they bloom a similar warmth between your legs. You swallow a bit nervously as you bite your bottom lip.

Dean glances down at your mouth when you do. He can remember what your pretty mouth did for him that night. Oh, he remembers all too well. He even had the shade of your lipstick streaked across his skin until he showered up at the firehouse.

He locks that all away when shifts the car back into Drive. If you’re going to make it to this appointment on time, he needs to get going.

And you both have to leave whatever that was right here by the side of the road.

AN: Woo! 😮‍💨 Yep, this is only Part 1, friends. Lisa is a bit different in this. My take was that without Ben in her life, she might be less mature and a bit more catty. As we get into Part 2 I'll leave it up to you to decide why she decides to stay with Dean, and perhaps more importantly, where the reader and Dean can go from here as co-parents. 🤔

If you enjoyed Part 1, please let me know!~

Next Time in Part 2:

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look, I…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours, and achingly familiar.

⋆˙⟡ Read Part 2 on Patreon now!

⋆˙⟡ Coming to Tumblr/Ao3 on 3/23

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@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005

[littlesoulshine]

title: drinking champagne off of you

warnings: 18+, language, light smut

the hotel suite is still loud with the high of the night, the walls thrumming with the echoes of the concert—crowd roaring, bass pounding, and your oh so sexy boyfriend drenched in sweat. his voice is still rough from singing, from shouting into the mic, and from growling out every lyric like it was the last thing he’d ever say. and now he’s here, sprawled on the plush hotel bed, shirt long gone, hair a mess from your fingers pulling, and his smile lazy and sexy.

he pops the bottle of very expensive champagne with a sharp pop, golden liquid fizzing over his fingers, dripping onto his bare chest. he watches you, lips curling.

“oops,” he murmurs, and then his tongue swipes over the spill, slow, teasing. “guess we shouldn’t waste it.”

your throat goes dry. he sees it— almost relishes in it—tilting the bottle just enough to let another stream of bubbles cascade over his stomach, down the cut of his abs. his voice is all gravel when he says, “awe man, c’mere, baby. clean me up.”

your knees hit the bed before you can think. you lean in, dragging your tongue through the sweet mess, licking and sucking at his skin while his fingers tangle in your hair: guiding and encouraging

“fuck, yeah, just like that,” he groans, his head tipping back, the bottle forgotten as he watches you work him over with your mouth.

but then he shifts, flipping you beneath him in one smooth motion, laughing at your gasp. champagne sloshes, dribbles over your collarbone, between your breasts. jensen watches, fascinated, before he bends down, licking a slow, sinful path up your body, following the trail of bubbles.

“taste so good,” he mutters against your skin, voice wrecked, hands pushing your thighs apart. “think i need more.”

you’re both naked before you can process it, lost in the way his hands roam, the way he tips the bottle over your stomach, down your hips, and lower.

the cool fizz trickles over your slit, making you gasp, and him groan, eyes dark and hungry as he watches the champagne drip between your thighs. he doesn’t wait. his mouth is on you instantly, tongue chasing the bubbles, lapping up every last drop as his fingers dig into your hips. he’s a complete mess of groans and curses while he's drinking you in like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. needed.

his lips are at your ear , voice thick with heat. “mhm, baby…never drinking champagne the same way again.”

tags: @soldiersgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @bocadelinfierno @sunnyteume @bejeweledinterludes @k-slla @lunaleah @pieandflannel @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @fitxgrld @knoxile @sacr1ficialang3l

[thewritingrowlet]

The Trembling Heart, ft. FIFTY FIFTY Chanelle

tags: first time, creampie

length: 6k+

author's note: I tried a more show-not-tell approach with this—let me know if you like it.

-

“Good morning, gentlemen,” you greet your men.

“We’re going to head to Pioneer Heights this morning. We will be taking over evacuating the earthquake victims, and since most of the big rubbles have been cleared a few hours ago, we won’t use as many heavy equipment this time.” As you speak, you notice the way some men are getting uneasy; your best guess is they have loved ones they haven’t heard from since the event of the quake. “I won’t waste more of your time; you already know what to do—let’s roll, gentlemen.”

After putting on your helmet, you get in the passenger seat of one of the rescue trucks. “Captain,” the man holding the wheel calls to you. “I’ll be honest, I really want to look for my wife and child.” You ask if he knows where they were around the event of the disaster, and based on the phone locator app he has, they were in the downtown area when the earthquake struck.

“I understand that you’re concerned, but we already have a ton of people there; your family will be found in no time,” you attempt to assure him, placing your hand on his shoulder for good measure. The man nods slowly, his eyes remain fixed on the steering wheel. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he sighs, “alright, let’s head to Pioneer.”

Before long, you and your convoy are on your way to Pioneer Heights, and it’s only a couple of blocks away before you reach the edge of the area. While it’s true that heavy machinery has cleared most of the heavy wreckage, there are still some high piles you and your crew need to get through. “Alright, let’s get off here and spread around.” The men on the back of the truck catch the signal as you get off, following your gesture and doing the same. “Four hours of search and one hour of break for two shifts for now.”

You let your crew spread around the area while you opt to take on this sizeable pile of ruins in front of what used to be a high-rise apartment building. “Time to test this new toy.” You pull out a ground-penetrating radar that was recently developed by a high-tech contractor, and you’re glad to see that it allows you to get an idea of what’s trapped underneath all of this mess. “That… looks like a person.” As you put your ears against the rubble, rhythmic, nearly inaudible knocks are heard—only a person is capable of making such rhythm.

“Someone’s here!”

 With the help of a fellow rescuer, you lift the big debris, putting your backs to it to free this trapped person who turns out to be a woman around your age; her hair is a mess, her body is bruised and cut, and her clothes are damaged in various spots. “Let’s get you out of here, miss.”

“M-my brother,” she mutters weakly. “F-find him.” You nod firmly. “Of course, it’s what we’re here for.” You help her get on a stretcher, and as she gets carried away to receive medical help, you turn your focus back on the pile. “Alright, mister brother, where are you.”

After a few minutes of scanning, another void is detected in the pile. “I hope that’s him,” you think. Since the pile he’s stuck under consists of smaller pieces, you can dig through it yourself, and before long, you see a glimpse of skin through a tiny gap. “Someone’s here!” you announce again. You focus on pushing the rocks aside until more of the victim’s body can be seen. “Hold on, mister; help is coming,” you say to him.

“Ah, fuck—someone get me a drill, please.”

You stick your hand out, and a handheld drill is handed over to you by one of your crew members. You use the chisel-like tip to break the boulder into smaller pieces that are easier to handle. Soon, there is enough room to pull the man out of the mess, and based on the similar facial features, you guess that this is the brother of the woman from earlier. “You’ll be tended to by the medics now, mister,” you say to the weak, out-of-oxygen man.

-

A few days after the evacuation operation, you’re invited by one of the doctors of a nearby hospital to visit the recovering evacuees. She says that you should wear your duty attire, since that will likely help them recognize you.

You arrive at the hospital in your high-vis orange operative uniform, donning a radio on your chest for some extra appearance points. A doctor wearing a mask welcomes you at the front desk. “Good morning, Captain Morris.” You shake her hand firmly. “Good morning to you too, doctor.” As she guides you to your destination, the doctor, whose last name is Arnot (based on the name tag on her chest), proceeds to ramble about how everyone at the hospital has been working restlessly to tend to the survivors. “Doing God’s work as always, Doctor Arnot.”

The doctor stops at a slightly ajar door at the end of the second-floor hallway. “Let’s start here.” She opens the door for you and guides you in to see this survivor. “Miss Moon, this is the SAR operative you wanted to meet.” Your heart skips a beat. “Wanted to meet me, hey?” you thought.

The doctor soon leaves, giving you and this Moon lady a chance to catch up in private. “Hello, good morning,” you wave at her with a smile, “my name is Morris, Gerald Morris, from the Search and Rescue unit.” She returns the smile twice as sweetly. “Chanelle, Chanelle Moon,” she introduces herself. “Please, have a seat.”

You take her invitation, dragging a chair to sit close to her. “How are you, Miss Moon?” Her lips curve into a warm smile. “I’ve been well, and so has been my brother, all thanks to you.” Your cheeks warmed, and a flush crept up your neck thanks to her praise. “I don’t mean to brag, miss, but I was just doing my job.” Chanelle chuckles. “Sure, but you did your job so well, and for that, I’m thankful.”

Chanelle asks if you have time to spare to listen to her. “Well, yes, but if duty calls, I’m out of here.” Her face turns serious for a moment. “Oh, are there still evacuation operations?” You tell her that there are still open reports of missing loved ones submitted by the people, and the SAR department is busy turning every rock to find them. She nods, seemingly deep in thoughts. “Well, I wish all of you good luck. If there’s anything I can help you with, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” You thank her for the kind words and intentions.

“Yeah, that’s enough talk about work—do you have any other thing to talk about?”

“Not really, but I still would love to have you here with me,” Chanelle’s beautiful smile makes a return, “so, would you stay for a while?”

You offer a tentative smile as you think about the hidden intentions and unspoken words, and eventually, you decide to reply, “I will be honest, I don’t want to make us a subject of gossip by lingering around for too long.” Chanelle sighs as a flicker of disappointment crosses her features. “You’re… brutally frontal,” she says.

“I mean… I can give you my number, if that’s okay with you.”

Chanelle chuckles at your offer. “Are you interested or are you not, because I’m getting mixed signals here.” Her words have you scratching the back of your neck awkwardly. “I don’t know, really—I do know I enjoy being with you, though.” The way you’re saying these words oh-so-brazenly makes you think you’re not in control of yourself. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be so presumptuous,” you try to save yourself. Chanelle shakes her head. “You weren’t, so please, write down your number somewhere.”

There’s no paper or pen in the hospital room, so you head out to the nurse’s desk to get one. “Excuse me, can I get a pen and paper, please?” Lucky for you, the nurse doesn’t ask any question; she just hands you what you’re asking for. With them in hand, you return to Chanelle’s room.

As you write down the digits of your number, your satellite phone rings, and because of the panic, your handwriting becomes rushed and ugly towards the end. “I’m sorry, but I’m needed somewhere else,” you say. She nods in understanding. “Of course—save them all, tiger.” You and Chanelle look at each other, as if waiting for one party to say something first. Her chuckle tells you that she has nothing else to say. “Right, well,” you hand her the paper with your number on it, “see you soon, Chanelle.”

-

Around a week has passed since the earthquake, and the city is slowly getting back on its feet. Shops and offices are reopening, remnants of debris are getting cleared, and sirens are heard less often. Compare this peacefulness to the chaos from a few days ago when things are a mess; it’s almost fascinating how quickly people move on. While you enjoy such peace and sitting around in your office, it’s getting… boring.

So, to combat this boredom that’s getting unbearable, you decide to head out of your office, and since it’s close to downtown—thank God for that promotion two years ago—you don’t have to walk far to reach civilization. You make your way to this minimalistic coffee shop called Memories at The Intersection that is located at the intersection opposite you, hoping to find one of two things: something that can warm your body or someone to chat with.

Your eyes pick up nothing extravagant inside the shop; wooden furniture is spread around the interior, the barista is at the back, and there are stools going around the counter. You approach the counter while looking at the no-frill menu shown on the overhead TV.

“Hello, welcome to Memories at The Intersection. What would you like to have, officer?” You have a habit when visiting a new coffee shop to test its quality, which is to get a large iced americano and a large latte with no sugar. “Of course, that would be $10 for both.”

You pull out your wallet from your pocket, and that’s when the woman sitting at the counter next to you says something. “No, he’s with me; I’ll pay for his stuff.” Without looking at her, you (politely) insist on paying yourself—the woman insists back, though. “Please, that’s the least I can do for someone who saved my life.”

Your gaze leaves your wallet and moves towards this woman, and your heart skips a beat. “Chanelle? What are you doing here?” She chuckles. “I mean, this place is mine.” You see the barista blushing at the movie-like scene that is unfolding before her eyes, and you can’t help but chuckle. “Well, isn’t this just convenient.”

Chanelle invites you to join her in her room upstairs, and you take the offer without thinking twice. “Send his orders upstairs, Athena,” Chanelle says to the barista as you leave with her. “Oh, and be sure to knock first—don’t walk in on us while we’re… talking.” Heat creeps up to your cheeks due to her suggestive words. “Of course, Miss Moon,” Athena says.

Chanelle takes you to her private space that almost feels like a living room at someone’s house. “Sorry about the mess, but nonetheless, welcome to my office, Gerald.” You break out a laugh. “Believe me, baby, my office is much messier than yours.” She turns around and looks at you straight in the eyes. “Baby, huh? You’ve gotten comfortable with me, haven’t you, SAR Operative Gerald Morris?” You slap your own mouth for letting the endearment slip out. “My, I’m so sorry, that was very rude of me.” Chanelle smiles sheepishly. “Oh, it’s fine—I mean, I would be lying if I wasn’t attracted to you.”

You’re stuck in a stupor. “She’s attracted to me, huh,” you ask yourself. Chanelle snaps her fingers in front of you. “C’mon, it’s not the time to lose focus.” She turns around after getting you unstuck, but her steps are halted when you catch her wrist in your hand. “What—” Before she can finish her sentence, a fleeting peck lands on her lips. “Thank you for everything, Chanelle.” She licks her lips, savoring the taste you left on them. “Sure, Gerald,” she smiles warmly, “thank you for everything too—I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

After easing the tension between the two of you, Chanelle makes her way towards her desk. “What’s that for,” you ask, pointing at the microphone that’s fixed on a stand. “Singing, of course,” she answers, excitement woven in her voice. You ask if she’s down to sing right now, but she says no; she’s not in the mood and isn’t feeling well enough to sing. “I will sing for you next time, though.”

Chanelle sighs deeply as her butt lands on her chair. “Gerald,” she calls to you. “Can I ask some things about your work?” You headed out of your office to take a break from thinking about work, but Chanelle wants to talk about work—eh, whatever; let’s entertain her for now. “Yeah, sure.”

“What was the most difficult operation in your career?”

“Physically or mentally?”

Chanelle pauses momentarily.

“Both.”

You take a few deep breaths as you formulate an answer for her. “Saving that drowned child was… very rough,” you reveal. Her features soften as she imagines what it must have been like for you. “Drowned child, huh? Can I ask why it was difficult?” You nod. “He was the only child of a couple who had been childless for 13 years.” Chanelle stays silent, giving you the chance to keep talking if you wish. “Talking more about the operation would kill the mood, so I’ll stop here.”

It seems that she regrets asking that question. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go that deep right out the gate.” You close your eyes as you try to shake off the resurfacing images from that operation. “Yeah, well,” you sigh heavily, “that mission was both successful and unsuccessful at the same time.”

Some knocks are heard from the door, and you get on your feet to answer it. “No, no, let me,” she says, opting to answer it herself. Chanelle returns to you with your orders in her hands. “Here,” she hands them over to you, “let me know if you like it.” You first take a sip of the iced americano. “Pretty good,” you say. Chanelle lightly smacks you on the shoulder. “If you wanted to test us, at least do it properly—get a pour-over or something like that,” she says. Your cheeks turn red as you chuckle. “Sorry, I just like iced americano a lot.”

She then urges you to try the sugar-less latte, and your comment is the same as the americano. “Ugh, you’re so annoying—y’know, we should have a coffee date one day; I’ll teach you everything about coffee.” There is an opening to be bold here. “So, you’re saying that you want to see me again?” Chanelle, having been caught slipping, bites her bottom lip. “Maybe I do.”

As you enjoy the coffee and Chanelle’s company, rain starts pouring out of the night sky, falling hard right from the start. “Should’ve ordered something hot,” you blurt, thus causing Chanelle to laugh. “I mean, we have the best cappuccino in the city, if I do say so myself.” “Oh, yes, please,” you take her up on the offer right away. Chanelle calls the barista downstairs with the landline on her desk, ordering on your behalf. “Hey, uh, do you want some snacks too?” You say yes, so Chanelle orders a mixed snack platter for you. “Alright, they’ll be here soon.”

Before long, a cup of cappuccino and a plate of fried snacks appear before your eyes, delivered by the same barista from earlier. “You’re going to need to pay if you keep this up,” she quips. “Oh, don’t worry about it; I’ll even pay interests if I must.”

You take a piece of potato wedge from the plate and dip it into the sauce. As you munch on it, Chanelle looks at you intently while leaning against her propped-up arm. “I like garlic, and I hope you do too,” she comments. You show her two thumbs up. “Awesome sauce—just the perfect amount of garlic.”

Chanelle leaves her chair and joins you on the couch. “Do you mind sharing?” she asks. “No, not at all; have at it.” She replicates your gesture of picking up a piece of potato wedge and dipping it in the sauce, but she doesn’t look as satisfied as you. “Something’s off…” Chanelle trails off as she thinks about it. “Is it, though, because I think this is good?” Her forehead creases. “You don’t think this tastes bitter?” Well, you do, but you thought it was part of the charm. “Yeah, no, it’s not supposed to be like this.”

Chanelle offers you to get another sauce, but you decline, saying that you like this one despite the bitterness. She scoffs. “You like bitter? Is your life not bitter enough?” You chuckle a bit. “My life isn’t bitter now that you’re here with me.” She smacks your arm. “Oh, aren’t you the charmer,” she counters.

The satellite phone in your back pocket buzzes, a call to get back to reality. “Ah, shit,” you say in your head. “Not now,” you think. “Hello, this is Morris,” you greet the caller, forcing a calm, professional tone. “A landslide? Where?” A nervous shiver runs down Chanelle’s spine as she listens to the conversation you’re having; the thought of getting caught in a landslide triggers her trauma of being caught in an earthquake. Not only that, but the way you shift away from her does nothing to ease her nervousness.

“Hey, I—” The tenseness in her body is clear for you to see; her knuckles that are gripping her knees are white, and her gaze is long yet empty. “Chanelle, I’m sorry, but—” “Go, Gerald,” she says with urgency in her voice. “Do you need me to take you there?” You quickly consider the practical aspect of her offer, since your squad mates must have taken the truck. “Yes, please.”

Chanelle turns out to be quite the fast driver, zipping through traffic and cutting people off at every chance she gets. “Just a few kilometers to go, baby.” The endearing term flies out of your lips without restrictions—your mind is too occupied with thoughts of evacuating people out of the landslide.

As soon as the car stops, you quickly thank Chanelle for the help and sprint towards the evacuation site, not even bothering to put on a helmet first despite getting yelled at by your team members. “Then get me a damn helmet, why don’t you?” you bark back. Someone puts a helmet on your head from behind, and you make quick work with the strap, thus fixing it in place.

Chanelle steps out of her car after getting herself calm. Her gaze darts around, following your every movement as you scurry around the site. “C’mon, Gerald, save them like you saved me,” she thinks. She unconsciously steps closer towards the site, only stopping because a police officer reminds her to keep her distance. “Please, that’s my boyfriend,” she blurts. Insistent, the officer raises his hand, but his expressions are softening. “Your boyfriend is in safe hands, miss; these guys are the best we have,” the officer replies. Pride soars in her heart at the officer’s words. “Yeah, well, my boyfriend is the one with safe hands,” she says to herself, her eyes still stuck on you.

-

Time has passed by, and your legs finally give out, thus causing your butt to land on the rough asphalt. “Fuck, man.” Your chest heaves, each breath ragged and heavy. “W-water, please,” you say to a police officer who’s staring at you. With a firm nod, he turns around to find some water for you, and before long, you have a bottle of water in your hands. “T-thanks,” you say weakly.

“Gerald! Gerald, over here!” Chanelle’s voice cracks as she calls you over. You turn your head towards the source of the sound; Chanelle is waving her arm with fervor to get your attention. With a grunt, you gather your strength and walk towards her with heavy steps, dragging your legs along the way. You collapse near her, and Chanelle promptly gets down to her knees on the ground, her arms running on your body, trying to drive exhaustion away from your body. “You’ve done well, baby; you’ve done all you could,” she says, offering support and praise. Your eyes are closed as you nod. “T-thanks, baby.”

The blaring sounds of the ambulance siren pierce through the night, but they resemble the most comforting musical arrangement to your ears. “Yeah, take them,” you mutter weakly. Your racing heart gradually slows down as the sounds of the siren fade away, and now you’re able to open your eyes again.

“C-Chanelle,” you weakly lift your hand to reach her face, your voice barely audible, “t-thank you, seriously.” Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over as she cups your dirty face. “No, baby, thank you—thank you for saving them,” she replies, her voice shaking from the emotions. The endearment wraps around your exhausted body like a warm blanket. “I’m sorry but let me catch my breath for a minute.”

“Baby, let me take you home—you look like you can’t even stand,” Chanelle offers you some help. You nod, grateful for her generous offer. “That… would be great, actually.” With her help, you lift your back off the ground and get in a sitting position. You then call one of your teammates over. “Wrap things up quickly and RTB,” you say to him. “Yes, sir,” he replies, leaving your side to spread the command around. After making sure that everyone gets the message, you shift your attention to Chanelle. “Alright, I-I think we can go home now.”

Chanelle wraps her arm around you, guiding you back towards her car. “You know,” she breaks the silence, “I’m so, so proud of you, baby—you were incredibly brave, you know.” Fighting the heat on your cheeks, you thank her for the supportive words. “Alright, I’ll take you home now, baby,” she says. “I promise you will have the best sleep tonight.”

You groan as you settle yourself into the passenger seat. “Oh, God, my back.” Chanelle looks at you, studying your expressions intently. “Patience, please—look, I’ll drive fast like earlier.” As the car starts rolling, you lean against the window, your eyes getting heavy. “I’ll… get some rest.”

-

Chanelle taps your forearm to wake you up. “Babe, we’re here,” she whispers softly. Sleepy you might be, but you know this isn’t the neighborhood you live in. “This is my place,” she confirms. “C’mon, I’ll help you inside.” You shake your head, determined to get yourself on your feet. “I’ll be just fine, baby,” you say, your voice heavy.

Once again, Chanelle puts her arm around you as she guides you around the interior of her house. “Look, that’s our destination right there,” she points at a closed door, and you’re relieved that you don’t have to go up some stairs.

Chanelle props you up on the edge of the bed. “Undress, baby,” she demands. “Don’t sleep in your uniform.” You pause as you’re hesitant to oblige, considering the type of dynamics you currently have with her. “I-I only have my boxers underneath this,” you say. She looks nervous to have you nearly naked in front of her, but it’s the best in her opinion. “Just… just do it, please,” she says, her voice firm yet tender.

You make quick work of your uniform, leaving them discarded on the floor by the bed. “Good, baby, now lie down for me,” she says. Chanelle's eyes widen slightly as she takes in the sight before her; the way the fabric of your boxers stretch with your every move steals her attention. “Not now, Chanelle—he doesn’t need it right now,” she tells herself, doing her best to resist the growing urge.

Fighting the hesitation in her head, Chanelle climbs onto the bed, hugging you from the side. “Oh my God, you’re hot.” You chuckle a little. “Excuse me?” She blushes at the realization of the ambiguous nature of her statement. “No, I… I didn’t mean it like that—your body is literally hot, Gerald.” A small laugh leaves your lips. “Yeah, I got what you meant,” you say, amusement drawn on your face.

-

Chanelle stirs awake when she feels you jolt out of nowhere. “Baby,” she calls to you in a whispered voice. Through her sleepiness and the darkness of the bedroom, she scans your body for signs of discomfort, and she finds plenty of them; your body is tense, your veins are popping under the skin of your neck, and your forehead is coated with cold sweat. Her heart clenches with worry as she touches your heaving chest, her hand trembling from the unease in her belly.

A tear rolls down her cheek as you keep shaking violently in your sleep. “G-Gerald,” Chanelle rubs your chest tenderly, “Gerald, please, it’s just a nightmare.” Her attempt at soothing you is futile; you’re still tossing your head around as if trying to dodge something. “Gerald, please, baby,” she voices her distress at your condition. In a moment of desperation, Chanelle shakes your whole body with all her might until you wake up.

“Gerald, just wake the fuck up already—please!”

“H-huh? W-what?”

Seeing you wake up, Chanelle falls limply onto your body, still unable to stop crying. “G-Gerald, y-you were having a nightmare, weren’t you, baby?” Your gaze roams the dim bedroom. “Y-yes, I-I think so,” you reply. She presses a kiss onto your chest. “Y-you’re safe with me, baby; y-you don’t have anything to worry about, trust me.” Your hand subconsciously lands on the small of her back just above her hips. “I-I’m sorry, baby; I… I didn’t mean to worry you like that.”

Chanelle’s sobs die down eventually, but her embrace isn’t losing its warmth at all. She snuggles closer while looking up at you. “Do you… want to talk about it?” You take a deep breath; talking about it will help ease the emotional strain. “I saw… people,” you begin, your voice shaky. “They were screaming, so desperate for help, but no matter how hard I tried, they just… they kept getting swallowed by the ground—I… I couldn’t save them.” Chanelle keeps her gaze while her fingers softly tap your chest as she listens to you, creating a safe space for your vulnerable self.

“You know what, though, baby,” she says in a loving, tranquilizing tone. “There are a ton of people out there who were so lucky to have you save them, and I’m one of those people.” Your mind goes back to the day you pulled her out of the rubble, comparing her looks then and now. “You were so… weak,” you mutter. Chanelle sighs at the cheerless memory. “I was holding on to dear life, and suddenly, you freed me from the debris. You’re a hero, Gerald—you’re my hero.”

Despite the dimness of the bedroom, Chanelle’s glassy eyes are clear for you to see. “I love you, Gerald—I want to be with you when nightmares invade your sleep.” You place your hand on hers, savoring the little electric shocks from the contact. “Nightmares won’t haunt me ever again, baby; they’ll be scared of you, my guardian.” A chuckle escape Chanelle’s lips as a tear cling onto her cheek. “No, that’s really cute, actually,” she says. “Now, let me take you to sleep again, Gerald.”

-

Chanelle, fighting the heaviness of her eyelids, looks around the bedroom that is subtly lit by the morning sun. She sighs in contentment as her body relaxes, the tension from the previous night melting away. She looks up towards you, and when your gaze suddenly meets hers, her heart skips a beat.

“Goodness me, I thought you were asleep.” Your lips curve into a smile. “I mean, I was—I woke up not long before you,” you say. Chanelle hides her face deep in the crook of your neck, filling her system with your scent. She silently wishes you had taken a shower before you slept, though.

“I won’t lie; I haven’t slept this good in a while.” “Must be because you slept next to your hero,” you quip, a hint of teasing in your voice. “Oh, yeah, absolutely,” she says. “It felt so safe, and I’m sure you felt the same.” You nod slowly, having no intention of disagreeing. “Thank you, baby, for everything you’ve done so far.” Her cheeks turn soft pink; hearing such an endearment feels rather overwhelming when it’s said in a relaxed situation compared to a heated one.

Chanelle slowly untangles her limbs from yours, gracefully sliding out of bed. “We should start the day soon—what if you’re called to duty again?” Your grin falters, but you quickly regain control of your expressions. “Well, you know the drill; if I get a call, I’m out of here.” She looks at you with a smile, her heart swelling with pride for what you do. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but I hope you don’t get a call today; I think you deserve some rest.”

You keep your eyes on her swaying hips as she leaves you alone in bed. “Oh, by the way,” she suddenly turns around, catching you staring at her asset, “I’ll make you some coffee, give you a taste of perfection.” You chuckle, already excited at the prospect of having Chanelle make you coffee. “Surprise me, baby.”

After getting yourself together, you step out of the bedroom, and the smell of coffee invades your nose unforgivingly—it’s dark with a subtle hint of chocolate. “It smells much better than your coffee shop.” Chanelle laughs, amused by your comment. “It’s far better and more expensive than the stuff I sell there,” she says.

Before your eyes comes this warm, magical brew that might as well be a love potion, the steam carrying every bit of aroma. “Wow, the smell,” you take a quick sniff, “that’s just incredible.” Chanelle watches you intently, a wide smile spreading across her face, her eyes sparkling with pride and affection.

You close your eyes as you savor the flavors that linger on your tongue; the coffee is rich yet smooth, and the chocolaty edge gives more character and depth to it. In a moment of speechlessness, you let your body melt into the chair of the dining table, sighing in contentment over and over again.

“Wow—just wow,” you’re simply in awe, “can I buy this somewhere, because I would love to start every single day with this?” Chanelle pads over to you with her fists on her waist. “Why buy it if you can get it from me every morning, baby, hm?” Your cheeks are almost as hot as the cup of coffee. “Oh, stop, you’re going to make me burst.” Her fingers on your chin have your heart racing as she tilts your head upwards. “Now you feel more like a regular person than a no-bullshit SAR guy.” A smirk graces your features. “Do I also feel more like a boyfriend to you now, baby?” Amused, Chanelle pinches your cheek lightly. “Yeah, you totally do.”

“In fact…” Chanelle climbs onto your lap and places her hands on your shoulders, her crotch hovering dangerously close over yours. “You’re a very, very hot boyfriend to me right now.” A shiver runs down her spine as your warm exhale hits her skin. “Say, baby, am I attractive to you just like you are to me?” Chanelle asks, her eyes dark with want and need. “Yes, baby; you’re insanely attractive,” you say, slowly losing yourself in the intimacy.

“Then kiss me…”

Her eyes close as she leans closer towards you, and as soon as your lips meet hers, Chanelle sinks into your muscular frame, surrendering herself to your touch. “Gerald…” she says your name in a whisper. “Make love to me, please.” Chanelle presses her forehead against yours, her breaths short and rapid. “Please, Gerald, I-I’ll do anything as long as you’ll touch me.” She moans when a fleeting peck lands on her neck.

Chanelle reflexively wraps her legs tightly around your waist when you lift her into the air out of the blue. “Yes, Gerald, take me to the bedroom just like this.” As she’s being transported to the bedroom, Chanelle’s mind races with thoughts of feeling your hot skin against hers, and the prospect alone is making her more desperate and eager.

Chanelle gasps softly when her back lands on the soft mattress. “Chanelle, baby,” you whisper right into her ear. “I love you.” Tears pool in her eyes, blurring her vision. She has been dying to hear those three words from you. As simple as they are, those words carry a bigger, deeper meaning for her—a promise of something real, something everlasting. “I… love you too, Gerald,” she replies, her voice trembling from the emotions.

You reach for the first button of her pajama top, your fingers shaking slightly from the nerves. “Take your time, Gerald; we have all day.” A small smile spreads across your face. “Of course, baby,” you punctuate your words with a quick peck to her lips. One by one, her buttons become undone, thus allowing you to have a tantalizing peek of her skin.

When your palm grazes her bare belly, Chanelle’s breath hitches, her back arching instinctively. “Baby, fuck,” she mutters with a hint of impatience in her voice. “Why must you tease me this much—why can’t you just take me right away?” Your other hand cups her cheek, your thumb tracing small circles on her face. “I’m not teasing you, baby; I’m just basking in the intimacy.” Chanelle sighs as she rubs her face against your hand. “You’re right; I should be more patient,” she looks at you with a tender smile, “after all, you’re my beloved, not my fling.”

Chanelle places her hands on the waistband of your boxers, hooking her fingers on the inside. “I’m glad you didn’t have anything to wear—it’s way easier like this,” she quips. You chuckle, impressed by how she’s able to make such witty comments amidst the intimate nature of the encounter. “I suppose you deserve credit for your quick-thinking last night,” you reply with a sly grin.

The banter fades into the cool bedroom air, in its place blooms a more profound intimacy. “Gerald, can we…?” Without saying anything else, you quickly free yourself from the constraints of your boxers, and seeing you undress swiftly with intent makes Chanelle do the same, tossing her unbuttoned pajamas to the floor. Chanelle gasps when your bare skin meets hers. “Yes, finally—now, take me, Gerald,” she urges you, too eager to lose herself in the sauce of want only you can offer.

Chanelle’s eyes slam shut as your manhood slowly penetrates her, her breath rapid and ragged, as she savors the sensual stretch of her glistening, sensitive flesh. “G-Gerald—” Your lips capture hers in a passionate tangle, adding more intimacy to the hot encounter. “Mmph…” Chanelle moans into the kiss as your tongue wrestles with hers.

Your thrusts become deeper, stronger, your rhythm matching the frantic beat of your hearts. Her cries fill the room, echoing your own ragged breaths. Her nails dig into your back, urging you on, her body arching to meet your every move. You feel yourself getting closer to the edge, the world narrowing down to this moment, this connection, this impending explosive release.

“Chanelle…”

With a soft whisper of her name, you come undone, flooding her insides with your hot essence.

“I love you, Chanelle—I love you so, so much.”

Tears, plenty of them, flow down her temples, leaving a wet trail in their wake. “Chanelle, what’s wrong, baby? Did I hurt you?” you ask while your thumbs are busy wiping her tears. She shakes her head as she tries to force a smile, but her trembling lips betray her. “That was… my first time, Gerald, a-and… I’m so glad I did it with you.”

You pull her closer, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions: protectiveness, tenderness, and a profound sense of belonging. “Oh, baby, thank you for granting me this honor,” you say, your voice shaking because of the genuine feelings you have for her. “I… I will never take you for granted, Chanelle.” Chanelle wraps her limbs more tightly around your body, afraid that you’ll disappear if she lets go. “I-I love you, Gerald. I love you so much.”

-

The first rays of the morning sun fill the bedroom, providing a gentle, warm blanket for both of you. You slowly open your eyes, and the first thing your gaze lands on is your cock, the remnants of last night’s encounter still visible; the tip of your manhood is coated with crimson streaks, proof of Chanelle’s lost innocence.

You reach out to the sleeping beauty, your touch firm yet careful. “Chanelle, baby,” you call to her in a whisper. Chanelle slowly stirs awake at your touch, a smile tugging at her lips at the sight of you. “Good morning, my love,” she says, no longer showing a first-timer’s vulnerability. She shifts closer to you, pressing her face against your firm chest. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Gerald.” You give her a gentle peck to the top of her head. “Nor would I, my dear love.”

In the quiet warmth, Chanelle knows that nothing, not even earthquakes, can shake the ground on which this love is built.

Hell, even if it crumbles, she knows that you will save her out of it, just like you have.

[luvfae]

BAD INVESTMENT

PART TWENTY SIX

summary: one year later, life with thanos was everything—chaotic, passionate, and full of love.

parings: thanos/choi su-bong x reader

warnings: smut, swearing, shower sex

bad investment masterlist

a/n: i can’t believe it over 😭 thank you for reading!

One Year Later

Life with Thanos had only gotten better. A year in, and your world was still filled with chaotic laughter, late-night adventures, and the kind of love that burned bright and reckless. His apartment—your apartment now—was truly a home, a place where warmth and comfort lived in the form of shared meals, tangled limbs in bed, and stolen kisses in the quiet moments between the madness.

You had built a life together, one neither of you had expected but both of you had needed.

Thanos was still the same infuriating, flirty, no-filter bastard you had fallen for, but he was yours. And you were his.

And he made damn sure you never forgot it.

The night had been long—one of those evenings where drinks flowed too easily, where laughter echoed through dimly lit bars, where Thanos had kept a possessive hand on your waist the entire time, daring anyone to look at you the wrong way. You were drunk on more than just the alcohol—you were drunk on him, on the way his eyes stayed locked on you like you were the only thing in the room worth seeing.

By the time you stumbled home, clothes were already being tugged off before the door even clicked shut.

“Needy, huh?” you teased, your back hitting the bathroom door as Thanos caged you in, his hands gripping your hips, his breath hot against your throat.

“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered, lips curving into a smirk as he kissed you hard, hands roaming, tugging your dress up over your hips. “You’ve been teasing me all night. I should make you beg for it.”

You exhaled a laugh, tilting your head to let him suck a bruise onto your neck. “Yeah?” you hummed, reaching down to palm him through his jeans, feeling the hard outline of his cock twitch against your touch. “You sure you wanna play that game?”

Thanos groaned, pushing you back into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him. “You’re such a fucking brat,” he muttered, his hands already working on his belt.

“You love it.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice thick with lust. “I fucking do.”

The two of you barely made it into the shower, the steam fogging up the glass as Thanos pressed you against the cool tile, his body hot against yours. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, your ass, sliding between your legs, fingers teasing through your slick folds.

��Always so wet for me,” he groaned, dragging his fingers through your heat, his touch just barely enough to drive you insane. “Bet you were soaked all night, huh? Sitting on my lap, acting all innocent while you were dripping for me.”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but Thanos wasn’t having it. He caught your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up to make you meet his gaze.

“Say it.” His voice was low, commanding. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

You narrowed your eyes, just to be difficult, but the second he slid a finger inside you, curling it just right, your resolve shattered.

“Fuck—yes,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. “I wanted you all night. I always want you.”

Thanos groaned, crashing his lips against yours as he added a second finger, fucking them into you at a maddening pace. His free hand gripped your thigh, lifting your leg to hook around his waist, opening you up for him. The water cascaded down your bodies, making everything slick, but you barely noticed—you were too caught up in him, in the way his fingers curled inside you, in the way his mouth trailed down your neck, teeth scraping against sensitive skin.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured against your collarbone, his fingers fucking into you faster, his thumb circling your clit just enough to make your legs shake. “Gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna let me feel you fall apart?”

You were so close, body tensing, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach—

And then he pulled his fingers away.

“Su-Bong—” you whined, glaring at him as he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean.

He just grinned, lining himself up and teasing the head of his cock against your entrance. “Relax, princess,” he murmured, gripping your waist. “I’m gonna give you exactly what you need.”

And then he thrust into you, bottoming out in one hard stroke that had your head falling back against the tile.

“Fuck—” you gasped, nails raking down his back as he started to move, slow and deep at first, making you feel every inch of him stretching you open.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” Thanos groaned, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. “Always so fucking perfect for me.”

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the bathroom, mixing with your breathless moans, with Thanos’ deep, guttural groans. The shower water ran hot, steam curling around you, but all you could feel was him—his cock filling you over and over, his hands gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

“You feel so fucking good,” he muttered against your lips, each thrust pushing you harder against the wall. “So good, baby. Tell me who you belong to.”

You gasped as he hit just right, pleasure sparking through you like electricity. “You,” you panted, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’m yours, Su-bong.”

That was all he needed.

With a growl, he fucked into you harder, faster, his rhythm brutal and unrelenting. His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles.

“Cum for me,” he ordered, his voice rough. “Wanna feel you squeeze me.”

And you did—your body tensed, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave as you came around him, legs shaking, nails digging into his skin.

Thanos groaned, burying his face in your neck as his thrusts grew erratic. “Fuck—gonna fill you up, baby. You want that?”

You barely had time to nod before he was spilling inside you, hips stuttering as he groaned your name, pressing you tighter against him as if he could somehow sink even deeper.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the bathroom were your ragged breaths, the water still raining down around you.

Then Thanos pulled back just enough to look at you, his fingers brushing damp hair from your face. His usual cocky smirk was nowhere to be found—just a softness in his eyes, something deep and raw.

“I love you,” he murmured, voice still rough but gentle. “So fucking much.”

You smiled, cupping his face, thumb tracing his cheek. “I love you too.”

And you meant it.

Because through all the chaos, through every drunken adventure, every fight, every reckless decision—he was it for you.

He was home.

The end

[fangdokja]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫 ~ 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

The heat has you trembling.

It’s unbearable—burning through your veins, thickening the air in your tiny, isolated cottage until you can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move without feeling the agonizing, desperate pulse between your thighs. Your body betrays you. Slick drips down your legs, staining the sheets where you try to hide, curled up in the furthest corner of your bed, panting, helpless.

You know what’s coming.

You can already hear him outside.

The slow, deliberate crunch of boots against snow. The deep inhale of your scent in the frozen air. And then—

Knuckles against the wooden door.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Kitten.” His voice is all silk and gravel, thick with amusement and something darker. “Open up.”

Your claws dig into the sheets.

Silence.

A chuckle. Then—

The door slams open.

Childe steps inside, shaking snow from his hair, sharp blue eyes glinting as they lock onto you. He inhales again, long and deep, and something in him snaps.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawls, voice dropping into something wrecked and wanting. “You smell—so—fucking—good.”

You scramble back as he approaches, but there’s nowhere to go. The bed dips beneath his weight, his body pressing into yours, his scent—pure alpha, thick with need—overwhelming your senses until you’re dizzy.

“Why’re you hiding, hmm?” His lips brush against your ear. “Your body wants me. You need me.”

A whimper. A weak, trembling shake of your head.

He groans, shoving you onto your back, caging you beneath him. “That’s not what your pussy’s saying,” he murmurs, gloved fingers sliding between your thighs. His breath stutters.

“Fuck,” he growls, yanking his gloves off with his teeth before dragging his bare fingers through your soaked folds. “You’re dripping.”

Your body jerks as he grinds his cock against your entrance, rutting like a beast in heat. His voice turns slurred, pussy-drunk, pupils blown wide. “Fuck—fuck—feels so good—”

He forces his way inside.

You choke. The stretch is brutal, his thick cock splitting you open, forcing your body to accommodate him despite your weak resistance. He groans, forehead pressing against yours, lost in the way you squeeze him, the way your body clings to him.

“Made for me,” he slurs, rolling his hips in deep, brutal strokes. “Gonna fill you up—stuff you full—breed this pretty little cunt until you can’t take anymore.”

You sob, nails raking against his back, but it only makes him fuck you harder. His knot swells, locking you in place, sealing him inside you as his hips stutter and—

He spills into you with a wrecked moan, voice breaking on your name.

His teeth sink into your throat, claiming you.

His knot pulses, thick, hot.

And you realize, with horrifying clarity—

He’s not stopping until you’re carrying his pups.

Official TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld , @yanderedrabbles

[phillymint]

Wow. I was not expecting the massive response this post got, but thank you to everyone who's been filling out this poll and/or commenting on it! I feel like maybe I should give some clarification or context?

I posted this poll because my spouse thinks the above arrangement is reasonable and their prerogative. They feel that what is theirs is theirs, and they don't have to share it with their spouse, and wouldn't expect me to share what's mine with them if the tables were turned. I deliberately avoided using language in the poll that made any of the responses leading, because I didn't want to influence the results. When my spouse and I have arguments about how few of my basic needs they meet, and how vulnerable I feel, they tend to dig their heels in and insist that defining what a partnership looks like is up to the individuals and it's ok to deviate from the norm (which I agree with in principle, but only if both parties agree to the arrangements and can do so freely, not through coercion), and sometimes I genuinely feel like I'm crazy for thinking that there's a basic standard we get to expect from each other mutually, not in this one-sided way, and that my partner is being being both neglectful and controlling at the same time. I posted this poll because even when my spouse makes me feel like I'm being unreasonable, I know in my gut I'm not (not least of all because we very much did talk about our expectations of each other in both the best and worst potential situations, and what they promised me is not what I'm living now).

To see how many people have responded by straightforwardly calling this financial abuse, and to see how few people see this as normal, is validating to say the least. I've begun the process of building myself a life raft out of this situation, and I think I needed to see this feedback - so many strangers responding to what I hope is as neutral a summary of the situation as I intended it to be, and still calling it like I see it.

What I didn't put in the above poll is the even crazier stuff: A few years ago I ended contact with my abusive family, and my spouse promised to take care of me. Not long after they stopped giving me emotional support and asked me to seek it from my friends instead of them. When my computer, my main work tool, suddenly stopped working, they would only help me pay for a new one if I paid them back for it (they put me on a payment plan, but it was better than a bank loan because there was no interest and they let late payments slide). I also contracted a serious chronic illness because my partner was careless and ignored my existing health issues which made me vulnerable, and they failed to take care of me to the point I wasn't even eating properly while in bed with a fever, and for months after. Any support they gave was won at the cost of arguments I didn't have energy for, and reluctantly, but to friends and family my partner presented themselves as a caretaker.

I've struggled to work steadily and most of my limited income went to repaying the cost of my computer, so I depleted any savings I had left after the pandemic. As a result I sometimes couldn't even afford basics like toiletries or even clothes (I once showed up half an hour late to a doctor's appointment because the zipper on my only jeans broke and I had to wear a skirt in the freezing cold), and my partner, while expressing sympathy verbally, didn't take any action to offer tangible support, ie. buying me a new pair of jeans. I didn't have my family to rely on for safety and support. Anything I want or need, whether it's a necessity or something like a trip to visit family or friends who all live far away, I have to meet my partner's parameters since they're the one footing the bill. It took many arguments and detailed explanations of my difficulties and expectations before they would give me basic support like a one-off clothing purchase, and even more negotiation for it to be given in a way that allowed me autonomy in decision making (ie. they handed me a limited budget instead of going shopping with me or asking me to run purchases by them first).

I've given my partner a lot of leeway because they're struggling with several simultaneous neurodiversities and they tend to be passive observers in most situations, rather than active participants. I can see the ways in which they struggle to understand my experience because of their NDs. It has also been several years now since their diagnosis, and they use their ND as an excuse, but won't seek support for it. I have to do the emotional heavy lifting for us both, and if my expectations of them feel reasonable to me, it doesn't matter because if it's outside of their comfort zone, even the simplest things become contentious and they get the final say, since they're the only one in the relationship who have financial independence right now. I have no access to, nor do I get updated on, any of their bank accounts or savings (worrying in case of an emergency), except for a debit card which has a set amount on it at any given time and is only for groceries and recurring bills.

My spouse will give me information on their financial standing occasionally if I ask, but they are very hesitant and reluctant. I have a bank account of my own, and my spouse has asked to see my monthly earnings for the purpose of understanding my needs, but I'm hesitant to show them because of how much of my trust they've compromised, and how private they've always been about their financials (not to mention that it indicates they don't trust me to state my needs reasonably and reliably). I believe that everyone in a marriage should have at least one personal bank account, but our finances aren't shared at all, save for the one shared groceries/bills account. That account does, however, include medical costs, and as long as my spouse approves the spending, I can use it for things like amenities.

I don't know if I will show my partner this poll, but it's really good to have in case I would like to. It shows what I've been saying to them for a very long time, which is that my expectations are based in widely socially accepted ones that most people are aware of, and while I want to respect that my partner's ND may preclude them from having understood this, I also feel it's reasonable to ask that they accept that I'm not unreasonable in having these expectations (especially since they had justified this with commitments they made when we got married and have since broken).

[dreamersparacosm]

under the checkered flag - epilogue blurb 2!

prompt ; in which sunday’s are your favorite day.

warnings ; tooth aching fluff. that’s all. watch out for cavities yall xoxo

request ; linked here

part of under the checkered flag universe

There’s some song written about days like these with your boyfriend. Something about Sunday mornings, something about them being all you need.

It’s like it always is with you and Jungkook—a soft, slow Sunday morning where he isn’t subject to interviews, training, or anything that requires him to take his time away from you. You savor these moments, them being far and few between. You’ve adjusted to it in the long time you two have been together, and now find solace in the peace of your home, in the moments away from the races and Excel sheets.

And it would be all beautiful and dandy and sunshine and rainbows on this particular morning, however, when your hands outstretch, shaking the sleep from your body, feel the sheets next to you, you realize it’s empty. Jungkook’s warmth is gone.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you shuffle into your slippers, wrap the wool blanket around you that his mother had gotten for you, and make your way to the living area of your home.

The smell of buttered toast and sizzling sausage wafts into your nostrils as you shuffle through the house. It’s warm, inviting, a scent wrapped in comfort.

And to no one’s surprise, you find the origin of the scent standing in the kitchen.

Jeon Jungkook, in all his sleepy, early-morning glory. Hair still a little messy, a loose t-shirt hanging from his frame, his silver chain glinting under the soft kitchen lights as he stands by the stove, spatula in hand.

You blink slowly, dreamily, adjusting your eyes to the light as you lean against the doorway.

“You’re up early,” You yawn, voice still thick with sleep.

Jungkook turns at the sound, a grin immediately spreading across his face at the sight of you.

“Morning, baby,” He hums, reaching for you instantly, tugging you toward him with ease. You let him, stepping into his warmth, arms looping lazily around his waist as you press your cheek against his back.

“You’re making breakfast?” You mumble, peeking at the pan of perfectly cooked eggs, golden and fluffy.

Jungkook chuckles, one hand still flipping the eggs while the other sneaks down to squeeze your fingers. “Your favorite,” he confirms.

Your heart swells, the simple gesture so unbearably sweet, so him. He has yet to fail you in the sweetest boyfriend competition.

But then, as another yawn escapes you, a thought hits.

“It’s too early for this,” You whine softly, nuzzling into his back.

Jungkook laughs again, light and warm, but before he can reply, you’re already fighting him. “Come back to bed,” You sigh, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his shoulder.

“Tempting,” He drawls, reaching for some seasonings in the cupboard. You grin against his skin, fingers tracing lazy shapes against his waist.

“I just wanna cuddle,” You say, not quite a lie, but also not the whole truth. You also want to drift back off to sleep, something you do best when you hear his heartbeat pounding away underneath your ear.

Jungkook hums, turning the stove off before spinning to face you. “That’s all you want, huh?”

You blink up at him, playing innocent. “Mhmm.”

His grin deepens, and he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Eat first,” he says, lips still grazing your skin. “Then I’m all yours.”

There is a warmth pooling through the windows as you and Jungkook settle onto the living room couch, plates in hand, breakfast steaming between you. There’s something so domestic about it, something you never thought you would have with someone like him. Maybe it’s the way he sits beside you, thigh pressed against yours, comfortably close as he digs into the food he made for you both. Or, the way he occasionally reaches over, stealing bites from your plate despite having the exact same meal on his own. It’s these small moments that make your heart ache in the best way, the kind of love that settles in, familiar and steady.

“So,” Jungkook starts, nudging your knee with his. There’s a quiet hum of the TV in the background, playing some weekend morning show neither of you are really watching. “What’s the plan for today?”

You chew thoughtfully, taking a sip of your coffee before answering.

“Well,” you begin, shifting slightly to face him. “We need to pick out a gift for my coworker’s baby shower next weekend.”

Jungkook’s brows lift instantly, eyes flickering with sudden interest. “Oh, right. When is that again?”

“Sunday afternoon,” you reply, setting your plate down on the coffee table. “We should probably get something soon. We’ve gotta outdo Jisoo, she said her budget for this was her whole paycheck.”

“What do we get her?” He muses, shoveling another bite of eggs into his mouth before glancing at you. There’s excitement creeping into his features like he’s a kid in a candy store. “Like, a stroller? Cute baby clothes? Oh! What about one of those little stuffed animal things? You know, the ones with the big heads and tiny bodies? Jellycats?”

“I think she’d love that,” you say, unable to hide your smile. “You’re really into this, huh?”

Jungkook shrugs, grinning through a mouthful of food. “Babies are cool.”

It’s subtle, but undeniable. You had never really thought of it, never let yourself dream. It wasn’t because you couldn’t have it, you knew that much. In fact, there was a small part of your brain, tucked deep within your subconscious, that hoped and prayed it would be Jungkook at the end of all this.

Of course he’s like this. Of course he’d be good with kids, thoughtful and compassionate.

You picture it before you can stop yourself: the way he’d probably be the most hands-on dad, the way he’d play with his kids, spoil them rotten, make them laugh until their little bellies hurt.

Deep down, you picture them with him. With his eyes that resemble boba pearls, his ridiculous bunny-toothed smile, his heart.

You don’t hate it. You actually want it so bad it scares you to death when you think of the possibility that it could not happen. But you shake that thought away before it can fully settle.

“Earth to [Y/N]?” Jungkook’s voice pulls you back, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Where’d you just go?”

“Nowhere,” You lie, reaching for your coffee again.

Jungkook narrows his eyes, clearly not buying it, but to your luck, he lets it go, smirking as he nudges your thigh again.

“Okay, space cadet,” he teases. “Then we need to make a choice. I’m all in on the Jellycat.”

You’re laughing again, warmth spreading through your chest as the conversation fills the room, the sunlight peeking through the blinds and illuminating his features.

He doesn’t dare bring up how his heart aches for the same thing that you do.

Jungkook is still focused on his breakfast, chewing thoughtfully as he leans back into the couch. You’re sipping your coffee, still trying to shake the ridiculous warmth still lingering in your chest from the idea of a mini Jungkook running around.

You don’t get to finish the end of your daydream, however, because Jungkook drops a bomb of epic proportions on you, enough to shatter your world and explode into smithereens.

“I kinda want a baby.”

You choke on impact. The sip of coffee you had just taken goes down the wrong way, and then, to make matters worse, the bite of eggs you were mid-chewing follows suit. Enter stage left: a dramatic fit of coughing.

Jungkook’s head snaps toward you immediately, eyes widening in alarm as he quickly sets his plate down, patting your back with firm, steady hands.

“Shit, babe, breathe,” he says, brows knitted in concern. “You okay?”

You nod between coughs, waving him off as you struggle to swallow properly. The man must be out to kill you if he’s going to say things like that, in your shared home, that you pay half the rent for (he believes in chivalry.) After what feels like an eternity, you finally manage to clear your throat, wheezing slightly as you blink up at him.

Jungkook is just staring at you now, mouth parted slightly, as if he’s unsure whether to laugh or keep worrying. “What the hell was that?” He asks, clearly holding back amusement.

“I—” you pause, pressing a hand to your chest. “Sorry, I just— what did you just say?”

Jungkook blinks. Deadpans. Realizes his words may have carried more weight than he thought. “I said I kinda want a baby?”

His hardened exterior fades and his expression tips, a little nervous. “Wait,” he says, tilting his head. “Is that… weird?”

Thoughts buffering..

“I just—” you stammer, still slightly breathless from your near-death experience. “I didn’t know you wanted all that… with me.”

Jungkook’s expression softens immediately. He didn’t even realize it was something you might question. He thought it was a done-deal, cross his heart and hope to die. Jungkook was never really sure of many things in his life besides racing and gold medals, but this.. this, he was so sure of.

He exhales, reaching for your hand instinctively, threading his fingers through yours.

“Baby,” he murmurs, voice warm, steady, grounding you. “We’ve been dating for a little over a year.”

One year. One year of knowing him, loving him, building a life together. One year of late nights tangled in sheets and early mornings, such as this one, where his sleepy voice is the first thing you hear. Of laughter echoing in spaces that once felt too big for you, of shared glances across crowded rooms that say more than words ever could. You didn’t even realize it was all coming together until you looked around one day and saw a life that was so intricately woven with his, it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

“Yeah,” you swallow, eyes flickering down to where his thumb is slowly tracing circles against your skin. “I guess we have.”

“You know..,” he begins, his excitement bubbling up before you can even process your own., “I think you’d be the best mom.”

You suddenly feel dizzy, like your breath has been punched out of you.

“You really think that?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook nods immediately, shifting closer on the couch, eyes flickering over your face; the man is already picturing it.

“Are you kidding?” he scoffs, grinning so wide it makes your stomach turn over. “I can already see it. You, holding our baby, doing that cute little humming thing you always do when you’re focused, like when you’re crunching numbers for clients. Probably making tiny little meals, cutting everything into heart shapes because you do that for me already.”

You laugh, but it’s shaky. “Jungkook—”

“And I’d be the fun dad, obviously,” he continues, unstoppable now. “Teaching them how to ride a bike, letting them get away with stuff when you say no. Probably buying them toy racecars too early because I get too excited.”

You see it so clearly it almost hurts. Jungkook, holding a tiny hand in his, a child with his nose and your eyes, running ahead while he watches with that soft, lovesick smile. Jungkook, pressing a kiss to your forehead while you rock a baby to sleep in your arms.

You want that so badly. Now, it’s within arms reach, and you want to reach out and clutch it to your chest so tight it can’t run away. You swallow hard, eyes burning, blinking rapidly to fight off the sudden rush of emotion.

“Baby,” Jungkook notices immediately, voice dropping as his smile falters slightly. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” You whisper, and it’s true. It’s not sadness weighing you down. It’s everything else. Hope. Love. The terrifying, overwhelming realization that you could have everything you ever wanted, and it’s sitting right in front of you, ready for you to take it.

“Just…” you pause, voice trembling slightly. “I guess I didn’t know I could have that with you.”

“[Y/N],” he breathes out, bringing a hand to cup your face, his thumb tracing delicately along your cheek. “I want nothing more.”

You don’t want to overthink it, don’t want to let it linger too long in fear of it disappearing.

“I want that too,” You whisper.

You feel it, the way his whole body tenses, the way his fingers freeze against your cheek. His eyes, wide and searching, lock onto yours, scanning your face for any sign that you might not mean it.

“You do?” His voice is quieter than before, hardly recognizable.

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “I do.”

There is a slow, breathtaking smile that lights up his whole face, makes his dimples appear, makes something inside you feel like it’s unraveling in the best way.

“Well then,” he muses, shifting even closer, his hand sliding down to rest over your thigh. “We should probably start with marriage, hmm?”

You choke. Again. This time, on your saliva.

Of course, Jeon Jungkook would just casually drop that into the conversation like he’s talking about the weather, like he’s asking if you want almond or oat milk at the grocery store.

“I—” you splutter, wheezing slightly as your brain short-circuits for the billionth time this morning. “I—what?”

“Okay, that’s enough,” he laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners as he squeezes your thigh. “I need you alive long enough to actually get a ring on your finger. At this rate, Im nervous that if I actually propose, you’ll pass out.”

“Well, you can’t just say stuff like that!,” You half cry out, half mumble.

“Why not?” Jungkook teases, “It’s true. You’re already stuck with me forever, might as well make it official.”

The thought of forever with him doesn’t scare you like it probably should, like it would’ve a year and some months ago.

As Jungkook continues rambling excitedly about your future—about rings and wedding colors, about how he’s definitely going to cry when you walk down the aisle, about how your first dance has to be something ridiculous like a choreographed number—you just watch him.

It’s somehow overwhelming in the best way.

Because if someone had told you back when you first met, back when he was just a racecar driver with a gaggle of fan girls, at the apex of the NASCAR world, that this is where you’d end up, you wouldn’t have believed it.

Now, you can’t imagine wanting anything else. Not when he’s right here, grinning at you like you’re his whole world, planning forever like it’s the easiest thing in the universe. Or, maybe it is that easy.

Oh, how you love Sunday mornings. They’re kinda like that song you listen to.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[xcaptainhannax]

Good For You (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Plot: Bucky prefers to keep your relationship in the shadows, but when you test his patience by dressing up for a night out, he reminds you exactly who you belong to.

Warnings: mild suggestive, bucky in itself should be a warning

A/N: heavily inspired in selena's good for you song.

The room is warm, thick with the scent of Bucky’s cologne and the faint trace of your perfume. You stand in front of the mirror, adjusting the slip of silk hugging your body, fingertips smoothing over the fabric that clings in all the right places.

Bucky watches from the shadows, leaned against the dresser with his arms crossed, his jaw clenched so tight you think it might snap. His stare is a heavy weight on your body, burning hot where his eyes linger.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Just watches.

Then, finally—

“Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?”

The edge in his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

You smirk at him through the mirror, tilting your head just enough to let your hair slip over one shoulder, exposing the delicate curve of your neck. You know what you’re doing. Of course you know.

“I don’t know,” you muse, running your hands down the sides of the dress, just to watch his gaze darken. “Thought I’d grab a drink. Maybe dance a little.”

His metal fingers twitch.

“Dance with who?”

You turn slowly, facing him fully now. “Does it matter?”

Bucky’s jaw ticks.

You take a step closer, then another, eating up the distance between you. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, but you can feel the tension radiating off of him in waves.

He’s jealous.

Good.

“You don’t own me, Barnes,” you murmur, tilting your chin up just a fraction. Challenging him.

Bucky exhales through his nose, his breath coming slower now, heavier. Then he steps forward, closing the last bit of space between you. The air shifts, thickens, crackles like something about to explode.

“Oh, but I do, doll.”

His hands find your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. His grip is possessive, a silent claim, as if to say you’re mine and you fucking know it.

He leans in, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“You want to dance?” His voice is rough, teasing, dripping with something dangerous. “Go ahead. But if someone so much as looks at you the way I do, I’m putting a bullet in their knee.”

A thrill shoots down your spine. “Jealous, James?”

His fingers tighten. “Jealous? No.” His lips ghost along your throat, trailing lower, leaving just enough space between them and your skin to make you ache.

“I just don’t like sharing.”

Your breath hitches.

And then his mouth finally presses against your neck, slow and deliberate, his stubble scraping against the delicate skin as his lips part and his teeth graze—

Your knees almost buckle.

“You wore this for me,” he murmurs against your skin, smug as hell. “Didn’t you?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t have to. He already knows.

Bucky presses you back against the dresser, his hands roaming now, tracing the curves of your waist, slipping over the smooth silk of your dress like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“Tell me, doll,” he says, voice all low and dangerous now. “Still wanna go out?”

You don’t.

Not when he looks at you like that.

Not when his hands are sliding under the hem of your dress, gripping your thighs, pulling you closer, pressing you right against the heat of him—

You shake your head, breathless.

Bucky smirks.

“That’s what I thought.”

And when he kisses you—finally kisses you—it’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s hunger and possession and you’re mine all wrapped into one.

And you don’t think about anything else.

Not the bar. Not the dress.

Just him.

Always him.

[boosnotes]

Would you love me if I was a squid?

Shadow x reader

Genre: fluff/comfort Warnings: none A/n: doom morph shadow lives in my mind rent free, if the theory that the next arc of idw is about shadow and the black arm, I'm gonna shit myself so bad.

"would you love me if I was a squid?" Were the first words said after hours of silence, your eyes widened back open, the planned sleep long forgotten now that your mind was occupied processing that stupid question. You turned around to look at him, knowing there wouldn't be much of a difference; even so, the sincere look in his eyes made your bewilderment deeper; this was the last thing you thought coming out from his mouth, ever.

"Ummm... What?" You weren't able to soften up your answer;

it was too late to be in a socially acceptable mode, and the filter was not even in your head at the moment. It was strange of him to fuck up a saying or joke; he somehow always knew how it went when you messed one up, not wasting any time correcting you with a smirk. You felt his hands dig into your skin, quietly enough to not hurt, merely enough that make you notice his sharp claws on you; he told you silently he was nervous. Just as he was about to repeat the question, you interrupted him. "You do know that's not how it goes, right?"

Now he was the one confused, his eyebrows furrowed as he faintly spoke. "I don't know what you are talking about." You were waiting for the punchline, he was shit at making jokes, but despite that, you still loved him, a bit less, yet enough to be together. Hence, you stared at him blankly, nothing behind your eyes; you wanted to sleep, and you also felt bad for him; it was one of those times he didn't know how to express himself, probably.

Yet another silence sank, the relaxing mood was out of the window, replaced by the bamboozlement of you both. He let out an annoyed unsteady sigh, releasing some of the nerving feelings he had inside, not comfortable confronting you with something he hated the most about himself. He just whispered in an almost inaudible tone. "Just... Answer, please..."

"I would prefer it if you were an octopus." you wholeheartedly answered, squids kinds suck, though he'd find a way to make it cool. All this was out of the comfort zone of both of you, it made it all weird and uncomfortable; you didn't know what to make out of these questions that were so un-him; he, on the other hand, was still dealing with the recent acquirement of these new powers, the fact they depended on Black Doom scared him, especially for your well being, it meant that he was still inside of him and could come out and hurt you any moment.

"I'm being serious right now." he frowned, hurt from not being taken seriously; it took him a lot of time to open up, now are you going to let him down? After all this time? He was getting disappointed in you, he believed you'd flow with him as you always did, get him instantly. Was this the wrong time? They said at night is when people are most truthful from the tiredness.

"Are you..?" Your heart broke at his timid nod, his eyes softened as he look away; you had fucked up, you had to do better, you cannot be a bitch with him in this state. You gently placed your warm hand against his cold cheek and made him look back at you, your expression had completely changed towards a more affectionate one, encouraging him to talk more.

"What about a starfish?" He gingerly spoke, just like a turtle coming out of its shell after being scared into it. The questions were still in that weird line of thought, even though you didn't have the luxury to tease him anymore, you were too deep into his heart to punch it once more.

"Yeah, starfish are cooler... What's the point of this?" You were still confused by all this sea-life talk; you don't even think he's ever been to a beach, maybe you should take him one day. Your fingers formed circles against his cheek, making sure to go under the muzzle fur. The atmosphere changed from the uneasy one to a more caring one, still delicate despite the newfound openness from the two of you; it was tricky like walking on a glass floor, any wrong movement making it possible to break and fall into the void, but you choose to walk it nonetheless, with him.

"I recently learned that my... original form isn't this one..." he muttered, his body language telling you he was getting more relaxed, opening little by little like a flower blooming in spring. And so you took in every image he demonstrated, studying all his movements at the last moment for the most important test of your life.

"You choose to be a hedgehog?" Your curiosity had picked up with that comment; now everything was slowly connecting, and the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into the right places as important ones appeared. Shadow's demeanor had calmed down, seeing you weren't being judgemental yet, but there was always that possibility the more he told you. He tried to find the best words to not scare you away, settling with going little by little, and the things you didn't ask, were going to be for a future talk if there was one.

"Gerald chose for me." He never understood why a hedgehog, but compared to the prototype of a giant lizard, he was glad he could function independently. He knew that was an idea entirely from Gerald Robotnik, Black Doom never seemed to have connections with any hedgehog, or at least from what he knew. Some things were still out of his reach, another mission to get that information started bubbling in the back of his mind.

"What would you be if you could choose?" You wandered the conversation away a bit, leaving some space for mindless talking with an attempt of soothing, even if it's just for a little bit. He hummed in contemplation, never had he thought of being anything other than what had been chosen for him, his job was being the ultimate life form after all.

"A cat." He confessed shyly, it felt so foreign to think about what ifs, he was used to, but it didn't involve so meaningless. He had a strange fascination with them, and the ones he met brought him respect. He didn't interact with Blaze a lot, she was friends with Sonic and indulged him a little too often in his requests for his taste, despite fighting him in the past just like him; apart from that she was a respectable being; Big had this aura of tranquility around him, only caring about his closest friend, Froggy; he did everything to make him still be by his side and succeeded; Also, somehow he put one of his rare smiles on his face, something only you did.

"I'd adore you as a cat." You smile with warmth, finding the idea of Shadow as a cat adorable. You never thought about it, but he did act like one, hissing at everyone who tried getting near him without wanting to and never letting go of the ones he liked while also not showing them directly. "So... you are a fish?"

"Black Arms' original form is Starfish-like creatures, but my powers inherited from him gave me other options..." His tone was shameful, he talked about it like it wasn't part of him, as an objective fact of another race, yet the doubt that lingered at the end of every sentence betrayed that. It truly wasn't part of him; on his own, he didn't have the power to use those abilities, whereas the now confirmed fact that Black Doom still lingered somewhere deep hidden made it possible. He heard you hum, pondering while not really, not staring at anything in particular, just lost in thought while concentrating on stroking his cheek.

"Then... I'd still love you if you were a squid." Shadows' concerns eased, a big weight lifted from his shoulder, even if it wasn't completely true, he could hold onto this moment. His body slumped down, settling in your chest, simply wanting to feel your heartbeat and nothing else. He murmured a little "thank you" that you were barely able to hear; you patted his head with such compassion, shushing him softly a lovely lullaby to forget all his anxiety, helping him fall into the sweet nothingness of dreams. After some time, you felt him unconsciously making cushions against your chest; you let a soft smile as your eyes shined in admiration. You really loved him if he was a squid or a cat.

[hqwkeyes]

The Devil You Know (Part 1/2)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader Just wanted to note that I didn't put a gendered descriptor on this. It is essentially gender neutral, aside from perhaps some slightly feminine-leaning aspects. If anyone feels I should add a gendered descriptor to the reader in the pairing, please let me know. Word Count: 2.9k+ words Warnings: mentions of stalking, slight allusions to domestic violence, alcohol consumption, drunkenness, maybe like one swear word? like maybe, slight angst, cheeky Matt, i think that's it but idk i'm exhausted. (adding the cut at the very beginning due to the more triggering nature of some of the warnings) Summary: After working alongside Matt Murdock for about a year, you start to notice that he seems like maybe can see you. It's a crazy thought, and you feel almost bad for having it at all. That is, until you have a brush with Daredevil one night.

Masterlist // Buy me a coffee!

note: pls be nice about this one. it's been a really long time since i've written anything and it's also my first time writing for matt. thx.

You've been working at Nelson, Murdock, and Page for a while now, and it's been a little over a year and a half since you met the gang. It all started with the end of your last relationship, which was rocky to say the least. It was around that time that you first encountered Karen. She had overheard you arguing with your ex in front of a café because he wouldn't stop following you. Karen pretended to be a friend you were meeting, and your ex left shortly after, though you figured he would pop up again. She insisted that you sit down inside with her, and upon hearing about how your ex kept showing up wherever you were, she offered you help. It wasn't long after that she introduced her two friends/colleagues, Foggy Nelson and Matt Murdock, who also insisted on helping at no cost to you.

Karen had done some digging into your ex and found out how he had been tracking you. They were able to document his antics enough to build a stalking case against him and file an order of protection. Still, it was hard to feel safe after all he had put you through. You knew the statistics—the chances of experiencing violence at the hands of the person you have a restraining order against significantly increase once they are notified of it. Karen helped you find a new apartment, and Matt and Foggy helped you break your lease without any major issues. You had grown incredibly close with the three of them throughout this process. They looked out for you, made you feel safe, made you feel cared for. So when they asked you one night, over drinks at Josie's, to work for them, you couldn't refuse the offer—you didn't want to. They offered to support you in your endeavors to become a paralegal, something you expressed an interest in early on in your relationship with them. You wanted to help people the way they had helped you, so you started doing secretarial work for them while preparing.

Fast forward about a year, and you've nearly completed your paralegal certification. Your time at Nelson, Murdock, and Page has been incredible. Not only have you learned so much about the legal realm, but you also gained a bunch of work experience, and most importantly, you've found a family in these three wonderful people.

However, there are a few things about Matt Murdock that have felt a bit off to you. Not in a weird or creepy way—Matt was a perfect gentleman, always looking after you and making sure you feel safe, and you considered him a close friend. But you've felt a bit paranoid around him, because sometimes it almost feels like he can see you or something. It made you feel a little self-conscious around him at times. Like a few weeks ago, you had only just come into the office—you hadn't said a word yet—and he greeted you by name. When you asked how he knew it was you, he laughed it off, wearing that little satisfied grin he often had, and saying it was just a good guess because you usually arrived before Foggy. A good enough reason, you thought. Another time, he had been discussing paperwork with you when you accidentally bumped a paperweight off the edge your desk, and he caught it before it could hit the floor. He had said it was just good reflexes. And just last week, the four of you were walking to Josie's after work. Matt was holding onto you for guidance when suddenly, two men fell out of a bar you were passing, fighting each other to the ground. They would have crushed you if it hadn't been for Matt tugging you out of the way and into his chest. It had felt intentional, as if he had seen them coming, but he had apologized, saying he just tripped and was holding onto you for balance.

Tonight, the four of you had, once again, gone to Josie's. Normally, you wouldn't stay out this late on a weeknight, but it was to celebrate a win in court, and this case had been a tough one. After about an hour or so, Matt says he's calling it a night so he can do some prep for the morning. Foggy and Karen insist on staying, already a little tipsy. You tell Matt you'll stay behind to get the two of them home safely later, and he squeezes your shoulder in thanks as he passes by on his way out, telling you to call him if you need anything. You both know Karen and Foggy can get a bit crazy when they drink together.

A couple hours later, your two friends have had more than enough to drink. You've only had another drink or two since Matt left, having opted to look after the pair. You notice that Foggy's phone is going off, and he asks you to answer it for him, claiming he's too drunk, but you know he just doesn't want Marci to yell at him. When you tell her about his current condition, she lets out a humored sigh and says she's on her way to pick him up. At this, Foggy and Karen both decide to have one more drink. By the time Marci arrives, you need help getting both your friends outside. She insists on taking Karen home too and even offers you a ride, but you're a short walk in the opposite direction.

On the walk home, there's a shortcut through an alleyway that you would normally only consider attempting in the daylight, but there's no one around and you're exhausted. Taking the long way would add an extra five minutes of walking and you're pretty desperate to just get home, so you say screw it. You're basically sober anyway.

You're nearly at the other end of the alley when someone comes up from behind you and slams you into the wall on your right, grabbing your purse in the process. As you fall to the ground, you notice something dropping down from the fire escapes above. It takes a moment before you can try to get to your feet, and when you do, there's a man standing over you. You freeze, cowering back against the wall. And then you notice the horns on his mask.

"Are you alright?" the man—Daredevil—asks, holding out a gloved hand. You take it, and he gently helps you to your feet before returning your purse to you.

"Um yeah, I think so," you say, finding your bearings.

"What were you doing in an alleyway this late anyway?" His voice teasing, shaking his head, his lips falling into a small smirk.

"Just trying to get home," you tell him, but your eyes are searching the area until they fall on the man who attacked you, sprawled out on the ground a few feet away.

A beat passes.

"You're bleeding," Daredevil tells you, and you look up at him. "You should get that looked at."

"I'll be fine, it's probably just a scrape," you say, and he exhales in what almost sounds like a chuckle.

"It's more than just a scrape," he notes as he gently reaches up and swipes some blood from the cut on your forehead before explaining how to properly clean it. There's a tenderness to his actions that nearly makes you forget how crazy all of this is.

He feels...familiar to you. The cadence of his voice, his demeanor. You look him over, your eyes falling to the curve of his lips, a near smirk below his mask, and it feels like you've seen him before. Your brow furrows, eyes searching him. It's a silly thought—an impossible one—but before you can even really process it, your mouth is moving.

"Matt?" Your voice is a breathless whisper.

Oh god, maybe you are drunk. But Daredevil's breath hitched at that. Or maybe you imagined it? Your head is spinning—maybe you hit it harder than you thought.

"I'm sorry," you rush out. "You just reminded me of a friend of mine for a minute. You sound a lot like him, the way you talk. And he likes to tease people. And, I don't know, I guess I thought you kinda looked like him for a minute with that cute little grin. But that's not even possible, and I shouldn't have said anything. I wasn't even thinking when I said it, it just kind of came out, but that really, really isn't po-" your babbling is cut off by a gloved finger being pressed delicately to your lips.

You stare up at him with wide eyes, your pulse quickening. Several seconds pass in silence, and you wish you could read his expression under that mask. Finally, he pulls his finger away and you stand there, frozen in place, almost afraid to speak.

Before you know it, Daredevil is gently taking your hand and leading you back into the darkness of they alley. You should be terrified. You have no clue what he's going to do to you, but for some reason, you trust him. He releases your hand and slowly, his hands move up to his mask. When it comes off, you clap your hand over your mouth to avoid gasping aloud.

"I didn't want you to find out like this," Daredevil Matt says softly, "but I also didn't want to lie to you."

"But I-"

"I am blind," he notes with a light chuckle. "Just to get that out of the way."

"O-okay," you stammer.

He leans in towards you, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I know you might feel angry, or betrayed, or some other kind of hurt, but I'd really appreciate it if you'd let me explain."

You simply stare at him, dumbfounded. Speechless. He lets out another breathy laugh.

"If you want, I can meet you at your place, come up the fire escape, and I can tell you everything," he offers.

You take a moment to mull it over before nodding, then feeling silly and whispering, an "okay."

"I know you nodded," he tells you, and your eyes go wide again.

"Okay, you're definitely gonna have to explain," you say with a snort, lightly shoving his shoulder before starting out of the alley again. You turn to see Matt darting up the fire escapes before hurrying off towards your home yourself, shaking your head in disbelief.

When you finally get inside, you slip your shoes off and turn the lights on before thinking better and flicking them back off. Suddenly, your masked friend is at your window on your fire escape, and you rush to unlock it and let him in.

"I can't believe this is happening," you mumble, and you catch that thin smirk of his again as he slips inside.

"Quit smirking and start talking, Murdock," you mutter as you pad into your kitchen and pour two glasses of water. You're probably going to need something stronger, but you need to be sober for this conversation.

Matt takes a seat on your couch and he explains. Everything. From the accident that took his sight to his training with Stick to taking down Fisk's corruption, and everything in between. Finally, when he's done, he waits for you to say something. You've been pacing the room, but now you stop. Several moments pass as you take everything in, and finally you suck in a sharp breath.

"I'm not mad," you exhale, and you see the tension leave his shoulders. Your pacing resumes. "I am hurt, though. I know I haven't been around nearly as long as Foggy or Karen, but we all work so closely together. Hell, I even considered us close friends. But you didn't think you could trust me with this, and that's what hurts."

"And I'm sorry. I knew I couldn't lie to you about it–"

"But you did lie. Maybe not about Daredevil directly, but all those times—the damn paperweight a while ago, those guys fighting on the way to Josie's last week—you made me feel like I was going crazy. You didn't even have to tell me about Daredevil to tell me about that." You pause, facing away from him, scrubbing your hands over your face before dragging them away.

"And you can hear my heartbeat? Can tell when I'm lying and all? I just–" you sigh. "I don't know Matt. I don't know what to say."

"You're right. I haven't been truthful with you, and I–" He pauses. Then, quieter, "I understand if this makes you want to reconsider our relationships." At this, your heart drops. You whip around, searching his face. His expression is unreadable.

"Is that what you want?" Your words are barely a whisper, but now you know he can hear you.

"No," he sighs, facing you. "It isn't. I love having you with us at the office, and I really enjoy all the time we spend together. I also felt that we were close friends. And it's not that I didn't trust you. It's just– I guess it was nice just being able to be me with again. Just Matt Murdock. Not worrying about what I was getting up to as Daredevil."

"Well," you start with a sigh, "if it makes you feel any better, I often worry about what you're getting up to as Matt Murdock anyway." There's a bit of humor in your tone, and you look up at your friend, his mouth curving into a grin again.

"Is that so?" He cocks his head to the side, his grin growing.

"It is," you say, your smile spreading as well.

You both let out a light laugh, and you walk over to sit beside him, resting a hand on his knee.

"Can you promise me that you'll be honest with me from now on?" You ask, leaning into him.

"I promise."

"Good," you murmur, dropping your head onto his shoulder. He wraps an arm around you, gently squeezing your shoulder.

The two of you stay like this for a few moments, and just when you're starting to get a little sleepy, he clears his throat.

"So," he starts. You glance up at him, that cheeky smirk creeping across his lips again. "What was that earlier about my 'cute little grin'?"

You shoot up straight beside him, and he lets out a deep laugh, pulling you closer into his side. You're turning an impossible shade of red, which you previously would've been glad he couldn't see, but now you know he definitely feels you burning up beside him. You decide it's best to just roll with it.

"You know, that little smirk you always have. You do it whenever you're satisfied with something, or when you're getting a rise out of someone. You're doing it right now, actually." Now you're gaining confidence, but you know he can still hear the stutter of your heartbeat as you try to calm yourself down.

"Is that so?" His grin grows.

"It is," you say, shrugging his arm off of you as you turn to face him. He turns towards you as well.

"You enjoy teasing people, huh?"

"Well I'm enjoying teasing you right now, if I'm being honest. Which I promised I would be." And just when you thought that smirk couldn't grow anymore devilish.

"Already on such thin ice and you wanna tease me, Murdock?" you taunt. "Maybe you don't want us to be friends anymore."

An expression flashes across his features, there and gone in but a moment. You can see in his face that he's thinking—considering. He tilts his head a bit, wets his lips.

"Maybe I don't." You feel yourself flushing again, heat creeping up your neck, and that smirk of his is coming back in full force.

You falter, blowing out a breath, a bit of that confidence leaving you. "Yeah, okay, Matt."

Something in his expression changes, softens; his smirk turning into something almost somber.

"It's uh– it's getting late. I should let you get to bed," he suggests quietly before taking your hand in both of his. "Thank you for hearing me out. And for taking this so well." He brings your hand to his lips, brushing a featherlight kiss to the back of it. Your mouth is slightly agape as you stare at him for a moment, breathless.

He releases you and stands swiftly, making his way to your window once again, and you quickly get to your feet and follow him, your heart racing. He opens your window a bit before turning to you.

"Thank you again. Really."

You nod, wrapping your arms around yourself. "Of course."

"I'll uh– I'll see you in the morning then."

"See you in the morning, Matt," you say softly.

And then he puts on his mask, opens the window, and steps out onto the fire escape once again before turning to you.

"Make sure you lock that behind me, okay?" You let out a light chortle at that.

"I will, I promise."

"Good," he says, and something about his entire demeanor feels half-hearted. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Daredevil," you say with a small smile.

You glance behind you into your dark apartment, and when you turn back, Matt is gone. You stick your head out the window to search for him, but when you don't find him, you realize he probably went to the roof.

You shut and lock the window before turning and leaning against it, covering your face with your hands as you relive the past two hours in your head. Your face flushes again as you recall your last few minutes together, and as you begin to ready yourself for bed, you wonder how the hell you're going to face him at work tomorrow.

Part 2 coming soon! Masterlist // Buy me a coffee!