#You dare wash the favorite blanket?!

[muppenthings]

Hello yes I heard space fairies? I was summoned? I love them they have ultimate good vibes 💜💜💜💜

💜🐝

Yeyyyee! I'm happy you like them!!

They can be happy bundles of joy!

But you can also get this

[eternallyhauntingthehouseoflove]

Hi, I don't know If you take requests, but could you please right about the reaction and thoughts of the bat boys toward finding out their partner was pregnant? Please and thank you

A/N: I do take requests, love. And I've got you ❣️

Bat-boys find out you're pregnant🍼

Dick Grayson's first thought is worry. He doubts how he'll make it work; crimefighting, his job, then his relationship with you. And he'll wonder how Nightwing will interfere with his life, and how Bruce will react (he'll spoil the child endlessly).

Reassurance from Donna, Alfred, or Bruce will part his fog of worry and distance. He'll hit the ground running to rectify his isolation. I mean breaking the news to friends and family, arranging play dates with Roy and Lian.

"I'll be safer on patrol," he whispered," I promise, hun." You had broke down after so long of trying to remain calm. But seeing your lover return home with bruise after bruise would weigh anyone down. Especially one pregnant.

Dick's hand would always be on your belly, reminding himself that you both are safe and he's doing a great job. It's what he needs to hear, that he's making the city safer for you both.

He is 100% a handyman. Dick will build cribs, changing tables, repair toilets, fix creaky cabinets. And he'll baby proof the house." Don't worry, babe," he assured you." Just relax. It's just a clogged drain."

Jason Todd's first thought is if he'd be a good father, after everything he's been through and done. He even wonders if he deserves to be a father, or if he deserves a nameless grave. However, leaving is never and will never be an option for him. I truly think he'd be the most active out of the bat-boys.

Jason's love language has always been acts of service, and it would thrive during your pregnancy. Your house would be booby-trapped and SECURED. He'd teach you the basics of a gun, and he'd ensure your pregnancy cravings are stocked. Jason would also wash your back when your belly grew too large.

Jason would let you shop for baby and maternity clothes with his card. His only request is that you don't get the baby anything too vibrant because it's an eyesore. If anything, he'd prefer neutral tones or black on the baby.

The weather becomes his interest after the baby's birth." Do you think they need a jacket?" Is his favorite line." Don't you think it's a little hot for them to be wearing long sleeves," he'll wonder. Or the baby is swaddled and he'll question," do you think he's overheating? I'd be hot if that were me all wrapped up like that."

A child is the only thing to make him stand steadfast on his refusal to kill. Not Bruce, not Dick, not even you. Your child brought forth a new mindset, one of not wanting to see a killer reflecting in the innocent and chocolate eyes of his child (Jason's eyes are brown. Argue with a wall).

Tim Drake isn't as present as one would believe. His activity is inconsistent, and it's harder to reach him because he's usually working. But he wants you to sit with him, to bring the baby and let him play around in his office.

It warms his heart to return from a meeting and his baby is sprawled out on his pastel blue teddy bear blanket and cooing. You're dangling a rattle over him, and Tim would strut over and kiss you on the cheek." How's it going, love?" He'd ask and rub the baby's cheek." They being good?" His eyebrow would raise playfully.

The baby would be raised around Bruce and Alfred more than his actual parents. I also see Stephanie caring for the baby and even babysitting if you work or just need rest. Cass would swoon over it, so prepare for tons of peeled oranges and Cass making your bottles.

Alfred would surely read your baby literature. He'd be sitting in the library, baby on his lap while y'all rest, reading from a dusty and old book that's sure to ignite your allergies.

Damian would try his hardest to be a fun dad because he never got that. It's been well documented that he wouldn't dare put a child through his life. So I think the farthest he would go is teaching you enough to defeat the average Shadow/Assassin. But he would not want you killing.

I think he'd lean into Bruce's "No-Kill" mantra after having a child. If you even want to enter vigilantism; he'd understand if you choose not to. It's a thankless job; it's isolating and bruising.

But I think if the kid did continue training, that's when they'd truly bond. Damian and he/she would laugh and joke between rounds; he'd show them the best way to throw a punch, and he'd teach mercy. That's also when they'd meet the other side of their family---the Al Ghuls. But Damian would have strict stipulations on what they learn. No instant kill moves, no brainwashing, none of the narcissistic sentiments Talia filled his head with.

I also think you, Damian, and your kid would lead fairly healthy lives. Not overboard, but the occasional protein shake or morning run; maybe even a little weight lifting. Or if cardio is your speed, he'd install a home-treadmill or a pool.

Bruce Wayne's first thought would be his age. How he's climbing in age and his job usually doesn't lead to gold and sunsets. He'd be happy because he sees it as a second chance. His first two sons saw the angry and vengeful side of him, so that's how they grew up; Tim sought him, and Damian came stained with blood.

But with you and the baby, he could actually be a father. He could raise the baby from infancy and make bottles and hush cries, like he wanted to with Dick and Jason. He could show the baby his favorite movies and just talk to them, even though the baby would respond with drool and coos.

He wouldn't have to be alone anymore. Bruce would set his child on a straight path; the world has enough Bats and birds. They could just...be. They'd would carry on the Wayne name.

Bruce would spoil you and his baby rotten. He'd watch over the baby like a hawk; each cry, each coo, each babble would send Bruce into a fit of worry. He'd leap up from his seat and check the cradle, only to find a giggling baby with his feet in the air. Then he'd chuckle, which would make the baby giggle even more. " You got me, little one. You got me," he'd utter and return to the Bat-computer.

[gojonanami]

BEST PART OF MY DAY - KENTO NANAMI

✴︎ summary: on a bad day, you give nanami just what he needs, and remind him why you are truly the best part of his day. ✴︎ contents: pure domestic fluff, reader and nanami are married, taking care of nanami the way he deserves, making breakfast for nanami ✴︎ wc: 795

“What can I do?” you whisper, whisper in his ear, because you know Kento is having a bad day. You know that he’s having a bad day from the way his shoulders tense and his lips are in a tight line, instead of curled in that small smile. 

“Don’t,” he shakes his head simply, running his fingers through his hair, “I’m okay, sweetheart,” 

And you know that certainly means that he’s not. 

“Are you?” You sit beside him on the couch, one leg tucked under the other, curled up beside him, “because I’m pretty sure you’re not,” you place your chin on his shoulder, “come on, there must be something, even if it’s—“ 

And he’s pulling you into his arms, leaning back on the couch, your body beside him, as he buries his face in your chest, “baby,” you run your fingers through his hair, “is this—“ 

“You’re everything, do you know that, love?” His words are soft, but the impact is heavy, warmth flooding your body at his words, “just a few words from you, and I feel my fatigue melt away, how’s that possible?” 

“New jujutsu technique?” And he snorts, “should I tell Gojo?” 

“Don’t you dare,” he murmurs, leaning up to press a kiss to your lips, and you smile against his touch, tasting the hint of bitter coffee and the faint taste of melon bread on his lips, “how’re so perfect?” And he’s nosing the nape of your neck, pressing sweet kisses. 

“Well you deserve only the best, Nanami Kento, and what is better than me?” You say teasingly, and he chuckles, a quiet rumble that makes you nearly shiver. 

“Nothing I can think of,” and you’re running your fingers through his hair again and again, pressing sweet kisses to his brow, and his eyes are growing heavy, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to put me to sleep,” 

“Maybe I am, think my husband needs some sleep,” you kiss him softly, “dream about Malaysia, only a few months away,” 

“Not soon enough,” he murmurs, “but you’re all I need, my vacation,” 

You chuckle, pressing sweet kisses to his forehead, “Your 5 to 9?” 

“With no overtime,” he sighs, as you snort, before he’s looking up at you, “the best part of my day,” 

And he’s falling asleep, slipping into the sandman’s grasp, and he only wakes underneath a blanket, in the soft sheets of his bed, morning light streaming in. He blinks sleep from his eyes, a small groan in his throat, as he reaches beside him for you, but only finds an empty space. 

His breath catches — where were you? Panic grips him, until he listens — hearing the quiet sounds of pans and spoons clinking, the soft sounds of your humming, as he slowly settles back, easing himself back into bed for a moment, before slipping from bed. 

He comes out to find you only in one of the blue button ups you had “borrowed” from him - one of three you had on rotation, giving them back only when you had washed them. You were humming along to music playing softly on your phone, as you cooked — you had seemingly picked up his favorites from the bakery nearby and even were making some scrambled eggs for the both of you. 

How did he get so lucky? 

He sneaks up on you, his arms curling around your middle, as you jump slightly, before relaxing into his touch, “Kento, I didn’t wake you, did I?” And he’s pressing a kiss to your cheek — you smelt so good, like lavender, apples, freshly baked bread — “baby—“ 

“No, I just woke up when I didn’t feel you beside me,” he sighs into the nape of your neck, “did you stop by the bakery?” 

“Yes and I think the worker has a crush on you,” you chuckle, as he hears the click of the stove turning off, “she asked about you,” and you turn to face him, lips curled in a teasing smile, “you interested?” 

“No, I’m only interested in my wife,” he hums, finding your lips in a kiss, his lips curling, “my very beautiful wife,” 

“Oh, I’m beautiful? What else am I?” You tease, but then he’s tilting your chin up, lips pressing to your forehead first. 

“Lovely,” he murmurs, as his lips move to one cheek, and then the other, “honest,” lips finding your nose, “far too kind,” and then your lips again, “perfect,” 

“Kento…” and he’s kissing you in earnest now, his hand cupping your cheek, while his other arm curls around the small of your back, “shouldn’t we have breakfast?” 

And he only smiles, speaking before finding your lips again, “it can wait, I have to start my day with the best part of it, don’t I?” 

✴︎ a/n: i woke up to all the edits of nanami and i'm depressed to say the least. but it's okay he's in malaysia with us, right? denial, denial is my only option.

✴︎ taglist: @ethereal-softie, @glaceliy, @yumihisusupermacy

[sinofwriting]

Clingy - Ollie Bearman

Words: 1,211 Summary: Ollie just wants to touch his girlfriend. Which is a bit of a problem when the public doesn’t know about your relationship. (Requested)

Masterlist | Support Me! 

Ollie Bearman adores his girlfriend. The sky is blue, Charles Leclerc is a future world champion, and Ollie Bearman adores his girlfriend. Those are facts of life as far as he is concerned.

But honestly he dares anyone to not adore her. She’s perfect. Her eyes shine, lighting up and nearly glittering. She listens attentively to everything and everyone. Her hand perfectly fits in his. She always has a sarcastic comment on hand. He has hundreds of thousands of things he loves about her, adores about her, and they all make her perfect.

And it’s hard for him to pick one thing he loves the most about her. There’s the excitement on her face that greets him every time they see each other. Or how she rubs at his earlobe when they fly together. Maybe it’s how she knows all of his favorite things, from snacks, candy, music. But really, it’s the way she lets him cling to her.

He always has to be touching her. It embarrasses everyone they know, the way he just clings to her, gluing himself to every inch of her that he can. His parents, his mom especially, pleads with him to give her space, to let her breath, but he can’t help but touch. Her best friend, every time she sees them, always groans, telling them to get a room. Dino’s face screws up in disgust, usually mock. And she just laughs, running a hand over him, leaning more into him, silently letting him know that it’s fine and that she wants him to touch.

But now, she won’t let him touch, cling, and he pouts.

“Baby,” He whines, reaching out for her, but she stays where she is. “Ollie, if you touch me now, you won’t stop.” “I know.” Her hand comes up to rub at her chest. “And you can’t do that or fans will find out.” He shakes his head. “They won’t! We’re only around Prema and they all know not to post photos of us.” She looks unsure. “No fans will be able to see us. Please let me hold you. And I’ll stop as soon as we leave this area.” She still looks unsure but opens her arms, stepping forward and he quickly meets her.

His arms wrap around her tight, hands finding their way underneath her shirt, to get some much-needed skin contact.

“This is so much better.” He breathes, eyes closing as he lets the feel of her wash over him.

Thirty minutes later when they move to go to Prema’s motorhome, he doesn’t stop touching her. His arm slung around her shoulder, keeping her close as he kept dipping his head down to brush his lips across the top of her head, no matter how difficult it makes it to walk. He’s so wrapped up in her, and her in him, they both fail to notice the person taking a picture of them.

Then later when it’s dark and all the fans and press are gone, only the teams are allowed to still be at the track, a group of them all go to where the fans sit on camping chairs and blankets, sitting on the grass somewhat close together.

“This is nice.” She murmurs. He smiles, moving a little so she can rest against him. “Isn’t it? We don’t get to really ever hang out like this. I mean at restaurants and clubs, sure. But there’s never this many of us at the track together and chilling.” She looks around at the drivers that came with.

Dino, Paul, Jak, Christian and Pepe are all throwing something at each other. Luke watches them and is clearly trying not to laugh as they keep nearly dropping whatever they are throwing. Dennis is fiddling with his phone that's connected to the speaker he brought, Arthur standing behind him also looking at the phone screen.

“It’s a good group.” He laughs, “well, I would hope so since they are all my friends.” “You have more than I thought. Track friends.” She clarifies. “When we first got together, I thought maybe you’d have two or three. But you’ve got nine, they all are amazing.” “It’s too bad Fred couldn’t be here.” “Yeah.” She agrees. “But we’ll see him next week.”

He doesn’t really think about the day. It was just a normal Thursday, it was whatever. He went over the data he needed to, did a few interviews, did some funny stuff for socials. The two things that stick out are her being there and him being able to cling to her and the hangout they had.

He wakes up on Friday to his girlfriend not beside him, but rather standing at the foot of the bed. “What happened?” “A fan took a picture of us yesterday. And Christian posted a few photos on his Instagram story last night and in the very background you can see us.” “Fuck.” He breathes. “Yeah.”

“We’ll just have to be a bit more careful today.” He finally says, sitting up. She gives him a look, “I think it might be best if I stay here for the rest of the weekend, or just stay away from the track.” “What? No!” “Baby, I love that you want to touch me all the time. I would never change that about you.” She tells him, moving onto the bed and holding his hand. “But, we are supposed to be secret. And y’know, we tried me coming to a race and now we know that we can’t do that.” He thinks about her words for all of a second before shaking his head. “No.” “Ollie.” “No.” He tells her. “I know that we were supposed to wait until like August to be public, but it’s not like everyone doesn’t already know that I’m signed with Haas for next year. And I’ve already signed the contract with them. They can’t rip it apart because of this.”

He sighs when she doesn’t say anything, carefully taking her face in between his palms. “Let me worry about what Haas might or might not do. This is on me after all for being clingy.” Her hands come up, fingers wrapping around his wrists. “I love that you're clingy.” Ollie smiles, blood rushing to his face at the quiet words. “It will be okay.” He tells her, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “Promise.” “Okay.” She agrees, smiling at him. “Just promise me that you won’t put your hand in my back pocket.” His eyes widened, “You can’t ask me to do that. That’s like asking me not to kiss you.” Her nose wrinkles as he presses a kiss to it. “I can ask that. I don’t think we need pictures of us with your hand on my ass.” He pouts, hands moving from her face to her hips, giving them a squeeze. “But it’s so nice.” He whines before sighing. “Fine. But only if I can put my hand under your shirt.” “Well, I can’t deprive you of everything.” “Exactly.” He grins. She shakes her head, but there’s a smile playing on her lips as she gets off the bed, extending a hand out to him. “C’mon baby, let’s get ready for our first appearance as a couple.”

[werelosingdaylight]

Intimate Mornings

Chishiya Shuntaro x GN!Reader

REQUESTED? [Yes] • No

REQUEST: Hi could I request domestic moment with chishiya, like hdcs or anything idc, im a slut for this man and I need domestic moment with him ☹️👍 (the brainrot is very real)

WORD COUNT: 771

SUMMARY| Mornings with Chishiya had always been your favorite, especially after a rough game.

Adm Note: I’m back after a year, I might be a little rusty. I did not specify what the reader looked like or any pronouns! Everyone is included. <3

Sunlight broke through the blue skies with beams of light, peaking through the window to give false loving caresses to the skin of your lovers face, like it was trying to make you envious of the ethereal glow that encapsulates him. Chishiya slept peacefully beside you, his arm slung loosely over your waist, his face didn't hold its usual coldness; a mask he carefully crafted together from hardened clay to protect himself.

Without much thought to your actions you pulled your hand from where it laid motionless under the blanket, taking the physically clean hand and running it through his messy locks of hair. You often wondered if every touch you gave him darkened his soul, the soul that shimmered such a vibrant gold it could blind you.

Where as your soul laid withered up, being cloaked by the shadows lingering in your mind, tormenting you with memories of the things you have done to survive in the borderlands. Crimson stains washed away down the shower drain like it was nothing but dirt spread across your skin.

His hair was soft, like how you imagined clouds to feel as a child. It was familiar and warm to your touch, like an old soul greeting you upon your death, lighting you up with a sense of complete wholeness.

Slowly your hand moved from its place where you were daring to dance your fingers through each piece and wondering if you would turn to gold from touching the hair upon his head.

Trailing down his cheek you relish in the warmth rolling off his skin in waves, a frown pulling at the corner of your lips as you notice a cut along the crown of his forehead, not deep enough to need stitches but it would need to be cleaned.

Running your thumb softly along the cut, a sigh crawled it’s way out of your throat with ragged claws tearing into your windpipe, mindlessly beating against your voice box. “Chishiya…” You whispered, getting no response you tried again to awaken your slumbering boyfriend.

“Chishiya.” Your voice was louder, causing him to stir, his eyes fluttering open at the feeling of being looked at so tenderly. A small sleep filled smile was shot your way, making your heart thud wildly against your rib cage.

Pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips you wordlessly got up, ignoring a whining protest from Chishiya that tugged at your heart strings; he always had been clingy when he was tired.

Entering the bathroom you grabbed a wash cloth, letting the cold water seep through the fabric and pool onto your fingertips before the droplets slid down your hands back into the sink.

Opening the cabinets you grabbed a bandage, rubbing alcohol, and the ointment. Hearing a soft shuffle, that alerted you to the fact your boyfriend was on the move, you moved to the doorway.

“Nuh-uh, lay back down. You’re injured and have five days on your visa.” You made your way over to his side of the bed, sitting down hesitantly beside him. You took care of the bigger injuries last night, including the huge gash along his side from a flying piece of metal.

As gently as you could, you pushed Chishiyas shoulders back, having him leaning against the headboard of the bed. Shifting carefully as to not bother his stitches.

Chishiya rolled his eyes at you being so careful, a yelp of surprise escaping you as two hands pulled you into his lap in a straddling position. “Chishiya! I could have hurt you.” You weren’t normally one to complain about sitting on your boyfriends lap, especially if it’s in the privacy of your own room, but you didn’t want to irritate or reopen his wound.

Chishiya let out what sounded like an annoyed clicking with his tongue “You didn’t hurt me, if anything being this close with you makes me feel better.” Your insides melted at his words, despite him not being the best with emotions they always managed to make you a puddle in his hand.

A soft smile crossed your lips, unable to hold back the warmth that spread throughout your chest, how could you when he looked at you like you crafted every star in his name? Like you shaped every galaxy and creature just to cure his loneliness?

You softly brushed his hair away from the cut, dabbing the wet cloth to clean the dried up blood that escaped and now painted dried ponds on his skin. You know soon enough you will both have to get up, but for now you will soak up the small moments.

[maarslovesmonkees]

Love your writing already and excited for your future works :)

Would you be able to do a nsfw piece for possessive/jealous Noa x female reader with some marking/claiming?

\The Bite On Your Neck\

Hii thank you, that means so much😭🙏 Ouuu I love myself some jealousy from my ape men <3 I Hope you enjoy,:D 💞

Notes and warnings: Gender-neutral terms, Noa x Human!reader, Oneshot, NSFW, 1.2K words.

Noa wouldn't say he's a jealous man. He isn't the most confident in himself, sure but he does acknowledge his high status. No other ape would dare interfere with the bond you too share, s he never really had any thoughts to worry. Youve been part of the Eagle clan for more than a year now, or that's what you think. You don't really keep track of what day it is. Early winter is just settling in, and you were struggling as any other winter you've faced. Suddenly being insanely envious of the thick coat of fur the rest of the apes had. Over the past year, all the apes have warmed up to you, and have a good idea of echo customs; like freezing your ass off during winter.

You hang out with the sunset trio most days, specifically Noa, him being your mate and all. It was a surprising relationship blossom to say the least. Many were quite uncertain of how the relationship will turn out, but Anaya, Soona and Darr has always been supportive from the start and thats all that mattered to Noa.

You both try and spend as much time with eachother as possible whether is eating, sleeping, annoying him while he works with his owls etc. He loved spending quality time with you, just one on one.

—

“Help… with cold”, Anaya reached out a thick wool blanket for you to take. You took it gratefully wondering how he even got a hold of it. You quickly wrapped yourself around it, feeling bliss of the warmth it gave. You huddled close to the fire, as Anaya sat next to you. “Found when hunting”, He spoke as he chewed an apple, one of his favorite fruits. “Washed already…so not dirty”

“Thanks so much”, You smiled brightly at him. You then stretched your body, feeling the tension on your joints release as you’ve been huddled by the fire for a while. “I wish I had your fur so badly right night”, You whined.

You didn't notice Anaya not answering, as you felt hypnotized from the waves of the fire. You then felt a presence right behind you, then big furry arms go around your shoulders. You turned to see Anaya looking away, chewing his last piece of apple, seemingly nervous. Huffing a smile, you nuzzled up against your best friend.

“What it could feel…to have fur”, Anaya sat behind you, pressing his body against your back.

“You cuddle people for warmth a lot?”, I giggled and looked back to the mesmerizing fireplace.

“Not for warmth…Anaya likes cuddles”.

You felt your heart melt at your friends confession. You knew Anaya doesn't like being alone, and you felt a sort of pride being able to give him comfort. You were proud of the growth with your friendship with him, as he was very hesitant at the start, seeing his first echo and all. You became close friends with the goofball, seeing him as a brother.

A large thump of the ground, snap you out of your thoughts. On your left you saw Noa, staring at the fire irritaded, as Soona sat down right next to him, smiling at you.

Anaya let go of you, and proceeds to go and sit next to Soona. As the two talked, you shimmy your way next to your beloved boyfriend, snuggling close to him, resting your head on his broad shoulders. He put his arm around you, resting his head on to your, but you can tell he still seemed tense.

“Had a bad day?”, You sympathize with him as he's been doing quite a lot of errands for the elders. After his fathers passing, he has been held up doing a ton of eagle work.

He didn't answer, holding your body closer to him. Feeling the closeness gave you butterflies, then a great idea popped in your head.

You picked yourself up a little bit, then plopped down on his lap, resting your head on his chest. He took a second to react, but instantly put his arms around you, holding you nice and tight. He put his head down, nuzzling in your neck, deeply inhaling your scent. You shivered from the tickling sensation, giggling again.

“Noaaa that tickles”, You chuckled at him but you gasped as your body froze when you felt his teeth on your skin. It wasn't a bite, more like a nibble.

Your heart was thumping out of your chest as you looked to your side. Anaya and Soona still seemed to be distracted on whatever conversation they were having. You felt Noa sink his teeth gently in your neck, then licking the teeth mark that lightly showed.

Noa can already smell your arousal and stopped, trying to avoid the others getting suspicious. Noa nodded to the direction of your nest and you quickly understood.

—

“Oh fuck”, your voice muffled from the pillow your face was buried in.

Noa hips clashing into yours, his thick hands on your waist keeping you steady. Feeling your walls moving tightly around his cock, Noa couldnt conceal his groans of pleasure. You gripped the ground under you, then try to prop yourself up, feeling your back aching from the pose.

As you lift you head up, Noas hand covered your mouth, and you didnt have enough time to react as he bite down hard between our neck and shoulder blade, drawing blood. You scream into his hand, tearing up as Noa took his mouth off, licking the blood clean off your shoulder.

“You...are mine”, He grunted, his throbbing cock still thrusting into your puffy hole. “Noa's mate only”, you can feel him kissing the bloody mark, then sucking your neck.

Your tears falling down your face, as you felt your pleasure building up in your stomach, as you felt youself squeeze around him. He groaned from the sudden tightness, sweat falling off his forehead, he pulled you up and he finally climaxed inside you.

You felt his warm pool of cum get burried deep inside you, causing you to reach your high. Noa wrapped his arms around your body, slowly thrusting to ride out his orgasm. You shook in his arms, trying to regulate your breathing as you felt your entire body feel fuzzy and warm.

You rested your head behind you on Noas shoulder, finally able to catch your breath, as Noa slow thrusting came to a stop. You both kept kneeling in that position for a minute until Noa carefully layed you down next to him. He pulled you close, been cautious of the big bite mark, not wanting to cause you anymore pain. You buried your face in his chest and finally exhaling. You felt your mate caressing your hair gently, and exhaled a smile. You closed your eyes, feeling yourself drift off to sleep.

Noa looked at the artwork he made on your shoulder, feeling a sort of guilty pleasure forming around his stomach. He doesn't like hurting you, in fact he hastes it, but you were his and his alone. He knew it was irrational, but he couldn't help the feeling of possessiveness when anyone holds you close. Their face so close to your neck they seemed like they were about to mark you filled him with raging jealousy. Its time for everyone in the clan, including his best friend, to realize you're off limits. Youve been marked by Noa now, and your marked for life.

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling For the Devil [Part ninety-six: "The Quiet Morning at Home"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: You wake up the morning after the gala with Matt.

Or

Mittens interrupts a moment to cause a little chaos.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.] [FFTD Series Masterlist]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut, violence

a/n: There's a bit of sexual content in this one, but it's mostly a lot of sweet fluff. And some chaotic Mittens Murdock... Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag List: @ninacotte @stilldreaming666 @murdocksclient @madscamp02 @1988-fiend @linamarr @pinkratts @schneeflocky @acharliecoxedfan @yarrystyleeza @theetherealbloom @danzer8705 @lionalsowrites @harperdoodle @kmc1989 @lunaticgurly @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @pazii @kezibear @sleepysleepymom @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @babygirlmurdock @theoraekenslover @wanda-maxamommy @justanerd1

Slowly blinking your eyes open, you attempted to adjust to the bit of light trickling into the bedroom. The muffled sound of the bustling early morning city traffic far below the apartment filtered in through the windows as you continued to gradually wake. The muted and distant sound of cars honking on the busy streets had you appreciating the fact that today was Sunday and you had nowhere to be in a rush.

Inevitably when your eyes had adjusted to the dim morning light they found their way to Matt. He was lying on his side facing towards you with one of his bare, muscular arms resting over the top of the silk sheets. His hand was stretched out towards you on top of the blankets, his fingers only mere inches from where you lay beside him as if he'd been reaching out towards you in his sleep. The thought that he might have been drew a small smile onto your lips.

These were your favorite types of mornings. Slow, sunny ones like this one where the bedroom was always swathed in the faintest golden glow of early morning sunlight slipping its way past the curtains. You loved how the light cast streams of warmth over Matt's sleeping form beside you, somehow making him look almost angelic as he lay there.

You could never resist studying the details of his peaceful expression in the quiet stillness of the weekend mornings whenever you managed to wake before him, either. Watching the steady, even rise and fall of his chest beneath the sheets, his plush lips slightly parted. Sometimes, like this morning, you even noted that he almost seemed to be smiling in his sleep, the corners of his lips gently curled upwards. Though in your observation of him today you couldn't help but notice the mess his dark hair currently was atop his head. Heat crept into your cheeks as you recalled what the two of you had done last night at the gala–and then what you'd both done here afterwards. 

Biting your lip as the memories of last night rushed back to you, making you more aware of how naked you and Matt both currently were beneath the sheets, your attention dropped down to the foot of the bed. Mittens wasn't curled in a ball sleeping in his usual spot, which meant he must've woken up early and slipped out through the crack in the bedroom door that you and Matt always kept partially open for him. You figured he was probably out in the living room now, sitting in his cat tree and watching the morning traffic on the street below while trying to scare off the pigeons that occasionally dared to perch on the small ledges of the building outside the window.

Slowly your eyelids leisurely lowered again, a comfortable calm washing over you as you quietly lay in bed. Inhaling a deep breath in, your smile only grew wider on your lips as you relaxed further into the mattress. Despite the woman who'd flirted with Matt at the gala and the way you'd been treated last night–which was apparently exactly how Karen and Foggy had fared in their own respective ways as you'd come to learn from them after the event–things felt perfect right now. As if everything was exactly how it should be.

Though you still couldn't believe that you'd let Matt fuck you in that office last night while hundreds of New York City elite were just outside in the ballroom. The memory of that part of the evening, along with how he'd called you ‘Mrs. Murdock’ and the way it had made you feel, had left you surprisingly and wonderfully lightheaded and shockingly aroused for the rest of the evening. By the time you'd both made it back to the apartment, the pair of you had been so worked up that Matt had quite literally torn your dress right off of you shortly after you'd gotten through the door. A shudder ran through you as you recalled that dark, irresistible look in his eyes when he'd dragged you into the bedroom with him before he'd certainly driven the point home that you were his.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

Your eyes abruptly reopened, focusing back on Matt's face at the sound of his sleep-laden voice greeting you. His eyes were also open now, fixed along your chest and most likely listening to the sound of your heartbeat and your breathing. It was something he'd long since confessed he focused on first thing in the mornings to determine whether you were awake or asleep–though he’d also admitted that he just liked listening to the sound.

“Something on your mind?” he asked, a cheeky, sleepy grin slowly stretching across his tired face.

His hand reached out a bit further, closing the distance between the pair of you as his fingers brushed along your bare shoulder. It was a second before your brain realized your body must have been reacting to your thoughts about the things you’d both done after the gala. That must've been the first thing he'd picked up on when he woke.

“Just uh, thinking about last night,” you admitted, shifting closer towards him on the bed. 

“Mmm, last night?” he replied, that sleepy grin still on his lips.

Copying your movements, Matt also moved closer to you on the bed. His hand slid down your shoulder, slipping beneath the sheets as his fingers found their way down the length of your arm and then over your hips. Eventually his fingers dipped down between your bare thighs, your heartbeat steadily increasing under his touch. But then you caught the way his lips twitched downwards at the corner when his fingers paused, his gaze dropping down from your face to where your thighs were hidden beneath the sheets.

“Hopefully I didn't hurt you last night,” he said. 

His fingers carefully traced a few marginally sore spots on the inner part of your thighs. The memory of Matt's teeth sinking into them from the night before sent a pleasant sensation through you and you shook your head lightly along the pillow in response. Your own hand made its way out of the sheets, reaching up towards Matt's face to affectionately run your fingertips over the bit of stubble on his chin.

“You didn't hurt me, Matty,” you assured him. “But I'm taking it that you succeeded in marking me just like you promised you would. I haven’t exactly seen your handiwork yet.”

He smiled a little sheepishly back at you, his eyes making their way back up towards your chin. His head tilted just a fraction as he leaned into your touch, your fingers still delicately trailing their way back and forth along the length of his jaw.

“Guess I really wasn't thinking too clearly when we got back,” he murmured. “Left you quite a few bruises from the way your body sounds.”

His thumb swiped over a few spots on your thigh, his brows creasing together a little as he did. He looked almost upset about what he'd done last night, but you'd certainly enjoyed every bite of his teeth along the inside of your thighs and the flesh of your breasts when he'd been pinning you to the bed last night. You'd been quite vocal about how much you'd liked it last night, too, but it seemed you needed to remind him again now. 

“I'm fine , Matt,” you pressed. “Really. You didn't hurt me. And if you recall, I was certainly enjoying myself. If anything,” you continued, your fingers tenderly gliding their way up his stubbled cheek and past his temple before they gently began to card through his hair, “I kind of like knowing they're there. Even if I haven't seen them yet. I uh…kind of like knowing that you were the one to put them there.”

The expression shifted on Matt's face from sheepish to something mischievous almost immediately. You'd opened your mouth to say something more, but you were quickly quieted when Matt abruptly rose up onto a hand on the bed, his other hand leaving your thigh in order to pull the sheets down from over the top of you, revealing your naked upper torso to the faint chill of the bedroom. Without pause, Matt climbed over the top of you, pinning you between his strong arms as his muscular thighs landed on either side of yours, just like he’d done to you last night.

“What're you doing?” you asked, smiling up at him.

The mischievous grin never left his face as he gazed down at you beneath him. The sheets had fallen down even further on the pair of you, and from this angle, you had an almost perfect and complete view of Matt's entire beautiful and naked front half entirely on display. Bottom lip rolling between your teeth, you tried to fight back a giggle but failed. The sound only had his smile growing as he hovered above you, his eyes fixed on your chin.

“Making amends,” he answered.

“Making amends for wha–”

You stopped short as Matt's face dipped down towards your chest, his soft lips pressing a tender kiss to the side of your breast. His mouth lingered for a moment, the feel of him against you heating your body almost instantly beneath him. Though when he finally pulled away, you noticed your chest indeed had a handful of love bites marking both of your breasts in a plethora of little bruises. 

Matt shifted just a bit above you before his mouth lowered again, his lips placing another gentle kiss atop yet another mark on the swell of the same breast. Your eyelids slowly lowered, both of your hands coming up to slip their way into his hair, your fingers gently toying with the strands. When Matt shifted above you once more, you could feel his cock stirring awake against the inside of your thigh. 

“ Matt ,” you said, practically sighing out his name between your lips.

He hummed a noise in response, though he seemed quite focused on his current task of apparently kissing every mark he'd made along your breasts last night. Just as you’d begun to think that you wouldn't last long if he decided to keep this up with the marks he had most certainly left between your thighs, you heard a faint noise from the other room at the exact same moment that he must have noticed it, too. 

Your eyes flew open as Matt leaned back, his brows knitting together as his head tilted to the side. You were about to ask him what that sound had been before you heard the distinct pattering of frantic little paws running along the floor. Moments later Mittens jumped up on the bed beside the pair of you, the suddenness of his appearance managing to startle you beneath Matt. You noticed he was holding his tiny blue mouse in his mouth, his dark pupils blown wide as he focused solely on Matt still hovering over you.

“You've got poor timing, buddy,” Matt said, clearly unsurprised by the cat's appearance. 

Mittens dropped the mouse in his mouth down to the bed next to you before he lowered the front half of his body as if he was preparing to pounce. You giggled at the sight, watching as Mittens’ tails began twitching erratically back and forth, his eyes still focused on Matt. He chirped a few noises back at him, his backend raised in the air as he went entirely still except for his tail.

“I think he's got a problem to sort with you, Matt,” you teased. 

One of Matt's dark brows rose up onto his forehead, his own focus still on the cat beside you as he continued to hold himself in place above you.

“Wouldn't do that if I were you,” Matt warned Mittens. “I can take you back to where we found you, you know.”

You gasped, one hand leaving its place in Matt's hair before you playfully swatted his shoulder. “ Matt !” you hissed out, a smile on your face. “We are not getting rid of him!”

Matt's head turned, his focus shifting back to you. “I know that,” he told you, “but it's not like he knows that I’m not–”

Matt's sentence was cut short when Mittens finally pounced across the bed at him, taking Matt's moment of distraction as his chance to attack. He'd launched his little gray body forward, managing to lightly smack the side of Matt's face with his tiny gray paw. Without waiting to witness the outcome of his assault, Mittens spun in a circle along the bed before darting off of it and bolting straight back out of the bedroom.

You broke into a fit of laughter at the flat expression that slid onto Matt’s face. From behind the bedroom door, you could hear the sound of Mittens racing around the living room. 

“And what's so funny?” Matt asked you, a brow arching onto his forehead. 

“Just the fact that Daredevil isn't faster than a cat,” you answered, trying to fight down your amusement. “He got you yet again.”

“Cats aren't nearly as predictable as humans are to me,” Matt pointed out. “It's not like I ever spent my time training to fight cats.”

“Yeah and it–it seems like Mittens is well aware of that,” you said, still struggling to fight back your laughter. “That's why he always sneaks in a boop on you.”

“He does not,” Matt countered, rolling off the top of you. “I knew what he was doing and I let him have his shot.”

“Uh huh,” you said, giggling as you sat up in bed. “Sure you did, Matty.”

Matt blew out a rough sigh, but you saw the grin on his face before he turned and tossed the sheets off of himself. Your mind abruptly shifted back to admiring Matt’s naked form, watching the pull of muscles along his back as he rose up out of bed. Then your gaze dropped lower, lingering on his firm, round ass and the thick muscles along his thighs as he paced his way towards the dresser across the room. As he pulled open a drawer, his head shifted over his shoulder back towards where you lay in the bed.

“I can feel you staring, you know,” he said.

You grinned shamelessly before rolling your eyes and tossing the sheets off of yourself. Climbing out of bed, you paced your way over towards the dresser beside him, opening the drawer that contained your underwear and bras as Matt began to pull on a pair of boxers beside you.

“I always take every opportunity I can,” you told him.

Pulling out a pair of panties, you bent over and began slipping them on. But before you could manage to tug them up your legs, you felt both of Matt’s large palms cupping your ass. Eyes growing wide, your head darted over your shoulder as your gaze flew up towards his face. He was smiling wide back at you, both of his hands giving your ass a squeeze before he returned to finding some clothes to throw on.

“So do I,” he replied.

An amused snort left you, your eyes catching the way Matt’s smile only grew as he continued to focus on getting dressed. You finished tugging your underwear on before putting on a bra next. By the time you’d slipped on some comfortable cotton shorts and a tank top, Matt was already dressed in one of his soft shirts and a pair of gym shorts and was sliding the bedroom door fully open. 

Closing your dresser drawer, you shuffled your way out of the bedroom after him. Though when you caught sight of the closet by the roof access stairs partially ajar, you immediately stopped in your tracks. A hand flew to your mouth to stifle a laugh as your eyes darted over to Mittens. He was sitting at the top of his cat tree, an almost pleased look on his face as his tail swished back and forth beside him. At the faint sound of your laughter, Matt paused his steps towards the kitchen. 

“What?” he asked, looking back over his shoulder at you. “What’s so funny?”

You raised a hand, pointing a finger up at Mittens in his cat tree by the window. “He did it again,” you told him, still fighting back a laugh. “The closet door is open.”

Matt turned on the spot towards you, his brows furrowing together on his face as his head canted to the side. You saw his eyes shift around the room as he concentrated before he slowly shook his head.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “I was at the gala last night. I didn’t go out in the suit at all.”

“Yeah, well,” you replied, attention returning to Mittens sitting triumphantly in his cat tree, “that clearly doesn’t matter to him. The closet door is open so it had to be him again. Neither of us were in there last night.”

A look of determination crossed Matt’s face before he made his way across the living room and over towards the closet. You stood there silently, watching as he reached a hand out and opened the closet door fully. Matt lowered into a crouch before flipping the unlocked steamer trunk open. He raised the false bottom with one hand, sticking his other inside and feeling around for a moment. After a few seconds he lowered the lid again.

“ How does he keep managing to do this?” Matt asked in awe, closing the steamer trunk lid before rising back up to his feet. “He doesn’t even have hands!”

You shrugged, laughing lightly as you focused back on Mittens in his cat tree. “I have no idea, but you secretly love it,” you answered. “It’s become both of yours’ thing at this point with how often he does it.”

Matt turned back towards you, shaking his head. “It has not,” he argued. “And if you recall correctly, you’re the one who wanted to keep him and have a cat. Not me.”

“And you’re the one who cleans his litterbox like five times a day,” you countered. “You’ve told me countless times now that you fall asleep to his purring at night. And I have no idea how many times you’ve told me that you can’t get up to do something because Mittens fell asleep on your chest. Which,” you continued, enjoying the expression on Matt’s face as you did, “I should actually have him do more often. Maybe I could get more nights in with you since Daredevil is so easily bested by a little gray cat.”

“He does not best me, sweetheart,” Matt retorted, making his way back into the living room. “And he’s not going to best me at his game, either.”

“It’s both of your game,” you corrected him. “You love the feisty little cuddlebug. Stop denying it already because neither of us believe you.”

“He’s crafty, I’ll give him that,” Matt muttered.

You rolled your eyes at Matt once more, watching as his focus shifted to trying to find the gloves of his Daredevil suit that Mittens had yet again snuck out of the steamer trunk and hid somewhere in the apartment. It was something he'd been doing for weeks now and you knew Matt loved the challenge even if he wouldn't openly admit it to you. 

“Alright, I'll go get a pot of coffee brewing while you play with Mittens,” you teased Matt. “But just know that neither of us believe he's not your baby and that you're not his cat dad now.”

“I am not a cat dad,” Matt off-handedly disagreed as he lifted a pillow on the couch, feeling around for his glove.

You began making your way past him and towards the kitchen, grinning at Matt's laser focus as he searched for his gloves. As you stopped in front of the coffee machine, you looked back into the living room at Mittens. He was contentedly watching Matt meticulously make his way around the room in search of the missing part of his suit.

“He loves you, doesn't he, Mittens?” you called out. 

The cat's gray head turned in your direction, his green eyes focused on you. He let out a loud meow almost as if he'd actually responded to your question. As Matt rose up from the floor beside the couch, having just been checking underneath it for his gloves, you heard him mutter out the word ‘liar.’ Breaking into a fit of laughter, you turned around and focused on making coffee for you and Matt, grateful for the relaxing Sunday morning at home with both of them.

[devils-dares]

Super self indulgent buttt could I get some Carmy Fluff ! Maybe reader calls Carmy over for help with cleaning their apartment/needing help cooking due to executive function issues !! Or vise verse :)

thanks for getting me out of my slump, wrote this in one night :)

wordcount: 721

-----

You looked at the pile of laundry in the corner of your bedroom. Blinds closed, dirty sheets, cups and plates stacked in haphazard piles.

You haven’t taken care of yourself in days, evidence of it lay in the pimples that mar your face, and the smell of the perfume you wore into the office going rotten on your skin.

It’s time to call in the big guns, you think.

A phone call and fifteen minutes later, you hear clattering around your apartment. You sink further into your bed, embarrassment heating your cheeks, turning you red. A few windows open, and the chime of the washer rings across the apartment. You hear grumbling and movement in your kitchen, he’s looking for the lighter, the starter went out in the stove and you didn’t call to get it fixed yet. The pot scrapes against the metal grates of your stove, and you hear ingredients plonk into the water, he must be making a stew. The floor creaks under the weight of his steps, and he knocks on the door before he enters.

“Hey, Birdie.” Carmy says softly, seeing your back to the door. He straightens out piles of laundry and opens the shades just a little so he can get some light in. “Gonna warm the shower, then I’ll come get ya.” He leaves, and the pipes creak loudly before the showerhead shoots hot water.

He walks over to the kitchen to check the stew before coming to get you. He comes around the other side of the bed and smiles at you, brushing your matted hair out of your face. Extending his hand, Carmy waits for you to take it. The smile grows into a soft grin as your fingers tangle with his, and he pulls you out of bed.

“Look at ya, Birdie. So pretty.” You know he’s a liar, and he’s probably fighting off the recoil from your stench, but he lets nothing slip. You don’t speak, even as he strips you and puts you in the shower himself, or when he sits on the closed toilet lid instead of leaving the bathroom. You don’t dare speak when he tells you about the restaurant, and how he and Syd finally perfected that damn recipe. He doesn’t say anything when you shampoo thrice, or scrub til your body turns red. He doesn’t flinch when you sit under the stream of hot water for a while. He simply grabs your towel from the dryer and wraps you in it before wrapping your wet hair for you. He rubs lotion on your flaky skin and dresses you in soft clothes.

Carmy takes you to the couch, and you notice the first load in the washer is done, the blankets and pillow covers on the couch smelling like clean laundry and scent beads. He stirs the stew and then starts on your bedroom, stripping the mattress of your sheets before throwing those in the washer.

“Stew smells delicious.” You say, breaking your bout of silence since he’s been here. It’s a soft smile you get in return.

“Yeah? Michael’s recipe, called it ‘everything and the kitchen sink’.”

“Thank you, Carm.”

“Always, Birdie.” He clicks on your favorite movie, letting it distract you as he empties the dirty dishes from your room. You’re completely encapsulated in the film when he sits down next to you again, right in time for the ending. You lean forward in your seat, moving your mouth to the words said on-screen.

Carmy smiles. Your sheets were clean, clothes were in the wash. You’d showered and now you’d be eating soon. He did his job, and now he was going to dote on you relentlessly.

“You gotta go back?” You ask quietly, and he shakes his head.

“Syd and Richie can handle it. Marcus made these beautiful cakes, said he wants you ‘round to taste ‘em soon.” He says, making sure you’re thinking about the future and not wallowing in your current thoughts.

“I’ll be by.” You smile, and he can finally have some relief, you’re back in some capacity.

“I’ll tell him. Stew?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“Here, just a little longer.” You say, shifting to lay against him. The tips of his fingers get that excited tingle in them.

“Long as you need, Birdie. I’m here.”

[themareverine]

WILD MAN

─ Logan Howlett x fem!OC

summary: Blizzards and pane glass windows—typical for a Thursday night at Laughlin City's favorite haunt. Until the Wolverine walks in, and hell hath no fury like a man ravaged by jealousy.

warnings: language, possessive behavior, angst, jealousy, implied sexual content, established relationship from my Mare & the Wolverine series.

a/n: i don't know what this is, really. went to write a different oneshot and it turned into this. guess my brain needed some jealous Logan. reposted from my deactivated account.

MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

Inky midnights glare through the windows of Laughlin’s oldest haunt as the season’s thick, wet snow falls in an almost sideways blanket. The bar is flatlined, almost asystole. Heavy bass, thanks to Huey Lewis and the News, thunks from the stereo system like a jackhammer against her skull, trying to fill space that bodies aren’t.

Stale cigarettes and fried food in the air mingled with the highschool smell of sweat and testosterone, which may as well have been painted to the walls they were so familiar. Sticky floor, slick bartop, chipped tile in the bathroom—common ghosts for nearly eleven thirty on a Thursday night.

“Really comin’ down, ain’t it?” 

It’s more the sudden spike of cold overflow from the tap that jars Mare McAffery from attempting to glance around her reflection from the pane glass window. Surprised, she startles, slapping at the tap’s toggle before her fingers curl around the chilled glass. Slick with foam as it sloshes over the rim carelessly to the mix of drinks that have already found their fate on the floor at her feet. It isn’t her night. The lack of business has her brain running, her thoughts anywhere but here on a Thursday night among the snow, cigarette smoke, and canisters of beer she needs to change in back. 

She’d rather be home. Bundled in blankets, wool socks. Watching the kick of fireplace flames from the safe brace of Logan—just Logan. All of Logan. His arms, that absolutely breathtaking chest that ripples with life and hard muscle and heat. Feeling the rise and fall of his every breath, how the fresh wash of her hair tangoes with his heady scent of whiskey and cigar, wood and snow.

Feeling the warmth of his feet toying with hers under blankets as they stretch out towards flame, listening to the rich way he chuckles every time his nose brushes against the back of her ear. How his rough fingers pull through her cropped curls, teasingly carding as he dares to whisper about his day against the curve of her ear—-

She jumps when the edge of the bar comes up a little too quickly against her hip. Her heart shellshocks against her ribs like a violent engine. Feeling flushed, she bites the inside of her cheek. Lathes her tongue against the front of her bottom teeth. Praying to God the low light hides the color on her face seems fruitless, but it's there. 

Reaching for a bar napkin, her smile is slow as she slides the beer in front of Laughlin’s foremost gossip, affectionately christened Flappin’ Jim by the town’s population. No less than four decades her senior, stringy silver hair peeks out from beneath a nearly-threadbare Carhartt beanie, stained with what could only be assumed was engine oil. Jim has owned the zip code’s only machine shop longer than she’s been alive. 

She shrugs a shoulder when he mentions the snow a second time. “When isn’t it snowing up here?” The squared-off toe of her western boots scuff the floor cooler behind the bar as she reaches for Jim’s ever-requested cocktail straw, plopping it in the dark amber of his lager before his parted lips could continue, “I’ve seen my fair share of the white stuff—but never like this. You know how they say everything is bigger in Texas?” Jim chuckles, nodding as his tongue seeks out the straw, his gaze never leaving her, “Well, I swear to God, everything is colder and thicker in Laughlin.”

His laugh comes from his chest, phlegm from forty years of smoking Player’s. “Forget it’s your first snow with us, poor thing,” Jim waves a hand between the two of them, brows bobbing suggestively as his grin widens enough to reveal half-rotten mid-to-back teeth, “iffin’ you’re thinkin’ you need a ride home, darlin’, ol’ Jim’s got room for two on the old snowmobile—” 

Her brain nearly melts at the absolute atrocity of a mental picture that statement provides. She could think of not a single thing worse than going to the door with Flappin’ Jim, much less riding an hour west on a snowmobile in little more than jean’s and a leather jacket. Laughlin’s poster child for bad decisions and alcoholism. Perfect. 

Informing him of her lack of proper gear was the kind out. “Thanks for the offer, though, Jim,” her nose scrunches a little as she works at the try-a-hundred-times-a-day-but-still-nothing stain practically etched into the oak grains of the bartop, “Logan’s coming to get me, he knew the snow would be bad. Dropped me off this morning before work.” It’s nonchalant—surely women were dropped off and picked up by their boyfriend’s during bad snow in Laughlin. 

Never mind working a double, Jim’s brows popped tall as if it were an entirely new concept straight out of a Stephen King skincrawler. “Wild Man’s comin’ all the way down the mountain in this shitstorm?”

His thumb goes over his shoulder, despite evidence of his claim hanging in the window to his three o’clock left. He whistles over his shoulder for his buddy, Kenneth, to listen up. 

Kenneth’s head raises with interest, like a meerkat rising from his hole. “Lord’a mighty, Kenny boy—you was right, mus’ be better than’w thought!” 

More vapid laughter has Jim, and now Kenneth, hacking up a lung from their respective seats. 

Whatever population’s in the bar—eight souls —turns to look at her, snickering and the twist of their upturned lips all but nailing her to the back wall. Like looking from the outside in. May as well have all been pointing fingers at her—and, unsure whether her gaze should fall to Jim or past him to Kenneth, her raised brows opted to consider the older man sweeping his hat off his head.

Unwashed hair nearly glistening with what she can only assume is grease and oil, a thought that makes her stomach rise up to kiss the base of her ribs. His laughter turns raucous as his eyes skim over her, hazed. 

Swallowing a splash of stomach acid, her brow furrows hard behind the bridge of her glasses. 

“Pardon?” 

Wringing the bar rag through her hands, Mare ultimately realizes how this makes her look. Tosses it aside. Stands a little taller, wants to look down her nose at Jim, but realizes she’s shorter than he is, perched on a stool. More wind howls, biting at the bricks, flecks of snow tick tick ticking against the pane glass windows outside in the dark. Working a double has never felt so dehumanizing—she could melt into the floor right now. Whether from the tired headache blooming behind her eyes or the full attention from the bar, she’s not sure. 

A sharp smack! of Jim’s hand against the bartop makes her jump. “Oh come on, honeybunch,” the low accent matches every step that Kenneth, now, manages as he stumbles over to lean a plump hip against the bar. “E’ryone knows no mountain man like Logan Howlett comes off the mountain for just anythin’—‘less he’s gettin’ head,” Eyes skate her over her, visually-stimulated from top to bottom, ultimately parking at the cut of her tank top as he sloshes back the rest of his bottled MGM, “just how it works, sugartits.”

His eyes remain welded to her chest, but her jaw has long since lost its hinge. Any second now it would start creaking like a rusty gate, bone raking against bone. Opening and closing, like a fish choking on air. Slack and openmouthed, she blinks through the little flecks of dirt on the lens of her glasses, brain short circuiting to assimilate just how absolutely crude of a statement has just landed between her eyes like a stone to Goliath. 

Words don’t find her for a full handful of minutes before Jim and Kenneth’s attention are drawn away. Onto other conversation, this time bear hunting stories and the back-and-forth of rifles. Throat burning, like the inferno sands of Moab. Every sticky string of saliva moisture in her mouth is tapped dry, she attempts to raise spit on her tongue, to swallow. Virginal heat chases up her neck like a predator, sinking teeth into her confidence. Fans across her decolletage and collarbones. 

Queasy, embarrassment spins a weave down her spine and through her guts like a snake. Reminds her that wolves of the world so often hunt the lines of the innocent perimeters she’d fought hard to preserve—did everyone in town think she was sleeping with Logan? Like a broken record it spins, wobbling on the needle, screeching and clawing deep into the lines of her psyche. 

Years as a preacher’s daughter had provided her a certain level of naivete, certainly—-never ignorance. Wasn’t dull to the world beyond innocence, outside the lines of the pure and spotless idea of Christ and His church. She knew the world was spiraling, hell and brimstone around every corner. All parlor tricks and open gates, brazen. Like a painted woman in scarlets and pearls—or a drunk on a barstool at quarter-too. 

Mare hadn’t expected this level of forward. This, gall. Audacity. Snapping teeth of a big junkyard dog trying to look tough and scare her into shock—that’s what this was. Provocative, seeking a response. Gasoline on a snapping fire. Enough to make a harlot blush, and Jim knew it—it’s in the way he guzzles hops like his veins crave it, eyes following her even through the bottom of his glass.

He’d blurted what she’d suspected everyone in town to think, and for half of a breath, she wasn’t sure how to feel. Flushed and embarrassed, a given. 

Defiance lands like an airliner in her blood. Surprising, but not wholly unwarranted. Jaw setting with force enough to shatter the world, the heel of her boot grinds into the sticky floor as she turns to busy herself with empties. Glass cries out as she stacks them in the crook of her arm, fingers grabbing for whatever she can manage to stalk back to the kitchen.

Her heart pistons between her ribs like it’s been dropped into an Indy car, eyes flitting to and fro behind the bar. Anger. There's lots and lots of anger.

For handfuls of seconds she scours for a response. Something smart, smarmy—will fly in the face of what everyone in this town had been thinking about her since her boots had hit the province.

What Jim has actually implied—it burns. Like hot coals. For months she’d been walking the flames of the rumors; innocent little preacher’s daughter from the States.

“Y’even know how to spell ‘fuck’, darlin’?”

Far too busy brushing her dirty hands on the back of her jeans, Mare doesn’t even hear the squeak of Jim’s barstool swivel, “Well, I’ll be damned—if it isn’t the man of the mountain. How goes it, Logan?”

More snickering, and she about-faces, all-soldier as relief hitches itself like a wagon team to one of her ribs. 

Jim’s brows bounce over her direction, his look provocative enough to make her want to vomit right there on the floor.

Continuing his thought, he scoots his empty to her with his knuckles, “Come to fetch our pretty little Miss Minnesota here, eh, boy?” Another wet cough grates across her nerves like nails to blackboard, “Looks like you were right, babygirl—s’told us you’d be makin’ your way in, Logan. Didn’t quite believe ‘er, but wonders never cease I reckon.” His nose scrunches as she passes him another pint glass, “Was about to keep little girlie here all to m’self.” 

The line of her jaw twitches with how tight she’s clenching her teeth together, and it takes herculean will not to shoot off at the mouth—a trait she’s less than proud of. Thanks, Dad.

And it’s laughable how Jim is so quick to assume age, Logan’s raised brow in response shows it. At nearly 200 years old, he’s beyond surprise. Maybe, nearly. Closer than any part of her would like to admit, though nobody would know it—he doesn’t look a day over thirty-five. 

A little tick of contained smile at the corner of his mouth is enough to make her forget her name.  His dark eyes, calculating and deep, hold her gaze a few heartbeats. Logan reads her like an open book, an interested investigator—always has. She breaks first. Looks away, wiping at the sweat bubbling up on her brow. 

His sparkling, steady eyes flash with something she can’t identify before darting back to Jim. Logan’s hum of suspicion is warm. Low, too low. Medicinal honey, going straight to the center of her femininity like nothing could. Lord, if it didn’t set every bone in her body to gelatinous flame—she sucked in a breath that stabbed at the mesh of her lungs as he settled against the bar.  

He leans against the corner of the bar like he owns it, and he may as well have—out of the way and almost bleeding into the shadows of invisibility, he rests an elbow to the worn wood. A hand reaches to brush the wet of the storm from the sheepswool of his coat. Kisses of snow melt from his beard, ebony hair almost as quickly as they’d entangled—she doesn’t miss the blush that cold has left on his nose. 

“Is that right?” Leaning a bit heavier on his arm, his lips tip up in an amused little way that sets off fireworks in the depths of her womb, reminding her of organs long forgotten. “Good thing I’m a man of my word.” Toe-over-toe she slips to a stop across the bar from him, reaching for a half glass that’s almost too cold between her sweating palms. 

Logan pivots to face her, eyeballing her with a cool smile. Her usually-bright greeting is quiet, “Please sit. You’re ordering a whiskey.” It’s a demand, not a request.

Anything to keep her hands busy, to keep her from noticing how Kenneth hasn’t stopped ogling her tits since he sat down next to Jim, deep in his drink and fully, entirely out of his mind. 

“Just one?” Let no man say Logan Howlett isn’t keen. “Hi.” And just like that, he changes gears. Keeps her guessing, like always. Mysterious as the shadow, bright as the sun.

Elbow planted on the walnut bar, his brows bounce as his finger crooks. Come. 

Resting her hands at either side of his glass, she leans across the wood slowly. Considering him through low lashes, her heart swells at the way his tongue fills the pocket of his lower lip, considering. Hungry, almost.  Possessive.

He makes her forget Jim, and Kenneth, and anything resembling breathing in flatline seconds.

Logan’s eyes flick to her mouth, in a tantalizing, only–the-stuff-of-Hollywood way as her bottom lip curls in, a little sheepishly. Nose to nose, the bite of cigar smoke lingering about his beard is dizzying—a scent of fresh pine clings to his clothes. He smells of snow and man, just as he should. 

“Hi.” Little more than a breath and he closes daylight between them, lips brushing hers in a soft and slow hello. Smiling into his kiss, she sinks back to her feet behind the bar. Fingers curl into the wood beneath her palms. 

Changing gears, Mare reaches for a bag of clean bar rags and begins folding. “How was your day on the mountain?” 

His finger traces the rim of his whiskey glass and he shrugs a shoulder. “Peachy,” he takes a drink. She keeps looking over to Jim and Kenneth, who haven't stopped looking, and takes notices.

Logan's glass finds the counter again but his hand doesn’t lift from it, content to linger in the droplets of sweat. Simple, cleancut. Like always.

Then, “What’s wrong.” 

It isn’t a question—as her eyes cut up from her work to look at him, his are open and waiting. Seeking. Ever since she’d known him he was always watching, waiting; seeking something. 

He’d said once that he’d been looking for her all his life—her innocence. Purity. And it was no different, right now. Just now, he hunted the demons creeping inside her head, sitting invisible on her shoulder instead of the crisp light she usually carried. Nothing about him belies the name he gave himself, the name he carries nestled beneath his shirt on adamantium dogtags and numbers. 

The Wolverine—her Wolverine.

The sound of it, inward and out, snaps like a whip even months later. It suits him in such a way she’ll never fully describe, that poetry could never adjective. Thirty-two days of her calling Logan Howlett her own and it felt little more than a fairytale, her own Cinderella story lost to fantastical girlish dreams and giggles. A little over a month since he’d asked if she wanted to “go steady,” since she’d giggled at him like a child, “Nobody says that anymore, Lo,” and his “Wanna start?” had her—has her, to this very breath—unable to think straight. 

She lies.

“Nothing.”

Too quick to be truthful, she turns to replace a bottle of Bulleit, its glass lightly clattering against its brethren on the mirrored shelf. Her eyes flutter closed and she releases an uneasy breath, disappointed in her response—Logan wouldn’t take no for an answer. Never had, since she’d known him. 

A snippet of the night she’d met him races through her brain like a racehorse. “You should let me take a look.”  

“I’m fine,” She’d been too quick—too defensive. Good lies always bare a little truth in between their teeth, but—she’d always been a bad liar. A sheep amongst wolves. Or, rather, wolverines. 

“Bullshit. Needs stitches, we both know it—you’ve been workin’ the cage long enough to know the difference. Can’t let you go without a look.”  His look had been unmovable, like the earth. Understanding of her plight, her hesitance for an almost-stranger to look her over. Gentile as she’d sank low on a barstool to accept a beer from him.

Gentlemanlike, walking her through the steps—careful with his hands. Hands that hold her world, hands that could cut through stone. Aware of her nerves, but unrelenting all the same. 

His dark eyes narrow at her just so, his nose scrunching a little as he checks her reflection in the mirror. Much to her relief, Logan drops the subject. And she can see, in the reflection, he isn’t all too thrilled with dodging the question.

Knowing what topic of conversation would be on the ride up the mountain didn’t take rocket science, and she wilts inside knowing that honesty hadn’t been her first blush.

Two thunks on the bar have her checking her shoulder. Jim, signaling for another beer.

“‘Nother here, sugartits—make ‘er tall and strong, gotta get me home in one piece, y’know.” Jim’s smile is toothy, lopsided as he goes to the effort to lift his ass out of his seat. Passing by without so much as a nod, she swipes the glass from out in front of him. 

And before Kenneth’s hand is at his shoulder, Jim’s palm smacks across her ass cheek. Hard enough that it thwacks! against the pockets of her jeans.

It catches her off guard. Nobody had ever so much as ogled her ass to her knowledge, much less actually touched it—the pint glass falls from her fingers. Hits the boards of the wooden floor, the thick glass shattering to big pieces, low before her feet as if she’s some goddess worth breaking over.

A little breathless, she stumbles over her square-toed boots. Fingers curl into the wood until her knuckles are white. At first there’s anger, then embarrassment that hits her like an overloaded tractor trailer. Fluster ruffles her feathers like a wet hen, and she considers the broken glass at her feet. 

Audacity to laugh at the red bouncing to life on her cheeks has Jim roaring with laughter, unaware of what sin he’s just committed—her fingers are brushing the first big piece of jagged glass when she hears the swivel of a stool. The thunk of boots hitting the floor.

And before she can even begin to piece together what she suspects, she pops tall from behind the bar at the exact moment Jim’s laugh becomes a strangled wheeze. 

Collar snugged up too tight against his throat, Jim gags for air, tongue poking between fat lips as spit collects in the corners of his mouth. Breathing steadily, the crest and fall of Logan’s chest is evidence that he is on the raw and bleeding edge of composure—if his dark glare could be considered composed.

Brow little more than a hard line, his gaze narrows in Jim’s face as he leans in, lips curling in an almost animalistic snarl. 

“Logan,” Mare’s hiss is low, eyes skirting about the eight bodies that have almost backflipped up from their seats scattered about the bar, “Logan. Please—put ‘im down.” Murmurs have overtaken the air like quiet demons, they are no longer their own spectacle. 

Jim manages what sounds like the-hell-d’ya-think-yer-doin’, which produces a low rumble from somewhere in the base of Logan’s chest. Dark eyes cut to her, sweeping over her frame as she discards the chunk of glass to the small sink to her right. Heart pounding unlike anything she’d ever felt in her chest, bludgeoning the soft flesh of her lungs, she sucks in a stale breath that does nothing to ease the fire that seems to throb beneath her skin—sweat has replaced any semblance of chill in the room. Oxygen may as well be a hope. Tank top sticking to the flesh between her shoulder blades, her tongue nervously darts over her front teeth, eyes to Logan’s ironclad grip at Jim’s shirt collar. 

Logan doesn’t relent. Instead, she notices the cord of muscle in his arm tighten. Even beneath the shield of a coat, the mask of humanity —and she knows. His opposite hand lifts in Jim's face, and she's counting heartbeats before familiar adamantium splits skin wide open, bleeding with rage.

Adrenaline snaps into her blood like a whip, and she’s around the bar at his side in no more than a heartbeat or two. Hands at his arm. Fingers curling into the denim of his clothing. Met with hard muscle, he may as well have been cut from marble—an Adonis of power and strength unlike anything she’d ever seen.

The white’s of Jim’s eyes are all but tracking, brimming with terror as Logan snarls—actually snarls—down into his face. Possessive rage clouds any semblance of humanity left in his face—it’s all Wolverine. 

The Wolverine. Her Wolverine. Out from the shadows, out from any corner anyone had ever shoved him in—out to fight. To kill. For her. All for her, all for them, all for this.

She can’t put a full finger on the power of this honor, this…privilege. And that’s what it is, really—loving him is privilege. Is honor, only imaginable and dreamstate for girls like her. Everyday girls with little to offer, with little hopes for the next day other than to survive, to pray.

But Logan, somehow, had seen her—had seen her enough to care and care deeply, to his bones, adamantium bones he wars every second of the day to mummify, contain.  

Truth of the matter hits her like a stone between the eyes—it doesn’t matter how deeply Wolverine is buried within Logan’s sarcophagus of self control, his ability to walk the lines of his anger. Logan would kill for her, over nothing at all. It’s right here, right now, plain as the nose on her face—splayed out like prey, easy prey ready for the slaughter.

Logan would, could, destroy a man over a simple drunken act of flirtatiousness. If it meant her pleasure. 

What a position of power, indeed.

And Mare isn’t certain if it's love or power—if it’s even human.

Humanity wins. Logan's grip on Jim’s collar releases. Jim scurries away foot-over-foot, gasping for air, her realizing this is honestly much less complicated than matters of love, power. Both are players, but never common denominators.

A wolverine, after all, doesn’t fit into just one category—he’s both predator and prey. To something larger, to something smaller. 

This is just, very simply, Logan. 

Fisting and unfisting his fingers, he studies his hand as if it is otherworldly and not a part of his anatomy. After a few beats, Logan turns to face her. Jim is across the bar, a few hands clapping his back to check on him—as if he isn’t the offense of the entire situation.

Pressing into Logan, she rests her cheek against his chest, arms circling him in a hard embrace. He presses her close, a hand on the back of her head, chin coming to rest in her mess of curls. Breathing in his deep sense, her blood begins to cool—earthquaking in the base of her spine begins to dissipate. Colors of the room come alive again, the air suddenly all too breathable. 

Her head tips back to consider his face—unreadable, mostly, save for the glimmer of light in the corners of his eyes. 

The corner of her mouth tips up into a small tick, a heat she can’t describe hanging low in the base of her ribs as his hands lift to hold her face, delicately. As if he couldn't destroy her with a breath, as if he hadn't almost just culled mostly innocent blood.

Calluses rough against her cheeks, she presses into his touch. Firms up her arms around his middle. 

“And there he is,” there’s no malice in her voice, only awe. Care. “Had me worried there for a second, bub.” Smallest hint of a smile at the return use of his favorite jibe from her sends her heart pitching across her chest, as if it’ll take residence on the other side of her ribs.

The line of his jaw relaxes and she nuzzles her nose into the front of his flannel, “Now I get why Riz says ‘no boyfriends at work’—you’re a walking OSHA violation, Logan Howlett.” Unsure if Canada has anything remotely similar to OSHA, she forgets the idea entirely.

He knows, he always knows. 

Sighing into his chest, he fills up her senses on a full, deep breath. “And as much as I should slap you upside your thick head for almost slicing one of my best customers into tiny pieces, I have to say—I like the overprotectiveness,” her fingers gently brush through his beard, head tipped to the side like a curious pup, “a bunch. Like it a lot, Howlett.”  

His fingers in her hair tip her head back to look up at him, again. A low chortle has her blood flaming deep beneath her skin. “Yeah? Seemed a little nervous to me, bub,” he emphasizes the use of the name with a smile, spinning one of her curls around his finger. A gentle tug as her nose scrunches in amusement.

She giggles at the sensation of his fingers playing through her hair, “Flappin’ Jim had what was comin’ to him, that’s all.” 

“Maybe.” And without thinking, “Nobody’s ever stuck up for me like that before, Logan.” 

And there it is, out in the open.

Like the soft underbelly of the mud turtles she’d spotted all summer—-vulnerable. It hangs between them like a prayer. Lines on his face pull into a surprised wrinkle for all of a beat, then something enters his expression she’s never seen before—sorrow, maybe. Compassion, in the way his head cants to the side as he studies her looking at her boots. Just standing there, like a fortress. Unmoving, and resounding. Saying nothing and everything all at once.

Logan’s finger dips beneath her chin to tip her gaze up to his. “Don’t ask me how, but somehow I knew that,” his palm moves to caress her cheek, pad of his thumb gently skipping over the curve of her bottom lip. “You’re worth stickin’ up for, darlin’—I’m honored to be the first one to actually show it.” Two fingers dip into the front pocket of her jeans, shuffling her a few steps closer, until her chest brushes his.

“And let’s hope I’m the last."

Her heart swells to new heights yet unsurpassed by science, maybe even prose. “Who am I to deny the Wolverine?” Lifting on her toes, her nose brushes the seam of his mouth before her arms curl around his neck, his hands soft at the flare of her hips. “I’m yours if you’ll have me, Logan,” biting her lower lip, she fights the urge to smile—can’t, never could.

His kiss is hard. Fast, hungry—rough in the way God Himself intended for man. It’s everything the poets ever described a kiss to be, probably more. Infinitely more, mostly because it was her kiss. Hers, and hers alone. Right here, right now, even if the stars couldn’t see.  

He’s a little breathless when they part. And God, if it doesn’t take her apart. 

“Y’know, Logan—Jim was right about one thing, before he ran his fat mouth off.” 

He chuckles. “Hm?” 

“You really kinda are a wild man.”

[huntinglove]

Imagine having your F/O pamper you!!

💜 If you're upset, they let you rant, vent and complain until you can get all the woes off your chest. If you'd like, they're more than happy to offer you advice and support, otherwise they're just as pleased to hold and comfort you for as long as you'd like

📱 Maybe you're not feeling well or are coming down with something, they'll prepare something tasty and warm for you to eat, as well as some medicine and water to help your body feel a bit more refreshed. Don't worry about work or chores, they'll get it all covered for you so you can have plenty of rest during the night

💜 If you're needy they're more than happy to show all the love, affection and attention you need. Their thumbs slowly caressing your cheeks while they kiss around your face. Their arms wrapped around you as you tell them about your day or anything else that crosses your mind. They just can't get enough of you

📱 Maybe they just feel like spoiling you, so they do! You always do so much to show them your love and appreciation, it's about time they do the same for you! They'll make sure to treat you like royalty, the most precious treasure they've ever held in their hands

💜 Having them help you relax, playing with your hair and rubbing your back while whispering sweet little nothings to you, just appreciating each other's presence. Listening to their soft breathing and heartbeat while holding each other, appreciating the closeness between you as the night quietly goes on

📱 Getting your favorite food made or ordered before you get home. Once you arrive, it's ready and warm and the smell almost makes you float into the kitchen, being greeted with the sight of your very pleased F/O and a table full of hearty dishes! While you're both having dinner, you chat about your day and unwind, flavors coating your tongue and warming up your tummy from the inside

💜 Having them dote on you while you're curled up together, watching your favorite movie or show. Their pupils dilate at the very sight of you, and they don't dare move an inch when you're able to get yourself comfortable while leaning against them or resting your head on their lap

📱 Swaying side to side gently as you dance to your favorite love song, eyes wandering over your figure and smiling to themselves at how lucky they are to have someone as perfect as you all to themselves! Once the song is over, they can't help but dip you into a loving kiss

💜 Soon enough they have a nice and warm bath prepared for you, with sweet treats in a tray and scented candles all around, maybe with nice and soapy water or plenty of bath bombs to go around too! Everything is exactly to your liking, and if you wish, they're more than happy to help you wash your hair or give you a nice massage

📱 And once bedtime comes around, the bed is freshly made, with your favorite blankets and pillows arranged just right. Having your F/O lay down beside you and open their arms so you can nestle yourself and drift to sleep safely in their grasp

[doll3tt33]

Your faithless love’s the only hoax I believe in…

(kai anderson x gn!reader)

Summary: Kai found himself watching that terrible 90s sitcom you loved ever so dearly. However, a series of uncomfortable emotions came up, along with haunting memories of you from that fateful night. (Yes this is a fanfic, not an ai bot this time)

Warnings: semi-descriptive violence, strangulation (just that, so nothing too hardcore), death, angst for daysssss

Kai sat alone on his living room couch, the whole house plunged into darkness. The only light came from the flickering television, its pale glow washing over his motionless form, doing little to brighten the heavy shadows blanketing the room. His gaze remained fixed on this horribly cheesy 90s sitcom playing before him, but no mirth touched his hollow eyes. It wasn’t just any ordinary awful ol’ sitcom—it was your favorite, a show you'd watch religiously and always swear by. Well, used to swear by... since the light and laughter have now gone from his life, snuffed out in a blinding moment of rage by his own hands.

A light furrow settled onto Kai’s brows as the sitcom’s canned laughter erupted, grating on his frayed nerves. He was two episodes deep, yet he failed to see the appeal when the laugh track cued every half a minute at each terrible excuse of a joke. He wasn’t even sure why he was watching this. He’d always brush off your requests to watch together, so why now? After pushing you away for so long. Why subject himself to this when you’re already gone for good? His eyes lifted and caught sight of the clock, its face stirring memories better left buried, eliciting a weary sigh from him—it was 7:01 pm, when everything had changed in ways even his guilt-laden thoughts could not grasp. Yet, it didn’t matter anyways—the indentation where her body once curled beside him spoke volumes left unsaid, a ghostly echo of her presence was far louder than any crappy sitcom ever could be.

As he stared into the empty spaces she left, memories long buried began to stir—memories of that night just one week past. That first poisonous seed was planted by one of his cultists when whispers of betrayal at 7:01 pm reached his ears, feeding him lies that you were a mole during this entirety. From hearing that alone, a cluster of emotions plagued his mind as though it was a virulent host taking over, fueled by some nameless hurt. Sickly paranoia took root in an instant, anger and an undeniable hint of hurt twisted within, invading his senses, feasting upon every rational thought left. Visions of lies and disloyalty swarmed his mind, utterly consumed by the ardent flames of his bitter rage as his hands that once clung to love now curdled to vengeance, with them wrapped around your throat, his grip growing stronger with each bellow he let out.

At 7:02, air felt like the most precious commodity as your lungs burned for relief. Each sob and croak of plea choked out fell on deaf ears, drowned out by the torrent of thoughts consuming Kai, with the remaining cultists showing only cold indifference to your struggle. To Kai, you were the one thing—the only person capable of unmaking all he built, rendering the cult that defined his existence meaningless. You were his greatest weakness and his deepest love all at once, yet he could not risk allowing it to unravel what he had wrought. Not even for you. Now, you were no longer the light who touched his stony heart—only a traitor responsible for imagined betrayals. Your attempts to fight back were futile, only compelling his hands to curl tighter and tighter, his thumb pressing into your windpipe. Veins bulged starkly against his skin as you bucked helplessly in their clutch. Each struggle spurred only the demand pulsing in his blood: destroy what dared defy.

7:03 pm. Your face had lost its vibrant color, your skin paling as oxygen fled your thrashing form. When you strained to speak, only dribbles of spit emerged through your closing throat. With weakening strength, you raked your nails down his arms, yet your struggles became feeble, futile flailings. Tears blurred your vision as you silently pleaded for mercy, to make him see the truth—that you were no traitor but the one who had held his heart. One final time, you desperately searched his gaze for that one fragment of hope, of love remembered. Just a speck. But shadows had long swallowed any glint of warmth. All that glared back was a crimson fury, vengeance given form, as the darkness deep within now held full sway.

7:04 pm, and awareness began to fray at the seams, thoughts scattering beyond your grasp. Unconsciousness swiftly pulled you into its soundless depths, and you were now limp as a discarded doll. All that remained was a shell devoid of warmth—the body of one that Kai's twisted soul had cherished. A few beats of silence passed as madness loosened its hold, fingers uncurling from bruised flesh and blooms of brutalized skin. He had done it. He had actually done it. You, one of the few people capable of thawing frozen ruins within, were now gone for good.

Kai shook off memories clinging like cobwebs, trying to shift his focus back onto your favorite sitcom, finding bits and pieces, the faint remnants of you existing within the pastime that you’d never shut up about. Yet, it wasn’t the same anymore. It could never be. His gaze lingered on the vacant cushions as loneliness crept in, the empty space beside him mocked with finality. You alone had been a vessel for all the beautifully simple things possible, for him to feel what he thought was long dead—happiness, sadness, hurt, anger, and maybe... just maybe... that small spark of hope that kept him a tiny bit more human, now forever diminished.

𝜗𝜚 author’s note:

Sorry for not adding any dialogue like whatsoever 😭😭. I tried to come up with something but it came out so cringe and I just couldn’t kenensmwk. Oh and SORRY IF THIS IS NOT HOW STRANGULATION WORKS LMAO. I forgot to do my research and I’m not sure how long it takes until someone dies ((why do I have a feeling it actually doesn’t take that long 💀

Anywayss WHOO- first fic ever guys! I’m a lil’ bit insecure cuz I’m constantly like “am I doing this right?” But then I remember It’s literally just writing and I need to shut my stoopid thoughts up-

[darlingdekarios]

serenity.

rating: mature for mentions of adult themes. length: 1,810 content: Bruce Wayne x f!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, this was written in 2022 and has been rotting in my drafts (enjoy it if you dare)

Bruce concedes to a morning well spent with you at his side.

Normally when the bed sank under his weight as whatever amount of sunlight the clouds would allow was notating the beginning of a new day, the gentle hues blocked from sight by thick, dark curtains that you weren’t entirely sure he ever opened, you took it as your cue to leave. 

It hadn’t always been this way with him. What had started as scarce meetings had become routine, waking in the comfort of his own bed now rather than the guest room down the hall. It was simple, at first, and now had grown to be something so complex in the year since it’d started  – it had been this way for only a few weeks, and already the two of you clung to the fleeting moments of domestic bliss on these mornings. 

After a shower to wash away the evidence of his night, he would quietly crawl beneath the blanket that awaited him, brushing his lips across your jaw delicately as he wished you a good day. It was simple, quick – you never overstayed.

It would be foolish to hope for anything different from him, and yet the familiar weight built in your chest today as you heard him quietly make his way to the bed, a deep breath releasing as he surrounded himself in the warmth you’d provided in the bed. You silently waited, wishing despite all logic that today would be different, that he’d allow you even a moment longer to soak in the bliss of his presence. 

But recently, your hopes had been echoed in the heart of the man who had stolen your heart. While Bruce could seldom keep himself awake past five minutes with you beside him in his bed, the moment you were gone he grew restless again – no matter how exhausted his body was. 

He leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder, angling his head to bury his face in your neck, breathing in the familiar scent that never lingered in the sheets long enough. You waited for his next words, for the truthfully unwanted instruction to leave to slip past his lips, finding your chest heavier than ever with hope that today would be different.

You were caught off-guard by his steady hand sliding to your hip, applying an encouraging amount of pressure to hold you against him. With little hesitation you melded to him like wax, your eyes closing tight as you wondered whether or not you’d truly woken for the day yet. 

“Stay with me today.”

Sometimes the least words said the most, and in this very instance all Bruce Wayne needed were four little words to say everything your heart was wishing for, to put your mind to a quiet ease as a knowing relief filled you. You were certain those fifteen letters would repeat in your mind like a poet’s finest sonnet. 

To anyone else it would sound as an instruction instruction, but you knew he intended it as a request. If you wanted to stand and walk through the door after being passed a quick breakfast by Alfred he would let you, just as he did every other morning he returned to you. 

He wasn’t the kind of man who was used to his questions going unanswered, his impatience showing itself with a gentle squeeze to your hip. His lips found purchase on the soft skin beneath your ear again, ever-so-lightly brushing the sensitive area. The longer you allowed his words to linger between you the more his regret for speaking them began to sink in, his breath beginning to catch as the assumption a ‘no’ would follow began to run rampant in his mind.

He needed you, though it pained him to admit it, even to himself. 

Serenity returned when you turned to face him, his eyes accustomed to the dark enough to see the light smile on your lips and the colors that painted your eyes his favorite shades. You reached upward to rest your hand against his cheek, brushing it briefly before moving to smooth a piece of his wet hair back.

“Good morning, Bruce,” you finally whispered, the words carrying enough of an answer to flood his chest with relief. He leaned forward to press his forehead to yours, closing his eyes as this continuously coveted feeling of peace overtook him. 

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” he breathed out the words before he could stop them, though the back of his mind cursed him immediately for the subtle confession that he thought of you while he was gone, the nagging persistence to be okay alone ever-present in his mind.

It was almost easy to ignore the gnaw when that beautiful, short laugh fell from your lips.

“Well, sorry to disappoint, Mister Wayne,” you offered, leaning forward only slightly more to rub the tip of your nose against his briefly. It always felt doltish to him when you stirred up this feeling in his stomach and made his heart skip, but served as a humbling reminder that no matter how many fears he overcame, it would never stop him from getting nervous around you.

He was enamored with you. It grew harder by the day not to tell you so loud enough that every wall in the manor could hear it.

“Anyone who considers your presence a disappointment doesn’t deserve to be in it.”

You were certain he could feel your heart trying to beat its way out of your chest and wondered if he felt how much you warmed up under his simplest flirtations. Almost as if he could feel your every cell screaming to be closer to him – perhaps it meant his were doing the same – he grasped your hips tightly as he rolled to his back, pulling you atop him in the smoothest, most practiced movement. He was rewarded with your radiant smile again, and it was quickly worth the over-exertion of energy he no longer sparred. 

“Is this sweet talk supposed to distract me from that bruise on your jaw?”

Bruce loved how gentle you were – you were probably the only one who ever truly was anymore, and he could lose himself in your tender touch, even as your fingertips brushed over the gothic array of blues, purples and blacks. Though he winced, he quickly recovered to lean his head closer to your hand, turning to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles. You always forgot how easy it was to lose yourself in his eyes.

“I really did think you’d be gone by now,” he muttered, his lips barely parting as he whispered against the inner part of your wrist. “I’m later than usual.”

That was obvious, even with the curtains drawn. The bruise was hardly the only eyebrow raising decoration on his skin, nor was it even the most severe. His nose had been bleeding recently, his bottom lip split open and swollen…but arguably most of all, the dark smear of makeup around his eyes that had run in the Gotham rains.

“I worry too much you won’t come back to leave before you do.”

Though he corrected himself quickly by tearing his gaze away from yours, busying his movements with gentle kisses up your arm until his lips brushed against your neck, you could feel the subtle curve to his lips as he pressed them below your ear. 

“Guess I should try harder to be on time.”

He silenced any further conversation with his lips claiming yours, your heart immediately bursting in your chest like it was the first time all over again. Bruce always kissed you like a man on borrowed time, and now was no different as he pulled you closer to him, desperate to feel the familiarity of your body against his. With a smile you pulled away slowly to end the kiss, though he was always ready to chase after you. His lips were so close your own brushed against them as you spoke. 

“What am I going to do with you, Bruce?” you questioned through quickened breaths, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his. He knew what was to follow by the expression that crossed your features as your eyes clenched shut. “I can’t bring myself to ask where you go, because I already know the answer…and I just don’t want to hear that you’re stupid enough to put your life in danger every night for this horrible, dreadful city.”

He was too distracted by the only thing purely good in his life. If he was listening, he might agree: there was a lot of bad in Gotham – more than any one city could bear, really. But Gotham was where you called home, his personal shining beacon of the proof that humanity could be good. Ever since he’d met you he’d thought of you at night, saw you in the face of every person who needed help. 

One thing Bruce still feared was what could happen to you. Was it better to let you live your life as you wanted, walking the streets of Gotham with your friends to do the things that normal people did while there were so many criminals all around? Or was it better to monopolize your time so he could keep you safe? His punishing voice in the back of his mind was always ready to remind Bruce that the closer you got to him, the more danger you were in because of the secrets he hid from you. And yet, more and more often, he was crafting reasons to see you.

Calloused hands lifted to caress your cheek with such careful delicacy it was as if he thought you were made of glass, the lightness only increasing as his thumb carefully brushed across your bottom lip. “You deserve to live somewhere better than this.”

“You can’t fix it all, Bruce,” the seriousness behind your words weighed in the air heavily, but his feather-light affections never faltered as you spoke. “You can’t fix Gotham. It’s too broken…too many terrible people taking their turn with it and breaking it worse than before.”

His hand now slipped to the back of your head, pulling you closer until your forehead rested against his, the rain still dampening his hair. You reached upward to push his hair back gently, eyes not abandoning his gaze for a single moment. He’d stay exactly like this all day, if you’d let him - basking in your warm embrace and cherishing the rare moments he knew you were safe. 

“But people can be better. You remind me of that.”

Did he deserve it - the serenity and peace you brought him, the security you offered his heart? Perhaps not with his blood stained knuckles and cynical mind. Regardless, he’d spoil himself with you anyway for as long as you were willing to be his golden horizon.

masterlist.

[wroteclassicaly]

Warnings: Oral sex (female receiving), language, NSFW, ass play, & references to anal.

Steve finds you after you’ve come home from a stressful day at work. You’re at the sink, mulling over a glass of less than appealing tap water, when his immediate presence is felt behind you. Like the warmest blanket, a layer of his tall shadow. His hair tickles your cheek as his mouth finds the back of your neck, and lays featherlight kisses that soak into your pores. His fingers dip beneath your shirt collar… stroking, removing, and trailing gently down your spine to wiggle underneath the fabric without any difficulties.

Your breathing accelerates, his is heavy enough already, as if he’s been plotting. You let the glass fall, the cheap plastic colliding in the metal basin.

The pads of his digits find that curve where your tailbone meets the soft swell of ass, safely tucked beneath the silk panties you’d put on this morning. A devious little grin topples off his defining, sharp features. You can feel it against your shoulder the moment that your boyfriend descends to his knees behind you. You’d chucked your jeans and bra moments before this, taking the fabric of your only remaining top garment off your bed, where you had left it during your morning rush out the door — your normal, everyday routine. You’re left in it, that favorite oversized sized sleep shirt Steve loves on you so much—freshly laundered and still smelling of your body wash and lotion from your shower last night.

Steve won’t ever deny that he always picks up the discarded fabric when you leave first for work, inhaling your sweet scent that lingers, like it always does. You’re everywhere and he can’t get enough, especially on days off for him, awaiting your presence like a lovesick teenager once more. Today is a particularly clingy day for him. He wants to have you whining and whimpering for him, needing him as badly as he’s been hungrily aching for you. And judging by the way you sharply inhale, merely seconds after his hot breath hits your flesh through the silk — it’s working.

“Steve…” It’s a plea, an itch that no one else can scratch, a puzzle that no one else can piece together. No one but him.

He’s elated, power drunk, lovesick, and gone.

His teeth snap the elastic at the top of your panties, sinking into the fabric and dragging it down the plump globes of your perfect ass. He groans, muffled noises choked across the glossy material. It rests just below your cheeks, giving Steve time to admire, to let his big palms have their fill. Steve hums, already able to inhale your scent from his kneeled position.

“You’re already wet.” More of a marveling statement than anything, but you reach back and run your fingers through his chestnut tresses, pulling. He growls, deep and possessive through the confines of his chest. It must come from his diaphragm, you think.

Your pupils are blown, eyes glazed over, and Steve hooks a calloused thumb beneath the band, tugging, and he lets your underwear pool at your ankles, the fabric rustling on the sliding caress. Steve hisses through milky white teeth, watching your slick string to the crotch of your now saturated panties, webbed into your swollen folds. The man can hardly wait, using one of his big hands to nudge where your plush thighs meet. His voice is hoarse with a honey hot rasp when he says, “Spread your legs for me.”

You don’t dare deny him, needing this just as much.

You should feel embarrassed how damp your thighs are, how you hear your own arousal squelching upon your movements, but you’re not. Steve is admiring and astonished, a sight to behold even though he’s seen it more times than he can count, unable to stop himself from speaking directly to your body.

“Oh, fuck yes, baby.”

“Honey, look at you.”

“Want you to rub yourself across my face a little, okay?”

He rears back and gives two hefty smacks to your ass, pulling you apart to repeat the action. Fuck, you’re on fire. You don’t have time to speak, but to consent. And then he’s on you. With those hands on your ass, Steve buries his nose in your doughy flesh, nose trailing across where thigh meets butt.

His tongue is greedy and prying, licking your sopping wet cunt, his chin immediately soaked in your creamy cum. He’s sampling every inch, even close straying to your other hole, nose finding your crack when he shifts his jaw to fit in this position between your legs, and it’s making you blush, calling out for him, hand pausing in his hair, elongated arm shaking a bit. He automatically lets one of his hands go, permitting it to join yours in his own scalp, lacing your fingers together. He’s winded when he speaks, breaking away from his position, like he was guzzling water and starved for it. “Gonna take this ass tonight, honey. That good with you? You gonna let me lick you up — all over?”

// eat me instead text //

[slothmeters]

Maybe Justin Herbert or Joe Burrow giving their new gf a key to their place? Hehe I’m excited to see your work!! <3

Mi casa es su casa - Joe Burrow

- w/c - 619

- warnings - cussing, a little bit steamy at the end

- I hope you enjoyed this joey b blurb anon!

Locking my car door, I walked up to Joe’s house and knocked on the door.

It only took Joe a few seconds to answer the door because he knew that I was coming.

“Babe. You know you don’t have to knock. You basically live here now.” He said as he moved to the side to let me in.

“I know, it’s just polite, that’s the way I was raised Joey B, to be a little southern belle.” I said as I gave a little curtsy.

While Joe went to the pantry to grab snacks for the TV marathon we were about to have, I made my way to the linen closet to grab my favorite blanket of his.

“Joeyyyy!” I yelled out when I couldn’t find the blanket.

“What?!”

“Where’s the blanket?”

He walked towards me with his arms full of snacks, “It’s on the couch already, and there’s a tea in the cup holder that I have way more of in the fridge that one of the guys made for you, a phone charger connected to the outlet- oh shit-, and a little present for you on the side table.”

Snacks fell out of his arms left and right as he was telling me what was already in the living room.

We both chucked the food onto the couch before giving each other a knowing look. Whoever gets to the remote first gets to pick whatever is watched.

“Don’t you dare Joseph Lee!” I yelled at him.

He sprinted towards me, and before I had any time to think he grabbed me, threw me over his shoulder and brought me to the couch.

“Joey what are you doing?” I was beyond confused. In the 5 months of dating, we would normally almost take each other out trying to get to the remote.

“Remember when I told you I got a present for yo- fuck me man this food is gonna be the death of me; if I sit on one more box I swear I’m going to cry. Anyway, I just wanted to give you something that I hope you’ll use for a really long time.”

He nodded for me to open the box, and when I did, a little piece of paper fell out of it that said ‘mi casa es su casa.’

“Joe wh-“

“Shh, just keep opening.”

Under a piece of cloth was a matte black house key with a heart engraved on the top.

“I wanted to get you something that made sure you knew that you were always welcome at my house. Now, if you don’t want to move in you don’t have to, but I mean if you want to you can because that would be totally nice and-“

I cut him off with a kiss.

“Oh, that’s nice too. I guess I was rambling, wasn’t I?” Joe continued.

“I’d love to move in with you if you’d have me Joe!”

Everything was starting now, we were both stable and we could maintain a healthy, long-term relationship. My visions were finally coming true, and everything I was scared of was washing away slowly.

He looked up at me with one of the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen on his face.

“I mean think about it, imagine coming home from your away games to see me..” I moved closer to him so that we were able to put our foreheads together. “With nothing but your jersey and your favorite lingerie set of mine.”

The quarterback’s eyes widened at my words as he pushed all of the snacks from earlier off of the couch and pulled me onto his lap.

Needless to say, there was no show watching tonight.

[hearts4golbach]

Get the Angles Right!

chapter 6.

pairing:

Johnnie Guilbert x Fem!Reader.

a/n:

proofread ish

warnings:

none

word count:

1.0k

you sat hunched over your desk as you worked on the detailed stitching of Johnnies second outfit. you were humming to yourself under your breath as one of your favorite albums played in the background.

for the past 2 and a half days, you had been working on Johnnies 4 outfits for the shoot that weekend. at the moment, you were adding the detail to a dark purple vest. it was inspired by the ones you would see Panic! at the Disco prancing around on stage wearing. you grew up watching those performances, you smiled to yourself as you thought.

you jumped as your phone began to vibrate on the table opposite of you. you got out of your chair, stretching your aching fingers. you stumbled over to your phone, trying to wake your feet up.

your heart skipped a beat whenever you read Johnnies name on the screen. you answered immediately. "hello?"

"hey, y/n." the smile was prominent through the tone of his voice. "something got cancelled this afternoon, so I'm free for the rest of the night."

"that's sick as fuck," you twirled your hair anxiously.

"can I bring over dinner and we can watch a movie or something?" on the other side of the phone, he was biting his lip anxiously.

"I'd love that!" you cleared your throat. "yeah, that'd be nice."

he laughed, "Okay. I'll see you in 30."

you hummed a response as he hung up the phone. you ran to the shower. you washed your whole body faster than anyone ever had. you threw on a little makeup, trying to hide the eyebags you had from staying up late. you eventually gave up, wiping it all off. you mentally scolded yourself for wasting makeup as you got dressed in a cute, but casual 'movie watching' outfit.

you adjusted the couch, refolding the scattered blankets and fluffing the pillows. you made sure the rest of your apartment looked decent.

there was a gentle knock on the door. "come in!" you called, brushing yourself off.

Johnnie creeped into the living room. he set a couple boxes of takeout on the coffee table. "I hope you like chinese food. Jake introduced me to this place a couple days ago. it was really good." he rambled before smiling at you.

your heart skipped a beat as you made eye contact. you smiled back before sitting down and patting the spot next to you.

Johnnie kicked off his boots and sat close to you. his knee was resting against yours. that little contact made you blush. you watched him out of the corner of your eye as you turned on the TV.

"please tell me you've watched Jennifer's Body." you commented absentmindedly. "it's always been my favorite movie."

"i've never seen it," he admitted, "i always get compared to that emo guy though."

you laughed. "i used to have the biggest crush on him when i was younger. does this work for the movie?"

"fuck yeah, let's watch it." he replied. he leaned forward and opened up the food.

rain patted against your window gently in the background. there was frequent lightning, which made you jump every single time. so much so, Johnnie wrapped his arm around you comfortingly. your stomach erupted with butterflies. you scooted closer to him, so close your thighs touched.

"wait what the fu-" Johnnie began to comment on the movie before a loud crash of lighting rang. every light, including your TV went out. "fuck."

"shit, the power went out." you sighed, "im sorry."

you glanced around the dark room. the cloudy outdoors didn't add much lighting. "what? don't be sorry."

"well, what can we do in the dark?" you asked, adjusting in your seat to face him. he shrugged. "truth or dare?" you joked.

"fuck it, sure." his response shocked you.

you laughed. "okay, truth or dare?" you felt stupid, but the smile on Johnnies face made that melt away.

he hummed. "truth."

"okay," you thought for a second. "what did you think about me when we first met?"

the blush on his face was so prominent you could see through the darkness. "i really liked your style, i still do. and i thought you were really pretty."

the room began to get hot. you laughed nervously. "thank you, Johnnie. that really means a lot."

he asked you truth or dare, but all you were thinking about was what his lips would feel like on yours. you cleared your throat. "truth, sorry for copying."

he shook his head. "now i get to ask the same question. what did you think of me when we first met?"

"i thought you were the most attractive person i've ever met," you laughed. "i still do. but, you offering your lighter is the nicest thing that has happened to me in ages."

he was clearly taken back by your honesty. "i-i think that about you, too."

you did your best to hide the huge smile on your face. you giggled, "truth or dare?"

"dare." he responded as the lights flickered back on, and jennifer's body resumed on the TV.

"that was quick." you got up off of the couch and stretched. you immediately missed Johnnies touch. you pullled a pack of cigarettes out of your jacket pocket. "want one?" you took one out and placed it in between your lips before passing the small box to Johnnie. you made sure to grab your lighter before stepping out onto the patio.

the strong smell of rain was calming to you. you watched as puddles began to form on the streets . Johnnie filed out behind you. you lit both cigarettes and spoke up. "i don't know why we've been getting so much rain recently."

johnnie hummed in response as he inhaled deeply. "the city is really pretty."

"i mean, if you look at it at the right angle." you joked.

he wrapped his arm around you, leaning into you. you cautiously laid your head on his shoulder. "there's a party we're going to sunday night, you wanna come?" Johnnie asked.

"uh, yes?" your voice was dripping with excitement. "i've never actually been to one. i mean, birthday parties and shit don't count."

he smiled, "me and Jake will pick you up? i'll let you know what time."

you nodded, "yeah."

[mxa13xx]

could you do hobie and reader where reader gets sick and he takes care of them? cliche i know but i think it’s sweet 😭

Love Sick | Hobie x Plus-Sized!Reader 𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓼» -So sorry for not being active! I'm currently in an oc brainrot so alot of my energy is being put into Kira's (spider oc) lore and stuff -Written Gender Neutral btw! -Anyways Laufey carried this small oneshot so I'd recommend listening to the song as you read! 𝓔𝓷𝓳𝓸𝔂!

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎ You can hear the bubbling of soup from the kitchenette where Hobie stands. The smell of broccoli and cheese soup fills the small apartment you stay in; the walls are covered in band posters from both you and Hobie, little things of his spread all around the shelves you have. This was your home, but it was also Hobie’s. He had a place, just didn’t like it. Saying how living on a boat isn’t so great when you’re seasick! It made you laugh,, Hobie made you laugh. But he also cared about you, that’s why he’s in your apartment. You groan, your head spinning as you struggle to breathe out of your sore throat. You pull the blanket over your head, trying to hide from the small light of the stove. “Sorry, luv,” Hobie calls out, “Gotta cook the soup ya beggin for,” He chuckles, making you more pissed. How dare he care so much about you! He should just.. not.. care..  Okay, maybe you weren’t thinking straight,, Hobie would never ‘not care’; it’s not him! Soon enough, you see Hobie pull away your blanket, his caring grin practically lighting up the room.. It made your eyes hurt. You hiss, covering your eyes dramatically, “Ahh, the light!” “Luv, I turned the lights off; the only light in here is the city and dim lightin” He rolls his eyes. “Your kindness is too bright,,” You mumble, rubbing your eyes to wake yourself up. “Here, soup,” Hobie hums, holding the warm bowl of heaven before you. It made your mouth water. You melt, the smell of the best broccoli and cheese soup lifting you away. You quickly sit up, the grogginess washing away in a split second, causing a chuckle from Hobie. You take the bowl from his hands, the heat flooding with your high temperature, but you don’t care,, it’s soup! The greatest gift from heaven. “Here, eat it slowly,” Hobie passes your favorite spoon and some water to you before sitting next to you. You begin eating, melting into the warm broth. You look over, noticing how Hobie is staring in awe.. Which is strange.. “What?” You mumble between slurps. “You’re fucking gorgeous..” Hobie chuckles, a smile curling on his lips. You raise a brow. “Bullshit,” You laugh. You were wearing a torn band-T, with boxers and your hair a mess. You were not gorgeous,, you looked sick. “I’m serious!” he laughs, leaning in closer. “The floor is covered in my snot-filled tissues; still think I’m gorgeous?” You roll your eyes, taking another spoonful of broccoli. “Snot and all, you’re still mine,” Hobie smiles, leaning his cheek against the couch as he stares in awe. It makes you feel warm and giggly.. The way he stared at you with a smile curled on his lips.. “You’re crazy,” A smile creeps up on you too. “Crazy in love, luv,” he snorts, leaning in to attack you with kisses. You squeak, trying to push him away with your feet as he struggles to kiss you more, “Hobie! I’ll get you sick!” You giggle, holding your soup up to not spill. Hobie laughs in response, “Come on!! I wanna kiss my lover!!” He chuckles, breaking through and covering your chubby cheeks with kisses. The soup wasn’t the only thing making you feel better.