#and i don’t know anyone that is hard of hearing

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 2 | masterlist

-

Sweat beads on your brow as summer approaches its zenith. Its hottest point. You splurge on an iced caramel latte from the gas station on the way over and pick one up for John as well. Your arm is already stretched out when he opens the front door to let you in, offering it to him. 

“I, uh…thought you might want one as well,” you explain, stuttering through your words. Crumbling under his amused expression. 

You crave it though. His approval. That fond smile that seems reserved especially for you. The rare murmured good girl, his hand sometimes coming down to ruffle your hair. Even the memory of it makes your breath get lodged in your throat. You covet every crumb of it.

He takes the iced latte from you though before heading out for the day. Gift received. Even squeezes your shoulder in thanks before he shuts the door behind him, and you manage to keep from swooning until you hear his car pull out of the driveway. 

You stand by the window with the baby pressed to your chest for so little that you can’t blame when a little fist tugs at your hair. 

“Sorry, lovie,” you whisper into his fuzzy hair. Inhale deeply. 

It’s not as though you’re starved for things to do. Were John’s son a few years older, you might have your work cut out for you, but there’s still plenty to do around the house even when you put the baby down for his morning nap. You save the vacuuming for when baby is awake and you’re not in danger of hearing him suddenly start crying through the baby monitor, but you dust and fold laundry and start the dishwasher and take the recycling out and by the time the baby is ready for lunch, you’ve already broken a light sweat. 

Let no one tell you that babysitting is a walk in the park.

That being said, you do put the baby in his stroller for a walk in the park after lunch. 

The park isn’t terribly far from John’s house, so coupled with the short path around the park and the walk back, you’ll get a good amount of steps in today without risking the baby being late for his mid afternoon nap. 

It’s hard to not have an accidental, forbidden thought. Something like I wonder if anyone thinks I’m the baby’s mom when you push the stroller past a group of moms gathered together near the jungle gym, their kids sprinting on wobbly legs and climbing like dexterous little wildlings. 

Those thoughts are dangerous though, best kept under wraps. Clandestine. Because once you start having those thoughts, they never really go away; they just get relegated to a part of your brain that switches on when the lights go off and you think about what it must have been like to carry a baby in your stomach for nine months. 

You’re in danger, girl, a small voice in your head warns you. It’s hard to hear her clearly these days. 

John comes earlier for once, around midday. It takes you by surprise. You jump when the door opens, the sound ricocheting off the walls like a gunshot and, in that same second, a wave of terror and rage washes over you, your heart already racing at the thought of someone breaking in while it’s just you and the baby home. You spring to your feet, hands already trembling by your sides, and then his familiar shape walks into the room, boots still on and all.

He pauses when he sees your shoulders slump with relief. 

“Sorry,” you breathe, heart still racing. “I thought you were…” Your voice trails off towards the end because you don’t know how to say it without sounding silly. 

His eyes cut to the baby in the bouncy chair behind you, your body still stood protectively in front of him, and then they soften. 

“No, that’s on me—should’ve given you a ring before I left,” he says, a light apology in his voice. He throws his keys into the bowl in the foyer before stalking towards you. You stare up at him wide eyed, only blinking when he ruffles your hair before bypassing you to go pick up his son. 

“How’s my baby?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the baby’s milksoft cheek, and your heart spins and cartwheels in your chest. All sorts of tricks that keep you rooted in place, unable to manage a single word. “You been good today?”

I’ve been good, you almost croak out, the words on the tip of your tongue. You swallow. Force them back down. You’re not his baby. 

Another dinner invitation that you can’t turn down. Not because it wouldn’t be polite but because you couldn’t muster up the will to refuse even if you really did have plans. Lucky that you don’t. 

When he puts the baby down to sleep for the night, you linger by the door, sure you’re a platitude or two away from being shown out for the night. John calls your name from the kitchen though, drawing you deeper into the house again. 

“Go put something on,” he instructs when you idle under the archway of the door. With his back to you, you can’t make out the expression on his face, leaving you no choice but to gawp at the undulation of his shoulder muscles as he washes out the dishes before stacking them in the dishwasher. “You want something to drink?”

“Just, uh—” you rasp, clearing your throat. “Just juice, thanks.”

You can’t settle on anything to stream, nothing perking your interests; or maybe you’re just too antsy to make an informed decision on what to watch right now. 

There are other things to worry about. Like John moving around in the other room or the way your denim shorts ride up when you sit down, bunching up at the crotch. You make an attempt to lift your hips and pull them back down as much as you can, but you panic and abort your plan when John comes into the room, embarrassed at the thought of being caught readjusting yourself. 

The cushion under you bounces slightly when John drops himself down onto the couch beside you, the motion making your shorts ride up even more. You wince when the seam presses tight against your clit, on the edge of mildly painful and turning you on. 

“Here, sweetheart,” he says, putting his own drink down on the coffee table before handing you your glass of juice. 

“Thanks,” you bleat, taking a sip almost instantly to mask the look on your face, afraid he’ll read the panic there and press for details. 

He sits closer than usual, as he always does these days. It’s not something you ever discuss. It just seems to happen. Slowly, like ice sheets drifting over water. One day you’re sitting on opposite sides of the couch and the next he’s all up in your space, thigh to thigh with you while the living room goes dark and the TV glows, the reflection throbbing against the glass. An ever-flickering light that illuminates the side of his head when you peer up at him.

Your tongue rests against the roof of her mouth, dry; sparing.

With his arm resting on the back of the couch over your shoulder, the scent of him is almost smothering. Each inhale makes your head spin. If you were to tilt your head to the side, you’d be level with his armpit, his scent strongest there, and that thought spins in your head like a merry-go-round until someone in the movie you’re supposed to be watching shouts, dragging your attention back to it. 

“Christ, these are little, huh?” John grunts, suddenly reaching over to pinch the frayed ends of your shorts between his fingers. “This what the kids these days are wearing?” 

You don’t know how to respond to that. Your body’s so hot that you feel like you’re swimming in heat, sweat prickling at your hairline and on the back of your neck. 

“I-it’s hot out,” you stutter, your whole body suddenly hot. With how high your shorts have ridden up, his fingers are precariously close to your core, just a hairsbreadth from skimming up your inner thigh and brushing against your folds, now plump and sensitive. 

You wonder if he can make out the outline of your pussy from underneath your shorts. They hug into the seam of your legs, pinching the skin of your inner thighs. You don’t dare glance down. 

He hums, pulling his hand away and you stare wide eyed at the television in front of you when you shift and the glide between your legs tells you just how wet you are. Sitting on the couch next to your boss twice your age with a wet pussy. 

You lean forward to try and readjust, masking the movement by reaching blindly for your glass on the coffee table at the same time. You must pick up the wrong glass by accident though because when you go to lift it to your lips, John’s hand stops you, fingers curling around yours and easily tugging the glass away from your mouth. 

“No, baby, that’s mine; bit young for a drink, aren’t you?” John chuckles, eyes squinting with his smile. 

“I’m legal,” you frown, pouting. 

He acts like that sometimes; like he doesn’t keep track of how old you are. 

“All right, but only a sip, got it?” he cautions, handing you the glass. 

You don’t know why you take it. You would’ve been better admitting to your mistake and putting the glass back down. 

He chuckles when you wince on your sip, nearly spitting it up. Horrifically embarrassing because it’s not like you’ve never had a drink before. You’ve gone out for drinks plenty of times with friends. 

“Yeah,” he rasps, taking the glass from you and flicking his knuckle against your bottom lip as he does. “That’s what I thought.”

And it happens again and again. Head resting on his shoulder when you drift off on the couch before he shakes you awake. In the grocery store, he comes up behind you while you’re pushing the cart and puts his arms around to steer you down another aisle, his broad chest pressed against your back. 

You hold your tongue. Bite off and chew the words. Because it’s nothing; it’s innocent. You’ve known from the get-go that John is more of a man of action than words. If anything, you’re the one reading too much into things. Little touch-starved girl from the bad side of town. It’s not his fault that you preen when he praises you; that you bunt your head against his hand when he ruffles your hair. Every drop of affection soaked up, savoured. Nourishing your heart and your soul. So lonely, so wanting. All those years holed up on your own, no warm body in the bed beside you. 

Then John Price waltzed in and you expected to keep everything sealed up tight in your chest.

So it’s no wonder you gorge yourself on his touch and hope he doesn’t notice the way you lean into it. The rabbit-quick beat of your heart. Your want simmering under your skin, a disgusting, base thing desperate for gentleness. 

You wonder if he sees the same thing when he looks at you.

In the heat of summer, John invites you to join him and the baby for a weekend at the beach in Portugal.

You only say yes because it’s the dog days of summer. At the beach, there’ll be umbrellas to sit under and beer coolers of cold drinks and the ice cold Atlantic to swim in. Plus, you’ve had little opportunity in your life to travel—you’ve barely stepped foot in France, never mind Portugal. But John has friends with a house in the Algarve that have graciously offered him the week, so who are you to say no to such a thoughtful gesture? 

The only reason you consider not going is because you can’t shake the sense of foreboding. 

“Baby, can you get my back?” John asks when you arrive at the beach the first day of your trip, and when you turn back to him, you have to act quick to catch the sunscreen lobbed your way. 

That’s how you find yourself kneeling in the sand behind him, rubbing sunscreen on his back. His shoulders flex under your hands, and you can feel the muscle bunching and relaxing with each swipe across his shoulder blades. The worst is when you get to his low back. John’s groans are obscenely loud, guttural rumblings from the back of his throat. Ravenous. 

“Okay, that’s everything,” you chirp, rubbing the excess off on your thighs. 

“Good,” John says, twisting around. “Now it’s your turn.”

Your eyes widen.

“Wait—I don’t need to—”

You don’t know quite how he manages it, but a couple minutes later, you find yourself lying flat on your stomach on your beach towel, John squirting a good amount of sunscreen onto the middle of your back. All you get as a warning is the sunscreen bottle tossed to the ground beside your head before two big hands come down to your back to massage the cream into your skin. 

There’s nowhere for you to go when John throws a leg over your hips to straddle you. He holds the majority of his weight off you, but despite his best efforts, you can still feel his dick against your ass, his loose swim shorts doing nothing to hold him in place. 

He doesn’t ask for permission before undoing the knot holding your bikini top together, one quick pull and then the garment loosens around your chest. You can feel the fabric pool around you on the towel. 

“John, you—” you start, almost coming up onto your elbows before realizing that your top won’t be coming with you if you do. 

“Just gotta make sure I get your whole back, baby,” he reassures you, both hands gliding up your back to curve around your shoulders before dragging back down. “Won’t be more than a minute.”

It’s no use calling him out on the lie because there’s nothing you could do even if you did.

With hands as big as his, his fingers can’t help brushing the sides of your tits every time he smooths his hands down your back. You bite your lip nearly raw to keep from letting your moans escape, toes curling in the sand underneath you and thank god John is facing the other way or else your arousal would be clear as day to him. The gusset of your bathing suit is already damp and you haven’t even gotten in the water yet. 

His hands drag up and down your back, lathering the lotion into your skin, massaging it into the muscle. Each pass of his hands making your eyes roll back, breath coming out in choppy pants. Tweaking when the palms of his hands easily encompass your shoulders, nearly tickling under your arms.

“There we go. All done,” he announces, jolting you out of the lustful fog you’d slipped into during his ministrations. 

“All good?” you ask, a touch breathy. 

“Mhm,” John rumbles, smoothing a hand up your back one last time, just to double check. Only clenching your fists until the skin around your knuckles tighten keeps you from shuddering at his touch. “Lemme just—” 

Your throat constricts when you feel him reknot the back of your bikini top, fingers quick and deft for their size. He’s tied knots before. It’s better not to let that thought sink in too deep. 

Turning over onto your back takes a near insuperable amount of energy, the rest wrung from your body by the hands now preoccupied with readjusting his shorts. 

“You alright if I take him for a swim?” John asks, holding his squirming son against his bare chest. 

You wave him off, a hand coming up to shield your eyes from the sun. 

You can’t help but stare at his ass as he walks away, practically mesmerised. In the water, he wades up to his knees with his son still cradled in one arm. The ocean water laps at his shins, dappled with light, low waves in the distance scintillating at their peaks. The ends of his swim shorts cling to his legs as the water leaches into the fabric. 

Trying to keep your eyes off him is a losing game, not when John’s clad in nothing more than a pair of swim trunks, broad shoulders and chest on display, and now your hands tingle with the memory of how they felt rubbing suntan lotion over his skin. His trunks are pulled taut around thick thigh muscles, just barely loose enough to keep from being indecent. 

The panic returns when you catch some nearby women ogling him, one angling her body towards him like she’s considering walking over, and that’s when your heart beats too fast and you stumble to your feet, leaving your beach towel and umbrella behind to go join John in the water. 

“Hey sweetheart,” he greets when you’re only a few steps away, shivering when the cold water touches your feet. “Missed us, did ya?”

He reels you in with his free arm, pulling you into his side before transferring the baby into the cradle of your arms. Doesn’t even flinch when your breast is pressed against his side, as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary. As if your cheek wasn’t nearly flush with the pelt of dark hair growing in whorls on his chest, your eye level with a dark, flat nipple. 

The girls hovering nearby scrunch their noses up when they notice you snuggled up against John’s chest. Assuming you must be someone special for him to be holding you that way; like a girlfriend or a wife—

You choke off the rest of that thought before it can take root. 

The rest of the trip is no better. You’re a right mess made worse by the cloying heat and the forced proximity. At the restaurant, John pulls your chair out for you and then sits right beside you, arm resting on the back of your chair while he talks, cologne clotting the air around you. He’s popular wherever he goes—easy candour and winsome smile able to make anyone, from the servers to the other patrons, want to get to know him better. 

All you can do is bask in the radiance; a sun in the middle of any room. 

Back at the house, you sleep in the other room, only a single, flimsy wall between your room and John’s. The walls are so thin that you can hear every groan and snore and snuffle, head ringing with his sounds until you fall asleep and they permeate your dreams instead. 

At seven in the morning, you wake to the sound of him rolling over in his bed, the mattress squeaking under his weight, and taking himself in hand. The sound of flesh against flesh; the groans bitten off too late for you not to catch them, sweat beading on your hairline as you stare at the white wall and picture John on the other side, big chest panting with his breaths as he tugs on his cock. You listen until his final groan, fingers petting at your clit until you have no choice but to turn your head into your pillow to muffle your sobs. 

As best as you try to put it out of mind, you can’t meet his eyes at breakfast. 

You flinch when the same hand that he must’ve used to jerk himself off comes down onto the top of your head when John goes to refill his mug of coffee. “Sleep well last night?” he asks, deep voice still coated in sleep. 

“Not bad,” you whisper. 

Shivering when he drops his hand to the junction between your shoulder and your neck and gives it a squeeze.

[beloveds-embrace]

Part two of monster!141 x chubby reader

Part One.

CW: reader isn’t in a good place mentally and it’s affecting her reactions and the 141 absolutely take advantage of it. This is definitely not accurate in terms of reality. Reader has a lot of self-esteem issues, especially regarding her weight.

The thing is, you know you should be panicking way more. You know you should be fighting back, trying to think of an escape plan.

But you don’t. Exhaustion clings to you like a second skin, and you simply decide you don’t have any energy to do anything much- especially against shifters twice your size at the minimum. If they want to kill you, so be it. You doubt there’d be anyone to miss you; your parents only ever cared about your other siblings, your friends weren’t exactly your friends apparently, and you ex…

“Penny for your thoughts, dove?” The harpy whose lap you are perched on murmurs, wings fluffing out around you, the feathers soft and warm. You haven’t been on any couches or cushions ever since you woke up here, always in one of their laps. You had been terrified at first, and fear still lingers even now, but all they do is hold you tight and occasionally sniff you. Nothing more.

“Not worth much.” You whisper, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath. The feathers around you rustle again, tickling your skin ever so slightly, and you can feel him nuzzle the crown of your head.

“I disagree,” Kyle says, voice musing.. The arms wound around your waist tighten, and you are pulled impossibly closer to him. Your head still finds it hard to believe just how strong they are- easily maneuvering someone even of your size like your weigh nothing. Your ex never bothered; often just made a passing mention that maybe he’d carry you like that if you hit the gym and lost a few pounds. “Worth quite a lot to me. To us.”

You don’t have a reply to that; it’s still weird and unbelievable to you. Soulmates. What a joke. Even if they existed, you doubted anyone would like you like this. Not to mention the soulmate of a harpy, a werewolf, a dragon and a wraith? It sounded like a crappy plot you’d find while scouring the internet, written by a college student driven insane in their last year.

But they insisted they were right, and refuse to let you go, and now here you are being cuddled to one of them while the other three thud about upstairs. You can hear their voices, but not what they are saying. Though it sounds like they are quite busy.

“You cold, dove?” Kyle asks when he feels you shudder again, at last wrapping his wings fully around you even before you can answer. The feathers are so soft, and he smells so nice, like jasmine and vanilla. You almost felt hungry, simply smelling him.

“No.” The answer is quiet, croaked out tiredly. Sleep tugs at you even though it hasn’t been that long since you’ve woken up, the pounding, hungover headache long since dissipated.

You hate this syrupy slowness that lets you remain snuggled against him. You hate how safe you feel, despite your mind screaming at you otherwise. You don’t know these men, don’t know anything about them except their names, and yet your body has never felt quite this comfortable.

“Sleep, precious.” Kyle croons, his hand rubbing down your back. He buries his face in your hair, still crooning, and leaves a trail of kisses across your temple. “Sleep. You are safest and soundest here, with us.”

And so your eyes flutter shut, and your breath evens out; sleep comes to you as easy as breathing, and for one, ephemeral second, you don’t worry about your weight being too much for him.

[greengoblinswifey]

Break Up With Your Girlfriend— Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— you can’t help but have a crush on your sister’s boyfriend and when you stay over at their shared apartment, things get heated when she leaves.

warnings— infidelity, dom!nicholas, food play(with whipped cream), oral(m&f receiving), praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, fluff.

a/n— obvi i don’t condone cheating irl but i love fulfilling my readers’ requests. also, i accidentally deleted it, so sorry, yk yourself and i hope you enjoy this🤭

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Spending the night at your sister and Nicholas’ shared apartment made you a little nervous. Not because you weren’t close to your sister—quite the opposite—but because of him. Nicholas. Her boyfriend. The man you secretly couldn’t stop thinking about and had a huge crush on, even though you knew it was so, so wrong. He was six years older, towering over you with his sharp features and a smile that could make anyone weak.

It wasn’t just his looks, though. It was the way he seemed to notice you. The way he leaned into conversations, tilting his head as if you were the only person in the room. The way his dark eyes held yours a little too long, like he was daring you to look away first. And you always did.

You tried to avoid being alone with him, but it was inevitable. Your sister had gone out for groceries, and, as always, she’d be gone for hours. You were left sitting on their couch, scrolling aimlessly on your phone, dressed in a casual two-piece—soft shorts that looked like panties and a matching tank top that felt too revealing now under Nicholas’ occasional glances.

He was in the kitchen, and your stomach growled quietly at the thought of the whipped cream in the fridge. It wasn’t yours to take, but the craving was persistent.

You approached the kitchen hesitantly, your bare feet padding softly on the cool tile floor. Nicholas looked up from his phone as you entered, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“Need something?” he asked, his voice warm but laced with that teasing edge that always made your pulse race.

“Um,” you started softly, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shorts. “Can I, um, have some of the whipped cream? I know it’s yours, but—”

He chuckled, a low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You don’t have to ask so sweetly,” he said, stepping closer. “But, let me hear you say please.”

Your cheeks burned. “Please?” you managed, barely above a whisper.

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Say, please, Nicholas.”

Your gaze dropped to the floor, heat flooding your body as your thighs pressed together instinctively. “Please, Nicholas,” you murmured, but his fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Louder,” he said, his tone soft but commanding.

You swallowed hard, your voice shaking as you repeated, “Please, Nicholas.”

He grinned and stepped back. “That’s better. I’ll get it for you.”

You watched, frozen, as he retrieved the whipped cream from the fridge. But instead of handing it to you, he held it up.

“Open your mouth,” he said, his voice dropping slightly.

Your breath hitched, but you obeyed, parting your lips and sticking your tongue out slightly. He sprayed the whipped cream into your mouth, the cool sweetness melting on your tongue, but some of it caught on your lips.

Nicholas’ gaze darkened as he leaned in. “You’ve got some right here,” he murmured, swiping his thumb along your lower lip. You thought he’d step back, but instead, he brought his thumb to his mouth, licking it clean.

The air between you felt thick, charged with something. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Your thighs clenched involuntarily, and Nicholas noticed.

“You’re always shy around me” he said, his voice low as he took another step closer. You were practically backed into the counter now, his presence overwhelming.

“I-I’m not shy,” you stammered, but even to your ears, it sounded unconvincing.

He leaned down, his face inches from yours. “Sure you’re not,” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

Moments like this weren’t new. You remembered the way his eyes would linger on you during family gatherings or how he’d find excuses to stand a little too close. He’d cornered you before, literally, during a party at their place, his arms braced on either side of you as he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. You’d stuttered through some excuse to escape, but the heat of his gaze had stayed with you long after.

And now, here he was again, watching you like he knew all the thoughts you tried to hide.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he said, his voice soft but teasing.

“I’m not nervous,” you protested weakly, though your trembling hands betrayed you.

“Right,” he said, his smirk widening as he leaned in again, brushing past you to set the whipped cream on the counter. “Better finish that before your sister gets back.”

You nodded quickly, grabbing the can and retreating to the living room, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

After moving to the living room, you curled up on the couch, mindlessly watching TV while scooping small bites of whipped cream onto your finger. The taste was sweet, but the air felt charged. Nicholas settled beside you, his presence magnetic. You could feel his eyes on you, a heat that made it impossible to focus.

When you glanced at him, he was already looking at you, smirking.

“What?” you asked, voice soft.

“Nothing,” he replied, tilting his head slightly. “Just admiring how pretty you are.”

The words hit like a bolt of lightning. Your chest tightened, cheeks flushed. “Prettier than her,” he added, the implication unmistakable.

You froze. You and your sister had similar features, but hearing that from him made your stomach churn—and not from guilt. You knew you should be angry, should push him away, but instead, your heart thudded harder.

“Really?” you whispered before you could stop yourself.

His gaze softened, and his lips curled into a sly smile. “Yes, baby, really,” he said. The pet name left you reeling. It wasn’t meant for you, yet the way it rolled off his tongue felt like it belonged to you and you alone.

Your voice wavered. “You’re my sister’s boyfriend.”

Nicholas leaned closer, invading your space, his eyes locking onto yours. “And yet,” he said, “you can’t stop looking at me. Can’t stop squeezing your thighs every time I get too close. I know, baby. I’ve noticed.”

You swallowed hard, words failing you. How could he know? How could he see what you thought you’d hidden so well?

“I bet you’re throbbing right now,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. His words sent shivers down your spine. “Am I right?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Slowly, you nodded.

He leaned back with a knowing smile, taking the whipped cream from your hand. Before you could react, he leaned forward, squirting a line of it across your stomach.

“Nicholas!” you gasped, half in surprise, half in disbelief.

“What?” he said, voice teasing, as he set the can down. His movements were slow, deliberate, as he hovered over you. “You don’t want me to clean it up?”

Your body tensed as he dipped his head, his warm breath brushing against your brown skin. His tongue darted out, trailing over the sweet path he’d made. You couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips.

He paused, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. “You make the sweetest sounds,” he murmured, the compliment sending another rush of heat through you.

Your head spun as he pressed further. “Do you want me to help with the ache, baby?”

You hesitated, your mind warring with itself. This was wrong, but in that moment, all you could think about was him. “Yes,” you whispered.

“Yes, what?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eye.

“Yes, Nicholas,” you replied, barely louder than a breath.

He grinned, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Good girl,” he said softly, though the praise sent your pulse racing. “But you have to tell me, baby. Are you sure this is what you want?”

Your head nodded instinctively, all logic drowned by the intensity of the moment. “I’m sure,” you managed to say, your voice trembling.

Nicholas moved closer, his hand skimming the waistband of your tiny shorts. “Can I?” he murmured, seeking your permission.

Your nod was almost imperceptible, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he slid them down your legs. The fabric clung to you, damp with evidence of your arousal. His gaze darkened as he tossed them aside.

“Wow,” he breathed, the corner of his mouth curling into a sly grin. “Just the thought of having your sister’s boyfriend above you gets you this wet?”

A spark of defiance flared in your chest, momentarily overtaking your shyness. “Yes,” you said, voice trembling but steady. “So what?”

His laugh was low, warm, and teasing. “My little baby’s getting bold,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Before you could respond, he was leaning down, his lips pressing to your inner thigh, teasing you, dragging out the moment until your entire body ached for more. When his mouth finally found your pussy, you let out a sharp gasp, your fingers instinctively tangling in his hair.

“You taste so sweet,” he murmured between kisses, his words sending shivers down your spine. “So good for me.”

Your body writhed beneath him, the sensation overwhelming. His tongue moved with deliberate skill, pulling breathy moans and cries from your lips.

“You’re so perfect like this,” he murmured, his voice full of praise. “Don’t hold back, baby. Let me hear you.”

And you did—soft whimpers turning into loud cries as your hands tightened in his hair, your back arching off the couch. The intensity built to a fever pitch, and your body trembled uncontrollably as the release washed over you and you squirted.

Nicholas leaned back slightly, his lips glistening, his expression a mix of pride and satisfaction. “You just squirted for your sister’s boyfriend,” he said, voice dripping with teasing reproach. His grin widened as he ran a thumb along his jawline. “Filthy. I love it.”

You hid your face in your hands, half from embarrassment and half from the lingering heat coursing through your veins.

Nicholas only chuckled, leaning over you, brushing your hair back from your face. “Don’t go shy on me now, baby,” he murmured. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He stepped back, his hands moving to unbutton his jeans. As the fabric slid to the floor, your eyes widened, and you couldn’t stop the small gasp that escaped your lips. He was already hard, straining against his boxers, and the sight left you momentarily stunned.

He noticed the way your gaze lingered, how your lips slightly pouted as a flicker of something—jealousy, perhaps, crossed your face. “Don’t worry, baby,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing as he pushed his boxers down. “My dick is yours now.”

Your cheeks burned at his words, but a smile crept onto your face. He stood tall, stroking his big dick slowly, his eyes locked on yours. “Open wide,” he instructed, and you obeyed without hesitation, your breath hitching as he slid himself past your lips.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hand gently brushing the side of your face as you adjusted. “Make me proud.”

You moved carefully at first, testing his reactions, and when he let out a soft moan, you found your rhythm. His praise came steadily, his voice a mix of low murmurs and breathy sounds. “I knew you’d be good at this. So much better than her,” he whispered, the words sending a jolt through you.

You doubled your efforts, your hands and mouth working together to draw every sound you could from him. His head fell back, his breaths growing ragged as you continued, your confidence building with each whimper and groan. You worked your tongue all over from the base back up to the tip and as you did, you caressed his balls, making him twitch in your hands.

When he finally came, you swallowed without a second thought, meeting his gaze with a soft smirk. His eyes widened briefly, clearly impressed. “Your sister never swallows,” he said.

“Well,” you replied, your voice steady despite the warmth in your cheeks. “I’m not her.”

A slow grin spread across his face. “No,” he said, stepping closer and brushing his thumb across your jaw. “You’re so much better.”

He leaned down, scooping you up effortlessly, and carried you to the bedroom. The room you knew was shared between him and your sister, but the thought barely registered as he laid you gently on the bed.

“You’re so eager,” he murmured, his hand trailing up your thigh. “So needy for me.”

You bit your lip, looking up at him with wide eyes, your body trembling in anticipation.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice low and full of promise. “I’m going to take care of you, baby.”

Nicholas pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his toned, muscular frame. Your breath hitched as your eyes roamed over him, and you instinctively bit your lip. He noticed, a teasing grin tugging at his lips as he reached for the drawer beside the bed.

He grabbed a condom, but before he could open it, you reached out, your fingers gently brushing his wrist. “I don’t want you to,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I’m on the pill, I want to feel all of you.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise he always used a condom with your sister, but the smirk on his face deepened. “Naughty little girl, aren’t you?” he teased, his voice low and warm.

“Only for you,” you replied, the boldness in your words surprising even yourself.

He chuckled, his eyes darkening with something that made your pulse race. “Say that again,” he murmured, leaning closer.

“Only for you,” you repeated, more confidently this time.

He smirked, shaking his head slightly as if you were both trouble and a temptation he couldn’t resist. “If you want it, you’re going to have to beg for it, baby.”

Your cheeks burned, but the ache in your body outweighed your shyness. “Please, Nicholas,” you murmured, your voice soft but desperate. “I need you. I want to feel every inch, every vein. I’ll take it so well—better than she ever could.”

His eyes flickered with something primal at your words, and he let out a low growl of approval. “That’s my good girl,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you, soft and slow at first, before deepening it, his lips and tongue leaving you breathless.

Gently, he pulled your top over your head, his gaze lingering on your tits. “You’re perfect,” he said, his voice full of awe as his hands brushed over your skin. “Absolutely stunning.”

As he positioned himself above you, his eyes searched yours, his expression tender. “Are you sure about this?” he asked softly, his thumb stroking your cheek. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

You nodded, your fingers gripping his arms. “I want this. I want you.”

With one last lingering look, he pressed inside your leaking pussy, his movements deliberate and careful. You gasped at the sensation, your body adjusting to him as he whispered praises. “You’re so tight,” he murmured. “So perfect for me.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as your fingers raked down his back, leaving faint red marks in their wake. He groaned at the sensation, his breath hot against your neck.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration. “Taking me so well. Better than I ever imagined.”

You shuddered at his words, the heat between you building with every movement, every whispered praise. “Nicholas,” you moaned, your head tilting back as waves of pleasure washed over you.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “Let go for me. Let me feel you.”

You clung to him as your body trembled, a shuddering orgasm overtaking you. Nicholas kissed your temple softly, his own breath uneven as he whispered, “You’re incredible. This is everything I’ve dreamed of. I use to beat my dick thinking about fucking this tight pussy.”

The intimacy of the moment left you feeling raw and vulnerable, but as his lips found yours again, you knew this was what you had been longing for.

Nicholas smirked as he flipped you over effortlessly, his strong hands guiding you to arch your back. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to the curve of your lower back before letting his lips graze your skin. “You’ve been so good, but I’m not going to be gentle this time.”

Your smiled as his hands gripped your hips firmly. “I don’t care,” you said breathlessly, glancing back at him. “I want it.”

His grin widened, the heat in his gaze making your skin tingle. “As you wish,” he replied, his voice low and laced with dominance.

With that, his demeanor shifted entirely. His movements were more purposeful, his pace fast and demanding as he gripped your hips. “You’ve been dreaming about this, haven’t you?” he said, his voice rough with satisfaction. “I know how bad you’ve wanted me.”

“Yes,” you cried out, your voice trembling as your body rocked against his movements.

“That’s right,” he growled, his voice commanding. “Who’s making you feel this good?”

“You,” you gasped, your voice almost breaking.

“Say my name,” he ordered, his hands tightening on your waist. “I want to hear you moan my name.”

“Nicholas!” you cried, his name spilling from your lips as your voice rose higher.

He leaned forward, his thick cock still in you, his hand trailing down your stomach. “You feel me deep inside you?” he murmured against your ear.

You reached down instinctively, your trembling fingers brushing your brown glistening skin. You could feel his cock moving, each thrust more intense than the last. “Yes,” you whimpered, tears pooling in your eyes from the overwhelming sensation.

“That’s right,” he groaned, his tone full of satisfaction. “I’m so deep in you, baby. You’re mine.”

His words sent you over the edge, your body shuddering as waves of pleasure overwhelmed you. “Let go for me,” he whispered, his voice almost tender amid the intensity. “I know you’ve waited for this.”

Your climax was overwhelming, leaving you breathless and the sheets beneath you thoroughly soaked from your juices. Nicholas’ movements didn’t falter as he chased his own release, his breaths turning ragged. He leaned down, his voice a husky whisper. “Where do you want it, baby?”

“Inside me,” you murmured without hesitation.

“Fuck baby, you sure?” he asked, his tone laced with both urgency and care.

“Yes,” you whispered, nodding.

A low groan escaped his lips as he let himself cum deep inside your pussy, his body tensing before he finally collapsed beside you. The room was filled with nothing but the sound of your heavy breaths as he pulled you into his arms.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his gaze softening as he stared down at you. His words made your heart swell, and for a moment, it felt like you were in your own little world, just the two of you.

But time wasn’t on your side. Reluctantly, you both got up after cuddling for a while, the haze of the moment replaced by hurried movements to clean up. Nicholas stripped the sheets, while you straightened the couch, glancing at him every now and then with a small smile.

Soon, the apartment was back to normal, and you were both seated on the couch, your head resting against his chest. His arm was draped around you, and you could still feel the heat of his skin against yours.

The sound of the front door opening made you both freeze. Your sister walked in, a cheerful smile on her face as she looked at the two of you. “Aww, y’all are getting along,” she said, setting her bag down.

You and Nicholas exchanged a quick glance, your smiles forced but convincing.

“Did you guys have fun without me?” she asked, oblivious to the sexual tension in the air.

He leaned back casually, his smirk barely noticeable. “Oh, we had a lot of fun,” he said, the double meaning in his tone entirely lost on her.

You bit your lip to hide your nervous laughter, nodding along as she turned away, completely unaware.

[ihrthoney]

you know me

pairings: arkham knight!jason todd x f!reader

warnings: fluff! some mentions of what happened to him in the asylum

word count: 1.9k

an: i hope you guys like it 😅 part 1

Jason had told you he would disappear for a few days, he said he would explain when he came back and until then to quit your job and not leave your house. Before leaving, he gave you a device and told you he would beep it three times to signal you that he was outside of your apartment. 

The night he held you was the only time he had let you so close to him. When you parted to wash your face, he made it clear he wanted to keep a distance between you two. Whenever you walked towards him he would take a step backwards, it stung but you can understand why, the mark on his face was a sign that whatever happened to him was bad. 

The last thing he told you before returning to the shadows was to start packing. Your mind told you he wasn’t the same and that you should be asking questions instead of blindly following him. Yet, the only thing you’ve ever wanted for the past few years was him. Nothing was going to stop you from following him, not even him. 

-

Meanwhile, Jason was at a loss on what to do. Seeing you brought back fond and awful memories. His memory was tainted with the bad things that have happened to him, his childhood, the in-between and the after. But you, you were like a firefly in the quiet meadow, a temporary relief before the world burned around him.

He had been questioning what he should do with you, where his feelings for you still lie. As of right now, he just wants to keep you safe. There’s a battle in his mind, he can’t decide whether he’s happy that you stayed and waited for him or if he should call you foolish for not getting out of Gotham, for putting yourself in danger. The former thought is winning, his heart thumps at the thought of still being remembered as Jason and not the failed robin.

Memories of your time together flash in his mind as he makes his way back to your place; he recognizes the apartment, it’s the one you two planned to move into. You were the one thing he wouldn’t let anyone touch, not then and definitely not now. He can’t ever be the person you so wholly loved but he wants to be someone you can learn to love. 

There are a lot of risks with that, you’d be a constant target, he’d have to either go with you anytime you went in public or simply have whatever you wanted delivered by someone else. The life you had before will be no more, he’s selfish but he hopes you don’t mind.

-

It’s about 3am in the morning when you hear the device beep, you respond back with the code he gave you then go to your window to open it for him (you have a feeling he could open it just fine.)

The night he was in your apartment, he was in all black clothes, now he’s in front of you covered head to toe in thick armor. The suit makes your window seem so fragile, the living room looks much smaller too. 

He clicks his helmet off and gently sets it on the floor, “Are you ready to go?” You can’t tell whether it’s a question or a statement but by the way he’s looking at you, you’re going to guess he’s telling you. 

“Am I allowed to ask where?” He follows you as you check the place for any belongings you may have missed, his heavy footsteps follow you, even in the armor he’s quiet. “A safehouse. Somewhere outside of the city.” After making your rounds, sad you two couldn’t occupy the space, you turn to face him, “Will you be there too?”

The question catches him off-guard, unused to being thought of. Despite the hardness to his eyes, how tense his posture is, the way he speaks to you was like before, gentle and soft. Under all the pain, he was a sweet boy.

To you, he will always be your sweet boy.

“Of course.”

-

Given the time, you fell asleep in the car, waking up in your bed but a different room. It takes a bit to remember the events that have happened. Moving the blankets off of you, you make your way around the safehouse. The layout is similar to your old apartment, it’s comforting but makes you question how he was able to find a place with the same format. 

A click of a door makes you turn and you see Jason in the clothes you saw him in the night he visited you, “I got you some food, we should talk.” 

He places down multiple containers with different food’s inside and a large cup of coffee from your favorite cafe. He remembered. Jason makes his way to sit across from you, a breakfast serving only for one so you ask to which he replies that he already ate. 

Still, like before, you offer him a plate of a little bit of everything in case he’s hungry again or lying about his eating habits. You’re careful to not treat him like nothing happened but not as a stranger either, it’s a strange middle you’re still trying to understand.

“We’ll talk after you eat.” He doesn’t touch the food you offered him but you hope the thought reaches him all the same. There’s a part of you that hopes your boyfriend is still there considering that you were tucked in bed in a new change of clothes, but he keeps you more than an arm’s length away. 

It should be uncomfortable, the way he watches you eat, the man before you is bigger, face sharper, still handsome. His eyes never left you even as you moved to put any leftovers away. Grabbing him a glass of water, you sat in front of him once again. 

“What would you like to know first?” As quick as the movement was, you saw the way his gaze flickered to the side then back up, “Anything you’re comfortable with telling me.”

The ache in his chest comes back, you were his sweetness, you still are and it hurts him to be near you. You were all he dreamed about, amongst other things, when he was trapped in that wing. Words can't explain how relieved he was that the Joker could not touch you or taint your image, you were so dear to him. 

“I followed.. him.. to Arkham’s Asylum, specifically an abandoned wing.” His beautiful eyes no longer looked into your own, instead focusing on the way your fingers fidget, “For almost two years I was tortured.. tied to a chair, hung up by the arms.. I know you saw the scar. There are things I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say out loud… I just wanted him to kill me.”

There’s a pause before he continues, “For months I waited for Batman, I refused to believe he forgot about me, that he replaced me but when I saw that picture.” Silence envelopes the room, it’s thick and he doesn’t say anything for a while, you also knew better than to say anything about how bad Batman’s grief actually was.

Your hand moves to hold his, to comfort him in any way but you’re afraid to push him into silence, but your hesitation is for naught as he grabs your hand and interlinks your fingers together, quietly he says, “I dreamt of you.” The words make you move your gaze from your intertwined hands to his eyes. 

“I missed you so much, yn.” His voice cracks and he looks away, Jason tries to pull his hand from yours but you squeeze them tighter together, “I thought about you every single day, Jace. Not a second went by when I wasn’t thinking of you.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, “I’m not the same person.” Quickly you replied, standing up from the chair and moving to his side of the table, “I don’t expect you to be, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you.” It seems to be the wrong answer as he stands from the chair and creates space between you two, arms crossing against his chest, “It should! I can’t- We can’t be together, there’s no point!”

It’s a lie, he’s lying, he can’t accept that you love him like it’s easy, like his whole existence isn’t filthy. This was bad, he shouldn't have seen you, “I’m not sorry that I love you, I never will be. I don’t care that you’ve changed, you are still the most important person to me! I will do anything for you.” Your voice is soft but stern, you need him to hear you. 

As much as you want to, you don’t approach him, you’re just happy he opened up to you at all. There’s obviously more than happened to him, more than just physical abuse. You have to be smart and careful not to treat him like he’s fragile because your Jason is anything but. He’s the strongest person you know and you’re here to help him feel loved and supported. 

Blue eyes analyze your body language, watching your chest move, the way your fingers slightly shake, “Why.. Why do you still love me?” His knees give out and he falls to the floor, you’re quick to move towards him in case he falls completely, so you opt to sit just a couple steps away. 

“How can I not love you? Even if you hadn’t come back I would have still loved you. You are my lifeline Jason.” You’ve never been a liar, not once had he ever doubted you, even now, as different as he looks you still followed his every word. Not once did you care to think he would have poisoned your food or this safehouse itself could have been a trap; Yet you followed him anyway. Why?

“You can’t possibly look at me and still love it.” Jason can barely stand to look at his own reflection, it’s starting to frustrate him that you supposedly see past the scars and accept him. It can’t be that easy, it shouldn’t be.

He doesn’t realize he said the last thing out loud, “Loving you is the easiest thing in the world, Jaybee.” A scoff falls from his lips at the nickname, and if you didn’t know him any better you would’ve missed the teeny tiny smile that appeared on his lips. 

“Whatever is running through that head of yours, I’m going to need you to tell me, okay? Maybe not now, or tomorrow or even the day after that but I’m always going to be here for you in any way that I can. I have all the time in the world with you around, I promised you then and I promise you now, I will always be right by your side.” 

The ache in his chest is back, he feels his heart beating so fast, without thinking much he reaches towards you and holds you to his chest like the night he first saw you again. Only this time he cradled your body so close to his own, you were sideways which meant you got to hear the pounding of his heart. His hands weaved through your hair and if you felt his tears drip onto your hair you ignored it. 

You can learn to love him just as you did before. 

© ihrthoney. reblogs & feedback are greatly appreciated𑁤

taglist for those who commented :) @fanficwritersworld @jasonsbaby @princessesgarden @anime-potato-san @ravensandmysterae

[darnell-la]

Love your work! it’s so good, i was wondering if i could request another darkpervy!Logan and reader, She’s sleeping and he sneaks into her room and does whatever, you can decide if she wakes up or not and what they do, thank you!

note: we’ve been gone for a little, but we could never not come back with a dirty, dark, and pervy Logan Howlett post.

———

Logan wasn’t the type to think about secrets the group exposes on themselves on their drunk Friday nights, but what y/n had said earlier had been in his head for the last hour.

“Is it normal to, like, pass out after you finish? I’m not joking- Shop laughing!”

Everyone took what she said as a normal dirty secret, but Logan? God, he got hard within seconds of hearing her secret.

Now the man is outside of her room, listing through the thick door for her moans. He could tell she was close.

“F-Fuck,” y/n whined as her legs began to shake. Logan did his best to keep himself back from cumming right then. Her voice was enough to make a mess in his pants.

After Logan heard a few whines that sounded low and dead, he knocked on her door. He prayed she wouldn’t answer, and thank god she didn’t.

Logan quickly entered her room, closing and locking the door before anyone saw him in the hallway.

The man slowly turned around and met y/n’s sleeping body. She really wasn’t lying.

Logan was excited, heart pounding as his cock twitched. He knew tonight would be the best night he’s ever had.

“Can smell that pussy from over here…” Logan spoke low as he came up to her bed. He thought about taking his time, maybe eating her out or jerking off over her face, but he decided he needed to be in her.

Logan quickly undressed himself before hovering over her, getting in between her loose legs to spread them apart. “So perfect,” was all he could say.

Y/n isn’t too much of a heavy sleeper after she goes out after an orgasm, but for some reason, she hasn’t woken up yet. That orgasm had been one of the top bests.

“Gonna get this done quick and easy, okay, princes?” Logan spoke as he began pushing at her entrance, instantly feeling her tighten around his shaft. Logan groaned loudly as y/n whined, slowly waking up.

Y/n spoke, but Logan couldn’t understand her. She hadn’t even known what she said. She was out of it, and that only made her look better to the man.

“Keep it down, baby,” Logan said as y/n’s head slowly began to move, but she wasn’t fully awakened. She knew something was going on, but she felt pressure in her lower stomach and head. She felt a good kind of dizzy.

“So fuckin’ wet, Bub. You weren’t gonna tell me this? I thought we were close friends?” Logan said as his hands grabbed her lower body, pulling her into his now hard and deep thrust.

Y/n’s eyes squeezed before she tried opening them. She had failed a few times until they finally opened. That meant nothing though, as they were rolling to the back of her head from the sudden pleasure.

“Feels good, sweetheart? Tell me. Tell me you feel good, y/n”, Logan growled as he looked down at her smaller girl, watching her struggle to stay awake and take him.

“Lo?” Y/n asked, which came out as a whine. “Ah huh, I’m right here, baby. It’s me,” the man assured as her hands touched anywhere to grasp what was happening to her.

“L-Lo,” y/n whined, feeling his cock slip into her with ease as she grew more wet. Now she knew she was being fucked, but her brain still couldn’t comprehend the situation.

“Don’t worry — I’m close,” Logan spoke, confusing y/n as she slowly lifted her head. The young lady focused on what was thrust in and out of her cunt, and when she realized it, she couldn’t help but moan.

“Logan,” y/n whined, eyes still on the way his cock pushed into her. “You like it?” Logan asked again as one hand rested on the back of her head, keeping her up to see the view as the other strongly gripped her waist.

“I-I don’t know,” y/n said, but lord knew she loved this. “C’mon, Bub — Tell me you like it. You take me too good not to like it,” Logan said, feeling himself near. “I-I like it,” Y/n’s low voice echoed through his brain.

“Fuck yeah — You fuckin’ like it, baby? Like me having my way with your half-unconscious body?” Logan couldn’t stop thinking about how much he loved her being this way. He never knew this was a kink until earlier today.

“I-I do,” y/n replied right before a pool of cum gushed out of her. “Oh yeah, baby — That’s what I like to see,” Logan picked his pace up, feeling his cock goat h uncontrollably.

“Once I fill you up, I won’t be able to stop,”

[caitified]

cait getting slightly injured (maybe a sprain or something) and physio reader being worried and protective 😍

injured

caitlin clark x reader

warnings:slight injury, part 2 of physio!

it’s a tight game against the aces, the kind where every possession feels like life or death. you’re standing near the sideline, heart racing as caitlin drives to the hoop. she gets fouled hard, tumbling to the floor with a loud thud.

your stomach drops. she gets up—of course she does, it’s caitlin—but she’s favoring her left leg, wincing just enough to make your chest tighten.

you don’t wait for anyone to call you over. by the time the refs signal for a time-out, you’re already halfway to her.

“cait, you okay?” you ask, keeping your voice steady even though your pulse is pounding.

“i’m fine,” she says, brushing it off, though her grimace says otherwise.

you cross your arms, giving her that look. “caitlin.”

she rolls her eyes, but you catch the slight wobble in her stance. “it’s just a bruise. i’m not coming off.”

“you’re limping,” you counter, stepping closer, lowering your voice so only she can hear. “please, just let me check you out. you know i’ll make it quick.”

she hesitates, glancing at the scoreboard. the game’s close, but you can see the conflict in her eyes—the way she doesn’t want to scare you, doesn’t want to let the team down.

“two minutes,” she finally mutters, and you nod, relieved.

you follow her to the therapy room, her hand brushing yours briefly as you walk. the moment you’re inside, away from the noise of the arena, you guide her onto the table.

“you’re too stubborn for your own good, you know that?” you say softly, crouching to inspect her leg.

“and you’re too worried,” she teases, but her voice is softer now, too, the bravado from the court fading.

“yeah, well, you don’t make it easy,” you shoot back, running your fingers gently over her knee. she winces slightly, and you look up, catching her gaze. “see? you need to sit out the rest of the game.”

“you’re overreacting,” she argues, but there’s no heat behind it.

“cait,” you say quietly, standing so your faces are level. “i care more about you than this game. please don’t make me fight you on this.”

her expression softens, and she sighs, resting her hand on your hip. “you know you’re too good at this guilt-tripping thing, right?”

“just using my powers for good,” you reply, your lips twitching into a small smile.

she leans forward, resting her forehead against yours for a moment. “i hate sitting out,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing against your side.

“i know,” you whisper, tilting your head to kiss her temple. “but i’d rather have you healthy tomorrow than risking it today.”

she pulls back just enough to kiss you softly, her lips lingering against yours. “fine,” she says when she pulls away. “but only because you asked.”

“because i asked?” you echo, raising an eyebrow.

“and because i love you,” she adds with a small smirk, making your heart skip.

you laugh, shaking your head as you grab an ice pack. “yeah, yeah. you’re lucky i love you back.”

“so lucky,” she murmurs, her gaze warm as she watches you fuss over her.

short one.. sorry for the lack of fics lately! finals are almost over and i have quite a few fics that just need to be edited. requests are open.

[madlyney]

The Art of Falling

Eijiro Kirishima x fem!reader Tw: reader wears a skirt,  Wc:354

Eijiro Kirishima couldn’t understand his feelings for you. Every time you talked or smiled at him, he felt his chest tighten and his heart skip a beat, but he hadn’t really considered the significance of it.

His friends were tired of his obliviousness. He didn’t need to mention his unknown feelings for anyone to realize that he had a major crush on you. It was evident in his actions.

Kirishima would often watch you from a distance. He would unconsciously smile at the little things you did—like tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, smoothing out the wrinkles in your skirt, tying your hair up—everything.

So, when he was watching some rom-com movies with you in his bedroom, he felt a weight on his shoulder halfway through the film. Turning to see you had fallen asleep on him, he admired how your chest rose and fell slowly, how your mouth parted slightly, how your hair draped perfectly over your shoulder, and how peaceful you looked while sleeping. Kirishima felt that familiar warmth in his chest again, and his face grew warm all of a sudden. He tried to focus on the movie but found himself glancing over at you from time to time.

A line from the movie caught his attention: “I feel weird every time I look at her. Her smile—it’s so contagious. Her laugh sounds beautiful, and she makes me feel all weird inside. I’ve never felt this way before.” The male lead continued, 

“That, my friend—” his best friend smirked, patting him on the back, “—is love. You’re in love with—” and that was when Kirishima zoned out.

Love… Is that what this was?

Kirishima sighed. He was in Bakugo’s room, receiving tutoring for the upcoming exams.

Hearing Kirishima’s constant sighs and groans, Bakugo clicked his tongue. “The hell’s wrong with you? The questions aren’t that hard.”

Kirishima laid his head on the table. “I don’t know, man. I think—I think I’m in love with YN,” he admitted.

“Congrats on being the last one to find out,” Bakugo rolled his eyes as he scribbled something in his notebook.

“Wait, what��”

note: this is so cute actually

[knavesflames]

heyyy el

requesting politely reader ... tending to ... arlecchino with her mouth and going from starting timid to taking a bit more control to arles surprise

lots of care and love just like in the one you just posted :3

mhm ty

Hi anon<33 I hope you are doing well and having a nice night (it’s night for me). I liked this idea >:) sorry lol it took me a while to come up with a concept but I hope this suffices 😁😁😁 (hi guys the dirty words are slowly making a reappearance)

Word count: 2.2k

Contents: soft dom!reader (kind of yes), bottom Arlecchino, cunnilingus (funny word), fingering at the end, orgasm denial (ONCE GUYS OKAY ONCE), also praise (guys I’m cooked)

Songs I listened to (for fun): fantastic- king princess (is this one obvious or not), disease- lady gaga, shhh!- viviz, pivot- HEYOON, boyfriend- dove Cameron, impurities- le sserafim

There’s more but I forgot

Nsft utc<3

Arlecchino is not a receiver. She gives and takes nothing, it’s how she’s always liked it, whatever the reason may be. She has not explained, and you doubt she will. Arlecchino is very secretive, you’ve come to learn. She divulges what she must, and keeps the rest hidden. Even you, who seems to know more about her than anyone ever has, is kept in the dark about a lot of things– what exactly triggers her nightmares? What truly happened with that ‘Mother’ of hers? There are rumours, of course. Arlecchino is mad and cursed, she killed her Mother ruthlessly without reason, she killed her best friend for nothing other than a simple quarrel. You know them to be false, now you know her better, but what you can’t seem to understand is why she lets the lies fester, why allows herself to be portrayed as a cruel monster. She can’t seem to answer you.

Arlecchino also refuses to tell you why she pushes herself so hard, or why she has such strict rules for herself. You beg her to take that damn suit off constantly (for.. Multiple reasons, both you and her know that well enough– she only obliges when it ends in you as a quivering mess on the bed). “What happened to regular clothing? I know you dislike dresses, but you don’t have to force your body into that silly suit all the time.” is a phrase often uttered. Silence is the only answer given.

Silence seems to be an answer you get from her often. In different contexts, of course. Sometimes, she is silent when she is comfortable, when she is thinking, when she is angry.. You realised long ago that she is a woman of few words– and even fewer sounds. During the rare occasions you get to make her feel good (whether that’s simultaneous to your own pleasure, or before), the only sounds you really hear are the soft breaths and the slight grunts whenever you do something she particularly likes. You have made it your mission to coax more sounds out of her, even if it’s the last thing you do. You experiment with different things each time you get to make her feel good, anything remotely sexual she’s done to you, you try with her. Degradation doesn’t work, her only response is a cock of her eyebrow and a scoff. Praise is a little bit better, earning a soft kiss on whatever part of your skin she can reach. Tying her up is out of the question– she has made it abundantly clear multiple times she only enjoys the act of bondage, however small, when you are on the receiving end. It’s the case for a lot of things, and it almost irritates you. Almost. it turns out the answer is something much simpler than anything you’ve ever tried, and you mentally curse yourself for taking so long to figure it out (for Arlecchino, that was the point. She likes the game, even if she truly is trying to keep her weakness hidden).

The answer was something she had done to you almost every time you had engaged in some form of intimate act with her. There aren’t many acts more intimate than your partner giving up the ability to speak because their tongue seems to be.. Busy. You just hadn’t realised that Arlecchino would ever be on the receiving end. So, after much pleading (and begging to the point it almost seems you’re begging her to fuck you instead of the other way around), she seemed to relent. Barely.

“Let me try,” comes the soft whisper from your lips, hitting the side of her neck as you gently place kisses there. There’s no reaction, but you could swear you felt a shiver. Moving away from the milky, unmarred skin of her neck (one of the only places that isn’t marked with either her curse or an array of scars), you almost expertly push the blazer off her shoulders before slowly sinking to your knees. The carpet is fuzzy, but it doesn’t do much to soften the hard wood underneath. You can’t find yourself caring. The blazer lands on the back of the desk chair. Excited, desperate fingers tug at the buttons of those godforsaken trousers until they finally do what you want them to do. You’ve done what you can, you can’t push her hips up so you can continue to take them off, she’s stronger than you’ll ever be (you like that). “Don’t you think it would feel nice? You know it feels nice. Do you not think you deserve it?”

“I do not deserve the pleasure you give me,” she murmurs, a rare show of her inner thoughts. The woman criticises herself too much, you think. You wish she wouldn’t be so strict with herself.

“Irrelevant,” She shivers at the slight sternness of your voice. It mirrors her own. “Do you want it?”

Arlecchino doesn’t respond for a while. Her hand moves to your head, and she caresses your hair, gently stroking and tugging at the strands before she eventually speaks, a whisper, a subconscious attempt to hide the fact she’s about to chase something she never allows herself to. “Put a pillow under your knees, at least.”

You grin, so pleased with yourself. You stand again, only to sprint and find a pillow. It happens to be the pillow you sleep on, it doesn’t matter. You return to your position only to find her trousers messily on the ground, and the top four buttons of her dress shirt undone. The look in her eyes is one you’ve rarely seen– want. “Beg.” you whisper, the grin still on your face. Arlecchino’s own face twists into a frown.

“I will die before I beg for anything.” Her tone is resolute, and you sit there nonetheless, unmoving apart from the finger tracing up and down her toned thigh. You both stay like that for an agonising two minutes before she barely mumbles. “Please.”

You are incredibly aware that you won’t get more than that, so, even though you know it doesn’t do much, you mutter “good girl”. It does do something, though. You barely hear it, but her breath shakes. You take it as an initiative to start, so you let your lips find her thigh, planting wet, open mouthed kisses up towards her inner thigh. You continue, and– she’s soaked already. You’ve done exactly nothing and she’s as wetter than you’ve ever seen her. Your eyes move up to hers, a raise of your eyebrow as you open your mouth to speak, but she cuts you off before you can speak.

“Do not. I am aware of the.. situation.”

“But you’re all wet and it’s all for my tongue. Isn’t that sweet?” You’ve never been this cocky at all, and Arlecchino would be a liar if she said she didn’t like it. She tries to find words, something to refute the claim, but her words are ripped from her lips when she feels your own lips graze her clit. It’s a tiny movement, really, but one she isn’t entirely used to. The only reaction she makes, however, is a slightly sharper exhale. Until your eyes stare straight into hers and you do it again, though for longer. Then again, though this time your tongue presses flat against it. Your tongue doesn’t move, much to Arlecchino’s dismay. The hand that rested in your hair gently tugs.

“Continue.” She speaks breathily, and her words shake. You can practically hear her gulp as she tries (and fails) to calm herself, and you know she’s probably telling herself to show no emotion. Though, when you finally start moving your tongue in slow, languid motions, you hear her shaky sigh and feel her hand in your hair tighten even more. You try to find a rhythm that affects her the most, alternating between soft licks and harder presses— you find that swirling your tongue around her clit, occasionally moving down to dip your tongue into her aching cunt. Your eyes dart up to her every few seconds to catch her mouth falling open and her head tilting back. When her mouth isn’t open, she’s stifling any noise she could possibly make, gritting her teeth so hard you’re almost certain they’re going to crack. The next time you tear your eyes away from her skin and move them to her face, her eyes are squeezed shut, and only then does a quiet groan escape her.

Something seems to change in your mind, because your hands move to grip her thighs, holding them apart despite them trembling. She’s sensitive, after all, it isn’t often she gets taken care of, is it? The blackened hand not pulling greedily at the strands on your head moves in an attempt to push your hands away, but your voice vibrates against her (which of course, causes another quiet sound to slip from her). “Keep your hands on the chair.”

Arlecchino’s eyes shoot open, a gasp practically ripping through her lungs. “You cannot expect me t—“

“Do it or I stop. Let me finish making you feel good.” She scolds herself internally for letting you get too comfortable with her own tricks. Either way, it feels good and she doesn’t want you to stop, though she’d rather cut off her own arm than admit it. She doesn’t need to say a word, though, the small groans (and whimpers) tell you everything. Especially when they grow louder, and her chest begins heaving, and her voice breaks with every utterance of your name. It’s the most pleasure she’s ever outwardly expressed.

“Why did you stop?” Her exasperated, breathless voice echoes the room. You stopped just as her orgasm was reaching the peak, causing it to ebb away quickly, a sense of disappointment growing in Arlecchino’s stomach. Her eyes, now piercing into you with that familiar irritated stare, meet yours, your own full of amusement. Wiping your chin (when you’re eating pussy like it’s the last meal you’ll ever eat, it tends to get messy, doesn’t it?), you chuckle and respond in your own teasing lilt.

“You taste so good, and your pussy is so damn pretty, Arlecchino. I don’t particularly want to stop right now. You can take it, can’t you? Keep your hands still.” Her face twists into some odd mix of mortified and aroused, but your tongue meets her clit again, and the only sound she can make is something so uncharacteristic, a whine. You continue exactly what you were doing before, though this time you decide to slide a finger into her— the reaction she gave was definitely a pleasant one, her back arching off of the chair, her hands squeezing the seat of it in an attempt to keep them still. Arlecchino reaches the peak quicker this time, and despite your bossy orders, she finds herself melting into you completely, her hips grinding herself onto your tongue as much as she possibly can. It’s completely different to how she was at the beginning, her plan to remain unbothered and stoic foiled.

“Can I— please don’t stop this time.” When there comes no response from you other than a curl of your finger, she moans your name in a useless attempt to get you to answer her. You’re being mean, she thinks, and you’re using everything she does against her. “Answer me. Tell me I can cum.”

How is she still demanding things from you even in this position? She lost all control a long time ago. You find your eyes opening though, and while adding a second finger, your voice softens and you speak, voice full of affection. “Be good and cum for me, then. Now, before I change my mind. Let yourself feel good, yeah?”

Arlecchino doesn’t need to be told twice, because her hips lose whatever rhythm they had when your tongue presses flat against her, letting her choose the pace and the rhythm she knows will get her there quickest (it doesn’t take long, the woman is so sexually pent up it’s laughable). Within a minute, she’s crying out, her hands flying up to her face to cover the obscene expression she knows is there. You pay no attention, only watching every movement with a sense of satisfaction and a smile in your eyes. You keep your finger curling and your tongue still until her body stops rocking, and her hands leave her face. When her face, the one you find so beautiful, emerges from behind her hands, mascara slightly smudged, you can’t help but snicker as you pull out and away from her.

“Better?” You ask, wiping your chin once more with the back of your hand. You somehow look so smug and the look on your face pisses Arlecchino off, just a little. How you’re so calm and collected and she’s a fucked out mess sat in her desk chair.

“Yes,” she says, her voice sharper than she intends it to be really, but she continues in the same tone. “I do hope you don’t think we’re finished, hm?” Your head tilts in slight confusion, but the smile remains on your face. After a while, Arlecchino’s own lips twitch upwards, barely noticeable, but you notice nonetheless. “How could I leave you without feeling good, too? Go to the bedroom, please.”

[help-itrappedmyself]

Pairing Thing

You guys remember that poll I put up a while ago, to help me pick a pairing to try practice writing romance/flirting. Well, this is that. It did not go where I had planned it too, and I'm not sure if it counts, but take it anyway.

Tim has reached his last nerve with their new hire. Tim surges toward Danny, intent on getting some answers out of him. Danny stumbles back at his approach, but Tim just reaches out, one hand grabbing ahold of Danny’s tie and the other pushing flat against Danny’s chest. In another quick second, Danny finds himself pressed against the wall of the classroom. 

Then, Tim loops the tie fully around his hand, tugging Danny’s face towards him. Danny’s breath hitches and his eyes go out of focus for a moment, lost in the sensation.

This makes Tim falter. The moment causes Tim’s mind to blank, forgetting to speak, and pausing as only one thought crashes circles. The thought circles around a few times before it starts to slip out of Tim’s mouth.

“You…” The word comes out angry, but Tim can’t quite make himself keep going the way he had planned a few moments ago. Tim looks Danny up and down, and Danny can do nothing but flush at the scrutiny, and the inevitable realization Tim comes to. Danny braces himself for the vitriol, but when Tim speaks next it is nothing but a murmur. 

“You like this.” A murmur in a voice that has turned into honey and Danny can do nothing, eyes slipping shut involuntarily.

“Do you not care that it's me that's eliciting this reaction? I thought you didn’t like me.” Tim wonders aloud, and Danny can hear a tone in the voice that threatens to elicit shivers. A tone of sharp curiosity that concerns Danny more than anything. Danny’s eyes flutter back open, locking with Tim’s.

“I don’t like rich people.” Danny mutters. “It’s nothing personal.”

Tim, very slowly, lets the tie slip from his fingers. Danny is tempted to sigh in relief but before the sigh can become reality, Danny feels those fingers slide to his throat. The second they reach the skin there Danny’s breath hitches on a gasp.

A dark smirk graces Tim's face and the grip on Danny’s throat tightens for just a moment, just long enough for Danny’s eyes to flutter. Danny practically whimpers, chin tilting up subconsciously, exposing more throat to Tim.

As the grip loosens again, Tim leans forward to whisper into Danny’s ear. “Tell me, Danny. Would you respond to anyone this way… or is there something about me that encourages this reaction?”

At that, Tim’s arms fall to his sides as he takes a step away. Danny blinks after him, dazed and confused.

After a few moments of nothing but them watching each other, Tim straightens and squares his shoulders. “Are you going to answer the question?”

“Tim.” Danny chokes out, a lump in his throat that was oddly hard to work around, and no true idea what he was going to say next. He took a deep, shuddering breath as he stood straight, no longer leaning on the wall. Trying to buy time, he tried to fix his shirt and tie as best as he could, but after a moment of fumbling with it he gave up. 

Tim was still standing there watching him, face a mask of indifference. 

Danny had the thought that he didn't need to answer Tim. He also didn't need to be here anymore, and so he turned to leave. 

But when he got to the door it wouldn't open. He glanced back at Tim, who didn't seem to have moved, before trying everything he could think of to get the door to unlock. 

After a few moments, Danny sighed deeply, resting his forehead against the door for a count of three before turning back around to face Tim again. 

“What have you done?” He asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I locked the door.” Tim responded coolly. “I have full control of this building, you know?”

Tim walked back to his desk and sat down behind it. “ Now, I had some questions for you regarding your purpose in Gotham, why you chose to work with us at Wayne Enterprises, that kind of thing. But I find myself increasingly interested in your answer to my previous question.”

Danny swallows roughly. “Look, you're just going to have me on about it either way, why does it matter?” 

“It matters. Answer the question.” His eyes are hard and unwavering. Danny knows that he won't get out of here until Tim gets what he wants.

“It's because it's you, okay.” Danny spits the words out, hoping if they sound harsh enough, the content would be ignored in favor of the tone. “And I think this may count as some form of sexual harassment.” 

His hopes plummet as Tim starts to smirk.

“Well we could continue this meeting as normal if you would prefer.” Tim opens the folder he had placed on his desk after Danny walked in. “I will never bring it up again if you’d like.”

Danny sighs, then goes over to sit back down in the chair in front of Tim’s desk.

“Can we just continue the meeting?”

“Of course, Danny.” Tim winks.

[daisymbin]

Prompt request thingy 💜

Wonwoo with 2nd chance prompt #45. "i wanted to call, but i didn’t think you’d pick up."

I love these 💜

thank you lovely 🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // wonwoo's m.list

second chance prompt #45: "I wanted to call, but I didn't think you'd pick up."

wonwoo stared at the ceiling, the stark white tiles above him offering no escape from the ache that wasn’t just in his body. the hospital room was quiet, save for the occasional beep of a machine and mingyu scrolling on his phone in the corner.

the accident replayed in his mind in flashes—skidding tires, the crunch of metal, the rush of adrenaline as everything came to a sudden stop. he’d been lucky. that’s what everyone kept saying.

but all he could think about was you.

“you don’t have to stay,” wonwoo muttered, his voice low and strained.

mingyu didn’t even glance up. “yeah, i know. but someone needs to make sure you don’t pull your usual stunt and leave before the doctor says you can.”

wonwoo didn’t respond, only huffed softly as he shifted on the stiff bed.

mingyu’s phone buzzed, and he let out a small hum as he glanced at the screen.

“what?” wonwoo asked, eyeing him warily.

mingyu pocketed his phone with a smirk. “she’s here.”

wonwoo froze. “who’s here?”

“who do you think?” mingyu’s smirk didn’t fade.

wonwoo sat up straighter, ignoring the sharp protest from his shoulder. “mingyu, tell me you didn’t.”

“i did,” mingyu said plainly, leaning back in his chair.

“why?” wonwoo groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“because you wouldn’t,” mingyu said, his tone firm. “and don’t give me that ‘i didn’t want to bother her’ excuse. it’s not bothering her. she’d want to know. if something like this happened to her, you’d want to know too, wouldn’t you?”

wonwoo opened his mouth to argue, but mingyu was already standing and heading for the door.

“good luck,” mingyu tossed over his shoulder before disappearing.

wonwoo didn’t have time to process his frustration before the door creaked open, and there you were.

your eyes met his, and his heart stumbled in his chest.

“wonwoo,” you said softly, stepping into the room, your voice trembling just enough for him to notice.

he blinked, unable to find his voice as you rushed over to his side.

“what happened?” you asked, your words spilling out in a rush as your eyes darted over his injuries. “are you okay? does it hurt anywhere? why didn’t anyone call me sooner?”

“i—”

“wonwoo,” you interrupted, your voice cracking as you reached for him. your hands hovered just above his bandaged arm, afraid to touch but desperate to comfort. “you’re hurt, and you didn’t tell me. why didn’t you call?”

your eyes glistened with tears that you were clearly trying to blink away, but one slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

“don’t cry,” he said softly, his voice breaking.

“don’t tell me not to cry,” you shot back, wiping at your face hastily. “you… why didnt you call me?” your voice faltered, and you shook your head, your hands brushing lightly over the edge of his sling as your chest hammered.

wonwoo swallowed hard, his chest tightening at the sight of you—at the way you cared, even though he’d convinced himself you wouldn’t.

“i-i wanted to.. i wanted to call but, i didnt think you'd pick up” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

you froze, your gaze snapping to his. “what?”

“i thought you wouldn’t want to hear from me,” he said, his throat tight. “after everything, i didn’t think you’d care even if you knew.”

“you’re an idiot,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain.

he flinched, but you didn’t let up.

“of course i care, wonwoo,” you said, tears slipping freely now. “how could you think i wouldn’t? you could’ve…” you trailed off, shaking your head again as your hands finally settled on his uninjured arm, gripping him gently but firmly. “don’t ever do that again. promise me.”

“i promise,” he said immediately, his voice thick.

you nodded, sniffing softly as you blinked back more tears. “good. because if you scared me like that again and didn’t tell me, i don’t know what i’d do.”

his heart twisted painfully, guilt and relief warring inside him. he wanted to say something—anything—to make it better, but no words felt like enough.

“i missed you,” he said finally, the confession slipping out before he could stop it.

you looked at him, your eyes still watery but softer now. “i missed you too.”

he swallowed hard, his gaze searching yours. “i didn’t think you’d come.”

“of course i’d come,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. "i still…" you hesitated, then shook your head. “you’re still you, wonwoo.”

his breath hitched when he realised what you meant, knew what you were burying even if you don't say it, and for the first time in a long while, he felt something like hope bloom in his chest.

you reached for his hand, your fingers brushing his before curling around them. he held on tightly, his grip firm but careful, like he was afraid to let go.

“thank you,” he whispered, his voice raw.

“for what?” you asked softly.

“for loving me still,” he said, his eyes meeting yours.

you gave him a small, shaky smile. “i’ll always love you.”

and just like that, the wall he’d built around his heart began to crumble, piece by fragile piece.

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐝𝐞 !

— pairing; malleus draconia x ramshackle! reader.

— summary; you serenade malleus (terribly), but he loves it anyway.

— notes; thank you for all the support. please donate to my kofi if you like my work. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ After much deliberation (and some poorly thought-out advice from your friends), you decide to confess your feelings to Malleus in the most dramatic way possible: a midnight serenade.

❋ It doesn’t take much to get your friends to help; bribing them with snacks just about does the trick.

❋ The four of you scramble to find instruments for the performance.

❋ Deuce somehow procures an out-of-tune guitar from a random storage closet. Grim’s your backup vocalist (if his caterwauling can even be called singing). Ace . . . Well, Ace is there mostly to heckle but begrudgingly contributes by holding a flashlight for “dramatic lighting”.

❋ When the clock strikes twelve, the four of you creep over to Diasomnia, ducking behind bushes like a group of suspicious criminals.

❋ You don’t exactly have the voice of an angel, and that’s putting it mildly. But it’s also not as though your friends are blessed with musical talent either. Grim yowls enthusiastically in the background and Deuce strums something that vaguely resembles a chord. Ace is laughing so hard he can barely hold the flashlight steady.

❋ The noise is impossible to ignore. It echoes across the entire campus, waking everyone nearby.

❋ Malleus hears the commotion and comes out onto his balcony, curious and amused. He assumes that it’s a human courting ritual, and he’s immediately charmed. The passion in your voice and the sheer boldness of your gesture touches him deeply. He’s never experienced anything like this before — who would dare to wake the Prince of Briar Valley with such an act? Only you.

❋ His emerald eyes glow softly as he watches the spectacle, a gentle smile spreading across his face. He doesn’t seem to notice how awful the performance is — not when it’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for him.

❋ Meanwhile, Lilia’s laughing so hard that he’s doubled over and clutching his sides. He was woken up by the racket, peered out the window, and immediately started recording the whole performance with his phone.

❋ Silver and Sebek are not as enthused.

❋ Silver looks upon the chaotic scene for about all of five seconds before deciding that it’s not his problem, and shuffles back to his bed to get more shut-eye without a second thought.

❋ Sebek is appalled. He’d thought there was an attack at first, and had dashed out, clad in only his pajamas and brandishing his sword, only to be greeted by this spectacle. Once he’s certain that there’s no danger, just romantic intentions towards Malleus, he just about loses his mind. “YOUNG MASTER, HOW CAN YOU ENTERTAIN THIS NONSENSE?!” he yells, only for his protests to be completely ignored.

❋ When the song (mercifully) ends, you look up at Malleus, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and adrenaline. Malleus floats down gracefully to meet you, that gentle smile still affixed upon his face.

❋ “Child of Man, you have gone to great lengths to express your affections. I am honored.” Malleus gently takes hand, a gesture that makes your heart skip a beat. “And I accept your feelings.”

❋ Malleus whisks you away for a midnight stroll to continue the conversation. Ace, Deuce, and Grim, who were not invited, are left behind to clean up the mess, grumbling about how the serenade somehow worked despite being a disaster.

[piscespetals]

summary: in which sevika becomes your boss at The Last Drop

content: this fic is another multi-chapter work! i hope you enjoy.

content warning for this fic: depiction of sa (this chapter only), blood, slight gore/fight scenes, cursing, sexually explicit content. pretty heavy topics to be honest, it makes a lot of commentary on how it's like to live in Zaun. since this chapter has an sa scene (very lightly detailed scene but still hints to it), if you would like to skip that part, there will be three asterisks (***) that indicate when the scene begins and when it stops so that you can do what's safer for you. sa will not be talked about alot in depth for the rest of the chapters, and i will give a content warning to chapters that hint or reference it.

word count: 3k

thanks for reading!

Part One

When you are first hired at the Last Drop, it only takes 4 hours for Sevika’s name to circulate the building and make its way towards you. 

The first time you spot her, she is brushing through a crowd of drunkards, seemingly not wanting to be approached with an expression as hard as stone. The tall woman, attractive and large as she may be, is intimidating. Her figure, although only in your line of vision for a few seconds, is something made of pure muscle and height. You know that she could easily tower over you if she wanted. 

Despite her quick and fast entrance, it only takes your first day to realize that Sevika isn’t someone that you fuck around with. And based on the way that your coworkers and supervisors tense at the mere mention of her name, it’s obvious that she’s someone important here.

Throughout your first month at the Last Drop, any other appearances of Sevika is no different. Her steel cold stare could freeze anyone to death. You’ve seen her drag people upstairs only for them to never come back down (who knows what she or Silco did with the body?). You’ve seen the way she dominates the deadliest men–how she doesn't let them silence her. 

How she challenges them…

You've also seen the way that your coworkers have gotten their heart broken, hoping to be the one-night-stand turned lover that changes Sevika’s promiscuous ways. And every time, your coworkers end up heartbroken. Gender doesn’t really seem to matter with Sevika. She’s ruthless with everyone. She’s mean.

And, God, you really hate how much you like mean women.

At first, you thought it was amusing to be pining after her. It isn’t surprising, since you've had your fair share of passionate romances (and heartbreaks) with people similar to Sevika. Like a moth drawn to a flame, you can’t seem to stay away from them.

But now it’s been over a month and you can't help but wonder when the crush will dissipate. At this point, it's entirely inconvenient.

You've managed to keep yourself out of the limelight for the majority of your time at the Drop. You’ve found your rhythm by staying in the kitchen, away from the wandering eyes of questionable strangers. Away from Sevika.

But that only lasts for so long.

Amy, your boss, manages to shatter your Switzerland bubble on a Thursday evening at noon. It’s exactly the last thing you want to hear: “I need you to swap schedules with Janessa,” Amy barks.

It isn’t a suggestion or question. It’s a demand. 

Your mouth opens to object, already feeling that familiar pang of agitation within you. But Amy doesn’t hang around long enough to hear. 

“Thanks!” She calls over her shoulder, briskly walking behind the counter and towards the kitchen.

Your teeth grind and your jaw clenches. With balling fists, you stand there for a few more minutes. Trying to simmer down. Trying not to get fired.

You cook. You make new recipes. You may even help the dishwashers every once in a while (especially on nights that are packed). 

But you don’t buss and you don’t wait. That’s Janessa’s ballpark. She’s known as one of the best waiters in town. Her reputation followed her as she hopped in between different restaurants before landing at The Last Drop for good. She’s usually quick, efficient, polite but not too polite (no one ever could be considering the kind of people that this job attracts). 

The idea of Janessa swapping places with you in order to cook an overwhelming amount of food under the pressure of constant verbal abuse? That doesn’t sound right. 

Well, it doesn’t sound like something she would willingly do.

“I tried to help you out,” Max, your coworker, whispers. He clicks his tongue while washing down the countertop of the bar. You forgot that you were holding a conversation with him before Amy interrupted. “I overheard her talking to Nessa about it and offered the swap.” Max blinks through his thick lashes, which are covered with clumps of purple mascara, before he makes eye contact with you. “The bitch told me I wasn't qualified. Can you believe it?”

You snort underneath your breath, nearly choking at the idea of such a conversation happening.

Max—a petite curly-haired himbo with stunning hazel eyes and nails long enough to claw your heart out—most certainly isn't a popular bartender due to his skills. He has charisma, a charming personality and a smile that can make anyone stop in their tracks. He’s willing to listen to anyone that needs a shoulder to cry on (which is almost always every regular that comes here),  and he doesn’t mind sucking up to Amy as long as it means that he has full control of the bar. He’s been employed here long before Amy’s time, which you truly believe is his saving grace.

He knows the history, the neighborhood— the business very well.

But mixing drinks? Not his strong suit.

Seeing him out on the level ground with numerous tables to handle would be comical. A train wreck for sure, but definitely comical.

“Did she say why Nessa was swapping?” Self consciously, you peer at the rest of the pub over your shoulder. Everyone is seemingly out of earshot but it doesn’t hurt to be sure.

Max’s shoulders tense. He stops his scrubbing, right hand still holding onto his soaked disinfecting cloth as he sends you a sidelong glance. “Not my place to tell.”

The hairs stand up on your arms as you register his reply.

The sound of the entrance door opening is what shatters your reverie. Just like that, Max’s shoulders relax. A smile spreads across his face, this time not quite reaching his eyes, as he looks towards the door. “Welcome to The Last Drop!” He says, voice dipping into that flirtatious cadence you know all too well.

That is all he is going to say on the matter. You know Max doesn’t like gossiping about people’s shit. And your coworkers definitely have a lot of messy situations throughout their employment here. He wants no relation to any of it. 

You pick up on the hint, instead swallowing your curiosity and looking at the incoming customer. It’s one of the workers from the brothel across the street. She’s a leggy brunette with towering stilettos and a resting bitch face as cold as stone. She’s just as unapproachable as the last time you saw her. But there’s a spark in her eye when she regards Max. Based on her last few visits, you’ve grown to learn that she’s taking a liking to him.

“Well, that's my cue. I’ll leave you to…do your thing,” You mumble, fighting off a smirk. Max peers at you with a quizzical expression as you gesture vaguely to the bar around you. “Or whatever nonsense you do up here…”

“Hmph,” He rolls his eyes. “Shouldn't you be back there making shepherd's pie or something?”

“You mean working? Something you're not familiar with, I’m sure.”

“With a face card like this? I’m too fabulous to work.” He winks before gesturing towards his face. “A reality you're not familiar with, I’m sure.”

A laugh erupts out of you as you click your tongue. You’re walking towards the kitchen, ready to clock out for the day and finally rest, when you hear the lady of the night approach the bar. You believe her name to be Scarlett, and her voice is a low and silky murmur while she addresses Max.

When you glance over your shoulder, you can't help but notice the way her cleavage spills over her frilly corset top. Her braids are pulled into a bun on top of her head, eyes alluring as she peers at Max through thick long lashes.

Too caught up in all the glamor that Scarlett is, you walk right into a nearby wall (because that is unfortunately what happens whenever beautiful women are near you). 

Max and Scarlett immediately glance at you. Max, with that all-knowing smirk, and Scarlett's raised eyebrow is enough to make you want to dig yourself a grave.

But you don't. Instead, you clear your throat, apologize and shuffle to the kitchen with haste.

The air is thick with cigarette smoke.

That’s one of the reasons why you hate waiting. 

You don’t mind occasionally working in such an atmosphere. After all, you are one of the few chefs that regularly make an appearance everyday. So you’ve grown accustomed to walking through the boisterous crowds of smokers and drunken belligerents before and after your shifts.

But then, for the rest of the shit, you usually find solace in the kitchen—swallowed by plates and dishes and food and ingredients—which is more your forte.

“Hey pretty lady,” A bald, greasy buff man grumbles. His eyes are set on you yet simultaneously far away. Out of focus. “I’m getting hungry. Why don't you come over here and serve me?” Then he winks with a shit-eating grin that makes you queasy.

“You're not in my section,” You reply dryly with a shrug. “But I'll let Dylan know that you're ready to order.” 

“I don't want Dylan,” His eyes linger on your chest, before trailing down your entire physique. It's almost as if he allows his entire train of thought to become visible for everyone to read. 

Your teeth grind as you quickly scan the room once more. Dylan said that he was stepping out for a 5 minute smoke break 40 minutes ago. 

There's a part of you that doesn't want to give in. You don't mind being the one coworker that won't take on more tables than absolutely necessary. Especially when you were voluntold to switch job roles with someone you barely even know, and without even being told why.

If it wasn't so hard to find a job lately, you're pretty sure Amy’s management within itself would be enough encouragement for you to quit. But you really, really need the money. Despite the toxic work environment and occasional harassment from drunk citizens, this is the closest you've come to financial stability in years. You can’t afford to fuck it up.

A heavy exhale leaves you as you shift your feet. “Have you had a chance to look over the menu?” You ask, eying the man with distaste.

His grin widens. “No. What do you suggest?”

“Well, we offer a lot of stuff really. If you're in the mood for something more fulfilling, we have different stew dumplings. I'm not sure about your allergies though, most of the stews here are made with—”

“Surprise me,” Then he gives you another once over.

There is a part of you, a small part, that's tempted to reach across the table and rip out his eyes. You hate the feeling you experience when men unabashedly undress you with their eyes; especially when it’s from creepy old men. 

Even more so when said men don't know how to respect boundaries.

But you ignore the idea of doing such a thing. Instead, you turn on your heels and walk away.

Or, at least, you try to walk away. 

***

A tight grip wraps around your wrist, pulling so abruptly that you nearly fall over. It happens so fast that you barely register it. A breath, hot and pungent with liquor, travels across the base of your neck before meeting your nose. “You didn't ask me if I wanted anything to drink.” The man adds, voice low and gravelly.

Then more is happening...

And that's what makes you snap. 

Within seconds, you're reaching for your knife, which you had previously placed inside the pocket of your apron. 

A fire courses through your veins as you retract the blade.

“What the fuck!” The man yells, letting go of your wrist. He presses a palm against his right cheek, which now has a wide gash that is gushing with blood.

***

You don't give him time to say anything else. Your elbow comes in contact with his throat, jabbing his windpipe with as much force as possible. He staggers from the impact, landing with his back on top of the table behind him as he gasps for air.

Your knife, now dripping with his blood, digs into his chest. You hold it there, watching him wince when you apply pressure.

“If you ever so much as breathe in my direction again,” You mutter darkly. He’s squirming uncomfortably, a pool of blood soaking through his shirt as your knife continues to pierce his chest.

The pub has grown eerily silent and the heavy weight of countless eyes begins to register.

“I…I-I,” The man underneath splutters in shock. Beads of sweat gather around his forehead as he peers up at you through a cloud of fear. Thirty minutes ago, you’d have been surprised to find him roughed up by someone half his size, especially considering how large his biceps are. 

But then again, The Last Drop seems to be filling up with tons of useless goons nowadays.

“We’ll deal with him.” The voice that breaks your reverie is unrecognizable—feminine and raspy. 

That's when your head snaps up and you realize just how tense the atmosphere has become. Many citizens watch you silently, some mouths ajar while others look ready to egg you on. It's never really a typical Friday night at this place without people trying to drunkenly fight each other.

It's rare, though, that  employees become the main culprit.

Something moves closer to you—a person. “Hey, it's alright. I-”

Still on edge, you're quick to react. You inhale sharply, grip tightening around your knife with reflexes that feel like second nature.

A low growl fills the air, the sound of metal colliding with metal following soon after. Then your blade is being knocked out of your hand, something powerful grabbing both of your arms.

A flash of grey, the smell of cigarillo. Warmth. Undeniable warmth.

“Woah, it's just me." The voice is so close, yet so far away.

"Look-" Then... "Maxwell, I need you to come and help." The voice speaks again. This time even firmer. A woman’s voice. 

When your vision adjusts, you lock gazes with a pair of stormy grey irises. They're merely inches from yours, peering down at you with a gaze that is steady. 

That's when you realize that you can't move because she's practically towering over you. Holding you.

It’s Sevika.

You must have tried to attack her, clearly caught off guard. Surely, you hadn't meant to. For a split second, you lost it and now here she comes, seemingly out of nowhere. It was merely a reflex—a fight or flight response.

“It's me. Sevika," She announces, voice sharp as if she's trying to to speak through a wall. "I'm having them take him upstairs. He’ll be dealt with,” She repeats, almost as if it's a promise. She searches your eyes, grip loosening around your arms, “I’ll make sure of it.” She adds. Despite her expression being made of steel, there's something that flickers in her eyes. It appears only for a millisecond but it's glaring enough to somehow recenter you.

Her shoulders appear to relax when you start to feel present in the room again.

She waits for you to reply. And waits.

And waits.

And waits some more.

Then, “I can handle myself,” Is all that you manage to say. 

She stares at you for longer. You can see the gears in her brain shifting, but you aren't exactly sure of what to anticipate next, or even how to accept the fact that you just tried to attack your boss with a pocket knife.

“I’ve got her,” This time, the source is coming from someone familiar. Max. “It's okay,” He whispers, drawing closer. You feel him before you see him. The tips of his claw-like nails brush against your shoulders as he gingerly grabs a hold of you. 

Only then is when Sevika breaks your gaze, this time turning to Max. “Staff lounge.” The brute woman orders. 

“I’m fine.” You counter. 

The edge in your voice says otherwise.

“...Then I need you to grab Amy,” She continues, completely disregarding you. “I would like to know why we have a chef waiting tables during the busiest rush of the week—”

“I don’t need to go anywhere,” You press, voice raising a few decibels.

Sevika jaw’s clenches, icy eyes flickering towards you. “You nearly decapitated someone. You—”

“...I have four hours left. I will leave when my shift is complete.”

Her nose flares. “Lounge. Now.”

Before you can reply, she’s turning on her heels and walking away.

Unfortunately, Max agrees with Sevika.

It’s apparent in the way he immediately grabs your shoulders after her departure. Every citizen seems to be watching the entire escapade because this is the quietest you’ve ever heard the pub be during a rush hour.

“I’m fine!” You hiss, frustrated by the whole ordeal. You are perfectly capable of defending yourself. You don't need staff members to coddle you. “Seriously.”

Max doesn’t reply, merely huffing underneath his breath as he guides you past the bar and towards a back hallway that leads to another room. 

When the two of you have reached the lounge, he finally says, “You're shaking.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What?”

He leans forward, grabbing both of your hands,“ You're shaking.” He repeats, looking at you dead in the eyes. That's when he lets go and you peer down at your palms.

A frown spreads across your lips at the sight of your trembling fingers.

“You nearly killed the guy,” Max continues. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“It was only self-defense.”

“I'm not saying you were in the wrong,” A flicker of worry meets Max’s eyes. “That asshole deserves everything you did to him, probably more, But,” He winces. His gaze trails off to a distant place behind you. “Chef’s don’t usually do what you just did.”

Before you can reply to Max, the door flings open. In walks the petite redhead that you instantly knew to be Amy. She’s light on her feet, eyes alert and face flushed. At first, you’re surprised to see her in such a state. 

Shortly, though, Sevika enters the room. Then it all makes sense.

Sevika’s domineering in all aspects and has a ferocious air about her that can make anyone feel...tense. 

You thought she was the last of it, but another pair of footsteps walk-in behind her. 

“S-Sorry,” The person stammers, side stepping so they can scurry around Sevika and find a chair to sit in. The person is Dylan.

“This won't take long,” Sevika announces. She seems annoyed, not even looking at anyone else in the room. “Starting tomorrow, nothing about tonight will be brought up again. Now, Amy.” She turns to Amy, who instantly shrinks in her chair. “Why wasn't Janessa on the floor tonight?”

There's a beat of hesitation before, “She's working the kitchen now.”

Sevika’s nose flares. “If you moved her because of last week, I want you to think over your explanation very carefully.”

Another beat drags. Amy blinks. She gapes. She blinks once more. Her cheeks are tomato red at this point. “I-”

Sevika presses on. “Did Silco somehow change his mind?” 

“...No.”

“So you deliberately went against Silco’s orders and switched Janessa to the kitchen. Meanwhile,” Sevika’s eyes flicker to you. Your stomach lurches. “You make our only competent chef work the floor, after I told you that she isn't up for debate. And you expect me to show you mercy?”

Amy doesn't answer. She's on the verge of tears, which shocks you.

Amy is a bitch.

She’s known for brutally reaming people for simply breathing wrong. She doesn’t hold back and she doesn’t mind doing it in front of customers either. You know her to be stone cold. Heartless. Void of compassion and depth.

You never thought that you’d see the day where she’d get her ass handed to her.

Sevika turns to you, face filled with hard lines and calculating orbs. She stares at you for a few moments. You don't quite understand if she’s sizing you up or mentally chastising you. But you wait for her to fully collect her thoughts.

“If anyone touches you like that again,” She slowly begins, voice low. “You do what needs to be done. Whatever that means to you. Do you understand?” 

Your muscles freeze at her words.

No questioning? No reprimands?

“You aren't mad?” You clear your throat.

You were fully expected to get reamed for tonight.

Sevika raises an eyebrow, “Do you want me to be?”

Heat spreads across your body. You don't answer her question, deciding to move on. “Does Silco know about tonight?”

She grows more perplexed, “Do you want Silco to know?”

In the corner of your eye, you watch how stiff the rest of the staff members become. The room is so quiet that you nearly hear a pin drop.

It’s obvious that Silco finding out about this would cause a shit show.

Sevika takes your silence as an answer. 

“None of this will be mentioned again after tonight.” She breaks eye contact and turns to the rest of the room. “Is that clear?”

Everyone nods.

“And Dylan?”

Dylan jumps at the sound of his name. “Huh? I mean, yes? Y-Yes, ma’am?”

“If you disappear for that long again, you won't have a job to come back to.”

“Yes, ma’am. I-I mean,” Dylan blinks with swimming eyes. “Sorry.”

Sevika chooses then to shove her human hand into her pocket, glancing at you once more. When she retracts it, you notice that there is something shiny and silver that she's holding.

Your knife.

Silently, she holds it towards you. 

When your feet stay planted—brain struggling to process everything that's happening—she exhales heavily, evidently becoming impatient.

Clearing your throat, you force yourself to close the distance. You grab your knife, knuckles grazing her palm, which ignites a static shock. Your fingers jump away from her instantly. If the skin contact startled her, her face doesn’t give it away.

“Thank you,” Is all that you say. You hate how vulnerable you sound.

She merely nods. Then, “He's upstairs, by the way. Definitely suffering from what you did to him but not harmed any further." She pauses, rubbing her lips together. "Did you want to come upstairs? It's your call on how you would like him to be handled."

You eyes widen at the realization.

She took him upstairs to do god know what (everyone knows that if Sevika takes you upstairs for any other reason than discussing business, then you probably aren't coming back down). You'd never thought she would include employees in such a thing.

Even with a matter such as this.

"I'll give you ten minutes to think about it," She continues on. "If you decide to come upstairs, he'll be waiting. Otherwise, go home. Tomorrow you'll return to the kitchen.” Then she turns on her heels, adding, “Amy, I expect your desk to be cleaned out by midnight.” Before she walks away. 

In the midst of her departure, your eyes begin to burn. 

Max and Dylan are already stepping out of the room, completely shaken up by the entire situation.

Being reprimanded by Sevika is never on anyone’s bucket list.

You idle there for a while, letting all of the events replay in your mind as your muscles start to unspool. Fidgeting with your knife, you allow the blade to extend. That’s when you notice that his blood has been cleaned off and your blade sharpened.

Amy wails pathetically while curling into herself. 

Her cries are nothing more than brown noise at this point. You're too preoccupied by the hammering of your heart, and the way that Sevika’s words have tattooed themselves onto your hippocampus:

If anyone touches you like that again, you do what needs to be done.

[andromeda-nova-writing]

Cuff it 👀

Well, you got me. Forcing me to write the fic I have been joking about for a whole year now. Safe to say this fic requires you to listen to CUFF IT. It's a good song I would love to go roller skating while to one day. The disco vibes beg for the skates. This fic isn't about that. I present a reader that is very horny down bad for Wriothesley while I attempt to keep this humorous and safe for work.

I think it's very obvious there is reference to sexual content. It was very hard to think of ways to keep this sfw considering the lyrical content. I give you the long joked about CUFF IT fic.

Words: 1949 Fem!Reader Modern AU This feels like such a crack fic

Navia spit out her drink as Y/N’s phone began ringing, interrupting the music they had been listening to. “Why is that your ringtone?”

“So you have no complaints about me playing the song, but when it’s my ringtone, there is a complaint?” Y/N asked, still standing on top of the step ladder as she put dishes away in the top cabinet.

“I agree it’s a good song but seriously that's your ringtone?” She asked again.

“I have my reasons. Just answer it for me. You’re closer.” It was easier to just keep shoving cups in the cabinet than to take a break. That box was almost empty.

Navia looked at the call screen. “You have a song about about riding-”

“Just answer!”

Navia swiped answered the call and placed it on speaker for Y/N to listen. “Took you long enough.” Wriothesley’s voice came through the speaker.

“Yeah, we’re putting stuff up still. Navia had to rush to grab my phone. How are you and Clorinde doing with my furniture?” Y/N spoke loud enough to be clear.

“Perfectly strapped down to the rental. We took a detour to pick up some food if you don’t mind.” He continued explaining. “Clorinde said you and Navia were talking about wanting to try out that new restaurant that opened so we just got some stuff from there.”

“Good memory. Navia kept staring at the menu when we were on break.” She told on her friend.

“I’m just curious to see how they make their cakes. It’s my job as a baker to see how other places make the same desserts to see what I can do better.” Navia defended.

“Which is why we made sure to grab some,” Clorinde said, sounding tired from the lifting they had been doing.

“We should take a nice break when y’all get back. We got most of the kitchen unpacked anyway. How long till you’re back?” Y/N asked.

“Five or so minutes. Is the door still open?”

“Yeah.”

“See you soon then,” Wriothesley spoke before hanging up. The music from Y/N’s phone began to play again filling the mostly empty room.

“Is this ringtone my horrible way of finding out you two are dating?” Navia asked now a little in horror at how completely inappropriate Y/N’s taste in ringtones was.

“Nope!” Another shelf had been filled, and on to the next. “But if we were dating I would happily act out said lyrics.”

“That’s too much information.” And not something Navia even wanted the mental image of.

“If I have to hear about what you would like to do with Clorinde behind closed doors, I think you can deal with the lyrical content of ‘Cuff It’. I mean it’s only bad when you pay attention to the lyrics.”

“I could excuse it if the lyrics were set to the chorus! At least that’s tame in comparison, you might be able to get away with it if he overheard that as your ringtone for him.”

“And Wriothesley won’t hear what I have set as his ringtone. Even then I think everyone knows it’s my favorite song.” Y/N defended herself. She had a few months of this as his ringtone and nothing bad had happened so she must have been in the clear with that silly decision she made late one night updating ringtones for her friends.

“Even then, don’t you think on the off chance he hears it there won’t be questions. I mean the lyrics it opens with are ‘Hypersonic, sex erotic’. I think anyone would ask questions.” Navia tried appealing to her sense of reason.

“You know I keep my ringer off most of the time anyway. It only played because I’m connected to a Bluetooth speaker. I'm perfectly fine to keep those lyrics as a ringtone that plays like in a blue moon.”

Navia rubbed the temples of her forehead. If this was what she was like before even making a move on Wriothesley, she was afraid of what would happen if they ever became an item. “What even drove you to set the dirtiest part of the song as his ringtone? Actually, do I even want to know?”

Y/N laughed. “You remember last Halloween when he got forced to dress up? This song just happened to be playing as he was twirling around handcuffs. I can still see the twirls as the song played.” She began singing as the memory played in her head. “Come and cuff it, cuff it, cuff it, cuff it, baby. While I buss it-”

“That better not be why this is your favorite song.” Navia interrupted. “Oh my gosh, is that why you sing that part so loud?”

“The song is two years old and that only happened last year. I've been loving this song. And perhaps. A girl can daydream.”

“Just ask him out instead of being ridiculous. He’s gonna catch that ringtone one day.”

“When you ask out Clorinde! Even then I’m not sure if he would even be open to the idea of going out on a date. If I ask him out it might make things weird between us. I really do like him. More than I just want to sit on him kind of way.” Navia rolled her eyes at that sentence as Y/N continued. “I mean I know he can look scary but he is just such a sweetheart! I mean come on he didn’t have to help me move. Then there was that one time he picked me up cause there was a nail in my tire. Oh, and that day he begged to come over when I was watching my grandma’s puppy.”

“I get it! I just really think you should ask him out. Have you considered maybe he does all those things 'cause he likes you too?” Navia could hear the rental vehicle pull up. “I’m gonna go see what they need help with.”

Y/N frowned at the question Navia had left her on. There was no way she would be pondering such a question when she had a cabinet almost filled and Wriothesly just outside her new home.

Even then there wasn't anything wrong about that song being her ringtone. Plenty of people had ringtones with raunchy lyrics. This one was at least award-winning and it sounded so fun that not everyone even saw how dirty of a song it was. Was there really anything wrong with having the ringtone of the guy she would love to fall in love with to be a song about wanting to ride his dick?

…okay maybe phrasing it like that she could see Navia’s point. Y/N sighed. Guess it was time to change her ringtone for Wriothesley to be something more appropriate. It was a 2 am decision and to be fair, no one ever had good ideas at that hour.

She could hear bags being placed on the counter. “Part of taking a break requires you to get down from there.” Wriothesley was quick to remind her.

“I'm almost done. I'll get down in a bit. No issues with loading anything right?” She asked not wanting to look him in the eye just yet considering her previous thoughts.

“It went well. It was tiring though. Your bed frame was heavier than it looked though.”

“Good thing I have your help then. Actually, could you hand me my phone real quick?” She wanted to see time but also to change the album that was playing.

Wriothesley grabbed the phone for her before walking over. “Yeah, here you go.” There wasn't even a chance to grab the phone before it started ringing. The phone lit up with his name on the screen and a photo of him filling the screen.

Hypersonic, sex erotic On my body, boy, you got it Hit them 'draulics, while I ride it Got me actin' hella thotty So excited, so exotic

Despite the song on her ringtone playing so loudly, the room was just quiet. Navia was right and she was a fool. She felt frozen, unable to move despite the fact she could have easily taken the phone out of his hand.

Wriothesley answered the phone before the song could be played any further. Clorinde’s voice came through the speakers. “Navia and I are going back to the restaurant. They forgot some of your food. Wriothesley’s phone is still with us. Let him know.”

“Will do,” Y/N answered before Clorinde hung up the phone where her music had once again returned to the speakers. “I must set the wrong song as my ringtone for you. Funny mistake right?”

“When I switched phone brands you were the one who kept showing me the different ways to customize it.” Wriothesley reminded her. “You can’t stand on that ladder forever.”

“I feel like it’s better if I do.” The longer she stayed on the ladder, the longer till her feelings had to be rejected.

“Get down.”

It was hard not to frown as she got down from the step ladder. She wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to leave the moment Clorinde and Navia got back with the food and his phone. She didn't dare look him in the eye.

“I know it's one of your favorites and all but I think I'm going to need some more explanation than that of why you have that set as my ringtone.” He was at least kind enough to give her the phone back.

“You're a smart guy. Don't make me. This is embarrassing enough.” Y/N put the phone down on the counter behind her after turning down the volume of music playing. “Just let me down already. It's not like I was ever expecting a chance. It doesn't take a genius to see you weren't interested in any sort of relationship.”

“Who said I was uninterested?”

A rough calloused hand gently moved her chin up forcing her to look Wriothesley in the eyes. “You never acted as you were.” The words came out quiet, still flustered from before.

“It's not like you made it clear before either. Even then when I did try asking you out before, there was always something going on to where you couldn't go. I almost thought you were purposefully trying to avoid me.”

“I would never. I was just busy. I didn't even think you were asking me out.” Her eyes drifted off to the side. “How many times?”

Wriothesley let out a nervous laugh. “I would rather not count that.”

“I can’t believe I’m that oblivious that you won't even tell me how many times. Gosh, I'm stupid.”

“I wouldn’t call you stupid. Just distracted.”

“That doesn't help me feel better.”

“I have an idea what might make you feel better.”

Y/N laughed at herself. “Yeah, crawling under my blankets never to return.”

“Then let me do this before you go.”

The kiss from Wriothesley was gentle, warm, and inviting. Tender yet she could tell how much he wanted it. She didn’t even notice how her arms moved on their own, desperate to pull him closer. There was the faint taste of tea, not surprising with how cold it had been that day.

That was the perfect song to set as her ringtone with it leading to this. The part of her that planned on cursing that restaurant just for being the reason Clorinde had called her was now thanking them for forgetting their food. It was a perfect miracle.

If it wasn't for the fact that she was hungry and had a deadline on when to return the rental truck, that door would be locked. It would be best if Navia and Clorinde took their sweet time so she could keep savoring this kiss.

[theheartcollecter]

Chapter 1: Revival

Fem Ghoul reader x Monster 141

Warnings for this chapter: torture, blood, cannibalism (lemme know if I missed any.)

You were turned into a ghoul about 2 months ago. Battling with urges to carnivore humans and fight rival ghouls. Your life had changed drastically since then, no more university or jobs, hell, you can’t even talk to friends or family the same.

You don’t remember how exactly you got here, in a secluded room. The walls and floors bare exactly for a single chair and the pool of blood forming around it. You eyes can barely stay open, when they do you star at the only light source in this huge room. The white light shows your life before, the people you met and human foods you ate.

Many people don’t know when exact the influx of ghouls started to appear in England, they just remember the stories. Mother and kids found dead after father cannibalizes them. Except they didn’t know it wasn’t cannibalism at the time, no, something much worse, a new form of monster. Ghouls in England began running rogue, eating anyone they pleased, and turning whoever the thought fit.

That’s how you ended up here. Wrists and feet tied to a chair, restraints beyond tight. You stopped making sounds of agony a while ago, the pain now numbing. Squelch! Another toe being cut off, forcing your body to replace it. Since you’re a fairly new ghoul, your body hasn’t gotten a hold of the whole immortal thing. Your new ghoul body takes longer than most to heal itself, which only makes it more agonizing.

You can hear a man laughing, or ghoul laughing, the one who brought you here. You forgot his name; useless information now. But you’ll never forget what he did or is doing to you. He’s cut all of your toes off by now, all forced to regrow. By the 15th one you stopped feeling it, which he was clearly amused by.

You feel something touch your hair lightly, “It’s white,” the man says, English accent cutting through your head. You open your eyes, cold sweat running down your face. “Your hair has turned white.” You glance down and, yes, he’s right. Your hair has indeed turned white, another thing added along with your freakish new powers.

You can’t find the words to complain so you just stare into his eyes, revenge now corrupting your mind. His eyes, a pale yellow, hair blonde, and brown suit. Must be 6ft or taller, typical muscular build, maybe late 40s.

You don’t know if you’ll survive this, not sure how long it will take, how many more things he can cut until your body stops regrowing them.

It’s like god hearing your prayers, a guardian angel coming to save you as you hear someone kick at the door. It only takes a few kicks to get it to collapse onto the floor. The male ghoul in front of you is blocking your view, you can’t see who’s come to, hopefully, save you.

“Hmm, who are you?” The male ghoul says, amusement lacing his voice. You try to say something, anything, you open your mouth but no sound comes out.

“Task Force 141, remember the name.” An English man says, before you see them, rushing towards the ghoul. Four men, two with, is that wings? A wolf hybrid, and a giant with a mask on. They all wear protective gear, guns and knives, and the wolf is wearing a …choker?

The ghoul tenses, amusement gone. He steps back before his kagune, a ghouls predatory organ that functions as their weapon, comes out. You think he’s about to fight them before he rushes towards the side of the building, crashing through the wall into the night.

You turn back to your saviors, getting a good look at them, but not for long. The loss of blood must’ve got to you, your eyes slowly close and before you know it you’ve passed out. The last thing you feel is being untied and picked up into big, warm arms.

A/n: AHHH, this is my first time ever writing something like this, so don’t bash me too hard.🙈 I wrote this with the anime Tokyo Ghoul in mind, but I think I explained enough to make it make sense without knowing the anime. But please know this whole series (if it gets that far) will be heavily based on the anime. If you have a suggestions to make my writing better, please let me know!

[jeonscatalyst]

who do you think are jk and jm's comfort people in the group besides each other and why?

Hi anon,

This question is kinda tough but I’ll try my best to answer.

I think for Jimin, it’s Hobi and Yoongi but they do very different things for him. Hobi is Jimin’s Jimin. You know that person who dotes on him, encourages him, is soft with him and pretty much always there for him no matter where or what. I think them being roommates the longest out of all the other members helped out in them being so close.

As for Yoongi, I think he is the person Jimin goes to when he needs someone to talk to about the difficult parts of life. I think Yoongi is that objective voice of reason for Jimin who tells him what he needs to hear not what he wants to hear. Yoongi to Jimin is someone who encourages and pushes him to go beyond his limits so he is definitely someone I believe that Jimin knows that he needs. Yoongi also believes in Jimin very much and never fails to let him know that he believes in him.

Clearly, Yoongi and Hobi fulfil very different needs for Jimin and he relates to them in very different ways but I think they both are his comfort persons…..just in very different ways.

For Jungkook, it is harder to pick because he naturally isn’t someone who goes to others for comfort a lot by his own admission and based on what I’ve seen. The only person that Jungkook has ever admitted going to for comfort is Jimin and that is the only person we actually see him gravitating to when he needs comfort so I don’t know if he really has any other comfort person in the group but I know that he has others in the group whom he really enjoys spending time with.

He likes hanging out with Tae and doing fun things with him which obviously puts him in a good mood so in one way we can call that some kind of comfort but I just don’t ever see him trying to seek him out when he is in a funk like we have seen him seek Jimin out. I know that they talk too and share a lot of stuff with each other but I just don’t think they have those deep heart to hearts like maybe yoonmin do and not because they don’t want to but because both of them just don’t seem like the type to really know how to handle those kinds of discussions reason why it has always been clear that both of them sought Jimin out for comfort more than they sought each other out.

I think Jungkook naturally has a hard time opening up to people about his feelings and usually deals with them on his own which is why I think it is a huge deal that the only one he has ever admitted to actually seeking comfort from or needing comfort from is Jimin and this is probably thanks to Jimin’s personality. He has a personality where he allows you to be vulnerable with him. He makes you feel heard and validated and seems like no one feels judged when they confide in him. I don’t think there is a single BTS member who hasn’t at some point found the biggest comfort in Jimin.

This is what I think anon but anyone is more than welcome to contribute.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Can you please do one where the reader isn’t feeling well and a recruit offers to escort her to her room (Bucky and Sam are in a meeting) but then tries to take advantage of her? She feels dirty, ashamed, and breaks up with Bucky. Weeks pass before she works up the courage to return to the Compound, knowing the recruit will be there, because she misses seeing Bucky and Sam. They hang out, and as she is leaving, the recruit corners her. Bucky overhears him being mouthy. After the recruit is dealt with, Bucky assures her that he loves her and that she is not damaged goods, so to speak. Thanks! 🩷

You’re Not Damaged Goods

Bucky x Y/N

Warnings: Mentions of assault. Angst.

Y/N clutched her stomach as another wave of nausea rolled through her, leaving her lightheaded and unsteady. Training that morning had been brutal—pushing through her discomfort in the hopes of staying under the radar hadn’t helped. The last thing she wanted was to bother Bucky, who was tied up in a strategy meeting with Sam and the team.

As she stumbled out of the gym, leaning heavily against the wall for balance, a recruit named Jared jogged over. Tall, with sandy blonde hair and a cocky smirk, he was one of the newer faces around the compound.

"Hey, you okay?" Jared asked, concern lacing his tone.

Y/N tried to wave him off. "Just… not feeling great. I'll manage."

"You sure? You look pale. Come on, let me help you get to your room," he offered, his hand brushing her arm.

She hesitated. Normally, she’d decline, but the thought of collapsing in the hallway was worse. "Okay, thanks," she murmured.

Jared slipped an arm around her waist, steadying her as they walked. His grip felt a little too tight, but she chalked it up to his effort to support her. As they turned a corner, she noticed they weren’t heading toward her room.

"Wait," she said, pulling back slightly. "My room's the other way."

Jared grinned, the concern in his eyes replaced by something darker. "Relax. I just thought we could… talk somewhere private."

Alarm bells rang in her head. She tried to step away, but his grip tightened. "No, I think I'll head to my room now," she said firmly.

Jared's smile turned predatory. "Don't be like that. You’ve got to know how pretty you are, right? Bucky doesn’t have to know."

Her heart pounded as panic set in. "Let go of me," she demanded, her voice trembling.

Instead, he pressed her against the wall, the cold surface biting into her back as his weight pinned her in place. His breath was hot and rancid against her ear, sending a shiver of dread through her. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out the muffled sounds of agents passing in nearby hallways. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to move, to fight, but her limbs felt leaden, her fear momentarily paralyzing her.

“Come on,” Jared whispered, his tone dark and filled with deep intent, “you don’t have to play hard to get.”

Her heart clenched as his hand slid lower, crossing a boundary that made her want to throw up.

A surge of adrenaline flooded her system, snapping her out of her frozen state. She shoved him hard with every ounce of strength she could muster, her hands shaking violently as she forced distance between them.

"I said no!" she shouted, her voice breaking with raw fear. It echoed down the hallway, a desperate plea for anyone—someone—to hear.

A passing agent rounded the corner, startling Jared enough that he lost concentration. Y/N didn’t waste a second, bolting down the hallway and locking herself in her room. She sank to the floor, tears streaming down her face. She felt dirty, humiliated, and most of all, ashamed.

That night, she couldn’t bring herself to tell Bucky. He’d been so happy after the meeting, his smile so genuine. How could she burden him with this? Instead, she let the memory fester, her thoughts spiraling. By the next morning, she’d made a decision.

She had to leave.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Weeks passed, and Y/N’s absence was a gaping hole in Bucky’s life.

He tried to reach her—calls, texts, even showing up at her old apartment—but she never responded. Sam tried to reassure him. "She probably just needs space," he’d said.

But Bucky knew it was more than that.

He just didn’t know why.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Y/N hadn’t planned to return to the compound. Every step she took inside brought back memories of Jared’s leer and the way his hands had pinned her in place. But she missed Bucky and Sam. She missed their banter, the way Bucky’s presence made her feel safe.

She made herself small as she walked through the halls, avoiding eye contact. She found Sam first, laughing in the kitchen. Bucky was next, sparring in the gym. Both greeted her warmly, but she kept her distance, her guilt gnawing at her.

“I should go,” she said after a few hours, clutching her bag tightly.

“You sure?” Sam asked. “We just got you back.”

“I’ll visit again soon,” she promised.

As she stepped into the hallway, she froze. Jared stood at the far end, his eyes locking on her immediately. His smirk was back, sharper and more menacing than ever. She tried to turn away, but he was already moving toward her.

"Y/N," he drawled, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Long time no see."

She didn’t respond, quickening her pace, but he grabbed her arm, spinning her to face him.

“Running away again?” Jared sneered. “You don’t need to pretend you didn’t like it when I—”

“Get your hands off her.”

Bucky’s voice was low and steady, sending a chill down Jared’s spine. He was standing just a few feet away, his jaw tight and eyes blazing with fury.

Jared laughed nervously. “Hey, man. Just talking to her.”

“Agent Lee,” Bucky took a step closer, his voice ice-cold. “You have 10 seconds to get out of eyeshot.”

Jared released her arm, raising his hands defensively. “I didn’t mean—”

“Save it,” Bucky snapped.

“I gave you 10 seconds, you now have 5. Here’s how this is going to work,” Bucky continued, his voice dropping even lower, almost a growl. “You’re going to stay far away from her—from any woman in this compound, actually. You don’t speak to her. You don’t look at her. Hell, you don’t even think about her.”

Bucky leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper now, but no less terrifying. "Because if I catch you stepping out of line again, they’re not going to need a meeting to figure out why you’ve gone missing. You’ll just disappear. And trust me, I’m very good at making things disappear."

The ghost of a smirk played on his lips as he straightened, his gaze never wavering. "So, what’s it gonna be? Are you walking out of here, or am I carrying you out in pieces?"

Jared swallowed hard, his face pale, his bravado crumbling. Bucky’s stance didn’t waver, his protectiveness a palpable force that seemed to radiate through the air.

"You made the wrong choice coming after her," Bucky added, a final warning in his icy tone. "And if you’re dumb enough to try again? You’ll find out just how bad of a mistake that was."

Jared muttered something under his breath before retreating, but not before Bucky stepped forward, towering over him. “If you so much as look at her again, I will invert your ribcage, you sad fuck.”

As soon as Jared disappeared, Bucky turned to Y/N. She was trembling, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

“Doll,” he said softly, stepping closer. “Are you okay?”

She nodded weakly, but tears welled in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

“For leaving. For not telling you. For—”

He silenced her with a gentle hand on her cheek. “You have nothing to apologize for. This wasn’t your fault.”

“I feel… ruined,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “Like I’m not the same person I was before.”

“Listen to me,” Bucky said firmly, his thumb brushing away her tears. “You are not broken. You are not dirty. What he did—what he tried to do—doesn’t define you. And it sure as hell doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Her lip quivered as she met his gaze. “You mean that?”

“Every word,” he said, pulling her into his arms. She melted against him, the weight of weeks of guilt and shame finally lifting.

“You’re my everything, Y/N.”

For the first time in weeks, she let herself believe it.

——————————————————————————————————

Hope this is what you were wanting, Hun. It’s a bit heavier than my usual stuff so, I really tried to capture your request as best I could. 🫶

Requests Open!