#and little beats that matter for the moment but don't become anything

[icarusflewsworld]

Rhysand & Cassian & Azriel X OC

Hello, here is the chapter 2 of a fanfiction on the world of Acotar where our three favorite Batboys are the mates of a single woman.

I hope you like it! Don't hesitate to let me know if you prefer the OC to become y/n and/or gender neutral.

Also, I apologize for any mistakes you might find, I'm just a French girl doing her best with Google Translate and her average score of 5 in English classe.

! Don't forget to read the previous chapters ! : Here

Happy reading!

Number of words : 2 079

Chapter 2 :

“It's our mate!” screamed Cassian. “Our mate.” 

He pointed vigorously back and forth with his finger his brothers in front of him. The traces of his footprints were so numerous that they had completely melted the thick layer of frosted snow that covered the ground of the remote spot where they had escaped from Tamlin before collapsing.

“Our soulmate,” he repeated, as he had been doing for the twenty minutes they'd been there. 

Cassian ran his hands through his hair, loosening a little bit more the bun that held half of it together. He was shaking and could barely breathe. He never panicked, never, but now he was panic-stricken. His body was literally vibrating with excitement, joy, anxiety, apprehension and fear. He had no idea how to react. His mate was there, just a few inches away. He never thought he would meet her. The rarity of this event was so high, yet he was certain: she was his soul mate. She was his and his brothers' mate. He didn't even know if it was possible, but he felt it. She belonged to them too. He had so many questions in his head that they drove him crazy, but in a way… it didn't matter, because he just met his mate. And she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. And he wasn't saying that because she was his mate, no, she was just divinely gorgeous. 

Rhysand was kneeling in the snow. Two small spots where the earth could be seen had formed under his lowered face, where the ice had melted from the warm, salty water dripping from his eyes. The big tears that spilled down his cheeks didn't even have time to freeze in the icy winter cold of the forest, as they were quickly replaced by others. He sobbed loudly, unable to stop. She was his soul mate. He'd waited so long for her. For so long he'd even come to believe he'd never meet her. But here she was. She was beautiful. Her voice. Her laugh. The moment he laid eyes on her, he knew he was ready to do anything for her. Anything. He will watch Velaris burn for her if that's what she wanted. He couldn't even begin to realize, to assimilate. After all he'd been through under the mountain, he finally seemed to breathe. He met his mate. 

Azriel was frozen. It wasn't the negative temperature of the cold wind around him that was causing his stupor, but the raging chaos exploding in his body. His heart was beating painfully, so hard it felt as if it could dig a hole through his chest. Every of his muscles was on fire, his eyes burned, his head ached and his breath caught in his throat. His eyes were still wide, but he couldn't even see the forest he'd landed in, his mind still focused on the face of this girl. His mate. His mind turned a hundred miles an hour. She was human. She was also the mate of his two brothers. It couldn't be. They had to be careful. It wasn't possible for this human to have three soul mates, and it certainly wasn't possible for anyone to have more than one mate. It wasn't possible that he would agree to share his soul mate. It wasn't possible that he deserved to meet his soul mate. Not after all the terrible things he'd done. Yet when he'd laid his eyes on her, his shadows hid behind his back, and his mind had lit up, impacted by her light. His world had turned colorful. The gray walls had turned white. The gilding on the banister was vivid and the pink of her cheeks was flamboyant. No spell could fool what he felt. 

“Maybe it's a trick,” Azriel finally said. 

Rhysand looked up tearfully at his spy master. 

“What?” asked Cassian, stopping in front of him.

“Think about it, Hybern controls the cauldron, so he may have created a fake link between her and us,” explained Azriel.

“A fake link?” repeated Rhysand in a weak voice. “Does that sound fake to you?” 

Azriel had to take a step back with a grimace. No, it didn't look fake to him. It seemed so obvious that he was almost ashamed to say it. 

“Why would he do that anyway?” shouted Cassian.   

“I don't know, maybe because she's human and fragile or to cause conflict between us or distract us from our goal? I don't know.”

Rhysand jumped to his feet, swearing as he angrily rubbed away his tears. It was a possibility, and if it was a ruse of that damned king, he would slowly rip his skin off. If what he felt for this woman wasn't true, he will never get over it. 

“But why her?” asked Cassian.

“I don't know,” Azriel repeated, as lost as his two brothers. “It sounds so insane. How can a human have three soul mates as powerful as us? It just doesn't make sense.”

Cassian's blood ran cold. He had to clench his fists to keep from jumping at his brother and making him take back what he just said. It bothered him more than anything that he was already denigrating a bond as strong as the one he felt so strongly in his gut uniting him to this woman. If he didn't want that bond, all he had to do was leave it to his two brothers and not ruin their moment. 

“Exactly!” shouted Cassian. “It makes so little sense that it can't be a trap.”

“And so what?” said Azriel in a false calm voice. “Assuming it's true, we're supposed to let her choose one of us? What about the other two?” 

Rhysand couldn't imagine either of his brothers being hurt, but he simply couldn't give up on his soul mate, whom he hadn't even seen for a minute. He was already ready to do anything for her, so he didn't care if he shared her with his brothers if, in the end, he was entitled to her too.

“If she really is the mate of the three of us, she won't be able to choose between us,” Rhysand assured with an empty glance. 

Azriel felt as if he were imploding. Even his breathing was shaking, so confused and angry was he. There was no way a man other than him was going to lay his hands on his mate, and that's why it was impossible for this woman to be the mate of the three of them. If that was the case, then this was the Cauldron's most cruel way of punishing him.

“So we're supposed to share the woman we love for the rest of our lives?” spat Azriel, breathing rapidly.

Cassian froze. He never considered such a possibility. They'd shared women in bed with his brothers in the past, but never only one, and it had nothing to do with emotional sharing, especially not one as strong as the one that united soul mates. It wasn't just about body sharing, it was about sharing the love of his life with his brothers. That said, he wanted her. Cassian wanted her no matter what it means to get her, including letting her love her brothers too.

“Yes,” he nodded.

“Yes,” followed Rhysand.

“In any fucking way!” shouted Azriel, burning with jealousy.

He was boiling with rage, all his muscles tensed and his eyebrows so furrowed they were giving him a headache. He wanted to pounce on the other two and rip their hands off. It was simply impossible for him that another man touch or love his mate. 

“Look at you,” Cassian said, “you’re already dying of jealousy. It’s impossible to trap you that much and to form such a strong fake bond. Even Hybern with the cauldron on his side doesn’t have that power.”

“Anyway, if it’s real,” Rhysand said, “it’ll hurt her, if she doesn’t have all three of us.”

Azriel stepped back again so as not to hurt his brothers. He ran his hands through his hair, but quickly let them fall back so as not to pull his dark locks out. He knew Rhysand was right, but he simply couldn’t resign himself to it. He knew he should accept it for her sake, but it seemed so crazy. Illyrians were possessive and jealous, if there was one species that didn’t share their women it was them. It was in their genes, and here they were, having the same mate. It was crazy. 

But, deep down he knew that it wasn't wrong, that this bond was sincere, because the more he imagined his brothers and him happy alongside their mate, the less it bothered him. Yet, he just wanted her for himself.

A silence took place the time that everyone came to their senses to study the situation more calmly. But, the more time passed, the more it was the face of their soul mate that lingered in their heads. The more time passed, the more it seemed real. The more time passed, the more they wanted her.

“What if she really is our soul mate, Rhys?” Cassian said in a sad voice. “She’s human. She’s weak. Humans can die from a simple scratch or even if they catch a cold. We have targets on our backs all the time, especially you. You are the high lord of the night court, your mate will be hunted and in danger all the time. Our mate will be in danger all the time”.

Rhysand ran his hands over his face as he crouched down, no longer able to stand under the weight of his fear. Azriel groaned at the anguish that gripped his stomach. Cassian convulsed a shiver of panic. They hadn't even spoken to this woman yet, but they were already dying of fear that something would happen to her.

"We'll see, let's let things be, the priority right now is the book," Rhysand said.

He was Cassian and Azriel's lord, he had to keep his calm, he had to keep a cool head and clear ideas. They had to be able to count on Rhysand to calm them down and help them, he had to be impartial, but the only thing he could think about was that today, he just met the woman of his life. That today he finally reached the light.

Cassian nodded, not believing a word of it. The second he had laid eyes on his soulmate, he knew that she would now be the priority of his life. It didn't matter anymore, what happened to him or to the people around him, what mattered was that she was happy. The whole world could burn if that was what she wanted, he would be the one to set it on fire. He was ready to do anything for her. He would protect her, provide for all her needs, and make her happy. "Luxiana" was the only word that Azriel's shadows had been whispering since he had met her and he knew well that he could be fooled but not them. They were unattainable by any spell or curse. He knew well that this mating bond was true, yet he was so jealous that he wanted to consider that it wasn't. Not for him. No. This woman was his. He was sure of it. She was his. She was his mate, but part of him just hoped she wasn't his brothers'. She was already his, and the thought of another man touching his woman made him so angry that he could destroy everything for miles around if he didn't control himself.

"What if she has a boyfriend?" Cassian asked suddenly, his eyes widening, jealousy squeezing his chest.

Azriel let out a guttural growl so loud it made birds fly away from the trees around them.

"I'll tear his muscles out one by one before crushing his bones and feeding them to him, then cutting him into small pieces while avoiding the vital points so that he stays alive throughout the process," he said in a sinister voice, the shadows around him quivering with joy at the images that were emerging in his mind.

Rhysand laughed.

“I’m glad to see that I won’t have to worry about another man approaching our mate.”

A heavy silence fell. They met their soulmate.

“She’s human,” Rhys added. “She won’t feel the same way. We have to make her fall in love with us.”

[erstwhilesparrow]

A LIST OF IMMEDIATE POST-FINALE THOUGHTS:

i think because i'd heard the name "widow's alliance" floating around i assumed that cleo outlives bdubs? she really doesn't. -- (not my idea but) zombie trap flavoured as her revenge? very interesting!

did not anticipate caring about martyn + grian narrative foils as much as i did!! but here i am and i care about this so much!!

obsessed with how nearly every instance of [grian showing up in martyn's pov] is him talking to / about scar. that + martyn's editing choices re: desertduo makes grian SO. guy who exists to stand ominously nearby and mutter nervously and cackle from the top of the hill when his trap goes off!! guy who only really seems to exist in the desert and guy who has maybe been trapped in the desert but also guy who is turning away from your outstretched hand and leaning in the bars of his cage!!

shoutout to martyn's editing choices just in general honestly. very fond of them. many of them are goofy but he is so good at adding alarming music at the right moments

again. nothing. but rotating "leash / liege" because the autocaptions refused to believe that martyn was saying "liege". one of the people in this relationship is the dog and somehow it's not ren!! (okay. it is ren. but ALSO.)

a second piece of nothing: bigb and martyn fighting off some mobs together and martyn making a point of switching to fighting with his axe and not his sword -- says out loud it's to avoid hitting his ally in battle. We Should Do Symbolism About This.

WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME ETHO AND BIGB WERE BOTH THERE TO THE END. WHAT THE HELL.

thinking about that one episode that starts with renchanting being all excited because they got a mending villager. (AND in one of the episodes after that, ren complaining that they've had no time to dedicate to infrastructure lately.) looking at limited life. THEY HAD NO IDEA HOW LITTLE TIME THEY HAD..... ;-;

related to the above: martyn is SO on edge for the whole season but it STILL manages to feel like he Doesn't Quite Get It until way later in the season. like. from almost the first moment he's on screen he's talking about tactics for the endgame but it's. also really obvious he doesn't know what the endgame looks like? so he's running around worrying about this and that and it still hits the "oh my god you have NO IDEA ;-;"

second related to the above: martyn is SO hypervigilant. constantly looking around when visitors arrive so he can keep as many people in his field of view at a time as possible. scrambling to be on the walls / roof of dogwarts. shuffling stuff around so he has water and cobwebs in his hotbar all the time. catches a single flash of a nametag and is immediately barrelling up the stairs to see who's there.

continuing from / connecting to that thought: very funny how FAST martyn throws his lot in with ren. like. i think it is the second episode MAYBE and martyn's already like "they hurt ren's feelings by enchanting without permission. they are all immediately on the shit list." and after that he continues to run off as if his life hasn't become irrevocably intertwined with this guy's. cf my other post about (among other things) martyn should be forced to confront that there is less forcing him to stay here than he is pretending there is!!

etho's giant walls of lava are so funny. his ender stasis chamber that he uses once and never again is so funny. his failed tnt cannon is so funny. etho is just the goofiest guy in a very [person who has one (1) Major Strength and is trying so hard to use it in a game that is mostly running around and yelling] way. audio warfare where he just put down a note block and a clock and left it outside the crastle to annoy them.

i can't read the post i'm referring to here because i haven't seen last life but shoutout to that post that's like "why don't we talk more about pre-limlife mean gills" because YEAH WHY DON'T WE TALK MORE ABOUT PRE-LIMLIFE MEAN GILLS. SCOTT AND MARTYN JUST KEEP. HAVING INTERACTIONS??? OH RED WINTER FLASHBACK THIS OH UNGUIDED HAND THAT MARTYN AND SCOTT HAVE A WHOLE NETHER ADVENTURE TOGETHER THIS ISN'T NOTHING!! --OH AND THE FUCKING PUFFERISH OF PEACE. CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE PUFFERISH OF PEACE?????? [guy covered in red string meme]

didn't realize joel's wolves happened in this season! assumed it was a last life thing.

this is more about the ccs than anything but i'm so fond of ren calling scott "major" and this becoming a thing etho also calls him at least once. i think i have a personal weakness for people referring to each other by last names affectionately. granted they are not friends in the game but like. makes me feel sort of melty anyway. This Is Actually Nothing.

HEY WHAT'S UP DID WE KNOW THAT THIRD LIFE IS SO SO SO SO GOOD.

[yet-another-heathen]

On conditioned whumpees...

Y'know, I think one of the things that people get wrong with conditioned whumpees is their rules. Specifically, when a whumpee was in long term captivity/training and they later get released or escape.

Most people write them as latching onto a caretaker or new whumper, and begging for new rules so they know they're doing something right. A new set of laws to live by, a new framework to behave to.

And that's... not really how conditioning works.

Conditioning means automatic reactions. Your body doing something that was trained into you without consulting your brain first.

There is no decision making. There is no choice. The trigger hits, and you are immediately performing the correct action regardless of anything else.

You're told to kneel? Your knees have already hit the ground. You're supposed to be standing in one part of the house when a certain noise is made? You've launched into movement before you even realize what you heard.

These rules are woven into the fabric of your body. And they are insurmountable. The conditioning overrides emotion, internal conflict, hesitation, beliefs, wants... everything.

Your whumpee may very well hate what is being done to them, and after the moment has passed they're cursing themself and their whumper. They're still a person on the inside. And that person is still very much alive. Most of the time, they will have some level of awareness that what's being done to them is wrong. They'll be angry. They'll be hurt. And they will hate that there is nothing they can do about it.

But the next time that trigger occurs, the response still hits them exactly the same.

So now take your whumpee out of that situation. They ran away, were rescued, were sold. They got out. Now they're with new people, a new caretaker, a new whumper. Or they're on their own and trying to make their own way in the world.

But those conditioned responses are still there.

There's no turning them off. You don't just replace them with new rules. They are in your every fibre. They have been built into the very framework of who you are.

The next time someone says the word "kneel", your knees are on the ground again. No matter where you are, or who you're with. The response happens before you can stop it. If they don't know why, everyone looks at you like you're insane. And you feel like you are.

Deconditioning is an agonizing process that takes more effort than I can even begin to describe to someone who's never experienced it.

Every time they hit that trigger, that response will still be there. Over, and over, and over, and over.

Breaking those rules down takes YEARS. And it is a constant effort that the whumpee has to choose to undergo every single time. Progress is measured milimeter by milimeter. You're told to kneel, and you kneel. You're told to kneel, and your mind catches up with the fact that you already did it— but a little sooner than it did before. Then a split second sooner. Then as you're doing it. Then you feel the impulse just before your knees hit the ground. Then you have a split-second of resistance before you go down. On and on and on and on, inching toward progress despite the fact that you're fighting with all your might. And that progress is anything but linear.

You don't just start obeying new rules. You don't latch on to your caretaker's new way of doing things and drop everything that you were conditioned to do before. These rules don't just get replaced.

Conditioning is not a belief system. It's a flinch response. Programmed deeper than the instincts you were born with.

You can be ordered not to obey the old command, and moments later when the trigger comes, you will anyway. Because in conditioning, the action comes before the choice.

These rules, these laws of your existence, come above everything else. And if your new whumper wants to replace them, they are going to have to beat the new rules into you so often and so severely that the pain becomes stronger than the old conditioning. At which point, the newly desired response will very, very slowly start to take over.

You're not swapping out new rules. You're layering new, worse conditioning on top of the old. And your brain will spend time stuck in that split-second between both responses before one finally grows stronger than the other. And even then, the change will not happen quickly.

That is what your conditioned whumpee is up against. That is what makes it such a horrible—HORRIBLE— and powerful tool.

[luvrodite]

ᯓ★ ONE. OCTOBER 1 | FUCK OR DIE

GOT ME CALLING OUT FOR HELP (S-O-S) [3.8k]

in retrospect, it was only a matter of time before you got hit. you should consider yourself lucky — there are worse fates than being fucked like your life depends on it (it’s gotham. of course it does) or: you get hit and jason deals with the fallout

content warnings. f!reader, dubious consent due to intoxication, chemical aphrodisiac, established relationship, dry humping, fingering, penetrative sex, begging, unprotected sex, creampie, prevention of pulling out.

ⓘ minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact, you will be blocked!

<< kinktober masterlist | week 2 >>

It goes like this:

On a monday evening, Pamela fucking Isley decides to take her quarrel with Gotham's newest weapons company – God, could they fucking give it a break? B had only busted the last one a few weeks ago before they'd brought the city down on everyone – to new heights.

Jason's sitting in traffic with a bag of groceries slung around the handle of his bike when he gets the call. He's eager to beat you home, ready to make you dinner and heavily intent on wining and dining you after a long weekend of missing each other.

His fingers tap against his thighs impatiently, impatience sitting beneath his skin like an itch. Spikes of activity during the week had meant his plans for Friday night – dinner and a deserved night off – had been pushed to the backburner. He'd returned home in the early stillness of dawn, unable to get more than a couple of hours with you before your phone had rung, a friend's emergency pulling you out of bed with an apologetic grimace and a promise to reschedule your date night.

The headset in his ear notifies him of an incoming call, the syllables of your name dulled by the clinical, robotic voice of his phone's intelligence system. His mouth curves up into a smile beneath his helmet.

"Hi, baby," he answers immediately. "I'm on my way home, you need anything? I just left the store but I can go back–"

You cut him off in a tight voice. Later, he'll be ashamed that the first thing that comes to mind is, not another fucking postponement. Now, his brows furrow at your tone, stomach dipping uncertainly when it becomes clear that this is something more serious.

Your voice wobbles, high-pitched and tearful. At the same time, the dash on his bike begins to flash in rapid succession, the paging system he'd installed for the bats to communicate with him glaring back at him, blood red.

ORACLE: CHEMICAL LEAK DOWNTOWN. BATS + R.ROBIN EN ROUTE. ALL UNITS STANDBY.

His dread plummets and for a moment his throat closes over. You're speaking to him but he struggles to make it out through the ringing in his ears.

"Jason, I'm – I'm home but I don't – I don't know what to do."

He bites back a curse and tries to swallow the lump in his throat, grappling for words of comfort.

"It's okay," he soothes, straining to keep his voice level. "Listen, sweetheart, can you go lock the door for me? I'm – shit – I'll be home soon, alright? It'll be okay. We'll fix it."

He doesn't give himself time to linger on the call after you confirm you've locked it, barking out a command to dial Oracle that his system fails to pick up twice, only registering after he steadies himself.

She picks up on the third ring. It irritates him how unfazed she sounds when he explains the situation to her. He hears the click of her keyboard in the background, the hum of her monitors. Each passing second as she patches through to Nightwing is agony and the slow crawl of traffic does little to help.

His leg has begun to jostle the bike with the weight of its shaking when she returns to their call.

"You're not going to like this," she says and he feels the bile rising in his throat.

"What." He grits it out through his teeth, unable to manage much more than that. He hears Oracle sigh.

"Looks like an aphrodisiac," she says clinically. "Her plan was to get them caught compromised enough to lose credit publicly."

"Oracle." She hears his growl for what it is – Tell me whether or not it's over.

"It's non-lethal," she affirms and he sighs harshly. The tightness in his chest loosens ever so slightly as she talks. "Ivy let it off near city hall because most of the shareholders were scheduled to hold a meeting – that's where your girl works, right? Alf's working on an antidote but she should be relatively fine until it's ready. Just – keep an eye on her."

Tim joins the line then and Jason startles at the sound of his voice in his ear.

"I don't know what the fuck she wanted to achieve," the boy grumbles. He's a little out of breath and in any other situation, Jason would have something to say about that. Tonight, he's not in the mood for jokes.

"Red," he barks out. The kid makes a distracted noise, and he can hear the sounds of a scuffle on the other end. "You tell Ivy if anything happens to my girl, I'll make sure she's next."

He doesn't wait to hear what's sure to be a non-committal answer at best, kicking off and veering between the lined up vehicles. There's an outroar from the drivers around him, laying on their car horns. Someone pokes their head out of their window to scream at him.

He hears none of it, the blood rushing in his ears keeping him single-minded.

This string that twines him to you isn't new. It wears signs of age, shows the years in the way his fingers reach for yours in the early moments of his day, the turn of your eyes to his in any room. He's seen a few summers with you at his side but the fear –

Blood, coagulating, the cold brush of death, splintered wood beneath nails and a haunting smile

– the fear never stagnates.

A bitter, resigned shard of him breathes out as he speeds through the streets. A veritable sword over his crown, this almost seems expected. Loathing colours the skyline and he, the fool, to think he could hold this one, precious, beloved thing unscathed.

He forgoes the groceries in his haste, leaving the bags in his haste to throw himself up the stairs and out of the parking garage. Pulse thundering in his ears, sweat coating his palms, he scrabbles with the key to your shared apartment.

The door flies open and a hand is grabbing him by the front of his shirt before he can slot it through the lock.

You, wild-eyed and frantic, pull him inside with a bitten off sob.

"Shh, shh, I'm here, come here."

He kicks the door shut, reaching behind him to flip the locks with one hand. The other curls you protectively to his chest, fingers splaying over your back. The sight of you calms him considerably and he chokes out a stuttered breath, the lump in his throat dissolving to give way for a flood of relief.

You're burning in his arms, the thin undershirt you've got on soaked through with sweat, face glowing with perspiration. Eyebrows knitted, you cling to him tighter and he finds himself making noises of comfort.

"Jason, I –"

"Shh. I know, honey, I know," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours. Your eyes are tearful, salt spilling over lashes and rolling down your cheeks. "Come on, let's get you to lie down."

"No," you whine, pitching miserably as he shuffles the both of you towards your bedroom, face creasing with every movement. "Hurts."

"I know," he whispers, hating the way his voice cracks. His eyes burn painfully. "'ll get you a towel, alright?"

You're deposited on the bed and he makes a turn for the bathroom, wetting a cloth. When he enters the bedroom again you've pushed yourself up, kneeling on the bed. You've shed the pants you'd worn earlier, left now in only and undershirt and your underwear. His name falls from your lips pitifully and he steps forward, lips turning down into a commiserating frown.

You shy away from the cloth when he presses it against your forehead, letting out a hiss as it makes contact with your burning skin. He brings a hand to the nape of your neck and you seem to like that much better, sighing under his touch. Jason takes advantage of this to keep you in place, mopping the sweat off your face and neck, trying his best not to give into your dissatisfied squirming.

"I know, I'm an asshole," he mutters, when you cry out his name, displeasure making itself clear on your face. "Get better so you can yell at me for it, alright?"

"Don't wanna – yell at you," you mumble, wetting your lips as they part.

He clocks the dilation of your pupils a little too late and shakes his head adamantly, trying to draw back but you've got a hold of his shirt, pulling him forward. He catches himself with a hand agains the headboard, a knee pressing into the mattress beneath him.

You stare up at him, mouth turning down into a pained grimace.

"C'mon honey," he mutters, pleading, feeling his face flood with warmth. "Don't do this to me. Be good, you'll be alright, okay? Any minute they're gonna call and tell me Alf's got an antidote ready – shit, maybe we should just drive you there now -"

"No," you sob, face crumpling under the weight of your tears again, pushing up on your knees to fling your arms around his shoulders. The effort of the movement makes you stutter out a gasp and he's forced to band an arm around your waist to steady the both of you.

Your tears wet the skin of his neck, your body pressed flush against his. He becomes aware, regrettably, of the skin beneath his fingers, your undershirt having ridden up to expose the softness of your lower back.

"Please," you hiccup into his shoulder. "Please, Jason – Please."

He'll have to ask Oracle later if second-hand exposure to the toxin is supposed to have an effect on him. At the touch of your chest to his, he feels himself warm all over, mouth drying when you begin to keen, arching up into his touch in an effort to get him to do something.

"Fuck," he curses. "Fuck. Alright, just – come here."

He kicks his shoes off, the sneakers clattering against the floor, and crawls onto the bed properly. Sat up against the headboard, he meets your baleful gaze with a raised brow and reaches for you.

Jason shakes his head when you go to straddle his lap, maneuvering you against his chest until your back rests against it. You let out a whimper, displeased, but he shakes his head.

"This is all you're getting, alright? Just – it'll tide you over until they call."

He spreads your legs until they hang over his own, your thighs bracketing his and leaving you open. His blood thunders in his ears, hand trembling as he reaches it up to your mouth, fingers prodding at the soft plush of your lips.

Your tongue laves at his digits, a muffled moan trapped in the recesses of your throat. One of your hands curls around his wrist, the other perching against his thigh, nails curling against the fabric of his jeans. He can feel you shift against him, hips canting ever so slightly over his own.

Awful, wretched, lecherous, he stiffens under the movement, jeans tightening. His free hand wraps around you hip with the intent of pinning you in place and stopping you. Somehow, he finds himself guiding you back and forth instead.

You tip your head back against his shoulder, baring the soft line of your throat as you drool around his fingers. He can feel the wetness pooling around his knuckles, the softness of your ass against him, separated only by a few layers. If he cranes his neck, he'll probably find your panties sticky with your need. The thought alone makes his eyes flutter.

The room is blanketed in muffled whimpers, the whispers of rustling sheets and his shaky breaths. You've quietened down some since he'd gotten his fingers in your mouth, but the heat seems to have returned with a vengeance when you begin to fuss in his lap again. Your fingers dig into his thigh and you whine, tugging at his wrist in an effort to push his hand where you need it most.

He hushes you with a squeeze to your hip and tips your face to meet his. Bleary eyed, silvery tracks smattered across your cheeks, you're struggling to hold on. He lowers his mouth to yours, a chaste kiss that deepens when you part your lips to lick into his mouth.

"Jason, come on."

"No, don't take it off," he whispers when your hands make to tug your underwear off. You whine and he hushes you again, "Shh, I'm going to take care of you, be patient for me, alright?"

He slips his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and watches you shudder at the first swipe. Similarly affected, he feels himself twitch when his fingers make contact with the soft slickness of your flesh, gliding against silken folds.

"Oh," you sigh, sagging slightly into him.

"There you go." He presses a kiss to your sweaty temple, trying to pretend this is just another night together and he's being a loving boyfriend, that you're not delirious with want just because of the toxin running through your bloodstream. "That's my girl."

He presses gentle circles against you, closing his eyes and ghosting his mouth over the curve of your shoulder. The smell of sex is thick in the air, that heady musk and sweat that he could drown in. Your breaths come in pants now as he works you open gently, thumb rolling over your centre.

"Just like that," he rumbles, straining to keep his head on straight. It's difficult, when you arch against him, his name spilling from your lips in adoration coloured mewls. Your arm raises, curling behind you to embrace his neck.

It doesn't take you very long to come, pent up and sensitive – he discovers this when his hand grazes over your chest to stroke your face and you keen so loud he fears he'll come in his pants at the sound, your mouth, bitten raw, dropping open as you moan. A few strokes against your centre and you come apart in his arms, hard. The tremors wrack your body long after the fact, your core pulsing around his fingers.

He, ever the fool, expects this to sate your hunger.

Whatever Ivy's put in her newest concoction is potent. You gather your breath quick enough and it becomes apparent that just the one isn't nearly enough. He's pushed back against the headboard, stunned into silence as you clamber onto his thigh, pawing at him like you can't get close enough.

You struggle with the fabric of his shirt before giving up and any questions he has sputter off into silence when you begin to rock back and forth on him. The denim of his jeans is unforgiving against the thin, sodden material of your underwear, providing a harsh friction that you lose yourself to. He watches, his heart racing, you taking your pleasure for yourself.

It isn't as though you've never done this in front of him – he remembers, blurry, the aftermath of a dinner date that had seen you riding his thigh on the couch, still in your dress.

But this… This feels different.

There's an urgency to this, a franticness running beneath your skin that pushes your hips down harder, more unforgiving. Your face screws up, salt misting your cheeks and neck.

For a moment, Jason almost feels as though he's the one that's been hit. You take on a blurry quality, smudged around the edges like wet paint, wanton, hazy. A gauzy film over his eyes, he blinks, and blinks.

When you come once more, it shatters and he's aware of the stain that's bled into the dark denim on his thigh, a stickiness that's smeared between your thighs. Your panties are ruined and he gulps when he drags his gaze up from between your legs to your face.

Quiet, hungry, you're already staring at him. Your chest heaves with exertion but you remain still otherwise, lips parting in invitation, eyes half-lidded.

"Baby–"

"You said you'd take care of me," you intone beseeching, voice affecting a trembling, delicate quality.

Fuck.

He's never been good at denying you much. Already, he feels the urge to take you into his arms and promise to make it better, but he forces his hand to stay, curling his fingers in the bedsheets.

You crawl forward, until your lips are ghosting over his, eyes swallowing his field of vision until all he can see are the stars in your irises. He feels the

"Jason, please, it still hurts," you whimper quietly, a wounded noise that carves him from the inside out, guilt and shame poisoning his every nerve. He's at war with himself, wanting to ease your pain – he feels responsible for it, in a way – and hesitating similarly. Is this right? Is it okay?

Before he can come up with an answer, you press your mouth to his.

The last of his inhibitions crumbles completely under the plush of your mouth.

He rolls the both of you over, relishing in the gasp you let out, the sight of you splayed against the mattress. He's quick to divest himself of his clothes, tugging his shirt off recklessly, not minding the sound of ripping fabric he vaguely registers hearing. The jeans go next, and his underwear in one, flung to some corner of the bedroom.

Your spit slick mouth curves up into a delighted, drunken smile when he crawls over you, body eclipsing yours with every intent of ravishing you.

Jason holds himself up with one hand, the other reaching to the bedside table and rummaging in the drawer for the box he keeps there. Only, he comes up short and dread dawns over him in a cold wave when he remembers –

He'd used the last of the condoms a few nights ago. It hadn't mattered in the last couple of days, the weekend too busy for the both of you to do much else but curl up next to each other, too exhausted to consider working up a sweat.

"Fuck," he whispers, shaking. "Fuck, baby, there aren't, um…"

Your eyes fill with tears at the unfinished sentence, a hiccuped sob stuttering out of your chest.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he tries to soothe you, a hand smoothing down your face. "I'll just – I'll run to the store, I'll be back before you know it."

"No, please, just–" Watery eyed and upset, you tug him closer as though fearing he'll take off. "I don't care, I don't, I just – I need you, Jason. Please."

He stares at you, heart thundering in his ears. "Fuck you without –"

"Need you now," you whimper, lips tugging down pitifully into a pout that cuts through his chest.

It isn't as though this is his first time fucking you raw –

Tipsy laughter, hushed whispers of it's fine, just once, we'll get the morning after pill.

– but still. This is different, another ballpark entirely.

You stare up at him, desperation in every crease and curve of your face, pleading with him. Too far gone to care, you beg him.

"I'll, um," he rasps out, throat dry, "I'll pull out."

You make some sort of noise that sounds like a vague affirmation, tugging him closer hastily. Poor, pretty girl. His chest aches at the sight of you, needy, looking to him to fix it.

"I'll fix it," he finds himself muttering, lining himself up with your entrance. You've similarly taken to murmuring under your breath, hands carding through his hair, devotion in your every touch.

"Need you so bad, please, please, baby."

The slick that smears against his head, the soft warmth of you, nearly makes his eyes roll back into his head. A drawn out whimper spills from your lips at the press of his hips, the first inches of him pushing into your tight heat.

You sink into the mattress as he notches himself further inside, mouth opening. You paint an obscene picture, your lips bitten raw, naked chest arched. He lowers his head to mouth at your nipples, teeth teasing at the sensitive points. You're warm, so warm beneath him – around him.

He's given only a moment to breathe before you push your hips up, impatient. Fucking yourself against him, your fingers dig into the muscle of his back for leverage, tucking him close enough to you that he brushes against your neck and tastes the salt on your skin.

Jason sets a harried pace, bucking forward against you. You begin to cry out again, every resounding slap of his skin against yours drawing out a moan that curls tight around him and presses down on his stomach. You exchange panted breaths between open mouthed kisses, tongues and teeth clashing messily, muffled pleas that beg for more, more, more.

Filthy, debauched, it doesn't take very long for you to approach your peak. Jason, lost in the wetness of your cunt, feels his own building and knows this is a dangerous game he's playing, toeing the line of recklessness.

"Close," he pants, feeling the tell-tale fluttering of you around him, your orgasm imminent. If he can just hold out until he's gotten you there –

Your legs wrap around him, hold so tight he's not able to do much more than rock against you in desperate, quick rolls of his hips.

"Inside," you warble. Your hands come to cradle his head, coaxing him down to kiss you, licking up into his mouth sweetly, teeth catching on his bottom lip. "Mmh, please, baby? Please? I – Jason – want it so bad, need you inside."

"Oh fuck," he gasps, voice hitching, breath stuttering. His face creases, overcome, and you grin, dazed, drunken, pulling him into another sloppy kiss. What's he to do?

You scream into his mouth at the same time that Jason comes. His vision whitens at the sensation of your pulsing heat, the unforgiving tightening that demands his orgasm. His fingers dig into the soft flesh at your hips, burying himself to the hilt and surrendering to your claim.

Warm and wet around him, the evidence of his debauchery coats the inside of your thighs and clings to the base of him. He's light-headed, a little winded, and it takes him a moment to gather his sensibilities. When he looks down, he finds you a boneless puddle beneath him, eyelids fluttering tiredly.

He should pull out. He knows he ought to – but he's broken so many rules, what's another? Jason gathers you in his arms and rolls over gently, tucking you against his chest, a hand skimming up and down the length of your spine comfortingly.

"Fuck," he whispers out into the air, and you murmur atop him. He glances down, meeting your bleary eyes. "Y'just had to go and get caught in that crossfire, huh?"

"N'my fault," you grumble, pressing your face back into his chest.

"Gonna give me a heart attack," he grumbles, dropping a kiss to your crown. Then, with a look over at the bedside table, he jostles you a bit. "Hey. Don't fall asleep. We still have to get you the antidote."

"Wake me when 's ready," is your answer, tone somehow managing a prissiness unexpected of someone who'd just been fucked to within an inch of their life, and he drops his head back into the pillows, incredulous.

This girl would be the death of him.

first kinktober 2024 fic let's go!! i genuinely didn't think i was going to be able to commit to kinktober this year (i'm still nervous about whether i'll be able to) because finals are literally just around the corner and i'm stressing. but hopefully you enjoyed the first installment to this year's kinktober and the coming ones don't disappoint, either!

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

Real Talk: Ace Didn't Need to Ask For Help, It's On Garp

i always hate when i see comments about how ace was an idiot or ace should have just asked garp for help because, no? like dawg wtf do you mean?

the one thing we have been told repeatedly across the manga and anime is that ace could have lived his entire life being perfect and he still would have ended up on that podium

he could have become a marine, a police officer, a teacher, a chef and all of that would have been reduced to nothing the moment his parentage was discovered

yes, ace became a pirate of his own volition, but sengoku never mentioned his piracy

he never mentioned all the criminal activity ace did as the captain of the spade pirates or even later as the second division leader of the whitebeard pirates

you know what sengoku did bring up though the moment he got on that damn podium? ace's parentage

he mentions nothing that gained ace his bounty to begin with when he gets that den den mushi in his hand. why?

because it doesn't matter that ace is a pirate. what matters is that they are eradicating the last gol d roger's bloodline

bear in mind that they were killing pregnant women and young children who could have even had the slightest possibility of being roger's lover or kin

akainu deadass says that he doesn't care if every other pirate at marineford escapes as long as ace and luffy died and he would ensure their deaths personally. and for what? not their piracy. none of their crimes. not even for ensuring that the truth that certain countries and lands that were actually saved by pirates instead of the marines never got out

but because their fathers were gol d roger and monkey d dragon respectively

solely because of that, he deemed neither of them deserved to live

and as far as garp goes - i love garp as much as the next person but garp has never done anything for ace to trust him enough to ask for help even if he felt he deserved to ask

garp's negligent parenting coupled with the abusive words ace grew up hearing led ace to believe he didn't even deserve to be born. when he even asks garp if his being born was a good thing, garp can't even tell him 'yes'. he just says 'time will tell'. my brother in the blue seas, that is an elementary schooler questioning his right to exist

ace is defeated by blackbeard in episode 325 (chapters 434-441), luffy hears about his execution being set in episode 416 (chapter 522) and then finally ace is killed in episode 483 (chapter 574). that is 158 episodes and 140 chapters total and in that time what ace receives from garp are conversations that boil down to

"you did this to yourself"

"i just wanted you to become a fine marine"

"i don't have sympathy for criminals but i do have sympathy for family"

and garp actively preventing those who wish to save ace from reaching him. yes after akainu strikes ace, garp does react viscerally with instinct to protect his grandson, but that's too little too damn late at that point

garp having his moral dilemmas mean nothing when, however long ace spent in impel down, he isn't trying to help him

garp having his 'wishing things had been different' thoughts mean nothing when garp is preventing people from saving his grandson

there's a reason garp lets dadan beat and berate him when they reunite in windmill village and it's because he knows she's right

over the course of 20 years, garp has consistently chosen work over ace and luffy. as much as i love dadan and co, bandits are not a good choice to have raise your grandkids and then be the surprised pikachu meme when neither of them wish to become marines

garp's inability to see past the system he disdains yet clings onto actively shoots him in the foot

prevents him from seeing that ace is right when he says he never could have become a marine

luffy could have never become a marine. i do hear arguments saying that luffy might have had a fair chance considering garp is biologically his grandfather but i say that's truly up in the air considering how, even with that knowledge, akainu still wants to put luffy on a poster

but that's all to say, asking why ace never asked garp for help is ridiculous

the fuck would ace look like asking the man who has done nothing but

unintentionally fostered ace's resentment towards luffy in their early childhood

told ace it was his own fault he landed where he did

falcon punched marco halfway across marineford

for help?

and that's not even mentioning the fact that up until that point, ace didn't believe he deserved to live. he didn't think he had the right to exist. the only thing that kept him going up until that point was hoping he'd find an answer that justified his being born and his love for luffy and sabo. ace tells luffy in his dying breaths if it weren't for the two of them, he would have gave up on living a long time ago

yes, garp loves ace and luffy

he loves them both dearly but he is also incapable of putting them before work, before his ideals of justice. these two truths can coexist at the same time. garp's stubborn to a fault and his moral dilemma resulted in both inaction and the prevention of ace's escape

so to say that marineford would have gone differently if ace had asked is seriously undermining the character work. because in reality, it's up in the air on whether or not that would have done anything. ace asking garp for help could have gone either way and that's the beauty of the gray area regarding garp's actions during the summit war

and yes, i can get why it's frustrating that ace turned around to fight akainu when he could have just left and got it back in a blood a different time

but aside from ace having a temper about specific topics, we do get an answer as to why he couldn't bring himself to runaway when we finally are able to dive into his past with luffy and sabo:

he doesn't want to run away from any situation because ace is deathly afraid of losing something if running away ends up being the bad call

and in that moment, luffy was behind him

even if akainu hadn't talked down whitebeard, ace would have inevitably turned back around because he wouldn't have been able to shake his fear of losing something or someone he cared about

as long as there is something precious for him to potentially lose, ace will never run

he was doomed from the start

his being the son of gol d roger doomed him from the start

and that's what makes ace so tragic

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Just Friends

Or three times people mistake you and Jason as partners, and one time you let them think that on purpose. ~1.4k words

Jason Todd is your best friend. You just can't quite convince people of that. It happens more often than is good for your heart, people assuming that you and Jason are anything more than friends. Each time it makes your heart race, your face feel warm, and you have to remind yourself later that it isn't more, no matter if what you feel for him is. 

"You two look at each other just like my husband and I did when we were young. It's so nice to see such a lovely couple." The elderly woman tells you and Jason kindly, voice warm as she pats Jason's arm. She's come up to the two of you while you were picking over the novels in the bookstore, eyes full of reminiscent memories.

Jason reacts quicker than you can, draping an arm around your shoulder to pull you closer. "We are, aren't we? Thank you, ma'am." 

She beams at him, and you nod weakly along with his words. "So lovely." She mumbles as she walks away. 

"Jason," You hiss quietly, "did you seriously just lie to that sweet old lady?"

"What? It made her happy." He counters, lazily smiling at you, still tucked comfortably under his arm.

You make a face at him and tut, moving to pull away. "Still a lie."

"Ah ah," Jason tuts back, and his grin becomes more playful, "gotta keep up appearances now."

You huff and duck your head to focus on looking for books, "Wouldn't have to if you weren't a liar." He laughs, and if your heart beats a little faster for the rest of the time you're in the store, neither of you mention it.

Jason is twirling you around the dance floor of the latest Wayne Gala, your favorite fancy outfit swaying with each movement. It's always fun, to dress up with him. It's not always so fun to hear Gothams elite talking about you.

"Isn't that the Wayne boy? Todd or something?" An older man asks, champagne in one hand.

"Hm? Oh, yes." The lady beside him responds.

"And his partner?" He asks, sounding completely uninterested.

"I can't remember their name. They've been together for as long as I can remember. Though, it is always lovely to see them, isn't it? It is so rare for the Wayne family to be all here." The woman answers idly, and you miss the rest of the conversation as Jason leads you away.

"Hey," He cuts into your thoughts when you miss a step, lost in thought over if all of Gotham thinks you're dating Jason. He pulls you a little closer to his chest to keep you from falling, fingers splayed over your back. "Where'd you go?"

His words bring you back to the present, and you look up to meet his gaze and lie, "Just thinking about how stuffy these things can get."

He clearly doesn't believe you, but doesn't press as he leads you around the dance floor, "Wanna go then?"

"No," You tell him, giving into the urge to rest your head against his chest, screw what anyone else thinks, "I like dancing with you."

He says your name so tenderly you nearly miss your steps again, "I like dancing with you, too."

"Todd, your girlfriend is here." Damian calls as he opens the door to Wayne Manor for you. You laugh a little, surprised but happy to see Damian making a joke about your arrival. You feel a little awkward sometimes, joining in on their family dinners, but Bruce assures you you're more than welcome. And Jason swears if you don't go, neither will he. 

"C'mon on, Damian, you know Jason and I are just friends." You smile as you talk, voice light as you step into the grand mansion. 

Damian frowns, "But Jason said–"

"Shut it, brat." Jason cuts in, practically bounding down the hall to get to your side.

He places a steady hand at the small of your back, shooting Damian a warning look as he guides you down the hall and to the dinner table.

The moment passes before you can ask about it, read into it. You're distracted by calls of your name and bombardments of excited questions from Jason's family as you enter the dining room. 

Dinner is delicious, as always, and when you end up sleeping over in Jason's room for the night, clad in his extra clothes, you forget to bring it up. 

Jason doesn't mind when people mistake him and his best friend for partners. In fact, he kind of loves it. It's good for you to hear, he thinks, because the more you hear it, the more used to it you'll become. 

He knows you don't notice the way he looks at you, and he can't decide yet if it's because you don't believe he could look at you like that, or if you're choosing to ignore it for some reason beyond him. 

Jason also knows that you like him. He just doesn't know if you're exactly aware of that fact yet.

He supposes it doesn't really matter, it's probably for the best you don't see how his face pinches when someone goes to flirt with you, how his shoulders tense and his skin pricks. 

The guy that came up to you while he was grabbing your coffee orders seemed innocent enough at first, until he said something Jason didn't quite hear from across the room. But he did see the way you stiffened. 

He's over at your side in an instant, one hand hooking around your waist to pull you securely against his side, balancing the tray of drinks and baked goods in the other. "Everything okay here, babe?" He drawls, eyes sharp. He wonders if you know that if you said the word, he'd jump this creep in this quiet, little Café right now. 

He settles when you lean into him, and answer without a shake in your voice, "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Good." He says casually, taking the chance to trace his thumb back and forth across your hip. "This guy botherin' you?"

"No!" The stranger cuts in, clearly a little intimated. 

'As he should be' Jason thinks before, lowering his voice to a threat and narrowing his eyes at the man. "I wasn't talking to you." His gaze and voice softens as he looks down to check on you. "Was he bothering you, baby?"

He can't help the smirk on his face when you actually seem to look proud. "Only a little, honey."

He has to actually force his eyes to leave your smile and look back at the man. "You bothering my date?"

The man steps back, "No– no, I mean, I didn't know they were with you– I– uh–" He stutters out, frantically looking between the two of you before turning and high tailing it out the door.

He nearly doubles over in laughter with you, careful to keep the drinks from spilling.

"That was kinda mean." You choke out between one giggle and the next, wiping mock tears from your eyes. He thinks it might be the nicest sound he's heard today. 

"Eh, he deserved it for being weird to pretty patrons of coffee shops. What'd he say?" He says, reaching out to pick an invisible string from your hair. It's an excuse to keep touching you, and his eyes go fond when you lean slightly into his touch. 

"Just something about taking me out for a drink," You answer, laughing while you grab your drink from him. "You're sweet, you know that?"

"Only to you." He says, eyes following your movements.

You hum, noncommittal. "You're sweet to other people, sometimes."

Jason laughs, hooking your free arm with his, "Sometimes," He relents, guiding you both out of the shop and back into the street, "But, I'm sweetest to you."

Pride blooms in his chest when you light up at his comment, "You should keep at that."

He grins, and swears to himself he will. "I'll keep that in mind, doll." 

It's a little thrilling, how when you have to unhook your arms to walk the crowded streets of Gotham, you take his hand. He squeezes your fingers, and it's satisfying that it's so easy to mistake you as his, especially in this moment.

He'll bring it up to you eventually, the idea of being more, but he's content with easing you into it, with watching how you try to make excuses for why everyone believes that you're together. How you try to convince yourself you aren't more. But, you are more to him, so much more. You always will be.

[benjinotes]

𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 (𝐩𝐭.𝟐) - benjicot blackwood (fancast)

summary: a few months after you and Benjicot start dating, your mom invites him to a family dinner.

pairing: benjicot blackwood x fem reader

warnings: whipped benji, over protective dad and older brother, sweet rhaenyra, modern au, smut, semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, heavy make out, rough sex (?), sweet but not innocent reader […]

n/a: reader is rhaenyra and harwin's daughter, her last name is strong, i don't know anything about american football

wc: 4.3K

don’t translate without my permission!

As he slammed the car door shut with a resounding thud, Benjicot ran a trembling hand through his hair, his nerves on edge. He took a deep breath for what felt like the thousandth time, trying to steady his racing heart, and clenched his fists tightly in a futile attempt to stop them from shaking any further.

To say he was nervous about tonight was an understatement—in fact, he was terrified, and knowing that this was a necessary step in his relationship with you, he did everything he could to remain calmer, which clearly wasn't working.

Every step he took felt calculated, almost as if he were on the field about to execute a crucial strategy. Perhaps it was a desperate attempt to hold on to the last vestiges of confidence he had left, remembering how on the field that confidence enveloped him like a comforting embrace.

There, however, he felt as if he would be strangled at any moment. The fear of disappointing your family at that dinner consumed him, but what distressed him even more was the possibility of disappointing you.

Benji knew that disappointing you would be one of the hardest things someone could do, since you were so sweet that you almost never held a grudge, no matter how much someone hurt you. But even so, he didn’t want to risk it happening.

You were the person who had supported him the most in recent months, and he knew that putting up with him was not an easy task—quite the opposite. That’s why he was absolutely sure that you were his most dedicated admirer, just as he was also your number one fan.

So, maybe that’s why he was so determined to put aside his explosive and often inappropriate behavior during the few hours the dinner would last. What seemed like an impossible challenge to many was, for him, exactly the opposite. Since you both started dating, he had become much calmer and more focused, which clearly shocked everyone around you.

However, for Benji, that was normal; after all, you were capable of bringing out the best version of anyone around you, and you made everything that was once an effort in Benji’s life become something natural and easy, almost as if he were floating in the relationship in a gentle and relaxing manner.

Your constant care and support not only smoothed his rough edges but also showed him a new way to live and love. And damn, he loved you so much it hurts.

So, maybe that’s why he was so willing to repay everything you had done for him. He wanted to make sure that this night was special, demonstrating how much you meant to him. And if that meant he had to face your parents and siblings, he was willing to do it a million times.

Yet, Benjicot couldn't shake the feeling of goosebumps that ran through his body when his finger touched the doorbell of your family's house, and he felt his palms sweat and anxiety washes over him as he heard the footsteps approaching from the inside. For a brief moment, it seemed like the sky above him was closing in a little more, and the sound of the doorknob turning and the creaking of the door as it opened only intensified his nervousness.

When the door opened, Benji swallowed hard, feeling anxiety rush through his veins, but as soon as he saw your pretty figure in front of the large doors, his heart skipped a beat with relief, and a smirk appeared on his face for a moment. Forgetting how sweaty his hands were, his eyes completely focused on you like always.

“You're a little early, don't you think?” You smiled in his direction as soon as you opened the front door, and when he noticed the slippers on your feet, he let out a short laugh, looking attentively behind you before placing his hands on your waist.

You raised an eyebrow at the gesture, but Benji could see the sweetness in your eyes despite the playful attitude.

"Well, I always like to come early for important occasions, sweetheart." He said with a light laugh, as his hands gently caressed your waist. Your hands instinctively moved to his arms, massaging them gently as you looked up at him with a loving smile.

“Besides.” He added in a tender tone, “I missed you.” He confessed in a low, but sincere voice and was met with your laughter, which seemed to dissolve the remaining anxiety he had. This only made his smile widen, genuinely happy to hear you laugh again.

“Did you miss me?” You asked with a giggle, bringing your body dangerously close to Benji's. His mischievous smile widened, almost making him forget where he was and why he was there. “We were together just a few hours ago.” you continued, your voice tinged with amusement, smiling again and letting your fingers lightly squeeze his arms. A light blush colored your cheeks as you remembered the intimate moment you two shared earlier that afternoon.

He looked behind you to see if anyone from your family was looking before moving a little closer to your body and tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, which made you blush, and he smiled at your reaction while humming softly, “It’s been too long.” With a soft murmur, he added. “The hours drag by when I’m away from you!” He said this in a playful tone, but the look in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t lying.

You laughed loudly again, which made the corners of his mouth rise a little more, while his eyes were still focused on you. You could feel his breath almost mixing with yours.

“You seem very confident,” you teased, the confidence you had gained over the months of your relationship present in your voice, which still had the softness that Benji loved. "Let's see if you maintain that stance when we're having dinner with my family." At that, Benji's eyes widened, remembering what he was doing there.

Benjicot swallowed hard for a moment, and the sound of laughter from inside the house made him move away from your body a little; however, he still kept his hand around your waist, unable to move without touching you.

You, on the other hand, blinked gently, growing increasingly concerned at his lack of reaction. You couldn’t recall ever seeing him so nervous before. With a tender gesture, you moved your hand to his forehead, brushing away the rebellious strands that insisted on covering his green eyes. Quickly, you lifted your feet, still clad in fluffy slippers, to place a soft kiss on his cheek, hoping to offer him some sense of comfort despite his current state.

Upon feeling the soft touch on his cheek, Benji looked at you again, which led you to give him a brief kiss on the lips, causing his heart, previously racing with nervousness, to start beating at a calmer pace. However, seeing your lips move away so quickly, he couldn't help but be slightly disappointed, and he almost forgot the way your lips had explored his body that same day.

“You don't need to be nervous.” You spoke softly. "You already know my family; this is just a simple dinner." You pointed out, and Benjicot looked at you with half-closed eyes, tilting his head gently to the side.

The truth was that Benji had already met your family casually; Jace had been friends with him since they both ended up in the same economics class at university, and although Jace liked him as a teammate and classmate, Benji felt that, despite his friend's approval, Jace wasn't very excited about the idea that he would be his future brother-in-law.

Your mother, although she had an intimidating presence, made a point of making him feel welcome and treated him with affection. However, Benji knew that any mistake he made against you could provoke her fury. Your father was another story; the man always intimidated him immensely. Dealing with a former NFL player and team coach was scary enough; now knowing that this same player was your father made the situation even more complex, especially since you were his only girl.

What comforted him most at that moment was knowing that your younger brothers liked him and that your stepfather, Daemon, would not be present at that dinner.

"You always know how to calm me down, don’t you, sweetheart?" Benji murmured softly, his voice filled with warmth. He placed a tender kiss on the top of your head and then gently lowered his hands, hoping you'd intertwine your fingers with his.

"Of course I know." You smiled in amusement, intertwining your fingers with your boyfriend's, who gave your hand a light squeeze, seeking comfort in your sweet touch.

The sound of laughter from inside the house grew louder as a reminder of the night ahead, and he could have sworn he heard little Joffrey screaming from inside, which made the corners of his mouth turn up just a little. With your hand firmly in his, he felt a wave of calm and readiness. He looked at you, his eyes showing a bit of hesitation and excitement, almost as if he were eager for the challenge.

“Let’s get this over with,” Benji said in a low whisper, and you felt your skin crawl at the tone, which made him bite the inside of his cheek. However, you ignored his nervous gesture and pulled him inside by the hand with a little more force than usual.

As you two entered, the lively atmosphere of your home enveloped you both, along with the loud voices of your brothers, who seemed to be involved in yet another fight. You and your boyfriend laughed together as you watched Luke try to hit Jace in the face with one of his slippers.

Benji looked at you with amusement as he took in the lively scene before him. Noticing that your brothers were still wrapped up in their playful argument, you cleared your throat deliberately, hoping to regain some control over the situation.

The commotion subsided slightly as everyone, including Joffrey, who had almost tripped as he ran up from the back of the house, turned their attention toward you.

“Look who’s here!” you said, raising your voice to be heard above the remaining chaos. You gently released Benji’s hand and reached down to lift little Joffrey into your arms. As soon your youngest brother saw Benji, he stuck out his tongue in a playful gesture. Benji, catching the playful mood, responded by sticking out his own tongue, a grin spreading across his face as he enjoyed the lighthearted interaction.

"Benjicot," Jace greeted in a serious tone, his voice carrying a weight that made Benji tense up. Realizing that Jace would be more of a protective big brother than a supportive friend during this dinner, Benji bit the inside of his cheek, preparing himself for the challenge ahead.

"Jacaerys," Benji greeted back, trying to match the serious tone. You let go of your younger brother and gave your older brother a look of mild reprimand, but Jace just shrugged and pointed with his chin towards the dining room.

You and Benji exchanged quick glances—his filled with a touch of nervousness, yours a mix of excitement and worry.

"Mom and Dad are already in the dining room; we were just waiting for you," Luke interrupted, noticing his older brother's posture. Benji could see that Luke was trying hard not to grimace at Jace's behavior, which almost caused the corners of Benji's mouth to lift up a little. That was exactly why Luke was his favorite.

Giving Benji a reassuring glance, you guided him—almost dragging him—toward the dining room, with your siblings trailing behind. As he entered the spacious room, he took a deep breath and felt his tension ease upon seeing your parents chatting cheerfully.

You still remembered Benji’s shocked expression when you told him that your parents were divorced but maintained a civilized relationship. It was a situation quite unfamiliar to him, but he seemed to be starting to adjust to the unique family dynamics. You think, at least.

“Goodnight,” he greeted warmly as he smoothly pulled out your chair and helped you sit down. Rhaenyra glanced over with a satisfied smile, clearly pleased with his considerate gesture.

“We haven’t started dinner yet,” your father said for the first time, flashing Benji a forced, overly polite smile. Benji, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach, took his seat next to you with a wary glance. “The evening only truly begins after we’ve had dinner,” Harwin continued, his tone carrying a hint of unspoken challenge.

You noticed your siblings trying to stifle their laughter, while your mother shot your father a disapproving look. Despite the subtle tension, Harwin remained unfazed, taking a slow sip of his wine as if nothing were amiss.

"Well then, good afternoon," Benji replied fast, and his lips curled into a slight smile as he saw you and your mother chuckling at his response. However, his smile quickly faded when he noticed your father's narrowed eyes fixed on him. The intensity of your father's gaze made him feel little, and he had to make an effort to maintain his composure under the scrutinizing attention.

He could see Jace smiling across the table, which made him lick his teeth.

You placed your hand gently on his side, whispering some words of comfort, which made him place his hand on top of yours.

“Harwin!” Rhaenyra called out with a firm tone, causing the man to straighten his back. You gave a satisfied smile at the interaction. “Stop scaring the poor boy!” she reprimanded. Harwin rolled his eyes but didn’t dare counter her; no one was foolish enough to do so.

“I’m glad you accepted my invitation,” she continued, this time turning her attention towards Benji, trying to move on from the awkward situation. Her tone softened as she spoke, and Benji gave her a grateful smile. 

“I'm truly glad you invited me,” he replied sincerely. Benji was surprised when he received the invitation from your mother. Although he had always had a good relationship with her, having met her a few times at football games, the situation was entirely different here.

Rhaenyra Targaryen was the woman who raised you and gave you life. It was thanks to her that you were who you were, and Benji felt a deep gratitude for that. Moreover, he knew she was your greatest inspiration, and he was thankful for being welcomed by her so warmly.

“Benjicot,” your father said, his tone surprisingly calm, yet Benji could sense the underlying threat. The interruption made everyone at the table pause and shift their attention to Benji, who tensed under Harwin’s piercing gaze. You squeezed Benji’s thigh unconsciously, a mix of concern and apprehension evident in your gesture.

"Do you really care about my daughter, or is this just a desperate attempt to get attention after last season?" Harwin's question cut through the air, and your eyes widened in shock as you felt a slight tremor run through you.

The dining room fell silent, but Rhaenyra remained composed, her posture unwavering as she understood her ex-husband's intentions. Jace, on the other hand, looked visibly irritated at the prospect of such a notion being true.

"Dad!" You scolded, your voice tinged with irritation. Benji had never seen you so visibly shaken, and his heart ached at the sight of your agitation. "What on earth are you trying to do?" you hissed, your hand unconsciously tightening its grip on Benji's thigh as you struggled to keep your composure.

Your father shrugged, a glint of challenge in his eyes. “I’m just asking a question,” he said, his tone casual but laced with an edge. He turned to Benji, his gaze piercing. “Are you afraid to answer?”

Benji’s free hand tightened into a fist, and he let out a frustrated sigh, using his other hand to gently massage yours. “I’m not afraid, Coach Strong,” he said through clenched teeth, attempting to ignore the smirk on your father’s face and the worried glances from your younger siblings.

"Then answer me." The oldest said this, tilting his chin towards his daughter's boyfriend.

You were about to open your mouth to protest, but before you could say anything, Benji cleared his throat.

“I love your daughter,” Benji began, his voice steady. The room fell silent, all eyes fixed on him as he continued. “I’m not using her to seek attention or validation—quite the opposite.” His tone grew more sincere, though it remained firm. “She means everything to me. From the moment I wake up until I fall asleep, she’s on my mind, and I’m certain she never leaves it. Her kindness and the way she inspires me to be a better person are invaluable. I may not know exactly when these feelings began, but they are deep and, above all, sincere.”

He paused, taking a deep breath, as he met Harwin’s gaze directly, which now held a hint of pride. “She didn’t make me fall in love with her suddenly or temporarily. Instead, she guided me to walk in love with her, and this journey has been so soothing that I believe it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever done unconsciously. And I’m grateful that she reciprocates my feelings.”

After his confession, you bit your lip hard, torn between the urge to cry or leap into his arms. As you looked around, you saw that your mother was already struggling against tears, deeply moved by his words and overwhelmed with happiness. Jace seemed to relax too.

The room remained silent for a moment, the weight of Benji’s sincere confession hanging in the air. Your father’s stern expression softened slightly, though his eyes still held a trace of scrutiny. He took a sip of wine, his gaze lingering on Benji with newfound respect.

Rhaenyra, her eyes shining with gratitude, lightly touched her rings. “Thank you, Benjicot,” she said softly. “It means a lot to hear how much you care about my girl.” She leaned in his direction, and he merely nodded, uncertain of what to say.

Harwin nodded, a slight, proud smile breaking through his usually serious demeanor. “It seems you really care about my daughter, and that’s something I respect,” he said, making you raise an eyebrow, realizing it had all been a test.

However, Benji, gave a relieved smirk, licking the inside of his cheek, and gently squeezed your hand. You looked at him, gratitude and love evident in your eyes, and he couldn’t help but notice how your chest rose and fell gently.

“Well then,” Rhaenyra said, breaking the silence. “Let’s enjoy dinner; Joffrey is getting impatient.” She laughed as she noticed the youngest child in the room, who was now mumbling about wanting ice cream.

The atmosphere in the room shifted as your mother’s words eased the tension, and the dinner proceeded in a more relaxed manner. Your father's stern expression softened to contained approval, and Benji, now more at ease, engaged in the conversation. As the evening went on, you leaned slightly towards Benjicot, your smile suggesting a hint of intimacy after the dinner.

It wasn't Benjicot your father had to worry about after all.

〰️ 〰️ 〰️

The rain pounded against the windows, obscuring the outside world. Inside the car, you and Benjicot were locked in a fiery embrace, mouths hungrily exploring each other's. The heat between you intensified as your hands roamed freely, every kiss and touch deepening the passion. 

He didn't know exactly when the making out had started. One moment you were giving him a suggestive smile at the family dinner; the next, your mother had asked you to get ice cream for your younger brother, who was throwing a tantrum. Suddenly, you were pulling him into the back seat of his old car, and ripping off your bra with urgent intensity. But, in any case, he couldn't complain, especially with your hips moving in circular motions on top of him.

He was sure this was one of the best secrets you had, and he made sure to make the most of it.

"Benji," you whispered breathlessly as he trailed kisses down your neck, each touch sending shivers through you. His mouth lingered, teasingly slow, as he moved lower, leaving a trail of hot, insistent pressure. The deliberate pace only heightened your anticipation, making the ache between you more intense as his lips finally reached your hard nipples, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

"Hmm?" He murmured as he circled his tongue around your nipple, almost letting out a moan himself when he noticed the pressure you were applying with your hips on his already hard cock, and this made him squeeze your ass almost unconsciously but still tightly.

"I need you," you moaned, and he looked up at you with an amused expression, still sucking on your nipple, waiting for you to continue. "Please," you almost begged.

He chuckled softly before pulling your head down to capture your lips again. As you opened your mouth in surprise, he took the opportunity to thrust his tongue inside, turning the kiss into a fervent clash of tongues and teeth.

"Of course, sweetheart," he responded with a hoarse voice. Before you had time to react, he lifted you from his lap and leaned you against the car seat, kneeling in the limited space he had.

Benji looked imposing, kneeling in front of you and completely ignoring the cramped space of his car. He pulled you by the waist with a strange mix of strength and gentleness, just for you, slowly moving your panties aside and making you lean back against the car seat until your pussy was directly in front of his blushing face. He smiled as he watched how eager and wet you were for his attention.

You were already panting, looking directly at Benjicot's face between your legs as his hazel eyes met yours with a mix of anticipation and amusement. His arms wasted no time in holding your thighs, which seemed extremely restless and eager to close with just the brief touch of his breath near your wet entrance, making him whisper a few inaudible and disjointed words before pressing his cheeks against the sensitive part of your thighs and giving your clit a painfully long, slow lick.

As you pulled harder on his hair, he buried his face deeper into your cunt, diving in and eating you out with precision. He was satisfied with the loud moans you let out from the sensation of his flexible muscle inside you, hungry and relentless. You didn't even know when the moans turned into screams.

Benjicot didn't cared about that, though.

Since there was no technique or precision in the way he devoured you, there was only animalistic hunger and fervent passion as his tongue flicked against your sex and his nose rubbed against your clit, leaving you so drunk with pleasure that the next thing that made you squeal was feeling his fingers massaging you while his mouth sucked the spot his nose had just been.

You looked at him as your body started to weaken, and when you noticed the intensity in his eyes, you had to close yours quickly. This only made him grip your legs even tighter, the veins in his arms bulging as your orgasm hit you like a torrent, completely coating his chin.

However, he seemed unwilling to stop.

Benjicot continued with fierce determination, his movements growing even more frenzied as his tongue and now fingers worked together to prolong your pleasure. You were at his mercy, each wave of ecstasy more intense than the last, and he showed no signs of tiring, intent on pushing you to your limits repeatedly.

"Benji," you choked out. "I can't, I can't!" you repeated over and over, your voice trembling with desperation. Your body gave way as the second orgasm of the night crashed over you, leaving you breathless and weak. He finally released you, his grip loosening as you collapsed, exhausted and spent, into the car seat.

He pulled his body away, eyes still burning with desire as he looked at you. You were there, your body shaking and covered in sweat, trying to catch your breath. The car seat was cold against you overheated skin, and the traces of pleasure still hung in the air. Benjicot wiped his chin, a satisfied smile on his lips as he watched you recover from the intense waves of ecstasy.

He looked at you with an intense expression, then, with a playful tone, spoke softly. ��You’re so sweet, sweetheart,” he said with a smile as he sat beside you, pulling you against his bare tattooed chest.

You slowly opened your eyes, still trying to steady your breath. “Benji,” you murmured, your body still trembling.

He tilted his head, his touch now tender as you tried to recover. “I mean what I said at dinner. You’re everything to me, and I love you,” he whispered, his usually rough voice softened with affection reserved only for you.

Smiling warmly, you pulled his head down and pressed your lips to his once more. Completely forgetting the real reason you two were in the car.

well anyways — good night!! (shitty smut but yeah)

tag list: @h-0-error @whiteoakoak @spider-stark @rebeccawinters @knight-of-flowerss @weird-things-i-think-about @rhaenys-nyra @haydee5010 0 @hobis-hope95

— English is not my first language, so please be understanding if you saw any grammar mistake!

[kyokutsu-sama]

Headcanons

"How they apologize after an argument"

A/n: I remember of writing some headcanons with the same topic for the Bleach captains but now I'm going to write the same topic for Black Clover captains. I'm so in love with them❤️

_____________________________

Yami:

Yami can be all brute and intimidating but he also recognizes when he messes up and regrets it, especially when he knows he hurt you in some way.

Sometimes he is stubborn and this becomes an obstacle for both of you when you're trying to solve something, he wants to be the master of reason just because he's the captain and thinks he can do things alone. This makes you believe that he's being arrogant, putting you aside like that.

(But the fact is that he actually just tried to protect you so that you wouldn't do anything that would put you in danger)

"Baby, please don't overreact, I'm just--" "Don't talk to me until you change your attitude" You replied, walking past him without even looking at his face

He starts to realize that you're taking the silent treatment too seriously and starts doing all kinds of things to get your attention, which don't lead to anything.

He thinks you're thinking about breaking up with him and this makes him drink twice as much, which leads him to arrive at the hq more drunk than usual.

You start to realize this and you start to worry too, even if you don't admit it.

On one of those nights he arrives at the hq very drunk and sees you in the living room and hugs you from behind, staying like that for a moment while you feel his heavy sighs against the crook of your neck.

"I'm sorry if I was hard on you, I just want to protect you. Please don't give me the silent treatment, it breaks my little heart" He whispered against your ear and you sighed before turning to face him "I accept your apology, you dramatic" You slapped his chest and smiled

This man was much more relieved after you forgave him. It was as if his little heart regenerated.

Fuegoleon:

I'm sure if you two argued Mereoleona would take action and beat him up because she's on your side🤭

Sometimes Fuegoleon is too serious and too strict, more than he should be and that stresses you out.

"I'm not going to have this conversation with you again, do as you wish" You left his office, angry "Y/n, wait, I just--" He got up from the chair but you slammed the door

He doesn't want to lose you nor does he want to see you upset with him but he also doesn't want to put pressure on you.

"Mereoleona is gonna kill me if she finds out about this" His first thought

He then calms down and choose to give you space, however, he always wants to know how you are and that's why he orders the servants to deliver flowers to you and also order that the meals be taken to your room.

You recognized that all that princess treatment was Fuegoleon's work to apologize.

However, one day he went to the room where you had been sleeping these days and sat on the mattress next to you and try sorted things out.

"Honey, I'm sorry if I spoke that way. It's been so much that sometimes I don't even know how to separate my personal self from my professional self and with that I ended up hurting you"He confessed with his head down but you hugged him "It's okay, love, we all make mistakes. I accept your apology and thank you for the flowers, by the way" You thanked him and he smiled hugging you

The captain of the Crimson Lions felt much better and promised you and himself that he would change.

William :

Seriously, I don't see how there could be an argument with this man because he's so cute and so gentle.Aghhh...I want a man like him now😫

But if by chance you and him disagree about something and it gets serious, It will be very difficult for him to deal with the situation.

"William, I'm sorry but this matter is going too far" You left the room "Y/n, come here, please listen..." William went to the door but you closed it and he sighed, feeling helpless

He refuses to see you walk past him and not talk to him, he refuses to see you doing your life and not being able to be by your side. It's as if you two became strangers and that touches his heart.

Even if you didn't want to clarify things yet, he uses his magic to create beautiful bouquets of flowers and leave them on your bedroom door, just like the captain above. You can't hold back your smile at the cute action every morning when you come across the flowers right at your feet

One day, you were at the bedroom window watching the group of the magic knights of the golden dawn enter through the front door and William also accompanied them. It had been a while since you two spoke, but you just wanted him to walk through the bedroom door so you two could talk.

And to your surprise, he did.

"Y/n, I came here to resolve things between us, I can't be without you. Please forgive me if I said something I shouldn't have said" He confessed with his melancholy eyes fixed on yours "Oh William, I forgive you. Come here" You hugged him giving in to his bright eyes and how cute he looked

You couldn't stay upset with him and neither could he with you. Everything was fine now and William was grateful to have you back just like you.

Nozel :

The way he spends his life idolizing the name of the Silvas and royalty is sometimes tiring for you. One day you have a conversation that goes a little sideways because he's being too proud again.

"You know what? Stay there with your pride and your fucking royalty. I lost my appetite" You threw your napkin on the table and hurriedly left the dining room "Y/n, come back to the table, we're not done" Nozel got up but you ignored him

Nozel knows he went too far, he wasn't supposed to be like this and sometimes he found himself being too proud which led to some arguments.

However, he knew he couldn't act like that towards you because he loved you too much and didn't want to keep you away from him. In response to this, he told all the servants to watch over you and to give you expensive gifts that he bought.

You couldn't help but smile at his actions. The fact that he sent someone to look after you and gave you valuable things made you think it was cute of him.

Yes, he was overprotective, even if he didn't admit it to anyone but himself. However, you could see that through his actions and there was nothing he could do to hide it from you.

You were sitting in the living room by the fireplace and he came into the room looking at you and you at him. There was a certain tension in the air at that moment.

"We need to talk, I... I think it's time we sort this out" He confessed but you didn't say anything until he got to the part that you wanted to hear. "I want to apologize, I know I let my pride speak too loud and that hurt you"He said and you smiled, seeing that he got to exactly the part you wanted "My dear Noble, I accept your apology but control your pride. Doesn't suit royalty" You used his usual words and he raised an eyebrow at you

Nozel promised to do so, so that situations like those wouldn't happen again.

[multific]

Pink Flags

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Warnings: smut, unplanned pregnancy, angst

Summary: After a night of passion, you face Simon with the consequences, however, his reaction is far worse than you could have ever imagined.

You were always good at what you were doing.

Comically good. The way to take down terrorists was like a dance. A melody you create by murdering them.

What you weren't so good at were feelings. Especially your own.

No matter how tangled up you got with them, you always found a way out.

You promised you won't become attached to anyone. Attachments are dangerous.

But you did find yourself entangled with your LT.

Which wasn't good.

You knew it was unprofessional but the moment his lips hit that sensitive spot on your neck, you lost all sense and only came back to it the next morning.

When once again, you lost all senses when you felt his bulge rub against your ass. It was all a mess.

You should have seen the red flags. But you chose to ignore them all.

Simon Riley for one was a huge red flag.

The entire man was a secret and you loved it. It was so exciting and interesting for you.

You knew Simon wasn't the relationship type of guy so you knew what to expect. You were ready for rejection at any given time.

But of course, it never came.

Not once did he reject anything you did, ask or told him to do.

Not even on the battlefield.

Simon knew you were talented so why would he question it? But now, now he had a question, a question he was afraid to get an answer to.

"What did you just say?"

"I'm pregnant."

Simon saw many terrible things, and done some himself, but that one word was the worst he had ever experienced.

A word that will change both of your lives and he wasn't ready for that. He was dead. Only a ghost, an idea, a machine.

Not a father.

"Get rid of it." he would reply in his panic. He honestly didn't even realize he said it out loud if it wasn't for the hurt in your eyes, he would have believed he didn't.

But he did. And it hurt.

He then turned away and left.

You promised yourself it would be the last time you saw him.

Because now, you finally could see all of his red flags.

All of them came crashing down on you.

But you also knew you won't 'get rid of it'. No, you will keep this baby.

And after getting a note from your doctor, you retired from the army, focusing on the baby and yourself instead.

Fuck Simon and his attitude.

Fuck him for not stepping up when you needed him.

Fuck him.

You will do better without him.

---

Living in a small apartment in a quiet place in London might have been the obvious choice.

But it was your choice.

You wanted to prove that you can provide for your child.

Thankfully you were smart enough to not spend the money you earned while in the army.

So, you had enough money for now.

Not for very long, but you could still get a little nursery done in your home.

You went to all of your appointments with that doctor.

Hearing the heart of your baby beating was like magic.

And then the announcement of the century, you were having a little girl.

A beautiful little girl who is yours.

Your daughter.

You needed many days to let that sink it.

Being pregnant and alone was a nightmare.

No one was there to rub your feet or to help with your cravings.

You told yourself you don't need anyone anyway… After all, who would want a woman who is pregnant with someone else's child?

There might be a couple men out there but you didn't need them.

You just needed you and your baby.

And that was enough.

When the time finally came, you could only stare at her, sleeping in her bed next to you in the hospital.

You swore to protect her from everything.

You swore to be enough for her.

You swore to love her forever.

For she was the love of your life.

Your little bundle of joy.

You gave her a name, a name you always wanted to have yourself, so you let her have it instead.

A healthy little girl.

Your daughter, Emily.

Bringing her home was possibly as challenging as it was magical.

You ordered some food for yourself before putting her to sleep.

You tried your best to remember everything the doctor and the nurses told and taught you.

There was a knock on your door, you stood up and walked to get your food.

But of course, instead of your food, a man stood in your doorway.

Simon.

"You got to be fucking with me." you said as he looked at you.

"Nice to see you too, Lass."

"What do you want?"

"I believe you have something of mine. Half, mine."

"Go fuck yourself Simon. This is all you can say? 11 months and this is the best you can do. Leave."

And you slammed the door into his face.

When your food finally arrive you did catch a glimpse of him still waiting in the hallway. But you didn't care.

Who did he think he was?

Half of his?

Fuck him.

How dare he?

---

From that day on, he was everywhere.

In the grocery store, in the park, in the restaurants. Wherever you and Emily went, Simon followed.

One day, you were sitting on a bench, Emily sleeping in her stroller when he suddenly sat down next to you.

"I'm sorry."

"That's a better start." you said, not looking at him.

"I was a complete idiot when I told you to…" he looked at the stroller as you watched him, you understood what he meant. "I have been watching you for a while now. I found you when you were five months along."

"So, you have been watching me for 6 months now?"

"About that much, yes. I died the day my family died. I am a ghost, a baby didn't fit into that."

"Then wear a condom." you said with a harsh tone, he knew he deserved it.

"I am not father material. I am a soldier. Having a child is… not for me."

"Why are you here Simon? Are you here to tell me, this time nicely, that you want nothing to do with me or my daughter? Fine, have it your way. Leave, I didn't need you then, I don't need you now."

"You were the best of us. 141 isn't the same without you. Price often said that you will be the end of me. He always joked about you and me… a quiet life, but I don't think he meant it as a joke. You fascinated me always. You are so beautiful and kind."

"Simon-"

"The day you were told you are having a girl, you were so happy. You went to a restaurant and ate so many things, then you went to the ice cream shop. The lady looked at you funny when you asked to only eat the pink ones. I followed you, I watched you."

"Why are you here Simon?"

"Price told me to find you, he told me to make things right, but he only spoke the words I have been meaning to do. I knew I needed you the moment you joined the team. I let you go because of my own doubts and fears. I do not know what I would do if anything happened to you or her."

His words were sincere. His eyes were filled with guilt and regret.

You would be lying if you said you weren't attracted to him. You always were and will be.

"I can't let you in Simon if you are only going to leave us." is all you could say, your voice, barely a whisper.

Simon was about to say something when Emily started to stir and cry.

You grabbed her and put her on your chest, slowly bouncing and calming her down. You looked at Simon whose eyes were glued to your little girl.

"She has your eyes." you said as he looked at you and then back to her. You moved her slightly, making her face him.

"She looks like you." he said. "Beautiful." it was something he wasn't meant to say, you could tell easily. "I don't want to leave, but I have to. It's what's the safest for you two."

"It's not enough. I am not going to just send you photos of her for every anniversary. I'm not going to tell her that her father wants to see her but can't. It will break her and me. Either you have us Simon or not. I'm not doing the tango with you."

"You were always the all-or-nothing type." he chuckled. He was looking at Emily and you could tell it wasn't an easy decision to make. But you couldn't let him have it his way. As if to help your case, Emily reached out her small hand towards Simon, you smiled at her but waited for his reaction.

He lifted his hand and let her touch his fingers.

Simon will never forget the feeling of his daughter's first touch. It was so warm and innocent. Her little fingers played with his much bigger ones.

Simon came with the intention of letting you go. But he couldn't.

When he first saw you, you were radiating.

Your belly was showing as you walked from store to home. Simon should have known it was a done deal after that.

He should have known he will never be able to let go.

"I will make this right." he said as he let Emily wrap her tiny fingers around his thumb.

He couldn't believe just how terrible he was towards you that day. Telling you to 'get rid of it', of his daughter. He will forever regret his words. No matter how much he will do in the future. You offered him a small smile and a simple nod.

You knew he will be able to make things right, the two of you will be able to figure this out.

Simon Riley might be a walking red flag with a tragic past, but when you handed him Emily, his eyes filled with love and suddenly, in the bright daylight those red flags looked more pink to you.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak   @manduse   @jacalineiscomingforyou  @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[charliehoennam]

A/N: fulfilling @j23r23's request made here. Happy reminder that requests are open!!

Summary: Alfie comes homes late at night and finds his pregnant wife sleeping on the couch and confesses his fear to his unborn child

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x F!reader

Warning: sexual connotations towards the end, language, pregnancy themes

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

Alfie was never one to be easily scared. He had a tough upbringing and, being the man of the house to his two older sisters, Rebecca and Debora, and their divorced mother, he had to grow up fast.

His father had left before Alfie was even born, leaving his son to become the only man of the house.

Sure, his mother was quite the mama bear herself. But there had always been resentment from Alfie towards his unacquainted father for leaving his mother to fend for her children on her own.

Alfie vowed that, if he ever became a father, he would support and help the mother of his child however he could, no matter how unconventional.

You felt like the luckiest woman in the world to be married to him. Alfie was nothing like most men. Most men would participate very little in these affairs, believing them to be limited only to women, but not Alfie. And if anyone dissed him for it, he'll tell those cowards to fuck right off because he wouldn't leave you alone in one of the most painful moments of your life.

It wasn't very common for you either. Part of you was so worried about just having him present for the birth. You worried he wouldn't want to go anywhere near you after it - obviously after you've healed - or have another child.

"Love, after the war I've seen, there is no amount of blood that can scare me away. Now, I won't pry if you don't want me to, of course. I'll respect whatever boundaries you have. But I would like to be there to hold your hand at the very least," he'd say.

He was hellbent on getting you all the best doctors and only the most experienced midwives to assist with pregnancy and the labor.

He didn't avoid making love to you because you were pregnant. It surprisingly turned him him on, made him certain about getting a baby back into you as soon as he could.

Every night, he came home to you with your favorite sweet and treated you to a warm bath together entitled to a foot rub and back rub just before bed.

Every afternoon, he'd meet you exactly at 3 when the weather wasn't too sunny or cold for a walk around the square or the block.

Every morning, once it became harder for you to bend over, he'd kneel down every time to get your heels on for you and compliment how beautiful you looked.

Regardless of the arguments you'd have, he was always consistent with his help. It didn't matter how he felt, he put his feelings aside as he reminded himself that they were nothing compared to the human growing in your body.

Your unborn child had reminded him of his sisters struggles during their terms. Crying over their husbands' affairs, neglected and alone, desperately wondering how they would raise the child. He was only a boy at the time, but he made sure to remember their names.

Once older and stronger, he tracked down all the men responsible for breaking his sisters' hearts and punished them with a beat-down they'd never forget. He considered offing them, but he figured the very least they could do is provide financial support. So, before they could even speak right or breathe through a healed nose, he put them into jobs his contacts proposed especially to him in order to keep a close on them.

That was simply Alfie's nature. Protective and vengeful.

Despite barely having to lift a finger for anything ever since Alfie hired an entire team to assist you, your body still felt exhausted and heavy from the weight of the growing baby in your belly.

You found yourself sat on the couch with Cyril snoring peacefully at your feet, warmed by the crackling fireplace before you.

You wanted to lie in your bed and rest your swollen feet in the comfortable warmth of your cotton linens, but Alfie still wasn't home. You worried when he got home late.

It took one look at the winding wooden stairs to convince you to swing your legs up on the couch, stretching them over the plush cushions.

Closing the heavy book in your hand, you tucked it snug between your side and the back of the couch for a quick shut-eye.

When Alfie arrived home, he tried to be as quiet as possible. He wasn't sure if you'd gone to bed, but he did know you had trouble sleeping without him. Your limited sleep positions were nothing as comfortable as snuggling up to his side.

Locking the door, he hung up his coat and hat. Just before he could make it to the first step of the stairs, he heard Cyril's snoring coming from the living room. That's when he noticed the light radiating from the fireplace, dancing against your skin as you slept soundly.

He stood in the door watching you for a moment, basking in the image of your sleeping frame. The warmth of the fireplace could not compete with of that which spread through his chest.

Alfie smiled to himself as he gazed upon you, his eyes admiring every crevice and hair on your face. The line of your nose, the eyelashes you'd bat at him, the shape of your lips and the faint curve of your smile lines. He loved knowing he'd been the main cause of those particularly.

But, as his gaze moved down to your protruding belly, he was reminded how close the day was. He wondered how the months flew by so fast.

He felt like he had so much time to prepare for fatherhood, but he felt just as hopeless as when you first told him about the baby.

Stepping into the living room, he walked over quietly to join Cyril on the floor in front of the couch.

He stared into the fireplace as cyril shifted to rest his head on Alfie's lap - his laziest greeting yet.

Alfie sat on one side, leaving his opposite leg bent to rest his arm over his knee. Your belly was just inches away.

Moving his gaze back your clothed bump, he sighed heavily.

"You know, I never met my father, right," he whispered to the unborn child. "I think it's wise you know that now, 'fore you come out. Didn't have one growing up, see? So I 'avent got the slightest idea of how to be one."

Lured from your nap by Alfie's voice, you slowly blinked your eyes open. Although Alfie's head of hair was all you saw, you realized he wasn't talking to you and he couldn't see you were awake.

Eavesdropping wasn't very polite, but you couldn't help yourself. You didn't want to stop him, but hearing him to the baby in you was quite heartwarming so you decided to let Alfie have a bonding moment of his own.

"Truth is you got me downright scared," he continued. "Even after months, I still am downright terrified and you ain't even 'ere yet... I know it's a lot to ask, yeah, especially since you're still in there, blissfully unaware of the horrors of the world. But I give you my word I'll try my best to be the best for you and your mum. I hope you can understand that even when you decide to hate me whenever I give you an earful. Though I doubt I can do it. Think your mum will have to sort you out," he mumbled with a playful smirk. "I'll try my best for you, yeah? I just hope it's enough."

Alife's smirk faded as she gazed at your belly. He felt pathetic, venting to an unborn child as if that would solve all his problems. Alfie hated admitted, and he would never admit it to anyone but you, but he was terrified of becoming a father.

You didn't blame him; you had your own fears as well, so you could understand why this precious and fragile life had him so frightened.

He still hadn't noticed you were awake or that you had heard his confession. Until you lifted a hand to stroke the hair on the back of his head.

" 'eard all that, did ya?"

He didn't exactly blush, but he did feel warmth racing around his face with embarrassment.

"You're going to be a great father, Alfie" you answered. "I know you're scared. I'm scared too. But as long as we're together and we have each other, we can get through anything."

"Yeah, I know, love," Alfie nodded and sighed. He hated talking about his emotions, even if it was to the only person he could trust blindly. "I just don't want to be a disappointment like my father, if you could even call 'im that much."

"You won't be, and I'll tell you why. You're nothing like him," you smiled, carding your fingers through his brown locks. "You're a good man, Alf. I know you do what you have to do out there, but what matters to me is the man you are in here. And in here, you're a good man. And I wouldn't want to be carrying anyone's child. I'm honored to be the mother of our babe."

"You really mean that?" he smiled trying to look over his shoulder at you, as far as his neck - and age - allowed.

"Every word. You're worried enough to ask your sisters and the midwives for help, Alf. Not many men care to even worry about that sorta thing."

"I'm not like most men," he smirked feeling a sense of pride. "How'd you know about that though?"

"Becca told me you been meeting her for tea every week for advice."

"I fucking knew it. I knew she'd blabber off to you," he chuckled shyly.

"It's nothing to ashamed of, love. I actually find your level of concern and willingness to help in whichever way extremely attractive," you smirked stroking the sensitive skin on his neck with your finger.

"Do you now?" He grinned mischievously knowing exactly where this was headed. One of the perks that came with your pregnancy, in the later stages of it, was the sharp peak of sexual desires.

There were no more worries about you getting pregnant - too late for that now - and seeing your belly swollen, with his child that he put inside you, only made him wish he could put more and more.

"I think I like where this is headed."

[a-hazbin-reader]

HII I just wanted to say I simply adore your Alastor headcannons.. ❤️

I unsure if you’re accepting request but if you aren’t you can ignore this one 😅

I was thinking of a pining Alastor with a fem reader who never sings. Like she has always hated musicals, and ever since she’s been in hell she noticed it’s just one big musical. And the moment they finally actually open up and sing.. it’s not with Alastor. But probably Angel to make him feel better.. So he’s all jealous that the reader hasn’t sung with him.

And at the end they share a lil love duet and slow dance .. like, singing at last by Etta James..

I don’t know..I just love how you write Alastor. Your writing is absolutely phenomenal. 💕

I've been avoiding this one because it makes me think of Nix- 😭

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Alastor being a MENACE, Grumpy!Reader, Mentions of Drunk!Reader

Description: 👆⬆️

You don't sing, you're not the kind of person who's just going to break out into song like everyone else around you

You sang along to music, sometimes sure, or maybe even sang to yourself, but you didn't live life like you're in a musical

You had better things to do with your time than dancing around to mysterious music and making up words on the fly

It was something that annoyed Alastor because no matter how hard he tried to get you to join him in his little song and dance, you just walked away

And left him feeling ridiculous for even trying to make music with you

Good

Your serious demeanor and closed off nature only served to make him want to win you over even more

He doesn't like people being a mystery to him, he wants to know what you're thinking and how you're feeling all the time

For the sake of knowledge, of course, not out of any romantic desire or anything as ridiculous as that

After several failed attempts to get you to sing, Alastor just assumes you've got a bad singing voice and gives up

Only to be PISSED when he's proven wrong because WHY WON'T YOU SING WITH HIM

He finds you holding Angel to your chest and singing to him, the poor spider holding back tears as he relaxes into your arms

Alastor just hides and listens to the sound of your voice more confused than ever as to why you don't sing

You have a BEAUTIFUL VOICE

It reignites his desire to get you to sing with him and he becomes more of a pest than ever for you

He tries to trick you into humming or singing, turning on the radio when you two are alone in hopes that you'll take a liking to a song

"Do you have a particular music preference, my dear?"

"Can't say I do, whatever you pick is fine."

You only roll your eyes and continue looking at your book, the only sign that you like the music is your leg bouncing to the beat

He later catches you humming a little tune with Niffty as the two of you clean up together, the happy look on your face is the most precious thing he's seen

Alastor tries to invite you out to a concert/musical, waving two tickets in front of your face

"What do you say, my dear~? You and I listening to the most wonderful music in hell together?"

Only to watch your face scrunch up at the idea and realize that he's about to be rejected

"That's not really my thing, maybe you can get Charlie to go with you."

He ends up giving the tickets to Charlie and Vaggie, letting the two of them have a date night

You're smiling and singing a little song with Husk later that night, cooking a late night dish with him

He sulks the entire night and glares at you whenever your paths cross because HOW DARE YOU

WITH HUSKER!?

He even tries taking everyone to a karaoke bar and pulling you up on stage, hoping you're drunk enough that you'll sing

Only to be the victim of your drunken rage and get body slammed into a table instead because he startled you

"Alastor!! Are you okay!? Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! I will pay for the table!"

Charlie is panicking because everyone is STARING, but you just glare down at him, cheeks flushed from the booze

"Don't... sneak up on me like that..."

He'd be lying if he said it didn't turn him on a little, laying there still in shock over what happened

"Understood."

Later, he hears you singing along to a song someone else is singing to. You're so drunk by that point that he doubts you even realize you're doing it

But you still sound so good even when your words are slurred and you're not even singing the right song

It gets to the point where Alastor's mood sours whenever you sing because he wants to sing with you but you always turn him down

You're trying to open up more but it's difficult to open up to someone like Alastor because it's impossible to know if he can be trusted

Your better judgment tells you no, but your heart whispers that you should give him a chance

Alastor just wants a duet with you so badly

You two would kill it, and he knows it

He's playing at the piano one day, singing to himself for entertainment more than anything

It's a song from his childhood, bringing up memories of happier times with his mother

When you suddenly saddle up next to him and begin to play as well, adding another layer to his song

His tail wagging and the way his eyes light up are the only indication he gives that he's excited by your presence

He keeps singing, feeling renewed by your musical accompaniment and really enjoying the music

Only to be graced with the sound of your own voice joining him, your hands briefly crossing over each others to play the right notes

The simple graze is electric for both of you, but neither would admit for years to come

He was right, you two sound better than anything he's ever heard before and he can't help but look at you because surely you feel it too??

Only to be flustered by the blush on your face and the small smile you give him, obviously pushed beyond your comfort zone but trying hard

It's all he can do to swallow the lump in his throat and focus on the song instead of how good you look or how beautiful you sound

Only when the song is over do you two realize how close your faces have gotten, gazing into each other's eyes like lovesick teenagers

You both are leaning in closer, gazes drifting down to lips-

When Alastor suddenly jerks away and walks across the room from you, his face burning from the realization of what almost happened

You deflate a bit and worry that you read him wrong, standing up so you can leave with your pride still intact

"Alastor, I'm so-"

Suddenly, the radio comes to life, Alastor picking a station with a slow romantic song playing before holding his hand out to you

"Care to dance, my dear? It'd be a shame to let such a good song go to waste..!"

You're both blushing and avoiding looking each other in the eye but you take his hand anyways, being pulled flush against him

If anyone were to peek in and see you two, it would certainly look like you two were a couple dancing to a romantic song and having a moment

Alastor has one hand on your hip while the other gently holds your hand, your head resting against him in an attempt to hide how embarrassed you are

His ears are folded back, and the smile on his face is wobbly and awkward, your other hand on his shoulder suddenly seemingly very interesting

Good thing nobody is peeking in on you two, except everyone is peeking in and passing around cash

"Pay up Angel, Husk, Charlie won fair and square."

I hope you guys like it 💓

[byeuijoo]

comforting gesture 𐀔 &team

genre : purely fluff ⋆ warnings : absolutely none ⋆ wc : 876

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ୨ ✩ ୧

k ⭒ forehead kisses

he's a tall guy, and i think that's already something reassuring and comforting. but when his warm hands slide over your cheeks, and he places a protective kiss on your forehead : that's when you really feel cleansed of all bad vibes. k is the kind of boyfriend you can trust completely and who gives you a constantly reassuring, benevolent aura. which is why, whenever he thinks you need it, he follows his instincts and places a soft, warm kiss on your forehead.

fuma ⭒ back hug

you admire fuma for his presence and his ability to take care of others, but what you like best about him is his big arms mixed with his pretty cute face. so you obviously love it when he comes sliding up behind you to wrap your body in his comforting muscular arms, resting his chin on your shoulder as he cuddles you. sometimes you talk about anything and everything — especially if you're cooking at the same time, but other times you remain silent, simply enjoying each other's presence.

nicholas ⭒ grabbing you by the waist

whenever nicholas is near you, you can expect his hand to hang around your waist. you're out with friends? he guides your footsteps into his, holding you by the waist. you go shopping together? he holds you by the waist so you don't get lost. you're quietly preparing dinner? and suddenly a hand slips around your waist. but you don't care, you even like it more than you'd like to admit — because his hand around you makes you feel completely his, and constantly protected and safe.

euijoo ⭒ smiling into kisses

you don't know if he does it naturally or just to get rid of his shyness, but euijoo often pauses between kisses to let a smile form on his lips. it's one of the many things you love about him. and you're definitely not saying that because you fell in love with his smile — but because it proves that your hands on his cheeks and your warm kisses have a certain effect on him, and more particularly on his heart, which resonates unceasingly against yours. then, spend your time kissing him just to feel his lips stretch into a smile against yours, has become one of your favorite moments of the day.

yuma ⭒ peppering kisses all over your face

you like to have free time with your boyfriend, because that means you'll get an avalanche of kisses. yuma is the kind of friend who'll plant kisses all over your face, leaving no spot untouched. your eyelids, your nose, your cheekbones, your jaw, your forehead, your temples, ending with your lips — nothing escapes the softness of her lips, and you find that extremely reassuring. no matter how many times he kissed your skin, you never stop getting butterflies in your stomach, to the point of smiling like an idiot.

jo ⭒ exchanging smiles from across the room

everyone knows that jo isn't much of a talker, but what he does best is to offer you the most beautiful of his smiles. no matter where he is, you can always find him with your eyes and lose yourself in his most precious smiles, because he's got that smile that makes your heart skip a beat, that makes you want to smile instantly, and makes you fall in love a little bit more. especially when you feel like you're lost in a crowd of people, rushing through their daily routine, and you need to find an anchor to get you out of there. and that's when you meet his gaze, and exchange the most comforting of smiles before you find each other again.

harua ⭒ playing with your hair

it's something harua often does, twirl a strand of your hair between his fingers wherever, whenever and however he wants. sitting next to you, waiting behind you, cuddling in bed.. every opportunity is good for him to play with your hair. even when you're having dinner, on the kitchen island, and he's just listening intently as you tell him about your day, and his hand slips mechanically into your hair to twist it around his index finger — and of course you don't say anything, because you're so used to it that it seems completely natural.

taki ⭒ rubbing his thumb over your knuckle

one thing taki likes to do the most is holding your hand. and he does it all the time : in class when he's behind you, in the street when you're out, in a department store to avoid getting you lost in the crowd.. his hand is glued to yours at this point. but you don't mind, because it's as if your hand was made to be joined to his, and you feel it even more when he strokes your knuckles with his thumb during a date. this simple gesture has a strange effect on your heart — and it keeps sending butterflies to your stomach.

maki ⭒ squeezing your hand reassuringly

one thing you really appreciate about maki is his ability to read you like an open book — and even if it can sometimes be restrictive, in moments of stress, you like him to be able to understand you without the slightest difficulty. no matter when or where, you don't know how he does it, but his hand always reaches for yours. and that simple touch has a calming effect on you, especially when he exerts a gentle pressure around your fingers, as if to whisper to you that he's there and everything will be all right.

⠀

reblogs & feedbacks are highly appreciated !

[stairain]

Gun that doesn't shoot.

You've grown tired of the princess treatment from Spencer, just wishing he'd slap you around for once, so you don't stop until he does.

Warnings: Hard Dom Spencer, Bratty Reader, spanking with a belt, degrading, hair pulling, slapping, fingering, crying, orgasm denial. 

WC: 3.7K

For reasons you don’t know, you were being overly bratty towards Spencer today. Actually, you had a completely valid reason. He’s gone soft, to put it simply, and quite frankly you were tired of being babied 24/7

So today, whenever he asked you to do something, it was met with a mocking grumble and hesitance to do said task. He thought it was just a one time thing, and let it slide, but now here you are again, facing the other way with a pout as he talks to you.

"What is the matter with you, Princess?"

Your heart skips a beat as you hear him call you by your favorite name, but you huff and cross your arms over your chest, as if throwing a silent tantrum.

“Don’t give me attitude, Princess. You’ve been in a sour mood all day and I haven’t done anything to you.” 

Spencer crosses his own arms across his chest as his tone is one of pure disapproval and disappointment. He sighs. 

“What has gotten into you?’

You almost make a show out of turning your head away from where he stood, exaggerating how much you wanted to do everything but look at him. 

He slightly bends over to firmly grab your chin and force you to look in his eyes.

"What's the matter? Speak."

You suck your teeth as you look up at him with malice burning in your eyes.

“Why should I tell you?”

Spencer’s eyebrow twitches as he becomes irritated with your behavior.

"Because you're being bratty, and I'd like to know what you're upset about." His voice starts out stern, but slowly turns gentle at the end of the sentence.

“And why would you care? It’s not like you’re gonna do anything about it.” You’re still avoiding his question, wanting to see just how far you can push him before he snaps. He was always so gentle and caring with you, and for once you just wanted to see what’d it’d be like once he finally lashes out on you.

"Why wouldn't I care?" He seems genuinely lost at your response.

"Just tell me what's wrong, and I'll see what I can do to fix it, okay?" His tone is still gentle, but he seems a little confused and maybe even hurt. With a scoff, you turn your body so you’re facing away from him.

Spencer sighs heavily as he stands back upright, getting more and more frustrated. 

"Look, I can't fix what's wrong if you won't tell me. So talk, or I'm going to give you something else to pout about."

You have to suppress the small smile that grows on your face, you’re finally getting somewhere. You huff once more.

“You wouldn’t.”

"Try me, Princess." He says the name in an almost mocking manner, and takes a few steps closer to you. He leans down and grabs your chin again, forcing you to look up at him. He gets just an inch or two from your face.

“That’s what I’ve been doing all day, didn’t think it’d take a genius like you to take this long to figure it out.” Your voice is sarcastic as your words bite at him. 

You can see violent anger flash in his eyes for a moment, before he’s squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath. His hand slides around the back of your neck and grabs you there, dragging you like a dog over to the kitchen counter. Your back hits the edge of the island, and his voice is quiet as he speaks to you. 

"I don't know what's gotten into you, but for your own sake, please tell me what's made you so angry."

You simply bite the inside of your cheek as you stay silent, despite all of his warnings and pleads for you to just talk to him. His hand slithers from the back of your neck to your throat, and gently holds it in his fingers. 

"You don't give up, do you?" He asks after a moment, still holding you there against the counter. As his frustration continues to grow, his grip tightens, but he doesn't seem to realize it.

"I'm begging you, sweetheart. Just talk to me."

You push down a sound of pain at the feeling of him gripping at your throat, and swallow nervously before speaking. “Or what?”

Spencer sighs and his grip on you gets tighter and you can tell his frustration is only growing at your stubbornness.

"Or I'll have to punish you. You know how much I hate doing that, Princess." He sighs again, clearly hurt by the thought.

This time, you don’t stop the soft grunt that escapes your mouth, and you stutter when trying to speak.

“Y-You’re all talk..”

The man's eyebrow quirks up, and he shrugs. 

“If you say so.." His expression is now cold and serious. "Your choice, Princess." He suddenly lets you go and takes a step back. He crosses his arms and stands in front of you, waiting to see what you will do next. 

A look of confusion and disbelief crosses your face, and you’re sputtering out your words. 

“W-What are you doing? You..You’re supposed to punish me, why are you just standing there?” 

As you speak, you can see a cocky grin spread across his face.

Spencer looks at you for a moment before speaking, his tone coated in disdain as realization sets in for him.

"You really want to be punished, don't you? That must be it." He starts walking in circles around the kitchen island that you’re leaning against, slowly shaking his head.

"You're being bad on purpose to get my attention.” His tone is mocking and his grin is teasing, but there's still some coldness behind his words.

He knows he’s read your intentions perfectly, just as you had recited them in your head. Your heart starts to pound in your chest as you try everything in your power to not look at him, as he circles you like a shark would their prey.

He continues to circle you, his look turning more predatory as time goes on.

"Is that what this is really about? You get some sick satisfaction out of pushing my buttons until I snap at you and have to put you in your place? You just like seeing me angry." His grin grows, and he chuckles darkly. "Does it get you off, Princess?"

The tone in his voice is dark and condescending, and it sends a shiver through your senses. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“I-I..”

Spencer watches you as you try and fail to speak, and his grin only grows darker. His eyes are cold and unforgiving now, looking down on you like you're one of the worst of the worst that he's put behind bars.

"Speak up, Princess. Unless you have nothing to say?" He gets even closer to you, getting right in your face and leaning a hand against the counter next to you. You can see the anger starting to boil in his eyes, despite him trying to keep himself calm.

And it’s clear by the way all your previous confidence has crumbled underneath you, that you have nothing to say. You were trembling with fear and anticipation as you could feel the huffs of his heavy breathing hitting your skin.

His eyes narrow at your silence, and his hand suddenly shoots out to grab a fistful of your hair. You are pulled forward painfully and he pulls you close.

"Speak. You don’t have a choice." He growls at you as he grabs your hair tighter and his face looks like he's just one step away from losing control.

You wince in pain at the feeling, but also moan softly. As his fist gripped at your roots, it shot a feeling of pure arousal through your body. You take a shuddering breath before you speak.

“Y-Yes.. Just-Just wanted you to put me in my place..” 

His face doesn't soften at all at your confession. He seems just as cold and unforgiving as he did before you spoke, and his other hand now grabs your throat.

"And what is your place exactly, Princess? Remind me."

His gaze is piercing and his breath is as heavy as your own is.

“I-I’m yours, Sir..”

The grip on your hair and throat only tighten as you whimper out your words. 

"That's right, Angel. You are mine. And you know what you do when you're mine?" He leans in even closer, so that he's nearly nose-to-nose with you, his grip becoming almost unbearable. 

"You behave, Is that understood?" 

Your lips drop in an attempt to gasp for air, and you manage to nod in his hold. You swallow and squeeze your eyes shut.

Reid lets go completely and you gasp for air, coughing and sputtering. You choke on your own breath as your lungs greedily fill with air.

"That's what I thought." He mutters in a low, almost whispered tone. He watches you with a sick look of sadism for another moment as you fight to breathe, then lets out a sigh and steps away. His face is blank for a moment, then his eyes quickly fill with desire.

"On your knees."

The tone he uses is colder and less forgiving now as he says that. He hasn’t moved in his place away from you, and he crosses his arms, waiting for you to obey him. 

At his command, you take a few steps forward and immediately fall to your knees. You bow your head down to the floor as you await his next order.

“Yes, Sir.” 

He looks down at you and reaches a warm hand out to run over the expanse of your jawline, before quickly pulling it away to slap you across the face. Your head jolts to the side and you let out a quick noise of shock.

"I don't want you to say another word unless I ask you to. Understood?" His eyes are trained on you as he withdraws his hand, waiting for you to respond and confirm that you’re actually listening to him now.

“Yes, Sir.”

You nod and say not another word afterwards. Your body was practically shaking in both excitement and fear for this, you had him exactly where you wanted him.

Spencer nods and reaches out for the belt he keeps on his waist. He pulls it out of his belt loops and holds it in his hand, seemingly taking his time to torture you.

"Look at me." His voice becomes harsher, and you can tell he's lost his patience.

Your head almost immediately lifts to look him in the eyes, and you can feel the littlest of tears brimming your wide, “innocent”, eyes as you gaze at him through your long lashes.

"You’ve left me no other choice, Princess.” He states monotonously as he holds you in his gaze. 

"It won't be pretty, or gentle. You're going to leave with bruises." His voice is dripping in condescension, and the look in his eyes sends a shiver of fear through you. He holds the belt tightly in his fist, waiting for your response. 

“That’s exactly what I want, sir.”

The look in his eyes doesn’t waver as he sits down on the couch and looks over at you expectedly.

"Over my knee."

There's no room for argument. His face remains unmoving as he holds his arm out, waiting for you to do as you're told. With a nod, you lift yourself from trembling knees and walk over to him, before bending your body over his legs, your stomach resting against his thighs and your ass raised in the air.

Spencer looks down at you as you do, his face blank and his expression serious again. Once he makes sure you're fully in position, he flips up your skirt and pulls back his arm. 

"Don't you dare move, Princess.” 

You hold your breath as you wait for the first hit and squeak out.

“Yes, Sir.”

The thick leather of the belt crashes down against your bare bottom and you hiss through your teeth. It hurt, but you knew this was as gentle as they would get, so you take it with gratitude. 

"Let's see if that attitude of yours is the same after a few more, hmm?" He asks in a condescending tone, his voice having turned into a cruel whisper. He pulls back his arm again as he speaks. 

"Tell me again what you are, Princess."

“I-I’m yours, Sir.. I belong to you—“ Your words are cut off as he swings the belt and lashes it against your pink tinged skin, making you cry out in pain. The tears that brimmed your eyes before fell down your flushed face now.

"Good, Princess. That's a good girl, isn't it?" He says in that unforgiving mutter as he pulls the belt back and whips it forward again, just as hard as the last.

"Tell me again, Princess. I want to hear you say it. What are you?"

Your body lurches forward in his lap and you practically scream at the pain.

“I’m yours, Sir.. Y-Yours..”

"And how should I treat my Princess? Do you think I should treat her gently? Is that what you want?" His voice is sarcastic yet menacing and it sends a shiver down your spine. He pulls the belt back and whips it forward once more, hitting you with even more force than before. 

You know better than to answer him, you know he’d like you better with your mouth shut right now. But that proved to be quite difficult, as the second the rough leather slapped against your bottom, your mouth dropped in a screech.

"Shut up. Do as you're told." His voice grows brutal and he continues to spank you, his face becoming one of rage and fury as his hands turn red and white from the tight grip he has around the belt.

"I don’t want to hear a single sound from you unless I want it, Princess. Now, say it again. What are you?" He asks, his voice once again dripping in a scornful frigid tone.

You don’t even have to look back at your ass to know it’s absolutely bruised with purple and red marks, you can just feel them.

“I-I’m yours, forever..”

"Yes, that's right. You belong to me. So don't you ever behave like this again, understood?" 

He stares you down and punctuates his words with a bruising hit.

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry sir..” Your voice is wavering as tears stream down your face and your body is shaking against his. His free hand reaches up to grab a handful of your hair and he forcefully yanks on it, making you groan in pain. 

“I don’t fucking care. Shut your mouth or I will make you.” 

An animalistic sob leaves your lips when he tugs at your roots harder and brutally assaults your already abused bottom. It’s like you can almost feel every line and crack of the texture of the belt at this point, as with every hit he dealt to you, the pattern was being imprinted on the red raised surface of your ass.

Then, suddenly, the hand in your hair lets you go and you can hear him switching the belt from his left hand to his right. All you can do is hang your head low and pray he’ll take it easy on you. But you know better. This is exactly what you wanted. You wanted to watch him snap, break from that caring and nurturing role he always regarded you with, and ruin you. 

When rough fingers take hold of the bottom of your panties, the fabric is ripped with an unforgiving tearing noise. Your eyes widen against the darkness of the couch and you clench at the feeling of being exposed so suddenly. 

Above you, you can hear him let out a deep chuckle at you bent over his lap, arching in anticipation as your folds glistened pathetically. 

“So pretty.. Shame you have to be so bad.”

Is all he says before you feel two large fingers prod at your hole, not giving you a moment to think before they roughly push into your plushy wet walls. Your cunt hungrily swallows what he’s given you, and he shakes his head at the sight of his fingers disappearing inside of you.

“It’s never enough for you, is it, Princess?”

The digits curl inside of you, making a scooping motion as they thrust deeper and deeper into you. Your eyes cross as they fall under heavy eyelids, and a strained whimper leaves your mouth. 

“You just.. take, take, take..”

He pulls back his fingers and fucks them back into you with each word he lets leave his mouth. 

“And it’s still never enough, hm?”

You shake your head the best you can, and moan out at his claims. 

“N-No, Si-”

The otherwise forgotten leather belt in his other hand thwacks down against your already welted ass, cutting you off. You practically scream in shock at the feeling, before he does it once more, just to shut you up again. 

“Do not fucking speak to me right now.”

A third finger joins the others inside of you in a slick motion, and the stretch has you dizzy in his lap. It doesn’t sound like he’s speaking to his girlfriend right now, not speaking at all to the woman he loves so unconditionally. No, it sounds like he’s talking to one of his worst enemies. 

His tone is full of hatred, malice, and coldness. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on beyond belief. He’d never treated you this roughly before and you were getting used to it all too easily.

Usually when he opened you like this, he took his time with you. Slowly pushing in each long digit and feeling your warm liquids gush around him, making sure you’re alright before moving another centimeter. 

But now, his hand was pistoning into you like he didn’t know how to do anything else, and his shaking fist held onto the belt above your ass so hard you were wondering how long it would take for him to pierce his nails through it.  

He was furious with you, and you adored it.

“People would kill to be treated the way I treat you. Pampered like a princess, spoiled rotten.. And yet-”

Spencer raises his hand once more and slashes the leather against your bottom before he finishes his sentence. You hold back a cry.

“You don’t want it.” 

His fingers push impossibly deeper into you and stay still against your stretched walls, giving your soaked pussy the opportunity to finally mold around them, tight like a vice. 

“What happened, baby? What happened to my Princess?”

There’s a faux tone of concern and sympathy for you in his voice, but you see right through it. You simply shake your head in response and try your damndest to not squeeze around his digits to avoid him getting even madder at you, as tempting as the idea sounds.

You can hear the material of the leather hitting the couch as he drops it, and you can feel a comforting hand come around to lightly run through your hair.

His fingers start to move once again, but much slower this time, and much more gentle. The 180 turn confuses you, but you didn’t want to be ungrateful and prove him right. 

The once stoic tone in his words softens, as he speaks to you in a comforting voice.

“Think you can cum, just like this, Princess?”

This time, you don’t stop yourself from squeezing around him, urging him deeper to press against your sensitive spot. When he reaches it, the pads of his fingers caress over it, and it makes you whimper pathetically. You nod, and swallow the drool that’s started dripping from your lips.

Spencer smiles down at you and brushes his hand through your hair. He can feel your arousal leaking out of your cunt, dripping from the fingers stuffed into you and onto the surface of his palm. 

He twists his digits around inside of you as he fucks you closer and closer to the edge, and it doesn’t take much for him to get you there, because after he deals one last press of his middle finger against your spot, you’re crying out.

“Sir.. Sir, I-I’m.. cum..I—”

Your eyes cross and roll back into your head as you right there, and just as fast as he’d gotten you from that point, he robs you of it. 

Before you can even finish your sentence, he’s pulling all of his fingers out of your drenched pussy and looking down at you with a cruel smile. The hand that was in your hair was still running gently through the strands, almost mocking you. 

Your eyes widen and you’re quick to look back and up at him, a look of panic and betrayal all over you. Tears quickly fill your waterline, threatening to fall at a moment's notice. 

“W-Wh..Why?”

A dark chuckle leaves his mouth before it’s stifled by his fingers dipping against his tongue. He cleans all of your slick from his skin, groaning at the taste. 

You can fill your impending orgasm crashing back to square one and it takes everything in you not to scream at him to just make you cum. 

“You can’t have it both ways, my love. If you want to be a bad girl, then I’ll treat you like one, understand?”

Tears finally begin to stream down your face, and even though you asked for this, you still couldn’t help the pitiful cries you let out at his cruel but deserved actions. 

“Are you ready to be my Princess again, or are you still going to be a bratty little bitch?” 

As he throws the insult at you, his fist tightens on your head and pulls tauntingly at your hair. You shake your head and swallow down a moan, your cunt is still painfully wet, pulsing and clenching around nothing. 

“I-I’ll be good, I pr-promise!” 

You weakly whine, and it’s humorous to him how quickly your little charade ended. You had planned on breaking him, but it’s clear now that you’re the only one left broken. 

As you beg him for forgiveness, you feel the teasing touch of his fingers slowly pushing between your silky wet folds. An evil smile creeps onto his face, and his voice is as dark and taunting as ever. 

“That’s what I fucking thought.” 

[blakeswritingimagines]

I'm A Project Baby *SMUT*

Summary: During the heat of the moment, you both forget about your initial disagreement and focus solely on pleasuring each other.

Warnings: Angry sex, Wall sex, Unprotected sex, Make-up sex, Fem reader, Teasing if you squint, fluff at the end!

Word Count: 2.8k

Little things had been adding up, especially during the busy hockey season. It started on a Friday evening. Juraj had just gotten home from work and you were watching TV. You seemed distracted and didn't respond to his attempts to make conversation. He got annoyed and snapped at you. "Or just don't listen too, that works so well." You listened to his words carefully, your face remained stoic and quiet. You take a deep breath before slowly exhaling from your nose, you then look up at him directly into his eyes, clearing your throat, and speaking, her voice calm but firm as you give the attitude right back at him. "Perhaps I would be more interested in having a conversation if it was actually… you know… stimulating." Rolling his eyes with a scoff. "You know, perhaps I would be willing to put in more of an effort if I wasn't exhausted coming home from work. Maybe you could try to empathize with me, just a little." He started walking over to the shared bedroom, while he talked just so he could change into more comfortable clothes before coming back. "Oh, right, because you're the only one who works," you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. "Perhaps you should stop whining and act like a proper adult."

You both started arguing about nothing in particular and even though he knew it was petty, It got heated quickly. You kept going at each other and saying hurtful things that you didn't mean. Things felt really tense and you both started to feel overwhelmed. It was a fight that just kept building up. "You're so stupid, you shouldn't even open your mouth." He spoke as he rolled his eyes and started to walk away again. You took a step forward, blocking the way. "You are not going anywhere. This argument is not finished." You listened to every word, and your smile slowly faded into anger. You clenched your fists, your face becoming hard. You flinched visibly, your teeth clenched together in a grimace. After a moment you looked at Juraj with a cold stare, your heart beating quickly "You take that back."

You caught Juraj off guard. The words hit him like a truck, the look of contempt and anger on your face shook him. He backed away, not willing to take a step forward again. The words you said hit him hard, he regretted calling you stupid, and he regretted that stupid fight. He wanted to say something back but he didn't know what. His mouth was dry and his throat had become tight. He wanted to apologize but he also wanted to walk away, he couldn't bear looking at your face right now - such a strong display of emotions left him speechless. Juraj looks stunned. He stares at you for a moment, unsure what to do. He feels a sudden rush of fear and anger. "You heard me." He clenches his fists, his voice tightening. "I'm not taking anything back." He raised his eyebrows and glanced at you with eyes slightly narrowed, his expression neutral. "I take nothing back. As a matter of fact, I stand behind every single word I have said." He stares at you, eyes narrowing. His body trembles, anger coursing through his veins.

You and Juraj stared hard at each other, neither willing to be the first to back down. The tension hung heavily in the air, both of your breath's coming in short gasps. Your lips pressed together tightly, your eyes narrowing further as you met Juraj's gaze. The anger in his eyes threatened to burn the whole place down. The two felt a sudden rush of anxiety and fear, neither knowing what was going to happen next. As you watched each other with cold intensity. You had never been so angry at him before, and your expression scared him a bit. He looked away, realizing that he had gone too far. "Just leave me alone." his voice was laced with frustration and anger. You walked up to him and grabbed his arm, your tone full of intensity. "Apologize." You squeezed your fingers around his forearm and didn't let go. He stared down at your hand gripped around my arm, his face set into a scowl. "No." He tried to yank his arm free of your grasp, but your grip was tight. He grits his teeth and looked down at you, an air of anger radiating from his whole body. "Why should I apologize? If you want me to apologize, then you should apologize first." He looked away from you, his frustration growing hotter by the second. He can't believe how angry he had become. All of this over a stupid argument.

It started out over nothing. Just a silly argument. Neither of you would back down, and things just escalated. The tension between you rose until it felt like you were drowning in a sea of anger and hurt feelings. You didn't know what to say to smooth things over, and you both felt more hurt with each passing moment. It was like you had dug yourselves into a deep hole, and couldn't climb back out. Your rage increased as his attempt to break free failed. You were not going to let him or this go. He couldn't just walk away from this fight. Your eyes flashed fire before you spoke in a low whisper "You should apologize because you hurt my feelings. I'm willing to forgive you," your eyes narrowed. "But only if you're sorry."

He looked down at the floor, unable to meet your eyes. Something inside him softens, but he's too angry to let it show. This argument has gone on too long, and his anger has only flared up hotter. Why can't either of us just leave the other alone? The thought of walking away again crosses his mind, but knowing he can't let this go. Not yet. He looked back at you, his face softening. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry I hurt your feelings." "I think I need you to prove it." Your eyes burn with intensity as you stare right back at him. You swallowed hard, your breath coming in short gasps. You felt your heart pounding in your chest and your hands shaking by your sides. You wanted to pull away but at the same time didn't want to. The attraction you felt for him was overwhelming and you can't help but want more from him. Your mischievous grin teases the imagination. You watched, your eyes widening with anticipation.

He had let out a chuckle at your response, knowing that you were now fully invested in the little power struggle "Oh really? You want me to grovel for your forgiveness? That's a bit much don't you think?" His voice drops even lower, and he moves closer to you so that you are almost nose to nose "Maybe I should show you just how sorry I am to you." He gave you a wicked grin and licked his lips, teasing you with the idea of what might happen next. Your eyes flared up again with anger, but this time it was mixed with a hint of arousal as well. You felt your heart racing faster than ever before, and you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second. You didn't know why, but you found yourself completely turned on by the situation "Show me how sorry you really are." Your breath was heavy as you spoke, and you couldn't help but lick your lips nervously.

He smirked and nodded, acknowledging the challenge. Feeling desperate to be allowed inside of you now after everything. He reached down and grabbed onto your hips firmly, pulling you close so that your bodies were pressed together tightly. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve and dip while maintaining a dominant grip on you. "Alright then, here's how sorry I am." He leaned in and kissed you deeply, taking control of the kiss and showing you who was in charge. As you continue to kiss passionately, he reached around and started massaging your ass cheeks firmly, making sure you can feel every stroke of his fingers digging into your flesh. His tongue eagerly explores every corner of your mouth as he deepens the kiss further. You both can taste the anger and desire mingling together as your tongues dance together in perfect harmony. As the kiss goes on, he can feel your body responding to his touch, becoming more pliant and submissive with each passing moment. "Mmm... There we go, sweetheart... Letting all that anger out makes you taste so damn good..." As he says this, he started to slide his hand down between into your pants and began to massage your clit through your pants.

The combination of the intense kiss and the stimulation on your clit left you unable to think straight. You moaned into the kiss as you felt yourself getting wetter by the second. You couldn't believe you were allowing this to happen when a fight was just happening, but you found yourself unable to resist. "Fuck… Yes…" Juraj heard you saying between gasps for air as you gave into the pleasure of the moment. As the kiss continued, you could feel your heart racing faster than ever before. You could also feel the pressure building up between your thighs as you began to squirm uncontrollably. You knew that you needed relief, and you hoped that Juraj would be able to provide it for you. "Mmm... Look at you all ready for me like this... So fucking perfect..." He continued to kiss you deeply, and his fingers continued to stroke your clit, feeling the heat radiating off of your sensitive skin. He can hear your soft moans and whimpers filling the room, and it only serves to fuel his own desires.

As he pulled back slightly from the kiss, he looked deep into your eyes and spoke with an authoritative tone "Now who's the one begging?" He asked with a smirk on his face, knowing that he had complete control over the moment at this point. "Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Tell me how bad you need my cock right now." You looked at him with a mix of anger and desire in your eyes as you spoke through heavy breaths "Fuck… I need your cock… I need it deep… I need to feel it stretching me… I need to feel it throbbing inside of me…" You said between gasps for air, unable to contain your lust any longer. The thought of being completely under Juraj's control excited you more than anything else you had ever experienced before. "Please… Give me your cock… Make me yours…"

He chuckled at your response, loving the fact that he had brought you to such a vulnerable state. His cock throbs against his pants, eager to be released and buried deep within you. He reached down and undid his belt buckle, quickly pulling down his pants and boxers before stepping out of them completely. His massive erection springs free. He reached down and started undoing the buttons on your pants, working quickly to get them open so that he can reveal your bare pussy beneath. Once they were open, he pushed them down along with your underwear, leaving you completely exposed to him. "There we go... Nice and ready for me." He said with a satisfied grunt as he admired your wet pussy for a moment before pressing you against a wall and positioning himself at her entrance. He slid one finger inside of you slowly, teasing your tight walls with gentle strokes while looking deep into your eyes. "You're so fucking beautiful when you're like this."

He pulled his finger out feeling like he couldn't take anymore and grasped onto the base of his cock, and guided it towards your entrance slowly, savoring every moment of anticipation. "Alright, sweetheart. Here comes my dick. Are you ready for it?" He asked teasingly, watching as you looked up at him with wide eyes filled with both excitement. "Yes… Fuck me… Deep and hard…" You whispered between labored breaths as you watched him position himself. The anticipation of finally feeling his cock fill you up sent shivers down your spine, and you can't help but squirm with impatience. "Yes… Fuck me…" He smiled at the request, and with a slow, deliberate motion he pushed his hips against your dripping entrance, feeling the heat envelop him as he prepared to enter you. He paused for a moment, savoring the sensation of being surrounded by your warmth and slickness before finally pushing inside of you with one swift motion. "There we go... Enjoying the feeling?" He asked rhetorically as he began to thrust into your tight, wet depths. He can feel the tight grip of your inner muscles wrap around him, pulling him deeper into your body with each stroke.

"Make me yours…" You whispered between gasps for air as you looked up at him with an expression of both neediness in your eyes. "Always been mine, love. Always will be." He said as he pushed inside of you with one final thrust, the feeling of you wrapped around his cock like a glove sent a surge of pleasure through his entire body. "Mmm... Fuck... This feels so good..." You let out a loud moan as he continued to push inside of you, feeling his thick length filling you up completely. You gasp for air between labored breaths. Despite everything that has happened between you both, you can't deny the way that his presence seems to bring out a primal desire within you so easily. As he started to move against you, driving himself deeper into you with each thrust, "Yours… All yours… Just take me… Please…" You begged, "Fuck…" You moan loudly, losing yourself in the moment and finding it difficult to maintain any sense of control or resistance.

He let out a low growl as he felt your walls tighten around him, signaling that you were fully embracing the sensations he was providing you with. He can see the pleasure etched onto your face, and it only serves to fuel his own desire. "Mmm... Yours... All mine..." He said with a grunt as he picked up the pace of his thrusts, slamming into you over and over again. He could feel his cock throbbing inside of you, desperate to unload his cum deep within you. He let out a long groan as he felt his orgasm building up inside of him. He knew that he wouldn't be able to hold back much longer. "Close... So close..." He said as he increased the speed of his thrusts more, wanting nothing more than to fill you with his cum and mark you as his forever. "Gonna fill that little cunny up until there's no room left for anything else..." He said as he felt the first hot streams of precum dripping from the tip of his cock.

He knew that soon he would be unloading inside of you. "Always yours... Forever..." As you felt the first waves of your orgasm crash over you, you couldn't help but let out a long, drawn-out moan. Your body shook slightly as you rode out the intense pleasure. The thought of being filled with his cum sent shivers down your spine, and you knew that you would never be able to forget this moment. "Cum inside of me… Mark me as yours…" You whispered between gasps for air, arching your back as you rode out the waves of pleasure. "Oh god… I'm cumming…Please…" A wave of satisfaction rushes through him after you're done. His body was still trembling from the rush of adrenalin and emotions. He looked at you, smiling. You're both satisfied and content. Your bodies are still pressed together, your breathing heavy and quick. The intensity of the moment is still there, lingering in the air. He reached and started to caress your cheek, his large hand was soft and gentle. He looked into your eyes and smiled softly before softly whispering. "I'm sorry…for real this time."

You gaze up at him as he caressed your cheek, your eyes softening with pleasure at the touch. You feel a flutter of excitement in your heart and close your eyes, enjoying the sensation even more. As he whispered sorry to you, the intensity of the moment grew warmer. Leaning forward and pressed your lips against his, savoring the moment as you breathed in his scent. The intensity of the moment only grew as your bodies pressed closer together. You inhaled sharply through your nose. Your heartbeat sounded in your ears as you looked at him now more shyly. Your eyes met, and your breath caught in your chest as the intimacy between you was palpable. "I love you."

He nodded lightly as you pressed your lips against his. The intensity and passion between you both fill the empty space, your skin soft and smooth. His heartbeat pulsing loudly in his ears. He looked into your eyes and smiled gently, taking in your beauty. You're not only beautiful on the outside, but on the inside as well. "I love you too." He spoke tenderly before leaning in again, kissing you softly. His love for you is undeniable.

[stevesbipanic]

@steddieangstyaugust Day 31: "I'm not going to beg you to love me."

It's not the first time Eddie's been in love, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.

He made the mistake of telling a boy once when he was younger, his nose is still a little crooked because of it. It doesn't stop him falling for the beautiful person that Steve Harrington has become.

He won't tell him though, wouldn't risk the friendship he cherishes so dearly over something so silly like the way his heart beats out of his chest when Steve just smiles at him. Steve is straight, he loves girls with soft cheeks and long lashes. Eddie is sharp and jagged compared to them, Steve could never want him.

It doesn't stop him dreaming though. He lets himself think how nice it would be if Steve shared his bed every night and not just when they've smoked too much weed. Tells himself it doesn't mean anything when Steve comes to every show, he's just being a good friend. Jokes around when Steve throws back the same amount of flirting, Steve is just affectionate.

He never expected Steve to kiss him.

For a moment he kissed back, too lost in the feeling to realise this wasn't a dream this was real and it would break his heart.

So he forces himself to push Steve away.

"Wait, Steve, stop."

There's a cute scrunch between Steve's eyebrows, "I'm sorry I should've asked first, did you not want me to kiss you, I just thought..."

Doesn't Steve understand, "No, Steve you don't want this, you can't want this, you're confused."

The confusion on Steve's face morphs into anger, "Confused? I'm not confused Eddie, I care about you, I like you, I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you!"

Eddie gets up from the couch, "No, you don't, you like girls, Steve, you love girls, you don't love me, this was a mistake."

Steve pinches his nose, a habit Eddie knows means Steve is trying not to cry, "I'm not going to beg you to love me." Steve moves towards the door grabbing his shoes and jacket. "You know I thought you were different, Robin let me believe you were different, that you weren't Nancy, that you weren't my parents. I thought you cared about me, that you loved me too. But I'm not going to stay and be told what my heart is or isn't feeling, Eddie."

Eddie thinks he can pinpoint the exact moment he realises how bad he fucked up, somewhere between different and loved he realises how mistake sounds just like bullshit.

It's too late though, Steve's car is already gone, and this is why he doesn't fall in love, no matter what he does he always fucks it up. He just hopes he can get Steve to forgive him before Robin breaks his nose again.

[michaelsfavgirl]

freaky friday

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!actress!reader

Synopsis: One ordinary night, you and Michael unexpectedly switch bodies, forcing him to navigate life as you. With no choice, he has to go on set and do his best to act like you.

Tags: switching bodies, established relationship, bit of fluff, jealousy.

Word Count: 9.1k

Requested: yes/no

Author’s Note: hey...*crickets*

Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist

The clock on the wall ticks loudly, but it’s barely audible over Quentin Tarantino’s voice as he rambles on about some minute detail in the script, his words now a constant, steady stream of sound that filters through your ears but doesn't quite register. You've been in this room for hours, long enough for the sunlight streaming through the blinds to fade into the amber hue of early evening. You sit in a chair at the head of a large wooden table, posture more relaxed now, legs crossed, fingers lazily spinning a pen between them. Across from you, Quentin is pacing back and forth, script in hand, gesturing wildly as he talks. His energy seems endless, as if he could do this for days, while you feel the weight of exhaustion creeping in after such a long day.

“…and in this scene, I really want the tension to build, you know? Like, build, build, build, until it just explodes!” Quentin exclaims, throwing his hands up dramatically, making you wonder how his arms don't tire from all the gesturing. His face lights up with an excitement that borders on obsessive, eyes wide, pacing faster now. His energy is contagious in some moments, but tonight, it’s hard to keep up.

You nod absently, eyes drifting from him to the shelf behind his head. It’s cluttered, filled with mementos from over the years: awards, photographs, and odd little trinkets from his film sets. Your gaze lands on a photo, one you’ve seen many times before but somehow always pulls you in. It’s a candid shot taken at the Oscars last year. You and Quentin are at the center, surrounded by other actors, all of you dressed to the nines. You’d won your second Best Actress Oscar that night, a moment forever immortalized in that photo.

But what you remember more than the cheers or the weight of the golden statue in your hand is the way Michael, your husband, had looked at you from the audience. You can still picture his face, glowing with pride, those deep brown eyes locked on you with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat. He had been your plus one, and even in the crowd of Hollywood’s finest, no one else had mattered in that moment. The applause, the cameras, the stage, it had all blurred into the background as you looked down at him, your heart swelling with love and gratitude. 

“…and then we cut to the next shot. It’s gotta be quick, right? We don’t wanna linger too long. Keep the pace moving. Keep the audience on their toes.”

Quentin’s voice cuts through the haze of your memories, pulling you back into the present. You blink, refocusing on him. He’s still pacing, still talking a mile a minute, but you can’t help but feel the fatigue in your bones. The weariness of running through this script for what feels like the hundredth time today. 

You shift in your seat, fighting the urge to yawn, and give him a small nod as if you’ve been following every word. He’s grumbling now, something about the studio and time limits, and you watch as his expression darkens, his tone becoming more irritated.

"Those bastards are putting a time limit on this film," he growls, finally stopping his pacing to look at you directly, expecting some kind of outrage or agreement.

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Quentin and his disdain for anything that constrains his creative process is almost comical at this point. The man would make a ten-hour film if he could, and still call it concise.

“Oh, how cruel,” you tease lightly, your voice dripping with faux concern. “Three hours is basically a short film.”

His eyes narrow into a glare, though you know it’s all in good fun. He pauses for a moment, mouth twitching as if he’s holding back a retort, but the glare softens just slightly. You’ve spent enough time with him over the years to know how to push his buttons in just the right way, and he enjoys the back-and-forth.

He opens his mouth to respond, but the words die on his lips as you stretch your arms over your head, standing up slowly, letting out a sigh. You glance at the clock—half past seven—and wonder how the hell you’re still here. The set’s calling your name, and tomorrow you’ll be there, in the thick of it, channeling everything into the role that’s consumed your life for the last few months. But tonight? Tonight you need to rest, to recharge, to find your center again.

You look back at Quentin, who’s still watching you, waiting, expecting something more. He’s always pushing, always wanting to squeeze out every last drop of energy you have for his vision. But not tonight.

“I think we should wrap this up, tin tin,” you say, voice firm but gentle. You meet his gaze, your expression softening just enough to let him know you appreciate his drive, but you’re done for the night. “We’ve been through this a hundred times. I need to get home.”

He bristles, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “But what about-”

You cut him off, taking a step toward the door, grabbing your coat from the back of the chair as you do. “Do you want me to give a perfect performance tomorrow?” you ask, your voice filled with a knowing tone. The words linger in the air, the challenge in your voice unmistakable.

He hesitates, blinking at you, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. He knows where this is going. Of course he wants a perfect performance—he demands nothing less. But he’s also not one to let go easily, not when he’s on a roll. You give him a small, raised eyebrow, waiting for him to catch up.

“Obviously,” he mutters, crossing his arms, a faint pout forming on his lips like a petulant child who didn’t get his way. 

“Then I need to rest in order to do that,” you say, pulling your coat around your shoulders and moving toward the door. There’s a finality to your tone, one that brooks no argument, and Quentin, despite his tenacity, knows when to concede. 

He opens his mouth, but you’re already one step ahead. You flash him a playful smile as your hand grips the door handle. 

“Arrivederci,” you say with a dramatic flair, throwing the goodbye over your shoulder like it’s the end of one of his own films. And before he can utter a single word in response, you pull the door open and step through, closing it firmly behind you.

With a soft chuckle, you adjust your coat and make your way toward the exit. Your thoughts drift back to Michael, to the way his eyes had sparkled that night at the Oscars, and you find yourself eager to get home. To slip into the warmth of his embrace, to hear his voice, to recharge in the comfort of your shared life before the madness of filming begins again tomorrow.

The gravel crunches softly under your feet as you walk along the familiar path that winds through Neverland Ranch. The late afternoon sun bathes everything in a golden glow, casting long shadows across the sprawling landscape. It’s peaceful here, a serene retreat away from the chaos of your everyday life. You smile at the sight of the gardeners, working diligently as always, their hands tending to the earth with precision and pride. You wave hello, receiving a warm smile in return, and for a moment, everything feels right with the world.

Without hesitation, you reach the front door and let yourself in. You’ve long since stopped ringing the bell; this is your home too, after all. The door clicks shut behind you, and as soon as you step inside, you’re greeted by the mouthwatering aroma of dinner. The rich smell of herbs and spices fills the air, making your stomach rumble in anticipation. You know immediately that Michael has been in the kitchen, cooking up something special for the two of you. 

You follow the scent like a trail of breadcrumbs. The light in the house is soft and warm, casting everything in a cozy glow. It feels like home—safe, welcoming, and full of love.

In the kitchen, you see the spread he’s prepared—a feast for the senses. Without thinking, you grab a fork and take a bite of the nearest plate, the mouth watering taste hitting your tongue in a perfect combination. You close your eyes for a second, savoring the flavor.

But before you can take a second bite, you feel his presence behind you. His arms snake around your waist, his chest pressing gently into your back. You stiffen slightly in surprise, not having heard him approach. Startled, you almost drop the fork, and in your jolt, you nearly knock him off balance. His chuckle, low and soft, vibrates against you as his grip tightens, steadying you both.

“Easy, easy there, sweet girl,” he coos in your ear, his voice a soothing whisper, filled with amusement and affection. His breath is warm against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but laugh at your reaction. 

You turn in his arms, your body relaxing as you face him. Michael’s eyes sparkle with mischief, that familiar boyish grin tugging at his lips, and before you can say anything, he bends his head down, placing a series of slow, deliberate kisses along your neck. The sensation is electric, and you feel your muscles go lax as his lips trail up and down your skin, his kisses gentle, unhurried, as if he’s savoring every inch of you. Your head falls back onto his shoulder, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt for support as you melt into his embrace. 

“Hmm,” you hum softly, leaning into him, your body pressing closer to his lean frame, completely at ease in his arms. His touch has always had that effect on you—grounding you, making the world disappear until it’s just the two of you.

“Tired, baby?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a quiet, tender note of concern. His lips brush the curve of your jaw, and you hum again, the sound barely more than a sleepy sigh. You don’t have the energy to answer in full sentences, the weight of the day’s exhaustion catching up with you now that you’re in his arms.

Noticing how you’re practically sagging against him, he chuckles softly and shifts his hold on you. One arm slides around your back while the other scoops under your knees, and before you know it, he’s lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

“Let’s get you into something more comfortable,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You don’t protest, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart lulling you into a peaceful haze. 

He carries you through the wide hallways to your shared bedroom. Michael sets you down gently on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering at your waist as he kneels in front of you, looking up with those dark, expressive eyes that always seem to see straight into your soul. He starts to help you out of your clothes, his fingers deftly unbuttoning your blouse, moving with slow, deliberate care.

“You were amazing today,” he says softly as he slides the fabric off your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your skin in the process. “I know it.” His praise is sincere, his voice filled with admiration. Even though he wasn’t there with you at the meeting, he always knows how to make you feel like you’ve conquered the world.

His hands move down to your shoes next, gently removing them one by one as he continues his soft praise. “You’ve been working so hard. You deserve to rest. Let me take care of you, okay?”

You smile down at him, your heart swelling with love and gratitude for this man who knows you so well, who always seems to know exactly what you need, even when you don’t say it out loud. He’s careful, meticulous as he helps you into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a soft t-shirt, all the while whispering sweet words of encouragement, each touch and each word meant to soothe you into complete relaxation.

Once you’re dressed, he stands and pulls you back into his arms for a moment, his hand running up and down your back in long, gentle strokes. “There,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Now you’re ready to eat.”

Back in the dining room, you settle at the table, the delicious meal spread out before you like a banquet. Michael sits across from you, and the two of you dig in, the quiet comfort of home surrounding you as you enjoy the meal together.

“So,” he begins after a few bites, leaning back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you with a soft smile. “How was the meeting with Quentin?”

You roll your eyes playfully as you swallow your food, already anticipating the subtle interrogation that’s about to follow. “It was long,” you say with a sigh. “We went over the script again for what felt like the hundredth time. But it went well. We’re ready to start shooting tomorrow.”

Michael nods thoughtfully, taking another bite of his food. There’s a pause, just a beat too long, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. He’s never been great at hiding his feelings, and you can sense the question coming before he even asks it.

“And… How's André?” he asks casually, too casually, as if he’s just making conversation. But the slight raise of his eyebrow, the way his eyes flicker with something more than curiosity, gives him away. 

You can’t help but laugh, the sound light and teasing as you set your fork down and meet his gaze with an amused look. “Michael,” you say, your tone playful but firm. “Are you really asking about him?”

He shrugs, trying to maintain his nonchalant air, but there’s a spark of jealousy in his eyes that he can’t quite hide. “Just… curious. You know, he’s your co-star. You two have some pretty… close scenes together.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms as you study him, a soft smile playing on your lips. “You’re never good at hiding your jealousy.”

He chuckles, looking down at his plate for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “I’m not jealous,” he says, but there’s a playful lilt in his voice, and you know he’s not being entirely truthful. “I just… want to make sure everything’s professional. That’s all.”

You reach across the table, placing your hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to worry about André. He’s a professional, and so am I. It’s just acting, Michael.”

He nods, but you can still see the way his jaw tenses slightly, the protective edge that always seems to come out when he talks about your work, especially when it involves other men. It’s endearing, in a way—his fierce devotion to you, the way he always wants to make sure you’re safe, loved, and protected. 

“Besides,” you add, your voice softening as you meet his gaze. “There’s only one person I’m coming home to at the end of the day.” 

The tension in his face melts away at that, and his smile returns, warm and genuine. He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “I know,” he says quietly, his eyes filled with love. “I just can’t help it sometimes.”

You smile back at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I know. And I love you for it.” The rest of dinner passes in comfortable conversation, the two of you talking about everything and nothing all at once. 

The ticking of the clock grows softer, fading into the background as the night deepens. It’s close to midnight, and the exhaustion of the day is catching up to you both. After a long, relaxing dinner and some quiet moments together, there’s only one thing left to do before you can finally collapse into bed: shower.

You two move in sync, heading to the spacious, marbled bathroom that’s become a familiar haven. The cool air in the room brushes against your skin, but the anticipation of the warm water about to cascade over you is enough to chase away the chill. Michael moves ahead of you, twisting the faucet, adjusting the temperature until steam starts to rise, filling the room with warmth. He steps inside first, and as the water begins to rain down over his lean frame, you can’t help but stare.

Droplets of water cling to his skin, gliding down his body, tracing the contours of his muscles. His curls loosen under the stream, sticking to his forehead. You stand frozen for a moment, captivated by the sight of him. There’s something about seeing him like this, vulnerable and intimate, that makes your breath hitch.

He looks at you, a teasing grin on his face. “You planning to stand there all night or are you getting in?”

You blink, snapping out of your daze, and laugh softly. “Just admiring the view.”

His grin widens, and he steps aside to make room for you. You join him under the shower’s warm spray, feeling the water wash away the day’s tension, soothing your sore muscles. The heat envelopes you both, the glass walls fogging up quickly.

He smiles softly, knowing exactly what you need without you having to say a word. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, and you let out a contented sigh as you rest your head against his chest. The feel of his skin against yours, the warmth of his embrace, it all feels so right. You stay like that for a while, just letting the water wash over you, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment.

After a while, you both step out, toweling off and heading to bed. The sheets are cool against your skin as you settle into the plush pillows, and the comforting hum of the TV in the background lulls you into a sense of peace. Michael curls up beside you, the two of you cuddling close as the “The Nanny” plays softly in the background. You’re not really paying attention to the show anymore, too focused on the steady rhythm of Michael’s hand rubbing your back.

His touch is gentle, soothing in its familiarity, but when he stops, you immediately feel the absence. You whine softly, the sound barely a murmur, but enough to get his attention.

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Alright. alright” he teases, his voice low and affectionate.

You pout in response, pressing closer to him. “Don’t stop…”

With a soft laugh, he resumes, his warm palm sliding across your back, fingers moving in slow, gentle strokes. His touch is everything—comforting, grounding, a constant reminder of his presence beside you. You shift slightly, settling deeper into the sheets.

“A little to the left,” you mumble sleepily, eyes closed as you surrender to the growing drowsiness.

Obligingly, he scratches your back to the left, his fingers grazing the spot that has been bothering you all day. His touch feels heavenly, chasing away any lingering tension in your body. 

“And a little lower…” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as sleep begins to pull you under.

He complies, his smile audible in his voice as he says, “Anything else, your majesty?”

You hum softly, too tired to respond, already halfway asleep. His hand moves in slow, soothing circles, the warmth of his body against yours lulling you further into unconsciousness. With a contented sigh, you let yourself drift, the comfort of the moment enveloping you completely. This has been such an ordinary day, right? Nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary—just another day in your life with Michael. Right?

Little do you know, something extraordinary is about to happen.

Morning comes too soon, and the first thing you hear is the blaring sound of your alarm. Groggily, you reach over to your nightstand to turn it off, but your hand meets… nothing. Your brow furrows in confusion, and you fumble around blindly, your eyes still half-closed, trying to find the alarm. When your fingers finally close around the clock, it’s on Michael’s side of the bed. 

Why is it over there?

The thought is slow to form in your sleepy brain, but something feels off. You groan softly, not yet opening your eyes as you roll onto your back, rubbing your face to try to shake off the remnants of sleep. But the moment your hands touch your face, you freeze.

Your eyes snap open, and what you see makes your heart skip a beat. The hands in front of you… they’re not yours. They’re larger, rougher, with long fingers and a noticeable strength to them. Panic rises in your chest as you stare at them, and in a desperate move, you sit up and look down at your body.

Oh. Shit.

The body you’re looking at—it’s not yours. It’s Michael’s. Your breath catches in your throat, and your mind races, trying to process what the hell is going on. 

No, no, no. This can’t be happening. 

You whip your head to the side, your heart pounding in your chest, and that’s when you see yourself—your actual body—sleeping peacefully beside you. Your chest tightens as you take in the sight of your own face, eyes closed, looking as serene as ever. But it’s not you. It’s not your consciousness inside that body. 

You’re in Michael’s body.

Your hand instinctively goes to your chest, and the moment your palm flattens against the unfamiliar, muscular plane of your torso, a wave of shock hits you. “What the fuck,” you whisper under your breath, your voice sounding completely foreign to your ears. Deep. Michael’s voice. 

Your eyes widen, and you glance down, your hands trembling slightly as they hover over the sheets. Curiosity, mixed with utter disbelief, gets the better of you, and before you can stop yourself, your hand slips under the covers, and you feel…it. 

You jerk your hand back immediately, your cheeks flushing with heat. “Oh my God,” you mutter, suddenly feeling like you’ve invaded his privacy in the most intimate way possible. Your mind is spinning, unable to wrap itself around what’s happening. You’re in his body. This can’t be real.

You leap out of bed, your heart racing as you start pacing back and forth, your hands running through Michael’s hair as you try to make sense of this bizarre situation. “I have to be dreaming,” you mutter to yourself. “This isn’t possible.”

But it feels real. Too real. The floor under your feet is solid, the cool air hitting your skin feels normal, and every move you make is controlled by Michael’s body. You glance back at the bed, at your body, still sleeping peacefully. How did this happen? How is this even possible?

Your alarm blares again, and you freeze. Set. The set! You have to be on set today.

“Oh god,” you groan, rubbing your face. You have to be on set in a few hours, and you’re stuck in Michael’s body. How are you supposed to shoot your scenes when you’re like this? 

Michael’s voice comes out in a groggy mumble as he snuggles his face into the pillow. “What’s all the fuss about?” he grumbles, clearly still half-asleep, his voice soft and pitched higher than usual. He shifts slightly, his hand lazily reaching out for the blanket, but then he freezes. The sound of his own voice – or rather, the sound of your voice – pulls him out of the last remnants of sleep. His eyes snap open in confusion.

He lifts his head slowly, blinking against the morning light, and when he finally looks over at you, his jaw drops. He stares at your(his) body, standing there looking every bit as stunned as he feels. His eyes widen in disbelief, and for a few seconds, it’s like his brain can’t catch up to the reality of what’s happening. He looks down at himself, or rather, at your body, and back up at you, back and forth in stunned silence.

“The hell…” he whispers, his voice coming out higher, more pitched. It sounds completely foreign to him, like someone else is speaking through his mouth.

You’re already pacing, hands running through his hair. Your body language is full of anxious energy, and he can tell right away you’re freaking out. Michael takes a deep breath and forces himself to move. Slowly, as calmly as possible, he slides out of the bed, every movement cautious like he’s trying not to break something.

Once on his feet, he takes a few shaky steps toward you. It feels weird and when he looks up at you he has to tilt his head to meet your eyes. The shift in perspective is jarring. He’s never realized how much taller he is than you until now. Is this what it’s like for you every day, looking up at him like this?

“Damn,” he mutters under his breath, still trying to keep calm. “Is this what I look like to you?”

You glance at him, still pacing in his body, and for a split second, your stress breaks. You can’t help but giggle. “How does it feel to be the short one now?”

He shoots you a look, your own sharp stare coming right back at you. “Not the time,” he says, his tone clipped. 

The giggle dies on your lips, and you nod, understanding this is serious. Michael begins pacing now, mirroring the frantic energy you had just moments before. Watching your own body pace back and forth is surreal. You’ve never seen yourself like this, and there’s something bizarre about seeing your body from an outsider’s perspective, especially when you’re inside someone else.

He rubs his hands over his face, feeling your softer skin, the shape of your cheeks, and the delicate jawline he knows so well, just not from this angle. He takes a deep breath, then another, as if trying to ground himself.

“It’s fine,” he says, more to himself than to you. “It’s all fine. We can figure this out.” He’s pacing faster now, his arms moving in that exaggerated way that always happens when he’s nervous. “We’ll just… call Deepak.” His voice is quiet, more like he’s thinking out loud. “He knows about this kind of stuff, right? Spirituality, body…switching?” His voice falters at the end, and you can tell he’s grasping for something, anything to make sense of this.

“Mike,” you say, stepping forward in his body, trying to stop his pacing. But he keeps going, muttering under his breath about having all day to figure this out, that everything will be okay by tonight. You watch him, knowing he’s doing that thing where he tries to rationalize everything, even when things are wildly out of control.

You step forward and place your—no, his—strong hands on his shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. The contrast between your hand’s size and the feel of your own body beneath them is striking, and it gives you a moment of pause, but you quickly focus on the situation at hand.

“Michael,” you say again, a little more firmly this time. “We don’t have all day.”

He frowns, still confused. “What do you mean?”

“I have to be on set in two hours.”

That’s when the realization hits. His eyes widen, which is weird to see on your own face. “Oh shit,” he mutters, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed. His hands drop into his lap, and he stares blankly ahead, his mind obviously racing as he processes what you just said.

You sit down next to him, the bed dipping under your combined weight. For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The silence stretches, heavy with the weight of what this means. You have to be on set today. He has to be on set today. In your body. And as that thought fully settles in, you can see the dawning horror on his face.

He’s going to have to act.

Trying to break the tension, you give him a small, teasing smile. “Maybe now’s your time to finally become an actor.”

“Not funny sweetheart.” He groans, flopping back onto the bed in exasperation, your arm flinging dramatically over his face. “This isn’t happening,” he mutters, his voice muffled. “I can’t do this.”

You chuckle softly and nudge him with your elbow. “Come on, there’s no way around it. You already know the words from helping me rehearse. You’ve practically memorized the whole script.”

He peeks at you from under his arm, his expression somewhere between resigned and panicked. “Memorizing the lines is one thing. Actually being you on set in front of Quentin and the whole crew is… insane.”

You sigh, knowing he’s right. This is insane. But there’s no other option. “Look, we don’t have a choice. And you know how I behave. Just… do what I do.”

He groans again but sits up, running a hand through your hair, which looks bizarre from this perspective. He finally seems to accept that there’s no way out of this. With a deep breath, he stands up and squares his—your—shoulders.

“Okay,” he says, exhaling slowly. “I got this. I just have to act like you.”

You smile, relieved that he’s getting on board with the plan. “Yeah. Easy.”

He nods, his expression determined as he heads toward the bathroom. But then, as you watch him go, you notice the way he’s walking—his usual confident, masculine stride. It looks completely out of place in your body, and it takes everything in you not to burst out laughing. Watching your body walk like that, like a man, is almost too much.

Shaking your head, you flop back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Maybe not so easy,” you mutter to yourself, a wry smile playing on your lips.

Michael disappears into the bathroom, and you hear the water running as he splashes his face, probably trying to snap himself out of the weirdness of the situation. Meanwhile, you lay there, your mind spinning with everything that’s about to happen.

You can’t help but wonder how this day is going to play out. You’re stuck in Michael’s body, and he’s stuck in yours, and somehow you’re both going to have to survive the day without anyone figuring out what’s happened. 

—

Michael steps out of the walk-in closet, fidgeting slightly as he tugs on the sleeves of the outfit he’s just put together. It’s a far cry from what you’d usually wear, but he’s trying his best to look like you, or at the very least, like a version of you that could exist on a casual day. He looks down at himself, feeling awkward as the clothes hang a little differently on your body than he imagined.

As soon as he steps into the bedroom, you take one look at him and blurt out, “What is that outfit?” 

His brow furrows, clearly a little offended. He glances down at the clothes he’s chosen and frowns. “What’s wrong with it?” he asks, arms spreading out as if to showcase the full look.

You fold your arms across your chest, tilting your head with an exasperated sigh. “Michael, you can’t go on set looking like that. No way. Come on, I’ll get you dressed.”

He huffs in protest, standing his ground. “I think it looks fine. It’s your stuff. What’s wrong with it?”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you move forward and start rifling through the closet, your movements confident and sure, despite being in his body. “Trust me, now’s not the time to argue about this. You’ve got less than an hour before you’re supposed to be on set, and you can’t be out there looking like…” You trail off, gesturing at his body. “…like that. Just—come on, let me fix it.”

Reluctantly, Michael steps back as you start throwing together an outfit—something that actually looks like you. As he watches you, he mutters under his breath, “So, what? Were you lying every time you complimented my outfits?” he grumbles as you sift through the hangers, picking out clothes that feel more like you.

Rolling your eyes, you toss a shirt at him. “I wasn’t lying. I like your outfits… on you. But right now, you’re supposed to look like me, remember?”

Michael grumbles but complies, changing into the outfit you’ve picked out with a few more muttered complaints. Once he’s dressed, he gives you a reluctant nod, clearly not thrilled but knowing better than to argue further. The clothes fit better, at least, and when he checks his reflection in the mirror, he has to admit that he looks more like you now than he did before.

With a deep breath, he finally heads out, ready, or as ready as he’ll ever be, to tackle the day ahead.

—

At your shared home, you're reclining on a deck chair, trying to relax despite the nagging feeling of unease that’s settled in your stomach. The ranch is gorgeous as always, the sun filtering through the trees and casting a warm glow over the rolling hills. But even with the idyllic setting, you can’t fully relax. Michael’s on set, in your body, about to spend the day pretending to be you. 

You trust him, of course. But still… it’s your job, your reputation on the line. What if something goes wrong? What if he messes up? What if-

You shake your head, trying to push the worries aside. There’s nothing you can do about it now. All you can do is wait.

—

Michael arrives on set, and the moment he steps out of the car, he can feel his heart rate spike. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but it’s hard when everything around him feels so foreign. He’s been to set with you a million times before, but never like this, never as you.

You make this look so effortless—walking onto set, greeting everyone with that natural charm, slipping into character like it’s second nature. But for him, it’s like stepping into a battlefield without any armor.

As he heads toward the dressing rooms, he mentally rehearses what little he knows. Smile. Be friendly. Act like nothing’s wrong. He can do that. Right?

Walking into the building, he forces a bright smile and greets the crew, trying to channel your energy. “Morning everyone.” The words feel awkward, but no one seems to notice.

He’s ushered into the makeup chair almost immediately, and the team starts fussing over him, brushing his hair, applying your makeup. Michael watches himself in the mirror, seeing your face reflected back at him. It’s a bizarre feeling, being on the other side of this.

The real test comes when he steps out of makeup and catches sight of Quentin across the set. His heart lurches. Oh no. Quentin’s eyes lock onto him, and Michael turns on his heel, hoping to slip away unnoticed. But before he can make his escape, Quentin’s voice booms across the room.

“Hey! There she is!” Quentin’s excitement is palpable, and Michael has no choice but to turn back, plastering a smile on his face.

“Hi, Quentin!” he calls, trying to mimic your usual enthusiasm. Inside, he’s screaming.

Quentin strides over, grinning widely. “We’re starting with the scene we worked on yesterday. Got everything prepped?”

Michael’s mind races. The scene we worked on yesterday? You hadn’t mentioned anything specific about yesterday’s rehearsals. He nods, playing along, though he has no clue what Quentin is talking about. “Yeah, of course. All good.”

Quentin gives him a thumbs-up and turns to the crew, calling for everyone to quiet down. “All right, everyone! Let’s get ready for the first shot!”

As the set falls into hushed activity, Michael makes his way toward the stage, scanning the room for any sign of what’s coming next. And then he spots Andre. Great. Michael narrows his eyes. If there’s any silver lining to this ridiculous situation, it’s that he finally gets to see firsthand if Andre has a thing for you.

Andre is already in position, lounging casually in a chair, his charming smile aimed right at you. As Michael approaches, Andre stands and strides over with a relaxed confidence. “Hey, you,” Andre says, flashing that charming smile. He goes in for a hug, pulling Michael in close. Does he always hug you like this? 

Michael stiffens, his mind spinning. He’s so lost in the flood of jealousy that he doesn’t even notice Andre’s hand reach up to adjust the collar of your shirt. It’s only when he feels fingers brush his neck that he snaps out of it, stepping back abruptly.

“What are you doing?” Michael blurts out, his tone more accusatory than he intended.

Andre chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Forgot what scene we’re shooting today?”

Michael’s stomach drops. “No, I- of course I remember. We’re shooting the… uh…” He trails off, hoping for some miraculous divine intervention. None comes.

Andre gives him a knowing look, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “The confession scene.”

Michael’s throat tightens. Oh, that scene. How wonderful.

“Right. That one,” he mutters, trying to keep his composure.

Andre mumbles under his breath, just enough to be heard but not enough to draw attention. “The kiss scene.”

Michael’s mind reels. The kiss?! He didn’t know about this. But before he can respond, Quentin’s voice shouts, “Action!”

The scene begins, and Michael’s instincts kick in. He’s watched you act a thousand times; he’s even helped you rehearse your lines. But now, actually performing? It’s a whole different ballgame. He tries to remember how you carry yourself, how you deliver lines with that natural charisma.

Andre begins, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I can’t keep this inside anymore. Every time I see you, it’s like… like I’m drowning in everything I feel for you.” His eyes are locked on Michael, stepping closer with every word. “It’s not just want. It’s need. You have me enchanted.”

Michael tries to respond, his voice trembling slightly. “I… I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Don’t lie. You always knew,” Andre says, his tone softening. “I’ve wanted you since the first moment we met. And now, I can’t wait anymore. I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this.”

Andre leans in, his hand brushing against Michael’s arm, and Michael feels his body tense. Oh God. The kiss.

Panicking, Michael stumbles back a step, and in the process, his elbow knocks into a vase on a nearby table. It tips and crashes to the ground, shattering into a million pieces.

“Cut!” Quentin’s voice roars across the set, filled with frustration. The entire crew freezes, staring at the broken vase, then at Michael.

Michael’s heart is pounding in his chest as he tries to breathe. He feels a surge of embarrassment flood through him, but before he can explain, Quentin marches over, rubbing his forehead.

“Are you okay?” Quentin asks, exasperated but not yet furious. “You were doing fine, and then…” He gestures to the broken vase. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry,” Michael stammers, “I just… got distracted for a second.”

Andre smirks, clearly enjoying this far more than he should be. “You good, babe? You’re not usually this jumpy.”

Babe?! Who the hell is this bitch calling babe?

Michael clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to snap back. He forces a smile, trying to keep it together. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… got a little too into it, I guess.”

Quentin waves it off, already moving back to his director’s chair. “All right, let’s reset and go again.”

As the crew rushes to clean up the broken vase and reset the scene, Michael takes a deep breath, feeling the pressure mounting. He glances at Andre, who’s watching him with an unreadable expression. The kiss. It’s coming, and there’s no way around it.

Michael glances around, trying to steady his breathing as he walks back to his mark. He’s dreading this moment. Out of all the scenes in the script, why did they have to start with this one? It’s the first time André’s character confesses his feelings for yours, and of course, it culminates in a passionate kiss. Michael grits his teeth. He’s already feeling defensive just thinking about it.

André, ever the professional, strolls over, adjusting his shirt as he gets into position. He gives Michael a quick smile, one that seems way too charming for Michael’s liking.

“Ready?” André asks, flashing that same disarming grin that Michael now finds infuriating. He’s been watching this man flirt with you for days, and now he’s got to endure him up close—way too close.

Michael forces a nod, doing his best to look calm. “Yeah, let’s get this over with.”

Quentin’s voice cuts through the air. “And… action!”

The scene begins, and Michael tries to focus on the lines he’s practiced, mentally repeating them as he watches André deliver his dialogue with intense emotion. André’s character is pouring his heart out, stepping closer and closer with each sentence. Michael can feel the weight of the scene, but it’s hard to concentrate when he knows what’s coming.

And then it happens. André leans in, his face just inches away from Michael’s. Their lips touch, and Michael fights the urge to pull back. He tries to stay in character, tries to be professional. He can feel André’s hands sliding over your body, gently caressing your arms and then moving lower, fingertips grazing your waist. This definitely wasn’t in the script.

What the fuck? Michael thinks, his mind racing. He swears you told him this kiss was just supposed to be a brief peck, but here he is, locked in what feels like a full-on makeout session. André’s lips press harder against yours, the kiss deepening as if the two characters are consumed by the moment. Michael is struggling to keep it together. He stiffens, resisting the instinct to shove André away.

From the corner of his eye, Michael sees Quentin nodding approvingly, almost entranced by the scene. He’s probably thinking it’s going better than planned. But Michael is ready to crawl out of his own skin.

“Cut!” Quentin finally calls, his voice filled with satisfaction. “That was great! Really great!”

The moment Quentin’s voice echoes across the set, Michael pulls away, nearly stumbling as he breaks free from André’s hold. He wipes at his mouth instinctively, a grimace twisting his features as he meets André’s eyes.

André, seemingly unfazed, just smirks. “Nice job,” he says, his voice dripping with allure.

Michael shoots him a look that would’ve melted steel, but before he can say anything, Quentin announces, “Alright, five-minute break, everyone.”

Michael turns on his heel without a word, heading straight for your dressing room. He’s barely able to keep it together, anger simmering beneath the surface. His phone is in his hand before he even realizes it, and he’s dialing your number. The moment you pick up, he doesn’t wait for you to speak.

“You didn’t tell me I’d have to do the kissing scene today!” he says sharply, his voice laced with sass.

On the other end, you try to suppress a laugh, but Michael can hear the amusement in your tone when you respond, “Well, I didn’t want to stress you out more than you already were.”

He rolls his eyes, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “That’s real considerate of you,” he mutters sarcastically. “But can we talk about that mo-... him? Why is he so touchy-feely with you?”

You sigh, and Michael can picture you rolling your eyes in return. “Michael, that’s just the way he is. He’s an actor, he’s in the moment. No need to worry about it.”

“No need to worry?” Michael huffs. “He’s clearly into you. The way he was all over me—well, you—just now? That wasn’t acting.”

You groan on the other end of the line, clearly over this conversation. “Michael, please. We’ll talk about this nonsense when you get home, okay?”

“Nonsense?” He starts to protest, but you cut him off with a quick, “Love you,” and then the line goes dead.

Michael stares at the phone, groaning as he leans back against the wall of your dressing room. He lets out a long breath, staring into the mirror. There’s your face looking back at him, but it doesn’t feel like you. It feels alien, like he’s wearing a mask that’s too tight. He tries to calm down, closing his eyes for a second before pulling himself back together. He can’t afford to lose it now, not when he’s still got a full day of shooting ahead.

With another deep breath, he heads back to the set.

—

The shooting continues, and Michael does his best to stay in character, though it’s hard. He makes a few minor mistakes—forgetting to tilt his head just right, not delivering lines with the same nuance you do—but nothing too disastrous. Quentin doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he’s not calling Michael out on it. Still, every time Michael stumbles over a line or misses a cue, his stomach clenches. He feels like he’s walking a tightrope, balancing between passing as you and being found out.

But what bothers him more than the minor acting slip-ups is André. The guy is infuriating. Every time they reset the scene, André finds some excuse to get close to you, whether it’s fixing your wardrobe, brushing a stray hair behind your ear, or even offering casual compliments about how well you’re doing. To anyone else, it might look like André is just being friendly, but Michael knows better.

There’s an intensity in his eyes when he looks at you—an intensity that Michael’s certain he’s aimed at you a hundred times before. It makes his blood boil.

At one point, when they’re setting up for another scene, André sidles up to Michael, standing just a little too close for comfort. “You’re doing so well today,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “I knew you were talented, but this… this is something else.”

Michael grits his teeth, trying to keep his expression neutral. “Thanks,” he mutters, not wanting to engage more than necessary.

André leans in slightly, lowering his voice even more. “You know, I’ve always admired your dedication. It’s… inspiring.” His face is so close to yours that Michael feels his warm breath against his neck.

Michael glances at him out of the corner of his eye, his jaw tightening. He wants to say something, wants to tell André to back off, to stop being so damn flirty, but he knows he can’t afford to blow up here. Not in front of the crew. So instead, he forces a tight smile and steps away, pretending to check something on his phone.

André watches him for a moment, that same charming smile still on his face, before finally walking off to talk to one of the crew members.

Michael exhales, his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take this. If André pulls something like that again, he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold back.

As the day drags on, Michael somehow manages to get through the rest of the scenes without any major disasters. He stumbles a few more times, forgetting small details you’d usually nail without thinking, but overall, he manages to hold his own. The crew seems satisfied, and even Quentin gives him a few nods of approval.

But throughout it all, Michael’s focus is split. Half of his mind is on the task at hand—delivering lines, hitting marks, staying in character—but the other half is constantly tuned in to André. Every time the other actor gets too close, every time he touches Michael or says something with that smooth, flirtatious tone, Michael feels his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

By the time Quentin finally calls a wrap on the day’s shoot, Michael is more than ready to get the hell out of there. As soon as he hears those magical words, “That’s a wrap!” He practically bolts for your dressing room, eager to escape André’s lingering presence.

He pulls out his phone, sending you a quick text: Coming home. 

He doesn’t wait for a reply before grabbing his things and heading for the car. Today has been exhausting in more ways than one, and all he wants to do is get back to the ranch, collapse into bed, and forget this whole bizarre day ever happened.

—

As you lounge on the plush couch in the living room you stretch your legs, sinking deeper into the luxurious cushions, savoring the calmness that comes with being home. Thank god he had a day off today. 

The door swings open gently, and Michael walks in. His steps are a little heavier than usual, his shoulders slightly hunched in that familiar way he gets when he’s both tired and annoyed.

You raise your eyebrow, sensing his mood before he even says a word. “How did it go?” you ask, your voice laced with curiosity and a bit of playful teasing.

Michael doesn’t respond immediately, just sighs deeply, making his way over to the couch. He collapses next to you, laying his head against your chest, burying his face in what is now his own body. You chuckle softly at the sight—it’s still bizarre seeing him in your body, his movements awkward and slightly off, but endearing all the same.

“I think I didn’t do too bad,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your skin. His arm drapes lazily over your waist, and you stroke his hair gently.

You nod, encouraging him to continue, but something tells you there’s more. His expression gives it away, the way his brows are furrowed and his jaw is tight. He’s holding something back.

And then, as expected, he brings up André.

You let out a soft breath, your lips twitching into a smirk. You knew this was coming. “What about him?” you ask casually, trying to hide your amusement as Michael continues his jealous rant.

“He just—ugh, he’s so obvious! He keeps finding reasons to get close to you. Like, during the scene, he had his hands all over me, and I’m pretty damn sure it wasn’t in the script!” Michael grumbles, his head still resting on your chest. “It’s like he doesn’t even care that you’re married. He’s got no respect.”

You can’t help it, you breathe out a chuckle, the corner of your mouth lifting as you watch him get more worked up. His jealousy is kind of adorable, and you’ve always known he’s been protective of you, but seeing him like this—seeing him experience it firsthand—is on another level.

Interrupting his tangent, you sigh, your voice soft but knowing. “I know,” you say.

Michael’s head jerks up suddenly, his eyes wide as he looks at you in shock. “Wait, what? You know?”

You nod, giving him a shrug. “Yeah, I’m not blind, Michael. I know he likes me. It’s pretty obvious.”

He stares at you, looking like he’s just had the rug pulled out from under him. “You knew? And you didn’t say anything?”

You smile, brushing your hand through his hair. “What was I supposed to say? It’s not like I pay him any mind.”

He sits up now, fully engaged in the conversation, eyes narrowed slightly. “You don’t?” he asks, and you can hear the underlying tension in his voice.

You tilt your head, smirking a little. “Of course not. Yeah, he’s cute—” you can see the slight shock flash across Michael’s face at that admission, “—but he doesn’t compare to you.”

Michael’s expression softens slightly at that, his shoulders relaxing a little as the words sink in. For a second, his jealousy seems to ease, and you can see the corners of his lips twitch, though he tries to hide it.

“So, he’s cute now, huh?” he mutters, but there’s no real bite to his words anymore, just a little playful teasing.

You laugh softly, giving his arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry, doo doo head. He’s not the one I’m married to,” you say with a wink. And that seems to settle him down, his head leaning back against the couch as he sighs, though his eyes still flicker with traces of that protective spark.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, you break it with a new topic. “By the way, I called Deepak.”

Michael glances at you, now intrigued. “Yeah? What did he say?”

“He’ll be here in an hour or two,” you explain, your tone casual. “Says he can help us figure this out and hopefully get us back into our own bodies.”

Michael nods, seeming relieved. “Good. This whole thing is starting to really mess with my head.”

You let out a small sigh, leaning back into the cushions, and the silence stretches for a moment. Then, feeling a sudden mischievous urge, you turn to him with a grin and ask, “So… you gonna let me fuck you?”

Michael’s eyes widen in pure shock, his mouth dropping open as he stares at you, clearly taken aback. “What? No!” he blurts out, his voice shooting up an octave.

You pout playfully, leaning closer to him. “Come on,” you tease, your voice lilting with amusement. “I wanna know how I looks when you fuck me.”

His face heats up, and he shakes his head vigorously, his body tensing at the mere suggestion. “No. Absolutely not.”

You let out a groan of disappointment, falling back against the couch dramatically. “You’re no fun,” you grumble, casting him a playful glance out of the corner of your eye.

Michael finally lets out a chuckle, the tension easing as he watches you with that familiar smile of his. “I can’t believe you even suggested that,” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief, though his laughter betrays his amusement.

“What? It was just an idea!” you defend, giggling as you nudge him with your shoulder.

He rolls his eyes, but his smile remains, and the tension from the day seems to melt away, replaced by the familiar comfort of being with you, his wife, even if you’re in his body for now.

The clock ticks softly in the background as the two of you settle into a comfortable silence, waiting for Deepak to arrive, but for now, content to just be here, together, even if things are a little upside down.

© michaelsfavgirl 2024

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