#anything so I really need to not. >.> When I’m sleep deprived I think for some reason If I ask them ‘Why are you like this

[yieldtotemptation]

ANIMALS ft. Natty

natty x male reader smut

10k words

“All I’m saying is,” Natty starts, like she always does, with more unsolicited advice than you can handle at 2 AM, "for someone that complains so much about not having a sex life, you really don’t do much to fix it."

“And what, oh wise friend of mine, is your recommendation.”

“I don’t know. Get a haircut. Dress better. Try not being a massive pussy?” Natty shrugs. Or at least you think she does. Only so much you can tell over the phone.

You sigh. Bite back the urge to tell her to fuck off. But then, who else would talk you to sleep at this ungodly hour? So instead, you concede the point. “Noted.”

“Or, you know, if it’ll stop you from being such a little bitch,” and now she’s laughing, cackling really, and not once has that ever, ever meant anything good. "You could always just fuck me."

—

Two weeks and twelve hours post-Natty’s incredibly unhelpful suggestion that did absolutely nothing to alleviate you of your insomnia, and you’re back on the phone with her.

Only this time, there's video.

So, yay.

"Help me, please."

It’s a Friday and Natty's begging, again.

Because she knows she can count on you, knows that you’ve long since resigned yourself to your fate as Natty’s on-call ‘fixer’. There for everything from life-changing career decisions to helping her figure out what show to stream next.

And now, apparently, choosing her outfit for tonight.

“Help me, help me, help me, help me.”

God, this woman and her begging. Knowing full well that it’s your kryptonite.

"Okay, okay, okay," you're relenting, much earlier than usual. Mostly because as far as Natty’s petulant requests usually go this one’s a walk in the park. “But don’t you have people for this sort of thing? People who don’t, and I quote, ‘have a dogshit taste in style?’”

“It is dogshit!” Natty calls out, already turned around and leaving you (her phone) on the vanity, facing out to her bedroom and all its hideous pinkness. She disappears from the screen, diving deep into her closet for yet another pair of shorts that will most certainly hug way too close, or a top that dips way too low, or a pair of heels that scream—'hey, I have legs, would you like to spread them?' "But!"

Natty returns to the camera with a leather belt—oh no, that's a leather skirt—in hand; clad in nothing but a casual cotton bra/underwear combination that she’s filling out far too well for your sleep-deprived brain to handle.

She holds up the skirt against her waist for your consideration. Poses. It wouldn't cover a thing. Or maybe that's the point—again, you don't have any fashion sense, whatsoever.

“You’re a man, and I need a man’s opinion because I’m hoping to take one home tonight to fuck my brains out until I forget about this shit-storm of a week. So, you know—help a girl out?”

“As always, you have quite a way with words.”

Natty leans towards the camera, bending down to stare right at you. It makes entirely too much sense that she’s built an entire career around doing just this.

“It’s my third language, asshole.”

The insult lands softer than she likely intended, considering well, you’re a little too distracted to take it. It’s entirely her fault. The angle makes her tits look far too immaculate to pay any attention to her mouth.

Maybe she should consider going out just like this?

Yeah, that’d definitely get her fucked.

But, she frowns before you can make the suggestion, turning on her heels and sashaying back to her closet, leaving you to choke on air at the sight of her ass stretching out her favourite pair of panties. (The white pair with the pretty-pink bows. The one that rides up her ass when she stretches, bends, sneezes—basically any time she’s not standing perfectly still. And even then.)

Anyone else and this whole thing would be weird. Well, weirder than it already is.

See, you and Natty have this thing; this odd, cat and dog relationship that’s been going on since what feels like the dawn of time:

You’ve watched her shamelessly cycle through men faster than a teenager through a box of tissues, leaving a trail of broken hearts and broken cocks in her wake.

While she’s been forced to witness every time you’ve met ‘the one’, only to be there months later to help pick up the pieces when you’re burying your feelings in video games and alcohol and porn, wondering how it all went so wrong.

All this to say that seeing Natty bouncing around in her underwear with that laser-beam of a smile of hers; with all of her soft curves, thick thighs, her ridiculous ass and again, those immaculate fucking tits isn't that unusual.

In fact, it doesn't really do anything for you at all.

(Fucking liar.)

“Here, how about this.” Natty appears from the corner of the screen, having found a top that’s somehow made of even less material than the bra she’s already got on. The gall of her to ask, "Too much or not enough?"

You deadpan. “Does it come in adult sizes too?”

Natty grins, because she can read it right on your stupid face. She looks so, unbearably hot. Without even trying that hard. This bitch. “So just right, then.”

And then she twirls, leaving you to face her back, and before you even have time to blink, Natty’s bra has fallen down her shoulders; and you’re hating how you lean in to look because this damn app has no zoom feature to save your sorry eyesight.

Her fucking tits. Perfect, bouncy. Even through the pixels, even from behind, you can still see the way they spill.

She slips on her chosen top for the evening—a tiny, strappy number—and spins back around to face you in all her Natty glory. By the skin of your teeth, you’re looking away and leaning back, feigning nonchalance and leaving her none the wiser.

You think.

“You know,” Natty says, tilting to one side, hand on hip. Fuck, even that slightest movement makes them bounce. Utterly, utterly obscene. “You should just come tonight.”

You’re saying, “Fuck no,” before she’s even finished her sentence. ‘Coming tonight’ means ‘clubbing’, and ‘clubbing’ means being stuck listening to the shittiest music, surrounded by the worst people in all of Korea, drinking overpriced slop and watching Natty turn down a revolving door of douchebags on the dancefloor.

So, yeah.

If ‘fuck no’s’ were bricks, you’d be building the Great Wall of ‘Fuck No’, big enough for aliens on the other side of the galaxy to see with a fucking telescope and have their first contact with the human race be a giant ‘Fuck No’.

And that’s your polite way of turning her down.

Yet somehow, Natty’s hardly deterred.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Natty sing-songs, shuffling on her tiptoes, shifting her weight from foot to foot, making her entire body jiggle. It’s like she’s intentionally trying to sell you on the idea with every little movement. Make you believe that if you came with her, you’d be able to find someone who comes close to looking half as good as she does in that… whatever-the-fuck that is. Bralette? Crop top? Whatever. Fat chance. "Come on, come, come, come. Be my wingman please!"

You already have your second ‘fuck no’ queued up, but Natty just won’t stop fucking talking.

“Don’t you want to get laid? Don’t you think you need to have fun after what’s-her-name?” Natty continues, pouting at you through the screen.

And there it is, a study in how Natty usually gets her way—jutting out her bottom lip, digging her thumb into the waistband of her panties to expose just a smidge more skin, leaning just right to make her tits look like they’re about to pop out. It’s like she’s got a fucking manual.  

“Don’t tell me you’d rather stay at home with Handalf the Grey than come out with me and all my hot friends?”

“You mean having to clean up after all your ‘hot friends’ and their bullshit while you run off to score free drinks?” You retort, recalling all the other times when she managed to entice you out of your self-imposed isolation and into the deafening, sweaty hellhole known as a nightclub.

“Said hot friends that you’re too much of a pussy to hit on, mind you,” Natty chides, and then oh-so-casually decides to drop this nugget: "They all like you, you know, they'd be more than happy to break this dry spell of yours if you just asked. Don’t act like I haven’t seen the way you look at Julie."

You can feel your cheeks reddening. You’re not a teenager. You shouldn’t blush at this shit. But here you are, falling for Natty’s words and their magical abilities to needle at your insecurities and fill your head with thoughts of her friends and all their... well, incredibly positive attributes.

Natty pounces on your lapse in composure and gets closer to the camera, crouches. Drops down so she’s on her heels and all you can see in that tiny window of your phone is the red of her plush, plump lips.

“Come, you pussy—”

“Natty—”

“Do it pussy—”

“Natty, if you think that’s going to work—”

“Pussy, pussy, pussy—”

You’re yelling down the phone: “Fuck, fine!”

Natty’s victory dance is already in full swing before the words have even left your mouth. Bouncing around her room in pure joy at once again having ruined your evening. Dancing in that barely-there outfit, treating you to entirely sinful ripples across her curves and dips, pure sex on a pair of toned legs. Really makes you wonder how the fuck is she not illegal in at least fifty different countries.  

You hide your face in your hands, because there it is, the reason you’ve never really been able to deny her:

Her laughter, her energy, her fucking shameless glee whenever she manages to get her way (which, if you’re keeping count, is every single time).

She’s just so frustratingly adorable.

Somewhere in her celebrations, Natty finds exactly what she was looking for. Reaches down to the floor, picking up a belt—no, that’s another skirt—this one even tinier than the first.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she preens, holding it out to the camera (to you), before stepping right into it. She spins around, making it dance around her hips. It does wonders for her thighs. "How do I look?”

You swallow. “Like you’re going to get fucked tonight.”

The glint in Natty’s eyes. Like you’ve just served up the finest compliment on a silver platter. You feel sorry for whatever poor soul crosses her path tonight.

Natty winks. “Here’s to hoping.”

—

Guess what?

Turns out you were right: this is the worst place in the world.

Only, you’re the sole person here that seems to think that.

Hours have passed since you helped Natty look perfectly fuckable and you’re at the bar, trying and failing to get the attention of the bartender. Unfortunately, he, like every other male with a beating heart and a boner seems far more interested in Natty’s little dance routine than his thirsty clientele.

You can’t blame him, really. It’s built in how she moves.

Strobe lights cutting through the air like knives, slicing her into this series of absolutely pornographic snapshots as she dances. And she’s not alone, she has friends—beautiful, all of them, in their own ways. They spin and twirl around her; but Natty’s the sun here, the star that everything orbits.

(You included).

You see it play out—the Natty effect. Men, even women alike gravitate to her, drawn by that magnetic force that is Natty at her very best. Trying to get a dance, maybe whisper a line they stole from some movie in her ear, even dare to reach out to touch or press themselves up against her.

But she’s a black hole, a dark star. Can’t get too close.

One by one, they’re swallowed up by the void of Natty’s disinterest. The shoulders slump, the smiles falter, and the hope in their eyes dies as Natty, with a simple flick of her wrist sends them stumbling back into the crowd, forgotten almost immediately.

And the whole time she’s doing this, she’s got you in her line of sight. A wink here, a smile there, a dance on its own; and all you can do is nod and pretend like you’re okay with all this.

You inhale. Deeply.

Her outfit looks even tinier in person.

You turn away for just a moment, shaking off thoughts of Natty, of her hips and their sway and her winks and her smile; attempting (and failing) to flag down the bartender once more.

This fucking night.

But, when you look back, Natty’s no longer on the dancefloor.

She’s standing next to you. Arms looping around your neck.

“Natty—”

But she’s not listening. Her eyes are darting around the room, searching for something—or someone—that you can’t see. Your stomach clenches, because that look on Natty’s face? That’s not her usual I’m-about-to-make-some-poor-soul-my-bitch look. That’s something else entirely. That’s fear.

“Shut up, I need a favour,” she’s in your ear, yelling over the thrum of the bass that’s rattling your ribcage.

You lean in, bend down to meet her, because, frankly, you’re worried. You’ve never seen Natty like this, wide eyed and shaky. Never seen her be anything but comfortable.

You’ve also never been this close to her. Felt her breath hot against your neck, felt her body press up against you, felt her softness, felt her—

Fuck, you should be asking her what’s wrong, but before you can even do that, the bartender's filling two shot glasses and sliding them over to Natty.

She takes one. You take the other. It tastes lethal.

Natty’s nails dig into the back of your neck, and she looks at you, intense. Words fast and frantic. “Just pretend we’re together, okay? For a bit. Until I can figure this out. Just—just keep playing along, yeah?”

You blink. The room blurs around you. You think you might’ve misheard. “What?”

“Be my boyfriend,” she says, taking a second shot before you can even digest the first. “I need you. There’s some creep and I need you. Now, please?”

You turn immediately, scanning the floor, but the lights and shadows make it near impossible to make out anything other than vague shapes and strobes of colour, let alone pinpoint a face. "Natty, where is he, I can—"

"No, no, no," she cuts you off with a shake of her head. “Focus on me.”

“Wait, why do I have to—”

“Oh, shit there he is—”

And then she’s kissing you.

Ending whatever argument you may have had, because she’s grabbing, pulling you in, and her lips are on yours and oh fuck, she’s really, really kissing you.

It’s a slap to the face, and you need to reel in from the sting. Because you’re already forgetting what you’re doing, forgetting how your limbs work, because Natty’s putting on the performance of a lifetime and you’re having trouble keeping up.

Her hands are in your hair, yours at the small of her back, and she’s pulling you close, squishing against you and the taste of her—sweet like candy and sharp like vodka—filling you all the way up.

Your tongue catches up, flicking against hers, licking inside of her mouth and she’s even convincing you—as if she’s the one that’s always been into the love at first sight bullshit and you’re the non-believer.

And it’s a problem, how right this feels. Because this isn’t what friends do—definitely not Natty and you. But still, you can feel her tension, her need for this to be believable; and you don’t dare to fuck it all up.

So you kiss her back, because that’s what you do for Natty.

You always do what she needs.

You’re about to pull away; this should be enough to have every single person here convinced that you’re hers and she’s yours. But Natty’s already sliding her tongue back in your mouth, pleading, “Keep going,” the moment a gap opens between your lips; and you’re diving back into the kiss without a second thought.

And then you hear it.

A flash of a camera.

A cheer.

A whistle.

Julie, Haneul, Belle—Natty’s friends, staring at you like proud fairy godmothers witnessing their own magic at work.

You break the kiss. You look down at Natty.

She giggles.

You feel like a fucking idiot.

"There is no creep, is there?"

Natty shrugs, looks up at you, and she actually looks—what is this? Shy? Embarrassed?

"There could’ve been," she says, her eyes wide and innocent, a mask. You see through her like you should have when she first wrapped her arms around your neck.  Oh sure, like she’s ever been innocent for a second in her entire life.

She’s far too smug for that.

You roll your eyes. You feel like every other idiot that’s ever fallen for a bat of her lashes and a peek at her tits. Hope is a hell of a drug, especially when Natty’s the dealer. And yet, despite yourself, the corner of your mouth quirks up. "You're fucking insane."

“Maybe.” There’s a long pause. She’s staring at your mouth. She presses a finger to your sternum. “But I had to do something.”

It takes a second. What?

What does that mean?

You stare at Natty, lick your lips. Her taste still lingers.

“Ask yourself the same question I’ve been asking myself for months now,” she says, louder this time, her voice cutting through the noise of the club and hitting your ears with a sobering clarity.

You know what she’s going to say—what she’s going to ask before she’s even opened her mouth. You’ve been asking yourself the same thing too.

So, swallow hard, try to ignore the way Natty’s friends have gone quiet. Try to ignore Natty’s hand still resting against your chest, her eyes burning a hole right through you.

“Why haven’t we had sex yet?”

The blood’s rushing to your cheeks; the music's too loud, the lights too bright, and the room's suddenly spinning around you like a carousel.

Fucking embarrassing.

But Natty doesn’t crack a smile. She just looks up at you. Hopeful. Searching you, searching your eyes for an actual answer; and you already know what it is.

“Because, Natty, we’re friends.” You offer up a weak smile, hoping against hope that she’ll buy it.

But she shakes her head. “Oh, please. Like that’s ever stopped anyone before. Besides, if you want to put a label on it, call it whatever the fuck you want. I just know what I need. Do you?”

You sigh. She gets closer. And closer.

Until your nose is brushing hers. Until her breath is hot on your face, until your heart is racing so fast you can feel it in your ears. Until her hand is sliding down, down, down, until it’s resting over your pants and oh, oh no, you’re straining.

You gasp. She smirks.

“See? You want it too. And I know you do, because, sweetie, your cock’s practically begging me to pull it out and shove it between my tits right here in front of everyone.”

She just throws it out there, so casually, so bluntly, she might as well be talking about the weather. And maybe, maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just Natty being Natty, but fuck you can’t do anything but stay frozen still.

You’re letting her hand linger. You’re letting her touch you like she’s got every right in the world. You’re letting her because there’s a part of you—the part that’s growing by the second—that wants to see just how far she’ll take this.

“So, what is the real reason, ba-by?”

Because you’re in love with her. You’re in love with her, and you can’t just have casual sex with someone you’re in love with because it will ruin you.

But you don’t say that. Instead, you just tell her: “Timing.”

That makes her laugh. Has her closing what little gap remained between your bodies, until her tits are flush against your chest, and you’re coming to the conclusion that, yes, you did help her pick out the perfect outfit for tonight.

Perfectly, hopelessly, fuckable.

“Well,” she says, and she’s pulling you back down again and shutting you up with yet another kiss. “We’ve got all the time in the world now, don’t we?”

—

You’ve been here before.

Many, many times before.

You installed the showerhead and fixed all the cabinets yourself. Even secured the lock that you’re now unlocking with the digits that you coded.

But somehow, it feels like a first.

First time you’ve kissed her in the back of a car, pushed your hand up her skirt, felt the heat of her against your fingertips. First time you’ve pinned her against the wall of an elevator, made her feel just how desperate you were for her against her thigh, made her promise to be so good for you when you got to her door.

First time being pulled through the threshold, hands at your chest, tearing your shirt off you before you’ve even stepped foot in her apartment. Had her smiling against your mouth, because she’s won, again, and you can’t even bother to argue because you’ve lost to her so many times now that this shouldn’t be so surprising.

What is surprising though is how you’re naked first.

"Terrible, terrible taste." Natty's clicking her tongue as your shoes, your shirt, your pants are scattered along the floor behind you. “We’ll have to fix that.”

And then she’s moving on, hands clawing down your stomach to land at the waistband of your underwear, hooking her thumbs in and yanking down. You’re so obviously hard—you’ve barely made any effort to hide it from her—fuck, you pretty much flagged down the taxi with it.

"Holy fuck," is the first thing out of Natty's mouth when she takes a hold of you, feeling the naked weight of you in her palm. "You’re really not messing around, are you? I was expecting—"

"A sad, lonely little thing," you finish for her, because you've heard it before. "Yeah, you like to mention it a lot."

But Natty’s not laughing now.

She’s just staring. Almost reverently. She decides, her voice a little raspy, tinted with an apprehension that you never knew she was capable of mustering, "I like it. It's... massive."

You lean in, pressing your mouth against hers because if she’s going to say that, you’re going to kiss her, again and again, and there’s a strong possibility you're never going to stop.

She whimpers, gasps into your mouth, says your name for the first time—not some nickname, not a jab or an insult. Just your name, in your ears, like it’s something sacred.

You’re not a saint. You can’t ignore that.

Your cock jumps in her hand, and as if on instinct, she strokes you.

It's slow, purposeful. She's too good at this. Knows the right pressure, where to twist and wind her wrist. How to sweep her thumb over the tip, smear pre-cum over your skin, and this entire time she's staring down at your cock like she's discovered something new.

“This is going to ruin me, isn't it?” she whispers, and you nod, because your voice is lodged in your throat and she’s stealing the air from your lungs. “Going to fit so fucking nicely inside me. Fuck it’s going to stretch me.”

You groan, collapse your weight into Natty, press your lips against the column of her throat.

Both hands now, one underneath, toying with your balls, balancing them in her fingers, and the other doing its best to squeeze, to pump, to make you fall for her with every stroke.

“I can’t wait to ride this,” Natty kisses these words into your cheek, your jaw, leaves these marks all over your collarbone. “I wonder if I can fit it down my throat. God, can you imagine what it’ll look like between my tits?”

And that makes your cock throb.

Because face it, Natty has always had a way of getting into your head; is far too dangerous with her words, and she’s all too willing to abuse this power she has over you to get you do what she wants, which is now, apparently, fucking her senseless.

You let her, let her build and build this pressure, let it coil inside you, tighter and tighter. Until the need to feel her, all of her, is too much to handle.

Until you grab her, take her by the shoulders, push her—not hard, but firmly—against the nearest wall.

You’re not gentle about it, because Natty doesn’t want gentle. She wants rough, she wants passionate, she wants to be fucked and have her cunt worshipped by way of complete ruin.

She’s told you as much.

"That's more like it," Natty bites into your ear, grips your shoulders. She follows your eyes. "Let me guess, my tits?"

So, maybe she has caught you looking once or twice. Either way, you don’t care much for her top anymore, it’s served its purpose. You take a fistful of it and pull, ripping it right off her and tossing it to the floor with everything else that’s kept the two of you from tearing each other apart.

“Better?” Natty poses for you, puts her tits on display—and yeah, you were right all along. Fucking immaculate.

You take a hold of one, palm it; fill your hand with flesh, twinge those dark, plump nipples, because of course you’re going to. You’re going to pinch and squeeze and suck on them. You’re going to mark her like she’s already done to you. Mark them, with your teeth, with your tongue. Fuck, you’re going to make them yours.

But for now, you're just going to slap them, because you want to watch them jiggle up close.

You laugh. Natty does too.

"Much better."

And with that, you’re back on her. Kisses that are sloppy, wet, and filled with all the pent-up want that's been simmering for months. You don’t even know where to begin with Natty, but you start with her mouth. It’s a good place. It’s always a good place with Natty.

Her hand doesn’t stop moving, can’t, won’t. The friction is heaven; you just let her touch you, fuck her hand while you indulge in her tits. Get to know the weight of them, the balance, the softness.

A sigh into your ear as your tongue finally finds her breasts, deep and messy, sliding over her nipple—she’s already so sensitive, just a flick and she’s gasping. You’re not even trying to be precise anymore, not that Natty needs it, not that she needs anything but for you to enjoy yourself against her.

It all makes the room seem smaller, the walls close, surrounding you with the scent—cinnamon and sweat and something else that’s just her.

“See this is why fucking me is such a great idea,” she slurs against your shoulder, hand tightening, stroking you harder, faster.

You mumble an affirmative into her breast. It’s a miracle you can still stand upright.

“Isn’t this so much better than like everything else? Anyone else?” She sighs, breathy, sweet sounds, as she takes you by the wrist, guides your hand southwards.

Fingertips graze her stomach, trace around her belly button and lower; until you’re digging into her skirt and feeling the heat rise off her skin. She’s soaked right through her panties, dripping with it. Another place for your tongue to land.

“We can just be fucking honest with each other,” Natty’s explaining, eyes tearing when your finger pads her clit, pressing down just right. “You already told me all the things you hate. All the things your bitch exes never let you do.” And she smiles, wicked. “Never had the tits to give you.”

Christ.

“And I can get you to fuck me exactly how I want with this big, fucking cock,” Natty finishes. "We’re a perfect fucking match."

It’s at that moment you find the zipper of her skirt, tugging it down, watching it fall to the feet. Leaving Natty to step out of the tiny scrap of fabric she calls her panties; abandoning the sticky mess of cotton.

You take a step back, unlatch your lips from her tits, because you need to see it. Need to finally see her, see your Natty, see the Natty you've never allowed yourself to look at.

So, take your time, drink her in—because the way she’s standing there, the way she’s touching herself now; biting her lip, sighing your name. All but saying, ‘Look all you want, but don’t you dare look away’.

Look at the arch of her neck, the red you’ve left there, that trail you’ve burned down to her tits. Bruised and swollen from your tongue, your kisses, and yet still not marked enough. Follow the curve of her hips; how they flare out from her waist, the plush squish of her ass cheeks against the wall behind her.

You want to kiss her, from the tips of her toes to the top of head; all of her, every part of her, because now she’s going to finally let you.

Because now you're going to fuck her until all she knows is you, going to make her scream your name, going to make her beg for you to fill her with your cock and cum and never ever leave her cunt empty again.

That’s the plan, anyway.

But Natty’s got plans of her own.

“Didn’t you say,” Natty begins, sighing, circling her cunt in a rhythm that you’re dying to recreate. She licks her lips. “That your last ex refused to suck that lovely, magnificent cock of yours?

"Yeah," you stammer, at a loss for breath at just the sight of it all. “And weren’t you trying to find someone to fuck your brains out?”

Natty’s eyes light up; and there's that easy, charming grin that knocks you right off your feet. "You’ve always been such a good listener."

—

Natty's plotting to ruin you.

It's the only possible explanation for the way she's looking at you right now—on her knees, at the foot of her bed, flanked by walls painted an ugly shade of pastel pink and Natty's tits, sandwiching your cock.

You’d imagined it, thought about it when you shouldn’t have been thinking about it. Whenever she brought you to watch her perform, whenever she sent you pictures of her outfit of the day. But your eyes always went there. Straight to Natty’s tits, every time.

You knew they were big.

You’ve felt them, on accident (though they don’t seem like accidents anymore).

But now, to have them enveloping your cock, drowning your shaft in their softness, and to have her, staring at your face with so much fucking excitement as she gives you everything you’ve ever wanted—it’s surreal.

You’re dying to paint them white.

“Looks like you’re already about to fall apart, baby,” she teases, and it’s even worse now that she’s calling you these sweet names, saying them like she’s always wanted to, like she’s finally letting herself. “Couldn’t wait, could you?”

“Fuck, Natty—” you breathe out, your hands finding her hair, tightening, because that’s all you can manage to do when Natty’s in control. Like she’s always been.

“Mmhmm,” she hums, keeping her eyes on you, making sure you’re watching, even as her tongue flicks out to taste you. A slow, taunting lick to make you buck your hips, desperate to feel the suction of her lips. “You must have been dreaming about this, huh?”

You don’t bother lying. She already knows the answer. “Every. Fucking. Night.”

Natty’s smile spreads across her face, and she rewards you with a kiss, pressing her lips down onto the head of your cock; before sliding them lower, eyes fluttering shut with the first taste of you. “Well, what took you so long? All you needed to do was show me your cock and I’d have been happy to do it whenever you want me to. Happy for you to use my tits as your cum rag. You know that, right?”

She moves; and the sight of it alone—Natty’s tits wrapped around your cock, bobbing up and down, hypnotising you with the flicker of her nipples—up and down, up and down. It’s merciless, unrelenting, and she keeps talking, keeps kissing these sweet little words into your cock that makes your hips jerk, trying to fuck her tits faster, harder.

"Look at how perfect you look," Natty keeps going, "how your cock fits so snug."

The sounds she’s tearing from your throat as her tits take you, and she’s barely even started.

“But we can do better, can’t we?”

Her pace picks up, and with it, the tightness of your grip on her hair. She’s pushing the ample mounds together, squeezing, putting her whole body into it, into this new art she’s pioneering. Driving you insane with just her breasts, making you swell between them, throbbing as she works you over.

“So big," she’s panting from just the effort, the bounce, bounce, bounce of it all, "I can feel you getting so much bigger."

Everything’s going too fast, her tits are too soft, her lips on you too hot, and she’s drooling, her spit dripping down onto your cock. You want to tell her to stop, that you can’t take it, but Natty just keeps going.

"Fuck,” Natty mewls, pinching her own nipples, for you, for her. Pinching and rolling them, making them nice and stiff and swollen. “Let me just try and—”

She cranes her head, bends; takes your cock deeper into the warm, wet heat of her mouth. Her tongue darts out licks your cock, gets that sweet spot on the underside, makes you shake underneath her.

Natty holds you there, even as you groan, even as your hips rise; just licks, spits, sucks. Her mouth moving up and down on you, making a mess down your shaft, down her tits. Taking you deeper, deeper, until you’re fucking her face.

She moans around you as your hips buck and you push deep, desperate for it. Her eyes water, her cheeks hollow, and she’s got you. You’re in her mouth and she’s loving it. Loving the power she has over you, loving giving you what she wants, loving how you’re pulling her by the hair, desperate to feed her more of your cock into her throat.

Like your entire relationship has been building up to this moment—to Natty’s tits wrapped around you, her mouth all over you, her eyes on yours, watching as you fuck her face.

"Fuck, Natty," you grunt, your voice barely recognisable. "What the fuck—"

But Natty's just smiling, you’re fucking that smug little smile on her lips, and she’s taunting you. "Come on baby, keep going, keep going."

It’s utterly obscene—the smack of her lips around your cock, her slobbering all over you, her gagging, her moaning around you, looking up at you and asking, “Is that all you’ve got?”

You're so close, so fucking close, and she knows it. Moving her tits faster, faster, and you're about to blow your load all over Natty's pretty face, her chest.

But she keeps talking.

Even as you stuff her cheeks, even as you muffle her, “None of those other skinny bitches could do this, could they, could handle this big, fat cock?”

Even as you force her down, pull her by the hair, “You’ve been so obsessed with my body, so obsessed with my tits, haven’t you?”

Even as her tits slide off you and your cock smacks her across her cheek, “I always saw the way you looked at them, fuck I was showing them off for you, you just took too fucking long to notice.”

She won't stop fucking talking.

You finally snap. "God, are you ever going to stop?"

But Natty just laughs, bats her lashes. Slides her tongue from your base to your tip. "Maybe you should find something to gag me with."

Your hand wraps around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her eyes go wide, to make her mouth pop open. She rolls out her tongue for you, and you know what she expects you to do, what she expects you to fill her mouth with.

But you don’t—instead, you fill it with your kiss.

It's deep, it’s bruising, it’s saying ‘fuck you’ in the sweetest way possible, without uttering a single syllable. Natty laughs against your mouth, a ‘fuck you’ right back with her teeth, biting down on your lower lip. Not breaking skin—not yet—but the promise is there.

Her hand leaves your cock to wrap around your neck, pulling you closer to her, her mouth eager for yours, and you don’t even think twice before you hoist her up, her legs wrapping around your waist. Giggling again—another sound that’s going to be your undoing—before you’re both stumbling back onto her bed.

The mattress dips under the weight of your bodies falling back into it. Natty straddles you, presses her cunt down onto your thighs. So wet you can feel it on your thigh, leaving your skin sticky and stained with her. Your hands move to her hips, dragging her closer, so you can feel the friction grinding against your cock, making you ache.

She breaks your kiss, gasping for air. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide—seeing her pant like this, it’s not even fair. She’s just so fucking beautiful, like a painting you’re afraid to touch because you might smudge it.

You tell her as much.

She blinks. Blushes.

Grins.

“You,” Natty breathes, her hand trailing down your chest, finding your heartbeat, resting there for a beat, two, “are so fucking in love with me.”

You don’t argue because she’s right.

Her hand slides up your arms, nails dig in and she’s got your wrists, pinning them over your head. You let her. Let her grind herself against your cock, feel the warm, wet heat of her cunt against the tip.

She takes her sweet time, melting herself into you, pressing her tits into your chest, and you can feel her heart racing against yours.

She whispers, “God, I’ve waited so fucking long for this.”

You can’t even form a coherent thought, so you just grunt.

“I’ve dreamt about this so much,” she continues, breathless words sending shivers down your spine. “Your cock, fuck, it’s just as perfect as I imagined. And now, it’s all mine.”

And then she does it—she sinks down onto you, slow and sweet, her pussy taking you in inch by glorious inch. You groan into her shoulder, your eyes shut as Natty’s tight heat surrounds you. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before; sure there’s been others but something about Natty’s cunt is so intense it’s almost painful.

“So tight,” you grit out, the words torn from your chest like they’re made of glass. She just laughs, low, sultry, and starts to move.

It’s a dance, a rhythm that’s been building between the two of you for what feels like an eternity. She’s rocking her hips back and forth in this torturous grind. Fucking you like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do, like she needs to make the most of it. Like you’re going to vanish into thin air the second she lets you go.

“I knew you’d feel this good,” Natty sighs into your neck, already surrendering to your cock. “Fuck, I knew it—why did you keep this from me?”

You can’t answer, not really.

You’re too lost in the feel of her, too consumed by the way she’s moving on top of you. Every inch of her body is pressed against yours, and she’s so warm, so alive, that you can’t think of anything but how Natty’s finally letting you in. How she’s letting you make her whole.

But it’s too much. Natty’s cunt, tight and wet, fucking you so slow it’s a fucking crime. Pinning you down, a butterfly on a board spread out, displayed, unable to do anything but take her sweet, sweet punishment. And she’s whispering it in your ear, grinding down, rolling her hips, “Fuck you. Fuck you for keeping this from me,” with every stroke.

She’s doing it on purpose, you’re sure of it. Driving you crazy, making you beg, making you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life. Your hips jerk up to meet her, trying to speed things up, to get that friction you need, but Natty just pushes down on your shoulders, keeping you in place.

So you tell her, "This is fucking torture."

Natty just smirks, her hips never stilling. "Is it?" she asks, as if this all isn’t intentional. Like she doesn’t have some grand plan to ensure you never forget the things her cunt can do to you. "Do something about it then."

So, you do.

It takes more effort than you’ll ever admit, but you break her grip on your wrists, grab her hips, and flip her over, sending her sprawling onto the bed, face down.

The squeal from her. It’s music.

How her eyes go wide when you treat her like a ragdoll, how her tits juggle and bounce, smacking the mattress. And when you push down into her, slamming your hips into her ass, how she arches back into you, her back bowing like a fucking violin.

“Yes!” She cries, fucking cheers into the mattress, like she’s been waiting for this—for you to have had enough of her shit and take her without asking. “Yes, yes, yes—”

You hover over her, throb inside her. "Is this what you fucking wanted?"

Natty sighs into the bedsheets, urging her hips against you, begging without words, begging for you to do more.

“You want it rough, baby?”

“Yeah,” Natty says, pushing back against you again, nodding immediately. “If you can.”

Still with the provocations, unable to resist pressing at your buttons.

You grab her hair, yank it back so she’s staring at you, force her to look at you. And you fuck her hard. Fuck her like you’ve wanted to since the first time she walked into your life and decided to make it all about her.

You fill her with deep, long strokes, fill the room with the smacks of your hips colliding against her, of your cock thrusting into her cunt again and again.

She claws at the sheets, trying to find purchase, trying to push back against you. But you’re too strong, too desperate.

You pound into her, impale her with your cock, watch her face twist in pleasure, in pain. You’re fucking her like you’re trying to break her, like she asked. Trying to solve her—how hard can she take it, how deep, how fast.

But Natty won’t give you an answer, she just takes it all—every inch, ever pump into her sopping wet cunt. Just grins and takes every bit of your need, your frustration. A bottomless pit of pleasure, begging for more with every whine, every little noise she makes that’s not quite a scream but is so close that it rattles your brain.

And when you finally let go of her hair, Natty’s licking her lips, and without even a care for what it does to you, she coaxes, “You can do better.”

You don’t know how she can talk right now, how she can even think with your cock so deep inside her, but something about the way she says it makes you want to test the limits of her ability to stay coherent.

But first, there’s the problem of her ass.

“Let’s see about that,” you murmur, dragging your hand down her spine, feeling the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, and coming to a stop at her perfectly rounded ass. It’s a masterpiece, a work of art, and you’ve always had a bit of an artist’s soul.

You do what comes naturally.

A spank against Natty’s ass. Hard, hard enough to make her yelp.

Again—another slap, another yelp, louder, better.

You keep fucking her, keep spanking her, keep watching red bloom across her cheeks and Natty squirm underneath you. The whines get louder, her cunt gets wetter, but it’s still not enough to dull that smug look on her face.

“Fuck yes,” Natty gasps, raises her ass, presenting it to you like a trophy for you to claim. “I always knew you had it in you.”

You grab her hips harder, your knuckles white, your hand a blur as it connects with her ass. It’s so explicit, the sound of it in the quiet of Natty’s apartment—each spank echoing through the room like a gunshot.

But Natty just takes it, her body jolting with each hit, her cunt tensing and tightening around you.

“God, don’t fucking stop,” Natty sputters, tears of pained pleasure leaking from the corners of her eyes. “You’re using me so good.”

You lean down, kissing hard against her neck, branding her shoulder. You want her to feel you, to remember you. To not be able to ever feel remotely good again without first thinking of you.

"It's your fucking fault, Natty," you growl into her ear. "You drive me mad."

And she laughs, the sound vibrating through her body and going straight to your cock. "Good," she answers, "Good. Be mad. Be angry."

But you’re beyond that now, beyond the point of no return. All that you know is Natty’s cunt, Natty’s ass, Natty’s moans, and Natty’s grin that you’re aching to wipe off her face.

"Fucking hate me if you want," she’s saying, and she can’t seem to stop, "just don’t stop fucking—ah!”

You nearly stop when you realise you’ve finally done it. Finally left Natty out of breath, lost for words. A fucking miracle, really—the kind that makes you feel like a fucking god.

It doesn’t stop her cunt clenching around you, tight as a vice, because even now, Natty’s got some kind of death grip pussy, and she’s using it to fucking kill you.

You whisper in her ear, “You like that?”

Her only response is a breathy, needy little whine, so you spank her again.

And again.

Her cunt tightens. She’s close, so close. You can feel it.

“You like it when I use you, Natty?”

She nods, her eyes screwed shut, her mouth crying into the mattress, a mess of hair and sweat and utter bliss.

“Say it,” you demand, slapping her ass once more, watching as the pain ripples through her. “Say it.”

And Natty does, because she’s a good little whore, because she’s yours now. “Yes, yes, I like it when you use me, when you fuck me like this, when it’s only about you, your cock, your needs, your pleasure—”

God, it feels good to hear her say it, but you still want more than just words. You want her to fucking scream it.

You make the bed shake, knock the headboard against her wall, it’s a competition of what’s going to break first—the frame or her.

“This cunt. Your cunt. I’m going to use it. Fuck it whenever I want.”

But Natty catches you off guard, because that’s what Natty does best. She opens her eyes, looks right into yours, and suddenly she has her voice again: “Whenever I want. You’re going to fucking move in with me.”

You freeze. Your hand mid-spank. Your cock mid-thrust. It throws you entirely off, because, what the fuck?

"You're going to be my boyfriend now," Natty says, wrenching back control, fucking her ass back into you. Stating not asking, leaving no room for argument. "Move in with me, your place sucks anyway."

"You're out of your fucking mind," you start to protest, but she cuts you off with another squeeze of her cunt around you, and now she’s the one fucking you, her hips rolling back and forth in this maddening, sinful way that has you biting down on your tongue to keep from shouting.

"Move in and just fuck me every day," she says, all light and airy, like it’s already been decided, like moments ago you didn’t have her dead to rights. "Morning to night. It would be so fucking nice."

This is real, you know that for sure. It’s not just something she’s saying to get off, not another way to get under your skin. You know it in her voice, she’s deadly serious and suddenly your mind’s racing.

"Come on," Natty purrs, punctuating each word with a slap of her ass against your waist, "You know you want it, why fucking wait?"

She’s not wrong. It makes too much fucking sense to deny. And yet, part of you still can't believe it. That Natty, the girl who's had countless men at her feet, could have any man at her feet, actually wants you. That Natty is underneath you now, eyes glossed over with need, mouth swollen from your kisses, ass cheeks flushed crimson from your palm.

"I'll take such good care of you, baby," she says, unaware that she’s already completely won, unaware that her cunt already has you bending to her will. "Every day, every night.”

You can't help but nod. You're too consumed in her to do anything else. You just let go of everything. The fears, the doubt, the fucking logic.

And Natty says it, the three words that seal your fate—"I'll love you," she cries out, "I'll fucking love you forever if you just keep giving me this fucking cock."

It's like the world stops, like everything you've ever wanted is right there in front of you, wrapped up in Natty's tight fucking body.

You're so close, so fucking close, that you can almost taste it—the sweet release of your orgasm; giving in to Natty’s unbelievably sensational cunt sleeving your cock, pulsing with each thrust, desperate to milk you dry.

There’s nothing left to do but give Natty wants. Fuck her, hammer into her so hard that you’re going to fuck a Natty-shaped hole into the mattress, fucking shatter her bedframe, and then keep drilling her straight through the floor.

And she’s crying out your name, forgetting about everything that isn’t you, isn’t your cock, isn’t the dream of your cum filling her to the brim and spilling out of her cunt every single day for the rest of your fucking lives.

“Are you close, baby? Are you going to cum for me? Please, give it to me, I need it so bad, I need it now, because I'm about to, about to, about to—"

And then it happens.

Fucking destroys her.

It hits. A crescendo that peaks as you bottom out inside her, shaking her to the core. Her cunt spasms about you, her body rises off the bed as if you’re performing a fucking exorcism, and she screams your name so loud it’s only a matter of time before the neighbours come banging on her door.

"Oh my fucking god you—"

Natty gushes around your cock, juices running down your shaft, your balls, and she’s squirting. Oh god, she’s squirting all over the fucking place.

Natty’s body goes rigid, her back arching so much it’s like she’s trying to fold in half, crying, sputtering these words that don't even make sense—until you realise she's speaking an entirely different fucking language.

Not that it matters, because you can tell what she's saying, read it in her body, in the way she's spurting and making a big fucking mess beneath your bodies. Whatever she’s saying sounds utterly depraved, filthy and so, so good to your ears.

It keeps going and going, until she has enough sense to speak your language again, needing to make sure you hear it when she says—"fucking fill me, baby," she whimpers. "Give me everything, all your fucking cum."

And it’s your turn to be hit—like a fucking freight train.

You're cumming, hard and fast and out of fucking nowhere. Your balls tighten, your cock throbs, and you’re flooding Natty’s cunt.

It’s biological, in every cell of your body—like your entire being is coming undone, and the only thing holding you together is Natty, Natty, Natty.

Her body shaking beneath you, her cunt contracting around your cock as wave after wave of cum fills her up.

She’s so fucking tight, so fucking perfect, that you can feel every pulse of your orgasm, every drop of your cum spurting into her. You're not sure how long it lasts, how much you give her, but it’s enough to make your muscles shake, enough to knock the architecture right out of your limbs.

"So fucking good, so fucking good," Natty coos. "Fucking finally, finally filling me up so good."

Her moans a lullaby, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body with every syllable. You lean down, burying your face in the crook of her neck, your every inhale and exhale ragged as you try to catch your breath. Still twitching inside her, still releasing the last of your cum, and Natty’s just lying there, her body limp, her eyes closed, basking in it all.

"So perfect," she keeps repeating, right up until the very end, “So, so, perfect.”

You collapse on top of her, just lie there shivering together, your face next to hers. She’s got this look on her face, a victorious glow, and you just have to accept it. Yeah, she’s won again, in devastatingly convincing fashion.

For a second, you’re both just that—spent, exhausted, entirely drained. Like you’ve just run a marathon. Or been in a fight. Or both.

Then Natty’s got the nerve to stir, to kiss your cheek with the tenderness of a whisper. Lips softer than you thought possible, given how hard she’s just been fucking you. And that’s it, the moment your body decides it’s had enough of playing dead, enough of lying there like a sack of potatoes.

You roll over, bringing Natty with you, her body curling into yours like she’s been made to fit there. Her head rests on your chest, her legs entwined with yours, and for a moment, you just hold her close.

It feels fucking right.

"Tomorrow," Natty sighs contentedly, her cheek finding home atop your heartbeat.

You blink. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, you're moving in tomorrow." Natty’s deciding for you already, setting the dynamic for the rest of your future. Doing all this with her eyes still shut as she snuggles closer to you. "I'll hire the movers."

You sigh, the weight of the world and Natty's body both feeling surprisingly light. You think about the next few days, the weeks, the years even, with Natty. The idea is so ludicrous, so absurd, that it feels like a fever dream.

But as you hold her, feel her warmth, her unabashed, blatant satisfaction, something inside you shifts. A reframing of the concept of Natty that you hold in your head. The thought of her naked body in your bed, her laughter in your living room, her mess in your kitchen—it doesn’t feel like an intrusion, it feels like home.

"Are you sure?" you ask. A little shaky, a little hopeful.

Natty opens one eye to look at you, a laugh playing on her lips. "Oh, you know I'm going to be the worst fucking roommate ever."

"Yeah, I can see that. But as long as you keep being the best fucking everything else..." Your words trail off into a whisper, your hand tracing idle patterns on her back.

And then she says it again.

"You’re so fucking in love with me."

Natty kisses you hard, deep, her tongue sliding against yours. And you know, you fucking know, that she's right. You are desperately, entirely, so fucking in love with her, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

You laugh, the sound a little desperate, a little wild, and roll her again, pin her down again. A strange feeling rushes through your mind. Like you’re going to be repeating this exact same motion for the next hundred years. And somehow, that doesn’t sound like the worst thought in the world.

Natty squeals, cheers, moans when you settle between her legs.

"Fuck you, Natty."

"Oh, baby," Natty giggles, reaching down between your legs, squeezing you. Once. Twice. Until you're filling her hand once more. "That's what I'm here for."

[phoenixinthefiles]

If I was DC screenwriter I think people would hate me

Cus I’m pulling out all the stops

Dick Grayson with anger issues who absolutely is not a golden retriever (that man will purposely target your occipital bone with his escrima) but does value his family over anything and loves them fiercely (even when they give him a heart attack)

Jason Todd the sunshine robin who’s really passionate which leads to his “extreme anger” Yes he’s a theatre nerd and he does listen to Jane Austen but that’s not his entire personality.

Cassandra Cain can speak.

*ducks away from window* Tim Drake is not a short king who is extremely sleep deprived and needs coffee to function. His smarts rival Bruce’s and he hates coffee, likes Mountain Dew a normal amount, and is sleep deprived but he takes power naps cus he plays into the corporate king role. He’s taller than Dick (cus that’s funny) and he’s missing a spleen but he blew up all the Lazarus pits so he does not care. Also he has commitment issues (mans cannot keep a girl or boy)

Duke Thomas is not the “normal one” he’s just as crazy as the rest of em and if you think he’s not it’s because you’ve fallen into his trap. The boy started a revolution and is the only meta Batman has pardoned (😝 Clark)

Damian is a precocious, traumatized, kinda mean, child. But he’s still a child, he can’t see over the counter at the doctor’s office, he wants his mom and dad together, and he loves being loved. Yeah he’s a bit of a brat but his grandfather is royalty and his father is Gotham’s dark prince; he’s allowed to be a bit pretentious. He’s a good kid and he had some bad influences but He is good.

Bruce Wayne doesn’t collect child soldiers, he is not physically abusive (physically, cus he’s had some moments) He won’t kill joker because the thin line that keeps that little boy in the alley sane is his fragile moral code. His kids were his kids first (with the exception of Tim😭) he would stop if he could, but because he can’t; he trains them.

Talia Al Ghul is not a rapist and she does love her son (the way she knows how).

Alfred Pennyworth is immortal🥰

(I’m aware I left some members off but these are just my main takes)

[shares-a-vest]

Wayne shuffles to the door, desperate to answer the incessant knocking that sounds like whoever is on the other side is going to beat the exterior fly screen straight off its hinges. He is greeted by Claudia Henderson, clutching her handbag strap tight across her chest and looking very serious.

Although it might just be his sleep-deprived inability to gauge the emotions of chipper 9-to-5 receptionists who wear cosy sweaters. He checks his watch. He’s only been asleep for about an hour after getting home from night shift - what with waiting for Hurricane Eddie to finally head off for the garage.

“Hello, Wayne,” Claudia nods and purses her lips.

He scrubs a hand over his face but steps back nonetheless to let her in. Claudia is one step in the doorway anyhow.

“Coffee,” he not-so-much asks as he moves to the kitchen.

“No, thank you,” Claudia says politely, “I usually wait for my morning tea break.”

He looks over to find her pulling out his assigned chair at the breakfast table. She looks nervous, if a little pissed off as she gathers her handbag up on her lap. He blinks harshly and pinches his nose enough to press his forefinger and thumb into the inner corners of his eyes. He really needs to wake the hell up a little more, it appears.

“What did Eddie do?” he sighs, looking over the drying rack on the sink for one of the mugs he has in his rotation at the present time.

“Oh, Eddie hasn’t done a thing!” she insists, a smile evident in her voice, “I’m here about Steve.”

Cubs mug it is then...

He frowns again and turns back to Claudia, confused. And the woman looks like she was expecting such a reaction because she huffs and straightens up, looking like she is readying herself to give a sermon on the kid.

“I need you to help me convince that boy to move in with Dustin and me,” she explains, promptly holding up a defensive hand, “Now, I know he stays here, mostly This isn’t about anything to do with you… Or Eddie…”

She tacks that last mention of his nephew on with a tone and a knowing look.

Wayne clears his throat. It’s certainly far too early in the morning for the ins and outs of that conversation. He flicks the kettle on to drown out the awkward silence between them.

“Have you uh...” he hums and scratches the back of his neck as he searches for words, “Have you talked with him about this, at all?”

Claudia squeaks out a noise he assumes is a negative as he quickly spoons coffee into his mug. He’ll settle for black coffee for now - he really cannot be assed to stand up for much longer, even if he did have the sense to quickly step into his comfy slippers when Claudia came a-pounding on the door.

“And you want my help specifically?” he says, raising his voice above the steaming kettle that is whistling away in boiling readiness.

“Yes!”

He waves a hand in the air, “Well, what about Robin?”

“Oh, gosh, no! I can’t talk to that girl,” he barks a laugh that makes Claudia startle in her seat, forcing her to clarify, “I mean she is a steel trap about that boy!”

Wayne smirks and nods as he heads for the table with his piping hot - and hopefully, heavily caffeinated - beverage, “He’s not the biggest talker when it comes to himself.”

“I’m not one to speak ill of other mothers,” Claudia says in a hushed tone, “God knows, I am not perfect. But where are his parents?”

She rocks a little with each word like she has needed to ask that question for a good long while. Of course, Wayne thinks about Steve’s parents. A lot. Because the boy almost never mentions them.

He shrugs, “He says they stayed away on business.”

“After everything that has happened in this town?” she argues, voice growing shrill with worry, “Did he tell you what actually happened with the mall fire? It was more of that other dimension nonsense!”

He almost chokes on his coffee. He knows a little - there was no way around it with Eddie in the hospital surrounded by all those secret nurses and doctors. But he didn’t know Claudia Henderson knew about some of it too. Still, he decides to remain cautious and gestures for her to continue.

“And he’s been concussed more times than he can remember!”

She slumps back in her seat with a look of such horror, Wayne thinks the sweet woman sitting opposite him considers it her closing argument.

Wayne taps on the rim of his coffee cup. They would have to tread carefully, not ambush the kid.

“He does get a lot of migraines - ” is all he can think to say.

“ - And he has dizzy spells,” Claudia cuts in, leaning forward. He can see tears starting to well up, “I just want him to be looked after. I know he’s a young man with his own life and everything, but he still needs a parent to care for him, to support him.”

“Yeah,” Wayne nods firmly, “Yes, he does.”

[radio-fmm]

2 am bathroom meeting

Law x reader

comfort & fluff | 1k words

Masterlist

Your reflection meets you and it’s like you don’t even recognize yourself, your eyeliner smudged, cheeks red and warm, eyes tired and your skin pale as a ghost. You frown, shake your head as if disappointed by it.

A big sigh is all it takes for you to try and keep it together. You are not ok, but that’s ok, you’re used to it. This feeling, heart aching, pounding headache and swollen eyes from crying is part of the journey, of your adventure as a Heart Pirate in this world, so you go trough it even if it means crying at 2 am.

You open the faucet and cold water splashes in your hands, the feeling strangely brings you back to earth, you stretch your hands like a bowl letting the droplets accumulate so you can dump them in your face. As you’re halfway trough it, the door of the bathroom opens loudly beside you. You stumble at the noise, dropping the water on yourself as a very scared looking Trafalgar Law stands just witnessing your misfortune

“Shit I didn’t heard you in here” you steal a glance at your Captain, too sleep deprived to even think about closing the door and leave you be. He also does a run over your form, which keeps him standing at the door

There’s a moment of silence, where you scrunch your face and rub your eyes as annoyance stirs along with your sadness, a terrible terrible feeling while Law stays puzzled. Why were you up at this ungodly hour looking so… wrecked?

“It’s fine I’ll just leave” you finally break the silence, you dry your hands hastily before anything more embarrassing happens but your Captain beats you to it

“Are you ok?”

You scoff- “Clearly not”

Law is not the type to ask this type of questions, you regret the tone in your answer immediately after, guilt visibly in your expression. You don’t want to push him away but right now, you’re not quite yourself and you’ll regret saying something you don’t want to.

Law stays still, eyebrows furrowed. He hates this, not you, but your clear terrible state. But what he hates the most is how he doesn’t really know what to do to help you

You sigh again and walk to the door expecting your Captain to move, but he doesn’t. His face stays reading you, in thought

You rise an eyebrow “Are you ok?, Captain?”

You are both awkward

Law’s body is tense, your eyes keep looking over his head as you hold back tears because this ordeal is making you think about everything again, but you don’t want to talk about it.

The surgeon then pulls a move so unexpected that it has you gasping. He walks into the bathroom and closes the door behind him, arms crossed and brows still furrowed

“If you think I’m gonna let you out of here like nothing happened you’re insane”

He cares, he really does. You know better than anyone else that under his mean captain facade he adored his crew, he cared for everyone and seeing you like this was also breaking a little part of his dark heart. He curses his decision to trap you here, clearly didn’t quite planned exactly what he was going to say or do which is also very unlike him. You always seemed to do that, keep him in his toes and making him act on instinct, even when you’re just vulnerable before him, sad eyes looking up at him

He liked it, but he’ll never admit it

Your heart rate accelerates and you fear you may pass out of the amount of emotions you are putting yourself through at the same time.

As if giving up, you answer softly- “I am just not feeling well… needed to freshen up” theres almost this embarrassment behind your confession, as if hating having to let him se you like this. You always had the habit of putting on a happy face for everyone around you, being the warm, trustworthy and helpful crewmate

But it was exhausting

Law feels like he’s drowning. He doesn’t know what to do, he goes trough a million options as you stand there all sad and tears already falling

“Do you want to… talk about it?” He settles on that

“Not really”

Another silence, and this one is so uncomfortable it has the surgeon of death wanting to pull his hair out, what now? Should he leave?, cry with you?, bring you water, a sandwich?

Suddenly a giggle escapes you, slowly building on a sweet laugh. The sound makes Law’s heart flip a couple times, pink dusting his cheeks in embarrassment but he’ll allow you to laugh at his cost if that makes you happy even just for a while

“You’re bad at this” you say wiping your tears with the back of your hand

“Yea whatever make fun of me” he says annoyed but with a hint of rare playfulness

“No, no! It’s endearing”

“That doesn’t make it better” a hand runs trough his disheveled dark locks, your eyes meet and both melt

You’re so dumb

After your laugh dies and you sniffle a little, the silence feels lighter, almost sweeter in a way and the weight of your shoulders seems to have disappeared into the night

Law smiles, a genuine smile and he’s glad you’re so understanding, keeping up with his awkwardness. He wants to reach out to you but doesn’t want to step in

“What can I do for you then?” There’s a glint of hope when his honey eyes land on yours once again, you smile sheepishly

“Can I get a hug?”

It’s almost stupid how big of a dorky smile breaks against Laws features, he thanks all the forces above for this opportunity and swears to make it count

“Of course”

Slowly, you walk up to him and land on his arms. A warm, sweet comforting hug envelopes you, soothing your worries and sadness making you sigh in satisfaction. His hands move up and down your spine, your sent invading his senses as he burns this moment in his memory forever

This is exactly what you needed.

extra

You laugh again, it rumbles all trough Law’s chest and he just stares down while holding you close and tight

“What’s so funny?”

“Your heart is going so fast Captain”

“Ok that’s enough teasing”

[vifilms]

†⠀warnings y disclaimers — eighteen+, sexual content (alluding), jock!abby, soft!abby, simp!abby, stubborn!reader, abby being a tease. part one.

—

jock!abby patience was wearing incredibly thin. she was always having to share you with ellie and she despised the situation just like the fucking brat — the one who demanded all your time and attention. okay, so maybe she was being a bit needy, and really the two of you hadn’t really said you were exclusive, but abby wasn’t with anyone else and didn’t want to be. she was stupidly sweet on you, and the sex was amazing. you were worth it for her to fight a little more.

jock!abby caved when it’s been an entire month and all she got were longing texts from you. saying you missed her but with classes, trying to keep your head above water, and ellie, you just didn’t simply have the time right now. although, abby blushed when you confessed she was important to you and you would see her soon. it’s the only time she’s thankful the interaction is filtered through a screen.

jock!abby called you the night before the game, she was supposed to be sleeping, or at least trying to, but with you on the forefront of her mind it seemed nearly impossible. she was embarrassed, your phone ringing four times, no answer. but on the fifth, you finally picked up. she thought you were ignoring her, avoiding her at the very least. but then you’re honeyed voice drips all over her heart and now it truly feels like the first day of spring.

“You should be sleeping, Abs. You have such an early day tomorrow and you need rest.” “I know, I just-” Abby took a moment to breathe, trying to calm herself enough to not reveal herself as a totally pathetic loser. “I’m so tense, baby. How am I supposed to sleep?” “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me what has you so…tense.” You question suggestively, your voice lowering an octave. “Well, I haven’t see you in a month, so there’s that.” Abby hints, and you pick up on it immediately. “There’s a line of girls on this campus who would love to ease the tension for you. Pick one, I’m sure you wouldn’t have to go far.” Your tone is bitter, thinking of her with someone else, but you don’t have much room to feel jealousy. Not when Ellie would feel like you stabbed her in the back if she found out about your late night rendezvous with Abby. “Stop it.” Abby barked. “What?” “You’re honestly going to make me say it? When you’re the one who’s been avoiding me? Really going to make me beg for it, baby?” You snap. “I haven’t been avoiding you.” It’s useless now. Abby has you pinned. Honestly, you’re not even upset about it. “You don’t have to lie me. I already know what you want.” “Fine, I’ll bite. What do I want, Abby?” “You want to not like me, right? It’d be easier wouldn’t it? I bet it would. But you like me, sure as hell love fucking me, and that can’t sit well. Not when I’m the enemy, not when I’m so evil and cruel.” You were silent, only heavy breathing could be heard on the phone. “Just tell me to fuck off, tell me I’m mean, tell me I’m the worst and I’ll hang up and you won’t have to talk to me again.” Abby continues, as if she needs to say anymore. “Be a good girl for Ellie, baby. It’s why you’ve deprived me of your pussy, huh? Tell me you don’t want to feel my lips, my tongue, my fingers. Be a good fucking girl and say it.” You were biting your lip, a moan threatening to escape. Pathetic. “I-I don’t, this isn’t…” You choke up, and god you can practically see her grinning. “You don’t want me?” Abby teased. “It’s….god, please Abs.” “You fall asleep in my arms, but then ditch before I can wake up. You don’t wanna see me but text me for weeks how much you miss me. You’re going to have to do better than that. Tell me what you want.” You’re trying to get something out, anything but you can’t seem to form a thought when Abby keeps going on and on, your cunt clenching every time you hear her voice. You’re forgetting why you’ve kept your distance in the first place. “I wanna make you feel good, help with the tension. Baby, please let me.” She finally breaks you, but the both you are smiling and Abby’s light laughter edges into the small cracks of your heart. “Mmmm, baby. Tell me how good it feels to be fucking yourself with your fingers to the sound of my voice. Don't even bother lying this time.”

jock!abby thinks about your breathy moans, the wet sounds of your cunt bouncing through the mic and into her ears. she loves hearing you moan her name out, you’re so desperate for her. so willing to be whatever she wants you too even if it will cost you. abby feels bad, but then she sees you and suddenly she doesn’t care what kind of karma comes her way. if she gets to have you, isn’t it worth the cost?

jock!abby isn’t surprised when you’re knocking on her door three days later. it’s clear what you want or at least she thinks so. it’s almost midnight and abby thought you just want to fuck. she’d be more than happy to oblige. she’d pretty much do anything. you’re as sweet as they get, more than she deserves, but she takes it anyways.

jock!abby catches you with her unwavering strength, your legs wrapped around her waist and your arms locked around neck. you’re whispering how bad you need her, how much you’ve missed her, how shitty your week has been, and the only thing getting you through was telling her all about it. so, she lets you. it’s foolish maybe, but abby can only think with her heart right now, and it really wants to be with you.

[intoxicated-chan]

Come Back to Me, It’s Almost Easy

✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ Memories from his past come back to haunt him. Reminding him of how much he’s failed.

✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Inspired by “Almost Easy” by Avenged Sevenfold. I’m in the mood for some heavy angst. Requests are open!!

✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 870

✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, heavy angst, major character death, sleep deprivation, death, blood, light violence…

“You have a choice between saving one person or saving every world.”

Miguel knew it all too well. He’s gone through it just like every other Spider-Man, so it’s nothing new. He should’ve expected it coming which is why he never really reacted or mourned his losses.

He knows what’s coming, which means he shouldn’t have felt this awful about himself. It was almost easy for him to move on from everyone else, but the loss of the most important people broke him.

He can easily tell other Spider-Mans that it’s part of the job, so get up and continue doing what you’re doing. But when he’s asked to do it, he can’t help but cry out loud, the feeling of going crazy by asking him to forget everything. He can’t do that.

But the way he held you in his arms, the way your fingers weakly grazed his face… He won’t forget the way he begged you to stay with him, and how shameful he felt when he realized that no matter how different he chose to do things, it was always going to be the same.

“You’ve been awake for almost 48 hours, Miguel.” Peter B. told him, Mayday in his arms as he watched Miguel struggle to stay awake, “Maybe you should take a break?”

“M’fine.” Miguel nearly pulled at his hair, huffing heavily as he stared into the screen, “Everything is fine.”

“I asked if you were fine, not everyone else.”

“And I said that I am fine.” Miguel growled at Peter B. “And besides, don’t you have better things to do than bother me?”

“I’m just worried about you, Miguel.” Peter B. stepped closer but remained a good distance just in case, “Everyone else is worried, even Miles. We’re here for you.”

“And I said…” Miguel slammed his hands on his desk, “Leave me be!” Snapping at Peter B. without even looking at him, “I don’t need you breathing on my back.”

“Okay, okay.” Peter B. mumbled, hurrying off before Mayday could begin to cry.

But Miguel didn’t react, he remained hunched over at his desk. Watching as multiple screens popped up and then closed by Lyla. His eyes had started to burn, and he began to slump over his desk and maybe, fall asleep.

But the second he felt fingers running through his hair, it caused him to abruptly stand up. He scanned every inch of the room… But he was all alone.

“Miguel?” He flinched, “Are you sure you’re okay?” He then huffed after a minute, learning that it was Lyla who just spoke to him.

“Just perfect.” He heavily sighed, “Everything is perfect. Not like I’ve lost an entire family in an instant. So yeah, I think I’m doing good.”

He hears Lyla sigh, “Get some sleep.” She said but sounded like a demand, “I won’t say it again.”

He thought about the scenario over again, what mistakes he made and how easily the warning signs showed from the start. If he had never let his guard down, his family would still be alive.

Miguel sighed once more. He had to apologize to Peter B. and fast, it wasn’t his fault, he was just worried about him.

“Now do you believe me?” You softly spoke as you watched Miguel cradle his daughter in his arms, “See? You aren’t hurting her.”

“I guess I should believe you more often.” Miguel softly spoke as she began to sleep in his arms, “Thank you, (Y/n).”

“For what?”

“For giving me a chance.”

“Anything for you, Miguel. You deserve the world.”

He shouldn’t have. He never should have believed that it was all true. Pushing away his mindset and letting him fall into the beautiful feeling of love. If he didn’t, then you’d be continuing your life that didn’t involve him.

“Stay with me, (Y/n)!” Miguel cried, his tears streaming down his face, “The ambulance is almost here! Just hold on a bit longer!” But the ambulance isn’t in his sight. So, carefully, he began to stand, still holding onto you.

“Don’t.” You cough, “I need you to promise me, Miguel.” He feels your hand come up to his face, weakly trying to wipe away the tears, “Take care of her Miguel…”

He drops to his knees, “Don’t say that!” You laid on the ground, his hands coming up to cup your face.

“She’ll need her father.”

“I can’t do this without you!”

“Let her know that her mother will always love her…” You cough, then cough again, and then again until he sees blood spilling from your mouth, “No matter what happens.”

“Stop! Please!” He begs you.

“And know that forever, I’ll always love you…” Your voice gets weaker by the second, your vision begins to fade, “No matter how far you go. I’ll be here.”

He remembered the sounds of the sirens. How hard it took him to force himself to put his mask on as he watched the medical technicians try to help you.

And so, Miguel stopped wishing for a lot of things. But there was always one wish… If he could go back in time to fix things, could he be able to have the family he wished for?

© 2023 Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without permission.

[raccoonsface]

“My Baby.”

____________——————————____________

A little fluff for Jenna’s B-Day. SHES SO OLD. I swear last week she was just 20.

*Please don’t mind my terrible sleep deprived writing*

————————______________———————-

______________————————_____________

Jenna’s POV

I’m so tired. I’ve been working all day and haven’t been able to see Y/n… I miss her so much, my birthdays tomorrow so I have the day off

I just wanna spend my birthday relaxing to be honest with myself. I wanna be in bed with Y/n and cuddle till the days over, maybe do something else…

Either way I’m way too tired for all of this and I still have to take a shower before I even step foot into my bedroom. I’m all dirty from filming today.

Wednesday Season two is harder than the first time around. Even though I know mostly everyone and I know how to act, it’s a little hard to help write the show while acting it all out.

Ugh I’ll have to think about it all some other time tonight and tomorrow I relax with Y/n..

Y/ns POV

Jenna’s coming home in about five minutes and I wanted to get a bath set up for her so I set up a bath with some roses and red wine with glasses.

I want Jenna to relax and to let go for tonight, her birthdays in about two hours and I don’t wanna have her be all grumpy when her phones being blown up from it.

———————————————————————

You were setting down the last of the candles in the bathroom for Jenna’s bath when you heard the lock twist.

You walked out of the bathroom to find a tired Jenna walking into the apartment slowly, dragging her feet across the floor. She immediately took off her heels when she closed the door, and locked it.

She then proceeded to walk over to you without a word and hug you tiredly.

“Hi, baby.. you tired?” You say quietly, and she softly nods to answer your question, you can feel her start to relax in your embrace

“I drew a bath for you,” You whisper as you massage her shoulders and kiss her temples. “Okay,” she mumbled into you’re chest before backing up with her eyes closed slightly

“Can you come in with me?” She asked taking off her jacket and throwing it over the couch, “Yeah, of course I can,” you responded softly walking to the bathroom with her, watching her tiredly move.

You make it to the bathroom and watch as her face lights up slightly at the sight of the bathtub filled with bubbles and roses.

“You picked my favorite wine..?” She says slightly surprised and slightly questioning you’re decision, not in a bad way though “uh yeah I thought you should relax before your birthday,” you respond

“Thank you baby.. this is really nice of you,” she says in awe admiring the work you’ve done “anything for you Jenna,” you say looking at her lovingly, admiring her

She looks at you once before turning away and undressing, you then turn and do the same, when you’re both done you both step into the bath.

Jenna lays on top of you while you’re just laying back, you grab the wine and give Jenna a glass before pouring it into your guys’ glasses

You both take a couple of sips before you set them down. You caress Jenna’s arm to help relax her, she leans her head back and closes her eyes in response.

“Thank you for this Y/n, it means a lot to me,” she says opening her eyes, looking up at you lovingly. You smile down at her, “you’re welcome honey, I don’t want you all stressed on your birthday,” she giggles at you before getting up

She gets up and grabs a towel as you get up, she then wraps the towel around both of you guys, “why’d you get up so soon?” You ask her

“I’m tired baby, I need sleep,” you look at her and then step out of the shower with her. You drain the bath and put away the wine after putting on your undergarments,

When you’re all finished you go into the bedroom to find Jenna all cuddled up in the bed, asleep

“Oh… My Baby.” You say while walking over to Jenna’s side and sitting down by her legs, you reach your hand over her face and caress it with your thumb.

You lean closer to Jenna and kiss her forehead, “I love you Jen, sweet dreams,” you say before getting u beneath the covers with her and going to sleep.

————————______________———————-

______________————————_____________

Jeez I just had a really random writing motivation moment… well I mean here you go I guess… I love you my raccoons. Happy birthday to Jenna though, cannot believe she’s 22.

————————______________———————-

[thaliagracesgf]

i get a boyfriend

part two of the casual series! (requests are in progress, i just churned this out because it is my baby)

warnings: making out and luke being cocky asf

wc: 1.2k

the sun streamed through your eyelids in the morning. you shifted in bed, cozying up in rebellion. you really did not want to get up. you felt luke behind you, starting to move, and you closed your eyes. you knew he wouldn’t be able to wake you up just yet. 

his head finds the crook of your neck, and his curls brush against your face. you’ve never felt so safe. 

“jesus christ,” you’re rudely disturbed. you keep your eyes shut. maybe beckendorf will leave. 

a knot grows in your stomach as luke grumbles from behind you. “fuck off, man. i was sleeping.”

“yeah. i noticed.” 

“what are you doing here? this isn’t your cabin,” he said, sleep evident in his low voice. 

“yeah, isn’t hers either. so are you two a thing now? you finally hook up last night? what’s the sitch here, because silena needs her update.”

with that, luke pulls himself up. “shut up, man.” he looks down at your ‘sleeping’ face, hoping you didn’t hear. “have some respect.”

you did hear, of course, and at first it did make you feel gross, but the ‘finally’ catches you, and you remember that luke wants you. he isn’t jack, who just wanted to fuck somebody, he’s been waiting, and yeah, the older kids at camp sometimes fuck. it’s relieving to realize that beckendorf doesn’t know about last night— he would never had said that if he did. besides, luke’s attempt at a defense, though hampered by his sleep-addled brain, is adorable. 

“i’m just saying! don’t act like you haven’t thought about it. every person in this godforsaken camp can see it, ’cept maybe her.” 

“can you seriously fuck off? i’ve got my girl, don’t make it my problem that you’re scared of yours.” 

you laugh softly at that one. you don’t open your eyes, but you can feel luke freeze behind you. beckendorf doesn’t notice, but your gig is up anyway. 

“your girl?” you mumble, a smile crossing your lips. beckendorf stifles a laugh. 

“alright, i’m heading out! good luck with this one, man.” you open your eyes, and even as they’re adjusting to the light in the cabin, you swear you can see him wink. you’re not sure which one of you it’s to. 

“die,” luke calls after him, throwing his head back on the pillow, but pulling you into his chest. 

“hi.” you say, still facing away from him, and he tucks his head into your neck again. 

“hi.” luke says. 

you turn yourself over to look at his eyes. they’re such a deep brown. he tilts his head forward. you smile. you let his lips graze yours. 

it’s exactly like it was when you were fourteen, and a million times more. he’s soft and gentle, pulling back between each kiss. your arms move around his neck, his wrap around your waist. you’ve never felt so secure in your life. 

but you have to pull away. “i— i…” you start. 

luke sits up. “i’m sorry,” he says. “i’m so sorry. fuck, that was so stupid of me. i’m so sorry, gods, what was i thinking?” he ran his hand through his hair. it was adorable. you reach out to his arm. (gods, he’s jacked). you wish you had allowed yourself to stare sooner. you’d been depriving yourself. 

“it’s okay, luke. it was…it was really nice.” it seems like such a cheap thing to say, and by the look on his face, it wasn’t all that convincing. “i’m not… this is just a lot to process.” 

“in what way?” he probes. you aren’t used to people asking questions. usually hannah just stares you down until the words come out of your mouth.

“i mean,” you try to word it in a way that won’t set him off. “it would be kind of shitty to jump into anything, right? after what happened with jack?”

luke gives a contemptuous look at the mention of his name. “no,” he scoffs. he’s still sitting up, looking down at you lying in his bed. you figure it might be a bad time to tell him how badly you want him to kiss you again. 

“well, i don’t know. doesn’t it look like i’m just hopping around from guy to guy?” 

“ok. first of all, i’m pretty sure there are only, like, four people who know about you and jack. second of all, at the risk of sounding like an absolute dick, aren’t you supposed to be in love with me or something?”

you gasp. “what the hell?”

he grins. “it’s just what i’ve heard. you know what the camp gossip mill is like.” 

you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “this is so not fair.”

and he laughs, he really laughs. “how is it not fair?” 

“you are such a dick. this is so embarrassing. i’m going to kill you.”

“you seem pretty content under those blankets for someone plotting a murder.” you look through your fingers. his smile is so, so, unbelievably cute. “how is this not fair?”

“because you totally know everything and i don’t know anything.” 

“okay. what to you want to know?”

“shut up. die. i hope you drown today.”

“are you really going to make me say it, jack-jack?”

“i hate you.”

“i like you.” you go quiet. “i really, really like you. i think i’ve had a crush on you since we were fourteen. and i fucking love you. not like we already say everyday. like i think i’m actually fucking in love with you.”

he lays down beside you. you’re facing away from him, so he traces swirls on your shoulder.

you turn to face him, and for a second he has the decency to look nervous. 

you narrow your eyes at him. “so how do you really know i’m not just in this for the sex?” and he bursts out laughing. and before you know it, you’re laughing with him. and he loves the way your eyelids almost close when you do. 

“i wouldn’t blame you if you were,” he grins.

“well, who are you hooking up with these days? i’ll have to see if you have good reviews.”

“good luck with that, it might be difficult.”

“what, like you’ve never hooked up with an aphrodite girl after a bonfire.”

he shakes his head, and you’re honestly stunned. luke castellan, the most gorgeous boy on long island, is a virgin? 

“i mean,” he starts. “it’s not like i haven’t had offers.” 

“oh, shut up, you asshole,” you try to turn away from him, but he wraps his arms around you, and at his next words you freeze. 

“but i was holding out hope that it would be with you.” 

fuck. that was really hot. 

you look up, into his eyes. “i hate you,” you roll your eyes.

“i love you,” he murmurs, his eyes on your lips.

this time when he kisses you, you’re never letting him go. you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him atop you. it takes everything in you not to roll your hips into his, but you don’t stop yourself from reaching down his torso to find the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head, and running your hands along his stomach. fuck, you think for the second time that morning. he’s jacked. he smiles into the kiss, and you know you’re stroking his ego right alongside his abs. 

“so,” you say, biting your lip as his trace your jaw and neck. “what was that about ‘your girl’ earlier?”

you’re expecting a sly remark, a grin, or something. instead, he doesn’t hesitate—“be my girlfriend,” he almost moans. “please.” 

and you don’t have it in you to leave him waiting. 

“okay,” you whisper.

[grandline-fics]

Your writing hits the point.

I would love to read more about Law falling love/being in love with reader

Maybe the story about how they become a thing, thanks a lot

DESCRIPTION: A continuation from Law’s part in this. 

WARNINGS: Slight blood mention near the end

CHARACTERS: Law

WORDS: 1,127

A/N: I'm so glad you enjoy my writing. Hopefully you like how this turned out

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

“Bet?” 

“There was a bet to win a date with you?” 

“When!? Who took part and didn’t tell me?!” 

“Where was I?!” Law rubbed his eyes tiredly over the commotion he’d unintentionally caused in the dining hall during breakfast. Why did he have to open his mouth? Slowly he looked to you, watching as you peered at him from over the rim of your teacup. Your eyes glinted in amusement but when you lowered the cup you fixed him with a convincingly confused and almost concerned expression. No wonder the others hated playing poker against you.

“Captain, I’m sorry but I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You told him, studying his face with a slight tilt of your head. “Is it possible you imagined it? I know sleep deprivation can cause hallucinations.” Law rolled his eyes, he knew he hadn’t hallucinated anything. The jolt of irrational panic he’d felt about someone going on a date with you was too real. At least this confirmed that you’d lied to get him to sleep, he still wasn’t completely sure why that had been your tactic in the first place. “Maybe you dreamt it?” You prodded with a growing smile, remaining in your seat as the others began to drift out of the room to begin their tasks for the day. 

“It wasn’t a dream.” Law muttered as he rose to clear his dirty dishes away before heading to the door. 

“Awww that’s a shame.” You hummed sadly. “I quite liked the idea of you dreaming about me, Captain.”

He snapped his head around to look at you while you rinsed out your cup. By the time you turned around your expression was innocent once again while his was one of agitation as he tried to fight the prickling heat rising up the back of his neck. Saying nothing more you walked by him with a smile. This one-sided teasing was insufferable.

Later in his study he found himself griping to Bepo who had listened patiently at first but finally he let out a small laugh, making Law pause and look at him in confusion. “What?”

“For someone so smart Captain, you can be pretty dense.” The navigator grinned. “Why do you think they were the one I got when you didn’t listen to me about going to sleep?”

Law opened his mouth to answer but then closed it again. At the time he never thought to really question it. He was extremely tired at the time and part of him rationalised that it was because the others had already tried. Bepo’s grin grew and he answered. “Because you pay attention to them more than the rest of us. Most of the time you don’t even realise it but when they move near you or speak to you, you either stop what your so hyper-focused on completely or at least take a break from it. They’re my secret weapon when you need to rest.” Only now Bepo realised, you were now his not-so secret weapon. However after this long of using you this way it was about time he got his Captain to open his eyes to how he felt about you. 

“They’ve never lied about a bet before…or about the others getting to date them to get me to go to sleep.” Law muttered, rubbing his stiff neck. Even if he were to believe Bepo’s claim about your power over him, that was still something that was throwing him off. 

“Maybe they were testing you?” Bepo mused. “It could have been their way of seeing if you would react to the thought of them being with someone?”

“Why would they do that? They’ve never exactly been shy about voicing their feelings about anything.”

“Maybe this time it’s different? Still it’s something to think about, yeah? That is if it’s something you wanted to think about.”

For the next two days, the navigator’s suggestion was all he thought about. With his words playing over and over in his head Law became more aware of how he was around you and how you in turn acted with him. When you helped him in the lab with preparing vaccines in preparation for the next islands for the crew you stayed close enough to be able to feel the warmth of each other’s presence but still separate so neither were suffocated or uncomfortable. When you were about to ask for a utensil or component he already had it in his hand in preparation to pass it over and when you did take it, your fingers always lightly grazed against his for the briefest of moments. It wasn’t unpleasant for him, now that he was aware of the fleeting moment with every exchange he could see you’d always done this with him.

With all of the possible vaccines completed, properly labelled and stored you and Law set about clearing the equipment away and cleaning the lab. Without warning the ship lurched and you were knocked sideways against the counter, hand shooting out to try and catch yourself at the same time Law caught your waist and braced as the ship corrected itself again. Suddenly all too aware of your Captain’s body against yours you looked up to meet his stare. “You’re bleeding.” Blinking you followed his gaze to see your hand pressed into the glass of broken test tubes that had thankfully been unused. The last thing you wanted was to get infected by anything possibly harmful. “Come on, sit over here.” You were thrown by the gentleness in Law’s voice and let him guide you to sit at the table, his arm still around your waist until you sat down. 

As he picked the glass from your hand and methodically cleaned the blood away you couldn’t help but smile. A few minor stitches were needed but overall it was nothing major. “Who knew the Surgeon of Death could be so tender.” You said with a smile that grew when he let out a small chuckle. However your smile dropped into a look of shock when he unexpectedly placed a kiss against your bandaged palm. You tried to calm your growing blush and stared at him in bewilderment. “Wh-what was that?!” You asked while Law rose casually. He stared down at you in confusion and you had to wave your injured hand at him for emphasis. “Kissing my hand?!”

Law blinked at you slowly and your eyes widened when the son of a bitch had the nerve to tilt his head at you curiously, mimicking how you teased him just days before. Only this time to make matters worse he leant down so his face was inches from yours. “Is it possible you imagined it?” 

[alfredosauce50]

Parent headcanons: Alfred, Allen, Matt, & Mathias

When it comes to the trials of adulthood, they have their own ways of getting on top. But parenting is what really puts them to the test. Starting a family and being one of the sole carers for another person will shine a light on the best and worst parts of them.

The big news

Alfred

He has the most normal reaction out of the four. Panic, acceptance, then excitement, he’s finally moving onto the final stages of adulthood and achieving his lifelong dream. Being a suburban dad and getting that white picket fence. It’s not just about liking kids, Alfred is rather traditional when it comes to his values; he has always romanticized the American dream. He already has a good job, all he needs is to make it happen.

“Fuuuuuck,” He whispers, eyes wide as he rakes his hands through his hair. He stands there for a few minutes, staring into space as you watch him tensely for his reaction. “We’re ready to be parents, right?”

Allen

He will freak out. Planned or unplanned, he’s not mentally prepared to be a father. He doesn’t think he’s good enough, but knows deep down he has to be. That’s what really scares him. If he needs to improve himself, it’s now or never. So after a week of panicking and catastrophizing, he’s ready to give himself a second chance — even if it’s for someone else. But his selflessness is key to his perseverance, and eventual success.

“I fucked up,” He squeezes you like a lifeline. It was the only conclusion he could come to after hours of talking about it, the only thing he could ever truly understand. “I fucked up. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Mathias

He’ll be over the moon. He’s gonna be even more excited than you, but that’s kinda given when he doesn’t have to carry the baby and deliver it. Point is, Mathias is very family-oriented, so don’t expect anything less. He’s the most self-affirmed a person can be too, so he’s always ready to move onto the next stage in life. His nurturing character and openness to change will help you immensely in periods of stress and uncertainty.

“I’m so happy that I could cry,” He whispers with his head on your tummy. He’s half-awake after burning out from his own excitement, but his spirit is still in the right place. “We’re finally gonna have a family.”

Matt

Letting you into his life was already a miracle, and now he’s gonna be a dad? This is a human being that he’ll have to be responsible for, not something he can simply tap out of and run away from. Matt is driven by his interests, solitude, and above all else, his freedom. A baby would take away all of those things, and he’s so troubled by it that he disappears for a few weeks. He comes home to a slap, but it’s well-deserved.

“Are you gonna keep hitting me, or are you gonna let me go to my shed?” He sighs, closing his eyes as you keep wailing on him. And he just takes it, absorbing every strike that was your burning love for him.

“Why, so you can keep—” You shove him harshly so that he actually stumbles back. “—hiding from me?”

“No, I’m gonna build a crib and make some toys.”

Parenting style

Alfred

He’s everything you’d expect from a new parent. Freaking out over the little things, screaming when they do something new, burning out after weeks of sleep deprivation, etc. He isn’t perfect, and you’re gonna have to work with him like any other partner, but before you know it, the house is filled with photo frames. He’s your best friend, and sometimes before your partner, so he has a hard time giving and taking. But it’s also why you two will stick together through thick and thin.

Alfred eventually evolves into the archetype of fathers. He takes the backseat and tells his kids, ‘I don’t know, go ask your mother,’ or even gets in trouble for doing stupid things like leaving the toilet seat up. When you just finished yelling at the kids, he comes to them later and goes, ‘someone’s in a bad mood today,’ when he’s just glad it wasn’t him. But when it’s something really serious, he flips like a switch and takes the lead. When that happens, there’s no talking him down.

“Alright gang, ready to get the show on the road?” Alfred rubs his hands together excitedly before he starts the car. “When we get there, I want everyone to be on their best behavior. I’m already on thin ice.”

He has high expectations for his kids. Ever since they popped out, he’s been giving them the best of the best, like nice clothes, family trips, sports leagues, and dance. He also wants them to go to a prestigious university in the future and to do all the things he might have missed out on. Cue the ‘that’s your dream, not mine, dad!’ Alfred can be hard on his children when it comes to success, so you need to remind him they’ve got minds of their own and are not carbon copies of him.

He says he prefers sons until he gets a daughter. Alfred is an absolute sweetheart to his girls, and is way more lenient with them than his boys. He doesn’t mean to play favorites, but it’s just how he’s wired. However, it also means being quite strict and protective when they get to that age. No drinking and no sleepovers with boys present. Men are all animals according to him. But dad, aren’t you a man? Exactly! He’s the pioneer of ‘anything you do to my daughter, I do to you.’

Allen

He tried his absolute best to prepare, but it starts off a disaster. What can go wrong will go wrong. The baby gets sick, you’re away on urgent family business, so he needs to do it all without you. Allen stays in hospital with the baby overnight, and slowly, but surely, they get better. He ends up neglecting himself to put his child’s needs first, and by the time you get back, he’s burning up with a fever. But the baby is perfectly content and sleeping soundly in the crib because of him.

He wants the best for his family, even if it means sacrificing everything he has. He understands his limits, but there’s nothing he won’t do to make sure his kid gets every opportunity he never had. Sports, college, you name it. If everybody in class has branded sneakers, he’ll buy a pair just so they don’t feel left out. He’s always proud of his baby, and if anybody tried to bully them, they’ll have to answer to him. Allen sees the best of him in his child, but usually fails to see it in himself.

“You can have my egg. I’m not hungry, baby.” Allen says, sliding his plate to his little girl. He knows that you won’t be back with the groceries for an hour or so, and no kids are going hungry on his watch.

Allen doesn’t think there’s a particular way of parenting because no one child is the same. So long as they do their homework, get out under the sun, and have a good attitude, the rest is to be decided. If his child needs extra support, he’ll give it to them, and if they need a reality check, he’ll give that to them too. He reminds them how hard life can be without stability, so they should take their future seriously, but at the same time, he’s always gonna be there to give them a home.

Nobody would mess with his kids after one look at him. He’s an ex-marine without the ‘ex.’ His daughter will have trouble finding a boyfriend to begin with because of him, and when she finally does, they’re gonna have to gain his respect to be trusted with looking after his little girl. If his son ever gets into a fight, he’ll ask if he won then whoop his ass later. And in the principle’s office, he’s giving the other kid the worst stink-eye ever. He’s the dad that could beat up the other dads.

Mathias

He’s a total natural; all is well when the baby is in his care. He may be all over the place, but when he really cares about something, he’s in a constant state of hyper focus. The baby will always be clean, well-fed, and happy, so don’t worry about a thing. There’s also no such thing as 50/50 with Mathias. He knows that there will be times when one person has to take the lead. It’s not in his nature to keep track of who’s giving and taking the most. He’s too mature for that.

It’s like experiencing a second childhood for him. Reading picture books, fairytales, playing with legos, or going to places he went to as a kid, he treats parenthood as a chance to relive his best memories and love every second of it. He will never miss a parent event, performance, and appointment. His dedication makes him very perceptive of his child, so he always knows what to do or say to cheer them up. As they grow up, they maintain a very close relationship to him.

“We wanna go to Legoland!”

“You mean, you wanna go to Legoland,” You laugh at him, “I heard you talking to Bjorn about it last night.”

“That’s so he can make an informed decision, of course,” Mathias grins, not showing a hint of shame as he shuffles over with his phone on the home page of the Legoland site. “So I take that it’s decided?”

He’s a great parent, but he’s by no means strict. All he wants is for them to have a fighting chance in the world, like doing a job that they enjoy. He’s great at communicating with his kids and has a lot of compassion, which takes them a long way. He’s never had to discipline them besides setting boundaries and occasionally grounding them. You rule the home with a firmer hand, and maybe that’s why your kids respect you more but treat him more like a friend than a parent sometimes.

Mathias doesn’t bat an eye when his kids first start dating. He’s always been quite liberal, so he just tells them to be careful about the birds and the bees, then to talk to him if things get testy. The one thing he’ll do is to ensure they have high standards. Love is life’s reward, not something to cry yourself to sleep about. Eventually, he’ll invite their date over for dinner, and as it turns out, he’d be a great father in law. He’s very welcoming and treats any future Densens like one of his own.

Matt

He’s a trial-by-error, improvise as you go along kinda dad. He hasn’t put much thought into the trials of childcare, but he always works things out in his own way. If the bub keeps crying because they don’t want to be bottle-fed by him, he will cover his face with a picture of you. Easy-peasy. If they’re crawling around the bed, he will use them as a mousepad as he scrolls on his laptop. That way, he gets some leisure time while making sure they don’t actually go anywhere.

Matt is the opposite to a helicopter parent. When his kid trips and face plants into the ground, he doesn’t react. The trick is to not acknowledge it, because only then will they cry. He isn’t afraid to let them explore the world and gain their own agency. It’s good for them, he says. Some part of you thinks he just wants them to grow up quicker so he doesn’t have to take care of them anymore, but there’s always those special little moments.

“How about I teach you how to drive the truck?” Matt asks, walking back home with the family.

“He’s eleven.” You remark.

“Is that a problem?”

He’s all about the family business. If his children don’t want to go fishing and logging with him, fine, but if they show even the slightest bit of interest, he’s bought. Matt will be more than eager to show them the ropes. He takes them on camping trips to show them the beauty of the great outdoors, and the humility it takes to be apart of it. The art of it all is there’s no problem that can’t be solved, and even a rugged man like him can be domesticated by the right person.

If his daughter got a boyfriend, he’d be waiting at home with a shotgun. Matt will then play it off like he just got back from a hunting trip. He’s the type to use silent intimidation, and it works like a charm. If not, he’ll tell jerks to get off his lawn even though he doesn’t have one, and when they ask what lawn, he’ll just say “all of it.” What he means is to get out of his sight and the woods, which is the lawn he’s talking about. (Ha!) On the flip side, he’s nice to girls his son brings home.

Losing the spark

Alfred

He has a tendency to let himself go when he gets comfortable. This usually happens when his first kid reaches their teenage years and he can afford to sit back now that they can do their own thing. He’s established a stable family unit, but he takes that for granted and gets a little lazy. As a result, he packs on a few pounds and tries less in the relationship. He’s not as attractive as he used to be, and you’re having more petty arguments.

“Why do I feel like you hate me?” He watches you mop the kitchen after you told him to do it. Only he delayed it to sit around on his phone and eat crisps. Even then, he still has the nerve to be upset about it.

“I don’t hate you, I’m just annoyed at you.”

“But you’re annoyed with me everyday.”

Allen

Losing the spark? Not on his watch! He never stops trying, ever, and keeps chasing you like when he first started dating you. His stability doesn’t come from money, it comes from you. You’re his rock, and nothing else matters so long as you’re here. He’s the epitome of ‘you know how daddy is about mommy,’ and he’s proud of it. He also takes great care of his body, and with his good genes, he practically ages backwards.

“You better wear that button-down shirt tonight, Al. A tank top isn’t gonna cut it,” You tell him.

“You callin’ me a deadbeat?” He questions.

“No, but you dress like one.”

“I thought you liked my clothes, babe.”

“I do, but the teachers won’t.”

“True that.” He fixes his collar in front of a mirror. He peers at his reflection, marveling at how well he cleaned up. A dress shirt and belt? He’s practically unrecognizable — until he grins, that is. “Still got it.”

Mathias

He’s always gonna be young at heart, so his spirit never dies. His love for you is as constant as a river, and he’s not afraid of putting on a show for the kids to the point they get a little disgusted. (Ew!) He doesn’t think he’d ever be too old for romance, and his good faith shows up in how gracefully he ages. He might occasionally grow out a thick beard, and when he shaves it off, he looks devastating close to when he was younger.

“Are we ever gonna be alone again?” He mumbles, pouting. His thirtieth birthday is coming up, but he hasn’t changed a bit, save for the more pronounced smile lines around his mouth. “I need some love too.”

“We will, Mat. I just don’t feel comfortable leaving the baby alone right now,” You shake your head.

“We could call Amy and have a date night.”

“I don’t know, Mat.”

“I’ll shave off my beard.”

“Huh?”

“You wouldn’t say no to me without a beard.”

Matt

The longer he’s with you, the harder he loves. His feelings don’t change when things get hard, or as time passes. They just get stronger. In that same breath, he also ages like wine. In the end, he ends up being the bigger romantic. He used to be a lone wolf, and he thought he was okay with it, but now that he has you, he can’t imagine his life without you. To think you actually stuck around and gave him a chance, he’ll never forget that.

“Wanna go back inside and do it?” He mutters.

“You’re disgusting, Matt.” You walk inside without sparing him a single glance. No matter how old he gets, he’ll always have a mouth on him. No matter how old you get, you’ll always forgive him for it.

“Is that a no?”

“Make me dinner and let me think about it.”

“Deal.”

[honeydewsblue]

( gojo and paparazzi ) — alternatively: this with gojo 💀…

╰┄➤ 1.1 k wc, reader n gojo are obsessed and in love with each other, jealousy, not proofread i’m too incapacitated (sleep deprived)

satoru has a sort of unearthly beauty to him, you think that much is a sort of fundamental truth. an axiom. he's a frustratingly attractive man, in spite of his piss poor personality and the uncanny features he possesses. he’s got white hair and blue eyes and height that makes him almost as tall as his ego; there is nothing about him that is anything short of unnatural.

satoru is unnaturally pretty—and unfairly so, too. he knows it. how could he not, when anyone who has the ability to see makes a point of acknowledging it? whether it's through envious glares or wanting stares, or by being awestruck at the sight of someone who doesn't look like he belongs amongst humans (if only they knew how right they were), people notice him. not as if he needs that to know his worth. in the back of your head, you can hear his raucous laugh at the prospect of being in any way dependent on something so insignificant; on anything at all. you think i give a shit about them?

(still, you know he thrives off of it, off of the attention—being the attention whore that he is.)

the point is, it’s obvious that people can see satoru’s beauty.

especially now, you think, when you watch women your age fawn and giggle to each other over him—watch as they snap pictures and take videos of him. it’s almost pious, the way they try to capture him in film.

yes, an agreeing hum rolls in your throat, it is a universal truth that he is beautiful. unnaturally so. but you really wish people could just be normal, and refrain from being so indecent as to film strangers on the street.

it's not the first time it's happened—the farthest thing from it. unfortunately, you know it's even farther from being the last time, too. satoru's always been a sort of spectacle, one way or the other; in his power, his skills, his looks... he's watched by everyone. he is someone to serve witness to. that, too, is a fundamental truth.

though you know this, an ugly little feeling crawls in your gut while you watch the scene play out in front of you. most of it a sense of disgust, given the impression of how out of touch people are—but, a smaller, yet even uglier, part of it is a little possessive.

that smaller, uglier part feels a little offended at the fact that they’re being so blatantly disrespectful in front of you. that smaller, uglier part feels a little humiliated.

it’s a familiar sight, something you’ve seen happen time and time again, but this is the first time you’ve taken it as an insult—the first time you’ve taken it so personally, the first time you’ve felt it. the first time you’ve felt your dignity being prodded at, like there’s a blazed red rod poking and poking, urging that burning feeling in your gut to grow hotter and hotter. it’s an invasive thing, this hot, rushing feeling.

it isn’t personal. you know that. it shouldn’t be personal, but…

when you meet satoru in the middle, your fingers slip under the collar of his dress shirt. your nails drag taut at the crisp linen like an assertion and you pull him towards you, swift as you press your lips against his. you can feel the hesitation, the fleeting shock against them—that sharp, nearly imperceptible gasp skipping across teeth—but it barely lasts half a second before he’s the one kissing you. that small, uglier little part of you hopes that their little camera captured the picture of you kissing him.

you keep your heavy eyes cracked open, capturing it for yourself.

his hand finds its way to your lower back easily, like a puzzle piece fitting into its slots, holding you close to him; securing you. his hand is weighted on your back in a way that grounds you, but gentle as his fingers skim across your the fabric of your shirt. heavy and gentle like he’s trying to get to the skin underneath. heavy and gentle, like the way he looks at you, eyes skimming across your face—your eyes, to your lips, your cheeks, your eyes again. heavy and gentle, like worship. he wets his lips, swallows. “what was that about?”

he likes the look you have in your eyes, likes the way they mirror his own.

(you see him like how he sees the world, like something all encompassing. he likes that he can see you, only you, with this overwhelming sort of clarity. he likes that he sees you the way you see the world—the tunnel vision of it all. your attention is the only one he really wants for. the only one really he needs.

if you told him he was dependent on you, he’s not sure he’d have it in him to laugh it off.)

you cast a dirty, sidelong glance at where you feel two pairs of eyes burning holes at the both of you; poking and poking.

(and satoru thinks you look awfully pretty right now, your eyes glaring and lidded, your lashes contouring the sharp and narrowed look you bear. awfully, unearthly pretty, and so very familiar in a way that makes him crave you, makes him want to immortalize you in his skin. it’s instinctual, the way he gravitates to you, minty breath ghosting your cheek.)

they’re borderline gawking at the two of you until one of them smacks at the other's arm not-so-inconspicuously, and they shuffle off to the sidewalk, whispering to each other yet again. it’s only then that satoru follows your line of sight. when it clicks, he looks back at you far too eagerly for your comfort.

“oh,” he drawls, his stupid pretty teeth bearing themselves in the stupid, obnoxious grin that spreads across his lips. “that’s what it was?”

the idea of you being so possessive makes his stomach flip.

“baby, are you jealous?” he looks awfully happy about it, blue eyes gleaming at you with an unabashed sort of mirth. even when he finds himself being on other end of that glare of yours, his dimples only get deeper.

“you’re worse than me,” you hum. you don’t admit it, but you don’t deny it—you can’t. maybe you’re spending too much time with him.

oh. goosebumps break out against your skin at the thought of picking up his behavior, a little horrified at the thought of coming off as obtrusive as him. you shrug it off, shaking your head. “doesn’t matter,” you say airily, glancing at him, “you’re mine.”

you definitely spend too much time with him, if your aloof nonanswers and attitude attest to anything.

when your eyes meet his, you think that he sees it too. there’s a certain look in his eyes, the way they widen a fraction like he’s trying to commit you to memory—as if he hasn’t already. you know it’s probably just from the dark of night, but his pupils are wide and that revered and blessed blue he bears is reduced to a ring. right now, his eyes are consuming. you think you can see yourself in them.

(and, he does—he does see it. with his eyes, he sees little bits of himself transfused with you and it’s the most satisfying feeling he’s ever gotten in his life.)

he only smiles at you, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your temple, his words spoken against your skin. “that’s right, baby.”

thank you for reading, feedback and reblogs are much appreciated 🤍!!

a/n. i haven’t posted anything in so long so i cranked this out… i really wanted to post something and that video thankfully gave me a lil idea hehe :’-) i hope it doesn’t seem too rushed <3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wicked Games 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You wait. And wait. And wait. 

Each day, each week, your hope dwindles. Barrett doesn’t change. He’s not going to change. You know for sure as you watch him storm out. 

That’s why you didn’t talk to him sooner. It always ends like this. He gets defensive, you get emotional, and it all erupts. If he would just listen! 

You sigh and hold your chin in your hand. You look around at your small apartment. Even when you’ve just cleaned, it feels cluttered. You hate this place. You feel trapped. Or maybe that’s your relationship. Probably, both. 

You don’t think it was that bad to ask for a bit of understanding. All you want is for him to communicate. Instead, he sits on all his gripes until the bubble over in another rant about the squeaky bathroom faucet or the way you fold his shirts. It’s always on you. You’re the one who has to make him happy. Never the other way around. 

This time, it wasn’t the dishes or the mopping or the recycling. Nope. You’re not attentive enough. You’re depriving him. You’re punishing him by not having sex with him after working overtime four nights out of five. It can’t be that you’re tired or hurt. No, it’s an attack on him. 

That’s where it all fell apart.

You tried. Once you got past the frustration and tried to just let the waters calm. When you started talking to him again and fell back into your routine. You were both too busy to keep the fight going. And a few nights, you let him initiate but something would keep you from going all the way. 

Something... 

You saw Wendy last week. She didn’t mention anything about the night you went out. Didn’t mention a guy. She said she had fun and you should do it again. You told her you can’t afford it. Besides, you’re too tired. She called you boring. She’s not wrong. 

You get up and distract yourself. Well, it’s not really for you, is it? You’ll clean everything from corner to corner so he has nothing to complain about. You don’t need him to nitpick another reason to hound you. 

So much for time off. Once more you’re spending it in misery. You finish vacuuming then spray the couch with some freshener. Feeling accomplished but not less addled, you go to the bedroom and pull out some clothes for tomorrow. You’ll go to bed early and get a head start. If you’re lucky, you’ll be asleep before he drags his sorry ass home. 

You yawn as you stare at the time. It’s barely five o’clock and you could keel over. These days, you’re beat to the bone. You can’t remember the last time when you didn’t feel like a sack of dirt. You put your work clothes on the dresser then grab a fresh towel for the shower. 

You wash up, soothed by the warm water, and emerge in a hazy cloud. You go through the motions of applying the discount bin toner and moisturizer. You feel a little fresher. 

You tuck into bed and scroll on your phone for a while. Six-thirty. You black the screen and close your eyes. It takes as much to put you to sleep. 

You dream about flashing lights and the clink of glass. You’re swaying to a drone of music, spinning and swirling. The place is painted in streaks of colours as you keep moving. And when you manage to stop, the room turns on an axis, keeping you dizzy. 

Arms wrap around you from behind and pull you back into a thick body. You can’t escape. You look down and know those aren’t your husband’s hands. Where are you? Who is holding onto you? 

You try to turn around but it’s impossible. You’re stuck in the strange embrace as the neon lights melt and the air pulses with shadows. You push on the arms around you and wriggle desperately.

“Let me go,” you beg, “let me go.” 

Your words rise to a shriek and you wake up with a start. There’s a figure in the room watching you, as if waiting for you to wake up. You almost scream for real as Barrett stares at you. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay before he turns away. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he grumbles. 

You don’t argue as you catch your breath and lower yourself back to the pillows. You can smell the tinge of beer left behind. He’s been drinking. You can’t begrudge him that, not really. Last time it got bad, you did the same thing. At least he came home. 

You cringe. No. Stop. Nothing happened. No one can prove it happened. Not even you. So, it didn’t. 

Your stomach mulches and you turn onto your side. The nausea roils in your stomach. You must be hungry. You didn’t eat. Yet the thought of doing so makes you even sicker. You burp and swallow down the mouthful of acid that sears your throat. 

Stress. It’s stress. And it’s not going to get any better. Not with everything you’re running away from. 

[theemporium]

Cece babyy...can I request a violent purple drink(gonna pause right here to say you're just sooo talented and creative!!!) with Carlos and butterfly when she tells him she's pregnant?🥲🥲🥲 With "You just have this glow about you." And maybe if it fits"Your body feels like home to me." ?? Thank youuuuu

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

42. “You just have this glow about you.” 

series masterlist

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You had been racking your brain to find the perfect moment to tell him.

You didn’t like keeping secrets from Carlos, quite the opposite if you were honest. Your relationship with Carlos brought a lot of realisations and firsts for you, including such open and honest communication. It was something that was severely lacking in your previous relationships, familial and platonic and romantic. 

But with Carlos, it was different. 

You never went to bed angry with each other, always determined to talk it out and get your feelings out on the table even if you needed a few hours apart. You wore your heart on your sleeve and he returned the gesture, never hiding his emotions from you. And you never kept secrets. Not because it was some rule between you but because you and Carlos genuinely didn’t keep anything from each other.

And now you felt like you were holding the biggest secret from him and you felt like your whole body was going to explode. 

You had taken the test on a whim, frowning when you looked at the calendar and realised you were a few days late. It was nothing too concerning, you were used to your cycle being a bit off with the constant travelling and stress of work. You don’t even know what pushed you to take the test, just a random gut feeling that you ultimately thought would lead to nothing. 

Until you found yourself staring at a positive test, alone in the bathroom with Carlos hundreds of miles away in Maranello for some team meetings. 

You had a few days to work out how to tell him, to figure out some sort of plan and speech to give when you told him you were pregnant. But all of it went flying out the window when he arrived last night, cowardice taking over as you kept your mouth shut and tried to act like everything was completely normal. 

“Did you change something?” 

You blinked, lifting your head from the screen you had been helplessly staring at for the last fifteen minutes to look at Carlos by the stove. “Hm? What? No. I’m the same as I’ve always been.”

“No?” Carlos hummed as he turned to look at you over his shoulder, smiling knowingly. “You just have this glow about you. It suits you.” 

“Glow? Pfft,” you waved him off, feeling your stomach churn a little. “I think the sleep deprivation is getting to you. Maybe you should take a nap after breakfast.” 

“Really? Maybe I’m affected by pregnancy hormones too,” he commented casually.

“That’s not how—” You paused, his words hitting you properly for the first time and your lips parting in surprise. “You know?!” 

Carlos could only laugh as he turned off the stove, rounding the counter so he could settle between your legs and cup your face in his hands. “I saw the test last night. You didn’t hide it very well, amor,” he mused, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. 

“And,” you swallowed, your hands resting on his chest. “How do you feel about it?” 

“I will support you in whatever path you want to choose,” Carlos whispered with a sweet smile. “You are my first priority, always. And I will back you up no matter what.”

“Yeah?” You whispered, your tears welling up because even after so many years, you couldn’t quite grasp how you got so lucky with him.

“Yes, mi mariposa,” he murmured with a grin, pressing a chaste kiss against your lips. “It’s you and me before anything else.”

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[howyouloveyourdragon]

Hi there, I absolutely adore you and love your writing and I'm excited that you're writing for jace now.

If it's okay, could I please request the prompts sleepy - number 44.

Have an amazing morning, afternoon, evening 💖💖

hi there! thank you so much, you have no idea how sweet you are for sending such a polite ask, and for your prompt “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” by thelonelyempath!

i definitely put you up high on my priority list for being so kind lol your message made my day

i also just really enjoyed writing this, it got me back into my groove.

have an amazing morning, afternoon, evening yourself and here you go, please let me know if you enjoy it! <3

No Rest For The Dragons

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon x reader Setting: During The Dance of The Dragons Summary: All is quiet but no sense of peace can be caught between your fingertips, not even at night and so it is difficult to find sleep. Not until you win the war and crown your prince victorious...Your betrothed, Jacaerys, seems to have other priorities. Warnings: Brief talk of war dividers by: saradika wordcount: 1,412 

A yawn tumbled past your lips with ease and a quiet whine quickly followed. Jacaerys Velaryon had never found anything more sweet in his entire existence but he wouldn’t tell you that…not yet at least. His eyes flickered over your sleepy face, the squished cheeks and rumbled hair. It made his heart throb, a desperation took hold to tighten his chest and squeeze. Slowly, he tucked his lower lip between his teeth and bit down. He could barely contain himself from cupping your jaw and pressing a kiss to those lips. His sleeping beauty…his beautiful briar…he would need to bring you a rose soon just for the sake of it because he never did think there was a world in which you were not his Aurora. Some universe in which he didn’t long for you. The backs of his fingers carefully caressed your face. The skin was so soft–practically begging for him to lay upon his gentle pecks of devotion–and yet he restrained himself. You may be his betrothed but you are not yet his wife. He must recall that, if he is to keep your honour…A grunt peeked through his teeth at the thought. The thought that anybody could see you as anything less than a guide of honour and duty as you fought at his side, on his very dragon with a bow and arrow within your hands. A quiver danced along the prince’s bones. He may think you to be beautiful in any state but he would gladly gift upon you anything you so much as dreamed or desired if you were to allow that to be his final sight. His last. The sight of you upon Vermax and casting down the enemy. 

A smile flittered his lips as you stirred and stretched in his lap. “No, no go back to sleep.” He cooed, brushing back your hair and placing a wet flannel at your forehead. You were in your gentlest state this eve. You fended off his hand like a weak squirrel to reluctant avail. “Rest my love. You must rest.” The whine escapes the seam of your mouth before you can escape it. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” You practically taunt with your eyelids finally parting to peer up at him. As much as he wants to scoff and argue, he cannot help but smile down at the soft albeit exhausted face. Amusement laces his face but he lets his brow pinch. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to allow that.” You send a pointed look his way. “You would deny your wife?” “You would deny your prince?” He counters with playfulness and yet something excites him about the way ‘wife’ leaves your lips. How smoothly it goes…It only reminds him of how long he has deprived himself of kissing them. Of feeling the sweet flutter of lightning that would passes over your skin. His hand would dance throughout your hair, he was sure of it, sure that one the day of your wedding, he would summon all the strength he had been willing himself to retain and finally let go. He would deny himself for centuries if it meant you would let him bind himself to you for eternity–if you would let him vow until his throat dried up. If they were not to be his final words, he would repeat them until they were destined. He would be yours, he was sure of it. He does not say this of course as you sigh with a pointed stare. 

It was the determination in your gaze that he adored above all. That very crinkle in your brow that arose whenever anybody were to question you. His throat bobs as he recalls how his hand would slide along to the small of your back–support from the true prince and heir of the iron throne–delighting as you took the lead. Happy to await your debates cease as you charged your mouth at any who claimed your position unfit. None of these men knew the battlefield as you did. None of these men had studied the art so intensively for this very moment. None of these men would protect him like you did, he was sure of it. And certainly none of them had helped teach him the ways of battle so that he could protect his own hide should something go askew. Now as he watches you, he lets his eyes wander along the small scars upon both your hands at such teachings. Your childhood together had been an entertaining ordeal; scars of book pages, scars of dragon mishaps, scars of blades…He wouldn’t trade those tiny indents for the world. He would not even trade for the oncoming victory of his mother’s crown. He would not. 

Instead, Jacaerys’ breath hitches but he does not complain at your defiance. He welcomes it. “My darling, you must rest if you are so determined to fight beside me.” His words are teasing but the plummet of hardness cannot be unheard. He had always been serious. “I cannot allow myself the sight of injury should you–” His throat bobs but you hardly change your mind. “It could cause injury to you should I not properly plan our route.” The retort jumps from your tongue and he can tell this has been boiling for some time now, that the bubbles were ever-present. You’ve been locking this inside your mind for too long now. Far too long. His curled fingers glide down your cheek before stopping at your chin. He lifts it as delicately as he would a broken leaf and gazes sweetly into your eyes. “You can do this well rested. We have time.” “But what if–” “We have time.” He reassures you with the confidence of his ancestor, King Jaehaerys The Wise. Your shoulders slump reluctantly. You should trust him, you know you should–you are so very tired but the night is still relatively young and the troupes must still be waiting outside for you. Jace catches as your eyes track the opening of the tent and he is quick to soften you. “I told them we would resume our meetings tomorrow. You will not miss a thing, my sweet. I swear it to you.” His gentle kiss presses to your temple–one of the few acceptable places he can express such affections. When he pulls himself back, he lingers. Tentative, he waits. His eyes flicker to yours with unabashed uncertainty. “But first you must swear to me that you will rest.” Heat floods your cheeks but you have never shied away from eye contact before and you refuse to do it now. His eyes close and his breath fans over your lips. “Swear it to me.” He repeats through the air of a whisper. “I swear it.” You utter just as quietly, curling your palm around his hand and pressing a long, warm kiss to the knuckles. Jacaerys would be lying if he said that it was not a relief. He could not remember the last night you slept in where you did not awaken suddenly and draft a new strategy. That you did not recall a new route. One that needed your immediate and unrestrained attention. 

And so as the night calls out for you, your soon-husband’s arms slip around you and one loops beneath your legs until he can haul you against him. His breath stutters as he inhales the scent of your hair. His lashes flutter against one another and he takes a few steady steps through the tent. Loving each other had taken its time. It had taken screaming arguments, jealousy, rekindling…but it had also taken laughter and warmth and kindness. Kindness that neither of you thought to be deserved. It had taken the darkest eves and the most golden mornings. He settles you on the plush mattress this night, and brushes back the uncomfortable strands of hair that cling to your skin. Your neck, your face, even the petals of your lips. He cannot blame them for craving your closeness. He hesitates as you close your eyes and your back squirms into place. For only one moment more, he lets himself take in a portrait of your rest. Jacaerys Velaryon, Prince of Dragonstone, Son of Rhaenyra and future King of the Seven Kingdoms accepts that he craves for nothing but your warmth. He intends to keep you as safe as this every eve, every nightfall. 

One sleepless night after the next, he shall be your rest. 

[redak-ted]

yeah here flowerpunk incorrect quotes for the soul

Miles: I think I'm falling for you. Hobie: Then get up.

Hobie: I've already sent good vibes your way… they’re coming. There’s nothing you can do to stop them. Miles: This is the most threatening way I’ve ever been cheered up.

Hobie: Welcome, fellow idiots Miles: Hello, Hobie Hobie: No, no, not you, you're not an idiot Miles: You underestimate me

Hobie: What’s up guys? I’m back. Miles: What the- you can’t be here. You’re dead. I literally saw you die. Hobie: Death is a social construct.

Miles, struggling to keep upright in their 1 inch heels: Yeah, I-I don’t really think heels are for me Hobie, pointing at them and walking flawlessly in sparkly golden 6 inch heels: WEAK.

Hobie: Stubs their toe FUCK! Miles: Mind your language! Hobie: What else am I supposed to say, “Woe is I”??? Miles: Hobie: You have to accept that swear words are necessary sometimes, Miles.

Miles: This is such a bad idea. Hobie: Then why are you coming along? Miles: One of us need to be able to talk the cops out of arresting us when this inevitably goes wrong.

Hobie: Change is inedible. Miles: Don't you mean inevitable? Hobie, spitting out coins: No, I did not.

Miles, going over Hobie's resume: Okay, so right here, it states that you're creative. Hobie: Yes Miles: Okay…may I know what you create? Hobie: Problems.

Hobie: What if the 'g' in 'gif' is silent? Miles: Go the fuck to sleep Hobie: What gif I don't want to? Miles: Fuck You.

Hobie: Miles! My face is on fire! Miles: Hobie! Are you ok?! Hobie: Oh yes, I'm fine. I just said that to make sure you'd come in here quickly. Miles: But your face is on fire. Hobie: Yes. It's much faster than shaving.

Hobie: Don't stay up all night, Miles. Last time you got this sleep-deprived, you tried to eat your own shirt.

Hobie: Which is correct, seven and five IS thirteen, or seven and five ARE thirteen? Miles: Neither. Miles: Because it's twelve.

Hobie: Three words. Say them and I'm yours. Miles: Three words. Hobie:

Miles: It’s dark in here Hobie: Don’t worry dude I got this Hobie: *Stomps their feet* Hobie: *Skechers light up*

Hobie: You're the love of my life and my best friend, I would do anything for you. Miles: I want you to eat three meals a day and have a decent sleep schedule. Hobie: Absolutely not.

Hobie: In light of what you did for me, you can hug me for four to five seconds. Miles: FORTY FIVE SECONDS?!? Hobie: No! Four to five seconds! Miles: Too late!!!

Miles: Do you think you’d actually notice if someone didn’t cast a shadow? Or if their limbs were just slightly too long? Or if they had just a little too many teeth? like how many times have you passed something on the street and you just didn’t notice It? Hobie: Stay woke monsterfuckers ur love is out there!!!!! Miles: Yknow what? Not my point at all in any way whatsoever, but I’m glad I could be an inspiration

[shanastoryteller]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANDMA MY ONE TRUE LOVE!!! CAN I HAVE SOME PERCY AND TONKS CONTENT TO MAKE MY SOUL CONTENT PLEASE ✨✨✨

There are several titles that fall under the auror. When the ministry was first established, it was just inferior and superior, meant in the Latin way, but that fell out of favor rather quickly for obvious reasons. There was some talk of adopting the ranks of a legion used by the Romans, but since such ranks are still in practice in magical Italy, it didn’t the smartest idea. Tonks thinks that it was probably a Zabini who suggested it. Now their ranks are just numbered, from fifth to first, and junior, standard, and senior.

Everyone starts the same – fifth ranked junior auror – and works their way up one by one. Training is a year and if they make it through that, they’re a junior agent who better make it up to the first rank by the end of their third year, otherwise they’re likely getting cut.

There’s a track to speed through the junior phase and get to the land of securely employed standard auror, but that’s for people that have combat or specialized experience, usually for people who aren’t entering auror training straight of school like she is. Or for when they’d needed to replenish their ranks during the war and those applying had been fighting anyway.

Which is why she’s looking in confusion at the thick roll of parchment that Shackbolt has shoved under her nose. She’s only a couple months into training and while she thinks she’s doing pretty good, she’d also tripped over her literal two left feet during the first week of boot camp. Sometimes she changes in her sleep and doesn’t notice for a while, okay? It’s not like she did it on purpose. She’s pretty good at dueling, her mother made sure of that, but they haven’t even gotten to that part yet. “I’m confused.”

“Fill this out and give it back to me by the end of the week,” he says, already turning away from her.

She makes her arm extra long so she can grab his elbow before he gets too far away. “But I don’t have anything that qualifies me! There’s no way Bones will approve this.”

He raises an eyebrow and looks down at her arm. “Are you sure about that, Trainee?”

Oh. But she hasn’t really gotten a chance to show those skills off either, and being a metamorphmagus is impressive, but not that impressive. But she does as she’s told, leaving it on his desk and trying not to think too much about it.

Bones approves it.

Being on the advanced track has it advantages – blessed job security – but it also means she just gets a jump on desk duty, really. Apparently they don’t just send newly minted aurors out to battle dark wizards to the death, for some reason.

She sighs. She’s never been very good at paperwork.

How very not good she is at is proved when during her very first week when Percy Weasley shows up at her desk, looking even more sleep deprived than he had as a runty fourteen year old, which is impressive. He’s a lot taller now. Late growth spurt, perhaps. Or maybe she just wasn’t paying that much attention. He drops a stack of paper on her desk and she recognizes her own messy scrawl. “These are filled out incorrectly. I can’t process them like this.”

Her shoulders slump. She’d tried to pull other reports and fill them out the same way, but it was all so confusing. How she’s supposed to know how to categorize these things? Why are there thirteen different codes for a house robbery, anyway? And there are so many different sections, and she wasn’t even there, she just has other people’s notes to go off of, and they take notes like she did in History of Magic.

She’s going to be here all night redoing them and they’ll probably still be wrong and Kinglsey will regret ever pushing her through the advanced track and her mother will have been right, which is really the worst of all –

“Hey,” Percy says, and she blinks several times before looking up at him so she doesn’t embarrass herself. “I can – if you’re busy, I can just,” he reaches for the papers he’s dropped on her desk.

She slaps her hand over them to stop him, but instead his hand ends up trapped beneath hers. “No! No, it’s okay, I have to learn how to do this. It’s important.”

He stares at her with a look she can’t explain. “It’s just paperwork.”

“It’s my job,” she says stubbornly, “it’s all important. I’m going to be a great auror – the best auror. And that includes my paperwork.”

He smiles at her, which is suitably distracting from her own ruined night. She doesn’t know if he’s ever smiled at her before. He’d always seemed so stoic, nothing like his brothers. “All right. If you’re sure.”

“Yes,” she says, freshly determined, finally lifting her hand off his. Everyone else has figured out how to do this. She can too. She will. “But thanks.”

“No problem,” he says, then, “My dad has a muggle coffee pot in his department lounge. If you want. The password is rubber duck.”

She does prefer coffee made the muggle way. That’s how it’s made in her house, of course, with her muggle father, and there’s something to the taste that she thinks coffee loses after it’s third hour of being charmed hot or squeezed through by magic instead of just hot water and a little patience.

How does Percy know that?

Before she can ask, he’s already turned and walking away from her, and she barely has the chance to shout, “Thanks!” before he turns the corner.