#at least it's subtle shade

[honorhearted]

"No, not poor."

Benjamin arched a brow, discreetly observing her from the corner of his eye. He knew a backhanded compliment when he heard one. "And have you received many accolades for your dancing, Miss Woodhouse?" he asked. "I'm just curious who deemed you the expert on such matters."

Emma's eyes gleamed and she turned toward him, almost as if she finally deemed him a subject of interest. "Reformed?" she echoed, intrigued. "You speak as if you're an expert on the subject, Mr. Tallmadge. What reformation do you require?"

Benjamin snorted. "As if I would tell you," he deflected, lifting his shoulders. "You should know better than most, Miss Woodhouse: the gossips of this town are ruthless. And being an American, I trust I already have their barbed arrows at the ready. There's no need to tempt them." Turning toward her, he added, "But for the sake of argument? Let's just say I have a penchant for verbal combat."

Emma hummed. "No matter. My former governess Miss Taylor, now Mrs. Weston, would very much digress if asked her good opinion on the subject. She's in need of no reformation at all, especially not now that she's become wed to a most gentile acquaintance."

For the second time that evening, Benjamin snorted. "And just who is Mrs. Weston to make her the head authority on what does and does not work?" he asked. "I'm sure she's a lovely woman, but you'll have to forgive me since my opinion remains unchanged." He swirled the glass of wine in his hand. "I'm glad of her happiness, naturally, but something tells me your support is a bit more self-serving. Far be it for me to listen to whispers, but it's been said that you are responsible for her match."

Unruffled as ever, Emma divulged, "It's to my understanding that those in the vicarage are more often in need of reform than us sinners cast aside after Sunday morning."

Benjamin was taking a sip of claret when she spoke. Nearly choking into his glass, he grimaced once the acidic beverage shot up his nose, leaving behind a tart, unpleasant burning sensation. Bringing a gloved hand over his mouth, he scowled at her before revealing, "My father is a man of God. I don't know who's twisted your opinions to such a...a heinously colorful degree, but I must ask: what authority on sin do you possess, Miss Woodhouse, that you can so readily judge?"

"Is my method so poor?"

"No, not poor." Not good either, but she was uncertain she could locate a more fitting adjective in the recesses of her memory.

"Do I seem like I only converse with students, Miss Woodhouse? ... if you feel that students and teachers are the only ones who can learn from one another, then I must unabashedly disagree. Sometimes, it is the educated who are the most in need of reform."

"Reformed?" She turned to face her companion fully, a brow raised in curiosity. "You speak as if you're an expert on the subject, Mr. Tallmadge. What reformation do you require?" her tone one of playful challenge; she was fond of a bit of verbal sparring, something she'd become practiced in as a child, "No matter. My former governess Miss Taylor, now Mrs. Weston, would very much digress if asked her good opinion on the subject. She's in need of no reformation at all, especially not now that she's become wed to a most gentile acquaintance."

A wicked thought came to her, one involving the poor character of a vicar she knew all too well, one perhaps better left unsaid in mixed company but subtly was a virtue Emma did not herself possess. "It's to my understanding that those in the vicarage are more often in need of reform than us sinners cast aside after Sunday morning."

[fungusqueen]

I'm thinking maybe for my next quilt, I'll work with a subdued desaturated color palette for a change...but honestly probably not!!

[lobsterplush]

Day 1-2: Cord length and types

Before you can make a project you need to select a cord and cut it to the length needed. There's many types of cord to choose from, each with their own properties. :

A. Limp cord, usually made out of twisted cotton, can be tough to use. It unravels and sometimes doesn't hold it's diameter- a tight knot can compress the cord. However, limp cord is the only type that doesn't hold it's past shape. It can be good for wall hangings where you don't want the hanging cords curly from being sold in a bundle. Since I'm not really into wall hangings I personally avoid this type.

B. Flexible cord like waxed braided cord is my favorite- the cord is strong and brightly colored, the ends don't unravel enough to be an issue, and the texture is smooth and nice on the hands. Sometimes sold in bundles, sometimes wrapped around a piece of cardboard.

C. Stiff cord is usually natural hemp fibers, which are sold in round bundles. This type is really good for trying out new designs without worrying about wasting fancy colored cord, plus the ends don't unravel. Be careful though- this cord is very hairy and can be lumpy and uneven. Natural fiber cord can also come in different colors and stiffness, but even limp natural fibers don't compress in a knot like cotton.

Try not to mix these cord types- limp cord is flattened in a knot with other types, making the knot uneven. Mixing natural fibers with braided cord is fine in certain projects but for the most part the mix of smooth versus hairy+lumpy is awkward.

Other types of cord include synthetic cord, which is limp and can unravel like cotton but can come in vivid colors and weird shapes like flat. I don't have much experience with these. Avoid elastic cords for macrame.

/\/\/\/\/\

^ Some cords don't unravel much and you can A) not worry about it. For cords that unravel you can B) tie the end in a knot, or for some synthetic cords C) singe/melt the endings with a lighter.

/\/\/\/\/\

One other thing to keep in mind is thickness- the width of the cord is usually given in millimeters (mm) but between you and me, tumblr, I don't think they know what a millimeter is. Who said that.

"1mm" is thin, good for smaller projects like jewelry. This is my default thickness. I've also seen 1mm be called "0.5mm." It doesn't matter much as long as it's thin macrame cord.

"2mm" is thick cord for smaller projects. I don't use thicker cord much because the thicker the cord the (slightly) easier it is for knots to unravel. 3mm and thicker starts getting unwieldy for my style of projects, but is common in stores because wall hangings got trendy.

/\/\/\/\/\

When it comes to the length of the cord many tutorials will just give you a length to cut. They give either the length for one specific project or there's a chart for bracelet/necklace/whatever. But people come in different sizes and having a 'one size fits all' measurement leads to wasted cord or a piece that's too small to wear. It can be a bit of a hassle. And I don't like having to dig out a ruler.

So I have my own method.

To measure by feel, use your chosen cord to figure out the length of the project (A). If it is a bracelet, wrap the cord around the wrist. You can make a necklace tight or loose. Whatever you like. Then, add like 3 or 4 inches, 15 to 20cm of bonus cord (B).

(The bonus cord is for you to hold onto when making the knots, and on longer strings it gives much needed wiggle room in case your knots eat up string.)

A and B together is the Project Length, or PL.

Next look at your project. Plan out what each string is doing- if it is used as a base string that goes the length of the project with no turns, it's length is 1 PL. Another string that is used in knots and has lots of turns can be 3 PL. The more PL, the more convoluted the path of the string.

For example, a series of square knots has two base strings and two strings that wrap around them. This project could be one cord, 2 PL, folded in half for the two base strings and a second, 6 PL, folded in half for the two wrapping strings.

So once you measure your project and decide on a PL, fold it back and forth until the cord is the desired length, and use that cord to measure the others in the project.

Another example with pics:

Two strings, natural hemp fiber, as straight as I could get them without taping them down lol. One is 2 PL and the other is 4PL, each folded in half. This makes two 1 PL strings and two 2 PL strings.

The long cords were used to make knots around the base cords, which are straight. (the wrapping cords ended up having more leftovers, but I chose a knot that's really light on the string. And I used string-saving techniques, oops)

(I didn't give myself that much room for the finishing knot, oops x2)

Final product with the strings trimmed! Don't worry about leftovers, the longer ones can be used in other projects or small samples for testing designs. It's better to overestimate the needed cord then to go through the circus of ending up short.

Anyway this way I can give you a design, say the Project Length of each string, and you can use that to build sweeping necklaces to child bracelets.

btw you can always look around at other tutorials of similar designs if you just want a solid number to work with.

(Macre-May Prompt list)

[lovebugdotcom]

Values…………….. *punches a wall*

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] Chapter 2: Unfamiliar.

Previously // Next - (chapter list) / (AO3 ver)

Gavriel Huffman’s consciousness drifted back in pieces, slowly. The first sensation he registered was the pain. A throbbing, burning ache in his side that shot throughout his torso with each ragged breath he took. His hand twitched reflexively, wanting to clutch at the wound, but his limbs felt heavy, sluggish.

He groaned, eyelids fluttering open before having to close them as his blurry vision was assaulted by the bright sunlight peaking through the cracks of the window blinds. Gavriel winced, turning his head slightly to escape the light. The movement sent another jolt of pain lancing through his body making him grit his teeth. The pain, though familiar, was sharper now, less numbed by adrenaline.

His instincts screamed at him to assess his surroundings, and with great effort, he forced his unsteady vision to focus. What he saw made him slightly more awake with disoriented alarm.

The room was cozy. Unbearably so. The walls had warm tones of colors that made the room feel welcoming. The bed he laid on was draped in a checkered quilt with a few stitches here and there. It wasn't as feathery soft or as luxurious as the one he had back in his place, but the worn down cheap quality of it only made them feel more homely in comparison. The air was filled with a subtle, comforting scent, and the one Gavriel noticed immediately was the smell of baked goods.

It was the kind of room he had only ever seen through windows in neighborhoods he didn’t belong in.

Gavriel’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening. He didn’t belong here. The dissonance between his bleak, gritty world and this gentle, almost absurd comfort was jarring. It made his head spin, not just from the pain.

He hadn't been thinking very clearly then, but he could vaguely recall memories of the rain and the blood soaking into his clothes and him collapsing into unconsciousness, but everything after that was a blur. How had he ended up here?

Where the hell was he? His hand felt heavy as he reached up to touch the wound in his side, and he was surprised to find it wrapped in bandages. The dressing was hastily done.

He pushed the blanket aside, revealing his current state. His torso was bare, the bandages wrapped tight around his injury, and he was wearing pants that definitely weren’t his. This smooth, almost cell-shaded look… Toon clothing? This worn, clean fabric was more snug than anything he’d ever put on.

He frowns at this. Gavriel didn’t trust kindness. It's a luxury reserved for people who hadn’t been forced to scrape and claw their way through life.

With a grunt, he forced himself upright, gritting his teeth as another wave of pain rippled throughout his body. He braced himself on the nightstand, the wooden surface creaking under his grip, and scanned the room for any signs of danger.

His eyes landed on a small framed photo on the nightstand. It showed a cheerful looking man with a wide goofy smile and a thumbs-up, standing next to… what he assumes to be his family, accompanied with a clean and comfortable-looking set of clothing sitting there waiting for him to wear alongside his glasses.

He reached out for it, seating the frame on his nose bridge and ears. Gavriel turned to squint at the image, something tugging in his head as he tried to place the face of that male toon. Then his mind flashed to the moment before he went unconscious. Someone had crouched down beside him when he was dying in that alleyway.

But why? The idea that someone had helped him, patched up a criminal covered in blood, was almost laughable. People didn’t do that for him- for them. At least, not in the place where he belongs.

Currently though, that wasn't his main concern. His dark eyes narrowed. Where the hell was his gun?

His fingers instinctively moved to his waist, but the comfort of the cold metal wasn't there. Gavriel sighed as a familiar wave of dullness washed over him, pulling him in a state of rumination. He was still hurt, still vulnerable, and that meant he was in danger, no matter how deceptively safe this place looked. He clenched his fists, not even giving a wince at the painful ache in his body.

All of this made him feel rather numb and confused, but it doesn't show on his face which he'd trained to never waver even in danger. His mind felt like it was wrapped in fog, every thought coming in with a painful throb. He tried to think, to piece together why he hadn’t bled out in that alley.

He knew that his injuries had been severe enough to be fatal, the kind of wounds that left little hope for survival. A few hasty bandages and dressings wouldn’t have done much to stop the life bleeding out of him, yet here he was, hurting but alive.

He rubbed his forehead, the motion sluggish from pain as he racked his brain for an answer. It wasn’t until he sat there for a hot minute that realization struck.

Oh, right. He was in a city reigned by the Toon Genre.

It was common knowledge to all that the Toons leaned heavily on the whimsical side, or more specifically, it was the environment itself that exuded this sort of vitality. One that let its residents survive otherwise fatal mishaps with only a moment’s comedic daze and maybe a few tweeting birds circling their heads.

He couldn’t be bothered to recite the specifics of it. Something about places in the Toon genre having stronger healing properties or some nonsense like that. But now, in this moment, the absurdity wasn’t so easy to dismiss as it had been the very thing that had led to him surviving his death, a miracle in of itself.

Gavriel’s hand reached up to softly graze the large scar on the side of his neck, healed yet still deep and harrowing, which told stories of a much darker time. Touching it had been a habit he'd developed a long time ago in times of stress or simply whenever he contemplated.

He had no patience for the whimsical workings of this place, no desire to analyze the wonders or whatever it was that had saved him. The only thing that mattered to him was that it had and he's alive because of it.

It didn’t change his wariness though. If anything, it only made him more resolute to understand who had brought him here and why.

Then Gavriel hears the door click open.

---

Jack Desmond stepped into the bedroom, carefully balancing a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a bowl of warm porridge in the other. He didn't have anything special in his kitchen at the moment so he was only able to put together a simple meal, figuring that even the scariest man in the world deserved something warm and filling in his stomach to help him heal. That was, if the food hadn't gone cold already by the time he woke up.

Jack wore his usual friendly smile, ready to show the stranger some hospitality when he froze in confusion the moment he saw that the bed was empty.

“Huh?” Jack murmured, his brow furrowing. His eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of where the man might have gone, but there was nothing.

"Hugh!"

Coffee and porridge spilled to the ground as the cup and plate he'd been holding came crashing down on the ground, splattering everywhere.

Rough hands closed around his neck from behind. The force of the grip was firm, not quite strangling but strong enough to hold Jack in place.

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead and rolled down his temples, his hair standing on its end. It felt like his heart was caught in his throat, he didn't even dare breathe too hard.

The presence behind him was suffocating, a dense aura of danger which didn't fit with the comfort of the room they were in.

The hand holding him didn’t need a weapon.

It didn't take much for Jack to instinctively realize that he was currently bordering the line of life and death, a primal understanding that this man could end him effortlessly if he choses to.

Jack’s throat bobbed as he tried to swallow but can't, his mouth dry as a desert. It was as if time had slowed down. He could feel his heart thundering inside, each beat thudding louder and louder in his ears as he stood there, unable to do anything but wait.

The silence was deafening. Jack's mind told him to yell, scream loudly for help, but he couldn’t even force out a sound.

Jack felt his breath hitch as the man’s deep, rumbling voice cut through the suffocating silence. The voice was hoarse from fatigue and pain, but it still carried a commanding weight to it as he spoke.

"Who are you?" the voice demanded, each word slow and deliberate, laced with a barely restrained irritation. "Where am I and why am I here?"

Despite the fear pressing down on him, Jack’s mind raced, and something other than terror roused his senses. He sniffs subconsciously, his nose picking up a change in the air. That sharp, metallic tang that made his stomach twist.

"I-I’ll tell you everything you want to know," he stammered. "But please, d-don’t move too much." He could smell it. The fresh, unmistakable scent of blood. "You're hurt, s-sir…"

With those words, the room fell into silence again. The man behind him didn't say anything, as if contemplating Jack’s words, yet the grip around Jack’s neck remained firm. Each second seemed to stretch into eternity, and Jack held his breath, waiting for a response as a cold bead of sweat rolls down his face.

Finally, after what felt like a forever, the grip released. Jack released his breath, silently gasping for air as his feet planted into the ground, trying to steady his balance after that terrifying experience. Slowly, he turns around, stumbling away slightly as he looks up to face the much larger man.

Gavriel stood there, towering over him with one hand clutching his wounded side, blood seeping through the bandages and staining his skin anew. With a shadow cast over his face, his sharp glare intensified.

His dark eyes narrowed, scarred face twisted into a pained look of irritation. Even when injured, such a sight would be enough to intimidate anyone with the sheer menace he radiated.

But as Jack’s heart raced in his chest, his gaze drifted almost unconsciously to Gavriel’s wound. The fear was still there, pressing down on Jack’s chest, but something else was too.

Concern.

The sight of the reopened wound stirred something deeply instinctive and kind in Jack, something that momentarily outweighed his terror. He couldn’t help it. Jack’s eyes lingered more on his injury rather than his scary appearance.

“You’re bleeding again,” Jack whispered, his voice small but genuine, before he presses his lips, meekly looking up to meet the man's eyes. The words had slipped out before he could stop them, his worry winning over self-preservation for just a second.

Gavriel’s glare remained unwavering, burning with a mix of suspicion and impatience. “Answer my questions,” he ordered.

Jack nodded quickly in agreement, returning his focus on the wound, which now had blood dripping from Gavriel’s side, pooling on the floor in droplets.

Jack frowns, a wave of empathy coursing through him, and he took a small step forward without thinking, wanting to help.

Gavriel reacted instantly, his expression souring like a cornered animal. His lips pulled back into a nasty snarl, and Jack immediately froze, eyes darting back to the man's face, his look carrying a clear message.

Don’t come any closer.

Jack was hesitant, but he took a shaky breath and showed Gavriel his palm, trying to show him that he meant no harm. “I just… I just want to help.” His eyes showed nothing but genuine concern, a warmth that was out of place in the tension.

For a moment, Gavriel didn’t move. His gaze bore into Jack with an intensity that made the toon feel exposed but Jack holds his ground, knowing that the man in front of him was in pain and had only been acting out of self preservation.

Jack cautiously inched closer, his hands still raised to try and ease the man that he wouldn't do anything bad to him. The closer he got, the more he could see the strain in Gavriel’s features. It was a silent battle between the pain and the effort to appear unwavering.

Finally, he reached the man’s side. Gavriel's eyes followed, but he didn’t stop him as Jack extended his palm towards him. Jack's hand flinches and hesitates for a second when Gavriel's grip on his wound tightened… Jack steels himself and gently touched the lower side of the man's hip, his fingers being stained with the blood that ran steadily down it.

Despite not being injured himself, Jack still winced sympathetically at the sight. Though Gavriel’s face showed no change, Jack didn’t miss the way the muscle around the injury flinched at his touch.

“Okay… okay.” Jack murmured, his voice soft but determined. His mind buzzed with worry, already trying to think of what he could do to keep the wound from worsening.

With a pang of dread, it finally dawned on him in fullness that this was only the beginning of him having to temporarily keep this dangerous man in his apartment.

Oh, boy. This was going to be a long week.

[This chapter has been edited.] _

Previously // Next - (chapter list)

[illyrianbitch]

Body Count

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: Anxious about how your lack of experience compares to Azriel's, you ask him about his body count. Unfortunately for him, he misunderstands the question gravely.

based on this funny lil request!

Warnings: angst if you squint, miscommunication, silly az and silly cassian making fun of silly az, mentions of death/killing, a sweet lil kiss! fluff!

Word Count: 3.3k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You’ve always had a soft spot for Azriel. 

It wasn’t just his mysterious aura and brooding looks that made him irresistibly attractive to you— though those definitely added to the appeal. Azriel was thoughtful. He was attentive. He seemed to understand you and your needs in a way that none of your other friends could. 

Your feelings for him had grown over time, blossoming into a full-blown crush.

And for the most part, it seemed like Azriel enjoyed your company too. 

There was a playful flirtation between you two, a spark that you hoped would ignite into something more. It had grown even hotter these past two months, through conversations that were held entirely too close to one another, stolen glances, and brief touches that sent shivers down your spine. 

But deep down in your stomach, there was something holding you back— a bitter, nauseating feeling. You weren’t just nervous, you were insecure. 

It wasn’t a secret that Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand had their fair share of lovers. After all, they were all extremely attractive and had lived for centuries longer than you. But the idea of Azriel’s love life had begun to spin itself into an anxious, terrifying web in your mind. You weren’t experienced in such matters— at least, not nearly as experienced as Azriel must've been. The thought was daunting to you. Terrifying, really.

It was late at night now, and the last of your family had bid their goodnights, retreating to their respective rooms and homes. You found yourself alone with Azriel in the dimly lit living room, the small crackling fire mixing with the remnants of the celebration that lingered in the air— the heady scent of wine and the distinct smells of each of your loved ones. 

You stole a glance at Azriel, noticing the way his cheeks were slightly flushed, eyes bright with mirth. His shadows were calm, dancing playfully around his feet and his arms. He caught your gaze instantly, offering you a lopsided smile, the corners of his lips turning upwards in a way that made your heart flutter.

This was your chance— a perfect, quiet moment to confess something to him. To tell him how you felt. 

But the nauseating feeling in your stomach bubbled up once more. You bit the inside of your cheek. Perhaps it was the perfect moment indeed. Not to confess your feelings quite yet, but to get rid of the spider web of overthinking you’d created. 

Summoning up the courage, you leaned closer to him, the alcohol emboldening you. "Hey, Az," you began, your voice soft and hesitant.

Azriel turned to you. "Yeah?" 

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. "Can I ask you something?"

Azriel’s face seemed to soften. "Of course."

You held his gaze for a moment, taking in the hues of his eyes that seemed more golden in the firelight. A small blush rose to your cheeks and you swallowed nervously, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. 

"What is your body count?" 

Azriel blinked. His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink as his mouth slightly parted, and you watched as his gaze seemed to dance around your face. He opened his mouth to respond, but a hiccup escaped him instead of words.

"I'm just... I was just wondering," you stammered, your cheeks burning hotter with heat. "If you're comfortable sharing, that is."

Azriel smiled at you, letting out another small hiccup as he repositioned himself to lean closer.  His shadows seemed to reach out towards you, a subtle, almost subconscious gesture of reassurance. "It's alright," he said, his voice gentle. "I don't mind sharing."

He took a moment to compose himself. “8,754.”

As if you’d been doused in icy water, your alcohol-induced haze dissipated instantly. 

"Oh," you breathed out, your eyes widening in shock. "Oh."

You would’ve tried harder to hide your shock, but the only thing you could focus on now was the large, heavy, number. It hit you like a ton of bricks, the weight of it settling heavily in the pit of your stomach. 

You expected a large number, sure. You told yourself that you could come to terms with it, learn how to be comfortable with the gap in your experiences. But you hadn’t prepared yourself for this large of a number, and suddenly you felt… uneasy. 

Azriel watched you closely, his expression quickly filling with concern. "Are you alright?" 

Azriel had been with over 8,754 people?

You nodded slowly. Unable to meet his gaze, you casted your eyes towards the carpet in front of him. "Yeah, I'm fine," you murmured, "I, uh, I think I need to go home. I must’ve drank too much."

Azriel seemed to sober up immediately. His shadows, which had been lazily swirling around his feet, suddenly grew still, sensing his shift in mood. He sat up straight, a look of worry crossing his features. "Here, let me walk you to your room," he offered, his wings slightly unfurling as if ready to rise.

You avoided his gaze once more, shaking your head quickly. "It's alright. I got it," you insisted, standing up a bit too quickly. You swayed slightly, and his wings twitched as if he wanted to reach out and steady you. You quickly regained your balance. "Goodnight, Az."

Azriel watched you go, shadows trailing after you slightly before retracting back to him. His wings sagged, a sense of helplessness washing over him as he watched your retreating form disappear down the hallway.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel was tense. Every muscle in his body, every movement he made, it all felt constrained– stressed. Troubled. His shadows swirled restlessly around him, their hurried movements perfectly mirroring the deep agitation he felt in his gut.

Days had passed since his last proper conversation with you. He missed it— missed your presence, missed your laughter. He’d grown so used to your company, had begun to look forward to your conversations and the small flirty banter that he’d gained the confidence to indulge in. But you were distant now— awkward, even. And it was driving him mad. 

It was hot out, the afternoon sun blaring down on him and Cassian as the sound of clashing blades filled the air. Heavy sweat trickled down their faces, to a point where Azriel’s hair clung to his forehead like glue. 

But Azriel’s mind was anywhere but the training ring. And his brother quickly noticed.

"Alright," Cassian said, stepping back and lowering his weapon. "Either you're losing to stroke my ego, or something's going on."

Azriel grumbled, parrying another blow. "I'd never lose for your ego.” His wings twitched in annoyance. 

Cassian frowned, a scrutinizing gaze watching Azriel's movements closely. Something was definitely off. He tied his hair back up, securing it tightly. "Alright, spill it."

"No," Azriel replied curtly, his grip tightening on his weapon. His shadows seemed to wrap tighter around his form, as if trying to shield him from the conversation.

"No?" Cassian echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not going to talk about my feelings with you. We're not twelve.”

Cassian let out a small scoff, raising his hands in exasperation. "By the Cauldron, Az, just tell me why you've got a stick up your ass."

Azriel glared at him. A moment passed. And then he sighed, sheathing his weapon. 

"Y/N has been avoiding me, it seems."

Cassian frowned. "Are you sure?"

The question only brought a scowl to Azriel’s face, who threw Cassian a glare. 

"Yes, Cassian. I'm sure."

There was an itchy, prickling feeling of annoyance filtering through Azriels skin. His shadows flared out briefly before settling back into their usual orbit.

"Well, what did you do?"

Azriel’s shadows twisted tighter and his wings rustled uneasily.

"I didn't do anything.” 

Cassian gave him a skeptical look, crossing his arms. "Really?"

Azriel threw him another withering glare. But when Cass only responded with a raised eyebrow, Azriel’s shoulders sagged slightly. "At least, nothing that I'm aware of."

"Alright," Cass said, "Maybe you offended her somehow. What happened the last time things were normal? Can you remember?"

Azriel paused. He remembered quite clearly despite the drunken haze he had been in. He grimaced as the memory drifted into his mind, bright and clear as day. 

"She asked me for my body count.”

Cassian’s eyes widened. He stilled, leaning forward slightly. "And?"

"And I told her.”

There was a pensive look on Cassian’s face, a furrow forming between his brows as he processed Azriel's words. He narrowed his eyes at his brother. "What is your body count?" 

Exactly like that other night, Azriel replied without hesitation. "8,754.”

Cassian coughed, his eyes widening in disbelief. "I-I’m sorry?" he spluttered, caught off guard by the staggering number.

Azriel's confusion deepened, a frown marring his features. "You know this.”

"No," Cassian countered, shaking his head emphatically. “I do not know this.”

Azriel clenched his jaw, offering Cassian a cold unamused and irritated stare. “Yes, you do.”

"Apparently not.” Cassian let out a scoff. “Hell, I would’ve remembered if you slept with almost nine thousand people, Az. That's more than me."

Azriel’s face twisted into a scowl, a deep crease forming between his brows. His wings flared slightly. 

"Slept with? What the hell are you talking about?" 

Realization flickered in Cassian’s widened eyes, and suddenly, an understanding dawned on him. "Oh," he breathed out, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He let out a hearty laugh. "Got all the skills in the world but that brain still fails ya, huh Az?" 

Azriel fought the urge to send a swift hit to his brother's jaw, if only to knock the amused grin off his face. 

"Can you be serious for one godsdamned minute?" Azriel snapped.

Cassian's laughter subsided, his expression sobering as he met Azriel's gaze— only slightly. The grin still persisted. "Body count doesn’t refer to your kill count," he explained, "It’s how many people you’ve fucked."

Azriel's face dropped and the color drained from his cheeks. From behind him, his wings fell limp. "You can’t be serious.”

"Deadly serious, brother.”

Azriel glanced to the ground, his mind racing through that moment with you. He thought back to your response, to that small “Oh” that haunted him, to the way your eyes widened. He’d simply assumed that you were disgusted by the amount of lives he’d taken, that you’d spent the night imagining how much blood was on his hands. For some reason, this new reality of what the question meant— it felt even more intimate. Oh gods.

"So does Y/n think that I..." he trailed off.

"That you've fucked almost nine thousand people?" Cassian finished for him, a subtle grimace painted on his features.

"But I haven't," Azriel protested.

"Well, you should probably be telling her that." 

Azriel didn't waste another moment. He turned on his heel, desperate to immediately find you and explain the very apparent miscommunication. 

"Wait!" Cassian called out. Azriel paused, turning around with an impatient glare. 

"Take a bath. You stink," Cassian said, wrinkling his nose for emphasis.

Azriel's glare deepened, and he flipped Cassian off before continuing his stride toward the exit.

Cassian's laughter boomed behind him, the sound trailing after Azriel as he walked away. "eight thousand seven hundred and fifty-four," Cassian muttered to himself, still chuckling in disbelief.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel rushed down the hallway. Following Cassian’s unasked for advice, he was freshly bathed, hair still damp and clinging to his forehead. His shadows flitted nervously around his feet, his wings twitching restlessly at his back. 

He had no time to waste. Azriel really liked you. He needed to find you and clear up the misunderstanding before it began to fester into something deeper, something much harder to clean up. 

He found you in your room, catching you just as you were about to leave. “Y/n,” he said, as he came to a stop in your doorway. His voice was a bit louder than he intended.

You jumped, letting out a small scream as you spun to face him.  You caught his gaze as your hand flew to your heart. “Azriel,” you breathed out, a nervous smile playing on your lips as you steadied your breathing. “You scared me.”

He gave you a sheepish smile, his wings shifting slightly– a small, but clear sign of his embarrassment. “Sorry,” he said softly.

You let out a small laugh. “Hi, Az.” 

His smile grew. “Hi Y/n,” he responded, walking further into your room. “Are you heading out?”

You blinked in an attempt to break away from his gaze, casting a quick glance down towards your window. “Oh, yeah. I was just gonna go walk about Velaris, get some fresh air.”

Azriel hesitated for a moment before asking, “Would you like some company?”

You hesitated too, a part of you wanting to say yes. But then the infamous number came to mind, and the bitter, nauseating feeling returned. “Maybe another time?” you said, trying to sound as genuine as possible.

Azriel could tell you meant it, but the disappointment was clear in his eyes. “Alright,” he responded softly, his wings drooping slightly. “Enjoy your walk.”

A wave of sadness rolled through you at his response, at the way his shadows seemed to still at your rejection. Your eyes scanned his face, taking in his wet hair and the way his eyes seemed to plead with you. 

“I’ll see you later,” you said, offering him a small smile before making a move to side-step him. 

Before he could overthink it, Azriel reached out and gently grabbed your arm. The touch was soft, but it stopped you in your tracks. You turned back to him, finding yourself suddenly very close to him, faces only inches away.

His shadows wrapped around your wrist where he held you. A giddy flutter spread through you as his touch sent warmth racing through your veins. You melted into his grip, feeling a hunger for his closeness after just a few days without it. His gaze held yours, intense and searching, before flickering down to your lips. You took a deep breath.

“I’ve taken 8,754 lives,” Azriel finally spoke, his voice low and hesitant.

Your eyes widened in surprise. You took a step back, properly facing him now, trying to process his words. “What?”

Azriel looked sheepish, his eyes flickering with a mix of embarrassment and uncertainty. 

His shadows fluttered around him.

“The other night, you asked me what my body count was. I told you 8,754.”

You nodded slowly. “I remember.”

“I thought you were asking how many people I’d killed. Not—” he paused, a small blush reaching his cheeks. “Not how many people I’ve slept with.”

Your lips parted in an O of realization. You took in his face, observing how his shadows swirled tirelessly around him. Azriel offered you a small, unsure smile. A small laugh left your lips.

“Why would I be asking you how many people you’ve killed?” you finally asked. Your voice was soft with confusion and a hint of amusement. A small gleam grew in the shadowsinger’s eyes. 

“I don’t know,” Azriel responded honestly. “Why were you asking how many people I’ve slept with?” 

You blushed, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “It’s silly.”

Azriel reached forward, gently grabbing your hand and pulling you closer to him. His shadows wrapped around your wrist where he held you. You fluttered at the sudden closeness, feeling a rush of warmth and nerves flow through your body. 

“It’s not,” he insisted softly, his eyes holding yours with unwavering sincerity.

“I just wanted to prepare myself. I haven’t… I’m not experienced in these types of things.” You paused, holding his gaze for a moment. And then the corners of your lips tugged into a smile. “But gods, it’s good to know I don’t have to compete with the experience of almost nine thousand previous lovers.”

Azriel’s expression softened, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “You never have to compete with anyone, Y/n. Especially not with me.”

A warmth settled in your chest. His thumb stroked your hand, a soothing rhythm that seemed to cause butterflies in your stomach with every touch. 

“Well, that’s good to know,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah?” 

Azriel’s voice was soft now, a low cadence that made you feel like puddy in his hands. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a small smile.

The smile on his face grew further. You traced the movement with your eyes, taking in the small smile lines and dimples that formed. His smile dropped slightly as he frowned, brows furrowing slightly. 

“Wait.”

You tilted your head curiously. “Hmm?”

“It doesn’t bother you that I’ve killed 8,754 people?

 “I know you have your reasons.” You shrugged gently. “Also, I don’t have to compete with dead people.”

Azriel’s shoulders relaxed slightly at your words, as if a weight had been lifted off him. A chuckle left his mouth. It was warm and genuine, and the sound resonated deeply within you. “Just one of the many reasons why I like you.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“You like me?

Azriel nodded, his gaze unwavering— something soft, almost sacred. “I do.”

A rush of warmth spread through you at his confession. You took a moment to let the words sink in. Your grin widened. “I knew it.”

Azriel shook his head, a smile of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. “I wasn’t really trying to hide it.”

Your grin widened even more and you met his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. His thumb continued its gentle rhythm on your hand.  “Do you feel the same way?” he asked. 

“I wasn’t really trying to hide it,” you admitted, mirroring his previous words with a soft smile.

Azriel’s expression seemed to soften further, his eyes reflecting a warm sense of longing. His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips. 

Slowly, he leaned in, closing the distance between you. His hand cupped your cheek delicately, his touch sending a shiver down your body. You took a deep breath, feeling his scarred fingers run alongside your cheek. He met your eyes again, his gaze heavy, seeking something— permission. 

“Can I kiss you now?” 

Words eluded you for a moment as you met his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. You simply nodded, breath catching in your throat as you whispered, “Please.”

For another fleeting moment, his hand cradled your face delicately, thumb brushing over your cheekbone with a tenderness that made your heart ache. And then he closed the remaining distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was sweet and fervent.

It was shy at first— a hesitant, tentative meeting of lips that conveyed unspoken feelings that had never been fully addressed until now. You welcomed the warmth of his lips against yours, the sweetness of the moment overwhelming your senses. You pressed yourself further into his touch, fingers moving to tangle themselves in his hair as you pulled him closer. 

Azriel let out a sound of content as the kiss deepened, his shadows wrapping around you both like a protective embrace. You felt their cool, feather touch around your body, felt as lone tendrils weaved through your hair. 

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and smiling, Azriel rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed as he savored the closeness between you. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your cheek. 

“I’m glad we cleared that up,” he murmured.

You let out a soft laugh. 

“Me too.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark

azriel tag list🫶🏻:

@thisiskaylin @serrendiipty

[luv-lock]

⸻ ᴘ ᴜ ᴘ ᴘ ʏ ʟ ᴏ ᴠ ᴇ ⸻

Pairing: Siscon Damian Wayne x Fem Reader x Yandere Jon Kent Part 1

Headcanon: What if Jon become obsessed with Damian's sister?

Notes: Siscon is a word to refer those brothers and sisters who feel a strong sense of affection or attachment to their sisters. English is not my first language. Hone you enjoy!

Jon was over at the Wayne Manor for a sleepover, all wide-eyed excitement and nervous energy. Damian had begrudgingly invited him (Bruce’s insistence), and the younger boy was already regretting it. Jon was annoying, far too cheerful, and—worst of all—he had no sense of boundaries. Damian had learned to tolerate him, though, mostly because Jon was naive enough not to notice the storm that brewed in the younger Wayne’s mind whenever someone got too close to you.

And Jon got too close right away.

The moment you came downstairs, wearing an oversized hoodie and socks that slid on the hardwood floors, Jon froze. His big blue eyes widened to cartoonish proportions, his cheeks turned a bright shade of red, and for a moment, it looked like his brain had short-circuited.

"Hi," you greeted with a warm smile, ruffling Damian's hair as you walked past. (He hated it, or at least pretended to, judging by the subtle way he leaned into your touch.) "You must be Jon."

Jon stammered something incomprehensible, nodding like an overeager puppy. Damian shot him a glare that could have melted steel, but Jon didn’t even notice.

"You’re—uh—really pretty," Jon finally managed to choke out, his voice cracking slightly.

You laughed, a soft sound that only made Jon’s brain glitch further.

"Thanks, kiddo," you said, pinching his cheek. "You’re cute."

If Jon had a tail, it would’ve been wagging furiously. Damian, on the other hand, looked like he was about to commit murder.

From that day on, Jon was obsessed.

It takes exactly 0.2 seconds for Damian to realize Jon is crushing on you. The way Jon stares at you with stars in his eyes? The way he stumbles over his words when you talk to him? It’s disgusting.

Damian glare at Jon "You’re drooling."

"I-I am not!"

"Jon, are you okay? You’re all red." You said. You were worry for the kid.

Damian smirk "He’s fine. Just leave him."

Every time he came over to Wayne Manor, he asked about you. Where were you? What were you doing? Did you need help with anything? Damian was this close to slamming Jon’s head into the nearest wall.

"She’s busy, Kent," Damian would snap, his voice sharp enough to cut. "And she doesn’t have time to entertain idiotic farm boys."

But then you’d walk into the room, and Jon would light up like a Christmas tree. He’d start babbling about anything and everything, trying to impress you with stories about his dad or his adventures. You, being the sweetheart you were, humored him.

"Oh wow, you saved a cat from a tree?" you’d say, your tone genuine despite the simple nature of Jon’s stories. "You’re such a strong hero, Jon."

Damian, standing off to the side, would roll his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out of his head.

Damian, of course, had always been protective of you. From the moment Bruce brought him into the family, you’d been his. You were his anchor, his comfort, the only person in the world who truly understood him.

But you didn’t see it that way.

To you, Damian was just your little brother. Sure, he had a sharp tongue and an attitude that could rival Gotham’s worst criminals, but deep down, he was a sweet kid. You adored him, and he adored you—though he showed it in his own... peculiar ways.

Like scowling at anyone who so much as looked at you.

Or “accidentally” spilling water on that guy who tried to flirt with you at the gala last month.

Or, more recently, hovering like a shadow every time Jon Kent was within a ten-foot radius of you.

It was during one of those infamous sleepovers that things came to a head.

The second Jon starts acting weird around you, Damian picks up on it. Like the time Jon saw you in the kitchen and tripped over his own feet, sending a glass of milk flying.

"Oh no, are you okay?" You say while helping Jon clean up, your hand brushing his

Jon blushing furiously "I—I’m fine! Really!"

Meanwhile Damian standing in the doorway, glaring daggers at him "Kent. A word."

Jon nervously excuses himself, and you think nothing of it. But in the other room, Damian corners him.

"Whatever you’re thinking, stop it," Damian growls.

"What? I don’t know what you’re talking about—"

Damian press him against the wall "Don’t test me, Kent."

Jon starts finding excuses to visit.

"Hey, Mr. Wayne wanted me to help with a case," he says one day, standing awkwardly in the doorway. Of course, Bruce didn’t actually call him over, but Jon’s banking on you not asking too many questions.

"Oh, that’s great! Damian’s in the training room."

"Actually… I was hoping to hang out with you. I mean, you’re so smart, and Damian talks about you all the time, and I think I could learn a lot from you."

Damian appears out of nowhere like a shadow. "She’s busy. Go away, Kent."

But Jon doesn’t leave. Instead, he lingers, asking you about everything: your favorite books, your favorite places to visit, what kind of guys you like (as if he’s not 13 and awkward).

"Jon, you’re a child," Damian says, arms crossed. "You can’t possibly comprehend what it means to appreciate someone as extraordinary as her."

"I’m only six years younger than her!"

"Exactly. Stay in your lane."

Damian takes it upon himself to shadow you everywhere whenever Jon is around, making it impossible for Jon to even think about making a move.

One day, Damian finds Jon leaving a love letter in your room. A love letter. Damian’s rage is unmatched. He tears the note in half and grabs Jon by the collar.

"If you ever even think about her again, I’ll make sure Superman has to scrape your remains off the moon."

"She deserves better than you."

Damian doesn’t respond. Instead, he calmly walks into your room, grabs your hand, and drags you downstairs.

"You’re not allowed to talk to Kent anymore," he announces.

"Wait, what? Why not?"

"Because he’s dangerous. Trust me, I’m doing this for your own good."

Damian doesn’t respond. Instead, he calmly walks into your room, grabs your hand, and drags you downstairs.

You’d made popcorn and brought it to Damian’s room, where he and Jon were supposed to be watching a movie. Instead, you walked in to find Jon staring dreamily at your photo on Damian’s desk (a candid shot of you laughing at something Alfred said).

Damian noticed your arrival first, his expression darkening.

"Kent," he growled.

Jon jumped, nearly knocking over the desk in his haste to look innocent. "I wasn’t—I mean—uh, hi, Y/N!"

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "Hey, Jon. You boys okay?"

"Fine," Damian said through gritted teeth.

Jon, ignoring the blatant hostility radiating from his best friend, nodded enthusiastically. "Better now that you’re here!"

Damian shot him a look that could have frozen fire.

"Aw, thanks," you said with a laugh, completely oblivious to the tension. "You two are so sweet. You know that?"

Damian muttered something under his breath���something Jon was probably glad he didn’t hear.

Later that night, while Damian was in the bathroom, Jon decided to shoot his shot.

"Hey, Y/N," he said, fidgeting with the hem of his Superman-themed pajamas. "I was wondering... do you wanna hang out sometime? Like, just the two of us?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "Like... a playdate?"

Jon’s face turned a deep shade of red. "N-No! Like... like a date-date."

You stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing. "Oh, Jon, that’s so sweet. But I think you’re a little young for me, don’t you think?"

Jon looked crushed. Before he could respond, Damian walked back into the room, immediately sensing the shift in mood.

"What’s going on?" he demanded, eyes narrowing.

"Nothing," you said quickly, ruffling Jon’s hair. "Jon was just being his adorable self."

Damian’s eyes flicked between the two of you, his jaw tightening. He didn’t say anything, but the look he gave Jon promised retribution.

From that night on, Jon’s crush only grew, but so did Damian’s possessiveness. Jon was like a puppy, trailing after you with stars in his eyes. Damian, meanwhile, was the guard dog, snapping and growling at anyone who dared come near you—especially Jon.

You, of course, were blissfully unaware of the brewing storm. To you, they were just two adorable kids who couldn’t seem to get along.

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[freshl6ve]

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓. 𝐒 | 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄

⭑.ᐟ : “𝐘/𝐍!” 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭’𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, and I could hear the frustration in his tone. “I need your help in here, and I need it now.”

I walked up the stairs, heading towards the bathroom and I was met with the sight of Matt, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, with Nick and Chris trying to apply the black eye paint.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of them struggling, and I leaned against the doorway, crossing my arms.“Having some trouble there?”

Matt glanced my way, a mixture of relief and annoyance on his face. “You have no idea,” he grumbled. “These idiots can’t seem to get this right to save their lives.”

Nick shot Matt an offended look, while Chris just rolled his eyes. “Hey, we’re doing our best, okay?” Nick retorted. “It’s not as easy as it looks.”

I chuckled at their bickering and stepped forward, saying, “Okay, you two, wash your hands. I’ll take it from here.” Nick and Chris reluctantly complied, washing their hands in the sink while I moved towards Matt, studying his face.

As I hovered over him sitting on the edge of the bathtub, I couldn’t help but tease him. “You need to give them a little credit. They weren’t that bad.” He shot me a sidelong glare, clearly not amused. “Yeah, right. They made me look like I got into a fight with a raccoon.”

I stifled a laugh, trying to maintain a serious expression. “Well, at least now we know that raccoon makeup isn’t your look. Stick to Batman.” He grumbled, but there was a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Just get on with it, will you?”

I chuckled again and began to apply the eye makeup, carefully coating his lids with the black paint. As I worked, we fell into a comfortable silence, my fingers gently tracing his face. Our proximity was electric, the bathroom suddenly feeling smaller and more intimate.

I could feel his gaze on me, studying me as I focused on my task. Time seemed to slow as I finished the first eye and moved on to the second. Every touch of my fingers against his skin sent a jolt through me, the atmosphere thick with undeniable tension.

My back had started to ache from leaning over for so long, and the subtle shifting was giving it away. Matt, noticing my discomfort, whispered to me. “Sit on my lap, baby, you’ve been on your feet long enough.”

My breath hitched slightly at his casual use of the pet name, but I complied, my legs straddling his lap as I continued to apply the paint. From this position, I was even closer to him, our faces almost touching. His breath was warm against my skin and sent shivers down my spine.

As I continued applying the paint, I could feel Matt’s hands slowly making their way around my waist. He gripped me firmly, holding me in place so I didn’t fall backwards. The warmth of his touch sent sparks shooting through me, and I found it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

I finished applying the paint and stepped back, taking a moment to admire my work. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. “Nick,” I called out, “do you have a small towel you don’t use?”

Nick’s voice echoed from his room as he responded, “Yeah, there should be one in the cabinet next to the tub!” I nodded and opened up the cabinet, rummaging through it until I found a small, unused towel.

As I returned to Matt, I settled back into his lap, the towel in my hand. I began to gently rub off the excess of the black eye paint, making sure to leave a faint, lighter shade. The process was slow and intimate, our faces close together once again.

“There all done,” I breathed, getting off his lap and gesturing for him to look in the mirror.

He stood up and moved to the mirror, studying his reflection. The black paint around his eyes accentuated the sharp angles of his face, making him look every bit the dark and mysterious Batman. He turned to me, a satisfied grin on his face.

He stepped towards me, his arms encircling my waist. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers down my spine. He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine in a slow, passionate kiss.

The world around us faded away as he deepened the kiss, his hands pulling me even closer to him. The tenderness behind the kiss left me breathless and weak at the knees.

Just as I was completely lost in the kiss, the moment was interrupted by the sound of Nick’s voice. “Alright, get a room,” he teased, standing in the doorway. Matt pulled away, a mischievous grin on his face, still holding me close to him.

Nick stepped closer to take a better look at Matt, studying the final product. “You did an amazing job, Y/N,” he admitted, a hint of surprise in his voice.

I smiled at the compliment, feeling a sense of pride in my work. “Thanks,” I replied. “I’m just glad it turned out alright.”

Just as the conversation died down, Chris burst into the room. “The party is almost about to start, we should all get going!” he exclaimed, a sense of urgency in his voice.

We all shared a collective groan at the interruption, the moment of peace shattered by Chris’s announcement. “Yeah, yeah, we’re coming,” Matt muttering, reluctantly releasing me from his arms.

As we all made our way downstairs and through the hallway, Matt veered off to his room, retrieving his car keys from his bedside dresser. He then caught up with the rest of us in the garage, where we filed into his car in a chaotic and haphazard manner.

Matt climbed into the driver’s seat, and I scooted into the passenger seat beside him. The other two filed into the back, jostling and laughing with one another as they buckled their seatbelts.

Matt flicked a button on the visor and the garage door slowly creaked open, revealing the night. He reversed out of the garage and pulled away, the engine purring. I leaned back in my seat, the streetlights flashing through the windows as we made our way to the house where the party was being hosted.

The car came to a stop at a red light, and Matt took the opportunity to glance over at me. His hand found its way to my thigh, resting there in a possessive yet tender gesture. The touch sent a rush of heat through me, my heart skipping a beat.

Matt returned his gaze to the road, his expression a picture of nonchalance. His hand, however, remained on my thigh, his fingers tracing small, lazy circles on my skin, as if he was completely unaware of the effect his touch was having on me.

I could feel myself growing flushed, the warmth of his hand on my thigh sending tingles through my body. As the light turned green and we resumed driving, I wondered if he was intentionally trying to get a reaction out of me, or if he was truly oblivious to the way his touch was affecting me.

We pulled up in front of the house, the sound of music and laughter pouring out of the open windows. The parking lot was already filled with a few cars, a sign that we weren’t the only ones who were fashionably late. I unbuckled my seatbelt and gave one last glance at Matt, who removed his hand from my thigh and gave me a sly smirk.

We all exited the car, the cool night air a welcome relief after being cramped in the vehicle. As we made our way to the front door, Matt reached for my hand and intertwined our fingers together. His grip was firm and confident, and I found myself feeling a sense of comfort from his gentle touch.

Together, we followed the others into the party, the noise and energy of the room washing over us. The house was packed to the brim with people dressed in all sorts of elaborate costumes, the scent of cheap cologne and alcohol hanging in the air.

We wandered through the crowded room, and several people stopped us to compliment our matching costumes. Matt, in his Batman costume, and I, dressed as Catwoman, drew plenty of stares and admiring glances.

Throughout the entire night, I had been by Matt's side at all times. He wasn't one for parties; he much preferred the comfort of his own home and his own company. But tonight, he was putting up with the loud music and the rowdy atmosphere because he wanted to be with me.

Every time someone attempted to pull him away to chat or join a game, he would politely decline, his hand finding its way back to mine, or wrapping around my waist, as if to silently assert that his focus was on me and no one else.

I stood quietly next to Matt who was currently engaged in conversation with Chris, Nick, and a few other friends. They were all clustered together, laughing and joking. His hand held mine firmly, his thumb idly tracing patterns on my skin.

I noticed that instead of alcohol like most others were drinking, Matt had opted for a red solo cup filled with soda or water. He never was one to drink at these kinds of events.

As the conversation continued, I leaned into Matt's side, listening in on the banter. His free arm instinctively wrapped around my shoulders, drawing me closer to him. Occasionally, he would chime in or laugh at a joke, but for the most part, he seemed content just to have me by his side.

My head was slightly fuzzy from the couple of drinks I'd had, and the loud music and laughter around me had heightened my desire to be closer to Matt. I leaned in, my body pressing against his as I whispered into his ear. “Dance with me,” I pleaded, my words slightly slurred but laced with a seductive edge.

“Not now, baby,” Matt whispered back, his voice calm and nonchalant. He gave my waist a gentle squeeze before continuing his conversation with the others.

A pang of slight disappointment shot through me, a mixture of the alcohol in my system and my desire to be closer to him.

I positioned myself in front of Matt, my back pressed against his chest. I rocked my hips, moving my body against his, the fabric of our clothing rubbing against each other. Matt's arm instinctively found its way around my waist, his hand resting on my hip.

He continued to talk with the group as if nothing was happening, sipping casually from his cup. His expression remained calm and nonchalant, although the heat of my body against his was impossible to ignore.

I continued to move against him, each gyration of my hips a silent plea for his attention. But Matt maintained his cool composure, his conversations with the group never faltering. The tension between us was palpable, but he stubbornly refused to give any indication of it to the rest of the world.

Matt's breath hitched, and a low moan escaped him, the sound lost among the music and laughter. He leaned down, his lips close to my ear as he whispered, “Behave yourself, baby.” His voice was low and rough, a hint of warning and desire threading through it.

Despite his words, his grip on my hip tightened. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, contrasting with his outward nonchalance. The mixture of his proximity and the alcohol in my system was making it increasingly difficult to ‘behave myself’.

I turned to look up at him, my eyes roaming over his features. His dark, tousled hair, the sharp angles of his face emphasised by the eye paint, the way his baggy clothes made me want to take them off and explore what’s underneath them — all of it made him even more attractive. I leaned in close, my breath against his skin.

I pressed myself against him, my body flush against his. “Can we go home?” I whispered into his ear, my voice low and sultry. The music and the noise from the party faded into the background as I focused on the feel of his body against mine.

Matt chuckled lowly, his grip on me tightening. His voice was a low husky tone when he replied, “Can’t control yourself, can you?” He lowered his head further, his lips close to my ear. “Patience, baby. We’ll leave soon.”

Matt’s lips found the sensitive skin of my neck, trailing kisses along the column of my throat. As he did, I threaded my fingers through his hair, my touch both reverent and desperate. Our bodies swayed in rhythm with the music, the movements almost languid as we clung to each other.

Matt continued his ministrations, his lips lavishing kisses upon my neck and jaw. His free hand, the one holding the cup, gripped it tightly, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to maintain his composure. Each sway of our bodies brought us closer together, the air around us thick with a heady mix of desire and suppressed tension.

We were suddenly interrupted by a bright flash of light, the camera of Chris's phone capturing our intimate moment. I heard him calling out, “Get a room!”

Matt lifted his head from where it had been buried in the crook of my neck, his smirk visible even in the dim light. He gave Chris a casual salute, unperturbed by the invasion of our privacy.

I twisted in his arms, my face now facing his. I looked up into his eyes, my own pleading and earnest. “Please,” I murmured, my voice barely audible over the music. “Let's go home.” My hands gripped his costume, using the fabric to pull myself up closer to him, our bodies flush against each other.

Matt gazed down at me, his eyes softening slightly at the needy expression on my face. He leaned down, his lips brushing gently against mine in a quick, affectionate peck. “Okay,” he murmured against my mouth. “We'll go.”

Matt reached down and intertwined his fingers with mine. He shot a glance at Nick and Chris, the two of them seemingly unfazed by our need to leave, their eyes already returning to their various conversations.

“We’re heading home,” Matt announced, his voice just loud enough to be heard above the noise. “Get an Uber or call me when you want a ride back.” With that, we began to make our way towards the front door.

Matt led the way, his firm grip on my hand guiding me through the crowd. As we navigated the sea of bodies, he pushed his way through, making sure to keep me close.

The cool air hit us as soon as we stepped outside, a welcome relief from the stifling heat and noise of the party. Matt didn’t stop, continuing to lead me to where he’d parked the car.

Matt opened the passenger door for me, ushering me into the seat before closing it behind me. He then walked around to the driver’s side, sliding in and turning the car on.

The familiar hum of the engine filled the silence, the quiet only interrupted by the soft music from the radio and the sound of his breathing. As we started heading home, the warm glow of the streetlights illuminated his features, each passing second bringing us closer to our destination.

I watched him drive, my eyes tracing the lines of his face, particularly the area around his eyes where the black paint outlined them. The way his focus was solely on the road, his hands firm on the wheel, the way his body moved as he shifted gears, was like a silent taunt, fueling the heat already building within me.

I tried to act nonchalant, keeping my hands still in my lap, but my thighs pressed together involuntarily, a silent plea that he could likely see.

I reached down, grabbing his right hand from the wheel, and pulled it up to my thigh. His eyes flicked towards me, a hint of surprise on his face. “Baby, what are you doing?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I bit my lip, shifting slightly in my seat, the need building within me. “Touch me,” I pleaded, my voice low and breathy. He glanced over at me, his gaze lingering on my face. “We’re almost home,” he replied, his tone firm but laced with a hint of restraint.

I could see the internal battle playing out in his eyes, the struggle between his own desire and his determination to wait until we were home. His hand remained stationary on my thigh, but his fingers flexed slightly, a small sign of his weakening resolve.

“Please,” I repeated, my voice almost a whisper. My own self-control was slipping, and I knew that if he didn’t give me what I needed soon, I would snap. “I can’t wait that long.”

He chuckled, the sound dark and raspy. “You’ll have to,” he responded, his eyes never leaving the road. “We’ll be home soon.”

I huffed, frustrated by his unyielding stubbornness. I continued to cling to his hand, the contact grounding me but doing nothing to soothe the fire burning within.

The car ride felt like an eternity, each second passing by in agonizing slowness. I fidgeted in my seat, my thighs clenching and unclenching beneath his hand, my body silently begging for him to do something, anything, to relieve the tension that was coiling tighter with each passing mile.

Matt continued to drive, his face calm and collected, as if he knew exactly the effect he was having on me. His fingers moved slightly against my thigh, the light caress just enough to tease but not satisfy.

The car pulled into the garage, the door closing behind us with a soft click. Matt switched off the ignition, the sudden quiet feeling almost deafening.

He looked over at me, the faint light of the garage illuminating the planes of his face. His eyes raked over me, taking in my state: the way my breathing was ragged, the way my body was tense, the way I was practically squirming in my seat.

Matt got out of the car first, his movements fluid as he stood up. He closed the door behind him, the thud echoing in the silent garage.

I followed suit, stumbling slightly as I got out of the passenger seat. My legs felt weak, my body thrumming with pent-up desire. I closed the door, my eyes never leaving him as he made his way around the car towards me.

Matt grabbed my hand and tugged me forward, his grip firm and urgent. As soon as we were inside he led me quickly upstairs, my feet barely touching the steps as he practically dragged me along.

Once we reached the top, he pushed me against the wall in front of the staircase, his body pinning me in place. His breath was ragged, his eyes dark with need.

The house was cloaked in shadow, the only light coming from the glow of the moon filtering in through the kitchen window. It cast a soft, silvery glow over the room, creating an intimate ambiance.

Matt pressed closer to me, his body flush against mine. His hands roamed across my skin, leaving a trail of heat and gooseflesh. “You’re so needy,” he murmured, his lips against my ear. “So desperate for my touch.”

Matt's mouth moved over my collarbone, his lips trailing a path to my ear. “You couldn’t even wait until we got home for me to touch you,” he whispered, his voice rough and low. “You were all up on me, grinding against me at the party.”

His hands gripped my waist tighter, his fingers digging into my skin. “So desperate for my attention,” he continued. “So impatient for my touch.”

His words, combined with his hands on my body, sent shivers down my spine, a heat pooling in my core. Matt's proximity was intoxicating, his body and words making it impossible to think straight.

I whimpered softly, my head tilting back against the wall, exposing my neck to him. Matt immediately latched onto the exposed skin, kissing and biting lightly. “You need it, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice husky. “You need me to touch you, to take you.”

Matt's lips moved along my neck, the words low and commanding. “Will you behave if I give you what you want?” he murmured against my skin, his hands still gripping my waist tightly.

I nodded, my breath hitching as his teeth grazed my pulse point. “Yes, god, yes. I’ll behave,” I breathed, my words a desperate plea.

Matt pulled back slightly, his face close to mine. He studied my expression for a moment before murmuring, “Good,” and kissing my deeply.

His lips on mine were everything I’d been craving. The world condensed to the feeling of his mouth moving against mine, the taste of him overwhelming my senses.

Matt’s hands on my waist pulled me closer, his body pressing against me. He deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing against my lips, seeking entrance. I willingly obliged, our mouths moving in a familiar dance, a symphony of desire and need. My hands moved to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft locks as our bodies entwined.

As we pulled apart for a moment, Matt’s voice was low and commanding. “Jump,” he whispered, his hands sliding down to the back of my thighs, urging me up. On instinct, I obeyed, leaping up and wrapping my legs around his waist as he picked me up with ease.

He held me tightly, my body cradled against him as he turned, pinning me against the wall. His mouth returned to mine, kissing me with a renewed intensity, our bodies pressed closely together. The sound of our breathy gasps echoed through the dark house, the atmosphere charged with the need for each other.

Matt’s hands held my thighs securely, his fingers digging into my skin slightly. He held me in place, my back against the wall, as he kissed me fervently. The heat of his body against mine was almost overwhelming, every touch and movement stoking the fire within me.

With ease, Matt carried me down the hallway, his footsteps barely making a sound. I held onto him tightly, trusting him to guide us to his bedroom. As we reached the door, he nudged it open, carrying me inside and kicking it shut behind us.

Matt gently set me down on the bed, the darkness of the room creating an intimate ambiance. He stepped back, slowly removing his sweater and, piece by piece, shedding his clothes.

I watched as Matt removed his clothes, my hands reaching out to help him. My fingers grazed his skin, undressing him slowly, the gesture both sensual and reverent.

His eyes never left mine as I undressed him, the intensity of his gaze making my heart race. As each piece of fabric fell away, leaving him completely bare in front of me, I could feel my desire growing, my fingers lingering on his skin as though committing his form to memory.

The faint light from the moonlight filtering underneath the blinds illuminated him, his form slightly silhouetted. The shadows played across his features, highlighting the strong lines of his physique. The world was fuzzy and out of focus, my eyes focused solely on him, the rest of the room a blur.

I knelt before him, my movements slow and intentional. My hands reached out, tracing over his hips and down to his thighs, my eyes never leaving his. I could see the desire in his eyes, the way they darkened with anticipation.

My hands trembled slightly as they reached the waistband of his remaining clothing, my fingers teasing at the fabric as I prepared to remove it. My breathing was shallow, my own anticipation building with each passing second.

I felt his hand on mine, guiding it slightly, a silent indication of his permission. I took a deep breath, my heart beating wildly, and slowly started to pull down his remaining clothes, exposing him fully to me.

My eyes widened slightly as I took in the sight of him, bare and vulnerable before me. I reached out, tentatively, my fingers brushing against his soft skin. He let out a slow breath, his body relaxing under my touch.

Emboldened, I wrapped my fingers around him, feeling his warmth. He moaned softly, his hips bucking forward slightly. I looked up at him, seeking approval. His eyes were closed, his face a mask of pure pleasure.

I began to move my hand slowly, exploring the silky smoothness of his skin and the hardness beneath. His breathing hitched, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“That's it,” Matt encouraged, his voice low and husky. “Just like that. You're doing so well.” His hand covered mine, guiding my movements to speed up and tighten my grip. “A little harder now,”

I followed Matt’s instructions, my hand moving faster and tighter around him. He let out a loud groan, his hips jerking forward eagerly. Pre-cum dripped from the tip, making my hand slick.

“Can I…?” I asked hesitantly, looking up at him. He opened his eyes, the heat in them making me blush. “Can you what?” he asked, his voice barely audible. “Can I… taste you?” I managed to stammer out, my face flushing crimson.

Matt's face softened, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “No need to ask, baby,” he murmured. “Whatever you want, it's yours. Come here...” He guided my head down, his hand tangling in my hair. “Open up for me...”

I parted my lips, my tongue darting out to lick away the bead of pre-cum at his tip. He shuddered, his fingers tightening in my hair. Encouraged, I took him into my mouth, my lips stretching around his girth as I began to suck.

Matt let out a low groan, his body tensing. “Relax your throat, baby,” he instructed, his voice strained. “You don’t have to take all of me, just follow your instincts.”

I did as he said, relaxing my throat and taking him deeper. The head of his cock hit the back of my throat and I swallowed around him, my nose pressing against his pelvis. He cried out, his grip on my hair tightening.

“Pull back, baby,” Matt gasped out, his voice hoarse. “Not gonna last if you keep doing that...” I pulled back, my cheeks hollowed as I sucked hard. He let out a string of curse words, his hips jerking forward. “Shit, Stop, Y/N...”

I ignored his plea, instead bobbing my head faster, my hands tightening on his thighs. I could feel his muscles tensing beneath my touch, his breath hitching in his chest. “Y/N...” he panted, his voice a warning. “I’m gonna...”

His words trailed off into a moan as he spilled into my mouth, his body convulsing. I swallowed every drop, my hands continuing to pump his shaft until he was spent. I pulled back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and looking up at him with a satisfied smile.

I stood up slowly, my lips meeting his in a deep, passionate kiss. He tasted like salt and sweetness, and I couldn't get enough. Our tongues danced together, our hearts pounding in unison.

Matt's hands grasped my waist, slowly pushing me backwards onto the bed. I fell back with a soft gasp, my breath hitching as he hovered over me, his muscular arms braced on either side of my head. His blue eyes bored into mine, filled with unspoken promises.

His head dipped down, his lips finding the sensitive skin of my neck. He kissed and sucked, his hands reaching for the zipper of my catwoman costume. The sound of the zipper lowering filled the room, the cool air brushing against my heated skin.

Matt slowly peeled the costume off me, his lips following the path of the fabric as he exposed more of my skin. He paused at my breasts, his mouth closing around one peak while his hand caressed the other. I arched into him, a soft moan escaping my lips.

He lavished attention on my breasts until I was writhing beneath him, my hands clutching at his hair. Then, he began to kiss his way down my torso, his fingers hooking into the waistband of my catsuit. He looked up at me, his eyes filled with desire.

With a swift tug, he pulled off my bottoms, tossing them aside. I was now fully exposed to his hungry gaze. His hands caressed my thighs, pushing them apart. He settled between them, his breath hot against my most intimate area. I shivered in anticipation.

Matt hooked his fingers into the hem of my underwear and slowly pulled them down, his eyes locked onto mine. As the fabric reached my knees, he leaned down and used his mouth to pull them the rest of the way off, his teeth gently scraping against my skin.

Matt looked up at me from between my thighs, his blue eyes dark with lust. He placed a soft kiss on the inside of my thigh, his hands caressing the sensitive skin. He alternated between kisses and licks, slowly working his way higher.

His hands gripped my thighs, parting them wider as his mouth finally reached my center. He kissed me there, his tongue parting my folds and delving inside. I moaned, my hips bucking against his mouth as he feasted on me.

Matt hooked his arms under my legs, lifting them over his shoulders as he continued to devour me with his mouth. I was completely open and exposed to him, my most intimate parts on full display as he ate me out. I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding him close to my aching core.

His hands gripped my backside, tilting my hips to give him better access as he buried his face between my thighs. He growled against my flesh, the vibration sending shivers through my body. I could feel the pressure building inside me, my breaths coming in short gasps. “Matt...”

I was so close, my body trembling on the edge of release. Matt seemed to sense this, doubling his efforts. He sucked my clit into his mouth, his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud. I shattered, my back arching off the bed as my orgasm crashed over me.

As I convulsed around him, Matt slid two fingers inside me, curling them upwards to hit that spot that made my eyes roll back. He continued to suck on my swollen bud, his fingers pumping in and out of me in a steady rhythm.

Tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes as the sensations became too intense. I was so sensitive, yet I couldn't push him away. I needed more. He added a third finger, his hand moving faster as he brought me to the peak of pleasure once more.

I came with a shout, my inner muscles clenching around his fingers. He gentled his touch, slowly licking me through the aftershocks. When he finally lifted his head, his chin was glistening, and his eyes were filled with satisfaction.

He kissed my thighs, then my stomach, and finally my mouth. I could taste myself on his lips, salty and sweet. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down onto me. “I need you inside,” I whispered against his ear.

Matt chuckled low in his throat, his voice husky with desire. “Since you behaved so well, I think you deserve a reward.” He reached down, positioning himself at my entrance.

Matt sat up, his thighs straddling my hips. He rubbed the thick head of his cock along my slit, coating himself in my wetness. The sensation made me gasp, my hips lifting off the bed seeking more. He teased me, denying me the full penetration I craved.

“Not yet,” Matt murmured, his hand pressing down on my abdomen to keep my hips still. He continued to rub against me, his hot, hard flesh parting my swollen folds but never quite pushing inside. I squirmed beneath him, my breathing growing faster and shallower. “Please...”

“Please what?” Matt taunted, his voice low and seductive. He knew exactly what I wanted, how much I needed him to fill me, to move inside me. “Say it,” he demanded, his hand tightening on my stomach.

I was panting now, my body trembling with need. I looked up at him, my eyes pleading. “Please, Matt. I need you to fuck me. Fill me up.” I spread my legs wider in invitation, my wet heat aching to be claimed.

Matt’s expression grew intense, his jaw clenching as he finally lined himself up and slowly pushed inside. He watched my face as he inched forward, his thick length stretching me wide. I bit my lip, my hands gripping the sheets as he buried himself to the hilt.

He started to move then, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in. I cried out at the sudden intensity, my back arching off the bed. He set a hard, fast pace, the wet sounds of our coupling filling the room.

Our bodies slapped together, the sound of our moans and ragged breaths mingling. His large hands gripped my hips, tilting me to change the angle. He hit that spot deep inside me, making me see stars. “Oh god, Matt!” I cried out.

“That's it, baby,” Matt rasped, his voice thick with passion. “Squeeze my hard cock with your inner muscles like a good girl.” His words spurred me on, and I felt the familiar pressure building once more. “Matt...it’s...too much...”

“Too much what, baby?” he asked, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Too much pleasure? Too much love? Too much of me inside you?” He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. “Tell me what’s too much, and I’ll give it to you.”

“Too much...love,” I whimpered, my body tensing as another wave of pleasure washed over me. He groaned deeply, his movements becoming harder and more urgent. “And you’ll take more, won’t you, baby?” He growled, his fingers digging into my flesh.

I could only nod, my words lost to the sensations overwhelming my body. He grunted in approval, his hips snapping forward as he increased his pace. The room filled with the sound of our harsh breaths and the wet slap of flesh against flesh.

Matt’s mouth found my neck, his teeth scraping against my pulse point. He sucked hard, leaving a dark mark on my skin as he claimed me. His lips trailed up to my collarbones, placing open-mouthed kisses along the delicate bones before latching onto the soft skin and sucking.

He marked me as his, leaving a trail of love bites across my chest. He sucked on my nipples, biting down gently before moving to the space between my breasts. He kissed and nipped at the soft flesh, leaving a pattern of bites that only he could decipher.

I moaned and writhed beneath him, the slight pain only heightening my pleasure. “You’re mine,” he growled against my skin. “Every inch of you belongs to me.” He pushed himself up, his hands gripping my thighs and draping them over his shoulders.

He leaned down, his face mere inches from mine. His eyes were dark with lust and something deeper, more intense. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice rough with need. “Tell me who you belong to.” His hips rolled forward, grinding against my sweet spot.

“I’m yours,” I gasped. “All yours, Matt. Oh god, Matt!” His thrusts became deeper, his pace punishing. Our bodies slapped together, the sound of our moans filling the room.

Matt's grip tightened on my thighs, pulling them further apart and draping them over his shoulders. He leaned forward, his body folding over mine as he increased his pace. He buried his face in my neck, his hot breath against my skin as he moaned loudly.

I turned my head, seeking his mouth. Our lips met in a desperate, hungry kiss, our tongues tangling as we moaned into each other's mouths. He thrust deep and fast, his hips pistoning forward in a frantic rhythm.

Matt pulled away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting our mouths. His eyes were wild with lust as he looked down at me, his chest heaving. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his hips never stopping their relentless motion.

I looked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, my gaze taking in the changes to his face. His dark hair was damp with sweat, strands plastered to his forehead. The black eye paint he’d worn was smudged.

The dark lines ran down his cheeks like tears, giving him a wild, untamed appearance. His jaw was clenched, the muscles bunching and releasing with each powerful thrust.

“Oh god, Matt! Oh god!” I cried out, my body tensing as another wave of pleasure crashed over me. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” I chanted, my head thrashing from side to side on the pillow as he pounded into me.

Matt's hands flew to the bed beside my head, his fingers curling into the sheets as he propped himself up. He began to thrust faster and harder, his hips jackhammering between my thighs. “Cum for me, baby,” he grunted, his jaw clenched.

He leaned forward, his head fitting perfectly between my neck and shoulder. I wrapped my arms around his back, holding on for dear life as he fucked me with reckless abandon. The bed creaked and groaned beneath their combined weight, the slapping of their skin echoing through the room.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Matt bellowed, his voice raw and husky. “Take it, baby! Take my fucking cock!” I screamed in response, my voice hoarse from all the loud moaning. “YES! YES! FUCK ME HARDER, MATT!”

Matt’s hand left the bed, moving to press down on my stomach. He pushed me into the mattress as he continued his relentless pace, his other hand still propping himself up. The new angle allowed him to go even deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside me. “Oh god, right there!”

“This is what you wanted, isn't it?” Matt growled, his hips slamming forward. “Wanted my cock so bad that you had us leave Chris and Nick behind. Couldn't even behave and control yourself.” He punctuated his words with particularly hard thrusts. “And here we are.”I whimpered, my hands clutching at his back as I tried to hold back. "P-Please, Matt...It's too...It's too intense..."He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear. "You can take it, baby."

“You better take it all now, like you were asking for it,” he continued, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “Gonna fill this tight little pussy up. Make you scream my name.” His hand on my stomach pressed down harder, forcing me to arch into his thrusts.

His words, combined with the new angle and his powerful movements, pushed me closer and closer to the edge. “Matt...Matt, it’s too much...I can’t...I’m gonna...” My words dissolved into incoherent babbling as he continued to pound into me.

“Hold it,” Matt grunted. “Hold it until I say you can let go.” His pace increased, his hips a blur as he pistoned in and out of me. “You’ll cum when I say you can, understand?”

I whimpered, my hands clutching at his back as I tried to hold back. “Please, Matt...It’ too...It’s too intense...” He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear. “You can take it, baby.”

His words gave me strength, and I clenched my teeth, determined to hold back despite the overwhelming sensation. My body shook with the effort, my nails digging into his back. “Good girl,” he praised, his voice low and approving.

He continued to fuck me at a frantic pace, his thrusts hitting that perfect spot over and over. I could feel my orgasm building, coiling tight in my core. I was so close, but I held back, refusing to let go until he gave the okay.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Matt paused, his hips frozen mid-thrust. He held me in place, his cock buried deep inside me. “Now,” he commanded, his voice rough with need. “Let go.”

I screamed as my orgasm ripped through me, my body shaking violently as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me. Matt didn't hold back, fucking me through my climax with relentless force. His own release followed soon after, his cock pulsing inside me as he filled me with his hot seed.

“Fuck, yes!” Matt groaned, his hips jerking as he came. I moaned long and loud, my inner walls fluttering around his shaft, milking every last drop. Our combined moans filled the room, a symphony of pleasure as we rode out our intense orgasms together.

As the last tremors of his release subsided, Matt collapsed forward, catching himself on his elbows to keep from crushing me. He buried his face against my neck, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “Wow.” His voice was a mere whisper against my skin.

I could only whimper in response, my body still quaking with aftershocks. Matt pressed soft kisses along my neck and jaw as we lay there, basking in the afterglow. “That was incredible,” he murmured, slowly pulling out of me.

Matt carefully extracted himself from me and got off the bed. I heard the faucet run in the bathroom, and a moment later, he returned with a warm, damp washcloth. He gently cleaned me up, his touch tender and caring. “You okay, baby?”

I nodded, a soft smile on my face as I looked up at him. “Mmhmm. That was... intense.” I stretched languidly, feeling deliciously used in the best possible way. Matt chuckled, tossing the rag into his laundry basket and crawling back into bed with me.

Matt pulled the sheets over us, tucking me against his side. “Well, it's what you wanted,” he said, a playful edge to his voice. “And I gave it to you.” He nuzzled my hair, his arms wrapped protectively around me.

I groaned, “I’m going to have such a big headache and hangover in the morning.” Matt kissed the top of my head. “I’ll get you some hangover pills and water later, just rest for now.”

I felt the comforting warmth of Matt's body behind me, his chest against my back. His arms wrapped around me tightly, his face pressed into the crook of my neck, inhaling the familiar scent of my hair. As I closed my eyes, the exhaustion and alcohol finally claiming me, the sound of his steady breath lulled me into a deep slumber.

I woke up to the sound of rustling and the closet opening. I turned around, my eyes still heavy with sleep, and found Matt shuffling through the hangers, searching for a top. He was already dressed in sweatpants, his hair mussed from sleep, and his muscular back was on full display.

I yawned and rubbed my eyes, shifting slightly in the bed as I watched Matt rummage through his closet. “Where are you going?” I asked, my voice raspy from sleep, my words a sleepy murmur.

Matt paused, grabbing a red crewneck and pulling it over himself. “Chris called, said him and Nick need to be picked up,” he replied, his tone casual. He continued rummaging for a second, his gaze focused on the closet as if he was looking for something else.

Meanwhile, I snuggled deeper into the blankets, still drowsy from sleep. “What time is it?” I asked, stifling a tired yawn, my body half hidden beneath the covers.

He closed his closet door and pulled out his phone, glancing at the screen. His voice was low and calm. “It's two in the morning,” he responded. He put his phone back into his pocket and started his search for his keys. He finally found his keys hidden underneath a pile of clothes and pocketed them.

As he moved around, I noticed the change and looked him up and down, my drowsy eyes picking up on the details. His hair was damp, the smell of shampoo lingering in the air, and his black eye paint, a telltale sign of his costume from the party, was completely gone, revealing his natural, chiselled features beneath.

“You showered,” I murmured, still half asleep, the observation slipping out despite the tiredness. Matt turned to face me, his hair tousled, his face devoid of the makeup. I saw the slight amusement in his eyes, a hint of a smile dancing on his lips.

Matt nodded, a small chuckle escaping him as he responded, “Yeah, the black eye paint was getting annoying and sticky.” He ran a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back. “Had to wash it off,” he added.

He walked over to the bed, leaning against the frame as he looked down at me, his form silhouetted against the light. “Go back to sleep, baby,” he said quietly. His words were a soft whisper, his concern evident despite the nonchalance.

“Will you be back?” I murmured, my words slurred from the remnants of sleepiness. I couldn’t help but feel a hint of worry, wondering if he'd return to the warmth of the bed next to me.

Matt gave a reassuring nod, his voice gentle. “Of course I will, just have to go get Chris and Nick,” he murmured, his tone comforting. He reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.

I felt a small smile tug at my lips, comforted by his words and his gentle touch. “Be safe,” I drowsy murmured, my eyes already closing again, tiredness weighing on my eyelids.

Matt leaned down and planted a soft peck on my lips, his lips lingering for a brief moment. “I will,” he whispered, his voice a soothing promise.

I opened my eyes slightly, my voice slightly pleading but drowsy. “Before you leave can you start the shower for me?” I murmured, my words slurred with sleep.

Matt's expression softened, concern evident in his eyes. He asked, a hint of worry in his voice, “Are you sure? You won’t fall or anything while I’m gone, will you?” It was clear he was concerned for my state, even if I was only half asleep and slightly out of it.

I nodded, a sleepy smile on my lips, my eyes still half-open as I reassured him, “I won’t fall. Just start it for me, please.” My voice was soft and drowsy, the promise of a warm shower before he returned sounding too nice to pass up, even in my tired state.

Matt gave a small sigh, his expression momentarily softening at the sight of my drowsy state. He nodded, his voice gentle. “All right, just let the water heat up and you know where the towel is. Careful, okay? I’ll be back soon,” he said quietly, his words a whispered promise, his hand brushing against my cheek.

With that, he pushed back from the bed, pausing for a moment to watch me as he walked out of the room and into the hallway. The faint sound of water turning on could be heard as the shower warmed up for me, and then the garage door closed, signaling Matt leaving to go get Chris and Nick.

After finishing, I threw on one of Matt's hoodies and a pair of sweatpants, feeling comforted by his familiar scent. I made my way back to the bedroom and crawled back into bed, the comforting familiarity of our shared space soothing.

As I lay there, waiting for Matt, I felt the bed dip slightly beside me, the mattress shifting under the added weight. Warm breath caressed my neck, the faint hints of the night air on his sweatshirt-clad body. His arms wrapped around me as he settled in behind me, his body slotting against my back like it belonged there.

I felt the warmth of his body press against me, comforting and familiar in its presence. He held me closer, his arms securely wrapped around my waist, his nose nuzzling against my neck. His breath was steady and I could sense him letting out a soft sigh, relieved to be back.

Matt whispered playfully against my neck, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Stealing my hoodie, I see,” he murmured, his tone light and teasing. His arm tightened around me, a gentle squeeze that communicated his subtle approval.

“Guilty as charged,” I murmured in response, my voice drowsy but playful in tone. My hands found his, interlacing our fingers as I nestled against him, finding comfort in the warmth and safety of his embrace.

I shifted, turning around to face him, my body nestling closer against his. I grabbed his arm, pulling it over me, draping it like a comforting blanket. My head rested against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart in the quiet room.

He adjusted slightly, pulling me even closer, his arm wrapping around my waist protectively. He kissed the top of my head, holding me in a gentle yet firm embrace, the gesture both possessive and comforting. His fingers traced slow circles on my back, the soft touch an unspoken form of reassurance and affection.

A/N: HAPPY (late) HALLOWEEN!! — FOR @st6rify ❤︎︎

TAGS: @st6rify ✮⋆˙ @jetaimevous ✮⋆˙ @certifiedstarrr ✮⋆˙ @slvtf0rchr1s ✮⋆˙ @l3sbiancvnt ✮⋆˙ @wh0remikasas ✮⋆˙ @r0s3luvr

── .✦ MASTER—LIST ⭑𓂃

[seiwas]

new year superstitions (or some shit) | bakugo katsuki

wc: 1.4k

summary: bakugo's never believed in timing things for luck (or: affection is hard, but bakugo thinks it's about damn time he tries harder)

contains: written with f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!, aged up!pro-hero bakugo (mid-twenties), reader is described as pretty, vaguely alludes to reader's quirk, established relationship, fluff.

you slip into bakugo's space just a few minutes shy of touching the new year.

everywhere around you is loud, lively in the way new year's eve parties go; a group of people down the street stand outside of a bar, waving their streamers and blowing on small trumpets to welcome the next hour. from a distance, fireworks are shooting up to the sky, right above some luxury hotel having its annual countdown.

it's neither bakugo's thing nor yours to be up this late, partaking in celebrations like this, but he supposes some things are worth experiencing at least once—

the scent of your perfume hits him before he sees you, the space around him tightening in that familiar way the air around you shifts when you hold your breath. you smile, a small, gentle lift of your lips that falls into pace with your blink. pretty.

warmth pools in his stomach, building slowly to crawl its way up his neck and over his ears, overflowing to dust his cheeks.

"thought you looked a little lonely over here," you mumble, stifling your giggle as you watch him turn pink.

he furrows his brows, a soft "tsk," escaping his lips out of habit as his head turns to you. you always tease him like this; he should be getting used to it by now.

a gust of wind picks up from your spot on the balcony, pushing the glass door shut. the noise from inside muffles to dull chatter, the beat of tonight's music recognizable only by the subtle vibrations on the metal railing resting against his back.

the winter breeze seems to have tapped you, too, as you tuck your chin deeper into the red scarf around your neck.

"y'should've stayed inside," he nods to you then to the balcony door, crossing his arms, "s'cold here."

you frown, inching closer, just enough that you could loop your arm with his if you wanted, "sometimes, i can't tell if you're bad at taking hints or just really good at ignoring them."

he eyes you from the side, red vermillion the shade of your scarf—the one he gifted you just a few days ago for christmas. you pout, loosening the fabric around your neck so he can hear you clearly.

"you know," you take in a shaky breath, "this is the f-first time we're at s-something like this as y-y'know…” you pause, glancing at him to gauge his reaction, “t-together."

his nose turns a shade of pink darker; it's true, and he can hear you clearly—every tremor, every shiver. he sees you pretty clearly too, the softest hint of red on your lips. this relationship with you is new, just a little over a couple of months, and it makes him think—

"k-katsuki, are you e-even—"

it's reflex when he does it―his hand shooting out to grip your elbow, pulling you closer into his parka. right where you were standing lands a small clump of snow, fallen from the balcony of the unit above.

you look up almost immediately, a little flustered.

"s-sorry―"

bakugo feels warm despite the cold, heat blazing across his entire face as little puffs of air tickle his neck when you speak. like he said, this relationship with you is new, and though he's held you a few times already, affection, in any capacity is still something he's getting used to.

and you're aware of that too; of course you are. but when you push yourself away to create some space―

"told you s'fuckin cold."

―he keeps his other hand on your back, holding you into place.

bakugo is intense in most aspects; he meets things headfirst with no hesitation, but being this close to you makes him feel weird, a kind of unusual he thinks he should approach with caution―as if to keep himself from ruining the moment.

so his eyes wander. down the street, on the view behind you; they focus on the wisps of your hair ruffled from the earlier breeze, the tips of your eyelashes, blinking. then slowly and carefully, they land on you.

and you―

you beam, eyes widening momentarily before flashing him the brightest smile. it stills him so much that he doesn't notice your hands loosening the scarf around your neck even more, unwinding the fabric until the lengthened ends sit on your palms.

it's when you say "okay," gently and so... so... sweetly, that he feels the softness of wool hit the tips of his ears and down his neck. an ache spreads throughout his chest as he locks eyes with yours, tongue pushing against the roof of his mouth for another tsk―but you beat him to it, your finger coming up to press against his lips.

"s'cold," you giggle, a hint of teasing.

he narrows his gaze, about to retort when you both hear muffled shouts from inside the party, "ten... nine... eight..."

the group of friends down the street seem to be in on it too, echoes in unison, shouting, "seven... six... five... four..."

and from afar, right where the hotel is situated, are the numbers "three... two... one..." lit up on the sky.

you tug on bakugo's parka to draw his attention; the expression on your face is something he can't quite decipher―winter on your cheeks and your lower lip pulled between your teeth. the air around him tightens again, evidenced by the way you suck in a breath.

then, it happens all too fast―the way you tiptoe up just that little bit; your fingertips stamping chills down the edges of his scarred cheek. you kiss bakugo right as the new year strikes and the moment happens too quickly for him to notice.

"happy new year, katsuki," you whisper, close enough that it tickles his chin. it must have been a small peck, it must have been. he can only assume as he blinks it back to memory.

you've kissed before―three times to be exact, four counting this one. and he's not opposed to it (what kind of idiot would be?); in full truth, he fucking loves it.

but, affection is hard, and fuck, it's always been you initiating it―

"sorry, too much?" you mumble sheepishly, pressing your lips together, "just figured since it's the new year and all..."

―which is even more fucked by the fact that you feel the need to apologize for it.

he stares at you, bewildered out of his fucking mind that he still hasn't grown the damn balls to kiss you himself.

so, to hell with new year superstitions, he thinks; bakugo's never believed in playing to luck and chance in the first place. he'll kiss you right now because he wants to―

because it's what he's been wanting to do since the start of tonight, since yesterday, since a week ago; since you kissed him the very first time and all he could do was stand there, trying to act like the very feel of his lips pressed against yours didn't make his mind howitzer impact right in that moment.

―it just so happens that it's the new year, and it's about damn time he grows the balls to initiate it for once.

his hand reaches for your cheek before you can take a step back, fingers slotting themselves by your ear and resting against the edge of your jaw. your eyebrows shoot up, the look in your eyes something between confused and surprised. his thumb slides itself across your cheek before swiping down to touch the edge of your lips, feeling.

there's a dull warmth beneath the pads of his fingertips, heating up when he leans in. the air tightens; breath on hold as his nose bumps into your skin, and it's faint, the slightest touch of your lips against his. your eyes fall shut before his do, and he shivers, a slight tremble as he deepens the kiss.

he starts out slowly, uncertain, moving his lips tentatively. it's a push and pull―soft, quick pecks sandwiched between longer, drawn out touching. it almost feels like this moment's been suspended amidst all the noise, lips locked and gliding, lingering; he swears he can feel you grinning.

your fingers grip the fabric of his parka and tug, and he sees it as a signal to be rougher, taking your bottom lip between his and slightly biting. you squeak the tiniest bit, but it's enough to make him pull away completely, eyes wide as his thumb presses against your chin.

"fuck," he whispers, catching his breath as he tugs just enough that he can see the inside of your lower lip, "did i hurt you?"

he's squinting, brows furrowed while looking for any sign of blood when you shake your head, stopping him. his gaze shifts to take you in―your glossy lips, slick with spit; your eyes, completely blown but somehow still twinkling, and when you giggle, he almost finds it cruel you have to look so fucking pretty.

"it's just your canines," you smile, "i like them."

fuck, he really should've done this sooner.

a/n: this ended up way longer than i planned woops! haven't written bakugo in a while but i miss the guy!! and i wanted to write him so terribly flustered and bad at affection but being so frustrated because he wants to try!!! and he should be better than this!! anyway! i had this idea around christmas time but couldn't write it in time for the new year because i got sick. so it's a little late, but i hope you enjoy!

i'm not sure if you remember my dear willow @willossom, but you sent me a request a good while back for one of my events with the prompt: saying "i love you" in all the ways you aren't used to for bakugo, and this reminded me loads of it!! 🥺 though this isn't the written request for that one yet (i have something else planned for it), i just wanted to let you know that i thought of you while writing this!!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 she ignored my letter!

pairing: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, James writes you a love letter and hides it into your luggage carrying your clothes, not knowing he put it in a pocket you never open.

Warnings: angst, fluff, james pov, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever)

a/n: heyyy... i had sm fun writing this, can't wait to write the rest of this bc i literally LOVE anne with an e and this is inspired by it ofc!!!! anyways, im barely writing now..smh, its cause im reading manacled and its literally heart breaking... im also editing on ae and its so hard so im slowly learning😭 but i want to finish this mini series by next week!!

series masterlist ! - divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

James had liked you for a while now. He wasn’t quite sure when it started—maybe it was the way you laughed at his jokes, always the loudest in the room. Or perhaps it was when he’d catch you staring at him, your gaze lingering just a bit too long, thinking he was too distracted to notice.

With the Christmas holidays fast approaching, James knew he had to make a move. He had to let you know how he felt. If you didn’t feel the same, maybe the time apart over the holiday would make it less awkward. But he couldn’t let another term slip by in silence.

Knowing your love for all things old-fashioned, James decided there was no better way to confess his feelings than through a handwritten letter. It felt personal, genuine—something you’d appreciate. But writing it turned out to be harder than he imagined.

He’d written and discarded at least a dozen drafts, each one crumpled and tossed aside in frustration. Finally, after half an hour of agonizing over the perfect words, he settled on this version. It was short, straightforward, and sincere:

Dear, (Y/N)

I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot. I’ve tried a hundred times, and every single attempt has been worse than the last. So here’s the truth—I’m hopelessly in love with you.

You’ve probably guessed I’m not great at being subtle. But what I’ve never been able to say outright is how much you mean to me. The way you laugh, the way your nose scrunches when you’re concentrating—Merlin, you make it impossible to focus on anything else. I want you to know that you’ve made me braver, happier, better. If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay—I just needed to get this off my chest.

Yours, James

He sighed deeply, folding the letter carefully before slipping it into an envelope. Your name was written on the front in his slightly shaky handwriting. Taking a steadying breath, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his robes. He’d leave it somewhere you’d find it tomorrow, just before you both left for the holidays.

As he lay awake that night, James tried to figure out the best way to deliver the letter. Should he hand it to you directly? No, that was too nerve-wracking—he’d probably end up babbling like an idiot. Maybe he could slip it into your bag and avoid the risk of witnessing your reaction.

The morning was crisp, the kind of cold that painted your cheeks red and sent little clouds of breath swirling in the air. On the platform, the train sat waiting, puffing out plumes of steam that mingled with the frosty air. It was alive with the sound of students saying goodbye and dragging their luggage over the cobblestones.

James walked beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was doing his best to appear casual, though every step he took felt heavier with the weight of the letter in his robe.

“Let me take that for you,” he blurted suddenly, nodding toward your luggage.

You blinked, surprised by the offer, but your lips curved into a warm smile. “Oh, thanks, James. That’s really sweet of you.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but his ears turned a telltale shade of pink at your words. “What kind of bloke would I be if I didn’t help you out?” he mumbled, his voice tinged with nervous humor.

The two of you chatted as you strolled toward the train. You told him about your plans for the holidays—how you were excited to see your family, how your mum always made far too much food, and how you couldn’t wait to decorate the tree. James listened intently, nodding and laughing at all the right moments, even as his mind raced ahead to the task at hand.

Then, his opportunity came.

You turned away for a brief moment, waving at one of your friends across the platform. James acted quickly, pulling the envelope from his pocket and slipping it into the outermost compartment of your bag. His fingers brushed the fabric for only a second, but it felt like an eternity.

His heart was hammering so loudly he was certain it could be heard over the clamor of the platform. He straightened up just as you turned back to him, completely oblivious to what had just transpired.

“Thanks again for carrying that,” you said with a smile, your eyes meeting his.

James gave a small, lopsided grin and shifted your bag on his shoulder. “Anytime,” he replied, his voice steady despite the storm of nerves swirling inside him.

As the train’s whistle blew, signaling it was time to board, James knew there was no turning back now. All he could do was wait—and hope that when you found the letter, you’d read it and understand the words that had taken him so long to say.

It had been days since you’d left for the holidays, and James still hadn’t heard from you. Each passing day only worsened the sinking feeling in his chest.

Did you not feel the same? Did you hate him for ruining the friendship? Or worse, were you so disgusted by his confession that you couldn’t even bear to send him a letter saying so?

By Christmas morning, the knot of worry in James’s stomach had become unbearable. He’d stopped pacing and pretending not to care. He spent the early hours staring at the window, waiting for an owl that seemed as though it would never come.

But then, just as the first rays of sunlight streamed through his frosted window, he saw it—a familiar owl perched outside, clutching a small envelope in its talons. His heart leapt with a desperate flicker of hope. Maybe you’d only just found the letter. Maybe you’d taken your time because you wanted to write something perfect.

James hurried to open the window, shivering as the cold air rushed in. The owl extended its leg, allowing him to untie the letter. “Thanks, mate,” James murmured, absently offering the owl a treat before it flew off into the winter sky.

His fingers trembled as he opened the envelope, eager to see your handwriting. But his heart sank the moment he read the first line.

“Happy Christmas, James!”

No mention of his letter. No response to his confession. Just a short, cheerful note wishing him a wonderful holiday and apologizing for not writing sooner. You explained that things had been hectic at home and promised to catch up with him soon.

James felt his chest tighten, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The hope he’d been clinging to was slipping through his fingers.

You’d ignored his letter.

You’d chosen to act as though he’d never written it at all, as if he’d never poured his heart out on that piece of parchment.

James scoffed, his grip on the letter tightening. Fine, he thought bitterly. If you were going to pretend his confession didn’t exist, he could do the same.

He shoved the letter onto his desk, glaring at it as if it were the source of his frustration. Deep down, though, he knew the truth: he didn’t want to ignore you. He wanted to write back, to ask if you’d found the letter, to make sure you weren’t upset with him.

But pride was a stubborn thing, and James Potter wasn’t about to let his vulnerability show again—not now.

As the snow fell softly outside his window, James sat in silence, staring at the letter and wondering if he’d made a mistake by ever writing to you in the first place.

When it was time to return to Hogwarts, James made no effort to find you. Normally, he’d scan the platform, pretending it was a coincidence whenever his eyes landed on you. This time, he couldn’t bring himself to look.

He saw you anyway, just briefly—standing near your family, your face lit up with that familiar smile. His heart leaped in his chest, and his legs almost betrayed him, ready to stride over and say something, anything. But he stopped himself.

Instead, James turned sharply, mumbling a quick goodbye to his parents before heading onto the train. He didn’t want to see you—not now.

The walk through the train felt heavier than usual. He knew exactly where his friends would be—the same compartment they’d claimed since their first year—but it felt like an eternity to get there. When he finally slid open the door, the familiar faces of Sirius, Remus, and Peter greeted him.

“Oi, Prongs!” Sirius called cheerfully, but his grin faltered when James slumped onto the seat next to Peter with a loud huff.

James leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He could feel Sirius’s gaze on him, curious and probing.

“What’s got your wand in a knot?” Sirius asked, unable to resist.

“Don’t.” James’s voice was sharp, firm. It was rare for him to be in a foul mood, let alone snappish.

Sirius raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I won’t say a word.”

The tension in the compartment was palpable. The train rattled on, and the usual chatter of the four friends was noticeably absent. Sirius kept stealing glances at James, who sat brooding, arms crossed. Peter fidgeted nervously, while Remus flipped through a book, clearly uncomfortable with the silence.

Finally, about an hour into the ride, James broke.

“She ignored my letter.” His voice was low, bitter, but it shattered the quiet like a hex.

The others exchanged looks before Peter spoke hesitantly. “She really ignored it?”

“Yes, Peter,” James snapped, his tone sharp enough to make Peter flinch. Realizing what he’d done, James sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Peter mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“Maybe she didn’t see it,” Remus offered, his tone calm and rational. “What if it got lost in her luggage? Or someone else found it and hid it? Maybe you gave her another piece of parchment? There’s always a chance—”

“Moony, no.” James cut him off, his voice strained. “I double-checked. It was the right letter, in the right spot. And who doesn’t check their trunk full of clothes over the holiday?”

“Maybe she doesn’t,” Sirius said with a shrug, trying to lighten the mood. “You know, women can be unpredictable. Maybe she’s got a secret stash for random letters in her trunk.”

“No, she checks,” James said with certainty. “I’ve slipped plenty of things into her luggage before, and she’s always found them. She just doesn’t fancy me back.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, but he forced a small, bitter smile. “And it’s fine. I’ll get over it. I always do, right?”

The compartment fell silent again, the weight of James’s words sinking in.

Sirius leaned forward, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. “It’s not fine, James. If she didn’t fancy you back, that’s one thing. But ignoring you? That’s—”

“Don’t,” James interrupted quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Don’t make it worse, Padfoot.”

Sirius bit back a retort and leaned back in his seat, muttering under his breath.

The rest of the ride passed more comfortably, but the shadow of James’s disappointment lingered. His friends cracked jokes and told stories, trying to lift his spirits, but even when he laughed, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Deep down, James wondered if he’d ever stop wishing that you’d read his letter and felt the same way.

Hours later, everyone had gathered in the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling reflected the dusky evening sky, and the buzz of students catching up after the holiday filled the room. Normally, James would sit with Sirius to his left, you to his right, and Remus and Peter across from him. It was a familiar arrangement, one you’d fallen into without question.

But tonight, James broke the routine.

He subtly nudged Peter into the spot on his right before sitting down, leaving the space where you’d usually sit conspicuously empty.

You walked in a moment later, scanning the Gryffindor table until you spotted your usual group. But when you approached, your steps faltered. Peter sat where you always did, looking apologetic but saying nothing.

Your eyes darted to James, silently questioning him, but he avoided your gaze, his attention fixed stubbornly on his plate.

Confused, you looked to Remus for an explanation. Out of all the Marauders, he was the one you trusted most to give you a straight answer. But Remus only shrugged, his expression carefully neutral, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth hinted at discomfort.

You scoffed, your chest tightening. First, James ignored you all through the holiday, and now he didn’t even want to sit near you? Fine. If he wanted to sulk like a child, you weren’t going to beg for his attention.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked further down the table, sliding into a seat beside your other group of friends. You forced yourself to laugh at their jokes and join in their chatter, but your mind kept wandering back to James.

At the Gryffindor table, James’s eyes flicked toward you more often than he’d admit. Every time he saw you laughing with your friends, his stomach twisted.

“Why is she acting like I’m the one in the wrong?” James muttered under his breath, jabbing at a piece of roast potato with his fork.

“Maybe because you’re acting like a prat?” Sirius replied, his tone laced with amusement as he leaned closer.

James shot him a glare.

“Look, Prongs,” Sirius continued, dropping the teasing. “She doesn’t know what’s going on. You didn’t even give her a chance to explain, and now you’re sulking like a first-year who lost his chocolate frog cards.”

“Explain what? She ignored my letter, Padfoot. What’s there to explain?” James hissed, though his tone lacked its usual conviction.

Remus sighed, setting down his goblet. “Did it ever cross your mind that maybe she doesn’t even know what letter you’re talking about?”

James froze, his fork hovering mid-air.

“Just talk to her, mate,” Sirius said, giving James a nudge. “Or don’t. But if you keep this up, you’re only making it worse—for both of you.”

James huffed, slumping back in his seat. The truth was, he didn’t know if he had it in him to face you just yet.

From across the hall, you caught the way James’s shoulders sagged, and for a brief moment, you considered walking over. But pride held you in place. If James wanted to act like this, fine. Two could play that game.

You and James hadn’t spoken in what felt like weeks. The once effortless connection you shared had been replaced with an awkward silence that weighed heavily on you. It wasn’t just James—it felt like the whole group of Marauders had grown distant, their usual antics and inside jokes missing their spark when you were around.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d done something to upset him. But what? You racked your brain for answers, replaying every interaction from the past few months. James had always been one of your closest friends—why was he acting so strange?

Charms class was the hardest part of it all. You always sat beside James, sharing notes, exchanging whispers, and stifling laughs when Professor Flitwick wasn’t looking. Now, you sat in the same spot, the chair next to you glaringly empty.

You tried to focus on the professor’s instructions, but your thoughts were louder than his voice. Scribbling aimlessly in your notebook, you hardly noticed when someone approached your desk.

“Are you alright?”

Startled, you looked up to see a boy with a blue-and-bronze tie standing beside you. His face was vaguely familiar—you’d seen him around in class but had never spoken to him.

“Yeah—yes, I’m fine,” you stammered, blinking in confusion. Why was he talking to you?

He gave a polite, slightly amused smile. “Well, can you move your stuff? I’m sitting here now. We’re partners for the project.”

“Oh!” Heat rose to your cheeks as you hurriedly shoved your books to one side. “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize.”

“No worries,” he said, settling into the chair beside you. “I figured you weren’t paying attention—no offense. But I was, so I’ll explain what Professor Flitwick said.”

You managed a small smile, relieved by his casual tone. “Thanks. That’s… helpful.”

While he began outlining the project details, your focus wavered, glancing at James out of the corner of your eye. He was across the room, seated next to a loud and enthusiastic partner who seemed to be trying desperately to get his attention. But James wasn’t listening.

His gaze was fixed on you.

There was a flicker of something in his expression—jealousy, maybe? Regret? Whatever it was, it made your stomach twist.

You quickly turned your attention back to your new partner, nodding along to his explanation, even if you weren’t entirely listening. You felt James’s eyes on you the entire time, but you refused to look back.

Across the room, James’s jaw clenched. His partner waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his trance.

“Oi, Potter! Are you even listening?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure,” James muttered, though his eyes drifted back to you moments later.

He hated this—seeing someone else sitting beside you, making you smile when that used to be his seat, his job. But he didn’t know how to fix it. The letter. The silence. The way he’d avoided you. It all felt too big now, too messy to undo.

Still, James couldn’t stop watching you, his heart sinking further with every laugh you shared with your new partner.

enjoyed? check out my navigation

taglist!! @zowiiiisblog , @kxnnxy , @rainingleaves , @icollectrubberduckies , @elsie-bells

[capquinn]

thinking about pranking Quinn with that trend where your bf kisses you and you wipe it off after each one and how he would react

omg i've never heard of this trend but i'm obsessed. if there is one thing i love to write about, it's face smooching. it doesn't matter if it's quinn being the smoocher or smoochee — i'll write about it until my dying breath <3

It starts out innocently enough. Quinn comes home from practice, his cheeks still faintly pink from the cold outside, his hair slightly mussed like he’d been running his hands through it. He’s tired, but the corners of his mouth lift into that familiar, soft smile as he toes off his sneakers by the door.

You’re in the kitchen, absently wiping down the counters, a tea towel in one hand, when he crosses the room to greet you. Leaning in, he presses a quick kiss to your cheek — a small, sweet gesture that’s become second nature.

But as he steps away, heading toward the fridge, you casually swipe at your cheek, your movements quick and deliberate. You think it’s subtle, just a fleeting motion as you turn back to your task, but it’s not subtle enough. Out of the corner of his eye, Quinn catches it, and his steps falter mid-stride. The fridge door hangs open as he half-turns, confusion flickering across his face.

“What was that?” he asks, his voice slow, uncertain, like he’s not sure if he imagined it.

You don’t miss a beat, your expression calm as you wipe an imaginary smudge on the counter, acting like his question is the strangest thing you’ve ever heard. “What was what?”

Quinn’s brows knit together, his hand still on the fridge door. He studies you for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to catch you in a lie. “Did you just…” He motions vaguely toward his own cheek, the question hanging in the air.

But then he shrugs, brushing it off like it doesn’t bother him. “Never mind,” he mutters, but there’s the faintest flicker of doubt in his eyes as he grabs a water bottle and closes the fridge. He heads to the couch, his posture easy, but the way he glances back at you one last time tells you that he's trying to play it cool, but it’s clear the thought isn’t leaving his mind.

A few minutes pass and then Quinn reappears in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, his eyes tracking your every move as you fuss with the coffee and sugar canisters by the kettle. He’s trying to look casual, but the furrow of his brow and the subtle way his jaw ticks betray him.

“How was your morning?” he asks, his voice a shade too light, too measured.

“Good,” you reply, not missing a beat. “Ran some errands, got some work done. Why?”

He shrugs, but the way his eyes narrow slightly tells you he’s studying you, trying to piece together a puzzle only he seems to see.

“Just asking,” he says, though his tone carries the weight of unspoken questions.

After a beat, he pushes off the counter, his movements slow and deliberate as he closes the space between you. His expression softens, his smile easy but curious, like he’s decided to let it go — or at least pretend to.

“Okay,” he murmurs, the word carrying a quiet, unbothered edge, like he’s conceding to the mystery for now. But the way his eyes linger on yours says otherwise; he’s testing, searching for a hint of what’s really going on.

And then his lips find yours — warm, lingering, the kind of kiss that makes you forget the rest of the world for a moment. But it's more than just sweet; it’s purposeful, like he’s trying to gauge your reaction, to see if you’ll brush this one away too. So, when he pulls back, his eyes search yours, and you can’t resist. With practiced nonchalance, you lift your hand and swipe at your mouth, as if brushing away crumbs.

His reaction is immediate. His brows shoot up, his head tilting slightly as his arms fall to his sides. He stares at you, disbelief etched across his face, his lips parting slightly like he’s on the verge of speaking but can’t quite form the words.

Quinn squints at you, his lips pressing into a pouty frown that only makes it harder to keep a straight face. He studies you like he’s trying to solve an impossible riddle, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Wait,” he finally says, his voice tinged with both confusion and mild offence. “You’re not… wiping off my kisses, are you?”

You shrug, fighting back a grin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His mouth opens, then closes again as he squints harder, the corners of his lips twitching downward. “No, no. You’re definitely wiping them off.” He leans in slightly, his voice dropping. “Why?”

You shrug again, this time with an exaggerated air of indifference, your lips lifting with barely contained amusement. “I’m just… making sure my face stays clean.”

Quinn freezes for half a beat, his jaw slackening slightly as disbelief washes over his face.

“Clean?” he echoes, his voice pitching in offence. His brows knit together, and he leans back just enough to look at you fully, as if checking to see if you’re actually serious. “Are you — are you saying I'm dirty? I'm not sick, babe.”

You bite down on your lip, a valiant attempt to stifle your laughter as you shake your head. “I didn’t say that.”

But the glint in his eye changes. The confusion melts away, replaced by a slow, dangerous grin that stretches across his face.

“Oh, okay. Fine,” he says, his voice low and far too calm.

Before you can even process the shift, Quinn closes the space between you in a heartbeat. His hands cradle your face, firm yet careful, and he plants the loudest, sloppiest kiss on your cheek, complete with a dramatic mwah. The sound is absurd, echoing through the room, and you barely have time to gasp before he’s moving onto your other cheek, then your forehead, your nose, your jaw — every inch of your face he can get to, each kiss louder, wetter and more exaggerated than the last.

“Stop! Quinn!” you cry, your words broken by uncontrollable laughter as you squirm in his hold, trying in vain to escape the onslaught.

But he doesn’t let up. If anything, the mock-serious look on his face only intensifies.

“You started this,” he declares between kisses, his tone resolute. The corners of his mouth are twitching with amusement. “Now you’re getting all the kisses, and you’re not allowed to wipe a single one off.”

By the time he finally pulls back, you’re breathless and red-faced, your laughter mingling with his. His grin is triumphant, the very picture of smug satisfaction, but as his eyes meet yours, the teasing melts into something softer.

His hands slide down and settle on your waist, this time with a gentleness that makes your heart stutter. Leaning in, he presses one final kiss to your lips, slow and tender, a stark contrast to the chaos of moments before.

When he pulls back, his voice is low, tinged with warmth as he murmurs, “Still wanna wipe that one off?”

Your smile stretches wide, your cheeks still flushed from laughter. Shaking your head, you lean into him, your arms looping around his neck as you tilt your face closer. “Maybe one more… just to be sure?”

Quinn’s grin softens, his eyes glinting with something tender as he leans in again, brushing his lips against yours with a sweetness that leaves no room for teasing. It’s gentle, unhurried, and when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, the corners of his mouth tugging upward.

“You’re just looking for excuses now,” he whispers, his voice laced with affection.

“Can you blame me?” you tease back, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “You started it.”

His laughter is soft, barely more than a breath, and he presses one last kiss to your forehead before pulling you snug against his chest.

“Consider it settled,” he says, his words vibrating against your hair, but you can feel the smile still lingering on his lips.

[waterfallofroises]

Little Black Dress

Roommate Vi x Reader

Warnings: none? (Lmk if there are)

Vi was sprawled across the couch when you stepped out of your room, the soft rustle of the fabric of your dress catching her attention first. Her gaze shifted up, her eyes widening as you spun to face her, revealing the backless dress. The deep black fabric clung to your curves, and the way the dress cut away at the back left Vi momentarily speechless.

She took in the curve of your spine, the faint, delicate line of muscle tracing down your back, and the small scar just below your shoulder blade. It was a part of you she’d never noticed before—something so personal, so subtle, yet so striking. Then, her eyes lingered on a sliver of ink peeking out just above the waistline of your dress: the faint outline of a vine tattoo that seemed to wrap its way around your side.

You weren’t the type she’d ever expect to get a tattoo—at least, not one like that. It was bold, intricate, like a piece of art that told a story only you knew. She couldn’t quite place why, but the sight of it had her throat going dry. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe.

"Vi, should I wear my hair up or down?"

Your voice snapped her back to reality, though it was almost a second too late. She blinked, trying to refocus, but you were still standing there in that damn dress, completely unaware of the effect you were having on her. The question was innocent enough, yet it made her pulse quicken in her chest. You spun around, lifting your hair to show her both options—up versus down—while your bare skin glinted slightly in the low light.

"Vi?" you repeated when she didn’t immediately respond.

She glanced up, finally catching your gaze, and saw that tiny, teasing smile curling at the corner of your lips. She could feel her heart skip a beat as she stammered.

“Uh… yeah, yeah,” she muttered, her throat tight. She didn’t know how she managed to speak at all. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from your back, from the way your skin seemed to glow under the soft lighting. “Wear it up," she blurted out, the words escaping before she even had time to think. She swallowed hard. Her mouth felt so dry, she thought she might choke.

You nodded in agreement, a knowing smile on your lips as you turned to face her. "I was thinking the same thing," you said with a quiet laugh. Your smile was a small thing, but it made Vi’s chest tighten, like her breath was getting stuck somewhere between her ribs.

“Are you sure you’ll survive without me tonight?” You teased, a playful glint in your eyes. The joke didn’t quite reach her brain. Her thoughts were still racing at a million miles a second.

“Oh, I’ll be fine, Cupcake,” she replied, the nickname coming out a little breathless. Her voice cracked slightly, but you didn’t seem to notice, or maybe you were just being nice. She wasn’t sure which one was worse.

It felt like hours later when you finally reappeared, walking out of your bedroom again, dressed to the nines. Vi could feel her pulse quicken just from the soft click of your heels on the floor as you stepped into the hallway. You were wearing the same black dress, but now with the addition of lipstick—bold red against the soft curve of your lips. She was still on the couch, trying to act casual, but it felt like she was trapped in some kind of fever dream.

You caught her eye as you paused in front of the mirror, adjusting the shade of red on your lips. It was just enough to drive Vi wild—everything about you screamed confidence, sophistication, beauty. When you turned to her, her chest tightened in a way that felt almost painful.

"How do I look?" You asked, your voice light, teasing, as you did a slow 360 in front of her. The heels clicked again, sharp and rhythmic, and it felt like every step was somehow messing with Vi’s heartbeat.

It took everything in her to keep her hands to herself. Her mind was swirling, her body on the edge of doing something she couldn’t undo. She clenched her fists to keep from reaching out and touching you. The way your skin looked so soft—too soft—made her want to trace every inch of it. The way your dress clung to your curves made it feel like she was drowning in desire.

“You look amazing,” she managed to say, the words coming out as a strained smirk. She had to look away for a second, pretending to focus on anything but you. She tried to sound confident, but she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone. Not even herself.

You beamed at her, your smile widening. The way your eyes sparkled, the way you tilted your head ever so slightly, made her wonder if you even knew just how much you were affecting her.

“Thanks,” you said, voice softer now, as you walked past her, your scent lingering in the air like a reminder of everything she couldn’t have. "Now, let’s see if you can survive without me tonight."

Vi barely heard you over the pounding in her chest. If she wasn’t careful, she'd end up doing something incredibly stupid—like admitting that she couldn't survive a second without you.

[mariasont]

The Receptionist - S.R

a/n: i need this man on an astronomical level actually

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x receptionist!bimbo!reader

summary: spencer meets the new receptionist for chief cruz

warnings: fluff

wc: 0.8k

The click-clack of your polished nails on the keys mingled with the sharp pops of bubblegum as you focused on lining up Chief Cruz's appointments in the system. Taking a pause, you pulled out your notebook encased in pink frills from your drawer, and delicately turned its pages to reveal the week's agenda.

With the appointment freshly noted, you let your pen waltz around the margins, leaving behind a trail of doodles. With a subtle shift, you crossed your legs, the shiny pink heels tapping together, their color complementing the delicate fabric of your skirt.

You traced another heart around the date, and just then, a soft voice hesitantly broke the silence, "Excuse me?"

You looked up to find a pair of curious hazel eyes framed by brown curls that almost seemed to be begging to be touched, and his lips, which held a shy smile made your heart do a summersault. I mean, come on, what are these FBI guys made lab-grown or something?

He was draped in a form-fitting vets over a neatly pressed shirt, his sleeves were rolled up just so, in a way that paused your movements freeze and coaxed a heat to spread across your cheeks. Well, hello there.

He seemed briefly caught off-guard, his eyes flickering over your pink-themed workspace, a distinct departure from the former receptionist's subdued setup. He was almost overwhelmed by the sheer amount of things that now occupied the space.

With an enthusiastic bounce, you popped up from your seat, beaming brightly.

"Oh, hi there! How can I help you?" Gently straightening your skirt, you offered a hand, your name rolling off your tongue, "Are you here for Chief Cruz?"

The man's touch was soft against your palm, his attention caught by the soft clinking of your delicate bracelets, while your nails, painted a meticulous shade of pink that matched the color of your shirt, settled against the back of his hand.

"Spencer Reid," he introduced. "I have an appointment with Chief Cruz regarding a specialized training session for new recruits."

His gaze held yours a tad too long, cataloging the details of your appearance--the brightness of your eyes, the soft curve of your lips, the radiant glow of your skin.

A look of pleasant surprise crossed your face.

"You're the famous Dr. Reid! I've heard a lot about you," you remarked, a giggle accompanying your words as you eased back into your seat, giving a quick, knowing glance at your calendar. "Ah, here you are. I'll let Chief Cruz know you're here. He's currently in a meeting, but it shouldn't be too much longer."

As you pretended to focus on the screen, your mind raced. Dr. Reid--the genius with multiple PhDs, and now, the man who stood before you, unexpectedly  drop-dead handsome.

It was a challenge to maintain professionalism, especially when every fiber of your being yearned to do nothing but drink in his appearance. I mean, you were only human.

"Just Spencer is fine," he offered with an easy smile. "Where's Mrs. Henderson?"

You were beautiful to say the least, not at all what he was expecting to see when he walked in this morning, quite the difference from the former receptionist, whose age had been marked by the hard candies she offered.

"Oh, she retired last month!" you said with a bright smile. "So now, Chief Cruz is stuck with me!" Leaning in, chin cradled by your hands, you gaze at him incredulously. "Three PhDs, huh? That's, like, beyond Einstein-level smarts, isn't it?"

Spencer's cheeks tinged with a hint of color as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck.

"Well, not quite," he admitted with a modest shrug. He then glanced around the office before his eyes settled back on you. "How are you finding the job here so far?"

"Impressive, yet so modest," you commented. Standing up, you clicked print on the computer. "And it's great, I really love it here. I mean, it's not as thrilling as chasing down bad guys, I'm sure, but I think I'll stick to what I'm good at."

As you made your way to the printer, Spencer interjected. "No, I got it."

He returned with the papers, handing them to you with a gentle smile. 

"Thanks," you said, taking the papers. "So, you do that profiling thing right?" You tapped a finger against your lips, pretending to ponder. "Let's see... I'm guessing you're a Libra, aren't you? Probably born in early October, I'd say."

"What gave it away?"

You flashed a wink, the pop of your bubblegum punctuating the air. "I may have taken a sneak peek at your file."

With a light-hearted laugh, Spencer revealed a smile so grand it seemed to light up the entire space and you couldn't help but smile in response. You liked his smile, a lot. 

Spencer's response was cut short by the ring of the phone. You quickly answered as the great receptionist you are.

"Okie dokie, sir, I'll send him right back!" You listened for a second, then replied with a giggle. "No, thank you, sir!" You turned to Spencer, your smile wide, "He's ready for you!"

"Thanks," Spencer said with a nod, "It was great to meet you." He took a few steps towards Chief Cruz's office before pausing and turning back. "You know, maybe I should give you my number. For work purposes, in case you have questions or need help with anything."

You nodded eagerly, your smile reaching from ear to ear. "Absolutely, for work purposes."

[r0-boat]

Feral!Lighter brain rot

I'm very normal about his EP

Cw: Dubcon, consent non-con, rough sex, No beta we die like men

Thank you for coming to my TED talk...*explodes*

Even the undefeated champion can get overwhelmed whether it be from stress or simply becoming drunk off adrenaline from a fight.

All he wants to do is maul the next thing he sees, like a feral animal.

That's what pretty little things like you are for. He tells you over and over that he'd never hurt you in a soft voice that makes your heart swoon. But you know full well that he can.

He knows precisely what you want, You're not exactly the most subtle with your desires.

That thought had been driving you crazy. The What if Lighter: Your sweet, protective boyfriend wasn't so sweet with you? To see you as a toy to play with than someone that he cherishes more than anything else in the world.

Why not give you an experience to remember?

This is what you want. To have him come in just when you're about to go to bed. You're lying on the couch when your door knob clicks and turns. You know exactly who it is... There was only one other person you gave your spare key to.

It's not that you didn't want to see him. It's just that you weren't expecting him; usually, he would shoot you a maximum of three-word text when he came to crash or visit.

But this time, he practically barges in, slamming the door behind him. The look in his eye shivers down your spine as an imposing figure stocking closer toward you.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, especially when he left his jacket and shirt, dropped on the floor forgotten. He took his red scarf and wrapped it around his left hand.

"On. Your. Knees."

That wasn't a request.

You looked at him, eyes wide., Whatever was showing on your television was long forgotten. Your legs shook everything, urging you to drop to your knees and let him do whatever he wanted. But something within you stirred inside, whether it be curiosity or blind courage. It made your lips move.

"Make me."

Lighter's green eyes flicker at your blatant challenge. His eyebrows raise slightly. The silence is deafening as his lips curve into a smile. His left hand grips the red fabric as the other takes off his shades, tossing them.

He comes after you in a flash, His hand roughly grabbing at your color, yanking you until he hoists you over his shoulders. His fingers dig into your back as he brings you to your bedroom, tossing you on the bed with little care of where you end up before crawling on top of you, licking his lips. He could practically smell your arousal.

And he was just as aroused as you were. Scratch that He's more aroused than you are. He feels so bad for handling you similarly to how he handles riffraff. But he can't deny how hard his cock was pressing against his jeans.

He lets out a snarl His arms flexing as he tears his pants in two. Before doing the same to your shirt and pants.

"Hey! I just got those!" You yell, hitting his rock-hard chest. It's kind of cute how you think you can hurt him.

"too bad doll, should've listened to me the first time."

There was no ounce of gentleness to how the man handles you to flip over, grabbing your wrists, and tying you with the scarf.

Coating his fingers in his saliva before plunging it inside you. His hand and thick fingers force you open. His callused palm and rough scarred fingers groping your ass spreading you whiter as wide as he could to force his fingers deeper stretching you out for the hardness you can feel grinding against the crack of your ass.

Fuck... Your muffled screams sound so good. He wanted to be at least gentle when he fucks you, but It looked like his body had other plans. Taking you like this was so thrilling. His eyes rolled back as he lost himself in his own lust, ravaging your body till there was nothing left.

"Gonna fuck you... Going to fill you up and teach that naughty little mouth not to talk back!" Lighter growls in your ear taking out his fingers before plunge again in your mouth You're empty hole soon filled with something bigger screaming against his mouth and fingers as he immediately sets his pace.

You're tasting yourself on your tongue. The thought alone was setting Lighter a blaze.

Why do you make him like this? He could feel every ounce of self-control crack and crumble.

He was making so much noise from the bed rattling and his own moans your neighbors could probably hear but to be honest he doesn't give a fuck. All he cares about is fucking all the stress he has built up from god knows how long.

From how tightly you were gripping his poor cock, to your shaking, quivering body and you're sobbing, muffled mess with your tears soaking his thumb and palm, you were close. Lighter was, too. Lighter was so close. And all he wanted to do was fill you up fill your insides tell you were leaking.

You felt him sink his teeth into your shoulder before the both of you exploded at the same time. Lighter can feel you milking him as he came harder than he ever did in his life.

For the first time since he first started training, his body felt sore as he practically collapsed on top of you before quickly rolling off so he doesn't crush you.

When he finally catches his breath, He rolls over to your side, wrapping his arms around you and holding you to his chest, kissing your face.

"hey hey hey...shhh It's okay... It's okay we're done... I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

He'd never forgive himself if he did. But he got his answer when your arms wrapped back around him and he saw your beaming smile. He sighs in relief smiling back kissing your lips.

"I guess It's safe to say that you liked it.... Good... I did too."

[leclerc-hs]

don't wake the kids - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x nanny!reader (fem) summary: in which you got his daughter to finally fall asleep but risk waking her up not too long later warnings: 18+, slight smut, oral (f-receiving), bad french (please correct me i was tired while writing this lmao), not proofread!!!! word count: 1608 author’s note: i think i’ll write more for them bc i like the idea of single dad charles LMAO. this was fun xoxoxo

PART 2

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THERE WAS SOMETHING about Mr. Leclerc that always made you stare at him in admiration. Maybe it was the fact that he always excelled at everything he did. For instance, raising a daughter on his own couldn’t have been easy. Hell, merely spending a single night watching over his kid has you feeling thoroughly drained. So, when Charles came home to you sprawled along his couch with the TV on a low volume, he wasn’t surprised. In fact, the sight brought a grin to his lips. You were the absolute cutest thing he had ever seen. Aside from his own daughter of course.

You weren’t even aware of the impact you left on him and his daughter. There wasn’t a day where you weren’t mentioned by his daughter. She adored you, and he did too.

“Comment était-elle?” How was she?  His voice was deep as he dropped his keys on the table of the entry way table. “Fatiguée?” Tired?

You barely moved as he approached the room, too comfortable to even sit all the way up for him. His hands rest in the pockets of his dress pants as he leaned up against the arch of the living room, suit jacket slung over his shoulder, eyes never straying from yours. 

You felt yourself swallowing harshly at the sight of him. He’s so fucking hot. “Elle était un ange!” She was an angel! There was a soft glow of moonlight that seeped through the curtains, casting a gentle radiance on the room as you whispered those words. You were whispering, careful to not wake her in the next room over. But also, in attempt to hide the desire in your voice. It would be a complete lie if you said you didn’t find him attractive. If you didn’t think about him that way.

With a subtle exhalation, Charles gracefully moved away from the archway, making his way towards the couch. He lowered himself onto the couch beside you, his head finding a comfortable perch on the back cushions, a gentle smile gracing his features. His legs extended languidly, and the contours of his thigh muscles subtly asserted themselves through the delicate fabric of his dress pants.

Turning his head to look at you, “Would you mind staying in the spare room tonight?” 

His eyes, an enchanting shade of green, held you captive in a mesmerizing trance. Lost in their depths, his question became a distant echo, momentarily forgotten in the captivating allure of those verdant depths.

It wasn’t an abnormal question. At least, not anymore it wasn’t. You’ve been watching his daughter for months now and have occasionally crashed at his when it was too late at night. When you didn’t answer right away, lost in thought, Charles felt the need to wearily add an “I’m too tired to take you home.”

It’s not that you didn’t have your license, but you didn’t have a car. And because it meant more money, you always said yes. At least you always told yourself it was for the money. But it really was for all the times you got to see a shirtless Charles in the morning. His hair all disheveled, eyes full of sleep. The rasp in his voice. And also, the breakfast.

His hand swiftly dropped to your exposed thigh, the tennis skirt adorning your body doing little to cover you. He patted the area right above your knee softly for your attention, “Je suppose que tu n’as pas de vêtements; je vais te trouver quelque chose.” I assume you don’t have clothes; I’ll grab you something. The touch was so miniscule, so quick, that you could barely grasp the concept that it happened before he was already standing.

Although staying over wasn’t new, borrowing his clothes was.

You found yourself unable to speak as he stood from the couch and made his way to his room. The air was charged with a delicate tension. You were convinced it was the suit that had you stumbling for words, or maybe the fact you haven’t had sex in months and Charles is just that fucking hot, and in front of you, looking at you, touching you.

“J’espère que cela est assez bon.” I hope these are good enough. Bathed in the gentle luminescence of the room, Charles gazes down at you with an intensity the captures the essence of the moment. In his hands, he holds a neatly folded pile of clothes, extending them toward you with a certain grace. A faint, sleepy smile graces your lips as you accept them. 

With a languid elegance, you begin to rise from the comfort of the couch, only to find Charles extending his hand toward you. His fingers confidently entwine with yours, pulling you up. Although, it seems Charles underestimated his strength because you are sent flying to your feet, awkwardly tripping in the process. But before you can make a total fool of yourself, Charles is slipping an arm around your waist, holding you to his chest.

You can feel your cheeks redden in embarrassment, “Je suis tellement désole.” I’m so sorry.

You feel Charles laugh reverberate in his chest, making you more alert of just how close you two were. “Ne sois pas désolée.” Don’t be sorry.

In that suspended moment, time seemed to stretch, creating a timeless place where you and Charles were encapsulated. Locked in a shared gaze, the world outside this intimate bubble ceased to exist. Uncertainty lingered in the air, an unspoken question hovering between you two. Charles’ firm hold persisted, grounding the moment in the tangible warmth of his touch. 

As the stillness enveloped you, his eyes were fixated on your flushed cheeks, a canvas painted in hues of warmth. The intensity of his gaze conveyed an admiration that transcended words. To Charles, the sight of your blushing complexion was nothing short of captivating – an endearing revelation of vulnerability that only heightened your allure.

“Tellement jolie,” So pretty. The words were so soft. Barely audible if it wasn’t for your proximity. It was as if he didn’t even know he said them out loud.

You felt frozen while trying to decide if this was a dream or not. But when the pads of Charles thumbs made way to your face, tracing your bottom lip slowly, you knew you were fucked.

“Est-ce que je peux?” Can I?

You wanted to scream. Yes! You felt your stomach churning with need. But externally, you were calm. You needed to be quiet.

You made the move to nod your head when his lips collided with yours. It was slow and tentative at first. Like he was trying to test the waters. He pulled away for a moment, eyes staring into yours once again, as if he needed to make sure you were okay with this.

But as soon as he saw your lips draw into a smile, he knew he was fucked.

The second time your lips met it was feverish and messy. All tongue and no air. The clothes that he handed you previously, now lay on the floor in a messy pile, your hands sliding around his neck. You both go tumbling down onto the couch.

He groaned quietly into your mouth – a sound as if the taste of you was something he craved his whole life. His hands dropped from your jaw, closing around your neck, as you felt him push your further into the couch cushion with the weight of his body.

“J’ai besoin de toi,” I need you.  You managed to slip the words out, your fingers trailing through his hair on the back of his head.

Before you had the chance to press your lips back together, he was pulling away, leaving you breathless and a little confused until his hands dropped to the waistband of your skirt. His fingers shoving their way in and pulling them down, your underwear being yanked off in the process. His gaze met yours once more, filled with anticipation and eagerness.

“Tu as l’air tellement putain de bien comme ça.” You look so fucking good like this.

Like this. Spread out and beneath him. Completely bare and whimpering for him. 

You could hear him curse to himself as he draped your leg over his shoulder, seeing how wet you already were. 

The first drag of his tongue on you was enough to make your back arch instantly. He groaned, his nose brushing against your clit as he dipped his tongue inside of you. Every dip of his tongue sent you bucking your hips harder against him. And he loved it. 

With every stoke of his tongue, your fingers fisted his hair tighter. You began to buck your hips, so close to reaching your orgasm, but he denied. His hands were quick to push your hips down onto the couch. He wanted to hear you beg. 

“Charles,” you sighed softly.

“Hm?” You didn’t even have to look at him to know he was smirking. His tongue was placing slow licks to your clit, light enough to keep you right on the edge.

“S’il te plaît.” Please.

Charles was back sucking on your clit in less than a second, his hands sliding up to your covered breasts, squeezing them. He moaned into your pussy, the sound enough to send you spiraling over the edge. You gripped onto anything that was near and placed it over your face, trying to cover the moans that were escaping your lips.

Your body shook as you pressed the pillow into your face. He licked you as you came down and didn’t stop until you were practically shoving him off.

His lips were glossy and puffy, coated with you. A smirk on his face as he stood up and looked down at you completely flushed on his couch, half bare. You looked at the bulge of his cock, pressing against the seams of his dress pants, and then back up at his eyes.

“Bedroom?”

[tetzoro]

☽◯☾ - SWORD AND SHEATH

꒰ synopsis ꒱ : After another slew at sea, you and Zoro have the ship all to yourselves as the crew restocks up on the island. They say that curiosity kills the cat, but what happens when you've tamed the beast?

꒰ content ꒱ : MDNI. zoro roronoa x f!reader ; swordplay, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, mentions of spit, pet names (baby, pretty girl), mentions of squirting, lots of teasing and praise — WC : 5.2k

⭑ 𓂃 ꒰ First Quarter ! ꒱ ― Kinktober Masterlist

Each glide of the polish-infused cloth along the Wado Ichimonji is slow, refined. Zoro was using his practiced hand to do the process he’s done thousands of times with the blade he cherishes most.

It was a form of art — the way the blade would be reborn with the shine it was always meant to have, no longer weighed down by the blood, dirt, and sweat that would so often coat it.

The sun beats down on him as he continues his ritual. Sword maintenance was just as important as training; it was cathartic, another form of meditation that Zoro relied on to center himself, grow stronger, and keep his tools as efficient as he could. 

Wiping away the horrors each weapon has seen makes him feel a little more cleansed himself. Zoro has never been one to shy away from a fight or doing what he needs to do in order to survive, but the process just reminds him that he won the battle; he’s the one who gets to clean his blades and move onto his next enemy — the next step in his dream.

His wandering mind can’t help but drift back to you — his bright star in the night sky, the one that silently guides him along and encourages his every step on his journey, even going as far as lighting the way when the path seems too dark. 

After a few moments of being with you, he too feels the weight of the blood on his hands fade away as soon as you lovingly take them in yours. The tender skin of your palms kissing, the buzz of being grounded by each squeeze you grant him and he finds himself able to begin again.

Seagulls chirp overhead as he works, polishing his blades with intent, his focus unshakeable even though the world around him demands attention. The gentle lull of the waves, the whispering breeze in the air, he was able to tune it all out.

But the moment you came waltzing onto the deck, his ears perked up and his nose scrunched, signaling that he knew you were there and mentally preparing himself for whatever you had planned next. If only he knew.

“What do you want now?” The last word dies in his throat as he takes you in, freezing in place. You only see it because you know him so well, and have studied his face and all of his expressions far and wide. 

The subtle widening of his eye, barely a fraction of a difference but it’s a difference all the same. The stoic mask he so often wears, acting indifferent to things such as clothes, slips away as no one could ever ward off the power of beauty - especially yours.

The facade begins to chip away as a blush spreads across his face, gears turning in his brain to find something to say as you make your way over to him.

Because today, the Sunny was docked at an island for a routine supply run and you were all too quick to volunteer you and Zoro to stay back and watch the ship together. He should've known right then and there that you were up to no good but your syrupy sweet eagerness disarmed him. 

But now you were stalking closer to him, dressed up entirely in his clothes – or at least some of them. Adorned in his notable green robe, his haramaki, and completed with his bandana securely tied around your head. His gaze rakes over your figure, taking in the way you look wearing one of his favorite outfits. Swallowing hard, his adam's apple bobs in anticipation. He can’t help but feel his throat close up and trap all the words he wishes to say behind a wall of surprise.

“What do you think?” You ask, your lips bending in a coy manner. 

A blush blooms across his tanned skin in a slow crawl, blossoming into a darker shade the more you twirl in his robe that very clearly shows you’re not wearing his pants underneath it.

His jaw clenched, unable to form any words as he continues to drink you in. This was the last thing he expected from you today, but he really should’ve known better.

“You’re blushing.” You grin, going to poke his cheek. But his reflexes were too sharp, instantly swatting your hand away before turning his head away from you.

“Am not! Shut up!” He hisses out, the blush only deepening as you call him out. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, woman.”

“Don’t I?” You move to get back in his line of sight, that disarmingly sweet yet taunting smile still resting on your lips. “Just tell me what you think of the outfit, Zo.”

“You’re wearing my clothes.” He points out, stating the obvious. You don’t bother to hide the way you roll your eyes.

“Very astute of you. Did you have to use your Haki to come to that conclusion?” 

Without another word, Zoro throws you over his shoulder, marching back into the ship and straight for the bunks. You squeal, accusing him of being a brute as you lazily pound your fists against his back. 

Zoro slaps your ass with a sadistic grin that you don’t have the pleasure of seeing before he begins to squeeze and knead the plush flesh, unable to move his firm hand away from it.

He makes his way into the cramped room. It wasn’t his favorite place to take you but it was the closest and climbing up the crow's nest would only cause a delay between him and what he desired most.

After closing the heavy wooden door with the back of his boot, he tosses you onto the bed, letting you sprawl out for him while he places his swords to the side – perfectly lined up as always.

“Wearing my clothes around like this…” Zoro trails off as his eye zeroes in on the way the robe slides off of your shoulder, teasingly exposing the sliver of your chest. He can feel his face heat up all over again. “Are you really not wearing anything under this?”

“Well, the pants didn’t fit me and you don’t normally wear a shirt under this.” The impassive manner in which you said that did not hold a candle to the way your eyes were fired up with a diabolical mirth wrapped up with mischief. Always playing the little minx that would find a way to burrow under his skin and make a home there just to torture him. Or so he says.

“You little...” Zoro quickly crawls over you, caging you in under him, elbows digging into the mattress by your head. “You make it so hard for me sometimes.”

“Do I? Let me feel—” You reach toward his pants but his hand encircles your wrist.

“Oi! That’s not what I meant.” he almost hisses out. He took your wrists in his hands and pinned them over your head on the flattened pillow on his bunk.

The thread of control he was clinging onto was no match for the ember of desire you spark in him. One single strike and it would be burnt out, turning into ash and falling right into the palm of your hand. 

“I know.” You giggle. The damn giggle that never fails to cause something within him to flutter, stirring it around until he had no choice but to act on it. 

Surging forward, his lips aggressively capture yours. There’s no room for easing into it, just a clash of teeth knocking together, swirling with a mix of heady groans and needy moans.

But that’s one of his favorite things about kissing you — how you were just unabashed about how messy it would get. Swapping spit through the sheer force of each other's tongues shoving their way into hot, receptive mouths.

The amount of passion and unspoken feelings he’s able to express through this simple act is something he flourishes at, excelling at unraveling you. Gripping your cheeks, he tilts your head back slightly so he can deepen the kiss — as if he was trying to spill the words that stubbornly sat on the tip of his tongue and have it reach the bottom of your heart.

The call for air was growing too difficult to ignore and reluctantly he pulled back, letting the string of saliva snap and drip down your chins. He leans down, kissing the droplet off of your skin, ingesting as much as he possibly can before looking at you.

You look back at him through half-lidded eyes, melting into the bed already from the ferocity of the kiss. His steely eye trails away from your swollen, lust-bitten lips in favor of taking in the way you’re panting under him. Need takes over him as he reaches for your — his — clothes.

Zoro has disrobed himself many times, but he’s never had to take it off of someone else like this. He knows the way it unravels open and leaves his chest all exposed before he fights someone, but this isn’t one of those times.

With a gentleness that only love could bring, he languidly undoes the robe, pulling back a bit so he can see how the green fabric bunches around your sides, your heaving chest now out on display for him.

Peppering a few kisses down your jaw, his tongue trails your neck as he works his way down to your collarbone and your supple chest. Each delicious drag has you squirming under him, whining about him being a tease.

“You’re one to talk.” Zoro gruffs out with a bite of sarcasm, giving your nipple a quick pinch. He relishes in the yelp of his name that you beautifully let out before carefully trailing his slick tongue along your skin. 

The way you mewl as his lips enclose your pert bud only reinforces the primal desire that’s been raging inside of him since you first came out dressed in that damn robe.

After giving your other breast the same treatment, he presses his lips in the middle of your chest and lets it linger so he can inhale one of the sweetest parts of your body — the one that lays closest to your heart.

Zoro presses wet, open-mouthed kisses all along your stomach, moving further down until easily slipping your panties off and tossing them behind him.

Running his fingers along your glistening folds, he holds back a groan at the strings of arousal already clinging to him.

“Already so wet f’me.” His eye was trained at the apex between your thighs, his tongue poking out to lick his bottom lip. “Gonna prep you now.”

Bringing his face closer, he shuts his eye in a hazy bliss as he takes in your scent. The action always made you squirm but he was addicted to every single aspect of your cunt. He could never get enough of your musk, knowing that heaven was only a taste away.

Before you could complain about him taking his time, he dives in.

It wasn't often that Zoro was in a position to praise you relentlessly while his head was normally buried in your heat where you took everything so well for him. 

So, he’s learned to show you his adoration by the precise swirl of his tongue, making out with your clit and giving into every one of your demands. Groaning against your cunt as soon as he got his first taste, never quite getting his fill of it no matter how much he lapped at it.

“Zo – fuck.” The words rush out from your lungs and assimilate into the hazy tension that’s hanging in the sex-filled air. “Feels so good.”

His hands grip your thighs, throwing your legs over his shoulder before moving to grab your ass, digging into the plushness and bringing you impossibly closer as he continues his assault.

“Tastes s’fucking good.” He slurs, the sound presses directly against your clit. Zoro's attention flickered back up to you, dark and stormy eye swirling around with a primal hunger as if he couldn’t ever get enough. “My sweet girl.”

You let out a soft whine as you clutch his hair, guiding him even closer as his tongue slips into your entrance.

He keeps at it, pinching your thigh — a demanding little code he uses when he wants to hear you more. Your saccharine moans, addictingly lewd mewls, and honeyed murmurs of praise.

“Please don’t stop, ah, ‘m getting close!” There was no way Zoro would stop. Not even if he wanted to tease you, not when he was so lost in your taste that all he wanted to do was let you pull him under your current and drown in it.

He vigorously continues to lap at your entrance, attempting to collect every drop of your sweet essence. His nose nudges your clit and he can feel your thighs begin to tremble, locking his head in place. He moves to focus his attention there, the flat of Zoro’s tongue adds more pressure onto the throbbing bud.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your back raises from the mattress when Zoro collects your puffy clit in his mouth, sucking as hard as he can. You choke back a whimper, letting out a noise you’ve hardly ever released before as you claw at his head, humping his face for more.

“Zoro — fuck! Wait, it’s too much!" The words melt into an elongated moan, losing yourself to the drowsy delirium that zoro is spelling out against the bundle of nerves. He gives out a resounding grunt, gripping you tighter in encouragement. 

It’s all you need to let go.

Thank god no one else was on the ship because they might’ve heard the way you cried out his name in ultimate bliss as the taut band within you fully snapped. Zoro didn’t stop, lapping up the slick that gushed from your sweet pussy.

The bottom half of his face glistens in your arousal and he was absolutely drunk off of it as if it was a bottle of the finest sake in the world.

“Keep 'em spread open for me baby, ‘m not done yet,” Zoro said, sitting back on his haunches and taking in your already fucked out expression. “Need you to do that again.”

After sliding off his pants, he grips the base of his cock, giving it a few tentative pumps as his eyes trail back over your body, covered in a sheen of desire. 

If he didn’t crave to be inside of you so badly he would’ve come all over you, making you as messy as possible. His dick twitches at the thought, heat curling in his gut as he imagines you covered in the white of his essence.

“Zoro.” You gasp out, hands digging into the slightly sweaty sheets. The desperation and utter need that coats your husky voice almost does him in. But you’ve had too much control over him today, and he had to gain some of that back.

“Look at you.” Zoro's voice is low, dark and merciless. The deep desire that overtakes him and makes his words more gravely and coarse, sanding over your skin so gratifying it leaves your hips bucking up for more. The sight below him is surely one of his favorites and he plans on drawing it out for as long as he can. “All spread out for me in my bed, still in my clothes.”

Zoro leans forward, lightly tapping his cock against your sticky folds and nudging it through to your entrance, just resting it at your opening, not yet pushing in. His fingers dig deeper into your waist, keeping you in place before you can think about rolling your hips against him, trying to suck him in with all your might. 

“You’re so mean.” A pitiful pout rests on your pretty lips and he almost gives in. Almost. But he knows you so well by now, knows that you’re used to getting exactly what you want and it only makes him want to ruin you more. To put you in a place where all you want is him, all you crave is his touch. And you’re teetering right on the edge, only a simple nudge and you’ll be falling right into his trap. 

“Yeah?” One of his hands returns to his cock, reddened tip angrily staring at you as he starts to pump himself over your mound, spreading his precum all over his length as he preps himself for you. “That’s not going to get you what you want though.”

“Please, Zoro.” You barely breathe out, your need for him so great that it starts to turn painful, the dull ache spreading through your body like a wildfire, screaming out for relief as the flames of desire consume you. You’ve had a taste but you needed more.  The only thing that would satiate you was his cock sliding deep within you. “Please, I'm sorry. Please don’t tease me, come on.”

The whine in your voice has his dick twitching in his hand, ego fueling the blood coursing through his veins. Zoro wasn’t a power-hungry man, he never cared for it in the same way most people did. He liked being strong, he demanded respect, but never wanted to lead — to rule.

But that all changed whenever he’d have you sprawled out beneath him. feeling like the king of the world as one of the most desired women only has eyes for him, begging for his cock, yearning for his love. 

He’d give into you every time, his heart too weak to win against the love he had for you, but he tried to stave it off as much as he could.

“Only if you think you can handle it.” He smirks, tip catching against your clit, your body jolting forward. “See? You’re already so sensitive just from my mouth.”

“Dammit Zoro.” Another mewl that his cock leaps at. Frustration etches across your features, water pooling in your eyes as you continue to paw at him. It’s what he was waiting for — his pretty girl reduced to putty in his hand, ready to be played with. “Please.”

Something possesses him with the plea that pierces his heart — takes over the last cognitive brain cell he has as he lets out an exaggerated spit, the glob landing on his length.

Your breath hitches as he finally pushes himself all the way in, the stretch splitting you open to the point that no noise can come out, finally feeling full of what you’ve been waiting for all day. 

“You turned me into this — fuck — made me like this,.” Zoro swears, his arm wrapping around your back and pulling you flush against him as he feels the way your greedy cunt keeps him snugly in place.

“Are you really complaining about that?” Your voice almost slips into a whine as he pulls back out a little before bullying his way through you as your cunt accommodates his girth — eagerly welcoming him back in. 

“So tight, look at that.” He ignores your snark, opting to fixate on the way you’re swallowing him whole, slack-jawed and practically drooling over the sight. “Made for me.”

You clench at his words which rewards you with one of his sinful grunts, his head bowing slightly as you pulse around his throbbing length.

“Mhm,” You hum, digging your nails into his shoulders, little crescent moons blooming in its place. He lets out a hiss, snapping his hips all the way back in, nudging against your cervix. “Just fuck me already.”

“Always running your mouth off like a damn brat.” He glares down at you but there’s no bite to it — not with the amused crinkles that cradle his eyes with care.

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Famous last words.

But Zoro didn’t do what he usually did; flipping you over and fucking you deep in the mattress until the only thing your mouth can do is sing out his name like a mantra.

His eye held the secrets of unspoken words, a question that he refused to waste his breath on — not when he already knew how to decipher the language of his gaze.

You trust me?

As easy as breathing.

Breathy pants escape his lungs as he keeps a steady pace, looking at you. No matter how many times he’s had you under him, you never fail to weaken him.

“I think it’s time we complete your little ensemble here.” 

“Huh?” Zoro doesn’t answer you as he reaches for the Wado Ichimonji. You shift under him in anticipation.

“Relax, baby. I just want you to hold this for me.”

The heavy hilt lays in your mouth, muffling any of the moans that tried to escape it. Zoro's calloused hand runs along your cheek, down your jaw and chin as he appraises the view before him.

The look in his steely gaze was one you were familiar with but with an edge of possession — pride.

Countless times this treasured weapon has been wielded in his own mouth, fighting to protect himself, but more importantly, his crew. Seeing you laid out under him with a lust-blown look in your eye as tears brim your lashes is something else entirely.

“That's it. Keep holding onto it,” His gaze doesn’t leave yours as he slowly begins to thrust back into you. “Just like that.”

You let out a soft whine that sounded like a muffled version of his name. Compulsion drives him to quicken his pace, moving slow and steady until your body jiggles under the ferocity of each stroke.

“There you are. Keep it there for me and I'll take care of you, alright?” 

True to his word, Zoro keeps pounding into you, his other hand trailing down your body and grabbing every bit of you he can get his hand on before his fingers catch your neglected nub between them.

The way you effortlessly clean his dirty hands, having his sword fit in your mouth like this makes it feel like it’s being cleansed in the most pure form possible. Each rapid rock of his hips has your jaw clenching down against it further, all of your enticing noises are muffled by the intricately woven hilt.

“Fuck, perfect.” The praise spills out of his mouth and pools into your gut. “So fucking perfect.”

The hilt started to slip, threatening to clatter against the floor and finishing all the work he had done on it earlier. 

“Hold it.” He hisses, “Don’t let it fall.”

His hips urgently move faster, thrusting harder into you as you try your best to grip the sword in your mouth. But he knows how strenuous it can be on his teeth and jaw, so his hand slips up to cup yours. 

Once you steady the sword, his hand trails down the sheath but his eye never leaves yours. With a bated breath, he begins to slide the sheath off, watching as your eyes widen in curiosity but make no protest to stop him.

The blade was now out, facing him and gleaming under the rays of light that poured into the room from the tiny window. The sight had his hips stuttering — the element of risk now flirting with his innermost desires. 

You were perfectly safe in his arms, he was the one who should be worried. He knows how sharp those blades are, how a tiny graze could pierce his skin.

Yet the siren call of the silver glint beckons him as it sits so prettily in your mouth — a tantalizing sight. You may be the one under him but he was the one surrendering to your power.

Many more possibilities flashed in his mind, darker desires that had him pressing his chest flush against yours, the Wado Ichimonji only a few inches away from him.

But perhaps another time he could fully indulge in the temptations that swam around in his mind, wondering how far you two could go for each other.

For now, he missed kissing you, missed your lips on his, consuming the very air from his lungs and replacing it with your sweet noises that breathe him back to life. So he bends down further, expertly taking the hilt in his mouth and pulling it from yours.

He gives you a few deep thrusts before he rises up, ready to put the sword aside but your arm stops him.

The look in your eyes mirrors the same desire that licks at his gut, and he knows you two are on the same page — just like always. 

“You want me to keep it out?” Zoro can’t hide the tone of surprise in his voice as he lazily humps against your hips. You give him a shy nod. “Why?”

“It could be fun.” The way you’re looking at him right now is killing him, slowly shredding away all of his worries and pushing him into the pits of temptation. 

“It could be dangerous.”

“But isn’t that exciting?” Zoro swallows hard. It could very well be exciting, showcasing your trust for one another but…

“I don't want to hurt you.” He couldn't live with that, knowing that one of his blades had hurt you in a way you didn’t want. He'd rather slit his stomach open than do that. 

“You wouldn’t but I'll tell you if it does, I promise.” You reach up and caress his cheeks with a tenderness that has him choking for air. “Our safe word can be… sake.”

“Okay.” The unease that previously rested on his shoulders flows down his back and far away from him as he lets out a soft chuckle. “Sake it is, you ready baby?”

After a quick nod, Zoro brings the Wado back between your two joined bodies.

The cool metal kisses your skin as it trails along a precise path with absolutely zero intention to harm. But to have the infamous pirate hunter Zoro hover over you, a dark gaze latched onto the point of his katana to your skin that’s budding with gooseflesh sends a chill down your spine.

It takes everything in you not to arch at the thrill, the simple act could nick your skin and end this before it even begins.

“How's that?” Zoro's voice sounds a million miles away as your blood thrums loudly in your ear. The swordsman lets out a groan as you salaciously clench around him, his fist tightening around the hilt as he continues to glide the metal along your skin. 

“So good,” Your breath hitches as he continues to graze it over your collarbone. “Knew you wouldn’t hurt me, Zo.”

“Never.” He gruffs out, trying to keep his eye open although the fluttering of your walls tempts him to shut them in bliss. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out like this.

Trust could be hard to find in this new world, he was lucky to find a crew that he knew would always have his back throughout everything. but this? This was so much more than that.

To be able to have you in the most vulnerable position imaginable with a blade dancing along your skin, and enjoying it not because of the act itself, but because of the trust and respect the two of you have built for each other, growing into something he’d never dream of attaining. 

If he wasn’t careful, he could finish right now as pleasure shoots down his spine, desperately begging to fill you up. But the last thing he’d ever do was leave you ever wanting more. 

Gently putting the blade aside, he ravenously crashes back into you with a new spark of ardor — chest to chest, ferociously driving into your cunt before his lips meet yours once again.

He kissed you and tasted the familiar steel, but mixed with your sweetness that he’d never stop chasing as long any time he’d have to put this blade in his mouth.

“So fuckin’ good.” The words sink into your lips, unable to move away from you for too long. His hips erratically move now, no set rhythm as they chase the high you both desperately seek. Your nails claw into his back and force a guttural groan out of him, wanting nothing more than for you to mark up his whole body. “So fucking good for me.”

Zoro never minded pain, it came with the territory of who he is. But having you inflict it on him was the sweetest sin he’s ever known, his body bursting with pleasure as it threatens to come undone and feed into all of your desires.

“Zo-!” you gasp out, tears brimming with droplets of devotion that he can’t wait to lick up. “‘m close!”

The sweet sound of your cries only fuels him more.

“Go ahead baby, let go.” His gaze is trained on your expressions, soaking them up as it morphs into an unyielding force of pleasure.

As your back arches up into him, he’s quick to flatten his palm there, keeping you flush against him. He can feel every tremor and tremble, each of your nerves and neurons firing off and coursing through your veins.

A wave of ecstasy crashes over your body, freezing each of your limbs in place and threatens to drag you to oblivion. 

“Almost there, just a little longer.” Zoro pumps into you, your cunt clamping down on him to the point he almost has to pull out as you squirt all over his lower half and the already messed up sheets. “That’s it, fuck yes-“

Zoro begins to release in your cunt with a grunt of your name, letting you milk his cock as his body shudders in the eternal bliss you so readily provide him. He pulls out at the last rope of cum, letting it land on your mound before he nudged your clit with his softening cock, ensuring to make a mess all over your pussy.

“Zoro!” your body jolts, fingers gripping his bicep. “‘m sensitive.”

“Then come here baby.” Zoro pulls you into his strong arms, carefully eyeing the blade that was still unsheathed and still set aside. 

Zoro's calloused fingers catch your earlobe, gently massaging it as he inspects it.

“You know, you still need one more piece.” Zoro's gaze is intense as it sets on you. His hands trail down your body, lightly massaging it as he works his way down in a soothing manner.

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“When the others get back, we’re going into town so we can get you your own pair of earrings.” He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze. “Just like me.”

“Really?” The mind fogginess of the shared desire breaks away from the way beams of light emit when you smile at him.

He nods, brushing his lips alongside the temple of your head. Zoro presses his nose into your hair and inhales it.

“Quit sniffing me.” You let out an amused scoff.

“Nah, you just smell so damn good like this.” His lips move to kiss along your face, pressing into your neck before inhaling once again.

“You mean sweaty?”

“Drenched in sweat, arousal and me.” His voice is low in your ear and you crinkle your nose at the strange, but endearing compliment.

“Freak.” You tease, snuggling into him, feeling the way his muscles ripple around you in his strong, unrelenting hold.

“Takes one to know one.” He chuckles, feeling his body start to settle from the intensity of his high, melting into you and the mattress as a nap threatens to take hold. But he just had one more question. “So, if you’re dressed as me, does that mean you can drink sake as well as me?”

“Maybe we should find out.”

tags: @thesunxwentblack @autumnstuffs