#because I will follow through and that is a promise!

[ilium-ilia]

Chaînés

ballerina reader x gym-rat soap

It's hard for Johnny to focus at the gym when there's a ballerina spinning in a box just for him.

tags: johnny "came back wrong" mactavish, light stalking, non-consensual pictures/drawings, johnny is not mentally sound, references to johnny being shot, choke holds, abduction.

a/n: i keep having dreams about being back in ballet and being forced to dance so i this is my attempt of getting that dream to stop.

There is a new room in the gym. It stares through Johnny like baptism water in the church he attended when he was a child. It burns just as bad as the hellfire his pastor promised would befall him if he couldn’t tell the difference between good and evil. 

He’s watched its construction for the last handful of weeks. Incessant drilling and the cacophonous melody of power tools has made his evenings pumping iron less than pleasant, and his ears ache from how far he has to shove his earbuds into the canal to drown out the noise. The only reason he started coming here was because of his sleeping issues—how his body seems too high strung to relax when the moon rises—and it’s been disrupted by inconsiderate construction workers. Now, every bastard in a high-vis vest has vanished, leaving him alone with nothing but the bar clasped in his palms and the lingering sillage of sawdust. 

For a few more weeks, the room stands empty. It’s nothing special. Nothing that he believes should harbor more of his attention than has already been stolen. Floor to ceiling glass windows offer little privacy for the pinewood floors and dazzling mirrors that line the walls. It is an abandoned box. It haunts the gym with no heart to hold. 

When no one is looking, he wanders through the unlocked door. He is met with only the sound of his running shoes echoing off of the pristine floor and the never-ending image of himself pasted upon the walls. He sees himself from every angle. From the side, like a bystander. From above, like an omniscient god. It only gets worse when the automatic lights trip and flicker to life, buzzing like the dying breath of an animal caught in the constricting ribcage of fear. 

Johnny stares at himself as if he were a stranger. He scrutinizes the tattoo on his forearm and the stretch of his compression shorts over his thighs. Angry fingernails dig into the pink keloid by his temple. His skin buzzes at the bump. Hair follicles attempt to press through the scar tissue, but it follows the old fracturing of his skull. It dies in a star pattern that leaves him naked—a warrior without a weapon. 

As his feet cross the threshold back into the weight room, Johnny promises himself he will never traverse back into that box again. 

On Monday, the room is full. 

Women clad in elastic garments sprawl out on the floor on multicolored mats as they stretch. Their appearance stops Johnny in his tracks, leaving him to stare through the thin window that separates them apart. Yoga, he realizes. The awkward positions and instructor towards the front has his skin squirming within its own confines. There are too many eyes. They echo through the mirror—they all find him. 

Deciding to spend his evening on the other side of the gym, Johnny starts off with cardio. It’s the only way he can satiate the need to flee from wandering gazes without actually vanishing. It’s the only way he can drown out the solicitude that lurks too deep for him to reach in and claw it out. 

Peeved that he has to now change his whole routine, Johnny grumples through the night as he packs up his water bottle and slugs towards the exit. As his feet tread, he reminds himself to request the class schedule for the room from the front desk. He wants to avoid the eyes. The gazes. The pupils that pierce through him worse than a bullet. 

Johnny freezes when he sees something spinning. 

There, through the thin veil, you dance. Rhythmic and fluid. Like a babbling river. Like blood dribbling from a wound. Propped up en pointe, you pirouette with your arms above your head and your head snapping in spinning circles, eyes keeping contact with yourself through the mirror. He witnesses the way your chest expands with a huff—how you refuse to rest before attempting the move again. 

You see him in the mirror. Standing behind you, pack slung over his shoulder as if it were heavy enough to be a rifle. He sees you see him. 

Ignoring him as if he is nothing more than a trick of the light, you continue with your practice. 

Johnny can’t sleep at night. The image of you burns too deeply into his retinas, and he can’t shake you loose. You’re lodged in his psyche. Trapped deep in the tissue of his brain where you nettle—making space for yourself. A bed of brain matter. He envelopes you too readily. His body holds you home and it screeches whenever he attempts to yank you out like a weed from the earth. 

So you spin. 

And spin. 

The next time he goes to the gym, he brings his sketchbook. 

Really, he’s not sure why he lugs the thing around. The only thing it’s full of is pain—bleeding ink that soaks each page like blood on cement. That book harbors the residue of each gun he’s shot and the soil of every country his boots have kissed. It holds the memories of the places he can’t return to. The man he used to be before he was fractured beyond repair. 

Now, he uses it to record you. Committing your image with his pencil, he sits on the bench press closest to the window as you practice again while the night waxes away from the evening. He sketches the curve of your pointe shoes, the delicacy of your fingers as you hold your arms out on either side of your torso—you’re printed onto paper as you present an arabesque with trembling calves and quads. 

Throughout it all, you do not recognize him in the mirror behind you. You give him no hint that you are aware of his presence besides a quiet flickering of your eyes in the reflective surface before you continue to glissade across glistening floors.

It isn’t until the second week of this—of this new routine Johnny has found himself in—that he realizes he never sees you enter or exit the room. 

You’re always there, appearing out of thin air the moment the area is vacated by the yoga class or anyone else who wishes to lurk within those four, painful walls. He blinks, and you’re there, dancing through the windows like a collector’s doll stuck in the confines of her box for all of eternity. Never to be embraced. Never to be loved. Only made to be gawked at while chained down by your hands and wrists, unforgiving zip ties digging into your skin like a honed edge. 

It’s then that Johnny begins to question if he’s seeing things again. Factitious things. After he was discharged (bullet buzz, buzz, buzzing through his skull, cold cement on his cheek, blood, drip, drip, dripping from his teeth), it was troubling to differentiate between what was real, and what was fabricated. Thoughts bleeding into reality—a clear ichor that only morphs his vision, but doesn’t obscure it. 

At home, his fingers brush over his artwork. Tenderly, as if he’s pasted your very flesh onto each page. He tells himself that you have to be real. The proof of it is in his very hands—it’s tangible. This book that holds your likeness. It would be impossible for his disconnected mind to dream up something as lovely as you. There is no morphing here. No shadows twist to contort and confuse his mind. 

He’s sure of it—

—until he isn’t. 

Once more, his sweet ballerina has come to perform for him—to haunt him. You spin before him like a music box doll, steady and without a care for the eyes piercing through the window to look at you. There is not a single soul in the building besides you and him. (If you even have a soul at all). The barrier that separates the two of you seems thinner than ever as he puts pencil to paper and inscribes your likeness as if he fears his mind might forget if there is no physical reminder to follow him home.

He soaks up the view of your feet. The way the arch curves beneath your body weight. The way sweat beads along your collarbones and the line of your forehead. He wonders if the brine is as tasty as it looks. 

When you stop to catch your breath, your eyes find Johnny in the mirror. Sitting, hunched forward on the bench, scribbling down in his journal. His heart ceases to beat, and the tip of his pencil stills against his paper as he straightens himself up. He would open his mouth to speak if it weren’t for the insufferable barrier that separates the two of you—keeping you confined to your own little worlds. Instead, he smiles. 

You stare right through him. 

You do not smile back. 

Johnny is incensed when you continue your routine. You leap through the air without a care in the world, and you leave him sitting there to wonder if you ever even saw him at all. No, you did. When he reaches up and touches his chest, he feels his shirt. He feels the blood pulsing beneath his fingertips. His hand presses forward and it doesn’t punch through his sternum because he’s real. 

He’s real. 

But are you real? Or are you some creature sent to torment him within the confines of his own mind? 

Slamming his journal shut, Johnny tosses it into his bag with a huff. Hot air passes from his nostrils like a bull ready to charge, and he struts up to the glass, so close that his nose nearly presses against it. Fog builds on the surface as his palm lies flat against it. It’s frigid to the touch. Standing, separating. The barrier that traps you is real and algid beneath his fingers. 

But are you real?

Metal bites into his skin as he twists the knob on the door to the room. He promised himself that he would never step foot in there again—where the eyes are plenty and his scar screams louder than he can—but he tells himself he has to know. It clicks quietly shut behind him only to be drowned out by the sound of your pointe shoes tapping against the pine at your feet. It echoes like a hushed prayer. It rattles his eardrum. Tangible. Real. 

But are you real?

Feverish skin bleeds through his hand when he grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks. Wild eyes look to him, and for the first time he’s able to see what they’re like without the barrier of a reflection to get in the way. Sweet lips part and he sees the way your teeth shine beneath the fluorescent lights that hang over your heads. 

“Excuse me?” 

Bitter. Sharp. Your question pierces through his eardrum and he smiles. Your voice. An alluring melody. His grip only grows more firm as you attempt to wrench yourself free from his grasp. 

Real. 

Your screams are just as corporeal as the rest of you. It reverberates off the walls of Johnny’s skull, and it forces his face to contort at the throb in his brain. Oh, how it aches. How it always aches. He muffles you with the palm of his hand flat against your lips and he presses until he feels your tongue. Rigid nails dig into his flesh as his forearm wraps around your throat and squeezes. He feels the sting of broken skin—real—and the pressure of dull teeth against his fingers—real—and hot tears along the back of his hand—real. 

It isn’t long before your body grows heavy. Johnny lays you on the floor like Ophelia in a river; Odette in the lake; Aurora in her bed. Limp limbs lie helplessly as he stares down at you and rakes trembling fingers over every inch of your body. Every curve he has committed to memory for the last few weeks is now here before him—tangible. 

“Real,” he says outloud. A tender thumb brushes against your split bottom lip. “You’re real. And I’m real. I made you real.” 

Johnny sleeps better now that he’s started going to the gym. Muscles melt just as they should the very moment his head hits his pillow, and his slumber calls to him without issue. Of course, it helps that he has his sweet ballerina to keep him company. Head propped up next to his, tear stains on your cheeks, and eyes squeezed tight as you rest soundly in his bed.

He reaches out and cups your cheek in the palm of his hand. Your skin twitches beneath him, but you do not stir. Grinning in the darkness of his bedroom, Johnny hums, content with his life. Content with knowing that you truly are real. 

After all, the proof of it is in his very hands. 

[cruel-as-sin]

you like to say that you're right | logan howlett

↳ summary: you’re bored when you and logan are about to be on the way home. so, you decide to have a little fun… but the consequences might be worse than you imagined

word count: 4.2k

song: #icanteven | the neighbourhood

pairings: old man!logan x fem!reader

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), smut, porn light plot, unprotected p in v (practice safe sex everyone!), established relationship, fingering, mean!logan, bratty reader, orgasm denial, rough sex, a little bondage, spanking (a couple times), predator/prey dynamics if you squint (listen….), possessive!logan, lots of marks and bruises, reader has a serious degradation kink, hair pulling, reader flirts with someone else to piss off logan (plays into their established dynamic), hints of misogyny (not from logan), aftercare, no use of y/n, pet names for reader - baby, sweetheart, whore, brat; consent is key here y’all (lmk if i missed anything!)

↳ a/n: okay so this wasn't supposed to be what i wrote next but i remembered a dream i had like a month ago at this point that started JUST like this does and i couldn't not deliver... so have some insight into the way my feral subconscious mind works lmao

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Logan knows how much you love to push his buttons. But even for you, this is a new level of crazy.

His grip on the steering wheel leaves his knuckles white as he watches you go. Across the parking lot, through the building of some random store. He’s pretty sure he can see some bullshit comic on display in the window.

When he catches you, you are in for it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Five minutes.

That's how long you have before Logan follows you into the shop and rains down hell upon you.

Your heart has been pounding nonstop since you leaned over to him from the passenger seat of the limo, your eyes flickering past him to the couple on the curb. The girl was trying- and failing- to flirt with him, and even from that distance it was clear he was uninterested.

“You know,” You began. “That girl really can’t take a hint. It’s a little embarrassing.”

His eyes flickered over to you for a moment, narrowing at your tone of voice. “What are you doin’?”

“Nothing.” You said innocently. “I’m just saying, someone ought to go over there and show her how it’s done.”

“She’ll figure it out eventually.” He said dismissively, not buying into whatever scheme you’re trying to plan.

You hummed, leaning in a little further. “Guess it shouldn’t be me though, huh? Since apparently I can’t fucking get any other guys but you.”

Your words were an echo of his own a few days prior, one of the things he’d said when he was balls deep in you. You’d loved it, of course you did. You got off on him being mean to you, because you knew he never meant a word of it. And he told you as much at the end of every night, soft words and gentle kisses lulling you to sleep, wrapped in the safety of his strong arms and sworn promises.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t use this to have a little fun.

So that’s exactly what you’d planned. His gaze had landed on you again, eyes narrowing further, his tone shifting to more of a warning. “Watch it.”

You’d only gone to this plaza to pick up some medicine for Charles- done. But you didn’t need to be back across the border for a while. So it wouldn’t hurt to, say, go into the bookstore across the street and have a look around.

“I bet I can pull any guy in there.” You said, pointing at the bookstore that rests across the parking lot outside your window.

“Is that so?” He was taking the bait- he couldn’t help it. He always did.

“Mhm. Give me five minutes, and I’ll have one of those poor boys wrapped around my finger.” You giggled. Giggled, as if your boyfriend wasn’t glaring daggers through you.

It was his turn to lean in, whispering in your ear. “If you go in there, sweetheart, I’m gonna make sure you can’t stand for the next week. You got that?”

His threat sent a pang of heat to your core. Sure, maybe this was stupid, because even if you did pull a guy, that would only piss him off more, but that’s why you liked it.

You gave him a coy smile before leaning over to open your door. “Five minutes.” Come and get me.

From the moment you got out of the car, you knew you'd fucked up- because he let you. You could feel his stare burning into you as you closed the door behind you, your heart beating so loud you were certain he'd be able to hear it the entire way through the parking lot.

Your steps were quick, hurried- not panicked, but there was a sense of urgency to your movements. The whole time you were walking through the parking lot, you wondered if this was a mistake, if you should just turn back now, fall to your knees and beg for his forgiveness before this went too far.

But it's too late now. You've already slipped through the door of the small establishment, sealing your fate with the ding of the bell and a click behind you.

The woman behind the counter looks up at you with a polite smile. "Welcome in! Is there anything I can help you find today?"

You return the smile with a slight shake of your head. "No, thank you. I'm just browsing."

She nods. "Let me know if you need any assistance."

You glance around the room, finding what you were looking for- a set of wooden steps, leading down to a basement. You head down slowly, finding the room below filled with comic books, action figures, and all sorts of trinkets.

Truthfully, you'd like to stay and look. But you're not here for that.

Pretty quickly, you spot a guy eyeing up the comic book section, as if he's searching for something in particular. You try the classic trick of wandering around the room appearing confused, wondering if he'll take the bait.

And, of course, he does. For a moment you almost feel bad that you're about to lead him on (and maybe bring down the wrath of your surely very angry boyfriend), but then he opens his mouth and all your regrets fly right out the window.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" He says as he sidles up next to you. "Oh, you must be looking for a gift for someone, right?"

Yeah. Right. You internally roll your eyes, turning to face him with a wide smile.

"Actually, I was kind of hoping to start reading some comics myself." You admit, pretending to sound a little ashamed about it. "But I don't really know where to start." Your eyes light up, and before he can get out some sort of misogynistic remark, you continue. "You look like you know a lot about this stuff! Do you think you could help me?" You bite your lip in a nervous sort of way and bat your eyelashes at him.

Although he hides it, you can see him short-circuit for a moment, probably not used to so much attention from a pretty girl. I wonder why. But he comes back to his senses. "Of course I can. I'd be happy to help." He begins heading toward a set of shelves, and you follow him. "So many women get lost in this sort of stuff these days. They have no idea where to start, and just end up getting confused. I wouldn't want that to happen to you."

If Logan wasn't t-3 minutes away from storming down the stairwell, you'd punch this guy in the face.

Instead you smile at him like he's the smartest guy in the world. "Yeah, me neither. I was really worried I wouldn't be able to figure out what I wanted." You say with a giggle. "I mean, there's so many of them." You add, gesturing to the long shelves filled with comic books.

Honestly, you don’t even remember what the guy says next, or what you say back. You’re too busy thinking about Logan- he’s the real reason why you’re here, after all.

You know Logan is on his way. He has to be. And knowing that means knowing your punishment is imminent.

It's exhilarating, it's terrifying- but in a good way, in the best way. The hunt, the chase, the lying in wait for him to catch you- it’s one of the most incredible feelings in the world. And you know he loves it too.

The guy off-handedly and quite awkwardly mentions how he goes to a local store nearby for fan meetups, and you enthusiastically tell him you’d love to go with him someday. Blech.

Ding.

Even from down here, you pick up on it. You don't need anything else to know that it's him.

You swallow nervously, trying to keep your heart from jumping out of your throat. This was absolutely a mistake, the kind that was going to leave you begging for mercy the moment you two got home.

...but in for a penny, in for a pound, right?

He's already at the top of the stairwell when you reach out and put your hand on the other man's arm, laughing at whatever joke he'd just made- you hadn't even heard him over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

Logan is down the stairs in seconds, a hand wrapping around your arm in an iron grip as he pulls you away from the guy. The guy takes a step back- it doesn’t take a genius to see the fury in Logan’s eyes as he leans down to mutter to you. "Come on. We're leaving."

You pout up at him, tugging lightly against his grip. “But I wanna stay and look at the comic books, baby.” An idea comes to mind, and you can’t suppress your grin. “Plus, I think some of them might have you in them!”

The guy is long gone now, and Logan is not amused by your attempt at a joke, his voice dropping to a tone you know even at your worst moments not to mess with. "Unless you want me to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here like the brat you are, move. Now."

Yeah. Okay. You nod, squeaking out an “Mhm!” before he starts pulling you away.

As he drags you up the stairwell, you regain some of your composure and lean towards his ear to whisper. "Relax, baby. We wouldn't want to make a scene."

You're playing with fire and you know it- but he relents, his grip on your arm loosening, his hand instead reaching down to lace with your own, a hold that's just firm enough to remind you of who's in charge here. "Walk." He mutters under his breath, his voice a low, rough tone that sends a chill down your spine.

And so you do, waving a cheerful goodbye at the woman behind the counter and trying to pretend like you're not beading with sweat and dripping with arousal. Logan keeps his hand tightly laced with yours as you walk into the parking lot, opening the car door and giving you a gentle push into the passenger seat before slamming the door on you.

You get a single moment of peace before he comes around to the drivers side, getting in and starting up the car. You put on your seatbelt, knowing you've pushed your luck too far now to disobey him any further.

You open your mouth to speak, to try to diffuse the situation, but the look in his eyes as he drives silences you.

He shakes his head, muttering under his breath. "Had to go and piss me off, didn't you sweetheart?"

"It's not like I actually wanted him." You lean back in your seat, unable to foresee the consequences of your words until it's too late. "He was a misogynistic asshole. I should've punched him in the face." You grumble the last part under your breath, more for yourself than for Logan- but of course, he hears it anyway.

Slowly, he turns, his eyes landing on you.

"But you didn't, did you?"

You swallow, unable to get past the dryness in your throat and attempt to poorly defend yourself before he keeps going.

"No. You made him feel like he was somethin' special, actin' like you'd ever be with anyone but me." He shakes his head again, a chuckle escaping him. "Seems like I need to teach you a lesson."

Before you know it, you're home, the glowing light of sunset coming through the windows. Your pleas die on your lips as he comes to your side of the car, opening the door and dragging you outside and up the sidewalk.

"You know I didn't mean it, Lo-" You whine.

"Stop fuckin' talking." He grabs your jaw, holding it in place, squeezing your cheeks in a little too tightly- but you like it. "Just 'cause you didn't mean it doesn't mean you don't get in trouble, baby. That's not how it works."

Wordlessly, you nod. As best you can, anyway, given his death grip on your chin.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Get inside." He releases you with a rough shove, and you fumble for your keys when you get to the door, some part of your subconscious trying to delay the inevitable- no, trying to draw it out, because you love this feeling.

He follows you in, and he doesn't even have to tell you to head to the bedroom- he just gives a pointed nod towards the hallway, and you obey.

He corners you immediately, his large frame boxing you in against the wall. "You've been a bad, bad girl, sweetheart." One of his hands grips your waist.

"I didn't mean it-" You protest, but your words quickly turn to a sharp whine as he grabs a fistful of your hair, tilting your head back.

"What did I say?" His tone drops lower, a raspy sound that makes heat pool in your gut.

Instead of continuing to argue, you just nod, another gasp escaping you when he tightens his grip and pulls a little harder.

He leans in, his breath fanning across your neck, his teeth scraping your pulse point in the teasing way he knows to be your weakness. His mouth comes up beside your ear, a soft murmur that's by far the gentlest thing you're going to hear until he's done with you. "You remember your safe word, baby?"

You nod, whispering it back to him in confirmation.

"Atta girl." He says approvingly, pulling away and returning his mouth to your throat. His grip on your hair keeps your head back, exposing your neck perfectly to him. He nips and sucks at the skin, leaving marks that won't go away for days- claiming you.

He pulls back for a moment to admire his handiwork. You lean in to kiss him, but a tug at your hair pulls you back, stopping you. "You think you deserve that?”

A frown comes to rest on your face, but you shake your head.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He loosens his grip just a little. “You don’t get my fuckin’ mouth unless I’m puttin’ these on you, you understand?” He leans back in, pausing to murmur against your throat, “Lettin’ everybody know who you belong to.”

You nod in agreement- not like you have much of a choice- and he seems satisfied, nipping at your neck again. When he’s finished- Jesus Christ, you won’t be able to go out for days- he steps away, shrugging his blazer off of his shoulders and draping it atop the dresser.

His eyes are on you, a menacing stare that had you swallowing nervously before he’s even opened his mouth. “Strip.”

You don't hesitate to do as he says. You don't take your time, you don't give him a show- not tonight. You're smart enough not to fuck around now. Your clothes come off quickly- your shirt pulled over your head and tossed to the side, your bra unclasped and landing near the door, your pants and underwear pulled down in one swift motion and left pooled at your feet.

Logan wastes no time, wrapping his arms around your waste and picking you up with ease. He lays you down on the bed, mouth trailing down your body at a tantalizingly slow pace, leaving hickeys at every turn- you don’t even want to think about what you’ll look like tomorrow morning.

Finally, he reaches your thighs, and you inhale sharply as he leaves marks there too. Those always sting the most. Usually, he’d soothe the pain by moving his tongue to your clit, but his mouth strays nowhere near it today.

Instead he leans back, one of his hands trailing down your chest, the other holding you in place. His fingers move down past your clit, immediately heading to the wetness glistening between your folds. He swipes a finger through it, humming approvingly before he slowly works a finger inside you.

No matter how many times he’s filled you up this way, you’re always in awe of how even just one of his fingers can go so deep, please you so well. Your head is thrown back in bliss, and it isn’t long before a second one of his fingers joins the first.

He crooks his fingers up inside you, grinning when he hits that spongy spot that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. "There we go, that's the spot." You want to thank him, to verbally affirm his claims- but the moans leaving your lips will hopefully be enough to assure him that yes, that is the spot, and oh god please don’t stop.

It’s good, but not enough- and he knows it. He doesn’t touch your clit, doesn’t give you that final push over the edge. Instead he pulls his fingers out, placing them in your mouth. He doesn’t even want to taste you tonight. Obediently, you suck them clean, and he hums in satisfaction as he steps away, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

"Hands and knees, sweetheart." You do as you're told, a shudder going through you at the sound of his belt unbuckling. He roughly grabs your wrists, pinning them behind your back and securing them together with his belt. Moments later, you feel the tip of his cock press against your dripping folds.

You whine, instinctively trying to push back against him. One of his hands goes to your hair, grabbing it and holding you in place, while the other brings down a harsh smack against your ass. "Stay fuckin' put."

Another whine leaves your lips, but you bite your lip and stay still even as he smacks your ass again. "Say it." He growls, not taking your silence as an answer.

You nod furiously. “I’ll be good.” You say through shaky breaths.

“Good.” His hands move down to grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh so tightly you're sure you'll be covered in bruises the next morning.

He pushes into you slowly, stretching you out in a way that burns just how you like it. He gives you a moment to adjust- only a moment- before he pulls all the way out and slams back into you.

The pace he sets is nothing short of brutal, and he’s pretty quickly reduced you to a shaking mess. Still, as always, it’s not enough. You need more, you need him, you need-

"Lo-" You gasp, barely able to get out his name.

"Hm?" He seems entirely unbothered, his tone barely changed, as if he’s not currently fucking you senseless.

"I need-”

"What's that, baby?" He hums, thrusting harder. "Speak up, I can't hear you."

You can only respond with a broken moan, your words dying on your lips.

"Guess you must not want it that bad then." You can hear that cocky fucking smirk on his face, can practically see it when you close your eyes.

"Need to cum." You whine, your words slurred and almost incomprehensible.

"Oh, you think I'm gonna let you cum, sweetheart?" He scoffs, the condescension in his tone going straight to the pulse in your core. "After the shit you pulled, you think you earned that?"

“Please-” You beg. “Please, Lo, please, I’m sorry, please let me cum, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, just let me cum, please, I didn’t mean it, you know I didn’t mean it-” You’ve lost track of what you’re even saying at this point, desperately racking your brain for anything you could say to convince him to let you cum, to move his fingers down to your clit and rub it in those sweet little circles that will have you coming undone in moments. “Lo, baby- Logan, please, I need to cum, please-” Your words die down into nothing but desperation, a few words barely able to be made out amongst the rest of your nonsense.

Surely, he must let you cum now. You’ve (metaphorically) groveled for him, that’s always worked before.

But his hands stay right where they are.

It's a little embarrassing, but you never could cum without pressure on your clit. Logan is the only man you've ever met who hasn't judged you for it, hasn't let it be a blow to his self-esteem- though you're sure in the back of his mind he's made it a personal challenge to do it anyway. Today, it seems he's taking up that challenge- or he's just really, really fucking pissed off. It’s something of a weakness. On occasion, he’s used it against you, but never like this.

It's a lose-lose. Either you cum from his dick alone, and his ego shoots through the roof because you proved him right- or you don't get to cum at all, and he's satisfied that you've learned your lesson.

He's got you backed into a corner, right where he wants you. The corner, in this instance, being the bedsheets your face is now being squished into, your shaky knees threatening to give out as he continues to pound into you relentlessly, one of his hands still grabbing your hips as his other keeps your head firmly against the pillow.

It’s too much but also not enough, overwhelming you beyond comprehension yet you somehow still want more.

And Jesus fucking Christ, you think you might actually cum.

You try to tell him, to warn him, in case he truly doesn’t want to let you, but you can’t form words, let alone sentences. Instead all that comes out are increasingly high-pitched whines and gasps as your knees buckle and he hits spots so deep inside of you, you think you might pass out.

Finally, you manage his name again. “Logan-” You want to tell him, but instead you just keep going, his name falling from your lips like a mantra, a prayer. “Loganloganloganloganlogan-”

“You gonna cum for me, huh?” His thrusts become harsher, somehow impossibly deeper, reducing your prayers to nothing but babbled moans again. You don’t answer him- you can’t, how could you, with the way he’s hammering his cock into you right now?

“Words, baby.” He says sternly, but you both know you’re too far gone. Instead you just nod, pressing your face into the pillow in an attempt to muffle your cries. He grabs your hair, pulling your head up. “Go on. Wanna hear you cum for me. Cum all over my fuckin’ cock, you know you want to. Let everyone know who you fuckin’ belong to, who owns this pussy.”

You don’t think about the consequences this might have for his ego, or the way you’re not going to be able to walk for days, or the fact that maybe your neighbors might actually hear when you scream his name.

“God, you’re such a whore.” He mocks. “Pathetic.”

You aren’t even ashamed when his dirty words are the thing to push you over the edge.

You just let go.

His name rings in your ears as you scream, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train, hard and fast. You can barely hear his grunts through the cloud of ecstasy you’re floating on, “There we go. Knew you could do it, knew you had it in you- fuck, sweetheart-” He growls, and moments later you feel him twitching inside of you as his own bliss hits, causing your orgasm to just keep fucking going.

Eventually, when both of you are done shaking, Logan pulls out of you. He flips you onto your back, his once mean grip now gentle as he wraps his body around yours as you try to breathe. Soft kisses pepper your forehead, your face, your lips, your neck- anywhere and everywhere he can reach, his beard tickling your skin. His hold is firm, grounding, and he murmurs in your ear. "You did so good, sweetheart. Always so good for me." You whine when his hand brushes against one of the hickeys on your thigh. "Shit, sorry." He pulls back, littering your face with more apologies. "Was it too much?"

You're quick to shake your head. "No." A small smile forms on your face. "But I might not be able to walk anytime soon."

He grins back at you. "Told ya."

You nuzzle your face against his chest, breathing him in. He smells like smoke- he always does, but that smell has become comforting to you. The two of you stay like that for a while before he begins to pull away.

"C'mere. Let's get you cleaned up." He grunts, standing up and taking you with him. He sets you down in the bathtub, turning on the water.

"I'm gonna get some water and food for you. What do you want?" The mention of dinner has your stomach growling- but the thought of him leaving upsets you. Not now, not yet. You reach out a hand, grabbing him by the wrist. He looks down at you, quirking an eyebrow. “You want me to stay?"

You can only nod, and he kneels down beside the bathtub. “Alright. I’ll stay.” Your grip on his wrist loosens, and he brings your hand up to his lips to press a soft kiss against your skin. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

True to his word, he stayed by your side for the rest of the night. Bathing you, drying you, carrying you to the bedroom to get dressed, setting you down outside the bathtub while he showered, then back to the bedroom to put his own clothes on. He ordered dinner, even keeping you with him when he grabbed it from the porch. He didn’t leave you alone, not once, and before you knew it you were drifting off to sleep, still nestled in his arms.

tags: @flowersforbucky @thinkinonsense @gewrgia-black @wlwloverwrites @logansbaby @buckybarneswife125 @sweetverine @dilfverines @wchswift @namikyento @lokirogersgirl @nymphoniah @logansdoe @robo-writing @themareverine @atleastpleasetelephone @r0ttedcherubim @logaenhowlett @th3mrskory @pidgeypidge-pidge

(this is the taglist for my logan howlett one-shots. if anyone would like to be added to or removed from this taglist, please let me know!)

[artdcnaldson]

patrick somehow seducing a sports journalist whos supposed to be interviewing him and as a result he just gets a fluff piece

It’s all very this pic to me….

You’re the journalist who’s hired to interview Patrick following his unprecedented success at the US open. It’s his first major and he’s in his thirties, ranked in the top 300, and relatively unknown. He makes it to the semifinals, only to be knocked out in a tiebreak set with Art Donaldson (who goes on to win the tournament, his very last slam). It’s interesting and timely, considering the events of New Rochelle and all of that history between Patrick and the best American player in recent history.

And it is a serious interview, for the most part. Sometimes his answers skew on the side of being a little douchey, but they seem earnest enough. He’s proud of Art even though he swears the line judges fucked him over, he’s confident that he’ll qualify for the Australian open in the new year with his new coach (who he refuses to reveal). His gaze flickers between your tits and your face when you’re asking him questions, and when you find yourself losing yourself in his handsome features as he talks, his lips twitch into an arrogant smirk as he asks if he needs to repeat himself.

It’s annoying how badly you want to fuck him.

And by the time you’ve wrapped, when you’re gathering your equipment and cameras and recorders, you stop caring about hiding your attraction to him. When he sidles up close behind you, his aftershave and cologne overwhelming your senses and smiles a cocky, annoyingly sexy smile and asks if you “want to continue this conversation over drinks?”

And you do. Very much so. So much that you don’t care as much as you should when you have to pay the tab. His hand is on your thigh by drink number two, fingertips dimpling plush flesh as he runs his thumb just beneath the hem of your skirt.

“You’re soft,” he murmurs against your ear, and his breath is so warm it should be strange that he gives you goosebumps.

Under the cover of shadows, he lets his hand slip further beneath your skirt. He tells you, off the record, about going to boarding school with Art Donaldson, and promises he’d have turned out a huge fucking loser without his guidance. His phone buzzes with multiple notifications from Tinder, which he does his best to ignore.

“Sure you don’t want to take that?” You ask as his phone buzzes again. “You could get lucky.”

He locks his phone and traces his thumb along your inner thigh. A thrill runs through you as his fingertips ghost against the front of your panties, teasing you with the barest hint of attention. “I will.”

And you could have offered a quick, “I never do this,” when you let him pull you into his hotel room later that night, but you don’t want to take the time to remove your lips from his. Patrick kisses with an overwhelming sort of hunger— like he’s starved and you’re the only thing he has an appetite for. His hands play beneath your skirt, tracing the seam of your cunt through your panties, teasing over the bud of your clit. You gasp into his mouth and he grins. You lick the back of his teeth with your tongue, and he tastes like temptation.

He handles you like a pro— tossing you down onto the springy mattress and tugging your legs apart with big, strong hands. He wastes no time tearing off the sodden panties you wear— plain, boring, navy cotton, because you were not supposed to end up here after a stupid throwaway interview. He tucks them into his pocket. You pretend not to notice.

Your chest heaves with the shaky breaths you take as you just… wait. Completely at his mercy as he spreads your cunt open with his fingers and watches the way your hole twitches, begging to be filled. He smirks from his position between your thighs and presses a slow, wet kiss to your clit. You can’t hold back the shaky moan that slips past your lips, which only seems to encourage him.

Patrick doesn’t stick to that long. You figure he doesn’t stick to anything for very long, except his floundering tennis career. Slow, teasing laps become hungry, desperate strokes with the broad flat of his tongue, tracing the shape of you from your hole to your oversensitive clit. It’s wet and messy— a sticky mix of saliva and of your own arousal that he spits back onto you. He stretches you open on his thick calloused fingers, sucks your clit between his lips and makes white spots blur your vision.

He’s so good that it kills you. You think it might kill you as he fucks you on his fingers to an orgasm, and keeps going until the hotel duvet is damp with spit and your juices and your thighs shake uncontrollably. Just the barest brush of his thumb over your clit makes you whine and squirm. It’s rare to fuck around with someone who can manage to make you cum, let alone make you cum that hard.

“Don’t tap out on me.” You stare at the veins in his hands, watch them ripple beneath his skin as he pops the button of his jeans, peeling them down like he’s unwrapping a present. You’re sure he thinks of it that way. You’re sure you’ll think of it that way before long.

He flips you onto your stomach, presses between your shoulders until your back is arched invitingly, so you’re presented to him just as he wants. He slides in slow, so you can adjust to the stretch of him, so he can watch the way your cunt swallows inch after inch, stretching obscenely to accommodate him.

You just have to lay there and take it as he drills into you— panting into the ugly floral duvet, eyes rolling back as he hits those perfect spots inside of you again and again and again. He offers mindless praise, groaned out as he reaches down to squeeze one of your tits with the hand that isn’t rubbing your clit. That’s it, squeezing me so tight, just take it like that.

He fucks you like he’s laying claim to your pussy, to your body— ruining you from then on out. And it’s not like is confidence is unfounded. Not with the way you’re dripping down your thighs, so wet that the sound of his cock tunneling in and out of your cunt is obscene. The headboard bounces off the wall, punctuating each brutal thrust.

It’s all quick and desperate. It isn’t long before you’re cumming around him, and he doesn’t last much longer after that. He pins you with his body weight, cock pulsing as he spills inside of you, his groans muffled against your throat.

And then it’s over. He rolls off of you and slaps your ass for good measure. A wordless, “alright, we had fun, you can get out now.” So you get dressed in your little pencil skirt and blazer that you’d worn to the interview, sans underwear, because Patrick was a gross little thief.

“Write something sweet about me, yeah?” He says before you walk out to your car.

And god fucking damn it. You do.

[hauntedfawnn]

۶♡ৎ Pucker Up Pup ۶♡ৎ (Switch!Rafe x Girlie!Dealer!Reader)

♡ྀི You’re Rafe’s dealer and against your better judgment because you have a soft spot for him, you’ve given him several “I owe you’s”. It’s time for him to pay up and he still doesn’t have your money. But you’ve got something else in mind…♡ྀི

Switch!Rafe, Switch!Reader, Season 2 Rafe, shoe worship (reader receiving), begging, use of cocaine, pussy eating, praise/degradation, spit kink, choking(with a belt), unprotected sex, overstimulation, 18+MDNI!!

“Listen, I - I’m really fuckin’ sorry.” Rafe exhales deeply through his nose and runs his hands through his dirty blonde bangs as he practically paces a hole into your living room rug. “I promise I’ll make it up to you, I’ll get your money. I just - I need some time.”

“Time?” You huff out a laugh. “Rafe, I’ve given you several ‘I owe you’s’ in the last few months and you haven’t paid me once. I’ve been patient, babe. It’s time to pay up.”

“I know - fuck- I know that.” Rafe takes in a shaky breath before pacing toward you. He stops a foot away from where you’re sitting on the couch and looks down at you with those desperate puppy dog eyes that got you in this position in the first place. He’s just so hot and so pathetic. You don’t make exceptions for anyone, but you have a soft spot for him. “Just this last time, yeah? I just - I need a few lines to get me through until I can get your money, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Your promises are starting to become meaningless to me, Rafe. How do I know you’re going to follow through this time?” You cross your legs causing your little white dress to pool at your thighs. You tap your long pink acrylics against your leg as you smirk up at him. “I think you’re going to have to find a way to prove to me you really mean it.”

“I’ll do anything.” Rafe looks down at you nervously as he bites the side of his thumbnail. His bright blue eyes are bloodshot and his pupils are almost black. You can tell he truly is desperate and that’s what makes you cave every time. He just seems so sad and helpless, like nobody else in his life cuts him any slack. It’s not like he’s putting you out anyways, you just like to see him squirm.

“Anything?” You chuckle and lick your bottom lip as your Mary Jane clad foot swings back and forth in front of you.

“Yes, anything fuckin’ you want. Just please.” Rafe looks down at you pleadingly with his plump lips set into a pout and god you want to make him beg and cry for your pussy.

“Alright then.” You send him a devious smile and hold your foot out toward him. “Get on your knees and kiss my shoes then.”

“What?” Rafe’s eyes look like they’re going to pop out of his head and his jaw drops so low you’re surprised it didn’t just fall off onto the floor. “Are you for real?”

“Yeah, I’m dead serious.” You twirl your outstretched foot in his direction as you look at him tauntingly. “Crawl over here on your knees and kiss my feet, Rafe.”

Rafe can’t believe you’re asking him to do that. What’s even worse is he fucking wants to. He meant it when he said he’d do anything you asked because yeah he comes here for the drugs, but what he truly comes here for was you. There’s just something about how he knows you’ve definitely shot people but you walk around with bows in your hair and little ruffle socks on your feet that makes him a special brand of crazy. You’re so sweet and you look so fragile and gentle but he knows there’s a demon inside you that he’s been dying to play with.

“Earth to Rafe.” You wave your hands in front of you and it snaps him from his trance, his eyes flashing to meet yours. “It’s a limited time offer, clocks ticking.”

“Okay. I’ll do it.” Rafe’s eyes roam your body and he audibly gulps. You’re wearing this tiny little white lace dress, ruffle socks, and Mary Jane’s. You have blue ribbons in your hair and a look on your face that could bring the devil the shame.

“Yeah?” You chuckle and send him a sweet, triumphant smile that holds an undertone of condescension and it makes his cock start to harden in his jeans. “Alright then, be a good boy and crawl.”

You slide your ass to the edge of the couch and tap the tip of your shoe on the ground before holding your foot out toward him again. Rafe runs his hands through his hair and takes in a deep breath through his nose. He drops down into one knee, then the other.

“Just so you know, I ain’t no fuckin’ bitch. I’m only doin’ this for you.” Rafe puffs his chest and it makes you giggle.

“Mhm, tough guy, let’s see how much of that manly pride you’ve got left when I’m done with you. Come.” You snap your fingers and point toward the ground in front of you. Rafe chews the inside of his lip before huffing and crawling forward to you on his hands and knees. It’s a sight to behold. This over six foot man crawling toward you like a desperate little slut with his ocean blue, puppy dog eyes. He stops in front of you and he’s still taller than you on his knees.

“I’m going to have so much fun with you.” You giggle and run your foot up his thigh, to his abdomen and up his chest. You lay it on his shoulder and caress his cheek with the tip of your shoe. “Pucker up, pup.”

“Fuck.” Rafe never thought he would ever get turned on by being called that, but he’s so fucking hard now it almost hurts. Your pretty eyes stare up at him expectantly as you bite your glossy bottom lip. The smooth leather of your shoe is cool against his skin and it sends a shiver down his spine. You ghost the very tip of your shoe across his lips and Rafe’s eyes flash to your foot. You tilt your foot sideways again, caressing his cheek and Rafe’s lips follow. He places a gentle kiss on the side of your shoe and it makes your pussy throb.

“You’re so pretty, ya know that?” Rafe’s large hand comes up to caress your thigh down to the ankle as he gives you those wet pathetic eyes. He laces his hand around your ankle and uses it to pull your foot to his lips. He runs them along the leather of your shoe before placing another peck right on the tip of it. Then another. And another.

“Mmm, that’s a good boy, Rafey.” Your voice is saccharine despite the fact that the look on your face is anything but. Rafe can’t hold in the low whine that escapes his throat at your words. “Oh? You like that? You like being a good boy for me?”

“Shut up.” Rafe groans and throws his head back and you lace your foot around the back of his neck so you can pull his body toward yours. You grip onto his silky hair and yank it, trapping him in place.

“Let’s get one thing straight, I’m in charge right now, pretty boy.” You squeeze your calf around the front of his throat, choking him slightly. You giggle and lean in, ghosting your lips against the shell of his ear. “So drop the attitude, mkay?”

“Yeah - yeah, okay.” Rafe shakes his head as best as he can while in your grasp. He could physically break free if he really wanted to. But mentally he feels like he’s at your mercy. He’s never thought he’d enjoy a girl bossing him around in bed but everything you’re doing is making his dick feel like it’s going to explode. You lean back and place a teasing, sticky, lipgloss kiss on his lips before pulling away. Rafe tries to chase your lips but you unhook your leg from around his neck and press your foot into his chest.

“Now, kiss em’ and maybe I’ll let you do a line off me.” You bite your lip as Rafe takes your foot in his large ringed hand and brings it up to his lips. He kisses the side of your shoe down to the back and makes his way to the tip again. He sticks his tongue out and licks from the tip of your shoe all the way to the back. “Oh, that’s so fucking hot.”

“Yeah? You like that?” Rafe mumbles against the leather of your shoe before dropping your foot and picking up your other ankle. He brings your shoe to his lips before giving it the same treatment, kissing it and letting out little flicks of his tongue. You throw your free foot over his shoulder and spread your legs, flashing him your tiny baby blue thong that has a sticky, wet spot in the middle. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

“You’re just so hot, all desperate and at my mercy.” You bring your perfectly manicured hand to your lace covered pussy and run your finger along your wet slit. You gather some of your wetness before bringing your fingers to Rafe’s lips. “Wanna taste?”

Rafe takes your fingers between his lips and groans at the taste of you. He swirls his tongue around your digits, savoring you.

“I think you’ve earned your reward, don’t you?” You giggle at the way Rafe nods dumbly in your direction. You pull your fingers from his mouth and reluctantly untangle yourself from him. You lay back on the couch, push your dress up over your hips and unscrew the locket around your neck. Rafe watches with curiously eager eyes as you push your panties down so they’re almost all the way off your ass. You hold the locket right above your pussy and tap your finger against the side causing white powder to sprinkle out in a line across your silky skin.

Rafe leans down between your legs so he can run his nose across your pussy and inhale the coke you so graciously laid there. It had to be the best line of his life. He got hit with a wave of your scent. Candy-like perfume, a hint of weed, and your dripping, wet pussy. Rafe loops his arm around your thigh so he can rub his nostril before he runs his nose along your smooth skin, inhaling your addictive scent.

“You gonna let me taste this pussy, baby?” Rafe peers up at you while he continues to rub his nose along your skin, the tip traveling dangerously close to your throbbing clit. “You smell s’fuckin good.”

“Yeah?” Your chest heaves as you let out a shaky laugh, you love taking control but what you love even more than that is being controlled. And you know if you put your pleasure in his hands, you’ll be putty in them. Rafe lets an experimental flick of his tongue out along your clothed slit and the way your eyes roll back is answer enough for him.

Rafe flattens his tongue and runs it along the lace of the thong covering your dripping pussy. He groans at the taste and swirls his tongue along the material, savoring you.

“Knew you’d be so fuckin’ sweet.” Rafe slides his finger into the front of your panties so he can push them to the side. The cold air hitting your wet heat causes goosebumps to break out onto your skin. That combined with the blue fire that’s practically burning in Rafe’s eyes as he takes in the way your puffy cunt glistens in the low light for him. “N’ she’s so pretty too. I wanna hear you scream.”

Rafe chuckles before leaning down so he can run his tongue through your folds. He moans at your taste as he starts to worship your pussy with his tongue. He shoves it as deep as it can go inside you and flicks it against your walls before pulling back to circle your desperate clit. He swirls the tip of his tongue around it and sucks it between his lips.

“Oh, fuck, Rafe that’s so good.” You whine as you wiggle beneath him and Rafe’s hand comes up to pin your hip to the mattress while he devours you. Two fingers from his free hand circle your entrance before he plunges them inside you. He pumps them in and out of you and caresses your sweet spot with the tips of his fingers and it has your toes curling. “Oh my god, yes!”

“Mmm.” Rafe moans against your pussy as you writhe and let out the sweetest sounds beneath him. He can feel your walls clenching around his fingers and his hand on your hip has to push down harder to keep you from wiggling away from him. “You gonna come for me? Come all over my face, baby, give it to me.” Rafe sucks your clit harder than ever as his fingers pick up pace inside you and it has your orgasm wracking over you.

“Fuck - fuck, I’m coming! I’m coming!” Your whole body is taken over by pleasure and your limbs shake as you thrust your hips against Rafe’s pretty face. He doesn’t stop until you’re pushing his head away. When he pulls away from you with that lop sided smirk, your juices covering his chin and lips, it has your pussy throbbing for him again already. “God, I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah? Look who's begging now…” Rafe chuckles and slides up your body, his arms caging you in on either side of your head. He rolls his hips against yours and it makes your eyes roll back while a breathy moan escapes you. “You want this dick, baby?”

“Don’t be a tease, Rafe.” You whine and throw your head back and Rafe laughs condescendingly in return.

“I’m a tease?” Rafe grips onto your chin, pulling your face so you’re forced to look him in the eyes. “You prance around here in these little outfits, giving me those fuckin’ eyes.” Rafe smirks down at you devilishly as he shakes your head from side to side. “You practically invented the word tease, Princess. Don’t get it fuckin’ twisted. Just because you had me on my knees doesn’t mean shit, I can still reduce you to nothing more than a babbling slut if I wanted.” Rafe’s free hand grips onto your thigh and throws it around his hip. He leans up on his knees and thrusts his Jean clad cock against your bare pussy as he presses your head into the couch by your jaw. “You want my cock? Beg for it.”

“Come on, Rafe.” You whine as you meet the rolls of his hips with your own. “Don’t be like that, just fuck me, please?”

“Oh, no, no. I’m in charge right now.” He throws your earlier words back at you. “And I know you can do better than that, baby doll.” Rafe reaches down to undo his belt and you can’t help but stare. He pulls it from the loops and then takes it in his hands and snaps it together. It makes both you and your pussy jump. He leans down and presses the belt under your head so he can loop it around your neck and pull it tight. “Now, beg.”

“Please? Please fuck me? I know you’d fill me up so good.” You whine. “Please use me?”

“Now, that’s more like it, good girl.” Those two little words send a fiery hot jolt to your core. Mere minutes ago this man was on his knees for you and now he’s got you bound and begging. He tugs the belt on your neck causing you to let out a little strangled moan. His free hand makes quick work of his jeans, undoing them and pushing them down his hips far enough to free his thick cock. “Gonna fuckin’ destroy this pussy, baby.”

Rafe taps his tip against your sensitive clit, the bead of precum that gathered there mixing in with your own juices. He slides himself through your slick lips before pushing just the tip in and pulling it out again. He teases you with the tip, pushing in just a little more each time. And just when you’re about to start begging again he slams into you balls deep in one thrust.

“Oh, you’re so fuckin’ tight. Shit.” Rafe groans as he fucks into you at a brutal pace. There’s no build up, no time to think, he’s just ramming his cock into you so deep you can feel it in your guts. He’s hitting spots you didn’t even know existed as he grips your thigh and presses it up to your chest. His other hand still holds the belt around your neck and the look in his blue eyes is nearly crazed.

“Oh my fucking god, you’re so fucking deep!” You cry out as your hands grip onto his shoulders, your long nails leaving red trails along his toned, tan skin.

“Yeah, that’s right, slut.” Rafe chuckles as he smirks down at your sweaty, fucked out form. “Bet you never had anybody in your tight little pussy this deep, huh?”

“N- no, fuck! It’s so good, so deep, Rafey” A bit of drool drips from the side of your chin and Rafe leans down to lick it off. He pulls the belt, using his grip to bring your face so close to his your lips are practically touching.

“Open your fuckin’ mouth.” Rafe pulls his thick cock almost all the way out of you before thrusting back into you with a force that nearly knocks the wind out of you. You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out for good measure and he spits on it. You swallow it with a hum that gets you a tug on the belt and a filthy kiss in return. “You’re a nasty little girl, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know.” Your fucked out smile still holds that tone of mischief that always makes Rafe go crazy and he swears he’s never quitting you after this. He drops his grip on the belt so he can grab onto your other thigh and press it to your chest, practically folding you in half. His dick somehow goes impossibly deeper, so deep he can see it bulging out of your stomach.

“Would ya look at that? You see that, baby? You see me inside you?” You follow Rafe’s gaze and sure enough you can see the head of his cock slamming against the inside of your stomach. The sight makes you dizzy as your pussy clenches around him. “Touch it, then rub your pussy for me until you come around my dick like a good little slut.”

You follow his instructions, putting your hand over your abdomen, feeling the way he’s practically bullying your insides. You slide your hand down further until you reach your needy, swollen clit and rub circles on it with your fingers. You were already so close it only takes a few seconds and Rafe angling his hips slightly different for you to tumble over the edge. White hot pleasure overtakes your entire body as you go rigid beneath him.

“Yeah, that’s fuckin’ it. This payment enough for you, huh? This fucking dick is priceless, huh baby?” Rafe taunts you as you come around his cock.

“You never have to pay me again if you keep fucking me like this.” You babble as you pull your hand away from your over sensitive clit. But one wasn’t enough for Rafe, he wanted to see you fall apart for him again. He replaces your hand with his own, his big thumb rubbing rough circles on your aching clit while he continues to fuck you deep and hard.

“Yeah? I’m gonna hold you to that.” Rafe chuckles. “Gimme another one.”

“Fuck, I don’t think - I don’t think I have another one in me.” You whine and set your lips into a pout as you pant beneath him. Your pussy feels so overstimulated you can’t imagine coming again.

“Oh, no. You’re gonna give me another one, baby doll. Come for me.” Rafe’s free hand presses into the couch cushion by your head as he angles his hips so his cock is hitting that perfect spot inside you while he continues his assault on your clit. He leans down and licks a long stripe from your collar bone all the way up your cheek before connecting your lips in a messy kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue and it’s what sends you into another orgasm. You see stars as it crashes over you. Your eyes roll back and your toes curl and Rafe has to hold your hip down because you nearly fly off the couch from how far your back arches.

“Yeaaaah, that’s it baby, milk my fucking dick.” Rafe’s other hand falls on the other side of your head as his hips pick up speed while he chases his own high. “I’m gonna fill this needy little pussy up with my cum and then I’m gonna watch it drop out before I fill you up all over again, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, fucking fill me, Rafe.” Rafe curses at that, his cock twitching deep inside you as ropes of his cum paint your inner walls.

“Fuck yes, fuckin’ take this god damn cum you little whore.” Rafe growls as he fucks himself through it and it’s all so hot it sends you into one final orgasm right along with him. When you both finally come down from your highs, Rafe flops down on top of you a panting, sweaty mess.

“That was so fucking hot. Oh my god.” You giggle as you run your fingers through his sweaty, disheveled hair. Rafe looks up at you with a goofy ass smile you’ve never seen before and it gives you butterflies.

“Yeah it was. You’re fuckin’ mine now. I’m never letting another man touch you again.” Rafe groans as he nuzzles into your chest. How he can fuck you so good you can’t even think straight and then manage to be absolutely adorable seconds later was beyond you.

“You’re so cute, you know that?” You smile at him sweetly as you rub the apple of his cheek. “I think you ruined me for any other man anyways.”

“Good.” Rafe smirks up at you before leaning up to kiss you surprisingly sweetly. “You really gonna let me slut myself out for some coke now, though?”

“Oh my god!” You laugh. “Don’t push it, pretty boy.” You poke his cheek and he gives you a pout. He looks like the cutest, grumpy little puppy. And he gives those sweet, pathetic blue eyes you just can’t seem to resist. “But yeah, I guess we could work something out.”

Tagging mooties: @rafesheaven @rafescvntyclubgf @eerielamb @dementedkittenribbon @that-sarcastic-writer @moonlightseranade @loserboysandlithium @songbirdmunson @sarahsangelicdoll @eddiesxangel 🤍

Dividers by @anitalenia

[pagelets]

Park Jongseong as your boyfriend:

"Because maybe

You're gonna be the one that saves me

And after all

You're my wonderwall"

Disclaimer: none, all fluff

- Spoils you:

• Spoiling you is one of his favorite things to do. Every now and then, Jay leaves his credit card in your wallet for you to spend however you want. “Babe, why is this here?”, you ask, holding out the card. “For you to buy something you want, sweetheart. Don’t mind the price”.

• You run to him and kiss his face, “I love you” “I love you too, princess".

- You protect him from ghosts:

• Watching horror movies with Jay is not a good idea. He gets easily scared and then, can’t sleep at night.

• But he’s lucky— he has you. You hold his head against your chest while lying on your shared bed, gently stroking his hair and telling him embarrassing stories of your teenagerhood. It calms him down, and he sleeps like a baby.

- You are the only one allowed to touch his guitars:

• This is a special privilege that no one else has, so feel flattered.

• Your fingers run over the wood of his brand new guitar with your eyes shining, amazed by its beauty. “Do you want to play?” “Can I really?” “Sure!”.

• He places you on his lap and guides your fingers over the strings. He smiles every time you light up like a child after playing a chord correctly.

• “We can start a band now", he tells you, “With the rest of the guys?” “No. Just the two of us".

• At the end, you guys end up making out.

- Long afternoons digging through old LP stores:

• From Oasis to Ed Sheeran, Jay loves a good LP.

• At first, you didn’t like it. “Why buy records when you have Spotify?”, you told him. But he promised it would be quick, and you agreed.

• In the end, you found yourself falling in love with the feeling of discovering a new gem among the vinyls and tapes, and it became one of your favorite shared hobbies.

- Make sure you have breakfast together every morning:

• Jay is very close to his family, and he wants his own family to be just as close with its own traditions.

• For now, you’re still a family of 2, but as Jay says, “It’s never too early to start".

• So, every morning feels almost like a ritual— you sit in the chair next to his, resting your legs on his lap while you share a meal together.

• He traces imaginary lines on your legs, and you both enjoy a comfortable silence before moving on with your busy schedules.

- Cooking together:

• If you're into cooking, he loves being your partner in the kitchen. You’re both very collaborative, sharing tasks and always giving each other a hand when needed.

• He shares his recipes and cooking tricks with you. For example, Jay’s famous curry. Only you know the secret to making it so delicious— and here’s a hint: it’s not love, as he tells everyone, but rather allspice.

• If you're not into cooking, don’t worry— he’ll cook for you. His specialty? All your favorite dishes.

• Since you don’t help in the kitchen, your job is to follow him around the kitchen and beg for a bite.

• “No, babe, you have to save room for dinner,” but after you look at him with bright, pitiful eyes, he finally gives in and feeds you with just a tiny bite— so you don’t ruin your appetite.

- Romantic trips together:

• Jay loves planning trips. He would rather plan everything himself than follow someone else’s plans.

• Anytime he can, he takes you on a romantic trip. It doesn’t have to be a fancy, paradisiacal place. A small cabin in a little town in Korea or a quick flight to Japan is already a perfect escape for the two of you.

• The most important thing is having a few days away from everything else to relax the mind and the body— just the two of you.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓂃⠀⠀˖

It's been a long time since I post anything ab Enhypen. That's because I met TXT, and lemme tell you– they are very addictive (in a good way) haha. So I hope I'm still good at writing for the enha members. Posting this one specially to @farewelldevil who picked Jay for starting this small series (idk what else to call it). More members coming soon...

Masterlist

Ni-ki version

Heeseung version

Sunghoon version

[frangipani-wanderlust]

Hey, do y'all remember how Biden wanted to pay off student loan debt? He totally could've afforded to pay off every single student loan in the country by diverting the wasted money from USAID alone.

And we've got hundreds of federal departments and they're all gonna be at least that bad.

The Dems didn't pay off your student loans because they were too damn busy misallocating your tax money for their own greed.

[hockeyluvrr]

could you possibly write something cute and fluffy about cole caufield? plot entirely up to you! please :)

of course! thanks for requesting, sorry for the wait!

MASTERLIST

Eyes on You || cc13

word count: 1,099

not my gif!!

You weren’t really a hockey fan.

Well, you liked the idea of it, the energy, the fast pace, and the passion. But you’d never really followed it closely like your best friend did. Everything you knew about hockey was based on your best friend's ramblings when she dragged you to Montreal Canadiens games. It was because of these games that you first noticed Cole Caufield.

Or, more accurately, he noticed you.

It was subtle to start out with. You weren’t sure if you were imagining things when you caught him glancing at you from the bench one game. When you brought it up, your best friend laughed it off.

“Trust me, he’s not looking at us,” she teased you. “They’re professionals, hun. Locked in.”

But, game after game, you swore the quick glances became more intentional. One night, during warmups, you stood by the glass with your best friend, absentmindedly watching as players skated by while you chatted. Then, out of nowhere, a puck hit the boards in front of you.

You were snapped out of your conversation, blinking in surprise and looking straight up at the boyish grin of Cole.

Your best friend practically squealed beside you, “Oh my god, Y/N. Did he just…”

Another puck against the boards. You snapped your gaze back to him, heart fluttering as he gave you a quick wink before skating off like it was nothing.

You had no idea how to process it.

————

The real turning point happened about a week later. Your best friend had left you at the table in a bar downtown, going off to flirt with some guy she just met. You were fine nursing your drink alone, scrolling through your phone, when suddenly you sensed a presence behind you.

“Not a hockey fan, huh?”

Your head immediately snapped up. Cole was standing in front of you, casual in a hoodie and jeans, the same boyish grin from warmups playing on his lips.

You couldn’t function for a moment, your mouth opening and closing. “What?”

He chuckled, sliding onto the stool next to you. “I see you at the games. You never seem that into it.”

“So, you’ve been watching me enough to notice?”

His grin widened at your words. “Maybe.”

You weren’t entirely sure how the conversation between you both flowed so easily after that, but it did. It really did. You learned that he was just as charming off the ice as he was on it. He had this way of making you laugh, of pulling you into his world so effortlessly that you forgot that you barely knew him.

By the end of the night, you had his number.

————

Texting with Cole became second nature. He was almost relentless with his messages, whether it was sending you the most ridiculous memes at random hours or chirping you for not knowing basic hockey terms.

It was easy to fall into a rhythm with him.

But what truly sealed the deal was the night he personally invited you to one of his games, with a promise of meeting you afterwards.You weren’t sure what you expected, but as soon as you left your seat to go meet him in the players lounge, Cole beamed at you like you were the only person in the room.

“You actually came,” he said, slightly breathless.

“You only reminded me, like, twenty times.”

He grinned. “Did you at least enjoy the game?”

You hesitated for a few seconds, then admitted, “Yeah. I might be starting to understand why people follow this sport for life.”

His eyes practically lit up at your words, “Oh, I’m definitely taking credit for that.”

The night ended with him walking you to your car, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, eyes flickering over you in the dim streetlights.“So…” he said once you both reached your car, rocking back on his heels. “Are you gonna let me take you out, or do I have to keep throwing pucks at the glass to get your attention?”

Your stomach fluttered. “Hmm. That depends.”

“On?”

You grinned. “Are you always this cocky?”

He stepped closer, playfulness dancing in his expression. “Nah, just with you.”

And with that, you were hooked.

————

Dating Cole was fun. There was no other way to describe it.

He had this infectious energy, always finding new ways to make you laugh, whether it was sneaking terrible dad jokes into conversation or playfully teasing you.

But what surprised you most was how thoughtful he was.

He had learned your coffee order by heart. If you had a long day, he’d randomly show up at your place with takeout and a goofy grin. If you were sick, he’d bundle you up in a ridiculous amount of blankets and insist you hydrate by shoving a water bottle into your hands every five minutes.

One morning, you woke up to a text.

Cole: Did you eat breakfast?

You: No?

Cole: Rookie mistake. Check your doorstep.

Confused, you opened your apartment door only to find a bag of pastries and your favourite iced coffee sitting on the floor.

You immediately texted him.

You: Did you seriously just do a drive-by breakfast drop??

Cole: Yep. Elite boyfriend instincts.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through you.

————

The first time you realised that you were completely and hopelessly in love with Cole was during a lazy Sunday afternoon at his place.

You were sprawled across his couch, mindlessly flipping through a book, while he sat on the floor, messing around with his PlayStation.

Every so often he’d glance back at you, like he just wanted to make sure you were still there.

At one point, he let out a groan, tossing his controller aside. “Alright, I officially suck at this game.”

You bit back a smile. “Maybe you should stick to hockey.”

He turned, resting his chin on the couch beside you, his eyes locking onto yours. “Maybe,” he said softly, “or maybe you should help me.”

Your heart stuttered at the look in his eyes. He had that look that made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

Without thinking, you reached out, brushing a hand through his messy hair.

“Yeah?” You murmured.

His lips curled into that boyish grin you loved so much. “Yeah.”

And just like that, he leaned up, closing the distance between you both.

It wasn’t your first kiss with him, but it was definitely the one that changed everything.

Because in that moment, you knew this wasn’t just fun anymore.

This was real.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Deadly Devotion

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader x John “Soap” MacTavish

AU: Scream/Ghostface Ghost & John x reader

Warnings: Dark themes, murder, possessiveness, obsession, yandere tendencies, stalking, implied violence, psychological manipulation, mentions of blood, protective/territorial behavior, suggestive themes, and morally gray characters. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

Author's Note: This is a dark fic with heavy themes of obsession and murder. Simon and Johnny are highly possessive and will do anything to keep you safe—even if that means spilling a little blood. If that’s not your thing, feel free to skip! But if you enjoy some deadly devotion, then welcome to their twisted love story.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Your town wasn’t used to crime.

It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone, where doors were left unlocked, and the biggest drama was which neighbor had the best Christmas lights. But now?

A killer was on the loose.

Three victims. No leads. No motive. The only connection? You.

Bradley, your cheating ex—found dead in his car, throat slit.

Jessica, your condescending coworker—stabbed twenty-three times in an alley.

Mark, the persistent barista who wouldn’t take no for an answer—mutilated behind the café.

The police were baffled. No fingerprints. No evidence. Just pure, calculated violence.

But you weren’t stupid. You saw the pattern.

And you knew exactly who was behind it.

---

“You shouldn’t be walking alone, lass.”

Soap’s voice was light, teasing, but his eyes were sharp—watching, assessing. His presence beside you was familiar, comforting in a way it shouldn’t be.

You barely had time to respond before a second figure appeared on your other side.

Simon.

Silent. Massive. Dangerous.

“You hear about Mark?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Soap hummed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Aye. Nasty business.” A pause. Then, with a smirk, “Can’t say I’ll miss him, though.”

Your stomach twisted. “Johnny—”

“What?” He shrugged. “The guy was a creep. Always hovering around you like a damn leech.”

Simon exhaled sharply. “He deserved worse.”

Something about the way he said it made your pulse spike.

You should have been afraid.

You wanted to be afraid.

But instead, you felt… safe.

And that was the most terrifying part of all.

---

The phone rang at 1:13 AM.

Bleary-eyed, you reached for it. “Hello?”

A low, distorted voice hummed through the receiver.

“You looked real pretty today.”

Your breath caught. “Who is this?”

A soft chuckle. “You don’t recognize me? That hurts, sweetheart.”

The line went dead.

A knock at your door followed.

Your heart pounded as you peeked through the peephole.

Simon.

Fumbling with the lock, you yanked the door open. “Simon—”

“You okay?” His gaze flickered to your phone. “What happened?”

You hesitated. “I… I think someone’s watching me.”

His entire body tensed. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he was seconds from pulling out a knife.

“What did they say?” he asked, voice dangerously low.

Your stomach twisted. “They said I looked pretty today.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. Beside him, Soap exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Come here.”

It wasn’t a request.

Simon’s arms were solid, unshakable as they wrapped around you. His scent—leather, gunpowder, something dark—swallowed you whole.

“Nobody’s gonna hurt you,” he murmured.

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine.

Because it wasn’t reassurance.

It was a promise.

---

“You’ve been quiet, sweetheart.”

Soap’s fingers brushed your knee, his grip warm and firm. Across from you, Ghost sat in silent observation, his stare unreadable.

“I’ve just been thinking,” you murmured.

“About?” Ghost’s voice was steady.

You swallowed hard. “The murders.”

Silence.

Then—Soap chuckled, shaking his head. “That so?”

Your hands clenched around your drink. “I know it’s you.”

Neither of them reacted. No denial. No shock.

Just a slow, knowing smirk from Soap.

Ghost tilted his head. “So, what now?”

Your heart pounded. What was your next move?

Turn them in? You’d never make it far.

Run? They’d find you.

“I won’t tell anyone,” you whispered.

Soap tsked, shaking his head. “We know that, sweetheart.”

Ghost leaned forward, voice low. “Because you’re ours.”

Your breath hitched.

“This wasn’t just about keeping you safe,” Soap murmured, his lips grazing your ear. “This was about making sure nobody else thought they had a chance with you.”

“You don’t need anyone else.” Ghost’s fingers traced your wrist. “You have us.”

Your pulse pounded as their words sank in.

You had been theirs from the beginning.

And there was no escaping them now.

The police would never find out.

The bodies would keep piling up.

And you?

You would stay right where you belonged.

With them.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[demonslayedher]

Remember that Fate Swap AU?

Yeah. It still has some hold on my imagination, and it suddenly hit me one day how isolating that immediate aftermath would have been for these two. Their bond is gonna be so tight.

If you don't want to read the original 17,000 word AU post, see below the explanation of what's going on.

***

The premise was that the characters who canonically died in the Infinity Castle & Sunrise Countdown get to live, and vice versa, with the caveat being that Nezuko was not part of the battle so she gets to live (going by Anon's prompt). The Ask was about the aftermath so most of the AU is about the aftermath, but at this point in AU:

--Zenitsu died of his injuries from fighting Kaigaku, told Yushiro to go save the woman he loves --Yushiro saves Tamayo by getting the secret!medicine from Kanao, changes Tamayo into a human against her will and gets absorbed by Muzan while saving her --Inosuke saves Shinobu (scarring her face in the process) but dies fighting Douma --Muichiro loses an arm in the fight against Kokushibo, but he and Genya are otherwise intact, and Sanemi dies after managing a few words to Genya --After Muzan is defeated, Giyuu collapses and holds Tanjiro's hand, apologizes for being unable to protect him, and dies --Himejima holds on (but falls unconscious), withstanding injury and the mark --Iguro and Mitsuri are comatose and shredded, but they have all their limbs and are alive --When Tanjiro changed, Muichiro noticed and fought him first, Genya and anybody else still standing tried to help, but ultimately Kanao saw that while he had still freshly changed, there was still a chance to stop him if his head was cut off at exactly the right spot --But getting that shot meant Tanjiro had a better shot at her heart

And then in the aftermath of the AU, we followed a bunch of their interactions and wound up with: --So many complicated feelings about what they've all been through (and like, how Tanjiro ended up a murderer) --After going through a depressive episode, Shinobu has a renewed sisterly relationship with Aoi, to whom she gifted Kanao's butterfly hairpiece. Kiyo, Sumi, and Naho go to school like regular children, with Shinobu having rejected Tengen's offer to adopt them. Shinobu has prominent facial scars, wears Tamayo's hairpin, and extremely occasionally, Inosuke's mask. --After some attempt at backing out, ObaMitsu survives and makes good on their promise. They assumed he totally lost his vision and she lost her womb, but neither ever asked for the medical details to be sure, so they are very happily surprised when it is revealed that he still has some vision (they can look forward to other happy surprises later). Also, Tamayo figured out how to treat The Mark, so yay. --Muichiro, Genya, and Nezuko are handling things pretty well, all things considered. They more or less become sworn siblings (Senjuro, a literature fanboy, sort of fanboys over their bond). Nezuko wears Giyuu's (repaired but too big for her) haori and reads scraps of a book called "The Legend of Zenitsu" which a sparrow collects for her. Muichiro wears braids like Mitsuri used to because he finds it funny. He is of course not the one who braids his own hair. Genya has no style updates. --Hear me out, but... I kind of wound up pairing Himejima and Tamayo?????? And I, who am not much of a shipper and generally only tend to go for canon pairings, really kind liked it????????????? Even though I otherwise would never????????? Like??? They have a son and his name is Chachamaru. Plus they pretty much adopted Muichiro, Genya, and Nezuko and they all live in the Kamado house. But if you asked them if they're a couple, they're like, "???? ew no ?????" SO YUSHIRO IS PISSED BEYOND THE GRAVE, RIGHT!? --Well, yes, at the very end --Like --I really, really liked the short conclusion I wrote that takes place in hell --Basically like --Yeah --I loved it --Hashira, and like --Tanjiro, and pals, but like, Muzan, and, yeah

[adoresia]

꣑ৎ contains ★ Fluff ,, Crack ,, suggestive (if you squint) ,, might be ooc cause i havent met him yet.. gulp.

ft Michael Kaiser :: ★ Getting a matching tattoo with your boyfriend was one thing, trusting him with a needle was definitely another. ★ W/C 0.8k

˙🧷 ̟ Sia here ! :: I haven’t even met kaiser yet but i saw this illustration and i started barking out loud, i saw it on pinterest but the artist is bunnyluvrrr on instagram her drawings are so good you guys should go check them out 😚😚

˙🏷️ ̟ Kaiser’s masterlist | BLLK masterlist | Main masterlist

Looking back, you weren’t sure why you agreed to let him tattoo you. Actually scratch that, you knew exactly why — because of his inability to take no for an answer.

A week ago, when he first proposed the idea of getting matching tattoos you almost choked on your drink. “You? Want to Tattoo me? Yeah, no.” you laughed off this sudden joke of his, but knowing him he wasn’t going yo give up so easily. “You didn’t even think about it,” he whined dramatically. Flopping onto the couch beside you with the same infuriating grin. “I’ve got great hands. You trust me on the field don’t you?”

“Hey so, a football and a needle are actually two different things.”

“Don’t you think I’d be good at it? I’ve got an eye for detail.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” you muttered, but he ignored it completely.

“I think it would be cool,” he insisted, leaning closer. “Our tattoos will connect like we do. That’s Romantic, no?” You squinted at him. “That sounds like a really bad pickup line”

“Well, did it work?” He smirked smugly. “I literally just said bad.” you deadpanned him. Why is he trying to gaslight you?” Admit you’re thinking about it.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking about why I’m still talking to you.”

But of course, a week later here you were. Perched on the extra cushioned chair of a makeshift tattoo station he set up especially for you, your leg extended across his lap while he prepped the machine with a confident flick of his wrist.

“You nervous?” His voice was honeyed with amusement as his eyes flickered up to meet yours. “No.” you lied through your teeth. “Just wondering how and why I ended up trusting you with a needle.”

“Because you realised you have nothing to worry about, I am the best. You know that right?” He chuckled. “At football, maybe.” You answered rolling your eyes.His grin only grew as he gently took hold of your thigh, his fingers brushed against your skin in a way that made your breath hitch. He was steady and confident, yet surprisingly tender.“I’ll be gentle,” he promised. Athough the teasing tone in his voice made you doubt it. “Yeah okay, just hurry up.”

The humming sound of the machine filled the room, and the first prick of the needle made you tense. His hand tightened ever so slightly around your leg grounding you. “Relax,” he reassured. “It’ll hurt less if you stop being so stiff.”

Easy for him to say.

Okay you were nervous, but not just about the tattoo. There was something about the way his fingers rested on your skin, firm yet oddly intimate, that had your heart racing. And of course he noticed.

“Aw, what’s this?” he teased, glancing up with a grin. “You sure it’s the needle making you so nervous?”

“Shut up.”

“Oh yeah?” he teased, his voice thick with amusement. “Is that why you keep looking away from me? I see those paintings on the wall everyday. There isn’t anything all that interesting about them.” he teased. You hadn’t even realised you were staring so hard at the paintings behind him, trying to divert your attention from what was going on in front of you.

“Focus on the tattoo.” was the inly thing you could muster up. It made him laugh. The sound was warm and far too smug. “Whatever you say.”

As the needle traced along your leg, following the intricate design that wrapped from his arm to your leg, you couldn’t help but notice how focused he was. Despite all the teasing, he was meticulous with the way he traced the ink into your skin. The thorned stem mirrored the one on his arm — it was sharp and elegant. The vines curled gracefully around your thigh, wrapping down your leg in a way that made it look seamless, as if your tattoos were always meant to be connected.

Every one of his movements was precise and his concentration showed in the way he furrowed his eyebrow. His usual arrogance was still there, but it was tempered by precision and care. His teasing words contrasted with the steady determination and gentleness in his eyes.

“Are you still with me?” he asked, his voice somewhat softer now.

“mhm,” you managed to utter. Although your heart raced for reasons that had very little to do with the sting of the tattoo at this point.

“Your a tough girl.”

The teasing never stopped but neither did the gentleness. His thumb brushed absentmindedly against your skin which soothed the burn of the needle. You wondered if he even realized he was doing it.

“You’re doing great baby,” he praised. His eyes flickered up again. “I told you I was good with my hands.”

“Do you ever stop flirting?”

“Not when it’s working.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. The tension eased from your body and he grinned as if that was the real victory here. And when he finally finished, he leaned back to admire his work. The thorned stem wrapped elegantly around your leg, seamlessly continuing from his own tattoo. It was beautiful; raw and intimate in a way you could’ve never expected.

“Perfect.” he said proudly, wiping down the fresh ink. “Just like us.”

“You’re so annoying.” you muttered. Although your lips curled into a smile.

“And yet here you are,” he grinned as he wiped the last bit of ink residue from your skin.

You ignored him though, turning your leg slightly to get a better look at the intricate design etched into the entirety of your leg. It was so beautifully detailed. Each curve wrapped so elegantly around your skin, tracing a sinuous path from just above your knee to the side of your thigh, and the way it so seamlessly connected to Kaiser’s own tattoo felt… intimate. Like your tattoos were meant to intertwine, bound together, just as he had promised.

“Wow,” you breathed, fingers hovering near the fresh ink but really careful not to touch. “You outdid yourself.”

He said nothing at first, unusually silent and less taunting. His eyes fixed on your reaction instead of the tattoo. You could feel his gaze, it was warm and unwavering. Tracking every subtle shift of your expression while you admired his work. His usual teasing demeanor softened as it was replaced by something quieter and more genuine.

“You like it?” he finally asked, you glanced up at him and when you met his gaze your heart did that stupid fluttering thing it always did when he dropped the cocky act for just a second. “Yeah,” you admitted, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “I love it.” His lips curved into a knowing smirk. “I know you do.” You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest lingered.

He leaned closer, thumb brushing gently along your thigh just below the fresh ink. “I told you I was good with my hands,” he murmured , the teasing glint returned to his eyes. “And your ego is still insufferable.”

“But you love that too,” he said confidently. You shook your head with a laugh. “Debatable.”

“Not at all” His fingers lingered on your skin for a bit longer than necessary. “It is romantic, right?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, though you didn’t pull away from his touch.

“And yet you’re still here,” he whispered smugly, “matching tattoo and all.” He pressed a kiss just above the tattoo, his breath was warm and gentle against your freshly inked skin. “But you do love it, right?” He asked, eyes gleaming as he looked up at you.

“I guess I do.”

[anonity]

wrote something quick and sweet for you guys because i have a whopping 40 pages of angst sitting in my drafts rn.. do we want the pazzi fic first or the paige x reader fic? 

anyways enjoy

summary: azzi drags paige out of bed at 6 in the morning, just to go to the gym. (also, they’re dating and paige is in love) WC: 1000ish

beep, beep, bee–

paige buries her head into her pillow as silence befalls the room – for three seconds. then, it gets ripped out from underneath her. 

“morning, paige!” azzi’s voice rings, annoyingly chipper for – paige cracks an eye open, finally looking at her alarm – 6 in the morning.

hesitantly, hoping if she moved slowly enough azzi would not notice she was awake, she looked towards where the voice had come from. instead, she comes face to face with neon pink. azzi steps back, and paige finally gets to take in everything in front of her – gray sweats, a bright hoodie, and a black gym bag slung over her shoulder.

the sight makes paige want to die. 

“az,” she groans, yanking their blanket up over her head, “it’s six in the morning.”

azzi promptly pulls the entire comforter away. “six-thirty,” she corrects helpfully, balling up the blanket and leaving it on the opposite end of the bed. paige groans again, reaching blindly for it. it’s decidedly too far, so she settles instead on falling limply against the mattress.

azzi’s nose scrunches in response. “you promised you’d come to the gym with me.”

paige mumbles something that sounds like another complaint, but her voice is muffled in the mattress. azzi shoves her shoulder, forcing her face up. “c’mon, don’t make me pull you out.”

paige just barely cracks a smile. “you never have to pull out, ma.”

“paige!” azzi yelps in response, slapping her chest half-heartedly. “that doesn’t even make sense! get up!”

feeling particularly unamused again, paige's voice comes out groggy. “you know not to make plans with me before nine in the morning.”

azzi’s eyes narrow. “then you shouldn’t have said you’d go with me.”

paige doesn’t answer, throwing an arm over her eyes instead. azzi lets out an overly-emphasized sigh, leaning down so her face is level with paige’s.”you’re lucky i think you’re cute.”

paige peeks out from under her arm. she’s met with that soft, sickeningly fond look azzi reserves only for her, and can’t help the smile it warrants. “you think i’m cute?”

“i think you’re lazy,” azzi shoots back, standing straight again. “but, because i know you soo well, i brought you coffee.”

paige perks up immediately, reaching for the cup expectantly. “you’re the best, az.”

azzi immediately pulls back, holding it just out of reach. “nuh-uh,” she chides, a glint in her eye that can only mean trouble for paige. “not until you’re ready to go.”

paige scowls. “you’re joking.”

“it’s strategic.”

the second the word leaves azzi’s mouth, it’s a mistake – she knows it because paige immediately shoots up from the bed, wrapping her arms around her. 

“paige!” she tries to sound annoyed, but the giggle that follows is indisputable. “get off of me!”

paige immediately fumbles for the coffee cup, a disposable one from downstairs, and briefly wonders when azzi had time to even go get it. “taunting opponents is not a strategy, it’s a flagrant foul,” she corrects, still fighting for the drink. azzi pokes her side in that spot that always has paige jerking away and frees herself, holding the still-intact coffee up triumphantly. 

“all is fair in love and basketball,” she grins. 

paige scowls. “don’t use my favorite movie against me.”

“it’s my favorite movie.”

“i had it first.”

“you did not!”

“did too, i’m older than you.”

baffled, azzi jerks back. “what does that have to do with anything?”

paige straightens, looking particularly smug. “it means i had time to watch it before you did.”

“paige!” azzi groans, shoving her towards the dresser. “get dressed!”

paige grumbles but acquiesces, yanking on a pair of sweatpants and a thin t-shirt. there’s cold biting through the windows of their apartment, and azzi briefly comments on paiges lack of a jacket, but paige shrugs her off lazily. “ion’ need no jacket, i’m a big dawg.”

azzi doesn’t try to correct her again, (even though the phrase big dawg has her rolling her eyes) and instead leans against the doorframe of their room. paige all but throws herself back onto the bed, tying her shoes with drama only rivaled by toddlers.

azzi tracks each tug of laces with barely concealed amusement, taking a purposefully loud sip of paige’s coffee.

giving one last tug, paige stands from the bed and saunters over to where azzi is leaned. raising her eyebrows and staring expectantly at the coffee again, azzi finally hands it over. “now, all that drama was for nothing,” she says pointedly. paige hums as if she disagrees, but doesn’t add to her argument as she follows azzi out the door.

they don’t speak again until their feet land on the sidewalk outside. the air in storrs is sharp, frost clinging to the ground like broken cobwebs, and paige can’t help the shiver that wracks her body.

really and truly, she should have grabbed a hoodie like azzi had suggested. she can already hear the i told you so forming in azzi’s mouth, though, so paige stays quiet. instead, she scrunches her nose against the breeze and turns finally to look over azzi’s features.

the sun is just barely rising – the barren trees lining the sidewalk are casting long, soft shadows across her face. azzi walks a step ahead, hands tucked into her hoodie pockets and posture straight. the light flickers over her features – the way her lashes fan against her eyebrows, the pink dusting the easy slope of her nose, the way her lips are tugged into that ever-present smile.

paige can’t help the way her gaze lingers. azzi’s exhale rises in a delicate plume, curling lazily into the quiet air. 

paige thinks she’s pretty – and, actually, that she’s quite lucky to have someone like azzi dragging her out at 6 in the morning.

ever the instigator, though, paige chooses not to voice the softness of her thoughts. instead, she tears her gaze away and rolls her eyes. “you’re lucky i love you.”

azzi glances over, dimples falling over her face as she grins again. her voice is soft, tinged with a quiet warmth meant only for paige to hear. “i know.”

[soulofapatrick]

The Fourth Wing Boys and their Reactions to you being Pregnant

Summary: Just what I think the boys' reactions would be

Words: 7.5K words

Warnings: some angst but mostly fluffy and cuteeee

Xaden Riorson, the man who has made a career of maintaining control in a world that crumbles around him, has never looked more vulnerable than in this moment. His eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes that see everything and give nothing away—widen as the words I just spoke settle between us. The smirk that usually dances on his lips, the one that makes him seem untouchable, vanishes as if it’s never been there at all. His expression, typically guarded and enigmatic, is now a map of raw emotion, impossible to ignore.

I watch him, unsure of whether I’ve just shattered the air between us or opened a door we aren’t ready to walk through. His hands, always confident and steady, grip my waist with a force that seems born of instinct, as if the weight of what I just told him threatens to pull him down. He inhales sharply, and in the way his breath catches in his throat, I can feel it—a tremor, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. The sound of it—soft, like a whisper of disbelief—breathes life into the moment, making it real, making it unavoidable.

His eyes dart to my stomach, that small curve, barely noticeable but unmistakably there. Then, without warning, they flick back to mine, as if trying to find some confirmation that this isn’t a cruel joke, some twisted play to see him unravel. His jaw tightens, his muscles go taut, and for the briefest of seconds, I think he might not believe me. But then he whispers, his voice low and edged with something I’m not ready to identify. “You’re sure?”

I nod, unable to contain the mix of fear, anticipation, and joy that floods through me, and that’s when everything shifts. The tension in his body cracks, splintering apart like ice breaking under the weight of an ocean. His breath, shallow and uneven, spills out in a rush, and his gaze—normally so calculating, so indifferent to everything around him—softens, transforming into something I’ve only seen glimpses of: vulnerability. There, in that look, I see the faintest flicker of hope, a light that barely dares to exist in the shadows of his usual guarded composure.

The silence that follows feels like an eternity, a moment stretched so thin it could shatter at any second. But instead, he moves. His hands, which had been trembling ever so slightly, find their place around me, pulling me close as if I’m the only thing holding him together. His lips brush against the side of my face, pressing against my temple in a gesture that feels oddly fragile for someone like him—someone who has built walls taller than any fortress, whose every breath is calculated, every action precise.

His voice, when it finally comes, is raw—thick with emotion I didn’t know he was capable of showing. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he murmurs, his words a promise. His hands slide down slowly, reverently, until one rests on my stomach. His thumb begins to trace circles, soft at first, like he’s afraid to touch too firmly, as if afraid he might shatter something precious. And maybe he’s right—because in this moment, something shifts inside him, and I’m not sure he’s ready to face it yet.

The man who once seemed so untouchable, so impenetrable, is unraveling in front of me, but not in a way that makes me want to run. Instead, I find myself holding him just as tightly, afraid that if I let go, he might slip away. He isn’t just holding me—he’s holding onto something else. Something bigger than both of us.

We stay like that for a long while, the world fading into the background. His hands, still tracing slow circles over my stomach, seem to speak volumes without words. Each pass of his thumb is a vow—a promise to protect, to fight for, to love the life growing inside me with the same fierce, unrelenting devotion he’s always given to me. Only now, there’s something new in his gaze—something deeper. The promise isn’t just to me anymore. It’s to the little one we’ve yet to meet, the one who has already captured his heart in a way I never could have expected.

We’re lying in bed, the early morning sunlight spilling through the window, painting Garrick’s bare shoulders in a soft, golden glow. The light dances across his skin, highlighting the muscles in his back as he sleeps, his breathing slow and steady, the rise and fall of his chest like a calming rhythm. His arm is draped lazily over my waist, holding me close but not tight, as if he’s still half-anchored to the world of dreams. The warmth of him presses against me, a comfort I never want to lose, but something stirs inside me—something I can’t ignore, something that needs to be said.

I shift slightly, the flutter of nerves in my chest making my heart race just a little faster than it should. His eyes crack open, barely more than a sliver, and he blinks up at me through the haze of sleep. His lips twitch into the softest of smiles, and I can’t help but feel a warmth spread through me, even as my own pulse quickens.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, his voice husky from sleep, a teasing note in the words.

I swallow hard, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment, the gravity of the words I’m about to say. “I have something to tell you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, thick with nerves. I watch his expression shift as he processes my tone—sleep fading from his eyes as they focus on me, sharpening with concern, alertness creeping in. His brows furrow slightly, his grip on me tightening just enough that I can feel the change, the instinctive need to protect, to hold me steady.

The air between us thickens, and I take a steadying breath before finally letting the words escape. “I’m pregnant.”

For a long moment, there’s nothing—no sound, no movement. Just the steady beat of my own heart, pounding in my ears. His blue eyes lock onto mine, and I see the wheels turning in his mind, trying to make sense of what I’ve just said. It’s as if he’s searching for any sign that he’s misunderstood, trying to find some hint that this isn’t real. And then, slowly, so slowly that it feels like time itself holds its breath, a grin begins to spread across his face. It starts small, like disbelief, and then grows—grows until it’s nothing short of radiant, the kind of grin that could light up the world. It’s like the sun breaking through storm clouds, a warmth that fills the space between us, and I feel myself melt under it.

A quiet, breathless laugh escapes him, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, what he’s feeling. He sits up then, pulling me with him, his movements fluid, confident, like he’s always known he’d be here. His hands come up to cradle my face, and his thumbs gently trace over my cheekbones, each touch reverent, as though I am the most precious thing he’s ever held. His touch is tender, full of wonder. His gaze never leaves mine.

“We’re having a baby?” he whispers, voice hushed, awed, like the very idea of it is too beautiful to fully comprehend. His eyes search mine for any hint of doubt, any sign that this might not be true, but all I can do is nod. And when I do, he kisses me—deep, lingering, filled with everything he feels, overflowing with love and joy in a way that takes my breath away.

The kiss is everything—the kind of kiss that promises a future, the kind that says we’re in this together, no matter what. When he finally pulls away, his hands slide down to rest over my stomach, his touch slow and careful, like he’s handling something fragile, something sacred. His voice is thick with emotion as he murmurs, “I’m going to love them so much.”

I can feel the sincerity in his words, hear the depth of his commitment in every syllable. He presses his forehead to mine, the grin never fading, and I can feel his joy radiating off of him, filling me up. There’s no hesitation, no doubt in him, just a certainty that this moment, this new chapter of our lives, is exactly where we’re meant to be. He holds me close, his hands still resting gently on my stomach, as if he’s already thinking of all the ways he’ll love the little life growing inside me.

“I can’t believe this is real,” he murmurs, and the wonder in his voice makes my heart swell. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

And for the first time in a long time, I’m certain too. In his arms, with his heart beating against mine, I know that whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. And I know, deep down, that we’ll be the best parents we can be. Because this moment—this shared joy—is only the beginning.

Liam is in the middle of fixing his dagger, the rhythmic glide of the whetstone over the blade a comforting sound, familiar and steady. His brow is furrowed in concentration, lips slightly parted as he works, his fingers steady and sure. There’s a certain ease to his posture, though—a quiet confidence in the way he holds the dagger, in the way he moves. I watch him for a moment, the soft light from the window casting shadows over his strong features, and something stirs deep in my chest.

I know what I’m about to say will change everything. It will shift the balance of us, of this quiet, simple life we’ve built. It will disrupt the calm. And yet, in this moment, with his presence so solid and steady beside me, I’m not sure if I’m ready for the words to leave my lips.

“Liam,” I say softly, my voice steady despite the whirlwind inside me. My heart is racing, a thudding pulse in my ears, but I push through it. He hums in acknowledgment, his eyes still focused on the blade in front of him. But when I don’t continue, when the silence stretches between us too long, he finally stills. His sharp green eyes flick to mine, reading me in an instant. And in that moment, I feel like he’s already seen it all—the hesitation, the fear, the joy that fights its way to the surface.

The dagger is forgotten, carefully set down on the table beside him, and he stands in one smooth motion, crossing the distance between us in two quick strides. The energy between us shifts, and his hands frame my face, warm and steady, his breath unsteady as he studies me. I can see the question in his eyes, and I know he’s waiting for me to speak again.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice low, steady. But I can hear the uncertainty beneath it—the flicker of confusion, of concern, because he knows something is coming, something big.

I exhale slowly, trying to steady myself, gripping the edge of the table as though it’s the only thing keeping me grounded in this moment. I whisper the words, barely above a breath, but I feel them settle between us like a charge in the air. “I’m pregnant.”

The words hang there, heavy, charged, electric. I watch as his body locks up, the shock rippling through him, a brief stillness in the air before everything changes. He blinks once, then twice, his lips parting slightly, as if he’s trying to find the right response but no words come. The seconds stretch out, thick and heavy, as though we’re suspended in time, before he inhales sharply, his chest rising and falling with an effort that betrays his calm.

Without another word, he steps closer, closing the gap between us. His hands are on me in an instant, cupping my face with a tenderness that makes my heart catch. He’s searching my eyes, his expression intense, as though he’s trying to read me, to make sure this is real. “Say it again,” he murmurs, his voice thick, as if the words themselves are something he needs to hear once more to believe.

I don’t hesitate this time. I say it again, the words rolling off my tongue with a clarity I didn’t know I had in me. “I’m pregnant.”

His chest rises again, this time in a sharp inhale, and his fingers tighten around me as if to pull me even closer, as if he never wants to let go. The moment feels suspended, timeless, and then suddenly—he laughs. It’s a quiet, disbelieving sound, almost as though he can’t quite wrap his mind around it, and the laugh shifts into something softer, something deeper. Something filled with wonder.

He presses his forehead to mine, the weight of his hands on my face grounding me, and then slowly, reverently, his hands slip down to rest over my stomach. His touch is warm, careful, as though he’s holding something delicate, something precious. The moment stretches between us, full of a new, tender energy, and I know without a doubt that everything has changed.

“You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, raw and genuine, like he’s trying to find the words to hold all of it—this moment, this future, this life we’re about to create together.

And then, without another word, he kisses me. It’s slow, deep, and everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s a kiss that speaks of promises, of futures and dreams, of everything we’ve built and everything we will. I can feel the weight of it, the depth of it, and as he pulls me close, as his hands rest gently on the life growing inside me, I know that this moment is the beginning of everything. Everything has changed. And somehow, it feels like it always was meant to.

Bodhi is pacing, his boots scuffing against the cold stone floor with every angry step. The rhythm of his movement is frantic, almost like he's trying to outrun the frustration boiling inside him. His hands are thrown up in exasperation, his voice sharp with bitterness. “Of course, Xaden gets the good shit. Again. Powers? Sure. Now Violet... First in line for the throne? Why the hell not?” His voice cracks with sarcasm, the words biting through the air like daggers. “They both get the good fucking shit.”

I watch him, my heart beating wildly in my chest. It’s not the anger that rattles me; I’ve seen him like this before. But the weight of it all—the frustration that pours out of him—makes my stomach twist with something deeper. It’s all too familiar, this endless cycle of feeling overlooked, dismissed. His voice is thick with old grievances, with wounds that never quite heal, and I know well enough to recognize when he’s spiraling.

He’s about to explode, and I can’t let him. Not this time. If I don’t stop him, I know he’s going to hurt himself in more ways than one. So I step forward, my footsteps silent but determined, and before he can throw his next bitter word into the air, I grab his wrist, holding it firmly but gently.

“Bodhi.”

My voice cuts through his storm of frustration like a calm in the eye of the hurricane, sharp and steady. He freezes mid-step, his body tensing as my name slides past my lips. His hazel eyes, blazing with unresolved anger, snap to mine, and for a moment, everything else falls away.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself, feeling the weight of the words that have been resting on the edge of my tongue for what feels like an eternity. "I’m pregnant."

The shift is immediate, like the world tilts on its axis. His body locks up, rigid and uncertain, and his expression flickers through anger, confusion, and something else—something raw, vulnerable, and unguarded. His lips part, but no sound escapes. For a long moment, he just stands there, staring at me like I’ve just ripped the ground out from under him, like he’s trying to process what I’ve just dropped into the space between us.

The air in the room feels thick, charged, like time itself is holding its breath. Then, as if he’s been holding onto something for too long, the tension in his shoulders suddenly drains away, replaced by something softer, almost fragile. His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s unsure of what to do, like he wants to reach for me but is afraid of the weight of what this means.

“You’re—” He stops himself, blinking hard as if he’s trying to shake off the fog of disbelief. “You’re serious?”

I nod, and when I do, his whole body seems to collapse inward. His breath comes out in a sharp exhale, ragged and uneven, and a shaky laugh bursts from him. It’s low, almost disbelieving, like he can’t quite catch up to the reality of it all. His hands tremble as he reaches for me, pulling me close like I’m the only thing holding him together in this moment. His fingers land on my waist, steady and desperate, as if he needs to feel me beneath his hands, solid and real.

“Holy fucking shit,” he breathes, shaking his head with a soft, disbelieving laugh. "Xaden can keep his damn throne." And then, without warning, he’s kissing me. It’s not soft or gentle—it’s desperate, a kiss that’s full of raw emotion, of relief, of something far too big to name. His hands tighten around me, anchoring himself to the moment, to the realisation, to us.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t let go, his hand sliding down to rest over my stomach, warm and steady. His touch is a promise, a grounding force. He’s breathing heavily, still trying to catch up to the reality of everything, but there’s a clarity in his eyes now. A certainty that wasn’t there before.

“This?” He murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “This is ours.”

And for the first time in a long while, I see it—the shift in him, the release of all that frustration, all that anger, replaced with something I can’t quite name. But I know this is the moment everything changes. This is the beginning of something far greater than the chaos we’ve both been drowning in.

Violet slides a glass toward me, the faintest glint of challenge in her eyes as she smirks. “Come on, you’re not seriously turning down a drink, are you?” Her voice has a playful edge, teasing me, but something’s different in the way she looks at me, like she senses that something is off. I hesitate, the words swirling in my mind, threatening to spill, and that’s when I push the glass away.

Her smirk falters. “Wait. What?”

Before she can press further, I feel it—the weight of Ridoc’s gaze on me. I turn, and there he is, standing a few feet away, brow furrowed and head tilted just enough to show he’s putting pieces together. I’ve been trying to hide it, but I can’t. His sharp eyes meet mine, and I know he’s already suspicious. He sees the way my fingers twitch, the way my breath hitches just a little too sharply when Violet teases me. He knows something’s coming.

I swallow hard, grip his wrist, and tug him away from the table. The murmurs of the others fade as I pull him further from the group, needing space to breathe. My pulse is racing now, my heart pounding louder with each step. I know damn well I can’t hold this in any longer, but the moment I say it, things will never be the same.

We stop just outside the circle of laughter and conversation, where no one can overhear us. Ridoc stands there, arms folded, eyes narrowed with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Alright,” he says, drawing out the word. “You’re acting weird, you turned down alcohol, and you’re pulling me aside like you’ve got some massive secret. Should I be worried?”

The weight of it all presses against me, suffocating, but I manage to look him in the eye. This isn’t something I planned to tell him so soon, but I can’t carry this any longer. I take a deep breath, the words burning on my tongue, and whisper, “I’m pregnant.”

The world seems to stop.

Ridoc blinks once, then twice, as if he didn’t hear me right. His mouth opens, and then shuts, his brain visibly scrambling to process what I just said. His eyes dart to mine, searching for any hint of a joke, but there’s nothing. His hands, once folded tightly across his chest, now hang at his sides, fingers twitching like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

For a moment, he’s completely still, like the world around us has fallen silent and we’re the only ones who matter.

And then, his face shifts. The shock gives way to confusion, and that’s when I see it—the joy. The raw, unfiltered joy that bursts through his expression. His lips part, the corners twitching upward in disbelief. He can’t quite believe it. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

In the next breath, before I can say another word, he spins around, his body moving with a force that’s both desperate and excited. And then, as if he’s claiming the moment for himself, he calls out across the room, loud enough for the entire squad to hear.

“I’M GONNA BE A DAD!”

The room goes completely still. Every single person freezes. A glass hits the floor with a dull thud. Violet chokes on her drink. Rhiannon’s jaw nearly hits the floor. Xaden, of course, looks like he already knew, his gaze unamused but somehow fond. Ridoc, meanwhile, is still grinning like the world is his to conquer. He doesn’t even care that we’re the center of attention.

The chaos erupts. Cheers, whoops, congratulations from every corner of the room. The sound of people scrambling to get to us, laughing, offering their well-wishes. But I can’t help but bury my face in my hands, overwhelmed with embarrassment.

Ridoc’s laughter, though, it’s pure, unrestrained. He pulls me into his arms, lifting me off the ground in a tight, dizzying hug. His grip is firm but gentle, as if I’m the most precious thing he’s ever held.

“You really thought I’d keep that to myself?” he says, his voice muffled in my hair as he chuckles, his breath warm against my skin. “Oh, love, you should know me better by now.”

I can barely breathe, laughing in spite of myself. The entire world feels like it’s shifting around us, and yet in this moment, I don’t care. I’m lost in him, in the joy he’s radiating, in the life we’ve just begun to build together. For the first time, I feel like nothing can touch us.

And when he finally pulls back, his hand slides over my stomach, slow and reverent, as if trying to memorise the change that’s already started to take place.

“This?” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “This is going to be the best thing thats ever happened to us.”

The soft sound of footsteps echoes through the quiet hallway, but it's the unmistakable sound of a door creaking open that pulls me from my thoughts. I'm sitting at the edge of the bed, a thousand things running through my mind, but when I hear it, I freeze.

The door clicks shut behind me. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. I can already hear Sawyer’s quiet, steady steps, the way he moves with that lazy confidence, like nothing in the world could make him rush. He's always been like that—unfazed, comfortable in his skin, but also the first one to notice when something’s off.

He leans against the doorframe, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and one brow arches slightly, like he's in on some joke I haven't figured out yet. He watches me for a long moment, his gaze knowing, waiting for me to speak. But I can’t. Words are stuck in my throat, heavy and thick.

I open my mouth, then close it again, trying to find the courage. My fingers brush against the edge of the bed, and it feels like the room is shrinking, the weight of what’s coming making my chest tighten.

Sawyer, ever perceptive, notices the shift in my demeanor instantly. Without hesitation, he pushes off the doorframe, his movements slow but purposeful. His voice is low, calm, but laced with concern. "What’s wrong?"

I glance at him, my heart hammering, and for a second, I almost wish I could keep this to myself just a little longer. But I know I can’t. Not with him. Not now.

I take a deep breath, avoiding his gaze as I stand up from the bed. My stomach churns again, a nauseating wave rising in my gut, but this time, it's different. I press a hand to my stomach, fighting against the bile that threatens to rise.

And that’s when I feel it—the low, guttural sound of me retching. I stumble toward the bathroom door before the first wave of nausea hits, pushing the door open just enough to avoid the inevitable disaster. I’m barely able to make it to the toilet before I’m on my knees, my body doubling over as I empty my stomach. The burn in my throat makes everything spin, and I try to steady myself, but it’s no use.

Then I hear it—the sound of Sawyer’s footsteps behind me, closer now, much closer. The door to the bathroom creaks open, and I don't need to look up to know he’s standing there. I can feel his presence, solid and unwavering. His hands press against the doorframe as he leans in, his gaze searching for me in the dim light.

“Hey… hey, you okay?” His voice is soft but urgent, his concern bleeding through the calm tone. He steps closer, his hand resting gently on the back of my neck, his touch warm and steady, like he’s trying to pull me back to earth.

I try to swallow, my breath still shallow, but I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. “I’m fine,” I say, but it comes out raspy and weak, not even close to convincing. The words fall flat, like they’re already on their way to breaking.

Sawyer doesn’t buy it. He crouches down beside me, his fingers brushing through my hair as he presses a damp cloth to the back of my neck. It’s soothing, but it’s also him, grounding me in a way that only he can.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs, voice low and calm.

And that’s when it happens—the dam breaks. I feel the weight of it, everything I’ve been holding back, and it spills out before I can stop it. “Sawyer, I’m pregnant.”

The words hang between us for a moment, and I can see it in his eyes—surprise, confusion, maybe even a little disbelief. His expression shifts like he's trying to process it, his brows furrowing for a fraction of a second before they smooth out, replaced by a gentle, almost stunned smile.

"You’re what?" he asks softly, his voice thick with the disbelief of the moment. But there’s something else there now, something warmer, a flicker of excitement, and maybe even hope.

I nod, my heart thudding in my chest as I try to steady myself, the nausea still lingering. His hands, once gently cradling me, tighten around me now, pulling me closer as if he’s trying to keep me anchored in the moment.

He blinks, then laughs softly, the sound almost disbelieving. “Holy shit,” he breathes, a smile spreading across his face. “I’m gonna be a dad?”

I nod again, the words tumbling out like they’re finally free, but I can feel the tension lift from my shoulders, replaced by something new, something lighter.

Sawyer’s expression shifts from disbelief to joy. It’s like the moment the words left my mouth, everything clicked for him. His arms tighten around me, pulling me into a warm embrace as he presses a kiss to my temple, the action soft, tender. "I’m gonna be a dad," he repeats, voice thick with emotion.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his hand coming up to gently cup my cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin there. “You just made me the happiest guy alive, you know that?”

I lean into his touch, feeling the sincerity in every word, every action. The chaos of the moment, the whirlwind of emotions, all start to settle in a way I didn’t expect. I’ve been carrying this secret, but now, in this moment, it feels like everything is going to be okay. Together.

Sawyer grins, his eyes sparkling with a joy that’s impossible to miss. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but we’ll figure it out. Together.” And just like that, the weight of everything shifts. It’s no longer a burden. It’s a promise.

Dain is already watching me when I step into the room, his eyes flicking over me with that overly cautious, ever-concerned expression that only he can pull off. It's like he has a sixth sense for when something is off. I can feel the weight of his gaze, like he's reading me before I even open my mouth. But this time, I can tell—he has no idea what's coming.

I shift on my feet, trying to steady my racing heart, and exhale sharply. The words feel stuck in my throat, but I can’t keep them in any longer. I have to say it, no matter how much it makes my palms sweat or my stomach churn.

“I’m pregnant,” I say, my voice a little shakier than I want it to be.

For a full five seconds, Dain doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. It’s like time has stopped, and I’m caught in this endless moment, waiting for him to process what I’ve just said. His face is completely blank, like his brain just short-circuited, like I’ve just dropped an impossible bomb on him and his system is still rebooting.

Then, panic. Pure, unfiltered panic. “You’re what?!” His voice jumps an octave, his eyes going wide as his hands fly up in the air, like he’s physically trying to keep reality from sinking in. “How—? I mean, I know how, but—this isn’t—what are we going to—?”

I can almost see the wheels turning in his head, like he’s trying to work out a hundred different scenarios all at once, his mind moving faster than he can process. He starts pacing, running a hand through his hair, muttering to himself like he’s already mentally drawing up battle plans for a war he didn’t see coming. “We need a plan. I need to—fuck, what if—what about Xaden? Does he know? And the squad? And—”

Before he can fully spiral, a sharp smack echoes through the room. Dain jerks forward slightly, his eyes snapping up in shock, and I can’t help but let out a breath of relief at the interruption.

Behind him stands Sloane, one hand on her hip, the other still raised from the smack she just delivered upside his head. She’s unimpressed, as always, her expression a mixture of disbelief and mild annoyance.

“Pull yourself together, Aetos,” she deadpans, like she’s heard enough. “She just told you she’s pregnant, not that the kingdom is burning down.”

Dain blinks rapidly, his hand coming up to rub the back of his head, his brow furrowing as he tries to process what just happened. “Did you just—?”

Sloane doesn’t even flinch. She just raises an eyebrow and gives him an almost bored look. “You were being dramatic.”

I can’t help the small chuckle that escapes my lips at the exchange. I’m still reeling from the words I just said, but Sloane’s dry humor is like a lifeline, and Dain’s still-freaked-out expression helps ground me.

Something shifts in Dain’s face then. The panic is still there, lingering, but it begins to break apart, bit by bit. He exhales sharply, like he's realizing just how deep into this he’s about to dive. His gaze flicks back to me, and this time, he really sees me—really sees me. The fear is still there, but it's quieter now, and there’s something else in his eyes. Something steadier. Something that tells me he’s starting to process it, even if he’s still not sure what the next step is.

Dain steps forward slowly, almost cautiously, like he’s afraid I might slip away from him if he moves too quickly. His hands reach for mine, his grip warm, a little shaky. For a moment, the world feels like it narrows to just him and me, the chaos of his thoughts receding into the background as he pulls me into his orbit.

“You’re pregnant,” he repeats softly, his voice a little raw. The words still feel strange in the air, like he's still getting used to them, but there’s something comforting in the way he says them. Like he's finally letting the weight of it sink in.

Then, to my complete surprise, a small, almost reverent smile tugs at his lips. The kind of smile I’ve never seen from him before. It’s not the typical confident, strategic grin he wears when he’s solving a problem or taking charge. No, this smile is softer, more awed, like he’s realizing something bigger than both of us.

“We’re going to be okay,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, but it’s filled with something more. A promise. A reassurance.

Just as I feel myself starting to breathe again, Sloane claps Dain on the shoulder with enough force to almost send him stumbling forward. She doesn’t even look back at us as she starts to walk away, her voice cutting through the moment with a sarcastic edge.

“About time,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head.

Dain huffs out a quiet laugh, clearly unbothered by her comment. He squeezes my hands tighter, his grip grounding me as his other arm slides around my back, pulling me into a tight embrace.

“I’ll be better at this,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion, his breath warm against my ear. “I promise.”

I rest my head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against mine, and for the first time in a long while, I believe him. Together, we’ll figure this out. One step at a time.

The meeting room is tense, filled with whispers and the clink of metal as people adjust in their seats. Violet is leaning forward, her usual soft smile replacing any hint of concern, while the others are deep in debate about who will go on the next mission. The stakes are high, and it’s clear that everyone wants to make sure they’re well-prepared. My heart is pounding in my chest, a tight knot forming as I feel the weight of what’s coming. The group is discussing the flying assignments, who’s going to be paired with Violet on her dangerous mission, and I can’t help but feel like something’s off. There’s a restlessness in me, a hesitation that I can’t shake.

Then, as expected, the moment comes. They call my name.

I stand, my legs feeling heavier than usual as I move toward the front of the room, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. I haven't even had the chance to tell Aaric yet. Haven’t had the chance to figure out what to say, how to handle it, how to let him in on something that already feels like it might be too much for us to process together.

But then, just as the silence begins to settle in the room, his voice cuts through, clear and commanding.

“No.” Aaric’s tone is sharp, his presence suddenly filling the room with an authority that demands attention. All eyes snap toward him as he stands from his seat, his jaw tight, a flash of something determined in his eyes. “She’s not going.”

Everyone blinks in confusion, unsure of where this sudden interruption is coming from. I glance over at Violet, who raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. She’s known Aaric for years, but she’s never seen him this... intense, this protective.

“What do you mean, she’s not going?” Xaden’s voice is incredulous, his hands on her hips as he challenges him. “We need her there. She’s more than capable—”

Aaric cuts her off, his gaze never leaving me. “I’m not letting her go. Not when—” He pauses, his expression tightening, like he’s struggling to hold back the words. But then his gaze flickers over to me, and the moment shifts. He knows. His eyes soften, just for a second, and I realize that somehow, without me even saying a word, he’s already figured it out. He’s seen it.

Before anyone can react, Aaric strides toward me, his hand lightly resting on my shoulder, like he’s grounding himself as much as he’s grounding me. “You’re pregnant,” he announces, his voice thick with the weight of his knowledge. The room falls into stunned silence.

I freeze, every muscle in my body locking up as his words hit me like a physical blow. I hadn’t planned to tell anyone yet. I hadn’t even figured out how to tell him. And now, here he is, pulling me into the center of attention, revealing something so personal that I feel like my entire world is shifting beneath me.

There’s a brief moment of chaos, with murmurs spreading through the room, eyes flicking between us. Some of the squad members look concerned, others confused, and a few seem like they’ve been expecting this. But I can’t focus on them. I can’t focus on anything except the look in Aaric’s eyes.

“I…” I try to speak, but the words stick in my throat. I’m not angry at him, not exactly. But I feel exposed, raw. How did he know?

Aaric’s gaze softens as he watches me, but his tone is firm. “I saw it.” His voice drops, quieter now, only for me to hear. “My signet... It showed me. I can’t... I can’t let you put yourself in danger. Not now.”

The sincerity in his eyes is almost enough to break me. His instinct—his foresight—has always been a double-edged sword. It’s saved us more times than I can count, but now, it’s exposing a vulnerability neither of us were ready for. He’s not just thinking about the mission or the war. He’s thinking about me. About us.

Violet is staring at us, disbelief on her face, but Aaric isn’t looking at her. His attention is fully on me, and the way he holds my gaze makes me feel like I’m the only person in the room.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his hand slipping from my shoulder to gently take my hand. “I know this isn’t easy. But I’m not letting you go out there. Not like this. Not with...” His voice falters for a moment, the weight of his own emotions pressing down on him. “We’re going to be a family.”

His words hit harder than I expected. He hasn’t even had time to process the gravity of what he’s saying, yet somehow, he’s already stepping up in ways I hadn’t anticipated. There’s no panic in his voice, no second-guessing. Just a quiet certainty that, in this moment, makes me feel like maybe everything will be okay.

I open my mouth to argue, to tell him that I’m capable, that I’ve handled worse, but something in his eyes stops me. The truth is, I’m scared. Scared of what this means, what it changes between us. But at the same time, there’s something about Aaric’s confidence, his protectiveness, that makes me feel like maybe—just maybe—he’s right.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice shaky. “I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

He squeezes my hand, his smile a little softer now, though still full of that unshakeable confidence. “You didn’t have to tell me. I knew.”

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m carrying this burden alone.

The war room is quiet, save for the occasional crackle of candlelight and the rustling of parchment as Brennan pores over the map before him. His shoulders are taut, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. He hasn’t come to bed yet. Again.

I watch him from the doorway for a long moment, arms crossed, my heartbeat an insistent drum against my ribs. He’s been lost in his own mind for hours, drowning in battle plans and strategy, and if I don’t pull him out of it, I know he’ll stay here all night.

So, I move.

The air is thick with the scent of parchment and ink, the remnants of a half-finished cup of tea gone cold at his elbow. He doesn’t look up as I approach, not even when I step behind him and press my hands against his tense shoulders, kneading gently.

“Brennan.” My voice is soft, coaxing.

A quiet hum is the only response I get. He leans into my touch, just barely, but his eyes stay fixed on the map.

Stubborn man.

I exhale sharply before shifting, slipping into his lap with ease. That gets his attention. His hands move instinctively to my hips, steadying me, but his gaze flickers only briefly to my face before returning to the table, as if I’m just another part of the world he’s trying to control.

I huff in frustration, threading my fingers through his auburn hair, tugging gently. “You’re ignoring me.”

“I’m working,” he murmurs, voice distant, distracted.

“Brennan.” This time, there’s warning in my tone. When he still doesn’t look at me, I grab his face between my hands, forcing him to meet my gaze.

He startles, his breath catching, and for the first time tonight, I have his undivided attention.

“Look at me,” I whisper.

His lips part slightly, confusion flickering in the depths of his amber eyes, but he doesn’t pull away. My thumbs brush over the sharp lines of his jaw, tracing the tension there, the weight he carries like armour.

I exhale, slow and measured, before I finally speak the words that have been pressing against my ribs all night.

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

A long, breathless pause where the world seems to still, time stretching between us like something fragile. Brennan doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. His expression is utterly unreadable, carved from stone.

Then—his hands tighten at my waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt like he’s grounding himself, like he’s afraid to let go.

“What?” The word is barely a whisper, hoarse with something I can’t quite name.

I swallow, my throat suddenly tight. “I’m pregnant.”

His chest rises and falls sharply, the only sign that he’s actually processing what I just said. For a long, terrifying moment, he just stares at me—like I’m something impossible, something too precious to be real.

And then, the breath he’s been holding rushes out of him all at once. His hands move without thought, sliding up my sides, over my stomach, reverent and almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid he might break me.

“You’re serious?” His voice is raw, stripped of all its usual certainty.

I nod.

Something in him shatters.

He exhales a quiet, disbelieving laugh, but his eyes are bright, almost feverish with emotion. And then he’s kissing me—fierce, desperate, like he’s trying to press this moment into my skin so he’ll never forget it. His hands tangle in my hair, pull me closer, his breath warm and unsteady against my lips.

When he finally breaks away, his forehead rests against mine, his eyes searching mine for something unspoken. His fingers skim over my stomach again, slower this time, lingering.

“We’re going to have a child,” he murmurs, like he’s only just allowing himself to believe it.

I nod again, my own breath shaky.

Brennan closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling against my skin. And when he looks at me again, it’s different. The storm inside him has quieted, replaced by something deeper, something unshakable.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice rough with promise. “And I swear to you—I swear on everything—I will protect you both.”

Tears burn at the edges of my vision, but I blink them away, letting my fingers trace the strong lines of his face. “I know.”

And for the first time in hours, Brennan forgets about war.

For the first time in weeks, he lets himself hold something other than duty.

Me. Us. Our future.

And for now, that’s enough.

[rinsko]

THAT FUNNY LITTLE GIRL ♡ GOJO SATORU

he hopes this lifetime will be enough to love.

papa! gojo washes his baby’s hair, what could go wrong! jumping thru the timeline, multiple times. sfw, fluff. approx. two thousand word count. he is filled to the brim with love.

“daddy?” his baby calls for him, satoru, who happens to be sitting right beside her bathtub— criss-crossed legs, paying less and less mind to the cold tile floor that’s making his skin shiver, and more on what she has to say.

“yeah baby?” he’s just down the hall, but you’ve begun to pick apart how his voice, with every syllable, sounds so fond when he speaks to her: his very precious girl.

you hear the gentle hum she hums for a quick second, the mumbling, jumbling of her words as she sorts out what she wants to say and then, “why’s the sky blue?”

★ ‎

there’s a bathtub marker in her hand when she asks, the very same ones satoru was so incredibly persistent on buying at your last shopping store run—

“bathtub markers?” he hears the quirk in your eyebrow before he has a chance to see it, holding the pack of eight in his hand like it’s the greatest invention yet.

“yup! we need them!” he stands side by side with his mini me— matching pairs of silly puppy dog eyes appear on their faces and a dramatic pout fixed to both their lips.

he whispers what he thinks you won’t hear, covering his lips behind the palm of his hand as he kneels to her side. “pst…” he hisses comically loud, “we need to say please, sunshine.”

“pease!” no please, (she’s much cuter about this whole ordeal than he is—) she nods her head as she swings her feet back and forth, fluttering without a sound.

could you guess what’s harder than saying no to her? satoru would vote it’s probably saying: goodbye!

your heart aches lovingly, too impossible to resist— “‘toru, it sounds like you want them more than she does.” grabbing the bundle of markers, you flip them to the side, skimming through its directions and their warnings.

“me?!” he says in the least dramatic tone he could possibly mutter, “are you denying our baby of an artistic future?” and then there’s a hand over his face again. he covers the gasping motion he’s currently molded into, “that she’s not destined to be the next picasso?”

“she’s three! how would you know?” funny grins paint over both your faces because it’s a bittersweet thought: her future, who’ll she be and what’ll become of her.

“there’s an artist inside that little heart, i can feel it.” he’s determined to stick to the skit, crossing his arms over his chest and puffing with a promising certainty for it all.

it’s even funnier when he knows he’s won too: when you hand over the markers to your baby’s pudgy fingers, he has that face plastered on. same one as every other time he’s won you over on something hilariously trivial.

“so honey,” focusing, you decide to actively ignore the cutest dimples on the corner of his smile, “what will you draw when you get home today?”

“f’owers” she points at the red marker, “more for you!” an obvious reference to the dozen roses she’s seen on the dinner table.

“you’re so sweet! i know you’ll draw me the prettiest flowers, my love!” you kiss the tip of her nose as tiny pearly whites form a cheeky smile in return— “ahem.” satoru follows slowly behind you both as you begin to stroll down the aisle again.

“and for daddy,” the coast is clear so you take the chance to stop and spread your arms as wide as you can, “you draw him the biggest, blue sky that matches his eyes!”

she giggles at the dramatics, your stretched out arms and satoru’s loving gaze directed toward you— she mimics these two things. “big sky ‘nd daddy!” and it’s true, your satoru carries the big sky wherever he goes.

★ ‎

“uhmm..” he thinks hard about it, rubbing the nape of his neck, setting his glasses down to the side— how exactly do you explain the color of the sky to a toddler?

he scoots in a little closer now, splashing sounds echoing around while she fidgets with the other toys in the bath, “so, the light from mr. sun is made of all the colors of the rainbow. do you know which ones?”

satoru picks out the markers in the same exact pattern he’s memorized— red, orange, yellow, green in her hand, blue, and the purple that seems the closest to violet.

she doesn’t sound very interested, yet. but you doubt it as long as there’s paddling turtles wound up and clicking across the bubbly water; her attention’s obviously elsewhere.

satoru uncaps the yellow marker first: forming one big, rigid circle against the shower wall that represents the sun— followed by streaks of all the other colors in his hands stretching away from it, representing light.

“like this,” he says, “all the colors of the rainbow.” he returns the green marker she had at first, happily holding onto the object again.

“but ms. earth,” a cake of blue forms as the felt tip rolls around in one spot, “likes blue the best. so, she makes her sky blue.” and with that, your baby blinks up at him like a doll— eyelashes pinched into the perfect curl, and he wonders if he’s only confused her even more.

“oh.” it’s funny how somber-toned she sounds— oh, the same tone you’d use after hearing the most unbelievable truth (or a lie!) the utter shock, the disbelief… that oh.

“just kidding!” he gleams brightly now as she watches. apparently, it had been enough to grab her attention even for the slimmest second.

satoru drops the markers back in the bathtub net where she had placed them, settling within her reach.

“the sky’s blue because daddy’s eyes are blue.”

and if he gleams, his baby does too, “i knew it!”

(he promises to explain himself to you a little later. surely, hopefully, you must forgive him and his little, white lie!)

“oh, you did?” satoru settles his knees as close as he can to the tub now, minimizing all the space he can as he reaches for the shampoo bottle on the edge of the tub, “isn’t my little girl so clever? yes, the smartest!”

she giggles, water splashing around as she moves closer towards her daddy’s arms— completely used to this routine by now, “mm, like papa.”

once he squeezes the bottle, he thinks his heart’s being squeezed too. watching chamomile-scented soap pour onto the palm of his hands, he smiles. “you think i’m clever, sunshine?”

“sometimes.” but she’s off in her own little world again, drawing on the wall with her favorite turtle beside her.

he supposes he will take what he can get.

with a gentle rinse to her hair, satoru begins to form a gentle lather along the crown of her head, “i want to be a clever daddy for you,” he says.

you know it comes with no thought, as if the words have simply fallen out and onto his tongue before they’ve finally reached his head, “a good papa.”

and it’s happened so frequently, he jokes with you about how she must have some sort of technique to pull out the honest truth from anyone— even without trying to.

“you just love her, satoru.”

★ ‎

amidst the grogginess of the morning and eyes closed shut, you tell him that much. it’s all you can grumble out when your firefly of a husband rises before the sun.

he claims it’s early morning clarity— when your mind is filled with everything and nothing. all you can do it spill your heart out. not much you can do to help it.

he loves this part of the day with you.

“i do. a lot.” he says in one lasting breath, just before shifting from being your big spoon to peek over at the baby monitor on his bedside table for the… nth time.

if she didn’t make him feel like his entire life was worth it, maybe he wouldn’t look at her so often. but she does, not even aware of it, with a leg dangling off the bed. plushies used for pillows rather than the pillows themselves.

it doesn’t scare him as much as it used to: the act of loving, and the acting of expressing it— the act of admitting just how much he does.

“she loves you too.”

★ ‎

with the soapy suds spilling over his knuckles, between his fingers and the strands of her hair, satoru notices something new.

he twirls a finger around the ends of her hair, strands strong and smooth— as he realizes they’re starting to curve around the shell of her ear on its own, when he doesn’t remember it doing that before.

and as he lowers his gaze, the soapy lather following along, he sees the longest strands of his baby’s hair are bound to meet the back of her neck. nape, ears and shoulders all meeting someone new.

satoru forgets that time goes by fast, especially when you’re filled with love to spare. “when did you start growing up so fast, sunshine?”

she shrugs.

the strength in his knees give out, landing him right back down onto the tile floor; feet tucked underneath his body. “it’s too fast.” he murmurs so lowly, you can barely catch on to what’s been said.

too fast to watch her go— but don’t say it out loud, satoru doesn’t have the heart to finish or hear the rest.

she’ll be able to say please, even without him asking her to. she’ll be able to pronounce her l’s until she loses her two front teeth. she’ll hold onto his hand, and he’ll hold onto her.

then, it’ll be time for school. and she’ll be leaving his side as a big girl now, with a lunch bag he’s packed and a slipping backpack over her shoulder— yes, inevitably, that’s going to happen too, just as he has before.

and if that’s right around the corner, then so is every other phase, inevitably— and the rest of her life from then on. it’s going to happen one day: where satoru’s baby is no longer a baby and he will have to let her go.

“‘toru.” he turns to you, towel in hand, pressing weight against the wall’s edge. “what’re you weepin’ about now, baby?”

your daughter turns to face him in a heartbeat, curious.

“crying?” voice trembling, he nudges his cheek into his sleeve in attempts to hide any evidence, big hands still in need of rinsing along with her hair. “who’s crying?”

stepping closer, you hang the towel over the hook before sitting right next to his side, “because you never cry, especially at random times.” you poke once at his ribs.

“you’re starting to get me, sweetness.” then, he dips his fingers into the water, bubbly foam parting ways from his skin. it falls down her shoulders when he rinses her off, all done with the bath, and having a little time to play.

you watch him for a while, trying to identify the cause and while trying to make small talk— you mention something without much thought, “her hair has gotten a lot longer now.”

his voice, it’s tinier than you’ve ever expected it to be, “i know…” a sniffle divides his sentence, a proper pause, “she’s growing up so fast.”

“ah… so, that’s what this is about.”

you rest your head over his shoulder, still feeling as in love as ever, “you’re cute, you know that?” he rests his in return. “we still have hundreds of days together.” you watch the way she draws on the wall, enjoying her happiness as if it were your own.

“it doesn’t feel like enough.” he says.

“i don’t think it’ll ever be enough.” no, it never will. “maybe we’re greedy like that, honey.” yes, you know this.

he knows he is. because there’s a bright sun in the blue sky with red roses to bring it all together, just like she promised.

“finished!” she looks back at you two, hands in the air in celebration of her brand new masterpiece being born.

“oh! they’re so pretty!” sweet enthusiasm in your voice, you give her all the attention in the world. “just perfect!”

you begin to ask her the little things, every detail you could think of and she could find an answer to, all while wrapping her in the warm towel you hung up earlier.

satoru’s gotten up from the floor too, taking it all in until she calls for him again, “that’s you, daddy.” she points at the blue on the wall as you carry her back to her room.

his heart screams though he’s no longer crying and he hopes this lifetime will be enough to love.

satoru hears your footsteps trickling further down the hall when your voice resounds again, “come on daddy, we need help picking out today’s pijamas!”

“pease, papa hurry!”

his heart screams though he’s no longer crying as he listens to the water flow down the drain, capturing her first piece of art on his phone, he has very little to say.

but if he had to say it and if his baby asked him to, satoru would confess: “i’m so happy. i’m so happy to love you.”

hello friends! this is a repost from my previous blog, mysugu. in the case you recognize this piece, that is (hopefully) why! thank you for reading this bit, (a second time?) he is so loved.

[rafayelsbelovedbride]

Wait, how did I miss this???? Tamino???? TAMINO????

A week after I said this ????

I'm not a big fan of the magic flute, but this code name fed my delusions so well 😭

Tamino was deceived into thinking that the Queen's daughter Pamina was kidnapped by an evil demon who was later revealed to be Sarastro who inherited the temple of the sun instead of the Queen of the night. As the story progresses, Tamino and Pamina go through a series of trials, and as they walk through fire and water they enter the temple of the sun. At that moment, the Queen comes back to destroy the temple but in the end, she meets her doom. And that's how the sun overpowers the night.

Honestly, I want to believe that the prophecy told in the tome of the Sea God was meant to mislead Rafayel. The flame in the temple, promised by the prophecy, relies on two lovers stealing the other's hearts to provide the faith that ignites the flame.

But as Rafayel said before, that warm flame is incomparable to the power of the sun. When MC gave her purest worship to Rafayel at the end of the Forgotten Sea, I think he saw that the power promised by the tome was nothing compared to the newborn flame MC gave him.

So maybe after that, Rafayel decided to join "the temple of the sun" and maybe now he's going through the trials. A trial that forbids him from speaking to his Pamina first. And then, the trials that they will face together after the misunderstandings are resolved.

Maybe, in the end, Lemuria will meet its real sun. And maybe, in the end, the flame that illuminates an entire civilization won't come from bloodshed.

And maybe, the reason why Rafayel rejected MC's heart at the end of the Sea of Golden Sand was because he knew that this was not the way to enter the "temple of the sun". He knew that a Lemuria that relied on the suffering of these two lovers was not the place he wanted to live in and was not the place he wanted his followers to live in.

[yangjungwonisms]

Dress- YJW

warnings: NSFW| dirty talk, semi-public sex, choking(only a little), MDNI 18+

You knew as soon as Jungwon stepped through the door today that you were about to have an interesting night. For one, he was in a much better mood than he normally was after work and secondly, he was clingier with you than usual. Not to say he was ever in a bad mood when he came home but today it was different. He hadn’t let you out of his sight once since he got home, immediately wrapping you in his arms for a hug and planting a kiss on your lips. You two stood like that for a while just enjoying being with each other. But every time you tried to walk away to continue with what you were doing he’d just pull you back into him and pout whenever you tried to leave. “Baby no don’t move please. wanna hold you, missed you so much today”. You never could deny him when he started asking so nicely. “Wonie, what has gotten into you today? Is everything okay”? At that he finally released his hold on you and walked into the next room. You followed him just a little confused about what he was doing. “I’m perfect baby, just missed you is all. Hey, I’ve got an idea, let’s go out tonight. We can get all dressed up and go out for drinks and then go have dinner”. You had to admit, the idea did sound nice, it would give you a chance to actually spend time with your boyfriend which is something you hadn’t gotten to do much of recently. “That sounds like a lot of fun baby. But are you sure everything is okay? You seem different today”. He simply turned to you, smiled and winked before answering “I’m fine baby, I promise. Just wanna take my pretty girl out on the town and spoil her”.

You’d never seen Jungwon get ready as fast as he did tonight. He was showered and dressed within 30 minutes leaving you to take your time. Eventually you had to lock him out of your room because he was starting to become a distraction. It had started with him sitting on the bed watching you with what you can only describe as a predatory look in his eyes. Then when you weren’t looking he had come up behind you placing little kisses up and down your neck. “You look so beautiful princess. Can’t believe how lucky I am to have you”. You turn around quickly dodging his embrace “Jungwon baby thank you but I need you to go away. If you want us to actually leave the house you need to let me get ready in peace”. He walked backwards towards the door putting both of his hands up in surrender “sorry baby, I’ll leave you to get ready in peace” and with that he closed the door behind him. You felt a tiny bit bad for kicking him out of your room like that so you thought you’d reward him later for being so good to you.

Once you had finished getting ready, you walk out to the living room to grab your jacket signaling that you were ready to go. Before you could go anywhere Jungwon looked up at you letting out a wolf whistle “damn my baby looks gorgeous for me”. No matter how many times he complimented you it always made you blush. “Thank you baby, dressed up just for you”. Jungwon was really starting to regret his suggestion to go out, not that he didn’t want to take you out and spoil you, he just really wanted to fuck you more. One look at him told you that. “Hm, I'm the luckiest man in the world, baby. We should get going now yeah”?

The entire ride from your place to the bar was one filled with tension, you were both displaying extraordinary amounts of restraint so as not to jump each other's bones in the back of the cab. The bar Jungwon took you to was very fancy and in a great neighborhood. He was able to steal you two a booth tucked away in the corner. Over the course of your time at the bar you two may have been drinking more than was planned originally. You two weren’t drunk by any means but you weren’t exactly sober either. But the thing that always seemed to happen when you two were tipsy was that you both became less aware of your surroundings and more aware of each other. The touches started out innocent, but quickly became lingering. Eventually that meant Jungwon placing a hand on your thigh, inching it up ever so slightly. If you were sober it might’ve been nearly imperceptible but the slow drag of his palm against your skin made you feel like you were on fire. Without the watchful eyes of anyone else he leaned in and started kissing you, pulling back just enough for it to appear innocent from the outside. “Baby, you look so sexy for me. Can hardly control myself right now”. You didn’t want him to either, one word from either of you and he’d have taken you right then and there even if you were in public. You grab his hand slowly inching it in between your thighs but stopping it inches away from the intended destination. He tries to move his hand so he can finally touch you the way he’d been wanting to all night. “Do you wanna know a secret”? He was hoping you’d say you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. “Tell me”. You pull him into you leaning forward just enough to place a delicate bite on his ear lobe “I’m not wearing any panties”. Once you said that, you released your hold on his wrist. With absolutely no hesitation he moved his hand just enough to come in contact with your pussy. He started to touch you albeit with less urgency than he normally would’ve had. “You do this for me baby”? Your only answer was a nod of your head. “Get your things, we’re going”.

Jungwon was eerily silent the entire ride home, you thought maybe there was the slightest chance he was mad at you for doing that, but what you didn’t know was that he was trying to control himself. But it was another story once he got out of the cab, he was perfectly fine waiting until you had gotten up to your apartment but then when you moved to step out of the cab he saw the briefest flash of your bare pussy and he lost all semblance of control. When you had entered the lobby of your apartment building he did a quick glance around to make sure no one was out there before he dragged you into the stare well. You had no time to protest before he had you pushed up against the wall. “Fuck baby, you’re so dirty leaving the house without any panties on”. Before you could wrap your mind around what was happening Jungwon snuck his hand up your dress wasting no time finding your clit and rubbing it. He’s quick to throw his hand over your mouth, silencing any moans that were threatening to slip out. He’s quick to grab your leg and hitch it up before he starts fucking two fingers into you. “So wet for me baby, was this what you had in mind when you chose not to wear any panties tonight”? All you were physically able to do was nod your head. He’d kept the pace of his fingers slow and steady, you surmised it was to work you up further. Just as he’s finally started to pick the pace up he’s quick to pull his hand out of your dress at the sound of someone walking down the stairs.

Before you two could get caught he pulled you out of the stare well and back into the lobby. You knew one look at you two would show how flushed you were and how hard Jungwon was in his pants. The wait for the elevator was torturous, Jungwon was all but flush against your back trying to hide the hard on he was sporting. You two were lucky enough to get an empty elevator. As soon as the doors close Jungwon is back on you once again, trapping you in the corner of the elevator and kissing you like a man starved. You knew your time in the elevator was coming to an end so you snuck your hand in between the two of you and palmed him over his pants. The way his hips immediately start rocking into your hand leaves you both dizzy. If you had the time you would’ve gotten on your knees and given him the best head of his life right there for everyone to see. Instead what you do is pop open the button on his pants and push them down just enough to pull his cock out. You can tell he’s taken aback by the sudden movement. He tries to stop your movements but you’re too quick, taking him in your hand. Your movements are quick and slightly impatient setting a punishing pace for him. “Fuck baby, we can’t do this here, anyone could see”. He was such a hypocrite, having had no issue fingering you in the stare well where anyone could’ve seen you two at any moment. “Hm but do you really want me to stop”? His hips had started to grind forward creating more friction for him. “No please don’t”. That’s what you thought. Taking a page out of his book you speed up your movements and start whispering into his ear, which is a move he always made on you. “Baby, you have no idea how much I need you to fuck me right now”. As he goes to speak the elevator stops, Jungwon is quick to tuck himself into his pants pulling you in front of him to hide what had been going on. He does this in just enough time before someone steps into the elevator. The air is awkward between you two, you could tell by his body language Jungwon was irritated.

You’d no sooner walked into your apartment before Jungwon had you pushed up against it bringing his hand up to wrap ever so slightly around your neck. “Did you think that was funny baby? Answer me”. You should’ve known you wouldn’t get away with your stunt back in the elevator. “Just wanted to make you feel good baby”. He doesn’t buy it for one second, scoffing while tightening the grip on your neck. “Should make you get on your knees for me baby, but I’m too impatient for that. Need to fuck you now”. He takes his hand off your throat to undo his pants and take his cock back out. He’s too impatient to undress you, opting to push your dress up around your hips. He picks you up, wrapping your legs around him. He’s about to push into you before you grab his hand and move it back to your throat. He’d only ever choked you a couple of times, each at your request but never during sex. He’d never be able to put into words how much he liked when you asked him to choke you. He pushes into you, bottoming out in one swift motion. He’d normally wait for you to adjust to him but the way your pussy is sucking him in he can’t find it in himself to care. His pace is so fast that you can’t catch your breath. But it’s also so good that you don’t care about anything else but the way his cock feels inside of you. “Am I fucking you good baby”? You were shocked he even needed to ask you that, especially with the way you were moaning for him. “You- fuck- you always fuck me good baby. Can’t get enough of your cock”. You aren’t sure how he still has the energy to fuck you against the door when he’s pistoning into you how he is. “Always so good at taking my cock baby. Been waiting to fuck you all night”. You’re all but screaming his name at this point, overwhelmed by everything, by the drag of his cock inside of you and how good he smells up close. You’re overwhelmed by the way he’s looking at you and with the sweat starting to drip off of his hair. In short, you’re overwhelmed by him. “Fuck Jungwon, I’m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum baby”. His hips falter at that, a telltale sign he himself is about to finish. “Gonna cum too baby. Where do you want me”?

You’re so far gone that when you babble out your answer to him you miss his reaction. “Cum inside me please, it’s okay”. You two had never had sex raw before, even though you were on the pill it just never got brought up. “Princess wants me to cum inside her huh? Fuck- you’re gonna take what I give you then”. With a few more sloppy thrusts Jungwon buries his face into your neck letting out the most sinful moans before cumming inside of you. As soon as he pulls out of you, he all but collapses on the floor pulling you with him. You two lay there for a few minutes trying to catch your breath. Jungwon is content in that moment, but he knows that he’s nowhere near done with you tonight. “What got into you tonight Wonie”? He himself isn’t even sure, he just knows when he saw you once he got home from work that he needed to fuck you good and hard. “You got into me baby. Don’t tell me you didn’t like it. I felt how wet you were at the bar”. He had you there. You were just as insatiable as he was. But before you could go to answer he’s flipped you around so he’s laying on top of you. He leaves kisses down your neck slowly moving his way down your body. “Hmm baby, I’m sorry we didn’t get to dinner tonight. But I’m going to have to insist we skip straight to dessert”. With that, your night was about to get a lot more fun.

[rikosseen]

James Lee x Reader: Remnants

Anon request

One moment, the clock reads 21:00, and the next 01:03.

An understanding person, you were, but when it came to Diego breaking his promises, there wasn’t much to apprehend– only that he didn’t deem your marriage important enough.

So may he be granted forgiveness and patience– because he was in for an earful.

.

Your lids feel heavier by the second, and when 2am hits, you’re ready to give up on waiting for your husband. A sinking feeling overtakes your body when you hesitate slightly. It’s difficult not to feel offended. And it’s difficult when you feel like you’re the only one complaining all the time.

Sure, you’ve communicated about his behaviour, and how it threatens to break apart the relationship, but his nonchalance belittles you.

And then, the door clicks. Footsteps creep in. Soft. Guilty. And by now, your anger has despaired into exhaustion.

“Welcome.”

A pause. One that causes the air to instantly thicken, and the stoicness in James face to drop.

“I had–”

“Dinner’s on the table. Heat it up if you’re hungry.”

“Let’s eat together,” though he sounds exasperated– by just the slightest bit. But the years of being with him have allowed you to pick up all his mannerisms and habits.

So you smile at him, and say, “I’m tired.”

Of waiting, you want to continue. But the words don’t pass your throat, let alone your lips.

He stares back and sighs. Like you created an issue. As if you had made a big deal out of nothing once again.

“What was that?”

James takes a seat at the dinner table, not bothering at all to warm up what he’s about to indulge in. He shouldn’t even have the luxury. And when he acknowledges you again, he mutters a “nothing”. And a “goodnight, love you”.

By now, you feel the fury creep in.

Again, you feel like the villain.

Again, you feel like a child throwing a tantrum in front of an adult.

.

The bed feels extra uncomfortable tonight, and no amount of shifting around seems to calm down the bubbling anger in your chest. The infuriation threatens to seep through as tears, but only a choke manages to escape your mouth.

.

When padded, calculated footsteps find their way into your shared bedroom, you force yourself to relax completely in an attempt to appear asleep.

A ghost of a kiss falls on your forehead, and a muttered “sorry” follows the action. When he leaves for the bathroom, you clench the bedsheets and let out a suppressed and strained breath.

Was it always like this? Did the two of you always end the day with banter? Did the misunderstandings stretch this far?

The questions clockwork your mind into the past; what had been. Of memories almost forgotten. When a red haired teen and you ran through the streets, with havoc following close by. Of shared secrets and hushed giggles forming a bond that many had yet to experience. When the days were fulfilling, and promises were kept. When waiting was an activity done together.

The tears fall uncomfortable on the pillowcase, and you find yourself missing someone’s certain red hair. The canines that flashed when he smiled in apology.

You don’t see that so often anymore– and you’re left to think about how both you and Diego changed. Into two people, unrecognisable by one another.

Prior breakups occurred, but things were always patched up. Now, the impending thought and dread of divorce settles its way into your sleep. For maybe– what you held dearly was just… remnants of the past.