#do take care not to faint while looking at it

[ducktoo]

How to take care of Jiwon

IVE's Liz x Reader

Note: Anon, hope this was something you were asking for (I think). Twas' a fun prompt and I enjoyed it frfr. Feel free to DM me ur thoughts!

(This German girl do be looking cute-)

“Again?”

You don’t even look up from your computer screen. You already know who it is.

There’s a quiet giggle, followed by the sound of someone shuffling through your things. You sigh, rubbing your temple before shooting a glare at the intruder currently invading your workspace—none other than Kim Jiwon(or Liz), your childhood friend turned global idol, standing beside your desk like she owns the place.

“Can you not touch my stuff?” you grumble, snatching a framed photo from her hands before she can get any ideas.

She blinks at you innocently. “You keep this here?”

You glance down at the picture, already knowing which one she’s referring to. It’s an old, slightly faded photo from elementary school—Liz, missing her two front teeth, flashing a peace sign, while you stand beside her with the grumpiest expression imaginable. You had never liked taking pictures, but Liz had insisted back then. Looking at it now, you don’t even remember why you agreed to keep it on your desk.

“It’s just decoration,” you mutter, setting it back down.

Liz hums, but there’s a knowing glint in her eyes. “Sure, sure.”

She doesn’t leave. Of course, she doesn’t. You’re already used to this little routine.

Despite her packed schedule, Liz always finds time to drop by your office whenever she’s at the company. She claims it’s because she’s curious about what you do, but you know better. The real reason? She just enjoys annoying you.

She picks up your stationery, taps at your keyboard, sometimes even steals your coffee—because “staff coffee tastes different.” You tolerate it because, well… it’s Liz. You’ve known her since you were kids.

It’s still crazy how you both ended up here…especially after how you reunited.

-

To this day, you still don’t know how the hell that situation happened.

You had only been working at Starship Entertainment for about a month at that point. Just a regular staff member, trying not to get scolded, running around delivering paperwork, managing schedules—nothing out of the ordinary.

Then came that time.

One of your first bigger assignments had been to handle some logistics for IVE’s new comeback. Simple enough. Make sure the equipment was working, ensure the space was ready, help with any requests—it was routine.

What wasn’t routine was somehow ending up in a storage closet with a girl in a hoodie, a bucket of spilled cleaning supplies, and the worst case of déjà vu you’ve ever experienced.

…Let’s back up.

That day, you had been in a rush, carrying a stack of documents for the management team when you took a wrong turn down a hallway you didn’t usually use. It led to one of the storage rooms, where cleaning supplies and extra equipment were kept.

The door was slightly open.

Then, without warning—

CRASH.

Something—or someone—barreled right into you, sending both of you stumbling backwards into the closet.

The door slammed shut behind you.

Silence.

For a moment, you just laid there on the floor, trying to process the fact that you had just been body-slammed into a janitor’s closet. Your head throbbed. You could hear the faint creak of a mop falling somewhere nearby.

And then—

“…Wait. Grumpy?”

You froze.

That voice. That stupidly familiar voice.

Slowly, you looked up.

And there, crouched in the dim light, staring at you like she had just seen a ghost—was the one and only. Your childhood friend. The same girl you hadn’t seen in years.

In a janitor’s closet. With you.

What. The. Hell.

“…What are you doing here?” she asked, blinking rapidly.

You stared at her. “What are you doing around here in the management area?”

“I asked first!”

“I work here!”

That seemed to short-circuit her brain for a second. Her eyes widened, then darted to the staff ID clipped to your shirt. Slowly, realization dawned on her face.

“…You work at Starship?”

“Yes?!”

"Since when?!"

"Since I got hired, duh!"

Liz opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. She blinked.

Then—

She burst out laughing.

“You—You actually work here?” she wheezed, clutching her stomach. “Oh my God, this is unreal. This is so unreal.”

"Tsk." You scowled. “Glad to see my suffering is entertaining you.”

“I can’t believe this! We literally grew up together, lost contact, and now you’re working for my company? This is insane.” She wiped at her eyes, still laughing. “And—wait, you of all people? You always hated dealing with people!”

“Yeah, well, life’s funny like that,” you muttered. You rubbed your temples, exhaling through your nose. “Okay, but why were you sneaking around?”

Liz suddenly looked away, suspiciously avoiding eye contact. “No reason.”

“…You were stealing snacks from the staff area again, weren’t you?”

Silence.

“…Maybe.”

Unbelievable. Some things really never changed.

-

And that was how you reunited.

You had spent a solid fifteen minutes stuck in that closet with Liz before someone finally found you two. The rest of the staff had been utterly confused, and you had to endure Liz wheezing with laughter for the rest of the day.

Ever since then, she had made it her personal mission to annoy you at work.

Which brings you to now.

“Alright, stay put. Don’t touch anything,” you warn as you stand from your desk, stretching your arms before grabbing your phone. “I need to get some files from the storage room.”

Liz, perched on the edge of your desk like she owns the place, swings her legs lazily. “No promises.”

You narrow your eyes. “I mean it. Hands off.”

She hums innocently, lips curling into a playful smile. “Of course, of course.”

You don’t trust her one bit.

Still, you leave, because you have to, but you throw one last suspicious glance over your shoulder before stepping out.

The door clicks shut…and Liz immediately disregards your warning.

“Don’t touch anything,” she mocks under her breath, rolling her eyes. As if she could ever listen to that. "Bleh. What are you, my mom?"

She stretches her arms with a yawn, then lazily lets her fingers drift across your desk, poking at whatever looks mildly interesting. The keyboard? Tap. A stack of documents? Poke. Your half-empty coffee cup? Swirl.

And then she sees it.

A small, slightly worn notebook tucked beside your monitor, the corner peeking out as if daring her to take a look.

Curious, she pulls it free and flips it over in her hands. The second she reads the cover, her breath catches in her throat.

"How to Take Care of Jiwon the Annoying Child"

She blinks. Once. Twice.

Then, a slow, delighted smile spreads across her face.

“Oh?”

Her heart beats a little faster as she carefully flips the first page. The handwriting is neat—your handwriting. She skims over the lines, amusement bubbling in her chest.

Jiwon gets grumpy when she hasn’t eaten. Always have snacks on hand.

She giggles. “So that’s why you always have extra snacks.”

She flips to the next one.

She gets sleepy after eating too much. Don’t let her nap on the practice room floor. Would be annoying to tend to the sick Jiwon.

A small gasp escapes her lips. “Wait, is that why you always wake me up first?”

Another page.

If she’s sad, buy her ice cream. Preferably chocolate.

Her heart flutters. You really do notice everything, huh?

She keeps reading, her amusement growing. But then—

The notes start getting weirder.

If she starts humming randomly, she’s in a good mood. If she’s humming AND staring at me, she’s plotting something. Probably my usual dose of suffering.

Liz snorts. “What do you mean?”

DO NOT let her near a stray cat. She will try to take it home.

She gasps, clutching her chest. “That happened one time, trust me–”

If she says ‘Trust me,’ DO NOT TRUST HER.

Liz bursts into laughter. “Damn it! Okay, fair.”

The notes only get more ridiculous.

She once ate an entire cake by herself just to prove she could. Do NOT challenge her to food-related dares.

If she looks too smug, she probably stole my drink.

If she looks too cute and uses her dumb aegyo, she’s about to ask for a favour.

Her giggles come uncontrollably now. She flips through the pages quickly, eager to see what else you’ve written. But then—

The shift happens. The notes stop being ridiculous. They start being… something else.

When she’s nervous, she fidgets with her necklace. Let her hold onto my sleeve instead.

Her fingers touch her necklace instinctively. "Huh…you do wear long sleeves every time we meet…"

Liz acts tough, but she cries at sad movies. Keep tissues ready.

Her laughter softens. "No I don't…mostly…"

She overworks herself even when she’s exhausted. Sometimes she just needs someone to tell her to rest.

Her heart clenches.

And then, the last note. It might have been scribbled out but…She stares at it. She couldn't unsee it after once.

If she ever gets too tired, remind her she doesn’t have to do everything alone. Remind her that I’m here….

Her grip tightens on the notebook.

She rereads the words, once, twice—three times.

She always knew you cared. In your own way—grumbling, teasing, acting like she was the most annoying person in the world. But this? You had written this down. As if it was important. As if you wanted to remember, just in case.

As if she mattered.

Her chest feels warm.

The door creaks open.

“Alright, I got the—”

Your words cut off when you see her holding the notebook.

You freeze mid-step.

Liz is holding the notebook. Jiwon is reading the notebook.

Your stomach drops.

She looks up at you, notebook still clutched in her hands, her expression unreadable.

You stand there, the file folder limp in your grip.

Then, slowly, a mischievous glint appears in her eyes.

“You mother f—”

Before you can even lunge for it, Liz hugs the notebook to her chest, scrambling to her feet. Her breath comes out in an excited rush.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, eyes sparkling. “You do care about me!”

You feel actual panic set in. “PUT THAT DOWN. KIM JIWON.”

She takes a step back, holding it tighter. “No way! This is adorable! You—You actually wrote down how to take care of me?!”

You can feel your dignity slipping away.

“I— It’s not what it looks like—”

“Ohhh, let’s see what else—” She flips back to the earlier pages, reading aloud dramatically. “‘If she’s nervous, let her hold onto my sleeve instead.’”

Your ears burn as your hand subconsciously rolled up your sleeves in embarrassment.

"Oooohh, you're wearing long sleeve today as well, huh?!" Liz gasps, looking up at you with exaggerated shock. “You let me do that? Willingly?!”

You grit your teeth. “GIVE. IT. BACK.”

She twirls away, flipping through more pages. “Wait, wait—‘If she looks too smug, she probably stole my drink.’” She gasps in fake offense. “So that’s why you glare at me whenever I take a sip.”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “Jiwon—”

She keeps going, eyes darting across the pages. But then—

She reaches the last note again.

Her laughter fades.

Silence stretches between you.

She rereads the words, her fingers brushing lightly over the ink. Then, slowly, she lifts her head.

The teasing glint in her eyes is gone. Instead, there’s something softer. Something more sincere.

“…You really meant this?” she asks, voice quieter.

You shift uncomfortably. “U-um…I—”

Her gaze lingers on you for a moment. Then, before you can react, she lunges at you again, but this time, she hugs you.

You stiffen immediately.

“…Ya.”

She squeezes you tighter.

“Shhh,” she mumbles into your shoulder. “Just let me hug you, you tsundere.”

You stand there, unmoving, ears burning. Your hands hover awkwardly before—finally—you sigh and pat her back.

“…You’re so annoying.”

She giggles against your shoulder. “I know.”

After a moment, she pulls back, grinning. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

You roll your eyes, snatching the notebook from her hands before she can react. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t expect me to serialise this and give it to your members.”

She beams. “That sounds fun actually.”

[sh4rkkks]

𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜!𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 ༒

𝐓𝐰: 𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝-𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚, 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐨𝐦/𝐬𝐮𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬

𝐀𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 | 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 ’𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭’ 𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

the terrifying Ghost, large hulking lieutenant of the tf141. you’ve known him for a while now, the regular appeal of his character a striking blow to your personality. he never speaks, never dares to look you in the eye as he walks by. the few glances you swipe at him are passing stares, watching from afar as Price drones on about missions. you watch him, just watch as he lives his life.

you’ve offered your assistance when he looks like he needs it, only to be shot down by a stern grunt—or if you’re lucky, a sharp no. he’s a peculiar figure, one who you’ve wanted to dig inside for so long now. you can’t lie to yourself, you’re utterly amazed by him. the way he carries himself at such a tall standard is as inspiring as it is attractive.

“good work with the sweep, i’m going to need the paperwork from each of you by tomorrow and…” Prices voice drones on, a practiced speech he gives after every successful mission. it’s the same spiel every time, a metaphoric pat on the back if you will. you pay no mind to him, alert in case of a change to routine, but your head is elsewhere. you’re sitting across the table from Ghost, watching. watching like you always do.

it’s an analytical approach, one you use on many people in interrogation when you want to read their body language. but with Ghost it’s different. his face is hidden behind the dark balaclava he wears. the worn skull pattern mocks you, almost taunting the ideas of what may lie beneath it. his dark eyes are focused on Price, eyebrows drawn together as if this is the first time hearing the script before. he shifts back in his chair as if he can feel your eyes on him, though he never dares to look at you.

his eyes are a dark hazel, sticking out against the dark eye grease he’s so clearly half assed onto his skin. you wonder what the grease feels like. is it a stale paste that is a burden to rub on? must not be if he wares it so frequently. his lashes flutter against the dark grease, and if you look hard enough you can see the blonde coloring closer to his eyelid. you’ve observed the small amounts of skin he’s let be shown so much you’ve created an image of him in your mind.

he shifts again, almost startling you by the movement of crossing his arms. what really gets your heart going is when his eyes find yours. his brows pull even further together, like he’s insulted you would dare look at him. but you can’t take your eyes off him. he blinks slowly, a subtle shift to his pupils as he narrows his eyes in your direction, the hazel of his irises disappearing behind the cold look.

“dismissed.” that’s all you register before Ghost is out the meeting room door.

the gym is quiet, the soft hum of the overhead fans filling the room with an almost eerie atmosphere. you don’t mind though, too enamored by the day to care. you cant sleep, your mind consumed by a single pressurized thought. one that you refuse to admit to yourself.

the sweat trickles down your back, the sports bra clinging to your skin in a nauseatingly uncomfortable manner. you sink down from your last hip thrust, body aching as you sit against one of the hard mats. the process of cleaning of the weights is exhausting to say the least, your body in need of any sort of hot compress.

the shower rooms are a nightmare during the daytime, the night providing a much nicer contrast to the usual lines or chaos. as you step into the large room, a faint steam surrounds you, the hiss of one of the showers echoing through the empty spaces. you look around the corner into the main shower room. one of the curtains are closed, a pair of feet visible from under the expanse of the showers before it. the long bench in the middle of the tiled room is currently housing one set of clothes. Ghost.

the familiar skull balaclava he was wearing earlier today is resting right on top of his discarded clothes, placed deliberately on top of the neatly folded black fabrics. you dare not speak, unable to even fathom what might happen if he knew you were just standing here. you’re torn with your choices, debating wether to just ignore him and shower, or run with your tail tucked between your legs.

a groan.

it pulls you from your own head, ricocheting off the tiled walls of the empty rooms. his breathing is labored above the spray of the water, his lips tightened as he seemingly conceals something. he sounds pained, like he’s wounded and forcing himself to shower through the pain. you move without realizing, footsteps silent as you walk past the empty stalls. you don’t even regulate that you’re not breathing, too focused on making sure that your lieutenant isn’t injured.

you almost feel your heart stop. the shower curtain is foggy but still clear, giving you a good view of his large back as it faces you. one of his arms is planted on the wall in front of him, the other seemingly gripping his stomach from what you can see. his back muscles ripple as he sucks in another breath, head tipping back so his face is facing the ceiling. he’s blonde. from what you can see at least, his hair darkened from being wet.

his hand rubs over his stomach, bicep flexing with the movement as he moves it faster. a realization dawns on you, everything going blank in your mind. “Ghost-“ you don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t know why you’re calling out to him as you watch him unfold.

“mm, fuck-“ he reels over slightly, body shaking as he moans. you’re stricken by your own horror as you feel the spot between your legs pulse. “fuck fuck fuck…” his head dips between his shoulders, arm flexing as it slows movement. his shoulders rise and fall as he pants, his mind clearly too clouded to recognize that it was your actual voice, not just imagination.

you swallow, hand reached out like you’re trying to hold him from the other side of the shower curtain. “Ghost,” you repeat, voice timid as if not to scare him. his head whips around, side profile sticking as he hides behind his outstretched arm.

“get the fuck out.” his voice is chilling as he practically yells at you. he spins around, clearly not realizing what he’s just done. his face is fueled by anger but your heart pounds at the tortured beauty of it. his nose is crooked from being broken so many times. there’s a large gash in his right cheek. his eyes fit so well with the rest of his rugged features you don’t even realize how heavily you’re staring until he tugs the shower curtain back. “you hear me?” he snaps. “get out of the goddamn showers.” it’s an eager bite to you, voice low and truly terrifying to an average person.

it would be terrifying if you weren’t so focused on his body. he’s absolutely built, his muscles carved into his scarred and pale skin like it’s never been any other way. it would be terrifying if you weren’t so focused on the way his biceps bulged with each tense and hardened breath. it would be terrifying if you weren’t so focused on the way his cock hangs between his legs. fuck.

he’s semi-hard you assume, only judging on the way it twitches with his movement. you feel lightheaded, your mind consumed by the imprinted picture of the man standing before you. he’s a bit bigger than average, you decide. jesus christ. you can feel your jaw slack as you watch a bead of his cum roll down the base of him. “shit- get-“ he growls in frustration, realizing a moment too late where you’re looking. “stop looking.” he snaps at you. he’s covered himself with a towel before you can begin foaming at the mouth unfortunately, your eyes wandering back up to his face.

“what the fuck are you doing in here?” he runs a hand through his hair, turning away so you can’t see his full face. “showering.” you answer simply, eyes tracing over his side profile. “jesus, fuck.” he scoffs humorously, his laugh hollow as if he can’t believe himself right now. “i-i’’ sorry i didn’t realize you were in here and when i heard you, you sounded like you were hurt, so i came to check on you to make sure everything was okay but-“ he cuts your rambling off by holding up his hand. “found me fucking wanking.” he grumbles, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he continues looking away.

“you don’t have to cover up, i saw everything just now.” you’re not sure how those words slip from your mouth, but they’re met with a glare from the corner of his eye. “this is not an ‘i showed you mine, so you show me yours,” type situation. he snaps. you blink slowly, as if you don’t understand. “it can be,” everything seems to move at lighting speed as the words spill form your tongue. the confidence of your tone isn’t lost on Ghost, his eyes widening in a way only someone who analyzed him every day could notice.

he scrubs a hand down his face, muttering something into the palm. your eyes drift down to where the towel covers his cock, you can see the imprint of it now. so your words did have an effect on him. “Ghost,” your voice is breathy as you stare at the way the towel visibly tents. “don’t-”his voice is gravely, a shiver rolling through his body. “are you embarrassed?” you feel more timid now, trying to hide the amusement in your voice at the flush that creeps up his neck.

“yes i’m fucking embarrassed,” he snaps. “j’st heard me fuckin’…” he makes a grotesque movement with his hand, mimicking a stroke of his cock. he drops his hand, scoffing at himself. “why am i even- the fuck are you doing?”

you’re stripping, that’s what. you’ve got the workout shorts you were wearing gone, left in the sports bra and panties covered in sweat. “you showed me yours, so i show you mine.” you say like it’s the simplest thing on earth. he swallows, unable to speak or move as you take off your underwear, stepping out of the fabric and kicking it aside. your sports bra comes next, arms working to peel the material over your head. you’re breathing heavily as you eyes find his again.

“you..” he’s at a loss for words, his eyes averting your body as whole. you huff with frustration, walking forward until you’re able to take his hand in yours, guiding it to rest on your stomach. “touch,” you tell him simply. his eyes drift down to where you’ve placed his hand, immediately moving closer like its muscle memory. his eyes follow the movement of his own hand as he drags it down your skin. his palm runs down your stomach, shifting to the left before he comes in contact with the soft pussy he’s been dreaming of.

his fingers squeeze at the flesh of your hip, his eyes moving their own path around your body. he grunts in response when you let out a pleased hum, his eyes never leaving your skin as he lifts his other hand. the towel covering him drops to his feet instantly, giving you a clear view of him. his tip is now a puffy pink, drooling at the slit just from touching you. he stumbles forward as his hand reaches up to your chest, palming at the soft globe of your tit. he crowds you against the tile wall in the shower, dragging the curtain closed like someone would walk in at this hour. you hiss as your back comes in contact with the cold wall, immediately warmed by his body pressing against yours.

“can i touch your pussy?” his voice is a quiet huff, eyes still moving over the way his hand gropes your chest. you nod, smiling to yourself at the embarrassment he feels. “you want to?” you can’t help the amusement that seeps from your voice. his eyes snap to yours, glaring but then softening at the look on your face. he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing. “please.” his head tilts, nose brushing against your cheek bone as he pushes his hips against your thigh. you can feel the precome running down your skin, as he shifts. a soft sound leaves your lips as his hand on your hip trails over to your pubic mound. the heel of his hand rests against your lower stomach as two fingers dip between your thighs. he gently touches your lower lips, parting them with a hitched inhale.

you feel as his head moves from yours, his eyes moving down to where he fiddles with your flesh. his breathing is heavy, shoulders moving with each passing second as he practically pants. his fingers spread your pussy lips, granting himself access to run them through the soaked slit. he swears under his breath as he brushes his fingers over your puffy clit, tugging his hand away to push his fingers into his mouth. his eyes close as he sucks, entranced by you and your sweet taste.

“j’st wanna-“ he grabs at your hips, tugging them against his as he shifts. his cock rubs against your clit, sliding through the puffy folds. he groans at the feeling, chest constricting with urge to hold his sounds back. “oh fuck-“ his head dips to press his forehead against yours. you moan at the pressure against your clit, sound swallowed by the spray of the shower still running.

his hips rub against yours, soft pants coming from his lips as he practically humps you. “Ghost..” your arms wrap around his neck, tugging at the strands of his wet hair. “don’t do that- don’t say my name in that voice.” he warns. “g’nna cum too fast.” you almost laugh at his words, but your mind is cut off by pure ecstasy as his tip rubs against your entrance. “j’st wanna put it in-” one of his hands move to grip the base of his cock, rubbing it against your hole. “can i? i promise i wont cum inside ya-“ he shifts forward a bit, not even waiting for your response as he presses fully against you. “just- oh fuck yeah-”

you feel the almost painful stretch as he sinks the tip of himself inside you, his hand strangling the flesh of your hip as he holds himself back. his head moves to rest against your shoulder, biting down on your skin to stop his whines threatening to escape. you feel as your legs begin to tremble, the ache subsiding as you’re filled with pure desire. “c’mon,” he’s talking to himself, his hips bucking forward in sloppy desperation. “tight fuckin’ pussy.” he grumbles, a string of drool collecting on the skin of your shoulder as he sheathes himself further inside you. it’s like he’s in a trance, his whole body shaking as he sloppily grinds against you. “you touch her? late at night,”

“yeah, Ghost. think of you when i do.” your head tips back against the tile wall, body shivering as he sinks even deeper. “yeah, yeah you do. good fuckin’ cunt.” he nods, slurring his words. he thrusts forward, fully sitting himself inside you with one single groan. he holds there for a beat, holding his breath as he collects himself. his lips find the skin of your neck, sucking the flesh into his mouth as he moves his hips. they’re rough thrusts, his swollen tip kissing your cervix as he fucks himself into your pussy.

you run your hand down his back, soothing him as he ruts into you. “so good,” you whisper into his ear, your lips grazing the shell. “mhm.” he nods. “yeah, m’making y’r pussy feel good.” his words are a jumbled mess, access growing thicker as he loses himself in you. “please lemme make you feel good.”

god he’s pathetic

“you are making me feel good,” you assure him. “m’k j’st wanna fuck you good.” he mumbles into your skin. one of his hands move to where you’re joined, two of his fingers searching for your clit. you reach down, guiding him to the small bundle of nerves with a soft chuckle. you guide him as he rubs at you, adjusting him to how you like your pussy played with. he moans, thrusts growing sloppy as he rolls your clit between the pads of his fingers. “please come-“ he begs. you’re swallowing thickly, unable to get words out as your legs tremble with pleasure.

the moment you come undone he’s a goner, his hands braced on the wall beside your head as he fucks into you at a frankly painful pace. “yeah fuck…fuck…fuck..” he pants, snapping his hips against yours at every swear. you feel as he spills inside of you, clearly forgetting about what he said about ‘not cumming inside you’.

and at that moment you realize how big of a slut your lieutenant is for you.

[stujet9rainshine-blog]

Okay! This is a little (a lot) late! But here's a one shot based on this art for you!

But happy birthday, Izzy!

Thanks for introducing this pairing to me lol (I'm in hell and I love the fire)

Words: 1129

Rating: G

The grasslands just outside of Amity Park were quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves in the chilly breeze. Manny tugged his jacket tighter around himself, teeth almost chattering, but he kept his mouth shut. No way he was going to complain. Not when Danny was lying beside him on the old plaid blanket, his blue eyes sparkling brighter than the sky overhead.

This was a special night. Danny had hesitantly invited him to come out and watch a meteor shower, and Manny had agreed a little too enthusiastically. Danny had warned him to dress warm, but even the cold couldn’t dampen the thrill buzzing in his chest.

The sky had darkened, and stars flickered to life above them—way more than Manny ever saw back in Miracle City. Too much light pollution there. But here? With Amity Park’s soft glow far in the distance, the sky felt vast and endless, like he could reach up and grab a handful of stars. It was unreal.

“It should be starting soon,” Danny declared, sitting up and pointing toward the stars. “It should be a decent one. This is a more normal one that isn't affected by ghosts like some of the others can be.”

Manny snorted, shaking his head. “Only in Amity Park would you have ghostly meteor showers.” He gave Danny a lopsided grin. “What, do they light up green and scream at you?”

Danny laughed, nudging him with his shoulder. “Sometimes! There’s a whole theory that ghosts mess with space debris. Tucker and I tracked one that looked like a giant glowing skull once. Scared the crap out of some joggers.”

Manny couldn’t help but laugh along, warmed by Danny’s enthusiasm. He hadn’t expected to feel so... comfortable. Maybe a little cold, but his chest felt warmer than it had in a long time.

Manny looked up at the sky and remembered that Danny had always loved space. He had several NASA hoodies, which was also very bisexual of him. Then he had offhandedly mentioned a few times that he had wanted to be an astronaut before all the Phantom stuff took over his life. Every once in a while, he would ramble about the stars, but he often closed up when he noticed he was rambling—like he didn’t think anyone wanted to listen.

Manny hummed and looked between Danny and the sky. “Hey, Fenton.”

Danny pulled his eyes from the sky to Manny and hummed in response, a curious look on his face.

“So, I know shooting stars aren’t exactly stars,” Manny started, scratching the back of his neck. “Care to explain what they actually are?”

“Oh. That’s easy!” Danny instantly lit up, his whole face brightening like someone had flipped a switch. “They’re just tiny bits of rock and ice burning up when they hit the atmosphere. But the colors they burn as depend on what they're made of—like, sodium makes them look yellow, and copper makes them look blue or green.”

Danny paused to take a breath, his hands moving animatedly as he explained. Manny just watched, completely captivated—not by the sky, but by the way Danny’s excitement seemed to glow. He couldn’t help but smile, soaking in every little detail of how Danny’s nose crinkled and his eyes widened as he talked.

“And, like, they can be as small as a grain of sand or as big as a pebble. Most of them don’t even make it to the ground, but when they do, they’re called meteorites. And sometimes they’re magnetic, depending on the minerals! It’s crazy, right?”

Manny blinked as he processed the information, trying to keep up with the rush of words. “So, not stars but more like doomed space rocks?”

Danny grinned, the corners of his mouth quirking up in that way that made Manny’s heart stutter. “Yeah, that sums it up pretty well.” Then his eyes went back up to the night sky, a faint smile still on his lips.

Manny couldn’t help but look at Danny fondly as the stars reflected in his blue eyes, making them shimmer like they held a whole galaxy inside.

Suddenly, Danny gasped, his hand shooting up to point at the sky. “There’s the first one!” His other hand smacked against Manny’s arm, making him jolt.

Manny chuckled, his own brown eyes widening as he looked up just in time to see a handful of streaks shoot across the sky. “Oh, wow,” he breathed, his voice awed. “That’s... that’s crazy.”

Danny chuckled softly, and before Manny could even process it, he felt Danny’s hand resting on his thigh—light and warm. His heart did a little flip, but he stayed focused on Danny’s voice as his other hand returned to pointing out the meteors.

“This shower is caused by a comet passing close to Earth,” Danny explained, his tone brimming with enthusiasm. “The shooting stars are just pieces breaking off as it flies by. It happens every year, but sometimes the debris trail is thicker or thinner, depending on how much the comet has shed.”

Manny hummed, his eyes tracing the glowing trails that faded almost as fast as they appeared. “That’s... really cool,” Manny said, and he wasn’t just talking about the sky.

Danny hummed, his smile soft. “I'm glad you think so.”

Danny started talking again, rambling about meteor speeds and space facts, and Manny just listened, enjoying how passionate he was.

Then Danny spoke up again, his voice thoughtful. “Do you make wishes on shooting stars?”

Manny blinked. “Actually, no. Most people in Mexico think shooting stars are bad omens—like evil spirits flying across the sky. You’ll see old women cross themselves if they see one go overhead.”

Danny glanced at him, eyebrows raised, before laughing softly. “As someone who has actually seen haunted or spectral shooting stars... they’re more right than they think they are in some ways.”

“Are you sure this one isn’t a haunted comet?” Manny teased.

Danny rolled his eyes but grinned. “Pretty sure. If it starts screaming or throwing fireballs, though, we’ll know I was wrong.”

Manny laughed, bumping his shoulder against Danny’s. “What, the great El Tigre can’t handle space ghosts?”

“I’m not about to fight cursed space rocks and get my ass even more cursed than it already is,” Manny snickered.

Danny chuckled warmly as he leaned against Manny’s shoulder. “Would you want to wish on one of these?”

Manny didn’t look at the stars. Instead, he looked at Danny. “I think I’ve got what I want already, mi vida.”

Danny sputtered as his face darkened, “You and that Rivera hopeless romantic streak, I swear.”

“What? It’s a good character trait,” Manny rebuffed gently, pressing a soft kiss to Danny’s cheek. “And you like it.”

Danny sighed contentedly, lacing their fingers together. “Yeah, I do.”

[reiding-writing]

Congrats on 3k followers!!!! You deserve it, your writing is the best.

For the Rule of Threes event here's my request

1. “Are you okay?”

2. Mutual pining x First meeting

3. S1!spencer (he's tloml)

Thank you and remember to take care of yourself xx

COFFEE RUN(IN). /spencer reid/

“Are you okay?”

Mutual pining x first meetings.

s1! spencer x gn!reader 1.3k fluff event page. event masterlist. main masterlist.

a/n | i wish love at first sight happened in real life

You’re only half paying attention as you push open the exit door of the coffee shop, your phone pressed to your ear while you ramble out a string of assurances to your best friend.

“No, I’m fine, I swear. I’ll see you tomorrow alright?” you say, voice rushed. “Yeah, yeah that’s fine, I’ll see you—”

You don’t finish the sentence.

Because as you step through the door, distracted and moving a little too fast, you collide with something—or other, someone.

The impact is jarring but brief. It sends a jolt through your chest and, before you can even process what’s happened, your phone slips from your grip. You watch in slow motion as it flips once, twice, then crashes onto the pavement.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” The voice is rushed and nervous, somehow both soft and frantic. It belongs to the person you just collided with—a tall, gangly man with messy brown hair, wide hazel eyes, and a beige cardigan that looks just a little too big for him.

Without hesitating, he crouches down, hands scrambling for your phone. His long fingers fumble slightly as he picks it up, flipping it over to inspect for damage. His brows furrow with genuine concern.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice slightly breathless. His eyes snap up to meet yours, and for the first time, you properly see him.

And just like that, the world narrows.

The busy street, the noise of the cars, the faint hum of the coffee shop door closing behind him—it all fades into the background. You’re caught off guard by the softness in his eyes, the nervous tilt of his head, the slight flush rising to his cheeks.

You blink once, then again.

“I—yeah,” you stammer, barely finding your voice. “I’m okay,”

Your words are delayed, and you’re not entirely sure whether you’re reassuring him or yourself. Because your chest feels inexplicably tight, and your pulse has started doing this odd, staccato rhythm that you can’t quite get a handle on.

You reach out to take your phone, and your fingers brush his.

He’s warm.

It’s brief—probably less than a second—but it’s enough for a strange sort of heat to crawl up your arm. The moment stretches just a little too long, both of you holding onto the phone simultaneously, as if neither of you can quite figure out who’s supposed to let go first.

“Oh,” he blurts suddenly, pulling his hand back like he just realised he was holding on too long. “Um, sorry. Again. I, uh—should’ve been watching where I was going. I was—uh, well, I was thinking about something. A lot of things, actually. And I got distracted. But that’s not an excuse. I—I hope your phone’s okay,”

He’s talking too fast. His words run together, tumbling out of his mouth in a nervous rush, and he stumbles over them once or twice. He tucks his hair behind his ear, then immediately seems to regret it and awkwardly shoves his hands into the pockets of his cardigan.

You glance at your phone, flipping it over to check the screen. Miraculously, it’s intact.

“No cracks. You’re off the hook,” you say lightly, trying for humor even though your heart is still thrumming in your chest.

He lets out a soft, breathless chuckle—so soft you might’ve missed it if you weren’t looking right at him.

“Good,” he says, nodding quickly. His lips twitch upward into a small, almost bashful smile, but his eyes don’t quite meet yours. He glances at the pavement, then the door, then his feet, clearly unsure what to do with himself.

You both stand there for a beat too long.

You should leave. You were on your way out, after all. You have somewhere to be.

But you don’t move.

And neither does he.

Instead, he clears his throat softly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes flick to yours—just for a second—and then back down, like he can’t quite bear the intensity of holding your gaze.

“I, um…” He hesitates, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. His voice lowers slightly, gentler now. “I—I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You blink at him, thrown by the softness in his tone.

“No—” you say, your voice coming out a little quieter than you intended. “You didn’t,”

He nods again, almost as if he doesn’t believe you, his eyes scanning your face like he’s double-checking for any sign of discomfort.

And God, he’s pretty. You’re not sure how you didn’t register it immediately, but now that you’re standing this close, you can’t seem to look away. There’s something so earnest about him—the way his eyes soften with concern, the slight furrow of his brow, the subtle tremor in his hands that he keeps trying to hide.

You realise, quite suddenly, that you’ve been staring at him.

You quickly clear your throat, awkwardly shifting your phone from one hand to the other.

“So, um… are you okay?” you ask, scrambling for something to say.

He blinks in surprise, clearly not expecting the question.

“Oh! Yeah,” he says quickly, his hands fluttering slightly as he gestures. “Yeah, I’m fine. I—I mean, I wasn’t the one who dropped my phone. Not that it’s your fault! I mean—it’s obviously not your fault. I—I bumped into you. So technically, it’s my fault. Entirely my fault. So, um… sorry. Again,”

His voice cracks slightly on the last word, and he winces, looking away.

You can’t help it—you smile.

You don’t mean to, but the corners of your mouth tug upward involuntarily. Because there’s something so painfully endearing about the way he’s standing there, clearly flustered and unsure what to do with his hands.

He notices your smile, and his eyes widen slightly. He blinks once, twice, like he’s not sure if he’s imagining it.

And for a brief, fleeting moment, you swear you see his lips quirk upward in the faintest, shyest of smiles.

But then he glances down again, scuffing his shoe against the pavement.

“I—uh—I should probably, um, let you go,” he stammers. His voice is barely above a murmur now, almost regretful. He gestures awkwardly toward the coffee shop. “I—I was just gonna grab a coffee. But, um, you’re probably busy. And I—I’ve already taken up too much of your time,”

You should leave.

But you still don’t.

Instead, you grip your phone a little tighter and take a tiny step forward.

“Actually,” you say softly, and your voice feels strangely brave, “I’m not— I don’t have anywhere to be,”

You watch as his eyes snap back to yours, wide with disbelief. For a second, he looks almost startled, like he can’t quite process what you just said.

“You—you don’t?” he asks, blinking quickly. His voice cracks slightly again, and his cheeks go pink.

You smile, softer this time.

“Nope,” you say, and your voice is steadier now. “If… you don’t mind the company,”

His lips part slightly, and for a moment, he just stands there, blinking at you, clearly at a loss for words.

Then—slowly—he smiles.

It’s small and a little unsure, but it reaches his eyes, softening them into something almost impossibly warm.

And when he holds the door open for you, his hand trembling just slightly where it rests against the frame, you know with absolute certainty that you’re both already a little bit smitten.

And neither of you mind one bit.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 36 Chapter 36 | oats and olive pits⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The journey down had been peaceful—surprisingly so.

The royal carriage had been comfortably full, yet not stifling.

You sat across from Penelope and Odysseus, the former gently chiding the latter for dozing off halfway through the ride, while Telemachus lounged beside you. Lady curled neatly at your feet with her head resting across your boots; the beast had only yawned once when a bump in the road shook the carriage—then promptly went back to sleep, tail flicking lazily against your ankle.

The conversation had been light. Odysseus pointed out which merchants would try to swindle newcomers; Penelope shared a funny story about Telemachus' first time in the square as a child—how he once tried to duel a pigeon—smiling gently as she straightened the edge of your shawl. You'd even laughed freely when Telemachus buried his face in his hand in embarrassment, groaning that she was never allowed to tell that story again.

The warmth in the air wasn't just from the sun.

And every so often, when your eyes had drifted to him—you'd find that his had already been on you.

When the carriage rolled to a gentle stop at the edge of the square, you could already hear the lively murmur of townspeople gathering.

Though Ithaca's market day was winding down, the buzz of voices, colorful stretch of woven awnings, and faint scent of roasted nuts and olives still lingered thick in the square.

The door was opened with a crisp flourish by the coachman, sunlight spilling in across the ornate floorboards. Odysseus stepped out first, boots landing firm and assured on the cobbled stones. With the smooth familiarity of a king used to ceremony, he turned, extending a steady hand for his queen.

"Careful now," he murmured, a private note in his voice as Penelope gracefully accepted his help, her cloak catching in the breeze like a banner, smiling as her sandals touched down beside him.

Telemachus followed, and without hesitation, he turned to you, his palm upturned in a silent offer. You placed your hand in his, letting him guide you out. His fingers curled slightly around yours, and before letting go, he gave your hand a soft, grounding squeeze.

Encouragement. Reassurance.

You weren't doing this alone.

You smiled at him, just a little—enough to make his lips twitch in answer before Lady leapt down behind you, tail wagging softly, her sleek black fur glinting in the sun.

Before you could properly take in the vibrant bustle of the square, a familiar voice rang out.

"Your Majesties!"

Peisistratus was already moving through the thinning crowd, his broad frame cutting through the throng with ease. He offered a bow toward the royal couple, then straightened with a grin.

"My lords. My lady," he greeted warmly. Then, his eyes flicked to you—gentle, respectful. "And Divine Liaison."

You offered a polite nod, trying to ignore the flicker of nerves in your chest at the formality—it still hadn't settled on your ears.

Peisistratus stood tall, dressed in soft leathers and a short sapphire cloak. His hair was tousled by wind, but his expression was polished with soldierly ease; he looked every bit the confident warrior and trusted friend he'd always been.

You saw the flicker of a grin tug at his mouth when he glanced at Telemachus, though the grin quickly vanished beneath protocol.

"My father sends his regards," he added. "He apologizes for not greeting you himself—he's back at home assisting with political issues with neighboring kingdoms."

"No apologies needed," Odysseus said easily, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder. "You've grown into a fine man, Peisistratus."

There was affection in the words—a father's old fondness for his son's oldest friend.

Peisistratus bowed his head once more, but his eyes flicked quickly—curiously—between you and Telemachus. You weren't sure, but you thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch again. Amused.

Odysseus cleared his throat with a knowing glint in his eye. "I'll give you two a moment to catch up." He offered his arm to Penelope, who took it with grace.

"We'll wait for you in the square," Penelope called back over her shoulder with a sly smile, her golden bracelets catching the sun. "Don't take too long."

You and Telemachus watched as they strolled deeper into the crowd, Lady trotting dutifully after the queen like a shadow in silk.

Odysseus and Penelope had barely stepped out of view before they were gently swallowed up by the wave of townspeople—shoulders clasped, warm greetings exchanged. Penelope's laugh rang out as someone handed her a garland of olive branches, and Odysseus, ever the tactician, smoothly transitioned into small talk with the village elders already settled in their usual bench near the well. A few children even cautiously went near Lady before shrieking in delight when she nosed thier hands.

And then it was just the three of you.

You, the prince beside you, and Peisistratus with that faint, unreadable smile.

The cheerful sounds around you drifted, and Peisistratus took a slow breath, his eyes scanning toward the direction the royal couple disappeared. "That's going to be the last time I see them this season," he said, his tone unusually subdued. "We're scheduled to set out by dawn."

Telemachus' brow knit slightly, but he didn't press. Instead, he let his friend continue.

Peisistratus let out a soft huff of a laugh, though there was little joy in it. "The crew's eager to get back to Pylos. Father needs the ship back, and well—" He waved vaguely. "Duty waits."

Smile tight, Peisistratus ended it with a shrug. "Suppose the tides don't wait for anyone—not even the sons of kings."

Something about his lackluster tone tugged at you, and before you could help yourself, you offered, "Well... there's always next season. The stars don't hide forever."

Peisistratus blinked, then smirked. "Hopeful, are we?"

You shrugged, offering a light laugh. "You always seem to find your way back here. Ithaca has that charm."

He placed a hand over his chest, feigning dramatic offense. "Not Ithaca, surely. It must be its residents." Then his eyes gleamed as they flicked to you. "Specifically the clever, beautiful, and heartbreakingly kind ones with a voice like honey. Who could possibly resist?"

Your hand flew to your mouth, hiding a grin that bloomed almost too wide. Gods, he made it so hard not to smile—his charm wasn't the flashy kind, but it was magnetic all the same. It curled around you like honey in the sun.

Telemachus' gaze slid sideways toward his friend, his smile thinning just a touch as he raised a brow. "Flatter Ithaca all you want," he said dryly, nudging Peisistratus in the shoulder. "But if you plan to sit around waxing poetic all day, go find a seat. Before I start charging you for air."

Peisistratus cackled, clapping Telemachus' back hard in return. "Was that jealousy, Prince? Be careful, or it might ruin your handsome face," he teased before bowing—an exaggerated, theatrical thing aimed in your direction—then wandered off, likely in search of food or more trouble.

Telemachus exhaled through his nose, but the corner of his mouth still twitched upward. Without a word, he turned toward you and extended his arm, a quiet invitation.

You took it.

His hand curled lightly over yours, warm and solid, grounding.

"Come on," he murmured, "before Peisistratus somehow finds a way to convince the baker to name a tart after himself."

You snorted softly, letting him lead you.

The square was livelier now—children running with ribbons tied to their wrists, vendors calling out deals, flowers braided into garlands being flung over shoulders like blessings. And in the center, tall and moss-kissed, the town's fountain stood like a relic from an older time. Water trickled gently from its wide basin, the soft splashing almost drowned out by the chatter of the crowd.

You hadn't realized it until you were stepping up beside Telemachus, but the ledge of the fountain—smooth stone, wide and just high enough to demand balance—was where your stage had been set.

Of course. A raised surface. In front of everyone.

Your stomach dipped as you climbed up, the hem of your dress brushing your ankles. For a brief second, you allowed yourself to glance behind you—beyond the crowd, the wide glimmer of water sparkled under the sun, the nearby bay stretching toward the horizon.

Great, you thought, blinking slowly. If I humiliate myself, I'll have somewhere to dramatically fall into. How poetic. Or pathetic. Both.

You swallowed thickly and turned forward again.

Telemachus gave your hand one last gentle squeeze before stepping down beside the fountain's edge. He didn't go far—just far enough to give you space. You felt the absence of his hand instantly.

Then, just as the quiet hum of the crowd began to fade, a familiar voice whispered from somewhere in your hair.

"Worst case?" Hermes murmured, his tone playful but oddly soothing. "You trip, stutter, forget your own name, and they call you 'Divine Disaster' forever."

You made a face.

"...best case," he added more gently, "you make them love you."

You didn't respond—your lips too tight, your nerves too frayed—but your fingers curled into your palms, a silent thank you anyway.

You looked out across the crowd. Odysseus met your gaze, standing near the front with Penelope, her hands gently folded in front of her. He gave you the smallest nod, then stepped forward.

The king's voice, when he spoke, rose with ease and assurance—polished from years of war councils and court politics.

"People of Ithaca," he called, and the murmurs of the square died down like someone had drawn a curtain. "Today, I bring before you not a soldier, not a noble, but a voice. A voice that has, in a short time, reached not only the ears of Ithaca... but the heavens."

You froze. Odysseus turned his head slightly toward you, his voice softening.

"This is your Divine Liaison. Chosen not by crown, not by birthright, but by the gods themselves. Today, she speaks with them... for us."

A rustle spread across the crowd. Odysseus turned back to rejoin Penelope, one arm slipping easily around her waist as he settled beside her.

And suddenly, you were alone.

The wind tickled your ankles. Your hair shifted.

All eyes were on you.

The spotlight had arrived.

And so had Hermes.

You barely had time to gather a breath before the familiar flutter of wings rustled against your ear, followed by his signature whisper, low and gleeful.

"Alright, little muse. Say this: 'I greet you, sons and daughters of fishmongers and demigods. For the blessed olives of Ithaca feed not only the belly—but the soul.'

You blinked. Froze. Tilted your head just enough to hiss, "What?"

"Go on," he urged in a teasing tone. "Say it with conviction. Or die of embarrassment. Either or."

You scowled. "Absolutely not."

"Too late, little dove~"

Your mouth moved on its own.

You physically grimaced as the ridiculous words left your lips:

"I thank the gods and the goats for this sun-kissed day..."

"May Achilless bless your arrows and Adonis your love lives..."

"And may Hades always keep both sides of your pillow cool..."

For a half-second, you were sure this was it. This was your downfall. You would be disowned, banished from Ithaca, and maybe Apollo himself would descend from the skies and revoke his favor just out of secondhand embarrassment.

You clenched your fists at your sides, internally already packing your things.

They're going to laugh, you thought. They're going to stare. You'd be lucky if Odysseus didn't throw a sandal at you.

Instead...

Silence.

Then—

A chuckle.

Then a few nods.

One old woman in the front row brought her hand to her chest with a teary sniff.

You blinked rapidly.

What?

The people were eating it up.

You could feel Hermes' tiny bird-form balancing on your shoulder now, his warmth tucked just behind your ear. "Told you," he whispered smugly. "Just trust me."

Your knees still wanted to give out. You weren't sure your legs were attached anymore. Were you levitating?

"Alright," Hermes hummed, "next: 'Just as the tides bow to Poseidon, so too must we bow to kindness. Except I won't bow to Poseidon. He knows what he did.'"

You paused mid-breath. "Hermes—"

"You will say it. You're already standing here. What are you gonna do? Leave?"

You glared forward at nothing in particular. But you said it.

You said all of it.

And by some miracle—some divine prank of the gods—it worked.

You didn't know how, but as they left your mouth, the crowd reacted not with confusion but reverence. Smiles bloomed. Heads nodded. You swore you saw one man place a hand on his heart, his lips moving in time with your final lines. A woman at the back dabbed at her eyes with her apron.

No way.

No way this was working.

Out of pure instinct, you turned your head slightly, trying to spot the royal family.

Odysseus stood tall, his hand on Penelope's shoulder. Both looked straight at you, eyes bright with pride. Penelope smiled softly. Telemachus was already clapping, before the rest of the crowd even started.

Hermes nuzzled closer, voice low. "Now, finish with: 'We are stars born from olive pits and sea salt. Let Ithaca's song never be silenced.' And throw in something mildly inappropriate. The mortals love it."

"What?"

"Like... insult a god. Pick Dionysus. Or maybe Zeus. He's overdue."

"Are you trying to get me smited?"

"I mean if you don't, I will~"

You wanted to groan, but your mouth was already moving.

"...And may Dionysus finally learn moderation. In all things. Except festivals."

There was a beat of silence—

Then cheers exploded across the square.

"Divine Liaison!" someone called.

Then another. "Divine Liaison!"

The chant rippled like a wave. "Divine Liaison! Divine Liaison!"

You blinked. Froze again. Staring dumbly out at a sea of smiling faces, half in awe and half in shock.

You'd expected awkward silence at best. A fruit thrown at your head at worst.

Instead, they were chanting your name like you were a hero.

"Good pick," Hermes snickered, "You were about to call Hera's sacred cow a three-nippled fraud that smells like smoked olives."

You stepped down from the fountain ledge, barely remembering to lift your skirts so you didn't trip. Telemachus moved to meet you halfway, but you weren't focused on him. Not yet.

You whispered sideways into your shoulder, "Did that seriously work?"

Hermes snorted in your ear. "Absolutely not. But I put a charm on your voice. They heard the most inspiring, tearjerking, soul-healing speech to ever grace this kingdom."

You stared at nothing.

He giggled. "One woman thinks you quoted her dead husband. A baker is giving you free bread for life. And I think that old man in the back just offered to name his cow after you."

You sighed. "Of course you did."

And then kept walking.

The sound of your name still echoed faintly behind you, but it was nothing compared to the warmth waiting in front of you.

The moment you reached the royal family, Penelope didn't even try to hide her joy—her hands flew to her mouth, eyes shining. "Oh, ____," she beamed, stepping forward and clutching your hands in hers. "You were magnificent. The way you spoke—the people adore you already!"

You blinked, still trying to process everything. "I—really?"

"You really didn't hear them chanting?" Telemachus added, stunned. His grin stretched wide across his face. "I thought you'd faint halfway through. Or at least... throw up behind the fountain."

Your brows lifted in offense. "What?"

He laughed. "I meant because of your fear of public speaking," he said quickly. "You know—the whole stammering, duck-and-run thing you do whenever more than three people look at you?"

"Oh?" Penelope gasped, her gaze whipping to her son. "You told me she'd worked on that!"

Telemachus held up both hands defensively. "I did! Or... I thought she had."

Odysseus, who had remained quiet until now, cleared his throat. "I mean, technically, she has now."

Penelope narrowed her eyes at him. "You didn't prepare her?"

"I did," Odysseus said with an unapologetic shrug. "When I told her what she'd be doing today."

Penelope gasped again and gave her husband's arm a light swat. "Odysseus!"

He chuckled, unbothered, rubbing his arm dramatically. "What? She didn't faint."

"She could've!"

"But she didn't," he said, flashing you a sly smile.

Penelope huffed—but the smile tugging at the corner of her lips betrayed her pride. "Come," she sighed, slipping her arm into Telemachus'. "I want a pastry before the good ones are all picked through."

Telemachus grinned and nodded, giving you a soft wink before guiding his mother toward the dessert tables, the two of them already giggling over something.

You watched them walk away.

Then turned, feeling Odysseus' gaze on you.

He was quiet for a few beats, arms behind his back, his posture deceptively casual.

And then—"Do you think I was being cruel?" he asked, voice low, thoughtful. "Sending you out there unprepared?"

Your first instinct was to say yes. Your mouth even parted, but you caught yourself. Instead, you let your gaze drift toward the cobblestone beneath your sandals, forcing yourself to take in his question seriously—fully.

"I thought..." You took a breath, swallowing your pride. "I thought you were testing me."

"I was." His reply came instantly. No hesitation. "But not to see if you'd fail."

He looked away briefly, watching the townspeople still buzzing with life and praise, then back at you.

"Just to see if you'd rise."

You stared at him.

Odysseus continued, voice even. "You want to walk alongside us now. Gods or no gods, favor or not—being divine liaison means more than handling the blessings." He nodded toward the square. "It means handling everything. Especially when the moment comes without warning. Especially when the gods are silent."

Your breath caught.

He hadn't just thrown you into chaos for fun.

He'd seen the signs—heard the things Penelope and Telemachus had shared—and decided it was time to see for himself.

"How else," he said gently, "would we know you could stand under the weight of it?"

You didn't respond right away. Instead, you looked back at the square—at the crowd now easing into celebration, at the townspeople who were still smiling and waving at you.

Your heart was still racing.

But now, it was for a different reason.

Not fear.

Readiness.

You nodded slowly, murmuring under your breath, "...Thank you."

Odysseus just nodded once in return, gaze proud and approving, holding out his arm for you.

"Come," he said, turning. "Let's get you something sweet. You've earned it."

☆

☆

The rest of the day passed in a soft, golden blur.

You stayed close to the royal family as they made their way through the town square, Odysseus and Penelope receiving warm greetings from the townspeople, Telemachus smiling politely by your side—his hand brushing yours every now and again. Lady padded faithfully at your heel, earning gasps, shrieks, and wide-eyed stares wherever she trotted, her massive head tilted in curiosity as children reached to touch her fur. (One brave girl did, and to your horror, Lady licked her entire face. The girl laughed. The parents did not.)

You sampled honeyed pastries shaped like dolphins, watched jugglers toss flaming batons, and even cheered on Telemachus and Peisistratus during an impromptu sparring display in the center of the square. When the crowd had finally begun to thin, and the sun dipped low enough to wash everything in amber light, you returned to the palace.

Dinner had been a lively, celebratory affair. The table overflowed with roast lamb, citrus-drenched olives, and baked breads stuffed with herbs. At some point, music erupted from one corner of the hall—pipes, drums, even lyres (not divine ones, just regular ones)—and the dancing had begun.

You joined in for a while. You laughed when Penelope insisted on twirling you through a folk step. You clapped when Kieran made a show of sweeping one of the palace cooks into a spin, Peisistratus in a corner doing some half-Pylian, half-disaster of a jig. You even humored Callias when he dramatically fell to his knees and demanded you teach him "the divine steps of Apollo himself."

But eventually, it all began to blur again.

The warmth, the chatter, the lights—all spinning into something hazy and soft at the edges.

And so, when no one was looking, you slipped away.

The balcony was quiet, removed from the festivities, and just high enough to make you feel like you were somewhere between the heavens and the sea. A cool breeze brushed your face, playing gently with the hem of your dress as you stepped out.

The ocean stretched before you like a dark mirror. Each wave shimmered faintly under the rising moon, rushing and receding with an ancient rhythm you could never quite match.

You leaned forward slightly, your hands on the marble railing. Just... watching.

Letting yourself breathe.

And for the first time that day—maybe even the first time since everything had begun—you were alone.

Truly, quietly, blissfully alone.

Your eyes fluttered shut.

The ghost of the townspeople's cheers still echoed faintly in your ears. You could almost feel the weight of the crownless title sitting on your shoulders—the divine liaison. A name that still felt like it belonged to someone else. Someone more sure. Someone more chosen.

But then... you'd done it.

Albeit with some questionable help.

You let out a quiet laugh, breath fogging the air slightly. "Maybe Hermes was just bored," you murmured, lips quirking. "But still..."

The crowd hadn't booed. Odysseus hadn't looked disappointed. Penelope had kissed your cheek. Telemachus had... well, looked at you like you'd pulled the sun itself down to walk beside him.

You didn't fail.

No one laughed.

No one doubted.

Maybe... maybe the gods hadn't picked wrong.

Maybe they'd picked someone who wouldn't give up.

You straightened a little, your reflection in the glass doors catching just the faintest shimmer of confidence. Not pride. Not yet.

But something like it.

Something close.

You'd take the win.

A soft flutter of feathers broke the stillness.

You blinked and turned just in time to see a familiar blur of golden-brown wings swoop onto the stone railing beside you. Hermes—still in his ridiculous, tiny swallow form—landed with practiced ease, his miniature winged cap just barely staying perched atop his feathered head.

He hopped once, twice, before settling directly onto your outstretched hand, talons careful not to prick your skin. "Well," he chirped, voice smug even in its magically compressed tone, "color me shocked. You didn't trip. Cry. Or faint. I almost feel robbed of the chaos."

You couldn't help but laugh, eyes crinkling as you brought your other hand up to gently stroke his back. "Thank you," you said, quiet but full of feeling. "I wouldn't have gotten through it without you."

Hermes didn't say anything for a moment, but you felt it. The way his tiny chest puffed out slightly. A preen of pride.

Maybe a bit too much pride for a bird the size of a teacup.

"You were alright, you know," he finally said, trying to sound casual. "A bit stiff. But passable."

You rolled your eyes, still smiling. "Wow, such high praise."

Before he could answer with another quip, the door behind you creaked open.

You turned, heart giving a small leap when you saw Telemachus’s head poke through the cracked frame. His dark hair was a little tousled from the dancing, his cheeks still faintly pink from the warmth of the hall. He smiled when he spotted you. "There you are. My mother's searching the whole palace for you."

You tilted your head. “Really?”

"She wants to show you the new batch of pastries they brought out," he said, voice light with amusement. "She's convinced they taste better in winter."

You laughed. "I'll be there shortly."

When the young prince entered the palace once more, you glanced back down at the bird still perched on your fingers. "Guess that's my cue."

Hermes nodded—then, in the most ridiculous motion possible, tilted the small hat atop his feathered head with dramatic flair. "Next time," he murmured, with a wink, "remind me to make you say something about Ares bathing habits. That'd kill."

You laughed—really laughed—just as he launched off your hand with a flutter, disappearing into the night sky with a streak of gold and a glimmer of mischief.

And for the first time, the victory didn't feel borrowed.

It felt earned. Yours.

You took one last look at the sea before stepping back inside.

A/N: lolol not me using this as an excuse to write insults about ares, lolol sry hes hot but he gives off the energy he stinks/dont wash between his asscheeks cuz its unmanly 😭😭😔 lemme stop binge watch superstore, i fear the humor has made me a lil✨crass✨

i've been blessed with more fanart, hehehe ❤️❤️❤️

from Francsy/Franie (@idkanyonealrron tumblr)

Francsy 😭😭 I'm actually obsessed with how simple yet powerfully divine this is—like??? The spotlight, the arrows at her feet, the notes swirling behind her...it feels like this quiet, reverent moment where even chaos itself pauses to listen. You captured the weight of her role in just one frame. She doesn't just play the lyre—she commands the room. Ugh. I love this so much. Thank you again, truly 🫂💛

from chipsiscurious (same username on tumblr)

chip... be so serious 😭 I don't think I'll ever get over your drawing style. Like?? This literally looks like it belongs in a Renaissance exhibit tucked behind velvet ropes and softly lit by golden chandeliers. Eros looks ethereal—elegant but dangerous in that quiet, unnerving way that makes you stare too long. You absolutely nailed the adult form vibe... the kind of face that has ruined empires.

from fvckcare (same username on tumblr)

NOOO BECAUSE THIS IS STUNNING??? 😩 The way their skin tones contrast and compliment each other—chef's kiss, like it's giving classic oil painting vibes with a modern romantic touch. The soft purples, muted reds, and those blushy highlights just work together like they were destined to be on the same palette 😭💜And don't even talk about it being a "messy color sketch"—I legit feel like I'm intruding on something intimate here 😳 Like I caught a forbidden lovers' moment through the bushes and now I'm silently backing away with a hand over my mouth. The mood??? The light??? THE VIBES??? All immaculate.

📝 A lil note from me: Like y'all... I know I may seem overdramatic or way too excited every time I get fanart, but I honestly can't help it 😭 This has always been a dream of mine—to have something I wrote inspire art. Like, fanart. Of my characters. That alone feels insane to me. So yeah, I'm gonna scream, cry, throw hearts everywhere 💘 even if it's just a stick figure named Ned, I will find a reason to love it and treasure it forever 😩❤️ THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO'S EVER DRAWN EVEN A SINGLE LINE INSPIRED BY MY STUFF. I LOVE U (me saving everything down to a t cuzx i love it and y'all)

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre woncloudie byzantiumhollow kisskisskys b4ts1e sarcasticbitchsblog trashcannotbealive idkanyonealrr

[littelovelunette]

pamper evening / self care day with vi !!

Slow Saturdays

Vi x Fem!Reader

You and Vi always took a day apart from the usual chaos you both lived in to take care of yourselves. Whether it be physical, mental or spiritual. Vi was the first to wake on the Saturday morning, stretching and looking at your still sleeping figure.

"My wife is so pretty." She thought to herself before she pressed a kiss on your temple, pulling the blanket up to tuck you in better. The aircon was cranked to the coldest temperature and the room genuinely felt like a walk-in freezer.

Vi climbed out of bed and stretched once again before she threw on a wife pleaser and shorts, putting her hair in a very messy updo so she could make breakfast in peace. She tiptoed her way out of the bedroom, closing the door behind herself.

A yawn escaped her while she walked around the house, entering the kitchen and starting on breakfast.

After she was finished making breakfast, she decided to bring it to bed so you didn't have to worry about rushing to get out of bed and freshening up. Vi put the tray down on the bedside table with a faint clinking of the cutlery, holding your shoulder as she peppered kisses on the side of your face.

"Good morning sunshine." She called in a gentle voice.

Your eyes fluttered open and rested on her face, slightly traced with the sunlight peeking through the gaps in the curtains. You grinned slightly, the smile resting on your face was sleepy and silly. Vi adored sleepy you so much that she almost verbally awed at the sight of you being so cute.

"Here." Vi offered the mug of warm coffee to you, you took it and placed it on the bedside table atop the tray of food awaiting you. You grabbed her by the front of her top and pulled her close for a kiss.

Vi chuckled against your lips, her muscular arms anchoring her weight so she didn't fall on you. She didn't want to crush you to the mattress, not yet atleast. It was still too early in the morning.

You gave her a short, sweet kiss and Vi returned it with a different sort of enthusiasm that made you giggle against her scarred lips.

"Let me pamper you today." Vi whispered when she pulled away and gave you the mug of coffee again, being careful so you hold the handle since it was still hot.

"Hmm." You hummed as if you were thinking but you were just messing around. Every Saturday was meant for this. For her to pamper you, and give you the princess treatment that she said you deserved every night before bed as she hummed you to sleep.

"I was thinking after you finish breakfast maybe we can do some facemasks together." Vi said her blue eyes twinkling as she watched you taking a sip of your morning coffee.

"Mmm, it's really good." You beamed at her. Vi's heart fluttered and she looked away feeling a little flustered. She would try to deny the compliment but then she swallowed the lump forming at her throat, fixing you with a shy smile.

"Thank you." Vi tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. "I was wondering what sort of facemask we should try this week."

"Let's do something like a hydrating sheet mask." You set the half empty coffee mug down and outstretched your arms towards the tray of breakfast. Vi passed it over to you so you could eat breakfast in bed.

Vi leaned back against the couch, arms draped lazily over the cushions as she watched you peel open the face mask packet. A smirk tugged at her lips.

She took the mask from you. As she smoothed the cool paste over her skin, she stole a glance at you, already applying yours with careful precision. "This better not be some kinda trap." She muttered.

You laughed. "Relax, Vi. It’s just skincare."

With a dramatic sigh, she let her head fall back against the couch, eyes closed. "If I break out, I’m blaming you."

A comfortable silence settled between you, the occasional sound of the facemask drying filling the room. Vi cracked an eye open, a lazy grin spreading across her face. "Kinda nice, though."

You nudged her foot with yours. "Told you."

[ihaznoclue]

Ooh goodie 😊! It’s always a good start to the day when I see one of my fav writers with an open request box.

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen a Sonic request and as it just so happens, I’ve had a request in mind for this very occasion.

I was thinking of Sonic, Shadow, and Knuckles encountering a reader of their own kind struggling to fight off an enemy and comes to their aid. So yes, essentially Sonic and Shadow encounter a hedgehog!reader and Knuckles, an echidna!reader. Gender and romantic/fluff genre will be left up to you as well as who the enemy is. It could be Robotnik or G.U.N or whoever you want.

Can’t wait to see what you’ll come up with regarding this request among the others you’ll receive. But also remember to take care of yourself, keep hydrated and take breaks 💕💖

Pairings -> Sonic the Hedgehog, Shadow the Hedgehog, Knuckles the Echidna x Reader

Warnings -> None

Note -> Reader is the same species as them and they are fighting Doctor Robotnik and his robots so they decided to help them

Genre -> Fluff

SONIC THE HEDGEHOG

Sonic zipped through the forest, his usual cocky grin on his face as his ran past everything while passing by. The wind rushing past him, but something felt different this time, a faint but distinct noise of combat reached his ears as his ear flicked at the noise

He then skidded into a complete halt, spotting another hedgehog that look just like him, but you weren't familiar to him as you were locked into a battle with a group of Eggman's badniks robots. You looked exhausted, struggling to hold their own against the relentless mechanical robots

"Yo! You're gonna want to take a break after fighting with these guys for a while" Sonic called out

You then turned around as you looked startled then nodded as you just wanted a break for yourself

Sonic then gave you a little wink as he started to roll his shoulder as he ready up to beat these egg robots

Without another word, sonic dove into action as he whirled around as he took out the badniks with ease. with every twist and spin of him, sonic was gonna get this done in no time

Finally the last robot fell as it malfunctioned, sonic landing right beside you, arms crossed among his chest and he then smirked again

"So, how about next time you let me take care of these things"

You gave out a little chuckle, giving a tired smile "Thanks you really saved me back there"

Sonic gave you a thumbs up "No problem, I'm just doing what I do best! If you need any more help, don't hesitate to yell out" He then ran off, causing your fur and quills to move around

"Wait! I didn't catch your name!" You yelled out

"Sonic!" He yelled out from a distance and you could clearly tell that he gave you a little wink behind his shoulder than speed off

SHADOW THE HEDGEHOG

Shadow stood as he watch the chaos unfold right in front of him, seeing you struggling while fighting Eggmans robots

The air around him crackled with the energy a she stood still, unmoving as he focused on your fighting, nothing that you looked like the faker of a hedgehog sonic

Your fighting skills were impressive but looked like you were struggling most of the time, while taking more robots at a time

As you were fighting, shadow teleported right in front of you as he startled you, catching the robots attack form hurting you

"You're outnumbered" Shadows voice called out as he swinged the robot into a wall, causing you to look shocked

"I-I can handle this, I just need to hold out a little longer-"

Shadow didn't wait for you to finished your sentence as with a burst of speed, he unleashed some of his chaos spears, exploding serveal robots that were in his way

"Tsk, Weak" His voice was low and harsh as he now looked at the damaged and broken robots laying in front of him, then turning to you

You then gulped a little until Shadow nodded, "Ah- Thank you.. um"

"Shadow, Shadow the Hedgehog.." His red eyes watching them then he turned around walking past the robots, kicking some of them while he walked through

"Stay out of the way next time and let me do all the fighting"

Then he left, leaving you in silence, but with a faint and quiet sense of relief that he was there to help you

KNUCKLES THE ECHIDNA

Knuckles was scouting around the house when a loud ramble caught his attention making him sprint in action. He races to the source of noise only to see another echidna fighting Eggmans robots

"Are you crazy?!" Knuckles shouted as he dove into action, hitting his fists into the robot causing them to become damaged

You were highly exhausted as you grunted, swinging your hammer towards a robot that was distracted "I can handle these guys on my own"

Knuckles raised an eyebrows as he hit another one making it fall backwards, a small grin tugging on his lips as he looked at you

"I see, you're brave I'll give you that. but you're fighting a losing battle if your watch your back"

Together, you two made a quick and easy work towards the robots as your attacks were perfectly synchronized with each other. When the last of the robots fell, Knuckles stood proudly, brushing the dust off his knuckle gloves

"You're not bad, what's your name?" Knuckles said

You wiped some dirt off your cheek, offering a smile towards Knuckles

"Name, Name the echidna"

"Knuckles, Knuckles the echidna"

You two then shook hands, Knuckles seeming to have a tight grip with didn't faze you at all

"Well next time name, when you run into trouble around here, don't think twice about asking me for help, us echidna's stay together"

Then Knuckles went off leaving you as you smiled, interested in finding another Echidna on this planet earth

-A<3

[cece693]

mmmore personal bodyguard.. OHhh i love this old man!!! ohh i love tony stark please.. would you make more of male reader and Tony..

I also love that old man. So, I was thinking of what else can he and his hunky bodyguard get up to and then DING! What if the bodyguard takes his job so seriously that he takes a hit meant for Tony and we get an overprotective Iron Man?

Personal Bodyguard Pt. 2

pairing: tony stark x male reader tags: overprotective Tony, Tony has feelings, reader is over it, he was a military man for fucks sake, my man be stressin, reader is set to prove a point, fluff

You stir awake in the gleaming medical bay of Stark Tower, blinking under the fluorescent lights. The drug-induced fog makes your thoughts sluggish, but the unmistakable sting in your shoulder reminds you exactly why you’re here. You shift against the pillows, wincing at the dull throb of pain.

Across the room, a small army of medical personnel are quietly conferring, flipping through charts and checking vitals. You hear the beep of machines and soft murmurs. It’s overwhelming, and you’re not the only one who thinks so. “Everyone out,” comes a familiar, commanding voice. “Now.”

Tony stands at the entrance, hair mussed, tie undone, brow etched with anger and worry. His voice cuts like a knife through the room. The doctors and nurses exchange glances, but none dare contradict him. They file out in a subdued rush—some clearly concerned, but none wanting to challenge Tony Stark when he’s in this mood.

“And before anyone complains,” he adds, glowering, “I’ve got the best AI in the world monitoring him, so scram.”

Moments later, the door slides shut with a quiet hiss. The only sound left is the steady pulse of the heart monitor by your bed and the faint hum of the Tower’s ventilation system. Tony crosses the room in long strides, practically radiating anxiety. He stops at your bedside, eyes darting from the bandages on your shoulder to your face, to the monitors, and back again. It’s like he can’t decide what to focus on—he just wants everything to be okay.

“Are you comfortable?” he demands, reaching to adjust your pillows. “Do you need a different angle? More medication? Less medication? You look like you’re in pain. You should’ve said something—didn’t the doctors tell you to—?”

A weak smile tugs at your lips. “Tony, breathe. I’m all right.” But he’s not listening. He keeps fiddling with the bed’s controls, trying to find the perfect angle, cursing under his breath when the motor jerks your injured shoulder.

“Sorry,” he mutters, pulling back like he’s burned. “God, I’m screwing this up.”

“Hey,” you say, voice soft, “it’s fine. Really.”

He sighs, frustration etched across his features. “It’s not fine. If it were fine, you wouldn’t be in a hospital bed with a bullet wound.” His hands ball into fists at his sides. “I’ve been over the security tapes a hundred times, trying to figure out how I could’ve—how we could’ve—prevented this.”

The chair next to you squeaks as Tony sinks into it, his exhaustion evident. He rubs a hand over his face, and you see the shadows under his eyes. You suspect he hasn’t slept since the incident. “I can’t—” Tony starts, then stops, words hitching in his throat. “I can’t just sit here and watch you get hurt because of me.”

You let out a careful sigh. Even that small motion makes the pain spike. “Tony,” you say, voice steady despite the discomfort, “it’s not your fault.”

He makes a strangled noise and gestures to your injured shoulder. “Yeah, ’cause getting shot while protecting me is totally just a random coincidence.” He’s spiraling—has been, ever since the bullet meant for him hit you instead. You try to catch his eye, but he’s jittery, like a live wire about to spark.

“Look,” Tony says, voice cracking, “maybe you—maybe you should go. Quit. Or—or I should fire you. I’ll give you a severance package that’ll make CEOs weep with envy. You can do literally anything else. Anything safer.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Fire me?” There’s a stab of hurt under the shock, but you force yourself to stay calm. “That’s one hell of a ‘thank you for taking a bullet for me.’”

He flinches at your words, but his gaze hardens—a brittle, desperate resolve. “If it means you never have to bleed for me again, then yeah. I’ll do it.”

A flurry of emotions churns in your gut—annoyance, exasperation, and a surprising surge of affection for the panicked man in front of you. You carefully push yourself upright, ignoring the twinge of pain, and pin Tony with a firm look. “You can’t do this.”

“Fire you?” He scoffs, but the sound comes out choked. “I can do anything I want, remember? Billionaire with an army of lawyers.” A shaky hand runs through his hair again. “I could relocate you to—oh, I don’t know—Switzerland. Buy you a nice chalet in the Alps or something. You’d never have to see a bullet in your life.”

You can’t stop the small, exasperated laugh that escapes you. “A chalet in the Alps. Fancy. I’ll keep that in mind for retirement.” You pause, letting the joking tone fade. “But until then, no deal.”

He looks incredulous. “Why not?” he demands, voice cracking again. “Why on Earth would you want to keep doing this?” His eyes flick to the bandages peeking from your hospital gown, as if they’re the most damning evidence in the world.

You tilt your head, the ghost of a wry smile tugging at your lips. “Because you hired me to protect you, genius,” you say, letting a bit of humor slip in. “I got shot, yeah, but guess what? You didn’t. Mission accomplished.”

He stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. “I’m sorry—what part of you being shot is an accomplishment?!”

“The part where the bullet didn’t go through you.” You soften your tone. “Look, Tony, I know you hate that this happened. But injuries are part of the job, and I accepted that risk the moment I signed on.”

He slumps forward, elbows braced on his knees, face buried in his hands. “Well, I didn’t sign on for this.”

You reach out with your good arm and place a hand on his forearm. “Tony, look at me,” you coax. Slowly, he drags his hands away from his face, eyes red-rimmed. “This injury isn’t as bad as it looks. I’ve had worse in basic training.” (A slight exaggeration, but hey, you’d say anything to calm him right now.)

Tony tries to scoff, but it comes out more like a choked laugh. “Basic training had bullet wounds?”

You shrug with your good shoulder. “Not me, specifically, but some guys I knew.” You press on before he can argue. “Point is, I’m okay. Sore, but okay. So, you’re not firing me.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you fix him with a look. The “don’t even try it” kind that makes even a billionaire genius back down.

“Let me make this clear,” you continue, voice gentler now but unyielding. “I appreciate the concern, really. It means a lot that you care about what happens to me. But this is my choice. I’m not walking away, and you sure as hell aren’t pushing me away. If we keep doing this dance, the only thing you’ll accomplish is driving yourself crazy—and me right along with you.”

He sucks in a breath, eyes glimmering with fresh tears, though he blinks them back rapidly. “I just…I don’t want to see you hurt again. Ever.”

Your lips curl into a small smile. “That’s not how this works, Tony. If I’m with you, there’s always a risk. You’re Iron Man, for crying out loud. Trouble follows you like a lost puppy.”

A strangled half-laugh, half-sob escapes Tony. He scrubs at his face again, clearly embarrassed by his own display of emotion. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, still not meeting your gaze. “I’m…I’m a wreck.”

You inhale, letting your fingers drift from his arm to his hand, lacing them together. “Yeah, you are,” you agree, tone gentle but with a fond edge. “And that’s okay. But you don’t get to fire me. I’m tougher than I look, Stark.”

He starts to argue, but you give his hand a firm squeeze. “Seriously,” you insist, making sure he hears every word. “I’ve been thrown out of planes, shot at, and gone through obstacle courses that make grown men cry. A little bullet in my shoulder? Not enough to scare me away from you.”

A hint of incredulity flashes in his eyes. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“I do,” you say, jaw set. Before he can argue further, you shift your legs off the bed. Pain flares through your shoulder, but you grit your teeth and push yourself upright. Tony bolts to his feet like you’ve just threatened to jump off a cliff.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demands, voice shrill with alarm. “Hey—easy, easy!”

You wave off his concern. “I’m standing,” you say through clenched teeth, mustering a cocky smirk despite the pain. “You need proof I’m still in one piece? Well, here it is.” Tony’s eyes dart from your unsteady legs to your bandaged shoulder. He looks ready to catch you at any second. But you square your stance, heart pounding, determined to show him you’re stronger than he thinks.

He reaches out, as if to gently guide you back onto the bed, but you seize the moment. Sliding an arm around his waist—ignoring the painful protest in your shoulder—you pull Tony close. Then you press your lips to his in a firm, grounding kiss.

It’s not the smoothest kiss—your balance is off, and you’re pretty sure you’re leaning on him more than intended. But Tony’s body goes stiff for a split second before he melts against you with a quiet, desperate sound at the back of his throat. For those few seconds, the throbbing in your shoulder blurs into the background. All that matters is Tony’s warmth, the faint scent of cologne, and the taste of desperation on his lips.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathless. One of his hands is splayed across your lower back, the other hovering near your bandage as though he’s too scared to touch it. “You idiot,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “You should be resting.”

“Probably,” you admit, wincing slightly as you shift your arm. “But you needed to see I’m still here. Really here.”

He draws in a ragged breath, eyes flicking over your face. “I see you,” he murmurs, voice tight with lingering fear. “But if you pass out, I’m going to strap you to that bed myself, understand?”

You huff a faint laugh. “Sounds kinky.”

A brief spark of amusement flashes in his eyes, followed by relief. “God, I hate you,” he jokes, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t ever do that again.”

You card your fingers through his hair, feeling how tense he still is. “Can’t make promises, boss. Besides…” You pull back just enough to meet his gaze. “I’d do it all over again if it meant keeping you safe.”

He exhales shakily, and the hand on your back tightens. “You’re insane.”

“Probably,” you concede. “But you love me anyway.”

A hesitant, watery smile curves across his lips. “Yeah,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours. “I really do.”

[darylslittlebitch]

twd characters if the apocalypse never happens x fem!reader (AU)

characters: daryl, rick, negan, carl and glenn.

writer's note: alright, so this is my spin on what would happen if those gorgeous men weren't stuck in the apocalypse and just lived regular lives. you know, figuring shit out, falling in love, dealing with the mess of life – but still badass as always. i'm definitely gonna be dropping some one-shots with these storylines, so if you’re vibing with it, keep your eyes peeled for more! some of them will be spicy, like real spicy, so if nsfw ain’t your thing, you might wanna dip out for those. but if you're down for that kinda vibe, well, it's about to get intense. stay tuned. requests are open ;)

daryl

The door to Merle’s house creaks open slowly, the squeak of the hinge cutting through the heavy morning air. Standing in front of you, Merle’s brother, Daryl Dixon, watches in silence. His tired eyes, shadowed by a black eye, tell a story of the violence that haunts his family.

There was something about him that had always caught your attention, something you hadn't been able to define despite the many times you’d crossed paths while delivering goods to his brother. Maybe it was his gaze, distant and somber, so much like your own. Or perhaps it was that aura of hopelessness that seemed to cling to him. But the truth was, you had never spoken to him. You never needed to.

Your eyes scan the inside of the house. Daryl’s father is slumped in an armchair, an empty liquor bottle lying beside him. His slow, heavy breathing makes it seem as though the alcohol has drained away what little was left of him. You don’t comment on it—you already know how things are. Instead, you focus on why you're here, in this place so full of uncomfortable silences and shattered routines.

"Where's Merle?" you ask bluntly, cutting straight to the point, unfazed by the scene before you.

Daryl barely moves his head, his lips parting to give a short, clipped response. "He’s in jail."

You curse under your breath, running a hand through your hair. "Again…? But he just contacted me yesterday. Damn it, Merle. Now what the hell am I supposed to do with this shit?"

Daryl doesn’t respond. His eyes drift to the floor as if your presence doesn’t matter in the slightest. With a sharp movement, he shuts the door behind him, closing you off from the broken world of the Dixons. That surprises you a little, but your growing curiosity about Daryl pushes you to follow him.

"Hey! Don’t just leave me talking to myself, little Dixon," you call out in a teasing tone.

You trail behind him, as if simply making him acknowledge your presence would be enough to break the silence between you.

Daryl, of course, doesn’t bother looking back. He walks up the rocky path toward the nearby woods, showing no sign of stopping. But you, as stubborn as always, refuse to stop either. You follow until, finally, after a few minutes of walking, he halts. Without turning to face you, he asks a single question.

"Why are you following me?"

You’re not surprised. You don’t even hesitate before answering. You raise a cigarette between your fingers, lighting it with practiced ease. The smoke rises lazily as you watch him with a faint smile on your lips.

"You intrigue me," you say, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. "I suppose I’ve never really had a conversation with Merle’s brother, and I think that’s something everyone should experience at least once in their life."

Your answer doesn’t seem to make much sense to him, or maybe he just doesn’t care. You’re not trying to make him comfortable, but you don’t want this conversation to be just an exchange of empty words either. So you take another step closer, as if the distance between you was the only barrier keeping you from truly understanding the man in front of you.

"I’m glad you’re not like him," you continue, your tone carrying a hint of proud affection. "You don’t seem as… consumed by all the bad things around you, you know? At least, I don’t see you putting all that shit into your body." You gesture toward the black bag slung over your shoulder—the one carrying the substances you sell.

Daryl’s body tenses slightly, and he shoots you a quick glance.

"Why do you do it?" he asks.

The simplicity of the question catches you off guard. He keeps looking at you, waiting for an answer, but you know that words are never enough in situations like this.

"Why do I do it?" you repeat, as if it were the most ridiculous question in the world. "Because I need to eat, Dixon. That’s what people do, right? They find ways to survive, even if those ways are a mess. And look," you step a little closer, "I won’t lie. This shit makes me feel a little less miserable. And believe me, I’ve been in worse places than this, way worse. It’s not pretty, but it’s the only thing I’ve ever known."

Daryl doesn’t respond right away, and a heavy silence settles between you. You can see his face harden, his thoughts drifting somewhere far away, maybe unsure how to navigate this strange exchange. Then, suddenly, his voice cuts through the air like a blade.

"You’re not with my brother?"

The question falls over you like a single drop of water in the silence. You raise an eyebrow, surprised.

"What do you mean?" you ask, even though you know exactly what he’s insinuating. You just enjoy the discomfort in his tone.

"I’ve seen you with him. A bunch of times. In the woods." His words are blunt, unusually direct.

You laugh, a sound full of amusement.

"Do you enjoy spying on us, little Dixon? Because if you want, I’ll give you a VIP pass next time."

Daryl visibly tenses, a faint flush creeping onto his face. He says nothing, and satisfied with his reaction, you finally give him a straight answer.

"There’s nothing between us," you clarify in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. "We just… screw around occasionally. Nothing serious."

You continue walking beside him, watching as he processes your words, doubt flickering across his features. Then, deciding to shift the conversation, you take another slow drag of your cigarette.

"What about you?" you ask, a playful lilt in your voice. "You seeing anyone?"

Daryl frowns and shrugs.

"Not interested in that kind of thing."

"That’s a shame. You’re damn good-looking. Honestly, when I first saw you, I regretted not picking the prettier brother."

Daryl doesn’t reply, but you notice a slight shift in his posture, a subtle change in the air around him. He’s grappling with how to respond to your teasing.

When the conversation begins to fade, you take one last step closer. His eyes remain fixed on the ground, deliberately avoiding yours.

"You know, you’re a good guy," you say, your voice softer now. "You have something most people don’t. If you could leave all this behind… things could be different for you. You could do something with your life. You’re capable of so much more. Believe in yourself, or no one else will."

The air between you stills for a moment as Daryl remains silent. You know you’ve left a mark, that something in him has shifted.

"See you around, little Dixon," you say, patting his chest lightly, as if all of this was far less complicated than it really was. "This was an interesting chat, you know? Maybe next time, we can talk a little more."

You turn and walk away, leaving Daryl behind. You can feel his gaze lingering on your back, but you keep moving forward—because in a world this broken, it’s the only thing you can do.

rick

There was something strange about moving into a house alone that had, until recently, been a family home. The furniture no longer had the same warmth, nor did the conversations feel the same as before. Now, everything seemed to be in a constant state of transition as you tried to organize the last remnants of your old life.

You still weren’t entirely used to the idea of being alone, but at least you had your complete independence. University was behind you, and though you didn’t fully admit it, you still felt the weight of not knowing if you were making the right decisions in your life.

The day had started like any other. The soft morning light illuminated the living room as you struggled to get the last big piece of furniture inside—a huge couch that, for some reason, didn’t seem to want to fit through the door. You felt frustrated, juggling the angle and the effort of not breaking anything, when you heard the sound of a car approaching.

You looked outside.

The car of Rick Grimes, the town sheriff, pulled up and parked in front of your house. You paused for a moment to watch, and you noticed that he was looking at you from inside his vehicle. Without much thought, he quickly got out and walked toward you.

"Need some help with that?" he asked, his voice firm yet carrying that natural kindness of his.

"You don’t have to, Rick," you said with an awkward smile, feeling a little embarrassed by the situation but also somewhat relieved that someone had offered to help.

"Oh, come on. Who else is going to do it?" he replied without hesitation, and before you could protest, he was already moving the couch with an ease you hadn’t managed in the last ten minutes.

The feeling of having him close was different from what you had expected. You had always seen him as intimidating when you were younger, but now, with the years that had passed, he didn’t seem so imposing in a bad way. He was a serious and professional man, but with that touch of sensitivity that had always drawn you to him.

Finally, after a few minutes, the couch was inside the living room. Both of you were exhausted, sweat covering Rick’s forehead while your shirt clung to your skin. You collapsed onto the nearest chair, sighing in relief.

"Thanks, really," you said, noticing how drained you felt. Rick sat down on the other side, taking a deep breath as he looked at you.

"It’s nothing," he said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. "Just a favor. Not the first time I’ve done this."

"You sure know how to move heavy things," you said, trying to break the ice with a smile.

"It’s part of the job, I suppose," he responded, giving you a small grin before his expression turned serious again.

"Can I get you something to drink? I owe you big time."

"Yeah, sure. Coffee would be nice," he said, not thinking much about it.

"Of course," you said, getting up and heading toward the kitchen.

Rick followed you with his gaze as you walked, and though he seemed to be trying to relax, his eyes kept darting around. The conversation flowed slowly at first, but as you prepared the coffee, the words between you started to come more easily.

"How are things around here? I haven’t seen you much," Rick commented, standing at the kitchen doorway as he watched you.

"Good, I guess," you replied as you poured the coffee into the cups. "My parents decided to leave me the house and moved to another state with my uncles. So… well, here I am, alone, enjoying the boring adult life." You looked ahead, knowing your voice carried more melancholy than you intended.

"Must be tough," Rick said softly. "Being here without them. My wife… well, it’s been hard for us too, but…" His voice trailed off almost imperceptibly.

When you turned to him, you noticed that something in his expression had changed. Something was going through his mind, and you couldn’t ignore it.

"Are you okay, Rick?" you asked, noting the sudden shift in his tone.

"Yeah, I’m fine," he said, but there was an unease in his words that made you frown. "Just… well, you know, personal problems. Not something I like to talk about."

You approached him, handing him the cup of coffee. "If you ever want to talk, you know where to find me, okay?"

Rick remained silent for a moment, as if considering opening up to you. Finally, he sat on the edge of the table and sighed. "Lately, Lori and I have had a lot of problems… we’ve talked about getting a divorce."

The surprise on your face was evident, but you tried to stay calm. "Oh, Rick…" you said softly, feeling a pang of empathy. "I didn’t know… I’m really sorry you’re going through that."

He nodded, staring at his coffee as if searching for answers in it. "It’s complicated… makes me think a lot about Carl, about everything it means. It hurts not knowing what’s going to happen with us."

You stepped closer, realizing how vulnerable he was allowing himself to be. "It’s a tough situation, but you’re doing the best you can, like always. Carl needs you now more than ever. I… I think what matters is that you keep being the same father to him, no matter what happens between you and Lori."

Rick gave a small, grateful smile. The silence between you wasn’t awkward; it was the kind of silence shared between people who truly understand each other, even without saying everything out loud. "Thank you," he finally said.

The conversation continued, slowly drifting into other topics. You talked about your studies, how hard it had been to find a job, and little by little, the tension began to fade. You laughed more now, and Rick seemed to relax, though he still carried a hint of seriousness. Soon, the coffee cups were replaced with beers. The night had settled in, and the lights of the house gave it a more inviting atmosphere. As the hours passed, both of you felt more at ease in each other’s company.

At one point, slightly tipsy, Rick leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. "You know," he said with a low chuckle, "I’m glad you insisted on the coffee… and the beer. I don’t usually do this."

You leaned back next to him, feeling a sense of happiness about the afternoon you had spent together. "Maybe it’s what you needed… a little distraction," you said with a crooked smile.

"I did need it," he murmured.

A sigh escaped his lips, almost as if he was about to confess something he had been holding back. You looked at each other, and the air between you shifted. A shared chemistry that you weren’t sure had always been there, but now was undeniable.

The distance between you closed without thinking. It was a slow but determined movement, as if there was no turning back. Rick looked at you with those intense eyes, searching for something in your expression, and when you found it, you realized it wasn’t just impulse. There was something deeper in that gaze, something that pulled you toward him like a magnet. Before you could even process what was happening, you felt his lips on yours.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if both of you were testing the limits of what had started as casual conversation. But as soon as Rick’s lips met yours, the tension that had built between you melted instantly. The kiss deepened, the rest of the world fading away as Rick’s hands found you with delicate certainty.

But, like everything that afternoon, the peace was short-lived.

The sharp sound of Rick’s walkie-talkie cut through the moment like a knife. The radio, which had been silent before, suddenly burst with an urgent call. A voice crackled through the static, detailing an incident with a gang downtown. That was all Rick needed to hear for the spell to break.

Breathing heavily, you pulled away slowly, your mind spinning. Rick, clearly shaken by what had just happened, moved away quickly, apologizing.

"I’m sorry, I can’t stay," he said, exhaling before looking at you one last time, guilt and frustration flashing across his face. "It’s work, I have to go."

"It’s okay," you said quietly, still feeling the remnants of his kiss on your lips.

Rick hesitated before finally leaving, and you watched him disappear into the night, your heart still racing. You had always been drawn to Rick Grimes. But now, you liked him. A lot. Although you couldn’t predict what would happen between you after that night, there was a small spark of hope in your chest. You hoped that, despite everything, things wouldn’t just end there.

negan

The bar door opens with a subtle creak, letting in a gust of fresh air that contrasts with the warmth inside. The murmur of conversations blends with the soft music coming from the speakers, creating a cozy, almost nostalgic atmosphere. It’s a familiar place, one where laughter and stories intertwine over drinks and friends reunite.

You make your way to the bar, looking for a quiet spot where you can relax for a moment. As you turn, you feel a presence that is unmistakable. A face you know well, even though it’s been years since you last saw it, and suddenly, you’re caught in a whirlwind of memories.

Negan Smith. The Physical Education teacher who used to be the most popular figure in high school, always the one with a sharp smile and a defiant attitude, yet warm and attentive with his students.

"Professor," you say without thinking, your voice filled with surprise and affection.

You hadn’t expected to run into him here, in this small bar, in your hometown. For a moment, time dissolves, and as if sharing a private joke, you approach him without hesitation and embrace him. In that hug, the familiar scent of his leather jacket—the same one that once seemed so imposing at school—now feels different, less severe. Somehow, he has changed, though you can’t quite pinpoint how. But it feels right.

Negan, with a slight smile on his lips, returns the hug, surprised but comfortable. "Well, look who we have here!" he says, his deep voice carrying a warmth that seems slightly overshadowed by astonishment. "It’s really good to see you," he murmurs, as if the words belong to someone who truly didn’t expect this reunion.

You pull back slightly, feeling an immediate connection, as if time had been nothing but an illusion. "It’s great to see you too, Professor!" you reply, laughing softly. "It’s been so long since I last heard about you. What are you up to now? Are you still teaching?"

He takes a sip of his drink, his gaze thoughtful, as if trying to piece together his life in that very moment. "Oh no, that’s in the past. I retired a few months ago. What about you?"

"I'm in university, studying finance," you reply with pride, letting out a sigh, as if your work and studies truly define you. "I come back every now and then to visit my parents and friends. You know, roots run deep, even when you grow somewhere else." A light laugh escapes you, so genuine and pleasant that for a second, it makes Negan forget the shit he’s going through.

Negan leans back in his chair, looking at you as if he wants to see something more than the young girl who used to radiate boundless energy in his classes. "Finance, huh? I’m glad to hear that," he says sincerely. "I guess I always knew someone like you would go far."

And suddenly, in the blink of an eye, the air feels heavier. The glow of the conversation dims, as if a shadow has settled over the place. Negan stops smiling, and for a moment, he seems smaller, more human—something he never usually showed.

You remember the times he used to smirk with arrogance, always quick with a sharp reply, always confident. But now, there’s something different about him, something sad, something you can’t ignore. And you, feeling it deep down, lean in slightly, your tone softening as you ask with evident concern, "You seem... a little different tonight. That’s not typical of you. Are you okay?"

Silence falls between you, heavy and dense, and Negan takes another sip of his drink. His eyes, which usually carried that defiant glint toward the world, now seem dull, distant. You watch him stare at his glass, as if the words he wants to say are too heavy, too painful. Finally, after a long pause, a quiet, almost inaudible confession escapes him:

"My wife... she passed away a week ago. Cancer. And..." His voice cracks for a second. "I don’t know how... how to go on. It’s not something you prepare yourself for. It’s hard."

You remain silent, feeling the weight of his words hit you with force. A deep sorrow wells up in your chest for him. Without thinking, you lean toward him, wrapping him in a hug—gentle, protective, seeking to offer him warmth. Over the years, he was always the one encouraging you in difficult moments, and now, you realize it’s your turn to be that person for him.

"I’m so sorry," you whisper near his ear, your voice trembling slightly with the sadness you share with him. "I can’t imagine what you must be feeling... But I’m here, really. If you need anything, anything at all..."

He doesn’t say anything at first, but it’s clear that this means far more to him than he expected. His face shows a mix of gratitude and hesitation, as if he doesn’t quite know how to receive kindness. He’s not used to asking for help, and you can see it in his tense posture. But finally, his lips curve into a small smile, though the sadness still lingers beneath it. "Thank you. I... I’m not really the kind of guy who gets comforted, you know. I was always the one giving the answers, the one standing... at the front."

You, with the calmness that defines you, place a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Everyone needs a little support sometimes, don’t they? No one should go through this alone."

He looks at you, surprised by the sincerity in your eyes, as if he can’t help but feel a connection that goes beyond the simple embrace of a former student. "I guess so," he murmurs, staring at the glass in front of him, as if his emotions burn on his tongue. "I don’t know how to deal with all this... But I appreciate you being here."

You don’t let the moment fade. "When I come back to town," you say with quiet determination, your voice full of warmth, "I promise I’ll visit you. You don’t have to go through this alone. I won’t let you."

Without saying more, you hand him your number—a silent promise that, even though fate took his wife, you won’t let him face this alone. There’s something in your gaze, something that, without being explicit, lets him know that you care more than words could express.

"See you soon, Professor," you say before standing up, not looking back, yet feeling a flicker of uncertainty in your chest. Was it just support? Or was there something more that you hadn’t wanted to admit in that embrace, in that connection that felt so spontaneous yet left you with a strange sensation—something different?

Negan watches you leave, his eyes fixed on your figure as you walk away, leaving an imprint on his mind. Maybe it’s too late to think about anything else, but for the first time in a long while, something in him feels... less alone.

"See you around, huh?" he murmurs to himself, as if giving himself permission to wonder what this reunion could mean. But for now, all he can do is take another sip and wait to see how things unfold.

carl

The afternoon was as calm as ever. The sun filtered through the school windows as the last classes of the day came to an end. However, something in the air felt different. Carl, your lifelong friend, wasn’t himself. He was usually the guy with the easy smile, the one who could make you laugh even on the gloomiest days, but today, he seemed distracted, distant, as if a dark cloud had suddenly surrounded him.

You had been watching him all day. Though he tried to maintain his usual calm and relaxed demeanor, you noticed how his gaze drifted into the void, how he slumped in his seat during class, how he avoided speaking more than necessary. You knew something was wrong. Something was happening, and you were going to find out what it was.

So, after classes, as you both walked toward the school gates, you decided to confront him. In the distance, other students laughed and chatted, but Carl seemed lost in his thoughts, walking beside you with his eyes fixed on the ground.

Without thinking much more, you asked him softly, "Carl, what’s wrong? You’ve seemed off all day."

He glanced at you sideways, trying to smile as if nothing was happening, but you knew him too well to believe it.

"Nothing, really. Just… a bit of stress, we have too many assignments this weekend, you know?" he replied, a little colder than usual. But you didn’t fall for it—it was too obvious that it was a poor excuse.

"Come on, Carl, I’m not stupid. You and I have always been honest with each other. If something is going on, you can talk to me, you know you can," you insisted, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.

He sighed, and for a moment, he looked at you as a silent battle played out in his mind.

Finally, his eyes filled with tears, as if a valve inside him had suddenly burst. "My parents… they’re getting a divorce," he confessed in a barely audible voice, and in that moment, his words felt heavy, as if he were unloading a burden he had been carrying for too long. "The fights have been… awful. I just can’t take it anymore, you know? I feel like everything is about to fall apart."

Your heart broke at his words. You had always known Carl as someone strong, someone who remained firm even in the most difficult circumstances, but at that moment, what you saw was a boy who felt completely lost.

Without thinking, you hugged him immediately, wrapping your arms around him with the same natural ease as you had done so many times in your childhood. You knew he didn’t need words at that moment, just the comfort of knowing that someone was there for him.

"I’m so sorry, Carl," you murmured, gently rubbing his back as you felt his sobs grow stronger. "You’re not alone, okay? I’m here for you. I always will be."

Little by little, you felt his body relax, letting go of a small part of the weight he had been carrying on his shoulders. After a few moments, Carl lifted his head, his eyes still red, but his expression a bit calmer.

"Thank you," he said in a barely audible voice. "I don’t know what I’d do without you. You know… I really don’t want to be alone right now."

"Then you won’t be," you replied with a soft smile. "You’re staying with me tonight, okay? We can play video games until late, have a horror movie marathon. I’m sure it’ll help you take your mind off things for a while."

His eyes lit up slightly at the idea, a spark of joy breaking through his sadness. "Really? Well… that doesn’t sound too bad," he said, offering a faint smile. "I think that might be exactly what I need."

You walked with him to your house, and as you entered, your mother greeted you both with a warm smile. She had always treated Carl like another member of the family. Dinner was peaceful, filled with soft laughter and casual conversation.

Afterward, you both headed to your room to play on the PlayStation. As expected, the competition was fierce. Each of you fought hard to win, but with laughter, jokes, and playful teasing over each loss. Carl, with his naturally competitive nature, did everything he could to beat you, but in the end, you won most of the matches, as always. The victory was sweet, but it didn’t really matter. What mattered was the company—the chance that, even if things were broken at home, he could at least enjoy a bit of normalcy with you.

"Okay, now I’m using my winner’s privilege," you said, standing triumphantly as you placed a finger on the controller. "And as my prize, I get to pick the movie."

"That’s not fair, you always pick the movie," Carl complained, though his tone was more playful than serious.

"It’s not my fault you always lose. Get over it already, Grimes," you replied with a mockingly arrogant tone.

Finally, you chose Night of the Living Dead, one of your all-time favorites. You both got comfortable on your bed, the laptop resting on your legs, the blankets partially covering you. Your legs naturally intertwined with his, but at that moment, there was something else in the air. A slight tension, unspoken, yet felt by both.

As popcorn spilled across the bed and the movie filled with screams and terrifying moments, you let out a nervous laugh and said, "I’d definitely die first if a zombie apocalypse started. I have zero survival instincts—I don’t think I’d last five minutes."

Carl looked at you and laughed, his signature smile—the one that made the world feel a little brighter—spreading across his face. "I completely agree. You can’t even run half a kilometer without feeling like you’re going to pass out. Plus, you have the speed of a limping turtle with vision problems," he said, chuckling, and you instantly shared the laughter.

Then, you focused on the screen for a moment before turning your gaze toward him. "You, on the other hand, would make it. I know you would," you said softly, your words filled with sincerity. "You’re strong, Carl. You always have been. And you have a resilience that most people don’t. You always fight, you lean on what you have, and that… that’s what would help you survive."

Carl looked at you intently, his eyes shining with a mix of gratitude and something else. A soft smile appeared on his lips.

Without warning, he leaned in and, in one swift movement, kissed you. It was a short kiss, but it held all the unspoken tension of years of friendship. The first kiss after so many moments together, after so many fleeting glances, after so much time.

When you pulled apart, you both stared at each other, laughing lightly, as if you still couldn’t believe it had happened.

"Finally," Carl said, his voice laced with disbelief and happiness. "Damn, did we really wait sixteen years for this?"

"Yeah," you murmured, snuggling closer to him as the movie continued playing, though it no longer mattered what was happening on the screen. "And it was worth every second."

As the hours passed, Carl forgot about his problems, forgot about everything that had been happening at home. That night, it was just you and him, in your own little universe. Just as it was always meant to be.

glenn

It was just another night, with the cool breeze brushing against your face as you walked through the streets, intent on getting something delicious. You had been waiting for this moment all week, and you already knew exactly what you wanted: ramen. Not just any ramen, but the spicy kind—the one that made your nerves tingle and your forehead sweat, but you enjoyed every bite.

There was a small Korean shop in the city center that you had always wanted to visit, and tonight was the perfect opportunity. You felt a little mischievous, a little bolder than usual, and decided to indulge in your craving. The shop, though small, was filled with exquisite aromas. Shelves were stacked with all kinds of Asian products, and in one corner, there were small tables inviting customers to sit and relax.

As you walked toward the noodle aisle, you saw him—the pizza delivery guy who always brought your food with a smile. That smile that never failed to make you feel just a little happier when you received your pizza. At that moment, your eyes met, and his face showed a mix of surprise and warmth. You couldn’t help but smile, a little nervous, and gave him a small wave.

"Wow! I wasn’t expecting to see you here. What brings you to this part of town?" you asked, trying to sound casual but not too intrusive.

“Well, I come here from time to time. I like this place—it reminds me of home,” he replied, his voice as calm as ever. Then, he glanced down at the noodles in his hand. "My family is from Korea, and whenever I can, I like to reconnect with my culture. And you… do you like ramen?"

His response caught you off guard, and with a smile, you answered, “I love ramen! In fact, I’ve been craving it so much today. I’ve been waiting all week to come here.”

Glenn raised his eyebrows when he saw your choice. You had gone straight for the spiciest ramen in the store—the one no one dared to buy.

“Wow, the spiciest one?” he said with a chuckle, looking up at you. “Are you sure you can handle that?”

“I love spicy food. I can’t eat anything without it,” you said proudly as you started pouring hot water over the ramen. “Fun fact: I’ve always wanted to visit South Korea. I’ve watched a lot of vlogs, and it seems like a paradise for spicy food lovers.”

Glenn seemed pleasantly surprised.

“That’s true! Everything over there has spice. You’d love it. If you ever plan to go, I can give you recommendations for the best places in the city to eat. And, of course, the best ramen spots,” he said enthusiastically as he continued preparing his ramen, making you smile.

You both sat at a table by the window, watching the city lights as you ate. The conversation flowed effortlessly, as if this had happened countless times before, even though this was the first time you had ever spoken beyond the usual order exchanges. Every now and then, you both laughed at silly things, and you realized how comfortable and familiar the atmosphere felt.

Suddenly, curiosity got the best of you, and you couldn’t help but ask, “Hey, I always order pizza from you, but I’ve never actually asked for your name.”

Glenn looked at you for a second before smiling, as if it was obvious that you wouldn’t know his name yet.

“That’s true. I’ve always been the mysterious delivery guy,” he joked. “It’s Glenn, by the way.”

You laughed, and as you leaned back in your chair, you couldn’t help but say, “I never imagined being here with my favorite pizza guy at 2 a.m. in a Korean shop eating ramen.”

Glenn let out a laugh and looked at you, his face lit up with a genuine smile.

“I’m your favorite delivery guy, huh?” he teased, playing with the idea, looking a little flattered. “Why’s that?”

Blushing, without thinking, you blurted out, “Well, why do you think I always order from the same place every Friday?” You dared to look at him playfully.

Glenn seemed to blush slightly, though he maintained his confident smile.

“Well, I guess you’re also one of my favorite customers,” he said, glancing down at his bowl before looking back at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You, a little surprised but enjoying the situation, let out a soft laugh.

"One of your favorites… just one? I want to be the only one," you teased.

Glenn smirked and raised a finger as if about to make a clarification.

“No, no… don’t worry. You have a special spot among my favorites,” he said, and suddenly, his tone shifted slightly, as if he was about to say something more important. “Actually, I’ve always wanted to ask for your number, but I never had the courage.”

At that moment, shock hit you. He had wanted to ask for it? You had definitely thought about it before, but you never expected him to admit it.

Blushing a bit, you replied, “I wanted to ask for yours too. But I never did… well, because I didn’t want to make things weird. You were working, and I didn’t want to put you in an awkward spot. And, honestly, I wasn’t sure if… if you’d want it that way.”

Glenn looked into your eyes and smiled in a calm yet slightly ironic way.

“If you think I didn’t like you, do you really believe I’d always give you those dumb discount coupons?” he said with a low chuckle.

You went silent for a second. You had never thought those little discounts were special, but now that he mentioned it, it was clear he didn’t give them to all customers.

“You don’t give them to everyone?”

“Of course not,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Only to you.”

A long silence settled between the two of you. The sounds of the shop faded into the background, and it all came down to the way you looked at each other. Both of you knew what was happening. The atmosphere felt like a bubble enclosing just the two of you, isolating you from everything else.

Finally, Glenn checked the time on his phone.

“I should go. I have work tomorrow,” he said, standing up slowly. “But before I leave…”

He pulled out his phone and, with a smile, placed a slip of paper with his number on the table.

“Now you know—you can call me for more than just a pizza.”

You sat there, staring at the number he had just given you, your heart beating faster than you’d like to admit. He flashed you one last smile before walking out the door, and as you watched him leave, you realized that night had turned out to be much more than just a simple ramen run.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Slender/Ej/Jeff/Ben/Lj (or anyone for that matter but separate) with a reader who has POTS (lots of fainting, can’t stand the heat, needs way more water than anyone else, way more salt & electrolytes than anyone should be able to handle) and the first time they show bad symptoms/flare up/pass out

Cause I have yet to see one and I NEED to see how they’d react

And I love your blurbs and stories! <3

You said I could pick who I wanted when I asked, so I just went with the first three <3 I also hope I did a good job on this for you! :) This is written in the assumption that you hadn't mentioned your POTS to them yet

EJ:

EJ is, quite thankfully, a doctor and medical professional in the mansion, so the moment you start swaying before you pass out he already has you in his arms. He'll gently but quickly take you down to the medical area and rest you on one of the beds, he's already jumping into taking your vitals, but he mostly waits until you wake up before going into any treatment. When you do wake up, he's very gentle with you, calmly asking what might have caused it, and when you tell him you have POTS, he thankfully does indeed know what that means for you. If you seem dehydrated he will ask if you want him to give you an IV, if you say yes he does so quite efficiently, if not, he runs and gets you a bottle of water instead and makes sure you slowly but frequently drink from it. Outwardly he's very calm, monitoring you and making sure you take it easy, looking for any signs you might faint again, but inwardly he is quite panicky, and he doesn't want you to get hurt and/or push yourself too hard. In the next few days especially, he's going to be your shadow, following you around and making sure you're hydrating and taking it easy. As a doctor, he takes your health very seriously, and he'll make sure you know that the moment you start showing symptoms you can call him and he'll be rushing over to you immediately to help you out. Your fainting is his biggest concern because while he was there to catch you that time, he doesn't want to risk you falling and possibly injuring yourself. He thankfully does know how to help you out when you are having flare ups, so you're always in good hands, but as your partner, he just wants you to be safe and cared for, so please rely on him, even if you think you might annoy him (impossible to actually do) because he wants to be there to support you however he can.

Slender:

Slender, with his strong observant nature, can sense that something is going on with you before it happens. He picks up on your growing fatigue and distractedness before you escalate to the point of fainting, and while he doesn't know exactly why you seem to be having escalating symptoms, he'll probably suggest you have one of the doctors in the mansion check you out. When you tell him it's because you have POTS, and you've just been flaring up, he feels his concern growing. While he's at least heard of POTS, he doesn't know all the fine details, and he will still definitely have either EJ or Smiley look over you to make sure you'll be alright through your flare up, and he'll have both you and whoever checks up on you thoroughly educate him on your symptoms and how he can help you. He may not be a doctor, but the advantage that he has is that with his mind reading abilities, he can sense when you aren't feeling well, and he absolutely uses that to his advantage. It's almost a little comedic, how you might think to yourself that you're beginning to feel overheated so suddenly, or maybe you're feeling particularly dizzy, and then BAM he's teleporting there and asking you if anything is wrong and if he can help you. The other good advantage he has is that he's an excellent chef, and so he always cooks you meals that have plenty of nutrients in them to help you stay balanced. I think since he has two doctors working for him if you ever start having a really bad flare up his default will be for you to go see them and get any assistance they can give you because while he is incredibly helpful on his own, he wants someone more practiced and generally knowledgable to be able to help you out. He loves you so, so dearly, and he just wants the best care he can possibly give you as your partner, and he's always keeping an eye on you to make sure you're doing okay.

Jeff:

Jeff is similar to Slender in the sense that he notices lately something has been off about you, but he can't really gauge how big of a deal it is until it's already too late. A sudden spring heatwave had been hitting, and ever the outdoorsy guy Jeff had invited you to go out with him. He'd noticed you'd been feeling a bit out of it lately, and he was hoping that some fresh air might be beneficial to you, but he didn't realize how sensitive to the oncoming heat you might be. Already feeling faint, the heat only made it worse, and you're quite lucky the two of you had been sitting down already, your head planting itself on his lap as you faint. Internally, he's screaming at the top of his lungs in fear, externally he's trying to remain calm so he doesn't make anything worse. He'll probably call EJ immediately, and with his advice he gently brings you to him so he can look over you. When you finally wake up and explain you have POTS, I'm just picturing EJ lecturing Jeff on taking you out in such hot temperatures when you'd already been displaying worsening symptoms, but you know Jeff was just trying to do something good and reassure them that it's fine. Jeff, from that moment on, commits himself to being your protector and looking out for you. He's always making sure you're drinking as many fluids as you can (and I see him being like "Oh hey I got this yummy drink, you wanna try it?" as a way to get you to drink more whenever he sees you), and he makes sure you're eating well and getting plenty of rest. He volunteers to do any work you need to do when you're flaring up, and he even enters overprotective carrying mode and basically piggybacks you wherever you need to go whenever you're feeling faint or particularly weak. If you ever wanna go outside again for fresh air, he defaultly carries you for that too and always makes sure it's not hot or too sunny out now. He's your big scary guard dog that protects you and keeps you safe in any way that he can.

[ssweeterthanfiction]

Breathe

finnick odair x apprentice stylist!reader content warnings: angst summary: it’s enough to keep finnick breathing wc: 676

masterlist. | part one.

Finnick woke with a sharp gasp, his body lurching upright as if he’d just surfaced from drowning. His chest heaved, his heart hammering painfully against his ribs. The room around him was dark, too dark, just the dim, sterile lighting of his assigned room in District 13 casting pale streaks across the walls.

It took him a moment to remember where he was. To remind himself that he wasn’t in the dining, that he wasn’t in that nightmare.

But the images still clung to him, burning behind his eyelids.

You. The gun. Your Blood.

Finnick clenched his fists, dragging a shaky hand through his hair, trying to rid himself of that horrible nightmare. He knew what the Capitol did to their prisoners.

Knew what they were capable of.

And you were there.

You were there, in their hands, and he was here, safe in a bunker while they did god knows what do you.

He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing against the nausea creeping up his throat. He didn’t want to think about what they were doing to you, what they’d already done. But his mind wouldn’t stop.

He lay back down, his body tense, the sheets damp with sweat. He tried to breathe evenly, tried to force his thoughts somewhere else, anywhere else.

Eventually…exhaustion won.

****

He was standing on a beach. Not the arena, not some Capitol-constructed nightmare, but a real beach. The kind from home, with soft, sun-warmed sand and waves that lapped lazily against the shore. The air smelled of salt and something sweeter, something familiar.

And then he saw you.

You were sitting just at the water’s edge, drawing lazy shapes in the wet sand with your fingers. The sun hit your skin, making you look golden, and when you turned to face him, you smiled.

A real smile.

His feet moved before he could think, carrying him to you. He fell to his knees beside you, his hands reaching out, as if touching you would prove this wasn’t another cruel trick.

You looked up at him, tilting your head. “You’re finally here.”

His throat tightened. “Is this real?”

Your smile softened, and you reached out, brushing your fingers lightly against his. “Does it feel real?”

He exhaled shakily, nodding. “I-“ his voice broke. He swallowed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I should’ve- I should’ve protected-”

You squeezed his hand gently, stopping his words. “Finnick.”

He looked at you, taking in every detail, the warmth in your eyes, the way the ocean breeze played with your hair, the way your touch felt so real.

“I’m okay,” you whispered. “I’m still here.”

He wanted to believe it. Desperately.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, breathing you in. He didn’t care if this was just a dream. He just needed this moment. Needed you.

“I miss you,” he murmured into your hair.

Your arms tightened around him. “I miss you too.”

For a while, you just sat there, wrapped up in each other, listening to the waves. The world around you felt untouched by war, by pain, by everything that had been stolen from you.

But then… a distant noise. A faint tremor beneath him.

Finnick’s grip on you tightened. “No.”

You pulled back slightly, resting a hand against his cheek. “You have to wake up now.”

His stomach dropped.

“No- stay. Please.” His voice was shaking.

You only smiled, pressing your forehead to his. “You have to wake up.”

He shakes his head again and closes his eyes shut, holding you closer, tighter.

“I love you.”

****

Finnick jolted awake again with a sharp inhale, his hands grasping at the empty sheets beside him. The room was still the same dim, cold space in District 13. He was still alone.

But the dream lingered. The warmth of your touch, the sound of your voice.

His hand drifted to his chest, where his heart still ached.

You were still in the Capitol. Still suffering.

But you were there. You were alive.

And that was enough to keep him breathing.

[belit0]

what about Itachi X reader in her first time with him? I need it pls 😞

I think I already wrote this years ago, but my masterlist is so long that I don’t feel like checking it xD

The room is steeped in quiet, the kind that feels sacred. Outside, the moon spills silver through the open shoji doors, painting delicate patterns over the wooden floor, the thin veil of night air stirring the faint scent of wisteria.

The world beyond these walls is vast and endless, but here—here—it is just them.

Itachi watches her, dark eyes softened into something unreadable, something gentle. He has always been composed, careful, a man of restraint—but in this moment, he is only warmth, only reverence.

His fingers slide between her legs, gathering heat and moisture, preparing her. (Y/N) refuses to moan—perhaps out of embarrassment—but her body doesn’t lie. Every small tremor, each involuntary movement of her hips against his digits... it all speaks for her.

-Tell me if I do too much.- His voice is the hush of wind through leaves, reverent and patient.

She doesn’t voice—only nods, lips parted on a breath she doesn’t realize she’s holding.

He notices, of course. He always does.

A small furrow etches between his brows, and for a heartbeat, his touch stills.

-Breathe, (Y/N).- The words are a suggestion, not a command, laced with a tenderness so unshakable it makes her chest tighten.

And she does—exhales slow, unsteady, and Itachi, as though sensing her surrender, presses his lips to her forehead, a silent promise.

His hand, deft and unhurried, move with care—never demanding, never pushing, only learning the shape of her as if she were made of something fragile and holy. Lazy circles, up and down motions, barely teasing her entrance.

The weight of his gaze alone feels like devotion. He is not simply here—he is present, with her, for her, and nothing else in the world matters.

When he whispers her name against her skin, it is not with urgency, but with awe, as though tasting something precious for the first time.

And when she looks at him—truly looks—she sees it. The quiet affection, the infinite patience, the way he cherishes, not takes.

Itachi, who has known so much of duty and sacrifice, holds her as if she is the only thing he has ever chosen for himself.

His breath is steady, measured, even as his body tells him to move faster, inside—to take.

But he does not.

He never would.

Instead, he moves as though she is something to be savored, something fragile and precious, something that requires his utmost care.

His fingers create space for what’s to come, leaving the area, while both hands intertwine with hers on either side of her head—not to restrain, but as a silent reminder that she is not alone.

The first push of his length into her body is an exhale—one long, shuddering breath against her throat, his lips pressing there as though in apology for the unfamiliar ache.

He stills almost instantly, his restraint carved into every taut muscle, every tremor along his spine. His lips find her temple, lingering as he whispers, -Tell me if it’s too much.-

She only tightens her grip on his fingers.

Itachi exhales, forehead pressing to hers as he begins to move.

Each thrust is measured, careful, the slow, fluid rhythm of a man who refuses to lose himself, who refuses to take more than she is ready to give.

He lets her set the pace in the way her body responds, in the small shifts of her hips that guide him without words.

Itachi’s restraint is a near-palpable thing—he is holding himself back for her, keeping his movements controlled, deliberate.

He is listening, feeling every tiny shift in her breath, every quiet sound she makes, adjusting to her, always her.

One of his hands breaks free, sliding along the dip of her waist, then back up, and that’s the moment she seizes to wrap her arm around his back, digging her nails into his skin in a mix of pain and pleasure.

His lips press against her jaw, her cheek, her temple—soft, reverent kisses that ask for nothing, only offer.

-(Y/N)…- His voice is barely there, lost in the room's hush, as though he cannot quite find the words.

And perhaps there are none.

She exhales against his mouth, a sound that is not quite a word but holds all the meaning in the world. Itachi swallows it, his movements deepening, but never losing that quiet tenderness, that reverence that speaks of a love too vast to be rushed, too sacred to be anything but felt.

And when the moment crests, when the tension between them finally shatters like a wave breaking over the shore, he holds her through it—keeps her close, keeps himself pressed against her.

He breathes her name against her skin like a prayer.

And in the quiet that follows, in the afterglow of something new, something neither of them have words for, he does not pull away.

He stays.

Holds her the way he always will.

[echotheoni]

Writing Idea 2#:

WARNING: NSFW writing Notes: - Monsterfucking - Reader is AFAB/Ghost is AMAB and He/Him pronouns (alongside being called "The ghost". - Reader is plus size. - Not necessarily a full story yet. Just chunks. - Horns ------------------------- Before this moment, you felt lonely and very needy. The vibrator and dildo hastily put beside your pillow were proof. You needed more tonight than some silicone dick. You wanted- no, needed to feel a nice warm cock inside you tonight. It was already late and you couldn't hop on any dating apps or go out, that was if you even wanted to. No, you wanted some cock NOW. While scrolling some forums, desperately fingering yourself to cling to some amount of pleasure, you come across some people talking about a way to summon a ghost for sex. The comments and posts talk about how good it felt to have a ghost inside them and how easy it was to summon one. In the back of your mind, you chalked this up to horny bullshit. But right now, you were horny enough to do it. The ritual was simple enough. You had to masturbate with specifically your hands for whatever reason, but you didn't care, you were already doing it anyway. The next step was simple too. All you had to do was beg for a ghost to fuck you. It didn't matter if it was audible or not, you just needed to be desperate enough. In your hot, lust-filled episode, you furiously played with yourself, the thought of being filled with ghost cock being enough to coat your fingers with your own juice. You started to beg. "I fucking need a ghost in me right fucking now, please-" you pleaded in your head. Soon, you get started. A chill in the air sets you off. Still turned on, you look around. Maybe the air conditioning is acting odd. Maybe outside just got colder. But then you hear the whisper. It's like a gust of wind but it's there. It can't be true, can it? This is the exact same thing you read about online. Your rational mind still tried to chalk it up to some odd hormonal delusion. That is until you heard the clear "You... requested.... help?" from the disembodied air. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Looking down at yourself, you moaned and gasped. "Ah- fuck-" you swore. Below your naked body which was hot, sweaty, and very fucking horny, the faint outline of the ghost dug his head into your pussy, giving love to your thick thighs too with the occasional lick and kiss. You bit your lip, feeling as the ghost's surprisingly warm tongue made its way around you and inside of you. It was perfect in its length and texture. Everything suited you. Whatever extra stuff you had, the ghost cut right through it. Everything reached where you needed to be reached. His hands on your body made you forget about everything. Anything you used to be insecure about felt sexy as the ghost lovingly squeezed and played with every bit of you. The ghost's mouth licked your pussy up and down. His mouth moved up, softly kissing your thick thighs before working his way up to your clit. He brought his hands up to it, softly rubbing it before putting his mouth on it and sucking it gently. As you felt the pleasure run through your body, his warm hands played with your legs and played around. Your hands grasped his barely visible horns and gripped them tight as he made you feel better and better. The tighter you squeezed on his horns, the more you felt the soft movements of his head as he ate you out. You didn't know why he had horns, but you loved horns on your monsters and men so maybe every prayer of yours was just fulfilled with this ghost. ---------------------------------------------------------------------

You lay on your back with a pillow underneath you and a ghost cock inside of you. The ghost went at it with a pace that was absolutely perfect for you, and he never ran out of stamina too. You were so going to take advantage of that later. But for now, the ghost steadily trusted his cock into you. It was thick, but not too thick. Just enough to stretch you out the way you wanted. It was long enough to not injure you yet long enough to reach everything you needed to be reached. You felt the heat of his cock while it pulsated inside of you. It effortlessly penetrated you, past anything that might've served as an obstacle. You loved how your pussy clamped down around it, allowing you to feel every ridge and vein on this supernatural dick. Alongside your moans, you heard the faint groaning of the ghost. He loved fucking you, you could tell, despite not being able to actually see his face.

The ghost's hands shifted from gripping around your thick thighs to caressing your waist, still bucking his hips. You felt his face reach down to kiss your jiggling body, working his way up your naked body. The kisses left a burning desire on your skin as he moved on. His mouth made its way to your chest, which bounced along to the rhythm of his hips slamming against you. You felt as he gorged himself on your breasts, feeling the intensity of his kisses upon them. He took a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it intently, which sent more pleasure running through your veins. You couldn't help but moan more. "Agh..." You sputtered, followed up with a hiss of "Oh fuck yes...". You couldn't take this slow steady pace anymore. You needed to be absolutely railed by this ghost. "Harder..." You begged, struggling to catch your breath with how desperate you were. "Oh really?... Harder?..." You heard the ghost chuckle. You nodded, letting out a groan as you begged. "You want me... to fuck your tight pussy... even harder... hm?..." The ghost's voice wafted through the air, pleasure in his voice as he knew you needed him. A whine accompanied your nod. "You're so fucking sexy... I might just grant your wish..." The voice teased you again. How many times would you need to beg? You needed this thick ghostly cock inside you and rearranging your guts a minute ago. You let out aggressively hissed your response at him, telling him to "Shut the fuck up and fuck me until I can't walk for weeks.". Once again, the voice chuckled, but now with a lower, more gravelly tone. "Alright... Take this fucking cock for me then..." he spoke. If you could see his face, he was mostly definitely smiling at you. You felt his cock inside you as it pulled away. He wasn't going to go soft anymore. Not that you wanted him to. You needed this ghost cock, and you were gonna get it.

[lgbtmi]

i'll put the answers under a read more bc i don't care to put a bunch of info in the tags so here goes:

Willow is a Toreador with the siren predator type. For the longest time, fucking her food was literally just her main way of going about it, until the brothel she worked at was blown up. She then swapped to hitting on people in the streets or in clubs and either going home with them or scooting off to the bathrooms with hot women when need arose. She now runs a club with her boyfriend, but the fucking your food has just... taken on an entirely new meaning since. Her boyfriend is a Ventrue who shares her predator type, so they're now lowkey just really hot unicorn hunters who have taken sharing in relationships to a whole new level. Interesting dinner dates, one might say :3

Eva is my beloved Duskborn, but because she fucks her (main source of) food, the ST of her game made her a custom predator type. Eva suffers from being a failure of a vampire, embraced by a Banu Haqim and cursed with vitae dependency and baby teeth. There's nothing about her that separates her from a normal human person, save for the fact that she's nocturnal. The Banu Haqim who embraced her was trying to do her (and himself) a favour, they had dated decades ago and were recently reunited. She was dying, and he wasn't going to let her go again. He feels terribly guilty about the entire ordeal, but to make up for it he's very freely giving her his vitae whenever she even vaguely looks hungry, and with her being so bound to him at this point there's no way she could object. Case and point: one time while they were basically before a Lasombra tribunal he had to prove she was under his control and had her feed from him right there. Her hunting means is basically telling her partner she's feeling faint and he'll carve open his wrist. Fucking him's just part of the deal <3

Jip (who is a child of Malkav) is the odd one out in this. They love observing their prey in their natural habitat with an almost zookeeper-like fascination. They like comparing their food to paintings, statues. Seeing their victims in different art styles based on their emotional states. But fucking them? They're appalled by the idea alone. They were a blood doll for years before their embrace, and they know what it's like to receive the highest honour of being a blood bag for a being stronger than you are, and that's satisfying enough for them. Engaging in intercourse with a victim would only ruin the experience that is finding their specific tastes.

Aaaand. For a bonus answer because I love talking about my Vampire the Requiem Nosferatu: Addison has too much self loathing to fuck her victims. Her go-to feeding method includes leaning on her slight fame in the New York theatre scene, and she'll take photos with fans before briefly sliding her fangs into their necks. Doing anything more than that could ruin what little fame she has left ever since she disappeared. Lately, she doesn't even really do that anymore. She hides as just another face in the crowd, taking blood where she can. She's not going to ignore a sleeping homeless man when she knows it's a means to an end. Besides, the only person she'd willingly have sex with would be her very human girlfriend... the Daeva who majestied Addison into cheating on her girlfriend could seduce her again without problem, though.

Feeling a little unhinged on lack of sleep today so I got an open twofold question for VtM players

What is your OC's predator type/typical hunting means?

Do they fuck their food?

[sinileijona]

so stick him in a dress and he's the only boy i'd shag the only boy i'd anything is andrew in drag

[sttoru]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: your boyfriend comes to pick you after a long day at uni. sensing your jealousy about the attention he’s getting from your classmates, he makes it up to you in his own way.

tags. olderbf!gojo x female reader. fluff, tiny bit of angst, suggestive [make out sesh]. age gap — reader above 20, gojo early 30’s. jealousy. reader gets called ‘princess, baby, beautiful.’ not proof read !

satoru’s arrival, as per usual, serves as pure entertainment for many students. it’s not often that they get to see such a tall and handsome man around campus after all.

you patiently stand there, waiting for that said man to come and get you. the increase in giggles and whispers around you can only mean one thing: he’s nearby.

your boyfriend’s car comes to a stop in the distance. satoru steps out of the driver’s seat a second later, one of his hands running through his fluffy, snowy hair.

‘. . damn, he’s fucking hot,’ ‘yep. heard he’s in a relationship though. sucks,’ ‘girl— do i look like i care? need him so baaaaddd.’

it’s infuriating to hear those words while you - his girlfriend - are standing close to them. you decide not to give those girls any attention nor do you try to speak up. it’s not worth the effort.

satoru closes the car door behind him, his hands in the pockets of his slacks while he strolls up to where you’re standing. it’s as if he’s walking down a runway - graceful, confident, every step executed with perfect balance.

he can hear the murmurs from the students around, but he simply does not care. his steady gaze has been fixed on you the moment he spotted your figure from across campus.

“cute,” satoru mutters under his breath with a small smile, blue eyes taking in the sight of you standing there against a wall. the way you’re fiddling with the strap of your bag while pretending not to have noticed him is quite endearing.

you look down at the ground until a pair of black oxfords come into view, stopping right in front of yours. you slowly tilt your head back until you’re face to face with the man himself.

“hey, beautiful,” satoru greets, his voice smooth and slightly deep, a faint smirk playing on his lips. his knuckles brush against your cheek whilst he admires your every feature, acting as if he hasn’t seen you in days.

you nod in response, whispering a small ‘hi’ before your eyes dart around campus again. your bottom lip pushes forward just a tiny bit to form a small pout.

. . and there it is; satoru knows that look in your eyes like the back of his hand. he’s seen that same pout before, along with the hint of jealousy lurking behind your gaze that you try so hard to hide.

he understands why you’re feeling that way.

the other girls on campus, the way they ogle him and whisper, it would make any woman insecure. but to him, there was no need for that. satoru is yours, and he’s made that known to every single soul around you a million times before.

perhaps they need to be reminded once more.

satoru wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close, his touch gentle and possessive. he can see how you’re trying to act normal, though he knows you way better than that.

the pad of his thumb rubs small circles into your hip as your lover leans in and speaks in a low yet intimate voice that only you get to hear, “oh? look at you, acting all tough with your little pout.”

“tell me. what’s up, princess?” satoru whispers, his breath warm against your ticklish skin. he lowers his head to your face and plants a small kiss on your nose, gaining a mix of delighted yet irritated whispers of the people around you.

“usually you jump right into my arms after seeing me— y’know, like a lil’ bunny,” the white-haired man starts sulking as well, pressing your body flush against his. “where’s my cute ‘n clingy babyyyy?”

satoru’s over-exaggerated whine makes your nose scrunch up, though you can’t deny the truth. he knows you better than you know yourself. he can see right through your attempt to disguise your jealousy, yet you’re still too stubborn to admit anything.

“whatever. come on,” you roll your eyes before grabbing his arm and tugging him forward. you want nothing more than to escape your surroundings. you’re getting tired of the continuous and unwanted attention satoru is getting.

it’s irksome. you know satoru doesn’t give them the attention they so desire - he never will - yet you still feel this pang in your chest whenever you see those girls shamelessly ogling your boyfriend.

satoru, being naturally observant, notices your sudden eagerness to leave campus. he can tell that your jealousy is growing worse because of the other students that keep on eyeing him. while he is used to the attention, he hates seeing it affect you.

the whispers and giggles from the other women are like white noise, insignificant background fodder that barely warranted his notice. you’re all he sees and listens to— no matter what.

your presence, your voice, your body, your soul. . . you’re the only one he cares about. he just wishes you’d realise that.

satoru wordlessly allows himself to be dragged off. his gaze is fixated on the back of your head, a mixture of amusement and worry glinting in those blue eyes of his. he can’t help but feel guilty. even if he didn’t really do anything wrong.

he wants to make it up to you, somehow.

once you reach the car, satoru gently shoos your hand away from the door handle the moment he catches you try to get in yourself. he reaches around you and pulls it open with a soft ‘click’.

satoru then surprises you by kissing your forehead— his free hand coming up to cup the back of your head. his fingers bury themselves in your hair. a subtle smirk tugs at his glossy lips as he senses the envious glares from the other, irrelevant onlookers.

that’s exactly what he’s trying to accomplish. to make it known to the world that he’s your man. he’ll gladly do it over and over again, until all of them finally take the hint.

“ladies first,” satoru gestures, his voice gentle and loving. he pulls back and smiles at you with his dimples showing. you’re slightly taken aback by the smooth gesture before thanking him in a small murmur.

“thank you.”

it’s silent for a good couple seconds after satoru gets into the driver’s seat. he settles his keys into the ignition switch, though doesn’t turn them. instead, he faces you with a small sigh.

your lover already recognises what’s up. you probably won’t talk to him until the jealousy subsides. but that isn’t how he wants to fix this situation— he wants you to communicate with him.

“hey,” satoru tries to get you to look at him. your body is slightly turned away, your eyes looking out of the car window. it’s painfully obvious that you’re upset with him, even when it isn’t specifically his fault.

“don’t hide from me, c’mon,” he chuckles and tries to make you feel better by bringing your hand up to his lips. satoru leaves small kisses on your palm, eyes peering over the rims of his sunglasses to gauge your reaction.

you still don’t turn to face him. you’re too caught up in your own feelings— too stubborn to talk about the jealousy and insecurities that are bugging you. you know it’s unfair to your partner, but you currently can’t fix your own emotions.

sensing your insistent reluctance to face him, satoru places his hand gently under your chin. his fingers curl around your jaw and gently guide your gaze to meet his. the sight of your downcast expression - plagued with insecurity - tugs on his heartstrings.

“oh, my sweet little baby,” the white-haired man sighs once more.

without another word, the gap between you quickly closes as satoru leans in, his lips meeting yours in a firm but soft kiss. a soft gasp escapes your lips at the suddenness of his kiss, but the tension in your shoulders slowly starts to dissappear as you melt into his embrace.

the touch of his calloused fingers on your jaw is a wordless command you cannot resist. the kiss is a silent form of reassurance, a way for him to remind you of his feelings for you.

his want and need for you.

satoru can nearly taste the jealousy etched into your initial resistance, which he seeks to silence with his touch. thus, he deepens the kiss with renewed vigor. his free hand cups the back of your head and gently tilts it upwards to gain a better angle.

“mh. sweet,” satoru’s tongue swipes over your bottom lip. he eagerly swallows the faint taste of candy that you had eaten earlier. his tongue delves into your mouth the moment your lips make way, memorising every part of it.

he doesn’t let go of you until you’re both breathless. the sorcerer pulls back, though keeps the distance between your lips at a minimum. his cheeks are painted a soft pink, eyes half lidded and lips even glossier with your saliva now coating them.

“haah— fuck,” satoru catches his breath while his free hand rubs up and down your waist. he resists the urge to pull you into his lap and ravage you right then and there. he’ll leave that for when you’re home.

his gaze is on your parted lips once more. he simply cannot hold himself back from leaning in. his body moves closer to yours, caging you in between him and the passenger seat.

“i’m all yours,” satoru murmurs against your soft lips. he cups your face as he places a quick peck on your mouth. “only yours,” another chaste kiss causes your smile to find its way back onto your face. “don’t you forget,” and a third kiss finally makes you giggle.

your lover hums in satisfaction. he nuzzles his nose against yours, grinning widely as he successfully managed to coax the jealousy away— to gain his beautiful, happy girlfriend back. “there she is,” satoru coos and squeezes your cheeks together.

you huff at the feeling of your lips forced into a deformed ‘o’ shape, yet the bright smile tugging at your lips doesn’t disappear. “sorry for acting so childish,” you apologise for your own behavior. if it wasn’t for satoru taking the initiative to make it up to you, you would have given him the silent treatment.

the white-haired man shakes his head. he ruffles your hair affectionately while his lips settle on your cheek. he tenderly nibbles on the plush flesh, “no need to apologise. ‘t was cute,” he replies in a muffled voice.

satoru pulls back and his thumb brushes over the subtle mark that his teeth left on your skin. “besides,” he pinches your cheek before cocking his head to the right. your eyes follow the direction he’s looking at— which is your car window.

“i think everyone finally realised that y’re the one ‘n only girl for me.”

your heart drops as you only then remember that satoru’s car windows aren’t tinted. that means that everyone on campus probably has seen the little make out session you had with your boyfriend just now.

your eyes quickly dart around the crowded area. the way your fellow students are glancing at you - some with envy and others with embarrassment - tells you more than enough. . .

you clear your throat and try to hide your face with the sleeves of your top. you don’t know how you’re going back to university after today without facing the humiliating consequences of your (satoru’s) actions.

your shameless boyfriend sits there and grins from ear to ear, proud of his accomplishment and oblivious to your embarrassed state until you speak up again;

“. . satoru, please drive away as fast as you can.”