#eta sorry i think the watch makes it

[alexanderpearce]

did i ever even actually post my god tier rose cosplay from a year back lmfao

[blkkizzat]

summary: After a really shitty blind date you end up lashing out at a sexy stranger, sarcastically posing him a question he's more than willing to answer. a/n: Toji got me feral as fuck today y'all but I make zero apologies. Especially for this trifling ass gif because wtf else was I supposed to do after watching this scene, who isn't thinking this is the real question!?!? wc: 3.1k over 2.1k of it is literally just Toji being a munch

eta- put a cute frame over the gif ❤︎

You were sitting alone in a dive bar after a sorry ass excuse of a blind date. Drowning your sorrows you definitely needed something stronger than the seltzers in your fridge at home.

Things on your date were going well until the end of the night when the conversation turned frisky. You then whispered into your date’s ear that you wanted to ride his face.

That's when your date’s actual face turned to repulsion. Your blind date flat out said eating pussy was gross and refused.

You had dealt with previous boyfriends not wanting to go down on women so you weren't dealing with that shit again.

Nuh-uh. No way.

After not-so-politely telling him to kindly go and fuck himself you grabbed your purse and walked right the hell out of there.

And here you are now.

Alone.

At a sketchy ass dive bar that was mostly emptied.

Three shots of tequila in and a fourth setting on the table waiting for the room to stop spinning before you down it and go home.

Your head was resting on the cool bar countertop as you cursed the entire male species for their existence.

Selfish jerks. Every single one of them.

That would be the last date you would go on in a while. The only man you wanted to see was the bartender when he handed you another shot of tequila and then he could go fuck off too.

So when you felt a large hand on your lower back and a gruff but seductive 'Hey mamas' blowing hot air in your ear you fucking lost it and the full wrath of your scorn and sarcasm was directed at this man.

"LISTEN, I've just had a really shitty blind date. I just want to take this last shot of tequila, stuff my face with KFC and go home. So unless the answer is 'Yes' to the question 'Do you eat pussy?' Get the fuck out of my face, please and thank you!"

You didn’t care who heard your drunken tirade as you lifted your head to face the punching bag for all your current male frustrations.

Your jaw dropped.

The man who stood beside you looked like he walked straight out of Greek mythology. He was tall and muscular with tan skin and his black compression shirt stuck to him like a second skin giving you a detailed view.  

Shit he must be a boxer, or a martial artist or something. There was really no other excuse for a man to be that ripped.

You chewed your lip as your eyes slowly trailed up his body, drinking in his statuesque form to finally arrive at his face framed with shaggy raven hair.

Fuck he is really hot too.

The man, although sexy, looked intimidating as hell as he towered over you. 

You winced as you thought you were in for it with his response and you started to already form an apology in your head.

But instead of anger the man just looked down at you with amused knowing eyes as he allowed you to ogle him. 

He also wore an insanely devious smirk, his scar pulling up at the corner of his mouth.

“Heh.”

From that point things were a bit of a blur as he snatched up and downed your shot of tequila, grabbed your arm and led you away to the back with you barely having time to grab your purse.

You only registered what was happening once your back hit the cold tile of the bathroom wall and saw this sexy mysterious man lower himself to his knees before you.

His large muscular hands trailed all over your body, never leaving you.

"W-What are you doing!?"

You didn't know what to think, this was all happening so fast.

Was this intimidating but sexy as fuck man that you just met, yelled at and didn't even know his name, about to eat you out!?

"Heh, I’m answering your question, mamas."

The man spread your legs at the ankles, not even bothering to lift up the skirt of your dress. Choosing instead to just stick his head right up in there, letting the fabric drape over him.

"Wait at least tell me your na–"

Your sentence was cut short as you gasped at the sensation of his nose pressing into your clit through your black laced panties.

The man wiggled his nose against your clit like he was giving it eskimo kisses. He then salaciously took a huge whiff of your scent through his nostrils and puffed out the large exhale of warm moist breath directly over your cunt sending tingles through your body.

"Fuck, who wouldn’t want to taste this sweet slutty cunt?"

He mumbled, making the comment more to himself than you but your legs still shook slightly from the vulgar compliments and vibrations of his voice in your pussy.

You were practically purring now. You could feel the surge of heat and need rushing over your body spreading out from your core. 

Especially now as his tongue was dragging up the thin lace of your panties and stopped to suck at your clit through the textured material. 

It felt absolutely wild. 

“F-Fuck!”

You moaned loudly and quickly covered your mouth with your hand.

His hands slid up your dress to roughly dig into your hips and pull your pelvis more forward as he smashed his face into your cunt.

Your last bit of reason was telling you to stop him. You didn’t know him at all and what if someone walked in and saw you both? 

However, once you feel the man’s mouth grab the hem of your panties and drag them down your legs to remove them by his teeth alone, your common sense was discarded as well.

You exhaled as you threw your head back in resignation, missing how he slyly pocketed your black lace panties once he finally had them off of you. He would be taking those with him.

You looked down at him as he rose up again, pulling up your dress. He placed a chaste kiss on the mound of your now completely exposed pussy as you squirmed in excitement under him.

“Y’er gonna be a good girl f’er me n’ do what I say, so I can eat this slutty pussy out the way she deserves, eh?”

The cocky smirk on his face never left and he reached both hands around to grasp both your plump ass cheeks, kneading them and enjoying the way your soft flesh squeezed through his fingers.

“Y-Yeah, uh-huh, I’ll be good. I p-promise.”

You breathed out those words too rapidly causing you to realize how needy and desperate you sounded. Your hips involuntarily bucked towards him and you became pliant in his hands.

God, you were nearly begging him with your entire body at this point. 

But the fact was you would be begging him anyway if for some reason he found some good sense and decided this was all way too crazy to be happening right now.

Fortunately for you, you apparently stumbled on the fairy fucking godfather of pussy eating appearing seemingly out of nowhere and who clearly didn’t give a single fuck as to where he was.

His eyes looked crazed and his grin widened at your consent. He released your cheeks to roll up your dress further. 

He gave it to you, but not for you to hold with your hands but with your mouth. 

“Bite down on this f’er me, yeah? Heh, wouldn’t want to draw a crowd from your screams.”

Of course he is arrogant too. 

You rolled your eyes but were obedient. You were too caught up in the thrill of what was happening to disobey him and have him stop.

You bit down on the bunched designer fabric.

“That’s a good little slut f’er me.”

He mockingly praised you and gave an abrupt slap to your ass.

You whimpered around the fabric.

You really didn’t understand why you just couldn’t use your hands though, but you soon found out as he threw both of your legs over his shoulders. 

Your hands were needed to brace yourself, that much became obvious to you as they flew to the wall behind. You grasped for any kind of stability you could find on the slick tile so you wouldn’t topple over. 

His strong wide hands wrapped around your thighs and brought your dripping core closer to his face.

A barely audible ‘Itadakimasu’ was all the warning you got before you felt his flat heavy tongue dig into your cunt.

“S-Shiiiiiiiiit!”

Exploring your pussy like uncharted territory he took his time to lap, slurp and swirl his way through, roaming in the intoxicating folds of your cunt. A fast learner, he noted what made your body twitch, your leg shake or an extra hitch in the deep moans that escaped you through the fabric in your mouth. 

Wanting to hear you scream, he swiped his canine over your clit before he traced his tongue over the bud and sucked hard.

Mission accomplished as your muffled scream came through the fabric of your dress and a hand of yours left the wall to find purchase in his hair, pulling on it hard.

He growls into your pussy with approval when he feels the harsh tug on his black strands and continues working you over, pulling all sorts of vulgar noises from you as he slobbers and spits into your cunt.

The man was fucking nasty the way he devoured you like it was his last meal on death row.

“S-so, close-ahh!” 

Your muffled voice told him but the man could already tell by the way your thighs had enclosed around his head, twitching against him while suffocating him deeper into your core.

The tension that wound itself into a coil in your stomach reached his limits and it finally broke when you felt his canine swipe against your clit a second time.

Your cries choked out as they clumsily made their way out of your mouth still stuffed with your drool soaked dress. 

You quivered and gushed into his mouth, eyes rolling back and your other hand found its way into his hair. Wrenching his locks in between your manicured fingers as if you intended to scalp him from how hard you were twisting.

That only served to encourage his efforts however as he slurped up your juices more fiercely. You clawed at him to release you but you might as well had steel around your body as neither his bulky muscular arms nor thick head budged.

Fuck its too much!

Finally pulling black with a pop he smacked his lips and exhaled an ‘ahhh’ as if he was taking a pause from stuffing himself with a delicious meal.

“This cunt is so fucking creamy, need some more of ‘er.”

You shook your head as tears welled in your eyes at the sight of him salivating over your puffy pussy lips glistening with the combined fluids of your cum and his spit.

“Mm, you want me to stop? But she doesn’t want me to.”

His thick tongue flattened to take painfully slow licks over your slit, the man’s fierce green eyes never leaving yours as they flared with primal urges.

You never had someone aggressively eat you out like this, not to mention actually enjoy it this much.

This man was fucking insane.

“Let’s ask this slutty pussy what she want’s, eh?”

The man tilted your pelvis up, lifting your lower back off the wall so he could move close to your hole that was fluttering, shamelessly clenching around nothing. 

“See that, ma? She’s winking at me, inviting me in. How can I say no?” 

He sounded absolutely unhinged as he slowly extended his tongue to push up into you.  

Your muffled sobs were drowned out by the erotic squelching sounds of your cunt echoing off the tile walls. 

He accelerates you to the point of overstimulation with such vigor that you easily cum on his tongue again for a second time. 

This time your legs trembled more violently and your heels dug into his back causing him to grunt deeper into your pussy. The sharp digging of your heels into his back did nothing to discourage him as his tongue fucked further into your hole without mercy. 

All you could do was wither in his clutches as he rolled his tongue inside you throughout the high of your second orgasm.

You were panting and your jaw became slack as you slowly lost the ability to hold your dress in your mouth any longer. Releasing it along with a well of drool that once freed, overflowed down the corners of your mouth to drip down your neck and chest along with your tears.

“One more mama, I know this slutty pussy can give me that at least... Tch, and take off that dress if ya ain’t gonna hold it, ya? Let’s see those pretty tiddies, eh?”

The man’s distasteful and outright crass words should have turned you off. 

But his filthy tongue not only drains you of your juices but also any kind of restraint or decency you had left. His brash words only make you all the more aroused.

Obeying him once more, you rid yourself of the dress pulling it up and over your head, not caring where it landed. 

You would rather it off than in your mouth anyway. Opting to not wear a bra with this dress you were now naked save for your heels.

“Nice tits.”

You rolled your eyes as his crass compliment but wore a small grin yourself as you playfully shook your shoulders allowing them to jiggle down at his face.

He chuckled at your display but his voice quickly turned devious again.

“Make sure y’er holding on tight this time, eh?”

You strengthen your grip on his raven locks but you still weren’t prepared for when he rose up off the ground entirely to stand, completely shouldering your weight. 

“ACK!!”

The altitude change wasn’t something you expected. He held you up off the wall like you weighed nothing to him and although you felt secure around the lower half of your body, an arm still flailed around for balance. 

Thankfully, you discovered you could hold on to the pipes that hung from the low ceiling yet it creaked as you held on. 

Shit, you hoped it would hold.

Seeing you secure yourself the man wasted no time enveloping your cunt with his hot mouth. The gravity of your weight pushing down your core on his mouth had him more needy for air and you felt the pulses that rocked through you from his rough exhales with fervor. 

“Fuckfuckfuck!”

It proved to be much more difficult to keep your cries of pleasure contained. But you bit your lip to try to suppress yourself into a whine instead of a scream.

Although that all went to shit once you saw the reflection of the two of you in the dirty floor to ceiling bathroom mirror. 

You could still clearly see your forms and the way you looked. Your face completely blissed out, sweating and panting as the mad man did everything but rest while he was between your legs, circling and suckling as if he personally challenged himself to drain all the fluids from your body. 

You tighten your hold on the pipe and experimentally roll your hips forward and your other hand, threaded behind his head through his thick hair pulls him closer as well. 

“G-God-f-fuck-shiiiiit!”

You didn’t care who the fuck heard you this time, as you watched yourself in the mirror thrust your hips forward to fuck deeper into his face, building up a rhythm. 

Your tits bounced up higher with your back arched as your mouth hung open spilling out curses, cries and moans alike. The scene was better than a porno, so hot, so feral, you half wished someone was recording this.

Absolutely loving the thought of you losing yourself to his depravity and you taking on a more aggressive role, the man growled with approval once more into your cunt as his tongue continued to unravel you. 

Your movements became more frantic as you could feel your third and most intense orgasm yet approaching. He eagerly relinquishes more control to you as he allows you to grind his face farther into your pussy.

You shuddered as you felt a shock of electricity wreck your entire being, assaulting all of your senses with the feeling of pure ecstacy. Your toes ached from the intensity of their curling in your heels and your mind only filled with the sounds of the sloppy gurgling noises from the man below you literally being smothered by your cunt as you rut into him.

It wasn’t just the cheap fluorescent lights of the bathroom eye-level with you when white filled your vision and you felt yourself release to convulse and squirt all over the man’s face. 

If you weren’t holding onto the pipe above for dear life, you’re sure you would have fallen.

After a few moments the man easily shifted his hold to your waist and brought your feet back to touch the ground. However, you were still more than a bit shaky and a few steps backwards had you bumping into the wall and sliding down to the floor. 

Your fluids leak out into a small puddle on the ground between your sticky thighs.

The man whose name you still didn’t know slicked his hair back into place as he glanced down at you, disheveled and heaving on the floor. 

“Gochisosama, mama.”

He smirked even with his face completely drenched with your nectar. He brazenly circled his tongue around his lips and corners of his mouth to greedily lap up any of you remaining that he could before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Name’s Fushiguro. Toji. Heh, and yeah ma as ya now know, I do eat pussy.”

You gave a weak chuckle at that but your eyes were glossed over and you were fading a bit. You can’t recall the last time you came that hard at all, let alone from just getting your pussy ate. 

“Now, I gotta question, ma.”

Your body, still vibrating with the aftershocks of your intense orgasm has left you non-verbal so you simply nodded your head for Toji to continue.

Toji crouches down to your level which reveals his monstrous and fully bricked cock straining through his sweats. 

Your eyes widen when you see it and you knew then everything about this man named Toji Fushiguro was fucking ridiculous, in both size and demeanor.

Lifting your chin so you could look him directly in his eyes, Toji slid his thumb over on your bottom lip. 

The appendage bullied its way past your lips and pressed down on your tongue. Your mouth opened wide and he inspected you like he was a doctor examining the back of your throat.

Pleased with what he saw, Toji gave you a shit eating grin.

“You swallow kids?” 

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2023. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ.

a/n: Istg I'm working on part 2 of Werewolf!Toji but theres no pussy eating in that and he needed to eat some pussy today. I deserve that and y'all deserve that too.

So here. Come and let our feral hunger feast together as Toji feasts on us.

11/4: a quick afterthought of what happened next.

Reblog to spread the depravity as everyone needs to have this crazy ass header pop-up on their timeline lmfao. But likes and comments are appreciated all the same!

tags of depravity please don't send me away for this one: @callm3senpaii @ryomens-vixen

[woso-dreamzzz]

Birthday II

Hardersson x Baby!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: It's your first birthday

Morsa is living in the phone again.

She's a lot smaller when she lives in the phone than when she lives with you and Momma. You think that's kind of weird but there's some cake sitting in front of you so you don't dwell on it for too long.

Today is a special day apparently.

Today is the day that Morsa is supposed to be visiting. It's your birthday too but you're more focused on the first thing rather than the fact that you're getting older now.

Morsa is meant to be coming today but she isn't here yet and now she's stuck in the phone again.

"And here's the birthday girl," Momma says to her," She's about to enjoy her cake."

You look down at your slice of cake. You don't get given cake a lot, especially not fancy cake that has writing and pictures on the top. You don't really care about the stuff on top but you know the cake is fancy because it's there.

You grab a chunk of cake in your fist and raised it to your mouth.

It tastes really nice and you grab more.

"Birthday girl looks very happy," Morsa comments," Is that right? Are you enjoying your cake, princesse?"

You grunt as you shove cake into your mouth.

"She's very much enjoying it," Momma agrees," Birthday girl got spoiled a lot today."

"I'm glad. I'm sorry I couldn't be there."

A match late last evening had Magda unable to fly out yesterday night. She'd booked an early morning flight today, hoping that it meant she could still spend your first birthday with you without missing much.

But she'd gotten to the airport and found her plane delayed. There was no eta and it kept getting pushed back further and further to the point where Magda has to spend your birthday on the phone rather than in person.

The presents in her carry-on feel like weights as she watches you shovel more and more cake into your mouth until your plate is empty.

You're sitting up in your high chair with a beaming smile in a tiny Wolfsburg kit that Magda knows was given as a present to you. A big birthday badge is clipped to the jersey and a discarded birthday hat is sat on the tray next to your now empty cake plate.

It makes her heart ache thinking about how much of this she's missing.

It's just not the same seeing it all through a phone screen.

"My flight should be taking off in a few hours," She tells Pernille as you entertain yourself by picking up the birthday hat and shaking it," I'll probably get to yours around midnight."

She can't see Pernille with the camera on you but Magda's sure she's frowning.

"We can pick you up from the airport," She says," You don't need to get here on your own."

"It'll be too late for Princesse. She still needs sleep."

"Are you sure? I don't mind. She'll fall asleep in the car anyway."

"I'm sure," Magda insists," It's fine. I've got keys. I'll let myself in."

You drop the birthday hat and pout.

"Oh," Pernille chuckles," What's with the long face, princesse? Did you drop your hat?"

You kick your legs impatiently and point at it, whining. You look like you're about to whine more but Pernille places another slice of cake in front of you and suddenly you're distracted again.

You cram as much cake possible into your mouth, smearing your face with crumbs.

The cake is nice but you do feel a little bit cheated. Momma woke you up this morning saying that Morsa would be here to celebrate with you both but it's rapidly approaching bath and bedtime and she's nowhere to be seen.

That's a little mean of her.

It's even meaner of Momma to put you down in your crib and make you sleep before Morsa got here. They're both quite mean today even though it's your birthday and people should be nice to you when it's your birthday.

You wake up the next day ready to let your displeasure at being lied to known to Momma when she comes to grab you.

You don't get the chance to though because someone lifts you out of your crib with a smile and a soft voice.

"What's with the pouty face?" Morsa coos," Is being a one year old really that bad?"

For a moment, in your sleepy haze, you don't recognise her, a big pout and a grumpy look upon your features. Slowly, you blink awake fully and your pout morphs into a big happy smile.

"There she is," Morsa says," There's my happy baby! Look at you, my happy little one year old."

Your legs kick out as Morsa presses soft, ticklish kisses all over your face.

"I'm sorry I missed your birthday, princesse but I brought presents!"

You know that word. After yesterday, you've decided that you really like presents.

You hope Morsa's brought you some good ones.

You giggle.

"Yeah?" Morsa says," You like that? I've got lots of presents for you to open!"

[hades--baby]

To Die Like This

Summary: Stuck in the Tundra with a bullet in your side, blood in your eye, and the agonizing feeling that your captain was going to throw an absolute fit when your bleeding body walked through the threshold of the safe house.

Note: There's just something about Price being so tender with the girl he loves that makes me go absolutely crazy. Anyway, it's been a long time since I've written anything and an even longer time since I've actually put something out. Hope y'all enjoy :)

(This work was also cross-posted on my ao3 account under hades_baby)

Word Count: 7109

You had always loved the serenity of a snowy forest. 

They were typically peaceful and quiet, a drastic contrast to your usual life of gunfire and warfare. 

The only things that ever really made a sound was the light crunch of snow beneath the thick soles of boots, the little animals scurrying from shrubs to burrows that led to their dens, and the winter birds chirping their little songs as they hopped from branch to branch. 

The air was always so crisp with a light scent of fresh pine and bark. It lacked the smell of gunpowder and the musk that filled the tight barracks. 

Honestly, if you could have it your way, you’d die in a forest like this. 

Have your trauma-ridden life end in a place so ethereal. 

The whole military life never really gave you what you wanted though. 

You typically had to take what you could get.  

The orders you were given weren’t to your liking? 

Too bad, you’d have to follow them anyway. 

The mission you were assigned to was in the middle of the fucking Tundra where you knew your fingers would freeze and you’d never be able to keep warm? 

You’re getting on the damn plane and going anyway because you were told to. 

A lead slugger was shot into your side and you were currently bleeding through your gear and you wanted to do nothing more than lay down in the snow and let the cold take you while the little blood you had left in your system melted the snow beneath your limp body? 

Well, too fucking bad. Get the fuck up because your Captain doesn’t take too kindly to any of his soldiers dying on the job. 

Yeah. 

You didn’t really get your way when it came to being a soldier, but today might have been your lucky day. 

That little snowy death wish that had been playing out in the back of your head for the past thirty minutes was starting to look like it might come true. 

There was a small burning bullet set in your side, a nice little slash on your arm from a bowie knife that had once been stuck in another man’s chest, and there was a cheeky little gash somewhere on your head that was pouring enough blood into your left eye to make you shut it and trek around half blind. 

It felt like you were getting too old for this kind of work. 

Then again, if Price could still keep up with this shit and be chipper doing it, then so could you. 

“What’s your ETA, Frost?”

His voice over your comms had startled you. 

“I don’t fucking know,” you snapped in a breathy tone as you slammed against the side of a pine tree to brace yourself before you could fall flat on your face. The fresh powder beneath you was starting to look really enticing. 

You closed your good eye—the one that hadn’t been flooded with blood—and let out a defeated sigh, dipping your head as you tried to catch your breath and not focus on the stinging sensation of all the wounds that riddled your body. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, apologizing to your Captain for your tone. You glanced at the watch on your wrist to check your current coordinates. “I’m a klick out from the safehouse. I should be there in a bit.”

“Copy.”

Price left it at that. 

He sounded tired. 

It was the same tone he spoke in when he was stuck in his office, getting dragged down into the depths with paperwork and mission reports he didn’t even want to think about. The tone that would come out when someone tried to talk to him too soon after a mission when all he wanted to do was relax and work the knots out of his shoulders. The tone that you heard oh so often when you’d pop into his office to keep him company while he dotted his i’s and crossed his t’s and when you’d work your fingers into the knots and sore spots on his back until he nearly fell asleep in his office chair. 

Fuck. 

You needed to get a move on.

After taking a deep breath, you trekked on, using every other tree to keep yourself upright as you staggered on your tired feet. 

Blood was seeping through all of your gear, some of it dripping into the pristine white powder beneath your feet. It was tragic how the deep crimson liquid stained the gorgeous snow. In your line of work, you had seen blood stain an array of surfaces, but snow seemed to be the worst of them. It was something that was meant to be clean and pure, yet here you were, ruining it. 

A grimace fell over your face at the sight. 

After a few minutes passed by, your legs met the threshold of movement and you slammed into another tree trunk. Your temple met the bark, wood scratching against the skin of your face. You closed your eyes as you tried to catch your breath and focus on not passing out while your limbs buzzed in pain. 

You could make it. 

Probably.

All you could really think about was the fact that you were definitely going to be telling Price that you didn’t want to do any more jobs in the Tundra. You enjoyed the cold climate when you weren’t working, which was almost never, but you still had a few days of leave a year where you got to fully relax (if your brain allowed). 

You liked the cold when you could cuddle up next to someone to stay warm, drink some hot cider, and watch stupid Christmas movies that had too many questionable moments that made you really sit and stare, trying to figure out whether or not you should laugh. 

You enjoyed the cold even more when you could hide away in the barracks, keeping warm with Price wrapped around you, hands tracing over your skin, heating you up quicker than a blanket ever could. 

“Frost.”

“Captain.”

He didn’t respond right away, making you wonder if he just wanted to say your callsign for the hell of it. 

“ETA?”

“Couple of minutes,” you answered. 

The eye with blood in it was starting to sting, the foreign liquid now slipping all the way to your jaw and dripping from your chin. 

“Cut it down to a minute.”

Price was starting to catch on that something was wrong. You were taking far too long to get to the safe house from where you had been coming from and your words were becoming too short and strained every time he asked you a question. Something was wrong and it was taking everything in him to not run out of the safehouse in search of you. You’d always been the type to be vocal when something went awry out in the field, so he silently prayed that your absence of issue meant that everything was fine and that you truly were just taking your sweet ass time to get to him. 

“You’re starting to sound like Gaz with all the worrying you’re doing, Pricey,” you teased, adding on the little nickname that you knew peeved him. 

“Shut it and get a damn move on.”

“Yessir.”

You started moving again just as he ordered you to do, finding some sense of motivation after hearing his gruff voice. It was the voice that had welcomed you to the 141 after Laswell had shipped you off to join the task force. The voice that had let you know that you were okay and safe when the boys had finally found you after you had been taken hostage on a mission in your earlier days. The voice that had talked you through every touch that made your body burn as he sunk his fingers into you. 

It was the kind of voice that you’d betray death for. 

A little while later, the safehouse finally came into view. 

You glanced at your watch, checking how much time had passed. 

A minute and twenty-seven seconds.

Price wasn’t going to let you hear the end of it. 

You winced in pain, feeling the skin of your arm pull apart. The soldier that had cut you had grabbed the knife he used from the middle of another man’s chest and you were starting to feel queasy from the thought of your blood mixing with his. You needed to get your gash disinfected soon or you were going to have a problem. Well, technically you already had multiple problems, but you were trying to take on one issue at a time. 

Alright, maybe it was about time you mentioned something to your captain. 

“Hey, Cap’?” you probed as you quietly trudged toward the short porch steps of the cute little cottage. “Is this a bad time to mention that I got hit earlier?”

You failed to mention how badly you were hit.

“What the hell—what do you mean you got hit?”

You stopped a good ten feet from the steps, furrowing your brows. 

There was no sign of Price having entered through the front door. The powder in front of the stairs had been untouched and there weren’t any wet footprints  on the old wood of the porch. The windows were dark and nothing could be seen from the outside. The only thing that gave any sign of someone being inside was the dark smoke slowly wisping from the brick chimney peeking out of the top of the cabin.

“I mean, I got a nice little slugger in my side and some blood pouring out of me in other places,” you said, keeping your voice low and quiet. You wondered if you were in the right place. You looked down at your watch, checking your coordinates. According to the device, you were. “Are you inside?” 

He ignored your question. 

“Where the hell’s your kit?”

“Somewhere in the forest four klicks back.”

You looked around again, hoping to find some sign of this being the right place. 

“Christ, Frost,” Price muttered. You didn’t need to see him to know that he was shaking his head at you. “How far out are you?”

“Right out front,” you answered. 

You gave in. 

The wood creaked under the thick soles of your boots as you trekked up the stairs. You shoved the door open, stumbled inside, and slammed the door shut as you slumped against the wall. You slowly slid down to the floor. The cold began to set into your bones as the distinctive heat from the fireplace on your left radiated around you. 

Price rushed into the room. 

“Well, aren’t you a right-all mess,” he said as he moved toward you.

“Shut up,” you muttered, shaking your head before tilting it back to rest against the wall. You opened your good eye as he knelt down in front of you.

“Where are you broken, love?” he asked as his eyes scanned over you, clocking every little rip and tear in your gear before you could even say anything. 

He hated seeing you like this. 

It had become one of the toughest parts of his job ever since Laswell had sent you his way to recruit to the taskforce. There was just something about you that made his heart ache whenever he saw you in pain in any way.  

He knew that it was all a part of the job. 

That there were always going to be times where he saw you like this; busted and broken.

And he always fucking hated it.

He knew he’d hate it ever since the first time he had seen you like this. It was way back when you had first joined the team. You’d only been with them for a good six months, but you had already gone on about four missions with them. It had been a busy year for the task force, but you didn’t seem to mind. If anything, you were eager to keep getting back out on the field every time you got back to base. 

On their fifth mission all together, when they believed that they had the upper hand, you and Soap had been ambushed. The Scot had been knocked unconscious while you were taken captive, too many soldiers for the two of you to take out on your own without any supporting fire. 

Learning that you had been taken was worrisome on its own, but Price’s heart ached when they finally found you. 

He had sunken to his knees in front of you, using his knife to work away the zip ties that had you bound to an uncomfortable looking metal chair. Your face was bruised and bloody. Gashes from knife wounds worked their way down your arms and legs. Burn marks from what looked like cigarettes were ingrained into your plush skin. 

You looked beyond rough. 

Price had felt furious that he had let any of this happen to you, but the fury was quickly overcome with worry when you had perched your eyes open and groaned in pain. He let out a sigh of relief, finally knowing that you were, at the very least, well enough to be conscious. He had tried to soothe you as best he could and when you were finally free of your bounds, you practically fell into his embrace, your entire body slumping against his.

It was that very moment—when he wrapped his arms around you and held the entirety of you—that was when he knew that seeing you like this would always pull deadly wear on his heart. His old heart wouldn’t be able to take seeing you like this and hoped that it would be a rarity for his tiring eyes. 

Much to his surprise, it had been a rare sight. 

But that didn’t mean it was a non-existent sight. 

“Got shot in my right side, bullet’s still somewhere in there from what I can tell. Slash on my right arm from a gross ass knife that was already stuck in someone else before it got to me. And I got hit in the head and I can’t see out of my fucking right eye because of all the goddamn blood,” you explained, lifting one of your hands to try and wipe the blood away from your eye, but to no avail, the metallic liquid kept flowing. There was no use in trying to see right now anyway.

“Let’s get you fixed up then,” he said, a sense of urgency finally filling his voice. 

He had been attempting to keep his cool this entire time; to not panic so you wouldn’t panic either. But he knew that you were much too tired to even start panicking, so perhaps he was just trying to stay calm for his own sake. He found it funny that out of everyone on the task force, he had been the one to deal with more field injuries, yet here he was with his damned nerves buzzing out of his skull. 

Something like this shouldn’t have worried him as much as it did. 

But it was you. 

He couldn’t help himself when it came to you. 

Whatever was going on between the two of you had always left him in the realm of something being completely unspoken. The relationship that had sprouted was in some sort of limbo, but neither of you seemed to mind since it was easier that way. 

It was easier than having to tell the boys that something was going on between you two. It was easier than telling Laswell that there may be some sort of infringement on the team—not that she’d care unless it really started to affect how the two of you went about your work lives. And it was easier than admitting to each other that there might be something more than a quick casual stress-relief fuck. 

The two of you had shared too many moments together for that to be true. 

There were too many night’s of your bodies being pressed together and entwined, skin to skin to keep each other warm. Too many words of comfort as you soothe the nightmares of war away, finding comfort in each other’s arms. Too many gentle kisses for it to not be real. 

Your eyes were closed. 

He didn’t care much for that. 

“Frost,” he said, bumping your arm without a slash in it to jostle you awake. You opened your good eye and looked up at him, sending him a quick look of aggravation. It would’ve been amusing if you weren’t bleeding out before his very eyes. “Need your good eye open so I know you aren’t dying on me, sweetheart.”

You grunted in response, looking away from him but still keeping your eye open. 

The feeling of disquietude was starting to set in. 

It wasn’t normal for you to get hit during missions—it was actually quite rare. Soap was usually the one to take the podium for taking quite a bit of damage out in the field. Regardless of all that, you still knew what to do in such situations. You wouldn’t have been at this level of infantry if you didn’t know what to do. 

The hard part was the fact that you were in the presence of your captain. 

Moments ago, when you were trekking to the safehouse, you knew that you wouldn’t have to do any of this alone because your captain was waiting less than a klick away from you. 

The thought alone made everything feel easier. 

It was always harder doing it all alone. 

You thought back to the first and only time you had applied a tourniquet on yourself. Damn near gave up and bled out from how painful it was to cinch the band as tight as you could to keep yourself from bleeding out. You had spent years in the service of infantry. Years of wear and tear on the body, but that kind of pain was something you never wanted to feel again in your lifetime or in any lifetime. So when you felt your arm begin to fall numb from the lack of blood circulating through your veins, you knew that you had to get to Price before you would be forced to deal with it on your own. 

When he was around, you knew that you’d never have to face anything alone. 

You had learned to find such comfort in that. 

Price felt sick to his stomach as he started to get some of your heavier gear off. Your weapons were first to go, then your holsters, and then your vest. He was almost afraid to remove your thermal to see the damage the thick white jacket was hiding poorly. 

He couldn’t keep his damn head straight. 

Simon had griped with him about it a while back, saying that he needed to do better about keeping a clear head around you, but Price still managed to get work done on missions, so the younger man could never really get on him about it all that much. Simon didn’t know exactly what was going on between you two behind closed doors, but he had enough of an idea seeing how much Price doted on you even when you told him to fuck off and focus on something else for a while. 

It was the playfulness of your jabs that usually gave it away. 

That and the lingering looks you two sent each other as if you were some love sick teenagers. 

Price knew that you were more than capable of handling yourself in the field, but there was always something whispering in the back of his head that had him wearing a deep sense of worry on his sleeve every time he had to send you out on a mission. He had read your file when Laswell had recruited you. You were beyond skilled in almost everything you did and you rarely ever came back to base having to see a medic, so hearing that you had actually been hit—

“I can’t feel my arm.”

“Shite,” Price cursed, snapping out of his thoughts as he snatched his medkit and opened it up to finally help you. 

The cold had finally set in and all the blood that had seeped from your arm was causing your skin to turn pale. The gash on your arm was still wide open, but blood had stopped spilling from it, which meant he could disinfect it and get it closed without anything (hopefully) going wrong. Your side wasn’t doing all that bad, still bleeding, but not bad. He’d probably have to cauterize the wound just to feel like he could leave it be, but that could wait for after he got the bullet out of you. 

“Arm first, then your side,” he decided, nodding his head before he turned back to his kit. He turned back with a bottle in hand and you grimaced at the sight. “Gonna have to feel more broken before you feel fixed.”

“No shit,” you muttered, eyeing the small bottle of alcohol in his hand. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be snappy.”

Price set the bottle down, reached for his belt, and took it off. Something deep in you fluttered, but it stopped when he presented it to your face in a folded mess. 

“Bite down,” he said. You eyed him a little more, making him huff. “Bite down on it, Frost.”

You huffed back at him and bit down on the folded belt. You held it between clenched teeth, watching as he picked the bottle of alcohol back up. He sighed and nodded, almost as if he was telling himself that he was ready to do this. He tipped the bottle and poured the liquid over the wound. You squirmed and held back a writhing scream. He quickly clamped your legs between his knees, keeping you from squirming away. 

“I know, I know, sweetheart,” he said, trying to sooth you as he set the bottle down and wiped around the edge of the wound. He grabbed a needle and thread from his kit.

You groaned through the thickness of the belt as he stabbed the needle into your skin, creating even sutures along the wound. Your eyes closed as you tried to not focus on anything specific, but the feeling of Price keeping you in place while he dug a needle kept you from thinking of anything else. 

Price hated this. 

He hated every fucking part of this. 

Digging a needle and thread into your arm while you bit onto a belt. 

He thought back to the last time he had touched you. 

It was the night before the mission that you two were currently on. Price hadn’t expected to see you until the two of you were meant to take off on the tarmac, but he found himself aimlessly wandering the halls of the barracks until he wound up at the door of your private quarters. 

He almost hadn’t knocked. 

It was late, you two had to be up early, and he still didn’t know where the two of you stood when it came to something like this. 

He knew that there was some sort of love there, but he wasn’t too sure about the type. He knew that if he was stressed about all the ridiculous mission reports and papers he had to sign off on late into the night when he should be sleeping instead, you’d be sitting there with him to keep him company. He knew that if he mentioned that something was hurting, you’d use your nimble and calloused fingers to work away the knots and sore spots that came with all the training and missions. He knew that in a moment of weakness, he could count on you to hold the broken pieces of his soul together. 

Everything in his mind told him to leave you alone and let you be for the night, but the Captain was feeling selfish and he rarely ever got to indulge in such things.

His entire life and career, he was meant to be selfless. 

To put everyone else’s needs before his own. 

And ultimately, he had been okay with that… until he met you. 

He found himself tempted to be selfish when it came to you. 

He had knocked and you had answered. 

It was all he needed for the night. 

Maybe for life. 

“Done,” he said, tying off the last stitch and cutting the thread. 

“Thank fuck,” you breathed out, letting the belt drop from your mouth. 

“Still have a few more things to do,” he said, jerking his chin in the direction of your side before glancing at your head. “I’m gonna have to lay you down flat to get the bullet out, alright?”

“M’kay,” you muttered, still feeling hazy. Your nerves were buzzing in all the wrong ways and you just wanted it to stop. 

Price carried you over to the fireplace and laid you out on the floor next to the fire in hopes of warming you up. The flame felt nice against your freezing skin. He worked quickly to strip you of your thermal undershirt. The wound on your side looked small, but the skin around it was stained red with thick blood. 

“Want the belt again?” he asked. You sighed and nodded. He grabbed his belt and folded it up again before placing it back in your mouth. Your teeth dug into the material as you anticipated whatever pain was about to come. “Ready?”

You grunted in response. 

He used a set of dull tweezers to dig into your side, fishing for the little bullet deep in your flesh. You reeled in pain, damn near shooting up on your own, but Price used his free hand to push your chest back down to keep you steady.

“I know, pretty girl, I know,” he tried to soothe, continuing to search for the hunk of lead. You writhed in pain, pressing yourself against the floor as hard as you could as if that would help you escape the pain that was stabbing into it. The ends of the tweezers grazed something hard and he knew that he almost had it. “Almost got it. Almost done.”

After a few moments, he pulled the metal fragment from your body and pulled the tweezers from your aching flesh. You gasped, shaking as you laid limp. Your shoulders slumped against the wood floor as your chest heaved. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you tried to catch your breath. 

“You’re alright,” he said, squeezing your good arm as if that would make everything better. He massaged your bicep for a moment, using it as an excuse to keep his hands on you. He was also trying to calm you down a bit more before he had to move onto the actual hard part. He grimaced and glanced over to the fireplace. “Do you trust me?” 

“Mhm,” you hummed, lazily nodding your head as you felt consciousness slipping through your fingers. 

“I need you to close your eyes, sweetheart.”

“Mm-mm,” you said, shaking your head this time around. 

“I need you to trust me on this one, Frost.”

You stared at him for a long while before finally giving in and closing your eyes. You slammed the back of your head against the wood flooring as hard as you could, wishing that the impact had knocked you out because you knew that whatever he was about to do was going to hurt like hell. 

Price had always been the type to make sure that his own were safe and taken care of, but he was also the type to tell his own to buck up and take it. Whenever the boys got injured out in the field, he would always make sure that they were okay, and if they were, he’d tell the lot of them to get back to work then. 

Even with you. 

Every time you had been bruised and battered, if you told him that you were okay, he’d believe you and expect you to be okay and not broken. 

So the fact that he was telling you to close your eyes and to trust him meant that it had to be bad and that scared you.

Price waited for a few moments, making sure that you kept your eyes closed before he proceeded with what he was about to do. He grabbed the hot poker from the fireplace, the one that he had been stoking the fire with before you had made it to the confines of the safehouse and trudged in with all of your broken parts. He took a deep breath, knowing that there was a good chance that he was going to hate this just as much as you. 

“Bite down hard and keep your eyes closed, you hear?” he ordered, heaving one last warning before he pressed the burning poker to your skin. 

You did exactly as he ordered even though you were itching to scream and open your eyes to see what the fuck he was doing, but the smell of your burning flesh was enough to urge you to just squeeze your eyes shut even tighter. 

You were going to pass out. 

Or vomit. 

Or maybe scream at Price for cauterizing your wound without a proper fucking warning. 

Maybe all three. 

You eventually fell limp, no longer having the energy to resist the fiery pain that flooded over your skin. The only part of you that could move was your heaving chest as your lungs begged for some semblance of air. 

Price pulled the poker away, tossing the burning end back into the fire.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” he said, disinfecting the area around the cauterized wound to ensure that everything was thoroughly taken care of. He placed a bandage over it and then gently grasped your shoulders, his thumb massaging circles into your skin. “Gonna get you up now, nice and easy.” 

He slowly pulled you into an upright position, but you haphazardly slumped forward into his arms, forehead hitting his chest. He let your full weight fall against him. You still hadn’t said anything, nor had you opened your eyes. All you could really manage were hard, labored breaths that made your entire body quake. 

His heart hurt. 

Probably not as much as you were hurting, but still, it hurt. 

He couldn’t stand to see you like this. 

Body shaking in his arms, lungs gasping for air, kind eyes hidden behind low lids. 

He wanted to take you from this world. 

To take you from the world of hurt.

The world where you were constantly shot at and put at risk every time a new mission was assigned to the taskforce. 

But he knew that he’d never be able to take you from this world of chaos and pain. You’d surely raise hell the day you truly had to leave the force. You had always said that you’d probably die in the military. He really prayed that you wouldn’t. 

He pulled you into his lap, settling you down comfortably as he grabbed a clean wrap. He propped you up a little more so your head was resting against his shoulder, face tucked you into the crook of his neck. He wrapped your midsection, making sure to keep the bandages snug and clean. 

“Almost done,” he promised in a sweet coo. 

You opened your mouth, finally letting the belt drop to the floor. You hadn’t realized that it was still in your mouth. 

“Fuck,” you breathed out as he tied the bandages off, running his fingers over the material to make sure it all laid flat and clean. 

“Gonna lay you back down,” he said. 

You shook your head, pressing your forehead against his shoulder in hopes that he’d understand that you wanted to stay like that in his arms, face tucked away so he couldn’t see you cry. You just needed a moment to collect yourself. Tears pooled in your eyes, the pain setting in even more as the adrenaline started to wear off. He placed one of his hands on your back, gently rubbing circles over your shoulder blades in an attempt to calm you down.

“I’ve got you, Frost,” he muttered, pulling you in closer. Hot tears rushed faster from your eyes, slipping down, and staining his shirt as they dropped from your face. The diluted mix of salt water and blood didn’t bother him much. “Gotta check that head of yours. Clearly you’ve got a screw loose since you thought hiding all of this from me was okay.” 

“Didn’t want to bother,” you muttered hazily in broken fits.

“Helping you ain’t a bother, love,” he said, shaking his head. He slowly pulled you away from him and cupped your face in his rough hands. “How’s the head feeling?” 

“Amazing. Thanks for asking,” you said, letting the weight of your head sink into the salvation of his hands. He kept you up, calloused fingers running over your cheekbones to wipe away the stray tears still slipping from your eyes. The salty water had started to clear the blood from one of your eyes, but it wasn’t enough to fully see. You squeezed your eyes shut even more, leaning into him, and slumping in his hold. 

“Need you awake, soldier,” he said, jostling you around a bit. You opened your good eye, staring into his focused ones. 

There was so much comfort in his gaze. 

Solace. 

Made you feel warm. 

Too warm. 

Your eyes closed as you fell fully limp in his embrace. 

He scrambled to keep you in an upright position. 

“None of that now. Come on, Frost—”

God, you could die listening to that voice. 

You woke with the scent of musk and cigar smoke lingering around you. 

It was a scent that you had grown accustomed to waking up to.

There was a sense of easement that fell over you whenever the scent lingered on your sheets whenever he found an excuse to stay the night in your private quarters back in the barracks. A scent that you found comfort in whenever you woke from a long flight after a rough mission. And a scent you had learned to completely love when you invited him to stay with you for Christmas when the entire task force inevitably left for their week long holiday leave. 

You attempted to take a deep breath to take the comforting scent in, but it was cut short when you felt your skin pull against the stitches in your side.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

You jolted from the sudden presence of the familiar gruff voice, but Price’s arms cinched around you tighter to keep you from falling from his lap and onto the floor. You were comfortably curled up in his lap, his arms around your body. His brows were furrowed, eyes riddled with stress and worry as he stared at you. 

It was the same look that he always gave when he felt like he failed someone. 

Disappointed them. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered.

He stared at you for a little longer before pulling you in to hug you tight. You winced slightly, but were happy nonetheless to be close to the worried captain. You sighed and closed your eyes, letting your face rest in the nape of his neck. The smell of musk and thick cigars filled your system again. 

“You can’t scare me like that again, Frost. I don’t think my old heart could take another fright like that,” he said, shaking his head to nuzzle his face into yours. He took a deep breath, taking in the smell of your hair. Even with everything you’d been through, the light scent of your usual shampoo still lingered. “Plus the boys would kill me if I ever came back with you in pieces.”

“They’d live,” you muttered, even though you knew he was right. 

The boys of the 141 would probably wreak havoc if you ever came back from a mission on the brink of death. Though, they’d never blame Price. You knew that much for sure. They’d know that your captain would do anything and everything in his power to get you back in the best shape he could manage. 

You slowly pulled away from him, staying in his lap as you tried to reorientate yourself. You had been stripped down to your base layers, your other gear laid out near the fire to dry the blood and snow that had soaked into the material. He was also down to his base layers, his gear and his silly little hat in a pile on the other side of the room. 

The two of you were comfortably resting on the rundown couch closest to the fireplace, but the sight of the fire brought a memory back to you. 

“I can’t believe you fucking cauterized my wound you bastard—”

“Had to get it shut, sweetheart—”

“And a fire poker was your first and only thought?” 

He grimaced and sat back so he was pressed against the couch cushion. His hands stayed on you, one on your hip and the other on your thigh, fingers tracing gentle circles into your skin. 

“Stitches weren’t gonna cut it,” he said, shaking his head. 

You sighed, knowing he was right. 

“I want a cigarette,” you said, going to slide off his lap in hopes of finding a pack stashed somewhere in the pockets of your gear. He tightened his grip on you, pulling you back into him. 

“Wouldn’t do you any good to have one right now,” he said.

“I want one anyway.”

He sighed and shook his head before grabbing a cigar from the ashtray on the coffee table beside the couch. It wasn’t a cigarette, but it would do. You found it humorous that a safehouse had an ashtray, but knowing the people you worked with, it almost made sense. 

The end of the cigar was already burnt, meaning he had been smoking while you were out in his arms. He placed it in his mouth and grabbed the lighter, burning the end until he was able to take a decent drag. The breath of smoke was held deep in his chest before he slowly blew it out. He made sure to blow the smoke away from your face before holding the cigar out to you. You went to grab it, but he moved his hand just out of your reach. Furrowing your brows, your eyes flicked between him and the cigar. He slowly brought it back to you, but held it right up to your lips. It wasn’t until you wrapped your lips around it did he let it go and the weight of the cigar rested against your lip. 

You took a deep drag, holding it until you felt light headed. You leaned back, only stopping when his hand braced against your lower back to keep you from tipping over. You slowly blew out, letting the smoke wisp above your head. You passed the cigar back to him and he placed it back in his mouth, the tips of his teeth chewing the end a bit. 

It was a nervous habit of his. 

Typically had to swat his thigh to get him to quit. 

He took another drag. 

He tilted his head to the side to blow the smoke away from your face, but before he could, you gently grabbed his face and turned it back to face you. He furrowed his brows in a confused manner, but you slowly leaned forward and he got the idea.

God. 

He could die like this. 

You sitting in his lap, a cigar in hand, and you begging for something that he could only think to do with someone he loved. 

All he was missing was a glass of whiskey to top it all off. 

He cupped your face and urged you closer, but stopped before your lips could touch. You were tempted to lean forward and close the distance, but you stopped yourself. Your mouth was slightly ajar, wondering if he’d actually go through with it.

He did. 

He kissed you hard and blew the smoke right into your mouth. Heat filled your system as you slowly leaned back and exhaled, letting smoke wisp away between the two of you. 

“Fuckin’ minx,” he muttered before taking another drag with a smirk on his face. “Even on the brink of fucking death.”

“You love it,” you teased. He huffed out a gruff laugh. “I’m sorry for almost dying.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” he said. “Boys would kill me in a jealous rage if they found out you died in my lap like this.”

“As if,” you said, rolling your eyes. 

“You don’t see the way those boys look at you, love,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Yeah? And how about the way you look at me?” you wondered. 

His gaze met yours and you didn’t dare pull away. 

“Just like this,” he said, his lids low as his eyes flicked down to your lips and then back to your eyes. 

The fingers that had once been drawing circles into your skin had stopped, the pads of them pressing into your plush thighs instead. He had a good grip on you. You weren’t going anywhere. Not that you wanted to go anywhere. 

You could stay like this forever. 

“You gonna keep looking at me like that or are you gonna do something about it?” you asked, wondering how far he’d actually go while the two of you were on a mission. 

Then again, you two were technically done with the mission and you were just waiting for evac so… no harm, no foul. 

He let out a light laugh before bringing a hand up to your face and pulling you in until his lips pressed against yours. You leaned into him, your front pressed against his own. You moved your legs until you straddled him, wincing once from the pain in your side. He pulled back, pressing a hand down to where your wound was, looking over the bandaged area. 

“I’m alright,” you assured him. You cupped his face in your hands and slowly tilted it back up until he was looking at you again. “I’m alright, John.”

He kissed you again, resting his hands on your hips with a light squeeze.

“Evac won’t be here for another six hours,” you said, having caught a glance at the watch on his wrist. “Care to kill some time?” 

“Oh, I’d love to.”

[wondersinwaynemanor]

when Lian started calling Bruce "Grandpa", his kids didn't want him to forget it.

Bruce passing by outside of Dick's room.

Dick, announces in his loudest voice: Ay, there's Bruce Wayne! The best Grandpa in town. No wait, second best, after Alfred.

Bruce gives his eldest a look.

Dick, lowers his voice: Sorry B, Alfred is the best in everything.

Bruce: Hn.

Bruce stands up from his chair at the dining area to get more tea.

Cass, smiles as she hands Bruce the teapot: Here. Don't tire yourself.

Bruce: Thank you, Sweetheart. But I can get my own tea-

Cass, signs "Grandpa" and leans down to kiss Bruce on the cheek.

Bruce, can't help but smile: Hn.

Steph, peaks through the door of Bruce's study room: Oooh, what's this I hear? Brucie Wayne, famous billionaire and playboy, is now a Grandpa? What would the ladies say? What would the male nation say now?

Bruce, pinches the bridge of his nose and focuses on the papers on the table: Hn.

Red Robin, speaks through the comms: I'll drive the Batmobile to you.

Batman: RR, I got it. Stay there-

Red Robin: Nah, I heard you complaining about your back pains the other night.

Batman: It's a regular occurance at this point of my life.

Red Robin, smirks: And we don't want it to be worse, right?

Batman sighs through the comms.

Red Robin: Exactly. ETA 10 minutes. Grandpa.

Batman, growls: Hn.

Duke: Just checking if you need anything before I head out for patrol, B.

Bruce, smiles: I appreciate it. Thank you Duke, but I'm good.

Duke: Steph and Tim said-

Bruce, narrows his eyes: What did they say to you?

Duke, grins: Nothing!

Bruce thinks Duke has left the Batcave but he suddenly shouts,

Duke: Watch your steps carefully when you come back up here, Grandpa. Maybe put more lighting in your cave.

Bruce: Hn.

Damian: How does it feel to be a Grandfather now, Father?

Bruce, smiles instantly: Really good. Lian is wonderful.

Damian, tries to hide a smile: I'm aware, Father. Does this mean Richard gets to be Batman again?

Bruce: What makes you say that?

Damian: Cus I don't you working too hard like Grandfather. That was unhealthy.

Bruce: I'm perfectly healthy, Damian. No need to worry-

Damian, turns off the batcomputer: I insist, Father. We shall put you to bed now.

Bruce: Isn't that my job?

Damian: I don't want to hear another word.

Bruce: Hn.

During breakfast

Jason, turns to face Bruce: Lian has been asking when she can visit her Grandpa.

Steph, howls: Brucie Wayne, the famous Grandpa of all time.

Tim, snickers: Batman, the greatest detective? More like the greatest Grandpa.

Duke, raises his glass of water: Hear, hear.

Cass, giggles as she covers her mouth.

Dick, laughs : Children, not in front of our food, please. Learn how to respect your elders.

Damian: Eat some more, Father.

Jason, laughs: They still at it, huh?

Bruce, sighs and covers his face behind the newspaper as his kids continue to tease him.

[latenightdaydreams]

Can you write part3 of stepmother reader? I'm waiting for that!!! ❤️❤️

Yes! omg I'm so sorry this too so long! Thank you for being patient with me💗

König x Stepmother!Reader Part 3 (fem)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

MDNI🔞

Tags: @lhhlver

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, p in v

1.5k word count

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“Mein Sohn, das ist wunderbar!” Irma, König’s mom, exclaims as she hugs you tightly.

König stands with his hands on his hips, a prideful smile on his face. His eyes trace your body up and down. He just broke the news to her that you're engaged. Felix wrote him out of the will and sent you divorce papers. That was his chance to swoop in and take you as his own.

Irma lets go of the hug and looks at you with a wide smile on her face, “I’ve been waiting for him to settle down and make a family!”

“Mama,” König rolled his eyes and chuckles. He’s a fully grown 46-year-old man and his mom still treats him like he’s a child. He knows it’s out of love, so he doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

“Was? Ich bin so glücklich!” Irma laughs, walking to König and pinching his cheeks. He laughs and looks over at you with a blush on his face.

“She still thinks I’m a child.” He chuckles.

“Ja! Natürlich, bist du mein Sohn!” Irma walks to the kitchen, gesturing for you both to follow her. “Setz dich.”

König pulls out a chair for you at a small wooden table in his mom's kitchen. You take a seat and König sits next to you. Irma makes a pot of coffee as she continues to speak.

“So, did you visit your father yet?”

You look over at König, and he looks back at you with a smirk.

“Nein. Why?” He clears his throat.

“I heard he married some 20 something-year-old.” Irma sits at the table with a humored look on her face.

“Hm? Really?” König tries to act surprised.

“They won’t last a year.” Irma laughs, causing you and König to laugh.

The situation was awkward, and you couldn’t wait for the topic of conversation to change. König can see that you’re nervous, so he reaches over and places his hand on your bouncing legs. He gives you a wink and squeezes your thigh lightly.

Irma sees her son acting gentle with you and she can feel the love radiating from him to you. König has only ever had two relationships serious enough to bring home to meet her. Both times, König was standoffish with them. With you, he seems like he can relax. It’s all she’s ever wanted for her baby, König.

“I love how you look at her,” Irma says while watching the two of you.

You smile at her and then look back at König, placing your hand on his.

“How did the two of you meet?” Irma asks innocently, unaware that you’re still currently legally married to her ex-husband and König’s father.

You stare at her for a while, unsure of how you should answer.

“We met through a friend,” König covers quickly. It’s not exactly a lie.

Irma doesn’t question it, she’s just happy to see her son so happy and in love. After spending an entire week with his mom, you both say goodbye. Irma stands in the doorway watching you both get into the car and drive off, a wide smile on her face. You wave to her until she’s out of sight.

“I love her.” You turn to König smiling.

“I’m a lucky man. The perfect partner and sweetest mom.” 

König wraps his large hand around your thigh, squeezing as his gaze shifts from the road to you for a split second. You can see the joy radiating from him, the fact his mom loves you and you love her means the world to him. He lets out a soft hum and nods his head as he drives down the country roads.

His eyes flicker to the GPS that has their ETA on screen. Those forty-five minutes just seem so unbearable. It’s been one week without your body, his mom being Christian, she forced you both to sleep alone. Whenever he would try to slip into your room, you’d turn him down wanting to be respectful of his mother. Slowly he moves his hand further up your thigh, pushing the hem of your dress up more slightly.

“König, focus on driving.” You look at him with a smirk.

“I can multitask.”

He continues to move his hand up your thigh, feeling you as you adjust your body and spread wider for him. His fingers brush up on the soft fabric of your panties, moving up and down in a teasing manner. There is no way he can possibly make it almost an hour.

König pulls his hand away and turns the car off the road and into the grassy field, turning off his headlights. Once the car is parked, he undoes the seat belt, and leans his seat all the way back. His hands go to his hands to quickly undo them and look over at you.

“Come here.”

“König someone could see.” You say with a light chuckle in his voice, looking around to see the isolated landscape in the darkness of night.

“Who? No one lives here.” He reaches a hand out to you, his pants now down around his knees. “Come ride my cock, Liebling.”

You unbuckle yourself and pull down your panties. As you're about to toss them down, König snatches them from your hands. He instantly puts them up to his nose to smell you. You raise your dress up to your thighs and straddle his body. One foot on either side of him as you grab the car's grab handle above you to help balance yourself.

König reaches up and pulls down the top of your dress to expose your breasts to him in the dim moonlight. His hands cup them, squeezing them gently, causing you to whimper with sensitivity. He just takes it as a sign that your period will start soon.

“Es tut mir Leid.” He whispers as he sits up to gently suck on your left nipple while caressing your right.

His cock twitches underneath your heat, the feeling of your hardened nipple in his mouth causing his excitement to grow more and more. He pulls his head back, grabbing the back of your head to guide your mouth to his. Your lips press against his, eyes closing shut as you lower yourself onto his cock.

The feeling of your cunt swallowing his cock, your wet heat intoxicating him. König leans back in his seat, allowing himself to melt away into pleasure. Your slick cunt glides up and down his length, each time you sit fully on his cock he whimpers out with pleasure. He can’t help but to thrust up and meet your every bounce.

“König…” Your moans sound pathetic as your legs begin to get tired already.

König loves hearing your voice call his name out like that. The fact you are slowing down is no problem as he grabs you, leaning you forward slightly. His hands wrap around the flesh of your supple ass as he thrust up more rapidly.

Your hands reach forward to rest on his chest, feeling his muscles flex under your hands. König watches as your eyes flutter back. Loud pants coming from him as he focuses on making your orgasm before he does. You lean forward, your lips pressing hard against his muffling your own moans.

With four more harsh thrust, you unravel around his cock. You pull away from his lips as you cry out in euphoria. König’s eyes watch you, traveling down to your breasts before looking back up at your face. His voice is soft as he encourages you in German. He can feel his balls tightening, needing to cum.

“May I cum, Liebling.”

“Please.”

With weak wobbly legs you steady yourself, leading forward once more, and moving your ass in a twerking motion. The feeling of your soaking silky walls bouncing around him with all the energy you have left is pure perfection. You’re always dedicated to making sure he feels satisfied.

“Mein Gott, Liebling. You ride my cock so well. Please don’t stop.”

König moves his hands away from your ass so he doesn’t interfere with your rhythm. Letting himself enjoy the show of your breasts bouncing and your face twisted in pleasure. He’s on the brink of orgasm.

“Y/n…” König moans in a deep rumbling groan. “Oh fuck, ja.”

You lower yourself all the way down on your cock, feeling him throb as he releases inside of you. Your lips meet his neck, kissing his pale skin as his hands grab your hips to keep you in place. He doesn’t know how he went a week without your sweet little pussy.

Later at home as you both are naked and getting ready to shower together, as König leans against the wall behind you looking at your breasts in the mirror’s reflection. He’s noticed that your nipples look slightly darker and you’re a little bit chubbier now, not that he minds at all. He just knows what it looks like.

“Liebling,” König walks up behind you and moves his hands around the front of you before cupping your breast with his large hands. His pointer and thumb finding your nipples and toys with your nipples.

“Hm?” You rest your body back on his and enjoy the feeling. Your eyes find him in the reflection.

“You know I love you so much?” He kisses the top of your head.

“I love you too.”

Part 4

[sugar-omi]

PLSSS I BEG OF U COVE HOLDEN X FEM!READER NEWLY MARRIED AND R JUST SO LOVEY DOVEY AND CANT GET ENOUGH OF EACH OTHER let me stop with the caps anyway as i was saying newly married cove and fem!reader on their honey moon to (insert place with nice oceans and views but you can take them anywhere you want) and they’re just sooo IN LOVE ITS DISGUSTING HOW IN LOVE THEY ARE you can add spice and intimacy if u want 🤷🏾❤️‼️

IM SO SORRY I TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE THIS ITS BEEN SITTING IN THE DRAFTS FOREVER.... im gonna blame it on my demon cat, its his fault he always wants to play outside i wanted a cat not a dog wtf !!!!! anyway here you go anon i loved writing this sm bc i have been thinking abt honeymoon hcs for awhile mmm<3333 also i jus wanna say cove is very much a "grabs your stomachs n prbly shakes it" man, like yk how your boyfriend is always grabbing your stomach idk at first i thought it was weird like "wtf is he grabbing your stomach n shaking it" but now i know. n cove does it ok i wont explain it but he also rubs anywhere, hes tracing your body n making shapes w his fingers on you, hes just so TOUCHY eta: I JUST REALIZED THIS LIKE 70% SMUT BUT UM.... ANYWAY 😁😁i hope you like it anyway, also added a hc's i forgot at the v bottom <3333

tags : fluff, step 4/wedding dlc, fem/afab reader (could be okay for masc/amab/nb readers as well if you ignore cove calling you 'wife' once), buff tatted cove, headcanons at the very bottom below the nsfw

+ NSFW (at the bottom), fem/afab reader, rough raw sex, creampie, missionary, v horny cove <3

perhaps i should make a part 2 with all the times n places cove fucks you during your honeymoon, mmm thats a good idea write that down write that down

synopsis : you and cove on your honeymoon to the bahamas !!

surprise to literally no one, you two pick the Bahamas for your honeymoon

it wasn't a hard pick. it was just a matter of where had the nicest views, open hotels, and safest locations, and with how cove got more starry-eyed with each solidified detail, the Bahamas was your destination.

if it wasn't for the fact that you just had an eventful wedding full of love from friends and family, plus the plane trip, cove would've dropped everything and ran for the glittering water.

once you're checked in and changed from your flight clothes into something a bit more dressy but comfortable, you and cove make your way for some much anticipated dinner.

when you're seated, the silence between you two is so easy and filled by the bustle of the restaurant.

across from you, cove is watching you with his chin hiked atop his clasped fingers, easily looking like a puppy.

"what? what're you staring at?" you laugh, taking a dip if your drink to uselessly wash away your fluster at your husband's blatant staring.

cove already has a rosy tint to his cheeks and if he was younger cove would've caught fire at being caught staring. instead he just grinned cheerily and happily, with a gaze of a man sick with love. "just admiring my wife."

you can't help but tuck your head a bit, flustered by his direct compliment. God you're in for a long marriage.

thank god, you think distantly.. a lifetime of being flustered by each other no matter how long you're together doesn't sound to bad at all.

while you're eating, you two respond to your family blowing up the "[Last] - Holden family" group chat, that was so courteously made by your snickering sister and cousin leading up to your wedding.

after a lovely dinner (only after you reassured cove that you had a few days to try out everything on the menu before the trip was over) you two took a well deserved nap together with cove tucked into your neck and your fingers in his hair. <3

okay listen... would it be bad to say you planned your wedding around your honeymoon

there's a reason!!!

i imagine you and cove (mostly cove) wanted to rent a house on the beach, or at least close to it, but i imagine its hard to snag one so once you finally got a place the wedding just fell around it

while you're in the bedroom sleeping, recovering and recharging, cove still gets up early to go play around on the beach.

not without a fight though!

when he wakes up the sky is still navy, and he flips over, feeling antsy to start the day and your activities.

but there you are, laying next to him in one of his shirts that you've stolen and your face is still scrunched up a bit from cove's movement which makes him settle down.

cove reaches to stroke your cheek, running his hand over your hair and he admires the way your face relaxes from the touch...

he feels like kicking and screaming right now, now looking at his ring(s) and remembering that you're married and you're his and he's yours and...

he's going to bawl his eyes out again.

so instead of crying and watching you until you wake up, which definitely won't be for another hour or more at least, he slowly untangles himself from you and the sheets.

it kills him a bit to do so, wanting nothing more than to be close to you every second of the day but he also wants to make you feel special today. he also can't stay in bed that long, he's too much of a busybody to do that..

so when you finally wake up, after much struggle and a lot of stretching, you drag yourself from the bed and tame your wild hair before you find your husband.

cove is leaning on the porch overlooking the beach, a random song playing lowly on the radio that you left on last night.

he whips around when you tug open the sliding door and abandons his orange juice to pull you into his arms and cove's rocking you two back n forth, kissing your jaw and cheek and he's holding your hand and compliments you.

"you look so pretty..."

"nice ring, your husband is really lucky." he says it with a smirk and you both laugh.

when he finally snaps out of his daze, totally bewitched by the warmth of the sun, view of the beach accompanied by the sound of waves and the way you lean into him had cove in a trance.

he leads you over to the kitchen where he insists you sit and watch while he makes breakfast.

in the end, you do end up spending most the day at the beach house. so when lee shoots a series of text asking about your day and if you did anything, you respond with a picture of you two buried in the blankets and a christmas hallmark movie on the TV, you laugh at her spam about how you should be enjoying the sand and waves instead of a out of season movie and respond with a meme.

the next day you spend a lot of it outside, and i even imagine you rent a boat to take out for the day or smth like that and it reminds you of when lee took you all out on a boat, but this time it was just the 2 of you

let me just say.. everyone even 5 miles away can tell you're on your honeymoon

cove is always looking at you

whether its to see how you react to a good joke

or you're telling a story and he's watching in admiration at your mannerisms while you speak

or you're at the booth ordering ice cream for the both of you

or even better, he's trying his best to capture you imagine as you walk back to him, squeezing out your slip/coverup that blew away and you laugh at him for capturing this moment instead of helping you.

"stop laughing! haha, it's not funny! *swats at him with the coverup* im taking your shirt to cover up with!"

many many pictures and videos of your honeymoon. they're mostly of you

or your shared favorite:

you're on top of cove and his eyes are closed so he doesn't notice you're recording him.

"you've gotten more tan. y'know that reminds me of when we were kids, you had such bad tan lines!" you laugh, the camera shaking.

he squints at you, squeezing your hips when he realizes you're recording him. "i did not."

"you did, i saw it. you had different tan lines from your shorts!" you tease loudly and giggle, thinking about the varying darkness of teenage-cove's tan lines because of how some of his swim shorts and pants hung lower than the other bottoms he'd wear.

cove jumps up a bit, laughing as he sputtered. "you saw that?!"

"yeah! you were the one with your v-line hanging out all the time, mister "i don't like wearing layers'!"

his look is full of love, and so is cove's hands running up and down your hips and back. but he's still smug when he says it and the wide smirk on his face makes you wanna kiss it off him.

"well you were the one looking, i didn't hear any complaints.."

you hit his shoulder, "you're so smug, you brat!", the camera shaking from your laughter.

cove is very handsy during this time

something about being married now has him seeking you out and keeping some form of contact between you

whether its holding hands, locking arms, or kissing you in public

he's always pulling you into him, wrapping a arm around your waist...

but when you're at the beach house.. well i hope you keep the curtains closed for the most part especially in the bedroom because clothes are pretty optional/limited during your honeymoon

usually cove's sex drive is pretty average, or low (i feel like at this point his drive matches yours but it's always a little lower depending on how high yours is, but thats for a different post okok)

so it surprises you how.. horny he is

he surprises himself too honestly

but he just wants to be close to you so bad!

you look so beautiful, and so happy... and now you're married and its like when he was a teenager all over again

the sun is coming through the windows, warming up your naked back.

you hum, enjoying the warmth and you feel the bed shift and now there's lips on your forehead, and cove's hand is running up and down your spine, rubbing soothingly across your shoulders.

"g'morning, y/n..." cove's gravely voice sends a shiver down your spine. "mmm, hi.." you tilt your head to the side, letting him kiss your cheek and the back of your neck.

you peak at him, still sleepy but enjoying the warmth and attention. you try to stretch your body, stretching out your legs and with how cove is leaned over you, your butt brushes against him and makes him gasp, his fingers squeezing your shoulder reflexively.

"at least let me brush my teeth..." you laugh, sitting up and after a second of looking at your clothes on the floor, you grab the robe on the chair beside you and lazily wrap it around you and shuffle to the bathroom.

cove is looking at you, you can feel his gaze and the second you disappear behind the door you hear him shuffling around before he comes behind you, dressed in nothing. cove didn't walk around naked often, only if he was walking around your bedroom finding his clothes for the day, but man was it a treat.

he wraps his arms around you, his hand rubbing your stomach and the other is wandering.

"c'mere..." you mumble, grabbing cove's toothbrush and sitting on the counter to brush his teeth for him. he lets you, and you laugh throughout the process because its a funny thing to do but you get through it and he spits in the other sink beside you before he picks you up and carries you back to bed.

on your way back to the bed, your lips find his shoulder and you add onto the array of marks already bloomed on his neck.

cove lays you down on the bed, shuffling your bodies closer to the pillows, tugging off your robe as you fumble around and throwing it somewhere. you're definitely making him clean up the room after this, but first..

you bring him in, letting your tongues tangle together and cove stretches his arm, looking for the lube and a rubber.

"ah-" cove sits up, and he looks back at you sheepishly. "there's no more.. um..."

you grin, already looking forward to cove's reaction. "that's okay. just fuck me raw, won't be the last time. right, covey?" you tangle your fingers in the sheets and get comfortable while you watch it sink in.

it isn't the first time, but fuck it always turns cove on and it makes him impossibly horny.

cove curses and he moves down, pushing your legs up and he kisses your inner thighs, sucking on the skin very close to your cunt that his cheek brushes against you and you whine, your hands finding his hair.

cove teases you a bit more, but he's teasing himself too so his mouth happily finds your cunt, grinning at the way you jump when his tongue runs over your sensitive clit.

even though cove ran a pleasurable train over you last night, your cunt sensitive but still pulsing with need.

your leg is shaking in cove's hold, his hand holding up one of your legs to give him easy access to your wet cunt but he happily lets your other leg shake on his shoulder, your foot bumping against his side and toes curling as he thrusts his tongue in and out your twitching insides.

he kept tongue-fucking you, his thumb petting your clit and he mumbled praises against your cunt as you came, your slick pooling on his tongue.

you buried your face in the pillow, always left twitching after cove sucks your soul from your body. you peak at cove spreading the lube on your sexes, lining himself up and sinking into you.

"ah fuck..."

cove looks so attractive like this, sunlight streaming in through the sheer curtains and leaned over you, shaded by the broad expanse of his torso and caged between his arms.

"cove!" your nails dig into his shoulders, your mouth falling open with a sharp moan when cove snaps his hips, burying himself inside you.

cove tucks his head into your shoulder, both of you panting and pulling each other closer even though the air between you two is balmy and hot.

"i'm gonna move..." cove kisses your jaw, tearing himself away from you to show you his flushed face. you whine when cove picks up your lower body, stuffing a pillow under you and the movement makes his tip bump your insides.

cove throws your legs over his shoulders and grips your hips in his hands, kissing your ankle that has your anklet hanging on it.

you throw your head back and moan loudly, cove starting a rough pace from the beginning.

you're so sensitive from last night, and cove abusing your insides again has tears coming to your eyes. "oh fuck! please, cove-"

you reach for him and cove offers his hand and intertwines it with yours. you don't know exactly what you're asking for, for him to be more gentle? a kiss? for cove to fuck you harder?

you just want more of him, to be closer, to be one with him...

"its okay, that's it.. good girl." cove shushes you, putting his free hand by your head to lean over you, your legs almost flush with your chest as cove practically mounts you.

something about the sharpness of cove's eyes and his flushed face makes you want to mess with him, so you bring his hand up to your mouth, wrapping your fingers around his tattooed wrist and sucking on his middle and ring finger.

cove groans, watching the way your tongue slides around his wedding band(s). "you.." cove pushes on your tongue, thrusting his hips up to bump against the spongy spot deep inside your cunt.

your eyes roll into the back of your head when cove picks up the pace again, his hips rolling back and slamming against your butt hard, making your body bounce, pushing his cock deeper against your walls.

while you're moaning and crying out so sweetly, cove squeeze's his hand between your bodies to rub your clit, the proximity of your bodies not leaving much room for anything more than tight circles against the poor sensitive nub.

"cove.." you huff, feeling your cunt gush more slick and adding to the wet, loud squelching. "cove, kiss me, please. oh fuck- oh fu-" cove's lips cut off your mindless babbles, muffling yours and his loud moans as he fucks you with shallow thrusts.

he breaks apart, panting and stealing small kisses in between his sentence. "i'm- *kiss* oh god- i'm gonna *kiss, kiss* cum.."

you whimper and hook your shaking leg around cove's back, the overstimulation makes you want to pull away but you're so close and you want cove to make you cum, and to finish with you. to finish inside you.

"cum inside!" your nails scratch down his back. "please, cum, cum inside-"

cove whines into your neck, the rhythm of his thrusts falling apart as he comes closer to finishing. he rubs faster circles on your clit, and when your fingers drag down his back as you cum, cove's hips push your body deeper into the bed as he fills your cunt with his thick cum.

he leans lifelessly over your body, panting into your neck and pressing kisses into your shoulder as he sits up to give you a kiss.

"i'll..i'll run us a bath, okay?" cove smiles dozily, stroking your hips. you blink, trying to regain your vision from your orgasm.

"and carrying me to the bath!" cove nods at that, accepting the fact he's basically rendered your legs useless for the morning. "and you're making breakfast too." you grin at him. "its punishment."

cove kisses your cheeks. "mm, trying out new methods?" cove teases.

you smack his arm and push him away, breath hitching when he pulls out.

cove watches out his cum starts to leak from your poor, twitching cunt and before he can get any bright ideas you put your foot on his shoulder and nudge him. "stop looking!" you tug the sheets over you and cove gets up with a sheepish laugh. "okay, okay!"

is very very whipped for you

does anything n everything you ask the whole trip

when he goes out and it comes up somehow, he'll tell anyone and everyone he's on his honeymoon w his lovely spouse <3

if you do any underwater activities like snorkeling or smth, you're holding hands underwater <333

yes you hold hands everywhere you go, he's so in love with you he just has to be close to you

if you're not holding hands than he's trailing very close behind you or you're at least wearing his shirt

MATCHING OUTFITS

every young person is ither inspired by your relationship or is sick of seeing you at the beach, go HOME

the old people love you and talk your ear off in the middle of the store, telling you stories of their marriages and tips on how to have a long happy marriage

when you tell them you're childhood friends/lovers though they laugh and tell you you already have it down then since you've known each other so long!

when you finally get on the plane to go home, i hope you rmbr to get some foundation or at least tell cove to wear his hair down and a t-shirt instead of a tank top because his neck and back/shoulders are Marked Up

liz and lee tease you about how glowy and refreshed you look <3

cove is very flustered if any of your friends or family see any marks or scratches

or even worse if someone asks if you had a good wedding night, etec

if you want to have kids n give birth, liz also jokes that shes too young to be a grandma for real (you sputter n tell her you and cove arent her kids n shes exaggerating!!)

[4kimji]

Hello. I just found your blog. Seems I've been on a hunt for every blog I could find that writes for Bbangsaz. Anygays, do you write 6th member reader for NJ? And— also uhm.. gp! if that's okay?

ofccc! sorry for taking so long with the request.. school caught up with me right when i started writing this! :( i hope this is alright and that you enjoyy :3

6th member of newjeans 뉴진스 ⋆ ˚｡⋆

genre: smut, fluff pairing: bbangsaz x gp!reader

being the sixth member of newjeans means you always get special treatment from bbangsaz. hyein, danielle, and haerin think you're just close to the two oldest but they don't have a clue.

the first encounter with minji was totally unexpected, with you being in the kitchen. the ditto schedule only allowed two breaks during the work day, so you had to make the most out of your first break. watching your ramen steam, minji comes into the kitchen, standing next to you.

"minji? are you alright?" you ask, seeing her seductive glare. "mhm, i'm alright. but is it true?" she raises an eyebrow. "i-is what true?" "that you have a cock", minji whispers under her breath. you nod your head slowly, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

"can i see it?" "not in the kitchen!" you yelp. she moves in front of you and gets on her knees. "it doesn't matter, nobody's going to see!" minji smirks before pulling down your shorts and boxers. "f-fuck, you're huge.." she gulps.

her large hands grip the base of your cock, licking her lips before she takes all of your tip into her mouth. "ah, fuck.." you moan, the concept of keeping quiet completely thrown out the window.

the only sounds audible from minji were her gags and whimpers, attempting to deep throat you. your hands start to form a makeshift ponytail into her hair while she strokes the rest of your cock that she can't reach with her mouth.

you thrust your hips into her mouth, causing her to gag even more than before. minji's attempt to spew out curses is denied, instead coming out as a bunch of jumbled words. "shit, minji.. i'm close." you blurt out. the rope in your stomach is at its climax, almost ready to burst.

suddenly, minji removes you from her mouth, letting go with a "pop!" noise. you and her both catch your breath for a few seconds. before you could break the silence, she winks at you and leaves the kitchen. at this point, your ramen was definitely cold.

the second encounter was not as foreign as the first one. you 6 were practicing the "eta" choreo. but, hanni kept messing up on one of the harder moves. the dance instructor did not enjoy this though.

hanni's scoldings became more and more intense, eventually bringing her to tears. she doesn't want the younger members to see her break down, so she excuses herself to the bathroom.

after a few minutes of break, you decide to check up on hanni. the door was closed upon your arrival, so you knock softly. "hey, are you alright? hanni?" you ask. she sniffles before answering, "yeah.. i'm alright. uh- you can come in.." hanni opens the door before pulling you by your shirt into the restroom.

"do you need a hug?" you question. hanni doesn't answer, but instead pulls you into a tight hug. the embracement lasts for a while until you feel a hand squeeze through your pants.

"you want to make me feel better right? then let me ride you." her soft, sad expression shifts into a flirty smirk. hanni pulls down your pants and boxers in one go before taking off her own bottoms.

"but, where would i sit?" you raise an internal eyebrow. her head turns to the toilet seat, with you getting her hint in record time. since your bottom half was already naked, the second you sat on the chilly toilet seat was when hanni jumped into your lap.

hanni wraps her short arms around your shoulders, forcefully stuffing your cock into her. even if she had no time to adjust to your length, she wanted all of you, and she was going to get it.

her hips rock back and forth aggressively, the only thing that you can do in this moment was whimper, wishing for hanni to slow down. your whimpers become muffled as she covers your mouth with her hand.

"shh, do you want someone to catch us?" your head shakes left and right, signaling that your answer was a no. "alright then, stop being such a whiny whore." hanni rolls her eyes as soon as she finishes her sentence.

your poor eyes were on the brink of tears as you feel hanni's gummy walls clench around your cock. in a matter of a few seconds, she lets out a yelp as she climaxes with you still in her. your pull out was weak this time, hanni just felt too good for you to come out.

loud knocking from the other side of the door intensifies by the second. "hello? y/n? hanni? you've been in there for a while." you both turn your heads to face each other after looking at the door.

"oh- we're coming out right now! sorry." you say after catching your breath.

[emmg]

Hello love Can I ask for Raphael x reader where Raph actually shows love, buuut in his own twisted way? One of my fam members had autism and he never ever said those three words, but showed it in acts of service and paying attention to what you say/do aaand i was thinking about Raphael who tries to show how much he loves her(or them) but well he's not very good at this. Tav reading book- he will read it too, because he cares...just to tell her how much it sucks. She's bleeding after a fight? Throws her into his healing pool and tell her how stupid she is for the whole time he's with her and how she wastes his time, but won't leave her alone, because what if this dumb mortal drowns herself? A guy said something to her and she felt like sh*t or he touched her to make her uncomfortable? He would give her a very fancy box with big bow and smiles innocently at her ; 'Come on little mouse..open it' just for her to see somebodys hand or head 'oh..this? its this creep from yesterday' Tav wears something cheap? oh boy he would tell her everythink he thinks about this rag. She thinks he wants her to wear only expensive things, because how she looks=his reputation but the truth is he thinks she deserves only the most lavish things in her life and he wont allow her to live below HIS standards And his fav way of showing love is giving her mortal who hurt her in any way already beaten so they wont demage his precious possesion, but conscious enough so she can enjoy torturing them (for sure he does it for his own amusement more than hers)

What a fun prompt! Although, to be fair, I can't exactly make it totally healthy because Raphael isn't an emotionally healthy person to be in a relationship with so this is still a little bit dark, though definitely not awful haha.

ETA: ah crap I missed the part about x reader. So sorry about that. In my defence, I truly cannot write from second person point of view. I’m very, very sorry anon. I’ve tried before and it feels awkward to me and everything comes out… bad.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Sometimes she feels hollowed out, as if something essential has been scooped clean from within her. She’s not sure why she stays—or even if she’s staying at all. Maybe he’s holding her here, maybe she has no choice, maybe she lost that freedom long ago. Because you don’t walk away when Raphael is speaking; you don’t walk away when he’s watching you. And his eyes are always on her, always, always, always following.

That gaze—it leaves her feeling half trapped, half sanctified, as though caught in some dreadful, holy spell. He doesn’t look at others this way, she knows that, but that knowledge only tightens the hold, winds the snare around her. It’s nothing, she tells herself—this attention, his careful watch—yet it feels like everything, a binding without words, a noose drawing tighter, a claw sinking deeper. Time twists strangely when he’s near, spiraling into something she can’t name, and she can’t help but wonder: will his interest wane, fade away to nothing? Or will it sharpen, tighten, until it consumes her, leaving her breathless, until there’s no space left at all? 

If it does—if he closes around her entirely, if his grip becomes her world, pressing in until there’s no air, no light, only him—what will she be then?

And she’s not even sure if he cares. He holds her there, yes, but it feels like watching a game; his own personal mousetrap, an exquisite little experiment to see how far she'll reach for the cheese. She wonders if he’s simply taking what he can, drawing her deeper until he tires of her, only to discard her when he does, laughing at her fascination with him. She can almost see it—him spitting in her face, turning her out with a sneer, then pulling her back in just as quickly. He'd fuck her, taunt her, pull her close only to watch her shatter, then laugh, invite her back with a gift, something golden, expensive, dripping with indulgent mockery. 

But then there are the other things he does, things that somehow feel worse—things that make the walls seem as though they’re closing in, or maybe as if he’s drawing her into some embrace she can’t escape from. She’s not sure which would be more terrifying. 

Sometimes, when they’re in Avernus together, she finds the portals dead, the way back to her world—a world of soft light and mortal trivialities, the Gate and its grime—suddenly blocked, cut off. And it's always the same dance. She demands an answer, asks why she can’t pass through, why she’s stuck here in this burning place with him, unable to flee back to the familiar. And he only waves her off, barely looking up, irritation flickering in his gaze. He says he hasn’t the time to bother with “simple magic,” that she can wait. 

But he knows, he knows damn it, that she can barely summon a spark, let alone force open a gateway on her own. He knows she’s trapped, helpless as a moth in a bottle, wings beating frantically against glass she can’t see. And he watches her, almost bored, as she paces, her panic ripening, sinking roots in her chest. Because he knows she won’t leave, can’t leave, and he’ll let her struggle just long enough to make her feel it—the helplessness, the claustrophobia, the bitter thrill of his control, closing around her, almost gentle, almost loving.

And then, only then, he flicks his fingers, and the portals blaze open, bright and mocking, as if they’d never gone dead at all. 

She's interrupting him, Raphael says, a nuisance he has no time for. Important matters, contracts to seal, souls to collect—real work to do, and here she is, lingering in his shadow, hovering as if she belongs, asking him to breathe life into a stupid portal. He snaps at her to leave, to stop her pestering, to get out of his sight. And so she does, shrinking back, biting her lip, retreating into her quiet corner.

But then, later—always, somehow, later—he comes to her, waking her from half-sleep as he climbs over her, pressing down with a heat that seems to burn straight through her skin. He murmurs his need, his lust, his rough, clumsy want, lips grazing her ear with words that are half-whispered, half-demanded. And she lets him, wraps her arms around his back, holds him, breathes through the rush of his hands, the awkward rhythm of his taking. 

She feels the weight of him, the feverish heat, and she sighs into it, into him, because in the Hells, everything is unbearably hot. His skin burns against hers, more furnace than flesh, and though she knows he’s hasty, heedless, that she’s just an outlet, a brief relief, she takes it. She lets herself be consumed by it, that pressing heat because here, with him, it’s as close to comfort as she’ll ever get.  

But sometimes there are moments that make her think he might care, moments she savors, drinks in slowly, wondering if they're real or merely the product of his boredom. She can never quite tell, but she doesn’t mind; she lingers on these glimmers of gentleness, holds them in her memory far longer than she should. 

Like when she’s soaking in his absurdly large bath, reclining in the steaming water with her arms folded along the edge, her head resting on cool stone, hair spilling loose behind her. She’s doing nothing at all, simply breathing in the warmth, letting the steam curl around her. And then he appears, slipping into the room, extending those long legs of his, rolling up his sleeves as he settles by her side. He doesn’t join her in the water; instead, he simply sits, a book resting in his hands, the very one she finished days ago. 

She watches, amused, as he leafs through it, the prominent wrinkle between his brows deepening with each page he turns. His expression is one of studied distaste, the kind that would be comical on anyone else. But on him, it’s strangely captivating. 

“Unhinged drivel,” Raphael mutters finally, his tone ripe with disdain. 

“Hm,” she echoes, half-lidded, watching him through the steam. 

“Why do you read this?” he questions. “I have half a mind to burn it. The sheer embarrassment of sharing the same air with it—I hardly want it in my library.” 

She smiles, faintly, eyes closing as she stretches a little deeper into the warmth. “I’m done with it,” she replies, lazily. “Do what you wish.” 

He taps two fingers against the spine. “The Duke is an absolute cretin, I must say.” 

“Oh?” she murmurs, her voice barely a breath above the water’s surface. 

“Utterly insipid,” he continues. "Such posturing, such shallow arrogance. I wouldn’t offer him a contract if he were the last soul on the proverbial platter.” 

She laughs then, quietly, letting the sound ripple through the steam. She knows Raphael is just indulging in his own particular brand of superiority, delighting in the verbal dissection, and maybe he doesn’t care for her company at all. But still, he stays, perched beside her, weaving disdainful monologues that settle like warm coals in her chest. And for a moment—just a moment—she lets herself pretend that he’s here for her. 

He continues, eyes fixed on the offending book as if it’s a particularly irksome insect. “The Duke’s speech in chapter five...” he says. “So very witless, wouldn't you say? Who professes undying love with such clumsy metaphors? And in the garden, no less, like a character in a tragic farce. ‘You are my sun and moon,’” he scoffs, his voice rising to a mock-romantic lilt. “‘My stars, my breath, my—’” 

He pauses, catching her wide-eyed, incredulous look. A faint smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, and there’s a glimmer of something—mischief?—in his gaze. “Oh, little mouse, don’t look at me like that. Surely you didn’t think I’d stoop to reading this… for enjoyment?”

She raises an eyebrow, half-laughing, half incredulous. “You read it?”

“Of course I read it,” he replies, with all the haughtiness of a scholar who’s just suffered through a poorly constructed essay. “I couldn’t very well leave such intellectual refuse lying about in my library without inspecting it first.” 

“Just inspecting it? Raphael, you just quoted chapter five.” 

He waves his hand dismissively. “A tragic misfortune. I assure you, it was purely incidental. I only skimmed enough to confirm my suspicions about its total lack of merit.” 

“Right,” she says, rolling her eyes, watching as he flips another page with painstaking precision. “Is that why you’re carrying it around?” 

He raises an eyebrow, looking at her over the book with that familiar, aristocratic arch of his brow. “Little mouse,” he drawls, his tone both affectionate and condescending, “you really must learn what jests are. I can’t go about explaining them every time, you know.” 

The novel is set aside.

His hand slips below the water, and she knows, he’s done talking, at least about her books. His fingers graze her skin, tracing erratic patterns. She feels his hand leave her only to hear the soft rustle of fabric, and then he’s there, sliding into the water, slipping behind her. 

His arms wrap around her even as he pushes her against the cool stone of the bath’s edge. She feels his impatience in the way his hands move—roaming, relentless, almost rough, his fingers pressing into her skin, biting, digging between the ribs, as if he can’t bear to be gentle.  

One hand cups her shoulder, anchoring her as his other hand travels down her side. It moves in a slow sweep, now a caress, almost reverent, then shifting, tracing a path with no pattern, simply moving, as if he’s learning her contours anew. His grip tightens, loosens, a rhythm that speaks of need and very little restraint. 

He dips his head, face buried in her hair, and she feels the weight of his breath, the moist heat of it on the exhale. There’s a hunger in his closeness, an intensity that borders on obsession. He’s quiet now, all the long-winded, self-important monologues silenced, his usual need to fill the space with words abandoned. 

She feels him pressing against her back, the hard, insistent weight of him, the subtle rock of his hips, and she sighs, her body folding further against the edge of the bath, yielding to him. The warmth in her chest spills out, dissipating into something intangible, and once again, she wonders: Was this all just a performance for her, or something he needs for himself? Was that little, half-sweet conversation meant to soften her, make her more pliant? Or, against all logic, did he truly want to speak to her, to share in that strange, fleeting intimacy? 

She wonders if he cares, even a little, if those sarcastic, needlessly elaborate jests of his are meant to coax a smile from her, to make her laugh. Or is it all calculated, a ploy to keep her engaged, to ensure that when he fucks her, she meets him with something more than passive resignation? She feels his fingers tighten on her waist, his breath hitch, and for a moment, just a moment, she allows herself to believe there’s something deeper beneath his touch, something that holds her in place as much as his arms do. 

There are other moments too, moments that sink into her like a sickness, twisting her stomach, filling her with a dread so deep it almost makes her want to flee, to scrub herself clean, to be rid of him. And yet, those same moments leave her feeling strangely exhilarated, a little unhinged, as though some part of her is thrilled by the horror of it all. 

Take the merchant, for instance. A two-penny swindler, trying to pass off cheap fabric as something exquisite. She spots his scam instantly—anyone with half a brain would—but he’s audacious, leaning in, voice low and greasy as he sells his lie. She calls him out, unimpressed, and he snaps, calling her a cunt. She flips him off without a second thought and moves on, thinking nothing more of it. She’s heard worse, so much worse, and just because she looks the part of a noblewoman at Raphael’s insistence doesn’t mean she’s forgotten the dirt and sweat of her own past. She knows the cheap tricks—how cloth is dyed in back alleys, stained with whatever can be found, how insect paste and a dash of alchemical solution turn cotton into “silk” for gullible morons. She’s done it all herself, seen the worst of it, and this pathetic attempt to cheat her hardly scratches the surface. 

She forgets the encounter entirely—until the next day. Raphael barely glances up from his writing, absorbed in the ink-stained pages of yet another infernal contract, when he pushes a small, ornate box across the table toward her. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even acknowledge it beyond a faint, almost bored gesture. She blinks, glancing from the box to him, and then back, curious but wary, wondering if this is another one of his games. 

She takes it, hesitates, then lifts the lid. 

Inside, nestled against dark velvet, is a finger. Blue, bloated, stiff with the grip of death. Her stomach turns, nausea creeping up her throat as she stares at it, bile rising as the realization settles—this isn’t just some random, expensive trinket. It’s a message, as clear and cold as the dead flesh before her. 

“Oh,” she whispers, voice strangled, unable to look away from the pale digit lying in the box, rigor mortis locking it in a ghastly curl. Her hands are trembling, fingers itching to drop the box, to shove it away, to wipe away the memory of this grotesque gift. 

She looks up at him, horrified, and finds his gaze resting on her, idle, yet somehow amused. 

She stares some more, her mind spinning as she tries to process what she’s holding, what this grotesque little gift is meant to convey. A part of her wants to retch, to bolt from the room, while another, unhinged part of her feels an inexplicable pull, an urge to draw closer to him, to be entangled in whatever madness constantly hangs off his sleeve. 

But she doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, she lets out a half-laugh, shaky and weak. “That’s… not what usually comes in jewelry boxes.” 

Raphael arches a brow. “I’ve given you plenty of jewelry, little mouse. Rings, bracelets, earrings—a whole collection of baubles you hardly deign to wear. Lavaliers, circlets, gems so fine even the simpering nobles of Waterdeep would weep for them. And yet, here you sit, determined to remain a rube.” He tsks, rolling his eyes with theatrical annoyance. “Mayhaps, I thought, just mayhaps, you might appreciate something different to suit that plebeian palate of yours.”

“Whose is it?” she asks, though she already knows. She feels the answer in the pit of her stomach, in the memory of yesterday’s insults and her dismissive walk away. 

He only shrugs, dipping his quill in ink. “I’m told he was a merchant.” He pauses, as if to savor the uncertainty flickering across her face. “Or was it a dockhand? Perhaps a barkeep. Truly, who can keep track of such insignificant lives?” 

She watches, spellbound in a way she can’t quite understand, as he sprinkles pounce over the wet ink, the tiny white particles catching the dim light. He lifts the paper, blowing the pounce off with a sharp exhale that sends the fine dust scattering into the air, drifting toward her. She coughs, swatting it away, a moment of reflexive frustration breaking through her discomfort. 

“So many names,” Raphael murmurs, almost to himself. “So many lives, so many inconsequential little people. It’s hard to keep them all straight, isn’t it?” 

She stares at him, a blend of revulsion and fascination churning within her. His words hang in the air, so careless, so detached, as if snuffing out a life meant nothing more to him than discarding an old, forgotten knickknack. And yet, he looks at her now, watching, as if expecting her reaction, waiting to see if she’ll recoil or lean closer. 

She leans closer, letting the moment pull her in, and he gives a satisfied little hum, returning to his writing with an air of contentment, as if the world is exactly as it should be. She watches the steady flow of his hand, the way his quill glides across the page in elegant, looping strokes, his cursive rising and falling. Her mind, however, catches on another thought, one that wraps around her and refuses to let go. 

He cares, she thinks, or at least he acts as though he does. This is how he responds to insults aimed at her, as if her offense is his to avenge. But another thought lingers, darker and heavier. He knows—that’s what unsettles her. If he knows, that means he saw, or had someone watch on his behalf, and that means she’s never truly alone, even when he isn’t there. She wonders how far that gaze extends, if he’s tracking her every step, every word, if he’s marked her movements like pinpoints on a map, an invisible tether she’s unknowingly bound herself to. 

Her hand drifts to her throat, almost absently, fingers brushing the skin there as if she might feel some hidden collar, a leash she’s been wearing all along without realizing it. But of course, there’s nothing—just bare skin and the faint, lingering warmth of her own touch. Still, the thought unsettles her, sends a flutter of anxiety mixed with something else, something uncomfortably close to… warmth. A warmth that spreads through her chest, that holds her in place despite the quiet urge in her feet to stand, to move, to walk as far as she can. 

But she doesn’t. Instead, she stays there, leaning close, just watching him as he writes, utterly absorbed in whatever Infernal text he’s crafting. And as she watches, that warmth in her chest grows, mingling with her apprehension, a mix of dread and fascination that knots itself around her, binding her there as securely as any leash he might conjure. 

Another day, another reckoning. 

She’s a mess of bruises, skin mottled and darkened so thoroughly she resembles a patchwork quilt rather than a woman. There had been a brawl, Astarion may or may not have thrown punches he couldn’t back, and they both may or may not have drunk too much. Korrilla may or may not have been at the Caress at the same time, her wicked laughter mingling with the chaos, and now her nose is a crimson fountain, dripping ceaselessly. Even the potion Korrilla forced down her throat did nothing to blunt the ache, the slight sneer on Korrilla’s face as she half-carried her back to the House of Hope making it clear she didn’t particularly want to be back tonight. 

When she stumbles in, Haarlep just laughs, calling her a “bloody, battered fool” and waving her off in disgust when she starts peeling off her clothes. With a muttered “Ew,” he disappears as she limps toward the restoration pool, her one salvation tonight. She knows it’s usually reserved for soothing injuries from far more… pleasurable encounters, but she hardly cares as she sinks into it, wincing as the water starts working its magic, stitching up minor cuts and scrapes as she closes her eyes and lets her head fall back. 

She drifts, the water lapping around her, letting the throbbing recede—until a sharp yank at her scalp rips her back to the present, her head wrenched above the water. She chokes, sputtering out bloody droplets as her eyes snap open, and she finds herself staring at Raphael’s livid face, exasperation etched in every line. His hand is tangled in her hair, and her scalp stings from his tight grip. He glances down at his dripping sleeves, soaked from pulling her up, and curses. 

“What a stupid way to die,” he hisses. “Drowning in my boudoir because you’re too idiotic to stay awake.” His fingers tighten in her hair, and there’s no mercy in his eyes. “Take a deep breath now.” 

She barely has a second to react before he shoves her head under the water, his hand pressing down with unrelenting force. Her body jerks, and she inhales raggedly before he drags her up again, just long enough for her to gasp for air and catch his sharp, appraising look before he shoves her down once more, holding her under like a misbehaving dog in need of punishment. Water floods her nose, stinging as she chokes, her hands scrabbling for purchase against the pool’s edge. 

Up again, another cursory glance, and then he plunges her under once more, his grip firm, a rhythm of punishment and cleansing, as though he’s scrubbing the night’s sins from her with each forced dunk. She claws at his wrist, nails scraping against his skin, and he finally releases her, leaving her gasping and hacking as she collapses against the pool’s edge, water pouring from her lungs in a desperate, wheezing cough. 

She realizes then, as she shudders and coughs, that the blood is gone; her nose, once a mess of numb throbbing, now feels raw but whole. She clutches the pool’s edge, head bowed, catching her breath as the water stills around her. Raphael just stands there, dripping, sleeves ruined, as he observes her. 

“Well,” he mutters, flicking water from his fingers with a faint sneer, “at least you’re less of a mess now.” 

He hauls her from the water, pulling her sodden form from the boudoir and away from the rumpled heap of her clothes. His eyes drift over them—the plain tunic, the uninspired trousers, the scuffed leather boots—with a look of disdain so pointed it almost makes her wince. 

“An offense to beauty itself,” he murmurs, almost to himself, though the words slap her just the same. “These… things.” His lip curls. “They will burn. They’re an affront to my eyes, and my patience is wearing thin.” 

His gaze slides back to her face, catching on her bruised nose, and he tilts her head with the care one might give a very expensive artifact. His fingers are unhurried, methodical, as he surveys her battered skin. “I don’t keep unsightly things, you know,” he says. “I like my things beautiful. It’s why I collect them—why I keep them close.” 

Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, his tone shifts to something almost conversational, a careless elegance in his words that sets her nerves alight. “Tell me, little mouse,” he begins, fingers tapping idly on his thigh, “shall I lock the door?” 

She feels a shiver run through her, her voice faltering. “Which… one?” 

He tilts his head in mock contemplation. “Why not all of them?” 

“Raphael…” she starts, but she isn’t even sure what she wants to say, or if there’s anything to be said at all. 

Unhurriedly, he begins to strip off his clothes, each gesture carried out with an almost ritualistic elegance. He slips out of his doublet, casting it aside with a look of mild annoyance. “Your doing,” he sighs, smoothing an imaginary crease before discarding it. “This fabric—fine enough to silence even the heavens—ruined by your negligence. It cost more than you could dream, more than most would spend in a lifetime.” 

She watches, stuck somewhere between disbelief and fascination, unsure if he’s preparing to fuck her or simply indulging in the strange meticulousness of his undressing. Each cufflink is unfastened with almost absurd care, each tie released with the same flawless precision she knows so well. The clothes fold neatly under his hands, smoothed and arranged as if they were sacred relics, and though part of her wants to laugh at the absurdity, she knows better than to test his patience now. 

Raphael pauses, shirt open just enough to reveal the line of his throat, his collarbone stark against tan skin. His eyes pin hers and his voice takes on a melodic, almost regretful tone. “Perhaps if I lock you in,” he murmurs, “you might refrain from throwing yourself into every pit of squalor in the Gate, seeking out any hand willing to smash that face of yours.” 

“No one seeks that, Raphael,” she says, her voice sounding distant. “It just… happens.” 

He snaps his fingers with a sharp, final click. “Yes, yes,” he echoes, almost as if humoring a child. “And doors just… lock themselves.” 

[chloeangelic]

thank you and goodbye 💗

I've made the decision to leave Tumblr and continue posting on AO3 instead (including my ongoing series, ie SWID, TMWH and SFTD). I am not deactivating - all my posted works will stay up, but you won't be seeing me here at all, I'm sorry.

I can't stay in a community where people are so concerned with avoiding drama that they're willing to stand around and watch someone get bullied and harassed until they no longer feel welcome here. I understand not wanting to post about it in fear of getting harassed yourself, but that shouldn't stop you from reaching out to the person involved and asking what's true and not. You're still welcome to message me for clarification if you wish.

I wanted so badly to just ignore it and move on but I'm not made of stone. I can't scroll the feed anymore without wondering who thinks I'm a terrible person based on claims that were admitted to being fabricated. I haven't talked shit, I haven't lied, I haven't manipulated, I haven't done anything I've been accused of and neither has Iris. This has been insulting and awful for both of us, and there's been almost zero repercussions for the people starting this drama.

If you have no idea what I'm taking about, please read this post. If you contributed to this through spreading rumors, trashing me in group chats, vagueposting about me, or reblogging nasty posts/anons about me - congrats, you've bullied someone on the internet. Do you feel better about yourself now?

The only way I can continue posting fic is unfortunately by removing myself from what has become an incredibly toxic environment, which is disappointing and shocking to see from a fandom full of grown adults.

So to my readers and the friends I've made here - I love you with all my heart, and I can't thank you enough for your support. My casual readers, my reply guys, you have given me the gift of writing, which has been so healing for me and something I hope to keep doing for a long time to come. I want to stay in touch with you and I want you to be able to continue reading my stuff, so you have a few options.

I will be posting on my AO3 account also called chloeangelic. If you subscribe to me there, you'll get emails when I upload. If you don't have an AO3 user, message me on discord @ chloeangelic and I will personally send you the link when I've posted to whichever series you're interested in. ETA: I tried to make a new account to message with people but tumblr shadowbanned it, so discord will be the only way to get in contact with me.

I might come back one day, but right now, going on the dash literally gives me a stomach ache and I don't see that changing in the near future. I have high enough self esteem to know that I don't deserve to get treated the way I have, and I need to go where I'm celebrated, not just tolerated.

All my love + I hope to see you over on AO3,

Chloe

[uptondixon]

Upstead Foster Daughter

Did you ever wonder how Upstead would be as foster parents for a teenage girl? Like Hank and Erin, Hailey and Jay welcomed Olivia to their home when she was 16. Olivia holds a lot of grudges and is full of mischief, but she is also incredibly sweet and has a tremendous need to feel like she belongs. To her surprise, Hailey and Jay will give her exactly that.

Masterlist

[Chapter II] “You’re on your own, kid, you always have been”

No one expected to hear a stranger's voice through their radio, let alone saying that Jay was bleeding out on the pavement.

“Who the hell are you?” Voight’s surprised voice came through the radio.

“My name is Olivia Rivera, I'm with your officer Halstead and he's been shot! I'm sorry I couldn't call an ambulance but I don't have my phone with me,” Olivia said everything so fast they almost couldn't understand it.

“Shot? What the hell?” said Hailey in exasperation. She was driving with Voight after Jay left by himself.

The whole team was checking the crime scene from their current case when Jay got a call from a CI. Hailey was busy interrogating a witness when he got the call. She told him to wait for her but he was so eager for whatever information his CI had to give that he decided to go by himself. Turns out it was a trap. Hailey did not know the details yet, but she couldn’t help but think that this would have not happened if she had been with him.

“Wh-where are you?” Hailey asked, already feeling her heart start to beat out of her chest.

Olivia told her the address as slowly as possible in her state; after that, Hailey started bombarding her with questions she did not know how to answer.

While they talked, Voight rushed in passing the address to dispatch requesting an ambulance and some patrol cars. The rest of the team followed behind.

“Is he conscious?” Hailey asked.

Silence followed her question, leaving them both tense.

“Olivia! Is he conscious?” Hailey repeated.

“I- He- He was until now when I called you.”

“Does he still have a pulse, Olivia?” Hailey guided her to check.

“Yes, he does!”

“Okay, okay, keep putting pressure on the wound.”

“What's the ambulance ETA?” Voight's rough voice questioned dispatch.

“We're close, hang tight Olivia,” Hailey said, trying to calm the girl and herself down. He would make it, he always made it. This was not his first time being shot, but she surely hoped it was his last. She couldn't do this last time and she especially can't do it now.

“He'll be fine, Hailey,” Voight's voice invaded her thoughts. “Halstead’s strong, he'll get through this.”

Olivia didn't like hospitals. She felt trapped, unsafe, and overwhelmed. Probably because of the amount of people coming and going, the voices overlapping each other. There was too much going on and she shouldn't even be there in the first place.

After Jay's co-workers got to them everything happened in a blur. The ambulance got there seconds later, along with the other members of the team.

When Hailey and Voight arrived, Hailey came running in Jay and Olivia’s direction. She stared at the teenager with a mix of desperation and gratitude. Olivia stepped away as Hailey took her place. As others approached, Olivia stepped more and more away from the scene, ending up a little far away from it all.

She watched the scene unfold before her eyes in a trance. Jay was put into an ambulance and taken to the hospital, with several police cars following behind. Should she leave? She wants to know if he is going to be alright, of course. On the other hand, she feels like she was not supposed to be there.

“Hey! Olivia, isn't it?” a tall man appeared in her field of vision, his eyes were gentle and his voice calm.

“Yes,” Olivia answered.

“Name’s Kevin, Kevin Atwater. This is my friend, Kim Burgess,” he pointed to the woman beside him, and she smiled softly. Both officers looked shaken but they masked well, Olivia thought. Of course, this was not easy for them. Seeing a colleague hurt like that, almost lifeless.

“There's someone we can call for you? Your mom or dad?” Kim asked.

The girl didn’t answer. Kevin and Kim exchanged a look.

“Well, just come to the hospital with us then, okay?”

Voight watched them from afar, getting ready to enter the car and head to Med. Jay was the priority now, but they all were grateful for the girl, she saved Jay’s life after all. He made a mental note to thank her personally later.

Olivia debated for a moment. She decided it was better if she went with them and found a way to leave later without them noticing.

She nodded and followed them to the car.

“You can get cleaned up there,” Kim said after getting in the car.

Kevin started the drive to Med. Olivia didn’t answer the officer, suddenly feeling hyper-aware of all the blood on her. The adrenaline was wearing down.

“Are you okay, Olivia?” Kim asked softly.

“Yeah, sorry… I'm fine.”

“It’s okay, we will get to the hospital soon.”

Sitting in the doctors' room in Chicago Med a couple of hours later, Olivia was clean and waiting for a chance to leave. The really nice nurse called April who helped her clean up and gave her some food came by minutes ago and told her Jay would be alright. She left again when another nurse called for her so now was the perfect time for Olivia to leave.

She did not need to be discharged since she was neither a patient nor a suspect, right? Olivia got up and left the room, bringing some of the snacks the nurse gave her.

“Don’t worry Hails, we’re getting the bastard who shot Jay,” Kevin said firmly, looking at a very distressed-looking Hailey. Olivia got to the hospital’s lounge and saw Jay’s team reunited talking. They had their backs to the door she entered and could not see her.

They started to talk about the man who shot Jay and what they were doing to find him, most of which Olivia did not understand or did not care to try to understand. She stopped paying attention and started to plan how she would get out of there. There was only one way out and she could not leave without them seeing her.

Olivia was scared. She knew she wasn’t in trouble or anything but they were still police so she might as well be in trouble if they got to know more about her. Hell, they might as well already know.

“Stay with your husband Hailey, we’ll get him,” Voight's words drew Olivia's attention. Husband? That explained why Hailey was the most distressed of them all. The look on her face when she saw him lying on the pavement.

“Oh! Olivia, there you are,” said April, the nurse who helped Olivia earlier. Olivia's name caught the group's attention and five heads turned to look in her direction.

“Olivia!” Voight said, approaching the girl. “How are you? I need to properly thank you for helping my detective, I don’t know what could have happened if you weren’t there.”

“I… well, he was…” Olivia did not know what to say, so she came with a simple “You’re welcome” and a shy smile. She didn't expect to talk with anyone, let alone have all the attention on her.

“Well, I’m Sergeant Hank Voight and this is my team,” he went on introducing each of them. “You met Officer Kim Burgess and Officer Kevin Atwater. Detective Hailey Upton was the one you spoke with on the radio. And that is Officer Adam Ruzek.” he pointed to each one and they gave her a nod or a small smile.

After the introduction, he turned to look at her again. He spoke in a more serious tone, “We’re going to need your statement.”

Shit. That is exactly what she was trying to avoid. “I can’t!” was the first thing that came out of her mouth.

“It’s okay Olivia, we checked your file and we’re going to call your foster family on the way to the station,” Hank said.

So they know about her foster family, but they did not know she had run away yet. That was why she was in that alley, in that part of town, by herself.

Olivia thought about running but she could never get far with this many cops around. On their way to the district, she thought about jumping from the moving car but that was too stupid even for her. She laughed at the thought. Sitting in the car with Kim and Kevin again, she accepted her fate.

All her effort running away was for nothing. She was back to square one.

Slow, I know, but this is me trying guys. I love this OC so I hope I can keep writing her story even though I'm slow af. Thank you so much for the likes and reblogs on chapter one! ♡

[makeste]

So... How was watching that episode?

I meant to do a post on this sooner, as opposed to late on a Friday night hours before the next episode drops (eta: well apparently there's no new ep airing this week after all so that makes my timing slightly less atrocious), but yeah. basically I loved it. it hurt in all the right ways.

music was incredible. no shot it was ever not going to be incredible. Hayashi Yuuki thank you for always making my emotions your bitch.

there are admittedly a couple of moments in the anime which I felt weren't quite as impactful as they were in the manga. one of these is the moment when Jeanist, after seeing that Kacchan is (he thinks) traumatized and crying, immediately shifts gears from trying to hype him back up to return to the battle, and instead starts reassuring him that he's done enough and he doesn't have to fight anymore and they'll figure out a way without him. when I first read that part in the manga it absolutely slaughtered me. it's so rare to see media that stars young adults as the protagonists, and portrays them as capable young warriors, and yet also acknowledges that even so, they're still just kids. and to then surround said kids with adults who aren't dumbed down, and who are actually smart and capable and who are actively looking out for them and trying to protect them even though the kids are more OP than they are.

so to have a character that looks at someone like Bakugou and sees past how powerful and determined and ferocious he is, and instead just sees a kid who has been so incredibly brave and who they've asked so much of already. and to have that character make the on-the-spot decision to pull this kid out of the fight, regardless of the consequences, even if it means they might LOSE, just because he thinks the kid is hurt and scared and past his limits, and he needs someone to look out for him. that moment says everything about what kind of person Jeanist is. just, that one part got to me so much.

BUT, in the anime it all happens much faster and the moment gets kind of lost because Kacchan almost immediately starts doing his Deku-style muttering, and Jeanist quickly realizes that his initial read was wrong and this kid is actually FULLY AND COMPLETELY LOCKED IN MORE THAN EVER. which is exactly what happens in the manga as well, to be fair. but in the manga I got to read and absorb it at my own pace, whereas the anime just keeps on going with no concern over whether you've had enough time to process everything that's going on. and so that moment just kind of slips by, and almost isn't even noticeable unless you're looking out for it. it's not really a complaint, because there isn't really any other way the scene could be adapted, probably. but it does give me a good excuse to write a mini-essay about how much I love it, so yeah.

moving on though, in spite of my wishing we could have somehow lingered on that part a second or two longer, I did absolutely love the reveal of Kacchan mumbling and analyzing Deku-style. the first of many outstanding Okamoto Nobuhiko performances in this episode. full nerd powers activated. we'd already seen him do this in Bakugou Katsuki: Rising as well, but this is where it really stands out and it was awesome.

and by the way, shout out to the Big Three who are fucking great. eventually when I get around to posting my manga recaps for this part of the story, those will get more into their antics. for now though, I'll just say that everything was very well adapted. and the part where poor Mirio is all "???? sorry????" when TomurAFO has his brief little Tenko outburst was everything I hoped it would be, and Mirio's actor absolutely nailed it. like I knew it was coming and was anticipating it, and it still slayed me. easily a top five funniest moment in the whole damn series.

Kacchan standing up and telling Jeanist to look after the others filled me with just as much dread as the first time I read it. and the first time I read it, I had already been spoiled. so what I'm trying to say is, knowing what's about to happen does not in any way lessen the intensity of this moment. if anything it just enhances it.

the reveal of Kacchan's powerup was so incredibly badass. I can't even describe how badass it was. just, BOOM. now you see me, now you don't. LA DEE DA, HERE I AM! and the narration in the background talking about his quirk. chef's kiss.

no matter how many anime characters I see pulling off the omae wa mou shindeiru, I will never, ever tire of it. it's the single most badass thing anyone can ever do. especially when they were being underestimated the entire fucking time, and now all of a sudden they're out here scaring the shit out of the big bad himself. no one is faster than Kacchan. KACCHAN CAN RUN FASTER THAN ALL OF YOU. HE CAN FUCKING FLY!! HE'S BEHIND YOU RIGHT NOW!! GOD I LOVE IT SO MUCH.

and then Nobu hits us with the coup de grace. "Izuku… can I still catch up to you?" fellas is it gay to spend your last thirty seconds of life having an imaginary conversation with your beloved rival even as you're zapping around like a bolt of lightning, kicking more ass than anyone on earth has ever kicked.

and I was already dead by this point, but then the All Might vestige scene kicked in and resuscitated me so I could die again even harder. worth it.

so what really killed me nineteen times during this part was the way that Kacchan sounded so completely and utterly different from how he has ever sounded before. this is a scene that's taking place entirely in his head (or… in OFA land… maybe???? goddammit Horikoshi still owes us an explanation. THAT VESTIGE SHOULD NOT BE THERE I DON'T CARE WHAT ANYBODY SAYS). there's nobody else around. nobody to perform for. nobody to show off or look tough for. it's just him, and this big mysterious yellow All Might ghost thing.

and he sounds like an entirely different person. nervous, shy, sheepish. no crudeness, no insults. just, aw shucks. hand to back of neck. avert eyes. so this is kind of awkward, but... the thing is, I always wanted to... but I was such a brat when we first met... and I just never found the right moment after... anyway yeah I'm sorry and it's really dumb. but I really just. wanted to get your autograph.

just. this is him at his most sincere. this is who he's always been, all along. the one and ONLY time we've ever gotten a glimpse of him with absolutely no walls. and he is NOTHING like what he presents himself as to the outside world. he is sweet, he is gentle, he is self-effacing. he is painfully vulnerable, which is doubtless why he never dares to show this side of himself to anybody, ever. and he is ultimately so calmly accepting of this one last regret during what he believes are his final moments.

anyway. so yeah. it destroyed me. what else is there to say.

and then it happens. and once again, not to shit on the anime at all because this episode was fantastic, but this was another part that seemed much clearer in the manga. particularly that one page where we see that everyone else -- Jeanist; Mirio; Hadou; Tamaki; even Mirko -- tried to save Katsuki from that final blow, but they were all just a split second too late. the anime did its best to show that, but I think it was just harder to convey in that format. whereas the manga did it beautifully in a way that couldn't really be replicated.

but on the other hand, one thing the anime did VERY well was showing Kacchan's ragdoll body just flop lifelessly away afterwards. holy shit. I watched like a half dozen reaction videos to this episode on Youtube, and in most of them the anime viewers didn't quite realize how bad of a hit it was at first… until they showed that. then they were like, D: D: D:

and then last but not least… the image that broke the internet so hard that it spoiled me even in my paranoid social media isolation. Kacchan lying lifelessly on the ground. it's such a well-drawn panel in the manga, and the anime absolutely did it justice. having him be so pale was a wonderful touch. you see him, and you just immediately know. there's no room for doubt at all. it's powerful af. the Youtuber reactors all lost their minds. one woman actually started sobbing. phenomenal cinema.

so yeah! needless to say I thought it was spectacular. pour one out for the anime-onlys though. and now their watch begins.

[princessbrunette]

modern line cook anakin flirting relentlessly w his fave waitress…& she pretends to hate it but one night they’re the last 2 in the restaurant & uhhhh you get it

sorry i ltrlly forgot to add smut my bad

anakin always picked on the shy ones.

it wasn’t fair! you could totally see why the other waitresses fall at his feet, with that charming smile, those tattoos peeking out from his rolled up sleeves, his dark blonde waves stuffed into a beaten up black backwards cap instead of a chefs hat or whatever it was meant to be. even the dirtied apron he wore over his shirt accentuating that stupid slutty waist. you hated when he caught you looking.

“wearing the hell out of that apron, pretty girl.” he flips a spatula in his hand catching it on the handle-end as you shuffle in towards him, hot and bothered. it wasn’t a particularly busy day at all, but you were super understaffed and working the night shift — merely irritated by the fact you’d rather be at home wearing pyjamas and watching gossip girl.

“can i get an ETA on that lasagna? i asked for it like… 20 minutes ago, i think.” you avoid his gaze, and he’s just smirking, standing there looking amused by how nervous he makes you.

“i actually have it right here for you.” he smiles, softening his gaze a little subconsciously as if guilty he was making you feel uncomfortable, relenting on his teasing for a moment. you smile gratefully. anakin always prioritised your orders, ever since he took a little too long and some guy yelled at you making you cry (which resulted in him storming across the restaurant and explaining in the rudest way possible that food takes time to cook and if he wants some undercooked garbage he can go somewhere else, etc. he then cooked you some chicken tenders in your break and sat you down and told you to eat up and not listen to the asshole.)

he holds the plate out and when you reach for it he pulls it away with a grin. you reach again, and he pulls it away, biting back a chuckle. you huff, looking at your shoes, waiting for him to just play ball. he laughs because he thinks you’re adorable, gently clapping a hand on your shoulder and placing the plate into your hand. “its really hot, yeah? be very careful.”

“you say that everytime n’i’m fine.” you frown.

“a’ight, sorry for giving a shit!” he holds his hands up, voice high in lighthearted defence as he turns back to his work station. he turns his head to watch you swing out the doors back into the restaurant.

you hated closing more than anything, tired and irritable and pouty. you finish tidying up the restaurant, locking up so you can leave through the back where your car was. re entering the kitchen, you cringe — seeing anakin still there, wiping down his work space. he turns his head, face all but lighting up when he sees you.

“you headed out?” he converses and you slow your pace, keys jangling from where they hang from your fingers.

“well, m’meant to be closing. can’t lock up if you’re still here so…” you sway, hoping he’ll get the message.

“ah,” he winces, not even pretending like he gives a shit. “see, i was about to make some food. haven’t eaten yet. you had dinner?” he glances back over. you lean on your hip, huffing out a sigh, doesn’t look like you’ll be going anywhere for a while.

“well… no… what are you making…?”

“what’d i tell you, huh? can ask me for any food you want at any time on your shift. even the shit off the breakfast menu. go sit down, i’m making you pasta.” it’s not really up for debate, anakin just waving you off to the staff room. you take your coat off, and your apron, flopping down in a seat and scroll on your phone until he arrives with the food.

“are we allowed to do this?” you fiddle with your lanyard on the table, looking up at him so sweet and innocent he wanted to say forget the pasta all together.

“you see anyone that’s gonna stop us?” he sits down, the two of you digging in.

[terresdebrume]

Back in late September I made a poll to know what fic I should work on, completely forgetting I was about to run headfirst into the end of year rut (plus moving plus other life projects) so I ended up predictably writing nothing of substance aside from a quick snippet in an AU that has cool aesthetic but not enough foundation to stand on its legs -_-

So, as a way to finally start working on the most popular option from that poll (aka: the one where a Catland kiss is the spark that gets Payneland started) I'm going to just write and post the first draft on Tumblr and then I'll clean it up into a more proper story for AO3. @kepodewers you asked to be tagged in case that happened so watch this space (unless you want to wait for the polished version). This is based on this prompt from @stinastar which I got somewhere around forever ago^^" I'm very sorry about the delay and the rushed format, I hope it satisfies anyway! Fair warning: it starts out pretty angsty.

ETA: Important note: Like all my first drafts this is going to be posted in several snippets! I'll be making separate posts for each I think, unless the overwhelming consensus is that people would rather have a chain of reblogs

Edwin falls through the floor.

He hasn't lost control of his corporeality since his first week back on Earth and never that badly. The thought of it would be mortifying any other day, but not today. Today, it is a relief. Today, Edwin's entire being is intent on denying his death harder than it ever has before. Blood pulses in his ears as he finally comes to a stop in the basement of their building, tears burn in his eyes and in his throat, and his heart claws at the inside of his ribs with the ferocity of a hell hound. Half-blind with tears, Edwin pulls his right foot out of the ground, spins around, and rushes to the staircase as soon as he spots it.

His feet clatter up the steps, the door bangs in his wake, and when he bursts through the front door he cannot even manage to avoid running straight through Crystal. She calls out his name and Edwin slows down, trying to decide if he can stand to speak to anyone right now—

"Edwin!"

Edwin turns around just in time to see Charles phase through the door, through Crystal—continue without even apologizing to her—and then... And then his feet turn around again, carry him across the street and into the little park there, Charles' footsteps thundering after him.

"Edwin, wait!"

Edwin ignores Charles' pleading tone. He has never done that before. Not for a case, not for a reward, not even to preserve his own existence. Nothing could have forced him to ignore Charles then, no amount of danger, no amount of torture, no amount of pain. Except, it seems, if Charles himself were the source of Edwin's distress.

"Leave me alone!" Edwin yells over his shoulder, harsher than he meant but unable to stop and soften his voice.

Charles hasn't caught up with him, Edwin knows that. He is the much faster runner of the two, especially with the novelty of needing more distance from Charles than ever before. Perhaps it is that knowledge that stops him in his tracks when he hears Charles gasp.

"Edwin," Charles tries again, but Edwin shakes his head, ignoring the jogger that goes through him with a disgruntled shiver.

"Charles, please," he pleads, "please leave me alone. I can't—"

"Edwin, please, talk to me," Charles begs.

He is standing in the middle of the street, hands up as if to calm down a distressed client. He looks so genuinely distraught, so sincerely hurt, that Edwin feels bad for the way he is acting. He wishes he could be a better person. Wishes he could be a better friend. Yet, when he tries to speak his voice comes out cold and cutting in a way he never thought he could have used against Charles.

"I fail to see what there is to say. You made it quite clear before that you were uninterested in what I had to offer. It is hardly my place to be upset about where they lay instead!"

"But you are upset," Charles replies, and the lack of denial feels like a knife going right through Edwin's chest.

"Well, Charles," he says, a sob clinging to the cold fury that laces his voice, "I think you might be able to understand why I am."

"Look, Edwin, Thomas—"

"'Thomas'?" Edwin exclaims, anger and hurt dragging his voice down, making Charles flinch. "Thom—what happened to 'That Cat King'? What happened to 'Whiskers'?"

"Edwin—"

"You know, it is your right to move on," Edwin says, pressing his hands together so hard he is half afraid to damage his nonexistent gloves. "I understand that my feelings do not entitle me to your affections, but I would have thought you would at least have had the courtesy to let me know you had figured 'the rest' out! I would have thought you would at least told me so I didn't have to find out like this!"

Edwin closes his eyes, half to avoid the look of hurt mixed with almost fear on Charles' face, half to catch the flood of tears threatening to spill on his face as he remembers. Coming through the mirror. Looking around for Charles, so eager to show him the new book he acquired. Finding him sitting on their sofa, with his hands on the Cat King's hip, his head tilted back, the long column of his throat all but offered up to the other man as he cradled Charles' face in his hands and kissed him with exactly the sort of tenderness Edwin would endure another seventy years of Hell to give Charles.

"Please," Edwin repeats, "leave me alone. At least for now."

And Charles, silent and pale, nods and turns around, and leaves Edwin alone.

[james-is-here]

"You guys are definitely cinnamon rolls, Jagi." You say randomly as one is walking around the room getting ready for bed, and the other is buried under the blankets next to you as he watches you scroll on your phone.

"Excuse me?" He smiles. "You're a cinnamon roll. Although, when Christopher comes out, you can kill..." "What's the punch line?" "Kill with that sexiness of yours." "Knew it." He mutters and Felix laughs as Chan flops on the bed on your unoccupied side. "I'm not the only Cinnama roll, though." "I'm sorry, say that again. Just cinnamon roll." "Cinnama roll." You giggle as you pull him into your arms and squeeze. "The way you say it is so adorable." "You making fun of me?" "Not at all."

You smile and you can't resist your intrusive thoughts when you lean forward and bite his cheek, your lips curved over your teeth so it's not a direct bite, making his smile widen further and he laughs and tries to escape your attacks. "I could actually eat you up, you guys are so adorable." You bite at his cheek again, causing him to giggle more as you hear Felix's sleepy giggles behind you and you flip over.

"Don't think you're getting out of this." You say as you wrap your arms around him and bite his cheek too the same way as you did to Chan's. "My sweeties." you coo as you bump your nose into Felix's before placing a soft kiss on it, pulling him in to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck and half his body draped over yours as you lay on your back and pull Chan into your hold as well after he shut the lights out.

Your fingers comb through their hair, lengths that you hadn't stopped complimenting all day, and you smile when Chan places a kiss on your cheek and he intertwines his fingers with Felix's on your chest where your heart is.

With a final kiss on top of their heads, you fall into slumber with them.

---

Thought of this while going through the content they have been feeding us and it's so cute in my opinion. I love the way Chan was saying Cinnamon Roll.

Chan's fic (Jisung pt 2) I'm trying to get out by tomorrow now that my migraine is gone.

Day in a life doesn't have an eta like I thought it did as I stupidly realized two of the chapters I had written were in the wrong point of view.

I'm also working on an angst fic with Jeongin x maknae MR and a OT8 x MR smut or Lime but Chan is like the center point of it.

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Closed Position: Extra

Closed Position Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist

Dieter Bravo x OFC (Katarina)

I haven't done any writing on Closed Position this week. I know! I'm sorry. There were a few details I was still thinking through that happen later on and I wanted to be sure I was on the right path to get us there. However, I have been working to nail down those details and fill in my outline with the important stuff. I think I have a pretty solid path set at this point, so I feel a little more confident going forward with writing.

Since I don't have any snippets to offer this week, I bring you a mood board of things to come. Each image represents an event that aligns with some part of the plot.

👉🏻 It’s time to start throwing out your conspiracy theories based on the mood board! Let me have them!

Behind the Scenes

In addition to working on my outline, I've also been doing A LOT of research, as I always do. That includes details on hotels and prep/filming schedules for tv shows to really nail down the 'behind the scenes' aspect of things. I'm even making song choices for Dieter & Kat’s performances based on the beat count required for each dance.

Believe it or not, these types of details do help form the plot of the story. Sometimes those small details will spark an idea for putting the characters in situations I wouldn't have thought of otherwise. While it does seem a little crazy to do, it does actually help me in writing...but it does make me a little slow sometimes. 😬

So what have I researched this week? Here is a running list...that may offer some hints of what's to come:

Flight Times

Directions & travel times

Hotels in NYC (that meet certain criteria)

Rehearsal/filming schedule for a certain show that's filmed at 30 Rockefeller Plaza.

Kinesiology and Physiotherapy

Hydrotherapy and Electrotherapy

Alcohol and Drug Recovery

Codependency/Relationships in Recovery

Dance positions, counts, terminology, etc.

What have I recently watched for research?

Dirty Dancing (I hope you’re ready for some references and jokes… because nobody puts Bravo in a corner.) 😉

Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights

Take the Lead

Dance with Me

Lots of Dancing with the Stars videos on YouTube and the last two seasons that are currently available on Disney+.

A shit ton of instructional videos for ballroom dance.

That all seems very random, doesn't it? This makes me wish I would have done this for Destiny & Deliverance, because that would have been wild research topic list. 🤭

No ETA on the next chapter, but I can say it’s probably going to be another long one since I am doing it by the show ‘week’. Some weeks there is a lot to squeeze in. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Until next time,

💜Mysty

Series Summary: Dieter Bravo, now sober, was looking to change his bad boy image after hitting rock bottom. His team hoped that having him join the nationally televised family friendly dance competition would be a good first step, if they can keep him out of trouble.

Katarina Stamos expected her last season as a professional dancer on Dancing with the Stars to go the same as it had for the past thirteen seasons. That all changed when she was partnered with the infamous Dieter Bravo.

Dieter and Katarina are reluctantly thrown into their partnership and must learn to work together to succeed in the competition. In the process they form a deeper connection beyond the dance floor that neither anticipated.

👉 Warnings: Themes dealing with intimate partner violence, past alcohol abuse, and past drug abuse. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn. Read at your own risk. Dieter Bravo comes with his own warnings.

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