#every movement towards each other is a near miss

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Vegas celebration

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this George one-shot inspired by him winning the last race in Las Vegas !!

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

The Las Vegas night was alive with energy, the city's glittering lights casting a glow that seemed to echo the joy in the hearts of the Mercedes team. George Russell and Lewis Hamilton had just claimed a double podium at the Grand Prix, and the team decided there was no better place to celebrate than a swanky nightclub right off the Strip.

Toto Wolff, your father, had been uncharacteristically relaxed, his usual stern demeanor replaced with a rare smile as he toasted with the team. You, however, were more interested in the people who made these moments possible. Particularly George, who stood near the bar, his face alight with laughter as he recounted the highlights of the race to a group of engineers.

"Go say hi, Y/N," Lewis teased when he caught you glancing over. His grin was mischievous, and though you rolled your eyes, the encouragement was enough to nudge you forward.

As you approached, George spotted you and broke into a warm smile. "Y/N! I didn’t know you were joining the celebrations."

"I wouldn’t miss it," you said, raising your glass slightly. "Congratulations on the win. You were incredible out there."

George’s cheeks flushed faintly, a mix of the club’s lighting and your words. "Thank you. It’s all a team effort, though."

"You’re too modest," you replied, stepping closer to be heard over the thrum of the music. "You were brilliant, George. Truly."

For a moment, the noise and chaos of the nightclub seemed to fade as he looked at you, his gaze soft and appreciative. "That means a lot, Y/N. Really."

A new, upbeat song began playing, and George glanced toward the dance floor, where some of the team members were already swaying. He extended a hand toward you with a sheepish grin. "Would you like to dance?"

You hesitated briefly but then placed your hand in his. "Why not?"

He led you to the dance floor, his movements confident yet relaxed. The two of you fell into an easy rhythm, laughing as you matched each other’s steps. The club’s lights flickered above, casting a kaleidoscope of colors over his bright smile and the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed.

"I didn’t know you could dance," you teased, spinning under his arm.

"Well, I have a few hidden talents," he shot back, his tone playful.

The song shifted to something slower, more intimate, and George hesitated for a second before placing a hand lightly on your waist. You moved closer, and the world around you seemed to shrink.

"You really did deserve this," you said quietly, looking up at him. "More than just the cup, George. You deserve every bit of happiness tonight."

He gazed at you, his expression softening into something that made your heart race. "That’s kind of you to say, Y/N. I couldn’t have done it without the team—without people like you."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The music was a distant hum, and the only thing you could focus on was the way he looked at you, as if you were the only person in the room.

"Come with me," you whispered, taking his hand and leading him outside.

The cool night air was a stark contrast to the heat of the club. Las Vegas stretched out before you, its lights shimmering against the dark sky. George stood beside you, his hand still loosely holding yours.

"George," you said, turning to face him fully, "you’re an amazing driver, but beyond that, you’re a good person. And sometimes, I feel like you don’t let yourself believe that."

His eyes searched yours, his usual composed demeanor cracking slightly. "I don’t always feel like I’m enough. But...hearing that from you, Y/N—it means the world."

You stepped closer, heart pounding. "You are enough. More than enough."

Before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in and kissed him, your hand resting lightly on his cheek. He froze for a moment, then kissed you back, his hands finding their place on your waist as he pulled you closer.

When you finally pulled away, the world seemed to pause. George’s lips curved into a small, stunned smile. "Wow," he said softly, his voice tinged with awe.

You laughed nervously, stepping back slightly. "Sorry, I—"

"Don’t apologize," he interrupted, his hand gently catching yours. "I...I’ve been wanting to do that all night. Maybe longer."

Your cheeks warmed, and you couldn’t help but smile. "Well, I’m glad one of us finally did."

The two of you stood there for a moment, the buzz of the Strip blending into the background as you lost yourselves in each other’s presence.

"Do you think your dad’s going to kill me?" George asked suddenly, though his tone was lighthearted.

You laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet night. "Only if you don’t take me on a proper date after this."

"Deal," he said, grinning as he intertwined his fingers with yours.

As you both headed back inside, the night felt different. Brighter. The podium celebration may have been the highlight for the team, but for you and George, it was just the beginning of something much more.

[renecdote]

"really? dating someone you rescued? you know that never ends well"

"this is different. anyway—"

no, no tell me how it's different buck. is it because it's not really about dating her at all? is it because she sees you, or because she doesn't see you? doesn't know you any deeper than you want her to? doesn't expect anything from you because she doesn't have a pre-lightning buck to compare it to? is it because she looks at you and you don't see your own fear reflected back at you the way it is with all the people who loved you and watched you die?

"the truth is, I still don't know how to act. I am different, but I feel like I have to try and be the same old buck, mostly for the sake of everyone else"

for everyone else, you say? everyone who is out here saying thing like:

"buck, you died"

"buck. you died"

"you died, buck"

"three minutes and seventeen seconds"

"whatever it is you're feeling, you don't have to hide it"

while you're over here saying:

"I feel fine"

"you have to stop trying to fix me, maddie"

"please don't ask me how I'm feeling"

"you can't cut me any slack"

idk buck maybe it's just me, but it seems like the only person who is putting pressure on you to be the same old buck is yourself. and maybe that is for the sake of everyone else, maybe you just don't want them to worry. or maybe you're the one who is scared, maybe you're the who doesn't know how to face it, how to process it, how heal and keep moving forward. how to grieve because maybe you aren't dead, but you died, and you're allowed to not be okay about that

"when I woke up in that hospital, I felt like I had gotten away with something"

maybe you don't want to face it and move on? maybe you don't think you're allowed to? maybe you did get away with something, maybe you've been getting away with it your whole life, except this time death had you. you died. all those times you've skated through a near death experience finally caught up to you, but somehow you got away with it this time too and you don't understand why

"my life could have ended, right then and then, but it didn't. that has to mean something"

"It means you're one lucky guy"

"yeah, well, I don't think I'm going to get that lucky again"

"maybe you don't have to"

you've spent your whole life looking for signs from the universe, looking for answers, looking for something to make it all make sense. you think natalia will have those answers, but you're so busy searching that you're not looking right in front of you. you're not listening.

you died, buck, you're gonna feel a lot of different ways about that, sometimes all at the same time. you don't have to be anything for anybody. you think you’re expendable but you’re wrong. I know you did. there’s no one in the world I trust with my son more than you.

you want it to mean something? you want the secret to happiness? you want someone to see you? to see more in you than you see in yourself? well maybe you should stop trying so hard to find it and realise you've already made it. you've already been chosen a hundred times over, now you just to wake up and see it

[r3starttt]

DRAIN ME

PAIRING: stalker! caitlyn x vampire! reader

CW: blood play. oral. fingering. finger sucking.

TAGLIST | KINKTOBER: @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @kiki5gigi @thesevi0lentdelights @femininologies | CAITLYN TAGLIST: @imdrowningindispair @rkivedpages @mirconreadzztuff22 @crispers @moonlyblue @bruhhtsukjf

Caitlyn had always prided herself on control, every mission executed with precision, every target locked with unwavering focus. But you—something about you unraveled her carefully crafted sense of order. It started innocently, a curiosity, a passing glance too long. But it bloomed into obsession. She found herself tracking your every move, studying the way you slipped through the shadows, always just out of reach.

It wasn't the bloodlust that drew her in, though, it was you—the way you carried yourself, the way your eyes lingered on her longer than they should have. It wasn’t fear she felt when she caught those fleeting glances from you, it was hunger. A hunger she could no longer distinguish from her own.

Caitlyn had always been the hunter, but with you, it was different. Her obsession had her following you, unseen, slipping through the city's dark corners as you prowled the night. Watching how you moved, who you spoke to, and how easily you evaded capture. Her nights were no longer filled with patrols but with watching you—every moment, every breath consumed by the thought of you.

She knew it wasn’t just her duty that made her chase you. It was the thrill, the electric pull she felt in your presence, as if every step closer to you was a step away from her own control. Her obsession deepened with every encounter, with every near-miss where your eyes met and lingered just a second too long. The more she watched, the more she wanted, and the more she wanted, the more she realized that it wasn’t enough. Watching you wasn’t enough. She needed more. She needed you.

Caitlyn wasn’t afraid of you and what you could physically do to her, but she feared what you’d already done to her mind—how you had twisted her sense of purpose, how you had made her feel alive. And though she knew she should stop, her grip on sanity fraying with each passing night, she was relentless, her thoughts consumed by the need to know everything about you. To own you.

The cold air of the night flowing through her open window, clinging to her as she sat perched on the edge of her desk. One leg straight as the other bent over. Her rifle rifle resting in her lap. It felt odd. a predator, yet being haunted—by a desire, an obsession.

Ther had been many thoughts. Cornering you, forcing you to face her. Not as prey, but as something more. What would it feel like, to have those sharp fangs graze her skin? To have you pinned beneath her, or to be at your mercy?

But no matter how close she got, you were always one step ahead, always slipping away before she could get too close. It only fueled her obsession. Caitlyn would find a way to catch you, to have you.

A soft creak from the far side of the room snapped her attention back to the open window. Her eyes narrowed, body tensing as she scanned the darkened office. The shadows danced across the walls, and for a brief moment, she thought she was imagining it. But then she saw it—a glimmer, the faintest hint of movement in the darkness. You were here.

The rifle and the wooden floor creaked ominously as Caitlyn stood tall, striding toward you with a firm grip on her weapon. “Did you really think you were the only one hunting?” She took a step back, tightening her grip. “Move.” Her voice was a command, authoritative. It made you smile. “I can smell it on you, you know. You’re not just trying to catch me—you need me.”

Caitlyn’s knuckles whitened around the rifle, her chest heaving ever so slightly. Her eyes narrowed, flicking between the shadows that danced across your face, trying to read your next move.

But you stayed perfectly still, waiting, your smile never wavering.

She took a deliberate step forward, the weight of her boots heavy against the creaking floor. “I don’t need you,” Caitlyn growled, her voice laced with frustration, but the tension in her posture betrayed her.

She was hesitating, her mind betraying her hardened resolve.

"Then why haven’t you pulled the trigger?

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Caitlyn's face, and she took a half-step back, “I can’t just… hurt you. Not like that.” her grip on the rifle relaxed just a fraction, the weapon lowering slightly. Only there you took a step closer, still covered by the shadow.

“Why not?” you asked softly, your voice almost a whisper. “You’ve stalked me, hunted me. Now you have me cornered..."

“You think I’m weak because I can’t pull the trigger?” the vulnerability beneath her bravado was unmistakable.

“I think you’re stronger than you know,” you shocked your head, a soft smile playing on your lips as you finally showed yourself to her. “And that strength is what draws me to you.”

Caitlyn’s gaze flickered to the rifle, still hanging loosely in her hand, then back to you. "I’ve spent too long chasing you. I’m not letting you go."

You tilted your head slightly, exposing your neck in a mocking, languid gesture, daring her. "Then take what you want," you whispered, voice dripping with seductive malice. The corset hugging your body concealed the blood that dripped from your lips, sliding down your neck, a crimson trail that glistened in the dim light. Caitlyn’s eyes flickered to your hands, but before she could act, you moved like a shadow, effortless and swift, and the rifle she clutched was sent crashing to the floor along with the frames that once hung proudly on her walls. The sound was deafening, a cacophony that seemed to echo her own faltering resolve.

Her quiet whimpers filled the space between you, exactly how you had imagined they would. Her hands, once so sure, now trembled as they gripped your arms, a futile attempt to push you away as your fangs sank deep into the soft skin of her neck. You savored the moment, the rush of power, the warmth of her blood on your tongue. She tasted sweet—sweeter than anyone else you had ever feasted upon. You drank her in, relishing every second.

"You come into my world, my home..." you murmured against her throat, your breath sending shivers down her spine. "You threaten anyone who gets close to me." Her whimper cut through your words, and with it, you bit down harder, drawing another gasp from her, this one filled with desperation and surrender.

"You really thought I wouldn’t notice the way you followed me, everywhere?" you purred, mocking her now, the sound of your voice weaving through the tension like silk. Her eyes, wide with shock, lost their vibrant glow, her skin paling as the life slowly drained from her. "You want me, don’t you, Kiramman?" you whispered against her ear, feeling her nails dig into your skin in response, a weak attempt at resistance that only fueled your desire further.

Her brow furrowed at your mocking tone, but her strength was leaving her, betraying her. "I know you like this... not having control for once," you teased, your voice low and taunting. "Just breathe." You felt her chest heave against yours, a quiet gasp that reverberated against your skin, the sound intoxicating. Her blood, so sweet and pure, made your head swim with pleasure, unlike anything you had tasted before.

Your nails now pierced her delicate cheeks, sharp enough to leave marks, pulling her closer, forcing her gaze to meet yours. Her eyes, once a vibrant blue, were now fading, losing their color, their life. It suited her, this strange, drained look—a pale echo of her former self. Horrifying, yet oddly beautiful.

You licked the blood from your lips, savoring the last taste of her, while your eyes—dark, red, and predatory—fixed on her with a hunger that would not be satisfied. Her body trembled, her lips parting as though to speak, but only incoherent sounds escaped, her strength fading fast. You looked down at her, a predator gazing at its prey, the white of your skin stark in contrast to the deep red of her blood.

Caitlyn’s hands clung to you now, her body weakening, her will crumbling under your touch. For once, she was no longer the hunter, no longer the perfect, controlled sharpshooter. She was at your mercy, and she *loved* it. Her mouth moved, barely able to form the words as her body slumped against yours, heavy with surrender. "Take me," she breathed, her voice fragile and broken, the last spark of life in her reaching for you, begging for release.

Her hands moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if the only thing keeping her alive was the feel of you, your presence. If it weren’t for your hold on her, she would have collapsed entirely, limp in your arms, almost lifeless. You could end it now—just one more taste, one more bite, and she would be yours forever. Her body, her soul, everything would belong to you. Exactly what she wanted, wasn’t it?

You smiled, your fangs glinting in the dim light, the expression wicked and predatory. Your eyebrows arched in amusement as you studied her fragile, broken form. "Yeah?" you whispered, the temptation curling in your voice. You wanted her—oh, you wanted her more than anything. But there was something so sweet about this moment, about watching her, feeling her completely under your control. She had given you so many chances to escape her grasp, to run, but now she was here, weakened, broken, and utterly yours.

Caitlyn Kiramman, the perfect shot, the disciplined enforcer, the best at what she did—now reduced to this. A trembling figure, desperate for you, craving the loss of control she had so carefully maintained her entire life. You held her there, savoring the power, the sweetness of her submission. She would be yours entirely.

Your breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of her neck once more, your hold tightening as if you could devour her whole. Caitlyn whimpered, the sound trembling from her lips, her blood still seeping from the bite marks you left, trailing down her neck and pooling at her clavicle. Her once immaculate uniform, now torn and disheveled, mirrored the chaos you’d created in her—a reflection of how far she'd fallen under your spell.

Your long, red tongue dragged slowly over her skin, tasting the mix of salt and copper, savoring the richness of her blood. You could feel the pulse beneath her flesh, each beat of her heart fueling your hunger. As you tore her uniform apart with a casual flick of your nails, her body shuddered, her breath catching as she mumbled soft, incoherent pleas—pleas that only spurred you on.

Her hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, pressing your head harder against her body, though whether in an attempt to push you away or pull you deeper into her, even she couldn’t say. You could feel the desperation in her touch, the way she clung to you like you were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Your eyes drifted upward, meeting her gaze with a predatory gleam, taking in the way her brows curved beautifully in agony, the slight part of her lips exposing the little gap between her teeth.

“Breathe… like that. Good girl,” you mocked softly, your voice dripping with cruel amusement as you coaxed her to endure the pain just a little longer. You could feel her body obeying, her breath shuddering as she fought to remain composed, even as she crumbled in your hands.

Slowly, you sank to your knees before her, your nails dragging down her thighs, the fabric of her uniform bunching and tearing under your touch. Caitlyn’s body jerked when your fangs pierced the soft, tender flesh of her thigh, her quiet, guttural moan reverberating through the air. She pressed herself harder against the wall, head thrown back as the pain mingled with something far deeper, more primal.

You held her there, gripping her hips with possessive force, tasting her, taking her. Her blood was intoxicating, and her helpless surrender only made it sweeter. You could feel the tension in her muscles, the tremble in her legs, as she struggled to stay upright under your assault. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a testament to the control she was losing.

“Just like that,” you whispered against her skin, voice thick with hunger as your fangs grazed her again. You weren’t just feeding on her blood, you were consuming every part of her, body and soul.

You made your way under her blue skirt, kissing at the fabric covering her obscene wet hole. Your tongue licking at it with little shame. The tip of your nails dragged the black piece of clothing down her thighs, enough for your hungry mouth to have access on her body.

She was as sweet as her blood, as her voice. Her skin tender.

You felt a gentle grasp on the back of your head, a sloppy tangling along quiet hisses and hufs. She seemed quite desperate, but how could she not when your tongue felt so good up and down her slit, with your pretty lips kissing and sucking on her clit.

Caitlyn mumbled through her teeth, jaw clenched and eyebrows scrunching down her nose. Your tongue made its way from her slit to the tip of her clit, licking and kissing between her folds, feasting on her wet.

Your fingers slid in with ease, eliciting a weak yet grumpy gasp out of her mouth. Her thighs trapped you with the little strength she had on her. It felt heavy and alive on her way.

She hugged your fingers so tightly, clenching deliciously good. And the wet coming out of it was so pretty, so delicate yet messy. Withing each suck of her clit and thusting of your fingers there was a quiet gasp, a groan of pain and pleasure. You could sense her heart as if yours- it almost was. She was close.

Your lips pressed a gentle kiss around her clit, licking on it just after. Your fingers pounding onto her cunt until a warmth enveloped them down your wrist- gentle. Your eyes softened at the sensation, at the look of her tender body so weak yet so euphoric just for you- because of you.

The floor creaked as you stood, slipping free from her feeble grip. Her breathing was erratic, she would soon be an empty shell on the floor if you didn’t hurry. But this was your favorite part—watching them unravel before the final moment. Not her, though. She was different. She'd live. She'd belong to you.

"Open... just like that, love." A smile curved on your lips, now salty with blood, the taste more intoxicating than anything you'd ever known. She sucked on your fingers, humming, savoring the same flavor you were enjoying. Tilting her chin to the side, you attacked the other side of her neck. The pleasure coursing through her, mixed with the euphoria, made her blood even more exquisite. You drank deeply until her skin began to pale, becoming something like yours—white and no longer human.

Her fingers gripped yours tenderly, fangs sharpening naturally. Your breath brushed her skin one last time before she seized your wrist with newfound strength, the authority she once held returning to her body.

“No manners, Kiramman?"

[verstappenverse]

From P17 to You

Requested by anon: “Could you maybe write something about the win in Brazil?? I'd love to se something like friend to lovers, maybe even Max confessing he's got feelings for her 🥰”

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: After a legendary drive through the rain in Brazil Max realises that some things are worth risking, and this time he’s ready to risk it all.

Author’s note: Been working to get this out before Vegas so hopefully you're all still riding that Brazil high! Hope you enjoy anon 🫶🏼

1.9k words / Masterlist

The thunderous roar of the crowd echoed around the paddock, the energy still electric. You could barely keep up with Max as he wove through the sea of people, his hair damp, sticking to his forehead, his fireproofs and suit clinging to him like a second skin. He looked invincible—untouchable, even. The entire race had been nothing short of miraculous, the kind of drive that people would tell stories about for years. No one could quite believe what had just unfolded at Interlagos.

It was a win that would go down in history as one of the most legendary drives Formula 1 had ever seen. Starting from P17 and managing a breathtaking, near-miraculous climb to P1 in rain that hadn’t let up once, silencing every critic in one afternoon. Max had won against all odds, and not just won—he had dominated.

You’d been there, every lap, every heart-stopping turn, watching from the pit wall with your fingers practically digging into the table. When he finally crossed the line, pulling a lead that had almost made you laugh in disbelief the paddock erupted. And so did you.

Max Verstappen was a force to be reckoned with. You’d known him long enough to see that. From his early days in karting, to the whirlwind of his rise through Formula 1, and through it all the two of you had been inseparable. You were more than just friends - you were each others constant in a world that never stayed still.

The roar of the crowd still echoed in your ears inside the motorhome. The team was in a frenzy of celebration, and you couldn’t wait to congratulate him. Finally, the doors swung open and Max appeared, drenched in champagne his eyes lighting up in that way that always seemed to make everything else fade into the background. He looked wild and alive, hair still wet and tousled, his suit clinging to him, adrenaline still pumping through him like an uncontained storm. His eyes caught yours almost instantly, softening from the adrenaline-fueled excitement to something more private, a kind of warmth he reserved just for you.

“There you are,” he said, his voice hoarse from exertion, he was laughing as he wiped his face. “Did you see that?” he asked, as if you might have somehow missed his generational drive.

“Max,” you said, breathless. “That was insane. You were incredible out there. I—I don’t even know what to say.”

He grinned, the same boyish grin you always loved. “I was just doing what I do best,” he teased.

In one swift movement, he pulled you into a tight hug. You could feel the dampness of his suit against your skin, but that wasn’t what made you shiver. You could feel his heartbeat thundering through his chest as he held you close, his hand lingering on the small of your back, and when he pulled back there was something in his eyes, a kind of restless energy that had you rooted to the spot.

You shove at his shoulder, “You’re unbelievable, Max. Do you have any idea how many heart attacks you gave me?”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “What can I say? I don’t like to lose.”

There's an energy between you that you can’t quite shake off, a tension that’s lingered for months, maybe longer. The air feels thick between you, and your heart races as you search for something, anything, to say that will defuse this tension. Before you can one of the Red Bull crew sweeps him up again, pulling him back towards the crowd.

You spend the next hour caught up in the celebration, in the noise, the laughter, the congratulations that echo around the garage. The afterparty spills over into one of the hotels, with everyone recounting Max's drive from their own perspectives. The energy is high, and the drinks are flowing freely. Max, for his part, looks like he’s on top of the world surrounded by friends, his smile relaxed, his energy magnetic.

But you can’t help but notice the way his gaze keeps flicking back to you, even as he laughs and talks with everyone else. Each time your eyes meet, there’s that pull, that spark that’s been simmering for what feels like forever.

Eventually he finds you, catching you by the arm and tugging you into a quieter corner of the party. The background noise dims and it’s just the two of you sitting together in the soft, golden glow of the dim light.

“Enjoying yourself?” you ask, a grin teasing at your lips as you tilt your head to look at him.

Max chuckles, his eyes crinkling in that familiar way you’ve always loved. “Trying too. My adrenaline’s still through the roof.”

“You deserve it,” you say, and there’s no teasing in your tone this time—just sincerity.

He glances at you, his grin softening. “It’s been a crazy day…but it’s not just about the win you know?”

You raise an eyebrow, caught off guard by the shift in his voice. “What do you mean?”

Max shrugs, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before he looks back at you. “I guess… I had something to prove today. To everyone. To myself.”

“Max…” You paused, unsure of where to go with that. “Today wasn’t about proving anything to anyone. You’ve already done that.”

“Yeah, maybe…but I- ” His voice was lower now, more serious, his gaze locked onto you. “I had to prove it to myself. And—” He hesitated, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he were deciding how much to say. “And maybe to you, too.”

The intensity of his gaze made your heart pound as if you were the one who’d just raced through that rain-soaked track.

“Max, you don’t have to prove anything to me. I hope you know that." Your voice came out softer than you intended. “You mean more to me than you probably realise.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and your heart twisted with vulnerability. “You’ve always been completely yourself, Max. That’s what makes you… you. That’s why people love you. Why I—why I’m so proud of you.”

He looked at you for a long moment, as if really trying to understand what you’d said. And then he took a deep breath, reaching out to brush his fingers against yours, tentative at first.

“You have no idea what it meant to me to see you there today. To know you were watching. That you’re always watching.”

“Of course, I’m always watching,” you say, swallowing hard. “You’re a lot more than just a driver Max. You’re… you’re my best friend.”

A flicker of something crossed his face, something you couldn’t quite read. “Best friend,” he echoed softly, as if tasting the words, considering them. There was a faint, bittersweet curve to his lips.

The quiet stretched between you, heavy with unsaid words. You were about to laugh it off, make a joke, say anything to fill the silence, but then he spoke again.

“I’ve never really thanked you for that. For everything.”

You shook your head. “You don’t have to thank me. You know I’d do anything for you.”

Max’s lips curled into a half-smile. “Maybe. But sometimes…” His voice faltered, and he took a deep breath before continuing, “Sometimes I think I should have said something earlier. Said thank you in a way that actually meant something.”

You looked at him, your eyes meeting his. “What do you mean?”

His hand moved to your waist, his touch now bold, yet gentle. “I think I’m saying this all wrong.” He let out a small, nervous laugh, his thumb brushing the sliver of exposed skin at your waist. “I’ve been thinking about it all day. You know, after the race. And I couldn’t focus on anything else. Just you.”

He looked down at you. “I didn’t want to tell you before because I thought it might mess things up. But… I’m done waiting.” he said, his voice lower. “I’ve tried to say it a hundred times, but every time, I just… I couldn’t.”

“Max, are you—”

“Yeah,” he interrupts, his gaze intense. “I am. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but every time I thought I might, I… well, I was scared I’d lose you if it didn’t work out. But today, I thought if I can pull off something I thought was impossible, then maybe…maybe, I can tell you how I feel too.”

Max let out a low, almost frustrated laugh. “I think about you all the time, This—us. I’ve never felt like this with anyone else. It’s always been you. I know we’re friends, best friends, and I never wanted to ruin that. But I… I think about you all the time. I can’t help it. And today made me realise that I don’t want to keep waiting. You’re worth taking the risk. I want more. I want everything…with you.”

The world seems to tilt. You’re left speechless, his words tumbling over you, breaking down every carefully built defence you’ve put up. And it feels terrifying, this openness, this risk, but it feels exhilarating too, like stepping off a cliff and hoping someone will be there to catch you.

So you take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you reach for his hand. “Max… you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” you admitted, your voice raw.

He lets out a slow breath, his expression shifting to one of pure relief, a grin spreading across his face. “So we’ve been two idiots, both waiting for the other to say something?”

You laugh, and it feels freeing, like a weight lifting off your shoulders. “Yeah, two idiots. But now we’re here so… what are we going to do about it?”

Max’s smirks, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. His lips brush against yours, soft and tentative, as if he is giving you one last chance to pull away. But you don't. Instead you lean into him, pouring every unspoken feeling, every hidden moment of longing into the kiss.

His hands are on you in an instant, gripping your waist, pulling you closer as his lips move against yours with an urgency that makes your head spin. Soft yet insistent, his hands framing your face. The kiss is slow and desperate, holding you like he can't bear to let go.

When you finally break apart, breathless and aching for more, Max leans his forehead against yours, his hands still resting on your waist.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he mutters, his voice hoarse.

The space between you is still charged. “You’ve been waiting for me, huh?” you tease, your hand moving to rest on his chest,

Max’s gaze drops back to your lips, his chest rising and falling with each breath, “You have no idea.”

His hand slides up to your neck, pulling you in for another kiss. Your body feels like it's on fire as he kisses you harder

He pulls back again, just enough to look at you. “I can’t believe winning wasn’t even the best part of today,” he murmurs.

You laugh softly, running your fingers through his messy hair. “If you’re not careful Verstappen you’re going to make me fall in love with you.”

He smiles, that boyish, confident smile that always managed to knock the wind out of you. “Good. Because I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

[lavenderspence]

A runaway kitten | A.H.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Content warning: fluff, cuteness overload to be honest. 

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: A troublesome kitten prompts quite the meet-cute

Request: May I please request a meet cute with Hotch? Maybe they become new neighbours or reader has a child jacks age and they meet like that? I honestly don’t mind I just love the cuteness that comes from first interactions 😫💛

A/N: for once, I'm not really sure what to say...except, I forgot this blog's three-month anniversary, so...happy over 3 months? writing's been a bit hard recently, but I do hope it's going to get easier. enjoyy

Request are closed! | masterlist

“Olive?” You called out, setting his water bowl down. You clicked your tongue a few times, hoping he’d come out of hiding to drink some water, or at the very least, show you he was slowly acclimating to the new space. 

Olive was your very pretentious, borderline-dramatic, six-month-old kitten. You’d found him near your old apartment building 3 months ago, cowering in fear and shivering because of the rain.

One look at him, and you knew, this little fella was your new roommate and cuddle buddy. You’d brought him inside, bathed, fed him and the rest was history. 

But Olive did have a flair for the dramatic, at least that had been the case for the last three and a half weeks, ever since you’d moved into your new apartment. 

The moment you’d opened his pet carrier after moving in, giving him a chance to look around and get familiar with the space, he’d turned his small head around a few times, hissed, and walked back into the carrier. 

He’d spent most of his time inside, venturing out for only a few minutes to investigate the space, and then making it inside again. He did slip into your bed every night but still refused to explore the space or get used to it.

He started looking around more the last few days, sometimes spending some time in your closet or at the back of the couch, but that was about it. 

“Olive?” You looked around. He might hate the space, but he always showed up when you called for him. No meows, no movement, and no kitten in sight made you worry a bit. You checked the places he usually visited, if for a little while, and then you checked everywhere else just in case. 

No sight on him, not a peep anywhere. And that’s when you saw it - your bedroom window was open. You ran towards it, head ducking outside to check. You looked around frantically, looking for any sight of him, and finding none. 

But there was a small ledge outside the window, running around the whole building, and any neighboring windows. It was a big enough ledge for Olive to walk across and make it to your neighbors’ apartments. 

You closed the window and ran towards your front door, straight to apartment 123. The lady who lived there always greeted you with a smile, and this time was much the same. But a frown, and a sad one at that made its’ way onto her face when you told her about Olive, and she replied with a shake of her head. 

Olive hadn’t made it to her apartment, all her windows were closed. 

You made your way to apartment 121 and knocked on the door. Your heart was pounding, worry overtaking your senses. Thoughts, about whether he’d made it to apartment 121, or if he’d fallen down. Thoughts about him missing and you trying to find him and failing. 

Deep in thought, you didn’t hear the lock click, or even the door getting opened, until a man stood in front of you.

He was handsome - black hair sprinkled with a touch of grey, chocolate brown eyes. Dressed in jeans and a fitted polo shirt, his hair was messed up like he hadn’t expected any company. He was fit, not overly so, and his posture was a little guarded. 

You remember seeing him, once or twice just in passing, but he hadn’t been dressed that casually. No, he’d been sporting formal attire - a suit and tie, dress shirt, and slacks. You’d barely glanced at each other then, but now standing at his door, you could fully take him in.

You watched him arch a brow, waiting for you to speak up. You shook your head the tiniest bit. 

“Hi.” You started with a small voice and equally a small smile on your face. 

“Hello.” His mouth barely moved, but you caught the small lift of his lips.

“I know this is going to sound very strange. Do you, by any chance, have a grey kitten that showed up out of nowhere, possibly getting in using any of your windows?” You were fidgeting, picking at your cuticles as you waited for his reply.

He relaxed a little, an actual smile making way for a row of white teeth, and the most adorable dimples you’d seen. He chuckled. “Well, I may have an even stranger answer for you. Why don’t you come in?” He moved aside and pulled the door open. 

Upon walking in, you took in the place. It was tidy, with minimal decoration, but also full of personal touches. Throw pillows and a blanket over the couch, pictures on the walls, and photos neatly arranged on the bookshelves. A blond woman, beautiful, smiled in one, her eyes striking. 

A photo of a small, adorable boy, no more than three, holding a small plush koala decorated another shelf. A small carbon copy of the woman. 

A chest of toys sat close to the bookshelf, and a lone toy truck was on the coffee table. 

“Sorry about the mess.” There was no real mess, to begin with, just a laundry basket full of clothes waiting to be folded and put in their rightful places. “This way, please.” He led you towards the back of the apartment, his strides small. 

The hallway was well-lit. A child's drawings were framed and put up, making the space homey. 

You made it to a half-opened door, “Jack, buddy?” Your neighbor called out, pushing the door open. On the floor next to the bed sat the same, cute boy from the picture in the living room, and close to him, lying on his back, paws in the air, was Olive. 

“Oh, Jesus.” You laid a hand over your heart, willing your heartbeat to slow. The little troublemaker was okay. 

“Who’s this daddy?” The boy, Jack, asked as he reached to pet Olive’s tummy gently. 

The man turned towards you, opening his mouth, but you beat him to it, “Hi, I’m Y/N, your neighbor. And this bad boy you have there is Olive.” You missed the soft look the man gave you when you introduced yourself to his son.

“Oh, he’s yours?”

“Yes, this little devil is indeed mine.” You shook your head with a chuckle.

“Why did he walk through the window then?” He asked, expression earnest and sweet. This might just be one of the cutest kids you’ve ever seen. 

“Jack!” The man, whose name you had yet to learn, crossed his arms and shook his head, sending you an amused look.

“Well, I left the window open, and he’d been very vocal about not liking the new apartment much, so he decided to go on an adventure.” You kneeled, getting to his level where he still sat on the ground. 

He looked like he was thinking for a second before he smiled, “He’s been liking my room, maybe he should stay here?”

A choked laugh fell from the brunette behind you, “Jack, no. You can’t say stuff like that.” 

“It’s okay.��� And it really was, because Olive was still flat on his back, looking at you in boredom. 

“Worth a try.” He grinned back at you, one of his front teeth missing. You laughed in earnest, overcome by his cuteness.

“We better get going, we’ve taken enough of your time…” You trailed off. 

“Aaron.” He reached his hand forward, offering it for a handshake. 

You accepted his handshake with a timid lift of your lips, watching as his big fingers enveloped your smaller hand. You swore a small spark went through you at the contact - the feel of his skin on your own. Like a zap, an electric current - even your heart skipped a beat. 

There was something about his touch, maybe him as a whole, that you reacted to. A nice reaction. 

“Nice to meet you, Aaron.” You said, repeating your name to him too. 

His eyes shined just a tiny bit in wonder, he wanted to know more about you, to get to know you. As his new neighbor, he hadn’t paid you much attention, any at all. But now? Stood in his son’s bedroom, in search of a troublesome kitten and speaking softly to Jack as if he was the most precious thing ever? He felt a small piece of his heart crack, making space for a new person to enter - a new person to get to know better. 

You clicked your tongue, calling for the kitten again. He turned on all fours, looking bored, and started walking towards you. 

Just when he was mere centimeters from you, he stretched, his whole body shaking. Aaron expected the grey creature to walk up to you, but instead, it stopped at his feet and stretched again.

This time it stretched up his leg, his small eyes widening in plea.

You laughed, and Jack’s small giggle followed. 

“Well, maybe Olive does like it here.”

“Maybe he does,” Aaron added, looking at you. Your kitten may have liked his apartment, but Aaron liked seeing you both in it just as much.

comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Beneath the Shadows

Pairings: Poly 141 x shepherd’s daughter! Medic! reader

Warnings: Character injuries, Forbidden Romance, Spice

Authors Note: I love yall, enjoy!

Word Count: 2.3k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The scent of antiseptic filled the med tent, a mix of blood and metal laced with tension. You, as the head medic, had become accustomed to the chaos of the battlefield, patching up the bodies of soldiers who risked their lives daily. But nothing could have prepared you for the sight of them—Task Force 141, wounded and barely holding on, brought back from a mission gone terribly wrong. Your father’s squad, his most trusted men, and the very soldiers he had banned from being near you in any personal way.

Task Force 141 had always been more than just a team—they were a unit, bound together by trust, camaraderie, and the intense experiences that only those on the battlefield could understand. Their connection had grown over time, transforming from friendship into something deeper, a bond that went far beyond what any military regulation could define. Soap, Ghost, Price, and Gaz shared more than just missions; they shared a life, a relationship forged in the fires of combat and kept secret in the shadows of duty. They were already each other’s in every way that mattered, an unspoken understanding between them that their love, though unconventional, was unwavering.

And yet, as you laid eyes on them, Soap’s broad frame slumped against the door, Price’s commanding figure catching his breath, Gaz wincing in pain, and Ghost—silent as ever, blood seeping through the fabric of his gear—you felt something stir deep inside you. You’d always been drawn to them, in ways you knew you shouldn’t.

“Let me help you,” you said, your voice steady though your heart raced.

“Do your worst, lass,” Soap replied, his voice laced with a cocky grin despite the deep wound in his shoulder.

You couldn’t help but smile back, but the danger of what you were doing weighed heavily on your mind. General Shepard had always made it clear: his daughter was off-limits. He had issued threats before, warning that anyone who even looked at you the wrong way would be dealt with. But even Shepard couldn’t control everything—not the chemistry, not the quiet looks you exchanged with the men of 141 when your father wasn’t watching.

They were all tough, hardened soldiers, but here, in the confines of the med tent, they were vulnerable. And something about that pulled you in closer, even as you worked to patch them up.

The room was dimly lit, and you found yourself alone with them after hours of frantic stitching and disinfecting wounds. Ghost sat still, his mask hiding most of his face, but you could feel the weight of his gaze as you worked on his arm. His voice was quiet, almost soft beneath the rasp.

“You should be careful, y’know. We aren’t supposed to get this close.”

You knew the truth in his words, but the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers and the way he shifted ever so slightly towards you made it hard to think straight. You bit your lip, trying to focus, but the weight of his presence was intoxicating.

“I’m just doing my job,” you replied, though it felt like a half-truth. You could feel his breath, warm against your wrist as you adjusted the bandage. Every movement was calculated, but there was something undeniably electric in the air between you. It wasn’t the first time.

His gloved hand reached up, just brushing your waist, so lightly that you almost missed it. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

You swallowed, your pulse quickening as you glanced over at the others. Price had dozed off in the corner, exhaustion overtaking him, and Gaz had his eyes closed, chest rising and falling slowly, though you doubted he was asleep. Only Soap seemed to notice, his sharp blue eyes flicking toward you and Ghost.

“I think we’re the ones in danger, mate,” Soap muttered under his breath, the teasing note in his voice enough to make you flush.

The next few days were a blur of stitching wounds, checking vitals, and avoiding your father’s looming presence as much as possible. The men healed quickly—quicker than you expected—but as they grew stronger, the tension between all of you only thickened. Each stolen glance, every accidental touch, felt heavier, more charged.

One evening, you found yourself alone with Soap. His shoulder had healed enough that he could move around freely, though you still insisted on checking his bandages. His humor had never dulled, but tonight there was something else in his eyes—something darker, deeper.

“You know,” Soap said, his voice a low rumble, “you’re always takin’ care of us, patching us up. But who’s patching you up, lass?”

The question caught you off guard. You stilled, your fingers resting against his bare shoulder. His skin was warm beneath your touch, the rough texture of scars mapping his muscles. He had always been charming, playful, but there was something different now—an edge to his voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t need patching up,” you whispered, but even you didn’t believe it.

Soap’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, the world outside the tent didn’t exist. No war, no mission, no rules. Just you and him.

“You’ve no idea how much I’ve wanted to kiss you,” he said, his voice barely more than a breath. “But your father…”

You froze, torn between the pull of his words and the reality of the situation. You’d wanted this too, but Shepard’s shadow hung over every thought, every action. If anyone found out…

Soap’s thumb moved to your lips, and you leaned into the touch despite yourself. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, but the tension in his voice told you he didn’t want to hear that.

“I can’t…” you whispered back, though your resolve was fading with every heartbeat.

The forbidden encounters didn’t end there. Price was more cautious, keeping his distance, but his gaze lingered on you longer than it should have. He was the leader, after all—the one who would bear the brunt of your father’s wrath if things went too far. But that didn’t stop him from finding you late one night, after the others had gone to sleep.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, his voice low and gravelly as he cornered you outside the tent. The night air was cool against your skin, but his proximity made it hard to breathe.

“You don’t have to say it,” you replied, trying to maintain some sense of professionalism, though your heart was pounding in your chest.

Price’s hand came up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against your lips. “I’m saying it because I care,” he growled, his lips brushing against yours ever so slightly. “If he finds out…”

“I know,” you whispered, your resolve crumbling as your lips met his in a heated kiss. His mouth was demanding, urgent, as if he knew this could be the only moment you would ever have. The taste of whiskey lingered on his breath, mingling with the scent of smoke and leather, and you melted into him, every thought of consequence slipping away.

It wasn’t long before everything started to unravel. The tension had grown too thick, too palpable, and the others noticed. Gaz, who had always been the quiet observer, finally cornered you one afternoon, his eyes filled with both understanding and frustration.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he said, though there was no anger in his voice—only concern.

“I don’t have a choice,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

But you knew the truth. You did have a choice. You could stop. You could pull away from all of them, follow the rules, and return to your father’s world of safety and order. But the thought of losing them—Soap’s teasing grin, Ghost’s quiet strength, Price’s intensity, Gaz’s steady presence—was unbearable.

That night, when Ghost found you sitting alone outside the camp, he didn’t say a word. He simply sat beside you, the weight of his presence comforting in its silence. After a long while, he spoke, his voice barely audible beneath his mask.

“If you stay, you’ll have to choose.”

You looked at him, your heart aching. “I don’t want to choose.”

His gloved hand rested on yours, warm and steady. “You might not have a choice.”

In the end, you knew the truth. The path you were walking was dangerous, but it was the only one that felt real. You couldn’t imagine a life without them, even if it meant defying your father, breaking the rules, and risking everything.

You made your choice that night beneath the stars, your hand still resting in Ghost’s. It was a choice born not just of passion, but of something deeper—a connection that went beyond the battlefield, beyond the rules of war and family. And as you walked back into the camp, ready to face whatever consequences came your way, you knew one thing for certain:

You were no longer Shepard’s daughter, bound by his rules.

You were your own person.

And you were theirs.

Days passed, but the tension between you and the men of Task Force 141 never eased. Every touch, every shared glance only deepened the connection that had been growing since the moment you first patched them up. Despite General Shepard’s ever-watchful eye, the bond between you and the team had become undeniable.

It was Ghost who broke the silence first. One evening, long after the camp had quieted down and the shadows of night had draped themselves over the tents, he found you again. This time, there were no words exchanged, only a shared understanding. His hand slipped into yours beneath the stars, the cool leather of his gloves warm against your skin. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes. He wasn’t alone this time. Soap, Price, and Gaz emerged from the darkness, standing together in solidarity.

“We’re done hiding,” Price said, his voice steady but filled with conviction. His eyes, dark and intense, locked with yours, and there was no hesitation in them. “We’ve been through hell and back, and we’re not letting this slip through our fingers because of a few orders.”

Soap grinned, that mischievous spark lighting up his eyes. “Aye, love. We’re not the kind to follow rules anyway.”

You felt your heart swell in your chest, the warmth of their presence, their resolve, surrounding you like a shield. They had always been fearless on the battlefield, but this—standing up against General Shepard, against the very regulations that bound them—was a risk none of you could ignore. Still, you knew you couldn’t walk away from them now, not when you’d seen what you could be together.

Ghost’s quiet voice broke the silence. “You’re one of us now.”

His words hit you like a wave, a confirmation of something you’d felt for a long time but had never dared to name. This wasn’t just some fleeting attraction. It was deeper, a bond forged not only in passion but in trust, respect, and the shared understanding that only came from fighting the same battles side by side.

You looked at each of them—Soap’s playful grin, Price’s steady gaze, Gaz’s soft smile, and Ghost’s silent strength—and you knew, without a doubt, that this was where you were meant to be. No matter the consequences.

The day came when General Shepard’s suspicions grew too strong to ignore. You had always been careful—each stolen kiss, each secret night spent in their arms was hidden away behind layers of duty and discipline—but Shepard wasn’t a fool. He knew his men, and he knew you.

When he finally confronted you, his voice was a growl, eyes blazing with fury. “I told them to stay away from you. I made it clear. How could you do this?”

But you didn’t flinch. For the first time, standing in front of your father, you felt no fear. The weight of his authority, his rank, meant nothing compared to the love you had found in the arms of Task Force 141. “Because I love them,” you said, your voice calm but unyielding. “And they love me.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, but you held your ground. In the end, Shepard couldn’t bring himself to punish you or the men. The bond between you all was unbreakable, and not even his orders could tear it apart. He turned his back, bitter but resigned, knowing that some battles, even for a general, couldn’t be won.

In the weeks that followed, the shift in your relationship became impossible to hide, but it didn’t matter. The secrecy, the sneaking around—it was all over. You were theirs, and they were yours. The camp might have whispered, but no one dared say a word against you or Task Force 141. They were legends in their own right, and now, so were you.

You woke one morning to find yourself entangled in their arms, warmth surrounding you. Soap’s body pressed against your back, his arm slung lazily over your waist. On the other side, Ghost lay silent, his breath steady as he rested beside you, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. Price sat at the edge of the bedroll, sipping his coffee as the early morning light filtered into the tent, while Gaz stirred sleepily beside him.

It was a strange, beautiful thing—the way you fit into their world, and they into yours. There was no need for words, no need for explanations. You were a part of them now, just as they were a part of you. The love between you wasn’t bound by convention or tradition, but it was real, and that was all that mattered.

And as you drifted back to sleep, surrounded by their warmth and the quiet strength of their presence, you knew one thing for certain: you were home.

Hope you enjoyed! Please like or reblog!- Midnight💜

[sainzboxd]

like a cat | miguel o’hara

pairing : miguel o’hara x reader

warnings/tags : implied shower sex, mirror sex, kinda mean dom!miguel o’hara x sub!reader, good ole p in v action, clit stimulation, the use of the word slut once, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it irl), breeding kink,

wc: 762

author’s note: wasn’t proofread at all..posting this as i am about to head to bed rah. one of those ‘felt cute might delete later posts’ haven’t actually seen atsv so no spoilers i think, also let’s talk about miguel’s fangs ugggggh.

miguel loved control. you would think that leading a secret society of spider-people would satisfy him but no it’s just too much stress. chasing anomalies after anomalies tired him out and what he needs is a break.

what he needs is you.

he knew that you were waiting for him to come home, heck he knew you were worried sick. he hasn’t been home for a few days, so when they finally finished their mission on another earth, he practically ran home to your dimension.

finally reaching home, he ransacked the place looking for you. you were in the shower hearing your name being called out from outside. you turn the water off, calling for him. miguel couldn’t wait, he enters the bathroom drunk on the thought of you and what he wants to do to you.

“eyes up princesa.” he demands you look at the mirror adjacent his bed. your eyes catching his, it’s been a few days since you last saw him. it was clear that you both missed the feeling of each other. you’re his sweet girl, and

he’s been thinking about having you this way for days.

his hand lands on your ass, as he continues pounding into you, still keeping eye contact with each other despite you having a hard time complying with his command. you mewled as he kept hitting your pleasure point, you forced yourself not to look away from the mirror.

“so beautiful like this.” he says. the view you’re seeing was breathtaking, miguel’s hands gripping your hips, as he pounds into you with ease, his actions shaking the bed, your boobs swaying every time he inserts his length into you.

you hear him groan as you clench your walls around him. your eyes brimming with tears–you were so fucked out, you were reaching your fourth orgasm of the night and miguel was far from finished from toying with you.

“i-i can’t.” you say, looking down. the man behind you halts his actions, slapping your ass before pulling your hair back to look at the mirror in front of you. he leans into your ear, his fangs resting at the side of your neck, he was warning you… “take what i’m giving you, slut.” he says, before going back inside you.

you moan as he pushes deeper, each thrust getting harsher and harsher, you call out his name, gripping the sheets underneath you tighter as you feel your orgasm coming up. “fuck miguel- i’m- i’m gonna cum.” miguel takes his right hand off of your hips, directing it towards your clit, gently rubbing it in circles helping you in reaching your high.

“love seeing you like this honey. what do you say? should i put a baby in you ? hmm?” you get wetter at the thought. you arch your back towards him more, heaving breaths leave you as you get closer.

“you like that huh?” he taunts.

your neighbors probably hate you by now… how long have you two been at it? an hour? maybe two? you weren’t sure, but you were sure as hell this is the loudest you’re being.

miguel was cursing, groaning as he nears his climax, his movements become sharper as he’s focused on getting you both to chase your highs. “ah fuck, im close” he groans as you reach your peak, your walls clenching against him, squeezing his dick in you, your whines being drowned out by his moans, as he fucks you through your orgasm.

he finishes inside of you. you moan at the feeling of emptiness as he removes his dick from your hole. you practically plop on the bed, tired from the night you both just had.

you were about to say goodnight but miguel had other plans. he moves your body to face his. still on top of you, he kisses your neck, you feel his sharp fangs against your skin as his kisses move down. he spreads your legs, kissing your inner thighs before licking a line through your slit. you gasp as he sucks on your clit.. “m-miguel-“ you stuttered.

he chuckles lowly, and smirks. “what ? did you think i was done with you?“

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER NINETEEN: INTERTWINED, SEWN TOGETHER

← back to chapter list

SUMMARY ↳ And the universe said, "I love you." You stare at them. "Infinite universes. Infinite possibilities." pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: none wc: 4.6k

It’s nighttime in Gotham, a city of shadows and contrasts that you've come to know well. The skyline is a jagged silhouette against the dark canvas of the night sky, punctuated by the occasional glimmer of lights from skyscrapers and streetlamps below.

You swing gracefully through the city, the rhythm of your movements second nature after months of navigating these streets. The cool breeze brushes against you, carrying with it the faint scent of rain and distant echoes of Gotham's perpetual hustle.

Arriving at a familiar rooftop, you land softly and take a moment to survey your surroundings. Oftentimes this is where, Damian and Jon often met you, a secluded spot where you can discuss plans, share moments of quiet, or simply enjoy each other's company away from the chaos of your nightly duties.

Tonight, however, the rooftop is empty when you arrive. The absence of their familiar presence gives you a moment to reflect on everything that has brought you to this point—the life you’ve led, the friendships you cherish, and the burgeoning feelings that have taken root in your heart.

You find yourself replaying conversations and moments in your mind, Jon's warmth and Damian's complexities intertwined with your own thoughts and uncertainties. The city seems to hold its breath around you, as if waiting for your next move.

You don’t get to, because you feel a sudden and violent gust of wind, and then there’s someone right behind you.

“[Name],” Jon breathes, pajamas and all. You turn around slowly, senses buzzing at his presence.

He takes two half-hearted steps towards you, before using his speed to get right in front of you in the split of a second. He reaches out a hand, almost instinctively, as if to steady you or perhaps himself. His gaze searches yours, his expression a mix of relief and something more complicated, something you can't quite decipher in the dim rooftop light.

“It’s you. It’s really you,” he says, reverently. His eyes trace your face, taking in every feature. “There’s no one else with that heartbeat.”

And, fuck, if that doesn’t just completely do you over.

He places his hands on your arms tightly, pulling you to him. As if you’ll disappear if he isn’t holding onto you. “What happened? Where were you?”

You try to speak, but no words come out. “You were just gone. I couldn’t hear you at all,” he whispers. He spots the Web-Watch. “What is this? Did whoever took you put it on you? Is it hurting you?”

His hand wanders over to it, and you suddenly remember how you first got stuck here in the first place. You snatch your wrist out of his range, because his strength is no joke. He looks at you confused. “It’s mine,” you choke out.

Jon's eyes narrow slightly, searching yours as if trying to unravel the mystery that surrounds you. He grabs your hands in his, gently bringing them up his face. “[Name], [Name][Name][Name],” he mutters. His lips move against your fingers, breath warm. “We’ve been searching for you everywhere.”

“I’m sorry.”

He closes his eyes tight and shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.” Jon's grip on you loosens slightly, his eyes flickering with a mixture of relief and lingering worry. "We missed you," he admits quietly. "Damian's been impossible, you know. He wouldn't rest until..."

You sigh deeply. “I honestly… didn’t think you’d care all that much,” you manage, your voice barely a whisper against the backdrop of the city's distant sounds.

“Why wouldn’t we care?” he near growls, looking at you fiercely. “With how we feel–” he cuts himself, breathing deeply. Jon's expression softens, his gaze holding yours with a depth of emotion that resonates through the quiet rooftop air. His hands remain on yours, a gentle warmth that anchors you in the moment. "I didn't think I'd see you again," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asks, hands moving to run down your sides. It feels nice.

“No.” Your hands lay gently on his, not moving them. “I need to tell you something. You and Damian.”

Jon's hands pause their gentle exploration, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that reflects both concern and a hint of apprehension. The rooftop seems to hold its breath around you, the city's distant sounds providing a muted backdrop to this moment of intimacy and vulnerability.

“Can you take us to the Den? To talk?”

"The Den," he repeats softly, as if testing the idea. "Yeah, we can go there. Whatever you need." His voice carries a reassurance, tinged with an unspoken question. "Are you sure you're okay to talk about this now?" Oh, Jon. Ever the sweetheart.

You nod, taking a moment to steady yourself. "You deserve to know.”

He scoops you up in his arms tentatively. His eyes linger on your form wrapped in his arms, almost longingly. He sighs when he feels your arms wrapped around his neck. He flies you across the city, urgent but at the same time leisurely. Trying to savor whatever time with you.

As you arrive, Jon gently sets you down, his concern apparent and his touch gentle. The Den's interior is familiar and comforting, the place a testament to your resilience. It looks just like you left it, like it was frozen in time. The sight of it makes your heart squeeze.

His hands gently cup your face, turning you to him. “I’m gonna go get Dami,” he says, not making any move to let you go.

Your gaze is filled with infinite amounts of fondness for the boy. “I’ll be here,” you promise. You bring your hands to his face and angle him so you lay a sweet and cherished kiss on his cheek. “I promise.”

His eyes fall to your lips for a few aching seconds before he nods.  Jon lingers for a moment longer, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek before he reluctantly pulls away.

"I'll be right back," he murmurs, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance as he turns to leave the Den.

You watch Jon go, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness settle in your chest. Alone in the quiet of the Den, you take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. . The soft light from the fairy lights cast gentle shadows around you, creating a cocoon of solitude.

Minutes stretch into a timeless space, each second filled with the weight of anticipation. You find yourself replaying moments with Jon—his earnest concern, the warmth in his touch, and the unspoken emotions that seemed to hover between you both. Damian's complex presence also flickers through your thoughts, his sharp wit and guarded vulnerability leave an undeniable mark on your heart.

Finally, the soft sound of footsteps heralds Jon's return. He enters with Damian in tow, the atmosphere shifting subtly with their presence. Damian's expression is a mix of relief and something harder to define—perhaps a blend of concern and guarded hope. He approaches with a measured stride, his posture betraying a readiness to hear whatever you have to say.

Jon moves to stand beside you, a reassuring presence at your side. His hand finds yours, offering silent support and encouragement. Damian's gaze flickers between you and Jon, his demeanor a mix of curiosity and a hint of apprehension. 

"Where have you been?" Damian demands, his voice edged with a mixture of relief and frustration.

Jon looks at him sternly, and, surprisingly (is it really, though?), Damian’s demeanor stutters. The silent signal calms his initial intensity. His gaze softens fractionally as he looks back at you. Damian contemplates for a moment, before sighing and approaching you. He takes you in with a mix of guarded concern and curiosity, his usual stoic demeanor softened slightly by the relief of seeing you safe. 

“Beloved,” he mutters without constraint. His use of the endearment catches you off guard, a rare display of vulnerability from someone so often guarded. It almost makes you want to cry. He takes your face in his hands, the same way Jon did.

You feel his fingers trace your lips, a gesture that speaks volumes in its tenderness. Damian's gaze searches yours, his usually sharp eyes softened by an emotion you rarely see openly displayed. "Where have you been?"

"I thought... we thought..." he continues, voice faltering for a moment, as if grappling with the weight of his own emotions. "Are you hurt?" he asks quietly, his concern palpable in every word.

You shake your head slowly, overcome by the intensity of the moment and the flood of emotions that threaten to spill over. "I'm okay," you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible in the quiet of the Den.

Damian exhales sharply, a mixture of relief and lingering tension leaving his frame. He pulls you into a tight embrace, surprising you with the strength and earnestness of his hold. His arms wrap around you protectively, as if to shield you from any harm that might dare to approach.

"I wasn't sure if you would return," Damian admits quietly, his tone tinged with a mix of vulnerability and something deeper, something you're beginning to recognize as a bond that goes beyond mere partnership or friendship.

Jon's presence beside you feels like a grounding force, and as Damian's arms wrap around you, you realize just how much you missed this—missed them. You close your eyes, letting yourself be enveloped by the warmth of their concern and the strength of their embrace. It's a moment that transcends words, a silent affirmation of the bond you share with them.

When Damian finally releases you, his gaze still holds that unspoken question, the need to understand where you've been and why you were gone. You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to share the truth with them, to lay bare the secrets that have kept you apart.

Silence stretches between you, filled with words not said and emotions too raw to name. Finally, Damian breaks the silence, his voice steady yet filled with a quiet plea. "Don't disappear again."

You squeeze his hand gently, a silent promise passing between you. "I won't," you assure him, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your heart. You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to share the truth with them, to lay bare the secrets that have kept you apart. Jon and Damian's eyes remain locked on you, their concern and anticipation on display in the quiet of the Den.

"Where do I even start?" you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. "There’s a lot you don’t know about me, things I’ve kept hidden because…well, because I thought it was for the best." Jon's hand tightens around yours in silent support, while Damian's expression remains intense and focused, waiting for you to continue.

“I’m not from here,” you state, hesitant be damned. You’ve spent far too long hesitating. “I’m from Earth-143258 in an alternate universe.”

Jon and Damian exchange a glance, their expressions shifting from confusion to curiosity. Jon's grip on your hand tightens slightly, while Damian's intense focus on you doesn't waver.

“A universe where you, where the Justice League and Gotham and Metropolis don’t exist…” you look at them, “...outside of a series of comics.”

Damian's brow furrows, and Jon's eyes widen with a mix of intrigue and concern. The weight of your revelation hangs heavy in the air, the enormity of it settling in their minds.

"A different universe," Damian echoes, his voice filled with a blend of skepticism and curiosity. "And in this universe, we're...fictional?"

You nod, feeling the intensity of their gazes. "Yes. In my world, you’re all characters in comic books, movies, TV shows... You’re heroes in stories, legends. But here, you're real."

“A man named Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man of Earth-928, made an autonomous multiverse jump using a device like this.” You lift up your wrist to show them the Web-Watch. “Using it, he amassed an elite force of others like him from different universes. Including me.”

“Karen, would you mind?” you ask. Suddenly, a hologram forms, showing the intricate base of operations that is the Spider-HQ. “Our purpose is to protect the multiverse from anomalies and threats that could destroy entire realities. Sometimes people end up in the wrong universe, and we send them back to their home universe as well.” The hologram casts a gentle glow on their faces. “We call it the Spider-Society.”

The hologram shifts, changing into a bright tree. An intricate veil of webs expands around you, filling the space. “This is all of us. All of our lives woven together in a web.” You take a moment to admire the image. “The web of the multiverse.”

Jon and Damian stare at the hologram, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief. The tree of webs illuminates the Den, casting intricate shadows that seem to weave the narrative you’re sharing. Jon's grip on your hand remains firm, a silent anchor as you delve deeper into your explanation.

“All of our stories are pretty much the same. We get bit by a radioactive spider that gives us powers, and we use those powers to help people.”

Damian listens intently, his usual skepticism softened by the gravity of your words. He glances at Jon, silently exchanging a look that conveys both their shared disbelief and the realization that your story, no matter how fantastical, is being delivered with sincerity.

“Was there an… anomaly in our universe then?” ask Damian, looking at you.

“No,” you sigh. “I was never supposed to be here.”

Your legs carry you closer to the hologram, Jon following in an effort to not lose his grip on you. “I found a particle accelerator. Most of the time that means nothing good. Turns out, an alternate version of me,” you emphasize, “[Name] [L.Name], had gotten stuck in my universe and was just trying to get home. But seeing me,” you pause, taking a breath.

“All they saw was someone trying to get in their way. They activated the particle accelerator and threw me in it.” You turn to look at them. “That’s how I ended up here.”

Damian and Jon exchange a glance, their expressions a mix of disbelief and concern. Jon's grip on your hand tightens slightly, his eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and determination.

“So, you’ve been… lost all this time?” Jon asks softly, his voice carrying the weight of the revelation.

“The whole reason I wanted to create the badassium was so I could use it to power another watch,” you say, looking down at it. “Since other me destroyed it.”

“A while ago, they visited me. In this universe.” You look at Jon. “On New Years.” You watch as recognition flickers in his eyes. “You can imagine how well I reacted.”

“That’s why you were crying,” he says softly in realization. “Suddenly seeing the reason you were… stuck.”

“I told them to find Miguel O’hara. And he did, a week ago.”

Jon's hand brushes your cheek gently, his touch a comforting presence amidst the weight of your words. Damian stands nearby, his expression unreadable as he processes the implications of your story.

“So, this entire time,” he begins, voice hinting with disbelief, “while we have been over ourselves with worry that you were somewhere hurt–”

“Damian,” cuts in Jon sternly.

Damian ignores him. “You were enjoying yourself, finally home and away from this cursed place you got stuck in? Somewhere we couldn’t even begin to look for you? Is that it?”

Your heart sinks at Damian's words, his anger and frustration cutting deeply. You can see the mix of emotions in his eyes—relief, betrayal, confusion—all battling for dominance.

“No,” you whisper desperately. “No, it wasn’t like that. In fact, the whole time I was home I couldn’t focus on being happy because I was focused on you,” you state. “On how I left things and how I wished I could explain everything to you but who could I when there’s such a disconnect between us–” you choke, cutting yourself off.

“Didn’t you think we cared? That we deserved to know?”

You flinch at his words, the truth of them hitting harder than you expected. “I… I didn’t know what to think,” you admit quietly, meeting Damian’s gaze with a mix of regret and vulnerability. “In my world, you’re… different. Fictional. I never expected…” Your voice trails off, unable to find the right words to express the complexity of your emotions.

“I would’ve never even considered the possibility of your existence before now,” you whisper. “I really should’ve known better.”

You stare at them. “Infinite universes. Infinite possibilities.”

“Then why didn’t you stay?” Damian asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “If you were finally home, why come back?”

You take a deep breath, the weight of Damian's question hanging in the air. Your gaze shifts between Jon and Damian, their eyes reflecting the depth of their concern and the complexity of their feelings.

“How could I?” you ask them. “After everything, how could you expect me not to feel the way I feel?”

"When I first got here," you continue, "I felt lost, out of place. But then I met you both, and everything changed. You became my friends, my partners, my family. The thought of leaving you behind... pretending everything that happened never happened. It was unbearable."

“You're real,” you say softly. “Everything about you, and everything I feel about you is real.”

Silence descends upon the Den, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Damian's gaze remains fixed on you, his usual guarded demeanor momentarily faltering under the weight of your sincerity. You feel Jon’s grip on you tighten, a constant presence of support and understanding at your side.

You breathe in. “I’m telling you this now, because you deserve to know. And if you’ll have me..”

Looking at them now is like looking at destiny. “I’d like to stay in your lives.”

Damian's expression softens imperceptibly, his gaze lingering on you with a mixture of contemplation and something deeper that you can't quite decipher. Jon squeezes your hand gently, a silent reassurance that speaks volumes amidst the unspoken tension in the room. They look at each other for a heart stopping moment.

"Beloved," Damian murmurs softly, his voice holding a rare vulnerability. "You've been missed."

Jon nods in agreement, his eyes conveying a depth of emotion that mirrors your own. "We want you here," he says quietly, his voice a steady anchor in the midst of uncertainty.

You nod, a weight lifting from your shoulders as you step closer to them. Jon's arms wrap around you first, pulling you into a warm embrace that feels like coming home. Damian joins, his embrace steady and reassuring, his presence a grounding force amidst the whirlwind of emotions. 

You take a deep breath, feeling the warmth of their embrace resonate deep within you. "Thank you," you say, your voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you for choosing me.”

Jon presses a gentle kiss to your temple, and Damian's hand finds yours, his grip firm and reassuring. "We always will," Jon vows, his voice steady.

“Well,” starts Jon, grabbing your shoulder to turn you to face him. “If it’s no trouble, I’d really like to kiss you now.”

Your chuckle breaks the tension, and you nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. Jon's eyes light up with a mix of relief and affection as he leans in, his lips meeting yours in a tender, heartfelt kiss.

It’s different from Damian’s kiss. His lips move in tandem against yours, intertwined, sewn together. His hands rest on your waist, squeezing lightly.

Jon's kiss is a symphony of warmth and tenderness, a stark contrast to the urgency and passion that often defines Damian's touch. You can feel the depth of his emotions in every gentle movement of his lips, the way he holds you as if you're the most precious thing in his world. The kiss is a promise, a reassurance, and a declaration all at once.

Damian watches the exchange with a soft, almost imperceptible smile. He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your chin, tilting your face towards him. "Beloved," he murmurs, his voice a low, intimate rumble. "My turn."

His kiss is different from Jon's—more intense, a reflection of his complex emotions and the guarded vulnerability he's allowed himself to show. It's a kiss that speaks of his longing, his relief.  When he finally pulls back, his eyes search yours, seeking reassurance.

Later that night, you sit between Jon and Damian, cuddled up on a worn-out couch in the Den, the soft glow of the fairy lights casting a warm light around the room. Small talk fills the space.

“Wait, so, Wonder Woman doesn’t exist, but Thor, God of thunder, does?” asks Jon. You’re not paying all that much attention to him since the feeling of his fingers caressing your side is quite distracting.

“I guess the universe picked and chose,” you hum.

“So there’s no Justice League?”

“There's the Avengers,” you say. “Just as cool as the Justice League. And they’re my friends,” you grin triumphantly.

Damian listens quietly, eyes lidded and content. “Were you a fan of these comics you mentions earlier?”

Your grin turns a little shy. “Maybe just a little bit.”

Jon's fingers trace idle patterns on your arm, a comforting gesture that grounds you in the present moment. "Does that mean you know all our secrets?" he teases lightly, a playful glint in his eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, matching his playful tone. “I don’t need pre-knowledge to figure out all I need to know about you.” Your hand flattens against his chest, rubbing along it.

Jon sighs at your touch, eyes fluttering. “Smooth,” he murmurs, leaning in to press his lips to yours. You melt into the kiss, the warmth of Jon’s lips against yours sending a shiver down your spine. His hand moves to cup your cheek tenderly, his touch gentle yet filled with a quiet intensity that speaks of promises and shared moments.

Across from you, Damian watches with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, his gaze lingering on the intimacy between you and Jon. He clears his throat, drawing your attention. “As much as I appreciate witnessing this... display of affection,” he says, voice tinged with a hint of dry humor, “perhaps now is not the time.”

Jon presses a few more kisses to your lips before breaking away. “You’re just jealous,” Jon teases, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied grin.

Damian rolls his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitch upward in a rare display of amusement. “Hardly. You two are insatiable.”

“Insatiable is right,” you mutter, staring at Damian’s lips.

Damian raises an eyebrow at your comment, a hint of amusement coloring his expression. "I beg your pardon?"

You shrug, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I mean, you're not exactly innocent in all of this," you tease, leaning closer to him. "The way you kissed me back then..."

You turn back to look at Jon. “Did you know he picked me up and pinned me against the wall?”

Jon’s eyes widen in mock surprise, his playful demeanor matching yours. “Did he now?” he asks, leaning closer with exaggerated curiosity. “You have to tell me all about it.”

Damian's cheeks color slightly, but he meets your teasing with a smirk. "I don't recall you complaining," he retorts, his voice laced with amusement.

You move, placing yourself on Damian’s lap, and wrapping your arms around his neck. Damian's hands settle comfortably around your waist as you settle on his lap, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of amusement and something deeper, a warmth that lingers beneath his usual stoic demeanor. Jon watches the exchange with a playful grin, leaning back against the couch as he enjoys your dynamic.

Damian’s expression softens slightly, his sharp features betraying a hint of the turmoil beneath. “I… I apologize for my earlier insensitivity,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a rare humility. “It’s… difficult to process.”

You lean forward, your hands playing with Damian's hair as you look into his eyes. "Don’t apologize," you say softly. "I get it."

Damian's gaze softens as he meets your eyes, his usual guarded demeanor giving way to a vulnerability that speaks volumes. "Thank you," he murmurs quietly, his voice holding a depth of emotion that resonates through the quiet of the Den.

Jon watches the exchange with a soft smile, his hand finding yours once more as he leans in closer. "We're here for you," he says gently, his voice a steady reassurance amidst the lingering tension.

You smile warmly, leaning in to press a kiss to Damian's forehead. "We're in this together," you assure him, your voice filled with sincerity. Jon leans in from his spot beside you, pressing a kiss to Damian's cheek with a fond grin.

Oh, you remember something. “You know what I found out?” A small grin spreads across your face. “I went to have a talk with alternate me.” Your finger gently traces patterns on Damian’s chest. “Found out something really interesting.”

“And what would that be?” Damian mutters, subdued by your touch. Jon’s hand comes up to rest on your back.

“Most of us Spider’s usually have the same people in our lives,” you begin, voice dropping. “A Gwen Stacy, an MJ, maybe a Felicia Hardy,” you lift your head to look at Damian. “AKA, the Spider’s very own cat burglar, Black Cat.” Damian raises a brow at that.

“However, they didn’t have any of those people. You know what they did have, though?” you ask, pausing for dramatic effect.

“They had you two,” you say softly, gaze shifting between them. “Damian Wayne and Jon Kent. Not Superboy or Robin, just completely normal people.” Jon and Damian exchange a glance, their expressions reflecting a mix of surprise and contemplation.

“I love you,” you say, smiling softly. “I love you in every universe.”

Jon stares at you, his eyes filled with a mix of awe and affection. He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, a silent affirmation of his feelings.  Damian looks up at you like you're a thing to be worshiped, face one of awe. “We love you too,” he murmurs, his voice carrying a depth of emotion that resonates through the quiet of the Den.

Jon sighs contentedly, leaning back into the couch with a smile. "I don't think I'll ever get used to hearing that," he admits, his voice smitten.

You laugh softly, the warmth of their affection enveloping you in a cocoon of happiness. "Get used to it," you tease gently, resting your head against Damian's shoulder. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

Damian's hand finds yours, his touch grounding and reassuring. "We wouldn't want you to," he murmurs, his voice a soft whisper that echoes through the room.

Jon nods in agreement, his gaze never leaving yours. "You're stuck with us," he says with a playful grin, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your forehead.

The three of you settle into a comfortable silence, the Den filled with the quiet intimacy of shared moments and spoken promises. As the night stretches on, you find yourself surrounded by the warmth of their presence, knowing that in this moment, and in the countless moments to come, you've found who you truly belong with.

Wrapped in their embrace, you let all your worries wash away, the echoes of their voices and the steady rhythm of their hearts lulling you into a state of peace. In the quiet darkness of the Den, amidst the city's distant hum, you find solace in the knowledge that you are home—at last, and always—with Jon and Damian by your side.

notes: see you guys sunday for the epilogue :)

[strayrockette]

My Sunshine Girl: She Sees Red

Summary: After a chaotic bar fight, Benny guides you home, tending to your wounds and offering reassurance with his steadfast care and comforting presence.

Warnings: violence, blood, jealous and angry reader, Benny Cross and grammar mistakes

A/N: This one is a long one, I thought about splitting it but then the format starts to feel clunky so here yah go! Enjoy ❤️ Please comment your thoughts or for a tag, like and reblog❤️😌

Masterlist

My Sunshine Girl Series: The Celebration, The End of the Night, Family Dinner

Inspiration: He’s Mine by The Platters

Benny’s hands guided yours over the cue stick, his long fingers leaving traces of heat on your skin. “Just aim at the white ball, but don’t hit it too hard or you’ll send the others flying off the table,” he instructed softly, his voice a soothing murmur against the clamor of the bar. The warmth of his touch seeped through the thin fabric of your shirt, mingling with the adrenaline surging through you. His proximity was intoxicating, a blend of warmth and solid strength that made your pulse quicken in ways you tried hard to ignore.

You leaned over the pool table, his body pressed intimately into your side. Every slight movement of his chest against your own sent a shiver down your spine. Benny was absorbed in the game, his focus locked onto the table, seemingly oblivious to the effect he had on you. You found yourself mesmerized by the way his biceps flexed with every shot he took. The simple act of him guiding you, the closeness of his body, and the gentle caress of his fingers on yours filled you with a confusing mix of desire and nervous excitement. It was as if each small touch of his hand was a spark, lighting up every nerve in your body.

You stepped away from him, adjusting the cue stick with a nervous tremble. The weight of the game pressed heavily on you. Wahoo and Corky leaned against a nearby table, their casual banter punctuated by Wahoo’s impatience. “Come on, Sunshine, you’re giving me blue balls with this game,” he teased, his tone light but edged with frustration.

Benny ignored their chattering, casting you an encouraging smile that felt like a warm embrace. “You got this, baby.”

The heat rose to your cheeks, a blush blooming under the intensity of his gaze. You shook your head, trying to hold back a smile. “You put money on this game, handsome.”

You hadn’t anticipated Benny pulling you into a pool game. You’d tried to hand the cue stick back, but he was insistent, eager to teach you. His shrug was nonchalant, his confidence unwavering. “I’ll win it back next round. Don’t worry about it.”

As you glanced at the table, you saw the game was nearing its end. Benny had a shot at the 8 ball, while Wahoo had just one red solid ball left. If you missed your shot, you’d give Wahoo the chance to turn the game in his favor. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on your shoulders. The thought of losing for Benny filled you with dread, an almost physical ache of sympathy for his potential loss. “But… it’s your money,” you protested, looking up at him with serious eyes and a worried pout.

Benny chuckled, shaking his head dismissively. “Exactly, it’s my money. I’ll take care of it.” He gently turned you back toward the pool table, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His hands, warm and guiding, made your thoughts scatter, and you struggled to focus on the game.

He stepped away, giving you space, and moved to the longer side of the table. “If you hit the white ball at a slight right angle, you’ll make it.”

The cue stick felt unfamiliar in your hands, and the act of bending over the table was awkward. You were grateful that Benny had positioned you where no one was standing behind you. His eyes darted between the table and the surroundings, vigilant for any unwanted attention. Wahoo and Corky, though they might have made jokes, were respectful enough not to make lewd comments.

You took a deep breath, steadying your nerves. As you lined up the shot, you closed your eyes briefly, trying to block out the noise and focus solely on the feel of the cue stick. You could almost sense Benny's presence behind you, his confidence a comforting anchor amidst the mounting pressure. You struck the cue ball with a firm yet careful push, feeling the vibrations travel up the stick and into your hands. The thud of the ball hitting the others seemed to echo in your chest.

Benny’s smile was radiant, and it was reserved for just you. “I told you; I knew you could do it.”

You blinked, your eyes widening as you looked at the table. With a squeal of triumph, you released the cue stick, its thin body hitting the floor with a soft thud. You leapt into Benny’s arms, relief flooding through you. “I’m so glad I didn’t lose that for you,” you exclaimed.

His arms wrapped around you, his deep chuckle resonating through his chest. “You wouldn’t have lost the game. Wahoo would have fumbled. He always does.”

You laughed, pulling away slightly, your hands resting on his chest. Benny’s hands lingered, keeping you close. “That was fun, but never make me responsible for winning again. It’s too stressful.”

You toyed with the fabric of his shirt, feeling the intensity of his gaze. He hummed softly, his voice low and intimate. “Win or lose, I’m all in. It doesn’t matter to me.”

You caught the hidden meaning in his words. His eyes, often so playful, were now serious and full of emotion. The way he looked at you made your heart flutter, and you couldn’t help but tease him a bit. “Well then,” you said with a playful smirk, “I guess I should just lose all your games then.”

Benny’s eyes traveled over your face; his gaze clouded with a deep, intense emotion. His voice, deep as honey, pulled you closer. “I’ll just collect a losers fee”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, kissing you softly. The kiss was sweet, tender—much like the way he held you at night. He tugged gently on your bottom lip, his touch making you shiver as you pulled him closer, fingers threading into his hair.

“Ay, get a room before Benny boy decides to bash some heads in for looking at ya, Sunny!” Corky’s voice cut through the moment. He held three beers, while Wahoo, who was laughing, clapped Corky on the back.

“Yeah, we don’t need a repeat of the other night,” Wahoo added, once he caught his breath.

You pulled away from Benny abruptly, missing the warmth and closeness of his embrace. Benny shot a glare at the two, but he knew they were right. He was protective of you, and some of the men didn’t understand the chaos they’d invite by making inappropriate comments.

He watched you walk away, your dark jeans tight around your hips and thighs. Your pale pink shirt clinging to your waist and chest.

He remembered the short skirt you had worn when he first saw you, and the cute dresses you wore on nights out. He knew you’d been opting for less revealing attire recently. and he thinks about taking you out somewhere nice where you can where your cute dresses and skirts. The thought sends shivers through his body. A fire raging in his belly.

Wahoo snapped his fingers in front of Benny’s face, pulling him from his rising want and need for you.

Wahoo unbothered and unaware of Benny’s struggle asked a question. “We betting on a new game or what?”

Benny’s eyes refocused on you, your head bent close to one of your girls. He recognized her as Kathy, and saw you animatedly recounting a story, hands moving dramatically. You looked happy, and safe, and Benny decided he could leave you for a while. He placed his bet on the next game, intending to win enough money for a special gift for you.

“GET OUT?!” Kathy’s voice rose, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Did you really say that to Didi?” You nodded; excitement was evident on your face. “And then I led him to a table and gave him a menu.”

Kathy smirked. “So what? You fell in love at first sight?”

You shrugged, a hint of uncertainty in your smile. “I guess? I knew my life would change after meeting him, but I don’t know if I can say I love him.”

Kathy gave you a side-eye. “The way you were kissing by the pool table tells me otherwise.”

You gasped, stammering. “Th-that’s just a kiss! I wasn’t declaring my undying love.”

Kathy pursed her lips, her gaze intense. “So, you gonna let another man touch you?”

You recoiled at the thought. “Ew, no.”

She nodded, satisfied. “You’re in deep, Sunny.”

You laughed; a bit self-conscious. “I guess I am, pumpkin.”

Kathy burst into laughter, slapping your thigh playfully. The conversation shifted as she told you about Cal’s persistent visits to her house. Her ex had gotten too rough, and Cal had helped her throw him out. Relief washed over you that Kathy had managed to escape that situation.

The topic of Cal’s pursuit turned into a giggle-fest as Kathy explained his unwavering interest. “I think he likes the chase. Who knows, maybe I’ll give in.”

You poked her ribs, advising her not to make him suffer too long. The way Cal looked at her was almost too much to bear; his puppy-dog eyes were heartbreaking.

At some point, you returned to the pool table, Kathy having slipped away to see if Cal would take her home. Benny had removed his jacket and handed it to you, which you draped over your shoulders with ease, enjoying the extra coverage it provided.

You leaned against a wall, watching Benny’s intense focus as he played yet another betting game. He was on a winning streak, the tension of each game palpable. As he won this one too, he pocketed the money and stashed it into his back pocket.

He approached you, towering over you as he leaned down to peck your lips. He informed you he was stepping outside for a smoke. As his fingers delved into his jacket pocket, pulling out his cigarettes and lighter, you grabbed his arm, pulling him closer. “Another one, please?”

Benny’s blue eyes locked onto yours, a storm of intensity brewing within them. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead instead of your lips, before turning away. His touch lingered in your mind, leaving you with a sense of warmth and longing as he walked away.

You shook off the lingering thoughts, letting out a sigh as you decided a quick bathroom break was necessary before tracking him down for a real kiss, you nearly let out a giggle at the thought but stifled it as you made your way to the women’s bathroom.

Stepping out of the stall, you felt a rush of relief as you made your way to the sink. The bathroom, dimly lit and compact, offered a brief escape from the bar’s cacophony. Carefully, you removed Benny’s oversized jacket, its warmth still lingering from where you’d been wearing it. You hung it on the hook by the sinks, adjusting it so it draped neatly.

As you turned on the faucet and began washing your hands, the bathroom door swung open with a loud creak, and three women barged in. Their laughter and chatter immediately filled the small space, their presence abruptly shifting the mood.

“I told you; he was a looker!” the first one exclaimed, her voice carrying an edge of jealousy as she brushed past you to the mirror. A brief glance at them through the mirror and your heart sunk. You remembered seeing them eye you from a corner of the bar they had secluded for their group.

“And that kiss!” the second added, her tone dripping with mockery. “Did you see how he couldn’t keep his hands off her?”

You tried to ignore their comments, knowing that they were talking about you and Benny. You focused on your reflection in the mirror as you washed your hands. You hoped if you stayed silent they would back off. But the women seemed to take your silence as an invitation to escalate their comments.

The third woman, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke, her gaze fixed with sharp appraisal on Benny’s jacket hanging on the hook. “Oh, look who it is. The girl who’s got Benny all wrapped around her finger.”

You rolled your eyes, As if their body language and mocking tone wasn’t enough to let me know it’s me they’re talking about.

The first woman, not deterred by your lack of response, leaned in closer, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “I guess Benny’s got a real thing for you, huh? Must be nice to have him wrapped around your little finger.”

You remained silent, forcing yourself to stay calm. Their tone and invasive presence were beginning to grate on your nerves.

The second woman stepped forward, her eyes narrowing as she took in the sight of Benny’s jacket draped over the hook. “Yeah, it’s so cute how you think you’re special just because he gave you, his jacket. Real big shot, aren’t you?”

You let out a slow, measured breath, trying to keep your composure. “Does it matter what I think?.”

You don’t want to entertain their mocking and taunting. Tonight was meant to be a nice relief from working a double shift at the diner.

The third woman scoffed, clearly not satisfied with your response. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so stuck-up. We’re just curious. How does it feel to be the center of attention all the time? Benny must really like you.”

You glanced at them through the mirror, your patience wearing thin. You turn the faucet off and flick your hands into the sink, “I’m not looking for attention. I’m just trying to enjoy my night.”

Before you could reach for a napkin to dry your hands, the first woman reached for the jacket, grabbing it with a possessive grip. “Well, if you’re not interested in talking, maybe we’ll just take this as a little souvenir.”

Your heart dropped as you stepped forward, pulling the jacket back. “Let go”

The second woman laughed mockingly; her eyes gleaming with malice. “Oh, is little miss perfect going to have a tantrum now?”

Ignoring their taunts, you tightened your grip on the jacket, trying to hold your ground. “Seriously, just leave me alone.”

But they weren’t finished. The third woman, who had been quieter but no less antagonistic, added with a smirk, “What’s the matter? Afraid we’ll mess up your perfect little night?”

As you struggled to maintain your calm, the first woman yanked on the jacket with a sudden force. You stumbled, unable to hold on as she managed to snatch it from your grasp. She slipped it on with a triumphant grin, the oversized jacket swallowing her smaller frame. Your breath hitched, a heavy feeling rising in your chest.

The sight of her parading around in Benny’s jacket, with a smirk of victory on her face, filled you with an intense pang of jealousy. It was as if the jacket, a symbol of Benny’s affection, was being flaunted in front of you, mocking your connection. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, and the rush of emotion left you feeling lightheaded.

“Hey!” you snapped, unable to keep your frustration in check. “Give that back!”

The first woman tossed her head back in a laugh, her tone dripping with contempt. “Oh, what’s the matter? Can’t handle a little competition?”

The second woman stepped closer, her gaze sharp and challenging. “Yeah, maybe you should have thought about sharing some of that attention if you didn’t want us to take it.”

You felt cornered, the oppressive weight of their taunts and the loss of Benny’s jacket making it hard to think clearly. The third woman’s smirk widened as she watched the scene unfold. “Let’s see how long you can hold onto that ‘special’ feeling now.”

The first woman adjusted the jacket with exaggerated movements, clearly relishing the impact of her actions. You could feel the jealousy burning in your chest, an almost physical ache as the unfairness of the situation hit home. Your voice trembled as you tried to regain your composure. “This isn’t funny. Just give it back.”

The women exchanged glances, clearly enjoying your distress. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the scene before you were taking its toll. The heavy feeling in your chest made it hard to think of anything else but retrieving what felt like a piece of your own happiness.

One of the women, a sneer on her lips, leaned in closer and poked your chest with a condescending finger. “Oh, what’s wrong? Did you think you’d get to keep Benny’s jacket forever? How cute.” Her tone dripped with mockery, adding to the sting of your frustration.

Before you could respond, the second woman shoved you roughly, causing you to stumble back and collide with the sink. The cold, hard surface pressed into your back, jarring and unpleasant. You winced, trying to regain your balance as the women continued their cruel game, she shoves you again, this time you slip against the tile floor. Barely managing to grip the sink, you catch yourself from a nasty fall. 

"She's turnin' red," one exclaims with a mocking grin. She pokes your shoulder insistently, "What? you gonna break now, Sunshine." 

Your nickname rolls off her tongue like a curse. Her finger presses into your shoulder with force. 

The one wearing Benny's jacket is caressing the patches with a smirk, "Maybe, I'll ask him to get me my own jacket. With his name on it."

Her comment sends you over the edge, the consistent violation of your personal space was just a bonus. You don't remember much of what happened. Your body moves on autopilot, shoving the second woman who was so insistent on violating your personal space. She stumbles back with a shocked cry. The other two have seconds to process what happens before you're lunging at the first woman, she isn't prepared for the onslaught of your frenzied fist to meet her face. Her friends try to rip you off, but it only motivates you to keep going.  Somehow your fight spills out of the bathroom and into the bar. It takes a minute for everyone to process what is happening. 

One of the women is screaming for help. Another is screaming that you bit her. But the first one, the one wearing your jacket, flaunting and taunting you is trying to get away from you. But you are relentless.

Benny gave you the jacket. He trusts you with his jacket, he invited you and made you a part of his small world. No one would take that from you, and you wouldn't stand for anyone thinking they could replace you or take him away from you. 

Benny is leaning up against the brick wall outside the bar, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the stuffy, noisy interior. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling up into the darkness as he enjoyed a rare moment of peace. The clamor of the bar was a distant hum, barely noticeable from his spot by the alley.

The warmth from the cigarette provided a brief solace as Benny savored the few minutes of solitude. He was lost in thought, reflecting on the night’s games and the wins he’d managed to rack up. The bar had been lively, the atmosphere charged with a mix of competitiveness and camaraderie. Benny was on a high, but that tranquility was abruptly shattered.

A voice called out from the bar’s entrance, breaking through his thoughts. “Hey, Benny! Your girl’s in trouble!”

Benny’s head snapped up, the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. “What?” he barked, his heart skipping a beat. The urgency in the other man’s voice made his pulse quicken. He tossed the cigarette to the ground, his eyes narrowing with concern.

"She's fighten' three women, it's gettin intense" the guy continued, his face etched with worry, "She's bleed-"

Benny doesn't wait for him to finish his sentence. He hadn't expected the night to turn out this way. He had given you the jacket as a passing thought. A hidden layer of a claim. His claim. No one with a brain should have even considered getting into it with you. 

He's pushing through the crowd; people are trying to leave some muttering about the crazy societal oddballs. Some are excited to see the bloodbath of women fighting. He locks eyes with Johnny, he waves him through, barking at everyone to back up and demanding that people exit the bar. 

Two women are gripping your hair and locking their limbs around you. You twist in their grip, your nails and teeth reaching for available skin. Your nose is bleeding and there's a visible bruise on your cheek. The fight gets intense with each passing second. No one knows how to stop it, fear of getting caught in the crosswind of flying fists and snappy teeth. 

One of the women steps away and is preparing to grab a beer bottle to smash over your head but with a chorus of "No's" some women from the bar are throwing themselves into the mix. Things only get messier and uglier as the three women's other friends step in to help. Benny isn't sure what's worse, a bunch of drunk blacked out men fighting, or a bunch of catty drunk and sober women with no qualms of using everything as a weapon. 

Benny shrugs his shoulders and tracks your figure through the mass of women fighting. Once he sees an opening, he rushes in trying to avoid shoving and hurting other women. He's reached your side, you're relentlessly hitting one woman, the same one you keep goin' back to whenever you escape someone's grasp. He's pulled you off her with a swift grip. You thrash in his arms. Elbowing him and head-butting him in the process but he refuses to let go. He's pulling you away from the fight, dodging falling bodies and high-pitched yells. 

He sets himself down at the back of the bar, near the pool tables, and roughly shoves you onto one of them. He stands directly in front of you, blocking your view of your target. Your hair is a tangled mess, your breath comes in ragged bursts, and a nasty sneer twists your face. Your eyes are wide and unfocused, and you’re swatting at him in a futile attempt to break free. He’s pinned your legs between his body and his hands grip your arms, keeping them from hitting him.

You hiss, “Let go of me.”

His voice is deep and firm, offering no room for negotiation. “No.”

You huff and relax into his hold, seething with frustration. You still haven’t gotten his jacket back, and it bothers you. Without it draped over your shoulders, you feel exposed and incomplete.

In the chaos of the club, his calm presence is oddly soothing. Johnny is shouting for everyone to leave and take their women with them. You close your eyes as Benny gently cradles your face in his hands. He tells you to take deep breaths and reassures you that he’s here and not going anywhere.

Gradually, your heartbeat slows and the adrenaline fades. After a few deep breaths, embarrassment washes over you. Your head drops, thudding softly against his chest.

You’re reluctant to face the aftermath of your reckless behavior. Your uncle will hear about the fight; he has connections at the precinct. You groan, annoyed by yet another thing he’ll use to needle you.

The sounds of the scuffle die down. Women are being dragged out of the bar, the ruckus finally subsiding.

“You calm now?” Benny’s hands smooth over your hair as he holds you against his chest. His gaze shifts to the bar, watching as women are escorted out. He notices one still holding onto his jacket, with only one shoulder slipped out of the sleeve.

He gives Betty, who stands nearby with a concerned look, a nod. She spots the jacket and, after a brief, understanding glance at Benny, moves forward to retrieve it for you.

You hum in response, your frustration clear. “I wanna go home,” you murmur.

A teasing smile plays on Benny’s lips as he lifts your chin to meet his gaze. “Too much excitement?”

His blue eyes hold a mixture of teasing and concern. Despite the ongoing chaos around you, he’s focused on grounding you in the present with his attention. You puff your cheeks and nod, giving him a slightly contrite, yet endearing look.

Benny’s gaze softens. He watches as Betty returns with the jacket and places it beside you before slipping away quietly. Benny picks up the jacket and drapes it over your shoulders with a gentle, comforting gesture.

Just then, Johnny pushes through the remaining crowd, his expression grim. He strides over to Benny and leans in close, speaking in a low, urgent tone. “The cops have been called. You need to get her out of here before they show up.”

Benny’s face tightens into a determined frown. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. “Alright, let’s go,” he says, his voice steady and reassuring.

He leads you through the thinning crowd and out of the club, moving quickly but carefully towards his bike. The cool night air greets you as you step outside, offering a refreshing contrast to the club’s stifling atmosphere.

Benny walks you over to his motorcycle, parked a short distance away. He adjusts the jacket around you for warmth before settling into place. He climbs onto the bike first and then extends a strong hand to help you up. “Come on,” he says, his voice firm but gentle.

You take his hand, feeling the steady grip as he helps you onto the bike behind him. With a reassuring nod, he starts the engine. The low rumble vibrates through you, creating a soothing backdrop against the night’s chaos.

The ride is quick but steady, the city lights blurring past as you make your way home. When you arrive, Benny parks the motorcycle and helps you off, his hand steadying you as you dismount. He walks you to your front door, his concern evident in every gesture.

Inside, the warmth of your home wraps around you, a stark contrast to the night’s earlier chaos. As you step into the familiar space, you notice how much more welcoming it feels now. The house, which had seemed so cold and uninviting during the first month of your move back into your mother’s childhood home, now feels surprisingly warm and comforting.

Benny has been more than just a ride home. He’s helped you tackle the cluttered boxes that had piled up in the living room since you moved in. His hands were steady and capable as he helped you sort through the remnants of your past life. He even took the time to fix the built-in bookcase that your mother used to fawn over on winter nights. The bookcase, once a broken relic, now stood proud and sturdy, its shelves ready to hold the memories and stories of your family once more.

Benny heads into your kitchen with a familiarity that seems almost natural. He quickly gets the kettle ready for hot tea, moving around your kitchen with an ease that belies the night’s earlier chaos. He opens your favorite tea tin—spicy chamomile and cinnamon—and carefully measures out the fragrant leaves. The comforting aroma starts to fill the room, blending with the soothing warmth of the space.

As he waits for the water to boil, Benny returns to you. He sits down next to you on the couch, his large, comforting hands finding yours. His touch is warm and steady, a tangible reassurance amid the lingering tension of the night. He tilts his head slightly to look at you, his eyes soft and filled with genuine concern.

“You’re safe now,” he says gently, his voice a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves. “Don’t worry about the cops or the aftermath of tonight.”

His eyes, though tired, hold a depth of understanding and care. They offer a silent promise that, despite the chaos of the evening, you are not alone. His presence, practical and grounded, serves as a reminder that things will be taken care of.

The warmth from the kitchen, combined with Benny’s reassuring presence, makes the house feel like a sanctuary—a stark contrast to the cold, unwelcoming atmosphere you first encountered. The night’s upheaval fades into the background, replaced by a sense of calm and security, anchored by Benny’s steadfast support.

A few moments later, Benny leads you to the dining table. The comforting aroma of spicy chamomile and cinnamon mingles with the warmth of the space, offering a soothing respite from the night’s chaos. He sets the cup in front of you with a gentle touch and a reassuring nod before heading toward the bathroom down the hall and across the kitchen. 

You hear the faint rustling of drawers and the clinking of the first aid kit as Benny retrieves it from where you keep it on hand. When he returns, he moves with a quiet purpose, his demeanor a blend of practical efficiency and deep concern.

He kneels down before you, his large hands working with a steady, careful precision as he begins to tend to your cuts and welts. His touch is gentle yet confident, each movement calculated to minimize discomfort and maximize healing. As he cleans and bandages each wound, his eyes remain fixed on you, filled with a depth of understanding and care that speaks volumes without a word.

His gaze, though weary from the night’s events, is soft and compassionate. There is a silent promise in his eyes—an assurance that, despite the chaos and the bruises, you are not alone. His presence is both practical and grounding, a calming anchor amidst the turmoil. The care he provides is more than just physical; it’s a reminder that everything will be alright, that he’s here to handle the aftermath and ensure you’re taken care of.

The steady rhythm of his movements, the gentle pressure of his hands, and the occasional reassuring glance all contribute to a sense of calm. In this quiet moment, as he tends to your injuries, Benny’s presence offers a comforting certainty. You feel the weight of the night’s chaos begin to lift, replaced by a profound sense of security and gratitude. His actions reassure you that, no matter how tumultuous things get, you have someone by your side who truly cares and will help you navigate through it all.

Taglist: @storiesfromafan @aleemendoza2425-blog , @preciouslilmonster , @iamaslytherin0

[targaryen-dynasty]

DEPRAVITIES.

Prince Regent!Aemond Targaryen x female!Reader

When your husband feels overwhelmed reining in the stead of the severely wounded King, it is your duty as his wife to comfort him.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT–MINORS DNI; profanity, lactation kink, lactating, pregnant reader, p in v, cuckolding, degrading, humiliating, tiddy slapping hehe, blink and you'll miss the size kink, very brief breeding kink, female Reader, Prince Regent Aemond

WORDS: 1.8 K

NOTES: Re-posting something I really enjoyed writing before going on hiatus.

Credit for the center piece goes to @justkwordme on twitter.

When the Great Hall slowly cleared, it was your turn to approach your husband, still seated on the large Iron Throne and the Conqueror‘s Crown atop his silver-blonde mane. 

His shoulders and head dropped slightly with the heavy doors falling shut behind the last person leaving, clearly displaying all the pressure that rested on them. Your lips had dropped as well, into a pout that showed the pity you held for him. 

You approached him with slow, careful steps not to startle him as if you were a hunter stalking towards its prey, not making a sound to strike in an ambush.

And when your hand eventually brushed his shoulder, he released a long sigh. 

Without either of you saying anything, you positioned yourself onto his lap, straddling his thighs with your arms wrapped around his neck and the skirts of your dress rucked up around your hips.

Ever since you got pregnant, you hadn’t touched any of your normal dresses–the fabric either too heavy or too tight for your changing body. Lighter dresses with much less embroideries and other decorations filled your closets, a new one being fitted to your growing bump and breasts at least every fortnight. 

Much to your husband’s delight, since he was utterly infatuated seeing your body swell because of him–or much more his seed.

Aemond fully embraced your advances and the position, head tipping forwards to rest his forehead against your swollen bosom, enjoying the simple proximity and comfort you brought. 

Your marriage with him hadn’t always been like that, starting cold and with him showing no emotions other than the sense of duty for your arranged marriage. 

Only after you both had learned Aemond had put a child into you, something primal in him set itself free, making him protective of you… but also obsessed. 

Your pregnancy was nearing the seventh moon, and your breasts were swollen enough for your back to ache from the weight and for your feet to hurt with each step. It was rare you even left your marital chambers, mostly laying in bed with your feet positioned atop a few pillows. 

The dowager queen had told you it was normal for a woman carrying a Targaryen offspring to experience such terrible side-effects during their pregnancy, as both she and her daughter had shared the same fate many times before. 

You believed her–but only because you didn’t have another choice. 

Your breasts were hot and tender to the touch and already swollen to the point one easily overfilled Aemond’s large hands. And just like now, they always tended to strain against the low cut necklines of your dresses, the fabric cutting into the skin and making your flesh appear to spill over it. That had earned you the curious glances of more than one man of court, much to your husband’s dismay.

The swell of your belly put some distance between your bodies, and Aemond had his hands planted on either side of it–a habit he had picked up rather quickly with your unborn babe starting to kick just mere nights ago.

When he pressed his chiseled lips to the exposed and flushed skin over your breasts in a soft kiss, the familiar warmth spread throughout your body, settling at the apex between your legs. It was a subtle movement as you ground your hips down on his, but still enough for Aemond to groan against your body. 

A dark-blown pupil gazed up at you with his eye widened slightly, the lilac almost completely eclipsed by black, not having to say anything for you to know what he wanted. 

You gave him a reassuring nod, and in no time, he had pushed the neckline of your dress down enough to free not one, but both your breasts out of their confines. 

From the heavy sigh you released it was clear you felt relieved already, more so when his lips wrapped around one of your hardened buds. But the familiar stimulation of his fingers around the other one was missing–until you eventually felt his hand eagerly undoing the laces in the front of his breeches. 

It was difficult for him to do so with you sitting on top, so you slightly raised your hips, allowing him to pull out his hard and throbbing cock. 

You were surprised he went that far, especially because you were in the Throne Room with the possibility of someone barging into the room–but you also were excited. 

“Aemond,” you spoke softly. “We cannot.”

Though your words were a weak attempt to protest, there did not really come any objection from you as he fisted himself between your bodies, yours already craving what your mind still needed to process. 

He pulled back from you with a lewd pop, just a bit of your milk resting in the corners of his mouth. It was obscene, but in your eyes he had never looked so good. “We can,” he all but barked. “I will have the head of anyone that chooses to interrupt us right now–regardless of who it is.”

With that, he tugged the center of your smallclothes aside enough for his digits to tease your entrance, positively surprised you were already soaked for him and whining at the contact. 

“I did not know I have married a whore,” he teased shamelessly, bringing the fingers covered with your arousal up to smear it around the areola of your right breast. “Are you certain my brother did not fetch you from the Street of Silk or Flea Bottom even? Or is everyone in the Reach just as depraved as you are, sweet wife?”

The profanity of his words sent a shiver down your spine, and if there even was a sense of restraint still left in your body, it vanished with your hand entangling into his silver mane to tug his head towards your bosom, clearly wanting to silence him.

“Enough,” you scolded teasingly, biting the tip of your tongue to suppress a smirk from taking over your features. 

When you eventually sank down on his throbbing length in one swift movement, you shuddered, and Aemond and you both released a contented moan. 

His lips locked around the bud that was covered in your arousal, sucking it in the rhythm your core clenched around him. There was no need for you to move–no, you didn’t even want to–fully satisfied with the way his member was just buried inside of you. 

Your head tipped back in pleasure, and you tried your best to stifle your moans, only quiet whines and whimpers leaving your lips at the stimulation. 

As the pressure in your breast slowly subsided, you were finally able to feel him suckle, and when you looked down, you were blessed with a sight that was truly created by the Seven. 

Aemond’s chiseled lips were wrapped around your little bud, his eye half closed and his cheeks dimpled from the suction, amplified each time he swallowed the bits of your milk. 

His tongue flickered over your hardened bud, eliciting a soft moan from the depths of your chest. You were able to feel him throbbing inside of you at the sound, followed by a growl that vibrated through your whole body. 

You not-so-gently tugged on his hair again, seeming to spur him on even more, and whined a ‘you will have to do the other as well.’ 

As he pulled back once again, you couldn’t stop yourself from pouting, which was mended by the sight of him licking over your bud to gather the remnants of your milk–all while he kept his eye locked with yours. No matter how badly you wanted not to moan, you couldn’t stop the sound from spilling past your lips. It was certainly getting a reaction out of you. The possibility of being caught long forgotten.

“Stop being greedy,” Aemond panted, and you just bowed your head in submission and nodded. “You should be grateful.” As if it was not him asking for permission to suck your breasts in the first place. 

“Y-Yes,” you mumbled in feigned humility, choosing to play into his game.

“Yes, what?” Aemond asked, serving a slap to your sensitive breast that had you wincing. 

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Better.” 

And with that, he locked his lips around your other bud, but not without groping your rear to pull you closer towards him and deeper onto his cock–at least as close as possible with your swollen belly between your bodies. 

You sat just right with the hem of his tunic rubbing against your pearl, every lap of his tongue and squeeze of his fingers around your other breast sending a bolt of pleasure straight down between your legs. 

But then your hips started to move on their own accord, grinding down on him, riding him while he sucked every last drop of milk from you. 

The aching of your back and breasts was long forgotten as you chased your pleasure. 

A couple of moments passed until you felt Aemond’s breathing growing labored, his chest almost heaving with more and more muffled grunts and groans escaping his throat. He was loud–much to your surprise–but your body seemed to keen at that, the knot in the pit of your belly tightening at a rapid pace.

And then, you toppled over the edge of your peak with a loud cry of his name. 

Your body crouched forward while both arms just wrapped around the back of his neck to pull him closer into your bosom, the coldness of the crown pushing against your collar bone a stark contrast to the heat soaring within your body. 

You were trembling astride him, whining when you felt how your peak’s contractions were practically forcing the spend out of your husband’s cock. 

Just like he was sucking you dry, you were milking him for every last drop of his spill, too. 

And as he spilled inside of you, he released your breast to curse your name and bury his face between your now soft and tender breasts. 

There was silence between you safe for your heavy breathing, before you leaned back enough to look down at Aemond. His lips were red and swollen, a soft flush covered his cheeks and neck, and the lilac of his eye was still completely drowned out by black. 

Your head bowed forwards to capture his lips in a kiss that was shy of gentleness, the remnants of your milk on his tongue and lips spreading over to yours. 

When he pulled back, a sly smirk was draped over his lips–a smirk that couldn’t mean any good. 

“Let us retreat to our chambers, wife. I am not yet full.”

Aemond was insatiable, you had learned that very early into your marriage. And that meant you were in for yet another sleepless night, preparing you for what was to come once the babe was born.

[chaepink]

Stripper!Bakugou HCs ♡

wc: 710+ words | masterlist

dom!reader, stripper!bakugou, begging, prostitution, teasing, lap sitting, mention of a strap/dick, hair pulling, suggestive, dry grinding

note: also there's a drabble cause why not

3rd repost...

stripper!bakugou who catches your eye as you walk in the club and continues to peek over where you're sitting throughout the night

stripper!bakugou who steps up his routine, purposefully showing more skin than usual, hoping to catch your eye, unbeknownst to him that you already had your eye on him the moment you walked in

stripper!bakugou who looks over to you only to see you already looking at him so he lifts his skin tight shirt up, exposing his small waist and abs to everyone, eyes on you the entire time

stripper!bakugou who gulps when he sees you glance down at his body, eyes narrowing as your grip on your drink tightens. You know he's teasing you.

stripper!bakugou who ignores all the other onlookers near his stage and instead chooses to pay attention to you and you only

stripper!bakugou whose heart is beating so hard when you walk over to a worker a little later, your eyes on him the entire time as you talk to the worker and point to him on the stage

stripper!bakugou who tells himself to calm down when the same worker walks up to him and whispers for him to go to a specific room, telling him that someone paid for the special package

stripper!bakugou who, when he walks in the room and sees you on the couch all spread out, knows he's in for a long night.

"do something please"

He's begging already and you haven't even touched him at all yet. From the moment Bakugou walked into the private room, he saw you sipping on a glass of wine and he felt himself getting hard. God are you hot.

So when you had put down the glass and told him to sit on your lap, he didn't hesitate. Usually he would but with your good looks and seemingly stoic demeanor, a voice in his head told him to not deny the offer of a good night. At least he's getting paid right?

He's kidding himself. He knows that he's a whore and would do the same exact thing for free if it's with you.

"are you usually like this for all your clients? A dumb slut?"

He shakes his head at you. Though he's telling the truth, it doesn't seem like it considering his job and where you two are currently. With a leg on both sides of your body, he feels something poking through your pants and to his ass. He has to force himself to not whine out loud.

"n-no... just for y-you"

It's for the money, he keeps telling himself. That that's why he's acting so bold. But he knows he's lying. Shit, he probably drank too much earlier. Yeah, that's why he's acting this way.

It's not like he's already addicted to you and your touches or anything.

He feels you put your hands on his bare thighs, giving them a squeeze before they travel to his ass (giving that a squeeze too) until they reach the part of his waist where his shirt had rode up previously, making him shiver from your rather cold hands. Or maybe it's just because his body is hot all over.

Doesn't matter. He loves it either way.

"then why are you already hard? Kinda hard to miss back there when you were up on stage." Bakugou flushes even more but decides to stay silent, his eyes darting down to your lips every couple seconds.

Its until one of your hands sneakily makes it way up to his neck and push his head down towards yours that he lets out a whimper, eyes closing shut. His lips are almost touching yours and he hopes you don't hear his loud heartbeat. The way you're pulling on the strands of hair on his neck doesn't help either. He has to hold back whines each time.

He can't help but grind down against your lap, slowly to test the waters. He holds back from letting out a whimper. But as he's about to do it for the second time, he feels your other hand that's still on his waist squeeze his side, making him halt him movements.

"well, how about you put on a show for me first and i'll decide what happens afterwards."

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

[strnsvt]

Hiii! I loovee your writing >⁠.⁠< can I request 6 with minghao from your prompt list? No pressure! Have a good daayy ~

xu minghao — stubble yearning: whispers in the kitchen.

the apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional clink of dishes in the kitchen.

minghao had returned from a grueling day, feeling the strain in every muscle. he couldn’t shake the feeling of loneliness. and what he needed was the comforting presence of you.

you were in the kitchen, lost in the repetitive task of washing dishes. your movements were precise and deliberate, but your mind was elsewhere, preoccupied with your own feelings.

minghao watched you from the doorway, announcing that he's home. his heart ached with the longing to be near you. he made his way toward you. he hesitated for a moment, grappling with his own tendencies.

silently, he moved behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. his touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the intensity of his emotions. he could feel your body tense up at his sudden closeness.

“baby,” minghao murmured, his voice softer than usual. “i just wanted to be close. it’s been a rough day, and i miss you.”

you stopped scrubbing the dishes, struggling to keep your composure.

minghao’s grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly, a reassuring presence that was gentle yet firm. “i’m not asking for much. i just need to be near you. i’m not trying to push you.”

the tension in the room was palpable, each of you grappling with your own internal conflicts. you could feel minghao’s warmth radiating through his touch, a stark contrast to the coolness of the kitchen. despite your discomfort, you found yourself slowly relaxing into his embrace, your resistance melting away.

minghao’s heart swelled with a mixture of relief and affection as he felt you leaning into him, even if it was reluctantly. he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his breath warm against your skin. “thank you, love. i know it’s difficult for you...i love you,” he confessed, and you’d lost count of how many times.

you didn’t respond verbally but allowed yourself to lean back a bit more into his embrace. “just don’t get used to this,” you muttered, though there was a softness in your tone that betrayed your true feelings.

“i won’t,” minghao said, his voice filled with a quiet sincerity. “i just needed this tonight. i promise i won’t push you beyond what you’re comfortable with.”

the two of you stood there in a comfortable silence, the unspoken understanding bridging the gap between you. minghao’s presence was a source of comfort, even if you struggled to fully embrace it. his gentle touch was a reminder that despite your differences, you both cared deeply for each other.

as the evening wore on, minghao’s earlier tension began to ease. he knew that while you might not always be comfortable with physical affection, tonight’s moment of closeness was a significant step for both of you.

you continued with your chores, and minghao stayed close, his presence a steady source of support. the barriers between you had softened, and the shared understanding of each other’s needs created a peaceful atmosphere in the apartment.

as for minghao, the gentle touch of your presence was more than enough, a promise that, despite the challenges, you both could find a way to be there for each other.

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 7 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

It was strange. After reuniting with the system through Jinwoo, it continued to address you as "Trial Player," but something had changed. No more quests appeared, and it never responded when you tried to access your status screen. It was as if the system's more tangible functions had vanished. However, it still spoke to you— chiming in with its usual comments and banter, , but there was an undeniable distance between the system’s functionality and its conversations with you now.

You’d debated for a while whether to show Jinwoo more of your powers, especially the ones you kept hidden. This time, the system seemed to encourage it, nudging you here and there, still within the boundaries it had set, but you were the one who hesitated. Maybe it was guilt. Or maybe, it was gratitude.

Whatever the reason, you felt the need to open up.

But only if Jinwoo asked first.

---

You didn't expect to be here, in the depths of yet another C-rank dungeon, fighting alongside Sung Jinwoo and his shadow soldiers. It felt as though the system had decided to twist the narrative again. The access to C-rank dungeons, something Jinwoo originally sought by partnering with Jinho, keys of its instant dungeon version were suddenly dropped into his lap the moment you joined his party.

It was unnerving. You screamed internally whenever you thought about how the system was changing things simply because you were here. It felt like a cosmic joke, one that you couldn’t quite laugh at.

Still, you kept your composure, thankful for leveling up your <Act> skill. Otherwise, your unease might have been more obvious to Jinwoo, who was already watching you with quiet intensity. He hadn’t asked much, but his sharp eyes were always on you. Every little move, every spell you cast, every flutter of your butterflies—he didn’t miss a thing.

Today was no different, except for the massive Hydra that stood in your path.

"Of course, a Hydra," you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than anyone. You had encountered one before, in another world, in the hanging gardens. At least you knew what to do.

The Hydra roared, its heads writhing as Jinwoo leapt into action, shadows swarming around him. His movements were fast, precise, cutting through the creature with ease, but each wound healed almost instantly. Frustration began to build in his expression as the heads regenerated, one after another, no matter how many times he severed them.

You let him take the lead, silently sending out your butterflies to survey the battlefield. They fluttered around the Hydra, hovering near its wounds. You knew this creature well enough to know how it worked. Regeneration was its strongest weapon, but also its greatest weakness—if you knew how to handle it.

As the battle dragged on, Jinwoo began to notice something. The Hydra’s regeneration was slowing down. Each time a head was severed, it took just a bit longer to grow back. His eyes darted between the butterflies and you, a question forming in his mind, though now wasn’t the right time to speak it out loud.

One of the Hydra's heads lunged at Jinwoo, faster than the others. He dodged, but not quickly enough, and found himself momentarily caught in midair. Multiple heads reared up, preparing to strike from all sides.

That was your cue to step in.

Before they could reach him, the Hydra convulsed, its heads jerking back as if struck by an invisible force. Its body shuddered, and thick, black poison oozed from its open mouths. Seconds later, the massive beast collapsed in a heap.

Jinwoo landed gracefully, turning to you, his expression unreadable. “What did you do?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with curiosity.

You took a deep breath, readying yourself for the explanation. "My butterflies play a part," you began, gesturing toward the glowing creatures still flitting around the Hydra’s corpse. "They help me resonate with the target. In this case, the Hydra's regeneration was a biological process, and I used my power to disrupt it."

"How?" Jinwoo’s gaze was steady, his interest piqued.

"By speeding up its cell cycle," you explained. "Every cell has a lifespan. The faster they divide, the faster they die. I forced the Hydra’s cells to reach the end of their life faster than they could regenerate, step by step. Eventually, it couldn't recover fast enough."

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed slightly. "And how did you kill it?"

You met his gaze, knowing this part would need a bit more explanation. "I accelerated the production of its poison. The sack that holds the venom was overproducing without increasing in size, which caused it to rupture. The poison had nowhere to go, so it began flooding its body.”

So, it drowned in its own venom.

He raised an eyebrow at that, clearly intrigued. "So, you can manipulate any biological process?"

"Not any," you admitted. "I need to know the structure of the enemy’s body first. It’s not something I can do blindly."

Jinwoo seemed to consider your words for a moment before asking, "Have you fought a Hydra before?"

You hesitated, careful not to reveal too much. The system chimed in at the back of your mind, warning you not to stray too far from what was allowed. "Yes," you said carefully. "Once. In another dungeon."

There was a brief silence as Jinwoo processed that information. His expression remained neutral, but you could see the gears turning in his mind. He wanted to know more, that much was clear, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he simply nodded. "I see."

You were grateful for the system’s guidance, keeping you from saying too much. Still, Jinwoo’s silence unnerved you. He was always calm, always composed, but you couldn’t help but wonder what he was truly thinking.

He didn’t say anything else as the two of you made your way out of the dungeon. His face gave nothing away, but you knew this was far from over. The more you revealed, the more questions he would have.

And yet, as unnerving as it was, you found a strange comfort in his curiosity. Maybe, just maybe, it was nice to finally have someone who wanted to understand you.

---

Jinwoo had always been observant, and it didn’t take long for him to start piecing things together about you and your butterflies. He didn’t pry too much at first, but you could tell he was forming his own conclusions.

The butterflies were more than they seemed. It was obvious to him that they were some sort of summons, which meant you weren’t just a healer—you had to be a mage as well. A hybrid. Something rare, if not completely unheard of. But then again, he himself was an anomaly in the world of hunters, so perhaps it wasn’t too surprising that you were too.

Still, there were aspects of your abilities he couldn’t quite figure out, and after a few raids together, he finally asked.

It was during a break between fights, his shadow soldiers standing idle while your butterflies fluttered around them. Jinwoo watched, his gaze following their movements carefully before he finally spoke up.

“What exactly do they do?” he asked, his voice steady. “Your butterflies.”

You weren’t surprised by the question. You knew it was coming sooner or later. As always, you waited for him to ask before you explained anything. You turned toward him, meeting his eyes before giving your answer.

“They work on the basis of ‘life,’” you said slowly, trying to explain it in terms he could understand. “Not just mana. Life is a distinct force, and my butterflies draw from that. When they surround an enemy, they drain that life force, weakening them. That energy is then transferred to our allies—in this case, your shadow soldiers—in the form of boosts and heals.”

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed slightly. “So they drain life even from the dead?”

You nodded. “To an extent. Freshly killed enemies still emit some life force, but it’s limited. The real power comes from living targets.”

He took in that information, but you could tell it wasn’t the whole of his curiosity. After a moment, he asked again, “And the confusion they cause?”

“They emit a type of energy that wraps around the enemies’ minds,” you explained. “It creates illusions, distorts their senses, making them easier to take down. The draining of their life force makes this easier, weakens their resistance. But the stronger the enemy, the harder it is to affect them.”

Jinwoo processed that with a calm nod, but his gaze flickered toward his shadow soldiers, who were still surrounded by your butterflies. His expression shifted slightly, a protective tension in his stance as he asked his next question.

“They’ve been near my soldiers a lot,” he said, his voice tighter now. “What are they doing when there are no enemies around?”

You understood his concern immediately. You were protective of your butterflies, just as he was protective of his shadows. The two forces had been interacting closely during battles, and it made sense for him to be more cautious now that he knew what your children were capable off.

“They’re not draining anything from your soldiers,” you assured him. “They’re sentient enough to know the difference between allies and enemies. They won’t harm your shadows. In fact…” you hesitated for a moment, glancing at the red child that hovered near Igris. “I think they’re drawn to them.”

“Drawn to them?” Jinwoo’s brows furrowed slightly.

“I’m still trying to figure it out myself,” you admitted. “But I think it’s the nature of your shadows. They’re not exactly alive, but there’s a strange energy there. My butterflies seem… curious. They like being near them, but they won’t harm them. I promise.”

Jinwoo’s expression didn’t change much, but you noticed a slight shift in his posture. He seemed less tense, less guarded, though he was still processing everything you’d told him.

“They obey you?” he asked, his tone softer now.

“Completely,” you said firmly. “They’re my creations. They won’t act against my will.”

He seemed to accept that, though you could tell he was still intrigued, still trying to wrap his head around the mechanics of your power. He gave a small nod, his eyes returning to the butterflies as they fluttered peacefully around his shadows.

As ever, Jinwoo’s face didn’t reveal much, but you could sense the subtle easing of tension between the two of you. He was still fascinated by you—perhaps even more so now—but for the moment, at least, he seemed reassured.

The partnership continued, and while his questions weren’t over, you couldn’t help but feel that, little by little, you were gaining Jinwoo’s trust.

---

The battle with the giant had been exhausting, dragging on far longer than either of you expected. Despite Jinwoo’s overwhelming strength and the power of his shadows, the sheer size and resilience of the giant made every blow feel like a drop in an ocean. The creature’s endurance was staggering, each wound seemingly insignificant compared to its massive frame.

Jinwoo pressed on, keeping the pressure on the giant. His shadows flanked it, landing blow after blow, but it wasn’t enough to break through. You observed for a while, assessing the situation, and then you stepped in.

You raised your hands, eyes narrowing as you focused on the giant's movements, its wounds, and the slowing rhythm of its defenses. You channeled your energy into casting the spell, watching as the giant’s already open wounds began to fester, the flesh darkening as your magic took effect.

After the giant collapsed, Jinwoo turned to you, his eyes sharp, the question already forming on his lips. You knew it was coming, just as you always did.

“Why didn’t you do that from the start?” he asked, his tone steady but laced with curiosity.

You took a moment before answering, gathering your thoughts. “I did, technically. It’s just... it’s more complicated than the hydra.” You gestured to the fallen giant, still smoldering from the effects of your spell. “Generally, decay in organic matter of the livings involves a lot more processes than just cellular breakdown. Different creatures have different weaknesses.”

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed in understanding, but you could tell he wanted more details. You obliged.

“With the hydra, I was blocking its regeneration—a single process. That was straightforward. But this?” You gestured to the giant again. “Giants have no particularly enhanced regeneration, but there are no weak points like a poison sac I can exploit. The problem is their endurance.”

You paused, trying to put the mechanics of your magic into terms Jinwoo would understand. “In this case, I have to target several things at once. Disrupting healing signals, accelerating metabolic waste production to cause toxin buildup—it’s all about overwhelming the giant’s natural endurance. And that takes a lot of energy, and more importantly, time.”

Jinwoo’s gaze flicked between you and the fallen giant, his expression unreadable, but his attention was unwavering.

“I also have to know how the creature’s body works,” you continued, “which is why it’s easier with creatures that are similar to humans. A giant’s body isn’t too different from ours—just bigger and tougher. But that also means I need more mana to make the spell effective.”

You had a passing thought, realizing you would need to study more on the anatomy of different creatures to fine-tune your magic in the future. There were a few books you'd picked up from the system’s shop during your trial phase, those were looking more useful by the second. And if perchance they didn’t, you were sure there would be some references in the Garden’s library.

As you were lost in thought, you spoke absentmindedly, “Having you here made it easier, though.”

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

You blinked, realizing you’d voiced your thoughts aloud. “I need time and a lot of focus to cast <Decay>. Your attacks created the openings I needed and you also kept the giant from attacking me. Without them, I wouldn’t have been able to make the spell work as quickly.”

For a moment, Jinwoo’s face remained impassive, as it usually did, but then, unexpectedly, he let out a soft laugh. It wasn’t mocking, but it caught you off guard nonetheless.

“What’s funny?” you asked, unable to hide your curiosity.

His laughter faded, and his expression returned to its neutral state, but there was a slight shift in his demeanor, something lighter, more relaxed. He shook his head, as if dismissing the thought.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice calm but with a trace of amusement. “Just… interesting.”

That word lingered in the air, and it reminded you of the first time you had officially met him—how he had regarded you then, intrigued but cautious. Now, even with his suspicions, there was a familiarity between you, a shared understanding that went beyond just combat.

You didn’t know if his reaction was a good omen or not, but at this point, you figured you’d find out soon enough.

---

The battle with the rock golemn was dragging on longer than expected. Jinwoo had fought golemns before, and you both knew he could take this one down in an instant. But instead, he seemed to be toying with it, almost as if he were waiting for something.

You watched his movements carefully and sighed inwardly. He should’ve just asked.

Extending your hand, you focused on the golemn’s surface. "<Erosion>," you muttered, watching the cracks running along its stone form deepened, spreading as the rock began to crumble. It didn’t explode dramatically, didn’t shatter in an instant, but it got the job done.

It weathered, as if time itself had fast-forwarded. The rock golemn’s sturdy form slowly disintegrate before your eyes. Dust, pebbles, and debris collapsed onto the ground, leaving nothing but remnants of what had once been a towering figure.

Jinwoo approached, his expression as unreadable as ever, but you knew what was coming. By now, it had become a routine—he fought, you intervened, and then came the questions.

This time, however, you didn’t wait for him to ask first. "You were waiting for me." you stated flatly, meeting his gaze.

Jinwoo didn’t deny it. He nodded once, silently asking you to explain further.

You sighed and began, "Erosion is different from the other spells I’ve used. It’s all about weakening the bonds between molecules. I accelerate corrosion, cracks, and disintegration. But with inorganic material like stone, it’s not as straightforward as organic decay."

Jinwoo listened intently, his gaze never leaving you.

"I rely heavily on ��time’ for this spell," you continued. "It’s more mana-intensive than my healing spells. Organic matter, like living beings, have biological systems that heal themselves naturally. So when I cast decay, I’m just accelerating those processes—making sure the wounds break down faster than they can heal. But inorganic matter? Rocks? They don’t regenerate. So I’m essentially reversing that process, speeding up their destruction."

Jinwoo tilted his head slightly. "And that’s why it takes longer."

"Exactly," you confirmed. "Decay works from the inside out, disrupting life processes. But erosion works from the outside in. Normally, erosion is caused by elements like water, air, or heat, so it takes a lot more time—and mana—to break down something solid like a golemn."

You glanced at the spot where the golemn once stood. “It’s a good thing these golemns are still tied to life force, make it easier to weaken them.”

You sighed again. "To be honest, <Erosion> is a pain in the ass to use. I could’ve just blasted the thing apart with elemental magic."

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow at that. "Then why didn’t you?"

You hesitated. "It’s... not fair of me."

Jinwoo’s expression remained neutral, but his curiosity was palpable. "What do you mean?"

You mumbled, more to yourself than to him, "It wouldn’t be fair... to you."

Jinwoo blinked, taken aback. "What?"

Your lips pressed into a thin line. Your heart felt heavy, unsure if you should continue, but the words slipped out anyway. Perhaps it was guilt, lingering from the fact that you knew Jinwoo, his story, his world—everything—while he barely knew you. His suspicions were understandable. Or perhaps, it was gratitude. Gratitude for his presence, for making this familiar yet unfamiliar world feel a little less isolating. Despite the fact that you were unsure why he kept you around—be it suspicion or something else—he was trying to understand you.

"Look," you started, trying to gather your thoughts, "this spell… it's tricky. It’s not my most effective move, not by a long shot. But you wanted to see what I was capable of, didn’t you?"

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed slightly. He wasn’t following, not yet.

You pressed on, speaking more clearly. "I'm showing you the limits of my powers. My weaknesses. I already struggle with living beings made from inorganic materials. Things like... the undead, they’re not easy for me to handle."

The words hung in the air between you. It was a risk, revealing something so vulnerable to someone like Jinwoo, who was always several steps ahead. He was the type to observe, analyze, and act with precision. And now you’d given him something that could be used against you.

Jinwoo’s silence was telling, his mind clearly processing your words. Then, in that moment, something seemed to click for him. He might not understand the full scope of your situation—how could he, when your existence was tied to something far beyond this world? But he recognized what you were doing.

You were offering him trust.

A sign of vulnerability, one that Jinwoo quietly acknowledged. His gaze softened, but his expression didn’t shift enough for you to fully read him.

Your thoughts spiraled, berating yourself. Why did you show him that? Years of surviving alone had isolated you. ‘Don’t trust others so easily’ was a bit different between you and him. Jinwoo was still, in many ways, a stranger. Yet, here you were, offering him something fragile—a piece of yourself that he could very well use however he pleased.

But it was too late now.

You stood there, still silently chastising yourself, while Jinwoo turned to the dust of the fallen golemn. He didn’t say anything, but you knew he had understood. Even if you both remained distant, even if you weren’t sure if you could call each other friends, there was now something in that previously empty space between you.

You just had to live with it.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [018/10/2024] - Trust

I'm sorry if the developments seems a bit fast-paced or sudden, considering this is also still a draft. I just want to let all these drafts out before I went MIA again for a few months. College life is hella hectic. T-T

[atinystaypixie]

Mirror, Mirror

📜: The new mirror you bought has a man inside of it. He gives you the best fucking you've ever had. Is the cold hearted man in your mirror really that mean after all?

⚠️: 18+ MDNI!!, Monster fucking, True form Sukuna, double penetration, fem reader, fucked dumb, belly bulge, NOT PROOFREAD, sex, I might have missed some stuff but it's sex, fucking!!!

🔍:1.9k+ words

Pixie's Spooktober 🔗

You should have known something was wrong. It was too good to be true. The shady shop in the corner of an alley had a sale and you were in desperate need of a mirror for your room. It was the prettiest thing you ever laid your eyes on. A mirror with beautiful detailing, full body length, and a good weight where it wouldn’t easily fall over and break. It looked like it was made for you. Any other shop would have sold it for a much higher price, but the shop owner was insistent that you take it. She seemed so sweet and as if she had your best interest at heart.

She didn’t.

You got it to your home and eagerly set it up in your bedroom. It was so perfect. It was large but so easy for you to move by yourself. The mirror compliments your room to perfection. It was the final piece you needed. Now you could check your outfits properly before leaving.

You had the mirror for a few weeks before you noticed something was off. It had been one too many times you walked past it and thought you saw something else other than your single reflection. You really knew something was wrong when you stared deeply into the mirror and another pair of eyes were staring back at you. The shrill you released was ear shattering and you wouldn't be surprised if your neighbors heard you.

"No need to scream." A bored voice spoke as you scrambled back from the mirror. Instead of your own reflection you are met with a shirtless man covered in tattoos. He’s buff, muscles defined, toned abs, large arms. Arms that don’t belong to a human. He has four of them.

“W-w-who are you? Wh-why….what?” You were stuttering over your words trying to process the four armed figure in your mirror. His face is shaped differently as well and your eyes are bouncing over him to take it all in. You’re scared and confused.

His introduction was quick and passive. He seemed highly uninterested in you and eventually got to the part of you boring him with your daily routine. “But, the worst of it all is seeing you struggle to orgasm. It’s pathetic.” A horrid gasp leaves you. You don’t know whether to be offended or disgusted at his invasion of privacy. “Give me your hand.”

“What?!” Your head snaps at his words.

“I won’t repeat myself.” He extends his hand and your confusion continues to grow. You cautiously crawl toward the mirror looking up at him. His eyes cast down on you waiting for you to reach up. His hand is still in the mirror so it makes no sense as to how you can take it.

Taking his hand was the best choice you ever made.

“Good slut, keep them spread.” Your pussy never felt so good. The pleasure was insane. You never thought you would feel someone playing with the spot deep inside your walls that made your mind numb. It never crossed your mind that every nerve in your body would be concentrated on your pussy.

The same hand you took, the same hand that pulled you into the mirror with the four armed man now had a mouth coming out of it as one of his two dicks stretched you open. His hand was latched to your clit, the wet tongue swirling your sensitive bundle of nerves in slow firm movements. It was the complete opposite of the way his dick was slamming up into you.

Your legs were pried open over his thicker ones. Although you were inside the mirror you could still see your reflection. Your pussy was wet from clit to entrance, his dick was shining with your juices. Your tits were bouncing with each thrust. He was so deep inside of you. It stung when he first entered you, it felt like you were being entered for the first time all over again. A slight bulge could be seen near the bottom of your tummy.

"Ngghhh!! Nggh! Sukuna!" He liked hearing such a weak human fall apart on his dicks. Your pussy was so sloppy he was fucking you with ease. The squelches coming from your hole were loud and nasty. He loved it. Another one of his hands wrapped around your throat as he made you keep looking in the mirror.

"Dirty little slut. Look at you whoring yourself on me. Sloppiest cunt I've ever seen." He spoke harshly into your ear making you clench around him. No one ever treated you like this and it's exactly what you needed.

The view and the way he was fucking into you made you cum faster than you ever had. You couldn't even say you were about to until you started squirting. The mouth on his hand was quick to catch it, not letting a drop go to waste. You were whiny when you came, if you heard yourself you wouldn't think it was you.

You felt his hands grab you and pull you off his dick making you face him. You didn't want to be empty even for a second but you didn't have to wait long.

"Wait! I haven't-"

"Shut up. It won't hurt." A sharp pain was felt in your neck distracting you from the foreign stretch. His teeth sunk into you making you dizzy as he pushed into your other hole. By the time the dizziness faded any pain you could have felt was gone. His dick was heavily coated in your essence still making the slide easy.

Your hands clutch at his shoulders as he flips you over pressing your back to the sheets. He slowly drags out of you, your hole is tight around him gripping in a draining pull.

"Look at you. So fucked out." His voice is dry, mockingly void of emotion as he looks at your glazed over eyes. You're unfocused, body only responding to the hard thrusts he is giving you. "You can't even talk. Pathetic." His large hand goes to hold your face again, this time his ring and middle finger slip past your lips. It's without you even widening your mouth for him, your jaw slack enough for him to maneuver however he wanted.

Your fucked out expression annoys him, he wants to hear you screaming again. A sinister smirk forms on his lips. He wants to see you stuffed in every hole and he still hasn't cum yet.

"You won't mind will you? Of course not." He answers for you slipping his other dick into your leaking cunt. He lines himself up properly at both your holes and slams into you. It gives him exactly what he wants.

"Aaahhh!! Ooooh…oh..mmmm!" Your eyes open fully before rolling backwards, your voice is hoarse but so loud, it's the perfect scream. He loves hearing women scream.

"Do it again. Scream for me again." He keeps fucking you, his long fingers pressing down on your tongue making your mouth stay open. You don't have a choice but to let out every whimper, every moan, every wail that rises out of you. He had you so full, you were stuffed. Both of your holes are fluttering around his dicks, your legs are shaking. It's so much.

"Go ahead. Cum for me again." His voice reaches your ears in a deep rumble. It's like he has control over your body because not even a second later your back is arching off the bed as you spray him with your juices again. Before tonight you barely even came, and now he's made you squirt twice. He isn't nice about it either. The sound of his hips brutally slapping against your skin is mixed with your wails. His hands are leaving bruises on you, two holding your thighs open and two digging into your waist.

"I'm going to fuck my seed into you." If you had half an ounce of brain right now you might protest. You might tell him to stop from the oversensitivity you felt. You might tell him to stop because you don't want a non-human entity to cum in you.

But that was if you had half an ounce of brain, instead like an obedient whore you furiously nod your head in agreement. "Please, want you to cum deep in me. Need it. Please….please." You were begging for him. Your body craved his seed. You wanted it to fill you to the brim and couldn't bring yourself to feel any shame about it as your scream turned into air from tiredness catching up with your body.

If anyone asked, it was the best feeling ever. It's what you had been missing your whole life. Two dicks releasing a thick substance inside of you. Two dicks throbbing inside your holes after making you squirt.

Sukuna grunts as he releases his seed into you. He gives you dirty praises for taking him like the filthy whore you really are. He loved every scream you let out for him. His eyes are locked on your fatigued body. The way you lie limply on his bed breathing heavily with your eyes barely cracked open.

"I'll clean you up, get some rest." It was the first decent thing he ever said to you. His tone wasn't as cold before, a hint of care in it. Your eyes close as you hear him start to shuffle around. For once, he actually seemed like a kind man.

He wasn't.

You wake up, but not opening your eyes yet. It felt like a dream, a weird dream. A man pulling you into a mirror and fucking your brains out on his bed. Who even has a bed in a mirror? And why doesn't this bed feel like your bed?

Alarms go off in your head making you sit up immediately. This isn't your room, this isn't your bed. Where are you?

"Look who's awake. The little fool who had her legs spread so eagerly for me." The familiar voice echoes in the space, you couldn't locate it though.

Clink, clink, clink.

"Look here." Those eyes, those same damned eyes were looking at you again but it was different this time.

"What did you do? How am I in here? Why are you out there? Let me out!" You scream at him through the mirror. Only this time you aren't in your room screaming, you're in his.

"I love your screams, the scared ones and the ones you make while I fuck you. However, I have no interest in them anymore. I'm free now and you will spending a hell of an amount of time in there." An evil chuckle creeps into your ears sending a chill down your spine. Tears form in your eyes as he makes you scared and confused again. He's free? He's free and you're stuck in here?

"Enjoy yourself, I won't be needing you anymore, whore." Sukuna doesn't give you time to protest, the sheet from your very own bed is thrown over the mirror blocking your view into the world you once lived in. His evil chuckle starts again as you hear him walking away leaving you trapped in the mirror he used to occupy. He's free in your world and now you're trapped in his mirror without even the slightest hint of how to get out.

Taking his hand was the worst choice you ever made.

✨

Thoughts of a Slutty Virgin ~ 🧚🏽‍♀️

Ayooo school whooping my ass but im bound n determined to finish my spooktober lissttt🥰🥰🥰

Anywayyss thank you for showing the Nanami fic love and if you read this one thank you too!! Thank you for voting on still fucking true form Sukuna tehehehehe🧚🏽‍♀️

ENJOY!

Pixie's Masterlist 🔗

Taglist: @444ghosty @un-lawliet @witchbybirth @tophamhat-kyo @nobianna

I will open my taglist form back in November if you are wondering 💜🫶🏽💜🫶🏽💜

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲 || 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_  one day you realize you are jealous of your boyfriend’s AI left hand. Because it wasn’t normal she always interrupted you two, and it was making you mad.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ age gap, angst, fluff, very mild nsfw, 𝘔𝘋𝘕𝘐 𝘗𝘓𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘌.

♪ ♫ The ultimate Miguel O’Hara playlist  ✰ Index (+ fics here)

Every day, at some point, you got struck by the fact that you were Miguel O’Hara’s girlfriend. 

You just simply couldn’t believe it. Like, at what fucking moment that happened?.

You met him as a late teenager (around 2-3 years ago), and now, starting your young adult days, it happened. 

He knew you were a pain in the ass from the beginning. But ever since the first day, he tolerated you. Only to be increasing his affection for you day after day of having you in the team. 

Until the change was evident between you two. You were always clinging to him like a koala. He only rolled his eyes every time you bothered him but never scolded you. The only person besides Lyla that was always in his office was you.

Lyla, that sneaky little burden….

“Did you make evaluations for the anomaly?…” Miguel’s voice startled you. When you looked down at your wrist, you accepted the communication to see his image on your watch and answer him.

“Just finished it…” you say, looking around the old train station. Earth - 9664 hosted a female lizard. And to be honest, it scared you a little.

“And?…” he urged you to continue.

“It’s moving towards the East…” The technology of the watch lets you know that your enemy is near you.

“Go and corner her. If you go to the south and turn left, you will corner her,” he indicated with a low voice.

“On it, bitch….”

“Did you just?-…” you find a moment to giggle after insulting your boyfriend.

“Sorry. You know lizards scare me….” 

“I curse a lot when I’m nervous or stressed…” you didn’t know, but the man smiled back at the HQ.

“I know, little one….” Oh, you loved every time he decided to give you a nickname. Which didn’t happen very often.

“Alright, mi amor. Time to beat this…” you say, arming yourself with courage; you sigh.

“You can do this. I’ll be with you the whole mission and waiting for you when you come back….” you knew he would.

A loud grunt and violent movements near you evidently were getting closer. Fucking lizards and their stupid necessity to experiment with things out of their control.

_____________

When you came back, you were greeted by Gwen and Miles. They turned to look at the just-opened portal and quickly ran to you.

“Damn. What the hell happened to you?” Gwen asked, inspecting you.

“That hideous lizard!. It came with acid spit and everything!” Your hair was a mess; part of your suit was a disaster. Your left shoulder was bare, and a big burn was decorating the skin.

“Acid hit your skin?” Miles asked worriedly and shocked, handing a water bottle.

“Yeah. None of this would’ve happened if-… Where’s Miguel?” The teenagers look at each other, and you keep sighing.

“She left with Lyla an hour ago….” They know you’re slightly pissed; how you roll your eyes and then throw your head back is a clear sign of anger.

“What? Why?” You finally ask in disbelief.

Miguel was supposed to guide you through the mission, not leave with Lyla to do God knows what.

“A report got lost and apparently was important,” Gwen explains, reaching to take your weak body and help you...

“He left me for a missing report?. Oh, he’s…” but you didn’t finish because you moved your shoulder, and the pain was unbearable. 

As Miles and Gwen escort you to the medical aisle of the HQ, all the other spider people turn to look at the mess that you are. 

“Easy… I’ve never interacted with acid, but it sounds frightening,” Gwen admits kindly. You nod at her. Even when she’s just younger than you by little, both of you work well. 

“Why has your skin not fallen apart?” 

“I’m half spider, half butterfly, Miles. Remember?” your skin worked in different ways. It was shiny and firm. Soft but when injured, it healed a little slower than it should.

“Are your wings okay?” Gwen asks, your arms move a little only to confirm your wings were fine, but they hurt. You could grow cute butterfly wings like a tattoo inked to your skin. It was pretty cool.

“Yeah, well… I don’t know.” You admitted, but thankfully, the three of you were at the medical aisle. Spider-doctor kindly gave you a private room, making Miles and Gwen wait outside. 

“You’re fine. But I need 12 hours of rest at least. Okay?” you nod at him. After that, Spider-doctor left, and you spent hours with Miles and Gwen. Even Hobie and Pavitr played cards, brought you food, and chatted.

But Miguel didn’t come for the whole ass evening. Between talks with your friends, you mentally cursed your asshole boyfriend.

Sometime after Doctor-spider checked on you again and gave you a syringe of vitamins, Miguel's tall and broad figure entered the room.

“Hey…” his sweet voice almost made you forget you were mad at him. He came closer to take a look at you. 

Immediately his eyes looked at your chest, noticing you were only wearing a strapless top because your shoulder was covered in bandages and dry blood. 

Your right cheek was slightly purple, and some scratches covered your neck. 

“Don’t you dare to ask if I’m okay or that you’re sorry, Miguel O’Hara,” you say firmly, looking at his pouting face? He might be sorry, but you didn’t want to hear it. 

“I’m sorry…I really am” he has to kneel beside the hospital bed. Cause he’s so tall that even on his knees, he could barely face you. 

“Oh really?… Even if a report was missing, I would have stayed with you the whole time. Bad boyfriend…” he wants to laugh when you say the last two things crossing your arms and looking to the window, away from him.  

But he was trying, ridiculously trying to be good enough for you.

“Yeah, right. I’m never doing it again, promise,” he stated, taking your hand. 

You really wished he was more like this every time, every single fucking day.

Because even as your boyfriend, he was always so damn distant.

“Don’t make promises you can’t fulfill…” How he was caressing your knuckles distracted you from your anger. He was good, very possessive, but a fantastic distant partner. 

“Look at me, please….” His sharp features, gorgeous lips, and attractive eyes greet you. You simply stare in awe.

“I hate seeing you like this. And knowing it was my fault makes me feel worse.”

“I take care of you, and you take care of me. Right?…” slowly, you smile.

“I think we’re getting on the same page, handsome” When you interlock your hand with his, he knows it’s okay. 

“Stop…” he sighs, closing his eyes. The touch of your free hand across his soft hair and scalp is always too much for him. All his worries are gone, but he knows it’s not the right time or place.

“Why? Does this remind you of something, babe?…” it makes him remember something for sure.

His head buried between your legs. A wet mess and the most erotic night of his life.

“Don’t do this to me, y/n,” he pleads. The memory of your first time with him some weeks ago was killing him because it hadn’t happened again. 

“I’ve been thinking about it…” your disguised innocence shouldn’t turn him on. No, you are innocent compared to him. You’re a burst of light. But you had to unconsciously be so hot and sweet.

“What part?” He teases back. Feeling proud and praised already.

“Everything. Though, I’m scared you won’t fit in again next time…” there it is. You knew his weak point. The amount of ego he needed. 

“Oh, butterfly. You want to find out?” You nod, slightly spreading your legs, lifting the ruffled hospital gown you had. 

His lips brush yours when someone something interrupts the moment.

Instantly you pull the gown down, and Miguel pulls away from you. 

“Oh, hey. Sorry to interrupt!” It’s Lyla, always smiling and moving energetically around you two. You feel awkward.

“An anomaly has appeared on earth-1234, boss,” she alerts happily.

Earth-1234, Does that even exist?.

Miguel sighs. His serious tone and distance from you are back. While you welcomed the private affection, you disliked letting him go. Because you didn’t have enough of him, maybe you never would.

“We need to go to the monitors and trace a plan. Do I call Jessica? Or Peter?” The AI asked, completely ignoring you. 

Which made you feel uncomfortable feeling on your chest. And you refused to let it take control.

“Whoever is available first,” your boyfriend says, returning to see you. 

“I’m not taking too much. Sleep, and I’ll be here when you wake up” Knowing there was no other option, you nod.

You know he’s not gonna kiss you or pet you. He’s just going to leave because Lyla was there. 

So something possessed you to say something out loud.

“Love you…” it wasn’t the first time. He had said it; you had too. But never in public, just in the privacy of you two.

“…me too,” he says, with his mask on. He means it, but he’s awkward about saying it out loud. Because he doesn’t want to show anyone he could be soft. 

And you try to convince yourself you had said that I love you out loud because Miguel couldn’t kiss you that night. 

Because that would compensate for the lack of communication and time together. 

But deep down, you said it out loud so Lyla could hear.

______________

A new area in the cafeteria allows you to sit outside and have a beautiful view of the city and the clear sky.

You always fight for a table over there. The closer your lunch was to sunset, the cooler the sky looked. 

“Hey… there’s my favorite flying spider,” Peter greeted, sitting next to you, placing his tray of food and Mayday on the table.

“Hello to my favorite spider father and spider baby duo,” you salute back. They both giggle, even if Mayday is less than a year old.

“How have you been?” The older man asks. You debate whether to say anything about your increasing insecurity or not.

“I’m good. I’ve missed you two,” you had to admit. Peter was so kind when you met him; everyone said he was a bad mentor. But you believed he had some talent.

“Same. This missy here always gets fussy when she hears your voice” That information melted your heart. Causing you to reach for Mayday and hug her tightly.

“Oh, Mayday. I love you like you were my sister” Peter had already asked you to be his kid godmother because MJ wanted to organize a baptism for little Mayday.

“My spider sense tells me you’re not comfortable. Mind to elaborate?” The man changed the subject suddenly. So you decided, if Peter had to learn Miguel was your boyfriend, fuck it.

“Have you ever thought about where Lyla comes from?” Your question made him furrow, ignoring that Mayday was eating a slice of apple from your salad. 

“What? Why?” 

“She spends a lot of time with Miguel….” You hoped Peter wouldn’t start asking more questions about Miguel.

“Well, she’s like Miguel’s second hand.” 

“Yeah, but-, When did she start sticking around? I’m just curious,” Peter shrugs.

“She was already here when I entered. Some say Jessica brought it here. Others…” When he leaned to whisper, it made you nervous.

“There’s an old rumor. JUST A RUMOR… That Miguel created Lyla based on his…late lover.” 

“WHAT?” You asked in horror.

“I know. Sounds terrible, but… honestly? I don’t know either. I’ve never asked him.”

Hobie startled you with the sound of his tray banging against the table. Miles, Gwen, and Pavitr were already seated when you looked around.

“What sounds terrible?” Pavitr asked, but you didn’t know whether to answer or not. 

“Would you guys think I’m crazy for being jealous of Lyla spending too much time with Miguel?” Everyone stood quiet, looking at you like you were the weirdest creature in all universes.

“Why?” Gwen asked, with her pierced brow arched.

“Cause-, uh-… He’s my boyfriend.” A new wave of silence and looks ruled the table.

Until everyone kind of digested the information and started acting like the fire drill of The Office show. 

“NO WAY, WHAT?” Miles yelled. Gwen checked your forehead to see if you were okay and not on some delirious fever moment.

“I wasn’t expecting this…” Hobie didn’t act very surprised, but of course, he was.

“When did this happen? Why you didn’t tell us?” Asked an offended Peter, taking Mayday from your arms as a punishment.

“Because…ugh-, It was a new relationship and-, I-, I- wanted to make sure it was real-“ you’re nervous. And the fact that their looks are fixated on you makes you feel even more nervous.

“How long?” Asks Pavitr starting to eat.

“Like… two or three months?” They nod and start acting like it is apparent.

“Okay. That explains a lot… but, How?” The blonde girl’s question makes you remember how everything started.

“We met when I was your age…”

“And Uhm-. I don’t know; we always had a soft spot for each other. Only now that I’m a little older, it just happened” Since Pavitr and Peter are the only ones in relationships, they nod with a little smile. Like two little lovers who know what you’re talking about.

“That’s very sweet…” Your friend Pav was a helpless romantic. And it shows.

“And what has to do with Lyla?” Hobie asked.

“She’s very nosy…and Miguel never stops her from being nosy.” 

“Like?…”

“Yesterday. I stayed late with Miguel keeping track of the anomaly recordings. And we-, uh, we were kissing. Then she appeared out of nowhere, and with one sentence, she had Miguel out of the room, leaving me alone” Instantly, Gwen and Miles remembered the incident of some days ago when you came back from fighting with that lizard. 

“Lyla has always been with Miguel. But… maybe you should talk to him,” Peter suggested, but they received your head shaking after no.

“I can’t. He makes me nervous as hell.”

“But he’s your boyfriend….” Miles reminded you.

“So? He still makes me nervous” They couldn’t blame you. Miguel was… imposing.

“Just talk to him…” Since Peter was the oldest in the group, you knew he was right.

…

And you took a decision hours later, you would avoid your boyfriend. 

Because the more you thought about the rumor Peter told about, the more freaked out you started to feel.

You successfully left the HQ that night without telling Miguel anything. 

He noticed it; you were being distant. Sending him a little awkward smile before you left with Mayday to the ladies' room. 

“I think she’s avoiding me, Lyla,” the AI shrugged.

“But you’ve been great. All the things we reviewed… Isn’t it enough?” She speaks worriedly.

“I don’t know…” he replied distantly. 

“Well, let’s try harder. I’m a busy gal, and you have to get the girl” Her giggles made Miguel roll his eyes.

“I meant, keep. Keep the girl, boss” After that, she disappeared. 

When Miguel tried to find you, he learned you had already left the HQ.

___

The curiosity to eat authentic Puerto Rican food was killing you. Miles had invited you and Gwen to his mom’s birthday party. You had met her once, and she was so sweet, his father too. His family had this fantastic warmth that made you feel welcome.

So the three of you agreed to meet at the HQ an hour before the event. 

Many of your coworkers looked weirdly at you cause you weren’t wearing your suit. You had a halter top, wide jeans, and a pair of sexy boots. Your wings were safely inked to your skin, and the top did an excellent job showing them off. 

A hoodie hangs on your forearm, and a little gift box is in your right hand. Only a little set of fine jewelry. 

“Boo!” You jump at Gwen, scaring you. She’s wearing a dress and jacket with sneakers. Very much of her style.

“Damn, Gwen!. You scared me….”

“Hey, you look hot,” she said, sending you a smirk.

“That wasn’t the intention; it’s a family party. By the way, you also look very pretty” She thanks you, and seconds later, Miles comes in. 

“Hey! Ready?” The boy flatters you and Gwen before checking his watch and opening a new portal. 

A shiver runs through your spine because you know Miguel must be around, probably looking for you. 

Literally, you push your younger friends inside the portal.

…

Miguel watches you dance in the middle of the rooftop with Gwen and the other guys. You seem happy, unbothered, and peaceful. He understood that maybe Lyla was right; he didn’t need a daily checkout to see how he was doing. He needed to be himself and make you happy. 

Yes, he had followed to earth-1610. Because he was losing his mind over what he did wrong to cause your distance. 

Seeing you so happy and having fun went straight to his heart because he couldn’t remember when you two had that much fun since your relationship started.

So he dressed like an average person with his suit underneath and took the courage to walk into the party. Because Pavitr told him that it was Miles’s mom's birthday party. Hobie refused and basically said fuck off to Miguel. So with Pavitr's words in mind, he was entering the party. 

The Latin music was evident, and everyone laughing. He got closer and caught you singing a song in Spanish and dancing. The sight was attractive for Miguel, a definitive turn-on.

Slowly, he stood behind you, making you jump. 

Sure, you were surprised to see your asshole boyfriend with a hand on your hip, in casual clothing, outside the HQ.

“Miguel? What the hell are you doing here?” You’re in shock. Gwen looks closer and blinks, unable to believe what she’s seeing. So she nudges Miles, and his reaction is the same.

“You’re avoiding me….” you get blushed. The embarrassment of the cause of your distance from him, and the anger towards his attitude, and Lyla. Ugh…

“What? No. I’m not avoiding you….” he sends you a prominent look. Trying to tell you he’s not stupid.

“Yes, you are….” Before you can say anything else, Gwen drags Miles and stands beside the two of you.

“What are you doing here?” Gwen asks, judging your lover. Miles is quiet and slightly nervous that the man who tried killing him some time ago was at his home.

“I need to talk with y/n” Miles shrugs at Miguel’s comment. While he sips the soda from a red cup.

“Why? It’s our free day, man. And you don’t like the dangers of going to random universes if there are no anomalies” You stay quiet. Only glancing between the pair of teenagers and Miguel.

“Because, Miles… She’s my girlfriend. And I don’t have to worry because the only Spider-Man and Spider-Girl of this earth are in front of my eyes.” No one was expecting him to publicly confirm he was your boyfriend. 

“Now… we’re going inside to the hallways to talk. Privately…” Before anyone can add anything, his giant hand drags you across the rooftop inside the building. 

“Now, would you tell me what it’s going on?” He asks calmly. You sigh, hands on your hips.

“Okay… I feel-“

Maybe it was the most reasonable idea to maturely talk about the issue. But everything goes to hell when Lyla appears between you two.

“Woah. Am I late? Hope not to cause-“

“GOD!. She’s my problem!” You spit out, tired and highly irritated. And there was no turning back; you had to do this with both being present.

“Me?” Lyla asks, offended.

“Look, she’s known me for some time now, and you keep treating me like a ghost.” 

“She’s always interrupting us and taking you away from me. The only thing left is her interrupting us in the middle of the action bed to give you a new list of anomalies” Both stand there quietly. Super awkward and uncomfortable. At least the hallway of that floor is empty, and the sound of the music coming from the rooftop.

“And I don’t know if I’m fucking jealous or not. But I’m certainly hurt, and this is so embarrassing, so… I’m just-gonna… leave.” 

“It’s nothing personal, Lyla. I’m sorry. And I wouldn’t be opposed if you choose to break up with me, Miguel” Your cheeks were burning, dying out of cringe. So you awkwardly run downstairs, and once you are far enough, you spread your wings to fly and swing with your webs through the city. 

This thing of being in love was making you crazy.

——-

You spent two days with Gwen. In case Miguel tried to break up with you at your home on earth-1610, in your apartment. Or, in case he wanted to reach you in the HQ. 

You just wanted to postpone the moment. 

 You couldn’t because an emergency emerged, and even Jessica called you.

“Hey, I’ve been covering you for two days. But this is an emergency. We need you. Relax, it will only be Spider-Cat, Hobie, and I,” she alerted you through the watch. 

“I’ll see you on earth-3344 in ten….”

It was 7:00pm on Gwen’s universe. She was out, and the whole two days you spent with her, you were crying and sobbing all over her place.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… FUCK” You keep cursing as you hurry to get your suit. At least you took a shower the day before.

You look okay. Your eyes were red from evidently crying for long periods. Aside from that, everything seemed stable.

So you leave a note for Gwen and make your way to earth-3344.

…

The showers are empty. You keep singing Stars Dance like you are part of a music video.

I'll make you whisper my name

And never leave the room

Night and day, I'II be your muse

No other girl can make you feel the way I do.

You had a good voice, you had to admit.

After the fight with some alternate venom, you ended up as a mess, so you decided to use the showers of the HQ and then call it a day. 

Luckily, you hadn’t thought about Miguel and your stupid tantrum about him and Lyla. Your mind was on what you would have for dinner that night.

I can make the stars dance

Light up the moon

I can make the stars dance

If you want me to.

“Found her, boss. The ladies showers on the eighth floor,” You scream when you hear a voice behind you. Lyla is there, talking to someone.

“WHAT THE HELL?” You yell again, gripping your towel harder. There was no time to process what was happening; you just looked worried at the AI.

“There you are. Miguel has been looking for you like crazy. He’s coming right now!” Your eyes widen exaggeratedly, so you rush to turn and grab your things.

“WHAT?. No, no, no…” she’s offering a big smile. 

“Gosh. I’m just in a towel, you know?”

“Oh. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m an AI!” And that’s when you remembered what you said about her last time. So you sigh, trying to find some time to apologize to her.

“Look… I’m sorry about the other day. It’s just… I miss him, and… we’re both busy. So I really treasure every moment I have with him.” Lyla tilts her head and starts pacing in circles around you. 

“It’s okay. I knew it was wrong. But Miguel really wanted to check in with me after everything interaction you two had” You frown, confused at her words.

“What?, Why?…”

“Cause he wants to make you happy, silly. And I’ve tried to tell him that it would be better if he decided to be spontaneous rather than a perfectionist” Instantly, your heart softened twice. A smile appeared on your face, and you couldn’t help but stare at your feet.

“He wants to take things slow and thought spending too much time together would make you want space from him. I guess it turned out the opposite of what he expected” You nod. Because him bringing Lyla to stay away from you caused all this.

And he came in. Closing the door behind him. You remember you were still in a towel, and your hair was wet. 

“Thanks, Lyla” The AI nodded and gave you a friendly wink before disappearing.

You and Miguel stared in silence at each other for some minutes. He stepped further toward you, and the invasion of privacy didn’t bother you.

“I know.” You start, shrugging. Telling him that you are aware of his reasons to add Lyla every time he could.

“You should have told me before acting like an immature bitch and taking it out on Lyla” The memory of you yelling at Miles building makes you cringe. But Miguel is fixated on your clean face and how pretty you are. He had lost everything, but now… You were his everything.

Knowing that you wanted more of him calmed him. 

“I don’t want to break up with you because of what happened.”

“I just want this to work out” his raspy voice and deep eyes are enough to make you nervous. So you just nod, grabbing his hand.

“Me too. But it would not last if things continued like now” There’s a little echo in the room. Only a single window illuminated the showers in green and blue tones. 

In your head, it was the perfect time to kiss him. A hazy scenario, ideal for a kiss.

“I’m sorry. The event of the lizard and acid still haunts me…” he admits closing his eyes briefly.

“Hey, it’s okay. Look, there’s not even a single scar on my skin….” you say, looking at your bare shoulder. 

“I see that.” Miguel didn’t mean to sound so lustful, but he did. He couldn’t help his anatomy to increase blood to certain areas. 

“I can hear your heartbeats, dear” Your giggles make him want to blush. 

“I won’t trespass until I apologize, little one” Of course, he would say something like that.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too…” you reply, pouting.

“We don’t say it very often, but I-“

“I love you,” he says immediately, surprising you. But it’s more than enough. You have him, and you wouldn’t let him go again.

So you gently push him towards a bench facing the mirror and vanity where your stuff rests.

He lets you take the lead. There’s no turning back when he spreads his legs and grabs your hips to cage you between them.

“I like this….Now kiss me.” He likes your eagerness because it drives him crazy how you could also be so shy and sweet at the same time. 

Your chaotic attitude matches his stoic presence. And it never failed.

“Are you sure? Cause I don’t think I will be able to stop” Oh, you love that tone, the one he used the first he marked you as his.

“I think we should call Lyla” He can’t laugh.

“Now you want to call her?”

“To soundproof the room?” 

“Smart little fairy…” he coos, and you instantly switch to the most passive girlfriend. You think it’s because of the new nickname. His little fairy…how cringe and sweet at the same time.

And he knows it. 

So you let the towel fall. And like an animal instinct, your wings spread open, leaving you bare in front of him. 

“Care to make us a safe room?” his eyes never leave the sight of your naked body, but he shoots out one of his shiny orange/red webs to lock the door of the showers.

As he makes you straddle him. You have to close your eyes at the feeling of his fangs brushing the soft skin of your neck. It tickles and sends shivers through your body. 

But finally, he kisses you. It’s slow but very passionate. He takes the time to draw patterns through your naked back, barely brushing your wings. And make his lips give you the pleasure of feeling lost in the moment. 

He hadn’t even touched you most intimately, and you feel like you had taken another shower.

Your body looks impossibly smaller compared to his broad figure. His hair starts to fall against his forehead, mixing with his sweat, turning you on more than it should.

“M-Miguel. Make love to me, please.” You finally plead. Surrendering to his charms.

“I’ll do more than that, amor.” 

When his claws grasp your hips, it’s over; you’re a goner. 

“Miguel?” You ask shyly. 

He looks deeply into your eyes, ready to fulfill your desires. Because he can’t deny how much he loves you anymore.

“Please don’t stop kissing me,” so he does.

Cause you want him in every way. Accepting you’ve fallen too hard on him.

________________________________

𝐀/𝐍_ A year ago on this week I had a car accident that haunted the rest of my 2022. And now, I GOT TICKETS TO SEE TAYLOR SWIFT IN LA 😭, I successfully registered for my third semester of college and I'm making some money online, I'm so thankful and happy. So this writing was therapy to handle my happiness.

[cynic-spirit]

The Red Lipstick

The dim lighting and plush décor of Bucky’s club exuded an air of sophistication and exclusivity. Yn sat at a small table near the bar, casually touching up her red lipstick. Her glasses, hung elegantly on the waistband of her skirt, gave her a bookish allure that contrasted with her sultry lips, making her irresistibly captivating.

From a distance, Bucky watched her intently, utterly captivated by the simple act. Every time Yn touched up her lipstick, it was a process he enjoyed immensely and made sure never to miss. The way her fingers delicately held the lipstick, the precise movements of her hand, and the way her lips transformed into an even more enticing shade of red always mesmerized him.

Nearby, a waiter named Jake balanced a tray laden with beers, his eyes wandering towards Yn. Her effortless beauty caught his attention, and for a moment, he forgot about the tray in his hand. At the same time, another waiter, Tim, approached from the opposite direction, carrying a tray of fries. He too was mesmerized by Yn’s presence.

Their distracted states led to an inevitable collision. Jake and Tim crashed into each other, sending beers and fries flying through the air. The trays clattered to the floor, and Jake stumbled backward, bumping into a tray with wheels that was laden with more drinks. The tray careened forward, rolling uncontrollably across the floor.

The runaway tray slammed into Hal, the bartender, who was expertly mixing cocktails. Hal lost his balance, and the shaker flew from his hands, knocking over a bottle of expensive whiskey. The bottle spun off the counter and smashed into the intricate display of champagne glasses behind the bar. The glasses cascaded down like a waterfall, shattering into a thousand glittering pieces upon impact with the floor.

As if that weren't enough, the commotion startled a nearby group of patrons. One of them, in a startled attempt to avoid the flying shards of glass, knocked over a barstool, which clattered loudly against the floor. The barstool hit another table, causing a domino effect that toppled over several more drinks and glasses. Patrons jumped out of their seats, spilling their own drinks in the process. A couple of them tripped over each other in the chaos, adding to the mayhem.

Meanwhile, a server carrying a towering cake for a birthday celebration was so distracted by the noise that she misstepped, sending the cake crashing to the floor. The vibrant frosting splattered across the polished wooden floors, adding a colorful, sticky mess to the already chaotic scene.

Through all this, Yn remained oblivious to the chaos she had unintentionally caused. She turned slightly, surprised by the sudden noise but unaware of the chain reaction her presence had sparked.

From across the room, Bucky watched the spectacle unfold. His initial concern for the disruption quickly gave way to amusement. Leaning against the wall with a smirk, he shook his head slightly. "That's almost 30 grand worth of ruin that happened in 20 seconds," he thought to himself, his gaze lingering on Yn with a mix of admiration and affection.

The staff scrambled to clean up the mess, Jake and Tim apologizing profusely as they picked up shards of glass and wiped up spilled drinks. Hal, trying to salvage what remained of his station, shot a bemused glance at Bucky, who simply shrugged in response. The birthday server, now holding a ruined cake, sighed deeply and started cleaning up the frosting with the help of another waiter.

Finally, the chaos subsided, and the club returned to its usual rhythm. Bucky made his way over to Yn, who was still blissfully unaware of the havoc she had caused. He leaned in close, his eyes twinkling with humor.

"Having fun over here?" he asked, a playful tone in his voice.

Yn looked up, puzzled. "I was just touching up my lipstick. What happened?"

Bucky chuckled. "Let's just say your red lips caused quite a stir."

Yn raised an eyebrow, but Bucky didn't elaborate. Instead, he took her hand and led her to a quieter corner of the club, leaving the staff to deal with the aftermath of her unintended allure. As they walked away, Bucky couldn't help but feel even more enchanted by Yn, her beauty and obliviousness making her all the more endearing to him.

As they settled into a secluded spot, Bucky glanced at Yn with a teasing smile. "You're quite the troublemaker, you know that?"

Yn, still confused, asked, "What do you mean?"

Bucky laughed softly, his admiration for her growing even more. "Nothing, doll. Just keep being you."