#forced out of the bubble and forced to remember they can’t even make decisions for each other in the damn hospital

[tinycowboybro]

this is so fun and cool i love episode 11 thank you Be My Favorite :)

[banging my head] [sliding down the wall] [sobbing] [wailing] [choking on tears] [dry heaving] [throwing up] [falling down the stairs] [convulsing in agony] [sigh]

[mrkeatingsblazer]

The Prophecy [Oh, Was It Punishment?] Part One

Apollo x Child of Hermes! Reader

Part one Part Two

“No man of mortal blood could ever love you.”

It rings in your ears; the words of Eros haunting you till this day. It was no major exposure like that of Nico’s, who was forced to come out to both Jason and you to appease the love God, but still; you felt as though the ugly truth of your soul was revealed to the two boys and you recall that you never liked surprises. Even though the sentence rushes and pillages through your mind like a crazed wave, you’re strangely enough soothed by it. To know that every worry and concern of your ability to be loved was not from any fault of your own but rather the weaving of the fates comforts you to the point of sighing in relief. It’s not you but what was forced of you, a true demi-god faith if you do say so yourself.

You have never been a stranger to a prophecy, being a big aid to Percy during the war against Kronos and your half-brother, Luke, and being a member of The Eight, destined to defeat Mother Earth herself, Gaia. As much as you despise prophecies you can’t help understand the glory of the previous ones you’ve been a part of. Sure, a couple friends and families die but at least you get the title of Hero of Olympus, am I right? This prophecy [is it even a prophecy or just a God's way of giving a diss] is just downright depressing. Almost as depressing as when your Godly parent was revealed.

At 15 years old, after defeating Atlas and rescuing both Lady Artemis and Annabeth, you stood as an unclaimed child watching as the Gods debated if you should all just be killed. It was only when Artemis was asking you, along with Thalia and Annabeth, to join her hunt did anyone question parentage.

“And you [name], who has not been claimed by God or Goddess alike, allow me to claim you as my own and join as a member of my hunt,” Artemis spoke with such kindness, almost reminiscent of a mother. You shook your head at that thought; she was definitely more like a big sister. Before you could even begin to respond to the Goddess, Zeus raised his hand into the air.

“The child's parent should be given the chance to claim her,” he declared with an air of authority, “before any decisions are made.”

“She is 15 solstices of age, has that not been enough time for the child's parent to claim,” Artemis rebukes with narrowed eyes only to be met with the same expression from her father.

“You first take my daughter, whom I allowed to be given,“ you heard Thalia scoff from beside you, “and now you fight against my order, purposely trying to disobey me in public.” His voice comes out icy and dangerous.

“father -” Apollo nervously begins from the throne beside his sister.

“Quiet Apollon!” Zeus demands. “If any one here owns the child speak now.”

The zoom grows silent, you watch as the Gods’ and Goddess’, interested or not, scanned the zoom waiting for someone to pipe in. Tears built up in your eyes and a lump began to form in your throat, you didn’t even have time to process or even blush when Percy slid his hand into yours, giving it a comforting squeeze.

Your eyes landed on Apollo, to his concerned frown and his perfectly furrowed eyebrow. You recall meeting him barely weeks before now, finding him alluring and bubbly as he chatted with you during the ride on his Sun Chariot. When we got to camp, you remember him engaging with his children in envy. He swung them around and messed with their hair, conversing with them with questions about their hobbies while also never failing to make them all laugh and feel included. You always kind of hoped he was your father ever since you found out you were a demi-god. You sloppily used a bow for a month straight before giving it up; everyone knew Apollo always claimed his kids a month into them being at camp. That didn’t stop you from hoping, from writing poetry and sending offerings to him every meal. Even now you hope he says something, eagerly looking at him like a moth to a light.

“She’s one of mine.” Everyone turned towards the direction of the voice, to Hermes who looked as though claiming you was the last thing he wanted to do that day. It made sense, really, and made you feel stupid for not realizing sooner. Grover always said you were a built in lie detector and you ran faster then anyone in camp, probably anyone in the world. You look up hopefully above your head to nothing; he didn’t even use his sign.

“So,” Artemis said, bringing back the attention to herself, “knowing now the God who conceived you, do you accept my offer to join my hunt?”

All eyes were on you, the deities’ large and looming forms leaned closer as if to hear your answer better even though they had perfect hearing. You once again looked, from Lady Artemis, to Lord Zeus, Lord Apollo and back to your father, Hermes. You caught a hint of interest in his deep brown eyes and sadly, that was all you needed.

“I appreciate your offer, my Lady, but I must decline.” you hear sighs from your friends beside you. Percy once again squeezed your hand, sending you one of his charming smiles that made your stomach weak. Hermes seemed quite happy with himself at your decision, as if he wasn’t forced to claim you moments prior, while Lady Artemis gracefully nodded in acceptance and that was it. There was no pulling you aside to talk with your father or even a look as far as you were aware. He partied into the night during the biggest moment of your life.

That memory fades from your mind, the lavish party of Olympus merging into the end of war celebration at Camp Half-Blood. Just like the former, you had no energy to join in with the festivities. With Leo dead there didn’t seem like there was much point to, the rest of The Eight agreed. From across the haggard bench you sat on, you watched as the sun set down upon the camp. It was poetically finite but still you had a stabbing feeling that this wasn’t finished, you weren’t finished.

[hyunnie04]

tender

lee know x reader, hurt/comfort | m.list

wc: 1.4k | warnings: themes of depression and struggling with mental health

a/n: this fic is a little self indulgent as i haven't been feeling great lately. so i hope this brings comfort to anyone who needs it ♡

you don’t remember how long you’ve been sitting in the tub. you’re sure your hands have pruned and wrinkled due to the prolonged time you have been in here, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care.

the sides of your head pulses as a migraine at the forefront of your temple starts to fully form. you had hoped a moment of reprieve in the bath would calm your nerves and ease your headache, but it had yet to do so.

the droplets fall slowly against your furrowed eyebrows and taut expression, dripping freely down on your chin and on the dewy expanse of your chest. both arms are splayed limply across the sides of the tub, staring blankly ahead at the white tiled walls above, unmoving. 

the temperature was warm, too warm for your usual liking but you didn’t seem to mind today, welcoming the dull pain it brought. the white tiles that you’ve been staring at for what seemed like forever stared back at you.

the silence was deafening.

a lot has been on your mind lately. the restless and constant feeling of not being good enough and comparing yourself to others caused you to no longer find enjoyment in the things you used to love doing.

words that usually meant nothing had stuck themselves inside your head as well, dissecting every meaning when they had none. sleep did not come easily to you these nights, tossing and turning, failing to succumb into the comforting arms of sleep.

isolation became your company in these moments, withdrawing yourself from everything. missing out on a lot of stuff, in turn, made you feel worse than you already did.

you knew you should probably tell someone about your problems but you just couldn't find it in yourself to do it. the last thing you wanted to be was a bother.

some days are admittedly better than others, where you’re able to get things done, to do your obligations and continue on with life like normal. but when you least expect it, it creeps up on you, pulling you back into that unhealthy head space.

you tried to force these thoughts and feelings down for a long time, pretending that everything was fine. today was apparently the day it all came rising up, unable to keep a lid on your bubbling emotions.

a sense of dread hung over your head, eyes aching from all the crying you did. wet strands of hair had clumped together, obscuring your view, perturbed by how sometimes your skin doesn't feel like yours.

“y/n?”

the bathroom starts to fog with mist, clouding the glass and mirrors, the water slowly scalding your skin. the call to sink down into the water and never come up are louder than ever.

“-y/n? are you in there?” a voice makes itself known. lifting yourself up a little bit, startled at the faintest sound of knocks.

you forget that minho would be home around this time. a hand flies towards your forehead to ease the pounding pain. shit, you haven't started making dinner. 

it takes a while before you answer, collecting yourself as to not sound as shaky. “yeah! just finishing up, i'll be out in a sec.”

“don’t get out, i'll join you.” he yells back, the sound of padding feet against the wooden floors reverb through out the apartment. your eyes flicker at his sudden decision, causing you to sigh and sink down into the water once more.

as much as you adored and love him and how most days would let him join you with no hesitation, you silently hoped that he wouldn't today. you couldn't bear to let him see you in this state, all disheveled and puffy eyed. but it was rare when he was even home, given his grueling schedule.

so you wait for him patiently to come over to your shared bathroom, hugging your legs tightly. you remember to turn the cold tap on and off before he enters, water droplets filling in the silence.

when he finally creaks open the door with nothing on but a bathrobe and a silly cat headband that kept his hair away from his forehead on, you can't help but smile even if it doesn't quite reach your eyes.

you inch farther into the corner, making space for him quietly as he gets in. if he had noticed the temperature of the water that had yet to cool down, he made no attempt to comment.

the two of you don't say anything for the time being, just in each other's corner, relaxing and leaning your arms on the cool edge of the tub.

“you’re quiet.” his voice echoes. minho’s voice cuts through the silence, a stark contrast to the quietness of the bathroom just moments ago.

“i’m sorry.”

feeling minho’s heavy unwavering gaze into the side of your head, you can’t help but feel awful. you don’t mean to be so curt with him, but any more words from your mouth frightens you, afraid that the underlying shakiness of your voice will give you away.

your eyes still keep averting his, afraid of what expression he might bore. will he look at you with pity? with a tired gaze of disappointment?

he does not. instead, minho grabs one of the lavender scented shampoo bottles placed neatly on the shelf and gestures for you to turn around. you follow his request, albeit apprehensively, turning around.

“there we go.” he says. even if you refuse to meet his eyes, you could tell he was smiling as he said it.

minho takes great care to shampoo your hair, his blunt nails gently raking over your scalp, unknowingly soothing your dreadful headache. minho is observant, very much so. it doesn’t surprise you at all anymore when he suddenly asks.

“what’s wrong, hmm?” he finally says amidst the stillness of the atmosphere, tone dripping of comfort as his hands continue to lightly massage through your soapy tresses. you lean into it like a desperate cat, melting at his simple touch. oh how you've yearned for his touch.

although you don’t answer, his intuitive nature already knows that something was amiss.

“you know i’m always here for you.” minho says, pressing a delicate kiss on your shoulder. his sweet words and murmurs of comfort act like a salve to your aching heart as tears start to gather at your lash line once again.

you always hated making him worry.

the overwhelming emotion brings you to tears, immense guilt ebbing at your seams. minho places his head on your shoulder as you cry, hands running up and down your sides in an attempt to soothe you.

he doesn't deserve this, to be left out, to not know the reason you're so distant lately. he trusted you and you trusted him. so you spill every little thing to him.

voice starting to rasp, your stuttering cries now unrestraint without fear of judgement and just allowing yourself to be vulnerable. salty tears start to meld together with the water in the tub, rippling as they fall. at last, you feel lighter. the weight that you carried for so long in your heart doesn't have to be carried alone.

after a while, the hiccupping in your throat and the tears start to subside, leaving you a sniffling mess. turning around to finally face him, you fought the urge to hide in your hands.

"feel a little better now?" minho looks at you with nothing but a loving smile, no underlying judgement, just adoration, and one that makes you dive into him. you feel so utterly loved, what did you do to deserve him?

your arms wrap around his neck, placing apologetic kisses on his lips. he reciprocates, hands going around your back to steady your form. your mouth tumbles out watery apologies as he caresses the skin of your nape, gentle as he can.

you release him, arms still hooked around his neck, looking deeply into his eyes as if he's the center of the universe, and to you, he is. "i love you." the edges of your vision cloud with the tell tale signs of drowsiness, finally finding it in yourself to relax in his hold.

and he lets you, guiding your head to rest on his broad chest, the steady beats of his heart thumping against your temple, grounding you, his feathery light touches lingering.

feelings like these come and go, but minho is a constant that you keep close to your heart.

“thank you for putting up with me.”

"of course, i love you too."

[star-girl69]

Ember in Your Hands

Jake Sully x Neytiri x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: welcome to book two! i hope you all enjoy!!

also- the ages of the kids are a little different, but neteyam is still the oldest, then kiri, lo’ak, and finally tuk. this won’t have any impact on the story tho!!

warnings: swearing, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter One- Sing Like an Angel

—-

The forest has always been your mother. The forest has always taken care of you, given you what you need. It holds dangers and it holds life, it holds your heart.

It’s hard not to feel small in the majesty of it all, it’s hard to remember what hides in the forest. You know it better then anyone, and still, you like to forget. Neytiri takes you far into the forest, helps you search for items to make beads with, to add to your songcords.

Yours is mostly empty- one for your birth, for meeting Neytiri, for leaving her, meeting her again, Grace’s death- and your death. And your rebirth.

As the bones of your old body fall away and turn to dust, as you go back to the forest- your new body springs with life.

You place a hand on your stomach, barely a bump, but it’s still comforting to do it anyways. Neytiri pulls her father’s- her bow- back and then adjusts. You smile, and she shifts her stance, so you can just barely see her stomach swollen with life.

She huffs, quietly, before she relaxes the arrow and the animal lets out a shriek. She turns to you with a soft smile, and you return it.

This is life- not your human body, not before. You had to die to live, and now you really do live. You really burn.

—-

“He likes you the best,” Jake says. He acts like he’s mad, like he feels betrayed that his oldest son prefers the comfort of your arms and your voice. But, you see the smile on his face.

“No,” you murmur, taking the small wriggly baby from him. He’s so tiny, is what you keep thinking. He’s so small and perfect and yours. How can you be responsible for shaping a life like this?

Neytiri’s voice fills your home, her songcord one you know by heart. She sings it almost every night, like she’s praying, especially after Neteyam’s birth. He was already presented to the clan, held up in the air like he was the brightest fire you have ever seen.

You can tell Neteyam wants to go to sleep, but he’s simply having trouble doing so. You chuckle, and Jake places a hand on the small of your back as you go to stand.

“Careful,” he cautions, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“Pregnancy is not a death sentence, Jake.”

“I know,” he huffs, standing so close to you that you can feel the heat radiating off of his skin. “I’m just being helpful,” he grins, placing a hand on your face. He walks past you, to your hammock, leaving you with a drowsy baby who’s starting to get fussy.

“Not helpful,” you muse, beginning to pace slowly around your home.

He throws himself onto the hammock with more force than necessary, but you can only smile. Not even Neteyam is disturbed by your mate’s usual antics.

“Sing loud,” he says. “You sing like an angel, sweetheart.” And you sing your songcord for your baby, until Neytiri comes back inside and watches as you place Neteyam in his crib.

You place your hand on your stomach, much bigger now, and feel Neytiri do the same. You are full of life and fire.

—-

The decision to raise Grace’s baby was an easy one. You spent almost all of your days, especially after Neteyam was born, sitting next to her body, watching her stomach grow like yours- day by day.

She was a few months farther than you, and it’s hurts to think that you could have shared this together. But you can’t, and you never will.

Kiri is the most beautiful baby you have ever seen. She looks so much like Grace, even as a baby, it sometimes hurts but you don’t let it.

Grace once told you that it never hurt to have you there, not when you were a piece of her sister.

Now, Kiri is a piece of Grace. But more than that- she is her own person. She is a bubbly baby, her eyes always open wide. She wraps her hand around Jake’s pinky finger every chance she gets, and smiles so wide you’re sure there must be some crushed up stars on her skin.

You present her to the clan, and she has her first communion with Eywa. Her eyes light up. You place a hand over your stomach and try and hold back your tears.

—-

Neteyam stares at the baby in your arms very intently. You wonder what he would say if he could talk. Would he ask where the baby came from? Why your stomach is flatter now?

You touch your fingertips to his cheek.

“This is your little brother, Neteyam. His name is Lo’ak.” You place a hand on your stomach. “He came from my tummy.”

He looks up at you with wide eyes, before he face breaks out into a soft smile.

“He is too young,” Neytiri says, bringing Neteyam closer to her.

“But he has your mind even now, no?”

“Hopefully, he doesn’t not have mine,” Jake chuckles, wrapping his arms around you, letting you lean back into his chest.

Neytiri told you that birth was hard, but seeing Lo’ak made it all worth it. You would go through that pain a million more times if it meant you could have your family safe like this.

Kiri let’s out a small cry from her blanketed spot on the floor.

Neytiri pretends to roll her eyes, but she’s smiling too hard for it to be true. Jake only laughs, and you burn harder.

—-

“You must be careful!” Neytiri shouts, watching as Lo’ak places a hand on Tuk’s head. You laugh and pull her a little closer, so his wandering hands aren’t tempted.

Neytiri grabs his arm, kissing the back of his hand.

“Be very careful, my son, very careful. Tuk is very tiny and very soft.”

Kiri runs a delicate finger over Tuk’s leg.

“She is soft!” she exclaims, and you laugh, feeling almost lightheaded from another birth. Tuk was not planned- three children were enough. And then you were sick, and a visit to the Tsahìk proved that you were full of life yet again.

“Yes,” you giggle. “She’s very soft, very tiny. One day, she will be able to play with you guys.

Lo’ak’s eyes light up, and you smile, lean forward to kiss his forehead. He scrunches his nose, mumbles that he’s too old, before leaning his head against your arm.

Kiri shuffles anxiously in Jake’s lap, before grabbing a piece of his hair leaning up to whisper in her ear. He hisses, but listens anyway.

“You’re tired, babygirl?” she nods, and then you watch her eyes look fearfully up at you.

“What’s wrong, Kiri?” you ask, shuffling Tuk in your arms.

“You- you can’t sing,” she frets, eyes traveling down to Tuk. “You always sing.”

“Yeah,” Lo’ak mumbles, and Neteyam let’s out a yawn, pawing at your leg. “You have to sing.”

Your heart still belongs to the forest, but you swear the piece of it that’s still left to you, that was waiting for something, is now fulfilled.

“Of course I will sing,” you soothe, and Jake places his hand on the back of your neck.

So, you sing, and your heart is filled with your children and your fire burns for your mates.

—-

taglist:

@eywas-heir @mjesecevo-dijete @ok-boke @tsukicores

everything taglist:

@monsterwasstolen @fanboyluvr @artologia-blog1 @tulipatheticee @elvyshiarieko @fluffisalliwant @fluffi19 @jeizllz @myheartfollower @fy-fy-world @minkyungseokie @ivy-plays @blueberryfailureclinic @cryingwhilereading @thatratprincessforever @dumb-fawkin-bitch @sillyblues @buttercup-beeee @smollangrycat

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER THREE: Broken Glass

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: You have a really shitty night, and it only gets worse until a man in a black mask saves your life.

Warnings for this chapter: ANGST, graphic description of domestic violence (flashback), panic attack, mention of blood & injury, alcohol abuse, sexual assault, Reader tries to play the hero and it backfires (might piss you off)

Word Count: 7.6k

A/n: I worked very long and hard on this one, that's why I didn't post it last week. This is very heavy, so heed the warnings. I hope you all had a lovely Christmas! I’m spending New Year’s in London, and I won’t have my Laptop, so I’m already wishing you guys a happy new year! Spend the day with people you love. Do something that you love. Just enjoy yourselves and we’ll see each other again in 2024!

Read Chapter 3: Broken Glass here on AO3

The loneliness eats you alive like a parasite. As soon as the door of your apartment shuts behind you, the noise coming from the city disappears into the distance, and you are faced with the silent reality of being utterly alone. 

It feels like you are living in a haunted house in the middle of nowhere, not a small apartment in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen.

There are no picture frames on the dresser in the hallway. The two plants you bought for yourself are slowly dying of thirst. The fridge is empty. You don’t own any decorations—you don’t even have a shelf for all of your books, and more than half of them are medical research material, anyway. 

You may be living in this place, but it isn’t yours. After two years, you are no closer to settling down than you were when you first came to New York.

Every day, you ask yourself how long this peace is going to last, and every day ends the same—you’re still safe, but you are deeply unsettled. Your thoughts keep turning against you like demons that you can’t exorcize. Every day, you wonder when you will have to run away again because your past has a way of catching up to you when you least expect it, so you remain on edge. That’s how you live your life. 

If you knew how to accept peace, maybe you would have settled down and personalized your apartment by now, but then again, do you even know who you are? Do you remember the girl you once were? Your memories of the past are scrambled.

You can only remember what it was like to live in a bubble, to be forced into a cage like a bird and turned into someone you never thought you would become. You remember running. You haven’t been yourself in years. Even if you wanted to, there is nothing left for you to put up that would feel like it belongs to you without feeling like pretentious bullshit at the same time. So, you don’t even bother. 

It’s lonely though, having nothing and no one. Claire is your friend, sure, but you had nothing and no one back then, and you still barely have anyone now. She’s your friend, but that’s all she is.

You can’t admit it out loud, of course. You can’t admit that you feel lonely, and you can’t pick up your phone and call the one friend you do have to take up on her offer because of reasons not even the rational part of your brain wants to understand. 

The lamp in the living room casts a dim light over the main area of the apartment and the open kitchen. You place Matt’s business card on the kitchen counter.

Should you call him? A million questions go through your mind, firing rapidly like bullets from an automatic gun. You’re not even sure if you want to call him. You felt comfortable around him, but enough to abandon all your principles? If you call him, he might ask you out, and what do you do then? You don’t date, not anymore, and you definitely won’t let a stranger into the mess that is your life. You can’t do that to a kind soul like him. Matthew is special in a way that you can’t put into words, and that makes the decision so much harder. 

You know exactly what’s holding you back. It’s the same invisible string of feelings that is keeping you from personalizing your living space. You don’t know when you might need to run, and then what? 

Your lungs contract. Air is a lot harder to come by when you’re all wound up. You hope that a nice glass of white wine will help put some things into perspective. Fooling around with someone can’t hurt, but anything more than that could lead to a catastrophe. You have had enough of those for a lifetime. 

You like keeping to yourself. It keeps your heart safe. What happened today, meeting Matthew after you so miserably sought a place to be alone, it was a coincidence—a welcome distraction. And you seemed so like-minded at first glance. He was intriguing and you’re still wondering about his injuries and how he got them, but that’s not the point. None of this is. 

The point is that you are not the kind of person he thinks you are. That’s why you can’t call him. And strangely, that hurts a lot more than simple heartbreak, knowing that you have been ruined for all relationships to come because you made one wrong choice and fell down the rabbit hole—unfortunately not into Wonderland. 

“Shit!” you curse when a drop of wine lands beside the glass.

You lick your finger, trying to wipe the liquid on the counter with a paper towel. In the process, your hand accidentally brushes against the glass, and the sole touch sends it hurdling to the floor. You try to catch it, but the fragile glass has already hit the tiles of your kitchen floor. It shatters into a million pieces. 

The sound reverberates in your ears. Like a shot in the dark, your body is jolted awake into a state of panic. The crash reminds you of hell, and the all-too-familiar flames start touching your skin again, set out to burn you alive. It’s a feeling you know by heart—a feeling you wish you weren’t so painfully aware of. 

Glass breaks before your inner eye. 

You were trying to make him a drink, you remember. He wanted Whiskey, no ice, and at perfect room temperature—it was always the same. After the first black eye that you had to hide under mountains of concealer, you taught yourself to perfect it. You didn’t want to disappoint him. You didn’t want to get into trouble. 

You spent more money than you could afford on the one brand of Whiskey he always told you to get, even if that meant traveling to a store miles away from home. He always wanted that Whiskey, and who were you to deny him?

You didn’t pay attention for one second, and the glass shattered on the kitchen floor. Your heart stopped. The last drops of the brown liquid spilled everywhere, including your clothes. The glass was his favorite. Expensive, too. It broke because you weren’t looking. You were so stupid. 

Fear froze the blood in your veins. Your heart stopped beating. You couldn’t breathe. You reached for a cloth with shaky hands, trying to pick up the pieces in time, but the sound of the glass breaking—that godforsaken loud sound that reminded you of obnoxious screaming—was instantly followed by an even louder echo of angry footsteps. 

Over time, you became painfully aware of those footsteps. You knew how they sounded on wooden floorboards, carpet, and the stairs in the hallway of the apartment building. You still remember how they sounded when he was wearing those squeaky sneakers on the linoleum floors of the hospital.

It’s a sound that always sends shivers down your spine; everyone has those sneakers, but his footsteps were much heavier, much more demanding even when he wasn’t demanding anything. 

And back then, you knew what would follow as soon as you heard them.

“What is this?” his voice reached your ears. 

Your throat tightened. You didn’t even dare to look up. If you had met his eyes, you would have seen your fate in them, and the empty black hole that was his soul. “I’m sorry, I– I lost my grip and–and I dropped it,” you said. You thought that would fix it. How foolish of you, to have faith in someone who never had faith in you. “I’m so sorry,” you couldn’t stop repeating it. 

You thought this time, he would listen to your apology. He would let you fix what you broke. You would have done anything for his approval, for his praise, and for him not to be mad at you. You didn’t want to fight. The evening had started so well. He even kissed you when he came home because you finished dinner in time. He smiled because you managed to clean even the last crevices of his apartment after your shift. He promised he would reward you. 

You fucked up. You knew you fucked up, but you prayed to God that his good mood would keep you safe this time. That he would give you a pass because you have been so incredibly good. You’ve been the best girlfriend he could have asked for, so obedient, never questioning, and always on his side—you were wrong. So, so wrong. 

He saw the empty bottle of Whiskey. He picked it up. “That was the last sip of my good Whiskey,” he remarked. 

You stopped moving. 

“I’ll pick up a new one,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “Stores are still open. This is my fault. Let me clean this up and I will–”

“You had one job.”

The sound of his voice turned cold, colder than usual. You exhaled a shaky breath. 

“You had one job,” he said. “I go to work, I save lives, and I teach young, useless doctors like you how to do the same. All I asked of you was to cook dinner, clean the apartment and make me a fucking drink.” 

With each word, his volume ascended. Your shoulder started vibrating, but you forced yourself to hold your breath. You couldn’t let the fear show. Being afraid, in his eyes, equaled weakness, and he would prove to you time and time again what weakness truly meant to him. He would turn you into a weak mess and laugh about it. You were trying your hardest to avoid any more unnecessary punishment. You had to tread lightly. He was in charge, not you. 

And you breaking the glass was so stupid, all you wanted was to surrender. In your twisted mind, he was right. It was just a glass, but he told you how useless you were many times before, and you were slowly starting to believe it. 

Without him, you were nothing. No one else could have possibly put up with you.

“What do you do?” He reached out and slammed the empty bottle on the ground. 

You barely had time to react before some of the bigger shards hit your cheek, slicing the skin. It took you a second to process, the pain not even kicking in because you expected his hand to come down on you, not an entire glass bottle. The trajectory almost hit your eye. Almost. 

“You spill my fucking drink!” this time, he yelled. 

A sob escaped your lips. There it was, the smallest sign of fear and pain. 

He rolled his eyes. You shouldn’t have sobbed, you knew that. “Get up,” he said. 

You winced when he grabbed you and yanked you off the floor. The trail of blood ran hot on your cold cheek. It stung. Your heart was pounding in your chest, hammering against your ribcage and the fresh bruise that still hadn’t healed. 

You were scared, and the tighter he grabbed you, forcing your chin upward to look him dead in the eyes, the harder it got to hide what you were truly feeling. In his eyes, you were nothing. And you were so weak, all you could do was to submit. 

“Look at me,” he said. His eyes roamed your face. 

You couldn’t not look at him. It was impossible. What you saw made you sick to your very stomach. It tied a noose around your neck, threatening to kick you off the high chair. Your feet were dangling dangerously close to the cliff. 

“You’re pathetic, you hear me? Useless. You had one job. One. And you couldn’t even do that right.”

You opened your mouth, but instead of letting you speak, his hand tangled in your hair and he pulled, hard. “No!” he bellowed. “You have lost the right to speak to me.” 

He said your name. He always said it in a way that made you want to vomit. Your first and last names were tainted because of him. He used them in vain. He used you. He used everything as he saw fit and believed he was entitled to it. 

You hated him, but you also loved him.

“You’re going to clean up the mess you made, and then you’re going to go to the store, buy me another bottle of Whiskey, and you’re going to make me another drink. I don’t want to hear a single word out of you,” he said. “Are we clear?”

You nodded. He pulled a little harder. 

“What was that?”

“Yes, sir,” you choked out. 

When he finally let you go, you fell to the floor, your chest heaving with dry sobs. Perhaps he was too annoyed or maybe leaving you alone, finally, was a display of humanity. 

The man you once believed to have loved you turned out to be a monster that would not have wept, not possibly, if you had died. He only wanted to control you, and whenever he felt like he couldn’t, he punished you. You stayed way too long because you believed in someone who was never there in the first place. The real him you believed to know once had never been real. He had been a fraud. He did anything he possibly could to lure you in, and then you were stuck. 

But even knowing this, you wanted to please him, and you took what he gave you. You ate it up like a starved cavewoman. You had no one else but him, and that alone is a sad thought that you keep entertaining now. 

The sound of broken glass has haunted you since that day. Whenever it happens, either to you or someone else, you find yourself in a state of shock. It’s never the same memory, but always alike. And it hurts. It hurts so much, you can’t breathe. 

You touch your left cheek. The scar is barely visible anymore, but whenever you touch it, it feels like a mountain of regret. You can still feel the blood pooling under your fingertips, the liquid as sticky as it was hot. 

You stumble over to the sink, circling the broken glass. Cold water; your senses need a sudden slap across the face or you will cower in a corner and surely die. Your heartbeat is racing in your ears, and your fingers shake as you form a bowl with your hands to catch the water from the tap. 

Air returns to your lungs. Burying your face in the cold water, you focus on the way it seeps into your hot skin.

Broken glass triggers you. Squeaky footsteps in the hospital hallways trigger you. You zone out so easily. You can’t talk to strangers without suspecting the worst. Every time you pass the hospital administrator’s office, you’re scared you will get fired—that you will lose your job and your entire career. 

He took everything from you. He broke you and the optimistic young woman you used to be. You were so bright, so ready to change your life for the better. You worked hard to escape the toxicity of your childhood, and you still managed to run into the arms of an abusive narcissist who saw you as nothing but his property. 

It’s sad, and it’s utterly ironic; you told yourself you would never make the same mistake your mom made before she died, and you still did. You were foolish, and you’re still foolish now. 

You can’t call Matthew. You can’t trust anyone, not even yourself, and even if he is trustworthy, he doesn’t deserve someone as damaged as you. 

The business card lands in the trash can under the sink. You give it one last teary-eyed look before slamming it shut. It’s better this way. The excitement you felt when you first held it in your hands was bound to only be temporary. You knew reality would screw it up, maybe it truly is for the best. Or maybe this is the trauma talking and you’re sabotaging yourself, but even then it’s better this way. 

It’s early in the morning, and you leave the broken glass on the sticky kitchen floor. You can’t touch it, not even with gloves. Every time you do, the scar on your cheek stings, and you lose your breath. Every bone, muscle, and nerve is hurting in your body, and every breath tears right through your soul. 

You don’t want to live like this anymore.

The warm water of your small shower rains down on your clothes frame. The bottle of wine in your hand is no longer cold and mixed with water, but you don’t care. Your mind is fuzzy, intoxicated, and in agony. It’s a raging wave of anger with no possible point of release. You’re drowning in despair, buried in a grave of your own making. Alcohol knowingly doesn’t mix well with heartache, but it’s the only thing that will make the voices go away. It silences your thoughts just long enough for you to find a sliver of rest in this stormy ocean, something to hold onto so you won’t drown completely. 

Your heartbeat aligns with the rhythmic pattering of the water. It serenades you. The fog engulfs your brain, weakening your already strained muscles. The cocktail in your veins is poisonous. You should know better than to do this to yourself. You’re a doctor, after all. You are well aware that liquor is not medicine, but it’s the closest you can get. You don’t care as much about your own well-being as you should. 

Getting drunk all by yourself under the hot shower stream fits right into your miserable state.

The sun rises and falls over the next couple of hours. Your alarm goes as night befalls Hell’s Kitchen, but you don’t hear it. Only after it has gotten dark and your phone has started ringing with calls from the hospital does your mind registers that something isn’t quite right. 

You wake up in a cold sweat. Your head is pounding. The wine bottle lies empty on the nightstand next to you, together with a bottle of tequila that you decided to open. Glasses are strewn around with empty takeout containers that are more than a few days old. At first, you’re disoriented, reaching beside you for your phone, which is still in the living room next door. 

You forgot to close the blinds, but you were so out of it that you didn’t notice the hours pass by. The analog clock on the bedside table tells you that it’s a few hours before eleven. At night. 

Your shift was supposed to start at ten. 

The information takes a moment to connect and process, but as soon as it does, you snap out of whatever hungover state you are in and force yourself out of bed. You stumble over empty bottles and dirty laundry on your way to your phone.

“Shit, shit, shit!” you curse. You almost step into the pile of broken glass in the kitchen. “Fuck me! Shit!”

You are screwed, you know that. You’re not even sure if all the alcohol has left your system. You might as well lose your job tonight. 

With one hand, you dial the hospital administrator’s number, who called you over thirty times over the past hour, while you try to find something to wear with your other hand. 

The line finally clicks after what feels like an eternity. “You better have a damn good reason why you aren’t here, Olivia, or I swear to God–”

You cut her off. “I’m so sorry, Shelly,” you say. Your voice is slightly shaky, but you keep it together. “I didn’t hear my alarm a-and I slept in. This has never happened before. I’m usually a very light sleeper. I… I’m already halfway out the door, I promise. I’m sorry.”

“You slept in?!” Shelly answers, her voice resembling a screech. “What— Liv, seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just… I slept in, that’s all. I’m so, so sorry. I know I screwed up.”

“Unbelievable. First Claire calls out with a mystery illness that apparently still hasn’t gone away, and then my best trauma surgeon sleeps in.” You can hear her shake her head over the noise of the hospital in the background. She sighs. “You’re lucky that this is your first tardy,” she says. “I’ll let it slide just this once. Just… hurry, okay?”

A weight falls off your shoulders. You let out an audible sigh of relief. “Thank you,” you tell her. “You have no idea how much this means to me. I–”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just make sure you get here before midnight. And you will have to work the time that you’ve missed, even if that puts you at risk of having to pull a double shift. This is not up for debate. I feel like I’m working at a children’s daycare.”

You’re not sure if that was meant for you or if she simply forgot to hang up.

You grab your bag and your keys in one swift motion. “I’m leaving now. See ya!”

The bus you usually take to work at this time of night is long gone. There is one more that could take you to your destination, but you arrive at the bus stop just a millisecond too late. It takes off right in front of you, refusing to turn back even when you start sprinting after it, flailing your arms around wildly. 

It’s late, it’s dark, and you’re all alone. The walk to the hospital is over half an hour long, and you promised Shelly you would make it in time before midnight. The next cab is miles away; you’ve checked the app twice, and anything beyond that would be too expensive. 

Hell’s Kitchen is dangerous at this time of night, but you don’t have much of a choice. If you don’t try, there is a high chance Shelly will fire you. If she fires you, you would have to find another country to start over in—you burned bridges in all possible States, and anything closer to where you came from would be too dangerous for you. 

Darkness doesn’t scare you; broken glass and loud footsteps scare you, but the dark of the night has always been somewhat of a soothing companion to you. What scares you is what could be lurking in that very darkness, and the thought makes you walk a little faster. 

Your head is still pounding. Every step you take delivers a punch to your temples. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat. The streetlights are suddenly too bright for your sensitive eyes, but you push through. You have to. 

“So stupid,” you mutter under your breath. “Universe, if you can hear me, just kill me now.”

Passing a particularly dark part of town with the mace on your keychain clutched tightly in your hand, a loud scream pierces the air. Your feet glue themselves to the ground. 

Some things you can only understand if you have experienced the paralyzing feeling of dread that would cause a human being to scream bloody murder. 

You would be lying if you said that the scream you heard coming from that alley wasn’t in any way familiar to you. Perhaps that’s why you choose to abandon all rational thought and run toward danger rather than away from it. Adrenaline is a funny thing, and when it interacts with trauma and anger that has been building for years, there is no knowing what the human body might be capable of doing. 

With the mace in your hand, you walk toward the alley. The closer you get, the louder the desperate pleas grow. The helplessness in the woman’s voice paints a clear picture of what is happening. 

“Hey!” your voice resembles a shout in the poorly lit alley. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” you ask. Your voice becomes a foreign language. 

The man, dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a hoodie, is towering over a terrified woman. The bottom of her dress is slightly ripped, and it keeps riding up as she struggles against his grip. 

From the corner of your eye, you can see the shiny handle of a knife sticking out of his boot; there is no telling when or if he will pull it. And when you look into his empty eyes, you realize you overestimated yourself. 

“Get lost!” the man tells you. He must be around your age, judging from his features. 

You shake your head. “I have no intention of letting you live out your disgusting rape fantasies on a real-life human being,” you retort. “Let her go, or I will call the cops.”

He takes a step toward you, his hand reaching for the knife. Instinctively, you extend your keychain and spray the pepper directly into his eyes. You empty the entire bottle on him, the adrenaline in your veins locking your thumb to the fragile button.

The woman slides out of her attacker’s grasp when he topples over in agony. He cries out. The spray is quickly causing the skin around his eyes to redden and swell. For a moment, he’s completely incapacitated. 

You can tell that he didn’t calculate for this to happen. He also doesn’t seem to know the woman he decided to attack personally. He just saw a woman walking alone at night and thought he could take what he wanted like the animal he is. 

Your eyes flick toward the woman. Sweat is starting to pool from your pores, mixing with the adrenaline. 

She adjusts her dress, her sobs turning into heavy panting. You know that look on her face all too well. She has scratches on her thighs and arms. It’s hard to tell just how badly he already hurt her before you came along, at least in this lighting and from where you’re standing. 

You reach out to support her. “Are you alright?” you ask her. 

She looks down at her shaky hands, then back at you. She reminds you of a deer in headlights. With a gentle tug, you pull her further out of the alley. The man who attacked her is still blinded, clutching his skull and scratching at his eyes, making the effects of the pepper spray worse. In your mind, he can’t hurt you anymore, but you still need to get her away from him—as far as possible, too. 

“A few cuts and bruises,” you observe, trying not to touch her as you assess her injuries. “Listen, I’m going to call the cops and we’re gonna get you to a hospital, alright?” You search her eyes until she finally looks back at you. “This is nothing I can’t stitch up in a few minutes,” you say, “and then I’ll get you someone who can help you process what happened. Just know that he can’t hurt you anymore. I promise. I’m a witness, and I will make sure he gets what he deserves.”

You should know better than to make promises, especially in the heat of the moment. This is not something you can confidently promise because things might not turn out in your favor. 

The woman pulls her arms away suddenly. “No! No cops, no hospitals,” she pleads. 

“I know you’re scared, believe me, I do, but–”

“No!” She shakes her head again, her voice becoming more determined as the seconds tick by. 

You wish the world wasn’t as cruel as it is. You can’t force her. If it were easy, you probably would have turned to law enforcement too, but it’s not easy. What hurts the most is that you understand why she is so adamant about not calling the police and not going to a hospital, even with so many variables still unknown; you understand too well what it is like. 

Shame and fear are powerful emotions—when all else fails, they take over. 

“I’m sorry,” the woman’s voice quivers. She looks between you and her attacker once more. “Thank you, really, but I can’t—I have to go. I’m so sorry.”

“Wait!” You try to stop her, but she slips through your fingers before you can convince her otherwise. 

She disappears down the street. Calling the police seems almost futile now. You look down at your phone. You’re still a witness to a crime. You should speak up about what you saw. You should try to get justice, even if it will be your word against his. 

Your finger hovers above the call button, but a dark voice from the alley stops you in your tracks. “You bitch!” the man shouts. His voice carries, making you shiver. Now that you’re alone with him, you realize how helpless the situation really is. 

You can’t move. You can’t run. You can’t hide. Your eyes widen. Even half-blind, he has managed to pull the dirty knife from his boot, and he is charging right at you. As if you are the substitute for the woman you just saved. You should have run with her. This was a bad idea. 

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath. You press down on your keychain, but it’s empty now. You’re weaponless with a lot of fake confidence that is slowly swindling, and somehow, you still can’t move. 

You’re frozen in place. Your own recklessness will get you killed. No one will miss you. Your corpse will be buried in a strange cemetery in a strange city that has only been your home for two years, and no one will ever know who you truly were because you told Claire to take your secrets to the grave with her. You will die alone with the familiar feeling of fear and despair spreading through your veins like wildfire. 

Something inside of you cracks, and it melts your frozen muscles. You snap out of your haze when he is only a few inches away from you. In an instant, you have started backing out of the alley almost entirely. You’re running, and you’re running fast. 

You believe that karma comes back around, but sometimes, it takes the wrong direction. You lose your footing suddenly, stumbling over your own shoes, and your ass hits the pavement with a force that knocks the breath out of your lungs. Your wrists bend at a painful angle as you catch yourself, and you look up into the red eyes of what you expect to be your certain demise. 

The impact from the knife never comes. You know what it feels like to be impaled by a sharp object. You know what pain feels like—but it never comes. 

You open your eyes when your ears pick up on the sound of bone breaking—the sight you’re met with startles you, and for a second, you wonder if you’re still alive. You touch your wrist to check for a pulse; it’s still there. You’re not dead, and you’re not hallucinating, either. This is real. 

You’ve seen the news reporting on a man in a black mask scouring the streets of Hell’s Kitchen at night. For weeks now, gang bangers, suspected rapists, and drug dealers have been piling up in the emergency room with several fractures, some of them severe enough to require extensive surgery, but none of them were ever hurt enough to die from their injuries. 

A Russian was dropped from a building a while back. He fell into a coma and then died suddenly a few nights ago, but that was the only patient who got beat up by the infamous Devil of Hell’s Kitchen who lost all quality of life. 

You don’t like to judge, but there is something about him that makes you feel safe rather than afraid. He only beats up those who are in the business of committing injustice and pose a danger to innocent lives. He’s there when the law fails. And so far, he has never killed anyone. The injuries on the patients you treated were quite severe and suggested that whoever did it has a great collection of anger issues, but he has enough self-control not to kill. 

He’s not a threat to people like you. He is, however, a threat to the kind of man who tried to rape an innocent woman and then threatened you with a knife. 

Your attacker drops to the ground with a pained grunt. The man in the mask is towering over him, his chest heaving. You admire his physique for a moment too long. Your eyes trail from his toned chest in that tight black shirt to his backside in those tight-fitting black pants. 

He seems oddly familiar yet, at the same time, he is a total stranger. A stranger in a mask. A stranger who throws fists like a professional boxer. A stranger who could crush your head within seconds. And still, there is something about him that reminds you of someone else, someone you just recently met, but you can’t put your finger on it. It wouldn’t even make sense if you tried. 

You’re still sitting on the cold asphalt, staring up at the man who saved you. He turns his head toward you, slowly. His plump lips glisten in the moonlight. 

“You hurt?” he asks. 

Your throat is all dried up. One glance down at your palms tells you that you only scraped the skin, but you’re not injured. So, you shake your head. Maybe there is a little fear mixed into your stunned eyes, but only because this is a very strange situation to find yourself in, and you have been in a lot of very strange situations in the past. 

He tilts his head ever so slightly. His nostrils flare. “You’re bleeding.”

You don’t even want to know how he knows that.

“Just a scratch,” you finally manage to speak up, although your voice sounds embarrassingly small.

You wipe your palms on your pants and slowly rise to your feet. Every bone in your body hurts. Standing across from him, you realize how much taller he is in person. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says. 

“I know.”

He stops. You can’t see his eyes, but the lower part of his face reveals the confusion that has taken him over. 

“I’ve dealt with men worse than you,” you state. “I’m not scared.”

He chuckles darkly. “You’re welcome.”

People usually don’t talk back at him, it seems. At least those he saves usually don’t. 

“I could’ve defended myself. In fact, I already did.” You lift your keychain. “I don’t know if playing the hero is your thing, but I’m not a victim.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Excuse me?”

“I wasn’t trying to play hero,” he clarifies, a humorless smirk resting on his lips, “I was saving your life ‘cause you were trying to play the hero. Next time, I suggest you don’t bring mace to a knife fight.”

“And I suggest you don’t put your nose where it doesn’t belong,” you retort. 

You were grateful for no longer than a second. Now, you’re just annoyed. 

The alley is still. The atmosphere is heavy with the aftermath of the danger you only narrowly escaped—thanks to him, and you hate admitting that even to yourself. He seems unfazed, almost amused, by your attempts at asserting your independence, and the arrogance radiating off him is hitting the wrong nerve.

“This guy was gonna kill you because you decided to do the right thing,” he says, adjusting his leather gloves. “I decided to save your life. We both made decisions tonight, and it doesn’t matter whether we are happy with them or not. What matters is that no one got hurt.”

“Tell that to the woman he traumatized for life.”

He sighs at your words. “You still did the right thing.”

“I know,” you say.

“Are you always this feisty?”

“Only to masked vigilantes who think I’m some damsel in distress that needs saving and that everything can be solved with their pretty little fists.”

“Well, my pretty little fists are the reason you didn’t end up stabbed, so,” he answers, and his lips curl into a smug smirk. He shrugs, his black shirt riding up only slightly, revealing a sliver of marble skin. You can’t help but let your eyes wander.

“I don’t need a thank you,” he says, “but you need to be more careful next time. Don’t go into dark alleys alone, especially at night. It’s not safe.”

You want to give a snarky remark, but the sound of church bells in the background signal to you that it’s midnight, and you are supposed to be at work. Checking your phone would be a death sentence. Sirens can be heard in the background, but they are not headed for you. 

Maybe Shelly won’t fire you if you’re honest with her about what conspired tonight—if you bare you allow her a glimpse into your soul—but you will suffer the consequences of your own stupidity gravely in the days to come, that much you do know. 

You exhale an exasperated sigh. “I don’t have time for this,” you mutter. 

“Got somewhere to be?” the masked man asks you. 

“As a matter of fact, I do. But that’s none of your business.”

You wonder if he’s frowning under that thin cloth that is hiding his real identity. He still seems so familiar to you. How can he fight if he’s keeping his eyes covered? It’s not the first question you have asked yourself about him, but it surely is the most prominent one because no explanation for it makes sense to you; at least not one you can think of. You want to ask, but you also don’t want to keep encouraging him. You shouldn’t care.

You look back down at the man he knocked out. He’s still unconscious, and he’s bleeding profusely. The angry woman in you wants to let him rot here and let the masked man have his fun, but the doctor in you can’t just leave him there. 

“What about him?” you hear yourself asking, but your mind is far away. 

He tilts his head toward where you’re pointing, not actively looking. How could he? His eyes are covered. His eyes… You can’t make sense of this, and it is affecting your judgment. It’s making you frustrated. 

“He can’t touch you anymore,” his dark voice suddenly sounds so soft. 

A sliver of humanity shines through his facade. Your angry demeanor cracks. “You beat him up pretty good. He could have lasting brain damage,” you remark. 

He pauses, tilting his head further toward the man on the ground. “No,” he says, pouting a little. “He’s still breathing.”

“He could still have brain damage.”

“He has a few broken bones, cuts, bruises, but he’s alive.”

“Those things are totally unrelated. You’re not a doctor, you wouldn’t understand. I’ve already treated more bad guys in the past month than I could possibly count on my fingers, and all of them seemed to fear the same man. Now, not many things can scare a gangbanger to death. Not many people can deliver blows so deliberately without actually fatally wounding anyone. I know it was you,” you say. “Everyone knows it was you, and they’re afraid of you. I’m not, but I am a doctor, and I took an oath to do no harm. I vowed to help those in need, including those I believe may not be worthy of my help. This has nothing to do with judgment. I know you don’t kill; I see it with my own eyes every damn night, but the Russian you beat up a couple days ago?”

That catches his attention. His head whips back around to you, his upper lip twitching slightly as if he is tasting the air. His attention is entirely on you. The question, “What?” gets lost as nothing but a breathless whisper in the cold night air. 

“He was in a coma,” you continue, “and then he died. It’s probably unrelated to what you did, but there was only a small chance he would have ever woken up again anyway. Just because someone is still breathing doesn’t mean their brain is alive. What makes us human, who we are, that is all anchored in our brains. We can’t survive without it. You may not have killed him, but that guy barely had any brain activity left, and that is not something you can consider life.”

You didn’t expect him to sneer. You must have hit a nerve with your words, but it must have hurt him deeply. 

“My point is, I am not letting you do the same to this guy. I’m calling an ambulance and the police, and I will let them figure this out.”

“He’ll walk,” he says, and his voice is dark again. It sends shivers down your spine. 

You look at him, your confidence not wavering this time. “Then so be it, but I am not letting him die,” you say. 

“How is having a rapist walk the streets of this city not doing harm?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Beg your pardon?”

“He will do this again, and maybe next time there will be no one to step in and he will hurt another woman.”

“So what, you want to kill him instead of surrendering him to the authorities?”

“That’s not what I do.”

“Then what do you do?”

“I’m trying to make this city a better place!”

His voice bounces off the walls building a cage around the alley. “And I’m just trying to save a human life, even if it’s a shitty one!” you shoot back. “It’s not our choice who gets to play God, okay? Death would be too kind for a man like him, and leaving him here won’t solve anything either. Like it or not, but I’m not breaking my oath.”

You made a promise when you became a doctor, and you are not going to risk letting someone die on your watch. That could get you into a lot of trouble. 

You approach your attacker’s limp body. When you kneel next to him, a gush of wind blows through your hair. You assess his skull, his abdomen, and his limbs. So far, all you can see are superficial wounds, and the same fractures you have seen pass through the emergency room more than once in the past couple of weeks. He did a number on him, but his pulse feels normal and he is breathing. 

You lift your head, but when you do, you find the spot before you empty. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen has disappeared into the darkness, leaving you to fend for yourself. You should have seen this coming. 

The ambulance takes a while to arrive after you’ve dialed 911. You try your best to keep the man stabilized, but he remains unresponsive. When help finally arrives, the emergency responders are followed by police, and you don’t hesitate to give your statement. You leave the masked vigilante that saved your life out of it—you may not have seen eye to eye just now, but you don’t want to rat him out either. You owe him as much. 

Just as you’re picking your purse off the dirty ground to follow the EMTs to the hospital in the ambulance, giving you the perfect excuse to give to Shelly on why you are even later than you already were, a glimpse of silver in the shadows catches your attention. 

“You did the right thing,” the Devil speaks only loud enough for you to hear, hiding in the darkness protecting the fire escape of the nearest building. 

You swallow your pride. “Thank you,” you finally tell him. 

He chuckles. “For telling you that or saving your life?”

“Both,” and you even offer him a small smile with your gratitude. That is all you’re capable of giving him, for now. 

“Take care,” he says. 

The glimpse of silver disappears, causing the metal of the fire escape to shake under his weight, and he is long gone before you even whisper, “You too.”

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14

[dollfacedarkskin]

How To Be Seen As A Force of Nature

Girl, let’s talk about becoming that woman who walks into a room and everyone feels her presence.

You want to be a force of nature? Start by commanding your own energy first before expecting the world to notice. Here's a breakdown of how to embody that magnetic, unstoppable version of yourself:

Mindset Shift: The biggest transformation begins in your mind. Start seeing yourself as someone worthy of the life you want. Visualize it every single day. If you don’t believe in yourself, why should anyone else? Confidence, girl. Own it. Walk in with your head held high, shoulders back—no matter what.

Style & Appearance: Being a force of nature isn’t about fancy clothes or expensive labels—it’s about walking out your door like you know you’re that woman. Develop your own style. Clothes that fit you, express you. Think powerful but true to yourself, whether it’s streetwear, business casual, or glam. It’s about showing up looking like the best version of you, every single time. Make sure whatever you wear makes you feel unstoppable.

Self-Care (on a Budget): Look, you don’t need luxury spa days to be glowing and in control. Keep your self-care routine simple but consistent. Hydrate—both inside and out. Drink your water like it’s your favorite cocktail, and don’t skip moisturizing! Set up pamper days, even at home. Try DIY face masks, and relax in a bubble bath while listening to something inspiring. It’s all about creating that “me-time” vibe where you recharge your energy.

Focus on Growth: You can’t become a force of nature if you’re not evolving. Read books that challenge your thinking, learn new skills, and expand your mind. Whether it's personal development, business, or even something creative—never stop feeding your brain. The more you know, the more power you hold.

Silent Moves: Stop sharing every detail of your life with the world. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is work on yourself quietly, and then BOOM, the results speak for themselves. You don't need to explain yourself or seek validation from others. Let your success do the talking.

Setting Standards: You want to attract high-quality energy? You need to be high-quality energy. Stop entertaining people and situations that don’t meet your standards. That includes relationships, friendships, and even work. Be clear about your boundaries and hold them. Don’t bend for anyone who doesn’t respect your time, energy, or values.

Physical Presence: This doesn’t mean just being loud or taking up space. It’s about the energy you radiate. Be calm, but firm. Soft, but unshakable. Whether in a meeting, a conversation, or even walking down the street—move with purpose. And hey, don’t forget to smile. It’s one of the most disarming and powerful things you can do.

Body Language: Use your body to express confidence. Think about your posture, eye contact, and how you speak. A force of nature doesn’t stutter through life—they are decisive, even if they're figuring things out as they go.

Embrace Failure: A woman who is a force of nature isn't afraid of falling. She knows every setback is an opportunity to rise higher. Don't be afraid to take risks or make mistakes. What matters is how you handle them. Stand tall, learn, and keep pushing forward.

Unapologetic Authenticity: Finally, and most importantly—be you. Fully, fiercely, unapologetically. There’s power in your uniqueness. You don’t need to fit into anyone’s box or expectations. Just keep refining the parts of yourself that feel true, and watch the world start noticing.

Remember, becoming a force of nature isn’t something that happens overnight. It’s a journey of constantly showing up as your best self, growing, evolving, and staying true to who you are. You got this.

[leftoverdinosaurbones]

Chapter 4: The Pain of Confession

F!Reader (Dark Urge), Spawn Astarion, Haarlep, Raphael - series is NSFW (minors DNI)

[Major Spoilers - Set post BG3]

***

Here is the next chapter of the fanfic I've been working on!

You can read Chapter 1, Chapter 2, and Chapter 3 here on tumblr or on Ao3.

Content Warning: Angst, Depictions of Anxiety/Depression

Summary: You make your way back home to contemplate all the decisions you made at the House of Hope in icy isolation. The evening with Astarion that you pined over this morning now fills your stomach with dread. How is it possible that so much has changed in just a few hours?

This chapter is a bit more dense and less "fun" but I felt like it was important to write. Definitely okay to hate it! The next chapter will start the dive back into Avernus :)

Chapter 4: The Pain of Confession

“Did you have…fun?” Korilla gives you a quick side-eyed glance as she guides you down the hall to the Archive.

You glower in response, running your fingers through your hair in a fruitless attempt to counter the damage done during your time in the Boudoir.

“Sure, that helps.” Korilla stops just before entering the Archive.

“Now, more about the plan. You’ll be taking on a portion of Zariel’s force while freeing your friends. At the same time, we will enter and ensure that a bulk of Zariel’s forces are otherwise…occupied during that time. Between us, it should only be a matter of moments before Zariel’s empire crumbles.” The corner of Korilla’s lips curl up into a smile, relishing the thought of the future victory.

“As per your deal, you’ll be given several items to help you. And you’ll need them.” Korilla pushes open the doors to the Archive - another room that you are more intimately familiar with.

The Archivist raises his head to welcome the visitors. When he spots you, his smile turns sour. He sneers, eyes blazing, and he turns his back. You flinch, remembering how many enemies you’ve made in this House.

“Yes, well. What did you expect? To be welcomed with open arms? You’re not bright, but you can’t possibly be that much of an idiot.” Korilla chastised, shaking her head. Anger bubbles up inside you at a low, rolling boil.

You walk around the room together as Korilla hands you various items, some familiar and some new. You end up with a sizable handful of items, including the Gauntlets of Hill Giant Strength, the Helldusk Helmet, the Amulet of Greater Health, even the Staff of Spellpower (not that you can use it but you won’t turn down a helpful gift). And, of course, you have the Orphic Hammer to break the bonds that imprison your friends.

Korilla leads you back to your makeshift portal to return home.

“Oh, one more thing. Raphael made one additional offer for you to consider - a potential amendment to your agreement. He has offered to become your patron, permanently. But that offer expires once you enter Zariel’s domain.”

You raise your brows, startled by the offer - particularly what it might mean for you and your future commitment to Raphael. You start to open your mouth to ask Korilla a question when she turns abruptly to cut you off.

“My advice? Don’t do it. You’re beneath it.” she sneers at you, with her chin raised defiantly. You bristle at her words, which have been slicing at you over and over. Your hands balled tight into fists, you feel your rage beginning to boil over.

A glint lights up Korilla’s eyes as she waves her fingers at you before vanishing, easily slipping away from your grasp.

***

The sun has started its descent below the horizon. Just this morning, you were counting down the hours, willing this evening to come. Now, dread twists in your belly as you attempt to script out your upcoming evening with Astarion. You bury your face in your hands, flooding your senses with reminders of the House of Hope; the smell of cherries, the feeling of Haarlep’s skin under your fingers…

You needed to scrub yourself clean of that place - and quickly.

You placed a cauldron teeming with water over the fire to warm for your bath. As you wait, you stare into the flames as they lick the logs. The flames grow higher and higher, feeding from the wood - insatiable. The fire enveloped more of the small fireplace, tendrils reaching up towards the cauldron. The heat fills your face, warming your body, though just a faint echo of the relentless heat you felt within the House of Hope.

Why does everything remind you of that place?

Forcing yourself out of your trance, you lept up to grab the cauldron out of the fire. You carried the steaming liquid down the hall and into the bathroom, where you then poured the contents by the bucket into the solitary tub. You opened a window to let in the sounds of Baldur’s Gate, to feel a bit less alone with your thoughts.

The water was scalding, and you hoped it would be enough to burn the smell of Avernus off your skin. You picked up your soap and sponge and began to scrub as Astarion came to your mind. You could see his face as you confessed to him - his hurt, his face twisted in pain at your unexpected betrayal.

The rough sponge tears at your skin as you grind down harder, willing away your guilt. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as you know it’s not enough - it doesn’t help absolve your guilt.

You thrust your head unwater to let out a muffled scream. How could you let things slip back, again? When you’ve recovered so much, changed so much?

All you knew in your past was hurt, and hurting others. It’s so easy for you to return to those old habits, even when you desperately want to change.

***

You made your way through the woods just on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate, carefully navigating through the fallen branches and thick roots. Your poor (but cute) choice of shoes wasn’t helped by the fact that the moon provided only the faintest glow of light, which made the path that much more hazardous.

You gathered the folds of your dress to the side in one hand to free up movement for your legs. You loved this dress - long, soft fabric with a slit running up one side of your legs, with a plunging neckline. The deep black dye rivaled only the depths of a night without a moon.

Too dressed up for the occasion. Too romantic for nausea that grips your insides. You’d hoped that putting on this dress (a costume at this point, really) could help mask your feelings for the night.

You stepped into a slight clearing of trees, where the mist hovering just above the ground sparkled with the glow from the moon.

A few paces ahead, Astarion silently slipped out from behind a tree.

“There you are.”

You let your dress fall out of your clutched hand as you drank him in. He was stunning; simply ethereal in this light. You held your hand to your chest as you felt the steady increase in your heart rate, seeking to ground yourself.

“I've been waiting.”

He took a few strides towards you, with his casual and confident ease. His eyes were focused on you, only you, the sole focus of his desire. You felt your breath catch as the heat of your own desire began to warm your core.

“Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. From the first moment I bit you. When you helped save me from myself. And every moment since.”

Closer still. He was nearly close enough to touch. His features come more into focus as you see the delicate details of his face; the sharp lines of his jaw and nose mixed with the soft laugh lines framing his lips.

He held your chin up his hand, bringing your eyes up to meet his.

“Waiting… to have you.”

“You don’t have me yet…” you whisper, your voice thick and choked by the looming threat of tears.

Astarion’s face falls into a frown, browns burrowed in concern. He cups your cheeks with both hands and pulls you in close.

“My love, what’s wrong? What happ…” he stops short, his face scrunched as he takes in more of you, smelling the faint traces of the House of Hope on your skin. He moves his hands from your face to your shoulders.

“Where have you been?” Astarion’s face hardens as he searches yours for answers.

You can’t look at him. Instead, your eyes rest along the ground among the fallen branches. Your fingers gather a small bunch of the soft material from your dress and rub soothing circles in an attempt to self-regulate.

Words tumble out of your mouth as tears spill down your cheeks as you tell Astarion everything that happened today, sparing only the darkest details. Astarion pulled his hands away from you and crossed his arms against his chest, protectively. Your body heaved as you saw the impact of your words, your actions on your love.

You crumbled to the ground, covering your face to muffle the sobs wrenching out of your body. Cool hands grabbed your wrists to pull them away from your face. Soft fingers soothed under your puffy eyes, bringing a small amount of relief.

You felt him sit next to you, the secure weight of his body wrap around you to pull you in close. He placed his chin gently on top of your head as you rested on his chest, tears sinking into his bare skin.

“I know what is it like to not have control over your own body,” he whispered. “When you can’t resist. I am so sorry.” He stroked your back as his words brought more sobs to the surface. You clung to his body like the liferaft it was - the only thing keeping you from falling into a deep pit of darkness. And this time, you weren’t sure if you could crawl your way back out.

Astarion steeled himself. “And we will help Karlach and Wyll. We will help them and then make sure we never need the help of that wretched devil ever again.” Astarion spat, the mere thought of Raphael bringing bile into his mouth.

You felt so grateful for Astarion, for his love and acceptance. So you tried to force down the very small, very dark part of you that threatened to build up inside you. The little voice that reminded you how much you liked being used by Haarlep and - even worse - how Raphael treated you.

You can read the next chapter here.

[quietwings-fics]

ask and ye shall receive

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Gen (Jo & Sam, Lucifer & Sam) Additional Tags: Minor Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Hellhounds, Jo Harvelle Lives, Angel Healing, Episode: s05e10 Abandon All Hope… (Supernatural), Blood and Injury, Guilt, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Character Death Wordcount: 1866 Summary:

Sam is going to save Jo’s life, whatever the cost.

Notes:

for day 30 of whumptober: bridal carry!

It’s watching Jo bleed out that forces Sam to make his decision. Surrounded by the makeshift bombs they’re creating, with hellhounds growling at the doors, and it’s Sam’s fault, like everything is. Sam’s fault and Sam’s to fix, whatever cost comes with that, because he can’t let Jo die. He watches the way she smiles weakly for Ellen before her mother turns, and her expression crumples in on itself.

“I think we should make more of these,” he hears himself say. Dean looks up. There’s a hard wall behind his brother’s eyes, the kind he knows Dean can’t allow to fall before they put a bullet in the devil’s head, no matter what happens now. If he stops moving, he won’t be able to start again. Sam swallows. “There’s more stuff in the back.”

“Sam-”

“Please,” Sam begs, and he knows too well how to pull a little pity from Dean, “I just want a minute with her.” Dean stares him down, and Sam adds, “I have to apologize.” 

It hurts that that’s what makes Dean back down. Sam’s goodbyes aren’t worth some privacy but his atonement is. 

Whatever gets him where he needs to be, he tells himself. He can hear the muffled footfalls of the dogs outside. They don’t bark whenever he gets too close to the door the way they do for Dean or Ellen.

And he’s hoping, has to hope, that there’s even a sliver of truth to the devil’s promises.

“Okay,” Dean says. He reaches out like he’s going to pat Sam on the shoulder as he passes, but his hand never connects and Sam pretends he didn’t lean towards the touch, shaking himself and only watching Dean for as long as it takes him to convince Ellen to come with him. Sam can’t watch her leave. If this goes wrong-

“Hey, Sam,” Jo says as he kneels down next to her. He can smell her death in the air, stalking her on jagged claws and burning with salt and gasoline. His hands shake as he checks what little they have bandaged up. He needs to know it’ll hold. “Sam,” she says again, “don’t ignore me. I only get so many last words.” Sam grits his teeth hard and squeezes his eyes shut. “Sam?”

“I’m not going to let you die,” he tells her. Jo tips her head. There’s blood in her hair, in her clothes, on Sam’s hands for touching her. 

“Not sure that’s an option,” she says. She sounds scared. She’s hiding it well, but even if the only deaths Sam has known have been easy ones, quick ones, he still remembers the fear, even if it only came bubbling up in his chest in the aftermath like scars for a wound he didn’t realize he had. 

She sees something in his eyes. He hopes it isn’t determination or love — all those have ever done is damn him further — but guilt, he could live with her seeing. Guilt won’t hurt anyone but himself, he hopes.

“Trust me,” he says. He puts one arm under her back, the other under her legs. Her jeans are warm and wet with her own blood. Jo grunts in pain. She grabs at his shoulder, but her fingers barely have enough strength to grip it.

“Stop it,” she says. Sam can’t. He heaves her up. She’s heavier than she looks, compact muscle weighing her down. “Sam, stop!” He’s hurting her, and all he can do is look away and towards the door. “Mom!” Jo screams. It isn’t as loud as Sam knows she can be, and all he can feel is the blood soaking into his own clothes. 

When they come out, and Sam’s at the door with Jo bleeding out in his arms, Ellen has a gun pointed at his head. She won’t shoot, not for him, but because he’d drop Jo if she did. He tries to apologize, but the words stick in his throat. They won’t be enough. The only thing of worth he can offer is fixing this mess he’s made. 

“Sam, come back here,” Dean orders. 

Sam leaves.

It’s cold in Carthage. The wind stings his face. He tries to tuck Jo closer as he feels her start to shiver, blood loss and fear wracking her body. She can’t even fight him, and she must hate that. Sam wonders if she’ll forgive him for this, but it won’t matter. All he wants is for her to live.

He hears the howl of the hellhounds as the close in. He tries to count their footsteps, but there’s too many. He can see Dean being torn apart right in front of his eyes and if he’s wrong, if he brought Jo out here just to feed her to these things, he-

There’s the nudge of a large, warm body against his leg. It snuffles at him and growls softly. Sam can’t breathe.

Very gently, teeth close around the loose edge of his jeans and tug him forward. The message is clear when he resists and the growls get louder. He’s going with them. 

“You have to take me to Lucifer,” he tells the hellhounds as they pad around him, almost forming a protective barrier, one that would keep anything else away and him from leaving. He’s not sure they understand a word he’s saying. One of them touches its warm nose to his elbow, too close to Jo for comfort, and he wrenches away from it. Jo whimpers from the sudden movement. She’s too pale and too quiet. Sam picks up his pace.

The hellhounds race alongside him, proclaiming his journey with howls that sound far more joyful than the ones that came when they hunted damned souls. That did nothing to stop Sam’s skin from crawling with every reminder that they were there, just out of sight, and that they ripped Jo open like tissue paper. 

Her eyes were shut now. She was still breathing. 

The hellhounds guide him down the streets towards the sickening stench of corpses. It’s filling the air now, an unmistakable answer to where everyone in Carthage has gone. This was a bad idea. What’s Lucifer going to care about one more dead human? Sam’s practically giftwrapping himself for him. The hellhounds won’t let him turn back, and even if he could, he wouldn’t make it back to Ellen and Dean with Jo still alive. There was only one way: forward, to the mass grave. 

Lucifer is humming to himself. It paints the whole scene with absurd horror: the demons that part to make an aisle for Sam to walk down, the way Lucifer shovels away the dirt himself, the smell of the bodies just beyond and hidden from Sam’s view. Hellhounds run past Sam to their master, barking at Lucifer, scuffing paw marks in the dirt as they surround him. Lucifer drops the shovel just to pet them, ruffling invisible fur and cooing at the same monsters that killed Dean once and would kill Jo, too, if this didn’t work.

And then Lucifer looks up at him. He smiles. Sam waits for his stomach to plummet in anger, disgust, fear, but it doesn’t. He feels good seeing Lucifer smile. He wants more.

It only lasts a moment, long enough for Lucifer to start saying, “Sam! I thought you would-” He stops, tilting his head. “Who’s that?”

Sam swallows. 

“Did you find her on the street?” Lucifer sounds disgusted, but then he turns that on his demons, scolding them with a scorching fury he hasn’t let Sam see before. “I asked you for death, not torture! Who-”

“She was with me,” Sam interrupts. Lucifer stops immediately to let him speak, and the anger in his eyes vanishes the moment he looks at Sam again. 

“Oh,” he says, “Sam, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought you only brought Dean and my little brother.” Lucifer steps down from the hill he was shoveling on. Sam, instinctively, takes a step back, but the open aisle of before has closed behind him, trapping him here with Lucifer. When Lucifer approaches, Sam can see the burns trailing down his face and peeling on his hands. “I did tell you,” Lucifer says, his voice growing softer as he gets closer, as though he wants only Sam to hear him now. Sam wants to pull Jo away from him, as ridiculous as that notion is when there’s nowhere to go. “Nick is hardier than I thought, but still, he’s not you,” Lucifer murmurs. His gaze drops once to survey all of Sam, in the same space for the first time and relishing it.

“Is that what you want?” Sam says. “You heal her, and I-” Lucifer blinks. He steps closer, peering down at Jo, and then back at Sam. He lifts a hand to Sam’s face, only to have him flinch back from it. Lucifer looks surprised at that, and Sam can’t understand why as his hand lingers in the air, out-stretched, waiting, before Lucifer draws it back under the fold of his arms where Sam can’t see it anymore.

“I won’t play games like that,” Lucifer tells him. “If you want me to heal her, all you have to do is ask.”

Jo’s shallow breaths echo in Sam’s ears. Lucifer waits, patiently, as though anything else he has to do tonight can be put on hold for as long as Sam needs.

“Please,” Sam begs, “she doesn’t deserve to die because of me.” Lucifer rests a hand on Jo’s stomach, and Sam sucks in a breath. He’s too close. He can feel Lucifer’s grace flooding the air, spreading from his fingers into Jo’s wounds, brushing Sam’s skin as it moves around them. Sam’s senses fill with Lucifer, and it’s suddenly the hardest thing he’s ever done to stop himself from saying yes immediately. He can feel the word behind his teeth, bashing forward like it can break free of his mouth and meet the archangel he’s made for. 

A knot of burned flesh peels on Lucifer’s jaw as he focuses. He doesn’t even seem to notice his vessel collapsing around him. Sam can’t do anything but notice, and know, intimately, how well Lucifer would slide under his skin and belong there. 

“There we go,” Lucifer says. Jo breathes in deeply. Her eyes open for a moment, but Lucifer shuts them again and when he pulls his hand back, Jo stays asleep in Sam’s arms. She still smells like blood, but it will dry now.

“And now I set you free,” Lucifer says, “because I know you’ll come back.” He pauses, gazing at Sam with so much affectionate that it makes Sam’s stomach turn worse than the rot in the air. Sam can hear the shuffling of footsteps behind him. He can’t take his eyes off of Lucifer. He steps back. Lucifer watches him go, surrounded by demons in dead bodies and obedient hellhounds at his feet. “I’ll give you anything, Sam,” Lucifer calls after him. “You just have to ask.”

And with Jo alive in his arms, Sam flees and hopes that when he makes it back to Dean and Ellen, they won’t shoot him dead the moment he’s in range.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[windfighter]

To all the people I loved while you were gone

Prompt: ”I can’t do this.”

-------

Kouji was in Italy. The first time he visited the country Takuya and Junpei had moved to. He’d stay for a week, then go to Austria, Hungary, Ukraine. Maybe Slovakia. He hadn’t completely made up his mind yet. He wanted to go to Ukraine though.

But first Italy. Say hello to Junpei. Hang out with Takuya a bit. They hadn’t seen each other for a year. Kouji had missed him. He wondered if Takuya would be surprised when he showed up. ...he should probably have sent a warning, shouldn’t he?

Takuya had let them all know where he practiced and when. Kouji wondered if it would be wrong to just show up there. Should he bring flowers? It had been a year. What did people in long-distance relationships do when they met after a long time? Kouji had absolutely no idea.

-------

He ended up not bringing flowers. He leaned against the fence of the field, watched as Takuya and his teammates ran after the ball, laughing. Takuya had gotten even more tan since moving. He looked fluid on the field. Kouji leaned his head against his hand. He’d call it beautiful if he had been more romantic, but neither of them had ever really been that.

Takuya stopped. Blinked. Turned towards Kouji. Kouji laughed and raised a hand. Waved. Takuya shouted something in Italian to his teammates before running over.

”Kouji?!”

”Last I checked, yeah.”

”What are you doing here?”

Kouji could give five answers to the question. He shrugged.

”You’ve told us where you practice and I was nearby.”

Takuya opened his mouth. Kouji really wanted to just grab his shirt, pull him closer and kiss him. Takuya shook his head.

”We’ll talk more after practice, if you’re still here.”

Kouji sat down, saluted Takuya and put his backpack on the ground next to him. Takuya almost smiled, before turning his back and going back to practice. Kouji watched them. Waited. He wasn’t even worried about how long it would take. He never cared much for football, but there was something hypnotic about watching Takuya move on the grass.

Half an hour later the magic was gone. Practice over. Takuya jogged over to Kouji and Kouji stood up again, put his backpack on his back. Grabbed Takuya and pulled him in for a kiss, but Takuya hesitated and Kouji aborted. Confused.

”I… uh…”

Takuya looked at the ground. Kouji let go, crossed his arms over his chest.

”We’re adults now”, Takuya said.

Kouji raised an eyebrow. What did that have with anything to do?

”And I…” Takuya scratched the back of his head. ”I can’t do this. Us. It’s not…”

”Are you breaking up with me?”

Kouji was amused. He smiled, but tried to hide it behind his hand. Takuya frowned, then nodded.

”Did you find someone else?” Kouji asked.

Still amused. Takuya kicked a stone on the ground, put his hands in his pockets.

”How many else?” Kouji continued.

It was hard to keep the laughter out of his voice. Takuya’s cheeks turned red and he looked away.

”I’m saying it’s not fair to you”, Takuya said. ”I can’t do this, I can’t be together with you because it’s not fair to you.”

Kouji laughed. Put a hand across his face and shook his head. Tried to force the laughter back down but it bubbled up again. He grabbed Takuya’s arm, pulled him closer.

”Do you remember all those years ago when we got together?” he asked.

Takuya nodded. The blush crept down his neck.

”Do you remember two weeks later when I saw you making out with Fumiko?”

He could feel Takuya’s heartbeat increase and let go, gave him a light shove. Takuya nodded again. Kouji remembered it too. The fight following it, the slow realization that they had very different needs, and eventually finding a way to work around it. Work with it. The decision that it was worth it.

”So… Are you breaking up with me?” Kouji asked again.

Takuya hesitated. Kouji could tell he had been thinking a lot about this. That Kouji had flipped the script completely. He leaned against the fence. Takuya looked at him. Also leaned against the fence.

”You deserve better”, he said.

”I don’t want better”, Kouji answered. ”I think it worked out pretty well for us.”

”We’re adults”, Takuya repeated. ”It’s time we find someone to settle down with and… we can’t do that together. You’re too…”

”Ace”, Kouji said even if it wasn’t exactly the right label. ”I know. But you’re talking about a traditional relationship, like our parents would want us to have and neither of us have ever been looking forwards to that. Are you now?”

Takuya clasped his hands together. Shook his head. Kouji grabbed Takuya’s shirt, pulled him closer until their faces were just an inch from each other.

”Well then, Kanbara Takuya, I’ll ask for the last time. Are you breaking up with me?”

Takuya put his hands against Kouji’s cheeks, closed the gap between their faces. The kiss felt awkward. Nice, but uncertain in a way Kouji didn’t expect from Takuya. He wondered if Takuya’s teammates were watching.

”You’re fine with it?” Takuya asked. ”With the how many else?”

”Just don’t tell me all the details”, Kouji laughed. ”Are you free tonight? Want to show me around?”

Takuya lit up, grinned.

”Yeah, absolutely! Just lemme go shower and get dressed, we’ll start out with the best pizzeria in town!”

”Sounds fun.” Kouji shoved Takuya towards the locker rooms and sat down again. ”I’ll be waiting right here.”

Takuya laughed, waved and ran towards the lockers. Kouji smiled. Takuya was such an absolute moron, but then, what did that make him for falling in love with said moron?

[comphy-and-cozy]

NHL!Michael Blurb // "Let's have a baby."

For the anon who requested #49 ("Let's have a baby"). I took the liberty of making this deliciously filthy and smutty.

NSFW/Smut under the cut. ~3.5K words. Breeding/pregnancy kink. Some daddy kink, too.

Unofficial part 2 here.

#49: “Let’s have a baby.”

You’re in the kitchen when he says it, unbuckling your heels from the team function you just came back from. Facing the counter, one hand supports you as you slip your feet out of the shoes.

“Let’s have a baby, or let’s make a baby?” you ask, brow quirked to yourself. “There’s a big difference.”

You feel the warmth of Michael’s body approach behind you, hands resting on your hips. He presses his lips against your shoulder in an affectionate gesture that you know has more meaning behind it. He hums, lips sliding toward your neck. “Both?”

You turn in his arms, stopping his movements as you look him in the eyes, trying to gauge how serious he is. “Michael —“

“If we start trying now, there’s a better chance that they can be born in the offseason,” he explains, voice logical.

You raise your eyebrows, surprised at his thought out rationale. “Oh, so you’ve thought about this.”

“I always think about knocking you up.”

You roll your eyes, and he grins. Michael’s arms wrap around you, holding you close, and he adds, “I’m serious, though. I want to start a family with you.”

“Babies are a lot of work,” you point out, not convinced that he really understands the magnitude of bringing life into the world; you assume he’s just trying a new tactic of getting you naked. “It’s different from Gus.”

“I know.”

“We have to feed it and bathe it and teach it life skills and lessons and —“

“Y/N, I know.”

You pause, biting your lip as your arms circle around his neck. You’d wanted to be a mom for as long as you could remember, that feeling only becoming more prominent as your relationship with Michael blossomed. Now, the ring on your left ring finger holds a different weight, symbolizing the security and stability you didn’t realize you had been waiting for.

His eyes watch you, as if he’s trying to hear the train of thoughts chugging through your mind; he gauges how long he should let you ponder.

“Angel,” he presses on after a moment. “I want to be a dad. I want to be a parent with you. I’m ready. If you still are.”

Your eyes slide back up to his, and you see the sincerity in his gaze. Suddenly shy, you shrink in his arms as the realization hits you that this is real.

“What if you think I’m ugly when I’m all bloated and pregnant?”

Michael’s large hands flex slightly on your hips and his gaze becomes more intense, but his smile is the opposite, full of love and adoration as he looks at you. “I could never think that, baby.”

You’re not convinced, but then his hips press into yours, letting you know exactly how much he likes the image, and suddenly the mood in the kitchen has drastically changed. His hands move to grip your hips tighter, and he leans in to kiss you; it’s sweet, but you can feel the heat behind it that he’s trying to contain, waiting for your ‘official’ approval.

You’re ready; you know you are, and it really isn’t much of a decision — the source of your hesitation is more that you sort of can’t believe you’re really going to do this. With just a simple nod, you let him know that the light is green. You feel his lips curl into a grin against yours before he’s kissing you with full force, letting the hunger inside of him take over.

Michael’s tongue meets yours, carving out a space in your mouth as his hands pull you against him. His mouth is quick to move to your jaw, pressing open mouthed kisses along your skin before he murmurs in your ear, “You’re going to look so fucking sexy carrying my baby.”

A shiver runs down your spine, going straight to your core at his words. Michael walks you backwards until your bottom hits the edge of the counter, and he effortlessly lifts you up until you’re sitting on it. He pulls his mouth away from yours to smirk at you for a moment, then spreads your legs and steps between them, pulling you close once again before seeking out the skin on your neck.

You hum with pleasure, each kiss earning more goosebumps along your skin as you feel the wetness between your legs growing.

“Michael,” you whine. “Please.”

“Needy already, are we?” he teases. “Have patience, angel. Gotta get you nice and ready for me, yeah?”

Michael follows through on his statement by tugging your hips forward, placing a hand behind your back to gently lay you down against the granite countertop. It’s cold against your skin, but you’re distracted quickly when he kisses your calf, trailing his lips up your leg as he bunches the skirt of your dress up your thighs. Your back arches when his mouth presses against your core through the fabric of your panties, his tongue licking the material barrier.

Soon, but not soon enough, his fingers curl into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs. Your eyes watch him as he takes in the sight of your bare pussy in front of him, and you wish that you could see into his mind and hear all of his filthy thoughts.

“She’s so gorgeous,” he murmurs, settling between your legs and allowing them to drape over his shoulders. He’s speaking to you, but his eyes haven’t left your core. “Such a pretty pussy.”

You shiver under his praise, eyes fluttering shut when he presses a kiss to your lower lips, slowly and sensually dipping his tongue in your entrance. “Taste so fucking good, baby.”

Michael’s tongue explores your pussy as if it’s his first time, taking his time even though he knows each and every spot. He’s always been the kind of guy who genuinely enjoys eating pussy, treating it like an art rather than a chore. He kisses your clit before flicking it gently with the tip of his tongue, drawing delicate circles around it that have your head spinning in no time.

Large hands hold your hips in place as he all but makes love to your pussy, tongue delving inside you and through each fold. His nose nudges your clit, and you stifle a moan when his tongue flattens against you. One hand trails to meet his mouth, dipping a finger inside you to work in tandem with his lips wrapping around your clit.

Your mind is blank, empty save for relishing the heated euphoria Michael is providing you, working you with his practiced rhythm in the way that always leaves you breathless. He said he wanted to get you ready, but with the cadence he’s set, you know he wants to make you come, and hard. By the way the heat is flooding your belly, it seems like he’ll achieve his goal quicker than expected.

“That’s it, baby,” he mouths against you, his voice muffled by your thighs wrapped around his head. “Can feel you.”

Fingers curling upward, he all but grins at the cry you let out as he strikes your g-spot, probing it while his tongue continues it’s assault on your clit. The pressure inside you snaps, hitting you like a freight train, and your body goes rigid as your release rips through you. Michael doesn’t relent, his fingers and tongue working to drag out the waves of your orgasm that have now dulled to an intense ripple.

Once he’s satisfied with your weak whimpers, he slows his movements before gingerly removing his hand, inserting the same fingers into his mouth to suck off the remaining excess.

“Michael,” you moan, the sight nearly too much to handle in combination with your climax. “Need you.”

He chuckles softly, standing to lean over you. His mouth is coated in a layer of your slick, but you reach up to kiss him anyways, tasting yourself as he wastes no time in plunging his tongue in your mouth the same way he had done to your pussy just moments prior. In an instant, the action has your orgasmic haze clearing, making way for a fresh, and strong, wave of desire.

“I don’t think the kitchen counter is the right spot to make a baby, do you?” he asks, hands sliding under your ass to lift you into his arms. Wouldn’t be the worst spot, you think to yourself, but you tuck your arms around his neck anyways.

“Nah,” he says. “Want to do it properly, in bed.”

If your lips weren’t so busy seeking out his, you might be embarrassed that you said that out loud, but instead you’re focused on wrapping your legs around him as he begins to carry you through the house. Eventually he makes his way to the bedroom, gently dropping you on the mattress, crawling over you in an instant.

Michael’s hands slide up your sides, helping you to remove your dress, then your bra, and he pauses to take in the sight of you naked beneath him.

“Never gets old,” he comments, eyes staring at your breasts.

“Michael, you saw them this morning,” you laugh, and he shakes his head.

“Doesn’t matter. They’re still perfect.”

You respond by tugging at his shirt until he pulls it over his head, and as your eyes trail over the cut muscles of his body, you suddenly understand his sentiment — you will never grow tired of this view. You’re distracted, though, when he unzips his pants and kicks them down his legs, leaving him in nothing but his boxer briefs with a sizable tent in them.

Dragging your bottom lip between your teeth, you do your best to quell the moan that bubbles in your throat, anticipation thrumming through your veins. Michael knows, and he gives a cocky smirk. “You want it, don’t you, angel?”

You drag your eyes up to his, giving your best sultry ‘fuck me’ eyes as you nod, refusing to give into the temptation to yell, “Yes, please, please, please.”

Your feet slide up his legs and make their best attempt at pushing his boxer briefs down his legs, half succeeding before he’s smirking again, leaning back to help you remove them completely. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, finally naked and bare for you, just as you are for him.

He’s in a teasing mood, you can tell, and instead of letting him, you take matters into your own hands by reaching out to fist his length. He’s hard in your hand, skin soft as velvet, as you pump your hand while maintaining solid eye contact with him.

Michael isn’t pleased with your act of defiance, but your hand feels too damn good to ignore, and a groan of pleasure sounds from his chest as you give him a squeeze. His eyes watch you, glittering, while you shift onto your knees on the bed to take him into your mouth.

He groans out at the feeling, hand moving to tangle loosely in your hair as you work your lips around him. He’s heavy, and big, and you have always enjoyed the challenge of fitting as much of him into your throat as you can. Steeling yourself, you relax enough to take him deeper, tongue flattening against the underside of his dick.

“Jesus Christ,” he grunts out. “Such a perfect, pretty mouth you have, baby.”

You bob your head, finding a rhythm, tongue working sinfully in tandem with your lips and the suction of your mouth. Even after all these years, he is still in awe that he married the world’s best dick sucker, and that he’s going to get blowjobs like this for the rest of his life.

Slowly, your rhythm melds into his as he begins to gently move his hips, thrusting into your mouth cautiously. Once he’s sure you’re ready by the telltale sign of your fingers flexing on his thighs, he takes over the movement, fucking your mouth as he hits the back of your throat each time.

“Mmm,” he hums, fingers gripping your hair a bit tighter. “So good for me.”

Each thrust and groan from his mouth draws more arousal to your own core, thoroughly enjoying how much pleasure you are providing to him. With one hand bracing yourself on the bed, holding yourself steady, you move your other hand between your legs, rubbing circles over your clit. Michael, of course, takes note of this quickly, chuckling darkly. He knows how much you enjoy this, and it turns him on wildly to know that getting him off also gets you off.

Pulling away from your mouth, Michael bites his lip at the sight of his dick emerging from your lips, swollen and covered in saliva, as a string connects your mouth to his tip even as he pulls away.

“As much as I love to fuck your pretty little throat, I’m afraid I won’t be cumming there anymore. Have to save all of this cum for your pretty little pussy, yeah?”

You let out an unabashed moan at his words, feeling yourself clench down onto nothing at the thought. Michael presses forward, leaning down to kiss you as he gently pushes you backward, tangling your legs around his hips while he crawls on top of you.

He settles between your legs, his hard cock resting so close to where you need him most, but instead of giving you what you want, he cages your head between his muscular arms, gazing down at you.

“You like that, angel?” his voice is low as he weaves his hand down your body, toying teasingly at your entrance; he smirks upon feeling just how drenched you are for him, welcoming his fingers greedily. “Oh, yeah, you fucking love it, huh? You can’t wait for me to fuck a baby into you, can you?”

If his grade-A pussy eating skills don’t have you soaked, his words certainly do, and you feel your muscles clench weakly around nothing, aching for him to be inside you.

Michael kisses you deeply, and you can’t help the whimper that he swallows down as he grinds himself against you. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers clutching onto him as you try to focus on anything but the throbbing between your legs. You’re desperate for him, needing to feel some sort of friction and the delicious stretch of him inside of you.

“Michael, please,” you whimper, “Please.”

“Please, what, angel?” he asks, teasing you as he leans back to rub the head of his cock along your dripping slit.

“Please, fuck me,” you moan, and Michael hums in approval.

“That’s my girl,” he praises you, enjoying the effect he clearly has on you.

He adjusts, bracing his arms on your sides before he slides into you slowly, eyes glued to your face as your mouth opens in a silent moan. The sex was always good with him, but there was nothing quite like the first stretch around his thick length as your bodies connect into one.

Your nerves tingle as he works himself into you, leaning forward to touch his forehead to yours in a sweet gesture that you’d normally appreciate more if you weren’t desperately in need of more. His hot breath fans over your face, but you’re too busy focusing on the way he feels moving in and out of you, igniting the fire in your core with each thrust of his hips. Breath is caught in your throat, hips rising to meet each push, and Michael kisses you as if to suck the air out of your lungs for you.

For a brief while, all that can be heard in the privacy of your bedroom are your heavy breaths and the gentle sound of Michael’s hips hitting yours. He feels so fucking good, and you are perfectly fine to enjoy the sensation rather than rushing to reach your peak. Somehow, it feels different — and even better — knowing that this act is more than just passionate lovers, but making love — and making life.

Your hands graze over the skin of his shoulders, accepting the heat of his flesh into your fingertips, and, likewise, transferring the thrum of your chest until your hearts beat in tandem as one.

Michael, though, has a different idea in mind, and soon, the pace of his hips speeds up as he begins to thrust into you harder. His lips find your jaw, sucking into the spot just below your ear, muffling the sound of his groans as he feels you clench tightly around him.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he murmurs. “Can’t wait to fill this pretty little cunt up with my cum.”

All you can do is whimper in response, the arousal you feel at his words and his matching actions almost overwhelming. Your fingers tremble along his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh as you hold on for dear life.

“Yeah? You like that, baby? You want to make me a daddy?”

“Fuck,” you cry out, both from the way he presses the head of his cock right against your g-spot, as well as his erotic words. “Yes, Michael, yes, please.”

“Yeah? You gonna take all of my cum, aren’t you? Not gonna waste a single drop, huh?”

You shake your head, not trusting your voice to come out, and he rewards you by moving his hand to circle at your clit. He knows you’re close, hanging on by just a thread, your cunt clenching desperately around him.

“That’s it, angel,” he praises, eyes glassy as he watches the bounce of your tits. “Take it so good, don’t you? Fuck, it’s like you were made to take my dick, baby.”

Between his hot praise, forceful thrusts, and calculated rub of your clit, you’re spiraling over the edge before you even have a chance to cry out, the euphoria washing over you in overwhelming waves. Your head falls back and legs tremble with the strength of your orgasm, clenching tightly around him as he groans at the feeling.

“Good girl,” he purrs, removing his hand from your clit to take its place back on your hip, gripping it tightly as he seeks out his own release.

He pumps into you, losing himself to his own rhythm as his eyes close. A deep groan rumbles in his chest, almost animalistic, and it has you clenching tightly around him.

“Fuck,” he exclaims. “Gonna come, angel. Gonna fill you up with a fucking baby.”

“Give it to me, daddy,” you moan, encouraging him. “Come inside me.”

The sight of him coming is always something — head thrown back, eyes closed, muscles flexed — but it’s even more beautiful knowing the intimacy of the act. It’s more than a release, it’s the start of a family with the man you’re hopelessly and deeply in love with, souls connected in more ways than one.

You feel the hot spurts shooting into you, and it’s almost enough to send you into another orgasm, your cunt greedily taking every drop from his cock. His hips stutter against yours, hands loosening their grip as he comes down from his high.

Michael looks down at you, panting, and smirks at you before pulling out halfway, only to push back in and make you clench weakly around him.

“Gotta keep it all in this pretty little cunt, don’t we? Don’t wanna waste a single drop,” he says.

He takes his time, lightly fucking you, gently sliding in and out of you. Between your two orgasms and the feeling of his warmth deep inside your womb, your core is on fire in the best way, and your fumbling hand reaches quickly for your clit. One, two, three circles later, you’re crying out in your final orgasm of the night, legs trembling weakly as your insides contract tightly.

Michael watches in awe, cursing under his breath as he lets you work through it, keeping his gentle rhythm steady. He eyes the swollen, wet lips of your pussy with a deep appreciation. “Look so fucking pretty taking my cum. All filled up with our baby, yeah?”

He presses kisses to your hairline as you come down slowly, as if to tell you to take your time. When he finally pulls out, you whimper slightly at the loss, feeling the emptiness, but you know you’re not really empty.

With his release, the darkness in Michael’s eyes has disappeared, and now he’s looking at you softly, eyes full of love and adoration. His lips curl into a smile, leaning down to kiss you gently as one hand trails over your belly. No words are needed; you know what he’s thinking, as you imagine the little seed growing inside of you.

He shifts so that he’s laying next to you, pulling you into his arms, and he presses a kiss against your forehead.

“Have to say,” he murmurs after a moment. “I think I like being daddy already.”

“A daddy, or just daddy?”

Michael hums, hand trailing over your stomach again, as if there’s already something there, invisible to everyone but him.

“Both.”

[helaintoloki]

Meet the Family

pairing: Pietro Peter Maximoff x fem!reader

warnings: angst, manipulation, reader is a Westview hostage controlled by Wanda, etc., 2.5k in length

notes: writing a piece that takes place in the WandaVision universe was such a challenging and fun experience, and I really tried to capture the same dark undertones of the show so I hope you enjoy!

summary: An innocent family dinner with Pietro’s new girlfriend reveals that life in Westview is not what it seems. Uncle Pietro introduces y/n to the family!

Y/n almost feels like she’s being watched as the warm hand of her boyfriend— since when do I have a boyfriend?— carefully guides her trembling figure up the front steps of his sister’s house and rings the doorbell. Her grip on the glass dish of brownies in her hands is so impossibly tight she fears she might just break it, and when the silver haired man swoops down to steal a kiss from her cherry gloss stained lips she can’t help but to feel nauseated. The sickness morphs into guilt immediately, and when he looks down upon her with a gaze so tender and fond she forces herself to bat her eyes and smile at him. What kind of girlfriend is horrible enough to be disgusted by a kiss from her own boyfriend? Something isn’t right here...

“Don’t even sweat it, babe, my little sis is going to love you!” Pietro comforts with an easygoing grin plastered on his features.

“I hope so,” y/n murmurs quietly, nervously chewing at her bottom lip. This is the audition, her one shot at impressing the boss, and if even one tiny minuscule detail is thrown out of place then there goes her new house and fancy wardrobe and y/n is written out of the show. Permanently.

“My girlfriend is such a worrywart,” he laughs fondly with a gentle pinch of her cheek. It’s as if a switch is flipped inside of her, and this time when she smiles at him it is genuine and full of unadulterated love.

“I just want everything to be perfect, I know how much this means to you,” she replies earnestly, too dazed to notice the soft aww that drifts through the air from the audience. Pietro smiles.

“Man, did I luck out on finding the most perfect girl in the world or what?”

“Well us being together certainly isn’t a coincidence,” she notes with a small smile. The uneasiness begins to wash over her again, but y/n isn’t given a chance to dwell on the feeling as the front door swings open and a vibrant looking young woman stands in the doorway, almost beaming at the two with pure glee.

“Thank goodness you made it!” She exclaims, hand delicately resting on her chest to showcase her relief before she pulls the stranger her brother into a hug.

“Like we’d really miss Sunday dinner,” Pietro jokes before pressing a chaste kiss to his sister’s cheek. His hand returns to the small of y/n’s back and the fond smile pulls at his lips again. “Wanda, I’d like to introduce you to a very special little lady, my girlfriend y/n.”

“Oh, she’s very special indeed,” Wanda notes with an overzealous wink, ignoring the way in which the brownie dish begins to tremble in the poor girl’s hands. Just a little stage fright, that’s all. “It’s very nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Wanda.”

“It’s an honor to meet you,” the girl replies earnestly, “Pietro has told me so much about you.”

“Well aren’t you sweet! Please, come in,” Wanda grins, ushering the two inside before shutting the door. “Boys, Uncle Pietro is here!”

“What a lovely place you have,” y/n compliments. Her eyes scan the perfectly decorated home in wonder, awe, and a third thing she can’t quite place for if she dwells on it for too long her head begins to ache and her surroundings begin to grow fuzzy.

“Oh, please, it’s just a little something I threw together,” she jokes, canned laughter echoing distantly in the background of y/n’s mind.

“Uncle Pietro!” Two voices exclaim, and y/n watches curiously as her boyfriend lets out an ecstatic laugh before rushing forward to scoop the twin boys in his arms.

“If it isn’t my favorite little trouble makers!” He grins, making sure to ruffle both heads of hair. “Billy, Tommy, say hi to your aunt y/n.”

“Hi, aunt y/n,” Billy greets politely. Tommy is at her side in an instant, movements so quick y/n can’t help but to let out a startled yelp as he lunges for the dish in her hands.

“Are those brownies?!”

“Tommy, where are your manners?” Wanda chides gently, shaking her head with a laugh and reaching for the pastries. “Boys will be boys. I’ll take these off your hands.”

“Oh, uh, yes, thank you...” y/n murmurs softly, brows stitched together in discomfort.

“You’ll have to excuse my husband’s absence, another late night at the office. You know how it is, don’t you?”

“I can’t say I do.”

“Hmm... Well, make yourself comfortable. Dinner will be ready soon, I’ll just go put these in the kitchen.”

“Oh, do you need any h-“

“No,” Wanda blurts out abruptly, startling everyone in the room. She plasters on a smile, “No thank you. How can I be a good hostess if my guest is doing all the work for me?”

“You’re right, I’m so sorry,” y/n flounders, panic clear amongst her features. “I-I didn’t mean to impose at all.”

“No apologies,” the woman murmurs quietly, a small smile on her lips and an admonitory glimmer in her eyes, “we’re going to have a nice family dinner, and everything is going to be just perfect.”

The tension in the air is suffocating, wrapping itself in a slow growing hold around y/n’s neck. Her eyes begin to water, bottom lip quivering in fear as she looks around the room that suddenly feels too big and too bright. She doesn’t belong here with these people, something is wrong, the man she came here with is not hers, and as Wanda’s figure retreats behind the kitchen door y/n makes a mad dash towards the nearest exit.

“Whoa!” Pietro exclaims with an uneasy laugh, and in a blue flash she suddenly finds herself being scooped up off her feet and tossed back down on the couch in between the apprehensive twins faster than her fried brain can even comprehend. “Not so fast there, missy. Just where do you think you’re going?”

“I... I don’t feel right,” the young woman murmurs, wincing at the uncomfortable dryness of her throat as she swallows. “I want to go home and lie down.”

“Don’t be like that, babe,” he chides with a disappointed frown, “this is my family.”

“But what about my family?” Y/n whispers, tears welling in her eyes as she realizes that whenever she attempts to picture the life she once lived not a single thing comes to mind. “I don’t have a family.”

“This is your family now. We talked about this, remember? We came to Westview to make Wanda happy, and you don’t want to upset her, do you?”

“No,” she replies meekly, shuddering when the calloused pad of his thumb swipes across her warm cheek to remove any evidence of tears. No, I don’t want to make her unhappy, because if I do then I’m written off the show and I don’t know what will happen to me if I am. “I want to spend time with my new family.”

“Atta girl,” Pietro grins as he cups her face with both hands and brings her in for a kiss.

“Yuck!” Tommy exclaims in disgust from beside the couple, and this time y/n can’t help the bubbly laughter that escapes her at the young boy’s antics. Any memory of her previous meltdown is quickly wiped from her mind, and all she can think of now is how utterly grateful she is to be loved by such a wonderful man and be taken in by his wonderful family.

She pulls Pietro in for another kiss and giggles uncontrollably when he responds by tickling her sides, all while Wanda watches carefully from behind the scenes.

~~~

“Dream of better lives, the kind which never hate. Trapped in a state of imaginary grace.”

Her voice is quiet and serene as she hums along to the Modern English song playing on the radio, a content smile on her face as she washes the dishes leftover from dinner. It was the least she could do after the lovely evening Wanda had hosted; her sister-in-law had been called upon by the neighbor Agnes for a task that hadn’t quite been specified, so y/n was happy to tidy up while her boyfriend spent quality time with the boys. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt as happy and content as she did now— she couldn’t remember anything, really— and y/n knew then and there that moving to Westview with Pietro had been the right decision for the family, for his sister and themselves, and for the children, too. Yes, everything was just peachy keen.

The kitchen door swings open and in walks a man y/n has never seen before. He looks just as surprised as she is when their eyes meet, an awkward smile on his red face and the morning paper in his hands, and y/n slowly drops the dish she had been washing back into the sink.

“Hello,” the man greets curtly, “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before.”

“I’m afraid not,” y/n agrees with a bashful smile, quickly removing her rubber gloves so that she may extend her hand towards him for a shake, “I’m y/n, Pietro’s girlfriend.”

“Ah, yes...” he murmurs lowly, cautiously shaking her hand and sizing the woman up and down until she shrinks under his gaze. He means her no harm, but he isn’t sure whether or not she’s part of this cooky little play or just another victim cast under Wanda’s spell. He smiles suddenly, the gesture startling the girl. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Vision.”

“Oh, yes! Of course. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“May I ask where my wife is?” Vision asks.

“She went off to the neighbor’s,” y/n explains before promptly returning to her dish washing. The radio sounds distant and warbled now, the song she had been singing along to now nothing but static and jumbled up syllables, but to Vision’s dismay she doesn’t seem to notice in the slightest.

“How are you enjoying Westview?”

“I’m having the best time. Pietro and I have been talking and we might just have to hunker down in our own little place,” she says with a giggle. “It would be nice to be closer to you all.”

“I must say, having you and Pietro here was quite the surprise.”

“Not a bad one I hope,” she frowns. Vision guiltily refuses to meet her gaze.

“No, not at all. But, might I ask how you two came to be?” Vision asks apprehensively, adding on so that she doesn’t feel cornered, “I’m sure it must be a lovely story.”

“Oh, yes! I remember it like it was yesterday,” y/n swoons dreamily, a fond smile plastered on her face and her gaze casted out towards the living room where Pietro sits playing video games with the boys. She blinks once, twice, eyes never once leaving the silver haired stranger in the couch. A pregnant pause hovers over the two, the porcelain plate trembles in her hands, and Vision watches in silent horror as her eyes begin to well with tears.

“Y/n?” He calls gently, fingertips carefully brushing against her elbow in an attempt to bring her focus back to him. He removes the plate from her iron grip and sets it back carefully in the sink before turning the girl by the shoulders to face him; she still wears that same adoring smile despite the tears that silently fall down her cheeks.

“Forgive me,” she murmurs quietly, “I can’t seem to gather my thoughts properly.”

“Who did this to you? Was it Wanda? Pietro?” Vision press urgently. Y/n sways slightly when he shakes her by the shoulders in a desperate attempt to break her from her trance but still her smile remains.

“Pietro? Oh, he loves me, and I love him.”

“My dear, I don’t think you do,” the man utters sympathetically.

“Of course I do, silly. We were made for each other.”

“Perhaps you were, but not in the way you think. Y/n-“

“Please let go,” she interrupts in a soft, steady voice, looking up at him like a scorned child, “you’re scaring me.”

“If you would just let me,” Vision begins to say, fingertips reaching for her temple in preparation to break her from the spell only to be interrupted by another presence in the room.

“Whoa, what’s going on in here?” Pietro asks with a raised brow and uneasy laugh. “Hey toaster oven, you mind maybe letting go of my girlfriend?”

“Of course, my apologies,” Vision murmurs, stepping away from the girl and allowing her to run into the arms of her boyfriend.

“You okay, babe?” He asks with a raised brow. She isn’t, not in the slightest, but she has a job to do and a role to play, so she merely bats her eyes at him before leaning up and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Never been better. Hey, how does dessert sound?”

“I think that sounds lovely,” Wanda chimes, her sudden appearance in the kitchen doorway startling the already present trio. Vision looks like a deer caught in headlights when Wanda saunters over and gifts him with an innocent kiss to the cheek. “Why don’t you and Pietro get the boys settled down while y/n and I prepare the dessert?”

“What a lovely idea, darling,” Vision chimes with an easy smile— y/n isn’t the only one with a role to play. “Come now, dear brother-in-law.”

“Take good care of my girl, little sis,” Pietro calls on his way out. Wanda smiles, her eyes never once leaving y/n’s trembling frame.

“But of course. What is family for? Y/n, be a dear and grab the plates, won’t you?”

“Yes, Wanda,” the girl chimes obediently. She smiles.

“I noticed you seemed a little shaken up just now, is everything alright?” Wanda asks, feigning obliviousness.

“Oh, you know, just some friendly questioning from my new brother-in-law. I’m sure he just wanted to make sure Pietro had found the right match,” she explains with a passive wave of her hand. Wanda hums softly.

“Well we don’t need to worry about that,” she notes. “You’re here for a reason, y/n. Do you know that?”

“For Pietro, and for you,” she replies earnestly, smiling when Wanda takes her hands in her own and gives them a gentle squeeze. “You’ve always wanted a big family, a real family, one that would never turn its back on you or leave you behind ever again. You want a sister and nieces and nephews and love, and I’m here because I can do all of that and more for you.”

“Exactly right. Family is forever, y/n. Are you ready for the commitment that comes with being a Maximoff?”

“I’ve never been more ready,” y/n responds eagerly. Wanda smiles.

“I’m so relieved you said that,” she utters gently, pulling y/n in for a hug so that she may not see the way in which her eyes begin to glow red and waves of energy begin to emit from her fingertips as she carefully settles herself fully into the girl’s mind. She fills her head with thoughts of Pietro and family, with memories she’s never lived and feelings she’s never had, she fills her with love, and y/n is none the wiser.

“Congratulations, y/n,” Wanda utters quietly, comfortingly stroking the girl’s hair, “you’re a Maximoff now.”

[h0neypjm]

Confident | jjk 01

↳ Summary: After giving Jungkook the best suck of his life he’s left wondering if what you said was true. Was it really your first time? ‘Cause Jungkook thinks you might’ve lied.

↳ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

↳ Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, college au, fuckboy! Jk, cheeky virgin reader

↳ Rating: 18+

↳ Word count: 4.3k

↳ Warnings: mentions of virginity, blowjobs, fingering, hickies, handjobs, mc is annoyingly indecisive  

↳A/N: based on the song confidence by Justin Bieber and Chance the rapper oop, i highly recommend listening to the slowed version here !

↳Series: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

Nights like these were starting to look the same. Bright flashes of neon lights and music so loud it shakes the ground. Howls of rowdy boys and the whispering of gossiping girls. They all blend into one, usually leaving Jungkook with a mess of clingy girls and a headache that pounds every time he blinks. 

Which is why Jungkook begins to question his decisions when his drink sloshes around his cup for the fifth time tonight, spilling onto his jeans as the short blonde sitting in front of him tries to scoot into his lap. She’s a clingy hookup, just like the rest of them, but if Jungkook is being honest he doesn’t even remember their names.

Jungkook entertains her for a moment when he eventually lets her sit on his thighs. She leaves wet kisses on his neck and whispers dirty words into his ear. Jungkook however, is unaffected by her ministrations. This wasn’t his first rodeo after all. Instead, He’s distracted, trying to find a face unfamiliar to him.

Jungkook usually only asks for one thing when attending such parties. He wants fresh meat, a new obsession for the week. Not sit around with a past hookup who doesn't know how to keep her distance. It seems he was out of luck tonight, when his eyes brush over the faces of every partygoer, only finding the faces of past flings and regret.

He wants to go home. Wants to wash off the dirt, grime and red lipstick that now stains his neck. So, with a pat to the ass of the petite girl sitting in his lap, he gets up in search of a mess of bright pink hair.

Alas, he spots the candy haired man with two girls hooked under each of his defined arms, a smug grin etched on his plush lips. 

“Jimin!” Jungkook yells, in which the man in question shoots his head into Jungkook’s direction with a holler of his name. They approach each other with what Jimin claims as their “totally special and unique” ‘bro’ handshake, their hands connecting with practiced perfection.

“Why do you look so glum mister Jungkook?” Jimin drunkenly questions before gasping. “You didn’t get any pussy isn’t it? Oh you poor boy.” Jungkook narrows his eyes at the boy in front of him, beginning to get a little embarrassed at the volume of Jimin’s voice. Jungkook just about loses it when Jimin suddenly turns around, making the girls under his arms stumble, their tall stilettos doing nothing to save their ankles.

“AYO SOMEONE GET THIS MAN SOME PUSSY!” Jimin yells at the top of his lungs before Jungkook lunges at him, hand on his mouth before flicking his forehead with as much force as he could muster.

The girls hanging off of Jimin are now long gone, leaving Jimin confused and pouty that he lost his potential threesome of the night. He doesn't dwell on that loss for too long though, there's always next week.

“Ok maybe i was being a bit too loud”, Jimin giggles, “sorry bout it”. Jungkook huffs, “I’m gonna go home now”, he decides, dismissing Jimin’s protests and heading into the kitchen for one last drink.

The change of bright lights in the small kitchen makes Jungkook’s eyes squint and his head throb. He shields his eyes with his hands making his way over to the large bowl of whatever toxic waste Jin, the host of the party, decided to mix in for tonight.

Where the fuck are all the cups? Jungkook believes he’s about to bubble over. He hasn't busted a single nut since two weeks ago and now can’t even find a stupid cup to quench his thirst. It seems the two things he’s thirsting for right now are way out of his reach tonight. 

Fuck this, Jungkook sighs before beginning to head out of the kitchen. It’s only when Jungkook walks past the refrigerator, he couldn't help but notice the clinking of glass bottles and groans of desperation ringing in his ear. Turning around to scope out the scene, Jungkook immediately freezes at the sight before him.

It’s a girl. But, most importantly it’s a girl Jungkook has never seen before. 

Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook watches with amusement as you stretch your arm out, trying so desperately hard to reach for the hidden bottles of liquor on the top shelf. You’ve angled yourself in such a position that the bottom of your ass is practically out, the short skirt doing nothing to stop your ass from saying hello to the whole party.

Jungkook doesn’t know if he should scold you for trying to steal Jin’s expensive liquor or bend you over the counter for looking exactly like his type. Long legs and the fattest ass he’s ever laid his eyes on. 

He blinks, finally decides to break out of his thoughts because he realised he’s been standing there, looking at you like a creep for far too long while you struggle over some pricey alcohol.

You, on the other hand, think you've got it this time. The bottle of tequila you have been desperately hunting down sits on the edge of the tall shelf. Just one more jump and it’ll surely come down. So, with all the energy stored within your being you jump up. Expecting your hand to meet cool glass, you are deeply disappointed when it is met with a large tattooed hand instead.

Spinning around quickly, you cross your arms over your chest with a not so intimidating scowl plastered on your pretty face. “That’s mine” you whine, reaching out for the bottle, only for Jungkook to swiftly lift it up above his head and out of your reach.

He stretches his arms higher and stumbles forward when someone bumps into him, you pout but his grin grows wider. 

“Hmmm, I don’t think so princess, and I don’t remember Jin inviting some preppy school girl to his party” 

Jungkook is obviously teasing you but you gasp anyways at his statement, frowning when you look down at the cute plaid tennis skirt that circles your thighs. You actually did know you weren’t allowed Jin’s special top shelf alcohol but he would often let you have some if it weren’t for a rowdy party, benefits of being friends for over ten years you guess. But right now you really needed it, especially after the shit that’s tormented you, both mentally and physically.

So, that is why you don't back down from the remarks of Jeon Jungkook. In the most non discreet way possible, you rise onto your tippy toes to snatch the tequila in his grasp. 

“Ah ah”, he tuts in reply when he surprisingly notices. But really it’s not that hard to tell, especially when you start magically growing right in front of his eyes. You huff, slightly defeated and Jungkook thinks you look adorable. You glance up at Jungkook, taking in all his seemingly hyped up features. It's then your eyes spot a small mole under his lip that you had never seen before. You think it's cute. 

You would never reveal this to Jungkook and his particularly large ego, but you understood why he was so popular. He was charming, hot and built like a Greek God, anyone with working eyes could see that. But that’s not all.

Unbeknownst to Jungkook, you knew a scary amount of things about him. Right before entering college, your childhood best friend, Jin had told you many stories about the praised and worshipped God that graced your campus. Stories so embarrassing and so unlike the suave Jungkook you’ve seen, you're sure they would most likely scare off the girls he seemed to seduce every week.

Which is why you were always very intrigued by him, wanting to know him a little better. If you’re gonna be honest you're not even sure he knows who the fuck you are, but right now in this moment as you stand under his curious gaze you want him to know who the fuck you are.

If you couldn’t get any alcohol tonight, you might as well get some dick.

Much to your surprise, Jeon Jungkook was a lot easier to seduce than you thought. It probably had something to do with the way you had secretly caught him ogling your body five minutes ago. You’d surely tease him for that later. 

All it really took was a sudden change in demeanour, glazed eyes and a few flirty touches that ultimately got you to where you are now. Brushing past sweaty bodies, your eyes peering at the stares of jealous girls while you’re hastily pulled up the stairs by your arm. Whistles shooting out of random party goers lips, the look of disappointment on Jin’s face.

Guilt flooded your body immediately when you met his downcast gaze, and you knew exactly why. Within all the stories Jin had told you about the infamous playboy, there had always been a clear message behind them.

Never get involved with Jeon Jungkook.

If someone were to ask Jin about his friendship with Jungkook he would smile and praise him, because he truly appreciated him as a friend and enjoyed his bubbly presence. But, if they asked him what he thought about Jungkook's playboy tendencies, he would shrug and tell them that it was his life and he could do what he wanted. That didn’t necessarily mean he agreed on his treatment of women though. 

This is why Jin never introduced him to you, wanting to protect you to ensure you don’t become just another notch on Jungkook’s ever growing belt.

Clearly you couldn’t care less about the fact that you were to become another one of Jungkook’s messy hookups, especially with the way he’s got you currently positioned.

The door knob of the first vacant room Jungkook could spot was uncomfortably digging into your hip, but the way he messily licked into your mouth was no competition against it.

You knew what you were doing. You knew the minute Jungkook shoved you against the door and explored your skin that this may be the small spark that starts a blazing fire. You also knew that you were a grown ass woman that can make decisions for herself. You couldn't care less about the repercussions of your actions. You didn't care if Jungkook used you and broke your heart, because really, it’s not like he could break your heart even more than it already is.

And so, with a final lick across the hickey on your collarbone does he rasp, “Jump” into the shell of your ear. He secures his arms tightly around your waist when you oblige, heat taking over you when you wrap your thighs around his waist, your damp centre pressing against the buckle of his belt.

In one swift movement, he effortlessly carries you over to the nearby dresser, knocking empty bottles and whatever crap lies on its surface onto the floor. Your lips never leave his as you’re roughly placed onto the hard wooden veneer. You bite his lip, weaving your arms around his neck while his hands roam around your body before settling on your breasts, squeezing them when you tug at the tufts of his hair.

He revels in the whines and moans you let out, egging him on to leave a galaxy of hickies down your neck. Your head hits the wall behind you when you throw it back in pleasure while Jungkook suggestively tugs at the skirt riding up your thighs.

“Fucking love this skirt on you”, he bites your shoulder. “Sexiest legs i’ve ever seen”. You smirk at his compliment but you don’t let him see it. “Really!? I couldn't tell when you were standing there ogling me for five minutes”

He chuckles, slapping your thigh playfully in which you jolt spreading them to accompany his body. “You’re a cheeky one aren’t you?”

You don’t get time to retort, Jungkook’s fingers finding its way to the wetness that embarrassingly stains your panties. Your gasp melts into a high pitched whimper when he runs the pad of his thumb against your clothed clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves in slow teasing circles.

Jungkook keeps you down with a lustful stare, he wants to see all your reactions, he wants to see you squirm under his touch. With his free hand he grabs your chin with a gentleness that matches the delicious swirl of his fingers. You're suddenly met with his dark eyes, clouded with want and you're pretty sure you just got wetter at the sight.

All too soon, Jungkook picks up speed on your swollen clit, your head falls forward onto his shoulders, eyes squeezing shut in both bliss and frustration. You want him to touch you properly.

Lightly grabbing his wrist, you beg, “please- please touch me”. You're so wet at this point Jungkook could easily slide in two fingers if he wanted, but he wanted to see how long you could go. Your body was new to him after all.

“I am touching you, aren’t I?” He snaps back playfully. You whine and try to look away, but his grip on your chin is strong. 

looking at your big wide eyes, he curses under his breath. You’re so pretty, even in the dim lighting of the room. He places his thumb on the plush pillow of your bottom lip before looking down at the wet mess between your legs.

Jungkook wonders if anyone has ever made you feel this way before, but the way you teasingly suck and swirl your tongue around his thumb, painting such an erotic picture tells him otherwise.

Jungkook finally decides he’s teased you enough, judging by the way your  white cotton panties look almost transparent. Although he didn’t want to, he releases his thumb from your lewd mouth to spread your underwear to the side, revealing your glistening folds.

He wastes no time, sliding his fingers down your slit before immediately pushing two long fingers into your dripping heat. You gasp at the sensation, throwing your head back onto his broad shoulder and gripping his biceps tightly.

Jungkook marvels at the way you suck his fingers in. The way your tight hole flutters around his fingers doing nothing to aid his aching cock as it grows harder under the restraint of his jeans. 

He pumps his fingers at a faster pace, you moan squeezing his bicep so hard, he’s sure you’ve left nail marks in his skin. He uses his other hand to rub at your swollen nub, you jolt in response to the sudden pleasure zapping through you.

“You’re so sensitive baby, is this your first time being touched like this?” 

You don’t reply at first.

You see, questions like that confused you because on the one hand, no, it was not your first time if being fingered was what he was addressing. On the other hand however, you have never ever gone all the way. Yes, you hate to admit it but you were in fact a virgin.

Your lack of response doesn’t deter Jungkook, he thinks you’re in absolute euphoria, which is not wrong, he’s doing a great job but you also don’t know what to tell him. 

You’re scared. 

All the confidence you demonstrated in the small kitchen downstairs, slowly disintegrates. You know what Jungkook’s game is. He’s a hump and dump kind of guy, he doesn’t care about you, and he probably never will. You’re not like that. You’re a stupid hopeless romantic who truly believes in soulmates. You were a firm believer that there’s a person destined for everyone. Those beliefs all went to shit however when a certain someone decided to rip your heart to pieces.

In your mind you backtrack the indecisive thoughts. You’re unsure if you want to let Jeon Jungkook take your virginity tonight but in all honesty you’re tired. You’re tired of waiting for the right person to come along, tired of being pressured, tired of putting so much energy into someone even though it was never reciprocated.

So with a shaky breath you whisper, “yes this is my first time”

Jungkook stops, a low growl rumbling out of his throat and straight to your pussy. “Fuck baby, you’re literally perfect. How hasn't anyone gotten their hands on you yet?” You smile with uncertainty until he pulls his fingers out of your sopping cunt. Your essence coating two long fingers as they sparkle in the moonlight.

Your jaw drops when he pops his digits into his mouth. He moans at the taste all while gazing into your wide eyes. 

“Holy shit-”, you're cut off when he grabs your waist, your legs wrapping around him instinctively. He is quick to turn around, spotting the single bed behind him as he lays you down and shushes your yelp with a flaming kiss.

You comply with his actions, letting his tongue explore your mouth as you push your hand into his dark locks. Jungkook slackens his jaw to deepen the kiss while he tugs at the hem of your crop top, pushing it up and over the curve of your breasts to reveal your braless form.

Jungkook sighs at the sight, delving straight onto your left breast, sucking your nipple to its hardness as he simultaneously pinches the right. You’re soon becoming a moaning mess under him, loving the way he touches you.

“God i just wanna fuck you right now”, he exclaims, popping off of your breast. And just like that the nerves come flooding back. “Where's the fun in that?”, you ask with a frisky giggle, trying to ease the tension.

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ears,“Don’t be nervous princess, I’ll take great care of you.”

You don’t want it.

You’re having second thoughts again. You feel panicked. God, you think to yourself. Why are you so hung up over your goddamn virginity? Is it so bad if you let him take it right now? You wanna slap yourself, why are you thinking about this now? 

When Jungkook’s fingers hover over your thighs, it sets off your brain to finally start working. You know what you want and you know that no, this is not going to happen tonight and you also need to lecture yourself later. So, with Feigned innocence you ask, “Can I take care of you instead?” 

It's your final offer, because you would kind of feel bad if you left him there all hard and bothered. So, you could at least show him what you do best. Sucking dick.

You begin reaching for his belt to show how much you really mean it, and bite your lip for that extra push. Jungkook doesn’t say anything, only pushing himself onto his knees while you unbuckle his belt and smooth your hands over his thighs. 

Jungkook’s buzzing with excitement. He has a hot girl about to suck his dick after his disastrous two-week dry spell. He feels a burn of possessiveness in his belly at the thought of himself being the first to do this with you. Oh, how wrong could he be.  

“Can you lay down for me please?” You ask, flashing your most seductive eyes as you gesture him to lay on his back.

Jungkook does what you ask so quickly it’s like he was already there, and it's obvious as to why he’s so eager. The bulge in his tight jeans practically screams to be freed.

You don’t tease him, getting down to it immediately by bringing his jeans and boxers down over the curve of his ass. Unsurprisingly his cock, red and angry, springing out to slap his lower abdomen. You’re not gonna lie, he is indeed packing. Jungkook has one of the prettiest cocks you have ever seen, deliciously long and a thick girth to match. You drool at the sight.

Despite what many girls say, you enjoyed a good ol’ blowjob. You’re good at it, it gave you confidence and it never fails to make boys ask for more. 

Without warning you wrap your lips around his leaking tip, holding down his thighs as he jolts up into you. You don’t stop there. Wrapping your hands around his girth to aid your mouth into taking more of his length in.

You repeat your actions at a steady rhythm. Taking him in as deep as you can go before coming up for air and twirling your tongue around his bulbous tip.

It seems that the tables have turned. Jungkook is a mess below you now, hair unruly from your previous tugging and his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. You moan at the sight, the vibrations aiding to stimulate his cock further.

Jungkook uses his hands to grip your hair into a makeshift ponytail before letting out a throaty groan. “Jesus baby how is this your first time?” Jungkook is shocked to say the least. He expected shy kittenish licks and fidgety hands, not the pornographic show you’re putting on, but he’s not complaining, he’s just a little confused.

With quick movements, you take his wrists out of your hair and sit up. Jungkook watches the string of your saliva thin out as you pop off of his dick and he shudders.

“I wanna see you do it”, you demand. 

Jungkook slowly blinks up at your form. “What?” He is so fucking lost. “I said”, you begin, confidence gaining, “I want to see you do it.” You stare at his confused eyes and flicker them down to his hard member. “Princess I-” You huff, grabbing his hand and wrapping it firmly around his dick, a saccharine smile making its way onto your face when his doe eyes widen.

Your hand is still tightly secured around his own as you lean down to lick into his leaking slit all while maintaining eye contact. You lean back once again and finalise, “I want to see you touch yourself Jungkook.”

“Fucking hell”, he curses, running his unoccupied hand into his dishevelled hair. Never is his life has he been in a situation like this. Never has a girl ask him to touch himself and God was it hot seeing you do it.

Jungkook slowly pumps his cock watching the way your eyes glaze over and your mouth salivate. It only spurs him on further, spitting into his hand to slicken his dick. You settle onto your knees and slowly push your panties to the side, spreading your folds to show off the way you're completely soaked for him.

Jungkook can’t believe the sight before him. He can’t believe he found someone like you. Someone so pretty but oh so effortlessly sexy, it's like you knew exactly what you were doing to him. Which brings him back to his question. Was this really your first time?

You let out a wanton moan when your fingers start to circle around your clit. Jungkook matches the speed of your fingers by twisting his wrist to smoothly glide over his cock. You both groan at the view.

Soon enough you both have a thundering pace going. You’ve placed your fingers inside your walls pumping at the same rate of Jungkook’s thrusts.

The room is filled with nothing but the wet squelches of both your ministrations and your harmonised moans of ecstacy. You enjoyed this. You felt powerful. The uncertainty and nervousness vanishing.

It’s then Jungkook lets out the prettiest whines. “Fuck Im gonna cum baby, fuck.” You smirk, leaning over to press your cheek to his thigh watching in amazement as he pumps himself at a faster rate, the mix of his saliva and precum creaming around the base of his dick as he moans louder. “Fucking shit, Im cumming-”

You quickly move in front of his dick letting his hot spurts of cum coat your cheeks and tongue as you marvel at his gorgeous face.

Jungkook’s pants, cupping your jaw when he looks down at the picture he’s painted on your face. You innocently smile at him, swiping at the cum that drips onto your cheeks and bringing it into your mouth, humming at the taste.

Jungkook opens his mouth in awe, beginning to form his next sentence, but you’re already getting up, running your fingers through your hair and locating tissues to clean your face.

“H-hey…”

“Well this was fun, see you around Jungkook”

And just like that you shut the door on him. Leaving him in the dark room with his dick limp on his stomach, the sound of the rowdy party and the thrumming in his heart.

It has been exactly 12 hours since you had given Jeon Jungkook the best head of his life, and you barely even touched his dick.

At first Jungkook was a little disappointed in himself. How pathetic of him to cum so hard by his own handjob. Sure you helped a little… ok you helped quite a lot, but still, Jungkook feels irked by the situation

He swirls the straw around his iced coffee, waiting for his friends to arrive so he can vent about what the fuck is going on in his pea brain.

Jungkook’s phone vibrates against his ass, making him slump in his chair. He pulls it out, brows furrowing at the message.

| Jin: I’m going to fucking kill you.

Jungkook blinks, should he be worried or did he just accidentally eat one of Jin’s snacks again. He shrugs, switching his phone off just in time to see Jimin and Taehyung walk into the cafe.

“Again Jungkook? Why the long face”, sneers Jimin, who looks way too good for someone with a raging hangover.

When Jungkook doesn’t reply, Taehyung shakes his shoulders. “Seriously are you feeling alright? Did something happen last night”

Jungkook stares at the ice slowly melting in his coffee. He doesn’t know how to approach this conversation, it was weird and confusing and he’s still trying to process everything, until he suddenly blurts...

“She said it's her first time.” He pauses, looking up at his friends' concerned faces. “I think she might’ve lied.”

Taglist: @zibermuda​ <3

[dreamerstreamer]

Love Bite

Pairing: vampire!Dream / Clay x human!gn!reader

Summary: [Vampire!AU] Despite how deadly it may appear at first glance, you love your vampire boyfriend with all your heart, so when Clay goes a bit too long without a drink, you’re more than willing to help him.

Warnings: tw// mentions of blood & general vampire shenanigans

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: requested by a lovely anon who wanted to see vampire dream! this was lots of fun to explore, and i hope you all enjoy! <3

You scroll mindlessly along your mouse, your laptop screen illuminating your dim room with a pale glow as image after image pops up on your screen. Your assignment lies long forgotten on the side of your desk, the tab still open just a single click away.

“Whatever,” you mumble quietly to yourself as you click on another link. Your gaze briefly flickers to the calendar on your wall before you shake your head. “I still have another week to work on it—it’s fine.”

Letting out a sigh, you slump over onto your desk, pressing your cheek against the cool wood as you sweep your gaze over to your balcony window. Outside, the sky is dark, the vast expanse washed with a deep, navy hue as the stars begin to peek out from the shadows and gaze down at the bustling city below. It’s a little past midnight now, and despite how late it is, the streets are just as busy as ever. You only catch a small glimpse of the crescent moon hanging among them before your gaze drops to your balcony.

Yet again, it’s empty, completely devoid of life.

The sight makes you frown, and you tear your gaze away from the sight and back to your laptop, continuing your scrolling with a sulk.

It had been a little over four days since you had last seen your boyfriend. Not that you’re counting or anything, of course. It’s just that you’ve gotten lonely without him, and you’re starting to miss him more than you’d like to admit.

Having a vampire boyfriend and being a human isn’t always the easiest, but you’re more than willing to put up with it for him. You can still remember the day he had broken the news to you, having been fully prepared to sacrifice his life right then and there for you if you chose to call for a hunter. But you hadn’t—you chose to stay, to love him.

And love him you do.

There may be times where he has to disappear for a little while that leave you cold and wanting, but the time you do spend together more than makes up for it. He’s overwhelmingly kind, honestly stubborn, and always loves to put a smile on your face, no matter how bad of a day you may have had. You can’t possibly count how many times you’ve thrown yourself into his arms with the widest grin on your face, all just to feel him laugh against you with a soft kiss behind your ear. There’s no one else in the world for you, living or undead, and you are willing to wait for him. It’s embarrassing to think about, but you really would walk to the ends of the earth just for him.

Heat creeps up your neck at the thought, and you force it down with a huff, ducking your head back down again and staring at your assignment. You distantly think of your phone sitting next to your bed and the string of messages you had sent him a few hours prior, all of which remain unopened. Kicking your legs, you whine, burying your face into your arms upon your desk.

Tonight is just not your night, it seems.

Just then, you hear it—the unmistakable sound of nails tapping on glass.

Lifting your head, you blink, slowly turning to look over at your window. Squinting for a moment, you can barely make out the shape of a familiar silhouette standing on your balcony and leaning casually against the railing. His golden hair shines beneath the moonlight, and your heart leaps into your throat.

He’s here.

In an instant, you’re scrambling out of your desk chair and across the room. Fumbling with the balcony lock, you slide open the door with a gasp, the cool night breeze brushing against your cheeks with a soft caress. In front of you, the figure shoots you a crooked grin, his eyes flashing with delight.

“Good evening, sweetheart.”

Your heart melts at the sound of his ever-soothing, familiar voice, and you return his smile with one of your own. “Good evening to you too, Clay.” Scanning him up and down once, you gesture for him to come inside as you add jokingly, “You do know you don’t always have to come in through the window, right? I do have a front door.”

His grin only widens at your words, a soft chuckle tumbling from his lips as he ducks his head to step into your room. “I have a reputation to uphold as a vampire, you know?” he hums. The glint in his eye dances with mischief. “Twilight was the one who said that windows are the way to go.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, your lips twitching with amusement. “Are you really sure you want to use Twilight as your vampire role model of all things? Why not use...” You pause for a moment, then lift a finger. “Dracula?”

A grimace skitters across his face as he pulls the balcony door shut behind him. “Dracula may have been scary, but he was also an old man and, like, super creepy. At least modern vampire fiction makes us sound less gross.” His eyes gleam devilishly. “And also hot.”

You gulp, stepping back until your hand is brushing over the soft covers of your bed. “Well,” you ask softly, “do you think they got it right? The way they portray you guys?”

His lips split into a sly grin, his teeth flashing in the starlight. “I dunno, darling,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low whisper as he dips his head closer to yours. “You tell me.”

Your breath catches for all but a second before you’re gently pushing him away from you with a giggle. “Nice try,” you say, leaping onto your bed with a teasing grin, “but I’m not feeding your ego any more. You do that enough on your own.”

He feigns a wounded look, climbing into the space next to you with a hurt pout. “Aw, bummer. At least give me a kiss, then.”

For a second, you pretend to think about it, mulling the decision over in your head just to watch something needy spring to life in his eyes. Then, you smile, leaning in close to his face with your mouth hovering over his. “Just one.”

You only manage to see a sliver of his lovestruck smile before he presses his lips to yours, your eyelids falling shut. You can just barely feel his sharp fangs brush against the skin of your lip, and the thought makes you croon into his mouth. A certain fondness blossoms behind your ribcage, and your lungs almost feel as though they’re too tight to breathe. He’s cold against you, and when he lifts his hand to cup your cheek, you shiver at the feeling of his icy skin against yours. Everything he does sends a chill rushing down your spine, but when you part just a moment later, you already feel yourself missing his touch.

Brushing his nose over yours, you feel him inhale sharply against you, and the breath he lets out is positively trembling. “God,” he whispers into the side of your face, his voice rasping ever so slightly, “you smell so good.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest at his words, and you feel warmth blossom across your collarbones. “I’m flattered,” you say gently, reaching a hand up to press against his shoulder. Instantly, he melts into your touch as you subtly shuffle back across your bed away from him. “But you’re the one who told me I’m not allowed to let you drink from me.”

His lips part for a moment, and you catch a gleam of the moonlight flashing across his fangs. Swallowing, he runs a hand through his hair and sighs with longing. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” His eyes dart up to meet yours, his gaze swimming with a deep, drowning sense of sorrow. “You know that I’d never, ever want to hurt you, right?”

A smile tugs on your lips, sincere and true. “Of course I do,” you murmur, “and I promise you that you won’t, even if you did drink from me.”

You pause for a moment, then slowly reach a hand up to your shoulder. You don’t miss the way his eyes widen at the sight, and you almost swear you catch an inkling of crimson swirling within his viridian gaze as you lean your neck to the side. “It’s okay if you want to, alright?” you whisper, swallowing.

His eyes are glued to your neck, and you can almost see the storm that rages just beneath his skin. Your chest aches at the thought, knowing just how conflicted he must feel right now. When he doesn’t move, you drop your hand back down to the bed, your gaze focused intently on his.

“I trust you,” you say, pouring every ounce of honesty you can into your words. “Can you trust yourself?”

For a moment, he simply stares at you, his lips parted as his emerald eyes rake you up and down. They’re wide with hunger, an expression you had seen many times before over the months, but not one you had become fully acquainted with. You fidget a little under his intense gaze, and you’re just about to open your mouth again when suddenly, his hands are reaching for yours on the bed.

You gasp as he intertwines his cool fingers between your warm ones, your heart leaping for joy. You let your eyelids flutter shut as he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, drinking in your sweet scent as your warm breath tickles his cold skin. You love the quiet moments like this, the enamoured silences that envelop the two of you in your own little bubble as the world seems to slow down. Sucking in a breath, he shudders at your touch, his hand squeezing yours.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs quietly for you and you alone to hear. “You’re too good to me.”

You smile at his words, your heart fluttering in your chest, but something uneasy sinks into the pit of your stomach at the bittersweet tone of his voice.

He didn’t answer your question, a voice whispers from the back of your head. Why didn’t he answer?

A moment later, you push the feeling away, nudging it back into the dark crevices of your mind. Instead, you choose to focus on the feeling of his skin pressing against yours, soothing and soft as you relish in the moment. The moon’s crescent frown seems to deepen from her perch in the sky, but she remains ever silent, only watching with her patient, pallid gaze.

You’re probably just imagining things.

After that night, time passes by you at an achingly slow pace. Night after night passes without a single sign of Clay, and before you even know it, a week and a half has flown past you without so much as a call. You text him as often as you can, and more often than not, you do actually get a response. Seeing the notification of his name pop up on your phone screen makes you smile until your cheeks hurt, and you’re always eager to hear back from him, but you can’t help but miss him as the hours drag on.

An empty, hollow feeling sinks into your chest as you curl up in your bed, the blankets strewn around you haphazardly as you blink over at the closed curtains draped over your balcony window. You haven’t bothered to look outside for a few nights, now—you already know that he won’t be there, as much as you want him to be. Even now, you can imagine his grinning face and teasing pokes as clear as day. The loneliness gnaws away at you as you turn onto your side, facing away from the window.

You hope he’s safe no matter what he’s up to, right now. You know better than anyone that sometimes, he can be a little too reckless for his own good.

Letting your eyes close, you sink into your pillow, a galaxy of stars whirling around your head as you slowly feel yourself drift off into a murky dream. Flashes of bright grins and the sound of wheezing laughter trickles through your thoughts, and you sigh at the endearing memories that wrap around your heart. You can almost swear you feel a pair of hands wrap around your own.

All of a sudden, something prods at the back of your ear, restless and sharp. Wincing, you blink a sleepy eye open, your bleary mind sorting through the sounds in your head before landing on one.

Glass—that’s the sound of glass.

Someone is tapping at your window.

Your eyes shoot wide open, and in a whirlwind, you’re ripping the covers off your body and pushing open your bedroom curtains. On the balcony stands a hooded figure, his golden tresses just barely peeking out from beneath the low-hanging cloth. You swallow and grab onto the door lock, slamming it open just a moment later. You shiver at the night breeze nipping at your skin, but in that moment, you couldn’t care less about the cold, your focus entirely devoted to one thing and one thing alone.

“Clay!” you cry, your eyes desperately scanning him up and down. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and instead, his hand reaches to the side to desperately grip onto the balcony railing, his knuckles turning white. Your eyebrows furrow with concern, and slowly, you take a step toward him. You haven’t even crossed the doorway separating the inside of your room to your balcony when he suddenly barks, “Stop!”

You freeze in place, your hand halfway reaching for his when he practically crumples against the railing, curling in on himself with a choked plea. “Wait,” he gasps, clutching at his chest with a ragged breath, “please. I’m—”

“Clay?” you breathe again, this time much quieter. You shuffle closer to the window glass, your toe just barely brushing against the doorframe. “Are you okay?”

All of a sudden, a snarl rips out of his throat, guttural and beastly. You flinch at the sound for a split second, the worry in your chest only making your heart shake even more. His grip on your balcony railing grows even tighter, and you don’t doubt that it’s going to leave a mark on the metal.

“Don’t come too close,” he pants, his thighs shaking beneath him. “I—I don’t know what I’ll do.”

You purse your lips at him, frustration and confusion digging at the sides of your stomach. “Then why did you come here?”

All is quiet, and he doesn’t respond. The only sound you can properly hear is his uneven breathing as he claws at the front of his hoodie, the fabric bunching beneath his touch. You flick your gaze over him again, and a cold realization suddenly washes over you.

“Clay,” you whisper, the tiniest hint of fear seeping into your voice, “when was the last time you had a proper drink?”

You are once again met with silence, but the way he suddenly stiffens does not go unnoticed by your watchful gaze. Something curls nervously inside your gut, and your lips curl into a frown as you dig your heel into the ground.

“Clay,” you say again, a little louder this time—a little more firmly. “How long has it been?”

There is a beat of silence. Then, he whispers so softly that it’s almost swept away by the wind, “...too long.”

A pang of sorrow shoots through you, a stone dropping into the pit of your stomach. You were right. He’s thirsty. A sigh escapes your throat as you open up your arms, beckoning him toward you. “Come here,” you murmur with all the softness you can muster. “Look at me.”

He shakes his head, and it’s then that you realize you haven’t seen his face this whole time. “Take off the hood,” you say gently. His shoulders tense at your request, and you quickly add a tender, “Please.”

His throat bobs as he gulps, and ever so slowly, his hands reach up to tug at his hood until suddenly, the moonlight is casting a glowing streak of silver across his face. Your eyes go wide.

His kind, lovely eyes, which are typically viridian green and swimming with adoration for you, are now painted a deep, scarlet red, his pupils dilated beyond belief as they lock onto yours.

In all the time you’ve known he was a vampire, you’ve never seen him like this before.

But strangely enough, you’re not afraid.

Instead, you gently reach for his hand, careful to only just lightly wrap your fingers around his. His gaze drops back to the ground again, and while you know he doesn’t have a pulse, if he did, you imagine that it would be going haywire right about now. “Oh, honey,” you whisper. “It’s okay. Look at me.”

Just as you begin to lead him inside to your room does he raise his chin once more, his jaw clenched tight as he takes in your soft, enamoured expression. As he steps inside, you reach behind him to slide the door shut before tugging him back toward your bed. Settling down on the mattress with a loose breath, you let go of his hand. His arms are still shaking at his side when he sits, and it’s then that you open your mouth again.

“Clay,” you say, your voice as clear as a bell, “you can drink from me.”

His crimson eyes widen, and the look he shoots you is one of pure, unadulterated panic. “I-I can’t,” he stammers.

“Yes,” you shoot back, reaching up for the collar of your shirt, “you can.” His eyes trace down the slope of your jaw before landing on the smooth skin of your neck, exposed and waiting for him. His Adam’s apple bobs, his hands squeezing into fists beside him. “It’ll be alright.”

“H-How do you know that?” he blurts, his nails digging into his palm. “What if—what if I lose control and hurt you?” His face blanches at the sight, and he slumps over onto his lap, hanging his head in his hands. “I can’t let that happen.”

You sigh, and he clams up at the softness of the sound. “And it won’t.”

A moment passes in aching, tense silence. You resist the urge to hug him, knowing that initiating any more contact with him would only make him panic even more. “Last time I was here,” he suddenly whispers, shattering the silence with his head ducked down, “you asked me if I trust myself.”

You blink at him as he slowly raises his head, turning his gaze to look at you head-on. “I don’t, [Y/N],” he whispers. “Not one bit.”

Your eyes flash in the darkness of your room, and before you can stop yourself, your mouth opens. “But I do.”

He goes stock still before you, and suddenly, the words are flowing from your lips in a rush, unstoppable and dripping with honesty. “I know you, Clay, and I know you won’t hurt me, no matter how scared you are that you might. I believe in you, and I believe in us.” You press your hand to your chest, your fingers curling over your beating heart. “I love how much you want to make sure I’m safe, but right now, I want to make sure that you’re safe, too.”

If you were looking a little closer, you would have seen the glossy sheen in Clay’s eyes as you tip your head to the side once more, your shirt collar tugged down your shoulder. You bite on the inside of your cheek, your fingers squeezing the sheets. His crimson eyes almost look soft in the glittering starlight of the night, and you feel your chest flood with heat.

“Please,” you croon, your eyes never leaving his. “Go on.”

He eyes you for a moment longer. Then, he’s crawling across the bed toward you, his shaking hand reaching for your shoulder. Gently, he turns you toward him, his other hand cupping your cheek. Slowly, you feel his nose brush against your jaw, something cold pressing against your skin.

“Thank you, darling,” he whispers.

Then, he sinks his fangs in.

A sting shoots up your neck at the feeling, just barely there and slightly sharp, but it’s most certainly nothing you can’t handle. Heat pools around your collar bones as he drinks and drinks, and you feel your eyelids flutter shut. His lips, which are usually cool and soft when they meet yours, feel oddly warm for once, and you sigh at the sensation of your blood pumping from your skin.

You aren’t quite sure how much time passes with him cradling you against him and his mouth lapping at the side of your neck, but soon enough, you can feel a slight dizziness flit around your skull. A soft whimper escapes your lips and instantly, he breaks away from you, his eyes wide with worry as you lean against him for support. You press your forehead against his shoulder for a brief second before sitting upright once more, blinking away the vignette tinting the edges of your vision. In front of you, Clay’s lips are stained with a faint shade of red, but his eyes have returned to the brilliant shade of green you know and love. He grips onto your shoulders a tad tighter than before, his hands reassuringly rubbing against up and down against your arms.

“Oh, [Y/N],” he breathes, his eyes frantically searching your face for any sign of harm. “I-I’m sorry if I was too rough or anything. I tried to be as gentle as I could, but god, you taste so sweet and I—”

You don’t let him finish his sentence. Before he can even blink, you’re pressing your mouth to his, your tongue swiping at the seam of his lips. The uncanny warmth of his lips against yours makes your head spin more than it was before, and you feel yourself smile against him when you pull back. You can taste the slight metallic tang of your own blood on your mouth as you flash him a grin, his eyes wide with adoration as he drinks in the sight of you sitting before him.

“I’m okay, Clay,” you say with an earnest look. Tilting your head at him, your tongue darts out to swipe at the corners of your mouth. “Are you?”

His eyes never leave yours as he reaches forward to slip your hand into his, his fingers slotting between your own. “Yes,” he murmurs. “Yes, yes, yes.”

His pale skin almost seems to glow in the dim light filtering through your balcony window, and he strokes his thumb over the back of your knuckles. Something inside you suddenly unravels as he tugs you into his chest, holding you close to him as his arms wrap around your backside. You feel him rest his chin atop your shoulder, and you melt into his cool touch. Just as you let yourself let out a loving, hazy sigh against his chest, you feel him whisper into the shell of your ear.

“Would you maybe let me... have another sip?”

[buckyownsmylife]

Walk Away - Tom Hardy smut

The one where Tom is your mentor and really shouldn’t feel this attracted to you.

Warnings: smut, age gap, famous!reader, mentor!Tom Hardy, breeding kink, risky sex, tiny insinuation of a size kink, (blink and you’ll miss), mention of a panic attack with barely any descriptions of it

Word count: 3k>

Tom’s P.O.V.

“Tom.” I stopped rubbing the sleep off my eyes the second my name fell from her lips. I didn’t need her to identify herself - I didn’t need to check the caller’s ID. I’d recognize her voice anywhere, regardless of just how groggy I was. But the tone in which she said my name, the tired, dead feeling shining through it, was what really startled me awake. “Tom, I need you.”

The desperation in her voice scared me, and I was out of bed before I could even realize what I was doing. “You’re home?” I confirmed, waiting only for the expected answer while I looked for my keys. “I’ll be there in five. Hang on tight.”

The night was cold, but I don’t think I would have noticed it if it wasn’t for the chill that had me freezing from the inside. I didn’t even consider changing out of my sleepwear - sweatpants and a loose shirt - mostly because I didn’t want to waste time on something so trivial, especially since it wasn’t that different from what I’d normally wear around her.

I’d known her for over four years now. I’d never witnessed this level of distress on her. In fact, she was never anything short of enthusiastic and happy, a bubble of sunshine that managed to energize everyone around her. For her to be this way, something big had to have happened, and it pained me to imagine just what could have been. 

It pained me to imagine her suffering, and not being there to help. So I stepped on the pedal, driving madly, knowing my own heartbeat would only get back to a regular pace once I had her in my arms again, could smell her perfume as I buried my face in her hair.

She wasn’t by the door when I got to her house, so I let myself in with the extra key that I had, noticing all the lights were off. There was only one place she could be. 

My feet took me there without even having to think about it, like there was some sort of instinctive calling from her body to mine. When I got to her bedroom, a dim light showed just how effective that connection was, as I pushed in to find her laying on her bed, waiting for me.

“What happened?” She sat up when I pushed the door open, quietly closing it behind me, and for a second there was no reaction as she took in my presence, like she needed time to realize I really was there. But then her eyes glistened, denouncing a flow of tears, and she just shook her head, as if asking me to contain my curiosity for just a bit.

“Can you just hug me?” She asked, and I felt my heart squeeze at the realization of just how unaware she was of my feelings for her. I’d do anything, anything for the woman in front of me. A hug was nothing, and I ached to have her in my arms anyway.

I sat by her side and immediately, she was on me, climbing on my lap until she could hide her face on the crook of my neck, and I froze only momentarily before wrapping my arms around her smaller body. Despite how wrong it morally felt - particularly when I remembered I wasn’t wearing any type of underwear - I couldn’t deny how right it was to both my heart and my body, how much it comforted me to feel her this close.

So there we stayed, for God knows how long. We didn’t speak - I was waiting for her decision to explain what had happened, and she clearly needed to come to terms with whatever it was. Just being there for her was enough for me, so I kept rubbing her back, eventually pulling away to press kisses on her temple, trying to ignore how her little sighs of comfort made me feel.

“I-I think I’m ready to talk.” The second I couldn’t feel her warm breath against my neck anymore, I felt cold again, but to my surprise, she didn’t climb down my lap, didn’t try to put some space between us. 

Instead, her arms remained around my shoulders, fingers playing with the collar of my shirt, making me shiver every once in a while when her nails dragged along my flesh.

“Okay,” I encouraged, only because she seemed nervous to say whatever it was that she wanted to tell me, her eyes avoiding mine before she finally managed to meet my gaze again, after taking a deep breath.

“Shawn broke up with me.” A sharp inhale resonated throughout the room, and it took me a few seconds to figure out it had been my own doing. I’d never liked her boyfriend, not ever since she first told me they had been going out, and despite how hard I tried to hide it from her, she had always been aware of my true feelings for him. 

Knowing he was the one to blame for her current state of mind only served to turn my concern into anger. 

“Why?” That was the only thing I could think to ask, the only thing I could focus on as I struggled not to throw her on the bed and run out after him. But I’d never be able to leave her alone, especially not since she was so clearly vulnerable.

There was another second of hesitation before she finally revealed, “It was because of you, actually.” Now that froze me into a state of shock. I couldn't speak, couldn’t think, all I could do was stare down at the face of the woman I loved who looked like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on me.

“What?” Her giggle made my heart skip a beat for a second. It felt good to know that she was already starting to feel better, it felt even greater to know that I was the reason for her laughter, even if I was still fucking confused.

“Don’t worry about it.” Now that just wasn’t good enough. I needed to know, needed to understand. How had I been the cause for their break-up? But she didn’t seem too eager to open up about this specific part of her day, and so I decided to break out the big guns.

I laid her down on the bed, hovering over her so our eyes remained connected. “Tell me,” I quietly begged, and although she still looked anxious, I knew she was close to breaking. “I really want to know.”

She sighed, eyes closing for only an instant and for that instant, I allowed myself to believe that she was breathing me in, appreciating the feeling of being covered by my much larger body, exactly like I did.

“He was jealous,” she finally admitted, but the frown in my face only deepened, asking her for more information. “He felt like I prefered your company over his, which to be fair, it’s the truth. When I’m with you, I never want to leave.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I just stood there, frozen, looking deep into her eyes, searching for any sign of mockery, but found none. She looked hurt, but not like she regretted what happened. It just looked like she needed me there.

And so I stayed. I laid down by her side on the bed and pulled her to me, so her head rested on my chest, and I thought. I thought long and hard about what she’d told me and about how I felt. I thought so much, in fact, that I could see a panic attack forming, as the weight of my feelings threatened to suffocate me, and before I could realize what I was doing, I was already sitting up on the bed and looking for my keys.

“Where are you going?” She rubbed the sleep off her eyes as she tried to understand what was happening, but to be quite honest, I didn’t understand it myself. I just knew I needed to get the hell out of there, or I would end up saying something I’d regret. “I’m so comfy, can’t you just stay?”

It was so hard to breathe that my chest heaved with the labour of getting each breath in and out, so I forced myself to focus on it, stopping only for a few seconds, but it was enough to have me spilling things I’d been managing to hide for years.

“Don’t ask me that. Please.” My voice sounded hoarse, like I hadn’t used it in too long. “Because I’ll stay, and it’ll only hurt me further.” That caught her attention, wiping any remnants of sleep from her in an instant. 

“I wish I could walk away from you. Time and time again I wished for it, when you began dating that jerk, when I first realized I had feelings for you… but I just can’t. I’d do anything for you. All I can think about is you, all the fucking time. I want you so fucking much. I love you way too much. And being just your friend, your mentor, your confidant, is killing me.”

I closed my eyes to catch my breath, trying to focus, trying to make anything make sense again. In that time, I feared the worst. I thought about her leaving, her hand leaving a warm imprint on my face as she slapped me. I thought about her (rightfully, in my mind) accusing me of betraying her, calling me a monster, a pervert. 

I thought I had imagined every possible scenario, but I was still surprised when I opened my eyes to find her seating on the edge of her bed, gaze resting on mine, licking her lips. “I wanna feel you,” she said, and my mind swirled with this unexpected outcome.

“Excuse me?” I scrambled to keep myself up, finding a hold in the back of a nearby chair, my entire body trembling with the effort to hold back, the effort to think and listen, instead of just doing what my instincts begged me to do - pounce on her and fuck her raw.

“I want you inside of me,” she calmly stated, like it was no big deal. It was clear that it was the best way she had found to ask me for what she wanted, but I just couldn’t believe it.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Y-you want me?” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, understanding the delicate nature of this situation, anxious to not let it slip through my fingers nor hold it so tightly it would end up breaking and hurting me in the process. 

I closed the gap between us, getting out of the bed to come stand in front of him, hoping the proximity would ease him the same way having his body near would calm me.

“I’ve always wanted you,” I confirmed, hoping he’d see just how truthful the statement was, needing him to see how much more I wanted to say. “But right now…” Without thinking, my hand reached out to fiddle with the edge of his shirt, the sight of the boner struggling against his sweatpants unmistakable to me. “Right now, I’ll do anything if you just touch me.” 

A sharp exhale of breath, his warmth hit my face, giving me a taste of what was to come. But I wanted the real thing. I wanted to know how it felt from his lips, to have his tongue forcing my mouth open, making me forget my need to breathe.

“I need you.” I got what I wanted then. His face lowered to mine, mouth finally close enough for me to reach, after what felt like years of desire. And it was everything that I’d always imagined his kiss to be - overpowering, dominating and overwhelmingly him. I was instantly addicted.

When he finally allowed our lips to part, taken by his need to breathe, I slowly began to peel away my clothes, fingers trembling in quiet desperation for him to see this for what it truly was: the meeting of desire and lust after years of denial and repression.

“Please fuck me,” I pleaded as my naked body was revealed to him inch by inch, willing to do whatever would get me what I needed. “I swear I can handle you.” That last part was added almost as an afterthought, when I watched his hand curl around a tightness I’d never witnessed in real life before.

I knew what was going through his head - the fight between what was expected of us and what we wanted, our feelings and our professions, but nothing else mattered to me more than knowing he’d spear me open with his length.

“Lay down and spread your legs for me.” Just that order was enough to have me whining low in the back of my throat, but I did as he said, even held my ankles so his view of me would be unobstructed. But that meant I had to watch him as he knelt by the bed and took a hold of my legs, licking his lips in desire at what he saw.

“Please, please, fuck me,” I repeated, knowing I wouldn’t handle his lips on me right now. I needed his thickness, his hardness, I needed to be filled by him, to feel him inside of me.

“Let me just get a taste,” he tried to convince me, eyes focused on the apex of my thighs. I almost laughed at how it looked like his mouth was watering as he stared at my exposed pussy, but my need was far too great to allow me any sort of distraction.

“Later, okay? You can eat me out as long as you want, just… later.” That had his head snapping up, gaze at last meeting mine with a soft sentiment that I knew was at least half vulnerability.

My poor Tommy. Even after all of my confessions, he still couldn’t believe that what was happening was actually real. He still doubted I would want him in the morning, as something more than what I wanted him when I called him tonight.

“Touch me, Tom,” I quietly asked, raising his hand to where I was aching for him, rubbing myself with his thumb. “Touch me right here, please, I’m begging you.”

Hearing those words fall from my lips changed something in him. Where once he was hesitant, a sudden confident smirk, almost arrogant, slowly spread over his lips, taking over his entire aura.

Tom’s P.O.V.

“So needy for me…” I whispered as I witnessed the truth behind my statement. She was sopping wet, almost dripping down the duvet, and as much as I wanted to get my mouth on her, I could accept that we’d have the time to do that later.

I loved the idea of a later.

“I’ll take care of you, darling.” I whispered as I climbed up her body once more, occupying the space between her thighs like I was always meant to be there. “Let me take care of you.”

I brushed my lips against hers, relishing in this closeness, in the moment just before it all changed. I was sure she could feel the weight of my cock against her thigh, and it was probably what prompted her to wrap her arms around my shoulders, breathlessly telling me, “Yes. Yes, please.”

Hissing as I finally slid my length inside of her, I knew I was in trouble the second I bottomed out, biting on her shoulder to keep myself from groaning and drowning out her delicious little sounds. She felt too good. No one should feel this good.

A broken gasp (or was it a moan) called my attention, taking me from my efforts of restraining myself to her, completely. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I asked, brushing the hair away from her face as I watched her open her eyes and blink a few times, trying to keep tears from flowing down her cheeks. “Does it hurt?”

But she just shook her head, hands searching mine until she could lace our fingers together. “No,” she breathed, hips jutting up in a silent way of asking me to move. “It feels so good.”

I bit the inside of my cheek in an effort not to smile widely at her admission, finally allowing myself to slowly begin dragging my cock out of her tight channel before pushing it in again.

“It does?” I questioned, loving to hear her say it. “Well, I’ll always make you feel this good, baby. How does that sound?” She moaned out loud as I lowered my head to lave her breasts with attention, relishing in every little sound that escaped her beautiful lips as I pounded her on the bed.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl, darling.” Another loud moan was all I got as a response, paired with her fingernails biting on the skin of my back. “My good girl, yes?” I insisted, rubbing my jaw against her neck, breathing her in.

I was drunk on her, on this entire experience, still not quite believing it was really happening. She was really here, getting fucked by me. “You’ll be my good girl? Just mine? Forever?”

A smile spread out over her lips, even as she threw her head back to moan a “Yes.” I chuckled against her chest, starting to suck little bruises here and there, wanting to see her all marked up on me, when she interrupted my plans with a breathless comment, “You talk dirty.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” I chuckled against her lips, right as she started to convulse underneath me, clinging to my back for dear life. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Her nails scratched me as she found her bliss, and I wasn’t too far behind. As I started to pick up my pace, really milking her orgasm while searching for mine, it was her words that brought me to my ultimate release.

“C-cum inside, I want it inside of me.” I knew she wasn’t in any form of contraception, and I also knew this wasn’t the right time for either of us to become parents, but to say the idea didn’t arouse me was a lie. 

Flashes of her young body with my baby in it had my cock twitching, the risk of getting my perfect future right then too exciting. She’d be the perfect mother, I just knew it. And the fact that she would take the chance of becoming the mother of my child right then affected me so much that even after I emptied myself inside of her, I was still hard.

Her fingers played with my curls as I rested my head between her breasts, breathing her in, trying to catch my breath. “I can’t believe I get to sleep next to you tonight,” she said, melting my heart right then and there. “I hate it when you’re away.”

I did too. But I’d never need to be again.

[reflectionsofneptune]

little things about the Venus Signs

abstract dreamy things I associate with the Venus Signs in Astrology.

Aries Venus

Risk. Risks you take because you know that something exciting is on the edge of it. A good time. Fire and desire, a flammable combination you can’t help but be drawn too. Dependability. Someone who has your back. Moments to remember. Legs dangling off a balcony because when the wind moves, you’re filled with freedom and empowerment. Less thoughts. More actions. Weekends away, just because. Kisses in public, just because. Laughter. Belly laughs which’ll have you crying. Experiences to remember. Eye contact. Daring you to look away. A look that just does something to you. Promises something more.

Taurus Venus

Stability. Stability in something we’ve nurtured and are proud to share together. Routine. Loyalty. You know where you stand. An unsaid declaration to show up, in the good times and the ugly. Someone you can count on. Delicious food. Shared. Eating in bed. Fingertips that mould to every curve of your body and incite a strong feeling in your core. Physical senses heightened. Your favourite scent. Tender, routine moments of care. A love that is a grounding force when life gets a bit too much. Gifts with you in mind. That heady feeling of pleasure. Can’t get enough. Don’t want to. Feenin’. Sharing what I have, with you.

Gemini Venus

Lightness. Love is light-hearted but sentimental. Akin to cold champagne, bubbles in your tummy and warmth in your head. Laughter. Lots of it. Hanging out with other people but my body language and eye contact is on you. Late night conversations with you. Pushing your buttons because I can, but my intentions are pure. Can you deal? A willingness to delve into the deeper emotions of life. Being charmed. Flirting back and forth. Lip biting. Feigning forgetting important dates to surprise you later and show that I pay attention. Smiling till your face hurts. It’s hard to be sad when I’m around you. A desire to know what you’re thinking. 

Cancer Venus

Coming home. My door is open and every meeting feels like the first time all over again. A love that follows you everywhere. Cleanses you. Breakfast in bed. A sensitive spot touched on your back. Just. Like. That. Emotions. Emotions on overdrive. Are these mine or yours? Emotional highs. Highs that sweep you up into the heavens where everything is fluffy and soft. Feels like you’re treading warm water, soft ripples glimmer in the moonlight. Devotion. Whatever you want, I can take care of it. Being fed. And then devoured whole by the intensity. It’s all you can feel. Sink or swim, I’m right there with you.

Leo Venus

Loyalty. I vow to ride things out for you. With you. Anything for my equal. Nothing but the best. Tender moments where eyes are locked and the inner spirit is visible, for a moment. Taking pictures in iconic places. Compliments. Affirming how good you look. Back rubs. Head rubs. Hand on my heart, I swear this feels too good to be true. Playfulness. Teasing. I wanna see what you’re about. Show me how I light you up so I know i’m not the only one feeling this way. Wearing my heart on my sleeve. Nights spent enjoying each other’s company. Messing around, just because. Letting you in because you recognise the inner child within me.

Virgo Venus

Little things. The things you overlook I cover. There’s little I wouldn’t do for you. I got you. Practical gifts. Soft nagging. Simple things done together. Grocery shopping. Your favourite treat in your bag because today is a big day and I believe in you. A connection that surpasses the body but is rooted within the spirit. Acceptance of all your flaws. Loving you even more for it. A mental connection that just flows. Dry jokes. You get me. Subtle touches. Gratitude. Feelings that run deep. Putting in work because I value this connection. Showing a different side of me when I’m with you.

Libra Venus

Balance. Sweet words. An even sweeter smile, with eyes crinkling. Matching our steps when we’re together because I like being in a groove with you. Sharing a milkshake with two straws. A fairytale romance where only true love is promised. Holding hands. Thinking of you. A sense of peace together. Taking turns splitting the bill because this right here is based on give and take. Tucking that stray hair behind your ear. Looking at you pains me a little. Yin and Yang. But in a good way. Nothing is perfect, but this right here, is real close.

Scorpio Venus

Bare. That’s how it feels. Seeing beneath the physical body but wanting more. Surrounded by people but consumed by your presence. Heat. A look. A smirk. Intense feelings. Intense feelings that you can either face head or back away, either way you’ll feel it. No sharing. But no prisoners, either. Ride or die. You’re guaranteed not to be the same after. Say goodbye to the old you. Secrets shared. Each day brings us closer and I’m fast getting used to it. Flying off the edge because something greater needs to be explored. Shadow emotions not shrinking away from the light but opening up to be perceived. Deep healing. An even deeper connection. 

Sagittarius Venus

Exploration. Exploration of your mind. A raucous kind of love. Play fighting. An acceptance of you and how I come together. Falling a lil bit deeper each time you express whats on your mind. Freedom. Introducing each other to new things. Living life on the wild side. Travelling together, you and I and two backpacks. Anything feels possible when I’m with you. Remembering how to dream. Questionable decisions that feel oh so good in the end. Having faith. In a higher power, in a higher calling. In you.

Capricorn Venus

A quiet declaration of love that doesn’t need outside confirmation. You know what it is. Weekends away in the countryside. Showing up for you. Playing house. Love is made a priority. Lunch dates. Settling down in the evening just us. Brushing our teeth together and sneaking glances in the mirror. An earthy kind of love. Feeling grounded, together. Helping you take the burden off of your shoulders. You can lean on me. Dinner and drinks. Privacy. Living our best life together. Taking things slow but an end goal is in place. Doing things for long-term results. Thinking of a future where you feature. 

Aquarius Venus

Acceptance. A connection that questions everything you knew before. Shaking your world up. How open are you to the unpredictable? I wanna find out. Making a fool out of ourselves because its 1AM and we’re up. Watching the sun come up. Netflix and chill. A series we watch together, just us. It’s our thing. Listening to your dreams but getting distracted by the pure passion emanating from your eyes. Finding humour in awkward situations. Shining eyes. Things we share together. Moments of time apart that we share which doesn’t feel impending of something bad, but more of a comforting reminder that what we have is something to come back to. Trust. Sending you this meme because I saw this and thought of you.

Pisces Venus

Unconditional. A connection that doesn’t exist on a 3D level. Love that filters through into your dream world. What separates us? Not much. Fantasies materialising. Taking place on a soul level. Dreamy eyes. Looking at you just because. Looking at you when you’re not looking. Talking to you but then losing track because you look so damn good. Tracing the curves of your face. Holding hands with thumbs circling that fleshy part where the thumb meets the index. Losing myself in you. Sharing things together that can’t be explained. We don’t want too. 

| little thoughts about mercury placements

| little thoughts about mars placements

| little thoughts about saturn placements

[ot3]

hey kinda heavy ace attorney question ig but I agree with you on many things about aa and feel like you have a good understanding of Phoenix and Trucy so I really wanna ask. How do you think the creation of the bloody ace was handled? I’ve seen the idea that Trucy took matters into her own hands and made it as a failsafe without his knowledge, and that he then covered for her, but if that were the case I wonder how he knew about it and planned around it at his trial. I’ve also seen the idea that he made it himself, but gave it to her for delivery to Apollo; which maybe seems the most apparent but I really dislike it because…. It means he uses her to deliver forged evidence. In much the same way he was given the diary page, really. it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve also seen some people suggest that he made it but only gave it to her for use at her discretion, which does give some agency back to her but I also question whether Phoenix would be right in placing that on her shoulders and making it her responsibility. Sorry this expanded into a ridiculously long ask but I really am curious about your take on it?

eoooh yes yes yes i love talking about phoenix and trucy lets goooooo. i actually have a scene from my (still pretty rough and probably never to be finished) wip longfic covering this scene, which ill sick below the cut, but i'll just give my generic thoughts here first.

i think phoenix asked her to do it. trucy having enough detailed knowledge of the crime scene and the events leading up to it and the actual mechanical operation of trials that would be required in order to come up with this plan just doesn't make any sense to me. phoenix is really the only one who could have theoretically concocted this particular move. but since he was presumably held in the detention center until trial, trucy is from there really the only person who could have actually done the thing.

phoenix and trucy are pretty notoriously codependent; i'm headachey and melting from the heat today so rather than doing what i normally do and trawling the wiki to find the quotes that back me up on broadstrokes statements like these so i'm just gonna pull a 'dude just trust me' moment here. the fact that she helps take care of her daddy is a point of pride for her. i don't think it strips trucy of any agency for this to be phoenix's decision because it's not like trucy spends her whole life (or even the entire game) blindly following other peoples orders. her (and phoenix's ) priority at the beginning of aa4 is each other and their own wellbeing, and the decisions they have to make in turnabout trump are indicative of that.

yes, it echoes her bringing the forged evidence to phoenix 7 years ago, but it's more of an inversion/reversal (one might even say a turnabout) than a repetition of past mistakes. in the past she was an unwilling pawn in someone else's plan where her life was collateral, now she's an active and conscious participant in the plan of someone she cares about that she's doing to protect the life she and phoenix have built for themselves. She's not being forced to do it, but i don't think there's any world where she would have said no either. she and phoenix are the most important thing in the world to each other. in their own words, if one of them falls, they both fall.

was it right of phoenix to ask this of her? was it okay for him to do this to apollo, too? obviously it's not a good thing. but it was his only option at that moment. phoenix found himself in a very difficult situation. as an attorney he promised himself to the truth, and that was the principle he lived by, but as a father what he lives by is the promise he made to trucy to never disappear on her. at that moment phoenix did what he had to do to make sure the trial ended the way he needed it to. truth had to take a backseat. his priorities have shifted.

i've also spoken before at length about how i don't think phoenix was plotting against kristoph in the longterm, at least not to the degree which popular fanon seems to agree upon. so really everything he did in turnabout trump was phoenix being backed into a corner using every tool at his disposal to try and snatch victory out of the jaws of defeat. was it right of him to get trucy involved? it's no worse than bringing 8 year old pearl along to crime scenes because he needed her channeling skills. phoenix cares about people deeply but he isn't capable of shielding them from all the harm the world has to offer, and he knows he isn't. half of his capability comes from his shrewdness and willingness and ability to take help when he can get it because he knows, even if its a strain in a short term, he's fighting battles that need to be won at any cost. if that makes any sense

anyway heres the little scene i wrote below the cut.

---------- APRIL 17TH, 2026 DETENTION CENTER VISITOR’S ROOM ----------

Trucy shows up on the dot as visiting hours begin. It’s funny, she thinks. The last time she did this she had a different daddy altogether. Only it really isn’t particularly funny at all, is the thing about it, and she’s going to have quite a few stern words for the man when he gets home.

She picks up the phone on one side of the pane of bulletproof glass and he grabs the other.

“Daddy,” she huffs. “You promised me you’d stay out of trouble.”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry, Truce.” He puts on an easy smile as he says it, and he uses the same affected tone of voice she had used to start the conversation off. Affected. Cautious, in the sense that it’s levity is entirely manufactured. A performance.

It had been like that between them for real at the beginning, both of them still unsure of each other, pantomiming something resembling a sitcom and playing the real feeling filled in as it went. Thankfully, it did, but the theatrics still lend themselves better to specific conversation.

“Well, if you’re sorry, I suppose I can forgive you! But this isn’t going to look good on your employee review, y’know. I’ll have to bring it up with HR.”

“I’m sure Charley can find it in his heart to forgive me, too.”

“He’s a gentle soul.” She nods.

“You should come watch the trial on Monday, I think it’d be good for you to see.”

“Oh? And why’s that?” Trucy doesn’t like the courthouse. Daddy knows that. She never comes when he goes to use the library there. She also hates, hates the idea of watching her daddy sit in the defendant’s chair not knowing if he’s ever going to come home again. He knows that too.

“Well, there are always interesting things to learn during a court trial. Plus, having you there would help me out a lot!” I need you to do something for me. She reads through the tone into his words’ real meaning. Her stomach clenches. A favor he can’t just outright ask for, not over the phone in the detention center, where every word would be recorded.

“Oh, daddy, no! I’m a magician, not a lawyer, although I understand the confusion.” She drapes a hand over her eyes in faux anguish. “I simply couldn’t, it isn’t my stage.”

“I disagree. I think it’s a perfect stage. Lawyers need cheering up too, you know! Back when I was a lawyer, I used to get really stressed out during cases like these. I bet one of your tricks would do the job.”

“Well what sort of trick do you want me to do?”

“Do you remember the first trick you ever did for me? It was the day we met, at the courthouse. You pulled a piece of paper out of your hat and gave it to me.”

“Yes,” she chirps, forcing a vibrant bubble into her voice. It feels like a pile of rocks in her gut and her pulse starts to quicken. “Of course I remember!”

“I bet if you did that trick again, it’d cheer up the whole courtroom! I bet I’d win my case in a heartbeat.”

----------

Her legs feel like jelly by the time the bus drops her off at the stop near the office. Daddy had kept on like that, loaded phrasing and a lopsided smile as he laced vapid banter with instructions. With warnings. She walks into the storage closet and grabs a deck of cards - one of his, the same style they use at the club, not hers for her tricks. Abruptly, she has a moment of panic as she realizes she’s not even sure what color she’s supposed to use, but then, just as fast, she forces her head clear and just grabs one of each.

They’re unopened. This makes it a cinch to find the card she’s looking for. Her stomach flips.

The worst part isn’t even what she’s doing. The worst part is that she’s doing it at all. Daddy knows well what this situation is making her feel and he’s asking her to do it anyway.

The only explanation left: he’s completely out of options.

She pulls her gloves off and grabs a needle from her sewing supplies. She pricks her finger, and lets a drop fall onto each ace.

----------