#how did it end up fine tuned like this

[dragon-and-balls]

"...You and I as Us

Perfectly imperfect..." -Wyatt

[bmpmp3]

IA 2.0 voisona test with a short version of drag on dragoon's ending B song tsukiru/exhausted :) now i can hear Lia's beautiful dulcet tones sing scary scary songs

[invoncible]

BLUFF ✰ mark grayson & mohawk mark w/ childhood bsf! fem! reader cw. canon compliant themes (ex. distress)

SUMMARY. when mohawk mark doesn't find debbie at his childhood home, he goes after the next best thing: you. he thinks you're together in this world too, and when he realizes you're not... well, how could he possibly give up such a perfect opportunity? / wc. 6k oops

— i started this to train my writing skills but it got out of hand T-T anyways enjoy <3

You didn't even notice your phone ringing. It must've been the third time it buzzed on your kitchen counter but for the life of you, you could not look away from the news. Invincible was laying waste to all the major cities of the globe, seemingly unprovoked.

Your breath caught when the news broke to process new information, senses finally tuning into the whirring behind you. You swiped your phone, barely glancing at the caller ID before answering.

"Hel—"

"Y/N, thank goodness." Debbie gasped on the other end.

You stood rigid. You've known Debbie your whole life. You and Mark were inseparable growing up—it was a rare occurrence to hear her so unnerved. Her unease was contagious, zapping through the wireless connection and taking root in your conscience.

"Are—" You cleared your throat, clutching the phone tighter. You walked over to the window, dragging down the blinds with two fingers and peeking outside. "Are you okay? You sound—"

"Fine, I'm fine." A shaky exhale was what you were met with, along with the sounds of a car starting up. "Honey, have you seen the news? You need to stay safe." A pause followed, too long to be natural. "Do you have anywhere else to go?"

You scrunched your brows in confusion. "Um... no, I don't. But from what they're saying on the news, the Invincibles are only targeting big cities."

"Listen. If you stay there—" Debbie's line crackled as you assumed she was driving away, far away from the neighborhood and fast. “—‘ll come for you.”

“No, you don’t have to do that. I've got my car if something goes wrong.” You pulled away from your phone, glancing at the call screen when you got no response. "Hello?"

"In light of new footage, we have information that—"

The TV fizzled out next, the low drone of cable replacing rowdy chatter of the newsroom. A low-pixel message of NO SIGNAL floated around the screen, bouncing off the edges.

You stared at yourself in the black reflection, wishing it would flip on again so you weren't alone with your thoughts. The paranoia was setting in... you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Mark is—”

beeeeeep.

"Hello?" You whispered over the phone, desperate for Debbie's familiar comfort. “...Debbie? Mark is what?”

A rhythmic beeeep beep met your ears instead. You glanced at your phone once again—CALL FAILED.

"Ohhhkay." You muttered under your breath. This is fine, you soothed yourself.

The electricity in your house died out, gently setting you into darkness. With the TV signal lost and your phone disconnected, the cell towers and power grid were probably down.

This is fine. As long as you stayed inside, you'd be fine.

You pulled down the blinds once more, letting a shred of the sunset glow into your home. Your gaze travelled to Mark's house; across the street, a couple houses down. So easily accessible yet so distant at the same time.

You and Mark were attached at the hip for seventeen years—your entire lives. Separation should have felt strange. But just two years since growing apart, his absence almost felt... normal.

Almost like he was never there to begin with.

You went off to university. You assumed he did, too, but got more reliable intel when you connected with William. He shared that they both got into Upstate, as well as his girlfriend, Amber.

Girlfriend?

You remember the pause you took to process that information—the moment you realized he was moving forward while you remained where he left you. Facing the reality that you were no longer a part of his life.

"Stop fidgeting," You whispered with a little chuckle. "It's high school, not the end of the world."

"High school is where things start to happen." Mark whined as he pulled down the hem of his sweater. "Grades matter, who you hang out with matters, girls matter."

"Uh-huh."

"You think I would make a good jock?"

"You've got the look for it."

"Dumb?"

"Yes."

Mark rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips as you both walked up the steps to the next phase of your life. "That's not very nice."

"You can be anything you want, Mark." You groaned, deciding to be encouraging. "Literally. You're good at everything. You'll fit in wherever you want to."

"Okay. Too nice." He huffed and bumped into your side. "But thanks. I just..."

Your brows furrowed in concern when his head dipped, distress sneaking its way through his cheerful disposition.

"Stuff's supposed to happen this year. Big stuff." He was mumbling, unfocused like he regretted taking the conversation this direction to begin with. "I don't want to mess this up."

You wanted to tell him high school wasn't that deep. There were complete losers that all turned out just fine. Something about his expression, though... it was heavy.

You weren't sure what he was talking about, but you knew what he needed. You always did. "Whatever stuff you're talking about... it's gonna work out. You'll take it one step at a time just like you always have, and you have your parents at your side.... William, me."

He offered you a little smile. "We'll do this together?" He held out his pinky finger.

You giggle and interlocked yours with his. "Together."

He broke that promise pretty quickly. Different classes were the first step apart. From there, it only got harder to see each other.

Family stuff was Mark's favorite excuse—vaguely explaining family stuff had become 90% of your conversations. You figured he didn't want to tell you whatever he was really going through, which was fine. It hurt, but it was fine.

Before you knew it, you stopped talking altogether. You didn't think much of it at first—you were approaching adulthood, obviously you were going to get busy. You just thought you'd get busy together. You didn't even know what he was up to these days.

You drew back from the blinds with a long sigh, hoping that Debbie and Mark were safe. Wherever they were.

You trudged down into the basement to turn the generator on. The wooden stairs of the unfinished space crrrrrreaked under your feet. You waved away the dust, pounding your chest to cough the particles that snuck their way into your airway.

It was cooler down here, much darker without the ambient lighting of the sunset above. With your trusty phone flashlight, you managed to maneuver your way through the storage buckets and old boxes to the backup generator.

You grunted trying to pull the lever down. "Shit..." you cursed in disgust, feeling the grime and dust underneath your palm. i want electricity i want electricity, you repeated over and over to block out the icky sensation.

"Need some help?"

"Ah—!" you shrieked, spinning around in a panic. Your flashlight illuminated the figure in front of you, shadowed by the soft light of open door upstairs. "What—" who—?!

"Damn. Relax."

Vaulting over your initial dread, you grabbed something—a wrench or a hammer, you didn’t know, you didn't care—and swung it with all your might.

They caught it in their fist. Your breath shriveled up in your throat at how stiff they were, intercepting your attack without even budging. Their fingers curled tight around the tool and yanked you close.

"tsk, tsk," Their low voice chuckled. "Thought you'd be happy to see me, pretty girl."

You shone your light into the intruder's face, the tension in your body dissipating when you recognized—

"...Mark?" You squinted in the darkness, the flashlight just barely illuminating his face in a ghastly glow. "Wha... what are you doing here?" You huffed.

Blood was pumping through your system, telling you to get ready to run. Your nerves wouldn't calm their tingle even though you realized it was just Mark. Cuz it was Mark, right?

"Checking on you."

"Where's your mom?"

"Smart enough to leave home."

"Oh, yeah. She called. I thought you'd be with her..." You trailed off, frowning when you heard him laughing. "What?"

"Nothing." He hummed. "You're just so..."

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"Okay..." You gave him a weird look. Then your brain caught up to you: Pretty girl? "Aren't you dating Amber?"

He took a moment to think, tossing the wrench aside and grabbing your wrist in his hand instead. "Am I?"

You pursed your lips, eyes narrowing. "I'm... asking you?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

"What—" You exhaled, brows knitted in confusion. You tried to pull away but he held firm; for every step back, he followed. "Mark, wait—"

Your phone clattered to the ground, the ray of light spinning chaotically through the darkness before it fell on its back.

"I missed you." He murmured lowly, almost reverent in the way he boxed you against the cold generator. "Shhh..." He calmed your trembling frame with his strong arms (when'd he get so strong?) wrapped around your shoulders.

He burrowed his nose in your hair. "It's me, bunny. Why're you so scared?"

This isn't Mark. Your heart pounded at your chest, eyes frozen and piercing into the darkness over his shoulder—Wake up, dumbass. This isn't Mark.

When your tremors refused to quiet, he pulled back with what you hoped was concern. That's when you saw his hair...

"Is that..." You whispered. The soft light from the main floor was fading, but reflected off the shiny sides of Mark's head. "Are you bald?"

What was he doing in the two years since you saw each other?

"Aw..." He laughed heartily, leaning further towards you and flattening his palms over the top of the generator. "Not quite."

He leaned to your side, breath fanning over the shell of your ear as he continued to snicker to himself softly. He grabbed the lever of the generator and shoved it down.

Your body jostled into his firm chest as it sprung to life. It went clank-clank-clank-clank, pumping electricity back into your home. You heard the melodic trills from upstairs as devices booted up again.

The light in the basement flipped back on. It didn't reach you. Mark towered over you and kept you in shadow. But you could see him—rather, who he wasn't.

"What?" Mohawk Mark grinned down at you, sadistic and teasing. "Not who you were expecting?"

No, not who you were expecting. He looked like Mark, sounded like Mark, felt like Mark... But your Mark had a kind face.

"You're not..."

"Nope."

You felt the heat drain from your body as you simply stared up at him, wide-eyed. Run. Where? Why the fuck was he dressed like ... Invincible...

A connection snapped together in your head, synapses clicking together like legos. Oh. Invincible. Everything made sense now, and you felt a little stupid for not figuring it out sooner.

And now one of those murderous variants you saw on the news was in your home.

"You're really out of it, huh?" He frowned, waving a gloved hand in front of your face. He sighed and looked away, "I thought you'd—"

You had the itch to burst into a sprint. You snatched your phone off the floor and ducked under his arm, skipping stairs to the main floor. Car. Keys? Where the fuck did you put them?

A shuddered whimper tumbled off your lips. You felt helpless, mind racing with too many things at once to pick one task and get out of there. You snatched your purse from the sofa, rifling through it to make sure your keys were inside before going outside.

"Come on, come on," You whispered, out of breath.

"Don't run from me, Y/N," Mohawk Mark sang teasingly, drawing out the last syllable of your name. "Hey, I'm just playing with you."

You screamed anyway, the sound harsh and high-pitched. He pouted, hand firmly around your arm to prevent you from breaking away.

"C'mon, baby. You're hurting my feelings. We're just having fun, yeah? A little roleplay?"

First off, you wished he'd stop calling you things like that. It felt wrong, but... good. With every pet name, he let butterflies loose in your tummy. Your heart pulsed, sending heat to your cheeks. Your brain reminded you, this isn't Mark... this isn't Mark... this isn't the real Mark...

Second, what kinda freaky ass fuck did he turn into?

You rolled out of his grip, barely making it a step away before his arm circled around your stomach, pulling you back into his chest.

"Get the fuck off me—" You squirmed uselessly, your phone and bag tumbling onto the floor. You yelped when he threw you over his shoulder, patting the small of your back affectionately as if securing cargo. "Mark!"

He just laughed, taking off through the door at a abnormal speed. Your nose smushed into his back under the acceleration, stomach somersaulted twenty times over as you soared up into the clouds.

He stopped in the air. With a hoarse shriek you clung to him as if he was your lifeline. He was, in this moment, despite everything. Your legs immediately latched around his waist, and he supported you with hands under your thighs.

"Oh, come on, now." He chuckled with a shake of his head. He easily held you and brought a hand to wipe your cheeks. "I'm just playing around. If I'd known you were this sensitive, I would've taken it a little bit easier on you..."

You hadn't even realized you started crying.

He stared at you, eyes trailing over your face. He laughed softly to himself. "Who am I kidding. No, I wouldn't have. You know how cute you are when you cry?"

You glared at him but his grin only grew wider. "What? M'not gonna hurt you! Haven't I shown you that?"

You stared at him incredulously, finally finding your voice and blowing up at him. Your fists curled, pounding at his chest and jabbing a finger in his face. "You broke into my home and have me hanging 100ft in the air?!"

"So? I'm not dropping you, am I?" You felt his fingers tap against your thigh.

"That—" Your cheeks burned. but from being embarrassed or flustered, you couldn't quite place.

"This world's Mark is the biggest piece of shit for leaving girlfriend all alone."

You blinked, "Girlfriend?"

"Yeah, you're..." Mark's head tilted, sharp eyes acutely aware of your confusion. "Ohhh. Don't tell me that fucker didn't lock you down."

You didn't even know what to say. Things were being thrown at you left and right and you were still on the fact that Mark was Invincible. Your mind rifled through all the headlines that had his name... all that pain, death, and destruction... and how you weren't there for him.

He clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Well. I'm a better version, anyway."

[]

The sun finally set on day 2 the war with no hope in sight. Mark just admitted Eve into the hospital—she stubbornly decided to help him with two of his variants and paid the price. Her broken leg was under construction, and she was unconscious.

Mark sighed as he closed the door behind him, looking up to see Cecil waiting for him in the hallway.

"You can't be here, kid."

Mark scowled. "The other Invincibles know about this place. They could kill her to get at me. I... can't lose another friend. I won't."

After Amber, Mark wanted to be with Eve. It was the next logical step, right? Both superheroes, went through a lot together, understood each other... But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not even under Future Eve's advice.

Not when he still held space for you in his heart.

He was an asshole for it, he knew that. He couldn't put a date to the last time you spoke and he selfishly held onto your memory. Were you pining for him like he was pining for you?

His time with Amber taught him a lot. He wasn't going to make you suffer like she did. He wasn't going to ruin the friendship he had with you just because he selfishly wanted your love.

"We're losing this, Mark." Cecil sighed, snapping Mark out of his thoughts. The bruise on his face throbbed with every word. "The world needs you."

"You got every superhero on the planet fighting for you right now." Mark shot back angrily, shutting his eyes only to see you behind his lids.

"Mark. Oliver's out there. Your mother's out there." Cecil pressed, pulling out his phone. "Which reminds me. She left a voicemail."

With his interest successfully piqued, Mark listened as his mother's panicked voice played over Cecil's device.

"I can't reach Mark—if you see him, tell him I'm at Paul's. Oliver insisted on going out there, and I let him on the condition he finds his big brother."

Mark's gaze dropped down to the floor guiltily, a war of emotions swirling inside him.

"I couldn't stop him if I tried. He was going to sneak out anyway, but..." A sharp inhale. "I'm worried. I know they're strong, I know that. But these other versions... they're nothing like Mark." Seconds of silence passed as she collected her thoughts. "Can you check on someone for me? If all these Marks grew up the same, there's a childhood friend on our street that he was never without. I tried to reach her but service went down. Please."

Cecil pulled back his phone. "I already sent agents to her home—"

Mark's head snapped up, gritting his teeth in annoyance. "What did I say about going near my family?"

"I wasn't aware she was family." Cecil raised an eyebrow, pocketing his device and pulling down his cuffs.

"They're my responsibility. She's my responsibility." Mark retorted, running a anxious hand through his hair.

"A thank you would be nice." Cecil mumbled, unperturbed by the boy's argument. "Seeing as you are currently shirking said responsibility."

"Don't—" Mark lurched forward, a threat on his tongue. Cecil flinched backwards, his hand firmly in his pocket finding his controller.

Mark pulled back, dropping his fist. "...Just shut the fuck up, Cecil." He blasted off through the halls.

Cecil watched him leave with bated breath, exhaling slowly when he got the intel that Mark was off the grounds. At least he was out there.

[]

"I killed the Guardians, yeah."

"All of them?"

"Yeah. No big deal."

You raised your eyes in surprise but the notion wasn't as gruesome as you thought it would be. Blinded by love, maybe? Or were you just happy to be talking to Mark again, regardless of the version?

Hours ago, you couldn't imagine sitting in your bedroom with the man who invaded your home. But, genuinely, what were you supposed to do? Pick a fight and lose? Worse, die? You weren't so stupid to waste the goodwill he held for you.

"What happened to me in your world?" You asked, your voice quieter now.

Mark tilted his head, exhaling through his nose. His jaw flexed, like the memory alone was an irritation.

"The resistance killed you to get at me," he muttered, his voice dark, laced with something sharp and unhinged. The crazed gleam in his eye flickered under the dim lighting, like a fire burning just beneath the surface. Then, with an almost amused sigh, he shifted his weight, offering you a small, self-satisfied smile. "Don't worry. I made them pay for it."

You didn’t bother asking how.

Mark’s arm stretched behind you, draping lazily across the back of the pillows, his fingers idly toying with the fabric of your sleeve. Every casual brush of his fingertips sent a ripple of goosebumps across your skin.

"We were a good thing, you know," he mused, voice lower now, softer. gentle. "You didn’t fight me. You didn’t run. You loved me." There was a teasing lilt in his voice that you recognized.

That’s not so different here, you swallowed the thought, masking it with a roll of your eyes. "Did you love me?"

That made him pause. His gaze flicked to yours, brows furrowing slightly, like the question had caught him off guard. Then a slow smirk tugged at his lips, amusement flashing in his expression before he let out a low chuckle.

He leaned in so close you could feel his breath ghost over your lips. "Let me show you," he murmured, voice dark and filled with intent.

The air between you tightened as his hand trailed from your sleeve, fingers dragging along the bare skin of your arm, slow and deliberate. His touch was light, teasing, like he was waiting for you to react—to pull away or lean in.

You offered him nothing but a careful stare and the slow rise and fall of your chest.

His eyes narrowed, delighting in the challenge. His nose brushed against yours, his lips lingering just shy of touching.

Pull away, your brain screamed at you, ringing every warning bell it had in the book. This isn't right.

But his other hand came up, grazing along your jaw... and his fingers slid beneath your chin, tilting your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes... all of it felt so familiar, like something out of a dream. And it'd been so long since you saw his brown wells, you couldn't tear your gaze away.

Your daze was broken when you heard him laugh again. He adored the way you frowned in confusion, the moonlight twinkling in the reflection of your eyes.

“Aww,” he cooed, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “look at you. So easy. This world’s Mark has left you all alone, hasn’t he?”

Your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths as he tilted his head, watching you squirm.

“S'like you’ve been waiting for this," he hummed. His hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes darkened at whatever he saw.

“I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours—you could feel him smiling. “Since he won’t.”

Stop, stop, stop. You wanted Mark, wanted him desperately, but not like this. Not with him.

You released the breath you were holding when he paused his fixation on your lips, head turning minutely to the side as if he was hearing something.

"For fuck's sake..." Mark scoffed, a low chuckle passing through his lips. "Speak of the devil."

What?

Mohawk Mark heard the whistle of air before you did, only clueing in when it grew louder. It reached a peak when a projectile CRASHED through your window—

You scrambled backwards on your mattress as splinters flew everywhere. Mark caught you before you tumbled off the bed, shielding you from the broken glass and wood.

"What's—" You began to ask, but over Mark's shoulder you saw him—the real Mark.

You just stared at each other for a moment, though you couldn't see much past his tinted goggles. But the slow scowl growing on his lips communicated all you needed to know.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Mark—the real one—growled. "Get off her."

Mohawk Mark laughed into your shoulder, turning to face him. "Why? She's not yours, is she?"

Mark's eyes twitched behind his goggles, abandoning his inhibitions and diving at him, grabbing his variant's hair and yanking him off of you—

"Mark..." you warned, fear bubbling in your gut.

—your caution fell on deaf ears; Mark threw him up and drove him through the floor.

"Mark!" you yelled behind him, feeling the air whip past your face, following him as he crashed into the living room below. "Shit—"

Squeaking as you fought against the slope of the cavity, your feet, only clad in socks, provided the worst possible grip and you began slipping down the gap. Your breath caught in your chest as you felt yourself plummeting—

"Hey." His voice was urgent yet comforting, his arms tightening around your body in seconds, pulling you back from the edge. "I got you."

Your hand instinctively gripped his shoulder, grounding yourself as you realized you were suspended in his embrace. As he gently descended to the floor, your eyes moved quickly, scanning the outline of his goggles.

"You... I guess you know now, then." His voice was low, heavier than usual, like a weight he’d been carrying finally released.

The moment your feet met the ground, you stepped back, your heart pounding. Across the room, Mohawk Mark was sprawled on the floor, blood leaking from his nose, unconscious for now. Your gaze flicked back to your Mark, heart still racing.

"Yeah, I know." You snapped, the anger rushing through you, the frustration and confusion bubbling up.

His expression faltered, something unreadable flashing across his face before he sighed, almost too quietly, as if he were disappointed in himself.

"You’re angry," he observed, his voice tinged with regret.

"No shit, I’m angry!" Your hand shot out, slapping against his chest before it balled into a fist at your side. Every inch of you was yelling at him, every question, every unspoken feeling, everything that had been left unsaid for the past two years. "The first time I've seen you in two years and it's—it's not even you?"

"I know, I know," Mark’s hands moved to his mask, tearing it off with an impatience that only grew when it caught on his nose. He grimaced as he yanked it free, tossing it to the side. The dim light of the room revealed the exhaustion etched into his face, but even through that, you could see him—the real him, just... different. Worn down, tired.

"I can explain."

"You better fuckin start."

"Be mad at me all you want, but look at this." His arms gestured wildly around your place. "I was right to not tell you! It could've been way worse, way sooner if you knew anything about what I was really up to. Why didn't you leave when Mom called you?!"

"The phone cut off, asshole, I didn't hear everything she said, and I certainly wasn't aware that you were the one behind Invincible—"

He shook his head, dismissing the topic. He stepped into your space and held onto your arms. "Did he touch you?"

"Get off me."

"Did he touch you?" He pressed, shaking you slightly as his grip tightened around your biceps.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the urgent crack in his voice. "Yes, but I let him."

He pulled away from you as if burnt. A heavy silence hung in the air, nothing but the clattering of broken floorboards crashing down from above.

"...He's a murderer, Y/N." He whispered, eyes narrowed.

You knew that. You knew he was right. "I was... vulnerable."

"He killed people—"

"Shut up," You snapped, cutting him off. "Don't lecture me; this is a nonissue. What was I supposed to do? Hm? Want me to pick up my fists and come out swinging like you did—"

"I thought he was hurting you!"

"My hero." You rolled your eyes, the words dripping with bitter sarcasm. You knew you were being unfair, maybe a little cruel, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You were exhausted from the many near death experiences you've somehow survived in the last few hours. Strung so tight you felt like you might snap.

Every inch of you was begging to cry and let him hug you like you both so clearly wanted... but the fact that it took something this bad to get him to show up? That hurt more than anything.

Mark stared at you, his face an amalgamation of emotions, like he couldn’t decide on one.

Should he be angry at you for being difficult, for making him work for this moment when all he wanted was to explain? Should he feel pain, the sharp ache in his chest that another Mark got to hold you before he did? Or was it jealousy, searing heat into his face, that another version of himself had been the one to touch you, to be close to you before he had the chance? Maybe... maybe it was the bittersweet happiness, the relief that he was finally standing here in front of you.

He didn’t even care that you were glaring daggers at him—he missed staring into your eyes, albeit hardened and displeased, making his heart race; the way you’d furrow your brow when you were frustrated, the way your voice would call out to him.

Mark’s hand twitched at his side, wanting to reach out, but he held himself back. Would you even allow it? The distance between you was far more than physical. He had a thousand things to say but in that moment, words felt hollow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he finally muttered, his voice quieter, more vulnerable than he intended.

Childish.

You scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes again. "All that time and that's all you have to—"

Before you could finish, your world spun. The floor tilted beneath you as Mohawk Mark launched himself into you, sweeping you off your feet and through the door.

[]

"Y/N!" Mark yelled after you, breathing heavy in a panic. "No, no, no, no—" He launched himself from your home, bursting through the roof after you.

You barely heard him over the rushing wind. You clawed at Mohawk Mark's back, the height siphoning the air from your lungs. "Stop..." You ordered weakly.

"Changed your mind already?" He laughed, cradling you in his arms. Your head lolled against his chest. "Don't tell me you buy his bullshit."

"Mm..." The sharp ascent from ground level to the clouds made your head spin, vision darkening as you grew dizzier.

"You're fucking dead!" Your Mark came out of nowhere, shooting up beside Mohawk Mark and bashing his nose in. With a pained groan, he dropped you. "Shit—"

"Look what you made me do, dipshit!" Mohawk Mark snarled, shoving Invincible away and bolting after you.

"Don't—" Mark growled in frustration, racing against time. He watched as your limp body dropped helplessly against gravity.

It never changed. Whether he told you or not, you would end up in these perilous situations regardless. He cursed under his breath, catching Mohawk Mark's ankle and catapulting him into the night sky before pushing forward.

He collected you in his arms before it was too late, wasting no time as he shifted his direction and carried you off to GDA's hospital.

[]

The steady beep... beep... beep of your heart monitor was the first thing you tuned into upon waking up.

"Oh, good."

Your eyes fluttered open, slowly drifting towards Mark. He was bent over your cot, his hand on your forehead while staring down at you with stars in his eyes.

"You just passed out. Nothing serious, but I wanted to make sure." He mumbled, pulling back.

Your eyes drifted back to the ceiling, unfocused and hollow. There was too much—too much to process, too much to feel, too much weighing down on your chest all at once. It pressed against your ribs, thick and suffocating, a tidal wave crashing over you before you could even take a breath. Every nerve in your body screamed with something—fear, exhaustion, embarrassment, confusion—but it all blended together into one overwhelming, crushing force. Your mind was shutting down for its own sake.

The sounds around you dulled into distant echoes, the weight of your own limbs barely registering. Your chest rose and fell, but it felt mechanical.

"Y/N?" Mark whispered, brows furrowing in concern. "Hey." he poked your shoulder.

You shook your head, turning away from him as tears pooled in your eyes. God, you felt so embarrassed.

Mark frowned when you shifted away from him, any comfort he planned to offer dying in his throat. "I'm... sorry." was all he could say.

Nothing.

His leg bounced nervously, chewing at his lip as he fought with his own emotions. "I want to kill him for putting hands on you."

Your brows tightened. Not what you wanted to hear either.

He sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair. "M'sorry for blowing up at you. It's not your fault—"

"It is." You sniffled. "I missed you... so much, that I pretended that he was you..." you choked on the words, turning your back to him and burying your face into the pillow. "How pathetic is that?"

Mark's heart squeezed, kicking off his shoes and climbing onto the bed next to you. "Stop. Not your fault." He reiterated.

You scoffed and shook your head, laughing wryly. He frowned, and pulled you to face him. He saw your tears and felt his own pile up behind his eyes.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "I told my.... uh, last relationship that I was Invincible. It didn't end well for her, and I didn't want to put you in that same position. Always unsure, always in danger, always waiting..."

"I'm not her, Mark." You muttered.

"I know." He pursed his lips. "I was gone for months at a time—"

"I waited two years for you, didn't I?" You pushed away from him and sunk back into the cot. "You didn't even give me a chance."

Childish. That’s how you sounded. Because in the end, that’s all you two were—two kids who once grew up side by side finding each other once more, with all the petulant hurt coming through the surface.

A beat of silence passed between you, with nothing but your heart monitor to keep the time.

"You said he touched you." He started.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "...don't bring that up."

"No, I want to know." He shifted his weight, hovering over you. His face was painted with something foreign, green-eyed and greedy. "Show me."

Heat blossomed on your face as you lay in his shadow. "Mark..." You laughed nervously. "It was barely anything."

"You missed me so much you had to settle for that." Mark didn't look away from you for a second. "I want to give you the real thing."

You screwed your face up. Again, the thought passed through your mind: you wanted Mark, but not like this. "I don't want this to be a pity thing."

"No," Mark shook his head firmly. "not pity. Everything I feel for you has been there since... since I can remember. And it fucking boils my blood that a different version of me got to you before I had the balls to do it myself. Please," he whispered. "I need this."

"Need what?"

"You." He answered, like the answer was obvious. To him, it was. "I'm done waiting around."

You blinked at him before a soft smile spread across your face. "Me too."

Mark's lips brushed against yours with a gentleness that made your heart ache. He cupped your face in his hands, and you melted into him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

You let out a soft sigh when his lips parted slightly, allowing you both to breathe. You pressed forward, kissing him harder, feeling the intensity of everything that had been building between you over the years—years of longing, of waiting, of wanting something more.

Mark responded with equal hunger, his hands sliding down your back, pulling you closer. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his heart pounding against yours.

Where had he touched you? Mark didn't care anymore. By the time he was done with you, you'd know his touch and his alone, and he'd know every inch of you like the back of his hand. He wasn't leaving this room without it. He was allowing himself to be selfish for once; for you, it was worth it.

He sat back on his haunches, tugging his gloves off by his teeth before diving back into you, sliding his bare fingers underneath your shirt, sighing into your mouth as he squeezed your skin in his palm.

"You'll never need anyone ever again," He nosed your cheek, trailing kisses down your jaw to your neck. "Promise."

This time, you believed him.

— wayyy too self indulgent lmk if it was boring at places :)

© invoncible

[pitlanepeach]

Reader is secretly married to Lando, and she starts using his sim, she misses him and she wants to feel closer and also really wants to learn (even if she is not ready to admit that she always had a thing for learning how it would feel to be in an actual f1 car). She creates a profile for herself for fun: Mrs Norris (which of course no one thinks it’s actually her). She becomes so good at it that she ends up beating the whole grid one time, and everyone is just wondering who the hell is this person…

👀👀👀👀

Very unrealistic, but well… 😂😂😂😂

Mrs Norris (Oneshot)

Lando Norris x Verstappen!Reader

Summary — It was only supposed to be a bit of fun, but really, what did she expect? Her surname might be Norris now, but she was born a Verstappen.

Notes — This was so fun!!!!!! Em, I will never not appreciate your cute ideas.

Lando had been gone for exactly twelve hours when she caved.

It wasn’t boredom—the Verstappen family didn’t do boredom. Her schedule was packed with gym sessions, influencer brunches, and brand events she had no real desire to attend.

But the apartment felt off without him. Too quiet. Too tidy.

And the sim rig—God, it just sat there. Smug. Taunting. Like it knew she’d eventually give in to its silent, high-tech seduction.

She told herself it was just curiosity. Racing was in her blood, even if she’d had zero interest as a kid. She used to stage silent protests just to get out of karting, sulking until her dad finally let her quit and focus on gymnastics instead.

Still, one harmless session wouldn’t hurt, right?

Just a few laps around Silverstone. Just something to do before bed.

Two hours later, she was red-faced, sweaty, and yelling at an AI Williams for brake-checking her into Turn 1.

She was terrible. Hilariously, painfully terrible.

But she was hooked.

—

By day three, she was watching tutorials, scribbling notes, and fine-tuning the seat and wheel setup like her life depended on it.

She texted Lando under the guise of checking in.

Hey handsome, you okay? Totally random, but what’s the best braking point for Eau Rouge?

He didn’t even question it—just sent a smug voice note with a full breakdown like she was a rookie on his team.

It made her want to destroy his time.

That night, she created a profile.

She debated using her real name, but that was a quick no. The username had to be anonymous… but also funny.

So she picked the most on-the-nose option possible.

@Mrs.Norris

It was meant to be a joke. A bit of fun. She never expected it to go anywhere.

She definitely didn’t expect to get good.

—

Two weeks in, she was holding her own in online lobbies. Four weeks in, she was winning. All of them.

Six weeks in, she entered a public charity sim race and beat George, Charles, and Alex.

The stream chat lost its collective mind.

Who TF is Mrs. Norris???

Actual alien pace.

Lando alt??

Plot twist: it’s Max Verstappen in disguise.

That last one made her laugh so hard she nearly fell out of the rig. The idea that they thought her brother was racing under her married name? Unhinged enough to make her cry.

Then came the text from Lando.

Lando:

Baby, are you using my sim under the username Mrs. Norris?

You:

Yep. And I beat them all.

Lando:

No. Shut up. You did not.

You:

Duh. I might be a Norris now, but I was born a Verstappen.

—

When he finally got home after the triple-header, he walked in to find her mid-race, cursing like a sailor, laser-focused, fire in her eyes.

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, smirking.

She crossed the finish line five seconds clear of second place.

Slowly, she removed the headset. Even slower, she turned to face him, cheeks flushed pink.

“Hi,” she said softly, suddenly shy.

He didn’t say anything.

Then he grinned.

“Mrs. Norris,” he drawled, walking over to kiss her forehead, “we are so screwed if this gets out.”

She smiled. “It won’t. They think I’m Max.”

He leaned in, voice low. “You beat my Silverstone time.”

“Your fault for sounding all smug about Eau Rouge.”

He kissed her properly then, holding her like he hadn’t seen her in months.

And neither of them mentioned the way his hands trembled slightly at the thought of her in a real F1 car.

Because if her dad ever found out?

He’d have her in one tomorrow.

[julymusings]

dark chocolate cherry

i want to bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. i want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

or; your boyfriend shows up when you just want some alone time [3.2k]

jason todd x fem!reader; reader gets her period and describes painful symptoms; just fluff; jason "words don't come easy so here's acts of service" todd this is earlier in the relationship which is why he's still a little shy but she knows he's red hood? idk man. i was just going with it; can you guess what inspired this? (everything is awful)

The day started at 2 AM when you woke to shooting pains in your abdomen and blood everywhere. It continued until 2:45 while you cleaned yourself, changed clothes, put on a fresh pad, took some painkillers, and changed the sheets. It paused for about an hour until you woke up again at 4:00, courtesy of Gotham’s patented night-life that had taught you to completely tune out the sound of police sirens. Tonight, however, they weren’t tuning out.

The sirens quieted at 4:10, by which angry tears collected in the corners of your eyes as you flopped around in bed in an attempt to get comfortable. No matter what you did, there was always something wrong; the pillow was too hard, the blanket was too scratchy, the position hurt your arm.

From 4:11 to 4:12, you screamed into your pillow.

By 4:15 you had settled in front of the TV with a bowl of dry cereal (it took everything in you not to cry over the lack of milk in your fridge), a heating pad, and your favorite comfort show queued up.

At 8 AM you managed to drag yourself to work, where you half-assed the day’s tasks, took a 15-minute break to cry in your car, then dipped out a half-hour early.

Now, at 5 PM on a Friday evening, you’re curled into the fetal position in front of your TV with your comfort show resumed and your trusty heating pad cranked to the highest setting. Prepared to spend the entire night here, you already changed into pajamas and kept a couple blankets within reach. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, and you stretch to reach it, careful not to lose your comfortable position or roll off the couch.

Jason About to leave Be there in 20

You groan out loud. You want to throw your phone across the room, but decide against it because no amount of hormones from hell are worth six hundred dollars. You’re still angry, though, for being so stupid as to forget about the date you had planned for tonight. Scrolling up to earlier messages, you see another text from today wishing you a good morning and telling you he was excited to see you tonight. But, too down to bother checking any messages today, you had missed it.

You I can’t tonight anymore I’m sorry I don’t feel great

After hitting send, you place your phone on the ground, not even having the energy to reach for the coffee table again. Or the energy to lift your arm back up, apparently, given how it hangs limply over the edge of the couch. You feel guilty about cancelling, but you are in no state to go out tonight. You’re used to the symptoms of your period hitting so hard. As much as you and Jason care about each other, you’re not sure you’re ready for him to see you like this. You’ve managed to plan your relationship around your hormone cycle so far, but today it came early.

Your phone’s buzzing is muffled by the rug, and you almost don’t hear it. Jason’s photo is displayed on the screen.

Your hanging hand clicks ‘answer’ and puts it on speaker so you can take the call without moving from how you're curled up.

“Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine, I just don’t feel up for going out tonight. I’d rather stay home.”

“Did something happen?”

“No, I just got my period so I’m not really in the mood.”

“Okay, we can stay in tonight. What do you feel like eating? I can pick something up.”

“No, Jason…I want to stay home alone tonight.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line.

“Okay…did I do something?” His voice comes out a little smaller.

“No, you’re fine, I promise. I just don’t feel like seeing anyone right now.”

“…Not even me?”

Your hand presses against your temples to soothe the building tension headache. The self-doubt in his tone brings the anguish of the entire day bubbling up your throat. You feel like the worst person in the world. Exactly how you don’t want him to see you.

“Jason…it’s not you. I just…I feel like shit right now, honestly. Everything hurts, I’m miserable and sad and angry at everything, I’m breaking out all over.” You feel yourself welling up at all these little stresses coming out. “I’m craving everything but feel too sick to eat anything…I feel pretty disgusting right now, and frankly, I don’t want you to see me like this.” You finish your rant with a sniffle. You wipe your nose, trying to hold back the sob that’s threatening to break through. But at his silence, your worst, most improbable fears claw their way to the surface: he hates you now. You scared him away. You exhale heavily into your sleeve as more tears spill.

The phone is quiet for a long moment.  Then; “I could never find you disgusting,” he says, gently. “But if that’s what you want, then we’ll reschedule.”

“Thank you. And sorry.”

He speaks with a tone you can’t quite parse. “Don’t apologize. Just feel better.”

-

-

-

It’s one hour after your phone call, and at the first knock, you know who it is. Who else could it be? With that soft, somewhat hesitant, one-knuckle rap on the door. Only one person knocks on your door like that.

“Jason, I told you not to come here,” you say a little more cutting than you intend to, but your back and shoulders feel like they’re about to snap under a phantom pressure and the frustration of your request being outright ignored leaves a burning bitterness that channels itself into a violent wrenching open of the door.

He jumps a little at the abruptness of your greeting. One look at your face and he visibly deflates.

“I’m sorry…I know you said not to come, but…” his gaze casts downward to his hands. You follow; he’s clutching a reusable grocery bag. Peeking out of the top is a gallon of Neapolitan ice cream. The ice cream carton’s condensation seeped through a small patch of the cloth bag and dripped onto the other items; a bushel of greens, among some other fruits and vegetables, as well as a parcel of brown paper that was fastened closed with a twine string. You return your gaze to his face.

“I think—” he cuts himself off, free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Then he drops his hand and sighs. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. You told me not to come here and I ignored you, but I thought…” he trails off, probably hoping you’ll say something so he can gauge your reaction.

You just stare at him.

He shifts his weight back and forth. His hand twitches.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll—”

Then, you burst into tears.

Jason’s eyes widen. He reaches out to touch you, then stops himself. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, this was stupid. Please stop crying, I’m so sorry—” He’s panicked, trying to calm you down with apologies and soothing assurances that he will leave immediately and never go against your wishes again. All the while you stand in the doorway, blubbering like a toddler with a skinned knee, new tears forming faster than you can wipe the old ones away.

He once again raises a hand towards you, before it stutters, then clenches into a fist as if it takes all his strength to fight against the instinct to be close to you, fighting against the string that tethers him to you. He drags his hand down his face, then it falls back to his side.

“Okay, I—I’m leaving now. I’m leaving. Do you…want this?” He holds the bag out to you.

With it now in front of you, its further contents are visible. You manage to tamp down your tears enough to get a few words out.

“Did you—hic—buy me groceries?”

“Yeah…” There’s a wince in his tone, as if he’s only now realizing that his gesture is not translating as he intended.

You look back up at him with pursed lips and knitted brows, sniffling. Sure, the ice cream you can understand, but…you have no idea what to make of the rest.

The bag drops back to his side. “I figured…it’s just— it’s the stuff that you’re supposed to—” He strokes his palm over his mouth, eyes screwing shut for a moment. He huffs at himself, then continues. “I mean I’m sure you already know all of this, so maybe you already have all these things, and now I’m realizing how unnecessary all this was, and I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“Jason,” you say. Your upset has since been overshadowed by something else, though you can’t tell what it is. And your crying has stopped, but its lingering effects have you feeling congested and a little foggy. You’re half expecting this to be a fever dream that you’re moments away from waking up from in a cold sweat.

“—because obviously you know what helps you feel better much more than I do—”

“Jason.”

“And you— yeah?” His eyes are a little harried when they find yours again. But off your tired and still-confused look, he gets the message and collects himself.

“Right, yeah, I just thought that…maybe I could bring you some of the stuff with all those minerals that are supposed to help women when they’re…menstruating.” He briefly breaks eye contact at the end of his sentence, red rouge creeping up his neck.

You can’t help it; you start to giggle. You can’t remember the last time you heard a man use the term ‘menstruating’ in a non-medical context. And the fact that he’s so shy about it— upset as you may be (though not at him), there’s no denying how adorable your boyfriend is. His head shoots back to you as your laughter intensifies. He blushes harder.

“It’s not that funny,” he mutters.

You step away from the door, finally closing the space between you, and wrap your arms around his torso. Your head nestles into his chest. He gently drops the grocery bag on the ground and reciprocates your hug. He rests his chin on your head, which fits perfectly under his. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place. You breathe him in.

“Sorry I’m such a mess,” you murmur into his shirt.

He breathes into your hair. “You have nothing to apologize for. And you’re not a mess.”

You look up, chin resting in the space between his collarbones. He looks down at you with a small smile, but some wariness is still etched into his features. Fear of unwittingly upsetting you again. He brings up a hand to push some hair out of your face and tuck it behind your ear. His hand remains there, toying with the hair that falls below your shoulder.

"Thank you for the food,” you whisper. The moment feels too intimate to speak any other way.

“I’m sorry for not listening to you. I just…” He imitates your quietness, like his admission is also too vulnerable to say loudly. “I really wanted to see you. And I hated the idea of you feeling bad about yourself, or being in pain. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Your eyes feel wet again. The first instinct is to hide your face, maybe press it to his chest once more. But, for some reason, you don’t. You want him to see you like this, messy and emotional and upset. You want him to see every part of you, and you want to see every part of him, the good and the bad.

“You didn’t.” A tear slips past the effort to keep it at bay. He shows no reaction to it, eyes never leaving yours, other than a quick swiping away with his thumb. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. That’s why I was crying. Not because you showed up.”

“That doesn’t seem right. This is nothing. You deserve even more.”

With no words to fully, adequately communicate the blooming in your chest, you stand on your toes, reaching up to him for a kiss. But given his stature, your lips only reach his chin and brush over its underside.

At your quiet whine, he chuckles and leans down to meet you in the middle. The kiss is soft; filled with the innocence of fresh blossoms in the spring, and the sweetness of its borne fruit.

You pull away when a vicious cramp roots you back to the present. Your limps tighten around Jason with a groan.

“I need to go back inside. I’ve been away from my heating pad for too long.”

His shoulders sag when you step away from him. “Oh, um…do you still…want me to leave?”

With a simple exhale of humorous disbelief, you grasp his hand in yours and tug him to your front door. He’s like an excited puppy, eyes brightened and perking up as he grabs the grocery bag and happily trails after you.

He goes straight to the kitchen, pulling out a chair at the counter for you to settle into, then sets the bag on the counter. The ice cream carton has dampened most of the cloth by now, and likely the rest of its contents, but rather than attending to the groceries, his first action is retrieving your heating pad from where it rests on the couch. He unplugs it from the wall outlet and brings it to you. You curl up on the chair with it pressed flat against your lower stomach. It only takes a minute for the pressure in your hips to abate.

Then he moves to the groceries. The ice cream immediately goes in the freezer, and he unloads what’s remaining onto the counter, one by one, and you take note of each item. There’s spinach, carrots, apples, oranges, dark chocolate, some kind of meat wrapped in brown paper, and, strangely enough, an entire block of cheese.

You give him a quizzical look, picking it up to read the label. “You got me…cheddar cheese?”

He retrieves a cutting board and knife from its spot next to the sink, then takes the cheese from you. “Good for certain symptoms.” He slices open the plastic wrapping and cuts out some cubes with skilled efficiency. He does the same with an apple. “They all are,” he says, referring to his entire haul. He completes the makeshift charcuterie board with a couple squares of dark chocolate and slides it across the counter.

You look down at the cutting board, thinking about everything he’s done for you; everything you never even had to ask for. The words sit on your tongue, encaged by your clenched teeth; an admission that coils itself around your spine and squeezes tight, restricts your breathing and pumps your heart at thrice its speed. But you feel yourself welling up again, and the first bout of tears already exhausted you so much that all you can manage is, “I don’t know what to do with all this. I don’t have the energy to make anything good.”

But he just smiles and says, “That’s what I’m here for, honey. Can I make you something?”

You nod. He gets to work. The immediacy of his actions, how he takes no time to decide on a dish or find a recipe, makes you think his previously stated intentions of ‘just dropping this off’ were less genuine than he lead you to believe. Nevertheless, you munch on the snacks he laid out for you and watch him work. The cheese and apples are a surprisingly cohesive combination, the meshing of sweet crispiness and savory creaminess eliciting a contented sigh from you. You try to ignore the way Jason smirks in the corner of your periphery. The chocolate is incredible, yet unfamiliar. You read the label on the packaging: 80% Dark Chocolate with Cherry and Almond Filling. Even if you hadn’t tasted it yet, the quality of the packaging itself would have been enough to let you know that this chocolate is extremely high-quality. Like, special-order-from-Europe quality. Not stop-at-the-grocery-store-on-the-way-home quality.

“Where is this from? Did you buy this today?” You ask him through a mouthful of the rich, melting chocolate.

He doesn’t look up from the carrots he’s dicing. “Uh…no.”

Anyone else would attribute his avoidance of eye-contact to standard kitchen-knife caution. You are not anyone else. You could blindfold him, spin him around ten times, put a sharp knife in his hand, and he could still pull off a perfect julienne. You look closer. His cheeks are dusted with pink.

You let out a laugh. “Jason, you’re not embarrassed about liking fancy chocolate, are you?”

“No! Not at all,” he says, ceasing his chopping. He looks up, but not quite at you.

“Then?”

“‘Then’ what?” He asks.

“Then why are you being so shifty right now?” You try to catch his gaze.

“I’m not!” He defends. “It’s just chocolate! Do you like it? I’ll bring you more.” He’s stealthy with the way he avoids your eyes; you almost can’t notice how hard he’s trying not to make eye contact.

“Jason!” You reach across the counter, having to rise off the chair slightly, and take his face in your hands, making him look at you. When he does, he wears a sheepish smile.

“It’s…” His removes your hands from his face, holding them in his. He mumbles something, turning his head to the side. But you catch the tail end of it, a goading grin already creeping up your face.

“What was that?” You tilt your ear towards him, exaggerating the action.

“It’s Bruce’s.” He, in turn, exaggerates the enunciation, rolling his eyes at your simpering. “I…found it. In his pantry one day. And I liked it, so I took it. And then I…kept taking it. Every time I visited.”

You pout teasingly. “And you’re ashamed to admit that you think he has good taste in something?”

He doesn’t say anything, only hiding his face in his shoulder. You pull on your intertwined hands and he gets the message, skirting around the kitchen counter to come closer.

“You are so adorable, you know that?” You say. You reach up and pinch his cheeks. He swats your hands away, but there’s no mistaking his broad, childish grin for anything but affection.

He breaks off another square from the chocolate bar and holds it to your lips. You bite off a small portion, then push it back to him. He takes the remaining piece in his mouth and his eyes close for a brief moment as he savors the sweet, tart, and nutty flavors. You simply watch, entranced by him. Then, he kisses you. You lean into it, hands sliding up his shirt to grip the fabric and bring him even closer. His hold finds your waist.

He tastes like cherries and dark chocolate.

He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead on yours, and you want to tell him that. That, and so much more. But from the look on his face, the way his eyes find yours and the tips of his ears have a similar heat to the one in your chest, you can tell he already knows.

when it comes to jason's post-pit-repressed-teenager characterization (aka despite being older he's still as inexperienced and confused and insecure about the world outside of vigilantism and w/ women as a 15 y/o would be) (aka my favorite characterization tee hee), i think that he's mature about periods, knows they're normal and not gross or shameful etc, but still gets shy about saying the actual word, for no other reason than the 'shy around women' part always makes me giggle

also bruce is keeping the chocolate stocked specifically because he knows jason likes it and will keep taking it because he loves his son even if his son doesn't love him (he does he's just in his angsty teen 'i hate this family you don't understand me' phase rn)

divider is from here

quote at the beginning is pablo neruda <3

[earlgreylatte]

How long they last in n.n.n

Hal Jordan: Thirty days.

Everyone thought he would immediately lose. Barry and Ollie were confident he would be the first one out, knowing that if there was one thing on Hal’s mind, it was sex. But what they didn’t consider was Hal’s capacity to endure all kinds of torture. As a Green Lantern, he’s been off world for months on end, sometimes with a teammate, unable to find the time or privacy to rub one out. Which of course had led to long hours of him bending you over every surface of your apartment to make up for lost time the moment he’s off duty.

Maybe his pride as a lantern was challenged, or maybe he just wanted bragging rights, either way he was in it to win it.

Hal seemed weirdly well adjusted throughout the month, more than usual. He was logging in more hours at Ferris, reading the books you recommended, and he had a certain pep in his step matched with an easy smile. Surely this was the result of low blood circulation?

By the second week, Oliver was sending you a grand every day to sabotage Hal, getting increasingly frustrated that the latter wasn’t folding. He probably thought you wanted to support Hal, but you were trying, damn it! Sundresses, oversized t-shirts, and even wearing nothing but his aviator jacket hadn’t managed to break him! The most he would do is eat you out until you were shaking from overstimulation, before wrapping himself around you, ignoring the obvious tent in his pants.

Maybe your pride was a bit wounded.

It isn’t until the midnight following November 30th, with his victory earned, that he finally let loose, rousing you from your sleep to enter you with a strangled moan, thrusting into you desperately, while groaning into your neck about how you won’t be walking for the next week, trying to seduce him like that, you fucking minx, and he wasn’t stopping until he emptied every last drop into you.

Barry Allen: One day.

He got roped into participating by Hal who made one too many ‘fastest man alive’ jokes. But he’s sure it won’t be of any issue. He’s been single before, with his university days consisting more of labs than parties, so he’ll be fine.

He quickly changed tune as soon as he entered your shared home as you greeted him with a smile. The more he tried to not think about sex, the more he did, hyperfocusing on every detail. The way your collarbone peaked out from your shirt, the scent of body wash clinging onto you after your shower, even the way you looked at him while asking what he wanted for dinner had his blood rushing downwards.

Barry Allen was not a weak man. Or at least that’s what he tried to convince himself of when you asked if he wanted to see a new lace set you picked up today. He could have easily explained the challenge to you. You would have understood even if it meant you’d laugh in his face. But he really didn’t want to say no. So when you grabbed him by the hand to lead him to the bedroom, he resigned himself to not being able to last longer than a day.

But from the way your nails scratched at his back and how you moaned and gasped into his ear, he found he didn’t mind it too much.

Ted Kord/Booster Gold: Twenty one days.

You’re not really sure how things ended up this way or how the topic of ‘no nut November’ arose from a conversation on what to order for dinner, but both your boyfriends were now trying to outlast the other. Apparently Ted implied Booster was too ‘needy’ to last more than a day, which dissolved into a debate about who the bigger ‘horndog’ is. In your opinion, they were both about equal, with Booster having a naturally high sex drive and Ted’s always in need of some ‘relief’ after work. So, you’re sure both men will call it off tomorrow.

Two weeks. Two weeks. You’re sure the water bill has skyrocketed this month with the amount of cold showers being taken per day and you even saw Ted standing against the freezer for a suspiciously long time.

“Looking a bit stressed there, Teddy. You doing okay?” Booster inquires with an innocent grin, although he seemed just as worn out as the man he was teasing.

Ted only grunts in reply, nursing a cop of coffee, gaze on his tablet, no doubt reading another tech article as he does every morning.

But unlike any other morning, there was no tryst under the sheets or shared shower that was way longer than necessary.

You really didn’t understand why they were doing this. You know for a fact both men have gone longer than a month without sex or even mastrubating, whether from injury or time travelling hijinks, so there really was no reason for those morons to deprive themselves. So, obviously, it’s up to you to return things back to equilibrium, especially since they both look so pitiful. Yes, you’re doing it for their sakes.

On day twenty, you’re at your wit’s end with those stubborn fools. Every one of your schemes have failed.

Stealing Booster’s clothes while he showered only led to Ted quickly excusing himself to talk to Barbara at the sight of the Adonis in all his nude glory.

Convincing Ted to look under the couch for the remote only made Booster leave the house entirely to go out for a jog. When he just came back from one. And he loves Ted’s derrière!

The will of men was clearly something not so easily shattered. It looks like someone needed to take the fall if you wanted things to go back to normal. For their…sexual wellness, of course.

‘Come home.’

Both men eyed each other warily, a silent accusation in their eyes, trying to determine what the other could have possibly done to warrant such a text in the group chat.

It isn’t until they hear a breathy moan that they burst into your shared room to find you splayed on the bed in a blue babydoll, vibrator between your legs as you stared at them with teary eyes.

“Can’t, hah, make myself cum,” you pant as Ted takes the toy from you, immediately changing the speed, carefully watching your face as he plants a hand by your head to hover above you. Booster follows, sitting next to you to brush away the hair sticking to your face with a remorseful expression.

“‘Shouldn’t have neglected you for so long,” Booster croons, bringing your hand up to his mouth to smother in apologetic kisses.

“Don’t worry, we’ll make it up to our needy girl,” Ted mumbles with darkened eyes, watching as you writhe from the relentless pace he set.

Honestly, it wasn’t so bad being the ‘needy’ one.

Bruce Wayne: Thirty days, but accidentally.

You were out on a trip for November, promising to be back in a month. And he was fine. He’s gone longer without you, and he could keep himself busy until you got back.

But maybe he got a bit to used to having a warm body pressed against him every night. But he was fine. He wasn’t some forlorn puppy waiting for their owner to come back. He’s a grown man, for god’s sake.

But unfortunately for him, he couldn’t even find a moment alone to relieve himself since it seemed like everyone was suddenly in the need of him! Alien tech, new gadget advancements that led to a five hour table with Fox, another Arkham break, why was November so against him? And Ghostmaker getting the drop on him while he was…thinking about you was not something he wanted to ever think about again. He’s going to have to improve security for a third time, in any case.

So when December marked the day of your return, surely you wouldn’t blame him for burying his head between your thighs while desperately rutting against the bed. He really missed you, after all.

Yeah, I love comic men so much💞💞 oh yeah, Batman is here too ig…

Masterlist

[squipa]

the silver lining’s i’ll be there with you

aka hcs about jason, your loyal knight

———

knight!jason who spent years training, honing his abilities and fine tuning every sense so he could be the finest soldier in gotham’s army. he was a weapon, strong and disciplined, a hero in every battle. such intense dedication was why he was personally assigned with the position of your personal knight by the king.

knight!jason who had to fight to remember everything he had worked towards when he laid eyes on you. he was a warrior, forged in fire and steel. but around you? he couldn’t focus. your delicate form, your beauty, your ethereal glow. you who smiled at him like he was a man and not a soldier, who was kind and trusting and spoke to him so freely it made his heart flutter. you, who saw him as a friend, rather than a weapon. he had never been in love, nor had he imagined himself capable of it. he hadn’t realized how easy it had been for you to melt away his hard-shell exterior until you had already wormed your way into his heart.

knight!jason who had no idea how to react to his overwhelming feelings for you. despite your constant proximity to him, his heart couldn’t help but flutter whenever you looked to him with those bright, kind eyes. he couldn’t help the pink that dusted his cheeks (hence why he kept his helmet on as often as you would let him) when you would wipe the sleep from your eyes and ask him to hold you close and protect you from the nightmares that plagued your mind each night. he couldn’t help but turn into a flustered, babbling mess whenever he tried to speak to you, any eloquence he had gone out the window in the days he spent watching over you.

knight!jason who slowly became your best friend. who would stay up late into the night to speak with you, answering any questions you would ask him, for how could he deny you? he’d make sure to stay awake long after you fell asleep, watching over you like you were the most precious thing in the world (to him, you were).

knight!jason who had to conceal his rage when it was announced you were to be betrothed to some beastly prince. he couldn’t let you see how he shook in anger, the last thing he wanted was to frighten you. you did your best to conceal your sorrow, putting on a brave face and spewing nonsense about your duty, but jason heart broke with yours. you shouldn’t be burdened with such a fate, it killed him to see you suffer. he cursed his position, for how could a princess, a woman of such divinity and grace, ever love him back?

knight!jason who wiped your tears, who held you close, and who leaned in for a kiss that never seemed to end, one of such passion and fervor he knew he had found his true love. “i may not offer you title or wealth. i may not offer you stability, or power, or any of the luxuries i wish i could give you. perhaps i am not the man that you deserve. but all i am is my love for you, it burns in my heart and consumes my very being. i may only offer you my affections, true and eternal, and the promise that in my arms you will always be safe and adored.”

knight!jason who sweeps you off of your feet, assures you that you won’t have to worry about a thing, “i’ll take care of everything, my love.” he takes you in the night, holding you against his chest as you ride out of the kingdom on horseback. you settle in a village, and you are no longer a princess and he is no longer a knight, but a man and a woman in love.

———

i’ve been working on a bigger fic but i wanted to keep y’all fed… i wrote this extremely sleep deprived and burnt out </3 not my best work but i hope y’all enjoy!!

[whore-ibly-hot]

Just a quick little thing to tide you all over.

Thinking about...

Bill, he hates fem!reader being a part of the group, but he can't help from bringing it up when he's getting picked on at school. Bringing up he's got a hot piece of ass in the club, so how could they be dorks! There's a chick in HIS club.

"You're not a fucking member, I said that because that jock-douche wouldn't leave me alone. Even if you were, you don't know shit about what we do here." He complains. "I-I mean, honestly, do you even own a single comic, mint condition? Do you sleeve and grade them yourself? Didn't think so. You're a glorified class pet, consider yourself lucky I let you bum around here." He sneers.

His tune quickly changes when he's at the comic book shop, pushing some kids and middle aged men aside to get to a new edition of Spider-man. "Hey, kid, watch it!" One of the neckbeards scoffs, adjusting his glasses and pushing Bill's shoulder. Bill whips around, furious. "You watch it! And KID?! Listen here, you limped dick virgin, I'm younger than you, but at least I've spoken to a girl who isn't my mom in the last ten years. Take this-" He shoves the comic at him. "See if I even care, go beat your meat over the fact you got a comic, ill just go back to MY club, surrounded by MY collection, and sit with MY girl!"

After being removed from the store for yet another freak out, he slowly winds down, face a bit flushed as he considers the implications of 'his girl'.

"Hey, Bill, so... since I'm a member of the group now-"

"You're not-"

"I was hoping I could maybe come over and set up for meetings. You know, over here."

This gives him pause, but the idea of you, just you, in his house, setting up for the meeting, all alone. Not showing up for the other guys, showing up for him. Being... his.

"Fine. But be prepared to do some actual work, gotta earn your place here..." Hes pretty sure he's seen a porno start this way.

Yan!Pete, he doesn't have to prove anything to anyone, he's just gonna relish in the fact that the club isn't a sausage fest anymore. He's suddenly able to tune out Bill's screeching way more, focusing on the way you bend down to pick the figures Bill has knocked on the wall in a rage, the way your pants hug your ass. Digging under a shitty couch for a three dollar Megaman figure has never been sexier.

He'll call you. A lot. Telling you about some freaky new flick he's found, or that he's got tickets to some shitty new band playing downtown. It's best to indulge him, he'll only get clingier if you don't respond, calling the home phone line, which always gets awkward with your folks.

"Hey, how's it going, babe?" He calls over the phone. "Whatcha up to?" You respond saying your just laying on your bed, watching some TV. "Cool, cool. Listen, you want any company in that big ass bed of yours? I got some stuff from Block-Buster." He just lets out a huff as you say you can't, but you're happy to talk for a bit. As you complain about bill, it's best to ignore his his breathing grows heavier, and the unending stream of thoughts from his big mouth seem to get suspiciously quiet. Trust me, you finding out what he's doing on the other end will only turn him on more.

"So, yeah- he's just being a total dick. I mean, I don't want to have to feel like I'm 'earning my place' in a group of friends." You sigh into the phone.

"Yeah- well, that's Bill for you." Pete huffs, speaking up for the first time in several minutes. "He's a dickwad, shit..."

"I don't know. Anyways, what did you wanna talk about?"

"Wanna fuckin' cum..." he mumbles, so lowly you can barely hear, and ask him to repeat.

"What?"

"What?"

Jerry, he's thrilled to have a pretty girl around, makes him feel a little more normal. However, he knows the rest of his group isn't, so while they are wrapped up in wanting you too much or fighting the urge to want you, he's wracked with insecurity you'll leave. He knows that he and the others are a shitty bunch of people, and its only a matter of time till you realize it.

He's as sweet as he can be, learning everything he can about you. What are your hobbies, your interests, what do you do when you aren't bumming around with them? Tell him, he'll get into whatever you're into. Just stay. Please. You make him feel sane when everyone is screeching.

"No, no! I totally like that kinda stuff!" He assures you, ignoring the sounds of Josh trying to explain the significance of his recently acquired magic card. "Yeah, um, I mean, I'm still getting into it, so, if you have any advice or, if you wanna teach me about it, that'd be cool!" He struggles between wanting to learn from you, as thay would be MAJOR for him to spend that much time with you, and wanting to already be perfect at whatever you're doing to impress. Wikihow becomes Jerry's best friend, as he works on trying to master you interest. Into crotchet? He hopes his hand dexterity from drawing will carry over. Baking? Ah, well, he'll try his best; even though he's not much of a cook. DnD? Oh, he's gonna cream his pants and have to rush off to the bathroom.

"So, Jerry, do you want to come over? Maybe I can teach you to get better at it."

"Y-yeah! I'd love to, uh, lemme just get my stuff from my place. Love you, bye!"

"What'd you say?" You ask, turning back from your spot on the sidewalk.

"Uh, Leave you! I'm leaving you, now! To go- to go get my stuff." The blonde stammers, rushing off.

Josh, he's a lot like Jerry in that he's afraid you'll get scared off, but he blames Bill and Pete, never hosnown awkwardness and sexism for why you might leave. He's the normal one, just him and Jerry. It's Pete perversions and Bill freakouts that are upsetting you.

He's far to awkward to try and actually talk to you to keep you around, you're a girl. He doesn't want to come on to strong like Pete, at least that's what he tells himself. In truth, he's both skeptical of your intentions in the group and desperate for those intentions to be good. In lieu of talking to you, he spends money on you under the guise of needing to educate you into what the groups about, or quote 'dorkify the babe' as Pete says.

He gives you figures, memorabilia, tapes of movies you want to see, you name it, he'll find a way to get it to you. It's going to piss off Bill, but Josh will only argue he makes donations to the clubs collective items all the time.

"Its a collectors pack, I picked it up from the store. And the book is a game guide for Jerry's next campaign. I'd recommend reading it so you can be caught up." He coughs, rubbing a free hand over his greasy ponytail.

"Thanks Josh, this is really sweet!" You chirp, happily going through the pack of cards

While he flinches at your haning of the cards, he calms himself at the sound of your sweet words. "Yeah, well- just- if you're gonna be a *real* member of our group, you need to know what we know, and I doubt Bill is gonna help you out. He'd rather gloat about what you don't know, he's always pulls that shit with us." Pausing, he glances at you. "But... you can count on me, for-for anything you don't understand. Pete just wants to get in your pants, and he doesn't know fucking anything anyways. And Jerry... he's fine, but i wouldn't say he's an expert like me in anything but wearing silly fairy costumes." He snarks.

'Please, please, please just talk to me about club stuff, ignore them, they're idiots...'

[delugyu]

hii ! i definitely need a part 4 of the beomgyu drabble please 😭

hehe glad to see people are still enjoying this

one / two / three / four

(wc: 4.3k / warnings: gyu being kind of a bad friend 😭, dry humping, spit kink sorry, fingering, masturbation, virgin!reader, a bit of nipple play, cum eating, jealousy, some possessiveness)

it feels a little weird when beomgyu hangs out with you again. everything was fine until your mutual friends decided to leave together, leaving him alone with you at the bar. beomgyu had no problem being normal and cool a minute ago, but that all leaves him in an instant.

a month ago, this would have been the easiest thing ever. he would have been able to continue the night laughing and chatting with you like friends. how was he to know that teaching you how to give a handjob was going to lead to all this? that it would make it impossible to even look at you a little too long?

“i’m shocked yeonjun left before you did,” you say. he wonders how you can still talk to him so normally, as if nothing had happened between you two at all.

he tries his best to not make himself a fool in front of you. “yeah,” he says. he doesn’t know what more to say. he can hardly stand to look at you for more than a couple seconds at a time.

“you plan on leaving alone?” you ask. beomgyu’s body tenses for a second. a hopeful part of him thinks you might be flirting, but he also knows hope is synonymous with delusion when it comes to how much he wants you.

“not sure yet. are you?” he asks.

you shrug. “taehyun said he might come by, so i’ll”—the rest of whatever you say gets tuned out by beomgyu. he wants to listen and smile and root for you, and he feels like the worst friend ever for not being able to do so, but it’s so impossible to hear you talk about taehyun when beomgyu’s struggling with these weird feelings for you. he doesn’t even know what he’d call it. it’s not like he’s in love with you, but he feels sick whenever he thinks about you with anyone besides him.

he’s never caught feelings for anyone just from hooking up, so it can’t be that. he’s sure that whatever he feels for you is purely physical. he’s a man, after all; it only makes sense that lust would blind him this badly. he chooses to ignore all the signs that would lead him to any other conclusions.

beomgyu misses when you didn’t care about boys; he didn’t have to deal with all these confusing emotions back then. you and beomgyu were never super close, but being part of the same friend group meant that you at least hung out often. it was always fun and easy, at least until now.

“are you and taehyun really serious now?” he asks. maybe he should’ve bit his tongue, but he trusts that the question is innocent enough at face value.

you seem like you don’t know how to answer that, taking a moment to think of a response. “define serious,” you end up saying.

nothing that comes to beomgyu’s mind would be appropriate to ask you. do you let him touch you? do you go on dates as more than just friends? do you treat him like he’s your boyfriend? and, god forbid, do you have feelings for him?

“are you exclusive with him?”

you blink at beomgyu. “i mean… i guess not.”

“what do you mean you guess not?” beomgyu wants a straight up answer, cause if you’re not exclusive, he’s taking you home tonight, and if you are exclusive… well, taehyun will just have to hate beomgyu’s guts tomorrow.

“we never really talked about it,” you say.

“then you’re not. taehyun would make you his girlfriend if he wanted to badly enough,” beomgyu says, and it comes out much harsher than he intended. he only realizes it when he sees a bit of offense on your face. he quickly tries to recover, “i mean, i’m sure he really likes you, and he’d be super lucky to have you as his girlfriend.”

you just look more confused, brows slightly furrowed, head tilting just a bit. god, beomgyu wants to punch himself. what the fuck is wrong with him?

“what’s the point of this?” you ask.

beomgyu sighs and looks off into the crowd, trying to find his answer. instead, he finds taehyun walking into the bar, scanning the room until his eyes land on you. this is such a joke.

in an ideal world, in which reputation doesn’t matter and beomgyu doesn’t have to be mindful of his actions, he would have taken your hand and ran out of this place with you. he’d kiss you in the parking lot and make sure taehyun was the last thing on your mind. this is not an ideal world, though, and instead beomgyu has to smile at taehyun when he sits next to you.

beomgyu might literally throw up. why are you smiling at taehyun like that? you’ve never smiled at beomgyu with such adoration. taehyun’s whole demeanor is just sunshine and rainbows, and beomgyu’s sure it must feel so swell to have all your attention and affection at his whim.

whatever. “i’m gonna grab a drink,” beomgyu says, excusing himself from the table.

the bartender eyes beomgyu up and down like he knows exactly what’s up. beomgyu’s not exactly trying to act all happy, so it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s in a bit of a mood.

“just give me something strong and cheap,” beomgyu says. he needs something that will make the sight of you and taehyun being lovebirds semi-tolerable.

he heads back to the table after finishing his drink, and taehyun’s laugh is a lot more grating than he remembers. you look happy to see beomgyu come back, which at least feels like some kind of win. beomgyu’s not drunk, but he’s buzzed enough to sit here without feeling miserable.

some amount of time passes by before taehyun finally seems to be leaving. if you ask beomgyu, he’d say it was about five hours—the clock shows it was more like one.

“oh, come on, you’re not even gonna have one drink?” you laugh, grabbing taehyun’s hand when he gets out of his seat.

“he’s not much of a drinker,” beomgyu answers for him. taehyun laughs and agrees.

“i’ll see you tomorrow though,” taehyun says, squeezing your hand and smiling at you before stepping away. “and we gotta hang out soon too, bro.” taehyun slaps a brotherly hand onto beomgyu’s shoulder, patting it in parting.

“for sure,” beomgyu says, hoping he sells the excitement that he does not feel. he’s such a bad friend, and he feels like shit for not being able to act normal.

you look all set to go a few minutes after taehyun heads out. it’s late into the night, so beomgyu can’t blame you. but he also can’t let you walk home alone like this.

“can i bring you to your place? or at least get you a ride?” beomgyu offers, rising from his seat when you do.

“you can come to mine and just stay over. it’s late and i live closer anyway,” you say. a smile finds its way onto beomgyu’s face before he even realizes it. he’s surprised to see your lips curl up into a sweet smile back at him.

when beomgyu gets to your apartment, he takes his time analyzing your room. you have a lot of decor that he gets to look at while you change into more comfortable clothes in your bathroom. he’s already sitting on your bed when you come back, and his heart does this weird jumpy thing when you’re in his sight again.

“do you want the bed and i’ll just sleep on the couch?” you ask, standing in your doorway. beomgyu laughs at how cautious you are. you act as if you haven’t shared a bed with beomgyu before.

“just come here,” he says, patting the spot on the mattress next to him. you look so shy and sweet when you walk over, taking tiny steps and getting onto the bed like a dainty little thing. “you’re so cute,” he laughs, not bothering to hold back his words. he’s glad he didn’t, cause the way you smile and look away at the compliment makes his heart race.

beomgyu’s got this terrible thing where he just can’t keep his hands off you when you’re alone in a room. he rests a hand on your thigh, innocently enough to just be friendly. he thinks you look so adorable in your pajamas, meanwhile he’s still dressed in the same outfit he went to the bar in. the contrast between that gorgeous dress you wore earlier and the sleep set you wear now is so funny and endearing.

“beomgyu, can i ask you something?” your voice holds some sort of seriousness to it, and it hits beomgyu like ice cold water. his hand stiffens on your thigh.

“anything,” he says.

your hand lands on top of his, just lightly resting over it. your eyes are on your hands instead of beomgyu’s face. he runs his thumb over your skin to soothe you, trying to get you to relax, even if he’s a little scared to hear your question.

“do you not like taehyun?”

beomgyu halts all his movements. he doesn’t even breathe. it lasts just for a second before his facade comes back. “taehyun’s my friend. why are you asking this?”

you pick up beomgyu’s hand and lace your fingers between his. beomgyu thinks it might be the alcohol in your system that’s getting you to act so clingy and brave.

“you just seemed weird about him tonight,” you say.

beomgyu hums and nods slowly. “don’t worry about it,” he reassures, coming in to place a kiss on your cheek. maybe the alcohol’s got him acting brave too.

you turn your head and give him a smile that seems like you’re just begging him to kiss you. beomgyu’s not a strong-willed man—he sees you batting your eyelashes at him and it’s game over. with a hand on your chin, he leans in to give you a sweet kiss, and for the first time, he doesn’t think he has sexual motives behind it.

well, until you moan in his mouth. then he has a bit of a change in plans.

he brings you carefully down to the bed, not disconnecting from your lips once. his hands hold your face still, keeping you nice and pliant for him to lick into your mouth and keep making you mewl.

“we should make a new rule,” beomgyu says, face hovering just an inch from yours. you hum in question. “no more talking about taehyun when we’re alone.” the suggestion is accompanied by a laugh, but beomgyu’s only half-kidding.

“you’re crazy,” you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss. he thinks you’re the best kisser on earth. nothing feels as good as kissing you does, besides maybe making you cum.

“can i touch you?” beomgyu asks, breathing hotly against your lips, hungrily pecking you just for a moment so as to not stop you from answering.

you turn your face to the side then, and the slightest frown tugs at your lips. something about it makes beomgyu’s chest tighten.

“what?” beomgyu asks, coaxing your attention back to him with his gentle fingers on your jaw. he pouts as he observes your hesitance. “do you just want to kiss tonight?” he won’t push you farther than you’re willing to go. he’ll always prioritize your pleasure, and with that comes your comfort.

“gyu, tell me this isn’t wrong,” you say, running a hand through his hair.

“why would it be wrong?” he would hope that everything you do with him feels nothing but right. that’s how it feels to him.

“cause taehyun doesn’t know,” you whisper.

beomgyu’s quiet for a second, then he brushes your hair back soothingly. “he doesn’t need to,” he whispers back. his hand goes beneath your shirt to rest on your waist. the feel of your skin never fails to send electricity down his spine.

“what if he asks me out soon?” beomgyu hates the way your eyes shine when you say that.

“i thought we agreed not to talk about taehyun anymore,” beomgyu laughs, but it doesn’t sound very convincing. taehyun’s name becomes a bitter weight on his tongue.

what will it take for you to forget about him? does beomgyu need to imprint himself into your head? beomgyu’s lips tingle with a need to kiss you again, to burn his taste inside your mouth. he wants you to be full of him in every way you could be.

he leans in to capture your lips slowly, deeply. it’s a mess of saliva and needy moans, but when he feels your hands gripping onto his arms, he feels like a winner. he wants more of that—more of you being desperate for him, less of you thinking about other men. fuck, is kissing you stupid all it takes? because that’s not too bad of a price.

your hips cant up into beomgyu’s, and he can’t stop the laugh he huffs out at your eagerness. he’s normally the one pleading to get you off, so to feel you seeking out pleasure without beomgyu having to beg for it seems like a miracle. he presses his hips into yours, more than willing to give you the relief you’re looking for. you whine as he grinds against you, and he eats up your every noise like it’s what he was made for.

he pulls away to catch his breath, eyes full of lust as he watches your face contort with pleasure. god, he could watch you like this all day. he can’t believe no one else has ever seen this before. he leans down to your neck, sucking hard and not caring whether or not it bruises. he wants you more than words could let you know; he turns to marking you to show you just how bad he craves you.

you yelp when he starts grinding against you a little harder, and he bites down a smirk at the satisfaction he feels. he holds your hips down, keeping you in place so he can give it to you just how he wants, just how he knows you’d like. you have no clue how good he wants to make you feel; he’d love to see you overwhelmed and trembling, shaking nonstop and begging with tears in your eyes for more and more. he bets you don’t even know how much you could take. he wants to push you to your limits and find out.

his body’s buzzing with the need to get you off, to have you creaming in those cute little pajama shorts. he laughs when you whimper out his name, clawing at his shirt like this is already too much. he wants to go a lot further than this, though.

“we’ll have to stop when taehyun asks me out,” you whisper, breaking beomgyu’s fantasy. he almost runs a hand down his face from the exhaustion and irritation, but he holds back. instead, he levels you with a stare, one that seems to make you shrink back a bit.

his eyes flit to your lips. “open up,” he commands, patting your cheek lightly. your wide, confused eyes dart across his face for a moment, then you oblige. your mouth parts slowly, pretty pink tongue just barely visible. “wider,” he says, and you do.

he needs to show you what happens when you don’t listen to him. he lets a glob of his saliva fall from his lips, watching it slowly drip towards yours. your legs clamp around his waist, and he could almost laugh at the whole ordeal. you’re getting even needier cause he spit in your mouth? or is it because he’s being a little more strict with you? do you like being put in place?

he watches his saliva land on your tongue, dark eyes finding yours. “now swallow,” he says, and he rubs his hand over your clothed cunt as he says it. he feels your body tremble a little. you keep eye contact with him as you close your mouth and do as he says. beomgyu nearly cums in his pants on the spot.

“don’t bring up taehyun again.” he grinds his palm against you a little harder to get his point across.

“i’m sorry,” you say, and you sound so docile that beomgyu feels a little bad.

“it’s okay, baby. you didn’t know better. i just have to get this pretty head to stop thinking, right?” he kisses your forehead, and he feels you nod. you’re so needy right now that beomgyu thinks this might be a wet dream—he’s been dying to see you like this again. “will you let me inside you? just my fingers?” he asks.

you gasp as his fingers circle your clit, and he’s starting to feel how wet you are even through the layers of clothes. he imagines sinking his finger into you, something no man has done to you before. he gets to have all your firsts, he’ll make sure of it. no one else deserves it. no one else could make you feel like he can.

“j-just go slow,” you say. beomgyu can’t take your clothes off fast enough, throwing your shorts and panties to the floor in seconds. he has to stop to admire your pussy, rubbing your slit and gathering your arousal on his fingers.

“you’re the prettiest,” he praises, bringing your hand to his lips so he can kiss the back of it. you smile shyly, then gasp as he glides his fingers across your clit. he continues just playing with the swollen bud for a minute, wanting to get you soaking before he stretches you out.

he circles his finger around your entrance, teasingly applying pressure just to watch you squirm. he feels the ultimate power rush right now—he’s going to change your life, going to make sure you come crying back to him every night asking for his touch.

“are you ready?” he asks.

“yes, please.” you’re so sweet. he’d kiss you if he wasn’t so focused on watching your cunt as he starts pushing his finger in.

his eyes almost roll back at how much you're clamping down on him. he pushes in until his finger’s halfway in and gives you a moment to adjust to the feeling. he gives a couple shallow thrusts, listening to your breath catch, before he pushes in the rest of the way.

“look at you, doing so good,” he coos, letting his free hand caress your thigh.

“i-i can take more,” you say, clenching around his finger.

“are you sure?” you nod vigorously, and who is he to deny you? he pulls out, circling your entrance with two fingers now. “tell me if it hurts,” he says.

he pauses when you cry out as he pushes in, looking at you in worry. “no, keep going,” you insist, rolling your hips eagerly. he continues, getting his fingers in you the rest of the way and stopping to let you adjust. you already look so fucked out, body twitching and hands grasping at the sheets.

“can i move?” he asks.

“yes, please!” your voice is so whiny and breathy, and it makes beomgyu feel fucking crazy. he has to control himself and not jackhammer his fingers into you, even though he’s love to see you take it. you bring a hand to his arm, holding onto him like he’s keeping you anchored. he’s reminded of the greatest feeling in the world: the feeling that you need him.

“i’ll give it to you, baby,” he promises, slowly fucking his fingers into you. you’re insanely tight, and beomgyu doesn’t know if you’d even be able to fit his dick with such a tiny cunt. his cock sits hot and heavy in his pants, but he barely pays it any attention. he’s much more focused on working you up to the greatest orgasm ever.

you sob out his name, and he thinks it’s so cute that you’re already such a mess. he almost wants to put a third finger into you and watch you struggle to take it, but he thinks that might be too cruel. your walls are getting adjusted to his fingers now, and the slide becomes easier, fucking into you a little faster.

“oh my god,” you moan, arching your back and digging your nails into him. he can’t wipe the grin off his face, more than satisfied at your reactions. “feels so good,” you pant.

“yeah?” beomgyu asks, breathless as he increases his pace a little more, curling his fingers up. it takes him a minute to find what he’s looking for, but he knows he’s got it when you cry and your leg kicks out helplessly. he keeps pressing into that spot, curling his fingers up to hit it every time, relishing in the garbled moans that spill out of your mouth.

“beomgyu, i’m gonna”—you’re cut off by your own gasp, whining and arching further into the feeling. you look like a mess, and beomgyu’s never felt more attracted to you than right now. he’s dying for you to lose control, to spill your juices into his hand and become a brainless thing for him to play with.

he feels you tightening around his fingers, so much he can barely move, stuck pressing into you relentlessly to get you to your peak. you’re such a dream when you’re mewling and panting like this.

“fuck, that’s it, just let go for me, give it all to me,” he says, bringing his palm to your clit to aid in your orgasm. you look breakable, and beomgyu would do anything just to tear you apart and rewire your brain to only think about his cock. you lying so prettily beneath him, looking all vulnerable and sweet, makes him feel like the biggest creep in the world. the things he imagines doing with you right now are driving him insane.

he wants to flip you over and pull your hips up in the air, put your cunt on full display for him to ravage and do whatever he wants with. he wants to ram his dick into you while you gasp and whine under him, not even knowing what to do with all your pleasure. he’d make you all his one way or another, fuck you nice every day, make sure you never get the chance to want for another man.

he pulls his fingers out of you when it looks like you’ve had enough, and his slick hand immediately goes to his dick, pulling it from his pants and jerking himself off over your body. he doesn’t care how much of a horny dog he looks like—he’d hump your leg like a bitch in heat if that’s all you’d let him do. he’s just aching to relieve himself, beyond worked up after seeing and feeling you fall apart for him.

“pull up your shirt, babe,” beomgyu breathes out as he fucks his fist. you obey so nicely, exposing your tits for him to spill all over. he can’t even be embarrassed that you just watched him jerk off for less than a minute before cumming. he fucking needed that.

he groans as he milks out the last of his orgasm, watching the white substance land onto your tits and stomach. he collects what landed on your stomach onto his fingers, then brings them up to your mouth. he doesn’t even have to tell you to open, you just do. you’re so well-trained for him already, it makes his heart skip a beat.

your tongue laps at his cum, keeping your eyes on him as you clean him off. he pops his fingers out and leans down to lick the rest of his cum off your tits. you bring a hand to his hair as his tongue licks a stripe up the valley of your breasts. beomgyu thinks he was made for this—to ruin your body, to fix it, to please it, to worship it. he feels like this is the right place in the world for him as he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud.

you sigh out, tugging harder at his hair as he gives your other breast the same treatment. he releases your nipple with a pop, then flicks his tongue over it just to watch you jump a little. he soothes your tits with eager hands, fondling the flesh as he sits back between your legs, looking down at you with a proud smirk.

“i should shower,” you say, fixing your shirt back down. you sit up and stretch, and something about this moment feels so domestic.

“let me join you,” beomgyu suggests, pulling you in by the hips to sit you on his lap. you laugh a little as he does so, then try (and fail) to push away his face as he delivers a million kisses to your cheeks.

“stop,” you giggle, leaning away to escape him. he probably should stop; he’s going a lot further than just simple hook ups. he relents, choosing to just look at you instead. you’re so cute, just staring back at him and holding back a smile. you stay like that for a minute before you look away.

“go shower,” beomgyu says, patting your thigh. you get up and he follows behind you eagerly. you turn to him in the doorway of your bathroom, poking a finger against his chest.

“i didn’t say you could come with,” you say, but you don’t sound like you’re totally against it.

he pouts. “don’t make me wait out here all alone.” your eyes trail down his face, and beomgyu realizes that this smile of yours is quickly becoming one of his favorite things in the world.

you step aside. “fine, but keep your hands to yourself,” you say.

“i will,” he agrees with a wolfish grin. safe to say, beomgyu breaks that promise the second you’re both beneath the water.

[harryslittlefreakk]

recipe for disaster

summary: y/n is a stubborn, clumsy baker and harry is a stubborn, overbearing firefighter

warnings: none!

wordcount: 4k

a/n: hi my friends 💐 this is basically just setting up the story lolll it was meant to be longer but who has the time for that!! stay tuned for part 2 <3

masterlist 🫶🏼

Nothing felt better than a warm shower after a long day. Steam swirled all around you, the hot water pounding away the day’s fatigue - the morning rush, the non-stop hum of the mixers, the relentless work to keep trays filled with gingerbread men and warm cinnamon rolls.

You had always been proud of the bakery. The satisfaction of seeing customers bite into your creations - it was all yours. Every flaky croissant, every gooey cinnamon roll, every crusty loaf bore the unmistakable mark of your hands.

And that’s why, no matter how many times Claire told you to hire some more help, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. “You can’t keep this up alone,” she’d said in mid-October, standing in the doorway of the kitchen while you worked. You were wrist-deep in bread dough, kneading away as though the flour had wronged you.

“I’m fine,” you’d replied, the words curt and clipped. “It’s my kitchen. I’ve got it under control.”

Claire didn’t look convinced. She never did. “Christmas is coming, y/n. Orders are already piling up, and it’s not even December. This is too much for one person.”

You waved her off, refusing to look up. “I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again.”

But you hadn’t done it like this before. Back then, the bakery wasn’t so popular. There weren’t stacks of orders for holiday cakes, tins of cookies, and towers of Christmas pies. There wasn’t the constant pressure of phone calls and emails asking if you could squeeze in “just one more order.”

By the time December rolled around, you were drowning.

The days started earlier and ended later, the hours slipping away as you raced to keep up. You woke in darkness, stumbling into the bakery before the sun rose. Your hands ached from kneading, your back throbbed from bending over the ovens, and your head buzzed with the endless list of things to do. And yet, you’d refused to admit you needed help.

“I’m worried about you,” Claire had said one night, her voice soft but firm. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen again, watching as you haphazardly piped frosting onto yet another tray of sugar cookies. Your shoulders were slumped, your apron streaked with berry juice and chocolate.

“I’m fine,” you’d mumbled, though even you didn’t believe it.

“You’re not fine. You’re exhausted. You’re going to make mistakes.”

“I’m fine,” you snapped, louder than you meant to. The words echoed in the kitchen, the air growing heavy. Claire didn’t reply. She just shook her head and left you to your chaos.

She was right. You knew she was right. And you knew that she’d snitch to your brother, who’d stop by to ask why you weren’t listening to his wife. Only to be followed by your parents, who’d ask why you weren’t listening to your brother.

They only cared for your well-being. They wanted you to succeed as much as you wanted to succeed. But you didn’t remember a time when the bakery wasn’t your baby. It had been your dream, your refuge, and your pride all wrapped into one - a living, breathing extension of yourself. The idea of sharing that, of letting someone else touch what you had built, felt like carving off a piece of your soul.

You squeezed your eyes shut until the screams of voices and thoughts were tiny whispers in the back of your mind, letting the water cascade over you, enveloping you in its warmth. The sound of the spray drowned out the noise in your head, a momentary reprieve from the chaos of orders, burnt loaves, and your own stubborn pride. For a few minutes, there was nothing but the water, the steam curling around you, and the faint rhythm of your breathing as you tried to piece yourself back together.

Every muscle ached, but the heat soothed it all into blissful numbness. It was pure paradise - at least until a rock came flying through your bathroom window, shattered glass crashing all over your tiles. What the fuck?

You turned the shower off with shaking hands, adrenaline coursing through your body. The cold winter air filled the room quickly, the evening wind whistling through the smashed pane.

You slipped your robe on with a groan, the fleece clinging to your damp skin.

That’s when the sound reached you - the incessant wailing of the smoke alarm from downstairs. Your stomach dropped. The bakery.

You’d sworn to be more switched on, to actually check the ovens before you retreated to your apartment. But the days were long, and your brain was goo by the time you waved the last customers out of the door.

The floors were wet beneath your feet as you slipped and skidded down the stairs, your mind cycling through every possibility of what would await you. A burglar who decided to commit arson? Your entire kitchen alight? The flower store next door burned to the ground, your beloved bakery an unfortunate casualty?

You reached for the light switch tentatively, your eyes landing on a curl of dark smoke seeping from the oven door. The entire bakery was dim, your soft lighting no match for the cloud hanging over the room.

That fucking deafening beeping was doing nothing to calm you down. You grabbed the broom, jabbing at the smoke alarm, and of course, missing the button every time, your hands shaking as the panic turned to adrenaline in your veins. Your free hand flapped wildly under the sensor, desperately trying to just Stop. The. Beeping.

“Hello? Let me in!”

A deep, husky man’s voice. The same man who was also pounding on your front door, his face pressed up against the glass.

If good things came in threes, how many bad things were you supposed to get at one time?

Your priorities might have been skewed, as they usually were, but getting rid of the axe murderer at your door was suddenly the most important thing in the world to you.

You charged towards the door, broom still in hand, throwing it open with a noise not too far from a growl. “It’s really not ideal for you to murder me right now! Come back later,” you shouted over the smoke alarm.

“I’m not- what?”

Okay, the murderer had a hot voice. But he was still a murderer. You pushed the door closed with your shoulder, but he wedged his shoe in the doorway, halting your attempt to shut him out. You glared down at the offending foot, your grip on the broom tightening.

"Look, I'm just trying to help," he said, holding his hands up. "I’m a firefighter. Saw smoke pouring out of your oven.”

“Help with what, exactly?” you shot back, trying to ignore the way his broad shoulders filled the doorway, or how his green eyes sparkled with the thrill of, presumably, rescuing reckless strangers. “Didn’t know firefighters made house calls.”

“Only the off-duty ones with nothing better to do,” he replied, a hint of a grin tugging at his mouth. "Now, can I come in and shut that alarm off for you, or are you planning to fight it out with your smoke detector all night?"

Reluctantly, you let go of the door, allowing him to step inside. He wasted no time reaching up to the beeping menace, silencing it with a practiced jab at the button. You couldn’t help but notice the sleeves of his t-shirt tighten around his arms as he reached up, the sliver of tattooed skin poking out from above his belt.

"Thanks," you muttered, crossing your arms as he looked back to you, his eyes sweeping over your chaotic kitchen, over your clearly naked body, and then back to your face, as if assessing the full scene. The corners of his lips quirked up as he turned to the oven, waving a hand at the remaining smoke.

You sighed, letting the last of your defenses fall. “You’re really not going to murder me, are you?”

"Not today," he chuckled, a low, warm sound that filled the small space. Your eyes caught on the way his strong hands moved, sure and gentle as he maneuvered around your kitchen. You leaned against the counter, pretending you weren’t staring at the way his arms flexed under the faded fabric.

He caught you looking, and to your utter embarrassment, he gave a small grin. “So… what exactly was this supposed to be?" he asked, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he stepped closer, holding the charred remains of whatever had been inside.

“Oh shit. Mrs Fuller’s birthday cake,” you groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. “I completely forgot I was baking that.” Great. Just another obstacle in the way of your early night.

“Hey, sorry about the window,” he murmured.

“Hm?” you asked, your voice distant, not really processing his words.

“The window,” he repeated, gesturing upward, your gaze following his hand to the ceiling. “Was only trying to get your attention,” he continued, his voice dipping into something apologetic. “Didn’t mean to break it.”

You shook your head, finally dragging your focus back to the mess in front of you. “It’s whatever,” you muttered, keeping your tone neutral, though your chest ached with the effort. “Just another point on my to-do list. Thanks for…” You gestured vaguely at the bakery, your voice trailing off.

“I can come by and fix it,” he offered, his voice tentative, like he wasn’t sure if you’d bite his head off or accept the help.

“I can do it,” you snapped, your words sharper than you intended. The burning behind your eyes grew stronger, and you could feel your control slipping. You needed him to leave, needed the space to let the tears spill over before they choked you entirely.

When you glanced up, you saw the change in his expression. The slight upturn of his lips faltered and turned into a somber frown. He looked at you like he wanted to ask something but thought better of it.

“Sorry,” you mumbled quickly, the heat of guilt flushing your face. “I’ve got it covered. Thanks, though.”

For a moment, he stood there, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. He glanced between you and the broken cake, the smoke still lingering above, and something in his eyes softened. He looked like he wanted to argue but thought better of it, nodding instead.

“Alright,” he said, his voice quiet, almost reluctant. “But if you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” you cut in, desperate now. “It’s fine.”

He hesitated, his brow knitting tighter as if he wanted to say something else, but after a moment, he nodded. "Alright. If you’re sure."

You nodded back, barely looking at him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as if holding yourself together. The silence between you stretched until, mercifully, he turned and walked away.

The door creaked slightly as it began to close behind him, the faint sound of his trainers scuffing against the floor fading. You thought that was the end of it, but then the footsteps stopped. For a moment, the room held its breath, the silence pressing down like the weight in your chest.

Then, the door eased back open, just enough for him to lean his head inside. His dark eyes met yours, hesitant but determined, like he wasn’t sure if this was a mistake but decided to do it anyway.

“Harry,” he said, his voice soft but clear as it cut through the stillness. He lingered there in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame, his shoulders tense as though bracing for rejection. “That’s my name. Harry.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but not far from it. You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden reappearance, the unexpected vulnerability in the way he said it. He waited, his eyes searching your face for some kind of response.

Your lips curved, just barely, into a weak but genuine smile. “Harry,” you repeated softly, like you were trying the name on for size. Then you added, “I’m…” Your voice faltered for a split second, but you pressed on, offering him your name in return. “Y/n.”

A spark of something warm flickered in his eyes, a hint of relief mingled with curiosity. He nodded once, as if committing it to memory, before straightening up and gripping the edge of the door.

And then he was gone.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the counter. Your knees felt weak, your chest tight, and the dam you’d been holding back began to crack. You stared at the mess around you, the cake you’d worked so hard on reduced to a heap of blackened crumbs, the endless pile of orders still waiting for you, and the tears you’d been fighting finally broke free.

It wasn’t just the window. It wasn’t just the cake. It was everything. The weight of trying to do it all alone, the exhaustion that clung to you like a second skin, the constant feeling that no matter how hard you worked, it was never enough.

You slid down to the floor, your back against the counter, letting the sobs come. For a moment, you allowed your emotions to swallow you, the frustration, the helplessness, the crushing loneliness. But even as you cried, part of you knew this couldn’t keep happening. Something had to give.

You pulled out your phone, typing a quick text to Claire. we’ll start looking for help tomorrow. promise.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, slumped against the counter, staring blankly at the mess surrounding you. The tears had stopped at some point, leaving behind a dull ache in your chest and the gritty sensation of salt drying on your cheeks. But soft rapping on the door pulled you out of your misery.

Wiping at your face with unsteady hands, you forced yourself to your feet, every movement feeling heavier than the last. When you opened the door, there he was: Harry, standing in the dim light, his arms full of cardboard, duct tape, and what looked like sheets of plastic.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice raw and quieter than you’d meant it to be.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he nudged his way past you into the bakery, not waiting for permission, and glanced down at the materials in his arms. “You can’t leave the window broken in this cold,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Harry, it’s fine—” you began, stepping toward him, but he cut you off without looking up.

“It’s not fine,” he said firmly, his voice calm but resolute.

You stared at him for a moment, his gaze hard as he looked back at you.

“Come on. Help me with this window,” he murmured, waiting for you to lead the way upstairs. When you didn’t move, he shifted the materials in his arms, freeing up his right hand before reaching out and pulling at your wrist.

It sent a chill straight through you, sharp and unexpected.

You froze for a second, your breath catching in your throat. His touch was fleeting, a playful tug, but it left behind a heat that spread across your skin, unbidden and unwelcome. You pulled your hand back too quickly, clutching it to your side as if it had been burned, though the sensation was far from painful.

He didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t say anything. He kept waiting, his focus unwavering, but you couldn’t say the same.

There was a hum beneath your ribs now, something restless and alive, thrumming just below the surface. Attraction. You recognized it immediately, though you almost wished you didn’t. It didn’t make sense. You barely knew this man. He wasn’t someone you’d invited into your world, not really, and yet here he was - ready to fix your window, trying to fix your life, filling your space, making you feel something you hadn’t expected and didn’t know how to handle.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to push it down, to smother the thought before it took root. It was nothing. A moment. A reaction to being exhausted, overwhelmed, and vulnerable. But when he turned to look at you, his gaze steady and clear, it was all you could do to keep your knees from buckling.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and soft, and you swore you could feel it reverberate somewhere deep inside you.

“Fine,” you said too quickly, your voice tight and uneven. You cleared your throat, pushing past him to the stairs. “I’ll show you the bathroom, but I need to get started on redoing this cake,” you told him, cocking your head back towards the kitchen.

Harry raised his eyebrows, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “No.”

His hand pressed into your lower back, pushing you closer to the stairs. “I know better than anyone that being tired in the kitchen is a bad idea. When does Mrs. Fuller need her cake?”

“Tomorrow evening,” you mumbled, hesitating as your toes hovered over the first step. Your voice was low, almost apologetic, but the weariness that gripped you made it impossible to summon anything stronger.

“Then you can deal with it tomorrow,” Harry said firmly, cutting off any protest before it could begin. His tone softened just slightly as he added, “After you’ve had a full night’s sleep.”

You turned back to face him, scowling instinctively. You were used to handling things on your own, not being told what to do, no matter how reasonable the suggestion might be. “You’re kind of overbearing, you know that?”

Harry only grinned, his expression as maddeningly charming as ever. “Wouldn’t be doing my duty if I wasn’t.” The hand on your lower back nudged you gently, urging you up the stairs as if you were a stubborn child refusing to go to bed.

You bit down on your lower lip, the indents of your teeth starting to feel like a permanent feature. As much as Harry was overstepping, he was clearly just as stubborn as you were, and it felt good to have someone forcibly taking care of you - not backing off in the hopes that you’d come around to their suggestions.

“In here,” you murmured when you reached the top of the stairs, an icy chill already filling your apartment. “I’m sure you can work out which one it is.”

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as Harry slipped past you, your heart almost stopping as you realised for the first time that you were still just in your robe, a deep flush creeping up your cheeks, the scarlet heat of embarrassment burning through you just as Harry’s gaze flicked back toward you. His eyes swept over you briefly, lingering for only a moment at the hem of the robe before he cleared his throat and turned away.

“I’ve got it from here,” he said quietly, his voice steady and measured as he moved toward the window. He nudged a shard of glass away from your bare feet before giving you a pointed look. “Go on.”

You hesitated, torn between retreating to your bedroom and stubbornly insisting on staying. Ultimately, the embarrassment won out. You turned quickly, rushing to your room, your mind racing as that small, insistent voice in the back of your head screamed at you to not pull on your ratty old pajamas.

And yet, despite the voice, that’s exactly what you did. A threadbare cotton t-shirt and a pair of faded sweatpants found their way onto your body as you sat heavily on the edge of the bed, cradling your face in your hands.

There was a man in your bathroom, a man who quite clearly only wanted to help you - the same man you’d practically forcibly removed from the property. The same man that was causing some sort of chemical imbalance within you.

You’d have to grovel if you ever wanted to see him again - as if he’d ever want to see you again. You’d done nothing but snap at him and act like he was inconveniencing you.

Harry had seen you at your worst, your very worst, and you weren’t entirely sure you owed yourself the chance for him to see you at your best.

But you wanted him to.

You shook your head, forced yourself back to your feet and padded toward the bathroom. You stopped in the doorway, stunned, as he worked quickly, fitting cardboard over the shattered glass, layering plastic sheets on top, securing everything with careful strips of tape.

“I could’ve done it,” you muttered after a moment, your voice shaking despite yourself.

He glanced back at you briefly, his strong hands still busy with the repair, a smirk on those taunting lips. “Maybe. But you didn’t.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you stayed quiet, staring at the makeshift patch and the man who had put it together. The tightness in your chest eased slightly, though a storm of inner turmoil was brewing.

“Thanks,” you said finally, the word coming out soft and uneven.

He nodded, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Don’t mention it.” He hesitated, glancing at you with a look that felt entirely too knowing. “You should take a break,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Get some rest, maybe. You look... worn out.”

You huffed a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a scoff. “Gee, thanks,” you said, trying to mask the lump rising in your throat.

He flashed you that dimpled grin, straightening up as he placed the last strip of tape on the window.

“That’ll hold for now. But you’ll need to get it sorted properly before the weather turns,” Harry murmured, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

You followed him back downstairs, reiterating that yes, you’d get it sorted. Yes, you’d stay out of the kitchen that night. Yes, you’d double check how to work your alarms. Yes, you’d double check the ovens before you went upstairs. No, you didn’t want your business and home to burn down.

He turned to you when he reached the door, his green eyes laced with sincerity. “Take care of yourself, y/n. Seriously.”

And then he was gone, leaving behind a patched window and an unsettling quiet. But for once, you couldn’t find a reason not to follow the advice given to you. You were exhausted, and suddenly desperate to dream of the firefighter who’d all but swept you off your feet.

thank you so much for reading 🤍

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[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ pretty tipsy ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ he brings you home after a night out drinking┊2.5k words

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: alcohol & intoxication, this man is WHIPPED, age & size difference, emotional drunk human reader, ooc? calling him kitty

➤ author's note: idk what this is but it’s my longest logan piece yet because i have yet to write any more than a thousand words for him

tonight was one of the few nights logan could finally have some alone time. wade was going out for drinks with vanessa with the plan to stay over at her place, the ever so mysterious blind al was off doing her own thing, and mary puppins was resting peacefully in her little bed, tuckered out after a long day of playtime. he could finally get some long-awaited peace and quiet, a moment to himself to relax and breathe. while he’s grateful for the presence of others since he arrived in this dimension, he’s still a lone wolf at heart who treasures his privacy above all else.

humming a little tune from the eighties, he sunk into the beat-up leather couch with a beer in one hand and a lit cigar in the other, taking a long drag on it and preparing himself for a relaxing evening until his flip phone started ringing. when he opened it up to read the “wade wilson” contact name staring back at him, he rolled his eyes with a groan before answering.

“what the fuck do you want?”

“not even a ‘hello?’ damn bitch, okay then— well, we ran into some friends and had some drinks together, but one of them is pretty shit-faced right now and her phone is dead, could you pretty please with sugar on top come and pick her up?”

“the fuck? that’s not my problem, just call her an uber—” he stopped mid-sentence when he heard a familiar giggle in the background, one asking a different partygoer to have another drink with her, “is that the neighbor who lives at the end of the hallway?”

“yeah, it’s your little crush~! you recognize her from just her voice over the phone, oh my god, you have it bad wolfie!! well, if you don’t wanna come, then fine, whatever, but you know, it’s not unsafe for a pretty lady to be alone this late at night! some guy might just swoop her up, actually, there’s some guy asking for her number right now—”

“alright, alright, i’m coming! send me the address.” he nearly shouted into the receiver, putting out his cigar on the ashtray atop the coffee table and slipping on his jacket to leave the comfort of his shared apartment.

the night was chilly in comparison to the cozy warmth of the indoors and the bar was filled with loud chattering and cheers, the clinking of glasses, yelling at the game being televised, and the general buzz of extroverted fun on a weekend night. 

“ayyy, there he is! come here, peanut, sit, sit, sit, have a drink with us!”

logan hesitated, not because he would ever shy away from free booze but because he was here on a mission with one sole goal in mind (and because he wasn’t familiar with this particular group of people, he didn’t feel like socializing tonight) “no, it’s fine, i’m just here to take her home.” his voice was uncharacteristically mellow, finding you napping on the table with your arms folded to be a makeshift cushion for your head. 

you peeked at the man coming up next to you and your face changed from exhausted to ecstatic to upset in the span of a few seconds, “looggann!! how are you doing, i feel like i haven’t seen you in foreverr— how come every time i see you in the hall, you always run off, are you avoiding me? did i do something wrong?” you cling onto his hand and shake his arm, paying no attention to your friends giggling at your behavior in the background, pouting and tearing up. 

oh god, you’re an emotional drunk, that’s so cute. neither he nor wade could get drunk at all on account of their systems constantly cleaning out the effects of the alcohol as soon as it’s consumed, but when he drinks around others, it’s a trait he typically finds so annoying quickly becoming so endearing when worn by you.

“i’m not avoiding you, you haven’t done anything wrong,” he consoled in the most gentle voice a wolverine could muster, also cringing at the fact that he wasn’t half as discreet as he thought he was. it’s true, he has been avoiding you, but only because he couldn’t stand the way you made him feel, smoothing out the rough edges of his personality and making him feel stupid butterflies he was far too old to be feeling, not to mention the nonstop teasing from everyone else when they noticed the way he seemed to look at you from afar. it was as if he was a child who thought hiding from it would make it go away, but it has become apparent it has only grown stronger.

“you’re telling the truth?” you sniffled.

“yes, i am. come on, bub, let’s get you outta here. i’m here to take you home.”

you didn’t protest or try to convince him you weren’t wasted, knowing your limit had been reached, and slowly picked up your things to follow him out of the building. he allowed you to intertwine your arm with his, providing support to your unbalanced mind and stumbling legs since you couldn’t even walk straight.

“why would you drink so much if you’re such a lightweight?”

“how do you know i’m a lightweight? you weren’t there, i could have drunk an entire bathtub full of booze before you showed up!” 

“nah, i can smell it, there’s no way you drank anything more than a few pints.”

“oh, so the kitty is a dog now? i thought you were more cat-like this whole time, but i guess i was wrong.” 

“what?” they say what a person says when intoxicated comes from their soul and true thoughts with little to no filter, but he certainly wasn’t anticipating those words to come out of your mouth.

“you look like a kitty, you know? with the way your hair does the little swoopy things— do you wake up like that or do you need to style it? you act like one too, grumpy ass kitty.”

“don’t call me that, kid, i hear it enough from wade already.”

“i’ll stop calling you kitty when you stop calling me kid! i know you’re old as hell, but i’m a grown-ass adult!”

“yeah? well, you’re certainly not acting like one right now.”

you were silent for a minute, making him worry for a second that he offended you by calling you childish, but when he looked back down at you, you were simply staring in astonishment. “i’ve never seen you smile before! you look a lot more handsome, you should do it more often!”

was he smiling? he didn’t even notice, grinning ear to ear and revealing his pearly white teeth, chuckling at your ridiculous words. was this really the first time you saw him smile and heard him laugh? no wonder you assumed he was avoiding you, he was surprised you didn’t hate him just because of a misunderstanding.

it took some time to get you up all of the stairs to your floor without tripping, and logan was almost sad the night was over so quickly. even if the conversation was mostly one-sided and you were intoxicated with slurred words, he swears he listened to all you had to say between comedic bits, insightful knowledge, random bullshit, and found it all fascinating. luckily for him, his time with you wasn’t up yet as he watched you fumble with your purse and frown.

“oh, fuck… i lost my keys… oh no…” you slumped against the wall until you fell to the floor, feeling yourself starting to cry at this inconvenience with heightened emotions. 

“god, please don’t, not again…” he’s the absolute worst at comforting others, it isn’t his strong suit, and acknowledging this weakness seemed ten times more difficult when you were the one in need. “come on, you can sleep at my place for the night and charge your phone.”

“...really?”

“yes, come on.” 

you took his outreached hand and found yourself in his grasp again as he held onto your shoulder to steady you, unlocking the door and leading you into his shared apartment. he felt somewhat grateful that you were too drunk to notice how messy the site was, seating you on the couch as he got you a glass of water to sober up. you looked so out of place among it all, so young and feminine with your vibrant club clothing around all of the aging, scratched-up furniture and muted colors.

“thank you,” you murmur, downing the entire tall glass with a few gulps, “uh, where is the bathroom?” he directed you to where it was and allowed you to use it, quickly hearing you turn on the shower after a minute and just as quickly hearing you swearing in regret over the loud pitter-patter of the steaming hot water. “i’m never drinking again, why am i being so fucking stupid?!” 

“are you okay?” 

“yeah, except for the fact i forgot that i don’t have a change of clothes and i stepped into the shower with my current ones on because i forgot to take them off!” your voice cracked, feeling yourself starting to cry once again from yet another inconvenience. you were really just embarrassing yourself and couldn’t wait for this shitty day to be over.

he let out a sigh of relief, “god, don’t scare me like that— i’ll get you something, hold on, please don’t cry.” he could have stolen some of al’s clothing since she wouldn’t have noticed, or he could have stolen some of the clothes vanessa left behind after spending time with wade, but for some odd reason, he pulled out one of his canadian hockey jerseys for you. the fabric was soft and worn with time, smelling slightly of him and laundry detergent, and arguably the most comfortable thing he had at his disposal. “i’ll leave it outside the door, okay?”

“thank youu!!” (and thank god your underwear is still clean and dry enough to wear again, you have no idea what you would have done if you didn’t realize your mistake soon enough and stood under the water for long enough to be soaked to the bone.)

logan allowed his fatigued body to rest for a moment, sinking into the couch just as he did an hour ago in hopes of relaxation. what the fuck was he doing? since when did the wolverine play babysitter for drunk young women, walking them back to play guard dog against possible creepy men, letting them into his home, and lending them his clothing to wear? this was so uncharacteristic of him, he couldn’t think of a single person he was willing to do this for other than laura, but you certainly weren’t nearly as close to him as he was to her! lord, he’s so pathetic, he thinks he probably would have carried you back bridal style too if you asked him.

the water stopped and he waited for you to exit so that he could show you where you could sleep, but he could now see he didn’t need to. your apartment layouts are nearly identical, and it looks like your brain was switched onto autopilot after cleaning up, mindlessly strolling into his bedroom and plopping down on his mattress as if it were your own. (his shirt was practically a dress on you, falling to your mid-thigh and ill-fitted on your smaller frame, his eyes lingering on it for a second longer than what would have been polite.)

he leaned against the doorframe, watching you make yourself comfortable and preparing to stay there until the early afternoon with a banging headache. “are you comfortable? do you need anything else?”

you murmured something in response and stretched out your arms, making grabby hands and inviting him to join you, “come cuddle with me! herree, kitty, kitty, kitty~”

are you really calling a fifty-something-year-old, six-foot-tall killer mutant with adamantium bones and razor-sharp claws that come out of his knuckles ‘kitty’? yes, yes you are, and you’re going to scream into your pillow from embarrassment when you recall it the next day.

“i don’t do cuddles, princess,” he chuckled even though he intended to scoff. “and i already told you to quit calling me that.”

“pleaseee? pretty pleasee?” you chirped, eyes going big and round just like a puppy in a cartoon, begging him to humor you in this request.

are you truly a human, or are you secretly a mutant who has hypnotic powers? the answer is obvious, he’s just an old loser who apparently answers at your every beck and call now because all he could do is sigh, slip off his jacket, and get under the blanket with you. 

you rolled on your side and wrapped your arm around his body, nuzzling your face into his comforting touch and inhaling the mild scent of pine and tobacco. humming a satisfied “good night” and dozing off within a few minutes, you clung to him as tightly as a koala onto a branch, and he couldn’t separate himself from you without making you stir and whine. 

trapped in the embrace of a beautiful neighbor whom he possessed a soft spot for, wearing his clothing and laying in his bed, he would be trapped like this until morning it sounds like a dream to most men, but to logan, it’s the fear of getting attached and losing someone else important to him rearing its ugly head to the forefront of his mind. it scares him to think what could happen if he allowed himself this pleasure of becoming close to you, and yet when he admires your slumbering face, he feels like it would be okay and work itself out in the end somehow.

he fell asleep more quickly than usual when you held him, and for the first time in forever, he wasn’t tormented with horrid nightmares of the past that always plagued him before now. when he woke up, his weary soul was well-rested and energized, almost as if he was twenty years younger again. the wonders of a good night’s sleep, or perhaps, the wonders of being with you. 

it felt so… natural to wake up with you next to him.

you were practically a dead weight by now, not rousing in the least when he slowly got up to leave the bed. he did feel a little back about undoing the grasp you had on him though, felt a bit like abandoning you in a vulnerable state. he sauntered into the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee as per his routine, only to find the most annoyingly loveable scarred face sitting in a chair waiting for him, legs crossed and hands in his lap like a supervillain. 

“sooooo, how was your night, you smitten kitten? you dirty dog!” there was a stupid smirk on his face, trying his best to hold back a fit of giggles. he knows nothing suggestive happened and was just teasing, but he still wanted to hear him say that it was a wonderful night nonetheless and to thank him for playing matchmaker.

“shut the fuck up before i stab you again. don’t ruin this morning for me.”

[coquettefrancaise]

i got you babe

by sonny and cher

pairing: sick!Azriel x reader ~ 2.9k

warnings: non-sexual bathing

summary: when Azriel collapses from his fever while you're on vacation, you, the only person he'll accept help from, hurry home to nurse him back to health

a/n: overthinking is not for the weak (please please please give me ideas for fics guys I am stRuggling here)

Azriel had felt like shit the moment he woke up. From his sore throat to his heavy, achy limbs. Granted, he had felt the early symptoms of this earlier last night but had hoped sleep would erase it.

That didn't seem to be the case.

He rarely became sick but when he did, it was not pretty.

One could argue that it was because he didn't allow his body to rest which was why but he claimed it was a part of his 'bad luck'. The constant misfortune he was given that had wound him up with a loathsome childhood and three unrequited loves. Until you.

You had turned his world upside down so abruptly that he had been left dizzy and craving more. It took him time to be cared for in the way you did but he now grew to adore it.

He coughed, wincing at the soreness of his throat. Unfortunately for him, you were in the summer court with the females of the inner circle, taking a much needed vacation. And as much as he wished you were here to tell him he'd be alright, he didn't want you to end your trip early.

He stepped out of bed, hand catching the frame as he felt faint. He was fine.

He then took a moment for it to subside and went to change for training and take something for the intense pressure building in his head. It felt as if someone had stuffed cotton balls inside it.

One look in the mirror and he cringed. Face pallor, sunken eyes, sinuses swollen. His body screamed at him to go lay down and bury his face in your pillow and succumb to heavenly sleep. Anything besides being up and about.

Instead he splashed his face with cold water.

Besides... even if he didn't wish to disrupt your fun, Azriel was nothing if not schedule-oriented. It gave him some semblance of control to be able to know what his day consisted of. And it threw off his entire day if there was a kink in his program.

Albeit lethargically, he readied himself and swallowed a sour headache tonic. Hand pressed to his temple to further relieve the pain, he went downstairs to eat breakfast.

Cassian was at the table, a half-finished bowl of oatmeal and glass of water in front of him, humming a small tune. Cauldron, that water looked absolutely delicious.

"Good morning, sleepy head." Cassian cooed, pspspsing at Azriel as if he were a cat in want of chin scritches. "Ready for your ass to be beat?"

Azriel ignored the meathead and sat down, grumbling thanks to the house when his own food appeared. He didn't hesitate to gulp down the water, the ache in his chest dimming. Still fine.

He could feel Cassian's eyes assessing him, skeptical. "You look pale."

It was times like these that Azriel hated how observant the Lord of Bloodshed was.

Apparently, Cassian believed that, with you being gone, he was to be Azriel's warden. Telling him to go to bed when he had been too caught up in paperwork, reminding him to drink more water, having Rhys check on his whereabouts every few hours... and if he found out Azriel was sick, he'd coddle him. And Azriel didn't enjoy being coddled. Except by you.

"Woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. So you should probably take yourself out of my business before I shove that spoon up your ass."

Cassian threw his hands up in innocence, an amused chuckle falling from his lips. "You kiss your girlfriend with that mouth?"

Azriel made no comment.

"Aw, I understand now. Are you just so distraught that she's been gone for a week? Is that why you look so under the weather? She's your only salvation?"

Yes, actually. But Azriel wouldn't admit that.

"You really just enjoy hearing yourself talk, don't you?" he pushed his bowl of oatmeal away, not feeling too hungry.

"You can't even eat because you're so lost without her. It's alright to admit that you're totally, completely in love, Az. We've all been there."

Azriel felt that his head might explode if he sat there for one second longer, so he stood and headed up to the training ring. And Cassian, ever the obedient pup, followed.

As soon as they stepped out into the fresh air, Azriel felt somewhat better. Like he could breathe easier, even if his sinuses still stung sharply. He was still fine.

But his moment of relief was cut short as he swayed softly at his equilibrium being thrown off kilter.

Even in the dim lighting of twilight, Cassian caught the movement, frowning at Azriel. "You don't look so good, Az. You should sit down for a bit or-"

"I'm fine," Azriel snapped, closing his eyes as the intensity of the words caused him to feel even more light-headed.

He heard Cassian sigh heavily and then felt a hand at his brow. "Holy shit. You're hot."

Azriel scoffed.

"Not that way, you idiot," Cassian growled, "you're burning up with a fever."

"I already said I'm fine. Now can we please get this over with? I have actual work I need to catch up on."

"Mm, no."

And then Azriel was being pushed out of the training ring and towards the stair doors. "Your pretty bird would have my head if she knew I let you train in the midst of a fever."

There was no argument there.

You would have caught his fever way before it had broken, Azriel was sure. He never knew how you managed to do it. One cough and he would be put on bed-rest with warm soup being ladled to his lips while you dabbed at his sweat-slick skin with a cool washcloth.

But you weren't here to do those things so Azriel dug his heels into the gravel. "I've lived this long without being coddled by you Cassian. I think I can survive longer without you starting now."

Cassian would hear none of it, so he pulled out the big guns and said, "I'll tell her to come home early if you won't go back to bed."

That had Azriel's heels lift.

You had been ecstatic about this trip for months. You'd planned everything down to the last detail and even bought new clothing for it. Azriel wouldn't begrudge you your long-awaited vacation just because he wouldn't listen to his asshole of a brother.

"Fine," Azriel grumbled under his breath.

With that, Cassian continued to guide him to the stairs when Azriel collapsed. Not fine.

"I really, really, really wish we had a beach in Valeris."

You and the rest of the inner circle—excluding Amren—hummed in agreement at Nesta's contented sigh.

You had arrived nearly a week ago and spent most of the days under the summer court's sun while lounging on their pristine white beach. And in the evening, when the sun went to bed, everyone dressed their best and went out partying, taking advantage of the fruity beverages and up-beat music.

"You could always lay by the Sidra," Elain murmured from under her sun hat. While she didn't want to tan like the rest of you, she still wished to be nearby the group, so she used a towel and hat to cover her body from the warm rays.

"Because seeing a female in a skimpy bikini, sunbathing at the Sidra wouldn't be odd." Nesta said drily, adjusting the straps of said bikini.

The group chuckled then returned to the peaceful silence.

Oftentimes you all fell into naps from the noise of the salty waves lapping onto the shores at your toes. The only reason you hadn't burned to a crisp being that you periodically passed around a protective sunscreen.

Speaking of... you sat up, adjusting the sunglasses sitting on your nose, and dug around your bag for the sunscreen. "Alright ladies it's time."

Despite their groaning, they followed suit in sitting up, taking swigs from their waters and then passing around the lotion you offered. "You're such a mom," Mor teased, rubbing it into her arms.

You shrug, making sure you didn't miss the crevices of your ears or hair part. "I enjoy taking care of people."

"And we're grateful for that," Feyre chimed in, "because without you, we'd all be shriveled and red and a horrible sight for sore eyes."

You'd always enjoy taking care of the people you loved. It began when you were a little girl and you were tasked with watching your youngest siblings. If your parents weren't available, you fed, clothed, and played with them. Unlike others, you thrived under the responsibility.

So when you got together with Azriel, you were thrilled to find out that he wasn't very good at taking care of himself. While, yes, he was great at seeing to his family's and friends' needs, he neglected his own.

That's why you believed you were perfectly compatible. You looked after him and vice versa.

After everyone reapplied the lotion, you stuffed it back into your bag and laid back.

You wondered how Azriel was doing. If he was sleeping enough or- you shook your head. He was a grown male who was fully capable of taking care of himself. He didn't need you to constantly worry over him.

Unexpectedly, Rhys' voice filled your head.

"You need to come home,"

"Is everything alright?"

A pause. "Azriel collapsed."

You were on your feet instantly, heart pounding wildly in your chest like a drum. "Mor."

Mor quirked an eyebrow, clearly displeased at how you were blocking the sun.

"I need you to winnow me home. Azriel's hurt."

As hastily as you had jumped from your sunbathing chair, Mor had you in her arms, the world shifting under your feet until you appeared on the roof of the townhouse. Cassian stood a couple of feet away, leaning against the railing, no doubt waiting to fly you up to the house of wind.

"How is he?" you hurried to Cassian.

He smoothed his hands down your arms to calm you down. "Rhys and I didn't mean to scare you. Azriel is in stable condition but he collapsed on me this morning at training with a burning fever."

Of course the male would attempt to train while being sick. Yet, the worry in your stomach relaxed. You knew how to treat a fever. When Rhys had told you the news, your thoughts had turned to Azriel being seriously, deathly injured.

You took a deep breath in and blew it out. "Take me to him."

Mor called from behind you, "I'm going to head back to the summer court. Update us please."

You turned around and gave her a hug, thanking her for bringing you. "Drink a mojito for me. And don't forget sunscreen."

The blonde chuckled and squeezed you before leaving.

Not ten minutes later, you slipped into Azriel's room, a frowning Madja concocting a tonic at the vanity.

"Good thing you're here, child." She sighed, exasperated. "He's been moaning your name as if he were on his deathbed."

"It's a pleasure to see you too, Madja."

You walked to the bed, taking in the male under the sheets. Azriel looked worn. His skin was leeched of his usual sun-kissed color. Lips chapped and breath raspy.

Your fingers danced along his brow, concern furrowing your own at the heat emanating from his skin. How had he managed to even get to the rooftop this morning while burning this hot? Fevers this bad took time to build.

"Azriel?" you whispered gently, opening the top drawer of the nightstand to retrieve a lip salve and applying it to his lips. It was devastating seeing Azriel looking so sick; a stark difference to his usual strong, put-together appearance.

He hummed, eyelids shifting.

Madja walked to you, holding out a vial. The older fae probably wondered often herself how these males managed to survive this far with the way they managed to overlook their needs. "Have him drink this when he is awake. He'll need plenty of fluids and rest."

"Is there anything he could take to make him less dense?" you teased.

She muttered something under her breath, eyes turned heavenward as if praying for patience. "If there was, I'd have given it to them long ago. The high lord is practically paying for my existence at this point."

"Your work has probably made the biggest dent in his coffers."

Madja grinned, patting your hand. "I trust that you will manage him just fine. He's been one of the bats that I've tended to less ever since you entered his life."

A warmth filled your chest at her words. Madja's praise wasn't given often so you didn't think much when you wrapped the healer into your arms. She grunted softly, reaching around to tap your shoulder in reciprocation.

"Thank you Madja. For the compliment and being here for him. He worries me sick at times." You let go and turned to Azriel was still slept.

"That's how you know you love them, child. You continuously fret over their welfare and wish to take away their pain." A softness entered her eyes as she looked at Azriel too. "All the things he's endured, he never deserved"

It made you sick to think of his father and step-brothers. Of the things they had done to Azriel when he was only a child; small and vulnerable. "They defintely deserved what they got." Your voice was cold, not a tone you usually took up.

Madja nodded just as your name was raspily called from the bed.

You were sitting immediately, brushing the hair from his forehead. "Azriel?"

Hazel eyes blinked open, bleary from sleep. The corners of his mouth quirked up as he took you in before promptly falling. "You're-" he coughed, "you're not supposed to be here."

"Why not?"

"You were in the summer court... having fun."

Soft lips pressed to the crown of his head. "And I'm here now and I want to make sure you're healthy."

"I didn't want you to leave early. You were so excited."

"I wanted to leave early. I wasn't going to continue having fun while my stubborn boyfriend was sick and fainting in the training ring. Do you know how bad you scared me?"

Madja quietly slipped out of the room, giving you privacy.

"'m sorry," he rasped.

You sigh, "Let's get you into a cool bath, shall we? It will help to bring your temperature down."

He let you help him up, muscled arm across your shoulder as you led him into the bathing room and stripped him of his clothes. "For the record," you said softly, pulling off his socks, "I'm not angry at you. Only disappointed."

"Why?"

You stood, holding his face in between your hands, looking down at him from where he sat on the toilet. "Because I love you and I want you to feel that you can come to me whenever you're not feeling great. I hate knowing you were suffering alone."

He cast his eyes down to the floor, "You're always taking care of me."

"Do you not... not want me to?"

Did he think your constant attention was annoying? Sure, some people thought you were overbearing but you thought Azriel appreciated it. Wouldn't he tell you otherwise?

"No, my love," he pressed his forehead to your ribs, shaking hands gripping onto your thighs. "I didn't want to burden you."

"You could never, ever, burden me." It was said with finality.

Hot air blew across your exposed midriff. "Love you,"

"And I love you." You sank to your knees so you were eye-level. Despite his flushed face, his eyes were full of so much love and gratitude. "And I love taking care of you. There is nothing in this world I would rather be doing. So let's get you into this bath and into bed so you can feel better, hm?"

As he lounged in the tub, head thrown back against the lip as you soothed a rag across his chest and face, you laughed. You only now realized you still wore your bathing suit.

He cracked open one eye.

"You must be severely under the weather to not even notice my outfit."

His eyes scanned your body, tucked into the scanty blue bikini. "Is that color...?"

"The same color as your siphons? Yes."

The water disturbed as he lifted out a hand, bringing it to the nape of your neck where it was tied. You shivered at the cold of the water. Then you gasped as, with one expert flick, it became undone. You barely had time to catch the strings before you flashed Azriel. "Az!" you scolded, face pink.

"Can't a dying man admire his girlfriend's beautiful body?"

"You're not even dying." You tied the strings once more. "How about this? When you're fever breaks and you aren't falling asleep every five minutes, I'll let you admire me as much as you wish."

He smirked in reply, waving his hand haughtily. "Carry along with your ministrations then. I need to recover quickly."

You giggled as you continued to blot the cloth at his warm skin.

Later that night, when you were both tucked into bed, you smiled to yourself. Azriel was practically sunken into your skin with how his legs were intertwined with your own, arms wrapped tightly around your torso, and face tucked into your neck.

You truly did enjoy taking care of him.

[mangooes]

Phone Calls (the right timing)

Crimson mist writhed like serpents through the half-demolished warehouse. Crates exploded, metal clashed, and panicked mercenaries scattered like insects under a magnifying glass. In the center of the chaos stood Sylus—calm, graceful, terrifying. One hand in his pocket, the other glowing with spiraling black-red as his evol finishes it's dirty work. He effortlessly dodged an incoming blade with a tilt of his head.

“Was that supposed to hurt?” he drawled, eyes gleaming with bored cruelty. “Try again.”

Just as the poor fool lunged—

Bzzzzzz— His phone buzzed.

(Name).

The second her name flashed on the screen, Sylus blinked—and smiled.

“Ah,” he murmured. “My sweet wife’s calling.”

The next moment was surreal.

The entire warehouse froze. Literally.

His evol lashed out in every direction like a net, suspending men midair, trapping them in red-black tendrils, halting time for everyone except himself. Blades stopped inches from his body, bullets hung in the air like glinting beads of rain.

Sylus stepped back, brushing invisible dust off his coat with the elegance of someone about to enter a gala, and answered the call—his voice switching from cold to buttery soft in a millisecond.

“Kitten,” he purred, smiling now, “what a lovely surprise.”

On the other end of the line, his wife’s voice was casual but suspicious.

“Are you outside? I heard a boom just now”

“Hmm?” he hummed innocently, turning slightly to glance at the half-exploded vehicle and the mess behind him. “Ah, that? Construction noise. Faulty pipes. You know how busy the N109 Zone is.”

“Uh-huh. You better not be mid-fight again, especially at this hour.”

Sylus leaned against a splintered crate with all the grace of a lazy dragon, ignoring the floating thugs. “Sweetheart, you wound me. I’m not even sweating.”

“I called because Staryus ate your socks again. I told you to keep them in the closed drawer... Now i'm affraid i have to take him to the vet again for another check up. Anyway, what do you want for dinner Sysy?”

His voice dropped with affection, smug even. “You. Wrapped in an apron and nothing else.”

“Sylus.”

He chuckled. “Fine, fine. Surprise me, kitten. I’ll be home in twenty.”

“You better be. And no scratches this time, I don't want to see my husband with a single drop of blood onsight.”

“Not a mark, and not a single drop,” he promised, smiling fondly.

The moment she hung up, his entire personality changed again.

He turned back to the frozen thugs, cracking his neck, his tone slipping into lazy menace. “Right. Now… where were we?”

With a flick of his fingers, the world unpaused.

And the men screamed.

HAIII DID U GUYS MISSED ME!! I'm sorry i was on vacay for a week so i wasn't able to upload anytime askjdnsakjdas, anyways ITS ALMOST MY BOY'S BDAY!! IM SO SO EXCITED FOR SYLUS'S BDAYY AAA, I will be dedicating a fluff fic for his bday and also other fluff fics for his bday countdown! so stay tuned everyday for a new chapter :)

[hheonki]

ೀ C U GIRL (／＼)

I wanna see you girl I wanna please you girl

Alternatively: Behind the facade of rivalry, You and your bf share a secret romance—full of teasing, stolen moments, and the constant fear of getting caught in school wherein everyone believes you two can’t stand each other.

정원 x gn! reader ✦ est. secret relationship, academic rivals ★ 1.1k ✴︎ oneshot ☘︎ fluff, crack, close proximity, one curse word, Jungwon in love, playful teasing (as kids till now, still dumb)

notiza: lwk inspired by les - childish gambino but steve lacy also works me thinks

The whole school knew the rivalry between you two, but not the kisses and the sweet nothings easily spilling from your mouths, that you shared secretly.

Yang Jungwon did not care if the other students found out about your relationship, he seemed to always be in your space bubble.

More under the cut!

No matter how persistently you told him

“We can't get caught”

He would tune it out and gaze mischievously at your face as he brings up his hands to hold up your cheeks with gentleness and warmth.

Gazing with fondness and adoration as if you'd hung the stars in the sky. Introducing a new world that was once so unknown to him. Now filled with love, affection, tenderness, and soft intimacy.

Even in the classroom as the teacher in the front lecturers about Trigonometric Graphs, sitting across from you, he tries to peep toward your way, only to catch you already staring.

No matter how many times this has already happened it never seemed to change, ending with the both of you flustered and trying to concentrate on the lesson.

After classes, he whisks you away to an empty classroom. Confused, you ask “Aren't you supposed to meet up with your friends?”

“I'll meet up with them after school” Jungwon answers nonchalantly, peeking at you from time to time.

Absent-mindedly, you said “Oh well.. I'm going to work on my homework we got in the morning”.

Taking a seat on the first chair in sight you pulled out your materials.

A pout made itself evident on the boy's face, which seemed to give away he wasn't surprised by your actions.

“You seriously amaze me, everytime I pull you away from everyone's sight, you start doing school stuff”.

Glancing up at him, you squint your eyes, “I mean, what else do you want me to do?” and muttered “What if we get caught while being all lovey dovey, everyone believes we dislike each other..”

“And why's that?” asked the boy with feline like eyes. “We both know it started because of you” with a deadpan expression on your face you simply objected to his challenging question.

“What?” Jungwon drags out the question in disbelief with a frown adoring his face, a hand on his chest in mock offence.

you let out a sigh just at the thought of how annoying he was (still is).

“You would literally poke me for attention only to annoy me about how you got only one mark higher than me on your results.”

“Yeah but there was no need to kick me after!”

“Yes there was! you'd always pull my hair!”

Jungwons shoulder slumped as he took a trip down memory lane when he used to sit a seat behind you and pull at your hair, in hopes of getting your attention.

he had to admit he was glad he did so, or else he wouldn't call himself your friend and now boyfriend.

“Okay fine.. but that's what brought us together!”

He tried to convince you with an innocent look.

“You're so weird” you say with an amused laugh.

“But you like my weirdness”

“right” He challenged more than asked as he leaned over the desk to gaze down at your eyes, that he swore sparkle like the stars.

his trance wandered down to your plump lips, that called for him. The tension grew, the two of you however, quiet. As he leaned in, a sudden knock came from the classroom door.

Jungwons whole body stiffened as he stood straight like a pencil. “We should hide”

“Should we?” another knock “Hello is someone in there?” which sounded like a teacher's voice that was all too familiar.

"We should!" you whisper yell anxiously.

you grab your things to somehow hide them in the art supply cabinet. Jungwon pulls you from your waist “forget those”

“But-” you mutter but essentially give up after he drags you away “No buts babe now isn't the time..”

You hide inside the classroom storage that was usually filled with the old supplies covered in dust long forgotten but is somehow empty and clean now, which managed to fit you both as Jungwon pulled you closer toward his body.

“You alright?” he asks in a quiet tone.

"Yeah.." you could feel his shaky breath on your neck that sends goosebumps up your spine.

The classroom door opened with a ‘click’.

Footsteps seemed to near the storage, as you both looked at each other nervously but suddenly a booming voice was heard throughout the hallway which meant it was a group of rowdy friends.

The strides of the teacher became distant.

Which made you both let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

“That scared the shit out of me..”

as you looked at him he seemed to hold in his laughter, with a smack on his chest he finally burst out laughing. “Ow- What was that for?”

“We could have gotten caught!” with another smack on his arm, you try to pull away from his grip. “Yeah and we didn't, relax..” Jungwon’s hold on you only seems to tighten as you finally give in.

Leaning his head against your shoulder he inhales your scent, mumbling as suddenly a gloomy look adorned his face “I don't get why we have to keep our relationship a secret, not like we're committing a crime”

“I know.. it's just-” deep in thought you try to convey it the best way with words hoping he will understand “Even we are so used to us being..” ”opponents?” you roll your eyes at his words

“If you wanna put it like that, sure”.

His hands make their way to your cheeks tilting your head at an angle so your eyes lock as he gazes at every speck on your face “You know I love you?”

at his question you nod your head, snaking your hands over his.

“Then trust me” Jungwon utters in the softest tone possible, “We shouldn't care what others say, and that pretty head of yours is stressing to much”

both of you inch closer and his lips brush over yours as he eventually places tender kisses against the corner of your mouth before finally capturing your lips in a saccharine kiss hinting at a taste of the cherry airhead he ate earlier.

One of his hands trailed down to hold your waist, as if it was any more possible to be closer than already.

Your lungs felt like they might give up, so you tried to pull away to catch your breath but Jungwon had no intention to stop anytime soon.

With a poke to his chest, Jungwon laughs as he let's go, only for you to huff breathlessly,

“You sure you can't stay underwater for 20 minutes?” with a raised brow he was ready to tease you, “Can't handle a few kisses from your oh so loving boyfriend?”

“Oh my gosh, you're so annoying!”

you remark with no true malice underlying your tone while opening the door to the storage room, only to leave him behind trailing like a kicked kitty.

[ludwigplayingthetrombone]

Post war/coma comic about Gai struggling with his recovery

Since tumblr hates long form comics, I have to split this into 2 bc its 36 images. This is the first part, part 2 i'll either do as a reblog or a separate post right after this, stay tuned! Links to support me in pinned post <3

tw: s*icidal thoughts, injury, a little blood

Bisuke: Gai's Back!

Gai: GRAAH!

Kks: Im home Gai: Welcome back Kks: [wheels rolling] Hey,

Kks: Ga-!? Gai: Im fine. The tile is cool on my face. Kks: Wanna go lay down in bed? Gai: I am so /sick/ of lying down. Kks: Ok. What do you want for supper?

Gai: You're not going to comment? Kks: I already know what happened. You overdid it again. I should be able to keep up with chores, kakashi. Kks: You can. Just don' bull through it all in one go. Do you want to end up in the hospital again? Gai: Please don't. Kks: I know sitting still is hard for you, and "too much" is in your DNA, but you have to take this slow so you don't exacerbate your injuries, Gai. You went from hyper-aware to pretending your body limits dont exist. Gai: Like you haven't done the same.

Gai: You've proved your point. Kks: It's not about that. And you've dragged me to bed and out of bed repeatedly when I needed it. You were burning alive from the inside. Tsunade told you your immune system is out of whack. You need to take it easy. /I/ know you're capable, but are you trying to prove to /yourself/ you are? Gai: You want me to admit my embarrassment? Kks: If something serioud happens, You'll be even more embarrassed then

Gai: How could you possibly know how I FEEL?! How could you EVER KNOW HOW I FEEL?! Kks: I DON'T! But I've /been/ the one ouking and sobbing on your bathroom floor because I couldn't take living anymore! And I don't want that for YOU!

Kks: I'm sorry, Gai. Gai: I'm sorry

Kks: I can't stand knowing you're in pain, and I can't get you help. If there was a way, I'd do anything. Gai: You do so much to help me already.... And I yelled at you Kks: I've screamed at you so much, that was pretty tame. I wish I was like you with things like this. Not great with what to say...... But I can listen.

Gai: I hate feeling so weak. I'm tired all the time, in constant pain, I can't even walk-..... I can tell tenten and the boys worry despite my efforts to appear positive. Kks: They're just not sure how to react. They know you hate being babied, but don't want to push you into hurting yourself. You hate being told you can't do something. They love you. You get stronger everyday, everyone is cheering you on.

Gai: I know it's irrational, but... I feel like you gave up the Hokage position to take care of me. Kks: Haa!? I'm grateful if anything. I'd be retired too if I could. That'd be amazing. I'm dreading just helping Tsunade but as long as you're by my side, I'll be fine. We're still equals, rivals, friends, partners

Gai: Even if I can't- Kks: /Always/ wil be, dickhead. Gai: You worry about me hurting myself? Kks: I know you think about it

Kks: We're the same in that regard Gai: I would never act on this, please believe me, these thoughts are rare........... Kks: It's ok, Gai. Gai: Sometimes I think i should have just died. I feel so out of place on the streets I used to feel so at home at. I never asked to live. I didn't plan to. I just don't know how to-...

Kks: I understand that. Though, dying didn't feel any better. Gai: I know I didn't fully pass like you did. I didn't see papa. Just for a moment, I wish I could have seen him.

Kks: As much as I'm sure he wants to see you again, It's too soon. Dai'd slap the shit out of you for wanting to waste your youth just to see him. Gai: [chuckle] probably. Kks: I have those thoughts less and less now, but they're still there. "why am I the one who survives?" "Burden" "Gai will come to his senses eventually"

Gai: FALSE!! None of my grief is with you! I love living here with you! My love for you only burns hotter each day! You're so lovely inside and out! Kks: Maa What did I do to deserve such praise from teh mouth of the hottest man in Konoha?? Gai: YOU STILL THINK I'M HOT?! Kks: YOU-! [CACKLE]

Kks: Your bad taste is the only reason I had a chance before someone snatched you up. Gai: The worst. Kks: Thought we'd irritate eachother, but it's been pretty smooth. Even though you still get played by the dogs. Gai: You really wanna throw those stones?

Gai: They play you just as easily. don't lie. Kks: My point is, whatever you need from me, you have it. No questions asked. Even if you yell and scream, i can take it. You held me together when I was unraveling, and I'll never forget it. Didn't trust anyone else to see me like that. Broken

Gai: I never saw you as that. Kks: I'll never see you as that

[feyhunter78]

3 Times Luffy Thought You and Sanji were Acting Weird

Description: Luffy might not be an expert at emotions, but you and Sanji have been acting weird as of late and he’s taken notice.

Pt 2

Luffy likes to think he’s pretty in tune with the emotions of his crew, they’re his friends, his brothers and sisters-in-arms, his treasure hunting companions, and he knows them pretty well. But what he can’t figure out is why you and Sanji are being so incredibly weird.

One: It’s the pet names, the terms of endearment, as Sanji calls them. He has a million, from Mosshead for Zoro to madam for Nami though he only did that once and she hated it, but for you it’s never ending. Sweetheart, Princess, Love, Gorgeous, Darling, Goddess, and Dearest but that one only really comes out when he’s messing with you. And he flirts, nonstop, which seems to annoy other girls, but you don’t seem to mind it? In fact, you encourage it!

“Well, hello there, gorgeous, feel like walking my way?” Sanji smiles, putting out his cigarette as you enter the kitchen.

“Hm, try a better pick-up line and I might.” You say, tossing a smile Sanji’s way as you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest.

“Of course, love, allow me to try again.”

You raise a brow in anticipation.

“Y/N, sweetheart, grace this poor overworked cook with your healing presence, won’t you? Take pity on me oh merciful goddess.”

You roll your eyes but walk over to the kitchen island leaning on it, putting you parallel to Sanji, and tap your nails against the countertop with faux impatience. “You’re gonna have to do better than that to get me all the way over there.”

Sanji smiles and leans on the island as well. “How about this, princess? I make your favorites for lunch, and you sit pretty on the counter, keeping me company?”

You’re flustered, Luffy never sees you flustered! And it’s like you two have forgotten he’s even there as you round then hop up on the island, Sanji coming to stand at your knees, his hands planted on either side of you, caging you in, asking you a million questions about your favorite foods he knows Sanji already knows the answers to.

“What about lemon? A little zest to brighten your day?”

You smile, resting your head on your shoulder. “I do like citrus.”

“That is because you have excellent taste.”

“You flatter me. I’m sure I’ll like anything you make.” You tell him, playing with his tie, twirling it around your finger. “You’re an amazing chef.”

“Now who’s flattering who?” Sanji smiles, a slight pink tint crawling up his pale throat.

“I only speak the truth.” You shrug.

“Like the benevolent goddess you are.”

You release his tie, and lean back on your hands. “It’s a good thing you cook as well as you speak.”

“I do a lot things well, if you’re interested.”

You bite your lip. “Oh yeah?”

Sanji smirks, rolling up his sleeves as he starts pulling out bowls and various cooking utensils. “All you gotta do is ask darling.”

“When is lunch going to be ready?” Luffy asks, making his presence known once more.

“Be patient Luffy, good food takes time.” Sanji says, giving you and him a wink.

Two: You’re a star shooter, the fastest draw in the East Blue, and you dodge quick too, but Sanji always acts like the most minor scrapes and bruises are life threatening wounds. Even when you try to brush him off, like you’re doing now, rolling your eyes affectionately at Sanji as he fusses over you.

“Sanji, seriously I’m fine, it barely grazed me.” You tell him, lifting the gaze to see if your arm was still bleeding. You’re standing in the kitchen by the sink, Luffy leaning against the island, the rest of the crew scattered about, Nami and Ussop counting out the treasure you guy got on the table, Zoro cleaning the blood from his swords in the corner.

“You got shot y/n, you have to treat all bullet wounds seriously, they could get infected.” He says, grabbing a bottle from one of the cabinets and a clean rag.

You laugh softly, letting your head fall to the side and flashing Luffy a smile. “I’ve been shot like eleven times and never gotten an infection.”

Luffy laughs too, he never would’ve imagined you’d been shot at so many times, you always try to avoid trouble sticking to the back to get a clear line of sight. “Eleven times?”

You use your uninjured arm to make a so-so gesture with your hand. “Give or take. You don’t gain ownership of the golden guns without making a few people jealous enough to take a shot at you.”

“Just because you’ve never gotten an infection before doesn’t mean you won’t get one now.” Sanji chides, already pouring alcohol onto a clean rag preparing to disinfect the minor scrape on your bicep.

You hiss when he presses the rag to your arm and Sanji mutters soft apologies as he bandages you up, not even noticing the way you look at him, but Luffy does. You look at Sanji the way some sailors look at the ocean, like you can never quite pin it down, inexplicably drawn deeper, entranced and in awe of the sight before you, a smile playing on your lips.

“There we go gorgeous, all fixed up.” Sanji says, finishing tying the new gaze around your arm, his touch lingering, his lips pressing tightly together before they stretch out into a charming smile. “Next time let me get shot. I can still fight with an injured arm, you oh Lady of the Golden Guns, can’t.”

You crinkle your nose in response, the handles of said golden guns gleaming from within the holsters at your hips. “I shoot with both hands, what are you talking about? I can definitely still fight with one good arm.”

“That’s not the point sweet girl.” Sanji sighs, booping your nose with his index finger.

You rear back as if he’s offended you, but you’re still smiling. “What if you slip doing all that fancy footwork? You’ll need your arms to catch yourself.”

He shrugs. “I’ll just try to aim my fall so Zoro can catch me.”

“I’m not catching you.” Zoro says, not even glancing up from his swords.

You try to bite back a laugh, but Sanji catches you. “I’m hurt y/n, truly, you’re really betraying me like this? Such untold cruelty you put me through.”

You take a step forward and straighten the collar of Sanji’s striped button up. “No betrayal here, handsome, no cruelty either.” You let your hands linger and Luffy wonders if there’s something more to the action or if you just like how Sanji’s shirt feels.

Sanji’s face tints red, and your hands are flat on his chest now, sliding up towards his shoulders. Okay he’s gotta feel Sanji’s shirt, it can't be that soft. Luffy reaches out and feels the sleeve of Sanji’s shirt making you both turn to look at him. It feels like a normal shirt? Is he missing something?

“Y/N, why are you touching Sanji’s shirt so much? It just feels like a normal shirt.”

Zoro snorts, and you swiftly kick him, aiming for his ankle, ignoring him when he swears under his breath. “I’m just helping him straighten it out, it got wrinkled in the fight.”

Three: Sanji hates seeing you sad, maybe even more than Luffy does, and he hates to see any of his friends cry, and would do anything to cheer them up.

He’s watching the two of you, he knows you’re upset, it’s late, he’s up at the wheel and you’re sitting beneath one of Nami’s tangerine trees, your knees pulled up to your chest, your chin resting atop them, your shoulders shaking with subdued jerky motions like you’re trying really hard not to cry but can’t keep everything inside. He was going to go over and sit with you, make sure you weren’t alone but then he saw Sanji approaching from below deck.

He places a hand on your shoulder, and you look up at him, wiping at your eyes, clearly embarrassed. Sanji shakes his head and sits next to you, his hand still on your shoulder now moving to wipe away any stray tears.

You say something, but he can’t hear, and he sees Sanji’s face fall before he pulls you into his embrace, your face buried in the crook of his neck, your body wracked with sobs as he holds you tightly, his chin resting on the crown of your head.

You two sit like that for a while, until finally you pull back and wipe your face again. Sanji cups your cheeks looking at you in that weird gooey way he often does, saying something that again he annoyingly can’t hear. He should’ve tried to get closer, but he doesn’t want to make you feel more embarrassed than you already are.

Finally, once your tears have subsided, Sanji pulls you to your feet, and it looks like you’re thanking him. He presses a kiss to your hand with a flourish and you smile, it was a small watery smile but still a smile which Luffy is happy to see. You part ways with Sanji, leaving him beneath the trees, arms still wrapped around yourself but looser, eyes on the sunset.

Sanji watches you go, taking out a cigarette and waiting until you’re below deck to light it, taking a long slow drag before running a hand through his hair and leaning against one of the trees, still staring at the door you disappeared through.

He watches Sanji smoke for a while, the orange glow of his cigarette a single point of light, until the door to the lower decks opens back up, casting a sliver of light across the deck. It’s you, dressed for bed, your hair loose and face scrubbed clean.

Sanji snuffs out his cigarette meeting you halfway, bringing you both close enough for Luffy to catch a few words. “Y/N? I thought you were going to bed?”

“I tried but I just couldn’t fall asleep.” You say, stopping a hairsbreadth away from Sanji.

“Doesn’t seem like you gave it much of a try, love. You only went below deck ten minutes ago.” He chuckles softly, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear, fingertips lingering for a moment.

“It felt like longer.” You say almost breathlessly, looking up at Sanji with stars in your eyes.

“Yeah, it did.” Sanji hums in response, lifting a hand to caress the curve of your cheek.

You throw your arms around his neck, and Sanji’s hands settle on your waist and lower back, his head dipping down to meet yours and oh, oh, you’re…kissing Sanji? Sanji’s kissing you? He can’t really tell, you both moved so fast.

It’s intense, he watches through his fingers, trying to decide if he should let you both know he’s there or just close his eyes and ears. There’s a lot of wandering hands and noises, Sanji pushes you against the bulwark, you grab at his shirt, and yeah okay he’s going to say something.

Luffy coughs loudly, waving his arms. “Um guys I’m up here.”

You and Sanji jerk apart, Sanji’s face burning red while you bury yours in your hands. “Luffy! Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Your voice three octaves too high to be normal.

“Well, I didn’t know you guys were going to start kissing!”

Sanji clears his throat and straightens his clothing. “Why don’t we all calm down and I’ll take y/n to bed, Luffy you just keep your watch, I’ll go get—”

“I don’t want to know about you two having sex!” Luffy says, slapping his hands over his ears.

“That’s not what I meant, I’ll just escort her back to her room.” Sanji says, waving his hands frantically as if that would make everything go away.

You’re dying laughing nearly bent in half, leaning on the bulwark for support. “Sanji, Sanji it’s okay. Luffy nothing is going to happen between us tonight, I promise you, so you can uncover your ears.”

Luffy removes his hands and looks at you both warily. “Okay but I want extra bacon at breakfast tomorrow.”

“Deal.” Sanji says, offering his arm to you. “Shall we go then sweetheart?”

You take his arm, smiling up at him and Luffy’s glad to see it, maybe you two will stop being so weird now. “We shall.”