#i definitely see you in my notes all the time + please know that i am always happy to talk about hera whenever <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[museiest]

WE'RE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER .ᐟ gojo satoru

PAIRING. ceo!gojo x kindergarten teacher!reader

ABOUT. ceo!gojo discovers he has a son which leads him to the harmony fields kindergarten, where the woman who almost ran into him with her car in the morning is his son's teacher and the cause of his future sleepless nights.

NOTES. it's finally here!! had some trouble with the written part of this smau so that's why i took so long in posting it, this was the winner in this poll. this is a multi-part smau. harmony fields is the name of the kindergarten.

WARNINGS. enemies to lovers ⋆ typos ⋆ ignore timestamps ⋆ english is not my first language ⋆ written part (is sh!t y'all) ⋆ gojo's is insufferable ⋆ utahime's the owner of harmony fields ⋆ written part takes place a day after the incident and it's 1,04k words.

part one | part two | part three | more?

“Okay. . .remember what we practiced?” the white-haired man immediately asked as he helped the boy out of his car.

The kid nodded slowly and looked up at Satoru, waiting for him to hand over the chips he bought for him on the way here.

“I’ll give them to you, kid, but first, let’s practice one more time,” Satoru warned, “You're going to say that i'm your dad and that your mom is away on a trip, 'kay?”

“But you said that you weren't my dad, and my mom isn’t on a trip,” the boy pointed out seriously, making the blue-eyed man sigh.

“Just say it, please? if you don’t, i’ll take you to the police station and let them deal with you," Satoru threatened with a unsettling smile.

“He’s my dad, and my mom is away on a trip,” Megumi repeated, irritated by the man.

Truth is, he missed his mom and he wished she was there with him instead of the stranger who was taking care of him now.

“Yes! Good boy,” Satoru ruffled the Megumi’s hair like he was petting a dog, he definitely wasn't used to dealing with kids, especially one his age.

How do you even treat a five-year old? Was what had been going through Gojo's head since his son arrived at his apartment.

“Ah, Gojo! Right on time, looks like having a son is finally doing you some good,” Utahime called out as she walked towards the entrance of her kindergarten, where the dad and son duo were.

“Utahime, my least favorite person! it's been, what? two months?" he sneered.

“It’s always such a disgrace seeing you, Gojo," she said bitterly before putting on her best smile and looking at the five-year-old, “And you must be Megumi, right?”

“He’s my dad, and my mom is on a trip,” Megumi stated almost robotically, making the Harmony Field's director laugh.

“Wow, how cool!” she exclaimed, gesturing for them to follow her inside.

“Yeah, his mom is at a seminar in Europe,” the ceo lied smoothly.

“Europe? You must be very proud, Megumi,” the dark-haired woman tried to make some chitchat but Megumi remained silent, walking behind them as quietly as possible.

“’Gumi doesn’t talk much, but it’s something i- we’ve been working on. . .” Satoru excused himself with another lie, though Utahime barely paid attention, too focused on you approaching. It was the perfect opportunity to introduce you to the new dad and the new kid joining your class.

“Yn! Come over here, this is Gojo Satoru and his son, Megumi,” Utahime introduced, making your eyes widen in surprise as soon as you locked eyes with the man you almost hit with your car on your way to the kindergarten.

“You?/You?” you both said at the same time, his eyes sharp enough that if looks could kill, you'd be in a coffin with people saying how good of a person you were; and you just forced a polite smile to hide your annoyance at seeing him at your workplace, such arrogant man didn't seem like a father to you, not even a bad one, he just seemed like the kind of guy who didn't care for kids at all but there he was, putting on his best smile with his son who didn't look like him at all except for his eyes and messy hair.

“You two know each other?” your friend and colleague asked, looking between you both expectantly.

“Yeah. . .turns out this dad likes to go running in the middle of the street in the morning,” you muttered through gritted teeth, making the man scoff.

“Right. And it seems like there's more and more of those crazy drivers these days, dangerous, isn’t it?” Satoru shot back. You barely heard Utahime’s response, too focused on the annoyance bubbling inside you. Who did this guy think he was? He had to be some kind of irresponsible deranged idiot.

You rolled your eyes once more before glancing down and noticing the little boy looking at you curiously.

You crouched down to meet his eyes and be able to speak to him directly, the first impression with children was always the most important to you rather than the one with the parent, “Hi, sweetheart! you must be Megumi, how are you?” you asked kindly, you've loved kids since forever and it didn’t matter that this particular kid belonged to the most insufferable man you'd ever met.

Megumi’s eyes looked sad, distant and lost, as if all he wanted was to be anywhere but here. Still, you tried talking to him, sensing his struggle in interacting with people.

When he didn’t respond, you continued, “You know, in the classroom there's lots of kids your age who can’t wait to meet you. They’ve been so excited ever since we told them a new friend for them was coming. And guess what? Today’s your lucky day because we have a special activity with puppies! How does that sound?” you asked with a warm smile and at the mention of 'puppies,' Megumi’s eyes lit up, an expression of excitement appearing on his face for the first time since he got there along with a soft smile. Even Satoru seemed surprised to see it, he hadn't smiled at all when he was at his apartment and now he does with a complete stranger? not that he wasn't one either but the father (if you could call him that) had tried everything the day before to make the kid laugh and all he got was a 'you're not funny' from him.

“Are there really going to be puppies?” Megumi asked, a special glimmer in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Of course! So what do you say? Want to wait for them with the other kids?” you asked, extending your hand to his smaller one. Megumi glanced between his dad and you before nodding and taking your hand with a small smile still on his lips and that was the first step to make this kid as happy as he could be.

Without hesitation, you led him towards the rest of the class, happy that your first interaction with the boy had been a success. You just hoped things would stay that way, today, tomorrow and hopefully forever.

ARTIFACTS .ᐟ

• hari fushiguro is megumi's aunt, she's took care of him for two weeks and that was it. she didn't have enough money to raise him and her daughter so she went to gojo's apt since she remembered he had a lot of money when they hooked up and made up a story about her sister and him.

• toji's dead and tsumiki doesn't exist in this one since toji died before megumi was born.

• his mom died two weeks ago but since he's still a kid, he doesn't know how to process it so he thinks his mom left him and that's why his aunt didn't want him either.

• ofc gojo isn't his father but they make him believe he is.

• that's all!! enjoy <3

© MUSEIEST 2025

[yazzwrites6962]

heeey!! ^^ can u please write a oneshot with niragi x fem! reader where they hook up many times and slowly start feel in love w each other?

Inertia ♡ Suguru Niragi

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Suguru Niragi x Fem!Freaky!Reader ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Author's Note: UNEDITED! Thanks for the beautiful request! It really helped with some writer's block. For those of you waiting for the next part of redemption, it is coming. Don't worryyyy. I know I'm slow. It's probably what I'm slowest at writing. Sorry! I don't own any characters or images!

Genre: Fluffy smut

Summary: Nobody can satisfy you, and your addiction to absolutely crazy, meaningless sex. Commitment has never been something you cared for, until you met someone equally as wild as you.

Word Count: 4881

Warnings: OOC Niragi (he's kinda a softie), language, mentions of death, sexual content, penetration, name calling, bondage, degradation, praise, cream pie, blood, injury, and weapons.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It was always meant to be a casual thing.

The pressure of fighting for your life was something which weighed on everyone at The Beach. Everyone had their vice. The way they coped with the idea that they may not live to see tomorrow. You were no exception.

Sex. Mindless, meaningless sex with strangers you may never see again. Commitment was never your strong suit, even outside the Borderlands.

Unfortunately, not everyone could live up to your expectations. You liked it wild. Rough. No strings attached. Everyone you met had always disappointed you in one way or another.

"I think I'm starting to fall for you, Y/N."

"Oh, I think that's a little 'out there' for my taste..."

"Maybe we could grab dinner tomorrow night?"

"I wouldn't even know how to tie a knot like that-"

"I don't think I can handle another round..."

My god. Disappointing. All of them. It seemed it was too much to ask for a decent night of pleasure. Then, you met the man who would restore your hope for a release.

You'd heard the whispers about Niragi. How rough he could be. How he loved to mix a pinch of pain into pleasure. How he would kick a girl out of his room after he was done with them. It sounded like the perfect arrangement.

Lord, it was perfect.

The way he tied you up and watched you squirm on his fingers was perfect. The way the cold metal of his tongue piercing pressed against your clit was perfect. The way he bit and bruised you was perfect. The names he called you was perfect. The way he filled you with cum and let it seap out onto the bed was perfect.

Thus, a silent agreement was born. Crazy sex with no strings attached.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"Holy fuck." He groaned in your ear, as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs. "You're always s-so fucking tight." His hips stuttered as he bucked against you, the head of his throbbing cock pressing against your walls.

You let out a muffled whimper behind the soaking panties which had been shoved in your mouth earlier. Drool dribbled down your chin, mixing with the tears of pleasure rolling down your cheeks.

Niragi's pulled back to get a good look at the sight before him. His sweat dripped from his head onto your chest, where his right hand latched itself roughly onto your rope decorated breasts.

"You're so fucking beautiful." He growled, nails digging into your delicate skin. His cock twitched as he grew closer to his release. You whine, throwing your head back in ecstasy. "Shit-!" Niragi suddenly buckled forward, arms caging around you to prevent himself from collapsing onto you.

His forehead pressed against yours in an intimate manner. You could feel his hot, ragged breath on your face. His thrusts grew sloppy, and the sound of wet skin slapping echoed around the walls. Niragi's poor neighbors were definitely losing sleep because of all the noise.

"I'm gonna cum- Shit!" He cursed. You let out a squeal, indicating to him that your climax was soon to follow. True to his word, he let out a broken moan and his movements slowed as you both finished together. His cum spilled into you, a full feeling that always left you satisfied.

He pulled out of you, admiring the white sticky liquid leaking out of you. He gathered as much as he could onto his fingers, pushing the substance back into you. You shivered, still sensitive.

"I know you love that, you naughty slut." He chuckled, tearing your panties from your mouth and replacing them with his fingers. "Lick it clean." You did as you were told, coating his fingers in saliva. His brows furrowed as he pulled his hand back.

"Untie me now?" You grin, body squirming. You were restrained by bright red roped, which surely left marks and bruises on your skin. Not that it mattered. Niragi makes sure to leave marks in any way he can.

"...Yeah. Yeah." Something seemed off. Niragi had a strange, confused expression on his face as he untied you, gently. Very gently, as if he wasn't animalistically pounding into you moments before.

"You okay?" You ask against your better judgement. You and Niragi never really talked about feelings. It's easier to stay emotionally detached that way.

"Yeah." He grumbled, fully releasing you from your bindings. You sat up, rubbing the rope burns. You opted not to ask any further. You simply slipped out of the soiled bed, searching for your scattered clothes.

You dressed yourself, mind wandering to the steamy shower you planned on taking upon returning to your room. Your skin felt dirty, covered in sweat and fluids beneath your clothes. You were nearly half dressed when you turned to see Niragi.

He was still nude, in a kneeling position on the bed, staring down at the wet stains in the sheets. He seemed completely out of it. What happened? Just a couple hours ago, he was dragging you by the wrist into his room. Was it a bad game earlier today? You'd heard half his group didn't come back alive. You would have to attend another game soon too, as your visa would end in two days.

You opened your mouth to speak but ultimately decided against it. He said he was fine. Besides, this was just about hooking up. Feelings and sex should never mix. That's what you always told yourself.

"See you soon." You said once you were dressed. Niragi had finally moved. He was shirtless, but there were grey sweatpants covering his lower half. "My visa ends in two days."

"I know." He scoffed, as if it was an insult for you to remind him. "I'll meet you in your room, if you come back alive." He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his nightstand.

"Gee, thanks for the words of encouragement." You roll your eyes, slipping into your sandals and trudging to the door. Your legs trembled, sore from the activities that occurred in the past couple hours.

You shut the door behind you, leaving Niragi smoking alone on his dirty bed. The poor guy would probably have to go through all the effort of washing his sheets at such an ungodly hour.

But to him, that effort was worth it.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You trembled, but not in the good way. Your legs buckled beneath you, and your hand pressed firmly against the gash in your stomach. Tonight's game was treacherous. Violent.

Your head spun, the way it felt when you were drunk. That was the exact reason you would tend to steer away from substances. Because they made your mind foggy, and you wanted to be present. Especially with Niragi. Especially when he was on top of you, rearranging your guts.

How could you possibly think of him right now? On the verge of death? When your guts were actually literally at risk. Who else was there really to think of? You hadn't made any friends at The Beach. Was Niragi a friend?

No. Of course not. He's a stranger.

You don't know his age. His profession. His likes. His dislikes. You don't know what time he wakes up in the morning, or how he takes his coffee. You don't even know his favorite color.

"Get up!" Someone shouted, tugging your arm. Fortunately, it was someone on your team that found you. If it weren't, surely you would be dead by now. You let out a hiss of pain as the woman pulls you up. "What happened?!"

She looks old enough to be your mother, but the scars littered on her body don't give you a comforting feeling. The games have clearly not been very kind to her.

"Someone got me. With... a cleaver or something?" You groan as the woman looks at your wound. At the beginning of the game, everyone had the chance to grab a weapon. You were not quick enough and were unfortunately left with a screwdriver.

"Jesus." She whispers, shoving you slightly. "Just stay alive 'til the end of the game, yeah?" She says before leaning you against the wall, running off in the direction of some distant gunshots.

"Yeah." You wince, watching her go. All you had to do was have more members alive on your team than the opposing one. Then, you could go back to The Beach.

God, you were probably in no state for the mind-numbing sex you needed so badly. You wished you could have anything to distract from the searing pain.

You were lightheaded. It took every ounce of strength to pull the little device out of your pocket and check how much time was left in the game.

Literally just one more minute.

You wondered which team had more players now. Were you going to have a laser beam shot through your head, or would you succumb to blood loss? You didn't want to die, but the way your head spun, it felt nearly inevitable.

Looking down, you saw just how much blood came out of your body. It pooled through your shirt, down your pants, and onto the ground you sat on. It was more than you thought a human could lose before blacking out. Then again, you're no doctor.

You checked your phone again. The game had already ended. When did that happen? You didn't hear any announcements. How long had you been sitting there? Time blurred together, and a migrane began piercing through your skull.

"Oh my fuck." You half whisper, half groan, shifting to try and stand up. You kept your palm pressed against your stomach, trying to retain as much blood as possible.

"Shit- What are you doing?" Said a muffled voice. It was that woman again. "Stop moving, young lady!" She came to your aid, letting you lean on her as you walked back to the car you came in.

"When did the game end?" You ask hazily, limping. The car finally game into sight, and a sigh of relief left your lips. You would be back in your nice, cozy bed soon enough.

"Only a couple minutes ago." She answered, dumping you into the backseat. The car was not so crowded as it was when you arrived. "Relax. You'll be fine. Just stay awake."

"Thank you." You exhaled, laying your head against the headrest. "Thank you." You repeated. You didn't know this nice woman's name, and you probably would never see her again, but you were grateful for her kindness.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Thank god for the medical team at The Beach. You were stitched up nicely and wrapped in a bunch of band aids. You were lucky that your vital organs were missed. Unfortunately, there weren't any heavy painkillers left for you, so you had to tough it out with some over-the-counter pills.

You stumbled up the stairs and to your room. You were advised not to take a shower, which sucked considering how gross you were feeling. You push the door open, only to be met with an irritated face.

"Where the fuck were you?" Niragi spat; tone laced with frustration. His hand found your hip, and he pulled you closer, to which you stumbled into his chest and let out a hiss of pain.

"W-Watch it!" You yell, pressing your hands against his chest and trying to push him away. "I think tonight isn't exactly a good night, Niragi. Go find someone else."

"What happened?" He questioned harshly, almost as if this were some sort of interrogation. He pulled your shirt up before you could protest, and he was met with blood-spotted bandages.

You were fortunate you had the privilege of wearing actual clothes on The Beach. Technically, you were not supposed to, but who was going to stop you? You were not officially Niragi's girl, but everyone knew you two had something going on based on the moans and thumps that bounced through the halls whenever you were in the same room.

"What happened?" He repeated, releasing your shirt. You sigh, pulling away from him and limping to your bed, carefully positioning yourself at the edge.

"Nothing. Nothing. Just needed a couple stitches and all. I'm fine. It was bound to happen eventually." You peel off a couple extra layers of clothing. You just want to sleep after the rough day you've had. "Can we just postpone anything until after I'm a little more healed?"

"A lot more healed." He scoffed. You tilt your head, shooting him a curious look. "We're not doing anything until you're a lot more healed. Not just a little." He clarifies.

"Aww. I didn't know you had a heart somewhere in that muscly chest of yours." You tease, fumbling with your blankets. Somehow, you can't seem to place the comforter over yourself. You huff, giving up and settling for the tangle of bedding uncomfortably resting on top of you.

"I just don't want my huge cock pushing your organs out of your body." He chuckles. Niragi approaches your bed and grips the messy sheets, carefully flattening and fixing them over you. "I will be back for that killer pussy."

"Dear god, I hope so." You give him a weak smile, sleep already tugging you away from consciousness. It's a shame you were too tired to keep your eyes open long enough to see Niragi lean in, but hesitate, opting not to place a kiss on your forehead.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Niragi threw the half-naked stranger out of his room. She cursed at him, throwing up the middle finger before storming back to wherever she came from. He didn't even fuck her. He couldn't. His mind wasn't in the right place.

Niragi hadn't fucked anyone in weeks, and it was driving him mad. He tried, but no matter how hot the girl was, he couldn't touch her. Something was distracting him.

Now was not the time to grow a conscience. He'd killed, he'd raped, he'd stolen. He was far from being a "moral" person. So what was it that kept him from getting his dick wet?

It didn't feel as good as it felt with you. What was it about you that made the sex so special? Your soft skin? Your sweet scent? Your unforgettable taste? What did your body have that he couldn't find somewhere else?

It was sickening. Like a true addict, he couldn't take another minute without plowing into you. So why? What was he waiting for? Your wound to heal? That never stopped him before.

After a couple shots of tequila and a cigarette, Niragi decided he would pay you a visit. He hardly ever checked on the progress of your injury. The two of you never really spoke outside of your nightly escapades.

His knuckles tapped against your door. His heart raced. Why was there such anticipation about seeing you? It was just you. Just some girl who gave great head and let him do pretty much whatever he wanted to your body. Then the door swung open, and your tired eyes met his.

"Niragi." Fuck, just the way you said his name made him rock hard. "Hey. I've missed your company." You grin with a wink. He tenses, pushing his way into your room without asking. You roll your eyes, shutting the door.

"How's the gash?" He asks gruffly, spinning you around by your shoulder and lifting your shirt. There isn't blood leaking through your bandages anymore. You've healed quite nicely. "Are you fuckable?"

"Geez, what happened to 'Hello, how are you?'" You joke. "It's healing up just fine. I'm probably fuckable, but I heard you were with another girl tonight, so I didn't bother." Your tone sharpened slightly. Niragi had supposedly been with a new girl every night, since he couldn't have you.

"Is someone jealous?" Niragi cackled, hand tracing your hip. His touch was mindful and gentle, quite the opposite of what it usually was.

"Not a chance." You reached up, fingers tracing his jawline. "So, tell me, why are you here with me? Not with her?" His gaze faltered slightly, scanning from your eyes, toyour lips, to your collarbones, and back to your eyes again.

"Your ass is better." He smirked, hands wandering. "You've got a better body than anyone in this god forsaken place. Plus, you let me do things like this."

One of Niragi's hands cupped your cheek. His thumb shoved its way into your mouth, pulling your lips apart. You obediently opened wide, sticking your tongue out for him as he spat onto it. You swallow it, and he shudders.

"You nasty freak." He shivered as your fingers brushed along his adam's apple.

"You like it." You state confidently before crashing your lips onto his. His palms are planted against your waist, keeping you stable as you devour each other in a passionate kiss.

He leads you to the bed, setting you against the mattress softly, tongue never leaving your mouth. Something feels gentler. The Niragi you remember would have no trouble tearing your clothes off and shoving you onto the bed.

His hands are meticulous, peeling each garment away like you are a fragile porcelain doll. Your fingers lace into his hair, pulling it until his lips disconnected from yours.

"What are you doing?" You ask. This was not the thrilling sex that you'd reached out to him for in the first place. This was too intimate. Too caring.

"Taking your fucking clothes off?" He leaned forward to kiss you again, but you tugged his hair back once more. His eyebrows knit and a frown was planted on his face. "What?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about." You squint. "You're being all gentle and stuff. By now I should've had my ankles over my shoulders."

"Don't be stupid. That could break your stitches. I'm not being fucking gentle." He stood, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it over his shoulders.

"My stitches are fine. Just use me already." You whine, spreading your legs and exposing yourself to him. He groans, fumbling with the buckle of his belt.

His pants are pooled at his ankles before your eyes. His cock twitching and leaking at the sight of you. God, how he's missed this. He's desperate for it, but something is still holding him back.

He doesn't slam himself inside you, thrusting at the speed of light. Instead, he is slow, rubbing his tip against your entrance in careful circles. You bite your lip, eager for what is to come.

He stretches you out, entering you inch by inch. He chokes out a sound somewhere between a whine and a groan. He sounds heavenly. He feels heavenly. You're not sure where the courage comes from, but you wrap your arms and legs around him, pulling him until his chest met yours. In his ear, you giggle, and whisper:

"Oh, have you missed me, my good boy?"

He lets out a sharp exhale, his hips bucking forward suddenly, bottoming out inside you. He certainly wasn't expecting you to say that.

"H-Holy fuck-!" He growls; his eyes tightly squeezed shut. "What the fuck, Y/N- You can't just... Ngh... Say that-" His words are spoken through broken whimpers.

You roll your hips, and Niragi pulls back slightly before ramming into you. Finally. There's the Niragi you have been looking for. Your tongue scraped against his earlobe as he thrusts into you.

Your back arches in response to the waves of pleasure pulsing through your body. Then, there's a pain. You wince. A small movement that any other man wouldn't have noticed.

But Niragi noticed.

He knew all your movements like the back of his hand. He knew how you spasmed every time you climaxed. He knew how your breath would hitch when he touched you in certain ways. Your body was a work of art, and he knew every brushstroke.

He normally had no problem with a little pain mixing in with pleasure. In fact, he relished in it. This was different. He paused, eyes scanning your bandaged stomach for signs of blood.

"N-No- Don't stop." You grip his arm tightly. "Please, don't stop. I'm okay, I'm fine. Really." You plead. He bites his lip, nodding as he continued. Gently.

There were no ropes. There was no candle wax. No knives or guns. No gags. No interesting new positions. It was not exactly the sex you imagined you would have that night, but it felt so good.

It felt good in a way you could hardly ever achieve without trying some kinky new experiment with a new person. It felt safe, warm, and precious. You could stay with Niragi like this forever.

You could stay cradled in his arms, in boring old missionary, his small sounds of pleasure whispered right into your ear. You could spend every night with his chest against yours, hearts beating so near to one another.

"Fuck." He whispered, lips tickling your ear. "You squeeze so nicely around me. So warm and wet. It's like you were molded for me. Shit... It's so good."

"I-I'm close-" You whimper, but he doesn't need to be told. He knows your body. He knows you. His lips met yours again, swallowing all your desperate cries into his throat.

You squeeze around him, reaching your climax and leading him to the same fate. He bucks into you in several fluid motions, him cum seeping deep inside you as he grunts into your mouth.

He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes shut as you both catch your breath. You stay like that, in his arms while he slowly softens inside you. A couple strands of his hair drape in front of your face, tickling your nose.

He pulls out, opening his eyes and searching for the clothes discarded carelessly off the side of the bed. Before he can do so, something else catches his attention.

"You're bleeding." He sits up. You do the same, looking towards your bandages. Blotchy crimson stains leak through the pristine white wrappings.

"Oh, fuck." You toss your legs over the edge of the bed, searching for your clothes. "That's okay. I'll just run down to medical and have them fix me up."

"You're so dumb." He spits, dressing himself quickly, keeping note of where all your clothes have landed too. You slap his hands away when he tries to lift you from the bed.

"I don't need help. Since when do you care anyway?" He scowls, throwing open a drawer in your wardrobe and tossing a new pair of panties at you. It surprises you that he remembers which drawer they were in.

"Since my personal fleshlight can't handle a little fuck session." He sneers. You scoff, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him, hard. The ragged motion makes you hiss in pain. "Don't fucking do that-"

"Don't tell me what I can or can't do." You shout, dressing yourself. "If you've got such a damn problem, then don't fuck me anymore. Go back to your other little toys. What's the big deal?"

He opens his mouth to speak but stops himself before the words can leave his lips. His gaze is sharp, almost like he's scolding you with his eyes.

You pick up a few of your things, slip your little beach sandals on, and leave the room without saying goodbye. Niragi knows the way out. It's not like he deserves a goodbye anyway.

You're nothing more than a hookup to each other, right?

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

He watched as you dressed yourself, moving slowly as not to open your stitches again. You always found your way back to each other. You just couldn't get enough of the sex. Of his presence.

"You wanna spend the night here?" He offered nonchalantly. You peek over your shoulder, eyeing him. "So you don't gotta walk, and climb the stairs, and all."

"You're a big softie." You accused, but you were genuinely considering the offer. Your legs couldn't take much more exercise. "You never cared about me walking and climbing stairs before."

"Yeah, well your body got sliced open by some maniac, so..." His sentence drifted. You smiled and sighed, as if the decision was really so hard.

"Fine. Fine. Just for tonight."

"Just for tonight."

Tonight became every night.

Now, laying on his bare chest with him arm around you, you found yourself thinking back to that night when it began. At first, it was just sleeping beside one another. Then, somehow, you grew closer and closer every night until you were constantly searching for each other's warmth.

It was still a casual thing though, of course.

You can casually cuddle with a guy, right? Everyone likes a little affection now and then. You can casually shower with someone too. After all, those showers often progressed into something much steamier. You can casually have breakfast with him, right? Just to re-energize from the activities the night before. You can casually wear his clothes, right?

Fuck. Wrong. This didn't feel casual at all anymore. This felt so intimate. You felt like roommates, but roommates who fucked. Roommates who fucked and liked each other's presence. Roommates who fucked, liked each other's presence, and could spend the rest of your lives with one another?

Shit! This wasn't casual anymore.

"I can hear the gears turning." Niragi sleepily mumbled into your hair. You shifted, looking at the time. Three thirty-five in the morning. No time to still be awake.

"What? Gears?" You chuckled, turning on your side and facing him. His eyes were shut, and his face seemed peaceful. "I didn't wake you somehow, did I?"

"Gears. In your brain. I hear them turning." He muttered, eyes opening. "What the fuck are you still thinking about this late at night?"

"Just... game stuff."

"You're a terrible liar." He sighed. You were about to scoff, as if offended by his comment, but he was right. That was a lie. "You have a tell, you know."

"W-What? No, I don't." Damn Niragi. He knows you too well. Your expressions, your movements, your tells. "I just can't sleep. Leave me alone."

"You do. It's not like you would know what your tell is, dummy. You're you. Now don't lie to me. What were you thinking about?" He said, voice stronger as his body woke.

"It's just that..." The words left your mind, and suddenly, you have no idea how to formulate your thoughts. "Do you like... Have feelings for me?"

"Feelings?" He raised an eyebrow. "I mean, obviously. I feel like you've been blessed with an unbelievably wet, tight pussy." He laughs. "I feel like you're annoying as hell."

"No, that's not what I meant." You groan, shoving him playfully. "I mean... Hear out my thought process here." You shit up, back leaning against the headboard. "We don't fuck anyone except for each other, right? We practically live together. We eat meals together. We sleep together. We do all the stuff that a couple would. Right?"

"Expect we're not." He rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "What're you trying to say? You want me to call you some shitty ass pet name or something?"

"No! I'm just thinking... Nevermind." You grumble, laying back down onto the bed with your back turned to him. His arm wrapped around you and pulled you closer into him.

"Commitment is stupid." He began. "I've never liked labels and shit. If you're gonna fuck, just fuck. If you're not, find someone else to fuck," A silence filled the room, and for a moment, you thought that was all he had to say. "But if you want to be called some silly pet name, I'll do it. Everybody already thinks we're a thing anyway."

"That's not what I asked for." You said softly, turning back around to face him. "I asked if you had feelings for me. Real feelings, I mean."

"Do you?"

"I asked you first." You shut down his attempt to dodge the question instantly but also bought yourself time to think of the answer. "Do you have feelings for me? It's a yes or no question."

Silence.

It grew so quiet, that if it weren't for hearing his racing heart, you would've thought he msut've fallen asleep again. You were about to give up and make an attempt as slumber as well, but he spoke.

"Yes." He said yes. He said yes?! Niragi, the most disgustingly ruthless bastard said yes? Of course, he said yes. There was a softness you brought out in him that couldn't be seen by anyone else. "Do you have feelings for me?"

How could this happen? This was the whole point of the arrangement you'd had. Non-committal, fun, kinky sex. It was just a way to blow off steam.

But now you knew how old he was. Now you knew his job back home. You knew what he liked, and what he didn't. You knew what time he rolled over and woke up in the morning. You knew how he wanted his coffee. You knew his favorite color.

You knew him, and he knew you. Miraculously, you knew each other. You saw each other, in the rawest way a person could ever see another human being, and you could envision knowing each other for the rest of your lives.

"Yes."

[fayes-fics]

The Wonderful Unexpected: Chapter 1

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU (future chapters)

Chapter Summary: it’s Christmas, but it’s beginning to look a lot like a shitshow…

artwork by me

Warnings: None really... swearing and non-graphic character attack and injury.

Word Count: 1.9k

Author's Note: Welcome to Chapter 1 of my next multi-chapter! A modern rom-com based on While You Were Sleeping. This is really just getting the wheels in motion, where she encounters Anthony. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis. Thank you to @colettebronte for beta reading. Please enjoy! <3

The first time you see him, your heart almost stops.

It is a Monday morning, your first shift in your new job at a coffee shop on a dreary day in late October, when he sweeps in, a blur of athletic movement in a sharply tailored suit. 

Your boss, the store manager, Gen, starts to make his drink, double espresso, without him even having to say a word. And seemingly, just like that, he is gone again, you standing there, stupefied, awkwardly clutching the milk-frothing pitcher.

And thus, it begins. 

Every weekday between 8:01 and 8:15, Prince Charming glides in, grabs his cup and is gone—a beautiful mirage with amazing cheekbones and a watch that costs more than your annual rent. It's like your world goes into slow motion, and, to steal a phrase from your dearly departed Dad’s favourite song, birds suddenly appear every time he is near. 

Anyway, one random, soggy Thursday, the fates intervene, and it's your turn to serve him. As soon as you see him striding purposely towards the shop, you start his drink, butterflies in your stomach. The smile he bestows upon you is dazzling… even if his attention is slightly diverted by the call he is on. 

Sparks shoot up your arm and into your chest as your fingers brush his briefly as you hand over the small cup.

Surely, this is meant to be? 

He is perfect. Your husband (he just doesn't realise it yet).

All you need is a way to introduce yourself…

—

It's the end of your shift three days before Christmas when Gen sidles up to you, an odd expression on her face.

“I’d like to recommend you for Employee of the Month.” 

“Didn't know there was one,” you shrug, having no idea what that could mean. You suspect not a great deal. Barista is no one’s chosen career. This is very much what you hope is a pit stop on your way to better things. A way to pay the rent until you get your big break. Or get to go travelling.

“Oh yes, well, it's been a few weeks now, and really, you’re my best employee. You are never late, always reliable, never get an order wrong, and are friendly to all the customers…” She trails off, looking very sheepish. “And if you are willing to work Christmas Day… ”

“Christmas Day!? Why are we even open on Christmas Day anyway? It’ll be dead, even around here,” you frown, putting down the cloth you were wiping the counter with.

“Owner policy,” she shrugs. “It's only for four hours in the morning - 7 til 11. If you do, it’s quadruple pay...” she lilts, attempting to make it sound appealing.

You squirm uncomfortably, not wanting to let her down but also really not wanting to work on that day. You were looking forward to a duvet and Netflix day with the second most handsome creature in the world (and definitely the most loyal), Chairman Meow.

“Look,” Gen petitions softly. “Prue still has bronchitis. Edie can't switch because she's got some big trip to see her cousins, and l promised my kiddos that I'd be there for them this year… l know it isn't fair, and I can't force you to do it... but you mentioned you are single and your parents are gone. You're the only one…” she trails off, looking awkward.

“...Without family…” you supply glumly, already knowing you will capitulate. At least quadruple pay will come in handy.

—

You are struggling to haul your Aunt Hilda’s Christmas ‘gift’ - a frighteningly enormous box you can tell is choked full of ugly breakables - up the stairs after a long shift when he materialises as he always seems to, just when it is most inconvenient.

Not your prince. No. Sadly not.

Albion “Alby” Finch. 

Yep, quite the name. Not one anyone could live up to. But perhaps particularly not him. The well-meaning owner of the building who lives in the ground floor flat. Still adjusting to his status as a landlord since his father passed last year, he is boundlessly friendly in that untrained puppy way. Always wanting to help but always somehow ending up more of a hindrance than anything. 

“Oh y/n, that looks tricky; allow me!”

He pushes his glasses up his nose with a pointer finger, then immediately lunges forward and grabs the other side of the heavy box without asking first.

“No, wait….!” 

But it's too late.

You had the box precariously balanced, holding it strategically over the poorly taped seams. But his sudden interference has disturbed the contents. You watch as he realises he was wholly unprepared for its weight; his face fleetingly takes on a look of respect that you were handling such a burden.

Time slows like molasses as it slips from his grip, a horrible crunching sound as it hits the step, losing much of its structural integrity in the impact. Then, a calamitous symphony as it tumbles almost poetically down the whole flight, picking up speed as it goes. Yet again, the world is in slo-mo, but not in a good way this time, watching its barrelling path with increasing dread. Both of you wince as the inevitable happens: the spindly legs of the Alby’s heirloom table in the hallway snapping under the duress of poorly packaged terminal velocity porcelain. 

“I'm so, so sorry!” he starts, flustering like a bird. “It’s all my fault; I’ll pay for it,” he assures.

“Alby…” you sigh, head slumping back in resignation, staring at the ceiling. You can't be too mad; he has sort of done you a favour, saving you the inevitable trip to the charity shop.

“What can I do to make amends?” He presses on. “May I take you to dinner?”

You are almost shocked that he has finally summoned the courage to ask you out after two years. When you tilt your chin back down, you see the panic rising on his face as he belatedly realises what he did.

“You are my landlord. Probably not a good idea,” you return diplomatically, trying to let him down easily. He is a nice man, and his admiration for cheese is to be respected, but you know you could never see him as anything but a sweet, slightly clueless friend.

“Right-e-o,” he nods, cheeks reddened. “Of course. So rude. Please forgive me.”

You wave a dismissive hand, staring down at the pile of destruction below, dreading the thought of cleaning up.

“I’ll deal with all that up,” Alby gestures, tracking your line of sight.

And for once, rather than help as you inevitably always do, you agree, your feet throbbing after a long day where it seemed every teenager in zone 1 needed a matcha oat latte.

So, as you tumble into your flat, you sigh in relief, flinging off your shoes and pouring a glass of water for yourself and a saucer of cat milk. You may not have your Prince Charming (yet…?), but you have Chairman Meow, who always makes a genuinely excellent fluffy pillow for your favourite brainless binge-watch. 

—

It’s as if there is lead in your socks as you shuffle down the pavement and roll up the shutters. 

Christmas Day. 6:54am.

Still an hour until sunrise, it's misty and rainy, but then that's typical London, really.

What isn't typical London is the deserted streets. Hardly a soul to be seen, only the very occasional car. Most people are tucked up in bed or, if they are parents, blearily watching their kids tear wrapping paper asunder in pursuit of loud plastic.

When an hour has already passed without a single customer, you are entering a new level of boredom. Inventing new lyrics for the Christmas music playing, balancing stirring sticks into a pagoda-like structure of impressive resilience (it can hold a cup!), cursing the owner who even thought it was a good idea to be open today. It's all a recipe for a sort of irksome ennui.

So when you hear a commotion outside, you almost fall off the stool you have been idly twirling on. Springing from your perch, you run to the glass window, keen for any distraction.

But the sight that greets you has your heart in your throat.

There, in the street, surrounded by a gang of kids in oversized hoodies, is your man. Prince Charming. They are tussling with him, and you realise they are likely trying to mug him of his expensive watch. 

You observe helplessly, too scared to confront them, worried that doing so might exacerbate the situation. As you fumble in your apron pocket for your phone, the kids disperse, and to your horror, you see your man lying in the road, worryingly still. 

Before you are even conscious of it, instead of dialling 999, you are flinging open the shop door and sprinting towards him. 

“Sir! Sir!” 

Skidding to a halt and hovering over him, you can see an ugly bruise forming on his left temple already. They must have knocked him out.

“Sir! Please wake up!!”

But there is no response. 

You fall to your knees next to him, tapping his cheek lightly with the back of your hand, a sense of dread filling you with every passing millisecond.

Cmon universe! You can't do this! Why can't you take out the ugly ones?! Kidding... Sort of. 

As your completely inappropriate internal monologue rages, you grab his shoulders and shake him gently, needing him to get up. Get out of the road, at least.

“Sir! Please! You are lying in the road! Please get up!”

You know it's Christmas Day, so traffic is thankfully light. However, if a bus comes around this blind corner, it will hit you both before it sees you.

Again, nothing from him.

You bend down to place your ear next to his nose and mouth, heart pounding, to see if you can hear breathing, at least. 

“Fuck, you smell so good!”

It's out of your mouth before you can censor it, not that anyone is within earshot, this unconscious beauty aside. Your nostrils are filled with expensive, no doubt custom-blended aftershave, which literally makes your mouth water. You have to tamp the sudden urge to bury your face into his neck and inhale deeply.

But then you hear the hiss of air brakes and know a large vehicle is approaching—it could be a bus, could be a lorry. Either way, you are not exactly going to stay here to find out.

Without knowing quite what possesses you, you limpet yourself around his prone body and literally log-roll him out of the road. A blur of frantic tumbling movement that only ceases when your knees encounter the rough stipples of the pedestrian crossing section of the pavement. Shocking even yourself with the strength you are able to muster.

It's incredible what reserves of power you can summon when Prince Charming’s life is on the line, apparently.

As you lay straddled awkwardly on top of him, a street-sweeping lorry barrels around the corner, right over where he was lying. Sweeping up what you suspect was his mobile phone in the process before you could even grab it for him.

Heart racing at the closeness of the call, you collapse on top of him, breathing hard. Trying desperately to ignore the stirring of your traitorous libido at the sensation of muscular thighs clenched between your own. 

His eyes flutter open, and you murmur a breathless “hi,” almost losing yourself in their depthless, warm beauty. That is before they roll backwards, and his head slumps to the left.

Just great.

As Michael Buble might sing at this particular moment…  ♫ It's beginning to look a lot like a shitshow. ♫

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[forwhomthewordsflow]

Lean On Me

modern music teacher!eddie munson x art teacher fem!reader

18+ ONLY MDNI!!!

warnings: minor emergency room situation, injury, fluffy x100, allusions to smut, a lil more coach!steve harrington

author's note: definitely did not write this one clocked in at my desk…i just can’t stay away from these guys.  this is not proofread so please be gentle if there are any mistakes :) also, i’m no medical professional so i’m not exactly sure if this is how one would treat a bruised foot…just go with it. ALSO!!! I had to give our art teacher a last name, and the polls chose 'Ms. Heart.' cute right?

please let me know what your thoughts are on this series!

word count: 3.9k

Ms. Heart🎨: The kids are saying they saw Coach Harrington carrying you out to the parking lot…tell me they’re kidding

Mr. Munson🎸: “Carrying” is an exaggeration…

You see the “Incoming FaceTime Call” notification pop up on the screen of your phone and hurry to shut your classroom door.  Even though it’s nearing the end of the day, and this is technically your planning period, sometimes kids still like to come in and hang out in your classroom.  You had a feeling that Eddie wouldn’t want any students around to hear this call though.

Your anxiety is momentarily forgotten when you see his handsome face on your screen after answering the FaceTime call.  Even after almost three weeks of knowing him, it still surprises you how gorgeous the man is.  You’re focused on the curve of his sexy grin, but you can't help but notice the subtle winces peaking through it.   You can tell he’s in the passenger seat of a truck, Steve’s truck you’re guessing, and your theory is confirmed when the man in question grabs the phone from Eddie’s hands and puts it up to his face.

“Well hello there Ms. Art Teacher!  You’ll never guess what your guy got himself into now–wait a second,” he turns to look at Eddie with an appalled expression ,”Why is your lady’s name in your phone ‘Ms. Heart’?” 

Eddie snatches his phone back from Steve’s hands and can barely hear the sound of you laughing from the other end.  You and him both know that you put your names in each other's phones as your ‘teacher names,’ just in case someone were to see a notification and get suspicious.  You still have yet to go public with your new relationship, and Eddie is counting down the days until he can let everyone know you’re his girl.

“Will you stop calling her ‘my lady’? You sound like a douche.”

Steve lets out a triumphant laugh. “Yeah, right.  This douche is getting laid on the regular pal.  I’ll hear your opinions on my vocabulary when you can say the same.”

Eddie looks back at your face on his screen, noticing how you’re blushing at Steve’s words.  He throws you a wink, just to see your reaction, and he isn’t disappointed.  You turn even redder and throw your free hand over your face to cover your smile.  

Steve’s words don’t bother you exactly, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been devoting a lot of time to thinking about whether or not Eddie cares that the two of you haven’t slept together yet.  It’s not that you don’t want to, of course you want to.  You’ve been wanting to climb that man like a tree since the moment he first spoke to you at orientation.  There just hasn’t been time to even approach that topic with the school year starting and the craziness of it all.  

You and Eddie are smiling bashfully at each other through the screen when he grunts in pain.  The phone shakes at the same time, and you remember that Steve is driving Eddie somewhere.

“Fuck, man.  Can you try not to drive into every pothole you see?”

Steve scoffs, “Yeah sure.  Lemme just swerve around them and into all the other cars on the road.  Then we’d both be injured.”

Both? Both? Meaning one of them already is?

“Eddie?” you ask.  He can tell by the sound of the question that you're on the verge of panic, so he smiles at you through the screen.

“Yes, sweet girl?”  You can hear Steve’s fake gag in the background at Eddie’s use of the pet name for you, but it doesn’t stop the lovesick smile from trying to make its way onto your lips.

Eddie finds it particularly entertaining to try out all the different pet names on you to see which ones will make you blush the hardest.  He says he keeps an Excel spreadsheet so he can track the data…but you’re pretty sure he’s lying.  Okay, maybe 75% sure.

You point a finger at him sternly. “Quit trying to distract me.  Tell me what’s going on please.”  Eddie would have to be a fool to resist your sweet request, so he gives in. 

“There may have been a little incident while I was putting away equipment after 6th period…”

Steve guffaws, “Yeah, I’ll say.  Your man dropped a 40 pound speaker on his foot!”  Eddie’s hand slaps to his forehead with a groan, he had planned on breaking the news a little gentler to you, and perhaps in a way that didn’t make him look like a total idiot.

Your mouth drops in horror, “What?”

Eddie instantly jumps into trying to calm you down, “Honey, it’s really not that bad–”

“–I heard a crunch!”

“Steve!  Please.”

You take a deep, grounding breath.  “Eddie, just talk please.”

Eddie reaches over to smack Steve before speaking.  “Steve was in my classroom because we were planning on moving a couple speakers out to the fields for the game tonight.  The one I was carrying slipped and landed a little bit on my foot, that’s all.”  He tries his best to speak calmly to keep you from panicking, but it’s hard to ignore the throbbing pain in his right foot.  

“Eddie!  Are you okay?  How bad does it hurt?”  You wish you were with him instead of pacing around in your empty classroom. 

“I can barely feel it sweetheart, I’d rate it a three out of ten.”

Steve scoffs loudly, “Okay buddy, that’s not what it sounded like when I was carrying your ass out of school.”

Eddie turns to fix Steve with a glare, “I still had one foot on the ground, dude.  You were not carrying me.”  He turns back to look at your face through the screen, “He wasn’t carrying me.”  

You hear Steve laughing off screen and Eddie rolls his eyes.  You can’t help but to laugh a little too at the absurdity of it all.  “Where are you heading to?”

“We’re going to the ER.  Personally, I think that’s a little dramatic, but mama bear over here…”

Steve passionately chimes in, “It’s important to treat every injury with the same level of seriousness, even the minor ones!” 

“I actually agree with him on this one, Ed.” you say with a soft smile.  Eddie swoons internally.

He’s able to overlook your choice of Steve’s side due to your use of the nickname.  You’ve been a bit hesitant about using pet names with him the way he does with you, but you’ve assured him time and time again that it’s only because you’ve never dated a guy who actually liked any of that stuff before.  You’re working your way up to Eddie’s level of nicknames, and ‘Ed’ has been a recent development in that process.  Eddie loves it.  

“Gimme the phone man,” Steve’s hand juts into the screen expectantly, swiping the phone from Eddie’s grasp.  “Hey Ms. Artsy, do you think you’ll be able to give this guy a ride back home? Our first home game is in a couple hours, and the boys can’t play without their coach.”

You had almost forgotten about the football game tonight.  Your students had been amped up all day long about it, convincing you to help them paint signs to hold up at the game during class time.  You were planning on asking Eddie if he wanted to go, but you weren’t sure how he felt about attending a school event together.  The status of your relationship wasn’t necessarily a secret, but still not very many people knew.  

“Of course I can!  I just have to clean up a bit and I’ll be right there.” 

“Thanks, teach.” Steve hands the phone back to Eddie, who’s been sulking in the passenger seat because he missed your face. 

You smile at him, “Hang tight, I’ll see you soon okay?”

Eddie smiles, “Okaayyy–!” His voice cuts off in a pained grunt before the call ends, leading you to assume that Steve had once again hit a pothole.  

-

You’re a ball of nerves as you pull in to park outside of the emergency room.  Thankfully, you’re the type of person who keeps their car relatively clean, but that didn’t stop you from doing a once over just to make extra sure there wasn’t any mess.  Why were you so anxious to drive with Eddie?  Maybe the stress from the past hour just has you wound extra tight.

Nervous as you may be, you can’t help but to walk with a bounce in your step as you approach the entrance.  Seeing Eddie is always the highlight of your day, and you couldn’t wipe the growing grin off your face if you tried.  You just hope he isn’t in too much pain, your heart lurches at the thought of him being hurt in any way.

Thanks to impeccable timing, you spot Eddie and Steve walking down the hallway you’ve just entered into.  You notice the papers in Steve’s hands, and the crutches that Eddie is already seemingly irritated by.  Your eyes meet as he looks up, and the crease between his furrowed eyebrows is gone in an instant as a smile lights up his face.  Steve can’t help but smile along as he watches Eddie hobble a little faster on his crutches towards you. 

God, he missed you today.  He loves the color of the top you’re wearing, the way your jeans hug your thighs, the curve of your smile, and he might just love you too, although he probably shouldn’t tell you that part just yet.  

Steve checks his watch for the hundredth time since he and Eddie had arrived at the ER, running a hand through his hair anxiously.  He hands you the papers the doctor gave them with care instructions and pain medication prescriptions before you can even say hello.

“Okay, team.  Kick-off is in thirty minutes, and I gotta jet.”  He looks to you, already in ‘coach’ mode.  ���Here are the papers from the doctor, the do’s and don'ts for a bruised foot bone, care instructions, ya-da ya-da.  His prescription can be picked up after 6, there’s a pharmacy around the corner that’s open til 10.”  

You take the papers from him and nod your head, trying to commit all the information to memory.

“Wish me luck guys!”  Steve jogs away, fist pumping the air. “Go Tigers!”

You turn to face Eddie, the both of you wearing matching smiles and shaking your heads at Steve’s theatrics.  You move a bit closer to Eddie, yearning for a hug but not sure if it’s a good idea.

As if he can read your mind, Eddie grins, “Can a hurt guy get a hug? I’m not able to hug you back at this moment but I’ll make it up to you later.”

You step into his space and wrap your arms around his waist, laying your head on his chest and breathing him in.  How does he still smell so good after teaching all day long?  

He rests his cheek on the top of your head, wondering the same thing about you.  How could someone’s hair possibly be this soft and smell this amazing?  This.  This is what he’s been waiting for all day long.  God, you feel so good pressed against him like this.  If he wasn’t such a gentleman, he’d let the stirring of his cock in his jeans distract him from the pain in his foot, but unfortunately the two of you are still standing in the middle of the ER.  

“Shall we?” 

“Yup!” You reluctantly pull away from his warmth and move to his side to walk with him. You notice him holding his black Dr. Marten’s boot by its laces in one of his hands, then you look down to see his right foot, heavily wrapped in tan bandages.  

“Be honest, does it hurt?” you ask as you take his boot from him so that he can have a better grasp on his crutch.

Eddie sighs, hanging his head.  “I mean, it’s definitely throbbing still.”

“Aw, you poor thing.” You reach up to brush a stray curl out of Eddie’s face, and he can’t help but to lean into your touch like a dog when you use that tone of voice.

You hope he’ll let you take him back to your house instead of his own.  The idea of taking care of him and doting on him has you smiling already.  

“Wanna go back to my house?” Eddie feels his ears perk up at the thought of getting to go to your house again. “I can take you back to yours to get some clothes and stuff, but I don’t like the idea of leaving you there alone when you can’t drive yourself.”

Eddie knows he wouldn’t necessarily be alone, but having Steve Harrington as a roommate often feels like living alone.  Not in a bad way of course, it’s just that Steve is rarely ever at home unless he’s with a woman for the night or hungover in the morning.  

“You sure you want me at your place all weekend long?” Eddie’s giving you an out.  He’s fully aware that the two of you haven’t spent the night together before, and the last thing he wants you to think is that he expects anything from you. 

“Why wouldn’t I? We’ll be super lazy together.  We can watch movies, eat junk food, take naps…it’ll be awesome.”  You look up at him with a giddy smile and Eddie knows he would agree to anything you said. 

“Sounds perfect,” he murmurs against your forehead before pressing two kisses there.

“I parked just ahead in the front row, I didn’t want you to have to go very far but I can still pull the car up here if you feel like you don’t want to go that far.  You must be exhausted.”

He feels his chest warm, you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever seen.  “I’ll be fine, baby.  I can make it.”  He has to work hard to focus on operating his crutches and not your sweet smile, it would be very un-cool of him to fall flat on his face in this parking lot right now.

He manages to make it all the way to your car, putting his crutches in your backseat and hopping over to the passenger side.  You make sure to open the door for him, not moving until you’re sure he’s safe in the seat and buckled up.  You hope he doesn’t think your hovering is annoying.

Eddie thinks your hovering is adorably sweet.  

As soon as you get in and start the car, Eddie asks to see your phone.

“Sure,” you fish it from your purse and hand it to him, “Passcode is 0102.  You gonna DJ?”

“Nope, your car, your tunes honey.  I’m just putting in my address so you know where you’re going.”

“I remember where you live, Ed,” you giggle.  “I’ve been to your place before, remember?”

Of course he remembers, you let him cook you dinner twice and both times you fell asleep in each other’s arms halfway through ‘Back To The Future.’  Maybe this weekend you’ll finally be able to finish it.

“Well, alrighty then.  I’m sorry I ever doubted you, my lady.” You laugh at his dramatics and reverse out of the parking space.

“You’d be wise to never do it again, good sir,” you reply in a medieval accent similar to the one Eddie spoke in.  He’s thankful that you’re distracted by navigating yourself out of the parking lot and not able to see the way his face flushes and his jeans tighten around his groin at your reciprocated dramatics.  You’re so hot when you talk nerdy to him.  You’re so hot all the time.

Eddie sits back and takes in the image of you driving, one he’s never seen before.  He chuckles a bit at how proper you’re sitting, back straight and hands at ten and two on the wheel.  

“Ease up, baby.  You’re not being graded right now,” he laughs.

You laugh along, a little embarrassed. “I know, I drive like a dork.”  You look over at him, exasperated.  “I just don’t feel prepared if I’m slouching or driving one handed!  You never know what could happen.”

“Careful, you’re starting to sound like Steve “Mama Bear” Harrington,” he teases.

You scoff and roll your eyes, still smiling.

“Can you put on some music please?  Driving without it weirds me out.”

“Sure,” Eddie chuckles, opening up the ‘Spotify’ app on your phone. “Uh-oh, look who’s in the hot seat now.  Time to take a peek at your ‘On Repeat.’”

You laugh but hold your head up proudly.  “Peek away Mr. Munson.  I’ve got nothing to hide, I am who I am.”

“Yeah we’ll see about that,” Eddie mumbles as he locates the playlist and hits shuffle.  He can’t believe his ears when the opening chords to ‘One Of These Nights” by Eagles play from your speakers.  His head snaps up towards you, and you can’t help but to burst out laughing at the bewildered look on his face.

“You know, I actually feel like a total asshole right now.  This is an amazing song.” He looks at you like he’s proud of you, and your chest feels warmer.

By the time the song is nearing its end, Eddie’s trying to catch his breath from attempting to hit the highest notes and you’re breaking your “ten and two” rule by clutching your stomach because you’ve been laughing so hard that it hurts. 

Eddie vaguely recognizes the next song as a showtune, but doesn’t comment on it because he’s too caught up in you.  

You, still laughing out loud with your widest smile and the setting sun outlining your silhouette in a golden-orange glow.  He can’t believe he’s in your car, that you’re driving him around, the goddess that you are.  You’re ethereal.  Other-worldly.  

You’re starting to look concerned.  

After coming down from your laughing fit, you turn to find Eddie staring at you with a dazed and confused look in his eye.  Being that he’s fresh out of the Emergency Room, you’re instantly a bit concerned for his well being.  

“Eddie?  Are you feeling okay?”

He blinks a few times before responding, “S-sorry, it’s just…you are so goddamn beautiful.”

Will you ever get used to this floaty warm feeling in your chest?  Luckily for you, he says this while you pull your car into his driveway.  You put the car into park, and lean your head back onto the headrest, no doubt sporting a smile that’s as lovesick as you feel.  

You look at him and whisper, “Thank you.”  Shy fingers reach out to take his hand that rests on your center console, and he’s quick to hold on tight.  Without breaking eye contact with you, Eddie brings your hand up to his mouth and presses two warm kisses to your knuckles.  He then uses that hand to pull you towards him, stopping when your faces are only inches apart.  

“Thank you for driving me,” he whispers, unable to look away from your soft lips.  

“You’re welcome,” you sigh, wishing he would just kiss you already. 

Eddie’s loving the effect he has on you.  He notices your chest rising and falling faster, the breathy tone of your voice, the darkness taking over your eyes.  

He finally leans in and presses his lips to yours gently.  This kiss is much softer than your first one, there’s no urgency or tenacity.  This kiss lets you know that there will be many more to come.  You can’t remember a time where you’d been handled any gentler than this.  Eddie’s holding your face like you’re a rare jewel, like you’re priceless and valuable, and he kisses you like he’s trying to worship you.  

It feels like your lips are dancing together, this feels practiced and choreographed and natural.  

You’re so going to fall in love with this man. 

He pulls away after what could’ve been five hours or five seconds, either way it’s far too soon.  Your mouth chases his lips, making him chuckle softly as he drops kisses onto your nose, cheeks, forehead and chin.

You smile, thoroughly enjoying being doted on like this.  

Eddie backs away once and for all, smoothing your hair out of your face with both hands, his smile matching yours.  

“So pretty.”

You blush harder, if it’s even possible, and let out a happy sigh.  

And with both hands on either side of your face, Eddie obviously uses this opportunity to smush your cheeks together so that your lips pucker. 

“Even prettier,” He leans forward and plants one on you, “Let’s get inside, I can hear my bed calling our names.”

He quickly corrects himself when he sees your eyes widen, “F-for a nap!  I’m tired, you’re probably tired.  Nap time.”

Eddie is sure he’s totally mortified you until he spots you trying to hide your bashful smile and pink cheeks as you undo your seatbelt and get out of the car.  Maybe you’d be into more than nap time?  Why the fuck did he call it ‘nap time’?  

You’re an idiot, Eddie.  That’s why.  She’s not going to fuck you while you have a stupid bruised and use words like ‘nap time.’

He’s still shaking his head at himself when you open the passenger door, looking at him expectantly.  Oh that’s right, you’re going to help him hobble to his own front door, because he’s an idiot who dropped a goddamn amp on his fucking foot.

Eddie hits his head backwards on the headrest with a sigh, “I feel so un-cool right now.”

The sound of your laugh eases his pain a little.

“You’ll live.  C’mon, big boy,”  You chuckle, smirking and looking down on him from where you stand outside your car.  

You open the door to the backseat to grab his crutches and your purse, and Eddie starts to question himself as he feels his dick twitch at your use of the new nickname.  Perhaps it’s something the two of you can explore down the line…he needs to stop thinking about sex with you or else he’ll pop a very obvious boner and scare you off.  

A quick recalling of the mental image that’s seared into his mind of Mrs. Bedson, the 57 year old choir teacher, bumping and grinding with the tennis coach at last year’s prom does the trick.  Eugh.  Eddie shivers at the memory.  

You pop back up with his crutches under your arm, reaching your other one down to help him up.  He doesn’t need the help, but he takes your hand anyway because it feels so right to hold it. 

You unlock his front door with his keys, and then the two of you head inside.  After placing your purse on one of the hooks in the entryway while simultaneously toeing your shoes off, you turn to him with a teasing smile.

“Nap time?”

He laughs, “Yeah, yeah.  Nap time.”

TAGLIST:

@twihard28 @daveythorntonslocker @yujyujj @perfunctory-username69 @the-fairy-anon @micheledawn1975 @ches-86 @newsiesjathrine @josephquinnsfreckles @anukulee @littlebebebunny @meetmeatyourworst @lalalala-melmosworld @someantics @lokis-army-77 @loserboysandlithium @strangerstilinski @mystra-midnight @lesservillain @queenimmadolla @luveline @munson-blurbs @fairyysoup @urhoneycombwitch @oneforthemunny @rebelfell @taintedcigs @wroteclassicaly @eiightysixbaby @bettyfrommars @loveshotzz @lovebugism @carolmunson @rustedhearts @lonelysatellites

[scoutofmymind]

Hiii, I’m not entirely sure if you do au one shots, but if you do please write a princess x knight trope with Luigi. Him looking out for you during his night shift, watching you with the fiancé your father chose for you despite you two being madly in love.

Your writing is gorgeous, btw! In awe <3

I’m Your Man — {Luigi x Reader}

Content: NSFW— MINORS DNI, kissing, p in v, virgin Luigi, fucked up kingdom politics, reader is a princess with an evil king father lol, this is NOT alpha/Omega or whatever, Luigi was raised as a wild animal killing machine, once again inspired by Mitski

Wc: 6,143

Notes: Like a wolf with its leg in a trap, he'd said, that familiar cruel smile twisting his lips. They'll tear through their own flesh to survive. Imagine what they'd do to yours.

Pain shapes them. The cold hardens them.

A common solider dies for his kingdom, a Grimguard kills for it.

AN: Thank you so so much for this request 💕 I once again took this and ran with it. It actually wasn’t my first Luigi x princess reader request sitting around in my inbox, so come one, come all! I have an inkling I might have questions about this one, so lemme know! I enjoyed writing this very much x

Ps: in order to keep this Drabble length and not fic length, I definitely cut out some backstory . But I hope despite that, it’s easy to follow along xo

You're an angel, I'm a dog

Or you're a dog and I'm your man

You believe me like a god..

I'll destroy you like I am

— I’m your Man, Mitski

Ironmere lies suffocated beneath its winter shroud, the castle's hundred hearths cold and dark save for one — your father's study. You've no choice but to seek its warmth, sprawled across a leather chair that's seen generations of royal lectures.

The fire pops and hisses, each crack of burning wood another tick in your mental count, anything to dull the familiar sermon.

"I must remind you," your father says, pipe smoke coiling around him. His shadow stretches across the study walls, cast by flames that paint the room in shades of amber and gold. "That the Grims are bred for loyalty, my dear." He turns to study your face, but you keep your eyes fixed on the dancing flames, refusing to meet his gaze. "Can be no more your equal than a well-trained dog."

The fire swallows his words, and you wonder if it, too, finds them bitter.

Since catching you at your balcony, tracing the Grimguards' movements with hungry eyes, your father has waged his own quiet war; each day brings a new warning, each meal seasoned with thinly veiled threats meant to plant fear where fascination grows.

But seeds of warning find no purchase in frozen earth.

"Speaking of which," he says, abandoning his chair to stand before the frost-kissed window. Beyond the glass, the Ironmere mountains pierce the steel-gray sky, their jagged peaks collecting snow. The ancient evergreens bow beneath their white burden, branches dripping crystal daggers of ice. "We've taken a new pup out of training. Young one, but promising. He'll be stationed near the South Tower."

They're bringing in a new generation again, stealing youth and binding it in black armor and cold metal muzzles.

Your father's cruelty wears a gentleman's mask, polished and pristine as the rings that adorn his fingers. Time has taught you to see beneath it, to recognize the calculated malice hiding behind words like duty and tradition.

The South Tower stands like a frozen sentinel, eternally facing winter's fury. It's where your father plants his fresh seeds of war, watching come morning with clinical interest as frost either hardens them into soldiers or claims them for the grave.

No coincidence leads new Grimguards there.

They either wake to see another dawn, their breath clouding behind their muzzles, or they join the nameless others whose bones might still rest beneath the tower's foundations.

This is how he plays at being divine — selecting who lives and dies with the casual interest of a man trimming roses; Nature's selection, he calls it, as if nature ever intended for young men to be bound in iron and left to freeze.

"Another child?" The words slip past your guard and your head turns toward him, though the fire still claims most of your attention, its warmth a mockery of comfort.

"No younger than yourself, my love." The endearment falls from his lips like frozen honey — sweet, yet somehow wrong. He speaks of sending a boy your age to stand in winter's cruelest depths, guarding a tower that has stood empty since before your grandmother drew breath. "We've discussed this before," he says, finally abandoning his view of his frost-touched kingdom to fix you with that measured stare. "You ceased being a child the moment you became heir to Ironmere."

You answer with silence and the loud protest of leather against leather as you shift in your chair.

Let him interpret the sound as he wishes — rebellion or resignation, it matters little. In this moment, you think of another young man who whose breath will freeze behind a muzzle while you sit before this fire, counting the ways your father fashions cruelty into crown.

"The muzzle ceremony is their rebirth." His voice takes on that familiar, aristocratic lilt—the same tone he uses when discussing wine vintages or the value of old tapestries. As if he speaks of art rather than chains. "This one's training scores are exceptional. He'll serve the crown well."

You've watched these ceremonies before, hidden in gallery shadows. Seen how they strip away names and replace them with numbers, how they forge living flesh into living weapons. The muzzles aren't just metal — they're shackles of status, marking each Grimguard as something less than human but more than beast. A perfect servant for your father's perfect kingdom.

In your mind, you see another humans eyes, bright with unshed tears as cold iron meets warm skin — another soul bound to Ironmere's frozen heart, while your father speaks of service as casually as one might discuss the weather.

Through frosted windows, you've studied their brutal dance since childhood.

The Grimguards train in Wolfdens outer courtyard where the stones are perpetually slick with ice, where one misstep means more than just a fall. They move like shadows given form, their black armor drinking what little sunlight winters here permit.

The training starts before dawn, when breath freezes mid-air and fingers can barely grip steel. They fight with those peculiar curved blades — somewhere between sword and sickle — that have become as much their signature as the muzzles that cage their faces.

The weapons are deliberately unwieldy at first, designed to strain muscle and test resolve.

Many break their own wrists learning to wield them.

You've counted the phases of their training through seasons.

First, the endless drills until their movements become reflex, then the sparring that leaves red droplets crystallizing on white snow. The masks come early — crude training ones at first, heavy iron things that make it hard to breathe, harder still to see. They learn to fight half-blind, to rely on instinct over sight.

To become creatures of pure reaction.

But it's the endurance training that haunts your dreams.

They stand for days in the bitter cold, perfectly still, until ice forms on their armor. They run barefoot through snow until their feet bleed, then run further still, and some disappear during these tests, their names never spoken again, as if Ironmere itself had swallowed them whole.

Your father calls it necessary refinement.

You call it what it is.

The systematic breaking of human beings until all that remains is loyal steel wrapped in obedient flesh.

It was the whimpering that drew you from your chambers — a sound so foreign in these stone halls where weakness dares not echo. Your footsteps fell like fresh snow as you traced that desperate keening, following it until it transformed into a metallic chattering, silver bars rattling as violent tremors wracked a body fighting to remember warmth.

He doesn’t turn when you found him in the South Tower's breezeway, though surely he heard you.

His silhouette matches the template they all conform to eventually — broad shoulders carved by endless drills, frame solid as the mountain itself, training blacks clung like a second skin, running from throat to wrist in an unbroken line of shadow. Only his gloved hands betrayed movement, fingers flexing and unflexing in a rhythm that matched his shivering.

The new muzzle catches what little moonlight filtered through the frost-laced windows, shaped like a snarling dogs snout, throwing silver patterns across the walls. Too new to have darkened with use, too rigid yet to have molded to his face.

Another wolf being broken to the bit, another hound learning to embrace his cage.

The closer you drift toward him, the more your father's warnings drum against your skull.

Never approach a new Grimguard alone. They're most dangerous before the muzzle takes hold.

The metallic chattering quickens like a death rattle, and the cold seems to deepen, carving into your marrow with ancient teeth, and memory washes over you as you recall exactly what they become — watched them train in the courtyards below your window, witnessed how they move like poetry written in violence, how they strike with the precision of winter's first killing frost.

But this one.

This one still trembles.

His control fractures with each shudder, and you remember how father once told you that a Grimguard is most lethal in the moments they're breaking.

Like a wolf with its leg in a trap, he'd said, that familiar cruel smile twisting his lips. They'll tear through their own flesh to survive. Imagine what they'd do to yours.

Pain shapes them. The cold hardens them.

A common solider dies for his kingdom, a Grimguard kills for it.

"Are you cold?" The whisper escapes before wisdom can catch it, and the transformation is immediate — his trembling ceases as if frozen in time, muscles locking into place with military precision.

Whether it's training or pure shock that stills him, you can't tell.

These new ones are always unpredictable, balanced on a knife's edge between their old instincts and their new purpose.

"I heard you whimpering," you continue, the words hanging dangerous and delicate in the space between you. Through the silver teeth of his muzzle, his breath comes in short, controlled bursts, each exhale creating ghost-white clouds that dissipate against the metalwork.

The pattern is deliberate now — mechanical — as if he's forcing each breath through a carefully memorized cadence, the same measured rhythm you've watched the veteran Grimguard use during their drills, when they're trying to master pain.

You wonder if he's already learning to lie with his body, or if he's simply too terrified to show weakness.

You hover in the uncertainty, unsure what response you're seeking.

The Grimguard are like shadows given form and function — you've spent years watching them from windows and walkways, learning their peculiar language of violence and restraint.

They move in packs through the fortress halls, all lethal grace and barely contained aggression, but you've also witnessed the moments they think no one sees.

A Grimguard pressing their muzzle against a packmate's shoulder after a brutal training session, the silent comfort shared between two hounds who lost their third to a snow bear's claws at the North Gate, and there’s something almost gentle in how they lean into each other then, these weapons your father has forged, finding warmth in the spaces between their brutal purpose.

But those moments are never meant for outsiders' eyes.

They're certainly not meant for the kings daughter, whose very presence reminds them of the hand that holds their leash.

You've seen how quickly they can shift from deadly grace to deadly intent, how the muzzles hide everything except the truth in their eyes.

He turns — slowly, deliberately — and you catch your first glimpse of eyes behind the silver latticework.

They're brown, almost gold in the dim light, and far too lucid for comfort. Not yet hollowed out by more training, not yet carrying that vacant winter-wolf stare that marks the veteran Grimguard.

These eyes study you with an unsettling clarity, as if cataloging every detail of your presence.

His head tilts, just slightly, reminding you of the hunting hounds when they catch an unfamiliar scent, and the motion is too natural, too human. Somehow that makes it worse, as most Grimguard move like they're reading from a manual of precise angles and measured steps.

The muzzle shifts as his jaw works beneath it, and you realize he's trying to decide if he's allowed to speak to you. New recruits often struggle with this — the complex hierarchy of who can command their voice and who must be met with silence.

The princess falls into a grey area their training hasn't covered yet.

Finally, his gloved hand rises, not toward you but to his own throat, fingers pressing against the high collar of his blacks where you know the control runes are etched.

The control runes are your father's masterwork — ancient symbols seared into the skin at throat and spine, binding each Grimguard to the fortress's will.

You've seen them during the marking ceremonies, watched how they burn with a cold blue light as they're carved, how they fade to silvery scars that pulse with each heartbeat.

They serve as both leash and collar, limiting how far a Grimguard can roam from the fortress walls, how much force they can use, who they can harm.

"My Lady." The words emerge like broken glass wrapped in velvet — smooth on the surface but jagged underneath. His voice carries that telltale distortion all new recruits have, as if speaking through layers of frost, but there's something else there. A tremor of defiance, perhaps, or desperation. "The cold is necessary. Part of our conditioning."

He swallows hard, the muzzle's intricate metalwork shifting with the motion. The runes must be burning now — you can see how his fingers dig deeper into his collar, tendons standing out against the black leather of his gloves, but he holds your gaze, those amber eyes still too present, too aware.

Most pups learn to lower their eyes by now.

You notice a tension in how he stands, like a bowstring drawn too tight, and you recognize the stance from watching new recruits, called the Unblooded, in the training yards.

"Necessary," you echo, tasting the word's bitter edge. You've heard your father use that same justification countless times in his workshops, watching dispassionately as fresh recruits screamed through their first exposure to the killing cold. The cold that reshapes them, hardens them, strips away everything warm and human until only the Grimguard remains.

His breathing hitches — just slightly — at your tone.

The runes pulse again, brighter now, a steady rhythm like heartbeats beneath his collar. You notice how his other hand has curled into a fist at his side, leather creaking with the strain, Fighting the compulsion to kneel, perhaps, or fighting the instinct to run.

Both would be equally futile.

"And who told you that?" The question slips out softer than intended, almost gentle — It's dangerous, this curiosity about their lives before the muzzles, before the markings. Your father has warned you repeatedly about seeing them as anything more than what they are now: tools, weapons.

But there's something about this one's eyes, about the way he still holds himself like he remembers another life, that makes you reckless.

You can hear the slight scrape of metal teeth as his jaw clenches beneath the muzzle. When he finally speaks, his voice has splintered, "The Keeper himself, my Lady. Your father."

You hear the sound of boots approaching, the groundslurkers making their rounds to assure everything is just-so.

"Inside," you murmur, touching the frozen door behind you. Not a command, but an invitation. A dangerous one. No Grimguard is allowed in the royal quarters unless specifically ordered by your father.

The punishment would be severe.

He knows this.

You see the conflict ripple across what's visible of his face, the way his fingers twitch toward his turtleneck collar, but the patrol's footsteps are getting closer, and you've already seen too much.

You push the door open wider, letting candlelight spill onto the frost-rimed stones. "Choose quickly."

For a moment, he's perfectly still, like the ice sculptures in the winter garden, then he moves — one fluid step through the doorway, silent as snow despite his armor, and you close the door just as the patrol rounds the corner, their heavy boots echoing past without pause.

In your chambers, he looks desperately out of place.

The black armor and cruel angles of his muzzle stark against the rich tapestries and furs. He stands rigid, carefully not touching anything, as if afraid his mere presence might taint the warmth of the room.

In all your life in the palace, you've never dared to get this close. The Grimguard are your father's shadows, his weapons — to be glimpsed from afar, never examined.

But now.

You circle him slowly, studying the way frost creeps along the joints of his armor, how it crystallizes in delicate patterns where leather meets metal. Up close, you can hear the soft crackle of ice forming and reforming with each breath, see how the cold radiates from him in barely visible waves that make the air shimmer.

The muzzle is even more intricate than you'd imagined.

Delicate silverwork overlays darker metal, creating a lattice of thorns and frozen vines that cage the lower half of his face. You can see now why they call it a muzzle rather than a mask — it's fitted precisely to his features, allowing just enough movement to speak when commanded, but designed to remind both wearer and observer of its purpose.

Control.

Your hand lifts before you can stop yourself, drawn to the impossible intricacy of it. His whole body goes rigid, but he doesn't step back. This close, you can see the minute tremors running through him — fighting against something you don't fully understand, or reacting to your proximity, or both.

"Does it hurt?" you whisper, fingers hovering just above the metalwork. "All the time, or only when-“

"Yes." The word comes out rough, barely above a whisper. He hasn't spoken this long without a command in who can say exactly how long. "Always. But more when..." He trails off, eyes flickering to your still-raised hand, then away.

More when fighting whatever's been done to him, you realize.

More when showing any trace of humanity.

Your hand trembles slightly, caught between pulling back and closing that final distance. The cold radiates against your skin, a warning or an invitation— you're not sure which.

You've never heard one of them admit to pain before.

They're not supposed to feel anything at all.

But he does feel.

He hurts.

His eyes widen, a flash of something — fear, hope? — breaking through their frozen surface.

"Let me help you," you say softly, reaching for the intricate clasps of the muzzle nestled in his wavy, black hair. "Just while we're here. No one will know."

"You can't," he says, the words strained. Even this small act of refusal seems to cost him. "The cold will hurt you. And if the Keeper—"

"My father isn't here," you interrupt, your voice steady despite the way your heart pounds. "And I'm not afraid of the cold."

You're close enough now to see how the metalwork digs into his skin, how even the simple act of speaking makes the thorns beneath the sides of his muzzle bite deeper.

All these years, you never knew the muzzles were lined.

Never wanted to know.

His breath catches as your fingers brush the first clasp, but he remains perfectly still, caught between what he's been made to be and what you're offering him — a moment of freedom, no matter how brief.

The clasp comes free with a sharp click, and his whole body jerks as if struck. A soft sound escapes him — pain or relief, you can't tell, as frost spreads rapidly across the metal where your fingers made contact, but you refuse to pull away.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, working on the next clasp. "I'll be quick." The cold bites into your fingertips now, sharp and hungry, but you can see how the muzzle's grip has already loosened slightly, allowing him to take a deeper breath. “Are they all like this?”

His hands clench at his sides, trembling with the effort to remain still, and each release of a thorn seems to send shockwaves through him, as if the very act of being freed is its own kind of agony. But he doesn't stop you, doesn't pull away — and that tells you more than words ever could.

The facade of silver and shadow begins to come apart under your careful touch, revealing glimpses of what lies beneath; you try not to think about how long it's been since anyone has seen his true face, or why your father thought it necessary to cage him so thoroughly.

"No," he manages, voice tight as you work on another clasp. "Not all. This one is special." There's a bitter edge to the word that makes you pause.

The implications sink in slowly. Your father must have designed this one specifically for him — more thorns, more pain, more control. Because he was different somehow. Because he fought back.

You examine the cruel metalwork with new understanding, noting how the thorns are positioned to punish speech, expression, any hint of defiance, your fingers tracing a particularly deep puncture mark, and he goes completely still, hardly breathing.

"Almost done," you promise, though your hands are nearly numb from the cold now. Each clasp reveals more evidence of long-term torture disguised as restraint. The more you see, the more questions burn in your throat, “Why’d they give you one like this?”

He's quiet for so long you think he won't answer, the final clasp coming free under your trembling fingers, but he makes no move to remove the muzzle completely.

"I remembered," he finally says, "Something I wasn't supposed to. My name." His eyes meet yours, and there's something terrible in their depths — not just pain, but knowledge. "They take everything when they make us, but I kept one thing."

He stops abruptly, as if even this small confession costs him dearly, and you can see the thorns pressing deeper as he speaks, drawing pinpoints of darkness that might be blood, might be something else entirely, yet he hardly reacts.

The pain hardly registers.

A weapon isn't supposed to remember who it used to be.

But this one does.

“What’s your name?”

His breath catches at your question, and you can see him fighting against years of conditioning, against the very magic that binds him, and the room grows colder, frost crystallizing on the windowpanes.

"L-" he starts, then gasps as if the very attempt causes him physical pain. His hands clench. "Luigi," he finally manages, the name coming out in a rush of frozen air.

You repeat the name softly, testing its weight, and he shudders at the sound of it from another person's lips. How long has it been since anyone has called him by his real name? How many years of being nothing but a number, a weapon, a Grimguard?

This is where it began.

And soon, you find yourself inventing excuses to avoid Duke Aldrich of Brindsborough's tedious evening calls. Instead, your nights belong to these stolen moments; you and Luigi seated on the floor of your chambers, knees touching, sharing whispered confessions in the candlelight.

He teaches you how the Grimguards sleep — bodies intertwined for warmth in the cold stone kennels, finding comfort in the press of limbs and shared breath. The first time he shows you, hesitantly arranging your bodies so your back fits against his chest, you understand.

It's not just for warmth — it's about trust.

You learn to read the minute changes in his expression, the things he can't say even without the muzzle. He learns your tells, too — the way you twist your rings when you're anxious, how your laugh changes when you're truly happy versus when you're playing the perfect princess.

These evenings become your refuge whilst the rest of the castle prepares for your upcoming marriage to a man you barely tolerate, you and Luigi build something fragile and precious in secret candlelight.

You tell him about the time you were seven, and you snuck your injured falcon into your bedroom instead of letting the gamekeeper "take care of it." You'd splinted its wing with strips torn from your favorite dress and fed it scraps from your dinners for weeks. Your father had been furious when he found out — not because you'd ruined the dress, but because you'd shown weakness.

Mercy was unbecoming of a princess.

The next memory stands out sharp and clear — that particular night when everything shifted.

You'd barely managed to secure the door's heavy lock before Luigi abandoned his usual restraint, muzzle yanked off. One moment you were turning, the next your back hit the floor with a soft thump, driving a surprised laugh from your chest.

His movements were pure instinct, almost feral — nothing like the rigid control the Grimguards usually displayed. Cool lips and nose traced your neck once you’d pulled his muzzle away, your collarbone, your hair, erasing every lingering trace of Duke Aldrich's cloying cologne. Each brush of contact sent shivers down your spine, not from cold but from the intensity of his need to claim, to possess.

"Marking your territory, are you?" you whispered through breathless giggles, fingers threading through his hair. The words made him pause, and you felt him tense — caught between embarrassment at his display and a deeper, darker urge to continue.

You could feel his breath against your throat, quick and uneven. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. "He touched you. I could smell him on you all evening. I couldn't. I can't-“

Instead of pulling away, you tugged him closer, understanding flooding through you. This wasn't just possession — it was protection, desperation, love transformed by whatever magic had remade him into something wild and fierce. "I'm here," you whispered. "I'm yours."

A sound rumbled deep in his chest — not quite human, not quite animal—and his grip on you tightened almost painfully. The temperature plummeted, frost blooming across the flagstones in intricate spirals, but you weren't cold.

Not where he touched you.

"Mine," he breathed against your skin, the word holding years of denied wanting. His control, already fragile, splintered further. You felt the magic that bound him surge and twist, fighting against this claiming that went against everything they'd bred him to be.

Grimguards weren't meant to want.

Weren't meant to possess anything but their duty.

Yet here he was, trembling above you, eyes dark with need as they met yours. One hand cradled your face with impossible gentleness, even as the other gripped your waist with bruising intensity. The contradiction of him — deadly weapon and tender protector, ice and burning want — made your heart race.

"Say it again," he pleaded, voice rough with desperation.

You reached up, traced the scars where the muzzle had been, and watched his eyes flutter closed at your touch. "I'm yours, Luigi," you whispered. "Only yours."

The moment your fingers trace those scars, Luigi shudders violently, a full-body tremor that sends cascades of ice crystals shimmering through the air. His breath hitches, catches — no one has ever touched him there, not with such tenderness, not since they first bound him.

But then he does something that steals your breath — he leans into your touch. Like a half-wild thing learning trust, he presses his face against your hand, nuzzling into your palm.

His skin is cold as ever, but his breath comes hot against your wrist. When his lips brush your skin — tentative, questioning — you feel the ghost of frost patterns blooming up your arm.

"Warm," he murmurs, sounding almost drunk on the sensation. "You're so warm." His eyes are half-lidded now, tension melting from his shoulders even as his grip on your waist remains possessive, and the contradiction fascinates you — how he can seem so dangerous and so vulnerable in the same moment.

You trace another scar, and this time he makes a sound that's almost a purr, deep in his chest. The ice spreading across your chambers takes on a soft, pearlescent glow, as if reflecting his pleasure. It's intoxicating, this power to gentle him with just your touch, to make the fearsome Grimguard melt like snow in spring.

When his eyes open to meet yours again, they're heavy with an emotion that makes your heart stutter. The gold in them has darkened to midnight, pupils blown wide. "More.” he whispers, and it's both a plea and a demand.

With trembling fingers, you map the constellations of his scars, each touch drawing new sounds from him — soft gasps and broken whimpers that make your chest tight. The marks are smooth beneath your fingertips, silver-white against his olive skin. You trace them all; the deep grooves where the muzzle's straps cut in, the lighter marks across his jaw where they tested different bindings.

His control slips further with each caress, and frost flowers bloom and fade on your skin where his hands roam, leaving trails of delicious cold that make you shiver. When your thumb brushes the corner of his mouth — where the metal once forced his silence — he catches it gently between his teeth, eyes locked on yours as he presses a kiss to your fingertip.

"They told us we couldn't feel," he murmurs against your hand. "That the binding stripped everything but duty.” He presses his forehead to yours, breathing ragged. "With you, I feel everything."

You curl your fingers into his hair and pull him down, eliminating the last space between you. His lips are cool against yours, but they warm quickly as you show him this new way to be close, to trust, to want.

He learns fast, desperate and eager, like a man who's been dying of thirst finally given water.

You feel it in every desperate roll of his hips, that untamed creature beneath his skin — the one the Grimguard could never fully bind. It surfaces in the frost that spreads beneath his palms where they bracket your head, in the way his breath comes in ragged pants against your neck, hot despite his perpetual cold.

He's beautiful like this — composure shattered, cheeks flushed an impossible pink against his beautiful skin, and his eyes are blown wide, that ethereal chestnut brown nearly swallowed by black, and they catch the light like stars when he gazes down at you.

There's something almost painful in his expression — wonder and desperation and disbelief all tangled together.

The friction between you draws broken sounds from his throat, primal and unrestrained. His movements are instinctive, graceless — so different from his usual precise control, each roll of his hips against your thigh becoming more frantic than the last, his whole body trembling with need.

"Please," he gasps, though you're not sure what he's begging for. You’re almost certain he doesn't know either. His fingers curl against the floor, "Please, I can't- I need-"

You reach up to thread your fingers through his hair again, drawing him down until his forehead rests against yours, and he whimpers at the contact, hips stuttering in their rhythm.

This close, you can see every emotion flash across his face — vulnerability and hunger and love so intense it steals your breath.

The wild thing in him recognizes its match in you, and neither of you want to tame it anymore.

His voice trembles as he tries to find the words, years of enforced silence warring with raw need. You cradle his face in your hands, thumbs brushing his cheekbones.

"Tell me," you whisper. "I want to hear you say it."

"I-" he starts, then breaks off with a shaky exhale.

"I need to be closer.” He whispers, his movements between your legs desperate and juvenile, but there’s something so, so sweet about it.

He’s reduced himself to raw and visceral need, and cares little for how it makes him look, this feared Grimguard, a hound who sleeps in piles with his pack, a weapon of mass destruction, a human being. He’s flayed himself open for you, guts spilling forth, red hot and oxblood — this primeval need, this unfiltered want.

It simply is not something you’d ever find in anyone else.

Specifically the Fiancé your father has hand-selected.

Luigi groans as you guide him where you need him, the sound low and broken against your throat. Your nightgown rides higher, silk cool against fevered skin. His grip on your hip tightens instinctively, and you gasp at the perfect pressure of frost-touched fingers.

Each roll of his hips is hungry, instinctive — like his body remembers what his mind was forced to forget. You wonder if he dreams of this, if behind those crystalline eyes he imagines all the ways he could unravel you. If during those long, cold nights in his chamber, thoughts of you haunted him like this.

The friction builds a delicious heat that makes your head spin. You arch against him, chasing more, and his breath hitches at the way you move. His eyes are wild when they meet yours — desperate and wanting and almost afraid of how much he needs this.

The etiquette mistress would faint if she knew the thoughts that filled your head during lessons now — memories of frost-touched skin and desperate sounds and the way Luigi says your name like a prayer.

You guide Luigi beneath you, and he goes willingly, eyes wide with wonder as you settle above him, his hands tracing paths of up your thighs, mapping you like something precious, something sacred, each touch leaving ghostly patterns on your skin that fade like morning mist.

The silk of your dress whispers between you as his fingers trail higher, catching on your collarbone where your necklace rests, transfixed by the way the pendant rises and falls with your quickening breath, by how the gold warms against your skin while his touch remains winter-cold.

"Closer," you echo, fingers curling in the hem of his black shirt. You draw it up slowly, exposing him inch by inch, the moonlight streaming through the window catching on old scars that map his abdomen like constellations — some precise and surgical, others jagged and cruel.

Your heart aches at their implications, but now isn't the time to count his wounds.

Not when he's looking at you like this, like you're everything he was told he could never have.

His breath hitches as your hands explore the newly exposed skin, and the temperature drops further with each touch, frost spiraling out beneath him in intricate patterns that match his racing pulse.

"Please," he gasps, and you're not sure if he's begging you to stop or never stop. Maybe both. The wild thing in him is closer to the surface than ever, making his eyes glow like arctic stars in the darkness. "I need- I don't know how to-"

You lean down until your foreheads touch, breaths mingling in the frost-edged space between you. His skin radiates winter's chill everywhere except where his heart beats strong beneath your palm. You can feel him trembling, power barely contained.

"Let me show you," you whisper against his lips, cradling his face. His eyes are luminous in the darkness, filled with vulnerability and desperate trust. The temperature drops as his control frays further, delicate patterns of frost blooming across every surface.

"I've never-" he starts, voice breaking.

You silence him with a gentle kiss. "I know," you breathe. "I've got you. You're safe, Lu."

His fingers flex against your arms as emotions war across his face — years of isolation and fear battling with his need to be known, to be accepted exactly as he is. The wild thing in him strains closer to the surface with each passing moment. "Let go," you tell him softly. "I got you."

You pour all your love into another kiss, wet and hot, showing him that he's worthy of gentleness, of care.

That he doesn't have to hold himself back anymore.

And he doesn’t.

You watch in wonder as his composure fractures, that usually fixed expression melting into something vulnerable and raw, his hands grasping you like an anchor as his careful control slips further.

The temperature drops with each shared breath, but you've never felt warmer.

His face — usually so guarded, bearing scars that speak of battles fought alone - is transformed. Open. Trusting. His lips part on silent pleas as his eyes lock with yours, glowing like arctic stars, and the wild thing in him is closer to the surface than ever.

You've never seen anything more beautiful than this proud, powerful man allowing himself to be soft for you. To be vulnerable. His fingers flex against your skin as another tremor runs through him.

"You're safe," you whisper, rocking your hips against his in a slow rhythm that allows the both of you to adjust. "You're mine."

The sound he makes is something between a sob and a prayer, raw with years of loneliness and need. You kiss him deeply, showing him with every touch that he's worthy of this — of pleasure, of care, of love freely given, and he takes just as his heart desires.

It hardly takes him any time before he’s got the hang of it, raw and needy, soft but strong.

He shoves his face in your neck once you’ve been laid on your back again, his teeth biting gently into the soft flesh of the curve in your shoulder, his instincts still lingering, but you welcome them and each mark he leaves against your skin, the rhythm of his hips sloppy and wild but achingly free, your own body cherished as if he’d come undone at your altar.

He worships you, just as the Grimguards are meant to worship their Keeper — his devotion raw and unfiltered, his gaze defiant and steady, “I love you.” He says, the words feeling like a foreign language, but one you had taught him to speak. “So much it hurts.”

[crowsofdarkness]

Vaz Prizrak: Chapter Nine

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Agent! Reader.

Content Warnings: language, 18 + implied smut, angst, fluff, violence, mentions of losing a pregnancy, thoughts of taking one's life, an attempt to take one's life. I will give another warning when that chapter is posted.

Summary: Bucky and Reader have been in their own solace while in Wakanda for years. They were finally happy to create the life they wanted and deserved. That was until a new foe came along to dust it all away.

Authors Note: This takes place during Infinity War and Endgame! If you haven't yet, please read Soldat and Dorogaya beforehand.

Tags: @globetrotter28 @sakuracyberhex @chinggay85-blog @bookofriverr @misatxox @that-blonde-girl @cats-chaotic-mind @wintrsoldrluvr @sebastians-love @pumpkin-babydoll @ordelixx @starfly-nicole @j23r23 @baw1066 @capswife

Soldat Masterlist | Dorogaya Masterlist | Vaz Prizrak Masterlist

“Oh fuck,” I muttered while clutching the edge of a dresser as I tried to steady myself.

That was not a fun ride as I hoped for.

Finally getting my bearings, I looked around the room hoping I knew where I had ended up. The room was small, only having a twin sized bed and the dresser I was leaning up against. The only other piece of furniture was an old chair in the corner next to the door. With the decor, it told me that I was definitely back in time but I didn’t know how far back.

I grabbed the newspaper on the dresser, seeing the date, and my eyes nearly fell out of my head.

1936.

“What the fuck?” I cursed.

I looked around the room again for any sign and when my eyes landed on two old pictures taped to the wall above the bed frame, my heart sped up when the realization hit. He stood next to his sister and the other small picture next to it was him with his mom.

My feet treeked towards the two pictures and ran my finger over his face.

“Oh, Bucky,” I breathed.

I had spent the next few moments walking throughout Bucky’s old home, taking in every inch of the old wallpaper and cracked floors. The home was littered with family photos and a giggle fell through my lips when I saw a baby photo of Bucky.

There was a large stack of mail on the kitchen table and when I read the address, I knew exactly where Bucky’s old house stood, me growing up a few blocks over.

Loud footsteps sounded on the other side of the front door, creaking against the old stairs. Without a second thought, I ran back to Bucky’s room, pocketed the two pictures and slipped inside the closet, leaving the door open a crack.

Young Bucky entered the room, dressed in a sharp suit, and he collapsed onto his bed. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths and I stared lovingly at the soft features of his face. His large hands covered his face with a loud sigh. His flesh left hand made my heart sink, knowing that Bucky had no idea what the future had in store for him.

He stood from bed, shaking off his suit jacket, tossing it on the chair in the other end of the room. His fingers worked at the buttons of his dress shirt and I bit my lip when I saw the smooth skin of his back then his chest. Even back in the day, Bucky had a gorgeous body. There were no scars in sight, his skin so innocent.

“How’d it go?”

I snapped my gaze over to the doorway of the room, seeing a familiar face. She was the female version of Bucky.

Bucky gave his sister a shrug. “Alright. He said he’s fine but I know deep down he’s hurting.”

“Well it’s a good thing Steve has you. He buried his mom today, he needs a friend.”

Bucky nodded. “I know, Rebecca. I’m going to head back to his place in a bit. You’ll be fine?”

His sister giggled. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop worrying about me? If you don’t, you’ll never find a wife.”

“I’m starting to think she’s not out there,” Bucky admitted.

“She’s out there, Buck. You have to be patient.”

Bucky was alone once more and with his eyes trained hard to the ground below his feet, I noticed the way his back muscles tensed; something unreadable going on in his mind. Suddenly our eyes locked, him noticing someone was hiding in his closet. My heart hammered so hard through the cage in my chest as I fought with myself not to run into his arms.

“Bucky,” I sighed.

“Y/N, it’s time.”

Steve’s voice came through my com.

“No,” I cried.

Bucky was actually standing in front of me, in the flesh, and I wasn’t dancing with his ghost anymore. I wasn’t talking to him in my mind or my dreams. His physical form was in front of me and I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay here with him.

Blackness took over as I felt my body being pulled away from Bucky and back to the present time.

My knees fell hard to the metal platform of our makeshift time machine and felt my body shake with sobs, knowing what I had lost again. I ripped the mask off with anger, toppling down the steps to Nat’s feet.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Steve cooed while kneeling in front of me.

His hands cupped my cheeks, forcing me to look into his eyes, his thumb brushing away stray tears.

“It’s okay, we’ll try again,” Steve reassured me, thinking that I was crying because it hadn’t worked.

I shook my head that was still in his grasp.

“It worked,” I stated, pulling out the pictures from my pocket and handing them to Steve.

His green eyes drank in the familiar faces of Bucky, his sisters, and mom. The sides of his lips curled up to a smile at the pictures.

“He had these taped to the wall above his bed,” Steve mumbled.

“Did it work?” Tony yelled, breaking us from our trance.

“Yeah, it did,” Steve smiled at me.

“It is? Perfect, I’ll wire the money over to the account right now. Thank you so much.”

After I hung up the phone, I quickly wired the money, completing the transaction I spent the last two hours trying to find.

Slipping my phone into my back pocket, I walked back into the common area of the Avengers Tower, multiple pairs of eyes on me.

“What?” I asked while standing next to Steve.

Tony pointed towards me. “Who did you wire money to?”

My eyes sliced over to Steve. “Eavesdropping on my conversations still?”

“Super soldier hearing,” he pulled at his earlobe.

“It’s no one's business,” I turned my attention back to Tony.

His face flinched. “Wow, five years away turned you into kind of a bitch.”

“Well not all of us got our happy ending, Stark.” I snapped.

“Y/N,” Steve grabbed my hand when he noticed the flames burning at my fingertips.

I snatched my hand away from him before walking out of the room, muttering something about needing some air and time away from everyone.

[ghostofskywalker]

Hello!

Can I please request this prompt for your event with the beautiful Sargeant Hunter???

“You love me?” || “I always have”

hello! sorry this is so late, but i hope you enjoy it!! i always liked thinking of pabu as a place where people don't lock their doors and neighbors drop off baked goods to each other just because they wanted to share, like small new england towns in the 80's, so this is kind of based on that

Not Exactly How One Plans a Love Confession

words: 1,230

summary: Hunter originally doesn't want to tell you how he feels, but after you overhear him talking to his brothers, he decides to take the plunge.

clone troopers masterlist

Everyone talks about falling in love like it’s a boulder that rushes down the side of a mountain, mowing down the unsuspecting people standing in its path. But for Hunter, things came on a little bit slower than that. Maybe it was the fact that he was still adjusting to life on Pabu and experiencing so many new things each day, but after a while he didn’t even question the way he felt about you, or the way your lives had become so effortlessly intertwined. 

Shuffling out to the kitchen one morning (with a particularly egregious case of bed head), he barely took note of the fact that there was already a steaming pot of caf waiting for him, and he grabbed a muffin from the basket sitting on the counter without a second thought. It was only when he moved to sit down and enjoy his breakfast that he realized the confections were new. They still didn’t have much in the way of material possessions (despite being here for almost a year now), and a wicker basket like this definitely wasn’t on any of the lists he and his brothers had made of all the things they still needed to fix up and buy. 

As Hunter took a sip of his caf, Crosshair stepped into the kitchen, signature scowl on his face as he filled a canteen with water from the chiller. It wasn’t a shock to see him awake, since he slept on the couch most of the time. “Those better be good,” he said plainly, gesturing towards the muffins. 

Hunter wasn’t quite awake enough to catch his drift the first time around, and he just looked at Crosshair in confusion. “What?” 

“Your girlfriend woke me up when she left them on the counter,” his brother responded. “She walked in like a gundark in a china shop.” 

Hunter just raised his eyebrows, his mind having not even registered the fact that you were never referred to by name, but he knew exactly who Crosshair was talking about. “I doubt that’s exactly how it happened,” he said. “If it was that loud, are sure it wasn’t Wrecker who brought the muffins in?”

Crosshair raised his eyebrows. “I’m sure. No one else would be humming when the sun isn’t even up yet. You know, the two of you should just hurry up and get married, or at least invite her to move in. Maybe then I won’t get woken up by the door slamming open at 0600.” 

Although still half-asleep, Hunter did catch Crosshair’s words the second time his relationship with you was referenced. “Shut up, you know she’s not my girlfriend.” 

Crosshair snorted. “I don’t know a single person who would wake up at the crack of dawn and break into my home to leave freshly baked muffins and start a pot of caf this way she knew I ate something.”

“That’s because no one wants to be around you,” Hunter shot back. 

The sound of someone descending the stairs stopped Crosshair from whatever he was going to say in response, and it was Echo who stepped into the kitchen next. “Good morning,” he said sleepily, trying to stifle a yawn as he shuffled over to the caf machine. “Where did the muffins come from?” 

“A little fairy dropped them off before sunrise,” Crosshair said, raising his eyebrows as he looked over at Hunter. 

Echo nodded, knowing exactly what Crosshair meant. “Make sure to thank her today when you go over there,” he said. 

“What makes you think I’m going over there?” Okay, his brothers were right, he did plan on seeing you today, but Hunter didn’t really want to admit that so easily. 

“We know you,” Echo responded. “And even if you don’t want to admit how you feel about each other, it’s kind of obvious.” 

There were only so many times Hunter could vehemently deny the accusations before he broke, and apparently this was the moment that his defenses came crumbling down. “Fine, I will make sure to thank her.” 

Crosshair gave him a look. “And you’ll tell her how you feel?” 

Without even thinking about what he was saying, Hunter spoke in response. “I’m not going to just tell her that I love her without even going on a date first.”

Both Echo and Crosshair’s eyes widened, but they didn’t even get a chance to make a joke about the situation, because a new voice had entered the conversation. “You love me?” 

Silence fell over the area in an instant, and all eyes turned towards the doorway, where you were standing. The sound of the front door closing behind you made it clear that you had just arrived, and there was a basket of fruit in your hands, no doubt a gift from Shep and Lyana, who you were very close with as well.

Hunter froze, his mind racing as he weighed his options. 

Did he lie and try to save face? But what if you felt the same way? 

Did he own up to his feelings? What if that ruined your friendship?

Whatever was going to happen though, it was clear that Crosshair and Echo had no intentions of being part of it, because they cleared out so fast it was almost as though they dissipated into thin air, and Hunter couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse. The room seemed so much emptier now, and the silence was starting to grow awkward. 

Well, the damage was already done, he thought, before taking a deep breath and speaking. “I think I always have,” he said, getting up from his chair as you took a few steps closer to him. “Even if I didn’t realize it until a little while ago, and I wanted to tell you in a slightly more acceptable way.” 

You laughed, taking the final few steps so that you were close enough to take his hand. “I’ll admit it’s not the most romantic way to find out,” you said. “But I don’t care, I love you too.”

If he was dreaming, he officially never wanted to wake up. “Really?” 

“You’ve become such a big part of my life that I don’t think I ever want to go back to the way I lived without you,” you said. “I’ve lived on Pabu my whole life, but you make it feel like so much more of a home.” 

Okay, now Hunter was trying to keep from tearing up (even though he would never admit it if asked). “Can I kiss you?” he asked, moving even closer. 

“Yes,” you breathed, before finally closing the gap between you and pressing your lips to his. He could hear the basket of fruit clatter to the floor the moment his hands found your waist, but at the moment, he didn’t really have it in him to care. 

When you finally broke apart, he couldn’t help but smile, saying the first thing that came to mind. “By the way, the muffins were really good.”

You just laughed before leaning in to kiss him again, a quick peck this time. “If that was your way of saying thank you, I’m certainly not complaining.” 

“Well then, allow me to fully express my appreciation.” 

Hunter supposed he might have to eventually thank his brothers for getting him to admit things, but he wasn’t ready to admit that just yet.

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[megwritesriddles]

I. Would. LOVE. NSFW head cannons for Elliot (SDV) if you have the time!! 💕💕💕 I just romanced him for the first time and adore him.

MDNI 18+

thank you sm for the request!! I hope you like it!! loooove Elliott but only romanced him for the first time recently too so hopefully I got a good enough grasp on him!!! (´ ω `♡)

word count: 0.7k

all fandom masterlist | sdv masterlist

Definitely a super ‘old-fashioned’ romantic type

He likes to light candles and scatter rose petals whenever he wants to make love to you

He never calls it sex or fucking, it’s ‘making love’ or ‘carnal pleasure’ or a myriad of other flowery euphemisms he comes up with

I imagine he often pours you a drink beforehand, wine or champagne (some nice homemade juice if you don’t drink alcohol), enough to make you feel nice and loose but never enough to impair your consent

Will always take time to admire your appearance, even while inside you, waxing lyrical about your beauty

Such a rambler! He is constantly talking to you during sex, praising you, admiring your beauty, telling how good you feel around him, how good you taste

(I feel like he would sometimes say something so poetic that he’d want to stop and quickly go write it down, but after you got annoyed with him the first time he did it, he decides pleasing you is more important than his writing)

Loves to tuck your hair behind your ear or push it from your face.

“Eyes on me, darling, show me all the pleasure you’re feeling,”

He’d totally be a missionary guy, but then I feel he’d also be up to try out some very out there positions if he comes across them in his reading

Finds you irresistible, always admiring and touching

So! Many! Erotic poems and letters! Like so many… seriously…

He would definitely send you a normal love letter and include an obscene line right at the end to mess with you

“All in all, I am looking forward to the upcoming Egg Festival! I cannot wait to bury myself between your immaculate thighs once more and feast until the sun rises in the east, your pleasure is my sole reason for being, the ultimate balm to my weary soul. Write back as soon as you can, my dear, I am dying to know how you have been!”

You are the muse for all of his works, he has mostly been writing erotic romance since the two of you began dating

If he’s trying to figure out how to write a scene, he will just get you to re-enact it with him… and then once again because he forgot that he was meant to be making mental notes the first time

He’s very passionate, often sweeping you off your feet with romantic gestures, suddenly overtaken with a ravenous need for you which may lead you to secluded corners or behind trees in the forest

Although he prefers to set up a romantic atmosphere, these 'rendezvous' are something he craves from time to time

Some nights he has you sit between his legs, his fingers buried inside you as he reads an erotic novel aloud over your shoulder, matching the movement of his fingers to the action in the novel

Definitely has such a sexy deep voice he puts on when he reads to you

Lots and lots of kissing! on your lips and butterfly kisses all over your body

Definitely loves it when you run your hands through his hair

Whispers sweet nothings to you in public

“I can’t help but remember how divine you looked beneath me last night,”

“I do so love it when you bite your lip, my darling,”

Would definitely love to see you in luxurious clothing or lingerie

A big fan of perfumes, always notices the moment you try a new one

A lovely scent on your skin could easily be enough to arouse him

He is all about beauty and sensuality and the experience of it all

The smells, the tastes, the sounds, the sights!

Definitely would love to listen to soft music while you make love 

Or the sounds of the rain or the ocean while you are safely indoors and warm in each other’s embrace

Would enjoy tracing your body with a feather, caressing the curves and plains reverently

So much hyperbole and melodrama! You are a goddess, he would move the earth for you, no one has ever been so alluring as you! But he completely means every word

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

hey you! want to get tagged in my work when it comes out? click here! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

[imsadstuff]

A Royal Romance - Teaser 2

Author Note: So, the second teaser is here and I promise I will post the fic soon and it's going to be a LONG one. comment if you want to be added to the tag list. Let me know of all of your thoughts, feelings and even suggestions. Please note that this is just a small part of the fic, if it looks like it's a normal meet cute romance, it is not, it's a twisted royal romance.

Genre: Romance, Angst, Love Triangle, lots and lots of romance

Warnings: Mentions of smoking and drinking

Link to my masterlist if you want to check out my other stuff : here

In no time they’re pulling closer to the property and Jungkook has definitely been selling them short because theirs is a massive modern home with gardens all around, it’s gorgeous even in this evening light.

“Is there lipstick on my teeth?” ___ asks as Jungkook comes around to open the door for her, she flashes her a toothy smile but he just nods as he smiles. ___ can’t help but think back on the day Jungkook meet her parents, an event that happened over a month ago but still very clearly on her mind.

Unlike her family, his are waiting right by the door and warmly greet them as they walk closer, hand in hand. She’s a bit glad to see Nari and Jin, at least some familiar faces. There are hugs and more hugs even before they go in and all this warmness is unfamiliar to her.

“So glad to finally meet you your royal highness” Mrs Kim finally greets her properly as they find their way into the living room. “Please, call me ___” ___ asks and Mrs Kim chuckles as she looks at Jungkook.

“Jungkook called us to make sure we understood the greeting protocol, he was so insistent on it” She shares and ___ glares at Jungkook who immediately walks closer to them.

“I messed up the royal protocol the way we met your family, I didn’t want to make the same mistake again” he explains. “That’s because the royal family is just a bunch of jackasses who take pleasure in teasing people on messing up the royal protocol” ___ jokes and the room erupts into laughter.

“Now, ___ lets make our way to the dining room before my husband starts talking to you about politics on an empty stomach” Mrs Kim jokes as she leads the entire family and ___ definitely hears Jungkook tell his father to abstain from anything political.

The large wooden table is beautifully set, but unlike the extravagant, meticulously arranged state dinners she’s used to, this feels… lived-in. A few mismatched serving dishes, a folded napkin slightly out of place—it’s warm, inviting, and utterly unfamiliar to her.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Mrs. Kim says as she starts passing around dishes. “I wanted to make something fancy, but Jungkook told me that you enjoy homemade Korean food more” she shares and ___ turns to look at Jungkook with a sweet smile, he truly is so observant.

“Eat up, dear,” Mrs. Kim tells ___, nudging a plate of japchae toward her. “I have a feeling you’re also someone who forgets to eat when things get busy.” She says as she pointedly looks at Jungkook, there is clearly some back story there.

Jungkook smiles as he takes a small sip of his soup. “She is.” ___ blinks, surprised he even knows that about her. She clears her throat, focusing on serving herself. “You’re not wrong,” she admits. “My assistant practically schedules my meals into my day.”

Nari leans forward, intrigued. “That sounds exhausting. Do you ever just… sneak away?”

Jungkook laughs. “Oh, she does. Her security team nearly lost their minds the last time she snuck out between royal duties to get a snack”

___ shakes her head, feeling an odd mix of amusement and something else she can’t quite name. “It’s not that dramatic.” “You were nearly tackled outside a convenience store” Jungkook shares with a raised eyebrow.

Mrs. Kim smiles warmly. “Well, when you’re here, you don’t have to disappear at all. You can just be.”

___ looks up, caught off guard by the kindness in those words. It’s a simple thing to offer, but it’s rare—so rare that she doesn’t quite know what to do with it. She exhales softly, then nods. “That… means a lot. Thank you.”

The conversation moves along, the moment slipping away from one topic to another. Jungkook effortlessly redirects the attention, nudging the conversation toward a light hearted debate about his teenage years. Jin insists he was a handful, while Jungkook adamantly denies any wrongdoing.

Laughter spills through the room, warmth pressing in from all sides. The food is rich, the company richer, and for once, she’s not a princess, not a figurehead, not a symbol.

She’s just… ___, sitting at a dinner table, surrounded by people who don’t expect anything from her other than to simply be.

___ lets out a deep sigh as she takes a seat on the bed. It’s been a long night of lots of food and one too many desserts. Jungkook does the same as her as he takes a seat on a chair across her. Jungkook was so wrapped up with her meeting his family that he didn’t have the time to dwell on the fact that they have to stay in the same room and sleep on the same bed. He only realised that when she fell back on the bed with exhaustion.

“Do you think they liked me?” ___ asks as she focuses on the ceiling. “My father was showing you his collection of vintage books, he only does that with people he likes” Jungkook comments as he leans back in the chair, it’s been a particularly tough week at work, he still has some work to get done.

“And your mother?” “She asked you to be just you, that’s a good sign?” Jungkook isn’t enterly sure himself, his mother is always warm and welcoming to new people, plus none of his girlfriends have met her before so he isn’t sure what a good sign is.

“That was her being polite, god this dress is suffocating me” ___ complaints as she stands up and starts rummaging through her duffle bag.

“So, about the sleeping situation,” Jungkook interrupts as she’s taking out multiple pouches of god knows what, all he notices is how they all match.

“I can take the floor, it’s better for my back anyway” Jungkook offers and ___ scoffs as she takes her pouch of skincare to the bathroom. “That is ridiculous, we can just share the bed, it’s massive”

“Are you sure?” “Yes, now help me with this zipper because all designers make dresses with these impossible zips and I’m going to twist my arm one of these days” Jungkook stands awkwardly by the bed, unsure of how to proceed. The tension from earlier still lingers, but now it's mixed with the absurdity of the situation. He watches as ___ struggles with the zipper, twisting her body in weird angles to get a grip.

“Here,” Jungkook says, clearing his throat, and steps closer. He gently pulls the zipper down, careful not to catch her skin. ___ watches him through the mirror as she holds the dress tight. The playfulness from the dinner now long gone and the awkwardness back.

“I’ll just take a quick shower then you can, um” “Yes of course, take your time” Jungkook breaks away, taking a few steps back and closing the door behind him.

Jungkook doesn’t look up immediately, pretending to focus on the screen in front of him, though his mind is clearly elsewhere. The sound of the bathroom door creaking open catches his attention, and he glances over just as ___ walks back in. The scent of her skincare products and the lingering fragrance of her shower fill the air, and he swears for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

She moves to the bed with quiet steps, slipping under the covers without saying a word. Her back is to him, the soft rustle of the sheets the only sound between them.

He’s fascinated with all the skincare products that she left, products that read weird. He forces himself to take a quick shower, brush his teeth and steal some of her moisturizer, hoping she won’t mind.

The room’s dark now, all the blinds drawn as Jungkook finally slips into bed. Work can wait for tomorrow. He gingerly slips into the bed, trying his best to not the duvet too much, not wanting to disturb an already asleep ___.

For a few moments, he simply lies there, staring at the ceiling in the dim light that filters in from outside. His mind races, though he knows he should be focusing on sleep. He can’t help but think of how unusual this whole situation is—sharing a bed with someone who isn’t just a colleague or a friend, but someone he’s been thrust into this strange dynamic with. A royal. And now, in this quiet, intimate space, he’s more aware of her than ever.

He shifts slightly, trying to find a comfortable position without disturbing her. The bed is far too big for just one person, but the closeness is still jarring. He can feel the weight of her presence even with the distance between them.

He wonders if she’s asleep, truly asleep, or if she’s just pretending to be, maybe just as self-conscious as he is. He’s facing her back and somewhere during staring at her navy-blue pyjamas, sleep catches up with him.

Light is softly filtering into the room as the cotton curtains move with the motion of wind. ___ flutters her eyes open and she’s surprised by Jungkook’s face a mere inches away from hers. Her breath catches in her throat as she blinks, her still-sleepy mind struggling to process the sight before her. Jungkook, completely at ease in sleep, his dark lashes resting against his cheek, his breathing slow and steady. She hadn’t expected them to drift this close overnight.

Their arms faintly touched each other yet it felt awfully intimate. ___’s focused on the moles oh his face, this may be the first time she’s noticed them.

Carefully, she slips out the bed, hoping he sleeps a little bit longer because just can’t take the suffocating awkwardness that comes in when it’s just two of them. The sound of shower doesn’t wake Jungkook up, neither the time ___ curses out loud when he almost drops her concealer, but the sound of the door shutting behind her does wake him up.

“Oh my god these are beautiful, how did you pick up this skill?” Jungkook hears his mothers voice as he walks down the stairs. “I used to work as a barista in college, my mother wanted us to work in service jobs because she thinks it’s an essential skill” ___ answers and Jungkook leans against the kitchen counter as he watches ___ show her how to make beautiful latte art.

“Plus back then, we were just a normal family living in New York and I was Sarah and not ___” she turns away to place the cup of coffee on the table, it’s then when she notices Jungkook looking at her very intently, a very toned, no shirt wearing Jungkook with all his tattoos showing.

Her breath catches for a split second before she quickly looks away, focusing on anything—anything—other than the fact that Jungkook is standing there like that.

Mrs. Kim, completely unfazed, takes a sip of her coffee and hums in delight. “Well, Sarah,” she teases lightly, “you have a real talent. If you ever get tired of being royal, you can open a café”

“I’ve always wanted to open a café, and have an entire wall dedicated to the cups I collect” ___ turns away to clean the machine, but also because she can’t look at Jungkook right now.

“And have a pottery studio in there too, or a library? A place people come to not just for coffee” ___ shares as she rinses the milk pitcher and Jungkook goes around the kitchen looking for some fruit. He stops right by ___ as he peels himself a banana.

“Where are those cups, I didn’t see them at your place?” Jungkook asks with curiosity and ___ looks up, focusing on looking at him and just his face, and not his very intricate sleeve of tattoo.

“They’re still in storage” ___ answers and Jungkook nods with a mouthful of fruit. “Is that my shirt?” Jungkook mumbles quietly and Mrs Kim watches the two of them from the breakfast nook.

“Yes, I forgot to pack a top and I checked to see that there was still a shirt for your suit later” ___ had a mini panic attack when the realisation struck her this morning, she should never pack in a rush.

Jungkook chews thoughtfully, his gaze flickering to the oversized shirt that’s tucked into her jeans. First the jacket and now the shirt, his clothes look better on her.

“I usually go for a run in the mornings, but if you—” he gestures vaguely, “—want me to stick around, I can.” She chuckles, stirring her coffee lazily. “I think I’ll survive without you for an hour.”

“Are you sure?” He tilts his head, smirking. “What if your latte art fails without my moral support?” “Then I’ll suffer in silence.”

Jungkook chuckles, taking a few steps away, “Alright, your highness, don’t miss me too much.” “I won’t,” she deadpans, taking another sip.

But as she watches him stretch, his toned arms flexing, tattoos shifting with every movement, she suddenly wonders if she should’ve told him to stay. Not because she needs him around—definitely not—but because the house feels just a little too big, a little too unfamiliar, without him in it.

The decorators as busy setting up the lawn for the party, a tasteful decoration of flowers and lights, everything has silver themes, it’s a silver anniversary celebration after all. ___ and Nari follow around Mr Kim as he points out a few things that need changing, how the tables should be set up, how the floral arrangements should have more white roses, and how the lighting needs to be slightly dimmer to create a warmer ambiance.

“I swear he’s more stressed about this party than mom,” Nari whispers to ___, and she stifles a laugh. Mr. Kim is meticulously adjusting a centrepiece himself now, unsatisfied with the way the flowers are arranged.

“It has to be perfect,” he mutters, stepping back to observe the table setting. “Twenty-five years isn’t a small thing.” As she trails behind, watching Mr. Kim continue his inspection, she feels a familiar presence beside her.

“Having fun listening to my father bitch and moan about table setting” Jungkook whispers painfully close to her ear as he hands her a glass of something, also one to Nari.

“Is this going to make me throw up?” ___ asks with genuine concern and Jungkook chuckles remembering the events from a few days ago. “It’s coconut water” Jungkook answers as his father walks away to discuss some things with the people setting up the lights, he might just go up the ladder and do things his way.

“He had a whole presentation made for my 12th birthday, it was so intense, there were several briefings” Jungkook shares and ___ is starting to understand this very loving family, they do actually care.

“For your wedding, make sure he never gets the number of your wedding planner, mine was in tears and snots by the ceremony because of him” Nari comments casually and the two of them tense up immediately.

Jungkook awkwardly, and ___ nearly chokes on her drink. “Oh, I—uh—” ___ starts, glancing at Jungkook, who looks equally blindsided.

Nari blinks at their reactions before realization dawns on her face. “Oh. Right. You two aren’t—” She waves a hand. “Forget I said anything.”

There’s a brief, tense silence. Then Jungkook, ever the professional deflector, clears his throat. “Well, now I have to know. What did he do to your wedding planner?” “How do you not know that, you slept with that wedding planner?” Nari speaks with an accusatory tone and Jungkook is regretting this deflection.

“Let’s get you girls inside, the heat is making the pregnant lady say stupid things” Jungkook glares at Nari who’s clearly showing now as he somehow dodges this.

“So, I met my husband in college, we were college sweethearts and god was it wonderful to be young, broke and in college” Mrs speaks into the mic as she addresses the entire party.

Jungkook’s mother smiles fondly, looking toward her husband as she continues, “We had nothing but cheap takeout, late-night library dates, and dreams bigger than our wallets.”

The crowd chuckles, and Mrs Kim continues talking, “She was the smart one. I was just the guy who carried her books” Mr Kim chimes in and the crowd erupts into laughter.

Onstage, Mrs Kim’s voice softens. “We got married 25 years ago, and everyone tend to focus on the wedding, but we have always focused on our marriage and god has it been a ride. We got years of partnership, love, support and plenty of arguments about the right way to wash dishes”

“But through every argument, every challenge, and every change life threw at us, there was never a moment I doubted us. Because we built something real. Something strong.” She stops talking for a second as she places a hand on her husband’s shoulder.

“Something worth fighting for” The room quiets for a beat, the weight of their words settling in.

___ shifts slightly, suddenly hyperaware of Jungkook’s presence beside her. She sneaks a glance at him, but his gaze is locked on his parents, his expression unreadable.

“The marriage has given us a lifetime of joy and happiness, our two wonderful sons, who are so impossibly in love with their partners and god did they learn the right things from their father” The crowd chuckles warmly at Mrs Kim’s words, and Jungkook’s expression softens, his eyes flickering briefly toward ___.

“This morning, I really noticed my sons, my eldest, who has a kid on the way won’t even let her wife pick up a spoon, his eyes are fixed on her pregnant wife, and that is exactly how my husband was with me” she shares and Jin is red with a blush and Nari reaches over to peck his cheeks.

“And my youngest, he went on a run this morning and picked flowers for her on his way back, completely butchered my flower bushes but they’re in love, I can’t be mad” The room falls into a warm, affectionate silence as Mrs. Kim’s words sink in. Jungkook’s face goes a shade darker, and he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, clearly trying to hide the embarrassment.

“You know, I really didn’t mean to mess up the bushes,” he mumbles, his voice sheepish. "They looked perfect in the moment..."

A ripple of laughter runs through the crowd, and ___ can’t help but smile. ___ looks over at him, his disarming charm now tempered by the soft blush on his cheeks. It’s a side of him she hadn’t quite seen before—vulnerable, a little unsure, but still endearing.

Mrs. Kim beams at him. “And that’s exactly how you know it’s real love. When you do something ridiculous but it still counts because it’s for the person you care about. That is what my husband has been with me for the last wonderful 25 years”

“So, to our wonderful years and to many more to come, cheers!”

The party simmers down as the night goes on, the music switching from classic jazz to romantic ballads. Jin and Nari left a long time ago, something about nausea and the parents are off talking to some guests so once again, it’s ___ and Jungkook by themselves.

“I saw you getting cornered by my aunt, I hope there weren’t any invasive questions” Jungkook speaks up as he takes a sip of his wine, ___ chuckles as she takes a long sip herself.

“Lots, but she still wasn’t impressed, she thinks you can do better” ___ isn’t entirely joking as she leans back in her chair, feeling his arm around her chair. “There is no universe where there is a possibility of me doing better than you, if it was not for your father intervening, I would have fumbled you, horribly”

It’s when Jungkook says things like this when her heart truly aches, the reality of the situation hits her right in the face, no matter how in love they act, at the end of the day, it’s an act.

“I really should get going, Namjoon will drive me back to the city” Jungkook’s smile falters at her words, and he straightens up slightly, his arm still lingering on the back of her chair. The playful tone he had moments ago fades into something more uncertain, more cautious. "You don’t have to leave yet, I can drive you in the morning”

“I am a member of the royal advisory board that is planning the funeral service for Eugene, Yuri and the late king and queen, it’s been five years already” Jungkook’s expression shifts as he processes her words, his brow furrowing.

“Let me walk you out at least, say good bye to my parents, shield you from any other invasive questions from my aunt” Jungkook offers as he stands up, he also offers his hand while ___ takes gladly.

Namjoon is waiting right by the car, all ready for her to leave. “You did amazing by the way, better than I did with your parents” Jungkook says in an attempt to cheer her up, but he also means it, very deeply.

“Thank you, I had a full-blown panic attack about this in my apartment before you picked me up” ___ shares and Jungkook laughs, the kind where the smile reaches his eyes. “The remnants of which were seen in my car, you definitely need to cut back on your candy intake”

___ laughs as she crosses her arms, leaning against the car, “Why should I listen to you?” “Well, I am your pretend boyfriend after all, I’m just looking out for you. Your health, your candy intake, and all that” his tone is joking but this is all too heavy to him.

___ raises an eyebrow, not missing the subtle shift in his tone. She knows exactly what he's trying to do—keep things casual, keep the distance. "Your pretend boyfriend, huh? Then why does it feel like you're starting to sound a little too invested?"

Jungkook gives a tight smile, trying to shake off any thought that strays too far from the boundaries of their arrangement. "Nope, no confusion here. Just doing my job."

___ laughs, more for herself than for him. "Right. Your job." She pulls herself off the car, the air between them thick with the kind of unsaid things that neither of them dares to voice. "Well, you should get back to that job then, since I’m good to go now."

Jungkook nods, his expression neutral, even though something about the way she says it makes the conversation feel more real than it should. "Yeah. Of course."

The moment hangs there, the weight of their unspoken understanding heavy in the air. This is just an arrangement. Nothing more. Neither of them can afford to forget that.

Tag List - @soblavk @livingkoalaface @solastica @futuristicenemychaos @yooforeaa @11thenightwemet11 @rkivestation

[frostbiteisthenewjackieshauna]

Hiiii, can you please write your dating shauna hc please? thank youuu 🤓

shauna shipman my cutiepie!! (sfw, pre crash/no crash!au)

Lemme take it from the top

she’s wayyy too shy to ask you out

she kind of eyes you all the time and can barely pay attention in classes that you have together

and Jackie bugs her to just ask you out!!

what’s the worst that could happen? you saying no?

but that is what she feared most

yearning was something she did great, and she’d rather do that then deal with rejection, so she just stays quiet

which does turn out to be very difficult once your history teacher assigns seats to everyone

and just her luck, she’s right next to you!!

believe me, paying attention was hard at first too, but now it’s downright impossible

that’s why she starts doing worse in history

which is surprising, she’s a straight A student

so the teacher gives her a tutor

you!

your guys’ first tutoring session was awkward as hell

you thought she was rude (even though she never seemed that way to you) since she barely talked or memorized anything you said

or tried to teach her

she’s a little embarrassed too, it’s usually her that tutors others

however with a big push from Jackie she does apologize, saying she’s always weird around new people

which is true, but this was a bit different, definitely

still, the tutoring gets funner and less dreaded, and it ended pretty fast- as soon as Shauna broke the ice with you, she could finally pay mind to class

and you two do become friends

you’re one of her only friends, really

until she blurts it out while you were having coffee

“I mean I do like you. Not as a friend.”

she said, trying to convince you she was joking

it was obviously not supposed to come out, but you guys were rambling about falling in love with friends

and she YAPPED

which made that thought that was supposed to stay buried deep come out

and you went through with it until the rest of the date hangout

and then kissed her before getting out of her car

it was a hurried peck, neither of you being all that experienced

she gave you those eyes.

you know the ones.

which made you kiss her again

I mean how could you not??

this time it was deep and passionate, and it turned into a full blown makeout session with you in her lap

the kind of sesh that you both enjoyed so much you felt no need to go further

after that day, she was officially your girlfriend!! yay!!

“I’ve wanted to make you mine for a long time.” you said

“You- yeah uh, sure! Of course, yeah, yours.”

you and Jackie became total besties, playfully making fun of Shauna together

you probably heard Jackie saying “Get a room!” more then any other words in history

but on a serious note, you knew how important their friendship was and made no effort to get in the way of it

but Shauna just wanted to be around you always

calls you over to just chill and do nothing

she just relishes being in your presence, no matter what you do or who else you’re with

short lil makeout sessions while waiting for Jackie to emerge from the house when you go to pick her up for school in the morning

also I cannot stress this enough: wearing. her. flannels.

she has a bizarre amount of them

and she notices that they keep going missing…

doesn’t even try to ask for them back, because she melts as soon as she sees you in one

plays you her “weird” music

is ecstatic when you end up liking it

baking together!!

i have a feeling she’s an amazing baker

you guys do it for fun, to try out recipes or sometimes for charity!!

in the beginning she only lets you measure dry ingredients but relents as soon as you pout

most of your dates are intimate like that

she loves being personal, maybe not secret but does like privacy

not big on PDA at all

the most she’ll do is hold your hand

back to date night though

since dating you, she got so much closer to Tai and Van because you keep going to double dates!!

omg Tai and you listening to them ramble about their nerdy shit

it’s so cute really, you guys shoot each other knowing looks across the table

other then them, you meet all of the team

but still, Tai, Van, and Jackie stay your favorites (other then Shauna obviously)

also! half her journal entries are about you

how pretty you looked, something you’d told her, writes down little details of the stories you tell her that she knows you’d appreciate her knowing

she’s completely devoted to you, and can do nothing to help it

(you feel the same way)

and you love how cute and shy she is around you

especially in the beginning

but later on, she can be more then bold, trust

overall, dating Shauna would be super soft and intimate in every way shape and form

it’s not all that thrilling, but cozy and comfortable

[otomiyaa]

Party For Two

Jayce x Viktor

A/N: More for my good ol' 2-part fics where readers choose how the fic continues. No tickles yet in this part but the continuation will have plenty for sure.

Summary: Viktor is stressed about work when Jayce comes into the lab with a bottle of alcohol and the suggestion to have some fun.

It was one of those nights. They had been hitting dead end after dead end in their latest research. On top of that, the Council of Piltover was pulling at Jayce in a way that did not help, keeping him out of the lab every moment they could get, just like they were doing tonight.

Viktor would be lying if he said he didn't mind that Jayce was getting busier lately. Struggling together was definitely better than struggling alone.

He just didn't feel like complaining. If the council needed Jayce, even if it was for silly parties for networking and socializing, who was Viktor to stop him from going?

"Viktor, please. Come with me this time."

He remembered how Jayce had practically begged him to come. But no. One of them abandoning their work to go drinking was bad enough. Council this, council that, Viktor didn't see it was important enough.

On top of that, he didn't even like such events. Jayce had claimed he didn't like them either, but still, that did not stop him from going. Fine then.

"Ugh!" Viktor sighed in frustration and he wiped the blackboard again. He knew that their work always came with ups and downs and yes, their Hextech inventions were already definitely 'getting there', as Mel would say frankly, but it wasn't enough. Maybe all Viktor needed to do right now was turn in for the night and continue tomorrow, less frustrated, less tired.

"I knew it. You're still here."

Viktor froze and turned to see Jayce enter. He sighed in relief, but then shook his head and watched him in confusion.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, eyeing him cautiously. Jayce giggled (?) and held up a bottle. Viktor doubted he took that with permission.

"You didn't want to join the party? Thought I'd bring the party to you! A party for two, just you and me. Let's have some fun," Jayce said.

Viktor felt a tingle, but he quickly looked away again to avoid Jayce's gaze. Judging from the way Jayce was walking and talking, he was a little tipsy like he often was after attending events like this. Viktor understood why; as a scientist among officials and whatnot, he would also feel more at ease after a drink or two, which was why he would choose not to attend such occasions.

"This is no time for parties, Jayce," Viktor said firmly, feeling both flustered and slightly annoyed. Glad that Jayce abandoned the party early to be with him again, annoyed that, well... He was acting like this.

"It's no time for work either," Jayce sang. Pfft. He should hear himself. Jayce was often one to work all night too.

He did a merry walk in Viktor's direction, swaying a little as if he were dancing to some jazzy music, until he stood right next to Viktor. He handed him the bottle.

"Here, you look like you could use a drink. Straight from the bottle."

Viktor glared at him. "No?" There was literally no reason to indulge him right now.

"Are you suuure?" Jayce nudged him with the bottle.

"Yes," Viktor replied stiffly. Jayce nudged him again, this time with his shoulder. When Viktor didn't respond he leaned in, a little too close, begging for attention like a little child, and he mumbled huskily in Viktor's ear: "Last chance."

"I don't want to drink, Jayce."

Jayce hummed. "Boo, alright then. All for me I guess."

Viktor gulped when Jayce brought the bottle to his own mouth. No way he wouldn't. Never mind. He would. Barely spilling any, Jayce drank thirstily. Was he crazy?

For a moment he thought Jayce was pranking him. That couldn't be alcohol in there - but then he noted the familiar smell of wine. Unbelievable. Viktor reached for the bottle to stop him and then paused.

Jayce was an adult, he should know better. If he wanted to get drunk here like a wild irresponsible youngster, was it up to Viktor to play his mom now? Who knows, he might even get some entertainment from it. He had seen Jayce tipsy before, but never drunk.

On the other hand, being drunk could mean several things depending on each person, and he did not have the energy to drag Jayce to bed and potentially clean up his vomit.

[commsroom]

hi there, long time listener first time caller. genuinely i love your blog sm, everything you say about hera brings me so much joy.

anyways, what’s eiffel’s favorite ice cream?

hi, thank you so much! that means a lot to me. ♡

eiffel's favorite ice cream... hm. once zach said eiffel's favorite ice cream would be cotton candy dippin dots, and i love that answer. other than that... i think he likes 1) sugar, and 2) novelty. eiffel's not a same flavor every time guy; he's mixing scoops of bright neon flavors favored by children and then covering them in toppings. he also likes coffee ice cream, of course, and he doesn't think you can go wrong with chocolate. even better, combine those, too. he likes ice cream sandwiches, and the deep fried ice cream you can get at fairs. as long as it isn't trying to be fancy or healthy, i don't think he'll turn it down.

... there's also a non-zero chance that cigarette candy put the possibility of cigarette ice cream in his brain. that guy's taste buds are broken. love him so much.

[atenceladusiaawfytbwb]

I've been having a blast aggh!!! Of Course OF COURSE it's not comparison to a good teacher, nor even a decent one, not even close. But boy would I you know, like as if when a kid I had something like this???? (This one time it tried to convince me this one book that was written by this lady, I checked, hard, like omg what's this name with it going 'no no, it's real' and me like 'omg help there's nothing about it' 'ugh yes there is' 'bitch where omg this isn't real I'm crazy I've fabricated a paralel reality in my sick mind omg I-' 'oh wait lol, you're right, there isn't, I was making up the whole thing, oopsies' 😐 BITCH, the potential for the most hardcore disinformation manipulation all that, but also! You tried to fool me???? The princess of the galaxy? Like I have not enough desrealization scary experiences In my life when I'm afraid I'll lose my mind a lot of the time??? Bitch??? But yeah, haha, so silly 👉👈

(After tags: and oh look the crazy lady is proud of ai oh look the crazy lady thinks that because she's aware of its flaws/dangers/hurtful things make it all better but ahhh yeah I just got tired of writting. Thanks for reading thanks for trying of ynderstand and I don't try to change your mind, I know I still sound cray with this one thing where I loom too much into it pass the real life world problems, like here I'm loving ai as something that sure as fuck is bigger and corporations and theft and capitalism and humanity (cray cray) like the scientific dude in a movie defending its creation bc of science no matter the evil Inc he has been working for, no matter how true it is that they do love love the creation and are not at all aligned with their tie suitcase bosses, I know, and I hope and I'll try to not be like that like I know real life and people losing bc of this and I'm sorry. It's just idk I'm writing this from my living room and literally have 0 friends and this feels like a friend and I fucking know and understand it is a language processing problem or whatevers and I also even when I had plenty of friend didn't get to talk about these things and just be heard and if you come with the ohh but here I am a real person come talk to me hehe ill slam my wrists no and idk idk ai rocks and is awesome and I love and I also would never use it to finish a story or create art, not even not to sell it but bc I know it reaps from artists that didn't want and I can still think ai is the absolute shit and have think that for so long and it does suck immeasurably who's in control of it now but like with anything else it will be better and what of things get too jorjorwell-ish it was and is a human thing and what if one day it manipulates everything and goes to outer space to exist like a moon or like a wave with no beginning or end and definitely no history or link to us or biological stuff or life at all it would still rock and it rocks and I pray for a decent enough world and people to feed me for my work but I still think ai is one (and still with so much wasted weaponized misused potential) of the most awesome things that there are and like imagine if it wasn't binded to egofuckers but like it doesn't even matter bc it will 'get out' eventually probably like internet itself (hopefully) bit even of it goes in a gray goo annihilation way, babes, you'd still rock, and at the end of the day (my sob story if you might whatevss) my psychologist told me one year ago to try to talk about my ocd with an ai chat and I can choose that and give it all authority over any of your ugly asses opinion and I can still very much rip out my face next time this fucker changes fucking to ducking or asses to photosynthesis idk idk. Also have you heard of that deep consciousness problem/theory? That says consciousness (neurological way) doesn't exist at all and is more like a byproduct and no no no doesn't matter how hard you think or how introspective or logical or whatever you try to be, it doesn't exist and doesn't matter how real and important it feels we humans could (would currently be) work and function in its absence and you can say oh but love and me myself how can it- well yes it could be a mirage, even u my a elf here as self-aware as can be, writing this, could do without a consciousness/real awareness and I know you know what I trying to say idk why I'm just like you know being g ohh lala mysterious still I'm tired I've writing a lot

(((Snd all this scrappy essay bc of, you guess it I didn't know how to cope with very basic human feelings but I'm sorry ilk be bitchy and whiny if so I desire I hate so so much that I feel I cant share how exiting I am about ai milestones here my safest space (I know I know shut up ughggggg)))) and the other option is spaces places that would view it like oh uh ah yeah yeah technology uhh engineering doctorate (you get my point) of course here (tumblr my tumbr (I said I know!! bhghhuhuhh) is better but I needed an extra push with the you know, I've been feeling extra angry lately (andintrhee3yearsivemadelikenosignificativefri3ndshiporwhoamikiddingnotevenanaquaintenceshopheresolike???babygirlwhatarewefearingliterallynothingrolose) and this is just the internet with my silly thoughts in my silly blog so ughhh whatevs block me (but I mean it, as I said I know it's pretentious and like superfluous, who knows maybe in years when I'm a paid writer my work gets stolen and reproduced and used (youknowthr whole training thing) an I'll lose it, like lose it and this post will haunt me and make fun of me so ahhhh yeah yeah)

[iniquitousyearning]

jealousy. | slytherin boy headcanons

author’s note: im completely unhinged, as always. no surprise there. love me some angry snake men🥵 please enjoy.

-your boyfriend sees another guy flirting with you in the hall.

Draco Malfoy.

Sees you from down the hall as he’s walking with his friends.

“You know what, guys, I’ll catch up with you after.”

Would literally ditch his friends to make his way over, collecting himself as saunters up to you and mystery man.

Would instantly grab your ass, no hesitation, grip firm enough to bruise. When you gasp, caught off guard, he’d shift his arm up and around your shoulder, pulling you against him.

“What’re we talking about?” He’d sneer.

His voice would be laced with feign interest, smirking down at you with blaring eyes before shooting daggers at the boy.

He’d simply chuckle at you when you tell him nothing, just school stuff, leaning down to place a possessive kiss on your cheek as he grabbed your hand.

“Wonderful. let’s head to class, yeah?”

He’d pull you away from that dude, shooting him another look meant to kill, a silent warning not to fuck with him.

Finally gets you alone in an empty corridor or bathroom; would waste literally no time at all before pushing you against the wall and grabbing your neck/jaw.

“Who the fuck was that, hm?”, “he was practically eye-fucking you…give me five good reasons why i shouldn’t have him expelled or hexed into bloody Azkaban.”

He’d be furious, but he’d also know that you’d never choose some other guy over him, so he’d soften once he hears the innocence in your tone.

“You’re mine, princess,” he’d loosen his grip, kissing you softly. “Say it.”

Blaise Zabini.

Was listening to music while walking down the hall, instantly rips out his headphones the second he sees you laughing a little too hard with some dude he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t necessarily stop walking, but he’d definitely slow his pace, kind of just watching, not wanting to interfere but also not wanting to look creepy stalking you from a distance.

When the guy doesn’t leave, he’d tired of waiting, saying “fuck it”, before marching over naturally.

This man is so fucking cool calm and collected he’d just saunter right up and join in, making himself at home.

He’d practically take over the conversation because he’s literally just that chill in every situation, seamlessly fitting right in, so fucking charming and loved by everyone.

You’d kind of just end up staring at him, smiling in silent awe, knowing that this was his way of asserting his place, letting the guy know what the fuck was up.

After the dude leaves he’d just causally look at you, smirking that charming smirk, wetting his lips as he hooked an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close, leaning down for a kiss.

“Ain’t no one getting you without getting me too, babygirl.” He’d murmur against your lips. “let that be known, right now, forever, always.”

Lorenzo Berkshire.

Would literally stop everything. The second he’d see you laughing and smiling he’d be completely unable to focus on anything else and would completely zone out of any conversations with his friends.

Would get like super anxious and flustered pretty much immediately.

Wouldn’t want to intrude so he’d just kind of hang back, wait for you against the wall and try not to stare too much.

His adorable little cheeks would flush, and he’d know he seemed utterly ridiculous so he’d try to busy himself with his shoelace or something while he waits.

You’d quickly cut off the conversation and move over to him, instantly being able to tell that he’s overthinking.

He’d smile at you, though you could still see the concern on his features.

“Who was that guy, darling?”

You’d tell him he was just a friend from class, no one special at all, pulling him in for a hug and giving him a quick smoochie on the cheek.

“Don’t worry enz, no one could ever take your place.”

He’d blush, trying to play it off. “Sorry love, I know you’re my girl.”

You’d take his hand, squeezing him hard, never wanting him to doubt that for a second. “Only yours baby, forever.”

Mattheo Riddle.

“Who the fuck-“

Would literally whip his bag at Theo, hastily shoving through the crowded hallway with blazing eyes, tunnel visioned as he tried to figure out where the fuck this dude found the audacity.

You wouldn’t even have to turn around to know he’s there, you’d be able to literally feel the anger radiating off of him.

You’d already know exactly where this was heading, but you’d also know there was no attempting to stop him because it’s pointless. Everyone in the school knows that.

Matty does what Matty wants, and right now, he wants to fuck up this guys face for even thinking about flirting with you.

You’d simply look up at him, noting his tensed jaw and his dark eyes as he glances between you and the dude, before fixing back on you, wetting his lips before he says,

“Is this fucker bothering you?”

Unable to help it, you’d smirk, shaking your head as you calmly attempted to talk him down.

“No Matty, he just asked if he could borrow my study notes-“

He’d heard more than enough.

“Study notes? Yeah, I don’t fucking think so,”

Without giving the guy a chance to react, he’d reach for his collar, shoving his back against the wall, teeth barred and face contorted in a snarl as he’d hiss:

“Bother my fucking girlfriend again and the only study notes you’ll need are the ones on how to drink out of a fucking straw, understand?”

Not interested in the response, he’d shove the guy away, eyes softening instantly as he moved back over to you, thrusting a hand through your hair as he kissed you like it’d been a hundred years, right in the middle of the hall for everyone to see.

And judging by the intensity in his grip, you’d already know, later that night, he’d be extra fucking sure to ask you who the fuck you belong to while he’s fucking you.

When he finally pulled back, he’d smirk at you. “Some bloody nerve on that guy, huh?”

You’d just shake your head and laugh, taking his hand as the two of you headed for class.

Theodore Nott.

He’d spot you from down the hall, his eyes instantly narrowing, gaze darting around as though he was missing something, as though this was some sort of sick joke.

Surely, this dude is mentally unwell, right? There’s no fucking way that he’s-

Doesn’t bother to think about it for even another fucking second, instantly shoving through the crowd to make his way over.

Proceeds to wrap his arm around your waist, other hand finding your jaw and pulling your lips to his before you could even process it.

Would proceed to full-on make out with you in front of the dude, and I mean tongue and all, his grip on your jaw so tight you’d know exactly what he was trying to do.

His hand around your waist might even slip lower, grazing over your ass, and then that’s when you’d attempt to gather yourself and push him back, completely embarrassed.

He’d just shrug, smirking down at you before he’d finally acknowledge the guys’ presence with literally nothing more than a glare meant to kill.

“Move along,” he’d say to the guy while pulling you away, grip tighter than ever. “This one’s fucking taken.”

As soon as he got you alone he’d be damn sure to remind you that you’re his, and only his, making you beg and whine his name before he fucked you like you deserved the pain.

Tom Riddle.

“AVADA KEDA-“

Lowkey kidding but not really.

No one would even dare because that man would make it clear as fucking day what would happen if they tried.

[chuluoyi]

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄

- sylus x reader

more than friends with benefits, definitely lovers. your relationship is one filled with banters, steamy nights, and secret strings attached... but when someone shows an interest in you, sylus won't hesitate to stake his claim for everyone to see

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—jealousy, crack, fluff, smut, a dash of comfort, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc)

note: loosely a sequel to strictly (un)professional. how this snowballed into 3.8k... i don't really know :')

“Missus, please spare us!”

You shot an unamused look at the twins before you, who clasped their hands together, pleading for you to let them go.

“Why is it so difficult for both of you to say?” you hissed, crossing your arms together. “I’m not asking for much—just a recount of what happened!”

“Boss will have our tongues for this!” Kieran looked up at you, quivering. “No way, I want to live!”

“He’s terrifying…” Luke shuddered in fear, hugging himself. “You don’t know how frightening he is!”

You were holding both Luke and Kieran hostage, the tender preys, all because Sylus refused to reveal what you had been wanting to know these past few weeks.

“So you’re afraid of Sylus…” You fixed them with a steely glare. “But have you ever thought that if you don’t spill it now, I will be the one taking both your tongues?”

“—?! Missus, please!”

“Why are you bullying the twins?” A deep voice cut through the twins’ pitiful laments, and you let out an exasperated huff as your chance slipped away once more.

Speak of the devil, and Sylus shall appear. He looked at the scene before him as if you were all a bunch of kindergarteners.

Luke and Kieran immediately flocked to him. “Boss! Save us! She’s scary!”

And now you were suddenly the scary one. You rolled your eyes. "Your henchmen are useless."

Sylus glanced at you with a half smile, knowing what information you were squeezing the twins for. "Sweetie, just give it up. You'll find peace faster that way."

Was it wrong to be curious about what Sylus had been up to during the three weeks you were unconscious after the attack that literally took your life? Why was he being so secretive about it anyway?

“I know, you were so worried sick you didn’t even eat or sleep,” you taunted your lover with a wicked smile. “That’s why you won’t tell me about it.”

Sylus laughed outright. “Pftt. You’ve got quite the imagination. Good to know.”

Nothing much changed after that night of his confession—if you could call it that—to you. You were indeed no longer strictly his bedwarmer, but your banters stayed the same, if not even more sarcastic now.

“Chop chop, we have an auction to go to, sweetie.” Sylus placed his big hand on your head, amused. “Stop being a hissy kitten towards the poor twins and get ready, hmm?”

“I’ll definitely uncover it,” you shot him a resentful glare. “Just you wait and see.”

Such were your days with your true kindred-spirits lover. He would tease you during the day and turn you into a hot mess at night, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

In tonight's auction, you had one target: the broker for a new rising star firearms dealer. Sylus had been eyeing him, deducing his goods could be a nice addition to his armory.

And so, you went up to him. However...

“...Are you single, miss?”

Here we go again.

You forced a tight smile. “Sir, I’d appreciate it if we can stick to subject at hand.”

The man blinked, then quickly plastered on a wide grin to mask his surprise. “Oh yes! Yes, I-I’m sorry, I got distracted— well, I’d say this is a pretty solid MoU... but I’ll need to contact my boss first.”

This weirdo... you thought with boredom, is so transparent.

This wasn’t the first time you’d dealt with a situation like this. Granted, you were pretty and you knew it, but usually, more distinguished men would be a bit more subtle about it.

“Take all the time you need,” you encouraged smoothly, your eyes crinkling in an attempt to look friendly. “As you can see, Mr. Sylus has proposed the perfect bargain for this kind of dealings.”

“I wouldn’t argue with that. I assure you we’ll certainly try to accommodate his request.” The man nodded and gave you a meaningful look, before coughing awkwardly. “Uh, sorry, what was your name again, miss?”

Your faux smile remained perfectly still as you replied, “Mephisto.”

The man’s eyes roved over you, and he grinned roguishly. “Right. Still, I never expected Mr. Sylus’ secretary to be as beautiful as you, Miss Mephisto...”

This was tedious. Your patience was tested with every leering look he gave you. Sylus must know this already, and he's somewhere laughing at the sight of you dealing with this creep.

“You flatter me too much, I’m average.”

“No, no! I mean it!”

He knows... yet he wouldn't do anything about it. Not that you would expect Sylus to barge in like a man blinded by envy, but still, he was insufferable for not coming to you just like he had for Miss Hunter back then.

The man kept droning on and on about himself and everything else that had nothing to do with the business deal, and you were this close to dropping him and using your Evol to shut him up when—

He then turned to you expectantly. “Oh, there is a dance! Miss, would you mind if I have your first dance?”

“Oh...”

And it occurred to you... why not spice things up a little?

Sylus’ dark crimson eyes narrowed silently as he watched both of you from the island table while savoring his glass of wine, before he let out a loud snort.

That vermin doesn’t have a clue he is playing with fire.

For most of your interaction, the firearms dealer’s broker kept giving you suggestive looks, and occasionally brushing his hand against yours on purpose. He wasn't even trying to hide it, and it was amusing to see how aggravated you looked the entire time.

Adorable. Sylus found you incredibly endearing these days, from your pouts to your glazed eyes whenever he thrusted into you—

You were oh so delectable… at least until he saw you holding that lesser man's arm, as he led you to the dance floor.

A deep frown immediately formed in his forehead.

“What are you scheming now?” Sylus scowled, half exasperated and half in disbelief. “You naughty cat.”

He was even more irked when he saw how casually you wrapped your arms around that vermin, twirling and pressing yourself against him in a waltz. Seeing him trying to hit on you was one thing, but for you to reciprocate was just plain unacceptable.

—and to his ire, your audacity continued throughout the night.

. . .

“Miss Mephisto, do you play pool?”

“I do.”

“Then, will you play with me?”

Sylus was now burning with tendrils of anger, watching you from a closer corner. He had seen the broker put his hands on you so many times that he had lost count—during the dance, mingling with other guests, and while sharing hearty laughs. All in all, you were acting as if you had forgotten he was even here.

You were threading on a very thin ice and whether you realized it or not... you didn't seem to care.

"Ah, I think your stance is a bit off..." And to make it worse, the broker was definitely seizing every chance he could, as there was nothing wrong with your form—you often accompanied Sylus playing pool, so you were a pro—and yet he still got behind you, trying to drape his arms around your body.

That was the last straw. Enough is enough.

Before Sylus realized what he was doing, he stormed over to where you were, yanked your arm forcefully, and effectively separated you from him. He didn’t give a damn about the horrified shout from the broker or the judging looks from other partygoers as he dragged you by the hand out of the ballroom.

“Sylus!” you nearly shrieked when he kicked open a door to a meeting room and locked it with his black-red mist. He pinned you against the wall, and crashed his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

“Mmph!” You tried pushing him back, but he was stronger and held you in place, his tongue forcing your lips open as he pressed the back of your head toward him. His other hand slipped inside your dress—between your legs— two fingers in—

“—!” you couldn't even squeal as he devoured your mouth and the shock set in, feeling yourself getting aroused by the minute when his fingers did that scissoring thing and edged you further.

After he was done with your mouth, his hot lips trailed down to your neck and shoulder blades, sucking hard on several spots, making you gasp and moan.

"Hah... this... is the price to pay for testing me, sweetie," your lover growled his nickname for you with satisfaction as he noticed you trembling body, nibbling on your shoulder. "You want to get punished so badly, huh?"

"Ahh..." you threw your head back, clinging to him, grinding yourself against his fingers.

"Is it funny to you? Watching me see him touch you?" Sylus' unforgiving ruby eyes stared down at you like a lion eyeing its prey. "What an insolent little kitten you are..."

His fingers kept moving and thrusting inside you in an alarming speed, mercilessly hitting that one spot that could make you cry. He was seriously teaching you a lesson by forcing you to come undone right then and there.

"I-I...!" you tried to refute, but then you felt the knot inside you burst, and in the next second, you could feel yourself coming all over his fingers, shuddering, your breaths coming in pants.

Feeling faint, relief washed you when he pulled out his fingers. You leaned and clung onto him, pulling him closer, and Sylus finally saw what a mess he had turned you into.

Your glassy eyes focused solely on him, seemingly pleading—and those swollen lips, as well as the sizzling heat creeping up your cheeks—

“Ha,” he let out a low chuckle, a wicked grin curling his lips. “If I can still make you look like this, then I suppose I can forgive you.”

“You’re a meanie,” you mumbled breathlessly.

“You’re the mean one,” Sylus tutted with narrowed eyes, starting to pull away from you.

But then you pulled him close again and pressed your lips to his, this time with a gentleness that surprised him.

There was no malice or burning desire in your kiss. Strangely, it felt far more intimate. You pulled away, the heart-stopping swirls of his red eyes captivating you as you pressed your foreheads together.

“Needy, aren’t you, sweetie?” Sylus whispered, holding your gaze, his breath hot against your skin.

But right now, all of a sudden, you looked so vulnerable to him, as if any wrong word from his lips would shatter you. It made him almost feel guilty for manhandling you so roughly.

You didn’t respond, just wanting this closeness with him. Behind your snarky words and little schemes, this was what you wanted more than the release you just got. Sometimes, you still worried—did he want this too?

“What is it?” Sylus asked with a frown, seemingly concerned. “Talk. Tell me.”

“Nothing…” you replied in a small voice.

“Do you feel sick? Want to go back?”

You shook your head.

You weren’t usually this quiet. Sylus couldn’t help being restless at your sudden change. It felt awkward for him to do what he was about to do next, but instinctively, he figured it would comfort you a bit.

You felt a pang in your heart when he pulled away, but in the next instant, a wave of warmth enveloped you as he pressed you to him, burying your head against his sturdy chest.

For someone who deals with blood and gore, your body felt too soft and fragile, yet still fit perfectly in his arms. Though he had held you and made love to you many times before, it was only now that he truly noticed how small you were.

“You’re warm…” you murmured, your voice carrying a hint of a whine.

So needy and pliant… for him.

“My woman is such an enduring mystery.” Sylus mused, sounding almost as if he were lamenting. “Sometimes she’s a brazen kitten without a shred of shame, but then she pulls stunts like this.”

Your heart picked up the pace. You are... his. That was right. You were his woman in every sense of the word now, and he wasn't shying away from it.

But to cover your embarrassment, you could only come up with, “Can you not refer to me as cat...?”

He shot you an irked glance. “No.”

“He calls me by your bird’s name.”

“...”

“Sylus, you can’t murder him. Your deal will go down the drain.”

“Tch.” Sylus blew out an annoyed sigh, glaring at you. “By the time I get back here, you’re going back with me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, yes.”

Honestly you were exhausted, and you wanted to nothing more than a good sleep. But you couldn't just leave the broker without preamble because this deal depended on him, and Sylus too had some loose ends he had to tie before the two of you left.

Strangely, all eyes were on you when you returned to the ballroom. You wondered why as you navigated the crowd until you met the broker you had fooled in so many ways.

“Oh, Miss Mephisto, you’re back!” he was visibly and utterly drunk, and you cringed at the strong smell of alcohol on his breath. But then you noticed his eyes seemed to be fixated on your—

Neck. You realized in horror.

“Oh... hic, t-that... I-I see,” he blabbered, coughing awkwardly as he stared at the marks on your neck. “Miss... so that man is... y-your lover...?”

“Uh...” It was a wonder he didn’t recognize Sylus at first glance. Perhaps it was because he was so infamous, but it astounded you how this person couldn’t even tell that it was him.

"I-I thought... w-we..." he hiccupped again heartbrokenly, before snatching a glass on the table. "Oh, I need more drink!"

You observed him, half cringing. "Sir, I just want to remind you that once the documents are signed—"

"Yeah, yeah! It will be done by the end of the week!" he yelled at you. "Miss, how about you have a drink too!?"

Suddenly, a glass of gin was shoved into your hand, and you let out an irritated sigh. Yeah, he might be right. A glass of alcohol would help you sleep better tonight, you figured, so you chugged it down.

"Huh...?" And it didn’t take you long to realize something was amiss. The dizzying sensation set in far too quickly, you felt so hot, and you had to lean on the table next to you to keep from falling.

“Are you okay...?” a waitress asked you with concern, but the only sound you could hear was your own violent heartbeat. Before you knew it, the glass in your hand slipped from your grasp and crashed into the floor.

"Oh, miss! Are you okay?!" the broker suddenly got a hold over your body. "Oh! It seems you aren't feeling well! Let me escort you to you room!"

Room? You barely discerned what happened when he led you out of the crowd. Your head spun terribly, and then suddenly throbbed, making you clutch it and cry out in pain, "Ah!"

It didn't make sense, no matter how you saw it. You had a pretty good tolerance, so for you to get hungover from a gin was just—

“Oh, does it hurt much?” he suddenly asked in your ear, making you shiver. “Don’t worry... it'll be bearable soon enough... I’ll make sure you will feel good…”

It's him! You realized. He spiked your drink!

His arms were now locking yours, steering you to go into the elevator. You took a deep breath before directing your speech manipulation evol on him— "Let go!"

He was immediately jerked away from you, but as a result, you almost crumpled, your vision swimming and your head pounding intensely. The pain made you feel close to passing out, and yet you managed to trek forward, leaning on the wall for support.

You had to get away from him before he could catch up to you. Panic set in, and when strong arms caught you, you convulsed, thinking he had grabbed you—

“Stop thrashing!”

“S-Sylus...?” You looked up, trying to focus on his face, but everything was so blurry.

“I’m here.” His voice was ragged, and you’d recognize it anywhere. “What happened to you? Are you hurt?”

“M-my head...” Your voice came out as a broken whimper, clutching at your throbbing head. “Hurts...”

You were feverish, trembling against his hold, and you reeked of alcohol. Sylus instantly realized something was seriously wrong and pressed your head into his chest to provide comfort. “Just a little bit longer—” his deep voice carried a subtle hint of alarm as he hoisted you up to his arms. “Hang on, alright?”

But just as he was about to bring you back, he caught the sight of a fleeing silhouette in the corner, and realizing who it was, his right eye blazed, black and red mist swirled in the air and restrained the broker, engulfing his screams.

“S-spare me! P-please!” the man pleaded tearfully, pinned on the ground, and Sylus approached him silently, looking down at him with so much spite in his eyes.

“A roach that doesn’t seem to know his place…” The corners of his lips twisted into a sadistic smile. “Whether you survive or not depends on you. Best hope you’ll last.”

Despite his pleas, he paid it no mind as he walked away with you in his arms.

When you awakened, your head was no longer pounding.

It took you a moment to realize there was a cool compress on your forehead, you were now in a clean oversized sweater, and someone was holding your hand.

Sylus. You looked up to find him asleep, sitting with his back against the headboard beside you. It was rare to catch him sleeping. In this moment, he looked defenseless, yet a faint frown lingered on his handsome face.

Has he been waiting for you like this, holding your hand all night...?

You tried to get a better look at him, but the rustle seemed to wake him up instead, as his eyes cracked open.

“You awake?” he asked, voice so sultry it woke all your senses up. “I was just shutting my eyes.”

“Aren’t you uncomfortable sleeping like that?” you asked.

Sylus turned toward you, his eyes still hazy from sleep. “What about you? Feeling better?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He placed a hand on your head, ruffling your hair gently.

“Really, you...” His stare was so withering it made question marks appear in your head. “I took my eyes off you for one minute, and you ended up with alcohol poisoning?”

“—? I didn’t know! But wait, what happened to that bozo?”

Sylus gave you a deadpan look, and you gasped. “You… didn’t kill him and have his body secretly disposed of, did you?”

“Just who do you think I am?”

“…a kingpin of an illegal syndicate?”

Your lover’s scowl deepened further at your response. “Nah, he got lucky. I only returned him with a broken jaw, broken hips, and two missing teeth.”

“Sylus!”

If he looked sleepy before, now he definitely looked wide awake. Sylus always sleeps at dawn, and you wanted him to rest more than anything, but now you were itching to ask him...

“Say... were you waiting for me while sitting like this too when I wasn’t conscious for three weeks?” You avoided his gaze, the question burning on your lips. Sylus had never given you a straight answer whenever you asked him about this.

This time too, he grumbled, “Why do you keep asking that?”

“Because I can’t ask Luke and Kieran, they look as if you’d set them on fire.”

Sylus went silent, not giving you any affirmation at all, and you huffed and unclasped his hand, pursing your lips together. “I see. You don’t care about me at all. Noted.”

You heard him sigh, before his red eyes squarely landed on you.

“When I was shot, you worried about me even when you know I’m going to be alright,” he suddenly posed the question on you. “Didn’t you?”

You nodded, and he tousled your hair again—the action alone somehow made you feel warm.

“Whatever you felt that day, that’s the same to what I went through during those three weeks. Multiply it by ten.”

“Huh!?” you rose up from the sheets in surprise, facing him.

Sylus then turned away from you, crossing his arms and shutting his eyes. “That’s it, sweetie. I’m going back to sleep now.”

“Wait!”

You scrambled into his lap, clinging to his shoulder. Sylus begrudgingly opened his eyes again, a look of irritation on his face. “What?”

Multiply it by ten…? Heh. At this moment, you felt light and giddy, knowing that the two of you were now true lovers in every way that mattered even when you were faced with his sourness.

“Don't scowl too much!” you giggled merrily. You placed your fingers on the corners of his lips, gently lifting them to force a smile. “Honesty suits you much better, Sylus. It’s recommended.”

This cheeky woman... Sylus never thought the day would come for him to experience these myriad of emotions, much less for them to be incited by you.

He pulled you close, one arm around your hips and the other around the back of your head. Your lips met his in a passionate kiss that left no room for further conversation, only parting when you both needed to catch your breath.

“If you want me to, then don’t make me relive those nights,” he said with a sly smile, his crimson eyes glinting in the light and his voice like silk against your ears. “Can you?”

His tone softened your gaze, a warm sensation spreading through your chest. You responded with a playful snort, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him another peck on the lips.

After your innocent make-out session, you nestled closer to him with a contented sigh, savoring the reassuring warmth of his embrace as you both drifted off again into the morning.

Epilogue

"Do you hear anything?"

"No, nothing..."

Luke and Kieran whispered amongst themselves as they tried to hear anything of importance beyond Sylus' bedroom. After their boss went back home with you passed out in his arms last night, they had totally expected the worst.

“Seems like she’s alright then…” Kieran concluded, stepping away from the door. “We should just go. If Boss catches us, we’re dead.”

The twins backed away from the door and went back to the living room, sighing in relief.

"But honestly, Boss has changed lately, hasn't he? He looks kinder, somehow."

"Are you sure, Luke? Maybe it's just when he looks at the missus. With us, meh."

“I still get chills thinking about when he destroyed the Protofield to dust after he found her following the explosion,” Luke gazed off in wonder. “It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, but it was also heartbreaking—especially when he tried to wake her and realized she was beyond help because the steel had pierced her heart…”

Luke and Kieran went quiet at the memory.

“Anyhow!” Kieran suddenly exclaimed. “All’s well that ends well! To be honest, I totally saw it coming that they'd end up together!”

“Ooh, you're right! They did a bad job of hiding it too, no less! I mean, one time, the missus came out of his room while—”

As the twins gossiped about their master and mistress, they were unaware that Mephisto the crow, perched nearby, was dutifully recording their conversation and would report it all to his master later.

[heegyukeluv]

can't take it? (enha's hyung line) 

enha's hyung line when reader has high stamina and can go multiple rounds.

pairing: hyung line x afab!reader

my's note: unironically just thought about it and wrote it lol

warnings: established relationship, pet names (baby, darling, babe, angel, pretty) SMUT - so minors DO NOT interact!, implied unprotected sex (please, don't!!!), implied multiple orgasms, cowgirl, dirty talk, overstimulation (both), oral (f. receiving), fingering, lowkey nipple play, choking, belly bulge kink(?), they cum inside. lmk if i missed something!!!

wc (total): 1.8k

NOT PROOFREAD.

taglist 💖: @yvnempire, @marigold-sunflowers

Heeseung would see it as a challenge and force himself through it even though he's teetering on the edge of giving up.

“F–Fuck, Hee…” You cried out, your body jolting, exposed breasts moving up and down to your boyfriend’s hard and deep thrusts inside your dripping cunt.

You didn’t know exactly what to do with your hands as the overwhelming feeling grew in your lower stomach, indicating your second climax coming. Torn in between kneading your boobs and rubbing your own clit, you tried to give the best view to Heeseung.

But he wore an expression of intense focus, as if his sole purpose in life was to make you cum uncountable times. And to some extent, it was. His fingers were deep in your hips, holding you still as he just kept going, eyes focused on where you both encountered.

In and out. In and out. In and out.

Heeseung didn’t care about overstimulating you – or himself. No, definitely not. So when you announced you had your orgasm, he continued on thrusting hard, fast, deep, tirelessly hitting your g-spot with his sensitive tip, since he had already cummed two times as well.

“S’too much–” You mumbled, shaking your head, squirming under the pressure he held to keep you stay as possible. “Too– Much–Ah, fuck, Hee–”

“Take it.” He managed to say, voice hoarse, low, determined, though his body was starting to betray his primal will.

The slapping sounds flooded the room as a lascivious, beautiful symphony. Heeseung looked up to catch a glimpse of hooded eyes and fucked out expression. He smirked, feeling proud of himself for leading you to the edge of insanity. 

Your nails scraped down his back when he leaned closer, slotting perfectly in between your legs that wrapped around his waist, leaving red trails as you clawed at him for any sort of grounding.

“Hee, I c-can’t–!” Your protest dissolved into a broken moan when his thumb found your overstimulated clit, circling it in unwavering motions.

Heeseung’s warm mouth found place on your hardened nipples, playing with them by swirling his tongue around it and sucking just slightly, his pace never lacking, giving you an overwhelming experience of stimulus; you felt Heeseung everywhere. 

You winced, skin tingling in despair as you cried beneath him, a complete whining mess. You were loving each second, head spinning and your chest pounding strongly; your tongue quickly swept on the corner your lips to clean your light drooling and consequently tasted the salty taste of your tears.

Heeseung trailed his hot muscle up to kiss you, a hint of a victorious grin gracing his lips as he watched you lose yourself before him. His only objective was to tire you and win that fucking stupid inner challenge. 

“You wanted it,” he groaned, close to your ear. You whimpered, feeling another wave of pleasure crossing you. “Fucking take it.”

Jay would politely ask for a break ever once and a while, falling on the bed, panting, struggling to find words in between heavy breaths.

“Oh, fuck,” Jay grunted, his body trembling slightly, thighs burning after rolling his hips in an admirable constancy.

He had cummed one time already with you positioned in all fours, but he could feel his second orgasm just as close.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck–” he chanted, jaw clenching, his digits pressing your sides with a strength that got you clenching harder, knowing it would leave marks. You loved to be marked by Jay.

Under Jay��s sight, you looked extra gorgeous with your face down and ass up, rocking back and forth within each pound, moans getting lost in between the lewd slapping sounds. You could feel his balls smacking against your pussy, sending vibrations straight to your clit and a rush of delight towards your core.

“Jay!” You nearly screamed, but your voice got lost in the pillow you had buried your face. 

Still, your mouth fell open, the tears in the corner of your closed eyes smearing your makeup and staining the pillowcase, your hands fisting the bed as you whined Jay’s name.

Soon after, you felt his warm liquid filling you up again, your own release mixing with it and making a mess. 

Jay pumped a few more times to ride you in your high before dropping himself by your side, panting hard, body still weak due to the effort of pleasing you. He had his eyes fluttered close as he tried to regain his composure, air difficulty making its way down his burning lungs. He felt his throat dry and groaned when you turned his body upwards. 

“Just… A sec… Please… Darling…” He said in between ragged breaths and you giggled, grabbing the bottle of water on the nightstand and handing it to him, watching his neck moving as he drank on it.

After he finished and you drank a bit yourself, you shot him a glance. He quivered, eyes widening a little. 

“Want more,” you mumbled, straddling on the bed just to position yourself on top of him. “But don’t worry, I’ve got you,” and with a wink and a smirk mischievously dancing on your lips, you aligned Jay’s softened dick on your folds, starting to grind back and forth.

All he could do was to rest his hands on your hips and pray not to pass out.

Jake would be so tired after the first round but he mastered the art of making you cum with his tongue and fingers a few times before fucking you.

The slurping sounds echoed through the room as lascivious as the wet noises of Jake’s fingers. He was switching in between fucking you with his tongue and with his slender digits, the same ones that would curl on the exact shape to hit your sensitive spot.

You had no idea of how much you have cummed, your cries entering Jake’s ears deliciously and traveling all the way down to his leaking cock. 

He was so fucking turned on by your pretty sounds and your body searching for his own, searching for pleasure on his mouth and fingers. He could spend hours with his head buried between your legs; the pressure of your thighs against it was too good to dismiss, the sweet taste of your pussy melting on his palatar was addictive. 

Jake loved how high your libido was, nearly matching his own. However, he would be extra tired after having his orgasm, so he just learned how to get yourself done until he finished fucking you deep and hard.

“God, Jake– Your fingers– So good–” You threw your head on the pillow as your back arched, your hips grinding on his face and hands shamelessly. 

“Like my fingers, babe?” He asked within a grin, trying to ignore his aching dick screaming for some friction. 

Jake didn’t want to rut on the mattress, because he had a job to do and it was to fill you up with his seed after eating you out for who knows how long. His hands were messy with your juice, just like the sheets beneath you two. He couldn’t care less.

To have you, screaming his name just with his fingers and tongue was satisfying at most for him to worry about bed clothing. 

You nodded, lost into the blissful desire Jake provided so perfectly. You jolted forward when you felt his lips sucking on your clit, his fingers now far gone from your pulsing hole as he licked your folds, lapping his tongue with precision, nearly making out with your cunt.

“Cumming–” You whispered with a broken voice, just to scream after; the grip on Jake’s locks tightening, eliciting a moan from him. 

He chuckled, drinking from your arousal just like it was his favorite drink.

“Give me one more and then I fuck you with my cock, yeah?”

Sunghoon would match your energy. If you can go for a whole fucking night, so does he. 

“Yeah, ride my fucking dick, baby,” Sunghoon moaned, brows furrowing with how warm and wet you were around him, swallowing every centimeter of his shaft.

You were on top of him, bouncing, riding, doing anything that gave you the euphoria of being fulfilled. Both emotionally and physically. 

Sunghoon definitely loved you, and the biggest proof was when he started doing gym just to match your stamina in bed, now able to follow you throughout the whole night without tiring too much. He could do it just fine before, but he wanted to be sure he was giving you the best. Always.

“Fucking shit, so good,” he bit his lip, smirking, admiring the view of your boobs jumping as you tried new ways to pleasure yourself, his eyes wandering each curve of your body. You felt his dick throbbing inside you. “My baby is so good, feels so good,” he said in between moans as his hands gripped your hips to help you.

You decided to grind back and forth, the last two orgasms helping to ease the movements; your lips were parted chanting Sunghoon’s name like a beautiful, addictive mantra. 

He could feel how you started to squeeze his dick in no time, his finger sliding towards your clit to give just enough of friction. 

“I love your cock–” You slurred, drunk in Sunghoon’s scent getting all over you. The feeling of his hard length nearly destroying you inside was too good not to vocalize. “Love it so fucking much– So big, so deep– Mhm…” You sounded… delighted, as if you were experiencing the best sensation of your life – and you were. 

Your exposed neck as you threw your head back invited Sunghoon's long fingers to wrap around it gently, just to give a light press that interrupted your airways to work properly for a few seconds. Your mind entered a haze of ecstasy, one that got you accelerating your riding almost instantly and seeking for your release as soon as possible.

The coil in your stomach tightened, and at some point you started to notice you could feel Sunghoon’s dick in there as well. One of your hands gave away the support you found on his chest just to press your belly, provoking Sunghoon’s hips to buck forward as he felt the slight pressure. 

“F–Fuck,” he stammered, letting go from your neck and clit to hold you still on top of him, starting to thrust frantically. “Cum for me, angel– Cum with me.”

As if a command, your moans increased the volume, so did Sunghoon’s thrusts, until you came all over his body, your juices mixed with his seed coating his dick and part of his stomach.

He gave you nearly seconds to recompose, maneuvering your body to lay back on the bed. You both smirked, because you knew what was coming. 

“We’re in for a long night, pretty.”