#i need to hold onto him like he’s my last chance of joy

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Crash Into Me

Summary: A snow storm is coming down hard and the reader is attempting to clear the driveway of snow before Dean gets home from a long shift. But one wrong move can change their whole night...

Pairing: Doctor!Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language, head injury/body injuries, mention of car accident

A/N: Fun fact, this story takes place in the same world as one of my previous fics. We'll see if anyone can figure it out 😉

_________

You were panting by the time you’d made your third pass down the driveway with the shovel. Shit, you should have gotten the snowblower out. The snow had looked light but it was wet and heavy underneath, too heavy to push effectively. Plus it was coming down hard, the wind whipping more and more. Dean was due home in less than twenty minutes and you needed to clear it out if he wanted a chance of getting his truck in the drive.

Alright, you’d get the thing out of the back and clear off some room before it got too high.

Not two steps towards the garage, you felt your boot slip on some black ice and you stumbled backwards, cold hitting your back the last thing you registered before it all went black.

With a silent groan, you fluttered open your eyes, finding yourself staring up at the roof of Dean’s truck.

“Oh that’s not good,” you muttered, finding one of Dean’s hands touching your hand, his fiery hot in it.

“Y/N? Sweetheart?” You winced as you sat up, finding Dean turned back in the drivers seat, watching you carefully. “Take it easy. You have a concussion. You were out about sixty seconds from what I could tell.”

“What joy,” you grumbled, holding a hand to the back of your head and hissing. He squeezed your other hand, your gaze locking onto his. “S’just a bump-”

“I was just pulling up the road when I saw you go down and you were lights out. We’re going to the hospital.” You opened your mouth to argue but he growled. “Do you remember that massive car accident you were in eight years ago? How your doctor, me, told you to take any head injuries seriously? Hm?”

“Fine, we’ll go,” you sighed.

“That’s my stubborn girl,” he said, letting go of your hand when you hit an icy patch on the road. “We’ll need to take it slow. Let me know if-”

“Yes, Dr. Winchester,” you said dramatically, feeling an ache in your side you hadn’t before from the adrenaline coursing through you. It was quiet in the truck as Dean drove back to work. The roads were a mess and it was coming down even harder. You weren’t exactly expecting to get out of there quickly but you knew you’d have to wait for a break in the weather before Dean would be able to get back on the road again.

“There we go,” said Dean as he barely drove into the employee parking garage, your eyes darting out the window to see a pair of nurses and a doctor with a stretcher waiting by the elevator. Again, you wanted to argue you were fine to walk but your side was really starting to hurt and you had a feeling you’d bruised the ribs you broke in your accident years ago.

“Well if it ain’t my favorite Winchester,” said Benny, opening the back door for you. 

“Hey, Ben,” you said, slipping out of the car before anyone could stop you. You sat down on the stretcher, Benny nodding to the nurses.

“I’ll be down in the ER in two minutes, sweetheart,” said Dean as you waved him off. 

“I got her, worry wart,” said Benny, shutting the door for you, wrapping his white coat around himself as he trailed after you on the stretcher. It was much warmer in the elevator, Benny shaking the cold off and cocking his head at you suspiciously. “So. How bad does it hurt?”

“My head,” you said quietly. You pointed to your ribs and right hip. “This whole side aches. It feels like when I broke my ribs.”

“Alright. We’ll get you taken care of. Hopefully it’s just a bad bruise.” You tried to relax on the way downstairs, Benny getting you in a room off of the ER where the less intense cases were evaluated. After only a slight argument, you convinced him that you could take off your clothes on your own. You weren’t about to let them cut through your brand new winter jacket.

By the time you were down to your bra and underwear, Dean was walking inside, pouting as he noticed the deep bruises on your skin over some of your old scars.

“You are going to go stand in that corner and let me work,” Benny said to him as he and the two nurses gently rolled you to your side to examine your back. “Alright, we’ll take you for x-rays but my gut says bruised ribs is all. Your concussion is more concerning to me considering your previous accident.”

“What does that mean?” you asked, Benny shining a light in your eyes.

“Just means I want to have you observed for a bit. We’ll do a quick MRI but I’m guessing you’re perfectly fine. Just a little concussion,” said Benny as the doors to the room burst open. Your gaze shot over, Benny still checking your jaw as Dean glanced at the nurse in dark blue scrubs by the door.

“Dr. Winchester! ER 3 needs a surgeon and Dr. Zacariah just busted his ankle in the lobby on some melted snow.”

“Go,” you said to Dean his body already moving after her but his gaze on you. “Now, Dean.”

“Benny, you make sure she’s fine!” shouted Dean on his way out, loud footsteps echoing down the hall. Benny smirked when he was gone, feeling the goose egg at the back of your head.

“Little shit forgets I graduated ahead of him in med school,” he chuckled, running a hand over your head when he finished. “Okay. Everything looks minor. We’ll run some tests and get you admitted upstairs. Kline.”

“Yes, doctor?” asked the young nurse that’d been in with you. Benny hummed.

“Put Mrs. Winchester at the front of the line for MRI and x-rays behind non-critical patients. Stay with her for the night. I have a feeling with the weather, Dr. Winchester is going to be working awhile.” 

“You should go help, Benny,” you said, nodding towards the door. “It’s icy out and I’m sure you’ll have way worse cases than mine to deal with. Go on.”

“Watch her,” said Benny to Kline as sirens sounded outside again. He took off with the other nurse, leaving you alone with the young man.

“So,” you said, sitting up with a wince. “Let’s get me taken care of so you can get back to helping people.”

“I’m sorry ma'am, but I’m not about to piss off some of the most important doctors in the hospital,” he said. “Let me get you on the schedule so we can get you somewhere quieter.”

Six Hours Later

“Hey, Y/N,” said Garth. You popped your head up from your book in the surgical staff lounge and gave him a smile. “Heard you took a fall. How you feeling?”

“Oh, they discharged me a few hours ago. A few bruised ribs and a minor concussion. I heard there was a huge pile up on the highway so I told them to give my bed to someone who needs it.”

“Which only happened because I offered to watch her outside of a room,” said Jack, who was working on charts at a table nearby. “Sorry for working in here. I know non-surgical staff aren’t allowed.”

“No worries, kiddo,” said Garth, going to the coffee machine and pouring a large cup. “I need to take a lunch. Why don’t you head on back to the ER? I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Thanks,” he said, gathering his tablet and notepad. “I’ll be back in awhile.”

You gave him a wave, Garth taking his seat when he was gone. He stretched in his chair, closing his eyes. “I’m surprised you’re not in surgery.”

“I was the past sixteen hours. Need some food and a few hours of sleep,” he said, glancing up at the clock. “Surprised Dean’s still on his feet. Didn’t he just work a double?”

“Triple,” you sighed, rubbing the back of your head, the swelling gone down thankfully. “He was only meant to do 8 hours and that turned into 24 when Dr. Alastair got sick so Dean covered his shift and then there was an accident. He never even made it into the house.”

“Good news is I’m pretty sure his surgery is wrapping up. Bad news is with the storm not everyone can make it in for their shifts.”

“Anything I can do to help?” you asked. Garth raised an eyebrow. “Come on. We both know I don’t need a babysitter or Benny wouldn’t have discharged me. I’m a little tired and have a headache and can’t lift anything but I can do something I’m sure. I mean I’m stuck here until this storm is over too. I know how much it sucks to be stuck in the hospital.”

“Let me talk to the floor nurse, see if we can find something.”

Two Hours Later

You grinned when Dean wandered into the ICU in a pair of clean scrubs. His green eyes were barely open but he was smiling when he found you coloring with a young girl who’d been in an accident with her mom.

“Dr. Winchester,” said the woman in bed quietly, Dean giving her hand a squeeze. 

“I’m surprised you remember me from the ER,” he said, eyes settling on the young girl. “You taking care of your mom for me?”

She hummed, going back to her coloring as you stood slowly. “I told Darcy about how good a doctor you are from my own personal experience.”

“Ah, well, you weren’t in quite as bad of shape,” said Dean, glancing at the monitors for a moment. “Dr. Mills told me your surgery went well. Hopefully we can get you moved out of ICU in a few hours and home in a few days. Mind if I borrow, Y/N?”

“Take her. And thank you again for keeping an eye on my daughter,” she said. 

“Anytime,” you said, Dean tucking you under his shoulders before escorting you out. He hummed, gently tapping the side of your head when you reached the elevators. “Listen. I know you wanted me to stay here and coloring isn’t that strenuous, I promise.”

“Ribs. Concussion. Hip-”

“Dean, I’m fine-”

“Thigh. Ass,” he smirked, gently rubbing your side. “That was a hard fucking fall and you need to rest.”

“I did! I promise,” you said, Dean chuckling.

“Always were a stubborn patient,” he said, the doors nearly closing when you spotted Gabe sneak inside. He gave you two a look, pretending to gag. “This is why you’re single.”

“By choice,” he said, holding up a finger. “And I’m getting the hell out of this building before I get pulled into another disaster. You two want a lift home on account of the head trauma and you looking like death warmed over?”

Dean flipped him off as you pushed his hand down. “Thank you Gabe, we appreciate it.”

“Anytime.”

Approximately nine hours after Dean was meant to get home, you and Dean trudged inside the house, leaving the snow in the driveway to be dealt with later. You were hungry and sore and less than a minute inside, you were under the covers in bed, Dean crawling in beside you.

“Wake me up if you feel nauseous or your head hurts more or-” You pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him into closing his eyes. “Bossy.”

“Sleep-deprived,” you said, pecking a kiss on his lips that he was too exhausted to return. “I promise you can dote on me when we wake up as much as you want. I won’t even complain that much.”

“You better not,” he mumbled. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Dean.”

_____________

[wildsaltair]

now that the seven busiest days of the year are FINALLY over, I can get back to my Maximus insanity. here have a close-up of the hands and arms that make guest appearances in every daydream I have ever had

[storiesfromafan]

I Want All Of You (18+) - Benny x Plus!Size Reader

A/N: I bring you all part two of my plus size reader one-shot 😊

Feedback always welcome 😅

Warning/s: 18+, smut, unprotected p in v, a bit of praise kink (?), grammer/spelling mistakes

Tag list: @psychocitylights @lilithlunastark

Kathy was right, a man will always want to be seen with his woman. No truer statement fitted Benny. After the first night he did everything to chase you. Showing up at the house, or your work, to make sure you were right to get home, or needed a ride. Even watching you as you grocery shopped with Kathy. It became so much that one night you just asked him; what do you want Benny?

His response; you.

You were shocked, surprised, excited and scared all wrapped up in one chaotic ball. You asked him why you? What made you so special. He looked you in the eyes, point blank and asked why not? That stumped you. There were so many reasons why it shouldn’t be you. But in that moment, you couldn’t think of them. The holding gaze Benny had on you, all the negative thoughts, or doubts disappeared. How did he have such power over that part of you?

Maybe it was the way he pursued you. Not taking no for an answer. Not caring who saw him with you, talking to you, wanting you. The determination in this man was commendable. That was why you gave in. No man has ever pulled you in for a kiss so fast. A hungry, possessive kiss. His large hands holding onto your waist securely, like you’d run from him. The way his tongue dominated your own, had your knees buckling. When Benny pulled back, he enjoyed the kiss drunk look on your face. Telling himself to do that to you often.

Though you were happy and excited for what you had with Benny. You found it hard at times to fully let yourself loose itself. Such as when Benny would kiss you stupid. Hands running over your body. Usually started with your chest, down your sides to grasp your hips. Or grope your behind. His movements were desperate and dominating. But you would shift, or move away. Worried that sooner or later Benny would find a part of your body that he doesn’t like. So, you kept as much distance as you could. But it was hard with his need to touch you.

Monday was an extra day off, making up for a double you’d done Friday. Kathy was at work, leaving you to do your share of the house work. Before you were done you heard that familiar rumble of an engine coming down the street, before it stopping out the front of your house and the engine cutting out. You smiled softly knowing Benny was here to see you. Like he did every day you’re off, along with nights. Yet he hadn’t stayed the night, or been in your bed.

You made it to the front door just as Benny leant in to knock, of course surprising him. But then he shot you an amused smirk.

“I could hear you two streets away with that thing" you mused leaving the door open, and returning to the kitchen to finish scrubbing some pots.

“That thing is my bike" he retorted closing the door after entering the house. “And you like my bike”.

You laughed from the sink, a sight that greeted Benny as he leant in the kitchen doorway. The soft sound of the radio on in the background, which you were absent-mindedly moved too. Oh how Benny enjoyed watching your body move, swaying side to side. Those curves he enjoyed feeling, before you’d shift or move away. Cutting him off from the simplest joys. He had thought about it for the last week, and the only thing he could put it down to was you being self-conscious. Afraid there will be a part of you he won’t like. Which is wrong.

To Benny, your body was a supple, curvy feast for his eyes and hands. If you’d give him the chance, he would run his hands over every part of your body. His lips, tongue and teeth not fair behind them. He would worship you till you couldn’t take it anymore.

Moving from his spot, Benny crossed the room to stand behind you. His arms wrapping around your waist, and burying his face in the crook of your neck. You giggled when his stubble brushed your skin, while you fidgeted in his hold. Yet Benny made sure you weren’t getting away from him this time. You protested and whined, making it about needing to finish the pots. But really you were worried today would be the day he’d find something about your body to dislike.

“Stop fidgitin' baby" Benny sighed against your neck. “I just want to feel ya”.

You quieted down, movements halting. You racked your brain for an excuse, a reason, to get out of his hold. But you couldn’t think of one. Shakily you continued to scrub the pot before you. While Benny remained wrapped around you. Happy to finally get to feel you against him. But he could tell you were still holding back, and he knew he had to nip it in the butt once and for all. So Benny started to think of a plan, one that would show you just how much he loved your body.

Starting by soft, sloppy kisses to your neck. His hands then moved over your stomach, which had a little chub to it, but not enough for a tummy. You stiffened when his hands roamed that area. Which was a worry of yours. But Benny didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he was being nice. Slowly his hands headed up, over your ribcage to cup your breasts. His large hands encased each mound, slowly caressing them over the sweater you were wearing. With the first gentle squeeze, a small sigh slipped from your lips, a little surprised mixed with a touch of pleasure. Yet, you were still fighting those self-doubts.

Benny planted a firm kiss to your neck, before moving and nipping your earlobe. “You’re so beautiful” Benny growled lowly in your ear. “Every inch of you...”

He moved his hands back down your stomach, and to your hips. Holding them firmly he drew his head back, before he turned you around to face him. Benny's lips met yours in a hard kiss, hands slipping to your rear. Firmly he squeezed before drawing you close to him. Your chests pressed together. Benny pushed his tongue into your mouth, dominating it. The way his tongue took charge, stroking your tongue in a guiding manner. He wanted you to know you were everything.

You pulled back from the kiss with a small squeak when Benny picked you up, his large hands cradling your behind. Those delicious arms of his flexing with strength as he held you up. You protested, saying to put you down. That you were too heavy to lift, you’d hurt him. Those words soon died on your tongue when he shot you a dark, angry look. Resting you against the sink, Benny held your gaze firmly before speaking.

“Sweetheart, these arms were made to pick you up. What kind of man would I be if I couldn’t carry my girl?” his tone was low, gravelly but deathly serious. Sending a delightful chill down your spine.

You moved your hands to his shoulders, gripping his denim vest and t-shirt. You felt embarrassed by his hold on you, but his strong words lightened you a bit. That flutter in your stomach back because Benny wanted to show you, you were just like everyone else. Feeling pride in him, you leant in and gave him a quick kiss. Which made him smile. It was a small step forward to you getting over your self-consciousness, and Benny would take it.

“I want you" he said softly, looking you deep in the eyes. “I want all of you".

God, he knew what to say to make you a mess. If he keeps going, you’d go limp in his arms. You know if he keeps talking like this, you might finally believe it all. You crushed your lips to his, hand moving to hold the back of his head. Your lips moved together in a fever, tongues colliding and caressing in a rush. You might be a worry wart, but you wanted this man to help you get over it or learn to love yourself through his eyes.

Pulling back, Benny hoisted you up in his arms, a loud squeak leaving your lips this time. Which made you both laugh. Before he carried you from the kitchen, and up the stairs to your room. Entering the room, Benny made sure to close the door with his foot. He placed you upon the bed, a tad ungraceful, resulting in him leaning over you. Again you both laughed, before sharing a quick tender kiss. What should be a heated moment, seemed to have touches of clumsy and laughter. Which seemed to ease you.

Pulling back, Benny removed his denim vest and then his t-shirt. Giving you the opportunity to gaze at his chest. And what a sight to behold. Starting at his pecks and then down his abs. Noticing where you were looking, Benny ran a hand over his chest, down and then up, a knowing smirk on his full lips.

“Like what ya see?” He asked with a chuckle, and a wink.

You blushed, but nodded your head.

“Good" he stated, leaning back over you again, eyes boring into yours. “Because I know I’m gonna like what I’ll see".

Benny's hands moved to the hem of your sweater, his fingers sliding under as it rode up. You stiffened, holding your breath. He kissed your lips, softly telling you all the right words before moving his hand higher, fingers skimming over the flesh of your stomach. The pads of his fingers were rough against your soft skin. His hand warm, almost scorching you. Yet the briefest touch of his ring was cool. You relaxed but shuddered at the feelings he was bringing forth in you.

With a bit of shuffling, Benny removed your top, tossing it behind him to rest with his vest and t-shirt. You were a sight, slight laboured breathing and laying before him in your bra and slacks. His eyes feasted on the revealed skin. You squirmed a little, wishing you could cover yourself.  But you stopped the moment he leant down and placed a kiss between your concealed breasts. The eye contact he was giving you – intense and determined – took your breath away.

“So beautiful" he muttered against your skin. “And I haven’t fully unwrapped my treat yet...”

You felt the heat pooling in your lower half. His words, actions and eye contact the trinity to your arousal. God, if this was what it would be like to fool around with Benny, you’d have done it sooner. Next Benny moved his hands to undo your bra, and rid you of it. Right away one of his large hands cupped a breast, the warmth of his hand hotter than your skin. His lips kissed the other breast, then his teeth grazed it. You groaned, arching your back wanting more.

And Benny happily gave it to you. His lips touching the erect nipple, a chaste kiss. Next, he sucked it into his mouth, full lips plush to your skin. The more he sucked your groans turned to a glorious moan. Music to Benny’s ears. He then switched breasts, sucking one while fondling the other. All the while Benny watched you, enjoying how he was making you feel. The moment his name left your mouth, he groaned as he sucked harder. Which in turn turned the volume of your moan up.

Satisfied with lavishing your breasts with attention, while driving Benny crazy, he released them. Of course he wasn’t going to leave it there. He moved on to your slacks, unbuttoning and zipping them before removing them without a trouble. Now you lay before him in just your panties. Instinctively you drew your legs together, arms moving to cover your chest.

But Benny was quick, hands on your legs, moving them apart for him to crawl between. No way to hide that part from him. Not after being such a torture to him. His manhood was hard, uncomfortable in his jeans. He could so easily free himself, push your panties to the side and fuck you into the mattress. But he wouldn’t – couldn’t – do that to you. Your body had to be worshipped, tended to with care and devotion.

“I love your outfits" Benny racked his eyes from your panties, up and over your stomach and chest, to look deeply into your eyes. “But I love you like this so much more".

It’s funny, but you believed every word he said. He was genuine and honest. Slowly you removed your arms, placing them at your sides and holding onto the bedding. He smiled, pleased you trusted him.

“Good girl" he praised, hands skimming up your sides. “I want to worship this body with my hands, my tongue and my teeth. But I desperately want to be inside you. Do you want that, baby?”

Slowly you nodded, your face hot from embarrassment.

He pinched your side gently. “I want to hear it. Say you want it".

Biting your lip you took in a shaky breath. “I-I want it" you muttered.

Benny shook his head. “Gotta be louder...”

“I-I want it!” your voice was loud and clear for Benny to hear.

He smiled before moving in to kiss you deeply once more. Nipping your bottom lip before pushing his tongue in. It was all hunger and want. He then moved down your neck and chest, sloppy kisses and bites. He licked from under your breasts and down over your stomach. You sighed with content, watching him with hooded eyes. This would be when Benny would move his hand lower, fingers exploring the jewel between those enchanting thighs. But he really couldn’t wait. He had to be in you, fucking you till you couldn’t take it.

Managing with one hand, Benny freed himself from his jeans and boxers. And – with a little time – was able to get them over his hips and far enough that he could kick them completely off his legs. Pulling back from you, Benny moved to your panties. He should have pulled them down your legs, like anyone would. But by now, he was a little impatient. Swiftly he tore them from you, extracting a small surprised scream from you. That made Benny laugh.

“Sorry, I really can’t wait anymore, baby" was his amused words to you.

With some moving around, mostly opening your legs wider, and getting himself into place, things were back on track. In this position Benny could see you all, how perfect your pussy looked. Holding his cock, Benny leant in, running the tip through your folds. You softly gasped, he looked to you as he did it again. The moment he nudged your clit, you groaned. Over and over again he did it again, sometimes even slow, just to get noises from you.

This was all good and fine, a feast for his eyes of you on display and your reactions. But he needed more. Slowly Benny pushed the tip into you. Inch by inch he watched himself sink into you, before bottoming out. You’d taken him so damn well. And he voiced that. Making you blush, which he found beautiful. You needed to know how good you were for him, and how good you were doing.

Leaning in Benny once more kissed you. This time it was slower, tender even. Showing you that he was still there, and would go easy on you. Even if his words said otherwise. He was doing this for you, showing you how much he wanted and needed you. In and out of the bed. How you were his. This was the final way to claim you as his girl.

“You feel so fuckin' good" Benny sighed against your lips. “You ready, baby?”

You nodded, and he let that slip this time. But he will teach you to answer him, how much your words mean. Benny slowly pulled back, until the tip was just inside, before thrusting back in. He kept his pace slow at first, letting you get use to his size and the intrusion. You felt so damn good, and it was getting hard for Benny to not just lose himself. Your back arched, noises of approval leaving your lips, spurring him on more.

You’d slept with a few men before but they were nothing like Benny. For them it was all about them. What they liked. How they felt. That they got off. None had ever taken the time and care like the man above you. Benny was taking care of both of you, but had put you first of course. You felt that coil in your stomach tightening. His word and actions playing a big part in your arousal. Plus Benny was exceptionally good to look at. He was the total package.

When he hiked up your leg, and snapping his hips, Benny somehow managed to thrust deeper. Hitting that spot that was sinfully pleasurable. The moan it ripped from you should have made you blush and want to die, but it felt just so good. Again Benny thrusted, hitting that spot. Getting the same reaction, only the moan seemed a little more desperate, needing more.

Leaning over he moved faster – harder – needing more of those reactions. Your hands moved from gripping the bedding, to grasping onto Benny's shoulders and back. His name falling from your lips when he hit that spot over and over again a few times. God how he loved hearing his name coming from your mouth like that.

With every thrust you got closer to reaching your climax. That coil in the pit of your stomach getting tighter and tighter. The groans and noises Benny was making just added fuel to the fire. The gruff, deep voice of his lost in this moment between you both. The way he would look at you with those stormy blue eyes, the fire and passion there shining back at you. This man was perfect with attention and affection.

“I-I’m c-close...” you stuttered, voice raspy.

Benny groaned in approval. “Cum for me baby".

With a few more harsh, deep thrusts – hitting that spot over and over – finally pushed you over the edge. Clutching at Benny, nails digging into his skin, back arched you moaned as you came. Feeling you tighten around his cock, Benny thrusted a few more times, movements getting more sloppy. Before finally hitting his peak. Buried deep within you Benny came, his seed filling you up.

You both stayed how you were for a few moments. Sweaty and heavy breathing messes. You looked up at Benny, face warm not only from your activities but shyness washing over you. Benny, on the other hand, looked down at you with admiration. He was absolutely transfixed with you. How beautiful and perfect you were. And those words tumbled out of his mouth, shocking you.

“W-what?” You asked softly.

Now Benny was the one going shy. “Shit...I said that out loud?”

You nodded, remaining quiet.

He put his head down, feeling embarrassed. “I-it’s true though, you’re beautiful and perfect...”

Your chest fluttered from his admission. You might not see it or believe it when you look at yourself in the mirror, but the man above you did. A small, warm smile graced your lips as you moved a hand to the back of Benny’s head. Running your fingers through the tuff of hair on the back of his neck, you coaxed him to look back to you. Seeing how happy you were, it made him smile in return.

“Thank you" you said with joy.

Wanting to not ruin the mood, but Benny wanted to hold you close, he reluctantly removed himself from you. And fell beside you on the bed, bringing you to his chest as he wrapped you up in his arms. Placing a kiss to the side of your head, Benny repeated his words, wanting you to remember them. You moved your head back and pulled him in for another kiss, showing him just how much he meant to you.

“I think I could get use to bein' your girl, if that was what I get every time we’re in bed" you boldly stated.

He chuckled before moving his lips to your ear. “Baby, not just in bed will I do that to you".

Numerous places crossed your mind, all the possibilities that lay ahead for you in Benny's presence. You were thrilled but also a little embarrassed, but a good kind of embarrassed. This man might be the death of you. Or the man of your dreams.

[xmalereader]

— Endless Pt. 1 —

Bruce Wayne x Endless! Male Reader

☆ — MASTERLIST — ☆

SUMMARY: The endless family is made up of 7 children, so why is their an 8th? Reader is the black sheep of the family with no purpose to fulfill the human realm. He spends his days locked away in the Dreaming where he stays under his brothers watch. It wasn’t until one of Dreams new nightmares escapes the realm and starts causing problems in the Waking, giving reader a chance to show that he can be helpful in his family by tracking down his brothers nightmare, not knowing what awaits him.

WARNINGS/CONTENT: Angst, slow burn, MDNI 18+, language, endless family, dream trying to be a good brother, mentions of abuse, black sheep, self esteem problems, mentions of death, family secrets, friends to lovers, post riddler chaos, mentions of new villains, foreshadowing, reader and Bruce balancing each other out, Gotham is shit, slight kissing, trauma mentioned, OC nightmare, non-canon works.

WC: 5k

TAGS: @circusdexxter @lordzachariah0-0 @apolo1808 @i-cant-sleep615 @kayden1 @boylicious143 @h-ib @kik1010 @toxic90sboy @multifandomsimp69 @moththesadmage @stalker0

NOTES: Finally! After a very long break I’m finally getting back into writing again! I will mainly be focusing on my series that I’ve been planning for quiet awhile and really want to focus on this Endless series that I’ve had in mind for months. I’ll try my best to update as much as possible since each chapter will be between 5k-8k words or longer in order to have fewer chapters, but other than that, here is the first part and thank you for being patient on my writing!

Blinding - Florence And The Machine

The Endless had 8 children, each with a purpose in life.

Destiny with the purpose of defining all that is, Death was destined to put the universe to rest, Dream with the creation of stories and imagination, Destruction with the power of not only destroying but of making and producing, Desire with the purpose of wanting and lust along with their twin Despair who is the personification of despair and hope, and Delirium who can create realities and manipulate the human mind.

They all had an important purpose.

All but one.

The eighth child was the youngest of them all, having been born eons later after Delirium resulting in the last sibling of the Endless family. His siblings figured that he would have a purpose just like them only to have none. The last sibling wasn’t special nor was he given a proper name that would fit his so called ‘purpose’ instead both Father Time and Mother Night left their last child in the hands of their other children.

He expected his brothers and sisters to help him find a purpose that brought balance to the human realm, but neither sibling was much help. The twins simply teased him, mocking his existence while the others grew to busy in their own duties to give him the attention he needs, a few of his other siblings were busy searching for the ‘Prodigal’ who had left his duty many years ago and was being searched in order to restore balance again.

The youngest Endless could only watch from the sidelines holding onto hope that he too, would have a purpose of his own.

As he was passed around from sibling to sibling he spent most of his time in their realms watching their work and staying in line from overstepping into their duties. He spent most of his time in Dreams realm feeling his heart warm in joy when he walked through his brothers creation. The creation of stories and imagination was a powerful thing for many humans something that his brother found joy in doing.

There were times that he spent his time in his brothers library, hidden behind many rows of books, watching from the corners as his brother speaks with Lucian and Marvin. No matter how long he spends in this dreaming he never had the chance to actually create a bond with his brother, growing afraid each time he approached him when returning a book or when trying to ask a simple question about his creations.

Delirium was technically the baby in the family before he came into the picture and Dream already struggled with creating a bond with his sister and he didn’t want to get in the way of their bond. He spent years without knowing his duty that he’s grown used to being an outsider from his siblings, spending his ‘family’ dinners alone in Dreams realm, trying to stay out of their business as much as possible.

Even if his sister, Death, tired to convince him to join them for dinner he’d refuse and continue on with his day. What was the purpose of him being there? He can’t stand their whispers of pity, so why even bother.

He felt like a burden to his own family, so instead of trying to fit in he’d slowly pushed himself out of the picture and allowing them to have the spotlight while he stood out the frame. There were times that wished to disappear like his brother, Destruction. He didn’t know much about him and the others didn’t talk about him, not because they hated him, but because of the pain it brought them when reminded of their brother leaving without a word, abandoning his duty and hiding from the world.

When wandering around Dreams library he had found a book hidden deep in the shelves that contained a photo of his brother, Destruction. He looked older than the others and with a rugged expression on his face, having facial hair on his face and perhaps a grumpy like exterior. He kept the image of his brother in mind before putting the book back where it belongs in order to keep his brother, Dream from knowing his findings.

“A nightmare has escaped.”

He was doing his usual routine, hiding in the library and nose buried in a book before his ears perk at the sound of the ravens worried tone when landing near Lucians desk and letting her know about the situation.

“Does Lord Morpheus know about this?” Lucian had asked while she looked through the new plans of the realm, showing very little interest towards the situation since she had no control over dreams and nightmares.

The raven, Matthew tilts his head to the side. “He does—“

“Then I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

“It’s that new nightmare.” Said Matthew, voice laced with worry and concern.

His words causes Y/n to look up from his book, eyes widening when hearing Matthew. He knew what nightmare he was referring to and knew how messy the situation can turn out if a nightmare were to abandon its duties. Dream always kept an eye on his dreams and nightmares and had been making changes in his realm, more like improvements. He had been changing his nightmares into dreams and leaving him with time to make new nightmares for the dreamers, having created one that lurks on your deepest fears named Pitch.

Y/n never liked the nightmare when first meeting him, his tall structure and sharp yellow eyes always made him shiver and whenever he was alone the nightmare always found him.

“Pitch is nothing but problems.” Sighed Lucian while removing her glasses.

Matthew lets out a small sound of understanding. “He reminds me of the Corinthian in some way.”

The name was familiar to Y/n, having heard about him and the troubles he’s brought into Dreams realm the nightmare was so bad that Dream had to destroy his creation and store him away. His brother had claimed that he will restore the Corinthian again, one day when he deemed the time right.

Y/n doesn’t stay longer to listen to their conversation and closes his book, leaving it on the table and standing from where he sat. He doesn’t spare the librarian and raven a glance, having grown used to their silent glances when his presence is made known, leaving the library and making his way towards his brothers chambers where he finds him pacing around the room while reading a book in hand. He’s noticed the stack of books scattered on the floor with different names from many dreamers.

He can’t help but raise a brow at his brothers mess, but doesn’t point it out when approaching him.

“I suppose you are busy?”

Dream doesn’t look away from his book and keeps pacing. “I am always busy.” His voice echos back before stopping mid pace to look over to Y/n who stood a good distance from the other Endless. Dream looks at him up and down before asking. “Is there something you need?” He’d usually brush off anyone’s needs and focus on himself, but after his imprisonment of 100 years and spending more time around humans he’s grown to change.

Showing some compassion for once.

The younger endless stares at Dream and then down at the books that surround them both. He wants to jump in and help his brother with finding his missing nightmare to be able to do something for once. “I heard that Pitch left the realm.” He starts, noticing the slight frown appear on his brothers face which makes him bite the inside of his cheek in a nervous manner.

“I can help with finding him?” He finally asks.

Dream shuts his book which causes Y/n to flinch and avoid his brothers eyes, looking away nervously after asking. He would expect his brother to be upset for wanting to step in and provide assistance to his mistake when it was his duty to fix the problem and not Y/n’s.

But his brothers words surprise him. “I’d appreciate the help.”

Y/n’s eyebrows raise in surprise when he’s accepted to help, nodding slowly as he takes a few steps closer and a bit hesitant on what to do. “What are you looking for in these books?” He asks and bends down to pick one up, reading the name of the dreamer before flipping it open and skimming through the pages.

“Pitch lurks on fear. Since I no longer have my ruby, I am unable to find my nightmares and must doing things a bit differently.” Dream being to explain as he walks over to the other side of the room to toss the book he was currently reading on top of another pile. Y/n guessed that it’s the finished books he’s read. “If I wish to find Pitch I have to find out which dreamers are most likely to be targeted by him.”

Y/n looks back at the stack of books with wide eyes. “You’re trying to locate a dreamer who could possibly lure Pitch in?” He says in disbelief and turns back to Dream. “That could take hours or days, all dreamers have nightmares so Pitch could be going after anyone.” He sets the book down and steps back to stare at the different piles, reading off names and trying to figure out his brothers outrageous system of locating his missing nightmare.

Dream lets out a dry chuckle when hearing his little brothers worries and shakes his head. “Then,” he walks over to Y/n and hands him a book. “Lets get started.” The little Endless can only mentally groan as he takes the thick book in hand and watched Dream get back to his own reading.

The room falls into a comfortable silence as the two read for what felt like hours. The sound of flipping pages echoed in the throne room and the placement thud of the book beings piled up as the continued their reading. As much as he enjoyed spending time in his brothers library he was slowly growing tired of reading dreamers lives and how they spent their time in the dreaming realm when sleeping. Even though he doesn’t have a purpose he’s starting to realize that being a Dream lord wouldn’t be for him.

It wasn’t until he breaks out into a yawn that it gets the Dream lords attention, eyes glancing up from his book and towards his brother who was half asleep at this point. Dream sighs through his nose and closed his book, setting it aside from where he sat on the steps. “You're tired, get some sleep.”

Y/n snaps his head up and shakes his head at Dreams words. “I’m fine I can keep going.” He waves him off and tries to concentrate on the book o his lap, but Dream had quickly taken the book from him and closed it. “I can tell when someone doesn’t sleep.” His voice is low as he towers over Y/n who sits on the floor and sighs to himself, rubbing his eyes and nodding his head slowly. “Okay, I’ll get some sleep.” He mumbled in return as he stands from where he sat.

Even though he wanted to help Dream in finding Pitch he’d need to get some rest if he wishes to keep going. When letting Dream know that he will head off to his room and get some proper rest for the night he makes sure to sneak at least one book back to his bedroom in order to keep helping out of his brother sight and not get into any trouble.

He holds the book against his chest when leaving his throne room and down a different hall in his castle. He yawns again when reaching his own bedroom, its big and spacious when entering a few books are on the shelf and small little valuables are sitting near the balcony not having a lot since he spent most of his time in the Dreaming with his brother.

He tossed the book on his bed and falls face first into his pillow, moaning tiredly and closing his eyes for a few seconds, letting his body relax against the soft blankets and pillows. The silence wakes him back up, opening his eyes and glancing over to the book he had snuck into his room.

It was surprisingly thin and the binding is all black, getting his attention as he sits up and turns around to lie on his back. He grabs the book and holds it up, reading the name on the front cover.

“Bruce Wayne…” He whispers the name to himself and flips the cover open, starting at the beginning like every other book he’s read. He knows he’s suppose to be sleeping or else his brother will use his sand on him, but he can’t help but grow eager to continue helping his brother, to be able to do something for once as he reads the book in hand.

He’s nodding off little by little and trying to concentrate on the words on the pages, shaking the sleep away and sighing as he adjusts his sleeping position and groans before flipping to the next page only to freeze, his eyes full of confusion as he sits up, fully awake as he stares down at blank pages. He’s never seen something like this in the books, finding half of the pages blank.

The mans life ends in nightmares, but the blank pages had to mean something. He quickly pulls the blankets back and slips out of bed, rushing out of his room and holding the book in hand as he heads back to his brothers throne room to ask him about the strange book.

“Dream—?”

“Aren’t you suppose to be sleeping?” Dream cuts in and slams his book shut, setting it aside onto a pile. The time that Y/n spent reading had resulted in the shift of books, having less around the throne room since his brother had finished reading a few on his own. Before Y/n can ask about the blank pages in the book his brother had approached him and takes his wrist in hand, dragging him back to his room.

“Wait—!”

“I’ve told you many times that you are to be asleep, unlike me you need the rest since your body isn’t adjusted to the dreaming realm quiet yet.” He began to explain, disregarding Y/n’s protests as he’s dragged back to his room. “But Dream—!?”

“Enough talk.” They make it back to his room where Dream shoves him back into bed and takes the book from his grip, setting it aside and ignoring the title of the book since he was focused on Y/n.

“But the book!” said Y/n as he reached out to grab it only for Dream to push him back into bed.

“You can tell me about it tomorrow, now you sleep.” He doesn’t give Y/n the chance to speak again as he uses his sand on his little brother, watching as he yawns and his eyes slowly flutter closed.

—

Y/n doesn’t dream.

He knows that his own brother does since its apart of him, but Y/n never had dreams or nightmares. He always wondered if it was because he wasn’t an Endless like his siblings with a purpose in the human realm. His siblings had dreams, but never spoke about them. Dream had their books with their dreams and nightmares written locked away from prying hands, he never read their books in order to keep the privacy and respect, never lurking in their dreams to see what they think of when sleeping. He made a rule to never do such thing, but Dream was surprised when his little brothers book wasn’t on the shelf.

He had given it time since he was still young, but after eons, nothing.

That’s why Y/n had woken up without feeling anything, falling asleep in darkness and waking up as if nothing ever happened. He’d stare at the ceiling of his room, quiet and still as he thinks about last nights discoveries. He turns to his left where his brother had left the book. He would have expected Dream to take it back instead of leaving it in his room.

He takes the book into his hands again and reads the name to himself once more. His fingers opening the book as he flips through the empty pages in hopes of finding new words only to find nothing, ending in the same way as last night.

“You can’t be dead.” He says to himself when closing the book, he’s seen how their story is written before death comes for them. It always ends with a dream before their story reaches an end, but Bruce’s didn’t have that and it made him question it.

He holds the book in hand when leaving his room, heading off to see his brother only to find the throne room empty when arriving. The books that were scattered around were gone, leaving the place empty and clean. He decides to check the library, perhaps he could find his brother there if the books were all cleaned up.

Only, he doesn’t find his brother there other than Lucian.

“Lucian, have you seen Dream?” He speaks up softly towards the librarian as she organized a few books and puts them in their designated space in the shelves. She looks up from her work and sighs. “Lord Morpheus had to attend a family dinner.” She responds back which makes Y/n’s heart race at the statement, forgetting that family dinners were every few years.

He was always invited but rarely went since he didn’t want to deal with the usual conversations.

“Found your purpose yet?”

“Still staying with Dream?”

“Why even have another endless when you can’t figure out why you are here.”

The past conversation makes him shudder, hating the feeling of being different.

Lucian can easily see the sadness hidden behind Y/n’s eyes as if showing that he’s fine when deep down inside he was hurting.

“I was curious about something,” He began to say, holding the book under his arm. “have you ever dealt with a dreamers dreams not showing in their books?”

Lucian raises a brow at his question. “Lack of dreams?”

Y/n shakes his head. “More like, disappearing from the human realm when they aren’t really dead?” He winced at his own question, unsure if he was making sense towards the librarian.

“Oh,” Lucian gives him a look of surprise. “Well, we once dealt with a boy who went missing in the dreaming. We couldn’t find him in his books and it looked like he had disappeared from the world.” She explains while shelving books. “Turns out that a nightmare was keeping him hidden, using their power and work to hide the boy from the real world. A way of escaping reality and hiding in the dreaming.”

Y/n takes in her words, glancing down at the book he had. Thinking that perhaps this Bruce is suffering from nightmares, making him easy bait for Pitch. He isn’t sure if he’s right or wrong, but he knows he should let his brother know since its an urgent matter due to pitch leaving his duties and causing a problem to his brother.

“Thank you, Lucian.” He leaves the book on the table and quickly leaves the library. He doesn’t usually attend family dinners, but perhaps this once he can make an appearance only to let Dream know about his discoveries and then leave. His siblings always took turns in hosting dinners, sharing each others realms for a short period of time together.

Last dinner took place in Deaths realm, today it’s Destiny’s.

In order to enter his brothers realm he’d have to ask permission, but since its a family dinner he doesn’t need to ask. He’s only been in Destiny’s realm a few times, liking his garden that he walked through in order to make it to the clear opening where a dining table is set and finds his siblings conversing amongst each other.

He always felt nervous around his other siblings. He’s known them for eons, but he didn’t really know them. He only saw them as his siblings who took care of him when he was a child, but as time went by and he continued to age things had changed between them.

“Look who decided to join us.”

Desires voice floats through the air as he looks over to his sibling, giving them a small nod of acknowledgment. “Desire.”

“Endless.” They said back.

Y/n mentally flinched at the name. He’s Endless, but Endless of what?

“That’s a surprise, you usually don’t come to these dinners.” They continued on, taunting him with a sly grin on their face. “Oh!” They gasp out. “Are you here to tell us that you’ve finally found a purpose or did you just come to ruin the dinner?” They and Despair laugh at their comment which leaves Y/n quiet.

“That’s enough.” Dream cuts in, stopping his siblings mocking. Desire clicks their tongue and rolls their eyes when their fun is ruined.

Dream looks over to Y/n. “Are you here to join us?”

He doesn’t know what to say, his mind feels fuzzy and can hear his heart racing in his ears. His eyes glancing over to the twins who murmured to each other, his eyes then shift over to Death who looks at him with eyes full of pity and concern—he hated that look. His brother Destiny didn’t even look at him and and Delirium was lost in her own world.

It wasn’t until his eyes land on the empty chair across from Dream. He’s confused at first, asking himself why they would have a chair for him. “Oh…”

There was 7 seats, one for each sibling.

The seventh wasn’t for him. It was for his missing brother, Destruction.

He’s now realized had he’s never had a seat amongst them.

“Y/n?”

Dreams voice pulls him out of his thoughts, looking back at his brother and noticed the small hint of concern in his voice.

“Is something wrong?”

Y/n gives his brother a fake smile. “It’s nothing.”

He doesn’t stay much longer and turns his back, leaving his brothers garden and heading back to the Dreaming where he belonged. Did he really belong to the dreaming? Dream was only being a kind brother and letting him stay in his realm until he’s found his purpose but its been eons and he still hasn’t figured out what kind of endless he is. Thinking about it makes him feel like a burden, having bothered his brother for years not asking himself if Dream has perhaps grown tired of having him around.

He found beauty in his brothers work always amazed by his creations and ideas that he can’t help but think that he’s a mistake wandering around his brothers creation.

“You are just Endless.”

Dream of the Endless.

Death of the Endless.

Desire of the Endless.

They all had a name, but him.

“How can I know who I am…” He whispers in the emptiness of his room, staring at the pile of books that he had left forgotten in his room only to remember last nights book.

“Bruce Wayne.”

He may not be someone who can lead him to Pitch, but he could be a start. He’s curious to know why his book ended in blank pages, waiting to be filled with words. Even if he was wrong at least it was an excuse for him to leave the realm to perhaps find himself something out in the Waking.

Y/n had seen the Waking and had very little interactions with mortals, but perhaps he’ll get the chance to know them at a better level. There isn’t much for him to take other than a notebook with notes regarding his brothers dreams and nightmares and his time here in the dreaming. His room never had anything valuable only a simple bed and a few books, nothing else.

He flips the book open and reads his last page.

“Gotham City.”

[dedeinthewild]

paul aron x reader, no labels

~ “I’m carrying my body weight in presents, so shut it"

summary : A cozy Christmas filled with family, laughter, and tiny moments of magic. As Paul and the girl he adores share sweet traditions and secret smiles, their hearts grow a little closer with every holiday surprise.

The magic of Christmas was something special—something that could mend relationships, make adults feel like children again, and bring together those who had drifted apart.

Colorful ornaments adorned towering Christmas trees, hiding the gifts underneath just a little. And if Christmas was spent with family, it became even more beautiful.

The girl Paul was closest to had caught the last flight to Tallinn before heavy snow temporarily slowed down the flow of passengers at the Estonian airport. She had settled into the beautiful villa where the boys lived. She loved Christmas, the preparations that came with it, the wonderful smiles of children, and all the little things that brought her joy.

She was the kind of person who was content with very little, always smiling beneath the glasses she wore to avoid straining her eyes—the same eyes Paul never got tired of looking into.

They hated putting labels on themselves or talking about their relationship. Between them, everything was so simple that trying to define it felt like an unnecessary complication for something so pure and clean. They had met by chance and continued to see each other between video calls, with the occasional late-night message when one of them had fallen asleep and the other needed to talk.

And so, an extra place was added at the table that year. Despite her mind telling her to spend the holidays with her family, as she always had, her heart needed to enter that home and experience something new. Everything was new for her there, except for a few people who had grown accustomed to discovering new parts of her—and adoring every one of them.

Perhaps some would call it a bold move to invite her to something as important as Christmas with the family, but as everyone thought, there was nothing more transparent than the affection she had for the Estonian driver, his family, and their traditions—not to mention the huge smile that lit up her face when she saw the children. They were so blonde they looked like a little team of angels.

“I really, really want to help,” said the girl as she sliced bread on a wooden cutting board, ready to set it on the table. Margit, who wanted her to enjoy the evening without lifting a finger, tried to dissuade her.

“If I were you, I’d let her,” Paul chimed in, stealing a breadstick from the container as he walked behind the women of the house and Ralf, who was checking whether the evening’s first dish was cooking properly.

She turned, giving him an amused look, her hair tied back in a messy bun with strands of her bangs slipping loose onto her forehead.

“Don’t look at me like that,” the Estonian said, crossing his arms and leaning his lower back against the kitchen counter.

“I’m not violent or anything, I swear,” she said, raising her hands in mock innocence toward the driver’s mother, who responded with a sweet, elegant laugh.

“I have something to say about that,” Paul teased.

“Have you decided you’re a pain in the ass?” Anna shot back, trying to chase her brother out of the kitchen by pushing and holding him by the arm.

“Everybody hates me. I’m done,” he declared, stealing another breadstick behind his back as he disappeared through the door to lift one of his nephews into the air. The child had been loudly calling for Uncle Paul.

The atmosphere was beautiful. From the kitchen island, Margit, Anna, and the family’s new addition could see the entire living room, where an explosion of joy brought color to an otherwise minimalist home.

All the children were seated around the tree, with one of the more distant uncles dressed as Santa Claus telling stories, while the Aron cousins worked on drawings that the kids would later sign.

Ralf had connected his phone to one of the speakers scattered throughout the house and started playing a Christmas playlist, making the girl wrinkle her nose.

But the best part was sitting down to eat together. The children sat at their own table, engrossed in a conversation about the latest cartoon to watch, while the adults discussed various topics.

One of the evening’s focal points was the girl herself. Sitting next to Paul, she answered an endless stream of questions from everyone. She was having fun, watching how Paul’s grandmother got emotional at every one of her answers while gently stroking her husband’s hand with her thumb.

“You’d make a perfect couple,” the elderly woman blurted out, pushing her glasses up her nose to get a better look at them. Both smiled, a hint of shyness softening their carefree expressions.

Paul passed her the dishes, asked if she’d like something to drink, and, when speaking with relatives in Estonian, would place a hand on her shoulder and whisper a translation before resting his chin on her head.

At Christmas, Paul changed a little. Amid the noisy table, he withdrew into himself, speaking only when spoken to, his gaze often fixed on the children’s table where they played. But that year, she had managed to make him an integral part of the group, encouraging him to open up and join the conversations with that radiant smile of hers.

“How are you feeling?” he asked while Anna had already whisked away the dishes to prepare for one of their family’s beloved traditions.

“Good,” she replied with a smile, looking into his eyes.

He ran one of his large hands through her hair, letting it slide to her shoulders, and smiled back. The way she looked at him—it was what anyone would call “the look of love.”

After a few rounds of the family game, everyone got up and moved to the large living room, ready to open the first gifts with the children, all of them returning to a childlike state themselves.

The girl had ended up in an armchair near the tree, with one of Paul’s older brother’s sons on her lap, giving her a perfect view of the whole group.

The girls tore through wrapping paper, revealing dolls and dresses with tulle, smothering their relatives in kisses and tying ribbons around their wrists, pretending they were at a ball.

On the other side, the boys, more focused on messing with Paul and Ralf’s hair, patiently awaited their turn to do the same, while the boys’ father tried to figure out where Margit had hidden the gifts.

“Go and set the table for Santa,” Margit said with a smile, gesturing for the kids to grab the milk and cookies from the kitchen island.

“Come with us!” A dozen excited, slightly sleepy children grabbed the girl’s hands, making her wrinkle her nose in amusement as they led her to the kitchen island, where the older kids grabbed the bowls.

Paul, sitting on the couch with Anna resting her head on his chest, watched her from a distance.

Just as he always did.

He observed the way she moved, telling stories to the children, lifting them up to set the table where they couldn’t reach, giving them high-fives that made their tiny hands disappear in hers.

She was full of nostalgia—that was something he had learned.

And seeing her like this made him so happy that he couldn’t even express it, warmth spreading through his chest and his lips curving into a soft smile.

“Why do I feel like if I ever brought a girl home, you wouldn’t love her as much as you love her?” joked Ralf, placing his hands on their mother’s shoulders.

“We love everyone the same,” she said, stroking one of her son’s hands.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you enjoy someone’s company as much as hers,” Ralf continued.

“She’s a good girl, she is,” nodded the father of the Arons, making them smile as she returned to the room with a child in her arms and the others following behind.

She looked at everyone, letting them know the table was ready for Santa Claus, and then softly rubbed the back of one of Paul’s little cousins, who was just moments away from falling asleep.

The mothers took their children to bed, changing them into pajamas with little reindeer on them and making sure they were sound asleep before returning.

“Who’s in charge of Santa tonight?” asked Anna, stretching her arms as she got up from the couch.

“Paul,” said Margit, patting his shoulder as he stood.

“Yes!” whispered the Estonian.

Christmas Eve was the one night, besides the kids, where he had no desire to sleep at all, and staying up late to put Santa’s presents under the tree and do something special made him genuinely happy.

“Goodnight then, and Merry Christmas,” said the middle Aron sibling, giving everyone a kiss on the cheek.

“You’re staying up with me, you know,” Paul said to the girl as he approached her, a grin on his face, arms crossed as he looked down from his height of six feet.

“Why did I already know that?” she laughed, tying her hair back again as the rest headed to their respective bedrooms, leaving only Alpine’s reserve driver to follow her into her room.

They changed into pajamas and crawled under the covers, finally bringing out the gifts they had hidden in plain sight.

In the chaos of earlier gift-giving, no one had noticed that the two of them hadn’t exchanged anything, so now they found themselves doing so in the intimacy of her dimly lit room.

“Do we open them now or later?”

“We’ve got hours before we have to set the gifts, so now works,” Paul shrugged, trying to hide how excited he was to give her his present. He couldn’t bear to wait any longer.

The driver handed her the box he held in his hands, scratching the back of his neck with the other as he watched her begin to unwrap it.

Behind him, one of the house’s large windows opened onto the illuminated porch and gave a small glimpse of the darkness that usually gave way to the forest.

The Christmas lights, a warm white, framed the window and cast a soft glow inside the room, highlighting her silhouette.

He, too, was opening his gift, wearing a loose white shirt with the Grinch on it, his curls lightly tickling his forehead as he pressed his lips together and carefully untied the bow.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” she said.

“I thought we were well past that kind of politeness.”

“Oh, I hate you,” she laughed, adjusting her glasses on her face.

And then she saw it. A certificate.

“I can’t read anything,” she said, turning her back to him to catch the light from the lamp on his side of the bed.

Paul took the opportunity to wrap his hands around her waist, pulling her to sit between his legs.

“The star with the following coordinates was renamed on 12/08 by Paul with the name ____.”

She read the inscription beneath the photo of a stunning star against a deep blue background, running her fingers over the thick paper of the certificate.

He had named a star after her.

And that was the most beautiful gift, the most heartfelt declaration anyone could have given her.

“I knew you’d make me cry,” she said, turning to face him.

“Don’t, or Santa won’t stop by,” he teased, wiping her eyes with his thumbs before pressing a playful kiss to her nose.

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close to her chest as though he weren’t twice her size.

And he loved it when she hugged him like that, making him feel so warm and protected—something no one but his family had ever managed to do.

Maybe that’s exactly why she was there that night, celebrating with them, closer to him than people he’d known since he was a child.

“And, by the way, your gifts are beautiful too,” he said, running his hands gently along her spine.

They talked about presents again hours later, lying on the mattress and chatting about anything and everything, just like they always did, trying not to laugh too loudly at the silly memes on their phones.

Their hair sprawled across the pillows, the blankets keeping them warm, the scent of the room was one they both associated with rest days, holidays, and happiness.

It was that soft, cozy smell—a mix of fabric softener, love, affection, and genuine feelings.

Whenever a video was especially funny, he’d wrap his arms around her, trapping her between his biceps to muffle her laughter while trying not to burst out laughing himself.

And before they knew it, the hour of Santa Claus arrived. While he scoured the house for the gifts his mom had hidden somewhere, muttering in Estonian, she grabbed some powdered sugar and made boot prints on the parquet floor.

“There’s one for you and me, too,” said the Estonian, balancing five or six boxes stacked in his arms as he walked without looking where he stepped.

“Watch your feet, idiot,” she laughed, fixing one of the Santa footprints he’d accidentally smudged.

“I’m carrying my body weight in presents, so shut it,” he replied, starting to arrange the gifts neatly under the glowing tree so the kids could easily find them in the morning before breakfast.

“Footsteps done.”

“Santa has to eat the cookies.”

“There’s a ton of them!” she complained.

“You should’ve taught the kids better,” he shrugged, stacking the gifts carefully.

A little while later, Paul joined her at the kitchen counter, biting into the carrot meant for the reindeer.

“Oh, I forgot you’re the healthy one.”

“As if you don’t like the fit version of me.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Ah! Got you. You said yes,” Paul grinned, winking as he washed down the carrot with some milk.

“Shut up, you’ll wake the kids!” she laughed, smacking his chest as she nibbled on a cookie.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured.

And after finishing the feast the kids had prepared for Santa, they walked past the Christmas tree, smiles on their faces and exhaustion finally setting in.

“You’re ruining all the footsteps,” she scolded, noticing that with every step, the driver’s foot came dangerously close to her creations.

He looked down, realizing how close he was, and in his attempt to avoid them, he lost his balance.

But she was there, placing her hands on his hips and helping steady him, even as she herself wobbled uncertainly.

And they laughed.

They laughed.

They laughed.

With powdered sugar on the floor, the taste of cookies still on their lips, and Christmas officially arrived, he cupped her face in his hands, brushing her cheeks gently.

And in the window, they were now reflected too.

Looking at each other with the eyes of love, as the lights illuminated them.

And outside, snow had begun to fall.

~ been working on this one for a few days and if I might say so, it's really worth it. I'm kinda feeding myself my paul obsession, but hey, I didn't find him under my tree so I might as well gift him to you💫

[overrboarrd]

WHAT HURTS THE MOST [ from scratch series part ii ]

gif credits to @dejameflorecer for the roman gif!

a/n: surprise surprise! i had majority of this part done when i posted part one, but i had a busy week/weekend. but writing this lil mini series has been helping me out a lot so here’s to part two!

warnings: angst (forgot to put that in the last part, my bad.)

“what hurts the most was being so close”

and having so much to say, and watching you walk away”

Seeing Joe again after all this time felt like being punched in the gut. No, not just a punch—a full-body slam that left Camille breathless and aching. 

Her hands slowed as she wiped down the bench in the studio room. She could still see him there, broad and imposing, his dark eyes fixed on her with a mix of disbelief. Disappointment.

She sighed, leaning against the bench for a moment. What are the odds? she thought bitterly. She’d worked so hard to bury the past, to convince herself she’d made the right choice by walking away from him. And now here he was, larger than life and more infuriatingly impassive than ever.

He’s angry. And he has every right to be.

Her chest tightened at the memory.

┄┄┄┄┄

The roller-skating rink glimmered under the dim lights, the soft hues of blues, pinks, and purples casting an almost ethereal glow over the empty space. Camille laughed as she pushed off, her movements fluid and full of life. Her ease on skates contrasted sharply with Joe’s more cautious strides, his broad frame teetering awkwardly as he tried to keep up.

“You’re still so bad at this!” she teased, her laughter ringing out.

Joe grinned despite himself, his broad frame wobbling precariously as he tried to steady his footing. “Terrible? Nah. I’m just a risk-taker, baby,” he shot back, a flicker of pride slipping into his otherwise self-deprecating tone.

Camille spun on her skates, gliding backward with a mischievous smirk. Her deep curls framed her glowing face, and Joe couldn’t help but watch her, mesmerized. “Risk-taker? You mean like how you risk everybody’s ankles when you crash?”

“Hey, I’m just giving you a chance to one-up me,” he quipped, his eyes softening as they followed her every move. Camille’s joy was infectious—she had a way of lighting up even the darkest corners of his guarded soul.

The upbeat music transitioned, slowing into something achingly tender. Camille’s momentum faltered. She glanced toward Trinity and Jon seated off to the side, their warm smiles faintly shadowed by something unspoken. Her gaze flicked back to Joe, who had stopped skating, standing a few feet away, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

“Joe?” she asked, her voice dipping slightly as she turned back to him.

Joe took a deep breath, his nerves an unfamiliar weight pressing down on his chest. He wasn’t used to feeling unsteady—whether in the ring or in life. But tonight, Camille held all the power, and it both terrified and thrilled him.

“C’mere,” he said softly, reaching out his hand.

Her brows knit together, but she slid her hand into his, allowing him to lead her to the center of the rink. The glow of the lights seemed to close in around them, isolating them in a world of their own.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice tinged with both curiosity and suspicion.

Joe turned to face her fully, her hand still in his. They were warm, steady, even as his heart pounded like a drum. “Camille, I need you to listen to me for a second,” he began, his voice unusually soft.

Her teasing demeanor dissolved. She studied his face, reading the vulnerability etched into every line. “Okay…”

“You know I’m not great with words,” He began, his voice low and raw. “Saying how I feel. I’ve spent so much of my life just… holding it all in. But not with you. You make me want to try, Camille. You make me want to be better. For you.”

“Joe…” her chest tightening as he continued.

“You’re it for me,” he said, his gaze locking onto hers, fierce and unflinching. “You challenge me, you make me laugh, you make me feel alive in ways I didn’t think I could. I didn’t think I needed anyone until you walked into my life. Now, I don’t know how to live without you.”

Camille’s breath hitched as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small black box, her world suddenly tilting on its axis.

Joe dropped to one knee, his movement deliberate, the lights reflected in his dark, unwavering eyes. “Baby, you’ve been my strength, my peace, my reason to keep pushing forward. No matter how hard life has tested us, you’ve always been the one constant I could count on—the one who makes it all worth it.”

He paused, taking a steadying breath, as if summoning the courage for what came next. “I love you. I don’t want to spend a single moment of this life without you—I can’t imagine my future without you in it. You’re my heart, Camille. My home.”

His hand reached for hers, shaking ever so slightly. “ Will you marry me?”

Her lips parted, trembling, but no words came. The rink seemed to hold its breath. Even the soft music faded into nothingness as Camille stared at the man kneeling before her. Her heart screamed yes, yet a tide of doubt surged to the surface, threatening to pull her under.

“Joe… I…” The words broke, unfinished.

His smile faltered, the light in his eyes dimming as the pause stretched into eternity. “Cam?” he prompted, his voice laced with uncertainty.

Tears blurred her vision as she shook her head, taking an unsteady roll backwards. “I… I can’t.”

The space between them shattered, the fragile intimacy of the moment fracturing into jagged edges. Joe rose slowly, the small box still in his hand.

“What?” The words hit him like a freight train, his voice cracking as the weight of her rejection settled. 

“I’m not ready. I’m not… I’m not enough for this. For you.” Her mind raced with insecurities and fears she’d buried deep but never truly faced. Joe loved her—she knew that. But did she deserve his love? Could she live up to the kind of forever he wanted?

“Not enough?” He stared at her, his usually unshakable composure slipping as he stood still, stunned. “Camille, you’re everything to me. Why can't you see that?”

“Because I’m broken, Joe!” Her tears fell freely.  “Why would you want shattered glass as a fiance? As your wife? You’re asking for forever, and I— I don’t know how to give it to you without failing. Without ruining us. I don’t know how to be what you need.”

“You’re already what I need,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re all broken. You think I’m not? You think I don’t know fear? I know it every day. But I choose you, Camille. I’ll keep choosing you if you just let me.”

Her silence was deafening, her tears a silent answer.

“What more do you need?” Joe’s glistening eyes bore into hers. “Whatever it is, baby, tell me. Please.”

“What if I hurt you?” 

“You’re hurting me now,” he countered, his words cutting through the space between them like a blade.

She flinched, her lips pursing together to hold back a sob. “I love you, Joe. I do. But I—”

“Then marry me, Camille. Don’t walk away,” he pleaded, his voice breaking. “Stay. We’ll figure it out together.”

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice barely audible as she turned away. The sound of her skates on the rink floor echoed like a heartbeat, growing fainter with every step she took.

┄┄┄┄┄

Camille straightened, shaking her head sharply as if she could erase the thoughts crowding her mind. This wasn’t the time for second-guessing. She was a professional, and she had a job to do. But no matter how many times she repeated the mantra, it didn’t dull the ache in her chest when she thought of him.

Why did you agree to this? The question plagued her, looping in her mind. She could’ve said no—she should have said no. But when Ron had mentioned the severity of the injury and how the client needed someone capable, she couldn’t back out. Maybe she wanted to prove something: to Ron, to herself, and, if she was being honest, to Joe. Prove that she could be around him without falling apart.

But a small, treacherous part of her had hoped...

“No,” she muttered under her breath, cutting off the thought before it could fester. Hope was dangerous, and she couldn’t afford it—not here, not now.

The tension in her shoulders hadn’t eased by the time she opened the studio doors. Her phone buzzed on the table, breaking her musing.

Ron: Cam! How’ve the sessions with Joe been? He’s a tough one, huh?

She stared at the screen, the words blurring slightly. Tough didn’t even begin to cover it. But instead of pouring her heart out, she typed a clipped response:

Camille: They’ve been fine. We’ll see how the next one goes.

She tossed the phone aside, exhaling heavily. Fine. It was a lie, of course. There was nothing fine about working with the man she’d almost married. The man whose heart she’d broken because she’d been too scared to let herself be loved that deeply.

As she prepared for the session, she caught herself glancing at the clock too often, her pulse quickening as the minutes ticked closer.

┄┄

When Joe arrived, his presence filled the room, heavy and charged, just like every other session. The air between them was tight, crackling with unspoken words. His dark eyes met hers briefly—intense and unreadable—before he dropped his bag by the wall.

“Let’s get started,” she directed, forcing an even tone.

Like the sessions before, the work began in silence. Her instructions were precise, her demeanor professional. Joe followed her guidance without argument, though the grim set of his jaw spoke volumes.

“Raise your arm to shoulder height,” she instructed. “Hold it there for ten seconds.”

He complied, his brow furrowing with effort. His shoulder was healing, but the progress was slow. Pain etched lines into his face as he completed the exercise. He looked exhausted, and not just from the session.

“You’re not sleeping,” the observation slipped out before Camille could stop herself.

Joe’s head snapped toward her, his eyes narrowing. “I’m fine.”

She crossed her arms, her chin lifting slightly. “You don’t look fine.”

His laugh was sharp, bitter. “Didn’t know you were qualified to diagnose that now, too.”

The jab hit its mark, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she pressed on, her voice steady. “Joe, if you’re pushing yourself too hard or not addressing what’s weighing on you, it’ll impact your recovery.”

He rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her tone softening. “It’s more than just the injury, isn’t it?”

He let out another humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t get to play concerned now, Camille. You walked out on that privilege a long time ago.”

Camille took a breath, swallowing the sting of his words. “Maybe I don’t,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care. And this isn’t about the past,” she replied, her voice firmer now. “This is about your health. If you want to get back in the ring, you need to be honest with yourself.”

Joe ran a hand over his face, his frustration evident. For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence stretching between them. Then, with a heavy sigh, he finally spoke.

“They’re trying to make me relinquish my title,” he spat, not meeting her eyes. “I’m on the sidelines, and that’s all it takes for them to start thinking I’m done. Disposable.”

Her heart clenched at the bitterness in his voice. She knew how much his career meant to him, how hard he had worked to get where he was.

“That’s ridiculous,” the words tumbled out before she could stop them. “After everything you’ve done—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he cut in, his voice sharp. “They don’t care about what I’ve done. They care about results. And right now, I’m not giving them any.”

She hesitated, watching him carefully. Beneath the anger, she saw something else—fear. Vulnerability. She felt herself wanting to reach out, to offer him comfort, but she held herself back, knowing he wouldn’t accept it.

“Then prove them wrong,” she responded simply. “Focus on getting back to a hundred percent, and show them why they can’t afford to lose you.”

Joe’s gaze lingered on her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“It is,” she admitted. “But if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

Joe looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Maybe.”

For a moment, the tension between them shifted, the edges softened. The rest of the session passed in near silence, but the air between them felt… different.  As he walked out the door, Camille found herself staring after him, her heart heavy with a mix of emotions she couldn’t quite place.

[mothiir]

story time with isaiah

I can’t stop writing for these boys I love them.

Cw for caning, descriptions of blood.

—

—

It has been just under a month, and the Emperor — in His most glorious and unending mercy — has seen fit to continue to conceal your existence from the rest of Isaiah’s battle brothers. He and Reuben benefit from your redemptive labour, as you atone for your extensive sins by darning their socks, polishing their armour, and keeping their dormitory spotless.

With a little satisfied sound, you set aside your mending. You have been piecing Brother Reuben’s hair shirt back together, and your fingers are raw from handling the tough wool. Isaiah smells the iron tang of your blood.

You stretch your arms up over, closing your eyes as your joints click. Isaiah looks up from his current dedication — transcribing the life and times of Saint Celestine onto fresh parchment in his neatest handwriting — and sees that you are relaxing back into your bunk. His brow furrows a little. It is not time for you to sleep, and you show no signs of engaging in contemplation of the Emperor’s many noble deeds — though perhaps you are doing this internally? 

“Free time is an affront to the Emperor, little mortal,” he says, dipping his quill into ochre-red ink to outline the title of the newest segment, wherein Saint Celestine engaged in combat with a daemonette of Slaanesh and defeated it. This segment is an especially lengthy one, and well-illustrated, and he wants to do it justice. “Ensure at all times you keep Him in your thoughts.”

”Yes, my lord,” you say, eyes snapping open — a sure sign of guilt. One of your hands protectively rests over the hair shirt, probably recalling the last time that Isaiah had seen fit to bless you with more work. “No need to tear this, lord, I am more than happy to keep the Emperor in my thoughts while uh —“

Isaiah sighs, setting the quill down. Since the dormitory now only holds two Templars, he and Reuben have been able to redecorate, hammering the unused bunks into a workstation, pushed up against the wall. Their trunks serve as an adequate chair, tough durasteel enough to support the bulk of an Astartes — providing the Astartes in question is not armoured. 

“I am not going to tear the shirt, girl. I tore those socks because you showed an uncouth amount of joy in finishing your work for the day. And — besides, that is not the subject of discussion,” he says, thankful that Brother Reuben is not here, otherwise he would once again find himself rehashing an old absurd argument. Brother Reuben had objected to ‘his underwear being used as part of a pointless lesson and now she is upset and my feet are cold’. 

You had, admittedly, been a little upset — uttering little hitching squeaks, like you were swallowing back sobs — but Isaiah maintains it was an important chance to practice the virtue of patience, and you had restitched all of the socks in record time, so what was the harm done?

Still. Perhaps this is a chance to impart a gentler kind of lesson. Good relations with lesser mortals is an essential part of serving the Emperor. 

“Have you ever heard the tale of Saint Celestine?” he says instead. To his surprise, you brighten up. 

“Yes, my lord! I saw the latest holo about her before uh — before my world was cleansed in Holy Fire. Though of course it may have been a corrupted version of the story and uh—“

You are babbling. You often do this, and Brother Reuben has assured him that it is not a fault in your genetics, but a natural consequence of your human frailty. Isaiah cuts you off.

”I will teach you one of her many victories,” he says, “and of how her undying faith in the Emperor brought glory to both her and those who fought beside her.”

He turns away from his manuscript, folds his hands in his lap, and begins the tale. Saint Celestine was once a member of the Adepta Sororitas’ Order of Our Martyred Lady…

—

Just over an hour later, he finishes up the tale of how she appeared in glorious golden raiment to the beleaguered defenders of the city of Karlstadt, who were standing proud against the hideous assembled forces of heresy and ruin. How she had drawn her blessed blade and sliced apart the daemons arrayed before her. How she had blessed the inhabitants of the city, before fading into the rising sun like a dream of better times.

“That was beautiful,” you say. Isaiah had been staring off into the middle distance, allowing his eidetic memory to take hold of his tongue — but at your voice he focuses on you, gratified by the adoration in your eyes. The Living Saint is a balm to the faithful, and a scourge to the heretic.

“It is, is it not? Now, you recite it.”

Silence. You blink at him in puzzlement.

”You recite it,” he prompts. “So that you may tell the story to others.”

”Oh — uh — well, once there was…”

”No, no, no,” he says. “That is not correct. You must recite it exactly as I did, with the same words — this is how it was taught to me, and it is how it must be taught to you.”

”The — the exact same words?” you say, starting to grow flustered, your hands twisting into the hair shirt. The movement agitates the wounds on your hands, filling the air once more with the fragrance of your blood, and it gives Isaiah a splendid idea. 

“Yes. Do not worry, I will help with your memory — I understand that it is far inferior to mine.”

He looks around for a suitable implement. His warhammer is too heavy; his bolter far too precious. He reaches up to one of the unused wooden shelves and, with very little effort, rips it out of the metal brackets, before splintering it with a single crushing fist. 

“…my lord?” you say, sounding nervous. Isaiah smiles in what he hopes is a soothing way. 

“Do not be worried. I understand that your lapses in memory are not a sign of heresy, only of your own feeble genetics. This is a method that I was blessed to experience as a neophyte, before my implants worked fully, and it worked very well.”

He extracts the longest piece of wood, and uses his thumbnail to polish it, turning ragged pulp into a more suitable smoothness. He swishes it experimentally. Perfect.

“Now,” he says sunnily. “I will say a segment of the tale; you will repeat it. Every time you get it wrong, I shall give you a little tap with this. The pain focuses your mind, and ensures that next time you will not forget!”

”Uh — I do not think that is necessary my lord —“

You are hunched like a Jerboa about to bolt, smelling of fear. Isaiah sighs. 

“Girl, please do not be ungrateful. I am trying to bestow the Emperor’s kindness upon you. Now give me your hand.”

Your arm trembles, but you still extend your palm, fingers curled protectively over it. Just as he is about to begin the exercise, he recalls Brother Reuben’s fury at his torn socks. Ah. Yes. Anything that will hinder your ability to work is probably going to cause issues with his battle brother — and baseline humans take so long to heal. 

The soles of your feet? No, he cannot have you unable to stand. Your back? No — you need to hunch over your mending. Your face? Some of the serfs ritually scar themselves as part of their penance.

No. Not your face. That is a little dramatic for something as trivial as learning a story. 

And then it occurs to him in a lightning flash — of course! 

“Kindly lift your skirt up and bend over the bed,” he says, thanking the Emperor for His guidance. If you struggle to sit down then that is no problem — you can sew standing up! And you can sleep on your front, so it will not even affect your lengthy and inefficient spells of rest. 

You make a strange strangled sound. 

“My — my lord?” you manage, and that warm feeling kindles once more in his belly. Bringing a waif to the Emperor’s light; imparting unto you stories normally reserved for Astartes. It makes him feel all happy and tingly in a way he usually associates with a battle hard won, or an especially entertaining heretic burning. 

“Hurry up now,” he says, indicating the bunk. You look behind you, as if expecting Brother Reuben to materialise with his usual rebukes, but he is busy in the chapel (though Isaiah cannot imagine what possible issue his brother could have with this plan). 

Trembling like a new fawn, you bend over the bunk, propping your elbows on it. 

“Your skirt too,” Isaiah says, helpfully. “If fabric gets into the wounds it can cause infection, and that is a serious matter for a baseline.”

You inch your skirt up in little shuddering movements that Isaiah finds absolutely hypnotic for reasons he cannot quite understand. You bare plump, tender flesh — thighs sweeping up to the curve of your buttocks, which quiver under his gaze. 

“Do you not have any undergarments?” he says. 

“I did,” you say, after a moment. “They uh. They vanished.”

How baffling. Humans are absentminded to the extreme — perhaps you mislaid them? He will have to ask Brother Reuben of their whereabouts. 

“Now,” he says. His mouth feels odd — a little too dry. He swallows a few times, rolling his tongue against the soft insides of his cheeks, wondering briefly — absurdly — if your skin would feel as soft against the press of his fingers. ”Let us begin.”

—

You start off so well, parroting back the first few sentences he recites for you almost down to his intonation. Alas, you are still only a human, and the mistakes soon begin —

“…for Saint Celestine appeared in —“

Wssshhh goes the instrument, and you squeal. Your buttocks jiggle in a way that would definitely distract a lesser man; but Isaiah is completely devoted to the Emperor’s word, and thus does not take more than forty five seconds to watch them move as you squirm in pain. He thought the strike was gentle, but your flesh is softer than butter, slicing open with the least touch. 

“You missed something out,” he says, after his momentary pause. “Try again.”

”I am sorry — ow that hurts — uh — “

This time, you get the phrasing right (‘miraculously appeared’ not just ‘appeared’), and proceed until —

“—her hair of gold — “

Another strike. The flesh of your rear splits like ripened fruit, and you yowl. 

“Hair of black, eyes of gold,” Isaiah corrects patiently. It is just as well he has taken you under his wing. The way you squirm and squeak is most immodest, and he is certain that none of the other serfs take discipline with the same lack of dignity. 

“Hair of — hair of black, eyes of — eyes of gold —“

He forgives you the stammer, but he cannot forgive the lapse that follows, as you describe Saint Celestine’s armour as ‘radiant’ rather than ‘luminous’. This time, Isaiah is most careful with his blow, and your skin only flares bright pink, rather than splitting asunder. You still whimper and wriggle as though he has made you bleed, which is most unbecoming. 

“Do try and endure the pain,” he tells you. “There is no need to be so…squirmy.”

Once again, he thanks the Emperor for guiding you to him, and not to a man with less moral fortitude, because the way the blood slicks over the curve of your rump and glistens would almost certainly lead a lesser man to sinful contemplation. 

The next lashes — earned through forgetting four of Saint Celestine’s thirty eight titles — have you blubbering, your face pressed into the blankets. Your buttocks, and the upper parts of your thighs, are streaked purple and pink with bruising, and blood drips down towards the backs of your knees. It smells bright and fresh — somehow more pleasing than the foul blood of xenos or heretics. Perhaps because it was shed by a penitent in service to the Emperor, not one of His enemies? Though Osric and Jean’s blood never smelled quite so…delicious. 

Hm. When did he last eat? Maybe he has been fasting overly much. That must be the reason his stomach tightens so.

You burble a slurry of sound into the mattress — even to his trained ear it barely resembles Gothic. 

“You’re not even halfway through memorising this,” he chides, and you manage another hiccuping attempt at repeating the conversation between Saint Celestine and her former Battle Sister Augusta. It is a most touching soliloquy on the importance of placing your faith in the Emperor, but —

“—and I will — I will do I must and take Him inside me, and let His will fill me like a flood — nay, like an ocean. His Holy Fire will spill deep inside my body —“

— for some reason it sounds a little different when you say it. His cheeks warm. 

Still, the technique is working. He finds he has to hit you less and less as you continue; the pain sharpening your mind, clearing the fog of doubt, permitting the Emperor’s words to penetrate. 

Finally, your approach the denouement, where Saint Celestine addresses the Emperor directly in prayer —

“My Lord, I beg of you to fill my humble body up —“

He strikes you without thinking.

“Wha — what did I get wrong?” you squeal, and it takes a moment for Isaiah to focus. He is staring at the jiggle of your thighs as you heave in desperate, pained breaths — by the Emperor’s light, clearly he has not done his job in teaching you how to best conduct yourself, because you are responding to proper discipline like a whore. Your spine arches as you try fruitlessly to escape; your eyes are wet and red-rimmed; your lips slick with spittle. Do you realise what you are doing? Ignorance is no defence against judgement; Isaiah could build a new monastery with the bones of those he has slain whose only crime was ignorance. 

Isaiah presses one hand on the small of your back, pressing down just enough to calm your twitching. He feels your heartbeat echo up through his palm; the scent of your blood fills his nose, and saliva puddles on his tongue. He is a Black Templar. His purpose is to slay the enemies of the Emperor; to crush them beneath his boots, to lay waste to their cities and hear the lamentations of their children, before they too are cast onto the pyre to ensure the rot does at the root. He is stronger than you. He is better than you, and your mewling is not effecting him, it cannot be effecting him —

”Keep going,” he says, his voice a low, hungry growl. “Finish the tale.”

” —yes. Of course. Saint Celestine thus spoke to the Emperor: “Fill my humble body up with Your Grace and Your Judgement, and let me then be a vessel for Your Will, bringing Your light to the dark and Your hope to the hopeless. Amen.” 

“Amen,” he echoes. 

—

He helps you clean up, for he would be a poor teacher indeed if he left you in a puddle of your own blood to contemplate your lesson. He waves away your protests that you can take care of yourself — it is a small matter for him, just requiring a little water and a clean rag. Your flesh is already swelling, puffy and tender, and when he runs his palm from your calf to your back he can feel the difference in temperature: from cool thighs to fever-warm buttocks. 

The apothecary insists that Astartes be thorough in their care of themselves. Thus, Isaiah takes care to repeat the gesture a few times, his large hands — each of which easily encircle your thighs — skimming with utmost consideration over your bruised flesh. 

“There,” he says, when he has attended to your wounds to his satisfaction. He tugs your skirt down to cover your modesty, pleased that he has fufilled his duty of care to you. “Is it not wonderful to learn the Emperor’s word?”

You prop yourself up on your forearms, turning back to look at him. “Yes,” you echo. “Simply wonderful.”

Isaiah beams at you, absent-mindedly lifting his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean. He has probably been fasting too much; a Templar must remain well fed to best serve the Emperor. 

“You can have the afternoon to recover,” he says, magnanimously. “We can commence your next lesson in a ten day — or whenever your schedule allows.”

”Yes, my lord. Thank you my lord,” you say. “All hail the Emperor and His most bounteous mercy.”

”All hail,” Isaiah says, already planning how to best explain this to Brother Reuben — while also making it excruciatingly clear that Brother Reuben needn’t trouble himself with the serf’s continued holy education. No, Brother Reuben can focus his considerable energy in locating the poor thing’s missing undergarments — a role far more befitting his station. “And next time,” he adds, licking the last of the blood from the back of his hand. “Refrain from squirming and mewling like a slattern. Have some self control.”

[so-long-soldier-writes]

The Light in My Darkness

damon salvatore x gn!reader | requested

summary: after your boyfriend's death, you fell back into old habits. now that he's back, you're having trouble kicking them again.

tags: angst, hurt / comfort, depression, s3lf h4rm, kisses

word count: 1.7k

a/n: i typically don't write for damon, however i feel comfortable writing this subject matter and i'm getting better with understanding his character. honestly, too, i rewatched s7 and i'm starting to love him even more. (i just love the traumatized characters.)

also, i'm not good at titles. my first title had the word 'put' in it, but i stared at it so long, it didn't look like a word anymore and i had to change it. i think i like this one better. i stg, titles are half the reason i take so long to post. whew, anyway... enjoy ❤️

“Stefan needs help at Whitmore,” Damon says hurriedly. He puts his phone in his back pocket and sighs. “Another Enzo situation.”

“Do you want me to come?”

“No, you stay here. I don’t want him anywhere near you, given he’s in one of his moods and would hurt you for no reason.” He gives you a quick kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

He speeds out the door a moment later, leaving you alone in the large, empty house. You sigh. Your life is so full of supernatural drama, it’s hard to keep up. Honestly, you’re not even sure what the situation is with Enzo, or why he and Stefan hate each other so much, or how Damon knows what to do to de-escalate their arguments. Of course, Caroline debriefed you on it sometime ago, but with all the craziness happening lately, it pretty much went over your head. 

It’s been hard these last few months. Only recently had Damon returned to you from four months after being considered dead, alongside Bonnie, as the other side collapsed with him in it. Those months had been the hardest of your life, and you doubted your ability to make it through them. Losing your best friend and your boyfriend was something you never thought you’d have to endure, yet it happened. Losing them almost killed you, too. 

For three years, you were clean. You hadn’t touched a single blade since you and Damon got serious. He gave you a reason to stop without even knowing it, and with a lot of patience with yourself, you managed to kick the addiction. After he died, though, when you couldn’t bear to live without him, you picked it back up. Part of you is pissed for falling back into your old ways, but the other part has convinced yourself it’s what you need to do to survive. 

When he came back unexpectedly, you were filled with just as much panic as you were joy. You had him back, but had relapsed majorly, and now have to recount your old steps into being sober again. It hasn’t been easy. 

It’s been a couple days since your last time, and while your skin’s no longer bright and swollen, it seems to beg for your attention. You have to plan it carefully, making sure Damon will be gone long enough that he won’t sense the fresh blood. When he grabs your wrists to kiss your face, you don’t want to flinch in slight pain, or let him pick up a chance in your heartbeat. 

It’s such a complicated addiction to have when dating a vampire, yet fighting the urges are so hard, sometimes you can’t help but give into them. 

The blades in the bathroom are ready for you when you enter. A brand new pack sits in the drawer. The boys won’t miss one or two. The one time Stefan did notice, you blabbered a quick lie about needing one to scrape a bit of food dried to the stovetop. He was in such a rush that day, he didn’t catch any lie, and you were able to smile and flee the scene a moment later. Since then, you make sure to hold onto the one you have until there’s enough to not see one missing. 

With everyone seemingly involved in the Enzo situation, you don’t bother to shut the door completely before dragging the blade across your skin. The boarding house is empty, and this bathroom in particular is tucked away nicely behind the stairs. You make a few scattered cuts and watch the blood seep from them. It always seems to calm you in the most grotesque way, and, quite ironically, gives you the perfect dopamine rush that raises your spirits despite the pain. It’s a terrible addiction but with a high reward… until you have to hide the evidence. 

That little reminder makes you sigh. Too many scars are hard to hide, and with Damon back, you have to be careful. It would break him to see you this way; that thought alone makes you put down the blade. For a moment longer, you stare at the tricking blood, committing the sight to memory to maybe fend off the next urge. To imagine the blood on your skin may convince yourself it’s there, and maybe you won’t cut the next time you’re so desperate. Maybe. 

You reach for a piece of toilet paper to dab the wounds. The bleeding needs to stop before you crave another scare. It’s so tempting, but-

“Hey,” Damon appears suddenly, peeking through the door. His eyes are narrowed, as if sensing something’s wrong. “What are you doing?”

You turn to face him and hold your hands around your back quickly. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?” He opens the door a little wider, seeing the reflection of your hidden hands in the mirror. “Let me see your arms.”

“I’m okay.” Nervously, you pull down your sleeves to hide your wounds as much as possible. Your eyes meet the floor, unable to lie if you look into his blues.

“No, you’re not.” He argues, anxious to see your face; to not let you shy away and avoid his gaze. His approach makes your heart race, confirming his worst fears. “Let me see.”

“I thought you were leaving. I thought Stefan needed you.”

“He does, but he can wait.”

“But-”

“You’re my first priority. I can tell something’s up. Please,” he brushes a hair away from your face, “let me in.”

“Damon, I’m fine.”

“You’re hurting, and I can smell the blood, and I’m really trying hard not to freak out right now.”

You huff at the realization that he could smell it. You should’ve waited for him to be gone longer before breaking your skin. “Promise me you won’t be mad.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Just promise me.” Tears well in your eyes, but you let them fall, unwilling to take your hands off your sleeves. 

“Y/N, I promise. I could never be mad. Just let me see it.”

Slowly, you release your sleeves, but leave the task of rolling them up to him. You can’t bear to do it yourself. Damon takes one hand gently and pulls the sleeve back. Upon seeing the numerous cuts, he pulls the other back with a little more vigor, but is still careful not to hurt you. He stares, unable to speak or move, as his heart breaks with every passing second. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. His eyes meet yours and you finally break down into tears. 

Without a moment of hesitation, he pulls you into a hug, wrapping his arms protectively around your body. You feel safe in his arms, you always do. Damon has a way about him that always makes you feel safe, no matter what anyone else thinks of him. He’s loyal and understanding, and that is part of the reason you feel so horrible for not telling him this. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, now sobbing into his chest. 

Your heart beats and reminds him that you are alive. The cuts made into your skin weren’t deep enough to take you. The pain you have been feeling hasn’t swallowed you whole. He concentrates on your breathing, and your crying, and uses it to anchor himself before asking the thousands of questions flooding his mind. 

He pulls away, finally, and wipes your tears with his thumbs. His hands grip your shoulders with a gentle desperation, as if he’s afraid you could dissipate at any moment. 

“Y/N…”

“I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

“Did you mean for me to find out at all?”

Your heart feels heavy as you reply, “honestly, no.”

“Why not tell me, Y/N? You know I love you. If you’re hurting, I want to be there for you.”

“I know… I guess I just didn’t want to disappoint you? Some part of me was embarrassed about it, and I didn’t want you to see me differently because of it. I don’t know.” 

“Baby, there’s nothing you could do that’d ever make me love you less. Nothing that would ever make me feel a different way, or see you in another light.”

“I know. I know my feelings are totally irrational, I just… they’re fears.”

“I understand.” He kisses your forehead, then releases your shoulders to hold your hands and kiss them, too. “Hey, can you promise me something?”

“I can try.”

“Come to me the next time you’re feeling like you want to hurt yourself, okay? Let me help you through it.”

“But-”

“It doesn’t matter what’s going on, or who’s texting, I will drop anything and put you first. But you gotta let me in when you need it. Okay?”

“Okay.” You take a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Now,” he pauses, biting into his arm and holding it out for you to drink. His other hand meets the back of your head, stabilizing your neck to keep you comfortable. 

To his dismay, you refuse. You try to pull away, but his other hand prevents that, so you look down instead. “I can’t.”

“Y/N…”

“The scars are a reminder that I bleed. As soon as they fade away, the urge returns, but if they’re there for a little while, the urge is less strong. They’re kind of a comfort, I think. A reminder.”

“So you don’t want me to heal them?”

“I’d rather not. They don’t bother me too much. Do they bother you?”

You can see the hesitation in his eyes. He fights with himself, knowing the sight is a reminder of your pain, but understands their existence helps you heal. After a moment, he shakes his head. “No, baby, I only care that you’re safe.” He kisses them one more time. “Have you eaten much today?”

“Not really.”

“Well… do you mind if I make you something, even if it’s just something small, and then we can sit together on the couch? We’ll take today slow.”

“Okay. Wait, but what about Stefan?”

“Caroline can handle it. Then he’ll be in her debt and she’ll be happy about it,” he jokes.

You smile, appreciating his humor despite the somber mood hanging above both your heads. He’s the light in dark times, the much needed laugh that breaks the awkward silence. It’s part of the reason you fell for him so quickly. 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay. And thank you.”

He pulls you in to kiss your forehead, then reaches for your hand. “Of course.”

[clawsdevour]

hi, i love ur fanfics and headcanons <3 i wanted to ask if u can write a fanfic in which reader is in love with Tsukishima, but he's still fictional. reader buys a Tsukishima plushie and one day we find out that the plushie can transform into real Tsukishima. kinda angst at the start but fluff at the end. (im sorry if i didn't explain it correctly, English isn't my first language) no pressure, have a good day/night ❤️

not an illusion

wc: 1.4k content warning: angst, fluff, reader x tsukishima, plushie tsukishima turns into real tsukishima, not proof read, shitty writing

note: thank you soooo much for reading my imagines and headcanons it means so much!! i kind of struggled trying to include a short storyline that included angst, so this may not suit your taste. nevertheless angst, and fluff are still included into this story !!

༉‧₊˚.

Recently you’ve been into this sports anime. Specifically an anime about volleyball, Haikyuu was the name. Your favorite character was no one else but Tsukishima Kei. He’s a tall blonde with glasses, whose position on Karasuno was a middle blocker. He’s a calm and intelligent character which you loved. Your liking towards him grew over time, collecting official merch of him, your profile pictures on social media were all a photo of him. 

Your family thought your interest in Tsukishima Kei to be.. quite odd. Almost like an obsession of this fictional character you loved so much. Whenever they walk into your room, you’re either laughing at a silly TikTok about him or scrolling through photos of him on Pinterest as your room had posters sprawled out on your walls with his drawn out face on it. Sometimes you’d hear your siblings taunt you and call you weird for this which you always brushed off.

“Why are you so obsessed over Tsukishima?? He’s not even real!” Your sibling would shout at you. Of course you ignored their tauntings and mockery.

Deep down you somewhat knew that your liking is a little out of hand, but his character is like a reflection of yourself growing up. Maybe that’s why Tsukishima’s my favorite. Sometimes you can’t help but ponder about why you’re so interested in him as a character throughout the show.

One day you were out at a mall with a friend, specifically in the arcade. A Haikyuu themed claw machine caught your eye. The slogan was kind of cheesy and made you walk up to it as it sparked your curiosity. It read, One chance to collect him! Peering at the plushies at the bottom of the machine, trying to seek out a Tsukishima one. When you spotted his crow with blonde hair and glasses you’re frantically pulling your friend, pointing and showing them Tsukishima out of excitement. There was one left and you needed it in your possession. 

Failure after failure, you’re watching the black bird fall out of your grasp multiple times. Your friend’s watching from the glass, trying to help you move the claw inch by inch to get it in the right position. On your last coin, you had to get him. Holding in your breath as the claw cages the blonde crow, you successfully were able to get it down the slot. Reaching out from under to grab him out, you can’t help but squeal out of joy.

“Oh my gosh!! We did it!! We got Tsukishima!” You’re holding up the crow as you jump up and down, showing your friend who’s beaming with happiness for you. 

“I’m gonna take the best care of this Tsukki plush.. overall I did spend a butt ton of money on coins just for this.” Your friend can’t help but laugh with you as you both headed to the cafeteria of the mall to grab some dinner.

You arrive back home late, trying to not let the door creak loudly while you slowly close it behind you. You’re holding onto the Tsukishima plush with all your might as if someone was gonna take him from you. The door didn’t creak, however the wooden floorboards did. Your loud steps echoed down the hallway all the way to your room, waking up your parents whose room is besides yours. Shit! They’re gonna know I was out late again. Hurriedly tippy toeing back in your bedroom, you let out a sigh of relief when you were able to softly shut your door. That was until you heard a sudden knock, making you jump.

“HEY! We know you just got back home. It’s so late, where did you go off this time??” Your parents were awake and heard the whole thing as they profusely pounded at the entryway of your bedroom. You’re blocking them from entering with your weight on the door, holding your Tsukishima plush tight against your chest wishing this wouldn’t go on longer. Unfortunately they were able to pry open the door using all their might, knocking you down to the floor. You’re absolutely horrified once they start to yell at you.

“What did you do that made you come back home so late? Have you gone insane, it’s basically time for bed! What- what is that..?” Your parents stopped their furious shouting to look at what you’re holding tightly onto. It was the blonde crow that was getting crushed alive by your overwhelming grasp.

“No.. don’t tell me you spent more money on your silly fictional character that you’re so obsessed with. You have to stop this, this fixation you have on a man who isn’t even real is too much, you hear me!?” Their words start to bring you to tears, your eyes were glazed with tears that quickly blurred your vision, creating blobs that fell off and onto your cheeks. Taking all their insults and nasty remarks, you can’t help but start crying hysterically after they left your room to head off to bed.

Setting aside Tsukishima on your bed, you can’t help but curl into a ball to sob for a good long minute. Your eyes felt so dried out the more you wept. Your nose was dripping, making you sniffle every second that passed. A slight shuffle was heard on your bed, you were too caught up in your ears to hear. That was until you felt this warmth radiating around your shoulders.

Looking down you realized, someone was in your room hugging you from behind. Long muscular arms were wrapped around you. W-Who is this? How’d they get into my room?? You’re in total shock and freaked out thinking someone broke in while you were busy letting out all your built up tears, immediately breaking out of the hug to turn behind you. 

It was no one else besides Tsukishima Kei, the tall blonde volleyball character from Haikyuu. Wiping your eyes to make sure you’re seeing things right. How did— How is he real.. is this another illusion? Surely not, his arms were warm and real. You’re backing away, trying to understand the situation that’s taking place, completely baffled.

“Y-You.. you’re. You’re Tsukishima Kei..” your voice was shaking due to all the crying, pointing at him with your quaking finger. You can’t tell if you’re going insane or if you just need to go to bed, or both. 

“Umm.. Hi, are you okay? I saw what your parents did there. Looked harsh.” His low monotone voice spoke at you, he was actually talking. He’s the plushie from the arcade.. this can’t be real, realizing when you looked back at your bed where the blonde crow was missing.

“Uh.. I—yeah. I’m okay. If I can ask.. um, what’s going on here?” Wiping your tears off your wet lashes, your hoarse voice croaks at him in confusion. So much was going on, you were so lost. Your face was hot and wet from crying.

“Well.. you can see that I’m real, erm.. I guess to put it that way” scratching his head, he’s kind of embarrassed to be seen like this. 

“Do you need a hug or something? You look like you could really use it.. from you know, your parents’ shouting,” Tsukishima’s sitting on your bed with his arms slightly open. Seeing you get yelled at for a while made him take pity on your situation. Overall, you just wanted to support the show he was in but purchasing official Haikyuu merchandise and he could tell by the looks of the way you decorated your room. Eyes still glossy, you shuffle towards him, accepting his nice gesture of comfort. 

“This is embarrassing and probably really strange for you too. But thank you. It’s weird to know that I’m hugging a fictional character that I somewhat.. maybe, have a slight obsession with. Thanks.. I-I guess.” You’re speaking into his chest, face buried into his scent. Absorbing his warm embrace he so graciously provided you. Looking up at him, still in disbelief that he’s real. He’s looking down at you with a faint smile.

“I-It’s nothing,” Tsukishima mutters out, looking away with a shy look on his face.

masterlist here

[pompompurinwrites]

Yandere!Idia Shroud x Crossdressing!Fem!Reader (smut)

I wrote this on one of my Ao3 accounts a while ago but decided to move it to my Tumblr as well!!

TW: Yandere-ish, smut

Word count: 1.9k

"Yeah Grim I know what Crewel said but do I really gotta take it all, it makes me so sick." Grim glances over at you while you sip hesitantly on the vile. "Maybe for one day you can try drinking less, but what if you start to turn all girly?" Shaking your head you drink only half the vile, close it up and throw it on your bed. "We will just have to see what will happen." Grabbing your bag you sling it over your shoulder and give Grim a quick kiss on his forehead. He has been sick for a few days and again won't be able to go to school. Riddle told you it was some magical sickness that he must have gotten from eating things he wasn't supposed to. So this means It's another day you gotta survive by yourself without anyone finding out about your secret.

Making your way out of Ramshackle you feel a lot better and not as tired or sick like when you usually take all of the potion. You meet with friends and go to your classes.

(time skip)

While on your way to your last class you start to feel funny. A student who you talk with frequently looked at you very odd,"Hey Y/n, are you feeling alright?" You look at him surprised, "Yes, why?" the boy walks a little closer and pulls out his phone to show you yourself. "Your eyes look bigger and your cheeks seem more flushed." Looking at yourself in the phones mirror you seem more girly. "Oh maybe Grim's cold got to me too?" With that being said you rush off before the boy can even open his mouth. Panicking you start to search for somewhere to go since you can't walk to ramshackle and risk someone seeing you like this.

Lucky you make it to an empty classroom, before anyone can see you, or so you thought. You pull out your phone and look at your now changed features, finally the potion has worn off. You are standing there in a girly form and no longer can show your face to other students. suddenly you hear a voice behind you, "Y-Y/N??" Freezing in your tracks you don't turn around and instead wave Idia off. "Y/n you can't even speak to me?" You continue to look in the opposite direction of Idia and try to brush him off still. "Y/N, are you alright?" He is getting more nervous with your behavior.

You're his favorite person in the whole world, right next to Ortho, why are you being this way to him? You're everything we could ever want and more. You're pretty much the love of his life. He needs you to speak to him and he needs to know you're ok. "Please Y/n." You take in the way his voice is so desperate. Turning towards him, "Idia can you keep a secret?" Voice now shaky and more high pitched than it was before. "Y-yes, for you I can!" He takes a hesitant step and so do you. This continues on until you both are close enough to hear each other breathing.

Hesitantly you look at Idia's face, "I know this is is really weird and-" Idia grabs you by your arms. "You're a girl?" Idia was over joyed with this fact. Not only did he think you were a cute boy, but you're really an adorable girl." You watched as Idia's face was left so blank and empty. This made you worried. Your hands shoot up to hold onto Idia's hands that held onto your shoulders. "Please don't tell anyone anything!" small tears start to well up in your eyes. Idia takes this chance to move a hand up to brush your tears away. "Oh Y/n I won't tell anyone anything, I swear." This time when you looked at his face it had a grin. "Why are you looking at me like that Idia?"

He Moves his hands away from your form and instead he plays with his hands nervously. "Well Y/n I want something in return." Scrunching your brows together you think about what you can offer him. "Y/n you don't get to pick what to give me, I do." He takes his hands and raises them to your waist. "I mean after all I am the one who is going to keep your secret that you're really a girl." swallowing nervously you move to place your hands where he held you, "Idia don't I get a little bit of a say, I mean it's my secret." attempting to remove his hands came to no avail as he gripped you harder. "Please Y/n I have waiting for this moment since I laid my eyes on you." He starts to lean into you, forcing you to move back towards a desk.

Your legs hit the desk and you stumble a little back onto it. "Idia you really have?" He just confessed to you that even before he found out you were a girl he wanted you as a boy. How romantic? "Yes, yes Y/n, I have needed you for so long, man or woman." You gain the courage to grab him by the back of his neck and pull him close for a kiss. sticking your tongue in his mouth and exploring it and all its crevices. He sure was an awful kisser but the enthusiasm he was showing really helped him out. Starting to become out of breath you both pull away. Saliva still connecting you both by a thin thread. His look was all hazy and lust filled just as much as your own. It was really turning you on and by the looks of it, Idia as well.

Slipping your hand away from the back of his neck you move it down to his member. Stroking him off through his uniform pants. He lets out a whimper, "More, please, give me more." listening to his pleas you unzip his uniform pants and pull down his boxers to show his leaking rod. To be honest you thought he would be a bit smaller but he was more than large, like extra large. Using both of your hands you start to jerk him off. seconds go by and he is already whimpering into your ear and telling you to go faster. Of course you listen and go faster. "I can't take it, I'm sorry." He replies as he releases himself onto your hands. Lifting your hands to your mouth, you lick off all of his cum.

"Idia I want more of you." Idia nods his head and trades places with you. While he leans on the desk you take your place on the floor in front of him. Wasting no time in swirling your tongue around the tip of his member. He continues to leave you with little praises about how good you are and how beautiful you look. This made you want him even more. completely taking his cock into you mouth, well trying to at least. With his size it is very difficult to full get it in so you stick to stroking off what what couldn't make it in. sucking and slurping sounds fill the empty classroom. Idia started to breathe a bit heavier. You could tell he was almost up, so you stop.

"N-no, don't stop now, just a little bit more." He goes to grab your head to push you back but you move away and get up off your knees. Grabbing at your belt and then slipping your pants off, leaving you in your underwear. Idia watches intently as you do so. Moving your hands up you peal off your NRC jacket but leave your shirt on same as Idia. He gently grabs you by your arms and pulls you in for another kiss, this one was a lot sweeter than the one you insinuated. such soft and loving moment shared between you two. "Sit on the desk." His voice is a bit more demanding. A big jump from the weak whimpers he was serenading you with before.

You oblige and position yourself sitting on the desk. Quickly he pulls you by your legs so you are laying down instead of just sitting. Never in your life have you thought you would see Idia with a more dominate side. And to top it off the way he looks at you with such a lust hunger stare really makes you wonder what his real personality even is. "What are you thinking about?" His question snaps you out of your thoughts, "Just you." Those two words are enough to make idia melt, "You really are perfect for me." He takes one of his hands are caresses your face, then takes his other and slips it under your undergarments. teasing your soaking wet entrance with his delicate touch.

He never had any experience with this kind of thing but Leona and Vil have told him and thing or two in case he would ever get into a situation like this. He also spends a good chunk of his time playing porn related video games so what he knows is whatever the hell is in those games.

Continuously he moves his fingers up and down making you the one whimpering now. Circling around your bud, around and around. He only does this for a few minutes before pushing a finger into you. Moving it in and out at a slow pace. He watches as you go to grip his hand, "Put another." He listens to you just as you listened to him and sticks another finger inside. Moving them along your squishy insides. Your moans and whimpers are what keep him going. They are going to be another reason why he needs to have you and always be with you. Forever and always. Picking up the pace he watches as small beads of sweat litter your forehead and roll down your face. "Idia I can't, I feel like I-" Before you can finish you cum all over his hand.

"I love you so much Y/n." He speaks before putting his fingers into his mouth and licking each and every digit that has your essence on it clean. His words caught you off guard for a second, "I love you too Idia." Now you were both ready for the main course.

Idia gently goes to hold your waist while you grab at his arms. Lining his tip with your entrance he pushes himself in. Your walls collapse onto him and he wonders if he can keep going especially if you feel this good. Slowly he starts to move his hips against yours and moans slip out of his mouth. "Idia faster-" Cutting you off he quickens his speed. Completely slamming into you and making you see stars. Your moans and whimpers are filling the classroom once again and so are Idia's. To think he is really having sex with the love of his life, this must be a dream.

But it's not, she is very much real. Everything about you and Idia were real.

He moves his hands from your waist to hold your face, "Y-y/n, I don't think I can hold on much longer." You grab onto his hands that are placed on your face, "M-me neither." You both are starting to become out of breath and coming to your end. Idia takes his hands off your face and hold onto your waist again, pulling himself in and out quickly. Before he can even make it fully out of you he cums inside your womanhood. Not long after you finish as well. Both of you are now fully finished and trying to get as much air as you can.

"Idia, you won't tell now will you?"

"No Y/n, never."

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Y’all’s comments bring me so much joy ❤️

Part 1 | . . . | Part 55 | Part 56 | Part 57

Steve pours on the speed as much as he can, even though he’s already running as fast as he can.

As he gets closer, he sees Dustin on top of Eddie.

Wayne looks up, and Steve’s confused by the smile. Surely-

“They’re alright,” he calls, and Steve almost stumbles. He slows down a fraction as Wayne turns to his nephew. “Eddie, goddamn you, sit up ‘fore you give your boy a heart attack.”

Eddie scrambles up, unceremoniously dumping Dustin onto the ground as he races towards Steve, grin wide and wild. Steve barely hears Dustin’s yelp. “We did it!” He yells, barreling into Steve, wrapping his arms around him and swinging them around in a circle.

“W-wait, wait,” Steve says, gasping for breath, clinging to Eddie like he’s the one dying this time around. “Y- you’re-”

“Completely fine, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers into his ear, moving to hold him up when his legs all but give out. They slowly sink to the ground. “I’m fine, I swear, not a scratch, just a huge adrenaline rush. I was swinging Dustin around in a circle and tripped and fell and we just didn’t get up, and Wayne and the other boys sat beside us. We’re all okay, the boys had the time of their lives with their flamethrowers. I think maybe we need to confiscate those, actually, it seems a little too dangerous, which you know is serious when it’s me saying it-”

Steve drops his head to Eddie’s shoulder, takes a deep breath, and bursts into tears.

He’s jostled as Eddie makes sharp movements for a few seconds. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says. “Wayne took the boys inside, and he’ll make sure they don’t watch from the windows. You’re okay, right? Not hurt?”

Steve shakes his head. “Not hurt,” he manages with a broken gasp. His fingers flex on Eddie’s hips. “Just- so glad you’re okay.”

Eddie hushes him. “I’m fine,” he murmurs. “Glad you’re okay, too, of course. But I’m not about to let you get away from me that easy, not when I finally have a chance of having you.”

“You had the chance last time,” he argues petulantly.

Eddie chuckles, pulling him closer. “Yeah, but I didn’t know that, did I?” He rubs a comforting hand down Steve’s back. “Everyone on your team is okay, right?”

Steve sniffs and pulls back to wipe his face before he nods. “Robin’s leading them back here. But I should probably go find her, just in case.”

Eddie gives him a soft smile. “This is one of the things we’ll have to talk about,” he murmurs. “But Wayne’s guarding the windows and he’s okay. One quick we-saved-the-world kiss before we go?”

Steve blinks. “We go?”

Eddie blushes. “Well, yeah. I’m not ready to let you out of my sight just yet, and chances are you’re not, either.”

Steve huffs a self-deprecating laugh. “You’re probably right,” he admits, then sighs. “Yeah. One quick kiss.”

“I’d dream of nothing more,” Eddie says, and presses their lips together in a chaste kiss.

When they pull back, Steve grins as he gets to his feet. “I hope you do dream of more, actually, I’d like to think I’m a better kisser than that.”

Eddie laughs, head tilted to the sky. “Of course you are, Stevie. Now c’mon, let’s go find the girls so we can celebrate.” His grin turns lascivious. “I believe I was promised something, and I believe it’s just about time for later.”

Steve laughs and pushes Eddie’s shoulder. “Horndog,” he jokes. “Keep it in your pants. We’ve still gotta get out of here.”

Eddie smiles, grabs Steve’s hand, and nods. “I’m following your lead.”

Together they walk back the way Steve had come. They see the girls a ways off, and Steve starts running. He crashes into Robin and spins her around with a laugh. “We really did it,” he says, eyes shining. “It’s over.”

Robin hugs him back. “Everyone’s okay?”

Steve hums. “Everyone down here, yeah. I’m sure El will be tired but I’m sure she’s okay too.” He lets go of Robin and attaches himself to Alli next. “How do you feel?”

She grins at him. “Free.”

“Free.” He grins back. “I like that. It is freeing.”

He pulls away from Allison just as Eddie jogs up. Robin hugs him, then punches him in the shoulder. “Don’t scare him like that!”

Eddie holds his hands up, wide-eyed. “I’m sorry?” He flicks his gaze to Steve, who shrugs. It’s not like Robin listens to him half the time anyways.

“Robbie, be nice,” he chastises.

“Steve-”

“Robin,” he repeats, smiling at her. “We’re okay.” He grabs her hand. “Promise.”

She squeezes it, smiles back. “Okay.” She turns a harder look on Eddie. “I’m keeping my eye on you.”

“Oh my god,” Steve murmurs, then turns to Eddie with a grin. “I apologize for my feral soulmate.”

Robin squawks. Eddie grins, shrugs. “‘S alright. I’ll win her over eventually.”

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[em1e]

⠀ ⠀新一郎 // training wheels ⠀ ༝ ༝ shinichiro sano ⠀ ༝ ༝ 964 words ⠀ ༝ ༝ no warnings :3 cute fluff ⠀ — mikey wants his own motorbike, shinichiro thinks he needs to learn to ride a regular bike first.

it really shouldn’t be as funny as you were making it out to be. 

mikey’s cheeks puffed out, arms crossed over his chest while shinichiro works absentmindedly beside him, purposefully ignoring his younger sibling who was trying his best to not be ignored. 

“holding your breath isn’t gonna change his mind,” emma pipes up from her place in your lap, practically vibrating at the fact that you’re going to braid her hair for her, “onii-san said you have to get rid of your training wheels first.” 

mikey’s eyes narrow at her, unwilling to bow out just yet, but you can tell his 8-year-old lungs won’t last without air for much longer. despite his efforts, your boyfriend doesn’t budge, and it only takes about 15 seconds after this realization for mikey to give in. he lays beside shinichiro (who reaches over him to grab a tool he needs to finish working on his bike), gasping for air and whining. 

“i want my own bike!”

“you have your own bike.” shinichiro says dismissively, nodding towards mikey’s blue bicycle sitting pretty in the garage. the training wheels seem to mock him, and mikey huffs at the suggestion. 

“a cool bike.” he says instead, throwing an arm dramatically over his eyes, “one i can impress people with, like shinichiro.” 

“and who might shinichiro be trying to impress?” you question, game no longer funny while you twist emma’s hair into neat twin braids down her back. 

shinichiro visibly stiffens, and mikey snickers at the idea of his brother getting into trouble. 

“no one!” he assures, turning slightly so you can see he’s serious, “and let’s not forget the topic at hand- mikey, you need to learn how to ride a regular bike before one of these bad boys.” he pats the piece of metal beside him and gives a proud smile. 

it almost makes you forget about mikey’s comment. almost. but that’s an issue for another day, you decide as emma pulls you to your feet and shinichiro helps mikey up. “let’s go practice,” you stretch, “see who can get it down first: you or emma.” 

emma giggles at your suggestion, racing to the garage to drag out her purple bike before mikey  has a chance to argue. 

and that’s how you ended up at the park, shinichiro on one knee while he unscrews the bolts keeping the training wheels in place on both emma and mikey’s bikes. emma tugs on your arm the second he’s finished with hers, wanting to beat mikey in the challenge even though it would be her first time without the additional help. 

mikey, however, looks apprehensively at his own bike when shinichiro rolls it over to him, eyeing it then his brother. 

“i don’t wanna.” he says eventually, and it leaves shinichiro sighing before kneeling down beside him, whispering something in his ear that has his eyes lighting up and practically hopping onto the bike quicker than shinichiro can steady it. 

you raise an eyebrow at what he’s potentially promised, and shinichiro waves it off and helps mikey re-learn how to ride without the training wheels.emma’s pleading soon fills your ears, desperate to not lose to her ‘smelly older brother’. 

they practice until the sun starts to set, you and shinichiro worn down from the hours of pushing and coaching and encouraging. mikey, finally, after much trial and error, manages to bike a few feet on his own, stopping just before the top of where the hill dips down, and shinichiro and you can’t help but cheer at him when he shoots a smile your way, triumphant after many losses. 

that is, triumphant until emma sneaks up behind him, unknowing and unready. she shoves him without a second thought, and mikey yelps at the contact, riding down the hill while screams (of fear? joy? it’s hard to tell) slip past his lips until he reaches the bottom. 

from the top of the hill, you see it clearly. mikey rolling to a stop until the bike can no longer keep itself upright on its own, leaving mikey to slowly, so slowly, fall over. he doesn’t even try to catch himself. 

shinichiro races down to check on him, while you’re left holding back laughter to scold emma. she pleads innocence, assuring you it was for the greater good (‘mikey needs to learn how to control something going so fast if he wants a big bike!’). you can see shinichiro lift the bike off him easily, checking for any injuries and sending a thumbs up when he sees it’s just dirt and grass stains decorating mikey’s clothes. 

with the adventure now complete, you’re left figuring out what mikey was promised- ice cream. 

emma is only allowed one scoop, and has to apologize to mikey before she can receive it. you stay at the park for a little longer after, bikes long forgotten as mikey and emma wear themselves down on the equipment, and you and shinichiro bump shoulders on a bench to the side as a sign of a job well done. 

"you gonna get him a bike?" you ask eventually, last bits of ice cream now gone, the only remains being the paper the cone was wrapped in.

he hums thoughtfully, "prob'ly, if he still wants one in a few years."

"s'gotta learn to go down fast hills, emma says," you giggle, "who taught you?"

"myself," he laughs, "but i'm glad i'm here to teach him. i'm gonna make sure he has the coolest bike ever."

when he looks over at you, he has the softest smile imaginable. you really can't help it, leaning over to give him a peck on the lips, humming at the fact that he tastes like strawberries- the remnants of ice cream emma couldn’t finish on his tongue. 

[giggly-squiggily]

A New Kind Of Mystery (Bungo Stray Dogs)

Whoops my hand slipped :D Heyo everyone! Today I bring you some Ranpoe cause I can :3 This is a gift for the amazing @intheticklecloset cause why the heck not? >:3 I hope you like it friend!

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@myreygn @thatbigbisexual29 @dirtpie39 @duckymcdoorknob @cupcake-spice13 @t-wordiiish @rachi-roo @chibisstuff @imjusthere07, @sevenincubistolemyheart

Summary: Books are Poe's life, but so is Ranpo and all his antics. Stressed about both, he inadvertently finds a way to make both work.

“Eeheehehehhe, Ranpooooo!” Poe squeaked, nearly breaking his pen in half when fingers pinched his ribs. “Please, I’m wohoohorking!”

“You always say that!” Ranpo teased, snuggling closer to the shy author as he carried on kneading his sides, earning even more giggles and squeaks. “Play with meeeeee~”

“Ahehahahaha, R-Rahhahahanpo STAHP!” Poe twisted around, catching the detective’s hands with his. “I reahally need to gehet this done. I can’t play right now.”

“Okay.” Ranpo nodded, a touch of hurt coloring his smile as he got up to go. “Well…call me when you’ve got down time, okay?” He turned to leave, whistling as he walked to the door.

“R-Right.” Poe nodded, giving the other one last smile as the detective disappeared, shutting the door behind him. When he was out of earshot, the author let his shoulders droop, head hitting the desk with a low groan. Why did books have to take so long? Mysteries couldn’t write themselves, and he always wanted to give Ranpo his best self when presenting a new book. Breaks were rare, and even those mainly consisted of naps and remembering to eat; not much else.

Ranpo, bless his heart, was so patient with him, but Poe couldn’t shake the image of that sad expression. He needed to make it right! He started to get up-

The sound of a car pulling out stopped him in his place. Looking out the window, he watched Ranpo head back to the Agency.

Shit- missed his chance.

“Gggggggrr?” Karl hopped onto the desk, tilting his head curiously up at Poe. The author stroked his head, trying not to cry.

“Oh Karl…I’m the worst boyfriend ever!” He moaned pathetically, gathering the racoon up in his arms. “I can’t even make time for Ranpo! He just wants to play- and here I am working on books-”

Books. Wait a minute…

“Oh…OH!” The ideas were turning in his mind. Karl climbed up on Poe’s head as the author gathered his things- a notebook for outlining, his typewriter for the final product, and most importantly; a framed photo of him and Ranpo the other gifted him when they first started dating.

“Don’t you worry, Ran. What you’re about to read is gonna be my greatest work.”

~~~

Greatest probably wasn’t the best choice of words, but it was certainly his fastest work.

Poe all but leaped for joy the morning he finished it- it was rough around the edges and didn’t have a title, but it was perfect! He could refine the work later- for now he needed to get this to Ranpo!

Taking the world's fastest shower, he texted his boyfriend an assortment of words that he hoped conveyed “Meet me at the park” before flying out the door, running as fast as he could, Karl hanging on to him by the back of his coat. The cold winter chill colored his cheeks, and his breath was frosty without his usual coat, but he couldn’t wait a second longer.

To his glee, Ranpo was where he wanted him, slurping on hot chocolate and kicking his feet against the bench. When their eyes met, he raised his cup in greeting.

“Poe-” A crash! A flop- Poe came tumbling before him in a heap of limbs and cloth, Karl leaping for safety at the last second. When the world stopped spinning, he found himself on his back, Ranpo’s wide eyes looking down at him.

“Poe!  Are you okay?” Instead of answering, the author pulled out the book- holding it up to him.

“It’s done! Here.” He gasped out. “Please, take it.”

Ranpo blinked. Then his eyes narrowed, irritated. “I haven’t seen or heard from you for two straight weeks and this is the first thing you say to me?” Hurt swallowed his anger as Ranpo sat back, hiding in his hat. “And here I thought you were just excited to see me…”

Oh no- this is not how he wanted it to go! Poe sat up, scooting closer to his boyfriend. “I’m sorry, Ranpo- truly I am! I was just so determined to get this book done. It’s a gift for you.”

“A gift?” Ranpo looked at him, somewhat guarded. “Not just me reviewing it?”

“Well- I would like to hear your thoughts on it after you finish it, but yes. I made it especially tailored for you and you alone.” Poe nodded, shaky as he held out the present. “I understand if you don’t want it. Not after me ignoring you for so long-”

“I’ll read it.” Ranpo took the book, running his fingers along the spine. “But I have a condition.”

“Oh?”

“After I read this- I want you to take a proper break from your work.” Ranpo gave him a stubborn glare, cheeks puffed some. “You’re my boyfriend, and I have a two week vacation coming up. I want to spend it with you. If you promise me that, I’ll give you my full attention to this book.”

Poe was..hesitant. He’d only ever taken short half day breaks from writing; never a full vacation. What would happen if he did stop writing for two weeks? Looking at Ranpo, a worse thought occurred.

What would happen if he didn’t?

“Okay.” He nodded, prioritizing. “Two week vacation.”

Ranpo seemed pleased, lightening up some. “Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”

Poe nodded, taking the book. He flipped it open and began the tale.

~~~

When Ranpo came to, he was in the usual setup. A mansion- old and Victoria. A handful of staff- maids and butlers and gardener’s alike. There was a dead body in the room to his left- he needed to figure out what happened.

A classic mystery, if not a little simple. He already knew who did it. He was about to voice the culprit-

But stopped. That wasn’t the deal.

“Okay Poe- I’ll play by the rules.” He decided, even if he was kinda disappointed. The way Poe all but crashed into him to deliver this book- how he made it out to be something special- he figured it’d be a bit more complex than this. He went over to the room where the body laid, ready to get this over with. “What’s in here- ehehehehehe!”

The second he touched the doorknob, something ticklish shot up his arm, making him retract and giggle. The detective stared, looking between the doorknob and his hand. There was nothing there that could do it, but it felt as if someone brushed his palm with a feather duster. He knew this was the right door, and yet…

Like a drop of pigment into clear water, Ranpo’s disappointment faded into curious excitement. “Now what is this all about?” He grinned, slowly reaching to touch the knob again. The second he touched it, he was giggling once more, barely hanging on as he twisted the knob. “Cohoohhome on, I knohohoohow this is the rohoohohohohoom!”

Eventually, he got it open. Sure enough, a body was there- dressed in fancy attire and wearing a racoon mask. Ranpo huffed for air as he rubbed his palm, eyes landing on a note pinned to the body.

So you found my victim. Can you find me?

~The Tickler

Ranpo snorted at the name, flipping the paper over to find the same racoon mask imprinted on the back. A feather hung off one of the ears in the drawing. When Ranpo looked up, the same feather was snug behind the mask on the body.

“So this is what you meant when you said it was for me.” Ranpo smiled as he gathered the soft item, twirling it in his fingers. “Okay Poe- you want to play? Let’s play.”

~~~

Ranpo carried on the mystery, growing more giggly as he went. Every correct clue he found had that same ticklish touch, sometimes on his hands if it was an item he had to gather, other times along his sides when he walked through the correct door. By the time he got to the culprit’s location, he was a flustered mess of laughter, rubbing his sides to rid himself of the ghostly feeling. “Ohoohohokay, Mr. Tickler. I finally found you!” He pushed open the door-

And was ambushed by a racoon!

“Ah! Ahehahahhahahaha! Geahahahahahhahah!” He squealed, trying and failing to catch the fluffy creature as it dug into his sides, back to his face so it’s fluffy tail swished and flicked against his nose and neck. “Kahhahahaharl, wahahhahait! It’s yohohohohohohohou!”

“So you figured it out.” The racoon cooed, sounding just like Poe as it carried on tickling him, nuzzling so much the detective was in pieces beneath him, struggling to curl up. “Didn’t expect little ol me to be so devious, did you?”

“Yohohoohohohu gohohohooohoht mehehehehehe! I shohohoohhuld have knohohohohown you’d be so dehehehehehvious!” The detective reached into his pocket with some difficulty, clenching his fist around a very important item. “Buhuhuhut you faahhahaailed to remememeeber ohohohohohone dehehehehtail!”

“Oh? And what would that be?” The raccoon asked, fur standing up when Ranpo shot his fist out. “What-Ah!”

“Yoohohohu forgot I hahahve a wehahapon!” Ranpo sat up, the feather in hand wiggling against the racoon’s face and ears as it squeaked and thrashed in his arms. “Now Karl- or should I say Poe. You’re the culprit!”

The world around them changed. Ranpo soon found himself once again in the park, Poe’s ability ending and returning him to the real world.  His body tingled with mirth, and the feather was no more. Before him, Poe was a mess of giggles on the floor, scrunched up and giggly. “Aheheahhaha…yohohou got mehehehe.”

“I sure did! Ehehehehe!” Ranpo raised his chin with pride, something soft replacing the feeling after. “You really did that for me.”

“Ohohof course I did. It’s the least I can do after ignoring you.” Poe sat up, hiding in his bangs as he pulled on his sleeves. “I prioritized my work over spending time with you, and I’m sorry for that. Going forward, I’m gonna work on finding a balance.”

Ranpo took it in, considering. Then he smiled, crawling over until he was side by side with his boyfriend, lying his head against his shoulder.

“I appreciate that. I don’t mind you writing; it’s your passion. Just…remember I’m still here, okay?” He felt Poe take his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“I will. I promise.”

“Good. Cause if you don’t…” Ranpo didn’t give any warning, shooting his hand out and squeezing his side. Poe yelped, falling backwards and taking the detective with him. “I’ll tickle you until you die!”

“Ah! Rahahhahanpo, the groohohohohund’s coohohohohld!”

“Is it now? I’ll just have to warm you up!”

“AH YOHOHOHOUR HANDS ARE COHOOHOHLD!”

“Hm…gotta warm those up too.” Ranpo giggled as he slid his hands up Poe’s shirt, delighted at how giggly he got. “Get ready, Poe. These upcoming two weeks are gonna be full of this stuff!”

“Ahehahhhahaha! Ihihihih’m alehhahhahahdy lohohoooohking fohohohhoward to ihihihihihit!” The words made Ranpo’s heart skip.

This was gonna be a good vacation.

Thanks for reading!

[velvetydream]

꒰ :🥀 [ Take the risk - Welcome to Aurora ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

Part 2 - Take the risk

Summary : A sudden twist of events makes you do a rather reckless decision, but will it be for the better? One thing is clear, it will change your life forever.

Pairing : Pirate! Hongjoong x Fem! Reader

Word count : 1957 Words

Genre : Fluff, Romance, Slow Burn

Warnings ➵ None

a/n : Next part! I'm still a bit insecure about posting this fic bcs it's quit old and I feel like my old writing isn't up to my current standards..

《 Masterlist 》

┌───────────────────────── ·  ·  ·  · ♡

Arriving back at the castle with your guard, your mother immediately comes rushing in your direction, taking your hand and dragging you into the dining hall.

"Mother, what's going on?" A panicking tone was heard in your voice, getting even more anxious when your mother didn't answer your question but pulled you into the dining hall.

And now you saw it.

At the table sat the blonde prince, Chris, beside him his younger brother Felix and standing behind him was one of his guards, who's name is Hyunjin.

"Ah daughter! Splendid that you finally arrived! Isn't it a wonderful surprise! Your fiance came earlier!" Your father announced full of joy, but you felt the complete opposite. Your future husband sat there, at the table in all his glory, but in that moment you found all of them ugly and displeasing.

"I though it's two more days." Your father sighs at your reaction, you're visible not happy with the early arrival of the prince in your kingdom.

"He was able to come one day earlier, which is great! We'll be able to plan the wedding for tomorrow already!" Your father announced, drenching all color from your face.

A dramatic no was the last thing heard from you, before you ran to you chambers, locking the door behind you and falling down onto your bed, not being able to hold back your tears anymore, letting them flow and hit the silky material of your pillow.

Banging on your door could be heard through the hallways as your father screamed how you embarrassed him, but you didn't care anymore and of course you didn't open your door till your father stormed away.

After around an hour of crying you sit up, trying to think of something that you could do, to keep your freedom and not be sold of like some kind of jewellery.

"We'll still be here for two days, find us if you need anything princess."

Hongjoongs words echoed in your head and now you knew what you had to do or at least try, there was still a high chance he would throw you out again and leave you to your downfall, but you had to try.

Getting a small bag, you put all your jewellery into it, if you try, then the right way. You only keept one necklace and put it around your neck, the necklaces Jae, your brother, got you for your 18th birthday last year.

Changing into a less expensive dress, so no one would suspect you, you opened the door of your chamber and closed it behind you quietly. Making your way to the kitchen now, knowing it's the only way out, without getting caught by any guards. On your way there, you had to hide a few times, but you made it and as soon as you made it through the gates, you sprinted towards the docks. They should still be there, he said two more days, they wanted to set sail tomorrow.

As you arrived at the docks, you could heat quiet chatter among the ship, your were introduced to just yesterday.

"What brings a princess here by night all by herself? It's dangerous you know?" Looking up, you saw Wooyoung sitting on the railing facing you, a jar of rum in his hands, you were never more happy to see a man than right now.

"Wooyoung!" Exclaiming quietly, you smile up at said man, making him mention for you to come on board. You did excactly that, quickly moving over to Wooyoung.

"So what brings the princess here? Ran away?" He jokingly asked, smirking at you, which immediately fell when he saw your face. "Were you crying? Your eyes are all red." Laying a hand on your cheek softly, Wooyoung rubbed away the already dried tears, you noticed how soft his hands were, surprising you slightly. "My fiance arrived earlier than expected, I don't want to marry him, I didn't know what to do, so I came here.." Trying to explain your situation to Wooyoung, he nodded softly, standing up from his seat on the railing, his jar or rum long forgotten.

He's now guiding you to a small group, you immediately notice Seonghwa, but the other two man are not familiar to you yet.

"Seonghwa, we need help real quick." Said man looks up, meeting your form and immediately standing up, worry written on his face. "What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night, you shouldn't be here!" He tells you, worry even in the tone of his voice.

"She needs our help! They want to force her into marriage! We have to take her with us!" A scoff was heard from Seonghwa, after Wooyoung spoke out those words. "You heard Hongjoong, beside they will hang us if they ever caught us. You are aware of that, right?" Wooyoung starts nodding, being aware of the consequences this action would have.

"Fine, I'm on your side, but I won't interfere with Hongjoongs decisions, if he says no as a final, it's that." Now moving in the direction of a door, you and Wooyoung follow, it the same room Hongjoong went in earlier that day.

"Hongjoong, Wooyoung has a request." Hearing a come in, Seonghwa opens the door, going in first, followed by you and Wooyoung. This was definitely the captains room, it was quit luxurious, the room was made of the colors red, a royal blue and gold, the floor was still the same wooden flooring of the deck, just not as used as the other one. In the middle of the room stood the large desk, which Hongjoong was sitting on, his coat and hat discarded somewhere else. On the table before him were layed out multiple maps of the sea, it's lands and islands, you could even make out your own kingdom on one of them. Now looking up, Hongjoong immediately took in your form in his room. "What is she doing here? Didn't I already say she wasn't allowed on here?" Hongjoong asks, visivly irritated by his crew memebers.

"She needs our help! Please Hongjoong! They want to sell her of to some other kingdom and force her into marriage!" Wooyoung starts to explain, making the other man run the bridge of his nose with thumb and index finger. Seonghwa stood far to the side, watching the scene unfold before him. Now you walked up next to Wooyoung and put the bag, carefull of the maps, on Hongjoongs desk, making said arch his left brow. "Please help me, take this, sell it or what ever but please let me stay." You plead to Hongjoong, even falling down onto your knees, desperately looking at the man, that had the decision of your future in his hands at this excact moment.

The captain eyed the bag, looking into it, before casting his eyes onto Wooyoung. "And where should she stay? With all the other man?" Hongjoong now spoke up again, waking the hope in you, that he was agreeing right now. "She can sleep in my room for now." Seonghwa spoke up now, sending a smile your and Wooyoungs way, who now stood beside each other again, a big smile plastered on each other's face, after Seonghwas words both of you hugged each other jumping in a excited circles. "That's enough, get out now." Hongjoong sighs, making Wooyoung pull you outside.

The captain eyes his second in command, yet another sigh escaping the younger ones lips. "You really just gave up your room, I can't believe this. She will have to go through training and find her a fitting job, she has to do chores if she wants to stay." Hongjoong tells Seonghwa who just smiles at his captain, who by now leaned back in his chair. "And stop looking at me like that." He grumbles, turning his head away from the second in command. "You decided really well today." Seonghwa grins, immediately leaving the room as Hongjoong got ready to throw the globe at him, that was sitting on his desk. Setting the globe down again, the young captain asked himselfnif this really was the right decision.

Wooyoung immediately pulled you to the two men Seonghwa was sitting with before. Both have brownish hair, one darker hair the other lighter. "You didn't meet Yunho and Yeosang by now, so let me introduce your new crew mates to you!" Pulling you down beside himself, Wooyoung and you now sat opposite to the man. "New crew memebers? So Hongjoong said yes?" The one with darker hair asked, making Wooyoung nod. He real quick explained to you who of the two was who, so you now know, that Yunho spoke up.

"So fast we see the princess again." Clicking against the wooden floor got closer and now sat beside you was San, giving you a smile. "And she is a part of the crew now! We should celebrate!" Wooyoung cheers, making Yeosang eye him, San explained to you that Yeosang was in charge of the kitchen, food supplies and much more in that category, making you understand his disapproving face he gave Wooyoung, as said wanted to get more alcohol.

"I think partying can wait for another day, the princess over here should try and get some sleep for now." Seonghwas voice was heard behind you, as you felt a hand on your shoulder. "And you guys should sleep too, we will be setting sail tomorrow already quit early, so no one can get the princess." He now has his hand on your lower back again, giving off a comfortable warmth, guiding you to a door beside Hongjoongs.

The inside didn't look quit as luxurious as Hongjoongs, but still really comfortable. Instead of red and royal blue, Seonghwas room held a lot of emerald tones, mixed with a bit of gold.

"This should fit you for now, I'll steal some clothes from Hongjoong for you tomorrow and at the next stop we'll get you a few clothes. Now try to sleep, your day was probably really stressful." Sending you one last warm smile, Seonghwa leaves the room and closes the door.

Afte the door closed, you look at the big dress shirt in your hands, probably Seonghwas. You take off your dress and put on the shirt, buttoning it up and folding your dress neatly, before laying down in the bed. It wasn't as soft as yours at the castle, but it definitely brought comfort and warmth to you, or maybe it was Seonghwa shirt that made you feel warm.

Not having the energy to think about this more, your eyes close and you fall into a deep sleep.

You were woken up by a soft shake of your shoulder the next morning, Seonghwa looking down at you an placing a staple of clothes at the end of the bed. "I hope you had a good sleep, these should fit you, please put them on and come out after." He instructed you, leaving the room and closing the door again.

Following his request, you get dressed and fold the dress shirt again, placing it onto the bed neatly.

Now leaving the room, you noticed that you were already far into the sea by now, your kingdom only a little speck in the horizon.

"Good morning princess!" Wooyoung greets from above you, from the quarter deck. "Morning!" You greet him back, noticing Seonghwa again who motions you to follow him, which you immediately do. "You will be getting training, we don't want you to get yourself killed right?" He send you a grin, but his words sending a shiver down your back.

You turn around after hearing a voice, looking up to the steering wheel Hongjoong send you a glance and a small grin, which quickly disappear again.

"Welcome on Aurora, newby."

Meanwhile chaos broke out in your old home . . .

[fieldofdaisiies]

elain x lucien | warnings: mentions of trauma, past violence, fear | masterlist | ao3

His mother is holding onto his hand so tightly, it's turning white when the mist around them vanishes and they find themselves in the middle of Autumn. A shudder courses through Lucien the moment his eyes open and his vision clears. He was here with Feyre. He was here once since his departure. Back then he had to be strong, he and the now High Lady of the Night Court were escaping after all, but this time, today, he doesn’t return to the place he once called home as an enemy. Today he returns as a son of Autumn. He returns to see his brother who is now the High Lord of this Court. 

Still, a knot of anxiety coils in his chest, growing tighter with each step they take forward. His mother doesn’t say anything, her breathing calm and even, but Lucien inhales deeply, allowing his gaze to wander, to experience the place he had once called home and hasn’t seen in so many years. Crimson and amber leaves blanket the ground beneath their boots, trees stretch high with leaves rustling in a cool breeze and in the distance there is the barking of dogs — smokehounds to be more specific.

The air is crisp, carrying a faint, earthy scent mixed with the rich aroma of cinnamon and wood fires.

Lucien is toying with the strap of his bag, rolling the loose end of the beige thread between his fingers, his teeth tightly pressed together. And then his eyes brush the Forest House. The place that he once called his home. The place he grew up in. And the place where he experienced so much pain. So much violence and was hurt and traumatised for his life.

Fragments of past memories surface— Beron’s cruelty and Jesminda’s last moments, her loss, and the endless darkness that followed her death. Lucien swallows thickly, and stops. He needs a moment to ground himself. He can’t walk on. At least not immediately.

His mother understands. She pauses with him, stroking her thumb over the hand she is holding. “We have all the time in the world and if you can’t do this today, if you can’t be here today, I won’t make you stay.“ She turns to look at him and slowly lowers her chin. 

“This place holds such awful memories for you that hardly anyone can grasp. It would only make sense that you need a bit more time, my son.“

A deep ache starts in Lucien’s heart. This place was where he once felt so happy, where he laughed and played and where all of these emotions were robbed from him. The once familiar landscape of the Autumn Court now feels foreign, a painful reminder of the day he was exiled.

And yet, despite the agony and apprehension, a glimmer of hope comes alive within him. It is small, but it is there. His oldest brother’s reign will bring about change, will make this Court a better place. And it will give Lucien a chance to confront his past and find… closure. Just like Elain, it hits him. He is also seeking closure with his past life, so that he can move on. Lucien can’t fight the small smile tipping up the corners on his lips and it brightens a little more when a wave of his mother’s emotions hits him—joy and relief. It is so palpable in the air around them and it manages to soften the turmoil within him.

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[plussizefantasia]

Avengers Bandaids

Flufftober Day 7: Patching Them Up

Matt Murdock x reader

Word Count 1.1k

AN: this one got a lil angsty towards the end sorry. Matt has a special place in my heart <3. Please Please Please reblog this post if you enjoyed the story. Most of my posts so far have been dying like a week after I post them which sucks

divider credit @royallaesthetics

There was only one way that you took advantage of Matt’s blindness, and that was when you patched him up. Being Daredevil meant that your boyfriend came home with bumps and scrapes and sometimes even worse all the time. 

You didn’t particularly enjoy patching Matthew up, but it needed to be done and you loved him so you sucked it up. But you had your ways of getting some joy out of the situation. Placing the last of the Pokemon bandaids across one of the scrapes on Matt’s knuckles you place a light kiss on the injury and begin to pack up the medical supplies. Matt didn’t know that you used fun kid’s bandaids on him whenever you patched him up but you don’t think he’d mind if he did.

He looks kind of like the back of a kid’s notebook, he’s got all kinds of characters on him. Hello Kitty, some dinosaurs and some Avengers brand ones you saw in the store the other day. 

You don’t like seeing Matt hurt, it bathers you a lot knowing that the man you love is out there every night putting himself in dangerous situations and getting hurt. Somehow though, seeing the little cartoon bandaids all over him makes it easier, less scary.

“Thank you, love,” Matt speaks and begins re-buttoning the shirt he had to pull off to allow you access to the decently sized gash on his side. You didn’t have bandaids big enough for that one. So gauze, medical tape, and an ace bandage were all wrapped around his middle.

“You know how you could say thank you, Murdock?” You asked rhetorically, this wasn’t the first time you had asked this very question. “You could stop getting hurt.” You said with finality pushing your lips up against his. His hands reached out and grabbed at your hips pulling them closer to him. You were stood in front of him, his neck craned up and yours aimed down to let your lips meet in the middle. He deepened the kiss and angled his head to the side pushing one of his hands up the side of your body and onto your neck. 

You don’t know which of the two of you pulled away for air first but when you finally broke apart you heard his whisper, “You know I can’t do that” 

You whispered right back, “I know Matty, I just don’t like seeing you hurt.” 

You get up and grab the first aid, making your way back to the bathroom to return it to its rightful place underneath the sink. Not that it will stay there that long. When you get back, Matt is lying down on top of the covers, his head rests on his arm which flexes behind his head. The other lays on his chest tapping a rhythmic pattern onto his chest. 

You take a good moment to lean up against the doorframe and admire the man you love. He’s a little worse for wear but he looks good. You almost laugh at the bright pink butterfly bandaid that's holding the cut above his eyebrow shut. You manage to tone it down into just an amused huff of air.

You push yourself off of the frame and saunter over to the bed that you two share. You crawl up onto the bed next to Matt and curl up so that you are almost completely wrapped around him. Your leg is propped up over his and you reach out a hand of your own to grasp the one he has resting on his chest. He takes the chance to intertwine your fingers and bring them to his mouth.

“You know I love you right?” He askes

“Yeah, Matty I know you love me” 

“Good.” He hums. Pulling you more on top of him and relaxing into the plush of the mattress. The two of you fall asleep like that, holding one another assured of your love.

Matt comes back from work the next day with a sour look on his face. “What’s wrong Matty? You ask. Looking up from the book you were reading while lounging on the couch.

“Foggy had something interesting to say today.” His response doesn’t give much away and you tread carefully not knowing what was going on. 

“Oh yeah?’

“Yeah, he um, he said he liked my bandaids.” Oh. OH. He knew. Matt knew that you used fun bandaids to fix him up and he was upset.

“I’m sorry Matty, I didn’t know Fog would say anything.” Matt can tell that your thoughts are racing. He isn’t mad, he was confused at first before Foggy and Karen filled him in. He didn’t care what kind of bandages you used. He loved that you were willing to help him at all knowing how much you hate to see him hurt.

“Love, breathe. I’m not mad I promise” He sunk onto the couch placing his hand on your thigh and beginning to rub the exposed skin there with his thumb.

“I am sorry Matty, I guess it just makes it easier to deal with if I use the cute bandaids. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

‘Love, I’m not upset I promise. If you need to cover me in rainbows and stickers then go ahead and do it.”

“I just love you so much Matty and when you come home all scraped up I realize that I can’t do anything about it. I mean I’m not some kind of super ninja that can protect you. When you go out, you're all alone and I worry.” You ramble at him, not being able to stop the word vomit.

‘I know you do love, and I love that you worry. I love how much you care about me. I love you.” As he speaks Matt can hear your heartbeat slow back down and your breathing gets a little easier. “I know that you don’t exactly love my nightly activities, but I need you to know that I do it for you. I go out there to keep you safe, to keep Foggy and Karen safe, to keep Hell’s Kitchen safe. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you because there was someone out there that I wasn’t quick enough to stop.”

“Oh, Matty,” you sound heartbroken. “Thank you. Thank you for protecting me.”

“Thank you for fixing me up” he kisses you then. It’s full of all of the emotions he’s feeling right now, love, devotion, worry, protectiveness. And you kiss him right back.

“I’ll always do my best to fix you up, Matty.” You kiss him back. You’re still not okay with him putting himself in danger, but if he keeps coming home and kissing you like this, you think you can deal with it.