#i’m like this close to telling him i love him

[jjkbambi]

the morning after luigi mangione x reader (18+)

summary!!! part two of is it new years yet because you do not get back together just cuz he has good dick OMG 🖕🖕🖕🖕😒 he also has a great personality and loves eating pussy

warnings: smut, kinda angsty, he’s manipulative but honestly he’s such a nice guy, you should really give him a second chance

^ not edited let’s alll just practice gratitude 🙏

seven days, thirteen hours, and nine minutes and thirty six seconds.

that’s how long it had been since luigi had seen you. not that he’d been counting, he was truly trying to be normal about the distance this time around.

he replays the morning after on a loop, searching for the slightest hint he’d done something wrong to no avail. as a matter of fact, your quiet body was beside him until deep into the afternoon, nothing but soft snores exchanged between the two of you. he wakes before you, kissing your forehead before taking his leave. his frat brothers whistle at him as he enters the wretchedly messy house, throwing him a water.

“happy new year, big guy,” one of them, hasan, greets. “did’ya spend your night thinking about new goals or scoring the same one?”

luigi rolls his eyes. “fuck off.”

another brother chimes in, bright-eyed. “when are we meeting her?”

“in your dreams.”

he had no intention of sharing you in any way; the thought of anyone else even looking at you irritated him. but starting the new year off by your side was far too great a fate to be stoic about. he grabs a plate of what’s left of their shitty communal breakfast (jar salsa from the night before, scrambled eggs, and two pieces of mostly burnt toast) and brings it into your room.

“y/n,” he calls out while entering. the door to the bathroom is now closed, and he sees your shadow shuffling around the room.

hesitant, the door creaks open. youre back in your black minidress, holding onto your heels. “hey, pretty.”

“hi,” you say tightly, the mistakes and soreness from the night before lingering in your mind. you’ve just wiped away the tears still streaked on your face, yet your ex-boyfriend hardly looks hungover.

“dressed up just for me?” he jokes, kissing your cheek. he offers you the plate of food but you shake your head.

“lacy’s waiting for me. i’ve got to go.”

“stay,” he says, his voice honey-sweet, like the boyfriend you knew months ago. it makes you feel sick, the familiarity of it all suffocating you. the room feels too small.

you push away from him. “i have to go.”

“baby,” he drops everything he’s holding to grab you again. “what’s wrong? is everything alright?”

he always blows your mind with his audacity. “no, everything’s not alright, luigi,” you spit back. “we shouldn’t have—none of that should’ve happened.”

“what do you mean?”

“luigi,” you sigh. “we’re over, alright? it’s done.”

“y/n—”

“i mean it,” you raise your voice so slightly, but still it breaks. “you cheated on me, then pulled all this shit, i can’t do it anymore.”

“you can’t do it anymore? are you serious?”

“yes!”

“you ignored me for weeks then showed up at my fucking party, dressed like that,” his voice was low, but angry. brows furrowed, he doesn’t lose his grip on you. it scares you. “you can’t tell me you weren’t bartering for my attention.”

“i wasn’t.”

his jaw sets. “then who’s?”

“oh my god. nobody’s!”

“don’t fucking lie to me—”

“lu, stop, seriously.” your voice trembles this time, and you both notice it. he drops your hand.

“i didnt mean to hurt you,” he says, soft at your upset. “i swear—i dont remember cheating on you. i’m not gonna mess up like that again, i promise.”

he leans in to kiss you, to seal the pledge with his gentle touch, but you pull back. “it doesn’t matter that you didn’t mean to hurt me—you did. you can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.“

his big brown eyes bear into yours and he swears, “i can make it up to you.”

“luigi,” you hadn’t even realized you’d been crying until he brings his hands up to wipe your tears away. “i just don’t think this is a good idea, i’m sorry.”

“come on,” he says, frowning. “i love you. only you.” his lean-in to kiss you is successful this time. the kiss feels much better—softer—than last night’s. he’s gentle with his desperation, intent on making you stay. “‘m sorry, okay?” he says between kisses. “let me make it better.”

“no, luigi, we shouldn’t—”

“you’ve got to hear me out, y/n,” he takes your lips again. his hot kisses move down your neck—and it all feels so different this time around. even the air in the room feels lighter. his voice is against your ear when he swears, “i’ll be good to you, sweetheart, i promise.”

saying no to him is near impossible—it’s why you shut yourself off of him for weeks, avoiding places he frequented, deactivating your social media, ignoring his constant stream of messages and calls. now, he has you, and within minutes, you’re pressed against the wall again.

“feels good?” he teases, grinding his hard-on into your core. you melt underneath him, you can’t help it, he’s so warm.

“lu,” you whimper. you’re still sensitive from how selfishly he took you the night before, you can’t help but react to his touch so quickly. it felt so raw.

“wait—” he never does. his hands are on your hips again, moving your body against his.

“just let me take care of you,” he says, trailing kisses down your neck again. this time, he was sure to leave marks.

he keeps the dress on this time. he places you back onto the bed, and as you gather the courage to take him in again, he moves beneath you.

“knew i recognized these,” his voice hot against the fabric of your panties.

you told yourself the lacy black panties were just meant to match the dress, but it all seemed so intentional—the party crash, the kitchen drive-by, the fact that you were wearing his valentines day gift. whether this was a manifestation of your greatest fear or desire, you couldn’t tell.

he kisses your thighs, then runs his tongue against your core through the fabric of your panties before ceremoniously ripping them off. he kisses and sucks at your wetness. you tremble at the suddenness of his movement. his big nose is so prominent in your pussy, you can’t help but grind yourself against his perfect face and whine as he drinks you in.

“you’re such a fucking mess,” luigi says, smiling into your warmth. his unshaven stubble tickles your sensitive cunt, sending a tremor through you. “so wet, i’ve barely even touched you.”

“i can’t help it,” you whimper.

he grabs your ass, pulling you closer to his relentless mouth. it’s ridiculous how good he feels. he’s completely shameless in his endeavor to ruin you.

“look at me,” luigi orders, so you do. you look down to see him, finding that he’s already gotten to touching himself. his hard length at the edge of the bed, furiously red, as he strokes himself. “i think about you everyday,” he admits in between licking at your core. “i missed how this pretty pussy tasted. i missed having you like this. holding you down so you can’t squirm away. missed hearing you beg.”

you’re almost there, fidgeting underneath his hands. “luigi, please. it’s too much.”

“you’ve taken worse,” he growls into you.

he feels like he’s on fire. one hand moves up and down along his cock fervently, while the other lends itself to fingering your frothing pussy. you mewl at the sudden entry, back arching.

“luigi,” you whine. “please.”

“i’m trying to do a nice thing for you, y/n,” he hums, “but you want me to be selfish, hm? want me to take you?”

“yes,” you say, breathless.

“fuckin’ slut,” he grumbles, pulling himself away from your wet cunt. he grabs your ankles and pulls you to the edge of the bed. “what d’you want from me, huh?”

“want you.”

“course you do,” luigi says, surprising you with hard slaps against your sensitive clit. you cry out at the sensation, the unfamiliar storm of bliss and torment, and he chuckles darkly. “you fuckin’ belong to me.”

he grabs your chin and forces you into another kiss, your wetness now staining you both. he lifts your leg up and slides himself back into your wet warmth. “you’re dripping,” he praises as he pounds into you. the exhilarating pain sets your senses alight, you grip onto him tighter without even realizing. “all for me, yeah?”

“all for you.” you nod. this is not how you expected this conversation to go. you writhe at how big he is, how hard.

“you can take it,” he grunts. he’s not fast, this time—his thrusts are agonizingly slow and tortuously deep—just as you think it’s all entirely too much, one hand grips your clothed tit, the other lifts to cradle your chin, forcing your lips to part open. he spits into your mouth. “swallow,” he orders.

you do.

“good girl,” he places sloppy, wet kisses along your jaw, your neck, then goes to bite at your tits. “so fuckin’ pretty.”

“i thought about you too,” you admit sheepishly, out of your mind. he looks up at you, raises his eyebrows, urging you to go on. “i missed you.”

to your surprise, he scoffs. “fuckin’ bitch.” he suddenly loses the interest in being gentle with you, returning to your body rough and angry. his fingers massage against your clit, unraveling you. “you’re just as crazy as i am, you know that? running around town like you don’t belong to me. like you don’t touch yourself late at night thinking about this cock. wishing those fingers were half as good as mine, huh? fuckin’ idiot.”

“luigi,” you cry out. was this him being nice?

“be a good girl f’me,” he grunts. he feels you pulse around his cock and drives into you with even more force. “cum all over me, baby. have my fuckin’ kids.”

“luigi,” you mewl again, desperate for release.

“come on, pretty, show me how good it feels.”

his lips return to yours, hot wet and desperate, as he cums inside of you. you’re a complete mess—squirming and whimpering as you unravel onto his cock, he catches your moans with kisses and leaves you shaking underneath him.

“good girl,” he hums, kissing your forehead.

for a fleeting moment, the two of you are perfect. everything feels just right. he slips into the spot beside you, the disarray of tangled sheets forgotten as he pulls you into his warmth. you sink into the nape of his neck, and though there are no more words spoken, the air is thick with an undeniable love, quiet but all encompassing.

but when he stirs awake, reaching for you, all that lingers is the soft, fading smell of your spring perfume.

send requests ! <3

[cosmicalily]

"till you tell me to leave" - a bangchan oneshot by @cosmicalily

author's note: i found a half-written draft for this in my old google docs with my other email account and immediately knew i needed to do a rewrite.

warnings: angst (breakup, exes to lovers)

Three days, twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes.

Four days.

Four days and one minute.

Another sleepless night. You didn’t mean to count the minutes, but your eyes remained fixated on your phone, half watching the clock, half staring at the lock screen you’d neglected to change.

Everything around you brought back floods of memories that you didn’t want to deal with. Pictures from photo booths, his arm slung around your shoulder, his hand on your cheek, his lips pressed to your forehead. The one hoodie you’d managed to hold onto, even after he’d packed all his other belongings up when he left. The pre-workout he kept in the back of your pantry. His toothbrush in your bathroom drawer. 

He’d been yours in every way, and you’d been his.

Maybe this was why you’d been so scared to love your best friend; you knew that more came with risk, chances of slamming doors, crying each other's names, and duffle bags hastily filled.

Even when you’d ended things, why were you still writing pages, when he’d been the one to close the envelope? Why were you spending hours nestled on the couch in his hoodie, staring at a black tv screen, unaware of the world around you?

new message from 'channie'

i think i left my hoodie at yours. you home?

i’m driving over.

A part of you wanted to run into the bathroom, brush your hair, remove the two-day old mascara on your eyes and change into something nice. A part of you remembered he’d seen you in every single form, and he loved you regardless. 

He used to tell you how beautiful you were every minute of the day, even when you felt anything but. Did he miss saying those things now? Or did he have another girl to call his angel, his baby, his darling? 

Just the thought made you feel sick to your stomach.

new message from 'channie'

outside.

Taking a deep breath and slipping on your sneakers, you began walking down the hallway of your apartment building. Even though the elevator wasn’t broken for once, you wanted to take the stairs. You needed time to think, and time to turn back if you felt the need.

Why were you so easily coming to him? Well, technically you weren’t, were you? He wanted his hoodie back, presumably the one you were currently wearing.

He’d broken your heart. No, not broken. Slowly tugged at it, until nothing that remained was a dull ache and your pulse.

You thought about turning back, about yelling in his face, about simply bursting into tears and curling up into a ball at the bottom of the staircase, until your neighbour came and yelled at you for disturbing everyone’s sleep at 12:29am.

You thought about these things, but you never felt like acting on them.

What was the point, anyway?

You never would have meant it.

You spotted his familiar black car, the scratch on the bottom from when he’d practised parallel parking, the Sharpie stars you’d drawn with him whilst drunk on his windscreen. You felt your heart swell a little, and even more so when the figure inside the vehicle turned his head to look directly into your eyes.

In silence, you walked over and sat down in the passenger seat, doing your best to look at everything but him. He nodded, pressing his lips together in a thin line, and started the engine. He looked down at your torso, noticing his hoodie, but didn’t make a move to retrieve it. You didn’t attempt to take it off.

“I miss you,” you whispered, barely audibly.

“Hm?”

“Your seatbelt isn’t on,” you replied.

“I was in a rush.”

There was a sudden quiet. The click of his seatbelt, then yours, then the gentle hum of the car as he began to drive.

“You’re wearing the hoodie I left,” Chris finally said softly, eyes focused on the road ahead.

You ignored him. You didn’t really know where he was taking you, and you honestly couldn’t care less. He almost felt like a stranger. A stranger you’d poured your heart out to, and spent hours with, pressing kisses to each other's faces whilst watching movies, watching work out in the gym, cooking food for and dancing while doing the dishes with. A stranger who had been the vast majority of your firsts, who knew your body like the back of his hand, and spent long minutes in the latest and earliest hours loving you, worshipping you.

A stranger who’d been your everything.

As you drove in silence, apart from the soft rhythm of his playlist in the background, his hand found its way to yours, and gently caressed your fingers, as if asking for permission.

You allowed your palm to open.

His fingers tucked into yours, and his thumb brushed against your hand. 

His hand felt warm, familiar. His fingertips were calloused; a result of the way he gripped his pen when he frantically wrote his lyrics late at night.

The car slowed down, then stopped completely. He’d pulled over on the side of a road, in the middle of nowhere. It was ghostly silent, and the trees cast shadows through the headlights.

It was oddly comforting.

“I fucked up.”

“I know you did, Chris.”

He covered his face in his hands in frustration, letting go of yours in the process. Your hand felt a sudden coldness.

“I didn’t . . . I don’t know why I left you. I nearly called you, right after I left. I thought . . . I thought you’d want space, thought I shouldn’t have to put you through anymore. And you were getting fed up with me, I didn’t think you wanted me anymore.”

“I was still in love with you.”

“Was? Past tense?”

“I still love you. I didn’t necessarily fall out of love, Chris, I just . . . I felt like I lost a part of me. Everything felt familiar and distant at the same time, and there were traces of you everywhere. I couldn’t sleep.”

“I can never sleep.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been sleeping even less since I left. The bed’s cold.”

“Same with mine.”

You paused, staring at each other. Chris faced you properly.

“I’m still in love with you. And I’ll try forever if it means I can make you fall again.”

You smiled a little, letting your hand trail up his arm and wrap around his shoulders, resting your face in his warm neck. His hands moved to your waist, moving under his hoodie and settling on your bare skin.  “We should probably get some sleep,” you mumbled into him.

“Your place?”

“Our place. I still have your toothbrush, I think. And more than one of your hoodies.”

“Even if you don't, it doesn't matter,” Chris replied, clasping your hand in his again and gesturing to the backseat. His duffle bag sat there, zipped up, seemingly untouched since he’d left. “I’m coming home. If you’ll let me, of course.”

“You won’t leave?”

“Not unless you say so.”

“So never?”

“Never.”

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

[kammazi]

★ katsuki and yourself weren’t big drinkers. sure after you two had graduated, you had gone to a few parties here and there but you were never a fan of the whole spinning dizzy feeling that alcohol brought with it, especially since you two are heroes. patrolling while hungover under the heat of the hot summer sun was dreadful.

so when you get a call from katsuki one evening while you were on patrol saying how kirishimas and the rest of the guys were going out for a few, who were you to say no? even though you knew the invitation for yourself always stood, katsuki needed some time for himself and by the time you would get off patrol it would already be past midnight.

so after exchanging some ‘i love you’s’, you disconnected the call and got back to whatever strolling you were doing.

and as the night went on you got more and more notifications that buzzed in your back pocket from who you assumed was your boyfriend. you eventually had a quick break and chugged an energy drink while fishing for your phone.

you let out a snort of laughter and looked around to make sure no one heard you before looking back down at your screen. there you saw multiple pictures took by denki of him standing on what you assumed was a stool while taking 0.5 picture’s of katsuki. what made you laugh even more was his flushed face and droopy eyes that held no fight in them as he stood there with his hands by his sides.

you could tell that he had drank quite a bit and as your break came to an end you had a short two hours left of your shift before you were able to finally get home and most likely take care of your said boyfriend.

and you were correct because as soon as you even such as stepped in through the doors of your shared apartment your phone once again started buzzing, this time it was a call.

“hello?” there was a shuffling noise before shouting hit your eardrums along with the music that blasted in the background.

“HEYY LOOK, ARE YOU-” you grimaced as you hear a glass breaking alongside some yelling. “huh? hello?”

the phone was picked back up. “THIS IS KIRISHIMA, KATSUKI IS KINDA REALLY DRUNK AND-” you then heard a whooshing sound and another crash. you stood there looking at your phone and then brining it close to your ear again. “uhh..kiri..shima?”

you heard the phone being picked up and panting into the microphone. “SORRY I JUST LAUNCHED MY PHONE HALFWAY ACROSS THE DANCE FLOOR AND IT HIT SOMEONE IN THE FACE.” you had to physically distance yourself from the phone before answering.

“kiri you don’t have to yell i can hear you!” you felt as if it was a screaming competition at that point. you heard a cackle before kirishimas finally got to the point.

“sorry, sorry! it’s just that bakubro got hella drunk and he’s kinda unmovable right now. he keeps saying your name and won’t really listen to anyone, would it be alright if you could come and pick him up?”

you were already picking up your keys and sliding on your shoes. “of course, be there in five.”

and so here you were pulling into the parking spot outside of the front doors of the building.

as you stepped in, you already felt exhaustion hitting you as you strolled around to try and find your boyfriend and those goons.

and then you saw him, sitting in a corner seat, with a cute sleepy look on his face, arms still crossed as always. kneeling in front of him, you saw denki, sero and kiri sitting across as they helped gather his stuff. you placed a palm against his face and patted his knee with the other.

“kats, love?” he groaned and slightly opened his eyes. “hey i’m gonna take you home okay?” and then suddenly, he moves his face away from your hand as his face held something like a mix of disgust and offence.

“get those damn hands away from me. i’ve a girlfriend.” although his speech was slurred you blinked before letting out a chuckle as the guys behind you hollered and stumbled over eachother.

you raised a brow, amused to see him act that way. “oh really? sorry about that kats, i won’t do it again.” his face whipped around to face you as he grimaced again. “oi. don’t call me that. only she can and you ain’t her.. so back off...” his sentence held no malicious intent as his head slowly tipped back. “where is she. i miss her.”

kirishima then came up next to you and patted his back. “bro shes right here! see?” in response to his words, katsuki raised his head and squinted at you for a while before slowly smiling. “heyy it’s my girlfriend.” immediately his head landed on your shoulder. he started babbling as he wrapped his arms around your frame, almost knocking you to the floor from the sudden weight. in the meantime, you glanced at his red headed friend.

“i’m sorry how much did he drink?” in response he scratched the back of his neck before holding up three fingers. “JESUS KIRI THREE BOTTLES?” kirishimas shook his head before cackling. “three drinks.”

now you knew your boyfriend was a lightweight but this was a tad too funny to you, not that you would ever tell him.. obviously.

with the help of kirishima, you managed to walk out a stumbling katsuki and just about sat him in the passenger seat before strapping him in as he babbled on about how much he missed you. sero and denki handed over his wallet and phone to you and you thanked them before saying your goodbyes as you sat behind the wheel.

on the drive back katsuki acted like he hadn’t seen you in months by the way he held your hand and kissed it every two seconds. with him telling you how much he loved you and how beautiful you where. in that moment you could not only feel somewhat giddy but be thankful for having this man in your life. no matter how tough he looked or acted, it really was true that he was a softy, drunk or not.

after arriving, getting him into bed wasn’t even a problem. he listened to your every word as he clung to you like a koala. you helped him brush his teeth on the toilet seat as you sat on his lap. even while drunk, his grip was still firm but gentle.

you then got him changed, him getting stuck in his t-shirt a few times, and you both finally climbed into bed. there was pure silence other that his quiet snores as he rested on your chest. as expected, he ended up passing out the second he wrapped his arms around you.

as you pressed a kiss on his forehead, you could once again feel the wave of exhaustion crashing over you as the warm pressure of katsuki’s body lulled you to sleep.

and in the morning katsuki awoke with not only a headache but also a lovely picture of his drunken state as a 0.5 printed and framed photo hanging in the living room as a forever reminder of that night.

[madaqueue]

FOOL'S GOLD SINKS ALL THE SAME

aventurine never fails to cause a scene, in public or in private.

pairing: aventurine x gn!reader

themes/content: reader has a history of sexual trauma (it is not described in graphic detail but it is very clearly alluded to. it is not romanticized or sexualized). smut. mentions of aventurine's past, oral + fingering + penetration (reader receiving), lots of ocean metaphors bc i'm normal abt it. 18+ MDNI (wk: 4.7k)

a/n: letting this blond man ruin my life

“Bet on me.”

The words barely land in your ears as Aventurine snakes his way around the table. You can’t respond, can’t even look at him, without inviting catastrophe, and he knows: he makes it a challenge, of course, reflecting the glimmering lights almost more brightly than the gaudy disco ball twirling away overhead. In the corner of your vision, the black flash of armed guards weighs in your mind, and instead of straining your eyes to catch his, you let your attention fall aimlessly ahead.

Then, you do precisely as you were told: nothing (technically, the IPC’s orders were to “Observe and gather intel” which you know means “Don’t let Aventurine cause a scene.” Perhaps that’s why they’ve sent you on so many jobs together - they need him chained, and you’re an inexpensive stand-in leash. Being a collar doesn’t take much skill, after all).

The game continues, cards and chips moving hands, and Aventurine loses after a stupid play he’d never make, and pouts.

“What a shame,” he says to himself, resting his chin on a glove you know is more expensive than the ruby velvet lining the table. “Dye like this is hard to find,” he once told you. “It’s almost impossible to get anything this dark. Only fools pay for red, but that’s why gamblers love it: it’s cheap and flashy.”

When the next round begins, he taps his fingers along the table, a tell he’d never let slip, one subtle enough not to miss. With barely-controlled eyes darting from player to player, he feigns nervousness and shuffles his chips to the center.

“Guess I’m all in,” he chuckles, letting his smirk waver for half a second.

The fools around you think he’s bluffing; they think they’ve got him. People tend to let their guard down when they think they’ve won, when they can’t see that the finish line has been moved. More chips rattle onto the table - they’d be idiots to not get in on pulling one over on the well-loathed IPC.

Again, you hear ‘bet on me,’ and for some stupid reason, you follow, clearing the space in front of you with a hesitant push of your own wealth (well, the IPC’s, of course) into the ever-growing pile.

On the neighboring stool, a man leans over, letting his scruff tickle the shell of your ear. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sweetheart. Let that man lose his money, and when I win it back, I’ll spoil you.” He smells like cheap whiskey and cigarettes and you want to claw his throat out.

Across the table, one of the other gamblers lets out a shrill complaint of, “No coaching during the plays!” and the man beside you innocently raises his arms, not before winking at you, and you wonder if you were to kill him on this table how much the velvet would cost to replace.

Instead, you bat your eyelashes and lay your cards down. “Oh well, maybe I’ll win the next one,” you giggle, sending your chips toppling onto the others with one final shove.

The next moves happen rather quickly: Aventurine reveals his hand, people shout, the money is claimed from the table, and somebody grabs your arm. It’s only when cool cloth softly rubs your skin that you recognize the man dragging you towards the exit and let your muscles be pulled behind.

“Told you,” Aventurine whispers, his breath lighter than feathers.

He cashes out silently and guides you towards the elevators, this time with one palm placed on your lower back rather than wrapped around your wrist. Less possessive, you think - less likely to cause a scene.

The moment the elevator doors close, you turn to him.

“What the hell was that?”

“What?” He cocks his head to the side and lets that impish grin spread across his face, the one that’s nearly landed him with knuckles on his jaw in an attempt to wipe it off.

“You know that wasn’t what we were sent here to do.” You cross your arms, and he basks in the heat of your body, his wrists now fully snaked around your waist.

“Details, details,” he murmurs with a wave of his hand. “We got the information we needed. It’s not a crime to have a little fun afterwards.”

“It is a crime to disobey orders-”

Just as your annoyance begins to bubble over, the elevator chimes and opens directly into his suite. To break free from his grasp, your feet step forward and graciously carry you inside.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, light bouncing off the white marble that lines every surface.

Of course Aventurine gets a penthouse for these missions. The IPC certainly has to keep up appearances, and with a man like him, anything else might as well fully blow his cover.

He lets you enter on your own, at least, as he waltzes behind you, with the saccharine smell of pride blooming from his skin.

“It’s nice, isn’t it,” he hums, and you want to smack that smug smile off his face.

Before you can, he tosses a cloth sack your way, the coins inside clanking with a sound you nearly don’t recognize.

“For you,” he says easily, leaning against the ever-opulent stone counter.

Something in the sound makes your head feel heavy, under pressure like you’re drowning. It’s familiar in a way you hate, in a way that you remember from the mattresses of shitty hotel rooms and men who smell like cigarettes and the way your tears look under the fluorescent lights of an unfamiliar bathroom.

You know what money like this means for them. And worse, you know what it means for you.

It’s just work, you told yourself the first time someone propositioned you to their room. A way to clear the debt, to push you a little closer to an ever-moving goal. It’s just a body, just a hole, just a few minutes. But it’s different when it’s Aventurine’s body, standing three feet away from yours, when the velvet smells like him and is still warm from his palm.

You don’t open it, you don’t want to. You can feel the metal sitting in your stomach, all too heavy. The act isn’t new, you suppose, but you never thought Aventurine would-

It doesn’t matter.

Now you see the point of his plan - involving you in it was sick, but the IPC must keep up appearances. It’s only fitting for them, you suppose.

So, you slowly make your way across the kitchen, sliding the pouch into your coat pocket. You don’t look at him, you can’t, not anymore. Standing mere inches before him, you lower yourself to your knees - they love the ceremony of it, they always do - and rest your hands along his waist. Practiced fingers begin unworking his belt - normally, at this point, you’d turn your gaze to the man above you, but you can’t.

It’s just work. It’s just work. It’s just work.

But something about this, something about it being him, makes your stomach turn, makes you want to vomit up the metal taste that sits in the back of your throat.

Too busy in your mind, you don’t notice the way Aventurine tenses, nor the panic in his hands as he wraps them around your wrists.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The words come out fast, blended into a single breath.

“I’m – I’m doing what you paid me for.”

Finally, you look at him, and see the sheer horror raging behind his eyes. The smooth mask of a practiced liar doesn’t chip easily, but if you listen close enough, you could hear its pieces falling to the cold tiles beneath your knees.

“No. No.” Pulling you from the ground, he doesn’t let go of your shoulders as you rise. “That’s – that’s not what I’m paying you for.”

“Oh.”

Desperately he searches for something in your face, some hint of the rage that burns beneath his skin, but he finds nothing, just glossed-over eyes and a practiced smile. It’s just work, after all - he of all people should know best.

For a moment, he nearly lets his questions get the better of him - What sick fuck is paying you? Is this a part of your contract? Who do I have to kill for making you think you’re nothing more than a body to be used like this? - but easily, he slips the silk mask back on (he wouldn’t want to frighten you with anger; he wouldn’t forgive himself).

“That money is for you. Just you.” Gloved hands smooth the wrinkles along your collar. “It’s the first installment for the debt you owe - in three months, you’ll be rid of the IPC,” (and me, he nearly says), “forever.”

“Aventurine,” you rasp - you aren’t sure why the words get stuck in your throat, now, after all this time. You aren’t sure why they taste so hot - maybe it’s the burning that lingers in your knees. “You can’t.”

“I can. And I did.” The flash of his smile nearly blinds you again. “You can thank me later, but for now, let’s celebrate-”

“No.”

Your eyes sting, and that pit in your chest is back, heavier, threatening to swallow you whole. It aches and makes your head spin and you want to spit it out, let it claw its way from your insides and take your blood and bones and viscera with it.

“The debt was mine to pay off.”

“Well, no offense, but you were doing a pretty terrible job of it,” he laughs, hesitantly. In all his calculated planning, in the hours and days and weeks and months he spent dreaming of this moment, he had a vision of how you’d react, how you’d smile and sigh and wrap your arms around him and kiss his cheek and how he’d get to hold you, pick you up like you weighed less than air, free from the chains that kept you down, beneath him.

“It doesn’t matter. It was mine.”

Boiling tears stream down your cheeks, leaving trails of steam in their wake, and you want to collapse into yourself, you want to let the pressure build up until you explode and take out this entire building, this entire planet for all you care.

“You can’t – you can’t just buy people, Aventurine,” you choke, the words landing in the room like smoke.

For the first time, his smile falters. “I wasn’t-”

The coin purse finds its way back into your hand, and then to the ground below his feet. He doesn’t reach out to grab you as you turn away.

You’re grateful that the bar is rather empty, aside from a lone stranger on one end with his head down and an empty bottle beside him, and a couple trying to consume one another in the corner. Most other patrons seem too engrossed in the thrill of throwing their lives away, you suppose; that’s the nature of a casino, the price of feeding its hunger. Empty chairs have become quite a comfort over the years, separating you from those who would grab too tightly, or beg for a kiss, just a kiss, or slide a pile of coins your way and wait for you by the elevators.

And yet, when he approaches from behind you, you don’t flinch (you’d know his steps anywhere, you think - they’re too evenly timed to belong to anyone else).

“Is this seat taken?” he grins, but makes no move to sit until you gesture him forward with a wave of your glass.

The two of you let the silence settle, even though Aventurine feels he may choke on it, even though he wants to speak and speak and speak until you forgive him and tell him it’s alright and tell him he’s not evil, he didn’t hurt you, he didn’t mean to. Instead, he silently orders two drinks and lets you sip yours slowly.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say. “I know you were trying to do something good.”

There are words sitting on the tip of his tongue begging to be let free, but he swallows and lets them burn his throat.

“I didn’t plan to work for the IPC this long. I didn’t plan for any of this, really.” You chuckle, a dry sound, and wash it down with the liquid in your cup. “But my debt just kept growing, and they kept saying they needed me - ‘just one more job,’ - but it’s never really just one more, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” and he lets himself laugh.

The casino’s sounds settle atop you, those of victory and highs and pride left to sit out for too long, until it starts to rot.

“The IPC bought my debt,” he says to the empty bottles behind the bar. “It was a long time ago, longer than you’ve been here, I’m sure. It was selfish of me to try and do the same to you.” (Nobody should be owned like that, he almost says. The mark on his neck aches and itches and pricks at his skin like hot iron. He ignores it.)

His empty glass sits on the table, its wet ring bleeding into the wood. A wiser man would have used a coaster, or perhaps, a poorer man, one who couldn’t afford to erase the marks he leaves behind.

“The money is still yours, of course. You don’t have to take it, but I have no use for it.” My debt is too grand to be counted and held in velvet, he thinks.

When your gaze meets his, his pupils dilate - one of the few tells he can’t control.

“Well then,” you hum, the ice clinking against the glass as it swirls in your hold, “I suppose I should use my new-found wealth.” Setting your cup upon the table, the condensation makes it slide towards his, and you grin, an unpracticed one, unpolished. Your cheeks pull back unevenly and you let the cracks in your lips show. “Can I buy you a drink?”

He laughs and you wonder if this is the same sound that plays from the slot machines lining the walls, if this is the bell that rings for victory, the one that makes people willing to throw their savings away for the chance to hear it just one more time.

“Well, I’d be a fool to say no.”

He’s lighter now that your forgiveness has settled on him, kissing his cheeks like a butterfly’s wings, in a way that tickles and doesn’t make him brush it off, a way that reminds him of spring and flowers, of his home and of you.

“Do you remember that job we worked on Belobog?”

“The one where I had to pretend to be married to you?” you laugh, nearly falling off the back of the barstool before Aventurine’s hand catches you in the dip of your back.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he whines, letting his lips turn upwards.

“I just never took you for someone so…comfortable in public.” There’s a glimmer of something sparkling behind your eyes, more than just the neon lights flashing overhead.

Leaning forward, he’s so close you can nearly smell him, wood and liquor, smoke and velvet. Rich in all the ways he ought to be, in all the ways he pretends he is.

“I was just selling our cover,” he purrs, and a part of you wonders if this is dangerous, to be letting him in like this, to tilt your head until the heat radiating from his skin gets trapped in the space between you.

“Yeah? I didn’t know you had orders to pull me onto your lap and kiss my neck every second we were around someone else. It was a bit much, don’t you think?”

“A little overkill never hurt anyone,” his eyes narrow and he wants to open his mouth and swallow you. “Besides, you certainly didn’t seem to mind.”

Your face grows warm, but you don’t back down, don’t turn away, not when you hold the winning hand. “I guess I just took you for someone more private, Aventurine.”

“Oh, you have no idea how I am in private.”

“No?” your glass lands heavily along the bar, and he straightens his back as you stand. “Then why don’t you come back to my room and show me?”

And he’s on his feet in the time it takes to blink.

Your room is smaller than his, of course; the two of you nearly fill the hallway, swelling until every inch of it is consumed by your bodies, leaving imprints of your flesh along the walls. It’s not opulent, it's not marble or pillars or gold, but it’s yours, and now, his.

He ushers you inside first, and the moment the door closes, you press into him.

You don’t speak, and neither does he; you don’t have to, not anymore. When your hands trail up his sides, the breath in his throat catches, a beginner’s tell, one he should have outgrown by now, one he knows better than to let slip. The lilting chuckle he lets out, too, tells you all too much.

When your lips meet his, it’s soft at first, all feathers and butterflies. Hesitant and nervous, but yearning.

In a moment, he lets the silk mask slip.

Then, he’s starving. Hands reach around you and grab and beg and hold, trying to tear off pieces of you so he’ll never have to leave this behind. Your teeth sink into his lower lip and he groans into your mouth and you’re grateful for the wood door as you lean every ounce of your weight against him.

“You have no idea how bad I wanted you,” he sighs, and his breath melds with yours until you’re exhaling one another, until the only thing you can feel and hear and taste is him.

“I do.” Blown pupils meet yours, decorated with stars and constellations. “You’re easier to read than you think, Aventurine.”

“You just know me too well,” he smiles, and his lips are back on yours, hungry and gnawing.

With needy hands you drag him from the entryway and towards the bed, the only real piece of furniture inside, luckily.

There’s a practiced ease as you fall to your knees once again, and a gentleness to his hands as he lifts you where you stand.

“Allow me,” he hums.

Softly, he kneels before you, and he can’t bring himself to look away from the warmth radiating from your face. He’s a flower planted beneath you, watered with your smile and grown by your fingertips; you can step on him, if you’d like, or leave him here until his petals kiss your ankles and pluck him so he may stay in your heart.

He undoes your belt and he tugs your waistband down, too impatient to let gravity do the work. Your shirt’s buttons prove a similarly fluid task, despite the way your hands shake as you rush to undo his. Jewelry and accessories drop to the floor before they’re kicked away, lost to the depths of cloth and fur. Finally, he removes his gloves, tugging off each finger with polished teeth.

“Lay down for me, would you?” he asks in that sweet, silky voice, the one that tastes like wood and liquor, that you want to pour down your throat and swallow with heaving gulps.

The bedding is cotton and scratchy and you don’t even mind, not when he leans over you and you feel his skin on yours, soft and bare. It’s the first time he touches you, truly touches you, with his hands, no expensive velvet or obligation or orders in the way, just his flesh and desire.

You know how much his time is worth, the mental tally of credits summing in your mind with each passing second, and yet, his fingers trail patiently downward, resting at your ribs, your hips, your thighs; his lips follow, marking a path along your body, a map he can return to when he inevitably gets lost and must be found.

Settling between your legs, he inhales and fills his lungs with you, with the salt and sage that blooms from your pulse points. Expensive, but not gaudy - the IPC certainly knows how to maintain an appearance.

His tongue is quick and deft, and he nearly misses the way you tense. When he searches your face, he finds furrowed eyebrows and a frown that a more foolish man would pass off as pleasure.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. How do you respond to a question you’ve never been asked, one you’d never prepared for? “I think so, yes.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” The sound makes you flinch. “No, just…”

What more is there? It’s just work, you’d say; Use me, he’d say.

“Here.” Intertwining his fingers with yours, he lets his palm sink into the crater of your own. “Squeeze my hand if you want me to stop.”

You nod and smile, crooked and sweet, and he sends one back in return. Slowly, the haven of your thighs welcomes him once again.

He’s softer, now, as he savors you, the way your skin lands on his tongue, the way your hips shift into the mattress. When he presses a finger to your entrance, you gasp and nearly grip his hand, but he pauses, he lets you breathe and relax your knees and stomach. When he pushes further in, a moan falls from your lips and he thinks he’d bet his life savings, go in debt a thousand times over just to hear it again. He knows his luck is true when he adds a second finger and he’s graced with it once more.

“Aventurine,” you breathe, your muscles tensing as the heat in your core builds. You worry what your body will do when it finally overtakes you, when the flames kiss your skin half as kindly as him, so you dig your palms into his hair instead. It’s soft, impossibly so, as you knot it around your knuckles; he groans when your nails scratch along his scalp.

He lets you pull him in, swallowing every sound and touch you’ll grant him with an eager throat. You cry his name when you come undone, and he wonders what fate he owes a debt to for the chance to taste you, hear you, feel you like this.

When he finally leans away, the depths of his pupils have drowned the vibrant cyan and violet that normally kiss their shore, and his chest heaves like a man just saved from the sea. He’s damp like one, too, sweat-slicked hair clinging to his neck.

Light catches on his shoulders and he glows, rising above you as though gravity wouldn’t dare touch him. He kisses you again, and he passes along the ocean and salt and stone, a secret message a fool would miss, but one you can read: I crave you.

There’s no nervousness left as you guide his tip to your entrance, no fear or duty or chains, just his hips and devotion.

“Are you sure?”

Your palm interlinks with his once more, and you grin. “Of course.” The soft, warm skin of his neck finds its way between your teeth, letting it rest behind your canines, and he chuckles eagerly.

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know,” he sighs into you.

“What a wonderful way to die.”

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him forward. Cool air blesses your spine as your back arches from the bed, more gentle than feathers or a butterfly’s wings, and you welcome him with ease.

He shudders when he bottoms out, cold in spite of the heat emanating from your skin, trapped in the single layer of atoms between your bodies.

A moment passes, then two. And you realize, in the still seconds, that he’s waiting, restraining. A hand held out, an invitation.

Tentatively, your hips circle his, and a golden whine flows from his lips. It drips from the corners and you lap at the fountain of his wealth.

He lets you guide him, then, lets you move and lead and make a show of what you want, what you like. There’s a rhythm he settles into, an angle, a single spot that makes you claw at his back and drink the air from his lungs. And he, an ever-grateful actor, is more than happy to perform.

There’s a control to it, though. A mask.

“Let go,” you whisper into his open mouth.

He chews the words but barely swallows. “What do you mean?”

Your eyelashes flutter open to find him staring down, blinded by the spotlight of your presence; he blinks to clear the flashing. “You’re holding back; let go.”

It’s a miracle you’ve never noticed until this moment, until you’re this close to him, but his grin is a bit uneven, too, the right side of his smile curving ever-so-slightly higher than the left. You wonder how hard he’s had to work to hide it; you wonder what it would take to see it again.

“If you insist.”

His lips crash into yours and you wonder if this is what drowning feels like, to have something in your lungs and your stomach and on your skin and dragging you into it; you wonder if the sea has ever felt this greedy.

Each swell of his pelvis is another wave, crests with no rhythm, an unpredictable high and low. Boats have been lost to less; perhaps they would have been saved if only they’d had his hands waiting to catch them. His, meanwhile, dig into your waist, holding you just under the surface.

Moans blend into each other, and he hits so deep inside you that a cough to dispel the water lodged inside would surely have his name in it, not that you’d ever want to; you want him in every part of you, seeping into the cracks and living there, forever. You inhale and inhale and inhale, until you can’t tell the difference between him and air, until he’s the thing keeping you alive.

The bed shakes, its cheap wood headboard bouncing against the chipping paint of your shitty hotel room, leaving behind damage that you’ll surely have to pay. But how lucky you are to be with a man who can afford to erase the marks he leaves behind.

“I-” he starts, but you already know what he’s about to say (he’s not that hard to read, after all - not when his entire body begins to shake, when his whines strain higher, when he lets his smile fall crooked).

“Don’t stop,” is all you have to say; not that he could, with the way your legs wrap around him; not that he would, with the way you bloom and writhe and swell beneath him.

When he comes undone, it’s accompanied by the most beautiful sound, the most beautiful flush of his cheeks and arch of his back.

And yet, all he hears is you as you hold him, as you follow him under and kiss him through the brine, as you clench around his length and let him twitch and shake and tremble.

It takes a moment for him to still inside you (the sea is never quiet right after a storm). When he does, his eyes search for yours immediately. When they don’t find a smile, he begins to panic - Did he hurt you? Are you scared? Will you hate him? - but in an instant, they crinkle at the corners.

“Well,” you say, breathless.

“Well?” he mirrors, trying to hide the water that still rests in his chest.

“I have to be honest with you,” you hum pensively, letting the practiced control slip back into your voice, letting him worry for half a moment before you continue, “I can now say with confidence, you are exactly the same in private.”

His face stalls for a moment, and then he laughs, and you’ve found a new currency, one you’d happily be indebted in for the rest of your life. “So I take it you’d want to do this again sometime? In spite of the overkill?”

Your grin widens at the corners, uneven and shining. “I’d be a fool not to.”

[kiwriteswords]

cliche tropes: always missing the other person saying ‘i love you’ like not realising the other persons asleep, they can’t hear you over the noisy police precinct, think they’re talking to someone else

But you know you're not dreaming [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: >1k|| AN: LOVE a good ole cliche trope! Thanks for sending this in!!

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, drabble, saying 'i love you' for the first time, tropes, established relationship, mentions of a draining case, insomnia? if you squint, confessions of love, fluff!! fluffy fluff, Hotch's POV

Summary: In the middle of the night, when you think Hotch is asleep, you feel brave enough to share those three little words you feel so deeply about him.

In the quiet of the night, the only sound Aaron Hotchner could hear was the steady rhythm of his own heart—a sound he had grown all too familiar with in the solitude that often accompanied his late hours. But tonight was different. Tonight, the soft, steady breaths of the woman lying beside him in bed filled the room with a gentle cadence that spoke of peace and a contentment long thought lost to him.

You had been together for only a few months, yet the bond between you seemed to stretch beyond the confines of time. You fit into his life seamlessly, a soothing presence not just for him but for Jack as well. The way you smiled at his son, the laughter you brought into their home—it healed parts of him he’d resigned to be forever broken.

Hotch had been lying on his back, eyes closed, feigning sleep. The day had been long, a case draining more from him than he cared to admit. You thought he was asleep, lost to dreams and the darkness of the night. It was in this quiet moment, believing herself unobserved, that you decided to practice the words you hadn’t yet dared to say aloud.

“I love you, Aaron,” you whispered, the words a tentative exploration, testing how they felt in the privacy of what you believed was your unshared silence. “I love you so much it scares me.”

Hotch’s breath hitched silently in his throat. He remained perfectly still, scarcely believing what he was hearing. The vulnerability in your voice, the confession of your love—these were gifts he never expected to receive again.

You continued, unaware of his wakefulness, the soft cadence of your voice threading through the darkness. “I don’t know if I’m ready to tell you yet, but God, I love you. I hope you feel the same.”

Every word you uttered struck a chord within him, resonating deep in his soul. It wasn’t just the declaration but the fear, the hope, and the raw honesty that accompanied it. Hotch had known loss, had known the bitter sting of a love ended too soon, and had doubted whether he could ever open his heart again. But here, beside him, lay the reason he had dared to try once more.

Slowly, Hotch turned towards you, opening his eyes to the dimly lit room where moonlight cast gentle shadows across your face. Seeing you so close, the lines of worry softened by sleep, he knew he had found something extraordinary—not just for himself but for his son as well.

“Aaron?” you murmured, startled, as you felt him move. Your eyes, wide and filled with surprise, met his. The vulnerability you’d felt speaking into the darkness was now laid bare under his gaze.

“I heard you,” Hotch said softly, his voice a low rumble of emotion. “And I’m glad I did.”

Your heart might have stopped—if only for a beat. The enormity of the moment held you both captive.

“I love you too,” he confessed, each word deliberate and true. “I’ve wanted to say it for a while now, but I wasn’t sure how.”

Tears, unbidden but not unwelcome, welled in your eyes as relief and joy mingled in your expression. Hotch reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, thumb brushing away the moisture that escaped your lashes.

“I was scared,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of saying it first, scared of what it means...”

“Me too,” Hotch acknowledged, his own barriers crumbling in the face of your shared confession. “But we’re in this together, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” you breathed out, a smile breaking through the emotional overflow. “Together.”

In that moment, the world outside their quiet sanctuary seemed inconsequential. There was only the truth of what they shared, a love both profound and profoundly simple in its necessity. As Hotch leaned in, his lips met yours in a kiss that sealed promises neither needed words to express. It was a kiss of understanding, of acceptance, and of a love that, once whispered in the dark, would now light their way forward.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

@iyskgd

[multi-fandom-imagine]

My little girl || Jason Todd ||

A/n: 6am, can't get girl dad Jason out of my head.

It was an accident, on how he found out. I mean it's not like he knew the little slip of paper had it written out.

A girl

Jason froze. The words on the paper hit him harder than he expected. A girl. He was having a daughter. His chest tightened, his throat felt dry, and before he could stop himself, tears welled up in his eyes. He quickly rubbed at them, embarrassed by his own reaction, but the realization overwhelmed him.

Sitting on the couch, his hand trembling as he slid the paper away he couldn't stop thinking.

A little girl. His little girl.

The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying. He thought of all the things he wanted to protect her from, all the ways he would be there for her the ways no one had been there for him when he was young. He thought about you, and how their daughter would undoubtedly inherit your warmth and strength. And for the first time in a long time, Jason let himself cry not out of anger or pain, but out of pure, unfiltered joy.

Jason had always been good at keeping secrets. It was practically part of his job description as Red Hood. But this? This was different. Knowing you two were having a girl was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and keeping it from you felt like torture.

While at home you had noticed something was off almost immediately. Jason was fidgety, overly attentive, and kept sneaking glances at your belly with a grin he couldn’t quite hide.

“What’s going on with you?” You asked one evening, narrowing your eyes as you caught him staring. “You’re acting weird.”

Jason froze mid-bite of his sandwich, quickly covering. “Weird? Me? Nah, I’m fine.”

You smirked, folding your arms. “Jason Peter Todd, I know you. Spill.”

He shook his head, standing abruptly. “I can’t! I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He practically fled to the kitchen, leaving you staring after him, your suspicions growing.

A few days later, Jason’s excitement finally got the better of him. They were lying in bed, you curled up against him as you two talked about baby names. Jason had been trying desperately to keep the secret, but when you mentioned the possibility of a boy, he couldn’t help himself.

“Okay, but what about girl names?” he blurted out, his tone too enthusiastic to ignore.

You tilted your head up to look at him, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you so focused on girl names all of a sudden?”

Jason froze, realizing his mistake. “Uh no reason? I mean, just you know, in case.”

You sat up, your smirk returning. “Jason. You know, don’t you?”

Jason groaned, running a hand down his face. “Damn it. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait. Are we having a girl?”

Jason sighed, then smiled, his joy impossible to hide. “Yeah. We’re having a girl.”

Your hands flew to your mouth, tears springing to your eyes. “Jason why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” he admitted, pulling you into his arms. “But I couldn’t help it. Y/n, we’re having a little girl. I’ve always wanted a daughter. I didn’t even think I’d get to have a family, let alone this.” His voice cracked slightly, as you kissed him softly.

“We’re so lucky,” you whispered, your own tears mingling with his. “She’s going to have the best dad in the world.”

Jason held you close, his hand resting protectively over your stomach. “And the best mom,” he said quietly. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure she knows how much she’s loved.”

As you two sat there together, the secret finally out, Jason felt an overwhelming sense of peace. He was going to be a dad to a little girl, and for the first time in his life, he felt truly whole.

[lionneee]

The Enemy

Masterlist

Taglist

English is not my first language, please be kind

Modern!MafiaBoss!Aemond x Ex!Fem!Reader

•Warnings: smut, taking of sexual themes, murder, non-con, knife play, mention of killing someone.•

“Yeah, baby —“ He breathed out as he moaned, looking down as you circled your hips against his cock. He slapped your ass and gripped your hips tightly, stopping your movements to start pointing into you from behind again, fast and hard, like he loves it.

“Baby — Yes, fuck me —“ You moaned as you arched your back, burying your face in the mattress.

“Fuck, baby —“ He growled as he squeezed your hips, his fingers digging in your skin as he thrusted faster, close to the end. You moaned louder as you started rubbing your clit, wanting to finish with him.

“Let me —“ He panted as he leaned down and slipped a hand between your legs, his fingers taking the place of yours, rubbing your clit furiously, making you aware of how close he really was.

“Fill me up —“ You moaned as you panted, trying to jerk your hips, moving them back to meet his thrusts.

“I’m going to, baby —“ He moaned as he moaned in your ear. “You’ll be fucking leaking -“ He moaned again, the image his words created in both your mind making you come on the spot.

You let yourself fall down on the mattress of his door room bed. 

Aemond sat back on his haunches, slipping carefully out of you, looking at his cum slowly leaking out of you.

You smile, satisfied as Aemond laid behind you, wrapping his arm around your middle, pulling you back against his chest as he smiled, kissing your shoulder sweetly.

“I love you so much.” He mumbled against your skin. You smiled even more as you caressed his arm with your hand.

“I love you too.” You hummed as you looked back at him, your lips joining immediately in a soft, slow kiss.

The room’s silence was broken by a harsh knock at the door, followed by Aemond’s sigh, a mix of amusement and annoyance.

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll be quiet next time.” Aemond exclaimed, raising his head towards the door.

You chuckled as you heard a string of curses from outside.

Aemond’s room-neighbor had complained already about the volume you kept during sex, just like this time.

All of you knew this wasn't the last time he would be coming.

Your last years at college was almost to an an end, but you and Aemond planned to fuck in these dorms a few more times.

It was memories like that that kept Aemond going in the prison.

He missed his girl.

He had been completely inebriated by her since the first time she saw her. She was sweet, soft, caring and gentle, something he had barely known in his life.

She was also funny, a bit sassy and beautiful.

She was also the sister to his number one rival family.

After his father’s death, the business went all in his hand, his father knew he was the best for the inheritance.

But he didn’t care. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to have anything to do with the mafia world, she wanted to stay out of it, and her brother was more than happy to let her.

It was just the two of them, her, and her brother Cregan, whose parents died in an accident during work.

Their relationship had to be a secret.

She knew her brother would have never allowed her to date him, and he had to keep his reputation solid and fearful.

She didn’t ask about his job, he didn’t tell her about it, they went on dates, they had sex, Gods, a lot of sex, and they just… lived their life.

That, until Cregan found out.

“You stay out of this!” Cregan shouted at her, as she sobbed, her back pressed against the wall of her house.

Cregan had a broken lip, his cheek was red, and probably there would have been a nasty bruise the day after. 

Both him and Aemond were painting as they stood in front of each other, looking at each other like lions ready to fight.

“Don’t talk to her like that!” Aemond quickly scolded Cregan, taking a step towards her. Cregan pulled out a gun and pointed it to him.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t take another step.” He growled.

“Cregan no!” She sobbed desperately, her face red, her cheeks completely wet, her eyes full of pain. “Please I love him!” She was begging him.

“No! I let you live your life, I gave you everything, I protected you, took care of you! And this is how you repay me?!” His voice was louder than thunder, and his face was scary.

She had never seen her brother like that, so furious.

“I didn’t choose to love him!” She sobbed back, her voice strained and weak.

“I don’t care! I don’t fucking care, you’re coming with me.” Cregan said as he grabbed her wrist, tugging her towards himself, his gun still pointing at Aemond, but he didn’t care.

Aemond took another step forward, but then Cregan raised his gun from his chest to his head, his eyes on him, his expression pure coldness.

She screamed and squirmed in the arms of her brother, trying desperately to reach for the gun, or Aemond.

“You won’t see her again. I swear to God if you try I’ll make your head blow with one of my bullets.” 

Aemond couldn’t fight more that day.

But he was going to get his revenge.

And his girl back.

“Dinner!” The guards shouted as they hit the metal doors of all the rooms with their sticks. Aemond grunted and pinched the bridge of his nose, the sound giving him an annoying headache, just like every morning.

He sighed and stood up, he washed his face in the sink and tied his hair back into a ponytail as his roommates got up too.

As the leader of the Targaryen family, he had a lot of friends here.

He was protected, not even the guards dare to touch him.

He guessed it was thanks to the nasty scar on his face.

And his name.

He took a deep breath as he leaned his head back, closing his eye.

“You’re so pretty.” Her naked body was laying beside him, her soft fingers were caressing his scarred cheek, her eyes fixed on the stone in his eye socket.

“You’re saying that out of pity.” He grunted as he turned his gaze from the ceiling to her.

“I’m not. I love your face. I could stare at you for hours.” She smiled as she bit her lip, her hand moving to caress his hair.

“Such a creep.” He huffed a laugh as he turned his body to the side to look at her better. He moved his hand to her breasts, looking at how her nipples perked at the mere touch of his fingers, how her breath would always hitch.

“Do you really think so?” He looked back up at her face. She smiled softly and nodded, caressing his face again.

“Gevie.” That words, his native language coming from her mouth was a massive turn on for him. He immediately crashed his lips against her and pulled her body close to him.

“Issa rūs.” He growled.

-My baby.-

Aemond shook his head to get himself back together, then he walked out of his cell to walk with all the other prisoners to the eating room.

He was always among his people every step he took, in his room, at his table, at his chores.

He rarely was alone.

The few times he was, he fucked his hand like a wild animal until it would be covered in cum.

All for her.

He always did everything for her.

“Cregan?” He could hear her voice through his phone, they spy hidden in her brother’s office offering a live audio of her voice.

Her sobs.

“Cregan?!” She shouted as she kept crying. 

He closed his eyes as he listened to her sobs. He could almost see her, kneeled beside the body of his brother.

At the moment, Cregan’s body counted three bullets.

He did it for her.

So they could get back together, live together.

God he had missed her so much.

He was tired of jerking off on her nudes, he needed the real thing.

“Cregan!” She shouted as she kept crying desperately. He heard some ruffling, something falling on the floor.

“My brother is dead!” She shouted. “M-my… Aemond Targaryen did it.”

He did it for her.

And she put him in handcuffs.

Days were long without her, and even more without anything about her body.

At least he managed to get one of her thongs in there.

But the scent almost faded.

“The plan is set, boss.” Jason, his left arm in the prison, said.

Aemond gave one nod as he looked down at his food.

Escape prison was easy.

He didn't do it earlier because he knew she needed time to recover from his brother’s death before she could focus back on him.

Placing a few pieces of evidence that would lead away from him and make up an alibi was like stealing candy from a baby.

His trial process was easy to finish, after all, they didn’t have true evidence that he killed Cregan, and his alibi was firm.

Turned out to be easier than ever.

With a smirk on his face he walked out of the front door of the prison, his jumpsuit replaced with a pair of black jeans and a black sweater.

He looked at his driver and got in the car.

“Let’s go get her.” He said as he made himself comfortable.

It was night when he broke into her house.

Actually, broke in was an euphemism, he owned the place.

She was living with his money, and she didn’t even know it.

He saw her on her bed. Her hair messy on the pillow, her mouth half open.

Her body was covered by the blanket.

She was beautiful.

He walked closer to her, caressing her face softly as he looked down at her sleeping form. 

She had always been a deep sleeper, it was hard to wake her up.

He was happy to learn it when he had a little something to take care of, one of the nights she slept at his house.

He slowly handcuffed one of her wrists, then he pulled her arm up, slowly, carefully, then he raised her other arm, and quickly handcuffed it to the headrest.

He walked slowly on the end of the bed, dragging her blanket with him, smiling as she saw her wearing both but a thin pajama.

He slowly moved her pants off, along with her panties.

He needed to taste her again.

His hands slowly moved her legs open, his head digging between her thighs.

He took a deep breath in, taking in her scent before licking her slightly, enough to have the taste on his tongue.

He had to bite back a moan as he pulled back slightly.

It had been so long since the last time he ate her out.

He’ll make sure he’ll have all the time in the world in the future.

What took him off guard, was her foot hitting his face at full force.

But still too weak.

He chuckled as he stumbled back. He stood up and looked down at her.

“I remember your brother teaching you to fight. He obviously failed, you wouldn’t scratch a man, baby.”

“Don’t call me like that, you bastard!” She shouted.

So feisty, just woken up.

“At least my brother taught me how to fight. And don’t you dare speak of him again!” She said as she tried to say up, but she quickly became aware of the handcuffs.

“You like those, baby?” He asked as he stood at the edge of the bed, nodding towards the handcuffs. “You know which one are those?” He smiled down at her. “The same one they used to handcuff me when you turned me in.” He sighed as he yanked the sheets completely off the bed.

“And for the record. I didn’t teach you how to fight, because you didn’t need to with me. I would have never let anything happen to you. I’m not letting anything happen to you.” He specified as he looked at her trying to get free of the handcuffs.

“I did this all for you. For us.” He said as he grabbed her ankles, her eyes snapping back at him. “We can be together now.”

“You killed my brother!” She screamed, trying to kick him again, but he simply chuckled, pinning her ankles down on the mattress.

“He spreaded us apart. He pointed a gun at my head.” He hissed.

“He never shooted!” She growled back. “He never would have!”

“And see what that brought you.” He moved her ankles apart. “You’re alone. Your business is shattered, I took it.” He said as he started tying one ankle to the foot of the bed.

“No, no!” She tried to get away, but it was useless.

“Why do you think you still have your money, baby?” He asked as he moved to tie the other ankle.

“Why do you think you’ve been spared by the destruction of your family business?”

“Fuck you. You psycho-“ She gritted her teeth as she found herself unable to move.

“Now now, no need for insults.” He crawled on top of her. “After all… I’m here to collect.” He grinned down at her. “You’re my war prize.”

“I’m not your anything.” She growled, but he didn’t even listen.

“We’re going to move away.” He said as he lifted her shirt, despite her trying to stop him by squirming harder.

He grabbed a handful of her soft boob, and leaned down to suck her nipple, his leg sliding between hers, his thigh pressing against her clit.

“Keep squirming.” He smiled against her, her movements making her grind against his thigh. She tugged at the handcuffs as she tried to lower her hands.

“You-“ She tugged again. “Killed-“ Again. “My brother!” She yelled as she started to cry. “You had no right! No right! He loved me!”

“Not as much as I do.” He said as he moved his hand between her legs, strolling her clit. “I might hate you for calling the police on me-“ He looked down at her cunt, then back up at her face, the tears running down the sides of her face. “But you are my woman. No one loves you more than I do.” He pulled his fingers back from her and pulled off a knife from the back of his pants and twisted easily in his hand.

He straddled her and pointed the knife to her throat.

“I would let this world burn for you. If you’d told me you don’t want to be on this earth anymore, I’d use all my power to find another planet to live on.” He leaned down, his face inches from hers. “And we’d repopulate it.”

“You’re crazy.” She said, her eyes filled with tears as she pressed her head against the pillow to get as far from the knife as possible. He licked the handle.

“About you, baby.” He turned the knife in his hand, the handle pressing against her skin, the blade against the skin of his hand. “You can ask me anything. Anything. I will give that to you.” He moved the handle down her body. “You just…” He moved the handle inside her, looking at her eyes widening at the intrusion. “… stay with me baby.” 

She looked away, turning her head to the side as Aemond started to move the knife slowly, caressing her inside walls with the rough material.

“Stop -“ She sobbed as she closed her eyes. She hated how her body was betraying her, feeling pleasure out of something so sick and wrong. “Stop, just stop.”

“You feel that too, uh?” He kept looking at her. “You feel this is right. That we belong together.”

She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, fighting back sobs and the confusing mix of pain and pleasure coursing through her. "No, no, Aemond!" She whispered hoarsely, her voice shaking. "This is torture.” She said, desperate, hoping to at least gain his pity.

Aemond chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down her spine. "Torture? Is that what you call this?" He rocked the knife handle inside her gently, the crude motion stimulating her sensitive flesh. "Or perhaps...enlightenment?"

Her eyes flew open, wide with horror and revulsion. "Shut up!" She spat, struggling futilely against the restraints. "You're insane, Aemond. Fucking insane!"

Aemond smirked, enjoying the sight of her distress.

"Maybe I am." He admitted, his tone casual. "But doesn't that make what I'm doing even more brilliant? I'm rewriting reality for us both."

He began to thrust the handle deeper, faster, each stroke hitting that spot within her that made her toes curl as the blade started to cut his hand, but he didn’t seem to care. "You can deny it all you want, but your body knows the truth. It craves mine as much as I crave yours."

Her breath hitched, her hips bucking involuntarily against the handle. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the blood from her bitten lip. "Please..." She whimpered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart. "Stop, don’t do this to me..."

Despite her protests, she couldn't ignore the traitorous sensations building within her. The knife handle's coarse texture rubbing against her inner walls, the pressure and friction igniting a fire that spread through her core. 

She hated it, she hated the feeling of nostalgia, of happiness of having back at least part of her past, even in a maddening and sickening way.

Her thighs clenched, a moan escaping her lips before she could bite it back.

"See?" Aemond purred, his voice a seductive whisper. "Your body tells the truth, even if your mouth lies. You want this, baby. You need me."

Her gaze snapped to him, her eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and shame.

"You killed my brother!" She yelled again, hoping to get control of her body back with her

Aemond raised an eyebrow at her accusation, his expression unreadable. "Your brother was weak." He stated flatly. "He got in the way of my plans, and he paid the price."

The knife handle continued its relentless rhythm, each stroke pushing her closer to the edge. Aemond's free hand reached up to grip her chin, forcing her to meet his piercing gaze.

"You can hate me all you want, baby."

He punctuated his words with a particularly deep thrust, the blade scraping against her cervix.

Her vision blurred, her world narrowing to the searing pain and the overwhelming urge to surrender.

"Stop fighting it." Aemond commanded, his voice low and commanding. "Let go and accept that we are not separating again."

"I hate you." She groaned as her body arched from the bed. "I will never love you again."

Aemond smiled, a cold, calculated smile devoid of warmth or humanity. "You’re so pretty when you’re in denial, baby."

He increased the pace of the handle, driving it into her with brutal force. She screamed, her nails digging into the sheets as she struggled against the restraints. But Aemond held fast, his grip unyielding as he rode her through the agony and ecstasy.

"We are two sides of the same coin." He growled, his breath hot against her skin. "You cannot escape me, just as I cannot escape you. We are destined to be together."

With a final, vicious thrust, Aemond buried the handle to the hilt inside her.

Her scream cut off abruptly as the handle plunged deep, the sudden impact triggering a violent contraction within her. Waves of intense pleasure crashed over her, obliterating the pain and leaving her gasping for air.

For a moment, she hung suspended, lost in the overwhelming sensation. Then, with a strangled cry, she came undone, her body convulsing in a frenzy of release. The orgasm ripped through her like a tornado, making everything fade except pleasure.

As the aftershocks subsided, she lay limp and spent, her mind fogged by the intensity of what had just occurred. Through the haze, she felt Aemond withdraw the knife,  licked the knife handle and then discarded it carelessly on the floor with a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watched her body twitch and spasm through the aftermath of her climax.

Rising from the bed, he towered over her prone form, his imposing figure casting a shadow over her. "That's the power I hold over you." He murmured, his voice low and menacing. "The ability to reduce you to this - a broken, quivering mess, completely at my mercy." He smirked. "But you know I have much more power over you than just that. Even if you did manage to leave me, baby, please tell me.” He looked down at her. “Do you think you'll be able to live a normal life? Find someone new to love, have a life with him, a future, fuck him?” He laughed as he shook his head. “No, baby. I love you. And I’m not letting you go. Ever."

Her chest heaved with ragged breaths as she stared up at Aemond, her eyes glazed and unfocused. The echoes of her intense orgasm still resonated through her body, leaving her feeling raw and exposed.

She wanted to lash out, to spit venom at him for his cruel words and actions. But the strength had been drained from her, leaving only a hollow shell. All she could manage was a pitiful whine as he loomed over her.

"I-I won't..." She whispered. "I won't ever be yours, Aemond. Never." She hissed evilly, but he simply chuckled as he started to pull down his pants.

Aemond chuckled darkly, amused by her futile defiance. He reached down and grasped a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back to expose the vulnerable column of her throat.

“We’ll see about that.” He whispered in her ear as he settled comfortably between her legs.

He lined up his throbbing cock with her entrance and thrusted to the hilt, stretching her tight core around his thick length.

“Take it, you feisty little bitch.” He smiled. “I still remember everything you like, you know that right?” He looked down at her, watching her discomfort as she struggled to adjust. “I know you. And I’ll make you feel so fucking good, baby.” He set a punishing pace, pounding into her relentlessly, moaning and closing his eye for a moment as he savoured the feeling of having her walls being stretched out from him again.

“Scream all you want. No one's coming to save you from my cock.” He reached around to fondle her clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in time with his brutal strokes.

She yelled, her tits kept bouncing against his chest with every thrust, but he reveled in her cries, the sound music to his ears as he rutted into her like an animal.

He picked up speed, his heavy balls slapping against her ass with each powerful thrust.

“You love this, don't you? Love being fucked raw by me.” He moaned as he felt her pussy clench. “You’ve always loved it, when I treated you like you could never break, unlike everyone else did.” He leaned down to bite and suck at her nipples, adding to her torment and pleasure. “And you still do. Just like you love me.”

She clenched her hands into fists, squeezing her eyes closed as the nostalgia of their past ate her alive.

"Fuck you – I don’t love you!" She gritted her teeth.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes as he drove into her again.

“Oh, keep telling yourself that, baby.” He grinned, a hint of pride in his voice. “Your tight little cunt is gripping me so fucking tight – it knows exactly what it's missing without a real man's cock.” He reached down to rub her clit harder, determined to make her come on his cock.

“Admit it, baby. You're loving every second of this.”

His hips snapped forward, hitting that sweet spot inside her that made her gasp and clench around him.

"I'll never come for you." She growled.

He chuckled, a dark and sinister sound that echoed through the room. “Oh, you will. You're so close, I can feel it.” He pinched her clit roughly, trying to force her to orgasm and pounded into her harder, faster, reveling in the feeling of her tight walls squeezing him.

“There’s no more escaping this. No more sending me away -” His voice was strained by pleasure, he wasn’t even trying to control his sounds, moaning shamelessly.

“I-I hate you –” She said as she felt herself treading on the edge of her orgasm. “I’ll never love you again, you’re trash  to me.”

He smirked at her defiant words, finding them only more arousing.

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. But it’s not your body that betrays you.” He could feel her getting closer to the edge, her pussy fluttering around his shaft. “It’s your mind.” He thrusted especially hard, grinding against her cervix.

“Cum for me, baby. Now”. He demanded, his voice low and authoritative.

She shook her head defiantly, even as her body betrayed her, trembling on the brink of climax.

“Never... I won't…” Her words dissolved into a moan as he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside her. “F-fuck!”

Despite her best efforts, she could feel herself hurtling towards orgasm, her pussy clenching rhythmically around his pistoning cock. The stimulation to her clit combined with his commanding presence proved too much to resist.

“No – ” She cried out as she came undone, her vision whiting out from the intensity of her release.

Her inner walls spasmed almost violently around him, milking his shaft for all it was worth.

“Aem -” His name slipped past her lips unbidden as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.

He groaned in satisfaction as he felt her pussy clamp down on him like a vice, her juices flooding his cock and dripping down his balls. “That's it, cum for me – ” His voice suddenly soft as he continued to pound into her through her orgasm, prolonging her pleasure and using her spasming walls to bring himself closer to the edge.

“Fuck, you feel amazing.” With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and let out a guttural moan as he started to cum. He grunted, shooting thick ropes of hot seed deep into her womb as he filled her to the brim with his potent release.

They didn’t move for a while, catching their breaths after the intense encounter, but as soon as she bursted into tears Aemond immediately hugged her, freeing her wrists.

“Shhh, I’m here, baby -” He whispered in her ear as he caressed her hair, keeping her close, but she kept crying harder.

She couldn't help herself, even if he killed his brother, a part of her will always welcome Aemond, desperate for the old sense of stability that she had been seeking since it all went down.

Since her brother tore her away from Aemond.

Because that was the moment she felt like dying the most, and she felt the worst sister in the world for that.

So she cried, hoping those feelings would just flow out with her tears.

She hated Aemond, but not because he killed her brother, she hated him because he was still the love of her life, despite everything.

Because she tried to move on, desperately, she wanted to run away from her feelings for him, but every time she managed to find someone interesting she would feel guilty, she would feel like she was in the wrong place, like she was doing everything wrong, and she couldn’t fix it.

“I hate you.” She sobbed as she wrapped her arms around him tightly.

“I know.” He pressed his forehead against her temple. “I’ll fix it.”

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[chiumii]

in sickness and in health ~ sim jaeyun x reader

౨ৎ inspiried by this request ! ♡  .⋆。⊹ ଓ ⋆˙⊹ [ 제이크 ] ☆ in which your lovely husband decides to take care of you when you are sick, in more ways than just one

word count ; 1.8k

softdom! jake x sick! reader drabble. sleepy fingering , Jake is so so sweet gag me w a fork , established marriage , praise , begging , hickeys / markings , begging , slight daddy kink , more .

as you hear the front door open and close, you begin to stir into consciousness after being in and out of sleep for the past few hours. your nose is clogged as your throat feels raw and sore, your head feels like a hollow balloon and your entire body aches. you had found the strength to get up out of bed and change into warmer clothes - settling on one of jake’s larger hoodies simply because it had the familiar scent of his cologne lingering on the fabric, and a pair of sweat pants that were two sizes too big.

you had fallen asleep on his side of the bed, missing the familiar warmth of his body that brought you indescribable comfort every night. your eyes flutter open, instantly finding the faint figure of a silhouette lingering in the door way. your arms reach out on instinct, jake’s figure slowly coming into view as he begins to take his suits jacket off - hanging it on a hanger before putting it back up in his closet. you smile at your husband , a soft pout prominent on your lips. jake chuckles at you before he puts his hand on your forehead, checking to see how hot you were.

“are you feeling any better baby?” you shake your head no with a shrug of your shoulders, a stinging sensation forming in the back of your nose. jake inwardly smiles at you, his eyes watching your face contort into squinted eyes and lips slightly ajar - the face you normally make when you try to force a sneeze out.

after you sneeze a few times, he kisses the top of your forehead longingly before peeling away from you

“i’m sorry sweetheart, do you need anything?” your husband asks you as he begins to unbutton his collared button up shirt, the sight of his forearms exposed making you feel all sorts of things after being left alone all day confined to your bed. you sit up slightly, your eyes gawking at him as he begins to strip himself of his clothes.

“i dunno, maybe now that you’re home ..” you say quietly, but jake hears you as clear as day. he spins around, the first half of his shirt undone and his nice black dress pants unbuttoned and zipped all the way down. your face heats up at his disheveled appearance, drinking in the delicious sight. Jake can tell by the look on your face that you want one thing and one thing only; knowing you like the back of his own hand. jake chuckles at you before sitting down at the foot of the bed, his hand coming up to rub comforting circles on your calf.

“baby, you’re sick. we can’t” he pouts , tilting his head to the side as he speaks. you huff and cross your arms over your chest, turning your head in order to look away from him. you sniff your nose, finding it difficult to breathe in.

“oh honey, don’t be a brat. i’m going to go heat you up some soup and i’ll be back. after that i’ll run you a bath and we can sit together okay?” your lips remain in a pout, still not turning your head to look over at him. jake sighs at your lack of response, his hand still rubbing gentle circles on your calf through the warm blanket.

“baby, i need you to answer me” you huff again, finally deciding on turning your head to face him fully. you look down at your lap, your fingers fidgeting with one another as you remain pouty-faced. you’ve been left alone all day with your thoughts being your only source of company. every time you got on your phone; your head would start to hurt.

throughout the entire day, your mind was filled with jake and jake alone; how well he takes care of you in so many more ways than just one. how he goes to work in order to fuel your shopping addiction, how he makes you your favorite dishes and runs to the store to get you medicine when you’re sick- and especially when he’s buried between your thighs, his fingers reaching so deeply inside you, jake’s name dripping from your tongue.

you were too tired to touch yourself, and fuck the way jake’s hand lightly gripped your jaw in order to tilt your head up this morning to give you a good-bye kiss was the cherry on top.

your face flushes a deep shade of red as you look up at your husband through your eyelashes, a sigh escaping your mouth. jake tilts his eyebrows up at you, amusement flowing through his veins.

“been thinking about you all day… and you come home looking like this, it makes me feel.. i don’t know. crazy…” jake smirks at your words, his free hand coming to rest on the bed behind him as he leans backwards, his eyes racking down your figure.

“what have you been thinking about love?” you whine in frustration, not wanting to elaborate. you kick his thigh that rests next to your foot jokingly, flustered out of your mind.

“uhm… how well you take care of me, all the time. ‘nd how bad i’ve been needing you…” you speak honestly. the two of you haven’t done anything recently because of your fever and sickness, jake being caught up in the worry of hurting you . jake smiles fondly at you, his heart swelling in adoration and pride. he knows your words are the truth; everything he does- he does it for you. he’s your biggest supporter in everything you accomplish, and he would take care of you always.

"yeah? how do you need me pretty?" he asks, leaning down to crawl over your smaller frame - making you sink further into the mattress below you in silence. jake takes your lack of response with a small smirk that spreads slyly across his face, one of his hands coming to trail its way up your thigh in order to find its way under the blanket.

"where do you need me baby?" he asks once more, your breathing coming out in ragged, shallow breaths. your eyes look up into his, pleading with parted lips.

"here?" he asks, his fingers coming in contact with your clothed heat making a whimper drip off your full lips. you hum in response, your head slowly nodding up and down.

"yes please.." you say under your breath quietly. your pussy pulsates at the contact. jake smiles down at you, pressing his forehead against yours. he begins to massage slow, concentrated circles through your sweats, making your yes fall closed. after a moment of agonizing teasing, he pushes his hand under your sweats, making your stomach flip in nervousness.

"please.." another plea sounds from just under him. jake's hand makes its way down to your panties before pulling them to the side in order to snake his cool fingers through the folds of your wet pussy. your back arches off the mattress slightly in anticipation. neediness slips into your veins like a drug, making jake lowly chuckle.

"such a needy girl, aren't you?" he teases, making you pout. jake focuses his attention to your desperate clit, rubbing focused circles gently on your bundle of nerves that has you moaning out his name. your hands snake up to the square of his shoulders, grabbing onto him in order to ground your mind from slipping away from your body.

you can hear your own wetness as he plays with your swollen pussy, the disgusting sounds were like heaven to jakes ears that he could never, ever get enough of.

jake opts in sliding one of his long fingers into your walls, sliding in with ease thanks to the slick you had provided all for him, because of him. your nails scratch at his back, a tired whimper leaving the back of your throat. his fingers work their magic inside your tight, velvety walls, fingertips softly grazing the sweet spot deep inside you.

your body shakes in his hold, making jake kiss your temple. he trails his kisses down the side of your face - resting on the skin of your neck to leave faint, purple marks. you squirm underneath him as another one of his fingers enters your pussy, fingering you from the inside out.

"my girl just wants to be taken care of huh? wants me to help her in every way possible?" you nod your head, a soft 'yes' incoherently leaves your mouth.

"gonna take such good care of my little angel, make her feel so, so good" and thats exactly what he does - fingering your needy pussy so well that when you close your eyes - you're sent seeing stars on the undersides of your lids. jake has that effect on you - knowing your body better than you possibly could. every inch of you engraved into his mind like an open book he just couldn't seem to forget.

"feels so good, i love you s' much" jake's heart feels like its going to explode, his chest tightening at your words.

"i love you sweet thing" he responds, speaking into your skin while his fingers working faster at splitting you apart. your pussy squeezes his fingers delicately, your desperate cries of his name come to a sweet crescendo.

your body curls into jakes front as he detaches from your neck, letting you bury your face into his chest. everything feels overstimulating and warm, making your mind cloud over with lust.

a warm feeling begins to spread throughout your lower abdomen, your hips bucking up into jakes palm in order to chase after the sensation.

"you close angel?" you frantically nod your head, legs shaking and spreading apart further to grant your husband more access to your body.

"yes,,, yes please... wan' cum please... please let me cum" your begging makes jake feel some sort of power, fueling him into his next choice of words.

"i dunno, have you been a good girl recently?" your eyes fly open, the fear of jake denying you permission to cum makes you pout immensely.

"yes.. been such a good girl f' you" your voice is whiny and desperate, making jake mimic the pout plastered on your face. he ponders for a moment before smiling at you fondly.

"yes you have. been such a patient girl for me recently. don't worry baby, daddys gonna make it all better" his fingers reach a deeper spot inside you, making your toes curl and your back inch further off the bed and right into the palm of your husbands mind.

"cum for me baby" is all he says before your pussy clenches down on his digits that work diligently within your gummy walls, your juices squirting out to signal the snap of your release.

"good girl, let me take good care of you" he whispers into your ear, his movements coming to a slow halt. your body collapses back onto the bed, chest heaving up and down in search of much needed air. jake pulls his fingers out of you with a hiss.

"i love you baby, in sickness and in health" he smiles fondly before kissing the skin of your sweaty forehead.

"i love you more"

[synvil]

Starting Out // VID : 001 » Viewing Pleasure (( Camgirl! Series ))

a/n : sorry for the wait! i had to figure out how to get started tbh and i really didn’t think id get such love from everyone!!! <3 it means so much. hope you guys enjoy! taglist at the bottom!

synopsis : you start your adventure as the next camera girl streamer online, and receive an unexpected surprise on your first stream.

series masterlist : Viewing Pleasure

“You can’t do this, [Name].”

You heave a sigh as you readjust the camera on your monitor, managing to have saved up enough to afford one to finally get this started.

This idea has been in the works for a while, you attempting to split every cent you could save between bills and buying the equipment you needed to begin streaming, and finally you were ready.

JJ doesn’t receive an answer from you and he huffs before walking over and grabbing your wrist to stop you. “Come on, [Nickname].”

“JJ, it doesn’t hurt to try, okay? I need the money, otherwise i’ll be homeless within a month.” You defend yourself as you pull away from his grip and continue to adjust until the monitor displays the proper position. You break into a smile and go to adjust how close and how far you can make the camera go and JJ shakes his head.

"What if I gave you the money? I can lend you some if you need, Kie and JB made me start saving and-" You snap to him with narrowed eyes. "No way, J. I'm not taking your money, I don't want to owe anything."

The blonde just crosses his arms as he watches you look at yourself through the monitor, with him in the background.

“I think this looks good.” You plaster a grin but JJ heaves a sigh at you. You clearly weren’t gonna change your mind. He goes up to you and places a hand on your shoulder. “Okay, i’m telling you this as a friend, but [Name], this is a bad idea. You don’t know what kind of creeps are on the internet and even worse, once your body is on there, there’s no going back.”

It was sweet how concerned the blonde was for you but you were starting to get agitated at his persistence.

“Don’t you think I already know that, J?” I scoff as I brush off his hands. “Like I said, I don’t have a choice here, man, I’m about to be evicted. I heard some of the kooks talk about this and i’d figure i’d give it a try, so please let this go, okay?”

Whether it was the determination in your tone or the desperation in your eyes, it causes him to falter for a second and JJ pulls back slightly, taking a step back with a small nod of his head. “..alright, i get it. fine.”

You watch him carefully, not wanting to let guilt take over you for snapping at him like that but he seems to understand enough and you force your eyes away and back to the camera.

You do some last minute touches before making sure your profile was settled before starting to prep for your first stream.

JJ stares at your figure from behind, silent and in thought before he heads to the door. “.. I’ll see you later, [Nickname].” He says before shutting the door and you flinch slightly at the slam before exhaling softly.

If only you knew.

Fresh out of the shower, shaven and smooth, You adjust the clothes on your body before leaning back in your chair. Double checking your camera again, you take a deep breath. “You got this.. you’re just starting out..”

You wore a white button up that was left unbuttoned and just a cover up for your shoulders, and a black laced bralette underneath. Pairing that with a midnight blue spandex shorts as well. It wasn’t too modest but wasn’t too showy for your first stream.

Makeup was done, going for a natural look.

Mic was okay, picking up sounds good enough for you.

And you were comfortable in your chair and your room, having already cleaned up the background for aesthetics.

You had already written up a tier list of your donations that people could do for requests, aside from random custom ones, which you left on screen for people to see. It wasn’t anything too unreasonable and you were able to adjust anytime. So hopefully viewers would enter the stream soon.

With one press of a button, the camera begin to blink red, and you were now live.

Lips curl into a small smile at the sight and you watch yourself as slowly, one by one, viewers tread in.

“Hi, everyone..”

You fidget with one of your perfectly manicured nails for a minute as you wait and think about what to say.

“So.. this is my first stream, I won’t do anything crazy for today.. i’m just starting out after all.” It felt a bit embarrassing, you weren’t sure what to do and if you wanted to show your face in the first place, but you just reminded yourself of the potential threat of eviction and pushed through.

“New face? What a cutie~”

“You’re so beautifullll <3”

“Hot af”

Even though you knew these were potential creepy old men who were watching you, the praises still felt a bit nice, and if you were lucky enough, it wasn’t people near you.

You smile sweetly for the camera and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Thank you for the compliment. I hope you don’t mind my outfit choice.” You glance down at your torso, your skin and stomach exposed because of the bralette which tightly held your breasts together with great lift.

You hug your arms a little which accentuated them more, and comments and viewers began to flood in faster.

“So hot 🔥”

“take the shirt off bbg”

“shit you look good affff”

You can’t help the giggle that escapes your glossy lips at the reactions you get, a faintest blush warming your cheeks and eventually small donations began coming in. “Thank you~!”

"u single?" "fuck, a new girl to jack off 2" "'Anonymous' donated $10. ur so sexy" "@oldpervdude donated $30." "@KookTopper donated $300. 'You're so hot.'"

"Wow, thank you so much for all the donations, you're all so sweet." You can feel the excitement building up at the prospect of being able to afford this month's rent. "And thank you, @KookTopper~"

Fortunately within the flood of perverted compliments, there were a few that were asking questions about you, which you happily answered with relief.

Sitting behind his desktop mindlessly, a certain kook was scrolling through the internet and his social media, when a friend sends him a message.

His phone buzzes on the tabletop, making Rafe pick it up to read the notification. It was from Topper Thornton. ‘Fuck, Rafe, look at this. Click the link I just sent.’

"www.camgirlstreamers.com/[Name]/synvil.obxlive"

Rafe furrows his brows at the link as his thumb presses the button and it wires him to a streamers website, immediately to a live stream where a girl is currently on screen with her top sliding down her shoulders, the hem of her spandex riding up her thick thighs. The sight makes Rafe taken back, his lips suddenly becoming dry as he listens to the sound of her adorable giggles.

"Fuck.." On the side of her streams were her social media links, so after transferring the link to his desktop while he used his phone to go through her social media.

"[Name].." Her name rolled off his tongue as he murmurs it in the private of his room. He scrolls through your photos on IG, seeing your beautiful smile in a lot of them and various photos of your interests and hobbies.

Now, Rafe wasn't really one to be interested in camera girls, usually preferring the real life, in person experience instead, but lately, none of the women in all of Kildare was really attractive to him. He was starting to get bored, but this?

The curve of your breasts, the innocence of your eyes and the sexy plump thighs in those spandex that left much to his imagination of your ass.. it made him excited.

"Now.. how the hell do I add my card on here?.."

"Ugh, those disgusting bastards.."

A particular dirty blonde has been watching a live stream since it began, and reading the flood of comments talking about the girl's body filled him with disgust.

But what was worse, was that he felt the exact same way. "Shit.. you look so fucking hot, [Name].."

JJ stares intensely at the screen of his phone, watching you tease the camera by sliding the button up down your shoulders a bit. He sighs a bit breathily, contemplating for a moment but then the next second, adds his credit card information into the site without hesitation.

If she wasn't going to take his money, he'll just find another way to help you out. Besides, this benefits him too. And he was willing to spend every penny.

As you talk to your viewers, teasing them a little by stripping yourself of your button up leaving you in the bralette and spandex, your phone buzzes. You pick up your phone and furrow your brows. It was from Instagram.

'@TheKookKing has followed you.'

"Hm.." You shrug it off for a minute and set your phone down, looking back to your stream.

You hum softly, having discarded your button up to the side already and in just your bralette and shorts.

“@TheKookKing has donated $1000”

“Mmh, a new donation? Let’s see here.. o-one thousand dollars? from @TheKookKing.. wow, thank you so much. And thank you for the follow on IG, if you’re the same person. If you guys haven’t already, my social medias are linked on the side of my profile.”

As you take in the notification that pops up at the top of the chatroom, the message follows after.

“Be a good girl and sit on your knees in front of the camera.”

Your eyes widen at the demand as a small flush overtakes your cheeks. "Oh.. sure." With a donation like that, you almost couldn’t refuse, as you do what it says and move your chair aside, getting onto the ground and on your knees.

The position causes your spandex to rise up your thighs, exposing your skin further.

Just then, another message pops up. A donation of five hundred dollars from @ThePogueMechanic.

“@ThePogueMechanic has donated $500”

“Fuck— now open your legs wide for me, princess.”

The warmth spreads on your cheeks at the request and you do it, the tight spandex stretching as you sit on your knees with your thighs wide. It shows off your camel toe, revealing your lack of panties.

The chat quickly spams and floods with various emojis and the viewers going crazy.

"Oh so hot"

"🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥”

"SEXY GIRL FUCK"

"Anonymous donated $50."

"@TheBarracudaMan donated $100."

However when another message pings, it isn’t directed towards you.

“Fuck off, Pogue. She’s mine.”

“Screw you, Kook. Princess belongs to me.”

"H-Hey, let's not do that, okay?- Why don’t I distract you?" You say, hoping to alleviate the situation, not wanting to cause any issues on your first stream. It seems to have worked a bit and you decide to change the subject by biting your lip and ignoring the redness of your cheeks as your hand travels down your body.

Your fingers meet the heat between your thighs and you rub your clit through the thin fabric of your spandex lightly.

And quickly the chat changes once again, and the two viewers who were briefly fighting in chat, were now shut silent behind their computers.

“Anonymous has donated $80”

“Anonymous has donated $25”

“Anonymous has donated $5”

“@KookTopper has donated $200”

But considering this was only your first stream and you were already feeling embarrassed and overwhelmed, you quickly stand up. The spandex had ridden up, the sudden movement also causing your breasts to bounce lightly as you lean forward. "U-uhm, I think this is all for today. I'll come on again soon, thank you everyone. See you next time." Your face was out of view and you shut off the stream.

And the two men behind their screens share the same thought, the memory of you rubbing your pussy through your shorts engraved in their memories.

"Shit."

a/n: ahhh so glad to finally get it done, I hope it reaches your expectations!! thank you so much for the support! and also, I really appreciate the patience. and do not worry, im working on the next chapter already :)

sorry if it seems so abrupt and rushed, it’s also not proofread.

taglist : @haruvalentine4321 @lilithblackkk @sleepiibunniiii @kiiyomei

Synvil™️ Do not copy my work.

[dragon-ascent]

Hi hi hi!!! I absolutely adore your Zhongli fics your characterization of him makes me swoon he’s such a cutie

Out of curiosity, what’s your opinion on the Zhongli/Morax x reader trope of reader initially being a sacrifice to the dragon god only for Zhongli to be like “What no I don’t take sacrifices???” And just taking reader in as a sort of roommate or something like that. It’s a trope I find really interesting and funny and I’m curious to hear your thoughts on it :)

Hi hi and thank you! Zhongli's the cutest patootie :) <3 And I freaking LOVE that trope!!! Like, easily top 3 trope for Zhongli if you ask me. (I could make a whole tierlist of tropes for him, but that's a post for another day haha.)

Ik you just asked for thoughts but have a little write-up, as a treat. :)

xxx

Rex Lapis is a tad offended that he'd be perceived as the type of god to take human sacrifices, since he does everything in his power to ensure mortals feel comfortable and safe around him. But he's assimilated many groups of people into his land, so it's only natural some may still retain the beliefs and customs they did under the deities preceding him, as grim as that may be.

When you're left in front of his abode as a sacrifice, he sees how urgently he needs to rectify those customs.

You're a jittery thing, all nerves and shudders and, to his dismay, rather scantily-clad especially given the season. He does his best to push the implications of your clothing to the back of his mind as he brings you into his home and warms you up by the fire with some nice warm blankets too.

He assures you he will not lay a finger on you with malicious intent, but you're staring at him like a deer in headlights - like he'll throw you into the fire at any moment if you so much as breathe wrong. Every movement of his makes you stiffen, and even the tea he brews for you is met with trepidation in every sip.

He can't send you back to your people as they'll believe you're a faulty sacrifice and kill you off themselves - so Rex Lapis takes you in his care instead.

He feeds you, clothes you, and even lets you rest in his bed while he takes the floor beside you. You're mostly quiet at first, but as the days pass and there's no sign of him hurting, devouring, or killing you, a seed of trust in his words blossoms. You believe the God of Contracts when he gives you his word he will keep you safe and cared for.

Given the way he treats you, there's no reason to feel otherwise - you've become something of a close companion to him, someone to share the tender joys and sorrows of life with. He used to go on strolls by his lonesome, but now he finds that having someone to walk with is much more enriching, giving his evenings an added tinge of fulfilment.

People do stare and whisper when they see you by the god's side, but if this is how Rex Lapis chooses to make use of their 'sacrifice,' who are they to argue?

Some watch, agog, as the golden deity takes you to the market and practically splurges on you. You shyly point to a sweet treat that looks appetizing, and he boxes a dozen of them without a moment's hesitation. A pretty accessory catches your eye for a second longer than the others, and when you turn to move on to the next stall, Rex Lapis is having said accessory taken off display and handed to you.

"These are the calligraphy brushes I spoke of yesterday," he tells you casually as he runs a finger along the sleek wooden writing instruments. "Would you like to give the activity a try?" It only takes one meek nod from you for him to get you a whole set of the brushes, promising to teach you when you both get home.

It's a shocking sight to everyone who'd betrayed you, everyone who'd so easily given you up for some false belief they held on to so stubbornly: here you are, being treated like you're actually worth something to the god, what with the way he smiles and laughs softly at something you say, the way he gently touches your elbow to veer you away from the evening rush, the way his footsteps fall in rhythm with yours.

As you pass certain familiar faces, your head snaps down and you fall silent, and Rex Lapis immediately knows they're the ones responsible for your plight. He throws them a sharp, stone-cold glare over your downcast head, and they recoil in fright, quickly turning the other way to pretend they can't feel like a whole landslide of shame now hurtles along their spines.

Needless to say, he is greeted by no more human sacrifices at his door. The one he does have, he ensures a long, happy and healthy life for.

[revelboo]

I’m absolutely melting over Spinster snuggling his big ol face against their lil human. It’s soo cute and fluffy and I love it when full-size mechs still find ways to do affectionate things like that despite the size difference.

Sounds like the Scavengers have a rough job ahead of them going off that ending. Makes me wondered if Spinister comes back in a unconscious state, would our honorary scavenger try to do the face nuzzling back in a worried attempt to wake him up?

Oooh drama. Yes, please. Gotta get there, though. Shenanigans first

A Lifeless Ordinary Pt 12

Scavengers x Reader

• “Right there. Don’t move,” Crankcase says as Spinister obediently stands in the doorway to the bridge completely oblivious. Otherwise he’d probably be offended or attack as Crankcase rigs up a blaster pointing at his head and tapes it down to a console. “Okay, tiny. Anyone comes through that door that’s not us, you pull this trigger.” Hooking a servo around you to drag you closer when you shy away. “You don’t hear them out or ask who they are. You shoot first. Understand?”

• “Yeah,” you mumble as Spin lifts a hand and waves from his spot playing target. Aware of the way Crankcase and Krok are both staring at you like they don’t believe you’ll be able to do it. “I can do it.” No, you’re pretty sure you can’t. Even if someone comes in with a gun drawn on you, you’re not sure you can just shoot them in the face point blank. You’re not nearly cold blooded enough for that, but you force a smile anyway so they won’t worry. Because you can’t really beg not to be left alone, can’t admit that you’re scared.

• “It’s not a kind galaxy,” Krok says, watching you clasp your hands together, avoiding their optics. “And you’re very soft.” Too soft. Too gentle. Anxiously clicking at the device in his hand, he’s almost tempted to tell Fulcrum to stay with you even though they need him. Primus knows Misfire can’t hit anything, Spinister gets distracted with his own shadow, and Crankcase sometimes freezes. “You can’t be soft out here.” Because you won’t survive and they need you here with them. Looking after their own because they’re all they each have and you’re part of that.

• “Try not to find a stupid way to die,” Misfire adds, reaching to gently flip your hair into your face. Grinning when you scowl at him, but don’t offer the rude hand gesture. You’ve been very careful not to do that anymore, he’s noticed. No longer interested in them? Or just embarrassed now that they know it’s an offer?

• Worried, you watch them gather their gear which mostly seems to be a small armory’s worth of guns and leave you behind on the console with a blaster you’re not even sure you’re strong enough to pull the trigger on. Rubbing your hands against your arms, you walk toward the edge of the console to sit and nearly fall flat on your face. Something has you by the leg and you yelp when you slide into an awkward sit on your hip, leg and foot in the air. You’re stuck to the alien equivalent of duct tape, one corner of it having rolled slightly. Swearing you try to pull loose, the stuff not budging at all. Awkwardly pulling yourself up, you hiss as your shirt sleeve gets stuck. And panic claws at you as you think of glue traps. Of small animals getting stuck and suffocating themselves trying to get loose. “Spin! Krok! Misfire?” You scream.

• Returning to the ship a full rotation later, it’s a relief to see it intact. The ramp still closed. Fulcrum vents as he follows Misfire inside, almost walking into the other con when he stops suddenly. And starts laughing. Leaning to look, he grimaces and shoves past Misfire. Because you’re half naked, your lower covering stuck to the tape, your upper cover hooked around your neck, the sleeve also stuck and the ends of your hair caught in the tape so you’re bent over at an awkward looking angle. Hearing them, your head turns and you’re leaking, making a hitching sound that sobers Misfire immediately. Both of them coming over. “Shh, it’s okay. Primus. How do we get you loose without hurting you?” Fulcrum asks, servos ghosting over you as you sob.

• “Tiny!” Spinister roars as soon as he spots you, rushing to get at you only to be stopped by Crankcase and Krok seizing his arms. “Let go!” Straining to get free as he drags them toward you. You’re in pain, hurting. That noise you’re making twisting unpleasantly in his spark as Krok hooks an arm around his neck. “Calm down, if you try to yank them loose you’ll hurt them,” Krok snarls as he’s dragged by the much bigger mech.

• “Cut me loose, please,” you whimper, neck, back and legs aching from the position you’re trapped in. Hear Spin howling as he fights against the other two then a thump and swearing. You’d tried to tear your hair loose for hours, but only ended up making it worse. And now you can’t stop bawling like a baby. Sniffling as Misfire produces a blade and then hesitates, expression almost stricken. “I’m sorry,” he says and then he’s sawing at your hair, trying to not take off too much. Fulcrum catching you when you pull loose from your shirt and fall backwards, legs tingling with pins and needles. “Does it hurt?” Slumped in Fulcrum’s palm, you look up at Misfire and it takes a moment to figure out what he’s talking about, taken by surprise by how miserable he looks.

• “I don’t feel it when my hair is cut, hun,” you say, just lying there. And he puts the blade away, wanting to reach for you as his optics slide to the tape you’d gotten caught on. Realizing what would have happened if you’d kept struggling, if you’d panicked trying to get free. That you’d have died there and it shocks through him how ridiculously fragile you are. Reaching to tip your flushed face up, watching your eyes leak, he feathers his servos against you to feel the frantic pounding of your heart. “Where’s Spin?” You ask, voice ragged. Glancing back, he winces. Growling a warning when Fulcrum turns with you cupped in his hands so you can see Spinister sprawled on the floor when Krok or Crankcase had decked him to keep him from freaking out and accidentally making things worse. “Spin!”

Previous

[amirasainz]

Hiiii, I love your blog so much. I was wondering if you could do Lando, who's girlfriend is a model. It is during the fashion weeks and she is very exhausted but boyfriend Lando takes care of her and is cheering her on the whole time. Thank you bby 💘

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 🧡

Lights, Camera and Flashes

The buzzing chaos of Fashion Month had arrived. Yn was in her element, juggling fittings, rehearsals, and back-to-back shows across New York, London, Milan, and Paris. As the world’s most sought-after model, her name was on every designer’s list. Each city meant new challenges, new outfits, and new pressures.

“Babe, are you sure you’re okay?” Lando asked as they touched down in New York for the first leg of the month.

Yn, seated beside him on the private jet, turned to give him a smile. “I’m fine, Lando. Just excited. It’s going to be a long month, but I’ve done this before.”

He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Yeah, but this year, you’re in every major show. You’re human, Yn, not a robot.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said firmly, squeezing his hand. “Especially with you here.”

Lando chuckled. “Alright, but remember, the moment you feel off, you tell me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she promised.

---

New York

The energy in New York was electric. Yn stepped into the first fitting at Alexander Wang’s studio, where she was immediately swarmed by assistants and stylists. Lando stayed close but out of the way, watching her work with awe.

“You’re staring again,” Yn teased during a break, catching him leaning against the wall with a goofy grin.

“Can’t help it,” he replied. “You’re incredible.”

Show day arrived, and Lando was front and center in the audience, holding a bouquet of red roses. As the music boomed and Yn stepped onto the runway, he couldn’t contain himself.

“Let’s go, Yn!” he shouted, drawing amused glances from nearby attendees.

Yn strutted down the runway, her confidence radiant. She caught Lando’s eyes briefly, a small smile tugging at her lips. When the show ended, Lando was waiting backstage with his bouquet, pulling her into a tight hug.

“You killed it,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Thanks, babe.”

But as they exited the venue, they were met by a sea of paparazzi. Lando immediately stepped into protective mode, wrapping his arm around Yn’s waist and glaring at anyone who got too close.

“Back up,” he barked, shielding her with his body.

“Lando, it’s okay,” Yn murmured, though she appreciated his protectiveness.

He guided her safely to their car, refusing to let go until they were away from the chaos.

---

London

The second week brought them to London, where Yn had fittings with Burberry and Victoria Beckham. Though she was still riding the high from New York, Lando noticed the subtle changes—her slightly slower pace, the way she leaned on him more often.

“Feeling alright?” he asked one evening as they returned to the hotel.

“Yeah,” she replied, but her voice lacked its usual energy.

Lando wasn’t convinced. After her first show in London, she came backstage to find him waiting with a massive bouquet of lilies.

“You didn’t have to do this again,” she said, though her smile betrayed how much she loved it.

“Of course, I did. You deserve it.”

The paparazzi were even more aggressive in London, shouting questions and shoving cameras in their faces. Lando tightened his grip on Yn’s hand, his jaw set.

“Lando, it’s fine,” she whispered, but he shook his head.

“It’s not fine. They don’t get to treat you like this.”

Once they were safely inside their car, Lando turned to her. “You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he said.

“I can handle it,” she replied softly.

“You shouldn’t have to,” he countered.

---

Milan

By the time they arrived in Milan, Yn’s energy was noticeably lower. Her flawless walk on the runway was still the talk of the industry, but off-stage, she was quieter, more fatigued.

“You’re not eating enough,” Lando pointed out one morning as she picked at her breakfast.

“I’m just not hungry,” she said.

“You’re running on fumes, Yn,” he said, his voice filled with concern.

“I’m fine, Lando,” she insisted, though the dark circles under her eyes told a different story.

Lando doubled down on his support, making sure she had everything she needed. After each show, he was there with flowers, helping her navigate the crowds and shielding her from the paparazzi.

When she came back to the hotel after her third show in Milan, she collapsed onto the bed. Lando didn’t say a word; he simply ordered room service, drew a bath, and set up her favorite playlist.

“Come on, princess,” he said, lifting her gently. “Time to relax.”

---

Paris

By the time they reached Paris, Yn was running on pure determination. Paris Fashion Week was the grand finale, and every major designer wanted her.

Lando could see how hard she was pushing herself, and it worried him.

“Yn, you need to slow down,” he said one evening as they walked back to their suite.

“I can’t,” she replied, her voice cracking. “This is the biggest week of the year.”

“And you’re the biggest model of the year. You’ve already proven yourself,” he argued. “Your health is more important.”

She didn’t respond, but he noticed the tears welling in her eyes.

On the night of her final show, Lando was louder than ever, cheering her on as she walked the runway. When it was over, he met her backstage with the largest bouquet yet.

“You did it,” he said, pulling her into his arms.

“I’m so tired,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

“I know, baby. I’ve got you,” he said, kissing her forehead.

---

When they finally returned to their hotel that night, Lando went all out to pamper her. He ordered her favorite food, prepared a warm bubble bath, and queued up her favorite movie.

“Lando,” Yn said as she sank into the bath, “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, sitting beside the tub. “You’re my princess, Yn. You deserve the world.”

As the movie played later, Yn curled up in Lando’s arms, her head resting on his chest.

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

“You don’t have to do anything alone,” he replied, brushing a kiss against her temple. “I’ll always be here for you.”

Yn drifted off to sleep, the exhaustion of the month finally catching up to her. But with Lando by her side, she felt safe, loved, and completely at peace.

And for Lando, there was no greater honor than being her rock.

[coco-loco-nut]

Poster Child

Pairing: Charles x Reader

Summary: you love your brother, but not when you are with another guy

masterlist requests open

——————————

“Wanna get out of here?” the guy you’ve dedicated your night to flirting with finally asks. You finish your drink with a smirk.

“I thought you’d never ask,” you grab your bag off the back of your chair, allowing the blond man to take your free hand and lead you out of the bar. Your giggles fill the air of the busy Monaco streets as he whispers in your ear, compliments and dirty thoughts to excite you for the night ahead.

The taxi arrives quickly. You sit in the back, bodies pressed against each other. He presses soft kisses to your neck, cheek, and lips as his hands start to wander. The ride is soon over as you arrive at his apartment building.

“Do you have roommates?” you ask curiously as you enter the building.

“No, I have a studio. It’s a really nice place,” you nod as he speaks, observing the building and trying not to judge at its run down state. The door creaks as he pushes it open.

The apartment is a bit messy, trash bin close to full with takeout containers. You sit down on the couch, ignoring the slight mess as you are laid back. The couch is slightly lumpy, only uncomfortable if you stay for too long.

When he starts tugging at your top, you pull away, eyes darkened with desire.

“Should we take this to the bedroom?” he asks, voice husky. He picks you up, allowing your legs to wrap around him as he carries you into his bedroom. You are gently laid onto your back on the bed. His kisses move from your mouth to your neck and you open your eyes a little bit to watch and look around.

It’s fairly standard for single men, posters of footballers, memorabilia, and a poster of Charles Leclerc. Your eyes widen, mood immediately soured as you close your eyes again.

Ignore it, it’s not a big deal, he clearly doesn’t know who you are. You try to refocus, get back in the mood. Your hookup starts to travel lower and your eyes fly wide open again.

“I can’t do it, I’m so sorry,” you quickly sit up, rushing out to the couch to grab your phone and purse. You lean against the wall in the hallway, staring at your phone. Ubers are increasingly expensive, and there are none available at the moment. Swiping out of the app, your finger hovers over the button you really don’t want to press.

The door knob beside you wiggles and you dart down the poorly lit hallway, racing down the stairs to leave the building. You press the button and after two rings your savior picks up.

“Charles, can you pick me up?” you sound like you are about to either laugh or cry and you feel like it too, standing on the streets of Monaco.

“Are you okay?” his voice is groggy, you can picture him checking the time, quietly telling Alexandra to go back yo sleep before taking the call. “Never mind, I’ll be there in five minutes,”

“But you are across the city,” you reply, confused as you hear the door click behind Charles.

“I’m a professional race car driver, I could be there in two if I needed to,” Charles says before hanging up. You sit on the concrete, back against the wall of the building.

Just as he said, you hear the roar of the Ferrari as it approaches right on time.

“Did he have a small dick?” Charles asks as soon as you sit down. You can’t help but to laugh, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Worse,” you tell him, feeling the car pull away.

“Visible STD?”

“A poster of you,” you tell him. Charles almost slams on the breaks.

“Oh, I thought you loved me? Your favorite older brother,” he jokes.

“I don’t want poster you watching me. It felt weird,” you sink into the seat.

“He should love me, that’s a green flag,” Charles continues his teasing, not really knowing how to respond properly.

Charles wraps an arm around your shoulders, leading you to his guest room.

“No poster here, I promise. Get some sleep,” Charles gives you a quick squeeze before disappearing into his own room.

You wake up to the smell of coffee and a duffle bag beside the bed. Curiously you open it up, finding a change of clothes and some toiletries. You take it into the bathroom, meeting to change and freshen up before leaving the guest room.

“Look who finally woke up,” you perk up at Lorenzo’s voice.

“Charles said you might need a sibling day, something about a traumatic night?” Arthur’s eyes sparkle. They know.

“How could I have known,” you groan, flopping onto the couch beside Lorenzo. At least he won’t tease you, he always protects you from Charles and Arthur.

“Maybe you should start background checking guys,” Lorenzo jokingly suggests.

“Alright, that’s enough. You aren’t helping,” Charles walks in, bringing you a cup of coffee. “Thank you for bringing clothes,” Charles tells Arthur who stares longingly at the coffee.

“Go get your own,” you tell Arthur, sipping the smooth roast.

“Your twin telepathy is unreal,” Lorenzo shakes his head as Arthur walks away to get coffee.

“Alright, comfort movie first then retail therapy,” Charles sits beside you, sandwiching you between him and Enzo.

“Maybe I should make bad choices more often,”

[supermenz]

one

summary: One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do; two can be as bad as one, it's the loneliest number since the number one. Or: you're two years old when you lose your parents. Your brother, a kid himself, is unable to give you the love you deserve, and you end up at twenty being as burn out as only a Gotham University student can be. So, what do you do? Change scenery, of course.

pairing(s): clark kent x wayne!reader, bruce wayne x sister!reader, eventual platonic batfam x reader (no use of y/n)

warnings: genius kid trope, kinda doomed siblings, language, there are reference to what happens in "the batman" but there will be a merge of both comics and films, written with david!superman in mind cuz he's my pookie 😞, bruce is so pathetic i love him sm

word count: 2.2k

author's note: my first ever fanfic for the dc universe!! constructive criticism is welcomed as english is not my first language,

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Gotham has left you feeling more claustrophobic in the last few months than it did all your life. 

Maybe it’s because you’re seeing your brother slip into his work — aka beating criminals in the night as a hobby — more and more, or maybe it’s just your brain playing tricks on you. It’s probably the latter. 

You’ve never been good with emotions — it comes with being a Wayne, and surely, having your parents die before you were three didn’t help your situation. Bruce spending most of your childhood abroad with barely any contact with you also probably didn’t help either. 

“But I’m here now,” he had said once, “Am I not?”

He is, but even if you love him with all your heart, sometimes you think that you’re more like colleagues rather than siblings. Your bond is strained, with him being so closed-off and spending most of his free time cosplaying as a bat, and you having just entered your twenties, trying to get your second degree in biology after an early graduation and an even earlier PhD in engineering. And since his first big case four years ago, neither of you has been the same. 

Your relationship has never been easy. The flood and the Riddler’s case basically forced you to trauma bond over what you both had experienced, as surely no therapist would’ve wanted to hear about all the horrors that you two experienced, even for all the money in the world. Besides, it’s not like Bruce could just enter a therapist’s office and tell them that he’s the fucking Batman. 

As of now, you tend to have your… ups and downs. Both prefer to just hide behind paperwork, projects, cases or research rather than just talk some things out. Because yes, Bruce’s your brother, but that doesn’t mean he’s easy to love. There are some days where he seems to be barely able to talk to you, others where you know he just wants to scream at you for whatever reason, others where… others where you think he might just crumble at your feet and start crying. 

You don’t have a lot in common. Maybe that’s why he manages to stay in Gotham even after all that’s happened — combined with the fact that he’s spent ten years or so abroad. Maybe you need that, too. 

“I’m thinking of moving out,” you tell him during one of your rare dinners together. You have already talked about your plan to Alfred, who has shown his support towards the idea and urged you to get out of Gotham as soon as you could, but you also wanted to tell Bruce — just to be honest with him. 

Yes, he left you to study abroad all those years ago without any kind of goodbye or anything, but you have no intention of leaving him behind like he did to you — you may be grown adults now, but that doesn’t mean that being left behind doesn’t exist anymore. You doubt Bruce would ever feel left behind by you, of all people, but still. “Found a faculty in Metropolis that will be able to transfer all my credits and studies and a nice flat downtown near the Wayne Enterprises’ site there. I think I need a breath of fresh air– I need to go somewhere where the sun actually shines and not everyone has hidden agendas.”

You’ve heard good things about Metropolis, and you think that the Martha Wayne Foundation could be expanded a bit more — somewhere far from Gotham, where surely there are other orphanages, other people in need that could use some help. “I could handle Wayne Enterprise’s gestion and settle our matters there while continuing my studies in a more… calm environment.” calm is a big word for a metropolitan city as big and populated as Metropolis, but every city is calm in contrast to Gotham.  

Your brother doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you, wide-eyed, fork still raised to eat the potatoes Alfred cooked, his face blank. Is he having a heart attack? You didn’t think that you moving out would’ve been such horrendous news for him. Yes, even if you are not that close he’s still very protective, but he went to live abroad at ten. You’re twenty and you’re just… moving to Delaware. It’s not like you’re going to the fucking Himalaya mountains as he did. 

(Meanwhile, Bruce is spiraling. He wonders when the hell did his little sister grow up, how it can be that she isn’t the little girl he used to sway around anymore, and why would she ever want to move out. Is it because of him? Did something happen? 

Isn’t Metropolis in another state? Is he so tremendous that you have to move states in hopes to forget about him? Is he too overbearing? He thought he had always given you enough space to do your own thing–)

Instead of saying all of the things he’s thinking, he tries to muster up a smile, even if it comes out as a grimace. “Alright.” 

He nearly jumps out of his seat when you beam at him — is he really that obnoxious that you can’t wait to move out and have him out of your life? “Oh, I’m happy that you’re taking it well! I was afraid you’d freak out.” you get up from your seat and move over to hug him, and he chuckles nervously. “Why would I? You’re an adult, you can do what you want.” 

(What do you mean?!, his conscience screams in his head, She isn’t even twelve! Just yesterday she was talking about going to the homecoming dance with her friends–

But time has passed, and even if Bruce feels that it was particularly hard on him, he didn’t think it’d affect you too, somehow. It’s weird acknowledging something’s — someone’s — changes in the years in… so little. He had gotten so used to you being his little sister that he didn’t even think about you becoming a full on woman. He still remembers the pink bundle of blankets your parents had given him that day at the hospital, telling him to be careful with her, she’s your little sister.

When have you grown this much? Where did the time go? He swears it was just yesterday when you were admitted to Gotham University.) 

“But… a flat? Are you sure you’ll be comfortable there? It’s not exactly as big as a manor.” 

You avoid his gaze, scratching the back of your head. “Yeah, about that…”

He raises an eyebrow, “Let me guess, you bought the whole building?” 

You snap your fingers, “They don’t call you the greatest detective for nothing!” you sit back down, cutting the meat on your plate, “I plan on making the floors I won’t live in into a laboratory of sort– almost like the Batcave, y’know, so I can continue working on the models I designed undisturbed.”

When Bruce had started his crusade as Batman, you had just gotten your bachelor’s degree in engineering, and were working on your master’s degree. You had basically given him the head-start, creating the software of the Batcomputer (or of the computer, as he calls it), designed and adapted a sport’s car to the Batmobile (just call it the car, Bruce always insists) and basically modified and created every single one of the gadgets and systems he uses. 

You just hope he won’t let the Batcomputer get hacked as soon as you land in Metropolis — you spent weeks programming her and years perfecting her system. You spent so much time on her, she might as well be your firstborn by now. 

“I’ll always be a call away,” you murmur when your brother’s eyes get a little dazy, unfocused– like he’s in another world, always thinking about the worst that could happen. “You know that, right?”

Bruce blinks. “Yeah. Yeah, I– I know that.” 

(He isn't sure about that.) 

You pat his hand, mustering a smile. "Maybe you should take a break, too. Why don't you book a vacation in, let's say... the Bahamas? Just to get a bit tanned and remember what the sun actually looks like."

He shakes his head. "Can't. Batman doesn't go on vacation."

You raise an eyebrow, sighing in defeat. "Well, I'm sure the GCPD could handle Gotham for a few days, but do as you like."

Your arrival in Metropolis is, of course, followed by an unhinged swarm of journalists and press that surround you as soon as you land.

You can already see the headlines — THE PRINCESS OF GOTHAM NOW IN METROPOLIS or some other corny predictable shit like that — as they shove their cameras in your face, screaming and trying to grab you, as your bodyguards try to contain them. You're much calmer than they are, having already endured years and years of invasive journalists.

“Miss Wayne, would you care to tell us the reason for this abrupt change in scenery?”

“Has your move got anything to do with your relationship with your brother?”

“Miss Wayne, look here! A smile for the front page–”

“Miss Wayne, why Metropolis, of all places?”

“Miss Wayne, a word for the Daily Planet?”

The guy for the Daily Planet catches your attention– he seems far too nice and isn’t elbowing anyone; he must be either new at the job or is too nice for it. He’s got a mop of curly, black hair atop his head, thick glasses perched on his nose, baby blue eyes behind them. His posture is a little crooked — he’s getting squeezed by reporters on both of his sides — but, even as disheveled as he is, you notice a thing. 

Ohh, he’s pretty. Like, jaw-dropping pretty, the kind of pretty that makes you want to bite his cheek and never let go for the rest of your life. 

You stop in your tracks, lifting your sunglasses to your head, bodyguards panicking at the swarm of journalists that suddenly all point to one direction; you reach for the pocket of your jeans and take out a business card that you pat on the pretty reporter’s chest. “Another time, pretty boy,” you promise as he takes the card, his fingers brushing yours, the other journalists speechless around you. “I’m kinda busy right now.” 

You don’t stay long enough to see him blush and hold the business card tight in his palm so that the other reporters don’t snatch it out of his grip — the bodyguards urge you forward, towards the SUV with obscured windows that is waiting for you right in front of the arrivals’ exit of the airport. One of them opens the door for you, and you don’t hesitate to get inside, the car speeding off as soon as everyone’s inside. 

“Never seen anything like this,” one of the men mutters.

You shrug, “I’ve had worse.” 

The ride to your building is short, mostly because it’s late in the evening and there aren’t many people still around. You leave a generous tip to both the bodyguards and the driver, thanking them but assuring them that you can walk alone the thirty steps that separate you from the entrance to what’ll be your home for the foreseeable future. They help you take out your trolley and duffle bag, which you swing over your shoulder right after taking the keys of the building out. 

You open the front door, carefully closing it behind you, taking the elevator right in front of it. You press the number thirty out of thirty-four, which turns green with a ding, and wait for the doors to open back up. And once they do, you’re not disappointed. 

The loft is arranged just like how you asked the movers to — it would’ve been hard not to, as you sent them the 3D interior design plan you had made, but still. You’ve been raised with the idea that if you want something done well, you have to do it yourself, so you’re pretty happy about how it turned out. 

Still, something’s missing. 

You check around the loft for any pieces of missing furniture or something like that, not finding anything. You even go back to the 3D model to make sure that everything got here safe and sound, only to find that yes, everything is in the colour you ordered and exactly in the place you asked for it to be. 

You sit on the U-shaped couch that sits right in front of the giant windows that let on the skyline of Metropolis, eyebrows knit in deep thought. The house is nice — for fuck’s sake, you bought a whole building just for you and your projects — but it’s weird not having anyone else around. There’s no Alfred to welcome you, no half-asleep Bruce roaming without an idea of where he is, no squeaking and creaking of the floor when you walk. 

You sigh. “Maybe I should get a cat.” 

[xoxochb]

Prue, if I may, Percy with a stubble 👀 I feel like it would suit him so well 🫣

omg hello I’m picturing logan lerman just hear me out on this…

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“mhm. I like you.”

“I know, sweet girl— ya tell— mphm— ya tell me that everyday.”

you squeal and lift your lips from his own to kiss his forehead, cupping his stubbled jaw in your hands. then, you kiss his nose, each cheek, between his eyes, each closed eyelid, back down to his cupid’s bow, and claiming his lips again twice, pecks.

percy’s hands find themselves underneath your shirt, rubbing the skin of your waist and pulling your torso further into his own. you don’t fight this. in fact, with this, you place your hands lightly on his shoulders to steady yourself atop his lap.

though, when you pull back fully you take a moment to admire him, tousled raven hair via your hands, perfectly reddened lips from relentless kissing, half-lidded sea green eyes staring at your own lips, and the stubble covering his jaw.

you bite down your bottom lip and run your fingers over it diligently before leaning down and kissing each portion following your fingertips path. it admittedly hurts a tad to run over your own skin, but you wouldn’t dare tell him that— especially not when you fell his smile against your forehead.

when you pull away again percy wears the same dazed lovesick look as before. you squeal yet again and tightly drape your arms around his neck, pulling his head into your chest.

“what’s got you so happy, sweet girl?” percy murmurs, muffled within your skin before placing a kiss to your pulse point.

“you!” you let your lips linger on the top of his head. “you’re pretty and your mine!”

“your happy because me?”

“yes, yes, yes!”

you forcibly pull his head from your chest mid-kiss and cup his cheeks between your palms— eagerly, happily connecting his lips with your own.

“I love you,” you whisper into his mouth. and you repeat the same phrase between pecks. his grip on your waist tightens slightly, careful not to hurt you.

percy reciprocates each ‘I love you’ with his own after you, put to an end half the time by your lips, but he tries his best!

he pulls back from your mouth, boyish smirk adorning his lips in such a way you’d grown to love, “y’know what— I like you too, sweet girl.”

[star2fishmeg]

ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ

Pairing | Luke Hughes x afab!reader Summary | (comfort angst, fluff) | all it took was a terrible headache for y/n to break and really tell Luke what was wrong, and he provides the best remedy Authors Note | please accept this blurb based on a dream caused by a criminal headache I had while I get through celly blurbs and my inbox🥺

The headache that’d haunted her all day only pounded worse, pain relief only doing so much to ease the aching. Luke felt useless, there was only so much he could do and taking the pain away was not one of them. All he could do was gently caress her thigh hooked over his legs and hold her to his chest, arm wound around her waist and providing a kiss on her forehead every now and then. 

Her fingers traced feathery patterns over his skin, changing between his chest and following the ridges of his abs down to his v-line, feeling the heat that radiated off his body and embracing hers. They lay in silence, listening to breathing fall into sync and the video quietly playing from Luke’s phone and her brain worked overtime, the cogs turning and falling into the deepest pits of the human conscience, comments she’d read and heard emerging from her memory. The gossip pages, the media, other girlfriends and wives and maybe they were right. Maybe she wasn’t right for him; not mature enough, not established enough, not flexible enough and not pretty enough. 

Wetness seeped onto his bare skin, and he closed his phone, placing it onto the sheets before cupping her cheek, “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’, head just hurts.” She slid her hand over his stomach, cuddling into him but his fingers took her jaw, tilting her head up to face him. Worry spread across his face, eyes widening softly, eyebrows pulling together slightly.

“Y/n…” he said concerned, “talk to me, what’s it you always tell me? We’re a team?”

She paused and sighed, “Jus’...sometimes the people are right, I don’t deserve you. You’re this big-time, hotshot hockey player and I have nothing to my name, jus’ some chick.”

His grip around her tightened and he let her face go, slowly pulling her on top of his body completely, with consideration to the pounding in her head. Luke never liked the media and knew it came with his career, but when it impacted the people he loved the most, then he had a personal problem with it. His jaw tensed when more tears spilt onto his chest silently.

“Oh, angel,” Luke’s hand settled on the back of her head tenderly, brushing loose strands of hair away from her face while his arm secured around her middle, “who said that? You know that’s not true-” “-but it just is, Lu. Not a thriving model, not a career woman, just y/n who still relies on her parents half the time. Getting a part-time job has been tragic and while you’re working your ass off out there, I’m just sitting around.” She sobbed, Luke’s stomach twisting and he kissed her head. 

He’d never been confident in sharing how he felt, never being able to find the right words but with so much adrenaline and heartache running through his system, they seemed to fall off his tongue with a rawness to them. 

“But you’re not just ‘some chick’. That’s why I love you. You’re y/n. You’re a student who’s graduating soon, in a field she enjoys and you’re literally only twenty. Just because you aren’t living a life someone else is, doesn’t make you any less of a person. I don’t care that you’re not a public figure or whatever. Actually, I like that you aren’t and wish we went to college together because that would’ve been cool, so many parties to make out at. My point is that you bring normality, and I don’t care if you have a job or not, I’m always gonna support you in everything because I love you.” 

Y/n’s lip quivered, heart swelling as the sweet confession soaked into her ears. Typical Luke, even when he didn’t realise it, he always knew what to say. She pushed herself up onto her forearms, palms flat on his chest and his hands followed the curve of her spine up to her shoulder blades and down to her ass, soothingly with a small, comforting smile. 

He cupped her cheek, using his thumb to wipe one of her eyes before she melted into his palm, “Thank you, I love you so much.”

She leant in, pressing a long and slow kiss to his lips, moaning when he groped her ass and giggling. He didn’t mind taking that extra breath if it meant he could listen to her giggle and light up again. Luke slid his hand to the back of her neck, goosebumps running along her skin, and he pulled her into another adoring kiss. A kiss worth a thousand more words, with warmth, a deep kiss with his mouth opening to invite her tongue to meet his and lick into her mouth. She was just y/n and Luke wouldn’t have had it any other way.