#if you somehow deciphered this no you didn’t

[campirefangs]

[cherienymphe]

A Caged Bird (Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, blackmail, stalking, abuse of power, hints of dacryphilia, slightly spoiler-esque

summary: Birds are best kept in a cage where one can see them...and where you know where they are at all times.

~

You thought that it was over when you won.

That’s what winning The Hunger Games meant, right? The psychological torture, the grueling conditions, and the fear that wouldn’t leave you until you finally left the arena was supposed to be over. You made it out through blood, sweat, and tears, and so your reward was to go home and reunite with your family and try your best to put the memories behind you.

Try your best to put him behind you.

So, why were you still being tormented?

When you first locked eyes with Coriolanus Snow, your first thought was how strikingly blue his were. Almost as if they weren’t real and had been specially manufactured in The Capitol for him, somehow. His hair, too, was just so much blonder than anything you’d seen in District 12, and again, you noted how so much about him seemed…artificial.

…but then he spoke…and the effect his voice had on you was very real.

“You don’t seem like you’re supposed to be here,” you’d said to him after stepping off of that train.

His response was expected, a charming chuckle leaving his pink lips, blond curls the perfect addition to his features.

“I’m not,” he slowly admitted.

The intensity behind his gaze whenever he so much as glanced at you was enough to make any girl’s heart race, and despite what you wished, you weren’t immune. He was beautiful—gorgeous as some of the other tributes and mentors liked to call him—and despite the initial intimidation, there was something about him that made you want to let your guard down.

…but he was your mentor…and a capitol citizen…and you were nothing more than his ticket to notoriety.

“Don’t you know who his dad was?” another tribute, one from one of the better districts, had said to you in a tone like you were stupid.

That was all the confirmation you needed, really.

…but he’d hopped onto the truck with you and gotten into that cage with you and brought you and your district mate food. He gave you poison to use against the other tributes. He wanted you to appeal to the audience so he’d have the funds to send you supplies. It was hard to decipher what was purely for show and what was just because he wanted you—and him by extension—to win. Perhaps, they were one in the same though, and it was impossible to have one without the other. Maybe it didn’t matter his reasons behind his desire to have his tribute win.

Maybe all that mattered was that you’d win.

…but that was when you thought winning meant you’d be free.

Coriolanus Snow was your best chance at winning, and so when the rebels rigged the arena, you didn’t hesitate to stay behind and save him. It wasn’t even a question in your mind because mentor or not, he was hurt, and you had to believe that that one fluke was not your only fighting chance. You couldn’t allow yourself to believe that in saving him, you’d allowed freedom to pass you by.

“You saved me,” he told you, a gentle brush of his handkerchief under your eye to catch your tears. “You saved me, and I am going to get you out of here.”

You had no idea then that he meant out of the games…and to him.

It was that flickering moment of doubt where you wondered if you could actually win, and you recalled what you’d said to him earlier about believing you could, how much you needed him to actually believe it. Now, you were the one doubting, and he could see it, blue gaze flicking over your face and soaking in the fear and uncertainty, because if you couldn’t win…

You’d die.

A lingering gaze and a tense atmosphere, and you felt yourself pulling back, realization hitting you as to just what you were about to let happen. It was hard to decipher who overstepped first, but you couldn’t allow yourself to get wrapped up in something that was only ever meant to be strictly professional. Coriolanus was your mentor, and you were his tribute.

That was all.

You didn’t know then the full lengths he went to just to ensure your victory. How could you? You were too busy trying to survive, trying to fight off rabid tributes and teenagers driven mad with the sole desire to just live. It was all so unfair and angering, and you were sure that with less focus, you might’ve gone insane too. You didn’t have the luxury to worry about your eerily handsome mentor and whatever ulterior motives he might’ve had to see you beat this thing.

So, when you did win, all you could feel was relief. All you could focus on was your family and their faces when you’d ultimately reunite with them. All you could even entertain were thoughts of pushing this very real nightmare to the back of your mind for as long as you possibly could. Initially, you didn’t even notice that you weren’t immediately reunited with your mentor when they crowned you as the winner and got you out of there.

At least, not until you came face to face with him in your own district.

“I thought they’d killed you. I didn’t know if my actions had come back on you too,” Coriolanus told you in a secluded corner, the loud music drowning out his words and the cover of darkness hiding your faces.

Those beautiful pale curls were gone, and any thought that so much of his beauty relied on his golden locks was gone too with one drink of him. He was still the same handsome boy that mentored you, the same one who’d garnered the nickname ‘gorgeous’ among the other tributes. Up on that stage, you’d been thrown to meet a familiar gaze, your harmonious tune pausing for half a second as he met your shocked stare with an expression of his own you couldn’t place, pink lips curved upwards ever so slightly.

Any question of how and why he was here had disappeared as you registered his words. Confusion filled you as you stared at him, a slight frown between your brows as you wracked your brain for how that could possibly make sense.

“Why would they kill me…?” you slowly asked him, and you and the shadows were all that was privy to his confession.

The water bottles, the handkerchief, and the snakes—even the poison. Coriolanus had cheated to secure your victory, broken rules that plucked him out of The Capitol and dropped him here in your very own district as a Peacekeeper. The shock you felt that your victory was far from a fair one warred with the confusion you felt as to why he’d risk everything just for you to win.

If you’d lost fair and square—as you probably should have—there was no doubt in your mind that he’d be safely tucked away in the lavishness of The Capitol instead of lingering about in some rundown excuse for a bar in lowly District 12. If he knew what awaited him should his treachery be discovered…then why chance it? Nothing about your brief tutelage with him could justify what he’d risked and ultimately lost.

You wanted to ask him why, but something in you was afraid of the answer.

That almost kiss—a kiss you hadn’t thought about in months—suddenly came to mind, and even though you didn’t ask him why, something in you knew why even if you wanted to deny it. It was there in the dim lighting and rowdy atmosphere of some rundown building that every minor interaction didn’t start to feel so minor.

Every brush of his hand against yours as he reached for you, the unsettling way he seemed to watch you in that short time that you’d simply written off as concern for his tribute, and the ruthless desire to see you out on the other side of the arena. The kiss that never was only seemed like a lapse in judgement to you then, but in this moment, you had suspicions that it was very much intentional.

You swallowed, realizing that in that brief internal introspection, Coriolanus hadn’t taken his eyes off of you once.

“Did they send you to District 12?” you finally asked him.

You didn’t know what gave you away. Perhaps your tone, maybe your face, or maybe your eyes weren’t as secretive as you’d like to believe. Either way, something about your visage and demeanor gave the blond man pause, head tilting just a tad as those baby blues glinted with something you didn’t recognize but you know you didn’t like. He studied your face before coming up with the answer he probably thought you wanted.

“Of course.”

You didn’t know if you believed him.

…and Coriolanus could tell.

You’d played enough cat and mouse games in the arena—you never thought you’d have to play them in your own home too.

Starving off the affections of some boy in your district wasn’t hard or uncharted territory. Even spurning the forbidden advances of a Peacekeeper or two wasn’t unheard of, but Coriolanus was different. He wasn’t some average Joe turned cop. He was born and raised in The Capitol with a powerful father, and even though the man had been taken before his time, your former mentor still had been brought up with the kind of influence and reach and mindset that surpassed the average Peacekeeper.

They were followers—controlled by The Capitol and tasked with maintaining order. Most were no more than dumb brutes, mindlessly following orders without question, simple enough to be bribed and swayed. If Coriolanus’ actions had shown you anything, it was that he was not a follower. He did what he wanted and played by his own rules, and it was how you found yourself hunted by a gaze you thought you’d left behind in the arena.

Since the discovery of your former mentor’s presence in your district, you never felt alone.

Every walk to trade for food felt shadowed, every footstep home was accompanied with an echo, and a sweep of your eye over the crowd as you played an instrument or sang a tune was rewarded with a familiar blue one that made your heart freeze. You were forced to ignore it no longer when a single rose was left for you on the doorstep, your ma’s gaze questioning as she held it out to you.

You didn’t know where or how he got it, but you only cared about giving it back.

“I can’t accept this,” you told him, gaze steady but fingers trembling as you held it out to him.

It was raining, and the cover over your heads sheltered you from the downpour, but it did little to drown out the sound of it. Coriolanus simply stared at the flower for what felt like too long, making no moves to take it from you, and you swallowed. His blue gaze zeroed in on the action before it lifted to your face.

“…and why not?”

“Because I think it means something different to you than it does to me.”

Your response was swift, and you watched him sigh, eventually reaching out to finger the flower like he did that day before he’d proceeded to put it behind your ear. He finally took it, and just like that day before the games, it found its way behind your ear once again. The only change this time was the shudder that traveled down your spine, and the apprehension you felt when his gaze met yours.

For the longest time, the only sound was that of the rain, a few stray drops making it’s way onto your face and clothes due to the wind. If the man before you still had the locks you’d met him with, they would’ve been rustling with the breeze, right now. Both of you were very still, or maybe it was just you—nervous and fearful of how he’d respond. He briefly looked past you, eyes glinting briefly before they hardened once again, his pink lips pressed together as he regarded you.

“…and if it does?”

He continued when you frowned.

“Mean something different to me than it does to you,” he elaborated, and you blinked.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to gather your thoughts.

“I know…that I’m only standing here, now, because of you,” you slowly started, watching him push his shoulders back. “I won because of you, I know that, but-.”

“Exactly,” he cut you off, making your lips part. “You won because of me…and everything I sacrificed was to make sure you won.”

“…but I didn’t ask you to do that!”

You felt…cornered, somehow, because on the one hand, yes. You did owe so much to the man before you, but at the same time, what did you owe specifically? Your attention? Your affection? Whatever he deemed an appropriate compensation? When you saved his life in the arena that day, and he vowed to save yours in return, you didn’t understand the full ramifications of the deal you were agreeing to.

“I saved your life, and you saved mine, and I’m sorry for the things you felt the need to risk, but that’s where it ends.”

The cold from the rain didn’t faze you nearly as much as the heat from his gaze boring into your back.

You wanted to believe that your lack of confrontation was what led you to the predicament you found yourself in. After all, things between you two had held too many ‘what ifs’ and lingering feelings and questions. You liked to hope that telling the man in no uncertain terms that your relationship should never and would never progress beyond anything professional would fix things.

You never would’ve guessed that your bout of confidence would only prove to make things worse.

“My ma doesn’t even know any rebels, and you know that.”

You’d whispered the words so quietly, throat too choked up to speak any louder as you tearfully stared Coriolanus down, your words only intended for the two of you. Your back was pressed to the doorway as he stood before you, a foot or two of space between you as other Peacekeepers did their duty to search your house as thoroughly as possible. The reason you’d been given was suspicion of treason—to the shock of your ma—but both you and the handsome man before you knew the truth.

“One can never be too sure. It’s always those you least expect.”

His cool response only made you look away, a few tears escaping.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You won, you were free, so why did it still feel like you were in the game…except a much more dangerous one this time? You could feel his eyes on you as you watched man after man rifle through you and your ma’s things, your younger sister not home to witness this. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him take a step towards you—just one, but one was enough to make you flinch.

You still didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him though.

“Unbearable,” he quietly said. “…not able to be endured…or tolerated.”

You swallowed.

“Not to be confused with hard—requiring a great deal of endurance or effort.”

Another step towards you.

“To find something unbearable means that you quite literally cannot stomach it any longer. It forces a change to come, forces something to…give,” he whispered.

Your gaze was still focused ahead, but his words made you blink, made your heart sink, and you swore that he knew that.

“I can make things incredibly unbearable for you…and your family.”

You straightened at that, finally looking at him with a venomous gaze and a heaving chest. Coriolanus reached up to pick at your shirt, removing a piece of grass from it, and you watched him inspect it before turning his blue eyes back onto you. They lingered on your own eyes before lowering to your lips, his own twitching so subtly you might’ve missed it if you were anyone else.

“Or I can make sure you’ll be taken care of, looked after as if you were my own…” his gaze met yours again. “It’s entirely your choice.”

You two stared at one another for an infuriating amount of time before he let out a sharp whistle, telling the other men that nothing seemed to be here and to move on. His wording was not lost on you, and you crossed your arms over your chest. Coriolanus was the last to walk out, and despite the feel of his heavy gaze, you didn’t look his way the entire time.

Your ma commented on the strangeness of the whole ordeal, but nothing about it was strange to you. It was all very calculating and sinister actually, and while you grew up hearing countless talk of running away and living off the grid, you were never more tempted than in this moment…but you were not alone. Your ma was sickly, and your sister was too young.

…and if you left, you could only guess what you’d be leaving your family susceptible to.

Your future seemed inevitable no matter how much you tried to find a way out of the path set for you.

The first night you slept with Coriolanus Snow, it was storming just like that day you’d attempted to give him back his flower. You’d cried for a good three hours before, feeling helpless in the aftermath of another so-called inspection from Peacekeepers—this one much more destructive. The only light that night came from the brief flashes of lightning, and the sound of the rain drowned out the reluctant gasps to leave your lips.

Hands much softer than you ever expected trailed down your frame, curving over your hips and dipping underneath your thighs. The blond man’s lips rarely left your skin, kissing whatever part of you that came to mind, nose gently grazing you as he did and pulling shudders from your frame. It was a foreign feeling to be so heated and afraid at the same time.

Under the cover of darkness, his fingers intertwined with your own and his hips were flush with yours. The feel of him inside of you was much more jarring than you thought it would be, choked deep breaths leaving your parted lips as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck. His thrusts were slow, the complete opposite of what you expected, and you didn’t know if you liked that better or worse.

Every kiss felt wrong, like you were betraying yourself, but in the same manner, they also reminded you of that first day you met. You thought about when you stepped off of that train, and that smooth voice escaped those pink lips, and your stomach flipped no matter how much you pretended it didn’t. The person you were that day wanted to throw your head back and welcome the little nips he left along your skin.

The person you were, now, wanted to crawl inside of your skin.

This man had stalked you to the highest degree, following you all the way from The Capitol just to collect on the young woman whose survival he ensured. The things he’d risked and ultimately lost, he placed the weight of on your shoulders as if you were responsible to compensate for that somehow. As if it was your duty to make his sacrifices worth it.

When he pulled you into his lap, resting on him with arms circled around your waist, it was your turn to press your face into the area where his neck and shoulder met. His fingers dancing along your skin made you shudder, and that just made the tears collect more because you didn’t want to enjoy this, but your body and your brain didn’t seem to be in alignment.

When you were forced to come around him, you saw stars, and you were positive your nails left marks on his back.

You didn’t really think that no more trouble from Peacekeepers was worth the figurative collar around your neck. The abundance of food and supplies might have been, if only to just see the smiles on your ma and sister’s faces, but even then, when you found your back pressed to Coriolanus’ chest as he drove his cock up into you, you wondered if it was actually worth it.

Your ma would say no, that you knew for sure, but you supposed it wasn’t her call to make.

After all, the alternative was psychological torment and worst-case scenarios you didn’t even want to entertain.

“Would you have had her arrested?” you quietly wondered one night.

The sheet was clutched to your chest, and you were facing the wall, still unable to look him in the eye directly afterwards. You’d never been able to, feeling used and low and indefensible. You tried not to dwell on the feel of his fingertips tracing patterns into your shoulder, his cool breath hitting your skin as he exhaled.

“I mean…would you have…framed her somehow? Found some justification for it?”

You didn’t know why you were asking, certain you wouldn’t like the answer, and as you predicted, you felt your throat tighten the longer the silence stretched. Against your will—like many things you’d been doing as of late—a few tears escaped, and even before he answered, you knew what you were going to hear.

“Yes,” he confessed, just as quietly.

You squeezed your eyes shut, subtly wiping your face.

“I sacrificed so much for you to win, and not just because your win was my win…but because I wanted to see you win,” he murmured, placing a kiss to your back. “…because I wanted you.”

You knew that, but having it confirmed so plainly was disturbing.

“…and when I eventually make my way back to The Capitol, as we both know I will, I’ll still want you.”

Your stomach sank at that, and for the first time, you turned to look at him while still trembling in the aftermath of what had quickly become a nightly occurrence. His gaze was still focused on where your back had been, and when his eyes flitted up to connect with yours, you didn’t have the words to convey how you felt about what he was insinuating.

“In The Capitol, you’ll have access to things you could never even imagine…and you could send those same things back to your family,” he told you, reaching up to touch your face.

When you moved to sit up, he stopped you, a firm grip on your arm. Coryo—as he liked for you to call him—fixed you with a look that you knew all too well. It was the look he gave you when you tried to come up with any excuse as to why you couldn’t meet with him. It was the look you received when you briefly forgot the power dynamics here, turning away from him and attempting to push him away.

It was a look that told you not to fight the inevitable.

“I want you there with me.”

His tone left no room for argument, and there was so much conviction in his voice that the thought of arguing seemed legitimately draining. You simply stared at him, eyes glassy, and he stared back, waiting for verbal confirmation of what you both knew was going to happen, anyway. You had no choice in the matter, you never did, and for a brief horrifying moment, you almost wished you were a lone orphan who didn’t have to look out for anybody but yourself.

That thought did make tears spill over.

It was a horrible thing to think, but your loved ones were being used against you, and you knew that your ma—and your sister if she were old enough to comprehend these things—would never want this for you. Coryo sat up with you, a hand resting on your cheek as he gazed at you, a thumb brushing the tears away. It wasn’t meant to be comforting.

Nothing he did was ever meant to be comforting.

“I want you there with me,” he repeated.

You wondered what someone like you would possibly do in The Capitol.

“I don’t belong there,” you whispered, a poor attempt to get him to change his mind.

His response was swift and clipped.

“You belong with me.”

When he pressed his lips to yours, it was expected that you would kiss him back. His thumb brushed along your skin as you did, a low hum sounding in the back of his throat that quickly escalated into a groan. His free arm snaked around you, and your last attempt at resisting proved futile, so you let him lay you down.

Sex with Coriolanus was a maddening experience.

You didn’t want it, and your brain didn’t want it, but it was as if your body was its own separate entity running on hormones and animal instinct.

When he rested his full weight on top of you, you shuddered for a multitude of reasons—one of which you didn’t want to acknowledge. When he slid his hand between your breasts and down to your stomach, your back arched, chest pressing up and into his. When he pushed into you all torturously slow as he always did, you involuntarily held your breath, shaking at the feel of his hips connecting with yours, the length of him fully sheathed in your warmth.

You were terrified of him, so that was why you opened up for him like those budding roses he used to carry around, but in doing so, you made yourself vulnerable beneath him. You made yourself more susceptible to his kisses and his touch and that maddening voice that knew just how to get its way. He wasn’t a very talkative man when he was inside of you, much more content with letting his actions speak for themselves, but tonight was different.

“Look at me,” he whispered, curving his hips into yours. “Look right at me.”

You did, and while you didn’t know the specifics of the psychology behind this, you knew that looking into the eyes of your tormentor while in the act couldn’t be good.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he breathlessly told you, nose brushing against yours with every thrust.

You could hear that it was starting to rain again, and you pressed your hands into the small of his back, trying to ground yourself in some way—trying to have control over something, anything. Tears kissed your eyes, and you swore—you swore—that something in those blues of his twinkled. It sparked something in his gaze, and in his psyche, his thrusts becoming more powerful and making you gasp, nails pressing into his skin.

He only looked especially satisfied when the tears spilled over.

When he came inside of you, and you around him, you swore you saw stars.

You even thought you saw snow.

[bunnygirllover45]

— FLESH DIVINE.

♱ TRIGGER WARNINGS: Johann purposely weakens reader's body on this one, manipulation, Johann and the reader have an established friendship, reader has a crush on Johann?, suggestive kiss at the end ig. word count: almost 2k.

Johann was always meticulous, almost maniacally so. Maybe that was why he never got along with other people���he always had a way of pushing people away with his complicated nature. Always controlling, observing, and criticizing, a guy like him was hard to deal with, and you knew that very well.

Even though you managed to get through almost five years of friendship —a very rocky one at that— it still amazed you how someone who could seem so utterly unapproachable stuck by your side. Have you needed a shoulder to cry? Johann was there. Need a hand with your work? Johann is an expert on this, somehow.  Need someone to remind you when to take your meds? Oh, he had the days marked down in his calendar already. No way he could forget such important details, he was a meticulous man after all, remember?

Not that you weren’t reliable either, during his first breakup you were there. The memory was still fresh in your mind as you recall how utterly bored he looked as he told you about that girl you thought was his soulmate. Couldn’t help but wonder if he truly cared about any of the relationships he had before, or even if he cared about the ones he has now, but you held back from asking at the time. Johann really cares about you, if he didn’t then he wouldn’t go and take such measures to ensure you’re doing alright, or checking up on you, right?—the little bug gnawing at the back of your mind didn’t think the same.

He cares about you, he really does, right? Even when you’re this weak and unable to do anything for yourself, he doesn’t think you’re an annoyance.

“You’re spacing out again.” Johann’s deep voice pushed those thoughts away in a split second, the man stared at you, leaning in to tap with one finger against your forehead in a playful gesture that was a little strange taking into account he looked as expressionless as always. “You’re thinkin’ too much, gonna fry your brain into jelly if you keep doin’ that.” A small smile rose on the corners of his lips, black eyes staring at you with a little glint on them you couldn’t quite decipher. “I like you better when you don’t think.” The words made you shiver a little, ‘I like you— ’ and the rest was a blur inside your head. A part of you wished he genuinely meant that in another way, he liked you truly, entirely, not just a small part of you. “What’s that even supposed to mean?” You laughed a little, forcing a smile.”Last time you told me you ‘liked me better when I was sick’ should I be worried?” 

Johann’s eyes scanned your face for a second before he went back to pay attention to the stove; he was boiling some water to make you tea, Johann always made you some when he came home, you didn’t know why, he wasn’t even a fan of tea, but the gesture was sweet enough to make you forget how utterly weird it was the fact he only made one cup.

“Worried ‘bout what? I just said I like you when you’re sick because you’re more obedient. That’s it.” He turned to grab some cups from the cupboard as he spoke. “You’re less prone to pull out some bullshit and get hurt.” 

Your face twisted a little into disappointment, oh, so he meant that. With a deep sigh, you tapped your fingers against the table, head resting against the heel of your hand. His words really weren’t laced with any malice, he spoke with his usual soft and calm tone, so you knew he wasn’t jabbing at you or even really blaming you for anything, but it still hurt a little. Noticing your expression Johann quickly approached, leaning over the counter to pat your head, his hand lingering on top as he scratched a little, like you would do with a dog. “Hey, sorry, was I too harsh? Y’know I don’t mean it for real.” “I know, I do. But it just feels bad… I’m always depending on you and I— I’m starting to feel that I’m just a burden, you know.” Johann lifted his hand, the sudden movement making you stare back at him. Eyes widen a little as you notice how his hand is still hovering on top of your head, it was like his brain stopped midway, his black eyes pierced through you. “You’re not a burden. Not for me.” Your head fell downwards as you managed to speak again, fingers fidgeting against the edges of your clothes, Johann’s stare was like a nail digging onto your skin, it felt so fucking unyielding you just wanted to pull back, to get away from his eyes. Why is he even staring at you so intensely? You didn’t say anything that bad.

“Yet I’m still calling you each time I can’t get out of bed in the morning. I really don’t fucking know why my body is like this, I-I’ve been healthy all my life, and then all of the sudden—”

His hand shooted to grab at the sides of your face and tilt it upwards to stare back at him, his fingers weren’t harsh on your skin but you could still feel the lingering threat of his nails about to dig, veins around his forearms bulging with barely restrained rage, yet his face remained so calm. “You’re thinkin’ too much again.” He continued. “Will you just let me take of you? I don’t care if I need to get up the bad at fucking three in the morning to help you go to the bathroom, I will.” 

Your hand reached to grab his, trying to peel it away from your face, but Johann’s doesn’t even budge. “You’re not my family to have me as your responsibility, I’m really thankful, trust me, I am. But you’re my friend, and it’s not your job to take care of me when you’re always busy with college and—.” “I’ll quit college for you then.” What the fuck. Your eyes widen at his words, but he doesn’t look any less cold than a few seconds ago. “W-What…?” “You’re worried I’m wasting my time? I might be. I’m wasting my time by being away when I could be here with you.” 

You should be happy, really, he’s telling you something so sickly sweet yet the way his eyes never waver away from yours, the way he holds your face like he’s about to break you and yet still remains so gentle, the way he’s speaking so carefree about something that important— yes, you really can’t be happy. “What are you talking about? I don’t want you to do that. Hell, you worked so hard for this career!” “I worked hard for this, for us. My career? It’s just a fucking side hobby at this point when I want to distract my head for a little while.”

You didn’t even notice when he walked around the kitchen counter, now he stood there before you, crouched down to meet your eyes. His thumbs caressed your cheeks with a tenderness you never imagined a guy like Johann could have, the feeling helping your already confused and dizzy head become even dizzier. “You know. For the only thing my studies have helped me is to know where to start.” 

“Start—what?” 

A dark chuckle escaped his lips, it was rare to hear him laugh and it was even weirder to see him with such a delighted smile, if you squinted you could even see a small blush forming on his cheeks. His fingers kept caressing your face as he kept your head still, unable to make any movements, forcing you to stare. “Oh, don’t play coy. You said it yourself, your body was never like this, right?” “Feeling sick all of the sudden, being unable to walk sometimes due to your debilitating state, damn, sometimes when I look at you I wonder if you can even breathe for yourself. I would love to help if that isn’t the case.” 

Cold sweat began to form on the palms of the hands you clutched so tightly against his wrists, nails digging past the bandages and reaching to his skin, Johann didn’t even react to the stinging sensation, too lost on the heady feeling of excitement coursing through his veins. Leaning forward he pressed his body against yours, caging you against the chair. “That was me. All me. I even made sure you didn’t do any kind of physical activity to be extra sure you wouldn’t be able to handle it by yourself.” Bile rose inside your throat, what kind of fucked up person could say such things with that gleeful glint in their eyes? Was this the same Johann you knew all your life? Something felt so wrong, something with him was off this time, the hints were there but you were too blind to see.“And eventually like a flower, you bloomed into something beautiful and mine. Scheiße.”Your hands fell helplessly by your sides, you couldn’t even speak anymore, words long gone together with all the thoughts inside your head, the confusion and fear took a toll on you, and your weakened state made you unable to struggle, even if you wished to do so, your brain screaming to fucking kick him and run away. “You look pale, baby. Is your blood sugar running low? Here, let me help you.” Peeling his body away from just a second but not giving you enough room to even stand up Johann reached for something on the counter, you could some kind of paper being ripped, probably with his teeth or the free hand he didn’t hold against your shoulder, and then he went back to look at you again. “Here, say ‘aah’.” 

As you didn’t even make the attempt to move Johann frowned slightly. “Y’know I don’t want to be forceful with you, sometimes I’m afraid you might break if I do too much. But you don’t leave any other options, do you?” 

Next thing you know, Johann’s lips are against yours, tongue sliding with ease against yours, you could even feel his tongue piercing scraping against the roof of your mouth, he lets out a low amused sound like he was approving the taste of your lips. Being suddenly snapped out of your daze your hands reach to clutch against his shirt, clinging onto dear life as he devours you with eagerness. The kiss is unusually sweet, and you notice the small wrapper of the sugar you use for the tea empty on top of the counter. You close your eyes, embarrassed at how utterly disgusted you felt, not because of the sensations or the fact he was kissing you, but at how much you enjoyed it.

Once the two of you separated, you let out a breathy sigh of relief, and Johann wipes away your lips with his thumb, then his with the back of his hand. “There, much better now, right?”

You were right, Johann was truly a meticulous person. 

[marysfics]

Tracing Memories in the Morning Light

Your daughter notices your wife's tattoos.

Fluff, pure fluff

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. It was a rare morning in the Putellas household where nothing was pulling either of you out of bed. No matches, no training sessions, no schedules, just a day to be together.

Alexia lay on her stomach beside you, her eyes half-closed, while your little girl, who was just shy of walking, nestled between the two of you.

She still didn’t talk yet, just sweet babbles that made your heart swell, but her expressions said more than words could.

You were sitting up, your back resting against the headboard, watching as your daughter clambered onto your wife's back with that determined look she always wore.

A small giggle escaped your lips as her tiny hands explored Alexia’s tattoos, her fingers tracing the inked lines with fascination.

“She’s obsessed with your tattoos,” you murmured, reaching over to brush a lock of Alexia’s hair away from her face.

Alexia smiled softly, eyes still closed, her voice low and sleepy. “She’s always like this when she notices them. It’s like she’s trying to figure them out.”

Your daughter gave a small, delighted squeal as her hands landed on the tattooed rose near Alexia’s shoulder blade, fingers gently patting it as if to say, What is this?

“Careful, baby,” you chuckled softly, guiding her little hands so she wasn’t pressing too hard. “Mama’s not a coloring book.”

Alexia let out a laugh, her back muscles rippling slightly under your daughter’s touch. “She might disagree with you on that,” she teased, turning her head slightly to glance at you. “I’m her favorite canvas.”

“She’s definitely an artist in the making,” you replied, your heart melting as you watched your little girl lean down and place a slobbery kiss on Alexia’s back, right on the tattoo. You and Alexia both burst out laughing.

“That’s one way to appreciate art, I suppose,” Alexia said, her voice warm with affection. She turned onto her side gently, careful not to dislodge the baby, who now sat between you both, her wide eyes watching your movements as if she understood the moment was special.

You leaned down and kissed the top of your daughter’s head, inhaling that sweet baby scent that somehow never faded. “You’re such a little explorer today,” you whispered to her. She responded with a series of babbles, lifting her arms toward you.

You pulled her into your lap, and she immediately snuggled against you, her tiny head resting under your chin. Alexia scooted closer, propping herself up on her elbow, her eyes soft as they roamed over the both of you.

“I could get used to this,” Alexia said quietly, her hand coming up to stroke your daughter’s back, her thumb brushing against the soft fabric of her onesie. “No rush, no pressure. Just… us.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, leaning your head back against the pillow, your eyes meeting Alexia���s. “It’s not often we get this, is it?”

“No,” she admitted, her expression turning slightly wistful. “But that’s what makes it special.”

Your daughter shifted in your lap, her tiny hand reaching out toward Alexia again, her fingers making a beeline for the small tattoo on her wrist this time. Alexia chuckled, offering her hand for exploration.

“She really is fascinated by them, huh?” you mused, watching your little girl’s concentration as if she was deciphering some great mystery.

Alexia nodded. “Maybe when she’s older, she’ll ask me about them. About what they mean.” She looked at you, her eyes softening. “About the memories behind them.”

You smiled at the thought. “And you’ll tell her all your stories. All the ones she hasn’t lived yet but will one day be a part of.”

Alexia’s gaze lingered on you, something unspoken passing between you both, a shared understanding of how these quiet, intimate moments were the ones that made everything else worth it.

The games, the traveling, the time apart.

It all led back to this.

To home.

[highvern]

Work Me Out II

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genre: Smut, 18+

Warnings: simp gyu, car sex, protected sex, dom!gyu, brat!reader, spitting, choking, minor cock warming

Length: 2.5k

Note: happy 1k! i almost deleted this bc i hated it so y'all have to be extra nice to me about it (im joking) (not really) everyone say thank u @cheolism for beta-ing!

Remember: Tumblr runs on reblogs and I run on validation in the tags and comments :)

read part I

read more here

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

“Hi!” 

“Hi,” Mingyu grins, dropping a kiss to your cheek before stepping back. “You look…”

He lifts your hand, encouraging a spin so he can fully appreciate the black slip dress gliding over your curves.

“Wow.”

“Wow?” You laugh as he pulls you closer, goosebumps rising under the palm at your bare spine.

“Beautiful,” he sighs into your lips. 

He kisses you deeper; crowing you against his chest with a hand at your back. The lull of Mingyu’s lips and cologne lower your defenses, mouth opening to welcome his tongue. But he pulls away just when things breach on the edge of more.

“We’re gonna miss our reservation.” He coos through a smile, dropping a consolatory peck to your nose.

“So?”

You try to bring him back but he dodges you easily, tipping his chin up until your only option is to leave a trail of kisses along his Adam's apple.

“I’d like to take you on at least one real date.” Mingyu argues.

He’d be more convincing if he wasn’t leaving fingerprints on your hips. But you think it's cute how he wants to wine and dine you. When you step back, you notice how his eyes glow the way they always do when met with approval. It’s cute, toes on the border of innocence; and it makes your knees crave the feeling of the hardwood floors so you can give him all the validation he can handle with his cock in your mouth.

But there will be more than enough time for that later.

“Wow, so eating Captain Crunch in our underwear after you defiled me wasn’t a date?” You gasp. “Okay. I see how it is.”

Mingyu snorts but plucks your jacket off the coat rack and holds it open to help you in. “Alright, drama queen. Let’s go.”

The drive is filled with chatter. Over the past week, the initial spark of attraction only grew between you; through chats at the gym, texting, or the one night he came to your apartment and ended up passing out on the couch while the movie continued to play in the background. Somehow it was more intimate waking up fully clothed, big spooning him with your face buried between his shoulder blades than having him drill your guts until tears streaked your face.

Since you slept over that first night, you’ve noticed a plethora of things that make you more fond of Mingyu. How he slurs his words when he’s excited, talking so fast you can barely decipher what he’s saying. If you throw a wink his way while walking across the gym his eyes go wide like he’s completely taken aback by your interest; as if he didn’t have a front seat to how much you liked him. Or if he notices you looking he’ll not so subtly flex or make a face that has you laughing so hard you nearly tumble off the treadmill. Or the way Mingyu prides himself on being a gentleman; pausing his workout and walking you to your car, insisting it's too dark out for him to be comfortable letting you go alone (partially because it's his fault your gym visits became a two hour endeavor since the night in the car, he just can’t stop distracting you in the name of getting to know you better).

It’s the same at the restaurant. Mingyu takes your coat and pulls out your chair. He asks for more details on the book you mentioned on the way over, asking if he can borrow your copy once you finish. He feeds you some of his entree off his fork, splits dessert to satisfy your sweet tooth, and nabs the check from the waiter before you can even think of offering to split the bill.

It’s almost too perfect; like he is running a checklist in his head. But Mingyu isn’t that kind of guy. His enthusiasm is just that, enthusiasm for spending time with you, getting to know you, picking your brain like you’re the most interesting person he’s ever met and he can’t wait to know more.

“How did you not know it was a couples class?” You ask, laughing into the curve of his arm as he walks you back to the car.

“It didn’t say it on the flier! It just said ‘portions for two’ and I thought that meant I’d leave with leftovers.”

“Wow. So Wonwoo got you banned and ate your food?”

“Wonwoo got me banned and neither of us gotta eat the food.”

The collar of Mingyu’s shirt flitters when his chest shakes with laughter, watching you down the slope of his nose. Like a flame in a vacuum, all the oxygen in your lungs is sucked up when you notice how good he looks even under the sterile overhead light. The glass of wine you sipped through dinner doesn’t help; turning your insides to mush and your blood to a boil.

Mingyu is so genuinely sweet you almost feel guilty for crowding him against his car and palming the zipper of his jeans. The taste of whiskey clings to his tongue, sucked away by your own until he opens the door and ushers you into the back seat.

“Mingyu,” you gasp, plucking the foil package from his grip. “Did you expect to fuck me tonight?”

“No,” he groans into the side of your tit, thanking whatever power in the universe exists that you hadn’t worn a bra. “But a man should always be prepared.”

You snort, “Okay, ‘Mr. I don’t sleep with girls I don’t date.’”

“I think that's former ‘Mr. I don’t’ whatever the fuck,” he moans as he finds your mouth.

Fishing his cock out from his underwear, you lazily jerk him to full mast. Mingyu’s hip buck into the swipe of your thumb. You’d drop your mouth to suck away the mess  collecting there but the back seat of his car doesn’t provide much room since your date claims most of the space already. Instead, you settle for tracing your tongue across the raised veins webbing across his neck and nipping at the sensitive lobe of his ear.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

Mingyu paws at your ass, fingers digging into the flesh and dragging your covered core closer to his cock. His other hand dips beneath your skirt, thumb swiping at your clit and two thick fingers pushing aside the scrap of fabric posing as underwear to stretch you open without preamble.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” Mingyu pants.

You meet every curl of his fingers with a whine, face falling into the cradle of his jaw as he works you up. He’s everywhere; all you can feel, touch, taste. Even his cologne floods your nose; the scent of powdery spice and something intrinsically him that you can’t name.

Whether intentional or not, the match of pace isn’t lost on your mind as your fist sinks over Mingyu’s length the same time he stuffs you with his digits; fucking you by proxy while his tongue licks away every sound of satisfaction before it can make its way between your lips.

Before long, Mingyu bats away your hand to use his own. The second the latex is rolled down he holds himself for you, offering his cock like a prize you can’t refuse.

And he’s right.

The initial discomfort trickles up your spine. Eyes closed, chest caved, you take every inch as Mingyu whispers praise after praise into your neck. Twitching in each other’s hold, each clench of your cunt dips his stomach until you pull him back to your mouth and goad him with a demanding draw against his tongue with your own; a wet suckle more obscene than the way he splits you has him returning the gesture with fervor.

Hips finding a jilted rhythm, Mingyu manages to latch to one of your nipples, teeth razing along the sensitive skin until you nearly collapse from the delightful pain.

Arching into his chest so hard it hurts, your voice cracks, “Oh, Gyu.”

“Good girl,” he groans into your chest.

The hand on your ass pulls you across his cock, forcing you down with each of his thrusts up. Mingyu’s loud but you’re louder and the abandoned top floor of the parking deck doesn’t provide any disguise from what’s happening behind the foggy windows of his SUV. 

As sexy as you are with your head thrown back, desperately moaning his name, the fear of getting caught is starting to suffocate him.

You beat against his chest when Mingyu pins you in place. He crushes you flat against him, pelvis to pelvis, so deep you feel him in your throat. Tight around the stretch, he nearly loses his train of thought but finds it when an involuntary rush of his thighs makes you squeak.

He brushes his thumb across the apple of your cheek in an effort to quell the bubbling tantrum behind your eyes. “Shhh,” he whispers. “We can't get caught.” 

Time stops as you come to a crossroads. Eye to eye, you can see him waiting for a signal. If you want to stop, drive thirty minutes back to either of your apartments, and then go at it like rabbits, Mingyu will do it. If you want him to stop, drop you off at your doorstep, and send him home with the worst hard on of his life, he’ll smile through the tears. But if you want to finish what you’ve both started in the discomfort of the back seat, Mingyu needs you to be quiet.

So you can listen without complaint, bury your face in the column of his neck and bite your lip until it bleeds from strain. Or you can let Mingyu decide the best course of action.

“Then shut me up.” 

A beat of absolute silence rattles your shaking confidence. Mingyu’s eyes widen, jumping back like he’s been burned but you fake courage until you spot the way he licks his teeth at the idea.

Whatever permission he’s looking for he finds in the slight dip of your chin. You watch Mingyu’s mood shift in an instant. The playful tilt of his lips melt away, the corners of his eyes freeze over their usual humor. And the arm around the dip of your waist squeezes so tight you fear he’ll leave a bruise in the shape of his palm.

The hand on your face falls to your jaw, pinching your cheek between his pointer finger and thumb as he tsks, forcing your head back and forth mockingly before he forces his thumb between your teeth.

“Shut. Up.” 

He punctuates his command with a bruising thrust of his cock; thrilled at the way his thumb digging into your tongue chokes any sound. The hand on your ass nearly rips your underwear as Mingyu uses it to guide your hips, keeping you bouncing in his lap until you're drooling.

Mingyu’s teeth rake against your jaw, “Touch yourself.”

You clumsily snake a hand down, hips jerking under the blind swipe of fingers at your core. Eyes unfocused, ears filled with the rush of blood, you don’t resist the urge to bite his thumb just to see what he’ll do next.

The sting of his palm against your ass isn’t a shock.

But the wet of his fingers on your throat is.

And when Mingyu squeezes, cutting off the blood to your brain for a second in a show of possessive strength, your choked wail is music to his ears.

“Fuck, you like that?”

Nodding like a bobble head, more pathetic whimpers fill the car. 

With a shift of weight, he makes you grind against his lap, the metal of his belt buckle cutting into the back of your thighs. But you’re full to the brink of shredding apart you can’t bring yourself to care. Heat in the pit of your stomach blooms, used and deep.

Mingyu fans his hand along your throat, fingers digging into the jut of your jaw to make you look at his face. His hair is a mess, cheeks rosy with sweat at his hairline. A low rumble in his throat is all the warning you get before he spits on your lips and it glides down your chin; slipping under his palm while he squeezes until stars dance in your vision.

Hips stuttering, everything draws tight; every muscle, every vein, each individual cell contracts and detonates until Mingyu fucks into your so hard your head hits the roof as he flails. Thighs firm against the top of his, you feel each sputter into the condom.

“Mingyu,” you croak, throat wrecked.

Everything feels heavy and worn when he brings you into the warmth of his chest. Somehow, you hadn’t managed to undo a single button beyond the four that let you peek at the dip between his pecs; but the friction of his shirt against your sensitive chest makes you shiver. Sweat and spit leave the fabric clinging uncomfortably but you don’t have the energy to change it.

“Jesus Christ.” Mingyu draws in a heavy breath, and the motion has your legs twitching again. “You okay?”

Nodding into his neck, your eyes slip shut. If he keeps tracing shapes on your back, you’re in serious trouble of falling asleep right there in the back of his car with his softening length still inside you. Attempting to prevent the momentum from taking over, you rise on your knees, only for Mingyu to bring you back down.

“Just…just let me hold you for a second.” he sighs, sounding as exhausted as you feel. “Please.”

Peppering languid kisses across his face, down the curve of his cheek, up the bridge of his nose, you smile when he pouts at the lack of attention to his lips. But when you meet them with your own, it's nearly impossible to call it a kiss from the sleepy grins splitting your faces.

“Wanna come back to mine?” Mingyu whispers into your cheek, leaving his own series of kisses. “We can watch that new horror movie you were talking about.”

“You hate scary movies.”

“Oh no, I guess you’ll have to stay the night in case I can’t sleep.”

“How awful!” You mock. “Did you buy more cereal?”

“Mhm.”

With a monumental sigh, “Then I guess I can come over.”

It takes nearly fifteen minutes to find the courage to unwind from each other. Mingyu distracts you by tracing shapes between your shoulder blades and making you guess his artistic interpretation. Each time you're wrong he demands a kiss. Each time you're right he gives you one back.

When you make him guess what your finger burns into his shoulder he nearly faints before deciding it's time to head home, hands intertwined over the center console the entire way.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[sun-kissy]

still here | r.l.

summary: it's your birthday :(

a/n: this is the first time i’ve ever really cried when writing something, it’s got a home in my heart now and i hope you like it!! 🫶 (also listen to our lovely girl billie while reading for added heartbreak)

tw: past suicide attempt

You lean back on the couch from where you’re bending over the table. Remus wastes no time in wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. He gently presses his lips to your forehead. “Happy birthday, lovely girl.”

“Thank you,” you mumble half-heartedly, grateful but too overwhelmed to show it. 

There’s a cut-up chocolate cake in front of you, which Remus had insisted upon baking. He’d honoured your wishes not to throw a big bash, and of not wanting an actual present. He didn’t exactly understand why — but he loved you too much to not do what you wanted him to; birthday or not.

Guilt weighs heavily on your heart; Remus has been kinder than you deserve. You decide to help him understand.

“You know,” you start softly, tilting your head to lay it on his shoulder. He hums in acknowledgement, fingertips grazing your sleeve as he starts to rub your arm. “I didn’t think I would last this long.”

The shakiness in your voice surprises even you. You feel Remus’ hand still on your arm. 

“What?” he murmurs. You can’t decipher if the slight lilt to his voice is because of sadness or confusion.

“I didn’t think I would last this long,” you repeat quietly, just to be safe, and you feel his hand coasting across your back as he gently grabs your shoulders. He turns you towards him, and you don’t wait for him to ask before you start to explain. “When I was 13, I couldn’t imagine ever making it this far. I tried to kill myself.”

Remus’ eyes widen the slightest bit as he takes in your sudden admission. His grip on your shoulders doesn’t falter; and it’s like you both know he’s the only thing holding you upright. 

When he doesn’t respond, your gaze immediately drops to the couch, shame clouding your eyes.

“I… I didn’t know that.”

The crack in his voice makes you look back up, meeting his gaze. His features are softer, sadder; somehow. There’s the slightest bit of grief in the way he’s regarding you. “Are you glad you made it this far?”

You rub your lips together, taking a shaky breath to make sure your voice comes out evenly. “Yeah,” you exhale softly. “Yeah, I am. I got to meet you.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“No,” you reply honestly. “I love my work. My friends, I really like hanging out with them. And I’d say our apartment is pretty sweet.”

The concern in Remus’ expression is still evident, his brows pinched together almost painfully. His hands bunch up the fabric on your shoulders, tugging you towards him. You’re certain the action is subconscious – he looks lost in thought, like he’s deliberating wrapping you up in his arms and never letting you go.

“Would you like more reasons?” you ask quietly, feeling your vision start to blur. You shouldn’t be surprised that he cares this much, but you are.

When he nods, your heart melts – the magma seems to be pooling in your stomach, and you feel the kind of warmth you’ve only ever been able to feel since you met him.

“Okay,” you decide to indulge him. “I like coffee when I wake up, especially when you make it. Feeding the stray dogs on the side of the road every morning. And my guitar, I like to make music on it. I think music is nice.”

You feel your throat start to clog up, the image of Remus distorting into a blurry swirl in your eyes. “It’s lovely when it rains, especially when we’re both at home, cuddling. And –”

Your voice comes out wobbly, the tears coming hard and fast now. You want to stop, but push on for his sake.

“And I really like our apartment. Did I mention that? Also, your hugs – I love the way you hug. It’s like you really love me, and —”

“I do love you,” Remus interrupts in a shaky exhale, words barely audible from the way his voice is trembling. “I love you, okay? I love you a whole lot. And I’m so glad you’re still with me.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, gently pulling you even closer towards him. You meet him in the middle, arms instinctively wrapping around his waist as he brings his hands up to encircle your shoulders.

Remus squeezes you like it’s his job to hold you together, and you hear a soft sniffle as he buries his face in your hair. 

“I’m so glad you’re still here,” he says again. Your heart clenches in your chest, in all the best ways.

“I love you,” you respond, because you both know it’s synonymous with Thank you for giving me a reason to be here.

[izvmimi]

ember - izuku x reader

cw: spoilers to the end of the manga. reader with vaguely described quirk. izuku and reader are married. short and sweet. a/n: establishing my own new canon, tyvm.

On an evening out in September, six months after you tie the knot with Izuku Midoriya and three years after Izuku returns to active Pro Hero duty, you find out three crucial things about him.

One, Izuku meant it when he said he loves you possibly more than life itself; two, Izuku might not have lost all of the embers of One for All, after all, and three, Izuku is a fucking idiot.

Your body feels unbelievably rigid as though you were in a car accident, and in a way, you were, and your guts should be strewn all over this sparsely populated street if not for the fact that you’re wrapped up, safe, cocooned in your lover’s protective hold, his back curved over yours, and the truck that should have crushed you both instead is partially crumpled itself at its front end, metal twisting around Izuku’s raised forearm. The two of you are panting heavily, the adrenaline coursing through your veins giving you the sensation of having just run a marathon, and he’s looking at you with frantic eyes, scanning you for safety. That long familiar green spark in the air surges around him like electricity, the glow in his green eyes, fading quickly.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breathlessly, not out of exertion but out of shock.

“I-Izuku, you’re not…”

He still hasn’t realized what has just happened, focusing on the fact that you’re alive and okay and didn’t turn into roadkill right in front of his very eyes. Unwedging his somehow intact forearm from the grille of the truck, he turns his body completely to you, rubbing his hands over your shoulders and down your arms, and helps you rise to your feet. The static feeling emanating from him slips away second by second and your lips wobbles as you’re at a loss for words.

“Are you okay?” he repeats again. He’s patting you over quickly, looking for broken bones, bruised skin, and your mind is still racing, computing what just happened and why you’re still alive.

He shouldn’t have been able to cross that distance so quickly - you were just waving to him from across the street, the road clear when you looked before crossing, and in seconds the vehicle had barreled at full speed out of nowhere; he couldn’t have moved before screaming your name fast enough, maybe years ago when you were both teenagers with impossible superpowers but not now, years later with superhuman gifts dwindled to nothing. 

He couldn’t have, but he did. 

“I-Izuku, the suit… you’re not wearing your suit,” your voice carries shakily, and as you see his eyebrows unscrunch and raise instead in surprise, he turns, and sees the stopped vehicle, the broken glass and distorted metal, a man hurriedly jumping out of the passenger seat and shakily apologizing, and finally his torn jacket sleeve and it occurs to him.

“Oh, fuck, I’m not.”

—

You watch Mei type on her computer, not bothering to try to decipher her thoughts from her facial expressions, knowing full well that she’s never been readable before. Even years after high school you find that this continues to be true, but the blank but friendly and entranced look on her face is somehow pleasant the more you think about it, and you let yourself let out the breath you’ve been holding.

It’s been just a few weeks since the night Izuku’s Quirk - at least some of it - flickered back into life for the first time, and after you’d berated him for using his literal body to shield you from a danger that could have killed you both, you’d taken the time that evening to use your own Quirk to see if something about his body had gone haywire. To both of your surprises, you’d gotten a flicker of something similar to the old him, but unsure and unwilling to get either of your hopes up, you’d decided to consult with Mei and other experts who worked with Quirk pathophysiology and augmentation (a few of which you’d taken courses with yourself years ago), and now you were back in Mei’s laboratory, trying to see if you could get to the bottom of this.

Since then, the following strange things had happened:

You’d dropped a plate and Izuku had dove for it, the wisp of a Blackwhip tendril just brushing it before it ultimately crashed to the ground, the two of you too stunned to speak.

A group of Izuku’s students heckled him as he leaned in to accept your kiss outside UA, and all of you ended up in a purple haze before you knew it.

Izuku’s midday nap on the couch found him face to face with the ceiling when you finally discovered him, and

A sudden unintentional use of Fa Jin made things very interesting in bed.

“I guess my baby’s doing a better job than I thought it would!” Mei grins. You hunch over her screen, while Izuku’s too hooked up to a tangle of wires to get a good view of the screen himself, and she compares Quirk levels from the beginning of the suit’s conception to now, a previously long-standing flat graph with a steadily rising bump. 

“A miracle,” you whisper under your breath.

“I find that personally offensive.” Mei replies, her facial expression lacking the cheek to compare to her statement as she watches Izuku watch you from behind the glass. She presses a button on the intercom; Izuku grins at you while Mei gives him the instructions to try to activate Blackwhip one more time, and you can feel warmed all the way through. 

—

Slowly but surely, over time, the Quirk levels start to recover, and you, Izuku and Mei try your best to keep it under wraps.

Of course, Katsuki finds out with direct questioning, the purple haze event showing up on an anonymous internet forum propelling him to show up at your doorstep and demand personally that Izuku tell him if he got his quirks back or not.

“We’re not sure how permanent this is, Kacchan,” he offers. Katsuki might as well spit on the ground before him in protest but you’re seated in the living room, and even Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight has enough decorum to not make a mess in someone else’s home.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Midoriya!”

“It’s not a lie!” Izuku insists, and he turns his gaze to you for backup which you swiftly provide.

“Listen, we’re not sure yet, and they’ll probably never get back to normal, but he’s doing his best.” Katsuki grimaces, which annoys you further.

“You’ll get your damn rematch, be patient.” you add, rolling your eyes. Katsuki leers, and his partner pats him on the shoulder.

“He’s just excited,” she translates for him, and Katsuki mumbles something about not needing her for translation every time which doesn’t waver her smile one bit.

“Excited to get his ass beat,” you murmur, reaching over to pour her some more tea. Izuku and Katsuki both stare at you, Izuku with nervous concern and Katsuki with irritation, and just like old days, you and Katsuki’s arguing match begins anew. 

—

As the two of you brush your teeth and prepare for bed, you do your nightly routine of checking how strong Izuku's reawakened Quirk is with your hand on his chest, and he presses his free hand over yours.

“You know, my favorite part of this is you’ll finally start to worry less.” He chuckles and squeezes your hand gently.

You let the water run and clear spittle from the sink, and gargle before you answer, your hand still captive by his, then look at him.

“To be honest, I’ll never stop worrying about you, Izuku. Even if you become God.”

But you understand what he means. You’ve had many a nightmare about suit malfunction, only a few of these you’ve shared with him, among other things that have to do with being a Pro Hero in the capacity he insists to be in. This is a small help. 

A small bit of providence.

He expected this answer, lips pulling into a smile as he takes your hand fully and pulls the fingertips to his lips to kiss them. 

“I’m glad that won’t change,” he replies.

Moments later, you’re laid in bed together, and as you both muse on the potentially altering future in quiet, love-flushed cheeks and hands intertwined, he turns to you suddenly.

“There’s one thing I’m still missing,” he says.

Your eyes refocus to him. He’s pensive now, not sad or upset, but thoughtful. You move closer to kiss him on the lips once before nodding for him to continue.

“What are you missing?”

“Danger Sense,” he says.

“But everything else is back,” you reply. He nods, letting his arm drape around your waist.

“Yeah, but I think I liked that one the most.”

You snort lightly. “Not being able to lift a train, or fly, but 'Super Anxiety' was your favorite?”

You’re making light of the issue to keep the mood from getting too heavy, but he frowns, and you frown back, apologetically. 

“Well, ‘Super Anxiety’ made it so that I knew when bad things were about to happen, and often these bad things could involve you.”

He has the tiniest scrunch to his eyebrows, one that in another situation would have compelled you to rub out with your fingertips, but now is not the time to be playful.

You twist your mouth to the side and a few more moments pass between you, before you add:

“I don’t think you need it, though.”

He raises an eyebrow, and you press a kiss to his forehead.

“All this came back because you wanted to protect me,” you remind him. “You moved without thinking, for me, as always, like you knew I needed you. That's better than Danger Sense by far.”

His face softens as he cups yours in his hands. You're thankful that you've reached him.

“Always for you,” he says.

Even if this miracle is transient and despite your best efforts, his quirk levels fall back to normal instead of steadily growing, the love he has for you, and the love you have for him, will never, ever burn out.

[igotanidea]

Superstition: Jason Todd x witch!reader

requested by anon because it's October!

***

For some reason, the world is always in danger on Tuesdays.

And the newest threat to the existence of the people involved a group of superheroes and vigilantes and even anti-heroes gathering together to discuss the best way to tackle it.

Familiar faces and new ones, arrived at one deeply hidden lair (not really), not causing any reasons for suspicions (again – not really).

Who would pay attention to various, spandex-clad people, climbing to one apartment in the suburbs through the doors and windows, from the ground, air and water, right? It was freaking Gotham after all, weirdest things have happened.

And she was definitely someone new.

He didn’t pay much attention to that girl.

But somehow he noticed how she stood in the back of the room, watching everyone instead of joining in the conversation. How she mostly stayed quiet while the gathered was discussing plans and methods to defeat the newest opponent, only now and then throwing some well-pointed argument.

She was weird with that watchful eyes, focused face, specific kind of humor, wearing unusual clothes, speaking in a manner that indicated she knew something no one else did.

And that smell, he couldn’t quite decipher.

What was it?

Sage? Lavender? Rosemary?

Who, out of normal people, smells like kitchen seasoning?!

But –

Out of it all, she was at least useful. Or so it seemed, otherwise Dick would not bring her out to this meeting in the first place.  

And hell, he wouldn’t let her know everyone’s identities.

Well – not everyone. Jason was pretty stubborn with keeping his signature helmet on. He was not risking a stranger to know too much about him. Always the one to keep his cards close to his chest.

“Who is she?” he muttered to Dick, his voice distorted by the metal

“Her name is-“

“I don’t care about her name. What is she?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t make that face on me, Dickhead. You have aliens friends, robotic friends and turning-into-an-animal friends. What is she?”

“Oh, that!” Dick laughed, but then turned serious “I am not telling you that.”

Jason rolled his eyes. This was obviously a bait, and he was not some silly fish to rise to it.

“Fine. Don’t tell me.”

“You will have to- wait, what? You don’t want me tell you?” Dick’s face dropped a little

“Nope.”

“But-“

“I said nope.”

“Come on, Jas-“

“Don’t use my real name, idiot!”

“But I want to tell you!”

“A second ago you claimed that-“

“You are no fun.” Dick pouted like a five year old, crossed arms over his chest and after a moment of zero reaction from his brother walked away, probably to share how unfairly he had been treated.

***

She was a witch.

A freaking witch.

Without hair in her ears, warts, boils and hooked nose.

A witch!

Where was her cat? Her broom? Her – whatever else was a signature for that type of supernatural being.

“You might want to take it a little easier on me, you know?”

“Huh!?” Jason spun around only to notice she was now standing behind him with a soft face expression. “What are you-?”

“Oh, don’t you know that witch can read minds?”

“What now?” he blushed under the helmet on being called out on that, but obviously did not let it show. “Who gave you the permission to invade my head, witch!?” The last word was almost spitted with anger and venom dripping from the voice, followed by crossing arms that was supposed to be intimidating. However, much to his surprise she only chuckled. “Are you laughing at me now?!”

“Yes.”

“Careful there, harpy.” The second that word left his mouth he regretted it. First, she did not deserve to be judged so superficially and Jason should know better how painful it can be. Second, it showed that he was getting agitated and that was not the point. Third, fourth and fifth – she could drop him dead on the spot with her dark magic powers.

“Careful there, tin-head.”

Oh wow. She was mean.

“Or what?” he challenged

“Or I threw a curse at you.”

“And what?”

“Don’t test me.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh I bet, you’d be so happy, being able to boost to everyone who’d love to listen that you battled a witch that’s half your size, huh?”

“You don’t know me.” He scoffed, feeling a little offended and hurt.

“Well you don’t know me.”

Shit.

“What’s that scent you smell of?”

“Excuse me?!”

Idiot. At this point he felt like facepalming. So stupid trying to rectify the situation while simultaneously not wanting to say anything that would even resemble apology.

“The- ”

“It’s thyme. And verbena.”

“Why-?”

“It’s supposed to bring out luck and peace . And thyme brings out mental powers.”

“Hence the mind reading?”

“Oh, I was kidding about that. I cannot truly read minds. You were muttering to yourself and since I was standing close there was no way for me to not overhear.”

“So you are not-“

“A I’m -going-to-curse-you-with-pain-in-the-ass witch? No. I’m a little bit more reserved when it comes to that, but don’t tell anyone. I would be casted away from the clan.”

Despite himself he chuckled.

“So, what other discrepancies are there between you and the myths about the witch.”

“I’m not giving such secrets to just anyone, Hood.”

“I can respect that. Got my boundaries too.”

“Hence the helmet still on your face?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“I can respect that.” She nodded, “The world can be awful when it comes to quick and superficial conclusions, right?”

His head snapped her direction. How come she was speaking freely all those words he was holding deep inside his heart. Why did it feel like she actually meant everything said and didn’t just throw around empty platitudes?

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, you look at me like I’ve just murdered a cat for a dark ritual.”

“You can’t see my face. And I don’t like cats.”

“Sure not. Cause you are a dog person, right?”

“You’re being annoying.”

“And you’re being dramatic.”

God, he was hating her already.

***

Two weeks later, he was sitting in her apartment, helmet off, with her black cat on his lap, caressing the soft fur, observing carefully how Y/N was getting ready for the Valpurga Night, taking the weirdest clothes existing from the wardrobe. Judging by the style she had either robbed a homeless man or a prank store.

“Seriously this is how you guys are dressing?” he pointed out at the black robe and a pointy hat.

“What? No! Of course not, are you crazy? This is my Halloween costume. No respectable witch will ever wear a hat like this. God, last time the chairwoman of the assembly had a channel costume and three sets of pearls. Show off she was…”

Jason laughed despite himself.

“You’ve got a Halloween costume six months in advance?”

“Stop laughing or I’ll-“

“Curse me, yeah, yeah, I know the drill.” He raised hands in surrender, causing the cat to meow desperately, demanding more touches. “See, your cat likes me, why can’t you?”

“That cat happened to swallow too much catnip when I was preparing my potions earlier today. He’s not a credible judge at the moment.”

“I’d rather take his judgment over yours.”

Y/N flicked her wrist and the blanket on the bed wrapped over Jason turning him into a giant burrito.

“Seriously, this is the best you can do? Claiming to be powerful and –“

A second later he was levitating by the ceiling, heads down, not liking it at all.

***

One month later he found himself having a panic attack during the night. All the memories from the pit, the pain, the hurt, the trauma came back flooding him like a freaking tsunami.

The last thing he wanted was seeing and hearing things that did not exist.

A lunatic that was what he was.

And there was only one person he knew who was familiar with supernatural things and knew how to play with minds and reality with her skills.

“Y/N.” he stuttered to the phone, her name the only lifeline connecting him with the remnants of crumbling reality.

“I’m on my way.”

Of course she already knew what was happening.

Of course she was already coming to him, to save him from himself.

Ten minutes later, the window creaked and she just flew inside effortlessly, discarding her cloak on the floor and rushing to his side.

“The doors are out there, you weirdo” he stuttered, hating that she saw him in this vulnerable state. “You had to make a show, didn't you?”

“Though it could lift your spirits.” She muttered, without a hint of tease in her voice “and speaking of spirits, can I?” her hands lingered around his head.

“Please…”

Softly and slowly, she placed both palms on his temples, whispering something that might have been a spell, incantation or that curse she was threatening him with since the moment they met.

Regardless of what she chose to place on him, it seemed to work. The fog on his brain slowly dispersed and he almost felt the fear and anxiety floating away.

At least she was useful.

“What- what did you-?”

“hush. Quiet. Here, take that” she handed him a little vial.

“what’s that?”

“A poison. What do you think, jar-head? It; a potion. It will strengthen you.”

“I don’t need strengthening-“

“Just take it.” Her smaller hands wrapped around his, forcing him to keep the bottle. “Please.” For a moment their gazes met and the time seemed to stop. “I can’t risk having you waking me up in the middle of the night again, right?”

“Waking you? Thought you were out casting spells and running naked over the meadow?”

“Not really. It's the incoming moon phase. It’s the time for white magic, and we both know I’m a dark witch right?”

They both chuckled softly. She was as dark as Jason was lenient towards criminals.

“Stay?” he asked softly

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

***

He didn’t plan it.

Definitely not, but how was he supposed to help being drawn towards that weirdo that seemed to shake up his world? How could he resist the pull towards the otherworldly and the only person that seemed to understand him completely?

The first time she saw him use the all caste he almost noticed the admiration in her eyes.

The first time he observed her actually casting curses and using her powers he felt like he could jump into fire for her.

And it was not because of a spell.

He was –

Oh boy….

A vigilante and a witch.

A walking zombie and a mistress of spirits and supernatural.

What could possibly go wrong?

[seattlesellie]

Reader getting a little embarrassed bc Ellie's strap won't fit?

Sorry of that's too much

perfect fit. ♡

screaming crying losing my mind. what a perf excuse to use “ill make it fit”

She’d be on top of you, forehead lightly pressed onto yours. You feel her pouty, somewhat chapped lips ghosting over your own, then lightly and delicately pecking the corner of your mouth. It’s one of your favorite types of kisses, makes you melt into the mattress, heavenly sigh, tremble within her touch. The warmth of her breath caresses your skin, a gentle zephyr of intimacy, of being so close. She looks at you so fucking intently, concentrated, fixated, scarred brows knit together and god, you love that little serious line that forms in between them.

The best way to describe her gaze, the most accurate one, would be to say that she looks at you as if she’s studying, genuinely attempting to take in every little gasp that you let out, eager to decipher every subtle nuance of your existencet, every single blink of your eyelids.

Ellie lowers her hand down from your cheek to the base of her strap on, caressing it upon your soaking, gushing slit. When you moan as a result of its bulbous tip hitting the hood of your clit, then your clit itself, Ellie smirks like an asshole. "I can just keep going like that if you want me to”, she whispers, meaning she knows she could make your pussy cum from just rubbing her cock all over its folds. You shake your head no, because as much as you know that it’s true, you yearn for her inside of you, for that intimacy of getting fucked deep with something she treats as if was her own. Ellie chuckles. “What do you want then, babe?” she coos lowly, continuously hitting that sweet spot above your clit that makes you whine, and her grunt.

You attempt to grab the back of her neck and bring her closer to you, to push her in somehow, but you’re too overwhelmed by everything, your hand ends up falling on the mattress and landing with a small thud. You whine, “Ellie…”, she smirks, moistening her bottom lip and slightly pushing the tip in, so it hangs juuuust a tiny bit away from being inside of your hole. “Inside?” she murmurs, never failing to add that teasing “yeah?” of a raspy coo.

You eagerly nod, she loves it when you do that — so fucking pliant, she stops you mid nod for a kiss that leaves the two of you breathless, tongues dancing a nasty, wet, sinful rhythm within the realm of your hot mouth. She leaves your lips with a loud smack. Your lips are swollen, a pout that kills, how could she ever concentrate on something else in her life?

She’d be absolutely lying if she said she didn’t have daydreams (and nightdreams) of your tight cunt stretched out by her cock, of seeing that pretty clit poking and peaking from the top of your pussy, of watching and taking in the sight of the stretch, the way it’ll slide up and down so easily because of how wet you get.

Unfortunately, Ellie did not take the tightness of yourself in consideration. She picked and packed a nine incher, deep blue and veiny, a bold choice, a goddamn cocky one.

You grab her sleek bicep and dent her skin with your nails, she hisses. You’re actually soaking, a pretty clear pool of heavenly nectar formed on the bedsheet, inside the seam of your ass. Your tiny whimpers are shaky and breathy and ever so desperate, egging Ellie on. “please…” you beg even under no command to do so. “Want it that bad?” teases Ellie, but with how desperate she has become, it sounds more like a plea, begging to please tell her how bad.

“need it inside, ellie, n-need you inside”

"Mhm", she hums softly, eyelids descending languidly, surrendering to the ecstasy of hearing your voice. “M’gonna fuck you” — god, you love it when she tells it like it is.

Pampering your cheeks with desperate, wet little kisses like raindrops, she pushes the tip in further, but… it won’t go inside. It’s blocked, your narrow hole begins to burn, redden, eyesight going out of focus, everything fading into a hazy abstraction. “Babe, it won’t…” she murmurs and attempts to fuck herself inside again. “Fuck, t'wont go in”

Your heart quickens its rhythm, a pulsating drumbeat beneath your chest, as you instinctively shut your eyes and, with a mix of embarrassment and restraint, gently bite down on your lip. You spread your thighs even further, attempting to somehow give her more space for movement, she pushes in again, you wince. “Owh, Ellie… owh”

You don't quite know if you're more embarrassed, or more pissed off. Your hole pulsates and yearns for a taste of her dick, but it hurts, and this feeling bubbles up inside your chest — This actual fear of disappointment, of not being good enough like her previous partners, of being or feeling too fragile, too inexperienced. You can't help but scan your eyes over her face, looking for a sign that will tell you that you're right, that you have disappointed her or worse, but before you manage to find it —

“Ffffuuuhck” she exasperates breathily. She strokes your cheeks with her thumb, a worried expression on her face. Her eyes dart over your form, muscles of her jaw tightly clenched. "Don't wanna hurt you", She murmurs and her voice is so sweet, "Can jus' use my fingers, yeah?"

“No, please" you sob, "I’m— fuck, i’m too tight!” your voice is a whine, an actual tear leaking from the corner of your eye, chin wobbling. Ellie’s so fucking torn because poor you, and she knows it hurts — she doesn’t want to hurt you, ever — but hearing those words fall from your lips… it’s hard not to buck her hips inwards and make you take it, miss “too tight”

“This is so… m'sorry” you actually sob, sniffling and avoiding her loving gaze, and maybe if you’d look — instead of letting your embarrassment wash over you and be a murky presence in your mind, your tears might have faltered. “S’not gonna fit”, your chest heaves. Ellie wipes a tear away — from your cheek, from the corners of your eyes, she considers comforting you, telling you to never apologize for anything, ever again, but she's sensible and rational and knows what do to next, to actually stop your tears from falling.

“babe?”, she huskily murmurs. You hum back, holding onto another choked sob.

“I’ll make it fit”

“Know I will”

[catiuskaa]

spots on.

SUMMARY: you. hannie. embraces. hugs. cuddles, and other synonyms. desperately needed by yesterday. complaints will be declined and ignored.

REQUESTED! by lovely annonie right here. and god you are so right, fluff + hannie is a clinical need, dare I say biblical! ㅠㅠ<3

CW: you might need a dentist appointment for this one. teeth rotting stuff. i assure you.

WC: 1.1k

A/N: so i’m back from the dead and haven’t written anything since february’s special and have been real low lately. thought fluffy hannie could cheer all of us up! <3

[☆🔹🫂🔹☆]

Han loved watching romantic movies by himself.

It’s not like he didn’t have anyone to watch them with. He had watched plenty of shows either with you or any of the boys.

But ever since he started writing and composing lyrics, a little before he got into college, there was something about those cheesy series that had him unable to stop watching.

His eyes would glow as he stared at the screen before him while he watched, invested in how the protagonist accidentally tripped and fell against the love interest, all over again. Giggling and kicking his feet when they held hands after hours upon hours straight of watching them bicker. Having his chest tightening because the actors were so good that he could almost feel the stars in his eyes, shining just for her.

Jisung loved those old-fashioned scenes. Dancing in the rain, a silly meet cute in a book shop… countless places for one silly little emotion.

Han couldn’t see it, but he also had stars in his eyes. He blinked, feeling his eyes lightly itchy, realizing he had been watching you sleep.

Not in a creepy way, of course. After all, you had wanted to stay over to finish one of the many assignments you two had to do together for some of the mandatory subjects in both of your majors. He sighed, his eyes weirdly fixated on your figure, unable to stop looking at you. Even while sleeping, there was a certain grace to you, as if you were just resting peacefully after a long day. He snorted upon realizing that your face was pressed against the pages of the book, a sneaky drop of drool coming out of your mouth. You looked so cute.

“Get a grip, Han,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head with a smile, giggling.

He rubbed his eyes, staring back to what he had been drafting the past hours. It was clearly obvious that his sleepiness was getting to him, because it was getting harder to decipher what the characters he was typing meant.

Suddenly, there was a hand lightly scratching your back.

You flinched in your place, sitting back up.

“It’s just me,” Han said softly. You blinked so slowly it almost looked like you had blinked one eyelid at a time.

“…awake. ‘M awake.” You brushed off drool from the corner of your mouth, to which Jisung chuckled lightly.

“Okay, sleepyhead. Time to go to bed.”

“Eh?”

“Bed, silly. We should have some sleep. We’re both doozing off.”

Bed? Judging by the time that the clock in Han’s apartment said, it was far from being that late, which was proved true when Hannie picked you up —God knows how, because he showed no signs of struggling— and brought the “sleepyhead” over to his room, that even after turning off the lamp on the bedside table, the windows let in light that the Sun had yet to take away while leaving space for the Moon to beam in a couple of hours.

He grunted lowly when he laid you down on the bed, which had little to do with your weight and much more with how you pulled him towards you.

“Hannie.” You mumbled sleepily.

“You’re close to cranky,” he smiled. “You haven’t had your coffee, and you fell asleep doing our assignment.” He sighed, moving stray hairs off your face, his hand lingering on its side, stroking your cheek. “Wouldn’t want to get on your cranky side.” Jisung teased with a tenderness only showed in your presence, not in his usual teasing, not with the rest of the world. Somehow, time spent with Han seemed like the world itself stopped spinning, waiting for you two and catch up later.

“…no.” You whined. His hand still rested on your face. Unusual. You didn’t want him to move it. “I don’t want to steal your bed.”

Unconciously, you moved closer to the warmth that his palm brought.

“It’s ok. You came here walking, and there’s no way I’m letting you leave now, not at this time.”

You frowned at him, almost pouting. You purposefuly resigned to argue, sleepily accepting his win over a silly discusion you could’ve won. But it was much better if it meant that he would keep being so… tender. You two were dating, yes, but it was quite strange, because even if you both knew about each other’s feelings, staying together had been more of a silent agreement.

Yet in that moment, seeing him smile, dark boba coloured eyes sheepishly and momentarily hidden by it, turning them into happy crescent-shaped moons, it was easy to figure asking was worth a shot.

“…stay w’me?”

His heart skipped more beats than he could count.

This hadn’t been planned. Well. Certainly not this way.

“Stay?” His tone of voice had lowered.

You hummed, smiling lightly. Your hand creeped up to his, the one that rested close to your face. In a sleepy move on your side, tantalizing for Jisung, your fingers tickled his skin, from his forearm to his palm, following a gentle path until your hand held his, and you pulled him towards you again, with more care this time.

Jisung could hear his mate’s low voice in his head, full with its classic australian accent.

“Ain’t no way she’s not head over heels for you too. I’d bet money on it,” Felix had chuckled, sipping the beer Han had handed him. “You guys are just blind cunts when you wanna be. Affectionately, of course,” he had added after seeing Jisung squint at him.

Han struggled to get comfortable in his now seemingly small bed. Of course it was small for two people. It had to be, because if you two were to fit in the space avaliable, it would mean that-

“…cold…”

The ruffles coming from how you then shifted on the bed were no match to how loud Han’s heartbeat sounded on his ears.

Your arm slid under his, lying limply on the curve of his waist, the other cocooned in the small space you settled in between you as you slotted your face in the crook of his neck.

thump, thump, thump.

He forced himself to relax.

“…how are you so warm, Ji?”

He had no fucking idea.

“Warm?”

You nodded, your hair tickling his face gently.

“…cozy. Like… a really cute ‘n little… weighted blanket.” You sighed, further relaxing into him, sending a chill to his spine as your warm breath brushed against his neck.

He was so fucking grateful for being so.

“You’re so cute, you know that?” He stated with a silly smile, a blush clearly obvious on his cheeks. He tackled you, and the two of you filled the room with giggles, his arms taking your body and settleing it on top of him.

You melted in his arms. “I missed you.”

He smiled, his hands playing with your hair. “I was only away for the weekend.”

“…don’t care.” His heart threatened to carve through his chest or melt when you tightened your hold on him, then tugged the blanket closer, covering you, thus covering him too.

He settled a strand of your hair behind your ear, noticing little moles in the way.

“I hadn’t noticed these ones before,” he mumbled in a soft voice that could almost lull you to sleep.

You hummed, not bothering to answer.

“I’ve heard somewhere,” he started soothingly, “that moles appear in the spots where, in your past life, you were kissed the most.”

With a sweetness that rottened your teeth, he pecked the small coloured spot in your neck. Then, he followed a short pattern, kissing the one under your ear, then another one in your shoulder, then finished off with the one in your cheek.

You smiled. “You don’t have any moles, do you?” He shook his head sideways, and you chuckled, brushing your nose with his sweetly.

“You better stay put, Ji,” you beamed cheekily. “I’ll make new moles on you.”

His chest tightened, and he beamed, chuckling as you peppered kisses all over his face.

A love scene like the movies.

His new favourite one.

[☆🔹🫂🔹☆]

catiuskaa, may 2024 ©

~Kats, who has to apologize for being dead for so long (and doesn’t quite have an excuse for it), and also has to tHANK ALL OF YOU BC WE’RE 1k FOLLOWERS IN BAKFBQIFNQKFKQK THANK YOU SO MUCH GUYS SRSLY I CAN’T EVEN BEGIN WJKFBAKF <333333

[bvidzsoo]

From people you know, to people you don't

 𝝙 Boyfriend!Yunho 𝝙 

∞ Author: bvidzsoo

∞ Pairing: Jeong Yunho x female reader

∞ Warning: cursing, blood, manhandling ∞ Word count: 3.6k ∞ Genre: non-idol!au, mafia!au, lovers to exes to acquittances!au ∞ Rating: nc-17 ∞ Summary: Yunho wasn't the same man you had once known. What he had turned into, you didn't know. But you did know one thing, you'd do anything to keep your daughter safe and away from him.

∞ A/N: Hello...we don't speak of this. I know I'm supposed to be writing my thesis and Love Me Like A Rockstar (and Beyond The Obscure), but my mind had been plagued with short drabbles for all of our boys so...yeah, I'm writing a mafia drabble for all of them, it seems like it:) Yunho is the first one to start off this new mini-series, and the next members will be posted randomly. I'm not starting a taglist for this one, sorry<3 (you'll have to lurk around) Feedback is much appreciated, I hope you enjoy!

 𝝙 Listen to this before or while reading! ^^

∥ Hongjoong ∥ Seonghwa ∥  Yunho ∥ Yeosang ∥ San ∥ Mingi ∥ Wooyoung ∥ Jongho ∥ 

            It hadn’t always been like this. Yunho hadn’t always been like this. Five years ago when we had met, he was a sweetheart. He was attentive and the kindest man I have ever known, so loving and a safe place. He bought me flowers every third day and took us out on dates every Friday, all throughout those two years that we had been together for. But then…somehow the cracks in his character started showing. His smiles became less genuine and his once protective hold became possessive and painful. There was something about his eyes that didn’t hold any warmth anymore, just scary, icy coldness that kept you rooted to your spot, shaking and praying to a God that he wouldn’t pounce on you and do only God knows what to you. He became a predator ready to hunt his prey…even if his prey was me. The woman he had once claimed to love furiously and ardently, an emotion now turned into constant anger and hatred whenever he looked in my direction.

I have never truly understood what I have done wrong, but after a while, I stopped trying to understand. I stopped trying to decipher who Jeong Yunho truly was, and why he was the way he was. I stopped trying to make it work between us when I found out that a fragile life was growing inside of me. I wasn’t ready to become a mother at the fragile age of twenty-four, but I wasn’t capable of letting the baby go no matter how hard I tried to convince myself. Despite our quickly deteriorating relationship, that baby had been conceived with love, and I knew deep down Yunho was a good man, he had just lost his way in life. And I was scared of him and of whatever he was capable of after that fated night.

A storm was raging outside, lightning illuminating the night sky every few minutes, thunder shaking the ground. I had a bad feeling, a really bad one, as I gripped my warm mug tightly in my hands, staring out the window. Yunho was supposed to be home by now, hours ago, actually, but he wasn’t. And he wasn’t answering my calls nor my texts. A tightness seemed to grip at my throat, prohibiting me from drinking any tea furthermore. The crash of the front door made me jump out of my skin, heart racing as I hurried to the hallway, stopping in my tracks at the sight of my boyfriend. Except that he looked nothing like my boyfriend. Dripping wet from head to toe, black hair falling in his cold eyes menacingly, panting through his open mouth, something red tainting his white t-shirt and seemingly dripping down his forearm. The right sleeve of his leather jacket had been sliced open and I could see a red wound peeking through angrily. My eyebrows furrowed as I tried to make sense of the situation, hands slightly trembling as Yunho’s eyes slowly drifted upwards, settling on my form. I had planned on telling him tonight that I was pregnant, that we were expecting a baby, but I wasn’t so enthusiastic about it anymore. I was…scared of the man standing in our hallway, in our, once, safe home.

“Yunho,” I whispered, trying to mask the fear in my voice, “what happened to you?”

Yunho said nothing as he kicked his shoes off, my body stiffening as I finally noticed what he held in his left hand. A knife. A knife coated in red. A bloody knife. My heart started racing as Yunho’s eyes never left my form as he advanced towards me, unknowingly backing me against the living room’s closed door, making me gasp. He smelled…like smoke and like iron, like blood. What had he done? Who was this man standing in front of me?

“I had to take care of some business.” My once beloved boyfriend’s voice was deep, eyes dead as he looked me all over the face, his jaw clenching, “Business you fucked up, apparently.”

“M—me?” I stuttered, avoiding eye contact when Yunho’s eyes sharply found mine. He chuckled, but it wasn’t amused, it sounded sarcastic and irritated.

“Yeah, you.” He hissed, closing the gap between our bodies, reflexively making me hold onto my tummy. I was too early on in the pregnancy to show, yet I was already oh so protective of my little fragile baby, “And it’s the last time this happens, understood?”

“I—I don’t understand—” I stilled when Yunho’s large palm caressed my cheek, just a remnant of how he once used to do it, “I don’t understand what I had done.”

“Of course, you don’t,” Yunho chuckled, sneering, “you are too dumb to understand. How about you change workplaces?”

“What?” I muttered confused, flinching when he gripped my jaw tightly, yanking me forward, “Why?”

“I wouldn’t want the police tracing back anything to me, you know?” Yunho mused, the look on his face anything like him. He looked almost crazed, he looked dangerous.

“Did you kill someone?” My voice was barely above a whisper as we stared into each other’s eyes, my heart almost beating out of my chest. I couldn’t breathe as Yunho remained silent, a small smile stretching onto his lips as if I had said something funny. But instead of an answer, he just pressed his damp lips against mine, almost making me jerk away from him. But he held me in a vice like grip and the door behind me stopped me from going anywhere. When I didn’t kiss back, he bit my bottom lip and forced my lips apart, pinning me against the door as his tongue slipped inside my mouth, bringing tears to my eyes.

Yunho wasn’t the man I had fallen in love with anymore. He was someone else, someone that resembled the devil and was capable of anything. And so I had realized I had to save myself and our baby before it was too late for the two of us, before Yunho did something horrible to us.

            And after that night, I ran away without even as much as glancing back, without having any regrets. I was scared that he’d try to find me, but he never reached out. I left a note on the fridge, in the kitchen, saying that I couldn’t do this anymore and that I was breaking up with him, starting anew. I moved towns, somewhere far away from him, to a city that was filled with life and so many people that even if he looked in every nook and cranny he still wouldn’t be able to find us. Hyeri, our little daughter, and I, that is. Who will be turning three years old today. Life had been…quiet ever since I decided that Hyeri and I would do just fine on our own. Except for my mother, nobody knew where I had moved to. I was too scared that our mutual friends would tell Yunho about our whereabouts, therefore I broke contact with everyone from my old life.

Here, in the big city, I was cautious of who I allowed close to myself and to my daughter, but so far I was lucky enough to only meet genuine and lovely people. Hyeri seemed to like it here too, the little girl growing quicker than I could wrap my mind around it. Soon, she’d be going to daycare. Our day was long due to the little birthday party I had thrown for her, only inviting over my mother, my best friend and colleague from work, Hyeri’s two friends she met at the playground a year ago, and well, the landlord of my previous apartment whom I had become friends with soon after moving here. He was a funny and considerate man, always eager to help me out. My mother kept saying he had a harmless crush on me and that I should give him a chance, but I wasn’t ready to date yet, and besides…my mother somehow missed the fact that he was gay and happily in a relationship.

After having tucked Hyeri in and cleaned the house as best as I could once everyone left, I finally had a moment to myself as I went back to the kitchen and opened the highest cabinet I could reach to grab a glass and my favorite brand of wine. I settled at the table and popped the bottle open, pouring myself an acceptable amount of wine, relaxing into the chair as I placed one leg up on it, hooking my arm around it. I closed my eyes and savored the almost sweet taste of the wine, sighing quietly and being thankful that it was finally the weekend. I could forget for two days about the massive workload I had at my job, papers upon papers pilling up on my desk, a constant reminder of how overworked I was while being underpaid. But I suppose that’s just how things seem to work nowadays. I must be thankful that I make enough to provide for myself and my lovely Hyeri, still.

As I let my head fall forward and rest on my knee, a floorboard seemed to creak in the hallway. Did Hyeri have another nightmare? Or was just the house settling? I listened closely, but I haven’t heard Hyeri’s door opening, so it couldn’t have been her. Suddenly, the hairs on my arms stood and my body froze, sensing danger before I could even see it. I shoot up from the chair when I heard the floorboards creak again, and prayed to God that it was just my best friend coming back, having left something here. She had a key, after all, she was allowed to let herself in without announcing that she was coming. However, the tall and sturdy figure standing in my kitchen’s doorway made my heart drop to my stomach, hand clenching tightly around the glass of wine I was still holding onto for comfort.

Jeong Yunho.

But how—I had escaped him. Forever. I ran away, I did everything, I—my thoughts kicked into overdrive as I realized Hyeri was just a few doors down, sleeping in her bed, unassuming of the monster standing inside our home. I had to protect her. I just had to. Yunho could never know, he could take me, he could kill me, but he would never touch my Hyeri.

“Fancy little house,” Yunho’s voice was just as deep as three years ago, perhaps deeper now, as his eyes scouted the place, “looks like the dream house you always told me about.”

I gulped, unable to respond as Yunho pursed his cherry-red lips, stepping further inside the kitchen. Strangely, his shoes were missing and so was his jacket. Blue jeans clung to his long legs, a little baggy, and a grey sweater warmed his torso, some university’s name printed on the front of it, his silver rosary hanging over it. Yunho looked like—the man I had once loved. Like the dream guy I thought I was lucky to score. But I knew who he was, what he hid underneath that sheep mask of his. There was a wolf underneath, a dangerous predator waiting for you to lower your walls, to let him in, to be vulnerable.

“What are you doing here?” I found my voice at last, when his fingers touched the petals of the flowers I had placed in a vase, in the middle of the round table I had in my kitchen. Those were my favorite flowers; the same ones Yunho would always buy for me.

“I was passing through the city,” Yunho explained, smiling a little as he noticed a picture of my mother and I stamped onto the fridge, “thought I could stop by and say hi.”

“No.” I snapped, eyebrows furrowing as my heart did somersaults against my ribcage, “No, you can’t—you just broke in, Yunho! I’m calling the cops—”

“It’s not called breaking in when you have a key.” I all but blanched as he grabbed some keys out of his pocket and dangled them towards me. My blood froze over, body going numb. How did he have that? Just how?! “And the cops won’t be doing anything, my dear—”

“Don’t call me that,” I all but almost shouted, forgetting for a second that I had a little child in the house, “Don’t—you can’t be here, Yunho. You have to get out, right now.”

The friendliness slipped from his face as his eyes darkened, slowly walking around the table, coming closer. I backed away from him, trying to aim for the door, but before I could make a run for it, his hand had already wrapped around my arm, yanking my body into his. I gasped, his once familiar cologne wafting through my nose as Yunho’s dark eyes focused on my face, the same chocolate color as they used to be. But they were cold again, just like three years ago. He really wasn’t the man I had once loved.

“Oh, Y/N,” He sighed, leaning down and nuzzling his head against my neck, nose pressing into my skin, “I have missed you so much.”

I was shaking, frozen to the spot, trying to come up with an escape plan. I would have to go to the police, I needed help. How did he find me?!

“Get off.” I whispered, hands gripping his arms to the point my nails dug through his sweater, “Yunho, let go of me!”

Yunho groaned, pulling back to grab me by the nape as he lowered his head to be eye-level with me. I glared at him fiercely as I tried to wrestle myself out of his hold, but he grabbed my right arm and flushed it against himself, pinning my arm to his back.

“Did you think I wouldn’t be able to find you?” He sounded amused, yet his expression conveyed annoyance, “Did you think you could hide from me?”

My chest was rising and falling quickly as my glare bore into his eyes, his glare just as menacing as mine, “Did you think you could end things like that between us?”

“Yes.” I hissed, fed up by always feeling so small and scared of him, “I left you. There’s no us anymore and there’ll never be, Yunho. You’re a—criminal! You’re not the man I fell in love with, and I have nothing to do with you anymore.”

“That’s not how a relationship works, my dear, we take that decision together.” Yunho snapped, his perfectly calm mask finally slipping as he seethed, jaw tense and a fire in his eyes, “I am still the same man you fell in love with, I’m just not afraid to show all sides of myself to you anymore, Y/N.”

“You tricked me.”

“I didn’t.”

Silence fell around us as we both breathed through our mouths, breaths mingling as our faces were close to each other. My cheeks were slowly flushing from the adrenaline that was coursing through my bloodstream, ears ringing as I started feeling helpless. I had to get away, I needed to get Hyeri and flee this place.

“You would’ve ran away if you knew who I truly was so early on, Y/N.” Yunho sounded defeated as he averted his eyes to the floor, finally releasing my arm he had pinned to his back, instead cradling my face with both hands as he walked me backwards towards the table. I gasped as the back of my thighs hit the sturdy surface, and I held onto Yunho’s sides, trying not to fall backwards.

“Yet I still ran away, Yunho.” I shook my head, swallowing the lump in my throat, “You scared me away. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“That’s a wish I can’t grant you, I’m sorry.” He licked his lips as his thumbs started caressing my cheeks, his chocolate brown eyes falling onto my lips. My heart seemed to stutter when he leaned closer, his eyes fluttering almost shut, and when he was mere centimeters away from my lips, he paused. I gulped, heart hammering in my chest as I gripped his wrists, his hold turning painful, “When were you going to tell me?”

It was merely a whisper, but with how close he was to me, I heard it crystal clear. I went rigid, suddenly fearing for my daughter’s and my own life again, “What are you talking about?”

When Yunho’s eyes shifted to the side, where the fridge was, and I followed with my own, I stopped breathing. We were both looking at the drawing made by Hyeri, a little girl standing in the middle, holding two women’s hands. Mine and my mother’s. They stood in front of a house, smiles on their faces and with a sun that was a little too big for the otherwise cute drawing. I have never felt dread up until that moment consume my whole being, and before I could stop myself, my eyes glassed over and I gripping onto the collar of Yunho’s sweater, trying to breathe regularly.

“Yunho, no—please—you can’t—”

“I can’t what?” He looked beyond furious, hands crushing my cheeks as a few tears rolled down the,, “She’s my daughter too.”

“No, please.” I tried not to sob, scared it would wake Hyeri, “You can’t—I—I won’t let you. You can’t hurt her. I won’t let you, Yunho, she’s mine—”

“She’s ours.” Yunho snapped, shaking me in the process, making me whimper as I grabbed onto his face.

“Please, Yunho, just leave—just leave us alone.” I begged him, flinching as he started wiping my tears away, almost with a fascinated look on his face.

“You were never going to tell me, right?” He asked in a whisper, suddenly looking very sad. My heart stilled and I felt bad, but then I had to remind myself that he had killed someone and that he had probably done so many worse things that I didn’t know about, and didn’t want to know about. I never truly knew who Jeong Yunho was, and I didn’t want to know. I couldn’t let him come back in our lives. He would ruin everything again.

“I—”

“Mommy?” Both Yunho and I froze, our eyes going wide before Yunho was letting me go, stepping back, looking shocked as his eyes quickly fell on his daughter. I quickly wiped my cheeks clear of tears and tried not to sniff as I turned to smile at our daughter, forcing myself to mask my distress.

“My love,” I chuckled, walking around the table to get to her, scared that Yunho would try to do something, “you’re awake?”

“Bad dream.” Hyeri whined as she rubbed at her eyes, giggling when I hastily picked her up. My heart was beating even faster than before as I tucked her head against my neck, shielding her view from Yunho, who was unresponsive as he stared at us wide eyed. I didn’t know how he’d react, and I was terrified. The resemblance between Hyeri and Yunho was unmistakable. She was an exact replica of Yunho with her round cheeks, freckles spreading around it, and pouty lips, even her eyes were the same light color as Yunho’s in the sunlight. Her temperament, too, was similar to Yunho’s. My daughter was a constant reminder of who I once used to love, yet I could never hold that against her. She was everything I have ever wished for, my light, my life.

When Yunho went to take a step towards us, I quickly backed away, walking out of the kitchen altogether, seemingly making him freeze. He gulped, eyes searching my face for something, but I was begging him to stay back and leave us alone. His hands balled up into fists at his side and I feared what would come next.

“Who is man?” Hyeri mumbled against my neck, peaking at Yunho with her eyebrows furrowed. Yunho and her shared a long look, and it broke my heart as Hyeri gave me an even more confused look than before, “Is he uncle?”

I could only hope she was too young to understand reality.

“No,” Hearing Yunho’s soft voice made me jump and caught Hyeri’s attention again, “just someone—who loves mommy and you.”

I bit my lower lip to stop myself from crying in front of our daughter and instead forced a smile on my face as Hyeri looked at me wonderingly, “Really?”

“Yes.” I answered her, my own voice sounding unsure and shaky, “Let’s go to sleep while this man leaves, alright?”

“Mommy,” Hyeri mumbled, looking at Yunho again, eyebrows furrowing, “can man tuck me in?”

“What—” I whispered confused, looking at Yeri with furrowed eyebrows, “no, he—”

“Please.” But Yunho’s pleading voice full with regret shut me up quickly as he slowly approached us, very reluctantly reaching his hand out to pet Hyeri’s fluffy hair, “Please.”

And when Yunho’s eyes found mine again, I was alarmed to see the man I had once fallen in love with. Desperate, begging with everything he could, yet reluctant to reach out. Just who was Jeong Yunho?

“Just this once.” I whispered, arms tightening around Hyeri as Yunho’s face lit up, eyes clearing of the tears he was holding back.

“Thank you.” He’s never looked so grateful before, and my eyes widened when he pressed a swift kiss against my lips, making Hyeri giggle in my arms. And before I could interfere, Hyeri was making grabby hands at Yunho, smiling brightly as he carefully took her in his arms, cradling his daughter against his chest like it was his most prized possession. Yunho’s eyes shone like they were the sun and I stood frozen as he walked towards her bedroom, Hyeri muttering things to him that I couldn’t hear.

What was I going to do now?

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[knoepfl]

Title: In the Pale Moonlight

Characters: Astarion x Reader

Warnings:

Slight angst

Emotional vulnerability

Hints of possessiveness

Blood drinking (lightly implied)

Masterlist

Words: 1,150

The fire crackled softly in the camp, its embers glowing like faint stars in the night. Most of the party had already retreated to their tents, the quiet hum of sleep settling over the clearing. Only two figures remained awake—the vampire spawn and the one foolish enough to grow close to him.

Astarion sat with his usual grace, one leg crossed over the other, his silver hair catching the moonlight in delicate strands. In the soft glow, he looked almost ethereal—too beautiful for a creature forged from centuries of cruelty and pain. His crimson gaze flickered toward you, playful as ever, but beneath that smile was something harder to decipher.

"You should be resting, darling," he murmured, tilting his head slightly, the way a cat watches a mouse. "Or did you come out here for me?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "What if I did?"

Astarion’s grin widened—sharp, dangerous, and yet somehow genuine in a way that made your heart skip a beat. He had a way of making every word feel like both a joke and a promise.

"Then I’d say you have excellent taste," he purred, scooting closer with a fluid, feline movement. His hand reached out, brushing against yours for the briefest moment, sending a shiver up your spine. "Though I must wonder—what keeps you so captivated? My devastating charm, perhaps? Or is it the mystery that draws you in?"

You gave him a sidelong glance, trying to see past the layers of bravado he wore like armor. "You think I haven’t noticed the cracks beneath that charm?"

His smile faltered, just a flicker, and for a second you saw it—the exhaustion, the fear, the ache of someone who had spent too long pretending. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by that familiar smirk.

"Oh, you wound me," Astarion said dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "I thought I was doing such a good job at hiding my flaws."

You leaned in slightly, close enough to see the faint lines of strain around his eyes. "You don’t have to hide them from me, you know."

For a moment, Astarion stilled. The playful banter he wielded like a weapon faded into silence, leaving only the barest trace of something raw and uncertain between you.

"Careful, darling," he whispered, his voice low and almost… pleading. "It’s dangerous to care for someone like me."

You searched his gaze, seeing the layers of fear hidden beneath the mirth. He wanted to trust—desperately, perhaps—but he didn’t know how. Not after what Cazador had done to him, not after centuries of being treated like a tool, a possession.

"You don’t scare me," you whispered back, your hand brushing against his.

Astarion chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. "That’s what makes you dangerous, too."

He turned his hand over, letting your fingers interlace with his. For all his teasing, there was a fragile quality to the way he held your hand—like he wasn’t sure if he should hold on tighter or let go before it was too late.

The fire crackled softly between you, filling the space with warmth and light, though neither of you really needed it. The moon overhead bathed Astarion in pale silver, making him look like a dream—too beautiful, too tragic.

"You know," he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper, "I spent so long believing I could only survive by taking, by pretending, by being whoever someone needed me to be. And now…"

His gaze met yours, raw and exposed in a way you’d never seen before. "Now you come along, with your kind words and your foolish heart, and I don’t know what to do with you."

You smiled softly, squeezing his hand. "You could try being yourself."

A bitter laugh escaped him, but there was no malice in it. "And what if you don’t like who I am?"

"I already do," you whispered.

The weight of those words settled between you, heavy and undeniable. Astarion’s smile faded into something softer—something real. For the first time, he looked at you not as a game, not as a conquest, but as someone who saw him for what he was and didn’t flinch away.

"I hate how much I want you," he confessed, his voice rough and uneven. "It’s terrifying. But gods help me, I can’t stop."

The admission hung in the air between you, fragile and dangerous. You knew what it cost him to say it, how much trust it took for him to bare even a sliver of his heart. And in that moment, you knew you would never betray that trust.

He shifted closer, his hand tightening around yours as if grounding himself in the connection. "Stay with me," he whispered, almost too softly to hear.

You nodded, brushing a stray strand of silver hair from his face. "Always."

For the first time in what felt like centuries, Astarion allowed himself to relax—just a little. The fear was still there, the shadows of his past still lingering, but for tonight, he could pretend. He could let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as broken as he thought.

And with you by his side, perhaps he wouldn’t have to pretend for much longer.

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this softer, more vulnerable take on Astarion. If you’d like a follow-up or have any other requests, feel free to ask!

[scudslut]

too sweet

daryl x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, mdni

a/n: okay, is this like the song? IDK i listened to it on repeat tryna decipher shit and come up with a good plot but i think i got a little lost in the sauce, or maybe im just being mean to myself🫢 ANYWAY I HOPE YOU LIKE IT ANON BYEEE🤍

you two never got along, never saw eye to eye.

years you’d known each other and all it ever did was reveal those differences all the more. highlighting them in bold letters for you to gaze at thoughtfully, but did that stop you?

it was a game you played, back and forth for so long that it became a routine. bicker and disagree till you were blue in the face and at each other's mercy for only the moon to bear witness too.

how many times had you dug into him for his habits. he smoked, kept to himself, he fought, but where had that ever gotten him? it was against your nature. a way of being that you genuinely could not understand.

and he’d be right there with you, matching each dig with his own. you were sweet, too soft. you pleased and walked among ice like you weighed as much as a feather, so predictable it was almost humorous. if you didn’t understand him, he was absolutely riddled by you.

“how do ya sleep at night? huh? don’ya ever get tired of keeping everyone so fuckin happy?” he’d mutter, all the while tearing articles of clothing off of your supple skin, one by one. skin that was pristine by default and worn as if only heaven itself had touched it.

“believe it or not, i actually want people to like me daryl. i like when i can make people happy. it’s not a fucking act,” you sneer back.

who was he to talk? he lived inside his own head. could go days… no, months by himself, not muttering a single word to a breathing soul. and you’d tried to reason, guide, and help, but if anyone knew daryl dixon, they knew he didn’t budge easily. he had to want it for himself and he simply didn’t see the glory in your people-pleasing nature, as he’d like to call it.

sure he saw the value in it, somewhat. but he liked things the way they were, as they were meant to be. if he disagreed with something he sure as shit wasn’t gonna prance around trying not to hurt no feelings.

“alright, you keep tellin’ yerself that, princess.”

so what was it that kept you two coming back for more? why was the tension and aversion between your minds so magnetic between your bodies? he wanted to snap those annoying, pretty lips shut with his. maybe if he kissed you hard enough something would click in that head of yours. maybe he could fuck some clarity into you.

his fingers would rub fast circles over your clit, watching you keen and moan into the pillow beneath you, “how’s that princess? good enough for ya? hm?” he’d mock, “faster? slower?”

“god, would you shut up already?” you tried to sneer only for it to come out as a breathy whine, adding fuel to his pride and smirk across his face. your lips crashed into his in an attempt to diminish it but it was right there, now pressed up against your face, and fuck, why was that so hot? why was his rugged stubble, his long hair kissing your shoulders, and his broad, strong body so infuriatingly sexy to you? muscles built from years of fights, kills, and hunting. you didn’t like it… but you did.

“fuck, i’m gonna-“ you cried to him softy.

“nuh, uh. not yet pretty girl.”

his belt was loud throughout the quiet room. your eyes were squeezed shut in pleasure but you heard the familiar clanks and zips, and then you felt his weight above you — warm and spicy. it pulled you so far and close that you sucked him in before he even got his pants all the way off.

“fuckin’ christ girl,” he groaned, snapping down to meet your hips flush. it was rapid and hot, both of you pouring all your frustrations into each push and pull. frustrations with each other, frustrations with yourselves that you liked this so fucking much.

he fucked you deep and hard like his body hated you, but somehow kissed you so tenderly through it all. his tongue massaging and tangling with yours as if you created his oxygen for him.

“so fucking sweet, princess, y’know that?” he whispered against you, “no good fer me.”

he was telling himself that; convincing himself and you knew it. your body rolled to meet his quickly, feeling every gooey, warm muscle against your skin and drooling over it, “more.”

as if to prove a point he slowed down, pulling out till just his tip was caught at your entrance, and then would thrust in, hard. over, and over, and over until you were singing his name and muffling it with his neck. warm and spicy.

“ya like that? thought ya wanted faster?”

he knew he was walking a line, but what had you guys ever been but a definitive line? a clear distinction of night and day, the only time ever seeing eye to eye being these moments. as one.

you were sent over the edge instantly, spasms of pleasure rolling languidly through your body. the tight swelling of your cunt causing daryl to finish with you and fuck if he didn’t cum the prettiest, sexiest way you had ever seen. straight out of your dirty, teenage fantasies and above you to soak in while you wreathed along with him.

he groaned and cursed into your chest, riding out each wave until he was shaking above you and so sensitive he couldn’t help but hiss as he pulled away, flopping down beside you.

a cigarette was quickly fished from his strewn jeans pockets and placed between his lips, lighting up and rolling back into the pillows lazily. every ounce of mending and merging you had just done was palpably tossed out the window, your scoff loudly filling the silence.

“that will kill you one day, hope you know that,” you muttered whilst gathering your clothes and slipping them on.

he didn’t bat an eye, nothing he hadn’t heard before from you and honestly, he didn’t really care. plenty of things in the world that’ll kill you, your naivety being one of them.

“lemme guess, gotta be up bright n’ early? tendin’ ta all yer charity cases?” he mused as he watched you head for the door. there had never been a night you’d spent together, probably would end up ripping each others faces off alone in room together for that long.

he didn’t get an answer, just an amused eye roll as you opened his bedroom door, “bye daryl.”

and then you were gone, quiet stomps heard as you floated up the stairs and he knew it would only be a matter of days before you were right back here, glued to his body and singing his name like you needed him to survive.

“figures,” he mumbled, taking a long drag from his smoke and smirking softly to himself.

what’s that saying? opposites always attract?

[arlowthenacho]

that funny feeling

(carmen berzatto x reader)

summary: you thought carmen berzatto was just a hookup. a fuck-buddy. key word, you thought.

warnings: cursing, allusions to sex but not really? its only mentioned a couple times. no smut, intended lowercase, if theres anything i missed plz let me know !!

wc: 1.1k

a/n: arlow thought about carmen spoon feeding them and made it angsty lol. this is rlly short but fret not !! i think this is gonna be a 2 parter, possibly 3 parter? idk, but i think its gonna be a series lol. anyway, enjoy my lovelies !! 🫶🤍

it started as a one time thing. a one-night-stand. a meaningless hookup. something that would and could only happen once.

until it happened again. and again, and again.

because carmen berzatto was a drug, and you were addicted to him. you craved him like lungs crave oxygen, but you weren’t sure that the feeling was reciprocated.

because if carmen berzatto was a book, he’d be written in code. scrawled in a language you didn’t understand, in writing to confusing to decipher. because carmen berzatto was nothing if not confusing.

a sudden vibration on your nightstand pulls you from your thoughts as you swipe open the screen. a text from carmen. shit.

carmy 🧑‍🍳

you up?

fuck. shit, shit, shit.

you quickly sit up and type back a response.

yeah.

you hold down the backspace button. too simple.

i wasn’t until you woke me up

pop. too accusatory.

i am now. whats up?

good enough.

you click send and set your phone back down on your bed, waiting for a response.

bzz.

the reply was almost instant. maybe that scared you a little bit.

your finger hovers over the screen, debating whether to open the text now, or just forget about it until the morning.

the former won.

carmy 🧑‍🍳

can you come over?

oh. oh.

you don’t know why you expected anything different. it’s not like you were dating him. even though you wish you were. in his eyes, you were just a casual hookup who he occasionally called for something not relating to sex.

you heave a sigh and shift your eyes back over to the phone in your hands.

yeah, ok.

sent.

you don’t really care if it sounds passive aggressive, or angry, or disappointed or whatever else it could sound like to him. to be quite honest, you just want to get this over with.

you quickly change out of your pajamas into something more presentable. a white sweater, blue jeans, throw in some lacy undergarments and you’re heading out the door and into your car.

you turn on the ignition and start the short drive to carmy’s apartment. you have his address memorized, (which you will deny is creepy until your dying day) so you don’t need to use a gps.

you turn on some music and try to distract your racing thoughts. its not like this is the first time you’re meeting him. no, far from it. but you don’t think your brain has processed that yet, because your heart is pounding and fluttering like a bird caged within your chest.

you finally make it to his apartment after what feels like an hour, and you’re standing—quite awkwardly—at carmen’s door, your fist hovering over the wood hesitantly.

after a full minute of standing at the door with your arm raised, you decide to bite the bullet and knock on the damn door.

so you do.

and he answers instantly. like a fucking gentleman.

his hair is tousled, and he runs a hand through it nervously. his eyes somehow look even more blue in the shitty light the hallway of his building provides, and it’s driving you crazy.

he is gorgeous. he is perfect. he’s all the synonyms for beautiful you can cram into one human being.

“hi,”

carmen’s voice is deep and gravelly, still thick with sleep even though he’s probably been awake for some time now.

“hey,”

a beat passes.

“can i-?”

he jolts up from the doorway he was leaning on.

“oh, yeah. shit—yeah, come in. sorry.”

an apron is tied around his waist, a gray sweater fitting loosely around his frame. it makes his eyes appear bright, like gleaming pools of sapphire that you want to spend every pretty penny on.

nonetheless, you smile politely and step into his apartment.

no matter how many times you’ve been here, the first thing you notice is always his bookshelves. more so, the books. cookbooks, magazines, culinary textbooks and newspaper articles litter his floor and decorate his walls.

the second thing you always notice is his ever-growing collection of denim. jeans and jackets make up most of his wardrobe, and are crammed into whatever space he could find.

after looking around his small apartment, a smell hits your nose.

its…pasta?

no, that can’t be it. you were just here to fuck, right? the food was probably for someone else. for work, or somebody he wanted a real relationship with. not you.

the thought left a bitter taste in your mouth.

you sigh, disappointment crashing into your heart like waves against rocks for the second time tonight.

despite that, you’re the first to break the silence.

“aren’t we going to your room?” you cringe at the tone of your voice. it sounded exactly how you felt. disappointed, hurt, maybe a little bitter.

“what? sorry, couldn’t hear you.” carmen leans down to you to hear better, his breath a faint whisper against your skin. your breath hitches.

“aren’t we going to your room?” you repeat, a tad louder than before.

“oh. no, no, no. no, that not—that isn’t—” carmen seems to be at a loss for words, and he feels like a total dick.

“we aren’t?” you’re confused, but hide it well. you raise a brow pointedly. “then why’d you ask me to come over?” for the first time in a couple of minutes, you notice where you followed him.

“i—just,” he searches around for something.

a spoon, full of some kind of red sauce. he cups his hand under the utensil to catch anything that drips, and urges you to come closer.

you’re in his kitchen. his safe space. his fucking sacred space.

and suddenly a wave of confusion and frustration and hope is erupting within you. so many emotions and so much fucking hope. hope that this could be something more. hope that maybe you were wrong. silly, foolish, childish hope that enthralls you completely in its deceitfully warm embrace.

he’s still holding the spoon to your mouth when he speaks.

“can you try it? it’s something for the bear. for the new menu. wanted your opinion on it.” he looks nervous, like he wasn’t the one who invited you over. like he isn’t currently the one lighting your cheeks ablaze and causing your to heart implode under the sheer force of your adoration for him.

“oh, um, yeah. of course.”

he smiles. a close-lipped thing that makes you want to kiss it off of him.

you move to take the spoon from him, but he gently shoves your arm down against your side, says “open up,” and puts the spoon in your mouth.

the food is great. more than great. but you’d be lying if you said you were paying attention to that.

because carmen fucking berzatto just spoon fed you. like a couple.

and now the domesticity is crushing you, mind, body and soul.

because you’re in love with carmen berzatto.

and by some miracle, he might be in love with you too.

[austinbutlerslovers]

Kiss it better

Label Mature 18+

Summary After a one night stand with Hank you’re hooked, however things take a strange turn the next time you see him leaving you to decide how far you want to take things.

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥  Edging •teasing•self pleasure •phone sex• forced inebriation• sex while drunk• dirty talk•pinning•manhandling •clit play fingering•squirting•sex on a couch•doggy style•rough sex•hair pulling•multiple orgasms•after care

(Sorry for delay I had to read some of the book ☺️)

Kiss it Better

After your first hookup with Hank, he’s all you can think about. The way he effortlessly took control, the way he knew exactly what you wanted before you even had to ask—it’s been replaying in your mind, leaving you restless. You’d expected to hear from him right away, anticipating his call like it was inevitable. But as the hours drag into the evening, the uncertainty starts gnawing at you.

By the time 10 p.m. hits, nerves and frustration twist in your stomach. Why hasn’t he called? What could possibly be wrong? The silence is loud, and you’re starting to question everything. At 11 p.m., you can’t stand it any longer. You grab your phone and call him, heart racing with a mixture of hope and impatience.

No answer.

You sit back on your bed, rolling your eyes, trying to play it off like it doesn’t bother you. But the sting digs deeper with every passing minute. What started as a simple craving now feels like a slow ache, hollowing you out. It’s irrational, you know that, but it doesn’t stop the thoughts from swirling.

By the next morning, the ache has settled into something more tolerable and you check your phone the moment you open your eyes, but there’s still nothing.

The lack of contact feels personal now, a quiet rejection that weighs on your chest. You start your day, trying to shake it off, telling yourself not to be so eager. But deep down, you know the truth—you’re hooked. The way he treated you, the way he made you feel, it’s like an addiction and you need more.

During the day the weight of it grows heavier, and the sting sharper, until finally, your phone buzzes with a message. Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest when you see Hanks name on screen. It’s a simple text, but it might as well be a lifeline after a day of silence.

-Had to deal with something unexpected- 

That’s it. Just six words. But something about them feels off. You stare at the screen, reading the message again and again, trying to decipher the distance that seems to linger in his words.

It’s vague, detached, like he’s holding something back. There’s no explanation, no apology and you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. 

You take a deep breath, your fingers hovering over the screen, trying to find the balance between casual and curious, not wanting to sound desperate but needing more than the vague explanation he gave you. Finally, you start typing, your heart pounding in your chest as you hit send.

-Everything okay?-

The simplicity of it makes you feel exposed, but it’s all you can think to say. You don’t want to push too hard, but you can’t ignore the gnawing feeling in your gut that this isn’t a casual brush off, he couldn’t wait to have you again, something is wrong.

Your phone buzzes almost immediately, and you freeze, staring at the screen like it holds all the answers you’ve been waiting for:

-I’ll call you tonight-

His words are simple, but the relief that floods your chest is instant. You didn’t realize how tense you were until now. Your shoulders drop, and you exhale, feeling some of the pressure ease off. 

He’s still there, still planning to reach out and somehow, that’s all you need.

You smile a little to yourself, as you set your phone down, your heart lighter than it was moments ago, and you try to distract yourself until tonight when you’ll finally get to hear his voice again.

You throw yourself into the day, keeping busy. You run a few errands, grab a coffee, and spend the afternoon shopping for a new outfit—something daring, just in case you see him later.

As you browse the racks, a micro mini skirt catches your eye—black with a subtle side slit that adds just the right amount of edge. You pair it with a fitted top that hugs your curves and plan to wear it with a a leather jacket from your closet to complete the look.

Later, you meet up with friends for dinner and a few drinks, the laughter flowing as easily as the cocktails. The lively conversation and warmth of good company begin to melt away some of the anticipation that had been building inside you all day. Even though a part of your mind is still on Hank, the buzz from the cocktails leaves you feeling light and carefree.

By the time 10 p.m. rolls around, you stumble into your apartment, kicking off your heels. Your mind is still swimming from the drinks as you head to your bedroom tossing your purse onto the bed and stripping down to your bra and panties.

You’re ready for a quick shower when suddenly you hear your phone buzz. Your heart leaps in your chest and you pick up on the first ring, a smile already forming on your lips as you fall down on your bed the room spinning. 

Before you even say hello, Hank’s voice comes through the phone, low and playful sending a thrill through you.

“So eager,” he teases, his tone filled with amusement, but there’s something underneath it. His voice sounds rougher, more strained, but you brush the thought away, too caught up in the relief of hearing his voice.

“Maybe because I’ve been waiting for you all day,” you quip, your voice playful, a little slurred from the drinks with a mockingly seductive edge to it.

“Mmm, have you now?” he asks, his voice dropping lower with intent. “What are you doing now that you have me?”

You bite your lip, relaxing against your pillows feeling the heat rise between you through the phone.

“I’m laying in bed wearing lingerie,” you out right admit a smile forming on your lips as the words flow so easily with the alcohol loosening your tongue.

He hums in response, the sound low and full of pleasure causing a surge of arousal to course through you.

“What color?” he asks, the edge in his tone making your heart race.

“Red,” you reply softly, your voice dipping into a whisper. “It’s red.”

You can hear him shift on the other end, a subtle sound that deepens the desire building between you.

“You have no idea what that does to me,” he says, his voice lower filled with desire.

“I want to find out,” you tease, your fingers snapping the hip strap of your panties, the sound cuts through the air and you can almost hear his breath catch on the other end.

“Close your eyes for me,” he instructs and you readily obey, feeling the haze of intoxication blend with the heat coursing through your body.

“How do you feel?” he asks, the sound of his breathing filling the silence.

“I feel… good…really good,” you confess, your words softer now, feeling the anticipation in the air.

“I can hear it in your voice.” He observes, his tone dropping lower, more intimate. “You must’ve been thinking about me all day, haven’t you?” He says his voice trailing off as you hear the distinct sound of his zipper lowering. The noise sends a thrill through your body as he continues. “I’ve been thinking about you too,” he adds, his breath catching slightly.

Your heart races from his words, feeling a mix of excitement and arousal as your hand instinctively runs along the curve of your breast.

“You have?” you whisper,  the need growing more intense.

“Mhm,” he hums. “Right now, I’m so hard just thinking about how wet you must be.”

His words send a jolt of heat through your body, and you squirm slightly, your breath quickening.

“Touch yourself for me,” he says softly, “Tell me how good it feels.” he commands the words slipping from his lips like a secret. 

You swallow hard, your breath catching as your hand slowly trails down your body, and you let out a soft moan as you follow his instructions. 

The sound of his breathing on the other end of the line is all you need to hear.

“Tell me how wet you are.” he asks, his voice thick with desire

 “I’m…so wet,” you moan softly, your body responding to every word he says as your fingers move faster.

“Those little noises…I want to hear every sound you make.” He urges his voice low and commanding.

You increase the pace, your moans spilling out as the pleasure intensifies, your body completely obeying his voice.

“Such a good girl,” he praises, his tone low and full of arousal. “I’m so hard right now… wishing I could be there to feel you,” he groans, his voice heavy with need.

The subtle sound of his hand stroking himself reaches your ears, sending a rush of heat through you, and you moan ready to orgasm.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he whispers, his voice strained with his own arousal. “Keep going. I want to hear you come for me.”

His words push you over the edge, your breath quickening, your body trembling with the intensity of it all. You can hear the way his breathing grows more ragged, the sound of his hand stroking his cock faster, until finally you shudder with release, his name falling from your lips.

You hear him groan deeply, the sound of his own pleasure reaching its peak as he follows you over the edge. The silence that follows is filled with the sound of your labored breaths, both of you slowly coming down from the intensity of the moment until the only thought flooding your mind escapes you.

“Hank… when can I see you again?” you ask, your voice still shaky from the orgasm.

“I’ve been thinking about that too,” he admits, his voice shifting, darker. “Thinking about what I’ll do to you the next time I see you.”

Your heart races at his words, the anticipation coiling tighter inside you.

“What are you going to do to me?” you whisper, your voice barely steady, desperate to hear him say it.

“Everything,” he replies, his tone thick with intent, sending a rush of heat through your body.

You’re already desperate by the time you finally ask, your voice almost a plea. “When?”

There’s a pause as he carefully considers his words before he finally answers, “…I’ll be back at the bar next week,” he says, his voice steady. “I’ll call you then, be ready for me.”

“I will,” you whisper, the promise slipping out before you even realize it.

After you hang up, you lay in a daze, staring at the ceiling, your thoughts spiraling around Hank. The impatience gnaws at you, the need for him building like a pressure you can’t release. He’s fully in your head now, and no matter what you do, it’s impossible to shake the thoughts of him.

The days stretch by in agonizing slowness, every minute dragging as you try to focus on work. Tasks that once held your attention now feel like background noise, your mind wandering back to Hank at every chance. Each time your phone vibrates, your heart leaps, only to be disappointed by another text or email.

When you finally receive his call, it’s 11:30 at night. You’re in bed, resting, when your phone buzzes in your hand. Without even checking the screen, you pick it up on the first ring—you know it’s him.

“I like it when you’re eager,” Hank teases, clearly satisfied with your quick response. “Didn’t even hesitate, did you?” He asks his voice laced with amusement, and you immediately notice how much more energized he sounds compared to the last time you spoke. 

“Why would I?” you reply smoothly, a hint of challenge in your tone. “You knew I’d be waiting.”

He’s silent for a moment, the kind of silence that makes your pulse quicken and when he speaks his voice drops lower, growing with that familiar edge.

“You’re ready for me tonight?” he asks, the question hanging heavy in the air, thick with suggestion.

You bite your lip, you’ve been waiting impatiently for days, but you’re not going to let him have the satisfaction of knowing how desperate you are— not yet. 

“Maybe,” you say, your voice trailing off, trying to mask your need.

You hear him chuckle on the other end, dark and knowing. “You’re trying to tease me, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice soft and commanding. 

There’s a brief pause as you struggle to find a response, but he continues before you can speak.

“We both know you’re too eager for that… You’ve been waiting for me.” He confirms, his words like a slow burn, his control as intoxicating as ever, pulling you deeper into the game he’s so effortlessly mastered.

You can’t deny the effect he’s having on you—the way your body responds at the mere sound of his voice.

“Come to the bar,” he says without even waiting for your response. It’s not a suggestion—it’s a command, leaving no room for hesitation. And you don’t need to be told twice.

You’re up, getting ready in record time, slipping into the outfit you’d planned: the red lingerie, tight top and a micro mini skirt with a daring slit. Your heart pounds in your chest as you throw on your leather jacket and rush out the door. The excitement and anticipation of seeing him again is almost too overwhelming.

The bar is dimly lit when you step in, the low hum of conversation and soft clinking of glasses blending into the background as your search for Hank.

He’s exactly where you expect him to be—behind the bar, pouring drinks with practiced ease, commanding the place effortlessly. But tonight, something feels different.

He’s not wearing his baseball cap, and his sandy blonde hair frames his jaw, brushing against his neck just so. 

A few loose strands have fallen into his face as he pours drinks, and when he casually tucks them behind his ear the simple gesture makes him look even more irresistible.

But, something’s off and your breath catches when you notice it—Hank has a black eye, a bruise darkening around his cheek bone, slightly swollen, the purplish hue stark against the smoothness of his skin.  

Without thinking, you find yourself walking faster toward the bar, your heart thudding in your chest. The question bursts out before you can stop yourself.

“Hank! What the hell happened to your eye?”

He looks up from the drink he’s pouring, a slow smirk spreading across his lips as his eyes lock onto yours.

Despite the bruise, or maybe because of it, he looks more dangerous, more alluring than ever. The black eye only adding to his rugged appeal, like a badge of something wild and untamed just beneath the surface.

He leans against the bar, wiping his hands on a towel before tossing it aside, the smirk never leaving his face. His eyes gleam with mischief as they sweep over you, taking in your appearance as if he’s savoring it.

“Why?” he drawls, his voice a rough tease. “You care about me?”

You blink, thrown off by his question and the way he playfully watches your reaction makes it seem like he already knows the answer.

“I care,” you admit, because seeing Hank hurt actually does stir something inside your chest, and as your gaze keeps flickering to the bruise you realize that’s why he postponed seeing you.

Hank chuckles softly, his full lips quirking into a devious smile as he takes a step closer, his body leaning over the bar.

“C’mere,” he says, his voice warm and enticing, and as you slide onto the barstool, his eyes study your reaction as he slowly leans in, his face just inches from yours, his broad arms folding, elbows resting on the bar. 

His blue eyes are sharp, his full lips curving into a knowing smile as you take in the way his presence dominates the space between you. Hank is so attractive that as your eyes roam over his face, you can’t help but get lost in the details of him.

“You really want to know?” he asks, his voice warm and intoxicating, laced with a dangerous allure that makes it impossible to look away.

“Yes, Hank, I really want to know,” you reply a little more breathless than you intend with him so close.

His eyes darken, locking with yours, and the way he’s staring at you sends a wave of heat through you.

“Tell you what,” he says, his voice lowering with seduction as his eyes fall to your lips. “You kiss it better,” he says, with a slow smile, “and maybe I’ll tell you.”

His words are like a slow burn through your core the concern quickly morphing into something else entirely.

For a moment, you hesitate, your gaze flickering between his eyes and that damn bruise. You feel terrible that he’s hurt, but the way he’s watching you, like he’s daring you to cross a line, has heat pooling in your core.

“Come on,” he urges softly, his voice a velvet caress. “Kiss it better.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and before you know it, you’re leaning in, closing the gap between you. Your lips brush against the bruised skin just below his eye, soft and hesitant at first, but then you press a kiss onto his cheek full of all your unspoken affection for him.

Hank sharply inhales and you can tell right away the kiss had more of an effect than he lets on.

When you slowly pull back, his eyes are darker, his smirk gone, lost in desire, replaced with something far more intense.

You’re close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against your lips, and as he stares at you, your mind spins, your body reacting to him in ways you hadn’t expected.

“I need another kiss,” he whispers, and before you can respond, his lips brush softly against yours. The kiss starts slow but quickly deepens. His lips growing demanding, his control unmistakable as he kisses like he knows exactly how to break you down, how to make you melt under his touch, and he does.

In that moment, nothing else matters—the bar, the patrons, it all fades away. You just want him, the connection between you two so deep, it feels like you could drown in it.

When he finally pulls back, you’re left breathless, your heart racing, your body aching with need and you see his eyes darken, his lips curving into a devious knowing grin.

“You’re dangerous,” you whisper, half breathless, half aroused.

“You have no idea,” he reveals, his gaze flickering to your lips, then back to your eyes as a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “You taste even better than I remember,” he admits.

His words take you by surprise, sending images of your last hookup flashing through your mind—the heat, the intensity, the way your body instinctively responded to him. A sudden flush rises to your cheeks as your lips part, craving more.

He can see the effect he’s having on you and his smirk widens just a little more, a knowing glint in his eyes as he straightens up.

“Take a shot for me.”he says low and smooth,

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “A shot?”

“Yeah,” he says, already reaching for the bottle behind him.

There’s a teasing edge in his voice, but underneath it, there’s a challenge—a quiet authority that makes it clear he expects you to follow his lead. The way he’s looking at you, like he’s got something planned, makes your heart race faster.

He pours you a shot of amber liquid, pushing the glass toward you with a slow, deliberate movement.

“Take it down ,” he says, his eyes never leaving yours.

You reach for the glass without thinking, your fingers brushing against his as you lift it to your lips.

The whiskey burns as it slides down your throat, the heat spreading through your body, making your skin tingle. Hank watches you with that same dark intensity, waiting for you to finish before pouring another.

“Good,” he says softly, pouring the next round. “one more.”

You open your mouth to protest, but his eyes are locked onto yours, commanding, unwavering.

He pushes the glass toward you again, and there’s no question—he’s in control now, and he knows it.

He knows how easily you fall under his authority, how you like the edge of danger, the way he takes charge, pushing you further than you would ever go on your own.

You take the second shot, the room spinning just a little as the alcohol starts to hit. Hank smirks, watching the way your lips part, your breath quickening. He pours another, the third, the amber liquid sloshing in the glass as he sets it in front of you.

“One more,” he says, his voice a rough whisper now filled with promise. “For me.”

His words make your heart pound, the heat in your stomach growing as you take the glass, downing it in one gulp. The burn is stronger this time, the edges of the room starting to blur, your mind foggy with the warmth spreading through you.

You’re dizzy now, but Hank—he’s crystal clear, standing in-front of  you, his eyes heavy with intent.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, his voice sending a shiver through you.

He leans down, his lips brushing the side of your ear, just barely grazing your skin. “My shift’s over,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath making your pulse race.

“It is?” you ask, your voice softer than you intend, feeling the anticipation heavy between you.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes burning into yours, studying you, as his smirk widens. “Yeah,” he says, his voice low and full of promise. “And I’m taking you to my place.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with intent, and the way he’s looking at you makes it impossible to say no.

It’s not really a question and the way he says it, with a hint of dominance, sends a thrill through you. He’s not asking for permission; he’s already decided how the night’s going to end.

His words are laced with the promise of something intense, something that will leave you breathless, just like before.

You know what you’re getting into with Hank. There’s no pretense with him. He wants you, and he’s not shy about it. And if you’re honest with yourself, you want him too. The tension between you has been simmering since you first met.

“Your place, huh?” you manage, trying to keep your voice steady, though it’s hard when he’s so close, his scent, his heat, clouding your thoughts blurring with the alcohol.

Hank leans in again his lips brushing against the side of your ear sending another wave of heat crashing through you. “Unless you have other plans,” he teases, his voice a lower tone that vibrates through your skin “But something tells me you don’t.”

He pulls back, and the look in his eyes is unmistakable. You’re on the edge, teetering, and Hank is right there, waiting to pull you over to make you lose yourself to him tonight.

The thought of being alone with him, the promise of what’s waiting, sends a rush of heat through you. 

Without thinking, you nod, your body making the decision before your mind can catch up. “Take me to your place,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

His grin deepens with satisfaction as he steps back from the bar. “Good girl,” he says, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he turns away to close out his shift.

You stand up, ready to leave, but as soon as you do, the room spins unexpectedly and you quickly reach out to steady yourself against the bar. You’re so drunk you can barely stand, and before you even realize it, Hank’s hand slips firmly around your waist.

“Come on, lightweight,” he teases, “Don’t make me carry you out of here.”

You glance up at him as he steadies you and your heart skips a beat at how effortlessly handsome he is. 

His sandy blonde hair falls perfectly around his face, his blue eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and desire, and that smirk—the one that makes your heart beat faster.

He guides you out of the bar, the cool night air hitting your skin, making your mind hazy with the alcohol buzzing through your veins. The world feels slightly off balance with every step, but one thing is certain: you’re his tonight, and there’s no turning back. 

The way to his place is a blur, his hand warm and firm around your waist, leading you down darkened streets. The anticipation builds with every step, the air between you filled with unspoken desire. You’re hyper-aware of every brush of his fingers, every glance he throws your way, like he’s already undressing you with his eyes.

By the time you reach his apartment, your pulse is racing, your body aching with the promise of what’s to come. Hank doesn’t waste any time. The door barely shuts behind you before his hands are on you, pulling you close, his lips crashing against yours.

His kiss is demanding, his hands sliding down to your hips, gripping you tightly as he backs you against the wall. You gasp against his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours, making your knees weaken. His body presses into yours, firm and unyielding, and you feel the unmistakable hardness of his cock.

“You have no idea how  much I want you,” he whispers against your jaw, his voice laced with desire as he nips at your lower lip, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. 

“Show me,” you say near breathless, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

 It’s what he wants to hear, and you know it.

Hank’s eyes darken, his smirk returning as he pulls back just enough to look at you. His thumb tracing your jaw “I will,” he promises and his hands slide up your sides, pulling your shirt over your head in one smooth motion.

His gaze sweeps over you, fixating on your red lingerie as his eyes grow even darker with hunger. 

“You wore it for me,” he says, his voice filled with desire.

You nod, trying to stay calm, trying to maintain some control, but the way his hands move to your lingerie, fingers brushing over your nipples sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, making it nearly impossible to think straight.

His lips curve into a wicked grin, clearly pleased with what he sees  and before you can catch your breath, his mouth is on yours again, his kiss more demanding, and possessive than ever, reclaiming you all over again.

His hands move to your waist, fingers hooking to your skirt as he pulls it down letting it fall to the floor.  

You step out of it, still lip-locked, your breaths mingling, your head spinning. Now only in your bra and panties you reach for him, your fingers tugging at his shirt to take it off, desperate to touch more of him, but Hank grabs your wrists, pressing them back against the wall. 

“You want it so badly, don’t you?” he teases, his closeness amplifying every word, making you feel powerless to resist him. “Show me how much you want it.” He commands his eyes dark with intensity as he watches you, enjoying every second as you squirm under his attention.

Your body answers before you can speak, your hips pressing forward, seeking more of him as you look into his eyes pleading desperately. 

A low chuckle escapes his lips, the sound vibrating through you, and you can feel the heat of his cock pressing firmly against you, the tension between you almost unbearable.

“So needy,” he whispers, leaning in close his voice dark and teasing as he gathers both your wrists above your head, lowering his other to skim his fingers along your thighs.

Before you can think, his fingers press firmly against your clit, the sensation overwhelming as you gasp. He applies just the right amount of pressure, holding his fingers firmly in place as the pulse of your clit throbs beneath his touch.

“Tell me,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear, “do you like it when I touch you like this?”

His fingers move in slow, agonizing circles, teasing you, his control absolute. His grip on your wrists tightens as you squirm in his grasp, your body betraying you as the pleasure builds too quickly. 

Your legs tremble, your breath hitches, and your hips instinctively push against his hand, desperate for more, for him to finally push his fingers inside you, but he pulls his fingers back keeping you pinned in place, denying you any control.

“Please Hank…” you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper needing more your tone unmistakable.

His grip on your wrists tightens slightly, his lips curving into a satisfied smile. “Begging already?” he asks, his voice low and dark with a teasing edge.

A slight moan escapes your lips as he presses you harder against the wall, pinning you there with his body.

He leans in closer, his lips grazing your ear. “Beg me again” he whispers, his tone commanding, his breath warm against your skin.

You tremble, feeling his power over you, and give in completely. “Please ….please Hank I need more….” you plead, your voice soft and desperate. 

His smirk widens clearly enjoying your submission, and his fingers return to your clit, teasing you mercilessly. He circles faster, flicking with precision and your moans fill the air, louder and more desperate than ever as the pressure builds inside you.

“Mmm that’s what I like to hear” he says slipping his fingers into your panties. 

His fingers glide through your slick wetness, the sensation making you shudder feeling the desire course through your entire body.

“You’re already soaking for me,” he says with a grin, his words dripping with satisfaction.

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry as his fingers firmly push inside, curling just right, grazing the spot that makes your walls tighten instantly. He moves with quick, force, each thrust of his fingers sending waves of pleasure through you.

His thumb finds your clit, pressing down firmly as your body tenses involuntarily, your walls clenching around his fingers.

The room blurs as all your senses focus on him. He’s pleasuring you so well that you can’t stop the soft moans escaping your lips as he keeps fingering you on the brink of ecstasy.

“Not yet,” he whispers watching your body react to his touch, his voice full of satisfaction as his fingers thrust even faster, pushing you to the brink.

Your breath catches as the pleasure builds to such an unbearable height that you can’t hold on any longer. Low, shaky moans escape your lips, your voice raw and desperate needing to come.

He hums as he savors the desperate, breathless sounds you’re making.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me…You’ve earned this one. Come for me” he says curling his fingers just right, driving you over the edge.

And you come, your body shuddering violently as the orgasm crashes over you. Your vision blurs, your muscles clenching uncontrollably around his fingers.

The pleasure consumes you as you cry out, barely aware of the world around you, completely lost in the overwhelming release he’s giving.

Hank hums in approval with your moans, enjoying every reaction of your body as you orgasm for him. He presses gentle, lingering kisses on your throat, savoring the moment as your body begins to calm, your breaths coming in softer gasps.

You stare up at him in pure bliss, your body flushed from the overwhelming pleasure and as he releases you from his grip, his eyes roam over you, dark with desire. He quickly undresses, pulling his shirt over his head in one smooth motion.

Every muscle on his toned body flexes firmly beneath his skin and your arousal spikes with each piece of clothing he removes.

Finally, his hands lower to his boxers, the outline of his size barely contained against the straining fabric. When he releases his cock it sways slightly, thick and heavy, the sight making you tremble with anticipation.

He pulls you away from the wall, his grip firm and possessive around your waist as he guides you toward the couch.

He presses down on your shoulders, guiding you to kneel on the cushions and before he can even get you into the position, you move on your own, sinking to your knees and arching your back, your elbows on the back rest offering yourself perfectly for him.

“Look at you,” he says, his voice low, a teasing smile curling at the corners of his lips. “You’ve been waiting for this, all night haven’t you?.”

Your breath hitches as his words sink in, your body trembling with anticipation. “Yes…,” you admit, your voice filled with need. “I want you so much”

“I know you do,” he says his fingers barely skimming the edge of your lingerie. “And I’m going to give you exactly what you want.” He promises unhooking your bra, sliding it down your arms.

“Stay just like this,” he says with authority, his voice firm as he steps away, leaving you in position, vulnerable and waiting.

You hear him move, the sound of a drawer opening, the anticipation coiling tighter in your stomach. Your body aches for his touch, your core pulsing with need.

You hear the faint tear of the condom wrapper, and your heart spikes with excitement. You can’t help but peek over your shoulder, watching as he rolls it down his length. 

The sight makes your pulse race and you quickly face forward again, trying to contain your arousal, but all you can think about is the way his cock is going to feel inside you again.

“You’ve been so patient for me,” he says with satisfaction as he returns, his fingers gliding down to your hips. His fingers hook into your panties, slowly pulling them downs, the fabric clinging to your wetness as he continues to bring them to your knees.

The position leaves you helpless, every inch of you on display, your breaths shaky with anticipation. You can feel his eyes on you, drinking in the sight, and it makes the tension coil in your stomach even tighter as you wait for his next move.

“You have no idea how perfect you look like this,” he praises, his voice filled with awe as he takes in the sight of you.

Your fully open to him, your body arched over the couch. But instead of feeling his cock pressing into you like you expect, there’s a shift. He drops to his knees behind you, his hands gripping your hips, his breath hot against your skin.

Then, you feel it—his tongue, warm and teasing, pressing gently against your slick heat. The sensation is overwhelming, his skilled tongue moving with deliberate, torturous precision. Teasing you with, feather light strokes, his lips grazing your sensitive folds as his moans begin to vibrate against you, deepening with each flick of his tongue.

He buries his face between your legs, his tongue swirling and dipping into you, his grip on your hips tightening. His tongue explores every inch of you, finding every sensitive spot and exploiting it mercilessly. 

Your moans and whimpers come deep from your chest, raw and unrestrained as your hands grip the back of the couch for support.  Your body rocks slightly on every stroke and flick of his tongue driving you closer to the edge, your body trembling uncontrollably as he continues to work you over.

Your breaths turn to quick gasps as you hold on, trying to keep control, feeling the onslaught of pleasure but the dam is ready to burst, threatening to spill over at any moment.

Your moans grow more desperate, the sound of his pleasure mingling with your own as he devours you, his grip on your hips tightening as he pulls you against his face. The way he eats you out so relentlessly has you gasping, your fingers digging into the couch as the pleasure becomes too much to bear.

His tongue flicks over your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you so powerful that you begin to orgasm his tongue plunging deep within you making you involuntarily come. 

His moans deepen, his grip tightening on your hips, savoring every second of you coming in his mouth and he doesn’t stop. His tongue works relentlessly, lapping up every bit of your release, until your body is quivering, completely undone, barely able to catch a breath.

As you come down from the high, you feel him slowly stand behind you, his presence overwhelming as you try to steady yourself.

“You ready for me?” he asks, his voice low and teasing and he slips his cock along your wet folds, sending a surges of pleasure through your body making you moan in response.

“…Y-Yes,” you finally breathe, your voice shaky, barely even able to hold it together.

You feel him gripping your hips firmly, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you back toward him, his control over you absolute.

“Good,” he says, his voice commanding,“I’m going to give you exactly what you’ve been begging for.”

With one hard, thrust, he slowly pushes his cock through your entrance. The intensity makes you gasp, your body tightening around him as he fills you completely the heaviness of his cock making you cry out in pleasure.

Hanks voice is rough as he starts to take you, his pace deliberate and controlled, building a rhythm in you that has you gasping with every stroke. 

Pathetic little cries escape your lips as he takes you harder, faster,his skin clapping against yours, and you can feel every inch of him  as he claims you from behind.

“Taking my cock so well,” he groans, his voice thick with satisfaction as he watches your body respond to him, each thrust pushing you further into submission. His hand grips your hair firmly, pulling you back to force your head up, making sure he can see your face, your lips parted and panting in the air, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation he’s giving.

“I want to hear you say it,” he commands as he thrusts harder, deeper, forcing you to feel every inch of his cock. 

You moan, barely able to form words being railed so hard by him, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. “I’m… taking you… so… well,” you manage to gasp, your voice breathless, broken by the overwhelming sensation as his cock fills you completely, your walls gripping him tightly with every deep thrust.

Hank’s hand slips between your legs, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in firm circles. The added pressure pushes you over the edge, your body convulsing around him as you come hard, your moans filling the room as the orgasm rips through you.

Your legs tremble, nearly giving out as you shudder violently, your body completely taken over as the orgasm wrecks you. 

You’re gasping for air, your entire body shaking as you try to recover, but Hank doesn’t stop. His fingers continue their relentless assault on your clit, dragging out your climax, pushing you further than you’ve ever gone before.

You can’t stop the moans spilling from your lips, your body trembling uncontrollably as he pulls you back against him. It’s too much—the pleasure too intense—your body reacting in ways you didn’t even know it could.

But you love it—the intensity of it, the force of it—the way he’s making your body lock in place, the way he pushes you beyond your limits. 

He leaves  no room for thought, only the raw sensation of him fucking you sensless as your mind goes blank with each powerful thrust. 

“Arch your back,” he suddenly demands, but his cock is driving into you so hard now that you’re unable to move, moaning relentlessly as he pounds into you.

“I said, arch your back,” he yells more forcefully, but you’re locked in place as you cry out, feeling the unrelenting power of his cock driving into you.

Suddenly, you feel his hand grip the back of your head, pushing your face into the couch. Your desperate cry is muffled into the cushions as the sound of his hips smacking against you fills the air.

His thrusts grow more frenzied, each one rocking you forward, knocking the breath from your lungs as your body struggles to keep up with his relentless pace. 

His hands grip your hips tightly, demanding more as he forces your back to arch lower, pushing your chest down into the cushions giving him exactly what he wants. Your pathetic moans are muffled into the cushions as he drives you into another intense orgasm.

You love it—the way he controls you, his dominance in every movement, the way he uses you with such effortless precision. The position only heightens the thrill, your body completely exposed and vulnerable for him, your every sense heightened as he takes what he wants. It’s everything you crave and your mind numbs with the intensity of it as your body surrenders completely.

Your walls tighten around his cock as you orgasm again and he grunts above you feeling you come.

He follows close behind, his thrusts becoming erratic as he groans deeply, his hips jerking into you with the force of his release. His cock pulses inside you as he spills into the condom, his hands on your shoulder forcing your chest into the couch even harder as he rides out his orgasm.

When it’s over, the living room falls silent, the only sounds your heavy breaths filling the space. You’re a mess, hair disheveled, body trembling, your legs barely able to hold you up as the intensity of everything still courses through you. 

Hank doesn’t pull out immediately. Instead, he leans over, his touch gentle as he brushes your hair away from your face, his fingers soft against your flushed skin. His eyes linger on you for a moment, concern flickering behind the intensity. “Are you okay?” he asks, his breaths still heavy, spilling from his lips in uneven gasps.

“Mhm,” you manage to respond, your voice weak but content.

You both look at each other forming slow knowing smiles saying everything without exchanging a word.

A satisfied sigh leaves his lips as he brings his hand through his hair, sweeping the fallen strands from his face then he rests his hand on your hips, holding you steady. He carefully pulls all the way out and your body shudders from the sensation, feeling the remnants of his size leaving you.

A heavy exhaustion settles over you once he releases you from his grasp and with your limbs too tired to move you simply lay on your side catching your breath.

You watch Hank as he discards his used condom in a bin before he kneels searching through his discarded clothing.

You’re still laying there, your breaths evening out as you slowly begin to look around his place.

Trophies line a shelf near the window, and baseball memorabilia is decorating every available space—many of the items centered around the Giants.

Hank doesn’t seem in any rush to have you leave, and the realization makes your stomach flutter in ways you hadn’t expected.

You slowly sit up regaining your senses and notice an aluminum bat leaning against the corner that catches your eye.

“You play?” you ask, your gaze shifting back to him as he steps into his boxers, the waistband snapping into place on his hips.

“I did,” he says, his voice casual, though there’s a hint of something heavier beneath the surface as he reveals the surgical scar on his leg to you.

The angry red lines and white dots where he was pieced back together are unmistakable.

“Oh, shit,” you say, realizing the severity of it. “How’d that happen?” you ask, pulling your skirt up over your hips and grabbing your shirt, putting it on as you follow him to the kitchen.

“High school. Broke it clean in half,” he says, pouring a glass of water and sliding it toward you on the counter. “Not even the worst of my accidents,” he adds, his voice quieter, his eyes flickering with a hint of shame as he quickly looks away.

You watch as he pours himself a glass of orange juice, and you grin slightly. “You don’t drink anymore Hank?” you ask, suddenly noticing the choice.

He turns, showing you another fresh surgical scar on his back, and you notice his body—though strong—is a patchwork of pain and injuries. You step closer, your fingers lightly tracing the fresh line along his skin.

“Liver?” you ask quietly realizing it must be a vital organ.

“Kidney,” he corrects, taking a drink of his juice and there’s something unspoken in his tone, a weight that he carries despite his outward charm.

You look at him differently now, a swell of sadness creeping in as you take in the scars and the bruise under his eye, each one telling its own story. He catches the look on your face and puts his glass down, leaning in as he places his hands on the counter.

“What’s all that?” he asks, his finger gently touching your chin, guiding your gaze back to his eyes. “You feel sorry for me now?”

Your eyes flicker down, unsure of what to say. His scars, add something raw and undeniably attractive to him—but you don’t admit it. Before you can think of a response, his hand reaches for your face, fingers gently trailing along your skin, lifting your chin so your eyes meet his again.

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” he says, his eyes lighting up with a depth that pulls you in—reassuring yet playful.

“I can’t feel sorry for you, and I can’t care for you… so what am I supposed to do with you?” you tease, your voice light, though the weight of your feelings for him linger beneath the surface.

Hank’s smile softens as he steps closer, his shirtless body fit and strong, his eyes flickering over you with a subtle intensity. His hands gently guide around your waist, pulling you just close enough to feel the heat between you.

“You don’t have to do anything with me” he says, his tone casual as his eyes flicker with intensity.

You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “You’re trouble,” you say, though your eyes betray just how much he affects you.

He grins, his hands resting on your waist, trailing ever so slightly. “I think you like trouble,” he confirms, his voice filled with amusement as his smirk deepens, his eyes flashing with playful mischief as he watches your reaction.

You open your mouth to protest, but the words catch in your throat as Hank kisses you. A warmth spreads across your cheeks, your sudden vulnerability betraying you, and you can’t bring yourself to do anything but give in. His kiss deepens, clearly enjoying the way he’s made you feel for him.

His hand moves from your waist to your cheek, his thumb brushing gently along your jawline as he pulls back from the kiss, looking into your eyes. “Stay the night,” he says, his voice low, more a of a demand than a question.

You hesitate for a moment, your heart racing as he searches your eyes.

“I’ll stay,” you reply, your voice soft but steady as relief washes over you—knowing that, despite work in the morning, you want to stay with him more than anything.

A small, satisfied smile tugs at his lips. “Come,” he says, taking your hand and gently leading you to his bedroom.

When he pushes the door open, his theme continues —more trophies, more photos of games, and his black Giants cap hanging by the window.

His bed is large and inviting, the tension between you softening as he pulls you down onto it with him. 

You lie face to face, his fingers affectionately trailing over your skin as your thumb gently grazes the bruise under his eye. 

“You ever gonna tell me how you got this?” you ask your curiosity finally getting the better of you.

He takes your hand, slowly intertwining his fingers with yours, pausing for a moment as if thinking over his words.

“Two Russian guys in tracksuits came into the bar last week,” he says, his voice low and casual, “I guess I made them a bad drink or something because they beat me senseless,” he says with a shrug. “Next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital.”

Sadness washes over you finally heading the brutality of it all. “Hank, that’s awful,” you say, your voice filled with concern.

He looks at you, his expression softening. “You waited for me though” he says, glancing at you with appreciation, and your heart swells at the sentiment.

Suddenly, a cat climbs up onto the bed, its paws light and confident as it makes its way toward Hank. You blink, surprised. “You have a cat?” you ask, glancing at him.

Hank chuckles, petting the cat affectionately, his hand moving gently down its back. “It’s not mine,” he says with a smile. “It’s my neighbor’s. I’m watching him while hes out of town.” he reveals.

You smile, watching Hank pet the cat with such care. “What’s his name?” you ask, curiosity clear in your voice.

“Bud,” Hank replies, looking at you with a soft expression as he continues scratching the cat behind its ear. There’s something about the way he’s so affectionate with the cat that makes you see him differently—a softer side of Hank that you hadn’t fully realized until now.

As Bud curls up between you both a quiet sense of peace settles over the room. The sexual tension from earlier has now dissolved, replaced by something deeper, something real, and as Hank turns his gaze to you, it’s the first time, his smile is gentle and his eyes are soft. There’s an unspoken vulnerability in the way he looks at you, and in that moment you realize just how much he’s letting you in.

🧢 END?

🔗 Masterlist

🏆 Inspired By: @umika @aust-een @feralgodmothers @purejasmine @austinbutlerfly @nostalgichoya

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[chheolie]

dad seokmin forgot to keep his promise

seokmin was having one of those days where he planned to spend the entire afternoon entertaining his son with the most outlandish games he could think of. full of enthusiasm, he turned on the toy fire truck, which started zooming across the floor with its lights flashing and siren echoing throughout the room.

"look at this, buddy!" he exclaimed, excitedly, calling his little one over to watch the toy in action.

but to his surprise, his son, sitting on the floor with a surprisingly firm look, just crossed his arms and put on an expression that looked way too serious for a three-year-old. his little lips pushed out into a dramatic pout, as if he was experiencing the worst day of his life.

seokmin raised an eyebrow, confused, trying to decipher the unexpected reaction.

“is he mad about something? or maybe he just doesn’t like fire trucks anymore?” he thought, watching his son curiously.

determined to keep trying, he brought the truck closer and attempted to get him excited again.

"let’s put out the fire, son!" he said in an upbeat tone, waving the toy from side to side, trying to make it as fun as possible.

to his complete shock, the little boy, still with his pout intact, kicked the truck with his chubby foot, sending it sliding across the rug until it bumped against the couch leg. the kid’s angry face only grew, and the pout? somehow, it looked even bigger.

seokmin had to try really hard not to laugh. he felt his lips tremble with the urge to let out a chuckle, but he held it back. he didn’t want to make his little one any more upset.

"okay, my love… you don’t want to play with the fire truck," seokmin said in a softer, more paternal tone. "how about we go for a walk outside?" he suggested, smiling as if it was the most amazing idea ever.

the boy looked at his dad with a mix of disapproval and stubbornness, then turned his face away, crossing his arms even tighter.

seokmin sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling clueless. he tried everything he could think of – he even offered to go outside and watch the “big trucks” his son usually loved to see, but nothing worked. feeling at a loss and a little desperate, he finally picked up his phone to call for help from the real expert: his wife.

with quick fingers, he typed a message, and soon his phone buzzed with a reply.

seokmin: babe, help.

he saw the typing bubbles pop up and then the message appeared.

seokmin: i think i just became our son’s number one enemy. 😩😩

y/n: 🤨 really? why?

seokmin: he won’t talk to me. won’t play with his favorite fire truck, doesn’t even want to go outside…

y/n: did you ask him why? maybe it’s something important

seokmin: babe… he’s only three. how’s he supposed to know how to explain what he’s feeling? 🥺

y/n: 🙄 ASK HIM, seokmin.

seokmin was ready to finally fix the situation, but he couldn’t resist asking his son one more time, now that the little boy seemed a bit less upset.

"son, did daddy do something wrong? why are you so upset?" he gently held his son’s tiny shoulders. "is there anything daddy can do to make you not be mad anymore?"

the little boy looked at him, still pouting, and said in a slightly teary voice, "you… you pwomised… stwawbewwy ice cweam… and you fowgot!"

seokmin had to cover his mouth to hide his laughter. of course, it was about food! and he vaguely remembered mentioning something about ice cream the night before, but with all the excitement and games, he’d completely forgotten.

"oh, son… i’m really sorry! daddy forgot about the ice cream!"

seokmin quickly grabbed his phone and texted his wife, almost as if he needed her to witness what he’d just discovered.

seokmin: babe, he said it

seokmin: i promised him strawberry ice cream after lunch, can you believe it? 😩😩

almost immediately, her reply came in.

y/n: really? i’m a witness.

seokmin: i forgot i’d promised that 😳

seokmin: but… how could he remember that? he’s just a baby!

y/n: he’s your son, seokmin. your legacy: selective memory for sweets and pizza.

seokmin: 😅😅😅😅😅

y/n: give him his ice cream before he packs his bag to run away from home.

laughing at the thought of his son packing a bag and searching for a new home that took ice cream promises seriously, seokmin headed to the kitchen to prepare the long-awaited treat. he grabbed a small bowl, added a few scoops of strawberry ice cream, and went all out: strawberry syrup, colorful sprinkles, and of course, a cherry on top. he carried the bowl back to the living room like it was a trophy, still imagining which uncle his son might ask for refuge with. maybe vernon? surely he wouldn’t forget a promise.

"here it is, buddy! your strawberry ice cream, with everything you deserve!"

the little boy, now with bright eyes, immediately dropped his pout and grabbed the bowl with both tiny hands, amazed by what he saw.

"yummy!" he said, fully focused on the ice cream and visibly happy.

seokmin crouched down beside him and asked hopefully, "so… do you forgive me for forgetting?"

the child nodded, but he was so engrossed in the ice cream that seokmin wasn’t sure if the forgiveness was genuine or just temporary. the ice cream was clearly priority number one.

he quickly sent another message to y/n.

seokmin: he forgave me…

seokmin: but i’m not sure we’re totally okay yet… i think his heart’s still divided between the ice cream and the grudge.

y/n: hahaha, i’m glad for you, babe.

seokmin watched as his son enjoyed the ice cream, and with each spoonful, the little boy let out a happy “mmm!” while seokmin watched, relieved to have made things right.

when his little one finished, he held up the empty bowl and grinned.

"was it good?" seokmin asked, smiling back at him.

"good, good!" he replied with his sweet little voice and eyes shining with joy.

suddenly, the boy got up, handed the bowl back to seokmin without much ceremony, and ran over to the fire truck still sitting on the floor.

"wooo woo woo woo!" he started imitating the fire truck siren with excitement, waving his dad over to join the game.

seokmin wasted no time. he ran to the kitchen to put the bowl down and, in seconds, was back in the living room, ready for the new mission to save the world. he pretended to put on an invisible firefighter helmet and gave his son a salute.

"firefighter seokmin reporting for duty!" he announced with a determined, goofy expression. "what’s the emergency, chief?"

his son held onto the toy truck, looking at him with serious little eyes.

"fire! big fire! daddy, come!" he shouted, running around the room with the truck while seokmin followed, pretending to turn on a siren.

the house transformed into a "fire station," and the two of them spent the next several minutes saving stuffed animals from the imaginary blaze.

seokmin: babe, we’re friends again

seokmin: we’re playing firefighters

y/n: alright, mr. firefighter, don’t make promises you won’t remember to keep

seokmin: 🫡🫡🫡