#it feels good to finally finish this and get it out there

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - Chaos, Chaos

1 | 2

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

The Fun Gang arrives just in the nick of time for Kris, and with that added strength, Kris is able to overcome Jevil and get their reward. But there's still some questions left unanswered...

Aaaand here's the final part for the Jevil boss battle! Feels good to finally get this comic done, considering how long it took to get out! Work on others is still continuing in the meanwhile, but thanks so much for checking out this crazy secret boss battle scene!!

Alt text for this comic is under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - Back outside the gyre, Kris rematerializes with a quick POP just below where Ralsei is standing. They land hard on their back, but they’re alive and whole again. 

Panel 2 - Wider shot of Kris, Ralsei and Susie, now together again. Kris trembles and breathes heavily, curled up on a ball, while Ralsei hovers over them, and says “Thank goodness, I got here in time!” Susie looks on, snarling at the danger before them.

Panel 3 - Wide panel as the Fun Gang face down the enormous Jevil, who is continuing to spin around and around the bottomless pit. “The hell is THAT thing?!” Susie asks, her long hair blowing towards the gyre. 

“A bound god! This must have been what Seam mentioned to you…” Ralsei says to Kris, who is still curled up beneath him.

Panel 4 - “But I’m not familiar with how to subdue this god!” Ralsei finishes, still hovering over Kris. Kris keeps staring back at Jevil, taking quick and shallow breaths as they try to grasp being alive again. 

Panel 5 - Jevil continues to spin around wildly, and responds to Ralsei, “DEMON PRINCE, SEE, SEE? HOW THINGS TRULY BE OUTSIDE YOUR BOOKS, YOUR RULES!”

Page 2

Panel 1 - Kris manages to get back onto their feet, although they’re still trembling, and gripping at their shoulder where they just recently lost the arm. “I-if I can just reach the c-center…” they say, trying to get their strength back.

Ralsei works to steady Kris as they stand. “Courage, Kris! We’re here with you now!”

Panel 2 - Kris again faces down the spinning god, which grins back at them in anticipation.

Panel 3 - Closeup on Kris as determination sets into their face. They have an idea of what to do.

Panel 4 - Susie leans down, and Kris climbs up onto her back using her hair.

Panel 5 - Once situated on Susie, they raise their sword towards Jevil and give her the ACT command. Susie looks on, snarling and ready.

Panel 6 - Wider shot as Susie begins to carefully slide in closer to the spinning Jevil. The whirlwind is pulling them both in closer again. Ralsei stands by, watching cautiously.

Page 3

Panel 1 - The panels of the page curl around into a whirlwind movement as Susie and Kris slide in closer to Jevil.

Panel 2 - As Susie is almost up against Jevil’s orbit, she opens her jaws wide, revealing sharp teeth–

Panel 3 - And then snaps them down hard onto one of the large bone fingers as it spins by. She doesn’t bite through, but hangs on to the bone by her teeth.

Panel 4 - An overhead view as Susie and Kris are pulled along the edge of the whirlwind, with Susie hanging on by her teeth. However, they are now matching the speed that Jevil is spinning at.

Panel 5 - From Susie’s back, Kris now has a clear view of Jevil’s head at the center of the gyre. They ready their sword…

Panel 6 - Kris rears back, gripping the sword tight, clearly worried that something bad will happen again–

Panel 7 - A closeup on Kris’s armored feet as they make the leap from Susie’s back.

Page 4

Panel 1 - Very wide shot as Susie continues to hold on to Jevil’s scythe finger, dragged along his orbit. Jevil himself faces down Kris, who has jumped straight into the gyre, their sword raised to strike–

Panel 2 - Abstract black and white panel as the strike of something sharp hits its mark.

Panel 3 - A wide shot reveals that it is Kris who has struck home this time. They finish the leap across the bottomless pit with sword still in hand. Behind them, Jevil’s head has been severed from his body, and falls into the pit.

Panel 4 - Closeup on Jevil’s severed head as it falls. He doesn’t seem upset at all, but continues to grin wildly, letting out a laugh: “UUHHEE HEE HEEEEE!”

Panel 5 - Wide shot as Jevil’s spinning tent body begins to lose its balance. The spinning slows down, and the enormous hands begin to lose their standing and topple over. Ralsei watches the scene as Kris grips onto part of the tent body, hanging on during the collapse. Strange viscera begins to pour out of the severed neck, filling the pit below.

Panel 6 - Closer on Kris as they continue to hold on tight to the tent skin with one hand, and keep their sword gripped in the other. They watch the scene below them–

Page 5

Panel 1 - Reverse shot as Kris watches from above. Strange viscera pours out of the open wound and fills the pit below them: bones, skulls and entrails, animal heads and limbs, all mixed in with feathers, toys, cards, cake and candy. 

Panel 2 - Closeup as the viscera finishes spilling out, one item comes to land on top of the pile: a strange, dark shard of what looks like black glass.

Panel 3 - Above the mess, Susie continues to grip onto the large bone as the spinning slowly comes to a stop. “Whuzzat fing?!” she asks, her mouth mostly busy holding onto Jevil.

Panel 4 - Closeup as Kris leans down and picks the shard of black glass off the top of the pile.

Panel 5 - Wider shot as Kris stands on top of the junk pile. They examine the glass in their hand carefully. “I’m not sure…”

Panel 6 - Kris looks up from the pile in shock and surprise as Jevil’s voice echoes around them: “WHAT FUN, FUN! SUCH A WONDROUS ROMP, I LOST MY HEAD!”

Panel 7 - Kris turns their head to see Jevil’s severed neck spring to life, and turn towards them. Inside the wound there is only blackness…and a face looking back at them. Just a simple face of pinpoint eyes and many wicked teeth, grinning in the black. “SUCH STRENGTH, LITTLE LOST HUMAN!” Jevil praises them.

Page 6

Panel 1 - Closeup on the new, prickly Jevil face peering at Kris from the black. “PERHAPS ONE DAY, HIS BLACK HAND WILL STRETCH FROM THE PIT AND TOUCH YOUR MIND, TOO!” Jevil says. The many teeth stretch into a grin. “THEN…THEN!...”

Panel 2 - Kris takes a cautious step back, and puts a hand back on their sword. “I’m not interested in any more of your freedoms.”

Panel 3 - Wide shot as Kris moves down the viscera pile, away from the face grinning at them still. They pocket the shard as watch Jevil warily. The face in the black replies, “PITY, PITY! BUT ALL THE BETTER FOR ME, ME! TAKE MY TREASURE, BRING CHAOS TO YOUR LITTLE TOWN, AND I’LL BE FREE!”

Panel 4 - Far outside the circle, Ralsei raises his hands to his mouth and calls out to Kris. “Kris Come on!”

Panel 5 - Kris begins a steady climb out of the pit, with Susie waiting for them above. 

Panel 6 - Wider shot as Kris finishes climbing out of the sand trap, and grips onto Susie’s long hair for support. She grimaces and they climb back onto her shoulders. 

Page 7

Panel 1 - Wider shot as Kris and Susie step away from where Jevil now lays collapsed in the sand pit, completely subdued. “What was THAT all about?” Susie asks. Kris continues to examine the black shard, and says, “I found this strange object. It came out of its body…”

Panel 2 - Downshot on Ralsei as he answers: “Oh Kris, wonderful! This battle wasn’t in vain…you got a shadow crystal!” In the foreground, Kris holds the shadow crystal carefully between their fingers.

Panel 3 - Shot of Kris on Susie’s back as they look warily at the crystal. They ask, “This is what Seam spoke of?” 

Offscreen, Ralsei replies: “Yes! The bound gods of the Dark World carry shadow crystals!”

Panel 4 - Wide shot of the entire Fun Gang as Ralsei continues to explain: “We need as many as you can find…once you combine enough together, you can channel your soul through the crystal to open the Dark Fountain.” Kris continues to study the crystal, while Susie just looks up warily at the open space they’re in.

Page 8

Panel 1 - Kris looks down at Ralsei, and narrows their eyes in slight suspicion. “If I need these, why did you not mention this particular bound god to me?”

Panel 2 - Ralsei holds out his hands to Kris, and gives his explanation: “Well…some of them are more of a mystery to me. Especially when they spring from smaller creatures that have obtained godhood…they are hard to find, and even hard to defeat.”

Panel 3 - “I worry about what effect these gods may have on the state of your mind!” Ralsei finishes, looks up with concern at Kris. Kris watches him from the foreground. 

Panel 4 - Focus on Kris as they flash back to not long ago, when their body was unraveling in Jevil’s gyre. They have a haunted look on their face.

Panel 5 - Closeup on Kris as they finally respond: “I am fine.” However, they hide much of their face, and they do not seem to actually be fine.

Panel 6 - Wider shot as the Fun Gang begins to slowly move away from Jevil. Susie continues to look towards the ceiling, and says, “Ugh, let’s just get out of here! Now we’re probably gonna need a rest before we face King, anyway.” Kris continues to hide their expression. Ralsei says, “Right! Kris, let’s get you out of this gloomy basement!”

Page 9

Panel 1 - Wide shot as the Fun Gang begin to slowly trek back up the sandy hill that Kris slid down in the first place. It’s going to be a long way back up. For a moment, they are silent, with Susie just kicking up sand behind her as she steadily treads uphill.

Panel 2 - Focus on Kris as they glance back at Ralsei, asking something else that has been on their mind. “Ralsei…who is this ‘he’ that the god kept talking about? With black hands?”

Panel 3 - Below Kris, Ralsei waves the question off, looking dismissive. “Oh, it’s clear that that god wasn’t in a sound state of mind…it could have been anyone.”

Panel 4 - Extremely wide panel as the Fun Gang makes their way back up the hill towards the single shaft of light where Kris first fell. All around them is just a thick, empty darkness. However, from the panel borders themselves, something like black fingers stretch out just at the edge of their perception.

“Nothing for you to worry about, Kris,” Ralsei says. 

[cowgirlvi]

mdni. sub-bottom jinx. fem-top reader. fingering. oral. vaginal sex. strap-on usage. size kink. squirting. sorta loss of virginity.

wc; 2,245

thinking about how immensely tight jinx’s pussy is. you two have already fooled around many, many times before. of course, you started with some heavy-petting and deep kisses. then the two of you discovered the beauty of oral sex. after that, you incorporated some rough and fast tribbing into your nightly routine— which was a slippery, heavenly mess.

(you suspect jinx has the wettest pussy you’ve ever seen).

the only issue the two of you were facing was how tight her hole is. you could slowly ease one of your fingers inside her, but she would tremble and whine the entire time like she was taking someone’s cock. adding a second finger was a little bit of a challenge, and it took you kitten-licking her clit until she loosened up enough. sinking a third finger inside her was out of the question; it seemed impossible.

her pussy was always completely drenched when you two had sex, so you knew it wasn’t an issue of whether or not she was turned on. the only explanation you could think of was that her pussy is just naturally tighter than the average cunt.

you told jinx that it was okay, that you didn’t have to penetrate her if she didn’t want it, that lots of women preferred clitoral stimulation instead, but she had quickly assured you that she wanted it very much. and if jinx wanted something, she was determined to have it.

which led you to this moment, with jinx face down on your shared bed, a towel underneath her body while her peachy ass is wiggling in the air, moaning as you finally managed to stuff two fingers inside her pussy. you’re wearing a leather harness with a bright pink dildo attached, which jinx has been wanting to try out since forever.

”mmffgh! yes, oh— fuck!” jinx is mewling noisily, and you doubt she’s noticed that she’s desperately riding your fingers, too drunk on the feeling of having something inside her little pussy. it’s all so incredibly lewd, hypnotizing. then, she reaches back blindly until her small hand grasps onto your strap. “put it in, please, please.”

”not yet,” you say distractedly. “i want to get three fingers inside you first.”

goosebumps decorate her skin as she quivers and moans into the baby pink bedsheets. she’s always been a squirmy little thing; especially when she’s having her pussy played with, the little minx. your own cunt is clenching and throbbing at the sight.

her hole is squelching obscenely, her juices having nowhere else to go but down her thighs. her cunt is tight around you, squeezing you like she’s trying to cut off your fingers and keep them inside her forever. you know she wouldn’t mind; her hole is tiny but it’s always been greedy for anything it can get.

she’s whining mindlessly, “ahh— fuck, fuuuck!” and you stuff your fingers inside her to the brim, scissoring her open, her sticky cream overflowing around the digits. the walls of her pussy feel soft and gummy.

”are you ready, sweetheart? i’m gonna try to put in another one,” you say, tracing your ring finger around around the edge of her hole. she flinches like you tickled her. every inch of skin around her pussy is so incredibly sensitive and receptive to your touch.

”do it, do it, you’re so slow— god, you take fucking forever, i— unghh!” you smack her ass before she can finish her sentence, her cheek blooming with a red handprint. you admire the way jinx’s pussy physically jolts with the sudden pain, feeling how powerfully she clenches around your fingers. you lean down and bite at her tender skin, sucking a purple mark onto her ass with a loud, wet, smooching noise, tonguing over it to soothe the sting.

”be good,” you say. you love knowing that you’re the one dictating every second of the pleasure she’s receiving, that she’s on the verge of tears and it’s all because of you. “i know it’s hard for you, isn’t it? your hole is just so hungry,” you coo sympathetically.

”yes, yes, i need— i need your cock inside my pussy, uuuh—!”

you lick down her thighs until you’re sucking on her clit from the back, swirling your tongue gently because she’s already so overwhelmed. jinx lets out a strangled cry as she feels you slowly ease a third finger inside her tight little cunt, stretching her further than she’s ever been stretched before. her back arches off the bed, pressing her ass higher into the air, and you kneed the plump muscle with your other hand.

her hips twitch and grind against you. your fingers are beginning to prune with how utterly soaked she is. she’s so tight it’s hard for you to move, but you manage anyway as you slowly start to pump your fingers in and out of her loud cunt, scissoring them open with every thrust. you’re kissing her clit, mildly nipping on the small bud with your teeth and providing soothing kitten-licks. jinx’s head thrashes from side to side, her spine wiggling, back arching, as if she’s unsure whether she wants your fingers deeper inside her or your lips to suck on her harder.

her clit is twitching, it’s throbbing— you can feel it on your tongue. she’s a vision, stuffed full of three of your digits and shaking like a leaf. you barely curl your fingers inside her fluttering walls before she comes, letting out a startled squeal while her juices gushes out from her sensitive pussy. she’s squirting like a fountain, enough to fill a shot glass with her arousal. “nghhh— oh, shit!”

”shh, you’re okay, baby,” you say, still curling your fingers while she rides out her orgasm and rubbing circles on her ass. “you’re so cute.”

she’s panting like a dog. you can feel the heat radiating off her typically-cold skin, can see the way her body glistens with a sheen of sweat. you move your head to run your tongue along the curve of her spine, tasting the salt and uniquely intoxicating flavor that is jinx. it mixes in your mouth with the aftertaste of her wet clit.

jinx is barely lucid, her thighs twitching and shivering. you trace your nails along her skin while she calms down her racing heart. peppering kisses along her heart-shaped ass, you say, “are you ready now, honey?” you want to fuck her open while she’s still loose and relaxed.

she nods from where her face is shoved against your bedsheets, raising up onto her forearms like she was earlier. she glances over her shoulder at you and, god, she looks like she belongs in a dirty magazine; her skin is smooth and flushed, her small tits look so squeezable, her pigtail braids are the perfect handlebars, her ass is perked up in the air, and she looks at you from underneath her eyelashes.

jinx is pure sin.

“just relax, baby. don’t get up,” you tell her and press your palm to the middle of her back. she follows your instructions, letting her upper body rest against the mattress with a relaxed sigh. her ass is still presented high up in the air and she’s arched sharply, her stretched hole on display and drenched in her own arousal.

you grab the bottle of lube that’s about to fall off the edge of the bed and squirt a substantial amount onto your strap. despite how immensely wet jinx’s pussy always is, you think using a bit of lube would still benefit her.

you massage the lube down your strap like you’re jacking off a real cock and then line the head up with jinx’s tiny hole. your cock is slathered in lube, her pussy is drowning in wetness, and the tip almost slips inside before jinx is flinching away with a keen.

“mmm, your pussy is so sensitive,” you comment hotly. grabbing onto one of her wide hips, you line the head up again and try to push it inside. jinx is still squirming like a worm the entire time. you love how over-sensitive her cunt is, how she’s trying to shy away from the thick head of your strap. “stay still. do you want my cock or not?”

”i want it— mmmff,” she whimpers, her voice hoarse, and the words are barely out of her mouth before you’re surging forward again, the tip squelching obscenely against her tiny hole. you grind your hips in slow, sensual circles, easing part of the wide girth inside her.

“take my dick, baby. yeahh, you’re doing so good.”

arousal and lube are overflowing from her pussy like a waterfall. your own wetness is dripping down your thighs and you wish you could feel jinx’s pussy for real, feel her powerful contractions, the way her cunt is flinching as she struggles to take you, massaging your cock. 

”i can’t, i can’t—“ jinx is actually sobbing now, trembling like she’s out in the cold. “uhhh!”

”you can. it’s almost in, sweetheart,” you say encouragingly. the head of the strap is only about two inches long; the difficult part is the girth and trying to fit it inside jinx’s tiny body.

and maybe you should’ve purchased a smaller dildo, but jinx wanted this one in specific. mainly because it’s pink, but also because she was determined to prove you wrong, to show you that she can take anything you give her and she’ll like it; she doesn’t need nor want things to be easy for her.

the head finally pops inside entirely, making jinx gasp like a wounded soldier. her pink eyes look at you from over her shoulder, and they’re filled with unshed tears, they’re hazy; completely overwhelmed and dumbfounded at the width. her candy-red bottom lip is caught between her teeth, sucking bruises into the skin.

“fuuck, look at this little hole,” you say to yourself. her cunt molds perfectly to the head of your cock. “talk to me, honey. tell me what, hah, what i’m doing to you.”

”y-you’re inside me . . . oh, fuck, fuck— ngh!” jinx sobs wetly and sniffles. her ass is shaking, rippling as she flinches away from your cock but also tries to fit more of it inside her. she’s always been an indecisive little thing. “your cock is— mmf—! inside my pussy, uuh!”

”you must feel so full,” you say sympathetically, rubbing soothing circles into her hips. her gummy walls are strangling your cock, not wanting you to leave. “i can see you gripping onto me, baby, fuck—“

it’s like her body knows that it needs to keep your strap plugged up inside her, that her cunt needs to be stuffed-full at all times.

and it’s nasty, so dirty and lewd the way the tip of your strap is slipping in and out of her pussy with obscene squelching noises. the back of jinx’s neck is flushed red— the tips of her ears too— and you suspect she’s very aware of how loud her pussy is being.

”imagine what it would, hah, feel like if you took my entire cock, sweetheart. think about how full you’d be,” you say.

”no— i can’t, i can’t, i’ll die!” even as jinx shakes her head and whimpers out desperate protests, her body tells a different story. her cunt clamps down like a vice around your slippery strap, the velvety walls rippling and grasping onto you, trying to suck your thick cock deeper inside. it’s as if jinx’s hungry hole has a mind of its own, craving the sensation of being utterly stuffed and filled to the brim, no matter how much her mind might resist.

her body is betraying her; revealing the dark, dirty truth of what she really needs. and you’re well aware of this too, but you both know she won’t be taking your entire cock today— not with how much she’s trembling just from taking the tip. 

you slide your hands up her back, over the blue clouds on her shoulder, and then reach underneath her body, groping her perky tits. the little mounds are so delicate— incredibly responsive— and they fit perfectly in your hands. your fingers sink into the soft, pliant flesh— kneading and groping— rolling the pebbled nipples between your fingers. her nipples stiffen and strain against your fingertips, the sensitive peaks throbbing with a need that mirrors the desperate, greedy ache in jinx’s core.

upon pinching her nipples between your two fingers, jinx flinches uncontrollably, resulting in another thick inch of your cock accidentally slipping inside her. and that’s what sends her over the edge, the feeling of her walls being split open further, how she’s forced to conform to your strap.

she’s moaning whorishly, letting everyone in your apartment building know that she’s getting fucked, that her pussy is taking cock for the very first time. she can't contain the desperate, wanton sounds from escaping her lips, the consequence of being fucked stupid on your shaft. and her juices are positively gushing around you, dripping down the silicone balls of your strap and her own thighs. 

her nails are scrabbling at the sheets for purchase as she bucks and writhes beneath you. crying, crying, crying, that’s all she can do, until she finally collapses against the soaked towel beneath her, laying in a puddle of her own juices.

taglist; @marvelwomenarehot0, @marieeeluvsyou, @mxchi-mxxn, @el-amor-que-tu-quieres, @jinxvex, @mwahbabe, @teddybearbutch28, @stupendousbananasharkcop, @nahcala

(2/6/25)

[hotwife-larissa-returns]

Well, as you may know, I‘ve started quite early with exploring the pleasures of sex. I‘ve been sexually precocious and luckily my mommy knew and didn’t fight it, but helped me to get the best possible experiences. She even let one of her lovers deflower me, while she watched him doing it.

Even today, I‘m very thankful for that, it was one of the greatest gifts, I‘ve ever gotten. He was in an age, where he could have been my dad, but he had the experience and patience to do it right. He took his time, prepared me to take it and finally made me a woman.

But that experience was just the start, once I started to enjoy being fucked, I wanted more of it. More sex, more cock, more cum. I dressed like a slut in school, got the right kind of attention and there were quite a lot of boys, who got horny for me. I could see the bulges in their pants, they were attracted to a naughty little girl, who had already been deflorated.

It felt, like they all knew it, as if they could see it, that I already had sex. It was awkward, but I loved to have that reputation of being an easy lay. And I really enjoyed it, being hit on, having some flirts and some older boys had me on their personal watchlist as well.

Most of those boys even in higher grades hadn’t have much experience with the opposite sex at that time. They did some kissing, maybe some petting, but most of them haven’t put their cock in one of that girls in their class. So basically they were still virgins. But their desire to do it was growing - as was the pressure not to get left behind.

They wanted to brag about being a man, that finally enjoyed the pleasures of sticking his cock inside of a warm and wet pussy. And I volunteered to be he right person to start with. With my reputation it was quite easy to get invited to a lot of parties and as a girl of 17 years, you‘ll be happy to take those invites. In most cases those parties were at their parents houses, while they were away on vacation.

And I was the special guest on those parties, I got pulled into one of the rooms and the host had his time with me, some of his friends did me, too, after he had finished. It wasn’t too much fun, not what I expected or desired.

They were so inexperienced, they didn’t knew how to do a woman, they fucked me quick and dirty, came early, even before I got aroused. But at least all of them knew to take some protection. Mommy got me on the pill after she noticed that my sexual appetite was rising, but she told me to take care, that they have to use protection as well.

But that guy was special… I hadn’t seen him in school before. He took his time, he cared to get me into the mood, kissed me passionately, inhaled my scent, caressed my body, it felt like he was really interested in me and I had some feelings for him as well. I wanted him… desperately. And he knew it. I spread my legs for him and he entered me. Gosh, it felt great… I surely wasn’t the first one he had in bed.

I was completely overwhelmed by my feeling and let him fuck me, he gave me two orgasms and even screamed his name, before he came. And suddenly I felt, that something felt differently… so wrong. Fuck, in the heat of the moment, we had forgotten to use a condom. I opened my eyes and I was even more shocked to see two other boys standing next to the bed, completely undressed and jerking their hard cocks.

He kissed my neck again, he knew what it makes me feel like, and as I blushed, he called me his slutty princess and told me not to regret it, I was a wonderful fuck and his friends are quite as good as he is, when it comes to please a needy girl. It was the first time I felt like a dirty whore, his cum was oozing out of my tight little pussy, while I could see the lust in his friends eyes. It turned me on and I let them have me as well.

They ran a train on me that night, they took multiple turns on me… none of them used a condom, they bathed their cocks in he other guys cum. After they had finished, they left the room and as they dressed up, they pulled some money out of their pockets and gave it to him. I was so tired and exhausted and my pussy was a burning mess.

He joined me in bed, cuddled with me, kissed me, called me his new lovely slut and told me, that he’ll love to earn some more money with me. I could believe what was happening here. But I was just too exhausted and tired to discuss that, he did me one more time, bathing his cock in my well used and sloppy cunt and as he shot his last load into me, we both fell asleep.

The next morning I woke up laying next to him, he looked so cute, I kissed him and for some reason I thanked him for last night and told him something stupid… that I think I love him. He just smiled and as he walked to the bathroom I couldn’t keep my eyes off his slimy cock. I begged him to suck it clean… and I did.

He just smiled, called me a good slut and told me, that he couldn’t wait to introduce me to his family, but that’s another story.

👩🏻🤗🥰😍😘💋🫦🍆🍆🍆💦😈💓

[scribblesofagoonerr]

𝑀𝑜𝓃𝓀𝑒𝓎 Our Girl: Growing Up | 𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒜𝓈 𝐿𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒜𝓈 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹, 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐵𝓎 𝑀𝑒

summary: the aftermath of the day & the match that changed things.

our girl: growing up masterlist

As soon as you stepped through the front door, your dad’s voice echoed harshly from the living room, “Where have you been, you little shit?”

Your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to step further inside, gripping the strap of your school bag lightly. You hadn’t anticipated this–you hadn’t thought the school would call him.

“I… I wasn’t feeling well,” You mumbled, your voice barely audible, but your dad was already glaring at you from his spot on the sofa, “I spent the rest of the day in the nurse's office.”

“And what, they let you swan off like that?” Your dad snapped, his eyes narrowing.

“I, uh… The school nurse cleared it,” You stammered, shrinking under his gaze.

“Cleared it for what?” Your dad’s voice rose with frustration, “What was so bloody urgent?

You hesitated for a moment, then finally spoke, the words coming out in a rush, “I… I got my period, and I didn’t have anything with me. I–” 

“Shut up!” Your dad barked, cutting you off before you could finish. His face twisted into an expression of disgust, and he waved a hand dismissively, “For God’s sake, I don’t want to hear about that. Go on–get out of my face.”

You flinched at the tone, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the tears from spilling. Without another word, you turned and trudged up the stairs, clutching your bag like it was a shield.

As you reached the top, you heard the unmistakable sound of your dad lighting a cigarette, the familiar click of the lighter followed by a long exhale of smoke. The smell drifted up toward your room, mingling with the knot of shame and anger in your chest.

Once inside your room, you shut the door quietly and sank onto the bed, staring at the wall. Your cheeks were still hot, and your hands trembled slightly as you replayed the exchange in your mind.

Reaching into your bag, you pulled out your phone, your fingers hovering over the screen. For a moment, you considered texting Leah, your thumb brushing over her contact name. But the thought of explaining what had happened felt like too much. Instead, you set the phone aside, curling up on your bed as you tried to block out the muffled sounds of your dad downstairs.

The day of the match finally arrived, but instead of excitement, all you felt was a knot tightening in your stomach. This was a big game–one of the biggest you’d played in–and the nerves were already eating at you.

As you passed through the kitchen, your dad’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, “Listen here,” He said, gripping your wrist so tightly it made you wince, “You’re going to lose today.”

You blinked, stunned, “W… What?”

Your dad’s fingers dug in harder, “You heard me,” He said coldly, “You’re going to lose. I want you to throw the match.”

“Dad, I… I can’t do that,” You stuttered through your words, your voice barely audible.

“You can and you will,” The man's voice had that dangerous edge that sent a chill through you, “Let them run rings around you. Mess up every pass. Every shot. Got it?”

Your heart pounded, “But–”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, girl,” Your dad’s grip tightened painfully, making you flinch as his eyes darkened and his voice lowered into something more threatening, “Do as I say. You know what happens when you don’t listen, don’t you?”

Your breath hitched, fear curling around your ribs like a vice, “Y… Yes, sir,” You whispered, nodding quickly.

“Good,” Your dad released his grip, straightening with a satisfied smirk, “Make sure you remember that. Don’t embarrass me today.”

The weight of his words clung to you like a storm cloud as you made your way to the stadium.

Football was the one thing that made you feel alive, the one thing that you felt you could do right. And now, even that was being stolen from you–twisted into something ugly, something tainted.

How were you supposed to step onto that pitch and pretend you didn’t care?

By the time you arrived at the pitch ahead of the game, your head was spinning. Your teammates were already warming up, their laughter and energy infectious as they easily passed the ball around–The sight should have settled your nerves.

instead, it only made the knot in your stomach tighten.

“Bit late today, aren’t we?” Leah teased from the sidelines, arms crossed, an amused glint in her eyes. Her words were harmless, but the second she got a proper look at you, her smile faded, “Are you doin’ alright, my girl?”

“Y… Yeah, I’m just a bit nervous,” You forced out, hating how unsteady your voice sounded.

Leah didn’t look entirely convinced, her sharp gaze searching your face for something you weren’t ready to share. But after a brief pause, she let it go with a small nod, “Alright,” She said as the hesitation lingered, “Go warm up with the rest of the girls. You’ve got this, my girl.”

You nodded stiffly, forcing your feet to move, but her words only made the weight in your chest heavier.#

Because you knew what was coming.

You knew what you had to do.

How were you supposed to do that, how were you supposed to let your team down–let Leah down–on purpose?

“Monkey!” One of your teammates called, her grin wide as she jogged over. She must’ve heard Leah shouting your nickname, “You’re here!”

“I’m… I’m here,” You echoed, though it felt like you weren’t really. Like you were hovering outside your own body.

“Excited for the game?” They questioned.

“Y… Yeah, I guess so,” You replied quietly in response.

Your response was shaky, and you weren’t sure if you were entirely that convincing but your teammate seemed convinced. She simply nudged you before pulling you along to warm up, the crowd on the sidelines slowly growing.

Your eyes scanned the growing crowd, and then–

Your whole body froze.

Your dad.

He was here. Watching.

Wearing a Chelsea shirt.

Your stomach dropped like a stone. Your breath came short and shallow, hands clenching at your sides. What was he doing here? Why now? Why this game?

“Monkey?” Leah’s voice cut through the noise, grounding you just enough to blink.

“Y… Yeah?” You stuttered, turning round to look at her.

You couldn’t let your dad see you with Leah, that would only make him more mad. You remember what happened after the last time, how you were kicked down to the floor unleashed with your dad’s wrath.

Could he do something worse this time?

Leah frowned, stepping closer, “Are you sure you’re alright? You look pale.”

“I’m… I’m fine,” You whispered, the words feeling all wrong in your mouth, “I just… I want to get start… started with the match.”

Your confidence felt shattered.

Leah didn’t look convinced, “If you want to sit this one, I’m sure your coach wouldn’t mind–”

“No!” You answered,  a bit too quickly in response, “No, I… I mean, I’m fine. I’m good. I can play!”

And deep down, you knew–

You weren’t good at all.

“Monkey,” Leah continued to study you carefully, her brows knitting together in concern. But before she could press further, your coach called your team to huddle, leaving Leah no choice but to let it go for now.

“This is our game,”

“Yeah, let’s show them what we’ve got,”

The thought made your stomach churn. Your mind felt like a battlefield, your dad’s words echoed in your ears, his threats a constant drumbeat of fear.

But beneath it, something else stirred–a small, stubborn voice that refused to let him take this from you.

This was your game. Your passion. Your escape.

You took a deep breath, your grip tightening on the edges of your shirt as you made your decision–you weren’t going to throw this match. You couldn’t. Not for him.

The whistle blew, and the game began.

At first, you were tentative, your movements hesitant as you tried to find your footing. But with each passing minute, the rhythm of the game took over, the ball at your feet reminding you of why you loved this sport in the first place.

Nobody was going to take that from you.

The Chelsea team came out strong, their quick passes and sharp plays putting pressure on you and your teammates.  But instead of shrinking under the weight of it, something inside her ignited.

You tracked back to make a crucial tackle, sliding in cleanly to steal the ball from one of the girls on the opposing team. The crowd erupted in cheers as you jumped to your feet, your confidence building. Moments later, you dribbled through two defenders with ease, your footwork sharp and precise.

“Go on, my girl!” Leah’s voice echoed across the pitch, full of pride and encouragement.

You felt your chest swell with determination. You weren’t just playing well–you were playing the best football of your life. Every pass was crisp, every shot deliberate. You weren’t holding back, not for anyone.

By halftime, the score was 1 nil in their favour, thanks to a perfectly timed assist from you that set your teammate up for a goal.

The atmosphere was electric, and your team buzzed with excitement. Your coach praised all of your efforts and Leah didn’t miss the chance to make her way over to you, a proud grin on her face.

Even despite your dad being there on the sidelines to watch, his anger coursing throughout him.

“Whatever’s got into you, keep it up, my girl,” Leah said, nudging you lightly, “You’re unstoppable out there today. Your brilliant!”

You smiled, a real one this time, and nodded, “Thanks, Le.”

But as the second half approached, the fear began to creep back in. You knew that your dad was watching, waiting for you to fail. Your hands trembled as you tied your laces, the weight of what awaited back at home pressing down on you.

“Hey,” Leah said softly, crouching down to your height, “You’ve got this, okay? Just play the way you have been. We’re all behind you.”

You nodded again, taking a deep breath as you pushed the fear aside. You couldn’t think about your dad right now. You had a job to do.

The second half was even tougher than the first, with Chelsea coming out stronger, determined to turn the game around. But you rose to the challenge, your focus unwavering.

You intercepted passes, made crucial tackles, and even came close to scoring a goal yourself. When the final whistle blew, the score stood at 2 - 1 in your team's favour, your contributions were undeniable.

As your teammates celebrated around you, you felt a mix of pride and dread. You’d done it–you had defied your dad and played your heart out. But as the cheers faded and the reality of going home to face your dad’s wrath set in, the knot in your stomach tightened once more.

Leah found you amid the celebration, pulling you into a tight hug, unaware of your dad’s dark scowl etched on his face looking right at her, “I’m so proud of you, my girl. You were incredible today!”

You clung to her for a moment, drawing strength from Leah’s words. You were fearful of what would be waiting for you at home, but for now, you let yourself enjoy the joy the game that you loved, the game you refused to let anyone take from you.

Of course, your dad was furious about it, watching from the stands. You had deliberately disobeyed his words, and that wouldn’t be taken too kindly. He didn’t like the way that Leah had run over to you, lifted you into her arms and swung you around, and he was going to make damn sure that you learnt your lesson about going against him.

Feeling brave, he decided to storm over there and confront Leah, who was now standing back with Jordan, a proud smile etched on her face but that faltered when she spotted your dad approaching the two of them. She nudged Jordan.

“Is he coming over to talk to you?” Jordan questioned.

“I believe so,” Leah mumbled a response, subtly pulling out her phone and unlocking the camera app. She’s not about to waste the opportunity to record this conversation when she could use this to her advantage.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” Your dad snarled, his tone dripping with hostility. He glared at both Leah and Jordan like they’d committed a personal offence by showing up.

Jordan frowned, her arms crossing defensively, “We’re here to support Monkey and watch the game. What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” Your dad spat, steering closer his finger jabbing the air towards Leah, “You think I don’t know what this is about? You pair both sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. This is my kid, not yours!”

Leah kept her expression neutral, though the tension in her shoulders betrayed her unease. She kept her phone angled just enough to capture your dad’s face, the aggressive body language, and every word he was spewing.

“I’m working with the coaching staff,” Leah said smoothly, her voice calm and measured, “It’s part of my development work with the academy.”

“Bullshit!” Your dad shouted, causing a few heads to turn. Parents nearby were starting to glance over, some whispering among themselves, “Neither of you should be here, you have no right to be! You're here, filling my kid’s head with ideas. Do you think you’re some kind of saviour?”

“Mark, lower your voice,” Jordan interjected, stepping forward while her tone was sharp and protective, “You’re causing a scene.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Your dad barked, his voice booming, “Mind your own business, both of you! I’m her father, and I’ll handle her however I damn well please.”

Leah’s grip on her phone tightened and she took a glance at Jordan, silently telling her to keep calm. This wasn’t the time to escalate things–they needed your dad to dig his own grave. And he was doing a fine job of that.

“Mark,” Leah said evenly, tilting her head slightly, “We’re just here to support the team. Your daughter played brilliantly today. I think you should be proud, instead of over here and trying to cause an argument.”

Your dad’s face darkened, his hands curling into fists at his side, “Proud? Proud of her?” He scoffed, “She didn’t listen! She disobeyed me, and now I’ve got to deal with it. You two think you’re helping, but you’re just making things worse. Neither of you should be here, you have no right!”

Leah raised her eyebrows, her own heart pounding as she kept her voice calm, “Making things worse how?” She questioned, “By being here? By showing her she’s supported?”

“You don’t get it!” Your dad roared, stepping closer, his voice lowering but losing none of its venom, “She’s mine. Mine to discipline, mine to teach a lesson. And if you keep meddling, you’ll regret it.”

Jordan couldn’t hold back any longer, “You don’t scare us, Mark,” She said coldly, her glare unwavering, “And you sure as hell aren’t teaching her anything but fear.”

Mark whipped his head toward her, but Leah quickly stepped in, “Mark, this isn’t the time or place for this,” She said firmly, “Let’s not cause a bigger scene.”

However, your dad wasn’t backing down. His lips curled into a sneer as he spat, “Do you think you’re better than me, Leah? Do you think you know what’s best for my kid? Keep dreaming.”

Leah forced a polite, tight-lipped smile, “I think that your daughter deserves to feel safe and supported, and I’ll do my damn best to make sure she knows that. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I think we’re done here.”

She didn’t wait for a response, tugging Jordan’s arm and pulling her towards the exit. Your dad shouted something after them, but Leah didn’t turn back. Instead, she stopped just outside the stands, ending the recording and saving the video, before she let out a shaky breath, finally letting some of the tension leave her shoulders.

“That was intense,” Jordan muttered, her jaw tight, “That man is completely unhinged.”

Leah nodded, her mind already racing, “Yeah, but now we’ve got it on record. It’s just… The way he talks about her, his threats, the way he doesn’t care about who’s watching–it’s all right here,” She held up her phone, “This is exactly what the social worker needs to see.”

“You’re right,” Jordan’s expression softened as she glanced at Leah, reaching out to rest a hand on Leah’s shoulder, “You’re doing the right thing, Le. Monkey knows that you’re in her corner. She knows you’ve got her.”

Leah swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making it difficult to speak. She blinked rapidly, trying to fight back the storm of emotions threatening to break through, “She has got us,” She echoed, her tone growing stronger. But then, a deep, unsettling thought crept into her mind, and she exhaled sharply, “I just have a bad feeling about what’s coming next.”

At home, the storm broke. Mark’s voice thundered through the small house, his words sharp and biting as his rage erupted, filling every corner of the room.

“You think you can disobey me and get away with it?” Your dad snarled, each syllable laced with venom, “You’re pathetic, girl. You’ll never be good enough. Never.”

You stood there, frozen with your head bowed while the weight of his words sank deep into your chest. They cut deeper than any physical blow ever could. Your body trembled, but your voice was trapped, caught somewhere between fear and disbelief. You wanted to speak up and defend yourself, but your throat was tight, and the words wouldn’t come out.

Your dad’s footsteps grew louder, the air around the two of you heavy with impending violence. His towering figure cast a menacing shadow as he took a step closer, the tension thick and suffocating. Your dad’s hand twitched at his side, the familiar movement signalling the next strike.

Your instincts kicked in before your mind could even process it. The moment your dad’s hand rose, you flinched violently, your body reacting before your brain could catch up. In a split second, you were running–running towards the door, desperate to escape.

“Don’t you dare run away from me!” Your dad roared, his voice filled with fury as it chased her into the night.

The cold air slapped your face as you burst through the door, the world around you dark and blurry. Your legs pumped furiously, carrying you as far away from him as they could. Your lungs burned, and tears blurred your vision, but you couldn’t stop.

You wouldn’t stop.

Your heart pounded, and your hands shook violently as you scrambled for your phone in your pocket, fingers slipping in your panic. It felt as though the device weighed a ton, but finally, you found the contact you were looking for.

Leah.

Your thumb hovered over the call button, your breath ragged as you fought to steady your trembling hands.

The phone rang. Once. Twice.

The sound felt too loud in the quiet night, a sharp reminder of your fear spiralling as you were wary in case your dad found you before it was too late.

Finally, the call connected, and your voice cracked as you whispered into the phone, “L… Le! I need… I need your help. Please.”

© scribblesofagooonerr

[pedroscowgirl]

Guilty as sin

Professor! Joel × fem college student!reader (series)

MASTERLIST

Warnings: smut so minors dni!

flirting, teasing, age gap (reader is her 20s and joel in his late 40s), fingering, squirting, infidelity (joel is married) , no use of y/n, joel being an asshole towards the end, forbidden romance

Lmk if I forgot something!

wc: 3.2k

A/n: okay so i actually started writing this over a year ago and just finished it today cuz i finally had some inspiration. So if you notice a difference in the writing, don't mind it pls

Joel Miller is the epitome of rugged charm, the kind of man who effortlessly commands a room with his presence. To you, he's the sexiest man alive, an intoxicating blend of intellect and masculinity. Attending his classes became more than just an academic obligation, it was a guilty pleasure, an excuse to indulge in the sight of him. Joel was undeniably alluring,his maturity and confidence set him apart from your other professors. Yet, a glint of reality kept you grounded. The shiny glimmer of a wedding ring on his strong, veiny hand, was a constant reminder of boundaries you couldn't cross.

Your daydreams were interrupted when your friend pulled you back to reality. "Hey, it's break time. Stop ogling that old man and let's go to the bathroom," she teased with a knowing laugh. "He's not that old," you protested, feeling a flush of embarrassment. She arched an eyebrow skeptically. "Please, he could be your father." You sighed, reluctantly tearing yourself away from thoughts of him.

As you walked toward the bathroom, fate had you crossing paths with Joel. His presence was magnetic, drawing your eyes to him. You couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to have those capable, veiny hands on you, exploring the curves he seemed to discreetly notice. Yet, despite the heat in his gaze, he seemed the kind of man who wouldn't stray, loyal to a fault, and unlikely to be interested in someone so much younger.

Still, you couldn't ignore the way his eyes lingered on you as you passed, nor the surge of confidence it gave you. You knew you looked good in those jeans, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered if he was thinking about you as much as you were about him.

---------‐-----------------------------------------------------

A week went by, and u had an appointment with another professor just before your class with joel miller. You had a busy day ahead because your friends wanted to go out after class. And since u didn't have time for changing clothes, you just wore your going outfit the whole day. You wore black thigh high boots with a jeans miniskirt and a sexy black cutout top. And on top of that you wore your long leather jacket to cover you up.

Your appointment with your professor went well and when u walked out, u decided to take the elevator since u were on the 5th floor and were wearing heels. You pushed the button on the elevator and to your suprise, you saw professor miller standing in it.

Your heart started to race like crazy. You greeted him with a smile and got into the elevator. "Good afternoon" he said and u were getting so hot. "Good afternoon, professor Miller." You answered and he smiled "you don't need to call me professor miller. Just call me joel." You laughed and said "that's a little strange but if u insist."

The elevator was now on the 3rd floor and you felt his gaze on you. Your jacket was open cuz you were in a hurry and u awkwardly smiled and said "I'm going somewhere after your class so I'm a little overdressed right now. I swear I'm not being inappropriate on purpose." He laughed and was a little taken by suprise by your random statement. "That's fine. I assume you're a grown woman since you're in college and there are no dress codes here. So no need to worry about it. And you look great." You blushed and got even hotter because you didn't think he would say that.

And suddenly the elevator stopped out of nowhere. You grabbed his arm when you almost fell and quickly took it back and apologised when u stood still again. "Don't be sorry. I guess we're stuck here now. But don't worry I'll call someone." The way he was so calm and easy going turned you on so much. You wished you could just take him right here and now. Cuz you needed him so badly.

"Are you a student of mine?" He asked after he was done calling for help. He knew you were a student of his but he didn't wanna sound like a creep and make you uncomfortable. He also just didn't want to stand in silence the whole time. "Oh uh yes I am" you smiled and he smiled aswell. "Do you like the course?" He asked. "Yes it's actually one of my favourites. I love going to your class. You explain everything so well." He smirked a little and said "I bet you say this to all your professors." And winked at you. The wetness in your pants grew bigger and your heart raced faster.

"Oh what's your name? It's so rude of me not to ask." He said and you laughed and said your name. "That's a beautiful name." "I bet you say that to all your students." You smiled. "I actually thought of naming my daughter that way" he spoke and now it's confirmed. He really is a dilf. Which made it so much more intimidating for you. A married man is one thing, but a married man with kids? Oh you had no chance. The dissapointment was spread over your face and joel furrowed his brows. "Are you okay?" You snapped out of your thoughts and smiled at him. "Oh yes I'm fine sorry. "What's her name" you asked politely. "Her same is Sarah." He smiled and you smiled aswell. "That's a cute name."

A silence filled the room and suddenly the elevator doors went open. "Oh finally" He said and you sighed. You're happy to not be stuck anymore but at the same time, you were dissapointed that your little moment with your professor ended. The elevator stopped halfway so you had to climb up to the floor to get out of there. The man on the other side told you to grab his hand but you struggled. You looked at joel with an akward smile and he said "I'll help you, don't worry."

You gasped when you felt his hands on your thighs. It sent a spark to your core and blood rushed to your cheeks. He was so strong which made him even hotter which you didn't even know was possible.

You both got out of the elevator and went to the class. He opened the door for you and you looked for your friend. When you finally saw her, you smiled. But her eyes were wide and she was staring at your outfit. You sat next to her and she asked where you were. "Oh I was stuck in the elevator with Mr Miller." You casually said and she giggled. "You were stuck? In the elevator? With your crush?" She said and you nodded and blushed again.

"Sorry I was late. I was stuck in the elavator" joel said into his mic and smiled at you. You couldn't concentrate for the rest of the lecture. You kept thinking about his thick fingers grabbing your thighs." It was the first time that you were not paying attention in his class. Well at least not on the subject.

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

Weeks had passed, and you found yourself lingering after class more often than necessary. At first, it was subtle,an extra question here, a slight delay in gathering your things there. But soon, it became deliberate. The way you stole glances at him from across the room, the way your fingers grazed his desk when you spoke to him, the way you shifted in your seat when he was lecturing.

And you noticed something else, too. He was looking.

He was careful,but his eyes betrayed him. They flickered down your legs when you crossed them, lingered a fraction too long when your blouse dipped just slightly. It made something burn in your lower stomach, knowing that your presence affected him.

So you got bolder. Wearing miniskirts, fitted tops, lingering touches. Each time, his restraint was evident, his jaw tight, his voice even. But then you noticed the big bulge in his pants and it made your mouth water.

And it was that thought that propelled you to his office that afternoon. Your heart pounded in your chest, though you wouldn’t dare let it show. You knocked lightly, already knowing he was inside.

“Come in,” his voice rumbled through the door.

You stepped in, the door shutting behind you with a soft click. He looked up from his desk, and for a brief moment, he seemed almost caught off guard. His gaze swept over you, your short skirt, the backless top revealing smooth skin, the lack of straps on your shoulders and most of all, your hardend nipples. You could've used some nipple covers to wear but gathered i'd be more fun this way.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Uh—hey,” he said, clearing his throat. “Sit down, please.”

You did as he asked, slowly crossing one leg over the other as you settled into the chair. His eyes darted downward before he forced them back up, and you bit back a smirk.

“I just had a few things I wanted to go over,” you started, keeping your tone light, innocent. As if you didn’t notice the way his fingers twitched on the desk, the way his shoulders tensed.

“Yeah?” he leaned back, but the movement felt more like a defense mechanism than anything else.

You nodded, tilting your head slightly. “Just some things about the last assignment.”

He exhaled sharply, nodding as he grabbed a pen—something to do with his hands, something to focus on that wasn’t you. “Alright. What’s confusing you?”

You leaned forward slightly, closing the space between you. “Well, I was thinking…”

And as you spoke, you could feel the tension tighten, coil, waiting for something—anything—to snap.

When the discussion about school finally came to an end, you stood from your seat, smoothing your skirt as you reached for the door handle. Joel stood as well, guiding you toward the exit, his presence towering behind you. Just as your fingers curled around the handle, his voice stopped you.

“Wait.”

The word was sharp, almost involuntary, and you turned your head slightly, catching the conflicted expression on his face. His jaw clenched, eyes dark, as if waging an internal war with himself. He cursed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck before finally exhaling a breath that seemed to carry every ounce of restraint he had left.

“I can’t—” he started, then shook his head. “I shouldn’t—”

But then he looked at you again, really looked at you, and something in him snapped.

Before you could respond, he reached for you, one hand wrapping around your waist as the other cradled your jaw. And then his lips were on yours—hot, urgent, desperate. The kiss stole the breath from your lungs, the heat of it searing into your skin as you melted into him.

You barely had a moment to react before he lifted you, guiding you onto his desk with ease. His hands splayed over your thighs, fingers pressing into your skin as he slotted himself between your legs, deepening the kiss with a hunger that had clearly been building for far too long.

The papers on his desk crumpled beneath you, forgotten, as his hands roamed and explored every inch of you.

“Are you sure about this, sweetheart?”

Joel’s voice was low, thick with restraint as he hovered over you, his rough hands brushing along the hem of your skirt. His dark eyes flickered with something unreadable, something dangerous. You didn’t hesitate, didn’t second-guess it—you just nodded.

“Yes, Professor.”

That title alone made his breath hitch. His fingers curled around the fabric of your skirt, slowly pushing it up until he could see the lacy pink panties you’d worn just for him. A little bow sat at the waistband, an innocent contrast to the filthy thoughts running through his mind.

His tongue swiped over his bottom lip as he let out a quiet chuckle. “Well, ain’t that just the cutest thing.”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you met his gaze with a slow, teasing smile. He dragged his calloused fingers up your inner thighs, watching your body react under his touch, watching the way your breath hitched as he finally pulled the thin fabric down your legs.

He licked his fingers and you stopped him. His brows furrowed as he looked up at you, confused.

“There’s no need for that, Professor,” you said, voice sultry and dripping with need. “I’ve been wet since the day I met you.”

Joel let out a low groan, shaking his head as he chuckled. “Fuck, darlin’, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

His fingers lowered, trailing through your slick heat, feeling just how ready you were for him. The moment he pushed a finger inside, your body clenched around him, making him curse under his breath.

“Yeah, you’re right, sweetheart. You are very wet for me.” His voice was deep, wrecked with desire. “Such a naughty girl.”

A desperate whimper left your lips, your back arching as he curled his thick finger inside you. “Hmm, Professor… feels so good…”

Joel groaned, his free hand gripping your thigh to keep you still. “Gosh, I love when you call me that.”

He pushed another finger in—this time, the one with his ring on it. The cool metal pressed against your warm, sensitive clit, making you shudder from the contrast in temperature. The thought of him touching you like this, fingers deep inside you while that simple wedding band glinted under the dim light, sent a rush of pleasure through you.

You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t be spread out for your hot, married professor, letting him fuck you with his fingers on his desk, but God, it felt too damn good.

And the way he was looking at you—like he was absolutely wrecked, like he couldn’t get enough—made it impossible to stop.

His fingers moved faster, curling inside you, dragging against that sweet spot with perfect precision. The wet sounds filled the office, obscene and sinful, but neither of you cared. If anything, it made him work you even harder, his wrist flexing, his palm pressing against your clit with just the right amount of pressure.

Your stomach twisted, pleasure winding tighter and tighter, ready to snap. You could barely breathe, barely form a coherent thought, just a trembling mess beneath his skilled hands.

“P-p-professor, I-I’m gonna—”

Your body seized up as the orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your nails dug into his arm, desperate to ground yourself as your release gushed out, soaking his hand, his wrist, even splattering onto his shirt. Your vision blurred as you cried out, thighs shaking violently, every nerve in your body set ablaze.

Joel groaned, voice low and wrecked, watching with fascination as you came completely undone. “Holy shit.”

His fingers didn’t stop, not even as your body convulsed and twitched from overstimulation. If anything, it made him move slower, more deliberate, dragging out every last wave of pleasure until you were nothing more than a trembling, panting mess on his desk. He loved it. Loved seeing you fall apart beneath him from just his fingers.

By the time he finally pulled out, you gasped at the sudden emptiness, your walls fluttering around nothing. The loss of contact sent a shiver through you, and you collapsed against his desk, completely spent.

The only sound in the room was the heavy rise and fall of both your breaths. The air was thick, humid with sex.

A few seconds passed before you finally sat up, still trying to gather your senses. Your voice was weak, hoarse when you muttered, “Fuck… that was my first time—”

Joel’s body tensed. His head snapped up, his dark eyes wide with panic. “This was your first time??” His voice cracked, full of disbelief and something close to fear.

You blinked at him, then let out a breathless laugh. “Oh my God, no,” you said, still catching your breath. “I was gonna say… it’s the first time I’ve ever orgasmed.”

Joel’s tense shoulders immediately dropped, and he let out a deep, relieved chuckle. His head fell back for a moment as he ran a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ, darlin’, you scared the hell outta me.”

You smirked, tilting your head at him, amused by his reaction. “Didn’t mean to give you a heart attack, Professor.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head before giving you a knowing look. “Guess those college boys ain’t doin’ it for ya, huh?”

Your cheeks burned, but you bit your lip and shook your head. “Not even close.”

Joel’s lips curled up into a cocky little smirk, his eyes still dark with lingering desire. You could see it,he wanted more. He wanted to push you down onto that desk, spread you open, and take you apart all over again.

Your hands moved without thinking, trailing down his chest, over the fabric of his shirt, until they reached the thick outline of his cock straining against his jeans. He was still painfully hard. You pressed your palm against him, feeling the heat of it through the denim, watching the way his jaw clenched, his body tensing beneath your touch.

Encouraged by his reaction, you reached for his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle. But before you could undo it, his large, calloused hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you.

“Uhm… we shouldn’t do that,” he muttered, his voice suddenly hesitant.

You blinked, confused. “Why?”

Joel sighed, rubbing his free hand over his scruffy jaw. His voice was quieter now, almost like he was reminding himself as much as he was telling you. “I’m married. And I’m your professor.”

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “You sure as hell didn’t care when your ring was rubbin’ my clit.”

Joel flinched, his expression twisting into something conflicted. You could see it, the guilt creeping in, the weight of reality slamming back into him.

But it was too late for that.

Your chest tightened, a strange mix of anger and disappointment bubbling inside you. Just minutes ago, he was inside you, whispering dirty little praises in that deep Texas drawl, making you feel things you never thought possible. And now he was pulling away, acting like he suddenly had morals?

“Fuckin’ coward,” you muttered under your breath.

You yanked your wrist from his grip and slid off the desk, legs still shaky. Your panties were somewhere on the floor, but you didn’t bother looking for them. Instead, you grabbed your skirt, tugging it back into place with shaky hands.

Joel didn’t say anything. He just stood there, stiff and silent, watching you with a guilty look in his eyes.

You swallowed the lump in your throat before turning toward the door. “Y’know what, Professor?” you said bitterly, glancing at him one last time. “I hope she doesn’t fuck you either.”

And with that, you stormed out of his office, slamming the door behind you.

Joel exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face as he leaned back against his desk. His cock was still rock hard, his fingers still coated with your wetness, his shirt still stained with your release.

He should feel ashamed. He should feel regret.

But all he could think about was how badly he wanted to pull you back into his office and fuck you until you forgot your own damn name.

[ts-janus-rp-blog]

"Hm... I don't think that is important right now. What's important right now is his recovery. I..." Remus went quiet for a moment then he shrugged. "I want Patton to get better. And I don't think he can get better unless I am there with him. So... I doubt my feelings matter here." Then he chuckled, "That's true. That's the only good thing that has happened. Well..." Remus stretched out once he finished the last of the bar. "Now we are alone and bored once again. What do you wanna do to pass by the time, hm?"

Logan didn't wait, instead he left him in the room by himself for quite a bit. By the time he came back, a half hour had passed, and he stepped over to Roman. He didn't say anything as he lifted up a needle, and suddenly injected it inside of Romans hole with it. Finally he reached in to pull out the metal device, and finally, he freed Romans folds. "Alright, all we can do is wait. Now... As we wait though, how am I going to entertain myself, I wonder? Hm..." Logan smirked, "Let's make you a doll, shall we?"

Janus took every punch, he didn't even raise his hands to block them. He just quietly took every single one. Be good... Be good. By the time that Virgil finally stopped punching him, his entire face was dripping with blood. He couldn't see out of his now swollen eyes, and it hurt to breathe. But, slowly, his swollen bloodied lips curled in a smile. "Y-You...don't think...I know that...? I am nothing... Roman shouldn't love me... I'm worthless..." He coughed roughly, more blood coming out of his mouth and dripping onto the floor. "A-Are you done...? Roman... Romans gonna...be mad at you...for hurting me..."

Patton knocked desperately at the strangers door, praying someone, anyone was home. His heart beat as fast and loud as the rain thundering against the sidewalk. He was sure he was being followed, they were going to catch him. They were going to drag him back. He wasn't sure if whoever lived here might be worse, but he was willing to risk it at this point. Anything to escape.

{@moralpuppylover2}

Janus didn't know who would be at the door. It was late, but his master won't surely be home at this time. He normally doesn't get home until the sun starts to come up.

So, as the dog hybrid walked up to the door and opened it, he wondered who it could be. And if he should open it at all... Who knows, he may get in trouble with his master for opening the door. But, his curiosity was getting the better of him-

He stopped when he saw the soaking wet cat standing at the doorway. He could tell that this cat needed help almost immediately. Well, if his poor state of clothes were anything to go by. His eyes flickered up and down the sidewalk before he grabbed pattons arm and pulled him inside.

"are you alright?" Janus nervously asked as he grabbed a towel from the mud room. "Well, that's a stupid question, of course you're not alright! Are you...running away from your owners?" As Janus walked, the collar around his neck would jingle loudly. And even though it was cold outside and even in the house, he only had a pair of boxers on. Because of that, Patton would be able to see the numerous large scars that covered his body...and the countless amounts of fresh bruises.

@moralpuppylover2

[sanjisleggy]

take care of you (trafalgar law x reader)

summary: Trafalgar Law discovers you’ve been hiding a severe injury from him

a/n: another req from the end of dec last year! back then i still wasn’t very confident with Law’s character but i think i should be good enough with it now :3c

contents: pre-relationship, descriptions of bodily wounds, infection, angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, very soft!Law

wc. 1.5k

wanna be on my taglist?

the first thought that comes to mind when you wake up in the infirmary feeling super groggy and sore is: “fuck.” pulling aside the blanket draped over you reveals an impeccably clean, fresh bandage wrapped firmly around your torso where, the last you remember, underneath it lays a gunshot wound you hoped the others would never find out about 

you can barely recall the lightheadedness and nausea you felt before you passed out. it turns out re-stitching and re-dressing your own infected wound is a lot harder than doing it for someone else, especially when you have to muffle your groans of pain during the process

you’d gotten the injury during a battle against enemy pirates and you’d decided that since the bullet made a clean exit, you needn’t bother your captain for medical assistance–especially since, at the time, he was busy helping the Straw Hat’s doctor with the more severely-wounded allies. having some experience doing first aid, you foolishly assumed you’d be able to handle it all on your own, that it was a small matter not worth adding to your captain’s already-overflowing plate

on top of the bedside table sits a jug and two plastic cups, one of which looked like it’s been used. there’re also numerous boxes of different medication and a handwritten note that says “do NOT leave this room until you’ve finished your entire course of medication” in Law’s familiar handwriting

knowing that he’s aware of your state–and most likely the person who treated you to begin with–eases your anxiety a little. at least now you don’t have to stress over hiding it from him and your other crewmates 

what doesn’t help with your nerves is how for the following week you spend recovering, you don’t see Law at all. everyone else has taken turns coming in to spend time with you: Bepo takes naps with you, Shachi brings you comics to read together and Penguin sneaks you little snacks but not once has your captain shown up at all. your crewmates don’t seem too keen on talking about him when they’re with you, too, which only means one thing: he’s super pissed

you begin to worry and overthink as you near the end of your mandatory bedrest, dreading the inevitable moment Law finally shows up and you have to face the consequences of causing even more trouble for him than if you’d just asked for help right after the battle a week ago

it gets worse when you’re alone with no one to distract you from any intrusive thoughts. what if he thinks i don’t trust him to be my captain? what if this ruins his view of me as his crew member permanently? what if he kicks me out of the crew entirely?

you end up lamely falling asleep with tears staining your face and end up in such deep sleep that–like every night before–you don’t stir at all when Law enters the room and takes a seat by your bedside. he sighs deeply and rubs his face, eyes burning from sleep deprivation, as he leans back in the chair and readies himself for yet another whole night to watching over you and leaving right before the sun rises

Law notices your tears and feels a pang in his chest as he recalls a conversation he had earlier with Penguin; the latter had asked him to come see you while you’re awake since it’s obvious to everyone you’re worried he’s mad at you

“i’m just saying, Captain, it might be better to clear the air sooner or later,” Penguin said as he scratched the back of his neck. “(Y/N)’s been looking more miserable by the day.”

“good. she should be.” Law’s response comes out a lot colder than he wanted it to but Penguin knew him well enough to understand that. “what was she thinking hiding an injury like that? had she hidden it any longer or if Bepo hadn’t found her passed out in her room that day, a near-fatal fever would’ve kicked in at any moment!”

he stopped himself before he could get even more riled up, knowing it wasn’t Penguin’s fault so he shouldn’t be suffering the brunt of his captain’s fury.

as he sits in the darkness of the infirmary, the room only barely illuminated by the moonlight shining in through the open window, Law thinks about what he held back from saying aloud: how learning that you’d fallen unconscious with a badly infected wound made him question everything he thought he knew about his capabilities as a captain

he knows he doesn’t need to sit by your side every night–and deprive himself of much-needed sleep–but he’s deadly paranoid. just a week ago he’d ignorantly assumed his crew members were fine and directed all his attention to Luffy’s crew, only to find out days later you’d been walking around with a bullet hole through your body this entire time 

what if i’m missing something else? he wonders, eyebrows furrowing as he rapidly blinks away the sleepiness in his eyes. what if her condition worsens if i leave? 

giving in to temptation, he picks up your hand and holds it carefully, before idly running his thumb over your knuckles and the individual joints of your fingers. it’s something you do to him often, especially during the nights when he shows up to your room unannounced, silently pleading for company

you aren’t dating. not yet, at least. though it’s obvious to the two of you–as well as everyone else–that your relationship doesn’t quite fall under the category of ‘friends’, either. for a while now, you’ve been something in between for him; someone whose opinion of him he’s more sensitive about and whose company he yearns for any time you’re not within his sight. he knows you feel the same way, too, from how you spend all of your free time ‘bothering him’ endlessly to how willingly you let him crawl into bed beside you when he needs your warmth and companionship to keep away the nightmares

Law’s pulled out of his own thoughts when he catches a glimpse of the tears still clinging to your face, the moonlight having reflected off the wet surface in a way that caught his attention. without thinking, he reaches out to dry them only for your eyes to flutter open once his fingers make contact with your cheeks

“Law?” you croak and almost instantly he begins pouring a cup of water for you before bringing it to your lips. wordlessly, you drink as he tilts the cup gently, careful not to spill anything. there’s an odd pause between the both of you when he places the cup back on the bedside table and then turns back to looking at you without saying a thing. 

he catches the way you fiddle anxiously with a corner of your blanket and a single word fumbles clumsily out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

“sorry.”

you look at him, confused. he swallows thickly.

“i’m sorry i haven’t come to see you. i heard from the others you think i’m mad at you.”

“are you, though?” you reply, biting your lip. “mad at me?”

Law sighs and rubs his face again. “no,” he answers honestly. “i’m mad at myself for not noticing sooner.”

“i’m so sorry,” you gasp suddenly before fresh tears begin pouring down your face. he panics internally and  reaches out towards you almost as if to grab your shoulders but he pauses before any contact is made, his hands hovering over you. “i’m sorry i hid it from you and the others, i just didn’t want to cause you any trouble but i just ended up making things even worse.” you wipe frantically at your face, almost embarrassed to be crying about such a thing in front of your captain.

“no, no, (Y/N),” Law shushes, finally finding the courage to touch you, resting his large hands on your shoulders before squeezing gently in an attempt to ground you. “don’t cry. i forgive you, okay? just don’t hide such a thing again. it’s my duty to take care of you. it’ll never feel like trouble, no matter how busy i am.”

you nod as you sniffle and smile wobbly at him and the sight sends an arrow straight through his chest. his heart begins to race when you reach out as if asking for a hug.

“sleep with me tonight? and maybe tomorrow night, too?” you ask softly in such an innocent manner it knocks the wind right out of his lungs. not trusting himself to speak without fumbling like an idiot, Law simply responds with a smile and a nod before crawling into bed beside you.

the infirmary bed is much smaller than your personal one–seeing as it’s made for only one adult–but neither of you have an issue with the proximity forced upon you two due to the lack of space. if anything, you welcome it happily, humming with content when you feel him wrap his arms firmly around you, holding you pressed to his firm chest. Law buries his face in your hair as he feels you nuzzle into the junction of his neck while he falls into some much needed sleep. 

gen taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost @hyper-fic-ation @dressycobra7 @38lyra38 @chaseyui @paraparakiss @krooschl @teewon @olliesoxenfree @misstraffy @riftmage27 @aletch @somatchajade @kitsunechan707 @thesmolestsage @lunaizhere @saint-atlas @goldenpanda16 @Jordan03400 @rebeccawinters @glorywielder101 @slytherinambitious @the0twst0shrimp0mc

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 12: The Fight (Warning: this chapter will feature blood and violence. Proceed at your own risk)

“Look at all this,” you whisper as you take in the sights of the Strip, all the various casinos and hotels lighting up the night sky. “I returned to Nevada four years ago and I’ve never been here before. What the hell was I thinking?”

(You were trying to set up your new life, which was the responsible thing to do back then. But, we agree, coming here sooner would not have been unwelcome. This city seems to be a source of endless entertainment.)

You had finished the DLC for Salvage Rights earlier today and to celebrate both its release and its positive reception, you decided to treat yourself by going to Sin City and indulging in its various casinos and restaurants; you have the knowledge and experience of countless gamblers from Gotham, so you should be able to play blackjack and poker with the best of them.

You thought you were prepared to handle and glitz and glamor Vegas has to offer, but seeing it with your own eyes has left you speechless. The lights have you mesmerized and you’re loving it! Everywhere you look, there’s something beckoning you, like a moth to a flame and right now, you don’t care if you get burned.

“Hey, look over there,” you say, stopping to look at something above you in the distance.

The sight is a towering building proudly bearing the name “Caesar’s Palace” in lights. During your brief research for your trip to the Strip, you read Caesar’s Palace is one of the most popular casinos in the city and is also a popular destination for dining.

(You did say you wanted the “full Vegas experience.” Going to one of the largest establishments in the city would be a step in the right direction.)

When you first thought of this little excursion, you wanted to have fun, but didn’t want to get trapped in the larger ones and lose all the money you brought in with you, instead opting to stay in the smaller casinos. “Keep it simple, keep it safe,” you said a few hours ago.

Now, the lights of the massive casino before you has ensnared you and is luring you towards it like an angler fish does with its prey.

“Ave, true to Caesar,” you say as you begin the trek towards the towering monolith.

If the outside was mesmerizing, then the inside is absolutely enthralling! As expected of a place named after a Greek emperor, the interior looks like a palace plucked from the Greek Empire, complete with marble and gold, making you feel like royalty.

(We take it we are going to play here?)

“Damn right,” you say as you enter the casino part of the resort, taking in the seemingly endless rows to slot machines, card tables, and other various gambling set ups.

As you look at each slot machine and table, you’re flooded with information from the Megamycete’s archives on what you want to see when playing slot machines and when is the best time to stand when playing blackjack. While Gotham doesn’t have shit on Vegas, it did have a passable gambling scene, which attracted many expert gamblers to that City of the Damned.

With your newfound knowledge in hand, you exchange the thousand bucks you brought with you for chips and make your way to a roulette table with only one other person.

“Good evening, sir,” the dealer greets you as you situate yourself of the other side of the table, away from the other player. “Will you be joining us?”

“Deal me in,” you respond, pushing a few chips on the table to test the waters. You may know the basics from playing Fallout New Vegas, but this is real life with real money being risked and this time you don’t have a maxed out Luck stat to cheat the system with.

A few hands in and you can say for sure you love gambling. Sure, you’ve lost a few rounds, ruining a couple hot streaks, but right now, you have more money than you came in with.

“Fifteen, odd, black,” the dealer says when the ball finally stops spinning before giving you the pot, much to your delight.

“Goddamn it,” the other man exclaims, shoving himself away from the table and storming off, hopefully towards the exit as tonight has not been his night.

“I apologize for that display,” the deal says as he readies the spinner for the next round. “Will you be playing another round?”

“Definitely,” you respond, sliding three-hundred dollars worth of chips onto red.

“Have room for one more,” a masculine voice rings out next to you.

You tense up when the voice registers in your head and you look to your right to see Bruce fucking Wayne, looking down at you with that fake ass smile he gives the idiots of Gotham. Your anger only intensifies when he places a thousand dollars worth of chips into the pot.

What the hell is he doing here?

(How dare he,) the Megamycete practically growls. (This is a night meant for you to enjoy yourself and he intrudes upon it, and in your city no less.)

“Welcome, Mr. Wayne,” the dealer says as he spins the spinner after the bastard places his bet.

“Hello, Y/N,” he says to you, his focus on you and not the spinner. “I have to say, I don’t peg you as the gambling type.”

You say nothing, not wanting to give him any sort of satisfaction, and focus on the game.

“It’s a very dangerous habit if you’re not careful,” he chides you as the baller begins to slow down. “And coming to a place like Vegas? It’s not safe for someone like you. You should be back home, where you belong.”

You know the “home” he’s referring to isn’t your house in Goodsprings, but Wayne Manor in Gotham and it’s taking all your willpower not to pimp smack the shit out of him right now. This was meant to be a night for you to have fun in Vegas and you’re not gonna let him ruin that like he did the night you won your award.

“Gotham has plenty of high-end casinos where you can play all the games you want. I could take you to each of them and make sure you get the VIP treatment.”

“Vegas is far safer than Gotham,” you retort. “Here, the biggest threat you face is losing your money when you don’t know when to quit. In Gotham, you have nut jobs running around killing people on a nightly basis and the biggest nut job of them all beating the crap out of them.” You give him a mocking look, knowing something that would get under his skin. “No one in their right mind would live in that cesspit of a city. If you ask me, that place should be nuked to hell.”

While he manages to hide it well, you can see just the faintest of winces and you let your smirk show. For whatever reason, he thinks Gotham is the best place on the planet and is worth protecting. You learned about Gotham’s seedy history from its early days as a colony established in 1635 and you can say for certain that area is cursed. If you had your way, a giant wall would be built around Gotham and everyone inside would be left to kill each other and rot in that cursed city, especially the Waynes.

“Gotham has its flaws, sure,” he responds. “But I’m able to look past its dark side and see a bright future for both the city and everyone that calls it home. As you know, Wayne Enterprises has been the vanguard of breathing new life into the city.”

“Oh, that reminds me, I heard WE’s stock has practically become worthless in the last few days. Rumor has it all major stockholders are demanding for you to step down as CEO.”

“I’ve been in tight spots before and I’ve always come out on top. This will be no different. I’m sure things will turn back around in no time.”

“Six, even, black,” the dealer announces, bringing you back to the game. “Congratulations, Mister Wayne.”

You roll your eyes as the pot goes to the son of a bitch. You mentally shake your head and place your chips on the table for the next round.

“Maybe you should step down,” you say as the dealer begins the round. “I was stuck in that manor of yours for over a decade and I know it’s a mess. You should really get your house in order before you go around ‘fixing’ Gotham.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my family,” he growls. “It’s perfect the way it is.”

“No one’s buying that story anymore, Mister Wayne. I take it you haven’t read Lois Lane’s latest article?”

“Of course I have,” he says, glaring at you and it makes you want to laugh knowing how you’re testing his limits. “How could you say those things about your family?”

“You’re not my family,” you snap. “You all made it quite clear I wasn’t a part of it over and over. The only family I’ve ever had was Momma and she was taken from me.”

The anger in his eyes fade and he was silent for a moment. “I know we made mistakes during your time with us and we’re sorry about that.”

“It’s too little, too late, Mister Wayne.”

“Twenty-four, even, black,” the dealer states, clearly more interested in your conversation than the game.

You can’t help but smile as the chips make their way back to you and you place a bet of five-hundred for the next round. Of course, Bruce doesn’t go way and instead places another bet.

“Please, Y/N, come home,” he pleads as the spinner is spun. “We all miss you. Especially Alfred.”

“He’s welcome to visit me whenever he wants. The rest of you can go to hell.”

“Like it or not, they’re your siblings, Y/N,” he growls, getting closer to you. “And I’m your father. You will show them, and me, the respect that entails.”

“Respect is earned, not given,” you retort, getting close and looking up at him. He may terrify Gotham’s criminally insane, but you know you’re better than him in every way, so you’re not scared. “And don’t get it mixed up, you’re a sperm donor, not my father. God knows you never acted like it.” You lean close so that your face is mere inches away from his. “If you want, we can take this outside, Mister Wayne. Just remember what happened last time things got physical between us.”

“Now, now, gentlemen,” the dealer says. “Let’s keep this friendly. We’re all here to have fun, right?”

(Listen to him, Y/N. Do not let him ruin your first trip to Vegas. There will be plenty of time to put him in his place after we have had our fun.)

You continue to stare at him and direct all your anger and hatred towards him until he finally concedes and backs off and you do the same, just in time for the ball to finally stop.

“Nineteen, odd, red,” the dealer says as he slides the chips to you.

“I just want to make things right,” he says as he places his bet. “I know I treated you wrong and I want to fix that. So we can be father and son.”

You roll your eyes at the pathetic words and even more pathetic look as you place your bet and the deal begins the round. “You’re not sorry, Mister Wayne, you just feel guilty. Whatever conscious you have in your twisted little soul is making you feel bad and you can’t stand it, so that’s why you’re humiliating yourself trying to earn something I can never and will never give you: my forgiveness.”

He winces enough for both you and the dealer to see, but you find yourself taking no joy in fracturing his mask. This was supposed to be a night of fun and games, but he had to come all the way from Gotham and ruin it. It’s actually made you despise him even more, a task you thought impossible until now.

“Twelve, even, red,” the dealer states as he slides the chips towards Bruce.

It’s then you notice that you and him have almost the same amount of chips and the sight of it ignites an inferno of competition, which fuels your desire to assert your superiority over this pathetic creature before you.

(We are with you,) the Megamycete states firmly. (Show this interloper his place!)

“Tell me what you want, Y/N,” he says as you place all your chips on red, your mother’s favorite color, glaring at him as you do. It’s then he does the same thing, but places his chips on black, the color of the Bat.

How predictable.

With both your bets placed, the dealer spins the roulette, signaling the final round between you two. When that little ball stops spinning, one of you will take all and the other will lose all.

“Please, there must be something I can give you to show you I’m sincere. And you of all people should price is no object for me. Just name it and it’s yours.”

(How pathetic! He thinks all those years of abuse and neglect can be erased by buying you some insignificant trinket? Does he think you some whore that can be bought? Show him how wrong he is, Y/N!)

“You want to know what I want, Mister Wayne,” you ask, malice dripping with your every word, as the ball begins to slow down and clatter around. “I want you to know that I hate you more than anything else on this world; I want it to rattle around in your head for the rest of your life, from when you’re around your collection of misfits to when you lay your head down at night, that there’s no word or phrase in any language that has ever existed or ever will exist on this planet that can fully express how much animosity and hatred I have for you.”

It’s then that you get in his personal space has he had done with you earlier and use the mold so you can stretch your body ever so slightly so your face is almost touching him and stare into those eyes you’ve come to despise so much and they stare back at you, full of hurt and shock.

In the background, you can hear the ball beginning to slow down, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the game. Right now, all that matters is conveying just how much you hate Bruce Wayne.

“I want you to grow old and die knowing that, in the end, I was the one that rejected you.”

His response? Nothing but the widening of his eyes and stepping back, as if you had struck him.

“Seven, odd, red,” the dealer says, obviously shocked at what you just said.

You say nothing as you gather your chips and walk away, leaving Bruce Wayne behind to reflect on your words.

As you walk, you notice your heart is beating enough to burst out for your chest and your face is molten hot, even without touching it. In the moment, you had no idea how your words affected you as much as they apparently did that bastard.

(Perhaps we should return home,) the Megamycete suggests. (The night has been ruined and you need to rest after that interaction. We can always return another night for entertainment.)

As much as you hate to admit it, it’s right; after that display, you’re not in the mood to see what else you can get up to in your first night in Vegas. Being around him has brought back much of the anger you thought you had finally buried after moving back to Goodsprings and getting your life together and it’s killed any desire for gambling, dining, and everything in between.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice sounding weak even to you. “Let’s go home.”

You quickly cash in your chips and pocket the check the cashier gives you before making your way towards the exit. From there, you walk around until you find an alleyway tucked into an isolated and desolate part of the city to sprout mold armor and wings before taking off into the night sky.

“You know, the city looks even more breathtaking from up here,” you remark as you enter the vast expanse of the Mojave.

(Indeed. Maybe when we return, we will earn enough money from playing games that we can stay in the highest level of the tallest hotel of the city and see it again.)

“Yeah,” you respond with a throaty chuckle. “That’d be nice.”

You look down at the desert beneath you when you feel something hit your wings, slicing through and severing them, leaving you to fall to the ground. You shout as you harden your armor just in time as you impact with the sand, creating a deep crater.

(Are you alright,) it asks as you climb your way out.

“Yeah,” you respond with a groan. “What the hell happened?”

You get your answer once you make your way to the top and see Bruce, donned in his Batman gear, looking down at you.

“Are you alright,” he asks, as if he wasn’t the cause of the incident.

You dismiss your mold helm and look at him square in his eye slits, taking a deep breath and exhaling before saying, ever so calmly, “I’m going to kill you now.”

And with your intentions declared, you summon a new pair of wings and launch yourself towards the bastard and before he can react, you grab him by the face with one hand and propel the both of you backwards, using to wings to fly as you forcibly shove his head into the sand and push him forward, creating a trail in your wake.

His hands fly to yours and attempt to free himself from your grasp, but you don’t give him the chance and throw him towards a nearby rock formation as hard as you can.

He can only flail around like a rag doll as he flies through the air and lands on the rock formation with a satisfying crash, sending debris and sand flying in all directions.

Unfortunately, it’s not enough to keep him down as he’s quickly back on his feet. He reaches into his utility belt and throws a batarang at you and you respond by creating a similar object out of mold and send it flying towards it, the two of them hitting each other and falling to the ground.

Of course, he’s quick to act and before you can see it, he’s thrown something at you and you’re trapped in some kind of cable.

“What the hell,” you exclaim as you try to break free of the wire, but find yourself unable to.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says as he closes the gap between the two of you. “But you’re coming home and I’m gonna find a way to get rid of this thing inside you.”

You’re already pissed, but the way he says something so batshit crazy with a tone similar to one that you’d use to calm a startled animal enrages you even more.

How he can still be so determined to drag you back to Gotham when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you hate him and his family after everything they’ve done to you is nothing short of astounding.

(He seeks to separate us,) the Megamycete practically hisses. (Do not let him! Kill him, Y/N! Kill him!)

Your rage towards the man before you explodes like a blast furnace and you reduce your body to a murder of crows and fly towards Bruce at top speed.

He raises his arms to protect his face and you use your mold hardened beaks and talons to slice into his suit, leaving at least two dozen bloody cuts all over his body.

(Good! Hurt him even more! Bleed him dry!)

Your murder of crows fly around him, forcing him into a defensive posture, and you gather them all so you can reform into your armored form right behind him. He realizes what’s happened, but he can only turn around to face you when you grab his wrist as hard as you can, and wave him around in the air and slam him into the rock below you over and over, taking pleasure in the sounds of rock breaking with every hit.

It’s then you slam him into the rock and summon a mold sword. When he looks up at you and realizes what’s about to happen, he raises his hand just in time for your sword to go through his hand and the tip of your sword pierce the hardened Bat symbol on his chest; you know the symbol is the strongest part of his suit so it can protect whatever he has beating in his chest, but you’re determined, so it begins to crack and crumble as you drive the sword deeper in.

He tries to say something, but the damage you’ve done to him takes its toll as he can only gurgle something as blood begins to seep from the corner of his mouth.

You dismiss your helm as you lean down towards him, a vicious, bloodthirsty grin etched across your face, and the sword goes down just a little more.

“Let’s get rid of this, shall we,” you mock, grabbing his cowl, ignoring the shock the suit gives you in response. “I want to see the life fade from your eyes!”

And with that declaration, you rip the cowl off him, exposing his face, marred with bloody cuts and bruises, before you.

When you look into his eyes, you can see past the look of struggle is fear and terror.

(He knows this is the end! Finish him! Put an end to the Bat!)

“Goodbye, Mister Wayne!”

Just then, you see something fly past you and it’s then you realize the arm holding your sword has been sliced through. Bruce takes advantage of the situation and kicks you a few feet away from him and he backflips so he can put even more distance between the two of you.

You quickly collect yourself to see the source of the disruption: Dick and Cass, donned in their vigilante gear.

“You ok, B,” Dick asks as Bruce joins them.

“I’m fine,” he grunts out. “What are you doing here?”

“Alfred told us you were coming here and we knew something like this was going to happen. We all wanted to come, but we knew we couldn’t all leave Gotham, so we drew straws.”

The way he sounds so joyful pisses you off even more. How dare he! You were so close to putting an end to him and Dick had to come and ruin it!

(You should rip his limbs off! Strip him of his wings and cast him into the dam!)

Cass looks at you and you instantly know she’s analyzing you, determining possible strengths and weaknesses. When she sees that you’re missing a limb, her eyes widen.

“Oh,” Dick exclaims when he follows her gaze. “I’m so sorry, baby bird! I didn’t mean to do that! I just wanted to get you off of Bruce!”

You look down to find the severed appendage lying near your foot and go to pick it pick it up. While Dick is spouting endless apologies and pleas for you to stay calm, you merely place the limb where it once was and it begins to stitch itself back together. Once your arm is reattached, you fix your gaze back to them to find that they’re starring at you in shock at what just happened.

“Oh,” Dick manages to spit out after a few seconds of silence.

“This is between me and him,” you say as you take a few steps towards them. “Fuck off.”

“You need to stop this, baby bird,” Dick retorts. “We’re family, you shouldn’t be doing this!”

“You’re kidding, right,” you say with a mocking chuckle. “You people are constantly fighting with one another! If you’re not giving each other black eyes, you’re either breaking bones or slitting throats! You’re all a bunch of emotionally constipated psychopaths who belong in padded cells with the rest of Arkham’s lunatics! And I want nothing to do with any of you! So, for the last time, leave me the fuck alone!”

The only answer you get is the three of them getting into combat postures, indicating they’re ready to go on the attack.

“I give you the chance to walk away, and this is the thanks I get,” you sigh.

From the bottom of your feet, you command two mold tendrils to burrow into the sand below and snake their way over to them and once in place, you order them to burst out from beneath them; such a tactic would spell the end for normal people, but the Waynes are anything but normal, so they somehow knew you were up to something and scatter just as the tendrils emerge.

Still, you put them on the defense by ordering the tendrils to lash out at them, separating them from one another and forcing them to put all their focus on the tendrils while Bruce and Dick are dodging the lashing tendrils, you make your way to the nearest vigilante: Cass.

Just as you near her, she turns around and counters the slash of your mold sword with a blade of her own. You quickly realize that the few dozen people that possess any type of sword fighting prowess pale in comparison to Cass’ and decide to swap to hand-to-hand combat by punching her in gut when your blades were clashed together, sending her flying several feet.

She quickly recovers by the time you close the gap and she not only evades most of your punches, but she manages to give you a few.

What the hell, she shouldn’t be winning.

(Her fighting style is more advanced than anything we possess in our archives,) the Megamycete responds, sounding shameful. (We are unable to find a successful counter to her assault.)

Of course, it makes sense now! While Gotham may have attracted a few dozen experts in fighting over the centuries, Bruce has been trained by masters in every form of combat, including Ra’s Al Ghul, whose lifespan makes the Megamycete seem infantile in comparison. And he’s no doubt taught all of them his fighting style.

Just then, you feel something hit your back and explode, sending you flying. When you recover, you see Bruce and Dick have cut your tendrils and are now heading towards Cass to reinforce her.

(Their armories also seem to be more than we can handle,) it says as it repairs the damage done to your armor. (We have hardened your armor as much as we can, but it seems their tools will be able to penetrate our defenses.)

Shit, so that leaves you vulnerable to their fighting styles and their gadgets.

“Alright,” you mutter to yourself as you ready yourself. “We’ll just have to rely on the one thing none of them have ever had: powers.”

You repeat what you had done before and disperse your body into a murder of crows and send them flying around the Bats, causing them to huddle together and raise their arms in an attempt to protect themselves. You have enough crows continue to fly around them to keep them distracted while the rest of them form together to form your body, but with the addition of four, oversized spider-like legs extruding from your back.

You allow yourself to fall to the ground, the legs pointed down to form four very sharp stabbing implements. They look up just in time to see what’s about to happen, so they force their way through the swarm just as you land where they once stood. The remaining crows reintegrate into your body as you make your way towards them, jabbing your spider limbs in an attempt to stab any of them.

Dick and Cass have narrow frames, so they’re harder to hit, but Bruce’s more bulkier body makes him a more feasible target, so you shift your focus to him. After a few failed slashes, you manage to land a decent hit that causes him to fail onto his back. He tries to reach for his utility belt, but you use two of your limbs to pierce his shoulders and he lets out a pained yell s he struggles in vain to free himself from beneath you.

He looks up at you, a painful expression etched on his face, while you summon two small tendrils from your back, ready to deal the final blow.

“If I can’t rip out your non-existent heart, I’ll just have to settle for your head!”

But, just as you’re about to make good on your declaration, you feel something attach itself onto your back, throwing you off balance.

“Y/N, don’t,” a voice says from behind and it’s then you realize it’s not something on your back, but someone.

Specifically, Dick.

“Get off me, circus freak,” you snarl as you begin to struggle with him.

Deeming Dick the bigger threat, you shift your focus from Bruce to shaking off the acrobat any way you can, flailing around and reaching out to grab him so you can finally finish him off; while you want to kill Bruce more than anything right now, you want him to suffer before you shed his blood.

Making him watch as you rip his golden child’s head off while he’s powerless to stop it? Yes, that’ll do the trick.

It’s then you feel something at your spider feet and when you manage to look down while holding Dick at bay to see Cass, batarang in hand, cutting the feet pinning Bruce to the desert floor in an attempt to free him.

(She attempts to free the bastard,) the Megamycete hisses. (Kill her! Kill her now!)

But in typical fashion, Dick butts in where he’s not wanted and hurls himself towards you, latching onto your upper body, forcing you to brace your back spider legs to prevent you from tumbling down.

You watch in pure frustration as Cass slices off the parts of your legs pinning Bruce down and before you can react, the two of them hurl themselves onto you, joining Dick in trying to wrestle you to the ground.

You grab Dick with one hand and Cass with the other and just as you ready to summon a tendril to deal with Bruce and stabs you with some type of syringe, making you howl in pain at the sensation; instead of injecting you with something, you feel your blood being drained from you.

“Enough,” you hiss, hurling the two smaller vigilantes as far as you can before grabbing Bruce by both his shoulders and pulling him up so that the two of you are eye-to-eye.

It’s at this point your rage reaches its apex; this was suppose to be a night of fun out on the Strip, but the man before you not only had to ruin it by showing up, but now he’s come full circle on his batshit craziness by blasting you out of the sky and try to apprehend you like you’re one of the crazies from Arkham.

And to make matters worse, he had to bring two of his children, Dick being one of them! While you will always hate Bruce with every fiber of your being and Damian being an extremely close second, you’ve always had a strong resentment towards the eldest Wayne son. While the bastard will always say he loves all his children equally (minus you, of course), you know Dick will always be number one in Bruce’s heart due to him being the first child and being a capable Gotham socialite and vigilante.

And to add insult to injury, everyone always says Dick is everything an eldest brother should be: reliable, responsible, and doting. For years, you could nothing but cry as you saw him going out of his way to help and hang out with the other Wayne children, no matter how loudly they tried to reject it. Watching such the love and affection you craved be handed out so willingly and carefree to anyone but you made you think you would never be loved by anyone other than your deceased Momma.

You let out an inhuman howl in Bruce’s face as you shove your head into his right shoulder and latch onto it with your teeth with enough force to rival a hydraulic press. He lets out a pained yell and attempts to pull you off by your hair, but you apply more force until you eventually pierce through the armor, followed by the skin, then the muscle, and finally bone.

You pull your head back, bits of bone and flesh dangling from your teeth. You look to see his right arm practically dangling from just the barest of flesh and blood oozing from it like a waterfall. You shift your gaze from your handiwork to Bruce’s face to see the most delicious expression of pain etched on it and his complexion is pale and clammy.

At this point, you’re a crazed animal, chomping at the bit to go in for the kill on the wounded prey before you and rip it apart until it’s unrecognizable.

(Yes,) the Megamycete roars, its voice a symphony of bloodthirsty cheers. (Do it! Exact your vengeance upon him!)

Before you do anything, you feel something hit your back and explode, but unlike the first one, this one sends some sort of freezing gases scattering across your body, sending feelings of burning as your armor and spider legs rapidly freeze.

You howl in pain as you drop Bruce so you can slap at the affected areas, trying to find some way to relieve yourself of the freezing feeling.

(Hurts,) the Megamycete hisses. (Hurts!)

You rid yourself of your armor and spider legs by ripping it off your body, the frozen mold constructs shattering upon impact with the ground.

It’s then you realize you’re exposed and quickly turn around, ready to defend yourself when you see the three of them flying away on the Batwing at top speed. You could go after them, but after the fight with the Bats and their freezing grenade, you can only fall to your knees, trying to catch your breath.

(We had no idea we possessed such a vulnerability to the cold,) the Megamycete says, its voice sounding weak. (The winters of Gotham drove us to a state of near hibernation, but this is the first time we have ever had a reaction like that.)

“And now you know,” you manage to gasp out. “And so do they.”

You can only watch as the vehicle flies away as fast as it can, carrying three of the Bats away where they will no doubt share what’s happened here with the others, which will no doubt lead to even more encounters like this in the future.

“Shit.”

In the Batwing, Bruce knows Dick is talking to hi, his words quick and high pitched as he tries to dress his wound, but right now, he can’t bring himself to take his focus off the syringe filled with your blood.

When he set out for Vegas, he was determined to find a way to provoke you into showing him your powers and obtain a blood sample so he could perform more tests, but he didn’t think he’d discover a major weakness in your defenses.

While he hated to see the cryo grenade caused you so much pain, he can’t help but rejoice at the knowledge that there’s a crack in your armor and if he approaches it at the right angle, he can have you home far sooner than he anticipated.

And when you’re back home, he can find a way to get that damn thing out of you and return you to normal. And when that’s done, he can begin to make things right with you.

He grips the syringe harder, seeing the key to making his daily whole once again within your blood.

Tag List: @lunaluz432 @type-ink @bat1212 @eyeless-kun @deathbynarcisstick @orbitingtraveler @1s3v3n1 @nosyrobin @roseytheteacup @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @bellethesleepypotato @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @exactlynumberonekryptonite @paolexsstuff @fantasyhopperhea @c0l1fl0r @ellaprime7 @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @ratchetprime211 @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @bunbunbread @starsdotalk @luna57765 @solelifauna @jsprien213 @diejager @lizz-lrm @v0idl1nq @chericia @wizzerreblogs @tinybrie @lilyalone @thickasthievingtoads @creativechaosx @randomlyappearingartist @ferchu0406 @kik1010 @butterflycardigann @1-800-crazy

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Nurse

Sylus x Y/N - drabble - 1K WC

Masterlist

Warnings: pure fluff, nudity but nothing described, sick reader, flirty, soft boy Sylus, hinting at NSFW but nothing actually happens

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

“You need to strike harder than that kitten.” Sylus said as he blocked your punch.

You had felt off all day, tired and weak. The sweat running down your face didn’t feel cool and refreshing, it felt hot and sticky. You couldn’t catch your breath and you were slower than normal. “I’m done for today Sylus.” you said, holding your side as you walked over to your water bottle. Everything felt heavy in your body. Were the lights always this bright? Your mouth felt dry as you stumbled forward.

“Kitten?” Sylus said, walking towards you.

Your eyes fluttered as you felt your body go limp, dropping to the gym floor. You felt how cold it was against your scorching skin before you felt Sylus’ hands on you. You heard him calling your name but it sounded so far away and all that felt like a good idea right now was sleep. You let yourself slip into unconsciousness.

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

You woke up to the soft feel of cool silk sheets. Your head throbbed, you were thankful it was night and only a dim light illuminated the room. “Sylus?” you whispered, trying to see him through your blurry vision.

“Over here sweetie.” he said from the dim corner armchair. He set his book down, rounding the bed to sit next to you. He held the back of his hand to your forehead, you could feel how clammy your skin felt beneath it. “You have a fever.” he said.

“I feel like shit.” you sighed as you moved the covers to the side.

Sylus helped you sit up, “Come,” he said, holding your hand and tugging you towards the bathroom.

You followed him, the bathroom full of steam and the smell of roses. The bathtub was filled, bubbles and petals scattered the water. “Ever the romantic.” you smiled softly at him. Sylus always claimed he was not the affectionate kind but his actions always told otherwise. You let him help you out of your clothes before sinking down into the delicious warmth of the water. 

You watched as his fingers traced over the top of the water before sinking down to hold one of your hands. “Better?” he asked, his red eyes focusing on your relaxed face.

You hummed, “Better.” you let him play with your fingers below the water, he seemed to have a fixation with your hands. When you finally opened your eyes you couldn’t help but notice the frown on his lips. “What is it?” you said, slightly worried.

His face softened as he let out a sigh, “I was so worried when you fainted…” he admitted. You knew he struggled to vocalize his feelings, especially ones that made him “weak”. 

Your wet hand came to cradle his face which was resting on the rim of the tub, “I’m ok Sy,” you kissed his forehead, “you were there to make sure I was ok.” 

He smirked slightly, “I’m always there when you need me sweetie.” he flicked a bit of water at you, making you laugh.

“Don’t be mean I’m sick.” you said. 

Sylus held his hand to your forehead once again, “Your fever is breaking.” he said.

“Of course it is, look at who my nurse is.” you smile, “And since I’m no longer contagious I can do this.” you pulled him into a kiss. 

Sylus followed your lips until he was in the bath himself, his clothes soaked through but he couldn’t care less as he nipped your lip. “I don’t think that's how that works.” he breathed out as you two pulled away, needing air.

“By all means then, I don’t want to get you sick…” you said with a smirk rivaling his own as you pushed him back slightly.

Sylus hardly moved. He admired the way your body was caged beneath him in the tub, you were completely his. And as much as he wanted you, he could see the need for rest swimming in your eyes as whatever virus you had was slowly leaving you. He got out of the tub, taking his clothes off. 

Your eyes never got tired of feasting on him, he was the most perfect person you had ever seen. “Coming to finish what you started?” you asked.

“As much as I’d like that, you need to rest. Fully heal.” he said as he dried himself off and slipped some loose sweats that hung dangerously low on his hips.

“I thought my fever broke?” you said with a pout.

Sylus pulled the drain plug before he stood you up and wrapped you in a towel and carried you out of the bathroom. “Yes but that doesn’t mean your body is done fighting the virus.” he set you down on the edge of the bed.

“Are you sure I can’t change your mind? I’m feeling much better…” you said as you dropped your towel and pulled him between your legs by his waistband. 

His crimson eyes were bright and full of lust and for a moment, he wanted to give in. “You can go to bed now and if you’re completely better in the morning I promise you won’t leave this bed all day.” he said, leaning down to hold your face so he could give you a quick kiss. 

“Deal.” you smiled before throwing the blankets over your body. The cool silk caressing you in the best way, a sharp contrast from your still warm skin.

Sylus smirked at your answer before he got into bed with you, “Come here kitten,” he said, pulling you flush against him. “That's better.” he said as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

Your fingers locked with his as you held his hand to your chest, “Good night Sylus.” you yawned, already starting to drift off.

“Good night little love.” he mumbled, kissing your neck a few times before he felt your breathing even hout and your pulse steady beneath his lips. He tangled his legs with yours before falling asleep himself. 

He’d need all the rest he could get if he was going to live up to his promise tomorrow morning.

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

Naboo's Note:

Sometimes I really wish this big mafia boss would just hold me then fuck me into next week hope ya'll enjoy love yaaaaaaa XOXOXOX

[midnightspasms]

Before Trueform!Sukuna realises he wants to be with you....

Sukuna wasn't exactly sure what to do with you at first. He'd pillaged your village, and you'd been the only survivor. Apparently, you were the healer's daughter and somehow managed to just not be there while he was killing everyone.

He was bored by the time you got back to your village, idly sitting atop some of the ruins as you walked through the desolate grounds, a basket of herbs and leaves in your arms.

Since then, he'd just let you tag along his journey. Sukuna's not exactly sure why you're fine with this, but he assumes you were mistreated while you'd lived in the village. There's scars over your body, and you get quiet whenever conversation leans towards family.

Sukuna doesn't exactly mind your presence. He's grown used to it, a bit stoic, really. You're like a companion he even forgets he has sometimes. You dress his wounds when he's injured, and you cook sometimes.

You're a good cook. He'll admit that. Even when it comes to human meat. You never eat it with him, but you cook it delectably.

Sometimes, when he's really frustrated, you let him have his way with you. There's no romance, no feelings, Sukuna's heart is like lead when he's between your legs, fucking into you on grassy planes and the open outdoors. But your body is just divine; you're tight and warm and soft, and your moans are nice to hear.

You like clothes. At least he assumes you do. Whenever he finishes slaughtering, you come out from the forest where you stay while he kills. You go into the houses, picking out clothes from dead girls' closets. He doesn't know yet why he bothers to wait for you, while he follows you around quietly while you go house to house.

He's fucked you in a lot of dead girls' jewelry. Sometimes, he thinks you like it in a sick, twisted way, letting him feast on the sweetness between your legs as you palm the jewels of merchant wives he's just murdered, blood still on the gems sometimes.

But Sukuna doesn't mind. He doesn't mind much about you.

You're a bit on the quiet side some days. Some days, you chat his ear off. He's grown used to your volatile personality. And well, he guesses he can live with that.

You're good company, and he can learn to live with you for a long while. He doesn't mind it. Maybe one day he'll finally settle down. Maybe with you.

Maybe Sukuna will have a little place deep in the mountains, away from civilisation, and you'll be there too, doing mundane life things with him, keeping him company the way you do now. It's a stupid thing to imagine, and he doesn't know why he does. He wants you in a house with him like you are now. He wants.... he wants you.

But he thinks that's what he wants. As he watches you roast a skewer of meat over a flame he set, he thinks that he wants more of this with you. A touch of domesticity, maybe a little more affection when fucking.

Yeah. Sukuna wants a quiet life with you.

[mixissecretjournal]

⚠️smut incoming⚠️

Just thinking of Megumi Fushiguro holding onto your hips for dear life, as you bounce on his hard dick. His grunts, biting his lip, trying to stop his eyes from rolling back, basically he’s trying to stop himself for looking pathetic in front of you. But how can he when you feel so good. He can’t let go, he mustn’t, you’d think he’s stupid. It’s not until you kiss his forehead and tell him how pretty he looks when his getting pleasured, that he finally gives up trying to be nonchalant. He throw his head back and begins moaning and whimpering so much all of a sudden, that it catches you off guard. “Oh my god” he thinks, “this is soo much better”, forgetting about every anxious thought he was having as he starts the thrusted up into you. He’s moaning, tears are swelling up in his eyes, toes are curling, fingers are digging into you hips, his back arching and he lets out the loudest moan as he finally finishes.

°♡°☆°♡°☆°♡°☆°♡°☆°♡°☆°♡°☆°♡°☆°♡° °♡°☆°♡°☆°♡°☆°♡°

[rafescherie]

YOU GET ME SO HIGH — RAFE CAMERON

synopsisᝰ.ᐟ rafe cameron getting high is always a sight to see — especially from your position between his thighs

warningᝰ.ᐟ 18+ MDNI. getting high (marijuana), oral (male receiving).

cherie's note — i'm back from my long awaited break, enjoy you nasty sluts

rafe loved nothing more than having you on your knees between his spread legs, room becoming hazy with each exhale of the marijuana smoke. the way your pretty plump lips wrapped almost too well around his cock had his eyes rolling, his brain becoming mushier and mushier with each toot of the blunt. all he could focus on was the tightening of your throat each time you took him further and further, eyes watering and offering light coughs paired with a thick rope of saliva each time you pulled away from him.

fuck, he loved this. feeling his calloused fingers tangle in the soft strands of your hair, hips bucking up to meet the back of your poor throat every time he'd get a boost of confidence — something that seemed to happen whether he was sober or not. he loved being in control, as much as he adored having you sitting so damn pretty on the floor in front of him, he'd never give up the opportunity of having you gag on his cock, if he could help it.

"yeah, that's it angel." he'd groan, eyes fluttering shut each time the tip of his dick would hit the back of your gummy throat. his forehead sheened with sweat, greasy bangs stuck to his flushed skin. "good fuckin' girl, made perfectly for me, aren't you?"

you were sure you were soaked — cunt clenching around the emptiness inside of you. the thin fabric of your panties clung to your pussy, absolutely drenched in your own arousal. each whimper that escaped rafe's mouth elicited another throb out of your core, certain your folds would be a leaking mess.

god, he was so fucking high. the sensation paired so damn well with the feeling of your mouth around his fat cock, reaching such a high level of pleasure each time his spongy tip hit the back of your throat. "being such a good slut f'me, pretty baby." he'd groan out.

within minutes, his thrusts become sloppier and heavier, more concentration on finally finishing rather than building up to the climax. his panting becomes jagged, filling the almost empty room, mixed well with the whimpers he would let slip out. of course, rafe was a vocal person in general, but the mixture of weed within his system fueled him to the point of not giving a fuck as he let every single noise within him spill out.

not the only thing spilling out, that's for sure. pulling out to slap the tip of his cock against your tongue, spurts of hot cum coat your pretty pink tongue, and you sit eagerly awaiting his command to swallow what he had so graciously given you. the remainder that had spilled onto your chest is swept underneath his thumb, and against his own mouth in a desperate attempt at tasting himself.

of course, he's pulling you towards him even despite the mixture of thick saliva and creamy cum pooling at your chin, pressing his lips against your swollen ones as his tongue explores your mouth eagerly — tasting every last drop of his own arousal on your tongue.

he's pulling you onto his lap almost needily, ready to savor every single sensation the marijuana helped heightened within him. none of the blunt was going to waste, he was going to make damn sure of that.

[zumek0]

college bf! headcanons; kozume, k.

↪︎ headcanons, gn reader, fluff, a little angst but very mild, mentions of an unspecified argument but it gets resolved, allusions to an anxiety attack, mentions of marriage.

↝ summary: headcanons about your and kenma’s relationship.

College bf! Kenma who can take all his classes remotely but still takes two in-person electives so that you both can walk together to and from campus.

College bf! Kenma who isn’t one to wake up early (the earliest he can wake up is 10 a.m.) but makes an effort to do so when he knows you have an important exam so that he can have breakfast with you and wish you good luck.

College bf! Kenma who doesn’t listen to music that often (maybe sometimes has a video game's OST playing as background noise while finishing assignments) but still listens to every single song you recommend to him.

He always tells you his thoughts on each song (even if he doesn’t particularly like it).

College bf! Kenma, whose anxiety prevents him from openly showing you affection in public, but makes up for it by clinging to you constantly while in private.

College bf! Kenma who, after spending the night, makes sure to leave at least one hoodie at your apartment.

He insists that it’s so that he has clean clothes to wear if he needs them but then gets pouty whenever you wear one of yours instead of his.

College bf! Kenma who loves having you sit on his lap or between his legs while he games.

Usually, he rests his head either on your shoulder or atop your head.

Whenever he gets bored or his wrist starts bothering him (you cannot tell me he wouldn't have carpal tunnel syndrome, lol), he leans back and wraps his arms around you, letting you take control for a while.

College bf! Kenmawho cries when you two have the first “big” argument of your relationship.

He prides himself on staying level-headed in stressful situations and looking for solutions instead of panicking and falling into despair.

So then, why does he feel like this? Why does he feel so angry? Why does his skin feel uncomfortable? Why is his mind making up scenarios where you break up with him? Why does he feel like there’s a black hole where his stomach should be? Why does his chest feel like he’s on the verge of a heart attack? Why does he feel so guilty?

The last two hours repeat themselves over and over in his mind. Why did he say all those things? Why did he act that way towards you? Why did he hurt you like that? Why does he keep crying?

Eventually, you both calm down enough to talk and resolve the issue.

He decides that he never wants to go through that experience again.

Especially not if you felt even half as bad as he felt.

College bf! Kenma whose mom asks about you every time he calls her son.

If you happen to be around, she’ll always ask to talk to you for a bit (more like an hour and a half).

He's pretty sure she only calls him as an excuse to talk to you.

Eventually, he sends her your phone number and feels slightly offended that she doesn’t call nearly as often as she used to.

College bf! Kenma who keeps trying to convince you to move in with him as it would be more cost effective and convenient. 

College bf! Kenma who, when you eventually agree to live together, lets you search for a new apartment as you insisted on starting fresh.

College bf! Kenma who, when you move into your new place, you drag out to Walmart at 8 p.m. to buy two cups, insisting that they’re a symbol of this new stage of your relationship.

College bf! Kenma who finds himself wanting to become Fiancè! Kenma more and more everyday.

finally posting this after having it sit in my drafts for half a year 🫠 i also finally learned how to make my html text work for the colored words lol. reblogs and likes are appreciated!

—han

[shuenkio]

𝖳𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾? | 성훈 -⁠ᄒ⁠ᴥ⁠ᄒ⁠-

Paring: Sunghoon X M!reader

Synopsis: A friend benefits but you have the audacity to ask him to be your boyfriend again when he thought he's already yours?

Genre: Fluff. Cw: a bit freaking at last.

Non proof read. English is not my 1st.

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

You have always been a hater of friends with benefits for your whole life but it seems like when it was Sunghoon, he was your exception. Why not though when the Park Sunghoon guy is the most hottest and gorgeous man you've ever seen in this whole campus. Ofc you did accept his deal without even thinking.

On the other hand, Talking about how Sunghoon got his nose on you, it was like lightning struck love, the first sight he saw in you he must get you around his fingers, instantly, the thought to own you was so powerful but not until he realizes if he ask you to be his, just by the first appearance of you, would probably be so weird to even sound so that's why he come up with a deal instead. "Friend with benefits." They both fucked, make out, kissed, hang out like a real damn couple and that's not enough to make you feel the spark, to know is was all Sunghoon silly intentions, oblivious even when the taller is completely obvious but not until—

It's been a long time, days turn into week, week turn into months for 12 times. It was a cold evening when Sunghoon asked you out as usual for a date. Excited about consuming you, once the clock strikes 7, you're all good to go, all fit and clean. As if he's your soon-to-be boyfriend.

"aren't you giddy than usual? Take the wrong medicine again!?" Stare down at your sight, scanning with his brows tied together, either he was suspicious or he was weird out by your sudden side. Shrug your small shoulder, you adjust your top while palm close together, smiling at him like an awkward puppy. Sunghoon jotted his lip unsure before driving them both to the destination.

The dinner went off smoothly, the atmosphere was your favorite. A warm glow from candles and fairy lights bathes the cozy dining table. A linen-covered table holds elegant plates, steaming dishes, and crystal glasses. Soft music hums in the background, blending with quiet laughter and the clink of silverware. Plush chairs invite lingering, as wine pours smoothly and the evening unfolds in gentle warmth. you finished your dinner before Sunghoon does, to gather your heart and encourage to ask him something you've always wanted to. It's like he was a quiz you were the student, both nervous and excited, can't explain how much your cheeks hurt from the thought of him, would accept you even if there's a low chance you think he'd rejected you, but give it a shot right? At least worth a try.

Your peculiar behavior is odd enough to make him dizzy, to ask what's exactly what's wrong with you for real.

"okay m/n tell me what's going on with you? You need more money? Robux? Or what? You weird tf out of me" Sunghoon claim, swirling his glass of wine as he gulped down into his throat, clicked his tongues off of the strong tastes.

"you won't be mad if I have to let my thoughts out?" Your jaw tense up, feeling anxious that you could bite off your finger nails. The answer is only to burn Sunghoon's curiosity more. He finally let out a deep stressing sigh, composing himself to what will come toward him with your sweet mouth.

"I think I like you... Boyfriend?" face burning, quickly hides behind your hands, fingers barely able to contain your own nervous tremble. Your heart races—too fast, too loud—as the weight of this confession lingers between them. Sunghoon roots in his seat, with an easy posture, raises an eyebrow and glances at you with a half-smile, as if the situation is no big deal.

"Wait," Sunghoon says nonchalantly,

"I thought we already were dating?am I dumb or you are" He shrugged casually, as if the confession wasn’t anything new, Sunghoon tone light and carefree. He messaged his temple, so stunned with this encounter.

"I mean... You think we are? I— that's good" face turning crimson, scratches the back of your head awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. Your gaze flickers everywhere but at him, unable to hide the nervousness building up inside. You just nod slowly, unsure if he'd just made things more complicated or clearer.

"you're still not sure, maybe I should fuck until my dick leaking nonstop of you instead to know if we dating or not— aigoo"

Funtalk: I might do my experience this week 😝 guess who in skz? Well idk too—

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤

a/n: ——

summary: natasha romanoff x female!reader. based on the movie “the notebook”; you’re allie, nat’s noah

warnings: light smut—fingering (r receiving), weapons (is this something i need to mention? idk lol)

word count: 7k

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

Natasha meeting your family was not on your list of priorities.

In fact, imagining her at dinner with your parents or in your grandparents' living room was enough to make you shudder. The mere idea of her chatting with your mother over a cup of coffee?

Horrendous. A nightmare.

You try to keep her a secret. Your secret. Your summer love, your escape from reality, your something so impossibly out of place in the world you grew up in you're not even sure she's real.

But then, she's leaning against the gate of your grandparents' house again. You'd recognize the red hair and black leather jacket from a mile away. The way she sticks out in the uniform, boring normalcy of your neighborhood is almost offensive.

"No, no, no", you mutter under your breath, throwing the door open. You fly down the stairs and run up to her, silently praying nobody will see you. You grab her arm and yank her away from the gate. "You can't be serious right now-"

"Y/N", your father suddenly calls. You stiffen. "Who's that?"

Slowly, you turn around. Natasha follows your gaze until she's met with the sight of your father. It takes all of her strength not to crack a grin — the ironed pastel polo, the khakis, the loafers that look like he's never walked on actual grass. Way too pristine for a casual evening at home.

You elbow her side when you notice how she raises her eyebrows, but her expression doesn't waver.

"A friend", you say awkwardly, tugging at her arm again. She ignores you. "We're just, uhm..."

"Going for a ride", Natasha finishes unhelpfully.

"Around town."

"Maybe get some ice cream."

"No booze", you add. Your father stares at you, his expression both stoic and amused. "Even though I, uhm, technically-"

"Alright", he finally cuts you off. "What's going on? Is this a date?"

Your face flushes at the blunt question. If he figures this out, you're doomed — your parents insist on meeting every person you go out with. Then, they subject them to scrutiny sharper than police officers grilling suspects. Passing that test is nearly impossible.

You know better than to hope for their approval, especially when it comes to Natasha.

"No!", you blurt out. "She's just- we-"

"I'm a friend", she says, pinching your side. The noise you let out is completely undignified, but at least you stop rambling incoherent nonsense. "Nothing to worry about, sir."

"Right", your father says slowly. He lets his eyes run up and down your body, from head to toe, assessing your appearance. You didn't dress casually, and you know it. His eyes narrow. "Well, if you're going to spend time together, you should come in and introduce her. It's almost dinner time anyway. How does pot roast sound?"

She's enjoying your discomfort much more than she should. Smoothly, she replies that pot roast does sound good. Her eyes meet yours, twinkling teasingly. Suddenly, you envision it happening.

Natasha, surrounded by your parents and grandparents. She'll stick out like a sore thumb. No way are they going to endorse her.

You feel like ripping your hair out.

"We're good", you quickly say, grabbing Natasha's arm. "We'll just-"

"I insist", he says. "Come on."

With that, he opens the gate a little wider and looks at you expectantly. Natasha, ever-charming and professional when necessary, nods and intertwines her hand with yours. You mutter a quiet "traitor" as you're led inside.

The house smells like garlic and the lavender potpourri your grandmother keeps everywhere, which is a disgusting combination. You feel Natasha's fingers brush against your shoulders as she takes off your jacket for you. Your dad watches her as she does that. You can't quite figure out what he's thinking.

"Honey, we've got company", he calls out as you enter the dining room. Your mom pokes her head out of the kitchen, eyeing Natasha warily.

"You are?"

"Natasha, ma'am."

"A 'friend' of Y/N's", your father says. "We'll need another plate."

Your mother scrutinizes Natasha shamelessly. You know she can see every detail, from the scar above her eyebrow to the dirt clinging to her boots. She'll bring it up later.

"Friends", she repeats. Her gaze locks with yours. You lift your chin with an air of defiance. "You're staying for dinner, I assume?"

"Oh, she's not-"

"Nonsense. Sit down", your father says, shooing you to the table.

Natasha swiftly slides a chair back and gestures for you to sit. Cheeks burning, you avoid everyone else's eyes as you sit down. Her hand briefly brushes against yours. At least she's next to you.

Your mother offers Natasha some wine. She declines politely, saying she doesn't drink — a blatant lie, as you had vodka when you were staying at her house. But you're actually relieved. This should at least be something your parents will be impressed by.

Your grandparents don't pay much attention to Natasha. It hasn't even crossed their minds that she could be more than just your friend. You came out years ago, but they've been ignoring that piece of information expertly. It doesn't fit their narrative.

But your parents know what's going on. They keep their eyes on Natasha even as they're picking at their salad or sipping wine. Eventually, your mother clears her throat. A sound you remember from your childhood, one that usually meant trouble. You stiffen in your chair.

"So", she says, setting down her fork and knife. "What do you do, Natasha?"

"A bit of everything", she says. Her eyes don't give much away. You shrink into your seat as you realize that you don't exactly know what she does, either. "You have a lovely home, by the way."

"Oh, thank you." Your mother watches her, eyes narrowed with the realization that Natasha managed to evade her question. She purses her lips. "So-"

"Your daughter is lovely as well", she adds.

You want to sink into the floor.

You spend the rest of the evening trying to steer your parents' attention away from Natasha. Somehow, it works — soon enough, they're talking about friends they saw in town and upcoming church events. You catch your grandmother glance at Natasha's jacket, draped over her chair, repeatedly, but she doesn't comment on it.

You know what's going through their heads, and you don't like it. Thankfully, Natasha is as smooth as can be. She's not too engaged in the conversation, but she appears just interested enough for it to be polite. She laughs at the right moments, she compliments the food, she asks the right questions and gives answers that are too vague to be judged easily.

Finally, you've cleaned off your plates of apple pie. Natasha helps stack the dishes and clean off the table, then you excuse yourselves.

Stepping outside feels like a huge weight falling from your shoulders.

"Dear god", you say, leaning against the trunk of the tree you used to climb when you were a child. Natasha smiles, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. "I'm done. Seriously. This was a nightmare."

"It wasn't that bad", she says. "They like me, I think."

You raise your eyebrows. "I'm not even going to comment on that."

"Rude." She steps closer, brushing her elbow against your side. You smile faintly. "I think I made a good impression, no?"

"It could've been worse", you admit, though you're not too sure about the 'made a good impression'-thing. Impressing your parents? Nearly impossible. "I'm just glad we got this over with. Next time, pick me up somewhere else."

Natasha leans in, her hands still in the pockets of her jackets. She smirks, brushing her nose against yours before kissing you. A quick kiss, but you feel the thrill shoot through your veins. Kitchen window, you think, then peck her lips before pulling away. You rest your head against the rough bark of the trunk.

Your smile makes Natasha fall in love all over again.

. . .

"What do you mean you 'don't know'?"

You glance up from your book. Your eyebrows are furrowed, your foot is tapping a restless pattern against the firm cushions of the couch. This has been going on for twenty minutes and you're very close to hiding in your room.

"I just don't know, okay? I don't know what she does. She didn't tell me."

Your mother rolls her eyes and puts her hands on her hips. Something white and furry — your grandmother's devil cat named Thoreau — slithers past her legs and disappears into the hallway.

"Y/N", she says, stepping closer. "There's no way you've been going out with that...woman and don't know what she does. Who she is, in fact. I mean, have you looked at her?"

Oh, you have. You know what she's talking about. It makes your frustration spike.

"What's so bad about her, huh?", you snap, shutting your book abruptly. Her eyes widen for a split second. "She's nice. She treats me well. She's smart and funny. I really don't get why you dislike her so much!"

"Excuse me? I never said I-"

"You don't have to say anything!"

"Y/N!" Her voice cuts through the air, sharp and unrelenting. You feel yourself flinch. "Don't use that tone with me. I want to know who she is. Who she really is. Because even you seem to have no clue."

You go silent. Your face falls, revealing how accurate your mother's observation is.

You don't know Natasha. You know her, but you don't know her. What you gathered so far are little pieces of information, minuscule bits, knowledge that won't get you far.

You have no idea where she's from, or why she's in this town, what shes does.

But you know that she loves black coffee and braids, and movies and swimming. She loves falling asleep with her head on your chest, though she usually doesn't sleep through the night.

She counts stars when she doesn't know what to talk about. At night, she crosses streets without looking twice.

She can't draw to save her life. Her sketch of a mouse looked more like a gray circle with legs. But when she used a pen to draw on your arm, you wished the ink would seep into your skin so the drawing would never fade away.

Whether you know the things that actually matter is a question you can't answer.

You shift under your mother's gaze, slowly averting your eyes. Your bottom lip hurts from the way you chew on it. Your fingers lightly dig into your thigh.

"What do you want me to do?", you ask. You sound more petulant than you'd like to admit.

She exhales, willing herself to soften a little. Tentatively, she sits down next to you and takes your book. She stares at the cover as if gathering her thoughts. She tries to remind herself that this is nothing more than a summer romance — something that'll pass eventually. Rather sooner than later, she hopes.

"Talk to her", she says. "Make sure you know what you're getting into. Because you're not about to ruin your life because of one summer."

Her words hit harder than expected. You can tell she's serious, because she always is. You've started to think she's incapable of making jokes.

It all settles in your stomach, makes your thoughts churn. You nod, imperceptibly almost, but your mother notices. She reaches over to squeeze your hand before getting up.

Eyes glued to the cover of your book, you sit there. The image blurs, as does the title.

You've built a fragile, beautiful thing together — and you need answers from Natasha before summer slips away.

. . .

It's a warm summer night. You managed to sneak out at a little after midnight, carefully walking down the stairs and shutting the window behind you. The seat of Natasha's SUV had started to feel familiar as you sat down in her car.

Now, you're back at the lake behind her house. Its surface shimmers in the milky moonlight. The towel creates a barrier between your thighs and the wood of the dock you're sitting on, preventing you from getting splinters. Your toes dip into the water, which is definitely much cooler already. Summer is coming to an end.

She swims up to you so she's right in front of the dock. Her fingertips loosely wrap around your ankle and she presses a kiss to it, her lips cold and wet against your skin. You can't tell whether she knows how your thoughts are racing, how you've been trying to voice your fears for an eternity now.

"Join me", she says, rubbing circles against your skin. Her green eyes seem deeper than the lake she's in.

You tilt your head, your eyebrows raised skeptically. It's tempting, really, but the idea of getting all wet and cold isn't a pleasant one.

"I don't know", you hesitate. "I think I'm fine right here."

Natasha hums and squeezes your ankle. She tugs on it, lightly enough to not make you worry too much. "You say that now...", she then says, quickly causing you to change your mind about not worrying.

With one swift pull, you slip from the dock. The world tilts, you gasp, and suddenly, you're underwater. But you're pulled back up before your panic can take root, her arms around your thighs, the cold water a stark contrast to the heat simmering in your chest. Natasha's smile matches yours.

"Got you."

"I'm wet", you mutter, brushing wayward strands of hair out of your face. She presses her lips against your jaw. Your fingers grasp her chin and you give her a real kiss, a slow and all-consuming one, sweet from the lake water.

Your hands run into her hair, combing through it and untangling it. Her fingertips dig into your thighs. You feel the spinning sensation in your head slow down.

Finally, you part. Your lips hover close to hers, letting you swallow her breath. Natasha kisses your bottom lip and then trails her lips down your neck until she reaches your chest. Her tongue traces the seam of your bikini top.

You stop her before she can go further. Your fingers rake through her hair, making her pause.

"I need to talk to you", you admit. She looks up, worry crossing her features. "It's nothing bad. I think."

"Your parents?", she asks, slowly lowering you into the water. Her arms stay wrapped around your waist in a loose hold.

The smile on your face is bitter. You sigh and touch her jaw, fingers lightly drumming against it. "Kind of", you say. "But also...everything else. Us. This. I mean...summer is about to end. What happens then?"

She should've anticipated this conversation. Summer won't last forever — you'll leave, as will she. Responsibilities loom over her like dark clouds. Suddenly, she sees a future in which she never meets you again.

"I don't know", she murmurs. Her hand slides up and down your back repeatedly, fingertips slipping under the tight fabric of your bikini. "I didn't think about it."

Her words feel like a needle in your chest. You've been awake way too many times, tossing and turning, wondering what your future is going to look like. Whether she's in it as well.

There's no way she's this indifferent to what happens next.

"You didn't?"

"I mean..." She sighs and leans in, her lips briefly pressing against your temple. "Of course I did. In a way. But I've mostly been focused on the now. You're leaving, aren't you? You're going back to college. And I..."

Natasha doesn't say anything else. You look at her with your eyebrows raised, silently promoting her to keep going. You both know what you are doing once summer ends. Where you're going, who you're going to be with, all that stuff.

But Natasha? You have no idea. She won't tell you.

"Listen", she begins, letting go of you. The loss of contact is unbearable. "There are things you're better off not knowing."

"Are you kidding?" You swim closer, the water brushing along your body. Disbelief is written all over your face. "Natasha, please tell me you aren't serious. If it's that bad, you have to tell me. I need to know. I mean, my mom-"

"Is that's what this is about?" Her voice hasn't changed in volume, but the tone is so very different. Cold, biting, accusatory. It makes you stop in your tracks. "Your parents?"

"No!" You exhale and squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, willing yourself to not start a fight. "No. Of course not. I don't care what they think. But sometimes, even they are right. Natasha, I need to know. You have to tell me if you want this to keep going."

"Of course I want to keep this going", she snaps. "But what if I tell you and then never hear from you again, huh? You ever thought about that?"

You shake your head and grab her hand. She recoils initially but then relaxes, her eyes locked on your face warily. "We can sort it out. I really don't believe it can be that bad."

Seconds of silence. Her hand twitches in yours and she frowns. When she looks away, it feels like everything has started to slip from your grasp.

"You're naive", she states quietly. Your chest burns with an odd mixture of shame and defensiveness. If only you knew that she isn't trying to insult you — no, this is her attempt at keeping you safe from whatever mess her life is.

She's seen your life. Has met your parents, heard about your upbringing. She knows you're wealthy, a top student at one of the USA's most prestigious universities. Your future is dipped in diamonds and gold, enhanced by glasses of champagne and dinner parties.

Natasha's life is bullets and blood. There's nothing else to be said.

"Stop pushing me away", you plead. She feels her throat constrict. "We can work this out. We can get through this."

"I'm not pushing you away", she argues. "I'm being realistic. There's a difference between the two."

"Maybe it's both", you say, wading closer to her again. "It probably is. But I want to know, Nat."

Stubbornness gives way to exhaustion. She shakes her head and pulls her hand away from yours.

"Not yet", she says weakly. You watch her swim to the latter attached to the dock. Her hands grab the metal bars and she pulls herself up, water dripping off her body. Her skin is smooth in the pale light. Trying to stop her seems futile.

She grabs a towel and wraps herself into it. Her figure retreats towards the house, getting smaller and less defined with each step. You wait for a moment, then you exhale in frustration and follow her inside.

The wooden floors feel slippery underneath your feet. You blindly reach for the light switch only to find out the electricity is gone — again. You don't even bother looking for the flashlight, as you've already memorized the layout of the small house.

"Natasha", you call, not seeing her in the living room. You peek into the bedroom, but it's empty. "For fuck's sake, don't do this!"

Something touches your spine. You whip around with a start. You aren't quite sure what you were expecting, but you should've known it'd be her. She stares at you, making no move to apologize.

"It's late", she says.

You blink, caught off guard for a moment. "What?"

"It's late. You're probably tired."

"Natasha-"

"Let's go to sleep", she says, sounding resolute. You give in.

The mattress is the same, but she changed the bedsheets. They're a navy blue and not as faded as the floral ones, but they're just as soft.

There's a distance between the two of you. Your back is facing her, she's staring at the ceiling. She tries closing her eyes, falling asleep, but it doesn't work. At some point, she rolls over. Her front is flush with your back. Her lips ghost over your shoulder as her arm tentatively wraps around your middle.

You find yourself scooting into the touch.

"Asleep?", she murmurs, her hand under your shirt now.

"No."

Natasha's lips press against the back of your neck. Her breath is warm on your skin and your eyes close automatically. Her hand cups your breast, massaging it gently. You feel goosebumps form all over you.

"Still mad at me?", she whispers, rolling your nipple between her cold fingers. You huff, but the sound morphs into a quiet moan.

"I don't know", you say breathily. Her thumb brushes over the sensitive bud. Suddenly, you're wet again, but this time not because of lake water. "Shit."

Natasha kisses along your neck. Her teeth graze your skin before she sucks on it, leaving love bites behind. "You want to?"

You turn your head, burying your nose in the soft pillow underneath you. It's petulant, in a way, causing Natasha to smile. She kisses your earlobe.

"Yes or no?", she asks. You sigh at the realization that you can either get over yourself and say yes, or disappear into the shower and take care of this yourself.

It's not a hard decision.

"Yes", you mutter. Natasha hums and leaves wet kisses behind your ear, her breath hot.

"You're sure?"

"I said yes, didn't I?"

"I like to double-check", she replies.

Lips against your skin, she slips the strap of your top off your shoulder. Your head lolls back, resting against her forehead. Her hand trails from your arm to your stomach. She undoes the drawstring of your shorts and the gentle pressure around your waist disappears. Her fingers press against your cunt and she breathes into your ear.

You stifle a moan when she slides her fingers through your cunt, gathering wetness. Her fingertips pinch your clit and you let a soft whine slip. Heat spreads on your skin.

"You're so pretty", she mumbles. The kisses on your shoulder turn more feverish, peppered all over you, hot and wet and open-mouthed. You writhe against her, your flushing face hidden in your pillow. Her fingers slip into you, leaving you no time to get used to the sensation. "It'd be a shame if you stayed mad."

You don't respond. Natasha's fingers curl inside of you, hitting that sweet spot and making you even wetter. You're dripping down her wrist, ruining the sheets. Her fingers are slick with your arousal.

A third finger works you open. Waves of pleasure roll down your back and add to the coil in your lower belly. Heat floods your veins and your vision goes blurry. You see stars, but they're oh so different from the ones in the sky.

Natasha's movements slow down right before you're about to come. When you turn your head to look at her and protest, she doubles down and starts moving faster. Surprised moans tumble from your lips, your eyes wide. Her thumb rubs circles on your clit. Her expression remains the same, but you can see her pupils dilate.

Your eyes hold hers as you come, walls clenching around her and cheeks red. Aftershocks buzz through your body.

"Still mad at me?", she mumbles. You feel her lips drag across your jaw.

"A little", you admit, thought your voice, softened and breathy, betrays you. You can feel her smile against your cheek, the gentle curve of her lips, and, weirdly, it hurts not being able to see it. You pull away just enough to look at her.

Sometimes, it feels like her eyes are the only glimpse of her world you're allowed to see. A world she lived in long before she entered yours.

You roll over and rest your forehead against hers. You grasp her hand and bring it up to your lips, kissing her still wet fingers.

"I want to know you", you say quietly. "I don't know if you want me to know you."

"That's..." She hesitates, her voice cracking. "That's not true. It's just not that simple, Y/N."

You watch her with furrowed eyebrows. Slowly, you intertwine your fingers with her. She doesn't waver, doesn't pull away — which is something, at least. But it's not what you were hoping for.

Her green eyes meet yours again. Her world flickers in front of you, blurry and unsteady, too faint to decipher.

"I never asked for simple", you then say. "I'm not simple, either. None of this ever was. I told you from the beginning."

"That's different."

"It's really not."

"It is."

Her voice is louder this time. You let go of her hand and prop yourself up on your elbow, your eyes narrowed. Natasha's eyes are challenging, but she can't hide the vulnerability that shimmers through.

"Don't yell at me", you warn quietly.

"I'm not yelling", she mutters, her gaze shifting away from you. Her jaw tightens with both frustration and guilt. "My point stands. You have a pretentious family. So what? Not the biggest issue I can think of."

You raise your eyebrows and shift to fully sit up. Her words sting — downplaying your struggles is something you didn't expect from her. Apparently, Natasha notices the effect her words had, and she quickly sits up as well.

"You know what I meant. I know it's not easy for you, either, but you've got to understand that things are difficult."

"I can't understand until you explain it to me", you say, growing more frustrated with every second. "What is it, huh? Are you secretly married? Have a kid somewhere? Maybe you killed someone."

The last sentence — one you definitely weren't being serious about — makes her eyes widen.

Guilt. It hits her like a flash flood. Hands stained with blood, so many lives taken, a past she doesn't want to be hers. With you, she thought she could pretend. Push it all away, be someone else for once.

The thought that you may think of her like that — that she's someone who's capable of ending lives — hurts more than it should. Suddenly, she feels like you can sense the darkness she's kept buried for so long.

She sits up abruptly, jaw clenched, hands curling into fists. Seeing her like this does everything but soothe your worries.

"What?", she says quietly. She sounds anguished, hurt, and you're the reason.

Natasha and you stare at each other. You can hear the wind outside, the cicadas, and for the first time ever, the nightly noises don't manage to calm you down. For some reason, they make everything worse.

You don't know how to backtrack, so you don't. You grow more helpless by the second, until she finally speaks again.

"You have no idea what you're talking about", she says. "You don't get to joke about that. It's not funny. Not to me."

"Natasha..."

"I'm serious", she cuts you off. "You don't know who I am. You have no idea. I can promise you that. A few weeks spent with me don't fucking change that."

"Then help me! Explain it to me! But don't just leave me in the dark like this!"

"It doesn't fit into your world, Y/N", she says, suddenly getting up. She starts rubbing her neck — an anxious little mannerism you haven't seen her exhibit yet. "Explaining it won't do anything. It'll only change how you see me, and I don't know if I can deal with that."

"Then what's the solution, hm? You'll keep it from me forever?"

"Forever doesn't exist with us!"

Everything seems to freeze. You were about to get up, but your body seems to have changed its mind. You stay seated on the mattress, staring up at her with disbelief and utter, pure heartbreak.

"Is that what you think?", you ask slowly. Natasha almost winces. "That this will just end?"

"Most likely", she says, taking a step backward. Her hand reaches behind her until she finds the dresser. She grabs its edge, her knuckles turning white. "You don't know what you're asking for, Y/N."

"I'm asking for you", you say, finally managing to get up.

"You're being naive."

"Stop calling me that!"

"It's true!"

"You're yelling again", you warn.

Natasha turns, her back facing you. She rubs the back of her neck as she breathes unevenly.

You hesitate as you stand there. Then, slowly as to not spook her, you reach out. Your fingertips brush against her lower back and she flinches. But she doesn't pull away, so you press your palm against her back. You step closer and press your lips to her shoulder.

"I don't care if it doesn't fit", you mumble, though it's a lie — you do care. You want to be part of her world, whatever it may be like. "I just want to make this work, Nat."

She takes a moment to reply. Her voice is raw, her breathing ragged. She faces you again, her green eyes filled with something bitter.

"You think you can just fix everything?", she asks. "Just waltz in and make everything better? Because it doesn't work like that."

"I don't want to fix anything", you say quietly. Your other hand touches her waist, and to your surprise, she leans into you. You study her, wary and careful. "I just want to understand."

"You can't understand until you know everything", Natasha says. "And I don't think you want to know everything."

You stare at her, eyes flickering with concern. It's not like your life has been perfect, or that you've been shielded from everything that isn't all sunshine and daisies, but you can't imagine what could possibly be this bad.

"I don't want everything", you say. "I want you."

Natasha goes rigid for a moment. Then she relaxes, muscles loosening and shoulders slumping. Like a cat landing on a stretched out blanket, you catch her. She buries her face in your neck, her body held upright by your arms around her waist. You can feel her breathe you in.

You smell like her.

. . .

The rain is heavy. It soaks through your clothes and leaves the ends of your hair dripping. You barely make it into Natasha's car without slipping.

"You're wet again", she says, handing you a blanket. "No umbrella?"

You wipe the water out of your face and snort. "No. Forgot to grab it."

"Could've gone back inside."

The look you throw at her shuts her up. She starts the car and drives out of the neighborhood. Only the pelting of the rain on the roof fills the silence between you.

You've never been like this with each other. Until now, it was easy. But that's the way it is, right? Things are easy until they aren't anymore.

"Where are we going?", you ask, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders. You lift one corner of it to pat your hair dry.

"Just driving", she mumbles. Her knuckles are tight around the steering wheel, her eyes focused on the road, but you can tell there's more.

You don't say anything. You just lean back and enjoy being the one who gets to play passenger princess, even if your clothes are sticking to your skin. You drive through your favorite part of town — the cute little corner with the bookshop and the park full of flowers —, then Natasha suddenly takes a turn.

You recognize the neighborhood, but she hasn't taken you here before.

"Huh", you mumble, staring out the window. You're slumped into the seat lazily. "New location unlocked?"

"Something like that."

In front of a bed and breakfast, she stops. She unbuckles and gets out, nodding at you to follow her. Despite your confusion, you don't hesitate.

Inside the building, it's warm and quiet. It smells like cookies and flowers; freshly picked ones, sitting on the counter next to the staircase. The steps creak under your feet as you go upstairs.

Natasha fishes another key out of her pocket and unlocks a door. The room that appears in front of you is exactly what you expected — corny grandma-bedsheets on top of a wooden bed, with pictures of cats on the walls and a plush rug.

"I don't understand", you murmur, brushing your hand over little notebook on the desk. It's for the guests to write in. "What is this?"

"I'm staying here", she says, digging through a backpack, "until I leave."

You pause, your eyes flickering up. For some reason, you thought Natasha would always be here. Even after you go back to college. Like a safe place you could retreat to whenever the world becomes too much.

A very selfish thought, but a comforting one nevertheless.

"You...you don't live here", you say slowly, as if realizing it for the first time. Which may or may not be very accurate. "You're leaving. You're leaving?"

"I am."

Your eyes widen as she keeps pulling stuff out of the backpack and putting it aside. A gun. A taser. Some kind of earpiece. Your heart starts rabbiting in your chest, but you force yourself to stay calm.

"Uhm-"

"You said you wanted to know me, didn't you?" She turns around. Her eyes are cold and her walls are up. "This is me. This —" She pulls another weapon, which looks like an odd sort of bracelet, out of her backpack, "this is me. This."

You laugh nervously. Part of you won't believe this is real. It has to be some kind of joke. But Natasha is completely serious.

She wraps the bracelet around her wrist and clicks on it. It tightens around her wrist and lights up. You take a step back and bump against the door. Her eyes meet yours, and for a split second, the facade slips. You see it — a deep, unrelenting sadness, the kind that comes with inevitability, the quiet acceptance of something she knew would happen but hoped never would.

"Does it fit?", she prompts you.

You frown and take a stubborn step closer. You're trying hard not to let it show, but your heartbeat is still racing. "Natasha, don't-"

"You wanted to know who I am", she cuts you off. "This is me."

"I don't care", you plead, stepping closer once more. This time, it's Natasha who takes a step back. "I said I wanted to know you. I still do. I want to know you, whatever that means."

"Y/N", she says quietly. "Nobody wants to know me. I can promise you that."

"I do", you say, stubborn and frantic. "You've been keeping this from me for two months, and I still want to know you."

"I've been keeping it from you for a reason."

She has a point. If she'd pulled out a gun on your first date, you would've bolted.

But now? For some reason, you're still here. Still trying to get her to listen, despite the fact that there are multiple weapons scattered across the floor. Suddenly, the scars on her body make more sense. The bruises, the healed cuts. You've learned to love them. The way you trace them with your lips is proof enough.

But with Natasha, you didn't have to learn. It just happened — one day, you looked at her and loved her.

Even now, you do.

"Why would you do that?", you ask, both baffled and understanding her point. "Why would you keep something like this from me?"

"Because this?" She laughs, her voice tinged with bittersweet regret. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to fall in love, Y/N. Things usually end before I do, anyways. But I fell in love with you."

The words wash over you like waves. For a moment, everything stops — the rain outside, your thoughts, your pulse. All you can do is stare at her, her words echoing in your mind.

"So what?", you suddenly shout, even surprising yourself. "You fall in love and leave because it 'wasn't supposed to happen'? Is that it?"

You breathe heavily, the words burning in your chest. You bite back tears, your jaw clenching.

"We'll just walk away when it's too much?", you continue. You're no longer trying to control your voice, so it keeps rising. "Pretend it never happened?"

"You don't get it", she snaps. "This isn't a fairytale. Fuck, all I wanted was someone to help me take my mind off things."

"And you got that, didn't you?" Full of anger and frustration, you grab the backpack and shove it against her chest. She doesn't falter, even when you keep pushing your fists against her. Your tears and sobs are silent. "You got that damn fling. Now you can leave, huh? Leave everything in pieces!"

She recoils slightly, then she shoves the backpack off her with more force than you expected. It hits the ground with a low thud.

"That's now what this was!", she says, her voice cracking. "You're not just a fling, Y/N. Which is exactly why I need to end this."

"You're not making any sense!"

"I'm not?", she yells. She whips around and grabs her wallet. Suddenly, you've got an ID card in your hand. "Here! Am I making sense now?"

You're too stunned to speak. Your eyes are glued to the card in your hand, rereading the words, trying to understand what's going on.

SHIELD. Field operative. Special agent.

The words swim around in your brain uselessly. You're not sure you've heard of any of this before.

"You...?"

"I'm a spy", Natasha says sharply. She grabs the card and puts it away again, hiding it in her purse. "I'm an assassin."

That does the trick. Every word is wiped from your supply of smartass remarks, your knees seem to buckle for a moment, you go completely quiet. You grab the desk next to you for support, leaning on it.

There's a silent challenge to the way she's looking at you. Chin slightly raised, her eyes filled with an unusual coldness. Her fair skin is even paler than usual.

"An assassin", you repeat, voice cracking.

"Yes", she says, watching you with a mixture of regret and defiance. "Former assassin, but...that doesn't change anything. It's what I am. What I've always been. I'm a trained killer, Y/N."

You stare at her as you try to wrap your head around this. Natasha, the woman you love — the one who kissed your forehead when you were sleepy, who read books to you — is a killer.

"You're a killer", you repeat, as if that'd make it easier to grasp. It doesn't. The words feel bitter on your tongue, strange and foreign.

Natasha doesn't move, doesn't say anything. Her mask falters. What you see now is raw pain.

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this."

"You're sorry?" You let out a hollow laugh, but deep down, you want to sob. "How was I supposed to find out, huh? 'Hey, by the way, I killed people'? Fuck, Nat, I...fuck."

She crosses her arms and takes another step back. Her legs bump against the bed. Outside, the rain starts pouring heavily.

"I thought I could keep it separate", she admits, her voice quieter now. You close your eyes at the sound of it and resist pulling her into you like you've done so many times. "That I could pretend I'm someone else when I'm with you."

Your hands ball into fists. You squeeze your eyes shut.

"It didn't work", she continues, softening. "You made me feel more like myself than anyone ever could."

When you open your eyes again, they're glossed over with tears. You exhale slowly, shakily, and force yourself to look at her.

"This isn't fair", you whisper. "It really, really isn't. You don't get to make me fall in love only to do...this."

"I told you", Natasha says quietly, "I didn't plan for this to happen. I just didn't want to be alone."

"Well, there you are." You laugh bitterly and scrub a hand down your face. "All of this just to end up alone again. You happy now?"

"Y/N, I never wanted to hurt you."

"But you did!" You step closer, the anger pulsing through your body. You can feel how warm your face is. "You hurt me. You hurt yourself, too. You screwed up, just admit it!"

"Fine!", she yells. "I screwed up!"

"You did!", you shout. The tears start flowing, hot and damp. Natasha's heart gives a painful twist at the sight. "You screwed up, and you hurt me, and you, and I- I- god, fuck you!"

Her hand reaches out on instinct, but her outstretched fingers never even brush against your arm.

"Don't", you hiss, pushing her hand away. "Don't touch me. Not now."

She pulls back and swallows, her eyes darting away from you.

"I'm sorry", she says.

The words linger in the air. You stand there, trying to slow your breathing. You cover your face with your hands and inhale raggedly. The tears feel warm against your palms.

"This is it?", you ask numbly. "We're done?"

"I'm sorry", she repeats. You shake your head and wipe your face with your hands.

"Fuck you", you repeat. You step away from the door, open it, and slam it shut before Natasha can react.

She stays in the bedroom, frozen in place. Her eyes are glued to the door.

Gone. Gone are two months of whatever it is you two had.

The lake, the diner, the drive-in. Nights spent buried in each other, bodies so close it was unclear where one ended and the other began.

She should feel relief. At least she doesn't have to live a lie anymore — now, you know the truth. You've walked away and she's the one left standing alone. And worst of all?: She deserves it.

The rain continues to pour outside, but inside the room, there is nothing but the quiet of the aftermath.

[thefairywithboots]

Sweet Rest (Loki x fem!Reader)

As requested by @stilleobjection, I present to you Sweet Rest.

Summary: Loki helps you relax after a stressful day at work.

Ratings: General audiences

Warnings: Just pure fluff. Lots of cuddles.

Word count: 1.4K

This is my first non-smutty Loki fic. I hope you guys enjoy it.

Tag list in comments

It was well after midnight when you finally got home from work and unlocked the door to your apartment, wanting nothing more than to sink into your bed and just forget the day.

Your boss had insisted that you stay overtime and finish the extra paperwork that was left behind by your coworker, causing you to leave five hours later than you normally would.

When you finally got back to your apartment, your head was pounding against your skull. You went into the kitchen and filled the teapot with water to brew some tea. You left the pot on the stove to boil before going into the living room.

When you switched the light on, your heart gave a jolt when you saw a familiar figure sitting in your armchair.

"Christ, Loki- couldn't you give me some kind of heads up that you were coming over?" you breathed out, placing a hand over your heart. You had given him a key to your apartment but had not expected him to come over while you were gone, and just wait in your living room with the lights out.

Loki was sitting there, his arms on either armrest. His long black hair which was usually slicked back hung loose past his shoulders. Even through your stress-induced headache, you could not help but notice how gorgeous he looked right now.

"Well, you weren't answering your phone," he said while standing up from the chair. His tall frame took up a large portion of your living room. You had to crane your neck back to look up at him. "And you're usually not gone for this long, so I thought I would come and see what was wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," you said while rubbing your hand over your forehead to try and ease the pain in your head. "My boss was just making me work enough for both me and my coworker since she left work early today."

Loki's gaze softened as he tilted his head to the side, humming softly. "That doesn't really seem fair to you, does it?"

You shrugged. "I'm getting paid more by the end of the week, so I suppose it's worth it."

The sound of the teapot whistling in the kitchen caught your attention, and you ran back in there to take it off the stove.

While you were tending to the tea, Loki followed you into the kitchen, his tall frame towering over you as he leaned over your shoulder, and placed his hands on your arms. "I think I have a good idea as to how to help you relax." His voice had a way of slithering into your mind as if he were using his magic on you when it was just his voice alone. He kissed down your jawline and to your neck, pulling you against his chest.

Any other night, you would have melted into him and dragged him off to your bedroom to get lost in him completely. But now you felt like all you wanted to do was have your tea and go to sleep.

You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his lips against your skin for a moment. You would have let him kiss you all over all night if you thought he would stop there, but he was already massaging your breasts through your blouse.

You shook your head slightly, pulling away slightly. “Not tonight, Loki… I have a headache and it’s been a long day.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not in the mood? You’re always in the mood… are you ill?” He dramatically put a hand to your forehead as if to check your temperature.

You couldn’t help but smirk. “It’s just been a long day, and I’m really tired.” You leaned against his hard chest, laying your head on his shoulder. “I’d like it if we just sat and cuddled for a while.”

Loki’s arms wrapped around you, his chin resting against the top of your head. “Of course, darling… I just want you to feel relaxed.”

Loki told you to go and make yourself comfortable on the sofa and he would bring you the tea. You dimmed the lights, the slightest light making your brain want to jump from your skull.

He brought the tea into the living room, setting it down on the coffee table in front of you before pouring you a cup.

“Here you are, darling…” he said while handing you the cup and saucer. You took a sip, the familiar warmth of chamomile relaxing you slightly.

“I really hate my boss…” you muttered.

“Oh? And why is that?” he asked while walking around to the back of the sofa. For a moment, you thought he was going to grab a blanket until you felt his strong hands on your shoulders.

He began to knead the sore muscles in your shoulders, and you resisted the urge to moan out loud. His touch was deliberate and skilful, loosening the strain that had been building up in you all day.

“It just… feels like he expects me to cover up for my coworker when she takes off early… and… she never has to make up for any—“ You cut off, letting out a sigh as he massaged your shoulders more rhythmically. “Loki, that feels so good…”

He hummed softly, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. You turned your head towards him at the last moment, causing him to kiss your lips instead.

Heat rose in your cheeks once the kiss broke, and you knew it didn’t have anything to do with the tea. His lips trailed across your cheek and to your neck as his hands continued to work your shoulders. The feeling of his lips made you want to melt into him and forget the rest of the world.

Once your muscles were loose and relaxed, Loki finally came around to sit beside you as you were finishing off your cup of tea. He pulled you into his arms, leaning back against the armrest of the couch. You sighed, snuggling into his hard chest as you settled between his legs, allowing him to envelop you in his warmth.

You could have laid there in his embrace all night, feeling so safe and secure with him wrapped around you. The sound of his heart beating could be heard gently as you rested your head over where his heart was.

“I’m sorry for startling you when you first came in…” he said gently while twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers.

You hummed softly, inhaling his scent; a warm, earthy aroma that had floral undertones. “I’m glad you’re here…”

One of Loki’s arms reached behind him as he took one of the books that was lying on the table next to the lamp. He turned the lamp on the dimmest setting so as not to disturb your eyes as his eyes scanned the cover.

“Jane Austen, huh?” he mused while flipping through the giant tome. It had four novels in one volume.

You looked up at him, your heart swelling as you saw his blue eyes scanning over the pages.

“Loki?”

“Hm?”

“Can you read to me?”

The feel of his lips against the top of your head felt soothing. “I thought you had a headache.”

“I like the sound of your voice… it’s soothing.”

A small smirk came across his handsome face, as his hand began to idly massage your scalp. “Very well. Which of these would you like for me to read to you?”

You hummed. “Whichever one you want. I’ve already read them all.” You buried your head into his chest.

You felt as if you could feel him smirk as he flipped through the book, trying to decide which one appeared the most interesting to him. Every move he made was soft and delicate as if he were afraid of disturbing you. Even the sound of the pages turning was soft and quiet.

Loki began reading to you in a low, gentle tone, and you recognized it as the beginning of Sense And Sensibility. The sound of his voice made his chest rumble against your ear, and you could already feel yourself begin to doze off in his arms.

You must have fallen asleep before he could finish the first chapter, because the next thing you knew, he was pulling a blanket over your shoulders before wrapping both arms around you, holding you close. After pressing a kiss to your forehead, he whispered “I love you.”

He clearly thought you must have still been asleep. He had never told you that before, your relationship having been casual up to this point. But the moment of vulnerability made your heart swell. You kept your eyes closed and your head on his chest as his breathing slowed, and he fell into a quiet doze himself, before allowing the welcoming tendrils of sleep to pull you back under.