#its just a little over 1k you should all read it now

[blamemma]

if anyone wants a cute little maxiel fic i genuinely cannot recommend this one enough it's outsider pov from their separate children and idk each line is so purposeful but its also really fun

[withleeknow]

october 23rd.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, slice of life; one ass grab, unedited bc i am a danger to society word count: 1k note: i whipped this up pretty spontaneously and i actually kinda loathe it lol but i still wanted to post smth bc it’s my anniversary of joining the fandom 🥺 also a little early bday post for mimo. the bunny in question is leebit but i couldn’t drop any names bc this is not idol specific lol. anywhomst happy jen(o)versary

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

Minho comes into your shared apartment, shrugging off his coat and taking off his shoes with minimal noise. It’s not that late — just a quarter past midnight — and you’re not a light sleeper by any means, but still.

He had told you not to wait up for him, that his work dinner might end late and he knew you had a long day. Minho patters on socked feet further into your home, expecting you to be in bed already sleeping, surrounded by your loyal trio of cats, and yet, it’s not the bedroom where he finds you.

Yes, you’re sleeping, but you’re on the couch, in front of the TV with Netflix’s question “Are you still watching?” written over a paused scene of the K-drama you’re both currently obsessed with. There’s a stuffed bunny in your arms, held tightly against your chest like it’s your most prized possession. Looks like you’ve been napping for a while now.

The white bunny is dressed in a navy hoodie, his eyes full of mischief that’s only emphasized by a toothy smile that he sports. It’s the plushie that Minho got for you during your vacation trip to Osaka last year, when you happened to spot the little fur ball in the window of a toy store and said it looked like your boyfriend. It’s become a great companion for you ever since you brought it home, something for you to hold onto whenever you miss your love.

Minho is a little surprised. You don’t usually force yourself to stay up for you, especially when you’re tired.

He doesn’t disturb you right away though. Instead, he heads toward the bathroom to change and freshen up for bed. You would probably kill him if he touched you in his outside clothes anyway.

When he returns some fifteen minutes later, he switches off the TV, tugs the bunny by its ears to free it from your embrace and chucks the thing haphazardly to the carpeted floor. It’s your prized possession, not his. Besides, you don’t need your little replacement Minho anymore now that he’s home.

When he scoops you in his arms, you stir awake, adorably confused as he carries you to the bedroom.

“Where’s my bunny?” Half a question, half a yawn.

“Hello to you too,” he mutters, laying you under the covers with narrowed eyes though he still leans in to press a greeting peck to the corner of your mouth. “I guess I don’t even matter as much as your little toy. Not even a ‘How are you?’”

“Okay, love of my entire life.” You roll your eyes with affection, pulling him down to kiss him properly. You can still taste it, the white wine that he must’ve had all night. “How are you? How was the dinner, big baby?”

“Boring. Unbearable. Should’ve just stayed home with you,” Minho laments, crawling into the space next to you, settling into your arms as you hug him close. This is what you should be doing all the time. With him, not some lame rabbit. “Why did you wait up? I told you you didn’t have to.”

You card your fingers through his soft hair, playing with the strands that curl at the nape of his neck. “Our anniversary’s tomorrow. Or I guess it’s today already. Just wanted to see you before the morning.”

“Would it make a difference?”

“I don’t know. I just wanted to see you.”

Your boyfriend detaches from you for a second to hold himself up on one elbow. He just stares at you for a brief moment, makes you blush under the scrutiny of his gaze. His big eyes, usually keen and sharp, always soften to a dizzying degree when they look at you.

Then Minho is leaning close to slant his mouth over yours again. “You’re cheesy today,” he comments, his tender smile still pressed against your lips. "Happy anniversary."

You only hum in response. One of his hands slides down your body to rest on your ass, giving it a little affectionate squeeze, the moment still entirely innocent despite his sneaky fingers.

You kiss for a while, lazily moving together in tandem, gentle hands holding onto the other person like a lifeline. In a way, you suppose you are. You’re each other’s lifelines, each other’s lighthouses.

When you pull away, it’s to let out a yawn that you can’t hold in anymore. “Happy anniversary”, you finally say back, sleepily. “Can you go get my bunny now? Did you leave him on the floor again?”

Minho rolls his eyes, yet it’s playful and completely endeared. “Your bunny again. That thing is on the floor where it belongs. You replaced me. Didn’t you use to call me your bunny?”

“Don’t do that to him,” you scold softly. “He’s our son. Have you seen the resemblance? You look like you literally birthed him.”

“Oh my god, why would you compare me to that thing like that?” Before you know it, Minho’s rolling over, resting half of his body on top of yours like a weighted blanket to pin you down, to get you complacent before you nag him any further about a toy bunny that he only sometimes gets jealous of. “You’re delirious. Please go to sleep.”

The next morning, you wake up to an empty bed, the warmth that you usually feel beside you gradually waning by the second. Minho’s gone, but greeting you in his place is a white bunny with a mischievous smile and a twinkle in his big eyes — truly a perfect replica of the man. The same bunny that he always makes a show of hating so much.

The sun is out to play, hanging high up in the sky, slithering through the cracks between the curtains to caress your hair. It feels like it’s gonna be a beautiful day; you’ve got your bunny, the sun, and if you focus hard enough, you’ll hear the sounds of pots and pans out there in the kitchen, Minho’s soft voice humming a tune you’re too familiar with, and the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes wafting all around.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 23.10.2024]

[lxvebun]

A millennium of unsaid I love you's

Synopsis: love is the most twisted curse of all. Yuuji wonders if it's twisted enough to have even Sukuna in its grip.

Content: Sukuna x gender neutral reader. Fluff+little angst. Lovesick!sukuna, I repeat, Lovesick!Sukuna he's so in love with you it shows in everything he does!! Mentions of character death but its open for you to decide. Slight mention of canon violence. Around 1k words♡ eng is not my first language, lmk if there are any annoying mistakes♡♡

"Have you ever been in love?" Yuuji wonders out loud, not necessarily expecting a serious answer. It's a little past midnight if he's reading the blurry red numbers on the digital clock correctly, and despite sleep clouding over his eyes, he can't seem to find rest. Blankets are carelessly kicked to the edge of the bed in an effort to relieve himself from the summer heat but it doesn't do much to help him ease into that sleepy state either.

(Talking to Sukuna seemed a lot more interesting than counting sheep)

The question hangs in the air for a moment, silence twists around it like a vine, and just before it completely swallows it up, the answer floats across his mind similar to a thought but eerily spoken in a different voice.

"Yes"

It's said quietly, almost as if trying to maintain the tranquility of the summer night, but this is Sukuna we're talking about. He doesn't take others into consideration. There's something else that keeps him from voicing his answers out loud.

(Perhaps it's the way he can't talk about you without sounding like a love-sick devotee)

"How!?" Yuuji blurts out before thinking, not realizing the question is rather rude until a sharp flash of pain surges through his body, a little corrective behavior sent from Sukuna, no doubt. "Sorry, sorry. I just didn't expect it, that's all.

It's quiet for a bit. Yuuji takes the time to admire the stars and moonlight shining through the sliver of the curtains. It feels like the moon is extra radiant tonight as it spills a wonderful illuminative light across the room. 

"I don't know"

There's not much he doesn't know, but to this day it's still a miracle to him that you weaved yourself so effortlessly into his very being. Managing to do so without an ounce of resistance from him. Partly believing you were some kind of heavenly punishment sent to bring the king of curses to his knees. To rid the world of a darkness that never should have existed in the first place.

(He'd let you)

"I just was"

There's another part of him that theorizes that maybe you were something that remained of his human self. A soulmate to complete his when his soul wasn't half as dark and twisted as it is now. Born from the same star, hearts carved from the same moon. A red string binds you to him, regardless of the form he takes. How cruel of fate to tie you to a monster and keep it that way.

Quietness tunes back in as Yuuji's thoughts drift elsewhere. For a second, Sukuna thinks he's done with his late-night interrogation.

"What were they like?"

He's not indulging Yuuji, really. But his heart beats back a little warmth into his soul every time he thinks of you. Every time he thinks of your voice, how his name sounded so syrupy and sweet falling from your lips, a stark contrast to how it's usually uttered.

Every time he thinks of your touch, how you always handled him with a gentleness he probably doesn't deserve. As if under all the scars and cursed markings he was made of the most delicate porcelain. Even when you were angry, it never bled violence into your touch.

Gods, your entire being shined so brightly he could pick you out from among the stars. You dug yourself into his chest, ripped out his darkened heart oh so deliciously, and buried yourself in its place. As if you always belonged there.

Just thinking of you stains his mouth all too sweetly, a millennium of unsaid I love you's building up in the back of his throat. He swallows it down.

"They were beautiful" he speaks aloud this time, voice booming around the room. Yuuji flinches a little at the intrusion "And that's enough of your questions tonight, brat"

"Just one more, please"

.....

Yuuji takes the silence as compliance.

"Are they gone?" He puts it into softer terms. Sukuna's a little annoyed at the consideration.

He doesn't know... and he's not sure what hurts more, being oblivious to your fate, or assuming that you have passed. Surely, Uraume would have taken care of you. Then again, are they even around still? A dullness grows in his chest, splinters its way through his ribs, and weighs down into his lungs suffocatingly so at the uneasiness of not knowing.

Looking through Yuuji's eyes, he catches a glint of a star beaming down into the split in the curtain. Shining an ethereal light so brightly he has to avert his gaze.

( he could pick you out amongst the stars. He refuses to believe it's you)

The ache lessens again as the starlight seems to clear his head. You're bound to him by a string of fate, there's not a single universe out there where you're not with him. Even if it's cruel of fate to do so, even if those thousand years apart have turned him into someone almost unrecognizable. You'll be together again. Perhaps your soul is just waiting for the right moment to appear.

"they'll be back" is all he says, and the finality in his tone urges Yuuji to keep his mouth shut despite the whirlwind of questions still racing through his mind. Memories that don't belong to him flicker through Yuujis's mind as Sukuna seems to dream off. They're blurry and foggy and disappear all too quickly for him to make sense of what he's seeing, but he can feel the overwhelming presence of love dripping from the edges. He doesn't question why his heart starts to race too.

Sukuna has been a rot in his side from day one. but if there ever exists an opportunity to save everyone, if he could give him his happy ending should you come back, he thinks he'll grant it to him.

Thank you for reading angels!!♡ i had a lot of fun writing this so I hope you enjoyed this too!

[like-a-diamondinthesky]

five minutes | l.m.h

pairing... bf!minho x gn!reader tags... established relationship, disgustingly fluffy, excessive references to soondoongdori, minho is a cat personified, soft mimo!

operation put your boyfriend to sleep in five minutes is a go.

wc... 1.4k words a/n... ah, yet another domestic fluff fic featuring softy minho. a star specialty! sorry guys this is kinda my fav thing to write ever r u sick of me 😁 anywayz this was inspired by this soft thought and this tiktok like i saw it and immediately thought : lee minho.

ALSO ALSO! HUGE THANK YOU FOR 1K FOLLOWERS! i never would've thought i'd reach this milestone and words couldnt express how incredibly grateful i am for each and every one of you who read and enjoy my works <3 i love you guys thank you so much!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Minho turned the doorknob and pushed the front door open, greeting Soonie who stood by the entrance with a tilted head. Shutting the door, he hung his bag on the coat rack and bent down to pet his beloved cat’s chin.

“Hi, baby,” the cat nuzzled his head into Minho’s palm and circled around his arm, “where are your brothers, hm?”

Meow… Soonie walked off to the living room as if to answer Minho’s question. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he followed his cat toward the faint nose of your favorite series playing on the TV.

When he entered the room, Minho saw your figure strewn lazily across the couch. Dori was cuddled up against your chest and Soonie hopped up to join Doongie by your feet. His heart warmed at the sight of his loves all huddled together.

“Honey, I’m home,” Minho grabbed your attention with his gentle, sing-song tone, a cheeky smile plastered on his face.

You switched your attention from the screen in front of you to the man standing in the doorway, returning his smile and giving a small wave. “Hi, my love. How was your day?”

Minho padded over to you, scooped Dori up against his chest, and settled himself where the cat had previously taken solace in your arms.

“It was alright,” he said, scooching backward to press his back firm against your front. “Tiring, as usual, but it's fine.”

Though he couldn't see it, you nodded in acknowledgment and pressed a soft kiss to his head. You brought one hand up behind his ear to scratch at his scalp, something you had found he enjoyed.

“Do you want to go to bed already? It is pretty late.” From its place above the TV, the clock read 10:37 PM. “Maybe we should move our little cuddle session to the bedroom.”

Minho sighed and shook his head. “But, I'm already so comfy here. Plus, you wouldn't dare disturb the cats, would you?”

“Please, remember the last time we slept on the couch the whole night? I don’t think we want that happening again.”

“Y/n,” Minho called your name, dragging out the last syllable. “My back hurts so much! Remind me why we stayed on the couch again.”

“I told you we should have moved to the bed! But you wouldn’t listen to me,” you snickered at your boyfriend from the kitchen while you continued to whisk a couple of eggs for your breakfast.

You set the bowl down on the counter and walked over to Minho who was still lying on the couch. When you came into his sight, he made a show of stretching his arms and legs, akin to a cat, accompanied by a few exaggerated groans.

“I don’t think I can get up at all today. I should just call in sick,” Minho draped an arm over his face, letting the other fall limp over the edge of the cushion.

“Don’t you have an important meeting today? I doubt your boss would appreciate you missing that on account of an 'ouchy' back.”

“Well, maybe if you gave me more cuddles, I’d feel a bit better.” Minho peeked at you from under his arm, proposing this cute, yet slightly impractical, solution. “Unless you want me to miss work and stay at home with you today.”

“Alright, you big baby.” Rolling your eyes, you moved to straddle Minho’s lap, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. Now chest to chest, you wrapped an arm around his shoulders, letting the other one snake up his neck to play with the hairs at his nape.

The time you spent wrapped in each other’s warmth turned from seconds to minutes, the comfortable silence lulling you back to sleep. Minutes turned to hours, leaving Minho’s meeting unattended and the scrambled eggs forgotten on the kitchen counter.

“Ugh, at least give me five more minutes,” Minho offered as he continued to stroke Dori’s back, drawing a vibrating purr from the cat. “I don’t wanna get up yet.”

“Oh, come on, you have to brush your teeth anyways. Now get your lazy bum off the couch so we can cuddle on the bed.” You grabbed the throw pillow from behind your back and swung it at Minho’s side, accidentally startling Dori in the process. The cat jumped out of the man’s arms, causing him to throw a frown over his shoulder.

“Now look what you did! You’re scaring our babies.” Finally, Minho stood up, offering you his hand to pull you up as well. You met his hand with your own and anchored yourself up, giving him a sheepish smile.

“Oops.” You shrugged and skipped off to the bedroom, leaving your boyfriend with your three cats in the living room.

“Unbelievable.” Minho took a few steps towards the bathroom, paused, and turned back to look at his cats. “Well, are you coming with me or not?”

While your boyfriend finished his night routine, you lay on your shared bed and grinned to yourself. Operation Put Your Boyfriend to Sleep in Five Minutes was a go. You knew Minho was tired, and you wanted to send him off into a good night’s sleep in the most loving way you could.

The hallway light switched off as Minho opened the door to your bedroom, sporting a playful frown. It was time for Step One: Put him in a blanket.

“Come here, baby,” you peeled the duvet back and patted the space on the bed right next to you, beckoning your pouty boyfriend over to you. “Let’s get you to sleep, yeah?”

Trudging over to his side of the bed, Minho slid onto the mattress and pulled the heavy duvet over his body. Freshly washed, the warm, lavender-scented blanket immediately soothed his senses.

“You could’ve at least stayed with me while I brushed my teeth,” Minho continued to pout as he turned on his side to face you, “and, I don’t know, given me a back hug or something.”

Though his tone was playful, you recognized the look in Minho’s gaze. He yearned for your comfort, but he didn’t know how to ask for it. Reaching over, you cupped his face, gently caressing his cheek with your thumb. You peppered a few pecks on the corners of his mouth, kissing his pout away. Perfect timing for Step Two: Give reassuring pets.

“I’m here now, it’s okay.” His hair was soft in between your fingers as you threaded them through the fluffy locks. They smelled faintly of his coconut shampoo.

Tired, Minho let out a yawn, nose scrunched and eyelids shut. He leaned into your touch, humming contently.

Faintly, the door creaked open and you could hear light thuds on the carpeted floor, followed by a slightly louder thud on the bed as Doongie entered the bedroom and jumped up to join you. He stepped all over Minho’s body—drawing out a quiet yelp from the man beside you. You giggled as Doongie finally plopped down on Minho’s pillow, snuggling against the top of his head. This brought you to Step Three: Tuck him in.

With your boyfriend lying under the covers, you hooked one leg over him, moving your hand on his head to tuck it into your neck, cradling his body with no intent to stop any time soon.

For a second, the universe felt still. It was as though the ever-rotating hands on the clock had stopped moving, pausing to witness this intimate moment between you and Minho; as if even the angels in the skies above didn’t want this sweet gesture to end.

That was until Minho decided to take matters into his own hands and execute Step Four: Put one arm out for temperature regulation.

“It's too warm!” Minho whined into your neck, breaking the silence, and removed one arm from under the blanket, exposing it to the cold air. “Ah, that's better.”

He turned on his side and wrapped his now free arm around the small of your back, pulling you closer to him, if that were even physically possible.

Seeing your bodies pressed flush against each other, Soonie—who was previously lounging at the foot of the bed—crawled up the sheets and nuzzled into the barely-there gap between you and Minho, with Dori following suit.

Within five minutes of lying down, the night ended with your small family cuddled together on the warm, cozy bed, basking in each other’s comfort.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

taglist: @kflixnet @jinnixxn @elllisaaa @captainchrisstan @laylasbunbunny @starsandrqindrops @kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy @forlix @mires-empire @quesweebs

comments, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated! © like-a-diamondinthesky 2023

[bindeds]

[ BITE ME. ] : 1k words » LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR X FEM READER. — lucifer sees you reading dracula by bram stoker and apparently he thinks it’s one of the best things that came out of giving humans free will. so he indulges in it.

#tags. biting (obviously), vampire teeth, replication of the seductive nature of vampires, suggestive, blood sucking, blood, explicit consent

a/n. thank you so much for 100 followers! i was supposed to disclose what i wanted to do for 100 followers but i promise i pack a lot of punches! stay tuned for that post bc i will be doing a LOT of things for you personally!

mlist. request something! :>

You were completely and utterly trapped in the jaws that belonged to Lucifer Morningstar as he lifted your chin. His eyes dropped to half-mast as your neck had been exposed to him, the clean skin glowed under the odd lighting of the hotel.

“What’s that you’re reading, honey?”

It’s an amazing thing, whatever it is he’s doing to you right now. Forget the heat rising to your cheeks. Forget that you’d complied to the fact that your neck is very vulnerable in the current state he held you in; your delightful book had still been sitting open and comfortable in your lap with your hand still holding onto either side so as not to lose where you left off. And Lucifer …

Well, he kneeled before you on the bed you shared with him, but he most certainly kept that small distance from your book instead of putting it away.

He leaned back a little, and you get a good view of his striped waistcoat and the way it curved around his … well endowed chest.

He grinned. “Dracula. I like that about you.”

“Dracula?” You couldn’t help but let out a breathy chuckle. “You like Dracula about me?”

“Oh but you must know that’s no laughing matter. Dracula … is one of the best things humans have ever done with their free will. Don’t even talk to me about vampires …”

Your breath hitched. His thumb froze where it hovered over your bottom lip.

“Vampires …” he repeated in a mutter, as if to think aloud.

You scrambled to hold up the book where you could see it, seeing as Lucifer still had your jaw held high and to the side. But the way you could barely keep the book from spilling from your hands had been more than enough to give you away. Fuck, in this pathetic state, you should have been the one kneeling.

Lucifer hovered just below your jaw. His lips parted, and you shut your eyes to embrace the sensory input of his touch completely; his breath fanned and spread across your skin like casting a thick fog over an abandoned island.

“Do you want to be bitten, my love?” His lips gave the faintest flicks against your skin as he spoke. “To be tasted?”

“Maybe,” you said, and it was nearly a sigh when the way he held you was a vice. Your blood vessels ached to be invaded, to be cut off course.

“Hmmm?” He dragged out the syllable like the tease he was. Then two ends like daggers poked you, threatening to tear through your surface.

They relented soon enough, gliding down instead of sinking into your skin. Your muscles blew ice cold at the lack of a threat.

“What about now?” Your name reverberated deep in his throat, the sound caressed your ear like the sweet thing you were in Lucifer’s hands.

You knew for a fact that this couldn’t have been real. Either that, or Lucifer had reformed his teeth just for this moment, in which case, the more you thought about it the more it didn’t seem all that surprising, the way he would do anything to get you flustered.

He pressed damp kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“I could do this aaall day, my doll,” Lucifer hummed lightly. He finally let your chin fall to its natural position, only for your eyes to fall on him. His face.

His teeth.

Sure enough, they had turned a completely straight row from cheek to cheek except for the two pointed canines—they were the only teeth that shone in the light.

“Luci …” you sighed, releasing a breath like it was a prayer.

And Lucifer was listening.

He drew closer to you, his lips inches from your own.

“Your fantasies are mine to fulfill,” Lucifer soothed, his hypnotic voice slithering to your head and plucking every coherent thought you had left. “Anything is yours for the asking, you just name it.”

“Please, bite me,” you found yourself pleading softly. You bit your lip, averting your gaze. That was sudden, even for you; your tongue flicked faster than your brain could react. “I—I need you to bite me.”

“Good girl,” Lucifer beamed as his grin returned to him, and he wasted no time as he ducked down to your neck and planted chaste kisses in a concentrated spot where your jugular sat with anticipation.

You tilted your head to the side to allow him better access, and his hand instinctively supported the side you tilted on. You allowed yourself to rest in the warmth as your shoulders eased up.

“This is going to hurt, but only for a split second,” Lucifer warned in a deep voice. “Then, I will give you nothing but pleasure.”

You gritted your teeth as lightning struck your neck and your hand tightened on his wrist. He stroked his thumb up and down your cheek, and it did well in easing the pain before the dam of rigid pain gave in and pleasure took its place—took all the places.

His tongue lapped at the wound, teeth still anchored in your neck as you felt a bit of yourself, your cells, blood, muscle strength seep out of you steadily. Your head began to spin, but your limbs fell weak at the sensation that had you on the precipice of something you couldn’t name.

Then, his teeth slipped out of your flesh as his tongue took care of the rest—the forked edges covering more ground as if to seal the wound.

“How was that?” Lucifer pulled back immediately, a bright smile incorporated his face as thin trails of blood dripped down to his chin.

Your head had still been knocking against the edges of your skull, but you managed a smile and maybe a bit of a lightheaded chuckle nonetheless. When you readjusted your legs on the bed, trouble swiped cold between your thighs. Oh, well. What were you expecting?

“Kiss me,” you said.

“Sorry?” He asked. “Honey, there’s still blood on my HMMPH—”

You engulfed him in a kiss as you pulled him by the neck and fell back against the bed. He tried to stabilize himself but it didn’t even take another minute more before both of your clothes were as good as trash on the floor.

[aether-starlight]

Auscultation- Zayne

Pairing: Zayne x Reader

Warnings: None. Brief mention of poor eating habits.

Summary: You come to the hospital for a check-up regarding a past shoulder dislocation. 

Word Count: 1k

Note: This is a continuation of Mending, but can be read as a stand-alone.

Zayne was talking. Or at least, his mouth was moving. 

Instead of paying attention, you were being haunted, once again, by the memory of him. The ghost of his hand over your cheek, his perfume, and the tension of his proximity. 

You wondered if he could tell you were distracted, or if he noticed the entranced stare you gave his lips every once in a while. They reminded you of his breath brushing your ear, of his palm pressed over your eyes, cool and steady.

Until an unexpected statement broke through your fixation.

“I will need you to remove your jacket.” 

If you hadn’t known him for such a long time, the tense set of his jaw may have slipped your notice, just like the slight clearing of his throat. 

Was he angry you were distracted?

“Oh,” you breathed out. “Okay.”

It was a quick removal. After all, one of your arms was in a sling, so the leather jacket was only wrapped around your shoulder.

Having supposed something like this would be necessary —this wasn’t your first dislocation, unfortunately—, you had brought a top, which meant the only barrier between your joint and his hands was a menial string. 

And you were not nervous about that. Nope. Not at all.

You stifled a shiver at the low temperature of the room and sat on the stretcher in a swift motion—being a hunter had its perks, it made you agile, even with an injured arm.

“I’m going to examine the area,” Zayne’s voice was soft, almost breathless as his hands hovered over the space where your shoulder met your neck.

You smacked your lips together and felt yourself relax just a little. 

“Okay.” 

His fingers were as cold as the room, startling you when they gently pulled the string of your top out of the way. 

You gasped.

“Forgive me,” he said, avoiding your gaze at all costs. 

His hand hovered over your skin, giving you a second to adjust. 

“It’s fine, Doctor Zayne.” 

You quite liked calling him that, liked the nervous edge to his voice when you did.

“Does this hurt?” He pressed down the pads of his fingers with moderate force.

“Not really,” you hummed. If anything, it felt kind of nice.

Zayne cleared his throat once more, shifting his grip to your forearm. 

Your heart rushed at the slide of his skin over yours, goosebumps rising in its wake.  It reminded you of holding his hand, the way the scars on his knuckles had felt as you brushed your thumb over them.

“Your iron levels were below average in your last check-up. Have you been eating well?” He asked.

Now it was time for you to be nervous.

“Of course,” you lied, lowering your gaze to his tie. 

Like everything concerning him, it was freakishly neat, with an understated geometric pattern in shades of gray. 

He probably measured it with a ruler before buying it. You pictured it: his unforgiving focus, the concentrated tilt of his mouth as he gripped it between lithe fingers. 

Unfortunately, said focus was now drilling a hole into your head.

“Fine, I may have skipped meals, you know I forget to eat sometimes.” 

“I suppose I should be grateful you don’t forget to breathe,” he quipped. 

“You are so prickly, you know that?” 

You played with his stethoscope with your free hand, following the bob of his Adam’s apple with a satisfied smirk. 

“I’m not prickly,” he denied. “I’m serious. Does this hurt?”

He gently rotated your arm, slow in his movement.

“And I’m not? Doesn’t hurt.” 

He gave you a loaded look, resting your hand back on your lap.

You mercilessly stifled the disappointment that rose at the pit of your stomach when he let go.

“Wouldn’t be the first word I used to describe you, no.”

You pressed the stethoscope’s bell to his chest, earpieces already in place. 

“Wow, your heart is beating pretty fast, are you sure you’re not the one with the heart pro—“

“Would you quit that?” He interrupted, sounding somewhere between amused and irritated as he unwrapped your fingers from around the bell. “It’s not a toy.”

“Sorry,” you fidgeted with the tubing before passing it to him.

“What’s with you today?” 

“Can’t help it,” you beamed. “Too much coffee.” 

Zayne tucked a strand of your hair back, stifling a groan of frustration. He was a weak, weak man.

When his palm curled around the shell of your ear, cradling it like something precious, he surely knew abstaining from temptation was a lost cause.

It was now warm, absorbing the heat of your skin. As soon as you left, his hands would probably run back cold. 

Somehow, that thought made something unpleasant unfurl within your chest. It felt malleable and elastic, it wanted to stretch itself and pull him close.

“What am I going to do with you, hm?” He asked, voice low. 

The whole world could be crashing down outside, Wanderers running rampant, and you wouldn’t know.

You let out a stuttered breath.

“What do you want to do with me?” 

It was meant to come across as teasing but crumbled halfway into something nearly hopeful.

The heat in your eyes snapped Zayne out of it, clearing the cloudiness from the hematite and amber in his gaze.

He stepped back, returning to the haven of his desk, where he closed your file with finality.

“Your shoulder seems to be healing well. I recommend you watch it closely and let me know if any discomfort appears.” You had never heard his voice so close to shaking.

“Zayne.” You stood from the examination table, feeling on edge.

“That was unprofessional of me. I’m sorry.” 

“What is it?” You insisted.

There was something between you, a wall that he carefully built. 

It became eroded with every interaction, shortened into something almost letting you peek into the other side, but never quite enough.

Your chest ached and it was ironic because nowadays you couldn’t always tell if it was from emotion or the Protocore fragments in it.

Zayne sunk into his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. The room’s temperature dropped, ice spreading against the glass of the window behind him.

“Zayne—” 

Your hand hovered by him, eager to provide any comfort you could offer, but his body language made you doubt. 

He was still hunched over himself, face turned away from you. The hand that wasn’t covering his face was closed in a fist, frost forming over his knuckles.

“Please…” he breathed out your name. “I need time.”

Your mind drifted back to when you fought that wanderer together, the way the whole room had frozen over afterward, his urgent insistence for you to leave.

“Okay,” you gave in, stumbling back. “Whatever it is, you know I’ll wait for you.”

[cow-smells]

Decisions | you chose: Roronoa Zoro x reader

Summary: After a misunderstanding makes the crew think you and Zoro are sleeping together, you're forced to face your feelings towards him.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: none

BEFORE reading this, make sure you read the prequel (Sanji's ending here)

Read on AO3

You definitely did not see this coming when you woke up that morning.

Zoro stood before you, looking more than ready to yank you away from Sanji’s hold. He asked what you wanted – a simple question on its own, but right now, so hard to answer seeing you didn’t know if he felt the way you did.

Zoro was sweet to you, sure. Maybe sweeter to you than he ever was to Nami, or, to anyone else for that matter. But seeing him fight with Sanji over every little thing, you took into consideration that his tenderness towards you might just be to rub the cook the wrong way. But then you thought of the way he pulled you in earlier that morning. Knowing Zoro, it was unlikely that came naturally to him. And it had just been the two of you – there was nothing performative about that gesture.

Not to mention, the way he looked at you now – it was almost pleading.

It wasn’t even a conscious decision when you finally replied, “You”.

That was it. You had taken the plunge, a leap of faith.

The crew fell silent in anticipation; Sanji’s arms froze around you.

“Cook, it’s time you took your hands off my woman.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks hearing Zoro call you his woman. Sanji, seemingly in shock, complied wordlessly. The rest of the crew watched the interaction, expressions varying from wide eyes to slacked jaws.

“What?” Zoro asked the group, sitting himself back down and reaching for the orange juice. “It’s not like you didn’t see this coming.” He poured himself a glass, ignoring the current state of his peers. Deciding to follow his lead, you recompose yourself. You squeeze Sanji’s hand apologetically before returning to your own place, Sanji following your lead in defeat.

“I mean,” Luffy started, “I didn’t see this coming. How did I not see this coming?”

Usopp put on a proud-but-totally casual smirk. “I don’t blame you. They were pretty discreet. It takes a keen eye to notice these things.”

You had to stifle your laugh. “Either way,” continued Luffy, “I’m happy for you guys. The Straw hat’s first romance!”

Sanji leaned forward in his chair, raising a brow at Nami. “You wanna be the second?”

Later, the crew dispersed to their regular activities; this meaning you hadn’t had a chance to speak to Zoro since breakfast. You had a lot of unanswered questions that begged for his attention.

You stood to the side of the deck, watching the sun set after a hard day’s work. You watched the sun blend into the sea as you tried to quiet your rambling mind, trying to make sense of everything that was going on before you saw Zoro at dinner.

You were not prepared for him to approach you first.

You felt his hand on your back before you heard Zoro greet “Hey”, coming up beside you.

“Hi!” you replied, far too enthusiastically. Zoro smiled at your obvious nervousness.

“Are you done for the day?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, forcing the tension to leave your body. It was just Zoro. Zoro, who had referred to you as his woman. Cool. Casual. “How was training?”

“Good. You should join me tomorrow. There’s a couple of things I want to teach you.”

You loved training with Zoro; he had a knack for guiding you so cooly, and yet not giving you any slack for being a girl. “I’d love that.”

Zoro shifted to face the sea. Was he… nervous, too? “Listen. About this morning.”

Oh no. This was it. He was going to tell you it was all a show to annoy Sanji and you’d have to throw yourself off the ship in humiliation.

“I was thinking, and I don’t think I made it clear before.” You swallowed hard. Zoro turned to face you once more. “Can I be straight with you?”

“Always.” Your voice came out too small for comfort.

“Y/n, I’m in love with you.”

Oh.

“I’m not the best at this kind of stuff, so I reckoned I’d just say it so you knew. Hope that doesn’t creep you out or anything.”

“Creep me out!” you laughed. “Zoro, I’ve near crawled in to your bed for like, every morning for weeks now.”

Zoro’s lip quirked in to a little half-smile. “I nearly pulled you in a thousand times.” You had to smile at that, too, your heart feeling full enough to burst. “You think it takes me an hour to get out of bed? I just liked being alone with you.”

“Zoro!” you playfully smack his chest, and his hand comes up to hold yours in place where it fell atop his heart. His other hand finds its place on your neck, anchoring you in place. His eyes drop to your lips, and you stop breathing altogether. Zoro’s thumb brushes lightly over your bottom lip, before he leans down and his lips meet yours.

The passion you had been holding down for so long bubbled up to the surface in an instant; soon your modest kisses turned ravenous, with you pulling Zoro closer to you by his shirt. Zoro angled you so that he could sneak his tongue to meet yours. The idea that the entire display may be inappropriate out in the open where anyone might see you two came across your mind, but the hunger you were feeling for Zoro shut down the concern.

It wasn’t long until you heard a familiar “Oi!” that broke you two apart. Sanji was standing at the door to the accomodations, kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder. “Hands off, she’s an honest woman!” Sanji scolded Zoro who, for the first time, didn’t seem bothered by Sanji’s pestering. “Come on,” Sanji continued. “Dinner’s served.” With that, he was gone.

“We should go,” you told Zoro. Sighing heavily, reluctant to leave your current state, Zoro agreed. The two of you began walking towards the accomodations when Zoro casually slipped his hand to grip yours. Yeah… You could get used to this.

[the-kr8tor]

Autumn of '88

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 3.8k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie is mentioned taller than R, Reader and Hobie are 13/14 in this, Puppy love, TTN! Reader and Hobie, set in the TTN universe, best friends to lovers (prequel to TTN), CW food mentions, Fluff.

A/N: This is the last of the 1k celebration fics! Thank you all so much ❤️❤️❤️

Thread the Needle Masterlist

Navigation

Head on your palm, heavy eyes slowly closing with every dreary words that your biology teacher says, you fight a yawn from escaping since the last time someone yawned in front of Mrs. Weathers they got kicked out of class. But with the boring subject about symbiotic relationships in the wild, that you most definitely already know since you did the advanced reading, you're tempted to yawn loudly and widely just so you could escape from this biology hell.

The air is crisp, October air breezing through you from the open window to your left. Clad in your cardigan and yellow corduroy pants, the cold still seeps into the thick fabrics. It's a comfortable cold but with you sitting still for more than an hour without stretching your limbs has you freezing in your seat.

You risk getting called out by Mrs. Weathers if she notices you looking out of the window for even a second. But you are so bored out of your mind that you'd rather stare at the oak tree outside than continue to listen to her yapping about symbiosis. Having the brilliant idea to hide your wandering eyes from the teacher with your hand slightly covering your profile, now safe from her piercing gaze, you watch as the orange leaves dance with the breeze.

There's a pile of dead leaves at the bottom of its trunk, and you wish you could jump inside and never have to study biology ever again. It must be so warm and cozy inside, with the orange and yellow leaves as your sky and walls, you'll live like a tiny mouse queen ruling over your land. You think of all the stuff you'll bring inside your little leaf kingdom, your sketchbook is definitely a yes, and also your big pack of colorful markers and pencils is an absolute need. You'll need some snacks of course, some eggos and cheese balls would suffice. As for sleeping, you guess you'll never need to sleep when you have so much time to do anything you want in your leaf kingdom.

Yet, you think you'll be lonely inside. Sure you can bring your gameboy or your care bears, but they can't exactly talk and have the most riveting banter with you. With a smile, you plan to bring your best friend with you to your autumn kingdom. Hobie can be your bard or your right hand man. It's perfect, you think, a perfect place where it's just you and Hobie where there's no more school to attend, no more grades to keep up, just you and him having fun in the pile of leaves.

With a sigh, you blink slowly as your eyes get heavier and heavier with every daydream. Fighting the sandman from having his sandy grip on you, you pinch your cheek subtly. Opening your eyes, a familiar silhouette appears right next to the oak tree. Long arms waving in your direction, legs jumping to get your attention. Blinking rapidly, it's none other than Hobie who has the widest grin on his face when he notices that he finally has your attention.

He motions for you to go outside, beckoning you over dramatically. Miming that he'll cry if you don't go outside. You think otherwise, quietly giggling at his antics.

After the realization, you straighten in your seat, wondering why and how he got outside when he's supposed to be in maths.

A loud thwack slams against your desk, jumping awake, Mrs. Weathers shakes her head, tongue clicking in agitation.

“If you're not prepared to listen in class it's best that you should leave, miss L/N.” She says, gritting her fake teeth.

“Okay,” you stand up to collect your things, shoving your notebook and books inside your already full backpack. Your reply has Mrs. Weathers confused, since you are her best student.

“Wait—” you've never seen her flabbergasted, your classmates snicker silently in their seats, some even clap and cheer you on.

Giving them all a shrug, you exit the classroom before she grabs you back inside. With the door shutting close, you sprint towards the exit. Trainers squeaking on the linoleum, backpack heavy, you push the double doors open with your shoulder. Hobie greets you outside just as the fresh air whips at your cheeks.

He claps slowly but surely, face proud with a smug smile. “I've got to hand it to you, Pingu, I did not expect that. I have successfully made a rebel out of you.”

Hobie stands on the grass like he owns the entire school, hands tucked inside his jeans, thumbs tapping on his metal belts that clinks against each other when he moves. For once, he's dressed for the weather, the old worn leather jacket now fits him better than last year, it was bigger on his shoulders back then. Puberty works in mysterious ways, you think. A denim vest lays on top of the leather, handmade pins of his favourite things are all tacked securely on the denim. Its edges are frayed, but you know it was intentional since you're the one who helped him do it. The thrifted ‘Queen’ shirt you gave him on his birthday is the perfect size, but you know that he'll only be able to wear it for a couple of years at the rate he's growing.

No one would think you two are best friends judging by how different your styles are, or how different you are to him. Personality wise, likes, dislikes, it's all different, sometimes you wonder how you two get along. But you wouldn't have it any other way.

“How'd you get out of maths?”

“Climbed out of the window before Mr. Keery came in.”

You doubt his story. “Yeah, right, your classroom is on the third floor, Hobie.”

He feigns hurt, “my own best mate doubts my abilities?” You roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks says otherwise. “‘m great at climbing, I could climb down from that height.” You stay silent, looking at him with a raised brow and unblinking eyes. “...fine, I faked sleepin' by snorin’ loudly, happy?”

You touch his shoulder with a mischievous smile. “Hobie, you don't have to fake snore because you snore like an elephant giving birth.”

“You're very funny,” he takes your wrist to push your hands away. You now notice the new nail polish on his nails. “That doesn't even make bloody sense.”

You ignore him, mouth agape and shocked at his painted nails. “You finally coloured your nails?” You take his hand that has nail polish sloppily painted on. The paint even reaches to the edge of his nails, painting his skin with shadowy black. “You could've asked me for help, y’know.”

“It's part of the style” He shrugs, taking his hand away before you can feel his pulse pick up.

“Sure, even the bubbles are in style.” You tease with a playful smile. “So why'd you call me over here?”

“Got bored, then thought you're also bored so I went to your window so we could skip the rest of the day.” He purposely skips the part that he knows exactly where you always sit.

You gasp. “Wait, I thought we were just skipping class, not skipping the rest of the day!” Hands on your hips, you shake your head. “And here I thought there's like a really cool… stick or something.”

“A stick?” He chortles.

“Yeah, like the one you found a few days ago that actually looked like a sword.”

“Nah, I wanted to—” A high pitched whistle echoes out, startling you both. Finding the source of the sound, the school guard is currently running towards you. The hundreds of keys on his belt jingles, cheeks red from all the whistle blowing.

“Oi!” The yells, pointing accusingly at you two.

With wide eyes, Hobie takes your hand before sprinting away. He practically drags you along with him, bigger strides than you, he looks over his shoulder to check on you. Unsurprisingly enough, he has a huge grin on his lips, as if he planned all of it.

You follow his lead, dead leaves crunching under your shoes, backpack weighing you down. Yet, he doesn't leave you even though you're slowing him down. You appreciate him for not letting your hand go, but you don't like how your heart hammers against your chest when you look at your intertwined hands.

Finally reaching the metal fence, Hobie chucks his backpack over it. It's not that tall for him, he could easily jump over it with no problem, but with you still waiting on your growth spurt, it'll be a challenge for you. He knows it too, without asking he grabs your bag off your shoulders, he then quickly throws it over the other side before crouching down with his hands on top of the other.

“C’mon, Pingu, up you go!” Hobie flicks his eyes over to the guard, he's glad that the guard isn't exactly a track star. The whistling gets louder as the uniformed man gets closer. “Hurry—!”

Before he could finish saying the word, you shakily put your foot on his palm. With one strong push, and a jump from you, Hobie hoists you over the fence. You miraculously make it over, landing on your side with a groan. Hobie follows a second later, climbing like his life depended on it. Immediately grabbing each of your backpacks, then putting both on one arm, he lifts you up from the pavement with one hand just before the guard could even reach the fence; you two race off across the street, huffing and aching from the daring escape.

Going around a corner, Hobie leads you towards an alley. He skids off to a stop, heavy bags falling off his arms.

Hands on your knees, lungs burning, and face sweaty from the run, you check behind the corner if the guard is still after you.

“He won't follow us anymore. We're out!” Hobie exclaims, exhilarated, and grinning widely. He leans on the wall opposite of you, chest heaving, laughter echoing around the empty alleyway.

Copying his stance, cracking a smile, you laugh together with him. “You're a bad influence, Hobie Brown.”

“And you're a great influence, Y/N L/N.” His smile and his shining eyes says it all: we balance each other out. “Too bloody nice, that's what you are.”

You shake your head, chin resting on your clavicle to hide your lopsided smile. Heat on your cheeks, you seem to find yourself having the same expression lately whenever you're around him.

“Where to?” He asks once he caught his breath.

“My choice?” You ask, smile permanently etched on your lips.

“‘course,” Hobie says it like it's the most obvious thing. He was supposed to add to his sentence but he shuts his mouth before he could let the word escape.

You excitedly perk up. “The mall?”

He makes a face. “I'd rather stay in maths.”

“Arcade then?”

“They'd kick us out,” you knit your eyebrows in question. “Because we're skippin’ class, they put up that fuckin' sign a few weeks ago.”

“Oh right, I forgot. How about the record shop? Mike's cool, he might let us stay until classes are over.”

Hobie pushes himself off the wall, strutting over to you, your heart quickens for some reason. He pats shoulder with a smirk. “Your best idea yet,” taking both bags off the grimey floor, he puts them both on each shoulder. It's your turn to smirk at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say in a sing-song tone.

He clicks his tongue, avoiding your eyes. “C’mon then, before someone sees us here and thinks we're skippin' class.”

“Hobie, we are skipping class.”

“Not if we act like we're not.”

“...what?” You chuckle, blinking in confusion. “What would you do?”

“Nothin’, let's go.” He walks away from you.

“Oh come on, what will you do? Will you put on your best acting skills like how you faked being sick in front of the nurse? Because she was definitely convinced that you had chicken pox!” You giggle, following him, matching his longer strides.

“It worked, didn't it?” Hobie turns his head away from your playful glance.

“Yeah, because you had an actual fever. But sure, your drawn on chicken pox was very convincing.”

“I'm an artiste, Y/N.” He says, trying to do a french accent.

You snort, “sure, and I'm the queen of England.”

“Alright, your majesty.” He stops, “carry your own luggage,” your bag thuds on the pavement. “I don't want to help some parasite.” Smugly walking away, you feign hurt with your loud gasp.

“You…you doodoo head!” You yank your bag, wearing it properly on your back. Running after Hobie, he has a mischievous smile, one you're all too familiar with.

“Doodoo head? That the best you can come up with?” He says before bolting off, leaving you in the dust.

“Hey!” Running, you follow him with a laugh. “Asshole!”

—

Finally reaching the vinyl shop, the bells jingle as you two enter. The smell of plastic and cheap air freshener lingers in the air, the ancient shaggy carpet is soft under your trainers. Shelves upon shelves of records greet you as you roam your eyes around the different album covers. It's a slow day so the store is empty except for Mike the cashier who has headphones on.

Hobie sniffs dramatically, “home sweet home!”

Mike cracks an eye open, with a groan after seeing you and Hobie standing by the door, he chucks his headphones on the counter, looking disgruntled. The denim jacket with hundreds of patches and bottle cap pins is large on his lanky frame.

“Oh great, Hobie's here.” He says sarcastically, long straight hair flipped over his shoulder with one move from his head. “And he brought his little girlfriend. Hi, Y/N, you still hang out with this arse?” He points at Hobie who doesn't bother correcting him anymore. “Seriously, I thought you were smarter than that.”

“D’you finally have it, mate?” Hobie acts like he's the same age as Mike, even though the teenage cashier could be his older brother. Ignoring Mike's jab, he waits for his reply.

Wanting to quit his job is clearly seen on his face. Then he considers the fact that he needs to save for college. With a sigh, he points towards the end of the store, where you think ‘it’ is there.

Hobie punches the table with a thump, then he excitedly bounds over to where the cashier pointed. “Thanks, bruv.”

“Cyndi Lauper?” You ask, all wide eyed and shy. “It's not at the front anymore.”

“Over to the right, just across where your boyfriend is.”

“He's not my—nevermind, thanks.” Walking past all the display, Hobie guffaws when he finds what he was looking for. You smile at how happy he is.

He's so happy that he grabs you by your elbow, pointing at the new ‘Ramones’ album. The words “Ramones Mania” are printed in bright red.

“Finally! Look!”

“I see it, Hobs.” You chuckle, “didn't this release months ago though?”

“It did,” he sighs like he's recalling a bad memory. “But this place isn't making a lot of money from records like this, so Mike here!” He yells the last part to annoy the man. “Delayed ordering it. I had to come ‘ere every day just to remind him.”

You see Mike pressing the volume up on his walkman. Making sure that Hobie sees that he's not listening to him.

“You didn't tell me that.” You say, sounding a bit too hurt.

“Thought you wouldn't care.” Hobie shrugs, “‘sides, you don't listen to stuff like this.” He points at the album.

“I could listen to it, Hobs. I make you listen to my records and you seem to like it.”

Hobie's eyes soften. “You wanna listen to it together then? You might not like it.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “If I don't end up liking it then at least I gave it a try, right? If I do like it we have something new to talk about.”

He could only manage a smile and a curt nod. Taking the record to the listening booth that sits at the corner of the store, he leaves his bag outside whilst he opens the door for you. Placing your bag down more gently than he did, you enter the cramped booth.

Mike yells after you two, “you lot better not snog in there!” You and Hobie scrunch your faces at the man.

“We're fourteen, mate!” Hobie yells back, not agitated, just weirded out by Mike's comment.

“You're fourteen? How would I know? You look fuckin' sixteen, bruv! Tall motherfucker.” He whispers the last part, Hobie didn't hear it but you surely did.

“I thought he was cool.” You admit, shutting the booth door behind you.

“He's a wanker, just actin’ like he is. Thought you fancy him?”

“Ew.” He beams at your reaction.

You giggle, the sound bouncing off the padded walls of the booth. It's just a regular rectangular box with a shelf for the record player and a bench to sit on. It's quieter inside, the cars outside are muffled, the only clear thing you can hear is how your heartbeat gets faster and faster the longer you stay squished inside the booth with him. Sitting down, you leave enough space for him. Hands on top of the other, you roam your eyes around the cracking paint on the walls, mind making shapes from how the navy blue paint crumbles.

Hobie carefully takes the record out then places it on the record player. Sitting next to you, you can practically feel his excitement reverberating. He takes the headphones from its rack, turning each around so you and him could listen at the same time.

“Ready to shit your trousers?” He asks, eyes glinting from the single light bulb. He's so close to you that you can see yourself in the reflection in his eyes. And you can see every single strand of eyelashes that's perfectly blending in with his eyeliner.

“I don't want to poop on my trousers, I like this pair.” You joke, and you pat yourself on the back for making him laugh. “This is corduroy, Hobie.”

“Alright quiet time now.” He presses play as you hide your amused smile.

—

You bask in the sunset, eyes closed, you let the autumn air kiss your cheeks, your hands are behind you, propping you up. Despite the dusty pavement, and the looming problem of getting found out that you skipped school, you're perfectly content where you are right now. It would be perfect but you're missing something, or someone for that matter.

Cold air suddenly blows right behind you, the convenience doors close with a hiss and that's your cue to look up. Hobie appears upside down in your vision just like you thought, he tilts his head, you can see the cogs in his head turn. Placing the cup on your forehead, he laughs at your crossed eyes. Condensation rolls off from the plastic cup and into your skin.

Hobie takes it away before you could catch a cold. Sitting next to you, he hands you your bright slurpee. There's a mix of colours, red and blue melting into the orange and purple.

“They didn't have the brown one.” He says as he rips open a pack of Doritos. “There's no puddin’ pops either.”

“Aw,” you say slightly disappointed, but the sight of the box of nerds inside the plastic bag helps remedy your disappointment. “Ooh nerds!”

“Where?” As he says it, you see a grin slowly spreading on his face. “I only see one right here!” Chortling, grin wide, the orange hues of the sky paints him with its watercolour glow. You'd take this sight more than a day alone at the arcade.

“Ha ha.” You say flatly, sipping your drink too quickly, you wince loudly. Hobie guffaws into the barren space, save for the 711 behind you and the woods sitting quietly in front of you. His laugh echoes, even with his amusement, he still has the time to pat your back affectionately.

“Ow.” You rub your temple.

“What’d I tell you before? Drink it slowly, love.” The title slips out of his tongue. The second he realizes it, he hides behind his own cup, sipping wordlessly as he stares off into the woods.

Love, the simple freudian slip has you blinking at him slowly. He has never called you that before, he has, however, called you a bunch of nicknames that are either sweet or to purposely annoy you. But love? You've only heard older teenagers call each other that, and they usually have their hand inside their girlfriend’s or boyfriend’s back pockets when they do. You have no idea if Hobie has mistaken, because you're clearly not love, you're pingu, you're cheese, you're pebbles, hell, you're even lad, or his best mate. Never love, because that's reserved for someone you actually like, someone you truly care for.

Is he mistaken? Mimicking something he has heard around school?

“I should've told you about the album.” His voice wakes you to the present.

Do you care for him? Of course you do.

“What?” You breathlessly ask.

He's your best mate after Danny left, he was the only one who filled that lonely lonely gap he left. You think he's stuck with you forever, and he thinks you're stuck with him forever. Strangely enough, you both think it's perfect.

“Me pestering the shit out of Mike.” You knit your eyebrows at his words. He looks down at his boots, a small puddle at his feet reflects his own confused face. Is he apologizing? Why is he apologizing for? Weirdly enough, you both ask the same question.

You'd annoy Mike for him. You'd call the shop endlessly just so they would order his record. Even if you get in trouble for the telephone bill.

“You would've helped.” Hobie continues, eyes now looking into your own.

Care, it's a simple word, but you think it's not enough to describe how you feel about him, how you really feel about your best friend. It's much more than that.

“Yeah, I would've annoyed him too.” You softly smile at him.

“I know, love.” Because he knows you, and you know him too. Hobie utters the title more confidently, the word rolling off his tongue like butter. He makes it sound like he has been calling you that in his head for a long time. Maybe he has. “I know you would.”

He had the answer the whole time, it's not just you caring for him. It's love, it's love in its earliest state, it's love at its most innocent.

You love him, that revelation scares you, but it's better not knowing how you truly feel whenever he smiles at you and your heart skips a beat. Now you know, you'll tell him one day, one day when that feeling gnaws at your chest. But for now, you'll settle with drinking slurpees with him, you'll settle for skipping class so you could listen to records with him. For now you'll settle with loving him as his best mate, and for now, you're content just by being at his side.

[cowboydisaster]

Your Protector

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 2.9k

summary: Arthur comes to your rescue while you're being harassed.

a/n: This is technically a reupload from back in November but I added a lot more detail and its now about 1k longer so-- Also this fic was originally a request: "reader getting hit on in a shady alley and Arthur rescuing her"

warnings: gore, blood, violence (not more than game), harassment, basically a gross, greedy man who gets a bit handsy

It’s been ten minutes since Arthur left you in the alley. Nervously, you run your sweaty palms down your jeans and slow your breaths. You couldn’t deny Arthur when he had asked you to scope out this job with him. He made all the plans, crafted a safe and efficient way to get the money with no one getting hurt. And although you trust him, your nerves are still on edge. The other outlaw had caught first wind of this score when helping a passerby on the road in Bayou Nwa. Arthur helped a man with a nasty snake bite, and was gifted a token of information as a payment. Apparently, the Saint Denis gunsmith is running a little underground gambling. Big poker games, with top players, betting more money just on one game than you’ve ever laid eyes on in your life. That tip came about a few weeks ago, and after some sniffing around, Arthur found the information to be true. Tonight, at 8pm, the cards were dealt for the tournament game. The big one. 

You pace, nervously glancing down at your silver pocket watch. The time reads just after midnight. These games take hours, if not days, but by now most of the money should be out, and the players should all be here with their riches. Before jogging up the metal staircase and sneaking through a cracked window, Arthur had planted you as a lookout in the alley adjoining the gunsmith. His plan is: sneak in, play the part, and rob the bastards blind. They’ll probably be too wasted on hooch to even notice him slipping away with their life savings. Your job is strictly to keep watch, which Arthur reassured you is a very important job, despite your reservations. You glance at your pocket watch again, seeing that Arthur has now been in there for thirteen minutes. Shoving the watch into your pocket to get rid of the distraction, you glance around the alley. It's dark, and eerie. The pass way is long and narrow, with rotting wooden crates lining the walls and rats that run and squeak, causing you to jump every now and again. Water drips down from the metal overhangs, driving you mad with their constant noise. 

Anxiety pools in your gut as the shadows made by the rats and the crates shift, and the walls seem to move in on you. It’s all an illusion of course, but your heart rate picks up as the shadows shift and taunt you. A few times you scare yourself, looking at the shadows for too long until they begin to morph. So, to preserve your sanity, you distract yourself, pulling your cattleman from its holster. You grab a bottle of gun oil and a little rag from your satchel, humming to yourself as you wipe down the barrel of the gun, making sure to get in between the little grooves. Arthur had bought you this gun, and had it engraved with ornate flowers. It’s one of your most dear possessions. You still feel incredibly uneasy, like you’re being watched, followed. But you tell yourself that your mind is just playing tricks on you. You focus on the gun, keeping enough awareness of your surroundings to know if the law is coming. With a satisfied smirk, you hold your gun under the flickering street light, admiring its clean, shiny state. Suddenly the gun is knocked away from your hand, and you gasp, having only a moment to watch it fall onto the cobblestone before whipping around in shock.

A beast of a man, easily over six feet tall with broad shoulders, towers over you, sneering down at you with yellow teeth and breath that reeks of liquor. He scares the hell out of you, and you back away quickly. In one large step backwards, with a loud gasp, your back hits the alley’s brick wall. The man steps forward, sandwiching you between himself and the wall. You feel so sick, so naive right now. When you had agreed to do this job, you’d expected to run into some nasty street kids and oversized rats at the worst, but oh were you wrong. Somehow the other type of vermin roaming Saint Denis had slipped your mind: the men like this one. The men who drink their fill and search the streets for a cheap woman to spend the night with, or any woman to spend the night with. He is the exact type of man you would expect to be at an illegal poker game, with greasy hair, beady eyes, and sharp features that remind you of a predator.  Your back is still pressed against the wall, and the man in front of you corners you by bringing a hand to either side of your head on the wall. You’re trapped. You glance down to your cattleman on the street, and damningly realize you can’t reach it. When the man opens his mouth to speak, the acrid, alcoholic smell of his breath makes you gag. 

“Say, what’s a pretty lil’ thing like you doin’ in these nasty parts of town all by yourself?” His breath is hot on your face, and the smell of his sweat chokes you. You think about screaming for help, but all that would do is tie a noose around Arthur’s neck. Yelling isn’t an option. One of his large hands comes up to your face and he gently caresses your cheek with the back of his index finger. You tear your face away from his touch, fuming. You look angry and tough, but under it all you’re terrified. 

“I'm not alone, got a friend in the gunsmith, he should be back any second.” you growl, staring the man right in his colorless eyes. Slowly, he turns his head in both directions, scanning the gunsmith doors and the stairwell that leads to the attic. When he turns his head back to you, there is a sickening grin on it. 

“Well, sweet thing, I don’t see anyone… do you?” The man chuckles deeply, threateningly, “It can be real dangerous around here if you ain’t got someone to keep an eye on you…” He snarls, a mock smile on his lips that causes your stomach to flip with disgust. The man leans down, only inches away from your face as you shove your body back against the brick wall, wishing it would swallow you whole. 

“The names’ Levi… care to tell me yours, pretty girl?” Levi sneers, eyeing your scowl.

Your eyes are glued to the gunsmith’s side door, silently begging Arthur to return. You know that you can’t fight this man off. He’s much bigger than you, and even in his drunken state, he’s stronger than you are. His hands grip your forearms, pushing you back against the brick wall and you yelp. 

“I don’t need you protectin’ me, now let me go!” You yell into his face, shoving against the brute as hard as you can. Levi only laughs, pushing closer to you. His weight, sandwiching you against the wall, knocks the air out of your lungs as you attempt to push him away. He only laughs, and the smell of his alcohol ridden breath once again makes you gag.

“Why don’t you come wit’ me? I’ll show ya a real good time. Do you think a lil’ thing like you can handle me, precious?”

Eyes squinted shut, you silently beg Arthur or anyone to help you. 

— — — —

Arthur scans the room once more before swiping the cash off of the table and sliding it into his leather saddle bag. Most of the gamblers have passed out, but the ones who are still conscious are far too drunk to notice Arthur slipping by, knocking out a couple of guards and stealing their wealth. It's dark in the room, most of the candles have burned out already, and Arthur isn’t seen as he crouches, expert fingers grappling and pickpocketing as he goes. There is a little makeshift bar towards the window he had crawled in through, and on top of it rests a thick clip of money. Arthur eyes it, stepping towards the window to snatch the clip. Just as he passes the window, a breeze rolls in, and carried on it is your voice. 

“Let me go!” You growl, and Arthur peeks out the window, face pale as his heart drops. He sees a big bastard, towering over you and holding you against the wall, yelling in your face. For a second Arthur sees nothing but red.

Arthur panics, filled with both rage and fear. The cash clips that he has not yet collected are discarded on the counter as Arthur runs down the interior staircase. It's quicker than crawling through the window and dealing with the ladders. Arthur’s mind is clouded with a primal instinct to protect you as he bolts down the steps, skipping multiple as he goes.

“Shit, shit- Shit!” Arthur growls, pushing up against the main door to the gunsmith. It doesn't budge, presumably locked for the night. And although Arthur would only have to reach down and unlock the fine wooden door, he wastes no time, kicking the wood with such force that it swings open, nearly knocked off the goddamn hinges. Arthur fumes, stepping through the broken door, and dropping the saddle bag onto the ground. You’re only right across the alley now.

His eyes meet yours, and you look so small compared to the bastard who is bothering you. Arthur doesn’t hesitate for a second, coming up behind Levi in a few long strides and grabbing him by the back of his collar. Even though Levi is large in comparison to you, he is not nearly as big as Arthur. 

Arthur drags Levi back by his collar with an indescribable rage, and slams him into the brick wall, opposite of you. A sound erupts from Arthur, that could only be compared to a growl as he wraps his hand around Levi’s throat. His other fist is raised and ready to beat the life out of the bastard. You breathe deeply, sinking against the floor to catch your breath and reel over what’s playing out before you., relief washing over you because Arthur’s here.

“What in the hell were you just sayin’ to her?!” Arthur’s voice is deep, filled to the core with rage, the kind that can’t be stopped or repressed. His eyes are dark, and despite the love and the comfort that they have provided you with, Arthur looks terrifying now. 

You can do nothing but catch your breath and watch the scene play out. You’re still in shock, mindlessly rubbing your hand over the spot on your arm that your perpetrator was gripping onto so tightly. You wince, realizing that there will definitely be bruises there later.

Levi cracks a sickening smile before responding to Arthur, 

“Ah, so you’re the one this whore is fuc-” Levi’s words are cut short as Arthur’s fist meets his face. There is so much force and anger behind the punch that you are surprised Levi is still conscious. A loud crack snaps through the air- you realize that it is Levi’s nose shattering as he screams out in pain. Arthur is fuming, his shoulders rising up and down quickly as he attempts to stop himself from killing this piece of shit. He puts his fist down, but keeps his hand on Levi’s throat. A bruise in the shape of Arthur’s knuckles is already starting to form on Levi’s face. His greasy hair is now falling down in front of his eyes as he spits blood onto the ground. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s drunk, stupid or both, but he attempts to get under Arthur’s skin one last time. 

“You don’t feel like sharin, do you mister?” Levi pauses, spitting some more blood to the ground and eyeing you up and down before continuing, “Can’t say I blame you partner… If I had a woman wit a body like that I’d never-” 

Once again Levi is shut up by Arthur’s fists. Except for this time Arthur doesn’t stop. Something snaps inside the outlaw, like he’s gone completely feral. Arthur shoves Levi to the ground, straddling him while landing punch after punch to his face. You sit against the wall in shock, wincing at the wet crunch and snap of bones breaking. Arthur’s chest is heaving as he beats Levi senselessly. You’re not sure how long it goes on, but it feels like forever. 

Eventually, Levi stops resisting the blows, and Arthur gets off the half dead man, still enraged. He stands, fuming. 

“You piece of shit, don’t you ever put your goddamn hands on her again- and if you ever talk to her, or any woman, like that again, I'll do alot worse than this, you hear?!” Arthur all but snarls. 

Levi doesn’t respond, and Arthur kicks him in the ribs for it.

“Do. You. Hear?” Arthur growls, low and deep. 

You’re honestly not sure if Levi is even alive, or capable of responding. His face is beaten in, red and smashed, he's not even recognizable. You breathe a little easier when you see the beaten man nod his head up and down. He’s an awful bastard, but you’re relieved that Arthur didn’t kill him.

“Good.” Arthur hisses with an icy tone that you’ve never heard before. 

Stepping over Levi, Arthur leans down into a crouch in front of you and his features soften. He gently pulls the hair away from your ears, checking your face before running his green eyes over your body, checking that you’re not hurt. His face is pinched up in concern, and the hands that check over you are bruised and stained with the blood of your perpetrator. After doing a quick check over, Arthur grabs your gun. His gentle hands meet your waist before he helps you to stand up. As soon as you’re on your feet, without another word, he grips your hand, picks up the money bag and pulls you deeper into the alley. After some turns and bends, Arthur stops in a secluded spot. 

Arthur deems you both far enough away to be involved with any trouble from the law, and he turns to face you. His hands come up to your cheeks, and with care he gently turns your face to both sides, checking you over more thoroughly. 

“How badly do you hurt?” Arthur asks, rolling up your sleeves to assess the forming purple splotches along your arm. 

When he sees them, his jaw sets into a hard, cold state as he breathes deeply to control his rage. Your eyes flutter up to his own, and you tread on thin ice, not wanting him to go back and kill the man. 

“Im okay Arthur, really, I-” You start, tears pooling in your eyes. Arthur watches them form and then wipes them away with his thumb. 

“Now don’t lie for my sake, he hurt you? More than this?” Arthur’s hand is gently holding your bruised arm, and the other cups your cheek. His eyes speak of an ache, of regret, you know he blames himself for leaving you in the alley, and you rush to reassure him.

“No, no he didn't hurt me, shook me up a little, but nothing bad.” You whisper, catching those soft green eyes again. Arthur looks down, and his body tightens as he avoids your eyes, terrified to ask the next question.

“Did he- did he do anythin..?” Arthur looks up, eyes locked on to yours to assess your answer, and you flinch, realizing what he’s asking. God, it could have been so much worse. 

“Arthur, no, I promise, I’m okay. Really.” 

He nods, seemingly accepting your truth with a breath of relief as his tongue darts out over his lips.

“Fuckin’ bastard, I should’ve done a lot worse to him.” Arthur curses, stepping away to pace lightly.

You step forward and put a hand on his warm chest to quell his rage. 

“No, no you shouldn’t have. He got the message Arthur.”

Arthur glances up at you for a few moments, his hands resting on his belt before he steps forward, and pulls you toward him by your shoulder.

“Just… C’mere sweetheart.” He whispers.

You step towards him, grateful for the way he envelopes you into his arms. He’s so big, so warm.  It’s a comfort that you didn’t realize you needed in the moment as Arthur kisses the top of your head. Everything is perfect, just in the moments that he holds you like this.

“Y’know, I worry about you sweetheart. Don’t want you gettin’ hurt or bein’ made uncomfortable by bastards like him.” Arthur mutters into your hair, still hugging you tightly.

You wrap your arms tighter around his torso, nuzzling into his chest. 

“Well that’s why I have you.” You counter, smiling into Arthur’s warmth. He chuckles, and you’re glad to hear it. 

“I'll always be your protector, darlin.” Arthur says before pressing a slow kiss to your temple.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hey gorgeous,

Would you be up for some angst ?

Maybe his niece (rhaenyras younger sister) was always the negleted child and after sometime she gets to be known as one of the greatest targaryens (she claims cannibal and is a beast when it comes to fighting and being a ruler) and she comes to the last dinner before her father dies and sleeps with daemon (who previously in her childhood made her feel worthless)

And when she avoids him after, he goes to her and shes like:

-Just so you know, that meant nothing

-what if it meant everything to me?

-not my problem

All I Ever Wanted

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader

Summary: The gods have weighed the scales, now you were only paying everyone their dues. It felt nice to hold the upper hand against your uncle for once.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: mentions/depictions of targcest (uncle and niece), fem!reader, mentions/allusions to sex, angst, bad fam relations, typos, etc.

A/N: idk im tired i hope you like it nonnie. i changed a bunch of stuff about the fic req so T_T i cant believe i managed to make it so long HAHHAHAHH Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony

Daemon could not believe it.

He could not believe that he woke up by himself.

He was soaking in his smugness, dripping with self-accomplishment and victory, eagerly rolling over to coo his musings of self-importance to his prey.

Yet you were gone.

And he did not understand it.

He did not appreciate the bile that was threatening to be regurgitated out of his pallet. A line grew between his brows as he ripped his blanket off. He roughly dressed himself in breeches and a shirt, then stormed out of this chambers.

Part of him was relieved to find you so quickly, another part was in pure offence to how nonchalant you acted in the gardens, eating a pear as you read a book.

"Skoro syt issi ao kesīr sīr early isse se ñāqatubis?" Daemon cut through your concentration on your page. You turned to him halfway through his sentence, full mouth slowing in its chewing.

"What do you mean 'why are you here so early in the morning', uncle?" you narrow your eyes, shaking the hanging foot from your crossed leg. The heavy, red velvet of your skirt barely moved at your actions.

Daemon walks over to you, unkempt long, platinum hair blowing with the morning breeze along with his loose shirt, "you should have woken up with me."

You watch him as he nears. When he reaches the bench you were sat upon, you bring your book to your lap, one hand in between the pages of where you stopped reading, "and why should I have done so, uncle?"

The tone in which you say this with simultaneously angers and excites Daemon. He adores a good challenge. You both know that.

The prince reaches out to your face, tilting your head up to him, "I'm not done with you, niece."

You roll your eyes. He chuckles as you stand.

You thoughtlessly discard the core of the fruit to the side and release your grip on your book in order to clamp it under your arm, "iksis ziry daor obvious bona iksan tetan lēda ao?"

Daemon stills. He watches as you, his sweet little niece, defiantly staring at him. You spat such words as 'is it not obvious that I am finished with you?' to him? Your uncle? Your star? He who you viewed as holy as the Seven you were so devout to? No. This surely was a jest. A game of cat and mouse.

Daemon's lips curve into a lopsided grin. He opens his mouth to join in the banter, and yet he was not given an opportunity to speak.

"I will leave now, since you're clearly persistent to bother me," you coldly say, moving past him in all audacity.

A scoff actually leaves him because of this. He catches your arm, lowly and dryly chuckling, "rūda lēda aōha tymptir, byka genes."

Quit with your game, little mouse.

"I'm not playing, and I'm not a mouse," you snip, pulling your arm out of his grip.

Now you were both looking at each other with furrowed brows, equally long and light air wafting with the wind.

"I got what I wanted from you, Daemon."

You word this so plainly, so carelessly, and yet it pokes at him, makes his insides churn.

"I've scratched my itch. I've satiated my curiously," you release the tension between your brows to contort your face into scorn, "I've unraveled you, and found you're just another man-- greedy, self-absorbed, and cannot show for all the talk they give."

Daemon scoffs, eyes narrowing. He steps closer, raising his nose as he lets your words get under his skin, "it is too early to toy with me like this."

The eyeroll you give strikes a chord in him as you mutter, "ah, kepus, ao sagon getting uēpa. Ȳdra daor ao jiōragon ziry?" Oh, uncle, you're getting old. Don't you get it? The hardness in his face falters when you continue, "there's no game between us. There's nothing."

Daemon pulls his head back. No. That's not you.

You slowly shake you're head, ratifying, "Iksan gaomagon lēda ao."

I'm done with you.

But who were you?

Last night, the young girl he used to braid the hair of burst into the hall, uninvited, with purpose. His decaying brother, Viserys, and the Hightower bitch was shocked, even your sister, Rhaenyra, was. Daemon, though, was amused by the the theatrics and whispered this your ear, telling you that you copied him.

It was clear when you replied, "except I was not exiled, uncle. I left and returned on my own will. Something you have never done and never will," that you were not that little girl anymore.

He watched you as you moved, as you carried yourself in the room with not a hint of reluctance. You came as... a woman. A woman.

His breath caught in his lungs as you recounted your stories with your beloved Cannibal, much to the aghast looks of others. He was not one of those who laughed at the notion your frailer version gave of claiming the dragon, and yet still, he could hardly believe the words that you surely uttered by your bitten lips himself.

Oh, your lips that then mused more private stories for his ears only later that night, your lips that he then took between his teeth even later, and that he then made to call out his name in the early mornings.

Who were you now?

That woman was not here. You were not the warrior that claimed the dragon, the vixen that clamed his soul, and, sure by the gods, not the little girl that claimed all eagerness to please everyone around her.

Who were you, you who was looking down at him, as though it was not he that read you bedtime stories, he that gave you treats under the banquet table, he that make you come undone beneath him last night?

How dare you discard him?

Daemon regains his gall, "I'm not done with you, niece."

You don't even look at him when you say, "I don't care," and walk away with that stupid book in your hands.

His nostrils flare. "Don't you fucking walk away from me," he quips, unwilling to chase, unwilling to bend or beg.

He watches as you make your way farther.

Against himself, in a brand of desperation, he hastens after you, grabbing your arm, pulling you back to face him. He heaves at your idle gaze, "you've worn my patience."

"It's only fair," you purse your lips, "you worn my time for nothing."

One of Daemon's eyes twitches.

"Bullshit," he chuckles.

You shrug and it enrages him.

It is bullshit and you both know it. And yet somehow, he's beaten to the punch again. He's left defenseless before his little niece and it's ripping at his seams.

"I honestly expected more from you, uncle," you pout, "but then again, I only thought so highly of you because I was a naïve child, just like you said I was all those years ago."

Daemon could not even respond as you hypnotize him by pushing his hair behind his ear, "I've met many men whilst my travels with Cannibal. Though I did appreciate your company, I'm sure you'd agree last night was as lack lustre as it was for me, right, uncle? Since you'd had a great many women yourself."

He watches you as you lean in. He can see the sheen, smell the remnants of pear on your mouth.

This was a trap. There was no real answer. He's been choked. You knew this. And now your lips were curving up.

"Your mind games don't work on me, child," Daemon finally gets to speak.

You laugh outright. You grab his arm as you sigh, "what? Is it so scary to reply to my words you evaded the question altogether?"

In another world, he'd have gone red faced at your words, but no, your mind games don't work on him.

But, oh, it does.

You got him piping like a kettle.

"Just so we're perfectly clear, uncle, so that I am certain we're on the same page," you clutch your book into your chest, "know, that everything, last night, meant nothing to me."

He speaks before he thinks. He can't even hate himself for it because he speaks like he can't even hear himself, "what if it meant everything to me?"

You knit your brows. You scoff out a chuckle, "now who's playing, Daemon?"

His breath audibly hitches. You hear it. You smile, "that's not really my problem, now is it?"

You horribly, so, so gently rub the pad of your thumb on his lips. He freezes as you turn back. Daemon watches you walk away for the second time. This time, he does not run after.

[simpcityy]

My Little Spawn Pt.8 (Dadstarion X Child!Reader)

Summary: Astarion was finally free from Cazador after being kidnapped by a mind flayer but he was stuck with one annoying task, you.

Disclaimer: I do not own Baldur's Gate 3 or any of its characters.

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: Use of (Y/N), Cazador, language, violence, spoilers for those who haven't gone far in the game, mentions of blood, animal death...Uhhh...I think that is all. MAJOR SPOILERS IF YOU AREN'T IN ACT 2 AND 3 YET.

Author Notes: I'm back, I hope I can finish this series and move on to my Rolan one. Maybe I should do another dad series with another character? I like doing these and I know you guys seem to be enjoying them as well! We are getting close to the end of this series so please remember to reblog and like if you enjoy this series.

After raiding Moonrise Towers, the group was now on the road to Baldur’s Gate with a new addition to the group, Jaheira. (Y/N) runs around in the field of flowers that the group has decided to take a short rest. Astarion watched from afar, his mind pondering over and over. What will happen once they reach the city, will Cazador be able to sense you? Will the other spawns see you and report back to him? Many thoughts were running through his head but stopped when he felt a tugged at his hand. You looked up to him, “Are you here? I’ve been calling you over and over.” You pouted only for him to sigh “I was thinking but what do you want?” he mutters, setting you between his lap. “When we reach the gates, are we going to see papa!” You beamed at him. Astarion only stayed silent before patting your head “Time will tell.” He whispers. 

Getting access to the lower city was going to be difficult for the group. Tav sat on a rock after they were being denied entrance. “there must be another way to get inside…” They mutter and look around the group for any ideas. You were busy collecting different types of flowers for your father as a gift, still listening in on their conversation. This is when a thought occurs to you, a rather mischievous idea. Astarion was leaning against a pole before seeing you run past them and to the guards. “The hell are you doing?!” He follows you. You walk up to the lady, “Why can’t we go inside? Is your job to help people right?” You began. “Well yes but by orders we cannot let anyone in without a valid reason.” She leans to your height. “I don’t think my papa is going to like that, he’s been looking for me everywhere and if he finds out that I wasn’t able to go back home to him, he’s going to get really angry.” You smile at her innocently. Astarion stops a distance from you and watches. “He knows a lot of important people!” You remember that night in the Moonrise cells, that Lord Gortash. “He’s even friends with a man who looks over important! He looks just like this.” You point to the poster with Gortash's face. Upon that information, the woman pales a bit. “Lord Gortash? A-ah I see, you could’ve said that before.” She looks back at the group and yells out to bring the gate down. Astarion picks you up “You…really are his child…” He mutters impressed how you manipulated your first mortal but worried at the same time. You are really a small version of Cazador, and he wasn’t liking that. Cazador was a man who always had his way, he saw it just now with you and that woman. You had your way. 

After securing a room at the inn at a reasonable price, Astarion watched as you went with Shadowheart for your bathtime. Wyll walks over, “You’ve been quiet, that's not like you.” The pale elf looks up and sighs “Many thoughts are running in my mind…(Y/N) acted just like my worst nightmare, Cazador. I always forget they are a piece of Cazador.” He sighs “What is the next step for me? Do I exchange them to Cazador for my freedom…or…do I save them and the other spawns from him…thankfully they don’t have that mark on their back but…I have no clue what he plans for them…after reading all the books, there never seems be to a good happy ending for their kind.” He looks over to his backpack with the books he’s read so far. “They’ll grow up to be lonely…their kind is very rare, and I doubt there is another out there alive. As for family…seems like Cazador is the only one so far..so if I were to kill him, they’ll have no one…” He hated this, how can one simple small child bring him this much trouble. He would’ve toss them out in the city already and have the spawns take them back home but there was a small itch in him that prevented him. He hates it but he’s grown attached to them. “I want to resent them; I want to hate them for causing me so much trouble. I wanted to feel free the moment those ugly bastards captured me. I was away from Cazador's clutches but no!” He groans in frustration. “I was stuck with his child! A copy of him!” He felt the tears. Wyll only stays quiet letting him take it all out. He knew Astarion was going through it, the spawn was feeling overwhelmed the moment they got closer to the city. 

You stood behind the door of the bathroom listening, Shadowheart was out with the rest getting drinks after she bathed you. You only look down, playing with your hands trying to stop the tears from falling down. You glance from the door watching Astarion stomp out of the inn needing fresh air. Wyll sighs before walking over to his bed. You took this chance, you wanted Astarion to feel the freedom, even if it means without you. You walk to the door slowly and open it. Checking the hallway and walking out. 

Midnight rose and Cazador stood at his desk frowning. He watched the moon before sighing hearing the door open. “Didn’t I say I wanted to be left alone!” He turns, spotting Godey. “I know you did demand that Master but there is a gift for you at the entrance.” He bows at his master. Cazador only glares “I don’t want anything at al-” he stopped before hearing that voice, his little songbird is back. You walked to the main room and stopped by the big door. You look around, how you missed this place but a feeling within you made you rethink it. Looking back, you heard the doors open and spotted Cazador.

“Welcome home my little songbird.”

[lo-vearchive]

Forgive Me (Pt. 2)

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x female reader

Summary: After reconciling in your bedroom, Miguel disappears on you for a week. Giving up on any hopes of romance, your friends plan a night out for you to cheer up. Too bad your boss makes an appearance and catches you with an attractive stranger on a stormy night. Read Part One: here

Word Count: 4463 words

Content: Miguel being a rude bastard, Miguel asking for forgiveness (again), arguments, possessiveness, alcohol consumption, tobacco consumption, 18+ (minors DNI), no p in v but things get spicy at the end, female fingering, finger sucking, misogyny, insecurity, swearing, hurt and comfort, office sex (no p in v), questionable Spanish

Note: ANGST! Got carried away once again. Lowkey not proofread. I love angst and Miguel being vulnerable.  If you are into angst, you will enjoy this. Feel free to correct my Spanish and ask for any other cw to be added. Thank you for the 1K+ notes on Pt. 1. Have fun, horndogs ;)

It has been seven days since you last saw Miguel O’Hara.

After spending a full 48 hours by your side, he had gone back to work. You decided to join him at Alchemax the next day but found his office empty. At first, you thought he was occupied with Spider-Man business, so you kept yourself busy with answering his overflowing email box. Slowly the sun set behind the skyline of Nueva York and the messages ran out, leaving behind a feeling of uneasiness in your stomach.

 You [sent Friday, 6 pm]: Hey, are you coming to work today?

You [sent Friday, 10 pm]: I’m going home for the night. Call me when you are home. I miss you :)

You [sent Saturday, 5 am]: Are you okay?

You [sent Saturday, 1 pm]: I’m getting really worried. Where are you?

You [sent Saturday, 5 pm]: I emailed you in case you lost your phone. Call me asap.

You [sent Sunday, 7 pm]: I’ll see you at work tomorrow.

You [sent Monday, 9 am]: Lyla said you’re okay but won’t tell me what’s going on. Says I don’t have clearance. Please call me.

You [sent Monday 10 am]: Are you actually ignoring me?

You [sent Tuesday, 1 am]: My best friend you’re an asshole and I should never let you near my pussy ever again.

You [sent Tuesday 1:23 am] Are you ghosting me? You know we work together, right?

You [sent Tuesday, 3:30 am]: I hate you Miguel O’Hara.

 Friday rolled around and your best friend had enough of your drunk late-night facetime calls. She gathered a group of your high school girlfriends and decided a night out in the town would be the perfect remedy. “Fuck him, babe,” Katy states, sliding a shot glass across the table. “You should report him to HR for being an ass.”

You laughed and tipped the glass into your mouth. The tequila burnt its way down your throat. “I’m just going to find a new job. I can’t be dealing with this shit right now.”

Your friend Soo let out a burp. “Did you let him hit it?”

You shake your head. “No,” you cough. “We came close to it, like above the pants stuff— do you think that’s why he’s ignoring me? Because I didn’t put out right away?”

“Bitch,” Katy chides, slapping the tabletop, “be fucking for real. You look like a busty, hot secretary from some comic book. He should be lucky you let him touch your tits!”

Your friends nodded along in agreement. Katy grabs the sides of your chair and spins it around, facing you to the restaurant bar. “You see that guy there?” she points at a man with messy blond hair in an open-collar white shirt. “He’s been eyeing you all night. Go talk to him right now.”

The tequila must have heightened your bravery as you found yourself walking across the dimly lit restaurant and to the wall. Stealing a glance at him from the corner of your eye, you ask the bartender for, “a rum and coke please.”

“You can add her drink to my tab,” the man says just like you hoped he would. “I hope you don’t mind. I saw your friends fussing over you earlier and you looked like you needed a drink.”

“Is it that obvious?” You ask, letting out a laugh. “You’re right, I do need a little pick-me-upper tonight.”

“My name is John,” he says.

You introduced yourself and slide in the empty seat next to him. “So, what’s going on with you?” he questions, sipping his beer.

You carefully lift your drink from the bar top and circled the rim with your index finger. “I’m not sure if I wanna’ trauma dump on a stranger.”

“Sometimes talking to strangers helps.”

You contemplate his words and sigh. Your friends would kick you if you said the name Miguel O’Hara again in their general vicinity. You chose to divulge a little to the mystery man. “Things got a bit complicated with someone I really cared about. Everything was going well and then he disappeared suddenly, and I don’t know why.”

John listens to you carefully, nodding to himself. “You know what I do when I’m confused?”

“What?”

“I take a smoke break to chill out,” he answers, standing up. “Care to join me?”

You downed the contents of your glass and follow him out a door that open to a back alley behind the restaurant. Rain pours down heavily, and you both huddle under a dingy metal shed. The cold air bites your arms sharply as John lights the end of his cigarette and brings it to his mouth. “It can be frustrating when you’re left without answers but a girl like you has nothing to worry about.”

You smile at his words. You take the cigarette off his hand and take a drag. The smoke fills your lungs, making your head spin a little. The light-headedness reminds you of how you felt last time when Miguel was in your arms. Airy, free, and light. No matter what you do, all your thoughts lead back to him. You shake away the memories and pass the cigarette back to John.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” a stern voice asks.

A man melts out of the shadows in the alley and into the light shining from a streetlamp above. You recognize him. “Miguel?”

He doesn’t look at you and keeps his eyes focused on John. “Who is he?” he asks with a deep frown.

“Listen, I’m off work right now,” you clear your throat, sticking your nose up in the air. “I don’t have to explain—”

“Look, man,” John interrupts, “no need to get all worked about this. We are just talking.”

Miguel lets out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, right,” he spits and gets in his face. “You could have done that at the bar. Why the fuck are you out here alone with her? What were you planning on doing?”

“Mr. O’Hara!” you exclaim, stepping in between them. “You are out of line!”

He raises his eyebrows at your formality but keeps his attention on John over your shoulder.  “Buddy,” John says, wrapping an arm around your waist and moving you to the side. “She is allowed to talk to whoever she wants. I suggest you leave us alone now.”

The touch doesn’t go unnoticed by Miguel. His nostrils flare and his eyes turned red with anger. He steps closer to John until he is looming over the poor man. You often forget how big your boss is compared to everyone around him. The scene looks almost comical with how John tries to puff out his chest. “Te calmas o te calmo,” (Calm yourself, or I’ll calm you down) Miguel snarls.

Whatever John sees in his face is enough to make him reconsider. He holds his hands up in surrender and backs away slowly. Stopping in front of you he pushes the half-burnt cigarette into your hand and whispers, “If this is the guy you were talking about, then maybe it’s a good thing he disappears. I’ll be inside if you still want to talk.”

He walks away from the alley and into the restaurant, leaving you with Miguel alone in the alley. You watch in silence as his body trembles, and you can’t tell if it’s from anger or the rain hammering away at his back.

He breaks the silence. “So, you’re letting strangers into our private business?”

You snort loudly. “You don’t get to speak to me like that,” you tell him, taking another drag. “Especially after disappearing on me. You can’t just strut back into my life and tell me who I can confide in.”

“I was tending to some urgent matters,” he says, brushing his wet hair away from his forehead. “So I took the time to handle them. I can’t be around you every second of the day acting as your lap dog.”

The heat from the cigarette burns your skin. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you raise your voice, throwing your hands in the air. “You’re acting like I want you on a leash! I just wanted to know you were okay.”

“Clearly I’m okay,” he replies, rolling his eyes.

Your lips tug into a deep scowl at his tone. “Did you ever stop to consider how your actions affected me? How lost and confused I felt waiting by the phone every day?”

“It wasn’t intentional,” Miguel matches your tone. “You know I am a busy man, and that I have responsibilities. But you’d rather live in some fantasy land where I’m just some monster out to hurt you! You can’t begin to understand the weight I carry on my shoulders.”

Anger surges through your body. “How am I supposed to understand when you don’t tell me anything? Hell, your AI knows more about you than I do. It’s like you only care about missions or work and nothing else—”

“Sometimes in life, personal matters have to take a backseat,” he cuts you off, harshly. “Not everyone can put on a short skirt and high heels, waltz into work, type a few memos and then call it a night.”

“You misogynist fuck!” You scream back at him, resisting the urge to slap him silly. “I hate you!”

“I hate you too!” he yells back in your face with bloodshot eyes.

You spin on your heels and begin walking towards the main road. Rage begins to bubble inside you and reaches your throat. You turn around just as you reach the sidewalk and call out, “You know what? It doesn’t matter if you disappear again because I have hated you since the moment I met you. I hated you when everyone at work warned me about you. I hated you all those times you dismissed me like an afterthought. And I hated you when you came to my room that night begging for a second chance. So, I don’t care if you hate me, or think I’m useless or unimportant cause have hated you longer and harder and for better fucking reasons!”

You take another drag from the cigarette and then crush it underneath your pretty high heels. You make a right at the end of the alley and begin walking up the street. Warm tears spill down your face as you shiver in the rain. Katy was right, he was an asshole. An asshole that made you feel dumb for having a normal job or human emotions. But maybe you were just an idiot for falling in love with a man who didn’t respect you. Love wasn’t supposed to be this hard, but here you were feeling small and crying at the side of the road.

The sound of screeching tires brings you out of your self-pity. A sleek black car pulls up on the other side of the road and the passenger window rolls down. Miguel’s face emerges from behind the glass. “Ven aquí!” (come here) he calls out.

You ignore him and keep walking ahead. You have no idea where you are going, but you would rather eat rocks than speak to him.

From the corner of your eyes, you see Miguel make a sharp left, almost hitting oncoming traffic and pulling up beside you. “Get in the car!”

Your feet don’t stop moving so he slowly inches his car to match your speed. “Estoy harto. (I’m sick of this) Let’s talk!”

Honks and yells filled the night as people grew frustrated with his speed. “Stop,” you hiss, bending down to the window. “You are embarrassing me!”

“Get in the car then,” he says, with a clenched jaw. “You’re gonna’ catch a cold in the rain.”

“Stop pretending like you care,” you snarl, kicking the side of his car.

“A-YO LADY!” a man yells out of his yellow cab. “Get in the damn car! Your boyfriend is holding up traffic!”

A pleased smirk spread across Miguel’s face at the man’s remarks. You let out a frustrated grunt and yanked the door open, slipping into the passenger seat. “Put your seatbelt on,” he says, picking up speed.

You begrudgingly obey but wished that his car would get rear-ended so hard that his fat head would go through the windshield. “You look like you want me dead, babe,” he commented with a nervous laugh.

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, adjusting the belt over your soaking dress. “Where are we going?”

“Back to Alchemax,” he points at the GPS screen. “The freeway flooded, and it will be a while until it clears up. I have a spare set of clothes I keep in the office for overnighters. You can change while we wait for the storm to blow over.”

“I don’t want your charity,” you grumble, crossing my hand over my chest.

“I know,” he says. “I just want to take care of you.”

You disliked how your stomach felt at his words. “I left my bag behind at the restaurant.”

“I picked it up, it’s in the back seat.”

“I didn’t pay my tab.”

“It’s taken care of. Your friends know you’re fine, too. Just relax.”

Miguel leans over to turn your seat warmer on and warmth spreads across your chest and down your limbs. He drives in silence with only the soft white noise of radio static playing in the background. Occasionally you tear your gaze away from the furiously working windshield wipers and steal glances at his face. The headlights from other cars make the slopes of his cheek and the plumpness of his lips visible even on a stormy night. His warm complexion has turned pale, and you ponder if it was because of your interaction earlier.

You both pull up into the Alchemax parking lot and get out of the car. The security team must be watching through the cameras, wondering why one of their lead engineers was coming into work late at night with his drenched secretary. You quickly follow him into the elevator and up to the floor with his office. He opens the office door, and you slide inside into the dark space.

“Lyla,” he calls out and the room illuminates on command. “Lights.”

Miguel walks up to a storage cupboard and retrieves a towel in one hand and fresh clothes in the other. He passes them to you, and you quietly enter the adjacent washroom to change. You peel your damp dress off your skin and shiver as the chilly air hits you all over. Rubbing the towel quickly over your cold skin, you slip into an oversized t-shirt and shorts. It takes two knots of the drawstring, but you manage to keep the waistband tied around your naval.

You find Miguel waiting for you outside. He had changed into a shirt that hugged his slender waist and pants that hung dangerously low under his taut stomach. He pulls the towel out of your hand and drapes it over your head. His hands gently rub the threads against your wet hair in soft, circular motions. You lean into his touch involuntarily. “I can do it myself,” you complain but made no move to reach for the fabric.

“I know,” he replies. “I want to do it for you.”

“Please don’t.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re doing that thing again,” you said, “and it’s messing with my head.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you start acting kind after being mean,” you explain in a small voice. “I don’t like it. It’s confusing”

He tugs the towel back so you can look into each other’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” he speaks, gently. “I just lost my shit when I saw you with him.”

“You cut off all contact when all I wanted was to know if you were okay,” your voice shakes as you stare at your feet. “You left me all alone, what was I supposed to do? Wait for you to change your mind?”

“I know I messed up, baby. I was wrong” he sighs, inching down his forehead to meet yours. “I should have communicated with you, but sometimes on missions, things get complicated. I don’t always like the things I have to do, and recently I’m having a difficult time making peace with it. It’s like the harder I try to do the right thing, the more damage I do. So sometimes, it’s just better to be alone rather than pretend I’m okay around other people.”

His words hurt your heart. You knew that his missions take a toll on him. In the past whenever you tried to inquire about its contents he wouldn’t answer. You wouldn’t push, afraid that he’d pull away, but it seems that he was pulling away regardless.

“When you’re gone,” you clear your throat, trying to speak through your narrowing trachea, “I worry that you might be laying dead in some universe, and I’d be none the wiser. I know that being Spider-Man is a sacrifice, but I don’t care about the world. I only care about you. So, when you treat me this way, it’s like I can’t breathe.”

He cups your face and places a soft kiss right on your cheekbone “Forgive me.”

“You say that a lot,” you remind him with a frown.

“I know,” he nods, “and I still mean it. I’m just an idiot who doesn’t know how to find the balance in life. I love that you care about me, and I want you to continue caring about me.”

“I don’t know, Mr. O’Hara,” you said. “I can’t ignore the way you speak to me at times. It feels as if you think we’re not equals. I am not some idiot. I am not beneath you just because I work under you.”

He groaned at the sound of his last name. Every time you called him that, it made the space between feel bigger. “I have seen a million universes, nena, (babe) and you are not beneath me in any of them,” he curls a damp strand behind your ear, “Unless we are in bed, then you’re definitely under me.”

“Miguel!” you chide, punching him in the stomach. “No es broma! (It’s not a joke) I’m being serious!”

He lets out an oof and backs away. His fangs poke out from underneath his curled lips and in that moment, he looks as carefree. He wraps his large hands around your arms and holds your attention. “I know broken trust isn’t easily mendable, but I’m going to try my hardest. I won’t leave you out in the dark or make you feel small. I’ll think twice before I open my stupid mouth. I’ll even ask Lyla to give you full access to my missions. Wh-when you see what I have to do- what I must do, please don’t hate me.”

“Miggy,” you pout, reaching for his face. “I was really, really angry when I said those things to you. I can never hate you. My heart won’t let me.”

His toothy grin appears again, and Miguel draws you into him. His smooth lips find yours and he cranes your head back to find the angle that leaves you breathless. You run the pads of your thumb gently across the slopes of his cheeks. It never ceased to surprise you that his skin was so soft under his stubble. Without breaking your kiss, your shuffle back and walk him to his desk chair. You smile into his lips as he shakes his head when you move him back and down to sit. His hands wrap around your wrists. “D-don’t leave,” he cries out.

You shake your head and take a seat on his lap with your legs dangling off the side. Miguel’s hands find your jaw and he turns your mouth to his. You wrap your fingers in his hair and tug him closer. You let out a content hum as his fangs softly dig into your lips, breaking the skin. The taste of metal fills your mouth, and you pull away to look at him. He sits in your embrace, with red-stained lips and is just as breathless. “Sorry,” he sheepishly says. “I usually have them under control. It’s just you’re in my office and in my clothes. It’s making my head spin a little.”

You laugh at his words and gently pull his hair back. Pressing a wet kiss to his exposed throat you ask, “Miggy, how come we haven’t had sex yet?”

“Honestly?” he lets out a choked moan.

“Honestly,” you hum, licking his jaw.

His hands suddenly grab you by the elbows and spin you around on his lap, so his chest is facing your back. His warm breath hits the nape of your neck. A shiver runs down your spine. “I haven’t fucked you yet because once I’m inside you,” he whispers into your ear, “I’ll never want to be anywhere else. I wouldn’t want to eat, sleep, work, or be Spider-Man. I think I’ll just want to stay buried in you all the time.”

“Miguel,” you moan, clutching your thighs together.

“Tsk-tsk,” he clicks his tongue. “Don’t hide from me.”

His large hand slips between your thighs and pushes your legs apart. He turns the chair around until you’re both facing his work desk. “Up,” he commands, slapping the side of your thighs.

You gingerly obey and place your bare feet on the edge of his desk. His hands slip under your shirt, and he fumbles with the knot. Impatient with the knots, he uses a sharp claw to cut through the drawstring. Your breath hitches as he pushes the loose shorts down your legs and off your feet. He wraps his fingers behind your knees and draws your legs apart. He puts his chin over your shoulder and bunches your shirt up to get a good look at your pink underwear. “Baby,” he coos. “You gotta’ let me have this once we are done. A little souvenir for when I’m away.”

Your stomach tightens at his suggestion. You glance at him and then the office door,. “Someone will see us,” you nervously gulp.

“You let me worry about that,” he says and presses a kiss to the side of your forehead, “and just relax. I’m not gonna’ let anyone else see my girl spread out like this.”

He runs his knuckles down your bare stomach and across the clothed cunt. Electricity shoots up your body and you almost curl up in his arms. Miguel’s fingertips find a quickly dampening spot on the fabric. “Huh,” he huffs. “Is this me or rainwater?”

You cry, arching into his touch.

“I guess it’s just me,” he grins against your shoulder.

He slides your underwear off your legs and tosses it on the table. It lands on a pile of paperwork you had put aside from him earlier in the week. Miguel stops breathing at the sight of your glistening, swollen pussy. A loud moan escapes your throat as his fingers part your folds and glide back and forth. You were sure that the security guards patrolling this floor would have heard you down the hallway. You almost miss his question over the sensations of pleasure spreading through your body.

“Do you want my finger inside you?”

You nod against his cheek and reach behind to clutch a fistful of his hair to brace for impact. He lowers his down until his thick, middle digit is nudging your opening. You must have been soaking his thighs with how easily his digit sinks inside. You bit your lip harshly to contain the sounds threatening to escape your mouth. It’s your turn to hold your breath when Miguel’s other hand begins to stroke your clit. Once, twice, thrice.

When he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “You clench around my finger every time I flick your clit.”

Not that you needed proof, but Miguel does it again and you shake with pleasure. “See?” he gasps, and captures your lips in a sloppy kiss.

He he pulls back to hold your eyes and you breathe his shaky breaths in. You close your eyes and imagine how it would look to hold his hard cock in your hands while he played with your pussy. He tears you away from your fantasy by hooking his fingers inside on an angle. You almost arch completely off his lap. He moves his free hand away from your clit and presses you back into him. His hard bulge pressed into your ass.

“Here?” Miguel moans and licks your lips. “Tell me where? Right here? Ah, here.”

His fingers find that spot again and he massages his fingers against it. You nod furiously and my hands move to claw forearms. He softly bites your shoulder in retaliation and his free hand resumes working against your clit, picking up rhythm. “Can I put another finger inside?” he asks, breathing hard. “I promise it will feel good.”

“Oh-kay,” you gasp, rocking your hips on his hand.

His index finger slithers into your pussy, and you forget how to speak. You begin to twist and turn in his lap. He pulls away from your clit to press down hard against your stomach so he can keep you in place. You slide your ass over his crotch with every movement of his fingers.

“Mig-Mig-Mig,” you pant, moving your hips to his set rhythm.

“Good? I bet that feels so good.”

“Gah—”

He presses soft kisses onto your cheek as you sink into his arms. You begin to tighten further around him. You realize that this is exactly how you always want to be—full of Miguel’s fingers, touch, and love. His tongue slips into your mouth as his fingers begin curling into you faster. Your moans and groans echo through the office. His left hand leaves your stomach and reaches for your clit again. It takes seven swipes, one for each day he left you alone, for you to seize around his finger. His mouth never leaves yours as he drinks all of your pleasurable cries.

Slowly, the current leaves your body and you’re able to take in your surround. Your cheeks burn with realization. Miguel had just fingered you open on his desk at your workplace. The very same desk you set up for him every morning. Your fingers slide up to his hair and you hide your face in the crook of his neck. “Don’t be shy now,” he chuckles, “One day I’ll fuck you all over this office, nena.”

You shriek and lightly slap his arm. Miguel gently slides his fingers out of your cunt, eliciting a soft groan, and brings his to his mouth.

He hums with eyes closed at the taste. “You taste so good,” he mumbles around his fingers.

“Ugh,” Lyla gags at a distance. “Be glad I activated noise cancellation.”

A/N: Thoughts?

[moonlightndaydreams]

Room 143 | idol!han x fem!reader \ part 5

1k followers celebration story

If someone had told you that you would have one night with Han Jisung, you would have laughed in their face.

Read Part 1 here | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Delulu! Absolute delulu! Last year I wrote a little fic about y/n going to the concert and by chance having a night of passion with the yummy Han Jisung. I thought it might be nice to revisit it with a rework (the original had an original female character but I’m changing it to y/n).

Chapter Summary: Han turns up at your hotel room.

CW: unprotected p in v, sex toys, anal plugs, spanking, sweetness.

The feelings that came over you when you saw Han standing there freshly washed and in a new set of sweatpants and hoodie, was hard to describe. There was this dull ache in your chest that resembled angst and heartbreak, but also a tension that flooded south to your core.

It was like a longing. Longing to be close to him. Fuck, your body absolutely craved him. But there was also a knowing. Knowing deep down this probably wasn’t a good idea. There was a chance you’d let your heart get in the way and you would then have to get over him. He would be long gone in a couple of days.

Who were you kidding? Your heart was already in it and you would have to get over it, regardless of whether you let him in or turn him away.

You should turn him away. For your own good.

I don’t want to turn him away.

You didn’t have the courage to look at his face. You just kept your gaze somewhere chest level, but you knew he was watching you. You could feel his eyes burning into your skin, and you knew if you dared look, you’d see want in his eyes.

You couldn’t bare to look.

You didn’t need to look.

The tension was so thick you thought you were going to choke.

Neither of you had said a word yet. You both knew what he was asking by simply being at your door. You both knew what it would mean if you let him in.

You shouldn’t let him in. It’ll only lead to heartache.

I want to let him in.

You swallowed a lump in your throat and slowly, bravely, met his eyes.

You shouldn’t have looked.

Longing. Hope. Desire. Hunger. Sadness. How could eyes convey so many emotions all at once? And how could eyes look so fucking beautiful?

Despite your brain screaming that this was a bad idea, you stepped back and opened the door, making space for him to pass through.

Still a word had not been spoken.

Your heart kicked up a beat as you pushed the door closed, then rested your head momentarily on the door frame.

You’ve let him in.

I’ll take my chances.

It was lucky you took a second to ground yourself, because when you turned around he was on you. His mouth smashed against yours in a messy, feral kiss, and his hands gripped the sides of your waist to push you back against the door.

He’d already lost his hoodie and was now in a singlet tee. You ran your hands up his arms, over his toned muscles, then slid them down his chest and stomach, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. His skin felt electric beneath your fingertips, sending shocks through your body.

He slowed down to caress you gently. His hand brushed your cheek and he planted hot, breathy kisses on your neck. His hard cock pressed against you, making you ache for him. It was almost unbearable.

“I had to come, y/n.” He panted. “I couldn’t just end things like that.” Referring to earlier at the concert venue. “I hope it’s okay, baby… I want you so fucking bad.”

“I want you too.” You whispered, tugging gently at his elastic waistband. A choked whimper left his lips when your hand gripped his cock and released it from his pants.

He was rock hard, and as you explored it with your hand, you could feel that it was already leaking. He was about to find out that you were leaking too.

His hand dropped from your waist to reach under the hem of your short nightshirt and slid its way up between your thighs to find your bare pussy. You let out a sharp exhale at the touch. Your body absolutely craved him. Han hissed through his teeth from the unexpected access, and leaned close to your ear.

“You’re such a bad girl,” he whispered low “I like it.” And he parted your lips with his finger and slid it roughly back and forth over your clitoris, as he buried his face in your neck.

“Fuck! You’re so wet baby!” He sounded incredulous as he explored your lips, your clitoris, and teased the entrance to your vagina.

I really do love it when he calls you baby.

You started to writhe against him. You wanted to make him hungrier. You wanted him to snap. You wanted him to ruin you.

“It’s for you, Han Jisung.” You confessed, as you tried to guide his cock between your thighs.

He reached his hands under your thighs and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he pinned you hard against the hotel door.

You held on for dear life, your arms around his neck, as the tip of his cock brushed against your entrance. It was so incredibly close, but not quite where you needed it to be. It was pure agony for both of you.

Frustrated, and desperate, Han swiveled his hips in such a way that it only took a moment to line himself up.

You ached for him to be inside you, and you both gasped when the tip of his cock slipped inside.

He stopped still. He glanced down at where you were barely connected, and then looked back up at you questioningly. It was like he was running through some internal dialogue, some sort of inner conflict, and he was frozen.

“This is okay, right?” he asked searching your face. “Cos I want you so bad, baby.”

“Fuck, yes…please.”

He pressed his cheek against yours, inhaled deeply, and sank you down onto his length in one motion, until he was buried all the way inside of your tight walls. You both sighed in relief, and the stretch felt excruciatingly delicious.

Then he started to fuck you. He needed the friction. You needed the sharp jolts of his powerful thrusts. His hips slammed into you at a relentless pace, like some wild beast.

Han fucking Jisung was inside your hotel room.

Han Fucking Jisung was inside of you!

“I was going to go slow…” he panted as he hammered into you “I promised myself I was…but I couldn’t stop myself…I can’t hold back…” he said breathlessly. “There’s just too much…feeling… so much… I…don’t know the words…” he trailed off as he vigorously worked his hips.

He didn’t need his words though. You knew what he meant. It was like the the desire…the need… was so strong and so…visceral…that you just might lose your minds if you didn’t get it out of your bodies. And the only way to rid yourselves from that feeling was to meet it with this hot, burning release.

“I want to make love to you after this…let me stay the night…can I… can I stay?… you feel so hot…and tight…” he choked.

His words were your undoing.

He wants to stay?

This isn’t going to be the only time?

We’re going to have sex again!

He wants to ‘make love' to you?

Knowing that you didn’t need to hold onto this moment forever, knowing that you had all night, your body let go completely and you slipped over the edge. In the best possible way you felt like you’d been kicked in the guts and thrown off a cliff. You held on tighter to Han to try and slow the fall.

“Come inside me, Han…I need you to co-.." You didn’t finish your sentence. Han’s hips had become erratic and a stifled whimper came from him as he reached his own climax.

“Baby…” He panted as he slowed down. “Fuck...that felt so good.” he chuckled.

Then, with him still inside you, he took you over to the bed, gently laying you down on the mattress. He hovered over you and kissed you as he pulled out and collapsed by your side, pulling you against him. You could feel his cum leaking out of you, sticking to your inner thigh. But you didn’t care. As far as you were concerned, it was part of Han, and you wanted him to completely own you.

“Y/n, baby?” Han said finally.

“Mmm hmm.?”

He propped himself up on an elbow and searched your face, tenderly brushing some hair out of your eyes. He looked contemplative, but he still had that hope in his expression.

“Can I really spend the night with you?”

You broke out into a smile. “Of course. You know, Han, I’d say yes to anything to you asked.” It was true too. This man could ask absolutely anything and you’d say yes.

The thought scared you.

-----

You reached up and traced your thumb along Han’s bottom lip. Han fucking Jisung had the most perfectly plush, perfectly shaped, perfectly pink lips. They were wildly talented too, in so many ways. He had certainly shown you that today. But there was something you hadn’t seen yet. Not up close anyway. You had this secret thing for something he did when he rapped, where he pulled the corner of his top lip up in what can only be described as a -

“Snarl for me Han.” You said out of nowhere. “You know… like when you’re rapping.”

Han’s eyes widened in surprise, then his features softened momentarily before he narrowed his eyebrows in an expression of "you naughty girl.”

“Okay… but I have to do it rapping.” He said and sat himself up to kneel on the bed about to prepare himself for a private performance.

“Wait!” You sat up suddenly too, and kneeled in front of him reaching for his shirt. Han followed his gaze to where your hand grabbed onto the fabric.

“I want you completely naked first.” You stared at him dead seriously.

His mouth fell open. “Oh you are a bad girl.” He was trying to sound dark and sexy, but he couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice. He sounded thrilled that he was about to be naked and began lifting his shirt.

But you tugged his hands away and shook your head. “I want to undress you.” You whispered. He was frozen to the spot except to open his mouth to speak, and when he realized no words would come out, he simply nodded vigorously.

You took your time lifting his shirt, slowly revealing his slim waist and bellybutton, his hard abdominal muscles, then his chest and nipples. A shaky exhale escaped you as you pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the side. He didn’t move, his eyes just followed your hands as he let you roam his bare upper body, dragging your thumb across a pink nipple and leaning in to graze your tongue over the other. Your other hand explored the peaks and valleys of his abs as it made it’s way down to waistband of his sweatpants.

“Stand at the edge of the bed.” You directed Han to stand up so you could remove his sweatpants.

You couldn’t hide the lust in your eyes as you bit your lip. A naked Han Jisung standing before you and about to give you a private show. Han Jisung following your instructions. Something was triggered in you. Whatever it was made you want to demand naughty things of him. It made you want to deny him just to make him beg. It made you want to be mean just so you could make it better again.

But the feeling was fleeting, and left just as quickly as it arrived when he spoke.

“So…what is the lovely lady’s request?” he grinned.

“Hmmm…” what to ask for? “What about… Venom?” You sat back on the bed as Han proceeded to perform for you, showing off that ‘snarl/sneer' you loved as much as possible.

As he was rapping you knelt on the mattress and slowly lifted your nightshirt, revealing your breasts. He stumbled on his lines as he took in the sight of them for the first time. Then you tossed the shirt to the side.

“Continue.” You instructed.

He moved on from Venom to then demonstrate dance moves like the ‘Poppin’ part of Maniac, which now that you had seen in this context, could never be unseen again.

It all finished in a fit of laughter from both of you as the performances got less and less serious and more about making you cringe. His finale was taking a run up and landing face down on the bed.

“Owww!!!” he cried and lifted his head. “What was that?”

He picked up the item that had assaulted him when he landed on the mattress and looked at it quizzically, holding it up for inspection.

Your bullet vibrator.

He pushed the button on the side and the unmistakable buzzing sound began pulsing from the device.

“Who are you?” He said looking up at you wide eyed and mouth open.

You smirked. “Well I thought I’d need it after going to a Stray Kids concert. Apparently those guys dance pretty raunchy.” You winked at him.

Han chuckled and turned the vibrator off, which took some time for him to figure out. “So…any other surprises?” he asked cheekily raising his eyebrows up and down.

You sucked in your lips and looked up at the ceiling. “Well…” You hesitated as you considered showing him your other items you kept in your drawstring bag.

“I have these.” You took the bag from the bedside table, loosened the strings and tipped the contents out on the bed in front of Han.

His eyes bulged as he registered what was in front of him. One slimline black vibrator dildo, a second bullet vibrator, and two butt plugs - one black, the other with a white fluffy tail attached, and a little bottle of lube.

“I like options.” You offered as an explanation of why you needed more of one kind of toy.

“You certainly do!” he gasped as he picked up the black dildo and admired its curves and texture.

As Han curiously experimented with the settings, you let your eyes drift down his body. His shoulders and back were muscular and sinewy. You needed to run your nails down that back later. His hips were slim and perfect for wrapping your legs around. You'd already done that, but the thought of doing that again made your heart beat faster.

Then your eyes landed on his round, pert ass.

Oh my God. You had to touch it.

Your legs felt like they had a life of their own as they crawled your closer to sit by his side, and your hands moved of their own accord as you firmly grabbed one, meaty cheek and squeezed it in your hand.

“Hey! That’s my butt!” He squealed and looked back at you in surprise.

You stared back at him, not attempting to move your hand at all.

“Don’t stop.” He added and went back to exploring your sex toys.

You alternated between squeezing and massaging one cheek, then moved onto the other. His ass looked scrumptious. Perfectly perky, but squishy enough to sink your fingers around. You knew why people refer to an ass as ‘buns’, because Han’s looked like two perfectly baked bread buns.

You growled and smacked him on the left cheek, finishing with a hungry squeeze.

He gasped. You repeated the action. It just felt so satisfying. Then you did the same on the other cheek, following up with a gentle rub of the area you just slapped.

Han started responding with little pants, and his hips began to grind into the bed. When you paused he whimpered and wiggled his ass at you.

He likes this.

You felt encouraged to continue and that feeling you had earlier of wanting to be mean, making him beg, and of you being in control came back to the forefront. You wanted to make his cheeks burn red and and to make him wait for permission to touch himself, or touch you, or to come. You wanted him to whimper and beg for relief.

“Do you like this baby?” You purred and your hand landed down on his skin in a loud slap.

Han shuddered. “Yes..” He panted. “It feels… so good… please… don’t stop.”

You massaged the red skin, soothing it momentarily before spanking it again. His breaths were becoming louder and more labored as you increased the intensity of each slap. His hips desperately pressed into the bed for friction.

You want to wreck him.

You glanced back up towards his head. He had the fluffy tail plug in his hand, his fingers stroking the long white furry tail and staring at it longingly.

You smirked. You knew what you wanted to do. “You like that toy do you, baby?” You leaned down and kissed his butt cheek. It took all your effort not to sink your teeth into the flesh.

What is happening to you?

Where are these urges coming from?

“Does Han want me to share my toy with him?” You held your breath. Was this too much? Had you gone too far? Would he leave?

Han nodded. “Hannie wants...” He whispered.

Hannie? He was calling himself in the third person.

You carefully took the plug from him, and the lube, applying a generous amount the to the steel plug. This toy was new. You admired the long white fluffy tail attached to a vibrating silver bullet. It would look so good with Han’s ass.

Straddling his thighs you realized you had no idea what you were doing. You'd never touched a man’s asshole before, let along insert something. But there was no backing out. Han had given up on the rest of your toys, and the side of his face was buried into the mattress, his hands gripping the sheets on either side of his head. His hips still wiggling in frustration.

“Patience, Hannie.” you said.

You placed one hand on his cheek, pushing it to the side so you could find your target. Then you turned the vibrator on and placed the tip on his rim. He sucked his breath in at the contact, then relaxed into the bed as you gently massaged him with the tip.

You weren't sure when to apply more pressure. What if you actually hurt him? But the sounds he was making, the beautiful, needy moans, prompted you to push the tip in slightly.

He let out a long, deep, relieving moan at the stretch. The plug wasn’t all that thick or long, it was dainty, and you wondered if maybe you should just push it in all the way.

“Hannie? Do you think you can take the rest?” you asked gently.

“Fuck… yes… just put it in.” He sounded frustrated.

You pushed the plug in all the way and turned the vibration up.

“Yes… fuck… yes… baby…” He writhed underneath you, but he couldn’t do much while you were still straddling his thighs.

You simultaneously massaged both his cheeks roughly, pulling them apart on each circle, eliciting a sharp breath from him each time you did it. You were so fucking turned on you could feel the wetness gathering between your legs.

“Hannie,” You said crawling up to meet his face with yours. “Can you put this one in me?” You held out the little black butt plug and offered it to him, then positioned yourself on all fours, while he knelt behind you.

“Here, baby, put some lube on it first.” you instructed. Han didn’t seem like he was alert at all, but you heard a squeeze of lube, presumably on the plug, and then cold lube being smeared on my entrance. Then you felt the vibration against you. You were so ready, so aroused, so desperate that you immediately began to back yourself onto the vibrating plug. The stretch burned, but eased quickly, and it was only a moment later that it was snugly inside of you. The vibrations pulsed through your entire pelvis and caused your whole body to shake.

But you needed more.

And so did Han.

You felt him press the head of his cock against you, trying to squeeze inside. But you were tight. As the tip stretched you open, both of you gasped.

“You’re so tight with that in there.” He growled. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You whined in frustration. “Just fuck me already, Han.” You pushed back hard against him as he pushed equally as hard into you.

You felt so full, so stretched, and so stimulated that you knew this wouldn’t last long.

“I...I c..can feel the vibrations through your walls.” Han exclaimed. You could only imagine what Han have felt, with the vibrator inside of him sending shivers through his body, to having his cock being squeezed in your tight, clenching and vibrating cunt.

You lost all sense of yourself as Han fucked you for the second time. You forgot your name, where you were. Everything. Everything except how good it felt to have Han fucking Jisung inside you, ruining you, owning you, and taking me to the stars.

-----

Han laid on his back panting. He had just had his mind blown to oblivion. His brain tried desperately to catch up with what had just transpired. He’d never shown a woman that side of himself before. The side that liked to be submissive. He’d never had a women play with his ass like that either.

You leaned over him and kissed his neck. “I’ll be right back.” You cooed bringing him back to reality.

You quickly checked your phone then placed it back on the bedside table and disappeared into the bathroom.

Han’s eyes gravitated to the phone. The screen hadn’t locked yet. His brain started to kick into overdrive. Could he? Should he? Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed your phone and opened the contacts.

Then he selected “Create a New Contact.” He stared at the screen.

What the fuck do you think you’re doing Jisung? He said to himself. But his fingers kept going as he entered the name Han Jisung. Then he typed in his number.

Really, what the fuck are you doing, you idiot?

Then, he phoned the number letting the call connect. Lastly, Han went to the recent call log and deleted the phone call he just made.

This is a bad idea.

He heard you exiting the bathroom, and he quickly put the phone back where you'd left it.

You slipped back into bed laying yourself against his side and placed a leg across his stomach. Han turned his head to kiss you, his hand resting on your thigh. You were so soft, warm, safe.

He’d wanted to go slow. That’s what he’d decided when he made his way to your door earlier. He wanted to take his time with you. He wanted to remember every moment - every sigh, every whimper, every quiver of your muscles. He wanted to look into your eyes while he slowly fucked you.

But this was good too. More than good. This was the best sex he’d ever had. He grinned. He still wanted to... make love... to you though. Why do those words keep popping in his head? Oh why had he said that out loud to her before? MAKE LOVE? He covered his eyes with his free hand. How fucking cringe.

He stole a glance at you, worried you might be reading his mind, but you had dosed off, your breath had settled into a calm and steady rhythm.

Han let himself settle into the bed and drift off to sleep too. In the back of his mind he remembered what you'd said earlier that day. “This is my humble abode for the next day or two.” Did that mean you would be still here tomorrow night?

Could he see you again?

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @xxkissesforchanniexx @starr-lvst @queenmea604 @queen-in-the-shadows @bethanysnow @newhope8 @chuuchuu1224 @vanillacupcakefrosting @3rachasdomesticbanana @fun-fanfics @palindrome969 @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @yaorzu-blog @armystay89 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @everythingboutkpop @jiminssluttyminx

@sunnyhonie @minnieprincess85 @krayzieestay @stanskzot8 @rixenluv

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

The Follow Up

main masterlist

spencer reid x famous!reader Universe

word count: 1k

“I should call him, right?” It had been 4 weeks since Y/N had met Spencer, and when he left New York, he said he would call. Yet here Y/N is pacing around her California home with a glass of wine at 1 pm, ranting to her friends, 4 weeks later, with no call from Spencer. 

“Why not call him, Y/N?” Selena, one of Y/N’s best friends says, she has always kinda been the voice of reason in their little group. “Yeah, definitely call him, maybe he’s nervous, from the way you describe it seems likely.” Gigi says while staring into her wine glass, that she’s stirring. 

“Yeah, no yeah you’re right. I’ll call him.” Y/N says walking over to her phone on the couch, picking it up and sitting in its place. She sits there and stares at her phone until Gigi speaks up again. “Okay… So call?..” “I can’t” 

“Yes, you can Y/N, be confident!” Selena says, trying to hype up her friend to talk to the guy she likes. “No, I can’t, I don’t have his number..” “Well, shit.” Gigi mumbles before taking a sip of her wine. 

“What about Tree? Would she have his number?” Tree is Y/N’s publicists and though she wouldn’t have Spencer’s number, she would have Penelope Garcia’s number. Without a word Y/N calls Tree. Y/N waits anxiously for Tree to pick up, she taps her fingers on the outside of her thigh while waiting. 

“Hello?”

“Tree! Okay I need the number of the FBI agents from a month ago.”

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“No- no nothing bad… Just I want the number of one of the agents, so can you get me in contact with one of them?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll text you Penelope Garcia’s number, she their tech-”

“Yeah, yeah, just text it. Thanks Tree!” Y/N hangs up more anxious than before. 

Tree sends her the number and she immediately dials.

“It’s ringing,” She tells Selena and Gigi, them both on the edge of their seats to listen.

“Hello, this is the most gorgeous technical analyst in the FBI, what can I do for you?”

“Um… This is Penelope Garcia, right?”

“Uh- yes, and you are not one of my coworkers..? Who are you?”

“I’m Y/N L/N-”

“Oh My God!” Y/N could hear what sounded like a mug falling and breaking on the floor. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes! Yes. Everything Is okay. Can I ask how you got this number and what you are calling for?”

“Right, sorry- a month ago your team was on my stalker-killer case and at the time they gave my team your number- as an in case.”

“Yes, now may I ask why you're calling now?”

“Of course- I was um- I was wondering if you could give me the number of one of your agents?”

“Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem I just want to get in contact with Dr. Spencer Reid.” Y/N looks over at her friend Gigi clearing mouthing ‘doctor’ to Selena, Y/N supposes she forgot to mention that.

“Ah- right. Yes I can get you boy wonder’s number, I’ll get you his personal number, I’ll send it your way.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, bye now.”

“Bye.” When Y/N hangs up she instantly is barrelled with questions from her friends

“He’s a doctor?”

“Yeah, I forgot that?” The girls laugh, but then get interrupted, Y/N getting a text from an unknown number, that reads, 

‘Hey, this is Penelope, here’s boy genius’ number ### ### ####’

“Call it!” Selena and Gigi say at the same time, this truly felt like they were 13 year old girls, calling their crush just to hang up when he says ‘hello’. 

“Okay! I’m calling” Y/N dials the number Penny sent her, it rings. She worries maybe he was out on a case or if it was a paperwork day he wouldn’t bring his personal phone.

“Just when she’s gonna lie and say it went to voicemail, he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Spence”

“Y/N? How did- why are you calling?” Spencer skips out on asking how she got his number, knowing this had Penelope written all over it.

“Because you never did.”

“I’m sorry- I just.. I assumed you didn’t want me to call.”

“Of course I wanted you to call, why would I not want you to call?”

“Because, you’re beautiful, talented, and kind, and I thought.. I don't, I just can’t imagine someone like you with someone like me.”

“Spence… I’ve been hoping, and waiting for you to call these past few weeks that my friends finally made me get up and call you myself.”

“You were?”

“God, yeah. It’s embarrassing actually.. Are you on a case?”

“No- we’re on a break, we legally have to every few months, so we aren’t overworked”

“Perfect! Would you want to go out then?” Y/N bites her lips anxious to hear what Spencer says to that.

“I would love to.” Y/N’s checks break out into a huge smile. “But” and that ruins it. “We’re on opposite sides of the country.” Thank goodness it was that easy to fix.

“That's fine! I’ll fly out, and I could stay with you?”

“Y-yeah, you can stay here.” Yes Spencer has never let a woman he was interested in stay at his place, but he honestly has been thinking about Y/N non-stop since they left New York. And the thought of not spending every second he can with her, feels like a waste.

“Okay. I’ll fly out tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Spencer hangs up, standing in the break room, staring at his phone, smiling. “Ehmm” Spencer turns on his heels at the sound of Penny ‘clearing’ her throat. “Sooo, how did it go? Are you seeing her?” Penelope asks, sounding and looking more excited than Spencer, but from the way Spencer was feeling you wouldn’t think it was humanly possible to be more excited than him.

“Yeah, she’s flying in tomorrow.” “Oh My God!” “But please don’t tell the rest of the team, this is just starting and I don’t want to answer their questions, and listen to their teasing.”

“Of course, my boy wonder, these lips are sealed”

[electrosair]

Where do they like to kiss? dendro + electro ver.

english isn’t my first language, sorry for mistakes

characters: al haitham + baizhu + kaveh + tighnari + cyno (separate)

word count: almost 1k

Al Haitham

Top of the head.

Somehow or other he has to show that he's still the cool guy, so he won't give you a lot of kisses or affectionate caresses in front of people. But once it's just the two of you, things change.

I was sitting on his lap, head buried in the hollow of his neck and half asleep, focusing solely on how his chest expanded and sank with each breath in rhythm with mine. He held a book in his hands and his eyes moved from left to right, reading every word and occasionally letting out little murmurs. He closed the book abruptly, perhaps unhappy with its contents, and I jumped at the noise. "Oh, sorry." He said in a soft tone and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer to his torso. "You can go back to sleep." He sketched out a small laugh and pressed his lips against the top of my head, ruffling my hair slightly.

Baizhu

Wounds.

Hear me out, I know this probably sounds very typical or very weird or both at the same time. But for some reason my head only sees it possible for Baizhu to spend all his free time poking you in the scrapes and bruises so they 'heal faster'.

His work shift was over and we were relaxing quietly, ordering some new products that had just arrived at the pharmacy and talking about the day when he saw a previously unseen wound on the skin of my arm. "When did you get it? Let me see." He asked and dropped the jar of crushed herbs on a shelf, taking my wrist to closely examine the bruise. I quickly explained that it was a simple knock with a door, but Baizhu was adamant that it needed to be treated, not at all for the fact that he loved the feel of my skin under his touch. "Does it hurt much?" His fingers caressed the bruise on the outside of my arm and when I nodded slightly he brought his warm lips to it.

Kaveh

Cheeks.

Okay, but Kaveh getting upset about his job? Why do I feel like he would come back to you for a lot of comfort after a day with really annoying customers? He'd ask you for advice only to have you say one sentence to him, light up his own light bulb and shower you all over the face with kisses.

I was already tucked up in bed and Kaveh had not yet arrived home. The sounds of Al Haitham's footsteps stopped quite a while ago and the worry began to grow on me, only then the door opened and the noise returned to the house. Kaveh appeared through his door frame, looking drunk as he propped himself up so as not to fall. I jumped out of the sheets to go hold him down and sit him on the edge of the mattress, questions coming out of my mouth as I tried to check if he was okay. "Customers are insufferable, not like you." He mumbled vaguely, his arms gripped me tightly and he leaned me against his own body. I tried to speak again, but he cut me off before I could. "Oh, I should have thought of that before, just having you here does it for me." He laughed and kissed my cheeks quickly, still drunk and slid over to scribble something in his notebook.

Tighnari

Forehead.

This man is too sweet to exist, he would try to give you a single kiss, maybe as a goodbye, a peck or something but he would just convince himself that it's not enough and kiss your forehead (or anywhere else) as well.

I could see him gathering his stuff in a backpack for today's expedition, he said something about a strange plant throughout the day yesterday but I didn't pay much attention to him from the moment he uttered the phrase 'it's too dangerous for you to go blah blah blah'. Once everything he saw as necessary for his outing was inside the green bag he approached me, that typical face that even if I asked him on my knees he wasn't going to let me go. "Before you ask, no." I rolled my eyes, holding back a small laugh and nodded my head. "Well, I'll be going now then, I'll be back in the evening." He left a kiss on my lips and headed for the exit of our cabin but before he left he turned on his own heels and ran up to me again, leaving a kiss on my forehead.

Cyno

Legs.

This definitely sounds weird, but let me explain. I'm 100% sure Cyno would take you on some missions with him and you'd come back in pain from all that walking, so there's nothing better than kisses to relieve.

I kept my eyes closed as I groaned lying down, my calves felt more sore than usual and I knew perfectly well that tomorrow I was going to have a stiffness that wouldn't let me walk, but still I didn't plan to let Cyno down once I told him I would accompany him, at least for this week. "Is something wrong, do you want to rest?" I merely pointed to my legs, looking at him with abandoned puppy dog eyes, maybe I'd get him to give me a piggyback ride or more rest time. "What does that mean?" he asked and crouched down to my height, running his hand down my legs gently as he inspected. Noticing my expressions of pleasure as he massaged, he smiled and began spreading kisses all over my exposed skin, getting giggles from me.

[licorice-tea]

Apricity

Pairing: Sabo x reader

Content: fluff, a little kissing, gender neutral reader, short and sweet <3

Word Count: 0.7k

A/N: just a little something i wrote about sabo! i rlly thought about making it longer, bc usually i write at least 1k words or so even in one shots, but i am happy with it as it is now. i hope you like it too, thanks for reading! :)

Apricity

The warmth of the sun in winter.

Sabo drags you out of bed at the “ass crack of dawn.” Or at least, that’s what you describe the time of day as when you complain about him waking you up so early. You grumble and groan until it’s clear you’re not getting out of this early morning excursion.

“The sun is barely up!” Yet, it still momentarily blinds you with its rays when you walk out onto the deck.

He holds your hand- be it to share warmth or so you don’t turn back, you’re not sure. “It’s about a third of the way to its high point-“ then he turns so he’s walking backwards to face you, “and if the sun is up, we should be too.”

The two of you come to a stop on the starboard deck. “No,” you move one of his hands to your waist, “I should be tucked in bed under my warm covers” then the other, “with my warm boyfriend,” and finally looping your arms around his neck, “and we should both be asleep.”

Sabo smiles and nuzzles his face into your neck. “I’ll keep you warm.” His hair tickles your ear, but you can’t giggle as you’re still trying to be annoyed with him.

“Hmph.” His hands start to rub up and down your sides as the two of you take to swaying in some type of rhythmless dance. “You don’t even like this kind of cold weather.”

“I know.” Sabo finally shows his face again, much to the chagrin of your chilly neck region (and to the pleasure of your eyes.) “But, I do like when it’s cold and I can feel the sun on my face or back.”

His confession is just cheesy and poetic enough to make you smile, albeit softly. “Hm… Like a cat?”

“How dare you! I think I’d be a lion if I were an animal, at the very least.” Sabo says this all very matter-of-factly, causing you to fall into a fit of quiet giggles in his arms. His eyes track your movements- your smile, the way your eyes crinkle, the very sound of your laughter- while wearing a smile of his own.

You quiet yourself again, still grinning brightly, and shrug. “Still a cat.”

He just stares at you for a moment after that, and you think you must have something on your face. “Sabo? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” His blonde hair falls over his eyes as he shakes his head to reassure you. “Everything’s perfect, love.”

Such a simple little pet name, but it still manages to make you blush. You push the hair out of his eyes and end up cupping his face in your hands. Now you’re the one staring, but he doesn’t seem to mind the intent observation. “What was that thing you said about the sun earlier?”

“Hm? That I like how the sun feels in the winter?”

“Yeah.” You place a chaste kiss on his lips. “I think I get what you mean.” It’s freezing outside, and the wind chills every exposed inch of your skin, but none of that seems to matter right now. From the way his smile and his eyes shine; warming you from within, while also squeezing you gently to share his body heat… it’d be impossible to not understand the feeling he describes.

“Good.” Sabo kisses you back, gentle and slow. Like you have all the time in the world- which, you suppose you do. It certainly feels that way when everything is cold; it’s the type of weather where you really just want to stay in bed all day. And yet, here you are outside, entertaining your boyfriend’s desire to feel the sun in winter. “But I like kissing you more, just so you know.”

With the sweetest expression you can muster and a tilt of your head, you ask; “Does that mean we can go back to bed?” Alas, your question is only answered with laughter.

But hey- maybe winter isn’t so bad anyway, when you have the warmth of the sun right in your hands.