#just for it to be suffocated in the cradle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luvvictoria · 1 day ago

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Sleepless

+ pairings. captain john price x f!reader

+ tags. romance, slow burn, intimate moments, vulnerability, military

+ a/n. Reblog with your favorite line! It would help me to grow my account !! Thank you in advance. Thank you so much for your support ! It means very much to me! Also if you want to take a little peek at the next chapter here is my ko-fi !!

Captain John Price had never been adverse to therapy. In fact, he enjoyed it. Therapy was a rare moment of reprieve, a sanctuary where he could untangle the knots of his experiences and trauma. He credited his openness in those sessions to his lack of sleepless nights. “If you’re not afraid of your past,” he’d once told Soap, “it can’t haunt you.”

But this week had been different.

For the past seven nights, Price had woken up gasping for air, his heart hammering against his ribcage like it was trying to break free. His chest burned with the force of his breathing, sweat slicking his skin as if he’d run a marathon in his sleep. Each time, the dream was the same — a relentless nightmare that dragged him into its depths, leaving him stranded in the abyss of his own mind. He’d see you there, cradled in his arms, your body lifeless and growing colder with every passing second. Blood, so much blood, pooled beneath you, staining the ground, his hands, his clothes — your blood.

His voice would crack with desperate, guttural pleas, begging you to hold on, to look at him, to give him something — anything — to cling to. But your eyes were empty, staring through him like he wasn’t even there. The silence was unbearable, a cruel mockery of his anguish, echoing louder than any scream ever could. He’d shake you gently at first, then more frantically, his hands trembling as he fought to stop the inevitable. "Please," he’d whisper, the word breaking as it left his lips, the weight of it too much to bear.

It felt real — so devastatingly, achingly real. He could feel the warmth of your blood seeping through his fingers, hear the shallow rasp of his own breath mingling with the pounding of his heart. The metallic tang of copper clung to the air, suffocating him even as he screamed your name over and over, the sound tearing from his throat like it was being ripped from his soul.

And then he’d wake, choking on the phantom taste of grief, the memory of your lifeless form etched behind his eyelids like a brand. The stark contrast between the vivid nightmare and reality was a cruel reminder that you were safe — for now. But the fear refused to leave him. It clung to him, heavy and oppressive, invading his waking hours and gnawing at the edges of his sanity.

It wasn’t just a dream. It was a warning, a premonition, a manifestation of his deepest fear — the fear of losing you. Of failing you. Of not being enough when it mattered most. It was the price he paid for loving you so fiercely, a torment he would endure a thousand times over if it meant keeping you safe. But as he sat there in the stillness of the night, his heart racing and his breath uneven, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the nightmare was more than just his mind playing tricks on him.

It felt like a promise.

And it was all your fault.

Last week, during a mission gone sideways, an enemy grenade had landed behind the team’s cover. There had been no time to think, no moment to hesitate. Before anyone could react, you’d lunged for it, your hand closing around the cold, metal shell. With a strength born of pure adrenaline and the kind of reckless bravery that made Price’s blood run cold, you’d hurled it back over the barrier. It detonated mid-air, the explosion rattling the ground beneath them, sending shockwaves that reverberated through Price’s chest.

You’d saved them all. The team owed you their lives. But at what cost? The sheer audacity of your actions had left Price frozen for a heartbeat too long, his mind torn between disbelief and fury. If he hadn’t been so shocked, if the battlefield hadn’t demanded his focus in that critical moment, he might have dragged you aside right then and there and wrung your neck.

He managed to keep it together, just barely. The mission still needed finishing, and there was no room for personal grievances in the middle of a war zone. But the fury brewed beneath the surface, simmering like a storm ready to break. Every time he glanced at you, still standing, still breathing, a mixture of relief and anger knotted in his chest. By the time they’d returned to base, his patience had run out, and the storm finally erupted.

In the privacy of the debriefing room, he unleashed it. “What the hell were you thinking?” he roared, his voice shaking with a raw edge that even he couldn’t temper. It echoed off the sterile, gray walls, amplifying the weight of his anger.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t shrink back or stammer. Instead, you stood there, calm and composed, like the grenade you’d tossed hadn’t nearly taken you with it. Your expression was steady, infuriatingly so, as if you didn’t see the problem.

“I was thinking about keeping us alive, Captain,” you said evenly, your voice as calm as a still pond.

The nerve. The sheer bloody nerve. Price’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together as his fists curled at his sides. “Keeping us alive?” he repeated, his voice low, venomous. “You could’ve died, damn it! You should’ve died! Do you understand that?”

You lifted your chin, your calm composure an unrelenting wall against his fury. “But I didn’t.”

That simple, infuriating response was the final crack that let his emotions spill over. “You don’t get to decide that!” he shouted, his voice rising with every word. “You don’t get to play hero and gamble your life like it’s worth nothing! Your life matters! You matter, damn it!”

For a split second, the mask you wore faltered, and Price thought he saw a flicker of something — regret, guilt, maybe even fear. But then it was gone, replaced by that same maddening calm. “And so does the team, sir. I did what I had to do.”

“No,” he snapped, taking a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “You did what you wanted to do, and you scared the hell out of me.”

There it was, the truth buried beneath the anger. His fear. The image of you, broken and bleeding, had burned itself into his mind the moment you’d grabbed that grenade. It had been haunting him every second since, replaying in vivid detail with a far worse ending than reality had dealt. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake it.

“Price…” your voice was softer now, the calm cracking under the weight of his raw emotions.

But he shook his head, unwilling to let the moment slip away. “You think being a soldier means throwing yourself in harm’s way without thinking about the people you’ll leave behind? It doesn’t. It means fighting like hell to survive, for them, for me.” His voice broke slightly on the last word, and he hated the vulnerability that slipped through, but he couldn’t stop it. “You scared the bloody life out of me, and I can’t—” He stopped himself, his breath hitching as he fought for control.

The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive. He could see the way his words landed, the faint flicker of guilt that crossed your face. But even then, he knew you wouldn’t apologize. You were too stubborn for that, too damn brave for your own good.

And it terrified him. Because no matter how much he yelled, no matter how much he tried to make you understand, he couldn’t protect you from yourself.

Now, as he marched through the dimly lit halls of the barracks at three in the morning, Price found himself muttering under his breath, his frustration with you simmering just beneath the surface. His boots echoed against the cold, hard floor, each step driving him closer to you, closer to the only thing that might bring him some semblance of peace. He wasn’t even sure what he’d say when he saw you — hell, he didn’t even know why he was doing this. All he knew was that he needed to see you. He needed to know, beyond the lingering haze of his nightmares, that you were alive and breathing, that the image of your lifeless body was nothing more than a cruel trick of his mind.

His fists clenched at his sides as he turned the last corner, your door coming into view. The dim overhead light cast long shadows down the corridor, but he barely noticed. His mind was too tangled with the weight of what he felt — anger, fear, relief — all of it swirling into a chaotic storm that refused to settle.

When he reached your door, he didn’t hesitate. His fist pounded against the wood with a force that startled even himself. The sound echoed through the quiet barracks, loud and insistent. For a moment, there was nothing — no movement, no response — and his stomach twisted painfully. But then came a muffled groan, the kind that could only come from someone dragged unwillingly from the depths of sleep.

He heard the shuffle of footsteps, slow and reluctant, before the door creaked open. You stood there, blinking against the dim light of the hallway. You were a picture of disheveled exhaustion, clad in an oversized t-shirt that hung loosely over a pair of shorts, your hair tousled from sleep. There were faint creases on your face where the pillow had pressed against your skin, and the sight of you — alive, breathing, utterly unbothered by the chaos in his head — hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Captain?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep. You rubbed at your eyes, your expression caught somewhere between confusion and mild annoyance. “It’s three in the bloody morning. What’s going on?”

For a moment, Price just stood there, staring at you, his throat tight and his words caught somewhere between his chest and his mouth. He’d been so consumed by the need to see you, to prove to himself that you were okay, that he hadn’t thought this far ahead. Now, faced with the reality of you standing there, looking very much alive and irritated, he felt like a damn fool.

"Do you have any idea what you've done to me?" he demanded, his voice low and sharp, carrying the weight of something deeper than just anger.

You frowned at the intensity in his tone, stepping aside to let him in. "Come in before you wake everyone up," you said softly, closing the door behind him. You didn't understand what he meant, but something in his eyes — something in the way he was standing there, barely holding himself together — made your heart flutter uncomfortably.

He didn't speak right away, instead turning to face you, his posture tense, his fists clenched at his sides. His expression was a mixture of frustration, worry, and something more vulnerable — something raw — that you couldn't quite place. "That stunt you pulled with the grenade," he said, his voice tight and controlled, but there was an unmistakable edge of desperation beneath the words. "You think you're invincible? That your life doesn't matter?"

His words hit you harder than you expected. You had never seen Price like this, not this… undone, not this emotional. He was always the steady, reliable leader, the man who carried the weight of the world without complaint. Seeing him this shaken, this worried about you, made your chest tighten with an emotion you couldn't quite name.

You stepped closer, your movements slow, deliberate. "Is that what this is about?" you asked gently, your voice softening. "Price, I wasn't trying to be reckless. I did what I thought was necessary. We were all in danger— "

"Necessary?" he repeated, his voice rising, frustration and fear bleeding through. "You nearly got yourself killed! Do you have any idea what that would’ve done to me? To the team?"

His words cut through the air, raw and jagged. You could feel the tension in the room, the weight of everything he was holding back. The way he was looking at you — like you were both his salvation and his burden — made your heart race. You wanted to explain, to make him understand, but the words felt inadequate. How could you make him see that you had acted out of instinct, out of a desire to protect the team, when it had torn him apart inside?

You stepped closer, your hand reaching out, hesitating just for a moment before you placed it gently on his arm. The contact was tentative, but it was enough to draw his gaze to you, and when you spoke again, your voice was quiet, almost pleading. "But I didn’t," you said softly. "I’m here, Price. I’m fine."

His eyes flared with something fierce, something desperate, and in that instant, you saw the depth of his fear. He shook his head, pulling away from your touch like it burned him. "You don’t get it," he muttered, his voice cracking slightly. "Every time I close my eyes, I see you lying there, bleeding out. I can’t… I can’t keep doing this. Not knowing that one wrong move could— "

The words faltered in his throat, and for the first time, he didn't try to cover up the rawness in his voice. You watched, stunned, as he struggled to contain something deep within himself, something that broke through the usual tough exterior. He had always been the one to shoulder the burden, to bear the weight of everyone else's fears and emotions. To see him this exposed, this vulnerable — it hit you harder than you ever expected.

"John," you said softly, and it was the first time you had ever used his first name. Something about it felt right, like it was the key to breaking through the tension between you. "I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… I didn’t know it was affecting you like this."

He looked at you then, his eyes searching your face for something — understanding, perhaps, or a promise that you’d never put him through this again. "You can’t do that to me again," he whispered, his voice barely audible, but the weight of it settled in the room like a heavy fog. "Promise me."

You felt the air around you shift, the quiet intensity of the moment wrapping around you both. There was a part of you that knew he was asking for something that couldn’t be promised, not in your line of work, not with the dangers you faced every day. But the pain in his eyes — raw and unfiltered — made you want to say something, anything, to ease the torment you had unknowingly caused.

"I promise I’ll be more careful," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "That’s the best I can do."

It wasn’t much. You both knew that. But it was all you could give him in that moment, and it was enough.

For now.

He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping as the weight of his emotions seemed to shift. His hand ran through his hair, and he muttered under his breath, "You’re impossible." But there was no bite in his words, no anger. Only weariness.

You smiled softly, a gentle, knowing expression that softened the edges of the tension between you. "And you’re stubborn," you replied lightly, your voice warm, affectionate even. "Seems we’re a good match."

For the first time in what felt like forever, you saw his lips twitch — just a little. The smallest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and the tension in the room seemed to dissipate, if only for a moment.

"Go back to bed," he said gruffly, but there was a softness to his tone that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t just the exhaustion from the weight of the day, nor the usual hard edge that came with the responsibility of leading his team — this softness came from something deeper, something unexpected. "And try not to give me a heart attack tomorrow."

The words felt more like a plea than an order, and you could hear the exhaustion in his voice, the vulnerability that had slipped through the cracks during your conversation. It was the first time in a long while you’d heard him sound so… human, so fragile. You nodded, taking a small step back toward your bed, feeling the warmth of the moment linger in the air like the last embers of a fire.

The room, still dimly lit, felt too small now — too close. But there was a comfort in it, in the proximity, in the quiet understanding that passed between you. A gentle silence settled, one that wasn’t uncomfortable or strained, but soothing. Almost like a promise.

You paused for a moment, your eyes meeting his as you stood by your bed, and for a fleeting second, you could’ve sworn you saw a flicker of something in his gaze. Maybe it was the same vulnerability, the same rawness he’d shown when he’d spoken about the nightmares, or maybe it was something more — something unspoken, hanging between you like a fine thread.

"Goodnight, John," you said softly, your voice much quieter than before, the affection you felt for him suddenly clear in the words. His name on your lips felt different now, more intimate than before, and as the syllables left you, it was like something shifted in the room.

He hesitated, just for a beat too long, his hand on the door handle, his broad shoulders turned slightly toward you as if he was fighting the urge to stay. His gaze lingered on you, the storm in his eyes calming just a little. There was something in the way he looked at you — a tenderness you hadn’t seen before, a silent acknowledgment of everything that had been said and unsaid between you.

"Goodnight," he replied, his voice soft and quiet, almost as if he didn’t want to disturb the fragile peace between you. The way he said it, with that slight rasp to his tone, made your heart beat a little faster, and you felt a warmth spreading through you that wasn’t just from the soft glow of the room.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The silence hung between you like a shared breath, the air thick with something unspoken but undeniable. The kind of quiet that only came when two people were close — really close, in a way that went beyond friendship, beyond mere camaraderie.

As he finally turned to leave, his footsteps slow and measured, you couldn’t help but feel the absence of him in the room already. The door clicked shut behind him, but for a long moment, you stood there, just listening to the soft hum of the hallway outside.

You pressed your hand to your chest, feeling your heart still racing, the echo of his words still pulsing in your veins. Goodnight, John.

For the first time in a long time, those words didn’t feel like a simple farewell. They felt like a promise. A promise that, despite the chaos, despite the danger that loomed over you both every day, there was something here, something more than just a fleeting connection. It was something deeper — something that had been quietly building between you, something that could no longer be ignored.

And as the silence settled in your room, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d just crossed a threshold. It wasn’t just about the mission or the risk anymore. It was about the two of you, together, in the middle of this chaotic, unpredictable life you led.

You lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Your thoughts were scattered, but they all circled back to one thing — John. And as you closed your eyes, you felt the weight in your chest lift just a little. It wasn’t gone entirely, but it was lighter, more bearable now.

For the first time in a long while, both of you had found a sliver of peace amidst the chaos. But deep down, you knew this was only the beginning.

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mxtxfanatic · 6 months ago

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Mxtx, creating a beautiful and well-rounded female character that appears only briefly: Hey, isn’t it fucked up that this character who is so important in the world of this story and to the people that knew her can only be known to you, reader, through flashback memories because the people in power were willing and able to sacrifice her in their never-ending quest for ultimate dominance? Do you feel the constant grief over what could have been had her potential not been killed in its infancy? Do you understand that you as a reader are mourning in the same way that her loved ones she’s left behind are, knowing that the world has been changed for the worse by her premature death? Doesn’t it suck?

(English-speaking) Mdzs fandom the bane of her existence (probably): Killing women in stories can have no other meaning than that you hate women, so this was a misogynistic choice, actually.

#mdzs #human metas mxtx #human gripes at fandom #my damn cat woke me up THREE HOURS AFTER I WENT TO BED #so i guess I’m channeling that frustration into fandom #jyl and wq had soooooo much potential!#just for it to be suffocated in the cradle #because the more powerful people around them #wanted to use their lives and deaths as fodder to justify power grabs #i almost wish mxtx did ‘what if’ type extras #i’d ask god (her) to take all of jyl’s and wq’s suffering #and give it to the jin clan as a whole and jc as an individual #with a special helping for jgy and jgs and also nmj #almost forgot about that damn hypocrite

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circusclownproductions · 11 months ago

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seeing a lot of videos that are like “I didn’t know babies couldn’t have water” so here’s an incomplete list of things you need to know before having a baby

- the obvious, they can’t have water bc milk is incredibly high in water already so excess water leads to over hydration

- babies cannot have honey until 1

- if ur breastfeeding your kid and saving excess milk, make sure you label what you pumped in the morning vs at night bc your body produces different melatonin levels throughout the day and giving your baby daytime milk at night can make them more alert and fuck up their sleep schedule

- idk why ppl keep saying this but swaddling your babies or getting them those baby straight jacket things is not abuse. It chills them out cuz it reminds them of the womb

- babies have a dandruff like buildup on their head called cradle cap, and it’s very easy to deal with and remove with just some baby shampoo, a gentle scrub brush (MADE FOR BABIES!!) and a comb. It does need to be removed tho cuz it can be very painful after a while. This can also continue to happen late into toddlerhood it’s normal

- you have to clean out the creases of your baby’s skin and hands and feet they WILL collect dust😭😭

- you cannot bathe your baby until their umbilical cord naturally falls off. Use a warm damp rag until then

- tummy time is actually very important

- your baby might have a misshapen head at first (not all the time but sometimes) this will either sort itself out or they’ll need a corrective helmet ask your doctor

- I wouldn’t recommend having your baby leave the house very much until they’re at least 6 months old, especially if they’re born near cold and flu season cuz the common cold can kill a newborn

- you’re not an awful horrible person for having postpartum depression and it’s always a million times better to let your baby cry a few minutes longer than normal while you regain your composure than to freak out and give ur kid shaken baby syndrome

- you’re not an awful horrible person for giving your baby formula milk either

- don’t put shoes on your baby it’ll compromise their toe box and balance

- babies put every single thing in their mouths

- the easiest way to burp a baby is to hold them straight up (spine straight) and hold their head a bit higher

- always support their head they barely have necks

- if your baby fights away food, fights tummy time, vomits every single time you burp them, is gaining or losing an unreasonable amount of weight at a time, wheezes after eating, or goes red after eating, chances are they’re probably allergic to the type of milk they’re eating (again ask a doctor but these are just some signs it’s not just colic)

- they will wobble a lot when learning to do things but you gotta fight the urge to help them every single time cuz they gotta learn

- they’re not always spitting out baby food cuz they don’t like it they just don’t know how to eat. Like they don’t know how to push food down they only know how to stick their tongue out so be patient

- babies craniums are broken up into three parts at first that later fuse together, this is to help make birthing easier but it results in a small EXTREMELY sensitive spot in the top of their head that has no protection. This puts their brain at a high risk. Always protect their soft spot

- read to your baby!! Get cute bright colorful sensory books with sight words and read them to your baby it makes such a huge difference in their educational growth and will help them acquire a love for reading early on. And talk to them never shut up just say whatever comes to mind all the time this will strengthen their vocabulary growth also.

- babies poop like a lot. A lot. an unreasonable amount. Bring back up clothes and more diapers than you think

- no pillows or stuffies in the crib and only use a muslin blanket unless it’s especially cold to prevent suffocation

- babies kick reflexively until they’re out of their newborn scrunch (they stay womb shaped for a while) and if your baby is crying and pushing at the swaddle try letting them flail around for a minute

- consoling your baby is not spoiling them ! They need comfort and they will learn to self soothe on their own

- singing lullabies actually works, they can recognize your voice a consistent place of comfort from the womb and the cadence of lullabies is literally engineered to create a calm headspace

- for the love of god do not get boring ass beige toys. Colors are important for their neurological development

- babies are very responsive to praise from a young age so be as supportive of them as you can

- babies get constipated a lot and you have to do like tummy massages to help ease their pain the easiest way is to lay them on their backs and hold one foot in each hand, kick their feet like bicycles, scrunch up, and then stretch their legs out

- holding them on your hip too much will not cause bow legged-ness if your baby is bow legged that was always gonna happen

- they drool so so much and you have to get bibs for them so they don’t get chest eczema

- don’t use scented products on their skin cuz their skin is sooo much thinner than ours

- when your baby first starts sitting on their own never walk away from them without setting up a nest of pillows and blankets around them. Even minor head trauma can mess them up sometimes

- this one is kinda morbid and scary but sometimes babies just die out of nowhere and it’s no one’s fault or anything it’s called sudden infantile death syndrome(SIDS) and it’s about 1.3k deaths on average per year in America so not super common but still very real. 90% of these deaths happen during the first four months however edit: apparently it’s bc of an enzyme deficiency which at the very least you can take steps to try and prevent

- smoking and drinking during pregnancy WILL affect your baby and your breast milk and also might contribute to SIDS cases

- babies sometimes have a big red mark on them somewhere called a stork bite immediately after birth but typically it goes away

- babies can’t see very well for a while after birth and they’re VERY wobbly so they’ll typically bonk their head into your chest and face a lot while trying to support themselves

- female babies might have smth similar to a period the first few days after birth, this is because of the hormone transfer that happens during the birthing process and the days leading up to it

- male babies get random erections for the first few days after birth(hormone transfer again) literally do not be weird about this it’s a baby

- things like weaning your baby onto solid foods, potty training, weaning off pacifiers etc, can actually be directed by the baby and will happen naturally will minimal guidance from the parent(some guidance is still necessary) although I would do individual research into baby led weaning for food to prevent choking

- get those chewy feeding pouches to help with weaning

- the most random things will scare the hell out of your baby don’t take it personal 😭

- baby carriers are life savers (tulas are one of my favorites)

- once babies hit toddlerhood they’re tougher than you think, and a lot of their reaction is based on YOURS. they’re always going to be looking to you for how to react to a situation. Remain calm and if they’re ok they’ll calm down but if they’re genuinely hurt they’ll keep crying

- babies will most likely get ridiculously attached to an inanimate object and you have to keep this thing intact at all costs until they’re old enough to abandon it or they will throw a FIT. I got a lemur plushie from a zoo once and every single one of the kids has bonded their soul with it until about 6 years old and once a month I have to stitch him back up

- don’t compare yourself to other parents. Maybe your kid isnt getting grass fed wild caught north Atlantic cheerios but at least they’re fed. If your kid is alive and healthy and happy you’re doing a good job

- you will need 3 car seats, an infant seat, a grow with me toddler seat, and a booster seat

- getting a good diaper bag is a MUST

- the hair a baby is born with will most likely all fall out or they’ll get a bald spot on the back of their head where they sleep cuz their hair is so fragile and thin but once it grows back it grows back thick

- get like 20 muslin blankets so you always have a backup when the main ones are covered in spit up

- the babies grip IS stronger than yours (keep your hair up and keep pets away best you can)

- your best bet for your teething baby is a pacifier you can put your finger in so you can massage their gums and some chewing toys numbing cream can be dangerous and should be used sparingly

- go ahead and come to terms with the fact you’re gonna have to use a Frida Baby to manually remove snot

- babies can get hair and thread wrapped around their toes and fingers that can cut off their circulation try to make a habit of checking

- don’t hit your kid please it’s nothing but trauma and fucked up coping mechanisms from there pls empathize with your child they’re a person too

- be careful not to pull too hard on their arms and legs(like during play or holding their hand while they walk) and NEVER pick them up by their hands this will very easily cause dislocation

- they might have a little tooth like callous on their lip from their pacifier. This does not hurt them and it will go away but it may hurt during breastfeeding

- breastfeeding will make your boobs different sizes

Yeag that’s all I can think of rn but yk i Will add as I remember stuff ppl are also adding things I forgot in the tags in case you’d like to look thru that as well <3

#🍱#baby care #parenting #first time parents #newborn care #parenting tips #can’t think of any other exposure tags #‼️‼️‼️

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yanderenightmare · 5 months ago

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♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, yandere, captive reader, omegaverse, forced bonding is implied, subjugation, some type of sexism, soft dom, but extremely patronizing

♡ fem reader

You offer to go down on him for the first time since he claimed you for himself, and his heart swells with all sorts of bliss—shock and awe, love and pride—utterly overjoyed at the pretty sight of you, so pliant and on your knees, acting like a proper Omega for a change—his cutest little mate. It’s so adorable he ought to take pictures, yet he doesn’t want to miss a thing or spoil the mood—after all, you always get so embarrassed when he brings the camera out.

So he settles for just watching—his adoring eyes resting on you, admiring how you struggle to fit all of him inside your mouth, thinking it’s the just cutest and sweetest how you try so hard for him. Bless whatever brought this new change of behavior on. He can’t be grateful enough.

It was only a couple of days ago when you’d still bite and claw and run away from him at every turn, growling and snarling like a rabid wildling and not the sweet Omega he knew you could be with the proper love and care. Maybe it’s just that—has his love for you finally tamed you? Oh, he couldn’t be more pleased if that’s it.

Look at you… trying your very best. He didn’t mind if you could only fit half of him—just seeing you try to take it all made him more than happy. The way your pink tongue slides along his veins—all teasingly and ticklish—makes him smile while looking down at you. Petting your head in smooth, encouraging strokes—reminding you to breathe every now and again.

He even pinches your cheek when you cough, crooning, “Careful now, there’s no need to rush, baby—take it slow.”

You curse him from where you kneel at his feet, trying to get it over with quickly. Despite your struggles, he seems pleased, and you think you might have managed to get yourself off the hook. That is… until he wraps his cock with one of his big hands and pulls it away from you.

“I think that’s enough for now,” he says in his best attempt at sounding suave by nature, and yet, as you look up at him, you see it plain as day.

It makes your guts fold—the eagerness that encompasses him as he looks down at you with kind eyes and a smile—not completely able to hide the frenzy behind it.

No, please, you sulk inwardly—your clit is so sensitive from yesterday, you think you might die if he toys with it again today. You almost indulge the urge to scoot back, attempt to crawl away, and hide in false hope. But you know, chasing you around would just serve as kindling to his inner animal—he would take it as a game, hunting and pinning you down only to lick you clean like a dug-up bone.

You shudder at the thought and almost beg him to allow you to continue, almost insist you can do better, but all you manage is to bite your tongue and cry instead.

“You did so good, baby, don’t pout,” he coos, cradling your face and lifting it up to let him kiss it silly—chastely yet excessively—quick pecks all over, the same way you’d kiss something that’s just too cute for its own good.

It’s his way of comforting you, you suppose, or it might just be him poking fun. You can never really tell with him—if his coddling is all some act or something even more unsettling. But you suppose it doesn’t really matter either.

“Come here, baby, and I’ll do the rest, okay?” he asks, and yet it isn’t a question as he hauls you up off the floor and repositions you as he sees fit—on your back, belly-up beneath him.

His alpha pheromones are quick to overwhelm you, thick and suffocating, pouring over you in waves, drenching you in sweat and something else—something that makes everything sensitive.

The former fight you had when you were still independent has all but left you completely—siphoned from your being every day that’s passed and left you soft like the rest of those Omegas you vowed you’d never become—weak-willed with a body even more so. You feel like a stuffed animal at this point, full of cloudy cotton with a broken voice device that only knows how to squeak when played with.

He takes you beneath the knees and folds them down neatly by your head—one large hand taking both your summoned ankles in a single grip—and you’re locked in, unable to do much else other than pant—kept from breathing too much by the weight of your own thighs pressing down on you.

This had been what you were trying to avoid—this awful position which he seems to love just as much as you dread.

He whistles in awe at the pretty sight of you—all squished beneath him like that—face flushed, and your bloated lips parted with cute little draws of breath—tits bunched together, glossed in a sheen of sweat and heaving with the labored rise and fall of your chest—and that adorable cunt, wet and puffy, swollen up like a pink pillow eagerly waiting for him, a soft bed for his cock and a perfectly bite-sized slice of his favorite cake. His gut rumbles, and his mouth soaks. To think he hasn’t had a single taste all day—he’s beyond starving.

You squirm under him, and he chuckles again, this time breathily—showing more of the unsightly animal with the low growl that seeps into his voice, “Such a pretty girl…” It’s unclear if he’s talking to you as his inkwell eyes are set on something else. He sags forward, back hunched as he bows down to face the object of his desire with only a hair’s breadth of separation—breaths thick, puffed hot against you—canines bared in an eerie smile. “So shy…”

He ignores your wiggling completely—pinching the chunk of cunt where your clit hides, making it peak forth like a little button to press, and his grin broadens.

“There it is,” he licks his teeth with a raspy sigh—eyes wide and deadset. “My beauty.”

You squirm a little more, even though you know you’re not going anywhere until he’s satisfied. He doesn’t waste much more time—not allowing you to prepare. Keeping the pinch, he opens his mouth wide and takes the chub with eyes closed, tongue flattened and wide, cloaking your exposed clit with thirst. “Mmgh…”

He always gets like this—cute-aggressive and pussy-whipped. It’s as if he and your cunt have their own private affair, the way he completely ignores you. No, that’s not entirely fair—he gets like that when feeding you his tongue as well, but you suppose it’s easier making out with your pussy as it doesn’t need to get up for air.

Neither does he, it seems.

He groans loudly and releases your clit from his pinching grip—but keeps his whole mouth on you—lips, tongue, and all—nose and chin too, buried there while his hand moves down to slip three digits inside, filling you up with little regard to the stretch.

Your breath flares and shudders with a whimpery moan, toes curling along with his fingers, biting your lip at how he hooks them right into the soft spot of your gummy walls, then fingerbangs you fast, right down to the knuckles each time.

“Fuck, baby—so, so good, always so good,” he slurs out into you, tongue otherwise too engaged to bother sounding coherent, yet you understand nonetheless, even though you can never really get used to it—how utterly unashamed he is. “Come on, baby, cum f’mo—cum on my face—” he all but happily begs, tongue out, slurping your slit brazenly.

He’s not a very classic Alpha—how he worships you on his hands and knees with a throat full of plead and praise. He doesn’t even touch himself—cock left hung and bobbing against the bedsheets, hard and strung up with a net of veins, pilling pearls of pre that all go to waste—too busy with you.

It’s stupid how you’re the one who ends up feeling ignored as the unwanted and overwhelming pleasure manhandles you into submission.

“Cum, baby, give it to me.”

You mewl as his tongue draws something out from within you, making your clit blare and thrum with your heartbeat. You struggle to enjoy it, you always do, feeling forced to surrender, and yet the more you try and deny it, the firmer his hold gets, relentless as he sends you right over the edge. You yelp and seize up once it takes you—clenching tightly around his digits as they unknot your insides, turning you into utter putty in his palm.

And even then, he doesn’t stop—as if he doesn’t know how—sighing with elation as you quake on his tongue. That crooked smile on his face, nothing short of predatory and vile as he maintains the motion of his fingers, moaning in turn at your cute spasming and all the wordless babble that leaves your lips as you shake your head, crying for him to leave it alone. “Plea’ no more—stop, too much—”

He just chuckles against you—you really are too cute for your own good. Silly little Omega, don’t you know what your pheromones do to him? But okay, fine, since you asked nicely. He gives the slit one last thorough lick before wiping his smile while sitting up.

You haven’t even started coming down when he dabs the weight of his shaft upon the sensitivity, cooing at the lewd little plaps it makes, all slick as he slides the length between your flustered pussylips—fucking through the fat of the mound, running over your full clit, again and again, while listening to you squeak more nothings.

He only croons, “Yeah, I know you like that, baby—this pretty pussy of yours just loves my attention, doesn’t it?" His eyes seem to glow with something sickly, his voice thin, just shy of unhinged. "Always so cute, I could die.”

He can’t get over it—you’re too adorable like this. Watching you pleasure him was a welcome surprise, but ultimately, this is how he always wants you—flipped and pinned with your cunt exposed to his every wish—his favorite toy that never disappoints.

“Your pretty pussy’s always such a crybaby, y’know that? Look how it weeps f’mo—so needy to get stuffed. I bet you want my knot, huh?” he keeps mumbling while using his cock to play with your overworked cunt without yet entering it. “Alright, baby—don’t worry—I’ll give it to you,” he rasps, drooling.

You can’t keep from whimpering when the bed jostles, accounting for his repositioning as he moves to mount you with his feet planted down flat on the bed. Your ankles are pinned passed your head at this point, tipping your cunt up higher than your head.

“Yeah—I’ll give you what you want.” His voice darkens, and so does the look in his eyes—soaked in something you don’t like—something wild and downright terrifying. “And I’ll give it to you good.”

You almost protest, but you know there’s no getting through to him—not with that expression. You hate Alphas, you hate him, and you really hate this awful pose—this mating-press pile-driving overkill where he always bullies into the backroom of your cunt, insisting on fucking your cervix as he digs his cockhead right at the mouth of your womb, knotting you and filling you up with the full worth of his load. It never fails to make you feel utterly wrecked and bedridden in the morning.

But he doesn’t care about that. You have no places you’re supposed to be anyway—nowhere aside from right here, in his bed, where you belong—his sweet Omega bride who’s going to give him lots of pups.

He lines himself up, pressing his head past the ring—watching it swallow around him and biting his lip at the sight. “Look at it, baby—look as I stuff that perfect pussy all the way up—”

He sinks in slowly, revering your cunt for every inch you receive—watching it in awe as it takes the entirety of his length right down to the base. It’s like a magic trick how it all disappears—you’re so tiny, and yet you’re built for this, to take every part of him in, hugging his shaft with velvet heat, milking him as he kneads the spot inside you that always makes you cry out so good for him.

“Yes, baby—that’s my girl—take it all,” he coos, all but sitting on your ass with his cock down your cunt. “It’s like your pussy’s made for me, isn’t it? Perfectly tight, perfectly deep, perfectly wet and chunky to feel like I’m fucking heaven itself—”

You feel no different from a toy when he does this—a squeaky toy manufactured for a Chihuahua puppy, yet mistakenly given to a full-grown Rottweiler. He straight dogs your cunt through several peaks—so soaked now that it fossettes down both the slope of your belly and the cliff of your spine. And still, he keeps going, rambling on like usual—all words that fail to reach you.

You’re so lightheaded you’re on the brink of passing out—overheating and out of strength, numb and tingly, beyond happy when you finally feel his knot swell within, propping you to take his seed.

He keels over—his thighs pressed down tightly atop yours—panting above you—eyes half-mast and glazed, almost crying in bliss while feeding you his cum, knowing it's flooding your womb, breeding you full of warmth and love.

“Yes, every drop, baby—it’s all yours.” He keeps a thumb rubbing over your clit as he croons. Voice beyond lovesick, “Let’s make too many pups to count.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Gojo, Geto ♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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dmitriene · 6 months ago

Text

simon riley comes to your room at base when everything feels too much, air in his chambers too suffocating, clogging in his lungs, the sheets seem to be scratching against his skin, making every inch of his body sting, the old scars scorching, palms rubbing at his eyes till the sparkling, flashing dots, the sound of crickets outside the window plugged by the buzz in his ears, annoying like a stuck fly.

he steps over himself as he leaves his chambers, throwing on a rumpled pajama shirt and pants that roll up slightly, exposing his ankles and almost to his knees, as his bare feet carry him away from the too dark, suffocating room to yours, wandering down the wide hallway and shuffling across the floor, before reaching the right door.

simon thinks you're deep asleep, you're limp, slowly breathing form curled beneath the blanket and pressed against the cold wall, he doesn't knows you're awake, keeping your eyes closed but you hear exactly how he closes the door of your room behind his back, stands glued to the spot with huffing, deep breaths, the feel of his gaze on you is withering, studying, before he moves towards the bed.

you stay still, hearing the way he traces your cotton sheets, squeezing them between his long fingers, before pressing a knee into the mattress, crawling carefully before settling himself down fully onto the bed, shuffling until his breath sweeps across your head and down to your face, bed dipping down, as his feet brushes against yours, without shying the contact, intentionally intertwining your legs together, scooping impossibly closer.

simon falls asleep like that, snuggled up to you as much as possible so as not to wake you up, sleep wraps around him quickly enough, lulling him with the settled silence and comfort of someone else's warmth next to his, and you open your eyes only when his body is completely limp beside you, sleepily examining his crooked nose, slightly pouting lips with a quiet snoring, and quivering, translucent pale eyelashes.

he doesn't feel when your arms wrap around him in a careful embrace, cradling the back of his head to your neck, letting his face nuzzle intuitively into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, melting against you in a serene slumber, and there's no buzzing sound, no itch at his body, just warmth, and you.

main masterlist. quidelines.

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jaythes1mp · 6 months ago

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Here, Kitty.

Yan batfam x cat hybrid reader -> CH1

12609 words, 71519 characters, 719 sentences, 224 paragraphs, 50.4 pages Next chapter

You can't recall exactly when or how you first came into contact with the billionaire and his sons, but if you could, you would go back in time and prevent that meeting from ever taking place. In a heartbeat.

Sitting obediently on a glass table tucked in the center of a crowded Wayne Enterprises boardroom, you find yourself ensnared as Bruce Wayne diligently delivers a familiar presentation, each sentence having been painstakingly practiced during the car ride over. Having overheard his repeated rehearsal with Alfred, you find yourself unconsciously mouthing along to every word. The tight black and green collar around your neck only worsening your discomfort, its stiffness constricting your movements and snagging on your freshly groomed fur.

The man continues on with his presentation, his polished demeanour and authoritative tone captivating the attention of the surrounding investors and executives. However, you find it difficult to focus on his words, the ridiculous knitted Nightwing sweater pressing against your back causing an uncomfortable itch. You shift slightly, wincing as your freshly combed coat brushes against the stiff fabric.

The weight of Bruce's unwavering gaze lands on you like a furnace, and you can almost picture that infuriatingly fond smile plastering his face. Just the thought of it made your stomach churn with disgust. Your tail swishing side to side in distaste.

He continues to drone on and on; and you find yourself struggling to stay still, the uncomfortable position, itchy sweater, and the heavy weight of Bruce's stare making it increasingly difficult to focus on anything he's saying. The only thing you want to do is scratch the infuriating itch, but the tight collar around your neck and Bruce's looming presence ensure that you remain obediently still. You know better than to cross them. How willing they are to punish you, so you stay still.

Your thoughts drift to a time when you were still unburdened by this enforced domestication. A pang of longing and bitterness settles in your chest as memories of your previous life come flooding back. You remember the simple freedom of being able to move about unmonitored, the comfort of lounging in the sun, unbothered by the Wayne families suffocating grasps.

Your paws effortlessly propel you across the icy rooftops, leaping and bounding with a careless grace. The cool night air brushes through your untamed, unhindered fur, the wind whistling past your ears. A bag is clenched between your sharp teeth, the fabric muffling your breathing slightly as you scale each building with purpose.

The city's neon glow stretches out beneath your paws, the distant lights casting a soft, surreal hue on the urban canvas. Free to go wherever you please. You could spend minutes, hours or even days just wandering under Gotham’s starry sky, with no one to tell you what to do or where to be.

You pause your journey and arrive at the edge of a dark alley, peering down at the scene below. A woman holds two teens hostage, a pistol pressed against their shivering frames. Your tail involuntarily fluffs up, matching the tension in your body as your slitted eyes dart to each potential escape route. A hiss escapes past your teeth, and you set the package down at your side before delicately pawing at a loose brick in the wall. You slide it from its position just enough to create a domino effect, the brick falling directly onto the woman's gun-holding hand.

A small, satisfied mewl leaves your throat as the woman wails in pain, her broken wrist cradled protectively in her grip. The two teens immediately seize the opportunity to make their escape, scrambling out of the alleyway. The gun slips from the woman's grasp, and she drops to her knees clutching her wounded hand. Your ears fold back and a low hiss escapes your lips at the sight, but you remain perched on the roof-top, unmoving. You slowly lower back down to take your package, then turn away. Your paws hitting the nearest rooftop with a small thump.

Your paws carry you further and further away from the robbery, the events replaying in your mind like a vivid, disjointed dream. You launch yourself from roof-to-roof in a series of quick dashes and leaps, your body seemingly on autopilot as you weave through the city's darkened backstreets. The silence of the rooftops envelops you like a comforting blanket, the city below finally at rest. A cool night breeze caresses your untamed fur, rustling its unkempt strands. Balancing the package carefully in your mouth, you bound toward your home’s familiarly cluttered balcony.

Your eyes scan over the cluttered balcony, taking in the random assortment of books, clothes, and trinkets strewn across the small space. Your padded paws land quietly on the rough wood, a subtle thump breaking the silence. Your muscles relax ever so slightly as the familiar surroundings wash over you. Without a second thought, you make your way to the edge of the balcony, lowering the package with your paws before curling up beside it, your ears folding back in an almost contented manner.

Your eyes had just shuttered closed as you basked in the soothing midnight breeze, when the sudden crash of metal yanks you from your reverie. Your ears perking up and pivoting towards the source of the disturbance. A low, frustrated huff escapes your snout. You stretch out your limbs, your tail flicking in annoyance as you lower yourself from the edge of the balcony and peer over the side.

Peering down from your perch on the balcony, your eyes widen in surprise. It’s...a boy? Wearing a skin-tight red and black bodysuit with a vibrant yellow cape. A flicker of familiarity sparks in your brain; you’ve seen this one before. Red Robin.

You observe him silently from your vantage point, tilting your head to the side as your eyes rove over his frame. He lets out an exaggerated groan, grappling awkwardly with an unfamiliar piece of gadgetry. A low, scoffing hum leaves your throat and your tail lightly thwaps against the wood, twitching in amusement. You had only seen him in pictures before, but damn, they didn’t lie. He looked absolutely ridiculous.

You lower yourself with a single, fluid motion onto the metal stairwell, feeling the rough surface scraping against your little paws. A small hiss of displeasure escapes your throat, but you brush it off and continue. You approach him curiously, taking a moment to inspect him. Your nose twitches as you sniff at his cape before finding a comfortable spot to sit and look up at him expectantly.

He doesn’t immediately notice your approach, his mind seemingly occupied by the malfunctioning gadget in his hands. You watch as he fiddles with the device for a few moments before his attention finally snaps to you. He visibly jumps, startled by your sudden proximity. He lets out a startled breath, eyes widening. You had gone to him.

You let out a snort of derision. Him, a vigilante? A detective? Unlikely. The thought of him trying to solve a case or outwit a criminal is absolutely absurd. You let your gaze wander over his costume once more, imagining how differently he would react if you were in your human form right now.

He slowly lowers the gadget, his eyes fixed upon you as you recline before him, behaving like an awaiting house cat. He observes you with quiet, analytical interest, his gaze roaming over your small form, taking in your twitching tail and reasonably-groomed fur. He seems to ponder the sight of you, weighing in on your not-quite stray, yet not-quite pampered appearance.

You gingerly shift closer, standing on your hind legs before pawing at his pants. A small indignant huff of disappointment escapes your lips as the material refuses to tear, the tightly-woven fabric holding firmly against your claws, unable to even tear the slightest thread, but you mask it with a small, almost cute "mew". Nevertheless, you are determined to make the most out of this situation. Planning on coaxing all the pets you possibly can out of this man.

He shoots you a curious look, tilting his head to the side. You can almost hear the cogs turning in his brain. He then slowly reaches out a gloved hand, hovering it over your head hesitantly, waiting for your response.

The end of your tail gives a happy flick, betraying your eagerness for his touch. You press your cheek against his knuckles, enjoying the sensation of his fingers against your fur. Instinctively, your ears fold back, granting him better access to run his fingers further through your soft fur. Sucker.

A soft, delighted purring sound fills the air as your eyes flutter closed, your purrs becoming a constant, steady low rumble in your chest as he continues to gently stroke your head and down your neck. Oh, this is heavenly. Your tail swishes contentedly, and you lean into his touch, almost shamelessly seeking out more.

His gloved hand is much bigger than your entire head, the soft fabric of his suit brushing against your fur. Yet, his touch was gentle and deliberate, slowly tracing the outline of your ears and down your spine, causing a blissful shiver to run through your small body. Your eyelids droop further, nearly closing completely, your purring becoming louder as you relax into his touch. You don’t notice the pleased knowing grin that crosses his face.

The weight and warmth of his gloved hand was almost soothing, his fingers weaving between your fur with a sort of rhythmic motion. You let your body go limp, your head rolling back to further expose the underside of your chin, silently begging for more of those slow, careful caresses. Your eyes are almost completely closed now, a small rumble in your chest the only sound you remember how to make. God, you haven’t been pet in weeks.

His hand moves from your spine to the base of your tail, and a low sigh of pure contentment leaves your mouth. He seems to sense your delight and focuses his attention there, running his fingers through the base of your tail, causing you to involuntarily arch your body towards him, purring in approval.

He seems to know exactly what to do, his touch deliberate yet tender. A little too well. It's as if he's somehow mapped out each and every spot that you secretly adore and is now exploiting it to great effect. The constant caresses, pets, and scrabbles have worked you into a sort of euphoric, almost trancelike state, your mind becoming blissfully devoid of conscious thought. All you can focus on is the warm, firm touch of his gloved hand.

The moment is shattered, however, as deep voice from his comms shatters the sweet, blissful moment. Your little pointed ears perk up, instinctively responding to the sudden intrusion of sound. “Tim? Why does it say you’ve stood still?”

You pull yourself from your blissful state with a reluctant huff, the sound of the deep voice in his comm jarring you back to reality. Your ears flick back, annoyed at the interruption. Tim– Red Robin seems to tense up, his hand frozen in mid-pet. He lets out a small, nervous chuckle, looking down at you. "Sorry, I got…distracted."

Your tail lazily swishes against the stairwell, silently expressing your irritation at having been interrupted. You can practically hear his sheepish, nervous chuckle, can practically sense the tension in his frame. "Distracted?" The voice in the comm questions, but you huff, tuning out the conversation.

You let out a small, frustrated huff before turning your focus back onto Tim's still form. Ignoring the man's comm conversation, you push your little, fluffy face against his leg, letting out a needy demanding mewl to regain his attention. You're not done yet, damn it.

His eyes flick back over to you, a mix of apology and amusement evident in his gaze. He resumes his prior motions, sliding his hand down your spine with a soft, comforting caress, tracing the same path he'd followed before. All the while, his other hand is fiddling with the comms device, probably replying to the man on the other end. Good. As long as his hands are still touching you, you don't particularly care what he's doing. “You found them?”

You sigh and let yourself relax once again, the soothing motions of his fingers against your fur quickly working you back into blissful indifference. You let your eyelids flutter closed, sinking back into the soothing rhythm of his touch. The only sounds you can focus on are his breathing, the soothing rasp of his glove against your fur, and the low hum of the comm conversation. This is nice.

He continues this motion for what feels like an eternity, the blissful sensation of being pet taking over your senses and dulling your brain into a euphoric, mindless state. You find yourself leaning heavily against his leg, the steady rise and fall of his chest and the low rumble of his voice against the comms acting as an oddly soothing background noise. Damn, you could get used to this....

Gradually, you become aware of him shifting, his hand leaving your spine. A low whine escapes your throat, your eyes opening to look up at him with a mixture of annoyance and pleading. Come back. You meow, demanding.

You let out a low grumble of complaint as he stands and picks up the device once more. Irritated at the interruption of your moment, you bat at his leg with your small paw, then quickly scamper away, leaping back onto the balcony from before. Now alone, you let out a sigh and circle the small space multiple times. The wood scraping against your claws sharply.

With a quick shift, you transform back into your human form, the small package clutched delicately in your hands. Turning, you slide open the door to the balcony and step through, the cool night air rustling against your clothes.

Tossing the small package onto the countertop, you drag yourself over to the couch. Your limbs ache with exhaustion as you collapse into the cushions with a thud. You bring the well worn blanket with you, wrapping your tired body in its familiar comfort. Your muscles are screaming out for rest. Which you happily oblige.

You're wrenched out of a fitful sleep, eyes fluttering open as the familiar, infuriating sound of construction greets you. Fuck. A loud, frustrated groan escapes your chapped lips. You pull a nearby couch pillow over your head, desperately trying to muffle the noise. With bleary eyes, you squint at the digital clock reading 5:42. You want to die.

The relentless hammering, banging, and drilling outside the thin walls of the apartment pierce your eardrums. You swear you can feel each blow of the hammer, every screech of the drill, deep in your bones. Make it stop. You press the pillow more firmly against your ears, trying in vain to block out the incessant din. You silently promise yourself that if you ever meet the city planner responsible for approving this construction, you'll kick him square in the nuts... Or right in the vagina– whatever. Now is not the time to debate over this.

With a groan of irritation and an abundance of hissing, you force your tired body into a sitting position as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. You take a moment to rub your temples for some relief from the dull ache forming behind your eyes.

You open your red rimmed eyes and swing your legs over the side of the couch. The exhaustion from last night feels ten times worse now after being woken up prematurely by the construction racket. You mentally curse whoever’s in charge here, and their entire bloodline. Silently wishing for the noise to stop. Maybe you can sleep in the bathtub later...

You brace one hand against the side of the couch as you use it as support to rise to your feet. A series of satisfying cracks and pops resonate down your spine. By the sound of it you’re a chiropractors wet dream.

You let out a low sigh of relief as you straighten, your back now less taut than it was a few moments ago. Small mercies, right?

With your hands clamped tightly over your tender, sensitive ears, you stumble into the kitchen. You begin searching through each cabinet with a desperation that borders on violent. Your mission? Find the strongest headache pills you have.

After hastily flinging open each cupboard and shelf, you finally find what you’re looking for. A small, white bottle filled half way with little white tabs. With a quick twist, you pop the lid open and pour two pills out into your palm, before downing them dry.

You lean against the kitchen counter, eyes squeezed shut as you press the heels of your hands firmly into your temples. Come on. Work already..

You wait in silence, only the buzzing of the refrigerator and occasional hammering outside filling the air. You press your palms against your temples, as if physically willing the pills to work faster. The tension between your shoulders tight as piano wire.

You let out a frustrated groan, turning the tap on, lowering your head under the rushing water. You gulp down a few mouthfuls, letting the water run over, through, and past your lips. The noise of the tap muffling the sounds of the construction. The coolness of the water temporarily soothes the ache behind your eyes.

You let the water slide past your lips, closing them to savor the cool sensation. Your mind grows blank as you lose track of time, lost in tranquility despite the racket outside. Then, with a shaky hand, you turn off the tap, stepping back as you reach for a tea towel to dry your face and neck. The cloth rough against your tender skin, but the motion is calming, and your shoulders loosen the slightest bit.

You lean back against the counter, the cold marble seeping through your shirt, almost numbing any sensation on your skin. You take another moment to towel dry your hair, the rough material scraping against your scalp, and sending a pleasant shiver down your back. The small action temporarily distracting you from the pounding in your head.

You drop the towel, letting it fall onto the counter behind you. A long exhale escapes your mouth, your shoulders dropping as you relax. For a moment, the water seems to have worked. Unfortunately, the relief is short lived as the headache slowly creeps back in. A low growl escapes your lips. Ugh.

You scan over the bottle, reading the small print. Only twenty minutes before the damn things start to kick in. Shit. You shove the container back inside the cupboard, a frustrated huff leaving your lips. You drag your body over to your room, every step a tedious task.

You stumble into the room and collapse onto your bed, face first. You let out a low groan as your body lands on the soft, fluffy mattress. It welcomes you with open arms. You let yourself go limp, letting the comfort and softness of your bed lull you into a quiet state of half numbness. You can’t tell if it’s the lack of rest, or the pills finally starting to work, but you’re suddenly feeling incredibly woozy.

With a sluggish effort, you shift your head up, wincing at the sharp, persistent thrum in your skull. Despite the throbbing, you slowly extend your arm to reach for the pair of shorts laying on the edge of the bed.

With a weary sigh, you shuck off yesterday’s cargo pants and pull the new shorts up your legs. The simple motion feels like climbing a mountain. Deciding that the headache pounding through your mind was too much to change your shirt, you collapse back onto your bed. The sheets cool against your overheated skin.

You lay there for a moment, letting the comfort of your bed take hold. Despite the headache still pounding through your head, exhaustion slowly starts to take hold of you. Your eye lids flutter as sleep slowly creeps in. But just as you’re about to doze off, your stomach lets out an obnoxious gurgle, the sound piercing the silence. Great.

You let out a frustrated sigh as you shift up from the bed, grimacing as you do so. Your untamed hair sticking up in random directions. You rub your temple, as your stomach lets out another loud grumble. You let out an annoyed whine as the realisation sinks in. You’re out of groceries.

With a disgruntled huff, you haul yourself up for the second time. Reaching for your jacket as you quickly make your way towards the front door. This time choosing to forego the balcony and just walk like a normal person. You swing open the front door and step out into the hallway. The fluorescent lights buzz annoyingly overhead.

You step into the hallway, your shoes slapping softly against the tiled floor. The sound of the construction is no longer muffled, the endless banging and grinding now clear as day. You wince as the onslaught suddenly becomes unbearable. You quickly make your way to the staircase instead of the elevator. You can’t handle being jammed into that tiny space with the sounds of hell right now.

You take the steps of the staircase two at a time, just wanting to get out of this damn building as soon as possible. Each step echoes with a rhythmic thudding against the cold concrete as you make your way to the ground floor. The headache pills have finally started to work, but the pounding construction outside is slowly undoing their efforts.

You stride past the workers, shooting each of them a murderous glare. It’s not their fault they’re just doing their job. But goddamn it, the headache is worsening and it’s all you can do to not snap at them. Instead, you settle for shooting them a glare that could rival Batman himself.

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the angry words building within you. Just keep walking. It’s fine. They’re not at fault here. It’s stupid to be angry at them. You repeat the mantra in your head like a broken record as your legs carry you further down the street. Further away from that blasted construction noise.

You keep walking, your shoes thumping against the concrete as you go. The further away you get from the construction, the more the headache starts to abate. You let out a quiet, shuddering breath of relief as you glance around at your surroundings. Barely anyone was out at this hour, the streets still mostly asleep.

After walking another ten minutes or so, you pause in the middle of the street and let out a string of quiet curses under your breath. The stores won’t be open for at least another four hours, and your stomach is starting to demand sustenance again.

Frustration builds inside of you, your teeth clenched tight together as you shuffle in place. You can’t go back to your apartment because of that goddamn noise, and all the stores that aren’t run by mobsters are closed.

You sigh, resting your tired body against the graffiti-filled wall behind you. There was another option you could try. But whether or not you were desperate enough to do it was something else.

You chew on your bottom lip in contemplation. You hadn't eaten much more than a small yogurt cup yesterday, and your stomach was protesting it's emptiness in a loud, gurgling complaint. You release a long sigh, doing a quick glance around to ensure no one was nearby before shifting into a cat.

The transformation is swift and graceful as you shift into the form of a sleek cat. Your body shrinks, limbs elongating and changing shape as soft multicoloured fur sprouts from your body. You stand on four paws, tail swaying languidly. You give yourself a quick shake, licking your little paws for good measure before looking around again.

You take a moment to get used to the new body you’ve assumed. Everything felt a tad bit more sensitive in this form. Your ears swivel around at minuscule sounds as you sniff the air with your sensitive nose, picking up on the various scents floating through the street.

You decide to try your hand at pity first, before resorting to thievery if your first plan fails. You slink down the street, your paws silent against the pavement beneath you as you search for some poor unsuspecting soul to assist you.

You stalk down the street, ears pricked and head tilted as you listen for the sounds of anyone making their way through the quiet street. You make yourself as adorable as possible: wide, begging eyes and sticking out your chest. A pitiful meow leaving your little cat mouth every so often, just for good measure.

You make your way through the city, heading towards the more upscale side of Gotham. You sway your tail idly behind you, the appendage brushing against the concrete and gathering the dirt that sticks to your fur. You make sure to rub up against some objects, gathering enough dirt and debris to make yourself appear slightly disheveled, but not enough to set off your instincts to want to groom yourself immediately.

You reach a neighbourhood of opulent high rises and well manicured lawns, plush houses and gated communities starting to become more frequent, a stark contrast to the graffiti-filled blocks you had passed before. Your fur is dusted with enough dirt to look untidy without feeling uncomfortable, and you let out a small meow as you glance down the street, scouting for a likely target.

You spot a man of considerable height, around 6 foot tall, with an intimidatingly built physique. His shirt clings just slightly too tightly against his chest, leaving little to the imagination. A scar mars the side of his face, making him look even more menacing. But you’ve seen far scarier looking men loitering at the end of your street. Saying that, doesn’t mean you’re any less scared of his imposing figure. So you quickly duck under the nearest parked car, attempting to conceal yourself beneath it.

You watch in trepidation as the man begins strutting towards the vehicle you’ve hidden yourself beneath. He kneels down in an unhurried, smooth motion, and peers right under the car. His gaze instantly locks onto you, your eyes widening in response to his intense stare. For the briefest of moments, you could have sworn there was a look of softness in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected to see you.

“A cat?” The man lets out a small huff, shaking his head in what seemed like disbelief. His gaze drifts to your disheveled appearance, taking in the dirt that clings to your fur. He lets out a low hum, continuing to watch you with a mixture of intrigue and curiosity. His muscles slowly relax. A smirk appearing on his face as he studies you closer.

Your tail sways behind you, your ears perking up at his relaxed gaze. A sly little grin of satisfaction threatens to rise to your face, but you hold it back, instead letting out a pitiful meow as you slowly shuffle closer to him. He doesn’t move away, watching your every movement with unwavering eyes.

You lower your head, slowly moving towards his boots. You let your body press against the soles of his shoes, a soft purring sound escaping your little feline mouth. The dirt from your fur slowly coats the previously clean material of his boots, but he doesn’t seem to mind the mess.

You continue to press your body against the hard leather of his boots, leaving behind a dusting of dirt. He crouches down, gently reaching out a big hand, careful not to scare you off. You can see the muscles in his arms flex with the action, the veins prominent on his knuckles. He gently runs a finger over your head, scratching just behind your ears.

The feel of his big hand against your head is gentle, his touch unexpectedly tender as he lightly scratches at the skin behind your ear. You let out a rumbling purr, unable to fight the comforting sensation that slowly starts to take over. Despite his intimidating appearance, he’s surprisingly sweet towards you.

He’s a hard-looking man, his appearance disheveled and weathered, a white streak through his jet black hair. His wide physique is almost intimidating, but you can see his heart already start to soften after a few moments. It seems even he isn’t immune to the charm of a pitiful stray cat begging for food and affection.

"What are you doing all the way out here, kid?" The man's deep, slightly grating voice calls out as he continues to gently scratch behind your ear. He's staring down at your small form with an odd expression of concern on his face, his eyes drifting over your disheveled fur.

Your ears perk up at the sound of his voice. Something suddenly seems terribly familiar about it. You tilt your head, glancing up to get a clearer look at the man’s face as you try and place where exactly you’ve heard his voice before.

You look closer at the man, studying his features with a furrowed brow. There’s no mistaking it now, you’ve definitely seen this guy somewhere before. You’re sure of it. But there’s no way you’d ever know anyone this big and intimidating before… right?

The man stands, gently scooping you up into his arms. He gives you a light pat on the head before he starts to move. “Come along then, I don’t need that little shit on my ass for leaving their little obsession stranded so far from home,” he mumbles, as if he’s talking to himself and not you.

You’re left blinking in surprise as you’re lifted from the ground, cradled in the man’s arms. You look up at him as he starts walking down the street with you, a bewildered look on your face. Obsession? Stranded? What the hell is this dude on?

The man continues walking, his stride even and unhurried. He glances down at you and scoffs, as if he’s amused by the sight of you. He mutters something under his breath as he walks, something that sounds like “God dammit, B.” He brings his hand up to give you a gentle scratch under your chin, the gesture almost affectionate.

Your stomach chooses the perfect moment to let out a loud grumble, the sound amplified by being so close to the man’s hand. You can feel his hand twitch against your belly slightly, and he lets out a low chuckle.

“Hungry, huh?” The man drawls out. He stops his stride for a moment, pulling out his phone as he keeps you cradled in one arm. You can’t see anything from this angle, but you can hear the sound of him making a phone call.

It’s only a few rings before someone picks up on the other end. You can faintly hear a voice chatting softly on the other line, even though you can’t make out what they’re saying. The man lets out a small huff of annoyance before holding the phone up to his ear, shifting you in his arms to keep you comfortably balanced against his chest.

“Hey,” he says into the speaker, his voice gruff but surprisingly soft. “Yeah, I’m out on the east side. I found something.” There’s a pause as the person on the other line responds, and you can faintly hear them say something, although it’s muffled and indistinct. The man snorts, his eyes drifting down to you for a moment before he continues.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m bringing ‘em back. Relax,” The man responds to the person on the other side of the line, rolling his eyes. You watch the side of his face as he talks, your ears pricked, ears catching snippets of the conversation. Relax? What do they mean by that? Are they talking about me?

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it,” the man says, shifting you around again as he begins to resume walking. “I’ll be back in an hour.” The person on the other end says a few more words before there’s a beep signifying the call’s been cut. He shoves his phone back into his pocket before bringing his hand back to keep you cradled against his chest.

You huff softly, feeling a strange mix of irritation and intrigue swirling inside of you. In an attempt to distract yourself, you reach your small paw up, lightly tapping it against the man’s cheek.

It’s a small action, intended to be nothing more than a curious little jab. But against the rough, scarred skin of the man’s cheek, your tiny little paw seems almost affectionate. He glances down at you at the contact, his eyebrows raising slightly in surprise.

He studies you for a moment, a look of almost curiosity on his face. It’s a far cry from the gruff, hardened exterior he had been portraying up until now. He stops his stride for a moment, lifting you closer to his face to look at you more closely.

He seems almost… fascinated by you. His eyes rove over your soft fur and little face, taking in every detail. He lets out a low hum, slowly reaching out a hand and gently stroking your back. “The kid’s is gonna kill me for letting you get all dirty.”

The hand stroking gently down your back is surprisingly soft, despite the callouses and ridges of his fingertips. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head, probably trying to deduce what to do. “You’re a mess,” he mutters, his gaze drifting over your disheveled coat.

You can feel the urge to roll your eyes at the man’s words, the comment practically begging for a sarcastic reaction. But you hold it back, reminding yourself of the delicious meal you’re hoping to get out of him. Better hold back on the sass, for now.

Instead, you let your tail flick idly, trying to appear as innocent and pitiful as possible. Come on, man. Have a heart. Feed me.

The dude glances down as your tail continues to flick against his arm, almost as if you’re trying to lure him into doing something for you. A light snort escapes his mouth, his fingers trailing down to give you a little scratch on the head. “You’re a sly little bastard, ain’t ya?”

His statement is more of an off-handed comment rather than an actual critique. He continues to scratch behind your ear, seemingly unable to resist giving you a little affection. His gaze drifts over your disheveled form, taking in the dirt-matted fur and slight exhaustion in your eyes.

He lets out a soft grunt, his touch gentle as he runs his hands through your fur. You can almost hear the cogs turning in his head, his eyes never leaving your disheveled appearance. “How long you been out here all alone, huh?” he mutters, his voice gruff but strangely sympathetic.

The man lets out a low huff, glancing down at you with an almost sympathetic look on his face. “It’s earlier than we planned,” the man mutters, a hint of regret coating his words. His hand still softly stroking through your fur. “But the renovations are nearly ready,” his eyes taking in your exhausted form. It’s hard to say if he’s talking to you or to himself, a note of assurance in his voice. “So soon, kid.”

You look up at him with a bewildered expression on your face, your little mind still trying to make sense of his words. What is he talking about? Renovations? Who’s he talking to? Who are the people he keeps mentioning? What is even happening right now? But you quickly cover it up and let out a tired-sounding meow, hoping he won’t notice the hint of confusion in your little feline face. He glances down at you, his hand slowly rubbing a soothing circle on your back.

“Don’t worry, little one,” he murmurs, his voice still gruff but the tone softer this time. “You’ll be safe soon enough.” He gives you a gentle pat on the head before resuming his stride. You can feel his arms cradling you against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat almost lulling you into a sense of security.

Even as your mind races with unanswered questions, the beat of the man’s heartbeat seems to soothe you, acting as a strange form of comfort. His warm arms keep you tucked against him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest steady and unhurried. It’s an almost reassuring presence.

The man carries you down the street, the rhythmic sound of his footsteps and steady rhythm of his heart slowly lulling you into a trance-like state. The exhaustion from the past few days is finally catching up to you, a small yawn escaping your little mouth before you can try to fight it.

You can feel your eyelids growing heavy, exhaustion taking over your small body. The steady rhythm of the man’s heart combined with the gentle rocking of his arms as he walks send a wave of fatigue through you. You try to fight back the overwhelming tiredness, but another small, squeaky yawn escapes your little mouth.

With a soft contented sigh, you stretch out your little paws, making yourself comfortable in his arms. The man lets out a low chuckle as he watches your little legs extend, giving you a gentle pat on the back.

It’s strangely comforting, being held in the man’s strong arms. The sound of his laughter rumbles through his chest, and you can almost hear a hint of affection in the gesture. You feel the weight of your fatigue start to increase, your eyes slowly blinking shut against your will.

You blearily blink your eyes open, suddenly finding yourself lying on a soft cushion. The fabric feels luxurious against your fur, the plush material enveloping you in a comfortable embrace. You dazedly look around, trying to recall how you ended up on this soft surface.

Your little ears fold back as you look around, slowly taking in your surroundings. A brief moment of confusion washes over you as you realize that you had fallen asleep in the man’s arms. But seeing him still here, you let out a relieved sigh, your entire fluffy body moving up and down in the process. Thank everything that he didn’t leave me on the side of the road.

He glances over at you, noticing that you’re now awake. “You finally back with the living?” he says gruffly, his voice tinged with amusement. You can see a hint of a smile on the man’s face, betraying his hard exterior.

You lift your chin up in a defiant huff, letting your tail flick against the soft cushion as an additional statement of irritation. The man lets out a snort, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter at your small act of feigned irritation.

“Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” he mutters, his voice taking on a slightly amused tone. He reaches a hand out to give you a small pat on the head, his rough fingers gently stroking your fur.

Your chest lets out a soft rumble, purring at the feeling of his hand stroking through your fur. Your gaze drifts around the room, your nose twitching as you pick up on a delicious scent. Food, your stomach rumbles. Please, be food.

The aroma is tantalizing, making your little stomach grumble loudly in response. You wonder if it's your imagination, or if the man actually has food nearby. The man lets out another amused huff as he notices your nose twitching and your stomach rumbling. “Impatient little thing, eh?” he mutters, lifting his hand from your head to look at you with a slightly entertained expression. Your little paws twitch slightly, as if you’re preparing to go searching for where the wonderful scent is coming from.

He chuckles at your eagerness, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Calm down, bud,” he says gruffly. “Food’s coming in a minute. Ain’t gonna starve ya.’” He gives you another gentle pat on the head, his hand large enough to practically cover your entire body.

You let out a dissatisfied huff, your gaze still darting around to try and find the source of the delicious scent. You want to rush out and find the food immediately, but the man's large hand keeps you pressed firmly on the soft cushion. You squirm a little impatiently, your tail flicking idly against the fabric. Your cat instincts taking over.

He lets out an amused laugh at your squirming, your restlessness making it hard for him to keep you in place. “Hold still,” he says gruffly. “You're making it hard to keep you in one place.” He reaches his hands out again and gently holds you down, preventing you from moving around any further.

You’re not a fan of this guy keeping you down, your instincts flaring up in defiance. Despite the delicious promise of food in the air, you’re tempted to lash out and scratch him just for holding you in one spot. Release me, your inner self growls.

You pause in your struggle, your little ears perking up and your whiskers twitching as the clink of dishes and the soft sound of footsteps approaching comes from nearby. Your nose twitches with anticipation, the delicious smells in the air becoming more concentrated. Food.

You crane your head to get a better look at the approaching figure, your little body shifting slightly on the cushion. The man holding you down also looks up, watching as someone walks into the room carrying a tray of food. Your little mouth starts to salivate, the enticing scents wafting over to you and making your stomach rumble loudly.

The guy releases his grip once you stop squirming, letting you move freely again. You can feel your instincts taking over your little body, your tail curling around your side as you focus your attention on the tray of food being presented in front of you. “Here you are, Master Jason.”

Your eyes are almost glued to the tray, filled with the most tantalizing smells that you've come across. The man– Jason watches you quietly, amused by your little display. The person holding the tray sets the food down in front of you, the various dishes arranged in an almost tempting manner.

You want to purr in delight as you look at the food laid before you. Thank god there’s none of that dreadful cat food in sight. You've had your fair share of people trying to feed you that horrible kibble in the past, and you're definitely not a fan. This food smells a million times better than anything that ever came out of a can. Meat.

You shoot him a glance of appreciation before hopping onto the table, greedily pouncing on the food in front of you. You dive right in, devouring the food with gusto, your little tongue lapping at the meat hungrily.

You pay no mind to him as you feast on the delicious meal laid out in front of you. The smells, the texture, the taste; it’s all absolutely heavenly. You eat like you've never eaten before, your little body almost shaking with contentment. This might just be the best meal you’ve had in a long time. Maybe ever.

Meanwhile, Jason watches your little display with a slight smirk on his face. He doesn’t say anything, just watching as you devour the food on the plate in front of you with relish. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, quickly taking a picture of you digging into the food to send to the family in case they ask how you're doing. He lets out a soft huff of amusement at your behavior, a hint of fondness in his eyes.

You're so lost in the food, you don't even notice the older man taking a picture of you. All your focus is singular, eating as much as you can before it’s taken away. The man watches you with a mix of amusement and something else that you can’t quite place. Too absorbed in your meal to notice his reaction.

Once you’ve practically licked the plate clean, you finally feel a sense of fullness, your little belly pleasantly satisfying. You give yourself a little shake, a little bit of food still stuck to your whiskers. Jason chuckles slightly, watching your little satisfied display. He breaks the silence as you finish cleaning yourself off.

“Had enough?” he asks in a gruff voice. His words are gruff and blunt, but you can sense the touch of amusement within them. You let out a little huff, feeling satisfied but also a little bit embarrassed at how fast you had eaten. Too much food, you think, your little stomach feeling a bit bloated.

The next thirty minutes pass by in a blur, your mind fuzzy and filled with the sensation of being inside Jason’s leather jacket as he mounts his bike. He doesn't have a bag or carrier to keep you secure, so you cling onto his shirt for dear life, your little claws digging tightly into the fabric. The wind whips through your fur as the bike roars to life, the force of the breeze making you instinctively cling even harder.

You had assumed that Jason was simply taking you back to the spot where he had found you under the car. After all, there was no chance in hell that you were going to poke your head out of the top of his jacket to check yourself. However, as he stops the bike and unzips the jacket, revealing your familiar surroundings, your tail begins to fluff up in surprise. Your eyes widen as you realize you’re at home, as in, right outside your apartment. The fur on your back bristles, ears folding back. You’re quick to jump off of the vehicle, backing away. What the fuck?

You scramble off Jason's lap and onto the sidewalk, your little paws almost slipping in your haste. The moment you land on the pavement, you take a few stumbling steps back, your tail puffed up and your fur standing on end. How could he possibly know where you live? You hadn’t given away any indication that you lived here, or anywhere for that matter. You had been so careful to stay out of sight, blending into the shadows. There was no way he could have known. And yet… here you are, outside your home. You take a tentative step back, your little feet moving instinctively. Your instincts are screaming at you to run, to get away from this guy who seemingly knew too much about you.

Your eyes dart from the man to the building behind you, your mind racing. Everything inside you is telling you to run, to flee and go hide. You were supposed to be so careful, so cautious about keeping your identity a secret. And now this man standing in front of you, this guy you barely knew, had just pulled up right outside your home. How the hell did he know where you lived? Run, your instincts yell. Run, run, run.

You take another jerky step back, your little paws almost slipping on the rough pavement. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. You almost trip over your own feet, your mind flooded with a mix of fear and confusion. How does he know? How the fuck does he know!? You’ve been so careful, covering your tracks, making sure no one followed you home. But here he is, standing in front of you, looking all too calm and collected. You don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he knows where you live or how calm he seems about it.

You don't waste another second, your little feet moving as fast as they can. Your instincts are screaming at you to run and get away as fast as possible. So that's what you do. You take off like a shot, darting away from the bike, from the man, from everything. Your focus is on nothing except getting away, getting somewhere safe, somewhere away from this guy who apparently knew more than he should. You dart upstairs faster than you thought physically possible, breath coming out laboured as you panic, not bothering to check if anyone’s nearby as you shift back to human, unlocking your door and slamming it closed behind you.

Jason let out a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair in frustration as he watches you scamper off. "Fuck…” he mutters under his breath, watching as your small form quickly disappears from sight. "I didn’t think that through." He scowls, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He hadn’t expected you to panic quite that much.

Your knees suddenly give way, and you collapse to the floor with a thump. Your hand instinctively moves to press against your chest, trying to calm the frantic beating of your heart. Your mind is racing, your body shaking from the adrenaline and panic of the situation. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of your own breathing, your chest heaving as you gasp in sharp breaths.

You feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest, the adrenaline pumping through your veins making it feel like it’s about to explode. You can barely breathe, your gasps for air coming in quick, sharp pants. Your head is swimming, the world around you seeming to spin and tilt with each jerky movement. You can’t think straight, your mind filled with a swirling mix of panic and confusion. It feels like everything is closing in on you, the walls of your apartment suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

You try to focus on taking deep, calming breaths, but your body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. Your breaths come out ragged and uneven, each one feeling like a struggle. Your chest is heaving, your heart pounding against your ribcage so hard you’re starting to wonder if it’ll burst. You drop your head down, resting your forehead against your knees, trying to steady yourself. Your mind is racing, thoughts and questions and doubts swirling in a confusing mess.

You desperately try to calm down, to ease the frantic beating of your heart. But nothing seems to work, the panic and confusion making it nearly impossible to think straight. Your head spins as you struggle to take deep breaths, each one catching in your throat like a lump. You can feel your body trembling, your muscles tense and coiled like a spring about to snap. The thought of the man outside your door, the man that knew where you lived, makes your stomach twist in knots.

It feels like your privacy has been invaded, your safe sanctuary no longer feeling so safe. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like a small, trapped animal. Your mind races, trying to come up with some kind of plan, some kind of solution to this messed up situation. But you’re too lost in your own head, too focused on calming your panicked breathing to come up with anything coherent.

You feel like you’re drowning, your body overwhelmed by the flood of emotions and the physical response. You need to get yourself under control, to get your thoughts sorted out and figure out what the hell to do. But it feels like your mind and your body are in a constant tug-of-war with each other, neither one willing to give in. It’s like being stuck in a nightmare that you can’t wake up from.

You’re suddenly aware of the silence in your apartment. It’s an eerie stillness that seems to echo the chaos in your mind. The only sound is the soft rush of your own breathing, the beat of your heart a steady drum in your ears. It’s too quiet, and yet it’s almost deafening at the same time. You stay slumped on the floor, your head still against your knees, too overwhelmed to even think about getting up. You can’t breathe.

Your lungs feel like they’re on fire, each breath a struggle against the tight feeling in your chest. Your body is shaking, the adrenaline and panic having physical effects that you’re powerless to stop. You try to focus on calming yourself down, to get your breathing under control, but it’s like trying to hold onto water. Your lungs seizing up with each gasping breath. You try to focus on your breathing, trying to steady the erratic rhythm. But it’s like your body won’t obey, each inhale sharp and uneven, each exhale ragged. You can feel your pulse throbbing in your temples, echoing the desperate rhythm of your heart. You need to get yourself together, to calm down. You need to calm down.

You try to mentally force yourself to calm, to slow down your breathing, but it’s like every part of your body is working against you. Your thoughts are a tangled mess, swirling around in your head like a storm. Your heart is still racing, the panic and fear making it almost impossible to concentrate. You try to focus on something, anything to try and control the chaotic mess that is your mind. But your thoughts keep slipping away, dancing just out of reach every time you try to grasp them. You can't think, you can't breathe, you can't move.

You’re trapped in your own mind, your own body. You feel so small, so helpless, so utterly alone. The silence in your apartment is deafening, adding to the feeling of isolation. You try to will yourself to move, but you’re stuck, paralyzed by your own fear and panic. Your heart is still thundering in your chest, the erratic beats echoing in your ears as you try to force your lungs to take slow, steady breaths. You need to calm down. You need to.

You force your shoulders to relax, your eyes fluttering open. Okay, okay… You can do this. You try to remember the steps you learned for managing panic attacks. Breathe in for four, hold for… You can’t think. Your brain is fuzzy, filled with a jumbled mess of thoughts and memories. You try to remember the proper way to do it but your mind refuses to cooperate. Four or seven? Or was it nine? Exhale for eight. Fuck, I can’t think.

Your mind is a blur, your thoughts chaotic and tangled. You can’t remember the step-by-step process. Something about breathing in for a certain number of seconds, holding it, and exhaling for another number of seconds. But the details are a hazy mess, your panic making it impossible to remember clearly. You try your best, sucking in a shaky breath and holding it for what you think is the right amount of time. But your heart is still racing, your hands still trembling. It’s not working. Why isn’t it working? Why the fuck isn’t it working?

Jason stands against his bike, his gaze fixed on the window of your apartment. He's on the phone with Bruce, his voice low and filled with frustration. "I know, I know…" he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. "I fucked up," he admits, grimacing at his own carelessness.

He listens as Bruce responds, his eyes never leaving the window. He can feel the weight of his mistake sitting heavily on his shoulders. He should have known that you'd react the way you did, and he should have stuck to the plan. But he didn’t. He just acted, without thinking. Just like always, his conscience needles him.

Jason sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as Bruce continues to speak. He knows Bruce is right, he always is. He’s good at saying the things that are hard to hear but desperately needed to be said. It’s part of what makes him great, but it also makes him irritating sometimes. Like right now.

"I know," Jason replies, his voice slightly sharp. "I get it. But what am I supposed to do now?"

There’s a pause as Bruce replies, his voice muffled over the phone. Jason’s face tightens, his jaw clenching as he listens. Yeah, yeah. Be patient. Easy for you to say.

"I know,” he repeats, his voice strained. "But the kid bolted before I could even get a word in. Now they’re probably scared shitless in there."

There's another pause. Jason can hear the steady timbre of Bruce’s voice on the other end, his words blending in a stream of low, soothing murmurs. He rolls his eyes, bristling at the older man's calm, steady tone. It always makes him feel like a kid being lectured, even though a part of him knows it’s not entirely untrue.

He lets out another sigh, his body sagging against his bike. "I’m trying," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I messed up, alright? I’ll give ‘em time to cool off." He glances back at your apartment, a pang of something he can’t quite identify tugging at his chest.

He nods along to whatever Bruce is saying, his eyes flickering back to your apartment window. He wonders if you're watching him from behind those blinds, if you’re scared, angry, confused. Probably all three, his mind supplies.

He winces at the thought, his hand tightening around his phone. He hates the thought that he might have screwed this up before it even really started. Bruce is probably right, he should give you space. But the thought of just leaving you alone and confused chafes at him, makes him want to just go in there and fix things already. He knows Bruce can feel his tension, can sense the turmoil roiling beneath his stoic exterior. Damn Batman and his stupid emotional intuition.

"Yeah, I get it," he mutters into the phone, his voice tight. "I’ll back off, give them space. But I don’t like it." There's another pause as Bruce responds, his voice low and steady.

It soothes something in him, a part of him that still yearns for guidance and approval, even though he knows he’ll never admit it. It’s a part of him that he usually denies, pushes down, but moments like these have a way of bringing it to the surface.

He's silent for a moment, letting Bruce speak. The older man's voice is steady, a low, grounding murmur that somehow manages to both soothe and irritate him at the same time. He's always been good at that, somehow finding the exact words needed to either calm him down or piss him off even more.

Jason clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth together in frustration. He’s torn. Part of him wants to just march up there, kick down the door and force you to talk to him. But he also knows that would just make things worse. He’s not good at the whole patience thing, but he knows that just charging in like a bull in a china shop is only going to make things more difficult. Damn it. He swings his leg over his bike, settling onto the seat. He takes one final look up at your window, his gaze lingering there for a moment. He can almost feel the weight of your fear and confusion from here, like a tangible thing. It makes his stomach twist into knots, his hands clenching on the grips.

But he knows he needs to let you be, to give you the space you clearly need. So, with a heavy sigh, he revs the engine and pulls away.

You wake up with a start, your body jerking out of a fitful sleep. Your body is covered in a cold sweat, your clothes sticking to your skin in an unpleasant way. You sit there in the darkness, your breathing heavy and your heart thumping hard in your chest.

Your room is still, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft sounds of the city outside your window.

Three long weeks have passed since you last saw Jason. The days have slipped by in a blur of routine and monotony. You go to work, come home, eat, sleep, repeat. It's like you're living your life on autopilot, your thoughts often drifting to the man who showed up at your door that night.

Since that night, you haven’t shifted. Something deep inside you, some instinctual feeling, tells you that it’s not safe to do so. So you stay human, your animal form buried deep within you, a constant low hum of unease. The feeling of something bad happening if you shift is a constant nagging in the back of your mind, a feeling you can’t shake despite your attempts to dismiss it as paranoia.

The longer you stay human, the stronger your instincts become. You catch yourself acting cat-like in subtle ways: tilting your head to the side when you're listening, twitching at sharp noises, even finding yourself kneading at your shirt when you’re frustrated. It’s a constant internal struggle, your instincts demanding to be let out while your rational mind tells you to keep them contained. You know it’s not healthy, not sustainable, but you can’t shake the feeling that shifting is just too risky right now.

You’re acutely aware of how unhealthy this is. You can feel the tension building within you, the constant battle between your human side and your animal side wearing you down mentally and emotionally. Your thoughts are constantly consumed with the need to shift, the need to be in your animal form, the need to let your instincts take over. But something inside you is holding you back, some primal fear that won’t let you let go. It’s a constant struggle you can’t escape, a constant mental strain that's slowly but surely eating away at your sanity.

You groggily stumble out of bed, the cool night air hitting your skin like a refreshing splash of water. It’s late, the digital clock on your bedside table reading 2:47 AM. You shiver slightly, your muscles tight and cramped from your restless sleep. Despite the chill in the air, you can’t help the feeling of relief as you step out onto your balcony. The city is quiet at this hour, the usual bustle of the day replaced with a soothing, almost eerie calm.

In a moment of clarity, you realize you’re being ridiculous. You’re tired, you’re frustrated, and damn it you’re tired of living in constant fear. You’ve been tormenting yourself for weeks over this, letting your instincts fester and your body ache from the strain. And for what? What's going to happen in the middle of the night on a Wednesday? Nothing, that’s what. And you’re not going to keep making yourself ill over some bastard stalker.

With a rush of determination, you finally give in. You let your instincts take over, your body shifting and contorting into your animal form. The relief is immediate, the tension in your body melting away as you shed your human skin. The cool night air is even more refreshing in this form, your senses heightened as you take in the night around you. Finally, you feel like you can breathe again, the weight of your human anxieties falling away like a heavy coat. You felt free.

The world looks different through your animal eyes, the details sharper and more defined. Your ears twitch, picking up sounds you'd never notice in your human form. Your muscles twitch as your animal instincts kick in, a low purring sound rumbling through your chest. It's been so long since you've let yourself be like this, since you've just been. It's exhilarating, freeing, like coming up for air after being stranded underwater for too long.

You pad over to the edge of the balcony, your paws making almost no sound on the wood. You look out at the city, the glittering lights and silent streets a stark contrast to the chaotic hum during the day. It’s quieter, calmer, a sense of peace that you haven’t felt in ages. You take a deep breath, the air filling your lungs and making your fur stand on end. You feel more alive here, more yourself, than you have in weeks.

Your muscles ripple under your fur as you stretch, arching your back and tilting your head back. A low, rumbling purr vibrates in your chest, the contentment filling you almost overwhelming. You close your eyes, letting the sounds and smells of the city wash over you. You’ll deal with everything else in the morning. For now, you’re going to stay like this and enjoy the freedom.

You sit there for a while, enjoying the cool night air and the sensation of being so deeply in tune with your instincts. The city sounds become a soothing background noise, a comforting hum in the air. You roll onto your back, stretching out your body and letting your limbs go limp. Your tail swishes lazily back and forth.

You roll onto your stomach, your muscles coiling as you prepare to spring. With a powerful leap, you propel yourself onto the nearby roof. Your paws touch down silently, the soft pads muting any sound. Your heart is racing now, the adrenaline rushing through your veins as you break into a run. Running as an animal is different than running as a human. It’s more instinctual, more right. You can feel the ground underneath your paws, the muscles in your legs bunching and releasing with every step. You tear across the rooftops, feeling more alive than you have in weeks. The night air whistles in your ears, the city passing by in a blur.

Your stride is effortless, muscles straining as you push yourself faster, the wind ruffling your fur and making your tail fan out behind you. You leap effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop, your body a blur of motion. You’re not even thinking about where you’re going, your only focus is on the sensation of speed, the feeling of freedom. Gotham flashes past you in a dizzying array of lights and shadows, your world narrowing down to your heartbeat and the rhythm of your paws hitting the roof.

Time seems to blur together as you run, the hours flying by like seconds. The city blurs past you in a wash of colors and sounds, the lights of Gotham like stars in a night sky. You don’t focus on how long you’ve been running, or how far you’ve gone, or even where you’re going. For once, none of that matters. All that matters is the wind in your fur and the feeling of freedom coursing through your veins. Your body is sore and your heart is racing, but you feel alive.

You're so focused on the run that you don't notice the black boots in your path until you're upon them. You slam on the brakes, your body slipping and sliding as you come to an undignified halt in front of a pair of long, outstretched legs. You hiss in surprise and frustration, your heart racing from the sudden stop. You glare up at the figure towering above you, tail lashing.

Nightwing chuckles, a soft, amused sound that you can hear clearly even over the pounding of your heart. He lowers his eskrima sticks, holding them loosely by his side as he kneels down to your level. The hero's eyes are sparkling with mirth, his smile slightly crooked.

"Well, hello there." he says, his voice smooth and rich.

He tilts his head to the side, studying you with a curious gaze. You're still panting from your run, your body tense and braced for a fight. Nightwing's smile widens at your reaction, his eyes sparkling with intrigue.

"You're pretty fast," he remarks, a hint of amusement in his voice. He extends his hand towards you, the black, latex covering his fingers gleaming in the low light. He stops just millimeters from your face, allowing you to sniff and inspect him for a moment. His scent is clean and crisp, a hint of something sweet mixed in.

After a few seconds, he starts gently petting you, his gloved hand scratching behind your ears in a soothing motion. “You’re even prettier in person, kitten.”

A wave of unexpected pleasure washes over you as he starts petting you. His touch is firm yet gentle, just the right amount of pressure to soothe the tension in your body. His hand moves from behind your ears to scratching behind your chin, the soft hiss of latex against your fur the only sound in the quiet night. The petting feels ten times better after not shifting after such a long time. You lean heavily into his palm.

“You’re a runner, huh?” Nightwing murmurs, his voice a soft rumble. “Bruce isn’t gonna like that.”

His words are casual, almost conversational, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness to them. He continues to pet you, his hand moving in a slow, soothing rhythm.

“Running around Gotham like this,” he continues, his tone dropping lower. “It’s dangerous. You should stick to the rooftops, little one. Makes it harder for the baddies to get to you.”

As your attention is occupied with looking up at Nightwing, you don’t recognise the second pair of boots that approach. You’re jolted out of your thoughts as another pair of warm hands suddenly scoop you up, grabbing your stomach and lifting you off the ground. The sensation is so sudden and unexpected that you don’t even have time to react. A startled yowl escapes you as you’re lifted off the roof and held against a broad chest.

Your body stiffens in surprise, a low hiss escaping your clenched teeth. Your instincts are screaming at you to flee, to lash out, to fight, but the hands have you in an unbreakable grip.

Nightwing straightens up, sliding his eskrima sticks into their holsters with a practiced flick of his wrists. He casts you a glance, his eyes softened with concern as he looks at your tense form in Robin’s arms.

"Careful, Little D," he says, a slight edge to his voice. "The kitty hasn’t been out in a long time."

Damian just scoffs in response, his grip on you tightening. His body is tense, his hands clenching in your fur, but there’s a gleam of curiosity in his eyes that betrays his indifference. His voice is as haughty as ever, a touch of impatience in his tone. "I know that, Grayson. I'm not a child."

Nightwing hums at Robin’s attitude, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning against a nearby AC unit with a slight sigh.

"Sure you're not,” he responds back to Robin with a playful tone of annoyance.

Damian just huffs, tightening his grip on you, causing you to let out a surprised, muffled meow in response. His eyes dart down to you, a slight flicker of fascination in his cold, calculated gaze. He loosens his hold subconsciously. Petting your head in a silent apology.

The younger boy doesn’t respond to Dick’s remark, motioning for him to hurry up already.

With a grin, Dick holds his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender. He reaches into his utility belt and procures a small, emerald green and black collar. A symbol you can’t recognise embroidered onto the back where the latch is.

This isn't any average collar that you can find at a pet store. This is high-tech, bordering extravagant. There's a small, golden bell hanging from the front, jingling softly with every little movement made, and there’s a silver, gold-edged tag already attached with some information you can't see yet. But what catches your eye, and fills you with a sense of dread, is the blinking red light on the centre, where it latches onto your neck. With these hook-like latches all around the inside that look all too much like they’ll pierce into you.

Before you can even think to react, Nightwing's already moving. He's faster than you can even register, the collar snatching around your neck in the blink of an eye. It tightens automatically, locking into place with a soft click. You can feel the hooks pierce into your fur and you let out a strangled whine.

As the collar locks into place, the bell on the front gleams in the low light, a soft jingle sounding as you jerk your head back in surprise.

Nightwing steps back, taking in the sight of you in the collar with a critical eye. He reaches forward and gives the bell a couple of light taps, the sound chiming softly in the night air.

"Looks good," he comments, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. "Tim did good."

Damian hums in agreeance with a slight nod, his grip on you still firm and unrelenting. He casts a scrutinising glance over your form, his eyes lingering on the collar for a moment before moving back to you. He brings his thumb to the latch, pushing into the embroidered symbol. “What was the cast?”

As Damian brings his thumb to the latch, pressing into the embroidered symbol, you hear a soft click, followed by a low chime. You feel the collar loosen around your neck, but it still stays in place. For a moment, you consider trying to tear it off, but a warning tug from the collar's hooks and a glare from Damian stop you short.

Dick grins. “It’s our kittens name, D.”

Damian scowls, rolling his eyes, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he turns his attention back to you, his eyes studying your form intently. It's almost unnerving, the intensity of his gaze.

He presses his thumb against the seal harder, his voice a murmur as he utters your name. When you feel the collar tighten around your neck, you try to jerk your head back out of the way, but the collar holds fast, the hooks attaching themselves deeper into your fur. You try to resist, but the more you struggle, the more your mind grows fuzzy. An intense drowsiness rushes over you, your eyelids growing impossibly heavy. Your vision starts to swim, the world around you growing dark at the edges. As the collar locks into place, the hooks latching more snugly into you, you suddenly feel trapped. Your legs buckle underneath you, sending you sprawling into Damian's arms. The latch on the collar is gone, replaced by a solid, unbreakable ring. There is no way to take it off.

The collar appears deceptively normal, made of a thick dark green leather-like material with a simple golden buckle to secure it. The only thing that gives away its high-tech design is the absence of a latch to clip it open. Most people would overlook it, mistaking it for a regular, ordinary collar.

As you black out and lay heavily in Damian's arms, Dick coos softly, bringing a hand out to rub along your fur. His touch is gentle, his tone affectionate.

"Aren't they so cute asleep?" he whispers, his gaze softening as he looks at your unconscious form.

Damian nods silently in response, his embrace around you tightening just slightly, tugging you closer against his chest. He brings his face down, gently nuzzling his chin into your soft, multicoloured fur, hiding the hint of a smile on his lips.

Dick steps forward, a smile on his face as he watches his younger brother hold you close. He reaches out to ruffle Damian's hair affectionately, before speaking up.

"Let's go home."

Guess who spent three days working on this

Anyway, it’s finally out! Send a comment or msg if you would like to be @ in chapter two and for any anon answers that I do for the fic

I had milk and warm cookies while making this, like a child.

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gravegoer · 29 days ago

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How do you think sevika would react if her partner said the safe word? I NEED TO KNOW PLEASE

And i really love your work, thank you so much!!

Safeword 𓂃۶ৎ

thank you for the ask! and the complement, i dont know what your guys' safe word would be, knowing sevika it would just be safeword, nothing sexy, also funfact i usually write my captions before my fics so idrk if this is gonna hcs or a fic so a mystery for us both ig

masterlist , like 800 words idk i kinda hate this

Sevika had a rough day, and it was obvious through the way she manhandled you that night, teeth marks strewn about your body, as well as light bruises.

You were starting to get more tired by the minute, hands barely grasping her back whilst she towered over her.

The sticky sweat on your body and the heat of the room started to get overwhelming, and you felt as if you might suffocate in the heavy air.

Her thick fingers were sloppily fucking your entrance, making you groan in overstimulation.

You lightly tapped her back, murmuring your shared safeword, before throwing your head back out of exhaustion.

Sevika would hesitate a bit before realizing what you said and coming to a stop. She feels a bit bad for her roughness and reaches to wipe a tear from the corner of your eye. (with not the coochie juice fingers)

Her lips that framed previously gritted teeth were now pressed together in a small pout.

She pulls you into her lap, your head now lulling onto her shoulder she runs a rough hand up your back and through your hair.

Her thick fingers untangle some of the knots she caused.

"Sorry. Are you okay?"

You hum in response, causing Sevika to furrow her brows, pulling your face from her shoulder. She plants a kiss, much gentler than before, to your eyelid.

This is the gentlest you've seen her all week (mostly because you haven't seen her much). Your interactions mostly consisted of a small peck or her ranting angerly about Silco.

Scooping you up, she carries you on her hip to the bathroom, running a wash cloth under warm water to rub down your skin.

Planting kisses down your neck, she mutters apologies into the bruises she left.

If you shiver from the coldness of the counter, she's immediately pulling you back into her, cradling you while she wipes your face with a damp hand.

She's taking her tie out of her hair to secure yours, pulling the uncomfortable stray strands from your face.

Although she does take a moment to admire your state, hair messy and lips swollen, looking up at her through lidded eyes.

Offering you a guilty smile, she carries you back to the bedroom, gently laying you atop the sheets.

Sevika tilts your chin up to pour cool water in your mouth, contrasting the hot kiss that comes after it.

She lets you lay atop her chest, offering her warmth as another apology.

And its definitely her turn to make breakfast in the morning.

very short, whoops writers block threw multiple bricks at me and broke all my fingers so i cant write properly

taglist: @thequeenreaders @hangezoes-wife @thesecondhandwoman @slut4sevika @archangeldyke-all @kylorey25 @sylencr @jinxjinxjinx12 @morphids @aizawasbaeee @ariya13 @tiyawnyana

#sevika #arcane #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #arcane sevika #arcane netflix #sevika arcane x reader #lesbian #wlw #safe word #suggestive

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mondaymelon · 3 months ago

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₊⊹ … ALMIGHTY DRAGONLORD K'UHUL AJAW AND TWO CLUELESS MORONS | kinich x gn!reader

— in which ajaw tends to interrupt kisses. and ruin moments.

— this took way too long to get out, winner of this poll w 458 votes .. includes pre + post getting together, kinich does bite , i love ajaw

recently, the little pixelated... thing that called itself "almighty dragonlord k'uhul ajaw" had proved to be quite troublesome.

and it wasn't just in your love affairs with malipo kinich; ajaw took it upon himself to make not a single second of your day silent.

"i'm nOT forigiving you for this you... you... you- aGH, NEVERMIND! you're literally HOGGING kinich's attention so like.. screw off already!!"

needless to say, it seemed that ajaw was a jealous individual. you'd heard a thing or two about him from kinich, though rather.. unsavory things: irrelevant tidbits, a nonchalant little comment of "i forgot to mention, he'll take over my body when i die, so he constantly wishes for my misfortune."

oh yeah, like that was totally normal.

then, perhaps ajaw's jealousy wasn't unfounded — you "owned" kinich more than he ever would, lol. funnily enough, the way the two of you had met was purely due to ajaw, so if anything, he didn't have the right to complain.

from what kinich told you later on, he had been on some bounty mission for a troupe of ragtag saurian poachers, and had swung by to check grappling indents on the cliffside when ajaw spotted an adventurer scaling the rock. doing what he does best — causing a celestial fuck of a racket — he hovered over, preaching about how "real adventurers don't use equipment" and to "drop everything to show your bravery" ... after a proper talking to, kinich met with you to convey a formal apology.

at the time, you didn't know such a professional relationship would develop into something more.

"he's bothering you again? i'll scold him..."

kinich's voice was quiet, his head settled in your lap, one hand gently circling your wrist. you slowly ran a hand through his hair, released from its typical headband-style. soft, it was fluffy to the touch, and you heard kinich hum in content, bringing his hands up to caress your face — a silent request for a kiss.

and how could you resist? there was something in that gaze that seemed so pleading, so intimate-

"you ICKY ICKY LovEBIRDS !! FOR THE LOVE OF- GET A ROOM!!"

kinich withdrew his hands with a scowl, lips pressing into a thin line. "... read the room, ajaw."

"this almighty dragonlord is not going to witness a k-kis- grOSS, i can't even SAY it...!!"

"..."

kinich seemed to consider something, very briefly.

then, he grabbed the sputtering pixel-dragon forcefully, smothering ajaw's face with a gloved hand. watching in awe and feeling thoroughly entertained, you heard indignant shouts grow muffled.. and just like that, ajaw shut up for the first time in over a decade. historical.

your lover leaned forward, angling his head to the side to press a chaste little kiss into your neck. like he had flipped a switch, he grazed his teeth lightly against your skin, nipping at it first, though not hard enough to draw blood, then biting at it.

"ouch, are you trying to leave a mark? what's with you?"

"shush." he spoke with his face flush to your neck, kissing a small trail up your neck and onto your jaw as if in apology. "i'm merely claiming what's mine."

and there ajaw floated, suffocated and forgotten. "..hell, are those two SERIOUSLY making out ?? when im literally rIGHT HERE!?"

(a/n) ajaw is so detestable i love him if possible i think id want to pinch his pixel cheeks. anyway "so call me maybe" is up next w "so cradle these wings" after, they were supposed to be sorta related but i don't the release order matters so :p

[ tags: ] @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu-archive, @falors, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader,@fiannee, @aether-darling, @aioniela, @avensuersa, @dainsleif-when-playable, @intpessimistic

( dm or comment to be added ! i might miss ur comment so just to be sure, leave a comment on the actual masterlists page on my pinned ^ ^ )

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yandere-romanticaa · 6 days ago

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"Oho, I did not see you there!" chirped the white haired hero, his blue cloak trailing behind him as he walked straight towards you. It was difficult trying to maintain a calm demeanor and your best to ignore the heat in your cheeks and thumping of your heart. Not too long ago, you had parted with a friend and said friend was not shy in expressing his feelings towards you.

His pride and ego would take a massive hit if he was even aware that you were even entertaining Lord Phainon to begin with, but that was its own beast.

Right now, a beast as white as snow stood before you, his lips stretched out in a wide grin, pearly white teeth shining so brightly beneath the sunlight that it had you wondering whether or not he was going to sink them in straight into your delicate neck.

He probably would if he was not so impeccable at keeping his desires at bay. Or so he liked to say.

Phainon was many things, many wonderful, glorious things. And the moment you stepped foot into the city, he had been nothing but attentive, sweet, kind, generous, suffocating...

And that was not going to change any time soon.

He stood before you, arms opened wide as he hoped you would leap into his arms for a hug. Fearing to see him upset, you obliged his request, just not with the vigor he so desired. His scent overtook your senses the moment his body came into contact with yours - pretty white hair tickled the side of your neck, big arms entangled together as you heard him mutter something but were ultimately unsure of what.

As suffocating as he was, it could be hard to resist him at times. This was one of them.

Staying in his arms felt like sweet bliss, sweeter than any ambrosia as Phainon cheekily brought his lips closer to your neck and blew a hot breath on it, causing you to yelp in surprise. He shook a little as he laughed, the sound loud as it rang in your ears but the chorus came to an abrupt end just as soon as it started.

Phainon stood still as a statue, his back stiff and arms tight like a vice, as if he was contemplating something.

Icy chills went down your spine once you felt him softly inhale your scent, knowing damn well that he was going to find something a little more extra there. The musk had been entangled with your own scent and you prayed to every god in the known universe to grant you the mercy of a peaceful afternoon, but that plan was simply not in the cards.

The man said nothing as he cradled you in his arms, the silence deafening as the world around you continued to spin and move. No one seemed to notice the two of you, which just added another layer of horror to this already bad situation. A brisk shadow covered Phainon's face but it vanished in an instant, his blue eyes sparkling like jewels as he gazed down at you with fondness.

"I see you bought a new perfume for yourself. I am not sure what to make of it!"

With a gulp, you chuckled as your mind kept going through the several possibilities at hand - was he giving you an out? Did he hope you would come clean and say that someone else had hugged you tightly just as he was right now?

Was he perhaps playing dumb? Acting ignorant on purpose to lower your guard down?

Who knows. Maybe he really did think that you had bought a new perfume. But, that uncertainty was what shook you to the core. You just could not know, not unless it was too late...

In a split second decision, you choose to coyly say that you had indeed picked something up for yourself in the market. It was on sale and it was so pretty, how could you not buy it?

Phainon laughed, the sound loud and boisterous.

"I could have bought it for you, it really wouldn't have been any trouble for me!"

His grip became impossibly tight once he felt you trying to pull away, that damn grin still plastered on his handsome face. He looked as if he wanted to swallow you whole and if he really wanted to, he probably could in some way.

Suddenly, the sound of a church bell chiming in the distance distracted you both, granting a moment of reprieve as you swiftly but carefully stepped away from him. You put on your most convincing grin and waved him goodbye and you made sure to blow him a kiss for extra measure.

Phainon pretended to catch it with his hand and pressed it close to his heart, his gaze never once leaving your form as you quickly became nothing but a shadow in the distance. Today, he would let you go. He needed to be calm and smart about this, he cannot just charge right in and have you as his own, it just did not work like that.

Besides, he was never one to turn down a challenge. Phainon simply just did not know the meaning of giving up.

#help I'm still not done with the quest but IDC #i HAD to get something done for him!!!#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yancore #yanderecore #yandere aesthetic #hsr phainon #phainon #hsr phainon x reader #hsr x reader #yandere hsr #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere phainon #yandere phainon x reader

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cumironi · 5 months ago

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SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS: GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

“suguru, help!” he sounds, pathetic. gojo satoru is a pathetic man when it comes to you. “ . . . there are so many kisses to have, soul and bone for you to crash and swear that how stars are born, so please. . ., believe me, you have to believe me,” he cries, holding your hands, begging for you to love him— love him enough to stay.

warning : age-up! satosugu, depressed! fem x reader, drug mention, trauma mention, suicide, self-harm, death mention, drowning, blood, heavy angst.

w/c : 6,2k | [☆] MASTERLIST

𝜗𝜚 . . . . i had to stop so often writing this because i can't stop crying and think that i shouldn't continue because it hurts me so bad that i have to take a cold shower and think about my life. and honestly, i wasn't supposed to write the last part but yeah..

A MINUTES AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

it was too quiet. . .

gojo satoru never screams so loud in his entire life, so loud. . . the world shaking beneath his feet, ready to swallow him whole and rotten. so loud . . . he sure he can no longer hear. he ran, slipping on his way until he broke his knee on the puddle of the red, transparent liquid that spill from the bath-up.

the starling sigh, you were there. . .

“no, no, no, baby— no.”

the water, tinged with a haunting crimson, surged and overflowed, cascading into the bathroom with relentless force. it climbed steadily up gojo's legs, as if the liquid itself sought to ensnare him, to drag him down into its suffocating embrace, or just. . . mock him.

a dark mockery that seemed to whisper that it alone held the power to drown him, to swallow your trembling breaths and the last echoes of your voice. it wasn’t him, or geto suguru who was to be your executioner, but the merciless water, eager to claim your final, stutter breath.

“i-i —sorry, i’m sorry..” you stammered.

your voice stammered between choke, barely a murmur beneath the frothy waves, struggled to be heard amidst the tumult. your eyes, devoid of warmth, reflected a chilling detachment. the coldness in your gaze was almost tangible, a stark contrast to the chaotic, drowning world around you.

“suguru, help!” he sounds, pathetic.

gojo, even on the verge of your death is still so gentle, as if he's afraid you are going to die than you already are. dropping on his knees as he tries to pull your warm bodies out of the bath-up.

gojo shook his head, a soft whisper escaping from his trembling lips, “shhh, it's alright baby, it's alright, you're alright,” his mumble, each word a fragile promise against the storm of his own emotions— words and voice shaking, his bones and soul shivering. his strong arm wraps around your body, pulling you closer to his chest, feeling everything, even as his flesh trembling.

tears cascaded from the corner of your eyes, tracing silken paths down your skin, while his embrace, though trembling, sought to cradle and calm you, a sanctuary against the turbulence of your anguish.

“suguru, please help!” again, this time he shouted.

geto runs upon hearing the horror howling, and his purple irises about to peel from his face and his lungs lose air— ragged gasps, as if each inhale were stolen from him. the scene before him struck with a painful clarity: you nestled within gojo’s embrace, your body wracked with distress.

foaming at the mouth, you appeared trapped in a tormenting grip of anguish, while the open scars on your wrist bled stories of suffering and desperation. in that moment, the sight was both heart-wrenching and surreal, a vivid tableau of fear and pain, painted across the canvas of his deepest fears.

“i'm sorry— i-i'm so sorry,” you whisper between choking gasps as geto kneels beside you and your body shaking. tears cascade uncontrollably, each dropping a shimmering testament to a sudden, overwhelming regret. it is as though a profound realization has swept over you, too late to mend the wounds that have been inflicted.

the regret feels like a bitter aftertaste of the sorrow you can no longer escape. the eyes of those around you, trembling with the weight of their own anguish, are bloodshot and haunting, mirroring the crimson that flows from your wrist. in that agonizing moment, the world feels irrevocably broken, and the fleeting desire to be alive seems like a distant, unreachable dream.

they burst from the bathroom, gojo's arms wrapped tightly around you as he dashes through the chaos. your lifeless feet and hands dangle, a heavy, haunting reminder of the blood seeping steadily onto the floor. each drop forms a macabre trail, like the relentless shadow of death that clings to you, a grim companion refusing to let go.

the crimson stains splatter and pool in your wake, an anguished testament to the finality that now seems inevitable— each red stain on the ground is a haunting reminder, a stark declaration. as they run, the blood's mournful descent weaves a sorrowful narrative of moments slipping away, each drop a poignant echo of what might have been, a stark and unyielding declaration that time has run out, that it is too late.

and suddenly, everything feels like a slow motion.

6 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

the doctor spoke with a grave tone, his words laced with concern. “it appears,” he began, looking at gojo who's just sitting there with his eyes focusing on the floor, meanwhile geto standing beside him. “that she intentionally tried to overdose. we've had to act swiftly to pump the substances from her body, working to counteract the severe effects of her actions.”

geto's hand gently gripping on gojo's shoulder as they listen. his expression was one of solemn seriousness, reflecting the urgency and gravity of the situation. “we've done everything we can to stabilize her, but it's crucial that you two understand the seriousness of what she has done. this was a life-threatening situation, and we're only beginning to address the underlying issues that led to this crisis.”

the doctor continued, his voice carrying a mix of relief and concern. “fortunately, the cut on her wrist wasn't too deep,” he said, his eyes scanning the notes before them. “it seems that the severity of the injury was somewhat mitigated by her weakened state from the drugs. if she had been stronger, the outcome might have been different.”

his tone softened, acknowledging the fragile balance between the danger of the overdose and the mitigating effects of your physical condition. “we've managed to address the immediate threats, but it's crucial to understand that this is a serious wake-up call. we need to work on her recovery and the emotional struggles that led to this moment.”

if she had been stronger, the outcome might have been different,’ the words echoed repeatedly, hauntingly through the air, like a broken record stuck on a painful refrain. once, twice, three times, they reverberated through their minds, each repetition a stark reminder of how close they came to losing you, how dangerously close the edge of despair was.

even the notion of ‘almost’ carried a weight too immense to bear, a heavy presence that pressed down on their hearts. the silence that followed was thick with unspoken guilt and anguish; none of them could find the words to bridge the chasm of their shared grief. they avoided each other's gaze, unable to escape the silent blame that hung heavy between them, a suffocating testament to their collective sense of failure.

gojo stared at his hands through the thin veil of his blindfold, his fingers trembling as they traced the dried blood staining his pale skin. the sight of it was a brutal reminder of you. with a strained effort, he clenched his hands tightly, hoping to meld the dried blood with his own, as if to erase the haunting evidence of what had transpired— his last hope trying to be with you.

each breath felt like a desperate gasp, a small gap forming between his lips as he struggled to draw in air. the sensation of suffocation gripped him, a relentless pressure squeezing his chest, making each inhale a battle. despite his efforts, the air seemed insufficient, leaving him feeling as though he were on the precipice of life, teetering on the brink of an abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

geto felt an overwhelming tide of guilt and anguish, a heavy weight pressing down on his heart. the scene that unfolded before him replayed in his mind like a relentless, agonizing loop, hunting him down like he is some kind of a fucking prey. he was haunted by the sight of your suffering, the image of your blood-streaked hands and the anguished cries that pierced the air. each moment of his own reflection, seeing the remnants of your blood on his skin and his white shirt, deepened his torment.

the sense of responsibility gnawed at him, a constant reminder of how close he came to losing you. he felt suffocated by a profound sorrow and helplessness, as if the very air around him was too thick, leaving him gasping for breath— like the death itself pointing its ugly fucking finger to his face and laugh at him, at them.

what a fucking pathetic man’ the death must be said.

the weight of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders, and the silence between him and his companions only amplified his inner turmoil. the unspoken blame and the aching realization that he couldn't undo what had happened created a chasm of despair within him, making each moment feel like an eternity of unbearable remorse.

both of them are buried in profound sea of grief, guilt, shame because a thousand moments with you that they take for granted— shame, for thinking, assume that there would be a thousand more. is it too selfish to be here?’ they thought.

that curse must be laughing at them, the higher-ups, everyone— pointing their finger from all directions. look at them, ’ they thought, those two who called themselves the strongest can even save a single soul,’ again they must be laughing, let alone a soul who is to be called the love of their life.

but nobody knows, none, not even a single soul that, oh, how your presence evokes such selflessness in them— even amid their silent, tormented reflections. they are consumed by an incessant questioning of the selfishness of their own sorrow, wondering if it is wrong to cling to their grief while you teeter on the precipice of loss.

the haunting thought persists, a cruel reminder of time's fragile nature and the profound depth of their remorse. in their heartache, they are acutely aware of the contrast between their own suffering and the delicate balance of your existence, each moment of their anguish a poignant testament to the sorrow they feel for having taken so much for granted.

is it okay to feel sad? ’ they thought.

even the very sensation of sadness and grief feels like an indulgence they do not deserve. i can't even protect her, what rights do i fucking deserve to be sad?’ they thought. to them, these emotions seem an opulent luxury, an extravagant gift they are not entitled to. in their hearts, the depth of their sorrow feels almost excessive, a poignant reminder of how their suffering pales in comparison to the magnitude of the almost loss they face.

each wave of grief feels like a grand, unwelcome opulence, an unjust reward for the pain they have caused and the moments they have squandered. the luxury of their sadness seems a cruel irony, a stark contrast to the profound emptiness of the reality they must now confront.

people passing by in front of them, throwing them a glance or two. seeing their red eyes and tears-stain cheeks, blood in their hands, in shirts, in pants, in their soul, laid bare. everyone wants to give them both a pat on the back, telling them that they are good at handling grief; howling, crying, and blaming each other. that's the proper way to handle grief.

18 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

your hands are warm, a stark contrast to the pallor of your pink lips, which have lost their vibrant hue, your eyes open still so retain their gentle softness, a quiet testament to the grace you still hold.

as you lie upon the hospital bed, draped in the drab, floral-patterned gown that clings to you, it feels woefully inadequate. the gown, mundane and worn, seems too insipid and shabby to encompass your beauty, too faded and forlorn.

“i'm sorry. . .” you mumble.

you can’t bring yourself to look at them as they sit beside your bed, their eyes red and swollen from sleepless nights, their uniforms crumpled and disheveled, their hair falling in untamed disarray. their faces have lost their vibrant hue, a stark contrast to their usual vitality.

gojo satoru’s once-brilliant blue eyes, which used to shimmer with an unyielding light, now seem dull and lifeless, even when the golden sunlight spills over them. the sunlight, which once might have enhanced the beauty of his gaze with its warm orange tones, now only serves to highlight the emptiness that has replaced his once-sparkling eyes— it's dull, it's dull, it is fucking dull.

geto suguru's strikingly handsome face is graced with a smile, tender and achingly gentle, as though he is pouring all his effort into offering you a sliver of solace. his lips tremble with a subtle quiver, betraying the deep sadness that lingers beneath his calm exterior. his once-vibrant purple irises have dimmed, their former brilliance faded to a shadow of their former selves.

you fear that they might darken further, losing their hue altogether, slipping into a void of despair where even color seems to vanish. the sight of his sorrowful eyes, so devoid of their usual spark, reflects a profound sadness that pierces the heart, a silent testament to the emotional toll of the moment.

oh, what i have done. . .’ you thought.

“don't, please don't,” gojo pleads, his voice trembling as he clasps your unharmed hand with a desperate grip. his blindfold has been removed, revealing eyes that are filled with raw, unfiltered emotion as he gazes at you. beside him, geto's hand rests gently at the back of your head, his touch tender and soothing. he caresses your hair with a featherlight motion, his thumb brushing softly over your scalp.

“we are so sorry for taking you for granted,” he murmurs, the words heavy with regret and sorrow. “we are sorry for offering you only a lukewarm love, when you deserved a love that was fierce and all-consuming, a love that burned brightly and fiercely. i'm sorry,” his voice wavers, each word an echo of their deep remorse, as they both grapple with the weight of their unspoken apologies and the profound realization of what they failed to give you.

they do not seek to question why your soul bleeds, nor do they dare to unravel the dark tapestry of your pain. the blood, flowing with a steady, silent, and disturbingly deliberate pace, engulfs you in its relentless embrace. it seeps into every corner of your being, a somber tide that threatens to consume you entirely.

they find themselves unable to confront this harrowing reality, their hearts too burdened to bear the weight of such a painful inquiry. the sight of your suffering leaves them paralyzed, unable to utter the questions that linger in their minds, as they grapple with the profound helplessness of watching you slowly succumb to the encroaching shadows.

“i love you, baby,” gojo whispers, “i'm sorry that you're in so much pain so to think death is the only salvation,” he stopped for a second, cocooning your hand with his large one before resting his cheek against. “i'm sorry i didn't notice your rage for the world and too busy loving you. does my love scare you, love? that's why you decided to leave, hm?” his voice shaking, lips quivering.

“if you are angry, stab me a little so you can feel better, make it hurt, i don't care. a little suffering would be worth it if it's by your hands, by your pretty little hands,” he murmured against your skin, his breath a warm whisper that sent shivers across your body. each word was a soft plea, wrapped in a tone that trembled with both desperation and tenderness.

his trembling lips pressed gently against your hand, each kissing a fleeting starburst of warmth against your cool skin. him— no they, stood ready to endure your pain, inviting you to inflict upon them the hurt you felt.

they stand poised to let you sink your teeth into them, to delve into their very flesh. to let you open them up, laid bare and vulnerable, just to offer you a chance to heal. just so they can love you a little too much, starving even— like a flesh begging to be knitting together over a wound. ruin me, ruin us, and we will let you.

“i love you, i love you, i love you,” he gave you stars in each between. they fucking love you like a rotten dog. “believe me when i said this. . . there are so many kisses to have, soul and bone for you to crash and swear that how stars are born, so please. . ., believe me, you have to believe me,” he cries, holding your hands, begging for you to love him— love him enough to stay, “we love you.”

he finally said we’ geto thought.

at first glance, people might assume that geto suguru’s love for you surpasses that of gojo satoru, that his love is somehow greater. yet, the truth remains that it has always been gojo satoru who harbors the most profound and boundless love for you from the very beginning. his love is vast, immense, and utterly astonishing, stretching beyond the horizons of understanding.

gojo’s devotion is a vast expanse, a love so deep and wide that it seems to defy the very limits of emotion. even geto suguru, who himself is capable of immense love, finds himself awestruck and somewhat intimidated by the sheer magnitude of gojo’s feelings. no one can truly grasp the depth of gojo’s love—not even gojo himself—such is the overwhelming, almost incomprehensible nature of his heart’s boundless devotion to you.

and sometimes it scares the shit out of geto.

but maybe, just maybe, they have a little too much love for you more than for each other, even more than for themselves— as if you make a space in their ribs, and call it home country.

30 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

geto stirred from a restless sleep, his head resting gently against your hospital bed, nestled close to your side. as he slowly opened his eyes, he was met with the soft, gentle sight of you gazing at him, a faint, tender smile gracing your lips. the serene moment, bathed in the quiet of the hospital room, brought a flicker of warmth to his weary heart, a small but profound comfort amid the lingering shadows of their shared sorrow.

“hey sunshine,” geto whispered in a hoarse croak, reaching a hand to brush your hair away from your face, “how long have you been awake?”

“long enough to notice the dark circles under your eyes and the tear stains on your cheeks,” you replied softly, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek, your thumb tenderly caressing the worn skin. geto hummed, his hand capturing yours and guiding your palm to his lips, where he planted a gentle kiss.

the touch of your skin was like a salve, soothing the ache in his weary soul. he chuckled weakly. his eyes were tired and his skin pale, but your touch made him feel alive. “you’re too observant for your own good,” he teased, his lips curving into a weary smile.

geto shifted in his chair, wincing slightly as his body protested the movement. he settled into a more comfortable position, still holding your hand in his, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your knuckles.

he studied your face, taking in every detail, from the delicate flutter of your eyelashes to the subtle flush in your cheeks. the sight of you, even in this vulnerable state, filled his heart with a mixture of tenderness and protectiveness.

“how are you feeling?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, his gaze fixed on your face. he knew it was a question he had asked before, but he couldn’t help himself. he needed to hear you speak, hear your voice, just to reassure himself that you were still with him.

“like shit,” you answer.

your hand is still gently cupping his cheek, thumb running low across his skin in a loving manner. at your blunt response, geto's lip curled into a soft smile. even in your weakened state, you still had a defiant spark.

he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as he savored the sensation. “i thought we agreed no profanity,” he teased, his voice laced with affectionate humor, opening his eyes to meet your gaze. he turned his head slightly, his lips brushing against the palm of your hand in a tender kiss.

“you’ve always been a bad influence on me,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and ticklish. he chuckled softly, his eyes softening as he studied your face.

he took a moment to compose his words, his expression growing serious. “there was a moment,” he began, his voice a hoarse whisper, “a moment when i thought i lost you.”

your smile faltered, and your eyes softened with concern as you listened to the gravity in his voice. you reached up to gently touch his cheek again, your thumb brushing away the remnants of his sadness.

“i’m here now,” you whispered, your voice steady but filled with warmth. “you haven’t lost me.” you looked deeply into his eyes, trying to convey with your gaze the depth of your presence and the promise of your unwavering support. “and i’m not going anywhere,” you added softly, hoping to soothe the lingering fear in his heart.

his hand covers yours, holding it against his cheek as he closes his eyes, relishing in your soothing touch. for a moment, he just allows himself to bask in your presence, letting the warmth and comfort wash over him.

“i was afraid i wouldn’t get to hear you say that,” he murmured, his voice growing thicker with emotion. he opened his eyes, the raw vulnerability in his gaze bared to you, his heart laid bare.

your heart ached at the sight of his vulnerability. you gently squeezed his hand, your voice trembling with sincerity as you spoke. “i’m so sorry,” you said softly, your eyes filled with compassion.

geto’s thumb traced gentle, small circles on the back of your hand. “you have nothing to apologize for,” he assured you, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “it was my responsibility to keep you safe, and i failed.”

the guilt and regret in his voice were palpable, the weight of his self-imposed responsibility clear. he lowered his gaze, wrestling with emotions that were etched deeply into every line of his weary face.

he lifted your hand from his cheek, bringing it to his lips and pressing a lingering kiss against your knuckles, his gaze never leaving yours. “i just need you to know how much you mean to me,” he added, his voice cracking slightly. his grip on your hand tightened, as if he was holding onto you for dear life.

geto’s lips continued to brush against your knuckles as he spoke, soft and gentle. his eyes held yours captive, the depth of his affection bared for you to see.

“you are my everything,” he confessed, his voice hoarse with the weight of his honesty. “the thought of losing you, of living in a world where you don’t exist…” he trailed off, a pained expression crossing his features. he was torn between the love that engulfed his heart and the fear that threatened to consume him.

geto drew in a shaky breath, composing himself as best he could. he lifted his gaze from your hand, meeting your eyes once again. his expression held a mixture of love and devotion, but also a hint of desperation.

“i need you to know that no matter what, i will do everything in my power to protect you,” he vowed, his voice steady despite the turbulent emotions raging within him. “not just because it’s my duty, but because i love you more than i thought it was possible to love someone.”

you met his gaze with a warm, reassuring smile, the depth of your gratitude shining through. “thank you,” you said softly, your voice imbued with genuine appreciation. your smile was a reflection of the profound comfort and reassurance you felt, a silent promise to stand together through whatever lay ahead.

geto’s eyes softened at your smile, a flicker of relief passing over his weary face. he squeezed your hand gently, his touch both appreciative and protective.

he studied your face for a moment, his gaze lingering on each contour, each freckle and line, as if to further commit them to memory. “don’t scare me like that again,” he murmured, mostly in jest, but with an underlying current of seriousness.

gojo entered the room, his expression a mix of relief and lingering concern as he carried a bag of your belongings. upon seeing the tender moment between you and geto, his eyes softened, though they carried a hint of the exhaustion and worry that had shadowed him. he set the bag down and approached, took a sit at the edge on the other side of your bed, his voice catching slightly as he spoke.

“don’t scare me like that again too,” he said, his tone gentle but tinged with the weight of his emotions. his gaze met yours with a blend of earnestness and relief. “i know suguru’s been holding on tight, but i’ve been right here, too. seeing you like this... it’s been hard on all of us. please, don't leave us.” his words were a heartfelt plea, an echo of the concern and love he carried for you, a testament to the depth of his feelings and the strength of his devotion.

geto’s grip on your hand tightened momentarily at the sound of gojo’s voice, his eyes darting towards his best friend. he could hear the exhaustion and worry that laced gojo’s words and knew all-too-well the weight of the responsibility they shared.

he turned his gaze back to you, his expression a mix of worry and relief. his thumb resumed its gentle, soothing circles on the back of your hand. “yeah,” he said in agreement, his voice gruff with emotion. “please, don’t scare us like that again.”

gojo’s presence brought with it a sense of familiarity, a comfort that was both grounding and reassuring. he reached out and placed a gentle hand on your arm, his touch a silent expression of his affection and concern.

he studied your face, his eyes tracing every contour, every line, as if to commit the sight to memory. “how are you feeling?” he asked, his voice softer now, though still tinged with worry. “i wanna say like shit but suguru said no profanity,” you puff a little chuckle.

geto gives a little scoff at your comment, his expression laced with a mixture of annoyance and affection. he rolls his eyes playfully and mutters, “you’re such a bad influence.”

gojo’s lips curled into a small smirk before he turned his gaze back to you, the lines around his eyes creasing with a mix of amusement and relief. “can’t have you talking like that,” he teased, his words light but carrying a hint of genuine concern.

gojo studying your face carefully before speaking ever so softly, “well, apart from the obviously crappy mood geto’s been in, you look good. your color is better.” he noticed a faint crimson crushed on your cheeks, a little pink on your lips.

he reached his hand out to smooth a strand of hair away from your forehead, his touch light and tender. his gaze wandered from your face to where geto still held your hand, his eyes reflecting a subtle hint of appreciation.

geto watched gojo's gentle touch, his grip on your hand unconsciously tightening a little bit in response. his expression was a mixture of protectiveness and vulnerability, his eyes betraying the fear and worry that still tugged at his heart.

he took the moment to observe the soft interplay of emotions between you and gojo, the easy familiarity and the deep bond that existed between you all. he could sense the weight of gojo's concern as he studied your face, the care and attention in his touch.

gojo's voice was soft as he continued, his gaze still fixed on your face. “so, how are you feeling, for real?” he asked, his tone a gentle echo of geto's earlier question. “any pain? any discomfort?”

geto looked at you, his eyes silently pleading for you to be honest. he was hanging off your every word, each response a small insight into your well-being.

you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their concern pressing down on you. meeting gojo’s gentle gaze and then turning to geto’s silent plea, you spoke with a mixture of remorse and honesty. “i’m sorry,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “i’m sorry for how i handled things. i know i should have talked to you both, but i didn’t—i tried to take matters into my own hands without thinking it through first.”

your eyes reflected a deep sense of shame and regret as you continued. “i actually feel like absolute shit right now, and i’m ashamed of myself for thinking i could find a quick solution without considering the impact it would have on you both.” you looked at them, hoping your words conveyed the depth of your remorse and the sincerity of your apology, wanting them to understand that your actions were not a reflection of your feelings for them, but rather a moment of misguided desperation.

gojo's expression softened with understanding, his eyes filled with compassion. he knew the weight of your words, the regret and shame that clung to them. he reached his hand back to your arm, his touch gentle and reassuring.

geto's gaze was a mix of surprise and relief as he processed your apology. his hand around yours tightened slightly, his thumb tracing reassuring circles on your skin. “it's okay,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “we all have moments of weakness. what matters is that you're here, safe and alive.”

you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you at their responses, their understanding and compassion a balm to your wounded spirit. “thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “thank you for not being angry with me and for not questioning me right away. i know i made a terrible mistake, and i’m grateful you’re here, supporting me instead of condemning me.”

geto's grip on your hand tightened slightly, his eyes filled with a complex mixture of emotions— relief, love, and a hint of lingering fear. he shook his head gently, a reassuring smile on his lips.

gojo chuckled softly, his eyes filled with a mixture of compassion and playfulness. “we can save the anger and lecturing for when you’re not looking so terrible,” he joked, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “and trust me, baby, i had a lot of choice colorful words for you when the right time comes,” he lean in to kiss your forehead, “but right now, we just trying to be here for you.”

geto nodded in agreement, his grip on your hand still tight. he couldn’t help but roll his eyes a bit at gojo's playfulness, but there was a hint of fondness beneath the feigned annoyance.

he leaned in, reaching out with his other hand to gently brush a strand of hair off your forehead. “you are a stubborn, reckless, and stubborn pain in the ass,” he scolded lightly, his tone a soft but affectionate mix.

gojo chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners with humor. he settled himself closer, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. “he's right, you know,” he chimed in, his smile wide. “you're very good at pushing our buttons and getting under our skin.”

geto's lips curled into a small smile, his expression a mixture of feigned anger and affection. “and you're even better at making us worry,” he added, his tone light but underlined with the gravity of their concern. “but we care about you more than anything,” he added, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “so you better not do something like that again, you hear me?” his voice held a hint of authority, but mostly it was filled with love and concern.

geto's smile grew a bit wider, his eyes crinkling endearingly at the corners. “yeah,” he said, his voice firm. “you better listen. we don’t need anymore of these near-death experiences from you.”

gojo chimed in enthusiastically, leaning in a bit closer. “yeah, cause let me tell you, i can’t handle any more gray hairs than i already have.”

geto's grip on your hand tightened again, his expression a mix of sternness and vulnerability. he looked at you intently, his gaze locking with yours. “he's right,” he echoed, his voice firm but filled with warmth and care. “no more reckless decisions. no more putting yourself in danger. you hear us, my love?”

gojo nodded in agreement, his expression serious but eyes softened with concern. he added, “yeah, we can't keep having our hearts in our throats like this. it's not good for our health, you know.” geto's hand caressed your arm gently, a silent plea for your understanding. “we just want you safe and sound. that’s all we ask.”

a hint of vulnerability flashed across geto's face, his expression betraying the weight of his words. he locked eyes with you, his gaze filled with a mixture of pleading and sincerity.

“we just want to know that you're safe,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “that you're not recklessly endangering yourself anymore.”

gojo leaned in closer, his hand resting on your arm lightly. “we can't bear the thought of something happening to you again,” he chimed in, his tone carrying an undercurrent of worry.

they continued to exchange tender words and earnest pleas, their voices overlapping in a chorus of concern and affection. each spoke fervently about their love and the lengths they would go to ensure your safety and happiness. their words, though filled with their own fears and frustrations, were underscored by a deep, unwavering care for you.

as you watched them, a soft smile touched your lips. their earnest devotion, their refusal to let you face this alone, filled you with a profound sense of comfort and gratitude. you could see their love in every gesture and hear it in every word, and it warmed your heart. despite the gravity of the situation, their caring presence made you feel cherished and supported, giving you strength even in the midst of your own turmoil.

after a few moments of their heartfelt declarations, the room fell into a short silence, the weight of their words lingering in the air.

gojo ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of nervous energy. “and just so you know, suguru here basically took a week off work to sit by your bedside like a damn watchdog, he even almost made the rainbow dragon eat gakuganji because that fucker won't let him leave.” geto, caught off guard by the sudden revelation, flushed faintly and shot a glare at gojo.

geto, taken aback, shot a sharp look at gojo before retort, “you clearly about to hollow purple the higher-ups and the entire school because they won't let you stay here with her.” gojo's expression darkened for a moment, “you know i would do it in a heartbeat, if i could.” geto's grip on your hand tightened, his gaze still fixed on gojo. “i know you would. and i'd be right there with you.”

gojo and geto turned their attention back to you when they heard your soft chuckling, their expressions a mix of relief and amusement at hearing you laugh.

gojo chuckled as well, “you find that funny, huh?” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. geto rolled his eyes a bit, but his own smile betrayed his true feelings. he couldn't stay serious when you laughed. “just the thought of us going rogue and taking down the entire school system for you is amusing, i guess,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm.

you hummed in satisfaction, “they are shit anyway.” a gentle smile lingering on your pale lips.

gojo chuckled warmly, his eyes sparkling at your comment. “ah, and there’s that signature wit of yours coming back.”

geto, still feigning annoyance but struggling to hide a grin, shook his head slightly. “still as blunt and unfiltered as ever,” he said, his eyes soft.

you glances at both of them, the comforting silence lingering between you, and with a tender smile, you mouthed softly, “i love you.” your cheeks flushed a delicate crimson beneath your pale complexion as you kissed their cheek.

gojo and geto exchanged a brief glance at your sweet words and soft kisses, their hearts swelling with warmth and love. gojo's hand reached out to stroke your hair, his touch gentle and loving. “we love you too,” he said softly.

geto's smile widened as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “always,” he breathed, his voice filled with tenderness.

the thought of you coming back to them is warm.

TAGLIST :

@junni-berry @fortunatelyfurrygiver @soraya-daydreams @diorzs @dancing--devils @iloveboysinred @bounie1 @nina3871 @ohnotheusernameisbroken

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yukioos · 22 days ago

Text

TEAR YOU APART

SUMMARY: viktor x vampire reader // you stumble into the piltover academy, not realizing where you are because of the sunlight. you haven’t had blood in days, and felt overwhelmed due to everything you were lacking. once you pass out in the halls, an old friend, heimerdinger, recognizes you, and has two men behind him. one of them, viktor, offers his blood to you and saves your life.

ASK: listen listen listen… viktor x his human experiment/project/anomaly/test subject. that’s all.

AUTHORS NOTE: hii!! im so sorry i accidentally posted the ask with the intention of using that post as a draft. anyway, thank u guys for 400 followers! this has 2.0k words. also pls send asks!! i’m working on a jayce oneshot too

WARNINGS: not proofread, kinda mean jayce, viktor n heimerdinger pick on jayce a bit, reader sucks viktors blood

you barged into the academy’s front doors, stomping down the hallways. it was in the middle of the day, yet far too sunny for your liking, but you needed a place to take cover. your body was burning in pain, and whimpers snuck out of your mouth. tears began to spring in your eyes, but you quickly wiped them away before they could drop down to your cheeks.

you walked up the stairs, trying to find a room suffocated in complete darkness. you panted, and you needed blood quickly. time was running out, and you felt your energy draining by the second. cold air enveloped your frame, so you wrapped your arms around your body. it was the coldest you’ve felt in your life, although you were burning minutes ago.

pain filled your legs, and you found it difficult to walk and even breathe. this wasn’t how vampires were supposed to act. you were supposed to be strong and intimidating, but here you were, holding your knees up to your chest and cradling yourself as if your mother was comforting you. suddenly, a door slammed open, and you heard three men talking about something you couldn’t comprehend. hopefully, they weren’t the bad people who would burn down the castles of vampires, like the ones in the stories dad would read.

heimerdinger gasped and in a chirpy voice, questioned, “miss y/n? is that you?” you only glanced up at the yordle, but didn’t have the strength to respond to your old friend. as your vision became blurry, you could only hear the creature command one of the men behind him, “jayce, pick up a bag of blood from the infirmary!” when the brunette hesitated, he furrowed his eyebrows and placed his hands on his hips, “what did i just say, boy? now!” he then pointed at the room labeled ‘infirmary’.

he held his hands over your shoulders, debating whether or not he should hug you. he felt immense love and care for you, and he was essentially your godfather. his eyes teared up, he had never seen you in a position like this before, it made the normally chirpy yordle feel emotional for you.

on the other hand, viktor felt awkward and nervous around you. he finally spoke up, “professor, do you know this woman?” he couldn’t help but stare at your eyes, devoid of emotion. he bit his lip and tapped his cane against the ground, impatiently waiting for his science partner to save your life.

footsteps stomped over to your side, and the dark haired boy asked, “is b positive okay, sir?” yet before your old friend could answer, your vision became dark, and you were met with frantic hands gently slapping your cheeks.

“no, no, no!” heimerdinger groaned, placing his hands on his head and shaking it with disappointment. the two men gave him a look of confusion, as a random girl appeared malnourished and on the edge of death. he continued, “oh gosh! that just made this situation worse!” he sat on his knees for a couple of seconds, placing his hands on his chin before his pet, porofessor, came over and sat next to him.

he then attempted to set his emotions aside, remembering it is his right to take care of you. he turned around and stood in front of you, with his hands on his hips. he stated, with furrowed eyebrows, “one of you needs to give blood to this young lady.”

before jayce could interject, as he held his hands out and opened his mouth, heimerdinger tutted and shook his finger. “we can’t give her blood from a bag, it needs to be from a living creature. i, unfortunately, was not thinking correctly when i told you to collect a bag from the infirmary. however, i expect one of you two gentlemen to give blood to her because yordle blood does not go well in vampires’ stomachs.”

the taller man rubbed the nose of his bridge and ran his large hand over his face, covering almost all of the skin. he sighed and took his hand off, “so you’re telling me that we have to give blood to a vampire?” he chuckled and splayed his hands out, as if he was shrugging, “with all do respect, professor, that’s absurd. i’m not giving blood to someone i just met. plus, she’s a vampire. they’re rabid animals—“

viktor interjected, reaching a hand out to jayce to stop him. he argued, “clearly, you haven’t studied vampires, jayce. there isn’t much information about them, but they are not rabid animals, especially this one here. they live in solitude, away from humans.” he glances to heimerdinger, who has a proud smile on his face, even in the darkest of times, “i will give the blood to her. it seems like you know her well enough to ask us to save her life.” he smirked.

the professor beamed and clapped, “i am proud of you, my boy!” he then turned to the stronger man and glared at him, “jayce, because you aren’t doing anything productive, carry her to the infirmary.” jayce didn’t protest this time, and even began to feel guilt, apparent due to his gaze at the ground, and puppy eyes sat on heimerdinger’s face. he then picked your body up, bridal style, and opened the door to the infirmary. he gently placed you on the soft bed, where your body seemed almost lifeless.

three chairs sat around the bed, where friends and family of the patient would bond together in their most vulnerable and sometimes last moments. the three sat down, and the professor struggled to climb on top of the tall chair. he sighed and placed his hands on the armrests, eyebrows furrowed and his expression unreadable.

it wasn’t until viktor spoke that he was knocked out of his trance. “professor, how am i supposed to give blood to… what was her name again?”

“her name is y/n. i watched the girl grow up in her castle with her mother and father. because i live for centuries, like them, they decided to make me her godfather. that was the best day in my life. never would i have expected her to see her like this…” he shakes his head, then widens his eyes, “oh, what am i saying? you didn’t ask for her life story!” he tried to be his chirpy and loving self again, but didn’t have the spark in his eyes.

he frowned and finally answered the brunette’s question, “i am not fully aware of how to wake her up. however, she should wake up to the smell of blood. then, you must let her take… a bite, preferably from your neck. maybe a couple of seconds will be good enough for the girl to have her health restored. it is a tedious process, my boy. you may begin to feel lightheaded, so you should have some water nearby. we will leave so it won’t be as awkward with us watching you.” he chuckled.

viktor bit his lip before nodding, and jayce took a glass from the cabinet above before filling it with water. he sat it on the table next to him, then held the door open for the professor. he then closed it, and you and viktor were all alone.

viktor attempted to grab a document but jolted his hand back once the pain settled in. he got a paper cut at the perfect time. your eyes opened quickly, and you smelled blood, causing you to rise and sit instead of lying down. you stared at the handsome boy in front of you, who happened to be holding his hand in pain.

viktor stared back at you with the same intensity, partially with fear and adrenaline. maybe the fact that you were pretty would make the pain easier to withstand. your eyes were wide, and viktor swore he saw a hint of red in them. your hands were perched on the bed, and you tilted your head at the frightened man.

through all his fear, he mumbled, “i understand you need… to feast for a moment,” he glanced down at the marble floor, “it’s okay.” he motioned over with his hand for you to take a bite.

within a second, you were out of the bed and sitting on his lap, with one hand on his neck. you rubbed his shoulder comfortingly before sinking your fangs in, eliciting a groan from him. his eyes widened and he began to pant, knowing he was currently losing blood by the second, but not a deathly amount.

he placed a cold hand on your hip and gently squeezed it, not noticing his own action. once you gained consciousness of your surroundings, you gave him a plush kiss on his neck, where you bit. some blood was smeared on the surrounding skin, so you grabbed a nearby tissue and cleaned it up. you smiled at the marks your teeth had left, but frowned once you saw the man wasn’t looking healthy.

you mumbled an, “‘m sorry,” and grabbed the glass of water for him to take. you then asked, “thank you for saving my life. how can i repay you? surely there’s something i can do.”

he slowly drank the water with shaky hands, accidentally letting some of it spill over his clothes. he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, placing the glass on the table. he whispered, “give me a second, please. i would like to… recollect myself.” so you nodded, then stood up and sat on the infirmary bed, giving him space.

he looked good, with disheveled hair and clothes, especially his tie. you’ve seen a lot of good-looking men in your long life, sometimes telling heimerdinger about them, but you never saw one as handsome as the one in front of you.

he apologized and rubbed his face, then stared back at your curious eyes. jayce was completely wrong, he couldn’t believe that vampires were dangerous as soon as he saw the innocent and loving look on your face.

he gave you a small smile, and stated, “i was thinking maybe i could ask you questions about your species. we do not have much knowledge about vampires, and the piltover community would love to know more. you don’t have to live around here, however, but i would appreciate you come by sometimes to teach me about your culture.”

he was genuinely interested, but it was even better that he wanted to know more about you, not just your people. he wanted to know about you as an individual being, and not everything had to be vampire-related. however, he wouldn’t admit this to heimerdinger. he was like an overprotective father, although he only saw the two of you interact once or twice.

so you and viktor began to talk about your culture for a couple of minutes before you were interrupted. the brunette remembered you didn’t need to sleep at night, so you preferred to talk early in the morning, when it was still dark. he learned you preferred to fly around at night, where people would never suspect you were a vampire, and no one could bother you.

you learned he was a renowned scientist, originally from the undercity, zaun. he felt like he didn’t always belong in the city of progress, as he was a cripple who believed he was looked down upon. you empathized with him, knowing vampires were never treated fairly in their years of living.

when it was almost time for your nightly fly, you quickly asked, “can you schedule the questions for three in the morning?”

that, of course, didn’t align with his schedule, but he agreed, “yes, that is perfect.” you nodded and smiled, and he shouted, “stay safe out there, miss y/n!” as you jumped out of the lab window, before transforming into a bat and roaming in the sky.

#yukioos #x reader #arcane #arcane x you #arcane x reader #viktor x you #viktor league of legends #viktor #viktor x reader

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indiweb · 6 months ago

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⠀⠀ 𐚁ྀ OBSESING OVER WHAT'S THEIRS ? ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ suguru ⋆ sukuna ⋆ toji ⋆ nanami

⠀ " jjk men and their intimate obsessions with their favorite ⠀⠀ parts of your body ; how you drive them crazy in bed. "

<– [ BACK ] : HOME [ NEXT ] : MLIST ㅤ→

明示的 ⌇ nsfw. fem!reader. pussy eating. sεx tape. overstimulation. riding. choking. doggy style. crying. spanking. dumbification. man handling. ( wc. 2.5k )

SINCERELY , YOURS TRULY Ξ ©INDIWEB, 2024

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⭒

⍟ SUGURU GETŌ ◞ ───── your legs.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he worshiped the ground you walked along. praised your every step like a greek goddess. pointed stilettos and frisky skirts that hung tightly around your upper thighs, barely covering anything. even as he drilled his thick erection into the depths of your aching walls , leering gazes lingered upon your exposed flesh that rested along his shoulder. one hand wrapped diligently around your calf whilst the other pinned your opposite hip to the mattress. suguru could never get enough of you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀nothing was ever enough for him. not now. not ever. he wanted all of you, all times of the day. teeth grazed the skim of your knees , aggression laced kisses tainting your precious silk skin. flushed lips wrapped diligently around the base of his dick , pulsating tip ramming into your cervix with each passionate thrust he rutted into your core.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀one hand was flipped over your mouth , gaping lips pressing into the back of your palm to disclose your vulgar moans. the other vigorously gripped the duvet covers that sprawled beneath your limp figure. the sloppier his movements became , the whiter your knuckles turned.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" s— sugu! fuc— k! oh , fuck! " hoarse cries fluttered from your quavering lips , eyes rolling at how perfectly he stuffed you , how his protruding veins raked your walls so deliciously you swore you could see stars.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" shh , jus' like that , baby. doin' s'good f'me , sweetheart. " he cooed gently , voice ricocheting off the flesh of your leg as he spoke rigidly through gritted teeth. though , his actions weren’t as sweet as his tone , your back arching off the mattress with how he suddenly curled his hips at angle that sent chills spiraling your spine. oh how euphoric it felt. he felt.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you loved your boyfriend , despite needing to adjust to him every time you two were intimate. how his hands rummaged all over every inch of your legs , teeth marks engraving into your flesh from how needy he got just from feeling up on you. the plush of your thighs was his all time favorite , getting squished between them and having free roam for whatever he so much as desired. when your knees wrapped his head while borderline suffocating him ; that didn’t matter. he’d be grateful to have such an ending.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the way his large , calloused hands graciously kneaded at your raw plush sent reverberating moans to echo through you mouth. his upper body lowered to hover above you , breath fanning your flushed complexion that sparkles beneath the gleaming moonlight which shined through your fleece curtains.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀even with how tenderly he cradled your face , how softly he silenced your whines and pleas for a final release , the contrast of his harsh and bitter thrusts had your mind completely scrambled. like whiplash , he had you wrapped around his finger begging for more each time he abruptly stroked agonizingly slow motions against your trembling walls.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his hands remained against your wrists , pinning them aside your ears with foreheads colliding ever so gently. briskly grazing one another as he steadied his pace. he’d already battered both lower limbs , so it was only fair he gave just as much attention to your upper half.

⍟ RYŌMEN SUKUNA ◞ ───── your ass.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" s— suku , wait! wai— wait , fuck! " tattered whines dripped from the buds of your offput taste in men , jaw falling open ajar as yet another toe finger print engraved along the flesh of your ass.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his enlarged hand had carved its way along your skin , tender hand prints from previous abuses already marring your ass. though , the combination of pleasure and pain has always turned a screw loose in your jumbled mind , mewled cries of pleasure fanning his neck all the while you shivered and trembled into his chest. it was no help that he just so happened to be so deeply submerged inside you that he couldn’t stop now. not when you were both on your second high , chasing a third so deliberately.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀two hands cradled you beautifully , the others aiding your body along his dick that stretched you out no matter how many times he had his way with you. your size difference was inevitable , a human and a god? why wouldn’t it be. however , that never stopped sukuna from molding your cunt into he personal sleeve that would only ever take him. that’d fit so snugly around him , you were left wondering if he altered the universe so you’d cross his path long ago.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀wavering hands dancing along his broadened shoulders , unable to hold a steady pace with how fervently he guided you against his erection. the contradiction was mind numbing , weary eyes unable to hold the eye contact he bore out of you so intently.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀your puttered , swollen lips , entranced him every time you dropped your jaw to let out a hearth wrenching moan after he’d collide his hand into your ass , kneading the flesh of it right after to soothe any genuine pain. oh how he loved how plush everything about you was. from your breasts , to your thighs , to your ass. all so soft , so perfect for his hands to get lost in and massage at any given moment he felt the need to.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the bulge of his dick forged your stomach , churning knots with your internal organs every time you dropped along his base and engulfed him whole. that tenderly sweet spot he always seemed to hit just right , it drove you mad. outright insane. shuddering chills decorating your back as leaked juices traveled down the sides of his erection.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his thick digits curled your hips with each movement you made , hands entwining within his jumbled mess of hair that fell against his face. it was the only way you’d be able to keep yourself upright , far too hazy to stabilize your body as he drove you to your brink. tethered breaths found their way into the toxic air , sweat beads painting a canvas along your features. mouth hung lowly , lips halfway from resembling a desert. the more your climax built , the more your legs yearned for peace.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" cum f'me. jus' like that baby. s'good , such a good girl for me , hm? " fingers glided smoothly across your heated cheek , thumb briskly grazing your bottom lip as your dazed expression completely consumed you whilst he admired your fucked-out complexion.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀capturing your final hair spiking mewl that pummeled from your mouth , sukuna silenced your cries and whimpers with his own lips , hands gripping the skin of your back all the while you clawed at his chest and returned the savory sweet kiss.

⍟ TOJI FUSHIGURO ◞ ───── your breasts.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you never had a moments peace living with this man. laying down reading a nice book? toji was right there smothering himself in your chest until the point of his last breath. trying to bathe yourself in the shower? he was already doing it for you , making sure he did an extra thorough job with your breasts.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀even as you stood comfortably in your lazy day outfit , leering over the sink whilst you tidied up the last few dishes , toji somehow weaved himself behind you. his broad shoulders barricading you between him and the counter top.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" si , mi vida? que te pasa? " inquiring his sudden appearance , he hummed a low response as his hands snaked your waist and collided your lower back to his abdomen. just from his touch , you knew exactly what he wanted , embracing his somber touch that traveled up your rib cages beneath your fleece top.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his coarse hands groped and kneaded your chest so deliberately , so intricately. like he knew exactly how to get you going. and , he did. he definitely did. hummed sighs exasperated your parted lips while you enjoyed his company ; eyes struggled to focus on the dishes before you. the buds of his digits swirled your nipples every other second , legs slowly growing numb with your back subconsciously melting into his chest.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it was no help when he began gradually moving his hips into your ass , bulging dick pressing into your flesh and sending shudders up your spine.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" 'ji , por favor. i— i just have one left. " your pleas were silenced by his lips finding their way into the crevice of your neck , teething and tugging on your skin. the rims of his palms delved into the sides of your breasts , squeezing them into your chest and earning heaved groans from your frail lips. he hadn’t a care in the world as to what you were doing prior , mind solely focused on how perfectly your body was crafted. how everything about you seemed to suit his own body just right. a fate destined by the gods.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it surely was a complex. one that he wore like a badge of honor. a golden metal. no one could tell him otherwise ; your perfection the utter contrast to his own.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀twisting and pinching the tender skin of your nipples , the man enjoyed every second he spent smothered by your pheromones— perfume oils that extruded his senses and eloped his vision. runted groans reverberated along the skim of your neck whilst he heavily grinded his throbbing erection into your clothed ass. your hands could barely hold a steady grasp of the mug that remained in your palm. it was no use , you didn’t fight it and just simply allowed it to roll into the sink prior to your hands firmly gripping the rim of the countertop.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the back of your head laid atop his muscle covered shoulder , nails daring to break against your death grip. a damp puddle formed within the confinement of your undergarments , jello-made knees falling limp under toji’s grasp. if not for his rough hold on your sides , you would’ve surely fell to the polished tile floor of your kitchen.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" come back to bed , baby. promise ya i'll make it worth yer while , sweets. " his tempting offer had your head lazily nodding , hitched breaths following shortly after whilst he briskly spun you around and pulled a breathy moan straight from your throat. he’d pressed his growing bulge right between your legs , grazing your clit through your shorts that hugged your figure snugly. his belligerent grasp remained along your breasts , squishing them into your chest as he captured your lips into a passion-laced kiss.

⍟ KENTO NANAMI ◞ ───── your neck.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" smell s'good my love. " his delicate words of affection never failed to have frills of goosebumps running course through your skin. like raindrops hydrating a yearning flower.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀no matter what you were doing together , he always seemed to end up completely wrapped around your figure with his head so far shoved into your neck you swore he lost it in there. his calloused hands evenly contracted your silky complexion , smoothly caressing each and every inch of your being.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀bodies collided across your firm mattress , his leaking tip buried far too deep in your warm cunt for him to even think about pulling out anytime soon. your back was pressed to his chest with an arm wrapped sleekly around your chest to keep your proximity as small as possible. his thrusts were skillfully slow , agonizingly dragged out that had you whimpering and shuddering beneath his mere graze.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀one hand lifted your leg up with the intent of more access to have him balls deep inside you. which , is exactly what he did. each time he bucked his hips into your ass , a peck of a kiss littered your neck with mewled cries slipping past your lips.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he handled you with such care , such consideration , your dazed mind was unable to fully grasp how many times you’ve already hit your climax. despite the fact the sheets below you had been dampened for the past hour. a skill , he had indeed. a dangerous , yet alluring one that always seemed to capture your entire existence.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀no matter how many times you told yourself that you could resist his antics , notice his deliberate words and phrases , he still got you entangled in his web of lies. a goal you had was to override his mind and play the top dog , yet somehow ended up with your dolled makeup streaming down your face and legs far too numb for your own sanity.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀" ken— f— fuck. o— oh fuck , please. harder— " venomous chuckles vibrated into your skin , brisk kisses and murmured words engraving in your neck as a response.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he knew just how to send you over the edge. how to wipe your mind of any other thoughts and solely focus on just how much you wanted him abusing your pathetic cunt. a guilty pleasure it was , he knew that all too well. he knew you adored having him stretch you out in places you’d never imagine. it was filthy. down right dirty. but you were his girl and he’d do anything to please your every desire. desires that had him questioning if you were the same woman he met that could barely look him in the eye.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀completely disregarding your assertions , his hand traveled down to your clit and before you had time to process the lack of warmth over your chest , ear shattering moans were forced through your esophagus as he began slapping your swollen bundle of nerves. hands traveled down to his own to prevent such actions , yet his strength was far greater than your worn out body.

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celestialprincesse · 11 months ago

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🎀💞

I just know that Simon Riley wants his face sat on🤭

nsfw below the cut 🪷 mdni

You'd always been a little shy when it came to sex, understandably so considering that your boyfriend was a real life Adonis, some kind of cruelly beautiful deity come to taunt you for your prudishness. Obviously, you and Simon had done it, you'd fucked countless times when he came back from deployments or frustrated from debriefings gone bad, but it was always, for lack of a better word, tame. You'd always assumed, given his past, that he wouldn't be down to have sex, period. The beginning of your relationship was a minefield of navigating boundaries and understanding the complexity of the beautiful man you got to share your bed with. What you foolishly failed to recognise, however, is that whist you subconsciously saw Simon as wounded, he saw your fragility as clear as day, like a ripple under the surface of clear water.

He'd aways been so impossibly gentle with you, even when you'd wanted things differently, too afraid to ask him and send Simon spiralling back into that dark place he'd only recently been pulled from.

"Want you to fuck my face." Simon's deadpan voice snaps you from your reverie, brings you back to where you lay sprawled and waiting in the centre of your shared bed.

"I'm sorry?" You barely manage to splutter, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at where he sits patiently between your knees, not even needing to look down to your panties to know that your cunt is already dripping.

"Fuck, love." The sound of his exasperated sigh makes you feel like you've done something wrong, but the almost pained crinkle of his eyes confuses you. "You need me to spell it out? I'd like you to sit on my face and let me eat you out." Simon's words make you choke, jaw hanging agape as you process the fact that not only is he willing to take such a step in your sexual relationship, but also that he's so seemingly comfortable with the idea of you essentially fucking his face. Sure, he's eaten you out before, but never in such a compromising way. "Are you -" A soft kiss being placed to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh is enough to silence you as you look down at Simon practically grovelling between your legs.

"If you don't want to, you can say no, baby." "It's not that I don't want to. I just don't want to - fuck." You huff, slumping back against the mattress with a sigh as you struggle to find the words you need to express the way you feel. "You don't want to fuck?" He smirks wickedly at you, one hand still cradling your outer thigh as he presses his cheek to the warm skin, trying to lighten the mood. Ease you up a bit. "Simon." "Tell me what you're thinking. I'll make it make sense." God he's always so unbearably patient. It almost has you in tears.

"I just - I'm not so confident with stuff like that, you know? I mean it took us six months of having sex for me to even feel comfortable enough to ride you. Now you want me to sit on your face?"

Simon's eyes soften at your reasoning, and he practically drags himself up the bed until he's face to face with you, propping himself up on his elbows to stare down at your face, so beautifully flushed and bashful.

"If you don't want to do it, that's fine, but I need you to know, that I look at you and get hard okay? You're the most beautiful thing I've seen. Ever. If I died by being suffocated between your legs? Fuckin' kill me already, yeah?"

His words have you giggling softly as you play with his hair, distracting yourself from the burning arousal in the pit of your tummy.

"Okay." You nod, slowly, meeting his eye to make sure that he sees you're serious. "You don't have to say yes if you're not sure." "I'm sure, but can we go slow?" "Of course, baby. We can do whatever you feel comfortable with."

It doesn't take long for you to be sat nervously on Simon's hips, clothes piled on the floor, discarded in order for you to sit naked atop him, bottom lip pulled nervously between your teeth. "Do I just -" You point awkwardly between the general vicinity of your cunt to Simon's face, heart fluttering when you catch the way he gazes up at you like some sort of statue, some masterpiece. "Mhm." He nods slowly, pupils blown impossibly wide, the chocolate of his gaze turning almost entirely black. You feel his massive palms take your hips, guiding you up to your knees before settling your slick cunt just over his face.

"Sit." He grunts when he doesn't immediately feel the press of you against his mouth, his nose barely touching your puffy clit. "What if I hurt you?" "I'll let you know. Now, sit." Before you know it, his fingers are digging into your hips, leaving you gasping at the suddenly overwhelming sensation of his entire lower face stuffed against your pussy.

"Holy sh-" You whine, already beginning to roll your hips in search of stimulation, all whilst Simon gives a contented hum which rumbles through you and has you clenching around nothing. His hands guide your hips in their rhythm as his tongue licks a flat stripe between your wet folds, leaving you stuttering and your eyes rolling back, all whilst you grip onto his hair like of you let go he'll disappear entirely.

He sets a languorous pace with his tongue, eating at you like you're his final meal, hands digging firmly at the meat of your ass whilst he uses the slight bump at the bridge of his nose to press up against your clit, making you dizzy. Whilst he uses both hands to guide you, you use the hand not tangled into his hair to roll a hardened nipple between your thumb and forefinger, the sensation going straight to your pussy and making you gasp. Simon, perceptive as ever, notices your want and pushes his tongue inside you to push just that little bit further - and he can tell that you're close by the way your thighs clench around his ears and the fact that you're wonderfully more vocal than usual.

Similarly, sensing your oncoming orgasm, you desperately attempt to pull yourself off of him, all of a sudden shy about cumming on his face like you haven't done it countless times before. Your wriggling is met with a small slap to your ass which has you seeing stars as the small sting snaps the elastic band stretching taut in your lower belly, and Simon laps up every bit that you'll give him.

"Didn't think that men like me got to go to heaven." Simon sighs when you both lay sprawled and happy in bed together.

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I did not intend to write 1.1k of smut when I opened my laptop this evening but boundaries and communication are just so !! sexy !!

N e ways I'll just leave this here for y'all💕

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lechrts · 1 month ago

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Sweet Tea. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: When Lando tries to find forgiveness after an argument through acts of service.

Word Count: 1.3k

Disclaimer/s: established rel, fluff, kinda angst…. ish.

Vera’s Voice! Hi. this was fun to write :3 hope u enjoy mama ^_^ the lando oneshot grind doesn’t stop.

The hum of the heating system filled the stillness of the apartment. It wasn’t exactly peaceful—more like tense, suffocating, and heavy.

You sat curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders, your phone glowing faintly in your hands. You scrolled aimlessly, not really reading anything, but it was better than thinking about the argument that had left you and Lando in this standoff.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him pacing between the living room and the kitchen. He wasn’t saying anything—he hadn’t since you’d gone quiet—but his restless movements said enough.

He hated silence, especially when it was because of you.

The fight hadn’t started as anything serious, just a playful back-and-forth after a long day. But his teasing had crossed a line without him realizing it, and you’d snapped.

“You don’t need to be so dramatic about everything,” He said, half-laughing, when you’d voiced your frustrations about something that had been bothering you for days.

The words had stung, lodging themselves deep in your chest. You didn’t know if it was the dismissive tone, the laughter, or just the stress of the week catching up to you, but you’d shut down completely after that.

No sarcastic comeback, no explanation, just cold, steely silence.

And Lando?

He hadn’t done much to help himself. Instead of apologizing, he’d groaned, muttering, “Oh, come on, don’t do this,” as if your feelings were an inconvenience to him.

That was what had really sealed it.

So now you were here, refusing to meet his eyes, letting the silence stretch longer and longer.

From the kitchen came the faint clink of dishes. You glanced up briefly, noticing Lando hunched over the counter, his brows furrowed in concentration.

He was making something.

But what?

You couldn’t quite tell.

You wanted to stay mad—wanted him to feel the weight of how much his words had hurt—but curiosity gnawed at you.

Lando wasn’t exactly a chef, and him fumbling around in the kitchen was unusual.

A few minutes later, his footsteps padded softly toward you. He stopped just in front of the couch, hesitating before placing a small plate on the coffee table.

Beside it, a steaming mug of tea.

You looked down, your stomach tightening at the sight. It was your favorite treat, carefully prepared just the way you liked it.

The tea even seemed to have the right amount of honey—he must’ve measured it out because he always teased you for how sweet you liked it.

“Here,” Hr said quietly, his voice almost timid. “I, uh… I thought you might be hungry.”

You stared at the plate for a moment, then looked up at him. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“I’m sorry,” He added quickly, before you could say anything. “I was a complete ass earlier. I didn’t mean to brush you off like that—I wasn’t thinking.”

You didn’t say anything, though the sincerity in his voice made your chest ache. Instead, you reached for the mug, cradling it in your hands.

Lando shifted awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or give you space.

After a moment, he sighed, running a hand through his messy curls. “I don’t like seeing you upset. Especially when it’s my fault. I know I messed up, but I hate this—” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, “—this cold shoulder thing. Can we please talk?”

You finally set the mug back down, fixing him with a pointed look. “Talk? Like how we talked earlier and you laughed at me?”

He winced, guilt flashing across his face. “I didn’t mean it like that. I thought I was being funny, but I wasn’t. I didn’t realize how much it was bothering you. That’s on me.”

“You made me feel stupid for being upset,” You said quietly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Like I was overreacting.”

His expression softened, and he dropped onto the couch beside you, careful to keep some space between you. “You weren’t overreacting,” He said, his voice low. “I swear, I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I was just being an idiot. You know I’m terrible at serious conversations.”

“That’s not an excuse, Lando.”

“I know,” He said quickly. “I know. I’m not trying to make excuses. I just… I’m sorry. Really. I should’ve listened instead of brushing you off.”

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket. Part of you wanted to hold onto the anger, to make him sweat a little longer, but the vulnerability in his voice was breaking down your walls.

Lando reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against your knee. “I’ll do better,” he sighed, his voice almost a whisper. “I don’t want to make you feel like that again.”

You glanced at him, taking in the way his brows were knit together, the way his lips were pressed into a thin line. He looked genuinely remorseful, and your heart softened despite yourself.

“I just want you to take me seriously,” You said quietly.

“I will,” he promised, his hand gently resting on your knee now. “I mean it.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, finally, you let out a small sigh. “Okay.”

His head shot up, hope sparking in his eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeated, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “But don’t think this means you’re off the hook.”

He grinned, leaning in slightly. “Noted.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away when he shifted closer, his hand sliding up to your cheek. “I’m sorry again.” He muttered as he shifted even closer.

You didn’t answer, but the way you leaned into him was all the permission he needed. His lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative at first, then firmer as you kissed him back.

When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Are you still mad at me?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “When am I never mad at you.” Rolling your eyes as you slightly joked. “But, seriously. I am still a little mad.”

He grinned, pressing another quick kiss to your temple before pulling you into a warm hug. “I’ll take what I can get,” he murmured, his arms wrapping tightly around you.

As you leaned into his embrace, the weight of the argument melted away, leaving only the warmth of his love—and the promise to do better.

likes, comments, & reblogs appreciated!!! ^_^ follow me for more & ask if you’d like to be apart of my tag list!!!!

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress

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solxamber · 1 month ago

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Still Into You || Leona Kingscholar

You return to your old town, only to cross paths with Leona Kingscholar—the one who got away and the one you never stopped loving. Perhaps this time, fate is offering a second chance to make things right.

or: Exes to Lovers with Leona

The bar is too loud, the kind of loud that gets under your skin and stays there. Clinking glasses, half-shouted laughter, and the heavy bass of music that thuds in your chest like a second heartbeat. You should’ve skipped this reunion.

Nostalgia, as it turns out, is a double-edged sword. The city hasn’t changed much—same old streets, same old haunts—but coming back feels like running your fingers over a scar you thought had healed. It doesn’t hurt exactly, but the sting is there, raw at the edges.

Your drink sits untouched on the counter, condensation pooling around the base. You’re too lost in the ache of everything that made you leave this place—memories you’ve tried to bury—to even pretend you’re having fun. Someone’s laughing behind you, their voice loud and grating, and you turn your head just to escape it.

And that’s when you see him.

Leona Kingscholar.

Your chest tightens, and you feel the floor drop out from under you. He’s sitting across the room, one hand cradling a glass of amber liquid, the other resting casually on the bar. The years haven’t dulled him one bit. His hair is shorter than you remember, his frame broader, his face still sharp enough to cut. And his expression—it’s the same damn unreadable expression that once made you fall so hard it left you shattered.

You almost don’t believe it’s him, but then his eyes flicker up, and they meet yours.

The breath leaves your lungs in a rush, and suddenly, it’s too much. The room feels suffocating, the walls closing in, and you’re choking on everything you thought you’d moved past. The heartbreak, the love that never really left, the ghost of the 20-year-old who walked away from him and spent years regretting it.

His brow furrows as recognition flashes across his face. And something else—something softer, something that tugs at the edges of your chest like a half-forgotten melody. You don’t stay to find out what it is.

You bolt.

Your feet carry you out before your mind catches up, the cool night air slapping against your face as you push the door open. The noise fades behind you, but the ache doesn’t. You lean against the wall of the building, gripping your arms as you try to steady your breathing.

The door creaks open again, and you already know it’s him before you look up.

“Still running, huh?” His voice is low, familiar in a way that cuts through you like glass.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Leona doesn’t push. He steps closer, slow and measured, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. His eyes flicker over you, taking in the tension in your shoulders, the way your hands are clenched into fists. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a pen and a folded napkin, and scribbles something down.

He holds it out to you.

“Here,” he says simply. His tone is calm, but there’s something weighty beneath it. “Call me when you’re ready to talk.”

You stare at the napkin, your heart pounding in your ears.

And then he walks away.

You watch him go, his back retreating into the night, and it hits you like a freight train: this is exactly how it felt the first time. Watching him leave, knowing you let him go, and hating yourself for it.

Your fingers tremble as they close around the napkin. His number is scrawled there in bold, unmistakable strokes.

You don’t move for a long time.

You don’t even remember dialing the number, only the week of stewing, pacing, and overthinking. By the time his familiar voice comes through the line with a simple, “Hey,” it’s already too late to hang up.

The call is brief, neither of you saying much beyond agreeing to meet at a café. It’s somewhere neutral, safer than a bar or anywhere too familiar. Somewhere with enough noise to fill in the silences you know will come.

When you walk in, he’s already there, lounging in his chair like he owns the place. Leona looks good—too good, damn him. His sharp features are just as you remember, though there’s a little more wisdom, a little more weight, in the way he carries himself. He glances up when he sees you and smirks, the kind of smirk that used to make your heart race.

“Still drinkin’ that sugary monstrosity?” he asks instead of saying hello. His voice is low and warm, but there’s an edge of amusement there.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Still judging people’s taste in drinks?”

He doesn’t reply, just gets up and goes to the counter. When he comes back, he’s carrying a mug of something steaming and a plate with a pastry you haven’t had in years. You blink as he sets it down in front of you, the scent of sugar and nostalgia filling your senses.

“You didn’t,” you murmur, staring at the drink.

“Didn’t forget,” he says casually, like it doesn’t cost him anything to remember the exact cocktail of syrups, cream, and espresso that kept you alive through your 2 a.m. study sessions.

You take a sip and instantly regret it—not because it’s bad, but because it tastes exactly like the past. Sweet, comforting, and entirely too much for you to handle right now. You set it down carefully, avoiding his gaze.

“Thanks,” you mutter.

He leans back in his chair, watching you with a calculating look that feels far too intimate. “Still like the same pastry too, huh?”

It burns, the way he knows you like this. It’s like roleplay, like the two of you are pretending to be the people you were before—young, dumb, and in love. But the heart wants what it wants, and yours wants to pretend this doesn’t hurt, so you smile and let him pull you back into that version of yourself for a little while.

You catch up. He tells you about his high-ranking position in a mining and energy facility, speaking with a mix of pride and boredom that’s so uniquely Leona. You tell him about the job you'd just left, a high-paying one far, far away from here—far from him. But you don't say that part out loud.

Despite the easy conversation, the weight of everything unsaid hangs between you like a ghost. Neither of you mentions the breakup, the years apart, or the ache that lingers just beneath the surface.

As the afternoon stretches on, he leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “You wanna do this again sometime?”

His voice is casual, but his eyes aren’t. They’re too focused, too sharp, like he’s trying to gauge your reaction.

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

When he walks you to your door, there’s a beat of awkwardness before you go in for a hug. It’s meant to be brief, but before you can let go, he tightens his arms around you. It’s quick but fierce, like he’s afraid to lose you again. The desperation in it makes your breath hitch, but you don’t question it.

“Bye, Leona,” you say softly, pulling away.

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you disappear inside.

From his point of view, the night is still. He stands on the sidewalk for a long time, hands clenched at his sides, heart aching in a way he hasn’t felt in years.

You’re everything he let slip through his fingers when he was too young and reckless to know better. It didn’t take him long after you left to realize that no one compared—no one could. Every smile, every laugh, every fleeting connection after you felt like a cheap imitation of the real thing.

But now you’re back, and he’s not about to let history repeat itself. Not this time.

Leona calls late in the afternoon, his voice calm and casual as always, but there’s something softer there, like he’s testing the waters. “There’s a carnival in town,” he says. “Thought you might wanna go.”

You freeze, memories rushing back all at once—your younger self, begging him to go with you, wearing him down with your relentless excitement until he had reluctantly agreed. That day had been filled with laughter, teasing, and stolen kisses under the glowing lights, back when you thought you’d have forever with him.

The ache of the past threatens to choke you, but you manage to say, “Yeah. Sure.”

When you meet him at the gates, the air is filled with the familiar scents of fried food and spun sugar, bright lights flickering against the deepening twilight. But this time, it’s different. You’re not dragging him from booth to booth like an overexcited raccoon. The two of you walk side by side, hands brushing occasionally but never quite holding.

You catch glimpses of the past in the present: the way Leona’s lips twitch into the faintest smirk when he sees you eyeing a food stall, the way he steps closer when the crowd gets thicker, shielding you without a word.

Then you reach the prize booth. Leona steps up, picks a game at random, and after a few tries, he tosses a ring perfectly onto the bottle neck. The booth attendant hands him the prize—a hideous stuffed cat with a crooked face and mismatched eyes.

It’s the exact same one he’d won for you back in college, the one you’d carried around all day and stubbornly refused to throw away even after the breakup.

“Seriously?” you manage to say, your voice wobbling as you try to laugh it off. “You had to pick that one?”

He shrugs, a small, knowing grin on his face as he hands it to you. “Figured you still liked ugly cats.”

You clutch the toy to your chest, scrambling to keep yourself together, but the lump in your throat won’t go away. He doesn’t say anything, just lets you gather yourself before moving on to the next thing.

By the time you reach the Ferris wheel, the sun is sinking below the horizon, painting the sky in swirls of orange and pink. The ride attendant seats you in a small, creaky gondola, and the two of you begin your slow ascent.

You look out at the glittering carnival below, but it’s impossible to ignore the weight of where you are—this is where he had asked you to be his, forever, years ago, with that same quiet determination that had always drawn you to him.

Leona leans back, his eyes on the horizon but his words aimed at you. “Y’know,” he starts, his voice low and steady, “I messed up before. Let you go when I shouldn’t have.” He pauses, his fingers tapping lightly on his knee. “But if you’re willing… I wanna try again.”

You turn to look at him, his usual confidence tempered by something raw and vulnerable. Despite all the heartache, all the time apart, you know the truth—you’ve never stopped loving him.

Your voice shakes as you answer, “Okay.”

His lips quirk into a faint smile, and he shifts slightly, just enough for you to lean against his shoulder. The two of you sit like that, watching the sun dip below the horizon, as the Ferris wheel creaks and carries you back down to earth—together, this time.

Leona calls in the morning, his tone gruff but apologetic. “Can’t make it today. Got some work stuff I can’t blow off.”

You’re not upset. Not really. It’s nice, in a way, seeing him so dedicated to something. Back in college, he’d been brilliant but uninterested, letting his talent simmer under a blanket of apathy. This new version of him, the one who actually cared about what he was building, made you proud—even if it meant canceling plans.

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “Do what you need to do. We’ll hang out another time.”

You’ve already arrived at the park, though, and there’s no point in lingering. As you turn to leave, a familiar voice calls out behind you.

“Hey! Long time no see!”

You spin around and find Ruggie jogging up to you, a grin plastered across his face. He’s taller now, more put-together, but there’s still that mischievous twinkle in his eyes that makes you smile instantly.

“Ruggie!” you exclaim. “You look good!”

“Not too bad yourself,” he replies, sticking his hands into his jacket pockets. “What’re you doing here all by yourself?”

You explain your canceled plans, and he nods knowingly. “Yeah, the boss has been crazy busy lately. I see it up close now—started working at the same place as him.”

“You work with Leona?” you ask, surprised but happy for him.

“Yup,” Ruggie says, puffing his chest out a little. “Climbing the ladder, bit by bit. Somebody’s gotta keep him in line when he’s slacking off, y’know?”

The conversation shifts to catching up on each other’s lives, and soon enough, the topic drifts back to college.

“Y’know,” Ruggie begins, leaning against a nearby tree, “when you left… it hit him harder than he let on. Took him a while to admit he screwed up, but by the time he wanted to fix things, you’d already transferred out. Guy was gutted.”

You glance down, your fingers brushing the hem of your coat. “I didn’t know,” you admit quietly. “I thought… I thought it didn’t matter to him.”

Ruggie shakes his head. “Nah, it mattered. He just doesn’t talk about that stuff, y’know? Too much pride or whatever. But hey, you’re here now. And trying again, right?”

You nod. “Yeah. We’re giving it another shot.”

He grins, sharp and amused, and starts laughing.

“What’s so funny?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah, it’s just—Jack’s gonna owe me big time,” Ruggie explains, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “I made a bet with him back in college. Told him you two’d get back together within ten years. He said no way.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re terrible.”

“Hey, I call it entrepreneurial instinct,” he says with a wink. “And what can I say? I know the two of you too well.”

The lightheartedness eases something in your chest, and you’re reminded that even in the midst of all the uncertainty, there’s a piece of your past that feels warm and familiar.

The doorbell rings, and when you open it, you freeze.

Leona stands on your doorstep, sharp as a blade in a perfectly tailored suit, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hand. His usual lazy smirk is in place, but there’s a softness in his eyes that makes your heart flutter.

“Well?” he drawls. “You just gonna stare, or can I come in?”

“Who are you, and what did you do with Leona?” you tease, leaning against the doorframe with a grin.

His ears twitch, and he scowls lightly, though the flush creeping up his neck betrays him. “Tch. You’re lucky I don’t just turn around and leave.”

“Not in those shoes, you’re not,” you quip, eyeing the polished leather. “Come on, you’d ruin them.”

He clicks his tongue, but his lips twitch like he’s holding back a smile. Handing you the bouquet, he steps back to let you admire them. “Hurry up. We’ve got reservations.”

Your teasing dies in your throat for a moment as you take in the effort he’s gone to, and you meet his gaze with a warmth you can’t hide. “Thanks, Leona. You look good.”

“‘Course I do,” he says, but the faint flush on his cheeks gives him away as he glances to the side.

Dinner is perfect—an upscale restaurant with just the right amount of ambiance, and Leona surprises you by actually making conversation instead of just grumbling through the meal. He asks about your work, your plans, and even shares a few stories about his own day.

By the time you’re back at your place, you’re both too full and too comfortable to let the night end.

“Wanna come in?” you ask casually, though your heart thumps a little harder in your chest.

He gives you a knowing look, smirking slightly. “If you’re offering.”

Inside, the two of you end up sprawled on the couch, a movie playing in the background. Somewhere between the second and third act, the weight of the day catches up with you both. You drift off, his arm around your shoulders and his head tilted against yours.

When you wake up, the sunlight is just beginning to stream through the curtains, and you realize you’ve shifted sometime in the night. You’re lying on the couch, and Leona’s face is buried against your neck, his arm draped possessively over your waist.

It’s so familiar, so natural, that it brings a lump to your throat. But this time, the memories aren’t tinged with pain. You feel whole, like this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

Leona stirs, his nose brushing against your collarbone as he blinks awake. His voice is gruff with sleep as he grumbles, “Why’re you smiling? It’s ass-crack morning.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, warm and genuine. “No reason,” you say softly, turning to hug him tighter.

“Tch. You’re weird,” he mutters, but his arm tightens around you, and you feel him press a barely-there kiss to your shoulder before settling back down.

You close your eyes, memorizing the feeling of his warmth, his steady breaths, and the quiet contentment of this moment. For the first time in a long time, everything feels right.

The rescheduled park date feels like a quiet celebration of trying again, an unspoken promise that you’re both willing to make things work this time. The air is crisp, the sunlight dappling through the leaves, and you walk side by side, shoulders occasionally brushing.

For a while, it’s easy—light conversation about work, the occasional tease, the kind of soft ease you’ve started to rediscover with him. But then, as you pass by the fountain, you hear the unmistakable sounds of a couple arguing nearby.

One of them is crying, their voice sharp, accusing. The other is defensive, frustration written all over their face. You avert your eyes, but the scene strikes something in you. You glance at Leona and see it on his face too—the way his jaw tightens, his hands flex at his sides.

It brings you back, sharp and fast, to the way it all unraveled the first time.

You both stop walking, and for a moment, there’s just the distant murmur of water and the occasional birdsong. Then Leona sighs, low and heavy, and leans against the railing by the fountain.

“Y’know,” he starts, his voice quieter than usual, “we should probably talk about… back then.”

You swallow hard, following his lead and leaning beside him. “Yeah. I think we should.”

It all spills out, bit by bit, like picking at an old wound. You tell him how you were so bright-eyed, so hopeful back then, thinking love would solve everything. How you’d wanted a picture-perfect romance, the kind you saw in movies, with sweet words and grand gestures.

“And you weren’t that guy,” you say, not unkindly. “You were… real. Frustrated, angry, dealing with your own stuff. And I couldn’t see past my own expectations to meet you where you were.”

Leona’s quiet for a moment, staring out at the water. Then he says, “I wasn’t much better, y’know. Kept thinking you’d wake up one day and realize I wasn’t worth the trouble. That you’d see how much of a mess I was and bail. Guess I tried to beat you to the punch.”

His words make your chest ache, and you think back to that last fight, the one that broke everything.

“I remember,” you say softly. “I was so mad at you for pushing me away. I screamed that you didn’t love me, and… God, I didn’t even mean it. I just wanted you to fight for me.”

Leona lets out a bitter chuckle, his fingers gripping the railing. “And I didn’t. Thought walking away would hurt less than hearing you say it again.”

For a long moment, the two of you just stand there, the weight of old mistakes hanging between you.

“But we’re not those kids anymore,” you finally say, your voice firmer. “I’ve grown up. I know love isn’t perfect. It’s messy, and hard, and sometimes it hurts. But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.”

Leona glances at you, his eyes softer than you’ve seen them in years. “Yeah, well… I’m not that idiot from back then either. Took me a while, but I figured out that… you loved me. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

You reach out, your fingers brushing his. “Let’s not make those mistakes again. Let’s just… talk. Be honest with each other. No more second-guessing.”

He nods, and when he takes your hand, his grip is warm and steady. “Deal. No running this time.”

You smile at him, small but genuine, and squeeze his hand. “Deal.”

And as you continue your walk, the sunlight seems a little brighter, the air a little lighter, as if the park itself knows you’ve turned a corner.

The café feels warm and familiar, a comforting mix of nostalgia and new beginnings. You’re seated at a round table with some of the faces you once knew so well—Rook, Vil, Trey, and Riddle. It’s strange how time has shifted them all, smoothing out edges while deepening others.

Rook, ever the enigma, waves off your questions about his career with a dazzling grin and a cryptic, “Ah, ma chérie, some mysteries are best left unsolved.” You decide to let it go when he winks at you dramatically and leans back like he’s some international spy.

Vil, unsurprisingly, radiates effortless elegance as he sips his tea. His sharp cheekbones and tailored outfit scream superstar, and he gives you a small, knowing smile when you tell him how much you’ve admired his recent work. “Well, darling, excellence demands attention. But enough about me,” he says, leaning forward with an almost imperceptible softness in his gaze. “How have you been holding up?”

Trey sits beside him, calm and grounded as always. There’s a faint dusting of flour on his sleeve, a reminder of his time spent in the family bakery. He listens with a small, contented smile as you catch up, occasionally chiming in with a joke or a warm anecdote.

Riddle looks startlingly different from the college version you knew. There’s still the meticulous sharpness in his posture, but his eyes are softer, his tone more relaxed. You’d heard he became a lawyer, and from the quiet pride in his voice when he talks about his recent cases, you can tell he’s damn good at it.

When the conversation inevitably shifts to you and Leona, you hesitate. The table goes quiet, and four pairs of eyes—each sharp in their own way—lock onto you.

“Well,” you say, fiddling with your cup. “We’re… trying again.”

Rook’s smile falters for just a second before he leans forward, resting his chin on his hands. “Ah, l’amour fou. It is a brave and treacherous thing, non? I wish you all the happiness in the world, but…” He hesitates, and for once, his voice lacks its usual poetic flourish. “Take care, my dear. You burned so brightly back then, and we all saw how hard the fall was.”

Vil’s expression tightens slightly, his fingers curling around his cup. “He has a lot to prove this time,” he says, his tone measured. “But if anyone can keep him in line, it’s you.”

Trey hums, glancing at Riddle. “If he messes up again, we’ve got backup now. Riddle can prosecute him for emotional damages.”

Riddle adjusts his tie, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “It’s not outside the realm of possibility.”

The laughter that ripples through the group is lighthearted, but the underlying support is tangible, almost overwhelming.

You feel a knot in your chest loosen as you look around the table. They care, even after all this time. Despite their reservations, they trust you to know what’s best for yourself.

And in that moment, surrounded by old friends who’ve grown and changed but still remain the same at their core, you feel a piece of yourself you thought was lost slowly start to return.

The afternoon sun filters lazily through the windows of Leona’s home, casting a warm glow across the room. You’re perched on the couch, cross-legged, scrolling through your phone and occasionally showing Leona something ridiculous. He’s sprawled out beside you, one arm draped along the back of the couch, the other resting on his chest as he listens to your laughter.

“Look at this,” you say, grinning as you hold your phone up to him. “Who even comes up with these memes?”

Leona leans in, his sharp eyes skimming the screen before letting out a low, amused snort. “Idiots, clearly,” he says, but there’s a faint curve to his lips that gives him away.

Your laughter rings out again, light and unrestrained, and Leona watches you. Watches the way your eyes crinkle at the corners, the way you throw your head back, carefree and radiant.

It hits him all at once.

He can’t lose this again. Can’t lose you again.

The thought burns in his chest, threatening to choke him, until he blurts out: “Be mine again.”

Your laughter fades as you turn to him, surprised. “What?”

He sits up, his gaze steady but his ears twitching slightly. “I’m serious,” he says, voice low but firm. “I messed it up before, but I’m not gonna do that again. You’ve always been it for me. So… be mine. For real this time.”

For a moment, you’re silent, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. His expression is raw, his usual confidence stripped away to reveal something vulnerable and achingly sincere.

You nod, your voice soft but sure. “Okay. Yes.”

The tension in his shoulders melts as relief washes over him. A slow, almost disbelieving smile spreads across his face, and he reaches for you, pulling you into his arms.

“‘Bout time,” he mutters, but there’s no bite in his tone. Just a quiet, overwhelming joy that he doesn’t bother hiding.

You laugh, your face pressed against his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he says, resting his chin on top of your head. “But you said yes, so who’s the real fool here?”

You smack his arm lightly, but your grin betrays you. As his arms tighten around you, you can’t help but think that this—this warmth, this love—is exactly where you’re meant to be.

The familiar sound of your shared front door closing behind you feels like the exhale of a long day. You kick off your shoes, dropping your bag onto the entryway table, and glance back to see Leona loosening his tie with a tired smirk.

“Finally home,” he mutters, stepping over to pull you into a soft, lingering kiss.

You smile against his lips. “Long day?”

“Always,” he replies, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “Go shower. I’ll figure out dinner.”

“You spoil me,” you tease, heading toward the bathroom.

His chuckle follows you down the hall. “Damn right I do.”

By the time you emerge, refreshed and in comfier clothes, the scent of takeout wafts through the house. You find Leona at the dining table, the food already unpacked and his shirt sleeves rolled up. He looks up as you sit down and slides your favorite dish toward you without a word, but the small grin on his face says it all.

“So, how was your day?” you ask, taking a bite.

He leans back in his chair, his gaze softening as he recounts his work. “Not bad. Ruggie’s really stepping up these days—caught something even I missed during a proposal meeting. I’ve gotta admit, the guy’s making himself indispensable.”

You laugh. “Ruggie’s always been sharp. I’m sure he’s just waiting for the right moment to ask for a raise.”

Leona snorts. “He’s already hinting at it. Not subtle at all.”

“And what about you?” he asks, watching you with quiet interest.

You shrug, grinning. “Same old. Meetings, deadlines, and trying to convince my coworker that microwaving fish in the breakroom is a crime against humanity.”

He raises a brow. “Still working with amateurs, huh?”

“Always.”

The conversation meanders to weekend plans, and you both agree to invite your friends out for dinner. You bring up Riddle’s work stress, Vil’s latest award, and Trey’s new dessert line, while Leona adds in snippets about Ruggie and Jack, his voice tinged with fondness he doesn’t bother to hide anymore.

Later, as the night stretches on, the two of you settle into bed. The familiar warmth of his arm around your waist pulls you closer, his head resting against yours.

You sigh, content. “Coming back here, to you, was the best decision I’ve ever made.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then his lips brush against your hair. “Thanks for choosing me. Again.”

You tilt your head to meet his gaze, brushing your fingers against his jaw. “There was no other choice. Nobody ever compares.”

His lips curve into that cocky smirk you know so well, but his eyes are soft, filled with a depth of affection that steals your breath. “Tch. Sappy as ever, huh?”

“You love it,” you retort, rolling your eyes.

“Damn right I do,” he mutters, and then his smirk fades as he cups your face and kisses you like it’s the only thing that matters in the world.

By the time you both pull away, breathless and tangled in each other’s warmth, he holds you close, murmuring softly, “We’re doing this right this time. No mistakes.”

You nod, resting your head against his chest as his heartbeat lulls you to sleep. “No mistakes.”

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x reader #leona kingscholar x you #leona kingscholar #leona #twst leona

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