#led toe kick lighting

[rosierin]

all giggles & glitter | atsumu miya

synopsis; (y/n) comes home drunk from a staff do and atsumu is tasked to take care of her.

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

It was almost 2 AM when the apartment door slammed open with the kind of force that made Suna lift his head from his phone and sigh through his nose.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

Atsumu, who’d been half-asleep on the couch with a blanket kicked halfway down his legs, jerked upright like he'd been shot. “Huh—wha’?”

From the hallway, Osamu’s muffled voice rang out through the darkness, dry and unsurprised. “Ya break that door, yer payin’ for it.”

“Oopsie…” came the sing-song reply.

Atsumu and Suna stared at the culprit.

There, framed by the glow of the corridor light, stood (y/n). Polaroid camera in one hand, purse in the other, dress slightly askew and glitter clinging to her face like it had a vendetta. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks flushed, and she was grinning like she had just committed a crime and gotten away with it.

She looked like a walking cocktail menu and a night of gossip come to life.

“Oh, great,” Suna drawled, locking his phone and tossing it onto the coffee table. “She’s wasted.”

“I am not wasted,” (y/n) declared immediately, pointing a dramatic, wobbly finger at him.

She took two steps forward and—promptly tripped over nothing.

Atsumu shot up like a bridesmaid ready to catch a bouquet at a wedding, but she miraculously caught herself—arms thrown out, knees bent, sticking the landing like a drunken gymnast.

“SEE?” she announced, chest puffed out proudly. “I'm so graceful.”

“Gracefully ‘boutta crack your head open,” Osamu muttered from his room.

Atsumu was already next to her, placing his hands on her shoulders to steady her. “Jesus, babe, how much did ya drink?”

“I dunno.” She blinked up at him with wide, sparkly eyes. “It was fruity, though."

Suna sighed, leaning back on the couch. “Uh oh. Cocktails.”

“Where were ya?” Atsumu demanded, not letting go of her. “Ya should’ve called.”

“I texted!”

"Who?"

Suna held up his phone. “Me. She just said, ‘imwith the grils gnighttt 🥴💞”

Atsumu leaned down and squinted at the screen, lips pulled into a thin line. “That's not exactly… reassurin'.”

“She’s been out with her work friends,” Osamu added, finally stepping into the living room in a hoodie and pyjama pants, hair sleep-mussed. “Staff do, remember? Dancin’, gossipin’, the whole nine yards.”

“Danced my ass off,” (y/n) confirmed, giving a proud nod. “There was a conga line. I led it. Guys, I was majestic.”

“I’m sure you were,” Suna said, deadpan.

“I was,” she insisted, wobbling slightly. “And you'll never guess what—Sadie actually broke up with her boyfriend—which, to be fair, she should’ve done ages ago—and then Ria told me all about the Sabrina Carpenter concert she went to last week—you know, the pretty blonde girl who sings ‘that’s that me espresso.’ Oh! And I’m pretty sure Morrigan bit a guy at one point, and—”

“She’s spirallin'',” Osamu observed.

He took another look at her, scratching his head as he surveyed the damage. “Alright, let’s get ya to bed before ya end up in the damn hospital.”

“But I’m not tired,” (y/n) whined.

“Yes, ya are,” Atsumu said firmly, already guiding her toward her room.

“No, I’m not—oh my God, my feet hurt.”

Suna raised a brow, eyeing the heels she was wearing. "Not surprised wearing those things."

She gasped dramatically and pointed at him. “You—you are not helping!”

“I wasn’t trying to,” he droned.

Atsumu crouched down and tapped her calf. “C’mon, lemme take yer shoes off.”

(Y/n) placed a hand on her hip and stared at him.

“…What?”

“Are you gonna propose?” she asked, completely serious.

Suna snorted. Osamu sighed. Atsumu turned red.

“That is NOT what I was doin’!”

She squinted. “Are you sure?”

“Just gimme yer damn foot,” he grumbled, pulling off her heels while Suna continued to watch, immensely entertained.

(Y/n) wiggled her toes in relief and let out a pleased hum. “Thanks, ‘Tsum. You’re so nice.”

Atsumu froze.

You’re so nice.

Osamu clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Breathe, lover boy.”

But Atsumu was not breathing.

Meanwhile (y/n) was already tottering toward the couch, flopping down in the middle like it was her royal throne. “You guys though—“ she gestured to Osamu and Suna. “—are being mean.”

Suna tilted his head. “You wanna know what’s mean? Dragging your drunk ass home at two in the morning and expecting us to babysit.”

(Y/n) gasped. “You like babysitting me!”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“…Yes.”

“For the love of—Suna,” Atsumu cut in. “Put her to bed already.”

Suna gave him a long look.

“You do it.”

“She’s your childhood friend.”

“Yeah, which is why I know better than to let a drunk (y/n) anywhere near my bed.”

Osamu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then just take her to hers.”

Suna clicked his tongue before pushing himself off the armchair. “Fine.”

He then grabbed (y/n)’s arm, but she clung to the couch like a feral raccoon. “No! Noooo, please I wanna hang out with you guys!"

“You can tomorrow—when you’re sober,” Suna grunted, yanking her up effortlessly, ignoring her protests.

“Don’t wanna sleep,” she whined.

“I don’t care.”

“I wanna eat something.”

“No, you don’t.”

(Y/n) turned her big, glassy eyes to Osamu. “’Samu… can I have onigiri?”

“Absolutely not.”

She pouted. “What if I starve?”

Osamu gave her slow blink. “Then I’ll put it on your tombstone: ‘Drank too much, begged for rice, got denied.’”

(Y/n) scowled.

Okay, so one twin was dud.

How about—

(Y/n) turned her big, glassy eyes to Atsumu. “Atsumuuu, say something.”

Atsumu panicked.

He always panicked when she got like this—when her voice went all soft and sleepy and her eyes got shiny and warm and her words came out without filters.

He never knew what to do with her when she was like this. It threw him off completely.

She was usually composed. Witty. A little sarcastic. But now she was… soft. Honest. Childish, almost. And so touchy.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and careful as he slipped his arm around her waist, gently guiding her away from Suna. “Let’s get ya comfy.”

She hummed contentedly and let him lead her down the hall, too tired to fight anymore.

Atsumu guided her up the stairs, one hand steady on her lower back, the other holding all her belongings.

She stumbled once—just a little—and he caught her easily, murmuring something soft and fond under his breath. (Y/n) didn’t quite hear it, but the warmth of his palm on her spine made her shiver.

The bedroom door creaked open, dim moonlight pooling across the floorboards. She blinked at the familiar space, like it was somehow new. Or swaying. Hard to tell.

Even so, as she stood in the middle of the room, she could tell this wasn’t hers.

“Are we in your room?”

Atsumu, already heading toward his wardrobe, nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“’Cause Suna won’t have ya.”

“No, I mean… why are we in your room and not mine?”

Atsumu’s hands faltered. He cleared his throat and mumbled, “Just wanted to keep an eye on ya, is all.”

(Y/n) broke into the broadest grin. “Awwww!”

Atsumu rolled his eyes, but his ears turned a little pink.

A quiet moment passed. (Y/n) started humming to herself, rocking on the balls of her feet like she couldn’t quite stand still. Atsumu glanced over his shoulder and chuckled to himself.

Then he heard her yawn.

He turned back around. She was rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand, voice soft and slightly slurred.

“Hey, Atsumu?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re so…” She squinted at him, smiling dozily. “Tall.”

Atsumu blinked. “...Thanks?”

“You ever notice that?” she asked, waddling over to him and pressing her cheek against his shoulder blades. “You’re like. So tall.”

He laughed under his breath, trying not to combust on the spot. “Alright, c’mon. Bedtime, space cadet.”

He led her to the edge of the bed and eased her down. She plopped onto the mattress with all the grace of a sleepy toddler, swaying slightly like a buoy in the ocean.

Atsumu shook his head fondly, rummaged through his drawer, and grabbed one of his oversized T-shirts at random. It was a little wrinkled, but clean.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her. “Change into this, okay?”

She took it slowly, holding it up by the sleeves like it was an ancient relic. Her brows furrowed.

“…It’s huge.”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “’Cause it’s mine.”

(Y/n) gasped like he’d handed her a sacred object. Then—without shame—she brought it to her face and sniffed it.

Atsumu turned red. “Don’t smell it, ya weirdo!”

She giggled. “It smells like you.”

“Yeah, that’s—that’s how shirts work,” he stammered, waving his hands a little too much. “Jesus, yer so—”

“You’re blushing,” she said, delighted, pointing at him like she’d won something.

He dragged a hand down his face. “I hate drunk you.”

“No, you don’t.”

He peeked at her through his fingers. She was smiling at him—soft, sleepy, unguarded—and it hit him square in the chest.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “No. I don’t.”

A knock at the door interrupted them. Suna leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold.

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” he said, voice way too casual.

“DON’T SAY IT LIKE THAT,” Atsumu yelled, spinning around like he’d been caught committing a crime.

Osamu’s voice followed from down the hall, dry and muffled. “I’m goin’ back to bed."

(Y/n) just giggled harder, pulling Atsumu’s shirt over her head like it was the best thing that had happened to her all night. It swallowed her frame, the hem almost brushing past her thighs like a second dress.

Speaking of...

Atsumu blinked.

Then frowned.

“Yer just gonna put it on over yer dress?”

She looked up at him, her smile dopey and innocent.

He quirked a brow, mildly concerned, gesturing vaguely at her glittery, slightly wrinkled outfit. “Ain’t that uncomfortable?”

(Y/n) looked down at herself like she hadn’t even realized. She furrowed her brows. Looked back up.

“…No?”

“Yer just gonna sleep in yer party dress?”

She squinted at him suspiciously, like she was about to be tricked. “Are you making me take it off?”

Atsumu faltered, thrown off by the phrasing.

“What? No! I just—I meant—you don’t have to, I just figured you’d wanna, y’know, change properly.” He waved a hand, flustered. “It’s fine. Ya don’t have to.”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

Then he noticed the pout on her face.

“…What’s wrong?”

“Help me,” she said, tugging at the hem of her dress like it had suddenly become unbearable. “It’s itchy. Not comfy.”

Atsumu stared at her.

Like, really stared at her, and processed her words.

“Ya want me to undress ya?”

She let her arms droop by her sides in utter defeat. “Mhmm.”

His brain screeched to a halt.

Cogs turning. Morals clashing. Hormones threatening to riot.

This was a test. This had to be a test. And God—was he about to fail it?

He dragged both hands down his face and knelt in front of her slowly, like he was approaching a bomb with a pair of scissors and no idea which wire to cut.

“I can’t,” he said, voice firm but way too gentle. “Sober you would kill me."

She was giving him a look.

That look.

Eyes round and shiny, lips jutting out in the softest pout he’d ever seen in his life. She looked so genuinely pitiful, so impossibly cute—it was a miracle he didn’t spontaneously combust.

He almost caved when she murmured, all breathy and helpless—

“Please.”

His hands twitched toward the hem of her dress.

Then froze.

Then twitched again.

He squeezed his eyes shut, mentally reciting the rules of being a decent human being. He was not gonna be that guy. He liked being alive. He liked her trusting him.

Then, like a gift from the gods—

“Atsumu, don’t you fuckin’ dare."

Osamu’s voice rang loud and righteous from downstairs, like the ghost of judgment incarnate.

Atsumu flinched like he’d been slapped by the universe.

He stood up fast, cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair like it could somehow smooth out the chaos inside his head.

“Right,” he said, a little too loudly. “Don’t ya need to do your skincare?”

(Y/n) blinked, distracted instantly. Her pout vanished. Her eyes lit up.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, “you’re right—my skin!”

She stood with new purpose, looking momentarily sobered by the sheer urgency of her nightly routine. Then she turned and scurried toward the hallway, bumping her shoulder against the doorframe on the way out.

Atsumu let out a breath as soon as she was gone.

Close call.

Atsumu sighed again and stood, shaking his head like it could somehow reset his brain. It didn’t.

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching the empty hallway, then rubbed the back of his neck and wandered out.

She’d been so determined about her skincare, and considering she’d just walked into a doorframe five minutes ago… she probably needed help.

He padded down the hall and stopped just outside the bathroom. The light was on, and from inside came a flurry of clinks, clatters, and a loud “ow!”

He knocked once. “Ya need help?”

There was a pause. Then a crash. Then—

“Yes please.”

He sighed again—but it was smiling this time.

Pushing the door open gently, he found (y/n) crouched on the floor, holding the lid of a serum bottle in one hand while the rest of the serum dripped in sad little globs onto the tile.

She looked up at him with watery eyes, the very picture of tragedy. “That was expensive.”

Atsumu huffed a laugh and crouched beside her. “C’mon, princess. Let’s save what’s left for yer pretty face.”

He helped her up and carefully lifted her onto the bathroom counter like it was second nature. She let her legs swing gently while he picked up the scattered bottles, reading the unfamiliar labels with mild confusion.

“Ya got a whole science lab in here,” he muttered, uncapping the cleanser.

“Uh-huh, that's what skincare is,” she said, wiggling her fingers mysteriously. “It's more than a routine. It's a ritual.”

“Sounds dramatic.”

“Skincare is dramatic, if you think about it.”

He snorted and wet a cloth with warm water, gently dabbing at her face to clean off the remnants of the night. Glitter came off in waves.

“What's with all the glitter?"

“Morrigan and Ria wanted to be disco balls."

Atsumu let out a slow exhale. “Not surprised.”

She giggled, leaning forward so her forehead bumped lightly against his. “You’re being very sweet, y’know.”

“I’m always sweet,” he said, carefully smoothing a little serum across her cheeks.

She gasped softly. “It’s cold!”

He smiled. “It is. You keep it in the fridge or somethin’?”

“Apparently that's what you're meant to do,” she mumbled, eyes fluttering shut as he worked. “Don’t stop, though. Your hands are really gentle…”

He paused for half a second at that.

Then recovered. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm,” she sighed. “Like… real boyfriend material hands.”

Atsumu’s lips quirked up. “That so?”

“Mmhm,” she said again, more sleepily this time. “You could probably get me to do anything with hands like that.”

His hand stalled on her jawline.

“…Anything, huh.”

(Y/n) didn’t seem to notice. She was in her own little skincare dreamland. “Like if you told me to… I dunno, rob a bank? I’d be like, ‘sure, as long as you apply my SPF for me after.’”

Atsumu tried not to laugh, but it came out anyway—low and warm. “Yer dangerous when yer like this.”

“I’m just relaxed,” she murmured, eyes still closed. “You’re the one touching me... making me feel like this."

A short pause.

"Like what?"

Atsumu didn’t look up. He was too focused on the task at hand—spreading the serum evenly, making sure he didn’t miss a spot, acting like this was nothing.

That being said, he still didn’t miss the way she shifted. The way her fingers gripped the hem of the oversized shirt, twisting the fabric absently in her lap.

He didn’t tease her, though. Didn’t say the million things he wanted to. Just glanced up at her, and chuckled—soft, knowing—relishing the warm flush blooming across her cheeks.

Whatever she was thinking… he’d get her to admit it someday. When she was sober.

When he could finally ask and have her mean it.

He gently tapped her chin to tip her head up, fingers warm against her skin as he patted in her moisturiser with slow, practiced care. The act was clinical for the most part. Practical.

Until somehow, it wasn't.

Not when (y/n)'s breath hitched softly. Not when her lashes fluttered open and she looked at him—half-lidded, soft, vulnerable in a way that made Atsumu's stomach twist.

His hand lingered for a moment too long.

And then the air felt different. Thicker. Slower. A little quieter.

“You missed a spot,” she whispered, pointing vaguely at her cheek.

He leaned closer. “Where?”

“Here,” she said, tapping her face.

He raised a brow. “There’s literally nothin’ there.”

“You don’t know that,” she said, lips twitching. “You’re not the expert.”

He huffed another laugh. “Fine. Lemme just—”

He pressed his thumb gently to the spot, smoothing out the remaining product.

The silence stretched.

Then—

“Y’know,” she said, voice soft, “you’re kinda good at this. I might make you my official skincare applier.”

Atsumu grinned, stepping back and putting the lid on the moisturiser. “Add it to my résumé.”

“You’d look cute in a spa uniform.”

“Yer flirtin’.”

“I am,” she agreed cheerfully.

Atsumu shook his head, turning away so she wouldn’t see the way his ears were going red again. “Hop off the counter, you menace. Time for bed.”

“You gonna carry me?”

He quirked a playful brow. "Do ya want me to?"

Then she tilted her head, all soft and hopeful and tipsy.

“Will you actually?”

Atsumu hesitated.

Rolled his eyes for show.

Muttered something under his breath about being too nice for his own good.

And then, without warning, he bent down and scooped her up bridal style.

(Y/n) yelped, laughing as her arms flung instinctively around his neck.

He smirked down at her, trying to play it cool despite the fact that his entire nervous system was buffering. “Told ya I was sweet.”

“You’re my knight in soft cotton sweatpants,” she said dreamily.

He chuckled. “Yer heavy, is what you are.”

“Liar. I’m dainty.”

“You’re deadweight.”

Still giggling, she nestled her head against his shoulder. “You love this, really."

He didn’t answer.

Mostly because she wasn’t wrong.

He pushed open the bedroom door with his foot and carried her to the bed, dropping her gently onto the mattress like she was something fragile. She bounced once and flopped backward with a laugh, limbs spread like a starfish.

He stood above her for a second, staring.

She looked… happy. Sleepy. Safe.

“Get in,” she said, voice muffled against his pillow.

Atsumu raised a brow. “You’re takin’ the whole bed.”

She peeked one eye open. “There’s space.”

With a sigh that was more resigned than annoyed, he slid in beside her, resting on top of the blanket while she curled up underneath. Her hair was still damp from the steamy bathroom, fanned across the pillow like a halo. She started talking immediately—half stories, half thoughts—just sleepy little musings that spilled out like honey.

“I wish work let us wear comfy clothes. I’d be so much nicer if I could wear sweatpants.”

“Mhm.”

“And if customers had to bring us snacks. That should be the rule.”

“Mhm.”

She turned to face him, nose nearly touching his. “I could never work with you though.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’d distract me.”

“Oh?”

“With your face.”

He huffed a laugh through his nose, not trusting himself to respond.

She kept talking—less coherent now, voice softening with every word. He thought she was drifting off, but then her hand slipped out from under the covers and landed lightly on his chest.

Then her head followed.

She scooted over, tucked her face into the curve of his shoulder, and let out a little sigh of contentment.

Atsumu froze.

Fully, completely froze.

His entire body went taut like someone had just hit the pause button on his soul. His heart thundered in his ears, his brain scrambled for a single logical response, and every cell in his body screamed don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t ruin this.

And then… she started snoring.

A soft, barely audible, but real snore.

Atsumu let out a shaky exhale, blinking up at the ceiling with wide eyes.

Tonight was gonna be a long night.

A very long night.

[a-leg-without-fear]

No Fucking Way (pt.1)

have some absolutely adorable interactions with you and the students at the mansion (and a surprise guest)

Ship: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader 🩸

Rating: 13+

Wordcount: 4.1k

Warnings: cursing, mentions of animals neglecting their babies, and a story so sweet my teeth hurt

Inspiration: This scene from X2: X-Men United

Series: No Fucking Way

Your feet pounded against the gravel path beneath you. Small rocks and dirt were kicked up by your well-worn sneakers. Warm sweat dampened the cloth of your sweatshirt around your arms and chest. The sun beat down on your flushed face as a cold breeze bit across your nose. 

It was an absolutely gorgeous, autumn day. Occasional spotted clouds glided at a snail’s pace across a great blue sky. Soft breezes made the great trees surrounding the mansion dance like sheets of amber linen. Red and orange leaves skittered across the yellowing grass fields.

You saw a handful of students out on the lawn enjoying the early morning air. Sybil, a brunette with the ability to see through others’ eyes, sat beneath a large willow by the fish pond with a notepad in her hands. Vienna sat beside her. A strawberry blonde, bright eyed girl who could channel electricity into the palms of her hands. The two exchanged ideas about whatever Sybil was jotting down in her notepad.

Yuna sat not too far from the whispering pair, fingers twirling above a quickly constructed tower of stones and blades of grass. Her usual deep brown eyes now glowed a subtle violet. The maroon hijab she wore wrapped around her neck matched the crimson hues of the changing leaves in the trees around her. 

Jane, a kind-eyed tracker, Matt, a red glasses-wearing fighter, and Mads, a short-haired plant bender, sat in a circle, enjoying their morning coffee and tea together. You gave Mads a quick wave as you jogged past, receiving a warm smile and a shower of flower petals left in your wake.

The gravel path led along the left side of the mansion. Emerald ivy crawled up the brick walls like arms reaching from the earth. An occasional window broke up the light colored bricks. Most had their curtains drawn, which you attributed to a large portion of the students being late risers. One or two had the curtains open to allow fresh sunlight into the shared rooms.

You caught a glimpse of Sapph through one of the windows. Her bright smile and blue eyes were almost radiant as she basked in the streams of sunlight. Vases of sunflowers sat on the windowsill in front of her. The light seemed to bend, refracting from Sapph’s palms and hitting the sunflowers’ leaves.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The students were happy, the day was beautiful, and you only had one more lap of the mansion to jog before you’d call it a day.

“MAAAOOOWWW!”

You stopped just short of the empty basketball court. The crimson asphalt was covered in crunchy leaves and green brush from the nearby bushes. Corded nets hanging from the steel hoops swayed in the breeze. You looked around you, trying to find the source of the noise.

“MaaooOOW?”

There it was again. Closer than before. It sounded like it came from an incredibly small source, whatever it was. Your sneakers crossed onto the asphalt, toes kicking at leaves and twigs. You let your eyes scan the area around you. The court was surrounded by a wall of hedges. About waist high to you, it helped keep the court clear of too much debris from the trees. 

The mansion sat against the hedges. Large, bay windows looked into a sitting area. Hira, a telepath, sat in one of the plush leather armchairs with a novel in her hands. A white hijab wrapped around her head, glasses peeking out over light brown eyes. Daniel, a light-haired strongman, and Jacob, a bearded speedster, sat on the green-clothed couch across from Hira. Dice and rulebooks laid on the coffee table in front of them.

A rustle in the hedges to your left drew your focus from the students inside. The lowest branches shuddered, small green leaves shaken off and falling to the ground below. You knelt on the asphalt and strained your eyes to see through the dense foliage.

“MoowwWOAAOW!”

That was the only warning you got before a tiny gray and white fur ball burst out of the hedge and landed five feet in front of you. Pointed ears folded back, blue eyes widened, arched back covered in long fuzz.

A kitten. A small, angry, fluffy kitten. No more than a few weeks old. 

You remained where you kneeled on the asphalt, palms upturned and resting on your thighs. You kept a neutral expression on your face as you blinked slowly at the small creature.

After a few moments the kitten relaxed. Its ears faced forward, tail sticking straight up as it approached you. You gingerly extended a hand for it to sniff. Its tiny, pink nose ran across the tips of your fingers as it grew acclimated to your presence.

“Hi, little one,” you said through a barely subdued, ecstatic grin. You had always wanted a cat. Ever since you were a kid, you dreamed of a tiny ball of purrs curled up in your lap and effortlessly improving your mood. Not to mention they were ridiculously easy to take care of.

The kitten took a few more moments to sniff at your fingers. Its tiny eyes squinted as it seemed to devote its entire being to assessing your threat level. Once it seemed satisfied, it rubbed its chin across your thumb. You could already feel the purrs rumbling in its throat.

It took everything in you to not explode from the cuteness overload. This little thing, this tiny itty bitty little thing, chose you. You could feel a swell of pure adoration overtake your chest, the gentle warmth spreading from head to toe.

The cat continued to rub on your hand, occasionally nibbling on your fingers with the sides of its mouth. You lifted your free hand in an attempt to pet the kitten. Moving slowly to not startle it, you gently ran your fingers across its fluffy back. An explosion of purrs, like a hive of angry bees, met your affection. The cat dug its little head into the palm of your hand. You took the hint, giving it gentle scratches on the soft spots by its ears.

“You are the cutest fucking thing I’ve seen in my life,” you breathed in astonishment. The cat seemed to enjoy the compliment, pawing at your hands and attempting to climb closer to your face. You scooped its tiny body in your hands and lifted it to your chest.

Tiny paws kneaded at the fabric of your sweatshirt. Little needle-like claws pulled at the threads. The kitten looked up at you with squinted eyes. You carefully rose to your feet, doing your best to not jostle the miniature creature cradled to your chest.

The cat nestled into the crook of your neck. Its tiny nose puffed against your skin while a category-5 purricane buzzed in your hands.

You would die for this cat and you just met it a minute ago.

Mentally saying “fuck it” to the rest of your jog, you began to gingerly walk back inside. You avoided walking on the gravel to make as little noise and sudden movements as possible. The cat seemed to appreciate the gesture, with what miniscule amount its tiny brain could comprehend, as a small lick from its rough tongue passed over your neck.

You garnered a few sideways looks from the students on the lawn as you walked by again. Mads cocked her head, fairy themed earrings jingling, at the gentleness in your step and the backtracking in your path.

“You alright, ma’am?” she called out. Jane and Matt perked up at Mads’s exclamation. Jane looked up at you with curiosity written in her features while Matt’s dark brows furrowed.

A quick gesture to the buzzing fur ball in your hands was all the trio needed. Their expressions quickly shifted from confusion to utter joy. They whispered among themselves about the newest addition to the mansion as you passed by.

That method is how you seamlessly moved through the bustling early-risers inside the foyer. One perplexed look was met with a nod to the kitten in your hands and the students parted like the Red Sea. Excited murmurs spread through the students like wildfire. “Is that a cat?” “Oh my god, kitty!” “It’s so cute!” “I hope we can keep it!”

The last student you passed before reaching your destination was Bella, a time manipulator. She was just on her way out of the professor’s study, closing the heavy oak door behind her. A kind smile met yours when she looked in your direction. 

“Morning, ma’am. Need to see the- Wait, is that a cat?” she asked, eyes widening.

“Shhh. Yes, it is. Could you open the door for me?” you whispered. Bella lifted her first finger to her mouth, winking to indicate she understood, then twisted the brass knob and swung the door open before you.

“Good luck,” she whisper-yelled after you.

A grand office stood before you. Comfortable leather settees were positioned in front of a solid, mahogany desk. Rows and rows of bookshelves filled to the brim lined the walls. Trinkets and remembrances decorated available surfaces and empty wall space.

The professor, or Charles Xavier as you knew him, sat in his motorized wheelchair behind the large desk. His hairless head was lowered, blue eyes darting across the pages of a copy of House of Leaves. A single finger raised next to his aged face to acknowledge your presence.

“One moment, please. From both you and your new friend,” he said. A minute passed, seconds counted by the paws kneading into your shoulder, before Charles closed the book and met your gaze. A warm smile matched your enthusiastic one, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I found this little guy outside,” you began. The cat perked up at the mention of itself, eyes blinking up at you then looking at the professor. You ran a finger under the kitten’s chin as you continued, “He was an angry little fella, all bushy tailed, but he warmed right up to me. He was hiding in the hedges by the basketball court.”

“Ah, I see,” Charles replied. He lowered a hand to maneuver his wheelchair. The low buzz of the machinery heralded his movement as he rounded the desk to sit in front of you and the cat.

“I didn’t see any other cats around, but the good news is he seems to be old enough for solid food,” you said. The cat blinked slowly at the professor, its little nose sniffing the air in front of it.

“It seems his mother abandoned him. Weaned him off her too quickly and left him stunted. Poor thing,” Charles said, head tilting and lips pulling into a slight frown. You gawked at him.

“You can read the cat’s mind, too?” you asked. The abilities of the mutants around you never ceased to amaze. Especially one as powerful as Charles Xavier.

He smiled at the kitten, oblivious to your gawking, stretching out his hands to you, “May I?”

You gently lifted the cat off your chest, prying the tiny talons from your sweatshirt, and placed the furball in the professor’s hands. Charles lifted the cat to his chest and ran a gentle hand down its back.

“You’ll need to wake Rogue and Bobby, have them run to the pet store down the road. This one will need plenty of love and nourishment if he’s to thrive,” he said. You stared at him, dumbstruck.

“We can keep him?”

“He can stay, as long as he likes. Much is the same with the rest of those who live here,” Charles clarified. The little gray kitten nuzzled against Charles’s chin, the professor’s smile growing.

“Okay. Okay! Yes! I’ll go get Rogue and Bobby,” you said, absolute jubilation filling your lungs. 

You left Charles and the cat to continue their telepathic conversation as you raced up the giant, double staircase. Ornately carved wooden banisters ran along the edges of the stairs, polish shining in yellow circles from the chandeliers hanging on the ceiling. When the stairs divided into two sets, running opposite directions, you cut to the right. Your feet skipped over carpeted steps in your haste to reach your destination.

Once your sneakers landed on the second floor, you broke into a jog down the hallway. Door after wooden door flew by you on both sides of the hall. Paintings of peaceful landscapes and glowing sconces lined the wooden walls. A large window sat in the white wall at the end of the hall. Daylight streamed in and cast golden spots on the wood floors.

You stopped at the last door on the left. Rapping three quick knocks on the door, you bounced on your toes. There was a cat in the mansion. A cat! One that would live with you! You silently thanked whatever god it was that decided for you to be next in the cat distribution system.

It took another set of knocks on the door for you to hear movement on the other side. Bleary groans and rustling sheets leaked through the cracks in the door. You bit your lip in an attempt to quell your excitement.

The doorknob turned and a ruffled-looking Rogue appeared in the doorway. Dark hair just barely smoothed down, eyes squinted, robe hastily thrown over a nightgown.

“Vampire? Shit, what time is it?” she asked, grogginess laced in her tone.

“Doesn’t matter. We have a cat,” you said. Your smile widened as you waited for her response. Rogue eyed you, up and down, as she assessed her living alarm clock.

“Logan’s not a cat. We’ve been over this,” she said. She exhaled a puff of air through her lips to blow at the white bangs that fell over her eyes. You rolled your eyes playfully at the jab.

“Not Logan this time. An actual cat. A kitten,” you explained. Rogue’s eyebrows rose as her eyes widened.

“Wait, there’s a cat?” Bobby called from beyond the door. His blonde head popped up beside Rogue’s. The couple seemed to be much more awake now.

“Yup,” you said, annunciating the p. Bobby and Rogue looked at each other, smiles growing, before looking back to you. 

“Where is it? Can we see it?” Rogue asked.

“Charles needs the two of you to run and get cat stuff first. Like food, litter, toys. Anything you can think of,” you replied. At the first sign of them objecting, you continued, “You guys can get literally anything you want. Treats, cat towers, little obstacle courses. Just make sure it’s safe for a younger kitten.”

“We’re on it, boss!” Bobby said, happiness palpable and blue eyes sparkling, as his hand clapped on Rogue’s clothed shoulder.

“100%. This cat will be spoiled rotten,” Rogue confirmed. With that situation squared away, you gave the pair a quick nod, beaming at them, then took off back down the hallway.

The run back to the professor’s office was an even shorter journey due to you jumping down several steps at a time. A few students looked gravely concerned at your acrobatics. Especially Ash, who helped Jean with patching students up by being a walking pain-reliever.

Your hand caught on the doorframe of Charles’s office and you swung into the doorway, breathless. He and the cat were much like how you had left them. Tiny gray body tucked against his neck, both having their eyes closed.

“Bobby and Rogue are on their way out,” you said. Charles hummed in response, eyes falling open.

“This one’s taken a shine to you, my dear. Says you’re the first to treat him kindly,” he said, a proud smile painted across his face. You let out an incredulous laugh.

“Guess he really is one of us, huh?”

“More than you know,” Charles said through an amused chuckle. You approached the professor and ball of cuddles carefully, attempting to not disturb the little creature.

“Mrrpp?” the cat trilled. It squinted at you from beneath Charles’s chin, paws kneading into the back of the professor’s hands. You could almost hear its purrs from where you stood.

“Does he have a name?” you asked. You scratched beneath its furry chin as the cat stretched out its jaw into your hand. 

“I was hoping you might know one,” Charles said. He pressed the cat into your hands and you gladly scooped the little ball of love into your arms. You could feel the purrs emanating from the cat’s belly vibrate against your chest. Tiny, thin whiskers tickled along the underside of your jaw.

“Jeez, uh. I don’t know. Let me think on it,” you responded. It was hard to think when all of your focus was drawn to the fluffy creature cradled in your hands. Charles chuckled at your indecision.

“I’m sure whatever you choose, our newest student will happily respond to it,” he assured. He used his now free hands to dust cat hair off his crisp, navy blue suit. As you turned to walk out, Charles said, “Make sure to give him a bath. This young one’s lived outside for far too long.”

“Will do,” you said. You shifted your arms so you could better support the cat on your chest, then set a course for the upstairs bathroom closest to your and Logan’s room.

It seemed the news of a cat on campus had spread throughout the student body. A large crowd had gathered outside of Charles’s study. Students, an array of ages and stages of dress, craned their necks over their peers to try and catch a glimpse. 

“I wanna see!” Addie, a platinum blonde seven-year-old who could speak any language, called up from the space next to your hip. Your legs were framed by her and Ryan, a nine-year-old brunet with impenetrable skin. 

“Guys, the cat is very small. He needs quiet!” you said, voice coming out as a stage whisper. A hush fell over the group in front of you. Wide, hopeful eyes blinked up at you. You sighed, untucking the cat from the crook of your neck and holding him in front of you. At the sight of the small bundle of fur in your hands, a buzz of excited whispers passed from ear to ear. 

“Does he have a name?” Ryan asked. An echo of agreement sounded around the crowd.

“Not yet, so everyone start brainstorming!” you said. A renewed vigor filled the conversation as names were debated back and forth between students. You used the distraction to slip away, climbing back up the stairs and baring left this time.

This hallway was nearly identical to the one on the opposite side of the stairs. Wooden paneling covered the walls, patterned red carpet stretched down the middle of the floor, potted plants sat here and there. You knocked once on the first door to the right. Receiving no answer, you pushed it open.

Inside was a full bathroom. White tiles lined the walls and floor, the grout a cool gray. Warm patterned shower curtains hung from a steel rod suspended between two walls. A vanity mirror hung on the wall opposite the door. You flicked on the light switch, making the three globes above the mirror glow and send dancing reflections throughout the bathroom.

“Alright, fella. Let’s get you clean,” you said as you sat the cat in the sink. His little, furry body looked like a small sponge sitting in the white porcelain. A confused face looked up at you through squinted eyes.

“Mraow?”

“Yeah, I know. You’re not gonna like this part,” you responded. You leaned over, opening the white cabinets below the sink, and pulled out the unscented shampoo Logan liked to use. Straightening up, you noticed the cat had remained where you sat it. Prim, proper, posture like a little gentleman.

You smirked, scritching the top of his head between his ears. His face tilted up into your touch. 

“Such a sweet little guy,” you cooed. You gave him a few more well deserved pets before scooping his little body and turning on the faucet. You made sure the handle was turned to a warm, not hot, setting and the pressure was nice and low. 

The cat startled a bit in your palm at the sudden rush of water. A little paw raised, batting in the air between him and the running water. You dipped a finger in the water and brought it to his nose for proper inspection. A few sniffs, a couple licks, then his chin was rubbing on your fingertip again.

You took it as a good sign, dipping the same hand back under the faucet and letting the water coat your skin. Once enough water had gathered in your hand you lifted it to the cat’s back. He tracked your movement. Small, squinted eyes followed your hand as you placed your palm on his back. You felt the water droplets sink into the fluffy, gray fur and soak into his skin.

“This ok?” you asked, like the cat could give you an answer. The small creature blinked up at you. He seemed unbothered by the moisture. You gave him another palm-full of water to get him adjusted to the temperature, the sensation. Not a peep from this little sir.

You set the cat back in the sink, just the tail end of his back beneath the running faucet. He hunkered down into the smallest loaf you’d ever seen. Front feet tucked under his fuzzy chest, tail curled around his side, eyes blinking slowly up at you. You cupped water in your palm and let it run through his fur. Before too long you had a drenched, buzzing kitten in the sink.

“You are the strangest creature…” you wondered aloud. You popped the lid open on Logan’s shampoo and lathered up your hands. Thankfully, you didn’t spot any fleas or other parasites hopping on the kitten’s body. Washing out the dirt and grime shouldn’t take too long.

“Why are you hunched over the sink with my soap?” a gruff voice said from behind you. You smiled, looking over your shoulder.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” you greeted. Logan leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. He wore his trademarked white tank top and loose jeans buckled with a brown belt. His dark hair was fluffy and unstyled, long strands hanging in front of his wrinkled eyebrows.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said. He pushed off the wall and stepped up next to you, his boots clipping on the tiles.

“Right. So, funny story,” you began. You ran your soapy fingers through the cat’s soaked fur. Logan’s hip leaned on the counter as he continued to stare at you. Jutting your chin down at the sudsy feline, you continued, “I found this guy outside and he made me think of you.”

“Made you think of…” Logan trailed off when his hazel eyes landed on the kitten.

“You know, with his cat ears,” you explained. You scrubbed at the kitten’s purring body while Logan spluttered next to you.

“Cat ears?!” 

“Yeah. Those hair floofs you get when you style your hair. They look like cat ears,” you said. You pretended to ignore the pure indignation spouting from the man next to you. A knowing smirk stretched across your lips.

“I do not have cat ears,” Logan argued.

“Yes you do!” Rogue shouted, voice echoing down the hall.

Your indifferent mask broke as you doubled over, cackling. The cat’s head tilted as it watched your face disappear below the counter. Logan huffed, arms folding over his chest again.

It took you a few moments to regain your composure. Giggles bubbled up your throat everytime you glanced back at Logan next to you. He rolled his eyes at you.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” he grumbled. But, because you knew him so well, you could see the smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

You cleared your throat, squaring your shoulders to rinse off the cat sitting patiently in the sink. Warm water trailed through your fingers and washed away the suds gathered on the kitten’s body. Squinted eyes watched you, blinking slowly and serenely, purrs vibrating against your hands.

“Happy little fuzzball, isn’t he?” Logan said. The kitten turned its head to peer at Logan. You ran a wet finger between its ears, smoothing the fur back and washing soap away.

“He certainly is,” you hummed. When an idea popped in your head, you felt your grin widen and your gaze slip over to Logan next to you, “You know, he still needs a name.”

“So name him,” Logan replied instantly. A tentative, large hand reached into the sink and ran two fingers down the cat’s soaked back. The kind and delicate gesture only further solidified your idea.

“Actually… I was hoping you could name him.”

Logan’s eyes snapped up to meet yours, relaxed expression melting into pure confusion.

“What?” he asked.

this short story is kind of a tribute to the lovely, lovely folks in the murdock tuna team. i have nothing but love and an endless stream of thanks to give to them. you all have inspired me to be a better artist, a better author, a better person. love you, blob blob 🐟

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[midnight-shadow-cafe]

I absolutely NEED more oh konig and hyper reader. It’s SO FREAKING CUTE AHHHHHH I need to see date three and more of them😝<3

Hold My Hand or I Will Fall (On Purpose)

Pairing: König x Hyper!Reader

Warnings: Fluff overload, suggestive banter, König being dangerously close to combusting, reader is a menace with a smile, roller skating shenanigans, mild swearing, blushing, accidental lap sitting, emotional tension, König overthinking everything, reader having zero chill

Author's Note: König has no defenses against a hyper!Reader in love, and this poor man is just trying his best while you’re busy spinning right into his heart (and lap).

Summary: It’s Date Three, and you take König roller skating. He’s nervous. You’re pure chaos. But in the before and after, something a little deeper starts to bloom—and neither of you are ready for just how real this is getting.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

——

König sat on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the open drawer in front of him like it had personally offended him.

He had no idea what to wear.

How does one dress for roller skating with the sun incarnate?

You had texted him 47 emojis and a single line:

Sugar Rush 🍫💕: Be ready at 7. Bring knee pads or a will. LOVE YOU BYEEEEEE

Love you.

You said love you.

You probably meant it casually. Of course you did.

Right?

He was sweating.

Eventually, he settled on black joggers, a hoodie, and prayed to every deity known to man that he wouldn’t fall flat on his face and lose the only person who made his heart beat like a war drum.

He opened the front door at 7 sharp.

You were already bouncing on your toes in the driveway, skates in hand.

Wearing a crop top with a sparkly cartoon frog on it and the biggest grin he’d ever seen.

“I’m gonna break your kneecaps with affection,” you said brightly.

König blushed. “Please don’t.”

“No promises.”

——

König had seen war.

He had jumped out of helicopters, kicked in doors, and stared death in the face.

But nothing—nothing—prepared him for the words you just said:

“We’re going roller skating!”

He blinked. “…We’re doing what?”

You spun in your seat in the car, holding up a pair of glittery pink socks. “Roller. Skating. You said you’d go wherever I wanted for Date Three. And I want neon lights, 80s music, and to watch your giant tactical body try to stay upright on four wheels.”

He stared at you in disbelief.

You batted your lashes. “Don’t worry. If you fall, I’ll catch you.”

“…You are half my size.”

“Emotionally? I’m stronger.”

You winked. He covered his face with one hand and groaned softly.

At the rink, you were already lacing up your skates, bouncing like you were powered by caffeine and sugar alone. König sat next to you, still visibly regretting every decision that had led to this moment.

“You’re scared,” you teased.

“I am a sniper,” he muttered. “And this… this is terrifying.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I am nearly seven feet tall.”

“So if you fall, you’ll make a cool THUD.”

He gave you a slow, side-eye glare. “That’s not comforting.”

You stood up on your skates and nearly slipped before catching yourself. “Okay, okay—first rule of skating with me: hold my hand at all times.”

“That is not a rule.”

“It is if you want me to stop fake falling just to land in your arms.”

His ears turned red. “…That is evil.”

You held out your hand with a dazzling grin. “Come on, gentle giant. Let’s skate.”

He took your hand like it was made of glass. Slowly. Carefully. Like you were the one who needed saving.

But it was him who was doomed.

You dragged him out onto the rink, your glitter socks poking out of your skates, your laughter echoing off the walls. You skated backward in front of him, holding both his hands, grinning up at him like he hung the damn moon.

“You’re doing so good!” you beamed.

“I am going to die,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You’re just mad because I’m cuter on wheels than you.”

He looked down at you, eyes crinkling behind his mask. “…You are very cute.”

You promptly skated into a wall.

König gasped and grabbed you before you could fall. “Are you okay?!”

You looked up at him with big eyes and an even bigger grin. “You just said I’m very cute.”

His entire face turned red. “I—I did not—”

“You did. It’s okay. I’m adorable, I know.”

You leaned in, nose brushing his chest, hand still in his. He was stiff as a board, like he didn’t know whether to run or melt into the floor.

You tugged his arm. “Come on. You haven’t even tried the spin yet.”

He blinked. “The what.”

You didn’t answer.

You just grabbed both his hands, leaned back, and started spinning in the center of the rink, laughing as he tried to keep up. The momentum pulled you in a dizzy circle, your skates a blur, your hands gripped in his like he was the only anchor in the world.

Then you tripped.

And landed squarely in his lap.

Right in the middle of the rink.

Dead center.

König’s mask was pushed halfway up from the fall, exposing flushed cheeks and parted lips.

You, ever the menace, smirked. “Well. This escalated quickly.”

He made a noise that might’ve been a whimper.

You leaned closer. “I could kiss you right now.”

He stared at you like a man on the verge of cardiac arrest. “…You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why?”

“…Because I want you to.”

You beamed.

So you kissed him. Right there. On the rink floor, in your glitter socks and skates, while the speakers blasted Madonna and the disco ball spun overhead.

And when you pulled back, he whispered, “You are going to be the death of me.”

You patted his cheek. “Not before Date Four, babe.”

Later, when he walked you back to your door, his hands hovering like he wanted to touch you but didn’t know how, you turned and pulled him down by the collar.

“I had fun,” you whispered.

“…Even when you fell on me?”

“Especially when I fell on you.”

He grinned, boyish and shy. “I am… planning the next one.”

Your eyes sparkled. “Really?”

He nodded. “Something quiet. For us.”

Your heart melted.

You leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Better be ready, big guy. Because if there’s not snacks, I riot.”

He laughed.

You grabbed him my his arm and dragged him inside.

——

You were sitting on your couch in mismatched pajamas, face still flushed from laughter, hair wild from your helmet, feet in König’s lap as he rubbed your sore ankles like it was instinct.

He’d taken off his hoodie. (You ended up stealing it as a keep sake to wear)

You were doing everything in your power not to crawl into his lap like a sleepy cat and purr.

“I can’t believe you actually spun with me,” you murmured, toes wiggling against his thigh.

“I thought I was going to die,” he admitted.

“You didn’t.”

“You landed in my lap.”

“You’re welcome.”

He glanced at you then, gaze soft but weighted. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

You grinned. “What, because I’m cute and a menace?”

“Because you make everything feel…” He hesitated. “Less scary.”

Your smile faltered for just a second—but in the most melty way. “König.”

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. That was—”

“No. No, it wasn’t too much.” You sat up, scooted close, your legs draped over his lap. “You know what I think?”

He shook his head slowly.

You poked his chest. “I think you’re secretly the bravest person I know. And you’re letting me in. That means more than you think.”

His ears went bright red.

You leaned in. “Also, you’re definitely falling in love with me.”

His mouth parted—then closed.

You kissed his cheek.

“…I might be,” he whispered.

You smiled. “Good. Because I’m definitely already there.”

He pulled you into his lap without another word, arms wrapped tight, face tucked into your shoulder like he’d finally found the safest place on Earth.

You both fell asleep like that.

The frog on your shirt smiled too.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[honeydippedfiction]

18 from smut Joe x Angel please

i really hope this is what you wanted nonnie! It's filthy but sooo good🥵

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

#18. "fuck, sweetheart." they smear it all over their lips, breathing heavy, and lean down to kiss you with it!!? pairs with #17. maintaining eye contact as they gather the wetness from between your legs with their fingers and they're sucking them off with a satisfied hum.

Joe Burrow x Angel

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The ocean stretched out in a shimmering sheet of sapphire and silver, reflecting the late morning sun as it climbed higher over the horizon. A soft breeze danced through the palm trees, rustling their fronds like an easy whisper. The villa sat perched on a quiet bluff, half hidden by lush green foliage, its wraparound porch opening up to a view that felt more like a painting than real life.

Inside, the floor-to-ceiling glass doors were wide open, letting in the salty air and the occasional call of distant seabirds. Joe Burrow stepped barefoot onto the sun-warmed stone patio, a ceramic mug of coffee in hand, still wearing the LSU basketball shorts he liked to sleep in.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

Angel looked up from her lounge chair, smiling over the top of her oversized sunglasses. Her skin glowed in the morning light, warm and radiant against the soft ivory cushion beneath her. She wore a breezy linen cover-up, her braids pulled up in a high knot, gold hoops catching the light as she turned her head.

“I did,” she said, stretching lazily. “Probably the best sleep I’ve had in weeks. Might be the ocean air.”

“Might be the wine,” he said with a smirk, sitting down beside her and brushing a kiss onto her shoulder.

They both laughed, remembering the bottle of local red they’d shared the night before on the beach—blankets spread on the sand, toes dug into the earth, the sky ablaze with stars. That had become their rhythm here: slow mornings, sun-soaked afternoons, and quiet, wine-drenched evenings under the stars. The NFL offseason had finally given Joe a break, and the two of them had slipped away from the mainland, seeking peace in the hush of the Caribbean.

Joe leaned back, letting the sun warm his chest. “I still can’t believe this place is real.”

Angel reached for her drink—fresh pineapple juice with a hint of ginger—and gave him a playful side-eye. “Well, it should be, with what that NFL contract is looking like.”

He laughed again, and she grinned, loving the way he always took her teasing in stride. Despite his rising fame and success, he was still Joe from Athens, Ohio. Still her Joe.

°.✩��┈∘┈˃̶୨୧˂̶┈∘┈┈✩.°°.✩┈┈∘┈˃̶୨୧˂̶┈∘┈┈✩.°

Later that afternoon, they walked hand-in-hand down a narrow trail that led to a secluded beach cove, hidden from the usual tourist paths. The sun hung high, casting golden light across the water. Angel kicked off her sandals and ran toward the surf, laughing as the waves chased her ankles. Joe followed, tossing his towel onto the sand.

“Race you to that rock!” she shouted over her shoulder, already sprinting.

Joe grinned, jogging after her, knowing she’d win—she always did. When they finally reached the dark lava rock jutting from the shoreline, they collapsed against it, both breathless and smiling.

“You really don’t take it easy on me,” he said, brushing damp curls from her forehead.

“Where’s the fun in easy?” she replied, tugging him in for a quick kiss.

They spent the next hour floating lazily in the shallow surf, the tide lapping against their skin as if the island itself was trying to lull them into complete serenity. When hunger finally pulled them back to shore, they strolled into the nearby fishing village for lunch. The locals knew them by now—“The quarterback and his girl,” a quiet curiosity to some, just another pair of vacationers to most.

They ate at a little beachside shack with painted wooden tables and no menu—just whatever the owner had caught that morning. Angel beamed when the server brought out a whole grilled snapper, smothered in island spices, served alongside coconut rice and fried plantains.

“Okay,” she said, eyes wide as she took a bite, “I officially need this recipe.”

Joe dug into his plate with enthusiasm. “This might be the best thing I’ve eaten all year.”

Angel leaned in, whispering, “Even better than your mom’s pumpkin pie and snickers salad?”

He gave her a faux-wounded look. “You trying to start a family war?”

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the villa’s terrace, the two of them curled up together on a hammock strung between two trees. Joe wrapped an arm around Angel, her head resting comfortably against his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat slower now, more at ease.

“We don’t get many moments like this,” Angel said softly, her voice nearly lost in the sound of the waves. “Just us. No schedule. No cameras. No noise.”

Joe kissed the top of her head. “I know. That’s why I want to remember every second of it.”

Above them, the sky blushed pink, fading into lavender and finally, deep indigo. The island hushed for the night, the air cool now, touched with the scent of salt and distant bonfires.

For a little while longer, they could stay in this soft world, wrapped in quiet luxury and each other’s arms, far from the pressure and pace of their usual lives. Here, under the stars, Joe Burrow wasn’t the quarterback of the Cincinnati Bengals. He was just a man in love, spending the offseason exactly where he wanted to be—by Angel’s side.

°.✩┈┈∘┈˃̶୨୧˂̶┈∘┈┈✩.°°.✩┈┈∘┈˃̶୨୧˂̶┈∘┈┈✩.°

The midday sun was high and golden, casting a honeyed sheen over everything it touched. The villa’s infinity pool mirrored the sky—blue and wide and endless—blurring at the far edge where it met the sea. Somewhere in the distance, a lazy steel drum rhythm floated up from the beach, mingling with the gentle hush of the waves.

Angel reclined on a sun chair, dark sunglasses resting low on her nose, a book open in her lap but long since forgotten. She wasn’t reading—not really. Not when her view was this good.

Joe was in the pool, neck-deep in the water, lazily swimming from one end to the other. His movements were slow and unhurried, a man completely at ease. She tilted her head, studying him with a soft smile playing on her lips. His skin, once a cooler tone at the start of their trip, had darkened under the sun’s steady attention—now kissed with a warm, golden tan that seemed to suit him. He looked healthier. More relaxed. Happy.

She let her gaze linger on the way the sunlight gleamed off the droplets sliding down his back when he paused at the edge. His hair, damp and pushed back, curled slightly at the ends. There was something about the way he moved in the water, confident but unbothered, like he belonged there.

Joe glanced up then, and their eyes met across the patio. A slow grin tugged at his lips.

“You staring, babe?” he called, voice thick with that teasing drawl she loved.

Angel lifted her sunglasses with one finger, arching an eyebrow. “Maybe I am. What about it?”

Joe chuckled, tilting his head just enough for the sun to catch his sharp jawline. “Just sayin’. If the roles were reversed, you’d be calling me out.”

“Mm,” she hummed, closing her book entirely now and setting it aside. “That’s true. But you’re not the one in this bikini.”

His smile widened. “Trust me, I’ve noticed.”

That made her laugh—a low, melodic sound that floated through the heat. She stood, stretching in a slow, cat-like motion that made Joe’s breath catch just slightly in his throat. The bikini she wore—a deep rust color that popped beautifully against her skin—fit like it had been made just for her. She moved with an effortless kind of grace, and Joe, for all his discipline on the field, never had the slightest control over the way he looked at her.

Angel padded across the warm stone deck, her hips swaying, and came to sit at the edge of the pool. She dipped her legs into the water, sighing softly at the cool touch against her calves.

Joe swam over, resting his arms on the ledge beside her. Water dripped from his shoulders, catching in the light like glass beads.

“You sure you don’t want to get in?” he asked, voice low now, more intimate.

Angel smiled down at him, brushing a stray curl off her cheek. “I’m good right here for now. Just enjoying the view.”

“Pretty sure I’m the one who’s enjoying the view,” he murmured, letting his eyes trace the curve of her waist, the way her thighs caught the sunlight, the glint of her belly chain just above the water.

She nudged him playfully with her foot. “Down, quarterback.”

He laughed, catching her ankle gently, pressing a kiss to the top of her foot before letting it go. “Can’t help it. You look unreal.”

Angel’s eyes softened, the playfulness giving way to something more tender. “So do you. This… being here with you like this—it’s been everything.”

Joe pushed himself up slightly, water lapping against his chest. “Yeah. Me too. I needed this—needed you—more than I realized.”

They sat like that for a while, basking in the sun and each other’s presence, their banter giving way to a comfortable quiet. Every now and then, Joe would reach up to touch her knee, or Angel would trail her fingers through the water, brushing against his skin. It wasn’t about grand gestures or big declarations. It was about the ease between them. The way they fit into each other’s space like they’d always belonged there.

Eventually, Joe looked up again, eyes squinting slightly in the bright light. “Come in. I promise to keep my hands to myself… at least for the first minute.”

Angel laughed, shook her head, then slowly slid into the water with a graceful splash, wrapping her arms around his neck as he caught her waist instinctively.

“Liar,” she whispered against his cheek.

He smiled. “Yeah, I know.”

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Angel dipped her legs back out of the water and reached for the silk scrunchie she’d left on the lounger. With practiced ease, she gathered her long braids and twisted them into a high knot on her head, a few golden strands catching the light as they slipped free. Joe watched her the whole time, his gaze never wavering, a quiet intensity settling into his features.

She noticed it. Felt it.

That low, simmering energy that sparked when their banter faded and silence did all the talking. The way the air between them seemed to grow heavier the longer their eyes held. It wasn’t new—but out here, away from the noise of the world, it had nowhere to hide.

She slipped into the water slowly, letting it rise inch by inch over her skin until she was chest-deep. The heat of the sun clashed with the coolness of the pool, making her shiver slightly. Joe was already there waiting, still leaning against the edge with his arms spread wide, but his posture had shifted. He looked… settled. Possessive in the quietest, most subtle way. Like he had no intention of sharing this moment with anyone but her.

Angel swam the short distance to him, her fingers brushing over his stomach beneath the surface as she closed the gap. She didn’t say anything—just looked at him, that familiar mix of curiosity and challenge in her dark eyes.

“You keep looking at me like that,” Joe said, voice low and husky, “and I’m gonna stop playing nice.”

Angel arched a brow. “Playing nice?”

He tilted his head, his smirk slow and deliberate. “You know what I mean.”

She did. She knew exactly what he meant.

Water lapped gently around them as she moved in closer, her body barely touching his, her arms sliding up to rest around his neck. Their faces were inches apart now, breath mingling, tension curling between them like the steam off the patio tiles.

“You’re not the only one staring, Joe,” she murmured, lips just grazing his. “That tan… the way your back looks when you swim across this pool…”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening just slightly. His hands found her hips beneath the water, fingers splaying across her skin like he was grounding himself.

“You trying to drive me crazy, Angel?” he asked, voice rougher now.

She smiled, slow and knowing. “Maybe.”

Joe’s mouth found hers in that moment—firm, unhurried, but full of heat. He kissed her like he had all day. All week. Like the ocean, the sun, the island itself didn’t exist beyond the feel of her body against his. Her fingers tangled in the damp curls at the base of his neck as she deepened the kiss, lips parting, breath catching.

The water moved around them, gentle waves stirred by their closeness. His hands slid from her hips to her lower back, pulling her flush against him. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the quiet restraint he always carried, but here—now—it was fraying.

They broke apart just slightly, foreheads touching, noses brushing.

“God, I missed this,” he whispered.

“We haven’t even left,” she replied, breathless but smiling.

“I don’t mean the island,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “I mean you—like this. All of you. No distractions. No schedule. Just… us.”

Angel softened, one hand cupping his cheek. “Well, you’ve got me.”

Joe’s smile turned softer, but the fire in his eyes didn’t dim. “Yeah,” he said, pressing another kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I do.”

And for the next long while, neither of them said anything at all. The pool, the sun, the island—all of it faded around them as they lost themselves in each other, suspended in a moment that felt endless.

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The sun had dipped low by the time Angel stepped out of the bathroom, steam trailing behind her like silk. The scent of her body oil—warm vanilla and a hint of jasmine—lingered in the air as she padded barefoot across the polished wood floor of the villa’s master bedroom. She moved with practiced ease, the kind of confidence born from knowing exactlyhow she looked and how it would affect the man waiting for her.

She wore a high-slit skirt in deep bronze, soft and hugging her hips like a secret. Each step she took revealed a flash of her thigh, smooth and glistening under the ambient glow of the setting sun. On top, a gauzy cream blouse draped off one shoulder, the fabric so light it danced when she moved. Gold bangles clinked softly on her wrist, and a single delicate chain rested just above the swell of her chest.

Joe, standing by the window and buttoning the cuffs of his shirt, turned as he heard her approaching—and froze.

“Damn,” he said, under his breath first, then louder as he turned to face her fully. “Damn, Angel.”

She smirked, pausing just in front of the full-length mirror to adjust one earring. “Too much?”

He was already closing the distance between them, his shirt half-tucked, eyes tracing her silhouette with open admiration. “Nah. Just enough to make me rethink leaving the villa.”

She gave him a once-over, biting back a grin as she raked her gaze from his tousled hair down to the crisp, open-collared white shirt he wore. The fabric hugged his shoulders and chest perfectly, but it was the pants that made her tilt her head and really look. Dark tailored slacks, clean lines, and snug in all the right places—especially around his thighs and backside.

“Okay, you talk about me,” she said, stepping up to him and sliding a hand over his hip, “but these pants? I’m pretty sure you had them sewn on.”

Joe laughed, resting his hands on her waist. “Hey, you picked ‘em.”

“I didn’t realize they’d fit like this,” she said, letting her palm run just a little lower before pulling back. “You’re lucky the restaurant’s not far.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips across her jaw, teasing. “You keep talking like that and we’re never making it there.”

Angel turned slightly, adjusting her blouse one last time in the mirror before meeting his eyes through the reflection. “You’re the one who started with the ‘damn, Angel.’ Don’t act brand new now.”

He stepped up behind her, hands resting lightly on her hips as they both looked at each other in the mirror. “I’m just appreciating my girl. Is that a crime?”

She leaned back into him slightly, her voice low and velvety. “Only if you don’t follow through later.”

Joe let out a slow breath, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “You trying to make me lose focus before dinner?”

Angel smiled, turning around in his arms. “Just keeping things interesting.”

Their kiss this time was brief—teasing, charged—but they both knew they were playing a game with a slow burn. The kind of anticipation that came from knowing the night was still young, and they had nothing but time.

As they walked out the door, the sky ablaze in streaks of orange and deep purple, Joe took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

“You look beautiful,” he said, tone suddenly softer.

Angel’s heart gave a small flutter, even after all this time. “So do you, babe.”

They walked together toward the terrace path that led down to the beachside restaurant, the sea breeze tugging gently at her skirt and rustling the open collar of his shirt. It wasn’t just a vacation anymore. It was theirs—each moment layered with affection, laughter, desire, and something even deeper.

And the night hadn’t even started yet.

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The restaurant sat at the edge of the beach, half-open to the warm night air, with soft candlelight flickering in lanterns suspended from driftwood beams. The floor was sand, smooth and cool beneath their feet, and the music was gentle—acoustic guitar, mellow and low, blending into the rhythm of the tide just steps away.

Joe and Angel were tucked into a table near the edge, the view behind them endless ocean and moonlight. A string of fairy lights zigzagged overhead, casting a golden glow over everything. It was the kind of place that didn’t need much to be special—just good food, good wine, and the right person across the table.

Angel reached for her wine glass, swirling the deep red liquid thoughtfully before taking a sip. “Okay,” she said, setting it down, “top three dishes of the trip. Go.”

Joe leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he pretended to consider. “Hmm. The grilled lobster from two nights ago—that’s gotta be on the list.”

Angel nodded. “Solid choice. The butter was elite.”

“Then those spicy plantain fritters from the shack yesterday—those slapped.”

“Agreed. What about number three?”

Joe smirked. “Your mango chicken from that night you cooked.”

Angel laughed. “Boy, I said local cuisine.”

“Yeah, and you were here. Local enough.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling as she reached for another sip. “Flattery won’t get you another round of that chicken.”

“I’m playing the long game,” he said, giving her that lazy grin she never quite got used to—even after all this time.

Their banter flowed easily, each comment laced with warmth, each laugh more of a shared language than a reaction. They talked about everything and nothing—how good the breeze felt, how nice it was to not be recognized every five seconds, what new playlist they should queue up next time they lounged in the villa pool.

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By the time dessert arrived—a plate of warm coconut rum cake with caramel drizzle—Angel had a mischievous gleam in her eye that Joe caught immediately. He narrowed his gaze at her as she set down her fork without touching the cake.

“Why do you look like that?” he asked, leaning slightly across the table.

“Like what?” she asked, all innocence, though her lips were already curling into a familiar, teasing smile.

“Like you’re about to start something.”

Instead of answering, Angel stood and, with the grace of someone who absolutely knew the effect she had, slid around the table and into the seat next to him. The hem of her slit skirt shifted as she crossed one leg over the other, exposing just enough thigh to make Joe pause mid-breath.

She leaned into his side, her hand resting lightly on his knee, her lips close to his ear. “Can’t I just want to sit next to my man?”

Joe turned toward her slightly, resting an arm along the back of her chair, trying to play it cool—but his pulse had picked up. “You can. I’m just saying… you have a tell.”

She raised her eyebrows, playful and intrigued. “A tell?”

“Yeah. That look in your eyes when you're thinking something wicked.”

Angel smiled, eyes gleaming under the soft candlelight. “What makes you think I’m not just admiring you?”

“Because you’re touching my leg and pretending it’s casual.”

She laughed quietly, brushing a kiss just beneath his jaw, her lips feather-light. “Maybe I just missed you.”

“We’ve been together all day.”

“I meant like this,” she murmured, fingers trailing slightly higher beneath the table, slow and subtle. “Up close. No distractions. Just me and you… and a very good reason to skip dessert.”

Joe shifted slightly in his seat, clearing his throat and sending a quick glance around—no one was paying attention. “Angel…”

She looked up at him, expression soft but wickedly amused. “Relax. I’m not gonna get you kicked out of paradise.”

“Not yet,” he muttered, chuckling under his breath as he brought a hand to her bare thigh, squeezing gently. “But you’re making it hard to sit still.”

She nuzzled into his shoulder with a satisfied smile. “Good.”

He leaned closer, voice dropping lower. “Keep that up and we might need to make an early exit.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?” she breathed, tilting her head just enough for their lips to brush as she spoke.

Joe’s hand slid further up her thigh, his fingers brushing the edge of her bikini bottom, pausing when he realized there was only bare skin beneath it. He went still, eyes narrowing at her. “Seriously?”

Angel’s smile widened. “Don’t act so surprised. You know I’m not a fan of tan lines.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

She turned her face, catching his lips in a quick kiss, then murmured against them, “Then what are you talking about?”

“This,” he said, sliding his hand further up until she caught her breath, fingers now pressed firmly against where she was already warm and waiting. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Angel.”

“Maybe I wanted to be prepared for anything.” Her breath hitched as his thumb moved in a slow circle.

“For anything,” he echoed, amused.

“For everything,” she corrected, voice catching slightly. “Especially you.”

He bit back a groan, turning his head to scan the area again—no one seemed to have noticed anything. The nearest couple was absorbed in their own conversation, and the server was nowhere in sight. “You’re killing me here.”

“Am I?” she whispered, shifting her hips just enough that his breath caught. “What a way to go.”

Joe shook his head, trying to maintain his composure. “You realize we can’t just…”

“Who says we can’t?” Her lips brushed his ear as she spoke. “No one’s watching. We’ve got the perfect cover.”

He paused, considering, then slowly moved his hand again—she arched into the touch with a soft, satisfied noise.

“Just a little taste?” she murmured, her own hand sliding higher on his thigh, fingertips brushing dangerously close to the fly of his jeans. “To hold us over until we get back to the villa?”

Joe’s resolve crumbled, and he let out a quiet, strained laugh. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

She smiled against his jaw. “You love it.”

“I do,” he admitted, pressing his lips to hers in a brief, heated kiss. “But we need to be careful. Last thing we need is to get banned from the resort.”

Angel’s laugh was a warm puff against his skin. “Then I guess we’ll just have to be very, very good at this.”

Joe’s fingers curled against her, teasing gently. “I thought you said you weren’t going to get me kicked out of paradise.”

“I’m not,” she purred, biting her lower lip as he applied more pressure. “I’m just trying to show you how much fun paradise can be.”

He let out a low, rumbling sound—a cross between a laugh and a groan. “You’re making it pretty damn tempting to find out how much trouble we can get into before someone notices.”

Her breath caught again, hips shifting imperceptibly in her seat. “Is that a challenge, Mr. Burrow?”

“If you want it to be.”

Angel turned her face, capturing his lips in a deep, demanding kiss that left Joe momentarily breathless. When she pulled back, her eyes were dark and playful. “Challenge accepted. But first…”

She reached for her water glass, taking a slow sip before setting it down and leaning back in her seat, all casual grace. “We should probably finish dinner, don’t you think?”

Joe blinked at her, caught off guard. “Wait, what?”

She raised an eyebrow, fighting back a grin. “I mean, we did order all this food. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.”

He stared at her, torn between amusement and disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

“Completely,” she said, reaching for her fork and spearing a piece of cake. “Besides, anticipation is half the fun, isn’t it?”

Joe watched her take a bite, the look of pure pleasure crossing her face as the caramel and coconut hit her tongue. He shook his head, laughing quietly. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Impossible?” she repeated, licking a drop of caramel from her lower lip. “Or irresistible?”

He didn’t answer, just leaned in and kissed her deeply, his hand resting possessively on her thigh beneath the table. When he pulled back, he murmured against her lips, “Both.”

Angel’s lips curved into a satisfied smile as Joe stood, pulling her up with him.

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They didn’t make it to the bed.

As soon as they were back in their villa, Joe had his hands on Angel, backing her toward the door the moment it closed behind them. His mouth found hers as he pressed her against the smooth wood, one hand tangled in her hair while the other roamed lower, fingers seeking the slit of her skirt.

Angel arched into him, her hands already working at the buttons of his shirt, her breath catching between kisses. “I thought we were gonna make it to the couch at least,” she managed, a hint of laughter in her voice.

“You were the one teasing me all through dinner,” Joe murmured against her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. “Did you really think we’d make it that far?”

She let out a soft sound, her nails scraping lightly down his back. “I was hoping we wouldn’t.”

With a low growl, Joe lifted her, hands gripping her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist, the skirt riding up effortlessly. Angel gasped as he pressed her more firmly against the door, the hard length of him trapped between them.

“Joe,” she breathed, tightening her legs as his mouth found the swell of her breast above the neckline of her top.

He paused briefly, pulling back just enough to look her in the eye. “Tell me this is what you want.”

Angel’s response was immediate, her fingers threading through his hair as she brought his mouth back to hers. “It’s what I’ve wanted all day.”

The words sent a bolt of heat through Joe, and with a swift motion, he turned, carrying her toward the nearby couch. Angel’s laughter was warm against his shoulder, her arms tightening around his neck.

They made it as far as the coffee table before Joe set her down, hands immediately going to the tie at the back of her top. Angel turned, presenting her back to him.

Behind her, Joe let out a low sound of appreciation as he untied the bow, revealing more of her melanated skin inch by inch. “No panties and no bra,” he murmured, fingertips brushing her bare back. “Someone was feeling daring tonight.”

Angel glanced over her shoulder, a sultry smile playing on her lips. “Someone wanted to be ready for anything. Or should I say… anyone?”

Joe’s hands slid around her waist, pulling her back against him as he bent to kiss her shoulder. “You know I have no problem with that kind of preparation.”

She arched into his touch, head falling back against his shoulder. “I know. That’s why I married you.”

His laugh was low and warm near her ear. “Is that the only reason?”

Angel turned in his arms, her top now hanging loosely from her shoulders, caught between them. “One of many,” she murmured, reaching up to pull him into a slow, deep kiss.

As their mouths moved together, Joe’s hands slid down her body, curving around her hips to fill his hands with the soft swell of her ass. Angel let out a soft, encouraging sound, her own hands busy with the last buttons on his shirt.

“Off,” she whispered against his lips, tugging at the fabric.

Joe obeyed, shrugging out of the shirt without breaking the kiss, only pulling back long enough to let the garment fall to the floor. Angel’s hands immediately went to his bare chest, nails lightly scraping down over his nipples and continuing lower.

When she reached the fly of his jeans, Joe caught her wrist, a soft warning growl rumbling in his chest. “Not yet,” he murmured, stepping back slightly to look at her.

Angel’s top had slipped further, now caught at her wrists, leaving her topless. She made no move to cover herself, instead raising an eyebrow at him. “Something wrong?” she asked as she threw the top behind her.

He shook his head slowly, taking in the sight of her. “Not a damn thing. Just appreciating the view.”

Her smile was slow and sultry. “Like what you see?”

“Always have.” His hands found her hips again, thumbs hooking under the skirt, now bunched around her waist. “Always will.”

Angel’s breath caught as he bent, pressing a kiss to her sternum, then lower, following the path the top would take as it fell. When he reached the top of her skirt, he paused, looking up at her.

“May I?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

She nodded, fingers threading through his hair. “Please do.”

With torturous slowness, Joe hooked his fingers under the fabric and began to pull down, revealing her inch by inch. He followed the descent with his lips and tongue, tasting her skin, savoring her soft gasps.

By the time the garment reached her feet, Angel was trembling lightly, her grip on his hair tightening as he pressed a final kiss to her hipbone. “Joe,” she breathed, voice strained with want.

He looked up at her, a wolfish grin playing on his lips. “Yes?”

“Don’t tease,” she warned, though there was no heat in it—only aching desire.

Instead of answering, Joe stood slowly, hands tracing up her sides as he rose. When they were eye-to-eye again, he cupped her face gently, thumbs brushing over her cheeks. “I’m not teasing,” he said softly. “I’m savoring.”

Angel’s eyes fluttered closed at his touch, a shuddering breath escaping her. “I don’t know if I can stand much more savoring.”

Joe chuckled quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before stepping back. “Fair enough,” he conceded, his gaze dropping once more to take her in—naked, flushed, and absolutely breathtaking.

His mouth watered at the sight between her thighs, already glistening with her need. Without a word, Joe took her by the hips, turning her gently before guiding her lay on the couch.

Angel let out a surprised sound, half gasp, half laugh, as Joe knelt on the floor below her. “What are you—”

Her question dissolved into a moan as Joe gripped her thighs, lifting them slightly to place over his shoulders. “Savoring,” he reminded her, nose brushing the inside of her thigh as he spoke.

“Fuck,” Angel breathed, fingers tightening on the couch cushion as Joe’s mouth found her center, tongue flat as he dragged it upward in one long, slow lick.

Joe hummed against her, the vibration sending another tremor through Angel’s frame. “You taste like paradise,” he murmured before diving in again, this time with no intention of holding back.

His tongue circled her clit with practiced ease, drawing soft cries from Angel as she arched back toward him. One of Joe’s hands moved to her hip, holding her steady while the other joined his mouth, fingers sliding into her with a slow, steady rhythm that had her gasping his name.

Joe groaned against her, hips canting forward involuntarily at the taste of her, the sound of her pleasure. He would never deny his girl anything she wanted, and if what she wanted was him between her thighs? He’d drop to his knees every damn time. Because as much as he loved being inside her, there was something intoxicating about her taste on his tongue, her breathless cries in his ears, the way her body moved with his touch.

He was addicted. To her taste, her touch, her. Nothing would ever satisfy his hunger the same way.

As Angel’s breath came faster, her hips moving in time with his mouth, Joe could feel her getting closer, the tension building. He curled his fingers inside her, finding that perfect spot that made her thighs tremble around his head.

“Joe… oh God, Joe…” Her voice hitched with each breath, the couch creaking slightly under her grip.

He redoubled his efforts, alternating between firm strokes over her clit and gentle suction that had her calling out his name over and over, each time more desperate than the last.

“Joe… God, yes… right there…”

He obliged her pleading, curling his fingers as his tongue kept up its relentless work. Angel’s hips rocked against him, small, eager movements that had Joe growling softly in encouragement.

“That’s it,” he murmured against her, the sound vibrating through her. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

Joe didn’t let up, wasn’t in any rush to end this. His eyes flicked up occasionally to watch her, the beautiful arch of her back, the way her head dipped as she gasped, fingers twisting in her own hair as his fingers brushed against that spot inside her she’d once sworn drove her soul straight out of her body.

She was close, so close he could feel it in the way her muscles tightened around him, the way her breath caught and held, the way her thighs quivered against his ears.

“Come on, Angel,” he murmured against her slickness, the words vibrating through her. “Let go for me.”

Angel’s response was a breathless whimper, her body tensing as the pressure built. “Joe… I’m gonna…”

And just like that, Angel fell apart.

Her orgasm washed through her hard and fast, ripping a cry from her throat as her hips jerked, pressing her more firmly to Joe’s mouth. He rode it out with her, gentling his touch but refusing to stop until the last tremor had worked its way through her body and she sagged against the couch, boneless.

She managed a breathless laugh, tilting her head to look back at Joe as he stood, her slickness glistening on his lips and chin. “Fuck,” she whispered, voice raw.

Joe’s eyes were dark as he drank her in, her naked body draped over the furniture, completely spent and utterly stunning. His own need was a heavy ache between his thighs, his cock straining against the confines of his pants in a way that was bordering on painful.

But there was a sense of satisfaction in the discomfort, in knowing he’d been the one to unravel her so completely.

Angel watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Joe reached between her thighs again, this time not to tease or taste, but to gather the wetness that coated her skin onto his fingers. She bit her lip as he brought those fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a low hum of approval.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, pressing his hips forward slightly, seeking relief. His hand dropped to smear the remaining wetness over his lips before he leaned down, catching Angel’s mouth in a filthy kiss that tasted of her.

She whimpered against him as she tasted herself on his tongue, hands reaching to grip his shoulders for support. Joe’s fingers found her clit again, swollen and sensitive from her orgasm, and Angel’s hips jerked at the contact.

“Joe…” His name was half warning, half plea.

He smiled against her mouth. “Too much?”

Angel nodded, a soft sound escaping her as he continued the gentle circles, her body twitching with each pass. “S-sensitive,” she managed.

Joe bit back a groan, pressing his forehead to hers. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

He kissed her again, hard and fast. “I like it when you’re like this.”

“Like this?” she echoed, voice catching as his thumb continued its relentless attention.

“Sensitive,” Joe murmured, pulling back to look her in the eye, watching her pupils dilate at the continued stimulation. “Needy.”

“I am needy,” Angel admitted on a gasp. “I need you.”

Something in Joe’s expression shifted at her words, the playful glint in his eyes darkening to something more intense. “What do you need?”

“You.” She swallowed hard, hips shifting away from his touch in a futile attempt to relieve the oversensitivity. “Inside me.”

The words struck a match somewhere deep in Joe’s gut, igniting a fire that threatened to consume him. With a low growl, he reached for his fly, popping the button with trembling fingers.

Angel watched him, lips parted, breathing shallow as she waited. Her hands dropped to his shoulders again, nails biting into his skin as he lowered his zipper, springing his cock free from its confines.

Before Joe could take control again, Angel dropped to her knees in front of him, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “My turn,” she said softly, looking up at him with a hooded gaze.

“Angel…” The word was strangled, caught somewhere between a warning and a plea.

But Angel wasn’t listening. Instead, she leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the head of his cock before opening her mouth and taking him in.

Joe’s head fell back on a guttural groan, hips jerking forward instinctively, seeking more of the exquisite warmth of her mouth. His hands found her hair, not guiding, not pushing, just holding as Angel took as much of him as she could, her hand wrapping around the base to stroke what she couldn’t fit between her lips.

She knew just how to work him, fingers teasing just under the head as her tongue pressed flat, the suction just this side of heaven. Every time with her was like this—new, exciting, perfect. Her mouth was magic, and he was powerless against it.

The wet sounds of her ministrations filled the air, mingling with Joe’s ragged breaths and the low, guttural sounds rumbling from his chest. Angel’s other hand slid up his thigh, gripping tight as she bobbed along his length, picking up speed with each pass.

“Fuck… Angel… fuck,” Joe managed, the words slurred together as his hips worked with her movements, desperate for more. “That’s so good… so good, sweetheart.”

Angel hummed around him, the vibration nearly sending Joe to his knees. He held on to her hair with trembling fingers, the sight of her on her knees for him almost too much.

She could feel herself growing wetter at the sight of him losing himself to her touch, to her mouth, his head thrown back and chest heaving. It was intoxicating, knowing she could unravel him so completely.

Determined to push him further, Angel hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard as she pulled back, tongue pressing up along the underside of his cock. Joe cursed low and filthy, fingers tightening in her hair as his hips snapped forward.

“Angel, fuck… I’m close,” he ground out, breathless.

She paused, looking up at him from under her lashes. “You going to come for me, Joe?”

He nodded sharply, a strained sound tearing from his throat. “If you don’t stop… fuck, Angel…”

Instead of pulling away, Angel leaned forward again, taking him deep until he hit the back of her throat. She swallowed around him, once, twice, before coming up for air. Leaning down and licking at the precum leaking down his shaft.

As much as he wanted to let her continue, to let her take him all the way to the edge and over it, he couldn’t. Not tonight. Tonight, he needed to be inside her with a desperation that bordered on painful.

Because he needed to be inside her. Needed to watch her come apart around him.

With Herculean effort, Joe found the willpower to pull back, sliding from the warmth of her mouth with a wet sound that left them both breathless. Angel looked up at him, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, and more beautiful than any fantasy.

“Come here,” he breathed, reaching for her, gripping Angel beneath her arms and lifting her to her feet. She let out a sound of surprise at the sudden movement, only to gasp as he claimed her mouth in a hard, demanding kiss. His hands found her thighs, lifting her, and Angel responded immediately, wrapping her legs around his waist as he walked them toward the bedroom.

As they moved, Joe’s mouth never left hers, kissing her like he needed her taste to survive, like he was starved for her. Angel clung to him, arms looped around his neck as she let him carry her, let him lead.

He shouldered the bedroom door open with a crack, never breaking the kiss as he laid her back on the bed, following her down and pressing her into the mattress. Angel arched beneath him, her fingers sliding through his hair before trailing down his neck, his back, nails leaving faint red lines along his skin.

“Please,” she whispered against his mouth, hips lifting to meet his.

Joe growled in response, reaching between them to line himself up with her entrance. Angel was already so wet, so ready, and when he pressed forward, sinking into her inch by maddening inch, she let out a long, low sound of relief.

“So good,” Joe managed, forehead pressed to hers, voice tight with restraint as he fought the urge to thrust deep and fast. “So fucking good, Angel.”

She wrapped her legs around his hips, heels digging into his lower back, urging him wordlessly for more. Joe obeyed, hips pulling back before sliding home again, setting a pace that had them both gasping.

Angel clung to him, hands gripping his shoulders, his upper arms, anywhere she could reach to ground herself as Joe moved above her. He was relentless, each thrust going deeper than the last, angling them just right to have her seeing stars behind her lids.

“Perfect,” Joe ground out, catching her knee and lifting it higher over his hip. “Just like this, sweetheart. Just… fuck!”

Angel arched sharply, a strangled cry tearing from her as Joe found that spot inside her that drove her wild. He aimed for it again. And again. And again until she was a trembling, sobbing mess beneath him.

“Joe… Joe please… I need… oh god…” Her words were fractured, disjointed as pleasure built sharply within her.

Joe pressed their foreheads together, eyes locked on hers as he picked up speed, hips pounding relentlessly. “Tell me,” he urged. “What do you need, Angel?”

Her nails bit into his shoulders, drawing a hiss from him that only served to spur him on. “You,” Angel managed. “Just you. Only you.”

The words struck something deep within him, that possessive, primal part of him that roared to life at her admission. His fingers tightened on her hip, pulling her harder into each thrust until the sound of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with their harsh breaths and desperate cries.

Angel’s body tensed, her back arching off the bed as she pressed up into him, closer, needing all of him. Her lips found his again and Joe kissed her deeply, tongues moving together in the same rhythm as their lower bodies.

“I love you,” Angel whispered against his lips, the words more breath than sound.

Joe’s response was a low rumble in his chest, a sound of pure want, pure love as he drove into her again and again and again.

Angel came first, her orgasm ripping through her and out of her in the form of Joe’s name, over and over like a prayer. Her body tightened around him and Joe grit his teeth, fighting back his own release, refusing to find his end until he’d taken her there again.

He could.

Before she could catch her breath, Joe flipped her so she was on all fours, and was back inside her, filling her in one smooth thrust that had them both crying out.

“Joe!” Angel gasped, hands scrambling for purchase against the pillows as he began to move, each thrust fast and deep.

“Can’t wait,” Joe ground out, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. “Can’t… fuck, you feel so good.”

Angel’s response was lost to a choked sound, her body rocking with each powerful snap of Joe’s hips. She pushed back to meet him, angling herself to take him deeper, and was rewarded with a guttural curse and a sharp sting across her ass as Joe’s hand connected with a loud smack.

“Joe,” she cried out, the mix of pleasure and pain sending a jolt of electricity straight to her core.

He did it again, palm connecting with her other cheek in a blow that had her whimpering his name. “So good for me, Angel,” he growled, hand smoothing over the stinging skin. “So perfect.”

She keened at the praise, hips moving faster to meet his thrusts, the sound of their bodies coming together filling the room. Joe leaned forward, chest flush to her back as he reached around to find her clit, fingers working over the sensitive bud in firm, quick circles that had her gasping.

“I need you,” she breathed, hands clenching in the sheets. “Joe… please…”

“I’ve got you,” he promised, pressing a kiss to her shoulder blade. “Come for me, Angel. Let me feel you.”

Angel sobbed at his words, fingers twisting in the fabric beneath her. She was so close, so close to falling over that delicious edge again. Joe’s fingers continued their relentless assault, his cock filling her completely before withdrawing only to do it again.

And again.

And again until Angel couldn’t hold back anymore, couldn’t contain the pleasure coursing through her in hot waves. Her orgasm crashed over her, ripping a scream from her throat as she pressed back into Joe, body tightening around him like a vice.

Joe let out a strangled sound of her name, hips losing their rhythm as he fucked her through her release, each drag of his cock inside her drawing out her pleasure, prolonging the waves of ecstasy coursing through her.

When she finally began to come down, Joe pulled out, flipping her to her back once more. Angel watched him through heavy lids, arms lifting to pull him closer.

He sank into her with a relieved groan, bracing himself on his forearms as he found her mouth, kissing her deeply. Angel wrapped her arms around his neck, legs around his waist, holding him close as he moved above her.

“Love you,” Joe breathed against her lips, the words a sweet contrast to the almost brutal pace he’d set. “So much, Angel.”

Her response was a kiss that tasted of desperation, of love, of everything they’d shared and would share. Joe poured everything he had into that kiss, into the movement of his hips, into the soft murmurs against her lips.

He wasn’t going to last much longer, and they both knew it. Angel’s fingers found their way into his hair, gripping the strands firmly as she met each thrust, urging him on.

“Joe…” Her voice was low, husky with pleasure. “I want you to come for me.”

His response was a sound caught somewhere between a moan and a growl, the tension in his body drawing tight as he fought back his release, wanting to make this last as long as he could.

But Angel had other plans.

Her hand slid down his chest, nails scraping lightly over his nipples before dropping lower, finding the place where their bodies were joined and stroking over him where he entered her.

It was too much.

Joe’s hips stuttered, his orgasm ripping through him so fast he couldn’t hold it back if he tried. Angel whispered his name, holding him as close as she could, savoring the feel of his release within her.

He collapsed over her, barely managing to keep his full weight off her as they both struggled for breath. His lips found her shoulder, pressing a kiss there before moving up along her neck to just under her ear.

They stayed that way for a long moment, wrapped in each other, breathing heavily. Joe finally lifted his head, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, keeping her close.

“You okay?” he murmured softly.

Angel let out a breathless laugh, head tilting to give him more access. “Better than okay.”

Finally, Joe shifted, moving to pull out and roll to the side, but Angel’s hands on his waist stopped him.

“Stay,” she murmured, already sleep-tinged.

Joe huffed out a quiet laugh. “Thought I was too heavy.”

Angel shook her head slightly, eyes still closed. “Not too heavy. Just right.”

[sillyteecup]

Requiem for my lover

Terry Richmond x black!o.c

Warnings:

18+

Swearing/cursing

Suggestive content

Angst (mention of death)

Word count: 1487🧍🏾‍♀️

A.N: So, italics=flashback. Mila and Terry shenanigans?? I'm not too sure...Welp, happy reading and I hope you enjoy the latest installment of the Milaverse where allegedly only 3 things are constant: Mila, Terry, and smut.

~Tee❤

“You know I’m always gon’ be here for you, right Mimi?” Terry vowed as he clasped the stainless steel necklace around her neck.

“I’ll hold you to it,” Mila replied before turning around to face her lanky boyfriend. She shifted her weight onto the tips of her toes to plant a small peck on his cheek.

A light shade of red tinted his honey skinned features. Even while celebrating 6 months as an official couple, Terry couldn’t help but still be awestruck. The moment Mila had set foot into his homeroom as a new transfer student, she had stolen his heart (and those of many other horny adolescent boys in his class). Being on the football team usually had its perks for him and his teammates in the romantic avenue, but Mila had no interest in the sport. She went from refusing to waste her energy on a “breast milk flavour of rugby” jock, to being his girlfriend in over a year.

As her feet shuffled on the dirt, hand in hand with Ndoni’s, Mila’s fingers fidgeted with the small T charm dangling from the necklace Terry had gifted her on her 17th birthday. She was 42 now, and it had long rusted, but still she cherished it all these years later. Not the first gift, but one of the most special. Right after their baby girl of course. A small smile appeared at the sight of the 5 year old trekking through with a basket swinging in her other hand…excited to talk to “Dada”.

Because Terry had more than football in his arsenal. He also had strict Southern parents that kept his manners in check. Now the girl of his dreams was his girlfriend, and if he had a say in the matter: she would be his wife in the future.

“6 months old, and she already as stubborn as her momma,” he grumbled, making Mila chuckle behind him. He had been trying to put her to sleep for an hour and nothing was working. Lullabies make her dance and giggle, feeding led to kicking and screaming, walking around and rocking her gently led to wet raspberries in his face. Virtually nothing was working.

“What happened to her being “Dada’s lil twin”?” Mila laughed as she gently took their daughter from Terry’s arms. “Pass me her fleece blanket,” she said as she positioned the babbling baby onto her back. 

Terry obliged, covering his daughter’s back with the soft blanket while Mila used a safety pin to keep it tied together in the front. He watched in awe and wonder as Mila strolled around the room, singing Love like you by Rebecca Sugar softly. It wasn’t long before their energetic little ray of sunshine was asleep. Mila smirked triumphantly at Terry who responded with a playful eye roll. 

“Better get them numbers up if you still tryna be parent of the year lil’ nigga,” Mila teased, earning a gasp of disbelief from Terry.

“Girl, first of all, ain’t shit little about me. Second of all, I didn’t even know you was in the runnin’ with how far behind you’ve been Mimi,” he joked with an exaggerated roll of his head.

Ndoni detangled her tiny hand from Mila’s, placing it on her waist as her cheeks puffed up to blow out an exasperated sigh. Her eyebrows knitted in frustration, hazel eyes frustrated and in equal parts calculating. Mila snorted at the sight of their little “adventure cadet” attempting to estimate the distance remaining.

“Tired soldier?” she questioned playfully. The toddler straightened her posture, sporting a determined expression that matched Terry’s to a T. “Dada’s lil twin” to the bone.

“Sir, no sir!” Ndoni’s tiny voice called out, tugging a reluctant giggle from her mother. “General Mama! You’re not supposed to laugh! You have to be serious, like General Dada,” she whined, crushing a dead leaf with the stomp of her little foot.

Mila swallowed the last giggle that threatened to mutate into something ugly. Something Ndoni definitely did not need to see on their “Dada Day”. While Terry always encouraged them to be vulnerable and never hide their monsters from him, “General Dada’s” teachings of being a soldier that marches on after they fall were the ones that seemed to resonate with their mini-cadet. Although interpretation did tend to get lost on the colourful mind of their little genius.

“I’ve been thinking Mimi,” Terry lamented from the driver’s seat.

“Weh Nkosi…”

“Okay, one, that’s not very nice,” he said, clutching his chest in false hurt. Mila rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth in, waiting for him to continue. “Two, this the third time you’re graduating and for some reason, I still ain’t had the chance to fuck you in a graduation gown. What’s up with that?” they had reached a stop light and Terry took the opportunity to shoot her a questioning look.

Mila stared at him, glossy lips agape at the outrageous question before bursting into a disbelieving cackle. Her outburst however died down when she realized that he wasn’t laughing or even smirking.

“Oh, you’re serious? Wow,” was all she could respond with.

Terry’s features deepened into a frown. “Wow? I’m asking real questions here and all you have to say is “wow”?” he asked incredulously, only inciting a shrug as a response from his fiance.

The light turned back to green, continuing their journey to their apartment. Where they would be celebrating her PhD in Electrical Engineering. With their friends and some of Mila’s family. Although, if you subtracted the latter two factors, it wasn’t a bad idea.

“I mean you could tonight. You know, after everybody leaves,” she suggested, her hand creeping over his thigh, palming his manhood. She watched the muscles in his jaw tense as he struggled to keep his eyes open. A strained groan erupted from his throat while his right hand slowly removed hers from his crotch and placed it back on the arm rest.

“I need you to know that I’m not gonna stop till I get you pregnant. Gon’ have another genius running around with her momma’s big brains real soon,” he promised, brushing his palm over her exposed thigh.

The calm fall breeze barely lifted the dirt and leaves on the ground. Yet Mila still couldn’t help but shiver as she stood before him in a salut. “Finally!” Ndoni cheered before hurriedly placing the basket beside her.

“General Dada, Cadet Ndoni and General Mama reporting for duty,” Ndoni recited, mimicking her mother and performing the salut Terry had taught her the moment she could walk. 

“At ease soldier,” Mila whispered shakily, her hand coming down to tighten her coat.

Ndoni dissolved the salut and turned her attention to the basket. Mila watched through clouding eyes as her and Terry’s little bundle of intellect and adventure retrieved the couple’s signature pink picnic blanket and laid it on the ground. Mila then began to empty the basket of its other contents, being all of Terry’s favorite foods and drinks: a cranberry juicebox for Ndoni and a bottle of Jack for him and Mila. Paper plates, plastic cutlery and their cups, each of which brandished with their names, were set out in threes. Perfect for a family picnic.

Finally, Mila and Ndoni sat down across from him. Choking back a pool of a now familiarly painful emotion, Mila listened as Dada’s lil twin rambled animatedly about her first month in her new preschool class. She even engaged, laughing at Ndoni’s jokes about her classmates’ antics, clapping at the mention of her learning to read and humming in agreement when needed.

At the request of her toddler, Mila shared some PG tales of her own. It only tore at the very thin elastic holding her together for their baby. But damn the way every second weighed heavier on her eyes. Damn the way the mild air made her yearn for his touch. 

Damn him. 

Damn him for bringing them here. Damn him for leaving them. Damn him for leaving her. For breaking his promise.

“You know I’m always gon’ be here for you, right Mimi?” 

While Ndoni had settled into the monthly tradition they created, 7 months had passed and Mila was yet to accept it. Or the reason for its creation rather. Because no matter how hard she tried, mourning her husband still felt like getting caught in a tsunami. They had been together for so long that he had become the air in her lungs. But now he was gone, and she was drowning in grief.

“Dada, I miss you. Mama misses you too,” she heard Ndoni whisper, snapping her from the void that was her mind. 

Finally, a tear escaped Mila as their daughter moved to touch her Dada. Or his gravestone rather.

Terrence James Richmond Husband. Father. Son. Best friend. 03/17/1994-06/24/2035 Never let a little tumble stop your march forward. ~”General Dada”

[stargirlygirl]

downpour

bakugou katsuki x fem!reader ⋆｡°✩ — medieval fantasy!au, size difference kink, age gap (he's mid-thirties, she's late teens early twenties), nsfw, smut, p in v, oral sex fem!receiving, dubcon? (she's known him since she was a kid), unprotected sex (don't be like them!), 4.8k words

a/n: despite what i've said here, he's not the best thing that's ever happened to you ladies

You groan, hearing the thunder roar from the pouring heavens above. The cold rain soaks into your most modest dress, making the embroidered pale yellow fabric cling to your skin. Your hair sticks to your forehead, wild like a bird’s nest. But wet. Your bones ache with the chilly dampness, and your toes squelch in your boots.

As lightning blankets the sky, you ask yourself why tonight had to be like this — the night before you’re supposed to get married. You look behind you with wide eyes, positive that you’ve lost the guards chasing you. Their princess.

You slow to a walk and tighten your grip on the heavy fabric of your dress, hiking it up to your ankles (wench). You’re breathing erratically from running and from your fear of being caught. You already miss the warmth of the castle and the comfortable life you led with your parents and siblings.

“Get it together, y/n,” you whisper. The thunder screeches over your pathetic attempt at self-motivation. With a huff, you look up from your mud-covered boots and gaze at your surroundings. You’ve been wandering through this forest for a long time now. You’re cold, wet, and tired. You need a rest. You whine, seeing the pitch-black forest all around you. At least no animals would try to attack you, right?

You trudge on for a little longer, grumbling to yourself about how maybe you should have just sucked it up and stayed in the castle. But when you think of your betrothed, you remind yourself that this is a good decision. For the first time in your life, you’re choosing your future happiness and freedom. And that’s exciting. It would be even more exciting if you weren’t shivering and sniffling and stumbling every ten feet.

There’s one thing you need right now — well, not just one, but the main one — shelter. You need somewhere to rest for the night. You gaze up, analysing the dense trees and shrubbery. In the distance, you can see the faintest light. With renewed energy, you set off in that direction. As you draw nearer, the light becomes brighter. It’s warm, golden-orange like egg yolks. Like fire.

Feeling both hungry and invigorated, you walk faster. Ducking beneath a tree branch, you see that the light is emanating from a cabin. It’s more like a shack, really, with how small it is. But it looks sturdy, safe, and, most importantly, dry inside.

You run the last few steps to the cabin, panting as you reach the door. You knock on the door loudly, hoping that whoever is inside will show you mercy. No response. You knock again, louder. Still, no response. Growing impatient, you turn the door knob and press your body against it to push it open.

As you stumble inside, you call out, “Hello. Hello! Sorry for intruding, um—” It’s empty. You slam the door shut and rest against it as you gaze around the cabin. A fire burns in the fireplace. The scolding tongues lick the base of a heavy pot hanging above it, casting shadows on the walls and across the furniture. You rush over to it with your hands out, eager to feel the fire’s heat. You sigh as it tickles your skin.

You close your eyes, allowing the warmth to seep into your soul. Your dress soon becomes hot yet damp, a most uncomfortable combination. You kick off your boots and place them by the door before reaching for the back of your dress. You pull at the lacings, loosening them and shimmying your dress down to your ankles. You bend down and grab it, grimacing at the mud splattered on the hem and the deep golden colour of the gown from how wet it is. Draping it over the arm of a nearby chair, you hear the door rattle.

You stand there, paralysed by fear, as the door swings open, revealing a huge, shadowy figure. You scream as the lightning cracks and the figure stalks in. Your hands cover your mouth as you stare at the brute of a man in front of you. The cloak he’s draped in doesn’t conceal his muscular frame, and he carries a pile of wood on his back. Sharp red eyes glare at you, and his full lips are twisted into a scowl.

He growls, “WHAT’RE YOU DOIN’ HERE?!” Your mouth is dry as he comes over to you. His shadow casts your frame in darkness as he drops the wood on the ground. You flinch at the thud, stepping back slightly. Your heart thumps in your chest so hard and loud you feel like it’s about to burst.

You stutter, avoiding his harsh gaze, “I-I’m sorry I-I had nowhere else t-to go. I-I saw your cabin, and I—”

“Made yourself at home, huh?” He grunts. You nod frantically as you watch him untie the heap of wood and throw a few into the fire lazily. The flames crack and pop at the new addition, dimming and then brightening.

“Get out of my cabin!” He grumbles, staring daggers into you. Suddenly, you feel so bare beneath his gaze. You realise that you’re only wearing your undergarments. No proper way for a princess to dress, especially around a man who wasn’t her husband. But you don’t care as you invade his personal space and cling to his arm.

You plead for him to let you stay the night, but he pushes you off and yells at you to leave. Shaking your head, you drop to your knees. You stare up at him with big eyes and quivering lips as you beg, “Please! Please! Don’t make me go back out there, please! I’ll do anything! I’ll be good. I promise. I won’t get in your way. You won’t even know that I’m here. Just let me stay the night! Please!”

He gazes down at you with raised brows and a slackened jaw, unsure of what to make of your sudden outburst. He gulps and looks away from you. Tch. You sniffle as he walks over to the door, expecting him to throw it wide open and force you out.

Instead, he shrugs off his cloak and hangs it on a hook next to the door. Holy moly— Your eyes rake over his toned back. The shadows illuminate his juicy muscles, and you can feel the saliva pooling in your mouth as he turns around.

He grunts, “Only for tonight.” You nod enthusiastically as you try to tear your eyes away from his godly frame. Even the scars marring his skin look heavenly. You wanna take a bite of those biceps with the way they flex and—

“STOP LOOKING AT ME, WOMAN!” He yells. You hum and avert your eyes, getting off the floor. As a princess, you’ve never had to beg anyone for anything before. And you hope that you don’t have to ever again. You shift to standing in front of the fireplace, sighing as the heat sinks into your pores.

He grumbles, “Could you move?” You gaze up at him, confused, as he looms beside you. Nodding, you shift to the side. You hope he thinks the redness of your face is from the fire and not your embarrassment. He takes this opportunity to stir the stew, filling the pot. You watch with curious eyes as he slurps from the spoon.

He orders you to sit down, and you do as you’re told, planting yourself down on the same chair your dress is drying on. You’re delighted to watch his delicious muscles at work as he takes the pot off the fire and dishes out the stew for you to eat.

He hands you a bowl and spoon, which you take, thanking him. He sits on the chair beside you and starts downing his soup at an alarming rate. You stir the hearty goodness, identifying some veggies and meat of some sort. You slurp a mouthful and moan in delight.

The spiky blond stares at you, his cheeks full of stew. You can hear the blood rushing in your veins, somehow flowing more to your face as you gaze at your bowl.

You mutter, “It’s really good.”

“It’s just stew,” he grunts. You hum as you resume eating your dinner in silence. Once he’s finished, he starts cleaning up the dishes. Your cheeks are aflame as your eyes roam his body, content to gaze at him doing domestic chores.

With a deep breath in, you ask, “So, what’s your name?

He grumbles, “What’s it to you?” You shrug, blowing on a spoonful of stew.

His back is to you, washing his bowl as you say, “Can’t I know the name of the man who’s letting me stay in his cabin on such a dreary night?” He’s quiet for the next few minutes, so you assume that he’s not going to tell you.

As he wipes the cooking pot dry, he mutters, “Katsuki.” You hum, your mouth full of stew. That name… There was something familiar about it. Shaking your head, you push the feeling aside. That’s ridiculous, you think. Of course, you don’t know him, right? How could you forget someone so… handsome rough?

You swallow before chirping, “It’s nice to meet you, Katsuki. I’m y/n.” His eyes flicker to you before darting back to the pot. When you’re finished, he stalks over to you and grabs your empty bowls. He avoids your gaze, seeing something he hasn’t seen in a long time.

He’s about to step away from you when he grabs the neckline of your dress. You gaze at him with a crease in your brow until it clicks. You snatch the damp gown from him, but it’s too late. He stares at you with wide eyes as he asks, “Why do you bear the royal crest?” You shake your head.

“It’s nothing, really.”

He grunts, “Don’t lie to me.” He grabs your dress and yanks it out of your hands, dragging you to the edge of the plush chair.

He spits out each word harshly, saying, “Why do you bear the royal crest? Are you from the castle?” You’re screaming at yourself internally to lie despite how awful you are at it.

You ramble, “It’s not what you think it is! I’m-I’m a maid. A maid for the royal family!”

He scoffs, “A maid? Only the royal family is permitted to wear the royal crest.” He discards the dress and bowl on the floor and steps the slightest bit closer, positioning himself between your legs. He palms the armrests as he leans over your quivering frame, glaring at you.

“So, cough it up, woman. You’re either a dirty thief or a runaway royal. So, which is it?” You gulp as you avert your eyes from literally anything other than his perfect body hovering so close to yours.

He grunts, “Said your name was y/n?” His large hand falls to your knee and pushes up the sheer fabric coating your thighs.

“What’re you doing?” You exclaim with wide eyes. He clicks his tongue at you as his rough fingers run across your soft skin. His thumb traces your birthmark from memory. The look in his eyes is soft, reminiscent as he captures yours.

He smirks, “S’been a long time, your highness.” You gulp. What?

He chuckles, “I don’t expect cha to remember me. You were a tiny thing back then.” You blink at him in confusion. Those red eyes, that lopsided grin, and deep voice. A sense of deja vu.

“Sir Bakugou!” You blurt out, staring up at him in disbelief. He eases off, removing his warm palm from your thigh. He nods as he rises to his full height, towering over you. You stand up as he steps back, cautious but excited.

“I can’t believe it’s you! I could barely recognise you with all this,” you say, pointing to his scars and buff physique. “The last time I saw you, I was what… ten?” He hums lowly, his eyes trailing over your matured figure.

He grins, “You’re all grown up now, eh?” You giggle and slap his bare chest playfully, earning you a scowl.

“What was that for?!” He says, his chest rumbling. You laugh, unable to hold yourself back. It’s been so long since you’ve seen each other. So long since you could just be yourself around someone else.

Calming down, you breathe out, “It hasn’t been the same since you left.” He hums and picks up your empty bowl, walking over to the kitchen area.

You follow him, saying, “Everything’s gone downhill since then. Father is always stressing over the constant conflicts between lords, and Mother won’t speak to him most days. And he keeps marrying off my sisters to foreign princes, trying to establish political ties. But how can you try to ally yourself with other countries when yours is falling apart?”

Katsuki grumbles, “S’that why you ran away?” You hum, watching him rinse the suds off the bowl and then dry it off.

You mumble, “I can’t marry someone I don’t even know, Sir—”

“You don’t have to call me that anymore, yea?” He grunts. You’re stunned for a moment before humming in agreement.

He continues, “N’ I’m not just talkin’ about getting married off. Looks like yer finally using that brain of yours.” You scowl at him, earning you a hearty bellow. He puts the bowl away and guides you to one of the two rooms at the back of the cabin. He opens the door and ushers you inside.

In the corner sits a large barrel bathtub, and there’s a stone sink jutting out from the wall. You gulp as you turn around to face the blond.

He mutters, “Water’s already hot. I’ll get you something to put on after, alright?” You nod and hum.

As he turns to leave, you reach out and grab his forearm. You don’t know what compelled you to do something so inappropriate, but you can’t help yourself as you gaze at him.

You say quietly, “I missed you, Katsuki. I miss my favourite guard protecting me and taking care of me. It’s… I wish you didn’t leave.” Your gaze falls from his eyes to his arm and finally rests on your hands wrapped around him. He can’t take his eyes off of your pouty lips.

He grumbles, “I had to leave—”

“But why?” You cry out. “I thought you liked being my guard—”

“’Course I liked being your guard, doll. S’not about that,” he sighs.

“Then—”

He grunts, tugging his arm from your grasp, “I don’t wanna talk about it. Just bathe, for fuck’s sake, will ya?” He stalks out of the room, leaving you all alone. You obey, stripping out of your undergarments and soaking in the water. True to his word, it’s hot. The perfect temperature, actually. The heat penetrates your clammy skin, warming up your bones and muscles.

You sigh, relaxing in the bath. Moments of the past fill your mind. Your days were spent learning how to fence, running around and playing in the gardens, and having picnics by the nearest river. All with your head guard, Sir Bakugou.

You chuckle softly as you remember the day you told Katsuki about your birthmark. You had just learnt what it was from your mother and skipped off to show your favourite knight. You remember how warmly he laughed at you and patted your head when you showed it to him. And how you pestered him about any birthmarks he had.

Feeling too hot, you rise and climb out of the barrel. You wrap a thin linen towel around yourself and dry off. When you’re done, you open the door and peek your head out. Katsuki notices you immediately and comes over to you, thrusting one of his long shirts in your hand. You thank him as you take it from him and shut the door.

After you get changed, you walk out of the bathroom into the main area where bedding has been laid out. Your eyes rove over the glistening waves of a fur blanket; your heart rate picks up. You gasp as callous palms cup your shoulders and gently squeeze them. You gaze back at the man behind you.

He mutters, “You take the bed. I’ll sleep out ‘ere tonight.” You shake your head.

“No, it’s okay. I can—”

“M’not letting my princess sleep on the floor,” he grunts.

You start, “But—”

“Quit being such a brat. Do as yer told n’ go to bed,” he growls. Against your better judgment, you shake your head again. He groans as you turn around. Your bodies are close. Too close for comfort. It’s like lightning strikes between you two with the way your chests ghost each other.

You gulp, your heartbeat growing to be as loud as the thunderstorm overhead. You utter his name, earning a gruff “What?” in response.

“Can I… do something a bit improper?” You ask tentatively. He chuckles lowly, red eyes drifting to the bed before looking back at you.

He smirks, “When do you not?” You hold your tongue, hesitant to ruin the tension between you two. You shuffle that much closer to him, your hands flat against his pecs. He shivers at the feeling of your delicate skin on his.

Katsuki grunts, “You done yet?” You shake your head before tilting your chin up. You gaze at him with big eyes, puffing at your lips ever so slightly. Your hands trail down his abs before roaming up his chest and to the back of his neck.

He groans, “The fuck you want, doll?” You draw the side of your lip between your teeth as you pull him down to you.

You’re on your tiptoes, your lips brushing his ear lobe as you whisper, “You.” His hands are on you in an instant, pulling you into his solid torso. He grabs your chin, forcing you to gaze into his eyes before he kisses you.

You moan into his mouth, thrilled that this is finally happening. That your fantasy is becoming a reality. You tug at his locks as he kisses you roughly, teeth-gnashing and tongues swirling. He groans as he explores every corner of your mouth, his hands roughly grabbing your hips.

He pulls back, both of you panting hard. You grin as you catch your breath, staring at him awestruck.

You whisper, “I can’t believe this is happening.” He rolls his eyes at you.

“Don’t fucking start,” he huffs. He’s kissing you again, much more sweetly this time. His grip on you loosens as he strokes up and down your back, feeling every curve and dip beneath the fabric separating your bodies.

You sigh into his lips, enjoying this change in pace. This time, he sucks on your bottom lip, making you gasp before he nips at it. He gently walks you back until you’re stepping on the makeshift bed, the fur luxuriously soft between your toes. You mumble his name, encouraging a groan from him.

Your bodies part for a moment as you both sit on the fur blanket. One of his hands wraps around your knee while the other grasps your cheek. He pulls you into him and lays you down. Your hands grip his shoulders as he kisses down your jaw and neck. You squeeze the muscle there as he gently bites your soft flesh, gasps falling from your lips.

You whimper, “Kat-suki. I’ve been in love with you since—”

“Shut up,” he grunts into your skin, nipping at your flesh harder. You moan, and he pulls back.

He shifts up, his lips brushing yours as he grumbles, “I don’t wanna hear it. Want you to show me, princess. Think you can do that, f’me?” You whine, nodding furiously.

He chuckles, “Good.” He returns to kissing your neck. You moan loudly as he nips at your collarbones and shoulder. Your hands tangle in his spiky locks, massaging and tugging and then massaging again.

You whine as he sits back and peels his shirt off you, leaving you bare beneath him. He groans at the sight of you, his hands wrapped around your wrists and pulling them down to your sides before you can even attempt to cover yourself up.

“Suki!” You gasp as he grabs both of your breasts, one in each hand, and squeezes them. He smirks all cocky as his eyes drink you in. He lowers himself back down, tongue licking the fat of your tit. You bite your lip as he pinches your nipples, rolling them between his fingers deliciously.

Letting go of one, he replaces his fingers with his mouth and sucks on it. You moan, pulling at his roots. Once satisfied, he moves onto your other breast, licking and sucking on it until you’re whimpering and whining his name mindlessly.

Smirking, he kisses your ribcage, your tummy, hips, and stretch marks. He then grabs your wrists one at a time and kisses them before working up your arms with his lips. Even your ankles, calves, and thighs receive his tender affection.

By the time his head dips between your thighs, you feel utterly worshipped from head to toe. You moan his name as his tongue rolls over your clit, your back arching delightfully as he sucks it. His tongue works wonders between your folds, making you feel like no man ever has.

You cry out as his fingers brush your clit and gently rub circles over it while his tongue laps inside of you. With slick-coated fingers, he eases one into your hole, making you gasp and call out his name.

He returns to sucking on your clit; his mouth is so fucking hot, like the heat of the flames prickling your skin, as he fingers you slowly. He curls his finger when he’s deep inside, making you moan even louder.

His other hand grabs yours and intertwines your fingers. He gives you a gentle squeeze, his eyes watching your every gasp and whimper. Your head falls back as he curls a second finger inside of you, hitting that perfect spot.

You moan, “K-Kat-suki. Please, baby. Please.” He hums against your cunt, the vibrations making you buck your hips against his skilful tongue. He pulls off your sopping pussy, keen to hear more.

He groans, voice hoarse from how well he was just eating you out, “What is it, princess?” You mewl as his fingers press into your gummy walls.

You pant, “Need you, Suki. In me-please fuck!” He slowly pulls his fingers out of you, admiring your syrup dripping down his wrist in the firelight.

He chuckles, “Fuck, you really do need me, huh?” You nod enthusiastically.

“Please, baby,” you whine. He shushes you and shifts to pull off his shorts and underwear. You push yourself up on your elbows; legs spread wide lewdly as you watch his huge cock spring free. Just the sight of it, you moan as even more slick gushes from your pussy.

He comes back to you, large hands pushing you back down and grabbing the back of your thighs. He grumbles at you to wait while he grabs a pillow and places it beneath your hips. He then brings your calves over his lower back, his cock running through your folds. Your back arches as his tip slides over your clit, making you moan.

He coats himself in your arousal, his pre-cum mixing with it before he finally slides in. He goes slow, letting you stretch to accommodate his girth. Your arms tighten around his neck as you pull him down to you, your head resting in the crook of his neck. You whine as he pushes in further.

“Fuck, baby,” you whimper into his skin.

He gently kisses your forehead, whispering into your hairline, “S’okay, baby girl. You can take it.” You cry out as his balls press against your ass, his cock so fucking deep inside of you.

You murmur, “You’re so big. Just give me a minute, kay?” He hums into your forehead, sweetly kissing it and working down to your lips. You sigh into his kiss, your noses brushing as he pulls back. His eyes find yours, mesmerised by the warm glow of your skin from the fireplace, that rosy flush.

He mutters, “You ready now?” You hum, nodding. He pecks the tip of your nose before drawing himself out and rocking back into you slowly. You both moan at the feeling, the stretch of your hole wrapping around him. Your eyes gaze at the point where he’s lost inside of you. You look back up, finding him already staring at you.

He fucks you so tenderly you’re uncertain if that term can be used to describe what’s happening right now. The sounds of your sex rival that of the downpour outside. You squeeze his hand as he hits that pleasurable spot, your eyes rolling back from how good it feels.

He lets go of your hand to tilt your head back to him, needing to see that open-mouthed, lust-hazed look on your face. You sigh in pleasure as the light and shadows dance across your bodies, painting your love-making on the cabin walls. You whimper his name pathetically.

He presses a soft kiss to your lips, groaning, “I know, princess.” He draws out of you completely, earning a whine from you. He tuts at you and manoeuvres your bodies so that you’re sitting on his lap.

You lean down and kiss him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You moan into the kiss, stretching up as he aligns himself with your entrance. You slowly lower down onto him, whimpering into his lips while he groans.

You bounce up and down at him at a leisurely pace, taking your time to feel every inch of his length. You sigh as his cock twitches, pre-cum spilling into you. Katsuki cups your cheek in one hand while the other tightens around your waist.

He grunts, “Doin’ so good f’me, baby.” You moan, fists clenching as more pre-cum leaks into you.

“I’m so glad-I found you, Suki,” you mewl. He groans lowly against your jaw, leaving tender kisses there. You drop your hips a little harder, a little faster than before.

“Fuck,” he growls in your ear. Your tits bounce as you do, the most beautiful sight your knight has ever seen. He grabs a handful of one of your breasts and sucks on your nipple before moving both hands to your hips and helping you ride him.

“I-I m-missed you,” you whimper. Your back arches as you feel those tingles gathering in your cunt, your orgasm building every single time your clit slaps his scarred skin as you bounce on his cock.

You cry out, “Katsuki! Fuck, Katsuki! Baby, I’m gonna cum-fuck!” He pulls off your nipple and pulls you into a passionate kiss. You mewl into his lips loudly, squirming in his hold as you feel the knot in your stomach tighten.

Pulling away, you scream out as you orgasm. Your back arches so deeply you know you’re gonna feel it in the morning, but you don’t care. The pleasure shuddering through your body is unlike any other. And it’s only heightened as your love groans loudly, his hot seed shooting into you. It coats your walls thickly, forming a ring around your hole from him fucking his cream into you.

You’re panting hard as you sink down on his cock. Your forehead presses against his as you both catch your breath, trying to process what the fuck just happened.

After a few minutes, you chuckle lazily before kissing Katsuki sloppily. His saliva dribbles down your chin when you part, red eyes full of so many emotions (surely mirroring your own). You call his name softly, but he shakes his head and presses another soft kiss to your lips.

He lays you two down and holds you close, pulling the warm blankets up to your chin. You sigh into his side, so happy you could purr from just being with him. From experiencing such intimacy with the man, you’ve been yearning for for a long time.

You murmur, “Suki, I love you. Please, don’t leave me.” Your hold on his torso tightens, and you nuzzle the side of his pec with your nose. He laughs lightly, the sound reverberating warmly in his chest.

“M’not going anywhere, alright? N’ neither are you. You’re all mine now,” he mutters. You hum into him, soaking up his heat and affection and the knowledge that you’re all his.

He chuckles lowly, “Let’s take five, yea?” You nod, peppering his skin with sweet kisses. You close your eyes; no other words or actions are necessary at this moment. You ease your body into him, shifting slightly and getting comfortable.

Running out into a storm was not your best decision, but the man it led you to is.

[sonotpattismith]

composing a burlesque

pairing: yuta okkotsu x burlesque!reader word count: 10.2k inspired by: nearly witches by panic! at the disco content: burlesque reader, angst, sexual assault, violence, yuta being a little insane, smut, 18+

There was a time when exorcizing curses provided a rush of dopamine to Yuta Okkotsu’s brain unlike any other drug that would ever come to graze his calloused hands. The action was filled with purpose— it made him ooze a certain confidence that felt damn near orgasmic. Being a special grade, being sent off on missions others were deemed incapable of completing themselves, it was all euphoric for the once insecure and helpless boy. 

Yuta had been in the business for years now though, and he wasn’t sure the last time his job felt that addicting. Perhaps in the heat of all that he had fought through, the sorcerer failed to ever acknowledge when he was in his prime. Now though, as he swung his katana over his shoulder and gazed haphazardly at the mission synopsis before him, all he felt was the grueling realization that he had been tumbling down that hill of his supposed peak for quite some time now. 

He longed for it though, the type of purpose he could sink his teeth into and feel the pressure of it achingly caress his gums. With his well surpassing all his peers, at what point did his original purpose for building himself up get lost in the rubble of all his past successes? Perhaps it was the validation of it all that only tasted so nice when it was those he desperately had something to prove to. 

So, the special grade would take every mission thrown his way. Hell, he would even go as far as to seek out especially perilous ones just for a hint of that rush he used to get. It wasn’t a difficult feat, given the fact that the higher ups always found his efforts better suited to higher grade missions anyway. This was why, as Yuta stared up at the red, LED lights flashing down at him from what appeared to be a gentlemen’s club, he wasn’t sure where his skills fit in here. 

The lit up, archway entrance had a mysterious way of luring him in while simultaneously warning him that Yuta Okkotsu was way out of his element here. He could hear the sultry music that was playing inside reverberating on the ground beneath his feet, penetrating deep into the already uncertain depths of his chest. The sorcerer hadn’t even been aware that such places existed anymore, much less that they still drew in such a crowd, judging by the boisterous chatter that also escaped the tantalizing walls of the club. Of course, these types of… establishments were never really his scene. 

Gulping down his nerves, he was more anxious about the human proclivities that would be awaiting him on the other side rather than whatever curse he was sent to deal with. Despite this apprehension, he followed the gold, bulb lights that lead the way to the heavy, double doors. Upon pushing in, the alluring music seemed to increase tenfold, and he could feel the vibrations of the drunken club-goer’s conversations in his chest. 

His breath left him momentarily as he took in the sights before him. There were very obvious, overwhelmingly strong tendrils of cursed energy that seemed to waft from the very back of the establishment, and he assumed that’s where he should be headed to find what he’d come here for— perhaps he would have had it not been for the fact that he was completely enamoured by the dominating presences on the main stage. 

At present, there were three women on the stage, each doused head to toe in delicately intimate costumes. They oozed artistry and professionalism with each pointed kick and calculated sway of their hips. The men that surrounded the stage must have felt it too, what with the way each of them was glued to performance, eyes unsure where to focus at any given moment. 

Yuta watched as they smirked and hollered over at each other, depraved thoughts that should never have been conjured in the first place let alone spoken aloud being tossed around the room nonchalantly. Of course, the sorcerer wasn’t blind, the beauty that emanated from each woman on the stage wasn’t lost on him, but he couldn’t help but be thrilled by the artistry alone. 

“First time?” 

He was pulled from his gobsmacked trance by a saccharine voice, so sweet and sultry in its delivery that he determined that it just had to have been rehearsed. Spinning around so abruptly, Yuta knocked into the tray of drinks balanced on your gloved, manicured hand. It tipped to the side unceremoniously, and he was jolting forward with an expert reflex to catch it before it fell. 

“Oh!” He gaped frantically, anxiety ridden hands shooting up to steady the martini glasses as their contents began to splash onto you. The awkward man before you seemed to work with such swiftness and tact that you were sure you missed all of what had happened in the second you took to blink. “I— Gah! I’m such a clutz. I’m sorry, Miss—”

“So, yes for first timer?” You teased with an impressed gaze, taking note of the now perfectly balanced glasses on your tray. Carefully shifting the tray in your arms, your free hand reached up to swipe the drops of spilled alcohol from your chest. 

Yuta, finally looking up from the glasses, followed the motion with bated breath. You donned a similar costume to the ones on the performers, a shimmering gold bodysuit that clung sinfully to your every curve, reaching high on your hips and exposing the skin of your fishnet laced thighs. Your red-manicured fingers dipped onto the plush pillows of your chest that were exaggerated by the tightness of your bodice, gathering up the wetness that lingered before returning your casual grip on the tray. 

His heart was beating up higher and higher until he felt its mocking rhythm in his throat, and his wide eyes drifted from your glistening chest, up your neck until they met the intricately painted face attached. The response he meant to give strained to come out as he stared into your shadow-lined eyes with dramatic lashes fluttering up to meet his gaze, and whatever he meant to say came embarrassingly out as a cross between a hum and a grunt. Your red-painted lips curved up in amusement, an expression that reminded him of just how pathetically he was behaving. It was hardly within his ability to care though, not when your smile revealed itself to be the best bit you had seemingly saved for last.

“Am I—” Yuta stammered, desperate to take back any semblance of dignity in this painful interaction. When your brow quirked up, he laughed nervously. “Am I that obvious?”

“Just a lucky guess.” You winked, looking behind him to the stage he had been staring at. “They’re pretty good, huh?” 

“Huh? Oh! Y-Yeah, it’s incredible.” He gushed honestly, stealing another glance at their seamless choreography before turning back to you. “Um… You don’t— uh, dance?”

“I do.” You smiled sweetly at his anxious disposition, picking up one of the glasses to hand to him. “Just not today.”

He stared at the glass for a beat too long, the dark, red lighting in the room illuminating off of the prominent whites of his blown out eyes. After another second, his midnight eyes fluttered back up at you, and he offered a wobbly smile. 

“O-Oh, I didn’t order anything.”

“On the house.” You offered nonchalantly, bending over just a bit to hand out the drinks to the couch of men awaiting their orders. 

Yuta wished he could be a better man in that moment, for he knew his gaze lingered too long on the arch in your back as you flirted casually with the customers. One particularly burly man had cash pressed between his fingers, fully prepared to tuck it into your pronounced cleavage. It was evident then though that you had been in this game too long, and you snatched it smoothly between your shiny, red nails before tutting at the man in playful disapproval. 

As you straightened back up to return to the anxious boy behind you, you gave a mockingly exasperated expression.  The subtle attention made his chest burn, and had it not been for the lighting, he was sure you would have caught the way it spread up to his neck and cheeks. Nonetheless, he smiled shyly back at you, taking a swig from the drink you’d given him in an attempt to cool himself down. The bitter liquid splashed against his unsuspecting tongue, and he had to fix his face in record timing lest he embarrass himself again. 

“Not your poison?” You laughed softly while brushing past him to head back to the bar. His white sneakers squeaked against the floor as he stumbled after you. “I figured you’d need a little liquid courage before dealing with whatever the hell haunts this place.”

His expression fell a bit in surprise at your words. Now behind the bar, you peered back at his dumbstruck expression. 

“How did you know that’s what I was here for?”

Leaning forward, you tugged gently on the swirled, yellow button on his chest, making him pull forward toward you just a hair. 

“Not the first yellow button I’ve seen come through here to take that thing out.” You whispered lowly, and had he not been so close, he wouldn’t have heard you over the rowdy crowd and blaring music. Your confession made his brows furrow. 

“No one’s been able to exorcise it?” 

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it?” You laughed, finally letting go of your grip on his shirt to lean your hands against the cool, glass counter. “Well, I heard that’s why they sent you. Rumor has it you’re stronger than the rest of them. Is that true…?”

“Okkotsu.” He introduced as you trailed off in question, holding his posture just a bit higher at your praise. “I’m Yuta Okkotsu.”

You smiled again, your pearly whites glittering under the neon lights. With a tilt of your head, your pristinely styled curls shifted enough to waft the scent of your shampoo straight toward his face. With Yuta’s luck, it wouldn’t be the martini in his hand that got him drunk on the job. 

“Well, Yuta Okkotsu— are you? Stronger than the rest?”

Your questioning of his talents assured that Yuta didn’t need any alcohol to charge into the back of that club to prove himself to you that night. It wasn’t as if he ever needed any encouragement before, the sorcerer had become more than confident in his abilities over the years, and he knew there was little to nothing that could rival his techniques. Still, it had been a while since he had felt so driven to tear something apart just for the sake of saying he could.

You had informed him that the thing (as you had called it) resided in the boss’s office, and that it never left. Yuta had questioned where the man in question was, but he was informed that he wouldn’t come in until the curse was taken care of. The faintest of red flags waved in the sorcerer’s mind at the thought of the owner of this establishment jumping ship yet still expecting the women to keep it afloat, putting themselves in dangers he wasn’t man enough to face himself. 

He insisted that he didn’t need you to show him where the office was— he could feel it. It was spilling under the cracks of the door, filling his senses with that familiar dread that kicked on his fight or flight everytime. It had been ages since he had the privileged choice of flight though. With the key you’d given him, his nimble fingers worked to unlock the ominous barrier. It creaked open, and, before anything else, a waft of sickeningly sweet perfume wafted into his consciousness. Reaching out blindly, he felt for the light switch before flipping it on. 

A dull light flickered on, flooding the once pitch black room. His eyes met those of the curse almost immediately. Yuta Okkotsu had seen the most grotesque of ghouls and curses in his few years as a jujutsu sorcerer, ones that made the strongest of men flinch back in fear, but he was sure, as he gaped back at this one, that he had never laid eyes on one that made his stomach churn so uneasily. It wasn’t large, or loud— hell, he wasn’t even sure it could be categorized as a grade two. Still, there was something so deeply disquieting about its vacant stare and the whines that left its mangled mouth.

It didn’t move to attack him, it didn’t leave its spot on the worn-down, yellowing couch on the far wall of the office. It laid sprawled out, its limbs almost longer than the furniture itself. Its complexion was pale, but its face was painted dramatically with deep, burgundy rouge as what appeared to be drool dripped out its torn and welted lips, smearing the ruby paint that lined them. 

Yuta’s wide eyes blinked down at it; once, then twice. It mimicked his motions, a tear dropping from its oddly protruding eyes on the second blink. Even as he slowly approached it, unsheathing the katana from his bag, the curse made no move to defend itself. It made his movements falter— they needed a special grade sorcerer for this thing? Gulping down the brimming feeling of nausea, he uncharacteristically turned his cheek as he plunged his katana into its chest, unable to face the demise he was inflicting on it. 

The air in the club was notably lighter as he made his way back out to the main area. From the archway, he could see the new set of dancers on the stage performing a different number. Some of them glanced his way as he sauntered out from the back, but most of them paid him no mind. 

As his haunting eyes sweeped over the crowd of people in search of you, almost instantly spotting you leaned against one of the couches with that performatively provocative smile on your plush lips, he felt that familiar rush of adrenaline flood his system. It almost made him forget about the unease of exorcising the curse he’d come here for, and he pushed through the crowd, shouldering at horny men carelessly in his pursuit. The proximity between you was slowly waning, and it made some of his previous confidence fly out the window. 

Your hand brushed teasingly over the shoulders of the customer you were currently buttering up, and it made Yuta’s chest burn with the fiery hope that it was just the artistry of it all. Still, his logical mind must have abandoned him in favor of something more primal, as he pushed past his doubt to make his way to you. The sorcerer, practically buzzing with a high unlike any other, wasn’t sure what he planned to do when he reached you, but he wouldn’t find out because you turned to face him just as he opened his mouth. 

“Wrapped it up already?” You quipped, a knowing smile playing on your lips. In your eyes though, there was an underlying darkness that he couldn’t quite place. Nonetheless, he followed beside you this time as you made your way back to the bar. 

“All clear, Miss.” Yuta confirmed, feeling almost lightheaded as he awaited your reaction, but you only hummed in response. He huffed out a nervous laugh, watching you distract yourself behind the counter. The blues of his eyes darted about incredulously. “You sound like you don’t believe me.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant, sweetheart.” You peered up at him through your heavy false lashes with a slight tilt of your head. The exasperated furrow of his brow was almost endearing, but it wasn’t your intention to step on his ego. “I’m sure you got rid of it for now— just like the five that came before you did.” 

“The five…” His bewildered tone trailed off as your words sunk in. Whether unconscious or not, he leaned in closer to you. “What do you mean for now?”

A soft sigh had your pristine posture falling a bit. It had begun feeling like whatever organization these people were coming from were simply throwing shit at a wall and waiting to see what stuck. After the third attempt though, you had started to lose that spark of hope that lit up each time you’d see one of those familiar, yellow buttons. 

“Well, it usually goes like this—” Yuta’s breath hitched ever so slightly as your stiletto-clad foot pulled the stool beside him closer, now a mere inches away as you sat down gracefully. With an elbow rested casually on the bar, your long, fish-netted leg shifted, brushing against his as you folded it over your thigh. “A bright-eyed and bushy tailed recruit comes in here, all high and mighty that they’re going to take care of everything for us.” 

As you recounted, your finger trailed absetmindedly up his arm, making his shoulders tense in anticipation. 

“And you do. You do whatever the hell is you do, and you leave. Everything is fine for a while.” Your fingers squeezed at his bicep teasingly, and you couldn’t help but be a bit surprised at the firmness that seemed to be hiding under his baggy, white shirt. 

Continuing your exploration, you could feel the heat of his blush under your fingers as you trailed up his neck, grazing your nails against his nape. Yuta’s lips parted, leaning his head back unconsciously against your delicate touch. His eagerness made you smile softly— it was almost second nature to tease him, and you wondered when the last time a man so green walked through the doors of this place. 

“And what then?” He breathed out, trying with everything in him to keep his concentration on the conversation at hand. 

Your hand curled around his nape, and you pulled him in closer to you. The abrupt motion had his hand shooting forward, steadying himself with a clammy hand against your thigh lest he fall face first into your chest. 

“And she always comes back.” You whispered, almost losing yourself in the way he stared up at you with those hauntingly wide eyes.

“S-She?”

You nodded softly.

“She, it, the thing. Whatever you people call them. It comes back everytime.”

At your explanation, Yuta forced himself to pull back a bit from your grasp in an attempt to collect himself. With furrowed brows, he shook his head in disbelief. You quirked a brow at this motion, as if both offended and amused that he didn’t believe you. 

“Sorry,” He chuckled nervously, your words still ringing in his head. Never in his years as a sorcerer had he come across a recurring curse. Sure, new ones would arise; usually different in appearance, strength, location, but never the same curse repeatedly. “I’ve just never heard of anything like that, is all.”

“Tell you what,” You countered, your hand finally falling from its gentle caress in his hair and allowing him to think a bit straighter. “Give it two weeks, come back here, and see it for yourself. Make sure it’s a Friday.”

 In truth, he still highly doubted that the curse would come back, but he wasn’t about to pass up on an excuse to come back here and see you again. So, he nodded slowly in agreement, biting back the anticipation that rose in his stomach at the idea that this wouldn’t be your last interaction. 

“Why Friday?” He questioned suddenly, just now processing your request. 

The sly smile that creeped onto your lips almost had him falling to the floor like puddy, the sight sparking an incandescent warmth in his chest that set every nerve in his body ablaze. Sinful. It was the only word Yuta could think to describe the way you looked at him. Maybe it was how you looked at all the men that came in here— it was your job to make them feel wanted, after all. Still, that little spark in your glowing irises did such intricate work in making sure he felt like the only one. 

Leaning in closer to him, you reached up to brush a tuft of his dark hair behind his ear before grazing your lips against its sensitive shell. The hand that had found your thigh to support him squeezed gently at the sensation, fat mushing between his fingers deliciously.

“I always dance on Fridays, Okkotsu.”

Yuta spent the following two weeks in an all-consuming rut, thoughts smoked over by the smell of your perfume and the sensation of your fingertips trailing up his neck. Perhaps he should have given more thought, paid any mind at all to your claims that no one had been able to fully exorcise that strange curse in months, and maybe he would have had he not still been able to feel the plush of your thighs against his fingers. 

In addition to that, his befuddled mind wouldn’t even process the fact that you had invited him back to assure the job was done. No, because as he replayed the scenario in his mind each night, your lips whispered that they wanted to see him again— they wanted him to see you. Of course, it didn’t help that he had become so grossly confident in his cursed techniques. To Yuta, there was no way the thing would come back, not with how cleanly he’d sliced through it, not after he watched it disintegrate before his very eyes. 

So, when he walked through those familiar double doors two weeks later, running his fingers through his hair and straightening his posture to assure he looked the part, the wave of cursed energy that hit him nearly sent him falling onto his own, lovesick ass. Gone was the dreamy, far-off look in his eyes, and, in its place was a fierce confusion as he pushed past the typical group of men oogling women who were far too young for them. 

There was no way. 

He searched for you, unsure if it was to apologize for having brushed off your accusations so rashly, or simply because of the ache that had settled within his bones from the second he left two weeks prior. It felt like he was jumping out of his skin, rubbing at his neck and licking his dry lips incessantly, begging himself to get a grip. It didn’t help that he feared his strangely timed obsession was clouding his judgment on what might actually be going on in this place. 

There was an almost overstimulating ringing beginning to invade Yuta’s mind. His thoughts were scrambled with the sheer force of the energy permeating through the building, ideas fleeting in and out about what could possibly be lurking behind the shadows of this place. Shoulders of rowdy club-goers were pushing into him, only adding onto his state of unnerve with every shove. 

His senses were drawing him toward the back, but just as he began to push through the crowd, the lights of the club died out dramatically. At an almost cosmically slow rate, Yuta turned his head to face the stage that was now being lit up one by one by gold, fluorescent lights— all building up for the grand reveal that was you. 

You— Yuta gaped up at the stage— you with your crimson, glittering bodysuit that clung so sinfully to every curve of your body. You with your calculated sways and pointed, sensual kicks of your heeled feet. You with your sultry eyes that seemed to scan the crowd as you leaned over yourself, shining hair falling teasingly into your intricately painted face until you spotted him. Your brows popped up with a delighted smile, and you winked at the awestruck boy before snapping up in tandem with the beat to continue your choreography. 

The cursed energy continued to swirl around the sorcerer like dark tendrils, but the captivating sway of your hips was fighting for the dominance of his attention. Halfway into your number, he wasn’t sure if the burning that was seeping from his chest and down his stomach was due to the fight or flight instinct triggered by the energy or by the sheer heat that you seemed to shoot into him with each teasing glance over your shoulder to him. 

He seemed to have more depth than the other sorcerers that passed through here, you thought as the number was coming to a close. The others had a different aura to them, almost as if trying to fill shoes they had no business stepping into in the first place. Yuta Okkotsu though, with his tired eyes and messy hair, seemed so humble for a man his organization had deemed stronger than the rest. The bashful tint on his confounded face made you smile, throwing a wink over your shoulder at the crowd of forgotten watchers as you stepped off the stage. 

Yuta thought he might trip over his feet or start a bar fight, whichever came first as he stumbled through the crowd to follow the path you’d taken to the back. It was as though the lingering scent of your alluring perfume guided his trek, utterly indifferent to the people he was elbowing on the way. His once determined walk faltered as he read the ‘dressing room’ sign on the door before him. Tucking his bottom lip nervously between his teeth, he glanced around the vacant hallway before lifting a hesitant fist to knock.

“Come in!” Your muffled voice responded from the other side of the forbidden room. Okkotsu’s wide eyes blinked rapidly, and he bounced on his heels once, then twice, as if it would summon up any courage that might be hiding within his otherwise powerful body. With a final, anxious gulp, he resorted to covered his eyes with one large palm splayed across his face while the other pushed the door open. 

“Uh… sorry, I don’t mean to—”

“You can take a peek if you want, Okkotsu.” Your teasing voice filled his ears as he allowed his outstretched hand to guide his path. 

Yuta stopped dead in his tracks, mouth opening and closing unassuredly with twitching lips. A few unintelligible stammers left him before a soft hand wrapped around the wrist of the hand shielding his eyes and pulled it down. Squinting one eye open as if unprepared for what may be awaiting him, he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed to find you fully clothed before him. 

There was an amused smile illuminating your features, further emphasized by the bright lights on the mirror in front of you. You shook your head softly at him before continuing to take the countless pins from out of your hair. 

“I was only messing with you..” You laughed softly, turning your attention to your reflection as you prepared yourself to go help out with the bar the rest of the night. 

“Right.” Yuta forced a laugh, shifting from one foot to the other as he stood before you. It was silent for a beat too long while he surveyed your concentrated expression. You quirked a curious brow at him, and he seemed to snap into action. “Uh— y-you were incredible out there!”

Tucking your chin into your shoulder, you offered a bashful smile, fluttering your lashes dramatically at him. 

“You think so?”

“Of course I do. What you do— it’s art, really.” He continued to gush sincerely as you shook out your hair and stood. 

“I’m glad you liked it, Okkotsu.” There was a fondness in your breathy laugh as you turned your back to him. “So, did you come here just to give me feedback on my performance? Get the zipper for me, will ya’, sweetheart?”

“Oh!” Yuta stammered out, staring down at your expectant form. Willing himself to man the fuck up, he wiped his perspiring palms on his pants before grasping the zipper, placing his free hand shakily on your bare shoulder to steady his movement. He turned his head to the side as the little metal accessory slid down your bodice, grasping at straws to maintain his composure. “Uh, no. I-I actually wanted to talk to you about the curse.”

“Curse?” You questioned absentmindedly as you stepped out of the sturdy body-suit and reached for your silk robe. 

“The thing in the owner’s office.” He peeked around carefully just in time to catch you tying the smooth fabric around your waist. “It’s back.”

“Didn’t I tell you it would be?”

“Well, yes, but it just doesn’t—” 

“Help me!” A desperate voice tore into the conversation as the door flew open and smacked against the wall before shutting dramatically. Two girls in similar outfits to those you had just donned on the stage flooded into the dressing room, one of them sinking to their knees theatrically before you. 

Yuta stepped back in astonishment at the scene before him, suddenly feeling very much out of place— moreso than he already did. 

“I know you’ve shown me like a hundred times, but I can’t for the life of me keep my bangs up the way you did.” The frantic girl rambled, grasping at your hands and shoving what looked to be hairpins into your palm. “Please, can you please just fix them? I have to go up in like three minutes!”

The smile that graced your lips at the girl’s theatrics was different from the ones you’d previously shown Yuta, and all the other club-goers for that matter. It was softer, holding a fondness in it that your teasing smirks and sultry pouts couldn’t quite convey. Your freshly undone hair swayed as you shook your head affectionately at your fellow dancer before motioning her to sit with her back to you. 

“You girls are going to be the death of me.” You quipped, opening a hair clip with your teeth as you pinpointed her traitorous bangs. “What if I get sick one day? Hm? Your bangs will never be the same— and you’ll remember when I told you that you’d regret cutting them! I told her she would, you know.” 

You glanced up at the sorcerer with a humorous smirk before turning your attention back to her hair emergency.

“And who might you be, mister?” The other dancer that had accompanied on the ‘rescue mission’ drawled out with an airy giggle, looking down at her friend gleefully. 

“Girls, this is Yuta Okkotsu.” You introduced knowingly as you reached for the can of hairspray on your vanity. “He’s helping us out with some maintenance this week, so talk nice to him, hm?”

Both girls glanced knowingly at each other at the sound of ‘maintanence’. Yuta got the vibe suddenly that they were all very aware of what was going on in this club, no matter the efforts you seemed to have made to keep them in the dark. 

“Must be real strong then, huh?” The girl beside him estimated, wrapping her arms around his bicep. He felt his heart leap into his throat, his shoulders seeming to tense on their own accord. “How about a private dance— whaddya’ say, Yuta Okkotsu?” 

“Oh, that’s really not, uh—” His mind couldn’t seem to work fast enough to keep up with his anxiety as he watched the two girls glance at eachother with tickled smiles. It felt like he was back in highschool, feeling as though half of the time everyone was in on a joke he’d never be privy to. 

“They’re messing with you, Okkotsu.” You finally chided, giving the giggling girl in front of you a playful tap on the side of her head. His ever-pleading, midnight eyes shot up to meet you, and he was once again forcing a laugh. “We don’t do private dances around here.”

“And we can’t make an exception?” The hands around his arm tightened as the girl pouted dramatically at him. 

Your bubbly laugh filled the air around them again, and you could hardly get onto the vibrant girls for being so giddy around the sorcerer. It wasn’t often that young men came around here— attractive ones that is. Better yet, attractive ones with manners. You assumed that they, like you, couldn’t help but push the wide eyed recruit a bit upon sensing his jumpy personality. 

“Go on— you all have hungry customers waiting.” You joked, giving them both a playful tap on their rears as they stood. 

Twisting on their heels, they hooked arms as they gave the poor, stammering boy one last look over. 

“Let us know if you change your mind, Yuta Okkotsu.”

“You’ll know where to find us, handsome.”

Yuta could only wave silently at him, whatever cat that had his tongue seeming determined on keeping it far from him. Behind him, you snickered quietly. There was so much warmth you held in your heart for your fellow dancers— one that was clear even to Yuta himself even if only seeing it for a few minutes.

“You ladies are… really happy here, huh?”

“Of course we are.” You responded immediately, almost defensively. Truthfully though, the boy didn’t mean it in any sort of way. You had been a dancer long enough though to know what others thought about the way you all chose to express yourself artistically. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Well, I only meant—” Yuta paused, looking down at the stray hair pin hiding within your locks. He hesitated once before carefully reaching out to pluck it gently from your hair. You seemed to have been caught off guard by his tender actions, the typical bravado front you donned falling into a soft expression. Smiling apologetically at you, he muttered something about forgetting one before placing it on your vanity and continuing. “Curses; they usually manifest in areas where negative emotions are common. With this one reoccurring, I just thought…”

His explanation made you snap from your stupor. You looked up at him inquisitively. The slight urgency in your posture made him tilt his head in question. Leaning forward, Yuta had to seriously concentrate to keep his gaze respectfully on your face as the movement made your robe fall forward just a hair. 

“They… they come from negative emotions?” You questioned, searching his wide eyes as if he was lying to you. 

Reaching up, he rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. 

“Um, yeah. They—”

Before he could finish, the door flew open once more, but this time no pretty, giggling women accompanied the abrupt entry. Instead, a short, burly man stumbled in with purpose. The irritated look on his perspiring face had Yuta moving almost instinctively to step in front of your indecent form. Had he been given the chance, the sorcerer would have asked the man if he’d stepped into the wrong room— given him a chance before assuming he was a rowdy club-goer perhaps pushing for a private dance that he’d already been made aware did not exist. Just as his fingers twitched to reach for his katana though, the man began blabbering. 

“You—” The man pointed over Yuta’s shoulder at you before stepping forward with little care. “We need you at the bar, the new girl is useless back there. And you—”

The man, who Yuta had now deduced must be the owner with the way he was speaking, jabbed a stubby finger into the center of his chest. The boy made no movement, staring firmly at the demanding man in assessment. It unsettled something deep within him, the way this man seemed so comfortable bursting through the door of the girls’ dressing room without so much of a warning knock. 

“You were supposed to be getting that shit outta my office— not sampling my dancers.” 

The use of the word sampling also didn’t sit quite right with him, but he was already being led out of the dressing room with a firm grasp on his shoulder. He whipped his head around to look at you, but you were only shaking your head in disdain, searching for your bodysuit. 

There was something, Yuta determined as he took the familiar path to the office, that was lurking in the walls of this place. Something wasn’t clicking, and he knew as he slayed the curse once more that evening that it wouldn’t be the last time. 

He found you later that evening as he was hesitantly making his way out and slipped you his phone number. You raised a brow at his forwardness, an expression that had his neck warming embarrassingly fast. 

“I-In case something happens.” He quickly explained as you folded up the small paper and tucked it into the chest of your bodice. “Just call me— I’ll come.” 

Little did he know, you had been sitting on your own assumptions since his explanation earlier in the dressing room. You weren’t sure though, as you looked around at the glittering faces of the women you’d practically taken in as your sisters, that you were ready to face the implications that explaining it to him would mean. This type of artistry, this industry wasn’t easy to build yourself up in, but you had all cultivated something so beautiful here. With everything in you, you were torn on what was the right step to take to protect it. 

Yuta Okkotsu, unaware of the internal battle your mind was raging, wasn’t expecting a call so soon. It had taken everything in him to quiet his thoughts long enough to slip into unconsciousness. His mind kept racing with possibilities— with the feeling that something was crawling under his skin, much like he assumed something was crawling through three very essence of that establishment. 

He thought of you and the look on your face when he’d explained how cursed manifested. He thought about what you may have revealed to him had your boss not interrupted. He thought about your boss— that man that seemed to have zero regard for the delicate position he was put into. Men who had that kind of power over women and liked it. 

Those kinds of assumptions would only drive him insane without any real basis for them— Yuta assured himself as he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. So, he thought of you instead; the way your silky skin felt under his finger tips, the way the sight of your genuine smile made his heart soar, only partially sour at the thought that it wasn’t one he’d caused. 

Of course they’re happy. 

It was what he told himself in hopes of getting any sleep that night. Just as his prayers had been answered though, and his mind drifted into a state that graced him with images of you and your torturously supple hips, his phone sliced through the first pleasant dream he’d had in ages. 

Sitting up with a jolt, Yuta felt almost unnecessarily violent toward the offending device. Grunting in frustration, he tossed his pillows about the room until his frantic hand gripped the vibrating phone. It was an unknown number, but that wasn’t an unusual sight for him. He often got calls regarding missions at ridiculous hours of the night— only adding onto his already abysmal sleep schedule and perpetually tired appearance. 

“Hello?” The exhausted man rasped out, rubbing at his eye roughly. 

“Okkotsu?” The voice that had just been lulling him to sleep via fleeting memories and desperate fantasy rang through the device. 

“Is everything okay?” Without a second thought, the once begrudged boy was swinging his legs over the side of his bed. Snatching the shirt that was hanging out the side of his drawer, he frantically shrugged it on. “What’s going on?”

“No— it’s fine, everything’s okay.” Your tone didn’t convince him, and he moved to shimmy into his pants. On the other line, you chewed apprehensively at your bottom lip, toying with the tie of your robe. Your throat felt like it had its own heartbeat. “I just— what you said before, about there usually being lots of negative energy where curses manifest…”

“If there’s something going on you need to tell me.” Yuta urged, his fingers gripping the phone a little tighter. 

“Say we get rid of the negative energy… would it stop?” 

“What do you need to get rid of?” His tone was almost desperate at this point, wanting so badly to have his endless questions answered. He was shoving his shoes haphazardly onto his feet before tossing his katana over his shoulder. “Whatever it is, I can take care of it. You just need to trust me.” 

Take care of it— his words echoed in your mind, reminding you of the uncertainty you’d be left with should he succeed. Looking over at the three dancers that had just rushed in, all huddled close and giggling plans about a choreography they had been working on, the confidence you had when you dialed his number seemed to dissipate. Your shoulders dropped, and you shook your head. 

“Nothing, just… curiosity I guess.” You attempted a laugh, though it sounded bitter falling from your lips. 

“It would stop.” Yuta finally assured in hopes of getting through to you. “If you got rid of the influx of negative energy— the curse would stop coming back.”

“Okkotsu—”

Your voice was cut off by the sound of the door opening, and he could hear your bosses muffled voice on the other end. It sounded as though he was calling for you, making the sorcerer curse with his poor timing.

“I’ve gotta go.” You dismissed dejectedly.

“Wait—” But the line was already beeping, indicating that you had ended the call. No sooner than it ended was Yuta shoving his phone into his pocket and making his way to you once again. 

When he arrived back at the now familiar club, they were clearly in the process of wrapping up for the night. There weren’t any performers on the stage, and there were only a few more patrons left, all huddled by the bar and finishing up their drinks. 

“Yuta Okkotsu!” One of the girls called out excitedly. He recognized her as the one with the bang crisis, and he managed a tight lipped smile at her, eyes darting around in search of you. “Change your mind already?”

“Oh, haha,” His laugh was forced and awkward, and the girl could tell. She smiled knowingly at him. “No I uh— have you seen—”

“She’s with the boss.” She explained, leaning down to collect a few empty glasses from the table. Her sharp eyes peered at him from her peripheral— almost in warning. “You can wait out here for her if ya want.” 

“It’s an emergency.” Yuta explained halfheartedly, already making his way toward the back hallway. The girl was calling out to him, but it seemed an indescribable force was keeping him moving. There was something, so clearly being displayed before him, but he couldn’t seem to place it. It made his skin crawl, an unbridled sense of doom looming in his chest. He couldn’t stand by— not when he knew in his heart that something wasn’t right, and not when he knew he could do something about it. 

As he pushed open the owner’s door however, he wasn’t prepared for the nature of his revelation. Your back was facing the door, those cascading locks of hair that he felt he could pick out of a crowd, knelt in front of the couch before you. That beautiful frame that had haunted Yuta’s dreams was positioned between the legs of your boss, his pants pooled around his knees. 

It was silent, as both you and the man you had in your mouth turned to face the intruder. Your eyes were wide, glossy, and fluttering around anxiously as you met the sorcerer’s gaze. There was no explaining your way out of the situation, a clear picture painted already. 

One of the man’s burly hands was tangled almost aggressively in your scalp, pulling at the roots in a manner that was pinching the skin of your face back ever so slightly. Tracks of tears painted your face— one that was for the first time bared to Yuta, free of the makeup and the glitter. In the absence of the art laid your raw fear, the humiliation, and regret. It was an expression so familiar, so haunting since the first time he’d seen it. It was the same one the curse wore before he exorcised it both times. 

Everything was clicking into place, but all Yuta could bring himself to do was blink slowly at the scene before him. The owner, already red in the face with sweat dripping down his temples, seemed aggravated at the intrusion.

“Get the hell—”

“Go.” Yuta demanded with an eerie calmness, his eyes directed at you. Your mouth open and closed, chest heaving with uncertainty. “Go and get all the customers out of here.” 

As if sensing the overwhelming waves of instability that seemed to be rolling off of the wide eyed boy, you could only stumble up, the hand that gripped your hair falling as Yuta took a threatening step forward. 

“Okkotsu—” Your frail attempt to stop him from whatever he might do was futile as he silently offered a hand to help you up, eyes still locked on the dumbfounded man sat on the couch.

“Go.” 

With a heaving chest, you took one last look at the two before rushing out. 

“Who the hell do you think you are?” The owner finally stammered out, working quickly to fasten his pants back up.

Yuta watched as the door shut behind him before slowly turning his gaze back to his target. 

“How many?” He questioned lowly. 

“The hell are you talking about?” 

“How many of these women have you taken advantage of?” His voice finally rose to match the fire burning within his bones. It wavered with the intensity of his fury, but not once did his stance falter. 

“Taken advantage of?” The boss tutted, standing up to grab a glass of scotch as though he hadn’t just been exposed as the true piece of scum he was. “You should have seen where half these girls came from. They all have it made here, so what if they all have to pay their dues every once and a while?” 

The sorcerer felt his fingers twitch in anticipation for his next move. His sanity felt as though it was ever so slowly slipping down the drain of his psyche, replaced by a carnal desire ringing from deep within him. 

“All of them?” It was more of a statement than a question as Yuta lunged forward to grip the man by the lapels of his suit. The glass of alcohol in his hands slipped with the sudden jostle, crashing against the floor by their feet. “How many are there?” 

“You’re picking a fight with the wrong guy, kid.” The man warned, though he didn’t know the half of what the seemingly lackluster boy before him was capable of. “Cut the hero bullshit. You were hired to get rid of the shit that was in my office. No need to get all holy on me.” 

“You’re the only shit around here that needs to be ridden of.” Faster than his own mind could even process, his fist had collided with the man’s nose. 

The sickening sound of skin pounding against flesh seemed to drown out the last bit of restraint Yuta had been hanging onto as he poured his energy into this scum’s demise. He thought about the curse that he’d exorcised in this very room, how she cried yet made no move to fight back. The man gurgled up spats of blood as Okkotsu’s knee lodged between his ribs, thoughts flooding his enraged mind of how powerless these women must have felt to have manifested a curse incapable of doing anything but accepting her fate. Yuta thought about you, about all the women just like you who were backed into a corner for the sake of their own artistry— their passion. 

“Pl-ease,” The man gasped out, grasping weakly at the hand Yuta still had curled around his suit. “I can give you anything. Connections, money, the girls— anything. Please don’t kill me.”

The girls. 

The thought made his stomach churn. Until his very end, he still only saw the very pillars of his success as items to be used.

“No,” Yuta breathed, an unnerving smile splitting across his since enraged face. “I won’t kill you. That’s not my job.”

The frantic chatter of the girls in the main floor filled the otherwise vacant club as Yuta stepped up onto the stage. Behind him, the bloodied and thrashing form of the owner was being dragged up by the neck of his suit. All eyes in the room snapped up to the stage in shock as the tall boy wiped at his blood stained cheek with the back of his hand. The girl’s collectively gasped as he tossed the man forward and unsheathed his katana, positioning it pointedly at the boss’s back. 

“Tell me what you want me to do with him.” Yuta announced, blown out eyes sweeping across the room. He found your gaping gaze almost instantly, taking in the way the other girls seemed to huddle beside you in search of solace. After a moment of stunned silence, he elaborated. “I can take him to the police station now if that’s what you want.” 

He took two slow and calculated steps forward, placing his foot on the man’s back as he attempted to get up. A loose strand of his dark hair swayed in his eyes as he looked back up dangerously. “Or I can kill him right here.”

There was a glint in each one of the dancer’s eyes, one that said they didn’t find his latter suggestion as outrageous as they perhaps should have. Each one of them glanced at one another, unspoken uncertainty bouncing between the group heavily. After a pregnant silence, it was you who finally spoke up, stepping closer to the stage to look up at Yuta. 

“You can’t kill him.” You urged, even if there was nothing that would satisfy you more than watching the life drain from his eyes. Okkotsu peered down at you with furrowed brows, and you felt the tears well up in your eyes. “This place is all I have— all any of us have.” 

The thusfar impossibly tight grip he had on the hilt of his katana seemed to loosen at your confession. 

“If he dies— we don’t know what will happen to it. Anyone can buy it— turn it into whatever they want.” Leaning forward, your own indecisiveness was making your chest heave. On one hand, it killed you knowing that he had gotten away with the hurt he was causing for so long. Even moreso, it killed you each time a new girl was brought in, hopeful for the family she would make in the tight-knit group, only to be subjected to the same fate as the rest. Alternatively, you knew what the lives of many of these girls were like before finding their place within their artistry, and none of you were quite prepared to risk it— even if it meant enduring his putrid displays of depravity. “All we have is each other, Yuta.”

His heart broke with each tear that rolled down your cheek and onto the freshly cleaned stage. Yuta had seen it first hand— how you all reveled in your craft, how each of you breathed life into this place. He had also seen the way you all kept eachother afloat despite the shared, unfortunate circumstances you found yourselves in. 

“He’ll hand over the deed.” The suggestion tumbled out more like a demand, and the man beneath him began to grumble something along the lines of like hell I will. Yuta pressed the tip of his katana into his back before snatching his head up by the little hair he had left on his scalp. “I wasn’t asking.” 

It was almost half an hour of timid shuffling around his office, katana still pressed against his back as he sifted frantically through his papers for the damned property deed. He was blabbering some half-assed excuse about their needing to be a proper transfer signing for the business, but Yuta quickly reminded him that they’d have plenty of time to work those details out while he was rotting in a cell. 

The police came shortly after upon one of the girls’ call. After taking him into custody, Yuta stayed back as each girl gave their statement to the officer, chiming in as a witness when needed. It was uncomfortable— listening to each one of them recount the atrocities they’d been subjected to for so long. The unease almost had him wanting to wait somewhere else for the time being, but he felt he owed it to them to stick it out. 

So, he hovered close by until the last officer left the building. It was already almost early morning hours, all the girls clearly exhausted having not had the chance to rest following their shift. Despite their worn out auras, they summoned enough energy to grin gleefully at Yuta as he stacked the last chair on the table. Gone was his somber and frankly intimidating demeaner, and in its place was that shy, wobbly smile as he took in their hopeful expressions. 

“C’mon, don’t get all shy on us now, Yuta Okkotsu.” 

“Yeah, who knew— it really is always the quiet ones.” 

In spite of their teasing tones, they were all stepping forward to envelop the boy in a tight, group hug. There were hushed thank you’s being whispered into his ear as the sea of dancers seemed to squeeze him at all angles, him not sure where one ended and the other began. It was coming back to him— that high for his job that had thusfar been missing. He was realizing with each appreciative kiss to his cheek that it was never about the curses, but the lives that were spared in the wake of his chaos. 

“Don’t crush the guy, he’s got the deed.” Your voice rang out from outside the swarm. They slowly released him, and you had to bite back your laughter at the various red lipstick marks that were now covering his face. You wrapped your arms fondly around your sisters, a soft smile gracing your features. “Now go on, get home. I’m calling a mandatory meeting tomorrow, so you all better be bright eyed and bushy tailed when you come back.”

Each girl said their respective goodbyes, and Yuta got a few more rushed hugs and bows of thanks to which he waved off each time. 

“You could have told me, you know.” He stated as he watched you lock up the front door. You turned to peer at him with an unreadable expression. The closer you grew to him, the more his previous confidence was sinking into the wood floor beneath him. 

“Yeah, I guess I could have.” You reflected honestly, your hand trailing up his chest and toward his face. 

The delicate pads of your fingers gripped at his lip-stick stained cheeks, and you determined that red really was his color. Yuta gulped anxiously under your watchful eye, and he quickly reached into his back pocket to pull out the folded up deed. 

“I, uh, believe this belongs to you now.” He chuckled breathlessly, watching your gaze soften as you took the deed into your hands. “You’ll do great, I know it.”

Your eyes skimmed across the miniscule writing before looking back up at him through your lashes. The paper fell to the floor between you two. 

“You think so?” You breathed with a tempting smirk beginning to take form on your lips. At once, your hands came up to rest on his surprisingly sturdy shoulders, and you pushed him down into the chair behind him. 

He could feel the way he was embarrassingly already straining against the fabric of his pants, making him shift skittishly in his seat.

“I-I do.” The sorcerer attempted to keep his voice level as you stepped between his spread legs. 

“You’ll come back to visit, won’t you, Yuta?” 

The heels of his feet dug into the ground as he pressed himself back against the chair, willing himself to pull it together with each dig of his fingers into his thighs. Nonetheless, he nodded quickly at your question. 

“Yes, yes, I promise I’ll—” He cut himelf off with a stunned gasp, watching you sink to your knees before him. Not wanting to get ahead of himself, he only watched as your palms met his knees, trailing up tantalizingly before confirming his suspicions with a purposeful palm against his aching length. Somewhere between a choke and a moan, Yuta forced himself to sit up, grasping your hands gently in his. “Y-You don’t have to do that.”

The way you gazed up at him, pressing your cheek against his thigh, almost made him reconsider his stance as a decent, respectful man. Twisting your hand in his grasp, you laced your fingers in his. 

“And if I want to?”

“You just— I wasn’t expecting anything from any of you.” He explained sincerely, toying absentmindedly with your nimble fingers. “You don’t owe me anything.” 

“Yuta,” You drawled out, sitting up until you were at least level with his chest. His shallow breaths fanned out against your face as he hunched over to accommodate the space between you. “Let me be the one to choose for once, yeah?” 

And he couldn’t possibly argue with you any further as you worked his pants down his legs. Any apprehension or semblance of restraint drained from him with the first daring stripe you tongued up his cock. Tossing his head back with a strangled whine, he missed the way you stared up at him. The sight of his stained cheeks and mustled hair had you unintentionally moaning against him, and you weren’t sure when blood-soaked clothing started ticking off boxes for you. 

Your tongue lapped against his sensitive tip with every bob of your lips down his length. His fingers dug into his thighs once again, surely leaving scratches in their wake, but he was determined even in his lust clouded mind not to guide your movements as he so desperately wanted to do. Yuta wanted you to be in full control of the situation.

 It was proving difficult though, much more than he’d anticipated as the hand that wasn’t clasped around the base of his cock creeped under his shirt to feel his lean abs tensing under your touch. Despite his best efforts, his hips seemed to buck up on their own accord to match your steady rhythm. 

“Shit!” The uncharacteristic profanity slipped from his mouth as he panted up at the ceiling. Sparing a glance down at you, he resorted to crossing his wrists behind his chair, his fingers twitching to grasp at you. 

You were almost surprised at the pitchy moans that continued to fly out of him, but they only encouraged your efforts. It was cathartic watching him fall apart beneath you after all the anxious smiles and respectful distance. Under all of it, this Yuta Okkotsu was hidden the whole time, waiting for his respective turn to snap— much like all the other parts of him, you’d gathered. There were no nervous laughs anymore, just frantic writhes against the already wobbling chair while his chest heaved dramatically. 

As he spilled his release, perhaps a little too soon, but hell, it was almost endearing, you couldn’t think of any man more deserving of this part of you. His tongue darted out to lick his dry lips, eyebrows drawn together as he attempted to collect himself. You snaked up his body, working to push his dark locks from his perspiring forehead. His wide eyes shot open at the sensation, and he found himself flushing under your tender gaze. 

Hesitantly, his hands moved from their crushing grasp behind his chair to cup your cheeks, searching your face for protest. There were remnants of him pooling at the corner of your mouth, but he simply wiped at it haphazardly with his thumb before pressing his lips against yours with a boyish aim. Your eyes remained wide open for a moment, surveying the way his were shut tightly. You slowly allowed yours to do the same. 

“I—uh,” Yuta’s lips were nearly still pressed to your as he stammered. Against you, you could feel him smile shyly. You pulled back a bit, wondering what he could possibly be nervous about now that he’d just practically licked himself from your mouth. He couldn’t help himself though. In his imaginary book of social norms and world fallacies, guys like him didn’t end up with girls like you. “I know this is a little backwards, but do you think I could take you to dinner sometime? Maybe?”

You smiled, that genuine smile he’d been dying to be on the receiving end of since the first time he saw it. Placing yourself comfortably in his lap, you pretended to hum in consideration.

“Hm, I don’t know, Yuta. I’m a business owner now— not sure I’ll have time for shady, ghost-buster characters.” 

He laughed at your accusation, his once shy demeanor melting away with your playful banter. His hands slid around your waist to hold you steady as he tilted his head. 

“Guess I’ll have to come every Friday night then, huh? Wouldn’t want to miss a dance.”

a/n: this song came on while I was driving, and I almost crashed the car when the inspo for this fic hit me

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[fullofgutsndopamine]

three times hasan faked it + 1 time he didn’t have to

more hasan here

hasan is good at faking many things.

look, he’s not one for bragging-really, he isn’t. it’s just part of his charm, of his appeal, another tick of good things about him-could be an actor if this streaming job ever falls through, if he ever gets sick of politics and dumb jokes.

at least, he likes to believe he is.

one

“i fucking hate this movie, dude.”

it’s obvious by the way his eyes have been glued to the screen and how he hasn’t said much that he’s lying. really, the only way you knew he was here was by the constant rubbing of the pad of his thumb over your hand, where it traveled and slowly creeped, two fingers at a time over your spine until it reached the back of your neck where his hand rested against yours, a gentle squeeze there, as if he’s saying: i’m here

“mhm,” you counter, eyes on the screen, “it’s obvious you hate it by how quiet you’ve been this entire time.”

he rolls his eyes but his hands stay constant:

“whatever,” he rolls his eyes, “this is the best part. hold on.”

he fucking hated this movie. his eyes were close to rolling out of his head but as he was about to make a joke, to say how dumb this was, he saw how excited you were, how wide eyed and excited you were over tbis movie and naturally, he had to love the movie as well.

two

“boo!”

hasan is many things, but at the very top of the list with your initials next to it, it’s a scaredy cat

he’s not proud of it.

the smile on his face gives him away, doesn’t give him enough time to fake a reaction, to play up being terrified:

“nothing?” your shoulders slump, “i didn’t scare you at all?”

look, he’d beat up anyone who even implied this, knows how cliche it is but the world is less scary with you by his side-isn’t on edge like before, isn’t always waiting for the other foot to drop.

“you didn’t even give me a chance to react!”

his giggle is loud as he reaches over to elbow you.

“reacting is your whole ass job!” you argue, moving out of the way as he tries to pull you close and plant a kiss on your forehead like he always does when you arrive at his side.

your face is bright red as he finally pulls you in close, another kiss to your cheek-

“cmon,” he giggles, “give me another chance.”

instead, you reach up, messing up his hair: “your time is coming.”

three

“i’m not much of a dancer.”

his voice is low as he drawls on, but as you stand with

“our kitchen would say differently,” you shush him, “come on.”

he groans, knows there’s no way he’ll get out of this, better to just shut up and follow what you say-you haven’t led him astray before.

“i’m going to embarrass you,” he all but whispers as he wraps his arms around your core, as you rest your head against his chest, “i’m going to step on your feet and it’s going to be horribly embarrassing.”

“shh.”

he leads, a gentle box as he’s careful to not step on your toes, grumbling and trying to act like he hates it-grateful you can’t see the pink across his face.

+ 1

“what is this?”

his giggle gives him away, proves he’s actually enjoying this.

“it’s a surprise, hasan.” you tsk at him, your hands shield over this eyes so all he can see is dark in front of him, “just-“

you pause, a sigh before kicking your lips:

“listen,” you counter, “do you trust me?”

there’s weight there, where he could play dumb or say the wrong thing and act like he doesn’t trust you-

“yes.” he says instantly, before he can even overthink it, his hands over yours as you guide him

“good,” you settle on, can hear your feet behind him as he smirks, his hands in front of him as he tries to make out a house he once knew by heart. “now shut up, and act like you’re enjoying this.”

you can’t see it as he rolls his eyes, as he tries to play up this act of someone who hates everything, hates this.

“okay, don’t open your eyes.”

there’s struggle for a second as one hand drops, he can tell by the difference in the lightning that you flicked a light on-

“okay. one, two-“

he can hear the deep breath you take as your hands drop. the second he can’t feel you anymore his hands scamper in the air, unsatisfied until they come back into contact with your hand, until his fingers are laced into your hand.

i’m the kitchen now lays half deflated balloons, a half hanging up happy birthday banner-

“it’s not great,” you sigh at your side, “I’m so sorry. i’ll make it up to you, i promise. the store-“

“hey.”

your head snaps up when you hear his voice, when his forefinger connects with your chin to lift it up so it strains, when you can finally make eye contact with him.

“this is perfect-“

“hasan,” you sigh, “you lie so badly-“

“i’ve literally never lied in my life,” he laughs, “this is perfect.”

you don’t believe him until he pulls you close to him, when your belly collided with the side of his legs, his hand outstretched as he points out the little things you spent all the time doing-

“this is perfect,” he insists, the smile never leaving his side, “you’re perfect.”

pink raises on your face as you shake it: “cliche.”

“shut up.”

he pulls you in for a final kiss.

[sillysowa]

��ﾟ:* DAZED AND CONFUSED *:･ﾟ

pairing: Hobie Brown x Fem!Spiderperson!Reader

genre: smut! porn with a bit of plot and a lot of foreplay.

word count: 4k

warnings: sexual content, slight exhibitionism kink, hair pulling (reader has at least enough hair to fist), bondage with spider webs, a lot of praise, oral sex f&m receiving, squirting, biting, scratching, choking, dacryphilia, size kink if you squint, literally writing out Hobie’s british accent, Hobie is kind of a switch, a little use of Y/N, lots of pet names, reader and Hobie use the color system, spider abilities used during sex, reader is sort of fighting back but it’s all consensual!

authors note: first time writing smut! If I missed any warnings let me know, ty!

synopsis: You and Hobie are in a secret relationship, but that never stops him from teasing you suggestively infront of your friends.

—

Hobie adored teasing you, but it’s not like you could blame him—you made it too easy.

You walked into the headquarters common area after a short mission, seeing Hobie hanging out with his friends. Miles and Gwen were sitting together and Hobie was sitting with a very energetic looking Pavitr. You searched for a place to sit as you walked up to them, when Hobie lifted his head, your eyes locking. His expression slightly faltered, a mischievous glint flashing through his features, gone just as quickly as it arrived, but before you could think too hard about it, his smooth voice pierced the air,

“Nice’v you to join us, Doll.” He said, smiling with his eyes as he motioned with an upturn of his head for you to take a seat across from him, next to Gwen. You looked down to avoid showing the others the sight of your face scrunching up, visibly flustered by just a pet name. Gwen and Miles made a space for you, and you sat in it, looking around at the group of spider people you called your best friends, along with your secret lover. The air seemed thick this time around—like something was about to happen. You leaned back in your seat, scrunching your eyebrows at your man. Hobie’s deep eyes bored into yours when no one was looking, your head ringing with your spider senses. You braced yourself for the worst.

“Oooh! Hobie and Y/N, don’t think we can’t see all of that intense eye contact!” Pavitr teased, his eyes lighting up as he rapidly looked between the two of you, talking over you when you started rambling to defend yourself, “You should play that song you promised you’d show us, Hobie! It’s getting late and we all really wanna hear it!” Pavitr groaned, changing the subject, also leaning back and kicking his feet up, Gwen squealing out something about his bare toes. Hobie knew the gang had their suspicions about his and your relationship—they speculated and accused, saying that ‘normal friends’ don’t look at each other the way that you and Hobie do, and ‘normal friends’ don’t touch each other as much as you and Hobie do, but through it all Hobie still had yet to blow your cover, able to expertly tease you in ways that are only humiliating and obvious to you and balance out the physical touch by being equally as touchy to everyone. However, he decided tonight he was going to tease you like he had never before. He was going to play the song that played when he was between your thighs the night before. The deep bass chords that buzzed around in Hobie’s bedroom while he mercilessly ate you out for hours, bringing his lovely doll to her release over and over again.

“Yeah, I did promise didn’t I?” Hobie smiled smugly, pulling his colorful, sticker coated, bass guitar out and leaning forward, his brow furrowed in concentration. Your eyes bore into his, staring at him despite him doing his best to not look you in the eye. Without even looking at you Hobie could feel your nervousness. 

“Need a pick, love,” Hobie flicked his middle and ring ringer twice in his direction, beckoning you forward. Your eyes widened, and you slowly leaned forward and looked down, feeling Hobie’s long fingers come up behind your neck, plucking the guitar pick necklace, his guitar pick necklace, off of you. No one else knew of the necklace, something you kept hidden under your spider-suit to keep a little piece of Hobie with you everywhere you go. Pavitr glanced over at Miles and Gwen, all of them equally stunned. They all shared a ‘Are you seeing this?’ look before quickly looking back over at the two, not wanting to miss a moment of the drama.

Your gaze locked onto Hobie’s for a moment, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you glanced down to his fingers, and when they plucked at the strings, the deep bass chords of ‘Dazed and Confused’ caught you by surprise. The air instantly felt heavy, suddenly, you were transported back into last night. The song sent a shiver down your spine, and you did everything in your power to not lunge at Hobie. He played with passion, making faces that were all too familar—your nipples hardened under your spider suit and your thighs clenched together. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of your obvious need, remaining silent and bringing your knees up to your chest. However, nothing could stop you from staring directly at Hobie’s long fingers, mind clouded with unhealthy amounts of lust. It was just an innocent song to your friends beside you, but it meant more to you and Hobie, obvious in the way he was playing it. He threw his head back at times, adams apple bobbing in his pretty neck, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, sending a surge of need though your core, and he even had the gall to look at you the same way he had last night, when his tongue was deep inside you, and his hand clutched your thighs, keeping them spread apart for him, keeping you still for him. It was too much, and he could tell by the way his spider senses were starting to go off frantically—a sign of your desire and unease.

With a large palm over the base of the gutiar, and a sling over his shoulder, Hobie was dont playing, “That’s all for tonight mate,” he quickly stood up, grabbing your hand in his, his other hand on Pav’s shoulder, looking down at his stunned friend and doing nothing more than sending him a smirk. “Come to one’uv the shows!” He shrugged, glancing at all his friends and then opening a portal with his bootleg watch, “I’ve go’ta finish what i’ve started.” He winked, pulling you flush against his chest and stepping back into the portal, vanishing just like that.

—

“Easy love, didn’t know my li’l stunt was gonna have ya this bothered now.” Hobie smirked as you pushed him down onto his bed, the glint in his eyes still obvious in the low lighting of his room. You had stripped out of your spider-suit the moment you landed in Hobie’s dimension and now you were in just your pretty underwear. Your lips were on his neck, straddling him with his hands pinned on either side of his head…because you couldn’t look him in the eyes. Whenever you dominated Hobie, he just found it amusing, because in reality he was still fully in control. He could break free from your hold any moment, but he didn’t, not yet. Hobie wasn’t done teasing you.

“You knew damn well what you were doing Hobie, you thought you were going to embarrass me.” You snapped, kissing up his neck and sucking a hickey into the spot that you know makes his knees weak, satisfied with the grunt he fights back and the way his wrists tense up. “I hold up pretty well though huh?” You whisper next to his head, biting his earlobe and tugging on his silver earring between your teeth. Instantly, one of his hands shoots out of your grasp, long fingers fisting you hair and yanking your head back as a shocked and agonized grunt spills from your throat. Your left hand clutched his wrist, as you looked at him with more intensity than he had ever seen from you in his life.

“Say whatcha want doll…but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this angry.” He grinned, You sure I didn’t get under your pretty skin? Not even just a li’l?” He held you in place, your hands tightening around his wrists, struggling for dominance as he leaned in,

“…Hobie,” You whispered, looking down at his plump lips, fighting the need to kiss him and the need to make your point.

“Yeah, baby?” Hobie teased, a slight tilt in his voice, his other hand fighting for dominance against yours. You close your eyes, tilting your head back as he leans in. It would be so easy to get the pleasure your body desperately wants If you just gave in, but you just couldn’t give him that. You tug your wrists back, expecting him to release you, but Hobie’s grip just tightens and he laughs airily,

“What, you really thought I was gonna let’chyou call the shots, love? You know you love being good f’me.” He smiled, dark eyes piercing through you as he releases you just so that he can drag you back to him by your ankles when you inevitably crawl away from him. You gasp, kicking your legs helplessly just for Hobie to web shoot your legs open, silky strings connecting your ankles to the walls. He laughs as you sit up with your hands ready, his long and lanky form crawling over you like a black widow spider as he uses his webs to restrain them beside your head. You’re out of breath, he’s out of breath, and he just looks down at you squirming, admiring his work.

“Come on love, all that talk just to end up writhing under me.” Hobie coos, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip before thrusting it into your mouth, ignoring your gasp, “It’s adorable how you always fight back knowing you’ll just end up crying under me.” He tilts his head, lost in the way you suck his thumb and then his fingers when he slides them over your tongue, moaning at the sight. “Mmm, good job doll. So obedient f’me.” He grunts, “What’s your color baby?” He asks, pulling his fingers out of your mouth, a newfound softness crossing over his features as he check in on you. Hobie loves to treat you like a toy and to absolutely wreck you, but that’s only because if want it,

“Green.” You whine, holding eye contact with him and curling your toes at the smirk that covers his face. He flicks his head to the side, going you a beautiful view of his side profile, web shooting to his open record player where his Led Zeppelin vinyl sits. He expertly swings his webs around to start the soft thrum of ‘You Shook Me,” allowing you to admire the veins in his hands before he turns his attention back to you. Looking down with a devilish toothy grin, watching your eyelashes flutter. He drags his fingers over the expanse of your chest, trailing them behind you to unclip your bra and tossing it across the room, ignoring your protests on how its your favorite. Suddenly, he’s leaning down and capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, looking up at you while his large hand palms your other breast. He moans at your taste, swirling his tongue around your nipple and tugging on it between his teeth.

“Always keen on the sight of my girls.” He mumbles, kissing your chest all over. You tip your head back, feeling dizzy as a soft sigh escapes your parted lips. Hobie’s eyes flicker up to you, his hand languidly coming up to your neck and applying pressure, smiling into your skin when you lightly gasp. He trails wet kisses all over your smooth skin, paying close attention the parts of you he knows you like less than him, until he makes his way to your thighs. He licks and sucks them slowly, holding eye contact with you and softly biting into your flesh when you look away. You liked it at first…

“Hobie, please!” You cry out, tugging on your web-restrained wrists and thrusting your hips up. He instantly flattens his large palm over your lower stomach, looking at you with his piercing gaze,

“You’re not getting anything if you’re not patient, angel.” He slurred against your skin with a leering tilt in his tone, deciding to give you what you want, “Be good now, y’gonna be a good girl f’me, Y/N?” He whispered the last part, leaning down and running his nose over your covered pussy, hooking his deft fingers under the elastic band and slowly starting to pull your underwear down. You let out a shuddered gasp, his face lips and nose bumping on your throbbing clit, a primal grunt leaving his lips.

He slides your panties down your thighs, balling them up and and sitting on his knees, “Open up baby,” Hobie taps the side of your face gently, his half lidded eyes boring into your slightly shocked ones as your jaw goes slack. Hobie proceeds to shove your wet panties into your mouth and webbing it shut, grinning from ear to ear,

“I’m so hungry love,” he leans down to your ear, whispering absolute filth that rattles around in your empty skull. You moan helplessly as his long fingers begin their torture on your clit, rubbing it the way he knows makes your limbs weak and your eyes roll into the back of your skull. You look up at the ceiling, your eyelashes fluttering as he sucks hickeys into your neck, swirling his fingers around your sensitive nub until you make a noise that sounds like a muffled whimper of his name.

“I know, I know, I’ll quit torturin’ the both’v us.” He coos mockingly, pecking your nose before getting back on stomach between your legs, spreading your pussy lips open with two long fingers and thrusting one of his fingers into your tight walls with the other hand, looking up at you to catch your every reaction. Hobie was always careful to not hurt you or cause you any discomfort when you couldn’t tell him how you were feeling—But he knew you’d be on cloud nine from just one of his spindly digits. He leaned down and roughly licked your clit, moaning deeply at your taste, looking directly into your soul as he spits on it, continuing his assault on your pussy. You groan loudly with your eyes clamping shut, as you aggressively tug on your restraints. Hobie fucks another finger into you, laughing through his nose when your pussy sucks it in. Hobie curls his fingers up; watching when, like clockwork, your eyes shoot open, muffled moans ringing out through the room. He sucks, kisses, and licks your bundle of nerves, rhythmically pleasing you as one song ends on his record player, and the notorious bass of ‘Dazed and Confused’ fills the room through his speakers. Hobie ravenously eats you out, shaking his head side to side and getting his whole face involved. He meant it when he said he was hungry because he was eating you like a starved man, his face piercings glistening with your wetness. He would speak into your folds, grunts of ‘love this pussy’ and ‘all mine’ tearing out of his throat. Your hips were now shaking, a telltale sign of your approaching orgasm. Hobie absolutely devoured your pussy, thrusting his hips into the mattress at the sound of your non-stopping moaning and whimpering that steadily increased in frequency, Hobie whispered one last time into your sweet, throbbing pussy,

“Cum on my tongue, love.” He grumbled out, a slightly desperate whimper present as he grows needy. You whine, and whine, crying out as your back arches and your thighs desperately try to close as you cum. Hobie eats you out with so much fervor, slurping up your cum and spitting it back onto your pussy again, making a complete mess of your overstimulated sex. Hobie is completely lost in the deep electric guitar chords and the muscle memory of eating his girl out that he almost doesn’t notice your overstimulated cries and the way your hips and thighs are shaking. He gives your pretty pussy one last kiss before tearing the webs off of your ankles, watching them fall onto the soft mattress instantly. He tears his webs off your wrists, and gently peels them off your face, his knees on either side of your thighs. He works faster when you whimper,

“I’m comin’ baby.” He pants, pulling your panties out of your mouth, staring at your parted lips and glossy eyes. Hobie wastes no time in cupping his hand behind your head, pulling you into a sloppy kiss. You’re both moaning and clutching at each other, hands all over. You can taste yourself on his tongue and he knows it. Pulling away and gently lowering your head, hanging it off the edge of the bed. You knew what time it was.

“Hobie~” You smiled, viewing your lover upside down. He stripped naked, down to his boxers. You admired his beautiful dark skin, his beautiful wicks, and his mouth-wateringly beautiful cock that sprung free from his boxers. “Hobie,” you repeated, “You’re so pretty, Hobie, I love you~” You whispered, fluttering your eyes closed as he lined his dick up with your throat, grunting at the sight of how deep in your throat he’ll be when your words catch him slightly off guard. He crouches down, kissing your forehead and your cheek, cradling your head and whispering ‘I love you too’ into you ear. He knows you get all soft and lovey after your first orgasm, craving to please him. He stands back up, slapping his tip onto your lips and gently thrusting into your wet mouth,

“Now show me how much you love me, doll face.” Hobie grunts, thrusting at a steady rhythm into your throat, eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open at the sound of your gagging and the slapping of skin-on-skin. You’re focusing on breathing through your nose while he fucks your throat, all of him sliding in and out faster, and faster. Hobie loses all decorum, panting and moaning like an injured animal as he looks down at you. Fat tears slide down your cheeks from all the gagging, your hands reaching to hold onto his hips while his throbbing dick absolutely mauls your throat. You swallow and gag until you’re sure you’ll pass out, vision bleary while Hobie praises you relentlessly,

“Take it, take it, take it…oh fuck. You feel so good, baby…so good…so filthy love, taking this dick like you were made for it~” Hobie moans, needy and chasing his release. You feel his hips stutter and thrusts pick up in speed, his whines becoming more frequent as he rapidly pants, a mantra of ‘I’m cumming’ spilling from his pretty lips as his semen shoots down your throat, gasping and swallowing as he looks down at you, unbelievably turned on. Hobie slides his length out of your throat slowly, watching you through his dark eyelashes. His cock pops out of your mouth, a string of saliva from his tip to your tongue and he nearly cums again just from the sight. He leans down and scoops you up with ease, using his super-human strength, placing you on your feet and kissing the top of your head as the both of you slowly walk backwards. Hobie’s hands were massaging your skin gently as he backs you against the wall. 

“On the wall, my li’l spider.” Hobie whispers, kissing your forehead as you use your spider abilities to cling onto the wall with your palms, spreading your legs for him and hooking your ankles behind his back, panting. Hobie places his elbows on the wall, lining his cock up with your entrance and slowly slipping the tip in before pulling it out and slapping it against your pussy. You gasp at the feeling, snapping your head up and glaring at Hobie,

“Don’t be a tease.” You groan, eyebrows furrowing and hips lifting. “Hobie!” Your lover just looks down at you, cracking a smirk,

“Hobie! Don’t be a tease!” He moans, mocking you and plastering a fucked out look on his face, drinking up your pissed off face. He trails his hand up to your chin, holding it keeping your eyes forward as he leans down to your ear, “You know you love it when I make you beg dollface.” Hobie whispers, biting your earlobe as he snaps his length fully inside you. You gasp loudly and moan uncontrollably, scratching up Hobie’s toned back and making him groan.

“O-Oh fuck! Hobie! Shit!” Your pussy throbs, his long dick kissing your cervix with every thrust. You’re so soaked he slides in with absolutely no effort, fucking you with so much energy you’d think you just started. You both grunt and moan, Hobie staring at you, you staring at where your bodies meet. He follows your gaze, grabbing your hips and fucking into you even faster, loving the way you’re nearly screaming for him. 

“Y’like the view lovely? Yeah, I know you love this dick.” He grunts, fucking your pussy ruthlessly, completely hell-bent on fucking you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow. He wants to make sure all the people at HQ can’t help but wonder what could have possibly happened to you to leave you so destroyed, only to see him, the infamous Spider-punk right behind you, kissing the purple hickeys all over your neck. 

The room smells like sex and it feels like heaven. Your lips are permenantly parted with moans spilling out and your lashes soaked with tears, pussy clenching around him, in dire need of an orgasm when Hobie suddenly pulls out and tosses you over his shoulder.

“What the fuck, Hobes!” You yelp at first, mumbling at the end of your sentence out of exhaustion. Your back hits the bed with a thud and Hobie crawls on top of you, hooking your legs over his shoulders,

“Just craving a change of positions.” Hobie enters you again, his thin waist and glistening abs a sight for sore eyes. You admire Hobie until you feel your eyes melt, not even aware of the animalistic sounds coming from your throat as he pounds your pussy into oblivion, the bed creaking and Hobie’s fingers feeling like searing hot lava on your skin as he circles your clit with his calloused guitar fingers. To think that you were here because Hobie embarrassed you in front of your friends—you wouldn’t change a thing. The delicious drag of his dick in your warm walls, and the sounds of his impending orgasm are driving you insane. Steadily, your orgasm is building inside you. 

“Hobie I-“ 

“I know love, I’ve got you, cum f'me, gimme one more.” Hobie groans a long, dawn out groan, throwing around profanities as he speeds up, fucking up into you with reckless abandon. He reaches down to your empty hands beside your head, locking his fingers with yours and kissing your open mouth as you both chase your high. The melody of muffled moans, creaking wood, and wet skin slapping reverberate in your ears as your eyes clamp shut and you squirt all over Hobie and the sheets, whining into his mouth as you struggle to kiss him back. Hobie thrusts vehemently, losing himself as he eventually stills and fills your pussy up. You both ride out your orgasms, breathing heavily and breaking the kiss, completely out of breath. Hobie rests his forehead on yours and you’re lost in the moment--He took you to cloud nine like no one ever had. Your chest rose and fell, your breathing slowly stabilizing as you hold eye contact with the man who made you feel this good. He pulls out panting and hissing in overstimulation, getting up with a promise of being right back.

You don’t even process that he left the room until he’s back with a wet cloth and cleaning you up, your head cloudy as you mumble,

“Thank you, Hobie.” 

He focuses on gently wiping you clean with the warm cloth, kissing the bite marks and hickeys that cover your thighs. 

“Don’t thank me love. ’t’s always a treat to make m’girl feel good.” He replies, genuine love filling his each and every word. Hobie tosses the cloth into his laundry, pulling the covers over the two of you and holding you close to him, spooning you. “You did so well baby, I’m so proud of you.” He whispers, kissing the crown of your head and massaging your skin as you sigh, curling up and relaxing after all you did. “I love you, Y/N.” He whispers into the thick air.

“I love you too, Hobie.” 

——

Back in Pavitrs dimension, the rest of the gang are chilling in Pav’s room in various seats eating all his snacks and chatting. With a mouthful of popcorn and a hankering for a juicy discussion, Gwen fills the random silence by addressing the elephant in the room,

“So…do you guys think Hobie and Y/N are like…a thing?”

[fullsandwichmiracle]

 "Oxford: A Year Abroad”

Paring: Felix Catton x reader 

Warning: 18+, nsfw, alcohol MDNI

Word count: 1622 

01|02|03|04|05|?

Y/N was enrolled at Oxford as an exchange student, specializing in economics. Securing a solo dorm since her roommate was a no-show, the room radiated old-money featuring two beds on either side, accompanied by a desk and a drawer. Opting for a rearrangement, she transformed the space by fashioning a king-size bed on one side and situating the desk and drawer on the opposite side, creating an illusion of more space. Following the successful room makeover, Y/N took a swift shower to freshen herself up to make a favorable first impression.

Y/N proceeded to the hall where all the international students were set to gather for campus information. The tour guide, Venetia, with bleached blonde hair in braids, began by extending a warm welcome to the international students and then led the group towards the library. The library exuded a cozy atmosphere, and Y/N noticed a guy sitting on a couch with some mates, engrossed in studies. He quickly glanced Y/N up and down before Venetia remarked, 

"Hi Felix, nice to see you studying for once."

Felix chuckled in response, saying,

"Nice to see you sober for once."

With that, Venetia briskly continued the tour, urging everyone to follow, casually dismissing the encounter. The reminding part of the tour was rather uneventful, and Y/N returned to her room after its conclusion. On her way back, she encountered Felix again, this time standing in a door frame engaged in conversation with a girl. It was evident that he towered over Y/N by at least a head, if not more. He appeared unfazed and his hair was roughed up but looking perfect. Realizing she was accidentally staring, she looked away, hoping he hadn't noticed, and continued walking back to her dorm.

Upon entering her dorm, Y/N glimpsed into the mirror and noticed a flush on her cheeks from the encounter. Felix, tall and quite attractive, struck her as unlike anyone she'd ever encountered. The remainder of the evening was dedicated to packing up the remaining items and dressing the bed in light pink covers. Y/N then changed into her pajamas, gearing up for the upcoming first week of lectures.

At the end of a full week of classes, Friday arrived, and all Y/N desired was to join her new classmates for a night of drinks. Rumors circulated about a party hosted by someone named Farleigh, to which one of her friends had secured an invite. Seeking some excitement for the night, Y/N opted for a more daring outfit, wearing a linen blouse with a plunging neckline, a lace bra, a short denim skirt barely concealing her ass, and a stylish yet steady pair of pink heels. Before heading to the party with her friends, she took two shots of vodka to calm her nerves.

As the cab arrived at the party, Y/N's friend, who got the invite, led the way to the gate and buzzed for entry. The gates opened without any verbal exchange. Upon entering the house, they discovered a bustling scene with people scattered all around and a makeshift bar. The group then separated, each exploring the lively gathering. Y/N approached the bar, scanning the surroundings to determine if it operated on a self-service basis or if there was a bartender. A guy emerged from what appeared to be a cupboard, holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and wine in the other. Y/N approached the guy, asking him where she could get a drink. He smiled and replied,"Hello, I'm Farleigh. Feel free to help yourself to anything, sexy.”

Glancing at Y/N from head to toe, he suggested, "How about kicking off the night with a glass of white?”

Pouring a wine glass nearly to the brim, she gazed at the filled glass, smiled, and remarked, "That would be lovely Farleigh. My name is Y/N.”

Farleigh smirked and headed off to attend to his other guests.

After wandering around the house for a bit and finishing her wine, Y/N spotted the pool in the backyard where people were engaged in drinking games. A group playing beer pong caught her eye, and after observing a round, she went back inside to grab a fresh drink to join in. Upon her return, they were organizing players, and Y/N approached the table. On the opposing side stood Felix with Farleigh, and a seemingly random girl joined Y/N's side. Yet, it wasn't just any girl; it was Venetia, the one who led the tour. As the game kicked off, a crowd gathered to watch. The guys scored on their first throw, and Venetia took the initial drink. The game was evenly matched, with the guys having two cups left and Y/N and Venetia with one. Felix kissed the ball and scored directly into the cup. Y/N smirked at Felix before downing the cup filled with warm beer. Not a fan of the taste, she quickly sipped the cider she had obtained earlier. Venetia took Y/N by the hand, leading her to the poolside where a fireplace was situated. Felix and Farleigh had just arrived, and others were playing truth or dare. Venetia asked, "Mind if we join your little game?" as she sat down, pulling Y/N with her.

The game started off quite mild, but with each question, it escalated into more risqué territory. When Venetia declined to answer a question, Farleigh revealed a hidden bottle of tequila from a bag behind him, declaring, "Every time someone doesn't answer, they have to take a swig from this tequila.”

Venetia took the bottle, downed two swigs, grinned, and handed it to Y/N, saying, "Y/N, I dare you to knock back two shots or spill the beans on who on this lot you fancy for a cheeky quickie.”

Y/N glanced at Felix, then gulped down the tequila, going beyond the two shots and placing the bottle back. Felix stared at Y/N with a grin, seemingly formulating a plan, which he whispered to Farleigh.

When it was Farleigh's turn, he gazed at Felix, nodded, and remarked, " Y/N I dare you to take a lounge into the pool or tell us what position you want Felix fuck you in.”.

Felix glared at Farleigh and remarked, "You didn't have to be that aggressive.”

Y/N started to blush as all eyes were on her, awaiting her response. Having already consumed a bit too much tequila, taking a leap into the pool didn't seem like a terrible idea. Y/N rose from her seat and walked towards the pool's edge. Before taking the plunge, she removed her denim skirt to prevent it from getting soaked, revealing her pink string and someone whistled as she was bending down to take off her heels. Pinching her nose, Y/N leapt into the pool, tossing her shirt aside. As she hit the water, the chill had a sobering effect, and she realized the extent of what she had just done. She had exposed herself in only underwear to everyone around the pool. Feeling a tad embarrassed, Y/N climbed out of the pool and hastily dressed herself again, still soaked in water the blouse quickly became transparent and skirt denim darkened in color as if she had jumped into the pool with them on. She returned to the fire to warm up, taking a shot of tequila to help erase the recent events from her mind. This time, she chose to sit beside Felix who was staring at her chest that was now fully exposed with only her transparent blouse and the lace bra she was wearing under it. Y/N looked at Felix and realized that there was a big bulge in his pants, for the bulge to be that big he had to have a big package Y/N thought and then looked up and met Felix face that was covered in a big grin because he noticed how long she looking at his bulge. He put his hand on Y/N's inner thigh asking "Feeling a bit chilly? Wanna head inside?”

He looked down at Y/N breasts again and her nipples which nearly pierced through her shirt. Y/N nodded, and Felix fetched a blanket, draping it around her. He extended his hand, gesturing for her to take it. Leading Y/N into the house, Felix guided her up the stairs and into a room. It appeared to be someone's bedroom—quite lavish, with a bed that looked incredibly inviting. He whispered, "May I assist you in taking off your blouse? I reckon it won't be of much help in keeping you warm.”

Y/N nodded again to flustered to speak, Felix began taking off the wet blouse and kissing the neck once the shirt was off. “ Take your skirt off” he whispered whilst kissing her ear. She began taking off her skirt that was now very tight due to it being wet. Felix noticed how much she was struggling and ripped them off. As he did Y/N let out a small moan and he chuckled. “ As much as I would love to fuck you sweetie, you're to drunk and need to sleep but I can join you if you want”.

Felix tucked Y/N into bed, and she promptly drifted off to sleep. He planted a kiss on her forehead, undressed, and hopped into the bed beside her.

[irisintheafterglow]

way hay, and up she rises! (opla!zoro x you)

summary: zoro leads the crew to an informant from his bounty-hunting days; they don't know his history with the pretty singer in the bar.

wc: 2.6k

cw/tags: swearing, implied fem!reader (wearing a skirt and makeup) but they/them pronouns used, basically singer/bodyguard trope, strangers to lovers, brief guy being an asshole (and protective zoro!), simp zoro, i love zoro, can you tell how much i love this man

note: do i imagine lucy gray baird when i think about reader singing in a bar? maybe a little bit. do i wish i could sing like rachel zegler as lucy gray baird? abso-fucking-lutely. i've been listening to a lot of random sea shanties lately so this is where that came from. hope you enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are much appreciated!

“You’re sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Of all the times for you to doubt me, cook,” he says, catching the door with the toe of his boot and kicking it open, “I can say for certain, I have this under control.” His feet step through the doorway and he’s bombarded with jolly laughter, drunken singing, and a dancing fiddle. The patrons cheer with flasks and goblets in their hands, liquor splashing onto their neighbors when they slam their cups onto wooden tables. It’s warm like a hearth, not a hell, and the unkempt atmosphere wraps around him like a familiar blanket. Within seconds, he’s not a pirate anymore; he’s back to being a hunter. 

And there, swinging the edge of your skirt with a tambourine in hand, was you. The lantern light catches in your eyes in a way that makes them glow, enchanting him like a spell. You’re just as breathtaking as the last time he saw you, singing clearer than the stars shining on a winter night. When you speak, it’s like invisible ropes extend from your lithe fingers, grabbing each man by the ears and pulling them in to listen further. He’s no different, finding himself drifting toward your stage when a sudden hand tugs him away. 

“Hey, we’re going this way. Luffy found a table in the back,” Nami informs him over the controlled chaos of the bar. Her voice quiets as he follows her to a secluded corner, but her teasing was not lost to him. 

“Pretty interesting place you’ve led us to.”

“That’s one way to put it,” he replies blandly, still slightly awestruck from seeing you again.

“Got a crush on the singer?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he deadpans, sliding into the booth next to his beaming captain. He gladly accepts the bottle Usopp offers him, taking a swig without so much of a flinch when it burns down his throat and goes straight to his head. 

“What were you guys talking about?” Luffy pipes up and he doesn’t hide his grimace in time. “Did Nami say something to bother you, Zoro?” 

“Doesn’t she always?” An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of the swordsman’s stomach, one he could only explain by not having eyes on you. He was used to being here alone, where he could admire you without distraction. He knew he wasn’t ready for the crew’s interrogation about his history with you. “I just need something to drink.” 

“You’re already holding a bottle, if you’ve forgotten already,” Sanji reminds him. “Don’t make us drag your sorry ass out of another bar.” If looks could kill, Zoro couldn’t fathom the number of coffins the stupid cook would need. 

“Alright, alright,” Luffy interjects. “Zoro’s just been…stressed. We all deal with stress in our own ways.” 

“There are healthier ways to deal with stress than alcoholism,” Nami points out. “For instance, talking it out works wonders.”

“While I appreciate the concern, we’re here for information, not therapy,” Zoro states tersely, taking another gulp from his bottle. “We came a little early, so we’ll have to wait until the band is done with their set before we move in on the target.” His eyes drift back into your general direction, hoping there weren’t any guys giving you trouble. 

“Why can’t we just move in now? There’s enough chaos in the bar to be a distraction,” Luffy asks.

“Sanji and I could start a fight,” Usopp offers in response, holding up the cook’s wrist like he was ready for the first punch. “That worked last time.” Zoro shakes his head. 

“Too risky. The informant won’t say anything if we interrupt the music, especially if it’s a bar fight,” he replies, a fond look blinking across his face. “They’re a little…difficult, sometimes.” The pieces click together in Nami’s brain before he can stop her and the realization dawns on her in no time.  

“Your contact is the singer.” He shrugs one shoulder, not looking any of his crew in the eye and instead watching the growing crowd around your stage. “The singer you have a crush on?” Zoro’s head snaps back to reality and becomes all too aware of the heat growing on his cheeks. 

“I don’t have a crush on them,” he mumbles half-heartedly. 

“Aw, Zoro is in love!” Usopp sighs. “I always knew he had a heart.” 

“It’s not love. It’s just admiration, if anything,” he counters, but it’s no use. His crewmates were already on a roll. 

“I thought you said you had this under control,” Sanji recalls with a taunting smirk. 

“I do have this under control.”

“Your red complexion says otherwise,” the cook replies and Zoro’s frown deepens. It wasn’t part of his plan for the rest of his friends to find out about his relationship with you. In fact, accompanying him to the bar was not part of the plan in the first place. “Look, I’m happy for you. Honestly, I am. If you could do it, then I surely will find someone even better.” 

“That’s enough,” Nami cuts in before Zoro can unsheath a sword. He nods in curt gratitude, but she doesn’t let him off the hook. “However, as payback for not telling us about your little sweetheart, you’re gonna explain how you know them until their set is done.” 

“Says who?”

“Says us,” Usopp answers, holding up Sanji’s fist again and miming the cook punching him in the face. “Or, we’re gonna cause a scene and make them come to us first.” 

“You guys are impossible,” Zoro mutters under his breath. With a deep exhale, he establishes a single rule. “You don’t tell anyone about what I’m about to tell you, understand?” The crew nods. “Good, because if someone finds out about them, I’m gonna shave your heads while you sleep.” 

As with most people Zoro interacted with, you met him because of a fight.

“I didn’t need your help,” you had told him that night, resting your boot on a ribcage for leverage and yanking your sword from the dead assailant’s chest. “So, you can leave now.”

“I thought you said you had this under control,” he remarks, cleaning the blood from his blade and inserting it back into its sheath. 

“I do have this under control,” you reiterate with a glare. “It was just an off night.” 

“Pretty impressive for an off night, though your swordsmanship could improve.” His hand gestures vaguely at the half-dozen attackers lying at your feet, amateurs whose strength depended on their numbers. Numbers, which he'd helped you cut down when you didn’t show up at the meeting spot you’d agreed upon. 

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to insult me or compliment me,” you scoff.

“Doesn’t matter, as long as you keep talking,” he replies without missing a beat, following you through the backdoor of the bar and down a dusty hallway into what he presumed was a makeshift dressing room. “You could make a good career out of bounty hunting if you wanted to.” Closing the door behind him, he settles into a nearby chair and watches you tidy up trinkets on the vanity. 

“I don’t remember letting you come in here, much less telling you to have a seat.” Your guarded nature only intrigues Zoro more, but he’s more than willing to leave if you truly didn’t want him present. Something in his gut told him, though, that you secretly enjoyed the company. “And, no. I’m not interested in the violence of your world, only the information part.” 

“The information part you didn’t show up for,” he recalls with a scowl. You hum in fake sympathy at his displeasure. 

“And my sincerest apologies for getting attacked while on route to our meeting place,” you bite, shaking your head when he rolls his eyes. “Look, we’re here now, so just ask your questions and get out.” Zoro does ask his questions and you give him the answers he needs, but the lingering feeling of disappointment when he bids you farewell stays with him even after he collects the head you helped him find. So, with the reward money sitting heavy in his pocket, he returns to your run-down little bar the following week. 

Without the pressure of fulfilling a hunt weighing on his chest, he catches himself enjoying your performance a little too much. It was mesmerizing, the way you danced across the stage and blew kisses to drunken audience members. Zoro even found himself smiling when he was able to catch your eye. 

“I take it the hunt went well,” you say in greeting when he appears in the doorway of your dressing room. It’s after your band’s last set and you’re visibly more relaxed than the previous time he saw you. Instead of barging into your space, he simply leans a muscled shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed and observing you remove your makeup. 

“It did. Your little tip about the maid worked wonders.” 

“She’ll always turn a blind eye if it means a little extra money.” 

“She also knew the place better than the maps I was reading,” he adds. “I wouldn’t think to talk to her if it weren’t for you.” You dismiss his compliment with a wave of your hand. 

“The Lady of the House’s true right-hand is not her husband, but the one that cleans up after him,” you muse with a satisfied smile. He’s still standing in the doorway, you notice from the corner of your eye. “You can come in if you promise to explain why you’re back again.”

“Consider the promise made, then,” he replies, shutting the door and taking a seat the same way he did the week prior. “I wanted to apologize for getting off on the wrong foot.”

“The Demon of the East Blue apologizing to me? What a world we live in,” you quip and he chuckles. “For the record, I wasn’t mad at you. Well, not entirely.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Yeah, I was mad at you for interrupting the set to ask your questions, but I can’t blame you too much. It’s your first time here, after all.” He listens to your explanation intently, like there was no other voice he’d rather be hearing. “But for future reference, interrupting me while I’m singing will make other clients I serve a little jumpy.”

“They think you’re conspiring against them?”

“Exactly. I try to keep the same after-the-show policy with everyone, so if I give priority to one person, they’ll question my reliability.” He nods, your irritation suddenly making much more sense. 

“And when they question your reliability, they attack you outside the bar,” he concludes. 

“Mhmm, which was why I was late for our meeting. For that, I am sorry.” Your voice is softer than the candlelight illuminating the small room and he finds himself being drawn into you again, like a magnet. An idea pops into his mind, one that was sure to cost him a few hunts, but he’s sure you’re worth it.

“Ever think about hiring stage security?” 

“For a dirty-ass bar like this? Definitely not,” you laugh. “Maybe if I were playing for the general of the Marines, but here? That’s funny.” You thought that would be the end of your conversations with Zoro, but decided not to question his intentions when he showed up the following night. You spied him sitting in the same dark corner with a glass in his hand, watching you like you were the only being that mattered in his world. As the songs pass, your eyes find him on instinct and you’re rewarded with a rare grin that makes your stomach float. No sooner did you start your last set of the night, though, did a new client come storming into the bar. 

He was a Marine defector, one that was trying to make it onto some pirate’s ship before the government found him. In the second drawer of your dressing room vanity, you had a list of ships and ports that would guarantee him a smooth disappearance into the sea. He desperately needed the list and, being a new client, was clueless about your after-show policy. 

“Alright, give me the list. Let’s go,” he hissed once he reached the front of the stage, his words barely audible over the sound of your band. You attempt to smile and play him off as another drunk, but your amiable expression disappears when he tries to grab the edge of your skirt. “I’m not fucking messing around. Give me the fucking list.” As expected, your regular clients started to shift uncomfortably in their seats, looking at you and the greenie suspiciously. In their minds, you were giving special privileges to a new guy. “Stop being a bitch and give me the list.” The man reaches out to grab your skirt again when a strong hand shoves him away from you. 

“Get lost. They’re in the middle of performing.” You steal one glance at the swordsman in front of you, the one resting his hands menacingly on the hilts of his swords. His broad shoulders become a wall in front of you, impossible to pass without risking instant decapitation. The new client scurries away and you release a shaky breath, sending Zoro a grateful look when he’s back at his seat. Please stay, you mouth wordlessly. I’m not going anywhere, he mouths back.

He stays with you during your official meeting with the ex-Marine, arms crossed and stationed in the corner of your dressing room like a guard dog. When the meeting is over and Zoro’s all but thrown the man out of the building, he walks you home and waits until he hears your door lock before leaving. He’s back the next night, and the next, and the next, and all the nights afterward for nearly a year. You start to ask him about his past, his hunts, and his dreams. Little by little, you both start to take down your defenses and trust each other with vulnerability. He’s late, sometimes, when he gets caught in a hunt; but, you always end up finding him waiting for you in your dressing room. 

After he kisses you for the first time, you start inviting him in once he’s walked you home, impatiently locking your door before pulling him to your room. It’s little things that make you fall in love with him: waking up to find him hogging all of your blankets, resting on his bare chest and relishing in the feeling of his skin against yours, running a hand through his hair until he wakes up with a sleepy smile. He falls freely, hopelessly, and completely in love with you, too. 

He knows nothing has changed when you rush into his arms as soon as you see him in your dressing room. 

“Hey, songbird,” he mumbles while his arms lock around your waist. “I burn from missing you.”

“I’ve missed you more.” Your voice sounds muffled against his shoulder as your arms wind tightly around his neck. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, pulling you as closely to him as humanly possible. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Zoro felt at ease. “I thought I saw you walk in, but you didn’t go to your usual spot.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I have some…friends with me,” he says slowly, nudging the door open to reveal his crewmates eavesdropping from the hallway. You smirk knowingly, running the pad of your thumb over his cheekbone. “Alright, alright. Just say it–”

“I didn’t know you could make friends,” you tease and he prevents you from saying anything else by pressing his lips against yours. “Wanna introduce me to them?”

“Give me a second, baby,” he murmurs against your skin. “I need you to myself for a bit.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 40

part 1 | part 39 | ao3

They're lying on their backs, Steve's head on Eddie's shoulder, Eddie running absent-minded fingers through Steve's hair. Led Zeppelin plays on low from the radio beside them, and the conversation ebbs and flows in sleepy bursts of disjointed thought. Talking just to talk. Because they like it; because they can.

"...Did you see Wheeler almost eat shit in the paint aisle this morning?"

"We should paint some stars on my ceiling. Make 'em glow in the dark..."

"God, what I would not give for more pizza."

"Who even eats cold pizza?"

Eddie shifts beneath him after a while, sitting up to bounce his legs and get the blood flowing again. With his weight leaned back on his hands, Steve can't help but notice the long line of his torso. Everything on display through the thin undershirt: the smattering of dark ink, the outline of his ribs, the cut of his slim waist. Steve wants to touch him.

"You know," Eddie says, surveying the empty room, the vinyl glinting in the lamp light, "it's really not half bad for a bunch of kids who thought they were gonna be hanging ornaments all day." He knocks his knee against Steve's leg. "I'd say you're well on your way to making this mobile house a mobile home."

Steve snorts at that, and Eddie pinches playfully at his side until the snort turns into a really undignified laugh and Steve rolls in on himself, curling toward Eddie, begging for mercy.

"You want to tell me what brought all this on?" Eddie asks. His voice is quiet and welcoming, eyes sparkling with some gentle offer of reprieve. The first rest stop sign after a hundred mile stretch of empty road.

Steve's mouth works; opens and closes and opens again, like it'll prompt his voice to sound or his brain to figure out the words. He still doesn't know how to explain — the fear, the paranoia, the way this place was starting to cling to him like black mold. "Just..." he shrugs. "Needed it, I guess."

Eddie gives him a long look. Unwavering and piercing; there's more pus in the wound that he's trying to lance, but he doesn't seem interested in drawing blood tonight.

He releases Steve from his gaze and goes back to his casual stretching — rolling his neck, popping his shoulders, shaking out his legs, his ankles, his feet — and then he gasps "Steve!" in a delighted tone that Steve does not care for at all. Usually means he’s about to get teased within an inch of his life.

"Hmm?" Steve lifts his head to look.

Eddie’s wiggling his right foot, drawing attention to the outer edge of his borrowed sock. "Is that a hole I see?"

Steve follows his line of sight, and sure enough, there's the smallest little tear by Eddie's pinky toe. “Oh, fuck off,” Steve rolls his eyes, “you can barely even see that.”

Eddie spreads his toes out wide, making the hole more obvious. "My, my, my,” he tuts, shaking his head with a big, disappointed sigh.

"You're such an asshole,” Steve mutters. Eddie's beaming; Steve flips him off.

"Well congrats, baby boy,” he drawls like a fucking pest, “now you're officially trailer trash."

"Hey!" Steve’s not sure if he likes that. Makes him blush to his ears; makes something sour roll in his gut.

Unfortunately it also kind of makes his dick twitch.

"Oh?" Eddie leers. His eyes dart to Steve's crotch, and then he shifts so he's hovering over Steve with Steve flat on his back, face on fire, pulse kicking hard. A vein throbs in his inner thigh. "Don't worry, Stevie." Eddie bends to nip at his jaw. "I meant it as a compliment."

"How is that a compliment?" Steve wants to sound annoyed. Is annoyed. But Eddie's skimming a light hand up his side, barest pressure that leaves a trail of tingling warmth in its wake, so the words come out more breathy than he intends.

"Because," Eddie whispers. Steve can feel his smile pressed against his skin. Eddie kisses up his jawline until he reaches his ear; mouths at the lobe and sucks it between his teeth, a sharp bite that makes Steve hiss. "All my favorite things are."

Steve bucks under him. "Trash?" he asks, breath catching.

Eddie's tongue traces his ear. "Mhmm."

His hand wanders to the hem of Steve's shirt, worming his fingers underneath, tickling the trail of hair below Steve’s belly button as he explains that all his favorite things are second-hand. Recycled and discarded items he’s restored with loving care.

Steve’s breath goes harsh and ragged, and he tries not to think about how that might apply to him.

Discarded.

Restored.

Favorite.

Maybe even—

He can’t let himself think the word.

—

part 41!

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Like a lamb led to slaughter (my heart held in your hands)

carry me slowly, my sunlight (these colours, they fade for you only) - series masterlist here

pairing: damian wayne x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.7k

genre: fluff? angst? kinda hurt/comfort?

warnings: this is the enemies part of the enemies to lovers so they're kinda mean and hateful, reader pulls a knife on damian at the beginning but it's pretty chill, also angsty ending in this but future parts where they're together and in love are already up and in my masterlist <3

a/n: enjoy xoxo

Damian pauses, holding his breath as the knife that's been suddenly pressed against his throat gets pressed a little harder. The wind blows the sand around his feet gently and he listens, straining for a hint as to who his attacker is.

"Damian Al Ghul, caught by surprise… you're getting slow," your voice makes him relax - much to his annoyance, his jaw clenching as he exhales slowly. You pull the knife away from him, ignoring the small trickle of blood that runs down his neck as you stand in front of him. 

"You shouldn't be here," he snaps harshly.

"Neither should you," you quip back.

"This is my -"

"For now," you interrupt, your grin wicked. "This war of ours isn't over yet, Al Ghul. I wouldn't claim the winning prize for yourself just yet - not when you're the one who's been caught off guard." Damian's fists clench, his eyes hard as he stares at you through the darkness of night, the stars dripping pinpricks of light onto the two of you.

"This is League territory. You are outcast. You're not welcome here, and neither are any of the others who follow you," he says viciously. You smile.

"So sure I won't beat you still," you say, a mocking edge in your voice that makes him huff. "So sure it'll be you leading the League one day, and not me."

Damian doesn't bite back, though. He opens his mouth to, but then seems to think better of it, opting instead to step away from you and plant himself on the sandy ground while the clouds part, the moon shining through. You think you hear him muttering, "why don't you just kill me and get it over with, then?"

You blink at his behaviour, following him cautiously and standing in front of him, blocking the light of the moon and shrouding him in darkness where he's sitting, knees pulled up to his chest.

"What's wrong with you?" You ask, toeing at his side with your shoe, jostling him slightly. He just clenches his fists tighter.

"You're blocking out the sky," he says bitterly. "And you stabbed me." You arch a brow.

"You're stargazing now? How novel. And I didn't stab you - don't be dramatic. It was just a little cut… you've given me worse," you point out.

"You deserve worse," he snaps. You straighten back and away from him, moving to let the light of the moon shine down on him as you sit next to him.

"You know I'd never kill you on a night like this," you say, a softness in your voice that makes you both queasy. You feel the weight of the knife in its sheath against your leg and press your hand to it. You could try to kill him - you probably should. God knows there are enough people waiting for you to.

"Not enough of an audience?" Damian says dryly. You kick a pile of sand near your foot.

"Why didn't you fight back? You could just as easily try to kill me tonight. But you wouldn't because we've been at this far too long to let it end in private… just the two of us." The end of your sentence is murmured, your eyes trained on his face while he stares up at the night sky. It takes him longer than you'd like for him to tear his gaze away from the full moon and look back at you, the light shining on one half of his face while the other now sits in shadow. You imagine you look much the same, half bathed in light, half shrouded. 

"What do you think will happen?" His question finally cuts through the silence. "When one of us finally kills the other." You pull your hand away from your knife like it's burned you. 

"When I kill you?" You say haughtily. "The League will be mine."

"And when I kill you?" Damian snaps back. You seem to mull over your answer for a moment too long, Damian huffing and turning back up to the sky.

"Then you win," you say quietly. "And you're rid of me." Something in your heart twinges at that and you grit your teeth.

"What would I do?" He says it so softly you're sure you wouldn't hear him if you hadn't spent so many years learning him. You fix him with a hard look, but he keeps his eyes pointedly on the stars and not at you. "What would I do without you?"

"What would I do without you?" Your response is so wavering and hushed that you think he must have missed it. It must have simply been caught in the wind and carried away to somewhere where the two of you could be anything other than what you are now. The way Damian turns to look at you, eyes wide and vulnerable and hurting, tells you he heard you just fine. 

"I don't want to kill you," he says it like kindness is a crime.

"You have to," you respond, like a lamb led to slaughter. "It's what we're made for, you and me. To be each other's end - each other's undoing. Only one of us is making it out of this alive." There's a weight in your words that goes unsaid. A part of me will die with you. Neither one of us will make it out of this and stay whole. A part of me belongs to you.

Damian stands suddenly, sand flying at where you sit as he shoots to his feet. You brush it off of you with a sigh and crane your neck to look up at him where he's standing tall, fists clenched and shoulders back, his feet planted firmly and holding him steady. You assume there's a determination in his eyes that you're intimately familiar with to go with his stance. He's blocked out the moon with his figure, leaving the two of you in shadow with a blinding halo around his silhouette, but you don't need to see his face to know what look he's wearing - you haven't needed to for a long time.

"There's a way around this, I'm sure," he says. You sigh and a breeze floats by, ruffling through him and into you. Your nose burns when you pick up the faintest whiff of his scent and you wonder, just for a moment, if he can detect the same from you… if he knows you the way you know him.

"You don't want that," you say flatly.

"Don't tell me what I want," he snaps back, voice hard. "You don't get to decide how this ends." You shoot up at his words, standing chest to chest with him, so close that you bump into each other.

"I decide just as much as you do." Your voice mimics the steel in his own. "This is about us, not you, and… and," whatever you were saying dies out as you look at Damian, his eyes staring back at you intensely. You hadn't really realized, in your anger and haste, how close to him you'd shoved yourself, but you can feel his breath on your skin and see the flecks of colour in his deep brown eyes.

"And… what?" He prompts, scowl still on his face. He seems to take no notice of the way his nose brushes against yours. That is, until your eyes flick down to his lips for a split second too long.

He lurches away from you, stepping back to create distance and holding a hand out in surrender, as if the close proximity to you just then had been more threatening than all the times you'd pointed a sword to his chest. The way your heart thumps behind your ribs and your breath catches, you're inclined to agree.

"I'm going to fix this," he says breathlessly.

"Fix what? There's nothing to fix, Damian." His name burns your tongue, like it's an intimacy you shouldn't indulge in. "There's nothing to fix. This is the way it's supposed to go."

"I won't kill you," he's all but yelling at you now. "And I won't let you kill me." You make the mistake of closing your eyes, hanging your head slightly and sighing as you prepare yourself for another fight. It's a moment of weakness that you would never allow in front of any enemy other than him - a moment of vulnerability that could cost you your life. But you hear it, ever so slightly, the whisper of him moving with a stealth that only the two of you know. By the time you open your eyes, he's gone.

You realize, in the days following the incident, that you'd never gone so long without seeing Damian before. At first, you were shoved against each other by your respective sides in never-ending fights to see who would triumph. Then, as time passed and the two of you grew, your skills matched and fights ending in draws over and over, you started seeking each other out on your own. To know your enemy, you'd always told yourself. You're sure he'd always tried to convince himself of the same. 

But now? Now days have gone by without a whisper, without a flickering shadow or a hushed breath. Eventually, you go looking, silent and hidden and so desperately hopeful. But that's when you hear it - the rumours.

Damian Al Ghul is gone - gone to live with his father and train with him. He'll be back, you promise yourself. He'll come back to me. 

But he doesn't. Time passes and he remains gone, the rumours spreading.

Damian Al Ghul has found a home beyond this war, beyond you. You're sure that only makes you so nauseous because now you'll never get the chance to kill him.

Damian Al Ghul has no interest in fighting a war that isn't his anymore, you hear. Damian Al Ghul has no need for a vicious prophecy or a never-ending rivalry.  Damian Al Ghul has found a home, apparently, and it's somewhere far… far away from you.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Beach Day | Cassian x Reader

Summary: During a lengthy visit to Day Court with the Inner Circle, so Rhys and Feyre can discuss political matters with Helion, you and the Inner Circle find more entertaining things to do, such as have a beach day.

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: None! Other than cass slamming his toes into rocks

A/N: Another little fluffy drabble for @cassianappreciationweek , hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

There were few days when Cassian was able to simply lay back and relax, but luckily today, it was one of them.

Rhys and Feyre were busy in Day Court with Helion, and so naturally, most if not all of his Inner Circle was dragged along, especially Cassian and Azriel. Whenever they’d arrived, Helion had only given the two a wink as he’d led the High Lord and Lady of Night Court into his personal office, declaring that it would be a “Private conversation.”

Azriel had bristled at that, but with a lazy grin and a hand on his shoulder, Cassian had gently led him away and out of their palace. If there was one thing Day Court was notorious for along with Dawn Court, it was the beaches on their shores. Velaris didn’t have such beaches in general, only the rocky shores that lined Night Court.

“C’mon Az, if we’re gonna be stuck here waiting for Rhys, we might as well enjoy it.”

Cassian said, giving his brother a pleasing look. Azriel only sighed, shadows wielding, excited at the prospect of swimming, as it wasn’t something they often did.

“Fine. Go swim with the rest of them.”

He grumbled, but before he could object, Cassian grinned and picked Azriel up, already bounding down the streets of Day Court (getting many weird looks from the locals on the way) to the little nearly vacant home Helion had provided for Rhys and the rest of your menagerie while they were here.

As he opened the door, finally setting Az down and giving him a look that said “Go get your swimsuit, or else.”, he was greeted by a distanced hug from you, his mate. He could already tell that you were overheating, too used to the constant soothing breeze and persisting chill of Velaris.

“We’re going swimming!”

He announced loudly enough for everyone to hear, including Mor and Amren who were lounging on the couch, fanning themselves with whatever was in hand. They gave exasperated groans.

“It’s hotter than hell out there, Cass.”

Mor complained, looking miserable.

“Yeah, well the water’ll cool you off, I’m sure.”

He said, rolling his eyes as he followed you to the bedroom that you two had claimed as your own, and he yanked his leathers off, his undergarments as well as he slid into a pair of shorts that were mostly water resistant and suitable for swimming. You had already changed into your swimsuit of choice, a bikini in the same shade of red as his siphons, one that would no doubt drive him crazy.

When they all got done changing, Azriel’s cheeks a light pink from the pink trunks Cassian had made him wear, being the only thing he had to swim in, everyone made Cassian carry their towels, and donned some sort of sandals as they walked outside into the suffocating heat of the summer sun, quickly walking down to the beaches of Day Court, and quickly wading into the water.

They only had a respite for the briefest of moments before Cassian splashed Azriel, and Azriel splashed back harder, accidentally getting you as well, until you were all splashing and thrashing like maniacs in the cool water. Mor and Amren didn’t seem to care much for the playing, both getting inflatables out of nowhere (and judging by the sounds of confused beachgoers, probably stole them) and floating on them, occasionally taking a dip in the water to cool off.

“I bet I can make a better sandcastle than you.”

Cassian declared to you, and you grinned ferociously back, both storming up to the beach to make the best sandcastle.

However, you already knew how Cassian played, so you made sure to include a layer of rocks in the bottom of yours covered by sand, and if anyone tried to kick it, their toes would meet jagged rock edges. You began building up layers, adding dry sand, then water, then compacting it, then wet sand, and then starting over again in a cycle.

Once your little cylinder-like shape was built up, you used seashells nearby to decorate the side, and tying some random part of a nearby plastic bag onto a thin, long stick, you made a tiny flag of trash and stuck it in the middle of your sandcastle on the very top.

You glanced over at Cassian’s sandcastle, it was more oval-shaped than anything, like a sad attempt at recreating a football, and it had some random shells strewn about on it.

“Done!”

He exclaimed, glancing over at yours as his grin turned to a playful scowl.

“Try-hard,”

He muttered under his breath, and you rolled your eyes, looking over at Azriel who was just standing in the water, watching, not seeming sure what to do. You beckoned him over.

“Come judge our sandcastles, Az!”

You called out, and he met your gaze, his own shining with amusement as he strode up and started examining your mate’s castle.

“Is the oval shape intentional?”

He asked in a dryly amused tone, and Cassian shot him a glare.

“Yes, it was.”

He said defensively, chest puffing out as you snorted, and Mor did too as she watched from the water. Azriel then moved to look at your sandcastle, observing it for all of two seconds before declaring his decision.

“Y/N won.”

He said, shaking his head in fond exasperation as he turned to move back into the water that shielded him from the harsh sun. That was when Cassian grumbled something under his breath, stomping over to your sandcastle even as you began following Az to the water.

You nudged Azriel with your elbow, both of you turning just in time to see Cassian’s foot go back and slam right into the rock base of your sandcastle as he howled and held his foot, glaring at you with a glimmer of begrudging respect for you somehow knowing what he was going to do.

Az quietly chuckled, even as Cassian huffed and hopped over to you on one foot, entering the water again.

“You’re going to pay for that once we get home,”

He murmured to you, and you only gave a lazy, sly smirk back.

“Worth it.”

[lacydollette]

SUNRISE ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing: bf!sam x fallen!angel!reader

warnings: sam winchester x fem!reader, fallen angel!reader, established relationship, this shit is just fluffy asf, and ik that angels don’t need to sleep in spn but just pretend okay?!

“What are you planning, Samuel?” You teased softly, though your voice full of warmth while you were all cuddled up into one of Sam’s oversized flannels. “You’ll see,” he repeated with a sly grin, glancing at you briefly before turning back to the road, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

The morning had started with Sam gently shaking you awake, his voice low and soft as he told you to get dressed cause he had a surprise for you. You had groaned, burying your face deeper into the pillow. You really weren’t an early bird, but once you saw the spark in his eyes and the boyish grin on his face, you were convinced.

Now, as you sat beside him, your curiosity growing with every passing mile, you couldn't help but feel grateful for whatever it was he'd planned. Sam had a way of making you feel grounded, even when everything else seemed overwhelming, making your first time on earth more memorable than you had ever expected.

You didn’t get much peace these days—adjusting to earth was overwhelming for you sometimes—but you were handling it better than anyone Sam had ever met before.

You weren’t just anyone; you were a fallen angel, still learning your way around the human world. You approached everything with childlike innocence—your excitement over simple things like the hum of a washing machine or the sweet taste of maple syrup often left Sam grinning from ear to ear. But one thing you haven’t experienced yet was a sunrise over the ocean. When you first told him that, Sam had promised himself to make it happen. And now was the time.

When he pulled up to the beach, your breath got caught in your throat. The ocean stretched endlessly before you, the horizon glowing in the light of dawn. You stepped out of the car, the cool breeze brushing against your skin, and just stood there for a moment, staring.

“Sam,” you whispered, not really registering the sight infront of you. Sam came around to your side, taking your hand and lacing your fingers together. “I remembered you said you’d never seen a sunrise at the beach. Thought we should change that.”

Your chest ached, but in the best way. You looked at him, eyes glassy. How could someone be so thoughtful, so good? You didn’t deserve him—at least, that’s what you often thought—but he made you feel like you did. “Thank you,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

He led you down to the sand, where he spread out a blanket for the both of you. You quickly kicked off your shoes, laughing softly as your toes sank into the cool sand. Sam just watched you, his heart doing that annoying little flip it always did when you smiled like that.

As you settled in, the first rays of sunlight broke over the water, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. Your eyes were wide, full with wonder as you watched. You had never seen something this magical.

“It’s more beautiful than I ever imagined,” you said, voice trembling with awe. Sam leaned closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Not as beautiful as you.” You laughed, a quiet, disbelieving sound, but you didn’t argue. Instead, you turned to face him, pressing your forehead against his. “You do too much for me,” you mumbled softly. “Not even close,” he replied.

The sunrise wasn’t the only thing you experienced for the first time this morning. Sam brought out a side of you that you didn’t know even existed—the carefree, playful side. When the sun was fully up, you both ran along the shore like little kids, laughing as you splashed in the waves.

“Catch me if you can!” You called, your laughter echoing as you darted away from him. “Alright, im coming for you!” Sam shouted back, sprinting after you. You felt so free running around the sand, the slight ocean breeze hugging your body.

When he finally caught you, he wrapped his arms around your waist and spun you around, both of you laughing so hard you could barely breathe. You clung to him, your cheeks flushed, heart so full that it could burst.

Being with Sam felt like home.

tags: @beausling @sammyluvr @nuemanfilms @rubyvhs @chevroletdean @figthoughts @gibson-g1rl @mxltifxnd0m @angelicjackles @deansbeer

[tobbesdiscordkitten]

Aww, I'm glad I could provide the details you're looking for! ^.^ I can assure you, anon, that people know about Axl and Erin, they just don't like talking about it, and I don't blame them lol. It is a rather complex matter. One that is depressing, to say the least. I will try my best to explain what happened in their relationship while analyzing the outcome(s) on why certain situations unfolded the way they did. The reasoning wasn't "just because he or she felt like it." There's much more to the story. And I'll try to provide both perspectives so we have a clear, broader picture.

After I'm done sharing this novel, I don't want to discourage you, or have you view Axl in a negative light. He was going through his own personal issues at the time, and while that doesn't justify what he did to Erin, it explains how broken of a man he was, trying to fight off his own demons, only to be consumed by them.

**trigger warnings for sexual abuse, rape, and violence**

Erin Everly and Axl Rose

In 1986, Erin and Axl met at an L.A. party. This was Erin's first relationship while it was Axl's second relationship. His first girlfriend, also high school friend, was Gina Siler, and they dated between 1982-1983. Since Erin didn't have any sexual encounters with other boys prior, she wasn't very experienced in "pleasing" Axl. I can imagine she lost her virginity to him, but it sounded like Axl wasn't willing to teach her how to please him in the bedroom. Instead, Axl wanted another girl to tutor Erin, but the idea never came to fruition, probably because Erin would've been against the idea.

The two lived in an apartment and Erin did modeling on the side to support themselves while Axl was involved in his bands. Erin mentions how Axl had a quick temper and that little things would set him off, like stubbing his toe, being woken up from a phone ringing, or hearing Erin cry in the bathroom. This caused him take out his anger on her. She suspected it was because she was an "easy target." On one occasion, Axl removed all the doors from their hinges in the apartment so he could monitor Erin's movements. During one of their many arguments, Axl, who weighed 140 lbs at the time, pushed an entire piano from the balcony's window. He even yanked telephones from the walls and destroyed various items.

Meegan Hodges-Knight, Slash's then former girlfriend, and Erin's roommate, described some disturbing encounters between the two. "I'd wake up to Erin saying, 'Please, stop. Don't hurt me, don't hurt me, and Axl screaming at her... And then, all of a sudden, he'd come out and he'd like, break all of her really precious antiques, and she would be, 'Please, don't break them, please.' And trying to get them back from him. And he'd push her and he'd break everything he could get his hands on...l remember sleeping and waking up to a crystal flying over my head, shattering on the floor."

One night, while Erin was wearing a see-through tank top and panties, Axl dragged Erin by the hair, kicked her with his cowboy boots, threw a tv set at her, and spit on her. Let me just clarify something here. We don't know what happened on this particular day, or night, that made Axl snap. Maybe it was because Erin was wearing this attire, or maybe something else happened that pissed Axl off, and he took his anger out on his girlfriend. My other guess is... Erin was wearing this while Meegan and Slash were there, and Axl thought it was immodest and had the mindset of, "she should only be wearing this stuff around me, not flaunting it around other people" kind of thing. But I can't confirm, it's only a theory.

Moving on. Erin was in a bikini, probably getting ready to sunbathe, until Axl ordered her to take it off. Once she did he tied her hands to her ankles from behind, put masking tape over her mouth, wrapped one of his bandanas around her eyes, and led her into a closet, naked, where she remained for several hours as Axl talked to one of her friends in the living room. Later, when Axl returned to the closet, he untied Erin, picked her up, and tied her, face down, to a convertible bed. He then raped her anally and forced his cock into her mouth.

Hopefully you're not too traumatized, anon. I would like to switch gears here and talk about Axl's upbringing. I'm not sure how much you know about him, so this might either be new information you haven't heard before, or old news lol.

Axl's childhood was a nightmare and it began when he came out of his mother's womb, literally. His father molested him when he was a baby, then, by the age of two, his dad kidnapped him and anally raped him. His mother left his first dad and found another husband where they had two more kids, Amy and Stuart. But his stepdad wasn't any better. He would take Axl to a museum on multiple occasions and rape him in the men’s bathroom stalls. His stepdad would also beat both him and Amy, even sexually abusing her. As a result of what both his fathers did to him, Axl was terrorized by nightmares throughout his childhood. This abuse also distorted his relationship with how to treat women. It made him view sex as an act of power and how sex leaves other people powerless after the deed is finished.

Axl noted, “I’ve had a lot of hatred for women. Basically, I've been rejected by my mother since I was a baby. She picked my stepfather over me ever since he was around and watched me get beaten by him. She stood back most of the time. Unless it got too bad, and then she'd come and hold you afterward. She wasn't there for me. My grandmother had a problem with men. I've gone back and done the work and found out I overheard my grandma going off on men when I was four. And I've had problems with my own masculinity because of that. I was pissed off at my grandmother for her problems with men and how it made me feel about being a man."

I don't think his mother could've done much by standing up for own children because his stepdad might've beaten her too. And if she did, they all probably would've been living on the streets with no food or a proper roof over their heads. But, again, these are my own speculated thoughts.

Anyways...back to the main lovebirds of this story. In 1987, Axl and Erin attended a barbecue at somebody's house in the Hollywood Hills. One spectator noticed how Axl took his anger out on Erin in public, not being phased by other people watching, as he pulled her hair and beat her up.

On April 27, 1990, Axl showed up at their condo, located above Sunset Strip, unannounced at 4 a.m. He told Erin he had a gun in his car and that if she didn't marry him he'd kill himself. What a way to propose, right? You might be thinking, "He didn't give her a choice. He threatened that decision on her.” I've thought that way about this situation for a while until another thought crossed my mind recently. By this point, Axl and Erin argued a lot. It was like a routine. Axl must've thought Erin didn't love him anymore and if she didn't marry him he had nothing else to live for since the love of his life would leave him. He probably felt like his life didn't matter if he couldn't have her, his sweet child. Luckily, Erin said yes, but she would have to fight to save him.

In the Don't Cry music video you see Axl and Stephanie fighting over a gun. This actually happened between Erin and Axl. Erin was in a physical match, trying to snatch the gun away from him. This went on for a while until Axl decided to let Erin win. So he gave up and let her have the gun, ending the fight.

Erin and Axl’s wedding photo

The two got married and by September Erin found out she was pregnant. They both always wanted to start a family, and this was a sign that their relationship was gonna get better in the future. Unfortunately, that was all short lived when Erin had a miscarriage in October. A few days after finding out, Axl got arrested for hitting his neighbor over the head with a wine bottle.

This event is pretty insane. Axl says his neighbor was "crazy" and that she was an obsessive groupie who played his own music loudly in her room. His neighbor, on the other hand, claimed Axl was the one playing loud music. She confronted him in the hallway that night, at 2 a.m., with a bottle of wine in her hand. I'm not sure how full or empty it was but it seems she was drinking from the bottle and she might've been tipsy. They got into an argument and Axl grabbed her keys, tossing them out his window. Axl claims that after he did that he closed the door and his neighbor started smashing her body against the doorframe, giving herself bruises. However, his neighbor said that after he threw her keys out the window he grabbed the wine bottle, draining the rest on the floor, and smashing it across her head. The police report indicated he emptied the bottle but no shards of glass were on the floor. I guess it was a matter of how hard he hit or not striking her at all.

Axl’s arrest in 1990

In 1991, Erin was cleaning Axl’s CD collection when he snapped at her for doing so. Erin states, "I didn't think I could survive mentally any longer; I was dying inside...At the door I turned around and said, 'I want you to look at me, because you're never going to see me again.’” Erin left Axl. He tried winning her back by writing her letters, sending her flowers, and caged birds for one full year. It was clear the two would never get back together again.

During her testimony in court, Erin reveals that Axl believed her and Stephanie Seymour were sisters in a past life and they were "trying to kill him." She also shared how Axl believed he was possessed by John Bonham. Not only that, Axl told Erin how she was an Indian who killed all their children, and that was the reason why he was so mean to her in this lifetime.

Many people, including Axl, have cited Erin to be the aggressor in the relationship and that Axl was only defending himself. A friend, who agreed to speak for him, conceded that the couple "did have a combative relationship. But," she adds, "Erin portrays herself as the victim and him as the evil aggressor. From what I witnessed, she was the aggressor." Maybe Erin might've pushed Axl's buttons a bit too far, resulting in numerous heated backlashes of shitting on each other. Did Erin not know her limit with Axl or did she know and choose to ignore it until he ruptured?

I have my own thoughts about Erin. I often think Erin was a very naïve, childish girl, who clung onto Axl like a needy puppy, mostly in times when he needed some space.

Even though they are a few years apart, I feel she was emotionally immature for him, whereas Stephanie was emotionally mature. Then there's arguments of how she was the keg to the gunpowder in their relationship. They both did things that hurt each other and they both made mistakes. They're both to blame. They have even acknowledged what went wrong in their relationship. One of the problems was they were both broken and they didn't know how to save each other because their inner kid loved each other too much.

This was Axl and Erin's relationship in a nutshell. You might be mortified at what you just read, but I assure you... Axl is in a much better frame of mind now and he got the help he needed. Erin might not be fully over him yet. I mean, how could she? He was her first true love. In 2013, she did sell all of his love letters, private pictures, clothes, and even his journals. Why she did this, I am not sure. But it was wrong on so many levels. I heard she might be writing her own book which may go into more detail on what else happened in her relationship with Axl. Keep in mind, though, her story is one-sided, as it is through her own perspective and not his. If she publishes it, and people read it, make sure to take into account how he was feeling and what might've provoked him. There's always a reason why shit happens the way it did.

If you have anymore questions or would like to discuss their relationship further, feel free to reach out! I'm curious to hear your own thoughts on this, anon <3