#like you can’t say that. you can’t just drop that in there like it’s nothing and expect me to be normal

[deadsetobsessions]

He’s existed for an eternity. He will exist for longer than that. Danny Fenton’s ruled the Zone longer than he’s been fully alive, by a long shot. Still half alive.

Immortal. He can’t die- not when he’s already half dead- and his age stays and stays stagnated. Un-aging. True immortality, unlike the claims of those newborn gods who borrow power from a deeper force than even they could comprehend.

A god dies when there are none left to venerate them. Danny dies when death ceases to be reality, which in itself is death…

It’s easy, once his mortal life had faded far away. He slips into roles- protection, of course, never forgotten- and traipses around to live in universes even as he kills them by simply existing. One day, a little fairy catches his eyes. It fluttered about meaninglessly, gathering dew drops and sap. It taught him two lessons.

“Why do you work yourself so?” Death had asked the little fairy.

The little fairy, only seeing the facade of a placid young boy that Death had donned to imitate the days where he was fully alive, had answered fearlessly. “I enjoy the work! My court needs those supplies, and I’m happy being able to help while doing something I love.”

“Oh.” Danny remembered being like that once. It was why his essence thrummed with Protection, even in Death. He had forgotten, even as a halfa, how to be alive. He knew how to be living, but he’d forgotten how to be alive.

Still, the boy had another question.

“Are you not afraid of me?” He’d met people like these before, on the rare occasions he personally guided souls, and they were unflinching in his presence.

“No, you are just a child. Say… won’t you tell me your name?”

“Danny,” Death answered truthfully. Death doesn’t like to lie. “Danny Fenton.”

“Danny-” the little fae freezes, malicious grin falling from its face as it trembled like the blades of grass it stole dew from. “No- no, no! Why- why can’t I take your name?!”

“I am also known as Death,” Danny admitted, watching as the fairy’s magic imploded on itself. One could not own death. He learns a lesson that day too. If he disguises himself, if death is disguised as harmlessness, as just ‘one more’, as an object of greed, those living would happily run towards Death himself.

As the little buzzing fae backed away, the flowers on its extremities withered. Danny caught its wrist before it could dart away.

“Tell the ruler of your court to come,” Danny said gently, ectoplasm easing away from the trembling little thing.

“Yes, yes, please, I will.” Danny released the fluttering thing and bid it leave.

----

"That's how you met Oberon?"

Danny laughed, plucking the little Robin from a jump and shadowing to the ledge two buildings ahead.

"Not so, little sparrow. That was how I met Tatiana."

"The queen?!"

"The queen. Remember this, if nothing else, when you play with Royalty, there is very little they wouldn't stoop to in order to ensure their wants."

"Okay. Does that include you too?"

See? Danny knew the little sparrow was smart, somewhere beneath that fanboy-driven dumbassery.

"Yes."

"Soooo... what do you want, Danny?"

"To know what it is to live again. Death tends to be cold, you see."

"...Can I help?"

A flash of fangs, a slow, meaningful smile. "You are already helping, little sparrow. Even your Bats are helping. I have not felt joy in centuries."

"Oh."

Robin's comms buzzed. "Ask him about how he met Oberon, Timsy!" Jason's voice came through loud and clear to Danny.

"Oberon?" Danny cut in, enjoying the vibrant activity his chosen nightlife observed. "Oh, I beat him at poker. Actually, I own a quarter of his palace."

[mixingandmelting]

Inconspicuous Relationship

Summary: Everyone in the family thinks the two of you hadn’t tied the knot and keeps playing matchmaker. He, being the troll he is, decides to roll with it

He told you it was going to be fine. To leave it to him; his plan was going to be flawless. Flawless his ass. You’re dying from second-hand embarrassment and Jason’s not helping with that shit-eating grin on his face. 

“You know, Gotham Park is apparently considered one of the prettiest in the city during all four seasons.” Steph starts, sending you a look across the dinner table. “Wouldn’t it be so romantic to go there, especially for a first date?”

You beg to the higher beings that your cringe isn’t visible in your smile as you hummed in agreement. You’ve been enduring this since the beginning of the family dinner where the siblings kept dropping obvious hints for the two of you to get the ship sailing. And Jason being Jason, went along with it all the while ignoring the secret glares you give him. For Pete’s sake, he was even playing footsies under the table!  

“Didn’t you say you had a plan?” You hiss under your breath as Tim and Dick, surprisingly, voice out in agreement how Gotham Park was the last place to go on a date, their expressions speaking for the horrors they’ve seen there. 

“Yeah? Why? You don’t like how my plan’s going so far?” You scowl, kicking his foot away when he prod your foot again with his. He gives you a cheeky smirk in response. 

Checking and seeing Steph getting into a squabble with the other over the apparent controversial site, you lean closer towards him. 

“You call this a plan?”

“If not, then what is it?” He chugs the water in his glass, waving a hand towards them. “Besides, over half of them are grown ups. They’ll get it one way or another.”

If you’re not dying from embarrassment, you’re dying from stress. It’s clear as day that he’s in it for the chaos while you’re simply wanting to rip the bandage and get this over. Just when you’re about to snap at him, you catch Damian staring at both of you across the table. Quickly, you compose yourself, the same smile you had on for Steph now directed at the fourteen year-old.

“What’s wrong Damian? Need something?” 

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, his gaze blank and revealing nothing. You can feel sweat accumulate in your hands, the urge to swat at the man beside you getting stronger at the coughs he lets out that’s meant to cover his laughter. 

“I simply don’t get it.” The teen then takes a bite of his steak and thoughtfully chews on it. “Why can’t Jason simply ask you out for a date when he’s completely smothered for you?” 

Cue the room going completely  dead silent. Well, sans Duke pounding his chest from choking on his food. You would’ve, at least, chuckle at had it not been for you steaming up. 

“D-Damian? Damian buddy?” Dick calls out from his seat, his voice slightly pitched. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t be the only one that’s getting tired of them beating around the bush, Richard. I’m simply spelling it out, that’s all.”

“Damian-“

“No, Damian’s right.” All eyes set on Jason, who puts the silverware down and leans back on his chair. “It’s not like I’ve been really meaning to hide it anyways so,” he turns toward you, “what do you think of Saturday, 1:00 PM at your favorite place you like going to?” 

…You can’t do this. This man and his theatrics; you wanted to scream how he had already asked about it last week. Tell them they’re getting scammed,  it’s not even the first date-! 

But Damian’s words keep echoing in your mind and the fact Jason knows that you know that it’s true is messing with you so badly. It prevents you from trying to calm everyone down, the family up and arms at the “horrible” confession Jason gave as he merely shrugs and asks what else he was supposed to do.  You further baffle them when you muster a nod, your hands still covering your very much burning face. 

Later on, when Bruce comes back from the supposed emergency phone call, he pulls you and Jason to the side. It was one thing to hear Bruce Wayne giving his approval and blessing (for some reason) for you two’s relationship. It was another when finding out this whole thing was indeed staged by both Jason AND Bruce to get back at the rest of the family for a prank that occurred last week during a joint mission as the older man asked the younger if everything went accordingly. 

You decide to give Jason a piece of your mind once the two of you got home which led to him to follow you around and ask you to reconsider calling him by his full name for the rest of the week.

[angelfic]

jason todd x reader

warnings — mentions of blood, death, violence, weapons, jealousy. unedited!!

a/n; i have to fight myself not to make reader have certain traits of mine like my anger issues but sometimes she deserves to be a little crazy. as a treat.

JASON TODD with someone that matches his freak.

You have so much patience and grace for him and he loves you for the way you make him feel less broken every day you’re together. But he won’t lie that he enjoys it when you’re the one who goes a little crazy.

He teaches you self defence pretty regularly, because he knows he can’t always be there, protecting you on the streets of Gotham and he’d rather you be prepared for any given scenario.

You’re a good student, listening to his every word and successfully mastering most of the manoeuvres he teaches you. He enjoys teaching you for many reasons, one of them being that he has an excuse for keeping his hands on you. But his favourite thing is the way your eyes light up when you manage to knock him off his feet or land a hit.

You ask him if he’s alright because there’s a pink flush kissing his cheeks and he mumbles that he’s fine, but really he’s blushing because he’s embarrassed about the sick thoughts he’s having about you being able to physically hurt him. That is until you grab one of his knives off the table.

You twirl it between your fingers, seemingly fascinated with the way the warm lighting of your apartment reflects off the blade, showing off its fatally sharp edges.

“Would you teach me how to stab a guy?”

He feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. Your voice is so sweet, asking him such a question so politely and who is he to deny you?

Never in a million years will Jason think he deserves you, and there’s always going to be a little voice in his head that says you could leave him at any given time for any one of your choosing. Which is why he gets jealous really easily, but he tries his best to hide it as not to scare you away.

Not that it would, since you never bother hiding the scowl on your face when you catch another girl throwing glances at him now and then. Jason doesn’t even notice the other girl until he looks over at you and sees the dark look in your eyes and suddenly his blood runs hot.

God forbid a girl tries to talk to Jason in a flirty way, because you’re immediately there, wrapping your arms around his waist, fingers sneaking under his leather jacket.

“Hey, babe,” you say, voice deliberately sweet as you look up at him. “I was looking for you.”

“That so, sweetheart?” he murmurs, amusement flickering across his blue eyes as his arms naturally find your waist. He completely forgets there was even another girl talking to him until you turn around to stare her down.

“And you are?”

“Oh, uh, no one,” she says, faltering slightly, her eyes still glued to Jason. “I was—”

“Right,” you cut her off, a smile gracing your face, but your voice is flat and devoid of any emotion. “We were just leaving.”

You don’t bother waiting for a response before you’re dragging him out of there and he’s gladly letting you.

Your smile drops as soon as you’re both alone and you’re letting go of him, walking faster ahead of him. He catches up to you easily, trying not to laugh when you bat his hands away. “I hope the two of you are very happy together,” you snap, refusing to look at him.

Jason grins, stepping in front of you to stop you. You cross your arms over your chest, glaring at him. “You could have shut that down, you know.”

He exhales a laugh, tilting his head and smiling even wider at how pissed off at him you look. “There was nothing to shut down,” he says truthfully, stepping closer to invade your personal space and uncrossing your arms to pull you closer. “Plus, I like seeing you a little jealous.”

A little is a bit generous since you look downright murderous, but he’s not complaining in the slightest.

You still refuse to look at him. “I am not jealous. I could have easily beaten her ass,” you mutter.

Jason huffs out a laugh, and when you scoff and turn away, he catches your wrist and tugs you forward so you stumble against him, using his chest to steady yourself. His lips ghost against your ear, making you shiver slightly as he whispers, “My money’s on you, babe. And for the record, you’re the only one I’m ever looking at.”

Your irritation melts into something else entirely and you playfully roll your eyes at him. He knows he’s got you now, just like he’s aware of how much you pretend to hate that he knows how to handle you.

When he comes home, covered in blood finally allowing his shoulders to sag with exhaustion, you don’t even flinch at the sight of him. You smile when he enters your apartment, dropping a kiss to his cheek in greeting and guiding him to sit.

“Any of this blood yours?” you ask, calmly. He doesn’t miss the concern in your voice and the way you’re subtly checking each area covered in blood for any hint of a wound.

He shakes his head and your body relaxes. “Good,” you mutter, focused now on scrubbing away a spot of dried blood from out of his suit. You don’t bother attempting to clean his hair since you’ll get it out in the bath a bit later.

He watches you, waiting for you to ask a question that never comes. The question that he feels like the members of his family are always asking in an attempt to morality check him.

You’re not like them, though. Your expression remained unfazed when the washcloth in your hands is more red than whatever colour it was before.

His jaw tightens. “You’re not gonna ask?”

“Ask what, Jay?” You tilt your head, pausing in your movements. He hesitates for a second.

“How many?”

Understanding dawns on your face and you slowly nod. “Ah. Well. Do you want me to ask?”

He studies you for a long moment as you resume your work with the washcloth, moving to the areas that the blood seeped through a gap in his suit to coat his wrists. The quiet hum of your shared apartment settles around you both. Then, he shakes his head. “No.”

“Alright then,” you say softly, setting the washcloth down. His bloodied shirt is next, torn in some places, damp with sweat from overexerting himself. You grab the hem, pulling it over his head and he lets you. Tossing it to the ground, you hesitate for the first time tonight when you catch sight of his torso. You frown, fingers skimming over his bruised ribs. Your touch is light, careful. You finally meet his eyes, unflinchingly. “Every single one of them deserved it.”

A sharp exhale leaves his lip, something between relief and something else — something darker. He shudders out a breath and finally allows himself to touch you, knowing you won’t break.

Pulling you closer, he rests his head against your chest, melting into you when your fingers start to lightly scratch against his scalp.

You aren’t scared of him. You never would be, he was pretty certain of that. He even sees some of that same darkness in you that he used to wish he could rid himself of. And he loves you for it.

Jason has never been more fucking gone for anyone in his life.

a/n cont.; only difference between reader and a psych ward patient is that she’s outside

[messitydepressity]

Okay, I get that words mean a lot, but sometimes just a quiet wave is really nice.

And that’s what I’ve started doing when I’m struggling to find my words.

I like dropping heart emojis on every chapter I read but can’t figure out how to articulate my feeling about because while I don’t always have something mind blowing to say, I want the author to know I read it and I loved it.

Just having your chapters acknowledged can be incredibly validating and reassuring.

It’s an easy way to say ‘I’m here, I’m back, this is still great.’

This isn’t to say you should stop commenting with words. I still comment when my brain is willing to function and as a writer they fuel me, but if nothing else, drop a heart.

It’s still nice to have our work loved quietly if you can’t find a way to do it loudly.

*I don’t mean for this to make anybody feel some type of way, it’s just what works for me and I’ve also had others comment this way on my works and I appreciate the interaction no matter how small.

i wish ao3 allowed people to give kudos per each chapter. These 100k word NOVELS need more love than 200 tiny digital hearts ☹️

[xiaominghao]

Buddies

Genre: fluff.

Pairing: streamer-Wonwoo x gn-reader.

Warnings: none.

"Do you want to match stuffed animals with me?" you asked suddenly.

Wonwoo twisted his expression into a smile, confused. "What's that about?"

Discreetly, you pointed to a shop in the mall where you were walking, in the window of the small shop were displayed adorable stuffed animals of different sizes and colors. Whenever you went out for a walk to the mall, your gaze wandered in that store, hesitating to ask that question.

Wonwoo looked thoughtful, and for a moment you thought he would decline, but a smile graced you face when he nodded. Taking his hand, you led him to the store with a mix of nervousness and excitement.

"Can I ask what are you up to?" Wonwoo asked as you walked through an aisle, glancing at the stuffed animals.

"Can I just go shopping with my boyfriend?" You raised an eyebrow.

He locked eyes with you. Wonwoo knew you well and was completely sure there was something hidden behind those cute bunny-like eyes, and nothing works better than a staring contest to get straight to the truth.

"Alright, you got me," you shrugged. "I want us to have something that reminds us of each other. We can’t hang out every day, so I want something that makes me think of you."

Wonwoo held back his smile. "Aren't not enough the sweaters you've stolen from me?"

You shook your head with a playful gesture. Your eyes landed on a stuffed animal that you took from its spot, and you showed it to Wonwoo.

"Wonu, what do you think of this one for you?" It was a white, fluffy puppy. "It would make a great streaming buddy."

"It's perfect," he nodded. "Now for you..." His gaze wandered a bit until it landed on something, and he grabbed a black kitten with big eyes from the shelf. "I think this one suits you."

"It's adorable, I love it," you nodded. "Do you think our choices are “accurate”?"

"I don't know, but you chose it for me," Wonwoo replied, and although he didn't say it loud, the delicate way he held the puppy against his chest was enough for you. He was clearly enchanted by your choice.

On the way home, the two of you were in the car, he was driving and you were by his side, humming along to the songs playing on the car's stereo. You had arrived at the building where you lived, and just before getting out of the car, you dropped one of your random questions:

"Does your audience know you have a partner?"

"Of course not," Wonwoo laughed, a little awkward due to the sudden nature of the question. "They’ll know eventually, but... for now, I’d like to keep private, just for us."

"Then..." you squinted, making special emphasis on the next phrase, "you're not going to show your new friend on camera, are you?"

"Of course he’ll be," Wonwoo nodded, raising an eyebrow playfully. "I want everyone to meet my new streaming buddy."

You let out a shy laugh, and then both of you fell silent, sitting in the comfortable space of the car. Your hand reached for his and gently squeezed it.

"I'll think of you every time I hug my little kitten," you murmured.

He leaned toward you, kissing one of your cheeks. "And every time I start a stream, I'll see this little buddy and think we’re playing together."

[heeluvv]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ᡣ𐭩

pairing ‹𝟹 shy! sim jaeyun x reader

genre ‹𝟹 smut

warnings ‹𝟹 blowjob, sub! jake, praise kink, overstimulation, etc.

natty's notes ‹𝟹 mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

the first time you find one, it’s slipped between the pages of your notebook, tucked so carefully that it could have easily gone unnoticed. a small, folded piece of paper, slightly crinkled at the edges, as if whoever wrote it had second-guessed themselves a dozen times before finally mustering the courage to leave it there.

your fingers tremble slightly as you unfold it.

"you look really nice today."

it’s not signed. there’s nothing to indicate who wrote it, no distinctive handwriting that you can immediately recognize. just a simple, almost shy admission written in neat, slanted script.

you glance around the room, scanning the faces of your classmates, wondering who might be watching, waiting for your reaction. but no one meets your gaze. no one looks even remotely suspicious.

it becomes a pattern after that.

every few days, another note appears. in your locker, slipped into the pocket of your bag, between the pages of your textbook. always handwritten, always short, always unsigned.

"the way you laugh makes my whole day better."

"i wish I had the courage to talk to you."

"you’re beautiful in ways i can’t put into words."

the anonymity should make you uneasy, but it doesn’t. there’s something so earnest about them, so completely genuine, that all you feel is warmth spreading through your chest each time you find a new one.

and then, you start to notice.

the way jake stares a little too long when he thinks you aren’t looking. the way he fidgets with the sleeves of his hoodie whenever you walk into the room. the way his face turns an unmistakable shade of red if you so much as smile in his direction.

jake, who barely speaks to you, who stumbles over his words whenever you ask him a question, who always seems to be lingering near but never quite close enough.

jake, whose handwriting—now that you’re paying attention—looks an awful lot like the one on the notes you’ve been collecting.

the realization sends your heart racing. you don’t say anything at first, don’t confront him, don’t let on that you might know. instead, you watch. you notice the way his hands twitch as if resisting the urge to reach for something, the way he swallows hard when your fingers graze his as you both reach for the same book.

one day, you decide to test your theory.

you wait until class ends, until the hallway is mostly empty, until you see jake stuffing his books into his bag, his movements tense and deliberate. with a deep breath, you step closer, your fingers brushing the edge of his desk as you pass by.

“you know,” you say softly, just loud enough for him to hear, “whoever’s been leaving me those notes… i hope they know i’d really like to meet them.”

his hands freeze, his grip tightening on the strap of his bag. slowly, he lifts his head, and for the first time, you watch as an entire storm of emotions flickers across his face—panic, hope, something dangerously close to longing.

you let out a soft chuckle, the sound light and teasing, as you slowly made your way around his desk, closing the space between you with an easy confidence. now standing directly in front of him, you could see it clearly—the way his fingers tightened around the strap of his bag, knuckles paling as if holding on for dear life. his posture was stiff, his breath unsteady, and his eyes, wide with something between panic and anticipation, flickered up to meet yours. he looked like a deer caught in headlights, caught red-handed, though for once, it was in the best way possible.

your gaze drops briefly to the bag clutched in his hands, the very thing that exposed him, the very thing that gave away the thoughts he had so carefully tucked away in ink and paper. you tilt your head slightly, amusement dancing in your eyes as you shift your focus back to him.

"i love the way you write about me, jakey..." you murmur, voice soft but laced with something undeniably knowing, undeniably intoxicating. the new nickname rolls off your tongue so smoothly, so naturally, as if it’s always belonged to you. you watch the way his breath stutters, the way his grip on the bag falters for just a fraction of a second before tightening again, as if he’s unsure whether to pull it closer or let it slip from his grasp entirely.

you reach out with slow, deliberate movements, fingers barely brushing against his skin as you push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. the metal frames are cool under your touch, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from his flushed face. you don’t miss the way he tenses at the contact, his breath hitching, his shoulders going rigid as if the mere proximity of your hand is enough to unravel him.

the moment lingers, thick with something unspoken, something heavy. his wide, nervous eyes flicker between yours, unsure of where to look, unsure of what to do with himself. and maybe it’s that uncertainty, that helplessness, that makes your stomach tighten, makes heat coil low in your abdomen. because he’s so easy to tease, so easy to break down with just the right touch, just the right words.

your hand remains close, the space between you nearly nonexistent now, your face mere inches from his. he smells good—clean, warm, faint traces of something familiar that only makes you want to lean in even further. your lips curl into something wicked, something teasing, as you let out a soft hum, watching the way he swallows thickly, his fingers twitching slightly where they rest against his lap, as if unsure whether to move or stay perfectly still.

"what's wrong, jakey?" you purr, voice dripping with amusement, with mock concern. your tone is light, playful, but your eyes say something else entirely—something darker, something knowing. you drink in his reaction, how he squirms under your gaze, how he shifts slightly in his seat as if trying to escape the intensity of the moment.

and god, you love it. love the way he looks at you, love the way he stammers, love the way he seems so completely at your mercy. it’s intoxicating, so much so that you feel the heat pooling between your legs, a slow, aching throb that only grows the longer you watch him squirm.

your fingers find their way into his hair, burying themselves in the soft, fluffy strands as if they belong there, as if they were always meant to tangle and twist in the dark locks. you take your time, twirling the strands lazily around your fingers, feeling their silky texture between each gentle tug. the motion is slow, deliberate, almost hypnotic, and yet, it’s nothing compared to the way your eyes never leave his.

he’s frozen, wide-eyed and breathless, his lips parting slightly as if he wants to say something—anything—but the words never come. maybe it’s because your touch is too much, too intimate, too intoxicating. or maybe it’s the way you tilt your head slightly, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips as you lean in just enough for your breath to fan against his flushed skin.

"you want me, jakey?" you murmur, voice dripping with a teasing lilt, each syllable slow, savoring the moment. you don’t need his answer—you already know. it’s written all over him, from the way his body tenses beneath your touch to the way his fingers curl helplessly against his thighs, unsure whether to grab onto something or keep trembling in place.

your lips ghost over his cheek, barely grazing the flushed skin before dragging toward his ear, slow and torturous. the warmth of your breath sends a visible shiver down his spine, and when you finally let your lips brush against the sensitive shell of his ear, it’s like he completely unravels.

a soft, broken whimper escapes him, followed by a quiet, shuddering breath as his body betrays him, squirming, pressing further into his seat as if trying to ground himself. his grip tightens against the fabric of his pants, knuckles white, every muscle in his body strained as he struggles to maintain some semblance of composure.

but it’s useless—you can feel it, see it, the way he’s already falling apart from something as simple as your touch, your voice, your lips barely even touching him. and god, you love it. you love the way he melts under you, love the way he reacts, so sweet, so helpless. it only makes you want to push further, to see just how much more he can take before he completely breaks.

"please... please..." he whimpered, voice trembling, thick with desperation. his breath hitched as his hips instinctively bucked, the fabric of his pants doing little to hide the way his cock twitched, aching for attention—aching for you. he was restless, every muscle in his body coiled tight with anticipation, needing more, needing anything you were willing to give him.

"hmm, you've been such a good boy, jakey..." you cooed, voice dripping with sweet amusement as you let your fingertips trace lightly over his clothed thighs, feeling the tension beneath them. with a slow, deliberate movement, you gripped the arms of his chair and pushed it back, creating just enough space for you to sink down onto your knees before him. the sight of him like this—eyes glassy with lust, lips parted, breath shaky—only fueled your desire to tease him even further.

your hands roamed, starting at his thighs, kneading the firm muscle beneath your palms before sliding up, up, towards his waist. you could feel the heat radiating from him, his body reacting to your every touch. with a slow, torturous motion, you let your fingers ghost back down, stopping just before where he needed you most. his breath came out in shallow pants, his fingers gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"you want this really bad, jakey?" you murmured, voice low, sultry, teasing as your gaze dropped to the straining bulge in his pants. he let out a desperate little whine, shifting in his seat as though that might somehow alleviate the throbbing ache between his legs. his need was palpable, his body screaming for you even when his words failed him.

your fingers trailed up to his zipper, slow and deliberate, the sound of metal teeth parting filling the air as you dragged it down with agonizing ease. his breath hitched, body tensing beneath your touch, every fiber of his being reacting to the way your fingers brushed against him—light, teasing, knowing.

his thighs twitched, his hips shifting as he tried to hold himself still, but the anticipation was too much, too overwhelming. he squirmed, his breath coming out in broken, needy gasps, chest rising and falling rapidly as you took your time, relishing the way he unraveled right in front of you.

"please... y/n..." he whimpered, voice strained, thick with desperation. the sound sent a thrill down your spine, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the way his resolve was crumbling, piece by piece. he was so vulnerable like this—so beautifully, helplessly desperate for your touch.

your hands moved with a teasing slowness as you hooked your fingers around the waistband of his pants, dragging them down inch by inch. the fabric clung to him, as if even his clothes refused to part with the heat radiating off his body. you could feel how tense he was, how his muscles flexed beneath your fingertips, his thighs trembling ever so slightly as you peeled away the final barrier keeping him from you.

his boxers slipped down in the same motion, and the moment they were low enough, his cock sprang free, slapping back against his abdomen with a soft, almost lewd sound. the sight alone made your breath catch—so hard, so flushed, twitching with every tiny movement, as if aching for any kind of relief.

a choked moan escaped his lips, his head tipping back against the chair, fingers digging into the chair as he tried to ground himself against the intensity of it all. he was completely exposed to you now, vulnerable and needy, his entire body betraying just how badly he wanted this—wanted you.

your fingers wrapped around his length, warmth radiating from him, his skin burning hot beneath your touch. the moment you made contact, a sharp gasp tore through his lips, followed by a broken whine that sent shivers straight down your spine. he was already so worked up, so desperate—his cock twitching in your grip, thick beads of precum spilling from the swollen tip, trailing down in glistening strands. the sight alone made your mouth water, the way it throbbed, the way his body reacted to even the slightest touch.

his hands flew back, fingers gripping onto the edge of the desk behind him, knuckles turning white as he tried to ground himself. his chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, his lips parting as more sounds spilled from him—needy, unfiltered, shameless moans that only made your desire to ruin him even stronger.

"f-fuck... y/n..." he whimpered, voice cracking, hips instinctively bucking up into your hand, chasing even the slightest bit of friction.

your grip tightened just a little, testing, teasing, watching as his whole body tensed at the sensation. you started slow, agonizingly slow, your fingers stroking him in soft, deliberate movements, dragging up from the base, squeezing lightly just under the tip before gliding back down. each stroke had him gasping, his thighs trembling on either side of you, his entire body completely at your mercy.

"so fucking big, jakey..." you murmured, voice laced with both admiration and teasing, your thumb circling the tip, spreading the precum that dripped so generously from him.

his head tipped back against the chair, mouth falling open as a deep, shaky moan left him. he looked so wrecked already, so beautifully desperate, his body betraying just how much he wanted—no, needed—your touch.

your hands moved faster now, each stroke slick and effortless, his cock completely coated in his own precum, the lewd wet sounds of it filling the space between you. the way it dripped down, pooling at the base, only fueled the heat simmering in your core, making you tighten your grip just enough to make him shudder.

"y/n—!.." he choked out, voice breaking into a desperate whine as his head fell back against the chair, exposing the long column of his throat. his eyes screwed shut, lips parted, breath coming out in sharp, uneven pants, his whole body trembling beneath your touch. his fingers clawed at the desk behind him, gripping the edge like it was the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart.

"you're doing so good, baby... fuck..." you purred, voice thick with hunger, your eyes drinking in every little detail—the way his brows knitted together in pleasure, the way his muscles tensed with every stroke, the way his thighs quivered on either side of you, completely at your mercy.

but what really drove you insane was the way he whined for more, how his body instinctively chased your touch, his hips stuttering forward despite how hard he tried to keep still. you could feel him twitch in your palm, his need growing, his body on the verge of breaking under the intensity of it all.

his hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, the flushed color of his cheeks making him look so utterly wrecked, so beautiful like this—falling apart for you, because of you.

your tongue flicked out, barely ghosting over his swollen tip before pressing flat against it, collecting the thick beads of precum that had pooled there. the taste was intoxicating—warm, slightly salty, completely addictive—and you let out a soft hum of satisfaction as you savored it. the moment your tongue made contact, a loud, broken moan ripped from his throat, his hips jerking up involuntarily, as if his body was begging for more before his mind could even catch up.

his thighs trembled beneath your touch, muscles flexing as you dragged your tongue down the underside of his length, tracing along the prominent vein that pulsed with every rapid beat of his heart. slow, deliberate, teasing. you took your time, savoring the way his cock twitched in response to every flick of your tongue, every wet kiss you left against his burning skin. when you reached the base, you pressed your lips there, sucking lightly before dragging your tongue back up, tracing the same path until you reached the tip once more.

without warning, you took him into your mouth, the heat of it enveloping his sensitive tip as your lips wrapped around him. his reaction was immediate—a sharp gasp, followed by a low, shuddering moan as his hands instinctively shot to the desk behind him, fingers curling around the edge like he was trying to keep himself grounded.

your tongue swirled around his tip as you sucked, hollowing your cheeks, creating just the right amount of pressure to have him unraveling beneath you. your hands weren’t idle either—one gripped the base of his cock, stroking in tandem with the rhythm of your mouth, while the other pressed against his thigh, feeling the way it tensed under your touch.

"shit, shit, shit—y/n!" he gasped, voice high and desperate, his entire body shaking. "too much… please!"

but even as he begged, his hips twitched forward, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to pull away or push deeper into your warmth. his body was betraying him, chasing the pleasure even as his mind tried to resist, and you loved every second of it.

his glasses slipped from his face, tumbling onto the floor with a soft clatter, but he couldn’t bring himself to care—not when his entire body was shaking, overwhelmed by the unbearable heat coiling in his stomach, the tight knot threatening to snap at any moment. his breath came out in ragged, uneven pants, chest rising and falling rapidly as he teetered on the very edge, his thighs trembling beneath your touch.

"fuck… fuck…" his voice was wrecked, breaking apart with every syllable, barely able to form the words through the waves of pleasure crashing over him. "y/n, can i cum? please… c-can i—i?" he whined, his voice raw with desperation, his body completely at your mercy. small, glistening tears slipped down his flushed cheeks, his brows knitted together as he looked down at you, his eyes glassy, pleading.

the second you gave him a nod, the smallest signal of permission, his control shattered entirely.

his head tipped back, his lips parting in a loud, unrestrained moan as his body seized, completely undone beneath your touch. your hands moved even faster, stroking him with a relentless pace, and at the same time, you took him deeper into your mouth, feeling his cock twitch violently against your tongue.

"ah—ahh, fuck—!"

his entire body tensed as pleasure crashed through him like a tidal wave, his hands scrambling for anything to hold onto as his release hit him with overwhelming force.

hot, thick ropes of cum filled your mouth in an instant, the sheer amount catching you off guard as you tried to swallow, a few soft coughs escaping you as you struggled to take it all. he was gasping above you, moaning brokenly, completely spent, his body still shaking as aftershocks coursed through him.

his glasses lay forgotten on the floor, his mind hazy, clouded with pleasure. the only thing grounding him now was you—your touch, your warmth, the way you were still there, taking everything he gave you.

after finally catching your breath, you lifted your gaze to meet his, watching the way his dazed, unfocused eyes struggled to stay open. his chest rose and fell in rapid, uneven breaths, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his release. he looked completely wrecked—his hair damp with sweat, sticking messily to his forehead, his lips parted as he tried to steady himself.

but you weren’t done with him yet.

no, you wanted him to remember this for the rest of his life.

your fingers wrapped around his length once more, feeling how sensitive he had become, the way he twitched helplessly in your grasp. the second you moved, stroking him with slow, deliberate motions, a broken whimper tore from his throat. his whole body jolted, thighs quivering as the overstimulation sent sharp jolts of pleasure straight through him.

"w-wait, i—" his voice was barely coherent, breathy and wrecked, his head lolling to the side as he tried to process what was happening. but you didn’t give him a chance to recover, didn’t give him room to protest.

without hesitation, you leaned in and took him into your mouth once more, swallowing him down in one fluid motion until his tip nudged the back of your throat. his reaction was immediate—his body tensed so violently that his hands scrambled for something, anything to hold onto.

"ah—fuck, y/n—!" he cried out, a high, desperate moan ripping through him, his hands gripping at the desk behind him as his body writhed under your touch. he was so sensitive, every nerve in his body on fire, overwhelmed by the unbearable pleasure of being overstimulated.

his thighs tensed beneath your hands, his hips jerking up instinctively despite the way he shook uncontrollably. tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, his lips trembling as he tried to form words, tried to beg—but nothing coherent came out, only broken whimpers and desperate gasps.

you could feel him throbbing against your tongue, his body completely at your mercy, and it only made you want to push him further—to drag him past his limits, make him drown in pleasure until he couldn’t think of anything else but you.

and by the way his body continued to tremble, the way his voice cracked as he moaned your name, you knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

and you loved every second of it.

"y/n! i—i can't!" he cried out, voice cracking under the weight of overwhelming pleasure. his words came out breathless, barely coherent between the sharp, desperate gasps that spilled from his lips. his body trembled violently, his back arching slightly as he writhed beneath your touch, every nerve in his body on fire.

but his pleas only fueled you further, only made you more determined to push him past his breaking point, to make him feel nothing but you.

his moans grew louder, more broken, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe through the overstimulation. his hands clawed at the surface behind him, fingers curling into helpless fists, unsure whether to push you away or pull you closer. his thighs quivered beneath your grip, his entire body fighting against the pleasure that was consuming him whole.

"p-please, too much—" he whined, voice high-pitched, almost desperate, but you could feel how his cock twitched in your mouth, how his body betrayed him despite his pleas.

you weren’t stopping. not when he was falling apart so beautifully for you.

the more he gasped, the more he moaned, the more you wanted to ruin him completely, to make sure he would never forget the way you made him feel tonight. and by the way he trembled, the way he clung to anything that could ground him, you knew he was close—so close to breaking, so close to surrendering entirely to you.

"shit! oh my god—y/n!" he screamed, his voice breaking into a desperate, uncontrollable sob of pleasure as his entire body convulsed beneath you.

his back arched off the chair, his thighs trembling so violently that he nearly lost his footing, hands flying to grip the desk behind him in a feeble attempt to ground himself. but it was useless—he was far too gone, drowning in the unbearable intensity of his release, completely at your mercy as pleasure wracked through him like a powerful, unrelenting wave.

his cock twitched violently in your mouth, and within seconds, he was spilling over once more—hot, thick ropes of cum flooding past your lips, the sheer amount far more than before. some of it trickled down your chin, dripping in sinful streaks as you tried to swallow, but there was just too much.

his moans turned into high, broken cries, the overstimulation sending him spiraling into a place of pure ecstasy, his body shaking so hard that his knees nearly buckled. tears pricked at the corners of his tightly shut eyes, his lips trembling as he gasped for air between moans, his chest rising and falling erratically.

"f-fuck, oh my god," he whimpered, voice raw and strained, his mind completely fogged over with pleasure. his fingers twitched against the desk, his body so spent, so overstimulated, yet still so incredibly sensitive under your touch.

his release dripped from your lips, warm and thick, and you could feel the way he shuddered at the sight, the realization that he had come so hard, so completely wrecked by your hands, your mouth, your touch.

and even as his body trembled, even as he struggled to come down from the high that had just shattered him to pieces, you knew deep down—he still wanted more.

natty's notes ‹𝟹 something new for sure but i just love sub jake so this was a must. hoped you enjoyed!

[covenesme]

This is a really cool video but in the 2 years since this initiative was started, not a lot of progress has been made.

Here is where they show what has been achieved so far: https://www.johnlewis.com/content/happier-futures

These may seem like great numbers on the surface but they kinda fall a bit flat as someone living in the UK. 2.2mil raised seems impressive until you consider the ~5mil they spend just on advertising over the Christmas period. It becomes a laughable number when you consider that John Lewis makes 10BILLION in revenue each year.

Work experience is better than nothing but counts for little and less to employers these days if it’s not paid employment.

Roles offered might just be a weird legal phrasing (maybe they can’t say how many “care-experienced ppl” they actually hired). Glad to see actual roles being offered but the number seems a bit on the low side?

Maybe I’m just a bit jaded given the current cost of living crisis we’re in but this seeeems like a drop in the ocean for a company of John Lewis’ magnitude…

[soulofapatrick]

Don’t Tempt Me - Xaden Riorson x female reader

Summary: Xaden finds you burnt out on the training field 

Warnings: none 

Words: 6k (somehow)

Notes: Not my fave and not proofread

Y/N's POV

The sun hangs low over Basgiath, bleeding gold and deep crimson across the sky, its light casting jagged shadows over the towering battlements. The war college looms around me, its stone walls unyielding, its presence as foreboding as ever. The air is thick with the lingering scent of sweat and scorched leather, remnants of a day spent in brutal training.

The air is thick with the scent of fresh earth and damp stone as I sprint across the training yard, my feet pounding the ground with a rhythm that feels like a heartbeat—a constant reminder of my inadequacies. Sweat drips down my forehead, stinging my eyes, but I refuse to wipe it away. I don’t have time to care about that. I only have time to run.

Over and over, I push myself to the brink, my body screaming in protest, muscles tight with fatigue. My breaths are ragged, desperate for air that feels like it's slowly being stolen from me. But the pain doesn’t matter. It’s nothing compared to the quiet voice inside my head, the one that whispers my doubts and my fears, the one that tells me I’m not enough.

You can’t keep doing this.

It’s Virethalon’s voice. Low, firm, and impossibly calm, like he always is when he sees me teetering on the edge. His presence pulses in my mind, filling the quiet spaces with a calm I can’t find within myself.

Stop, he says again, the warning clear. You’ll burn out before you ever get the chance to fly.

But I ignore him. I have to. I can’t stop, not when the weight of everyone’s expectations hangs so heavily on my shoulders. I can’t afford to be weak. I can’t afford to be what everyone expects—a failure.

My legs scream, my body trembling with every step, but I push harder. Faster. A flip, a backflip, then a roll, twisting midair in an effort to improve my reaction time, my agility. I force my limbs to obey, despite how they beg for rest, despite how my mind is breaking under the strain.

I am not enough. I’m not strong enough to make it here.

Each fall, each misstep echoes the same message in my mind: You don’t belong.

The words are a sting in my chest, sharp and bitter, poisoning the air in front of me. The instructors don’t believe in me, not truly. They’re waiting for me to break, to fail in front of everyone. The other cadets—they’re watching too, eager to see how long I’ll last.

Stop.

Virethalon’s voice is more insistent now, rising with frustration. I know he’s watching, can feel his eyes on me, even though he’s nowhere near. You don’t need to prove anything.

I don’t stop. I can’t. If I stop now, the quiet, haunting voice of failure will take over. If I stop, I’ll feel it—the shame of not being able to meet the impossible standard everyone else expects from me.

The ground shifts beneath me as I sprint forward, my foot catching on something, my body twisting unnaturally in the air. For a split second, time seems to stretch—slow, agonising. And then, I crash.

The world flips. My body slams into the earth, my hands and knees taking the brunt of it. The impact rattles my bones, sharp and unforgiving. My breath is knocked out of me, and for a moment, I just lay there, feeling the tremor of my body as it tries to recover from the shock.

I’m not moving. I can’t move.

Gentle hands find my shoulders before I can even process what’s happening. The pressure is firm yet careful, guiding me, coaxing me into a sitting position. My body trembles from exhaustion, every muscle protesting the movement, every joint aching with the weight of my own failure. I try to steady myself, but the effort makes the world spin, and I can’t seem to get my bearings.

The cold stone beneath me is a cruel reminder of how far I’ve pushed myself. My hands shake, fingers stiff from too much strain, and I finally drop my head, trying to hide the rush of heat that floods my face.

And then, I feel him.

His presence looms over me like a shadow, suffocating and unavoidable. My heart skips a beat, and I immediately wish I could melt into the ground, anything to escape the situation. But it’s too late.

I glance up—my breath catches as I come face to face with him. Xaden Riorson. He stands before me, looking like a damn god, his tall, muscular frame casting a shadow over me. The way his wide shoulders fill out his leather jacket should be illegal. He’s built like someone who’s spent years training and fighting, his chest massive, arms heavily muscled. His dark hair is windblown and tousled, the kind of messy that only makes him look more dangerous. His tawny-brown skin is kissed by the sun, and the dark stubble along his jawline only adds to the rough, untamed look. His eyes—gold-flecked onyx—are locked on mine with an intensity that makes me feel like I’m about to be set ablaze, and I would rather do anything else than face him like this.

I rub my face with both hands, hoping to hide the blush that’s rising to my cheeks. Of all the ways for this to end—of course, it’s Xaden Riorson who catches me. And of course, he looks like that.

“What the hell are you doing?” he growls, his voice a deep rumble of anger that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “You’re an idiot.”

I blink, half-frozen, half in disbelief. The audacity. “Oh, wow. Thank you, Wing Leader,” I drawl, sarcasm practically dripping from my tongue. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Xaden’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t bite back—at least, not yet. Instead, his eyes flicker over me, and I know he’s assessing the damage. My exhaustion. The way I’m trembling, barely able to hold myself upright. It’s the worst feeling in the world. I’m embarrassed as hell that he’s seeing me like this—weak, on the edge of crumbling.

“I told you to stop before you reached this point,” he mutters, shaking his head. There’s an edge of frustration in his tone now, and I can’t decide if I want to hit something or laugh at how he sounds like he’s scolding a child.

“Yeah, well, you know me,” I say, wiping a bead of sweat off my brow, trying to make myself sound more in control than I feel. “Can’t resist proving everyone wrong.” I let out a bitter laugh, the kind that doesn’t reach my eyes. “But, hey, thanks for showing up and saving the day. Just what every soldier needs: an overbearing Wing Leader.”

A flash of something—maybe amusement, maybe exasperation—crosses his face, but it’s gone too quickly for me to read it properly. His dark brows furrow, and he steps closer, invading my space. “You’re burning yourself out. You can’t keep going like this.”

I force myself to sit up straighter, determined not to appear as weak as I feel, but I can’t hide the tremor in my limbs. The ache in my muscles is almost unbearable now, and Virethalon’s voice echoes through my mind—Stop, or you’ll destroy yourself. But I ignore it, as I have for hours.

I grit my teeth. “I don’t need your help, okay? I don’t need anyone’s help.”

I try to push myself to my feet, but my body betrays me, buckling underneath me like a broken chair. I stumble, gasping for breath, my hand reaching out for support but finding nothing.

Xaden’s eyes flash with anger again, but his movements are faster than I can process. He’s at my side in a heartbeat, and before I can even protest, he lifts me up, cradling me against him in one smooth, powerful motion. His arms are like iron around me, and my body, still trembling with exhaustion, goes stiff against him.

“What the hell are you doing?” I gasp, still trying to regain some semblance of control. I push against his chest—unsuccessfully—my arms too weak to do anything more than flop uselessly at my sides. “Put me down, you asshole!”

Xaden doesn’t respond immediately. He doesn’t have to. His grip tightens, holding me effortlessly against him as he carries me toward the barracks. “I told you to stop, but you never listen. So now you’re paying the price.” His tone is laced with annoyance, but there’s something else beneath it—something that makes my heart twist. Maybe it’s concern, maybe it’s guilt, but I can’t focus on that. I’m too busy trying to avoid the heat that floods my face.

“You’re such a prick,” I mutter, my voice half muffled by his chest. I’m so fucking embarrassed, and I hate that I feel this way. His warmth, his scent, is all-consuming, and my skin burns at the contact. But I refuse to admit it. “I don’t need you to carry me like some helpless baby.”

“Funny,” he says, his voice low, “because you sure look like one right now.”

I can practically hear the smirk in his voice, and I want to punch him. I should punch him. But I don’t have the energy, so I settle for biting my lip, muttering curses under my breath as he carries me.

The weight of his presence presses against me, and I can feel his muscles shifting beneath me, each movement of his body reminding me of just how powerful he is. And for all my protests, for all my sarcasm, I don’t want to admit that I’m secretly grateful. Grateful that he’s here. Grateful that he doesn’t let me fall apart.

Even if it means I have to endure his endless teasing.

Xaden’s warm eyes flicker down at me, and this time, there’s something softer there. Almost like...he understands. But I’m too stubborn to let myself believe it.

Xaden doesn’t say a word as he carries me through the barracks, the warmth of his body pressing against mine as I try to ignore the heat rising in my cheeks. I’m too tired to fight it. His presence is too overwhelming, and I can feel his heartbeat steady against me. Every step he takes is calculated, strong, as though it’s second nature for him to carry someone in his arms like this. It’s as if he’s done it a hundred times—though I have to wonder just how many times I’ve crossed his mind before today.

Xaden moves with a quiet grace, his large frame effortlessly navigating the corridors of the dorm building as though he’s done this a thousand times before. He steps softly, almost soundlessly, his footsteps absorbed by the shadows that seem to cling to him like a second skin. My heart races, but it's not from exertion anymore—it's the way he's so effortlessly commanding in everything he does. The weight of his arms around me, the heat radiating from his body, and the way my mind seems to short-circuit whenever I’m near him make it hard to think straight.

We pass the first-year rooms—mine included—and I can’t help but cringe at the thought of being caught sneaking past curfew. But Xaden moves with such precision, such mastery of his surroundings, that the idea of us being caught seems laughable. No one can hear us, no one even notices us. It’s like we’re ghosts, gliding past the rooms, unseen by anyone else.

I briefly wonder how he does it—how he’s so adept at slipping through the shadows, unnoticed, silent. But then, he’s always been a mystery to me. The kind of mystery I’ve never quite been able to figure out. And maybe, in a way, I don't want to.

Finally, we reach the staircase that leads to the upper floors, and with a swift glance in either direction, Xaden steps into the shadows, carrying me effortlessly up the stairs. We move past the landing and down the hallway to the last door—the one I know leads to his room. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t pause, and with a final quiet push of the door, we’re inside.

Xaden doesn’t put me down right away. His arms remain around me, his hold firm, as if he’s unwilling to let go. As if, for a brief moment, he’s afraid to lose the connection. The closeness between us feels suffocating, overwhelming, and yet I can’t bring myself to pull away. Every inch of my body is acutely aware of his presence, the heat of his skin seeping into mine, the muscle and strength in his arms keeping me held too close. I can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against me, mirroring the frantic pulse racing through my veins.

His dark eyes meet mine, and I swear, for a second, everything else falls away. His gaze is fierce, like a storm trapped behind his irises, flickering with a raw intensity that sends a wave of heat rushing through me. I’m suddenly aware of how painfully close we are—so close that if I moved even an inch, I’d be pressed against him completely. My breath catches, and I can’t look away, trapped in the gravity of his stare, like he’s pulling me toward him without even trying. And then, as if trying to fight whatever is building between us, his eyes flicker to my lips, and I feel it—the pull—stronger than anything I’ve ever felt.

But just as quickly as the moment seems to rise, he jerks his gaze away, his jaw tightening with the effort to control himself. It’s like he’s trying to push back the part of him that’s aware—aware of the magnetic pull between us, aware of how much he’s been fighting this… whatever this is. He shakes his head slightly, as though dismissing the thought entirely, like he’s trying to shut down the desire that flares in him. But I see it in his eyes—the flicker of something primal. Something I can’t ignore.

Finally, he sets me down, but he doesn’t let go immediately. He’s still so close that I can feel his breath on my skin, a whisper of warmth against the cold, the tension stretching taut between us, like a string pulled too tight. My pulse races as I settle onto the bed, the soft covers pressing against me, but my chest feels like it’s about to burst. I try to catch my breath, but it’s like the air in the room has thickened, heavy with unsaid words and the suffocating weight of everything unsaid.

Xaden doesn’t back away. He hovers, towering over me, his presence suffusing the space around us. I can feel the heat radiating off him, his body just a breath away, and every inch of me is screaming to close the distance. But I don’t move. I’m not sure I can. His nearness makes every part of me ache, makes every nerve light up, thrumming with the raw electricity that crackles between us.

His voice cuts through the thick silence, deep and steady, but there’s something almost... softer now, something gentler that makes my heart stutter. “Stay here,” he commands, his words pressing down on me like a physical weight, making my chest tighten. The force of his tone is undeniable, but there’s an undercurrent of something else—something that makes my stomach flutter. Something dangerous and thrilling all at once. "Be a good girl. Don’t go anywhere.”

I feel those words in my bones, in the very marrow of my being. The way he says it—it’s like a promise, a command that makes my heart race faster than it should. And yet, there’s a tenderness beneath it, a strange gentleness that pulls at me, twists my insides into knots. He wants to keep me here, close. He wants to possess this moment with me, even though I can feel the struggle in him—his body yearning to cross the line, but his mind pulling him back, trying to control what’s growing between us.

His gaze holds mine, unwavering, and I swear I see something break in his eyes—something raw and unspoken. It’s as if he’s holding himself back from doing something he knows would be too much, too dangerous. But the look in his eyes tells me everything I need to know: the battle is far from over, and this tension—this charge—it’s only just beginning.

I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. Every muscle in my body is taut, every nerve alive with an electric hum. Xaden disappears into the adjoining ensuite, his heavy footsteps echoing softly across the stone floor. I can hear the gentle hiss of the water filling the tub, the steady flow of it working in rhythm with the hammering of my heart. The tension between us lingers, the silence more suffocating now than ever before, and I can’t shake the feeling of his gaze still lingering on me even as he disappears from the room.

I should feel grateful for the space—should breathe, slow my pulse—but all I can think of is him. The way he’s so effortlessly commanding, yet there’s this softness beneath it that I can't quite place. The way he had looked at me, his expression a battle between restraint and something far more intense.

My fingers twitch, almost compulsively, and I reach for my boots, needing to do something. My body is still shaking from the exertion, from the near-collapse, and now my brain feels fuzzy, the exhaustion creeping in faster than I expected. I should just wait, I know I should, but I feel... out of control. I need to regain some semblance of normalcy, something to anchor me.

I struggle to bend down, but my balance is still far off from the punishment I just put my body through. My vision swims a little, and before I can register what’s happening, my body tips forward, sending me sprawling from the edge of the bed with a yelp. The floor greets me hard, and a shock of pain shoots up my spine, but it's nothing compared to the embarrassment that floods through me in waves. My pulse spikes, and I scramble, feeling utterly ridiculous.

A sharp, almost instinctive growl of frustration rises in the air—Xaden. He’s already moving quickly, a blur of motion as he rushes back into the room, his broad form filling the doorway in an instant. His dark eyes sweep over me, a flicker of concern passing through them, but it’s quickly replaced with something harder—almost irritated.

"You really are a disaster, aren't you?" His voice is deep, but there's a teasing bite to it, even as he crosses the room toward me in strides that eat up the distance. I can’t even find it in me to be offended. I’m too busy feeling like a complete fool.

Before I can open my mouth to respond, he’s crouching in front of me, his hands reaching for my arms to steady me. The sheer strength in his touch almost knocks the wind out of me as he helps me back onto my feet, the warmth of his hands traveling through my skin and straight to my chest. He doesn’t say anything else, but the way his eyes linger on me for a moment, as though making sure I’m okay, sends something fluttering nervously in my stomach.

“Try not to break anything else, would you?” His voice is softer now, as though the weight of the moment has finally broken through that icy exterior of his. His lips curve into a smirk, but there’s no denying the genuine care beneath the sarcasm.

Xaden moves with quiet precision, his hands wrapping around my waist, gentle but firm, as he guides me toward the bed. The heat from his touch lingers on my skin, and despite everything, I can't help but shiver. His grip is unyielding, his presence surrounding me, and as I sit on the edge of the bed, he stands in front of me, towering over me. The dim light from the room casts shadows across his features, making him look even more intimidating than usual, but there’s something in his eyes that betrays the mask he’s trying so hard to maintain.

His hands rest on my knees for a moment, and his gaze flickers to mine. There’s a question there, unspoken, something almost vulnerable beneath that stoic expression. I can see the battle waging in his eyes. He doesn’t want to touch me—at least, that’s what his expression says. But his eyes… those eyes of molten gold flecked with onyx… they betray him, flashing with an intensity I can’t quite read.

And then, in a moment that feels both like an eternity and a breath, Xaden sinks to his knees in front of me. The movement is fluid, almost too graceful, and my heart skips a beat. It feels wrong to be this close, too intimate. His presence is overwhelming, and I can feel the tension in the room thickening with every inch of space he closes between us.

Xaden kneels before me, his hands gentle but firm as he removes my boots. His touch is careful, almost reverent, but the tension is unmistakable. Each movement is deliberate, like he's holding himself back from something. The weight of his gaze on me is intense—smouldering, even—and I can feel every inch of him watching, noticing, memorising.

As he pulls off the second boot, his fingers brush against my calf, sending a jolt through me. My breath catches, and I instinctively tense, but it's more from the electric charge between us than the discomfort of my body. I don’t know why it affects me like this—this man who’s never once been shy about hiding the way he feels or thinking that his touch doesn’t matter—but in this moment, it matters. It matters more than it should.

He looks up then, his gaze locking onto mine. The heat in his eyes is unmistakable, a dark storm brewing just beneath the surface. His brow furrows slightly, and for a split second, I wonder if he’s questioning something—me, himself, what we’re both doing here, like this. But then his eyes flick lower, and I can see the hesitation there, a silent question that hangs in the air between us.

His fingers hover at the waistband of my tracksuit bottoms, brushing lightly against my hips. The touch is almost too soft, as if he’s trying to gauge my reaction before crossing a line that’s already dangerously blurred. He doesn’t say a word—he doesn’t have to. The question is in his eyes, in the way his lips part ever so slightly, in the subtle tension in his jaw. It’s an unspoken request, one that I know all too well.

I can feel the pulse of uncertainty in my veins, but something about this—about him—makes me lower my defences, just a little. Without even thinking, I raise my hips slightly, just enough to give him the signal. My movement is small, almost imperceptible, but it's enough. His breath hitches, and I can see the way his eyes flicker, a momentary loss of control before he tightens his grip on his composure.

Xaden exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath all this time, and I can see it in his expression—the struggle between what he wants and what he’s trying so hard to resist. His fingers slide beneath the waistband of my tracksuit bottoms, and I feel the slightest tremor in his touch. He’s slow, deliberate, like he’s savouring the moment, but also like he’s afraid that if he moves too quickly, the entire thing might shatter.

The air between us crackles with an electric tension, and as he helps me out of the fabric, I’m left feeling exposed in a way that’s more than physical. My heartbeat is louder than anything else, pounding in my ears, and for a moment, I forget about the aches in my body, the bruises, the exhaustion. It’s as though the world has narrowed to just us. Just this. And I can’t seem to pull away from him, from the way he makes me feel, from the way his hands linger a little too long at the edge of my clothing, as if to remind me that he sees me—every part of me.

I know it’s not supposed to feel this way, not like this. But every glance, every touch, every quiet, unspoken word between us is enough to unravel the careful walls I’ve built. And yet, even as he pulls the tracksuit bottoms off, his hands gentle but insistent, there’s something else in his eyes—something that tells me he’s fighting every urge to touch me, to kiss me. But he doesn’t. He never does.

I can’t decide whether that makes it harder or easier.

And when he finishes, leaving me in nothing but my sports bra and panties, I feel more vulnerable than I’ve ever been—completely at his mercy, exposed in more ways than one. The air is thick with unspoken words, and even as I sit there, trying to catch my breath, I know this isn’t over.

Xaden lets out a frustrated sound, a low, throaty growl that resonates deep in his chest. His breath stutters as his forehead falls gently to my thigh, the weight of it anchoring me in place. The intensity of the moment is suffocating, like the world around us has slowed to a stop, leaving only the two of us, tangled in something we can’t deny. His hands are gripping the edge of the bed, his knuckles white, and I can feel the tension in his body, a tight coil of restraint and hunger.

And then, in one swift, desperate motion, he surges upward, his lips crashing against mine. There’s no warning, no hesitation. Just pure, raw need. His mouth takes mine with a fierce intensity that leaves me breathless, as though he’s been holding back for far too long and now there’s no more control. It’s like he’s been starved for this—starved for me—and he doesn’t want to let me go, not even for a second.

I kiss him back with everything I have, my hands finding the sides of his face, pulling him closer, as if I can’t get enough. Every part of me feels alive with the heat between us, my skin tingling where his fingers brush against it, my heart thudding erratically in my chest. He tastes like fire—burning hot, consuming—and I can’t help but fall into him, into the kiss, into the feeling of him. I can feel the weight of his body pressing against mine, the strength of him, but it’s not overbearing. It’s grounding, like he’s pulling me into his orbit.

His hands move quickly, urgently, as if he’s afraid the moment will slip away from him. Before I can fully comprehend what’s happening, he’s lifting me effortlessly from the bed, and suddenly I’m straddling his thighs. His hands settle on my hips, holding me in place, the heat of his body radiating into mine. I can feel the way his pulse races beneath his skin, the way his chest rises and falls against mine. The kiss deepens, growing even more frantic, and I don’t know whether it’s the intensity of it or the way he’s holding me that makes everything else feel so insignificant.

He pulls me closer, his hands guiding me with a possessive, yet gentle touch, and I can feel the thrum of energy between us, something electric, something undeniable. My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him closer, and the sound of his breathing, his heavy exhales, fills the space between us. I can hear the way he’s fighting for control, the way his muscles tighten with the effort of keeping his composure.

But I don’t want him to. I don’t want him to hold back.

I don’t want him to fight it anymore.

I can feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of my sports bra, his chest pressing against mine with each movement, and I’m acutely aware of how close we are, how easy it would be to lose ourselves completely in this. And yet, even as we continue kissing, tangled in each other’s embrace, there’s a part of me that’s still unsure, still trying to catch up with everything happening around me. But when his hands slide down to my thighs, gripping them with such possessiveness, that uncertainty melts away, replaced by a heady rush of desire.

The kiss breaks, but just for a moment, both of us gasping for air. His lips hover above mine, and I can see the raw intensity in his eyes, a mixture of frustration and something else—something far more tender, even if it’s buried beneath the layers of urgency.

"Don't stop," he mutters, his voice rough and low. His hands tighten around me, pulling me against him, as if he’s trying to make sure I’m real. “Please don’t stop.”

And all I can do is nod, my chest still rising and falling with the rapid pace of my heart. I don't want to stop either.

The air between us feels thick with heat, charged with a tension that I don't want to break, even as the reality of what we’re doing begins to settle in. Xaden’s hands are still firm on my hips, his grip tightening with every shift of my body, and I can feel every muscle in his form, every bit of control he's holding onto, fighting to stay composed. He pulls me closer again, the fabric of my sports bra barely separating us, his chest brushing against mine as he presses his forehead to mine, both of us gasping for breath.

The heat from his skin, the closeness of his body, is too much to ignore. It's overwhelming in the best way. I can hear my own pulse hammering in my ears, feel the electricity between us that neither of us can escape. He looks at me, his gold-flecked eyes searching mine, his breath ragged as if he's barely holding on to the edge of whatever control he has left.

I can't stop myself from raising my hand to touch his face, my fingers trailing down the line of his jaw, tracing the hard curve of his chin, feeling the roughness of his stubble. The tenderness in my touch makes him shiver, his breath catching in his throat, and for a brief second, everything else fades. There’s no training, no curfew, no expectations—just the two of us, caught in something far more complex than either of us ever intended.

His lips brush against mine once more, a soft, tentative kiss, but it feels more intimate than the previous fiery moments. It's full of the unspoken things, the feelings we've been hiding, buried beneath layers of duty and unacknowledged desire. Xaden pulls back slowly, just enough to look at me, his eyes heavy with something unreadable.

"I—" he starts, his voice thick with emotion, but I stop him, my fingers pressing gently to his lips.

“I know," I whisper. "I know, Xaden. We don’t need to say it.”

The words hang in the air between us, unspoken yet understood. He looks at me, really looks at me, and for once, there’s no pretension, no walls between us. Just a moment of raw honesty.

But then, he pulls back just a fraction, his hands slowly loosening their grip on me, as if reluctant to let go but knowing he has to. His eyes soften, a flicker of something tender passing over his features before he runs a hand through his windblown hair, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“You should rest,” he murmurs, though there’s a trace of something unreadable in his voice. “You’ve pushed yourself too hard tonight.”

I nod, feeling the weight of his words as the adrenaline from our moment starts to ebb away, leaving me with a sense of vulnerability, of exhaustion I hadn’t realised had been creeping up on me. My body is still sore from the training, but now, there’s an ache of a different kind, a deep, resonating need I’m not sure how to deal with.

“You’re right,” I murmur, my voice hoarse. “About that bath…”

Xaden’s hands gently guide me to my feet, his fingers lingering on my hips just a moment longer than necessary, as if making sure I’m steady before he lets go. His touch is firm but considerate, grounding me, reminding me that he’s here, present, in this moment. I almost wish he didn’t have to pull away so soon, but the space between us feels impossible to close for reasons I can’t quite name.

With a soft grunt, Xaden rises to his full height, towering over me for a moment before he reaches down and picks me up again, effortlessly moving me toward the bed. His strong arms encircle my waist, and I feel the heat radiating from his chest, the power in his body that he keeps so carefully controlled. He sets me down gently on the edge of the mattress, the softness of the sheets a stark contrast to the tension that still crackles in the air between us.

I sit there for a moment, watching him, as he turns toward the bathroom, his broad back stretching as he moves, his muscular frame rippling with every step. His windblown black hair falls just above his collar, and I can't help but stare at the way he walks—confident, purposeful, but there’s an undercurrent of something, a quiet storm inside him that’s barely contained.

The silence feels heavy, too heavy, until I finally speak up, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

“... Maybe you could join me?”

The moment they leave my mouth, time seems to slow. Xaden freezes in his tracks, his hand hovering over the doorframe, his back to me. For a breathless second, I wonder if he didn’t hear me, if the words just got lost in the space between us. But then, the tension in his body is palpable. His shoulders tighten, his jaw clenches, and I watch as a low, almost imperceptible sound slips from his throat—a frustrated, breathy exhale that he seems to be holding back with all his strength.

He doesn’t turn around right away, but when he does, his eyes meet mine, and there's a flicker of something dangerous there. It’s not anger. It’s hunger—raw, palpable, and so intense that it sends a shiver down my spine. I can't look away, can't tear my gaze from his. The silence between us stretches, thickening, until I can almost feel the heat coming off of him.

"You really want that?" His voice is low, a little strained, like he's trying to rein himself in. There's a slight tremor in his hands, and his posture is tense, like a coil ready to snap. He’s trying to keep himself in check, and I know he’s holding back everything he wants to say, everything he wants to do. But there's something in his eyes, a flicker of vulnerability, of yearning, that betrays the composure he’s trying so hard to maintain.

I nod slowly, heart pounding in my chest as I search his face, looking for any sign of hesitation, any clue that I’ve crossed a line. But there’s none. Instead, he takes a step toward me, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he’s waiting for me to stop him, to give him some sort of excuse to turn back. But I don’t.

I don’t know what happens next, only that the space between us feels like it’s been stretched so thin that it could snap at any moment. Xaden is so close now, his presence overwhelming, and I can’t breathe, not properly. All I can do is stare at him, feel the pull, the need between us, and wonder if he can feel it too.

“Don’t tempt me,” he mutters under his breath, before stepping into the bathroom, leaving me to wonder if he’ll give in, if he’ll actually let this tension between us break.

Part Two ⇒ Giving Into Temptation

Fourth Wing Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

@xadenswhore @fanficscuziranout @daisydark @Mariahoedt @marrass @

[mellowyellow236]

How would the TWST boys act when they’re jealous?

This is Diasomnia's section- Link to Heartslabyul. All characters are meant to be interpreted as romantic. The reader is gender-neutral. There may be mild spoilers as to who overblots and other facts. Some of them might have Yandere tendencies, though nothing graphic or descriptive and always very mild, they’ll be marked with a ‘Y’ if they do. Mainly because sometimes the boys are calm and talk through their feelings… And sometimes they go down possessive insecurity-included spirals. If anyone has anything to add or any questions, please leave a reblog or comment! Requests are open if anyone wants. 

Malleus Draconia - 

Malleus gets jealous very, very easily. He loves you, obviously, but he’s a dragon. You’re a part of his horde. And just like his gold and jewels and artifacts, he’s not willing to let you be stolen away from him, in any way. 

He desires you. You’re his crown jewel, a shining star, the only light in the darkness. His entire life, his one true friend and lover. And he knows- He hates it so much- But he knows that you’ll leave him one day. He will outlive you. You will leave him. So do whatever it is you need to punish him for acting out, but he’ll be the one in a casket before he gives up your meager time to anyone else. 

He’s in love, and you couldn’t possibly deny him, could you? Please don’t. He knows that you have your friends, that he can’t be your only. But don’t deny him the right to love you in whatever way will make them leave- If they are intimidated by your love, let it happen. Let it happen. Let them leave you, Malleus never will.

Lilia Vanrouge - 

Hey, Beastie… Who are ya with there? A friend? Oh, how cute! You think that he’s going to get jealous, don’t you? Well, guess what? Lilia isn’t in the slightest! Why, you’re so silly, Beastie! 

What? That wasn’t an attempt at making Lilia jealous? You’re telling him that man right there honestly likes you. You? Why, no, you’re not the undesirable one. You’re beautiful in every way. But that’s Lilia’s job- To make you feel special, to make you feel good, to make you feel loved- And that man thinks he can replace him in it. He thinks he could do better than Lilia could. 

How dare he. Lilia will whisk you off your feet and away at the drop of a hat. He’s an old Fae who never believed he could feel something as simple as jealousy for a human but now look at him. Look at him craving you, look at him loving you, look at him holding you close, so close, until you leave him the same way his other lovers did. But please. Look at him. 

Silver “Vanrouge” - (I am sorry Silver fans, the boy did not want to be written in Headcanon form)

Silver was stretching in the back of the gym as he spied you walking in. It wasn’t odd for you to be there, of course, you would often come in and say hello to him. He expected you to do the same that day, so he paid no mind as you talked to another student first. You shared your last class of the day with him, no? So it wasn’t weird. 

But then another student comes up and joins your conversation. You’re popular- You deserve to be popular- So Silver still isn’t shocked. You are allowed to have more friends than him and a large amount of friends and fun activities is a sign of healthy living. 

It isn’t until you’ve spent half the period and Silver still hasn’t gotten onto his broom as he waits for you to come over that he takes matters into his own hands. He easily walks up to you, putting a hand on your shoulder, and as you push into him he easily melts back into you, all of his jealousy pouring away as your attention has returned to its rightful place. 

Sebek Zigvolt - 

Sebek doesn’t recognize that he’s jealous, no matter how obvious it is. He’s only caring for you because he has to. You are merely a silly little human, much weaker than a half-fae like him. And then you go off with a different human! You two together could never compare to him, so why is it that you’re not by his side? 

Human! How dare you go off without Sebek there, you could be hurt! While he might not care for you at all, you are liked by the great Wakasama, and thus you must be protected for the sake of his lord’s honor. If Sebek’s weakness made Malleus cry, what could ever become of him? How can you not see that? 

Oh, you were with Malleus…? But… Sebek still needs to protect his lord, even if you are not there! He can defend himself from any magical threats, but he… might… be hurt by you and your weak human feelings! How would you be able to hurt Wakasama…? Shut up, human! Your mind simply cannot comprehend the horrors that he must plan for as his lord’s future guard!

[bbywriter]

amateur | c. sturniolo

summary: back in LA, nick and chris, your long distance boyfriend, stumble upon a silly little vlog you left them from boston.

pairing: christopher sturniolo x fem!reader

warnings: just some cutesy fluff

notes: ahh hi everyone this is my first ever fic! i’m kinda nervous but also really excited, pls let me know what u think <3

word count: 800

———

It’s late Thursday night, and Nick is buried in editing their upcoming Friday vlog. This week’s video compiles the boys’ most recent trip back home to Boston. While scrubbing through the raw footage, he stumbles upon an unexpected clip—one clearly not meant for the final cut.

The video begins with you holding the camera, your voice uncertain as you fiddle with the buttons. “Uh… I don’t even know if this is recording properly,” you say, the shot capturing nothing but your slightly out-of-focus bedroom. The camera wobbles a little before the clip abruptly ends. Nick smiles, calling over his brother. “Chris, come look at this.”

Chris gets up from his seat at the dining table, curiosity pulling him towards his brother in the living room. He settles beside Nick on the couch before the next clip plays. This time, your face appears on the screen as you hold the camera an arms length away. “Good morning guys—Oh my god this quality is insane I can see every single one of my pores,” you mutter, leaning in closer to examine your skin on the tiny viewfinder. After a second, you abruptly flash a peace sign and pucker your lips, before laughing at yourself. “Ew, Nick please leave this out.”

Chris can’t help but smile, his chest tightening with an overwhelming fondness at the sight of you. The soft Boston sunrise filters through the open blinds, washing your room in a warm, golden light. Sunbeams stream gently from behind you, casting a soft halo around your face. You’ve clearly just woken up—your voice is still heavy with sleep, your hair tousled, and your eyes half-closed. But even through the screen, despite it all, you have Chris completely captivated.

The video continues into your makeshift vlog, where you update the camera on your plans for the day—attending a 10am lecture followed by a three-hour lab that starts at 1pm. Halfway through, you get sidetracked by a story from last week’s lab, laughing as you recount how your friend accidentally burnt her eyelash extensions from holding the Bunsen burner too close to her face.

Chris already heard this story the day it initially happened, but he could listen to you tell it a hundred times again. Watching the way your eyes literally smile before the rest of your face follows, and hearing the sweetest sound of your laughter—he could never get tired of it.

The clip stretches on for nearly six minutes as you get distracted by all the little things you suddenly remember you want to share. Finally, you circle back to the reason you’re filming in the first place—explaining how you found the camera in your purse while searching for your wallet to put in your backpack.

“Chris, you must have forgotten it in my purse when you dropped me off yesterday, but I’ll just give it to you guys when I see you later. But yeah… how was your guys’ day?” you ask, fully leaning into the content creator persona. It takes a second of realization before you cringe, your nose scrunching with visible embarrassment as you cover your eyes with your free hand. “I’m literally talking to this camera like it’s gonna answer me. This is so weird, I don’t know how you guys do this.”

Chris lets out a soft laugh, finding your awkward struggle for something that’s second nature to him so endearing.

You sigh softly and glance off-screen. “God I really hope that all recor—oh shit, ‘battery low, please connect to power’,” you read off the viewfinder. “Oh I think it’s gonna die soon. Okay, bye guys! Chris, bye baby! Love you, please text me if you saw this!”

You obnoxiously pucker your lips, leaning in to kiss the lens with a dramatic smooching sound, but just before it lands, the camera cuts off as the battery gives out. Chris stares at the screen, his heart swelling so big in his chest it feels like it would explode.

Nick nudges him, giggling. “Dude, she’s so bad at this.”

“Shut up,” Chris says, biting back a smile. “Send me those.”

Nick glances at his brother as he airdrops him the clips and teases. “Wipe that stupid grin off your face, you look like an idiot.”

But Chris doesn’t hear him. Instead he immediately screenshots the last frame—a blurry but perfect shot of your goofy kiss. Without hesitation, he sets the photo as his new wallpaper, then finds your contact.

Baby: You should start a channel baby

Baby: Gotta teach you more about the camera though haha this vid was a little ridiculous

He sends the screenshot he took.

Baby: This was cute though

Baby: You’re beautiful

Baby: Love you❤️

Baby: Miss you

He sends the last message, knowing you’re back in Boston and likely asleep by now. Still, he can’t help but smile at his phone, already counting down the days until he can see you again. 

—

A/N: hi guyss :) this was just something quick i thought of, inspired by a clip from the boys’ vlog i came across the other day where madi was randomly filming their dining table or something lol. pls let me know what u think ahhh this was so fun!!!

[fanzou]

✗ Genre: Smut

“What, best friends don’t fuck?” He poses the questions so innocently, like it’s nothing. He’s kneeling between your legs and his very prominent bulge is inches close to you.

“S-Sanji…” You’re blushing like a damn virgin, “If someone finds us out—”

“—But they won’t, we’ll be quiet, princess. Trust me.” He’s rubbing his broad hand across your lap and your skirt is threatening to expose so much more than you wanted it to, and you’d venture to think that’s exactly what he was trying to make happen.

You’re nervous, only because anyone could walk right through that wooden door into the dark room you both were in. Sanji doesn’t give a shit, and it’s written all over his face and body.

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay, fine… but make it quick alright?”

His breath hitches, and you can see his muscles relax a little bit over your demand. He’s waited so long for this and tonight was the perfect night to finally make a move. Everyone was drunk out their mind anyways, so it didn’t matter. You were the only two fully conscious on board, though the concept seems surprising.

He’s removing his belt, and his long fingers moving so skillfully makes the heat in between your legs so much more noticeable. It’s practically radiating off of you and Sanji digs his thigh closer between your legs.

You didn’t wanna seem eager but the image in front of you was nothing short of exciting and it’s getting you to almost hypnotically move your hands to take off your panties while the man across from you already had his cock sprung and ready to put inside of you. What can he say? You told him to make it quick.

With your bare cunt facing him and your legs spread wide, you’re practically begging him to start his attack. Even though this was something that he wanted to make special, thoughtful and something never to forget, he guessed this could suffice.

Sanji lines himself up, and presses his cock against you. The intrusion was so much more than you thought it’d be. And it feels amazing. Amazing in the worst and best ways, the way it fully splits you and stuffs you all the same. It’s pleasurable and painful at the same time.

But you can’t let anyone sniff you both out. You’ll just have to get your quick orgasm in before anyone starts to suspect where you both have run off to. “Fuuuuuck… g-go… faster.”

And so he obeys, so much for truly being able to relish it.

He’s hardly a man who liked to be rushed during sex, his curved cock is grazing your insides just a little rougher than when he started and the whimper you let out proves it. “D-Don’t worry my love… next time… it’ll be so much more better. But I couldn’t stand it anymore. ‘Really fuckin’ needed you… oh shit.”

Your pleasure subsides for a second trying to puzzle together his insinuation, but then you hear something; footsteps.

Your eyes widen and dart at the door, then to Sanji, but he doesn’t care, he just comes closer to you and puts hand over your mouth. His grin gets wider and wider.

And he’s fucking you so much more quieter but there’s so much power in his thrusts, he tries not to push against your thighs too much because he knows the slapping will probably alert whoever was walking towards your room. He sloppily tries covering your sides with a blanket, this’ll work, he says, and he’s back to fucking you just a little harder than he did before.

You make it known to him, vocally, that you really appreciated the gesture.

The footsteps get louder and closer to where you can almost feel the vibrations off the floor. Sanji’s hand is like tape around your mouth, he wants you quiet but he fucks you like he’s daring you. He looks at you, then he looks to the door.

The steps are right by the door now, and they stop. Your heart drops.

“Where do you think shitty cook’s gone? Need him to get me some more booze.”

Sanji’s ecstatic. Like he wants Zoro to walk in, walk in on you getting fucked like your life depended on it. And you could sit here and pretend that you were absolutely in great terror of being found out by someone about the predicament you were in, but your pussy told the truth.

Much to Sanji’s disappointment, his sloppy and drunk footsteps walk the other direction. He removes his hand and watches your frustrated expression manifest.

You were clenching around him tighter and tighter and he knew exactly what that meant for you, the closer proximity between his cock in your tightened cunt made him feel like reeling into his own orgasm.

“You wanted him to walk in. Didn’t y-you? Yeah. You’re so d-dirty… ‘Wanted this more than me, huh princess?”

You could only take so much dirty talk. “Saaaaaaanji… stop talking… oh—” he pushes impossibly deep inside of you, and that’s when you let go. It was too much.

You squirted everywhere. And that was an understatement. It was bad. Like a lot of it went onto the floor and you’d have to clean it immediately after. But for now, Sanji’s chasing his own high. “You’re so… perfect. Fuck you’re amazing. Where do you want me, beautiful?” His thrusts get messy and the blanket is long gone, his skin on yours.

Not wanting anymore mess and a more obvious crime scene, “Just c-cum on my—fuck—stom-ach.

He obeys, and pulls out, he strokes himself on your stomach, with some of it pulling into your belly button. “Yeeees princeeeeess, oh shit…”

His chest is moving up and down and he stares at you lovingly before he smiles, it’s a genuine one, not laced with anything impure or malicious this time, fortunately for you. He’s back to normal Sanji.

“So… what would you have done if he walked in?” You ask him, genuinely curious.

“He’s plastered so, would’ve just made him watch us fuck. He probably wouldn’t have remembered it anyway.” He lays down next to you. “And if he did? ‘Nother thing to hold over his head.” You nuzzle into his chest for the short duration of time you had.

✗ A/N: Was drunk writing this. Do not mind the grammatical errors if there is any.

[nilla03]

“ 𝐴 𝑃𝑅𝐼𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐸𝑅𝑆 𝑇𝑂𝑈𝐶𝐻“ 𝑃𝑇 2

𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒

𝑃𝑙𝑜𝑡：𝑡𝑜𝑗𝑖 𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑙 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑠

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 ： 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑥， 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑔𝑒， 𝑡𝑜𝑗𝑖 𝑗𝑒𝑟𝑘𝑖𝑛 𝐼𝑇

Your hands shake as you zip up your tiny pink skirt, adjusting it in the mirror before smoothing your hands over the fabric. It’s short—too short for a prison visit—but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when you know who you’re going to see.

Ever since you sent those pictures—posing all sweet and shy in the mirror, nothing but lace hugging your curves—you’ve been waiting for a response. A letter. A call. Something. But days passed, and there was nothing.

You swipe a glossy pink lip oil over your pout, pouting at your reflection. Your lashes are long, curled just the way he likes them. Your little off-the-shoulder top hugs your curves, the lacy fabric delicate against your skin. Even your nails—freshly done, soft pink French tips—are perfect.

It’s a little embarrassing how much time you spent getting ready. But Toji always notices.

His voice echoes in your head, teasing and dark. You can already hear him smirking, already see the way he’ll lean back in his chair, eyes dragging over your figure like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

With one last glance in the mirror, you grab your purse, slipping on your pink platform heels before heading out the door.

As you drive to the prison, anticipation coils in your belly. You know he’s been thinking about you. Know you got under his skin. But what you don’t know—what makes your breath quicken—is what Toji’s going to do about it.

You shouldn’t feel this nervous. It’s not like it’s your first time visiting Toji. But today… today is different

Your heart pounds as you sit in the cold prison visitation room, your manicured fingers anxiously tracing the hem of your tiny pink skirt. The guards had already given you side-eyes when you walked in, but you didn’t care. You knew exactly who you were here for—and exactly what you did to him.

Toji steps into the room, his towering frame making your breath hitch the moment he locks eyes with you. He looks hungry.

He drops into the chair across from you, forearms resting on the table, his gray jumpsuit stretching over thick muscles. His gaze flickers down—your soft thighs peeking beneath your skirt, your little off-the-shoulder top hugging every curve. And then, finally, he speaks.

“Got your lil gift.” His voice is low, a dark rasp that sends a shiver up your spine. “Those pictures you sent me.”

Your stomach flips. You can barely hold his stare.

“Oh?” His smirk deepens, licking his teeth as he leans in closer. “Where was all that attitude when you were spread out for me in those pictures ?”

You swallow hard, gripping the table, your face burning. “I—I just thought you’d like them…”

Toji chuckles, slow and deep. “Like them? Nah, baby, I loved them.” He tilts his head, eyes dark with something unreadable. “Made it real hard to focus in here, though. You know that?”

You shift in your seat, thighs pressing together under his heated stare. “I… I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

He exhales through his nose, his tongue clicking. “Yeah? Then why’d you leave me hanging, huh?” His fingers drum against the table. “No letter after? No call? Thought maybe my pretty little girl was feelin’ guilty for teasing me like that.”

You shake your head quickly. “N-No, I wasn’t—”

“Mm. Good.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “’Cause when I get out, you’re gonna be giving me a lot more than pictures, baby.”

Your breath stutters, and before you can say anything else, the guard signals that your time is up.

Toji leans back, smirking. “I’ll be callin’ you later. Pick up fast, yeah?”

Later that night, your phone buzzes. You’re curled up in bed, still warm from the memory of his voice. You don’t even check the caller ID before answering.

“Y—you’re calling already?”

A deep chuckle rumbles through the speaker. “Of course I am, baby.” His voice is even darker now, thick with something dangerous. Something you might not be ready for.

“think you can just look all pretty for me and sleep all peaceful, huh?” His tone is almost mocking, but there’s a heat behind it that makes your thighs squeeze together.

Toji chuckles, and you hear a slow, deliberate exhale through the speaker. There's a rustling sound, and then a quiet, low groan that makes your skin prickle.

Your stomach flips. "Toji... what are you doing?"

"What's it sound like, baby?" His voice is thick, teasing, taunting. "Got my hand wrapped around my cock, thinkin' about how fuckin' sweet you looked today."

Toji exhales sharply, the phone picking up the faint sound of skin dragging over skin. "wearin' that little skirt, like you didn't want me to be thinkin' about this all day."

You press your thighs together, your voice barely above a whisper. "I-I wasn't—"

“Mm-mm.” He cuts you off, voice like gravel. “Nah, pretty girl. You got me all riled up. So now? You’re gonna keep me company while I take care of it.”

Your breath catches. “W-What—”

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, voice sending a thrill down your spine. “Be a good girl. You owe me after all that teasing.”

Your hands shake as you press your phone to your ear, barely able to breathe as Toji’s deep, raspy voice slides through the speaker.

“You didn’t really think I was just gonna let you get away with that, did you?”

You shift under your blankets, body already heating up. You know exactly what he means—those pictures you sent him. The ones where you wore nothing but the tiniest lace panties, posing so sweetly for him, biting your lip like you were waiting for his hands on you instead.

You hadn’t heard from him after sending them, and for a moment, you thought maybe you went too far. But now? The dark amusement in his tone tells you everything.

“I—” You swallow hard. “I didn’t know if you liked them…”

Toji chuckles, slow and deep, like he can hear the way your breath stutters. “Liked them?” He tsks. “Baby, I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about them since I got ‘em. You know how hard it is sittin’ in a cell, knowin’ my pretty girl is out there touchin’ herself instead of waitin’ for me?”

Your thighs squeeze together. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie.” His voice drops lower, all rough edges and dark promise. “I know you, baby. Know you got needy after takin’ those pictures. Bet you played with that cute little pussy right after, huh?”

You let out the softest whimper, your face burning. You did.

“That’s what I thought.” His breathing is heavier now, a slow inhale like he’s savoring the sound of you unraveling. “You like teasin’ me, don’t you?”

“N-No,” you whisper, but it’s useless.

Toji chuckles, voice like sin. “Mm. You sure about that, pretty girl? Walked into that visitation room today wearin’ that little skirt, actin’ all shy after what you did. Like you wanted me to sit there and think about it all night.”

You shudder, fingers twisting in the sheets. You had worn it for him, just to see that dark gleam in his eyes, just to feel small under his hungry stare.

“Toji…” You don’t even know what you’re asking for, but the need in your voice is obvious.

“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dangerous. “You need me?”

You nod before realizing he can’t see you. “Y-Yeah…”

“That’s my girl,” he hums. There’s a rustling sound on the other end, the faintest hitch in his breath. “Then keep me company, princess. Let me hear how sweet you sound when you touch yourself.”

Your breath catches. “W-What—”

“You heard me.” His voice is calm, dark. Commanding. “Made me sit in my fuckin’ cell, thinkin’ about you all damn day. Now you’re gonna be a good girl ‘n let me hear what’s mine.”

You whimper at the possessiveness in his tone, your fingers already trailing beneath the covers. “Toji, I—”

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, almost coaxing. “You owe me after all that teasing.”

Your breath is uneven as you slip your hand between your thighs, gasping softly at how wet you already are. Toji hears it immediately.

“There you go,” he praises, voice thick with approval. “Knew you wanted this.

You let out a shaky sigh, fingers moving slowly, teasing yourself the way you know he would if he were here. The thought makes your head spin—Toji’s big hands holding you down, his rough fingers spreading you open, making you feel small and helpless underneath him.

“Fuck,” he groans through the speaker, his breathing heavier now. “You touchin’ that pretty little clit for me, baby?”

You whimper, nodding before whispering, “Y-Yeah…”

“Mm. Bet you wish it was my fingers instead, huh?” His voice is getting rougher, raspier. “Bet you miss the way I stretch you out. Always so fuckin’ tight for me.”

Your back arches, a needy whine slipping past your lips. “Toji—”

“Shh, baby, I got you,” he murmurs. “Take your time. Let me hear those pretty sounds.”

“Such a Messy Girl”

Your breath is unsteady, thighs trembling as your fingers tease slow circles over your clit. Toji’s voice is thick in your ear, rough and wrecked.

“There you go, baby,” he groans, the sound of skin dragging against skin sending shivers straight through you. “Knew you’d be a good girl for me.”

Your head tips back against the pillows, body heating up at the low, ragged sounds slipping through the speaker. He’s stroking himself to you, thinking about you, the same way you’re touching yourself for him.

“T-Toji,” you whimper, your other hand gripping the sheets.

“Mm, that’s my girl,” he rasps. “Say my name again, baby. Let me hear how pretty you sound when you come for me.”

Your fingers move faster, your body tightening as his voice keeps pushing you further.

“Bet you’d feel so fuckin’ good right now,” he grits out, his breath hitching slightly. “Bet that cute little pussy’s just drippin’ for me. You know how bad I wanna be there, huh?”

Toji groans, voice all dark and heavy. “Then go ahead, baby. Make a mess for me.”

Your back arches, a high-pitched moan slipping past your lips as pleasure crashes through you. Your body tenses, then melts, thighs shaking as you come hard, making a mess on your sheets, your skin burning with heat.

Toji’s breathing stutters, a rough grunt catching in his throat. Then—

“Fuck—” he growls, voice strained, and then you hear it. The low, deep groan of his release, the ragged way his breath catches as he spills over himself.

You shudder, body still sensitive, warmth blooming in your chest at the sound of him falling apart.

There’s a beat of silence, both of you catching your breath. Then, Toji lets out a low chuckle, voice thick with satisfaction.

“Damn, baby,” he murmurs. “Made a fuckin’ mess, didn’t you?”

You let out a shy little whimper, curling into the sheets. “I—”

“Mm.” He tuts, voice dripping with amusement. “Bet you got it all over your thighs, huh? All sticky, just for me.”

Your breath is still shaky, body warm and spent, when Toji hums through the receiver.

“Bet you got it all over your thighs, huh? All sticky, just for me.”

A tiny whimper slips past your lips, your face burning as you shift against the messy sheets. Your body is still tingling, oversensitive, your fingers curling into the fabric.

Toji hears it—of course he does. His low chuckle crackles through the speaker, rough and smug. “Aww, baby,” he coos, mock sympathy laced in his voice. “Got you that fucked out, huh?”

Before you can respond, the automated voice cuts in.

“This call will end in one minute.”

Your stomach sinks. “No…” you whisper, the thought of losing his voice too soon making your heart ache.

Toji exhales sharply, like he hates it too. Then, his tone softens. “Shh, baby. I know.”

You swallow, blinking up at the ceiling, feeling too small without him.

His voice dips low, gentle, something tender lingering beneath the roughness. “You listening?”

You nod, even though he can’t see it.

“Love you, baby,” he murmurs, and your breath catches. “Ain’t a damn thing gonna keep me from you.”

Your lashes flutter, warmth blooming in your chest. “Love you too, Toji…”

The call cuts off with a dull beep.

2𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑚 <3

@valariexo @sunasgf1 @ourfinalisation

[xfgpng]

— [ nsfw ] :: threesome, DP!, cunnilingus, fingering

— wc :: 1.3k

💌 (here for comms)

the sand on the beach is warm this time of day. it’s mostly dark thanks to the ocean and anyone else would be scared to be out here alone and maybe apart of her is but she’s always been drawn to the ocean and the cold breeze.

in a similar way, she’s always been drawn to the darkness and the beach lights are dim enough to create a little safe space for her to sit and think.

most nights, she wouldn’t walk so near to the water, it’s just too dark and while she could swim, this was taking a different kind of risk.

“scared sweetheart?”

the voice comes from somewhere behind her but when she turns, there’s nothing there. in the distance she can make out her villa but that’s about it. it’s too late for anyone else to be awake.

she looks towards the water and her heart stops. there’s a man, floating around the water like it’s the most natural thing to do at this time of night but he looks … different.

for one, it’s not halloween but his outfit would make it seem that way. the blue looks good against his skin and the tattoos look pretty.. she’s almost too lost in thought to notice how much closer she is to the water, her toes touch the edge and she gasps at how cold it is.

“we watch you come out here most nights”

it’s another voice and the sight of the taller man on the rocks sends a shiver down her spine but she’s not sure if it’s unpleasant or not.

he too, looks like he’s ready for some costume party. a dragon perhaps? his red eyes are glowing and it’s more prominent because of how dark the ocean makes everything.

she wants to run, she probably should and she’d likely make it home on time but she doesn’t.

“who… are you guys?” she finds herself asking

“sylus” the taller man says and she swears she sees his .. tail? moving

“rafayel” the other man says and he’s grinning at her. she’s not sure what’s so funny right now but she’s not going to ask either.

“why are you out here by yourself?” sylus grins, moving closer to her, his long black tail wrapping around her waist. her eyes widen.

“i like it here” she shrugs, “.. is that—”

“real?” rafayel laughs and as he swims closer, she sees it.

“oh my god” her jaw drops. a beautiful tail, long and shiny. the moonlight catches the scales giving off the illusion that it sparkles, though she suspects it’s not an illusion after all.


she’s pinched her own thigh twice and it hurts but worst of all, she’s not dreaming.

“why don’t you join me?” rafayel all but purrs, “the water isn’t so deep here”

“why on earth would i do that?” she takes a step back, bumping up against sylus, “it’s cold .. and dark and i don’t even know you!”

“but you can get to know us darling” sylus whispers, cupping her jaw softly. his long nails lightly trail up the side of her neck.

“is this some kind of joke?” she glares but even as she says it, she knows it’s not.

she can’t understand why she’s not making a run for it or why she’s still allowing sylus to hold her and move closer to rafayel again.

“the ocean is safe… as long as i’m with you” rafayel grins, reaching out to hold her ankle.

“so pretty” he coos, grinning.

“she is, isn’t she?” sylus whispers against her ear, kissing her jaw, “is this okay beautiful?”

she finds herself nodding, looking out at the water and then at rafayel.

sylus lays her down on the warm sand, right in the water. he’s sharp nails nip at her skin and she hisses, biting her lip to suppress a moan.

“oh.. she likes that” rafayel chuckles, swimming closer until he’s upper body hovers over hers, “you’re not scared?”

“… i’d say it’s more confused arousal right now” she mumbles.

sylus laughs loud, the sound rich and deep that sends a shiver through her body once more. she could blame it on the cool air hitting her skin as rafayel lifts her dress up but his body is warm and wet against her own.

“between us, there are 4” he grins, his eyes darkening and she’s heard stories of his kind. lemurians and she knows the tales of mermen who become so obsessed with their human that they can become dangerous.

the same would go for dragons, while they are highly intelligent and primal creatures, their love knows no bounds.

still, she didn’t bother to study any of their anatomy and up until now, that’s not something that has ever crossed her mind.

her eyes widen as she feels cold and wet fingers against her core.

“open up” sylus says softly as he sinks down onto the sand beside her. he cups her breasts, gently grazing her nipple. it stings for a moment before it’s replaced by his wet tongue.

“oh” she gasps, her hands gripping rafayel’s shoulder and in that moment of bliss, rafayel slips two long fingers into her as sylus plays with her body.

sylus uses his tail to wrap around her bare thigh and keep her legs open. she was truly a sight to behold and he’d have to kill anyone else that walked by tonight.

no one else could have the pleasure of seeing her laid out before them, the moon illuminating her beautiful skin. no one else should.

“the things i want to do to you” rafayel says, biting her earlobe as his fingers move faster. he wants to take his time but he knows they don’t have much time before the sun comes up.

she’s hoisted up by sylus’ tail so he can sit underneath her, keeping her against his chest.

“good girl” he purrs, still massaging her breasts, pinching her nipples as he kisses and nips at her neck.

“she’s perfect” rafayel groans as he leans down to suck on her clit. he moans into her pussy, his own eyes rolling back as she moans.

“fuck” she moans louder and sylus takes the opportunity to kiss her, his hand sliding down her body to rub her clit as rafayel eats her pussy like a starved man.

she feels sylus underneath her, both of his thick cocks rubbing between her ass and thighs. she feels so overstimulated in the best way.

“too much?” he teases and she nods, though she’s not sure because she doesn’t want them to stop.

rafayel lifts his head and licks his lips.

“you taste so good” rafayel groans, kissing her thigh.

“don’t be greedy” sylus grins, lifting her up, “you ready?”

she’s nervous but she nods.

“yes” she says, “please… just —”

he gently thrusts up into her, not both just yet because he knows it might be too much for her and he doesn’t want to hurt her as much as he wishes he could be inside her completely.

“there you go gorgeous” rafayel praises, his own cock pressing against her entrance too, “how about we practice hm?”

she’s too overwhelmed to speak but even in her haze, she sees him pressing in and she thinks she screams but she’s not sure anymore.

everything feels so good despite how full she feels. she can feel them moving together inside her and she looks down to see the bulge.

“hurts” she moans but she loves it. it’s the kind of pain she happily takes as she’s bounced on their cocks.

her legs are shaking and she’s only a little worried about not being able to walk but she’s too far gone now to care.

rafayel’s moans are louder and deeper while sylus is more breathy as he groans in her ear and when rafayel kisses her, she cums so hard she thinks her has an out of body experience.

though she was always one for the dramatics after all.

[insidekatmind]

A Secret Between Us-Virgil Van Dijk

Request:yes!

The first time you saw Virgil van Dijk was in an upscale bar in Los Angeles. It wasn’t a random encounter, but it wasn’t something you had planned either. He was there with some teammates, you were out with your friends, and for some reason, your eyes met several times. In the end, he was the one who approached you, with that confident yet kind smile.

"Are you planning to keep looking at me all night, or would you like to join me?" he said, his Dutch accent lacing his words with a certain charm.

He made you smile, and before you even realized it, the conversation between you two flowed naturally. There was something about him that made you feel safe, even though you knew perfectly well who he was.

One week. That was how long he had before Liverpool left the city. And yet, in those seven days, you lived something that felt too much like a dream.

It wasn’t just physical attraction. It was the way he searched for you in a crowded room, the way he laughed at your jokes, the way he truly listened when you spoke. Every night of his stay in the city, you spent together—dinners in small restaurants far from the paparazzi, late-night walks on the beach, moments of pure intimacy that made you believe that maybe…

But then, the end came.

Virgil showed up at your door, his face serious, his lips pressed together as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

“I have to sign an NDA,” he finally said. “It means we can’t talk anymore, or see each other.”

Your heart stopped. “What? Why?”

“It’s about privacy, image. It’s not my choice.” His voice was firm, but his eyes were filled with regret. “If I break the agreement, I risk serious consequences with the club.”

You felt yourself breaking. You had never asked Virgil for anything, never even considered asking him to stay, but hearing that you couldn’t even keep in touch was too much.

“Are you just going to forget about me?” you whispered, trying to keep the pain out of your voice.

“No,” he answered, with a certainty that shook you. “I never could.”

But in the end, he did. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

---

Six months passed...

Nausea had become a constant companion. You ignored the first signs, blaming stress, fatigue, anything but the most obvious possibility. But when you saw the pregnancy test with two clear, undeniable lines, reality hit you like a speeding train.

You were pregnant with Virgil van Dijk’s child.

And he didn’t know. You had no way to tell him. The number he had used to text you was deactivated. His social media was impossible to reach. And then there was the damn NDA. Even if you managed to contact him, what could you do? Risk his career just to tell him he had a child?

In the end, you decided to go through it alone. It wasn’t easy, but as the months passed, you learned to accept your new reality.

Then, one day, fate decided to change everything.

You were in a park somewhere in Europe, far from the California coast where it all began. Your son, a little boy with dark curls and curious eyes, was playing on a small swing while you watched him with a tender smile.

You didn’t notice the presence behind you—not until you heard a deep, familiar voice call your name.

You turned around so fast your heart almost stopped. And there, just a few steps away, was Virgil.

It was as if time had frozen. His eyes scanned you with disbelief, confusion turning into something deeper as his gaze dropped to the child.

He looked at him. Then he looked at you. Then back at the boy.And you knew that he knew.

“Oh my god…” he murmured, stepping forward slowly. “Is he…?”

You couldn’t speak. You wanted to say something, to explain, to justify, but nothing came out.

He didn’t need an answer. The little boy turned, and in that moment, Virgil saw everything—himself in that small face.

His breath caught in his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Finally, you found your voice, though it was weak. “How? Your number didn’t exist anymore. Your contract prevented me from reaching out. What was I supposed to do?”

Virgil ran a hand over his face, still overwhelmed. Then, painfully slow, he knelt down in front of the child. He didn’t know what to say, how to act. He was a big, strong man, but right now, he seemed fragile, completely unarmed.

The boy looked at him curiously, then did something that left both of you speechless. He reached out his small hand toward him and smiled.

Virgil, his eyes glistening, took it with the utmost care.

And in that moment, the entire world seemed to shrink down to just the three of you.

[revelboo]

I can't, man. I just can't keep falling in love with all the bots you write! It's not fair! I see you write for a bot that I never considered for before, and then BOOM, they've been added to the simp list. You can keep getting away with this!!!!!!!!!

I regret nothing 😆

Heads Up, Hearts Down Pt 2

TFA Ratchet x Reader

• Heart racing when you notice the other, big robots inside the abandoned building, you push back against the servos steadily shoving you forward. And the group of three other humans sitting at a battered table eating, one of them only nine or so years old, look up in surprise. The little girl pointing a fork imperiously at the bot shepherding you inside. “You can’t just take in people like stray cats, doc,” the kids says before taking another huge bite of her food. Feeling oddly numb as you let your bot nudge you over to the table with the others and he produces a big rag out of thin air to drape over you. Hear him growl ‘not a word’ at a tall blue and red bot who holds up his hands in surrender and you wonder if you’ve just had a mental breakdown from stress. Because these bots aren’t right. Too advanced. Too uncannily nearly human and alive.

• Watching as you reluctantly sit and one of the other humans fixing you a plate and passing it over, Ratchet vents tiredly. Aware of Sari touching her own lip no doubt asking about your injury as your shoulders hunch. And you’re better off with them. Your own kind better suited to soothing your fear. Can hear the four humans talking amongst themselves as he looks up at Optimus’s questioning stare. “They were hurt. Some other humans attacking them.” Shrugging uncomfortably as he watches you. “I’m not that sparkless as to ignore something like that.”

• Picking half heartedly at the food in front of you, you listen to the confused explanations from the other three. Mostly the kid, Sari. They’re alien robots, twisting in your seat as she points and names the four lingering and watching your little group. The fifth one, Prowl, abruptly dropping through the hole in the roof to make you nearly fall out of your chair and one of the others scream. Landing in a crouch and slowly straightening to frown at all of you before joining the other robots. Aliens. Robot aliens. And every time you glance over, their group is watching your group.

• ‘We seem to have an infestation,’ Prowl murmurs as he glances at the humans all staring wide eyed back at him. And then immediately starting to whisper amongst themselves. “Leave ‘em be,” Ratchet growls. His and Optimus’s bruised and shaken. “Think humans attack each other like that often?” Realizing he’d thought of you as his, he frowns and catches you still glancing over at him. As if to make sure he’s still there. Watching over you. What would they have done if he hadn’t been there?

• ‘Yeah, the green one tried to pay me with this metal thing as big as my coffee table to babysit Sari here.’ One says as Sari immediately pipes up that she doesn’t need a babysitter. And it’s surreal, the fear and anxiety muted as you listen to them talking. The fact that they seem okay helping you, though one is bruised and tired looking, but they’d explained that they’d been attacked by a bad alien, but rescued by the blue and red one, Optimus. Not just robots. Sentient aliens. Attaching names to each of them making them a bit less intimidating. That and Sari’s insistence that they’re the good guys, the kid completely at ease with them. Watching the red and white one, Ratchet, watching you in turn, you offer him a hesitant smile. He hadn’t had to save you, it wasn’t his problem, but he still had.

Previous

[gh0stly-mp3]

do me a favour

michael kaiser x gn!reader

synopsis: you finally decide to stand up for yourself and put an end in your toxic relationship with kaiser

tags: music fic, song fic, angst, kaiser is an asshole

warnings: break up, hurt no comfort, toxic relationship, mature language

a/n: hey! i'll be less frequent (cause i have to live), but one or two times a week i might post something! see y'all! - btw requests are open :)

masterlist.

The rain outside seemed to match the storm inside you, and as the minutes passed, it felt like every drop falling from the sky mirrored the tears falling from your eyes.

Kaiser is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with that look in his eyes. It’s the same look he used to give you when (he thought) he knew what you were thinking. The one that made you feel like you were under a microscope, always being judged.

You can feel the familiar tension in the air, that awful, charged feeling that always came before a breakdown. The kind of breakdown that left you both bruised, but never quite broken. Not until now.

"I’m not playing anymore" - You say, your voice shaky. - "It’s over. And honestly, I don’t care what you think about it. I don’t want this anymore."

Kaiser doesn’t say anything right away. He just stares at you with that look you know all too well — the one that always made you feel small, as if you were nothing more than an accessory to his life. But today, you won’t be that. Not anymore.

“Is that what you think?” - He raises an eyebrow, voice smooth, but the seriousness in it’s clear. - "You really think you're better off without me?"

It’s almost laughable, how easily he dismisses everything.

"Do me a favor and stop flattering yourself" - You reply, standing still, even if your heart feels like it's being torn apart. - "I’m better off without pretending to be someone I’m not just to please you. Without you thinking you're the only thing that matters."

Kaiser takes a step closer, his eyes scanning your face, as if looking for any sign of weakness. But you’ve made your decision. You won’t break this time.

“Oh, so that's how it is, hm? Now I’m the bad guy here” - He’s taunting now, but there's something in his voice that catches you off guard, something that almost sounds... frustrated. - "Maybe it’s you who doesn’t get it."

“Save it, Michael” - You whisper. - “I can’t keep pretending you care when all you do is tear me apart. This... us... it’s over.”

His expression shifts again, but it’s not the anger you expect. Instead, there’s a flicker of something darker — a mixture of frustration and something else. Maybe it’s regret. But it’s fleeting. His complex smirk returns almost immediately. - "You’re making a mistake, you know it."

You look away, unable to meet his eyes. The tears sting the back of your eyes, but you won’t let them fall. Not for him. Not this time.

“I’m not” - You reply. - “You’re the one who’s been making mistakes all along. You just never cared to admit it."

Kaiser steps back, running a hand through his hair. He’s trying to regain his composure, to return to that untouchable version of himself, the one that never showed weakness. But even now, there’s something there — something you almost wish you could have held on to. Something that might have meant more, if only he had let it.

He pauses, and for a fleeting moment, you think you might see something shift in his eyes. But then, that mask is back. His expression hardens, and the Kaiser you’ve known — the arrogant, invincible version of him — is back.

“Fine" - He says with a sharp exhale, the word almost like a challenge. - "Do me a favor." - His voice softens just enough for you to catch it. - "Tell me to go away."

You finally turn to face him, holding your ground. The weight of the moment presses on your chest, but there’s no turning back now. Kaiser stands there for a moment, looking at you like he's trying to find something in your expression — some trace of doubt, some spark of the person he used to have under his control. But it’s gone. You’ve made your choice, and he made his.

"I already did."

He stares at you for a long moment, trying to process what you just said. Maybe it’s the realization that you’re finally strong enough to walk away. Maybe it’s something he’s never fully allowed himself to acknowledge: that he’s lost you.

"Fuck off, Michael."

The finality of the words cuts through the silence. And this time, you turn your back without hesitation. You know he’s not going to chase you this time. He doesn’t need to. This is the moment that was always going to come, the one you both avoided, but now it's here. And you won’t look back. He had forced you to be cold.

You turn away before you can hear him say anything else, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. There’s nothing left to say. You’ve given him everything — your love, your time, your heart — but you won’t let him break you anymore.

Curiosity had once pulled you in, made you think you could unravel all the pieces of Michael Kaiser. But now, you understand. The truth is simple. He had always been too much of a mystery to solve, and in the end, it was that mystery that kept you trapped in a cycle of longing, pain, and false hope.

Later that evening, as the rain continues to pour outside, you sit in your room, the weight of the past few hours pressing down on you. The silence is overwhelming, but there’s something good about it now. It’s not the quiet that suffocates; it’s the quiet that heals.

"Perhaps 'fuck off' might be too kind." - You think to yourself, remembering everything he has done to you all along. But now, you’ve learned that walking away doesn’t always mean losing. Sometimes, it means saving yourself.