#never seen him actually hit the door but a few times it was a close call haha

[bitterwinterdoodles]

The reason Shinji wasn't carrying the cello around in YW(N)R

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Guardian Angel

CW: Stalking, people breaking into your apartment (Arkham Knight and others), people brushing off an obvious issue, and violence. Be warned, there are no angels in Gotham. ~2.2k words

You have a stalker. Probably. Maybe. If you do, they're so good at covering their tracks that you're starting to believe you're just paranoid.

But it's the odd events, the trinkets moved slightly out of place, that have you checking over your shoulder.

There wasn't even any evidence at first. Your day had been completely normal. All you were doing was cooking dinner, when your nerves went on end, and goosebumps rose on your skin. The feeling of being watched, of being prey set in.

It didn't make sense, didn't have a reason, but you closed your curtains and triple checked your locks nonetheless. (The bat you keep by your bed slept next to you that night)

You would have forgotten about the incident entirely if, a week later, the same feeling crept up your spine while you walked home. You'd never walked faster to get to your building. You'd practically sprinted up the stairs to your apartment, and slammed to the door behind you.

Even within your home, it took almost the whole night for the feeling to fade.

Two times could be a coincidence, but then things started getting stranger.

You could have sworn you left your keys on the counter the night before, so why, why did you find them on the coffee table?

It makes you uneasy, almost sick, but you're already late to work. So you do the only thing you can, you brush it off.

Until it happens. A thing you can't brush off.

You knew you had used the last of the sugar yesterday. Knew it because you had made a mental note to pick some up the next time you went to the store.

But there's sugar. It's not a lot. Just enough to get you through a few days. Enough to make you think you might have just missed the last of it.

You know you're right. You know you were out of sugar and even if your coworkers laugh and tell you to get more sleep, that having an angel that refills your sugar can't be that bad, you know someone's been in your apartment.

You set traps, set cameras, get your locks changed, take note of everything. You don't get any evidence.

But you notice that your window doesn't squeak anymore when you open it. Your shower doesn't rattle when you go to start it. Your oven actually heats up to the temperature you set it to.

It's been like this for months now. And you're starting to believe that Gotham does have its own set of angels that go around trying to make your life a little easier.

That is until, you meet him.

You'd been unlucky. Gotten grabbed and dragged into the alley by your apartment by some haggard looking man waving a gun. It wasn't the first time you'd been mugged in Gotham, and you doubted it would be the last.

You had reluctantly pulled your wallet and phone out of your pockets and handed them off when an armored-clad person dropped between the gun and you.

At first, it was a relief. Being saved by Batman or Nightwing is practically a rite of passage in Gotham.

But then you watched the would-be mugger hit the ground with a sickening crunch of his arm. Then you watched your savior turn to face you, and you knew it was him.

You didn't have an explanation, you didn't have proof. You'd never even seen a glimpse of the helmet that hid his face before. But you knew. He's the one that's been following you. He's the one that's been in your home.

No amount of good deeds can overshadow how violating it feels, to know he's been watching you, observing you, doing things for you. You instinctively step back.

He only matches the distance you tried to create with a step of his own.

"Who are you? What do you want," You snap, sounding braver than you feel.

He doesn't answer at first, just tilts his head like he's studying you. You think it might be because he's never seen you think close before.

"I saved you," he says instead, completely avoiding your question. You wonder if he's expecting to be treated like a hero, if he's looking for your praise. It makes your stomach churn.

"You've been following me. You're the one who's been in my apartment," You protest, eyes darting.

You half expect someone to come help you. With the way he's dressed, with how he's carrying himself, he has to be some kind of new villian you missed on the news.

He straightens out at your accusation, "Have I?"

You almost falter, almost do chalk it up to paranoia, but you just knew. Every fiber of your being knows, "Yes," You breathe out instead, "You have."

He nods slowly, then turns his back to you. A part of you wants to run, to try and escape and scream and get as far away from the man who feels like he could make you disappear without a trace.

He bends down and scoops up your phone and wallet before turning back to you. You freeze when he walks closer, each step steady and measured, then extends your belongings to you. Your hand shakes when you snatch at them.

You half expect him to yank them away, to make you beg, but he doesn't. He only keeps his grip tight on them, forcing you to be connected while you tug helpless at your things.

He watches you with his head slightly cocked before speaking again, "And if I have?"

He's easy, robotic cadence makes your blood grow cold, "Then you should stop," You retort, voice as cold as your veins.

"And if I won't," he prompts, finally releasing his hold on your things.

"I'll go to the police," You threaten, stuffing your wallet and phone back into your pockets.

"They can't help you," he warns. It makes you uneasy, that he makes no attempt to keep space between you. Even if his body language doesn't seem dangerous, everything else about him does.

"They can contact Batman," You try instead.

He laughs. It sounds humorless, empty, "He can't help you either."

You lose your nerve then, when he pats your cheek, and the guns holstered to his side seem to glint at you. "Get home," he tells you, and it makes you feel like you're some kind of pet.

And then he's gone, leaving you to an alley empty of anything, save for you and the mugger crumpled to the ground. All you can do is go home. Sleep doesn't come for you that night.

He's sloppy, now that he knows you know. You can tell it's on purpose.

Flashes of glowing blue outside your window, your things carelessly shifted about your apartment, the broken fan that hasn't worked since you moved in left on and spinning when you come home from work.

The only place he hasn't seemed to touch is your bedroom. You're not sure if it's because he's showing some slightest form of respect or if he's simply too good at hiding his tracks for you to notice.

Both options make you feel anxious, and you constantly comb over your things for proof of his presence.

You rack your brain over it, lose sleep over it, but you can't come up with one idea of who he is and why he's doing this.

There's nothing on him in the news, nothing on the internet, not even a whisper on the streets.

It feels like it's all one big, sick game to him when your favorite flowers start showing up at your door, when your gas tank fills itself.

When you tell your coworkers, in a near panic, about your rent being mysteriously paid, they tell you it's harmless, it's kind of sweet, really.

Shouldn't you just be grateful that someone's doing all that for you? Shouldn't you be thankful to have an angel looking out for you in this city?

But you know it's not harmless. You know he's capable of so much more. You know he's no angel.

The sound of the mugger's arm snapping still haunts you.

But you don't know what to do. You're stuck, on edge, and slowly coming to terms with having to live like this forever.

That is, until your bad luck seems to get even worse. You were in your pajamas, already half asleep as you're lounging on your couch, when your world gets thrown into chaos.

There's a click in your apartment door's lock, and you have the terrifying realization that tonight's the one night you'd forgotten to throw the deadbolt.

"I told ya I could get the keys to this floor. And barely anybody lives in this building afta what happen ta Murphy," the heavy Gotham accent fills your apartment and three men file into your living room like they own it.

They freeze when they see you, and you don't hesitate to sprint for your fire escape.

You've just managed to throw your window open when one of them grabs you around the middle and hauls you back, throwing you to the floor. Your head knocks against the ground, and everything spins.

You think you whimper as they start bickering. "You said no one would be here!"

"They weren't supposed ta be! It's all supposed ta be empty," one of them snaps back. It only makes your head pound and your vision swim.

You try to push yourself off the floor, but a boot lands at the center of your back and forces you back to the ground, "We have to kill them."

Murmurs of reluctance fill the room, and for a second, you think you'll get to live.

"They saw our faces," You hear the telltale sound of a gun clicking off its safety, "I'll do it."

You flinch with the shot sounds, but no more pain comes. The weight comes off your back, and a body collapses to the floor next to you.

You lift your head just enough to see a familiar blur of blue charge at the remaining two men.

It's not so much of a fight as it is an execution. It's a struggle to keep your eyes open, but anything you can't see you can hear.

There's no mercy in his actions, all wrath and fury, and you want to laugh because, in a way, he is your guardian angel. An avenging angel, pummeling the people who threatened you into something unrecognizable.

You're sure how long it lasts, how long you hear his fists connect to their flesh. But eventually, your apartment goes quiet. The sound of fabric shuffling reaches your ears, and calloused hands carefully help you move until you're sitting up.

Warm palms press to your face you realize he's taken his gloves off. You force your eyes to open, morbidly curious if he's removed his helmet, too. You're not sure why you're disappointed he hasn't.

"Saved me again," You mumble, words almost slurring.

"You're not safe here," he says softly, and his thumb runs over your cheek like he's trying to comfort you.

"They didn't think anyone lived here," You supply, but he apparently doesn't find that very reassuring.

"Let's get you out here," he says instead, and you blame it on your head injury for being impressed at how he doesn't show any signs of struggling when he picks you up and cradles you to his chest.

"Don't have anywhere to go," you say weakly, mentally trying to do the math on how much a safe hotel would cost at this time of night.

The moonlight seems to give his helmet an odd shine as you stare hazily at him. It almost looks like a halo.

"I have a place," he tells you, already carrying you out of your apartment window.

That snaps you out of your thoughts. It makes you frown, even in your dazed state, you know you don't want to go with him. That even with the trick of the light, he's no angel.

You start to squirm, "No– no, wait–"

"You need somewhere safe to recover," he says, and he doesn't seem to notice your fidgeting. Your heart leaps to your throat, at how securely he's holding you. With anyone else, it would have felt like a promise of protection.

"I don't trust you, you're not safe," You stumble out, head growing heavy with each step he takes from your apartment.

"No one's safe. But I don't have any plans on hurting you," he murmurs, seemingly more occupied with getting you to wherever he's planning to take you.

"But you could," You exhale out, and your voice sounds weak even to yourself.

That makes him pause, and his helmet tips as if he's focusing on you, "Maybe, but I wouldn't like it."

You want to argue more, demand he set you down. But your brain feels so foggy, and you're so tired and drained that your head just kind of finds itself on his shoulder.

"You can sleep," he says, and your eyes fall shut at how soft he sounds, "I'll keep watch."

You really do want to protest, but his shoulder is surprisingly comfortable. You can't help but think, as you drift off, that your angel might have fallen far lower than you can handle.

Jason's Side

[goldsbitch]

remember that

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. But everyone need assurance that they are still loved sometimes. The first time Lando almost slept on a couch blurb

warning: couple fight, angst

It was bad. This time, it was really fucking bad.

After weeks of snarky comments being swallowed in, the "it's fine" line being burned into Lando's ears almost on a daily basis and growing minutes Y/N had to wait before Lando decided to respond to her texts, shit finally hit the fan.

They hadn't seen each other for two weeks now. Inevitable fight broke out right as he crossed the threshold. Postponed dates and forgotten dinners lined up. They couldn't help themselves and put it all on the table. First it was the fact she didn't smile upon seeing him, then it was a reminder that he promised to bring something from Italy and forgot. It went on and on and on. She sat at the dinning table, while he leaned over at the kitchen counter.

"Lando, sometimes it feels like I'm in a relationship with your assistant and not you! For heaven sake, this week I had to call him, once again, when I could not reach you. Do you know how embarrassing it is?" she half-screamed into her hands.

Lando took a breath so deep an average yoga teacher would be jealous. "How am I suppose to be expected to pick up on a race day. You know that I get super busy and distracted."

"Funny how you never were when we started dating," she murmured bitterly.

He had to turn away, couldn't watch his love giving up on him just because they were not in the honeymoon stage anymore. "Yes, but now I'm winning races! Closer to my dream that I've ever been. It's different now."

"I'm glad I met you back then, because obviously you'd not date me if we met now," she couldn't stop those words that rotted in her coming out.

A beat. Maybe it was time to actually break the rule for once and go to sleep angry, because it was getting out of hand. "You know what, that's probably true and it breaks my heart that once I start doing well, you're suddenly not the supporting girlfriend anymore."

A crushing blow. "Tell me how am I suppose to support you if you don't even answer my phone! We used to talk for hours!

"Maybe understand that I can't!"

"I do! But you can't assume that I'll let you push me away completely!"

Lando thew his hands up in desperation. How could she not see it? "I'm coming here to you whenever I have a slightest chance! And I come what? You constantly dragging me through the mud."

"Oh interesting you mention that. How sad that your assistant had to remind you of my sensitive skin before you having him book me an "apology mud massage" when you cancelled on me few weeks ago," se shot, knowing it would hit the target.

"How do you even know that!" he said, unable to comprehend that he did not even control his paid assistant, not mention his own life anyway.

"Well, I talk a lot to you assistant! And he slips up!" It was a weird friendship between people who both wished they could get a little more info out of Lando.

"That's it. I can't deal with this now," he said, with the intention to sleep on the couch for the first time in their relationship. He didn't even know why he chose that action, walking towards their bedroom and dramatically bringing a pillow and a blanket over to the sofa, but if this is what couples did when the fought, there must have been a reason for it.

It absolutely infuriated her. Sparked up something she hoped she'd never feel. "Oh, sleep tight." she spitted with bitter undertone.

"I will!"

//

They walked around each other in silence, him getting ready to sleep on the couch and her cutting her skincare short this time and spending more time debating whether to close the bedroom door as they usually would or leave it open. Just in case.

He could hear her shifting back and forth. It angered him a little bit, since he was the one playing a cruel joke on his already tired muscles.

Thousand things she wanted to say and only one came to her mind in a form of an actual sentence. There goes nothing. "Do you still feel good about this?"

"What?" he whispered, not expecting her to speak to him again before the next day.

"Nevermind, forget I asked."

"About what!" He hated when she did this. If you didn't catch up at the first moment, she did not give you a second chance.

"Do you still feel good about us, being together?" She cursed herself for asking this. Dangerous questions brought up explosive answers. She wished for a reassurance and a rejection. She snuggled deeper into her blanket and turned around to face the door. As if wishing for him to stand there and coming back to her.

Lando hated her question. In fact, it made him furious again. But it was a peace offering, he had already learned that before. "Even here, lying on the bloody couch, because we're fighting...It's the place I wanna be at."

Anxiety kicked in Y/N. "What, you mean like away from me?"

He laughed lightly. She was always thinking the worst. "No, silly. The exact opposite...We could both be at thousand different places at the moment. But we're not. And for me at least, it's because like---I want to be with you. I hate that we'd drifted apart lately. I'd love to be in bed with you, laughing without a care in the world, like we usually do. But, we can't do that now. And yet, I'd rather be left on the couch if I know you're next door than all alone in my bed." His words hit like small drops of rain after a long draught.

She whispered, choosing her words carefully. "You're my twin flame. You make my soul light up in fire, make me feel like I'm the sun. Do you know what my biggest fear is?"

Lando also tuned into sweeter tone, one that was more familiar from days filled with sunshine. "What, my love?"

"That we're gonna burn out. You and me, ending up like an epic love story. The good ones work because they end in tragedy."

"You're always so poetic," he smiled, proud to think he was her love story.

"There is no other way to describe how you'd changed my life. Flipped it upside down the moment you walked into the same room."

Lando chucked. "Yeah, remember that?"

"How could I not."

"You were not having a good day."

Finally, she spoke loudly again. "So, what? Everything was going to shit and the event we were doing had to be perfect before the 'important people' arrived".

"Such an ego boost to know I was your priority before you even met me," he uttered, happy to push her buttons.

"Oh, and you were so cocky! Just laughing around, like we were some sort of comedy sketch."

"Well, I'm sorry, have you heard yourself when you're upset? The way how your voice goes up seven octaves higher?" he laughed, his breath feeling lighter now.

"Coming from you, that's rich! You were giggling in a tone so high the elderly couldn't hear you!"

"I'm so happy I managed to bag the grumpiest person in the building. And bare in mind there must have been around 500 people there."

"980 if you could in staff as well."

He let out a heavy sigh. "You with your pristine memory."

She paused before responding. "Yes. Wish I didn't have that sometimes."

"Wish I had at least a pinch of that."

Silence fell in both rooms. Heavy breath and wondering eyes. The lack of their touch suddenly being more obvious than before. Playing a contest who will reach out first.

"Lando?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Can you back here, please?" she said, somewhat nervously. Lando took a pause. There was nothing he wished for more. It hurt to fight. But he figured a relationship needed that sometimes. As the poets say, you loose a woman when you forget to cherish her. He liked to think this went both ways. And they both started slacking a bit. He could only affect his own behavior, with the hope that she'd also come to the same understanding.

"I'd like nothing more in the world, my love."

[dementedkittenribbon]

Friends with benefits

Rafe Cameron x fem reader

Your heartfelt confession goes wrong.

CW: Unprotected sex, daddy kink, brief angst, dirty talk, Rafe is a jerk for a while.

You were lying on your back, Rafes thick cock filling you up as he thrusted deep and hard inside you, leaking cum into you and onto the mattress. His thrusts came to a halt, sweat came off his forehead as you both moaned in each other's mouths. It was the third round, you both had been apart for a few days too long. Something that rarely happened in the months you both had been hooking up. Rafe rolls off you, wiping off his face with a hand and you sigh as the painful reality starts to hit.

After you both have sex, he never stays.

It happened the first time at one of his parties, one you had been invited to by your cousin Barry who was responsible for providing cocaine and booze when you had met Rafe. He was charming, hot and rich. His body was like a god’s, long with lean muscle strong enough to pin you down on the bed and fuck you relentlessly as he did nearly everyday. Multiple times in a row. You were familiar with his dick and the way it filled you up expertly, hitting every pleasurable sweet spot you had.

But there was one issue.

You actually had fallen in love with him. Why wouldn’t you be? He was everything you wanted. Strong, independent, crazy, passionate and a slew of other things most people didn’t pay attention to once he flashed them his credit card. Something he used on you too. He bought you clothes, updated your car, phone and your meals whenever you both actually hung out somewhere. He treated you decently, for his reputation at least.

You lean on your elbows as Rafe gathers his clothes on the ground, slipping on his t-shirt. “You’re not staying?”

He paused and shuffled around pulling on his shorts. “No. Why? I never stay.” He says to himself and absently waves you off. You swallow with a pang of hurt before wrapping yourself up in the sheet.

“Maybe you could this time. I don’t want you to leave.” He stopped this time, giving you an incredulous look and curled his lip.

“I don’t get it? What is it? Is something wrong?” He asked and you were losing your nerve as you tucked a hair behind your ear.

“Nothings wrong, I just want you to stay with me. You never do.”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know that’s why I’m leaving. What’s gotten into you? Been acting weird all fucking day.”

“I’m not acting weird I’m just asking a question.” You said defensively and he set his hands on his hips.

“Why? Why do you want me to stay?”

That was the question of the hour. One you wanted to answer and run from. But you promised yourself if you had the opportunity, you would be honest with him. So you took a deep breath and spoke. “Rafe. I want you to stay with me because…I have feelings for you. This isn’t just fucking for me anymore. It’s more. And I want-“

“Stop.” His voice was stern as he stepped closer to the bed and bent down to your lower. “That’s a mistake. I told you from day one what this is and what it will always be. Just sex. If you can’t handle that, then it’s not my problem.”

You felt your heart shatter as he stormed out of the room, leaving you broken. You buried your face in your hands and started crying. How could you be so stupid? How could you even consider he would feel the same way about you as you did for him? He was Rafe Cameron for god's sake. Why did you even bother telling him? Your own personal resolve? It was stupid and so were you.

You got out of his bed, put on your dress and shoes. You reapplied your makeup. If you were going to be sad, you were at least going to look good at the same time.

-

Rafe hadn’t seen you-fucked you-in over a week. You kept avoiding him and he hated it. His hand went to knock on your door, he knew the way to your house with his eyes closed but he hadn’t expected another car to be in the driveway. It wasn’t anyone he knew. So some stranger was here? Maybe a new friend?

It wasn’t like he was extremely active in your personal life but he knew you well enough. Several seconds went by as he waited at the door and he grit his teeth impatiently. What the hell was taking you so long?

He was about to call you when you opened the door. He arched an eyebrow as he took in your nice sundress. You usually never wore it unless you were going out. Your hair was braided with a flower crown. He crossed his arms with a pang of…what was it? Interest? Of course not.

“Took you long enough. Why haven’t you texted me back?”

“I’m not at your beck and call, Rafe. You know that right?” You quipped and he snorted. Attitude too?

“Yeah, whatever.” He rested a hand on the doorframe above you, leaning down with the intention of kissing you when a male voice called your name.

Rafe’s eyes narrowed when he saw a tall, not as tall as Rafe, male with brown eyes and brown hair. He could just tell by the way he was dressed that he was a pogue too. He gave him a look and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. Pulling you against him and Rafe wanted to reach forward and punch him in the face.

“Something wrong?” He stared at the other male who asked you that question.

“What the fuck? Who the fuck are you?” Rafe shouts and moves forward but you hold up your hand.

“This is my boyfriend. Josh.”

“Josh? He’s a fucking pogue,” Rafe spat out the last word and Josh immediately straightened his shoulders but you stepped inbetween them.

“Give me a minute.” You said before shutting the door and stepping onto the porch. Rafe crossed his arms and flexed his jaw. He couldn’t stop himself from being upset even though he knew logically he had no right to be.

“Rafe. You need to go.” You told him softly. “You need to leave and we can’t talk anymore. I have a boyfriend. And whatever that was? It’s over.”

Rafe laughed humorlessly. “You can’t be fucking serious. Is this because of what I said last week? Is this some kind of joke?”

Your eyes hardened and you stepped closer. “No. It’s not a fucking joke, Rafe. I’m in a relationship now. And it has nothing to do with the other day.”

“Bullshit. As far as I’m concerned-“

“Enough!” You shouted and pointed at his chest. “This isn’t about you, Rafe! It’s about me for once. I met him. And now, we’re going out. It’s that simple. Don’t like it? You had your fucking chance, asshole. And you treated me like shit. And this conversation is over.” You spin around at that and slam the door behind you.

Right in his face.

Rafe knew he had made a big mistake as his eyes squeezed shut. He was an asshole to you. Pushed you away too far. And now…

He’d lost you.

-

You hadn’t talked to him in six months. Half a year and now you were pounding on his door after 3am crying when he opened it, eyes wide with a range of emotions. “What the fuck?” He muttered before ushering you in. “Get in here, it’s raining.”

You quickly stepped into his house, wiping away tears and smearing your mascara. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be here but I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” You sobbed and Rafe immediately set his hands on your shoulders.

“It’s okay. What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” You were back. In front of him. And he wasn’t going to ruin any chance he had. He was afraid you’d disappear again.

Your blue dress was almost black from the rain. Your shoes probably ruined from the mud, you didn’t drive?

“Did you run here?”

You nodded. “Yeah, Josh was driving my car. And we…we got into a fight.” Rafe stiffened and his blood went cold as you lifted up your arm.

You had a hand print around your wrist.

“Did he do this to you?” He growled when you nodded again with watery eyes.

“Yeah. He didn’t want me to hang out with my friends today. And I told him I could do whatever I wanted so he grabbed me. Wouldn’t let go either. I finally just got out of the car and started running. We were close by so…” you sniffled and Rafe felt nothing but rage at your confession.

How dare anyone put a hand on you?

“I’ll be right fucking back.” He says with a set jaw. You step in front of him.

“No, where are you going?”

“Where do you think I’m going? I’m gonna fuck him up.” Rafe tries to move around you but your hands fly to his chest, holding his shirt.

“No, no, don’t leave me. I don’t want you to go. Not again.” You buried your face against him, crying harder and rafe was frozen for a second.

Don't leave again. Your words echo in his mind as his arms encircle your shoulders and pull you even tighter against him in a warm embrace. He wasn’t accustomed to hugging people. He didn’t have anyone close enough to him to encourage such motions but now…he could stay like this forever. Your head tucked underneath his chin, arms around his waist. You were still crying but he knew you felt safe.

He said your name quietly after several seconds and gently tugged you back. “Listen, I want to say something.” And he cleared his throat. Months of waiting, hoping and even fucking praying that he would get a chance to speak was finally in front of him and he didn’t want to fuck it up.

“I know, I’m sorry.” You stepped out of his hold, wiping underneath your eye. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. You have better things to do. I’ve stayed here too long.” You shrugged and gave him a fake smile. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“Bothered me? You’re not bothering me, I want to tell you something.” He tried to interrupt but you kept going.

“It’s stupid. Me coming here. Especially with how we last ended things. I know I showed up completely without warning-“

Rafe crushed his lips to yours, silencing you and causing you to make a surprised sound. His fingers set on your hips while his other hand cupped your jaw and he sucked your lower lip, slipping his tongue inside briefly before stopping the kiss. “Just let me talk,okay?” He said breathlessly and briefly rested his forehead against yours before taking a step back.

“I’m sorry. For everything. I never should have left you. I-I like you, okay? I always have, I was just too much of a pussy to admit it. And I was an asshole. You didn’t deserve that.” It wasn’t much of an apology but Rafe wasn’t good with words. “But you’re mine. I don’t fucking share. And Josh or whoever he thinks he is, he’s done. When I deal with him, he’ll know that.” He promises you.

He waited for you to speak as you bit your swollen lower lip and looked at him with big doe eyes. His gaze trails down, you were pressing your knees together. “Let me ask you something…” Rafe began. “Did he fuck you as good as I do?”

You gasped at his question and he smirked. “I asked you something, baby girl. It’s bad manners if you don’t answer. Or did he allow that too? Did he let you act like a bad girl?” Rafe nudged your knees apart with his, causing you to gasp and your back hit the wall.

“He didn’t fuck me as good.” You whispered and Rafe nodded.

“Course he didn’t. He doesn’t know you the way I do. He doesn’t know how to please that tight little pussy. But that’s okay. I’m gonna show you exactly how well I remember you.” He reached down, lifting you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as he met your lips.

Rafe kissed you with a feverish passion as he kicked open his bedroom door, slamming you on the mattress without breaking the kiss. You tasted sweet like sugar as he shoved his tongue in your mouth, searing you with a force you’d missed for six months.

He lifted up your skirt, revealing that you weren’t wearing any panties. Rafe laughed darkly. “That’s my girl. Always a fucking slut.” He separated your thighs, showing your arousal pooling out of you and he dragged a finger along your slit. “Dumb little bunny. Thinking this could ever be for anyone else.” He circled his thumb on your clit, causing your back to arch off the bed.

His digit stays there before he trails them down, pressing a finger inside your entrance, making you moan underneath him as he wraps his other hand around your neck. He pushes another one inside, curling them both upward and you mewl.

“Oh fuck, daddy I needed this.” You manage and he smirks down at you as you’re struggling to even speak.

“Yeah? Needed daddy to fuck you?” He says against your neck, pumping harder causing you to whimper and claw at his shoulders.

“Mhm, please fuck me with your cock. Want you to fill me up.” You beg him and he smiles wickedly.

“Since you asked so nicely, baby girl.” He pulls back, sucking his fingers before tugging off his pants and boxers. His dick low and heavy in between his thighs. His thick tip presses against your clit as he rolls his hips, teasing you and you whine louder.

“Please, daddy, god, please!” He finally grants your wish and thrusts into you. Hard.

The bed squeaks against the floor as he rocks forward, your hand wraps around his throat, choking him gently and he groans and licks his teeth. “That’s fucking it. That’s my girl.” He rasps and picks up his pace.

He humps you with a brutal rhythm, no source of kindness in his movements as he fucks you. “You. Are. Mine.” He growls as you tighten around him. “Say it, fucking slut. Tell me.” He lightly slaps your cheek and you gasp.

“I’m yours, daddy!” He taps the other side of your face.

“Again.”

“I’m yours!”

“Again.” He spits in your mouth, making you swallow it and you shudder, releasing all over his cock as you scream out.

“I’m yours, daddy! Fuckkk!!” You squeal and he bursts inside you, filling you up just like he promised and it drips onto the sheets. He continues thrusting, messily searing you before he collapsing on you, his lips resting on your forehead.

You’re shocked at the tender way he kisses your head, peppering your skull and hairline as he rolls off, pulling you to his chest. His fingers trace your shoulder, goosebumps raising on your skin as breaths in and out. “I’ll never leave you again. I’m sorry I ever did.”

“I know.” You answer back and blink away watery eyes. “Let’s just stay like this for a while, okay?” You ask and he nods.

“Always. But I’m still gonna fuck him up.”

[organic-bloodbath]

Hiiiiiiii. Could you do a Salesman fic?

I would love to see one where his usual calm and powerful energy is lost around the reader, as he's just enamoured with her. Like no shame, he is down bad and the reader is just flustered and lowkey confused cause they haven't known each other for long.

Idk if this makes any sense to you (up to you if you make it smut i don't really mind)

Teach Ddakji to me

The Salesman x American!Reader

Summary: You play Ddakji with a man at a subway station, but the game brings you two much closer than either of you were prepared to.

A/N: I'm not sure how well i was able to follow the request of how he behaves around the reader but this is what i got ;-; hope you still like 🫶🏻 (i'm so deep in love with this psycho i've been giggling during every other paragraph)

Part 2

♡♡

You rushed down the stairs in the subway station, only one minute until your train was going to leave. You weren't going to make it, but you had to try.

The doors were closing right in front of you and you wanted to scream and let out several different curses, but you didn't want to draw attention on yourself. Your day at the college lectures had just ended and all you wanted to do was to get home, have a dinner and rest.

You heard noise behind a corner, as if someone was slamming something on the floor. You went to see what was going on out of curiosity.

Two men were standing there, the other one tall and dressed in a grey suit, the other one a lot shorter and dressed in a simple hoodie and loose jeans, a worn out cap covering his messy black hair. Suddenly, the man in the suit slapped the other so hard on the face that the man's head turned to the right.

They slammed blue and red squares on top of each other over and over again, and it ended in the man in the suit slapping the other almost every time. Once in a while he handed to the man what looked like a bill of money. You had never seen anything like that happen anywhere and were confused.

You got a notification on your phone, a text message from your classmate.

"Join us for studying and then a dinner? A new restaurant opened nearby, we'll go and try it tonight," she messaged.

"Another day, i don't feel like going out tonight," you replied, getting a thumbs up emoji as a respond.

You put your phone in your pocket and turned around, almost having a heart attack and jumping a step back when you saw the man in the suit standing mere inches away from you, looking down at you with a slight smirk.

"Enjoyed the show, i hope?" he asked and your eyes widened. Fuck, he had noticed you stalking the two of them.

"Yea, um, sure," you said awkwardly. "Though i didn't know what it was, really."

Seeing his face now closer and him staring at you with his dark eyes made your heart beating faster and it wasn't only because of him scaring you for appearing out of nowhere. He was extremely handsome and the way he looked at you made you blush.

"You haven't heard of Ddakji?" he asked, but didn't seem surprised since he figured you weren't local by the looks of you. "It's a Korean game, want me to show you?"

"Sure," you said, nothing else to do than wait anyway. The man took the squares in his hands and offered you to choose one. You took the red one.

He explained the rules to you, it was simple. You only had to hit your square on the blue one and make it turn around, the upper side facing the floor.

It sounded simple but you were hesitant if you were actually able to do it. You threw it on the floor, aiming at the blue square, but it didn't move even an inch in any direction. You let out a frustrated groan.

"It's okay, very few people succeed on their first try," he said in a comforting tone and took a step closer to you, standing right in front of you. "But do you know what losing means to you, hm?"

You had a very good guess after seeing him and the other man play just a while ago.

"You're gonna slap me?" you asked with a grimace.

He smiled. Without a word, you felt a painful sting on your left cheek when he slapped you, not going any easier on you just because you were a woman.

"Jesus Christ!" you gasped and held your hand on your cheek which was definitely going to have a red mark later. You had never been slapped on your face and it hurt more than you thought it would hurt.

"My turn then," he said and grabbed his blue square from the floor. He slammed it on top of your red square and it immediately jumped in the air and landed on its other side on the floor.

He looked at you with the same smirk again.

"So what happens when you win?" you asked, crossing your arms. If you continued this game much longer, your face would be completely covered in bruises and you'd have a lot of explaining to do to your classmates.

"I get to use your body again," he said with a confident tone.

You closed your eyes and prepared for another slap, hoping that it would be the other one this time because your left cheek still hurt. When you felt a touch on your left cheek, you automatically winced a little bit.

But it wasn't a slap, it was a tender kiss. You opened your eyes when he had already leaned away and you saw a glimpse of kindness in his eyes this time. You felt your cheeks warming up and tried to avoid eye contact for a moment.

"Your turn," he said.

Your hand was shaking when you lifted the red square from the floor. You wanted to succeed, you had never been good at losing in anything, it was always about to start to piss you off if you didn't start winning too.

"Do you want me to help you?" he asked. You looked at him and soon he was right behind you, keeping an eye contact with you when he put his left hand on your waist and his right one to hold your hand which was holding the square. "Is this okay?"

He didn't put too much pressure on holding you, making sure that you gave him a permission for that. You suddenly couldn't get words out of your mouth, so you just nodded and swallowed the lump in your throat. He held you tighter now and instructed how it was supposed to be done. You had to have more force when you would slam the square down.

"Spread your legs a little bit," he whispered.

"What?" you gasped in shock.

"To get a better and more firm position when you throw it," he explained, his breath hot in your ear.

"Oh," you said, cheeks burning even more. You hadn't realized you were standing almost like a stick. He guided your hand up in the air in a correct position.

"Remember to let go of it at the correct moment, i'm going to aim it for you, okay?" he said and you nodded, now much more nervous than you would have been if you did this alone.

With this help, the blue square flew into the air and landed on its other side easily. You were excited of the victory, even though it was for his help, and a wide smile spread on your face.

To be honest, for a second you wished you would have failed on purpose, just to get his hands on you again - you didn't even care if it was a slap, kiss or something else.

He let go of you and you turned around to face him, already missing his touch.

"There you go," he said with a proud expression on his face. "Now, you can choose what to do to me."

You didn't hesitate for even a second longer, you immediately slapped him on his left cheek as hard as you could. However, you knew you didn't have as much as strength in your body as he did, so the slap must have stinged a lot less. His head didn't move even an inch and he only smiled.

Right then, the train you had been waiting for arrived and you took your bag from the ground. You weren't going to miss this train just because of wanting to have another round of Ddakji with this stranger.

He offered you money, worth of 100 dollars, and put them in your hand, closing your fist around the bill. You were about to refuse but he wasn't having it.

"Treat yourself a nice dinner tonight," he said. When you didn't answer, he nodded towards the train which was about to leave soon, with or without you.

"Thank you," you said. "Um, bye."

You made it into the train just in time and when you looked back at the spot where that man had just been, he was already gone.

♡♡

The salesman didn't want you to leave. He was absolutely mesmerized by you, you were the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on. Your perfume and the smell of your shampoo still lingered in his nose, even after you weren't there anymore.

He would have wanted to ask you to stay, but he couldn't find the correct words and you were in a hurry to catch your train.

He hadn't felt like this of a woman in a long time and he wanted to find you again. To hold you again.

He didn't understand how you could have made this big of an impact on him in only under 10 minutes, but all he knew was that he needed to get to know you better.

♡♡

The next day, you arrived to the class and sat next to your friend.

"Oh my god, what happened to your face?" she gasped in shock.

Yes, there was a visible red mark on your cheek and you didn't have anything at home to cover it. You didn't really use any makeup either except mascara.

"Oh um," you started, trying to find some excuse. "It's my allergies and acne." You didn't have any allergies and hadn't had acne since you were 15. But you couldn't tell her the truth, atleast now that you didn't have time to talk much since the class was about to start.

And what were you going to say to her? A stranger in the subway station slapped you and you enjoyed it?

The teacher arrived and the noise of the door slamming closed interrupted your friend who was about to say something to interview you further.

♡♡

You walked down the subway station stairs again on your way home, just like yesterday. You had your headphones on, listening to random metal songs on Spotify and were texting your mum who catched up with you twice a week how you were doing. You were supposed to have a video call later today but she apparently had to work extra tonight, she was a nurse.

When you had reached the bottom of the stairs, you bumped into something and almost tripped back but managed to keep your balance. You looked up and saw the same man in the suit as yesterday, staring down at you with a smile.

"Hello," he greeted, not moving anywhere.

"Hello," you repeated and lifted your eyebrows, taking of your headphones. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," he said without thinking.

"Me? Why? How did you know i would be here?"

"I didn't. I only figured you might have the same daily routine and took a chance," he explained.

"Why did you want to see me?" you asked, confused but feeling butterflies in your stomach.

"I didn't have a chance to ask for your phone number yesterday," he said. "And i'd like to take you out."

"Take me out you mean murder or dinner?"

"The second option. I already finished the first task earlier," he said with a smile. Handsome and with a sense of humor.

"Fine, where did you plan to take me?"

"Anywhere you want. Are you hungry?"

"You don't even know my name," you pointed out.

"You can tell me your name and all about you on our date," he smiled.

"Aren't you straightforward," you chuckled. "Are you going to teach me Ddakji again?"

"If you wish so," he said.

You bit your lip, not sure if you should go somewhere with this stranger or not. You hadn't been asked for a dinner at a subway station before, though, so you could write it on your bucketlist and cross it out.

"Okay."

♡♡

He had taken you to a lovely dinner to enjoy local foods you had never eaten before. You rarely tried any new foods, always sticking on the ones you already knew you'd like, but now you had tried something different and loved it.

Now, you were in a park, nobody else in sight. It was already dark and you knew you had to go home soon if you wanted to get enough sleep.

You held the red square in your hand once again and aimed for slamming the blue around finally on your own.

Again, you weren't able to hit it. But you hadn't even tried properly and weren't mad about it.

"Damn it," you mumbled.

"You'll get there," he smirked, stepping closer to you.

He lifted your chin with his finger.

"Close your eyes."

You did as told and waited for the worst option, squeezing your eyes shut tightly.

You felt his lips press on yours, taking you into a slow kiss. He broke the kiss but didn't let go of your chin

"Do i have to play another round of Ddakji to do that again?"

You smiled and stepped on your tiptoes to reach him better, cupped his face and pulled him in a proper, deeper kiss. He instantly wrapped his arms around your waist to press your body against him tighter.

"Just so you know, i don't sleep with men on our first date," you said when the kiss was over, his hands wandering around your back they had almost reached your ass.

He moved his left hand to the back of your neck, keeping the right one on your lower back. He pushed his fingers through your hair, softly massaging your scalp.

"What is it about you that makes me so drawn to you?" he whispered, and you didn't know if the question was for you or just for himself. "Only two days and you've managed to make me absolutely addicted to you."

He pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, and you felt blush creeping on its way to your cheeks.

He eventually walked you back home like a gentleman, not allowing you to walk anywhere at this hour. He had to make sure you got back home safely.

"Will i see you again tomorrow?" he asked before you managed to leave, gently holding your wrist.

"I have to study, i've fallen behind in couple of courses so i need to catch up," you said and his face fell a little bit. Surely he had other things to do in his life besides seeing you. "Are you free this weekend?"

His face lighted up again for your suggestion.

"For you, of course," he said and brought your hand towards his face, planting a kiss on your knuckles. "Goodnight, Y/N."

You went inside your apartment and silently closed the door, trying to do everything as quietly as you could, but then the lights were turned on.

"Okay who the HELL is that man, Y/N?!" your roommate shouted at you, making you jump and almost have a heart attack. It was so late you thought she was already sleeping, she was the type to be in bed by 8pm and asleep by 9pm.

"Um, well I-"

"That is the most gorgeous man i've ever seen," she said, still speaking loudly, and stepped closer to you and pointed you with her finger. "How couldn't you tell me you were dating a new man?"

"Well i only met him a while ago," you admitted.

"Still?!" she shouted. "You know i like boy talk and you never talk about your dating life! Oh my god, have you finally downloaded Tinder or something?"

"Ew, no," you shook your head.

"You're right, there's no way men THAT hot would still be on Tinder and not married," she said and then gasped. "Girl, he's not married, is he?"

"I sure hope he's not," you said and for a moment you were afraid he might be married. I mean, how could he still be single? Your friend always talked so much that you started to doubt everything you previously knew.

"Wait a minute, i'll get us some popcorn and then you're gonna spill everything," she said and without another word, she was already in the kitchen.

And you did tell her everything because my god you needed to talk to someone about him.

♡♡

A few days and several text conversations later, you were in his hotel room, and he pressed you against the wall, his right hand leaning on the wall right by your head.

He lifted your head by his forefinger on your chin to make you look straight into your eyes.

"How long are you going to stay in Korea?" he asked.

"What, are you going to ask me to move in with you or something? Plan a summer wedding?" you joked.

"If you want to," he said with a serious face and you truly wasn't sure if he was serious or joking. You hadn't yet found a difference between the two.

"Wait what?"

You hadn't dated any Korean men before so you weren't sure how fast they progressed in the dating life. Would it be normal to propose on the first week or ask to move in? Surely not.

He smiled. "I only ask because i don't want to have you only for a short while," he said and let his fingers wander around your shoulder, sending goosebumps all over your body.

"Well, i'll be here for atleast another 5 months," you told him and then pouted. "So, no summer wedding?"

"I'd have to buy a ring first," he smirked.

"It better be a real diamond too then," you chuckled, having seen the stacks of money he had carried with him, and pulled him into another kiss.

He was soon kissing your neck, leaving a mark on your skin, until your stomach growled and interrupted him.

"When was the last time you ate?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. "I thought you had eaten before you came here."

"Well, it's been a while i suppose," you said, not really remembering anymore when the last time was.

He stepped away from you and pulled out his phone.

"What are you doing?"

"We're ordering food," he said. "What would you like to eat?"

He ordered Chinese food for you and ate it on the bed while watching some brainless comedy movie.

When the movie had ended, he went to the bathroom, leaving you to lay on the bed and making you to fall in your thoughts alone.

You had been in a relationship twice in your life, and in neither of them your relationship had moved on this fast. I mean, you weren't in an official relationship, you had been just barely hooking up, but the way he talked about you only knowing you for a few days wasn't something you had been used to at all.

In the U.S., it took guys several weeks to make any progress in relationships, atleast what you had seen and gone through.

Maybe you should slow down a little, take a step back and see what he really wants from you.

By the time he came back from the bathroom, you had fallen asleep. You looked so peaceful in your sleep, so beautiful even with your messy hair all over the pillow.

He came closer to you and pulled a blanket over you, the edge almost reaching your jaw. You stirred in your sleep, turning to lay on your side, but didn't show any signs of waking up.

He laid himself on the bed next to you and just looked at your sleeping figure for several minutes. He was afraid of getting attached to a woman so fast, in so little time, but he couldn't help it.

To him you were perfect, and he wanted to know everything about you that there was to know.

♡♡

A/N: If you want a part 2, please leave any requests you might have, i'm not sure where to go with this 🫶🏻❤️💙

[angels-sins0]

Ghost x f!reader

Cw: smut, emotionally unavailable Simon, rough sex, age gap relationship (Simon is depicted in his late 30’s and the reader is around 21), older man!Ghost, young & naive!reader, unprotected sex, creampie

Ghost was a complex man.

You had never actually seen his face before, except for his lips and nose when he would lift up his mask to kiss you a couple times.

You had explicit instructions to only call him Ghost, never even bothering to tell you what his actual name was.

Ghost was a complete mystery to you, and it didn’t help that you were a young and curious girl.

You assumed he was in late 30’s, your best guess being that he was 37.

He had you on your back. Fucking into you so deep, his balls were slapping against you. Your legs were spread wide to accommodate him between them.

He didn’t talk much, only letting out the occasional groan when he hit that spot deep inside you.

“Ghost- feels so good…” You moaned and he didn’t acknowledge it, just kept pounding into your greedy pussy.

Ghost had his eyes closed, his face a few inches away from your own. You pulled him in for a kiss that left you breathless.

He let his head drop down to rest beside your neck when he pulled away, and your first instinct was to wrap your hands around him.

For a moment you let yourself believe that you were two lovers sharing an intimate moment with each other and you relished in the feeling it brought you.

Until that feeling subsided when he spoke in a cold tone. “You close?” He asked, no real emotion behind his voice.

“Yes.” You gasped when one of his hands wrapped around your leg, ultimately forcing you to loop both of them around him.

You were growing needier the closer you got to your release. “I wanna— fuck! Wanna see you.” You whimpered and moved one of your hands to grab at his mask in an attempt to pull it up.

He quickly stopped you, lifting his head up and roughly slapping your hand away, pinning both of your hands up in the process.

“Don’t ever fucking try that again. Understand?” Ghost scolded you, causing tears to finally fall from your eyes. All you could do was nod and look away, completely missing the way his eyes scanned your face for a few seconds.

Ghost grabbed your face and forced you to look at him. “Use your words.” He demanded.

“I understand.” You winced at his roughness. It’s like he had an inability to feel anything except for anger. You would sometimes feel so stupid for allowing him to be like this, allowing him to take that anger out on you.

He muttered out a quick “Good.” Before resuming his movements, tears still falling from your eyes even when he pressed his forehead against yours.

You came a couple of minutes after and Ghost followed shortly after you, emptying his load inside you and thrusting into you a few more times to make sure he doesn’t waste a drop.

Ghost lays still, his cock softening up inside your cunt.

“It’s Simon.” He says suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. “What?” His words prompting you to stop crying.

He finally lifts his head up off of yours and slides out from inside you, getting out of his bed and going into the bathroom, completely disregarding what he just said.

You stayed in the bed for a few minutes, until he poked his head out to see if you were still there, letting out what you assumed was an annoyed sigh when he found you still in his room.

Ghost locked eyes with you for what felt like an eternity before you finally got the hint that he probably didn’t want you around by the time he got out.

You quickly got up and started getting dressed, taking a look at yourself in the mirror, and wiping away the tears from your eyes.

You felt so disgusting, for continuing to see him even when he had proved on multiple occasions that he wasn’t a good man, for letting him use you however he pleased.

He startled you when the bathroom door swung open. Ghost coming out in nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his waist.

You looked at each other, internally grimacing at the deafening silence that had grown between you.

“I was just leaving, I’m sorry.” You weakly spoke, and he gave no response as he shuffled around his room to grab clean clothes.

He was still wearing his mask, almost like he was expecting to find you when he came out.

“Thank you for… for tonight.” You didn’t know why you said that but you just wanted to say anything in an attempt to get him to acknowledge you as a human being with feelings.

Ghost looked at you as he was sliding into his pants. He didn’t expect you to walk up to him and give him a hug.

You didn’t have the slightest clue as to why you were doing any of this and you couldn’t help the tears that escaped you.

He pulled you away, having not hugged you back. Your hands holding both of his arms. He looked down at you.

“It’s getting late.” Ghost spoke plainly. “Yeah…” You absolutely hated the silence that followed your words.

“Simon?” You said his real name for the very first time, your eyes lighting up slightly when he hummed.

“I’m sorry for doing that earlier. I don’t know what got into me.” You apologized. Simon stayed silent for a few moments, looking closely into your eyes.

“Okay.” He shrugged you off, barely acknowledging your words as he walked away. You took that as your sign to leave his house.

You finally walked out the door and you silently prayed the ground would swallow you up. You looked back once at the closed door before walking away with a heavy feeling in your heart.

[enigmatist17]

I was right in the path of the snowstorm that hit us this week (and another coming this weekend yaaaay), and thought of my boys :)

This is part of the Mecha Pilot AU by @keferon :)

My other AU fics here

---

"RATTY, WHAT IS ALL THIS STUFF?"

Deadlock didn't yell, at least not that Ratchet had ever heard, and he sure as hell never sounded uncertain.

"What're you goin' on about?" The mechanic certainly didn't have some pep in his step as he hurried to his Cybertronian, a wrench gripped in one hand as he headed to the personal bay he'd set up for Deadlock. The door was open, revealing a heavy snowfall that Ratchet had forgotten about, the mech staring at the weather with a glare.

"What is it?!" His plating rattled in slight discomfort as Ratchet raised an optic ridge (no, eyebrow? Eh, he'll ask later) at him, clearly unconcerned by the strange weather. "The sky hasn't done this before."

"That would be because it hasn't gotten cold enough 'til now." The wrench in his hand gets shoved into his toolbelt, and despite the lack of his jacket, Ratchet steps out into the snow with an amused smirk. "See? Safe an' sound." True to his words, Ratchet didn't appear in any pain, aside from a shiver that wracked his frame as the white flakes started to coat him. "It's called snow."

"Why is there snow? It has been cold for days now, your bitching about it has told me that enough." Slowly, the mech reached out to Ratchet, his digit twitching when the first few flakes landed on it, but no warnings popped up in his HUD.

"We didn't have the right temperature for the water vapor in the air to condense, but we do now. I forgot we were even gettin' a storm, which means getting home is going to be a bitch and a half."

"You drive in this stuff?" The Cybertronian asked, letting the curiosity running through his processor bleed through more than he usually would have done. "Is it not dangerous?"

"Well yea, but we've adapted over the years." The human responded as he moved to come in from the snow, Deadlock using his hand as a cover. "Sit here, let me go get my jacket and other boots on."

"Alright." Deadlock watched Ratchet head back inside his shop floor before returning his optics to the snowy landscape in front of him. He had seen something resembling this snow a few times, but it had been through quick pit stops at planets to scavenge shards of energon that left him no time to actually examine the frozen precipitation. It's cold against his servo when Deadlock scoops up a generous helping of the snow, compacting into a vague ball shape when he closes his servo into a fist, remaining solid even after he grabs it with his other servo.

"We call that a snowball." Ratchet had also put on a hat and some servo coverings, crouching to scoop up his own snow. "I'd rather you not throw that one at me, but pick and target and launch."

"Is this snow a weapon?" Now that got his attention, the assassin picked out a random tree and launched the snowball as hard as he could, all of the collected snow on the branches falling off as it connected with a loud thud.

"Not as effective ones, that's for sure." Ratchet snorted, nailing a nearby parked car right in the windshield. "Nah, it's for fun usually, though you're gonna kill me with how hard you threw yours."

"I'd never hurt you Ratty." Deadlock purred, offering his servo with a grin. "I want to see more."

"C'mon, the lake might be frozen over." Ratchet hopped up onto the offered limb, bracing himself against the wind as Deadlock began to venture out into the snowy forest, pausing every so often to look at the snow-covered trees and rocks in interest. "So Cybertron doesn't have snow?"

"Not that I was ever aware of? What we consider organic on Cybertron isn't the same definition for you."

"Fair enough." Ratchet lapsed into silence as Deadlock headed to the lake he had crash-landed next to what felt like a lifetime ago, the mech clearly surprised by the sight when they reached the clearing. "Well?"

"..." Deadlock carefully set his human down before approaching the water's edge, the surface now solid to the touch. "This is...cool."

"Yes it is." Ratchet snorted as he joined the mech, testing the ice with one foot. "Hm, might be strong enough..."

"For what?" The mechanic looked up with an amused look before taking a step forward, Deadlock watching in slight awe as he began to walk on water like he was strolling on normal ground.

"You can't always do this, but sometimes we get lucky. It is pretty cool." He grinned, the alien reaching over to steady him with a digit when Ratchet wobbled slightly. "Thanks."

"As much as I kinda don't like your planet all this much, I could come to like this snow and ice." The assassin purred, using his digit to lazily pull Ratchet around on the ice in a random pattern.

"Not the biggest fan, but I do enjoy the occasional snow day myself." Ratchet shrugged as he did a poor man's version of ice skating, only upright do to his tight hold on Deadlock's digit. "Glad you're enjoying it."

"Only because I'm with you." The look on Ratchet's face made the corny line more than worth it, Deadlock chuckling as he continued pulling the human around on the ice. "How long will it be like this?"

"I don't know, probably a few days. Best enjoy it while we've got it."

"Works for me." Sure, Ratchet can't feel much of his body by the time Deadlock decides he's done enjoying the view, but it wasn't all bad when he's carefully placed inside the mech's warm interior for the trek back. They end up dozing off in Ratchet's workshop when neither of them feels like dealing with what would be a nasty drive to Ratchet's home, the falling snow filtering through the moonlight lulling them both to sleep.

[specialgradefckr]

tw: explicit content, incest, satoru/reader, satoru/suguru, shoko/reader, codependency, very twisted relationship dynamics, implied abusive/neglectful childhood

suguru had never known what to make of the two of you.

satoru the six eyes and his twin sister. satoru who was his best friend, and you, the girl who looks just like him.

satoru who let suguru bend him over and fuck him until he cried, only to roll off the bed, pulling out his phone.

god. he knew satoru was a dick, but this?

it hurts more than it should. they'd never talked about it, never even called each other friends. he should have figured this wasn't anything special.

but what the fuck is satoru doing on his phone?

"satoru?" he says, trying to sound casual.

everything has to be casual with satoru. low-key. being with him feels like he's coaxing a wild animal. get too close, and he might just bolt.

bolt, only to hit him out of the blue days later with a picture of a candy and a smarmy comment about suguru's taste in food. or his hair. or his power as a sorcerer, or whatever was going through that malfunctioning brain of his.

god, why the fuck does he even like him again?

satoru turns back so suguru can see his smirking face.

god. that was why. the face of a fucking angel, a smile that made his heart skip. why did it have to be on this asshole?

"what, suguru? you feelin' lonely?" satoru drawls.

it's a question he knows the answer to. keep it chill. don't show your hand. don't get too close or he'll get scared.

it aches. "shut up," he says, "i'm just curious who you're texting right after i pulled my dick out of you."

he smirks back when satoru pauses, hesitates.

"who's this person you're thinking about right after you cum?" suguru drawls. he's proud of how distant he manages to sound.

satoru's eyes dart towards him, all ice blue and piercing.

"nobody," he says, setting his phone face down while he pulls on his pants.

he blinks. "what are you..."

satoru ignores his question, strolling out towards the door while waving goodbye. "later, su-gu-ru~"

"but this is -"

before his eyes can furrow, satoru closes the door behind him.

"...your room."

he'd thought that it meant something different this time. satoru always left right after they fucked, he never stayed.

but this is satoru's room. so he'd either kick suguru out, or let him stay.

he hadn't been prepared for him to just... leave. his own room.

what's wrong with him? seriously.

suguru glances at the downturned phone. flips it over.

nee-chan~ (2)

his sister? it beeps.

nee-chan~ (3)

no, don't. i'll ask shoko

you'll ask shoko to do what? satoru has a lock, so he can't see.

seriously, i mean it

after a moment, there's another message.

are you ignoring me, or just busy with him?

don't come over. slut

...what?

the message notification disappears along with the message.

suguru gets a strange feeling.

he looks around satoru's room. he finds some girl's clothes.

does satoru even like girls? they could be yours. he's seen you in his room before.

the strange feeling starts to get. stranger.

there's condoms in here, too, which is weird because satoru has never asked him to use them. or used them himself. he whined when suguru suggested it, actually. asked if he was scared of getting knocked up.

ugh. stupid, insufferable, endearing little shit. he wants to have him in his arms right now.

but it doesn't mater what suguru wants. satoru just left. like he always does, sooner or later.

picking up the phone, he makes his way out. down the hall, towards the girls' dorm.

shoko is already there when he gets there. holding out an arm to stop him.

he raises a brow.

"she's sleeping."

"how do you know i'm here for her?"

shoko shrugs. "why else would you be? saw gojo go in there. anyways, they're asleep now."

"can't be. i was with him just a few minutes ago."

the look she gives him is... strange. everything about this situation feels... off.

he pushes past her, and she sighs.

there's no noise inside, at least. he looses a curse to twist the lock on the door, turn it form the inside.

and it's surprising because - god, what was he expecting?

you're there, curled up beneath the blanket with satoru laying behind you, arms wrapped around you and holding you close.

it's romantic, sure. intimate.

but nothing weird. well, nothing too weird. satoru's always been weird, and you're just like him, so of course you're both weird together. you've always been close. you're his twin sister. what is he thinking?

with a toss, he lets satoru's phone fall onto the floor.

he avoids shoko's gaze as he closes the door and stalks off.

(he doesn't see her anxious glance at the door.)

"he's gone," satoru whispers to you, brushing his thumb over your nipple as you bite your lip.

"shut up," you hiss, putting a hand over his. "i can't believe you did that. why did he follow you? what did you say to him?"

his other hand, threaded beneath your panties, wriggles playfully.

"whaaat? you said you wanted to go to bed. i didn't want to make you wait." he sighs dramatically, "i'm the strongest sorcerer, you know. i need my rest~"

and without you, there is no rest.

as soon as your body is against his, it's like all the tension leaves him. you're there, with him, and everything is all right.

all his worries fade away when he can wrap his arms around you and feel you embrace him in return. mind blank at the soothing sound of your voice. never mind the words you're saying.

"yeah, but do you need to do... this." you say fruitlessly. "you could have come later."

"didn't wanna come later," he kisses your shoulder, "wanted to see you now."

you wriggle in his arms, too wide and too strong to escape, even if you wanted to.

it's enraging. it's gratifying. you don't know what it is, and never have.

he must have been fucking suguru. and after he got his, he came to you.

should you laugh, or cry?

"i could have asked shoko." you mumble almost miserably.

but a sigh escapes you as he fondles your breast. satoru always knows how to make you feel good.

maybe not as good as shoko does, but you're still nice enough not to say that to his face.

"what? to sleep with you?" satoru scoffs, "you can't sleep without me, either."

neither of you have ever slept alone, not a single night in your life.

not even when you were deathly ill and the clan begged the precious six eyes to stay away and not catch your sickness.

satoru had stayed by your side the entire while. held your hand while your head pounded and your body ached. wiped your tears when you cried.

because you were very young, and very sick, in more pain than you'd ever felt before. you had honestly thought you were going to die.

there had been no servants, no mother or father or caretaker. only satoru holding you close, lifting you to drink some water and medicine. telling you that you couldn't die. he wouldn't allow it.

and to your child's mind, that had been reassuring. your brother never left you. your fever broke and you were okay, just like he said you would be.

now, you know better. now you know satoru would lay in bed with people who weren't you, even if he always came back (for now).

now you knew what it was like to have someone else by your side.

(but was it enough? could it ever be enough? could it ever be what you have with him?)

"i'll never know until i try." you turn in his arms to face him, and he allows it.

blue eyes. beautiful, beautiful blue. a pretty face. almost as pretty as shoko's.

you've been learning, lately. you used to think of the mole on her cheek as an imperfection, the cigarette smoke a bad habit.

now? you still think it's a bad habit, but the mole is charming. and you don't hate the smell as much because shoko took you out shopping for perfume.

she asked you which one you liked the most, and bought it for herself. she wears it every friday when you have your girls night out with utahime.

where you get drunk enough to make out with her until she brings you back to the dorm, kissing and fondling and touching.

she asks you if it's okay. asks you how you like it best. asks you to touch her this way, that way.

it's not like how it is with satoru. but she makes you feel good, makes you happy. she wants you to feel good. when you cry she kisses your tears away, like she knows better than to ask but wants to comfort you anyways.

when was the last time satoru tried to comfort you?

"hey," satoru breathes into your ear, pulling your panties down, "c'mon."

when you think of her, your heart flutters. when you think of satoru, your stomach flips, and your whole body aches.

you don't know what love is. you don't think satoru does, either.

otherwise, why would he ever leave geto's arms? when he's so obviously head over heels for him?

you clasp one arm against his chest as you reach down, stroking his cock to hardness. geto must have made him cum (satoru has never made you cum). must have fucked him.

satoru rolls you so you're on top of him.

his shirt is off, baring his lean, muscled chest. your brother, your strong, handsome, beautiful brother, looking up at you with wandering eyes and greedy hands.

your hands are equally greedy. running over his chest, ghosting over his nipples until he shivers. oversensitive. he always is after he's been with geto.

satoru's got a condom out already. he slips it on, leaning forward and pinning you down beneath him.

he doesn't have to use condoms with geto. he doesn't have to be the one on top all the time, either. geto can fuck him. he must like that.

geto's a special grade sorcerer. geto's a man. he's not his sister.

his cock is sliding up and down against your entrance, wetting the condom as he nips at your breast.

he always leaves marks like this, but never where anyone can see.

does he leave marks on geto?

"do you like him more?" you mumble, anxiety swirling in your gut. your lower half is a hot swirling pool of need, leaking for him.

and he inches in, making you whine, making you claw marks into his shoulder. you hope geto sees them.

satoru groans, low and throaty. it always feels like coming home when he's inside you. a perfectly matched lock and key.

his hand threads through your hair. you're so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. he'll admit he's a vain bitch, but who wouldn't be? looking like the two of you do.

maybe one day he should get you to dress up like him. wear a strap and fuck him, that'd be fun.

for now, you're warm and soft and perfect for him. so comfortable. and you're rambling about stuff that isn't important.

"what," he murmurs, breathy from the warmth of you around him, "who?"

if the frustration shows on your face, he can just fuck it away.

"geto." the name is swallowed by a swift thrust, hands planted on your hips.

you wish he'd touch your clit more (you never ask). you wish he'd answer your question (you're afraid to push). but your brother just doesn't think about other people.

"c'mon," he whines, "don't talk about some other dude. you're with me."

"you were with him."

"so?" he thrusts in harder, stealing your breath, like that'll win him the argument, "you're fucking shoko."

satoru fucks you breathless, then. pumping in and out so quickly that the friction has you shuddering, shivering, close enough that you finally start to squeeze around him.

it's always like this with him. you feel like you're drowning, helpless. all you can do is cling to him.

"satoru," you hate how pitiful your voice sounds, "satoruuuu...."

he's hitting you, so deep and so hard it hurts, pierces through the breathless haze and leaves you clenching around him.

"please," your breath escapes you with his next thrust.

please don't leave me. don't abandon me for him. don't discard me now that you have someone better. don't leave me all by myself...

tears dot at your eyes, squeezing around him. satoru's own eyes are wide and wild, his hips shoving into you staggeringly fast.

"i got you," he says, close, so close, "i've got you."

another deep thrust, painful as it is pleasurable, bruising and fast like his fingertips on your hips. he swallows your moans with a kiss.

he thinks he can eat up all your complaints, all your anxiety. hide away from his own by nestling himself in your body.

you don't want anyone but him, right? he's the only one who touches you like this.

the way you squeeze around him, the way your body feels against his, no one else gets that from you. shoko couldn't do this for you. no one could.

you say his name again and he's ready to burst. you love him always. you're so good for him. you make him feel good just by being there.

a part of his life. a missing limb. his precious sister, his beating heart, right there against his chest.

"there," satoru pants, "fuck, there, cum for me, baby..."

it's tears you blink away when he gasps and cums, burying himself inside you with a wounded sort of whimper.

you never do, when it's him. to be fair, you've never done it to yourself, either.

you only ever came when shoko fucked you. but fucked is such an ugly word for how gently she touched you, how soft she smiled.

"satoru," you whine again, "do you like him more than me? i like you more than shoko..."

satoru doesn't answer you. his hands move from your bruised hips to wrap around you, pull you close, plant kisses on your head.

"you know," he mumbles out your name. "you know."

there's a flash of rage. irrational.

he won't say it. he won't even say it. satoru will fuck you, his own sister. cling to you like he needs you to survive, sleep with you every night of his life.

but he won't say he loves you more than geto. he won't even say he likes you.

and you know - because you know him like the back of your hand, you were born with him, you spent every waking moment of your life with him until you came to the school - you know satoru loves you.

but he loves you like he loves air. it's always there. always accessible. it's not like the air will suddenly leave.

you curl into satoru's muscled chest, let him embrace you closer, sink into the silence that's only comfortable for him.

maybe there's something you can do about this.

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!yoongi (11) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ *nsfw*

series m.list // taglist closed

note: the slight angst in ch 10 was a set up for all the fluff, smut, and happiness in this ch !!! HEHEHEHE enj !!! pls lmk ur thots ,, ik i ditched this story for a bit so pls talk to me yall 🥲

warnings: making out, yoongi’s dick is big, oc’s tits are big, yoongi eats her out,, they fuck side to side/behind idk,, missionary, dirty talk, and creampie

//

it’s 10AM and you haven’t texted or called yoongi. 

although, he should have seen this coming. you had left all his messages unread last night and he didn’t want to push his luck any further by annoying you now (the following morning)...

but it’s difficult as fuck. 

he has never felt this way about anyone before. 

he has never wanted to fix anything so fast. he has never wanted to pick someone up so early. he has never wanted to be with someone so bad at night. 

it ached, honestly. 

… when you said you didn’t want to talk.

what the fuck did that even mean? if anything, he should be the only person in the world you talk to. instead, he’s the only person in the world you’re ignoring right now. 

so, yoongi sits in his office. 

slumped at his desk with the hum of his computer and the faint clock ticking. his eyes skim over the files on his screen, but he isn’t really reading. if anything, he’s just blinking. every few minutes, he glances at his phone, the unanswered silence gnawing at him.

he exhales slowly, leaning back in his chair, fingers brushing over his jaw as his thoughts spiral.

you didn’t want to talk to him last night.

he doesn’t get it—doesn’t know if he’s pushing too hard, or if he’s just not getting through. you two were just fine the other day. great, even… so what gives? what shifted? what changed? was it jungkook? 

are you actually into jungkook?

is that it? 

before his thoughts flood in and make his anxiety grow, yoongi grabs his phone, his thumb hovering over your contact.

then, he thinks…

fuck it.

yoongi hits call and presses the phone to his ear, the dial tone humming in his chest. by the third ring, yoongi’s heart begins to beat faster and faster. as he’s about to put his phone down and end the call—

his door creaks open.

yoongi hisses from the surprise as his head snaps towards the door. before he can grumpily kick whoever is barging into his office out—his gaze softens at the sight of you.

suddenly, you step in. 

you move towards him, looking a little unsure. there’s a box of tangerines cradled in your hands and the sound of your phone buzzing in your purse fills the room. 

yoongi immediately hangs up, lowering his phone. he blinks, surprised, then pushes himself to stand.

“hey.” his voice is soft, warm, like you’re something he doesn’t want to scare off. 

“hi.”

your gaze flickers toward him before settling on the tangerines in your hands. you pick up your pace and stand in front of him, his desk separating you two. without hesitation, you extend the box of tangerines towards him. yoongi’s hands brush yours as he takes it, lingering just a little longer than necessary. 

“you shouldn’t be carrying anything heavy.”

“it’s not heavy,” you say, shrugging as you slip your purse off your shoulder.

“get jungkook to carry them in next time—here—have a seat, please.” yoongi gestures to the chair by his desk, guiding you down with a quiet insistence. he sets the box of tangerines beside him on the desk and leans against the edge, close enough to reach for you. 

he wants to.

so bad. 

so fucking bad. 

… but he doesn’t. 

instead, he stays still, hands braced on the desk, holding himself back.

the silence sits between you for a moment.

a little awkward, a little heavy. 

but finally, you speak.

“i’m sorry about last night,” you say softly, looking down at your hands in your lap. “i should’ve… i should’ve been better to you. i was really tired, yes… but i shouldn’t have left things like that. let’s blame half of it on my pregancy harmones, but let’s also blame the other half on me. i should have communicated better and i should have come home. i didn’t mean to worry you or make you feel like… whatever you felt last night… if we’re on the same page about everything, i’m assuming that we both felt—”

“like shit last night?”

“like shit.”

yoongi tilts his head slightly, his eyes softening as he watches you. “___, you don’t have to—”

“i came by your place,” you interrupt, your voice quiet.

“our place,” he corrects gently.

you pause, the words sinking in before you nod. 

“our place.” 

you glance up at him, and there’s a small smile on your lips, like you’re testing the words.

“i didn’t sleep well last night and i don’t understand why… or how… how i’ve been falling asleep without you by my side. so, i hurried over to our place but you already left for work… i spent the entire morning waiting for grocery stores to open so i could bring you these—” you gesture to the tangerines, a little sheepish. “peace offering? apology gift? please-be-my-baby’s-daddy bribery?”

yoongi blinks, caught off guard, and then—he laughs. 

it’s soft at first, but it bubbles up, warm and genuine, breaking the tension in the room.

you smile at him, a real one this time, and the corners of his mouth curve up in response. the air feels lighter somehow.

“baby daddy bribery?” he echoes, shaking his head, his laugh still lingering in his chest. “you’re unbelievable.”

“why? cos it’s working?” you tease, tilting your head as you look at him.

yoongi exhales, his shoulders easing as the smile lingers on his lips. 

“you don’t need to bribe me,” he says softly, his voice steady, sincere. “you just… you just need to talk to me.”

your expression falters slightly, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

“i know.”

he sees it, and for a moment, he wants to pull you in—wants to wrap his arms around you and hold you close, to kiss your forehead and tell you it’s okay. wants to tell you that you’re forgiven before you even ask for forgiveness. 

but he doesn’t. 

he stays still, waiting, letting you give as much as you’re ready to.

he prepares for the wait and for the lingering ache. he braces himself but instead—

you reach for him.

you reach for him and suddenly all his walls come crumbling down. like all the pride and courage he gathered to save face mean nothing when it comes to you and the way you captivate him. he gives in. he gives in so fucking much.

your hand finds his wrist, curling lightly around it, and his chest tightens.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, and yoongi exhales, the sound soft and heavy all at once. “i was imature and i could’ve handled the situation better. i should’ve talked to you. i should’ve called. we’re in this together and i left you alone last night. i will never do that agian. i promise, yoongi. i’m really really sorry—”

“it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice gentle. “stop apologizing now.”

he turns his hand under yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, grounding you both in the quiet. before you know it, he’s tugging them to his lips. as he kisses your knuckles, your eyes water. 

you can’t help it. 

neither can yoongi because finally, he reaches for you. yoongi cups your face, dips his head low, and kisses you.

against your lips, he murmurs; ”did you build ikea furniture with jungkook?”

“no.”

“good,” he smiles. “i would’ve been mad at you.”

“mad at me or jealous over him?”

yoongi pulls away. “me? jealous?”

you throw your head back and scoff at him. he chuckles and quickly shifts himself back, close to you. 

“you noticed?” he tilts his head. 

“no,” you squint at him. “not at all.”

the box of tangerines sits between you as yoongi works, the soft sound of typing filling the office. you’re perched on the small couch in the corner, one hand resting on the curve of your belly, the other scrolling lazily through your phone.

“it’s quiet today,” you say, breaking the silence, your tone light.

yoongi hums, eyes still fixed on the screen as he types in steady, practiced motions.

“mm, i got through a few patient phone calls in the evening yesterday… just going through files and notes today. paperwork stuff.”

“maybe your patients are avoiding you,” you tease. “you know? since your resting face isn’t exactly inviting.”

he glances at you, a soft scoff escaping him. 

“it’s called being focused.”

you smile, the corners of your mouth quirking up, and yoongi catches it—he always does. his gaze lingers for just a beat longer before he shakes his head and turns back to his work, the faintest ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

you let the quiet stretch again, content to watch him as you absentmindedly trace little circles over your stomach.

after a while, the stillness in the office makes you restless. 

“i’m going to walk around. check on the others.”

“okay. can you check on jimin, tae, and jungkook? they’re a little quiet today. usually means they’re up to something,” yoongi says without looking up, but there’s no real warning in his tone. “... if they are; don’t join them.”

you stand with a small groan, pressing a hand to your lower back as you stretch. “me? never.”

he watches as you leave, one hand on the doorframe for balance, and his eyes soften when the door clicks shut behind you.

an hour later, you’re back in yoongi’s office, settling onto the couch again with a triumphant little huff.

“did you make your rounds?” yoongi asks, closing the file on his desk and turning toward you.

“mhmm,” you hum, reaching for the box of tangerines. “jin was chill. namjoon and i talked about what bag he should buy hyemi for their anniversary. jimin and taehyung were running lab tests… jungkook was complaining about his protein bars not having enough protein… oh, and hobi said i looked like i was about to pop—”

yoongi scrunches his nose in distaste. 

“he’s an idiot. you look perfect.”

“yeah, but he’s your idiot.”

“and i’m starting to regret that.”

you laugh quietly, peeling the first tangerine with practiced hands. the sharp citrus smell fills the air, and you separate a segment before holding it out toward him.

yoongi quirks a brow.

“are you feeding me now?”

“i’m like 6 months pregnant and growing a human,” you peel another segment carefully, the sound crisp in the quiet of the office. “you think i’m doing all this for me?”

yoongi’s gaze flickers to yours—dry, disbelieving—but his lips twitch. “right. you’re peeling tangerines purely out of obligation.”

“purely. i do this for all my babydaddies…” you hold the segment out toward him, a quiet challenge in your eyes. “now be nice and take it.”

there’s a beat of silence where neither of you move, but then yoongi leans in, the edge of his knee brushing yours as he lets you press the tangerine to his lips. his eyes stay on you the whole time, half amused and half… something else.

“good job, daddy.”

yoongi freezes mid-chew, a soft scoff escaping him as his gaze sharpens. 

“don’t.”

you raise an innocent brow, peeling another tangerine with practiced fingers. 

“don’t?”

“don’t start.”

“why not?” you tease.

yoongi exhales through his nose, leaning back against the desk as he watches you. his long legs stretch out in front of him, the tips of his shoes almost bumping yours. 

“you’re playing with me.”

“maybe so… but only because it seems like you’re easy to mess with,” you quip, holding out another segment.

yoongi doesn’t move immediately this time. he just looks at you, his expression unreadable.

“but seriously… you don’t have to do that,” he mutters.

you blink, confused. “do what?”

“... do things like this.”

something about the way he says it makes the air feel different, heavier. you hesitate for a second before nudging his hand. 

“it’s just a peeled tangerine.”

“no it’s not,” he says. 

you blink at him. 

“okay,” you begin to confess. “it’s not. you know what it means and you know why i’m doing it. so what?”

yoongi huffs quietly—almost a laugh—but he leans forward again, this time brushing your fingertips just a little longer than necessary as he takes it. your breath catches, just for a moment, and yoongi notices. 

of course he does.

the corner of his mouth twitches.

“see? you’re not so tough.”

“never said i was,” you say softly, peeling another piece without looking at him. “especially when it’s about you.”

yoongi watches you carefully, his hand sliding to rest against the couch beside you, close enough that his fingers almost graze your dress.

“you always get like this when you’re bored,” he says finally, voice low.

“get like what?”

“antagonizing me.”

you smirk to yourself, holding another segment out toward him.

“it’s called keeping you on your toes. you should thank me.”

yoongi leans in again, but this time, there’s a faint smile on his lips as he takes the fruit from your hand.

“thank you—”

the door swings open without warning.

“am i interrupting something?”

jungkook’s voice cuts through the room, and you freeze mid-motion, holding a tangerine segment up to yoongi’s mouth. yoongi sighs deeply, closing his eyes for a brief second like he’s praying for patience.

“come back later, jungkook,” yoongi mutters, but you don’t move. instead, you smirk and press the tangerine to his lips anyway.

he takes it begrudgingly, chewing as he glares at jungkook.

“wow,” jungkook says, stepping fully into the room and folding his arms. “the baby’s not even here yet, and you two are already disgusting.”

“who cares about what you think?” you quip, reaching toward yoongi again when you see a bit of juice spill from the corner of his mouth.

before he can move, your thumb brushes the juice away, and without thinking, you bring it to your mouth, licking it off.

yoongi freezes.

jungkook’s jaw drops.

“oh my god,” jungkook groans, clapping a hand over his eyes dramatically. “can you two not? in the workplace? fired.”

yoongi’s ears tint faintly pink, and he clears his throat, shooting you a look that’s half warning, half something softer.

“you came in uninvited,” he says flatly. “and i’m technically your boss.”

“yeah, well, now i regret it.” jungkook drops his hand and gestures between the two of you. “just take the day off. seriously. the patients can survive without you—i’ll handle everything.”

“we barely have any patients today.”

“see?” jungkook sighs. “i’ll send out the emails and shit. just sign what you need to sign and get out of here.”

yoongi hesitates, eyes flickering to you. you shrug casually.

“it is lunch time… what do you say?” you ask, a small, knowing smile curling at your lips. “wanna get some lunch?”

“like a date?”

“a date.”

yoongi stares at you for a moment, and you see the way his jaw shifts, like he’s trying to fight back a smile.

finally, he exhales, pushing himself off the desk and taking the box from your hands. “let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice low, just for you.

“you’re welcome!” jungkook calls as you both leave the office, the door swinging shut behind you.

yoongi’s hand finds the small of your back, guiding you out, and he leans closer as tells you;

“we gotta eat fast. he’s gonna call me in an hour near tears because he won’t know what to do with the paperwork.”

you and yoongi decide to eat at this cozy but upscale restaurant downtown. 

the atmosphere buzzes with laughter and soft lighting that gives off a relaxed vibe, despite the place’s high-end feel. when the last of your plates are cleared away, and yoongi reaches for his wallet, about to ask for the bill.

"i’ll get it," you say, pulling your phone out. 

but before you can do anything, the waiter comes over with a smile.

“ms ___? your meal has already been taken care of,” your waiter tells you both. yoongi blinks in surprise, looking from the waiter to you.

you make a small surprised face, catching his gaze. 

“oh, did i forget to tell you? the chef here was my old junior sous chef, jiun. she’s been inviting me to eat here for a while, but i just haven’t had the time. i texted her earlier, and she insisted we try her new menu."

yoongi quirks a brow, still processing. "so everything we ate... was from her?"

you nod, giving a soft shrug. “yeah. but i swear, i had no idea she was going to cover it all.”

yoongi stares at you for a second, his expression softening into something between surprise and admiration. 

“wow… you’re seriously so cool,” he praises you, unable to stop a small laugh from slipping out.

you feel a heat rise to your cheeks, but it’s not embarrassment—it’s a kind of warmth, the way yoongi always makes you feel.

then, to your surprise, he leans in and kisses your cheek. 

the moment is soft, almost unintentional, but it’s enough to make your heart skip. you lean into it without thinking, his hand immediately finding your waist as he helps you stand. his fingers brush over the fabric of your dress, sending a tiny shiver through you as his touch lingers.

you both start heading toward the door, your hand wrapped around his as you step out into the fresh air, the afternoon sunlight casting soft shadows.

just as you're about to walk out, you see jiun approaching from the kitchen, her face lighting up when she sees you.

“oh my god! ___, you’re pregnant!” she practically beams, her excitement filling the space. "stop… oh my god, oh my god! babes, you’re just glowing—how are you so pretty?”

you smile, your cheeks flushing, both from the compliment and the way jiun’s enthusiasm hits you full force. you open your mouth to introduce yoongi, but before you can, yoongi beats you to it.

what do you even say?

this is yoongi, my boyfriend.

this is yoongi, my babydaddy.

this is yoongi, my friend but not really.

“I’m yoongi.”

yeah.

that’s probably good.

jiun’s eyes flicker from you to him, and a playful look flashes across her face. you catch her glance at your hand—your ring finger empty. she’s smooth with it though, and you know she means no harm. she just wants to have context without asking for it.

“oh, i see. the father, huh?” she teases, then looks back at you with a knowing grin. "___, we talked about this all the time, remember? i’m so happy for you both."

you feel your face warm at her words. 

there’s no hiding your embarrassment now, especially since jiun’s been so open about how she used to listen to all your daydreams. 

you nervously laugh, shrugging a little, but yoongi just chuckles and leans in to whisper into your ear, “i know.”

the three of you stand there for a moment, an awkward but comfortable silence settling between you all. you try to shake off the sudden shyness, glancing at yoongi. his hand is still on your waist, his thumb gently rubbing over your side as if to ground you.

jiun looks at the two of you and then back at you, still beaming. 

“honestly, i’m just so happy for you. i remember you talking about wanting this for so long. i’m so glad it happened for you… and with someone like…” jiun pauses, gesturing for yoongi to complete her sentance. 

“i’m a nurse practitioner for a dermatology practice my friends and i own.”

jiun’s eyes widen. 

“holy shit,” she breathes. “you chose well, ___. can you find me a babydaddy too?”

you throw your head back and laugh. she moves closer to you, tugging on your arm. “are you still friends with that taehyung guy? the one that’s friends with the twink and the buff one?”

you roll your eyes at her. 

“you guys kissed once at a party—”

“i want his babies.”

yoongi almost chokes on air. 

jiun shifts her attention to him and apologies. “sorry,” jiun giggles. “hyemi, ___, and i are a little unhinged when it comes to sex.” 

yoongi, noticing the warmth and tenderness in her voice, offers a small but sincere smile.

“all good,” he says, his voice soft. “he is single though… is there any way i could pitch jungkook to you?”

“the twink?”

“the buff one.”

jiun thinks for a moment. “isn’t he into milfs?”

yoongi’s smile drops. 

you make a face at jiun and shake your head. she quickly catches on and laughs, trying to move past the moment.

“you know what? you two look really good together. don’t forget to invite me to the baby shower, okay?”

you nod, unable to hide your smile now. "yeah. i’m actually not sure if i’m gonna have one—”

“that’s insane,” jiun gasps. “you out of all people deserve one. you’ve wanted to be a mom for so long… yoongi, contact me for catering, okay? that’ll be my baby shower gift.” 

“jiun, that’s too much—”

“okay,” yoongi accepts her offer. “let me know if you want any expenses cover though. it’s no problem.”

jiun looks back at you, her grin widening. “provider man, i see… well, wow. i love this for you, ___. you’re gonna be a great mom, and i know yoongi is lucky to have you.”

you feel your heart swell, but you try to hide your emotions with a soft laugh. 

"stop, you’re gonna make me cry."

“it’s the pregnancy harmones.”

“totally.”

the three of you laugh together, the tension between you all easing as jiun’s bubbly energy fills the space around you.

"i have to get back to the kitchen, but it was so good to see you. enjoy the rest of your day guys! and i’m serious about that baby shower, okay?" jiun says, giving you both a quick hug before she heads back to the kitchen.

as she disappears inside, yoongi takes your hand, guiding you out of the restaurant. 

"you really are something, you know that?" he says softly, his voice low, like he’s trying to keep the moment just for the two of you. “you have good friends.”

you grin at him, leaning into his side. “true. i mean, i’ve got good taste.”

“you do.” yoongi chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. “remember when i was your friend?” his hand moves down to your waist again, his touch reassuring, like he’s silently claiming this space between you both, soft and sure.

“awh, what does that mean? are you not my friend anymore?”

you and yoongi go home and spend the afternoon rearranging a few things in the living room, bedroom, and nursery.

there’s no rush, just the kind of slow, comfortable task that makes the house feel more like home. he’s focused, but every now and then, his eyes flicker over to you, catching the way your movements are a little slower now with the growing baby.

“you know, we should’ve done this sooner,” yoongi says with a small smirk as he adjusts a shelf in the living room, his sleeves rolled up.

you laugh, brushing your hair from your face. “we tried, remember? but i kept changing my mind. it’s the pregancy brain—”

“yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, stepping back to take in the space. “so, are you committed to this? it looks good. like really good.”

you look around the room, the warm glow from the soft lighting making everything feel cozy and welcoming. 

“i am,” you breathe.

by dinner time, the kitchen smells like heaven.

the two of you working side by side at the stove, getting everything ready. yoongi’s movements are precise, fluid, and you find yourself watching him, the way he handles the utensils and moves around the kitchen with ease.

“need help with anything?” you ask, leaning over the counter, watching him chop vegetables.

“just stay out of my way, and we’ll be fine,” yoongi teases without looking up, though there’s a glint of playfulness in his eyes.

you roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you. 

“oh, i see how it is.” 

“too harsh?”

you frown at him.

“just wondering where the guy that begged for private cooking lessons went.”

yoongi throws his head back and laughs. you join him and poke his sides. he squirms and tells you to leave his kitchen.

you don’t listen.

instead, you continue to annoy him. 

as the meal comes together, the soft music playing in the background and the warm lighting create a slow, almost intimate atmosphere. you stand close to yoongi, your body just slightly pressed against his, and before you know it, you’re laughing into the crook of his neck as he stirs something on the stove.

he pauses for a moment, his hand resting on your hip, and his eyes flicker to you.

“you’re distracting me."

“i’m just admiring your cooking skills.” you grin, pressing a kiss to his neck before pulling away to finish setting the table.

when you finally sit down to eat, you’re side by side, the tension from the earlier moments easing as the evening settles in. yoongi’s hand rests lightly on your thigh, his thumb drawing soft circles over your skin, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the quiet comfort of the moment.

“so,” he starts, voice low and teasing, “baby names?”

you look over at him with an exicted look on your face. “oh my god. should we talk about that tonight?”

yoongi snorts, giving you a playful nudge. “why not now?”

you laugh, shaking your head. “i’ll get too excited. i won’t eat.”

yoongi’s hand gives your thigh a gentle squeeze, his lips curling into a smile.

“okay. let’s get ready for bed and talk about it then?”

you reach over, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

“oh my god, i think you just got me pregnant again.”

he raises an eyebrow, that playful glint returning to his eyes. “is that so?”

yoongi is washing dishes while you lay on the couch, munching on tangerines. 

the soft scent of citrus fills the room, and your pregnant belly rests comfortably on the couch, the perfect table for the fruit.

“you know,” you start, looking down at your belly with a grin, “my tummy’s really the perfect table for tangerines.”

yoongi glances over, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he wipes his hands on a towel. “of course it is. a convenient little snack spot.”

you giggle, reaching for another tangerine, but yoongi sets the dish towel down and walks over to you, his steps slow and deliberate. he dips his head low to press a soft kiss to your lips, but before you can react, he pulls away slightly, taking a tangerine from your mouth instead.

“i knew you were saving that one for me,” he murmurs, a smirk playing on his lips as he settles down beside you.

you laugh softly, offering him the next segment of tangerine, but he shakes his head, instead pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around your body, his chest against your back. his breath is warm against your ear as he nuzzles your neck.

“i missed you,” he whispers.

“you did?” you tease, tilting your head back to look at him, your hand resting on his arm. “is that why you’re so clingy?”

yoongi laughs quietly, the sound soft and affectionate, before his lips find yours in a slow, lingering kiss. the world outside fades as you both settle into the quiet of the moment, the only sound being your breathing and his heart's soft, steady beat against your back.

everything grows more heated. 

more urgent. 

as he pulls you even closer, his lips moving to your neck, his hands roaming over your body with a gentle insistence. you don’t pull away, instead melting into him, your own hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt.

he pauses, looking at you with a small smile, his forehead resting against yours. 

“you’re so perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with affection.

you smile, running your fingers through his hair. 

“so are you.”

you’re obsessed with yoongi’s lips.

maybe that’s why you cum fast and hard as he presses, drags, and uses them to suck on your clit. he knows all the right places to get your toes curling and your eyes wincing. you grip his hair, grinding your pussy into his face more and more. his hot breath adds a depth you can’t quite explain. 

it’s good.

so fucking good. 

“mhmm,” you moan. “y-yoongi…”

he does a few kitten licks, slurping up the last few drops of your cum from inside your folds. looking up at you, you feel your chest tighten as he maintains eye contact. 

yoongi finishes you off and you lose your breath. 

quickly, he hovers over and takes his shirt off. you sit up and raise your hands. he helps you take your dress off, revealing you in just your bra. 

and god…

are your tits the best thing he’s ever seen. 

wow. 

they’re plump and just so perfect. he practically drools at the sight of them. yoongi can’t stop his hands from cupping them over your bra. you gasp from his touch and whine; 

“my nipples… they’re still so sensitive.” 

suddenly both of you recall that night he came over and how one thing led to another… how he looked at you as he sucked your tits and palmed them. how he looked at you as he tugged on your nipples… how he massaged them until the soreness was gone. 

how good he was at playing with them. 

yoongi lowers himself and kisses your hard nipples. 

“that okay?” he asks you. 

“y-yeah,” you shiver from his light touch. “feels good…”

“okay,” he breathes. “i… just wanna make sure… you’re okay with this? do you want to have sex? we don’t have to. i can just—”

you reach for him and tug him close. kissing him deep and slow, you pull away and lean your forehead against his. 

“yeah.”

that’s all he needs. 

yoongi smiles and kisses you once more before taking his underwear off. revealing himself, your throat goes dry. 

sometimes, it baffles you how fucking big he is. 

no fucking wonder you got pregnant after the first time. 

you reach for his cock, but he jolts away. he spits on it, keeping his eyes on you. 

“don’t worry about me,” yoongi assures you. “i’ll cum no matter what.” 

you scoff at him. 

“but i wanna—mhmmmffffppph—”

as yoongi kisses you, he shifts his body to your side. he lays behind you, stretching his arms to cup your body. once he’s comfortable, he reaches for his cock and jerks it off a few more times before inserting it inside you. he spoons you, holding you close and resting his chin on top of your head. 

when he’s fully in, you let out a moan. 

“oh my god…”

“mhm?” he breathes. “is it okay? are you comfortable?” 

you nod and take his hand. you move it to you breast and have him squeeze it.

“keep going, honey.”

yoongi kisses the top of your head and begins to fuck you from behind. as he does so, you feel him everywhere. his dick is so fucking big, it’s hard not to. as he fucks you, each stroke makes you feel like you’re coming to life. like, you weren’t living until he put himself inside you. 

he moves slowly but surely, being careful with the way his pelvis slaps against your ass. you make cute little noises that boost his ego and all he can think is; 

fuck. 

he’s in love. 

as he fucks himself more and more into you, you begin to lose your breath. yoongi takes his hand off your tits and moves them down to your clit. he plays with it, pinching, squishing, and rubbing it. you moan louder and louder—unable to contain how good he makes you feel. 

“f-fuck,” you utter. “yoongi… oh my god…”

“yeah?” he hisses. “you like this? am i fucking you good, mama?”

“so good, daddy. so fucking good… u-uhhh! uh huh… mhmmmm!”

he hisses. 

“i’m gonna cum,” yoongi pants, breathing in through his nose. “are you close?”

you gulp. “almost?”

“almost?” he repeats. “okay. let’s change positions.” 

before you know it, yoongi pulls himself out and gets you to lay flat on your back. he gets on top of you, planting both his arms on either side of you. instantly, he lowers himself to kiss you. his hands move to your hair as yours wrap around his back. 

you dig your nails into his skin, dragging them down. then, you lower your hands even more and find his dick. you flick your wrist, gripping on it just enough. you pump him a few times before shoving his dick back inside you. 

when his cock is fully inside, you moan into his ear. 

“oh god… daddy, your cock is so fucking hard. i’m so wet, so close to cumming…”

“mhm?” yoongi moans. “yeah, mama?”

“y-yeah,” you gasp. “can you cum inside me again, daddy? i miss how it feels. so sticky… so creamy. you remember, right? how tight i got when you made me cum? did you cock get rock hard when you came inside me? hmm? can you make your cum special for me?”

yoongi gulps. 

“special for you? how so, mama?”

you kiss him. 

“dunno,” you bite your lip. “give me a lot, please. extra creamy. extra yummy.”

he snickers, thrusting inside you harder and harder. 

“i’ll do by best.”

“o-ohh,” you moan again. “mhm! j-just like that, daddy! o-ohh.. oh! oh my god. yes, yes, yes—oh my god!” 

soon, your whines and moans turn into sobs. 

you’re actually fucking sobbing over his dick. 

yoongi fucks you so good, your pussy swells. he fucks you hard but in a gentle enough way that you two are still being cautious over the bump between you two. every so often, he shifts to kiss your tummy. 

then finally, your breath hitches, and your legs begin to shake. 

you cum. 

“y-yoongi—”

“i got you,” he says, holding you tighter. 

you wrap your arms around his shoulder blade and bury your face in the crook of his neck. his sweat smells so good to you. 

as you ride your climax, yoongi continues to fuck you. he grunts, trying to push himself to the limit. he drags his dick inside and out of you—trying his best to gather all his cum. 

then, he spills himself inside you. 

“fuckkk…” he groans. 

you feel it. 

you feel his cum squirt inside you. you feel it spill out of your hole and down your folds. you feel it leak onto the bed. 

“thank you, daddy.. thank you.”

“anything for you, mama.”

lazily, yoongi continues to fuck you. 

you kiss his shoulders as he whimpers; 

“___?”

“mhmm?” you move your hands to his hair. there’s a silence that follows, but nothing changes. he doesn’t move and neither do you. 

and you feel it. 

you know it. 

then, he says it. 

“i love you.”

and with a flutter in your heart, his cum inside your pussy, and his baby inside you… you say it too. 

“i love you too.”

[katsu28]

lucky charm

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: lando finds comfort in your presence as doubt starts to creep in before a race (2k)

warnings: minimal swearing

a/n: hi i know i'm still super new here and i'm not even sure if i'm actually going to start writing rpf but i think about this motherfucker 24/7 now and this came to me in a dream <3 let's ignore the actual way he got his ring necklace okay? okay!

“No one saw you come in, right?” 

Lando let the door close behind him gently, a total opposite to the quickest few steps you’d ever seen him take across the small driver’s room, and he leaned over to kiss you, hard. 

You let out a squeak of surprise at the force of it, but had no hesitation in kissing him back as soon as your body caught up with your brain, arms looping around his neck to bring him down and closer to you.

Lando’s knees hit the cushions on either side of you, hands doing the same on the leather backrest, clumsy as all hell but twice as determined not to let his mouth leave yours. 

Your fingers knocked the McLaren cap right off his head as they moved into his hair, clutching at his chocolate curls on instinct like you’d done so many times before. But never here, never before one of Lando’s races, and certainly never at the risk of being caught by anyone in the facility at any given moment. 

It didn’t seem to matter to Lando, though, with the way he was kissing you like he was parched and you were the only thing that could quench his thirst. 

But given the rather frantic series of texts you’d received from him that got you here in the first place, you weren’t at all too surprised. You knew how nervous Lando got before races, and if there was something you could do, you’d never hesitate to be there for him. Especially since you were able to make it to this one. 

“Yeah,” He mumbled between kisses, panting against your lips. Somehow he’d managed to switch positions so he was the one on the sofa now and you were sitting on his lap, straddling his hips as you continued your rather sloppy makeout session. “Yeah, yeah, we’re good. ‘M sneaky like that.” 

“Had a lot of practice at this, have you?” 

“No!” It was almost comical how fast he pulled away from you to blurt out his answer. “No, not at all. I don’t know why I said that, I—” 

“I was just kidding, bub.” You chuckled, smoothing the pad of your thumb across his kiss-swollen bottom lip fondly. Lando grinned sheepishly, giving your waist a playful little pinch. You’d never get over the way he looked at you, like you were the only other person to exist in the world—especially when he was under you like this, and especially with those eyes. His baby cow eyes, you always called them. 

Even so, Lando was extremely tense, you could tell. He tended to get very in his head before races, probably why he asked you to come meet him so close to the green flag, to help him quell his nerves a little. He always said you helped him more than anything else ever could. 

“I have something for you.” You said softly. 

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” He leaned back against the cushion, happily accepting the chaste kiss you pressed to his lips before you bounced off his lap and over to where your bag was sitting. 

You rummaged around in it for a few moments until you found what you were looking for, a triumphant grin on your face as you made your way back over to an intrigued Lando. This time you settled next to him, throwing your legs across his lap. His hand came to rest on your knee immediately. 

“Open it.” You urged, pressing the small black bag into his waiting palm. He undid the drawstring carefully, beaming even before he got a look at what was inside. That smile only grew bigger as he poured the contents of the bag into his hand. 

A thin silver chain, joined together at the ends with two interlocking rings, sleek and silver just like the rest of the necklace. Upon closer inspection, he saw numbers etched into the inside of each one. One of them, Lando recognized instantly as the date of your anniversary. The other looked like a set of coordinates, but he wasn’t too great at geography, so he looked to you for an explanation. 

“The place we first met.” 

“You looked up the coordinates of that tiny little restaurant? Nerd.” He chuckled, artfully dodging the swat you aimed his way at his teasing remark.

“It could be, like, your new lucky charm or something.” You shrugged, watching him turn the rings around carefully between his fingers. 

Lando glanced up, bumping your shoulder with his gently. “I’ve already got one.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. It’s you.” 

“Me?” 

“I like knowing you’re watching me. Even though I can’t see you, or even if you’re not here, knowing I’ve got you cheering me on from wherever you are helps. I think it makes me a better driver.” 

“Lan, you’re already a great driver.. You don’t need me for you to know that.” 

“I know. I just—it keeps me focused. To know you’re there.” He said softly, giving your hand a tight squeeze. “And now with this, I can have a piece of you with me whenever. Here, help me put it on.” 

“You can’t wear it under your suit, Lando, even I know that.”

“Alright, well, I’ll figure it out later. C’mon, put it on me.” Lando leaned forward, giving you space to bring the chain up over his head and around his neck. He even managed to sneak in another kiss whilst you followed the silver down to where the rings rested just below his collarbones. Your fingers stroked at the warm skin there, the cold of the metal contrasting.

“It looks good on you.” 

Lando melted like a popsicle on a hot summer day under your touch, smiling so big at you that you could hardly believe this was the same boy who had other drivers trembling in their fireproofs. He hoisted you back into his lap effortlessly, nosing at your pulse point a bit before smacking a kiss to your cheek when you wrapped your arm around his shoulders. “You look good on me.” 

“That was so bad. Like, really bad. I get why they call you Lando Norizz now.” 

“What?! Bad? That was so fucking smooth!” He huffed, going from looking completely smitten to entirely offended. “And I happen to have lots of rizz, thank you very much. I practically ooze rizz, love.” 

“I take it back.” You replied solemnly, patting Lando’s cheek. “That was worse.” 

“You’re so mean to me. I don’t know why I even put up with this harassment!” 

“Always so dramatic, you.” 

“I’ve got to be! How else would I be able to withstand this abuse?” 

You scoffed playfully and moved to climb off him, opting to keep a safe enough distance away so you wouldn’t be tempted to kiss him stupid. Then he’d really be late. “Don’t you have a race to prepare for, driver boy?” 

“I am,” He said earnestly, tucking his hands behind his head. You arched a skeptical brow, hands propped on your hips. 

“By hiding out in here with me?” 

“You know what they say—calm the mind, and the body will follow.” 

“I’ve literally never heard anyone say that.” 

“Well maybe people should start!” 

You huffed out an amused chuckle, crossing your arms. “Are you ready?” 

A sudden silence  blanketed the tiny room, Lando’s non response giving you all you needed to know. 

He reached out for you with a pout that you’d never been quite able to resist, fingers beckoning you back over longingly, like you were too far away for his liking. You gave in almost immediately despite previously wanting to give him space, trudging over with an overexaggerated roll of your eyes and letting yourself be pulled back onto his lap yet again. 

“I’ll be alright.” He answered finally, taking your hand in his. He fiddled with your fingers, tracing along each digit languidly and then circling his thumb over your palm—once, twice, a third time. 

This, something you’d learned quite early on in your relationship with Lando, was one of his many versions of self-soothing. The repetition of his actions proved rather calming to him, and it certainly helped that he got to feel your skin against his. 

His brows drew together in thought, furrowed and tense until you pushed your thumb into the wrinkle between them, smoothing out the scrunch. He wrapped his fingers around your wrist loosely. 

“You’re gonna do great, you know.” You insisted. 

He offered you as good of a smile as he could muster. “Yeah. I know.”  

“You’re gonna do your best, and whatever happens, you’ve got so many people who’ll be proud of you no matter what.”

“I don’t know if it’s enough.” Lando blurted, scratching at a patch on his suit. “I’ve been racing for years, and I still have no wins to show for it. It’s not fair to my team, it’s not fair to the fans. It’s not fair to you. You shouldn’t have to have a boyfriend who can’t fucking drive for shit.” 

“Lando, I’m not with you because of your job.” You said shortly, pressing your lips into a thin, unamused line. “And quite frankly, I feel hurt that you could even think I was.” 

Lando was quick to soothe, shaking his head frantically. He took both your hands in his, squeezing. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry, it’s just—I get in my head a lot. And I start to overthink, and shit comes out of my mouth that I don’t mean. I know you’re not like that, I do. I’m sorry.” 

You softened, sighing. “You could never win a race, ever, and I'd still love you all the same.”

He snorted. “Well, I’d like to win one at some point.” 

“What I meant was, I can’t speak for everyone else, but my pride for you has nothing to do with how well you do on the track, my love.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I’m proud of you because you’re you. You’re kind and you work hard, and you try your best at everything you do. Even if the outcome isn’t what you expected, you keep at it. You keep going. That’s one of the reasons why I love you, that’s why I’m so proud of you.” 

“I’m stupid.” He groaned, tipping his head back against the couch cushions. You simply made a noise of agreement. “You’re too good to me. I love you.”

“I love you too. Now, you really need to go back to the garage. I’m sure Oscar’s sent out a search party for you at this point.” You said firmly, giving his chest a sharp poke. Lando groaned again but made to get up, shifting your legs off him so he could climb to his feet. 

“Fine. Just kick me out of my own room, why don’t you?” He huffed dramatically, swiping his hat off the floor and jamming it back over his hair. You aimed a fake kick towards him, stifling a giggle when he caught your foot and pretended to undo your laces. “Kiss?” 

“You need to leave, Lando,” You whined, batting him away gently. “I refuse to be the reason you’re late.” 

“One more. Just one more for good luck and I promise I’ll leave.” He insisted, expression pleading. You grumbled something unintelligible, reaching up begrudgingly to bring him down for one last kiss. 

Lando smiled against your lips, snaking a hand around the back of your neck to keep you in place a few beats longer than you intended. You practically had to unstick yourself from him, giving him a little shove towards the door so he’d actually leave. 

Immediately, he whirled around. “Wait, wait—”

“Lando! Go!” 

“No, no, hold on, it’s important.” He slipped his newfound chain over his head, rubbing his thumb over both rings before holding it out towards you. “Keep this safe for me?” He asked earnestly, pressing the necklace into your hands. “Can’t have my lucky charm getting lost already, can I?” 

“Give ‘em hell, number four.” You smiled, donning the necklace yourself. He beamed, blowing you a kiss as he backpedaled down the hall. "Number four on the track, number one in my heart!"

You could hear his infectious laughter echoing even as he retreated around the corner.

Lando would be fine. And if he wasn’t, he’d bounce back, like he always did. And you’d be there to support him every step of the way, like you always were. 

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[ceoofglytchell]

Caterpillar (Prequel to “Butterfly”)

| Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2 |

Summary: Before you were Aegon’s cherished little butterfly, you were nothing more than an insect he wished to crush under his shoes. Over the years his feelings grew from hatred, to indifference, to friendship and to the beginning of a young love that was doomed from the very moment he first laid his eyes on you. This is the story of how the young prince and the princess slowly began to fall for each other.
Pairing: Young!Aegon II Targaryen x Strong!Niece!Reader 
Word count: 5936 words
Warnings: incest, Reader is described of having Strong features, Reader is Aegon‘s niece and Rhaenyra’s second child, enemies to friends to lovers, young love, brief mention of abuse from Otto and Alicent, fluff, longing, hurt/comfort, bittersweet ending, no mention of Y/N 
Notes: I AM BACK! For the lovely anon who requested a prequel to „Butterfly“. This is my first requested fic and I had much fun writing it. Enjoy 💛

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Aegon, second of his name and a proud boy of almost four years, stared with an expression of disgust and disinterest at the small newborn babe in his half-sister's arms, who was still lying exhausted in bed, sweat dripping down her forehead and neck, while you screamed so loud as if there was no tomorrow.

Next to him stood his father the king, staring down at his firstborn daughter with an expression of pride - an expression he had never seen in his eyes whenever he looked at him. His own mother was not here with them and he wondered why. Where was she? Did she not want to meet you?

"Would you like to hold her?" Rhaenyra asked the king exhaustedly, holding out her newborn to him. It was a little girl who was actually only due in a few weeks, but you had apparently decided to come earlier than, for example, your brother or Aegon with his own mother, which is why you were smaller and more delicate. At least that's how the midwives explained your delicacy.

"I would feel honored," said King Viserys the Peaceful with a little laugh and took you in his arms while he gently rocked you back and forth.

Aegon had actually just wanted to play, but he had been sitting in the library with his Septa earlier, who chatted far too much and whom he could hardly listen to properly, which is why it was just right when a guard asked him if he wanted to meet his niece, who had just left the womb at that time. Of course he had ran off immediately, but you were somehow... ugly. Your loud crying and screaming hurt his ears and he had to hold back from making a face.

Suddenly his father leaned down a little so that he could get a better look at you, whereupon his half-sister sat up a little in bed as if she didn't trust him, even though he was only a little boy and didn't know what kind of burden he would one day carry on his shoulders. The king's firstborn son, but he was not the heir to the Iron Throne. He was a prince who inherited nothing. A life without meaning. Of course, he didn't realize that at the time.

"Look... it's your little niece."

Rhaenyra whispered your name once and the young prince nodded and tried to remember it. Another face had seen the light of day and another sound of happy laughter would soon echo through the cold corridors of the Red Keep.

Of all his half-sister's children, you were by far the one he disliked the most. Aegon came to this realization when he was almost ten years old, when, out of boredom, he asked you instead of your older brother Jace if you would like to play with him, but after you tripped and accidentally fell you immediately started crying as if you had been impaled with a lance, and his mother later gave him a slap in the face behind closed doors that he could still feel on his pale cheek days later.

You had simply fallen over the ends of your dress when you were playing a game in which he had to catch you, but hitting your forehead on the hard stone floor of the Red Keep was definitely too much for a delicate thing like you to bear.

But while you, at the age of six, had already stood up for him and assured your mother several times that he had not pushed you on purpose, Queen Alicent forbade her eldest son to play with Rhaenyra's only daughter again, not because she really cared about your wellbeing, but because in her eyes you were nothing more than a bastard who did not deserve to be called a princess.

Instead, the silver-haired prince had taken to annoying his younger brother Aemond and called for the help of his brown-haired nephews, always excluding you and Helaena.

To the world you seemed like a happy girl, always friendly and always carrying a smile on your face, but you too secretly felt lonely. You never really understood Helaena and you were very afraid of everything that crawled and had more legs than four, which is why you avoided the other girl rather than spending the day with her. Aemond was the same age as you and you liked reading books with him in the library, to be engrossed in thick history books with him and your nose being buried deep in a fairy tale, but at least you could talk to the younger Targaryen prince and share some nice moments.

At least until Aegon and your brothers started making fun of you, which had quickly made your only friend leave your side, as he had already heard enough jokes about how he hardly spoke a word or especially about how he did not have a dragon.

Neither did you, but that didn't seem to interest either of them, except maybe sometimes Jace and Luke, who at the end of the day from time to time apologized for their statements and also for Aegon's taunts. The prince, however, never apologized.

The hatred that you believed your uncle had for you was about to change on a cool summer evening on the day of your eighth birthday.

Dressed in a yellow gown that reminded you of the petals of a sunflower and with your brown hair intricately braided, you sat alone in the garden of the castle, leaning against the Weirwood tree that had probably been growing here for centuries. On your lap lay a new book about fables and songs from the distant lands of Essos, which your "father" Laenor had given you.

You were not stupid. Of course you were aware of the fact that Laenor could not be your father, since you looked too different, but your mother had forbidden you to bring up the subject. She hadn't even answered your question about who your real father was and what the deal was with her and Ser Harwin.

Completely lost in thought, you hadn't realized how a person had slowly and quietly approached you from the side, until he suddenly grabbed you by the shoulders and made you scream loudly.

"Aegon!" you shouted angrily, while the boy just held his stomach in laughter, a full cup of wine in his left hand. When had he started taking his drinks with him?

"Oh, come on! It was just a harmless jest, niece," he answered you, giggling, while he collapsed onto the grass a little further in front of you, which was still glistening with dew, the action not looking particularly graceful. He seemed slightly drunk, which made you wonder why no one took the cup away from him if you had noticed it yourself. Why didn't his mother, the Queen, pay attention? Or his grandfather, the Lord Hand?

"Jest or not, you scared me," you grumbled, folding your arms in front of your chest, while a pout formed on your face that even he couldn't miss.

"Hey, don't pout. Today is your name day, remember?"

"Yes. And you have not thought of giving me a gift, Uncle," you noted in a slightly disappointed tone, while your dark eyes searched his.

"Yes, I did," Aegon countered and threw something at you that you were only able to catch so quickly thanks to your reflexes. "Here you go."

"What is this?" you asked him, confused, as you took his gift in your hands and examined it curiously. You had already wondered why he was the only one in the family who hadn't given you a gift when even the queen had entrusted you with a bracelet from her hometown.

In your delicate hands was a small wooden box, which you did not open yet in fear that it might be one of his jokes again and that there would be something disgusting in it. Hopefully it wasn't a spider...

"Open it. The woman I got it from told me girls like that kind of stuff," Aegon said with a shrug, as he brushed his long wavy curls out of his face.

Carefully and with an expression of suspicion, you opened the small wooden box a crack and stared at its contents with wide eyes. Inside was a beautiful golden brooch in the shape of a coiled dragon, whose eye was represented by a fragment of a pearl. It was beautiful...

Aegon looked at you unnoticed as you looked at the brooch he had given you in awe. He had not thought that this little piece would impress you so much. The best thing was that he didn't even have to pay gold for it, since the old woman had just given it to him when she saw his silver hair. He himself didn't wear such junk, but you in your pretty dresses and shimmering earrings and necklaces would certainly appreciate the piece of jewelry and apparently he was right.

With eyes sparkling with joy and a wide grin on your lips, you took the piece of jewelry out of the box and immediately put it on your dress right above your heart and when you looked at him, he needed a moment to come to terms with his thoughts.

It was probably the wine that was clouding his senses, wasn't it?

"And? Does it suit me?" you asked him excitedly in your normally gentle voice.

He swallowed. "Yes... it's pretty. You are pretty.”

For a moment you just stared at him, unable to believe that he-of all people!- had just called you pretty and given you the most wonderful gift of the evening. You liked the dragon brooch even more than the book and also much better than the wood carvings that your brothers had given you.

"I-I think I'd better leave you alone again now," the prince said suddenly and began to stand up, whereupon you quickly shook your head and instinctively reached for his hand in the hope that he would stay and maybe keep you company for a while. He might annoy you sometimes, but you certainly didn't hate him for that.

"Stay! Please..."

You batted your eyelashes and if Aegon had been stronger, he might have been able to resist. But he wasn't.

With a sigh, he let himself fall back into the grass, whereupon his cup tipped over and the dark red liquid soaked the ground next to you, but for some unusual reason he didn't care.

"And what do you think we'll do, princess? I see neither dancing fools nor musicians for our amusement.”

You seemed to think for a moment, then your gaze fell on the book, which was now lying neglected on the ground next to the tree. You picked it up and held it right in front of his nose.

“I could read to you! It is a collection of legends and songs from Essos. Perhaps you will appreciate them more than your brother.”

His shoulders sagged a little and a quiet sigh escaped him, but he nodded his head anyway, because after all, you were the one who had the special day and had turned a year older. Today was your day to make decisions.

“Fine. Read to me then,” said Aegon, leaning against the bark of the old tree that had stood in the courtyard of the Red Keep for generations, a face carved into its center that sometimes seemed to stare at him judgingly. He didn’t like it.

His little niece immediately moved closer to him, almost snuggling into his side, and opened the book to the page she had stopped on before he had interrupted her. Appropriately, it was even a legend from Oldtown, the home of his mother the queen.

Her soft voice immediately enveloped him like a warm blanket as she began to read to him and his initially stiff posture eased as he began to allow himself to relax.

He hated to think about it, but maybe you weren't as bad as he had thought.

The first time he thought about kissing you was on a quiet evening when nothing really special had happened except that you, now a girl of almost eleven, had secretly gone riding with him.

Sitting on your snow-white mare, your long brown curls blowing in the wind, a wide grin on your pretty face, and your arms stretched out to feel the headwind, you looked like a midsummer night's dream. The brooch he had given you a few years ago hung on the fabric of your coat.

It was early in the morning and the two of you had sneaked to the stables before anyone else but you and a few guards had walked through the corridors, but he had managed to get you past the watchful eyes of the King's Guard unnoticed. You had mounted your horses as quickly as you could and ridden together into the King's Wood until you found a clearing that seemed good enough to rest for a while.

You sat on the grass in the shade of a tree and ate cakes that he had secretly stolen from the kitchens before as a surprise for you. You had managed to talk him out of the wine.

Crumbs were lying on your lap and you held your hand over your mouth to hide your laughter after he had been frightened by a bug that had crawled onto his arm, causing him to screech as if he were the girl and not you.

His usually pale cheeks were red with embarrassment - as red as the ripest strawberries you loved to eat for breakfast - and he crossed his arms grumpily in front of his chest, but he couldn't blame you for laughing. After all, he often made fun of you because he loved to see you sulk.

But suddenly your happy laughter froze when you felt something on your head. A small white butterfly had landed on your hair and was slowly flapping its wings up and down. Your laughter disappeared and you looked at him with wide eyes. Aegon's heart skipped a beat.

"Aegon... what is that?" you asked him fearfully, not moving a single muscle.

"Well... it's huge. Horrible. The biggest bug I have ever seen," he lied with a mischievous gleam in his purple eyes, causing you to whimper softly and he could swear tears began to form in your eyes. How sweet.

"Make it go away. Help me." You begged him with a trembling voice. Apparently you had actually believed his lie, which made him feel proud.

Very carefully he slowly moved closer to you until your elbows brushed, which made him feel hot on the inside, and you felt the same, even if you didn't notice it, too afraid of the monster that had settled on your hair. You had no idea what innocent creature had chosen you as its resting place.

The prince stretched out his hand and very carefully approached the butterfly with his fingers. He felt you and the little insect looking at him, and it was then he did notice that you were just as delicate and lovely as the butterfly. Perhaps you had been born into the wrong house? You were not at all a dragon.

The butterfly fluttered its wings and hopped onto his index finger, which he held in front of your nose with a wide, triumphant grin on his lips. A sweet blush immediately spread across your cheeks and your slender shoulders sagged as you realized that you had made a fool of yourself.

In front of him of all people. In front of the boy you had secretly admired for several weeks at this point.

"Oh..." you murmured quietly to yourself and looked down at your lap while the butterfly continued to rest on the tip of his finger.

"Look how small and delicate it is... just like you."

You blinked up at him again and at that very moment the little insect jumped off his finger and fluttered away until it finally disappeared behind a nearby rose bush and you were both alone again, your only company being the birds that flew over your heads or nested in the nearby treetops.

"That was not funny, Uncle," you grumbled quietly to yourself and crossed your arms in front of your chest once again, while a small pout adorned your lips, which he found absolutely adorable.

"I thought so, little butterfly," he replied with the hint of a smile on his face, which was slightly tickled by the warm rays of sunlight that fell through the canopy of leaves - at least his nose was.

"Little butterfly?" you repeated the nickname he gave you with a wrinkle of your nose, because you yourself didn't know whether you should feel flattered or insulted. How did he always manage to make you question your feelings over and over again? It was a phenomenon.

"You heard me."

His smile widened and you couldn't help but try to smack him on the arm as best you could, but he just chuckled at your efforts, because it felt like anything but a punch. In his eyes, you were a butterfly, sweet, pure and innocent, deserving to be protected as far away from the scum of House Targaryen, Hightower and Velaryon as possible. You deserved better than this. At the same time, the thought of you leaving him and living somewhere else made him furious.

He wanted you to be happy, but he also wanted you to stay right where you were and where you were comfortable - with him, your annoying, drunken uncle who couldn't wait to see the girl he was sitting with grow into a mature, beautiful woman he could claim for himself.

And hopefully, when the day came, you would want that too.

Laena Velaryon was dead and House Targaryen had gathered for her funeral on the island of Driftmark to mourn the loss. At least those who knew her, which the young children did not and therefore stood rather bored to the side.

Heleana was talking to a spider, Aemond was standing around alone, and the sons of Rhaenyra stood with the daughters of Daemon. Two, however, had sneaked away from the funeral and sat down on the beach, a jug of wine in one hand and a plate of cake in the other.

Aegon, now sixteen years old and almost a man grown, sat to your left on the white sands of the island. He was dressed head to toe in green - on the orders of his mother and grandfather the Hand - and his hair now fell to his chest, even though he secretly wished it were shorter. He didn't really like the length and the tradition behind it. The expectations.

You sat next to him, now almost thirteen, and you were getting more beautiful by the day. Your brown hair, the proof of your mother's shame, now fell to your elbows and your petite body was wrapped in a purple dress and black cloak, due to the grief you had to pretend to feel, even though you had never known this woman. Your mother had wanted to force you to wear red again, but you had stood up to her and bravely confronted her, telling her that this constant hostility was foolish.

Such disagreements were becoming more and more frequent between your mother, your brothers and you, because you and the eldest prince had become truly inseparable in recent years. The bond that bound you together was strong and apparently unbreakable, because even though he continued to make jokes and antics and you mostly felt insulted and hurt as a result, you still felt this feeling. This warmth around your heart, this tickling in your stomach that felt like little butterflies that were locked inside you like in a chest.

You had learned to love him and without your knowledge he had learned to love you too.

"She told me again today to stay away from you," you told him, staring into the horizon and hoping that fate had other plans for you.

"I know, sweet butterfly. Just don't listen to her. What does she know about us anyway? Nothing. She knows nothing.” Aegon replied, instinctively holding his cup, which was filled to the brim with Dornish wine, tighter in his hand. Actually, he felt no hatred towards his half-sister - your mother - but he disliked the way she told you over and over again that his company was not good for you, that his ways were spoiling you like a worm spoils a ripe apple.

Perhaps his own mother was right and Rhaenyra would seek his life at some point. He would not be surprised, as much as she seemed to despise him. What had he ever done to her? Or was it his very existence that she detested?

You stared down at the cake that was on the plate you held in your hand. You had been hungry a moment ago, but now you were not anymore.

“I don’t understand why we have to be here at all. None of us knew this woman." The prince grumbled, swirling the wine around in his cup, slowly moving it back and forth.

"She was my aunt-"

"But did you know her?"

You shook your head, one of your brown curls falling over your face and hiding half of your features from him like a veil. Sometimes he caught himself imagining a life with you, and lately his thoughts were not so innocent anymore. More and more often he woke up in the morning, desire burning through his veins, and he thought about you, how beautiful you were and how much more beautiful you would become if your curves continued to develop.

Criston had told him such desires were normal for a young man, but if the prince had admitted that you were the one who kept him awake at night, the man who was a second father to him probably wouldn't have understood either.

He carefully reached out his free hand to you and gently tucked the wild strand of hair behind your ear so that he could once again look into your dark eyes, which had always reminded him of a young doe. "What's going through your mind, niece?"

"Nothing. But... won't the others wonder where we are?"

Aegon was about to contradict you and tell you that you had absolutely nothing to fear when he suddenly heard his grandfather's loud, stern voice echo across the beach: "Aegon! Come here. Now."

You watched your friend anxiously as he straightened up and walked with slumped shoulders to the stone steps that would lead from the beach up to the fortress where the funeral was being held. You couldn't see exactly what was happening, but you swore that the old man grabbed his grandson's arm hard. The words he spoke to him did not seem particularly kind or compassionate, as the young prince quickly pulled away from him and disappeared in another direction.

However, he did not come back to you. He left you sitting alone on the beach with nothing but a glass of wine and a piece of cake. Now you had lost your appetite once and for all.

It was evening when you saw him next. The sun had long since disappeared behind the horizon and most people had returned to their chambers for the night or were getting ready for bed.

You did not know where your mother had gone or why there was suddenly no trace of Prince Daemon when he seemed to be in such a good mood at the funeral, even though he had just become a widower, but you were sure that you could not go to sleep without knowing where your friend was and how he was doing.

You found Aegon on the stairs that led to the beach behind. He was leaning drunkenly with his back against the cold, wet stone and his eyes closed. Next to him lay an overturned gold cup from which a small puddle of red liquid was running.

You had never seen him so drunk before.

Had he drunk himself to the point of unconsciousness?

This was the first time. The previous times you had seen him very drunk, he had at most strolled through the corridors slurring his words - or rather stumbled - and you or Aemond usually had to lead him back to his chambers, where he usually immediately fell onto his bed and sank into a deep sleep. But he had never fallen over because of the alcohol. You wondered what his grandfather had said to him that his first reaction was to get so drunk that he simply fell over.

You approached him carefully and knelt next to his sleeping form. Slowly and careful not to startle him, you reached for the now empty wine cup and put it to the side before gently placing a hand on his shoulder in the hope that he would open his amethyst colored eyes again. But he didn't.

"Uncle? Uncle, can you hear me?" you asked him timidly, leaning closer to him, so close that if he were awake he could feel your warm breath on his snow-white skin.

A mumble was all you got in response, but you couldn't understand any of the words or even guess what he was trying to say. Maybe he shouldn't drink so much... That couldn't be good for him in the long run.

When he didn't answer the second time either, you gently shook his shoulder and then finally his eyes fluttered open again and he blinked a few times in a row, as if he didn't understand where he was or why you were sitting so close to him, almost as if he couldn't remember what he had done before.

"What... what happened?" he asked you dazedly and sat up a little, whereupon a small, tortured groan escaped him.

"I was just about to ask you that," you replied with a smile on your soft, rosy lips. "You suddenly disappeared."

The older prince shrugged and stretched out his arm as if he wanted to reach for the wine cup that he assumed was at his side, but he only grabbed for air, as you had fortunately put it away a few seconds ago.

"I wasn't well. Nothing to worry your pretty head about, darling."

His answer wasn't enough for you, as the memory of Otto Hightower grabbing his arm and whispering angry words to him had not yet left your mind. There was more to it. You knew not what it was, but you suspected that it had something to do with you - or rather your features.

Your mother didn't want to name it, but you knew what you were. A bastard.

"You know that you can always be honest with me, Aegon. You don't have to hide anything from me. I am not your enemy."

At your words, his shoulders sagged and he felt a cold shiver run down his spine, but at the same time a warmth spread through him that he couldn't control and that burned in his eyes like the fire of his young dragon. He would not cry in front of you. He wanted to be strong for you.

"What was it?" you asked him again carefully, stroking his silver curls over his shoulder with one hand so that he would not be able to hide his face from you. You were already well aware of his tricks and you could guess what storm was sweeping through his head and throwing his thoughts into disarray like a hurricane over the sea.

"Did he scare you again? Told you you would be king?"

With every word you spoke, his heart tightened more and more in his chest and he could feel the tears burning hot in his eyes, ready to roll down his cheeks and disappear under the green fabric of his coat. You were too good for him, far too good. You were innocent and pure and he was corrupt and filthy. What had he done to deserve your affection? No one else seemed to think like you.

"Did he tell you to stay away from me?"

Without him being able to stop it, the first tear fell, then the second and suddenly he was sobbing bitterly and you could do nothing but take him in your arms and let him lay his head on your shoulder while you laid your cheek against his hair. He held on to you as if you were the last thing that bound him to life, as if you were the Mother herself who had wrapped her protective arms around him.

"He... he said the future king doesn't bother with the likes of you and that... that I would soon be married anyway and you too..." he sobbed into the fabric of your dress, while his arms wrapped themselves around your slim body and he pressed himself tightly against you, like a plush pillow he could bury his face in.

"That's not true and you know it. Mother would never give me to a man as a bride just yet. She wouldn't do that." You assured him while gently stroking his back. However, you didn't understand why this fact hurt him so much. One day, each of them would be married and bring more heirs into the world. That was the order of things, as the Septa's had taught you.

"But I don't want you to get married. I don't want you to be taken away."

More and more tears fell from his eyes and he couldn't help but tell you all the things that had been going through his head for weeks, months, and maybe even years. All his deepest desires, all the thoughts he hoped would never come to light, he laid at your feet like on a silver platter.

He only hated himself all the more for it.

"Why would they take me away from you? The Red Keep is my home. Mine and yours." You tried to talk to him, keeping your voice calm and collected, but you could feel yourself becoming more and more confused with every second that passed and with every word he whispered. He was falling apart in front of you and yet there was nothing you could do to ease his pain. You felt powerless.

"I don't want to marry just any woman," he murmured, hoping that you would recognize the pleading in his tone and understand what he longed for without him having to say it. He couldn't.

"She will be beautiful, Aegon. Beautiful, kind, smart and witty.”

Your list didn’t make it any better, because in his eyes you embodied all of those things. You were the woman you described, the one he wished he would marry sooner or later, but how would you know? How could you even guess what a bad friend he was to you. He was a bad man, a bad prince, a bad son, a bad brother and now a bad friend as well.

You listed other attributes that you hoped would calm him down, because what prince wouldn’t want a woman like that? Sometimes you wished you could be that one woman for him, the one he would spend his life by and learn to love. One who could call him “husband.” But that would probably never happen. You were just a foolish girl with equally foolish dreams.

“But I don’t want just any woman. I want… I want…” He couldn’t say it. He couldn't bring the words out of his mouth and instead he just clung to you tightly, burying his head even more in your shoulder before he managed to actually whisper those words that would haunt you from now on.

"I want you."

For a second it felt like the world stood still. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore stopped and the cool breeze of the evening wind only felt like a gentle touch, a light pat. There was a chance that you had misunderstood him, but you knew what you had heard. You knew it exactly.

"Uncle..."

"No, no, please listen to me," he begged immediately when he felt your arms, which were wrapped around him, loosen just a little and you tried to wriggle out of his grip. It was very important that you listened to him now.

"My little butterfly, you are the only one who sees me for who I really am and I know that I am not always easy, but you have to understand that you are the most important thing in my life. You mean everything to me."

You leaned back and let your eyes wander over his face, hoping to find a sign that this was just another one of his jokes and that he wasn't actually pouring his heart out to you. It reminded you of the books you loved to read. The poetry and the romance.

He wasn't lying. His eyes were honest and from the way he looked at you, as if you were the most precious thing to him, you knew that your relationship would be even more difficult in the future than it already was. The friendship between you two was not accepted by your family, but love? Like in the stories, this love was also forbidden, but in all the books the couples always had a happy ending with each other. Maybe everything would turn out well for you in the end too?

"My mother... she would never allow it," you muttered, shaking your head. and now you were the one who could feel your heart tightening painfully.

The prince shook his head firmly and he placed his hands on your cheeks, cradling your face in his palms while his thumbs gently stroked your cheeks, which were red from the cold and his words.

"I don't care. I promise you that one day I will marry you. I will take you as my wife, no matter the cost."

Without thinking, you closed your eyes and gently pressed your forehead against his. Your breath mingled and he closed his eyes too, continuing to gently hold your face in his hands. It wasn't a kiss, but for the two of you this moment had about the same meaning. It was the start of something new, something wonderful.

At that point, none of you could have guessed that not far away from you, a young, brave Aemond was approaching Vhagar with the intention of claiming the old dragon for himself. You did not know that he would soon lose his eye at the hands of his brother, nor that a discussion would then take place in the halls of Driftmark that would tear the two sides of your house apart, forever.

You could not have known that the very next day he would see you one last time and that you would then be torn away from him for six long years. How could you have known that beforehand?

But in that moment, in that embrace, everything was fine for you and you imagined together what your future might look like.

It would certainly be different than you had hoped, but your story would also come to a happy end eventually.

The dragons would dance and yet your souls burned to become one with each other.

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[eclipsedechoesofmywords]

"Pick One Moment"

[Spencer Reid x fem!reader]

Masterlist

Summary: A rough case in Dayton, Ohio brings unexpected emotions to the surface for you, forcing you to confront feelings you'd been hiding for years—feelings for Spencer Reid.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, moment of awkwardness

Word Count: 2.0k words

A/N: just based on the lyric 'And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like I love you...I love you' from the song Something Stupid by Frank Sinatra because it's been stuck in my head. I've been planning to write Spence for a while but I've been intimidated.

Staying professional in Dayton, Ohio proved to be a challenge.

It had been a rough case, but what case wasn't, right? Just have to wrap this one up and you can go back to your house and dog.

Okay, fine, this wasn't like most cases at all, not to you anyway. This one had hit particularly close to home. And you didn't like that one bit.

This made you more short-tempered than usual, even snapping at a witness. After a lengthy lecture from Hotch, I mean from the look on his face you would think you had insulted him, he had 'benched' you by having you go through old files that might be related to the UnSub.

Hey, at least you got to do it with Spencer.

After working with him for so many years, you grew quite fond of him. Too fond maybe.

You stared at him going through files with a speed that should not have been human. 20,000 words at a minute, and you thought you were a fast reader.

"Got anything yet, Boy Genius?" you asked, flipping the page of your own file.

He looked up at you. God those eyes...

"No. This one isn't even related to it." he dropped the file on the table.

"Didn't you read the entire thing?"

"Yes," he replied, "It was interesting."

"You find everything interesting."

"Not true," he protested.

You rubbed your eyes, sighing. "Sure, Spence."

He tilted his head at you, a look of concern on his face. Adorable.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

You considered lying, you had been doing that the entire time you had arrived in Dayton after all, but decided against it. "Not really."

"Is it about your family? I thought this case might bring up some bad memories."

You couldn't help but smile at how quickly he had gotten it. "Yeah, something like that."

"Can I help?"

"Can you make memories go poof?"

He actually seemed to ponder it. "No. I'm not sure why you would want to."

"You never wish that you could just forget the bad stuff?" You knew what he had been through, you had seen quite a bit of it.

His brows furrowed. "I don't like the idea of forgetting anything. I mean, Mom forgets enough so I remember for her too."

You realized your mistake and winced. "Spence... God, sorry."

"It's okay," he reassured you. "You're remembering a dark time in your life, it can be overwhelming. Also explains you snapping at the witness, with your nerves on edge."

"Yeah?" You grinned. "It was going to be Morgan but the asshole left before I could. So collateral damage."

He laughed. "He's outside if you want to insult him now. I don't want to be collateral damage too."

"You? Never."

"Never?"

"Never," you repeated.

Oh, how you loved his lopsided grins. "Thank you."

"Always." If you could pick one moment to live in forever, it probably would've been that one.

Minus JJ coming through the door right then. "We got something."

You wanted to throw a file at her. Instead, you get up with a heavy sigh. The sooner you get this done the better, you had to remember that.

~~~

The BAU was heading back to Washington tomorrow, so you could leave this far far behind. Finally. This case taking up two weeks of your life was enough.

You sat at a cafe next to the hotel where you were staying. It was a cozy little place with a mostly brown interior and warm lighting. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries filled the air.

You sipped your drink, feeling the cup's warmth in your hands. You had been coming here for the past few days and you had to admit, you would miss this place.

Just then, the door opened, and in walked someone you recognized, glancing around the room before spotting you. With a smile, Spencer made his way over, pulling out a chair across from you.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked.

You smiled back, gesturing to the seat. "Not at all."

He sat down and looked around. "So this is where you disappear to?"

You hummed in confirmation. "it's a nice place to think."

He stared at you for a while before nodding thoughtfully.

"What?" you sipped your coffee.

"Just... Are you feeling better?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, UnSubs behind bars. What more could I want?"

"Closure," he replied quietly.

You pressed your lips together tightly. "It's fine Spence. I'm alright with it."

"I don't think you are."

"Spencer," you said, a hint of warning in your voice, "You want to help, I get it. But not with this. Okay?"

It was an unspoken thing, the way Spencer always seemed to know when you needed space and when you needed someone to push just a little. He respected your boundaries, but there were moments—like this one—when his concern slipped through the cracks.

He sat across from you in that quiet cafe, watching you. You couldn’t tell if he was waiting for you to speak or if he was just giving you the time to process, as he always did.

It had been a rough case, yes, but that wasn’t why you were still here, staring into your coffee like it held all the answers.

Your eyes flickered up to meet his. He was still staring at you, quietly, as if he could see past your walls.

"Spence," you said, your voice quieter than you intended, "I’m fine. Really."

He didn’t respond immediately. His hand rested on the edge of the table, and you could see him fiddling with his fingers. That subtle nervousness he only ever seemed to show when he wasn’t sure what to say, but he knew he needed to say something.

"I don't believe you," he murmured, his voice soft but insistent. “I’ve seen you too many times to believe that everything’s okay, especially when it’s not. You’ve been holding it in, and I know that—"

"Spencer—" you started, but you were too late. He was already talking over you, his voice getting faster.

"Please. I just want to make sure you're alright, okay?" He sighed, his eyes briefly darting away before looking back at you. “I just... I care about you."

Everything felt very... loud. Too loud.

He looked at you expectantly, almost uncertain. Maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for you to make the first move.

You cleared your throat. God, you really hated moments like this, when everything inside you seemed to tremble at the prospect of just being honest.

His hand shifted on the table, and before you could stop it, you had reached out to touch his fingers. It was the smallest of gestures—barely noticeable—but it was enough.

For a long moment, you simply looked at each other, the conversation hanging in the air. There was so much unspoken between you, so much left unsaid. Maybe that was the problem.

Before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out of you, quicker than you could catch them. "I love you."

Spencer's face went completely still, his eyes wide as he processed your confession.

You had not meant to say that. You didn’t. It was an accident. You weren’t ready. You weren’t ready to put that kind of pressure on this, on him, on whatever this was.

But the words had slipped out anyway. You stared at him, feeling the heat rise in your face, hoping the ground would swallow you up.

"Sorry-God, I'm sorry," you quickly got up and rushed out of the cafe.

He just sits there. Frozen.

If you could pick one moment to rewind, it would be this one.

Oh, you fucked up big time.

~~~

You had never been more ready to get home, but unfortunately, there was an hour and thirty minutes on the private plane. With him.

Usually, you would spend an entire flight, after a case well done, talking to Spence. But after yesterday? But not this time. Maybe not ever.

You could feel Spencer’s presence beside you, but he was quiet. So quiet. Not the usual playful banter, no sudden bursts of random trivia or observations. It was almost like he was giving you space... or maybe he was just too uncomfortable to say anything.

Your eyes flickered to him once, twice, each time hoping for some indication of what he was thinking. He was staring out the window, a far-off look in his eyes, his fingers curled loosely around a book in his lap. For a moment, you almost felt the pull to apologize again, but the last thing you wanted to do was make him feel obligated to comfort you. You had put your foot in it already. Now, it was time to ride this out and pray it didn't become permanently awkward.

But Spencer, as always, was unpredictable.

"You don’t have to apologize," he said, his voice quiet, but it still carried across the cabin, cutting through the engine's hum.

You stiffened, eyes fixed on your lap. Had you been that obvious?

"I wasn’t going to," you said, a little too defensively.

He didn’t respond right away. You could feel him looking at you, the weight of his gaze making you want to curl into yourself.

“You know I care about you, right?” He said it so gently, like he wasn’t sure how you were going to take it.

You felt your chest tighten. Care about you. Those words. He was still speaking, still looking at you, but it was hard to focus on his words because everything was spinning around that one sentence.

"I do," you replied. You had to stop yourself from saying more—there was more you wanted to say, needed to say—but you couldn’t. Not yet. Not until you figured out where your head was at, where you both were at.

Spencer shifted in his seat. He didn’t look hurt, but there was something in the way he held himself. Maybe he was just holding back, afraid to push too hard, afraid of what that push might break.

You finally took a breath and turned to face him. He was still watching you, his expression a mix of concern and... something else. It was the something else that had you questioning everything.

"You don’t have to say anything," you added quickly, "I just...said something stupid. I didn’t mean to make things weird."

Spencer didn’t break his gaze, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Not his usual goofy grin, but something softer. More real. Something... intimate.

"It’s not weird," he said, his voice still quiet, "You’re not the only one who gets nervous around here, you know."

You blinked at him, genuinely confused. "What do you mean?"

His smile flickered, a small laugh escaping him before he adjusted his posture and leaned back in his seat. He seemed less tense, more at ease, "I’m just saying... I’ve had my own share of... feelings. I just didn’t know how to... deal with them."

Your breath caught in your throat. Spencer had feelings? For you?

The question hovered between you like an unspoken truth, but it seemed too risky to ask outright. Instead, you glanced down at your hands, the heat rising in your face.

And then, finally, you said something else, the words coming out quieter than you intended: "Do you think... we can just... forget it happened?"

You almost expected him to shrug it off, to offer a playful remark about how awkward it was or how maybe you'd both laugh about it someday. But he didn’t do that.

"No," he said softly. "I think maybe... we should talk about it. When we’re ready."

Your heart fluttered. Was this... was this him telling you he was ready? That maybe he wanted to figure it out too? Or was this Spencer, as usual, just giving you a window to process everything at your own pace?

You weren’t sure. You weren’t sure of anything. But you couldn’t deny the weight of his words, the connection that had always been there and that seemed to grow stronger the more time you spent together.

"I’m not great at talking about feelings," you admitted, looking over at him sheepishly.

Spencer chuckled softly, a breath of amusement. "Yeah, I’ve noticed."

You gave him a sidelong glance, your lips twitching into a reluctant grin. “Smartass.”

"Hey, you started it," he teased, finally breaking the tension just a little. "And I’ll finish it. But not right now. I think... we both need time to think."

You nodded slowly. He was right. You both needed time. The last thing either of you needed was to make rash decisions while emotions were still running high.

"You’re not mad?" You asked it before you could stop yourself, the doubt creeping in.

"Mad? Why would I be mad?" Spencer’s face was open and sincere.

"I don’t know. I just..." You didn’t finish your sentence. What was there to say? How could you explain the mess of emotions you were still trying to sort out?

He reached out across the seat, almost as if he was testing the waters, and placed a hand gently on yours. The touch was brief, but it sent a spark of warmth through you.

"I’m not mad," he said again, more firmly this time. "Not for that."

You were both quiet for the rest of the flight, but the silence between you felt different—more like an understanding, like a promise that when the time was right, you’d figure it out together.

It wasn't the one moment you would pick to stay in forever, but it was a moment you didn't mind being in for the rest of the flight.

[callieisto]

☆ Kinktober Day 4: Aphrodisiac! ☆

(fem!reader)

Sam hated witches.

They were nearly impossible to deal with, mischievous, and most of the time, they had no real idea what they were getting themselves into. But the ones that did know were the ones Sam hated the most. Because they did stuff like this.

This older grandma-type had seen you and Sam when you came to interview her about some teenagers disappearing, and then claiming they spent three weeks in the woods as actual animals- squirrels and deer and rabbits. Due to what they claimed was a witch, and what the police claimed to be hallucinogenic mushrooms (or something.)

She decided you needed a little push in the right direction, and had drugged the two of you with an aphrodisiac in the tea she offered. Too bad the kids had managed to describe her only a few hours later. Dean had shot her in the head before she could really tell them what it did beyond the whole 'making you really horny' thing. The spell, drug, whatever it was, had taken its sweet time kicking in. He thought it would be okay. All three of you did.

A town over, after the burning and the burying and the ruining of spell ingredients, it had hit him in the car- and you moments later. He managed to tell Dean to pull into a motel and splurge for three rooms- because no way was he going to share with his brother, and no way was he going to share with you.

You were just- Well, you were... you were something to him, something sweet and perfect and entirely untouchable. Besides, even seeing you right now might cause his heart to burst, because you raise his resting heart rate by like twenty BPM just by existing around him, and he can already feel his heart thundering against his ribs. He's sweatier than he's ever been in his life, naked on the edge of his bed in the motel room with a hand around his dick.

He's trying to jerk off to this terrible cable porn, but he keeps imagining you between his legs, your eyes fluttering so pretty as you lick up the underside of his dick, over that vein at the tip that makes him shudder, and-

He cums with a little strangled gasp and a whimper, not expecting his release to creep up on him like that. He pants, eyeing the spot where the cum soaks into the rug. He thinks 'god, finally', because maybe that would make everything better.

But he's still hard as a rock. And his head is still foggy. And if he's hearing things right, there's a timid little knocking sound at his door, but that might also be a hallucination due to his brain leaking out of his ears. He's so hot. He feels like he's melting.

The knock comes again, louder this time. Sam clears his head enough to tug on his boxers as he stumbles towards the door, still a little shaky from his orgasm. He looks through the peephole, and...

Shit.

It's you.

He opens the door slightly. He just stares at you- you're wrapped in a bathrobe, you're squirming under his gaze, you're sweaty and you look weaker than he's ever seen you. You're so perfect. So beautiful.

"Hey," He croaks out, voice hoarse. "How are you holding up?"

He's never wanted to kiss you more in his entire life.

Instead, he opens the door all the way and ushers you inside. The idea of anyone else seeing you looking like this makes him feel an emotion he doesn't quite want to deal with, and the door closes and locks behind you. He offers you a weak little smile.

"It's, um, it's worse than I thought it would be." You manage, shrugging as you sit down on the edge of his bed. He winces internally when you cast your eyes towards the cum staining the carpet. You don't say anything.

"Yeah, it's... not great." He manages, running a hand through his hair. "I tried to do some research on it when we got here, but, uh..."

"You got too horny to think?" You offered, laughing weakly. Sam nodded with a breathless chuckle.

"Yeah, um- sorry about the porn. On the tv." He said awkwardly, moving to turn it off. "I thought it would help, but it really didn't."

"It's okay." You whispered, smiling as he turned to you. "I don't think there's really anything that could help."

"I can think of something." Sam says with a laugh, shaking his head.

"Yeah?" And you tilt your head and flutter your eyelashes. His mind goes blank, just a little. He swallows dryly.

"... Yeah."

Sam swears he has no idea what happened. It's like everything blurred together, and suddenly he was on top of you, kissing the air straight out of your lungs. And his body stopped hurting. And the fog cleared a little bit.

"Fuck," He rumbles against your lips. "Fuck, you taste so good."

You moan all sweet into his mouth and he gets dizzy, if he wasn't already hard, he would've been, because you're just so soft and so fucking wet-

He's rutting his cock against your pussy, and fumbling with the tie of your bathrobe. It falls away, and something cracks in his head because his tip catches at your entrance and the moan he lets out is guttural. He feels wild, he feels hungry, and he wants to fill you up with cum until it leaks out around him.

"Shh, shh," He hushes breathlessly, because you're mewling and it's so cute he might die. "Shh, I've got you, d-doesn't it feel better? You want me to make you feel better?"

You nod, lightly knocking your forehead against his, and he laughs softly. "Sam," you whine, and your hands come up to curl around the base of his neck. "Need you, please..."

"I'm here," He coos, sweet and soft. "I'm here, angel, I've got you." He pushes in, slowly, kissing all over your face as he does. Once he's settled, he takes a moment to pull back and drink you in. You're so pretty, so impossibly pretty, and softer than any girl he's ever been with before.

He thrusts, just a little, shallowly, and the noise you make is almost enough to have him cumming right then and there. He breathes out weakly, thumb sliding through your folds to find your clit. He fumbles, a little- sue him for being nervous- but finds it eventually, rubbing it slowly as he bottoms out in you over and over again.

You're whining, squirming, and- holy shit- you've cum already, just so sweet and sensitive for him, tensing and crying out and he has half a mind to thank the witch profusely because he never would've dared to touch you if this hadn't happened.

"You're so pretty." He breathes, and his voice breaks when he thrusts back in. He's trying so hard not to cum right then and there. "God, oh god, I want to fill you up so bad. Wanna see you dripping with it, oh god."

"Pleasepleaseplease," you beg. "Please, Sammy, want it, need it-" And with that, Sam's mind fucking shatters. He registers that he cums again, register that you cum again, and he's still fucking hungry, wants to stay like this forever.

He keeps going, working both of you through another orgasm, whimpering breathless little moans of your name, babbling about how good you feel, his head dropping into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, and he whines like a dog.

The rest of the night is a blur. At some point, he thinks the aphrodisiac wears off, but his memory blots out a little ways before that. Waking up in the morning, he's still in bed, and you're tucked into his chest. His head is spinning. He sits up, and you mumble sleepily, and his heart clenches in his chest.

"Good morning." He whispers, kissing over your face. When he gets a little giggly smile from you, he smiles back.

And then he pulls out. A little flood of cum follows.

And Sam has officially been ruined, because he's going to have to ask Dean for Plan B and he's never going to live it down- but also, he's had you, he's never going to let you go, because you're just so perfect.

He'd endure a lifetime of teasing for you.

☆ taglist!

@adhd-introvert

[cherbii]

PUDDIN’

ft. Toji Fushiguro

summary -> you called yourself insane for falling in love with the murderous psychopath, until you became like him!

warnings -> Joker!Toji, Harley!Reader, language, violence, murder, graphic murder, dead dove do not eat, smut! p in v, choking, riding, knife play, blood kink. mdni.

The city never slept and neither did you, not with Toji by your side. It started like a fever dream—one second, you were patching up some two-bit gangster in a back-alley clinic, and the next, you were running for your life, blood on your hands, laughter in your throat, and a maniac with the sharpest grin you'd ever seen leading the way.

Toji Fushiguro wasn't just trouble; he was the whole damn apocalypse wrapped in a leather jacket and bad intentions. And you were the idiot who fell for it. The night you met, the sky bled neon, rain slicking the pavement as sirens screamed in the distance.

You should've gone home early, should've ignored the desperate pounding at the clinic door, should've known that a man who smiled through a bullet wound wasn't normal. But Toji waltzed in like the devil himself, bleeding from his side, grinning like he'd won the jackpot, and you—stupid, stupid you—had let him sit on your operating table like he owned the place.

"Yer a real doctor or just playin' dress-up?" he asked, voice all gravel and amusement as he peeled off his soaked jacket.

You glared at him, snapping on a pair of gloves. "You wanna keep running your mouth or actually get patched up?"

His laugh was low, like he was in on a joke you hadn't heard yet. "I like you already, doc."

That was the beginning of the end. You should have kicked him out, let him deal with his mess alone, but there was something in the way he watched you, eyes sharp despite the blood soaking through his shirt. He wasn't afraid. He wasn't even pissed off.

He looked entertained, like he was sitting front row at some twisted comedy act, and you had just become his favorite part. You told yourself you were just doing your job when you pressed the gauze to his wound, when you stitched him up despite the way his muscles tensed under your fingers, despite the way his smirk never wavered.

"You get shot often, or am I just lucky tonight?" you muttered, cutting the thread with more force than necessary.

Toji grinned wider. "Wouldn't call it luck, puddin’. But yeah, I get into trouble now and then." The words were barely out of his mouth before the clinic lights flickered, a sign that the building's shitty wiring wasn't the only thing malfunctioning tonight.

Your stomach twisted, and you turned toward the door, but Toji was faster. He grabbed your wrist, pulled you close, his breath warm against your ear. "Yer gonna wanna duck."

Glass shattered as bullets tore through the front window, shelves exploding as medical supplies rained down. You hit the ground hard, heart slamming against your ribs, ears ringing from the gunfire. Toji barely flinched.

He crouched next to you, reaching into his boot and pulling out a knife like this was just another Tuesday night. "Hope ya don't mind a little mess, doc."

You should have screamed, should have run, should have done anything but what you actually did—grin. Adrenaline surged through you, drowning out the panic, replacing it with something hotter, something reckless. "You gonna take 'em out or just sit here bleeding all over my floor?"

Toji barked out a laugh. "Knew I liked ya." The next few minutes were chaos. He moved like a phantom, slipping through the clinic, cutting through the gunmen like they were made of paper.

You barely had time to breathe before the last body hit the floor, blood pooling across the linoleum.

Toji stood in the middle of it, panting, covered in red that wasn't his, eyes gleaming as he turned back to you. "Ya got a car?"

You swallowed hard, ignoring the way your pulse thrummed in your throat. "Out back."

"Then let's get the hell outta here." You didn't know why you followed him. Maybe it was the rush, the sheer insanity of it all, or maybe it was the way he looked at you, like you were something special, something rare. Whatever it was, it had you gripping the wheel too tight as you sped through the city,

Toji lounging in the passenger seat like he hadn't just turned your entire life upside down. "You always this much trouble?" you asked, eyes flicking to him.

He smirked. "Only when I'm having fun." You should have dropped him off, left him to his own devices, but when he told you to take a left instead of a right, you didn't argue. When he led you into a crumbling warehouse, you didn't hesitate.

And when he pulled you close, fingers curling under your chin, tilting your face up to his, you didn't pull away. "Ya scared?" He murmured, his breath warm against your lips.

You weren't. You should have been, but you weren't. You stared into the madness in his eyes and felt something snap inside you, something that had been wound too tight for too long. "No."

Toji grinned, and then he kissed you, and you knew right then and there—you were never getting out of this alive. You didn't go home that night. You barely even thought about it. There was blood on your clothes, dried in your hair, smeared across your face, but you didn't care.

Toji tasted like gunpowder and adrenaline, like cigarettes and laughter, like pure fucking danger, and you wanted more. His hands were rough as they slid up your back, pulling you closer, pressing you against him like he wanted to burn you into his skin.

The warehouse was dark, reeking of oil and metal, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the heat between you, the way he groaned against your lips, the way your fingers fisted in his jacket, refusing to let go.

You didn't know what the hell you were doing. You weren't stupid—you knew what Toji was, knew what kind of man he had to be to smile through gunfire, to cut a man's throat without blinking. He wasn't just dangerous. He was the kind of dangerous that didn't stop, that didn't slow down, that didn't care who got caught in the wreckage.

And now you were standing in the middle of it, grinning like a goddamn lunatic. He pulled away first, chuckling low in his throat, resting his forehead against yours like he was catching his breath. "Yer somethin' else, doc."

You smirked, feeling high, feeling invincible. "You don't even know my name."

He laughed, like that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "Like it matters. Yer mine now."

You should have argued, should have pushed him away, should have told him that you didn't belong to anyone, but the words never left your mouth. Maybe because you knew he was right. The next few days were a blur. You didn't go back to the clinic.

There was no point. It was trashed beyond repair, and even if it wasn't, you had bigger problems. Whoever had shot up the place wasn't done looking for Toji, which meant they were looking for you now, too. Not that he seemed concerned. If anything, he was having the time of his life.

You spent your nights in shitty motels, cheap hideouts, places where the walls were thin, and the sheets smelled like cigarette smoke. Toji kept a gun under his pillow, a knife in his boot, a grin on his face like the world was just one big game, and he was the only one who knew the rules.

You should have been scared. You weren't. You learned fast—how to move, how to blend in, how to keep your head down when Toji told you to. You learnt that he didn't trust anyone, that he didn't give a damn about the people he worked for, that the only thing keeping him entertained was the rush, the thrill, the chaos.

And you learnt that you were just as bad as him. The first time you shot someone, he didn't look surprised. You had been cornered in an alley, some lowlife with a knife thinking he could take you out while Toji was busy inside. You didn't hesitate. You pulled the trigger, watched the guy crumple, felt your pulse hammering as the gun shook in your hands. Toji stepped out of the shadows, hands in his pockets, head tilted as he looked at you.

Then he grinned. "Knew ya had it in ya."

You laughed, breathless, wiping the blood off your cheek. "You gonna stand there all night or help me clean this up?"

His grin widened. "Fuck, I love ya, puddin’." You should have run. Should have turned around, walked away, found some way to salvage your life before it was too late. But instead, you laughed again, shoving the gun into his hands.

"Then help me hide the body, asshole." That was the moment you realised there was no turning back. You didn't regret it. Not that night, not the next, not even when the bodies piled up and the blood never really washed off. Toji made everything feel like a game, like you were two kids running wild through a playground made of crime scenes and getaway cars, and you loved it.

You loved the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing in the world that could keep up with him. You loved the way he laughed when things got messy, when bullets flew past your head and you didn't flinch. You loved the way he kissed you after a job, rough and desperate, like he needed you more than air.

The city turned into your playground. You ran through the streets like you owned them, your names whispered in alleyways, your faces printed on grainy security footage.

Toji took you to places you'd never dared to go before—underground fights where men twice his size (if that was even possible) went down in seconds, smoky bars where deals were made with a handshake and a threat, rooftops where you could see the whole city stretched out beneath you like a feast.

"Think we'll make it outta this alive?" You asked one night, sitting on the edge of a high-rise, feet dangling over the city lights.

Toji smirked, lighting a cigarette, the flame casting shadows across his sharp features. "Alive? Sure. Clean? Not a chance."

You grinned, stealing the cigarette from his lips, taking a slow drag. "Wouldn't want it any other way." He watched you, something dark and amused in his eyes, then pulled you onto his lap, crushing his mouth against yours. But not every night was golden. Not every escape was clean.

The first time Toji got caught, it wasn't by the cops. It was worse. You were holed up in a motel, licking your wounds from a job gone sideways, when the door burst open. No warning, no time to react—just a flash of movement, a crack of gunfire, and Toji hitting the ground.

You screamed his name, lunged for the gun on the nightstand, but a boot slammed into your chest, pinning you against the wall. "Cute," a voice sneered. "Think she's got teeth."

You looked up, vision blurring with rage. Three of them. Suit-and-tie types, but their eyes were dead. Professionals. The one pinning you down leaned closer, smiling like he was picking apart a meal.

"You know who your boyfriend pissed off, sweetheart?" Your fingers curled around the gun.

"Not enough people, apparently."

His grin widened. "Oh, I like you." Then he slammed the butt of his pistol into your skull, and everything went black. You woke up tied to a chair.

Toji was across from you, blood dripping from a cut above his eye, arms straining against the ropes. He was grinning.

"Oh, this is gonna be fun," the men surrounding you weren't smiling. The leader crouched in front of you, tilting your chin up with the barrel of his gun. "You're gonna tell me everything your boyfriend's been up to."

You spat blood onto his shoes. "Go to hell."

He sighed. "Ladies first." Then he turned the gun on Toji. And you lost your goddamn mind.

"Touch him, and I'll rip your throat out with my teeth." The man chuckled, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Wariness. Good. You weren't just some scared little girl. You were fire and glass and blood, and if they thought you'd break, they were dead wrong.

Toji licked the blood from his lips, watching you like you were his favorite movie. "Ain't she somethin'?" He drawled, voice all lazy amusement. "My puddin' sure knows how to make an entrance."

The leader rolled his eyes, pressing the gun to Toji's temple. "Last chance, sweetheart. Talk, or lover boy gets a bullet in the brain."

You grinned, teeth red. "You shoot him, and you'll never find the money." That got his attention. He hesitated, just for a second, but it was all Toji needed.

The ropes snapped. Everything went red. The chaos of the night had left both of you breathless, blood staining the air and sticking to your skin.

Toji sat across from you, leaning back against the wall, eyes still alive with that same wild spark as ever. His shirt was torn, his skin covered in bruises, and blood—his blood—was smeared at the corner of his lips.

You couldn't tear your gaze away from the sight. Something about the mess, the violence, the way he wore it all like a badge of honor, stirred something deep inside you.

You slowly reached toward him, your fingers hovering just above the blood at the edge of his mouth. He didn't move, didn't flinch. Instead, he watched you with that ever-present smirk, as if daring you to do it.

Your thumb brushed against his lips, smearing the blood further across his skin, until it formed the outline of a twisted smile.

"There," you said softly, watching the blood mix with his grin. "Now you look like you're really enjoyin' yourself." The playfulness in your voice was a front, hiding the heat rising between you both.

His eyes seemed devoid of light as you continued, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You know, puddin'," Toji muttered, his voice low and gravelly, "You're even more dangerous when you look like that."

You didn't say anything. Instead, you leant in closer, your lips brushing his jaw before slowly moving to the blood on his mouth, tasting it.

He inhaled sharply, his hand snapping to your wrist, stopping you for just a moment. "You're playin' a real fucking dangerous game, sweetheart."

You could feel the tension building, the unspoken words between you two hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break. But before he could say another word, you pressed your lips to his, your hands slipping into his hair, pulling him toward you with a hunger that matched his own.

Toji groaned into the kiss, his grip on you tightening. Toji's lips were rough against yours, his hands gripping you tightly as if he couldn't get enough. The kiss was hungry, both of you fighting for control, but neither of you willing to give up an inch.

His body pressed against yours, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, his muscles tense as his hands roamed over you. He pulled you closer, deepening the kiss, and for a moment, everything else disappeared.

Toji pulled back just enough to look at you, his breathing heavy. "You're really not making this easy." He muttered, his hands still on your body. His eyes were dark, focused only on you.

You didn't care. You tugged at his shirt, needing to feel his skin, to feel the heat between you. You both worked in silence, each of you getting lost in the need to be closer, to lose yourselves in each other.

When you finally managed to get his shirt off, you ran your hands over his chest, feeling the strong muscles beneath your fingertips. He let out a quiet curse, his hands moving to your back, pulling you even tighter against him.

"Shit.” Toji murmured, his lips brushing against your neck. You tilted your head back, giving him more access, feeling the thrill of his touch as his lips left a trail of heat along your skin. You didn't need words, not now. The tension between you was enough.

You grunted, slipping a hand back up into his hair, tugging harshly on the black strands to rip his head away. “Let me ride you, ‘Ji.”

“Fuck, puddin’. Gonna go dumb on the cock? Hell yeah.” He grabbed at your waist, tugging you towards the springy bed, almost tripping over bloodied limbs before he fell down, you bouncing on top of him before you shifted to straddle his lap.

It was a sight to see; a maniac beneath you, blood smeared at his lips and a wild look in his eyes. Yeah, you’d happily let this man ruin you.

Toji growled as you hurriedly went to rip your shorts off, eager to see you bare. His hand slithered to your cunt, pushing past the fabric of your panties to feel your warm slick.

“So fucking wet. Did killing get her wet? Fucking slut.” He chuckled, trailing his fingers up your torso until they found your pulse, squeezing at your neck.

“Says the ones who’s so fucking hard.” You mumbled, moaning out as your throat began to mechanically constrict.

“It’s what ya do to me, puddin’. Gonna show yer leaky pussy exactly what ya do t’me.” He snarled, curling his fingers, cutting off your air supply.

Toji couldn’t help but feel his cock twitch at the sight of you gasping for hair, eagerly reaching with his other hand, to his pants, tugging them until his cock sprung free.

“Ji…can’t fucking…breathe.” You wheezed, though your cunt pulsed and leaked into your panties.

“Yeah, yeah. I hear ya, quit yapping.” Toji murmured, releasing your neck and sliding his fingers up until he shoved them past your lips, forcing you to suck them clean.

His free hand went to your panties and tugged them carelessly to the side. Toji wasn’t a man of pleasantries, not now, not when you’re dripping onto his balls.

“Lift yer hips. Good fucking girl.” He said, grabbing his cock to guide it to your hole.

You both groaned out, albeit yours muffled, as you sunk down on his length. You leant forward to plant your hands on Toji’s hard pecs, using it as leverage before you raised your hips and slammed them back down in a repeated manner, whining every time his fat tip would nudge at that one spot inside you.

“God, this pussy is to die for,” Toji groaned, fingers dropping from your lips, coated in your saliva. “Gonna fucking murder me with how she’s squeezing my dick.”

Your lips fell open, panting Toji’s name. Fingers curling into his skin. “Love this dick—hah—could kill for it.”

“Rest easy, puddin’. Is all fucking yours. Shit, all yours.”

You didn’t miss the way Toji sent you a smirk, cheeks pulling at the dried blood on his face, the sight made your heart and cunt convulse.

It wasn’t long before you felt a burn in your thighs and lower back, stamina wearing thin. “‘J-‘Ji, ‘m tired. I can’t continue.” You whined, giving the man your best pleading expression.

“Yes, ya fucking can, and will.” Toji grunted, digging into his pockets and pulling out a butterfly knife.

He twisted his wrist, the blade whipped out before the sharp point was pressing at your throat.

“Keep up the pace or I draw blood.”

That was new, Toji never threatened you. Ever. You were his precious, porcelain (murderous) doll he paraded around town, yet it did something to you. Toji smirked when he felt you clench around him

So with a sound something between a whine and moan, you kept bouncing on his cock. Wet sounds filled the room, and so did your whines and moans.

“There we go, see, all ya needed was some motivation. Got ya moving real good f’me. Fuck.” Toji praised, tempted to push the blade into your skin nonetheless.

Your hips stuttered, pace falling behind. You hoped Toji didn’t notice, but of course he did. You whimpered as the blade made a small cut, red pebbling at the small incision he made.

Toji didn’t stop there, he pressed deeper and deeper, not enough to kill you, God, he’d never, but enough until the crimson dribbled down your skin, some onto the knife, most crawling to your collar and breasts.

Toji audibly groaned at the sight, moving the blade to his lips, tongue farting out to taste you. “Fucking hell, puddin’. Yer just as sweet as your blood.”

His words set a flame alight in your tummy. It grew bigger and bigger, until you could no longer contain it. “Fuck! Need to cum, gotta cum!”

“Cum for me, puddin’. Atta-fucking-girl.”

That was it, like a bucket tipping over, you came, hard. Toes curling, eyes rolling, mouth drooling.

“Shit. Fuck, puddin’. Gonna stuff this pussy full of my cum. Have psychotic children with the love of my fucking life. Aw, fuck.” Toji’s teeth clenched together as he spilled ribbons to ropes of his cum inside your cunt.

His hips jumped, and twitched before they stilled. You were panting by the time he was done, a little sweaty too, before you collapsed onto him.

“I got ya.” Toji murmured, wrapping his arms around while his head buried itself in the crook of your neck. You shivered when his tongue struck out and lapped at the cut.

The moment was tranquil, by your definition. Serene, peaceful, perfect.

Until there was a banging to the door, so loud you thought it was going to rip off its hinges. “This is police, open up!”

“Well, waddaya say, puddin’? Ready to kill some motha-fuckers?”

“As ready as you are.”

[starsofang]

To Be Loved is to Be Seen

johnny mactavish x f!reader

word count: 5.2k

tw: NSFW content, abuse (from other partner), hurt/comfort, smut, oral, p in v, happy ending, bad scottish accent (i tried)

Johnny hated your boyfriend. In fact, if he could string him up on a pole and castrate the bloke himself, he’d do it with a damn smile — that was how much he loathed him.

To get you to realize how shitty your boyfriend was felt like a near impossible task. Alas, you didn’t know Johnny, but Johnny certainly knew you. How could he not, when he’d spent every morning and every night, hearing your shouts and pitiful whimpers of defeat through the thin walls of your neighboring apartments?

He knew your boyfriend had spouts of anger, could tell from the sounds of drywall cracking on occasion, or the sounds of things clattering in a messy heap on the floor, sometimes shattering, sometimes rolling around after a particularly loud thud.

Your boyfriend was a nuisance that didn’t know how to care for a woman, and he made a show of it every night when Johnny heard him.

Now, Johnny was a respectful man. He’d never hurt another person unless they were deserving — perks of being in the military, it made that excuse much easier to use.

But your boyfriend? He was more than deserving. He was practically asking for Johnny to bash his pathetic face in, cowering beneath Johnny as he pleaded and begged for him to stop.

Johnny just had to figure out a way to slowly slip into your life, befriend you as a friendly neighbor, so he could kick the damn reality into that pretty head of yours. After all, Johnny would never hit you. Johnny would never call you names. Johnny would never make you cry in anguish.

The opportunity arose when he went to collect his mail and saw you standing there, fumbling with your mail key in frustration. Faulty lock, he assumed, but that was perfect for him.

“Need some ‘elp?” Johnny asked you, and when you perked your head up in surprise, he was already plotting murder in his mind when he saw the ugly bruise being sported underneath your eye.

“Oh. Yeah, actually, stupid thing never wants to unlock,” you said, and your voice up close and not through a thin wall was like sweet nectar from a flower.

He smiled with a nod, politely stepping up to your mailbox. You handed him the key, and he eagerly placed it in the lock. Wiggling it around a bit, it took him a few moments and grunts of concentration before the mailbox popped open.

Your face lit up in delight and you profusely thanked him, taking the key from his hands. Your hands were soft and warm, he noted when the two of yours brushed during the exchange, and he felt his heart swell with affection.

Such pretty hands on such a pretty girl should be kissed and held with nothing less than care. They shouldn’t be the victim of a fighting match, where it was obvious you were the losing opponent every time.

“No’ a problem. Johnny,” he introduced with his hand outstretched, and when you flashed him that smile as you introduced yourself back, he made it his absolute mission to make sure this wouldn’t be your last interaction.

The next time you saw Johnny, it was when the two of you were leaving your respective apartments at the same time (really, Johnny had been listening on for signs of when you’d leave as an excuse to leave his own place).

You lit up when you saw him, once again thanking him for helping you with the mailbox. Your eyes fluttered over to his door that he was in the process of locking, and you realized dumbly that he was your neighbor.

“I didn’t know you lived next to us, Johnny!” Us. The word made his eye twitch. “You’ve never introduced yourself.”

“No’ around all tha’ much.” He shrugged, and you hummed in understanding.

“I see. I’ve got to get to work, but it was nice seeing you, Johnny. Don’t be a stranger!”

He watched you go, feet leading you down the hall and towards the elevator of the building. He stood frozen in place, the breath in his lungs caught when he noticed the bruising on the back of your exposed calves from the skirt you wore.

A knock on his door days later had Johnny grumbling to himself, and when he checked the time, it was nearing midnight. He’d normally be on guard, what with his whole military career, but the only people that ever visited his place were Simon, Kyle, or Price.

Opening the door, it was neither of the three and instead, you. Sporting comfortable pajamas that swallowed you whole and made him want to scoop you up and keep you safe.

“Hi, Johnny! Were you sleeping?”

He was, but that didn’t matter.

“Nah, wasn’t sleepin’. Ye need somethin’, love?”

You threw him a sheepish smile that could melt any man’s heart. It was a wonder how your own man couldn’t see that. “I, ah, ran out of sugar. Baking’s my hobby, y’know? Silly me, I forgot to buy some from the shop.”

“…S’midnight.”

“…Is that a no to the sugar?”

Johnny huffed out a laugh, a smile perking on his lips. You were cute, it was to die for.

“Nah. ‘Course ye can have sugar. Tha’ all you came ‘ere for?”

You chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating something Johnny wasn’t aware of. Now that he thought about it, your shitty boyfriend wasn’t anywhere in sight, and he hadn’t heard any noise from your apartment earlier.

“Well,” you began, inhaling before slowly exhaling. “Okay, no, I don’t need the sugar. I have plenty of it, actually. It’s just, ah…”

“Go on.”

“My boyfriend went out with some friends tonight and I don’t really want to be alone. I get nervous when I’m by myself, y’know?”

Your boyfriend knew this, and didn’t even bother to bring you with? Wasn’t texting you throughout the night to give you sweet reassurances, telling you he’d be home soon? Was he even out with his friends?

“Ye dinnae have any girl friends to call?” Johnny asked carefully, not wanting to make you feel unwelcome, but also wanting to tread on a thin line. He couldn’t jump to the opportunity, or you might think he’s weird and eager.

When you shook your head with a defeated look on your face, his own heart shattering rang in his ears. The fact you had no friends to confide in, to go out and enjoy yourself with, it didn’t sit right with him.

Silently, he opened up his door a bit more to welcome you in, and you flashed him a pretty smile before eagerly prancing inside.

His apartment was a bit underwhelming, and there wasn’t much that showed he was even living in it besides the furniture to show as evidence. You didn’t seem to mind as you took it in, smile gracing your features when he gestured towards the couch.

“Ye wan’ a drink, lass?” Johnny asked you, and when you saw him standing in the kitchen, he helped up a bottle of alcohol and a bottle of juice. He was offering you a choice of either, but you didn’t see the harm in drinking a bit and letting loose.

“Why not?” You shrugged, pointing to the left hand that held the liquor. He beamed at you, satisfied by your answer and promptly began to pour you and him a drink.

“So yer boyfriend jus’ up and left ye for the night?” Johnny asked as he sat next to you on the couch, placing the glasses on the coffee table in front of you.

He watched as you eagerly took a sip of the liquor, unable to contain the amusement when your nose wrinkled up as you swallowed it down.

“Yeah, I guess so,” you sighed, lips pouting a bit in the form of a frown. He tried not to stare. “Said he needed a night off. And he deserves it, y’know?”

Johnny raised an eyebrow at you, slowly taking a gulp from his own glass before placing it back down. He definitely didn’t think your boyfriend deserved a night to himself, nor that he worked hard in the slightest.

Hell, Johnny could hear the two of you have sex on occasional nights through the shared walls, and that certainly didn’t sound like your boyfriend was working hard. If anything, it was pitiful and sad.

“Deserves it,” he hummed, and you whipped your head to look at him, causing him to snicker into his glass as he took another sip.

You looked conflicted, taking your bottom lip between your teeth again. It puffed up, causing it to turn a bright pink, and he willed himself to keep his gaze on your eyes rather than your mouth.

“He… works hard,” you defended.

“We all do,” Johnny retorted.

“Everybody deserves a night out.”

“Have ye had a night out then?”

Silence.

Johnny might’ve been pushing it too hard. After all, he knew more than you were aware of. He was sure you had no idea how thin the walls were and that he was practically a third person in your relationship issues.

“Consider this yer night out,” Johnny claimed with a warm smile, and it seemed to work because you smiled back, downing the rest of your drink.

“Thank you for keeping me company, Johnny. I know it’s late. You’re sure I’m not bothering you?”

Oh, you could never bother Johnny. He was practically head over heels just from seeing you for the first time and hearing your voice. Love at first sight, he thought, he was completely enamored with you.

“No’ a bother, dove. We’re neighbors. It’d be smart to be friends, aye?”

“Friends?” Your tone was excited and he wanted so badly to be more than that. “I’d love to be friends! Officially, now that we’re technically drinking together, right?”

You gave a playful nudge to his shoulders with yours and he felt his entire being soften with delight. He smiled at you, eyes crinkling into little crescents as he nodded in agreement.

Friends he could do. Being friends meant he would have more opportunity to try and shield you from harm, the harm being your boyfriend, and even if it took patience, he’d wait for it.

The two of you found yourselves in a flurry of conversation, the bottle of liquor dwindling down until there was nothing left. Time seemed to slip away between you, and when the clock hit 3:00 AM, a series of bangs came battering at Johnny’s door.

They were loud and angry, relentless and never ending until Johnny forced himself off of the couch to swing it open.

Your boyfriend’s face came into view and Johnny wished he could rearrange his teeth in that ugly scowl of his.

“Is she here? I heard her voice,” he demanded, and your head peeked out from behind Johnny. Guilt and shame shined in your irises, and it was as if all of the joy you felt when spending time in your newfound friendship with your neighbor had vanished into nothing.

When your boyfriend saw the sight of you, he put on a sickeningly sweet smile. If he was trying to play off his anger until he got back into your apartment, he was doing a poor job of doing so. Or it was because Johnny already knew about his true colors.

“I’m home. Let’s get you to bed, yeah? It’s late,” your boyfriend cooed, and Johnny had to stop himself from sneering at the venom that dripped beneath his tone.

You nodded silently, shuffling by Johnny and out of the threshold. Johnny and your boyfriend watched as you entered your own apartment, disappearing inside and leaving the door open.

Johnny knew what was going to come, and as much as he wanted to stop it from happening, he knew he couldn’t. Not yet.

“Thanks for, ah, taking care of her while I was out. Let’s not make it a habit,” your boyfriend practically spat, and Johnny gave him an unphased smile.

“Only if ye stop makin’ it a habit to hit ‘er every chance ye get,” Johnny replied back in the same tone, keeping his smile on his face. It was a threat, a warning, and Johnny wasn’t ashamed to make it clear. “I see another bruise on ‘er body, I’ll fuckin’ kill ye.”

Your boyfriend must not have had many people retort back to him. His face morphed into a stunned one before flashing in anger and annoyance, and when he went to snap back, Johnny shut the door in his face before he had a chance to.

He made sure to stay up the rest of the night, eyes staring at the ceiling from where he laid in bed. He kept his ears locked in to the shared wall, listening in for a single sound of fists connecting with bone or a broken wail out of your lips.

When he heard nothing, he knew he’d gotten through for now.

You’d visit his apartment when your boyfriend wasn’t around. You’d come to enjoy his company, and even went as far as going against your boyfriend’s wishes of never seeing Johnny again. You told him it was because he was your only friend, and he’d accept you with open arms every time you came knocking.

The back and forth went on for months. Johnny was even more smitten than before, and his patience for claiming you as his own was slowly slipping.

He hated seeing you sad when you’d come on nights after a bad argument. He hated seeing the tears flowing down your cheeks, smothering your delicate skin with dewy shine, reddening your pretty eyes and glossing them over with heartache.

The heartache you felt would transfer on to Johnny.

He didn’t understand why your boyfriend didn’t treat you like the lovely canvas you were. Didn’t cover you with love and affection, instead covering you with black and blue. He tainted you with colors that didn’t clash with the beauty of your skin, when you deserved to be painted with skies of pink.

Johnny knew you deserved better.

When you came on a particular night, face swollen with tears of sadness and blood, he nearly saw red. Such a delicate thing to be so cruelly used as a personal stress reliever should never have happened, and Johnny was at his wits end.

“Leave ‘im,” Johnny ordered when he brought you inside of his apartment. He stood in front of you in the vacancy of his bathroom, a warm washcloth nursing your wounds with tender hands, grimacing every time you winced from pain.

“I can’t,” you whispered, and he shook his head.

“Bullshit. Leave ‘im. A pretty bird like ye doesn’t deserve this.” When you said nothing and stared down at your hands in your lap, he pushed further. “So many men out there wouldn’t lay a finger on ye. They’d never hurt ye. They’d never hit ye. I’d never do that.”

Your eyes flickered up to meet his, and he allowed it, locking your gazes with one another as a heavy silence filled the room. Your eyes remained filled with unshed tears, glistening in the dim lighting of his bathroom. To you, you looked like broken mess. To him, you looked like you held the entire night sky in your eyes.

Everything happened so quickly, Johnny’s mind nearly didn’t comprehend it. One second, you were staring, the next, your lips had crashed into his without a second thought.

Even with a split lip that tasted faintly of metallic blood, he thought you tasted divine. It was as if sweetness exuded from all parts of you, painting him with a sugary high that he could never get enough of.

One hand strayed to your hair while the other rested along the bathroom counter where your hips rested. Your own hands fisted the front of his shirt, tugging him closer, as if scared he’d fade away.

He planned on going nowhere. This was all he ever wanted, from the moment he heard you for the first time as his neighbor from behind the walls of your apartments.

When he first heard you belting out a song he didn’t know the name of in the security of your own place, presumably when your boyfriend wasn’t around to quiet you down.

When he ran into you at the mailboxes and finally learned your name. When he heard your speaking voice that wasn’t filled with anguish, trembling with shaky tears.

Johnny pressed into you further, consuming every part of the kiss with an eager passion. When he heard the faintest whimper melt from your mouth into his own mouth, he would’ve killed the entire world to hear it again.

“Dinnae be quiet,” he breathed into your lips, smile curling against them. “No need for tha’. Can be as loud as ye want here.”

Your eyes blinked prettily at him from where your foreheads connected. His thumb grazed along your cheek in such a tender manner, it pained your heart in the best way.

Your boyfriend never touched you that way. Never treated you that way. Never loved you that way.

Johnny returned his mouth to yours and you fell back into the clumsy dance of lips and tongue, like a waltz the two of you were learning with one another.

It was intense and fierce, yet gentle and passionate at the same time. You felt dizzy, your mind clouding with nothing but want and desire.

It was wrong of you to do this. Johnny was your friend and neighbor, and you had a boyfriend.

But then you thought back on everything Johnny had been making you realize — a man who loved you would never treat you how your boyfriend treated you. He’d treat you how Johnny was treating you now, soft and caring, pouring his heart and soul into every delicate touch.

On late nights when you stayed up, Johnny was there with the door already unlocked for you. He’d make you laugh, make you smile, he’d heal the inner child you desperately needed to seek. You’d lost her along the way, and Johnny was there to remind her.

“Johnny,” you breathed out, and his smile returned.

“Wha’ is it, dove?”

“I—“ You inhaled sharply, trying to collect your scrambled mind and piece together the words. “I want you. Please.”

Johnny sucked in his own breath, eyes piercing into yours. They flickered along the features of your battered face, and even in this state, he graveled in your beauty.

“I can make tha’ happen.”

Johnny laid you on his bed as if you were the most precious thing to cushion it. His hands roamed your body like mapping out every roll and curve, keeping it noted in his head for future endeavors.

He took his time with you, placing gentle kisses along every bruise, bump, and scar that your sorry excuse of a boyfriend had left embedded in you to remember forever. Johnny didn’t look at them in disgust like you expected, no — he ravished them like fine china, careful and precise, spending as much time needed to ensure each and every one was cherished.

His hands were eager yet patient as he stripped you of your clothes, making sure to take his off in the process so you didn’t feel uncomfortably exposed.

He only thought of your best interests, and it made you feel desired.

“Look at ye,” he breathed, hands slowly gliding down the plains of your stomach and to your thighs. He carefully parted them, eyes dropping down to the glisten of your cunt, taking it in. He sucked in a breath, thumbs stroking along your knees.

Your hands lifted to cover your face, embarrassment filling you to the core. He tsked, lifting a hand to grasp your arm and pull it from your face. He pinned it lightly to the side of your head, peering down at you.

“None of tha’,” he pleaded. “Wanna see ye, bonnie.”

You nodded your head, silently agreeing with him. He took his hand off your arm, flashing you a pleased smile.

He returned to caressing, cascading rough hands down your sides, to your hips, to your thighs, until they traveled back up. The touch of his fingers was light against your core, testing the waters.

“Oh,” you gasped, air getting caught in your lungs. He smiled again, all teeth and all crinkly eyes, before delving his venture further.

His index found your clit and he began a slow and antagonizing pace, circling and stroking, eyes focused on your face to piece together your reaction.

Your eyes were fluttering at the ceiling, breasts rising and falling with every staggered breath.

It was a sight to see. Johnny felt his chest swell with pride that finally, after pining after you for months, feelings hidden away in the dark, he was the one making you this way.

His finger slipped down, seeking the wetness that seeped shamelessly. He scooped his finger in the mess, lifting it to his mouth to wrap his lips around it.

You watched, eyes dazed and hazy. You shouldn’t have enjoyed the sight, but it burned a fire in you.

His smile turned into a bashful grin when he popped his finger out of his mouth, and before you had a chance to breathe, he slipped that same finger inside, prodding you open.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered pathetically.

“Yeah?” he breathed. You nodded dumbly. He huffed out a laugh, curling his finger in a way that had you squirming. “Look bonnie like this. Ye my pretty girl, aye?”

You nodded again, hands fisting his bedsheets beneath you.

“Won’t ever hurt ye,” he continued, and before you knew it, his second finger joined in. “Won’t ever make ye cry. Too pretty to cry, aren’t ye?”

“Johnny,” you pleaded. He pumped his fingers slowly at first, but the sound of his name on your lips urged him to increase the pace.

It was heaven hearing it come from you, and combined with your sweet moans? He was hearing church bells in his mind.

You squirmed beneath him, panting and writhing like the pretty thing you were. He wanted more, he wanted to hear you.

Johnny dove his head down, fingers still buried to the knuckle. His tongue poked out to press flat against your clit, lathing you in bliss and making you see stars.

Your boyfriend never made you feel this way. You were on a cloud, floating peacefully in the skies above.

He could never pull the desperate moans out of you, he could never make your thighs tremble like you’d just run a marathon around the world.

Johnny’s mohawk was soft on your fingertips when you grasped them. You held back, only gripping softly.

“Pretty girl, ye can grip harder than tha’,” he assured when he came up for air. You stared down at him with wet eyes, filled with hazy pleasure. He wouldn’t return to using his mouth until you followed his order, so you did, grabbing a fistful of hair and lightly pushing him against your cunt.

He groaned in approval, burying his face between your legs and eagering fucking his fingers in you.

The stimulation caused your back to arch, a moan bursting out of you. The sound surprised you. You’d never heard yourself sound so wrecked, especially before the main event.

This was how sex was supposed to feel. Cherished, adored, and downright sinful.

The knot in your stomach seemed to tighten, and your thighs clumsily squirmed around, encasing his head between them. You panted breathlessly, the sounds filling the room with an unforgivable act of immorality.

“Johnny, Johnny, I—“ Your words were cut off by your own broken sob, and he feasted harder, urging you to your breaking point more and more.

It was too much. You wouldn’t be able to hold back, nor did you want to. This feeling was too blissful to pull away from, so you allowed yourself the moment of selfishness.

When it hit you, your entire body convulsed. Your stomach tightened and clenched, thighs gripping tight around Johnny’s head, quivering with every movement.

“Tha’s it, dove. Good girl,” he praised. You keened, eyes squeezing shut as your climax came over you.

His fingers slowed their pace but didn’t dare leave your body as he pulled you through the last drops of your orgasm. When he felt you had enough, he swiftly pulled them out, staring up at you with eyes pouring with admiration.

“Look at ye,” he whispered, reaching a hand out to stroke over your cheek. You hadn’t realized they were wet with tears until he stroked them away with a thumb. “Gorgeous girl. Tha’ okay?”

“Absolutely,” you breathed, voice broken.

You regained your breath, chest no longer heaving like a panting dog, and you came out of your clouded haze.

“Let me make ye feel even better, aye? Can fill ye up, wanna feel ye, please, bonnie—“

You nodded before even making up your mind, but really, you didn’t need to. It was already made up the moment he let you into his home and offered friendship.

Johnny climbed over you, careful not to crush you. He hovered, face aligned with yours and a smile on his face. You stared at him in awe.

That smile of his could light up the whole world if he allowed it. It lit up yours, after all.

His hand dove between your bodies, and when you felt the head of him slowly press to your entrance, you sucked in a breath.

He took his time, slowly easing into you, filling you and leaving you with greedily wanting more and more.

“Oh god,” you groaned, and he followed after. His eyes were squeezed shut as you took him in fully, and when he bottomed out, he forced them open to gaze down at you.

“Look at me the ‘ole time, aye? Wanna see ye,” he said, and who were you to deny it?

Johnny began to move and you had to force your eyes open every time they threatened to flutter closed. He filled you from an emptiness you weren’t aware you had until now, and you never wanted it to leave.

Just like with his fingers, he started off slow. He didn’t want to hurt you, but the more he stared at the pleasured, fucked-out look on your face, his resolve broke and he found himself losing control.

One particularly hard thrust had you gasping, hands scrabbling for purchase on his biceps, and that was all he needed to snap.

Hips thrust erratically into you, plunging deeper and deeper every single hit. The noises were nothing but dirty, a mix of sinful slaps and shaky moans filling the atmosphere.

“Takin’ me so good, bonnie,” he sighed, hand cradling your cheek as he continued his relentless torture. “Made for me, yeah?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, fingernails dipping into his skin and marking him with crescent shaped indents. “All for you, Johnny, nobody else.”

“Tha’s right, sweet girl.” His head tilted down to graze his lips along your jaw, peppering loving kisses up to your ear. “Dinnae need tha’ bloke of yours anymore. ‘M gonna take care of ye.”

That sounded divine. You wanted all of that and more.

“Please,” you begged, though unsure what for.

Johnny smiled against your skin before pulling himself back up. He grabbed hold of your legs, gently pressing them up so your knees were level with your chest.

His eyes never strayed from your face, not even when he went back to giving you everything he had in the way he fucked you.

He was proudly marking his territory, taking everything you had while giving you everything in return.

You couldn’t compress the moans that escaped you with every brutal thrust in your cervix. He was hitting every damn spot in you, as if he had your entire body already mapped out.

“Gonna take ye away from ‘im,” he grunted, his fingertips digging into the flesh of your thighs where they pressed against your chest. “Never gonna let another man hurt ye again.”

You cried, tears pouring down your cheeks in rivers. Your body was so overwhelmed with the pleasure he brought you, but god, you wanted all of it. You were going to make sure you took it all.

Johnny continued his string of praises as he glided in and out of you, your cunt molding around him like the perfect fit. He was fast and hard with his actions, yet his words were sweet and tender, only ever showering you with things you needed to hear.

“Ye gonna give me another one, pretty girl?” he asked, his own voice nearly failing on him from his own pleasure.

You nodded quickly, eyes locked on to his. He grinned in approval, cocking his head to the side.

“C’mon, bonnie. Ken ye can do it f’me.”

Those words of encouragement were enough to have you clenching around him, body succumbing to your second orgasm. You felt absolutely divine, head completely spacing out and relieving itself of any worries or stress.

“There ye go,” he cooed, unstopping of his thrusts. He chased his own release, sweat beading along his forehead and dripping down his temple. “Such a good girl, bonnie.”

You whimpered, body spent and exhausted. You didn’t stop that from allowing him to seek out his pleasure. The thought of him filling you, of fully claiming you as his stirred a wild thought in your mind, and you needed it.

“Please, Johnny,” you whined, and he let out a breathless chuckle. It vibrated you to the core.

“Dinnae worry, dove, I’ll give ye what ye want.”

It didn’t take him long to find himself. His movements became less precise and more sloppy, hands slipping from your thighs when his grip became unfocused.

Warmth filled you from the inside and you reveled in its comfort, sighing shakily. He pumped himself in you a few more times, making sure to get out every drop, before stopping to catch his breath.

Johnny looked gorgeous like this. Glistening in sweat, lips parted to suck in air, cheeks flushed pink from the warmth that took over the room.

You couldn’t stop your hand from lifting off of his arm to gently caress his cheek. When he felt your touch, he smiled, leaning into it.

Your heart nearly burst in fondness.

Johnny cleaned you up and let you change into his clothes, which you happily put on.

The two of you laid in the comfort of his bed, his arm tucking you into his side, your eyes staring up at the ceiling.

“I meant everythin’ I said, dove. ‘M gonna take ye away from ‘im, ye won’t ever have to deal with ‘im again,” Johnny said softly.

The thought of leaving your boyfriend was scary, but the thought of leaving behind Johnny after this was scarier. You knew what the obvious choice was.

You had to trust him. And trust him you did.

“Okay,” you whispered in return, and when he turned his head to smile down at you, you’d happily go along this journey into the unknown with him.

finally got around to writing smut like i’ve been planning on and what better choice than mr mactavish himself 🙏🏻 hes so yummy i wanna eat him

[themeraldee]

The Lucky Winner - Part 2

[Masterlist] [Part 1]

18+ Only | 7.3k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Early Season 1. Voice kink (mild). Roleplay. Established Relationship. Masturbation. Dirty Talk. Unprotected sex. 

Summary: After much deliberation you finally decide to meet your hero at a meet & greet.  

Author’s Note: Sorry if the ending of this feels a little confusing. I did have an idea for a retrospective Part 3 of this that would cover the events in between Part 1 & 2, clearing up the confusion a little bit, let me know if you'd be interested!

The metal detector beeps, finally letting you through after the hassle of emptying your entire bag and getting a full body scan. You quickly collect your scanned belongings and you scuttle along, almost sprinting across the now-empty hallway. You’re breathing heavily, holding onto the bag over your shoulder as you reach the right door. Panicked and out of breath you show your pass to the man working the door and he just about lets you in grumbling something about it being way past the time slot and how you’re the last one in. You ignore all of it, instead you focus on your breathing and move along. You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to mask just how winded that rush got you. 

You take your place as the last one in the line. Turning around just in time you see the door guy close off the room, not letting anybody else in. Phew. You just about made it. You smooth out your summer dress, adjusting the bag you had over your shoulder as you look around the hall. God, you’ll be waiting forever!

You knew it would be busy but having usually avoided convention centres it still hits you hard with how overwhelmingly packed the hall is. The ventilation and air conditioning could be state-of-the-art and it would still feel stuffy. Looking around you feel like one of the few people who didn’t bother dressing up like their favourite heroes. You see about thirty Queen Maeves at a quick glance, another twenty Black Noirs, a few of the Seven’s new member Starlight but the most prevalent one is easily a sea of Homelander knock-offs. The sea of cheap red, blue and white assaults your vision, making it actually pretty overwhelming to look around.

For once Homelander is actually drowned out in a sea of look-alikes where normally he stands out like a sore thumb in all his primary-coloured glory. Homelander. Just the thought of seeing him here makes you pick at your nails and bite your lips with anxiety. Sure, you’ve met him before. You’ve talked. You even had sex, really good sex, goddammit. You have history. But still, you’ve never done this. Not the in-public meet & greets that you decided to put yourself through today. But still, you’re doing this for him. 

The longer you’re standing at the end of the line the longer being surrounded by fans dressed in Spirit Halloween versions of the Seven’s costumes is becoming less comical and more uncanny valley. You only wonder what it feels like to them.

You slowly move through the line. Sighing impatiently, your nerves are slowly being replaced by irritation as you watch the interactions play out in front of you. You’re now close enough to see and overhear. Thankfully with each step you take forward the people in front of  you get what they came here for and they leave, making the hall a little more breathable. 

You’re now watching Homelander as he tends to each fan, all puffed up and high energy to replicate the vision they all have of him but you see how much he wishes to be anywhere but here. Most of the Seven do. Vought plucks them from what most expected to be their duties, like saving the world, and instead they drop them in front of cameras and paying fans. You watch as Homelander signs each piece of merchandise his fans bring him, one after another with a smile on his face.

Having seen part of his real self, or the extension of himself he doesn’t show the media you see the smile for what it is. Placating, empty, downright forced. Were you none the wiser you wouldn’t have thought to look past the showmanship but now you knew better. It was easy to notice his tells, his jaw ticks anytime he’s irritated, his eye twitches anytime he has to hold a smile for too long or anytime he’s forced to compliment someone. You overhear his booming stage-voice going, ‘you look great buddy, wear it better than I do!’ for about the twentieth time. The crowd eats it up, again, and somehow they’re blind to his tortured expression. Sure, he hides it very well but if any of them cared to look underneath the surface it would be glaringly obvious. Instead they look at him like the hero they want him to be. Flawless, perfect, serving their needs. The more you’re privy to this viewpoint the more it grates on you. He’s so much more than that! And you don’t understand how they don’t see it. More than that, you're angry that they willfully don’t want to see it. Why would they ruin the image of a perfect hero they look up to when they don’t care to know the person behind the suit in the first place. 

You shake your thoughts away, focusing on keeping up with the queue. Thankfully the hall has now almost emptied, few residual fans loiter around taking pictures of themselves in their costumes with the Seven members right behind them. As it’s almost your turn, and with that the end of the event, you clumsily pull out a postcard out of your bag clutching it in your hands getting it ready to be signed.

With each step you hear him clearer and clearer. Your heartbeat picks up and by the time the Homelander female cosplayer in front of you gets her very own, ‘you might as well take my spot, you pull it off better than me’, your heart is pounding so hard that you think it must grate on Homelander’s nerves. You rub the glossy paper of the postcard in between your fingers trying to distract yourself from the impending doom that’s bound to be caused by whatever comes out of your mouth. Even after all that’s happened between you two, all that history, you cannot stop yourself from feeling flustered in a situation like this.

You’re so stuck in your head that you don’t realise that the lady in front of you already left and all who’s left is…well, you.

You’re broken out of your trance by a familiar voice.

“Looky, looky, who's here? I can't believe you actually showed up at one of these.” There he goes, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he quickly looks you up and down. Already his eyes are glittering with excitement. Your heart skips a beat at his smile. It's more genuine. You see the annoyance seep out of him, his posture a little more relaxed. 

“Yeah…about that. I thought I couldn't really call myself a fan otherwise right?” You rattle off some lines and your anxious mess of a gut is slowly unravelling to make room for the coil of excitement replacing it. Sure, you’re nervous. How couldn't you be. But the place is nearly empty and there isn't much he could say that would get you as flustered as he did the first time.

“Here for an autograph? The one I gave you before wasn't good enough?” Right. Scratch that. You blush a bright red as the images flood back into your mind. And he's grinning so widely, clearly pleased with how he can so easily make you into a blubbering mess. Even if someone overheard, there’s technically nothing dirty about his words but the shiver they send down your spine along with the vivid imagery is enough to make you feel indecent in a public space.

“No—no! It was, um, great. I just—uh—wanted something a little more permanent.” You quickly look around seeing if anyone caught that interaction as if they could read your mind. Well, you are in a room full of superheroes, who knows what they can or can’t do. Thankfully, it doesn’t appear like anyone is interested in Homelander signing a photo for yet another fan. The rest of the Seven is slowly filtering out of the room, finally relieved of their duty.

“Alrighty-doo, let me sign that for you.” He takes his hand out prompting you to put the postcard in his palm. You do so, giving him a little timid smile. Your hands shake a little as you retreat them back by your sides. Catching the way his eyes linger on the movement you cover your shakiness by clasping your hands together in front of you.

“Is this all you want me to sign? Did you really wait the entire line for that?” He says his eyes squinting incredulously as he waves the postcard with his likeness in front of you. Without waiting for your answers he still places it in front of him reaching for his marker pen.

“What was I meant to bring?” You scrunch your eyebrows with confusion. Sure, you weren’t used to going to these events but you still brought something he could sign, that’s good enough, is it not?

“For starters, something that my signature won’t cover entirely.” 

“It’s fine if it covers it.” You brush off his concerns. Really you didn’t care about the signature as much as you cared about seeing him. So placement be damned.

You look as he uncaps the pen, turning the card around. It’s a photo of him in his hero pose standing against a very patriotic background. Originally it came in a pack of seven postcards, one for each member of the Seven. You don’t want to admit that you were so anxious over deciding whether you would even turn up or not that when it came to the day you forgot to bring an item to sign. Hence the pack of generic postcards you bought on the way when you realised that you forgot just about the most important item. This also turned out to be the reason for your tardiness, you spent way too long in the shop just angsting over the small selection of items you could even pick from. 

“You know it's a real shame you of all people didn't come dressed up. I'd like to see you as Mrs Homelander.” He says all cheeky and amused at the image in his head, while he’s fiddling with his marker pen, trying to start his signature for the third time but the ink has run out.  

“Oh no no no, I couldn't. I don't think it would be a good look on me. I mean nobody can rock the uniform like you do!” The idea of dressing up as him was ridiculous, you couldn’t just take that away from him. He’s more than a circus animal to you.

“You think I rock it?” He gives you a look, clearly fishing for compliments while he lets his voice rumble. He might not be in your ear but you still feel a shiver dance down your spine. You don’t think you’ll ever get over the effect his voice has on you. He just knows how to pull your strings. And what’s a puppet to do if not follow.

“It looks very good on you. The colour brings out your eyes.” You make an awkward gesture, pointing at your dress and then your eyes, as if it wasn’t obvious that those two had the same colour on him. You cringe internally but he always seems endeared by your awkwardness. You think it probably feeds his ego. You’re always such a mess in front of him and he slurps it up.

“Wowie, heavy on the flattery today are we?” He’s fiddling with his marker pen, trying to start his signature for the third time but the ink has run out.  “Oh for fucks sakes.” He tries another two times, the leather of his glove creaking with pressure around the pen. You expect him to snap it in half at this point but he just sighs and recaps the used marker, placing it down. He looks around, his jaw ticking as he mumbles, “where the fuck is Ashley…” He rolls his eyes, muttering something about being surrounded by incompetent idiots as he stands up. 

“Just, come with me, I think there are some spares in my dressing room.” He waves his hand, still holding the postcard in the other one.

“Are you sure? It’s really no big deal!” You feel guilty at the way his suggestion sends a shiver up your spine. You’re not entitled to it but the fantasy of him fucking you in his dressing room still plays out in your mind. 

“Nope, you waited your turn. You know I’m not one to leave my biggest fans empty handed.” He winks at you before he beckons you to follow him. You give a short nod and you scurry behind him like a little duckling, mesmerized by the sway of his cape swishing with each purposeful step. You feel your heart rate rise with every step, just being in his presence is overwhelming and the closer you get to his dressing room the more vivid your fantasy gets.

“Righty-ho,” Homelander says as he opens the door to his dressing room, fiddling around to pick up a spare marker. He presses the postcard against the wall signing it for you with a silver sharpie. You stand in the half open door a little awkwardly. Rather than focusing on him, you’re looking around making sure nobody sees you standing in Homelander’s dressing room. He tears you away from your paranoid thoughts as he hands the card back to you with a sing-songy, “there you go!” 

Your eyes widen and you gingerly take the postcard with a “oh, thank you,” and you gently put it back into your bag, not wanting to smear the ink. Part of you was disappointed that he genuinely took you here for innocent reasons. 

Like the open book you’ve always been to him he reads your facial expressions for what they are barking a laugh at the dumb-struck look you were sporting. “What? Did you think I brought you here to fuck you?” He leans against the doorframe, his tone a little condescending and mean. 

You really do your best to recover but your embarrassed blush and the spike in your heart-rate is such a blatant giveaway of your true thoughts. “N-no! I wouldn’t, of course not.” It doesn’t matter what you say in the moment, it’s not wiping the all-knowing smirk off his face.

“Jesus, you’re so easy, you know that?” His gaze is predatory as he looks you up and down again, this time slowly, reaaally taking you in. Before you know what’s happening he yanks you into the room, closing the door behind you. For all his strength he controls it well as you don’t end up with a dislocated shoulder after a move like that.

He cages you in against the door, leaning close to your ear so he can get his voice nice and low and he whispers, “For that kind of slutty behaviour I definitely need to fuck you.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. You love how easily he reads you, there’s nothing you can hide from and you know that these days, you’re his favourite book. In a way it’s liberating, it removes the thoughts behind actions, it removes the second-guessing. You know that he knows what you want. So you don’t have to make propositions and embarrass yourself further, he’s either gonna take you as he pleases or tell you to get lost. So far it’s always been the former. 

His gloved hand grabs the side of your jaw as he leans back and the woodsy, natural scent of leather whiffs past your nose. His other hand is less stationary, he brazenly glides his hand down your dress, generously palming your tits before he slides down further down your waist and back, settling on your ass. “Gotta teach you a lesson that you shouldn't be spreading your legs for men you don't really know that well.” He growls out tilting your head so he’s directly staring into your eyes with his impossibly piercing blues.

“You’re not just a man.” 

“Mhm you got that right.” He purrs all pleased at the obvious stroke to his ego. You’re all flustered, breathy and eager for him and he loves it. The pure adoration and love you give him so easily just flows through him, feeding that black hole starved for affection inside him.

He didn’t wait a second longer to kiss you, one gloved hand still on your jaw, the other quickly moving up to the back of your head pressing you into him. With a moan he kisses you, already acting like you’ve been starving him this entire time. His kisses are feverish, already hot hot hot as his lips ply yours open. You feel his shaky breath hot against your lips while the plush pillows of his lips are pressing against yours in a frenzy.

You wrap your hands around his neck for support more than anything. You know how he gets. Your heart rate has skyrocketed by now, beating hard and loud in his ears as he presses his tongue in between your lips, already wanting to be in you one way or another.

You part your lips for him just like you’d part your legs and you let him kiss you, heavy, hot and wet as he holds you with almost shaky hands trying to get as much as he can out of you.

His ravenous kisses don’t relax you, they make your body feel tight, wound up, always expecting and wanting more. At this moment you need him as much as he needs you. You grind your body against him with each more pressing and needy kiss. You know he can feel you through his suit, even though it’s handily hiding his hard-on. He still moans when you rub against him, clearly just as wound up as you are.

He pulls away, his eyes no longer that bright piercing blue but now his pupils are blown, his gaze lustful and heavy. His breathing is rough and stuttered. Even though he can’t get winded or tired his body is so strained that he pants for you like a thirsty dog.

Homelander takes his time to calm down, wanting to take control of the situation, he wants you to look up at him with those unsuspecting sweet wide doe eyes while he defiles you. And you do, you look up at him, panting out of actual lack of breath and you stare in reverence. 

There he goes, grinning like a shark again and you’re already waiting for the foul words that he’s undoubtedly going to thoroughly wet your panties with.

“Tell me,” he purrs out, seducing you with his dulcet tones. “How many times did you make yourself cum to my voice, huh?” He’s now leaning into your ear again, knowing this is where the occasional brush of his lips makes your body burn bright and hot. “Or to the memory of my cock inside you?” 

You expect him to be filthy and talk with no filter, it’s his specialty behind closed doors, but it still catches you off-guard. It especially does anytime you’re reminded of the time he utterly ruined you for any other man in your home, in your safe space, in your bed.

“I don’t know—many times. I, um, I lost count.” You don’t know exactly what answer he wants from you but you know that he will turn each and every one against you. His hair tickles the side of your face as he nuzzles into you with a small whimper before continuing. 

“Yeah? Maybe you should show me, do it for me. A little performance as a reward for all that I've done for you.” You hear the restraint in his voice. You know he wants nothing more than to just fuck you, have you fall apart on him. For him. But you also know Homelander loves to play. And he doesn’t want the game to be over yet. “You can do that for me, can’t you?” He goads you with that. Homelander knows just as much as he swallows up all your love and affection; you thrive on being reminded of how much you adore and worship him. How much you’d do anything for him. Anything. 

Homelander pulls back from you, his hands now firmly on your waist as if you were a flight risk.

“What do you mean?” You regain some sense of self after he gives your hot and flushed body a little break. 

“I mean you’re gonna sit your pretty ass in that chair, make yourself cum for me, while I watch.” He guides your body towards the further end of the dressing room where he points at a chair in front of a lit vanity table that’s still littered with make-up and brushes from when his team got him ready for today’s event.

Your body is buzzing with excitement but part of you is still a little embarrassed by such a blatantly open display. He wants you to sit in that chair, spread your legs and give him a perfectly lit view of the way you get yourself off? Yeah, that’s not the easiest thing you’ve ever done. But again, for him, you’ll do anything. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He pulls the chair out a bit tilting his head towards it. He looks at you, blatantly undressing you with his eyes. Literally, undressing. You may not physically feel his x-ray vision but the look in his eyes and the way he stops at your tits with a leery smile on his face is very telling. He doesn’t bother to hide how much he ogles, he knows how much it turns you on anyway. “Come on, panties off and hop on.” He clicks his tongue impatiently.

You sneak your hands under your dress and pull the hem of your panties down. You slide them down your legs until they pool at your ankles where you step out of them with your shoes still on.

Homelander chuckles to himself as he picks up the undergarment inspecting the damage. “You’re like a faucet, always fucking dripping wet.” He brings them closer to his face, inspecting the pair of Homelander-themed panties. He inhales the scent of your pussy now that it’s long seeped into the fabric. “I didn’t think these would be salvageable after last time.” He speaks as if he was talking about the weather and not pure debauchery while he indulges in the scent of your cunt.

“I got more pairs.” You said with a shrug as you got into the chair. You had to jump up a little as it was set on the highest setting for Homelander’s viewing pleasure.

You watch as he tosses the panties on the vanity table in front of you. “You’re gonna have to spread those legs some more.” He tuts with his tongue. You spread your legs as wide as you can in the chair and he shakes his head. “No, nope that won’t do either. Legs up on the arm rests.” He commands and as much as you want to comply, even you have your limits.

“I’m not that flexible!” You yelp out in amusement. “Wait!” You exclaim again except this time he easily manoeuvres you around in that chair with his stupid strength and you feel like a pretzel as you’re being pushed into the right position.

He ends up hooking just one of your legs over the armrest letting you rest it against the vanity table and giving you a comfortable enough position but more importantly, giving him a great view. “See, there you go. Flexible enough.” He pulls off his gloves one by one, throwing them on the table, out of view. “Come on, show off for me,” He coos in your ear, his bare hands, hot and smooth, sliding up your legs picking up the hem of your dress on the way as he pulls it up.

You gasp at the view in front of yourself. In the lit mirror in front of you you see yourself spread wide, your pussy easily visible and glistening in the bright light. This might as well be a porn shoot with how well lit and visible all your parts are. As you instinctively start closing your legs Homelander presses your thighs down, barely putting any power into it yet you feel the unyielding strength thrumming through his fingertips.

“Don’t be shy, you know I’ve seen it all.” He tucks the skirt of your dress above your waist and behind your back. Your hand slowly slinks down to rest on the bunched up fabric of your dress.

He straightens up properly standing behind you, his hands land on your shoulders, close to your neck, squeezing softly. He watches you in the mirror. He extends his pointer finger pushing your jaw up so you look up and meet his gaze. “Keep going, spread that pretty pussy for me.” He growls in your ear as his eyes are locked on the way your fingers slide down your slit, your pointer and middle finger spreading your pussy open for him to see. “Just as I said, like a fucking faucet.” He chuckles at the sight of you drenched and dripping.

You blush at the way he’s staring so intently at your reflection. Your fingers tentatively run up and down, gathering the wetness on your fingers, bringing it up to your clit where you rub small, shy circles around it. You’re taut as a bow and struggling to relax.

“Stop thinking and start feeling.” Homelander purrs in your ear. “I know you can do this for me, can’t you?” His voice sends a hot flush down your body, and you feel your clit throb under your fingers.

“Yeah… I can.” You breathe you, closing your eyes for a second to take a deep breath. The tension slowly leaves your body as Homelander presses soft kisses down the side of your face as he leans over to your other side. You let your hand go on auto-pilot trusting it to know what to do. You suck in a sharp breath as he sucks on your jaw, giving it a little nip while you still circle your clit with a soft squelch of your slick.

“There’s my girl.” He watches as you breathe deeply, your eyes finally opening to watch as he descends more kisses down your neck. You shiver at the sensation, pressing in your fingers a little harder, at the right pressure in the right spot. You’re just about to dip lower, push a finger inside your wet, needy hole but Homelander speaks up. “Uh uh, nothing but my cock is going inside that pussy today so keep your fingers on your clit.” Your entire body prickles with heat all over at his words. He’s so brazen and upfront and no matter how many times you hear it it always makes your head spin and pussy throb. 

You nod a simple ‘okay’ and only ever slide your fingers down to collect more of your own slick. Homelander is whimpering with you as if just the sight of your pussy was enough to get him off. For him, it’s intoxicating. His senses enhance the way your slick squelches loud to his ears and the scent of your pussy just makes him want to stop this little game and rail you already. Yet, he’s a patient man when he wants to be. And more so, indulging in his own desperate urge isn’t as fun as watching you submit to him first.

“Eyes open.” Homelander interrupts the thoughts and visuals in your head. Your eyes snap open and you meet his sharp gaze in the mirror. You didn’t even realise you had them closed. “What were you thinking about?” He asks, almost testing you. As if saying, you better not be straying too far from the path he wants you on.

“‘M thinking about you fucking me.” You say meekly, your fingers rubbing at a particular rhythm now that you know will get you off. Your clit is already throbbing, aching under your fingers.

“Getting a bit ahead of yourself missy, first you’ll have to cum for me.” He says nonchalantly while he pushes the strap of your dress and bra down your free arm. As much as you’ve gotten more used to functioning around him, his voice still makes you dizzy, especially when he’s a master at saying the most depraved shit. 

You pause to help him get out of the other set of straps and when your arm goes up to slip out of the strap he gives your slicked fingers a little suck, tasting you with a pleased grin making you flush hot.

While you go back to rubbing your clit Homelander unclasps your bra from behind your back dropping it on the floor and he pushes your dress down, already groaning at the sight of your tits free for his eyes to feast on. He presses his hands against your tits from either side, groaning at the sensation of the plush pillows underneath his hands.

“That's a good girl, keep rubbing that clit.” He growls out an order, yet somehow he looks more frazzled than you while he's not even the one performing. “Open up,” he whispers, his voice frayed at the edges as he presses two fingers against your lips. Obediently, you open up giving them a suck and laving them with your saliva while you keep eye contact with his reflection. He moans at the raunchy display, his eyes glazing over as he pulls his fingers out. With both his hands back on your tits he pinches your nipples, overwhelming you with the different sensation of one being rubbed wet and the other dry. You whine at the sensation, your pussy throbbing with each hot breath you feel against your neck as he tucks his head against it.

He listens to your heart beat like a drum in his ear, while he gives your nipples all his love and attention. He whispers and moans sweet nothings into your ear whilst watching you rub harder and faster finding the perfect rhythm that has cascading heat climb up your spine. “Thaaat’s it, come on—fuuck—come on, you can cum for me. I know you can.” Homelander watches as your muscles tense, seeing your body just ready to snap. What really does you in is the way he’s whimpering like he’s the one getting off. It’s like he’s sharing all the pleasure you're feeling with you.  

You cum with Homelander’s lips whispering against your ear as you hold your breath, your body tense until it finally gives in and you feel the wave of heat and tingling pleasure wash over you from your core to your limbs. “Ohhh god.” You finally release your breath, your chest heaving with the release.

Homelander is less impressed. Clicking his tongue again against the roof of his mouth.

“Mhm that won’t do, you can do better than that. I’ve seen you cum better than that.” 

You barely have the strength to counteract his claim. This was easily one of your strongest orgasms and he’s trying to say that it was weak? Oh please. You shake your head. You know he’s just playing his little game of ‘I can do whatever the fuck I want’ so you let him.

“Come on, up you go,” He says as he pulls you up on your feet all wobbly and numb from the way you were sitting on the chair. He pushes the chair out of the way with enough force that it topples over with a bang. He bends you over the vanity table where you’re up close and personal with the mirror, watching Homelander’s reflection as he hurriedly unzips his pants pushing them halfway down his thighs. 

You can’t see his cock from this angle but you’re sure it’s rock fucking hard and leaking precum with the way he’s panting like a dog in heat. He’s not even in you and he looks about three strokes away from finishing.

“God, fffuck!” He grits out through his teeth before parting his lips letting a long groan out as the tip of his cock parts your folds, immediately finding your soaked hole and pushing inside with one long slide. He huffs and puffs, his head tilted back as he keeps his eyes shut with restraint. His cock is hot and hard inside you, giving your pussy something to quiver around. 

You’re overstimulated, your nerves totally fried and your body has still nowhere recovered from your performance of a lifetime but you still take him in. You push your ass towards him, whimpering yourself as you feel his hands land on your hips, holding you there. “Look at how your pussy just opens up for me. Taking me riiiight in.” Homelander’s voice is strangled and raspy as he hisses air through his teeth.

You whimper at the way his words leave you buzzing and mindless with pleasure. You prop your elbows against the table as he starts fucking you, dragging his cock agonisingly slowly at first as if he was so sensitive he was about to bust. 

Thankfully that gives you some time to recover and your pussy is no longer screaming at you that it’s too much. He gives you more and more with each thrust, letting out a breathy soft moan each time he hits home. Tip to hilt on every slide. 

His boots kick your legs together giving him a tighter, more pronounced feel. That’s where he really starts to pick up speed. He moves his hands up, gripping where the fabric of your dress is still bunched up as he wholeheartedly fucks into you, minding his strength of course, he gives you what you can take and not a drop more.

You’re so deliciously taken in by him that you barely remember where you are and that you reaaally shouldn’t be screaming and moaning at the top of your lungs. Against all odds, your body is still so wired up and wound up that you feel the climbing sensation prickle at your nerves, your legs quivering with each stroke.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Homelander pulls out of you unceremoniously and you whine.

“I was so close!” You pull a displeased face in the mirror, looking at his reflection.

“I know. And so does everyone on the other side of that door.” He mumbles as he picks up the panties he tossed earlier on the table except this time he balls them up stuffing them in your mouth. You protest around them, your eyes widening in shock and your body flushing with indecent heat when you get a remnant of your taste from the soaked fabric.

“I don’t need people barging in to see who’s screaming bloody fucking murder.”

He turns you around, swiftly picking you up and plopping you on top of the vanity table where you’re nicely lit from behind. “Now behave, the door’s not locked. I’d rather not have anyone see you like this. Capiche?” You nod fervently, at this point just doing anything to get him back in you. 

“Good girl.” He coos as he pulls your legs up wrapping his forearms underneath your thighs, his hands gripping the sides for easy control. And just like that he slides back into you. You give muffled little sighs into the fabric of your panties as he fucks you hard against the table, making it rattle on its legs. The littered makeup and brushes were now rolling off and in some cases breaking on impact.

“You’re always so fucking worked up. Just need someone to fuck you don’t you. Poor little fangirl, so obsessed with me she doesn’t even have time to date anyone else.” He gives you a sharp grin, his canines sharp like a predator’s would be. You body flushes with embarrassment at the almost degrading comment and with the way you’re gagged and fucked you feel like Homelander’s personal toy. 

He fucks you until your legs tremble in his hold and your eyes flutter shut with each press of his cock deep inside you.

He slows down with the literally mind-melting grinds of his pelvis against yours and instead he looks you straight in the eyes getting your attention. “Did you learn? Will you be good?” You nod. He takes the panties out of your mouth, leaving the now even more damp fabric back on the table. 

You keep your promise and you keep mainly quiet, biting your lips shut and only letting the occasional whimper out as he strokes a particularly good spot inside you. Instead you let your body do the screaming for you. You shake and tremble around him, all tense and hot and Homelander doesn’t need to hear you scream to know that you’re close.

With your lips free again he captures them, as if he’s been starved this entire time without them. He kisses you deep and wet while he bucks into you, slowly losing his impeccable rhythm as he’s so strung out for an orgasm it’s bound to happen any second.

“Ah—I’m, uh, close…” You nearly whisper out, all strangled and needy. Homelander nods, clearly just as far gone. He lets one of your legs go, instead letting you wrap it around his waist as he places his fingers on your clit, giving you the extra push to the finish line.

He doesn’t wait for you as he cums in the next, one, two, three, strokes. But he pushes through still fucking into you while his cock pumps you full of his load. You cum immediately after, it’s more the thought than the faint feeling of him finishing inside you that just pushes you over the edge. A burst of buzzing fireworks sparks behind your eyelids as you close your eyes shut through the euphoria sinking into your bones. 

You’re panting, catching your breath, moaning your residual finish in small whimpers. “Wow, that was—”

There’s a sharp knock on the door.

“Sir, you’re needed on stage in 10 minutes.” Ashley’s panicked shrill can be heard on the other side of the door and your heart stops for a second before realising it’s her. Ashley knows better than to barge into any rooms ever since Homelander’s shown interest in you. 

“Oh well, there goes the afterglow.” You mumble with a tired laugh. Homelander nods quietly as he tucks himself back in, finally spent and satisfied—for the time being at least.

Homelander looks at you with fond hunger, leaning in for a soft kiss. “Yeah. Sorry I have to cut it short.” He grumbles, displeased, as he nuzzles his face in the junction of your neck.

He pulls away, reaching for your bra and passing it to you so you could make yourself presentable again.

“Tell me, did you actually leave the door unlocked?” You ask. 

“No! I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this. Well. I want you out there with me, just not when you’re freshly fucked. That’s all for me.” He gives you a wide grin, unable to stop himself from peppering you with kisses, capturing your lips again hungry for them as if you’re constantly denying him air. 

“Thank you for today.” He breathes hotly against your lips. “You know how to indulge me, I really didn’t think you’d turn up.” He smiles against you, caving in for another kiss.

“What wouldn’t I do for you?” You say with an amused roll to your eyes, but it’s all light-hearted. He knows you really would do anything for him. 

“I haven’t found that out yet.” He rumbles all pleased as he helps you make sense of the mess he made of your dress.

“And you never will,” You beam at him, your heart pounding again but this time it’s just from that overwhelming love you have for him, the butterflies that don’t seem to ever calm down in his presence. Even though you’ve been secretly together for a couple of months ever since the fated phone call, the excitement hasn’t even begun waning yet. 

“Hey, you know, you’re a really great actress. Had me sold quite a few times. Maybe I should get Vought to cast you in a movie alongside me, huh?” He grins as he picks up his gloves, pulling them over his hands again. 

You have to laugh. Sure, you’ve enjoyed role-playing as the obsessed fan that you were a few months ago but it wasn’t all acting. 

“I wasn’t acting! Well, obviously I did with the ‘I don’t know what’s gonna happen’ part but beyond that I was really nervous to be with you like that in a public place. You know how I get. It’s not that I don’t want to be with you publically, it’s just a huge adjustment. So… baby steps.” You finally adjust your dress though you still very much look like you just got railed. 

“Come ooon, let me make you mine officially. Fuck this sneaking around. The people who need to know, know. The rest is not important.” He presents you with his sweet honeyed voice, and he’s cheating really, he knows how much it affects you.

In a way, he’s right. The people who matter at Vought know about you seeing as you’re up at his place every other day but there was something terrifying about announcing to the entire world that you were Homelander’s girlfriend. That’s nothing easy to get used to. He’s not just a celebrity. He is the celebrity. You will have to say bye-bye to the comforts of a private life. But maybe that’s all worth it for him. 

“Okay. How about you go do your job and I go do mine and when you see me for dinner we can talk about it again. Sounds good?” You said as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another sweet kiss.

“Sounds good." He repeats before continuing with a fond, "I love you,” which always comes out a little strained. He’s never been able to say it without letting himself drown in the endless pool of emotions that are just swirling around inside him. 

“I love you too. Now go before Ashley has a heart attack. You’re already late.” You kiss him sweetly, adjusting his hair, making it look more purposefully-tousled, less ‘sex-hair’. You let him go, smoothing your hand down his suit. 

“Oh please, I’m the Homelander. Does the party really even start without me there?” He blows a raspberry into the air with a scoff.

“Sure doesn’t, babe.” You shake your head, amused as you watch him wave you off and shut the door behind himself.

You took the time to make yourself look more presentable but you couldn’t leave the room in the state you both left it in. So you collected the things that fell, you wiped the surfaces clean and you trashed whatever broke on the way. It’s the least you could do.

You looked into the mirror, almost not recognising the woman you’ve become over the past few months. Being someone who feeds off your endless adoration has done wonders for your confidence. You no longer feel crazy and obsessive. You’ve finally found someone who’s never gonna have enough of you. Someone who inhales your love like the oxygen he needs to breathe.

You revere Homelander less as an icon and more as a person, as a partner, these days. You know so much more of who he is now and strangely, while he scares others, you’ve never felt safer in his presence. Something about you two just clicks. It’s no wonder he wants to show you to the rest of the world. He wants to lock you in, have people forever associate with him.

And soon enough, there will be no way out.

[Part 3]

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