#not that its bad to make him darker but if he's the only one you do that to you should think abt that maybe

[p1n-p0int]

Honest to gods, I'm working on that that hc, but hear me y' all...

I have a "Ghost who's too closed off due to his trauma, doesn't talk about his past nor his work (the details he's allowed to say), and a reader who is desperately trying to save him from drowning in his self-hatred, and everything seems fine between them til the day before Simon's countless employments where reader pokes the bear too hard and Ghost snaps at them before leaving for the base" agenda running free in my mind

Like man, he loves you but the constant betrayals he went through, both familial and work related, before making him unable to let you into his comfort zone properly. Don't get me wrong; this man loves you to death and could do anything and everything, illegal or not, for you at the drop of the hat, but the thought of you knowing about his past? It sends him spiralling.

Thus why he doesn't see any issue in keeping you at arm's length and out of his business 'til the night before he has to depart for a mission.

You randomly begin to talk about hypothetical marriage and children you two are going to have one day. A happy life together you wanted for yourself and Simon... He threw you a side-glance telling you to drop it, he told you twice when you insisted on interrogating him as to why a loving family he could come back to from employment sounds bad... He has never meant to verbally snap at you the way he did - you backing away from his reach zone and putting a heavy kitchen table between him and you as an additional barrier, your brain was terrified of the man you were seeing in front of you. But it was not your Simon that was speaking, it was some twisted, traumatized soldier? child? part of him peaking its sorrowful head out, that much you knew - triggered his traumas. He couldn't hold it in. You pushed way too many times and his glass-like wall broke under the pressure.

When he was done ranting off to the grimy image in his head and looked up at you, scared of him, he bolted, grabbing his things and running out of your shared flat, not able to face you and the look on your face that's going to haunt him for the rest of his days. Because, sworn with a hand to his heart, he thought he singlehandedly ended the relationship there and then.

I don't have detailed route options for this one, but definitely, just like for Price, I'm planning for:

that hits all the raw points and talks about all the important topics of mental health, PTSD, self-worth and trust issues, you name it basically. A bit darker, with Ghost literally going through it to make himself better for the reader and first and foremost himself. (Groveling on his knees, fix-it route)

Ghost coming back from the employment, determined to discuss the previous fight with them, explain his side of view... Only to find the reader long gone from their apartment. (Angst route)

[corporealchaos]

You're only six years old. You're trying to be a ballerina, to be victorious, to dance better than any of the other girls. (You'll dance on their heads if you have to.) (Metaphorically.) You hope your parents can forgive you for being a bad little girl. You tell stories of them drinking too much and ignoring you for too long and making you fight a bear. (You lost.) But you also tell the story of how sometimes they said "I love you" by leaving an extra layer of dust for you to wipe away. Someday, that might lose its meaning, or take on a darker one. But you're young. You have time.

You're only six years old. You have trouble saying words, but you keep trying. You struggle with ballet, but you keep trying. You make jokes that most people don't laugh at, but you keep trying. You sing to yourself when you're lonely. You tell a little boy he can be whatever he wants to be. You laugh together. (It's fun.) You're reprimanded, but you still promise to teach him all you know. Someday, you might realize how brave you were. But you're young, and bravery looks so much like kindness.

You're only six years old. You've been forced to fight in a war you want no part in, used by the people who were supposed to protect you. You dance for royalty, but you will not slit their throats. (Maybe it's bravery. Maybe it's kindness. Maybe it's just the boy's voice in your head, telling you that you can be whatever you want to be.) You're cast out by the person who was supposed to care about you. (Maybe she never cared, or maybe she just doesn't know how to show it.) You leave, and the boy comes with you. You're not going to fight any battles that aren't your own. Someday, this will be a memory, and you'll be free. But right now, you're scared, and you're being forced to grow up too fast, and you're only six years old.

[mysticqueer]

an invitation (thanos x reader) Pt 1/3

A softer take on Thanos.

TW: depression, drugs, reader is going through some shit

Despite what some might think, working at Seoul's most exclusive nightclub wasn't always the best job around.

Sure, the nights were usually exciting—to say the least—and the customers always tipped well. But it also meant seeing the darker sides of the rich and famous clientele that frequented the space. You couldn't count how many idols—so beloved by their fans—turned into complete assholes the second they left the public eye. More than once you'd had to call a taxi for those idols after finding them passed out in their own puke. You'd occasionally thought about how much you could get for just one picture sold to the right tabloid. But you never gave in. This was the place that celebrities came to avoid the never ending spotlight.

Still, the job was good. It paid well, even without the tips. You got the opportunity to serve some of Seoul's greatest, and you had no shortage of crazy memories that would last you long into your old age.

But being a female bartender in any establishment came with its own dangers and annoyances. And the most prominent of those annoyances for you personally came with a name- Thanos.

At first, you weren't quite sure how exactly he'd gained entry. You'd heard of him before, but being a semi-successful rapper didn't get him on the same wealth level as your usual customers. You figured he must have known somebody important to get in. And he frequented your bar as consistently as he painted his nails.

The first time you met him, he'd spotted you from across the room and pushed his way through the crowd to get to you. He'd flirted with you nearly the whole night, never giving in to your disinterested responses. When he'd finally left at the end of the night, he made sure to see you off with such an enthusiastic goodbye that you'd think he'd known you for years.

This had been a near daily pattern for the last three weeks or so. He'd come in to the club and seat himself at your bar. He'd flirt, all crazed grins and dilated pupils, until he was too wasted to tell one person from another, at which point one of his friends would drag him home. And while you always rejected his advances—you did like to humor him sometimes. You couldn't deny that he was attractive: exactly your type, really. And he could be surprisingly charming when he wasn't stoned out of his mind. So he'd flirt, and you'd tease him in return, often even taking him by surprise. You liked seeing his face heat up, his ears tinged red, and his surprised yet gleeful expression.

And when one night he invited you back to his place, you'd actually considered it. You really had. But you knew, just like you knew the sun would rise the next morning, that being in a relationship with him would only hurt you in the end. It wasn't that you thought he was a bad person, really. You'd seen a lot of horrible men in your life—the kind of men you couldn't trust to hold your drink. But Thanos didn't strike you as that type. He could be obnoxious with his flirting, sure, but he never pushed so hard as to make anybody uncomfortable. He'd get into fights sometimes, but he never started any that weren't deserved. Overall, he gave you the impression of somebody trying to act tougher than they were, like a kitten spiking its fur to seem intimidating. He was almost cute, in that way.

No, it wasn't any of that that put you off of him. It was those colorful pills he kept in a cross around his neck. It was the white powder he'd see sprinkled onto his nose, when he was too far gone to even wipe it off. It was how he would drink himself into oblivion, if you didn't cut him off beforehand. You'd seen a lot of addicts in your life, even loved some of them. And there were few things more painful than watching somebody you care about deteriorate into a person they weren't. You'd seen many people like him, both famous and not. And you could count on one hand the different possible paths he was going down. Very few of them ended happily.

So you passed out drinks, and he flirted, and you teased him. You observed him from afar, watching the drugs control him more than himself. And you felt kind of bad. You had this strange urge to help him, somehow. To save him from himself and his self-destructive tendencies. But you also knew you'd only hurt yourself in the process. And Thanos, as immature as he often acted, was an adult capable of ruining his own life, if that's what he wanted.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You'd had a very, very shitty week. The type of week that could steer your life off track. Your future, fucked. Your relationships, fucked. Everything, fucked.

But life was life, and so you went to work. One of the few constants you had left. You poured drink after drink, fighting the urge to down them yourself. The pain, the betrayal, the fear of the future all seemed to swirl together in your stomach into something bitter and resigned. The kind of feeling that makes you do stupid shit, because why the fuck not?

It was something you'd felt many a time before. It's something you recognized in the surrounding faces so often, including Thanos'. It was a downward spiral. Seeking numbness would only lead to worse decisions. Whether or not you realized it, you'd come out the other end changed, usually for the worst.

The thing was, it was too hard to care.

"Senoritaaaaaaaa-" the upbeat voice came barreling around the corner, bringing with it the familiar purple-haired boy wearing his trademark grin. Thanos slides onto the barstool directly in front of you, leaning half his body on the bar. "Miss me, baby?" He says in English—something he does a lot when flirting. He sends an exaggerated wink your way.

You try, but fail to muster your usual playfulness when Thanos comes around. Instead, you sent him a wane smile, looking back down quickly as somehow his bright personality feels too much for you at the moment. "Usual?" you ask, already pulling out a glass.

In your peripheral vision, Thanos nudges his friend that you hadn't even noticed before now. "See? She knows me so well." He says. You don't even have the energy to roll your eyes. When you don't respond and simply slide his drink across the bar, Thanos waits a beat before speaking again. He holds up one finger in a 'wait' gesture, and you internally sigh.

"I think I'm in the mood for something sweeter tonight." He says, eyes still on you.

You can already feel the set up to some shitty pick up line. But instead of playing into it, you ask "So you want a mixer?"

Thanos actually scoffs at the question, seeming almost offended. "Come on, babe, you know I'm not a bitch like that," he says, and you do actually roll your eyes this time. Especially when he leans forward even more, bringing himself only a few inches from your face. "But I was thinking your lips are sweet enough, yeah?" Thanos puckers his lips, tapping them with one finger.

It's not the first time he's tried something of this caliber. Normally, you'd come up with a sarcastic comeback or push him backwards with the palm of your hand. This time you do neither, simply sliding him his drink and walking away.

You don't look towards Thanos as you start to help another customer, but you can almost sense a stunned silence coming from his direction. You're only just finishing up with the other patron when Thanos slides back into your line of vision. Holding a hand up in front of his face and waving it. With some effort, you ignore him again, grabbing some glasses to wash.

You think you can hear Thanos' friend say something to him. And Thanos himself stubbornly pushes himself back into your line of sight. He waves again, only to get the same result. "I must be invisible," Thanos jokes to his friend. "Come onnnn, babe," he drawls in a whining tone.

At last you lose patience. Setting down the glass you're washing with a loud clank, you look up at him. You aren't sure what expression you have on right now, but it seems to take Thanos aback.

"Do you need something? I'm kind of busy," you snap, gesturing towards the other customers at the bar. In truth, you really aren't that busy. And you know it isn't particularly fair to Thanos, switching up your attitude towards him so suddenly. But you're so fucking tired, and you just can't deal with his sunshine-y persona right now.

You expect him to be annoyed. Mad, even. But instead his eyebrows furrow up, forming an expression you haven't seen on him before. "Did I do something wrong?" he asks, voice still exaggerated but a bit lower than it was before.

When you don't answer, he drops his chin to the bar pitifully, gazing up at you with a good imitation of sad puppy eyes. And it really isn't fair that this guy, this piece of shit drug-addicted rapper, makes such effective puppy eyes. But unfortunately, he is actually pretty cute. Maybe it's the eye makeup that makes his eyes pop? No- stop thinking about that. You force yourself to turn away from the despairing boy.

Just as you think you've finally shaken him off, he appears at the end of the bar, full body within your line of sight. He drops to his knees, forming a comically exaggerated 'begging' pose.

"The Great Thanos apologizes for your grievances," he says, bowing his head at you. "whatever they may be. And begs your forgiveness, oh gorgeous one." He blinks up at you, winking once again with a playful smirk on his face. But there's something else in his eyes, something more real. Does he genuinely think he's done something wrong to you? Of course, he's annoyed the hell out of you, consistently. But you've never really minded much before.

At his dramatic display (which is drawing a crowd, you realize with exhaustion) your expression softens minutely, and you give in. "You haven't done anything, Thanos. I'm just having a shitty day, okay?"

Thanos' eyes widen in understanding. He stands up again, and he sits back at the bar. To your relief, the crowd he'd drawn with his theatrics quickly disperses. "Anything the great Thanos can help with?" he asks, still playful to an extent but seeming genuine. You can't help but smile at him.

"Just some personal stuff. Nothing you can help with. Just go have fun, yeah?" you push his drink towards him one more time. Thanos nods slightly in understanding.

"You know where I am, yeah?" he blows you a quick kiss before disappearing into the crowd.

You sigh, getting back to work. But you can't deny that you feel a little lighter now, somehow.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Despite finally getting the rapper to leave you be, it isn't the last time you see him that night. He drops by your bar even more often than usual. Sometimes not even getting a drink. Instead, he drops by to tell you dumb jokes, stories that are too insane to be true, and even the occasional failed magic trick. But he doesn't push you to respond like he normally would.

Every now and then, you can't help but quirk a smile at his antics. And whenever you do, he instantly lights up like a little kid at an amusement park. Every time he leaves, he sends you a smile and a salute as if to say, "I'll be back."

By the end of the night, you're exhausted. Not in the physical way, but in the deep-seated way when your soul is just so drained you can't think about anything. You aren't surprised when a familiar boy plops himself down at your bar that's now empty.

It seems it's not only your energy is drained, but his as well. His energy is far calmer than usual and makes you wonder if he's more sober tonight than he normally is. He smiles at you impishly, with just a hint of something else. ... Anxiety? Surely not. Anxiety is the last you'd ever associate with him.

"I have an invitation for you-" he starts, and the word 'no' is on the very tip of your tongue. Your lips nearly form the word when he interrupts you suddenly. "Wait!" he exclaims, holding one hand up as if to make you pause. "Party at my place. Before you say no, I promise you, it will be the" he stops for a second, looking for the words. "Best night of your life," he finally finishes in English.

You notice suddenly the group of drunk stragglers hanging out nearby, waiting for Thanos. Going to his 'party' as well, you assume.

No. No. Absolutely not. The word forms, takes shape, and is about to come out when you glance down at his hand. His palm, which you previously thought to be empty, is actually holding something.

A pill, hardly the size of a dime, and the same purple as his hair. You knew instantly what it was—a new party drug that only started hitting the streets recently. You'd observed countless people take it, watching the unnaturally strong energy and euphoria take over their minds.

It's a bad idea. You glance back up at Thanos, who is being surprisingly patient waiting for your response. You look into his eyes, his pretty, pretty eyes.

The dark mass swirls inside your stomach. You imagine yourself saying 'no'. Going home alone to your apartment. Eating crappy takeout and thinking about how fucked up your life has gotten.

Well, you've made worse decisions before.

You reach for his hand.

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[technikki]

yknow. i portray ray as latino because projection n all that and portayals of him with darker skin are everything to me but i give the biggest side-eye to white people who choose to draw him darker while leaving everyone else in the cast unchanged. why is the kid with anger issues and a tendency to blow up at others the only one in the whole series that you think a darker skintone fits. answer quickly

[t1erradelfuego]

please do not read the tags i am being insane at 10pm on a sunday night

[necrotic-nephilim]

as much as I love the common "Tim worships/stalks Jason" trope in TimJay fanfiction because it's Good and making Tim a weird little freak is Fun, I think the underutilized dynamic is where Jason is the one weirdly obsessed with Tim and makes it Tim's problem.

Like, the moment Jason is confronted with the information that a third Robin exists, the first thing he does is cover his wall with pictures of Tim so he can just obsess and torture himself over it. That is the behavior of a man who is Unwell over Tim's existence and I love it.

red hood: lost days #4

And as much as a shitshow as The Titans Tower Incident™ is characterization-wise (though I think it has far more merit in depicting Jason's character than people give it credit for but I digress-) there's something very fun about the fact that even after kicking his ass, Jason respects Tim and is impressed by him.

teen titans (2003) #29

And on top of that, Jason can't seem to stop trying to ask Jason to Tim to work with him in some capacity.

robin (1993) #177

batman: battle for the cowl #2

While Battle for the Cowl is an exceptionally bad comic, especially for its characterization of Jason and the "be my Robin" bit is taken deeply out of context, I do think it's interesting how obsessed Jason is with believing that Tim is extremely competent, only held back by being "brainwashed by Bruce". (hence him leaving Tim for dead later on in the comic.) Jason seeing a darker side of Tim and wanting to bring that out of Tim, wanting to see what Tim could be if he let go of his loyalty to Bruce is so fun to me, tbh.

And in Robin #177, Jason seems genuinely upset Tim doesn't want to work with him. Jason sees such a raw potential in Tim and is obsessed with it, constantly wanting Tim to work for him and see Tim be the type of person Jason is. And despite Tim rejecting him, Jason doesn't shoot to kill Tim. I just cannot get over the fanfic potential of Jason obsessing over Tim, tracking him and seeing what he's capable of and what he could be capable of. Wanting to make Tim see things the way he does. To Tim it's corruption, to Jason it's freedom. Tim trying to 'save' Jason is fun and all, but Jason trying to corrupt Tim? That's even more fun to me. Watching that power struggle between them, Tim unable to get Jason off his heels as Jason gets more and more possessive and bold with each attempt.

And when Jason sees Tim successfully get Gotham back under control after a gang war, he's impressed. He praises Tim, even. And then Tim just. Breaks him out of prison.

robin (1993) #182

The way they're constantly trying to see something in the other that isn't there, hoping the other will come around? That is the most fucked up hate/love dynamic ever. Jason keeps coming back to Tim, keeps trying to find ways to get Tim onto his side. They're always chasing each other. And I think Jason would be the one to confess love first, the one to do anything to make Tim his. And when you consider after all of this, Tim has his Red Robin arc and is at his lowest, getting the closest he ever gets to considering murder? I think it'd be so fun to see Jason take advantage of that and worm his way back into Tim's life and finally push Tim over the edge.

[fulloflambing]

࣪ . ִֶָ๋ KINICH: ❝ HEAVEN CAN WAIT. ❞

pairing: kinich x afab!reader (uses she/her) synopsis: during the invasion of the abyss, the bond between you and kinich is put to the test when you're both lost in the chaos searching for eachother, as he fulfills his sacred duty as one of the heroes of Natlan. warnings: spoilers of the 5.1 archon quests! lots of bodily injury + descriptions of gore, the war ingame is described in a darker way here, cursing, many mentions of death. wordcount: 5.4k cho’s notes: PLS SRSLY LISTEN TO THE INJURY WARNING!! i might be a little dramatic but theres an injury here that made me geek when i was writing it idk. this is basically 5.4k words of me pretending to understand the mechanics of the ode of resurrection 😭 i was inspired to write this after playing the 5.1 aq! hope u guys enjoy this, happy reads <3

taglist: @sillywinnertidalwave

Today marked the exact moment the people of Natlan realized that the abyss weren’t just these noisy hilichurls you see camping in the meadows or the occasional mages you’d encounter in the caves; The Abyss was a ruthless cult of monsters with their uniform goal of bringing humanity to its demise.

‘It was never supposed to get this bad.’ was the only thought racing through Kinich's mind as he swung from cliffs to trees as fast as he could, the muscles in his arms feeling like they could rip apart if he swung one more time, his head slightly burning with exhaustion and heart racing with overwhelming pressure.

People were getting massacred on the ground underneath him, as numerous warriors and guards pushed themselves beyond their limit to fend off the neverending wave of rifthounds and hilichurls coming from the illuminating pylons—and he couldn’t do anything about it. Not when everyone and everything needed his aid, all at once.

But Kinich had someone to come home to, and it was you.

The last moment of peace the both of you had together was just earlier today; Sipping coffee and eating fruit together, discussing light subjects to try and distract each other from the rising attacks of the abyss, totally oblivious to the fact that Natlan would be dragged into war by them hours later. 

He felt like it was just a minute ago when you sat in front of him, and glowed under the sunlight, slicing apples intricately as your lips spilled words. ‘How could this happen?’ he thought.

The image of you smiling, your face full of faith pulsed in his mind, making his stomach twist when his eyes landed on the village of the Scions of the Canopy; it was on the brink of ruin.

Caravans and carts were being ripped open with the goods spilling onto the ground only to be squashed, children getting dragged by desperate parents, greedy businessmen clawing at their money hoping it would save them, and the scattered limp bodies of innocent natlanese. The sky loomed over everyone’s heads in an eerie color, only amplifying the hopelessness he rarely felt in his chest. The scent of blood and burning ash filled his nostrils the second he violently landed onto the oversized canopy, mildly hurting his ankles in the process.

“Y/n? Y/n!” He called out among the frenzy, his eyes darting to every face he could spot. He got on his heel and started running— desperate that you wouldn’t appear as one of the bodies that were left to rot on the ground. 

He raced to your house, and tried to push the door open with no luck. He had no time to care for it, and just slashed through it with his bulky claymore and bursted into the room, his eyebrows knitted together, pupils dilated, cold sweat on his nape. His eyes don’t spot you in your usual leisure spot of your common room, making his heart drop. He checked all other rooms, and finally opened your bedroom:

You weren’t there.

You weren’t anywhere.

His heart hurt with every beat, and he desperately clawed at his chest trying to get back his calm composure he was always known for. But what for?

“Just give it up, that peasant probably turned into abyss food long before you even got here. Stop wasting your time, my time!” Ajaw suddenly hissed out, his words filling kinich’s mind with poison.

Imaginations of your body growing limp and cold, face turning blue, and blood oozing out from some part of your body as rifthounds dug through your flesh flashed through his head. And he tried to stop it. But with the spinning of his head and the lifelessness of your house that was once so full with your laughter, it just kept getting worse.

He stood with a lowered head, his hand gripping his claymore so tight his knuckles turned white. He fought back tears as his mind danced like a kaleidoscope. To him, there would be no use in saving Natlan, if you weren’t in the picture.

He was supposed to not let his will in defeating the abyss sway at all, you wouldn’t want that. No one would want that. He doesn’t either. But now faced with the odds that you might not be able to experience a Natlan that is finally free from centuries of prejudice, after you’ve been by his side telling him to have faith that the day will come, and the dreams you want to accomplish when everything is finally okay— It seemed unfair. SO unfair.

He whispers to himself, or rather to anything who was willing to listen, with a shaky voice: “If only one wish of mine can be granted for my whole lifetime, please.. Keep her safe. That’s all I ask.”

🎕 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The clashing of weapons against the shelled skin of the abyss monsters zipped through the air, as you swiftly dodged the claws of a relentless rifthound; you’ve been doing this for hours now.

You were helping your tribe, the Scions of the Canopy, strengthen its defenses before the outbreak until you were called by a messenger to help strengthen defenses of an adventurer’s base southeast of the village as it was being easily overwhelmed by the enemies. As the head of preparing defenses from the village, you happily obliged.

But now you were almost hours into battle, with your body aching in all different spots, as you tried your best to continue evading the insistent attacks of numerous monsters. You couldn’t find the energy to swing your sword with maximum strength anymore, so all you could muster up was to dodge them.

“Fuck! Will you ever quit!?” you yell, before pushing yourself beyond your limits again, attacking with frustration. You slashed through the tough skin of the rifthound with your dendro-infused blade, making it dissipate into purple smoke with a screeching growl before fading into the air.

You had a second for a breather and  took a deep breath, which you regretted immediately. “ugh!” you cried, falling to your knees, grabbing your side. You recall the moment you heard something snap when a hilichurl swung its wooden baton at your side when you were busy confronting a different monster. You broke your rib, and it was now piercing your lung.

You stared into the dirt, forehead collecting sweat. You took your hand off of your side, seeing blood paint your palm a deep scarlet. You touched your forehead, and brought your hand back to your eyes— You were bleeding. everywhere.

Your eyes sting with tears, the reality of the situation slowly setting into your head— The chances of you leaving this battlefield alive was slim. Your teeth press against your bottom lip tightly, the pain being incomparable to the injuries you’ve sustained. 

‘I’m sorry kinich.’ echoed in your mind. Kinich had been training you recently, for you to be ready in case of an invasion and he wasn’t there to protect you. But here you are, head-first onto the ground, realizing you’ll probably die in the next few minutes.

‘I’m sorry kinich.. I’m not built for this.’ you whimpered, tears slowly trickling down your face. You felt so heavy with hopelessness, you felt like you could start sinking into the solid dirt beneath your body.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. You were only supposed to continue helping people fend off the abyss for a few more days, until the Pyro Archon solved the crisis. And after she did, you would’ve explored places outside of Natlan with Kinich. Sumeru was the first region you both agreed to visit; It was always a dream that you shared together to travel all of Teyvat one day. Hell, you even had a hunch he’d propose to you somewhere down the line of your voyage. 

So why are you kneeling on the floor, bleeding from every possible corner of your body, accepting your demise as your comrades slowly thin in number?

‘How long do I have to keep this up? I feel like if I swing my sword one more time, my arms will come flying off. I can’t do it anymore. This is something only strong people can do. Strong people like kinich. I can’t. I just can’t. I ca-’

Woosh!, Your ears picked up the sound and you jumped to your feet, barely escaping the blade of an enormous mitachurl that almost claimed your head. 

You tumbled lightly onto the ground, before you hold your sword up again with both your hands, your limbs trembling hopelessly in the gaze of the towering monster over you with demonic horns. You almost drop your blade and just let it kill you right then and there. 

But kinich appeared in your thoughts.

The mitachurl was standing the way the dummy kinich built for you was. Kinich’s voice instructing you rippled in your thoughts: “swing your sword down to the left, diagonal to the body. Then, slice up to the right, also diagonally. For the final blow, strike straight down the crown of its head, taking force from your shoulders. ”

You listen to kinich on repeat a few times, drawing imaginary lines on the body of the scowling mitachurl that stomped closer to you. You gulped the lump in your throat, before you did exactly what kinich taught you.

You twist your body with your edge in the air, taking a (painful) deep breath before swinging your blade to the left in a declining path. The mitachurl stumbles back at your sudden strike making an mmgh! sound, breaking down some of its armor. You quickly slice back up in the opposite direction before it could react any further. Your shoulder burned with every twist, but you had to keep going.

As it stumbled one more time, You bring your weapon above your head, and ignite it with dendro, causing a deep green aura to emit from your person. You meet eyes with the monster; It looked horrified. You stood there ready to take its life, appearing like a monster yourself with the blood that dripped down your head, your eyes seething with revenge.

You spare no more time before completely slicing straight down its head with maximum precision. A loud growl slowly faded with the noise, just as its body did, turning into a dark smoke. 

“If my life is going to end with this battle, then please grant my final wish—” You whispered, looking at your blood-stained hands, hoping the heavenly principles could hear your wish among the deafening sound of war:

“—Please.. Keep kinich safe for me.”

🎕 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The people seeking refuge in a temporary hideout turn their heads at the noise of their beloved heroes walking into the space. ‘Baraka’ Xilonen, ‘Umoja’ Mualani, ‘Uwezo’ Iansan, ‘Bidii’ Ororon, and ‘Vuka’ Chasca. There was only one more hero missing.. ‘Malipo’ Kinich.

Kinich had just rounded up civilians he saved from the village, and brought them there for safety. His gaze met with his friends, before he carefully placed a baby he was protecting into the arms of its mother— The baby had your eyes, which gravitated him into holding it just a little longer. He walked over to them with heavy steps, still trying to keep his composure despite the pain weaving his insides; just like them. 

“It’s the final phase of mavuika’s plan. We have to get back to the stadium, and help her with the Ode of Resurrection.” Xilonen says. “Can you do it?” 

It’s not like he had any other choice so he just nodded, not being able to muster up the strength to talk.

“Kinich.. Did something happen?” Mualani asked, taking notice of his silence as she placed her hand on his shoulder in support. It was clear she was just as broken down as he was, covered in bruises and scratches. But she continued to stay strong and pulled an empathetic look for him, trying to get his lowered eyes to meet hers.

“I.. couldn’t find y/n.” Kinich barely mumbled, the dread he felt earlier coming back to him, feeling like it only got worse verbalizing it. His eyes stuck to the ground, refusing to peel away.

The five heroes suddenly feel the air grow thick, a gasp leaving Iansan and Mualani's lips. This reaction only made the feeling worse, his fingertips digging into his palm. ‘Why does it have to turn out like this? I don’t fucking get it. It’s unfair. Not fair. Not fair to me, to her.’

The five struggled to find words to say, but ajaw quickly filled the space, spitting out: “Fear not lowly humans! For when Kinich finally slips in this final fight and accidentally ends up kicking the bucket, I, the almighty dragonlord, k’uhul ajaw! Will reign over this world once more! And the abyss will no longer be the biggest threat Natlan has faced!” The 8-bit monster laughed proudly with its jagged voice.

Kinich suddenly snapped at the puny dragon: “Zip it ajaw. Let’s go.” before stepping out of the hideout. The heroes gave each other glances, before silently following after him. They weren’t scared of kinich releasing ajaw, they knew kinich would never do that to them. But it was him they were worried about.

Kinich never handled loss well. It often resulted in.. Accidents. Towards himself.

🎕 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You continued to fight your way to survival, the dendro vision hanging by your hip flashing every few seconds. You shifted your focus to destroy nearby pylons. Your hands had bruised, and slowly became callused and firm. The amount of blood loss you’ve endured has slowly started affecting you too, as your actions started getting sloppier, following your sight getting hazy from time to time.

‘Ching!’ You sliced through the last mitachurl around— atleast, last one before another one spawns—and fell to your battered knees. You sat there, gasping, your body begging for air. 

“Y/n!” a fellow comrade called out, rushing to your side. You can hear him mumbling something to you, but it’s incoherent. You looked at your dirty, bloodied hands, ‘what an ugly sight.’  

“Just.. keep pushing on y/n.” his words sound muffled to you and almost accompanied with sand; he’s losing hope too. 

Without warning, a bright beam of light suddenly shot up into the air, emerging from somewhere in the distance.

‘Huh?’ You look up.

The ray of light exploded into a star, making you wince at the glare. The explosion was so grand, you felt the earth tremble all around you, and even felt a slight radiance of heat reach your skin, even when it was suspended so close to the stars.

The warriors and monsters’ brawl comes to a pause, all beings turning their heads to the magic unfolding above their heads.

You look back up once more. It’s the Pyro Archon.

“In the name of the Pyro Archon, Haborym,” the transcendent voice sends chills down your spine.

“I declare the Night Warden Wars underway—”

“—The Ode of Resurrection will guard all life, until the war is over!”

🎕 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Kinich might’ve lost his mind.

With the Ode of Resurrection, there was nothing in his way to contain the blood rushing through his veins anymore, the flame pumping his drive. There was no limit to the blood he could pour, no limit to the bones he could snap, no limit to the wounds he could take; There was no more life that kept him from death, and no death to threaten him to life. 

He shot himself through the trees and cliffs and plunged into the ground, slashing right into an abyssal pylon, immediately shattering it into pieces. The abyss that caught sight of his unhinged eyes,  became the last thing they saw. He swung his blade relentlessly, calculated with maximum precision embedded into every strike. Every blow he landed would end a life point-blank, not wasting a single movement. No monster could keep up with the speed of his assault, their death delivered to them in a blur.

A hilichurl had taken an open opportunity to stab him right through the heart from behind. He felt the flame inside him flicker for a second.

‘Again.’

He ripped the double sided polearm right out of his chest, before skewering the same hilichurl right through its chest with the same weapon. A cryo mage quickly sent icicles to penetrate through his limbs and vital organs. He felt the coldness pierce into his insides, feeling the flame inside him flicker for a second time.

‘Again.’

He swiftly turned around, and spun his claymore right into the mage, beheading it in the process. The mage had evaporated to its death, as his claymore spun right back into his palm, snug as a glove. A hilichurl decided to charge into his tall figure and stab him with a dagger, puncturing his abdomen. His flame flickered for the third time.

‘Again.’

He sliced down on the hilichurl, making it dissipate into the air with a groan. He pulled out the dagger from his body and carelessly threw it onto the ground. Noticing the area was clear, he flung himself back into the air, swinging himself through the thick trees and long branches. They would momentarily graze his skin, cutting and wounding him but it was nothing to him, not anymore.

His void eyes scanned through the rocky terrain underneath his feet, searching for your figure. ‘You have to be here. Somewhere. Anywhere.’ His thoughts of you distracted him from an incoming tree, before flying straight into its tree branch, his body getting skewered in the process. He let out a loud cry of agony— “aaghh!”—, hearing static ringing in his ears. His bewildered eyes landed at exactly where he got impaled before feeling his head go fuzzy, his eyes slowly losing light, and his body going limp. He feels his flame flickering once more.

‘Again.’

Life is shot right back into him as he braced himself again, taking a deep breath, and pulling himself off of the tree branch. His injury immediately punished him, making him wince. He took one last look at the tree branch covered in his gore before swinging himself again. He looked at the gaping hole in his abdominal cavity slowly patch and fill itself again, and for a moment he’s completely mesmerized by the power of the ode of resurrection. 

In his mind, he punished himself for not being by your side, for not protecting you. And his mode of punishment would be feeling your misery over and over again. The sensation of burning pain ending up to his death just to wake up again completely alive again all in a split second was intoxicating. He was preserving life, as he toyed with his own. 

In his mind, he would rather die a million deaths than find out he’d be alive without you around.

“Listen to me bastard! I’m starting to appreciate this new thing you got going on, you know, like actually following your master, me, Almighty dragonlord, K’uhul Ajaw! and using your vision for something exhilarating like ending lives. But I HATE! how i’m getting excited to take your body everytime you go floppy, but you just wake back up! It’s so ANNOYING!! So just keep it up until the fire-head woman turns the ode of what-ever-you-call-it off, and you stay dead. Alright!?”

🎕 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Mavuika looked longingly onto her people fighting for their nation underneath her feet, as she levitated in the dark sky. It was a surreal simulation to her; It was her that was the catalyst for their dreams and hopes. It left a deep impression of justice, duty and pressure on her. 

Mavuika took a deep breath, before feeling a surging power slither all throughout her body.

‘This has to end, now.’

She collected all the dreams her people have relayed to her, the hopes for a future guided with justice and equality, their ancestors and their prayers for Natlan, the lives of her beloved followers who had been sacrificed and martyred, into her fist and made it into her strength. 

Her hair ignited into its flamed form, as she shot out all the might and glory of Natlan into a beam of radiance, targeting the abyssal body that was the sole cause of terror over her nation. 

The Celestial body forms a temporary glowing shield to stand its ground, until it doesn’t.

It slowly starts shattering like thin glass, making her attack on it only more powerful. Her thrash breaks through until it exploded into a dark fume, her light piercing right through it and into the distant sky. The sky carries the sound of the thundering explosion, shaking nature all around.

The black cloud slowly starts fading, revealing the eradication of the Abyss.

The black sky lifts off of Natlan, revealing the blue once more. You choked out the blood that’s been pouring in your mouth for the longest time as you finally finish off the last creature in sight. The Abyss had been eliminated by the Pyro Archon, and no more would spawn. Dulled and scratched swords, torn bows, and unfortunate martyrs polluted the grassy field around. The noise of battle could still be heard somewhere distant but not around you anymore. 

You spat and coughed out blood onto your palm, your other hand clawing and digging into your chest trying to calm your rampaging heartbeat. You heard your remaining comrades cry and yell out of grief and solace. The words they yelled were incoherent, only being able to hear ringing. 

But you could almost make out what they're saying, somewhere along the lines of: ‘It’s over.’

🎕 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Kinich’s eyelids slowly peel open, feeling the heat of the sun greet his eyes immediately making him wince. He sits up and tries to gain back his senses, letting out a sore groan.

Ajaw perches up at the sound, and starts roaring in his ear: “You were supposed to be dead! I was so thrilled to finally take over your cold body, finally thinking of the horrors I'd run to this land, just to find our contract not working! Just bite the dust already you useless asparagus! Curse the archons!”

“Wh-what happened?” Kinich croaked, his throat stinging him in the process. Completely ignoring ajaw’s tantrum, he looks at the nature around him; There were dismantled weapons, a few dead bodies scattered meters apart, and an awful lot of silence. 

“The fire-head woman destroyed the abyss in the sky, and the magical thing happening to your body that stopped you from dying stopped, and you just crashed into the mountain side and passed out onto the ground. Your head should’ve caved in! Fucking imbecile!” 

Kinich stares at the state of his body; It was a disaster. His jacket was torn with all sorts of holes, his arms full of scars and dried blood and smeared dirt, his gloved hands having numerous rips and tears. All of his digits were present, but a huge scar trailed over the joints of his thumb. ‘So I lost a finger huh?’ he guessed to himself. He looks at his headband dangling around his neck, and feels his face with his hand. He felt a few scars and winces at a cut he had, realizing he had a gaping wound that was actively bleeding out.

Body intact, clothes and weapon secured, with his heart beating in his chest cavity.

But something was still missing. Something was out of place.

He feels his heart drop to the ground, mumbling: “Y/n.”

He hurriedly turns around and tries to run on his feet, a sharp pain kicking into his legs making him fall back onto the soil. He curls into a ball, suddenly feeling all his muscles tormenting his body at once. He groans in pain, feeling parts of his body ache and burn under his skin.

“Yes! Perish!” Ajaw shrieks, making kinich swat at him. He takes a cramped breath— almost like the capacity of his lungs had shrunk— before digging his hands into the sharp blades of grass, dragging his body through the earth.

Each pull of his body made him wish he wasn’t human, pain electrocuting each living cell in his body. Grunts slipped through his teeth, as he tried not to notice the torture he had been enduring for what has felt like forever. He despised the pain he could feel as he crawled not because it hurt him, but because it was proof he was alive and could use his senses. That would remind him that you might not be, only making the weight of his chest heavier.

Red from his wound dripped down his head and slipped onto his lip, making him spit it out bitterly. 

The silvery of blood was inferior to the bitterness in his mouth if he felt your body without its heart beating against his own. Ajaw slowly follows him in the air a meter away, and is almost horrified. Ajaw that day, saw humanity in its most desperate state.

🎕 ‧₊˚ ⋅

“Let me go!” You yelled, trying to break free from the arms of the other scions of the canopy. They had tried convincing you to go to the village and get your injuries treated, but they mentioned kinich was missing. You heard glass shattering in your ears, almost reality to your eyes breaking just the same. You escaped their captive and tried to find kinich, but they had caught up to you easily.

“You don’t understand! You might die out of blood loss before you even find him!” Said one of the nurses, gripping your wrist tightly. “I have to try!” You snapped, shoving and kicking at the men trying to get a holding of your legs.

“And what if kinich is dead y/n!?” A man retorted, making you freeze in your spot. Words got stuck in your throat, as your eyes blurred for a second. “Kinich would never.. be..” you feel your tongue stiffen, your knees slowly sinking back onto the grass. The men among the helpers quietly argue behind you, scolding each other with ‘don’t say that!’ as your thoughts slowly dim your spirit.

‘Kinich? Dead?’ the thought of kinich dying seemed so far and impossible to you. It was always kinich who seemed to prevent harm from going your way, and knew how to deal with injuries or how to get out of risky situations. But not even the strongest warriors of Natan's ancient tales survived against the toughest attacks of the abyss. You feel like vomiting, the imagination of kinich mangled body suddenly tormenting your thoughts. ‘I still have to try’, you interrupted yourself, reminiscing the oath you took between the both of you to never abandon his side, dead or alive.

You quickly try to pounce off of them, but they're quicker into getting ahold of you again. You try your hardest to tear through their grasp, feeling your skin ache as they tighten their hand around you.

“Please! Just let me try!” you cry out, almost freeing yourself. They object in volumes, a series of ‘No!’s and ‘You need to rest!’ leaving their mouths. You almost feel helpless, but the group of five freeze all together, out of nowhere.

Their eyes are wide, dilated. Their mouths agape, skin draining of color.

You turn your eyes the same direction as theirs, and a sudden chill waves all throughout your body.

It’s kinich.

🎕 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Kinich locks eyes with you, his breath hitching. Almost terrified you’ll disappear in front of his eyes, he doesn’t waste another second and sprints towards you on his feet, ignoring the sharp pain afflicted to his ligaments. The tribespeople quickly free you from their clutches, stepping back as your aching bodies collided into an embrace.

Everyone else disappears from his world as he takes you into his dirtied arms. His body melt into yours, leaving no space for the opportunity of separation between both of you ever again. He feels you trembling underneath his touch making him hold you tighter. “I’m home.” He whispers into your ear, feeling a weight lift off of his shoulders, like bulky armor sliding off of his battered frame— He had died a hundred times to tell you those words.

He can hear you; you're crying into his shoulder, salty tears reviving the scent of the dried blood on his clothes. All he can do is hold you, and take refuge back into your arms after leaving them for what seemed like an eternity. His heart is communicating with yours, beating back and forth at each other. “I was looking for you.” You mumbled against his skin, lips quivering. Your voice is hesitant, as you pull away and look into his tired dark-golden eyes.

“You never lost me in the first place.” He whispers, planting a delicate kiss to your cheek, placing your nimble hand on the left side of his chest to feel evidence of his return. His arms felt lighter, his bones seemed to unbreak, and his wounds were no longer burning. His eyes slowly stickled with tears, burying his face into your hair to let out his shy tears before you had the chance to notice.

His body grew vulnerable under your touch as your tears slowly undid the knot of grief residing in his chest. He almost feels himself shrink back to when he was a lonely child as your mere presence invited the fragile parts of him to be loved again.

His soul yearns for moment like this, where your love is presented raw; It was never about just the beauty. He thawed under your touch even when his clothes and body was drab and scarred. It was never about just the mora, his wallet was no longer weighing in his pocket and he knew that he didn't have to worry about it. It was never about just the distance, it didn't matter if he had to crawl from mondstadt, he still would've tried to come home even if he knew he would die along the way. and it was never about the festivity. he didn't need a festival to celebrate in a way of holding you like he is now. It was always about the bond between both of you and how much joy his heart is beating out just because he can count the beats of yours.

To him, his soul is bound with yours. No matter how far his heroship takes him, he’ll always return to you. For him, that was enough of a reason to come crawling home. 

Kinich escaped heaven a hundred times to come home to you. For you, he would’ve gladly left a hundred times more.

🎕 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You relish his embrace with tears sticking your lashes together when your mind slowly floats you away to a distant memory, one you feel like you should have forgotten by now.

It was so long ago.. 7 years ago or so?

It happened somewhere.. Here?

With someone.. Kinich.

You were younger teenagers with kinich that time. You had tripped down a short rocky fall while traversing grassy terrain with kinich. A wince squeaks through your gritted teeth, as he poured water onto the gash you scored on your stumbling. “I’ve always told you to stay sharp when we go out on a walk, but you never listen.” He grumbles, wiping off the dirt that trailed down your calf. “..And everytime you trip, it’s always me who has to clean you up, bandage you, and carry you home.”  He treated your wound as you sat on a rock, awkwardly playing with your fingertips.

You can tell he was just worried about you, you always managed to injure yourself when he took his eyes off of you. He was already pressured on finding a way home, but you just had to go get your knee busted. “Sorry.” you mumble, heat rising to your skin out of embarrassment. “If you really were sorry, you would actually look before you land your feet.” he said bitterly, undoing his bandana, and wrapping it around your knee tightly. As he tightened the knot, he said: “You know I won't always be around to protect you right?” 

“Yeah..” you shuffle your feet around. “But I-i swear I looked before I stepped okay! But the dip was.. was hiding under all the grass.” You attempt to defend yourself, looking at him with guilt written all over your face.

“Can you just promise me you’ll make heaven wait when I'm not around?” He sighs, before helping you get back on your feet, his arm snaking around your waist, as he scooped your shoulder over his shoulder. “Only if you promise too!” you scoff. He rolls his eyes, “As if I'll ever die before you. Seriously, one day I might just be running a commission and bump into you just bleeding to death from your knee.” you grimace under the thought. “Don’t say such horrible things!”

“Then promise me.” “..I promise.”

[liveyun]

no escape | k.th

title. no escape

pairing. kim taehyung x fem reader/oc

genre. squid game au, thriller, pwp, smut

warnings. 😵‍💫. guard!taehyung, player!oc, consensual sexual acts in forms of power play, bandage, orgasm denial, face fucking, spanking, taehyung is. . . arrogant and cocky (pun intended) , his hands, taeconda wbk lmao, edging, finger sucking, some softness

wc. ~3k

a/n : i haven’t watched the drama yet, so please forgive me if there are any factual mistakes (shouldn’t be lol, there’s barely any plot) and this is my second time writing smut/first time writing fellatio so please let it slide if it sounds bad because i was way too impatient to wait and the rumors and or the theories (unlikely) of him appearing in the third season are making me delusional fr 😈

The corridor is suffocatingly quiet, save for the faint whir of crusty old machinery.

Dim overhead lights flicker intermittently, casting dark shadows that stretch and contract like phantom limbs.

You shouldn’t be here. The thought screams louder with every step you take, but it’s drowned out by the pounding of your heart. A part of you relishes because of your rebellion; full of zeal, while the other part is shrinking with fear. Yet, you don’t know which one is responsible for your heart to go hayware.

Either way, you keep on walking.

You grip the edge of the wall tighter, your fingertips brushing against the cold metal, as if the steel could tether you to sanity.

The restricted zone feels different — emptier, darker. As if even the quiet of this lobby is asking you, no, demanding you to leave — but rebellion is so sweet to taste, that perhaps even death cannot make you step back. The air smells off, tinged with the faint metallic tang of something you don’t want to name. The kind of place where secrets go to die.

You force your breath to slow, ears straining for any sign of movement, any hint that someone else might be lurking. But there’s nothing. Just the silence pressing in on you from all sides.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

You flinch.

The voice is low. Dulcet — so smooth it feels like liquid heat is being poured into your ears. You’ve never heard this voice before, and yet it crashes into you with the force of a thunderclap. That calm, quiet power, threaded with something dangerous, coils down your spine and settles deep in your stomach.

The serenity of the voice scares you.

Your entire body goes rigid, blood freezing. Slowly, so painfully slowly, you turn your head. He’s standing at the other end of the corridor, blocking the entrance, and perhaps, the only escape.

Red jumpsuit, square mask. The highest rank among the guards. The ones who don’t ask questions.

For a moment, neither of you move. The fluorescent light above him buzzes faintly, casting an uneven glow over his figure. The mask stares back at you, empty and unyielding, a void you can’t read.

But you feel his eyes. You feel them trailing over you, assessing, dissecting, pinning you where you stand. You feel naked under his gaze despite being fully dressed, and you feel an odd feeling in your insides..

“Lost?” he asks, and the way his voice dips at the end makes your breath hitch. Fuck, oh god.

It’s not just the sound of it—it’s the way it slides under your skin, makes your insides tingle. And he knows. This bastard knows. You can’t see his face, but the slight tilt of his head, the way he lingers just long enough to watch your reaction—it’s deliberate, calculated.

You swallow hard, but your throat feels like sandpaper. “I… I—”

He takes a step forward. You take one back. The air shifts, heavier now, charged with something you can’t quite name.

Your pulse races, each beat like a drum in your ears.

You don’t know if you’re exicted or scared.

“You know what happens to rule breakers, don’t you?” His gloved hand flexes at his side, the movement deliberate, almost lazy. A predator sizing up its prey.

“I—I wasn’t—”

“Save it.” Another step, and he’s close enough for you to catch the faintest trace of his cologne beneath the sterile scent of the suit. It’s woodsy, faintly spiced, and it lingers in the back of your throat like a memory you didn’t know you had. “You don’t belong here. And yet…” He tilts his head slightly, the square on his mask glinting in the dim light.

“Here you are.”

You hate the way your knees threaten to buckle, the way your breathing hitches despite your best efforts to keep it steady. You feel absolutely mortified to feel heat pooling in your lower abdomen like slow fire. There’s no telling what he’ll do. Report you? Drag you back? Or worse — handle the punishment himself.

And God help you, but a part of you is equally as thrilled as terrified to find out.

He’s close now — so close that the full, metallic scent of the corridor is drowned out by something else entirely. Something warm, woodsy, and faintly spiced, like cedarwood and smoke. It lingers in the air between you, curling around your senses, filling your brain up with fog.

The mask tilts, as though he’s watching you with a predator’s curiosity, drinking in every nervous shift of your weight, every shallow breath. You feel overwhelmed and squirmish, hyper aware of him observing your each move.

“What’s the matter?” he murmurs, voice low and unhurried. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your throat feels dry, words caught somewhere between your lungs and lips. You shift back, but the wall at your spine reminds you there’s nowhere left to go.

It’s just you and him.

He leans in just enough to make the hairs on your neck rise, his gloved hand brushing the wall beside your head — close, too close. It’s then you notice his hands: large, impossibly large, even beneath the thin sheen of the gloves. His fingers are long and deft, curling lazily into a fist before releasing, a movement so absentminded it shouldn’t make your stomach flip.

Shouldn’t fill your head with images which practically threatens to take away the little sanity left in you.

“You’re scared,” he muses, more to himself than to you. “But not of what you should be.”

His head tilts again, the mask’s material catching the overhead light. Slowly, his hand rises, not toward you—but toward his own face. His gloved hand rises to the edge of his mask, fingers brushing the seam. He hooks a single finger beneath the edge of his mask.

You barely notice that you’ve stopped breathing.

“You want to see who’s really watching you?”

You can’t stop your eyes from widening. “You want to see who you’re really dealing with?” The words are laced with danger, meant to come about as a taunt. But they dont, they instead spread a fire inside you, like how the veins of a leaf spreads across its surface area.

Slowly, almost languidly, he pulls the mask away, revealing the face beneath.

Oh.

Oh.

Dark, sweat-dampened hair clings to his temples, framing a face that seems carved from shadow and starlight. His eyes are sharp, but, but they hold a soft glimmer — hooded, which gleam with cruel amusement framed underneath thick, strong brows. His lips are slightly parted, as if he knows you’re looking and wants you to keep doing just that.

He is breathtaking. He is gorgeous. And he knows that.

It’s the small things that undo you. The faint sheen of sweat along his sharp jawline. The curve of his smirk, too soft to be mocking but too dangerous to be kind. And that scent —closer now, filling your lungs and making you lightheaded.

“Well?” he asks, voice silkier than before. “Do I live up to the mystery?”

Your mouth moves, but no sound comes out. Your gaze drops despite yourself—past his throat, past the open collar of his jumpsuit, to the slender column of his neck and the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

Fuck this man.

But it’s his hands that do you in. Bare now, he tugs the gloves free, one finger at a time. His skin is warm-toned, his fingers long and lean, the kind of hands that could either cradle or crush without hesitation. He flexes them casually, like he knows you’re watching.

They are clean. Beautiful. Neatly manicured. . .

“Lost for words?” His voice is teasing, but his eyes are sharp, drinking in every flush of heat that creeps up your neck.

You can’t look at him, but you can’t look away, either.

An image flashes up in your mind. His fingers, the same fingers, rubbing your clit with smooth, slow circles as his other hand restricts the airflow from your throat.

Oh fuck.

You grit your teeth, not trusting yourself enough to conceal any noises that may spill out. However, you fail to supress yourself from squirming, your thighs rubbing themselves together unconsciously as the erotic image flares up your brain.

And he notices that too.

His eyes narrow, and a dry laugh escapes his lips — something similar to a mock, but closer to amusement. You feel your throat dry on the realisation as you try looking away, but the next thing you feel are his hands on your chin.

“You dirty little thing,” his hands are warm — but the tips of his digits cold as they squeeze your cheeks, puckering your lips out, his face inching closer till you can see your own reflection in his pupils.

You feel like closing your eyes, but you can’t.

His breath is warm. Minty. Sweet on your cheeks as he draws each word out like rich honey. “You could be killed here for breaking the rules, but you are thinking of something else. Isn’t that right, doll?”

You feel your clit throb at the nickname.

You shake your head, or atleast you try to. Could there be anything more humiliating than fantasizing about someone as him? Probably. But right now, you feel like not giving him the satisfaction of submission.

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, the plush muscle coating his lips in a sheen layer of saliva.

He shakes his head, and a dry, unamused laugh leaves his throat.

“Filthy little liar,” he coaxes. “Do you know what do liars deserve?”

Your eyes widen, but somehow you feel that it’s not going to be the end of you.

Your eyes burn with tears.

And so do your wrists — they are tied behind you with a rag, and your knees actually feel like they’ve been scraped. But oh, sweet heavens, you feel like you could die after this. His cock rams into your mouth — not even half-way through, and hits the back of your throat. Your instincts have your throat constricting, eyes watering, and body squirming.

It’s nearly been 20 minutes, or so you think, since you’ve been kneeling down, getting fucked in your mouth by none other than the arrogant, handsome guard whose cock is so impossibly thick, you feel your jaws hurt. Suit hunched down to thick thighs and cock fished out of black boxers, you feel like this man actually is going to be the death of you.

Your pussy convulses, gushing out another stream of viscous fluid as his hips snap towards your face once more. He moans, a sweet, honeyed sound which makes your insides churn, a smooth beat which has your ego inflating. Your arms feel numb and your wrists hurt at the loss of circulation, but you remember how cruelly he’d tied your arms after your own fingers had reached down to releive the ache of your weeping pussy after the first thrusts of his cock into the wet cavern of your mouth.

He sneers, and grabs your hair — but his touch is surprisingly gentle, unlike his thrusts. Twists your hair into a makeshift ponytail, and forces your head on his length.

“Your mouth feels so good, ahh~”

He likes edging himself — or you. He’s been impossibly close thrice, throbbing and pulsing in your mouth, hissing at your tongue licking a particular angry vein on his cock, but he pulled away each time with a harsh grunt.

His eyes are sharp — glimmering under the dull lights of the lobby. He holds the back of my head and pushes himself down your throat, and you feel yourself gag, your mouth dripping with drool, his cock impossibly closer to your throat, still not down the base. “Y-yeah, you dirty liar, choke.”

It wasn’t definitely your first time with a man — but this man? You had no words. You felt your cheeks warm up, your cunt clench and gush out. You moan, the sound muffled by his cock, and looked up into his dark eyes, wordlessly begging for more. . .

What had gotten into you?

Your senses were overwhelmed ; the taste of his cock, its hardness prying your throat open, the smell of his sweat, the glimpses of his golden skin under his suit and impossibly silky hair sticking to his forehead — and each thrust sending you to a gateway of primal lust.

His hands leave your hair.

And what he does catches you off guard. You were busy eyeing his form, and he takes the advantage of that. His hips buck back to your mouth, freely thrusting as if you were a toy — nudging your throat open as he moaned in victory, his hands on his hips, teeth tugging his lower lips as he presses his cock closer.

“Look at you,” he lets out a small laugh. “Such a good girl. Taking cock so well.”

Your insides feel mushy with the praise. He fucks you through as you willed your throat to relax, knowing that each spasm tightened your throat around his cock, turned him on even more — you could already feel his cock throb back again.

He grits his teeth, and then your mouth is empty.

He’s pulled back — his wrapping around his length, and good heavens, even his enormous hands dont make up to the size of his cock as he lazily strokes his shaft. Red, so red it’s nearly a shade of purple — enlarged and throbbing. Your tongue flicks out as you whine at the loss of cock and he smirks ; as his thumb swipes the pearling pre come over his sapping tip, twisting his strokes as they get frantic, rushed, and more desparate.

“So eager for cum, are you?”

He tries sounding tough, but his voice wavers, ending off in an airy note. Fuck, he is close. His lips part and his head is tossed back as he fucks his fist, jerking off you resist the urge to squirm. The sight is so unbelievably hot — the arrogant guard is about to come.

He looks down at you as the first rope of his seed hits your agape mouth.

Warm, salty, and slightly bitter.

He fills up most of your mouth with his come as he keeps on jerking, and you must say that his aim is pretty accurate. Although some of it dribbles to your cheeks and chin as he groans, a sound so primal you feel your cunt clench and throb, knowing that you made him come so hard that you can see his eyes rolled to the back of his head as the last splurt of come hits your tongue.

You eagerly gulp down his release, surprised at how pleasant he tastes, and how easily you agreed to shallow down.

He, however, doesnt stop.

He leans down to you, close, impossibly close till you can feel the warmth of his face radiating to you. His hand cradles your face as one of his fingers swipe at the come on your cheeks and brings it to your lips.

“You don’t wanna waste it, do you?”

You happily oblige.

But you don’t stop either — you swirl your tongue around the digit, long and slender, similiar to how you’d done to his cock. You see his nostrils flare, and another arrogant smirk tugging up his lips as he narrows his eyes at you, pulling his finger away with a pop.

His hands reaches down to straighten up your shoulders — as your tits perk up, still clothed, but the outline of your pebbled nipples are prominent.

Your cheeks burn at the intensity of his gaze on your chest.

He squats down to your height — and before you realise, your arms are bound free. They feel numb and cold, and you flex them around a bit as blood rushes back to your wrists. You feel slightly awkward and blue balled, still feeling your wetness cling to your folds and your abdomen swirl with heat, but —

His arms slide underneath your thighs as he throws you over his shoulders.

“Wha. . . !! ” your throat feels sore, but you hope he gets the surprise you feel being over his shoulders, limbs held down by him, ass in the air and arms holding onto their dear life on his suit as he carries you both forward. Anyone could see you like this — your bare cunt and ass on display, but you don’t think it bothers him.

Or you. If anything, you feel your heart pick its rate at the idea of being caught.

One of his hands lands a slap on your cheeks and your body jolts forward as you yelp, feeling the sting on the muscle as his huge arm caresses the area, your body carried away by him with long, huge and hurried strides. To somewhere you possibly don’t know. . . .

But you aren’t scared, as ironic as that sounds.

“Did you think we were done already, doll?”

a/n : how did we like it? 😈 your feedback is always appreciated! thanks for reading 💜

[seiwas]

new year superstitions (or some shit) | bakugo katsuki

wc: 1.4k

summary: bakugo's never believed in timing things for luck (or: affection is hard, but bakugo thinks it's about damn time he tries harder)

contains: written with f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!, aged up!pro-hero bakugo (mid-twenties), reader is described as pretty, vaguely alludes to reader's quirk, established relationship, fluff.

you slip into bakugo's space just a few minutes shy of touching the new year.

everywhere around you is loud, lively in the way new year's eve parties go; a group of people down the street stand outside of a bar, waving their streamers and blowing on small trumpets to welcome the next hour. from a distance, fireworks are shooting up to the sky, right above some luxury hotel having its annual countdown.

it's neither bakugo's thing nor yours to be up this late, partaking in celebrations like this, but he supposes some things are worth experiencing at least once—

the scent of your perfume hits him before he sees you, the space around him tightening in that familiar way the air around you shifts when you hold your breath. you smile, a small, gentle lift of your lips that falls into pace with your blink. pretty.

warmth pools in his stomach, building slowly to crawl its way up his neck and over his ears, overflowing to dust his cheeks.

"thought you looked a little lonely over here," you mumble, stifling your giggle as you watch him turn pink.

he furrows his brows, a soft "tsk," escaping his lips out of habit as his head turns to you. you always tease him like this; he should be getting used to it by now.

a gust of wind picks up from your spot on the balcony, pushing the glass door shut. the noise from inside muffles to dull chatter, the beat of tonight's music recognizable only by the subtle vibrations on the metal railing resting against his back.

the winter breeze seems to have tapped you, too, as you tuck your chin deeper into the red scarf around your neck.

"y'should've stayed inside," he nods to you then to the balcony door, crossing his arms, "s'cold here."

you frown, inching closer, just enough that you could loop your arm with his if you wanted, "sometimes, i can't tell if you're bad at taking hints or just really good at ignoring them."

he eyes you from the side, red vermillion the shade of your scarf—the one he gifted you just a few days ago for christmas. you pout, loosening the fabric around your neck so he can hear you clearly.

"you know," you take in a shaky breath, "this is the f-first time we're at s-something like this as y-y'know…” you pause, glancing at him to gauge his reaction, “t-together."

his nose turns a shade of pink darker; it's true, and he can hear you clearly—every tremor, every shiver. he sees you pretty clearly too, the softest hint of red on your lips. this relationship with you is new, just a little over a couple of months, and it makes him think—

"k-katsuki, are you e-even—"

it's reflex when he does it―his hand shooting out to grip your elbow, pulling you closer into his parka. right where you were standing lands a small clump of snow, fallen from the balcony of the unit above.

you look up almost immediately, a little flustered.

"s-sorry―"

bakugo feels warm despite the cold, heat blazing across his entire face as little puffs of air tickle his neck when you speak. like he said, this relationship with you is new, and though he's held you a few times already, affection, in any capacity is still something he's getting used to.

and you're aware of that too; of course you are. but when you push yourself away to create some space―

"told you s'fuckin cold."

―he keeps his other hand on your back, holding you into place.

bakugo is intense in most aspects; he meets things headfirst with no hesitation, but being this close to you makes him feel weird, a kind of unusual he thinks he should approach with caution―as if to keep himself from ruining the moment.

so his eyes wander. down the street, on the view behind you; they focus on the wisps of your hair ruffled from the earlier breeze, the tips of your eyelashes, blinking. then slowly and carefully, they land on you.

and you―

you beam, eyes widening momentarily before flashing him the brightest smile. it stills him so much that he doesn't notice your hands loosening the scarf around your neck even more, unwinding the fabric until the lengthened ends sit on your palms.

it's when you say "okay," gently and so... so... sweetly, that he feels the softness of wool hit the tips of his ears and down his neck. an ache spreads throughout his chest as he locks eyes with yours, tongue pushing against the roof of his mouth for another tsk―but you beat him to it, your finger coming up to press against his lips.

"s'cold," you giggle, a hint of teasing.

he narrows his gaze, about to retort when you both hear muffled shouts from inside the party, "ten... nine... eight..."

the group of friends down the street seem to be in on it too, echoes in unison, shouting, "seven... six... five... four..."

and from afar, right where the hotel is situated, are the numbers "three... two... one..." lit up on the sky.

you tug on bakugo's parka to draw his attention; the expression on your face is something he can't quite decipher―winter on your cheeks and your lower lip pulled between your teeth. the air around him tightens again, evidenced by the way you suck in a breath.

then, it happens all too fast―the way you tiptoe up just that little bit; your fingertips stamping chills down the edges of his scarred cheek. you kiss bakugo right as the new year strikes and the moment happens too quickly for him to notice.

"happy new year, katsuki," you whisper, close enough that it tickles his chin. it must have been a small peck, it must have been. he can only assume as he blinks it back to memory.

you've kissed before―three times to be exact, four counting this one. and he's not opposed to it (what kind of idiot would be?); in full truth, he fucking loves it.

but, affection is hard, and fuck, it's always been you initiating it―

"sorry, too much?" you mumble sheepishly, pressing your lips together, "just figured since it's the new year and all..."

―which is even more fucked by the fact that you feel the need to apologize for it.

he stares at you, bewildered out of his fucking mind that he still hasn't grown the damn balls to kiss you himself.

so, to hell with new year superstitions, he thinks; bakugo's never believed in playing to luck and chance in the first place. he'll kiss you right now because he wants to―

because it's what he's been wanting to do since the start of tonight, since yesterday, since a week ago; since you kissed him the very first time and all he could do was stand there, trying to act like the very feel of his lips pressed against yours didn't make his mind howitzer impact right in that moment.

―it just so happens that it's the new year, and it's about damn time he grows the balls to initiate it for once.

his hand reaches for your cheek before you can take a step back, fingers slotting themselves by your ear and resting against the edge of your jaw. your eyebrows shoot up, the look in your eyes something between confused and surprised. his thumb slides itself across your cheek before swiping down to touch the edge of your lips, feeling.

there's a dull warmth beneath the pads of his fingertips, heating up when he leans in. the air tightens; breath on hold as his nose bumps into your skin, and it's faint, the slightest touch of your lips against his. your eyes fall shut before his do, and he shivers, a slight tremble as he deepens the kiss.

he starts out slowly, uncertain, moving his lips tentatively. it's a push and pull―soft, quick pecks sandwiched between longer, drawn out touching. it almost feels like this moment's been suspended amidst all the noise, lips locked and gliding, lingering; he swears he can feel you grinning.

your fingers grip the fabric of his parka and tug, and he sees it as a signal to be rougher, taking your bottom lip between his and slightly biting. you squeak the tiniest bit, but it's enough to make him pull away completely, eyes wide as his thumb presses against your chin.

"fuck," he whispers, catching his breath as he tugs just enough that he can see the inside of your lower lip, "did i hurt you?"

he's squinting, brows furrowed while looking for any sign of blood when you shake your head, stopping him. his gaze shifts to take you in―your glossy lips, slick with spit; your eyes, completely blown but somehow still twinkling, and when you giggle, he almost finds it cruel you have to look so fucking pretty.

"it's just your canines," you smile, "i like them."

fuck, he really should've done this sooner.

a/n: this ended up way longer than i planned woops! haven't written bakugo in a while but i miss the guy!! and i wanted to write him so terribly flustered and bad at affection but being so frustrated because he wants to try!!! and he should be better than this!! anyway! i had this idea around christmas time but couldn't write it in time for the new year because i got sick. so it's a little late, but i hope you enjoy!

i'm not sure if you remember my dear willow @willossom, but you sent me a request a good while back for one of my events with the prompt: saying "i love you" in all the ways you aren't used to for bakugo, and this reminded me loads of it!! 🥺 though this isn't the written request for that one yet (i have something else planned for it), i just wanted to let you know that i thought of you while writing this!!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[fluffylino]

railway inspired drabble ⚘️‼️

im fucking screaming at the scene where the blood drips out of his mouth and down into the other's mouth. aaaaa screaming without the s

-contains mature themes (chris is mean and not very nice, choking and strength kink, darker themes)

"trust me, darlin and stop trying to run"

his hand firmly pushing down onto your neck. fingers tightening around the base of your neck. you gasp, struggling to escape.

partly blinded by the rags tied over your half your face. catching a glimpse of the creature above.

.

.

this was a bad idea. wandering into the abandoned infirmary and nearby asylum for a few ingredients was not a great idea.

doing this for an acquaintance who you weren't on good terms with, made it feel worse. sometimes desperation fuels a person into doing things that are unusual.

a witch like you? in vampire territory?

no. this was the holy grave.

that too a place where no one dared to go... that was a death sentence.

confrontation with christopher. a man who no one believed was real.

was in fact very real. and very terrifying.

hiding yourself as the other zombified prisoners was the only idea that came to mind.

however it wasn't the best idea at all.

he'd hunted you through the corriders. chasing you down particularly till the open airs. barricaded and within the grass patches outside the asylum.

the end was near? or was it?

.

.

body arching upwards at the heat that licks up your legs. spreading straight to your core. a sensation that has you squirming.

everything blurring when his mouth finds its way to your heat. tongue slipping against your soaked folds.

canines grazing the swollen bundle of nerves in a way that heightens your senses. he's pulling you onto his tongue, tasting you entirely.

unaware of how you ended up in this situation. until you realise this situation wasn't taking place.

atleast in reality.

it was all in your head.

he was in your head. tricking you into being compliant. submissive only to him.

"you seemed to have enjoyed that, didn't ya?"

he cooes, laughing without much care for the fact that he had now kept you pinned to the floor with his booted foot.

hand slipping up to choke you harder.

"dirty girl. or should i say filthy little witch"

a flash of terror ignites within you. minutes to tasting death.

a little more force, a snap and your life would be over in his hands. in the hands of a blood thirsty cold blooded killer of the night.

"you thought i'd be dumb enough to not catch a whiff of your scent"

his lips curve upwards into a condescending smile.

"i'm smarter than you think. i'm everything you think i'm not"

"I knew it from the beginning. hiding? hiding gets you nowhere little one" and you fight back the tears in your eyes. going lightheaded.

watching him bite at his own wrist. whipping his head back with force. not a glimmer of pain in his expressions.

stoic and eerily cold. even as his arm bled. crimson red dripping out of his mouth. staining his chin.

his fingers cupping under your jaw. keeping your mouth open unconciously to gasp for air.

kicking at the grass under you at the warmth of his own blood dripping right onto your tongue.

tastebuds firing up at the iron like taste.

eyes fluttering as his darkened pupils stared straight into your soul. parting his lips further to spit more blood for you to swallow.

"h-hah" you gurgle, desperately trying to grab onto him. any part of him. wrapping weak hands around his covered biceps. clawing at the skin.

"take it like a good girl" and you moan. breathing heavily around the two digits he pushes past your lips.

pressing down on your tongue, making you swallow. his nails prodding deep enough to make you gag.

"i said take. it." and it shouldn't be so arousing. you can't control the slick that pools between your thighs. cunt throbbing and weeping for him.

even more so...now that he had imprinted himself on you.

you didn't know what to classify him under. an original vampire? a half turned werewolf?

whatever he was...he was powerful. controlling. thirsty for blood. thirsty for ruthless killing.

its only when you sob out. grinding onto his boot with relentless hips. that he pins you down. licking the redness that dribbles out of the corner of your lips.

"shush now, my sweet thing" he cooes, kissing the tears that stain your cheeks. his fingers tugging away the cloth covering your face.

"hush hush pretty girl" the vampire trails a finger down to your lips. firmly shutting you up.

"i'm in control of you from now"

.

.

.

.

.

the mv screwed up my brain and now all i can think of is mister christopher bahng-

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Hello! I was wondering if you could do a small request? I was thinking of platonic Yandere Dick and batsib where batsib is getting harassed(hope I spelled it right) at school or online but can’t find Jason or the others so finally gives in and asks Dick for help on how to handle the situation?

A/N: Yes, ofc! Thank you for requesting. I was originally never going to post the og headcanon because i thought people wouldn't like a darker take on him. I'm so happy you guys do. its actually dick just cyber bullying you into coming to him loll

Warnings: concepts of online harrassment, but it's mainly fluff.

Requests: open 24/7

Masterlist

"Sweetie, don't cry. Tell your big brother what happened, okay?" Dick's voice cooed as he used his thumb to gently wipe away your tears.

This wasn't a position you imagine yourself to be in. You never figured you'd be coming to Dick for anything. Ever. Let alone comfort. For the past few months of being in Wayne's house, you've avoided your older brother like the plague. There wasn't any circumstance you wanted to be around him, you didn't particularly like him for your own reasons. Jason was the one you found the most comfort in. He made you feel safe and at ease unlike Dick.

But Jason wasn't here right now. He and the others were taking their shift on patrol and they wouldn't be back at least until the sun rose. Dick was the only one home and available to help with the situation at hand.

~~~~

You had recently started up a social media account with much persuasion from your sibling, Barbra. It was just supposed to be something wholesome to better connect with the other siblings as it was a frequency they used. You weren't too fond of the whole thing, it was slightly anxiety inducing but you agreed to make them happy. They felt bad about sharing so many family photos without you being as they were all proud to show you off.

Unexpectedly, you kind of got into it. You started spending quite a few hours scrolling posts and sharing videos to your siblings, even deciding to make a few of your own...not thinking much of it.

It was great and all of the feedback was positive, mainly being from your sibling or school friends. It was a fun and rather safe escape for you to enjoy on your downtime.

That was until you finally decided to check your laptop after a few days away. To your surprise, lots of new notifications flooded your inbox. Maybe your post went viral or something, you excitedly thought to yourself.

The excitement quickly died down after reading through every comment and message you received during your hiatus. Copious amounts of vile content flooded your eyes. Most of them attacked your appearance or the fact you were 'just another pitiful orphan'. But nothing disturbed you like the dm you received that was filled with death threats and altered photos of you.

Mixed feelings of terror, anxiety and sadness overtook your body. You were never one to cry much but this, this did something to you. The only thing you wanted was to be held. Your safe space was ripped from you and turned into a heinous landfill, you felt so violated. You knew that person was only behind a screen but what if they were coming for you? What if it was an enemy of your family? You weren't nearly as trained or half as capable as your siblings and this person probably knew that. What if they're not around and that person captures you..

You didn't want to die. You didn't want to be their target….

~~~~~

You could sense the blood boiling beneath Grayson's skin as told him all that happened. For once in your life you seen his smile drop and his eyes growing dark., his sky blue eyes were nearly a deep black. He couldn't stop the fury from seeping into his vein as he thought about all the ways to get his revenge on the person who made you like this.

He never wanted to see his baby sister in this state, he didn't like that you couldn't enjoy yourself. He felt so guilty, this was his fault. He gave the green light to Babs about the social media thing when she brought it up to him. How could he be so stupid? Why didn't he think about the possibility of something like this?

It was supposed to be something to get you out of your shell and closer with them, not a breeding ground for degenerate fuckers like that.

He was silent for a while, entrapped in his own mind and anger before you tugged on his shirt.

"..Dick, please help me. I'm so scared. I really don't want to die. What am i going to do?" Your words were almost inaudible as you choked over them. The few lone tears turned into a heavy stream. You needed him to make this all go away. It was too much for you to handle alone.

Your plea for his help snapped him out of his thoughts. Dick's heart nearly crumbling at the cracks in your voice. He loved you so much and making sure you knew you were safe was the most important thing. The plotting could wait, there was plenty of time to take care of them. Softening his face, he flashed you his pretty smile, and took your hands in his.

"Do you think your older brother, Dick, would ever let them come through these doors and hurt you?"

You shook your head and rubbed at your puffy, red eyes.

"My sweet birdie. You have to know as long as i'm living, you'll be safe."

Dick hesitantly opened his arms out for a hug, not sure if you'd be willing to accept it this time. To his surprise, you did. Practically throwing yourself into his embrace, you wrapped you arms around his neck and sobbing in the crook of his neck.

You tightly held onto him as you nuzzled your head as deeper into it. Maybe you were wrong in your judgement of him?,,,or maybe it was the heat of the moment, but something about this was actually…nice. You never had a hug that felt as warm and protecting as this was now. There was just something so precious about the he handled you with so much care. It was as if you were made out of some kind of delicate material.

A feeling of regret rushed your body as you thought back to all the times you avoided and othered him. Was this what you were missing all those times?

You could've been getting love like this but you willingly rejected it all. Stupid.

"...I'm sorry,,,"

A curious hum left his voice as he wondered what you could be referring to. None of this was your fault nor was coming to him any sort of burden.

",,,for y'know.”

You could feel his head gently tilt to the side as he was still confused as to what you meant.

“I've been a bad sister to you, dick. I’m so sorry.” Your shaky voice was pitched high as you fought against your tears.

Shaking his head, he rubbed circles on your back.

Richard held his own breath for a moment, processing the words you just said. It was almost unbelievable to hear those words escaping from your mouth. Almost as unbelievable for you to finally be in his arms like this, at your most vulnerable. A fuzziness started in the depths of his stomach and exploded his body in bliss.

This was a long awaited feeling he so desperately had been craving. At that moment, all of his patience was worth it. All he ever wanted was to be your safety net, your best friend and he’s finally getting it. He wanted you to hug him like this forever. He wanted you to be safe right here in his arms. This was everything he could ask for.

Pay offs like this confirms he chose right in prioritizing his family over everything. His tendencies weren’t indeed crazy but necessary. He’s the backbone of the bats.

Dick’s muscular arms tightening in their embrace, gave you a nice squeeze.

"If you were a bad sister, i wouldn't love you as much as i do. The world doesn't deserve an angel like you, neither do i."

Dick breaks the hug and puts your hands in his once more. A soft kiss is planted on your forehead and there's a beat that passes as he's observing you. His smile is wider than ever. To him, you're the most perfect sibling he could ever ask for.

"I'll do whatever it takes, even bending a few rules, if that means you can sleep peacefully. I’m your nightwing."

[star-sim]

hello kitty meets batman (real not clickbait!) ☆ jake sim

☆ youtuber! super down bad! bf! jake x youtuber! fem! reader ☆summary: jake sim was youtube's cut-throat, horror creator, known for his dark video style. meanwhile, you were the cutesy beauty vlogger, lighting up every algorithmically generated home page you touched. no one would have expected you two vastly different people to know each other, let alone be in a long-term relationship. ☆ genre: fluff, youtuber! au, secret dating! au, established relationship, suggestive, im sorry im never letting the ytber au go, cutesy!reader, jake is SO down bad its kinda painful #patheticmen ☆warning(s): no, just fluffy, also reader is really feminine and girly in this ☆ word count: 13.4k words ☆ wrote half of this in spanish class so im sorry if there are mistakes, first time writing established relationship in full, kinda nervy

Jake Sim was many things.

One of the most popular and well-respected content creators on Youtube was one of them.

As Jake's nimble fingers darted across his keyboard, his other hand rested firmly on his mouth, he thought that the blue light emitting from his computer screen should burn his eyes. Except, it didn't. Despite what most people thought, 90% of being Youtuber was just simply staring at a computer screen, rather than being in front of a camera lens. The man felt his nose prickle before he let out a soundless, but satisfying, yawn. He leaned back against his office chair, stretching his neck and arms before he rubbed his eyes.

There was a reason that he was an extremely respected creator on Youtube.

For one, the production quality of his videos were high. Down to the Closed Captions or his camera's grain, Jake's attention to detail was immaculate. Not to mention, the content itself was magnificent. 

Whenever people asked Jake what he did for work, it was hard for him to answer.

He'd said that he made horror content, but he'd only earned incredulous looks, like he was a madman. Even then, "horror" content wasn't the correct description.

In short, Jake liked to make videos about obscure things. Which just so happened to be a little spooky. Sketchy true crime cases, searches for lost media, strange Internet phenomena, government cover-ups— Name anything a little bit eerie and Jake probably already covered something of that sort on his channel. Given the nature of his content, Jake almost always maintained a serious tone, but when the opportunity came to offer his opinion, he liked to relay it in a straightforward way. 

Another reason why he was so regarded was because of his content style. He preferred using darker colors, having a crisp microphone that picked up every rasp of his deeper voice. When he had camera shots, Jake liked to be in a dimly lit room. Unfortunately, his room was dark, too. 

This all combined together to create a singular image for Jake: the cool, high-quality, but a little bit scary, guy that likes to make videos about scary topics.

Now cracking his knuckles, Jake sucked in a sharp breath. Although he could easily export his upcoming video now and upload it, garnering millions of views, he refused to. There was something missing from it; it needed a little umph, a little embellishment to really pull things together. If there was one thing about Jake, it was that he'd put quality over quantity any day.

Jake is torn out of his thoughts when his phone, long forgotten next to his mouse, lit up. Usually, when he worked long afternoons like this, he silenced his phones in order to maintain focus.

However, there was always one exception.

You.

pretty girl: hi babe, do you think you can help me take promo pictures later?

The moment that Jake saw your contact show up, he picked up his phone immediately. His fingers tapped his screen, quickly responding to you.

me: yeah i can do it rn if you want

pretty girl: if youre busy, it doesn't need to be today, it can be tomorrow or something

pretty girl: oh

pretty girl: are you sure?

Of course he was.

Jake was already shutting off his monitor, grabbing his keys and shoving his feet into his shoes at your first message.

me: yeah i'll come over right now

You were Jake Sim's girlfriend. But other than the people in your personal life, no one else knew that.

Not that either of you minded.

Like Jake, you were a Youtuber. Except, your community was the complete opposite from his.

Your niche was cute makeup and lifestyle. Your videos had cute, blushy sets, characterized by cute plushies in the background and pretty, pink decorations. When you weren't making makeup tutorials or "get ready with me's," you were giving your viewers small sneak-peeks into your life. Whether it be your rosy morning skincare, or your sunny afternoon cooking attempts, or your illuminated late night thoughts, your content was light-hearted, soft, and personable. 

And if you weren't doing any of those things, you were modeling.

You were a beauty influencer, so you had sponsors from different makeup companies and such. What was most distinguishable from your personal brand was that you were one of Sanrio's biggest ambassadors. If there was someone that was the living embodiment of Hello Kitty, it was you.

Your personability, and your ability to feel authentic to your viewers, was a key factor in your large viewerbase. And what contributed to that the most was the fact that you had no idea how to use a camera. One would think that a content creator would know how to use a camera, but you were somehow the exception.

Not a problem!

Because you had your boyfriend, Jake!

Who was basically the master of content creation and film, in your opinion.

"Jakey!" you pounced on your boyfriend the moment he appeared at your apartment doorway. You threw your arms around his neck, immediately peppering his neck and cheeks with kisses. You heard him let out a few chuckles, feeling the rumble of his strong chest as he did. 

"Geez, babe, let me take my shoes off first," Jake teased you, taking in your sweet strawberry perfume. You immediately peeled yourself off of him, your lips forming a cute frown. 

"Shut up," you murmured, punching him on the arm while you jutted your bottom lip out. The lip tint and gloss on them shined, which made Jake grin. And when you noticed that he was staring at your lips, you gave him a gentle shove before saying again, “Shut up, Jakey.”

There it was, his favorite thing about you.

You were so, very, really, undeniably, mean to him.

Okay, that sounded weird.

But it was the truth.

Your relationship could be summed up in a few words—

You were just the cutest, and could barely contain your feelings for Jake, so you'd get all cuddly and affectionate with him. He'd tease you about it, so you'd get all shy and flustered, and you would begin to be mean to him. You'd call him stupid or annoying, and you'd tell him to go away but make no effort to resist his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you against his chest. And then he would get to tease you more, until you were so embarrassed that you relented and let him kiss you.

How could he not resist teasing you?

You were always so pretty, with makeup or not, and it was easy to tease you since you got embarrassed so easily.

Even if he was holding his most expensive camera in his hands, he'd still let you pounce on him, if it meant that he got one extra kiss from you.

You led him to your bedroom. It had the same sweet, strawberry scent as you. Your room was pink, and along the walls were shelves, all filled with the many, many plushies that Jake bought you. Plopping onto your bed, Jake watched as you dug around your filming desk.

"Sooo," he started, "You're gonna do a promotional post on Instagram?"

You hummed. Sanrio recently launched a new line of lip tints, and they sent you their newest ones to review and promote. 

"I already made a review, and it's going to go up later," you said, digging through your drawers. "I want to make a promo post, too, y'know?"

You let out an 'a-ha!' as you found what you were looking for. It was a tube of lip-tint, the newest one from the collection. You then touched up your makeup a little more. 

Jake watched you in awe. The way you applied lip gloss and brushed setting powder (or was it blush? he didn't know anything about makeup) onto your cheeks was so mesmerizing, as you weren't already so captivating to him.

Finally, you stood up, straightening out your outfit. You puckered your lips, and when you noticed Jake staring at you, you gave him a little twirl.

"How do I look?" you asked. 

Jake, with his camera in hand, pointed the lens at you. He looked through the viewfinder.

"Beautiful." 

As always.

The shoot went smoothly. As you always did when Jake was your photographer, the two of you drove to the film studio, renting out a room for a good hour. Jake was a pro with the camera and you were an even bigger pro at modeling. Other than a few compositional edits or changes in exposure, you and Jake were done as soon as you started. The two of you decided that you’d go back to your place, cook dinner together, and maybe watch a movie.

Except that got delayed.

“Y-You’re so annoying, Jake,” you struggled out. You were in the back seat of your car, legs thrown over your boyfriend’s hips, his soft lips connected to your neck. Your fingers gently tugged on his hair, you yourself pressing soft pecks against his forehead and temples. It started because you gave Jake a kiss on the cheek as a ‘thank you,’ which spiraled into a makeout session in your car.

“What,” he breathed against your skin, dark eyes flickering up to yours. “You said you’d do anything to express your thanks for me.”

Jake kissed your neck again, before trailing up your throat to your jaw. Your fingers raked through his soft hair, pushing his dark locks out of his face so that you could see his face clearly. Jake reached up, took your hand out of his hair, and instead held your palm against his cheek, nuzzling into your warm hand. The way your eyes widened into saucers, lips parting, in response made the man’s lips curve upward.

“W-Well I thought you’d ask me to hug you… or something,” you said sheepishly, your voice soft as your boyfriend’s actions flustered you.

Jake grinned to himself internally before pulling away from you altogether. 

“Then do you want to stop?” Your eyes widened a fraction. “Then, let’s go hom—“

“No!” you cut him off, your hands squeezing his shoulders. “Let’s not!”

You stared at him, brows furrowed, for a few moments, before you noticed the growing grin on your boyfriend’s face. That look you knew too well, the one that said that he was going to tease the everlasting fuck out of you.

Jake pulled you in by the waist, close enough so that your chests touched, noses almost brushing against each other. He could feel the heat radiating off your face, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“You sure you don’t wanna stop?” His voice was teasing, but you knew better. The earnest look in his eyes, you stared into yours, was filled with sincerity. He gave your waist a squeeze, almost as if to ask, “Do you actually want this?”

“Yes, Jakey,” you breathed against his lips, matter-of-factly. “I don’t wanna stop.”

The corner of his lips begin to lift.

“So you better kiss me,” you quipped, gripping his shoulders.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he rasped back, before attacking your lips.

(Later, when you were done, you two went home and went about your plan for the night. Except, you had to yell at Jake to go wash his face, because the sight of your lipstick at the corner of his lips was too much for you to take.)

"Hi, everyone!" you greeted the camera, folding your hands in your lap. With your thick, pink, knit sweater's sleeves falling over your wrists, you shot the lens a pretty smile. It was another normal day on the job of making content.

"As you guys know, VidCon is coming up soon." You pulled your makeup pouch toward your chest, leaning against the edge of your filming desk. "So, let's pack with me!"

Vidcon was an event for people to meet all of their favorite Youtubers. This year, you were invited to be one of the featured creators, given your popularity. As you filmed your "Pack with Me!" vlog, surrounded by ring lights aided by your windows cracked open, you recalled the email you had sent earlier, squeezing your eyes shut.

You see, Jake and you were both invited to VidCon. Since no one else, not even Youtube the corporation or your fellow Youtubers, knew that you guys were dating, Jake and you were given vastly different things. Youtube booked an entire hotel complex for all of its creators, and unfortunately, your room was located 10 floors below Jake's room. And worse, your booths and events were so far apart from each other that you probably wouldn't even see your boyfriend even if he decided to traverse the Convention. 

That's what you got for being vastly different content creators.

This year would be the first year that you and Jake got invited to VidCon, and you two wanted to share this experience with each other as much as possible.

Which is why you just shot Youtube one of the most embarrassing emails of your life.

"Hi, Youtube. The hotel complex you booked has a bar, and it is much closer to the top than the bottom. I really want to visit that bar. Can I request a room change so that my room is maybe on the 15th or 16th floors?" except add more formalities and much more discreet language, and that was the email you sent to your employers. You knew that it wouldn't be hard, and that the Youtube PR manager wouldn't reject your request. After all, you were the Sanrio beauty girl. Regardless, you'd gotten a response about an hour ago, and your request was approved, luckily. 

As you continued talking to your camera, folding your clothes neatly while chatting to your viewers about updates in your life, you thought about what you and Jake should do at VidCon. It was in the LA area, but you definitely wanted to visit other places in Southern California. 

It was no surprise that you and Jake had been more than touchy and close to each other. You were dating. Still, butterflies formed in your stomach as you thought about what you would do with him. Your face heated up at the thought of you and him spending time together in the hotel's rooftop hot-tub. The idea of him sneaking in your room at night, warming you up and pepperinging your cheeks with kisses, made your heart rate speed up, and you could only relish in the thought of exploring LA, Irvine, or wherever Jake wanted to take you with him.

You were a grown woman with a job and responsibilities, but the mere thought of your boyfriend being within the same vicinity as you made you nervous.

Just as you finished folding your clothes, you heard your front door crack open.

"Babe?" you hear Jake's voice call out your name. You turn off your camera to greet him, swearing to forget all of the thoughts you just had. Except, the moment that you locked eyes with him, all determination to not be teased left your body. Your lips wobbled, trying to bite back that stupid, bashful, and lovesick smile that made its way onto your face when you thought about Jake, but your eyes gave it all away. Instead of throwing yourself at him like you usually did, you only reached for the hem of his black T-shirt, playing with it sheepishly. 

You mumbled a small, "Hi."

You could feel Jake staring at you, and you could hear the way his lips curve into a smug, shit-eating grin.

"Shut up," you told him, your eyebrows crashing together.

"Baby, I didn't even say anything," Jake said, his hands finding their place on your lower back.

You felt shy and exposed before him. "Well, I know you're going to say something."

Jake grasped your chin, gently making you look at him. You tried to avoid his eyes, but it was impossible to avoid those dreamy, caramel eyes. Then, he took your face with both his hands, leaning in.

Was he going to kiss you? Oh my god, he was! Quick! What do you do? You felt like you were going to melt.

Instinctively, your hands tightened on the hem of his shirt, the black fabric scrunching in your fists. You closed your eyes, your lips softly puckering. You could feel him coming closer and closer, until his breath fanned your cheek.

As if he hadn't kissed you a million times before, your heart felt like it was going to fall out of your chest. 

Jake ghosted his lips over yours, inching just close enough that he could brush his lip against yours. 

And then, he pulled away from you. He took off his shoes, placed down his keys, and made his way into your bedroom, leaving you there standing alone.

Heat spread across your face and neck and ears as you realized your boyfriend had just teased you once again. You hid your face in your palms, letting out a small whine of embarrassment, before recollecting yourself and joining your boyfriend.

"Woah, what's going on here, babe?" Jake asked, standing at your bedroom doorway. 

"Oh." There was clothes and film equipment sprawled across your floor and bed. "I was filming a video."

You saw Jake's expression twitch, before he took your hands in his.

"My bad, was I interrupting something?" He was sincere in how his face showed a small drop of guilt for disrupting your filming. How could someone be such a tease one moment yet be so genuine the next?

"No, it's okay, Jakey," you said. "I mean, I need to finish my video, but I don't mind if you're around."

And that's how you found yourself trying not to burst out laughing as you filmed your video. Jake kept making funny faces at you, that goofy grin growing on his face as he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

"Jake, stop making faces!" you laughed, throwing a shirt at him.

He dodged it, throwing his head back into one of the plushies that he bought you. "I'm not doing anything!"

You threw another shirt at him, this time hitting him square in the face. Instead of admitting defeat, Jake only grabbed your shirt, pulling the fabric to his nose and taking a long, dramatic, sniff. 

"You smell sooooo good, babe," he said, ignoring your contorted expression, "I think I'm gonna keep this. You won't mind, right?"

"Ugh, Jaaaaakee!"

You plopped on top of him in bed. You felt his chest rumble as chuckles left his lips, rolling your eyes at him. You gave his chest a smack, a pout forming on your lips.

"You're so annoying," you mumbled as his hands slithered up to your hips. He gave your ass a pat, gesturing you to adjust your position. You did, sitting up so that you straddled your boyfriend's hips.

"And you're so pretty," he said, squeezing your hipbone.

"Let go of me," you poked him in the chest, but made no attempt to get off of him. 

"No."

"I need to finish my video," you pouted, still not moving to get off of him. 

"I don't care." Jake instead sat up on his elbows, his hands sliding down to your lower back, his face getting suspiciously close to your boobs. "Just lay with me."

Your fingers ran through his dark locks, before giving them a tug towards your chest. Jake laid his cheek against your boobs like they were pillows, arms wrapped around your waist. You could feel his hot breath against your skin and neck. The next thing you knew, he was pressing sticky kisses against your chest and neck, soft gasps escaping your lips.

"Sorry, babe," he muttered against the shell of your ear, "I just can't resist you."

You let out a soft "ahhh!" when he bit down on your skin, his teeth brushing against the nape of your neck. Jake briefly pulled away, a smirk making its way onto his face as he admired the red-purple mark on your neck. 

"You're just too addicting."

Long story short, your video was still finished and uploaded. As Jake edited his video, he let yours play in the background, your bright voice illuminating his dark room. Somehow, your voice was the only thing that made him focus. 

However, when he heard a familiar laugh— his laugh— in your video, Jake stopped in his tracks.

His mind flashed back to what happened the other day in your apartment, when he interrupted you during your filming.

"I don't know if I turned off my camera, Jake," you had purred as Jake's tongue dipped into your collarbone. At that point, both you and him were shirtless, hair disheveled and pupils blown out with desire. Jake remembered the electricity that ran through him as those words left your lips.

"Am I supposed to care?" he had muttered, trailing kisses down your chest. "If they hear us, that's not my problem."

It was almost like you, who edited your video, added that clip to tease him. 

Immediately, his cheeks began turning the brightest shade of red possible. If you were here, he would have only coughed and looked away shyly, but since he was alone, his embarrassment spread across his face like a wildfire. Jake almost never showed it when he was flustered, at least when he was around you. 

He hid his face in his palms, sucking in a sharp breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, warmth prickling his skin. You were going to be the death of him. He let out a small, lovesick giggle, one that his friends would flame him for. He couldn't help it, not if it was you. 

When he read the comments, still flustered out of his mind, he felt a twinge of disappointment when no one seemed to notice him. 

For some reason, Jake couldn’t help but want people to know that you were his. He knew that you and him kept your relationship private to preserve it, but he still wanted to show you off.

Except, one comment caught his eye.

“Wait, does [Name] have a boyfriend? Who laughed at 6:34?” it read. Jake’s heart skipped a beat in his chest. The warmth that spread across his chest as his lips pulled upwards. He almost wanted to jump on his bed and roll around while giggling like a schoolgirl, but he contained himself.

At the corner of his eye, Jake spotted a certain plushie. 

As you were a partner of Sanrio, for a time there was a Limited Edition [Name] plushie, clad in pink with a cute, ruffle-lace bow to top it all off. Of course he bought one the moment it launched. Jake preferred his room to be completely dark and black, but he liked to keep that plushie on his bed, and although he’d never admit it, he hugged it when he slept if you weren’t with him.

Would it be wrong of him to tease you back? After all, Jake still had to film the brand deal for his new video. 

Would it hurt to position the plushie just enough so that it was in frame? 

So that maybe someone would see it.

Vidcon came crashing on you and Jake like a meteor, and before the two of you knew it, you were in the venue, wringing your fingers as the event commenced.

Sometimes, it was difficult for you to comprehend the level of your popularity. Sure, the numbers that Youtube loved to display for you told you that you had millions watching you, but mere numerical figures were simply not enough for you to wrap your mind around.

Your schedule that day was simple: you were going to have a booth that you'd tend to for an hour or two, where your fans could take pictures with you and take a few freebies with them. Then, you'd go to your main event, which was in a smaller venue.

At your booth, where you sat currently, your personal table was set up in a very special way: your table was pink, and covered in a lacy, white tablecloth. Even the wall behind you was specifically painted pink and decorated with various Sanrio-esque decorations. You had stickers that you'd give out, as well as a Limited Edition Vidcon Sanrio plushie of you that people could buy. The pink polaroid decorated with Hello Kitty stickers hung around your neck with a pink lanyard. You genuinely looked like Sanrio and Hello Kitty vomited all over you, but you didn't mind. And plus, that didn't matter, because you were cute either way.

You were hit with pure surprise as multiple groups of fans came your way. The amount of people that came to you, rambling nervously about how much they loved you, how much they looked up to you, how much you inspired them and made their days better, made you feel light-headed. And very warm inside.

Jake was the one that did the talking for you (thank goodness!), but for some reason, you pushed through your usual shyness, instead wanting for people to come up to you and talk.

Your face lit up as one of your fans, a girl that looked around your age, maybe only a few years younger than you, approached you. You could tell by the Sanrio sticker of you on her phone case that she was most definitely here for you.

"Oh my gosh, hi [Name]!" She gazed at you with wide, glimmering eyes. 

Your initial reaction was surprise, but then you broke out into a smile. You cocked your head, fingers gripping the hem of your dress, both nervous and excited. "Hi, there."

You fan took one look at your face, and squealed. The way that she giggled, bouncing on her feet as she fangirled over you made warmth spread across your cheeks, getting shy and looking down briefly.

"I'm sorry, [Name]!" Your fan couldn't stop giggling, which you thought was very cute. It was now that you noticed the camera in your hand. "I just really love your content, and I'm just so excited to meet you in real life!"

You blinked at her a few times, before you smile only widened. 

"Don't worry about it!" you said, taking her free hand in yours. Your shyness melted away as your fan squealed again. "It really means a lot to me that you came out here to personally see me."

Your eyes flickered over to her camera, squeezing her hand and motioning to it with your other. "Can I...?"

She nodded enthusiastically, so you took her camera. Turn on the 'photo' setting, you posed for the camera, taking multiple pictures of yourself for her. You hoped that that would make up for your shyness. The two of you hugged, and you took many polaroids for her.

Almost immediately, after she left, you were tagged in a Twitter thread. It was that fan, reporting her experience with you.

"She was so much prettier in real life, I thought I was in heaven," her tweets detailed, "And [Name] was so sweet! It felt like I was meeting the real life Hello Kitty."

She posted the pictures you took on her camera, and then the videos. You couldn't help but grin like an idiot, especially at the comments (and the rapidly-accumulating likes and retweets).

"The way [Name] gets so shy is so cute!"

"I don't really watch beauty content but I love [Name] so much."

"She's like an actual Disney Princess."

You loved your fans, you really did. You were grateful for them, and you thought they were very cute. 

You were excited to see how Vidcon would treat you.

Jake was fighting.

He was fighting demons, wars, the little voices in his head.

Did you have to look so pretty today?

Jake's own event was an entire venue away from yours. He had a few events, so after his first one, he took a small break, where he looked through his notifications. 

Of course, the first thing he looked at was your texts. They were from a while ago, during his show when he didn't have his phone on him, so he responded to them now. He smiled at your cute texts, expressing how excited and happy you were. His heart jumped out of his chest when he saw the selfie you sent him: there you were, in all your cutesy Sanrio glory, smiling so prettily for him. Jake had to clasp his face to hide the stupid, love-struck grin that bled onto his face. 

"Oi, what're you giggling about?" Jake was interrupted by Jay, another one of his fellow horror Youtubers.

Jake immediately wiped his expression clean. "Nothing."

When he glanced back at his phone, that dumb grin began to form again.

Jay groaned. "This is so weird. It's like watching Batman smile."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jake scoffed.

"I'm sayin' that you're basically Youtube's Batman," Jay scrunched his nose, "And it's weird seein' you all... smiley and stuff."

"I literally smiled earlier!"

"Not in the way that you did just now. I have a bad feeling about it."

"Shut up!"

Jake really tried his best to swallow back his pure admiration for you as he opened his phone screen again, but he failed miserably.

He wished he could see you right now. He loved to see his fans, he loved to talk to them about their shared interest: all things horror and obscure.

But Jake missed you right now.

His heart plummeted to his stomach, however, when he logged onto Twitter, and saw the worst hashtag he could ever think of: #[Name]isSoCute.

He agreed with it. No, he embraced that sentiment with every molecule in his being.

Just... he wished that he could see you right now. When he checked the tag and saw all the cute pictures that people took of you and the sweet experiences they had with you, he frowned— That should be him!

However, Jake actually saw the worst thing to ever materialize when he saw the top video under the tag.

It was a shaky video, starting off with a teenage boy walking up to you. In the background, he could hear your pretty voice in the background, exchanging small greetings and words with the poster. Jake was almost lost in his sheer love for you when his eyes narrowed. The boy in the video let out a little chuckle, before dropping a cheesy pick-up line on you.

"[Name], if you were a vegetable, you'd be a cute-cumber." What made it worse was that you only giggled, leading the boy to drop a few other dumb pick-up lines. The camera panned up to you, showing you all smiley and bashful. Then, you and the boy hugged, before taking a few polaroids together.

Jake almost snapped his phone in half.

He understood better than anyone that you were a content creator just like him. It was part of the job to interact with fans, and given your character, of course you were sweet to them. He could tell that you were perfectly comfortable in the video, and that the kid probably was just joking around with his favorite Youtuber.

But did that stop Jake from mentally lambasting every single aspect of the video? Absolutely not.

Shaky camera, probably filmed on a phone, Jake's hands balled into fists, Fucked up aperture, exposure to low, bad mic.

Was he being a little immature? Yes, and Jake knew that. 

Though, Jake would admit that he agreed with a lot of comments and retweets under that post, hearting many of them in agreement.

"[Name] is such a cutie!" one read.

Absolutely.

"I love her so much," another read.

Me too, Jake thought.

"I want her so bad."

Just as Jake's finger hovered over the 'heart' button, he let out a small hmph. Did it annoy him that other people wanted you? Yes. But did he disagree with the comment? Nope. He pressed the "like" button.

He wanted to see you so bad. As Jake was queued up on stage, ready for his second event, he hoped that he could see you soon.

And his wish came true a few hours later.

It was now past noon, and Vidcon was in its (unofficial) intermission period, where a lot of the creators were now taking breaks. As Jake traversed the convention, he texted you trying to find a spot where the two of you could meet.

He passed the many booths and venues of his fellow Youtubers. The layout was unique in the way that Youtubers of similar genres were placed in similar areas. So when he started seeing Youtubers with bright makeup and problematic pasts, Jake knew that he was near you.

And lo and behold, soon he found you. Under the fluorescent light, you still glowed. There was some kind of halo around you as you turned over your shoulder, your face instantly brightening up as you spotted your boyfriend. You had a few fans that you were talking to at the moment, so you tended to them first, while Jake made his way over to you.

You and Jake agreed that you wouldn't make your relationship too obvious at Vidcon, but all of that was left forgotten the moment that Jake saw you. 

However, as you ran up to him, people couldn't help but stop and stare.

Why wouldn't they? You were the living embodiment of Sanrio, that one Hello Kitty girl, whereas Jake was that one guy that made scary content and was often shrouded in darkness, dubbed as Youtube's personal Batman. Absolutely no one would have expected to see the two of you interacting with one another, let alone be within the same vicinity.

"Hi, Jakey," you smiled up at him, and Jake thought that he could die right there. With the amount of people staring, Jake had to restrain himself from throwing his arms around you and hugging you.

"Hey, baby," he grinned. 

Before either of you could do anything, you and Jake were interrupted by a shrill squeal. You whipped your heads around to see a young girl and her older brother, who still looked relatively young. They explained nervously that the girl liked your content, while the brother liked Jake's content. They were expecting to scour in order for each of them to meet either of you, but were surprised to see you and Jake in one place.

You and Jake took a few pictures with them, both individually. Though, the two of them requested a picture with both you and Jake in the same frame, which you happily did.

When they left, you and Jake shared a look, before going off together.

Vidcon Day 1: Over.

Jake returned to his hotel room, too tired to do anything other than wash up and order room service. 

As Jake laid in his half-hard hotel mattress, he scrolled through his phone. He was tagged in a lot of pictures and tweets, and he found himself grinning at a lot of the sweet words his fans left. Although he was tired, he could definitely do this a few more times, feeling invigorated by his fans.

As he scrolled, the trending Twitter hashtag caught his eye.

#HelloKittyMeetsBatman.

Interesting name, he thought as he clicked on it.

Jake's heart skipped a beat as he saw what came up.

Apparently, people were extremely surprised to see you and Jake so close to each other. 

There were so many pictures of you and him taken together from afar just from that one instance earlier, from multiple different angles and distances. Jake would admit, the way he was dressed in all black while you were dressed in cute pinks and whites was almost laughable.

What truly caught his attention were the captions of all these pictures.

"Craziest crossover of 2024."

"I'm crying they legitimately look like Hello Kitty and Batman."

"Jake Sim and [Name] interacting was not on my Vidcon 2024 bingo card."

"This is like seeing two worlds collide, absolutely wild but I'm pleasantly surprised."

For the most part, it seemed like everyone just thought that you and Jake were friends, but it was still a little funny how taken aback the entire internet was.

Then, he saw the picture of you, him, and those two kids together. 

"They look like a family," was one of the most popular retweets under that post. 

Family.

That word rang through Jake's head, before he buried his face in one of the pillows, giggling to himself. He felt a little ridiculous getting so excited over such a small comment, but he couldn't help it. He felt so giddy inside at the thought of having a family with you, and felt even giddier knowing that people could see it, too.

Suddenly, his phone rang. Jake wasn't going to answer it, too caught up in his flustered-ness, but when he realized that it was you, he quickly cleared his throat, instinctively straightening out his hair (because what if he accidentally turns on his camera?-- he needed to look good for you!).

"Baby," he greeted suavely, as if he wasn't just giggling like a schoolgirl seconds ago.

Maybe it was the fact that it was already getting late, or the fact that Jake barely saw you today, or the fact that you were just so goddamn perfect, but your voice sounded so attractive in that moment.

"Jakeyyy," you whined. "Come over."

His chest was already throbbing but Jake played it cool.

He chuckled. "What for?"

"I miss you," he could hear the pout in your voice. "And I want your attention."

It was rare for you to be so direct with him, and while Jake wanted to melt on the spot, he wanted to tease you a bit longer.

"What's wrong with just being on the phone with me?" Jake's lips pulled into a smirk. "You can just talk to me like this."

"Noooo," you said. "I want— I want you."

Jake tried his best to not crumble then and there, but it was too hard.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. "Okay then, baby. I'll come over right now."

He didn't miss the cute little "yay!" you let out before you hung up.

You were going to be the death of him.

"Eep! Jake, what are you doing here—?!”

You’re cut off when you realized that you were, in fact, backstage of one of your events. Today was the second day of Vidcon, and you had just finished up your first event. As you went backstage, carrying the little bags of gifts that your fans got you, you didn’t expect your own boyfriend to be waiting back there for you.

“Hey there, Princess,” he said cheekily, sprawled across the backstage couch. "Miss me?"

He opened his arms up, and you instinctively crawled into them, sitting on his lap and sliding your arms around his neck. 

As you did, you eyed him up and down.

Clad in black as always, he wore a black button-up, paired with black slacks, a black belt, and a loose, black tie. That's right: today, Jake was going to have a panel with a whole bunch of other horror creators, ones that transcended the internet— authors, authors that Jake spent his whole life reading and looking up to, which explained why he was dressed significantly more proper today than yesterday.

The way his shirt fit his chest and hugged his shoulders made it hard for you to not stare, and the way that it wasn't buttoned at the top, revealing his honey-tan collarbones, mixed with the scent of his rich cologne, made you feel dizzy.

"Ay, are you checkin' me out?"

On any other day, you'd be embarrassed, maybe even pushing him away, but today, you only nodded your head, humming mindlessly in agreement.

Jake blinked at you, before he pulled you in by the waist so that you were flushed against his chest completely.

"Kiss me," you mumbled, pushing his dark bangs away from his face.

Jake chuckled, rubbing your cheek with his knuckles. "What's with you these days? Getting so bold."

You only leaned into his touch. Maybe it was sometime in the LA air, or maybe it was the vigor that your fans gave you earlier, but all you could do was look at your boyfriend with glossy, wide eyes innocently, watching the way that his resolve trembled.

"Shit," Jake cursed under his breath. "Hold on—"

He grabbed your hips, then tilted your chin so that he could have a better angle. Your lips crashed into one another. Not in the way that a meteor would crash into Earth's delicate atmosphere, but in the way that gentle sea waves crashed onto themselves, dark folds of blue creasing over each other, only to brush up against the foamy seashore, none the wiser. 

Jake liked the taste of your lip gloss; it tasted sweet, but not nearly as sweet as you, hungrily squeezing your hips in his hands. He swiped his tongue over your bottom lip, earning a squeal from you, who tugged on his hair. 

When you pulled away from each other, you were breathless, chests heaving not for air, but for each other. You stared at each other for a few moments, losing time in each other's eyes, when your eyes trailed down.

God, the button-up and tie were going to drive you crazy.

Without thought, your fingers twirled around his tie, slinking up his chest before you yanked him harshly, jerking Jake toward you abruptly. 

In a moment of pure, unadulterated boldness, you attacked his neck, laying sticky kisses all across his skin. One hand laced itself in Jake's hair, keeping a firm hold of his tilted head, while your other hand crept around the buttons of his shirt. 

Each soft sigh that Jake let out made you only press more kisses on him. When he let out one particularly loud whine, his arm jerking up to grab at the couch's armrest, you knew that you found the sensitive spot on his neck. You pressed another kiss on that spot, this time sinking your teeth into his skin. The hickey was dark and purple, and when you ran your tongue over it, Jake's hands shot to your hips again.

"Shit, [Name], wait a sec—"

Skillfully, your fingers began to slowly unbutton Jake's shirt, just enough that you could see more of his chest. 

Your head was feeling fuzzy now, drunk off your desire for him. The way he threw his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing with each gulp of air he took in, curses falling from his lips, sent electricity coursing through your body.

When you unbuttoned the last button, you noticed the way Jake's eyes were squeezed shut, his other arm resting over them, hands balled into fists as his desperation for you increased.

"Jakey," you said. Jake was going to go mad, the way your voice was so soft and innocent as it said his name, all the while you were kissing and touching him in ways that made him go light-headed. He squeezed his eyes shut, another whimper escaping his lips. If he looked you in the eye right now, he was sure that he'd burst. "I want you to look at me."

He couldn't refuse you. Immediately, he opened his eyes, the arm strewn over his face dropping back to its position on your hips.

If he didn't die by combustion, Jake was certain that he'd die now— Your pupils were blown out, eyes lidded and staring at him like he was your prey to be slaughtered. He'd seen you wrought with desire so many times before, but the way you gazed at him like he was a piece of meat, like you were going to absolutely ruin him, made him feel weak.

"Watch me, Jakey," your voice sounded so sweet, but your actions said otherwise. You abruptly got up from your seat on his lap, Jake frowning at the loss of your touch. You dug through your purse thrown across the room, returning with a tube of lipstick.

You plopped back onto Jake's lap, making sure that he was watching as you applied it to your pretty, swollen lips. 

Then, you discarded it, throwing your lipstick to the side as you snatched his tie again. You brought the black fabric to your lips, staring your boyfriend down as you pressed kisses on his tie. You kissed it a few times, making sure that the color of your lipstick, as well as the shape of your lips, was well-imprinted on it.

Then, you yanked his shirt's collar toward you, pressing a harsh kiss on the fabric, making sure that the shape of your lips was once again imprinted on the fabric.

You looked back up at his face, unable to hide your smugness as his entire expression was painted with red.

"You're so hot—" Jake attempted to force out of his throat, but you only cut him off with a rough kiss to his lips. Without a word, you covered his face, from his forehead to his jaw, with kisses.

You pulled back to admire your work, before you pulled away from him.

"I have to be on stage in a few minutes," you said quietly, your back turned to him as you straightened out your skirt. Dumbfounded, Jake could only stare at you, but when you turned over your shoulder, flashing him a bright, but terribly cheeky, grin, Jake's heart fell out of chest. "I can't be late, right?"

With that, you left your boyfriend, all hot and bothered, on the couch, running off to prepare for your next event.

Almost immediately, Jake melted. He threw an arm over his eyes as he leaned back, letting out a groan.

Was this how you felt when he teased you?

Was he now sexually frustrated? Absolutely. But now he wanted you even more.

After mulling over it for a few minutes, Jake began to go back to his venue. But, as he passed the backstage vanity, he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

Some of it was obvious to him already: disheveled hair, messed up shirt. But what made Jake want to evaporate was the sight of his entire face and neck covered in lipstick marks. The corner of his lip had a big lipstick smudge, the hickey that you gave him earlier was so dark now, and he couldn't even dare to forget your lip imprints on his shirt and tie.

You little tease.

Jake's last straw was.... right now.

After the backstage fiasco, he didn't get to see you all day. That night, you had a PR event to attend with your fellow beauty creators, so he didn't get to see you at night either.

Which was why Jake was practically glowing with a dark and negative storm cloud as he pranced around the third day of Vidcon. It didn't help that he saw so many pictures of you and fans all across platforms. Poor guy almost lost it when one of your fans' vlogs blew up, the most replayed part being when you let out the most angelic and sweet laughs he'd ever heard in his life.

That should be him!

Meanwhile, Jake sat in the convention room at a panel. Lined up along the table were other horror creators, from authors to Youtubers to filmmakers, similar to yesterday. The way that this specific event operated was simple: fans got to ask anyone on the panel questions and they'd answer, which the entire room got to hear, and later there would be one-on-ones along the panel.

Jake was pulled out of his thoughts when one of the fans said that they had a question for him.

"Jake, your videos take a long time to make, how do you balance work and your personal life?"

Good question. He had a simple principle when it came to how to balance everything. Jake thought about it for a moment, before reaching for his microphone.

"I don't have any outright method," he began. Jake's mind flashed with your image: all the cute messages you'd send him throughout the day, all the times where after hours of rotting in front of his computer screen he could always count on your loving embrace to give him life, all times that he'd tune into your Spotify playlist so that he could be listening to what you were listening. It was easy to balance work and life, if it was you. "But I always put my life before the screen."

The room was quiet, intently listening to what Jake had to say. After all, he was renowned all across the Internet.

The room was quiet, intently listening to what Jake had to say. After all, he was renowned all across the Internet.

"To be clear, I understand the privilege of getting to work in a profession like mine," Jake continued. "I don't expect everyone to be able to follow my advice exactly, but the more I live, the more I realize that what happens before my very eyes will endlessly matter so much more than what happens in my own little Youtube bubble."

Jake's mouth jumped to you faster than his mind could stop him.

"My beautiful girlfriend is everything to me," he unconsciously began to grin stupidly to himself, "I'd put her above work any day if I had to."

The moment that those words left his lips, the room erupted with gasps and whispers.

"Wait, you have a girlfriend?!" one of Jake's Youtuber friends asked, leading the room to laugh.

Oh.

Shit.

Jake's eyes visibly widened. He clutched his microphone, bringing it up to his mouth, but no words came out.

There was no way in hell that he'd outright deny you, not even in a million years.

"I.... Well..." Jake stammered, trying his best to generate any words at all. He sucked in a sharp breath, a bashful expression making its way onto his face. "That's..."

The room filled with more laughter, alongside the teasing grins and pats on the back that Jake got from his colleagues.

"Oh, so that's what you were giggling about yesterday, lover boy..." Jay, also on the panel, quipped, his brows raised so high on his forehead that it could have touched his hairline.

"Sh-Shut up, Jay!"

Jake's chest felt fizzy. In a weird way.

A part of him felt on-edge. You and him always wanted to keep your relationship secret, for the sake of preserving it. He'd seen what the Internet did to relationships: it tore them apart. It wasn't like he name-dropped you, but he felt so... exposed, so vulnerable.

But at the same time, Jake felt his chest also swell with pride. That's right. He had a girlfriend (a hot girlfriend at that), a girlfriend that he was nefariously down bad for. He hoped everyone knew that, that he was taken and that if there was anyone that he'd spend the rest of his life with, it would be you.

Jake huffed. "Yeah, I have a girlfriend. What about it?"

No one questioned him further. Probably out of fear.

You were in the middle of trying your best to get through a conversation with some beauty guru that you knew one thing about: their personal makeup line launch failed horribly and they gave everyone hairy lipsticks. It was difficult, to say the least.

Exchanging your final regards, you quickly rushed back to your booth.

The first thing you saw when you checked your phone was a viral video, in which Jake admitted that he had a girlfriend. Your heart plummeted to your stomach when you initially read the caption, but when you watched the video, you had a difficult time processing your feelings.

Did you hate that Jake admitted that he had a girlfriend? … No, you didn’t. You didn’t at all. At a certain point, seeing the way that your boyfriend smiled so earnestly made your heart jump out of your chest. The way he was so giddy and smiley (of course, only you could tell that that was how he was feeling— to everyone else it probably looked like he was brooding) made your neck and cheeks warm up.

But, the way that the room erupted with voices and laughter, combined with the quirked brows of everyone on the panel, made you quiver.

You weren’t prepared for it, for how vulnerable you felt as a chorus of “ooh’s” filled the room.

Frankly, there were too many things that you had to focus on at the moment. You'd rather enjoy Vidcon now, and address it later, when things settle down. 

Pushing it to the back of your mind, you tucked your phone away, greeting another wave of fans. Though, not without taking an extra second to "heart" the post, adding it to your favorites folder, and rewatching the video one more time, feeling warmth and giddiness filling your chest.

As the cool night air kissed your cheeks, you fought the shy smile that seeped onto your face. It was late now, late enough that you could see all the city lights gleaming, lighting up the dark sky with blotches of all different colors.

There was a Vidcon party for creators, to celebrate the end of the event. Everyone was going. Although it was meant for any creator, there was a very exclusive VIP section; only those of high prestige could get in. Both you and Jake were invited, but upon realizing that nearly the entire hotel complex would be empty due to the popularity of the party, the two of you ditched it.

You'd been wanting to go to the rooftop hottub for a while now, but you never went because you wanted to go with Jake, and it was always too crowded for the two of you to go there comfortably. But now that everyone was gone, it was the perfect time.

Your boyfriend was already waiting for you up there, towel thrown over his shoulder with a shirt and swim trunks. His face lit up the moment he saw yours emerging from the elevator doors, rushing over to you to take your hands.

He paused for a moment. His dark eyes peered at yours, licking his lips before sucking in a sharp breath. Jake gave your forehead a peck, before saying a small "C'mon" and pulling you over to the hottub.

Jake took your towel for you, folding it next to his and perching it on a sunchair.

"They're gonna get off fireworks soon— Oh, damn," he cut himself off as you pulled your shirt over your head, revealing a bikini top. Your face scrunched up, squirming under his gaze. It's not like Jake has never seen you like this (in fact, he'd seen you in much more compromising positions), and it wasn't like he never complimented you, but as the hottub bubbled, the rosy scent of the water filling the air, you felt shy.

Jake slinked toward you, taking his own shirt off. 

"Hey there, Gorgeous," he said, his fingers playing with the hem of your shorts that had yet to be taken off. Your heart pounded in your chest, fighting the urge to squeeze your eyes shut and groan in embarrassment. You kept your eyes glued to the ground. Jake chuckled softly, before clutching your chin gently, making you look up at him.

"Don't get shy on me now, babe," Jake grinned when your lips pressed into an unconscious pout. He squished your cheek, relishing in the look of confusion painted across your face. Then, his hands fell to your hips, pulling them toward his. "You look so beautiful."

Jake's fingers hooked onto the hem of your shorts, meeting your eyes for permission before pulling them down himself, revealing your bikini bottoms.

Jake's eyes glazed over your figure, taking his bottom lip in between his teeth.

"Jaaakee," you whined, squeezing his hands.

"Sorry," Jake's eyes flickered up to your face. "I can't help it. You're just so hot, baby."

You rolled your eyes, biting back shyness, before you pulled him toward the hottub.

You rolled your eyes, biting back shyness, before you pulled him toward the hottub. 

The two of you got into the tub, sinking into the warm water, you felt your limbs relax. 

Vidcon was very fun, some of the most fun you've had in a while. But, it was very tiring, having to be around so many people at a time. And plus, it was hard not seeing your boyfriend whenever you wanted.

You pulled your knees to your chest. You could hear the loud techno music a few blocks away, probably coming from the club nearby. The bright night lights of LA was something that you could only imagine sleeping under.

Other than the sound of the city bustles, the hot tub’s jet system, and the occasional ripple of water, the night was silent.

“How was your day?” Jake broke the calm silence. The way the blueish water reflected off his skin made you dizzy.

“Good,” You cursed your voice for being so small. You swallowed the lump in your throat. You didn’t know why you felt so nervous. It was your boyfriend, for goodness’s sake!

Jake loved it when you were shy, but sometimes he was genuinely worried about you. Part of why he loved you was the game that was trying to figure out what was going on in that pretty head of yours.

He reached out for you, clutching your knee. "Baby, what's wrong?"

Your stomach churned. For a second, you thought about that video of him admitting that he had a girlfriend. It made your skin crawl, but when your boyfriend squeezed your knee, it all stopped.

"Nothing," you said simply.

There's a few pulses of silence, before Jake clicked his tongue.

"H-Hey—!"

Jake got up from the water, wrapping his hands around your waist, and hoisted you up so that your legs were thrown on either side of the body, before sitting back down so that you were perched right on top of his lap.

Your chest, nearly bare, pressed against his own bare chest in a way that made your heart race. The warmth of his skin as it contacted yours was an addicting feeling, enhanced only by the warm water surrounding you. Either it was the steam from the tub, or the heat collecting between the two of your bodies, that rose to your cheeks.

You rested your hands on his chest, your fingertips barely reaching his broad shoulders, while Jake’s hands stayed in their spot around your waist.

"C'mon," you could feel Jake's warm, strong chest rumble beneath you. "Tell me what's wrong."

Under the sky, his eyes gleamed, like two gems. For the flirt that he was, Jake was too genuine and pure of a person. The sincere worry in his eyes made you feel warm, even warmer than you felt right now. And sometimes that was enough for you.

You leaned into him, your hands coming up to cup his face. You rubbed your thumbs against his cheeks, to which he let his eyelids fall shut, relishing in the comfort that was your presence. Every time your thumb pressed against his lips, he kissed them, unable to hide the smile growing on his lips when you giggled softly.

At the corner of your eye, you spotted the purple hickey you left on him the other day. That combined with his wet hair, the water droplets temptingly running down his chest, and the fact that you were right on top of him made you feel light-headed.

Your hands left his face, and Jake opened his mouth to whine about it, but was shut up when your fingers tangled in his damp hair, pulling him in for a kiss.

It was a soft, innocent kiss, the type you gave when you just wanted to be close to him. Jake hummed against your lips, squeezing your thighs. You pulled away first, but Jake gently guided the back of your head back to his, pecking your lips.

"I just missed you," you said. You kissed his cheek. "I really missed you."

"It's only been a day," Jake teased you, but he knew better than anyone that he had absolutely no right to say that to you: he was practically dying each moment he couldn't see you.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, staring into each other's eyes. You held onto his strong shoulders, eyes glued to his lips. You were feeling needy, needy in the way that you simply wanted to be close to Jake. You were already close to him, but you wanted to be even closer. Your heart thirsted for it.

Then, you heard a rustle, whipping your head around toward the sound.

"Nuh-uh," Jake whispered in your ear, gently holding your face and guiding it to look at him. "I want you to look at me."

It wasn't until a few seconds later that you understood why Jake's tone sounded so teasing: he was referencing you and him the other day backstage. 

"Stoppp," you whined, pushing your face into his neck. "You're so annoying."

Jake laughed, his chest rumbling. He stopped to admire the way you were all pressed up against him. He could feel every curve of your body, and he could feel the way your cheeks puffed with air, your lips forming a pout. He poked your cheek.

"You're so cute, baby."

"I know."

"What's with you getting so bold?"

"You're annoying me."

"Awww, you love me so—"

Fireworks fired off in the distance, painting the gray-blue sky with bright colors. 

You stayed in your position, only your eyes moving upward to admire the show. However, Jake stayed staring straight at you, practically ignoring the fiery flowers forming in the sky. He gazed into your eyes, watching the reflection in them.

"It's so pretty," you murmur.

"Yeah," Jake felt like he was falling into your eyes, "So pretty."

Just as another round of fireworks shot up into the sky, Jake grabbed your face, crashing his lips onto yours. Your lips fit into each other well, like puzzle pieces, in a way that was so satisfying, almost like you were made for kissing Jake. But for all of the desire and roughness that the kiss was filled with, it was a soft one. 

Jake swiped his tongue over your bottom lip, making you squeal and giving him the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. His hands kneaded your body, roaming all over you with no intention of leaving a single part of your skin untouched. Likewise, you gripped his biceps, digging your nails into his skin to keep yourself grounded.

"Fuck—" Jake mumbled against your lips, only to get cut off by your lips attacking his— "Wait—"

Jake tasted sweet, like candy. He tasted like home, like love, like everything was going to be okay no matter what. How could you pull away now? 

"B-Baby, wait—"

"Stop talking, Jakey," you pulled away briefly, only to bite his lip, pulling on the pink flesh with your teeth. You let your tongue roam his mouth, feeling the warmth as your own hands began to wander his toned chest. 

"Just kiss me," you breathed.

You kept Jake like this for a few more minutes, trapping him in the heaven that was your lips. But when your bikini top began to untie at the back, something that Jake noticed immediately, he ripped away from you.

Something in his eyes had changed.

Quietly, he tied your bikini top back for you, ignoring your confused (and very breathless) gaze.

"If you keep doing what you do to me," he began into your ear, "I don't know if I'll be able to control myself."

With that, Jake threw you over his shoulder as he hoisted himself up to his feet. He grabbed everything that you brought to the rooftop, throwing your towel over you and ignoring you fussing.

"W-Where are we goin—?!"

"Back to my room."

You were in for a night.

You and Jake were going to stay in LA for a little while longer after Vidcon, so you extended your stay in the same hotel rooms.

After last night, Jake and you fell asleep in his bed. 

It was going to be the best, Jake thought. Neither of you had anywhere to be, anyone to put on a show for. The two of you could sleep in for as long as you'd like. It didn't really matter to him, as long as he could wake up with you in his arms, he'd be all right.

Which is why Jake's heart dropped to his stomach when he woke up to you already dressed, pacing around the room nervously.

"Baby?" Jake was alarmed, even as he rubbed his sleepy eyes. "Baby, what happened?"

You whipped your head over to him, your expression pinch and painted with anxiety. 

"Check your phone," you muttered as you chewed your lip.

Jake did as you said. The moment he opened up his phone, his screen was filled with text messages from everyone: his colleagues, his friends, heck even his own mother. He was tagged in about a thousand posts all across his social media accounts, and his Youtube home page was plastered with his face. But not only his face. Your face too.

What caught his eye was an article from a major Internet news source that made its round across every platform.

Its headline?

Jake Sim and [Name] [Last Name] are reported to be dating.

The worst part was the cover page.

It was a photo of you and Jake, together in the hottub last night, with your arms thrown around his neck with your lips connected. When he read more into it, the photo evidence got more and more specific. Close-up pictures of Jake's neck to reveal a hickey and lipstick mark on his shirt, your smudged lipstick, a screenshot of the Sanrio plush in one of his videos, even that clip of his laugh in the background of one of your videos. Of course, the most crucial one was that clip of Jake admitting that he had a girlfriend.

This was what he wanted, wasn't it? For everyone to know about you, to be able to show you off.

Objectively, this was bound to happen.

But as Jake watched you pace around, your hands shaking as you looked like you were about to cry, he didn't feel the pride that he thought he would feel if everyone knew. He didn't feel happy, he didn't feel excited that he got to show you off. All he felt was a mix of guilt and anger.

And before he could reach out to hold your hand and pull you close, you quietly said that you were going to go on a walk, and left the hotel room.

The quiet that filled the hotel room was piercing. Jake stilled in his spot, still groggy and disheveled.

Had he always been like this?

He swore that at the beginning of your relationship, he took every measure to keep it private. Because you asked him to. Because he respected you.

Why did he throw it all away? 

He agreed to keep things private. 

But now he put you in an uncomfortable position and an even more vulnerable position than you'd ever been in before. 

Was he a bad boyfriend? Were you going to break up with him? Would your relationship with him ever be the same? That made Jake's heart palpitate. He couldn't lose you. No, he'd die. But then again, he fucked up, he knew that.

Jake ran a hand through his hair. This was an asshole move.

But he couldn't help feeling his fingers twitch for his phone when it ding'd.

The first thing he saw when he opened up Twitter were tweets at him.

And they were surprisingly... supportive?

"Emo boyfriend, cute girlfriend, the best combo!"

"Sending love to both of you. Hope you're doing well. We support you."

"I'm very pleasantly surprised."

"This is literally like Hello Kitty and Batman meeting this is crazy"

But as he scrolled deeper, he found more obscure comments.

"Feel so bad for [Name]. Her boyfriend is a freak."

"He doesn't deserve her."

And the nail in the coffin:

"No wonder they kept it a secret. I'd hide it too if someone like that was my boyfriend."

Why did you keep your relationship with him secret? Jake knew the answer to that: you just wanted to keep your personal life private.

But as Jake plunged himself deeper and deeper into the hole that was the media, he could only imagine alternative answers, and one stuck out.

Were you ashamed of him? 

Of course you would be.

You were beautiful in every capacity and just the most perfect person in the world. And Jake was just himself. You were always cute, and sometimes, Jake felt like he couldn't keep up with you. You were far out of his league. His content was considered "niche" and "obscure," of course people, maybe even you, considered him a freak.

He was a bastard, and you were a princess. He didn't blame you for being embarrassed about him.

That's why you were so anxious and against your relationship being exposed, right?

No, no, no!

Shut up, shut up, shut up, Jake thought, his hands balling into fists. You wouldn't. He knew you better than anyone, and he knew that you would never be embarrassed about him. You weren't like that, and he was a fool for even thinking of you in that way. He was being insecure and stupid.

But even so, as Jake let all the guilt, shame, anger, and anxiety settle in while he thought of an apology to you, he couldn't help but feel his insecurity seeping in.

You knew that you were overreacting. You shouldn't have left Jake in there all alone, you should have sat down and talked to him about it.

But there was something scary about having everybody's eyes on you at once, scorning you. You were a Youtuber, of course you knew what it felt like to be watched, but to have the entire internet so hellbent about your personal life made you jump into your own skin.

You just took a walk along the early city streets, you reflected upon yourself.

Why did you keep your relationship with Jake secret? 

Part of it was privacy. You didn't want the internet to interfere with your personal life, of course. 

But it wasn't like you wanted to hide your love for your boyfriend forever. It wasn't like you wanted to stow him away somewhere no one could find him. You were both adults, and you had to start living at some point.

You'd be lying if you said that you never thought about making a cute video with him, if you said you never wanted to post a cheesy anniversary picture on Instagram with a long caption just for him, if you said you never wanted the world to know that Jake Sim was yours.

You remembered the first time you and Jake talked about keeping it private. He was unsure, but because he cared so much about you, he agreed. Had you ever stopped to think about how he felt? You may have wanted to keep your relationship quiet, but did he? To a degree, there was something selfish about you, both now and in the past. You wanted to preserve yourself and your feelings, but you never even considered how Jake felt.

You were afraid, you felt vulnerable and too exposed to the world. But you cared far more about Jake than those fleeting emotions. Desire outweighed fear, you had to see him now.

But as you marched back to your hotel, your mind racing as you came up with paragraphs of words that you'd spill to Jake, you began to notice your worst nightmare.

A group of men, each with massive cameras that had even bigger microphones. 

They called themselves the paparazzi, but they were really only middle-aged men that made money off of being invasive towards people half their age.

Maybe you should have worn a hat, or something, as you were in a camera-infested area that was even more infested with celebrities and influencers. As they approached you, you quickened your steps, trying to get as far as you could from them. You tried your best not to make eye-contact, but alas, they got to you before you could escape.

"[Name]?" one of them called out your name, practically running to you.

Oh my god, you thought, ignoring them as you sped up. Please not right now.

"[Name], are you dating Jake Sim?" The sound of your boyfriend's name out of their mouths made your stomach churn. You kept walking, but you could feel them pointing their massive cameras at you, taking any measure to make a buck off of you.

You had a few choices.

You could make a run for it. Though, you had about six men double your age who would probably chase you down.

You could also give in to them, and give very vague answers. That would require a lot of patience, and simply, you wanted to go kiss your boyfriend, not talk to these so-called paparazzis.

Your last option was the one that seemed the most appealing, but could stir the pot of the media even more and it would give the tabloids what they wanted: you could tell them off and shut them down completely. The only issue was that you were the cutesy, sweet, Sanrio Hello Kitty girl. You've talked about adult topics before, but for you to be hostile and mean to another person? That was completely unheard of to anyone on the Internet. It would also be very reactive, and the media could twist that into something more.

But you wanted to get out of there.

You wanted to go see Jake. If you had to throw a few curse words at people if it meant that you could go home to Jake, then you'd use every curse under the sun.

"[Name], everyone is saying that your relationship with Jake Sim is real and not a publicity stunt. Any comment on that-?"

You were getting irritated.

You stopped in your tracks, turning over your shoulder.

"Will you fuck off?" Your gaze hardened on the group of men shoving cameras in your faces. You didn't even bother looking into the lens. "It's 10 in the morning, I don't have time for this."

"We didn't mean to offend you, [Name], we just wanted to know your relationship with Jake Si—"

You huffed to yourself, rolling your eyes. They loved acting polite only to violate your privacy. 

"Cut the bullshit, okay?" you narrowed your eyes. You were only a few meters from the hotel entrance, and they were still stalking you with their massive cameras. How shameless. 

Your anger was bubbling up inside you. It was rising, rising so much that you could feel it attempting to spill out of your mouth.

"You want to make a quick buck off of me so bad?" You stepped through the hotel doorway.

If the media was so curious about your life, and if they wanted to go so far as to try to disrupt your relationship, you wouldn't give them that satisfaction.

Everyone loved seeing what you were doing, everyone loved to watch you. It was your job to put on a show, to give people what they wanted. If you wanted to live, then you'd have to accept that.

You were an influencer, a micro-celebrity. You could make tides move if you wanted to. Why be so fearful of the eyes of so many?

But more than anything, you were a performer. And if that's what they wanted from you, that's what they'll get.

"Fine," you huffed. "I'll give you a story: me and Jake have been together for six years. In fact, we met each other in high school when he was my Physics lab partner. Go investigate that, won't you?"

With that, you slammed the hotel entrance door in their faces.

Jake swore he heard the trumpets of heaven when the hotel room door cracked open, revealing you.

He'd been waiting in front of it for a while now, and he jerked up immediately as he saw your face. He jumped right to his feet, ready to spill every word he thought of on you. You deserved an explanation.

But all you did was raise your hand, silencing him instantly. Instead, you took off your shoes, took his arm, and pulled him with you to the bed. You motioned for him to lay down, and did so yourself.

Jake stared at you like you were insane. Were you not going to yell at him? Why weren't you hitting him or telling him that you wanted to break up with him? Should he be on his knees begging you to stay at this point? But he complied (because of course he did, it was you).

You laid on his chest in silence, pressing your cheek up against him. 

That made his mind wander.

Maybe you were trying to ease him into a hard conversation. Maybe you were going to forget this until later.

He didn't want that. No, you deserved to hear what he had to say. If you were going to leave him, Jake wanted to say everything that he wanted to.

"I'm sorry," Jake blurted. The silence was deafening, before you took a deep breath, turning over onto your stomach so that your chin laid on his chest.

"What for?"

The gentle look in your eye as you looked at him made Jake choke up himself. He had to hold back or he'd start sobbing.

"For going against your wishes a-and..." Jake searched through his mind for all the words he practiced, but nothing came to mind. Not with you looking at him like you still loved him. "And for telling people about our relationship. I—I shouldn't have done that and I'm sorry for disrespecting the promise w-we made.... And... And—"

Jake sucked in a loud, sharp breath. His eyes were getting watery. He took your hands in his, squeezing them. 

"And I know that you're ash—ashamed of me, and I know that y-you won't— you won't want to be with me anymore, but—"

"Wait what?" you interrupted him, squeezing hands back. "I'm not ashamed of you, Jakey."

Jake stared at you.

Jakey.

"I'm not breaking up with you either. What makes you think that?"

The gate that was holding back Jake's emotions broke.

Jake let the tears that he tried so hard to hold back roll down his face. He let out a sob before he clamped a hand over his mouth.

You didn't hate him? You still wanted to be with him?

You instantly threw your leg over his hips, straddling him as you pulled his head to your chest. He melted into your touch, his wet face hiding in the crook of your neck. You pet his hair, pressing kisses to the crown of his head.

"Baby," you whispered into his ear gently. "Why are you crying?"

Jake's crying only got louder, and you couldn't help but giggle. He was a total softie. The way his hold around you tightened told you enough.

Jake sniffled through his words, cutting himself off every now and then with a hiccup and more sobs. "Th-Thought you were gonna l-leave me."

Your fingers stopped in his hair. "Leave you? Why would I?"

Jake pushed his face back into your shoulder, shaking his head.

You let him cry like that for a little while longer, whispering sweet reassurances in his ear as you patted his back. 

And when he was ready, the two of you talked it out, because that's what people did when they loved each other. You exchanged apologies, explained to each other your thought processes, and created an agreement: start anew, and you both didn’t mind that your relationship was now public, and if either of you disagreed, you had to voice it immediately. You ended it with a kiss.

You clicked the camera on, checking in the viewfinder that you were in-frame. You were back at home, the pink Hello Kitty decorations in your room, as well as the scent of strawberries, surrounding you. 

“Hi, everyone!” you smiled brightly, clasping your hands together. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you all. How are you?”

You chatted about a few updates since Vidcon, telling about your wonderful experience there and how you were so happy to meet all your fans.

“Now, onto the video!”

You peered to the side, where you spotted Jake sitting at the edge of your bed, waiting intently for your cue.

“Oh, Jakey!” you said in a sing-songy voice. “Come out now!”

With that, Jake popped into frame, dorkily saying a quick hi before plopping down onto the chair beside you.

“Today, I will be doing my boyfriend’s makeup!” you chirped happily. “Are you ready, boyfriend?”

The two of you shared a grin.

“Of course, girlfriend.”

[wifeyoozi]

Lee jihoon - Popsicles for dessert

w.c : 1.5 k ┊ synopsis : jihoon's tired of all the pink underwear teasing and shows you he doesn't wear one┊ content warning : smut , bestfriends to lovers kinda , blowjobs , big dick jihoon , really big dick jihoon

a/n : aka the prompt ask y'all had been waiting for is finally here. Crack and smut.

 It's all because Soonyoung.

He started it.

The whole pink underwear drama. Jihoon, for the fact, does NOT wear pink underwear. Maybe he wore them once for the sake of one of his ex’s kinks. But he doesn't own pink underwear. There's black and there's dark grey and there's dark blue. A red one for when he's feeling extra freaky. Nothing pink.

And yet all of this fuss and teasing. And it was still bearable when it was just the boys teasing him.

But then you caught on that inner joke. Well, more specifically, soonyoung told you. On purpose. Knowing how big of a crush Jihoon had on you, his best friend. And you found that funny too. And then you started teasing him about it. And he's so embarrassed. 

And today it happened again. You two were just discussing your lives lately, and you told Jihoon about all the new make up you bought recently and how much you love that pink lipstick you got from your favourite brand. A sudden shit-eating grin spread across your face and Jihoon instantly knew where this was headed to. 

“You know, Jihoon, what else is pink”

Jihoon groaned, “oh my god, not you too! Not again!"

You giggled at his reaction, “your underwear Jihoon! You wear pink underwear, don't you? Little pink panties?”

Jihoon groaned, burying his face in the throw pillow on the couch. As you continued teasing him, he snapped. 

“God, y/n, I don't wear pink underwear,” he whined loudly, suddenly standing up, “should I show you or something?”

Your eyebrows quirked. “Why not, show me the proof.” There was a glint of mischief in your eyes. Jihoon should have known this was a bad idea. But he was tired of all the teasing already. He hastily untied the knots of his grey sweatpants and pulled them down to his thighs, revealing his slick black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. 

Your eyes widened. And the colour of his underwear wasn't the reason. It was the big bulge at his crotch which you couldn't take your eyes off. Your mouth watered at the sight. “God, Jihoon,” you were speechless. 

Suddenly shy again, Jihoon attempts to pull his pants back up, but you stop him, your hand on top of his as you move closer. He definitely has a really big dick hidden in there for the bulge to be that big.. And he wasn't even hard. Well, yet.

Your free hand moves and cups his crotch. Jihoon flinches but doesn't push you away. Instead, a soft moan leaves his throat before he could think. “Y/n what are you-”

“What fucking monster kind of dick you have in store here, Hoonie,” you can feel his dick come alive under your hand, the bulge growing as if it wasn't massive already. You palm him through his boxers. His hands fly to hold your wrist, stopping you. He really will just cum already if you keep doing that. You look up at him with a pout. 

“I want it,” you demanded, as if you were a little girl asking for candy or ice cream. Not able to hold himself back, his hand briefly looses over yours and you take the opportunity to instantly pull down his boxers, freeing his cock as it springs up, hard under your attention. 

“Oh my god, hoonie, it's so pretty,” you say, taking Jihoon's cock in your hand, examining it as though it was your first time seeing one. It was a pretty thing indeed, thick and long and only slightly darker than his fair face. It was a pretty shade of pink at the top and the purple veins prodded throughout the length. Its shape was just perfect, not too wonky or long and drippy or ugly. It was the kind of dick every girl sees in her dreams and every artist draws for their characters.

Jihoon, on the other hand, was trembling. Two minutes ago, you two were bickering. Now you had his dick in your hand. A shudder passed through his spine and he let out a whine as your tongue suddenly lapped over his head. “Y/n, you-”

“Shh, baby, sit down on the couch. I cannot stop myself from tasting this cock.” It was like you were hypnotised by his cock and he by you. He sat on the couch, his underwear and sweatpants pooled at his ankles. He opened his legs wide, giving you space to kneel in between as you take hold of his cock again. 

You lick over the length again, dragging your tongue along the veins, making Jihoon moan and groan and grab a fist of your hair. You loved when he pulled, the sting making your panties damp. You take the tip in your mouth whole sucking on it slowly. 

You try to take his dick deeper in your mouth, holding your breath as you do, before his cockhead touches the back of your throat, and it's just half way there. You forced your gag reflex to soften as you took him as deep as you can, wrapping your hand around the rest of it. You suck on it, hollowing your cheeks, feeling encouraged by all of the filthiest noises you head jihoon make. 

His hands grab your head, not pushing or pulling, but just holding it as a support as you commit yourself to giving the best blowjob you might have ever given. Your pussy feels so wet at the thought of taking this monstrosity in it. You can't take him today. You're gonna need training for it. But jihoon will help you stretch out for him. And then he'll fuck you till you can't think about anything other than his dick and how well it's fucking you. Your clit throbs. God, you're so cockdrunk over him.

Your other hands come to play with jihoon's balls, who seem big and heavy from his cum. He's close already, you can tell. So you suck on it till he's cumming down your throat with a whiny shudder, his hips tutting up in your mouth reflexively. You drink in all of his cum, the bitter-sweet malty taste making you only want more. 

Jihoon's panting. He just recieved what would be the best blowjob of his life. God, you should be put in a porn film with skill like that. His head falls back, catching a breath, as you climb on his lap, giggling as you lean in to kiss him. It's messy and wet and filthy, but he loves it. He could still taste himself on you. He wraps his arms around your waist.

It's all because of Soonyoung. 

He started the pink underwear rumours, spread it to you, had you tease him and it led to this. He's thankful to his best friend for it, but he wouldn't say it. He might write a nice song for him though as a thank you.

[tojirights]

Okay this is going to sound like really bad but I did read your rules and saw that dubcon/noncon could be allowed so

please begging for a dub/noncon (up to u which) crumbs where Alastor is tired of reader's stubbornness and thinks it's time to really let her know her place (al owns her soul) and okay thank u bye pwosjdjeidnsj *runs and hides under a rock in shame*

a/n: HAAA YESSS. no this is amazing 😍😍

tags: 18+ smut nsfw, NONCON‼️, alastor is a demon fr, forced penetration, dacryphilia, choking, slight throat fucking

"good morning, would you be a dear and run this to rosie for me?" alastor pops into your room unannounced, as usual. you're tired, he had you up all night on another shitty errand, and you just want to sleep a little longer. "alastor please, can't anyone else do it?" you sigh, irritation bubbling in your chest. he never lets you rest.

alastor raises an eyebrow. "no one else is available." his tone is harsh, and when you meet his eyes, they're darker than they were a moment before. "this is the part where you're supposed to submit, say 'yes sir' and get out of bed." he leans on his staff, glaring red eyes staring through you. "or did you forget?" your eyes widen when you realize what he's about to do. there's a flash of green, and you feel the clasp of that shitty metal collar around your neck.

your deal with alastor backfired, just as he intended it to, and he ended up not having to do a god damned thing in exchange for your soul.

with a sharp tug of his chain, you're forced to sit up. the pull around your neck makes you cough, and you glare back at him. but when you do, you're quickly filled with a certain level of primal fear. alastor was no joke when he was angry, eyes glowing red and those antlers growing from atop his head.

"you need to learn, my dear, that the word 'no' is not a part of your vocabulary anymore." alastor walks with slow, determined strides towards your bed before his knees hit your mattress. he tugs once more, pulling you up and onto your knees. "alastor don't..." your breath catches in your throat. his hand grips onto your jaw, squeezing you uncomfortably. tears prick in the corners of your eyes, and you let out a shaky sigh. "don't?" alastor repeats, laughing. "have you forgotten the fact that i own you?"

you reach for his wrist in an attempt to remove his hand but he's far stronger than you. "i-i'll go, i'm sorry." you hiccup, but alastor has already made up his mind. "mmh, i don't think so. i don't tolerate insubordination, darling." your heart hammers in your chest when alastor's fingers find his belt. "you’re going to learn one way or another." he growls, freeing his half-hard cock and tugging your restraint.

you clench your teeth, and try to look away but alastor's grasp is too tight. his thumb drags along the bottom of your lip before prying your jaw open. "listen and be my good girl, this won't be so bad." you shut your eyes, the only thing you can think to do to cope with alastor forcing the head of his cock between your lips. there's only a moment of hesitation, a sigh from the demon above you, before his cock is being slid further down your throat.

every groan from alastor earns another tear running down your cheek. his hands hold your face steady as he pumps his cock faster, fucking the back of your throat. "so pretty, darling. look at me." he grunts, pulling your eyes up to his. they're glassy with tears, and its almost enough to make alastor cum down your throat in that very instant.

his cock pulses and he's forced to pull out of your warm mouth in fear of releasing before getting to take your cunt too. he taps your cheek gently, watching you cough and recover your breath after having your airways restricted. "strip, then i want you ass up on the bed." your lip quivers, and your body refuses to move even after you tell it to. alastor sighs, shaking his head. "must i do everything?" his words are somehow gentle and harsh enough to pull a sob from your chest.

before you can stand, alastor reaches for the hem of your sleep shirt and tears it straight down the middle to expose your tits. on instinct, you try to cover yourself but alastor's shadow circles both your wrists and pins them to your side. "please alastor... i promise, i-i will do anything you ask. please just don't do this." you plead, but alastor just clicks his teeth with his tongue. "you should've thought about the consequences before this, my dear. i've found that making an example out of someone typically gives the best results."

he does release his shadows, freeing your wrists and watches carefully as you follow his previous instructions. you kick your shorts off with a muffled cry and turn to shove your face into the mattress. ass up, you prepare for whatever alastor has in mind. his fingers find your slit, delving into the wet heat between your thighs. the laugh he releases sends a chill down your spine. "wet as can be darling!" without giving you another moment to process, his cock is pushing thick and hard into your unprepared pussy.

your scream gets caught in your throat, heat coursing through your body in an overwhelming way. "n-no, too much alastor, please stop." you cry, muffled into the mattress as you try to scramble away from him but you feel alastor's shadow come back to pin your arms. you're trapped at this point, completely under alastor's control. there's no choice but to give in, your body going limp as alastor pumps his hips into you.

"good girl." he coos, raking his clawed hands down your back. angry red marks follow in its trail. "see how easy it is to just obey?" every inch of his cock pushes you to your limit. "such a good cunt..." he sighs, his hips stuttering before he pulls out and you feel each thick rope of cum hit your ass. you finally open your eyes, letting every emotion flow through them as alastor empties his balls all over you.

there's a moment of silence while alastor catches his breath. "now... will you be a dear and run this to rosie for me?" he reiterates, and your whole body tenses. is he not even giving you time to recover? to clean up? fuck...

"y-yes sir..."

[writella]

Screwed Up and Brilliant

Synopsis: Negan is ready for you. Daryl isn’t; and maybe he’ll never be. Negan makes that clear to you tonight.

Details: Negan Smith x fem!reader, Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (mentioned), Negan is a bad guy but there is nuance— at least I hope I accomplished doing so, angst, guilt, forbidden love, probably super stereotypical, reader at the Sanctuary, moral dilemma reader (but you got to understand, they’re both so fine!!), I feel like I need more cws but I can’t think of them and of course, smut, 18+: consensual, unprotected, vague dacryphilia, soft? dom!Negan, lite daddy kink, fingerings, riding, and basically just Negan blowing your brains out… but not in the walker way— the good way, the way we like. Amen.

A/N: Could you believe I started writing this in October or something? This is my first time writing Negan and I’m scared I may not have gotten it right so definitely feel free to give notes! This is set during season 7/8, I’m picturing Negan at the end of 8 and later seasons but there’s something about him older that gives me heart eyes everywhere, but whatever you prefer makes me happy. Anyway, from my heart, and maybe somewhere a little lower, to yours; with love from writella. ♡

You’re screwed up and brilliant, look like a million-dollar man; so why is my heart broke?

—— LDR, Million Dollar Man

The space was clean; minimal. The kind that let out no secrets of the owner that inhabited its insides. And of course there were the little things that let out some slight details: the ashtray on the nightstand— a smoking habit; a ring, a metal chain, another of black rope— an unsuspected, albeit small, interest in jewelry; the bottom nightstand closed by a lock—mysterious and cautious, though that was to be expected. It was only reasonable he’d have something he wanted hide. But other than that, Negan’s bedroom was quite unreadable; almost purposefully mundane.

There was a fireplace, a window at the corner, and a bed at the center. It had a dark, brass, rusted headboard that leaned against the wall. Two pillows at either side. The sheets were white, and the large blanket was of fur, a tan or medium brown, it was thick and heavy. Probably unnecessary for the approaching spring heat, but it adored the bed end well; matching the other bronze, or brown, wooden and darker aspects of the room. Even the light from the small fire, though you could see clearly, made everything mildly dim— the Sanctuary wasn’t known for its brightness after all.

And truly, nothing in this bedroom, or in this fortress of a place could be described as anything close to bright. Unless you counted the sun outside in the courtyard, or the largest fireplace that blazed in the main hall, or Negan’s piercing, priceless smile— so pristinely white, so wide it almost looked painful to perform. There was an eeriness to it as well. That was at the forefront, and everyone saw it. With the way he maintained their cleanliness, it was something that could look so pure, so put-together on any other; but on him, its power could scare you into worthlessness. It’s the one he used when he told someone what to do even if they hated it; it’s the one he used when killing someone’s best friend.

It’s also the one he used on the first day he ever spoke to you. The first time that truly mattered, really.

It was during Negan’s first supply gathering at Alexandria.

You still remember it well.

Your faces filled with desolation, but chins held high; you were strong— good at hiding the pain, the fear— only straight, pokered eyes and mouths allowed as everyone silently agreed with you. You had told Negan that Maggie was dead.

The Widow, he had coined her. The wife of your good friend that he killed— so generous a man was Glenn, even when he wasn’t trying to be. And she’s your friend too, brave Maggie. That’s the one he wanted, but as far as he knew, she was gone.

Thank God, you thought, Thank God, yes, indeed, until—

Negan’s eyes glazed over your frame for just a moment too long.

You weren’t speaking anymore. You kept it short enough. He should have turned his attention back to Rick but he didn’t.

Where there was sly roguery in Negan’s eyes, anxiety weld in the looks of all others: Rick’s throat tensed and tightened uneasily, sweat trailing down his curls and onto his forehead; Rosita’s jaw clenched with bitterness, brows furrowing under her green khaki cap with anger; and then there was Gabriel: his eyes turned from solemnity and pretend peacefulness to wide bewilderment. The plan you two exchanged had worked: you would tell Negan of Maggie’s passing, as per your idea, and Gabriel would swiftly solidified your lie by saying he was the one who officiated the short funeral. But then, another problem arose; one where he could be nothing else but helpless in aiding you. What was he, or anyone to do? It was easy to help Maggie, she was more than twenty miles away. But you, you were here. Right in front of him.

“Wait a minute…” Negan’s pointer shakes lightly by his temple, his mind turning curiously. “You.” He said, shooting his finger in the direction of your chest.

His smile, mischievous as ever, only grew wider as a moment passed and he made his realization: “You’re the one with that- tight- grip!” He balled his raised hand into a fist as he said it. A slight snicker came after, proud of his entendre. “My men were tryna put Daryl in the trunk and you latched onto his foot like it was your dying- act- which—” you attempt to lessen the startle in your eyes at his upward hitch in tone, “—it most certainly could have been.”

Negan comes closer now, his face nearing your own, “But you know better now, right?”

Obviously, you did not.

Or you would have stayed home, not given him the chance to remember you as he said he would after your nails could no longer claw into Daryl’s ankle. He was thrashing too much and Negan’s men pushed you away; they were too strong together against the two of you. They kicked dirt in your face for it, held a gun to your head until Negan told them to stop. His point was made with your two friends he had killed, no need for another— especially not one who amused him like you had just done.

‘DAYUM. She is surprisingly strong!’ He had yelled, ignoring the weeping faces of you and the group kneeling in a line on the ground; sweat, blood, and tears dripping everywhere. ‘And I do like ‘em loyal…’ He had given you a once over while telling his men, ‘Hands off, gentlemen,’ and before returning his attention back to Rick, he added, ‘I’ll keep my eye on you.’

And he did.

You made an impression.

Now you’ll pay.

Rick should have told you why he wanted you to stay with Judith. He remembered what Negan said too. He remembered what Negan said to everyone. He couldn’t forget. But maybe it didn’t matter. It was only the start of Negan’s day here. Maybe he would have found you anyway.

Rick would feel it was all his fault nonetheless, but all you could think about is how truly, it was your own, and no one’s at all.

The sun allows glints of wickedness to sparkle in the whites of Negan’s teeth as he continues imparts his demand, “From now on, don’t stop me when I’m giving an order, okay?” It’s like you can hear him underlining his words just with his darkened voice. Turning his waist, he extends his hand to everyone as he finishes, “And that goes for all of you.”

You force your face to remain leveled as he meets your eyes again, that cheshire look returning directly toward you. He curls his head to the side, whispering near your profile, “So… you’re his girl, huh?”

Your mouth becomes slightly agape. You don’t even realize it before you can try to close it. He asked the question of aversion, or at least that’s what you assumed it was to Daryl.

You knew it was just his way, that speaking about things like this might have not been his strong suit. Besides, there were more things to worry about almost all the time, but it still hurt to know that when asked, the only complete and honest answer there could be was no.

Your eyes trail down slowly, desperate to avoid his, and Daryl’s face— a few feet away from you— turning to the side, looking at nothing. He could not hear what was being asked, but maybe Rick did, Rosita and Gabriel too. It was unclear, but their eyes prodded with more tension, more worry, Daryl could register that, and even more so, he could not stand Negan’s face that close to yours; he was probably trying to make an advance on you, scare you, or both. He pretends not to care, but ultimately it’s useless. Negan detects your expression and turns to look at Daryl’s; he notices both failing attempts at impassivity.

“Oh,” he muses, voice returning to its normal volume, “or not, my bad…. I guess that does make more sense though.” He speaks louder now, casually, like he’s a close friend consoling you about your boy troubles, “I personally haven’t been able to hold a conversation with the guy either, and I’m just tryna be friends.”

Daryl was right. Negan was weaseling his way in. He snarls because of it.

Only Dwight hears this and sends him a warning glare.

You feel the sweat beading from your hairline to the nape of your neck. The danger felt from Negan’s presence was as thick as the sun’s heat that shone directly on the cemetery grove. It’s hard to look up and especially to look at him directly for that long as if he truly was the fire in the sky, so you look down again.

Negan pats your shoulder sympathetically, his hand then going to hold up your chin, his thumb tracing your jaw softly.

It makes Daryl’s arms twitch and his stance jerks forward, but he’s pushed back, Dwight beating him on the chest. It’s only once but you can hear it, everyone heard it.

It only makes Negan’s grin become more sly because— there it is— a reaction; an answer. It makes what he’s about to do that much more sweet: “Fuck, darlin’. I’m sorry. Idiot,” he tisks. Then more quietly he adds, “I’m not one though.”

This time it’s for sure: Rick caught that, and Rosita too. They give each other an alarming look as Negan continues to trail over your dispirited form, like a wilted flower. His hand lowers back down to your shoulder, then trails to your arm, to the elbow, and then off of you entirely.

Despite the feeling of Lucille under his grasp telling him he shouldn’t, Rick urges himself to speak before Negan says what they all know is coming. “Negan,” he starts, swallowing the slight shake in his voice, “would you like to see the pantry—”

“Did I ask you to speak, Rick?” Negan states, his frame still positioned in front of you. “I’m thinkin’ here… I’m thinkin’… particularly, that you should come with me.”

Daryl makes a sound that you couldn’t hear, for Dwight was already barking a “Shut up,” at him. Only the swat he gives to Daryl’s shoulder is what is once again heard by all.

You almost choke on your gasp, but you hold it in. Only letting out the faintest sound as you ask, “What?”

“You heard me,” he plainly says. “I mean, what do you even do here anyway?”

You almost felt embarrassed to answer.

“No, I’m askin’. Seriously. Does Rick actually utilize you?”

As you begin, your voice is still quiet, “I… I work in the garden, with the produce… I help tutor the kids… I go on runs, gather supplies. I cook. Help with weapons maintenance, I—” you stop, realizing your grocery list of jobs probably sounds pathetic to him, you’re like a chore boy, “— I do a lot. But everyone does.”

“Hm,” Negan responds, playing with his nails nonchalantly. Your thoughts come to fruition with his next words, “So you’re just everyone’s helper?”

He noticed the sad offense emanating from your eyes, so he raised his hands, “And those are important things to do, I mean it. It must mean you know quite a bit from everyone, that’s smart, and there’s no trouble in it. But… I saw you. I think you can do more.”

“How?” You can still only gasp out your words. “I’m not Maggie. And she’s not here.”

“No.” He brings up one finger, “But you’re clever,” you look at him confused as he brings up his middle finger to join the first, “and quick on your feet, that I now know.” A third and fourth finger comes up, “You’re strong, you’re loyal— things I’ve stated before.” Then the fifth he says with a smug smile, “And you’re a looker, I must admit.” He moves his hand to one side of his mouth, pretending to secretly tell you, “But that’s just a plus,” he winks. “And more importantly, it seems to me that just like most people in Prick’s community, you are undervalued and not paid attention to whereas I see potential.” He says it all so simply, he truly believes he’s offering you so much better that he finally ends by saying: “Hm. Yeah. I think you’ll be much better off with me.”

And so, with no true goodbyes said, in a van you went after Negan’s visit was done. A different one from Daryl’s, of course. Taken away from the first home you had in ages.

Before the trunk door closed, Negan gave you parting words: “You see?” He had said, “I told you I’d remember you, didn’t I?”

The words rang in your ears for the entire ride as they still do now, even more or less than two months later as you sit in his room.

Your heartbeat started to rise little by little as time went on and he hadn’t arrived. With the window allowing you to escape into thought, you were left to think about the last couple of days, and specifically, the last time you were in here:

You were sitting with him on his bed. You had asked if you could talk about anything other than the world you two lived in now, and surprisingly, he obliged. It was nice. Sometime later, he had finally opened that locked drawer.

You heard him suck his teeth, what he was getting seemed lost, which allowed you to take a closer peek inside.

There was a picture of a woman. The first wife? The only real one? You couldn’t tell and you wouldn’t ask, it would have been too much. You didn’t even get a good look at the woman anyway— part of her face was covered and he was fast. But he saw your eyes, so you decided to take note of the books you caught a glimpse of, pretending it was the only thing you saw. You try to think of something to say… It did make sense he was a reader, at least even mildly if that was all it was. The way he describes his ideals, his persuasiveness, his diction— it impressed you, even if you disagreed with a lot of it. It was almost ironic that the only cover you saw was of a dictionary, the more valuable ones probably hidden under. “Is that where you get all your big boy words from?” You asked.

“Some of them,” he joked back, composing himself.

It was strange to almost catch him off guard. It was so unlike him to allow it, but what happened next felt even more surprising.

Whatever he got from the drawer was enclosed in his hand. He put the free one on top of the other as he started, “Now… I don’t want you thinking I’m growing soft on you. I just thought you deserve it because—” and then his voice fades. Even Negan, the ever curse-filled wordsmith, was finding it hard to describe in any other way that he was pleased with something as absurd as you not trying to escape anymore. He knew you would probably think that was the only reason for a gift, but then he opted for something that even you couldn’t help but know was equally true, “You don’t seem to proactively hate me anymore. You’re here. I appreciate it, so I wanted to,” he says sincerely. “That’s all.”

Negan opened his hand, resting the piece in your palm— it was a locket; lovely and rusted floral engravings all over it.

You felt sad that you thought it was beautiful, and even worse for knowing the reasons why he was giving it to you. No wonder his voice had faltered.

You remember the soft shock and awe on your face, how you said thank you and how your face felt so hot when you said it, how he asked you to turn, and how you looked at him from behind you after he put the piece on. He was so close and it felt like he was coming closer. You don’t remember if that part was real, but you can see it so clearly that it must have been. Unfortunately, the only thing you remember for certain is that knock at the door that sent Negan away to handle whatever was going on downstairs.

Had you almost let him kiss you? Would you have liked it? Are you the most deplorable person for even thinking that while Daryl was somewhere else locked up at the time?

“I see they delivered my message.”

You return from your daze, your startle leaving as soon as it comes.

It was just him. There Negan finally was.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to just come in. The door was unlocked.”

“I knew the meeting was gonna go longer than expected; thought you might as well make yourself comfortable.” He gestures to you, “which I see you did, and no—“ you were getting up from his bed, “it’s fine.” Negan sets Lucille near the door. He walks over to you, sitting down on the edge of his bed as well. There is a bit of distance between you two.

“You know, I came back the other day,” he informs, “I was actually going to talk to you last night, but then I heard you tried to leave. Again.” His eyebrows furrow, “We still on that?” He asks. “Thought we had a breakthrough the other night.”

“But after Carl—“

“—Carl,” he interjects, “came here all by his badass self, and for that, I did not lay even my pinky fuckin’ finger on him.” His hand goes to his chest, “I even took him home like a gentleman. And after I got here and found out they put you in a cell without supper, I had you back in your bed before midnight yesterday, so I’d say I’m doing pretty well.”

“Seriously?” Your incredulity is hidden under the softness of your voice as you say it, but it’s cracking.

“As a heart attack. It’s your ex-people who don’t listen. At least I was nice this time.”

You sigh heavily, docility officially fading. You shake your head with a slight chuckle, “That’s hard to believe. Especially if you were gone for most of the day. I know what that means. You had whatever the fuck your version of fun is.”

He grits his teeth, holding his words back. You’ve gotten a little too comfortable with the back talk, and you especially shouldn’t be saying anything after the night you had yesterday, but he allows it.

This time.

Of course, he didn’t like you leaving, but he rather that it was Daryl who escaped than you. And based on the bruises: one on the side of your head, one high on your shoulder— he imagines you might have gotten pushed against a wall— and the light ones that littered in a couple of spots on both your arms— he could tell his men must have been rough with you as they brought you back. He didn’t like that; therefore, he lets you quip. Someone would be getting their own bruises for it some time later anyway. He would take your smartass mouth out on them to cover for it.

“Maybe,” he finally says. “Nothing was undeserved though.”

You breathe in, the back and forth was no use. “What happened yesterday?” You asked, losing the sarcasm. Your eyes peered into his for honesty, hoping to skip the sly replies and get to the truth. “Just tell me what happened at home.”

Home. You knew better than to use that word. In fact, you have just stopped using that word. He let out an exasperated laugh, but skipped the lecture. “You want the truth? Or just the SparkNotes?”

You roll your eyes lightly. You probably don’t even notice you did it. Despite the situation being discussed, it makes Negan’s head turn endearingly— your tone of voice, the things you say, the way you react to him… you still don’t realize how fresh you’ve gotten with him, how comfortable. But he sees it.

“Alright. Well, Spencer’s gone.” He reveals offhandedly, replying to your silence.

Your eyes do not widen, you know what gone means. You simply nod and try to not think about how the now-cleaned bat most likely looked before.

“And don’t tell me that you care,” he says, pretending to interject to your continuing silence. “You gotta know he was a small dick nepo-prick, right?”

You bite the inside of your lip, shaking your head slightly. You won’t give in to a cheap joke even if it was pretty accurate, so he beckons you by name, “C’mon, that was funny.”

Still, you give him nothing.

He sighs; taking off his leather; and sits near you on the bed, his hands cupping the ledge. “Thought we were finally over this quiet thing.”

“A lot has happened this week.”

“Like…” he prodes. He would only talk about it if you brought it up.

Your eyes shut tightly before opening again. You didn’t want to say it, but you had to. “You know what. Daryl.”

He states the fact plainly, “Daryl left you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Your voice is fierce now. You can’t believe it. You won’t. “He’s not that kind of person and this isn’t an easy place to get out of— I obviously know that— he wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I know,” he jeers, “but he did and he didn’t bring you with him. Even though you were found trying to find his cell. That’s some real idiotic bullshit right there, isn’t it? From both of you.”

You glared at him hotly, you wouldn’t give it up, but unfortunately you had no rebuttal. Both of you would just continue on with the same argument, the conversation going nowhere. And not because either side knew they were completely right; in truth, neither of you actually knew what happened the other day. But in this regard, you felt there was no other choice: you believed in Daryl fully.

Because he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

Right?

You continue shaking your head, trying to find something to say in retaliation as you feel your sureness withering. Separating you two was the smartest tactic. You now have nothing to hold onto. “He wouldn’t,” you repeat pathetically, “I don’t believe you.” Unfortunately it’s not quite enough, so he continues with a rant you know all too well.

“You don’t believe me?” He cups the ends of the bed more tightly, positioning himself closer to you. “When I’m the one who gave you the safest roof? Secure food, clean water, access to all these pretty dresses, which, I know you’ve become accustomed to—” and here it comes— “I saved you!”

Saviors and their “saving,” you sneered at it. What bullshit. “You didn’t save me.”

“But I gave you someone to talk to… Huh?” He taunts, waiting for your response but nothing comes. He uses it to his advantage, “You’re quiet cause you know it’s true.”

But you know something too. He says it before you can.

“Or fuck, maybe I just gave myself someone to talk to.”

You pretend you can’t hear the earnesty in it. “Stop,” you scoff. “Don’t treat me like I’m special. I was the second choice.”

“I think with my dick sometimes. You’re the only choice.”

You start to shake your head, your face is flushed; scared, hot, and a little bit of something else that you refuse to let out. Then the tears come— the room feels so big and you two are so close and there are so many feelings you’re trying to push down. “It doesn’t matter,” you say wearily, “You took me. And you took him. You hurt him, I saw his face.” Your voice begins to tremble, almost in unison with the tears that peak out on your eyelids. “And that outfit you put him in. He didn’t even look me in the eye.”

“Stop,” he warns.

“You didn’t even let me see him.”

“He doesn’t notice you.”

“You don’t know us.”

“I know you.”

“You don’t know him.”

“I know you’re not happy… What about the other night?”

You ignore him, shaking your head: “You hurt my friends.”

“What about the other night?” He persists, his voice slowly growing louder. “What about every time I let you sit in on my meetings? What about how you have your own room? What about how I actually talk to you?”

“You let him get hurt—” the tears start to fall, there is a quiver in your voice but you still match his near shout, “And you almost killed Carl—”

“Shut up.”

“And you killed Abraham—”

He warns you by name.

“And Glenn! Maggie’s husband—”

“SHUT. UP.”

“The baby won’t have a father, Negan!”

His voice is low and grim as he demands you to “Stop. Now.” Negan grabs the sides of your neck as he says his next line, it comes out brisk and harsh and heavy like his touch as his hand wraps around your neck. “I knew you lied to me.”

Your voice is hushed, feeling his lightly pressed thumbs on the front of your throat as you speak shakily, “I’ve never lied to you.”

“Maybe not since you’ve been here, but did you hear yourself right now?” He pauses, allowing you a second to let it sink in. “You just fucking proved it.”

Your eyes widen at the realization. The baby, you had said. Fuck.

“See? Told you, you were smart.”

And he did. Brave Maggie. Clever you. That was his reason number one.

“You have to get why.”

His voice remains eerily calm. “I do.”

Another tear falls and his thumb presses its pad under your eye, spreading a tear on your face as the next one comes down.

“Negan…” you say. It’s a mix of a warning and a plea but you can’t tell for what, both fear and fire mix together because of his proximity. His touch and stare was dangerous, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was pleased he caught your slip up, thrilled to see you cry, but there was also something about it— his touch, his eyes— that was equally intoxicating. There was something more tender there as well, something you didn’t want to turn away from, he wasn’t as rough as you thought. Nonetheless, your answer to these conflicting feelings are ones of neglect, you stay your course. “You’re a bad person,” you tell him.

“Please,” he whispers back, “just stop.”

His eyes glaze over your features with an intent look you’ve only seen once before, it was that other night in fact. It’s almost gentle, but maybe it’s just pity, so you don’t let it stop you. “But you are.”

“Stop,” he pleads, then it’s hushed, “just stop…” he says, “just stop.” Then he starts coming closer. “Tell me to stop.”

And you know you should get up.

You should, you should, you should, you know it but— you don’t.

You breathe into it.

His lips latch onto yours; your heads tilt; you lock perfectly.

Everything after happens fast, the instantaneous mess of it all: he waited and waited, and of course he would. He was waiting for you to see it, to feel it. He thought the other night was the breakthrough, but no, it was tonight, it was how you didn’t back away just now.

His hand goes lower on your leg, nearing your knees so he can get under your dress, trailing up your thigh, reaching the inner side that’s pressed up to the other one.

His hand on your neck brings you in closer, traveling up to under your chin and jaw, holding you so tight, but so sweetly. All you felt was surprise. He slips his tongue in, it's deep and intense. He brings a velvet warmth that you’d never expect from him. It was paradoxical; a fiery heaven of a feeling.

He starts rubbing your clit over your panties, kissing his way up to your ear as he does so to ask, “When’s the last time someone’s fucked you?”

Your lips are parted, but you cannot speak, so he continues.

“Daryl never did, did he?” He asks in a muffle, continuing to kiss and kiss. “Who was before him?”

Again, no verbal response, but your breath does hitch at his touches. He continues to draw circles, your wetness now slowly dampening the material, making it easier for his finger to place itself between your folds, so he dips his hand under the band. That and his whispering makes you feel a kind of spark that shoots all the way down to where his fingers are touching. The first press of his thumb without any material in between forces a sudden heat to rise that instantly causes a flush of liquid to slip down your hole, it feels messier than it actually is until his fingers go lower spreading it everywhere. You were much wetter than you thought, and you can’t help how good it feels, how easily you’re responding to it.

Negan calls your name, holding in every cocky reply he wanted to give about how wet you are— he needed an answer to his question first. So he looks you in the face, making sure he has your full attention, “You’re fuckin’ with me, right?” His words are meant more genuinely than his tone implies. “Not at all during any of this?”

You shake your head small and slowly. No.

He laughs pitifully, he doesn’t mean it rudely, but he just can’t help it. A touch-starved baby at the mercy of his fingertips? “Well, god-damn.”

He felt like a rich man.

He begins to kiss your lips again, now pumping his fingers into you. Your walls tighten. It’s only two, but they’re his. It’s new and exciting. His kiss makes you lean into the bed, the force of his head and tongue going deeper into your mouth guiding you to lay flat as his fingers still play.

“I hope you know how fucking soaked you are,” he finally says. “You need it so bad that it feels this damn good with me only touching you like this?” You can’t help the way your body jerks up and he can’t help but be smug about it. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Your eyes grow vicious at his grin, you almost want to hit him, but you can’t. All you can do is suppress your moan into a quiet whine. He’s so magnetic— his touch feels forbidden but so right; his voice so alluring; and his midas touch pulls you deeper and deeper into a trance, you might as well be turning into gold. Other than the involuntary reactions your body makes as his fingers continue going into your hole, now slowly going in and out as his eye gloss over your body in your favorite dress that you wore the most, you’re left paralyzed; subjected to following his lead. Wherever he wanted to go next, you’d let him.

He takes his fingers from inside of you and you look up quickly. You made sure not to whine at the loss of contact but your eyes couldn’t hide your dismay. All he did was smile and quickly lick away the wetness.

“Just takin’ this off,” he tells you as his hands cross over to the ends of his white t-shirt, slipping it off and onto the ground, one of those small rope chains hitting his chin as he does so.

It was only his shirt but you’re struck by him: to see more of his ever present sun-kissed skin felt almost godly. He was pretty lean, not too lanky like his stature, but not too broad either. Light curves of muscles adorned his chest and shoulders and arms. His chest and abdomen were slightly hairy, a tattoo placed on the upper right side and you finally saw the other tattoos placed on his upper arms more clearly. They looked nice on him. He was so handsome. You felt more wetness peeking out from down below. He looked so big above you.

“Like what you see, beautiful?” That typical snark still laced his voice, but there was a genuinity to it as well. He wanted you to like what you saw; to like him.

His words make your face hot, eyes casting off to the side. It was easier to talk to him when you were mad at him, when it was about home, even just small talk about the Sanctuary; this felt… different. Just like the other night.

You had almost already forgotten that his charm worked this way too; in a kinder way— when his eyes are wide, when his smile is soft, when he calls you sweet names without the irreverent, quip-filled pretenses.

It made you have all the words on the tip your tongue: how handsome and sexy you could say he is, how much you liked his tattoos, even all the greys that littered his hair and beard l, or how, if you had to admit it, you liked that dumb shit-eating grin of his, but all you can do is lightly smile, a quiet laugh escaping your lips at your bashfulness. You finally nod. “Yes,” you say, rolling your eyes, “maybe.”

He starts undoing his belt with a laugh of his own, “Oh I know you’re a fuckin liar if you think I’m a maybe.”

As his pants drop to the floor he takes each hand and places them over your shoulders on the bed to ask, “May I take off the lady’s dress?”

Your eyes widened, your open mouth only letting out a sweet, surprised, and whispered, “Huh?”

“What? Didn’t expect me to be a gentleman?”

You try to compose yourself, calm the fire you feel all throughout your body, and pretend you haven’t already given in completely right when he kissed you. “I just didn’t expect it would be all this slow.”

He laughs inwardly, glad to see the personality he came to know come back after all that happened these past two days. “Just give me a moment,” he jokes back. “You think I’m gonna waste seeing the reaction of you watching my cock spring out just so I can shove it in fast? ” He comes closer, his voice lowers now, “Believe it or not, I don’t think you’re just some doll or a fuck-piece.” The groundedness of his voice is something you’ve never heard before. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already stated that I see you. And truly, I think you’re damn gorgeous.”

Your eyes are stars. How can you even react? He thinks you’re gorgeous and you’re taken aback. “Thank you,” is all you can quietly say.

“You’re welcome.” He responds with eyes that have never looked so honest, so soft. You get lost in them and he has to pull you back, returning to his question, “May I?”

You nod, quick and excitedly, “You can take it off, Negan.”

He grabs your hands and stands you up. You look up at his face and his fingers move to the ends of your dress, pulling it over your head.

The tips of his fingers trace your chest and stomach lightly, delicately touching your skin as if it’s porcelain. He grabs your waist and travels up to take off your bra, then pushes down your wet underwear.

Negan’s cock stirs at the sight, you’re so pretty and so ready for him. “And I didn’t even need to see it to know I was right.” Just like he said, you’re gorgeous.

Negan pushes down his boxers. Cock springing up. Big and veiny with a red tip. He was itching to get inside of you.

And there you were, eyes and mouth open wide, scared and excited all at once. You were intimidated but surprisingly not scared if it would fit or not. You would let him do anything to get himself inside of you, even if it hurt.

“There it is,” he says, pleased with your reaction. He comes closer to your ear now, pushing you down by the hips against the bed once more. “And trust me, if you like that, you won’t fucking believe how I’ll feel inside of you. Just wait.”

“I…” He wanted to make you feel good, you’re almost speechless. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” He says, and then he places himself above you, admiring your glistening folds as he spreads your legs. He already lines himself up, he could look at you forever but he is in no desire to wait any longer. He pushes in. It’s a bit fast, a tight fit, it must have hurt you, but he’s too excited, he can’t help it. He lets out a hum and then a groan at the feeling of your walls enclosing him, and he hears you gasp at his size. He starts to pump into you immediately.

His face hovers over yours. His eyes study your features and he realizes he’s never been this close. Of course he hasn’t, he’s never fucked you, made love to you. He’s just now noticing the way your eyelashes curl, what birthmarks adorn your upper body or not, and how many earrings you may have, but most importantly, he’s noticing the way you react to him: the way your eyebrows might scrunch, or what elicits more pants and squirmings, the way your lips tug tightly against each other or open into ovals and circles depending on what he does, how he thrusts, where he touches, how he moves.

It all makes him slowly speed up. He can’t take it anymore. He kisses your neck and jaw— some kisses sweet, then others that are rough and he begins to pump and pump. Faster and faster.

“Oh,” you choke out before moaning, “ah.”

He continues, loving every facial expression you make until he finally speaks. “Alright. I gave you a break— now tell me how it feels?”

All you can do is whine incoherently.

“Excuse me?” He says more sternly. You know what he wants.

“Negan,” you whine again.

He stops. “Yes?” He asks all too knowingly. “Gonna use your words and tell me how it feels?”

You sigh, taking the hand placed on your hip and moving up toward the ends of your stomach, all the way up to your left breast. You let his hand rest there, feeling the heat and your quickened heartbeat radiating from the area. “You… you feel so good.” Your eyes are watery, “Amazing.”

You got him there, and he almost can’t help but start hammering it in, but then he remembers… he doesn’t have to help it. He could do whatever he wanted, so he does. He squeezes your breast, grinning wildly as he gives you one hard thrust. “Damn right,” he tells you, hearing your yelp before pounding fast.

You had always been quiet but he never quite saw you at a loss for words as you are now. Your mouth is completely open, your eyes threatening to roll back further, making sounds he’s sure you’ve never heard from yourself before. Have you even had it this fast? This big? This great? He knows it couldn’t be. And he’s the one who gets to show you. His eyes gloss over you with pride at the thought.

He grabs your chin to get you to look at him, “Who’s fucking you this good?”

You moan. You weren’t used to this. Your eyes roll back completely as he pounds into you with eye contact.

It makes him groan loudly, his jerks into you, letting out his own moan from the sight. “Oh fuck, baby. Don’t play with me.”

You give in, force yourself to speak, you can’t let this end. “You, Negan!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes!” It’s so hard to speak, it comes out so pathetically.

“Who's making you feel like no one else?”

“You, Negan, it’s you!” Your moan turns into a pant, “It’s you, only you.”

He comes closer, his nose touches yours. His movements slow, but they don’t stop. He’s rocking into you now. “Only me?”

You don’t even think, “Who else? It's only you.”

His teeth sparkle, “Only me.”

“Only you, daddy.”

He laughs cockily, “So Daddy’s making you feel this good?”

“Yes, daddy. So good.”

You feel the groan he makes travel right to your clit, making it throb.

He kisses you, the corners of your lips to your cheek and neck and collarbones and back up again.

He restarts his pumping into you but his head remains close to yours. You decide to wrap one of your arms around his neck, pulling his hair, and the other hand travels down his back, holding him close.

Negan breathes you in, his head near the crux of your neck, hearing every little sweet sound you make that he’s never heard before. It all drives him wild, but then his eyes open. A question comes out that surprises you both: “Am I ruining your life right now?” He quietly asks.

“That doesn’t matter,” you say, breathing heavily from his touches, your eyes are still closed.

“I think it does.”

“You make me feel like no one ever has…” The bliss you feel from his current soft strokes and touches making it hard to speak, your voice is so light. “At least I got to experience it.” You open your eyes now, fingers tracing the cross drawn into his arm, “At least I got to see the real you.”

Your eyes say more than your words do. There’s a yearning and a sadness, an answer to what feels right in this moment, but an insight that there are doubts that could creep up later the more that you think about it.

“Just keep going,” you tell him, “I want to see you.”

You want to see him, you do see him. His head connects with yours again, and you moan into each other's mouths as he keeps pumping. Your legs come up to his hips and you’re not afraid to be loud anymore, to tell him how good it feels, how much you like him.

He takes your hands and places them over your head, crossing his fingers with your. It’s so pure, so lovely even when he’s going so hard down below. You hear your breaths heavy and your bodies slapping and the bed shaking.

You think about his skin, and his scratchy beard against yours, and the way you hate how he can make you smile by making the most ridiculous and raunchy jokes, and the way you love his voice, the way you can’t help but to like the way he cares for you.

“Negan,” you say weakly.

“Yes,” he responds intently.

“I’m gonna come,” you tell him. “I think I can.”

“Come for me,” he encourages, moving one of his hands down to rub your clit. “C’mon.”

“I’m gonna come,” you repeat, edging yourself on. Bucking up at his thrusts and his fingers.

“You can do it. Be a good girl. Do it for me.”

You swear the fireplace blazes louder and bigger, lighting up the whole room as you yell out, moaning once more as you orgasm.

Negan finally breaths out after, holding in for so long, and comes after you. His hands place themselves flat on the bed and he pushes in fast, riding out the high.

He scoops you up immediately, holding you in his arms. He doesn’t want to let go.

You two stay there for a moment until you look up. His hand caresses your face, “What is it?”

“I…” you were embarrassed to admit that you weren’t ready for it to all be over yet. “Can I ride you?”

A wiley smile appears on his face. He has to admit, he’s a little shocked you’re ready to go again, but he’d never turn it down. “Well, of course you can, babygirl.”

He flips you over, completely ready, but instantly, you become hesitant, almost overwhelmed. He was the world, not you, yet you were now above him. All the allowance to touch him anywhere you want at your disposal.

He puts his hands under his head, arms flexing. An ever wide smile present as he waits for you to begin. “You asked for it. Don’t get shy on me now.”

Your eyes grow excited again, deciding not to hold back, and you start to rock against him. You place you hands on his chest, feeling him up, touching his biceps, hands going over his tattoos— you could stare at them, at him, for hours. You honestly think you’d lick his whole body if he’d let you. And of course he probably would. To feel big and proud and irresistible while you look like a little desperate freak? You wouldn’t even have to ask him twice. Thinking about it and about how full his cock is making you feel, stretching and reaching all the right places, makes you moan and whine. You bucked your hips wildly, humming and giving him “mmms” because of how yummy it feels. You could do this forever.

“Ah- uh- Negan,” you moan and your stomach caves as you whine again and you hurl forward, continuing to rock but your pace is faltering. It’s becoming too hard and Negan can tell so he takes you by the hips, helping you move. First continuing to let your grind and then pushing you up and down his shaft so you can bounce on him. You push yourself up again, hand on his chest, pushing against it and you bounce along with his help. This was fun. You try to go faster and faster. It felt like being a kid on a playground.

“Open your eyes,” he demands. “Look at who you’re fucking, sweetheart.”

So you do, and moan at the sight of him, “Ohmygod,” you say. “You’re so handsome, Negan.”

He's so proud of you. Enjoying your actions, enjoying your noises. He groans as he sees your breast bounce and it makes you squeeze against him.

“Good girl,” he coos, “finally listening when you’re spoken to, about to make yourself come on daddy’s cock again.”

He starts to rub your clit again and you continue to bounce. It almost hurts because of how overstimulated you’ve become but you don’t tell him to stop. Your hands come to reach the headboard, helping you bounce harder. He tells you again how much of a good girl you are, how he loves that you’re not stopping, then he tells you how dirty and desperate you are for wanting him again after he already made you come. But he’s obsessed. This is all he’s ever wanted since the day he brought you here. His hands trail up from your hips to your waist and breast and back down again. There is nothing more he wants than to fuck you or for you fuck him.

You look down. You both notice your necklace still wrapped around your neck, almost nearing between your breasts, bouncing along with all of you. It reminds you of why you're here, why he gave it to you. It makes you have the realization he had… Was he ruining your life? Were you ruining your own? But how could you be when it all feels this good? It was completely screwed up, but everything felt so magnificently brilliant. His touch is everything, his voice is everything, his body is everything. It makes your hips stutter, it makes you moan, and at last, it makes you come again. You ride your high, going and going and going until you fall into his chest. His hands come to hold you tight thereafter.

Unthinkable bliss is all that is felt for a long moment… then… your head turns to the window. You remember what is out there and what isn’t in here.

A tear falls down your cheek and he realizes what’s happening when it falls onto his shoulder.

It hurts him now. To see you cry. It’s not fun anymore. You feel it, yes. You see what he saw, it’s true. But you aren’t really his wife. You’re nothing that is his at all. You both know that as well.

It takes you a long time to speak, you have to force yourself, but you do. “You have to let me go now.” You say it sternly but there is a sadness to it; a small part of you wants to not mean it even though you completely do, even though you do wish to stay here, to be enveloped by his embrace— you simply cannot forget.

“Mm,” he shakes his head, remaining leveled, “you know too much.”

“I barely know anything,” you say. “And not that anything I do know matters. Knowing the way around the Sanctuary isn’t going to help anyone when I know there is no way we could actually get in…. And what’s more important anyway is that I’m not changing my mind and you’re not either.”

“I’m not.”

“And I can’t. I wouldn’t. And they’re not going to. Never…. And if some of them die…” A whimper almost leaves you but you manage to swallow it, “I have to be by their side, Negan. I can’t only hear about it. I… I can’t see it next to you.”

His lips are pressed firm, his jaw is fixed and tight, almost like he’s grinding down on his teeth. The breath he takes through his nose could be a heavy sigh if he opened his mouth, but he doesn’t. He keeps it all in.

You words and their weight hang in the air for a moment before he finally speaks: “One of my guys that watches the armory doors has a shift that ends at 6:00 am… but at 5:50 I’m going to come up to him and tell him he gets off 10 minutes early that day, that I’ll wait for the next person to come.” He lets his words hang in the air for a moment, your confusion spirals before he keeps going. “It’ll be fucking weird, but he’ll look dumb as shit if he questions me, so he won’t. Then when he’s out of sight, I’ll leave. The next person is coming right at 6. That’s all you get. 10 minutes. A little less really.”

Your eyes round slowly as the stun continues to sink in. He’s… letting you leave.

“You take one gun and one knife. Just one. Don’t make it noticeable. I’m going to check. Then you go out of the back door that’s inside.” He didn’t have to tell you the way. “It should be easy, I know you’ve tried it before.”

You look down, taking in all he says, but then he turns you face to meet his, “If anyone sees you, I’m gonna have to make a show of it when they bring you back. Not what I want. But if I get there before you get out, maybe 5:58, just cause I’m an asshole, just to see you one last time… And if I do, I’m gonna turn you around and you’re stayin’. Fair?”

You nod. It’s small and light. You don’t question any of it, you can’t. “8 minutes.” You respond.

“8 minutes.” His voice is neutral, but underneath there was a tinge of solemnity to it. “8 minutes,” he says under his breath.

“What about now?”

“Now?” He asks. He didn’t think about it. He assumed you would want to go after this, after you got what you wanted. “Well,” he turns to his nightstand, “right now it’s half past 10.” He stares at you for a moment, you can’t tell what he’s thinking. This whole moment has felt so quiet, both eerie and gentle. You still weren’t used to the latter from him, even after what just happened. “You can go if you want. Sleep in your bed for one more night, or…” he stops, “You can stay with me, if you’d like.” His sigh is short and whispered but you both hear it, you feel its weight. “It’s your choice.”

You stare at each other for a moment. Your eyes trail all of his face and the arm that is still holding your own, adorned with all the tattoos and skin you had just fallen for. You wanted to study them and hold onto him forever. And his eyes: they said so much— there were so many little inflections, ones that you had finally read, and so many others you’ve yet to decipher. You desired to know him, but you had to go, so all you decided to do was to hold him. For now, you chose to stay, and hoped that your embrace would transfer the fact that the only reason it would be hard to leave is because of him and only him. You would remember this forever. “8 hours till 8.”

“8 hours till 8, kid.”

You close your eyes tight and nuzzle into his chest, A peace you had never known in the Sanctuary finally subsumed you. You feel free to finally tell him, “Thank you. I really do miss home.”

Home. There it is again. There was no malice in the way you said it, but there was still a pang from your melancholy words that made his heart throb. You missed home. And as peaceful as you looked, and as safely as you held onto him, your words reaffirmed that home was not here and it was not with him— no matter how you looked, and no matter the fact that you were allowing him to hold you for the night, to call you his. In the end, you were not.

He had to finally accept it.

“8 hours till 8,” are your last words until you finally drift to sleep. This would be your last and most tranquil night here. To you, it felt right, almost harmonious, albeit sad. This is how it was and how it was meant to be. You needed it.

But to him, it’s shattering. He doesn’t repeat the phrase back this time because, for once, he has nothing to say. The fire glow of the night has now withered into darkness.

You won.

He lost.

But both your hearts broke.

[malavera]

Echoes Beneath the Waves (18+) — Logan Howlett One Shot

summary: In which the big bad wolverine gets lured to play with the ocean’s beauty.

pairings: logan howlett x siren!mutant!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI. Allusions to smut, naked make-out session.

credit: divider is from @firefly-graphics 🤍

The night was a canvas of shadows, with the lonely moon hanging as its only brushstroke of light. A biting breeze whipped through the darkness, and the relentless roar of the waves echoed against the shore, as if the ocean itself refused to rest. Laughter faded into the distance, swallowed by the night, as Logan drifted away, seeking solace in his own isolation.

Once he was far enough from the others, Logan lit his cigar, the soft glow briefly illuminating his face. He settled onto a large rock, just high enough to keep the waves from reaching his feet, and let the quiet of the night envelop him.

His gaze fixed on the horizon, where the ocean seemed to go on forever. The sky is painted dark grey until he saw a flicker of light coming from the middle of the ocean. His eyebrows furrowed together.

That’s odd, he thought.

Logan leaned forward, the cigar in his hand forgotten as he strained to catch every note of the enchanting melody. The music seemed to weave itself into the night, wrapping around him, pulling him closer to the ocean’s edge. He felt a strange compulsion, a pull that was both gentle and irresistible, urging him toward the water.

The light on the horizon grew brighter, pulsating in rhythm with the melody. It was as if the sea itself was calling to him, whispering secrets in a language he had never known but somehow understood. The world around him faded, the sounds of the crashing waves and distant laughter of his friends all but drowned out by the song that filled his ears and heart.

Without realizing it, he had risen to his feet, his legs moving of their own accord, carrying him closer to the shore. The rocks beneath him were cold and slick, but he paid them no mind. All that mattered was the light and the music, drawing him deeper into the night.

As he neared the water’s edge, the melody became clearer, more defined. It was a song of longing, of promises whispered on the wind. Logan’s heart ached with a strange, sweet sorrow, a yearning he couldn’t place. The light now shimmered on the waves, closer than before, beckoning him with its mysterious glow.

And then, she appeared.

Rising gracefully from the depths of the sea, a figure emerged, illuminated by the soft, ethereal light. The siren was unlike anything Logan had ever seen—beautiful, enchanting, and utterly seductive. Her long, flowing hair cascaded like liquid midnight over her bare shoulders, and her eyes, deep and alluring, locked onto his with a gaze that held both danger and desire.

She moved with an otherworldly grace, her voice weaving through the air as she sang, the melody now clearly coming from her lips. Each note seemed to hold him captive, drawing him in further, until he was standing ankle-deep in the water, unable to resist her pull.

The siren reached out to him, her hand hovering just above the water’s surface, beckoning him closer. The cold ocean swirled around his legs, but all Logan felt was a strange, enveloping warmth as he stared into her eyes, utterly entranced. In that moment, the world around him faded—no fear, no hesitation, only the magnetic pull of her presence.

But as their hands were about to touch, the siren suddenly gasped, choking on her own breath. Logan’s hand, which had been reaching for hers, seemed to move with a will of its own, and now it was wrapped tightly around the delicate, shimmering throat of the beautiful creature before him.

“You’re trying to mess with my mind again, aren’t you, fish?” Logan hissed, his voice low and dangerous as his grip tightened around her throat.

Her wide eyes glistened with a mix of surprise and something darker as she struggled against his hold. “How many times do I have to tell you?” he continued, his tone laced with a controlled fury. “Stay out of my head.”

With a final squeeze, he released her, watching as her legs—now human—settled onto the wet, rocky shore beneath them. She coughed, her breath ragged as she fought to regain control, but a mischievous smile soon curled her lips.

“You know I’ll always have my night dip, Logan,” she purred, her voice smooth despite the recent struggle. “It’s the humans who need to control themselves.”

She laughed then, a melodic sound that echoed through the night, her eyes gleaming with a playful challenge as she looked at his unyielding expression. “It’s almost as if you wanted me to draw you in.”

“M’not,” Logan muttered, but his voice lacked conviction, the siren’s laughter reverberating in his ears.

“Oh, but are you?” she teased, her tone dripping with mockery as she probed at the cracks in his carefully constructed walls.

Slowly, she reached for his hand again, this time with a softness that belied her earlier boldness. “Come on, swim with me. Just this once,” she coaxed, one eye winking playfully as she smirked. “I promise, this time it’s real. I’m not going to mess with your head.”

Her words were a vow, spoken with a mischievous grin that betrayed the truth—she was playing her game, but Logan knew better. And yet, despite knowing the risks, he felt himself give in. With a resigned sigh, he pulled away just enough to strip off his clothes, tossing them carelessly aside until he stood before her, bare and unguarded.

“This what you wanted?” he asked, his voice steady but his eyes betraying the wariness underneath.

Her smirk widened, satisfaction gleaming in her gaze as she took in the sight of him. “Perfect,” she murmured, the word slipping from her lips like a promise, as the waves whispered at their feet, the night drawing them both into its depths.

She reached for his hands once more, and this time, Logan didn’t resist. He allowed her touch, her fingers cool and delicate against his. With a coy smile, she began to step backward, gently pulling him with her, further and further into the dark embrace of the ocean.

The cold water climbed higher as they moved deeper, the chill biting at his skin, but Logan felt a strange warmth radiating from her touch, keeping him anchored to her. With each step, the waves lapped at their bodies, until they were both submerged in the icy depths.

As the water enveloped them, the siren’s legs shimmered, transforming before his eyes. What was once human flesh became a beautiful, dark blue tail, its scales glinting faintly in the moonlight. The transformation was seamless, mesmerizing, as if the ocean itself had claimed her once again.

She flicked her tail lightly, the movement graceful and fluid, sending ripples through the water as she held his gaze. The cold, the danger, everything faded into the background. All that remained was her—mysterious, enchanting, and impossibly close.

Logan was amazed. He had never seen anything more beautiful than the vision before him, you floating effortlessly in the water, your dark blue tail shimmering like a jewel beneath the surface.

You inched closer, your breath warm against his ear as you whispered, "Close your eyes." Logan hesitated, unease flickering in his gaze, but something in your voice, in the way you looked at him, made him decide to trust you. After a moment, he let his eyes slowly drift shut, surrendering to the unknown.

A soft breath escaped your lips, brushing against his skin as you granted him the magic of your powers. The change was almost imperceptible, a gentle tingling that spread through him, filling him with a sense of calm and something more—something ancient and powerful.

"Now, open your eyes," you whispered, your voice like a melody woven into the wind. Logan obeyed, his eyes fluttering open to a world transformed. Everything seemed sharper, more vivid, as if he were seeing the ocean for the first time.

You gave him a knowing smile before slipping beneath the surface, your tail flicking gracefully as you began to descend into the depths. Without hesitation, Logan followed, plunging into the cold embrace of the water, drawn into the mysterious world that awaited below.

As Logan plunged beneath the surface, he expected darkness—a murky, cold abyss. But instead, the world around him came alive with vibrant light and color. The magic you had gifted him transformed the ocean into a realm of wonders he had never imagined.

The water, once dark and foreboding, now shimmered with an otherworldly glow. Schools of fish darted around him, their scales reflecting hues of turquoise, emerald, and gold. Coral formations, illuminated by a soft, ethereal light, stretched out like underwater forests, each structure more intricate and beautiful than the last. Logan felt as though he had stepped into a dream, a hidden world that only a few were ever privileged to see.

He swam deeper, following your graceful form as you glided effortlessly through the water, your tail shimmering like a beacon guiding him onward. The deeper they went, the more the ocean revealed its secrets. Strange, luminous creatures drifted by, their bodies pulsing with light, while the distant echoes of the sea created a symphony that filled the silence.

Logan’s senses were heightened, every detail sharper and more vivid than he could have ever imagined. He could feel the gentle currents caressing his skin, the pressure of the water embracing him, the rhythm of the ocean syncing with his heartbeat.

You paused and turned to him, your eyes reflecting the wonder of this underwater world, as if inviting him to share in the magic. Logan met your gaze, a sense of awe and gratitude welling up inside him. He had been drawn into the depths, but now, instead of fear, he felt an overwhelming connection to the ocean and to you, the one who had opened this new reality to him.

And there you are standing in front of him, enchantingly beautiful. Your perky full rounded tits, your sharp shoulders, your wide hips. All of a sudden, he yearns to lay those war-fought hands upon your magnetic body.

You smirked, a playful glint in your eyes as you swam closer to him. Logan watched you, mesmerized by your every movement. When your hands gently wrapped around his neck, his breath hitched, the connection between you two deepening with every passing second. Your fingers traced upward, caressing his skin, until your thumb softly grazed his bottom lip, sending a shiver through him.

Without hesitation, you closed the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that felt like it could drown the world. The water around you seemed to still, the ocean itself holding its breath as you shared this moment. The kiss was tender yet intense, filled with the same magic that had transformed the depths into a world of wonder.

Then, as suddenly as the kiss began, the world around you shifted. The weightless sensation of the water was replaced by the solid feel of land beneath your feet. You were no longer in the ocean’s embrace but back on the shore, the waves gently lapping at the sand nearby.

Logan blinked in surprise, still feeling the warmth of your lips on his, the taste of saltwater lingering. The transition from the depths to the surface was disorienting, but the connection between you remained unbroken. You stood before him, the night air cool against your skin, your eyes still holding that knowing, playful glint.

Logan regained control of the heated moment, his instincts taking over as he flipped you onto your back, the soft sand cushioning your bare skin. Hovering above you, he reluctantly pulled away from the kiss, his breath ragged as he tried to steady himself. For a brief moment, he just watched you, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

But all he saw was that damn smirk, the one that drove him wild.

"I'm not doing anything, Logan," you taunted, your voice a teasing whisper that sent a thrill down his spine. "It's your own hands that want to touch me."

You leaned upward, closing the space between you, your lips hovering just inches from his. The challenge in your eyes was unmistakable, daring him to take what he wanted, knowing full well that you had already captured his desire.

Logan growled before he roughly shove his lips against yours, pushing you back against the ground as his wandering hands begin to wonder around your body. Groping your tits roughly, earning a soft moan from you. You don't want to be useless, you let one hand find its way to his stomach before it lingers down towards the package that you're searching for.

Logan groaned once he feels your cold palm, wrapped around his raging-hard cock. He looks down to your lower body and noticed that your legs are still hidden away, your tail displayed upon him.

"You have two options, kid. Either you change them into that sexy, strong, legs of yours so I could fuck and cum deep inside your pussy. Or, I could just use your mouth and cums down your throat. Which ever do you want?"

let me know if you want this to be a series.. 👀