#or maybe he was about to be taken away for it...

[leyla257098]

STRAY KIDS reaction to their idol girlfriend publicly saying that she`s single ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 스트레이 키즈 ՞

PAIRING: stray kids x idol fem!reader

GENRE: Fluff, Slice of life, Light angst

WORD COUNT: 1,350 words

WARNING: None

DISCLAIMER: This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are purely coincidental.Also this is my story so please don't steal! || Masterlist

BANG CHAN

You’re doing a variety interview with your group, and when asked about your love life, you laugh and say,

“Nope, I’m very single. No time for anything serious.”

It’s a joke — the way idols always have to say it. You don’t mean it. You hope Chan knows that.

Back at the dorm, he’s scrolling through clips and sees the moment. His thumb freezes over the screen.

“Very single, huh…” he mumbles to himself.

You call not long after, voice soft, “Hey, you watching clips again?”

“I saw yours.”

There’s a pause.

“I get it, by the way. You had to say it.”

You exhale. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just panicked. The question came up, and I knew what the company would want me to say—”

“I know. You don’t have to explain. I’ve been there.”

But his tone says he’s a little hurt. Not angry. Just… off.

Later, when you’re finally alone together, he curls up next to you on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

“You’re not actually single, right?” he murmurs into your neck.

You kiss his temple. “Never been more taken.”

He smiles — just a little. It’s enough.

LEE KNOW

He doesn’t say anything for a full day. That’s how you know he saw it.

You try texting.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Miss you”

“Did you see the clip…?”

Still nothing.

You end up calling him late that night.

“Minho, please talk to me.”

He sighs. Long and slow. “I’m not mad. Just… kind of tired.”

You bite your lip. “Of what?”

“Of pretending we don’t exist. Of hearing you say you’re single and knowing I can’t do anything about it.”

You don’t expect him to be so honest — but he always surprises you like that.

You whisper, “You know I love you, right?”

“I know.” His voice cracks. “That’s the only reason I’m not walking away.”

CHANGBIN

He FaceTimes you immediately after watching the clip. You answer, laughing, “Wow, didn’t expect a call this fast.”

He pouts. “So you’re single now?”

“Don’t do that.”

You drop the playfulness. “You know it’s not like that. Binnie, I had to.”

He scratches the back of his head. “I know, I know… I’m not mad, just…”

He glances at the camera and grins a little. “You’re mine. And it’s hard hearing you say you’re not.”

Your chest tightens. “I know. I hated saying it.”

There’s a beat. Then he smiles, soft and real.

“Just don’t go falling for someone else while you’re out there being single.”

You roll your eyes. “As if anyone could beat you.”

“Exactly,” he smirks. “Just needed to hear you say it.”

HYUNJIN

You’re on the phone with Hyunjin while he’s painting in the background. His brush pauses mid-air when you bring it up.

“You saw it, didn’t you?”

“…Yeah.”

“You’re quiet.”

He hums. “I don’t blame you. You looked beautiful, by the way.”

“But?”

“No ‘but.’ Just… I miss you more on days like this.”

You sit in silence, guilt spreading through your ribs like water through fabric.

“I didn’t like saying it.”

He puts the brush down.

“I know you didn’t. I just wish the world could know how happy I am with you.”

You whisper, “One day, maybe.”

“Yeah. One day.”

He goes back to painting. And you stay on the call, just listening to each other breathe.

HAN

He sends you the clip. No caption.

You stare at it for a long time before replying,

“Can we talk?”

You meet in the parking garage under the company building — the only place with shadows enough to be invisible.

He’s leaning against his car, arms crossed.

“I’m very single, huh?”

You wince. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t.”

He finally looks at you. His eyes are a little red, like he’s been thinking too hard for too long.

“I trust you. I really do. But sometimes, it sucks that I have to.”

You step closer. “I wish I could tell the world about you. I do. Every damn day.”

He lets out a soft laugh. “One day, I want you to say it with the same fire you use on stage.”

You nod. “I will.”

And he believes you.

FELIX

He watches it live.

Your smile is wide, but he catches the stiffness in your voice when you say it

“I’m not seeing anyone. Just focused on my work.”

He turns off the TV.

Later, when you call, he sounds too sweet.

“Hey, sunshine,” you say.

“Hey.”

Soft pause.

“Why’d you say you’re not seeing anyone?”

You hesitate.

“Lix…”

“I’m not upset, promise. Just curious.”

You explain gently — the script, the pressure, the need to be “marketable.” He listens to every word, nodding.

“I don’t want you to feel like you can’t shine because of me.”

You frown. “You make me shine more.”

He laughs. “Then maybe one day, they’ll see it too.”

SEUNGMIN

He’s sarcastic about it.

“Ohhh, so you’re single now?” he teases as soon as you walk through the door. “Guess I should go delete our texts.”

You groan, throwing a pillow at him. “Don’t be annoying.”

“I’m not! Just preparing to be publicly rejected again.”

You flop next to him on the couch. “Are you done being dramatic?”

He shrugs, half-smiling. “You could at least lie with more passion.”

You roll your eyes, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Next time I’ll say, ‘I’m single, but it’s complicated because I’m dating this infuriatingly sarcastic guy who won’t let me breathe.’”

“That’s better,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “Way more accurate.”

JEONGIN

He doesn’t say anything at first. You notice how quiet he is during your video call.

“Innie? You okay?”

He shrugs. “Yeah.”

But his voice is small.

“I saw what you said today.”

You sigh. “I know.”

“You said you were single.”

“I had to—”

“I know. I just…”

He takes a breath.

“I wish I was enough that you could say you weren’t.”

Your chest aches.

“You are. You’re everything. This world just isn’t ready for that kind of honesty.”

He looks down.

“Okay.”

You reach out, even if only through a screen. “One day, I’ll tell the whole world about the boy who changed everything for me.”

He looks up and smiles.

“I’ll wait.”

[ainsworthluv]

Daughter of a Legend | Lando Norris

Lando meets the daughter of Formula One's greatest legend

Sorry everyone, but there was no way I could let you choose the name on this one.

Everything about Ayrton is true, Disney, the car, what Adriane thought.

Viviane Galisteu Senna da Silva — Vivi, to the lucky few—entered the world only a handful of months after that fateful first of May. Her hair, the color of sun-kissed sand, was Adriane’s through and through, as were the generous smile and warm, bronzed skin. But the eyes—those deep, espresso-dark eyes — were pure Ayrton. They reflected everything around her and, more importantly, everything within: kindness, determination, a stubborn refusal to look away when someone needed help.

Vivi had grown up well outside the camera flashes. She nursed a quiet, slow-brewing resentment for Formula One, the sport that hoisted her father onto a pedestal and then snatched him away. Strangers still approached her with reverence shining in their faces. “Your dad was the greatest driver who ever lived.” Vivi would smile—small, practiced, polite—and swallow the rest of the sentence she wanted to say.

She knew the legend, of course. Everyone did. Brazil’s unbeatable hero, Ayrton Senna. But Vivi also knew the backstage version—soft-spoken stories her mother shared in the half-light of their living room. Their apartment was a museum of love: a McLaren helmet in the hallway, the little Fiat Uno with the lovingly Brazilian vanity plate DR I (for “Dri”) tucked in the garage, ticket stubs and photographs everywhere. Yet the same memories carried warnings in their margins.

“No one loved racing like your father,” Adriane would murmur, tracing the outline of his grin in a photograph. “He gave his whole life to those cars. He wouldn’t even take a day to visit Disney—said it would steal training time.” The words landed like gravel in Vivi’s heart. Her father had lived for speed, and speed had taken him apart in a race that should never have happened.

That story defined her childhood. Adriane had just learned she was pregnant and told Ayrton—his joy nearly burst through the telephone lines. Hours later, the phone rang again. Brazil fell silent. Ayrton Senna was gone.

Six months afterward, Vivi arrived—no father, but a name he’d chosen himself: Viviane, in honor of his eldest sister, founder of the Ayrton Senna Institute and creator of Senninha, the cartoon boy who taught Brazilian kids to dream.

Engines made Vivi’s skin prickle for years; she’d change channels the instant she heard them. Yet today—thirty years since Imola—she stood in the paddock at Interlagos. This wasn’t about her hurt feelings. It was about him. And if Ayrton had taught the world anything, it was to keep driving forward.

•••

“Mate,” Lando whispered, jabbing Charles in the ribs while Charles chatted with Alexandra. “Tell me I’m hallucinating, or is that Senna’s daughter?”

Charles tilted his head, sunglasses glinting. “Looks like her.”

“She’s stunning—exactly like her mum,” Alexandra said, all effortless cool.

“Remind me who her mum is?” Lando asked, eyes still glued to Vivi.

“Adriane Galisteu. Super-model status, Brazilian icon.”

“I cannot believe she’s actually here,” Lando breathed. “She’s practically mythological—never shows up, never does interviews.”

“Probably here for the tribute,” Charles reminded him. “Hamilton’s taking the MP4/8 out for a lap. Big anniversary.”

“Right.” Lando nodded, brain clearly screaming focus, heart equally clearly ignoring the directive.

Alexandra snorted. “You’re practically drooling, Norris. Go talk to her.”

“Are you kidding? She’s Senna’s daughter. If Ayrton was the god of Formula One, that makes her, what, a demigoddess? I’m mortal at best.”

“Bring offerings,” Charles deadpanned. “Maybe a double espresso and a smile.”

Lando swallowed. He could handle 300 kilometers per hour and wheel-to-wheel combat, but apparently not a single conversation-speed approach to a girl with legendary eyes.

Still, every great race started on the grid. And Vivi—demigoddess or not—had just wandered into his pit lane.

•••

Vivi hadn't meant to sit down. Not really.

She had arrived at the paddock out of obligation—at least, that’s what she told herself. She wasn’t here for nostalgia. She wasn’t here for closure. She was here because someone had to remember her father as more than a highlight reel and a pitlane ghost. Someone who loved him had to be present.

So she sat, almost defiantly, in the corner of McLaren’s garage. Not drawing attention, but not exactly hiding either. The helmet—his helmet—rested in her lap, the colors still bold despite the passing of decades. Red, yellow, green. A symbol, a relic. A memory.

She stared out toward the track, half-lost in thought, half-holding herself together. Until a familiar voice cut through the buzz of the paddock.

“…and we’ll tweak the rear suspension, but otherwise it felt good,” Lando was saying, casually, like it was any other day. His engineer nodded, distracted. But Lando’s words trailed off when his eyes landed on her.

He froze.

There was no mistaking her. She wasn’t surrounded by cameras, she wasn’t giving interviews—but she didn’t need to be. Her presence said enough. The cheekbones, the sun-kissed skin, the unmistakable quiet pride in the way she held that helmet.

She caught him staring.

Instead of pretending not to notice, she tilted her head slightly and gave him a half-smile. It wasn't shy. It was amused.

“You’re Lando Norris, right?” she said, her voice low, steady. The kind of voice that made people pause.

“Yeah,” he replied, mouth already dry. “That’s me.”

“I’m Vivi.”

“I know,” he blurted, too quickly. “I mean—yeah. Everyone knows. You’re—” He stopped, because how exactly do you tell someone they’re famous for being the daughter of a legend?

“The daughter of Ayrton Senna,” she said for him, with a tired, soft smile. “It’s okay. You can say it.”

“I didn’t want to be weird.”

“You’re already weird,” she said, teasing. “But I don’t mind.”

He laughed, awkwardly brushing his hair back. “I’m a huge fan of your father. I mean, who isn’t? I think it’s basically mandatory if you love F1.”

“I always joke about that,” she said, eyes twinkling. “But you might be right. It’s probably a legal requirement.”

“I’m serious. They should put it on our FIA licenses: ‘Must worship Senna.’”

Vivi let out a real laugh—short, surprised, warm. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Oh? What did you expect?”

“Something colder. More serious. Maybe a little arrogant.”

“Well, ouch,” he said, clutching his chest in mock pain. “But fair.”

She glanced sideways at him, then back at the helmet in her lap. “You drive for McLaren, right?”

“Yeah. Feels surreal most days.”

“Are you happy?”

He nodded, a little more seriously. “I’m living my dream.”

Something in the way he said it made her shift slightly on the bench, creating a small space beside her.

She didn’t say anything.

But he understood.

Lando sat beside her, close but not too close, his eyes never leaving the helmet.

“Is that really his?” he asked, voice lowered like they were in a cathedral.

Vivi nodded. “Yeah.”

“Can I…?” He trailed off, unsure.

She handed it to him without a word.

Lando took it like she was passing him something sacred. And maybe she was. His fingers traced the edge of the visor, the curve of the shell. “This is incredible,” he whispered. “I never thought I’d even see it up close, let alone hold it. I think I might faint.”

Vivi laughed again, and Lando’s stomach flipped. That sound was magic.

“I’m giving it to Hamilton,” she added, gently.

“Careful,” Lando grinned. “He’s old. That much emotion might kill him.”

She laughed louder this time.

“He deserves it,” she said. “The tribute he’s doing for my dad… it’s beautiful. My father would’ve liked him.”

There was a pause. Not awkward—just heavy enough.

“Can I ask you something?” Lando said quietly.

“You just did,” she replied, lips tugging upward. But then she nodded. “Go ahead.”

“You’re the daughter of the Ayrton Senna. But you’ve kept your distance from all this. Why?”

She inhaled, then exhaled slowly. “Anger, mostly. Grief too, I guess. Formula One didn’t just make him—it took him from me.”

Lando didn’t speak. He didn’t rush in with reassurances or cliches. He just listened.

“My father gave everything to this sport,” she continued. “And in the end, they repaid him with a mechanical failure. A stupid, pointless error. A race that should never have happened. And now… all I have are stories. A name he chose for me before he died. A helmet. A country that mourned louder than my mother ever could.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and Lando glanced down at the helmet in his hands.

He wanted to hug her. Every part of him itched to move closer. But instead, he just said,

“Your dad changed Brazil. He changed all of us.”

Vivi nodded, blinking tears from her lashes. “I know. And I’m proud. It’s just... complicated. In Brazil, people live and breathe football. We cancel school for World Cup games. We cry over it. But no one expected the country to stop for a race car driver. And yet—my father made that happen. He made a nation care about something no one noticed before.”

She paused again. Then smiled—wistful, broken at the edges.

“My mom told me once that his dream was to go to Disney.”

“Disney?” Lando echoed, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” Vivi nodded. “Silly, right? But he never went. Said it would steal time from training. That’s how much he gave to this. His life. His time. His joy. And it killed him.”

Silence fell. Except it wasn’t empty. It was full—of love, of loss, of a million unspoken things.

Lando handed the helmet back to her gently. “He would be proud of you, you know.”

“I hope so,” she said, brushing her thumb over the visor. “I really do.”

•••

Later, when the tribute finished and the engines fell silent, Hamilton completed his final lap in Ayrton’s McLaren, waving the Brazilian flag just as Ayrton once had. The crowd was louder than thunder.

Vivi stood near the pit wall, eyes wet, heart full. She watched Hamilton remove his helmet and break into tears. She had already given him the old one—the one—and he’d held it to his chest like it was made of his hero’s spirit.

Lando found her hours later, long after the crowd had left and the champagne had lost its fizz.

“Think he did okay?” he asked, voice softer now.

Vivi turned, smiling gently. “He did more than okay. I think my father would’ve been proud.”

“You heading out?”

“Yeah. I came, I remembered, I cried. Mission complete.”

“No after-party for you?”

She shook her head. “Not really in a party mood, to be honest.”

Lando hesitated. And then—well, bravery had won him a few races before.

“What about dinner?” he asked. “Just us. I mean… you’re Brazilian, I’m not. Maybe you can show me something new.”

Vivi blinked, surprised—but amused. “Dinner?”

“Strictly educational,” he said, grinning. “Cultural exchange.”

She looked at him for a beat longer than necessary. Then, finally—finally—smiled.

“Okay, British boy,” she said. “But only if there’s dessert.”

“Deal,” he said, holding out a hand like he was sealing a contract.

And just like that, Vivi stood, tucking the helmet beneath her arm. Grief would always live with her—but maybe, just maybe, joy had room too.

They walked off together—not as legend and fan, not as symbol and driver, but as two people learning what it meant to be seen.

[ludmithjacques]

The last thing Ian had wanted was to join a Home Owner’s Association, but the price was right and he needed a place. At least most of his neighbors were fine enough, and most of the Agreement was reasonable, if mildly annoying. He could do without the busy-bodies, though.

When Sophie Derringer had given him a pointed look from across the street during his daily hang-out with the local Unkindness, he’d just given her a shrug and fed another tidbit to the one he’d taken to thinking of as Crackbeak, due to the crack in his beak. When she’d showed up on his side of the street the next day and asked him what he thought he was doing, he just shrugged again.

“Just spending time with the neighbors,” he joked, the corvids all croaking out a chorus of ‘Neighbors! Neighbors!’, one sitting on his shoulder (He called her Tatter-Tail, due to one tattered looking tail feather) bobbing her head up and down and cawing, almost like laughter.

“You’re inviting a bunch of wild animals into the neighborhood!” Sophie replied, glaring past her bangs. 

“They already lived here,” Ian countered. “They just started congregating in my yard specifically after I started feeding them, that’s all, and there’s nothing in the HOA Agreement about feeding the birds.”

“I’ve still got half a mind to call Animal Control,” she muttered darkly as she walked away.

Ian didn’t pay her much mind. It’s not like she could ban birds from the neighborhood, and if worst came to worst, he could just feed them in his backyard instead of the front, even if it was smaller. 

Sophie didn’t bother him much for the next few weeks, just shooting him glares from the sidewalk whenever she happened to catch him during Raven Time, which had started to become a regular thing after he started bringing a proper variety of snacks to share. He’d started bringing those charcuterie boards from the grocery store once they’d started bringing him actual change. The first dollar bill had resulted in bits of rotisserie chicken being added to the selection.

The Unkindness definitely got a lot bigger after that, but Ian didn’t really see the problem, they seemed to contain themselves to his yard and his tree, and only for an hour or so before dispersing to go do whatever it was ravens did when they weren’t playing around in his grass and begging for snacks. 

Maybe that’s why he was so unprepared when one showed up in the middle of the night, pecking incessantly at his window. It wasn’t his chamber door, but he wasn’t about to criticize. 

“I’m sorry sir or madam, but I’m afraid you’re a bit early for our normal appointment,” he said through the closed window, making a shooing motion. “Come back during business hours.”

The crow did not, in fact, shoo. If anything, it pecked even harder. “Alright, alright,” Ian said, already second-guessing his choice even as he opened the window and allowed a bird into his bedroom, immediately jumping out of the way as it flapped to his desk. 

And then it bowed.

There was was no question that it was a bow. It’s beak touched his desk, and one wing was spread wide, the other tucked close.  “My lord,” the bird spoke, driving Ian’s eyebrows into his hairline. “My deepest apologies for coming to you at this hour, but it is dire!” “Huh?” Ian answered dumbly, the hamster that usually ran the wheel in his brain apparently taking one look at the talking bird and deciding it wasn’t getting paid enough for such nonsense.

“It is the lady Sophie, of the House of Blue! She plots against you!”

“You mean Sophie Derringer? Across the street?” he asked, sitting at the edge of his bed, the raven hopping to the back of his computer chair. She did live in a blue house...

“The same, my lord! She seeks to drive you out!”

“And... How do you know this?” Ian had many, many questions to ask, but part of him was worried that asking things like ‘how are you speaking’ and ‘why am I your lord’ would end what was shaping up to be a fascinating dream. 

“We’ve been watching, my lord,” the raven had the decency to look askance. “She confers with her cronies on the council loudly in her backyard. She seeks to call a vote to ban the Unkindness, in the past, no less!”

“So,” Ian took a minute to translate the terms in his mind. “She’s going to push a vote in the HOA to ban flocks of birds? Retroactively?”

“’Tis a plot against you, my lord!” 

“I mean, yeah, obviously, unless someone’s got a flock of pigeons I don’t know about,” Ian frowned. “But why? You guys aren’t bothering anyone... Are you?”

The bird would was suddenly not looking at him, finding the wall very interesting.

“Are you?”

“We... May have... Adorned her car, for paying you insult.”

“Adorned it with what?”

“Shit.”

“Ah.”

You always got strange looks whenever you fed the neighborhood ravens. “I give them food, they give me company,” you’d say. One day, a raven excitedly comes up to you and whispers, “A neighbor plots against you, my lord.”

[kurooh]

☆ KISS ME MORE ! — MY HERO ACADEMIA

⊹₊˚. MHA 10K SPECIAL — even when he’s overstimulated and a whining mess, you just can’t stop coming back for more. / midoriya izuku, bakugo katsuki, todoroki shoto, kaminari denki, amajiki tamaki, & takami keigo.

warnings: 18+ content, mdni. fem! reader, overstimulation, cunnilingus, handjobs, blowjobs, orgasm control, reader’s a kinda mean, 69, begging, some femdom action, sub undertones, pussyjob.

xoxo, juno: thank you guys so so much for ten thousand followers! <3

MIDORIYA IZUKU.

⟡ izuku likes to explore different experiences and whatnot in the bedroom. while he’s the one who’s typically controlling your orgasms, he doesn’t mind switching things up... even if you make him cry.

“c’mon, baby, that’s not fair,” izuku has to pull away from your slick cunt yet again, his voice trembling in a way that’s almost petulant. “you keep distracting me and i haven’t even made you cum yet.”

a thick glob of spit lands on his cock and he jolts, hips jerking up. when he agreed to try out the new position you said you were interested in, your boyfriend certainly did not expect this—you’re just dragging orgasm after orgasm out of him like it’s nothing.

“maybe your multitasking skills aren’t as good as you thought they were,” you tease, all singsongy with your hand on his sensitive dick. “if you stopped trying so hard and just let me take care of it, you wouldn’t be whining right now.”

izuku scoffs, pulling your hips back so he doesn’t strain his damn neck. “i can’t believe you’re calling my concerns whining, of all things. also, aren’t you the one always saying you like—oooh, fuck.”

slick with the messy mix of spit and cum, your fist glides up and down his cock. it doesn’t take long for you to find your groove, especially when he’s reacting so quickly, each moan telling you more than enough. his hands are on both of your asscheeks and your pussy’s dripping right in front of his face, and he’s not doing a damn thing about it.

“h-hey,” izuku tries, clearing his throat in hopes of regaining control over his shaking voice, “interrupting people when they’re—oh my god—when they’re talking is rude.”

you roll your eyes, roling your tongue over his tip. he moans shamelessly, hips desperately bucking up in delusion. just a little bit of action with your tongue and he thinks he’ll get a blowjob—please. izuku’s done nothing to deserve a gift like that right now; the position you’re in allows for him to slurp you up like a sundae, and yet, he hasn’t taken action.

“not finishing the meal in front of you is pretty rude, too.” you rock your hips forward and back, giving him a downright sinful view of the mess between your thighs. glossy strings of slick cling to your skin, just begging to be licked up, and then there’s your all too empty cunt.

izuku’s out of retorts and thinking only of how soft your hands are against his cock. the languid flick of your wrist is nothing but slow and smooth, just the way he likes it—oh, did a tear just run down his cheek?

all of the built up sensitivity makes him easy. he’s stumbling over his words now, jerking his hips up and gasping for breath. “‘m gonna cum again, baby. d-don’t slow down, please don’t slow down!”

while izuku’s cock is thickening and throbbing in your fist, you’re busy adjusting yourself, pulling your knees back so that your ass is now hovering over his face.

“i’m gonna cum,” he sobs, and the sound goes straight to your clit, “oh, fu—”

you plant your ass right onto his face, neglected pussy sliding against his open mouth. it feels like heaven when izuku groans at the contact, his tongue finally stroking along your dripping entrance. the overwhelming taste of sweetness is already too much, and then you start to move—rough and graceless, your hips rock over his face.

this is you taking what you want, and god, it’s hot.

cum spurts over your fingers in thick, creamy trails and he stops thrusting up, no longer trying to meet your hand as it comes down. he may be spent, but you’re nowhere near finished with him.

“damn, ‘zuku. i can’t believe you’re making me do all the work here.”

your boyfriend starts to whine between desperate licks against your cunt, much of his noise muffled by your ass covering his face. even after squeezing most of the cum out of him, you don’t slow down—he was the one who told you not to, right? (curiously, you want to see if throwing your ass back onto his face while overstimulating him will result in another orgasm.) now, he may be coming close to suffocating, but this is the kind of death he’d welcome with open arms. or, open mouths, in his case.

BAKUGO KATSUKI.

⟡ katsuki would never sit there and let you jerk him off until he’s shaking. why? because it won’t work, and because it’s ‘such a stupid idea and waste of time’. but maybe overstimulation isn’t so stupid when you’re riding him like a racehorse and bouncing those moans out.

“mhm, mhm,” katsuki’s gripping your hips and roughly guiding you along his cock, making sure that you’re keeping the pace. “atta girl, that’s real good. hah—been waiting for this all day.”

japan’s number five hero works hard every single day. katsuki’s constantly going on patrols, apprehending criminals, dealing with co-workers . . . it’s a lot, and he deserves a break from all of it.

your chest heaves, tits bouncing in his face, and he’s never been so enthralled. his cock is snug inside you and being squeezed tight by your clenching walls; even better, he’s about to empty himself out inside you. there’s so much to give you that he doesn’t even want to pull out too quickly, lest it all run out of you.

“k-katsuki,” you whine his name, nearly choking on it, “oh my god, you’re so deep. ‘s like i can feel you in my stomach.”

rough and large, one of katsuki’s palms comes to rest against the soft skin of your tummy. he chuckles gruffly, pressing into the slight bulge his cock makes inside of you. “that’s because i’m in there. you feel that, right here? is it too much for you?”

you nod, and he laughs, white teeth catching the light. they look sharp in his mouth, gleaming with something almost predatory. “that’s just too bad, huh? i’m about to fill up this pussy of yours, and you’re not gonna let a single drop leak out. is that clear or no?”

katsuki’s command doesn’t quite sound physically possible. if you were to get up and off of him, everything would spill down your thighs and make a not-so-sexy mess. you haven’t cum yet, and you also want to listen to him—maybe if you were to stay on his lap, you could make both things happen.

thinking you’re not listening, he smacks your ass and arches an expectant brow. you shake your head, throwing your arms over his shoulders to maintain balance, “i - yeah, i heard you. sit back and let me work my magic, kat. my break was too long, you didn’t tell me.”

his jaw clenches slightly. you can see that he’s biting his tongue, too close to the edge to be making any more snarky comments. there’s a faint shaking in both of his thighs, and you’re very interested in seeing if you can make it worse.

you’re bouncy as you ride his cock, slamming your ass down on him and putting on quite the show. of course, katsuki ends up reaching his high with a guttural groan of your name that dissolves into a series of curses and harsh breaths. seeing him fall apart is a delicious sight, and your thighs are starting to burn with exertion as you ride him through it, but then he lets out the lowest of whines.

katsuki, of all people? finally losing enough of his composure to stop holding back those amazing sounds? now you’re determined to pull more out of him, no matter the cost! exhaustion melts into exhilaration, and you’re bouncing on his cock with renewed vigor.

“fuck,” he chokes out, voice tight, “holy fuck, i just came”—katsuki’s fingers twitch and he reaches out to grab your hips, but he stops short—“g-god, what’s with you? not even gonna give me a damn break?”

you just shake your head, breathing hard. your palms are pressed against his chest now, and you’re looking at him like you want to eat him alive. “not yet, not until i—ngh, oh my god—i hear you stop holding yourself back.”

he just moans, broken and raw. “fuck do you mean i’m holding back?”

katsuki’s completely shaking now, his abs clenching with every single noise that escapes him. the air smells very faintly of burnt caramel but more so sweat and sex—little by little, he’s starting to unravel. “you know, y-you’re always gritting your teeth and grunting when it’s obvious you just feel embarrassed to make any other noise.”

he looks indignant, “i am not—” but he throws his head back, clearly overwhelmed, and the sudden whimper that slips out of his mouth completely betrays him. god, what the fuck are you doing to him? he hates that you’re right about him being slightly embarrassed but can’t muster a shred of anger or even a half-formed thought about it. you’re literally riding him stupid, and you can see when the realization of the moment registers in his brain.

the moment has really inflated your ego, and acting on impulse, you grab him by the the throat, which surprises both of you. katsuki’s eyes widen a fraction at the familiar action—he’s the one who’s supposed to be grabbing you—and startled, he accidentally whines. it’s louder than earlier and much filthier; he sees the excitement on your face and feels your pussy clench hard around him.

he’s too stunned to speak, not only by the way you’ve grabbed him but also by the sparks of arousal shooting up his spine in response. you only smirk at him, pleased by the sudden role reversal. “that’s what i’m talking about, kat. let me really hear how much you like it.”

TODOROKI SHOTO.

⟡ when you mention a little something about overstimulation, shoto isn’t entirely unfamiliar with the subject. he’s pretty sure he’s made you experience that before, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous for you to try it out on him..

shoto’s leg jerks like you’ve just used a reflex hammer on him. he can feel the warmth searing its way across his face when your eyes meet his, a smile playing on your lips like you aren’t stroking his cock at the moment.

he lets out something between a gasp and an exhale, biting at his lower lip. “sweetheart, do you really have to—f-fuck—look at me like that?”

“like what?” you ask coyly, leaning in so that your lips just barely graze against the sensitive tip of his cock. shoto’s all sticky, slick with a tantalizing mixture of sweat and too many orgasms to count; the quietest of whines slips out of him, and he tears his eyes away, averting them to a nearby couch cushion.

“like that,” he insists, at a loss for words, “like you’re doing anything but jerking me off right now. you know exactly what you’re doing to me, angel.”

you laugh at him. you actually laugh at him, as if he’s just said something funny—but it’s pretty hard to be indignant when you speed up as well. the flick of your wrist is smooth, almost a little lazy, but you don’t have to try too hard to get his heart racing. it’s embarrassing, honestly, the way he can feel his orgasm rising up in his gut—fast and hot, like fast-moving magma in a volcano.

“d-don’t look at me,” shoto says, sounding like he’s begging you not to, “hah, this is already too much for me.”

his cock twitches in your grip, thickening and throbbing under your touch. you’re working him like a fucking pro, stroking him the way he first taught you how to—but he never expected you to use those skills against him! shoto can’t quite tell if you’re tormenting him or not, but it definitely feels like it every time you coo his name.

“sho, baby,” just the sound of your voice causes a shudder to rock his entire body, making his shoulders roll forward, “i can’t look away, though. you always make this really hot face when you cum, and seeing it makes me feel like i’m right there with you. c’mon, look at me, i want to—”

there’s a choked, desperate moan only a second before hot cum spurts over your fingers in copious amounts. each burst is better than the last, especially because he just gets louder. soft gasps transform into pants of your name and groans that he’s no longer able to hold back. shoto can only squirm when you keep going, giggling as you use his cum as lube.

“oh, oh my god,” he’s bucking toward you and drawing back whenever you give him too much, so blissed out he’s not even sure what he wants anymore. “fuck, i can’t—w-wait, don’t stop.”

if there’s anything he’s sure of, it’s the fact that you’re gonna be the death of him one day. you giggle at him, squeezing tighter. “don’t stop? i thought it was don’t look.. make up your mind, sho.”

KAMINARI DENKI.

⟡ denki 100% thinks he’s gonna die when you walk in on him humping your pillow. like, what if you pull a fucking glock out from under the bed?? the last thing he expects you to do is ‘help’ him out, aka make him suffer a little.

a litany of pitched moans spills out of denki’s mouth before he can even think to stop it. right now, it’s just him, a homemade video of you throwing your ass back onto him, and the pillow he’s rutting his clothed cock into—but this isn’t just any pillow.

it’s your pillow, and your name is the only coherent thing on his lips.

“fuckfuckfuck—” denki’s panting lowly, cursing under his breath as he feels himself getting closer and closer to the edge; the audio from the video blasts through his headphones at full volume, the sounds of your giggles and his panting filling his ears. it’s so loud that he doesn’t even hear you step into the room, nor does he hear the way you say his name.

it’s only when he rips his eyes away from his phone to tilt his head up against the forming tears does he see you standing there with your arms crossed. denki can’t even throw the pillow to the side—not only have you seen him, you’ve probably noticed the large wet spot in his boxers with every rough pass of his hips.

“is that my pillow?” you ask, not breaking the eye contact with him. oh fuck, you’re getting onto the bed with him now—shit, and you’ve just taken your pillow away from him.

you’re looking over it, noticing the dampness of the colored pillowcase and the wrinkles on the sides from how hard he’d been gripping it.

“it’s not what it looks like!” denki tries weakly, sitting back on his knees and holding his hands up in surrender. “if you’d just hear me out—”

before he can even finish his sentence, your hand is on his cock and squeezing rather tightly—your thumb is just under his tip and pressing firmly, and even though you’re a little mad at him, it feels good. maybe it’s the way you’re grabbing him too tightly for him to escape, or it’s the unreadable glare and the heat behind it, but he cums, right then and there.

“you’re such a slut, baby,” it’s the first thing out of your mouth as you start to carelessly tug on his cock, turning his boxers into more of a mess. hot and thick, cum soaks through the fabric. some of it gets onto your hand, but you don’t give a damn—you’re a lot more focused on the sounds that he’s making in response to your words. “i knew you were desperate, but c’mon, denki,” you say his name with so much vitriol that he feels it in the very tip of his cock, “i said i’d be home in an hour, and that you could do whatever you wanted to me. but nooo, you decide to fuck my pillow instead. you have to admit how pathetic that is, baby.”

denki sucks in a breath, desperate for the air that’s escaping his lungs, “h-hey, it’s not my fault, it’s yours. you were taking too long and—ngh, shit, don’t squeeze so tight! ‘m still sensitive—”

“what, you’re gonna cum again?” you roll your eyes, giggling at the way his hips chase your hand when you pull it back, “i should just sit here and make you get yourself off. why should i even help you, hm?”

“you’re literally so mean,” his hiss turns into a yelp when you do squeeze him more roughly, sliding your fist down in the process. both on the inside and outside, his boxers are a complete mess: sticky with splotches of cum and full of his leaking cock. “i didn’t even get a break, you can’t just—”

with a smirk on your face, you just sit back and watch him cum again, but this time, you let go. denki can’t even finish his sentence before he’s gushing into his ruined boxers, hips rutting blindly into the air and searching for your grasp on him. the stinging overstimulation kicks in before the bliss can end and he’s left shuddering, with his teeth clicking together.

he actually lets out a little whimper, of all things, when you reach toward his waistband and completely ignore the way he draws his hips back.

“let’s see if i can help you remember not to mess with my pillows this time, okay? you could really use a reminder of why you should be patient, denki.”

AMAJIKI TAMAKI.

⟡ tamaki is NOT innocent, even if he acts like he is. he knows what he’s doing when he’s grinding against you in the store, or ‘accidentally’ turning chaste kisses into ones with tongue. the only way you’re able to get him under control is to throat his dick in a place that’s a little more public than private.

tamaki can only shudder as you pull off of him to cough, his cock hanging slick and sensitive between his thighs. even after one of your rougher blowjobs, he’s still hard and waiting for the next round of your punishment. you glare up at him, fuming, and he’s never been so excited.

“i’m so done with you,” you huff, harshly wiping away the spit on your chin. your throat is a little sore from choking on his dick, but it’s nothing compared to the mix of pleasure and pain he’ll be feeling when you get your mouth on him again. with the back of your hand, you hit him right where it should hurt, and tamaki just moans, his hips thrusting forward. you scoff, voice nothing short of lewd and dripping with absolute contempt. “god, you’re the definition of a slut.”

“well, what about you?” he murmurs in a tone that you don’t like in the slightest, the tips of his ears flushing a deeper pink. “you’re the one who’s on her knees behind a car in a busy parking lot.”

they’re fighting words, but you can sniff out the weakness behind them. tamaki’s trying and failing to be a brat; you grab his cock by the base, your grip firm and leaving no room for resistance.

“what was that? i’d love for you to repeat what you just said.”

you begin to stand up, the soles of your shoes scuffing against the pavement. his hands are on your shoulders and desperate as he tries to ease you back down, shaking his head frantically. he’s obviously backpedaling, rethinking what he said and anything that could fix it.

“nonono, please,” tamaki’s breathless, his expression pulling into one of unadulterated need, “i-i didn’t mean to—don’t leave me like this.”

another please trembles on his lips. you give him some grace by taking the tip of his cock between your lips, tongue grazing along the underside of it. tamaki barely deserves this—that little freak was practically humping you in the store, sidling up behind you and pressing his hips into your ass so you could feel that half-hard cock of his. to anyone passing by, this would look like a full body hug, but you knew exactly what it was, and it was quite the opposite of an innocent embrace.

he slides further down your throat and winces a little at the sensation. he’s still sensitive from a few minutes ago and not ready to cum again, especially so soon, but being without your mouth would hurt a lot more. in the distance, a few people walk past the row of cars yours is parked in, unsuspecting and completely unaware of the filth in their vicinity.

holding him by the base of his cock, you exhale and pull back, voice slightly raspy. “we’ll deal with this fully once we get home, but right now? i want you to cum in thirty seconds or you’re gonna wait.”

tamaki doesn’t question you. he only nods feverishly and bites his tongue, afraid to say something wrong again. after all, it’s a lot easier to shut up and listen rather than try and talk back. you’re back to slurping his cock again, and all he can think about is how good you look like this.

eyes hooded, cheeks bulging, lips glossy with spit—shit, he could cum just from looking at you. the thirty second rule is about to become the ten second rule . . and it does, when your eyes meet his and something shifts inside of him.

you taste his cum before you hear him warn you. he paints your throat white, falling over the edge with a loud groan that breaks into softer whines and eventually whimpers. afraid of overstimulation, tamaki starts to draw his hips back, gasping only when you warn him not to with a slight clenching of your teeth around his cock.

“woah, woah woah woah—hold on! h-hey, i thought you wanted to go home after this,” tamaki grabs onto the car for support as you continue sucking his soul out through his dick, too shaken up to register the heat of the surface. “um, isn’t it a bit hot out here? shouldn’t we get in the ca—ahh—r?”

he shudders despite the heat he just mentioned, shaken by your determination to keep going. right now, he’s walking a very fine line between stinging pain and fading pleasure—every slurp of his cock tugs him further to either edge, but all he can do is take it. how else could you punish him for being such a slut in the store earlier?

TAKAMI KEIGO.

⟡ whenever you offer to ‘take care’ of him, keigo knows exactly what you’re getting at and always flips it around so that you’re the one who ends up crying. but once you make him cum once, the rest come very easily.

“okay, i’m begging now, this is me begging,” tears roll down keigo’s temples when he arches his back, trying in vain to free himself. “d-don’t, not again. baby, i thought you said you hated when i cry.”

light as a feather and ticklish, the tips of your fingers trail down his muscular chest just to tease. “that’s only when you’re hurt or i can’t comfort you, kei. these are sexy tears.”

half tucked just under his body, keigo’s wings flap slowly but powerfully, blowing air and stray feathers all around the room. he’s trying his hardest to keep them under control, but it’s damn near impossible with you straddling him.

“ugh, fuck—stop it, i want to cum inside you,” he whines as you start to grind down on him again, pussy sliding slick and smooth over his cum-covered cock. thanks to you, keigo’s made quite the mess on himself—white streaks cover much of his pelvis and lower belly, while the excess trickles down his inner thighs. “no way you’re gonna do this to me again.”

“c’mon, kei,” you murmur, circling your hips over the tip of his cock in a suspicious pattern that seems to spell something out, “just one more, please? can you do that for me, keigo?”

“you can’t say it like that and expect me to say no,” he hiccups as you brush a few stray hairs out of his face, your touch impossibly gentle and completely opposite to the way you’ve been treating him. first, you tied him to the headboard and started with a blowjob—but then you figured it’d be more exciting to hop into his lap and see how many times you could make him fall apart without putting him inside you.

it feels like keigo’s soul is about to leave him when you start up with the praise and cooing of his name. it makes all of his frustration melt away, and it’s so dangerous because it makes him want to listen. you could say anything in that tone while kissing his jaw or cradling the side of his face and he’d do whatever you asked him to.

some of the longer feathers of his wings brush lightly against your jaw as they flap again, struggling to stay still. “you’re killing me,” keigo gasps, strained, his hips jerking up, “i need you to ride me already, dovey.”

you pull back when he pushes forward, smirking with amusement. keigo’s tied up and genuinely begging (though it could be more desperate), even though you both know he could escape if he really wanted to. if he were truly as frustrated as he says, he would slice the soft rope binding his wrists and fuck you into the next god damn day.

but he doesn’t.

keigo likes when you’re in control and deciding how he should cum, even if it’s not always the way he wants. you continue, settling back into position. by the last strange swirl of your hips, he’s realized that you’ve spelt out your name on him, similar to the way that he does when he’s eating you out.

he thought he couldn’t for at least a little while, but he clearly thought wrong. keigo cums right then and there, his cock spurting warmth all over your pussy and contributing to the mess.

“f-fuck, i’m cumming,” his jaw is dropped and a small amount of confusion seeps into his expression, though it’s mostly covered up by the euphoria.

“that was certainly . . fast, keigo,” you giggle while he moans thoughtlessly, his teary eyes squeezing shut as he rides out his high, body trembling and all. now, you could untie him and let him fuck you, but where’s the fun in that? where’s the control? you know both of you would enjoy it more if he was left tied up and you rode him into oblivion instead.

someway, somehow, he’s still spilling cum even as you grab his twitching cock and sit on it. keigo lets out a delicious noise at the feel of you wrapped around his cock, his throat bobbing and shiny with sweat in the light.

“god, you’re so big,” the compliment goes straight to his dick and makes him moan even louder, his chest rapidly rising and falling. his pupils are blown when he opens his eyes again, squinting at you through the tears like you’re straight out of his favorite fantasy.

“y-you gotta sit for a second, dovey, it’s too much. ‘m actually empty right now, can’t cum again.”

keigo lets out a sob the moment you start moving, ass bouncing off his thighs while his cock goes deep. he starts running his mouth, babbling teary nonsense about how it’s too much—he almost shuts up once you lean over him, allowing him to press his face into your neck.

he shuts his eyes, dizzy from the overstimulation. “fuckfuckfuck—oh, you’re ridin’ me so good. hngh, don’t s-stop, mommy—”

[pellucid-constellations]

az with a mate who cannot say no to the little stray animals with big sad eyes around velaris

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Word count: 400

Warnings: tiny injury

a/n: this was cute and fun <3 Thank you for the request!! I'm having a little drabble spree on my blog!!

____________________________________________

"What in the Cauldron is that sound?" Mor exclaimed, jutting up from her chair to look beyond the threshold of the small cottage. Feyre looked on with much of the same worry, but the owner of the cottage only continued to turn the pages of his book.

"Azriel?" Feyre prompted, her urgency the only thing that tore him from his story.

The Shadowsinger turned his head up and took a fleeting glance over his shoulder before bookmarking his page. The corner of his mouth twitched as a shadow curled around his ear before fleeing beyond the front door.

"It's nothing to be concerned about," he offered.

"Nothing to be concerned—Azriel, it sounds like something is dying in your entryway," Mor stressed.

"Sounds like, maybe. But I can assure you, the opposite is happening."

Mor muttered obscenities at his response as you made your entrance into your home with your arms full. The room went silent in favor of the screeches emanating from the creature in your hold, and Azriel kicked up from his seat when it began to squirm.

"Oh, hello. I didn't know we had guests," you huffed out, your disheveled state a testament to a struggle that must have taken place.

"Hello?"

"What is that thing?"

"Who have you brought home today, my love?"

The three greetings were simultaneous, and so you answered the one directly in front of you. Azriel was eyeing the scratches on your arms and the animal wriggling from your grip with a slightly jaded concern, but he made no attempts to take it from you. He only held his hands out and hovered.

You blew your hair from your face. "I'm—well, I'm not sure exactly. I think it's a cat, but then I also think it's not a cat. He's cute, though! And he looked sad. It was raining earlier and I think—"

"Alright, alright," Azriel hushed, running his palm over your hair. "How about we get him into one of the crates and clean you up, and then we can figure out what he is, yes?"

"One of the crates?" Feyre murmured from across the room.

Azriel didn't look away from your deliberation, his gaze adoring as he watched you consider the options.

"Maybe we could give him a bath?" you asked.

"After we clean you up," he repeated.

"Promise?"

"Of course I promise."

[suguru-getos]

𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞:

— when the one thing they swore was theirs tries to escape.

— warnings: yandere themes, don’t worry i think they are softie yanderes 🥺💞 i couldn’t make them too mean. fear-play, mentions of toxicity.

xavier – “i’ll fix you myself.”

you made it exactly 36 hours before he found you. things with yandere xavier were simple. you just needed to behave and be his. be solely his. sometimes he got jealous and may even manhandle you a little. bruise your plush thighs when you try to squirm away when he holds you close. “baby, my little star. don’t force me to be mean, hmm?” he just wants you to be his good little girl. why is that so hard for you? sigh… though, xavier never thought you’d be the one to escape from him one day. now that… really sucks and really stings…

he didn’t even need a tracker—he followed the trail of your injuries, your scent, and your regret. because the moment you took advantage of his long mission & escaped. you knew he would find you soon. his evol makes it all the way hard for you to run anyway. and honestly? how can you? he has been alive for about two centuries now. god knows how is he feeling about this right now. you managed to find a shelter eventually to take a little rest. your body feels sore & broken. like maybe you should’ve reconsidered.

when he appears in the doorway of the abandoned shelter you’d been hiding in, there’s his sword in his hand and the kindest smile on his face. you know it’s him from the way his evol lit up the entire place like sun in the middle of the night. oh he is fuming. pathetically angry that even words are failing him. but there’s also… relief.

“your pulse is too fast. that won’t do, my little starlight. we’ll regulate that soon.” is all he says, walking closer, watching you cower with no empathy as he carries you princess style.

you have a collar next, around your neck. you can’t even think about escaping from him now. he runs you a warm bath, silent, like the eye of the storm. “i need to understand what makes you run.” xavier wants to punish you. wants to see how sorry you are. but three whole days of being without you is a little too much.

“escaping was a symptom, little one. but don’t worry, we have a cure.” the cure? locks in the entire house. whatever tiny shred of freedom you had been taken away. he at least let you exist freely before. not anymore.

zayne – “you said you loved me. that makes you mine.”

you disabled your evol tracking chip, smashed your comms, and even changed your identity, you had planned this for a while. zayne was always so disciplined; always knew what to do and when. escaping from him needed discipline too. so you pretended to love him, to be his pliant little girl he cherishes. and honestly there were moments when you were almost not pretending. when his warmth truly felt comforting.

but then the incident with greyson happened— you two were having a friendly little chat. and that showed you just how warped and deep zayne’s antice and jealousy roots flow. just how cold he can be, like his evol. while eating lunch, two restraints locked onto your wrist as he interrogated as to — what exactly was so funny that greyson said. by the end of it, you had teared up, lip wobbling and zayne’s faux warmth coddling you and comforting you…

now that you think you’re safe and done… it’s enough; right? it’s been four months now. right? didn’t matter. zayne’s love is algorithmic. and as a lead cardiac surgeon with projects that include expansions with ever, patients that are so powerful, and dawnbreaker with subconscious of finding you. where could you really go?

so one day, he just appears in your new house. knocking softly. and when you open the door, you know what’s next. fury. zayne’s expressions are neutral. incomprehensibly neutral. “good morning. little one.” he hums, walking and inviting himself inside as he settled into the couch. “i see you’ve lost some weight, have you not been keeping up with the desserts you like? or do you only eat them when i order?” he hums as if he’s used to this…. that’s what scares you about zayne the most.

“are you going to start packing or do you want me to?” he raises a brow next. you truly don’t want to witness the brat tamer inside him. “zayne—“

“not a word.” is all he says. carefully helping you pack up everything. with reverence. carefully picking apart your new life, piece by piece.

once he has you, he doesn’t touch you—he isolates you. he just does his duties, tends to you, makes sure you eat healthy meals, helps you on your period. but doesn’t talk, doesn’t say anything. it’s as if you are his little pet who he can’t understand — or worse, doesn’t want to understand.

one thing about zayne is… he is patient. so he patiently waits when you feel vulnerable, patiently waits for when you feel sorry. when you come to him on your own and wrap your arms around him, when you kiss him just to feel a speck of his warmth. then— he rage fucks you. pours out all the heartbreak and aggression… but now you want it. you’re lovestarved…

rafayel – “this is what heartbreak makes me, bride.”

rafayel, your cute little famous artist. who can get a little bit unhinged at times. wait, actually, a lot unhinged at times… you remember when he named a new flower species on your name. guess that’s what a lot of money can do for someone. when you do decide to escape from him, it’s because of his lack of boundaries. we want sex, we want to go out on a walk, we want to travel today. there was always ‘we’ and rafayel didn’t understand ever… what could be more important to you than spending time with him.

when he does find you, he is livid. not the rafayel you know. his scales are visible and he is sickened by the fact that you tried to break his heart again. his jaw is ticking and he decides you need to be somewhere you have no chance of escaping from. the sea.

he stands beneath your window, a monstrous thing draped in iridescent scales and divine wrath. “let’s go home, my beloved bride.” is all he says, gripping you by the neck and tugging you closer to his chest. “since you didn’t want me on your own, i will make sure you fall in love with me.” in lemuria… in the sea…

“you killed the man who would’ve worshipped you. so i became a god.” is all he says. taking you down the trenches while you whine and cry, struggling against the merman. “you will not be punished ofcourse, but guess i need to try something new.”

“you can rest now, little fishie. the nightmare was leaving me.” he croons softly, hands running through your hair as you cry softly. rafayel is delusional in the sense that he knows he will make you fall for him again. there are no ifs and buts. never will.

sylus – “run again. sweetie. i want you to.”

sylus doesn’t chase. he hunts. and you’re about to meet the side of him again which you saw when you first met. him forcing to resonate with you. the problem is, he didn’t let you go after. anywhere. you were there, in the onichynus compound. rotting. there were days you played games with luke and kieran, there were days mephisto helped make you feel less lonely… less confined. but you missed your old life. you missed it way too much.

and when you do run? he lets you run. the n109 zone stretches for miles, and he wants you to burn out there. wants you to remember every second you tried to outpace him. wants you to remember how it feels to be a pawn in the onichynus territory. when you reach the n109 zone borders, he finally decides he’s bored of this cat and mouse game. sylus is honestly disappointed… and a little enraged. he did think you would warm up to him eventually. but he warmed up more, and faster. fell in love harder…

when he catches you (because of course he does), his hands are hot like fire, his voice like smoke. “you’re lucky i love you, kitten. if it were anyone else…” he doesn’t finish the sentence. just smiles. his usual cockiness hiding behind the betrayal. this is also the first time ironically, that he admits he loves you. earlier, it was just actions.

he drags you back to the Onychinus compound, lips against your throat as he enters through, “every security node’s now coded to your breath pattern. try running again. i dare you.”

the marks he leaves on your supple skin aren’t just bruises—they’re ownership.

“if you want to run so bad, don’t get caught. i will break your legs next time and let you crawl back to me.” no he won’t. he is the king of empty threats.

your eyes glass out, your throat feels clogged as you witness the same side you loathed and hated all over again. “i’d rather die then.” you scoffed. watching his expressions fade into shock and sadness… then rage.

hand grasping your throat, “oh that’s not how that works, kitten. i would drag you back to whichever place you go to. you and i are one. always have, always will.”

caleb – “you really broke me, pipsqueak.”

he’s quiet for days after you vanish. lets you go to linkon, lets you have the faux feeling of safety. when you left colonel caleb’s island house in skyhaven, you were adamant on two things. 1) you don’t want this version of him. 2) he has always been this way. the last argument where he made it pretty clear he was sick of playing this family game. gege… but then he kept you here. put skyhaven’s travel on lockdown. no one goes in and out. and when he eventually lifted it, you were ready to leave.

then the moment you are in linkon, he shows up, soaked in rain, colonel uniform. eyes fixated in livid rage, the one you are used to seeing when caleb doesn’t get his way. the one you’ve seen countless times but cuts too deep every. single. time.

“you’ve eaten? pips?” he raises a brow before getting inside, looking around the house as if he belongs there. and then… typical caleb behaviour. “you know, you really hurt me when you left skyhaven.” he hums, pinning you against the nearest wall, tucking your chin up as he smiles. “and i wanted to make sure you are safe and sound. away from everyone… in a world that belongs to just the two of us.”

he doesn’t drag you back—he guilt-trips you, lovebombs you, whispers about forever until you start believing you’re the villain. if you don’t want to live in skyhaven, then caleb will live with you. you see how exhausted he gets when he books coelum express everyday. you see how sleepless he gets whenever you shun him to the couch & he doesn’t get to hold you, you see how angry he gets when your colleagues suddenly make plans to take you away…

caleb has patience. he has practised insurmountable amounts of thick and grimy patience whenever you were teens. he knows how to be with you. he knows you inside out. even when you’re moody, even when you’re overwhelmed, even when you’re crying one day because you miss the version of him that feels like home. because he’s caleb, he’s always going to be by your side.

of course you give up, and decide to come back to him— and once you’re back, he locks every door, he bolts everyone from seeing you. caleb did say he would host a funeral your friends can attend. so you know the depths he is willing to reach just for you.

“you can’t leave if you’re part of me, right? maybe it’s time we merge. you can’t ever leave without my permissions. i’ll lurk, i’ll love you— even if you don’t need me to. even if, it’s messy.” he hums, holding you and craddling you in his lap as the heavy and high windows get drenched with skyhaven’s heavy rain. lightning and thunder causing you to curl up right against him.

you realize too late—he never needed chains. just your love, warped beyond repair. and if you can’t give him, he will make do with his love — also warped, beyond repair.

a/n: welp — i got carried away about caleb but as you guys know i am not normal about my baby at all :3 lmfaoo. i hope you guys like this one <3 comment and reblog please💞

taglist: @arxyl @whmnx @strawberrydragon24 @eve-rockin-blog @bakugoushotwife @scorpion-squadron @foggybasementprince @santaluna @maaic @insidious-innocence @angstyfrog @lucreied

[supeson]

You take Clark with you to get your annual physical done. Partly because you always hate going to the doctor, and he bribed you with food afterwards, and partly because your prescriptions were about to run out. Thankfully the nurse practitioner you always see is a pretty easygoing woman, and always wraps things up pretty quickly.

I can taste the Chinese buffet from here, you think as you fill out the intake form. Clark looks over your shoulder for any mistakes, frowning at your answers to the questionnaire portion.

"Why aren't you telling them the truth, sweetheart? You do have trouble sleeping, and it's certainly more than "rarely"," Clark points out.

You roll your eyes and cover up the sheet with your arms. "Because, Clark, if I was honest about how I'm doing, they'd just tell me to exercise and eat better and send me to a psychiatrist. Trust me, I can manage. Besides, mind your business." You lower your own voice and lean in closer. "You wouldn't understand the relationship between patient and physician because your physicians are stone cold robots located at the North Pole. Get off my back."

He tinges pink and puts his hands up in surrender. "Alright, you've got me there."

Just as he's about to open his mouth to say something else (probably to extol the virtues of honesty), the door opens, and a nurse calls your name. You get up, dragging your big lug of a boyfriend with you.

After getting your height and weight taken, you're put into a room, where the two of you watch the small informational screen they have playing continuous ads for the health care center and other supplements.

"Y'know, they're right, babe. You're getting older, maybe we should get you on the books for a prostate exam," You say, budging your elbow into him. He flushes again and just pushes you away from himself with his shoulder. The push is just a touch too hard, as you go reeling from it, ending up on the floor. Clark apologizes profusely and helps you up, just as your nurse practitioner walks in.

You stand ramrod straight. "Oh my god, this is so embarrassing. Um-"

Your nurse practitioner puts on a calm smile and sticks out her hand. "Hello, I'm nurse practitioner Clearwater. And you are?"

Clark stands up immediately, and gives her a firm handshake. "Clark. Clark Kent. Boyfriend."

From there, the whole thing is pretty routine, in your opinion. You talk about your general health, she asks about your meds, and you go on little diatribes about your continuing journey with mental illness. It's all routine until she's listening to your heart and sees some mottled bruises on your upper arms, and again peeking from your shorts as you sit straighter on the table. She takes a look at Clark, taking in just how large he is, and takes a deep breath.

"Mr. Kent? This next part of the exam is bit...private. Would you mind stepping out into the hallway for a moment?"

He perks up and nods enthusiastically. "Of course, it's no problem." He gives your hand a squeeze on the way out, and you just give him a soft smile in return. Clearwater then turns to you, all business.

"And how is your home life?" She asks.

You scratch your head. "I mean, if I'm honest? Vastly improved. Clark is a good guy, and means well."

Clearwater types something into the computer hooked into the wall and just nods. "I see. And you're not experiencing any...issues?"

You huff a laugh. "Well, we had an argument about the laundry last week, but nothing a little "tough love" can't fix, right?"

Outside, Clark is just beet red, covering his face with his hands. He knows exactly what she's asking about, and he is mortified. Mortified at the thought that anyone would think he would ever lay a hand on you in anger. As if he isn't the most careful man in the world with you, as if he doesn't hold you like a glass figurine every time you so much as give him a hug, as if-

"And what does that look like?" She's typing more quickly now, and you quirk an eyebrow at her.

"I'm sorry, are you insinuating something here? because I can promise you-" You cut yourself off with a laugh. "It's the bruises, isn't it? You saw the bruises on my arms and thighs and assumed they were from him?" You laugh more loudly, and even wipe an imaginary tear from your eye. "Oh, god, I'm sorry, I should be taking this seriously. Have you never read my chart? I answer every questionnaire you guys give me, every time, so I'm surprised it hasn't been noted in my chart what I do for work. I'm a veterinary technician. I get the shit kicked out of me by dogs all the time. They can be finicky bastards, when they want to be. Clark would never put his hands on me, unless he wanted me to beat the sense back into him, I promise."

Clearwater pales, then quickly hits the back button on the keyboard, keeping it pressed for a good chunk of time. "....I see. And would you like me to send the refills to the pharmacy we have on file?"

*

The second the two of you clear the office's door, you burst out laughing, hanging onto Clark's arm. "You heard all of that, didn't you babe?"

Clark's face screws itself up, clearly affronted. "I can't believe that! She doesn't know me, how could she assume! I would never! And to think! Who could even! And if-"

You pat his bicep, still snickering. "Don't worry baby. you heard me set her right. I know you wouldn't, and I love you for it." You tug on his arm to get him to stop walking, and pull him down to your level. You slot your lips against his and give him a full thirty second kiss. When you finally pull away with a pop he looks dazed, with a small, marveling smile on his face.

"...gee..." He mutters.

You laugh again, hook his arm with yours again, and start walking. "Now c'mon, babe, it's lo mein time!"

[rafespresso]

dealer!rafe x aphrodite!reader

WARNINGS— fluff, not proofread, one use of ‘y/n’, rafe asks reader to be his gf ♡

your dress is short. the thin, white lace material clinging onto your curves tightly with your slender legs exposed. rafe can’t take his eyes off of you.

jesus, focus.

he’s trying to. he really is. but god, he can’t when you’re talking his ear off with that sweet, soothing voice of yours and the occasional hand touching.

you’re also energetic as fuck. running around the whole garden he had privately reserved just for this very special occasion. one second you’re admiring the tulips, then you’re ten yards away urgently calling out to rafe to come look at the swan lake. yes, swan lake.

an hour of roaming the never-ending stream of flowers and plants of the garden had passed. you’re still intrigued by the beauty of your surroundings, wandering around in excitement and picking out your favourite ones.

and rafe? he was still mentally pissing himself. he hadn’t just brought you here without a reason— he was gonna ask you to be his girlfriend. he’d planned out the whole thing a week prior, to make sure everything went perfect— but god, he didn’t realize how anxious he was going to be on the actual day.

i mean, seriously? rafe cameron and girlfriend in the same sentence? no girl ever went above the fling or arm candy stage. no girl except you. and the thing was, you haven’t done anything more than a make-out sesh with him before.

so yeah, he was freaking out.

he follows your happy self from behind, eyes darting over to the high-arched wooden gazebo in view to the right.

now was his chance.

“hey, close your eyes.” he speaks up suddenly, interrupting your little rant about not getting the one cherry blossom sunny.... or sonny devil you wanted badly. whatever the hell you were talking about.

you turn around, confusion written over your pretty little face. “why?”

“close your eyes.” he repeats.

you sigh, your eyelids reluctantly fluttering shut. he almost smiles— almost.

“oh, are you surprising me with something? i love surprises!” you quirk up, going back to yapping nonstop as he takes your wrist, gently guiding you towards the gazebo.

“you could say that.” he replies blankly.

you gasp loudly. “are you getting me a puppy?”

rafe makes a face at that, shaking his head. god, you were adorable. “no, baby.”

you pout, whining along the ten second walk before he makes you stand in the centre of wherever he had taken you. “can i open my eyes now?”

“no.” he snaps sharply.

you shift your weight from one foot to the other, letting out a dramatic exhale as you begin to ramble on about how you really wanted a dog. you wanted a lot of things. rafe could easily give you that if you said yes to his proposal.....

he lets out a shaky breath before finally telling you to open your eyes. you do as you’re told with a smile forming on your lips before it falters.

rafe’s standing infront of you, mixed flower bouquet in one hand and the cutest pink teddy bear in the other. you take in the scenery before you; a large, arched gazebo with dark green vines growing out the ceiling and walls of the interior. the bottom is lined up with an army of flowers all over the place. it’s gorgeous. everything is.

“y/n, will you be my girlfriend?” he finally asks the question, a subtle hint of fear in his voice, yet his expression looked hopeful.

you freeze, staring at him in shock. he wants to die. oh fuck. maybe this was a bad idea. jesus, he was so fucking stupid for thinking you’d actually want him as your partner.

but then, you smile. you actually smile. his lips part, almost like he wants to say something— but he doesn’t get to, because you’re already leaping into him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“yes— yes i’ll be your girlfriend!” you squeal like a little girl and he catches you, arm wrapped tightly around your waist.

you tilt your head back, a sweet look on your face. his knees nearly give in as you press your lips against his— a soft, warm kiss which he returns back.

finally. you were his. his girl.

and god, did that feel good.

[vingtetunmars]

would you be willing to wire a joel miller fic based on the song ‘fuck me eyes’ ? anytime i listen to it i just think about joel wanting to show the reader they deserve to be taken care of and treated with nothing but love, something they’re not used to. he seems how other men use and discard them, and he will not let that slide…

Not Just One Night

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: You’ve been a regular at Joel Miller’s bar for months—sharing drinks, teasing flirtations, and quiet glances that never quite cross the line. After one too many heartbreaks, you’ve learned not to expect much from men. Still, Joel sees more than you realize. He watched you walk away too many nights, and he’s done staying silent. This time, he’s asking—if you’ll let him, he’ll show you what it really means to be cared for.

Tags: Friends to lovers, mutual pining, soft Joel Miller, implied age difference, Joel Miller is a sweetheart and a gentleman, bar owner! Joel. No descriptions for Reader. No mentions of Y/N.

A/N: Sorry for the wait! I've been so so busy with my thesis defense preparations. I'm so stressed, I basically used writing this fic as a distraction from everything else lmao. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 4.8k

masterlist

The bar was quiet for a Wednesday, the low hum of conversation and the gentle clink of glass the only sounds filling the space. You were at your usual seat, elbows on the worn wood counter, eyes tracing the gold lettering on the bottle Joel had just set down in front of you.

“Didn’t think I’d see you tonight,” Joel said, sliding a napkin under your drink. “Didn’t you say you had plans?”

“I did,” you murmured, twirling the glass between your fingers. “Didn’t pan out.”

Joel’s eyes lingered on you a moment too long before he nodded. “Figures.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Figures?”

“Nothin’.” He wiped at a nonexistent spot on the bar with the edge of a rag. “Just mean you always end up here anyway. Like clockwork.”

“Guess I just like the company,” you teased, your voice light.

Joel huffed a quiet laugh, then leaned his arms on the counter to meet your gaze. “Uh huh. You come for the ambiance or for my good looks?”

You smirked. “Bit of both. You pouring drinks with those rolled-up sleeves? Can’t say it’s not working for you.”

He didn’t smile, not really—but there was a shift in his expression, something unreadable behind the warmth in his eyes. You liked making him react. Even if just a little.

“You always flirt this much with your bartender?”

“Only when he plays along,” you shot back, taking a sip.

Joel chuckled low under his breath and turned to grab a fresh bottle. But not before you caught that flicker in his expression—something restrained. Protective. Maybe even something else you didn’t dare name.

You weren’t sure if it was the liquor or the loneliness that kept bringing you back here. Maybe both. But Joel always kept your glass full and never asked too many questions.

He saw more than he let on. You knew that much.

And tonight, he wasn’t just watching you.

He was paying attention.

You were halfway through your second drink when a guy slid into the seat beside you. Tall, clean cut, reeking of expensive cologne and confidence.

“Hey,” he said, flashing a grin. “Did it hurt?”

You blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“When you fell from heaven.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “Wow. Bold move.”

He shrugged, undeterred. “Just trying to make you laugh. And it worked.”

Joel was a few feet away, drying a glass a little too slowly. His jaw ticked when the guy leaned in closer to you, elbow nudging yours like he owned the space.

“You come here often?” the guy asked.

You didn’t even have to think about it. “Yeah. It’s kind of my spot.”

“Then maybe I’ve been missing out.” He tilted his head. “You wanna get out of here?”

It was fast. Too fast. But that was the point, wasn’t it?

You didn’t glance at Joel. You didn’t have to. You could feel his silence from here, the heavy weight of his eyes on your back.

You offered the stranger a smile—tight, performative, but enough. “Sure.”

You grabbed your jacket off the back of your stool, downed the last of your drink in one quick go. Joel was suddenly right there, as if he’d just appeared from the shadows, his voice low and gravel-rough.

“You good?”

You met his eyes. His face gave nothing away, but the look was all there—guarded, unreadable, maybe a little disappointed.

“Yeah,” you said, giving him a soft smile. “I’ll see you, Joel.”

He nodded, stepping back just enough to let you pass.

But he didn’t watch you leave.

He just turned back toward the bar, back to the glasses that didn’t need cleaning, hands clenched a little tighter than before.

You hadn’t been in for a week.

Joel noticed.

Didn’t say anything when you finally showed up, though—just nodded when you walked in, gave a short, almost too-neutral “Evenin’” before setting a glass down at your usual spot.

You didn't smile. Just slumped into the stool and leaned your head in your hand, the heel of your palm digging into your brow like you were trying to press a headache out of your skull.

Joel poured your usual without asking. Pushed it toward you gently.

“You look like shit,” he said after a long moment.

You huffed. “Thanks. Just what I needed.”

He didn’t take the bait. Just raised an eyebrow and leaned a hip against the counter, watching you quietly. The kind of silence that wasn’t empty—it was patient. Like he was waiting for you to say something real.

You picked at the edge of your napkin. “Remember that guy?”

Joel didn’t have to ask which one. He just nodded.

“Turns out,” you said, swirling your drink but not sipping it, “he has a girlfriend. Fiancée, actually.”

Joel’s jaw flexed. His voice stayed low. “Jesus.”

You laughed, but it came out all wrong—tight and bitter. “Yeah. She found my number. Sent me a photo of the two of them on vacation. Said she hoped I ‘enjoyed the leftovers.’”

Joel’s hands were gripping the edge of the bar now, knuckles pale.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. You kept your eyes on the drink, voice quiet. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t’ve gone home with him if I did, Joel. I swear to God—”

“Hey.” His voice cut in, firm. You looked up. He was already leaning in a little, close enough for just the two of you to hear.

“I know you didn’t.”

The way he said it—no hesitation, no judgment—hit harder than it should have. Your throat tightened.

Joel didn’t ask questions. Didn’t try to make you explain more than you needed to. He just grabbed the rag from the sink and started wiping down the bar again, like he needed something to do with his hands. Like he was keeping himself from saying what he really wanted to say.

“I keep doing this,” you muttered after a minute. “Meeting these guys who say the right things, smile the right way, and then just—leave.”

That silence hung thick between you.

And maybe it was just the dim lighting, or maybe it was the week you’d had, but something in his expression looked like he wasn’t just angry for you.

He was angry because of you.

Because someone had touched you with no intention of keeping you. And Joel—he didn’t say it—but he would have.

If you let him.

You cleared your throat, eyes darting back to the glass. Then, with a deep inhale, you straightened your shoulders and tossed back a sip like it might burn away the last seven days.

“Whatever,” you said, forcing a shrug. “I’m used to it.”

Joel didn’t say a word, but you could feel the tension shift in him.

You slapped your hand lightly on the bar. “Anyway. I’m not here to mope.” You flashed a smile—too bright, too rehearsed. “I’m here to have fun. Forget everything. Drink something strong. Flirt with a bartender. Same old, same old.”

He watched you closely, eyes narrowing like he was trying to read between the lines of your performance.

You stirred the ice in your glass with your finger. “So. You gonna tell me if you finally fixed that janky jukebox, or am I still stuck listening to the same eight classic rock songs from the 70s?”

Joel exhaled a short breath—more of a scoff than a laugh—and shook his head. “Still broken. You’re stuck with Skynyrd and Fleetwood Mac, sweetheart.”

You grinned, a little more real this time. “You say that like it’s a punishment.”

He finally smiled. Not a full one, but it reached his eyes.

“Pretty sure you could recite ‘Landslide’ by now.”

“I do recite it. Weekly,” you said, tapping your glass with a faint smirk. “Like a prayer.”

Joel chuckled under his breath and leaned in slightly, resting a forearm on the bar. “You sure you’re alright?”

You waved him off with a half-laugh, leaning back in your seat like it was all water under the bridge. “Joel. I’m always alright.”

But your eyes didn’t quite match the smile.

Joel noticed. Of course he did.

He didn’t press, though. Just nodded once and reached for the bottle, topping off your glass without asking.

And when his hand brushed yours, he let it linger. Just for a second.

A reminder.

You didn’t have to be fine if you weren’t.

The next time you came in, it was a Saturday night.

Busier than usual. Music a little louder. Lights a little dimmer. The hum of conversation and laughter bouncing off the walls like static.

You slipped onto your usual stool like you belonged there—which, at this point, you kind of did. Joel was already in front of you, pouring your drink before you asked.

“You’re early,” he said.

You offered a lazy smile. “Didn’t feel like waiting around tonight.”

He nodded, lips pressing into a line. His eyes flicked to the rest of the bar, then back to you. “You look nice.”

You did. He’d noticed the second you walked in—your makeup done just enough, neckline dipped just low enough. You looked like someone trying not to look like they were trying.

And he knew that look. Knew what it meant.

You were scanning the room.

Your eyes drifted past him and swept toward a table of guys in the corner, lingering just a second too long when one of them looked back and smiled.

Joel saw it.

You didn’t notice him watching.

You took a slow sip, adjusted the strap of your top like you wanted someone to be looking. Maybe not anyone specific—just someone. Someone who’d make you feel wanted, even if only for the night.

Joel’s jaw clenched. He wiped at the counter with a rag he didn’t need and forced himself to breathe.

He wasn’t a young guy. He didn’t play games. And he sure as hell wasn’t as smooth as half the guys eyeing you from across the room. But he also wasn’t stupid.

He saw the way you tried to laugh things off. The way your smile always faltered a second too late.

So before he could stop himself—before he could chicken out like he had the last dozen times—you felt his voice cut through the low buzz around you.

“You ever think about goin’ out with someone who doesn’t just want you for one night?”

You blinked, turning to face him. “What?”

Joel’s hand paused on the bottle. He wasn’t looking at you now. He was focused too hard on the liquor, on the glass in front of him. On anything but your eyes.

“I mean,” he said, voice rough, quiet, “you ever think about…someone different. Maybe older. Someone who’d stick around. Treat you right.”

You didn’t say anything.

So he filled the silence, his next words rushed—like he regretted saying any of it already.

“I’m not sayin’ it’s a good idea. You’d probably laugh in my face, anyway. Just—forget it.”

You set your glass down. “Joel.”

He finally looked up, and you swore—for just a second—he looked scared.

Like he already knew your answer.

Like he was bracing for it.

You tilted your head, studying him, that same drink going warm between your hands.

Then, after a beat, you leaned in slightly, voice low. Almost amused.

“Joel,” you said, with a tiny grin tugging at your lips, “just ask already.”

His brow creased. “What?”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance even as your heart hammered against your ribs. “You’re dancing around it like you think I’m gonna throw a drink in your face.”

Joel blinked, caught completely off guard. “I—”

“If you’re asking me out,” you said, voice quieter now, “then… yeah. I’d like that.”

He stared at you, stunned into silence.

You let out a small, nervous laugh and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’ve been waiting, actually.”

Joel’s mouth parted slightly, eyes narrowing—not in anger, just confusion. “Waitin’? You—what do you mean?”

You bit your lip, suddenly bashful. “Joel. What did you think I was doing? Coming here all the time. Flirting with you like it’s my second job.”

“I thought—” He stopped, rubbing the back of his neck like the words were caught somewhere between disbelief and self-doubt. “I dunno. I thought it was just for fun.”

You gave him a look.

“I mean—” he added quickly, “not that it didn’t mean anything. I just didn’t think you’d ever… y’know. Actually want me. I’m not exactly your age, darlin’. Thought maybe I was just—safe. Easy to tease.”

Your expression softened. “You really thought that?”

Joel nodded, eyes dropping to the counter. “Yeah. Kinda did.”

You exhaled, slow and steady. “You’re not just some guy behind a bar, Joel. Not to me.”

His gaze lifted to yours again, and this time—finally—he let you see it. All the things he’d been holding back in the tight lines of his mouth, the quiet glances, the protective silences.

You smiled, a little crooked now, a little uncertain. “So… is this where you tell me when and where, or do I gotta plan the whole thing?”

Joel let out a breathy laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing for the first time all night.

“I’ll handle it,” he said, voice warm. “You just say yes.”

“I already did.”

Joel picked a small Italian place off a side street you didn’t even know existed. It wasn’t flashy, wasn’t trendy. But it was charming—warm lighting, real candles on the tables, and a piano in the corner that looked like it hadn’t been played since the 90s.

You were smiling before you even sat down.

“This is… kinda adorable,” you said as Joel pulled out your chair.

He raised an eyebrow. “Adorable?”

You nodded, sliding into your seat. “Got me feeling like I'm in the 80s.”

Joel chuckled, settling across from you with a faint smile. “What? People don’t do this stuff no more?”

You grinned. “Not unless they’re trying to impress someone’s parents.”

“Maybe I am.”

That caught you off guard. You blinked, but before you could come up with a comeback, he was already scanning the wine list like he hadn’t just said something that made your heart thump harder than it should.

Dinner was good. Really good. The kind where you kept leaning in, forgetting your fork mid-air because you were too caught up in whatever Joel was saying. He was funny, sharp in that dry, understated way. Comfortable.

He listened. Like, actually listened. Didn’t check his phone once. Didn’t look over your shoulder. Just looked at you.

It was almost disarming.

And when he paid—without the awkward check-splitting shuffle, without making it a Thing—you teased, “You really are old-fashioned, huh?”

Joel just smirked. “Figured you deserved a real night. One without jukeboxes and drunk college kids screamin’ lyrics at each other.”

You laughed. “Careful, you keep raising the bar like this and I’ll start expecting flowers and love letters.”

“Shit,” Joel muttered, deadpan. “Forgot the quill and parchment in the truck.”

That earned a snort out of you.

But somewhere between dessert and the walk back to his truck, your words slipped out, quieter than before. “Usually… guys will do one nice thing. Maybe open a door. Pay the bill. And then expect a night in the bedroom.”

Joel looked over at you. He didn’t say anything, just walked a little closer, hands in his jacket pockets.

You tried to laugh it off. “But if that’s your plan, you must be asking a lot tonight.”

It was meant to be a joke. Light, deflecting.

But it kind of just… hung there.

Joel slowed his step, then stopped completely. You did too, a beat later, suddenly unsure if you’d misread something.

He looked at you—really looked—and when he spoke, his voice was soft. Honest.

“I ain’t expectin’ anything, darlin’. Except maybe another night like this.”

Your chest ached, just a little.

“…Okay,” you said, barely above a whisper.

Joel nodded once, then offered his arm like he was someone out of a damn novel. “C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

You looped your arm through his.

And for the first time in a long time, walking home didn’t feel like the end of the night.

It felt like a beginning.

After that night, things… kept going.

A few dates turned into more.

You and Joel didn’t rush anything—he picked you up for late dinners, brought you to a cozy movie night at his place, even introduced you to the grumpy old dog he swore wasn’t *his* but followed him everywhere anyway.

It was easy.

Warm.

Safe, in a way you weren’t used to.

At the bar, things stayed mostly the same. You still had your stool, your usual drink, your banter. Except now Joel’s hand would brush your lower back when you passed behind the bar. You’d linger a little longer at closing. And he’d walk you home more often than not.

You hadn’t really told anyone, not outright. But the looks said enough. The softness between you two wasn’t exactly subtle.

It was good. He was good.

Which was probably why it started to scare you.

It was just another evening—warm, comfortable, full of laughter—until she walked in.

Tall. Confident. Lipstick sharp. She leaned on the bar, gave Joel a once-over like she knew exactly what she wanted.

You were just heading back from the bathroom when you saw it.

Her fingers brushing the counter. Her laugh. Her eyes locked onto his like a target.

Joel didn’t flirt back. Didn’t even give her much more than a polite nod before walking away to grab a glass.

But it didn’t matter.

Because you’d seen that look before—on other women. Women who didn’t have to try. Who didn’t second-guess every word, every outfit, every glance.

You slipped back into your seat and swirled your drink, suddenly very aware of the weight in your chest. Joel returned like nothing happened, setting a water in front of you like he always did.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded. Too fast. “Yeah. Fine.”

But the smile didn’t come easy.

Because the truth was—you were easy to leave.

Guys had done it before. Said the right things, touched your skin like it meant something, then ghosted like you never mattered. Like you were just a waystation before the real thing came along.

And maybe Joel was different.

But you weren’t.

You weren’t enough to make someone stay.

You took a sip to hide the sudden tightness in your throat.

He didn’t even look at her, your mind whispered. But he could have. One day, he might.

You hated that thought. Hated that it felt like armor you’d worn too long to take off.

Joel reached across the table, fingers brushing yours. “You sure?”

You gave him a smile.

One that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Yeah,” you lied. “I’m sure.”

Joel walked you to your door like he always did.

Hands in his jacket pockets, pace slow, the sound of your footsteps soft on the concrete. The night air was cool, the kind that made you breathe a little deeper, like it might settle the noise in your head.

You hadn’t said much since leaving the bar.

Joel hadn’t pushed.

But when you stopped at your doorstep, fumbling with your keys, he reached out—fingers wrapping gently around your wrist to still you.

You looked up, startled by the touch. He wasn’t smiling.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Look at me.”

You did.

Slowly.

Joel took your hands in his, his calloused thumbs brushing over your knuckles like he was grounding himself in the moment—like he didn’t want to risk saying the wrong thing.

“I ain’t stupid,” he said, voice low and steady. “Something shifted tonight.”

Your breath caught, but you didn’t pull away.

Joel tilted his head, searching your face.

“And I think I know what it is.”

You opened your mouth to deflect, maybe make a joke—but he squeezed your hands, just enough to stop the words.

“I saw her,” he said. “I saw the way she looked at me. And I saw the way you looked after.”

You stared down at your hands in his. “It’s nothing. I’m just—tired.”

But Joel shook his head. “No. It ain’t nothin’. You got quiet. Pulled back. Like maybe you remembered every time someone made you feel like you were just there until somethin’ better came along.”

His voice cracked a little on that last part. Like it physically hurt him to say it out loud.

You swallowed.

Joel took a breath. “I’m not those guys. I’m not here just to fill a seat or pass the time or see how far I can get before walkin’ out the door.”

He reached up, brushed a strand of hair away from your face like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m serious about you,” he said. “Been serious since the first damn night you walked in and tried to flirt your way into a free drink.”

That earned a soft laugh from you, quiet and fragile.

Joel’s thumb traced your cheekbone.

“I saw what they did to you,” he added. “All of ’em. Front row seat, week after week. You’d come in lookin’ like you’d been told you were too much or not enough. And I hated it.”

You blinked hard.

“I wanna do right by you,” he said. “However long you’ll let me.”

Your chest tightened. You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to unlearn the instinct to smile and brush things off.

But Joel wasn’t asking you for anything.

He was just offering.

The thing no one else had.

Staying.

You didn’t answer right away.

You couldn’t.

Joel’s words sat heavy in the air between you, wrapping around your ribs like something warm and solid. Something that scared you because it felt real.

He was still holding your hands. Still looking at you like he meant every goddamn word. Like he’d stand there all night if that’s what it took for you to believe him.

And maybe that was why your voice came out so small.

“I don’t really know how to do this,” you admitted, barely more than a whisper.

Joel stepped closer. “Don’t need to do anything.”

You looked up at him, searching for doubt. There was none. Just the steady set of his jaw, the softness in his eyes.

And then his hand moved—slow, careful—rising to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed beneath your eye, over the faint smudge of tired makeup, like it didn’t matter if you were perfect or put-together or even sure of yourself.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice low. Rough around the edges.

That was what undid you.

Not the gesture, not the closeness—but the asking.

You nodded, just once. “Yeah.”

Joel leaned in gently, like he didn’t want to startle you. His nose brushed yours, breath warm between you, and then—

Soft.

His lips met yours like he had all the time in the world. No rush. No pressure. Just the weight of a man who’d waited long enough and wanted to mean it.

Your hands curled into the front of his jacket, grounding yourself in him as he deepened the kiss just slightly—slow and deliberate. He tasted like whiskey and warmth, and something steadier than anything you’d ever known.

When you finally broke apart, your forehead lingered against his, eyes still closed.

Joel exhaled a quiet breath.

“You okay?”

You smiled, breathless.

“Yeah,” you said. “Better than okay.”

And for the first time in a long, long while, you actually meant it.

It was a Thursday night. Slow, mellow, the kind of evening where Joel let you play whatever you wanted on the jukebox and poured you a drink before you even sat down.

You were perched on your usual stool, flipping through your phone, when someone slid into the seat beside you.

He gave you a slow once-over. “Hey there. You here alone?”

You blinked. “No.”

He glanced around. “You with someone?”

Your eyes flicked across the room—immediately, instinctively—toward Joel.

He was behind the bar, pouring a drink, but he caught your gaze in an instant. Paused. Watched.

You turned back to the guy and gave a tight, polite smile. “Yeah. I already have someone.”

He raised an eyebrow, like he hadn’t heard you right. “Oh, come on. Just one drink. I’m not asking you to marry me.”

You leaned away slightly. “I said I’m with someone.”

“But I don’t see anyone.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but you didn’t have to.

Because Joel was already there.

He’d crossed the room so quietly, you hadn’t even heard him until he was beside you, calm and steady, one hand braced casually on the bar behind you.

“She said no,” Joel said evenly, voice low but hard enough to cut through the noise.

The guy looked up at him—slightly confused, slightly amused. “Who the hell are you?”

Joel didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t puff his chest. He didn’t have to.

“Someone who won’t ask again.”

There was a beat. A shift in the air.

The guy scoffed, muttered something under his breath, and got up, walking off with a frustrated shake of his head.

You leaned in, chin resting on your hand as you looked up at him with a glint in your eye.

“Gotta say,” you said, voice light, “that was kinda hot.”

Joel blinked. “What was?”

“You. Getting all protective.” You gestured to his chest with your glass. “Stepping in all calm and gravelly. Like some Clint Eastwood scene.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was a flush rising on his neck. “Wasn’t tryin’ to be hot.”

“Well,” you said with a grin, “bonus points anyway.”

“Are you makin’ fun of me?”

“Maybe a little,” you teased, sipping your drink like it was no big deal. “But you can’t blame me. My man just went all John Wayne for me in front of a whole bar.”

Joel’s head turned slowly, brow raised. “Your man?”

You blinked, realizing what you said a second too late. “I mean—yeah. I guess. Unless you wanna fight me on that?”

He stared at you, expression unreadable for a second… then that slow, crooked smile crept onto his face. The kind that started in his eyes before it ever touched his mouth.

“No,” he said quietly. “Ain’t fightin’ you on it.”

Your heart did a small, dumb somersault behind your ribs. You tried to keep your cool, but your grin gave you away.

“Well,” you said, leaning an elbow on the bar, “then I stand by my statement. My man’s kinda hot.”

Joel chuckled, shaking his head as he walked back behind the bar—though you caught the way his ears flushed pink on the way.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

The morning light spilled in slow, golden streaks across the bed, warm against your skin and filtering softly through the curtains. You blinked awake to the scent of cotton and him—Joel’s cologne, faint from the day before, still clinging to the sheets.

He was still asleep beside you.

Flat on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting gently against your hip like his body couldn’t quite relax unless it was touching yours.

You smiled.

Then shifted just a little—enough to scoot closer, pressing your face into the curve of his shoulder, your leg hooking around his without thinking.

He stirred.

A low, raspy sound rumbled in his chest as he exhaled, and a moment later, his arm curled tighter around you, pulling you in like instinct.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“Sorry,” you whispered, nuzzling into him. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’fine,” he said, eyes still closed, lips brushing the top of your hair. “Wakin’ up next to you’s not exactly a bad thing.”

Your chest warmed at that.

You stayed there a while, tangled in quiet, feeling the weight of his body beside you, solid and steady. No rush. No awkward goodbyes or disappearing acts. Just warmth and breath and Joel.

Eventually, he shifted slightly beneath you. “You want coffee?”

You peeked up at him, barely lifting your head. “Always.”

He kissed your temple. “Alright. Stay here. I got it.”

And just like that, he peeled himself away, sliding out of bed with a quiet groan as he grabbed the T-shirt he’d tossed onto a chair the night before. He shot you a lazy smile before padding out toward the kitchen, barefoot and rumpled.

You stayed in bed, eyes drifting over the doorway where he’d just gone.

And without warning, a quiet smile pulled at your lips.

Because he stayed.

Not just for a night. Not for the rush or the thrill or some empty promise.

He stayed every time.

And for the first time in longer than you could remember… you believed he always would.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Demon and Angel Brat was the first I heard of and read your work. Even with working my way down the list, I think it's still my favorite.

What if the BatFam was not wrong about Danny, though?

If the BatFam were not wrong about Danny, then it would go like this:

Danny is in the middle of explaining the hilarious prank that Damian and he managed to pull when he suddenly collapsed. His chin slammed against the floor, making his neck bounce back a little bit.

The taste of copper fills his mouth, from where his tongue got caught between his teeth on the way down. A dull ache starts up in his chest area, having also taken some damage from his fall. For a second, he's not sure how he wound up on the ground like this.

There are shouts around him as he tries to make sense of the new change of location. He wiggles around, pushing himself up on his arms, and realizes that his legs are not weighing him down.

Had he really gone intangible mid-sentence again? How embarrassing. Danny hadn't done that since he accidentally lost his powers to Desiree.

"Daniel!" Damian shouts, scrambling to his side. He clutches his shoulders in a frantic grab, but Danny waves him away.

"It's fine. They'll come back. This happens a lot-"

"Daniel! You're dissolving," Damian cuts him off, sounding choked with tears and panic. Danny blinks at him, then glances down to his legs where he finds- oh.

His legs haven't gone intangible or invisible. They were instead breaking apart into little specks of light. The same kind of thing that appeared around Clockwork whenever the ghost used his time staff.

That means this was Time's doing.

"If we do that, there is a chance that Time will try to force his existence out. It could…. erase Daniel completely." Dick had said, but at the time, Danny had been so sure he wasn't in any real danger. Or maybe Danny had been with the Waynes before the Flash had gone back and changed the timeline, and the Fentons had been Clockwork's way to correct it?

Damian and Danny had broken the safety net Clockwork had placed under him, and now he was falling to his death.

"Danny! Hold on, just hold on. " Dick begs, typing on his phone, likely calling for a speedster.

"Kon! Help!" Tim cries next, head through the window, and sounds like his world is ending. There is a boom in the distance, likely from Superboy, racing over as fast as he could. But Danny doubts neither Kon nor Wally will make it in time.

He gasps as his insides shift, breaking apart, and feeling every second of it, yet somehow feeling no pain. Damian's arms are around him, trying to ground him, but Danny's form is nearly gone.

He feels his brother, sobbing, running his arms over his body desperately, and any other time, Danny would have been amazed that Damian showed so much emotion, as he slowly raises his eyes to meet his horrified father's gaze.

Reaching out a hand to him, Danny gasps out, "Save me, please, Dad."

Bruce jerks as he's been struck. He tumbles out of his chair, reaching for Danny's hand. Only the second his fingers brush his son's, they vanish.

Danny's broken plea echoes in the room as Damian tilts over, now only clutching air.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I don't want to die. You can save me, right Dad?" His trusting smile and tearful eyes only have a few seconds of visibility before Danny's face breaks into pieces, and that's the last expression he will ever make.

Bruce falls to his knees, images of a blown-up warehouse playing behind his eyes. Steph covers her mouth, tears rolling down her face. Cass turns away, shaking all over and clutching her arm hard enough to draw blood. Kon is embarrassing and devastating, Tim, who had collapsed into his hold the second he arrived. Alfred, Duke, and Jason fall into their chairs, looks of horror and disbelief playing across their faces.

The worst, however, is Damian, who is rubbing his hands on the carpet as if searching for the light particles that had fallen between the fabric, calling Danny's name.

He receives no answer.

[yatori-morgana]

————————————

Interesting Brain

————————————

Jade internally giggling and kicking his feet over a strange remark of yours.

Minimal proofreading for something I wrote half asleep in, like, an hour.

Contents & Warnings: no warnings, just Jade being weird but in a cute way

»Jade Leech x gn!reader

————————————

Jade had just finished explaining a process in potionology with his own unique flair, as he always does. You'd listened with rapt attention, much more than most anyone gives him. He may be a watchful eye himself, but as the one under scrutiny, he can't help but feel a little uncomfortable. Not shy or flustered per se, but it does elicit a certain prickly sensation along his skin and down his neck and spine.

You hardly blinked, something he's familiar with himself. It's not quite like looking into a mirror, but it's disconcerting nonetheless. And intriguing.

When you finally speak, Jade almost jumps a bit, something awfully uncharacteristic of him.

"You have an interesting brain." He cocks his head to the side. "Mind if I scramble it a bit? For science?"

He can't tell if you're joking; he's not sure if you even know yourself. The statement should be threatening, it really should be, but he instead feels his ears grow warm. What a strange thing to say! If anyone has an interesting brain, it's you, he decides. He doesn't remember you being so eerily analytical, but he can't say he hates it. No, rather the opposite.

It's magnetic.

So sweet yet so strange, a head full of so many interesting thoughts yet also a head full of nothing — by your own admission. Quick witted and clever yet adorably slow on the uptake at other times. Kind and shy yet snippy and blunt. So colorful!

But it's been several moments too long. He needs to speak.

Smooth as ever, Jade jests, "Oya? I hadn't taken you for the experimental type."

"I'm whatever I wanna be," you dismiss, turning around to look at something other than him for whatever reason. Perhaps something tickled your fancy. He offhandedly wishes it was him but swiftly snuffs out the thought.

"I suppose that's the way of it, isn't it?" He remarks, hands settling behind his back in a prim pose. "Ah, look at the time. My shift at the Lounge is soon."

"Fair enough." You stuff your hands into your pockets and rock back on your heels. "Maybe you can tell me more about that one fern sometime?"

Jade had just turned away, ready to make his exit, but he hesitates. "Really now?"

"I wanna know how to grow it. It's for that energy tonic, right? Way healthier alternative to that drink Idia introduced me to that won't kill me before I hit thirty."

Jade allows himself a laugh, hiding it behind a poised hand. "Of course, Prefect. I'd be delighted to tell you more. Although, if you're struggling with staying awake and relaxing, perhaps you'd like me to brew you some—"

"Nah, I'm good," you cut in. Jade almost snorts. But no, that's unrefined, undignified, counter to his image. "I'd like to know what's goin' in my drink, thanks."

"Hm. Fair. Your loss, then~"

"Oh, shush. Get to the Lounge 'fore Azul has my ass for your tardiness."

No one would know how Jade thought about you all shift.

🌊🫧

Jade flops onto his bed in a way only Floyd would expect out of him. He squeezes a pillow to his chest and hides his face in it. It's so highschool girl of him, but he can't help it! His heart has never fluttered like this before! You'd stopped by the Lounge with Ace, Deuce, and Grim, but Floyd had snaked their table from Jade with the smuggest grin known to merkind.

The way you'd laughed at one of Ace's jokes was so wild and unrestrained, one of those laughs someone might call ugly. But it was real and raw. And adorable. And your frustrated expression aimed at Grim when the dire beast had attempted to clamber across the table at Ace and Deuce's plates. He'd needed to be lifted by his ribbon and pulled onto your lap.

Responsible yet prone to fumbling. Precious.

Floyd grimaces, cringes, when Jade lets out a tiny mer chirp. He's flustering himself!

It'd only taken one offhand remark to open the floodgates.

"Ay, if you're gonna fangirl, you can take it outside," Floyd drawls. "I'm tryina nap 'ere."

You're so squishable and biteable. Jade finally gets it! Floyd was right. Now that he's let it click in his mind, Jade isn't so sure he can suppress his emotions around you anymore.

"I think the Prefect is my type," he mumbles into his pillow.

"Cool," Floyd deadpans, words clipped, "glad ya finally figured it out. Now shut up."

Jade abruptly sits up.

"Floyd." His brother glances at him. "You knew?"

————————————

Floyd rly said "figure it out your damn self"

Taglist:

@kimdourden @teenie-beanie

[cinder-stella]

𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙏𝙤𝙟𝙞’𝙨 𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚…<MDNI>

(i just know he has telegram and some really weird google searches)

You’d just had a fight. One of those stupid, sharp ones that leaves a bitter taste on your tongue but stubbornness kept you from apologizing first. On impulse and spite, you grab Toji’s phone right out of his hand while sitting next to him on the couch.

Satisfied with your stealth, you scamper off to the bedroom and lock the door.

His iPhone XR is scuffed beyond recognition. He won it in a bet and says it still works…it dies at 35%. His screen protector is one of those shitty ones with a giant air bubble and a crack across the middle. Lucky for you, there’s no passcode.

First, you look at his notifications. Nothing too suspicious aside from hundreds of telegram messages from a group that makes you raise an eyebrow. ‘Midnight Assassin’s Inc.’ What the hell even is that? You don’t want to know. You scroll anyway, heart hammering and…yup. Definitely a crime ring disguised as a chat.

Next, you head to his notes app. A grocery list stares back at you. Eggs, protein powder, lube…..oh ok.., rope???? You hope it isn’t for you. (you hope it is) You keep scrolling. There’s a single, untouched note that just says your name. Absolutely no context. One journal-style paragraph about how you looked the first time you laughed at one of his jokes. It’s kinda poetic. A half-written plan titled “If she ever leaves me.” It includes a fake name, off-the-grid location and a boat. Then, a note titled “Shit I wanna do to her when—”. Each entry is more detailed than the last and way more explicit than your brain can handle. “Want her to ride my face then do a split on my di—” ok, moving on.

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh. Your fingers tremble as you open his search history. “Do women like getting choked or am I going to jail?” You blink, caught off guard by the bluntness. “Sex positions for bad backs.” You can’t help but laugh quietly, cheeks warming. He’s ridiculous. “How to flirt without looking like you want to bite her”, “How to stop smiling at your phone like a simp”.

You’re giddy by the time you click on his photos. First, blurry gym pics with the flash on—accidental thirst traps. A photo of your feet…taken without your permission. A short video of you walking away from him—he’s zooming in and out on your ass and breathing heavy. You slap a hand over your mouth. But you can’t help but smile through it all. You feel so loved. Maybe not in a romantic way but it’s Toji’s way.

Yeah sure, you both are a little toxic but you love him and there’s no place you’d rather be. You let out a sigh and unlock the door. Your head hangs low as you make your way towards the living room. The walk of shame, if you will.

Toji’s voice cuts through your silence. “Find what you’re looking for?”

Your head stays down as you plop down next to him. “You’re stupid.”

He shrugs like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “You did this to yourself. I don’t care what you see.”

A smile creeps back onto your face. Before you even think it through, you launch yourself at him, lips crashing against his in a messy, hungry kiss.

It’s so damn cute that he doesn’t care. That he’s this unbothered and open. You wanted to remind him who he belongs to with a kiss that says I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.

He caught you easily, hands sliding down your back like he’s been waiting for this exact moment all day.

Arguments forgotten. Phone secrets forgotten. Just you, him and a quiet fire only you two knew how to light.

☠︎︎𓆩𓆩♡𓆪𓆪 ☠︎︎

[longlostlibrary]

The only good thing in a heatwave.

AN - there’s a heat wave where I live rn so here’s something my boiled brain wouldn’t stop thinking about today :]

Warnings - suggestive?, nothing actually happens, reader is written as GN and has few physical descriptors (mentioned of hair, being flushed though no specific shade is mentioned, etc), light dom!reader undertones?

You’re laid out on the kitchen floor, the cold tile a blessing against your boiling skin. The lights are off, the only sound coming from an old fan sat next to your open freezer in an attempt to cool the place down. Electricity bills be damned — your landlord paid them anyway and it seemed a fitting act of rebellion given his refusal to outfit your building with any form of AC.

It’s dark; quiet, and, — if you could ignore the feeling of your skin sticking to everything it came into contact with — almost peaceful. It would be the perfect time to take a nap if it wasn’t for the absolute radiator that was your boyfriend.

It was breaking his heart, really. He didn’t understand why you refused to cuddle up with him!! — Well, he did understand in theory, your voice from an hour ago nagging in the back of his mind;

‘You just don’t get it,’ you’d announced loudly after what? the eighth time he’d tried to cuddle up beside you that morning. You’d almost let him, when he’d stared at you with an expression you could only liken to that of a kicked puppy, but at the end of the day you’d held firm. ‘You’re too hot!!’

Your hair was stuck you your brow from sweat, and the prettiest flush ran across..well, everything. If only you were saying that in a..different context — his brain did the work of supplying the rest of that scenario. At that he’d flushed red. Yes, he knew what you’d actually meant; the fact that, in your words, cuddling up to him was akin to climbing inside a lit furnace for a nap — but it didn’t stop him from filling that sentence away in his brain for another time.

It had been an hour since then, the thermostat reading a solid 35°, and he’d wandered around the house more times than he could count, searching for something to make you cool down enough that you wouldn’t oppose his touch. Unfortunately, it seemed that your current solution of lying flat on the linoleum and breathing in whatever chill the freezer could provide was quickly becoming the only one.

The heat was even starting to get to him, small rivulets of sweat beading down his forehead and gathering in his eyebrows and dark lashes, plastering his shirt to his back in a way that was nothing short of uncomfortable. He pulled off his sweat-soaked shirt, dropping it by the laundry before heading back to you. Maybe now he’d be cool enough that you’d be willing to cuddle with him.

He made his way back to the kitchen quietly, though the lack of physical contact was killing him at least he would be able to be near you. That plan went out the window when he laid eyes on you again.

Sometime in the few minutes he’d been out of the kitchen, you had shed your top and shorts, leaving you just your underwear and gods, that was maybe more than he could handle.

The clatter of a chair and a low groan is what alerted you to his presence.

‘Hey, love’, you opened your eyes slowly, relishing in the sight of him. His hair was sticking to his head, jutting out in odd angles like he’d just gotten done with the shower; beads of sweat collecting on his lashes and lips, making his collar bones and chest shine, and oh. He was flushed so beautifully, the colour staining his cheeks down lower and lower, emphasizing his v-line and tone until it oh so sinfully disappeared into his waistband. It was obvious that he still wanted to cuddle, that his need for contact was struggling against his respect and care for you.

In all honesty it was rather adorable.

In any other situation, you’d have taken a picture. Him standing so pretty and docile, that look in his eyes like he’d do anything for you just to be able to be by your side. The cold freezer air had helped you to cool down a bit, though you were still sweltering. But how could you ever deny him when he was just so beautiful?

Slowly, you turned so that you were properly facing him and sat up. ‘Tell me what you want, love,’ you asked, almost teasing in your tone. He didn’t reply, rather looking at the spot beside you on the floor like it was the gateway into heaven. You sighed, smiling a little. He really could be adorable, even if he could probably pick you up like a sack of potatoes if need be.

‘You want to cuddle, love?’ you ask, a bit kinder this time. He nods just a tad too vigorously to be normal, excited, and you gesture at the floor beside you. It takes a few seconds for it to register that your offer isn’t in jest, but he quickly lays down beside you — not touching quite yet, making sure you’re as comfortable as can be; he’ll take whatever he can get from you today, it’s a blessing you even let him get this close given the weather.

You press back against him, slotting yourself against his chest comfortably, before slowly guiding his arms around you. You can feel him practically melt into your touch, and maybe you can deal with being a little bit too warm if it means that you can be together like this; fitted against each other like you were made for one another, just letting the worries of the world slip away.

If it isn’t already clear idk what I’m doing so this may just be a jumbled mess— gonna blame it on sleep deprivation lol

Line banners by @/cafekitsune, name banners by me

[thatonebluehedgehog]

Two things that rile the boys up in bed, and one thing that makes them want to get you in bed…

Hyung Line / Maknae Line

word count: 1.2k

warnings: SMUT, fem!reader intended, minors or ageless blogs don’t interact– the following warnings belong to their respective member: overstimulation, things that need TRUST (sensory deprivation), edging, semi-public, spitting, general filth

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

Han Jisung

Overstimulation (Receiving)

Han’s favorite place is on his back while you drive him absolutely insane above you. His eyes are low and lazy, but his voice gives him away completely. His broken whimpers show just how many times he’s cum, and you’re still going. A ring of white is at the base of his dick from both of you, and he still won’t let you stop. He wants you to use him to completion every time, even if that means his back is arching and his face is contorted in painful pleasure. He’ll never understand why he loves overstimulation so much, but every time you refuse to stop after he’s filled you up once or even twice, he thinks he could live his life right here under you.

Body Worship (Giving)

With the theme of using him for your pleasure, he’s a big fan of showing you just how much he wants you to. Han could be kissing up and down your body for hours, listening and obeying every word you say, just to show his love. His hands are everywhere, and each flaw you think is there, he kisses and bites into extinction. And if he hears one bad word about your body from you, he’ll lie you down right there and prove to you how much he needs you.

After a Shower

When you exit the shower, towel wrapped around you and hair still dripping, he falls in love all over again. He’s so insanely drawn to you normally, but seeing you after you’ve taken a hot shower, taking care of yourself, he’s hard in a moment. Han can’t help the attraction he feels to you, freshly clean, and all he wants to do is dirty you up again. Maybe you can take the next shower with him.

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Felix

Morning Sex

Felix’s motto is that mornings are for soft, sweet moments. He can’t help the fact that you turn him on just by being his. He’ll snuggle the covers up around both of your bodies while simultaneously spreading your legs and getting between them. He thinks you look so beautiful with the sun peeking through the blinds. Felix is a lover, and he wants you to wake up every morning and go to bed every night knowing it. 

Sensory Deprivation 

However, nighttime is a different experience with your boyfriend. Any kind of deprivation turns him on to the max without fail. It doesn’t matter if it’s on you or him, but when a blindfold or headphones are used, he goes insane. He’d slip the blindfold onto you and whisper little compliments in your ear with his seductive voice. The fact that you don’t know where he’ll be next excites him; he wants to be spontaneous. 

“I could give you what you want, but I guess you won’t be knowing that until I do it, huh?”

Acts of Service 

It could be as simple as making him a sandwich or packing his dance practice bag. Once he sees you do something you know you did so, his life would be easier; he just wants to take you to bed at that moment and be between your legs for as long as possible. His schedule is hectic, and the fact that you notice and actively work to make it better makes him want to give you everything.

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Seungmin

Edging

Seungmin himself didn’t know he liked edging until he met you. He was interested in just satisfying you at first, but then he realized that when he denied you, you whined and begged so pretty for him. He couldn’t resist! From then on, it’s been at least one denied orgasm a session, and he loves it. His favorite part is right when you realize he’s stopped. You squeeze your eyes shut and give him a frustrated whine. He kisses you while it dies down and then starts the whole process over again. Evil little demon.

Semi-Public (hear me out)

He likes treating you to clothes every now and then, as a token of his appreciation. What? He’s definitely not going to say it. However, when you find yourself in the dressing room trying on different sundresses, he’s quick to get greedy. It’ll start with a quick kiss and a, “Just look so pretty, baby,” and next thing you know, you’re on all fours on the dressing room bench. This is why he likes the privacy of luxury dressing rooms.

A Little Sass

He’s similar to Lee Know in that he likes to put you in your place a little bit. You could just be poking fun at him, causing problems, and general brat behavior. He’ll smile and raise his eyebrows at you, but you both know you’re in for it when you get home. It’s never about “embarrassing” him or anything; he just loves that you can spit fire right back at him. Loves it so much that he’ll ask you to say it again while he’s got your mouth full of cock. 

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Jeongin

Mirror Sex

Usually, mirror sex is about you watching yourself be ruined. While Jeongin can get behind that, he’s really drawn to the idea of being able to see both your face and your pussy as he ruins you from the inside out. That way, if your head starts to hang down or you close your eyes, he can see and pull your head back up by your hair. He wants you to see what he sees, and he knows you look pretty. Will definitely do it in front of a floor mirror, not one of those ceiling ones. He wants to see that arch.

Spitting

He was very cautious about introducing the idea of spitting to you. He knows that it could be seen as gross, and you liked your space, so eventually he made an effort to forget about it. But one night, he was ramming into you, and your legs were over his shoulders. You two were involved in a messy kiss, and he found himself grabbing your jaw harshly and pulling back. What surprised him was your tongue rolling out of your mouth like it was a habit. A sexy grin immediately adorned his face as he spat right on your outstretched tongue. You fell apart almost directly after that, and that’s when he knew you were his forever. 

Providing

Being seen as the baby of the group wasn’t his favorite part of being in Stray Kids. Especially as he grew older, he acted like a man and knew it. So, when you two started dating and you treated him like a man, not a child, he felt respected. This led to a lot of cooking for you, buying clothes or even your groceries for you, and carrying you to bed when you were too tired. Providing for you and being a man for you made him want to treat you in every way possible. (Especially with his tongue.)

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This one was funnn, I'm slowly getting less embarrassed so I hope you enjoyed this one!

General taglist: @seunghyoverse

[dirtyl0ver]

hiii i dont know if someone already asked, but can u please do how they react to their partner sending them a spicy pic while they are on a mission and maybe what they do when they come back? :P

Ughhhh YES I love this request so much omg 😮‍💨

CW: Sexual content Includes: Toby, Jeff, Ben, EJ, Brian, Tim

Creeps React to S/O Sending a Spicy Pic

Ticci Toby

He's crouched against a tree when his phone buzzes. He checks it absentmindedly, expecting a low battery warning or maybe a check-in. But it's you. And the second he opens that message, time stops.

You're lying back on the bed, legs parted just enough to show him what’s his. Maybe you’re not wearing anything, maybe you’re in that little piece of lace he likes to pull to the side with his teeth. Either way, his heart’s in his throat. His pants feel too tight all of a sudden.

He doesn’t even think about it. His hand is already working at his belt, screen tilted as he breathes a ragged “fuck” through his mouth guard. He holds the screen close, like he wants to crawl through it, eyes locked on your chest, your thighs, your smirk. He responds immediately:

“fuuuck baby why u do this to me rn” “so pretty so fuckin hot” “u want me to cum to this?”

He groans low and guttural, biting into his glove to stay quiet, his thighs shaking. He cums fast, messy, twitching in his spot, but keeps looking at your picture like it’s keeping him alive. Once it’s over, he snaps a quick pic of the aftermath, his palm wrapped around himself, a messy finish in frame, and sends it with:

“look what u did” “gonna fuck u so good when i get back”

When he gets home? You barely get a second to speak. He’s on you the second the door slams shut, grabbing your hips, dragging you to the edge of the bed. He’s already on his knees, already moaning as he buries his face between your legs like it’s a reward. He’s sloppy, desperate.

“Wanted to taste you the second I saw that picture.”

And he doesn’t stop until your thighs are trembling and you can barely breathe. He eats like a starving man and then fucks you like he’s trying to get lost in you.

Jeff the Killer

He’s standing in an alley, blood still dripping from his blade when he feels the buzz in his hoodie pocket. He’s in the middle of some poor guy's final moments, but the moment he sees your name, he gets distracted, that little smirk already curling at his lips.

And then he sees the photo.

You're bare, pretty, wet for him. Maybe you’ve got a hand between your thighs, maybe you're biting your lip, already glowing like you just touched yourself thinking about him. Jeff's head tilts back and he laughs, filthy and breathless.

He doesn’t even say anything at first. Just hikes his hoodie up, holds his phone up, and sends you a pic back: him standing over the body, blood-smeared hoodie pulled up, pants slightly pulled down, dick hard in his hand. Smirking like the devil himself.

“you realy gon tease me like this while im coverd in blood?” “this dick for u. keep tht pretty little pussy wet til i gt back”

No shame or hesitation. He doesn’t care that it’s in the middle of a job.

When he gets home? The door SLAMS. He stalks up to you, tosses you on the bed, and wrecks you. No time for talking. No time for prep. He’ll spit on it and shove it in, eyes glazed over with the same bloodlust he had on the mission.

Expect bruises, bite marks, a hand gripping your throat. He’s been imagining this the whole time and it shows.

“Told you you’d get fucked for that. Now take it.”

BEN Drowned

Ben’s in the middle of working on an important task on his computer when your message comes in. The moment he sees your name, with that little photo preview, he melts.

He opens the message and makes an actual, audible whine. Replies right away:

“ohmygod” “this is criminal” [screenshot taken] “babe im changing my background photo to this”

You’re spread out on the bed, back arched, face flushed. He zooms in. Then again. Then again. He’s obsessed. He bites his knuckle and paces his room, muttering fuck over and over before finally sitting back down in his gaming chair and sliding his headset off.

His hand’s around his dick in seconds. He scrolls between your picture and your previous messages, moaning as he strokes himself, licking his lips at the thought of you waiting for him.

“thinkin about sucking your tits rn” “ur giving me brain when i come over no debate”

When he gets home? He's all jokes at first, smirking like he’s not already painfully hard from the second he walks in. But once his mouth’s on you? There's no going back.

He’s teasing, cocky - fingers in your mouth, dragging his tongue down your stomach as he whispers: “Bet you were touching yourself after you sent that.”

Your clothes are off in seconds, and you’re on your knees for him, just like he wanted.

Eyeless Jack

EJ doesn’t get distracted. Doesn’t care for texts. But when he opens his phone to check something and sees your name, he hesitates. Clicks. Stares.

It’s you, bare and glowing. The lighting’s perfect, and the angle leaves very little to his imagination. He doesn’t make a sound, but the slow, controlled inhale says everything. His tongue swipes across his lip slowly. The muscles in his jaw tighten.

He responds with a single emoji.

👍

But when he’s alone? He goes back to the picture. Enlarges it. Studies it like art. He doesn’t jerk off. He doesn’t need to, he saves that for later.

When he gets home? You’re already in bed, expecting him. He approaches calmly, like he's got all the time in the world. Takes your hand, kisses your fingers, and leads you to the edge of the bed. “Would you mind showing me the real thing?”

And when you do, he drops to his knees.

Gives you slow, devout, worshipful head. He growls against your thighs. When he finally fucks you, he holds your hips firmly and moves like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

Brian/Hoodie

Brian’s not one to check his phone mid-mission. But later, tucked in a blind spot, he opens it briefly just to clear his notifications. When he sees your name, followed by a little image preview, his eyes soften immediately.

He opens it and just stares.

You’re beautiful, radiant. A little messy. He imagines you giggling after snapping the picture, biting your lip, waiting for a reaction. He doesn't send one, he just smiles faintly, swipes a thumb over the screen, and tucks the phone back in his pocket.

He replays that image for hours.

When he gets home? He lifts you the moment you greet him by the door and carries you to the bed with ease. You think he forgot. But he didn’t. He lays you down, undresses you with practiced hands and mumbles into your skin: “Thanks for sending that picture. I mean it.”

He fucks you so thoroughly you feel like crying, rough and deep, the kind of sex that leaves you shaking and undone. You feel so seen, so wanted - it’s almost too much.

Tim/Masky

Tim gets the photo at a weird time, right after a scuffle, adrenaline still high, blood pounding in his ears. He scrolls past his notifications and stops dead when he sees the preview.

He mutters “damn” and immediately opens it, whistling low under his breath. Replies quickly:

“Mmm baby…” “This for me?” “You better be playing with yourself”

He might lean over and flash it to Brian for one second just to be an ass - gets a deadpan stare in return, but it fuels him anyway. And then he keeps texting you:

“Warming up that pussy for me right?” “Keep it open for daddy”

He slips off to the side, palms himself through his jeans, groaning quietly to your picture before returning to the mission with new-found energy.

When he gets home? You don’t get a hello. Just rough hands and a sharp smirk as he manhandles you onto the bed. “Spread those legs. You’ve been waiting for this.”

He pounds you like a man on a mission. Rough, dominant, pushing you to your limits. There’s hair pulling, growling, and he loves hearing you beg for more. You’re definitely gonna walk funny the next day.

[rooksamoris]

“I can’t believe you’d ever want to get away from this,” you said as you and Leona lay back on the roof of his family’s stone palace. It was the middle of the night, and he had brought you up here when you confessed that you could not sleep. He figured you could count the stars until you got drowsy.

He could have given you a million reasons why he would want to escape this place. It was all too suffocating and loud. The footsteps of a chubby toddler, followed by the whispers of servants and the commands of his well-loved brother—it choked him. Of course, he knew you would respond by reminding him how loud his dorm was. The chatter and yells of overly energetic and eager teens could be deemed as even more annoying, but he felt freer there.

Instead, he sighed. His beautiful brown hair was splayed across the rooftop, his head resting in the arms he had across beneath it. “It’s probably for the same reason you never talk about going home anymore,” he replied. 

It was the truth. After you figured out how this world worked, you stopped nagging about finding your way back out of it. It became pleasant, it became a home you never had. The berating words of others no longer bounce about in your brain, feeding a self-loathing that would have pushed you to do something you would regret. The stress that made your shoulders taut ceased to exist perpetually. Sure, it was difficult to assimilate in a place with magic when you had none, but you felt more taken care of here. More loved. Even as you lived primarily in a run-down old dorm where the cold night draft assaulted your feet when you tried to sleep.

Here, the shameful shadows of your past could not follow you. There were no records of you, no documents, nothing to prove that you were good or bad or rich or poor or smart or dumb. The archives were empty, and now you could organize things as you wished. Perhaps being sent here was a gift from a fairy godmother or a genie.

You frowned, “Maybe.” If this place to Leona was like your old world, you could understand why he would want to get out. “It’s still beautiful, though.”

“Yeah, it is,” he muttered, before turning his head to face you.

©rooksamoris 2025. do not steal or translate my work!

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