#or what he's holding or why it's on fire or-

[sooniebby]

an idea; a (bottom) male reader who’s apart of an indie jpop boy group. The members are just you, a childhood friend, and three other people you met through college/random events. Your group was lucky one of the members comes from a rich family that doesn’t mind spending some money to help you guys out—waiting until a company finds interest and asks to manage you.

The first month or so is rough so you all find part time jobs in the mean time. But regular jobs just don’t interest you so it takes you awhile to even apply for any… mostly getting fired after the first week or so because you end up showing late all the time.

You’re left wondering what to do when you come across a website of camboys and camgirls. Some of them show full nudity while others stay dressed for the most part.

It intrigues you enough but you don’t do it without running it through your members. They’re mostly shocked you even want to do that… but other than that, they just tell you to not speak and wear a mask.

Easy peasy. You chose a simple and almost silly name, “Shy Usagi” since your mask resembled a rabbit.

The first stream is awkward, you had to figure out a way to talk. Surprisingly, a few of the people that dropped in were intrigued by your refusal to talk. You had expected them to immediately want you naked but it seemed you attracted people that liked the teasing aspect of camboys.

Though you were 99% sure it was only men watching you. The first few weeks, you only wore skimpy clothing and did anything they requested. The most sexual thing you did was suck a dildo.

Occasionally you’d masturbate on live and that would always garner more attention. But there was always one person who would tip you no matter the stream.

“Hitachikoi”

You were sure he was probably an old man but you didn’t care, money was money. He knew how to flirt so you never felt weirded out with his attention.

Things were going reasonably well until after your group’s performance at a little festival. You had spilt away for a second to look around when you bumped into someone. He had his face covered with a mask and baseball cap.

You were going to apologize and go about your way when you caught that he was holding a poster of your group. He didn’t say anything as he simply held up a marker.

It took a second before you finally realized what he wanted. “Oh! Sure.” You were a bit excited, having never really signed anything before. Your signature was a bit messy but still legible.

“Here you go, thanks for coming to see us!”

“I only came to see you.”

“Hm?” You leaned in closer, wondering if you had heard him right. Only you?

The man let out a laugh as he reached up and pulled down his mask, leaning down so you could get a clear look at his face. “Mhm. Only you… (Name)… or ah,”

His hand reached up and cupped your face, his thumb pressing on your bottom lip. It was only when he pulled off his cap that you got a good look at his face.

He… he wasn’t some random guy. He was a famous actor… a famous actor knew about you?

“Shy Usagi? It’s nice to see your entire face… that mask never hid your lips.”

You could stare as he pushed his thumb into your mouth. The only thing you were thinking of was if he was about to ruin your career before it even took off? But why would he care? Why was he even—

“Don’t worry your pretty little head. Someone like you isn’t made to think so hard,” he said, a slight frown on his lips. “I just, well I got tired of watching behind a screen. I wanted to touch you…”

His other hand moved to rest on your hip, pulling you closer as he pressed his lips against your ear.

“To be inside of you instead of that dildo… I mean, I’m paying you so much money, it’s only fair I get to have you, right? Mhm? I can have you, yea? I’ve thought of fucking your mouth for days now.”

“(Name)! Where are you?”

He pulled away, rolling his eyes. You only watched as he slipped back on his mask and cap, pulling your shirt back down. “You’ll stream tonight.” He said, as if he was giving you an order, not asking.

“I’ll see you tonight, baby. Wear something red tonight… that’s my favorite color.”

With that he left you standing there, mouth agape just as one of your members walked over to you.

You… were so fucking screwed.

In more ways than one.

Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @secretivemessenger @chill-guy-but-cooler @star-3214 @tehyunnie @remdayz @cherry-blossoms-187 @tomoeroi @mello-life25 @kiiyoooo @ofclyde @smellwell @iwishtobeacrow @euthymiko @rhetorical-conscience @mooncarvers-world @love-kha1 @anchoredphoenix @yuzuukix @bensontrechic

I already made a face claim lol.



[teencopandthesourwolf]

now on a3 HERE

.

“Holy crapsticks, Derek! Some sort of warning of your imminent wolfy arrival wouldn't go amiss you know? You do own a cellphone—I've seen it with mine own two eyes!”

Derek goes to close Stiles's window, turning his head first to hide his almost-smirk.

“Hey, are you laughing at me?” Stiles asks, affronted.

Derek obviously hides it badly. Or maybe Stiles is just better at catching him out than most people.

Stiles whips off one of his socks, balls it up, and launches at Derek's head. Derek catches it easily before fully turning back around. He then sniffs at it, eagerly, just to gross Stiles out.

It smells—nice, honestly.

Stiles gags. ��Oh my God, you are such an asshole.”

“Takes one to know one,” Derek shrugs.

He kind of can't help himself. It's fun getting snarky with this shithead kid, and it's been a while since he's known what fun looks like.

Derek's an asshole. And he's selfish. Does selfishness makes you an asshole by association? Whatever. He figures he's allowed to be a selfish asshole after everything. He stopped caring about social niceties a while back. Stiles—even if undeserving of a selfish asshole like Derek messing up his life more than it's already messed up—doesn't seem to give two shits about that sort of thing anyway.

There is also something awfully delicious about watching Stiles get riled up. That little jackrabbit heart of his thumping even faster against his frail, human ribcage; those usually pale as the moon cheeks flushing hard as he blushes beautifully from a baby pink through to a deep, blood red.

Selfish Asshole is a pretty good position to be in from where Derek is currently standing, watching a satisfyingly scarlet-faced Stiles flail his skinny arms about like an inflatable tube man outside a cheap car sales room.

He asks Derek what he wants and Derek thinks, you.

It's not exactly a revelation. He's had thoughts. Thoughts he's acted on when he's horny and has a precious few minutes to himself. He'd thought it was just a physical thing, at first.

Until the pool.

He licks at his lips and tastes both Stiles's irritation and his desire.

It's the same for him. Stiles annoys the living crap out of him, but he makes his dick hard too. Plus his heart a little soft, dammit.

It's fucking annoying.

Even more irritating is how there are rules for this shit, ones he actually finds himself wanting to abide by for once. He doesn't really know why but maybe it's because everyone he's been with since the fire has thought he was human, and he doesn't have to pretend with Stiles. Maybe he just likes Stiles more than he thought he did.

He rolls his eyes (not just at Stiles) and shucks Laura's old record bag off his shoulder before opening it and carefully taking out its contents.

“Here, take this.”

Stiles eyes him suspiciously before reaching out and taking the small-ish bundle from Derek's grasp, looking at it as though it might be poisoned. It could be for all Stiles knows, he supposes. The kid sniffs at it with only a fraction of the enthusiasm Derek had for Stiles's sock.

“Dude, why in the name of all that is sacred have you brought me a nosegay? Like, what the fuck is this shit? Looks like a really old Dolmades and smells like, like, I dunno, like somebody shoved a bunch of dead flowers in my Dan-O's jar of Italian Herb seasoning, man. Dear lord,” Stiles complains, holding the homemade smudge stick in the air between a finger and thumb as if it's a dead rat.

…which Derek very much could have gone with instead of an apotropaic charm. To be fair, if he'd chosen an offering as a token of his affections, it probably would've been something a little larger like a rabbit.

Stiles should think himself lucky.

“It's a smudge stick, you idiot,” Derek informs the kid, rolling his eyes again for good measure, and reason. His sockets perpetually ache around this dumbass.

He tosses his bag onto Stiles's desk chair, and himself onto Stiles's bed. Hiding out here a while back left him fairly comfortable around the place.

“Oh! I've read about these a ton on like, magic sites and shit, just—I never actually saw one IRL before.”

Derek scoffs. “Nobody actually says IRL in real life, genius.”

“Well they clearly do, Douchey Mc Dickbag, because I just said it, right here, right now,” Stiles sasses and pulls his tongue out at Derek.

Derek wants to bite and suck on it.

“You don't count. You're not real; you're just one of my recurring nightmares,” he sasses right back because it's fun to.

Selfish asshole.

“Awww, Der-bear! So you not only bring me what is essentially a bunch of flowers on Valentine's Day, but you dream about me too? Honestly, I didn't know you cared, big guy!” Stiles moons, clutching the smudge stick to his chest like a fool.

There's a record scratch moment where Derek has to go back over what Stiles just said.

Valentine's Day?

Before giving himself a chance to panic at the extra pressure this brings, he hears himself saying, “What if I am? And what if I do?” because maybe, actually, thinking about it, this will make it easier for Stiles.

Stiles's heartbeat stutters as he sucks in a big, staccato breath that Derek doesn't think he necessarily meant to take, and he sounds a little incredulous when he whispers, “What?” on the exhale.

Derek gets up off the bed and lopes over to where Stiles is standing, planting himself directly in front of the kid, their noses practically touching. He watches, rapt, as Stiles' cheeks go from moon rocks to rose petals to pools of blood, in a matter of seconds.

“There's white sage and sweetgrass and cedar. And yarrow. Wild indigo. Marigolds, too. And, uh, chamomile and mugwort and rosemary and bay. It's for protection. For you. Because,” he pauses, then thinks fuck it, before barrelling on. “Because I want to protect you, dip-shit,” Derek tells him and hopes, and hopes, and hopes.

I don't know who's gonna protect you from me though, he thinks as Stiles swallows. It sounds like a rock in a lake.

“Oh,” Stiles breathes, batting those long, pretty lashes up at Derek as if he has no idea what effect it has on his predatory nature.

He's never known Stiles to speak in one word sentences before now, and he thinks he very much likes knocking the sass right out of the brat like this.

Stiles squirms a little. “Um, I feel kinda bad, now,” he lies, looking down at the singular sock he's still wearing. He doesn't feel bad at all. He smells of pride and excitement and arousal. “I don't have anything to give you.”

Derek says, “Yeah you do; you started leaving your window open again, ” because they both know that ever since the pool, Stiles wants to trust Derek.

This is not a good idea, he thinks. But Derek is a selfish asshole—remember?

He licks at a canine, and Stiles whimpers.

Fuck, Derek thinks as he says, “Also, you could let me do this,” and licks Stiles from jaw to hairline, before he's nestling his entire face into Stiles's neck with a satisfied growl.

“Oh my fucking fuck, Derek, I am so nosegay for you,” Stiles literally whines, and Derek grins as he nips at the kids throat. “It's Happy Valentine's to the both of us then, I guess,” Stiles practically hums, flinging the smudge stick onto his desk before pushing Derek backwards to fall gracelessly onto his bed.

And for the first time in his life Derek thinks, thank fuck for Saint Valentine's.

.

completely unedited so pls be kind, and a very HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY 💕 — awoooooooo!

[suzdin]

Home Is Wherever I’m With You

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After the tragic loss of your father and home, you find yourself at the mercy of a cold, detached stranger who holds your fate in his hands during a violent snowstorm.

Notes: okay fair warning, I started writing this when I was feeling extremely low, and finished it several weeks later when I was doing better, so if it seems disjointed and sloppily thrown together, that’s why! But I swear there’s a happy ending!

Warnings: ANGST!!! I cannot stress the amount of angst. Suicidal thoughts and ideation, especially at the beginning. Alcohol consumption. Main character deaths; all of them. Lots of depression and poor mental health, mostly with Joel. Angsty!Joel, asshole!Joel, soft!Joel, semi-dom!Joel, protective!Joel, masturbation (m), oral (f receiving), face riding, unprotected p in v, creampie, biting/marking, pregnancy heavily hinted at, more angst

Word Count: 7,100+

dividers provided by: @saradika-graphics ❣️

Tags: @ohheypedrito @kateispunk @kellybelly1978 @berryispunk @chronically-ghosted @morallyinept @natdeandar @guelyury @daddy-dins-girl

Joel crouches in front of the old cast iron stove, his knees groaning in protest as he stokes the embers within using an extra scrap of wood.

He doesn’t know why he’s going through the trouble. It isn’t like he’ll be around much longer. Maybe he just wants to feel warmth one last time before he does it. And this time, he won’t miss.

He’ll be cold soon enough anyway.

He gets the fire breathing again, closing the hatch and settling back into the old leather recliner in the corner, worn and cracking with age, much like himself.

He palms the neck on a bottle of bourbon, taking a hefty swig and wiping his lips with the back of his hand, his face crinkling in rumination as he watches the flames dance behind slats of iron.

Sarah. Tess. Tommy. And then Ellie. He had failed each and every one of them; those he claimed to love, who he vowed to keep safe. He had let them down. He had let himself down.

He takes another pull on the bottle and sets it down heavily on the table next to him, replacing it with his Smith & Wesson, heavy digits curling around the grip.

He traces the scar on his temple with the point of his index finger, feeling the faint indentation in the flesh; a constant reminder of yet another failure.

He lowers his hand back to the revolver, finger circling the trigger guard, dark eyes downcast as he attempts to summon the strength to do what he needs to do. Again.

His hand tremors as he lifts the gun and presses the cold barrel to his temple, thumb cocking the hammer back with a hollow metallic clunk that resonates through his skull and soul.

“C’mon, Joel. Get yourself fucking together for once.”

His eyes close, nose scrunched in a deep scowl.

Just do it, Joel. Pull the fucking trigger.

The ball of his index finger curves around the bend of the trigger, twitching with indecision when the back door to the cabin abruptly flies open, temporarily snapping him out of his psychosis.

It’s just the wind. That’s all it is. A gust of wind from the incoming snowstorm.

He doesn’t move from his space on the recliner. The cold won’t matter in a few seconds anyway. He lifts the barrel to his temple again, aligning it just right…

The back door clicks shut. It wasn’t slammed, like the wind would have done had it been the culprit. It very audibly clicked. Like someone or something shut it themselves.

Immediately following the click, he hears the unmistakable scrape of boots on wood, the revolver lowering from offensive to defensive position.

No sooner do you get the door closed that you notice a faint flicker of light from the adjoining room, your heart beginning to thrum like a jackhammer in your chest. From the outside, in your weary state, the dilapidated old cabin looked abandoned as far as you could tell, realizing too late that it isn’t.

But now you’ve stumbled into someone’s den, and they could very well be armed and aiming to shoot. They could even be cannibals for all you know.

You could leave. You could just leave and pretend this never happened. But you haven’t seen any other shelters for miles… and the storm was only going to get worse.

“Who’s there?” a gruff male voice calls out from the other room, breaking through the stifling silence. You go stock still on instinct, your hackles bristled along your spine.

When you’re able to gather your bearings, you respond with your name, your vocal cords numb and strained from the cold.

“I mean no harm. I just need a place to sleep out of the storm. I promise to leave at first light,” you quickly add.

Joel stiffens when he hears a woman’s voice, his finger still circling the trigger guard as it had only moments before when the gun was trained on himself.

“Are you armed?”

“Just a small pistol and a jack knife. And I’m out of ammo,” you call back truthfully.

Everything is quiet for a moment aside from the crackle of flame and the howl of wind that rattles the windows and bends the outer wood. The silence between you and the unseen man feels like it stretches on for ages.

“Approach the door with your hands raised. An’ when I say, slide the gun and knife over to me.”

“Alright,” you reply quietly, approaching the ajar door in front of you, hands already skyward, kicking the door the rest of the way open with the toe of your boot.

You step forward two paces into the room, the scent of alcohol stinging your nostrils, your gaze settling on a haggard looking man in the furthest corner from you. His hair is wild and askew, eyes sunken in like a corpse, recognizing the hopeless glint behind them; no doubt a reflection of your own. A large pistol is clutched in his meaty fist, cocked and aimed.

“Gun first. Then the knife,” Joel says, his brow angled downward in a dark line, shading the even darker set of eyes.

You keep one hand in the air as the other reaches into the band of your jeans, removing the pistol and sliding it to him, stilling as it hits his boot.

He picks it up, discharging the clip to find that it is indeed empty, as you had claimed. He sets it next to the bourbon.

You slide the knife next, an average, run of the mill jack knife with a four inch blade. He inspects it, noticing a few remnants of blood still tarnishing the steel.

“Who’d you kill with this?”

“I used it to skin hares and squirrels.”

His face pinches with confusion, tilting his head at you like a dog hearing an unknown sound for the first time.

“Y’skinned hares and squirrels with a jack knife?” he questions doubtfully.

“It’s all I had,” you explain.

Joel eyes you warily. You’re definitely not dressed or equipped for this kind of weather. The only thing that seems to be keeping you warm is a thin hoodie, a regular set of jeans, and a pair of boots soaked through with snow.

He sighs. He isn’t going to kill himself with you here. He may not be the nicest or most caring man in the world, but he isn’t about to traumatize you. He’ll wait until you leave. You said you’d leave at first light.

In the meantime, he has to deal with someone being in his space, which he doesn’t exactly want to do, especially in his last hours. But he isn’t about sending you to your death, either. You probably have more to live for than he does.

“Here,” he says, kicking an old wicker chair toward you. “Your feet’re soaked. Take off your boots and warm your feet ‘fore you get frostbite.”

You lower your arms and take a cautious step forward, and then another, slowly sinking into the flimsy and rotten chair, bending to unlace and remove your boots.

You try to wiggle your toes but they won’t move, at least not yet. Joel watches with a scrutinizing glare, his hand still on the Smith & Wesson in his lap.

“What’s your name?” you ask him, pushing your boots aside.

“Ain’t important.”

You cast him a look but don’t press, scooting your sore and frozen feet closer to the stove, feeling yourself starting to slowly defrost.

You thank him for letting you stay.

He ignores your gratitude, dark browns drifting over your frame.

“Where’d you come from?” he asks.

“Ain’t important,” you counter, casting him another glance.

He leans forward, planting his elbows on his knees, pinning you with a deep scowl.

“I’m the one with the gun,” he chides in a deep timbre, his tone brooking no room for protest. “Guns,” he quickly amends.

Your eyes lock with his momentarily, assessing his conviction before deciding not to test it.

“A settlement near Billings.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

He leans back, his gaze unmoving, letting out a breath through his nose.

“An’ exactly what prompted you to run out into a snowstorm with just a hoodie and no supplies?” he asks.

You flinch as if he’d just backhanded you, averting your gaze. If you were looking, you might notice his face softening, if only just a hair.

“Raiders came into our settlement. My father… he gave me the pistol and distracted them while I snuck under a gap in the fence. I didn’t have time to grab anything else,” you tell him.

“And your dad?” Joel asks delicately.

“Didn’t make it out,” you reply grimly, your body beginning to tremor, a combination of repressed emotion and your muscles beginning to thaw.

Joel falls silent, absorbing your words as truth. He can’t find a reason that you would lie about something like that.

“I’m sorry,” he sympathizes, his voice gentling.

You bring your knees to your chest, your chin resting between them, arms wrapped around your shins.

“Thank you,” you say again, your voice hardly above a whisper.

——

Your eyes snap open, realizing you must have drifted off at some point, finding yourself curled into a fetal position directly in front of the dying fire.

A blanket you’re sure wasn’t there before is wrapped around your frame. You’ve no idea where it came from, it’s a bit scratchy and smells funky, but what matters is it’s warm, subconsciously pulling it tighter around your shoulders when you feel a chilled breeze brush over you through the cracks in the wall.

“Mornin’,” Joel hums softly above you.

“Morning,” you echo, shifting as your eyes scan the room, the cabin just as dark and cloaked in shadow as when you arrived. You’re unsure how he knows what time of day it is, but you decide not to question it.

He’s in almost the exact position in the old recliner as the previous evening, his hand unmoving from the revolver still in his lap. You can’t help but wonder if he had any rest at all, not sure if him watching you sleep should be comforting or disconcerting.

You sit up with a stretch, your joints crackling like twigs as you work out the aches of not only having traveled this far on foot, but also sleeping on a hard wooden floor all night.

Better than freezing to death, you decide.

You scoot until your back is flush with the wall, leaning against it as you silently study Joel.

“Thank you for the blanket—“ you begin, but he quickly cuts you off with a hard glare, nudging your dried out boots to you with his foot.

“Boots’re dry. It’s morning. ‘bout time for you to leave,” he says, his voice low and rough.

It dawns on you that it’s still dark because the storm hasn’t lessened at all, banks of snow clogging the windows and doors, blocking out what little available sunlight there is.

Your brow knits together and you cast him a wary glance, bottom lip trembling.

“But it… it’s…”

“The deal was first light, darlin’, and I’ve given you plenty more than that.”

“Please… just… a few more hours? Until the storm dies down some?” you plead, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes, preemptively threatening to freeze your eyelids together.

He’s silent and contemplative for what you feel is longer than necessary, a muscle fluttering in his jaw.

He knows he should send you away, even if it means a certain death. He can’t have you here, swimming in his grief, prolonging the inevitable.

The other option, of course, is to shoot you and then himself, a swift and merciful death that you deserve far more than he does. His fist tightens around the butt of the revolver, an action that does not go unnoticed by you.

“No,” he says plainly.

“Please, I’ll do anything,” you say, your voice cracking with emotion and desperation, shifting to your knees as you shuffle a few inches closer to his chair. He did give you a blanket, so there is a human being in there somewhere. “I can’t—“

“I can barely take care of myself, much less another person. Ain’t nothing you can offer me, nothing to barter with—“

“I’ll let you keep my gun and knife. Please. Just a few more hours…”

His jaw ticks again. Your odds are already low as is, but liberating you of your only means of defense, your only means of perhaps obtaining a meal, if only a meager squirrel or hare, would completely diminish any shred of a chance you have left.

He could give you his one and only jacket. Not that he’s going to need it after you leave, anyway.

“No,” he says again, more sternly than before.

His gaze is unmoving from yours, the slow, steady circling of his pointer finger on the edge of the trigger guard doing little to settle your nerves, the conflict apparent behind his dark eyes.

You know you don’t have much to offer. You’re not great at hunting. You’d exhausted your entire clip on what barely qualifies as a meal, leaving you with very little sustenance once the bullet had almost completely obliterated any viable meat.

You can’t fight or shoot worth a damn, either. Your father had tried to teach you in vain, his frustration with you growing to a fever pitch over the years, but it had never been your forte.

Because you never thought you’d have to live without him.

You can scout. Gather. Keep the cabin up, replace rotting boards and rusting nails, keep it clean and tidy. But not in this weather, and not for a few months yet.

So you default to the last thing you know how to do well. The only thing you know without a shadow of a doubt you’re good at, if any of the men at your settlement had anything to say about it before they perished.

You inch closer, your tired knees scraping against the dirty, splintered wood, hands trembling as you hesitantly reach toward his parted knees.

He anticipates more begging and pleading. Maybe a sob story or two.

What he doesn’t expect is for your hands to grab his belt, the meat of your palm ghosting over his crotch as you fumble to undo the worn rungs of leather.

His cock twitches instinctively and he can’t recall the last time a woman touched him like this. Made him feel anything but dead inside.

He moves with a sudden swiftness that surprises and startles both of you, the hand not currently on the revolver grabbing hold of your wrist like a striking serpent, his grip biting into your delicate bones so roughly you realize how effortless it would be for him to snap your wrist, should he feel so inclined.

He rises to his feet, dragging you with him and giving you a hard, reprimanding shake, teeth bared inches from your face.

It occurs to you seeing him fully upright like this just how tall, how imposing he is; worn, threadbare flannel stretched to its limits across broad shoulders and thick biceps.

“Christ, woman, the hell is wrong with you? What kind of man do you take me for?” he growls, a subtle twang piping up in his voice, his clenched fist releasing your wrist with a minor shove. You stumble backwards, catching yourself on the wall.

His nostrils flare, drawing in a deep, steadying breath, his eyes slipping shut as he tempers his simmering anger… and something else he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“Fuck,” he grunts, eyes slowly opening again, rough digits carding through his graying curls. “If it means that much to you… you stay until the snow stops, an’ not a second later,” he nearly spits in your face. “Got it?”

When you easily nod in agreement, he stalks out of the room with a huff, every heavy footfall vibrating beneath your feet, slamming the door shut between you, leaving you standing there in the middle of the room, alone and unsure what to feel.

—

Joel goes into the now defunct bathroom, the traditional porcelain toilet that was maybe brand new decades ago currently unusable, the water in the tank and plumbing frozen solid, the pipes under the earth most likely cracked and warped.

He drops trow and leans forward with the flat of one palm against the wall, the other hand gripping himself.

He lets out a shaky breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding in, pissing into the cistern he had dug under the cabin two summers ago, a task only made more difficult by the partial erection he now has thanks to your — albeit brief — touch a few moments ago.

“Fuck, Joel,” he sighs as he empties his bladder, his cock only growing stiffer in his hand as he imagines how good your lips would have felt wrapped around him, what kind of pretty sounds you would have made for him.

“Fuck,” he grits again, cramming his painfully hard erection into his jeans when he’s done.

—

Hours turn to days, days to weeks, weeks to months — “until the snow melts an’ not a day later” — spring not far around the corner, the sun growing brighter and hotter in the sky with each passing day.

Joel’s suicidal ideations were still an ever present plague on his brain, though he kept that part of himself tucked neatly away, as he did most things that were personal and private. He never spoke of Sarah, Ellie, anyone. Never talked about his life before Outbreak.

In turn, you never talked about yours either, aside from what you’d told him the first night, too frightened that you might scare him away simply by opening up, by trying to stitch together what little relationship you had with one another.

The more time you spent with him, the more of a burden you began to feel. It didn’t matter how much you helped out, even if you kept a respectful distance between you, especially when he seemed extra bristly or in his head that day. He was always skulking about, his face pinched in indignation in what you were certain was unspoken hatred for you and your existence.

It was early morning and you were at the edge of the valley, the spot near the treeline that was choked with underbrush, gathering pathetically small handfuls of wild strawberries and huckleberries that were just beginning to fruit. Definitely not enough to have much impact on your aching bellies, but it could be supplemental to whatever protein Joel could scrounge up, which hadn’t been much as of late.

You wipe a fresh layer of sweat from your brow despite the air still being bitterly cold, collecting what meager pittance of berries you can, sucking in a breath of air as you steeled your nerves to head back to the cabin.

—

Joel’s door is still closed when you return. Not surprising, considering how early you’d gotten up that morning, Joel likely still exhausted and aching from the ineffectual hunting trip the previous day.

You place the berries into a bowl on the counter, your fingers curling into the peeling linoleum as you stare out the window that overlooks the southern end of the valley, sun cresting through the twisted and gnarled branches of still-bare trees.

You’ve been milling around the idea of leaving for weeks now. You’ve come close to doing so several times, knowing it would make Joel happy to not have you on his mind or in his space anymore.

Your hand hovers near the hunting rifle slanted against the wall, ultimately deciding against it as you tuck your pistol and knife into your pants, tossing half of the berries into a bag and shrugging on the jacket Joel had found for you on a hunting trip.

You take a final glance at his door before sucking in another sharp breath, opening and closing the back door for what you assume to be the last time.

—

Joel hears you return only to leave again a few minutes later. He thinks little of it, something you do frequently throughout the day when foraging or inspecting snares.

He wishes he could express his gratitude to you, thank you for how much you help out. How much you’ve improved his life just by being here. It kills him to see how you shrink away every time he enters the room, but he understands why. He hasn’t given you a reason not to.

Once he’s sure you’re out of earshot, he resumes pumping himself, hips bucking into his fist seconds before spurting hot ribbons of come onto his lower abdomen, eyes rolling back in his skull, your name a curse on his tongue as he imagines your mouth working him over in place of his fist.

As much as he’s wanted to touch you, sink himself into you every night, he’s been too afraid. Afraid to even speak to you, afraid of becoming attached only to lose you, like he’s lost all the others.

—

When you don’t return by mid day, he begins to worry.

He tries not to. He tries to tell himself maybe you decided to forage a little longer than usual, or maybe you’re at the river searching for freshwater clams since the weather is slowly beginning to warm.

Still, he can’t shake the feeling that something is off. That something is wrong.

He finds the bowl of fresh berries on the counter, evident that you had been foraging at least part of the day. But it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t good enough for him.

When you don’t return by nightfall, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that something is wrong.

This isn’t you.

—

Two days pass and you realize just how badly you fucked up.

The berries barely made a dent in your hunger and the only other food you managed to find were a few wild mushrooms that you’re pretty sure weren’t the edible kind, if the half gallon of resulting vomit an hour later was any sort of indication.

You fucked up. You fucked up royally and you miss the cabin. You miss the warm stove and the bed Joel made for you close to the fire. You miss how he always kept you fed and protected, even if you’re certain he hates you.

You miss Joel. You miss his grunts, you miss the way his face pinches when he glowers. You miss what he looks like when he chews, almost like he’s angry at his food somehow. You miss his smell when he comes home covered in grime and sweat from a full day of hunting.

Dusk has fallen on your second day without food or water, your bones feeling like powder and your muscles like jelly. You’re exhausted, head pounding with a combination of fatigue and hunger as you take shelter from the wind in a small outcropping of rocks, wishing he was here with you.

You’ll go back tomorrow, you decide.

—

Joel watches the sun sink behind the horizon of trees, cloaking the surrounding forest in near darkness.

He knows he should stop to rest for the night. Like you, he left in a rush without grabbing much in way of supplies or sustenance, but had been lucky to graze a buck that he was passively tracking while searching for you. He’ll likely find it soon.

He periodically came across fresh deer imprints in the earth, clean tracks slowly changing to drag marks, indicating the buck was either dead or close to death.

But you were constantly at the forefront of his mind. You were his focus. His reason to keep going. His reason for continuing to live.

And when he finds a perfect indentation of your left boot moments before the sun lowers completely from the sky, he knows he can’t afford to stop now.

—

It’s still dark when you wake up, your eyes coming into focus along the faint edges of what you can see, which isn’t much. Some rocks. Some trees.

You shift, rolling to your opposite side to go back to sleep, tucking your hands under your cheek as a makeshift pillow. A breeze blows over you, made stronger by the funnel of rocks, and you shiver, pulling your jacket tighter.

Snap.

Your eyes fly open again, immediately jumping to your haunches as you palm the pistol next to you.

You train your ears toward the source of the sound, somewhere in the trees, listening intently, your mind on shuffle with all the possibilities of what it could be.

It didn’t sound large enough to be a bear. A puma, perhaps, one who didn’t seem to be hunting you, hopefully, due to how loud the sound was.

Infected? A slim possibility. Rare up here, but not unheard of, which left you with the most likely option: it was human.

You attempt to still your breath, your fist white knuckled around the butt of the gun. It’s too dark to see anything, and all you hear is the soft whistle of the wind.

—

Joel registers the sound of you shifting from somewhere up the incline above him, limbs turning to stone as his mind cycles through all the same scenarios as you.

He lost your tracks halfway through the night, finding himself going in circles, so it’s quite possible it’s not you he’s just stumbled upon.

He slowly removes the rifle from his shoulder, lifting it to half mast in case whomever he’s stumbled across is hostile… or infected.

“I’m armed!” he calls out, lifting the rifle to a defensive position with the butt pressed to his shoulder. “I have no beef with you if you have none with me,” he adds.

You swear your heart stops, tears suddenly stinging your eyes with salt.

“J-Joel?” you whimper, almost imperceptible, but it’s just loud enough.

Joel can only react, unthinking, responding on muscle memory alone as he somehow manages to traverse the steep, rocky incline in seconds without eating it.

You jump upright to your feet, despite how weak you are, and before your brain even has a chance to tell your legs to move, you’re struck by a wall of muscle, thick arms coiling around you and pulling you against his chest.

“Thank god, thank god,” Joel sobs into your hair as he drags you down to the ground with him, his voice softer than you can ever remember, the wetness of his tears soaking through your shirt. “I thought I’d lost you…” he whispers, his voice wavering.

He inhales your scent deeply, his hold on you nearly painful, but you don’t mind, your face against his chest as your own tears start to fall.

—

“I’m sorry,” Joel murmurs softly as you’re walking back the following day, glancing over at you, dark brown eyes gently regarding your side profile in the early morning light. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I don’t care. I just…”

“I know,” you respond, pausing to collect your breath and your thoughts. “I know why you did it. I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m sorry I scared you…”

“Hey,” he says, gently cupping your jaw as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze, calloused thumb tracing your jawbone, pausing at your bottom lip. “S’okay.”

Your lips pucker, impervious to stop yourself from planting a small kiss to the pad of his thumb as it brushes your lip.

He lets out a low breath, his hand snaking around to the nape of your neck, fingers lacing through your hair as he tugs you closer, lips crashing against yours in a passionate, heated kiss that flows trembling from him with every fiber of withheld emotion and desire.

—

You arrive at the cabin half a day later, impressed but not surprised by how swiftly Joel was able to navigate both of you back safely.

He even successfully locates the downed buck, stiff with rigor mortis and cold, half chewed by a pack of wolves that scatter with a single rifle shot fired over their heads, the large animal now dragging listlessly behind Joel as you finally break through the barrier of trees encasing the valley where the cabin resides.

Smoke still curls from the chimney, fire long gone but embers undoubtedly still hot, and you find yourself smiling. With relief, with anticipation.

You’re exhausted, famished and dirty. Yet you still assist Joel in stringing up what’s left of the buck to the outside of the cabin until he can properly butcher it, feeling obligated to do so after everything that’s happened, despite his protests.

Once the task is complete, you retire to the warmth and comfort of the cabin, curled against his chest, feeling at home for the first time in months.

His fingers idly trace the bow of your spine, both of you falling into a fast sleep for what feels like days on end.

—

“I was so goddamn stupid,” Joel growls softly as his lips chart a path down your soft inner thighs, finding himself grinding his hips into the mattress for relief. “So goddamn stupid an’ bullheaded, an’ I almost lost you for it.”

Your spine arcs instinctually when his breath ghosts tauntingly close to your soaked folds, your fists finding his graying locks with a tug.

“Joel, stop talking and make it up to me,” you whine, earning a disapproving glance from between your legs, but there’s an undercurrent of playfulness behind his eyes.

“Make it up to you, huh?” he purrs, separating your folds and inhaling your natural scent. “By tastin’ this perfect little pussy?”

“Yes,” you whine again, writhing like a worm cooking under the sun in his grasp, your fingers tightening in his hair.

“Uh uh,” he scolds, moving further away from where you’re desperate for him. “Ask nicely.”

His lip curves almost imperceptibly into a sly smirk, his gaze growing a shade darker.

“Please, Joel,” you amend, still wiggling, almost involuntary at this point, his fingers digging into your hips as he pins you against the bed.

“Please what?”

“Please, I need to feel your mouth on my pussy,” you whimper.

His nostrils flare, smirk growing just enough for you to realize you weren’t just seeing things.

He doesn’t waste another second as he dives in with a low, reverberative growl and begins feasting on you like a man starved, his meaty forearm barred across your hip to hold you in place so he can eat you out properly.

His tongue parts your folds, licking a broad stripe up your seam with a groan as he tastes your essence for the first time, moving back down to your opening to tongue fuck you, the ridge of his nose grinding deliciously against your throbbing clit.

You tug harder against his strands with a moan, helping to guide him where you need him most.

Joel grunts your name into your core, eyes locking with yours over your mound, and it takes everything in you not to fall apart right then and there.

He abruptly pulls his mouth from you, making you whine in protest, another smirk notching the corner of his lips as he rolls onto his back, rigid cock swaying slightly with the motion of his hips.

“Get on my face, baby, I need to get deeper,” he says, grabbing your wrist and gesturing you closer.

You don’t even have to give it another thought, scrambling over him, folded knees planted on either side of his head.

He yanks you down abruptly to his waiting and eager mouth before you’re halfway settled, tongue curling into your wet heat with a deep groan that vibrates straight through you.

His fingers dig into the meat of your ass, directing your movements, grinding you against his face as he continues to feast on you like you’re nothing less of a five star meal.

Your hands furl the edge of the headboard, spine arching, and it doesn’t take much longer in this position to be sent over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you like a bolt of lightning, Joel’s name a sacred prayer on your tongue as everything inside of you completely uncoils.

He keeps you there long enough to let you ride out your high, tongue still laving at your spasming walls until it’s too much for you to handle.

You shift off of him, his facial hair glistening with evidence of your release as he pulls you down into a rough, needy kiss, letting you taste yourself, flipping you over and pinning you beneath him, arms caged around your head as he grinds his hardness against you.

“You have no idea how many times I jerked off thinking about you like this,” Joel confesses, nipping at your jaw, then your bottom lip. “How you would feel. How you would taste.” He kisses down to your collarbone, his teeth gently grazing.

“And you have no idea how many times I touched myself thinking about you,” you confess in reply, Joel’s head lifting to meet your eyes at your admission. “I had to bite my lip every night to keep from moaning your name...”

“Fuck…” he growls, settling his pelvis between your thighs, pushing your legs further apart, lifting one to prop against his shoulder.

“You make me feel things I haven’t felt in years,” he rumbles, giving himself a few firm pumps before notching himself at your entrance. “Y’want me to go fast or slow, darlin’?”

A warmth spreads through your chest at the simple act of him asking, knowing it isn’t just mindless sex to him, that he actually cares, if that wasn’t already obvious from how enthusiastically he just ate you out.

“Slow, then hard and fast,” you tell him, earning another deep rumble as he starts to push himself inside of you, fat head stretching your walls.

“Christ, you’re perfect,” he says softly as he steadily gains ground, his hips shuddering with restraint once he bottoms out, sheathing himself fully. “Fuck, darlin’, you’re strangling me,” he grunts. “I don’t know how long I can last...”

The pain of withholding in his voice is palpable.

“Joel, you just made me come super hard,” you tell him. “Don’t hold yourself back just for me.”

His bottom lip juts out and quivers with the thin veil of control he still has, fingertips digging into your hips, crescent moon shapes left behind in your skin.

“Y’sure?” he asks, internal conflict evident in his voice as he rolls his hips half a thrust forward. “‘cause soon as I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back…”

“I’m sure,” you reassure him, letting him hear the conviction in your voice.

He takes in a steadying breath and gently gyrates his hips forward once, twice, his head tilting down to watch the way he disappears inside of you.

It must be the way you’re taking him so well — or maybe it’s the months of not allowing himself to touch you — the thin thread of restraint suddenly fraying after the initial soft, testing thrusts, a barely audible ‘fuck’ escaping his lips seconds before he begins railing into you with everything a man of his age has to give… which is a lot.

Joel’s hand is on your calf, holding your leg flush to his chest, the other on your hip in a bruising hold, watching the way your body sways in rhythm with his motions, teeth bared in concentration.

“Darlin’… I’m… I… where do you want it?” he pants, the question almost sounding pained.

You know you should make him pull out and finish on your stomach. Contraceptives are a rare luxury these days and you’d always made your previous boyfriends pull out. But you can’t stop yourself, the permission spilling from your lips thoughtlessly.

“In… inside…” you whimper in desperation and Joel doesn’t even think to question it.

He collapses on top of you, his hips sputtering and shaking, a deep, guttural snarl sounding from his chest as he spills into you, filling you to the brim with hot jets of spend.

Despite not coming a second time, the sensation of him shooting inside of you still feels good, his warmth filling every crevice it can reach inside of you.

He buries his face against your neck, gingerly taking some of your flesh between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to leave a faint impression.

His hips gradually slow and still, your name a reverent curse on his tongue.

“Christ,” he pants, wrapping you snugly in his burly arms. “Christ, darlin’.”

—

Spring finally reaches the valley, replenishing the land with color and sunlight, allowing you and Joel to wander out further and further every day.

He tells you he wants to find something nicer than the cabin. Somewhere larger, more permanent, even though you’ve told him time and again that you’d prefer to stay.

And you do, for a spell.

That is until you find your body growing more sensitive than usual. Until you find it increasingly difficult to keep some of your meals down, trying to convince Joel it’s nothing, that it’s just a summer cold, when you both know it’s not.

Joel dotes on you, burdens himself over you, knowing exactly what it is without wanting to say it. All the signs are there, almost textbook, unable to keep his memories from drifting back to the days before Sarah was born, how her mother’s symptoms were damn near identical.

He doesn’t dare tell you how scared he is, how much this terrifies him all the the way to his bone marrow, but you know. You see it in his gaze when he looks at you, feel it in his touch when he pulls you against him at night.

—

You’re on a scouting run one warm summer day, Joel hardly more than two feet from you at any given moment, so many unspoken words and feelings still hanging in the air between you.

He reaches for your arm to steady you when your feet slide on a patch of loose rocks, his palm instinctively moving to protect your stomach. You’re almost sure he wasn’t even aware he did it.

“Joel,” you say, placing your hand over his. “I’m alright.”

His brow furrows, silence speaking louder than any words he could say.

He’s reverted into his headspace again, more quiet these last few days than he has been. And it worries you. You hate that he bottles everything up, but you know that confrontation could make him shut down even more.

You begin walking again, his hand absently resting on the small of your back, and you continue down the path in stagnant silence.

Suddenly, Joel stops, eyes squinting to confirm what he’s seeing is real.

A neighborhood.

—

The neighborhood would have been considered a new development before the world went to shit, most of the lots bare and choked with two decades worth of weeds, some houses half built and some finished but likely vacant at the time.

There are only a few that look to have been potentially occupied before everything, three larger homes next to one another in a cul-de-sac at the end of unmanaged, cracked pavement.

There’s not much of interest in the first few homes you inspect, watching the way Joel silently scrutinizes everything as a potential future dwelling, not a single corner left unchecked, his latent instincts as a contractor still well ingrained in him despite the expanse of time.

By mid day, you’re both sweating profusely, Joel moreso than you since he isn’t letting you do much, forcing you to put food and water in your body, brooking no argument when he gives you his ration as well.

He knows you should head back soon before you’re out too late, but there’s still one house left to search and he doesn’t want to make the trip a second time if it isn’t worth the trouble.

The largest house, a two story spruce green craftsman with gray trim, his heart aching with nostalgia at how much it reminds him of his former home in Austin.

You start the same route as with the other houses; from the top, room by room, working your way down, your anxiety growing the lower the sun dips in the sky, knowing you only have a couple hours at best before it’s too late to leave.

The main floors scoured, you follow Joel to the basement, your hands on his shoulders for stability as you slowly work your way down the creaking stairs, your eyes adjusting to the shadows the deeper you travel.

When you’ve reached the bottom, Joel pulls out his flashlight, hitting it against his palm a few times before it flickers to life, the thin beam of light reflecting off the freshly disturbed dust.

You cover your nose and mouth with your shirt to keep out some of the flying particles, watching as Joel stumbles upon a stack of neatly piled and labeled storage totes in the furthest corner from the stairs, adrenaline beginning to course through him like a drug as he reads the faded sharpie scrawled on the sides.

“‘Canned goods and preserves’,” Joel says quietly, his voice higher in pitch than usual, more hopeful. There’s at least four totes labeled canned goods that you can see, possibly more, dates ranging from anywhere from late 2000 to summer of 2003.

He moves slightly to the right, his body tremoring as he examines the next set of totes.

Multiple totes labeled MREs, dated around the same range as the canned goods. He rips the top off of a few of them open to confirm that his eyes aren’t deceiving him, that this isn’t a cruel dream, nearly doubling over when he sees just how real it is.

“Joel?” you ask, concerned, stepping nearer to him when you see him trembling and clutching his chest. “Baby ..?”

He suddenly turns and throws his arms around you, and it dawns on you that he’s crying, he’s crying and trembling, eyes full of happy tears.

“A fucking prepper. A fucking prepper just saved our lives,” he whimpers into your hair, squeezing you against him, and all he can think in that moment is thank fuck for those crazy assholes. Thank fuck for people like Bill.

—

In the weeks that follow, you and Joel clean and repair the house — Joel doing most of the work, per his insistence — but it’s in surprisingly good shape despite its age and lack of upkeep, and even with just the two of you, it doesn’t take as long as you’d expected.

You can’t help but miss the cabin, the natural beauty of the valley. But Joel was right to move you. It’s safer here, more insulated from weather, more space to grow. And perhaps, one day, the cabin can be someone else’s salvation, as it had been for you.

Another night falls on one of the final lingering days of summer, barely able to see the shine of Joel’s eyes in the dim light as he climbs over you, parting your legs with his knee, rumbling low in his chest as he peppers kisses and bites down the column of your neck.

[batboysanonymous]

Soft Hands, Sharp Edges

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel doesn’t know what to do with kindness. It unsettles him more than any blade, any shadow-drenched secret he’s ever carried. But when Y/N comes into his life, he begins to realize that maybe love isn’t spoken in grand confessions but in the quiet acts of care he’s spent a lifetime denying himself.

───────────────────────────────

Azriel had spent his entire life repaying debts.

Debts to the shadows that had carried his whispered prayers in the dark when no one else had listened. Debts to the Night Court, to Rhysand, to the only family he had ever known. Debts to the people who needed him—the ones who relied on his skill, his efficiency, his quiet, lethal devotion.

Kindness, though—kindness was a language he had never been taught.

It was why, when Y/N pressed a steaming cup of tea into his hands one evening at the House of Wind, he hesitated.

He hadn’t seen her approach, though he should have. His shadows should have warned him, should have curled against his skin in anticipation. But somehow, she had slipped past all his defenses, her presence as natural as breathing.

Azriel stared at the cup. Then at her. Then back at the cup.

“What’s this?” His voice was flat, cautious. Suspicious. As if she had handed him a live grenade and was waiting for him to pull the pin.

Y/N only smiled. “Tea.”

He blinked. “…Why?”

The corners of her mouth twitched, as if she were holding back laughter. “Because you looked tired.”

Tired.

Azriel didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t know how to process the idea that someone had looked at him—at the way his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of the latest mission, at the tension he carried like a second skin—and thought to do something about it.

So he stood there, fingers hovering just above the ceramic, waiting for the catch.

Y/N’s expression softened, and she nudged the cup closer. “It’s not poison, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Azriel huffed, his lips twitching despite himself. He finally took it, his scarred fingers brushing hers in the transfer. He expected her to flinch, the way so many others had when they first saw the remnants of his past etched into his skin.

She didn’t.

And that unsettled him even more than the tea.

He cleared his throat, shifting his grip on the mug. “I guess I could use it.”

Y/N only hummed, a quiet, knowing sound. And then she walked away, not lingering for a thank you, not waiting for him to react, as if this—this offering, this care—was simply natural.

As if he deserved it.

Azriel didn’t take his first sip until she was gone. He drank it slowly, fingers curling around the warmth, letting the quiet gesture settle into the cracks of him like rain against dry earth.

───────────────────────────────

It didn’t stop there.

The gifts kept coming.

Not grand things, not grand gestures, but small, thoughtful things.

An extra set of gloves left outside his door when the frost began creeping into the Illyrian mountains. A plate of his favorite dinner waiting at the long dining table before he could even reach for it. A first-aid kit tucked discreetly into the pocket of his leathers, no note, no explanation—but he knew.

Azriel knew.

And every time, without fail, he grumbled. He rolled his eyes. He told her, in the gruffest, most reluctant tone, that she didn’t need to fuss over him.

But he never refused.

And he never let go of those things easily.

───────────────────────────────

One night, after a particularly brutal mission, he found her waiting for him.

The townhouse was quiet, the others long asleep. Y/N sat curled in the armchair by the fire, a book resting open in her lap.

Azriel hesitated in the doorway, exhaustion weighing heavy in his bones. He had seen her waiting for him before, but this time, something about it hit him differently.

She looked up, and the moment her eyes met his, something in his chest tightened. She didn’t ask if he was okay. Didn’t prod for answers or explanations. She just studied him for a moment, then slipped out of her chair, disappearing into the kitchen.

When she returned, she pressed something warm into his hands.

Not tea this time.

Hot chocolate.

Azriel stared at it, blinking. “I—”

“You looked like you needed something sweeter,” she murmured.

His throat went tight.

For a long moment, he just stood there, gripping the mug like it was an anchor. Then, before he could stop himself, he muttered, “Thank you.”

Y/N smiled. That soft, quiet smile that made something in him ache.

“Always,” she whispered.

And for the first time in a long time, Azriel believed it.

But kindness had always been a double-edged blade.

Azriel had been cut by it before, had been given glimpses of warmth only for it to be ripped away.

So when Y/N’s kindness became something steady, something he could almost count on, something that settled into his life like it belonged there—he panicked.

He started pulling away.

It wasn’t obvious at first. Just small things. Taking his meals in the shadows instead of at the dining table. Leaving for training before she woke up. Letting the gifts pile up in his room instead of keeping them in sight.

But Y/N noticed. Of course she noticed.

And one night, when she caught him slipping out onto the balcony, she finally confronted him.

“Az.”

Her voice was soft, but it stopped him in his tracks. He turned, shadows curling at his feet, his chest tightening at the concern written across her face.

She stepped closer, stopping just short of touching him. “Did I do something wrong?”

The question nearly broke him.

He shook his head. “No. You—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her brows furrowed. “Then why are you avoiding me?”

He looked away. “I’m not.”

“Azriel.”

Her voice was firm now, and he hated how much he liked hearing his name in her mouth, how much he wanted to close the space between them, to let himself have this, just for a moment.

Instead, he said quietly, “I don’t know how to accept it.”

She blinked. “Accept what?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely, frustration lacing his voice. “The tea. The gloves. The way you—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “The way you see me.”

She was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, she said, “Az, you don’t have to earn kindness.”

He flinched.

She reached for his hand, slow and deliberate, as if giving him the chance to pull away. When he didn’t, she laced her fingers through his.

His breath caught.

“I don’t do those things because I expect something from you,” she murmured. “I do them because I want to. Because I—” She hesitated, then lifted his scarred hand to her lips, pressing the softest kiss to his knuckles. “Because I care about you.”

His chest caved in on itself.

She had said it so simply. So easily.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Azriel had no words. No armor against this. Against her.

So he did the only thing he could do.

He let himself have this.

Just for a moment.

He tugged her closer, wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She melted into him without hesitation, her warmth, her scent, her presence grounding him in a way nothing else ever had.

For once, he didn’t question it.

For once, he let himself hold on.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[kawhh]

I need to know how you think Quinn would react if he caught his gf getting off without him. Would he restrain her so she couldn’t do it again? Or show her what she was missing by not asking him to help? Or something darker…

Warnings: toy punishment. A tiny line of spanking. Q being controlling and upset.

He's warned you time after time that you aren't supposed to touch what belongs to him.

He doesn't want you watching porn or reading porn without him. If you watch it, he needs you in his lap, needs to see your every reaction. Needs to see what makes you whimper. Needs to make sure you're watching safe videos. Needs to be there to give you a little practical demonstration.

If you're reading, he wants to read the book to you. Needs you to hear the words coming from his mouth. Needs to speak the words directly in your ear, feeling you shiver, stoking the fire until he can feel you soaking him.

He doesn't want you using toys on your own. You're easily startled, you might overwhelm yourself, press the wrong button and he won't be there to slowly calm you down after you cum. You might use something too big for you, you're so incredibly tight and it takes him a while to warm you up himself before fucking you.

He doesn't want you feeling yourself up. Touching yourself. He doesn't want you to touch your own breasts, to skim your fingers up them. They're his. His to bite, to suck, to touch, to fuck. Doesn't want you to touch your adorable pussy on your own, doesn't want you soaking your own fingers. It's his. Only he gets to feel you.

He's made all of these rules incredibly clear with you - so why the fuck has he come home to this? To you spread out with that fucking vibrator against your clit?

Do you think you're being funny? Are you doing this on purpose to get a reaction from him? He went out for groceries. It's not like he's been on a roadie. Not like you have the excuse of being lonely.

If you think he's letting you get off, you're mistaken. If you think he's going to fuck you, you're mistaken. If you think you aren't getting punished, you're such as fuck mistaken.

You don't even notice he's there. Your eyes are threatening to roll back in your head. He wonders how long you've been at it, adjusting himself in his jeans, trying to ignore how hard he is, how tight they've gotten. He can't let himself get carried away. You broke the rules. Your cute little cat underwear taunting him. His innocent girl, such a needy fucking slut sometimes.

Marching towards you, flipping you onto your stomach, dragging you to rest your cute ass over the edge of the bed, rubbing his hand over the globes of your ass, spanking you directly over one of the kitties. Glaring down at you as you squeak.

Spanking you again and again and again, alternating sides, seeing your thighs squirm, feeling how hot your skin burns under his hand.

"Felt like being a little whore for me huh? Couldn't wait? You know what happens when you disobey me baby girl? Wanna test me?"

You don't deserve him treating you with care. Don't deserve how he warms you up. If you can't even follow a few basic rules, why should he?

He's searching through the drawer filled with toys he's bought you. Needs one to send a message. He could go light. Go easy with a clit sucker. Another bullet. But he's pissed. Grabbing one of the silicon vibrating dildos, eying you up.

He's ripping your underwear, brutally thrusting it into you. He hopes for your sake that you were touching yourself for a while. Just leaving it there. Turning the vibrations up to max, watching you scream into the bed. Your ripped underwear holding together enough to keep it in place.

"Do you really need me to have cameras in here baby? Need me to keep watch on my little whore 24/7? I'm supposed to be able to trust you. Now look what you're making me do."

You're sobbing, you're begging, you're claiming that you'll never do it again. Screaming at him to take it out, to give you a break. But you don't deserve that. Not after you've made him mad. Shown him you can't be trusted.

He's leaving you there. He'll come back in an hour or two. Cum or don't cum, he doesn't care. Scream all you want. Throw as many little tantrums as you want. This is your fault.

[artemisia-black]

Sirius and Bertha Jorkins

One of the most underrated moments of Sirius’s emotional intelligence in Goblet of Fire is him clocking that Bertha Jorkins’ supposed forgetfulness is completely out of character. In The Daily Prophet, Bagman brushes her off as scatterbrained, but Sirius (who hasn’t seen her in over a decade) immediately recognises that something isn’t right. And he doesn’t just vaguely remember her; he remembers her vividly, enough to say outright, “She was a bit dim, but she had an excellent memory for gossip.”

What makes this so striking is that Sirius is the only person who actually notices something’s off. The people she works with every day don’t question it. Bagman dismisses it entirely. But Sirius, who hasn’t interacted with her in years, immediately knows that her behaviour is fundamentally wrong.

This moment is interesting on multiple levels. First, it speaks to Sirius’s perceptiveness—he instinctively recognises that someone’s fundamental cognitive traits don’t just shift without cause. And of course, he’s right: Bertha’s behaviour is the result of a memory charm placed on her by Barty Crouch Sr. But more than that, it highlights the way he pays attention to people. He doesn’t just remember her vaguely—he remembers who she was.

Also, As an aside he really doesn’t hold back on calling her an idiot (go off pookie).

“She was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It’s not a good combination, Harry. I’d say she’d be very easy to lure into a trap.”

So in this scene, he’s not just recognising the memory charm, he’s also very accurately predicting what happened to her. Bertha is lured straight into Voldemort’s hands, because she’s silly enough to go off with a man she thought was dead (girl be serious- why are you going off with a man in the middle of a forest- haven’t you heard any of the podcasts?)

[flwrkid14]

Valentine’s Day in Gotham

The thing about Valentine’s Day in Gotham is that it’s never normal.

There are no quiet, peaceful date nights. No simple dinners by candlelight. No perfect, romantic moments uninterrupted by sirens, crime, or the occasional villain trying to make a statement with heart-shaped explosives.

No, Valentine’s Day in Gotham is chaos. It’s stolen moments, fleeting kisses, and love tucked into the spaces between sirens and shadows.

Still, the Batfamily makes do.

–––

The museum alarms are already blaring when Bruce arrives, dropping soundlessly through the skylight.

Selina is standing in front of a glass case, admiring the diamond necklace inside.

“B, you always know how to surprise me,” she purrs, not even turning around. “Did you come to stop me or join me?”

Bruce sighs. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

Selina smirks. “So it is.” She turns, stepping into his space. “What do you say? Let me have this one, and I’ll let you catch me next time?”

Bruce shakes his head, but his lips twitch. “You already stole my wallet.”

Selina grins, holding up his credit card. “And your heart.”

She’s gone before he can respond.

–––

At a tiny diner in Blüdhaven, Dick grins across the table at Rory, their fingers tangled together between plates of half-eaten pancakes.

“Did you know,” Dick says, eyes twinkling, “that Valentine’s Day originally started as a Roman festival where people ran around naked and hit each other with goat hides?”

Rory stares at him for a long moment. “You tell me the most romantic things, babe.”

Dick winks. “I try.”

Rory laughs and throws a crumpled napkin at him.

–––

The gunfire has barely died down when Jason drops onto the fire escape beside Roy, pulling his mask off with a sigh.

“Well,” Roy says, stretching his arms behind his head. “That was a hell of a date.”

Jason snorts. “Better than last year.”

“Last year, I got shot,” Roy reminds him.

“Exactly.”

Roy groans and tilts his head back. “We are the worst couple ever.”

Jason glances at him, then, after a moment, leans in and kisses him—slow, deep, lingering.

Roy blinks at him when he pulls away.

Jason smirks. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Roy swears under his breath, then yanks Jason back in for another kiss.

–––

Cass does not see the point of Valentine’s Day.

Steph, on the other hand, loves it.

Which is why, somehow, Cass finds herself standing in front of a heart-shaped piñata, blindfolded, while Steph cheers her on.

“C’mon, babe! You got this!”

Cass sighs, gripping the bat. Then, without hesitation, she swings.

The piñata explodes, showering them both in candy.

Steph gasps. “You broke it in one hit! You are so hot.”

Cass smirks, pulling off the blindfold. “Kiss?”

Steph grabs her face and kisses her breathless.

–––

Duke and Izzy are caught in the middle of a convenience store robbery.

“You couldn’t have waited until we checked out?” Izzy complains, holding up their bag of snacks. “We were literally paying.”

The masked robber looks nervous, but before he can respond, Duke casually disarms him and zip-ties his hands together.

Izzy sighs. “I just wanted to watch a movie and eat junk food. Is that too much to ask?”

Duke kisses her forehead. “I’ll make it up to you.”

She huffs. “You better.”

–––

Tim wakes up to find a Post-it note stuck to his forehead.

Good morning, love of my life. Check the kitchen. <3

Tim blinks, groggy, and stumbles out of bed.

In the kitchen, Danny is standing at the stove, flipping pancakes. There are sticky notes everywhere, covering every surface.

I love you is scribbled across the fridge. Your coffee is ready sits beside his favorite mug. You are the best thing that ever happened to me is stuck to the sugar jar.

Tim stops in the doorway, staring.

Danny turns and beams at him. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Tim swallows past the lump in his throat. “You’re ridiculous.”

Danny kisses him. “And you love it.”

Tim does.

–––

Damian does not believe in Valentine’s Day. It’s a frivolous holiday designed to pressure people into excessive displays of affection.

Jon, however, is determined to change that.

Which is why Damian comes home to find a very large, very poorly painted banner hanging in the Batcave that reads: DAMIAN, WILL YOU BE MY VALENTINE?

Jon grins at him from behind it. “Well?”

Damian crosses his arms. “You defaced the Batcave.”

“Technically, I decorated it.”

Damian sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You are an idiot.”

Jon grins. “But am I your idiot?”

Damian glares at him. Then, after a moment, he sighs and mutters, “Yes.”

–––

Valentine’s Day in Gotham is never normal.

But somehow, it’s always perfect.

Happy Valentine's Day !! <3

[lemonlover1110]

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Sukuna

[Chapter 9] Yuuji

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Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

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The nightmares stop, he notices. Once you have the stupid baby by your side, it seems like all of your ailments disappear. There’s a look of joy on your face whenever he sees you, something that he had never seen before.

Sukuna won’t admit that he’s nervous, but he can’t help but wonder if you’ll actually treat his sons with the love and nurture that a mother is supposed to give. What if you love a random baby more than his own blood? Sukuna doesn’t like to think of that thought, but it’s not something that he can control. This is why he doesn’t like to associate with humans– How can he control their feelings? 

How will he ensure that you love his sons more than the random baby that you hold in your arms? How will he make sure that this random baby that smiles at you won’t steal the spotlight from his heirs?

“Who’s a beautiful boy?” You’re putting on a baby voice, making the baby laugh in your arms. His beautiful brown eyes stare back at you with pure joy. But the joy in his eyes doesn’t even come close to the ones that reflect from yours. He’s your baby. Your little companion while you’re stuck with Sukuna.

“Not that baby, that’s for sure.” Sukuna tries to joke, but it falls flat. You know he’s being honest. He earns a glare from you before your gaze softens as you look at the baby. He rolls his eyes, wondering how a stupid little human has a greater priority than him. 

Sukuna stares at you for an interminable five minutes, watching as you cuddle the baby that you’ve taken under your wing. His plan worked, but also it’s fired back. 

“Why do you care for him so much?” Sukuna speaks up, curious because you’ve taken quite a liking to a stranger’s baby. You’re not related to it in any way, so why do you take your time to hug and love the baby?

“I think I should name him.” You ignore the question. You’ve come to the realization that you have yet to give him a name. You just call him baby, but he’ll grow and won’t be a baby anymore. In due time, he won’t be the only baby around.

“Hmmm.” He hums in response. He isn’t mad that he’s been ignored, at this point he’s used to it with you. You only answer when you want to, he guesses he’s rubbing off on you.

“Yuuji.” You smile. Sukuna won’t comment on the name, as long as it’s not his sons that suffer from the stupid name.

Sukuna watches the smile on your face fade away in a matter of seconds, shutting your eyes and taking a deep breath. He steps toward you, moving the hair out of your way and asking, “Are you okay?”

“Hold him.” You hand Yuuji to Sukuna, who reluctantly takes the baby into his arms. You ensure Sukuna holds him right before a cry escapes your lips. 

“What is it with you, woman?” Sukuna raises his voice, making the baby cry in his arms. He watches you touch your stomach, and his eyes widen at the action. Worry consumes him until he notices that there’s nothing wrong.

“The babies are kicking.” You tell him, something that he noticed on his own. One of his hands goes to your bump, trying to feel his babies as he subconsciously bounces the baby in his arms. 

“They’re strong.” He comments, a hint of excitement laced in his voice. He tries not to let it show, but you hear it. It’s a shame that his excitement comes with your misery.

“Uraume! Come here!” He yells, his hand rubbing your stomach, following the feet of his baby. When Uraume is in the room, he hands the baby to them. Uraume doesn’t need to be told twice, they simply walk out of the room to calm down the baby as Sukuna indulges in his excitement.

“Sukuna! What are you doing?!” You’re caught off guard when he begins to get you undressed. He shushes you, acting as if your voice will make the babies stop kicking. A wicked smile comes to his lips as he sees the trace of their feet. 

“They got jealous.” He comments, almost laughing to himself. They don’t like to share, and that’s understandable. Sukuna isn’t a big fan of sharing either. His calloused hand rubs your bump, exciting the active babies.

“Sukuna, stop.” You have to order, cutting off his excitement. His hand freezes while he makes direct eye contact with you.

“What?” A frown comes to his face. 

“It hurts.” You share, and he takes his hand off your stomach, tying your garments again. You expect him to immediately become stoic once again, but there’s a slight sparkle in his eyes– Something you’ve never noticed from him. You’re almost shocked, though you shouldn’t be. The whole reason that you’re by his side is because he wants an heir, he’s bound to get thrilled.

“Uraume–” He begins, but you put your hand over his huge mouth; that’s when the frown comes back to his face. His hand wraps around your wrist, and as gently as he possibly can, he removes your hand from his mouth. “What are you doing?”

“Yuuji can stay with the servants for a bit.” You tell him. “Why don’t we take a nap?”

“Have you ever seen me sleep?” Sukuna questions, and a mischievous smile comes to your face. In that moment, Sukuna realizes that letting you keep Yuuji was his best idea because he’s never seen you react like that with anything he’s said. Your relationship is improving.

“I’ve caught you a couple of times.” You confess, making him scoff. 

“Like hell you have, woman!” He yells, and you end up chuckling. 

“Right, when you’re not sleeping you’re with–” You begin, before a moan escapes your lips. His babies will be the death of you.

“Lay down, come here.” Sukuna tells you, wrapping his arms around you and helping you on your back. He stares at you… Almost adoringly as he lays down beside you. He watches you take deep breaths as his babies continue to kick.

“They’re strong.” You comment, but it’s not shocking to him, instead his mind goes to what you were about to say.

“You were going to bring up Kyoko.” He says as you shut your eyes. The last thought in your mind at this moment is that woman. Your babies decided that your joke wasn’t worth telling, which is why they started to kick again.

“It was stupid.” You respond, making him roll his eyes. 

“Do you want me to leave her?” He asks, and you begin to laugh.

“Even if I did, you wouldn’t do anything about it.” You argue, and he remains quiet.

You stare at the ceiling in total silence, while he stares at you. You turn to look at him, and he looks perplexed. You don’t know what overtakes you, but before your body can process it, you kiss his cheek. He raises his brows, caught off guard by the kiss.

Did that just happen? He won’t question it, he’ll gladly accept it.

You sheepishly smile at him before saying, “Let’s take a nap.”

Sukuna wakes up before you do, and he gets this weird feeling… He wants to pick up Yuuji. He takes the baby from Uraume’s hands, and orders them to keep watch over you as Sukuna takes a moment with the baby. It’s easy to like a thing if it makes his wife like him– He’ll convince himself that’s not the reason he wants Yuuji in his arms though.

He needs to learn how to deal with a baby since it’s a matter of months before his heirs are born. If he can’t handle one stupid human baby, how will he handle two of his kin? 

“Why does she like you so much?” Sukuna frowns as he stares down at the baby. It’s ironic that he puts the baby on the dinner table; it’s a good thing that the little guy has no idea what’s going on. 

The baby stares back at Sukuna with wide eyes, trying to eat his own foot. Sukuna’s actually amazed that the babies are so flexible, if he tried to suck on his own toe then… He won’t even think about it. Uraume would be put in an awkward position if Sukuna ever got adventurous.

“All you do is drink her milk, shit in your clothes, and cry.” Sukuna lists, as if the baby understands anything. “You aren’t even her kin, yet she loves you more than me.”

Sukuna grabs the baby’s arm, ready to inspect it. There must be something about this darn baby that you adore. Yuuji grabs Sukuna’s index finger, which makes Sukuna immediately retract. Yuuji laughs at Sukuna’s expression.

“Is it because you laugh at anything?” Sukuna frowns. He picks up the baby, and spins the thing around. So small and fragile… If he were in your shoes he’d understand but he can’t. He doesn’t understand the attraction and fawning over something that can’t fend for itself. “I’ll make sure my babies laugh at anything.”

The little arm reaches out to reach Sukuna’s face; an action that no reasonable adult would do. He guesses that’s the fun thing about babies, they fear nothing. It’s why he refuses to eat them, there’s no fun in easting something that won’t fear him.

“Yuuj–” Sukuna begins, but the idiot puts his tiny hand in Sukuna’s mouth. Sukuna won’t eat him, but it seems that the baby wants to be eaten. Sukuna restricts the baby's hands so Yuuji won’t get any more weird ideas. “I guess you’re my son. That’s what she wants.”

He doesn’t know why he speaks to someone that can’t answer. He’ll admit that it’s fun. He’s having a conversation, something that he rarely gets to do. 

“Don’t get any ideas, Yuuji. You’ll never be as important as my actual sons.” Sukuna narrows his eyes as he stares at the wide-eyed baby. A stupid warning.

“My king.” Uraume announces themselves from outside the room, not wanting to cut into Sukuna’s very special time with Yuuji. He hums in response, making Uraume speak again, “Lady Kyo–”

“Tell her to go to hell.” Sukuna responds before Uraume can even finish the sentence. Sukuna made up his mind about something. He doesn’t know when he decided, but he guesses it’s when you abruptly kissed his cheek– Or did the idea come to him beforehand?

“I’m getting rid of her.” He says, something that’s meant only for his ears. And Yuuji’s as well since the baby rests in Sukuna’s arms.

A weird sound leaves Yuuji’s rear, quickly followed by a foul smell. Sukuna’s nose wrinkles, and even though he’s smelt some foul things, nothing compares to this. He nearly gags.

“Uraume, take this thing away from me! Bathe him!” He yells, counting down the seconds in which his servant takes the baby from his arms. Uraume comes rushing, taking the baby from the monster.

“The things I do for that woman.” He comments, motioning Uraume to leave as fast as possible. 

[flippinpancakes64]

The Wobbly Third Wheel

Summary: You and Steven have been going strong for a couple of months now. The only bump in the road is Marc, who for some reason, can't even seem to be cordial with you...

Marc Spector x Reader-centric, fluff and a lot of angst, mostly just a look at Marc's character

Note: I'm finally branching out past Twilight someone take a picture omg. But this is my first try writing for something different, so hopefully it goes well. I saw a Moon Knight edit on TikTok and now I'm back in my MK phase so... Anyways Enjoy!

In the beginning, you told yourself it was just him getting used to you.

Steven already told you all about Marc's past. His history with his mom which led to Steven's creation, the whole situation with Layla, Khonshu, being Moon Knight, basically everything.

So you weren't all that surprised when the grumpy American didn't exactly want to be your best friend. That's fair after all. You never asked to be best friends.

What you did ask, though, was for something like a mutual respect. A peaceful coexistence where you could both exist in your own spaces and interact in a kind way if you needed to.

Only, Marc seemed hellbent on, well, giving you hell.

He would go out of his way to order food for himself and not you, even if you were sitting on the couch right across from him. There have been a couple of times where you and Steven were out on a date, and Marc suddenly fronted. He would walk off, leaving you stranded and frantically searching for your boyfriend without any explanation or apology later on.

But the worst were the nights.

You had spent the night at Steven's place again, and it was currently the middle of the night. The moon was high in the sky, and London was quiet. You two were intertwined like vines, one of your legs between Steven's, his arms wrapped around your body in turn. It was hard to distinguish where you ended and he began.

It was nice, everything was peaceful.

Until Marc woke up.

He slowly blinked his eyes open, scanning their bedroom for anything that might have caused him to wake up. Finding none, he looked down at you.

And promptly got up.

That was always one of the worst things he did. Whenever you and Steven would be cuddling, or hanging out, or even just talking, if Marc fronted, he would always leave like there was a fire. Never an explanation, never a warning, just a complete tonal shift.

You know the boys can't necessarily control who comes forward, when they do, or how long they stay out. You know they have some level of control over it, but not a whole lot. And the way Marc looks at you when he suddenly fronts definitely leads you to believe that he's not the one behind the switch.

The surprise, followed by annoyance and slight disgust. His signature look whenever he saw you.

Marc roughly twisted out of your hold, not really paying any mind to if it woke you up or not. He sat up on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his hair and sighing as if he just got off a long shift.

Truth be told, he doesn't really know why he pushes you away like he does. He thinks you're nice enough. And clearly you love Steven. But there's just something about it, about even entertaining the idea of holding someone else close just like how he used to hold Layla.

Steven sometimes catches him fidgeting with his bare ring finger, running his fingertips over the indent left by his wedding band from all those years ago.

Layla moved on a long time ago, so why can't he? He doesn't know, and he doesn't really want to look too far deep into himself to figure it out.

You moved on the bed, groaning softly as you reached out for him. No, not him- Steven. You were reaching out for Steven. And he doesn't really want to think about the way his heart clenched when he thought of that.

"Steven," you groaned, your eyes blinking open sleepily as you turned to face him on the bed. His back was to you, but you recognized the tense line of his shoulders. The way his head was perpetually hung low like he was always guilty. Always a poor puppy waiting for another kick to land.

"Not Steven," he responded, his voice low and quiet. He wanted to be gruffer, to make himself sound tougher than he really did in that moment. But his body betrayed him, something it's been doing for years now.

"Marc," you whispered. He could hear you shuffling around on the bed, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that you were now sitting up. No closer to him than before, still giving him the space he needed. He appreciated that.

"Just... just go back to bed," he sighed, running his hand over his face tirelessly. It was too late for this bullshit. Too late to be having a late night conversation with his alternate personality's partner who he's slowly starting to develop feelings for too.

"Are you alright?" you asked, your voice infinitely caring. So caring and kind and understanding that it grated on him.

"I'm fine. Go back to bed," he grumbled, moving to stand up.

"Wait," you called, grabbing his arm before he could go too far. "Please, can we just talk?"

"We have nothing to talk about. I'm not your boyfriend," he gritted, his voice tight.

He could hear your tired sigh, and he felt his heart clench at being the source of your sadness.

"I know you're not, but you're a part of him. A big part of him. Please, can't we just talk for a little bit? I'm tired of this passive-aggressive act you've had going on for weeks now," you pleaded. When he turned back to look at you, he was met with those sincere, loving eyes. The same ones he's seen through Steven's. A patient, caring gaze that you save only for those you love most. And he's part of that.

He huffs, trying his best to play the part of the annoyed, grumpy man he's always portrayed himself to be. "Fine. Talk," he grits, sitting back down on the bed and facing you.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. You realized this might be the only chance you have to change things, to at least convince Marc to be civil.

"Okay. Look, Marc, I'm not asking you to cuddle with me, or to kiss me or dote on me like Steven does. You're not him, we're not dating, I know that," you started, looking deep into his eyes. Marc hates to admit how his chest tightened at that, how he had to fight back the urge to do exactly that.

"All I'm asking is that we can coexist. I love Steven, and I want to be able to spend time with him without feeling like I'm intruding on your space," you continued.

"You are intruding on my space. This is my apartment, this is my bed, you're wearing my clothes," Marc grits before he can stop himself. The way you sigh and bow your head afterward makes him want to hurt someone. Mostly himself.

"I know... I'm... I'm sorry. I promise, I don't want to make you uncomfortable. That's what I'm trying to get at. But I can't work with you if you don't work with me," you pleaded.

He wants to scream. He wants to tell you that you're always welcome, that you don't need to work around him. But he can't. His pride is too fragile, his ego too small. To turn around now would be to wound himself.

"Well I don't know what you want me to do," he settled on instead. A non-answer he always gave Layla when they argued. It had the same effectiveness now as it did back then, which is not much.

"All I want is some communication. I'm not very good at picking up the differences between you two yet. And sometimes it happens so quickly I can't catch it. It's jarring, you know? To be cuddling your boyfriend one minute and then the next minute he just gets up and leaves with no explanation," you said, your voice dripping with worry and sorrow.

"So what do you want me to say?" he gritted. He needs to backpedal, he needs to go back, but he can't stop himself. "'Hey, it's not Steven anymore, so fuck off,'? Is that what you want me to say? 'Hey, it's Marc, get out of my goddamn apartment, I don't want you here and have never wanted you here'? Do you want me to tell you that you're a nuisance? That you take away from my limited alone time because you're always fucking here? That I can't get a moment's peace?"

The look on your face told him everything he needed to know. The lines between your brows, the slight purse of your lips, the wobble of your chin.

"If... if that's what you want to say, then go for it," you whispered, barely hiding the hurt in your voice. No, no, no. He doesn't want you to cry, he's never wanted you to cry.

But this is just who he is.

He's Marc Spector. Moon Knight. The guy who always manages to fuck up everything good that comes his way. The guy who ruined not only his life, but has managed to fuck up Steven's too. The one his broken brain made to be the good one, the one who was supposed to be happy and live a good life away from all of their trauma, he pulled him into it too. And now they're both broken. Everything he touches breaks, and clearly, you're no exception.

Your hand on his shoulder that pulled him back down into the bed, the one that urged him to keep talking, that was when fate was set. And the proof is right in front of him.

The love of his life, his second chance at happiness, crumbling to pieces in front of his eyes.

And yet all he could do was watch.

A tear slipped down your cheek, falling from those eyes that hold so much love, so much patience. He knows if he watched long enough, all the love that you held in there for him would disappear too, so he looked away.

He didn't say anything after that, he just got back up off the bed and stalked out to the kitchen. You were left to tremble silently, to reel and mull over what he just said.

The next day, Steven told you that he didn't mean it. He reassured you that Marc doesn't hate you, but you don't believe it. From your eyes, Marc has only ever pushed you away.

This is what always happens. Marc breaks your heart over and over again, constantly proving that he doesn't love you.

But when it's the dead of night, you don't notice your boyfriend's arms tightening around you. You don't hear the whispered confessions of love that slip from his mouth, missing that signature British accent. You don't feel the hesitant kisses he places on your cheeks and forehead, ghosts of affection that he believes aren't supposed to be there.

Marc thrives here, in the shroud of darkness where no one, not even Khonshu, can see the love in his eyes. No one can hear the vulnerability in his voice. No one sees the tremble of his hands or the reverence they hold. And no one, not even Steven, can feel the longing for love inside of him.

[rose24207]

can I get one with prompts 6,8 and 18 together

Love isn’t always enough

Summary: Your love with Lando falls apart as unresolved pain drives you both away from each other.

Genre: angst, sad

Lando x reader

6. "I begged you to stay... and you still walked away." 8. "You say you love me, but love shouldn't feel like this." 18. "I told you not to touch it, and what did you do? You touched it!"

TW: break up, hurt no comfort

A/N: I’m sorry I was so inactive for a while. Needed to get rid of the author curse for a few days but I’m back!

Masterlist pt.2

The room was silent, save for the muffled sound of Lando’s erratic breathing. He stood by the door, his hand gripping the edge of the frame as if the weight of the moment was too much for him to carry. His chest rose and fell, anger and sadness battling for control over his emotions. You were seated on the edge of the bed, your hands tightly clasped together in your lap, refusing to meet his gaze.

“I begged you to stay,” Lando said, his voice cracking mid-sentence. He took a step forward, and you flinched as if the distance between you didn’t already feel like miles. “I begged you not to leave, and you still walked away.”

Your head shot up at his words, eyes blazing with the same fire that had ignited every fight between you for the past month. “I walked away because I had no choice, Lando!”

His eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. “No choice?” he repeated, his tone sharper than he intended. “You say you love me, but love shouldn’t feel like this.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, his hand trembling. “It shouldn’t feel like I’m suffocating, like I’m never enough for you!”

“That’s not fair.” Your voice wavered, the fight leaving you as quickly as it had come. “You’re twisting everything. You’re acting like this is all on me, like I’m the villain here, but you—”

“But I what?” he interrupted, his voice rising. “What have I done that’s so terrible? All I’ve ever wanted was for us to work, for us to fix whatever this is.” He gestured wildly again. “But you don’t want that, do you?”

Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to speak. “I wanted us to work too, Lando. But every time I try, you shut me out. You bury yourself in your career, in your friends, in everything but me. And then you come back, expecting me to pick up the pieces.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. You had hit a nerve, and you both knew it.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face. “I can’t keep holding on when it feels like I’m the only one trying.”

Lando’s jaw clenched, his own eyes glassy. He hated seeing you cry, hated knowing he was the reason for your pain. But his frustration was boiling over, and he couldn’t stop the words that spilled from his lips.

“If you can’t do this anymore, then why are you still here?”

The question hung in the air like a dagger poised to strike. You recoiled as if he had physically hit you.

“Is that what you want?” you asked, your voice trembling. “For me to leave?”

Lando ran a hand through his curls, tugging at the roots in exasperation. “No! Of course not. But what am I supposed to do when you act like this? When you shut me out, when you won’t even try to see my side of things?”

“You don’t get it, Lando,” you said, your voice breaking. “You never have. And I’m starting to think you never will.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Lando stared at you, his expression a mixture of heartbreak and disbelief.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I told you not to touch it, and what did you do? You touched it.”

You frowned, confused by the sudden shift in conversation. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about us,” he said, his tone heavy with despair. “About this relationship. I told you from the beginning that I was scared, that I didn’t know if I could do this—if I could give you everything you deserved. But you... you insisted. You said we could make it work, that I just needed to trust you.”

“And I did trust you,” you said, your voice rising again. “I trusted you with my heart, Lando. But you didn’t trust me with yours.”

His face crumpled, and for the first time, you saw just how broken he was. “I wanted to,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “God, I wanted to. But every time I got close, every time I thought I could let you in, something stopped me. And now... now I’ve ruined everything.”

You stood up, your legs shaking beneath you. “You didn’t ruin everything, Lando. We both did. But I can’t keep doing this—this cycle of fighting and making up and pretending everything’s okay when it’s not.”

“So what?” he asked, desperation creeping into his voice. “You’re just going to leave? Throw everything away like it meant nothing?”

“It did mean something,” you said, tears streaming down your face. “It meant everything. But sometimes, love isn’t enough.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He staggered back, his hands gripping the doorframe for support.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Don’t go.”

You looked at him, your heart shattering into a million pieces. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice trembling. “But I have to.”

With that, you turned and walked out the door, leaving Lando alone in the silence.

For a moment, he stood frozen, staring at the spot where you had been. Then, as the reality of your departure sank in, he collapsed onto the floor, his sobs echoing through the empty room.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[linoxpudding]

Kitchen Chaos - Seo Changbin

*gif credit goes to owner*

summary: cooking date doesn't go as planned, moral of the story? your boyfriend can't multitask, but he can definitely love you right

pairing: seo changbin x reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

word count: 741 words

a/n: incorporated this request and this request for this fic, enjoy ♡

Masterlist

~°~

Cooking dinner with Changbin sounded like a dream. You had imagined soft background music, playful banter, and maybe even a little flour fight like in movies.

What you hadn't considered was that Changbin had the multitasking ability of a potato.

"Are you sure you can handle chopping the onions and stirring the sauce at the same time?" you ask, watching Changbin grip the knife like he's about to fight for his life.

He scoffs, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie. "Babe, please. I can lift weights twice your size, rap at lightning speed, and make fire beats. I think I can handle—AHHH MY EYES."

You stifle a laugh as Changbin dramatically throws the knife down and rubs his eyes with his sauce-covered fingers.

"BINNIE, NO!!" you exclaim, grabbing his hands before he rubs spicy tomato sauce all over his face.

"I’M BLIND. THIS IS THE END."

"It's literally just onion," you giggle, guiding him toward the sink. "Here, rinse your hands first, pabo."

Changbin lets you take care of him, pouting as you dab his face with a towel. "This is why I lift, not cook."

You roll your eyes affectionately. "Cooking requires multitasking, which you suck at."

"I do NOT suck at multitasking," he grumbles.

"Really?" You smirk. "Then why is the sauce burning?"

"WHAT?!" Changbin yelps, spinning around so fast he nearly knocks over the cutting board. He rushes to the stove, frantically stirring the bubbling sauce. "No, no, no—babe, why didn’t you say anything sooner??"

"I was literally about to," you laugh, leaning against the counter. "I love how you act like it’s my fault."

He sighs, defeated. "Okay, maybe I can’t multitask. But!! I make up for it in other ways."

You tilt your head. "Like?"

Without a word, Changbin steps closer and pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping tightly around you. "Like giving the best cuddles," he murmurs against your hair.

You hum contentedly, letting yourself sink into his warmth. "That’s true," you admit. "Cuddling is your one true talent."

"Hey!" he protests, but you feel his chest vibrate with laughter. His hand starts rubbing gentle circles on your back. "Cooking is overrated anyway. Let's just order takeout and cuddle instead."

You laugh. "So you're giving up?"

"Not giving up—strategically retreating."

You roll your eyes, but the way he tightens his arms around you makes your heart melt. "Okay, okay, you don’t have to cook," you said between giggles. "Just be my taste tester."

His eyes lit up immediately. "Wait, so I get to eat without doing any of the work?"

"Yep."

He grabbed a chair and sat down so fast you swore you heard a whoosh of air. "Best. Plan. Ever."

"And you have to feed me."

"Obviously."

"And you have to cuddle me all night."

Changbin smirks, squeezing you tighter. "Babe, I was already planning on it."

---

By some miracle, dinner turned out fine, despite Changbin’s… contributions.

After eating, you both collapsed onto the couch, stomachs full and laughter lingering in the air. Changbin stretched his arms with a content sigh before opening them wide. "C’mere."

You didn’t need to be told twice. Crawling into his embrace, you rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped around you snugly, like a protective cocoon, and he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

"You know," you mumbled sleepily, "for someone who’s bad at multitasking, you’re really good at cuddling."

His chest rumbled with laughter. "That’s ‘cause cuddling only requires one skill—holding you close and never letting go."

Your heart melted. "Smooth, Seo Changbin. Very smooth."

Changbin grinned, his arms tightening around you as he tucked you even closer, his body heat instantly wrapping around you like a thick, cozy blanket.

For a few moments, the world outside faded. The only thing that mattered was the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest against yours, the soft hum he let out as he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.

You turned your head slightly, just enough for his lips to meet yours in the softest, sweetest kiss. It wasn’t rushed or demanding—just warm, like morning sunlight streaming through the window.

He pulled back barely an inch, his lips still ghosting over yours. "Mmm," he hummed, his voice all soft and lazy. "This is definitely my best skill."

You let out a breathy laugh, nudging your nose against his. "I can’t argue with that."

[berfgrimm]

sharp dressed man | choi seunghyun (t.o.p) x reader

pairing: choi seunghyun (t.o.p) x f!reader

warnings: smut, oral, cheating, deepthroating, dirty talk, friends to lovers

note: this is a request that i promise started out as white haired Seunghyun. then i remembered this performance existed and i panicked. i’m so sorry but I hope you enjoy!!

———————

You have to know what Seunghyun tastes like. The thought is stuck in your brain like it’s a broken record, repeating over and over. You shouldn’t think about it. You’re both seeing other people, albeit very casually, and on top of that, you’ve been friends for years. Still, the loop plays in your head because of one stupid fucking gesture.

Your friends invited you to their performance on Inkigayo, and of course you accepted the invite; you loved to see them on stage, in their element. What you didn’t expect, however, was to watch Seunghyun grab a handful of his crotch mid-performance. A handful. The crowd screamed and you would have too if you didn’t feel like you were going to pass out.

But why? Who cares that Seunghyun grabbed himself? Why should it matter to you? If anyone asked it definitely didn’t matter to you, and you did not think about it for the rest of the evening. But now you find yourself alone in a dressing room with Seunghyun, and it’s the only thing on your mind. His bandmates had decided to get dinner after the performance, but Seunghyun stayed behind; you opted to stay with him, to see if you can will yourself to stop feeling like this. After twenty minutes of near silence, Seunghyun finally speaks.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you look at him quickly. He has a look of genuine concern and it’s the first time you become aware of how you may be presenting yourself in that moment. Your body feels tense and your face tight, having been more focused on your thoughts than your appearance.

“Uh, yeah, I’m cool,” you reply, relaxing your shoulders and straightening out your back. “Sorry.”

“You’ve been acting strange all night,” he pushes. “You weren’t like this before the performance. Did you think that it was bad?”

“What? No, not at all!” You turn to face him, pulling one of your legs up onto the sofa with you. “I love watching you guys perform,” you continue. “I have no complaints.” The last part was a lie; if you were in the right state of mind, you’d tell him off for making you feel even a fraction of what you’re feeling right now.

“I can tell something is off about you,” he insists. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“I’m fine,” you say, with a smile. You realize that you have your hand resting on his thigh, and have no idea when you placed it there. “Fuck, sorry,” you say, retracting your hand as if it was on fire. “I shouldn’t have touched you.”

“Hey,” he laughs, turning to you and grabbing both of your shoulders. “Calm down. You look like you’re—”

You kiss him. Fuck, why did you kiss him? You pull away almost as quickly as you kiss him, and you can’t bring yourself to look in his eyes. You feel your heart pounding and your eyes water, panic setting it.

“Fuck, I am so fucking sorry, Seunghyun,” you say, shaking your head looking down at your lap. “I don’t…I don’t know why I did that. I mean, I know why, but I don’t know why I’m feeling this way. I have no idea what came over me. You were out there on stage and you touched yourself like that — I don’t know! I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Fuck, I’m sorry.” You ramble so much, you don’t give him the opportunity to say anything in response, but his hands still hold onto your shoulders.

“You…” Seunghyun begins to speak but he trails off for a moment, and you can hear him pull in a slow breath. “I touched myself on stage, so you kissed me?”

“I’m so sorry,” you repeat, your skin flushing and the weight of his hands now becoming unbearable. You shove his hands off of you and stand from the sofa, putting as much distance between the two of you as possible. “My mind started to just…wander,” you continue, pacing back and forth as you still refuse to look at him. “I don’t know why; I can’t explain it. I watched you touch yourself like that, and I wanted to know…what you would feel like, and what you would taste like. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that. If I could not feel like this, I would. Trust me. I don’t like to feel out of control like this. Now, all I keep thinking is how I want you to talk dirty to me, like you could say whatever you want, I wouldn’t care. I need it to be nasty. I shouldn’t…fuck, I shouldn’t have said that either.”

You can’t stop yourself from rambling, not until you finally lay eyes on Seunghyun. He still sits on the sofa like he was before, his eyebrows furrowed — he’s confused. You pull in a deep breath, letting it out slowly to try to stop yourself from shaking, which is a new development. You’d hoped that if you said everything you were feeling out loud, then you’d realize how it sounded and could just get over it, but now it’s worse. You feel like you’re going insane, completely embarrassed; you have to get out of this room before you do something stupid.

“I’m going to leave,” you say, taking a few hurried steps towards the door, but you feel Seunghyun lean to catch your wrist, stopping you. When you look at him, for a moment, he looks as torn as you feel, his eyes studying your face for something but then his expression changes.

“Lock the door,” he instructs. “Then get on your knees.”

All of the blood feels like it rushes between your legs, and you could realistically pass out. You lock the door quickly and move around to the front of the sofa to kneel down in front of Seunghyun parted knees. You’d never noticed how slender his fingers are but now as his hands unfasten his belt, you can’t help but pay attention. He keeps his eyes on you as he unbuttons his pants and drags the zipper down, untucking his shirt in the process. Seunghyun pushes the waist of his pants down enough so slip his other hand inside of his briefs so he can wrap his fingers around himself.

“You know that I’ve been seeing someone,” he begins, pulling his hardening length from the confines of his tight pants. “But you don’t care about that? You don’t care that I’ve been sleeping with someone else, do you?” He’s not really asking, but is almost degrading you for wanting to blow someone who’s taken. It shouldn’t be hot, but you love how his voice sounds.

“I don’t know,” you mutter, your eyes trained on his hand that slowly strokes his cock.

“Haven’t you been sleeping with someone, too?” Seunghyun continues, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a small smirk. “Is he not taking care of you? Is that why you’re crawling to me like this?”

“I can’t…” You shake your head, unable to come up with any response that will be remotely reasonable.

“This is all you can think about?” Seunghyun nods his head towards his lap, and you immediately nod. Of course he smirks at your response — why wouldn't he be amused when you’re this pathetic?

Seunghyun keeps stroking over himself, making sure you keep your eyes on either his erection or his face. You can actually feel how wet you are and your first instinct is to touch yourself but that’s not really what you need. All you want is to feel him in your mouth, so maybe if you tell him that, along with some other stuff…

“Fuck, I can’t wait to taste it,” you mutter, and you swear you can see Seunghyun falter just a little, his hand stuttering in one of his strokes. That’s when he stops, beckoning you over with a crook of his fingers; you don’t think twice, inching forward until you’re between his spread knees. You need to get a better view, a better way to get a grip on him.

The tremble in your hands is noticeable as you reach towards the waist of his pants. Your fingers curl around the fabric near his hips, catching the elastic of his briefs as well and tugging; Seunghyun lifts his hips enough to help you pull the material down to his thighs.

You start with his balls, massaging them gently for a moment before you wrap your free hand around him, near the base so you’re able to angle him just a bit. You drag your tongue from the base all the way to the head of his cock, the tip of your tongue taking special care to tease the dip where his shaft meets his head. He sighs, spreading his knees just a little wider to welcome you in.

Your tongue swirls around the head of his member, before you spit over him carefully so you can get him slick. You stroke slowly at first, your hand enveloping every inch as your other hand sets on his thigh. You flick your tongue over him to get a taste of his precum and already you feel yourself desperate to go faster to get to taste even more. You take his tip into your mouth, sucking on his gently, your hand shifting to massage his balls softly again.

“Fuck,” Seunghyun mumbles, so quietly, you almost miss it. You lift your gaze to meet his, blinking as innocently as you can manage while you take him just a little deeper into your mouth. His gaze is unflinching, focused on the way his cock enters your lips.

Your hand moves higher now, wrapping around the base of his shaft again and slowly stroking to meet what you don’t take into your mouth. It feels so good to have him in your mouth, listening to the way his breathing changes as you quicken your pace just a little — so you whine.

“Is this turning you on that much?” Seunghyun asks, his hand cupping your jaw to lift your head up, causing him to drop from your mouth. Your hand picks up the slack, stroking him fully at the same pace but adding in a small twist with each pump. “You were moaning on my cock,” he says, his thumb rubbing over your lips. “You didn’t even realize it. You’re strung out on a little bit of precum, and you’re hungry for more, hm?”

“I love giving head,” you say, slightly breathless as you gently bite the tip of his thumb. He smirks, pressing his thumb between your lips and past your teeth; you keep your eyes on him as you suck softly on his thumb, all while you still stroke your hand over his length.

“I think you just love having something in your mouth,” Seunghyun suggests, and you grin around his thumb. He pulls the digit out of your lips with a pop, and you tease the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around slowly.

“The feeling of a big, hard cock shoved into my throat, making me choke on it,” you press, an animalistic feeling overtaking you. “It’s like a fucking gift. I feel like I’m being rewarded.” You notice the way Seunghyun’s thighs clench when you speak so you keep your eyes on him, slowing down the movement of your hand and instead leaving kisses nearer the head of his cock.

“Is that what you want right now?” he asks, voice low and raspy. “You want me to reward you?” It makes your mouth go dry, the lazy way he speaks, so you swallow hard, which you’re certain he notices.

“If you think I deserve it,” you respond, placing another kiss to the head of his cock, just to tease him. Seunghyun lets out a huff of breath, breaking eye contact when he closes his eyes.

You take the opportunity to slip him back into your mouth, taking him deeper this time. Your mouth begins to do most of the work, bobbing up and down so you can take him deeper into your mouth. Your hand strokes what you aren’t what you’re not prepared to take yet. Seunghyun lets out a small groan, slightly strangled like he’s trying to keep quiet. That’s not what you want; no, you have to hear what you’re doing to him, you need his moans.

Your hand on his thigh shifts between his legs, massaging him again, and you feel him fucking twitch in your mouth. It makes you moan and that does it; he starts to groan deeper in his chest, the sound coming through clearer this time.

“You love giving head, hm?” Seunghyun asks, his voice deeper now but shaky as he tries to stay composed. “Are you already wet just from having me in your mouth like this?”

“Mhm,” you hum around him, and his hips twitch involuntarily, shoving them upwards so he forces himself deeper into your mouth. When you gag around him, Seunghyun takes hold of your head, pulling your head back so he can peer into your eyes. “Fuck, don’t make me stop,” you plead, panting and desperate. “I was just getting to the good part.”

Seunghyun smirks at your words, and brings his hand to your jaw again, slipping his thumb between your lips and past your teeth. You take the hint and open your mouth for him, awaiting your next instruction.

“Wider,” he mutters, and you listen, feeling yourself get wetter from the tone of his voice alone. “Wider. If you want it deep, you’ll have to make room for it.”

God, why does that make you whimper? Was it even sexy, or are you that overwhelmed with desire? That’s for you to figure out later, because now you have to open your mouth as wide as you can for him, sticking your tongue out. Seunghyun places his hand on the back of your neck, near the base of your skull, urging your head down to his cock again.

You take him into your mouth, not quite all the way, but you hold him there for a moment, hollowing out your cheeks. You slowly pull back, applying the same amount of suction as you go until you only have his tip left.

“You were begging for it and now you’re teasing,” Seunghyun chuckles, breathlessly. You pull him out of your mouth and purse your lips to blow cool air over his tip just to watch how he reacts; his thighs tense and he lets out a huff of breath, giving you a warning glare.

As you move to take him into your mouth again, you notice a smirk on Seunghyun’s lips. You bob your head faster, taking him even deeper and deeper, your saliva dripping from your mouth and coating his cock. You didn’t realize that you were salivating like this for him, that you would be this pathetic when you finally got a taste, but right now, you don’t care.

When he starts to reach the back of your throat again, you moan in excitement, gently scraping your teeth over him just a little and he inhales sharply through clenched teeth. He grabs the back of your head, guiding you down to keep taking him all the way to the back of your throat. You gladly relax to be able to accept the intrusion he presents and take him over and over as you bob faster.

“F-fuck,” Seunghyun stutters, gripping your head firmer and pressing.

You take him deeper, the absolute most you can and fuck, you’ve never had anyone push your throat to the limit like this. You struggle to keep him there as long as you can, your gag reflex fighting against your efforts, but you grab his thighs, your fingers clenching as you struggle. Your eyes begin to water, feeling your limits begin to break, your gagging becoming more difficult to ignore.

“Jesus,” Seunghyun moans, still holding your head until finally you can’t take it anymore. You squeeze his thighs to signify for him to let you go, and he does, allowing you to sit up.

You cough, and swallow, trying to calm your reflexes but tears still trickle from your eyes. Seunghyun cups your face with both hands, tilting your head up so he can look into your eyes. He looks unlike you’ve ever seen him, overcome and desperate to find some semblance of composure. You breathe hard, trying to catch your breath but you get lost in his eyes for a moment, finding slow breaths even harder to reach.

“You’re sexy like this,” Seunghyun whispers, wiping some of the tears from your eyes. “On your knees, choking on me.” Your hand grasps his cock, stroking at the same pace as before, but you keep your eyes locked with Seunghyun’s, watching the way that he struggles to keep his gasps and moans quiet.

You sit up higher on your knees now, resting taking his hands and lacing your fingers together so you can pin his hands onto the sofa cushions. You open your mouth and flick your tongue over his tip for one more tease before you take him into your mouth again. This time, you go fast, using only your mouth and the motions of your head; you bob quickly, taking him all the way to the back of your throat each time.

You can tell he’s getting close. The way he can’t keep his legs still, his hips thrusting up to drive himself deeper into your mouth. His moans sound so fucking good, the sexiest noises you think you’ve ever heard. Your panties feel absolutely drenched, your nipples are fucking hard, your head spinning because, fuck, watching your friend fall apart like this for you is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“You want me…fuck, where do you want it?” Seunghyun asks, his voice tight. You don’t answer because you need to keep him in your mouth. “God, you want it down the back of your throat? You want to swallow it?”

You hum an affirmative around him, and his grip on your hands tightens so firmly it hurts. You have to pull one of your hands free so you can touch him again, massaging him to help encourage him along. You feel the way he throbs in your mouth and you salivate even more in anticipation.

You quickly pump your hand over him, still sucking on what you can as Seunghyun’s moans grow louder, deeper, vibrating through his hips and into your mouth. Until he moans your name amongst a string of expletives, as he finally comes. You can’t help but moan because he taste salty, and sweet, and so fucking good. You keep working over him, pumping everything you can from him and swallowing every drop.

“Fuck, oh, my god,” Seunghyun groans, when start to slow to a stop. You pull your mouth from him, licking your lips as you look up at him. His cheeks are red, his eyes struggling to stay open, his hands in his hair; this is the hottest he’s ever looked.

You lick your fingers clean of what you didn’t catch in your mouth, savoring the taste of him one more time. You can see Seunghyun’s eyes following your movements carefully, the quick rise and fall of his chest beneath his silky shirt not slowing down. You grin, using the edge of the sofa to support your weight as you stand on your shaky legs.

You try to play it cool but you can feel how aroused you are as you walk towards one of the makeup tables to grab some towels. You wipe your face dry, trying to think of an excuse to leave because now you’re thinking about the conversation that might happen. You aren’t ready to discuss things; you’d rather savor the moment as long as you can and maybe never speak about it again. You’re not sure, but until you figure it out, you know you want to keep the upper hand — if you could call it that after how pathetic you acted. You move back towards Seunghyun to toss a towel onto his chest, then pull your phone from your pocket to pretend to read a text.

“You should get cleaned up,” you say, looking at Seunghyun. “Wouldn’t want that girl you’re seeing to find you like this.” He looks surprised, his jaw slack as he tries to think of something to say in response, but nothing comes out. “Thanks, this was fun,” you say, slipping your phone into your pocket again. “I’ve got to meet up with someone.”

You cross to the exit, disengaging the lock and pulling the door open without sparing him another glance. As you make your way through the building in search of the exit, you try to think of what outcomes you could face. A part of you hopes that you got this feeling out of your system and you won’t have to talk about this with Seunghyun again. But another part of you makes up a dozen different scenarios of what could happen the next time you see your friend. Either way, you know your next move is back to your hotel room to take care of this ache between your thighs before you change your mind and run back to that dressing room with Seunghyun to beg him for help.

[sunrisecaminus]

Ultra Magnus x Government Agent Reader SFW

Summary - Ultra Magnus falls in love with an human Agent after realizing she has a sweet side to her personality.

Warnings: Light Hurt/Comfort

Never have you ever thought you would be seeing real aliens when you first met the Autobots. Being one of the Agents from the US Government, you were assigned to see if Agent Fowler was doing his freaking job. That man has not gotten anything done to defeat the Decepticons that are trying to destroy the world. Now, you have been best friends with Fowler ever since college, but dang from what you have been hearing from your boss, he has been getting lazier and lazier. It was your job to see if he should be fired or not and get a replacement.

After a few months at the base, you have realized two things. One, the Autobots don't have enough recourses to even kill one Decepticon. Two, Fowler has been working his ass off for everyone to survive. Optimus was very kind to you when you arrived and introduced everyone to you. Ultra Magnus was professional, but you can tell he did not like your presence. The US government have been yelling at them about sitting on their afts, while also not providing anything for their survival. He has been warned by Fowler and Prime that humans don't understand what they were going through and so they will be very uncooperative if the bots even tried to explain themselves. "Prime sir, we should not be having anymore interference with these human leaders. Non of them have even came up once to listen to reason." He stared at Optimus with a pleading look, he didn't like to be similar to Ratchet, but he understood why Ratchet hated almost all humans. Optimus looked up from the data pad and gave him a stern look. "Ultra Magnus, I understand your lack of faith my friend, but you have to remember the humans that have helped us so far. Agent Fowler is one of the reasons we have not been kicked from this planet, the children have saved our lives, and Agent Y/n is here to help us get more supplies from the human's government if we give her reason that we are efficient enough."

Ultra Magnus hated that Optimus was right, but he was a bit suspicious of the last sentence. "I am sorry sir, but Agent y/n has not even once reported to the government in three month. I don't think we are up to her standards at all." Optimus closes his eyes to think. Magnus was right about that, you have not been really doing anything around the base except observe everyone's movements and work. Hell Ratchet has been quite annoyed by your presence since he has to stay at the base for most of the missions. He is holding on to you though, giving you hope. Only one person has been supportive of you, and that was Fowler. He told Optimus whole stories about you saving his sorry ass from college professors all the time. He told him many stories of you supporting him and even giving him a place to stay when he needed it the most. Fowler has said though you were a calculated person, and never really showed your emotions a lot. It was hard to tell if you are being nice or just straight cold. "We shall see Ultra Magnus, though I cannot confirm if she is as troubling as you say. I will talk to Agent Fowler once more, so please look over the kids."

When Optimus walked off, Magnus stayed around to make sure Miko wasn't going to prank Ratchet and helped Ralph with any questions he had about Cybertron. He than starts to hear the clicking of heels from the elevator. You had a clip board in hand and was already writing something down. Your h/c (hair color) hair looked all neat and your outfit seemed nice and custom made. Walking over to Ratchet, you ask for his latest findings from last night's mission and both of you started to talk about work. Honestly if Ratchet had a scale for which human was more annoying, you were probably around in the middle. He was able to keep a conversation with you, but from far away he would grumble about things he didn't like that you did. After a few minutes you walked over to Ralph and Ultra Magnus. You stood behind the couch and watched as Ralph was making a nice online form about his cultural findings. Of course, it wasn't public for other humans to see, but if he ever forgot about something he could always click over to his notes and see what he put down. "Ah, you are doing so well Ralph. Although you spells that wrong, the symbol you put down actually has a small line going across the bottom." You pointed out something on Ralph's computer and he gasps. "Oh crap! Your right! Dang I thought I studied that!" Magnus sees you smile for the first time. "Oh it's ok. It's impressive to see you learn so much already after only a week. Better than what I could do."

After you turn around, walking back to the railing from across the base to keep writing in your clip board, Magnus looks at Ralph confused. "What were you and Agent y/n talking about?" Ralph looks up at Magnus and shares his screen for him to see. "Oh? Y/n is teaching me how to read your alphabet! She knows a lot about Iaconian and helped me learn so I can surprise Optimus later! Don't tell him though." He couldn't believe what he was hearing. You knew Iaconian?! When did you have the time to learn such a difficult language?! Magnus couldn't help, but be flabbergasted by the fact you took the time to learn Iaconian and finally had enough. Did you like them or not? Why were you not reporting to your bosses and why haven't you left yet? You were only here to stay for a week…why haven't you left yet? He was getting to the bottom of it one way for another. He excuses himself and walks over to you. You see that a shadow surrounds your body and looks up. "Oh, good evening Ultra Magnus." You put your pen away and stood up straight to give your full attention to him. Magnus narrows his eyes and leans down just a smidge to be a bit closure to your frame. Look he may not like you, but at the very least he did not like intimidating people who are not Decepticons. "I need to speak with you Agent y/n. You have been keeping secrets from Prime and the rest of us, but now all of sudden you are learning Iaconian? What is your motivation?"

The smile that grew on your face made him a bit taken a back by the reaction. The smile looked nice on you, but he wasn't going to tell you that. "I have been monitoring everyone's work so I can give a long report to the government if they should give you their energon findings." WHAT?! The government had not only supplies, but they had the one resource they have been dying to get this whole time?! He clenched his hands into fists and looked angry. "You have energon is your procession? That stuff is useless for your species. Why didn't you report us being useful sooner. We could use those energon cubes to help give us more energy to fight for your planet." Before he could get even more angry, you put a hand up to shut him up. "Do not worry, I have already reported to them about you all working your hardest even with such little food. They needed a better report from me just in case you were pretending to be efficient for a week, so they have extended my stay for five months. At the end of my stay I will be in a very important meeting with all the higher ups to give my findings. Then they will happily give you all the crates they have by helicopter or by truck, just matters how much they are willing to give you." He could not believe this right now. This was the worse news he could get from you and he is trying not to go ape shit. "I understand this could be frustrating right now, but understand I am trying to poke them as much as I can to give you what you need. All of you have past the bar. In my book I would have given you everything by now after the first week. Right now I can't do anything but listen to their orders so you can be granted free supplies. Oh, and Optimus told me about where he lived back on Cybertron, I was curious about your culture so I had Bumblebee and Ralph help me learn. I am now known as one of the only human translators for Cybertronians and Humans. Luckily it seems you all already know English, though I would not have minded to be your spokes person."

This kind of made his anger fade…Your voice was not cold to him anymore. It seemed…sweet. This was the most care he has heard from you and it made him feel things he didn't want to feel. "W-well I appreciate you trying your best from what you have." Did he just stutter?! Oh Primus no, he needs to control himself. Why was he feeling such lovely feelings for you now?! He was just pissed a moment ago! You snapped him out of his staring and giggled. "Awe you are too kind. I need to go to Fowler now. I will see you before you all charge for the night, ok?" He nods and watches you leave. Your laugh was so cute. He needs to stop himself from feeling this way before he says something he is going to regret.

...

Bonus: Ratchet glares at Ultra Magnus while he scans him. "So a professional lady who works at the top has taken an interest in our species, her personality is a sweet yet serious person who gets the work done before she does anything else?" Sighing, Ratchet grabs his data pad and walks over to Ultra Magnus who looks at him for an answer to his condition. "You are not sick, you are just an idiot who fell in love with a fleshy."

[isabeauwolf]

Trafalgar Law x Pregnant reader

Chapter 2 - Somebody call a doctor?

"Could you be my doctor?" Jess snickers over the phone. She called you as soon as she got home. "Really Y/n?" She cackled even harder. "Girl, you want Dr Grumpy to be more than your person doctor." Pausing for dramatic effect and adding, "You want his daily dose of vitamin D sooo bad."

You knew she had that smug assed grin on her face as you rubbed your forehead. You knew she was right which made you even more flustered and embarrassed. "I know, I know, Jess." You groaned, "I wasn't thinking and it slipped out."

"You are way too cute for your own good." She commented. "You do know that right?"

"So I've been told." You muttered, laying down on your bed and hugging your snow leopard Build-a-Bear. It was an impulse buy you bought yourself for Christmas. It reminded you of Law every time you saw it and held it, wishing it was him.

"Do you need me to go with you to get your first ultrasound?" Jess asked, pulling out her pajamas from her closet

"Nah, be fine." You replied. "Plus Law will be with me."

"Let me know," Jess pressed. "Max considers you family." Max was Jess' big brother and owner of the coffee shop. The pair of siblings thought of you as their own baby sister, even if Jess was a year younger than you.

"Yeah, I know." You smile, "Thanks." You roll onto your side, facing the door.

You hear the tiny pitter patter of tiny feet running through the house and jingle coming towards you as Onigiri comes rushing into your room like a tiny rocket.

You laugh. "Somebody's missed me." You pat the spot beside your bed. "Hey baby, c'mere."

Onigiri. The tiny puppy with pure white fur and a huge black shaped triangle on his head, reminding you of rice balls.

And somehow of Law.

He runs around in a circle and jumps into your bed, barking and nuzzles into your side. Panting as his tail wags.

"I missed you too, my little cutie." You coo gently, petting him as he crawls underneath your blanket and cuddles against your belly.

Well, guess that explains why Onigiri seems glued to your side lately. Animals have a sixth sense of these things or so you've heard.

"Awe, lemme see, lemme see." Jess gushes into your ear, using her baby voice.

"Hold on, hold on." You turn on the camera to face yourself and angle your phone down so Jess can see the picture perfect sight. "There. Can you see him?"

Jess squealed, taking screenshots. "Looks like Dr Love's got some real competition for your love Y/n." She teases, grinning wide. "Onigiri and your mini me. Talk about a handful." Tilting her head, "Hope Doc isn't the jealous type."

"Why do you like to tease the poor man so much?" You ask, laying back down and petting Onigiri. "Are you sure you don't have a bully crush on Law?" You knew she didn't but you had to tease her back, biting your lip to stay composed.

It didn't work, you snorted as Jess grew defensive. Gawking at you and grimacing as if you just drop kicked her grandmother.

"What?! Hell no. Mister tall dark and emo drug lord ain't my type." Jess makes fake gagging noises, which causes you to giggle louder. "Besides, I like'em big and dumb."

"Bepo isn't Law's second in command for nothing you know." You pointed out, laying your head underneath the crook of your arm.

"Oh, you know what I mean " Jess waves you off. "He's so sweet, adorable and knows material arts, loyal, really, really tall." She sighs dreamily, falling into her bed. "Blonde hair, blue eyes... so shy."

"God help that poor, poor man." You give her a dramatic sigh and make the sign of the cross over your heart, "Corrupting poor Bepo's innocence and cuteness with your overly horny witch craft and voodoo magic. Jess for shame."

"Oh hell yes, I would!" Jess fires back. "Don't you judge me after pinning for drop dead gorgeous Dr Heart Stealer Y/n." She points her finger at you, setting her phone into her bed and pulls her shirt over her head, leaving her in her cute purple lacy bra. "I would bet two hundred beri's.. no five hundred that you've had as many sinful, dirty thoughts and wet dreams for Law as I've had for my bear man."

You grew heated. "Fair enough." You couldn't deny it.

"I'll take your silence as a yes." Jess countered in a single song voice, slipping into an adult panda man onesie and fell back into her pile of panda and polar bear stuffed animals. "I'm home my babies." She scoops an armful and cuddles them, smiling wide.

You were honestly thinking you both had a taste in odd men.

Then again, being stuck in the winter island all your lives does make the world feel smaller.

"Alright, I'm going to bed." You yawn, rubbing your eyes and turn your lamp off on your nightstand.

"Night night, love ya." Jess blows you a kiss. "Give me the details tomorrow sexy mama."

You laugh, smiling. "Night, Jess."

You both hung up.

You peaked underneath you blanket to find Onigiri fast asleep, "Night, Onigiri." You whisper softly and layed back down, hugging your snow leopard closer to your chest as you unlocked your phone, thumb hovering over Law's name.

You knew you'd see him tomorrow, and yet, you couldn't help but feel nervous. Seriously, why did you ask your crush to become your doctor? Were you that desperate? At least, he didn't flat out call you an idiot to your face when you gave him a heart attack this evening.

Law's question rang through your mind.

Are you going to put the baby up for adoption?

Sure, it would be the responsible and logical thing to do. You didn't make enough to have a baby right now. You were barely scrapping by as it is. You did have some saving saved up for a rainy day. You had heard of couples try to conceive for years and were unable to, waiting for a miracle that never came. It would feel nice to help someone like that, but the real question was: Could you?

You were honestly surprised Law would agree to seeing you so easily. Surely, he was busy and had enough on his plate as it is.

You felt your lips curl upward.

Maybe the stoic, ice cold and straight laced doctor had a kind heart?

Taking a deep breath you decided to message Law first, nicknaming him "Snow Leopard" in your phone.

You: Good evening Law, thank you for talking with me tonight. I appreciate it. I'm going to bed now. I'll see you in the morning. Good night. :)

Three dots appeared when he messaged you back.

Snow Leopard: It was no problem at all, Y/n-ya. I was the one who offered in the first place. I am glad that you felt you could confide in me.

Good night and sleep well.

Your smile brightened as you set your phone down on the nightstand. "Good night, Law." You closed your eyes as your heart fluttered in your chest and went to sleep.

On the other side, Law sat down in his reading chair after taking off his reading glasses and the book he was reading, sitting in his lap. His phone in hand as he sighed and rubbed his forehead with the back of his palm.

He frowned look down at the message you sent. The pregnancy test you showed him was positive, but you still needed to be seen for a medical checking up and ultrasound. If you wanted him to be your primarily care doctor, he'd do it. He'd support you, offer medical advice, anything within his power and knowledge to help you.

Law set his glasses on the coffee table, put a bookmark in the book as he was reviewing and revising any material he had on pregnancy, labor and child birth on his selves.

He'd seem you around kids. You were always so kind, offering other pregnant woman a helping hand to the door or to watch their little ones while their mothers had to use the restroom or take a call.

He knew you would make a great mother someday.

He didn't expect for it to happen so soon and with someone else, even a one night stand. The tiny, microscopic percentage that you would get pregnant while using both forms of birth control wasn't unheard of, but the odds were their.

He wasn't aware that you were looking for a casual partner or hookup. He might have offered, if he'd known. Then again, he didn't ask and you hadn't brought it up.

Out of all the men on who came passing through this winter island, it had to be Ace. Luffy's big brother.

Law had Luffy's number, knew it wasn't his place to inform the man that you were pregnant, it would be immoral and against doctor and patient confidentiality.

A tiny part of him hoped you didn't have any lingering feeling for the man.

The more he thought about it, the more his feelings he'd bottled up were festering. Jealousy, heartache and longing, to name a few.

Law never wanted you to think he was using his medical practice to coax you into anything you didn't want to do. Or for selfish reasons.

Setting the medical book down on top of the books he had littered and spread outs onto the coffee table. He glanced at it and decided to leave them and would pick everything up in the morning. He stretched and stood to his feet, turned the light off and figured he needed to shower and go to bed.

Law layed in bed, in the dark and stared at the ceiling. His hands tightened around the blanket, then relaxed. It felt dumb to be nervous about tomorrow, he's seen hundreds of patients, so why should tomorrow be any different? Scratch that. He knew why. It was you coming into his office, his new patient.

He scowled at the darkness, rolling onto his side, layed his arm underneath his pillow and slowly took in a deep breath and huffed it through his nose. Reaching for his phone, turning his head as to not blind himself when the screen lit up, glancing down at his lock screen of him and his adoptive father, Rosinante when Law graduated from medical school. Law felt himself smile as he unlocked it with the swipe of his thumb, oops, he forgot to close the text message with you.

He felt his cheeks burn in embarrassed as he backed out and returned to the home screen showing a picture of him, Bepo, Shachi, Penguin and Ikkaku during his uncle Doflamingo's annual Christmas present that Rosinante had taken last year.

Now, that he thought about it. It wasn't long after that he'd met you that night.

He had to rush back to the hospital for an emergency surgery on a patient, after working hours until the patient was stable Law had decided to grab a cup of coffee on the way home. He'd been exhausted, irritable after no sleep, he wasn't looking his best, if he was being honest.

Law had decided to walk down to the local coffee shop since the line in front of the hospital Moonbucks was jam packed and he didn't want to wait. So he went down the street, it was busy but quiet which surprised him. He noticed Bepo, Shachi and Penguin were waiting in line as well, then he remembered they'd mentioned the coffee shop had better service and a more cozy atmosphere. Something about the waitresses were cute and the owner was friendly.

Law didn't really care as long as the coffee wasn't too overpriced or tasted decent, or worse, tasted like watered down bean water. He didn't realize he'd been scowling until a feminine voice called his attention, making him return to reality.

"Long night, I take it?" You smile at him, tablet in hand, waiting patiently. Your hair was in a braid with tiny golden Christmas bells woven into it and you wore a black, blue and white sweater with polar bears wearing scarfs on them. "What can I get you?" You repeat gently.

Law's eyes widened, feeling his heart skip a beat and thud hard into his chest. Inwardly shaking himself and cleared his throat. "Medium dark roast, double shot espresso and cream, please." He felt his skin warm as he pulled out his wallet.

You type out his order, repeat it as he inserts his card. "Will that be all for today, doctor?"

Law's silver gaze met your own. "How did you know?"

Your smile widened, eyes lowering as you giggled. "You're still in uniform doctor."

What? No, he wasn't... Oh. Law glanced down at himself, he was so tired, he forgot to take off his surgical scrubs. Well, that's embarrassing. Thank God, he wasn't covered in blood. The surgeon felt his face grow redder as he covered his eyes with his spotted hat. "Oh, you're right." He muttered to himself, meeting your beautiful gems after typing in his pin and you handed him his receipt. "Thank you miss."

"Y/n." You correct, offering your hand. "Doctor?"

Law readjusted his hat, took your smaller hand in his own and shook it. "Trafalgar Law."

"That's a unique name Trafalgar." You tasted his name on your tongue, made him shudder. "I've never seen you around before. Are you new around here?"

"Law." He correct softly. "Trafalgar is my Last name." He didn't know why he felt the need to correct you, a stranger. He usually didn't care if anyone called him by his first or last name before.

You blushed as you lowered your hand. "Oh, I'm sorry." You cover your burning cheek, giving him a cute sheepish and apologetic smile. "I beg your pardon Law."

It felt right, hearing you call his name. He liked it.

"None taken, Y/n-ya." Law left his lips curl into a slight smirk causing your blush to deepen.

"Y/n-ya?" Your brows furrowed as you stared at him in curiosity. "Is that a strange habit of yours Law?" You lower your hand from your face and half turn, writing his name in a clear medium sized plastic cup. "Or is it how you usually greet people Law-ya?" You tease, eyes sparkling with a teasing lit.

Oh, you were spunky too?

Law's gaze flickered to your hand writing it was neat and cursive, pretty even. His smirk grew into something smug and playful, "Something like that." He commented returning his card into his wallet and back into the pocket of his coat.

"Thank you, Law. Your order will be right up." You fully turn, walking to the coffee machine to make his order.

His gaze lowered to your backside in those tight, stretch black leggings and black boots. He felt himself swallowing, mesmerized by the sway of your hips before he shook himself, raising a hand to scrub his jaw as he glanced away.

Well, he was awake, flustered and horny now. Great, just what he needed.

Law shuffles awkwardly towards the pick up counter, waiting and pulling out his phone to distract himself when he feels someone sling an arm over his shoulder.

"Rough morning, Captain?" Shachi asked smiling.

"Rough night." Law grunts. "Some dumbass decided to fist fight Akainu and play with fire last night while drunk."

"Wow, seriously? On Christmas?" Bepo asks, appearing on the other side of Law.

"Who's that crazy enough to face that tight assed marine?" Penguins asks.

Law sighed, shaking Shachi off and pinched the bridge of his nose with his middle and index finger. "Monkey D Luffy, Garps grandson."

Bepo, Shachi and Penguin all parroted in shock, eyes wide. "Monkey D Garp has a grandson?!"

"Yes, apparently he's got three troublesome grandsons and Luffy, or StrawHat is one of them." Law admitted. "I talked with him and StrawHats mother last night in the waiting room. A reckless, stubborn kid was pissed off about Akainu insulting his older brothers."

"Law?" You called.

Law opened his eyes, lowered his hand and met your smiling face.

"Your order is ready." You lower his coffee onto the counter and scoot it towards him. "Careful, it's hot." You warned gently.

"Well, hello again gorgeous." Penguin purred.

"Captain, I didn't know you were hitting on this cutie." Shachi asked, wiggling his brows, covering his mouth to whisper into Law's pierced ear. "Go, cap. Did you get her number?"

"No, I'm not." Law bit out, gritting his teeth. "And get off." He shrugged him off, stepping forward to pick up his drink. His face softened as he sighed, already feeling mentally drained. "Thank you, Y/n-ya."

"Your welcome, Law." You replied, smile widening as you waved goodbye. "Have a good day and hope to see you again soon."

Law'a lips curled as he plugged his phone onto the charger and layed it down beside him. It figures that it quickly became a habit for him to have coffee at Max's shop from then onward. He had to see you again, even if, he wouldn't admit it at the time. Whenever Law was stressed or down, he thought of you and your smiling face.

Closing his eyes as he whispered gently, "Night, Y/n."

---------

You arrived way too early. At seven in the morning. Folder in hand with all of your important paperwork and your purse as you walked into the hospital and towards the receptionist who greeted you with a practiced perfect smile.

"How many I help you?"

"Did Doctor Trafalgar Law schedule me an appointment for an ultrasound and blood work?" You asked, feelings your cheeks heat up. It would be super embarrassing, if he had forgotten.

She raised a brow. "I'll check." Her eyes returning to her computer, hands hovering over the keyboard. "Name?"

You give her your first and last name.

"Yes, Doctor Law has you scheduled in." She picked up a clip board and handed it to you. "Fill these out please and he'll call you shortly." Her gaze scanning you up and down.

Why do you feel as if she's low key judging you?

"Thank you." You smiled back, picked a seat and sat down. Opening your folder and wallet, writing down your information. You were on the last page when some walked through the door and called your name.

"Y/n L/n?"

You raised you head, smiling widening as you gathered your things and stood.

It was Bepo. The giant man was dress in bright orange scrubs.

"Bepo!" You walked towards him. You ignored the receptionist stare on your back. "It's great to see you."

Bepo leaned down and hugged you, gently. "Garchu, Y/n!" The giant blonde man nuzzled the top of your head in affection. "Law told me you would be here this morning, but he didn't say what for." He pulled away, frowning in worry. "Are you alright?"

You forgot that Bepo was a huger. "Garchu Bepo." You laughed, hugging him back. "I'm fine. Just need to run a few tests." Well, you weren't wrong.

"Don't be nervous." Bepo holds the door open for you and let you in first before leading the way with his own clip board in hand. "First we will do a standard physical and then Law will be with you shortly." Glancing down at the clipboard in your hand he smiled, "I'll take that for you when you are finished."

True to his word, Bepo took your height and weight, standard physical. Gave you a plastic cup with your name on it and asked you to use the bathroom across the hallway to pee in a cup.

It always felt awkward peeing in one of those tiny plastic cups. You were lightly haunted the one time you had to use one during a standard drug test and your were on your period. That was embarrassing as you had handed it to the guy with a huge blush on your face.

Shaking your head you took the cup, did your business, washed your hands and very carefully watched back to the nurses station to hand her the full cup.

She thanked you and took the sample with a gloved hand and put it in a ziplock bag.

You made a beeline towards the room you were in to finished your paperwork. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it!

You placed the clipboard onto the desk when you heard someone knock.

"Y/n-ya?" Law's voiced called behind the door. "May I come in?"

"Yes, Law you may." You giggle. You really couldn't help it. You walked back towards your seat.

Law opened the door and walked in, a brow raised. "Someone slept well, if you are think spunky in the morning."

You try to ignore how incredible-y hot Law looks in his glasses, lab coat and the stethoscope around his neck. Not to mention, the black button down he's wearing with a few of the buttons unbuttoned and his sleeves roll half up his arms. Jesus, did he not care about the hospital dress code?

You swallow, stealing a glance at his tattoos, not to mention the hint of muscle peaking though. Oh, how you wanted to trace the hidden pattern of ink with your fingers or tongue. Inwardly telling yourself to shut up you answered, "Something like that."

Closing the door behind him, Law went towards the sink to wash his hands, dry them and slip on a pair of latex gloves. "Other than yesterdays vomiting. Are you showing any other symptoms of pregnancy? Anything you can think of or might have missed?"

You hum, counting off your fingers. "My period being two weeks late, having to go to the bathroom more often, I have this weird craving for bbq and having cramps, but no period.... that's about it."

"Everything seems normal." He concluded, picking up your paperwork and skimming through it. "Do you remember what set off your nausea?"

"Yeah, pickles from Max's sandwich which sucks." You pout. "I love pickles."

Law glanced up and opened his mouth to say something when there was another knock on the door.

"Come in." Law answered without peaking over his shoulder.

"I'm coming to collect Y/n's paperwork and to give her this gown to change into." Bepo replied sheepishly, "Sorry." The poor man got easily discouraged and depressed.

"It's fine, Bepo." Law waved him off, handing him the clipboard, taking the blue dressing gown from Bepo and handing it off to you before he stood. "I'll let you change while I wait outside."

"Thank you again, Law." You smile causing the doctor to pause.

"Your welcome, Y/n-ya." Law gave a hint of smile then closed the door behind him.

You released the breath that you didn't know you were holding. Just think of this as a regular doctors visit, Y/n. Don't make it weird. Law's not here to be ogled and drooled after. You mentally scolded yourself, feeling yourself growing flustered. He's doing this job. Get those fantasies out of your head!

Ugh, why did Jess slip that stupid doctor romance novel into your email this morning?! You know she did it on purpose.

Didn't help that it had you hooked when you found out of the male lead was a grumpy doctor. Who had you immediately think of Dr Heart Stealer himself.

Holding your closed into the chair beside you on top of your folder and purse. You felt yourself shiver from the cold air in the room when you were completely naked, except for your fuzzy socks. You knew it would look stupid, but you knew the floor would be cold if you took them off. So you slipped on the hospital gown. Uh oh. How were you going to tie the back, if you can't see what your doing?

Okay, think about it as a bigger apron. That's all it is, yup... nope. Dammit.

You jumped as your heard another knock on the door. "Yes?" You sat down in your seat, on the white crinkly thin assed sheet of paper they always put on these seats. You knew it was for sanitary reasons, but you always hoped you never tore it.

"Y/n-ya? Are you decent?" Law asked.

"I.. uh.. I might need some help." You admitted, mentally groaning. "Can you help me, please?"

Law opened the door. "What's the matter?"

You pout and half turn while completely covering your ass, yet you felt the cold air hit your back. "I can't seem to tie it."

"Is that all?" He chuckled, step forward and slipping on new medical gloves. "I can always ask a female nurse to-"

You cut him off. "It's really no bother, Law."

"Alright." Law nods, slowly approaching as you fully turned and moved your hair out of the way. The man towers over you, reaches out, his inked hand hesitates before he helps you tying the hospital gown closed. His skilled fingers move with practiced easy. Gaze flickering down to your skin, noticing the map of goosebumps, It's from the cold in the room, he tells himself, even if, he secretly wished it was from him having such an affect on you.

With your back completely bare before him and being unable to see his transfixed and greedy stare as his cheeks warm and his heartbeats and thunders hard in his ears. He'd love nothing more than to trail feathery light kisses or his inked digits along the nape of your neck, press you closer into his chest and cause a new litter of goosebumps to pebble and rise.

God, Law doesn't know what he wants to do more. Hold you, tease you, kiss you or all three? Was this a bad idea or mistake having you as his new patient? A cute distraction that he didn't need. A temptation to test his patience as he forced himself to not act on impulse or his intrusive thoughts? Swallowing thickly, he lowered his hands. "There." He backed away to give you space as to not intimidate you. Law hoped you didn't think he was being a creep with how long it look him to tie the damned gown closed.

You fully turn and smile at him. "Thanks, Law."

"Your welcome, Y/n-ya." He meets your beautiful eyes. Once again, he found himself checking impulse after impulse with you, ignoring the yearning he felt or simply reach out to cup your face to run his inked thumb along the apple of your cheek.

Your gaze lowered dreamily to his lips. Would he taste like mint and coffee? Cinnamon, or spearmint?

There was another knock on the door, causing reality to come crashing back down, washing away the sexual tension and raw, burning haze from you both.

Yes, he's The Doctor and you as his new Patient.

Law's jaw clenches. "What is it?" He calls without glancing away from you before half turning to fully glare at whoever the hell was behind that goddamn door.

The door opens, Penguin peaks his head through and smiling sheepishly. "Sorry to disturb you but uh.... the newbies in training and interns are growing bored." His gaze flickers to you, his face and eyes brighten, apologetic smile turning smug. Oh, that's why Captains been fidgeting and antsy since he clocked in at 5am, secretly passing his office.

Law's heated glare turned seething, clicking his tongue. "Can't they follow simple orders or expect me to hold their hands?" Slipping his gloves off and throwing them in the trash as he storms towards the door, pauses and glances back at you from over his shoulder. "Excuse me, Y/N-ya." His face and angered expression softened a smidge, noticeable, but there.

"Don't worry." You wave your hand in a shooing gesture. "I'll be right here. "Don't be too harsh on 'em Doctor Law." You giggle.

Law nods again, giving his back to you. His eyes darken and his long legs making quick strides in Penguin's direction who immediately backs away to give his friend and boss more room. His inked hand tightens around the handle, the metal groans as he swung the door open, his frame taking up the full space as he goes off. "What the hell are you lot stranding around for? This is a hospital. A place of medicine and healing, not an amusement park or get away."

You hear apologies flying, feet shuffling at Law's command as if he's the God himself.

"Sorry Doctor!"

"Right away, Sir!"

"But I already finished my task."

"It's my break, Doc." Someone complained. "Been working since last night."

Law's jaw continues to clench and grind. "I don't want to hear excuses," he growls, causing all of them to take in their boss' demeanor. Sure, Law's a crabby, stick in the mud and can bark out harsh and cold comments, but... The Surgeon of Death looks more angry and close to snapping.

It's like he's a man possessed by the devil himself.

Bepo looks worried.

Penguin huddled closer to Shachi, whispering in his ear that you are here. The pairs shoulders shake, trying to keep in their snickers. "Caps, gone full territorial mode."

Of course, Law heard that. "What was that?" A tick mark formed on the corner of his forehead. "Are you volunteering for Clinic Duty this morning, Shachi?" He tilts his head, voice dripping in venom. "How kind of you. Now hop to it."

Penguin and Shachi flinch. Their eyes widening, meeting cold, liquid silvers.

"But Cap, it's Pen's turn.." Shachi correctly.

Law's eyes narrows. "Did I shudder?"

Shachi shuts up and followed orders.

Being left along, you were left with your thoughts and observing. You were reminded of seeing him in his blue scrubs the first night you two met.

Law seemed like the kind of angry and grumpy doctor who rarely smiled or glares and barks orders, a gorgeous asshole with a coffee addiction, clearly overworked and an insomniac.

It makes sense, that he's grouchy.

You will admit that you felt a spark rush through you when your eyes connected with his stormy, smoldering silver eyes. They're beautiful and overpowering.

You think that's the first time you've been Law's stoic mask crack into a murderous glower. Dare you say his angry expression was cute? Watching from a distance, he looked like a tiger stalking his pray, it should make you feel unnerved and scared.

You can't pull your gaze away from the scene.

Then again, this is the first time you've seen Law in his element, his work place and stomping ground. The growl and authority dripping from his deep voice causes your thighs to press together, his shoulders are tense as his inked hand tightens around the door frame, muscles flexing underneath his inked skin.

His demeanor is more intimating. His agitation vibrates through the chill in the air conditioned room, causing goosebumps to rise and spread across your skin and your nipples hardened as you bite your lower lip. Sweet mother and Christ, scold me and command me like that Doctor Law and I'm all yours. You feel your face grow inflamed as you mentally scold yourself again. Dammit, go away, naughty thoughts, go away! You yell inside your head and mentally waving your arms, growing more embarrassed. Stupid Jess! Stupid raunchy Doctor romance novel! I blame you!

Hearing the door close, your straighten your shoulders and try to act as if you weren't mentally arguing without self and thinking something kinky about your new, hot Doctor.

Law lowers his frame back into his seat, scooting it closer as the wheels roll across the tiled floor. He releases a huff, shoulders relaxing as he runs an inked hand through his dark, unruly tresses. "Apologies, Y/n." This close, you can see the faint dark circles underneath his eyes, become more pronounced as it brings out the color of his bewitching liquid metal orbs.

You swallow around the lump in your throat, mouth feels dry. "Can I have some water, please?"

"Of course," Law nods, standing to his feed, walks out to the nurses station and comes back with a chilled bottle of water. "Are you alright?" Offering you the water with a hint of concern in his voice.

"Yup, I'm fine." You take it and try to open it. Brows furrow as you try again. "What the hell?" Again, its not budging. "Did they glue this on or something?"

Law pressed his lips together to bite back a laugh. "Here, let me before you make a mess." He reaches out and gently, taking the plastic bottle into his hand, twisting it and like magic it opens with ease. Resealing it and handing it back to you, watching as you reach out and squeeze the offending plastic a bit too hard, not caring, if a few big, fat droplets fall and land on your thin hospital gown.

"What kind of bullshit is this?" You glare at the bottled water as you took a few gulps to quench your thirst. You blink, feeling yourself grow even more heated and re-screwing the cap. "Wow, these mood swings are seriously no joke. Oh, thank you by the way."

This time Law did laugh. "No problem, Y/n-ya." He cleared his throat while his shoulders shook as he grinned, it looks boyish and made him appear younger as he answered. "Loss of strength, hormonal changes, mood swings and fatigue are all normal during the first trimester."

"I can't exactly run to you every time I can't open a bottle of water Law." You replied, hand tightening around the bottle. "You are a busy guy. People need you."

"Yes, but I'm your doctor now and I always take good care of my patients. You are a top priority now, don't ever forget that Y/n-ya."

"Play favorite now are we, Doctor Law?" You tease, leaning back down onto the table.

Law was tempted to say yes, but kept his mouth shut as he pulled the mini ultrasound machine closer.

He takes what looks to be a white vibrating wond, if you've ever seen one. Slipping a condom over it, opening a bottle of lube and smearing it on the device. "Now, I want you to guide this to the opening of your vagina and I'll do the rest." His tone is serious, he isn't joking.

Your eyes widen. "What?" Your face reddening.

------ End of Chapter 2 ------

I know, I know, I'm late. I'm sorry! But I hope this makes up for it! The Cliff hanger was an impulse XD Gotta keep ya'll on your toes, don't I?

Happy Valentines Day, my peeps and Law!

Tag List: @m0sigma7 @angelblueflame @pandora-writes-one-piece @short-honey-badger @supreme-burrito @fanaticsnail @turtletaubwrites @cherry-queens-blog @fairymama624 @mrstraffy @kira-scarllet 

[baked-potatoes-rule]

Yellowjackets S3 brief thoughts.

It's clear by now that the person leaving the phone and Juice Newton's "Queen of hearts played" (I was waiting for that one, can't believe that actually did it), is most likely adult Melissa, making her the final survivor. And I am honestly content with that.

Mari fell into the pit? Is that foreshadowing or is Gen going to be pit girl? Making Mari the girl that they eat alive.

Kudos to Ben for helping Mari. I know people love to hate him but, he did good. I would've taken her with me too because she would most likely tell on him.

Natalie trying to cover up for Ben? Her tender soul continues to shine and I am so happy about it. I love how she runs the game...No cockiness or pretentious bs. She's just trying her best to make things roll smoothly.

Van smiling when her and Taissa spoke about Ben causing the fire? And him telling Mari he didn't? Kinda Sus Van.

Adult Taivan and their Breakfast at Tiffany's like moment was so wholesome, until the waiter died.

Why the fuck is Lottie making Travis drink that stuff? Why doesn't she do it? He is beyond exhausted and terrified. Akilah giving him the duck to hold? Such a precious moment. I feel so bad for him.

The adult timeline Misty scenes were fantastic. I loved every moment of her on screen.

Lottie still wants to be Shauna's kid's baby daddy.

Shauna's behaviour right now is absolutely excusable. She lost her fucking baby and they are praying for its soul to save them. What the fuck. As someone who's into woowoo shit, I would be furious too. She's traumatized, she lost two people who meant the most to her and now she has to dress up like a forest dumpling (I love their outfits) and pray? I would be slapping a bitch too if it were me.

Melissa leaving the flowers on top of the rock Shauna put after moving her baby- lovely gesture. I know we haven't seen much of her but I like her character. I really hope her and Shauna stick together for the teen timeline. And honestly about time someone is trying to approach her in a sensible way.

Not commenting on the kissing scene...I already anticipated ShaunaHat after the trailer.

Why are adult Taissa and Van lying to each other?

Callie is just like her mother and I'm not sure how to feel about it. Or do I? I love it.

Jeff needs to file divorce. He needs to get into a relationship with someone who's actually compatible with him and leave Shauna so she can find someone compatible with her. Adult Melissa I'd say. Or Lottie.

Perhaps I'll sit and dig deeper into the details and write stuff separately.

[melancholyfool]

Tender Love

Pairing: Henry Winter x Fem!Reader

Summary: Henry (the world's best boyfriend) braids your hair

a/n: i have two new obsessions. 1) making henry do sweet things for his girlfriend. 2) making henry show lot's of emotions. (i just want to write henry being a sweet little boyfriend, is that so wrong???)

Henry sits behind you on the bed, his legs bracketing your body, warmth radiating through the soft fabric of your nightgown. His fingers move deftly through your hair, slow, parting and sectioning it with quiet concentration.

You hum in contentment, sinking further into him. “You’re really good at this.”

Henry lets out a small huff, gathering another section of hair. “I should be by now.”

You grin. “Still can’t believe you do this for me.”

He presses a kiss to the back of your neck between strokes, the faintest whisper of lips against skin. “Why wouldn’t I?”

You shrug. “Most boyfriends don’t know how to braid.”

Henry’s fingers momentarily pause before continuing their careful weaving. “Most boyfriends should try harder, then.”

Your heart squeezes and you glance down at your hands, fiddling with the hem of your nightgown. “How did I get so lucky?”

Henry’s arms wrap around you suddenly, your unfinished braid slipping from his fingers as he presses his lips to the side of your head. His voice is quiet. “I’m the lucky one.”

Your chest feels so full you think you might explode.

Without warning, you turn and tackle him, knocking him back onto the bed, arms wrapped tight around his torso. He grunts in surprise as you straddle his waist, pressing rapid-fire kisses across his face—his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, the corner of his mouth.

“You’re too good to me,” you declare between kisses, hands cradling his jaw. “It’s unfair. You’re unfair.”

Henry lets out a startled laugh, grasping your wrists gently. “What’s gotten into you?”

Instead of answering, you grab his face and squish his cheeks, forcing his lips into a slight pout. You stare at him, your expression shifting from adoration to desperate and overwhelmed.

“I can’t take it,” you groan, burying your face against his collarbone.

Henry grins, his arms locking securely around your waist. “You can’t take what?”

“You.” Your voice is muffled against his skin. “You, being so... so wonderful. What am I supposed to do with this information?”

Henry strokes your back, thoughtful. “You could let me finish braiding your hair.”

You make an unintelligible noise, squeezing him impossibly tighter.

Henry chuckles, a deep, rich sound that rumbles beneath your ear. His hands roam idly, fingers slipping into your hair, undoing what little of the braid remained. He starts over, slower this time, lazily twisting the strands, as if he has all the time in the world.

And maybe he does.

Maybe here, like this, there is no time at all, just the steady rhythm of his hands in your hair, the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the warmth of his skin and the weight of his arms holding you close.

You sigh, turning your head slightly, your nose brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt. "You're so patient," you murmur.

Henry hums, his fingers working through another section of your hair. "You deserve patience."

The simplicity of his words makes your throat tighten, and you close your eyes, pressing your lips to the hollow of his throat, lingering. "You make me feel safe, Henry."

Henry's hands still in your hair for half a second before they start again, even gentler than before. "Good," he whispers. "You are."

Silence stretches between you, warm and comfortable. His fingers continue their work and when he finishes, his hands fall to your shoulders, rubbing slow circles against your skin. You shift, lifting your head to look at him, and the moment your eyes meet, something softens in his expression.

You don’t think, you just move.

You surge forward, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, one that starts tender but deepens with every second, as if you’re trying to pour every ounce of feeling you have into him. Henry sighs against your mouth, his hands sliding up to cradle the back of your head, holding you steady.

When you finally pull away, you’re breathless, your forehead resting against his. Your fingers trace absent patterns along his collarbone, your pulse still beating wildly in your chest.

Henry brushes his thumb against your jaw. “You really do have a habit of tackling me, don’t you?”

You let out a soft laugh, breathless. “I can’t help it. You make me crazy.”

Henry tilts his head, smirking. “I like it.”

You groan, your eyes rolling back as you hide your face in his neck. “Don’t say things like that, or I’ll tackle you again.”

Henry’s arms tighten around you, his lips pressing against the crown of your head. “I wouldn’t mind.”

You lift your head slightly, eyeing him. “You wouldn’t mind if I just—” You press another kiss to his lips, then another, and another.

Henry laughs softly, shaking his head. “You’re relentless.”

“I know,” you say, smirking. “But it’s your fault.”

“Oh? How so?”

“You’re too—” You whine dramatically, flopping back onto the pillows, arms thrown over your face. “You’re too good. Too sweet. Too—”

Henry leans over you, bracing himself with one hand against the mattress, the other slipping beneath your wrist to pull your arm away from your face. “Too what?”

You blink up at him, momentarily distracted by how he looks in the dim light. His hair slightly tousled, his lips still slightly swollen from your kisses, his eyes behind his glasses are dark and warm and impossibly fond.

You groan again. “Too perfect.”

Henry shakes his head as he dips down, kissing the tip of your nose. “Hardly.”

“Yes,” you insist, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt. “And I’ll prove it by suffocating you with my love.”

Henry chuckles, letting himself be pulled down as you wrap yourself around him, arms and legs tangling together, the weight of him warm and steady above you. You press your face into his neck, breathing him in and for a long moment, neither of you say anything.

After a while Henry nuzzles into your hair, his voice a small whisper, a confession. “I like it when you hold me like this.”

You smile against his skin. “Good,” you whisper. “Because I’m never ever letting go.”