#so at the time of me finishing this it's been over a week since i binged everything and it's like tuesday night

[kamaluhkhan]

ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY

pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 10.5k summary: after years away, vi returns home for the holidays and reunites with you, her ex-girlfriend. the universe (*cough cough* and your meddling families) push you together again, and neither of you can ignore the feelings that linger. (or: you, vi, and the ghosts of christmas past, present and future.) warnings: reader is ekko's older sister but not necessarily biological so appearance isn't specified; childhood friends to lovers + second chance romance; reader gets hit on by a creepy guy + gets into a fight (injury + blood mention), smut [strap mention (reader receiving), oral (both receiving), fingering (both receiving), biting, spitting, tribbing, sub!vi makes an appearance...kinda rough + possessive sex but there's aftercare too <33] (18+) ! a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR GIRLS AND GAYS <33 tbh i debated whether to post this now bc xmas was like....3 weeks ago but figured i might as well. so pls enjoy what is essentially an x-rated sapphic hallmark holiday movie.

♪: ‘tis the damn season by taylor swift (sun); winterbreak by MUNA (moon); last christmas by wham! (rising)

track 1: thank god it’s christmas by queen

(winter — age 17)

“okay, just relax your fingers — no, but keep some tension, apply a bit of pressure on the string….yep, that’s better. now, straighten your back….”

it’s dark and snowing outside, and the cold’s seeping in through the window of her attic bedroom, but vi still almost melts into the floor when you follow her advice and press against her chest. she worries that you can feel how fast her heart is beating — faster than it maybe should for someone she’d been calling friend ever since she could remember. 

you shift in her lap, her arms still wrapped around yours from when she offered to guide you through an instrumental version of wham’s “last christmas.” you tilt your head towards her, nose almost brushing against hers. 

“vi?”

“....yes?”

“maybe we should finish our lesson another time. we better hurry up, anyways. i bet ekko and powder are already arguing over whether we should watch home alone or home alone two.”

vi snorts. it’s practically a tradition at this point, along with the annual post-christmas-dinner pyjama movie night.

you try to hand her the bright pink guitar pick, but vi shakes her head.

“it’s yours. you’re gonna need it if you want more lessons.” 

“hm, or maybe i could sell it for a billion dollars once you’re a big rockstar,” you tease. “i can picture thousands of fangirls painting your portrait and writing mrs. violet lanes in their notebooks.” 

you get up, shoot her a wink, and leave vi on the bed, clutching her guitar and trying to get her pulse under control. 

neither of you say anything as you both get changed. the stereo plays the mixtape you’d made for her — you got her for secret santa this year.

“my mom loved this song,” vi hums, a warm ache growing in her chest when the next song plays. this is the second christmas without her, but vi is still not used to using past tense. “she thought freddie mercury was the best rockstar of all time.”

“i remember. you…you must miss her.” 

of course she does, and she could run through a million reasons why.

“vander says you’ll be spending new year’s at your dad’s,” is what she says instead.

you let out something between a scoff and a laugh. “yeah.”

“your mom going, too?”

“just me and ekko. i swear, it’s like he’s trying to be this perfect dad to his new stepkids, meanwhile he’s the one who left us here to deal with his mess, the one who just ran away, and….whatever.” this time, you do scoff. “hey – do you have a shirt i could borrow?”

vi looks over to find that you’ve switched from the velvet dress you wore during dinner into a pair of flannel plaid pants; her cheeks flush when she sees that you’re only wearing a black lacy bralette on top. 

she clears her throat and pulls a clean jersey from her dresser, tosses it over to you. 

“that’s a shame. i was looking forward to spending new year’s eve together.”

you hum and slip the shirt over your shoulders. the only sources of light are the moon and the stars and the multicoloured christmas lights strung along vi’s walls, but she swore that your eyes flick down to her lips. 

“why’s that?” you ask. 

there’s something absolutely dizzying about being this close to you, the way your sparkly eyes wait patiently for her to respond. joni mitchell sings about skating away on a river, and vi wishes she could skate away from this conversation, but there’s nowhere to go. 

vi blinks away from your gaze and fixates on one of the many things she’s pinned up on her bedroom walls throughout the years. it’s a page torn from an old notebook of yours, something from seventh grade math class, but vi always loved your little drawings in the margins. 

vi?” you prompt, never one to let go easily.

“i want to kiss you at midnight,” she confesses.

“yeah?” 

vi nods. she’s tempted to walk out of her room, down the stairs and out into the winter night, until you weave your fingers through hers and squeeze her hand. she looks up — and you’re beaming, a smile that brightens vi’s entire being. 

“i want that too.”

vi finally, finally crashes her mouth onto yours, lips sticky with marshmallow fluff.

you taste like vanilla and gingerbread and hot chocolate that is definitely not spiked with irish cream that vi slipped into your mugs while you distracted the adults. 

you taste like home.

….

so, slight change of plans….i’m gonna stay here in london with the rest of the band. apparently the kirammans throw a super fancy holiday party with super fancy people every year, and cait convinced her parents to let us perform. fingers crossed someone important discovers us.

merry christmas, baby. and, if i don’t get the chance to say it: happy new year.

….

track 2: winter wonderland by darlene love

(winter — age 12)

you’re supposed to be looking after ekko while your parents are at work, but all that really means is making a big bowl of kraft dinner and stove-top s’mores for lunch and watching old christmas specials on the worn-out living room couch while you draw in your sketchbook and your brother, only 7 years old, programs the doorbell to play ‘jingle bells.’ 

when someone rings the doorbell, the tune floats through the house and wakes up your dog who starts barking like it’s the end of the world. 

“easy, ziggy.” you click a marker closed and run a hand through the husky’s fur, attempting to calm him down. “let’s go see who it is.”

you open the door, and there’s vi: snowflakes sparkling on her eyelashes, pink hair hidden under a knitted hat, and a toothy grin that brings out the dimple in her flushed cheeks. she’s also got a split lip and crooked nose from her last hockey game.

“we’re building a fort,” she tells you. she shuffles to the side so that you can see powder, who’s making a snow angel. “well, we’re going to. wanna join?”

you nod, smiling. “ekko!” 

your brother’s already behind you, slipping on his chunky boots and oversized coat that used to be yours before running outside and collapsing onto the fluffy snow next to powder. ziggy bolts outside, too, running circles around them. 

you stumble to get your winter gear on as fast as possible, the cold air rushing inside your front hallway as vi waits for you, kicking her snowy boot against the concrete entryway step. not even a heartbeat after shutting the door behind you, vi takes your gloved hand in hers and pulls you forward, the two of you a flurry of laughter.

…..

hey, pretty girl. i was at this party and one of your songs came on! every time i hear it, i’m in awe of how amazing it is….how amazing you are. i’m basically walking home in a snowstorm, so i’m gonna go before my fingers freeze off, but i just wanted to say that i’m so proud of my rockstar girlfriend.

i was also wondering: are you coming home any time soon? the holidays are coming up, and i really miss you. we all do.  

…..

track 3: last christmas by wham!

(winter — now)

vi should have learned from sonic youth and fleetwood mac: 

no sex or romance between bandmates. it never ends well.

it was bad enough giving into the rumors and fooling around with cait, but it’s another layer of messiness now that cait and maddie dating. meanwhile, cait is very much still bitter towards vi, vi is very much pining after someone whom she’s pretty sure never wants to see her again, and steb and lorris are very much caught in the middle. it’s no wonder the band’s manager suggested everyone take some time apart to ease the tension. frankly, while others protested, vi was almost relieved at the suggestion.

so cait’s off to london, maddie’s off to glasgow, the boys are going god knows where, and vi —

vi’s heading back home, back to you.

she wakes up in the bed of her childhood for the first time in a long time. her dad put on fresh sheets, but they’re still the same ones from back then — worn flannel with cartoon penguins. it takes a lot of willpower to untangle herself from the warmth and cloud-like softness, but eventually she heads downstairs to the kitchen.

powder still has exams so she’s not home from college until tomorrow, and vander’s gone to work. it’s just vi in her too-small christmas pyjamas (she has yet to unpack), eating a box of stale cinnamon pop-tarts for breakfast even though it’s well past noon. curiosity gets the best of her, so she peers through the window to see if anyone is next door.

your mom’s car is in the driveway, completely snowed in. there had only been a dusting of snow while vi was devouring the first pastry, but four pop-tarts in and it’s about doubled. she waits until the snow stops falling; with nothing better to do and a sugar rush to burn off, vi pulls on her old winter coat and snow boots she hasn’t worn since she was 18, grabs a shovel from the garage, and gets to work. 

it doesn’t take her long to clear the driveway, and she has some adrenaline to spare, so she decides to be a good neighbor. 

vi’s heaving one last shovelful of snow over her shoulder when she hears:

“violet? is that you?” 

she turns around. and, okay the first thing she registers is ziggy running towards her, the husky toppling her over into the snow.

“i missed you too, zig,” vi laughs. 

she gets up as ziggy’s still bounding around in the snow, and sees your mom standing in the doorway, looking a little more tired and a little more gray. but the smile on her face when she sees that it is, in fact, vi — it’s so bright that the snow might not exactly melt away, but the years sure do. 

vi remembers making snow angels with you while your moms gossiped over tea, how the two of you would stomp inside with a mess of slush and snow while laughter echoed from the living room. vi remembers your mom keeping a comforting arm around her shoulder through her mom’s funeral while you held her hand. she remembers your mom helping her pick out the perfect corsage to match your suit at prom, making a joke about how next time it might be an engagement ring, and telling vi how proud her mother would have been of her at your high school graduation party. 

with the golden glow of nostalgia comes a crashing wave of guilt at what vi said to you last time you spoke. 

“come inside, sweetheart. i’ll make you some hot cocoa as a thank you.”

vi is tempted to reject the offer, but your mom looks so hopeful and vi’s fingers are about to freeze off, anyways. 

so your mom makes hot cocoa as vi defrosts, the two of them chatting in the familiar yellow kitchen that you and vi once almost burnt down while trying to bake a cake for powder’s birthday. even the magnets and paper memories decorating the fridge are the same, with the addition of an article about vi’s band that was featured in the rolling stone, pinned up by a ceramic cow. 

“she’s an art teacher now,” your mom tells vi after giving an update on ekko. she glances at the oven clock. “speaking of which — i know you just finished shoveling our driveway, but do you mind helping me with another favor?”

“after the world’s best hot chocolate? anything.”

“i told my daughter that i’d pick her up from work, and i’m wondering if you would be able to take care of that.” your mom smiles. “i’m sensing a bad migraine coming on.”

the last sip of hot chocolate trickles down vi’s throat like cement. she knew she’d be seeing you, but didn’t quite plan for how that….reunion might go.

“of course,” vi says. 

vi puts both of their mugs in the dishwasher, about to grab the car keys from the hook by the door when your mom calls out: 

“oh, and violet?” vi turns around. “i’m so glad you’re home.”

you’re talking to a student when vi enters the art room of your old high school. nothing else in the building had changed — same boring concrete, same scratched up lockers, same graffiti immortalizing whom hooked up with whom. this room is the exception, vibrant with how students’ art is displayed all around, paintings and drawings and collages, and you’ve strung up multicolored christmas lights that give the whole space a cozy ambiance. you look the part of a cool, young art teacher: wearing a simple dark purple turtleneck tucked into black jeans and the same combat boots you’ve had since tenth grade, paint stains on your skin that is exposed by rolled up sleeves, and a marker behind your ear. you’re standing in front of an easel, talking to the student who happens to notice vi before you do.

“holy shit. is that violet lanes?”

vi watches as your face scrunches up in confusion, and then falls into shock when you see her standing there.

“it seems that it is violet lanes,” you state coolly while the student squeals. “what are you doing here?”

“oh, i, uh,” vi clears her throat, her palms sweaty. why is her body reacting like she’s a teenager about to ask out her crush for the first time? “your mom wasn’t feeling great, asked if i could pick you up from work.”

“you guys are friends?” the student asks, eyes wide as they flick between you and vi. 

“we used to date, actually,” vi clarifies. wrong move, she realizes, because you can’t help but glare at her.

“oh my god.” the student squeals again and reaches in their pocket to whip out their phone. “i need to tell alyssa that ms. l/n was in a relationship with the violet lanes. are you guys gonna get back together? oh my god, have you come to win her back —”

“layla,” you clip, and by the furrow of layla’s brow, it seems like you’re not usually so stern. you smile at layla, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “you’ve done some great work today, but you’ll have to finish this when we’re back from winter break. do you mind giving ms. lanes and i a minute?”

layla nods once, gathers her things. when she walks past vi, she can’t help but ask for an autograph. vi complies, of course, even lets her take a selfie. a fan is a fan, after all.

and, quite frankly this is the only part of being in the band that she still enjoys: hearing how excited young girls are at the music she writes, the music that vi wished she had growing up, about girls liking girls, about girls falling in and out of love with each other. everything else is just an occupational hazard that vi’s getting more and more fed up with. 

when vi turns her attention back to you, you’re finished putting all the material away, wiping your hands with an already paint-stained towel.

“i meant what you’re doing back in town,” you explain, not quite meeting vi’s eyes. you pack away some books and your laptop into a supple leather briefcase, and slip on your coat. vi’s cheeks flush when you catch her watching you. 

“it…it doesn’t matter. i’m here for a while, though.” 

you sigh. “okay.” and you don’t say anything more. vi keeps up with you as you switch off the lights, lock the door, and stride to the parking lot in silence. when you get to the car, you extend your hand.

“i’m driving,” you say, gesturing at her to give you the keys. “we both know that you’re a terrible driver.”

“i’m not a terrible driver,” vi guffaws. 

“says the lesbian who gives the rest of us a bad name,” you quip, a hint of a smile dancing across your lips, like the first bout of sun after a winter storm. “c’mon, pretty girl. i’m not giving up, so unless you wanna freeze to death….” 

the nickname slips effortlessly from your tongue, so much so that you don’t even seem to realize it, but vi’s breath hitches and she’s more than happy to fold to your every whim if it means hearing you call her pretty one more time. 

“so….” vi glances over at you from the passenger seat. a snowy landscape passes outside the window, and you tap on the steering wheel to a generic christmas song that plays through the stereo. “you’re teaching high school now?” 

she wonders if you remember the last fight you had, almost two years ago to the day.

you keep your eyes on the road. “yeah. guess i graduated from finger-painting with kindergarteners.”

vi feels her cheeks heat up all over again. 

so, you do remember. 

she wonders if you’ve replayed it over and over again and hoped for a different ending like she did. she should have thought more about what to actually say to you —

“you know, i never understood why you liked this song so much,” you suddenly say when the radio starts playing dolly parton’s cover of ‘i’ll be home for christmas.’ 

vi can read between the lines, but she’s waiting for you to point out the irony in her preference for a song that’s about someone wanting to go home for christmas, something vi has deliberately avoided at all costs these past few years. 

“it just seems kinda sad,” you continue. 

“you love ‘last christmas,’ and that one’s pretty sad,” vi points out.

“sure, but it ends hopefully.”

“oh?” vi tilts her head towards you. “how’d you figure? 

“sure, it’s someone singing about heartbreak and how much it sucks during christmastime, but then there’s this hope that they still find true love down the line. it’s a maybe that isn’t hopeless.” you shrug. “meanwhile, your song ends with the lyric ‘if only in my dreams,’ which just seems too accepting of the fact that going home for christmas, being with the person they love — it might just be a dream.”

“i don’t know. some dreams do come true,” vi muses. 

by now, you’ve made it home. you put the car in park but keep the engine going, presumably to avoid becoming icicles. neither of you make a move to leave. 

you glance over at vi. “your dreams sure came true, ms. violet lanes,” you joke, but there’s an air of sadness to it.

“not all of them.”

“yeah? which ones haven’t?”

vi swallows the lump in her throat and hopes that you understand the look in her eyes. “let’s just say i’m working on them.”

you blink away and cut the engine.

….

you’re still dealing with the shock of seeing vi back in town when your brother, freshly home from college, suggests going skating. 

he can be fairly convincing, especially when he mentions that it’s a christmas season tradition, so, you prepare for what is essentially a double date with your brother, his girlfriend/your ex-girlfriend’s sister, and your ex-girlfriend, with isha as a fifth wheel.

should be fun. 

it turns out, despite all her past hockey experience, vi really cannot skate. in fact, skating seems to be the complete opposite of riding a bike: she’s terrible at it after years off the ice, essentially reenacting that scene from bambi. it’s easier to ignore vi’s presence when she’s sitting next to the snack bar, by herself, but then powder skates up next to you and asks if you’d be kind enough to please help her sister have a good time. you roll your eyes at her shit-eating grin, but it is a bit sad, watching vi on the sidelines. she’s wearing a beanie and a pair of sunglasses to hide her identity, and now she kinda looks like a divorced dad watching his grown kids pass him by while he’s stuck in a midlife crisis.

you convince vi to give skating another shot — it’s tradition after all — and pull her out onto the rink. you start by holding her from behind, keeping her hips steady until she gets the hang of it. you try to let go, but vi stumbles and reaches out for your gloved hand, and you melt into the familiarity of her fingers curled around yours. the two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm, first with you pulling vi along, then with her taking the lead, until vi almost knocks into a small child.

“see what i mean by you being a bad driver?” you jest, successfully maneuvering to avoid collision. 

then, you follow where vi’s eyes have settled — on powder and isha laughing and chasing each other around the rink. vi had asked earlier when isha had dyed her hair blue; you still have some residue under your nails from last weekend, when powder came for a study break and the three of you ended up helping isha achieve a new look she’d apparently been itching to try. 

“you know powder’s graduating this year?” 

“she overloaded her credits so she could get out of there as soon as possible,” you explain, having had many conversations with powder leading up to the decision. 

vi nods, her jaw clenched. you already know what she’s thinking, and frankly, you agree: that vi hasn’t been here, literally and figuratively. you also feel the warmth of vi’s skin radiating through her glove to yours, notice the slight flush to her freckled cheeks, how chapped her lips are from the cold, so much so that you’re tempted to share the vanilla chapstick you’ve got on your own lips, to kiss her deeply like you did last time you were here, together.

it’s only been three days since vi’s been back home. this is only the second time you’ve seen her, and you’re already falling back into old patterns, tempted to ask her to stay, to try again, even though you already know the answer.

except….not staying isn’t the deal breaker it used to be, so maybe trying again isn’t as hopeless as you think it is.

vi squeezes your hand, and you realize that you’ve stopped skating entirely. 

“hey. you still with me?”

you nod, decide to enjoy this moment for as long as you can, and the two of you glide across the ice.

…..

when you suggest making stove-top s’mores, it’s another item on the list of things she’d missed. 

a list that’s been growing a lot these past few days.

vi offers to make more once you’ve all run out, and ekko follows her into their kitchen while you, powder, and isha keep watching christmas specials in the living room. she turns on the gas stove, stabs a marshmallow through a wooden skewer and waits for it to roast — and, for ekko to say something.

“i don’t know what happened between you and my sister, but i need you to promise me that the tabloids aren’t true. that you and that kiramman chick didn’t hook up…at least until after y’all broke up.” 

“or, what, you’re gonna challenge me to an arm wrestle? think you can finally beat me?”

“oh, i know it.”

a pause. the marshmallow catches on fire and vi blows on it to quell the damage.

“i didn’t cheat on her.” she throws out the burnt marshmallow and gives it another shot. “i would never. does….does she think i did?”

ekko shrugs. “not sure. some of those articles are pretty convincing. but, since you’re promising me that you didn’t…”

“i didn’t.”

“then that saves me from kicking your ass.” ekko nods once and uncrosses his arms, handing vi some graham crackers and chocolate. “actually, i could use your help with something.”

“sure.”

“she applied to this great art residency in new york, like, on whim. the only people she’s told are me, powder, and vander….i think she’s nervous to tell mom, at least until she knows for sure she’s gotten in, but this is the most excited i’ve seen her be about something in a while, and she worked really hard on her application…” 

“i’m sure she did,” vi states. “what do you need my help with?”

“convincing her to go.” 

“i’d love to help, but i’m not sure i’m someone she’d wanna hear from, especially about this. she was never a fan of me leaving to pursue my dreams.”

“she was never a fan of you leaving,” ekko corrects. “she’s still a fan of you pursuing your dreams.” he juts his chin out at the article stuck to the fridge. 

vi had just assumed that your mom had pinned that up.

“okay.” vi says. “i’ll talk to her.” 

a plateful of semi-burnt s’mores later, and vi and ekko return to the living room with the rest of you. 

vi forgot how nice this felt, all of you cuddled on the couch, ziggy included, watching how the grinch stole christmas. she half expects her mom to walk in through the door without even knocking, shake the snow off her hair, and hold up a batch of pre-baked gingerbread people she’d gotten for the kids to decorate.

but that’s not happening. other than isha, none of you are kids anymore and things can never be the same.

and yet — you glance over at vi and give her a sticky marshmallow smile, and she feels her heart grow three sizes.

….

baby, i swear it’s not what it looks like. the record label thought it would be good promo to get a picture of me kissing under the mistletoe…’tis the season and all that…..cait and i were both really drunk and things got a bit out of hand….but it looks worse than it is. i swear on my mother’s grave that nothing happened.

please call me back, baby…..i’m so fucking sorry….please. 

it’s not christmas without at least hearing your voice. 

….

track 4: river by joni mitchell

(winter — age 23)

it’s hard to believe that hours ago, you were kissing vi backstage and showering her with praise after the concert. she was happy to indulge in your excitement, even though she was all sweaty and her ears were still ringing from the crowd. 

more than happy, in fact. phone sex can only go so far, and it’d been too long since vi had seen you writhe and heard you whimper for her firsthand. 

“i missed you so fucking much,” you groan, tightening your grip on vi’s hair. it’s now an inky black instead of fuschia — the band’s starting to lean more punk rock. 

a particularly hard thrust is her way of telling you that she missed you too. so fucking much. she throws your legs over her shoulders, pushing the strap deeper inside you and digging her knees into the mattress as she coaxes you through another orgasm. you pull her down for one last searing kiss, your tongue searching each crevice of her mouth. 

“i can’t believe you’re here,” vi continues a few moments later, after you’re both cleaned up and getting dressed. she wants to add something along the lines of i love you, but she bites back the sentiment. she’ll save that sappy shit for later tonight, when she finally gets down on one knee for you. 

you glance back at her from where you’re pulling out a sparkly silver dress from your side of the closet (and isn’t that such a slip of the mind? your side, as if it’s a shared closet and a shared bedroom and a shared home; if she thought about it more, though, she would realize that, though she has no problem asking you to marry her, she’s still terrified at the thought of staying in one place for more than a few months).

“me neither,” you smile. 

vi walks over to you, presses her half-dressed body against your lingerie-clad form (vi’s sure you wore this fuschia set just to drive her insane; it’s working). she lodges her hand behind your ear and pulls you in closer, kisses you deeply because you’re here and she missed you so fucking much and she’s so ready to make you her wife.

she could write a whole record just about the taste of your lips: the sweetness of vanilla chapstick, the saltiness of sweat and the headiness lingering from the wetness you lapped up from between her legs.

you pull away first. vi tries not to stare at how your chest heaves, your breasts straining against intricate lace. 

“we, um.” you clear your throat. you slip your hand underneath vi’s blazer, and she groans when you make contact with the exposed, burning skin of her abdomen. vi thinks you’re about to suggest another round, or two, or ten, but instead you untangle yourself from her and say: “we should probably get ready.”

the after party is going well. the club’s busy, the music’s good, and the drinks are flowing.

you seem to be having a great time until someone (probably cait or maddie, on cait’s behalf) lets it slip that the band’s heading to london later in the month to start recording their new album before the end of the year….something vi decidedly did not want to tell you until later tonight, after the high of the proposal, after she’s promised you that she’s dedicated to this relationship, that she’s always been dedicated to you. 

instead, vi’s trailing behind you as you angrily stomp towards the bathroom, her mind scrambling to come up with a way out of this argument.

there’s a line, but you cut in front and slip inside as soon as someone walks out. 

“wait, what the fu —”

you slam the door and lock it behind you once you’re both inside, ignoring the subsequent banging and jiggling of the handle.

“please, baby, let me explain —”

“i can’t fucking believe you,” your voice is steady, measured, and for some reason that makes vi even more nervous. “you give empty promise after empty promise that you’ll be more present, but something always gets in the way, is always more important than —”

“don’t you dare say that you’re not important to me. i offer to fly you out anywhere to be with me, but you’ve only taken me up on the offer once. twice, now.”

“it’s been five years, vi. five years of us staying together because….god, at this point i don’t even know why — ”

“do you not understand how much i love you?” vi raises her voice over the sound of the club music outside. “i was gonna propose tonight.”

you stare at her, then start to laugh.

“please tell me you’re joking.”

“i’m not.”

“if you think marriage will save us, then you’re delusional. what was your plan — call me your wife while we’re thousands of miles apart, but not even have the time to answer my calls? we’re barely in a relationship now, vi. all that’s left between us are missed calls and voicemails —” 

“oh that’s really all that’s left between us?” 

“i love you, violet. i have since we were kids. but, now, there’s also all this — the parties, the crowds, the fame….you’ve gone all over the world, and you can’t even be bothered to visit your family during the holidays.”

“well i’m sorry that my ambitions are bigger than that nothing town we grew up in,” vi snaps. “i can’t believe you’re throwing a tantrum because i’m not making it home for christmas. for what? so we can all reminisce by the fireplace, pretend that we can be kids again, even though things can —” vi chokes back a sob, soothes it with a healthy dose of anger. “things can never be the same. you need to grow the fuck up.”

“maybe you should be the one to grow up!” you finally yell. “convincing yourself that this relationship is working, meanwhile you’re running away from everything and everyone you grew up with because it reminds you of your —”

“at least i’m not afraid to actually go after my dreams,” vi cuts you off before you can finish that sentence, uses the broken shards of your words against you. “don’t you want more for your life than finger-painting with a bunch of kindergarteners? you’re gonna end up just like your deadbeat mom, going nowhere, drinking yourself to sleep, all alone, with nothing to show for the life you’ve lived.”

as soon as the words leave her mouth, vi wishes she could take them back. you don’t bother swallowing your tears, letting them rush down your cheeks. vi digs her nails into her palms to prevent herself from reaching out and wiping them. it wouldn’t make sense, anyways. she’s the reason you’re crying. 

you take a deep, shaky breath.

“yeah, well, i’m glad that your mom isn’t alive to see what a selfish asshole you’ve become.” there’s a pause, and vi feels her stomach turn at your casual cruelty, your quiet anger. “i’m gonna pack up my stuff and catch the first flight out of here. merry fucking christmas and happy fucking new year. have a nice life.”

vi screams and throws the velvet box against the door you’ve slammed shut behind you. the hot tears that were building in her throat finally boil over. the engagement ring clatters onto the floor.

…..

vi? it’s me. not sure if you’ve blocked my number. i wouldn’t blame you. i know it’s been, like, a year, but it feels weird not hearing your voice for this long, especially around the holidays. well, i guess i could just turn on the radio….it’s not the same, though. anyways, merry christmas. happy new year, too. and….and i’m sorry. 

please come home.

…..

track 5: i’ll be home for christmas by dolly parton 

(winter — now)

karaoke at the last drop used to be one of vi’s favorite christmas traditions, so you decidedly avoided it at all cost since the breakup. vander always tried to convince you to join, but he understood and even made sure to not give you a shift during that time after you started working there at 21. 

you kept the job because, evidently, high school art teachers don’t make a ton of money, and you would one day like to move out of your mother’s house. 

which, as it turns out, might happen sooner rather than later. you applied for this artist residency in new york, and, yeah, you put time and effort and heart into your application, but you were sure that you’d be rejected. while you got your acceptance email this morning, and you were so fucking overjoyed at first, the thought of leaving still terrifies you, so you’ll postpone worrying about that until after the holidays. that’s what they’re for, anyways: a break from reality, a peek into a cozy snow-covered world where everyone is festive and joyous and worry-free.   

right now though, you’re feeling neither festive nor joyous. gert called in sick, and no one else is able to cover for them, so you’re stuck at the last drop on christmas eve, listening to one of your old high school classmates drunkenly fumble the lyrics of darlene love’s ‘christmas (baby, please come home).’

about three verses in, vi walks into the bar with mylo and claggor, flakes of fluffy snow melting into her grayish pink hair. you’re already pouring their drinks before they reach the counter. mylo and claggor offer their sincere appreciation, chattering away as they leave to snag a booth in the corner. vi stares at her drink before grabbing the beer glass. 

“you remember.” 

“are you surprised?”

vi smiles. “no. it’s just nice. cait keeps insisting i order gin martinis instead. says it’s classier.” 

something sour curdles in your stomach. “yeah, well. i’ve always liked you the way you are.”

that probably ended up sounding like you’re still pining after vi (which you’re….not) rather than the bitter comment you intended it to be. 

vi’s soft blue eyes search yours. 

“i better get back to the boys,” she finally says. “maybe sign up for a song or two.”

you’re busy clearing a table when you hear her voice again. actually — a silence fills the bar, and it’s replaced by the lush rumble of vi singing ‘last christmas.’

you watch her as she performs, eyes locked on yours, and it’s over before you know it. you feel like you should go say something to her, but then there are a bunch of excited fans that she has to attend to, signing autographs, taking photos.

as you swallow your disappointment, the normal chatter of the bar resumes. you’re walking back to the kitchen when you feel someone pinch the back of your thigh, right under your ass. you whip around to find that old classmate who butchered a christmas classic an hour or so before (james, you think his name is, from ninth grade science), with the most arrogant smirk.

“hey, gorgeous. my friends and i were just arguing over who should take you home tonight.” he gestures towards a table of guys who look like equally preppy assholes. “i won the chugging contest.”

“good for you,” you say, balancing a tray of empty glasses. “grope someone in here again, and you’ll be sorry you did.” you turn around to get back to work, but james grabs your wrist and stands up abruptly so you’re chest-to-chest.

“i don’t think you understand what i’m offering, baby.” you gag at the nickname and the stench of beer on his breath. you’re a bartender, you’re used to getting hit on, but creeps like this are the worst.

you rip away from his grasp. 

“i’m not interested,” you snap. “and i’m not your baby.”

“listen.” james puts his hands on your shoulders, and if both of your hands were free, you would promptly push him away. everyone’s having a good time and you don’t wanna cause a scene, so you try to think of ways to get this asshole out of the bar and into the snow without much of a fight. “you know, santa might come down your chimney on christmas eve, but if you’ve been a good girl this year i’ll come down your —” 

“there you are!” powder’s voice is loud over the sound of someone singing another generic christmas carol. she knocks into your side, breathless. “sorry we’re late. had some car trouble.”

“well, hello.” he removes his hands from your shoulders, shifts his predatory gaze from you to powder. 

oh, fuck no.

“powder,” you keep your voice steady even if your heart is racing. “go back to the table. i’ll be there in a sec.”

james reaches out for powder, but you punch him square in the jaw before he can so much as touch her, the tray of glasses crashing on the floor. 

james’ flirtatious smile is long gone, replaced with the kind of anger only egotistical, self-important jerks have when they don’t get what they want and they’ve taken a blow to their ego. 

in fact, he’s angry enough to deliver a punch right back to your face.

you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you stumble, but powder manages to catch you before you tumble into the broken glass. she holds you as people start yelling. you think that vander rushes over, too, shouting at james to get the fuck out of his bar and never step foot in it again. 

you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and everything is all a bit fuzzy. powder tries her best, but you slump your body weight into hers and she almost topples over.

“i’ve got her.” vi’s surprisingly calm voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist to steady you. 

somehow, you find yourself in the bathroom, sitting on the counter as vi stands between your legs. she carefully examines your injury, but you notice how she avoids making eye contact. 

you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you haven’t been this close in a while.

“remember teaching me how to throw a punch?” the question slips past your lips before you can stop it.

vi looks slightly amused, and she finally meets your gaze. “‘course i do,” she hums. “you tried to convince me to help you start an all-female fight club at school.”

a smile creeps onto your face, despite the pain from your nose.

she remembers. 

somewhere within her, vi holds on to fragments of you.

“thank god the principal vetoed it. would’ve been a disaster,” she continues.

vi wipes the blood off your face, the sleeve of her silk red button-down now stained a darker crimson. “how’s your hand?” she asks. 

you flex your fingers. “it’s been better,” you answer, your knuckles slightly aching. “totally worth it.”

vi smiles sadly. “i guess you’ve been the one protecting my sister while i’ve been away.”

while i’ve been away. 

the reminder feels like a stab to the heart. 

vi’s back home, sure, but only for a limited time. 

her fingers graze your cheek, and the breath hitches in your throat.

“you know, i only wanted to start that fight club as an elaborate plan to spend more time together,” you confess, opting to preserve the delicate bubble of nostalgia you’d stumbled into together. “we were each so busy….i had studio, and you were always away at hockey games. it wasn’t realistic in the end, though.”

“i would’ve stayed if you asked,” she tells you, and you wonder exactly what she might be referring to. 

you swallow the lump in your throat. “it’s what you loved, though.”

“but i - i loved you, more. you had to have known that.”

“yeah, well. i loved you, too,” you explain, and it’s clear that neither of you are talking about a lesbian fight club. “whether it was hockey, or music….as long your heart was in it, it was more worth it to let you go, to not stand in the way of your dreams.” 

“you were my dream.”

you scoff, cheeks heating up, and look away. “you probably say that to all the girls.”

“no.” vi guides your chin towards her. “just the one.”

it’s hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on vi’s— messy, urgent. noses bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. she cradles your face in her hands, and you wrap your legs around her waist to bring her closer. you taste beer on her tongue, and maybe a hint of lime, but it’s overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. when you run out of air, you pull away. it’s clearer now: you’re not dizzy from the adrenaline, but dizzy from her. vi’s gaze is heavy on yours as she traces your top lip with her thumb.

“vi,” you whimper, itching to kiss her again. 

“you’re still bleeding.”

vi wipes away the blood with the sleeve of her shirt. before either of you can do or say anything more, there’s a knock on the door. vander, wondering if you’re okay and if maybe you could hurry up and get back to work. 

you can’t sleep that night. before, staying up on christmas eve was an elaborate operation to catch santa. now, it’s overthinking a very hot kiss and all the unresolved tension between you and your ex-girlfriend next door. 

logically, you knew that you missed vi, everything about her and who she is, the way you would laugh and argue and make love. but the rush of feeling her tongue licking into your mouth, her body melding into yours after being apart for so long….

you’re scared that she won’t feel the same, but you’re even more terrified of letting the moment slip through both your fingers without at least trying. 

so, you grab your phone, deciding to finally reach out to her, when by some christmas miracle you get a text from her.

she climbs through your window not long after, wearing plaid boxer shorts and a zaun university sweatshirt you’ve been looking for, for about five years. you didn’t bother to change, either, only wearing an oversized shirt. you sit cross-legged on your bed as she waits by the window. vi stares at your chest for a good few seconds, and you remember that you’re wearing one of her band’s concert tees, faded from years of wear. 

“so, um,” vi starts, her voice as soft as the well-worn cotton of your shirt. “we have so much shit to talk about and figure out, but, i, uh, can’t stop thinking about early tonight —”

“vi.” the swarm of butterflies in your stomach is replaced by something more delicate, more urgent. “do you wanna come sit?”

vi swallows thickly, looking between you and the still open window. a winter breeze rushes through. you shiver, thinking she might just turn around and disappear into the cold night. instead, she shuts the window, removes her snow-covered boots, and settles onto the bed next to you.

you place a tentative hand on her cheek, still cold and slightly flushed. she shudders when you run your thumb over the tattoo under her eye.

“i know there’s a lot we have to work through.” you take a deep breath as she shifts closer, suddenly dizzy from the familiar scent of her winter pine old-spice body wash. “right now….right now, i just want you.”

“yeah?” vi smirks, her shyness melting away. she settles a warm hand on your bare thigh. “how do you want me?”

you exhale sharply when her hand travels higher, dull nails scraping at the fabric of your underwear. 

“it’s cute that you’re flustered,” she quips, leaning in even closer. her breath is warm and heavy against your lips. “because i’ve spent so many night replaying all the dirty, nasty things we used to —”

you tug her sweatshirt and pull her back onto the bed, feeling her body solid against yours. the vibration of her groan shudders through your body when you crash your lips onto hers with such hunger, you’d think you had been starving without her. 

“how’s about an encore, superstar?” you drawl. 

you bite your lip hard at how vi nods at you desperately, eyes all dark and lustful.

“you read my mind,” she breathes. by now, her hand has reached the hem of your shirt, and she pushes up the cotton to reveal the supple skin of your stomach. you give her permission to remove it, leaving your top half exposed.

her lips nip and suck down your body until she reaches the waistband of your panties. she pulls it up with her teeth, the elastic snapping back when she lets go. you whine her name, and she looks up at you with dark eyes. 

“can i?” her breath fans over your navel, her nails digging into your hips as she waits for your answer.  

“yes. please.”

you hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but you could feel vi smirk against your inner thigh before sinking her teeth into it. you whimper, and vi salves her tongue over the area to ease the sting before removing your underwear. she positions your legs over her shoulders for better access to where you need her most.

vi moves her tongue and fingers in all the ways she remembers makes you shake, curl your toes, and grind down on her face. in return, you grip her pink hair, tightly, and utter praise in all the ways you remember makes her shake. 

“just like that, pretty girl,” you encourage, practically melting into the mattress. it feels so good — dangerously good, intoxicating, even — to be devoured by vi.  “keep doing a good job and i’ll return the favor later.”

vi’s moan vibrates throughout your body and she becomes faster, reaches her tongue deeper, bringing you over the edge. she leaves a few more bites on your body on her way up to meet you and when she does, vi’s lips and chin are shining with your release.

you lean forward slightly to lick it up. you ghost your mouth over hers.

“your turn,” you taunt and run your thumb over her tattooed cheek. 

you twist your calf around vi’s leg and flip your positions. she lets out a yelp when her back hits the mattress. once you’re hovering over her, legs and arms on either side of her body, you do what you’re sure you’d never get tired of doing: you kiss her, passionately, deeply. you bite her lip as you pull away. 

there was always a bit of jealousy that gnawed at you, became your very-own shoulder devil that you just couldn’t shake when you were together, no matter how hard you tried. it was no secret that vi was admired by many, that girls around the world were crushing on her, hoping they’d catch her eye, get their chance with her. you never felt like she was yours, and yours alone. 

but you do get a deep satisfaction knowing that right here, right now, you’re the only person who gets to see her like this — pink hair splayed across the pillows like her very own halo, but the rest of her telling a much less-angelic, much more sinister story: her lips swollen and kiss-bitten, her cheeks a devilish shade of red, her eyes dark and lustful and waiting for you to make the next move. 

"you want me to have my way with you?" you whisper, voice honeyed with desire.

vi whimpers, a sound that fuels the fire in your abdomen. "yes."

you practically rip off her sweatshirt, kiss down her jaw, her neck, her exposed chest and sternum down to her stomach. vi lifts her hips from the bed so that you can remove her boxers, and you’re delighted to find nothing else underneath. 

you’re greeted by her glistening pussy. blowing onto her folds, you run your tongue from her hole to her clit, loving how you already feel her slick coating your lips. vi spread her legs even wider, and you take the opportunity to sink two fingers into her cunt. you know her body, as well as you know your own, as well as she knows yours. you flick your gaze up, view slightly blocked by the pink curls of her bush, but you can still picture it — how her eyes roll back, how her mouth opens to release a perfectly delicious gasp.

"god, i've barely touched you and you're already about to cum. did you miss me that much?" you tease, feeling her clench around your fingers. as if you aren’t subtly rutting your hips against the mattress, eager to ease the throbbing between your legs. 

all you get in response is whine. it’s muffled, and you crane your neck upward to see her biting down on her knuckles, so hard you’re worried she might break skin. 

unacceptable.

the rest of the world gets to hear her every day, any time they please. you want to be serenaded by the lyrics of her want, the notes of her desire. all for you and you alone.

with your other hand, you reach up to pinch one of her pierced nipples, always so sensitive. "answer me, violet."

vi props herself up on her elbows to look at you, just as you remove your mouth from her.

"yes!" she sings, practically sobbing. you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel the throbbing between your thighs intensify, hearing the frantic lilt of her voice — like she needs you and only you. "i missed you so fucking much. please, just do something."

at her request, you move up the bed so that the two of you are face to face, one of your hands holding her chin while the other is two fingers deep in her cunt. you add another, just to reveal in the timber of her sultry moan. she tries to bring her hand back, to quiet herself, but you shake your head. 

with your thumb, you trace over her lips, uneven and scarred and imperfectly beautiful. "open." 

vi obeys you instantly. you spit in her mouth, heart racing as you watch her swallow the combination of your saliva and her cum without question.

you continue fucking her with your fingers until she moans, louder and louder as she reaches her peak.

removing your fingers from her pussy, you lock eyes with her as you bring your syrupy fingers to your mouth and suck off her juices. then, you kiss underneath her ear, lips sticking slightly to her skin, and you whisper: "now i know why they say you have the voice of an angel.”

“fuck,” she exhales, the breath turning into a chuckle as you kiss underneath her chin, where you know she’s ticklish.

"one more time for me, okay, pretty girl? i want to feel you against me," you whisper. "i want to watch you fall apart, knowing that i'm the one who makes you feel this good."

vi nods, allowing you to adjust your positions so that your cunts are touching. you start fucking her down into the mattress and she sits up slightly so that your nipples brush against each other, the cold metal of her piercings encouraging the roll of your hips, her nails digging into the curve of your ass to bring you impossibly closer. 

“i missed you too. so fucking much,” you finally admit.  you flick one of the silver rings before leaning down and wrapping your lips around her nipple. 

“i missed these, too,” you add as you release her nipple with a pop, and vi moans. you’re grinning from ear to ear because, holy shit, vi is here and you’re together and you’re both happy, if only at the ecstasy of your silken cunts gliding against each other, at the taste of the other slicking your tongues, as thick as nectar and twice as sweet.

she laughs — love and magic and everlasting bliss — and you have to capture her lips now if you want to swallow the sound. you feel it bounce through your ribcage, awaken something deep within you that you feared was lost to time.

vi thrusts her hips upwards, presses harder against the seam of your cunt until you’re gushing against each other, not quite sure who’s making what mess. 

strings of cum connect you as you remove your body from hers. for a few seconds, you both lay on your backs, staring up at the ceiling and trying to catch your breath. vi drapes an arm over her eyes, chest heaving. 

you throw on some clothes and leave the room, hoping that vi’s still there when you get back.

….

vi worries that if she opens her eyes, she’ll wake up from this dream. 

she’ll be in some uncomfortable bed in london or tokyo or los angeles. the dull ache between her legs would be thanks to some girl who’d be eager to text all her friends and spill all the details about what vi likes in bed, or caitlyn who would tell vi to shave next time, darling, or i won’t let you fuck me again anytime soon.

instead, vi hears the creak of a door opening, feet tiptoeing along the floorboards. the mattress shifts with the weight of someone between her legs, though their body is not touching hers. 

“vi, baby,” a gentle coaxing, a familiar voice, pulling towards something she forgot she needed. her heart soars when she finds you kneeling on the bed, holding a damp towel in one hand and a glass of water in another. 

“yeah?” her voice is hoarse, but her throat doesn’t sting in the same way it does after a concert. it feels tender, well-used, well-loved.

you hold out the cup of water, watch vi eagerly gulp down half of it before she realizes what she’s done.

“shit, i — did you want some?”

you smile and shake your head. “i had some downstairs after my shower.” it’s then that vi registers the water dripping from the ends of your hair, soaking the fabric of her (fine, your) sweatshirt. “i’m gonna clean you up. is that okay?”

vi nods.

okay? okay? vi thinks she might have whiplash. 

it’s been a while since someone has fucked her so well she’d be satisfied for years and then touched her so tenderly afterwards. you run the damp cloth over vi’s sticky, sweaty skin, occasionally leaning down to press soft lips where you’d left teeth marks and bruises before. 

“there.” you throw the cloth on the floor. “so, um. do you wanna stay….?” 

you bite your lip as you wait for vi to answer. you start picking at your nail polish, too. vi sits up and grabs your hand. 

“i do,” she soothes. “do you want me to?”

your smile brightens the entire room and you kiss vi before muttering:

“i do.”

vi slips on her boxers as you settle into the bed next to her, leaving her top half bare. she notices the sketchbook on your bedside table, and she lifts it up at you, a silent question if she can flip through. you take it from her as you shift to sit between her legs, her chest warm against your back. the room’s only illuminated by the string of multicolored christmas lights you’d left on, but vi can see the talent, the passion behind your work as you walk her through your sketchbook. you tell her about the techniques you’ve been working on and new mediums you want to explore, about how you want to make the kind of art that makes people appreciate the beauty in the everyday. 

“i always loved your art,” she muses. vi cranes her neck slightly, places a kiss on your shoulder then one on your cheek. “the world would be more beautiful if you shared it.”

you hum and place the sketchbook on your bedside table. you each shift to your sides, facing each other; vi notches a leg around your hips, and you throw an arm around her waist, fingers trailing down her tattooed back. 

“ekko talked to you, huh?”

“i would have said that even if he hadn’t,” vi promises. “so….have you heard anything yet?”

“well….yeah,” you sigh, smiling shyly. “i got in, actually.” 

“really? that’s amazing, baby.” she beams at you, excitedly cupping your face in her hands, leaving small kisses across your cheeks until you’re giggling. 

“okay, okay,” you laugh. “i don’t know if i’m gonna go yet.”

vi hums knowingly. she presses her forehead against yours. 

“i know you’re scared, baby,” she says softly. “but sometimes it’s just a leap of faith.” 

“i know.” you pause, gnawing at your bottom lip while your eyes fixate on the scar on her upper lip. “can i ask you something?

“anything.”

“when you proposed to me….” her body tenses up, but you brush your hand over her bicep and the tension in her muscles dissipates. “was that a leap of faith? like, were you scared?”

“well, not at first.” she takes a shuddery breath, her voice suddenly small. “i always thought that we’d be together….i just didn’t think through how we’d make it work, i guess. i didn’t mean to mess things up, though.”

“hey.” vi leans into the hand you cup around her cheek. “we both messed up. we never actually talked, you know? but….i’m glad we are, now.” you swallow. “i still love you, vi.”

vi exhales. “you know, girls tell me that they love me pretty much every day.” 

you can’t help it — you roll your eyes, and vi laughs. because, truthfully, her heart has felt more full at your admission of love just now than it ever has for an area of screaming fans.

“there’s a point to this, i promise,” she says, nudging her nose against yours. “i used to get such a thrill from it….but then i think about what you said earlier. my heart — it’s just not in it anymore. all the band is now is drama and gossip and compromises of fame over art, and…. i don’t know. it’s not really what i want anymore. i want to be with you. for real, this time.”

you blink at her; she can feel your chest pulsing against hers like a hummingbird.

“would you, um, if i were to take that leap of faith and do that artist residency, would you —”

“anywhere you wanna go,” vi promises. she thinks about it a bit more….how nice it’s been to be home for the holidays, how nice it would be to come home year round.  “preferably close enough so we can have dinner at home on the weekends.” 

“sounds like a plan,” you smile.

the two of you twist closer underneath the flannel sheets, sink into the mattress, and gaze up at the faded glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to your ceiling until you fall asleep in each other’s arms.

you jolt awake a few hours later, several firm knocks on the door and ekko shouting:

“it’s christmas! get the fuck up before ziggy eats all the bacon!”

beside you, vi protects you from the frosty winter morning. her body radiates warmth, and her eyes flutter open, ever so slightly, as you gently shake her shoulder. 

she groans, turning on her back, rubbing sleep from her eye. 

“i better go.” 

“....yeah.”

you flush when you glance over as vi’s slipping on her sweatshirt, rose-petal bruises delicate across her skin. she opens the window, hair still mussed up, and a gust of frigid air rushes into the room. 

the image is so familiar: vi, one leg in your room and another out the window. you feel like a teenager again, scrambling to get dressed and avoid anyone hearing that you’d snuck your girlfriend into your room late at night. but there’s something else now, too — you imagine this becoming routine: waking up next to each other every day, swapping clothes, kissing over coffee and pancakes at breakfast. a place where the two of you might create some new memories, build a shared life together. and much more, so much more that feels like it could be your reality, sooner rather than later. 

you’re so deep in thought that you don’t notice vi rushing back towards you. she kisses you and kisses you, until your lungs are burning.

"merry christmas, baby,” she mumbles against your lips.

you grin back at her. “merry christmas, vi.”

....

hi baby, i know you’re at studio right now, but i forgot to ask you this morning: how do you feel about sending out holiday cards this year? i know they’re kind of cheesy, but it seems like the type of thing married couples might do…..

anyways, we’ll talk about it when you get home. i’m test-driving this new recipe for brussel sprouts to bring to dinner at my dad’s. 

i’ll see you later. love you!

[stalkedbytrains]

[Behold! More! As requested by a lovely person on my kofi]

It had been a weird week if you're being perfectly honest.

Your usual bread guy was held hostage by one of the new weird upstart villain that has been bucking the trend of signing up with the Villain Union, so you didn't have the good sourdough for a few days. Which would have been fine if you had the time to make it yourself but you haven't had the time. And honestly your sourdough isn't nearly as good as Jesse's.

Fearsome Night has been coming in as something of a weird regular. He's... not subtle.

And you don't want to cast aspersions on anyone, especially a super villain. But like... he came in whatever he considers his non-villain persona to scout the place, and it was clear that he was a super villain.

He might as well have had the newspaper with the eyes cut out for as subtle as he was being in your shop.

Still ordered the Equinox and chips.

And, again, he was extremely not subtle, since someone in front of him ordered the Fearsome Night with "extra fearsome" he let out a loud whoop that he utterly failed as disguising as a cough.

If you didn't know any better, you'd suspect that he was waiting to see if Equinox would come in and order from you.

He didn't, at least not while Fearsome was lurking around.

Adrienne Moore did come in and get a double Vestige on rye though. The entire shop went eerily silent as you made the sandwich. She was intimidating as hell. And it was interesting to see Fearsome make eye contact and not react or do anything to notorious rule breaking hero.

You could have sworn there was some recognition there.

No one in the shop dare commented on her ordering the sandwich named after her infamous villain mother.

At least Adrienne tipped super well. Always did.

Eventually Fearsome Night didn't come in for a few days, and you were honestly a little grateful. This weird energy he was bringing in was not making for a healthy working environment and you don't know how chummy you want to get with a super villain.

Finally at the end of the week, you were close to finishing up for the night. You needed to bag up the last of the day old bread to take to the local homeless shelter, mop, and then lock up.

The bell over the door rang and in walked Equinox of all people.

You tried to bite your tongue, you really did, but you hadn't managed to fully leave 'customer service' mode yet.

"Hey there, haven't seen you in a little bit. You good?"

You shouldn't have asked. You shouldn't have opened that door.

Very rarely will someone see the opening created by small talk and just answer honestly. It's always off-putting.

"Yeah, been busy. You know, the job," they say as they gesture to their elaborate costume.

You nod politely. "Usual?" you ask to try and shift the subject but somehow you know that it isn't going to work.

"Yeah, Fearsome Night on sourdough."

You grimace. "Out of sourdough this week. Sorry. My guy got held hostage by Siege Works or whatever that new guy was that took over the library. He's taking some time off to recover and stuff."

"Damn that villain! He can't stop until he ruins everything he touches!"

"Sorry. I can do any of the other usual breads."

"Fine, can I get it with rye then?"

"Sure," you mutter and try to distract yourself with the sandwich crafting.

"Yeah I was going to come in," Equinox says to fill the dead air, "but I saw Fearsome Night was here. So I thought it would be awkward if I ordered his sandwich in front of him."

"Yeah... he's been something of a regular this week. He's ordered like 12 sandwiches from me this week."

"Really? Do I want to ask?"

You plead, beg, silently, that they don't ask what you know they are going to ask.

"What sandwich does he get?"

You look up from the mostly completed sandwich. You hope that your look is conveying enough sad pleading to get them to relent the question. You don't want to be in the middle of this. It's so weird. It's awkward.

But they don't relent.

"He's a vegetarian apparently so he gets and Equinox. Anyways! Here's your," you say. As you hand them the sandwich and start to say the name outloud when who should bust in, causing the bell over your door to dance and happy little jingle.

"Fearsome Night," all three of you say at the same time. No one else adds the "on rye" but you do.

"I KNEW IT!" he shouts.

"Don't read into this! They make a great sandwich!" Equinox says, trying to defend themself.

"Yes I do," you say at the same time that Fearsome Night says, "Yes they do!"

"YOU LIKE ME! I mean... YOU LIKE MY SANDWICH!" Fearsome Night declares.

"We're closing soon. I have to mop," you say, but no one is paying attention.

"That doesn't mean anything! Don't you dare think any more of this!" Equinox counters.

"It's going to be eight dollars. Here's your chips."

"HA! YOU EVEN LIKE BARBECUE CHIPS! THE MOST SUPERIOR CHIP FLAVOR!"

"What does that even have to do with anything?" Equinox counters.

"It doesn't," you mutter, even though neither of them is paying attention to you.

"IT HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH!"

"TO DO WITH WHAT?"

"I KNEW THERE WAS SOME SEXY KIND OF SPARK HERE! WHEN WE FOUGHT BY THE LIGHT HOUSE LAST YEAR!"

"WHY DO YOU ALWAYS SHOUT?"

"STOP DEFLECTING THE QUESTION!"

"Mister Fearsome Night," you try to interject and get nowhere.

"You are insufferable!" Equinox says.

"You like it!" Fearsome Night counters.

"GUYS!" you finally shout. They turn to you as if they just now realized that you were still there. "I'm closing shop now. Here's your Equinox and chips. Here's your Fearsome Night and chips. This is on the house. Now please leave."

"I DID NOT ORDER A SANDWICH!"

"I KNOW!" you shout back. "But now you don't have an excuse to not sit and eat together. There's a nice secluded little park a block north. Now I really have to mop so I can go home and shower!"

"OH! Uh... thank you," Fearsome Night said awkwardly.

Equinox took their own sandwich with some reluctance and a little shame, like they had just gotten caught doing something embarrassing.

"Thank you," they muttered.

"Yes, yes, you're welcome, now please, please leave. And I swear if you ever do this kind of thing in my shop again I will ban both of you from ever returning. And you may be thinking 'oh this cute and very talented sandwich maker can't ban a super villain and super hero from their shop who do they think they are to challenge us?' I want to remind you that I have a standing order for Mariana and their whole entourage. And Dayline comes in every Sunday for a coffee and a breakfast sandwich. If you want me telling my best costumers why they might not be getting their stuff, try me."

Suddenly both supers were very humble.

"Thank you," they both say quietly.

"Go. Eat. I'll see you later," you say as you push them fully out the door.

The bell jingles as the door settles into it's closed position.

You turn the lock, and flip the open sign to closed. The last thing you hear is, "I guess we should go to the park?"

"I HEAR IT IS LOVELY THIS TIME OF NIGHT!"

You own a sandwich shop in the heart of a superhero city. After gaining customers by making sandwiches based on heroes, you decided to try making some based on villains. Today, a villain stopped to review theirs.

[muniimyg]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ SUPERNOVA // JJK ੈ✩‧₊˚

01 | 02 | ♡ 03

— stuck in an unspoken love triangle, oc and jungkook face the end of it all

au/genre:

mean girl au

love triangle

childhood friends to lovers

note: omg ! the end <3

//

jungkook had a plan. 

he was going to show you around the new exhibit, confess, and ask to be your boyfriend. his entire life, he waited for signs and for the perfect time—only for him to realize that there will never be a moment where bells ring and tell him; now. 

no. 

you see, after all this time—for his entire life—you have been the quiet. 

his quiet. 

all his life, it’s like his eyes only focused on you. everything and everyone around him was blurry and the only real clarity he had in his life was art and you… and as corny as it is; that’s what you are to him entirely. 

art. 

from your pottery, to the way you look, and to the way you simple are—you are his favourite masterpiece. 

the canvas gallery is where you two ran around as kids, amazed at all the pieces other artists made. so, it only made sense that this would be the place where he kicks his anxiety in the ass and finally fucking goes for it. 

so, he waited. 

and waited. 

…. and waited.

and right when he was about to call you—

hana showed up. 

she grabbed his arm and yapped all about how excited she is to be here with him. to that, jungkook shook off her grip and stepped away.

...

“what are you doing here?”

“___ gave me her ticket—”

“fuck that. hana, why do you always do this? why do you always take things from ___?”

with distant yet jealous eyes, hana replied; “because she has better things than me. i like her things. is it so wrong to like her things?” 

“are you insane?”

“maybe.” hana scoffed. “i don’t get it. what does she have that i don’t? we grew up together and did everything together—yet, it’s like… i’m not even half of her.”

“because you aren’t.” he growled. “you hate ___, right?”

silence. 

“that’s okay,” jungkook exhaled. “cos i fucking hate you. with all my being. ever since you blew out ___’s 14th birthday candles. ever since you always kissed the guys she was into. ever since her pottery business bloomed and you accidently knocked over a piece she was working on for two months. god, hana. i have and will always hate you.”

“shit, jungkook. is that it? are you done—”

“no,” he sighed. “i will never be done hating you for taking every opportunity to turn anything good for ___ into something bad. you want to play mean girl? fine by me. let’s fucking play. get this through your fucking head; i will never be yours but i will forever be ___'s."

...

jungkook gave you time.

partly because he was mad—mad that you gave hana your ticket so easily, mad at how quickly you folded like you always do. but mostly, because he knows how you are in moments like this. you don’t talk. you retreat, giving yourself space to breathe, to think. he hopes you’re using the time to clear your head, making space for him.

by the third week of awkward text exchanges—his dry "good night" met with your overly polite “you too"—and no more nightly facetime calls where he fell asleep to your voice, jungkook snaps.

he gets into his car and drives to your studio.

the late afternoon light spills through the frosted windows as he parks outside. his stomach twists at the sight of the closed sign hanging on the door, but the faint hum of a song playing inside tells him you’re there. jungkook knocks, loud and insistent.

for a moment, he worries you won’t answer.

that you’ll pretend not to hear him or let the music drown him out. but then, he hears the soft shuffle of slippers and the click of the lock.

when the door creaks open, you’re there.

cheeks flushed from the warmth of the studio, hair tied back messily, and streaks of dried clay smudged across your forearms. your apron is dusted in powdery beige, a damp hand towel clutched in your fingers.

“jungkook—”

he doesn’t let you finish.

his name on your lips is enough to tip him over the edge. stepping forward, he pushes the door shut behind him and closes the space between you in one fluid motion.

your back hits the sink behind you with a soft thud, the cool porcelain biting through the thin fabric of your apron. his hands find your waist first, firm and grounding, as though he’s anchoring himself to you.

“w-what are you—”

“i can’t do this anymore,” he mutters, his voice low and trembling, the words spilling out as though they’ve been trapped inside for years.

he shifts closer, one hand leaving your waist to cradle your jaw. his thumb grazes your cheek, where a smear of dried clay clings to your skin. you’re so warm, and so unbearably soft that it makes his chest ache. his other hand brushes against the edge of your apron, his knuckles bumping against the damp streaks of clay still drying on your fingers.

“jungkook—” you try again, but your voice falters when he leans in. his forehead brushes yours, and he’s so close you can see the strain in his jaw, the tension pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“i’ve had enough, ___,” he breathes, his voice trembling with something between desperation and exhaustion. “i’m tired of bending backwards to see you. i'm tired of people standing in front of you and i'm sick of you letting them. most of all, i’m tired of waiting for the right time. i—i’ve been in love with you since we were seven, and you know that.”

his hand leaves your cheek to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his fingers trembling slightly as they linger there. “i haven’t done much to hide it, have i? i'm sorry. i've been a coward but... maybe i never did anything because i always knew how you felt about me too.”

your hands tighten on the towel, the wet clay squelching under your fingers. you glance down, unable to meet his gaze, but he doesn’t let you escape.

“look at me,” he pleads softly, tilting your chin upward until your eyes lock with his. the raw intensity in his stare steals the air from your lungs.

“please, ___... i'm fucking begging to you see me through this,” he whispers, his voice breaking as he leans his forehead against yours again. “i'm begging you to take my heart and mold it yours.”

and that’s exactly what you do.

your hands tremble, damp with clay and nerves, as you reach for him. you cradle his jaw gently, your thumbs brushing over the faint stubble along his cheeks.

then you kiss him.

jungkook freezes at first, his breath hitching in surprise, but it takes only a heartbeat before he softens. his lips move against yours, slow and deep, like he’s memorizing every second of this moment.

he’s hesitant—his hands stay planted on your waist, his grip cautious, almost shy. but when you sigh against him, his restraint snaps. his fingers curl into the fabric of your apron as he steps closer, pressing his body firmly against yours.

he bends his knees slightly, his arms sliding down to wrap around your thighs. with a quiet grunt, he lifts you effortlessly, settling you on the edge of the sink. your legs part instinctively, making room for him to step closer, his body slotting perfectly between yours.

you gasp softly as his hands find the back of your thighs, pulling you flush against him. your fingers slip into his hair, still streaked with clay, and he laughs quietly against your lips at the mess you're making.

his laugh fades quickly, replaced by a deep hum as he kisses you harder, with more certainty. the kiss grows messy, your breaths mingling and the faint taste of salt lingering between you.

when he finally pulls back, his lips are swollen, and his eyes search yours with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. he doesn’t move far—his forehead rests against yours, his nose brushing yours as his fingers trace small circles on your thighs.

“so…” he whispers, his lips curling into a boyish grin as his gaze flicks to your apron, your hands still smeared with clay. “about that mug?”

[sukunatoes]

Cardio

Personal trainer!Sukuna x Fem Reader

WC: 1.9k

Content: MDNI. Smut. Vaginal Sex. Oral Sex (Fem Receiving). Fingering. Age Gap (Sukuna mid 40s, reader mid 20s). All Porn, No Plot. Modern AU.

A/N: Hi! I’m trying to get back into writing and attempting to learn to write in second person. This is my first time writing an x reader fic so i apologize for any errors. It’s a short one-shot that’s basically all smut and just me trying my hand at something new. I may write a follow up to this fic if anyone enjoys it but mainly wanted to put it out there is all :)

Sweat beads pool on your forehead, and your breath grows ragged as you raise yourself back up following your final set of squats. A pair of large hands reach over, grabbing the weights out of yours and lift them away with ease.

“Not bad for a rookie,” a deep voice rumbles just inches from your ear, sending a chill down your spine. “You’re getting better.”

Ryomen Sukuna. A local boxer who’s apparently famous in the underground scene. You had never seen him fight or even knew much about the sport for that matter, but from what you’ve heard, the man was an unstoppable force.

A couple of months prior, you had been complaining to your friend Megumi about wanting to find a personal trainer to help you ease back into fitness, but every option you explored was beyond what you could afford. His father had overheard the conversation and suggested one of his friends who did training on the side for some extra cash. Said he usually worked with up-and-coming fighters, so someone like you would be easy work for him.

Sure enough, whenever you had first texted Sukuna, he thought it was a joke. It’s not that he wouldn’t be able to train you, but he was confused why you’d even come to someone like him for help. He agreed and invited you over to his home gym, and ever since, you’ve met with him multiple times a week to train. It was an unusual situation for him, but you assumed he chalked it up to easy money.

“It’s because I have a good teacher,” you smile up at him.

He rolls his eyes before placing a hand on your lower back to scoot you out of his way, letting it linger for just a second too long. “Whatever, brat.”

Heat immediately pools in your lower abdomen, and your mouth grows dry. He always does this. Touches that last a little too long or drift a little too close to places his hands shouldn’t be. Occasionally throwing out questionable comments. It’s not that you didn’t want it; you wanted him so bad it made you ache. Watching the way he towered over you, his broad, tattooed shoulders glistening with sweat as he instructed your every move. You yearned for his touch so desperately. However, he never went beyond those little touches or quips, but God, you wish he finally would.

“However, your squats still aren’t deep enough,” Sukuna remarked as he turned back to face you. He leaned down just a bit, his signature smirk plastered across his face. “You need to spread your legs wider.”

His eyes carried a look in them, almost like he was daring you to be the one to blur the lines between what was appropriate or not. You had wanted to for a while now, but the bravery needed had not yet taken root.

“I’ll be sure to spread them wider for you next time.”

You instantly cringe at the words you let slip. Heat rises to your cheeks as you immediately divert your eyes to the floor.

“Oh?”

“I— I meant I’ll make sure my squats are deeper next time,” you stammer as you back up. You lean down, quickly snatching up your keys and water bottle from where they rested on the floor.

“Come on, don’t get all shy on me now.” He trails behind you, veering off towards the wall. His hand hovers over the panel to open the garage doors for you as his mouth starts twisting into a wide grin. “If you want something, all you have to do is ask.”

“I—“ The words you want to say die on your tongue before you can even utter them.

He stares expectantly in return, waiting for you to finish. Foot tapping against the ground for a moment before releasing an impatient sigh and brushing his fingers against the button that would allow your exit.

“Wait,” you step towards him and gently tug the wrist that hangs at his side. His eyebrow arches up. You definitely had his attention now. “Well— I was wondering if maybe you would want— ”

Without warning, his hands are on your waist and pulling you in. You collide with his chest, and before you can even think, his fingers are forcing your chin up. His lips slam into yours. There’s nothing gentle about the way he’s kissing you. It’s hungry and desperate. He wants you just as bad as you want him. His tongue eagerly slides into your mouth and massages against yours. You can feel yourself melting under his touch as you snake your arms around his neck. Sukuna grips underneath your ass and lifts you from the ground, your legs locking around him. The kiss never breaking as he carries you and sets you down on the ledge of a bench.

He pulls back, his lips slippery with your salvia, and sinks to his knees in front of you. His fingers greedily slip into the waistband of your shorts, sliding them down your legs in one smooth movement as he traces his tongue along his top lip. Tossing them somewhere behind him, he leans in and pulls your legs over his shoulders. A thumb presses against the damp patch on the cloth covering your cunt. The smallest whimper falls from your lips at the sudden pressure.

“Is this what you wanted?”

You can’t muster up much more than a weak nod as he begins to diligently stroke your clit through the cotton.

“Use your words, brat,” he commands, retracting his hand away from the wet mess between your legs.

You look down at him, bottom lip slightly protruding at the loss of contact. “Yes, Sukuna. Please.”

That was all he needed. He sinks his face between your thighs, tongue lapping at your clit through the thong. Sukuna deeply inhales as if he’s breathing you in, only to follow it with a guttural groan. A finger slips underneath the fabric and inside you. It curls, immediately finding that sweet spot, and rips a breathy moan from your throat. His lapping turns to sucking and the fabric quickly becomes soaked all the way through.

Your hands begin to explore his blush colored hair, intertwining with the strands. You gently tug on them before arching your back. Your hips buck in response to the stimulus, aching for him to give you more.

He grunts in response before briefly pulling back. Using his free hand, he yanks at your underwear in one strong motion causing them to rip. Before you can even protest, the remnants are hitting the floor and his tongue finds its way to your bare clit. A second finger joins the first inside of you, now picking up a faster pace.

“Oh my god,” your mumbles are incoherent as you yank on his hair harder.

He releases his tongue from your clit, fingers still going at a steady pace inside of you. “Ryomen is just fine. Sukuna if you don’t want to get too personal.”

You looked down at him to be met with that shit eating grin of his. A thick string of salvia trailing between his bottom lip and your clit.

Arrogant bastard.

You dig your heel into his back in response, evoking a soft chuckle from him before he rejoins his tongue to you.

Between his swollen lips sucking on you and his fingers still hitting that sweet spot, it wasn’t long until a heat starts coiling in your lower abdomen. Your heart begins to pick up and your moans grow louder as you approach your peak and in an instant, Sukuna is retracting his fingers and pulling away from you.

An incredulous look flashes across your face as you glance down. “Sukuna.”

“What?” he inquires, his voice carrying a mocking tone.

Was he really fucking teasing you?

Before you can even react, you’re being hoisted to your feet and spun around. Your eyes are met with a mirror that completely covers one of the walls in his gym.

Hands wrap around your waist and you’re being pulled into him as his hard length makes itself known against you. Fingers, still viscid from your juices, slide up to your lips and part them. He hums in amusement as he slips them into your mouth while his other hand grips your chin and forces you to look ahead to watch your own reflection as you begin to lap the slick from Sukuna’s fingers.

He pulls his fingers from your lips, and brings his mouth down to your ear, his breath hot as it ricochets off of you. “I want you to watch who’s making you feel this good.”

His sweatpants drop to the floor and his hard cock briefly rubs against your skin before his hand splays against your lower back, forcing you to bend over. He wastes no time lining his tip up with your entrance.

“You’re fucking soaked.” is the last thing you hear as he slides his length into you in a quick, fluid movement. He’s massive. You gasp at the sudden stretch of your walls trying to accommodate him before letting out a visceral moan. The pain quickly melting into pure ecstasy.

His strokes start slow and deliberate. He pulls himself out almost entirely before rutting back into you, wanting you to feel every single inch of him. Massive hands grip into your hips, holding your tender flesh so tight you’ll undoubtedly be bruised for weeks. A hand wreathes it’s way down to your swollen clit, rubbing circles around it as his pace begins to pick up. Your eyes instinctively close for a brief moment before a sharp burning sensation spreads across your scalp. His hand, now entangled in your hair, forcing your attention back to him.

Staring at your reflection, he smiles, flashing his unusually sharp canines. His smile isn’t smug or seductive. The look in his eyes is dark, he looks like he wants to devour you. “Watch.”

He drops his hand from your hair and places it back at your hip, while the other is still stroking your needy clit. His thrusts become faster, deeper, and desperate. Sweat drips down his contorted face as a mixture of grunts, moans, and curses slip from his lips. “You’re taking me so fucking good.”

Your legs start to tremble as that familiar pleasure starts coiling in your lower abdomen. You watch as Sukuna relentlessly buries himself into you and everything starts to slow down. A white light flashes across your vision and you cry out as he pushes you over the edge. Walls pulsating around him, you feel your inner thighs grow viscous.

“Fuck,” is all he offers as his breaths grows labored. He brings his other hand back to your side to steady you as he thrusts into your cunt a couple more times. Sukuna pulls himself out at the last second and paints your lower back with hot, white ribbons.

He steps back, reaching for one of his sweat towels folded over a nearby machine. The sudden loss of contact has you reaching out, searching for something to help steady your wobbly legs.

One arm snakes around your waist to offer you the stability you need, while the other carefully wipes away the cum decorating your skin. “I had thought of something else I wanted to have you do before your session ended, but I don’t think you’ll have enough stamina left.”

You turn to face that smug grin you’ve grown to like a little too much, and glance up into his crimson eyes. “Guess we’ll add it to next week’s session.”

[kimberbohwrites]

Say Sorry (Rolan x Reader, Rolan Week Celebration)

I was not aware of Rolan week (not on social media in many places hah!) so in observation I combined a few themes into one special story.

Using Day 3 (Fight/Forgiveness) and Day 4 (New Years Day/Party) prompts with a sprinkle of the NSFW add on (trapped together/makeup sex).

It seems right to break my 4 months of writers block and not publishing for Rolan week. Massive credit to @sorceresssundries for beta reading this and giving me feedback/encouragement. HAPPY LAST DAY OF ROLAN WEEK!!!

SAY SORRY

Rolan x Reader

Word Count: 2,788

Explicit, MDNI 18+

Click here to read on Ao3 or continued under the cut

Warning: Smut (but not gratuitous smut), Enemies to Lovers, etc.

“Why are you always such an insufferable arse, Rolan?”

“Why are you such an intolerable busybody?”

Rolan spits the question back without a thought, his clever mind seemingly always ready with a quip or a jab. You groan in frustration, scrubbing your hands on your face with an exasperation that was felt by all around.

It was normal for people to see you and Rolan fighting, you’d been at it since the moment you’d met him in the Druid Grove.

It’s worse than ever now, the constant bickering putting a damper on the celebration going on around you both. You’d returned Rolan’s siblings, Cal and Lia, as well as the other capturing tiefling refugees and Deep Gnomes trapped within Moonrise Towers. It had been no small feat, considering the jail seemed to have been staffed exclusively by high level paladins and spell-casters. Not to mention you were already tired from rescuing Rolan from his own foolish attempt to save his siblings.

There were a few moments you hadn’t been entirely sure that everyone was going to make it back safely. The care of so many falling squarely on your shoulders was a burden you had attempted to manage with grace, but you were overwhelmed and anybody with a keen eye could tell.

It’s not that you’d expected Rolan to be grateful to you for the return of his family — especially after the harsh words he’d had for you when they’d been taken. Or how angry he’d been when you’d sent him back to the Last Light to sober up after the aforementioned foolishness. It would be ridiculous to imagine he was waiting to welcome you back with a warm hug.

You fight back the flush of warmth you feel at the idea of his arms around you, it’s silly, Rolan would sooner put his arms around you to strangle you than to embrace you.

It’s just you had maybe expected him to be, nicer? At least a little. But when you’d returned his siblings he’d curtly thanked you and tossed a pouch of gold coins your way, like you were his hired henchman. After a few drinks to calm down you’d circled back to him, to get a proper thank you and to give him his godsdamned gold back.

He’d had the audacity to taunt you.

“I’ve thank you once already, don’t be greedy”

Maybe it was the ale, maybe it was finally reaching your limit with his arrogance, either way that had been it for you. You just — snapped.

Which brought you back to the matter at hand. The last 20 minutes had been gone by with both of you fighting loudly at the bar, while his siblings could only look on.

“Busybody?! You’d be dead a few times over without me you idiot!!!”

“Idiot!?!?! How dare y— “

“Both of you, stop it right now or you’ll finish this fight at bottom of the lake,” Jahiera’s voice cut through the atmosphere like a keenly honed knife. Her lilting accent was beautiful, but did nothing to soften the steel in her words.

“And Rolan doesn’t even know how to sw-OOF!”

Cal’s joke was cut off with an elbow to the ribs from Lia.

Both of you pause with a jolt as the First Harper rounds on you with a light, menacing glare in her eyes.

“You are ruining the celebration, you can make it up to us by going to the basement for more wine.”

When neither of you move she waves her hand at you with a “go” to let you know she means business. With a flush of embarrassment on both of your faces you head out the side door of the inn as the party resumes behind you. Even your traveling companions seem glad for a break from you and the wizard’s constant bickering.

“She can’t boss me around, I am a wizard” Rolan mutters under his breath (so that Jaheira couldn’t possibly hear him) as his tail swishes with agitation in the night air.

“Let’s just get this over with”

You start forward with a huff, trying to keep a distance from the cantankerous tiefling. Trying not to think about how angry you are with him or how handsome he looks in the soft glow of Last Light Inn.

Handsome?! You try to shake that last thought away. You can’t seem to shake away the sense of excitement you feel though.

After a few minutes in awkward silence you arrive at the basement door, old and covered in sinister looking vines.

Rolan crosses his arms with a gloating smirk as if to say — “well go on, you push it open.”

With a roll of your eyes and a huff you shove at the heavy door trying to ignore the loosening tangle of shadow cursed vines. Feeling some sort of unknown mechanism under the plants, you take pull your hands back and kick the door the rest of the way open.

Taking no chances, you run into the basement quickly, pulling Rolan behind you before the heavy door can swing shut, you don’t want to put your hands on the door again if you can avoid it.

Having made it in quickly enough you allow the door to swing closed behind you both. A loud clanking sound follows the slam of the door, followed by a grating metal sound like old gears turning and finally the thunk of something snapping into place.

“Great, you just let the door lock behind us, didn’t you?!”

With no light in the basement, only Rolan’s hissed frustration lets you know he’s standing right next to you.

Your brain catches up to the moment, processing the feel of the mechanism and the sound the followed the door closing. A nervous flutter fills your chest as you realize that Rolan is right, you’ve locked both of you in a dark basement.

“I didn’t know it was the lock! It just felt creepy!”

“It… felt creepy?!”

“Well I didn’t see you pushing the door open!”

You hear an angry scowl in the dark and the sound familiar sound of dancing lights being cast. The light is so sudden in the heavy dark, that you flinch against the brilliance for just a moment.

“Spooked by a little magic?”

Rolan mocks you lightly with a laugh as he casts the spell up to the ceiling to illuminate the room. Though Rolan’s tone had been harsh, by the spell-light you can see on his face that he is more concerned than angry. You’d been through so much together in the short time you’ve known him, even the slight fluctuations on his face had become easy to read for you.

Before he can catch you looking, you glance away to take in the basement you’ve found yourself locked in. Moving back to the door to give it a hearty pull and push, confirming that the loud sounds you’d heard were in fact, some sort of locking mechanism. The basement is not the worst place in the Shadow Cursed Lands to be trapped with Rolan, but it’s certainly not the best either.

At some point, before the war and the curse, the Last Light must have been a bustling inn. The evidence of that lies in the decaying remnants of casks, crates, and various containers strewn about the place. Cobwebs loom heavy in the corners, cast more ethereal by the gloom that lingered on each strand of spider silk — blurred in the soft light of the simple cantrip.

“Zurgan, I bet she did this on purpose!”

Your past reverie is broken by Rolan cursing and muttering under his breath as he dusts off and tests a few mostly intact crates as chairs.

“You think she knew we’d get locked in the basement?”

“She’s more cunning that you realize”

“See this is your problem, you just don’t trust anyone” You breathe out with a frustrated sigh.

His tail shifts in agitation from where he sits on a crate and you fight the urge to grin.

“I would be more trusting, but how can I possibly trust my so-called hero to come bursting in uninvited when they’re also locked in here with me.”

You stare at him angrily. Rolan’s voice made every one of his cutting remarks that much more frustrating to you. The sound somehow stokes the fires of your anger and something deeper within at the same time, each word laced with taunting, spite, and a fire you couldn’t quite place.

“Fine, next time I’ll just let you die”

It’s not true, you know it’s not. You’re foolish when it comes to saving people and that seems to go doubly so for handsome tieflings.

“What next time? We’ll probably die trapped down here.”

“I guess it will put me out of my misery from having to deal with you any longer”

Rolan jumps up to his feet with a huff and if you thought he was capable of it, you’d swear you’d offended him with your reply. You brush the thought aside and turn your attention back to the door. The vines from the exterior don’t reach inside the darkened basement and you can see that the door is heavy and thick — the wood somehow reinforced with metal bars.

You shove against it again, heaving with all your strength and once again it doesn’t budge.

“Can’t you just magic us out of here or something?”

Rolan sighs in response.

“I used the last of my magic with the lights, I need to rest before taking a crack at it.”

“Wizards” You groan.

“It’s not like I want to spend my evening trapped down here with the most irritating do-gooder in Faerun.”

“Right, because I’m coming out the winner spending my evening with a graceless ass who needs a nap before doing anything helpful!” You shout back at him. Anger now boiling up within you and finally erupting out.

“Just how am I graceless?” The way that Rolan locks in on that — you’ve touched a nerve. Like a sprung coil he lurches up from his makeshift seat, fists clenched in fury. He moves a step closer to you, like he’s holding himself back. Your mind reels in response, the air between you feels charged with a hundred unspoken truths.

Words escape you and in your anger your mouth only opens and closes, but no words are spoken. He searches your eyes with intensity, the kind that has always attracted you to him. Just once, those beautiful golden eyes of his stray down to your mouth and you swear you can see a blush darken his skin. Before too long, you fish the bag of coins out from a pocket within your skirts and toss them back at the man.

The bag hits him square in the chest with a metallic thud and he barely catches it before it hits the ground. He examines it curiously, rubbing at the tender spot left behind by their impact with him.

“Were you raised by wolves?” He sighs, “You’re mad because I paid you for saving my siblings?!”

He takes another step closer to you, his voice raised and proud as he glares down the bridge of his nose. You note the way he squares his shoulders back defiantly.

Your heart is racing in your chest so loud you’re sure he can hear, but you step forward so that only the smallest space separates you both. You can’t tell if you want to kiss or kill him as you look up meeting his gaze.

“I’m not courier, Rolan, I don’t work for you.”

“My mistake, it’s so hard to tell, what with the way you’re always following me around, doing stuff no one asked you to do.”

It all happens so quickly, your hands are on him, bunching up the fabric of his robes as you roughly push him back against the dusty wall.

You open your mouth to tell him off but it never happens. Your eyes meet his and then you’re lurching toward one another — closing that final distance as your mouths meet in a rough kiss.

He groans, almost growls with satisfaction as you meet and you feel it too, like some missing piece has been slotted in to place the moment your lips touched.

Catching his balance against the wall his arms pull you close to him, his hands roam your body hungrily, grabbing and squeezing Your mind reels from a potent mix of anger and lust, this is the last thing you thought would happen this evening and now you can’t stop. He is clearly pleased with this turn of events, his kisses are rough but deep, almost desperate.

You remember how this all got started, you pull yourself away just enough to speak and a small whine escapes the wizard as his eyes, brimming with need, meet yours.

“Say sorry”

You pant it out. Wishing your voice didn’t give away how much you need this, need him.

He grumbles and you feel his tail coil around your leg as he leans toward you again for another kiss.

“No” You command, “Say sorry, Rolan”

As you say it your hand winds around his back to the base of his tail, where you give a small tug when you speak his name.

The effect is immediate.

His breath hitches in his chest as his hips lurch toward yours seeking contact. Anticipating this you pull back, denying him the delicious friction.

“Uh uh Rolan, say it”

“Fine,” It’s immediate and urgent when he finally complies, “I’m sorry, just please, kiss me”

The blaze between you is an inferno as you rush back together, your bodies clinging tight as you kiss. Your hands roam each other’s bodies, dipping under fabric and peeling back what can be removed without breaking their embrace. Little gasps escape you both, swallowed up by the exchange of tongues and air. His skin trembles under your touch, little shudders that let you know it’s been some time since he’s felt this, had this.

Layers of clothing are discarded on to the earthen floor with little care. One of your hands slides down the ridges on his chest with a lovers caress, toward the growing hardness you feel pressing into you.

“Wait” he urges breaking the kiss briefly.

You break away and step back, a look of concern painted across your face.

Before you can speak he reaches out and pulls you close again, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as his forehead presses against yours. His skin is smooth, except where the ridges of his horns form on his crown.

“Tell me you want this” He sounds almost downcast when he asks.

“I want you, please, Rolan,” Your heart races and you’re too turned on to care about begging.

His tail lashes out in excitement and he moves quickly, flipping your positions against the wall and pressing you back with a kiss.

He drops to his knees before you, his eyes glowing as he holds blazing contact with yours. You can feel his breath on your bare center as he pulls your leg up over his shoulder. His mouth connects and a gasp wracks your body as he drinks you in, licking and sucking with is own desperate groans. The vibrations from his sounds of delight drive you over the edge again and again.

The fight is long gone from your mind, harsh words replaced by bliss and the feeling of his skin against yours.

When he takes you against the wall in the basement, it’s quick and hard. His hips rough against yours as his tongue dances across your body, savoring your skin between kisses and nips. He finishes with a whimper, kissing you so sweetly it’s hard to believe that same mouth was spewing jabs at you not long ago.

You wrap up together on the ground in the discarded cloaks and robes, Rolan holding you tight against him as you catch your breath and await sleep or a rescue.

——

“You’d better get a drink now, there isn’t much wine left,” Jahiera laughs as she claps the shoulder of someone in the tavern. Upstairs the party has continued, people are glad for the break from the bickering.

“Wait, I thought you sent Rolan and Tav to the basement for more wine?” Cal questions, overhearing the Harper and approaching with concern.

“Don’t be silly, there’s no wine in the basement.” She laughs

Cal’s mouth hangs open as he realizes the meaning of her words, beside him Lia can only giggle at the joke.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get them out in the morning when they get it out of their system.” Jahiera smiles reassuringly with a wink at Cal before continuing on her way.

—

Rolan Tag List: @schizophrenicdiamond @crowwolf @stuffforthestash @barbwillbrb @reverieblondie @purpleasters-inseptember @cchickki @tsabhira05 @beaneburrito @klea221 @honeybee-bard @ladyofcrowsandcoffee @orangekittyenergy @scandistar @detectivesergeant @dutifullylazybread @heytheresunflower @halsinningiswinning @blckvchaos @forget-me-maybe

[hazzashouse]

Through the Darkness (Harry Styles one shot)

This topic is incredibly important to me. If you or someone you know is struggling with depression, please know you don’t have to go through it alone. Reach out to someone you trust—a friend, a family member, or a professional. You are not alone, and you are loved. There is strength in asking for support, and there are people who want to be there for you. You are never alone.

Pairing: Harry Styles x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Triggers: Depression, anxiety, emotional distress, mentions of isolation, self-doubt, and heavy themes of mental health struggles. Please read with care.

The world outside your apartment window was cold and colorless, mirroring the ache in your chest. Days blurred into nights, the sun rising and setting without your notice. It had been weeks since you last stepped outside for more than a grocery run. Even then, the strain of smiling at the cashier left you drained for days.

The depression you thought you’d left behind had returned, a familiar weight pressing against your chest, heavy and relentless. It was worse this time because it felt like failure. You’d been doing so well—hadn’t you? Harry had told you how proud he was. Your friends had said you seemed lighter. And now, here you were again, feeling like a burden to everyone you loved.

Harry was away on tour, as he always was this time of year. The texts and calls were there, of course. But you hadn’t told him. You couldn’t. His life was busy, full of flashing lights and cheering crowds, and you couldn’t bear to drag him into the shadows with you. He didn’t need that—not when he was living his dream.

So you suffered in silence, telling yourself you’d find your way out. Except, you didn’t.

Your best friend, Emily, was the first to notice. She’d stopped by unexpectedly, armed with a smile and coffee. You hadn’t answered her texts for days, and she’d decided to check in. When you opened the door, she froze, her face dropping.

“Hey…” she said softly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “What’s going on, babe?”

You didn’t have the energy to lie.

Emily took one look at the unwashed dishes, the unopened curtains, and the dark circles under your eyes and immediately understood. She’d seen this before.

“Oh, love,” she murmured, pulling you into a hug. The warmth of her arms broke something inside you, and the tears you’d been holding back spilled over.

Emily didn’t leave that night. She made you tea, coaxed you into eating something, and stayed until you fell asleep. The next morning, she tried to talk to you about reaching out to Harry.

“He’ll want to know,” she said gently. “He loves you. You know he’d drop everything.”

But you shook your head. “I don’t want to ruin his tour. He’s happy.”

Emily sighed but didn’t push. Instead, when you weren’t looking, she sent Harry a message herself:

Hey, I know you’re busy, but she’s struggling again. She didn’t want me to tell you, but I think you should know. Call me when you can.

Harry didn’t see the text until hours later. His phone had been in the dressing room while he performed to a sold-out crowd. When the show ended and he finally unlocked it, Emily’s message was waiting.

He read it twice before his heart sank.

————————

Harry’s decision to leave wasn’t even a question. His team tried to reason with him, suggesting he finish the next two shows before taking a break, but he shook his head.

“No,” he said firmly. “She needs me. She’s more important than any of this.”

————————

The sound of a key in the lock woke you from a restless sleep. You sat up, your heart pounding as the door creaked open. When Harry’s familiar figure appeared, relief and guilt warred inside you.

“Harry?” Your voice cracked.

He didn’t say anything at first, just crossed the room in a few strides and pulled you into his arms. His chest rose and fell against yours, and you realized he was trembling.

“I’m here, love,” he whispered into your hair. “I’m here.”

You didn’t mean to cry, but his presence—his warmth, his steady heartbeat—was the comfort you hadn’t known you needed.

Harry didn’t try to fix you. He knew better than that. Instead, he stayed close, quietly reminding you of his love in the small ways that mattered most.

He opened the curtains one morning and sat with you on the couch, not saying a word as you watched the sunlight pour in.

He ran a bath for you, adding your favorite lavender oil, and sat outside the door in case you needed him.

He cooked meals you didn’t have the energy to eat but never made you feel guilty for it.

On the hardest days, when leaving the bed felt impossible, he stayed with you, holding your hand as if anchoring you to the world.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he told you one night, his voice steady. “Whatever you need, whenever you need it—I’m here.”

Slowly, the darkness began to lift. Harry’s patience, his unwavering support, created space for you to breathe again. He reminded you of the things you loved—the music you used to listen to, the books you hadn’t touched in months, the way your laughter used to fill the room.

It wasn’t easy, and there were setbacks. But with Harry by your side, you began to believe that maybe, just maybe, you’d be okay.

One afternoon, as you sat together on the couch, you looked at him and whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, his green eyes soft.

“For loving me. For staying.”

Harry smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Always.”

And in that moment, you knew it was true.

————————

like and reblog if you liked it and follow me to not miss my future content - I will very much appreciate it! Lots of love, A.

[leighsartworks216]

It's Nothing

Sylus x AFAB!Reader

Inspired by my late as fuck period and joking with my friend that I was the next virgin mary. Not proofread cuz I want to post it but I'm tired of looking at it

Warnings: pregnancy scare, menstruation, period fic, anxiety, overthinking, lack of communication, communication, silly, cuddling, kissing, swearing

Word Count: 1,450

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

"Sweetie? What has you so distracted lately?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all! I was just, uh- thinking about work, that's all!"

"You're a terrible liar. Tell me what's wrong."

"It's-" You falter, searching desperately for an excuse and coming up woefully empty "It's really nothing, Sy. I'll tell you at some point, just..."

"... Just not right now." He sighs, but nods, dismissing the subject. A frown lingers on his face as he turns back to the movie. "I trust you, sweetie," he says after a long pause, when it seemed the topic had been dropped completely.

The guilt sinks down into your stomach, but you bite your tongue and cuddle further into his side. The rest of the night remains tense.

You want to tell him. Admit what's on your mind. Finally release this stress from your body. But you can't! Because... what if he leaves you? And maybe you're just being paranoid for nothing - but you can't take that risk, not with Sylus, of all people.

Your period is over a week late. That's not terribly unusual, but it is suspicious given the fact you've stopped using protection in the bedroom. Well, not necessarily stopped, since you're on birth control, but things get heated and he's finished inside of you without a condom. So... what if your birth control didn't do its job 100%? You know there’s a small percentage of it failing, so what if this time is the time it chooses to be ineffective?

Dr. Zayne is the only person you've told about your fears, when you went in for a checkup and nervously asked if he could run a pregnancy test for you. You're not sure if being your childhood friend made the next line of questioning about your sex life more or less awkward. You do know that that test came back negative... But Zayne said after the fact that it could be too early to tell.

So all you can really do now is wait until you do or don't get your period again.

You know it bothers Sylus a lot, your secrecy. You two have both progressed so far in learning how to trust each other, even with the stupid things. This just... doesn't feel like one of those stupid things. You've only just put a name to the relationship, you don't want to ruin that now when things are so new and nice.

So you hold it in. You try your damndest to put it on the back burner and show him as best you can that everything is fine and that you still love and trust him.

You wake up with your body's internal clock. With the N109 Zone being so dark, knowing when day is is a bit tricky. But, Sylus is asleep beside you, laying on his stomach with his face buried in his pillow. He doesn't have a shirt on. A wide expanse of tan skin and rippling muscle is left exposed as the blankets all pool around his hips.

You smile to yourself, albeit a bit mournfully. You're glad he's still sleeping beside you, even if you've both been a bit rocky lately. It's all your fault - you know. You'll make it up to him somehow. You have to.

Slowly, as quietly as you can, you slip out of bed and creep to the bathroom...

"Sy!" You see him startle out of sleep, hand already wrapped around the gun under his pillow as he sits up, searching for the danger.

"What is it?" he asks sharply. You run and jump onto the bed, landing partially on top of him. He tosses the gun onto his nightstand and lifts you by the waist to reposition you into his lap as he sits up properly. "What's got you so excited?"

"I'm not pregnant!"

He blinks up at you with a frown. You grab his shoulders like an excited kid, looking at him expectantly. He feels like he’s skipped several chapters into a book and the plot twist reveal isn’t making any sense. "What are you talking about, sweetie?"

You're practically vibrating in his lap with energy. It's the most light he's seen in your eyes for the last week and a half. It's... relieving. "I'm not pregnant! We haven't been as careful with protection lately and then my period was supposed to come, but it didn't, so I had a pregnancy test done, but Zayne said it could be too early to tell when it came back negative, so I've been waiting and waiting to know if I really am and-! And I'm not! I'm bleeding again, Sylus! I'm not pregnant!"

He shakes his head, brow pinched with a pained expression. "That's the 'nothing' you've been distracted by all week?"

"Um..." You grin sheepishly. "Yeah?"

He takes a moment, eyes closed and lips drawn into a frown. That guilt that settled in your stomach during your movie night returns, doubled in intensity. You got over-worried and kept secrets from your boyfriend, when you could have just told him from the start how weird it was that your period is late and how worried you are about what it could mean.

"Sy...?"

"Mmm."

"Are you mad at me?"

He finally opens his eyes. The expression eases slightly as he shakes his head with a sigh. "Have the cramps hit yet?"

You shake your head. "Um, no?"

Suddenly, his arms are wrapped around you and your world tilts on its axis. A heavy weight settles above you. Sylus's nose presses against your neck. "Good. Let's stay here for when they do."

You try to wriggle loose. He tightens his hold around you and nips at your skin sharply. You jolt, but it stops your struggling. “Why do we have to stay here for my cramps?”

“Because, sweetie,” he sighs. You’d think he’s annoyed, if it weren’t for the way he runs his nose along the column of your throat and eases his weight fully onto your body. “When your cramps start, you’re going to want a heating pad and a massage. And since you hate my massages-“

“I do not!”

“-it’s better if I just lay here and provide all the heat you desire.”

His logic isn’t faulty… And, honestly, having him so close to you again, without the barrier you built between you both, is really, really nice. So, you relent. You wrap your arms around his neck and begin playing with his hair. He lets out a contented hum, pressing a kiss to your pulse.

“So… you’re not mad at me?” you ask again.

“No, I’m not mad. I was… worried. Suddenly you were pulling away from me with no explanation and no warning. I thought…” You gently pull on his hair to remove his face from your neck. He follows with no resistance, resting his chin on your chest as he looks up at you with such serious eyes, tinged with sleepiness and lingering concern. “I thought you didn’t trust me anymore.”

You frown at the admission. For over a week, he thought you were pulling away because you didn’t trust him… “I guess I didn’t help any, keeping my worries a secret…” He doesn’t agree, but you see a slight quirk in his brow. “I’m sorry, Sy. I didn’t… I just… This is so new. I was worried that if I was pregnant, you’d be upset or leave me or something.”

He scoffs. “I’m not so easily scared off, kitten.”

“And I know that now.” You lean forward and press a lingering kiss to his forehead. His eyes flutter shut, furrow in his brow relaxing. When you pull away, they open to look at you once again. “I promise, from now on, I won’t keep secrets like that from you anymore. You’ll be the first to know if I’m worried about anything.”

He grins slightly. “Thank you, sweetie. I promise to be just as honest with you.”

He lifts himself up just enough to capture your lips. Your mouths move together in a languid dance, sealing the deal you two have just made. It lasts several minutes. Neither of you really ever want it to end, but Sylus needs his sleep and you’re going to need all his love and care when your uterus decides to rain hellfire on you to make up for lost time. He pulls away slowly, trails light kisses down your jaw, and tucks himself back into your neck.

Everything feels so much more secure now. Despite all your fears, the relationship has grown stronger. And you know, you’re both going to be okay.

-

Bonus:

“Is the thought of having my kids that terrible?”

“You know that’s not why I was worried, you asshole.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry

[urstruly-ghst]

pika pika? in this franchise? - idia shroud

in which idia tests out a new game, but once you crash into his dorm, he's playing a game from your world?

authors note: requests are still closed, but this anon requested something that made me think i can try to do smau! also i mostly know pokemon emerald,,, so we're going w this route.

(ignore my emojis, i am using my laptop to make them fake texts </3)

cw: swearing, might be ooc (im still trying to get used to idia!), established relationship)

idia shroud

once you arrived at his room, you were humming and giving idia a quick hug and kiss, a tradition you both developed over the course of being a couple.

however, when idia booted up the game, he excitedly chattered about the game's premise. at first when he described it sounded familiar. you grabbed some chips from his stash, as he puts it, and sat back down only to nearly do a flip.

"POKEMON?" you yell in surprise and joy seeing the nostalgic game, seems like he got the emerald version too. idia looked surprised and handed you the controls.

"bruhh. oookayyy so now you know this? not much of a normie now" idia giggled while showing off his sharp teeth. you kiss him again and told him one important fact: this was a game in your world.

the gaming session was in, since pokemon was something you had played on your little gameboy back then, you breezed past the tutorials and stats. however, since idia didn't need to teach you, he was pouty. he wanted to play and be the cool boyfriend, teaching you the games and seeing you fail for the first few times.

"how about, speedrun?" you suggest laughing as you got to your first gym. idia sparked up at the idea. oh hell yeah. he is going to beat you at your own game.

"you're on, normie" idia said deviously as he boots up his own system and restarting his progress to match your game.

he won. by a second. your time was 2hrs and 30, his was 2hrs and 29. your eyes strain and you groan at the fact you both finished what's supposed to be a relaxing game. what drained you the most were the gyms and cave, not to mention, idia decided he wanted to catch at least 2 legendaries. you glared at him as you noticed he was catching rayquaza with ease, when you were struggling to find kyogre.

idia laughed, flexing and showing off his signature grin, he flaunted and shrugged at his abilities. he sighed and shakes his head while raising both his arms to shrug. "what can i say? noobs dont stand a chance," you pout because not only you lost, but you couldn't even catch a legendary in time.

but amidst your pouty demeanor and strained eyes, idia's gloating just made you feel happy. because, even if he gloats and even downright drags your gaming skills. he's doing his best to comfort your loss. he's turning off the harsh lights, minimizing the sound of his machines, wrapping his blanket on you.

"geez. we've only been playing for 2 hours and you're acting as if you gamed for a week. pssh noob and weak? keep up." he says that while tucking you in and grabbing some water. you smile and kiss his fingers, as a sign of appreciation

"you're the best, idia." and idia softened up as he sat next to you holding your hand.

"nah, if anything, you are. thanks... normie, or should i say, my dear." he cringed at his attempt to be smooth, but he flashed a sincere smile before leaning to just kiss you.

[rivalsispunk]

The Interview (Chapter 1 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), more warnings added per chapter

Word count: 3.1k

Author’s note: Hello! Long time reader, first time poster! Please be kind but also let me know what you think! Proof read but probs still some mistakes. Not entirely canon, Declan still works for Corinium, Maud has disappeared to god knows where and the rest, well, you’ll have to read to find out :)

Chapter One: The Interview

You were going to positively kill Taggie once you returned to the Cotswolds. Only she, your closest friend since you relocated to the country after finishing your university degree six months ago, could convince you to cut your gap year short in favour of interviewing for a personal assistant job at Corinium. And, for her father, Declan O’Hara, no less.

“Oh, go on!” Taggie had pleaded with you over The Priory’s kitchen counter. “I know you’re getting bored out here. You can’t spend all of your days sitting around here, helping me peel the shite out of prawns for dinner parties.”

“Why not?” You plucked a grape from the fruit platter she’d just finished assembling for an event at Freddie and Valerie Jones’ that evening. “I happen to like spending all my time with you. Even if it does mean peeling shite out of crustaceans.” You eyed your friend with faux suspicion. “Are you getting sick of me already?”

“Of course not! I just think you’d be grand at it, that’s all, what with your journalism degree and all,” Taggie explained. “You’ve heard Daddy when he comes home. Always complaining about the sorts he’s had to interview. Plus, he already knows you. That’s ought to win you some points right there.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be all bad,” you confessed, mulling the opportunity over as you chewed through another handful of grapes. It would look amazing on your resume and you’d have a foot in the door at one of the biggest TV networks in the United Kingdom. Plus, it wouldn’t kill you to have a front row seat to Declan in all his glory every single day. You would never mention it to Taggie, but you fancied her dad a rather handsome sod.

“Say you’ll do it. At the very least, for me?” Taggie bat her thick eyelashes at you.

“Fine,” you eventually relented, a smile cracking over your face at the new possibility. “I’ll go in for an interview, but no promises. And I don’t want you convincing him of me either! I want to get this job on my own merit, okay?”

“Convince Daddy of you? Please, he already adores you.” The sentiment spread fire through your chest. Tag rounded the kitchen bench and grabbed you by the hand. “Now let’s find you an outfit! Mummy ought to have left something halfway suitable behind.”

Taggie nor Declan had said much about their absentee matriarch Maud in the recent weeks since she fled the countryside after yet another explosive argument between her and her husband. You knew better than to ask, but you could tell by the way Taggie’s shoulders sagged at the sight of her mother’s partially empty closet that her absence had a somber affect on her.

You’d only been into the main bedroom of The Priory once before, when the room was overtaken by Maud’s florally perfumes and extravagant evening gowns. This time, however, the space was so intrinsically Declan; all heady cedarwood and whisky and smoke. Shirts with patterns of plaid and tartan as well as numerous odd, natural-coloured socks were peppered across armchairs and vanities, while a stack of memoirs sat on his bedside with a full ashtray perched atop. Your heart swelled, and sunk simultaneously, at the thought of Declan being sat up here alone at night, or early of a morning, thumbing through a book while taking slow drags of his cigarette as he let himself be consumed by a life far different to the one he was currently living.

“How about this?” Taggie’s voice ripped through your daydream, forcing you away from thoughts of her father. You peered at the oatmeal-coloured dress she had retrieved from the closet, surprised that Maud owned something so…brown. You’d always known her to wear jewel tones that complimented her flaming red hair. You shook your head, and thus began a cycle of Taggie suggesting an outfit and you shooting it down. Eventually, you agreed to Taggie swapping out your creature comfort jeans and Wham! T-shirt for an old black pencil skirt that you were convinced had given you hives from the way your legs hadn’t stopped itching since you put it on, as well as a silky fuchsia blouse that stretched a little too tight over your breasts. While your friend had done a good job at assuring you that you’d fit right in at the Corinium offices, you weren’t as convinced.

The receptionists, all in latest season fashion with not a hair out of place, had looked you up and down as soon as you stepped foot in the marble foyer, snickering behind your back about your fashion fauxpas once you’d checked in. Sarah Stratton wasn’t as covert with her judgement. As you sat outside Declan’s office, waiting to be called in, Sarah outwardly guffawed when she spotted you across the floor. You’d met her several times in passing at parties and Corinium events you’d previously attended as Taggie’s plus one, and for the most part, she’d kept her observations to herself. But now, as her red heels clip across the carpet, her gaze set right on you with her matching rouge lips upturned. “I would never have expected to see you here, darling!” she coos down at you, reaching for a strand of hair that has slipped in front of your shoulder. “And playing dress ups, no less!” Another laugh tinkers out of her as she twirls your hair around her finger. “Interviewing for the assistant job with Declan, hm?”

You nod with a taut smile and try not to let her comment about you looking god-awfully out of place get to you. Sarah’s eyes shift to Declan’s closed mahogany door and tuts. “Well, good luck, sweetheart. Seems like you’ll need it with the way the rest of those interviews have panned out.”

“Oh, hop off it, Sarah!” an unmistakingly Irish voice barks from your left. Sarah jolts upright and despite the embarrassment that tinges her cheeks pink, still manages throw a sultry smile in Declan’s direction. Your posture matches her pin-straight stature as you side-eye his office. It hadn’t occurred to you that he wasn’t inside, preparing for your interview the way you had been all morning. You’d crafted your pitch of yourself perfectly, complete with ideas and suggestions for potential guests for Declan’s show, anything to set you apart, make you seem even a fraction less useless that the interviewees that came before you. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Where’s James?” he questions Sarah, alluding to the very common knowledge that she and her co-host James Vereker are having an affair. Declan makes a show of raking through his moustache - god, that moustache - then adds with a smirk, “James and better. Probably not two words that should be in the same sentence, eh?” Sarah’s smile plateaus at that, and that stiff upper-lip culture she was dying to marry into takes its place.

“I’m sure I can make myself busy, Declan. Got a show to prepare and all that. Ciao!” She doesn’t look at you again and you’re grateful that Declan starts to speak before you bumblefuck your way through the silence.

“Ciao,” he repeats once Sarah’s out of earshot . “Doubt that leech of a woman’s ever had a decent carbonara, let alone stepped foot in Italy.” he says, offering you the first genuine smile you’ve received all day. “Let’s get to it, shall we?” He swings open his office door and holds an arm out. “After you, love.”

“Thanks.”

You shuffle into the room ahead of him, completely oblivious to the way Declan’s eyes are trained on your arse in a skirt that’s familiar to him, but he’s unsure how. Right now, however, he doesn’t care, because it fits your body so magnificently, as if it were made for you. He fights to ignore the dull throb beneath his trousers while he watches you sit, the black fabric pushed to its limits as it stretches across the globes of your arse.

God, has she always been so… womanly? Declan wonders, then immediately chastises himself for leering so openly at his daughter’s best friend. Yes, she was a few good years older than Taggie, and always a beautiful girl, but he was glad his middle child had finally made a friend amid the shitshow that was the move to the country and his crumbling marriage to Maud. He didn’t need to muddy the waters with pervacious thoughts about the young lass’ curves. If only she’d shown up to his office in her usual ripped jeans and George Michael-adorned tees.

“Everything okay, Mr O’Hara? Should I sit somewhere else?” you ask when you notice Declan frozen in the doorway with a furrow etched in his brow. You immediately start second-guessing yourself and wonder if this was a bad idea after all. You can only imagine everyone else who lost out on this job before you faced that same expression. He shakes his head at you, at himself, then busies himself with straightening his maroon tie as he moves to sit behind his desk. You shift in your seat, trying to thwart of the lingering itch Maud’s skirt has buried into the back of your thigh. You think if you can wriggle just so, you can ward it off for at least the main portion of the interview. While you think your subtle movements go unnoticed by Declan because he’s perusing your resume - impressive, he’d earlier noted in black pen beside details of your internship at The Times - he’s been clocked onto your behaviour since he’d laid eyes on you across the office. Scared shitless, and he doesn’t half know that Sarah’s sneaky comments only added to it, thanks to the way you’re fidgeting with that damned skirt mere metres away from him. If Declan had any less sense in him, any less dignity, he’d have half the mind to tear it straight from your body. Of course, he decides against it and tries a less barbaric approach to settle your nerves.

“No band t-shirt today?”

Now it’s your turn for your brows to knit together. “I’m sorry?” Declan nudges his head in the general direction of your chest and your chin dips in response to see what he’s referring to. There, your vision is flanked with fluorescent pink and a tinge of flesh where the silky material doesn’t quite stretch to cover your breasts between buttons, and you silently curse Taggie for allowing you to wear something so borderline revealing at her father’s workplace. Plus, you were surprised he’d even noticed your usual attire.

“I thought it was best I grow up a bit in the clothing department if I were to go for a job at Corinium,” you confess. Declan doesn’t miss the way the swell of your breasts arch against your shirt when you take a deep breath and fold your arms across yourself. “But now I’m thinking the bright pink was a mistake.”

You peer across the expansive wooden desk expectantly, and Declan pitches his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t ask me! Fashion, clearly, is not my strong suit. All I know is, according to my girls, leaving the house with ladders in your tights is a big no-no unless you’re a gothic or Winona Ryder.”

You chuckle at that, even more so for knowing that his youngest daughter, Caitlin, would be all for half-shredded tights.

Declan looks coy as he sips from his tea. “But if it counts for anything, you look lovely.”

“Well, I should hope you think so. These are your wife’s clothes, after all.” Your confession elicits a splutter from the otherwise put together man in front of you. Tea spouts from his lips across the desk, marring your resume and any other papers with brown stains. You immediately spring into action, scanning the room for a towel, handkerchief, anything that could mop up the mess.

“Sorry, love,” Declan says quietly, thumping a fist against his chest. “Wrong pipe.”

That’s when you see it, a pocket square the same colour as his tie poking from his breast pocket. Without thinking, you lurch across Declan’s desk and pluck it from its resting place, and begin soaking up the liquid. Declan ought to help you, it’s his mess after all, but he’s frozen at the view you’ve awarded him as you lean over. Your cleavage fights against the V cut of Maud’s blouse and Declan can just make out the ripple of a black lace bra below the neckline. He can’t even imagine Maud in that outfit. Right now it’s all so you. His cock stirs at the sight and he can’t help the pained groan that bubbles up his throat.

“Stop,” he breathes in barely a whisper. You don’t, of course, you can’t hear him, and you keep wiping at the desk, your breasts bouncing with every swipe up and down.

“Christ, girl, stop it!” Declan explodes, bolting up from his chair. Thankfully, the height of his desk hides his growing bulge, but it doesn’t matter. The look of pure fear painting your face has the same effect as a cold shower. You sink back into your seat and begin spluttering apologies, that you shouldn’t have used his pocket square, that you were out of line and another dozen variations of sorry, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Declan mirrors you by returning to his chair, raking a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he states eventually. “I don’t give a dying rats arse about the pocket square. It’s just… I’m a bloody fool just standing here while you clean up after me. I can’t have you doing that. You don’t even work for me.”

Despite the shock of Declan’s outburst, you manage to muster up a bit of cheek in response. “I don’t even work for you yet,” you correct him.

Your confidence juts Declan’s eyebrows to his curly hairline and a grin cracks across his face. “Cocky little thing, aren’t ya? Go on then.. tell me why I should hire you.”

You spend the next twenty minutes talking Declan through your university studies and experience, the tension from earlier already forgotten. When Declan mentions he once worked with your media law professor, the conversation detours into the pair of you sharing stories about your experiences with the man, far too senile and set in his ways to do the younger generation any good. The rest of the interview carries on like that, you and Declan laughing and exchanging anecdotes like two friends in the pub rather than an employer vetting a potential employee. You’re about to pitch the idea of getting Farah Fawcett on Declan’s show when the office door thumps open to reveal Corinium’s managing director, Tony Baddingham, at its entryway.

“O’Hara! If you’re done with giggling like a little schoolgirl down here, we’ve got a production meeting to get to,” he bites, barely glancing in your direction. You don’t miss the roll of Declan’s tawny eyes as he waves Tony off.

“Alright, Tony. Give me five, I’m just finishing up here,” he says before introducing you by name.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Baddingham,” you tell him, standing to shake his hand. He doesn’t properly look at you until your palms meet, and your spine stiffens when his beady eyes rake over you.

“One of Declan’s assistant candidates, I presume?” he wonders aloud.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, you’re far prettier than some of the other trolls we’ve had roll through here recently.”

“Tony,” Declan warns. The last thing he wants is another man leering at you like you’re a rite of passage for them.

“Right, well, lovely to meet you,” Tony clasps his other hand over the top of yours, careening his neck so he’s at your eye level. “Hope to see you around here. You’ll definitely be a much-appreciated addition.”

Offering a tight-lipped smile, you reserve the urge bawk in his face. You’ve worked with enough Tony Baddinghams to know his interest in you has nothing to do with your professional ability and everything to do with aesthetics. Fucking men.

For the most part, they sickened you and Declan all the same, but for the latter, he was mainly sickened with himself for wanting to pummel Baddingham for the way he was eye-fucking you. But who was he to talk? He’d been doing the exact same thing just minutes earlier.

When Tony leaves the office, he leaves the door ajar, a reminder that Declan is expected elsewhere. You’re about to ask Declan if Tony is always so…Tony, but he’s already got his briefcase in hand and is ushering you towards the door. “I have to admit, I was surprised when Taggie said you wanted to interview for this position, with you being on a gap year and all,” he confessed as you strolled out onto the office floor. “But you know your stuff. You’re bloody intelligent. Passionate. That’s rare these days.”

“Thank you, Mr O’Hara.”

“Please, call me Declan. Here, and at The Priory. Just Declan,” he smiles and you return it.

“Alright, then. Declan.”

“I’ve got to get going, but I’ll let you know about the job. There’s a couple more interviews on the books in the next few days, I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course.”

Declan gives you a curt nod, and you start for the elevator, but you barely make it five steps before he calls you back.

“For what it’s worth, I’d be lucky to have ya here. And like I said, you look great, but I prefer the jeans and t-shirts. They’re much more…you.”

His admission sends your heart thrumming against your ribcage, and red creeps up your neck and onto your cheeks. “Thank you, Mr O’Ha- Declan,” you correct yourself. “Thank you, Declan. See you around.” You turn on your patent black heel, leaving Declan standing there with an image that’s bound to haunt him for nights to come: you in that fucking skirt.

Please let me know if you enjoyed this, and if you’re feeling generous, a lil’ reblog won’t go astray <3

[veltana]

I have this idea for a cnc scenario that I'll never turn into a fic, but I still need to get out of my system!

Warning! Below is NSFW content that contains consensual-non-consent with Steve Rogers. Don't read if it might trigger or upset you.

Steve slips on the night-vision goggles, and the world turns green. Adrenaline pumps in his veins and his cock is already hard. He's been watching you for weeks, cataloging your every move to find the perfect one to strike. And now it's time.

The air is warm, the forest smells damp, but this is the best place to catch you. The one thing you never stray from. There could be a hurricane inbound, and you'd still go for your evening walk. Sometimes you do it with friends, but this time you're alone, headphones on like always, listening to your favorite music.

There are streetlamps along the path, but the trees have long since covered them with their branches, diming the light. Perfect for Steve.

He takes a deep breath, centering himself. He doesn't want to hurt you, but when you struggle he's gonna have to hold on tight. Despite the green hue, you're still as beautiful as the first day Steve saw you. The day he knew he had to have you!

As you stroll past his hiding place he reaches out, quickly janking you from the path. His hand covers your mouth as he moves backward, the retreat mapped out in his brain.

You struggle, of course, screaming behind his hand. He thought about drugging you, but he wants to see you move, wants to hear your voice.

He chose a part of moss-covered ground that would be soft for you to lie on, but you rip it up with your hands as he puts you down, trying to move away from him. He pulls you back and rid you of your leggings, ripping them down the seam. Then he does the same to your underwear.

Despite the weeks of stalking, he's never seen you naked. He wanted to wait for it until this moment. To savor the experience! And you don't disappoint. It's a shame he has to have the goggles on, but he can't risk you seeing his face.

You're begging, sobbing, and it makes Steve so hard he's about to burst.

Your cunt is warm and tight as he pushes in, and even though he's been quiet up until now, there is no way he'll be able to hold in his moans when you're taking him so well.

You've stopped struggling, now only crying and words tumbling out in a mess, begging him to stop. Out of a pocket, Steve pulls a bullet vibrator. He wants you to love this as much as he does.

When he puts it against your clit, you cry out in pleasure and start writhing on the ground again. He feels your cunt pulse around him, pulling his orgasm close. But he needs you to finish first.

He told himself he wouldn't speak, but he struggles not to tell you how beautiful you look, how amazing you feel, and how good you're being for him.

Instead, he tells you "Come for me."

And you do.

Steve wishes he'd set up a camera too, so that he could watch the moment you come on his cock over and over again. You're as perfect as he knew you would be.

With a deep groan, he empties himself deep inside you, then collapses beside you. He pulls you on top of him to protect you from the cold forest floor and reaches up over his head to pull down the blanket he's hidden there.

He kisses the top of your head before realizing he still has the goggles on. He removes them and the world turns dark. It's almost night and he needs to get you out of here. Into some whole clothes and a warm bath.

He kisses you one more time.

"Baby, you did so good, but I need to move you. Don't want you to get too cold."

You hum in response.

Steve stands up with you still pressed against him.

"I love you," your hoarse voice says.

"I love you too," Steve responds with a smile.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Just Take It | Jeon Jungkook | Part 8

Summary: Jungkook's feelings for you have grown immensely and he can't hold himself back from being honest anymore. Pairing: Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) Word Count: 2.6K~ (I know it's short but it was at a good stopping point and I couldn't figure out how to continue it without a big time skip/harsh break so yeah enjoy this mini chapter 😅) Warnings: No warnings just fluff a/n: Another almost four months and I only have a little bit for you 😔 I'm still trying to figure out how I want to go about finishing this story (yes it's close to the end) so please bear with me 😪 but either way I hope you enjoy!

Ever since I told him last month that I didn't want to be friends anymore and by default telling him that I wanted to be with him things have been different.

We've settled into a new routine with the tension between us no longer burning to the point I shy away but something that feel natural, domestic even. 

I guess you could say that's pretty obvious from the fact that we're living together but his subtle touches are welcomed and expected.

Things as simple as his hand on my lower back as he passes by or his arms wrapped around me from behind with his chin propped up on my shoulder or even a kiss on the forehead are all things that we've settled into and it makes me feel loved. 

Love is still a scary word for me to think about or even say aloud but it's something I feel towards him, deeply, hopelessly, painfully.

At times I remember that things could suddenly change without warning. That he could toss me out as soon as he gets fed up with waiting like Jared did. That he cou-. 

"Ow!" I cry out when he pinches my side, "What was that for?" I whine, the spot he abused  already sore. "I've been calling your name for five minutes and you didn't respond so..." he chuckles and I hum, not having the energy to scold him further. 

He wraps his arms around my waist and props his chin on my shoulder just like I had been thinking about while spacing out, leaving me relaxing into him, the feeling of being in his arms taking away some of the anxiety that had started to build. 

"You okay?" he asks, placing a kiss on my cheek to which I hum again, nodding along with it. "You sure, because you've been stirring your coffee for the past seven minutes" he says, my hand stilling once he points it out. 

I take a drink of the completely cold beverage and sigh in defeat, realizing that his words are true. 

"I wanted it cold anyways" I mumble and turn to walk over to the freezer to add some ice, Jungkook letting go but still staying close. 

"Something's wrong" he says after observing me for another second or two, very used to reading my body language. "Nothing's wrong I'm just...tired" I reply and the truth is I am. 

"My internship has been kicking my ass and I don't know, I guess it's all starting to catch up to me" I relent and he takes a turn humming, knowing I'm not telling him the whole truth. 

"You know you can tell me anything right?" he says, coming closer and cradling my face in his hands, granting him a sad smile in return. 

"I know, but I promise I'm fine. It's just been a long week that's all" he studies my features for a while and decides to take my word for it, seeing that I'm not ready to talk about it. He nods his head a tiny bit before leaning in and giving me a soft kiss on my lips, one that lasts but a moment before pulling away.

"You wanna watch something tonight?" he asks and I smile as my answer, making him chuckle. "I'll make the snacks if you wanna go choose" he offers and I nod, my face still cradled in his hands so he gives me one last kiss before letting go and leaving our source of entertainment up to me.

~~~~

As the movie we've already watched and fallen in love with plays Jungkook notices my absence even though I'm cuddled up next to him, my reactions being minimal to nonexistent.

The parts we always laugh at are met with the sounds of his enjoyment and not mine so he pauses it and waits for me to notice which I don't for a while leaving him even more worried. 

"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours Bunny? Did I do something wrong?" he asks and I sit up, needing him to know that he hasn't. "No, no you've been wonderful, better than I deserve honestly" I say, mumbling the last part but of course he hears it loud and clear.

"I'm good to you because I love you and you do deserve it, that's all" he admits so freely that I almost don't catch it. "You...what?" I ask, almost too scared to breathe. "I love you" he says with a crooked smile, clearly enjoying my practically speechless state.

I sit there for a minute, stunned into silence, not having expected that at all but he just laughs. "What? You didn't think I loved you?" he asks, brushing a stray strand of hair off of my face, letting his fingers trail down my neck before withdrawing his hand.

"No...I mean maybe? Isn't it a little too early for I love you's?" I ask, tentative to say it after I had been burned by...

"I don't think so. I mean it might be forward but I've loved you for a long time and I've cared about you even longer. You're someone that has been a constant in my life for many many years and the fact that you've given me permission to hold you, kiss you...well it's something that I don't think I can hold back anymore" he confesses, making me feel as though my heart might explode. 

"I-" "You don't have to say anything. Take your time and only say it if you truly mean it Darling. I don't want to rush you into anything you're not ready for" he says, chancing caressing my face again and rubbing his thumb along my bottom lip. 

"Come here" he says and pulls me in, having me straddle him not for anything sexual but just for the need to hold me close. 

I burry my face in his neck and he rubs my back, knowing that I feel vulnerable since although he's not rushing me, I know he'll be waiting for an answer. 

"I'm scared" I mumble against his skin and he hums, understanding the situation honestly more than I wish he did. He witnessed the ups and downs of the relationship between Jared and I and sat on the sidelines, knowing he could treat me better but caring about me too much to take away my right to make my own decisions and choose who I love even if it wasn't him. 

"Take your time Bun. You know I'll always be here for you, no matter how long it takes" he reassures me of what I knew, making me nod and wrap around him even tighter, taking his words as genuine but still terrified that this could all slip away at any moment. 

~~~~

A week goes by and I still haven't said it and it's killing me.

When he says goodbye he says it, whenever we've been intimate he says it, he even says it randomly just to try to make me smile but my mind won't truly let it sink in until I say it back.

"Baby?" he asks, knocking on my partially ajar door, seeing that I've been taking a little while longer to get out of bed this morning. 

I hum and let him come in, trying to assess the state I'm in before saying anything else as he comes and sits down on my side of the bed, looking down at me and placing his hand on my waist. I'm still laying down, not having made an effort to get up just yet which I know worries him as well but he doesn't push me too hard. 

"You not feeling well?" he asks, now going to check my temperature with the back of his hand but not noticing a fever of any sort making his theory very short lived. "No, just tired" I say quietly, not having spoken a word since I woke up, my voice still raspy which I can tell he enjoys but doesn't comment on this time.

"You want me to make you something? It's already lunch time and you haven't eaten all day huh?" he asks, knowing the answer but still allowing me the chance to reply. "Yeah maybe something simple like a sandwich?" I request and he nods.

"Want me to get it from that sandwich place we love?" he suggests, rubbing small circles on my waist but I shake my head. "No I'm craving one of your sandwiches" I say making him smile, knowing one of his favorite forms of praise is compliments on his cooking. 

"Okay Bun, the usual?" he asks, knowing exactly what I want but asking just in case I'm feeling like something a little different today but I nod my head in approval making him lean down and place a kiss on my forehead before asking if I want him to bring it up here to which I decline. 

"I need to get out of bed at some point" I say and he shrugs, "You're allowed to have a lazy day every once in a while if you'd like. I could even come join you later on?" he proposes making me smile, in favor of his suggestion. 

"Can we take a nap after lunch?" I ask and he smirks a bit, testing the waters to see what I'm actually asking for. "Just a regular nap this time" I roll my eyes leaving him sighing dramatically before leaving, telling me he'll call me down when it's ready.

Once he's gone the doubt that has been plaguing my mind comes circling back.

'What if he's just saying that to take pity on me? What if he's saying it to rush me into something I'm not ready for? What if-' I groan, cutting off the spiral that I send myself down every time I'm alone and throw the blankets off before going into my bathroom and throwing cold water on my face, glaring at myself in the mirror, daring me to keep acting like this.

He loves me. He loves...me. Why am I so torn up about this? People say it all the time so it's not like it's the end of the world. It's just that...well next time I say it I want to mean it. The next time I say it I want it to be real. 

I want to say it to the man that I'll promise to say it to forevermore. 

Call me a hopeless romantic all you want but if I'm going to trust someone with my heart again I don't want to regret it...

~~~~

"Here you go Bunny" he says and places my sandwich in front of me. "I love you" I mumble, softer than I've ever said anything before but it makes his movements stutter. 

"What was that Darling?" he asks, sitting down in the seat next to me at the table. "I um...I said 'Thank you'" I chicken out and although he wants to call me out on it he doesn't.

"You're welcome baby" he says, his smile a little brighter when he realizes that I'm trying, that I want to say it too but I just don't have the confidence yet. 

"Anything for you" he finishes and caresses my cheek before getting up and grabbing his plate along with our drinks. 

"You sure you're feeling alright?" he asks, my silence through lunch palpable since whenever he tries to start up a conversation I give him small short answers that make his efforts die in his throat. 

"I've just been feeling a little funky that's all" I say and he hums, contemplating his next words which surprise me. "I'm sorry" he says, defeated and honestly quite vulnerable. "Why are you apologizing?" I ask, not thinking that he would have done anything that would require something like that. 

"I knew you weren't ready and I rushed things but I wanted to be able to say what I felt for you because it was eating me alive. Having to cut off my sentences and not being able to speak my mind fully, holding you as close to my heart as possible but not being able to tell you that you had it in the palm of your hand already I just...I couldn't do it anymore" he says, his whole demeanor shifted into an almost sorrowful state that I can't hold it back anymore.

I can't keep hurting him like this when all I want to do is scream it for all to hear, even if the thought terrifies me.

"I love you" I say making his head pop up from it's dropped state, then feeling guilty and looking at his lap again as a result. "You don't have to say it just because I did. I just wanted to apologize because I know that that's was why you've been feeling so off lately" he says but I shake my head. 

"The thought of giving my heart to someone again scares the shit out of me. After...well after going through all of that the thought of opening myself up again was not something I wanted to do. I will admit I sought you out out of lust at first but as our friendship and eventual relationship began to grow I realized that I cared about you a whole lot more that I should" I say, me now with my head turned down, not being able to keep the intense eye contact he's giving me, hanging on every word. 

"I didn't know if you were doing these things for me because you felt sorry or because you truly cared. I know now that doubting your motives was honestly my own self doubt getting the best of me. You've done nothing but love and care for me since the beginning and I haven't let myself fully process the fact that I'm..." I cut myself off and take a deep breath.

"The fact that I'm falling in love with you" and although he said those words first the admission alone has me feeling as though he hadn't, as if he would change his mind now that I reciprocated his confession but he does anything but that, further confirming his true intentions for me as he pulls me closer. 

He doesn't pull me in with a carnal passion in mind, he doesn't even pull me in for a kiss, he pulls me in and holds me close, telling me wordlessly that he's proud of me. That he's proud of me for taking that step, for trusting him with my heart, my mind, soul, fully consumed by him without abandon.

"Thank you" he whispers, his face being buried in my hair making me laugh at the ticklish feeling. "Don't make it weird" I say and poke his side making him flinch and hold me tighter. "How can I not? The woman I love loves me back" he chuckles and when I try to pull back he squeezes me tighter. 

"Just let me have my moment" he huffs making me sigh and return his crushing embrace. "I love you" he says making me burry my face into his neck, mumbling it against his skin in return. 

"Nah nah nah, say it like you mean it" he says, pushing me back just enough so he can look at me. "But I do mean it!" I roll my eyes, playing into his pouty act. "Come on, say it!" he says, pushing me back and forth, making me sway. 

"I already said it, why do you need to hear it again?" I chuckle when his pout gets deeper. "Okay fine" I give in making his brows raise at my quick defeat. "I love you" I whisper in his ear and then run away, his hold on me having loosened from pure shock of my honesty, knowing now that I truly truly mean it. 

"Get back here!" he scolds once he's come back down to earth, the surprise replaced with determination, his intentions being to not let me go til sunrise.  

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Temporary

Roman Reigns x reader

Warnings: THAT NASTY 18+ SO MDNI, spanking, usage of "good girl". dirty talk, mild masturbation, daddy kink, unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT!), cum swallowing, pussy eating

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“Listen, that woman at the gym doesn’t mean anything! She’s just a trainer.” he pleaded with you as you tried to escape his arms.

“Joe, we’re done!”, you pushed out of his hold and walked towards the bedroom you two shared. Every time you put clothes in your suitcase, he took them right back out. He doesn’t want you to leave.

The woman at the gym really is just a trainer, she just overstepped her boundaries even after he told her he had a girlfriend. You’re one of the best things that ever happened to him ever since he got seriously hurt two years ago. 

“How can we be done? You’re not even hearing me out!” he grabbed you by your hands and kissed both of them, “I love you, and only you. You’re the woman I want to marry and the woman I want to be the mother of my children. Baby, please. Don’t leave. We can work this out.”

“Joe…” You wanted to believe his words so badly and you did, but there was something in the back of your mind that wouldn’t let you lean into it fully, “I need a break. You let that bitch into your space, close enough to put her lips on you.”

Joe couldn’t hold back the scowl on his face as he dropped your hands, “A break.” he scoffed, “Okay. Take your break, take all the time you need actually. Just promise me that this isn’t the end of us.” Cupping your face in his large hands and staring into your eyes, “Promise me.”

You made the mistake of letting a tear fall, he wiped it away just as quickly though. He was always there to wipe your tears, but this time you needed to dry them on your own. 

“This isn’t the end. I can’t tell you when I’ll be back, but I will.” you finished packing some of your things, and then you left. 

This was something you two could work through. You saw the entire thing with miss girl at the gym, pushing up on your man. You weren’t gonna break things off with him. The problem was with the reaction Joe had. You don’t know if he was in shock and couldn’t believe she did it or what, but him not immediately pushing her off and giving her the cursing of a lifetime pissed you off. He didn’t kiss her back, but seeing with your own eyes that he just let it happen made you wanna fight something. She had been lucky you were feeling classy. So, you needed space. Just enough to figure yourself out. 

----------TWO WEEKS LATER -------

The break had gone on longer than either of you expected. Thankfully the media hadn’t caught onto the way the two of you were never seen together. 

The first week of the break was full of Joe texting you nonstop, ensuring you were safe. The second week, you started worrying as you got a call from Josh telling you that he had started to miss sessions at the gym and snap at him and the other wrestlers for trying to talk to him. You knew Joe wouldn’t miss a session and even snap at them out of actual anger, so you decided to check in on him. 

When you got to the house you shared, Joe’s car wasn’t there so you let yourself in. There were empty bottles thrown everywhere and the picture frame of y’all’s first anniversary was broken. You felt that he would be sad, but not like this. And you knew this sadness would turn into anger soon enough because you knew he felt like he couldn’t talk to you or anyone about this.

You had thought over the situation and it truly wasn’t enough to ruin an amazing relationship. You were ready to come back and really talk things out and get back to how things were and be better. 

As you were attempting to pick up the bottles while avoiding the small amounts of glass, you got an alert on your phone. It was one of Joe’s friends posting about how “The Tribal Chief” would be in the club tonight. If that’s how he wanted to play then you’d do it too, but of course, better. 

Later that night, you called up your girls and told them what happened. They agreed with your plan to show up at the club and get your man back. It was nine-thirty when you showed up and nine-thirty-one when he noticed you in one of his favorite dresses. The short strapless one that practically left nothing to imagination if you leaned over slightly. It looked like you weren’t checking for him, but you clocked him, and the bitches he had flocking on him like some birds. 

You and your friends got a booth and ordered bottles. The night was honestly going great, you kept your eyes on Joe and vice versa. You were getting ready to walk over to him so you two could leave together until one of them chickenheads started dancing on him and he wasn’t trying to push her away. 

“Two could play that game, Joe.” you thought as you went over to a group of guys and asked the cutest one to dance. Short-haired guys weren’t your type, but it’s not like you were trying to take him home.

Joe saw y’all but he wasn’t worried. You know where home is and so does he, but he’s petty so he was letting the girls dance on him. He knew you were putting on a facade when dancing on this random dude. He also knew once the guy overstepped your boundaries, you’d go off on him. He learned that the hard way, sometimes his jaw still hurt with how hard you punched him the first night y’all met. 

The song that played was coming to an end, he knew you never danced to more than one song at a time. Something about you always wearing heels that looked cute but not cute enough to wear for a prolonged period of time. He saw you turn away from the guy and bid him goodbye, but the guy held your arm. The guy wasn’t getting the hint. Joe wasn’t going to step in, he knew you could handle yourself so he let it play out a little. 

This guy wasn’t letting up, he was gripping your arm and pulling you close to him despite your protest. You were getting upset and ready to put him on his ass until he pulled you so close that he kissed your neck. Joe was over there in an instant.

“Yo, let go of my woman!” he quickly got between you and him, standing up straight to make himself appear bigger, “I know she asked you to let her go, so why didn’t you? Thinking you was gone dance your way into not just some pussy but her pussy. Bruh, back up. That shit belongs to me.”

The guy sucked his teeth, “She ain’t even worth it. Just some random bitch to me. And her pussy belong to you? Seems like it belongs to everybody that wants some. Look at how she dressed. How you let your “woman” walk out the house dressed like a h-” the guy was cut off by Joe knocking his ass out. 

“Let’s go.” was all he spoke before walking towards the exit. You quickly followed behind him after grabbing your purse from the table where your friends watched everything go down.

The car ride home was silent. This was the anger you knew was coming after the sadness. You just didn’t know it would’ve been brought on like this. Joe wasn’t the violent type outside the ring, so to see him put his hands on someone really shocked you. As soon as you two entered the house, you were pushed against the door and kissed like somebody’s life depended on it. To Joe, it was his. 

He pulled away and said words you weren’t expecting, “I’m sorry.” 

You were expecting him to completely fix this with sex since that’s how you two fixed problems in the past, but this was a different type of problem.

You put a hand on his cheek, “It’s okay baby.” It was okay, you had sort of moved on. Sure, you still wished he had reacted differently but he was your baby. You missed him. 

“No, I’m sorry. I should’ve pushed her off. I was surprised that she got the idea that she could do that, especially after I told her about you. That doesn’t excuse what happened, though. If it makes you feel any better, the guy that owns the place fired that girl for unprofessionalism.”

That did make you feel better and you tried to hold it in, but damn did it feel good, “Oh hell yeah! I know that’s right.”

Joe moved his hands from your face down to your waist, “Now hold on, I’m the one that asked him to fire her.”

“Yeahhh,” you put your hands around his neck and leaned up to his face, “but he took action when you should’ve.”

“So that’s how you’re gonna play it?”, he picked you up and put you over his shoulder, “Now I’m gonna fuck you up for two things.”

“Wha– Joe? What the hell?!” 

“Fucking you up for letting that guy at the club get that close to you. You put me on my ass upon first meet so why was it so hard to do that with him? And I’m fucking you up for discrediting me on getting that girl fired.”

Was the second one petty? Hell yeah, but this is Joe you’re dealing with. The petty king.

He carries you to the bedroom, smacking your ass whenever you pinched his, and tossed you on the bed. 

“Get in position.” 

You knew what that meant, so you quickly got on your hands and knees. He pulled your dress up and saw the thong you had on. He bit his lip, “Damn baby, you must’ve known you was gonna get some tonight huh?”

“No, it’s just the only panties I could wear with this dress.”

He smirked, “Liar. Now count like the good girl I know you are.”

A loud smack echoed in the room, “One.” you had whispered it and that wasn’t good enough for him. 

“Louder or I fuck you until I get off and I leave you here begging.”

“One!” 

“That’s better. Now keep that up. Ten more should do just fine right?”

“Yes.”

He slaps your ass again, coming down on your right cheek, harder than the first.

‘Two!” 

Only two smacks in and he could see a wet spot form on the small fabric covering your pussy, “My baby getting wet already? From two smacks at that. I’ve seen and felt you get wetter for less so this isn’t that much of a shock.”

Nine painfully arousing smacks later, your ass was deep red and you were soaking through your panties. He ripped your panties off and rubbed through your wetness, “So wet for me.”

You nodded your head and arched your back just as you knew he liked it. 

“Play with it. Get it creamy for me.”

You did as told, truly playing with yourself. Slapping your clit, dipping your fingers inside your hole then sucking the juices off, really giving him a show. He let you do what you wished until he saw the signs that you were going to come. 

He slapped your ass once more to stop you, “Take your fingers out.” Once you did, he sucked the juices off. “Mm, you taste so good, baby.”

“Are you gonna fuck me now?”

“In a bit. Be patient.” He bent down to taste you right from the source, drowning himself in how wet you were. Flicking your clit with his tongue, drawing the lewdest sounds from you. He started to fuck you with his tongue while rubbing your clit with his thumb, “Come for me, baby. Be a good girl and come. Daddy wants to taste you even more.”

Your thighs started shaking and it was getting tougher to hold yourself up, “Ooh fuck! Joe! I’m coming!” and just like the feeling was gone, he had edged you because of a careless mistake. 

“What’s my name? Say it again for me?” he said while rubbing your clit with a little more pressure. 

“D-Daddy!” 

“Mhm, that’s right.” He pinched your clit a little and went back to rubbing it, applying the same pressure he was before. “Baby girl wants to be good right? Be good and let it all out.”

You started to grind against his fingers like it almost wasn’t enough. Joe knew what you needed, you just needed to come first so he could give it to you how you deserved. 

“Fuckkkk,” you dragged out your words, “Don’t stop. Pleaseee, don’t stop.” 

He rubbed you a little faster and you came with “Daddy” never ceasing from your lips. 

“That’s a good girl,” he rubbed you softly until your thighs stopped shaking, “You ready for daddy now?”

“Mhm.” 

He sat up behind you and undressed, then pulled you back to the edge of the bed still on your hands and knees so you wouldn’t have anywhere to run.

Rubbing a hand in between your legs and rubbing the wetness he collected from your against his dick. “So fucking wet baby.” he pushed his tip in and you were already running from it. “Nah baby, I ain’t even all the way in yet. Stop all that running.”

He gripped your hips and pushed himself in fully. “Damn, you tight. I love this pussy baby. Don’t ever second guess that.” 

He started to move, slowly at first, but soon enough he was pounding into you. Showing you that you belonged to him and only him. 

“Oh, fuckkkk yes. Right there, Daddy!”

“Right there?” he started angling his hips to hit that spot, “I’m hitting that spot huh?”

“Mhmmm, yes. Harder please.”

He listened to you and went harder, but you reached back and tried to push him away. His strokes almost became too much. 

“Nah, baby don’t run from it. Take it like I know you can.” he rubbed the middle of your back, “Put that arch back. Take this dick.”

You started clenching around him, feeling your orgasm approach you suddenly, “Daddy... fuckk I’m gonna come!”

“Daddy’s right behind you. Come for me, baby.”

He didn’t stop fucking into you when you came, he just slowed down enough to give it to you deep.

“Fuck, keep squeezing me like that,” he pulled out and stroked himself at a fast pace, “come catch your prize.” He helped you flip over and he stood up on the bed to come on your face.

“Shit, open that mouth, wide baby.” He kept stroking until he came, most of it landing in your mouth. When you swallowed, you licked the remaining substance off his dick. 

He pulled you off by your hair, “Lemme see.”

You opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue, showing him that you swallowed and there was nothing left. 

“That’s a good girl,” he leaned down to kiss you, tongue and all, “Now let’s get cleaned up.” 

A relaxing bath later, you and Joe were lying in towels on the bed. You were ready to fall asleep, worn out after what felt like the fuck of your life. Joe had so much energy left. 

Sleepily, you moved into his arms, “How are you not dead tired right now?”

“It’ll pass. Just need to calm down a little. Still keyed up after tonight.”

“Okay. Well, I’m tired.” you yawned right after the words left your mouth. 

Joe chuckled, “I can tell. Go to sleep, I’ll be in dreamland with you shortly.”

All you could do was a little “mhm” before you fell asleep, surely going to dream about all the dirty things that’s gonna happen in the morning. Whenever Joe has this much energy when he falls asleep it’s gonna lead to a very good morning. 

“I love you, baby,” he whispered into your hair then kissed your forehead, “And I know you love me too.” 

He cuddled up to you and fell asleep.

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[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | Batter Up

This new apartment was at least three times better than the hovel that sent you through the floor and into Simon’s lap. Both the deadbolt and the doorknob locked and used the same key! It had only been a month since moving in and you were still learning how to coexist with a man who maybe spent three out of every ten days in his own bed.

He didn’t text much and had yet to give you a heads-up on when he might be home. Today would be your only day off this week and you spent it deep cleaning the apartment and settling the last of your items into their homes. You had vacuumed Simon’s room, your room, and inside the couch. It was a newer couch but you still didn’t trust that it would be clean. The last one spawned crumbs like it had been put on this plane for that purpose alone.

As the sun settled you settled as well. TV on, volume low, you sip a glass of wine and relax until nearing midnight. Settling into bed you leave only a small plug-in nightlight in the kitchen to illuminate the darkness.

Quiet sounds, shuffling of feet, and the lock of the front door sliding home wake you from a restful sleep.

Terror kicks off as you fight to free yourself from your blankets. A bat lived under your bed next to the headboard for this reason. It had to happen while Simon was gone—course it did. Your toes are silent on the carpet as you pull out your protection. The bright pink softball sock had been a gift from a friend who moved before you finished school.

Opening your door on silent hinges you slip into the hallway. All is dark in the flat like you left it. There. Someone moves in front of the night light.

Lining yourself up with the opening into the kitchen you pull back, wound and ready to beat the brakes off whoever broke into your flat.

You catch him in the stomach as he steps from the kitchen. Your fear spikes when you see he is wearing a mask. There is no reason to wear a mask at night.

“Oof.”

Large hands grip the bat to his stomach. In a fight of muscle, you would have lost. Good thing you had your handy dandy sock. Pulling the bat down the length of the hall you leave the intruder with nothing to turn against you.

Winding up you aim higher this time.

He moves faster than his size suggests. One paw of a hand clamps down on the wrist closest to him, the other on the bat. Your sock must be on the floor somewhere.

The wailing cry that burbles out of your throat as your shoulders are slammed into the wall overtakes whatever your attacker is trying to say. The bat leaves your hand, fingers fighting in vain to hold onto the knob.

“Hey.” He shakes your shoulders back against the wall, “Hey, it’s me. It’s Simon.”

“S-s-simon?” You hiccup out the word.

The darkness obscures him still.

“I am going to let you go and turn on a light. Stay.”

You slip down the wall, strength leeching into the floor. The kitchen floods with light and there he stands, your roommate. You had hit the man with a bat.

A new kind of horror slips through you. Both hands cover your mouth in shock.

“I’m so sorry I hit you with a bat Simon. I didn’t know you were going to be home tonight.” Your words come out muffled by your fingers.

He groans as he settles down next to you on the floor of the hallway.

“It’s my fault for not letting you know we would be in tonight,” he winced as he shifted his arm over your shoulder.

Leaning in you let your tears water the sweat stains on his hoodie, a bit more salt won’t change much.

“Yeah,” you sniff, “Maybe we can make it a rule to tell me when you’re coming back?”

Simon laughed and then groaned. You started apologizing for hitting him so hard.

“Quit apologizing for protecting yourself. What was that on your bat anyway?” he looked to the floor outside the kitchen. Incongruous the pink sock causes both of you to laugh.

When you settle in bed after a cuppa, heart more settled than when you woke, the image of that single sock would leave you smiling as you drift.

Fallen Angel Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3

@lilynotdilly @theyarereal I finally remembered to finish this thought.

[marie-swriting]

Here For You - Emily Prentiss

Masterlist

Summary : Emily claims she doing fine after everything she's been through but you know the truth and you let her know you're here for her.

Warnings : based on 7x12, mention of Doyle and Emily dying, Emily struggling, angst, hurt/comfort.

Word count : 1.2k

French version

Song inspiration : Let Me by Jade LeMac

Comfortably in Morpheus’ arms, you turn around and unconsciously start searching for Emily’s arms without any success. With difficulty, you open one eye and find an empty spot next to you, lightly illuminated by the corridor light. Not knowing where your girlfriend is, you quickly get out of bed. Since she came back from the dead, Emily acts differently which is understandable, but it also means you’re even more stressed than before. Emily has always been secretive, now it’s just worse. You can’t decipher her anymore and you fear the worst. You trot around, following the light and you find Emily in the kitchen, her back facing you. You hear sniffing as soon as you call her name.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Emily says, faking a smile.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I was just thirsty.”

“Did you have another nightmare?” you ask her, worried.

“No, it’s been two weeks since my last one as you know.”

“You know, you shouldn’t feel ashamed if you still have some, especially after what you’ve been through.”

“Please, don’t start,” she sharply retorts. “I’m already seeing my therapist tomorrow, it’s enough… Sorry, I didn’t mean to be harsh.” She then adds with a softer tone.

“It’s okay.”

“I was just thirsty.” Emily affirms, putting her glass in the sink though you can see right through her. “I’m fine, I swear. Let’s go to sleep.”

Without replying, you take her hand she’s holding out and you walk back to your shared room. As you lay in bed, Emily gets closer to you and puts her head on your chest. It’s a habit she has had since she came back. Emily needs to hear your heartbeats to make sure she isn’t alone. Emily’s muscles relax when you start stroking her hair. The second Emily’s head gets heavier, you finally allow yourself to fall asleep, holding her close to you as if she’d disappear in the next second.

Yet, this is what happens the next morning. Emily left earlier because she has therapy before going on a case. You sigh, noticing her absence, though you know it’s for the best. It reassures you to know Emily is talking to a professional after everything that’s happened, you just wished she would have said goodbye before leaving.

You try to regain control of your emotions during work. You have to take care of a class of thirty seven-year-old students, you have to be focused. However, it doesn’t mean you don’t check your phone at every occasion, hoping to see a text from Emily.

It’s at the end of the day, after you finished eating, that your girlfriend finally calls you and without wasting a second, you pick up the phone. 

“Hey, Em’, how are you? Is the case complicated?”

“Always a bit at the beginning, but we have some leads. What about you? How was your day?”

“Oh, you know, I had to explain the same thing fifteen times, a kid sneezed on my sweatshirt and another one said I was pretty even if I was old. Nothing new.” you say lightly while Emily laughs.

“Another eventful day.”

“How did it go with your therapist?”

“She said everything was alright, she cleared me for work.” she informs you after taking a breath.

“Good. I mean, if it’s the truth.” you add and you can feel Emily rolling her eyes. “I know you, Em’, I know how you struggle to admit it to me when you have a nightmare so I guess it’s harder for you to tell your therapist.”

“It doesn’t affect my job, even Hotch said so.”

“I’m not saying otherwise…” you start carefully, “Look, I know I’d never be able to understand what you went through but I know one doesn't get over this that quickly. You’re allowed to not be okay, to struggle to move on.”

“I’m getting my life back.” she retorts.

“I know and I’m not saying you don’t, however Emily, you only worry about how Derek, Penelope, Spencer and everyone else around you feels since you came back but you don’t worry about the most important person. You. And I’m here for you, to support you. I’m not saying I’ll always have the right words, nonetheless I’ll do my best. You can come to me when you’re not okay.”

“I’m okay.” Emily repeats with a neutral tone.

“Your shrink might believe you when you say it but I know the truth. Emily, stop pushing away the people who love you. Stop pushing me away. You don’t have to go through this alone, especially when you can’t ignore what happened. Let me be here for you.”

Emily stays silent, only her breathing breaks the silence. You hear another voice coming from her end though can’t make out what they’re saying then Emily clears her throat.

“I have to go. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Emily hangs up and you sigh with tears in your eyes. You don’t know if what you said will make Emily react, you hope it will. You can’t handle this situation anymore. You know she needs support but how can you do it when she doesn’t ask for it? You don’t like this feeling of powerlessness. You wish you could take all of her scars so she could finally live freely. 

Throughout the case, Emily keeps her distance. She only sends you a text once a day to say she loves you, a habit you’ve had since the beginning of your relationship. Considering her risky job, you never stay a day without saying it to each other, more particularly since Doyle happened. However, when you reply to her message and you try to create a conversation, she quickly cuts it off. 

The more the days go by and the more worried you are for Emily. Something is wrong, you’re sure about it. You wish you could check on her, however you don’t want to be too overbearing. If you keep insisting you might do the opposite of what you want by creating an anxious atmosphere for Emily; therefore, you try to stay at a good distance, close enough to support her but far enough so she doesn’t push you away. 

As a way to distract yourself, you put all your energy on your work, redoing your lessons, correcting exercises. It only works for so long, your mind quickly finds a way to make you think about Emily.

One evening, about a week after Emily left, you’re at the kitchen table, working and eating when you hear the door opening and a bag loudly falling on the ground. Without waiting, you put down your fork and go toward the entrance rapidly. There, you find Emily with sad eyes. You’re about to talk though she beats you to it.

“I’m not okay.” she admits with a trembling voice.

And in a split second, she burst into tears. You run to her and hold her against you, trying to soothe her. You can tell her legs aren’t supporting her anymore, so you make Emily sit down on the floor while keeping her close. You tenderly stroke her hair and whisper sweet nothings. Emily’s tears run down her cheeks more and more while instinctively she puts her ear against your chest and listens to your heartbeats. In your arms, Emily finally allows herself to let go of all her emotions and to face all the pain she went through. You both know it’ll take time for Emily to heal but you’ll make sure to be here for her and to support her every step of the way.

Masterlist

[witchygagirlwrites]

Hank's Girl

Hank Voight x Reader

Blame @desimarie12 👀 and the 2 energy drinks i've had

You and Hank go to the police gala and run into your ex

Um steamy?!?! Companion piece to Really

Moving in with Hank was a big step. You hadn’t originally wanted to take it, not because you didn’t love him. You loved that man more than was reasonable but that was the house he bought with Camille, the one he raised Justin and finished raising Erin in. You felt like you were intruding on something deep but he was right in the fact that you were paying for rent and all utilities for a place you barely stayed at anymore.

It took you weeks to unpack and even longer to feel comfortable enough to say “Home” instead of “Hank’s” the most hilarious thing was the fact that considering you were friends with members of his unit that meant they now saw the inside of his home, something some of them hadn’t never really had happened. 

Tonight was the police gala. Of course the unit was expected to be in attendance. They all had the options to bring dates. Hailey was going with Jay, Kim with Adam and Kevin was going out with a nurse from med Alicia Jones. All the unit had the benefit of wearing their dress uniforms. You on the other hand ended up having to wrangle Alicia to go shopping with you to find a dress that looked presentable enough to be on a sergeant’s arm.

Hank was down in the kitchen waiting on you but you couldn’t get the damn zipper. “Ugh!” you hollered and heard his laughter drifting up the stairs “Sweetheart?” you grabbed your shoes and hoisted the hem of the dress in your hand to walk downstairs “I can’t get the zipper up any further”

You walked over to where he was sitting in a chair at the table and turned to sit in his lap. He chuckled, hands slipping up your hips before you felt the zipper easily tug up into place. “There ya go princess” you went to stand up and felt his hand slide across your ass so you looked over your shoulder at him and he smirked slightly. You shook your head and slipped your heels on then plunked the first one up onto his chest “Since you’re enjoying dressing me so much” 

He gave you a look that said to enjoy this while it lasted before tying your heel up your ankle then pressing a kiss to the top of your foot. He nodded towards the other foot “Let’s get that one down so we can get going”

You felt Hank’s hand on your lower back as you walked into the gala. Numerous cops filled the area along with their dates. You could’ve cared less about any of them,you were looking for your unit. You spotted Kevin first and tapped Hank’s side “I see the kids baby” he shook his head with a laugh like he did any time you referred to his unit as the kids considering you were in their age range.

He used his hand to guide you through the crowd, his gravel filled voice only having to let out an “Excuse me” once for people to get the point and move the hell out of the way.

When you finally got across to the rest of the unit you smiled when you saw them “My god you all look so good in your dress uniforms!” you complemented, looking them over then smiled at Alicia “And that dress looks gorgeous on you” 

They all thanked you in turn and Adam hugged you with one arm, whispering in your ear “It’s still weird at times seeing him smile” you slapped his chest playfully “Oh hush Ruzek” Kim shook her head as everyone started their own conversations amongst the group. You enjoyed any time you got to spend with them all, even at this stuffy of an event.

You were standing at the bar with Hailey and Kim. Kevin and Alicia had already called it a night but Hank had to stay longer so they were toughing it out with you. “It’s amazing seeing the change in him since he’s been with you” Hailey laughed and you felt a grin slip onto your face “I honestly never would’ve thought Hank Voight would be such a good man”

You heard someone scoff behind you and turned to see Detective Daniel Moore, a man you’d gone on maybe two dates with. “What was that?” Kim asked and he shrugged “Nothing, just bullshit hearing the three of you riding Voight’s dick so hard” 

“What the fuck is your problem?” you asked and he smirked at you “At least with these two it’s not literal but damn you’ve fallen far” “You son of a..” you were interrupted by Jay’s voice “Hey, what’s going on over here?” 

“Ask Detective Moore” Hailey bit out and you stared him down, seeing if he’d be so brash in front of Jay. “Was saying it’s a shame three perfectly capable women having to ride someone’s coattails or well in Y/N’s case dick like Voights”

Adam appeared over your shoulder “The fuck did you say?” about the time you spotted Hank step up behind Daniel “I think you need to reconsider how you speak to my girlfriend and my detectives, considering I’d hold their records to yours any day” Hank lowered his voice before adding “and from what I’ve heard you didn’t have much dick to ride anyways boy”

Adam clamped a hand over his mouth but Jay straight up laughed as Daniel turned red and muttered something unintelligible before skittering away. Hank’s eyes were solely on you as he told everyone “Head home. We’re done here tonight” you heard a goodnight from everyone but you were here in place from the look in his eyes. Oh he was pissed by what Daniel had said, a lot more than he was showing.

You walked in the door in front of Hank and could damn near feel the anger rolling off of him. “Let’s go to bed” you offered and he shook his head “I’m gonna stay up a little while. You can head up” 

You shook your head and headed up to the room to change. You wanted out of the dress anyways. You got to the room before you remembered you couldn’t unzip the damn dress. “Hank!”

You walked back down the stairs and he was standing at the bottom of them “What baby?” you turned around “The zipper” he chuckled and you felt his hands on your back before the zipper gave way. Instead of heading up you let the dress fall down your body and pool around your feet on the bottom step. “That’s better” 

He let his eyes trail across your body, taking in the black lace set you’d been wearing under your dress before he nodded up “Head up to bed. I’ll be up in a little while” “Make me” you replied with a grin but saw his eyes darken and knew you’d found a new button to push “What was that?”

You took a step closer, kicking the dress out of the way and letting your clothed breast brush against the material of his dress uniform “I said if you want me to head up to bed then make me”  he shook his head, one hand coming out to wrap loosely around your throat “You already knew I was pissed baby. You’re really gonna be a brat?” you grinned at him and he shook his head “Of fucking course, you love this shit”

He turned you around on the stairs and slapped your ass hard enough a whimper escaped your lips “Get your ass up in that bed. I’m right behind you” you felt his hands on your hips, pulling you back against him and you could feel how hard he was through his dress pants and bit your lip as you rubbed your ass back against him, earning yourself another swat “Go”

______________

You felt his hands on your body the moment you crossed into the bedroom. One hand teased low, almost where you wanted it before slipping away “Since you want to be a brat help me get out of this damn thing”

You turned to face him and started to work on the buttons, your hands shaking slightly and he chuckled when he noticed “What’s wrong baby?” you swallowed hard and continued until you could push the shirt off of him. You started to run your hands over his chest but he shook his head “Didn’t say you could touch me yet”

Your mouth fell open in shock and he winked at you “I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry” you let your tongue flick out to wet your bottom lip before your hands went to the zipper of his pants “Promise?” he grabbed the back of your head to pull you into a rough kiss “Don’t I always?”

You smiled into the kiss before you let your fingers work his zipper down, one hand slipping under his waistband to wrap around his hardened cock and he groaned lightly as he let one hand slip down to push your panties to the side, two thick fingers sinking into you “Hearing that asshole talk about you?” he curled his fingers and your hand stopped moving, going to his hip to hold yourself up “Like he could ever make you feel as good as I do?” he hit that spot inside of you and kept working at it until your legs started to shake and the only thing keeping you upright was his other arm around your waist “Go ahead baby” he whispered and you felt your orgasm hit you, your thighs clenching around his wrist as you sagged against his chest. “I’m gonna make sure by the end of the night that you won’t even recognize him if you see him again” he promised,pushing you back onto the bed “You want me to do that pretty girl?”

You nodded “Please?” he smiled “I love you beautiful” “I love you too Hank” you whispered as he shook his head “My damn little brat” before shoving his pants off his hips. You laid back on the bed and let your legs fall open further and he groaned “Gonna be the fucking death of me yet”

[syverse]

i depend on you // ft. katsuki bakugou

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

bakugou can't bring himself to hate you, even after you left

warnings&a/n: if this is bad LEAVE ME ALONE PLEASE!!! got suddenly verrrry inspired by that one drawing on tiktok and maybe i misinterpreted it in the writing but shoot me who cares. this is like my first time writing something and actually finishing it i get so discouraged and give up. if you hate this i will never do this again.

In his life, there's a lot of things that Bakugou hates. He hates simple and unavoidable things like the rain, and he hates specific things like people who rely on everybody around them. He hates weak people, hates getting up too early in the morning, hates being too involved in other people's lives if he doesn’t necessarily have to be. But, as he sits alone at his desk, forced to listen to the obnoxious and overbearing sounds of society in Tokyo despite how late it is, Bakugo can’t think of anything he hates more than you. 

He spent a lot of his life loving you. He loved things like your unwavering conviction to do the right thing, he loved the look in your eyes when you stole glances from each other during class dinner back when you were both in highschool, and loved the way you whispered his name like a prayer when it was just the two of you under the covers of your shared bed. It was hard at first, but as the two of you grew together, so did his love. He learned to love through the sound of your laughter and the feeling of your gentle hands intertwining with his. Nimble fingers pressing into the palms of his hands before flipping them over and placing feather-like kisses on his fingerprints, he tries to swallow the bile that claws its path up his throat.  

Along with the symphony of nightlife outside of his agency, he can also pick out the faint sound of a news reporter being broadcasted on a billboard next to his building. Pictures of your face are shown on the large screen, along with the headline “PRO HERO TURNED VILLAIN” and Bakugou holds his breath for as long as he can. His phone lay flat on his desk in front of him, buzzing every few seconds from concerned friends and family members, but the blonde doesn’t dare to touch it. It had been at least a week since your departure from his agency, and the news had spread to all of Japan at this point, but the news and media were still eating it alive as if they were starving. 

Bakugou’s eyes glue shut as he wishes for memories of you to disappear, and for the heavy dread in his gut to fizz up and die out. He curses himself for not picking up on it sooner, the fact that you would leave. Looking back on it, he’s pretty sure he could put his finger on the exact moment when you started to fade away. When the universe in your eyes started to blur each time you looked at him, when the sense behind your touch became hesitant instead of gentle, and when your cheeks no longer touched your eyes when you smiled. He should’ve said something. Should’ve done a lot of things to at least delay your disappearance, but Bakugo was familiar with the fact that he was never good with words, and the fact that his heart was bottomless with fear of him making it worse. 

Bakugou absolutely hates you for leaving him here. He hates that he can’t throw every single I love you that came out of his mouth into a little box and set it to ashes, hates that he has to go back to home and still smell you on his bedsheets, hates that even though you’ve made it clear that you’re never coming back, he still patiently waits with bated breath to hear you whisper his name again.  So, as Katsuki picks himself off of his desk and drags himself to the elevator to return back his house, his house where you don't live anymore, he tries to convince himself to forget you, and ignores the way his tongue instinctively traces the letters of your name on the roof of his mouth.