#so if you are interested feel free to look :)

[oceantornadoo]

ch12 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: shepherd gets tortured. reader has ptsd. violence and gore. everyone's a little feral.

masterlist | next

“John.” You breathe.

He’s there at the top of the stairwell, haloed by light like an avenging angel. Before you can reach out, someone yanks you backward.

You fall back in a tangle of limbs, you and Shepherd hurtling down the wooden stairs. The proximity disgusts you more than the hurt of falling as you try valiantly to push him off. He’s got  a vice-like grip on your arms, holding you from the back when you settle at the bottom of the stairs. What he doesn’t expect is your bite, sinking your teeth into the hand closest to your mouth. Shepherd releases you only slightly but it’s enough for you to land a kick to his shin and crawl away. 

You’re almost free when you feel his hand on your ankle. He’s like a parasite you can’t shake. You gather your strength to turn as his nails dig in, but you feel them release with a sharp crack. It’s John.

He stepped on Shepherd’s elbow with his heel, and you’re pretty sure it’s broken by the way the General lays on the floor in shock. John’s better than those instincts though, grabbing the man by the collar and throwing him far away from you. It’s a flurry of activity after that. Flashes of Simon cradling your face, Gaz checking you for wounds, John securing Shepherd. When you finally process that you’re safe, you wiggle out of Simon’s arms to find John. He’s standing over Shepherd with a gun in hand. The villain himself is tied down to the chair you were kept in. Each leg is tied to a leg of the chair, and his arms tied to the arms of it as well. There’s rope in his mouth, gagging him from spewing more violence.

“John.” He doesn’t turn to you, eyes on your kidnapper. “You okay?” He murmurs out of the corner of his mouth. You nod, then whisper a small ‘yes’ when you realize John can’t see you. “He hurt you?” You take stock of your injuries. A bruise tailbone and hips from where you were tugged down the stairs. Your arms ache from thrashing against your restraints. “Yes.” You whisper. There’s a sound of metal on metal, and the gun in his hand is replaced by a switchblade. On a closer look, you realize it’s not John’s but Simon’s. When you turn back to your brother, all he does is nod, no regret on his face.

“Got some question f’ ya ‘fore ya die, Shepherd.” Shepherd tries to spit at John, but the gag stops him. “Who’s the rat?” Shepherd stays silent, eyes glaring. “When I pull down this rope, all y’r sayin’ is a name. You’ll pay f’r anythin’ else.” John tugs the gag down, away from the man’s teeth. Shepherd sucks in a breath, then spits near John’s shoe. “Fuck you and your bastard. Bet she’s loose like a slut anyway.”

John starts with Shepherd’s fingers, the ones that pulled you down the stairs. The switchblade is sharp but small, so it takes a minute for Shepherd’s left ring finger to separate from his hand. You watch with detached interest as he bucks against the confines of his own rope, legs kicking out violently. Gaz walks behind the chair to hold it down, his muscles flexing with effort. Finally, John cuts the finger off. Shepherd wails behind the gag, but you flinch only when the tip of his finger rolls towards you on the carpet. Before it can reach you, John kicks it away and repeats the process with Shepherd’s right finger. The man is starting to pale, white and ashy with blood loss. You don’t care.

“Next question. Where are my weapons?” Shepherd shakes his head, but you can’t tell if it’s from shock or a refusal to answer. “Last chance, General.” John rips down the gag again. “You’ll never find ‘em. Every day you’ll wake up thinking this will be-” John pulls the gag back up, cutting him off. “Christ, he’s a piece of work.” Gaz mutters from behind you. 

“He called ya a bastard and a slut, tha’ righ’?” You can practically hear Simon flinch at John’s words. “And a brat.” You answer. John nods to Gaz, who tears the gag off of Shepherd. “You’re gonna fuckin’ pay for this, John Price. My men are loyal, they’ll avenge-” Avenge what, you’re not exactly sure, as a gloved hand grabs Shepherd’s tongue. It’s Simon’s. His grip is sure, securing Shepherd’s slimy mouth even as he moves his head from right to left. It quickly stops when John pierces the middle with his knife, enough to go all the way through. You inch closer to watch, wrapping your hands around your waist as you watch the torture continue. John rips the knife to one end, the metal slicing easily through muscle. He comes back to finish the job on the other side, Simon taking the tongue as a souvenir. Shepherd tries to talk, but both the blood and lack of tongue limit his speech.

“Anythin’ else, sweetheart?” You think back to your body. Of how it felt to be knocked out for who knows how long, waking up in an unfamiliar location and not knowing who transported you there. Of wearing clothes that weren’t yours. “His dick.” You murmur. John might be smiling, it’s hard to tell underneath the shadows of the room and his beard. Simon unzips Shepherd’s pants, yanking them down forcefully so the friction burns. “You goin’ t’ watch, baby?” John asks. You nod. It’s the first step of healing, you think, in some fucked up way. John doesn’t care to wipe the blood off the knife, sliding it down Shepherd's cheekbone in a violent caress. “Because my wife is watchin’, I’ll make this quick. You can thank ‘er f’r that mercy when you’re rottin’ in hell.” John slices Shepherd’s flaccid dick off easily, making sure the only time you see it is once it’s detached. Blood is everywhere now, matching the blood red carpet. A part of you muses that there will be no need to clean.

“We good?” It’s the first time John has really looked at you, turning his body all the way. Your avenging angel with dark circles under his eyes and another man’s blood on his hands. You nod eagerly, wanting to go home.

When John slices Shepherd's throat, it’s like cutting through butter. A release.

John wraps you in his arms when the tears you’ve been holding in finally fall. Your legs around his waist, your face in the crook of your neck. Neither of you care about the blood on his body. “I’m sorry.” It’s like both of you say it, words meshing with tears. He maneuvers you to a nearby couch, some piece of furniture you hadn’t noticed in the corner. All of the movement in the background washes over you: the men moving the body, Gaz asking about Phil, footsteps up the stairs. You want to tell John that you’re crying because of the past few days and not because of his actions right now, but the words get caught in your throat. John tucks his own head into the crook of your neck at what must be an uncomfortable angle. He’s crying too, soaking through the shirt you’re wearing without your consent. The realization jolts you: there’s a t-shirt and pair of joggers on your body that you did not put on. 

He feels the switch instantly. John pulls back, red eyes matching yours, concern etched into his forehead. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” You pull at the fabric, hiccupping before answering. “They- they changed me when I was knocked out. I don’t know who…” You trail off, caught in a nightmare. John barks an order at Simon, and your brother takes it, hustling up the stairs like his life depends on it. It would make you laugh if you weren’t so raw, the realities of the past days hitting you. Rough thumbs brush the soft skin under your eyes, capturing tears you didn’t even know were falling. It just makes you cry harder. 

Simon appears holding a sweatshirt and sweatpants out, all black. “Here, love.” It’s directed towards you but John takes them instead, thanking your brother in low tones. Everyone in the room leaves, closing the door at the top for some privacy. 

“You want my help?” You nod. John pulls you off his lap and into a standing position. Your body is shutting down and he knows, those blue eyes of his all seeing. He peels off the shirt and exhales a breath when he sees they kept you in your bra. “Up we go, baby.” He helps you raise your arms into the sleeves, tugging the sweatshirt down. His hands feel safer than your own because you know he’d stop if you asked. You don’t know what your own hands would do. He tugs down the old pants, stiffening when he sees your underwear. “Did they…?” He asks firmly. You shake your head no. “Phil kept making me drink water without a bathroom.” John nods, sliding down the underwear and pulling up the new sweatpants so fast that you don’t even feel exposed. “My brave girl.” He kisses your forehead and it’s the end of everything.

Exhaustion hits you like a train. You can finally relax, having been in survival mode for the past two days. When John gathers you in his lap again, you fall into a dreamless sleep.

-

“Simon.” John grunts. He’s holding your sleeping body in his arms at the top of the stairs, letting Simon know to open the door. It creaks open and you whimper at the sound, burrowing yourself further into him. The ground floor of the church is bright, sun streaming through the broken windows like a holy trick. Shepherd picked an abandoned church near the library John gifted you. It scares him to think about how much information Phil fed him, how much information you gave freely in the name of what you thought was friendship. Guilt is sickly sweet in his heart, candycoated with relief that he found you. That he kept his promise to keep you.

“She’s dead asleep.” John whispers. They don’t acknowledge that this is the first time he’s called Simon by his name, or that Simon even let him. They’re true brother’s-in-law now, bound to their duty to you. He doesn’t think about what would have happened if they hadn’t trusted each other. “You takin’ her t’ the library?” John doesn’t ask how Simon knows about it, only shaking his head. “Could be compromised. ‘M takin’ her home.” Home. Manchester no longer. 

“Gaz.” He appears in an instant. “Sir?” Gaz’s eyes flick to your body wrapped around John, filled with concern. “I want everyone out of the Castle except the guards. Don’t care where you put ‘em. Johnny found the rat yet?” Gaz shakes his head frustratedly. “Not for lack of trying, sir.” Before John can respond, Simon pipes up. “Let me at ‘em.” John nods his affirmation and starts moving to the car. Before he gets all the way back, he turns to face Gaz and Simon, conferring like they’re always been on the same team. “No survivors. Shepherd's or rats.” They nod without question. 

It’s a worrisome ride home. John checks your pulse twice, just to make sure this isn’t a trick. There’s blood on your cheeks, in the roots of your hair, on your fingers. It’s all Shepherd’s, but when John squints, it looks like yours. Like this was all a dream and he’s going to wake up to Gaz telling him they found your corpse. John Price does not deserve to have his wife in his arms. He’s spilled too much blood, split up families and killed men while staring into their eyes. You deserve so much more than a man who tortured your kidnapper in front of you. 

You let out a soft moan, waking in his arms. “John?” You whisper, afraid. He tightens his grip on you, stroking your soft cheeks until your eyes flutter open. “‘S me, baby.” You give him a smile, easy and big like you’re drunk. “I thought this was a dream.” He kisses your forehead. “I did too. Back t’ sleep now.” You comply, closing your eyes and nuzzling into him sweetly. He vows to never let you out of his sight again.

-

When you wake, it’s to an unfamiliar ceiling and the night sky bleeding through the window to paint the walls. You jolt, panting as you sit up. “Hey, hey, you’re okay, sweetheart. You’re home.” When you blink a few times, you realize you’re in the Castle’s sitting room, lying prone on a couch. John’s in front of you, showered and clean, sitting on a footrest near you. He has his hands out like he’s calming a horse and you want to laugh at the absurdity, but he might think you’re crazy. Instead, you nod, turning your gaze to your hands. They’re clean but feel dirty, like they were wiped down instead of scrubbed. “Why am I here?” You ask. “Didn’t want t’ wake ya or bring blood into our bedroom. Wanted to make sure I undressed ya with y’r permission.” You nod, biting your lip. He’s so goddamn sweet, even after mutilating a man in front of you. The urge to shower shakes through your core, leaving your body shuddering.

“I need to- need to get clean.” You’re already taking unsteady steps off the couch and towards the bedroom. John puts his hand on your back and you don’t see it until you feel it. You flinch at the contact and your heart clenches as his hand drops. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect that.” He nods, eyes filled with understanding. “Why don’t ya drop y’r clothes in the hamper an’ put it outside the bathroom. I’ll heat some food up f’ ya.” Your stomach grumbles in response. “Thanks, John.” He flinches. It’s minute but there. You both watch it happen, eyes catching each other. “Didn’t think I’d ever hear that again.” Tears well in your eyes but you blink them back resolutely. “Get me some food, John.” He nods at the order, walking backwards to the door until the last possible second where he has to turn. When he’s gone, there’s a hole in your chest.

You follow his instructions, leaving the bloody clothes in a hamper outside the door. You’re in the shower for an hour. Exfoliate, scrub, repeat. Your fingers are pruney and your skin is raw but it doesn’t feel like enough. You can still feel the piss running down your leg, the hands grabbing your skin, the needle in your arm. You’re about to scrub again but your stomach rumbles. Finally, you turn off the water, running through the rest of your routine and grabbing a robe to keep you warm. When you open the door, John’s standing in front of it like he was listening the whole time. “When you turned off the water an’ got quiet, I almost knocked down the door.” You’re starting to realize he’s been affected by this too. 

Instead of responding, you press your forehead into his sternum. He pulls you in closer by the back of your neck, threading his fingers through your wet hair. That’s the only two points of contact, your arms dangling at your sides. It’s proof of life: he’s here, warm and alive. You’re no longer in a chair, being questioned or fed water. Tears soak his shirt a little and he only pulls away when you start sniffling. “Let’s get some food in ya.”

There’s a small table by the window that you use sometime when you’re reading. Tonight, John sits on one side and watches you spoon liquid into your mouth. “Water?” He nudges the cup towards you. You shake your head. The thought of water disgusts you, memories of Phil’s grimy hands wrenching your mouth open. John just nods, brushing his knuckle over your cheek before pulling back.

When you’re full and sleepy, another creeping feeling overtakes your skin. You’re in your robe and you need to change into pajamas, but John is there. Something you’d never think twice about is suddenly the only thought in your head. When you turn back to him, clutching a t-shirt to your chest with wet eyes, he just gets you and it breaks your heart a little. “Goin’ to check with the night guards. I’ll be back soon, sweetheart.” You change quickly, feeling exposed even in the safety of your own room. The shorts you’re wearing feel indecent, so you shuffle under the covers before you can overthink them.

John knocks before entering. He’s carrying a pillow and blanket, which makes you sit up in confusion. “You ok-” “What are you holding?” He looks down at his hands like he expected the items to suddenly change shape. “Thought I’d sleep in the spare room downstairs, give you some space.” There’s a weight in your throat, too big to swallow. “Stay. I can’t- can’t sleep alone, John. Not after-” He doesn’t let you finish in favor of smothering you in a hug. You’re too dehydrated to cry, simply sniffling into the crook of his neck. He’s on his knees on the floor of the room, propping you up. 

“I hate this.” You murmur. He squeezes your waist. “It’ll get better, baby. We’ll figure it out.” You sigh, then pull yourself back. A burst of affection rolls through your veins, causing you to thread your fingers through his beard. “What if I’m never back to normal?” He shakes his head, his hands covering yours. “I’m this close t’ chipping ya, sweetheart. Think we got t’ make a new normal.” He kisses the palm of your hand, then gets up. “Lock the door?” You whisper as he makes his way around the door. He nods, locking it and testing the handle for your benefit. When he climbs into bed and turns off the light, you immediately slide into his arms. 

“You kept your promise.”

“Can’t live without ya. You know that.”

The nightmares come in a sequence of your worst fears. 

A gloved hand muffling your mouth with a rag, except this time John watches you get dragged away. 

In an interrogation room, Simon watches from behind the window, eyes blinking slowly as he analyzes your answers. 

Trekking to your father’s grave with Shepherd’s gun at your back. When you get there, your father stands half-rotted, a key in his hands. 

Gaz and Johnny fight over you, but when you try to calm them, there’s a gag of rope in your mouth. You scream and no one can hear you.

Your mother is standing over your grave. You’re next to her but she can’t see you, no matter how you try to cling to her shoulders.

When you wake up screaming, John’s there, holding your face in his hands and telling you you’re going to be okay. All you can do is trust him.

-

this was lowkey hard to write. reader is a girl who will be ok.

-

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[florencebirdsong]

Can I request jealous Agatha x fem reader? Reader and reader’s friend aren’t doing nothing even remotely romantic, Agatha is just over analyzing everything they do together and driving themselves crazy over it

Thank you so much for this request!!! I really hope you enjoy the way I wrote it <3

Staying In

Agatha Harkness x Reader

summary: when you insist on going out with a friend who is clearly into you, Agatha takes matters into her own hands

tags: red flags with hints of mutual obsession, Mistress Agatha, sub Reader, jealous Agatha, magic bondage, light impact play, overstimulation, fingering

authors note: suspend your disbelief for not having a crush on Darcy. I’ve had to as well 😔

she/her pronouns used to refer to r

ao3 | masterlist

You’ve decided that Agatha is being silly. Mainly because her being insecure feels impossible. You aren’t into Darcy. You have never been into Darcy. It’s never even crossed your mind. Something Agatha is well aware of and yet she insists that something is there. At least on Darcy’s end. Which you highly doubt since she would have said something during the decade you’ve known her.

“It doesn’t matter,” you finally snap at her. “Despite what you may believe Agatha, I am my own person. I’m going to go to a nice restaurant with my nice friend and have a nice, platonic night with her.”

Agatha’s face goes blank in a way that makes you nervous. It turning into a slow smirk has you shifting on your feet. Agatha is rarely wrong. It’s a fact that you usually enjoy. Right now it’s too hard to think of your best friend seeing things differently to accept it. Plus, the fact that you have zero interest in Darcy and Agatha has made her claim very clear should defuse things. And yet.

“It’s not what you think, Agatha,” you insist.

“Of course, dear,” she says with that same deadly look and you swallow harshly.

You have to look away otherwise that traitorous warmth inside you is going to take over your rational brain. It’s not fair that she still has such a strong effect on you when you’re frustrated with her.

“I think I’ll retire to my lab for the night,” she says, already turning. You enjoy your nice night.”

You fight the urge to follow her and instead watch her go quietly. That had been a little too easy, especially with your earlier claim. You’re both well aware of how deeply Agatha owns you.

You only debate with yourself for a moment before moving to get ready. Your and Darcy’s schedules haven’t lined up enough for a proper meal for weeks. You’re both busy enough it’s likely to take even longer for them to line up again. You can survive one night of Agatha’s wrath.

—————-

Every other item you try to use disappears. It starts out subtle. Some things not being where you thought you left them, others being in odd but not impossible spots. It escalates until your perfume disappears right out of your hand.

“Agatha!” you finally shout in frustration.

Of course, you don’t get an answer. She’s three floors away. Not that it stops her from watching you but she so does love plausible deniability.

You’re about to rummage through her own drawers (more to make a mess than anything) when her personal perfume bottle appears in a little puff of purple smoke right in front of you. You huff a laugh. Of course.

You don’t try and refuse it. Or deny how much you want it. Every bit of Agatha entices you. Her scent is no different. Even if the perfume doesn’t quite contain every hint of her, it’s enough of a reward for her to use it against you often.

It’s hard to concentrate with her scent surrounding you but it’s something you have to contend with every time you’re around her. You have enough practice to still complete your goal, just not without thinking about her every time you take a breath.

Since Agatha has yet to bind you to the bed, you believe you’re consequence free, at least until you return home. Then you reach the door. The handle turns but the door doesn’t open. You try to flick the lock but it doesn’t move. Frowning, you try to tug it free but it’s too small to get a good grip. It jiggles a little but remains stuck. It’s weird and annoying but nothing Agatha can’t fix. Later. It’s not the best idea to go down to her lair while you still want to leave.

A thought crosses your mind but you don’t genuinely believe it until the back door does the same thing. She really has locked you in. You prefer it when she throws you into bed and traps you there. Huffing, you wonder if it would be too crazy to go out the window. It feels too crazy, and a bit silly. You aren’t a teenager anymore and this is technically also your house.

Instead of creeping out of a window, you creep down the stairs to her basement. While the house may equally be yours, Agatha’s lair is entirely her own. It’s a dangerous place for anyone that isn’t Agatha.

She’s standing at one of her benches, going between a book and some vaguely-witchy item in her hand. You risk a few steps inside.

“You locked the door.”

“Did I?” Agatha asks neutrally, not bothering to look up from what she is working on.

“I could be wrong,” you shrug casually. “If I am then you’ll have no problem forcing it open.”

“I’m very busy, dear.”

“It’s very convenient for both doors to be stuck on the night you don’t want me to go out.”

Agatha finally turns around. “Careful,” she says in a low voice.

You swallow hard. It’s not a smart idea to push her but you’re annoyed enough to do it anyway.

“I guess I’ll just go out the window,” you jut your chin out.

Her eyes darken but she doesn’t move. You know she’s waiting to see if you actually try or if you’re bluffing. It pisses you off enough to turn around. You get two steps before your arms are jerked behind your back and purple lifts you off the ground.

“Agatha!” you yell more in surprise than anything else.

“I did say to be careful.” She tilts her wrist and you fly towards her. “Look at you, all dressed up for her.”

“I’m not,” you snap.

What you’re wearing is nicer than usual but it’s hardly your dressiest outfit. You’re going to a higher end restaurant than the usual casual lunches you do with Darcy.

Agatha flicks her wrist and you whimper at the pain that lashes across your thigh. Sharp enough it’s like you aren’t wearing clothes at all.

“Agatha,” you half-whine, not wanting to admit just how turned on you are.

She flicks her wrist again and you squirm in the air.

“Tell me to stop,” she says as she slowly circles you. “Tell me to stop, and mean it, and I’ll send you on your pretty little way.”

You hate when she does this. You can never refuse her attention. It’s all you think about.

Pain lances again when you don’t answer quickly enough. You debate purposely staying quiet longer to feel it again but you doubt this will be the last of your punishment for tonight.

“Stop,” your voice wavers.

Agatha strikes you again and you can feel yourself begin to drip down your thigh.

“Try again.”

“I want you to stop,” your voice comes out a little firmer this time and Agatha raises an eyebrow.

“I almost believe you,” she says, which you highly doubt. “Unfortunately, you’ve always been a terrible liar.”

“I- I want to go to dinner,” you try instead because you both know you don’t truly want Agatha to stop.

“Maybe. But you want me to fuck you more.”

You swallow harshly. There’s no denying that. “You won’t though,” you say quietly.

“Aw, is that what has my pet all upset? She thinks I won’t fuck her silly since she’s been so naughty?”

“Think?” you ask hopefully and Agatha smirks.

“Why, of course. I want my girl to stay, don’t I? Denying her isn’t going to that.”

It sounds like a trap. It feels like a trap. Agatha’s face is telling you that it is a trap and yet, that heat within you rises. With the way your games usually go, she’s probably going to fuck you. There’ll be some sort of catch, especially after you’ve denied her so much. But just the idea of her touching you when you were so certain she wouldn’t has you giving in.

“I -” you lick your dry lips. “I do want you to fuck me more.”

“Well, now you’re just stating facts,” Agatha flicks her wrist and your clothes disappear. “I suppose it’s better than lying.”

Anticipation surges through you as her eyes run over you. They snag on the red welts caused by her earlier lashes before they stray to the wetness soaking your thighs.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she coos and steps closer. “No wonder you’ve been acting out You’re too desperate to think properly.”

You don’t even contemplate protesting with her hands on you. When she looks up at you for a response you nod eagerly. Her amusement doesn’t settle the voice saying there’s a catch somewhere but her touch soothes any growing anxieties.

“I can certainly help with that,” she says and trails her fingers over the red marks as she makes her way towards your soaked core.

Her fingers lightly run through your soaked lips and you shiver. Agatha has been so annoyed about Darcy that she hasn’t touched you like this in days. You hadn’t realised how much the lack was affecting you.

“There we go,” she murmurs as she runs her fingers over your clit, making you gasp. She circles there for a moment before moving down and smoothly entering you with two fingers. “Empty that pretty little head of yours.”

Nodding, you try to spread your legs further apart but Agatha’s magic keeps you still. You wish she would let you down. Let you touch her. But it’s a miracle she’s touching you at all so you don’t risk asking.

Agatha’s pace remains slow until you’re whining with need. She’s so mean, only giving your clit a quick swipe every now and then until you’re begging incoherently.

“Are you going to behave for me now?” she finally asks with a raised eyebrow. Long past words, you nod desperately. Anything, you’d do anything for her. “Good girl,” she says gutturally and you fly over the edge.

She speeds up for the first time and you writhe in pleasure as the orgasm flows over you, the slow build to it having heightened the intensity. She doesn’t slow, even as you come back down.

“Mistress?” you gasp in confusion when she doesn’t stop.

“Don’t worry. I’m just making sure no silly thoughts linger in my pet’s head.”

You don’t protest or plead. You don’t want her hands to leave yet. It’s been too long without them. A second orgasm won’t hurt. Especially when she pays so much more attention to your clit.

As she makes firm circles around your clit, you wish once again that you could touch her. You want to feel her warmth against you and use your teeth to encourage her to fuck you faster and pull her hair when she doesn’t. Instead, you’re stuck whining in the air as she has her way with you.

Her fingers curl and hit that special spot inside of you. Your head drops forward as you moan. She does it again as she makes firmer circles around your clit and you’re coming before you even realise how close you are.

Finally, finally she lets you touch her. Her magic lowers you down and wraps your arms around her. You cling tight and whimper when her fingers curl again.

“One more,” she murmurs soothingly.

You meant to speak but what comes out is a low whine that’s quickly taken over by a moan.

This one is slow and soft. You’re sensitive enough that Agatha’s slow pace builds you up easily. You whine into her shoulder as the overwhelming feeling of coming a third time floods you.

You tend and shudder in her grasp before going entirely limp.

“There we go. You know where you belong, don’t you?” she asks.

She cradles you like you’re something precious. You nod weakly, holding onto her. There was never a question of who you belong to but you don’t mind reminding Agatha. Or, well, Agatha reminding herself.

“You mistress,” you manage to say.

“Good girl,” she says and kisses the side of your head.

You shiver again.

“So mean,” you mutter light heartedly.

Agatha gives you an amused look.

“Three was getting off lightly and you know it.”

You snort at the pun.

“Can we go lay down?” you ask after a moment. “I’ve missed you.”

The dizzying sensation of teleporting envelopes you a second later.

[mggslover]

Valentines Savior

In which Spencer saves his best friend from a failed Valentines date.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff x slight angst Content warnings: friends to lovers, mutual pining, reader is tipsy, reader curses, confessions of love, vague mention of reader having abandonment issues, suggestive joke Word count: 3,6k A/n: happy valentines my lovers! 💛

Everything seemed perfect. And maybe that was the problem.

The restaurant you found yourself in had the perfect setting. There was the right amount of background noise: the clinking of wine glasses, muffled talking, occasional laughing in the back, and a jazz band playing the most atmospheric tunes. The lights weren’t too harsh—a pet peeve of yours—and the food was delicious, which you knew was a reason for you to return some other time. Just not with the person you were seated in front of now.

Kamil Everett was a good-looking guy. Slightly older than you, but not enough to doubt his reasons for being into you. He had the perfect jaw structure, covered in the perfect amount of neatly trimmed stubble. He had nice, white teeth, not the kind that you could tell was fake. He wore a cologne that was strong enough to notice, but not overpowering enough to bother you. He’d put effort into his hair and outfit, and he asked questions that showed interest but weren’t too invasive. He was perfect. Again, just perfect.

Still, the little devil on your shoulder nagged at you that this wasn’t what you were looking for. That something was missing, something neither Kamil nor the restaurant could give you.

You jumped in your seat when a pocket-sized Penelope with pink wings suddenly popped onto your right shoulder. Fuck, you’d been drinking too much.

“I am sick of this! Truly!” Penelope’s chipmunk voice peeped right into your ear.

“How many times have you come to me, saying, ‘Oh Penelope, someone has put a curse on me. There are no cute guys anywhere. The universe hates me’, and look at you now! Perfect guy, right over there!” Her small finger pointed at Kamil, and you pulled a sour face.

Angel Penelope responded by shaking her head in disapproval. “I will never hear you complain again. Now make sure to turn the poor thing down nicely and send him over to my place so I can give him some love.”

You chuckled at her comment.

“Are you okay?”

You choked on your red wine as Kamil spoke up. Devil you and Angel Penelope disappeared from your shoulders in a cloud of smoke. You coughed a couple of times before nodding, “Yeah, I am so fine.”

You looked at Kamil, seeing the genuine concern in his brown eyes. You knew you couldn’t continue keeping him on like that. “Actually, I think this is not going to work.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean us,” you answered, pointing your finger between the two of you. “You’re a great guy. I just don’t feel… the spark.”

He scoffed under his breath, immediately standing up and pushing his chair back to the table. You grabbed his wrist as he tried walking off.

“I swear, you’re great! I’m the problem. It’s always me, actually.”

Kamil didn’t get soothed by your words, pulling his arm free out of your grasp and turning his back to you, walking toward the exit.

“I have a great friend!” you yelled after him. “She’s an angel. Literally!” He kept walking, ignoring your pleas.

“I could send you her address! Kamil!”

“Ma’am, please tone it down or I’ll have to call security.”

You looked up to find a stern-looking woman standing in front of your table. When you looked around, all the couples at the surrounding tables were staring at you. You offered them a tight-lipped smile and mouthed a small sorry.

Once the critiquing whispers calmed down, you grabbed your phone from out of your purse, finding Spencer in your emergency contacts as you clicked on the call button.

“Hey, how are you-”

You shushed him. “I’m in a restaurant, whisper, or they’ll kick me out.”

Spencer listened and lowered his voice. “The new one downtown? I’ve been meaning to go there.”

“Well, consider today your lucky day. If you can make it in fifteen minutes, I’ll have dessert ordered for you.”

You chuckled as you heard his keys jingling from the other end of the line. “I’m heading out right now.”

“Good,” you laughed. “I’ll see you then.”

-`♡´-

A sigh of relief escaped you when Spencer walked into the restaurant. He gave you a smile and lifted his hand as he spotted the table you were seated at.

You stood up from your seat, letting out a satisfied groan as he enveloped you in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too. I can’t wait for ice cream.”

You chuckled, leaning back to see his face.

“You smell nice,” he complimented.

“Oh why, thank you,” you playfully responded, grinning as you both sat down.

Spencer observed the cutlery and half-drunk glass of wine in front of him, raising an eyebrow. “I assume I’m not the first person you offered dessert to.”

“Nope,” you answered, exaggeratedly popping the p. “Was on a date.”

Spencer lifted his eyebrows. “Another one?”

“Hey, don’t judge me! At least I go on dates.”

“Does it count if they all run away before dessert?”

You scoffed a laugh in surprise, not prepared for his burn. “You’re such an ass.”

He cheekily grinned. “What was his name?”

“Kamil,” you deeply sighed, knowing you’ll be getting chills every time you hear that name from now on.

“Did you know Kamil is derived from the Arabic element kāmil? Which means “perfect” or “complete”.”

You rolled your eyes, picking up your glass before taking a sip. “Of fucking course.”

You thanked the waiter as he set two neatly made plates of dessert down on the table.

“I thought you gave up on dating,” Spencer wondered out loud, humming as he took his first bite of ice cream.

“I was,” you responded, taking a bite yourself. “Valentine’s an exception, though. I don’t want to be sitting at home by myself.”

“You could’ve asked me to come over. We still haven’t seen all the Star Wars movies,” he responded, commenting on the movie marathon you started last month. Then he pointed his spoon at you, “Well, you haven’t.”

“I know. I just meant spending the day with a lover.”

“I could be your lover.”

Before you knew it, the wine shot out of your mouth, painting your dress and the white tablecloth red.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked in worry, hurrying to your side as you continued coughing.

“Spencer-” you coughed a couple more times, and his arms made their way around your body, your hands reaching out to pull them off. “Spencer, I swear to god,” you sputtered out, “do not perform the Heimlich on me.”

The fact that you were able to talk reassured him enough to loosen his grip around you. Still, he didn’t leave your side.

You looked down to see the inevitable: your dress was ruined.

“Fuck, I loved this dress,” you groaned in annoyance.

“Here, let me-” Spencer grabbed a napkin from the table, turning back to you and tapping your chest dry. His eyes were focused on the low neckline of your dress, and the movements of his hand slowed, as if hypnotized.

“Spencer?”

“Hm?” He hummed as he continued tapping the now non-existent wine droplets.

“Can you stop touching my boobs?”

He dropped the napkin like it caught fire.

“I-, I wasn’t-”

“You totally were,” you widely grinned.

“No!”

“Yes, you were. You’ve been staring at my boobs all night.”

Spencer swallowed. His gaze quickly landed on your cleavage before he blinked up at you. “Well, I can’t help it when you’re wearing a dress that’s showing décolletage.”

“Ha! You admitted it.”

A red flush crept up his neck, spreading over his cheeks. “That was a ploy! You were tricking me!”

“Ma’am, this is your last warning; I need you to leave the restaurant now.”

-`♡´-

The moon hung low in the sky, the streets cast in a warm yellow glow of the lampposts. A slight breeze caught your skin as you walked out of the restaurant.

“Well, that was a disaster.”

“You shouldn’t have kept insisting on a doggy bag.” Spencer laughed.

You let out a chuckle, turning to him. “Did you see the look on her face?”

Your comment spurred more laughter from Spencer, making him fall against you in response. You widely grinned and nudged his shoulder, feeling proud of getting him to laugh like that.

“This reminds me of the time when I first joined the team and you asked me to have dinner.” You recalled once your laughter had calmed down, still trying to catch your breath.

The moment felt like yesterday. It was strange to be reminded of the fact that it happened years ago. Spencer had caught your attention the instant you joined the team, which was surprising considering the fact he wasn’t a big talker. Well, he talked most out of everyone, but it always stayed on the case, rarely sharing something personal.

That’s why it surprised you that one day, on the jet after finishing a case, Spencer moved from the couch he usually found himself on to the empty chair opposite you. You remember finding it endearing how nervous he looked as he asked you to have dinner with him in a restaurant downtown.

You’d overheard the several times he asked other team members to join him in activities, whether it was a new food chain opening or a movie screening. You didn’t have the heart to tell him no. Besides that, you were curious to get to know the so-called genius Spencer Reid better. He amazed you again when the dinner turned out to be one of the times you’ve laughed hardest in your life. Since then, you knew Spencer would be at the top of your friend list.

“You seem to have a habit of spitting out your drink.” Spencer mused with a grin.

You returned his smile. “That’s because you seem to have a habit of trying to make me spit out my drink by acting like you’re in love with me.”

Due to your tipsy state, you didn’t notice the way Spencer broke eye contact, the way he nervously tapped his fingers against his pants, and how he seemed to look anywhere but at you.

If it wasn’t for the subtle shudder of your shoulder against his, he might’ve never gained the courage to look you in the face again.

“Are you cold?” He asked considerately, his eyes taking over your form.

You looked down at your outfit, reminded again that you were just wearing a sleeveless dress. “Kind of.”

Without saying another word, Spencer took off his corduroy jacket. He held it open by the sleeves, making it easy for you to slide your arms in. His hand grazed the back of your neck as he tugged the collar up, then pulled your hair out from underneath the material, letting your locks fall over the jacket.

You softly mumbled a thanks, and Spencer responded back with a sweet smile.

“It looks better on you anyway.”

You chuckled, “Such a sweet talker.”

“Just to you,” he replied, a little too fast for his liking as he saw your gaze drop to the ground.

What he wasn’t aware of was the rush of butterflies that soared through you at his words, ambushing you in a way so surprising it made you feel nauseous. Or maybe you were still feeling the effects of the alcohol.

It was ironic how naturally the compliments rolled off of his tongue, how effortlessly romantic gestures came to your friend — actions you longed for in your dates.

Spencer Reid was old-fashioned, a gentleman, sure, but you couldn’t help but wonder if there was more than just kindness to his acts. If Derek and Penelope were right every time they gave teasing looks when Spencer brought you your favorite coffee, or when he’d made sure the seat next to you on the jet was always occupied by him.

“Are you okay? You seem quiet.” Spencer noted after the two of you had walked in silence for the last couple of minutes.

“Yeah,” you breathed out in a sigh. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

His question slipped in your ears just as easily as it went out, as your attention was taken by the neon gelato sign across the street. The brightly colored flavors stood on display, a harsh white light shining down on it, luring you like a moth to a flame.

“Gelato.”

Spencer’s brows furrowed, but before he could make sense of your answer, you took a leap, crossing the street as if invincible to any vehicle that was speeding on the road.

“What are you doing?!” Spencer yelped in panic, eyes flicking over the road before sprinting after you, ignoring the honking cars.

His warm hand caught yours, and in a hurry, he pulled you onto the sidewalk, spinning you around so that your back was pressed against the brick wall, Spencer hovering over you as he caught his breath.

He blinked at you in disbelief, jaw tense, and you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your mouth.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“We’re all mad here,” you dramatically quote, pointing to yourself, “I’m mad,” and then placing your hand on his chest, “you’re mad.”

“Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” he mumbled.

You nodded your head, a wide grin displayed on your face.

“So… gelato?” you asked, wiggling your brows.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh. “You just had ice cream.”

“Actually, I just had half an ice cream before they kicked us out. And it is not to be compared to gelato. You should know that.”

“Well, gelato does have a lower milk fat content. It usually varies between 4 to 9%, whereas ice cream has to have at least 10% of milk fat. The vast majority of brands have an even larger percentage, some even going up to 25%. Actually, now that you mention it, there are a lot more differences between American ice cream and gelato, for example, the use of eggs-”

You hummed in response as you took his hand in yours, letting him continue his ramblings as you guided him into the parlor.

-`♡´-

Your feet were dangling off the high chair you were sitting on as you licked the red plastic spoon clean that came with your dessert.

“I haven’t properly thanked you for helping me earlier. You really are my Valentines savior.”

Spencer smiled, pulling a lock of hair behind his ear. “I didn’t mind. You can always call me.”

“I know,” you replied just as honestly. “I wish it could be as easy as this with others. I wish I could just date you.”

A flush crept onto his neck, red skin showing on his chest where his top buttons were unbuttoned. “Why-” he hesitated before continuing, “Why can’t you?”

“Why can’t I what?” you asked back in oblivion, scooping another spoonful of gelato.

His fingers fidgeted with his spoon, his gaze nervously fixed on his empty cup as he spoke the next words: “Date me.”

Oh.

The longer you remained silent, the thicker the tension grew in the air. It wasn’t like you didn’t have any thoughts; hell, your mind was full of them. Your earlier theories flashed through your mind again, now getting the confirmation that all his attempts to be close to you meant more than solely friendship. How he had indeed tried telling you about his feelings all this time, and how you’d been blatantly oblivious. How you kept telling him about going on dates with other people while he was pining over you. There were too many thoughts to articulate, to even make sense of.

“Please say something,” his voice cracked in a soft beg, his eyes twinkling with hope, or maybe an emotion closer to desperation.

“I- I don’t know what to say.”

The spark in his eyes flickered out. Spencer mouthed okay while giving you an awkward, tight-lipped smile, his hands finding their way into the pockets of his pants.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he said to you, “Let me walk you home.”

-`♡´-

People always say fresh air is the answer to everything. Feeling sick as a dog? Go outside! Feeling depressed? Go outside! On the verge of a nervous breakdown? Go outside! Turns out whoever invented going on long walks had a point.

Your mind cleared with every step you took. Your initial anxieties around Spencer’s words fade around you in a blur. Slowly coming to peace with his feelings and your own.

Dating your best friend could work.

Spencer, on the opposite, felt more tense after each second that passed in silence. It wasn’t that he regretted being honest with you; the weight of his love for you was overwhelming. It was inevitable that there’d come a time where he’d spill his thoughts. However, he shouldn’t have done it like this, with you not even sober enough to understand the gravity of his words.

So, when you rounded the corner of the street and he spotted your house, which was all too familiar to him, he knew he had to retract his confession.

“I shouldn’t have said that earlier. I just… like you. A lot.” He rubbed his forearms, either in a nervous habit or because the cold was getting to him. “And I thought you felt the same, but I’m aware that it’s irrational because, well, you go on dates. And you go on dates with people you like and-“

“Spencer,” you interrupted, having to catch his eyes to get him to focus.

“I know it was inappropriate to confess that I’m in love with you when you’re not even sober. Alcohol interferes with the communication pathways of the brain, so this might be the worst moment possible to admit to something like this.”

“You’re in love with me?”

This caught Spencer’s attention. He focused on you with a puzzled look. “Well, technically I asked you why you wouldn’t want to date me, but I-”

The words died on his tongue the second your lips found his. It felt like you finally got the confirmation you’d always longed for. Someone that knew you inside out, who understood you, and who wasn’t afraid of showing you.

Spencer’s mind was spinning. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air before he settled them on your cheeks, holding you as if afraid you’d disappear.

It was only after a couple of seconds that his IQ regained from 60 to 187, using his hands to gently pull you back from his lips.

His lips remained slightly parted, pink and swollen from the kiss, and his eyes narrowed in overwhelming confusion. “What was that for?”

“That was to show you that I love you too.”

“You can’t just say something like that.”

“But I mean it, Spence,” you stated in confidence. “I was stupid for not seeing it before. For some reason, it felt like you and I were impossible. The thought never occurred to me that we could date. We’ve been friends for so long. But you’re the only one who actually cares, the only one who stays, and I see that now.”

His eyes watered at the creaking of your voice, but he blinked the upcoming tears away. He took a deep breath. Selfishly, he didn’t want to say the next words, satisfied living in the delusion that you loved him back, but he knew he had to stay objective.

“Alcohol consumption also heightens emotions.”

“I know what I’m feeling, Spencer,” you assured. “I’ve just… I’ve been afraid of you leaving me as well, of seeing me as not lovable enough, that I didn’t even consider it a possibility.”

You let out a small self-deprecating laugh, making his heart ache.

“Just give me another chance, please. I will not be so oblivious this time,” you spoke, the corner of your mouth slightly lifted.

His expression mirrored yours, and he gently grasped your hands, his thumbs running over them to bring you comfort. “Can you call me tomorrow?”

You looked up at him.

“If, uh, you still feel the same when you’re sober, we could talk about it.”

There was nothing you were more certain of at that moment. Still, you nodded.

-`♡´-

The buzzing of his phone on the nightstand was enough for Spencer to wake up with a pounding headache. His mind had worked overtime yesterday, rolling in bed in anxiety, waking up every fifteen minutes, and now he was experiencing the physical side effects of it.

“Hello?” he answered, pressing the device against his ear, too sleepy to have checked who called.

“Spencer?”

At the sound of your voice, he sat straight up in bed, his back leaning against the wooden headboard.

He cleared his throat. “H-hi, yes, it’s me.”

There was no pause on the other end of the line, your words determined. “I still love you.”

He leaned forward, pressing the phone closer to his ear, in an attempt to absorb your words.

“I’m really happy to hear that.” His fingertips skimmed along his jawline, in need of proof that he was awake, that this was actually happening. “I love you too. Still. Right now. Always, probably.”

You chuckled at his nervous rambling, hearing him breathlessly laugh in reply.

“Good. Because I don’t want to waste any more time second-guessing.”

“You shouldn’t worry. You won’t be able to get rid of me. I won’t leave you.”

He meant the words in a light, joking manner, but still your heart happily pounded at the sentence.

“Neither will I.”

[enviedear]

stay, little valentine, stay ｡𖦹° jason todd

🎧ྀི your roommate makes the fateful mistake of passing you, his roommate, off as his girlfriend to his boundary ignorant family. now the both of you are tasked with maintaining a faux romance for the entirety of a dinner at wayne manor—simple enough, right?

wc 4.2k | roommate!jason, lowercase intended, fem!reader, brief mention of booze, cursing, mutual pining, two idiots fake dating…truly what more can i say (a lot, so). please, enjoy my 'funny little valentines' day special ᯓᡣ𐭩

“there’s not enough room in the freezer for the ice trays. either move your booze or enjoy an ice free apartment,” your voice is tinged with annoyance as you stare down your long-term roommate.

he’s laid back on the shared couch, right cushion side, staring back at you with a impish grin on his face, “or, you could finally throw out that cake you bought for your ‘promotion’ party. since, the fuckin’ promotion never happened and it takes up half of my freezer.”

“our freezer.” you add. “and fuck you, i could still get that promotion any day now. i can always unfreeze it—good as new.”

jason seems to be beginning to tune you out as your eyes drift to a new letter on the fridge, stuck on with an ‘i hate gotham’ magnet. the print is fancy, cursive, bold black ink—YOU’RE INVITED—it reads.

“what are we invited to?” you ask, ice tray debacle not at all at the forefront of your mind now. not when you can tell your roommate’s got an invite from his estranged past guardian, none other than bruce wayne.

he hums a reply at first, still zeroed in to the rerun of some prison show. when he finally picks up on your question he sours, visibly, “some idiotic anniversary dinner for dick and kori. we’re not going, you weren’t even invited.”

you pout, “i want to go! why can’t we go?”

jason’s got a stern look on his face now, and you’ve always found it so unnerving how quickly he musters it up—usually so relaxed in your shared domain.

“we’re not going because i told a lie, and if we show up…everyone will know.” he groans, “just drop it, i need a little more time to ride this out.”

suddenly more intrigued, you prance over to him on the couch, flopping down beside him, “a lie?”

“don’t. just drop it.” he huffs at the obvious annoyance on your face, “it’s just stupid.”

“c’mon, we know all of each others ‘stupid’ shit. what was the lie, todd?” you’re being genuine, riddling your appeasement with a sweetly sardonic tone.

finally, after a good minute of staring at a very completive jason, he cracks, “i might have alluded to being in a relationship with you.”

your smile cracks before he even finishes his admission, oscillating between confusion and sheer giddiness—trying to halt the part of your brain that wants to imagine a life where a relationship isn’t such a laughable idea.

you curl your lips to stifle your last giggles before looking back up at him, “why?”

jason shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the question. his eyes dart away from yours, finding sudden interest in the television screen, "bruce kept...asking about my life here. if i was settling in, if i was happy." he runs a hand through his dark hair, "and then, all the others got involved, asking to set me up with people. i needed them to stop asking. and you-" he pauses, scratching the back of his neck, "you were the most believable option.”

you stare at him, unblinking, trying to process his words. "most believable option…” you repeat slowly, testing how the phrase feels on your tongue. a warmth spreads across your chest-whether from flattery or something else entirely, you're not quite sure. "so, what? think i can’t pretend to be your girlfriend for a dinner?" the idea sends an unwelcome flutter through your chest. you curse yourself.

jason's expression shifts, a mix of surprise and something else you can't quite read. "you'd do that?" he asks, his voice carrying an unusual note of vulnerability.

"of course," you reply, trying to keep your tone light and casual. "what are roommates for? plus, free fancy dinner at wayne manor? count me in." you're aiming for nonchalance, but your heart is racing at the prospect.

jason's jaw clenches, a tell-tale sign of him thinking too hard, "it's not that simple. they'll know it's fake. bruce especially—dick and tim too—they’re too observant for their own good.”

"oh please," you wave off his concern, settling deeper into the couch cushions, "we've lived together for what, two years now? we already act like an old married couple anyway. i know your coffee order, you know my work schedule. we share groceries, we fight about ice trays—“ you gesture broadly to the kitchen, "it's practically method acting at this point."

he looks at you then, really looks at you, with an expression you can't quite read. "you'd really do that? pretend to be with me in front of my entire family?"

"of course i would," you say softly, nudging his shoulder with yours. "what are friends for if not to fake date each other to avoid awkward family dinners?" you try to keep your tone light, ignoring the way your stomach flips when he smiles at you that rare, genuine smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"fine." he finally concedes, shrugging his shoulders, "but we need to get our story straight. no holes, no gaps—i figured we'd keep it close to the truth. roommates who gradually realized there was something more." he pauses, then adds, "the best lies are built on truth or some shit, right?”

you nod, and start crafting the imagined romance with jason. over the next hour, you both piece together your relationship timeline—how you first bonded over late night takeout after his patrols, the way you'd patch him up after particularly rough nights, and how somewhere between shared grocery runs and movie marathons, faux you fell for him. or him for you—the both of you can't agree on that just yet.

you try not to focus on how easy it is to imagine, how some of these made-up memories feel more like documentation rather than fabrication.

"okay, and when did we actually get together?" you ask, pulling your knees up to your chest, trying to ignore how invested you're becoming in this alternate reality.

"three months ago." jason answers quickly, too quickly, like he's already thought about this. "after that night I came home really beaten up, remember? you were so pissed at me for being reckless."

you remember that night vividly—how he ever thinks you could forget, you’re unsure.

him stumbling through the window at three in the morning, blood seeping through his stupid jacket. how your hands shook as you stitched him up, how quiet he was, how close his blanched face was to yours. you’d attributed the racing of your heart to fear, but now…not so much.

"yeah," you say softly. "that works."

the rest of the week flies by in a blur of preparation and anxiety, until suddenly it's the night of the dinner, and you're standing in front of your mirror, wondering if you've made a terrible mistake.

you're wearing a deep red-toned dress that hits just above your knee—something you'd bought on a whim (a fifty percent off sale) months ago and never found the right occasion for. jason had given it an approving nod when you'd shown him, which somehow makes you feel more nervous than reassured as you stare yourself down.

"ready?" jason's voice comes from behind you, and you turn to find him adjusting his tie in the hallway mirror. he looks…different. good different. the suit fits him perfectly, and you wonder briefly if alfred had something to do with that. the older man has a penchant for doting over your overgrown battling ram of a roommate.

"as i'll ever be." you manage, trying to keep your voice steady. "but, um, how convincing do you think we need to be?"

jason's eyes meet yours in the mirror, "enough to fool the world's greatest detective," he sighs, "and his army of protégés." he turns to face you properly, and something in his expression softens, but he looks away too quickly for you to discern, "you look really pretty."

"thanks." you mumble, fiddling with your clutch. "so do you. very…boyfriend."

he laughs, but it sounds slightly strained. "that's the idea, isn't it?" he offers his arm to you, "shall we?"

the drive to wayne manor is muted. jason's knuckles are white on the shifter, and you find yourself reaching over to place your hand over his without thinking. he startles slightly, but he doesn't pull away—even keeps contact as he switches gears.

"hey." you start softly, "we've got this. we know each other better than anyone, we live together. besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

jason sighs, his hand tightening slightly under yours. "you clearly don’t know how bruce and tim get at these things. anniversary or not, they'll smell blood in the water if we slip up."

"relax," you assure him, glancing out at the looming trees lining the driveway. "i doubt they’ll care about your relationship timeline when they’re busy fawning over how happy dick and kori are."

jason shoots you a look that clearly says 'don't tempt fate', but his grip on the wheel loosens slightly. "just…follow my lead. and if it gets too weird, we can always fake a medical emergency."

"that...is always an option." you grin, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips when he smiles back.

the manor looms up ahead, and as jason pulls up to the gate, you feel his hand squeeze yours briefly, almost indecipherable.

"last chance to back out." he murmurs.

you intertwine your fingers with his, ignoring the voice in your head that whispers how right it feels. "not a chance, todd. you're stuck with me."

the gates open, and as you drive up the winding driveway, you're unable to shake the feeling that you're about to cross a line you can't come back from. but with jason's hand so warm and relaxed in yours, you're not sure you want to.

jason parks the car in front of the house at the partition, "in case we need a quick exit." he shrugs.

"i think you're too worried, jason. i doubt they'll even question it. you said they wanted you dating anyway, i bet they'll just be happy." your voice is quiet, hand hovering in front of the doorbell.

he sighs, "you don't know these people, they question everything."

before you can reply or try to alleviate his doubts, the double doors fly open. you grab jason's hand in your own and pull him closer, just as alfred sets eyes on the pair of you.

alfred's eyes visibly brighten at the sight of both of you, his normally reserved expression softening into something fonder, "master jason," he greets, a ghost of a smile on his lips, "and miss, how lovely for you to be joining tonight. everyone is very excited to meet you, i fear my few stories were not enough to quell them."

you smile, a real genuine one too, "it's nice to see you again alfred! i hope we're not too late—jason decided to change his tie last minute."

alfred hums and beckons you both inside, "fashionable tardiness, miss. i assure you."

jason, hand now sweaty in yours, chuckles, "he's being nice since you're with me. he's usually irate by my lateness."

you shoot jason a pointed look as alfred continues. "master richard and miss kori have been eagerly awaiting your arrival. their anniversary dinner is a rare occasion they’ve pulled out all the stops for, you see."

jason grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, overachievers.

the sound of multiple voices echos through from a room, and you feel jason's grip tighten slightly. you've heard stories about his family for years now—mostly complaints, occasionally fond remembrances, and everything in between during late night conversations over takeout.

"master bruce insisted on formal dining tonight." alfred mentions, though his tone suggests mild disapproval. you've learned over your visits that alfred much prefers when the family dines in the kitchen.

jason scoffs quietly, "because god forbid we eat somewhere comfortable." you squeeze his hand again, a silent reminder of your emergency exit strategy. two years of living together has given you an extensive library of non-verbal communications.

the dining room, when you enter, is exactly as alfred has described it countless times—grandiose in a way that speaks to old money and older traditions. the table stretches long and elegant, set with what you recognize as the ‘good china’ alfred often mentions.

your muscles tense slightly as you finally notice all of the eyes on you—staring and studying—you have to think before you step.

bruce wayne rises first, and despite all of jason's stories, despite seeing him on tv and in newspapers, you're struck by his presence. "jason." he greets, then turns his attention to you. "we've all heard quite a bit about you from alfred, though significantly less from my son."

you feel jason's posture stiffen, but you're prepared for this. "oh, you know how jason is with sharing things." you say easily, the words flowing naturally after years of defending his privacy to nosy neighbors and concerned coworkers. "though, alfred's probably told you all my embarrassing stories by now."

dick grayson—exactly as handsome as the magazines suggest—breaks into a wide grin. "actually, alfred's been surprisingly tight lipped. just kept saying we should ask jason ourselves." his eyes sparkle with mischief. "which, of course, got us nowhere."

"some things don't need to be broadcast to the whole family." jason grumbles, but his thumb is mindlessly drawing small circles on your hand, a gesture you've learned means he's more comfortable than he's letting on. 

"oh, but this is so wonderful!" a melodic, cheerful voice chimes in, and you glance up to see koriand’r—kori to most—seated beside dick, her vibrant curly red hair catching the light as she smiles radiantly. "you must forgive us for prying, but jason does not often share such…delightful surprises."

"by 'us,' she means her." dick cuts in with a smirk, earning a playful nudge from kori.

"yes, and what of it?" she replies lightly, turning her attention fully to you. "you see, jason is like a tamaranian grisnek—so fierce and protective on the outside, but underneath, he is all kindness and loyalty. how could we not be curious about the person who has captured his heart?"

"great. glad we're all analyzing my personal life at the dinner table." jason mutters, though his hand stays on yours, his grip steady.

"do not be fooled," kori says in a whisper that is anything but subtle, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. "jason pretends to be irritated, but inside, i know he is glowing with happiness."

your lips twitch into a smile despite yourself, and jason sighs heavily, his shoulders sagging with mock defeat. "i think i'm gonna need another drink."

kori leans back, laughing softly, the sound warm and lilting, as she looks between you and jason once more. "you are lovely." she adds sincerely, her tone softening. "and jason could not have chosen better."

tim drake, who you've only seen in passing when he's stopped by your apartment to drop off miscellaneous ‘private’ documents, raises an eyebrow. "yes, it's all very sweet." he hums it almost, tone carefully neutral but eyes sharp, studying you.

"sweet indeed." you agree, letting some of your genuine fondness for jason color your voice. it's not hard to fake being in love with someone when you've spent two years memorizing their coffee order, patching up their wounds, and falling asleep on their shoulder during movie marathons. the hard part, you're starting to realize, might be pretending it's all pretend.

bruce barely looks up from his plate as he speaks again, cutting through your blissful thoughts of jason, “a shame i wasn’t aware you two were involved.”

jason tenses beside you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “yeah, well. guess you don’t know everything, old man.”

bruce sets his fork down with deliberate slowness. his gaze flicks between the two of you, assessing, “i never said i did.” his voice is even, unreadable. “but you don’t bring people around often. that’s worth noting.”

jason scoffs, like he couldn’t care less, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—annoyance, unease, probably both.

jason’s hand finds yours under the table. it’s definitely not a calculated move, not a necessary nor obvious display for the act you’re putting on. it’s just—there. warm and solid, his fingers curling around yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you don’t let go.

dinner progresses with a strange mix of tension and ease. You find yourself falling into natural conversation with dick about your work, while jason maintains a careful distance from bruce's attempts at engagement. still, his hand hasn't left yours, and you're starting to wonder if he's forgotten it's all for show.

"so—how did you two finally get together?" dick asks, leaning forward with genuine interest.

you exchange a quick glance with jason, settling into the story you've rehearsed. "it wasn't really some big dramatic moment," you say, the lie feeling uncomfortably close to the truth. "we just...realized we work."

jason picks up the thread smoothly, his thumb still tracing patterns on your hand. "she was patching me up after a rough night, mad at me for being so bruised," he says, and you can hear the genuine emotion in his voice. "and i just...i dont know—knew, i guess."

tim's watching you both with analytical eyes, and you wonder if he can see through the charade. "that tracks." he says finally. "you two have always been...close."

"speaking of close," dick interjects with a grin, "i think it's hilarious jason used to insist you were 'just roommates', and yet never went on any of the dates i set him up on. i should have known, really." there's a pout on his face, humourous.

you laugh, perhaps a bit too nervously, "well, we were. for a while." the irony of the statement isn't lost on you. you can see jason watching you from your peripheral, face stoic—but his eyes are soft. the way they watch over you, simply affectionate.

bruce, who's been quietly observing, finally speaks. "i'm glad jason has someone looking out for him," he says, and there's something in his tone that makes your heart ache. "he's always been...independent."

jason's grip on your hand tightens almost imperceptibly. "yeah, well, some things change." he mutters, but there's less bite in his words than usual.

the conversation shifts to safer topics—work, current events, alfred's latest culinary experiments. you find yourself relaxing despite the pretense, falling into familiar patterns of banter with jason, finishing his sentences, and sharing knowing looks.

it's during dessert that damian, who's been suspiciously quiet, finally speaks up. "you're good for him," he declares with all the authority of a youngest sibling. "he's less annoying when you're around."

jason chokes on his tiramisu, and you pat his back automatically, the gesture so natural you don't even think about it. "thanks, damian!" you say, fighting back a smile. "i think."

as the evening winds down and dinner ends, you find yourself in the manor's vast library, having wandered away from the group for a moment of quiet. besides, you feel somewhat redundant against their coded phrases and stories. jason finds you, as he always does.

"hey." he speaks softly, coming to stand beside you. "you doing okay?"

you turn to face him, suddenly very aware of how close he is. "yeah, i'm good. your family's...intense, but nice. just like you said."

he laughs quietly, but there's something different in his eyes. "you're amazing, you know that? playing along with all this. you didn't have to."

"i wanted to." you admit, and it feels dangerous how true those words are. "besides, what are fake girlfriends for?"

jason's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read, and for a moment, you think he might say something more. but then dick's voice calls from somewhere far off in the house and the moment gaps.

"we should head back." jason says, but he doesn't move. "before they send a search party."

you nod, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing. "yeah, we should."

but neither of you moves, caught in this strange liminal space where pretend and reality blur, and you're no longer sure which is which. even less sure if you hunger for dreams or waking existence—which is which? for a split second, you want to reach out. you desperately want to feel him—to possibly transfer the devotion you’re still too afraid to admit you harbor.

jason’s breath is staggered, coming out forced and shallow. his eyes, darker in the dim light, are flitting between you and the door—until he focuses in on you, fully. you’re too confused as to why he’s getting closer to you to react accordingly when his lips brush yours.

your first instinct is to furrow your brows, still confused. then, you kiss back. hungrily. confusion still fogs your mind, but nowhere near the way jason does. his lips are chapped, plump, and still tasting faintly of expensive dark liquor. his body cages you close him, hands respectfully at your shoulders. of course the only thing you can recognize is jason.

you err on the side respectfulness—opting to tug him closer by the tie. there’s a flash of the memory of him putting it on, and you can’t fight a small smirk from slipping onto your lips. jason must notice, because he finally breaks away to peer down at you.

“what?” he whispers, panting and staring down at your lips.

“what do you mean, what? we kissed.” you still feel giddy from his kiss, but reality begins to settle into you like a winter chill.

jason watches you closely, his expression a mix of smugness and unease, “hmmm—playing it dangerous.” he finally murmurs, shaking his head.

you arch a brow, feigning derision. “you say that to all the girls, todd?”

he exhales a laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “yeah,” he huffs. “that grand number of...you.”

before you can say anything, footsteps echo just outside the library's door. jason instinctively steps back, widening the space between you just as dick pokes his head in. “there you two are! we were about to send out a search party.”

you smile, pushing down the lingering tension. “sorry. just taking a little tour.”

dick’s gaze flickers between you and jason, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “right. well, come on. we're playing charades—and bruce is actually smiling. you don’t want to miss that.”

jason groans, but he follows you and dick back back toward the others. his hand brushes against yours in the hallway, and for a second, you think he’s going to take it again. but he doesn’t. 

charades is winding down by the time you return, alfred putting away various dry erase boards and markers with the kind of efficiency only a butler can possesses.

kori beams when she sees you, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “lovebrids! you have returned!" she gestures to herself and grayson, "thank you for coming—we would like to extend our support to your relationship.”

jason lets out a little breath, like he wasn’t expecting that—like he isn’t sure what to do with the sincerity. “thanks, kori.”

bruce, too, seems slightly less intimidating now. “thank you for coming—you’re welcome here anytime, both of you.” he tells you, and it sounds like a rare offering.

something about it all settles in your chest, warm and unexpected. you’ve spent so much time being jason’s person in private—patching him up, watching his back, making sure he gets home in one piece—that it’s almost startling to have it acknowledged in front of everyone else.

goodnights and goodbyes come soon after, and tim catches jason by the elbow before the pair of you can walk out the door, pulling him aside for a hushed conversation. you linger near the doorway, talking with kori and dick, but you can’t help the way your attention keeps flickering back to jason.

when he finally returns to your side, his expression is unreadable. “ready to go?”

you nod, murmuring your goodbyes as you both step back into the night air. jason doesn’t say anything as he leads you back to the car, but his hands flex at his sides.

the drive back is quieter than before, the easy banter from earlier replaced with something heavier, something neither of you seems willing to touch just yet. jason’s grip is tight on the wheel, his jaw set, eyes fixed on the road.

it isn’t until you’re pulling into the familiar streets near your apartment that he finally speaks. “they bought it.”

you huff a quiet laugh. “yeah? i told you so.”

jason’s eyes flick to you for a fraction of a second before he exhales. “thank you, seriously. you were great.”

you glance at him, something warm curling in your chest. “we just make a good team.”

something glints in his expression, something hesitant, something aching. “yeah,” he agrees, voice quieter. “we do.”

the silence stretches between you as he parks the car. you unbuckle your seatbelt, but neither of you make a move to get out. stuck stagnant.

“so, this is was fake...” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

jason’s fingers drum against the steering wheel, knuckles red. “yeah.”

you should leave it at that. you should forget the kiss. you should revert back to just his roommate. you should laugh it off, make some joke about how convincing you both were—but you don't—instead you say, “does it still feel fake to you? us...tonight?”

jason’s breath catches. for a long moment, he doesn’t answer. you almost let doubt seep in.

then, he turns, his eyes dark and searching. “god, no.”

your heart stutters in your chest, and you swallow hard, pulse roaring in your ears. “good. me neither.”

for a second, he just looks at you, like he’s waiting for you to take it back, to laugh it off. but you don’t, you won't. and when he leans in—slow, hesitant, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away—you don’t.

you decide to meet him halfway, instead.

writer’s note .☘︎ ݁˖ all of my thanks to the helpful, @sunnie-angel for being my beta reader for this fic! thank you again for your services—and your sweet comments on this little story, very very happy to have a moot like you !!!

��️ masterlist | askbox | recent works

[thanosscross]

Your Man - Choi Seung Hyun/T.O.P X Race Car Driver! Reader

Summary: After Y/n L/n starts to rise to fame with her new racing career, she ends up in contact with an older celebrity, Seung Hyun, leading to one of the best things to ever happen to you, even if he was a little older.

Warnings: The highly requested, age gap story, lovelies! Reader is 23-24 and Seung Hyun is 36-37, so quite a gap, but everybody is of legal age! <3 other than that, I feel like it's mainly just fluff and angst with a hint of plot, so please enjoy lovelies <3

Whenever you entered your early twenties, you had high hopes, you had just graduated college, and your training to finally go on the race tracks for your agency. You knew from a very young age who you wanted to be, a race car driver, and you stuck with that idea throughout your childhood and teen years, until you finally made your idea a reality, becoming one of the newest drivers in this year of races.

Along with new found fame with your profession, you also came into contact with a lot of different famous people, people you felt were a lot more famous than you, but nonetheless they were still fans of yours. Including one person who ended up gaining your interest and almost all of your attention at first, Choi Seung Hyun, an older retired Idol, and actor. You didn't care that he was older, a lot older than you, he was sweet, and you both clicked together immediately, always talking in your free time, showing your new friend all your new car adjustments, seeing all of the artwork he had made or purchased, or just talking about upcoming events for you both. It didn't take very long for you both to develop feelings for each other, Seung Hyun was very, very skeptical at first, not wanting to cause any more drama or upstir with social media, especially not your fans, for being with someone who was 23 while he was 36. With your persistence and reassurance for a few months, Seung Hyun and Y/n L/n had finally made things official though, you both deciding to just come out with it to the media, before someone else got the chance to spoil it for you both.

So now you were going a year strong, you had your issues every now and then, but you both were each other's home, somewhere you felt safe, no matter where you were, what the environment was like, you'd always be home with each other.

As you laid on your apartment floor, you huffed, looking up towards your boyfriend who was visiting from South Korea, who was currently having an argument with himself in his head about how to bring up something to you. "Jagiya..are you okay?" You whispered, running a hand through your f/c dyed hair, it being part of your contract for promotional and appearance purposes, that you always had to match your style towards your current car, something Seung Hyun secretly hated. "Hmm?..Oh, I'm sorry, Aein, yea, yea I'm okay, why?" He replied after a moment, glancing back down towards you, you smiled softly at him, falling in love with him all over again as his hair fell in front of his glasses slightly. Slowly moving to sit on your knees, resting your hands on his knees as you tilted your head "I can tell somethings bothering you, don't make me pull the full name card" You threatened, giggling loudly as he gave you a confused look, not understanding exactly what you were threatening. As you moved to sit next to him, you smiled "Choi Seung Hyun, what's going on?" You asked softly, Seung Hyun nodded softly as he understood finally what a 'full name card' was, he was slowly catching onto the slang and phrases you used. "Now that my interviews are all wrapped up for now..I was thinking of staying to watch your race coming up?.." He offered nervously, it wasn't something either of you had spoken about before, yes you had been on set with him, often visiting him for his lunch breaks, but he hadn't ever been to one of your races in person. It wasn't because he didn't want to, of course he wanted to be there to support his #1 girl, but being seen like that in public felt very real for the both of you, it would just confirm everything and multiply any hate you'd get for your age gap. "R-Really? That'd be amazing, Jagiya! Please! Oh it'd be so awesome having you there! Everybody on my pit crew already loves you!" You rambled excitedly, placing your hands on his cheeks as he smiled at you, you looked absolutely beautiful to him, all the time, but especially whenever you were excited about something. "I'd love to, Aein, anything for my girl" He smiled softly, blushing still as you pressed your lips against his gently, resting one of your hands on his chest as you moved your lips against his. "Thank you! thank you" You cheered as you slowly pulled away, Seung Hyun laughing softly as you were still just as hyped up after the kiss you just had.

As Seung Hyun held you gently as you slept, he couldn't help but let his mind wander on how exactly he ended up with you. You were a famous 24-year-old American race car driver, and he was a retired 'controversial' 37-year-old actor, you could literally date any person you wanted, you were absolutely stunning, but you still chose him? He couldn't understand it, yes, he absolutely loved being with you, and loved loving you, but he just couldn't understand why out of everybody, you decided to be with him. The longer he let his mind ponder the thought, he could feel himself starting to doze, eventually falling asleep as he kept his arms around you, feeling a lot more comfortable with you close to him.

The next week would be hectic, none of your training or promotional gigs going as planned the week of the race, first your wheel malfunctions as your taking the first curve of the track during practice, then an interviewer starts asking wayyy too personal questions, and of course, to top it off, your brakes for some reason, stopped working, mid final practice. You were starting to lose hope until the day of the biggest race in your career currently, Daytona 500, as you walked out onto the track, finding your way towards your pit crew and family who were separated by a barricade, keeping press and other drivers' families away from the cars and track. As you approached the area, you frowned, seeing your mom, dad, and pit crew, but no Seung Hyun anywhere to be found "Hey mom, have you seen Seung Hyun? He said he'd be here" You asked, using the bar of the barricade to lift yourself up slightly to try and spot your boyfriend, but still, nothing.

Seung Hyun sat on a small platform above the starting line, he wanted to be with your family by the track, but after a few hundred people swarmed him at the entrance, security grabbed him away from the crowd, hiding him in the one spot they could think of at the moment. As you looked around, you finally sighed, glancing at your parents, shrugging sadly before turning towards the press, ready to get the race started, and hopefully figure out where the hell he is. While you spoke to the press, you failed to notice your boyfriend quickly moving across the empty track, two security guards escorting him towards your family finally. Moving back over to your car, you smiled brightly seeing the familiar face of Seung Hyun "Jegiya! I thought you wouldn't make it" You smiled brightly, leaning over the gate to hug him tightly, ignoring your mom's judgmental look, sure she supported you, but that didn't mean she liked the idea of you being with a much older man. "Of course I'd make it, I wanna see my aein kick some ass" He smiled brightly, cupping your cheeks as he pressed a quick kiss to your lips before all racers were called to their cars.

Climbing in through the window, you made sure to clip on your helmet, making sure your coms worked before starting up your engine, waiting for the greenlight from your pit crew to move over to the starting line. "Y/n, this is going to a smooth race, don't let this week get to you, all that matters right now is getting through this race" your Crew Chief, Jacob, said through your headset, causing you to shake your head gently "I know, I'm gonna try and make this one my best one yet, let's just keep everything quick, smooth, and keep lines open" You replied, pressing the small buttons on your helmet to start your playlist, 'Case 143' by Stray Kids starting to blast through your headphones as you watched the flag holder closely, getting ready to line up with the pace car.

The first thirty laps were going smoothly, you made your way from 27th place all the way up to fourth place without any issues. You knew most of the other drivers, either training with them, or just meeting them at different races, but there were still a handful you had never met, including the driver in fifth place behind you. "Y/n, fifth is right on your ass! Be careful!" Jacob shouted, watching nervously as the driver bumped the hood of his car against the rear of yours, causing you to lose control for a moment, somehow recovering just in time to block him from passing you. "Nice save, hun! Keep that quick mindset and get yourself to first, y/n/n!" He shouted, watching as you zipped past them quickly, your speedometer reading well over 100 miles per hour. As you attempted to pass the car in front of you, you felt your heart fall as you realized you were trapped between the wall and third place driver, along with another car close behind you, basically boxing you in. As you glanced over, you shot the driver a dirty glare, knowing damn well he'll get a penalty if anything happens, so all he was doing was being a dick by trapping you. As you managed to get your car free from his and the wall, you were flung against the seatbelt by another car slamming into your back fender, sending you into a spinning wreck as your car spun out into the turf in the center of the track. "Y/n!? Y/n! Get the hell back on the track!" Jacob pleaded, begging every god out there for you to fucking move already, you wouldn't be able to though, your padded suit and leg getting caught between your seat and gearshift, making it almost impossible to press the gas or breaks "J-Jacob I can't move!" You shouted, starting to panic, feeling a sense of dread as you watched cars starting zip past quickly, if you didn't figure out something quick, you were surely going to lose your spot, and become so far behind, it unfixable. Slamming your other foot on the gas, you felt the car jerk forward, sending you speeding back onto the track as you merged back in with the race.

Seung Hyun could feel his body being consumed by nerves, hating the idea of him not being able to help you in any way, but as you zipped past quickly, passing two other cars in the process, he knew you had this as under control as possible. You could feel your heart start to hammer in your chest as you raced side by side with the driver who was currently in first place, your nerves too high to notice any glares or hand gestures he sent towards you through his window. "Now Y/n! Go!" Jacob screamed into the headset, noticing you only had one curve left to pass this guy or else the race would end in a tie, or with you in second "I'm going!" You shouted, growling whenever the driver next to you did the same thing, both of you speeding up as you whipped around the corner quickly. As you pressed harder on the gas, you could feel the pain in your leg start become a lot worse, but your mind was only focusing on two things. Winning, and the sounds of Seung Hyun in the background of Jacob's chants, cheering you on to be badass and to take the gold. As you passed the driver, taking on first place, your tires crossed the finish line, causing cheers to erupt from everywhere, the stands, barricade line, and your headset. Taking a victory lap to help slow down your high speeds before parking, letting the panic wash over you as you realized how much pain you were truly in from your leg being stuck. As you glanced down, you tried your best to assess the damage without freaking yourself out more, your knee was stuck between the gear shift and seat, and your foot was twisted in an unnatural way as it was caught in the track on your seat. “J-Jacob, I-I’m stuck bad, I need a medic” you whimpered, trying desperately to pry your helmet off of your head so you could at least get some freedom “okay, okay! We’ve got a medic on her way, we’re gonna try and get you out of the car until then okay?” His voice came through the coms as you tried your best to pry the plastic pieces apart to free your knee at least, only causing you even more pain.

The minute Seung Hyun realized you weren’t getting out of your car and something was wrong, he threw himself over the barricade, rushing along side Jacob to the driver side of your car. “Aein, baby, are you okay?” He asked frantically, reaching through the open window to hold onto your shaking hands gently. “I-i’m…chilling” you whimpered, trying not to cry or panic in front of him, knowing it’d just make him panic and start dismantling your car to get you out, even if it meant totaling it out. “Are you bleeding? What happened?” He continued rambling, not stepping back until the medics pulled him back, as he watched from a few feet away, he made eye contact with your parents, feeling a new kind of anxiousness filling his body as his mind started to spiral. Moving to rush over to your parents to swap them spots, feeling like it was more of your parents’ place to be there, waiting, instead of him. Your mother huffed giving him a confused look “What’re you doing, dear!? Why aren’t you staying over there?!” Your mother asked, tilting her head as she watched him nervously stop in his tracks “I-i, your h-her mom and dad-“ he started to ramble, your mother wasn’t stupid, and she knew exactly how Seung Hyun felt, you weren’t the only one who had started dating an older man, and while she didn’t like it, she wasn’t going to become her own mother. “Honey, she needs you. She’s going to want to see you for comfort as soon as she’s out of that car, so I’m telling you as your future mother in law, go take care of my daughter.” She demanded, watching as her words kind of gave Seung Hyun the push he needed to get into a non-panicked mindset, rushing back over to your car as the medics slowly helped you out of the car, keeping your leg in a wooden splint to keep it stable.

“Aein! Baby I’m here!” He shouted quickly, rushing past your pit crew and press that now swarmed you, he wrapped his arm around you gently, following the medics as he helped you support yourself as you walked with him.

After being sent from the medical building, to the actual hospital, you were finally able to return back home to your apartment, much to your relief. As you laid on your bed, you glared at the bright f/c cast that sat on your leg going from your thigh all the way to your toes, covering your knee, ankle, and foot to help it in the healing process. “You know..glaring won’t make it go away” your boyfriend whispered, his voice still heavenly to your ears as he slowly made his way from the doorway to his spot next to you in bed. “I hate it, you know they said I can’t drive for eight months, if not longer!?” You gasped dramatically, cupping his cheeks “I’m going to die! I swear! How the fuck am I supposed to live laugh and love in these conditions? Honestly?” You ranted, motioning to your leg “because I am not living! Laughing! Or loving! And it’s criminal damnit!” You continued, not noticing your boyfriend’s beyond confused face at all of your phrases that you were throwing around. It wasn’t that Seung Hyun was bad at English, he had actually gotten a lot better since he started talking with you almost daily, but he did get confused about certain things you’d say, one of them being you calling things criminal, how was your leg being broken criminal? Was breaking your leg actually illegal in America? Surely not, but, if not why was it criminal? “Are you going to jail?” He asked softly, feeling his heart starting to break as he genuinely started to believe the longer you rant, the more illegal, and criminal it was to break your leg “Wha-..? Oh Jegiya, my love no!” You giggled, catching your mistake almost as soon as you saw his overly worried expression “h-how is that criminal then?..” he asked tilting his head slightly as he leaned back against the pillows, pulling you close, all while being cautious of your cast and leg.

“It’s just a thing..that people say I guess, it’s not actually criminal though, Jegiya, I promise” you smiled, not being able to hold back your giggles as he nodded gently. You couldn’t help it, he was so damn adorable whenever he was confused like this, it just made you want to hug him and never let go. “Is there anything I can do for you, love?” Seung Hyun whispered after a moment, tracing his fingers over your shoulder as he let out a deep breath “Just you, Jegiya” you whispered, holding onto him tightly as you closed your eyes, letting yourself relax “hey Y/n?…” he whispered gently, causing you to tilt your head up gently to meet his gaze “I’m proud of you, you’re like..the coolest badass I know” he smiled softly, pressing his lips to your forehead gently “ya know, ever since I showed you the word badass in English, you’ve been calling me it every five seconds” you laughed, watching as he just shrugged in reply “because you’re a badass, I’m just saying the truth” he replied playfully, starting to run his fingers through your hair as he took another breath “Aein…how would you feel about getting a home here together?” He asked after a moment, you sat up, tilting your head, silently asking him to repeat himself just to make sure you heard him correctly, after getting confirmation that, yes, he did want to get a house with you, you smiled brightly. “I would be so excited!! Please! I’d love it so much” you smiled, hugging him tightly as you smiled, as you laid there for a little longer, Seung Hyun had one last question for you, it starting to chip away at him way too much for him to stay quiet any longer.

“Why did you ask me out?..like, out of everybody in this world, why some weird guy who’s way older than you? Wouldn’t you want somebody your age? Who’s able to keep up with you?” He rambled, causing you to sit up again, this time highly offended, how fucking dare he, not only questioning your judgement, but also talking down towards himself? What the fuck. “Stop. Just stop it Seung Hyun. I like my weird guy, he’s weird like me, and it makes him fun to be around” you started your lecture, taking his hand in yours gently as you spoke “and for the other stuff? I’ve told you, my love. The same reason you like me, I didn’t fall in love with your age or name, I fell in love with you, and your personality, and trust me, handsome, you keep up with me better than anybody, you’re amazing” you giggled, biting your bottom lip teasingly as he rolled his eyes towards you jokingly “I just mean-“ you cut him off before he could even start his protests “Choi Seung Hyun. I love you.” You demanded, not knowing how to get it through to him without just stating how you truly felt towards him. “Y/n…” he whispered, trying to think of what to say as his anxiety started to take over his body “I love you too” he whispered, pressing his lips against yours, moving his with yours as he gently placed his hands on your side and cheek.

You weren’t sure what was going to happen after you recovered, but you were 100% sure about one thing, just like you were sure about being a race car driver, you were going to marry this man. As you pulled away slowly, you rested a hand on his cheek gently “I’m so sleepy, I just wanna lay here with you” you whispered tiredly, moving to lay your head on his chest, tracing shapes onto his chest as you felt yourself starting to doze “well I would be too, Aein, you had one hell of a day” he replied, continuing to run his fingers through your hair as you slowly fell asleep, leaving Seung Hyun to his own thoughts before finally falling asleep himself.

—

What do we think lovelies? You like? I’m so sorry it’s been awhile, like I said a few days ago, I’ve been stuck in a small rut feeling as if my stories haven’t been coming out that well at all, that or they’re just not good ideas at all, so I tried my best with this one as I’m trying to just push through that rut, trying to keep in mind every artist will always be their biggest critic, but it’s been a little difficult but you lovelies are always such a big help and support 💕 While I'm very nervous to start posting the stories I'm iffy about, your guys' support is definitely helping me through it all, so thank you all truly, for everything you've done for me, it means the world, and universe. 💕💕 I’ve gotten quite a bit of asks and messages about an Age Gap story with Seung Hyun and a younger reader, so please! Please! Please! Let me know what you think, next to be posted is my ‘stepdad! Ji-Yong x single mother! Reader’ story, which I’m very excited about so stay tuned lovelies! maybe after that a part two to this if you'd like? Or another age gap story if you'd like? Let me know! <3 I love you 🫶🫶 and I’m excited to hear from you!! 🫶💕

—

Taglist!!

@onyxmango

@ag02212023

@acehasmyheart

@mitchko11

@learninglinesintherainn

@seunghyunwifey

@jajabro

@heartsforseo

@lilou0401

@maenoakasuna

@ericityyy

@frangiipanii

@seunghyunwifey

@sturnioloslut-b

@isssaaaa2111

@goodnight-n-go-home

@skzdreamz

@enhasrii

@sunhyeswife

@ilovethe141

@saraaisfree

@sassyyoyo

@i-might-be-vanny

@cheese10001

@live-laugh-lovef1

@c1delight

@blue-sky336

@sherrayyyyy

@forevervibezzzz1

@mirahyun

[blushsturns]

perv!matt x innocent!reader♡

pt.7 ❤︎ vibe

part 6 is here

masterlist is here

warnings: this contains sexual content, but it is all consensual! mutual masturbation, use of sex toys, phone sex, pure filth.

w/c: 3011

matt’s call comes in right on time as you’ve made yourself comfortable in bed. next to you lays the vibe toy that matt bought for you at the sex shop. last night he had called you to apologize for going ghost for a week and decided to come up with the deal that he’d use the toy on you to make it up to you. you agreed because this piqued your interest, and you were curious if he was actually going to go through with it. matt was very shy, reserved, and not like any other guy that you have been around, but that wasn’t a bad thing. you weren’t sure what the two of you were and what it is that you were doing, but you always just told yourself a little fun won’t hurt.

“hello?” you answered your phone with your airpods in your ear, making sure to be prepared so that you had both of your hands free. knowing that this was actually going to happen, and matt was going to be in control of when and how you cum was already turning you on and making your heartbeat rapidly in your chest from excitement and nerves rolling through you.

“hey, pretty.” matt’s voice comes through on the other end, followed by some shuffling which you assumed was him getting himself settled into bed. “how was your day?”

you leaned your head back against the pillow, your eyes closing as you vividly try to remember your day, which was a complete blur. “i had a super early shift at the coffee shop and then i had to study for my exams next week, so that’s pretty much it.” you let out a pathetic laugh because well, that’s how you felt considering your day was very much noneventful. “how about you?”

“i ran some errands and then filmed a video with nick and chris. nick is editing it and it’s going up on friday.” you hear a soft laugh come from the other end. “it was just a car video where we talk about the most out of pocket, dumbest shit ever.”

“i’ve seen all of your videos. mainly because sometimes i’ve sat with nick as he would edit them to keep him company. you guys are hilarious.” your tone was gentle, your one hand playing with the bow on your pajama shorts.

matt lets out another laugh on the other end. “well, that means a lot coming from you. thank you, doll.” he paused for a moment, a deep breath exhaling from his chest and out past his lips. “so, do we still have a deal?”

your cheeks suddenly felt warm at the sudden switch in conversation. you were surprised that he brought it up almost immediately, but you weren’t complaining. that was the whole reason he was calling you tonight. “of course we do.” you say shyly, moving your hand over to grab the vibe toy, tracing it with your index finger before holding it in the palm of your hand. “i have it in my hand right now.”

“okay, so i did some research.” he laughs softly. “i have the app on my phone so once you turn it on, i’ll get to control it however i want.”

you don’t know why you were suddenly so nervous. it was your idea in the first place to buy it when you went to the sex shop. you were intrigued and thought it would be fun to explore and do something different. you felt comfortable with matt, even if you weren’t sure on your true feelings for him. “oh, you did your research huh? look at you, smart little thing.”

“hey, for good reason.” he let out another laugh, a deep breath exhaling from his chest and out past his lips. “i was a little nervous, not gonna lie, but it’s all i’ve been able to think about.” he admitted honestly with a bit of shyness evident in his tone. you could imagine him now, in his bed, probably extremely flustered and hard as he imagined what you looked like in this very moment and how he probably wished it was him touching you instead.

“confident and a risk taker? the girls should be lining up at your door begging you to touch them.” a soft giggle emits from your lips at your own words, although for some reason the thought of other girls finding interest in matt made the pit of your stomach feel funny, almost like you were jealous and you didn’t like that. not at all.

“i’m good.” he said almost immediately, a laugh leaving his lips. “i only want to touch one girl and one girl only.”

his words made your cheeks warm, the pink, rosy tint creeping up against your cheeks. somehow, he always knew what to say to make you feel special as if you were the only girl that even existed in the entire world. “is that so?” you weren’t sure how to reply to him, so your response was very nonchalant.

“i mean, i’m about to control how and when she orgasms, so yes.”

your cheeks only turn a darker shade of red at his words, your chest beating rapidly in your chest at the feeling of the electricity sparking throughout your veins. he couldn’t see you, but he knew you were getting flustered. he knew you very well, even if you didn’t realize it. “okay, so i just put it in my underwear?”

“yeah, pretty. let me know when it’s in and i’ll turn it on, okay? i’ll start it off slow, i promise.” his words were reassuring enough to make you feel comfortable, although you were still slightly nervous.

you took in a shaky breath before placing the small vibe into your underwear and making sure your underwear is compressed against the material tightly enough so that you can feel every bit of intensity when he decides to turn it on. “okay.” you spoke in a soft whisper, another breath falling from your lips. “it’s in.”

“atta girl.” his words sent a shudder down your spine and butterflies to roam in the pit of your tummy. you hadn’t realized the effect matt was having on you lately and even though you weren’t complaining about it, it still left you confused yet intrigued for more.

suddenly, you felt a vibration against your now soaked clit through the fabric of your thin lacy underwear, the vibe toy buzzing to life as the sensation immediately caused you to let out a soft gasp. the thing was tiny, but mighty. “holy s-shit.” you stammered on your words, your legs spreading out onto the bed to get into a more comfortable position.

matt was in full, utter control on the other end. who knew just from a simple app and the touch of his fingers against his phone screen that he’d be the one in control of making you feel good and how intense it becomes without even physically being there. of course, he’d love to be there for real, but this would have to do, for now of course. “how’s it feel, hm?” he cooed on the other end of the phone, his fingers working their magic against the app as he traced lines up and down onto the app while it being on the lowest setting.

“f-feels good.” you stuttered out your words, a delicate moan emitting from your lips as you feel the vibe toy vibrating against your core and immediately coating the toy with your slick arousal. “so wet.” you moaned out, the head throwing back against the pillow.

you heard matt let out a shaky breath on the other end. “i bet you’re soaked. i wish i was there to do instead. do you think you can handle a little more?”

another moan escapes your lips, moving one of your hands up to your breast through the fabric of your tank top and giving it a gentle squeeze, the pad of your thumb caressing against your hardened nipple. “y-yes.” you stammered, a shaky breath falling from your lips. you spread your legs further onto the bed, your eyes immediately widening as you suddenly felt the vibrating sensation grow more intense against your aching, soaking wet pussy. “fuck, matt!” you cried out, the vibration hitting your clit perfectly as you push your hips up into the vibe toy to continue feeling every bit of intensity rolling through you.

he was clearly having fun getting to be in control of the intensity levels and figuring out how much you can actually handle. “sound so pretty f’me, doll. love it when you say my name.”

his words and the feeling of the vibrations against your soaking wet clit was a sensation that you never truly experienced before. soft moans and heavy breaths escaped your lips, and you knew he could hear every single one of these sounds over the phone because he elicited a satisfied groan from his lips. he loved hearing you and knowing that he was the one in control of how you were truly feeling in that moment. he could turn it off, raise the level, or lower it at any given moment. he’d never tease you though; especially when he had you in the palm of his hand.

your face was flushed, and your head was thrown back against the pillows, your hair sticking to your forehead from the sweat glistening against your skin and pooling into your hairline. your heartbeat rapidly in your chest from the sensations rolling throughout your body. your pussy was throbbing and sopping wet and just when you thought the intensity was already high, he played around with the levels and increased it another notch.

you immediately let out an immediate moan at the intensity level of the buzzing against your swollen nub, gasping as it continued to press against your bundle of nerves. “oh fuck!” you cried out in pleasure, moving your hand over to your own breast underneath your tank top and began to pinch your own hardened nipple and kneading your breast in your hand. “k-keep going.” you stuttered out, heavy breaths falling from your lips. “n-not gonna last.”

he’s loving every second of this. hearing your pretty sounds and knowing that he’s the one responsible for them just turned him on even more. even just from his bedroom to yours, you were putty in his hands, and he couldn’t get enough.

his own cock was throbbing immensely against the fabric of his boxers as he laid there with a wet patch forming at the center, his hand working his magic on his phone while his other hand slid down to begin tugging off his boxers to allow his hardening cock to spring free. he hissed quietly through clenched teeth due to the cold air hitting his sensitive cock. the tip of his cock was flushed pink and leaking pre-cum. he was glad he decided to use his airpods so he could have a free hand to touch himself while still being able to be in control of the app on his phone.

“fuck.” matt grunted out at the feeling of his own hand against his hardened cock as it began to twitch against his palm. he’s never done something like this before, and neither have you and it was something he’d never forget. he’d replay this memory over and over again in the back of his mind, especially when he touched himself to the thought of you.

he’s gotten a taste of you, but fuck, he wanted you to have a taste of him in return one day.

you hear the sounds he’s making on the other end and you begin to wonder if he’s touching himself too. the vibration against you is so intense that your legs begin to tremble, and fire starts coursing throughout your veins to signal that your orgasm was approaching. “fuck, matt.” you moaned out as your hand massages your breast, your fingers pinching your hardened nipple and rolls it between your fingertips. “i’m g-gonna cum.”

matt groaned in satisfaction at your words as he continued to pump his fist against his own rock-hard cock as it twitches in his hand, his thumb circling along the tip each time he moves his hand up. “fuck, you gonna cum f’me, pretty girl? such a good girl.” he let out a couple grunts, his other hand continuing to play around with the levels on the app as the vibe vibrates intensely against your swollen clit. he picked up speed within his own fist and pumped his cock furiously, a string of groans falling from the back of his throat.

hearing his words and the feeling of the toy vibrating against your clit sends you over the edge. your eyes fall shut with your head thrown against the pillow. a string of moans and profanities leave your lips, fire coursing throughout your veins and you feel heat pooling in your tummy as you let go fully. “fuck, matt! i’m cumming!” you moan out in ecstasy, your body shakes, your legs tremble as you cum hard all around the vibrating toy, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your body and straight to your aching core.

the vibrations roll against you as you moan through your orgasm, letting it consume and control your entire body. matt whispers praises in your ear over the phone, telling you that you did so good and sound so beautiful. you recover from your intense high a minute later, pulling the vibe out of your panties and placing it next to you on the bed. your breathing is labored, your heart racing rapidly in your chest from the intense orgasm you just encountered.

“fuck.” matt grunted out on the other end. “did so good f’me. wish i was there to take care of you. how do you feel?” he eventually closed out the app once he knew you couldn’t handle anymore and placed his phone down onto the bed next to him.

your legs are still shaking as you close them and pull your blanket over your body, your head hitting the pillow comfortably again as you try to calm yourself down. your limbs felt weak, your body growing tired. “i feel amazing. thank you, matt.” your cheeks and chest were flushed as you let out a soft giggle. “what about you? are you touching yourself for me?”

you hear shuffling against the other end, followed by string of moans falling from his lips. “y-yeah, doll. i can’t help it. got me so turned on, fuck.” his words make you moan all over again, butterflies roaming in your tummy at the sound of him. he sounded so pretty, and you wondered what he looked like when he was touching himself, or if you were there to do it for him instead.

“can i help?” you ask innocently, biting gently onto your bottom lip. there was something about the fact that he was turned on and touching himself to the thought of you that made you feel so special, so warm inside and you were starting to get hooked on that feeling.

“please? i’m so fucking hard.” matt said bluntly, a soft whine emitting from his lips as he continued to fist his own cock, the pad of his thumb swiping across the pre-cum and lathering it against the entire shaft. his cock was twitching immensely in his hand as he throws his head back, hissing through his teeth at the sensation.

your center was throbbing still from the intense vibrations that were against you. you let out a few shaky breaths, your heart still racing in your chest from the anticipation. “of course. i bet you’re so hard just from hearing me cum, aren’t you?”

he let out a guttural groan in response to your words, his fist pumping his cock a bit faster now, his head thrown onto the pillow behind him. he was already so close, his chest heaving up and down with fire coursing throughout his veins. “i’m always so hard because of you, doll. fuck, the things you do to me. s-so close.”

his words made your cheeks turn a dark shade of pink and immediately feel warm to touch as you lifted your hand against your cheek before placing your fingers between your messy locks. yo could feel your heart beating even faster. “matt.. fuck. are you gonna cum for me? just imagine i was there, my hand around your cock, or my mouth. you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

matt groans against the other end, his hand moving faster against his aching hard cock. you could hear his breathing becoming heavier by the second with a string of moans leaving his lips. “fuck, doll. i’m gonna cum. shit, i-“

he cums, hard. all over his fist and stomach, a string of groans and profanities fall from his lips as his mind is consumed of thoughts of you and your beautiful voice on the other end of the call. his chest heaves up and down as he tries to calm down from his high and all you could do is lay there and imagine what he looks like when he cums and how pretty he looks and what he would taste like. “fuck, matt. that was.. wow.”

matt laughs on the other end, his breathing still slightly labored as he tries to recover from his intense orgasm. “thanks for keeping your end of the deal, pretty. that was fucking incredible.”

“thank you for helping me and buying it for me. maybe we can do it again sometime.” you smile as you twirl a strand of your hair around with your finger. you couldn’t help but smile at his words and how things felt so natural when you were talking with him. no matter what you two talked about, things just felt comfortable.

“maybe next time it can be in person, and we can touch each other for real.”

how could you say no to that?

notes:

thank you so much for reading! if you wanna chat about perv!matt x innocent!reader, or if you have any ideas for me just send them to my inbox. love you guys!

taglist:

@sturnshood @strangelife122 @jessie-essie @rina3476 @chrissturnioloslvt @sturnslutz @sturns-mermaid @matthewsturnsgf @christmastreecake @rinahasspots @222wall876 @chris-hallelujah @izzylovesmatt @strniloslvts @oopsiedaisydeer @sophand4n4 @xclusivedesires @mattsplaything @poppingmypussy4chris @mattsbunnyxx @pair-of-pantaloons @chrissweetheart @slutformatt17 @sturnl0ve @pasteldreams @h3arts4harry @marrykisskilled @wh0remikasas @sturnzslut @camzeecorner @alesturniolos @emely9274 @2muchofaslvt @y3sterdaysproblem @sturnslux3 @bowsandsturniolos @moustacherryismyhusband @rafesapprentice @ivysturnss @headzgonewest @strawberryghost3 @il0vey0um0st @violetstxrniolo777 @bigbeefybitch @raesturns @courta13 @sofieeeeex @tylerthecreatorsglazr @kittyyyyykats

-nessa ღ

[muletia]

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐜𝐡 ✧˖°

[tfp] obsessed!optimus prime x human!reader

summary: optimus is uncertain about touch, fearing that he might hurt you, but with your help, he learns that touch does not have to be associated with fear

cw: mild angst, a sprinkle of fluff, soft!optimus <3

word count: 1400

Cyan optics flicker between you and the report on the datapad. Optimus reads a few sentences without distraction, absorbing the information about the amount of energon acquired and consumed this month with ease, fully capable of focusing for those few nanokliks. But a few sentences are his limit when you are nearby. His thoughts drift elsewhere, into soft, organic realms where they linger, tempting his optics to join them, to make daydreams a reality. And so they do, when the report becomes a dull memory, irritating him with its obligation, and reality becomes you — lying on your stomach on his desk, utterly engrossed in what must be a far more interesting book.

He wants to join you. To set the report aside and return to it later, once your presence is no longer a sweet distraction from his duties. Knows he has let himself slip. Once again, he wants to push work aside at the price of spending time with you, though he cannot afford indulgence. He has put it off for too long; must focus and win this battle against his own addiction. Duty — this is his current priority.

But he cannot look away, still captivated by the smallest movements of your body and its beauty. That is all he can do. Watch. That is enough. He allows himself to look for a few nanokliks, to temporarily satisfy the craving, and then return to what he must do, though he knows full well it is not enough. Optimus knows his own body, knows what it demands, pleading for physical contact with you. But reason advises otherwise, and reason prevails.

Too many dangers, too many unknowns. A fraction too much force, a single gram over the limit, and you cease to exist. You cannot die by his servo. He does not need to witness your death to know that his spark would extinguish at the very same moment. Must be cautious with you. Has learned that he may touch you when he must, but not when he wants, reducing the probability of catastrophe to a minimum. It will never be enough for him; will never be satisfied by necessity alone. But eons of being Prime have stripped him of whims and impulses and have taught him the meaning of true sacrifice. He only hoped that you understood.

Indirect touch is acceptable; that does not frighten him as much. His free servo moves above you, then lowers, forming a kind of shelter over you. It protects, it reminds, telling you that Optimus is with you and thinking of you constantly, yet it does not touch. That must be enough, he convinces himself, though it will never be. You will understand. Perhaps you will appreciate it if you wish to make him happy. But you will grasp that he cannot allow himself more, not out of lack of desire, but out of fear, though he longs unimaginably to feel your beauty, not only with his optics but beneath his own digits.

He does not deny himself the lightest graze against the edge of your foot or calf, but that is all. It is only about sending a signal: I am here. I am watching over you. Anything beyond that terrifies him because he does not know how much he can allow himself. How much force to apply before he breaks you. Yes, a mere brush is enough. He convinces himself. And he does not deserve more.

You lift your gaze from your book and meet Optimus’s optics. He offers you a subtle, endearing smile, an unspoken declaration that you have his full and undivided attention, even if you soon return to your reading.

But you do not. You warm his stoic spark instead, giving him an excellent reason to forget about the report.

"You can touch me if you want to," you break the silence.

You shift onto your side to look at him without straining your neck and place your open book to the side, marking the page with a bookmark. Propping your elbow on Optimus’s desk, you rest your head on your outstretched hand, settling into a comfortable position for the conversation you had been meaning to have with him—because, knowingly or not, he had touched upon a subject that had been weighing on your mind. And his, even more so.

"I apologize. It was not my intention to distract you."

"It’s okay, you didn’t distract me. And you can touch me. If you want to," you repeat, sending a smile his way that melts part of his spark.

He wants to. Longs to. Needs to.

But cannot.

"I fear harming you," he admits, incapable of lying when you look him straight in the optics.

"Is that why you hold back?"

"Yes," he sighs. "I have concerns that I may not be able to properly gauge my own strength. I do hope you understand my restraint regarding physical contact. I assure you, it is not your fault, my dearest."

"I understand. But you won’t hurt me," you reassure him. Yet he does not seem convinced, his optical ridges creasing slightly, uncertainty still visible in optics. "Okay, let me put it another way. Remember when I dropped my phone once? You picked it up between your fin— digits and there wasn’t a single crack. Not even a scratch! I know that from my perspective, you are unimaginably strong, but you can control your strength. You have precision. So I know that you won’t hurt me."

He processes your words in silence.

"I trust you, Optimus. More than anyone else."

That seems to break something in him. Not completely — not yet — but enough to try.

"Very well. If you truly grant me permission…"

"You may. Please." Just to emphasize that you desire this too.

You roll back onto your stomach, and his massive servo hovers above you, fighting hesitation. For a moment, you fear that you have pressured him into physical contact, pulling him out of a comfort zone he was not yet ready to leave, but your worries vanish when Optimus chooses to lower his servo, leaving the restraint on the surface.

His large digits envelop your back and remain there, servo holding still in one place. His touch is incredibly subtle and measured, but the hesitation remains. The fear he cannot yet overcome, even when faced with the exceptional softness of human skin, tempting to sink deeper, to explore everything you have to offer as a human. But he refuses to be enslaved by temptation when he is still on edge. Cannot harm you. He must be careful. That is enough; he dares not ask for more.

Optimus does not tremble with stress, no visible signs of anxiety appear on his frame, but the title of Prime binds him to outward composure in tense situations. Inside, chaos reigns. He sees no sign of discomfort on you, no grimace of pain, nor do you make any sounds that might suggest suffering, which should reassure him. But he cannot be at ease when worries churn in his processor. Am I pressing too hard? Pinning them down? He is grateful for your trust, but he cannot trust himself. Needs certainty that he is not about to kill you by accident.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"Better than alright," you murmur. "Like someone wrapped me in a warm, giant weighted blanket."

"That is… a pleasant sensation?"

"Wonderful." You reach up, stroking the nearest digit. "It’s alright, Opti. You’re not hurting me."

"I trust you," he says, and you gift him a smile he cannot help but return.

"So? Do I feel nice to the touch?"

"You always do. Thank you for placing your trust in me." Because even though his fears still gnaw at him, for the first time, he does not ache for touch. Finally, he can stop wondering, stop dreaming about what he once thought were unattainable desires, and instead focus on the here and now. He reaches for the datapad and resumes reading the report, discovering how clear his processor has become now that his longing has found its grounding in your presence.

"Thank you for allowing yourself something nice for once," you reply and return to your book, wrapped in safety and warmth unmatched by any other source.

[weishenbwi]

It's not. GDragon has a strong connection to the number 8, given that he was born in August (the 8th month), on the 18th, in the year 1988. He even planned a comeback exactly 88 months later. In many Asian cultures, 8 is considered a lucky number, and his birthday—18/8/88—is especially lucky. His song POWER was released at 18:00 with a total of 8 tracks. Maybe he’ll even incorporate the infinity symbol into it or (perhaps chains if we're lucky).

He seems really into symbolism as well since he was born during a Year of the Dragon and scheduled his CB during another Year of the Dragon (2024). If he had waited, it would be Year of the Snake (2025).

The punk hairstyle is deeply tied to the countercultural roots of punk music, which emerged as a rebellious response to mainstream, corporate-controlled music. Punk bands rejected commercialization, embracing raw, unpolished sounds and fiercely independent production through homemade ethics and underground labels. Lyrically, punk is often anti-establishment, anti-authoritarian, and critical of capitalism and government structures. Its hairstyles are symbols of defiance, individuality, and a rejection of societal norms. This seems to be featured on the poster.

As for the font, I'll let a history teacher cover that one.

Übermensch and Nietzsche: The concept of the Übermensch originates from Friedrich Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra (1883–1885). It represents an idealized, self-overcoming individual who transcends imposed morality and limitations. The Übermensch is often misunderstood as an authoritarian or supremacist figure (which is almost hilarious because that's currently happening to GD), but Nietzsche’s idea was more about personal transformation and self-mastery rather than domination over others.

The creation of these new values cannot be motivated by the same instincts that gave birth to those tables of values. Instead, they must be motivated by a love of this world and of life.

The Übermensch idea persists in discussions on self-actualization, power, and breaking free from societal constraints. This could tie into Coup d’État’s theme of self-transformation and reinvention.

(As an aside, Nietzsche held disdain for nationalism and anti-Semitism. His work was later misinterpreted and appropriated posthumously, but it also influenced anarchist thought which later influenced subgenres of punk music and culture.)

From the poster, Übermensch and Coup d’État share thematic and visual parallels. Coup d’État also used the colors red, black, and white (symbolic of upheaval, destruction, and rebirth) and was a highly symbolic song reflecting GDs personal and artistic rebellion, a radical overthrow of the self. It represented breaking free from industry constraints, personal struggles, and societal expectations—much like the Übermensch, who creates their own values rather than being bound by the past. I'm curious if this will tie in.

TL;DR: [If the poster is anything to go by] G-Dragon's Übermensch has nothing to do with Nazis—it’s likely about self-transformation, breaking free from limitations, and artistic reinvention, perhaps much like Coup d’État. Nietzsche’s concept was about personal mastery, not supremacy.

𝐆-𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟱 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐑 【Übermensch】

[rafeysdeer]

hiii I really love ur writing I eat it up everytimee ❤️❤️❤️😍😍😛

I was wondering if I could request a Jason Todd like thingy where reader is new to Gotham and she doesnt know her boyfriend (jason) is red hood or who he is really . And one night he just passes out straight in bed without even thinking about his suit and helmet and reader wakes up to this masked man in her bed and is like screaming and being like “wtf who the hell are you” “my bf is huge and he’ll fuck you up” and calling Jason and stuff and he’s just like tf?

Ik this request is like all over the place but I just randomly had this cute idea and I thought you’d eat it up 😍

thankkk uu ❤️❤️❤️

rough night (aka civil!reader x vigilante bf jason)

civil!reader x jason todd

prompt: where jason still keeps being a vigilante a secret from you, and you continue to be clueless that your boyfriend is red hood, until one rough night he forgets something a little important.

a/n: omg hi! i'm so happy with your request, sorry that it take so long, but here it is, i love how your mind work btw, hope you like it, i actually don't think my writing is good on this one, but the prompt is amazing! feel free to send requests!

It was a particularly calm night, at least for you, who had already done your bedtime routine, and were curled up in the couch with your favorite book, waiting for your boyfriend.

You watched on the news that there was a chasing, but this is Gotham, there is always a chasing on the news, you may not have lived here for long, but you are used to the special way of the city, fights, deaths and crimes that flooded the city on an ordinary weekday.

As much as you enjoyed waiting for your boyfriend to get home, so you could go to bed with him, he was pretty late today, and it was already late night, sleep was starting to overtake you, the book slowly becoming less interesting and more hazy, finally making you decide it was time to go to bed.

Now, even though Gotham is a dangerous city, and more than anything, unexpected, you definitely didn't expect that on a cool tuesday night you would walk into your room in your pretty pajamas and comfortable robe and find a huge vigilante lying on your bed, comfortable, as if he lived there his whole life.

And no one can blame you that your first reaction was to scream, scream for your life, while the book falls from your hand, you were in complete shock, the vigilante waking up confused as he looks around and finds you wrapped in your pink robe looking absolutely terrified.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my apartment? How did you get into my fucking apartment?" she said frantically as tears began to well up in your eyes as you grabbed the closest thing to you, to defend yourself, which turned out to be the lamp on your nightstand.

And the man lying in your bed looks just as confused as you do, even more, his head tilted to the side, you can't see through the intimidating red helmet, but you're sure if you could, you'd see a huge question mark hanging on his face.

"What do you mean who the hell am I? Have you lost your mind, honey?" And it wasn't until his voice came out modified by the modulator that Jason realized he was still in his full uniform, including his helmet, which explained his girlfriend's complete panic upon seeing him.

"Look, my boyfriend is going to be here any minute, and he's huge and he's going to beat the hell out of you, so please leave."

The words might have been intended to be threatening, but they lost their effect almost instantly when he knew that the boyfriend she was referring to was the one lying on the bed being threatened at that moment, and also by the tears he desperately wanted to wipe from your face.

And, as Gotham is the city of the unexpected, the unexpected happens, and the huge vigilante lying on your bed starts laughing, but not a threatening laugh, or a shy little giggle, he starts to really laugh, the kind of laugh that you throw your head back for laughing so hard, while slowly removing the helmet from his head.

And when your beloved boyfriend reveals himself, the lamp in your hand slowly lowers as your lips part in pure shock.

"Jason? What the hell is going on right now?"

She said while still holding the lamp, and looked at him more confused than ever, and the once scary and threatening vigilante stands up and wraps you in a hug, while you remain in complete shock.

"Did you have any intention to tell me about this at some point?"

Your mind, still recovering from the shock, manages to elaborate and ask, while you return the hug, as tight as you can, still shaking from finding out that your boyfriend is the fucking Red Hood.

"Honey, I'm so sorry, I swear I was going to tell you, I just didn't know if you were going to be ready to hear it, and if you would still be with me after you found out."

"If you would still see me the same way, you would love me the same way"

And now your shock is for a completely different reason, as you pull away from his embrace softly, your brows furrowed in pure indignation.

"Are you kidding me right now? Jason I would love you and be with you even if you were the fucking Batman."

And a comforting smile appears on your face, as you, on your tiptoes, hold his face in your hands as if he was the most precious thing in the world, and for you, he was.

"Jay, I love you regardless of any of this, if you're a secret vigilante at night, your secrets or anything else, because I love you for who you are and I need you to know that."

And now the bright tears in your eyes were for a completely different reason, you just didn't expect him to think that way, when right there in front of you is the man you loved the most in the world.

"God, what did I do to deserve someone like you?" he murmurs into your hair as you're wrapped around each other, you guiding him towards the comfortable bed.

"I ask myself that every day, Jay."

And now, with no secrets and curled up comfortably in each other, as it should be, he whispers to you.

"About that Batman thing, we need to talk."

[krakereir]

Part 2 - My Best Friend's Girl (you're something else) Trafalgar Law x reader

18+ Rating: E - Sexual content. 10k. fem!reader

PART 1 HERE

They find their seats, but as Law pulls up his phone to switch it off, yes, he switches his phone off at the movies, it’s not that weird, he sees that she’s sent him a new message. A new picture. No no no no, not now. Bad idea. Unfortunately, there’s no way he can refrain from looking at it now that he knows it exists. That would be asking his imagination to fire up all his dirty fantasies right before the movie starts. He’ll just have a short peek. Who knows, maybe it isn’t even- Fuck. Law is fucked.

“So Penguin is dating Shachi,” Law says the moment Bepo picks up his call.

“Hey Law!” Bepo answers and though he sounds like his usual cheerful self, there’s a subtle, yet unmistakable nervousness to his tone of voice.

“And you knew,” Law continues.

“Well, I-” Bepo begins.

“So when I called you last week complaining about Penguin’s girlfriend-”

“Law,” Bepo pleads.

“-it didn’t occur to you to mention that he can’t have one?”

Only silence meets him at the other line.

“Why? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It wasn’t my place,” Bepo explains. Law waits for him to continue and after another pause Bepo does so, albeit reluctantly. “If for any reason Penguin lied to you and said that he got a girlfriend, it wouldn’t be right to tell on him, not even to you.”

“You couldn’t even have told me that he by chance also has a sister with the same name? That it all could be a big misunderstanding?”

“Law, you’re being unreasonable. Two people can be named the same thing.”

“I know that! But-” Law sputters. “Well, it’s just- Argh!”

“I know,” Bepo says and Law could have sworn it sounds like he’s holding in laughter.

Oh, so this is funny to him?

“So when are you arriving today?” Bepo asks and Law decides to let it all go for now.

“I got off the train just now, but there’s a lot happening today, opening of the conference, dinner and probably drinks afterwards,” Law says with open disgust. Just the thought of the kind of people he’ll be forced to be congenial with is making him sick to his stomach.

“Are you still free tomorrow evening?”

“As planned I have bought our tickets for the movie at 8.30pm tomorrow.”

“You’ve booked them already?” Bepo says, now openly laughing. “Law, this is a small town, you don’t have to book cinema tickets in advance on a tuesday.”

“I know that,” Law protests, “but now we have good seats. You know I hate sitting up front.”

Bepo laughs again and all the nagging in Law’s brain has been silenced, he smiles too as he wonders how a town as unassuming and unpleasant as this one could feel so much like home.

----

In the days that have passed since Sunday, and the dramatic reveal of Penguin’s true relation to Y/N, Law has been feeling off.

Of course it was a nice surprise. He was happy to learn that she was single and very likely interested and first and foremost, NOT dating one of his best friends. Yes, it made him happy.

It just left him feeling, well, off.

Just the tiniest bit unbalanced. Ever so slightly unwell. High-strung, jumpy and a little sweaty. Totally normal bodily fluctuations that don't necessarily mean anything.

The problem was just that the situation was so… anticlimactic. In the true sense of the word.

They didn’t even kiss.

No wonder he was feeling high-strung. It’s only natural.

He didn’t manage to get even one measly little peck and the most frustrating part is that it was absolutely his fault. She threw herself at him all week and when it was revealed that he could act upon all his indecent desires, that she wanted him to, he didn’t do anything. They formally exchanged numbers and a mutual interest in seeing each other again as if they were at the end of a fucking job interview. But really, what else could he have done with the threat of Penguin constantly looming over them like a hawk?

Still, he can’t shake the feeling of having lost his chance. Why couldn’t he have made a bolder move when he had her right there? She had basically confessed to seducing him.

Law would be lying if he said that it didn’t still drive him crazy just to think about that part.

Especially now when it’s early in the morning and he finds himself hundreds of miles away in a tiny hotel room with the blinds down and his hand down his pyjama pants, lazily jerking himself off, wishing he had her at the other side of the wall again.

Looking back on last week, Y/N’s actions are even more arousing now that she has confirmed that it was all for him. It was all to seduce him.

He’s jerked off to the memory of her sounds so many times that his fantasies have practically overwritten his memories by now. He finds it difficult to differentiate between what really happened and what he later has made up in a daydream, attempting to fill in the blanks. It’s still effective material, but when he knows that the real thing might be within his reach it ends up lacking.

He slows down the pace even further to make himself last longer. He knows the climax will be nice, but again, lacking, and as long as he keeps it at bay, his pent-up mind half-way believes that it’s not his own hand making him come.

In his head, he can see how pretty she would be underneath him. He would take it slow and she would complain. She would be so fucking needy. Maybe she would try pushing his buttons to provoke him. Shove and hit and pull and bite. She would bite him hard and he still wouldn’t budge. Then when the time was right, he would-

Beep beep, be-be-beep beep, beep beep

Fuck.

He forgot to turn the alarm off when he woke.

The annoying melody drags him down from his high, unfortunately skipping the release, and he regrets dragging out the climax, but finds himself depressingly indifferent to whether he reaches it or not.

With a groan he grabs his phone to turn it off, but as he does he sees something that brings back all the excitement and more to spare.

Two new messages. One text and one… picture.

Y/N When are you coming back?

It’s so simple, so casual and really could mean nothing at all, but then the picture beneath loads.

It shows her face and naked shoulders lit up by an early beam of sunlight. She’s lying on a bed with two fingers stuck in her mouth as if she’s licking something off of them. It’s a beautifully filthy picture. So subtle in its suggestiveness that it in turn becomes pornographic, offering everything up to imagination, but with a subtext clear as day.

Law can’t deny the grin spreading on his face at the sight, he wouldn’t want to. He collapses back on the bed, phone in his hand, and finishes what he started, swiftly and passionately.

----

One day earlier

When Y/N wakes up in her own apartment for the first time in a week, it’s a disappointment. It feels like waking up from a very pleasant dream to see that your everyday is bleak and lonely in comparison. What she priorly thought of as a quite pleasant apartment now seems boring. And empty.

She feels defeated. She had the chance of a lifetime, a week living in the same apartment as the boy of her dreams with her neurotic brother way out of the picture. She had 6 whole days and still she couldn’t bag him.

She shakes the disappointment away and gets up, getting in the mindset of a new day. A new, normal day. It’s not so bad.

She works part time in the small, independent camera shop where the pay is as bad as the people are nice. In the beginning she was hired to help them move the bookkeeping to a digital system and keep up the website, but as the years went by business declined horribly and now there’s only a handful of employees who haven't left for where the grass is greener, so the manager needs her help with a lot more. She likes that it’s varied, but it’s not as flexible as it used to be when she mostly did digital work.

Once upon a time her friends and family were shocked when she told them she would become something as mundane as an accountant, but to her it was never a hard decision. At least you can do bookkeeping from Bali. And it’s a pleasure to keep an independent shop afloat, albeit barely.

Today she’s been more restless than usual and the last couple of hours before they close she’s left alone to tend the shop, which means that instead of being cooped up in the dark room, which she is partial to, she has to stand up front at the cashier, which she finds horribly boring.

No one has come by in almost an hour now and she’s starting to consider leaving a note and going out back again when the doorbell tells her that someone’s entered the shop. She looks up to see-

“Shachi! What are you doing here?”

“Pen mentioned that you were working today, so I thought I’d stop by,” he grins. “He recommended that I come see it before it goes out of business and you lose your job.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” she teases back. “I’m closing up in 40 min, do you want to wait and then grab a bite?”

“Nah, I don’t have much time. Just wanted to say hi.”

“Well, it’s not much,” she says, gesturing to the one room shop they’re in, “but it’s a lot more fun than other jobs I’ve had.”

“I didn’t know you were into photography.”

“I guess I have developed an interest as a result of working here,” she explains. “It surprised me, but I actually like the service work too. I mostly do digital bookkeeping, so I have been able to keep the job even when abroad.”

“You are a very fascinating person,” he says.

“Not any more than you,” she counters. “How are things? Has the school-year begun yet?”

“Last week,” he confirms. “I’m setting up a volleyball tournament to get the kids excited. It’s fun to see them flail around.”

“And how’s my brother doing?” she asks with a comical wiggle of her eyebrow.

“He’s fine,” Shachi shrugs, but a slight, pinkish tint appears over his cheeks. “It’s nice to have the apartment to ourselves, with Law gone this week.”

The silence that follows is filled with the awkwardness of indirectly bringing up both her brother’s and her own sex life in the same sentence, and none of them manages to find anything to say. A customer comes into the shop and hands her a film roll, pays and leaves.

“Are any of these yours?” Shachi asks when they’re alone again, gesturing to the photos on the wall behind her.

“No no no,” she protests. “I could never. Besides, the photos I like to take aren’t the kind you hang on the wall.”

“I see,” he says, smirking. “Have you sent any to Law yet?”

She shakes her head. “Do you think I should?”

“Yes,” he says in all seriousness.

She stops abruptly.

“Really? I- uhm, are you sure? I don’t want to presume-”

“If you want to make him lose his mind, you absolutely should.”

“You’re not messing with me, right? I don’t want to scare him away. He seems so… respectable?”

“I see your concern,” Shachi says, “and if you want to take things slow, you should.”

“But?”

“If you want to seduce him, you should send him the most desperately horny pictures, but show minimal nudity. Trust me, he’s depraved, but prudish at the same time. He loves that convoluted shit.”

“Hmm,” she contemplates it. “You gave me great advice last time. If it weren’t for the fact that he did his best to keep away from me, I’m pretty sure it would have worked.”

“It did work! He’s hooked, you just need to reel him in.”

“You’re horrible, you know that? You enjoy this way too much,”

“Maybe,” he snickers. “Well, I have to go now. Have a good one!”

“Thanks for stopping by!”

----

At the end of the second day of the conference, Law is already sick of it. He can’t stand the thought of even one more quarter of an hour in the presence of his colleagues. He even had to forgo his usual, most-needed 3 o’clock coffee, simply to avoid the flock of assholes surrounding the machine and the conversation they most-likely would trap him in.

But now the day is over and he can finally get to the whole reason for this extraneous trip in the first place. The beam of light in the darkness. The only reason Law even said yes to this horrid idea of a 5 day conference: it happens to take place in the same town where Bepo is doing his residency.

Despite only being 3 hours by train, he hasn’t gotten to see him much at all lately and getting one or two nights with his best friend is worth all the stuck up academics he needs to refrain himself from smacking.

They meet downtown after Bepo is done with his shift, have chinese and then a glass of wine before wandering through the small centre of town, waiting for the movie.

“You seem very happy,” Bepo says, his brows furrowed, as if happiness is a rare disease Law has contracted.

“I’m not,” Law argues, “this conference is at my personal 4th circle of hell.” He keeps his voice level, but the corners of his lips lift up on their own and he can’t make himself mad at it.

“I’m so happy for you!” Bepo exclaims and Law wonders if Bepo ever really listens to what he says.

“It’s nothing big, it’s just-” Law begins before he knows how much he actually wants to reveal. “It’s just that I might have met someone.”

Bepo’s eyes get huge with shock and his smile widens even more. "Does this have something to do with Y/N?"

Even though Law already had called Bepo to berate him for not telling him that Penguin has a sister, he had refrained from mentioning anything concerning his indecent desires about said sister, but it seems that Bepo had already put two and two together.

“It might,” Law answers with a sigh.

“I knew you two would hit it off!” Bepo exclaims. “Hadn’t it been for Penguin, I would have insisted you two meet a lot sooner.”

“I’ve been wondering about that. Shachi hadn’t even met her, so when did you meet her?”

“Oh, she moved apartments last year. Shachi was away and Penguin didn’t want to invite you, so he asked if I could help out. She’s so sweet!”

“I didn’t think Penguin would be the type to be overprotective of his sister.”

“He’s not.”

“Oh yes, he is,” Law insists.

“He’s overprotective of you,” Bepo says and Law’s mind screeches to a halt.

“… what?”

“He doesn’t want her to steal you away from him,” he explains. “Apparently, she’s kind of a flirt.”

Law chooses not to comment on that.

They find their seats, but as he pulls up his phone to switch it off, yes, he switches his phone off at the movies, it’s not that weird, he sees that she’s sent him a new message.

A new picture.

No no no no, not now. Bad idea.

Unfortunately, there’s no way he can refrain from looking at it now that he knows it exists. That would be asking his imagination to fire up all his dirty fantasies right before the movie starts. He’ll just have a short peek. Who knows, maybe it isn’t even-

Fuck. Law is fucked.

The picture is arousing alright.

She’s splayed out on a couch, dressed in only a loose robe that has slipped off her leg, showing off skin all the way up to her hip bone and large parts of her outer thigh. The picture’s taken from above her head so her face isn’t in the frame, but her one naked shoulder is. The fabric hanging loosely off it barely covers the left part of her chest and he’s sure he can see the darker skin of her areolae just beyond the hem of the robe and the hand that isn’t holding the phone is casually resting on her thigh, fingers reaching ever so slightly into the robe on their way to do god knows what and Law is turned on like a light switch.

His cheeks flame up with heat and he grips his phone harder as he struggles to turn it off before someone else sees what’s on it. Then there’s the humiliating task of positioning himself so that there’s as little friction as possible between the coarse material of his tight jeans and his very unwelcome erection.

At his side Bepo looks at him worriedly and seems like he’s about to say something, but then the commercials come to an end and the light goes down in the theatre. Law takes deep breaths, forcing himself to push all indecent thoughts away and when the familiar theme music of Sora, warrior of the sea: Encounter of Kings blast out of the speakers, he feels confident that he will succeed.

That’s when Pink Poison takes the screen. Dressed in a sheer nightgown she kills 5 soldiers. With her mouth.

Law is so fucked.

----

Bepo lives on the outskirts of town in student housing and has to get up early the next day. When the movie ends, Law walks him to the station and they say goodbye. Maybe they’ll manage to see each other once more before Law leaves, maybe not. Right now though there’s only one thing on his mind and the moment Bepo’s bus drives off, Law calls up Y/N.

“You ruined Sora,” he accuses her when she picks up, but despite his stern tone, he’s sort of smiling.

“Law?”

“Your actions have consequences you know.”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t understand at all,” Y/N says. “What are you talking about?”

“The pictures,” he explains painstakingly.

“Ohhh.” There's a pause before she continues, “so you did get the pictures.”

He swears that he can hear her smirk.

“Yes, I got the pictures,” he says.

“Well, you didn’t answer, so I wasn’t sure,” she explains. “I thought maybe the first one didn’t go through, so I sent one more.”

It hits him that he didn’t even think about answering her pictures, despite having masturbated to them, twice. That’s not only embarrassing, but blatantly disrespectful. Not to mention frightfully uncool.

“Well… did you like them?” she asks and her amusement is obvious.

“That’s besides the point!” he sputters.

“So what you’re saying is that you’re mad you had to sit through a movie with a boner?”

“I’m mad that I missed 10 minutes of it when I was forced to do something as downgrading as relieving myself in a cinema toilet.”

It just spills out of him and the moment he admits to this out loud he’s struck by regret.

“What?” she exclaims in shock, then a laugh follows, so loud he has to pull the phone away from his ear. “Why didn’t you wait it out?” she asks.

“I couldn’t,” he mutters, cursing himself for continuing on this degrading and embarrassing subject.

“What do you mean you couldn’t?”

“The movie was sexy, okay?” he whispers reluctantly into the microphone.

“‘Sora, warrior of the sea’ was too sexy?” she asks, now cackling even louder.

“It wasn’t a problem the last time I saw it, so obviously it’s-”

“Law, hold on.”

He freezes at the change in her tone.

“You’ve seen it before?”

“Well, yes. Once, but-”

“You’re blaming me for making you miss 10 out of 200 minutes you’ve seen before?”

“... yes.”

“Law, do you want me to stop with the pictures?” she asks and it’s a straightforward question, free from teasing and flirting.

“Of course not,” he says, without even thinking.

“Then I won’t,” she says simply. With a short chuckle she adds, “Sorry about Sora.”

“I forgive you,” he says genuinely before realising that she wasn’t actually that sorry. She laughs loudly again.

“You are really something, Trafalgar Law.”

Law doesn’t know what to say.

“Call me again soon,” she says and with that, she hangs up.

He’s left dumbstruck.

Then his hands move on their own and before he knows it, he’s pulled up the message log with the pictures. Looking at them now, they’re quite tame. Not that they’re bad, the very opposite actually, they’re good pictures. The composition and lighting enhances its subject in a very… flattering way. It’s just that they’re not as risque now at a second glance. It’s embarrassing to think that this was all it took to rile him up so thoroughly.

He still saves them to his phone.

Then he sends off a text.

LAW I’m coming back on the 10th.

After a second of contemplating he sends off another one.

LAW I really like the robe.

Compared to how much he enjoyed the pictures, it’s a weak compliment, but he can’t get himself to be more explicit. Being sexy in person is hard enough, the pressure of being sexy over text is terrifying.

And he does like the robe. He really, really likes the robe.

Y/N Come see me on the 10th? LAW Okay.

He cringes at how indifferent he sounds, but doesn’t dare to write anything more, afraid to make an even bigger fool of himself.

----

Y/N I think the pictures worked! I kept it very subtle, but he even called me to complain about them. That’s a good sign, right? Shachi complain how? Y/N That he got too horny I think? I didn’t really understand, but he was sort of annoyed that he was out in public when he saw it. Shachi amazing!! your on the right track next step is leave him wanting more! if you want to send more pictures, make sure they’re not as desperate as the ones you started with Y/N I can’t say I understand, but I trust you wholeheartedly. Shachi update me l8er Y/N Say hi to Pen for me Shachi he says hi back! Y/N Really? Shachi actually he says “stop texting my bf, homewrecker” Y/N That’s more like it.

----

By the time Friday rolls around, Law has been to 4 boring dinners, 1 slightly fascinating lecture, 3 frightfully bad ones and 1 disgustingly opulent fundraiser. He’s gotten 5 new pictures from Y/N and masturbated a lot more times than he wants to count.

He’s spent.

Really, he can’t remember the last time he was this exhausted and he regularly does 12 hour shifts.

He got sick of the group of academics he’s travelling with already at the first lunch, they’re all terrible conversationalists. He’s used to zoning out the long monologues and self-praising around these guys, but it doesn’t make it any less annoying.

Tonight is the goodbye dinner and he would pay good money to get out of it, but alas, his boss is one of the worst of the bunch and Law can’t afford pissing him off more than he already has. One can say Law has toned down his punk attitude since his manifesto-creating-days and is now what you can call a typical 30-year-old sell out on the cusp of his big break, who very well knows the importance of pampering important men with big egos.

She would laugh at him if she were here.

He hasn’t called her since that day. She did tell him too, but he figured it would be too much. What would he even tell her, how many more times he’s masturbated to the thought of her since last they spoke? No, thank you.

The pictures were a blessing at first, a welcome escape from his personal hell, but lately every new message he receives is like an additional ball and chain around his foot, reminding him of exactly what it is he doesn’t have. They’re still very modest, but paired with the knowledge of how she sounds when she chases her climax, it’s awfully effective even so.

The more she sends him, the more starved he feels.

----

Y/N I think I fucked up Shachi shit what did you do? Y/N Just what you told me to! But he hasn’t called me again and he’s not responding to the pictures, it’s been like 2 days since he replied maybe he’s disappointed by the new ones? They are a lot less horny than the first Ahhh, now I just feel stupid I’ve spent hours taking these photos, Shachi… HOURS Shachi nooo but honestly it sounds like hes only being his regular loser self and doesn’t know how to text but if you really feel like your losing him you could try to amp up the heat a little gtg now but good luck!!!!! update me l8er

Amp up the heat, huh?

----

“Trafalgar! Are you married?”

Just when Law believed he could go through the whole week without answering questions about himself, one of his colleagues had to learn just a smidge of common decency in the nick of time and ask him a question.

“No, I am not,” he answers simply.

“Thought so,” the other man grunts. “None of you youngins are able to keep a job and a girl at the same time. In my time…”

Bla bla bla.

At least Law won’t be forced to answer more questions for a while now that the “When I was young”- monologue has begun.

He subtly glances down at his phone and sees that he’s received 1 new message and 3 new photos from Y/N in only the last 30 minutes. He knows he should wait until he’s back at his room to have a look, but he can’t help himself. Something nice for his inner eye to look at is exactly what he needs to survive this dinner and none of the latest pictures have even come close to being as explicit as the first two, so he figures he’ll be fine.

He opens the app and the first thing he sees is that she’s sent him her address and an invitation to come to her when he gets back. Then he slowly scrolls up to see the new pictures and-

… Law flatlines.

“Trafalgar! Are you alright?”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, boy.”

He locks his phone and looks up to see everyone around the table looking at him in a mix of confusion and curiosity.

“I have gotten some disturbing news,” he says slowly and doesn’t even have to pretend to act shocked. “If you will excuse me.”

On the way out of the restaurant he grabs their waiter, pays his share and gives her a weighty tip, while asking her to communicate to his dinner companions that he was forced to leave in the case of an emergency.

30 minutes later he’s checked out and on his way to the train station. He gets to his platform just in time to see the last train roll into the station and he thanks the lord above, who he doesn’t believe in.

4 hours later he’s at Y/N’s address.

----

“Hi.”

“Law,” she greets him, a slight indication of a smile on her lips, as if she’s considering whether to laugh or not.

“Hi,” he says again, softer.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

“It’s the tenth,” he says and holds up his arm to show her his watch. It shows 00.42.

“So it is,” she chuckles softly in surprise.

“And you asked me to come,” he says, slightly short of breath, “on the tenth.”

“I did do that,” she says, almost in a whisper.

The silence is loaded with everything unspoken. He catches her glancing down at his mouth. She catches him trailing her figure with his eyes.

“So, did you want to come in?” she asks, as if he was just a normal guest ringing her doorbell on a normal day, not the man she’s been thinking about constantly the last two weeks ringing her doorbell in the middle of the night.

“Please,” Law says. He too almost succeeded in sounding completely normal.

When she lets him in, it dawns on her what this means, having him here, now, in her apartment. The embarrassment seeps into her as the overwhelming shock of seeing him again settles.

“I didn’t expect-” she says, with a slight stutter.

She was going to shower, she was going to shave, she was going to take out the trash blocking the doorway and she was going to clean up the multiple bowls of old, soggy cereal on the kitchen counter. He was not supposed to come before-

“Y/N,” he says in a quiet, breathy voice. He speaks so close to her ear that she feels a tingling down her spine. “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, I just-”

He stops himself mid-sentence and she looks up to see why. In the dim light of the corridor, his eyes almost look black. They’re still golden, but now they’re dark, like petroleum, like oil, and she could simply drown in those eyes. What a terrifyingly sweet death. She would let him drag her down into the sticky black goo of delicious tar in a heartbeat.

“Y/N?” he repeats, for the first time tonight with a smile.

“Ye- Yes,” she says, a small chuckle escaping her at how utterly stupid she must look and the fact that she simply does not care. She doesn’t even care about the two bags of trash at their feet. She doesn’t care about her greasy hair, about being sweaty and dirty. This is the best thing that could have possibly happened tonight.

“Am I interrupting?” he asks.

She nods before she can register what he was saying and a prominent line draws down over his brow in worry.

“I am?” he asks. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“Law,” she coos and without even thinking, she lays a reassuring hand on his cheek, her fingertips gracing the soft strands of his hair. “It’s good to see you.”

He eases up under her touch, ever so slightly even leaning into it.

“Likewise,” he murmurs.

“Would you like to stay the night?” she asks, not really sure why, it’s really way too late for him to go anywhere else, but it does feel right to ask. It lets her reveal that she really wants him to.

“I would,” he admits, a shimmer of amusement in his eyes. “And would you like it if I kissed you now?” he asks her in a low murmur.

She gives him his answer by running her hand further into his hair, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him towards her slowly.

Firstly, their noses meet for a second. It’s only a small colliding of noses, but it breaks the ice and makes what comes after seem easier.

Secondly, their foreheads touch. A touch that is not innocent, but rather heavy and solid. A meeting of two minds, aching for connection.

When their lips finally meet it’s slow, but more than that, it’s deep. It’s as if they just skip past the first stages of a first kiss and instead swiftly fall into the hungrily unabashed type of kiss, slowly and meticulously tasting each other. They fit together like they were always meant to be doing this.

The sizzling chemistry between them does not crystallise itself in a fit of passion, but rather as an all-consuming void. A black hole swallowing their whole world and opening up the pathway to something completely new. Something scary, but exciting.

But with him, there’s no need to worry. It feels like she’s been kissing him for years and she knows exactly what to do. Even though it's scary to feel as if she’s being swallowed down into a hole of nothingness, it feels as if they’re going down together. She doesn’t doubt for even an instant that he will follow her.

“Thank you,” Law manages to say in between kisses.

“For what?”

“For- Fuck, the pictures. Thank you for the pictures.”

“You’re very welcome,” she grins into the kiss.

“But also for being so…”

“So?”

“So… Ehm, it’s just, I’m not a brave person, Y/N,” he begins while she places a trail of kisses down his neck and behind his ear. “Ahh- I- Well, I find these things difficult. And it might have been a lot harder if it weren’t for the fact that you’re so…”

“So…?” she repeats, absolutely teasing him for his ramblings.

“So fearless.”

“What-?” she protests, smiling wide from the flattery, but too embarrassed to do anything else than pull away from him and hide her face.

“So easy to want,” he further explains, cupping her face with both his hands and chasing her back to steal just one more kiss before he adds, “So kind.”

Y/N simply looks back at him for the longest couple of seconds before she can’t contain herself anymore. She needs him. She firmly grips a hold of his jacket and starts dragging him up the short flight of stairs.

Law makes an undignified yelp at being hauled away and he momentarily halts them both in an attempt to take off his outerwear. She tries to drag him with her despite it and he almost loses his balance.

“My shoes-?” he asks, in a way of explaining why he can’t just let himself be dragged inside.

“Leave them on, throw them away,” Y/N suggests hastily, letting go of the grip and disappearing into the bedroom. “I don’t care about the shoes! Just come here.”

“Yes,” he adheres blindly and follows her shortly after.

She waits for him by the edge of the bed and has begun slowly pulling off her sweater. He rushes to reach out and wrap his arms around her when her arms are lifted and the skin of her torso is exposed. As her face appears again from under the fabric, he kisses her lips softly, lazily.

“Y/N,” he moans.

“I need you so badly,” she murmurs back into his lips.

“Tell me more, please,” he begs her.

“About how much I need you?” she asks with an insolent grin.

He nods, his eyes are droopy and fluttering closed as he touches her, kisses her.

“So much,” she breathes out. “I need you so much, Law, I can hardly-”

She interrupts herself when she drops down on the bed and unexpectedly lands on something cold and mysterious. From under her ass, she pulls out sheets of paper- Oh fuck. The fucking comics. She doesn’t even know why, but that’s so embarrassing.

“Oh, these,” she says, not having a clue what she’s going to say, “I borrowed these from the library, just-”

“It was so fucking hot,” he groans and follows after her down on the bed. He takes the comics out of her hands and carefully slips them down on the floor. Then he pulls her over in his lap and grinds up against her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “All the pictures were, but- those last ones with the comics and the- Oh, fuck, it was so sexy.”

“Really?” she almost whines, shocked by both his enthusiasm and at the sparks of pleasure shooting up in her at the way he ruts against her.

“I couldn’t help myself, I just had to jump on the first train,” he pants. “Only for you. Because I need you too. So much.”

“Fuck, Law, we need to,” she sighs, “we need to hurry. Off with these. Now.”

“Yeah?” he asks, not speeding up the touches, but actually slowing down and not making any move to remove any of his clothes either. “Are you impatient?”

There’s been a change in him. She couldn’t say when, but at one point he grew confident and now, he’s teasing her.

“Come on,” she orders, “this is not the time.”

He smirks, it’s small and subdued, but so free. It makes her want to smile along and join whatever he’s got planned, but Y/N has an agenda and Law getting fired up with teasing her is not a part of her plan.

“It’s not funny,” she says, trying to sound stern and failing.

“It is actually funny, Y/N,” he argues, “because I knew you’d be like this. All week, while you’ve been teasing me with your pictures, I have spent every waking minute thinking of ways I wanted to tease you back, when I finally got my hands on you.”

“Oh fuck, really?” she asks, getting warm at the thought.

“I knew you’d be so easy to rile up,” he murmurs as he embraces her to unclasp the bra at her back. When he finally gets it to work and pulls the fabric off of her, he lets out a satisfied groan. He starts kissing her chest, gently cupping her breasts with his large, warm hands.

“Oh, these are-” he moans and then his words get muffled as the kisses turn into small, tender nibbles and then an insistent sucking, “mmmh…”

Y/N can’t help the self-consciousness seeping through her pleasure and making her tense.

“They’re not that- I mean, I know that they’re-”

“No, they’re so perfect,” Law interrupts, pulling back to look up at her. “I love them.” He looks so wasted, so far gone. It puts her at ease.

“You think?”

“You are made for me,” he whispers, before once again putting his hot mouth on her nipple, giving it a light tug and releasing it.

“So are you going to give me more?”

“What are you talking about?” he chuckles, cupping her breasts and now even massaging them gently, taking a lot of pleasure in every squeeze. “I’m giving you so much already.”

“You know what I want,” she challenges him, her voice weak and breathless, but he ignores her.

“You smell so good,” he murmurs to himself, burying his face into the crook of her neck again, taking a long whiff of her scent.

Her head falls against his shoulder. She’s giving in to his teasing, revelling in the pleasure she gets, the way his touch feels so feverish and tingling against her skin. She does her best to just enjoy that and to put off all thoughts of what more she wants. She tries her best to just stay in the moment with him, not get impatient and definitely NOT start to beg or anything of the sort. But alas, she can’t help it.

“Please fuck me,” she whimpers before she can stop herself. “I just want you to fuck me hard, Law.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” he coos, but there’s no warmth in his reassurement, only vicious satisfaction at her weak state. “Begging already? You couldn’t wait any longer? I must say I’m almost disappointed. So impatient, but still so docile.”

She groans in frustration and gently tugs at his sweater to get him to take it off.

”Uh-uh,” he says. “You first.”

He undresses the rest of her and when all that’s left is her underwear, he lets her pull the sweater off over his head along with the t-shirt underneath. When Y/N lays her eyes on his naked chest and shoulders, it’s like she’s equipped with new energy. She takes charge and pounces, pushing him down on the mattress and keeping him there with force as she straddles his hips.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about these,” she says, letting a nail scrape against a line of his chest tattoo. Law inhales sharply, clearly affected by her newfound initiative.

She keeps tracing his tattoos with a faint touch and he responds instinctively, arching his back and lifting up to meet her touch, to get her to do more.

“Fuck, I just love your tattoos, Law,” she whispers, currently following the markings on his left arm, then all the way out to his fingers. She continues exploring the tattoos, but now with her mouth. Greedily, she takes three at a time, letting her tongue circle around each finger.

“Y/N,” he warns, sounding utterly weak.

She hums and buckles her hips down against his’, making him curse. At once she lets go of his hand and she leans over to meet him, face to face.

“Miss being in control?” she asks, teasingly. “Is that it?”

“No,” Law scoffs.

“I don’t believe you,” she sing-songs.

“So now you want to tease? I thought you were getting impatient?” he asks, obviously trying to get back in the driver’s seat. She isn’t going to let him.

“I think you’re very uncomfortable with giving away control,” she says, tenderly placing a kiss at the corner of his mouth, “but I also think it makes you even more turned on when someone takes it from you.”

Law manages to laugh, but it’s a hollow laugh, only made to conceal that what she’s saying is right. That the way she’s holding him down and taking the reins, is simply making him go insane.

“I am not going to deprive you of that depraved lust, baby,” she whispers, grinding down on him once more. “I’m going to shower you in it. I’m going to take care of you.”

“Y/N,” he moans.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Just give it to me,” he sighs. “I’ll take it all.”

She laughs. “Oh, how the tables have turned,” she teases, “but now it’s your turn to wait.”

“Please,” he begs, “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying, Law,” she says, fondly caressing his forehead. “You’re living.”

“Ah,” he sighs. “It’s exhausting.”

While she strips him naked, he’s mostly quiet. A soft gasp here and there as her nails scrape against his skin or as she leaves an unexpected kiss along his thighs.

The last item of clothing she removes is the black boxers, keeping his very hard dick encaged in the tight fabric. She’s already noticed that it’s big, that it would be more than satisfying. She’s caught herself biting her lip in suspense just looking at the outline of it, more times than one. He’s probably caught her a few times too.

But when she actually strips the boxers off him and it bounces against his stomach in its natural state, she can’t help but widen her eyes at the sight.

“Shit, you are big,” she murmurs in surprise.

“Yeah, uhm, well,” he begins, shifting uncomfortably up to lean against his elbows, “it can be a bit much.”

She swallows hard, feeling excitement bubbles inside her at the thought and wondering just what “a bit much” would entail.

“Do you have any lube?” he asks. Suddenly he’s back to being uncomfortable and anxious, avoiding her gaze.

“Sure,” she says, moving closer to him and picking up his hand, “but I don’t think we’re going to need any.”

Then she leads his hand to push past the edge of her underwear and into the pooling wetness that lies beyond.

He inhales sharply when the tips of his fingers easily slide deeper into her, lubricated by one simple touch.

“Fuck me,” he gasps, “that’s incredible. You are fucking incredible.”

She recognises that if there’s one time where it’s appropriate for her to take control, it would be now. Even though Law’s eyes are clouded with lust from feeling her wetness with his own fingers, he still looks unsure of how to proceed. She would guess that he’s had multiple bad experiences with feeling guilty from hurting people during sex with his big, fat dick. Y/N would laugh if he didn’t look so distraught.

“Are you clean?” she asks, pulling off his panties.

He nods slowly.

“Me too,” she tells him, “and I’m on contraception.”

“What are you saying?” he asks.

“I guess I’m asking you if you would mind fucking me without a condom?”

Law’s jaw goes slack, then he nods.

“So you would mind?”

“What? No, I mean, no, I wouldn’t mind,” he corrects himself, his cheeks flaring up.

“Ok?” she asks as she takes a hold around his dick

“But shouldn’t we-” he begins.

“Just let me give it to you,” she reassures him, finding her place on top and lining herself with him.

“Are you sure?” he asks through gritted teeth as the head hooks into her entrance and the tip enters her.

“Yes,” she gasps at the delicious stretch, “I’ll take care of it. Just give me a minute before you do anything.”

“Fuck,” he curses, “yeah, ok.” He does his best to control his breathing as she begins sinking down.

He’s warm. And of course big. Girthy. She’s overwhelmed just from taking a little part of him.

“It’s not that bad,” she gasps, “just a little more time and I’ll be opened up and-”

That’s when the stretch becomes almost too much. She shifts her knees in order to lift herself up again ever so slightly, but then her knee lands on something slippery under the covers that makes her thigh glide further away.

In an attempt to keep herself upright, she tries leaning forward with her hands planted on his chest, but at the same time, Law lunges forward too, trying to grab her hips to keep her from falling and-

She slams down on his hips and he bottoms out into her, going deeper than she’s ever felt anything before.

“AHh, fuck.”

He groans at the long-awaited friction while she whimpers at the overwhelming stretch, painful and pleasurable at the same time.

“I’m so, so, sorry,” he begins. He takes a hold of her hips and tries to help her off him, but she won’t budge. She’s frozen, clinging to his torso with all she’s got.

“Y/N, get off,” Law orders, but it’s clear that it takes him a lot of restraint to utter those words, “I’m hurting you.”

“No,” she groans, “no, we have to stay like this for now.”

“Y/N-”

“It’s just so good, I can’t-” she gasps for air. Then she moves her hips in the slightest buckle and lets out a moan.

“Oh fuck,” Law groans, automatically gripping her hips in an attempt to get more movement out of her.

“Don’t move,” Y/N orders.

“Of course not,” Law croaks. “Wouldn’t fucking dream of it.”

“I just need this for a little bit,” she murmurs, once again grinding down very gently and very controlled, drawing out a frustrated whine from Law.

Oh. That’s nice.

She wants to hear it again, so she does it once more. It’s really too much for her, but it gives her just what she wanted. His groans are so deliciously arousing and she begins rocking in a constant movement to keep them coming.

“No, this is no good. You’re hurting,” he says and stops her movement with a firm grip around her waist. “Let me.”

There’s something in his voice that makes her turn compliant again and she lets him lead her off him and down to lie on the mattress. He pulls out another comic from under the sheets, presumably the cause of her little slip up. She whines in disappointment, already aching at the loss of him inside her, but then she feels a touch at her entrance again and quickly after a finger plunges deep into her.

Even though the pressure from one single finger is lacklustre compared to what she just experienced, the swift motion makes sparks fly all the way up to her ears.

“Again,” she begs.

He complies, but he must have added another finger already because the pressure increases, giving her a new type of shock.

“I’m done teasing you now,” he murmurs softly, “this is purely practical. Now that I’ve felt you all the way, I can’t help myself. I need to open you up as quickly as possible, so that I can fuck you hard, just like you asked me to.”

His words send a jolt through her stomach in time with his fingers sliding back in. This time, though, he keeps them there and slowly begins pulling her open from the inside, stretching her good. Then he pulls them out to an indignant groan from her.

“Y/N. Lube,” he orders.

“In the drawer,” she pants, “the nightstand.”

When his fingers return, they’re colder.

“You can take one more, right baby?” he asks softly. “You can take three of my fingers?”

“Yes,” she insists.

She can. Three whole fingers are stuffed into her and when he somewhat curls them, deep inside of her, her hips involuntarily buckle up into the air. She lets out a breathy whine.

“Yes! Do that again,” she pleads.

“Of course,” he grins.

And he does.

“Oh, I- it’s… ah,” she whines incoherently.

“You’re getting so loose,” he praises her. “Can you do one more?”

“I’ll take anything you give me,” she says, so high on the endorphins, feeling like nothing more than a pliant blob in his grip. He adds one more and now the stretch returns, but now it’s only good, no longer painful.

“You’re ready for another go?” he asks. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes!” she moans. “Fuck, I want to.”

His fingers pull out and she waits for him with her eyes fluttering closed. He finds his place and lines himself up, but he doesn’t push in. He rubs his tip against her folds, dipping in and out of the pool of heat.

She loves it so much, she doesn’t even think to complain about the teasing of it. She is even disappointed for a second when he stops, but then he begins sinking into her again and she can’t focus on anything else. She breathes deeply, ordering herself to relax into it, to be good. She wants him to think that she’s good.

He sinks in completely and stays there,

“Breathe,” he orders her. She releases the breath she’s holding. “Good. How does it feel?”

“Good,” is all she can think to say. “So good.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No, not like last time.” It’s hard to put together the words in whole sentences. It does hurt, but it’s not a scary hurt. It’s good. It’s so, so, so, so good. She feels like her brain is submerged in goo, making everything happen slowly.

“Just keep breathing. Until you’re completely relaxed,” he inhales deeply, “I won’t move at all.”

Y/N focuses all she’s got on her breathing. With each inhale she feels him stretch her more and with each outhale she relaxes around him. She’s sure he could have begun moving a long time ago without bringing any real hurt to her, but the slow pace brings a kind of excitement with it.

“60,” Law whispers, “59, 58.”

Slowly, he begins counting down. Without actually knowing what will happen when he reaches 0, Y/N can feel her arousal blossoming up even more. She begins yearning for movement, for friction.

“43, 42, 41.”

His mouth is almost at her ear and each whisper causes tingles down her spine.

“36, 35.”

She moans in response, showing him what he’s doing to her and how eager she is for him to reach the end of his countdown. He chuckles, but he doesn’t lose track of the counting.

“19, 18, 17.”

“Yes, Law,” she whispers. “Please, I want it.”

“11, 10, 9.”

She clenches hard around him, eager for the stimulation and he skips a number in response.

“6, 4,” he gasps. “3, 2, 1.”

Law pulls out halfway before he slowly pushes back in.

“Yes!”

It’s bliss. It’s only pure bliss.

He begins pumping into her, still not fast, but hard. Long, deep strokes. He takes her legs and lifts them up to get even deeper and she gasps at the sensation.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he pants, “is this okay?”

“Yes! Fuck, yes, it’s perfect.”

He replies with a filthy groan, picking up the pace considerably.

She can’t stop making sounds, it’s like he’s fucking them out of her. It’s like he’s unlocked a blockage in her chest and now all her airflow has to be made into sound. She’s chanting his name with each thrust.

“You’re so good for me,” he praises.

“Law.”

“Y/N,” he gasps, sounding close to his climax, “how can you come?”

“On top,” she manages to croak in between breaths.

In the next moment he pulls out of her and she’s being tossed around to land on top of his chest.

“Come on, please, just use me however you want,” he begs. “I’m yours.”

And she does.

It takes a while to build up, but when it arrives, she rides him through her climax with a grip around his shoulders so firm that she probably bruises him.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he chants, “fuck, you’re sexy. So perfect.”

“Law,” she groans, tensing up and collapsing on top of him.

“Let me fuck you, please, let me fuck you til I come,” Law begs.

“Yes. Just use me back,” she complies, feeling so completely relaxed and submissive, as if no real tension exists in her body. “Whatever you need, Law, take it.”

He fucks her fast, up close and intimate, forehead touching forehead, untill he comes deep inside her with a long-drawn groan and a sigh of her name.

----

When she comes back from the bathroom she finds an extremely relaxed Law, spread out across the bed. He lifts his arms, just barely, to show that he wants her to lay down next to him.

“Next time, I’m going to tease you-” he yawns in the middle of the sentence, “-a lot more. So just prepare yourself.”

“Yeah,” she grins, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“You don’t think I could drive you insane?”

“Sure, but you would drive yourself insane first.”

A sheepish grin draws on his lips. It’s the most precious thing she’s ever seen and she pulls herself closer into him.

“Law,” she sighs.

“Yes?”

She hasn’t got anymore to say, but she lets out another satisfied sigh. He chuckles in response.

“I agree,” he murmurs.

“Remind me to thank Shachi,” she mutters to herself.

“Ok. Why?”

“He was the one who told me to send you the pictures,” she explains, almost half-asleep already. “He was the one who gave me all the advice during last week too. Told me to wear those skimpy shorts and to get you to drive me everywhere. To show up in the middle of the night with a bottle of wine.”

Law wakes from his postcoital stupor with a jolt.

“Wait a minute.” His face is drawn down in a frown of confusion. “You’re taking advice on flirting from Shachi?”

Y/N now too recovers to a more conscious state. Regret flashes over her face as she says, “Yeah, I uhm- Is that bad?”

Law falls back on the bed and buries his face in his hands. For a second it looks like he’s crying and Y/N begins to really freak out, but as he moves his hands to reveal his face, she sees that he’s laughing. Like a proper laugh. Big mouth, showing teeth. She even gets a glimpse of his tongue. It’s so different from all the smirking, chuckling and sinister laughter he usually does, it catches her completely off guard.

“I really overestimated you,” he sighs, coming down from his laughter high.

“What do you mean?” Y/N asks.

“Here I thought you were some magical siren creature, created from my deepest desires. Instead, it appears that I have a mole in my midst, leaking private information and you, it turns out,” he smiles, “are just as neurotic as me. Fuck, that is such a relief actually.”

As he says it, he reaches out after her and pulls her into his embrace. She ends up resting against his chest with her head against his shoulder. Suddenly him calling her neurotic is the highest compliment in the world.

“I might be neurotic, yes, though I could never compete with your nerves,” she argues, but all real concern is washed away and she is now in a blissful state of complaisance.

“Are you sure?” he counters. “Seemed like you could very well compete with my need for control. Maybe there’s more we have in common.”

“Let’s find out,” she chuckles.

“I can’t wait,” he responds fondly.

Y/N turns around and lies down on the top of his chest to look at him face to face. After studying him for a few seconds, gathering courage, she asks, “Be my boyfriend, Law.”

His eyes go big and his jaw goes slack. She holds her breath waiting for his response.

“Oh, okay,” he finally says. “Yeah, I would love to.”

“Really?”

“Fuck yeah, I’ll be your boyfriend,” he confirms, “and you’ll be my girlfriend.”

“Yeah,” she says.

“Shit,” he chuckles. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“But good.”

“Good.”

They both sigh deeply, almost in unison, both knocked out by the heat and passion of what they just experienced. And by the fear of finding something this good. Something they would want to keep forever, if they could.

Part 1

On AO3

[beansprean]

happy valentimes day :')

My Familiar’s Ghost part 91

Masterpost Masterpost 2

See the latest pages on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. High shot of the cage, the back wall casting a long grid shadow across the floor. Guillermo is still sitting on the cot, watching as Nandor mumbles to himself and paces around, agitated. 1b. Waist up of Nandor, facing away from Guillermo with his hands on his hips, eyes closed and face flushed. He psyches himself up, breathing deeply and whispering 'Okay, okay, okay,' to himself. Behind him on the cot, Guillermo is leaning his face on his hand, looking a little bored. 1c. Close up on Nandor as he whips around suddenly with a determined expression, snapping, 'Guillermo!' Offscreen, Guillermo startles, 'Ah! Yes?' 1d. Full body of Nandor standing in front of Guillermo, who is still sitting on the cot and leaning forward in interest. Nandor has one fist pressed to his heart and announces, as if previously rehearsed, 'It was very brave of you to express your feelings of love toward me, even though you had every reason to believe you would disappear and those feelings would not be reciprocated.' 1e. Knees up of Guillermo on the cot, looking at the floor while his hand taps nervously at his knee. He mumbles, 'Not brave enough to let you say anything back...' 1f. Repeat. Guillermo looks up as Nandor takes his tapping hand in his and raises it to guide him. Nandor replies, 'Then allow me to do so now.'

2a. Shoulders up of them both in profile as Nandor leads Guillermo to standing. The cage walls are visible behind them, as well as a ghostly blue version in the background behind the panels. Nandor raises his chin and holds Guillermo's hand up between them, his other gesturing vaguely as he says, 'I am much braver than you generally, so it is only right that I express those words as well. To you.' Guillermo smiles at him encouragingly. 2b. Nandor places his free hand on top of their joined ones and stares resolutely at the ceiling, cheeks flushed. He continues, 'I think you are kind and clever and have an ass that simply will not quit. So. I have many feelings. About you. One in particular.' Guillermo snorts softly, amused but fond. 2c. Repeat. Nandor falls silent, wide eyes meeting Guillermo's nervously as the other waits patiently. 2d. Repeat. Guillermo leans forward with a teasing grin and asks, '...Was that it?' Nandor cringes, face scrunching up in frustration as he snaps back, 'No! Augh!'

3a. Shoulders up of Nandor as he covers his eyes and turns his back on Guillermo, embarrassed. He admits, 'I do not have good experience saying these things.' Behind him, Guillermo shrugs with a sad smile and looks toward the ground, playing with his fingers. He replies, 'I know, it's okay. You don't have to-' Nandor interrupts him, 'No, you deserve to hear it.' 3b. Chest up of Nandor from Guillermo's POV as he turns back around and hesitantly removes his hands from his face, bashful. The ghostly blue image of the cage behind him begins to warp as a golden glow fades in. Nandor looks shyly up at Guillermo from beneath his lashes and says 'It made me very, very happy when you said it to me. Though it was not a very happy moment in general. And I...' 3c. Reverse shot, chest up of Guillermo. Nandor continues from offscreen, '...I want to make you happy. Even more than myself, sometimes.' Guillermo reacts strongly to this, rearing back in surprise. Tears spring suddenly to his eyes. Behind him, the golden glow strengthens and bursts, tearing the ghostly cage to shreds. 3d. Shoulders up of them both in profile, the background now cage-free in mottled copper and gold. Guillermo, smiling, removes his glasses to wipe his sleeve over his eyes. Nandor steps forward and calls his name in concern, one hand hovering uncertainly. 3e. Repeat. Guillermo composes himself and slides his glasses back on, saying, ''Go on, I'm listening.' Nandor smiles fondly at this, shoulders relaxing, and reaches up a hand toward Guillermo's downturned face. 3f. Shoulders up of Guillermo looking upward in surprise as Nandor's hand comes into frame to brush the backs of his fingers against his cheek. The colors are slowly warming. 3g. Repeat. Warmer. Nandor turns his hand to cup his palm against Guillermo's face and Guillermo leans into the contact like a cat, closing his eyes and nuzzling into it with a smile, his opposite hand coming up to clutch at Nandor's sleeve. Offscreen, Nandor murmurs, 'My...most precious Guillermo...' 3h. Repeat. Warmer still. Nandor has both hands on Guillermo's cheeks now, framing his face as Guillermo nestles in with a contented smile, eyes closed, hands gripping Nandor's forearms.

4. Wide shot, waist up, of them both in profile, a warm golden glow erupting behind them and washing away the dingy rusted blue of the dungeon beyond. They are lined with golden-pink light soft, warm colors. Nandor, hands still on Guillermo's cheeks, leans forward and bows his head to press their foreheads lovingly together. Their eyes are closed, cheeks flushed, reverence in their expressions. Nandor says, 'I dream of eternity with no one else. I love you. I am in love with you.' /end ID

[zepskies]

Aw thank you so much for giving me the idea and letting me run with it!! 🥰

Oooh I feel like with Big Sky you can start from the last episode of season 2 and more or less understand why Beau is there. Whereas with the Boys...yeah, you definitely need to see season 1 and 2 before you watch 3. 😉 Still, I'm so glad you could still have fun with this batch of HCs!!

Aww no worries on 10 Inch. It's not the best movie ever, but Priestly is oh so very adorkable in it! 💜💜

Hahaa yay!! Another Friends fan! 💕

I was imagining MEV reader again, and as I was writing this I kept getting myself confused because I’m relating her to Monica’s love of cooking. But Dean is a bit of a mother hen and fussy with the cleanliness of his room, so he’s definitely got some similarities with Monica there haha - role reversal when the ‘bossy’ one gets bossed - just go to bed Dean!

Awww honestly it makes me so happy you were imagining the Midnight Espresso-verse reader! 🥹 That version of her and Dean live in my heart rent free always. But you're right, she totally embodies Dean's love of cooking while he holds her down in a similar way that Chandler holds down and supports Monica. She also dotes on Dean a lot though, so it would make sense to me how she'd be taking care of Dean and making sure he slows down to take care of himself. 💞 (Yes, go right to bed, Dean!!)

I’m really surprised by Beau’s character. I’ve read a couple of fics where the big 3 were all present, granted they were crackish, but I was under the impression he was a little more grounded and sweeter? And I guess he probably is, I’ll give him a pass because he has the man flu, but I didn’t realise he was such a work-a-holic. Then again, he’s a sheriff, makes sense. And at least he listens eventually, even if there were a few, I’ll say instructions. Man runs a right ship. “And can you get me…”

Aw yeah, Beau tends to be more grounded and a little more mature than Dean, but he still has a playful aspect to him, along with a hidden edge of trauma in his past (you'll see when you watch the show).

Yes! The idea was that he's the sheriff and really gets into his work, but once he caves to her telling him he needs to take it easy, it was my HC that he'd settle into being her patient. More sweet but annoying, in a "can you get me just one more thing, baby?" kind of way lmao.

He’s just a dick, a grumbly one, but also a softie and wants some love deep down right? You won’t win it with yachts, mate, although I guess it’s worked for him before?

Oooh yes, Ben is selfish and an asshole, most of the time. Taciturn and grumpy, but for someone he actually cares about I feel like he'd try to soften up just for her. 😉

LOL he's learning that love isn't just throwing money around. 😆

I’m going to see if I can watch Ten Inch Hero 🤞 - but now I really want to know if I was to read one of your Ben fics (being a super hero interests me the most), is there one I could read where I wouldn’t have to watch the show first? 👉👈 spoilers don’t bother me, I read supernatural fics set in the bunker before I’d even gotten there 😅 but I want to check one out and Break Me Down is looking very appealing ❤️

10 Inch Hero is an easy watch! Though with Soldier Boy, I reeeeally recommend you watch The Boys first to get a sense of the world, the characters, the background of SB's story. It's a wild ride lol, but I would truly love it if you read Break Me Down! That's the SB series I'm most proud of, and was my first foray into figuring out how to write Soldier Boy. 🥰💚 Hopefully BMD emulates the tone of the show. I tried to do justice to SB's characterization, as well as the other Boys characters, like Butcher, Hughie, Annie, M.M. etc.

However, if you do decide to dive into BMD before watching the show, the main thing you need to know is that Soldier Boy (real name Ben) is a Boys parody of Captain America...if with a Winter Soldier "captured by Russians and tortured for 40 years" storyline. 😅

At the end of season 3, there's a big showdown between Homelander, SB, Butcher, and the rest of the main characters. BMD is canon divergent from how season 3 ended, but you can read up on the canon plotline here.

HEADCANON: Man Flu

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader || Beau Arlen x Reader || Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader || Boaz Priestly x Reader

HC: When Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Boaz Priestly get sick, how would they act when you (try to) take care of them?

AN: After reading I Got You by @bettystonewell (Dean x Reader) and The Best Kind of Medicine by @lamentationsofalonelypotato (Soldier Boy x Reader), I realized that I've never actually written a sick-fic before. Here it is in headcanon form, since you guys seem to like these! lol 💜

Also adding Priestly to this lineup for the first time because some of you have been requesting more of him recently. 😉

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, hurt/comfort, sick-fic, some needy affection-starved men who don't want to admit they're needy, lots of fluff.~

Dean Winchester

He's not sick. Because he doesn't get sick.

Dean claims he has the constitution of a horse, but you still take the beer out of his hand before he can take a sip at 10:00 a.m.

He's too busy interrupting himself, namely by coughing half a lung, wheezing, blinking teary eyes -- the whole phlegmy nine yards.

Sam shakes his head, casting you a look that frankly says, Good luck.

He knows his brother is stubborn as hell, and one of the things Dean dislikes most is being fussed over for "no reason." Being seen as weak. Not being able to just shrug his shoulders and shake it off.

To be fair, Dean tries. Except this time it's accompanied by a body shiver and a reluctant sniffle. His pallid face is drawn, and his usually strong and solid frame looks unsteady as he leans a hand on the War Room table.

"Okay, come on, Rambo. Let's get you back into bed," you say, guiding your boyfriend back to the room you share with him.

"I'm find," he insists, even as he begrudgingly accepts the gentle pressure of your hand on his back and shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.

"Sure you are, baby," you say with a smirk. "You're in the primb of libe."

Dean shoots you a narrowed look. Damn you for forcing him to binge-watch all those episodes of Friends late at night when you both can't sleep.

Right now he's Monica, trying to convince you he's in tip-top shape, while you're Chandler, just trying to get him to use tissues instead of his flannel sleeve to wipe his runny nose.

After taking his boots off, you get him to change out of his jeans and back into his sweatpants. Then you manage to get him to lay down under the covers with the promise of coming back with medicine and soup.

"I don't want soup, damn it," he grumbles. You just roll your eyes and rub his arm.

"Just rest. I'll be back with the Vicks."

As you might expect, Dean is not an easy patient.

He refuses to drink tea, but he does down the pills you bring for him, with a measured toss of his head that still makes his head swim. He groans.

He swallows a couple of cautious spoonfuls of the soup, pausing when he realizes that its warmth actually feels good down his sore and scratchy throat. It tastes pretty good too, especially with the warm, buttered slices of bread on the side.

"You made this?" he asks.

"Mhmm," you nod, smiling. If nothing else, good food will pacify this man. "Chicken and wild rice, made especially for you."

"Hmm. S' good," he nods in reply. He manages to finish the bowl.

He has to admit, if just to himself, that he does feel like shit.

He won't admit that the way you're rubbing his back, the gentle pressure of your nails between his shoulders and down his spine relaxes him, makes him feel better.

He knows that you care about him. That you love him. But this is one of those moments where it hits him, just how much.

It's a little overwhelming. A heavy swell of pressure fills his chest, so he tries not to let himself think about it for very long.

(He fails.)

After he's done eating, you take the plates away and help him back into bed. You linger there, slipping your fingers through his soft brown hair and pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead.

"I really need you to rest, okay," you say quietly. "If you need anything, just text me or Sam. Don't get out of bed."

Dean grasps your hand before you can move away from him. Since you're probably going to wash your hands anyway, he lays a kiss on the back of your hand.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Beau Arlen

Sheriff Beau Arlen is the type to run himself into the ground because he's so damn into his work.

He wants to do well in his station of responsibility, and he feels like he has to make up for his performance during the summer madness of Buck Barnes and Avery...and everything in between.

You just have to make Beau realize that he needs to slow down, before he well and truly burns himself out.

You put your foot down one morning.

He tries to get out of bed but has to pause, his head swimming. He takes a couple of steadying breaths while sitting on the edge of the bed.

You notice with a frown. "Hey, you okay?"

"Fine. Just fine," he answers a little too breathlessly. He raises a hand to his head. His throat is sticky and coarse. He wrinkles his nose when he also feels a sneeze coming on.

"Just need a...a...mugh-ah-ha-hugh."

His coughing sneeze makes you grimace. You didn't even know someone could sneeze and cough at the same time.

"Aw, babe. You're sick," you say as you move over to him, resting a hand on his back. He shakes his head and groans.

"Nah, can't be sick. Gotta lot of work to do today," he says. His voice is like gravel blended with broken glass. It would actually be sexy, if for the distinctly un-sexy way he tries to clear the great wad of phlegm from his throat.

He tries to rock himself onto his feet, but there he sways on the landing. You hurry out of bed to grab his arm and steady him.

"Oh no, you don't. Back into bed," you say.

"Aw, sweetheart. I'll be fine--"

"No. Lay down. You're not going in today," you say more firmly, all while you tuck the man back into bed with the blankets covering him.

"All right, all right. No need to be so pushy," he can't help but tease.

It earns a small smirk on your face. It seems like his man flu hasn't yet deprived him of his sense of humor.

"I thought you liked that though," you reply. You sit on the edge of the bed and rub his chest. He groans in defeat.

"Can't believe this," he grumbles. "Today of all days--"

"There's always going to be another case. This is your body telling you that you need to slow down," you tell him. "So how about this. I'm gonna call in one of my sick days, and we'll bunker in together."

You stroke his bearded cheek. He quirks a smile, grabbing your hand and squeezing warmly.

"How long until I'm allowed out, warden?" he asks.

"Until you can stand without keeling over," you dryly reply. A smile tugs at your lips. "Remind me to stop by CVS to grab you a Life Alert."

"All right, har har haugh--" His sarcasm ends on a very real, wheezing cough. Your amused smile drops. You relent from your teasing and stroke his chest once more.

"Okay, just rest. Let me get you some actual medicine and I'll be right back."

He stops you by grabbing your wrist. "Hey, uh...can I have some chicken noodle soup later?"

"Of course, baby. I'll swing by the store now and get some stuff for you."

"And some saltines?"

"Saltine crackers on the side. Got it."

You're about to head to the bathroom to brush your teeth before you start getting ready to go to the store, but once again, Beau's needy hand stops you.

"Before you go, some tea with honey and lemon would be good. Just something for my throat," he croaks.

You smile and nod. "Yeah, for sure. That'll be better for you than coffee."

"Oh, and can you gimme that quilt over there?" he asks, pointing to your favorite knitted blanket at the edge of the bed. You graciously lay it over his form and drop a kiss onto his forehead.

"And some cough drops. Thank you, darlin'," Beau adds.

Your lips begin to press together, but you nod and continue getting dressed.

You can already tell this man is going to settle into you taking care of him just fine.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Neither of you thought it was possible, considering his super genes that allowed him to eat and booze and drug harder than Andre the Giant and Keith Richards put together.

But one day, your over six-foot super soldier goes down hard. The warning signs came the night before, when you could hardly sleep with the way he was snoring like a grizzly bear.

In the morning, he wakes bleary-eyed with a runny nose and a coughing fit hard enough to shake the bed.

"Fuck," he groans, dragging a hand over his face before he turns onto his back. "This's gotta be some kind of bullshit hangover."

You move over to him in bed and feel the intense warmth of his clammy forehead. Your brows draw together in concern.

"No, I think you're sick."

"Not possible," he grumbles. "I haven't been sick since..."

Well, since he was a kid, probably. He won't admit it, but he's surprised he still has that memory lodged in the back of his mind.

It comes to the forefront now: your hand on his cheek unknowingly mimics his mother's gentle touch, her soft, kind voice.

"Aw, my sweet boy. Let's get you feeling better."

He can almost recall the floral scent of her perfume, echoes of it in the shampoo you use.

Ben claims he's fine, that he doesn't need your help or want the medicine and tea you bring for him. (He tries the tea, grimaces, and spits it out when you're not looking.)

He's a sourpatch grumbly patient who only begrudgingly stays put in bed when you ask him to. He doesn't mind lying around and watching movies all day, not to mention episode after episode of Below Deck. It reminds him that he wants to get back into boating.

"Hey, sweetheart," he calls to you from the bedroom, his voice croaking all the while. "I'm getting you a yacht for Valentine's Day. You want it all white, or throw in a bit of gold? Actually, check out this one with the navy trim."

You roll your eyes to yourself when you step back into the room. You're carrying a tray with a large bowl of soup and a fifth of whiskey. He claims the latter will help soothe his throat, and you don't have the heart to argue with him when he's clearly feeling so shitty.

"You mean you're getting you a yacht," you reply wryly. "We live in the city. Where the hell would we put a boat?"

"In a yacht club, where it belongs," Ben retorts. He hooks an arm around your waist and peruses what you've brought him on the tray. He doesn't look all that interested.

"Look, I know you're not exactly a soupy kinda guy, but this'll make you feel better," you say.

"Why can't you put some fucking steak in it or something?" he grouses. He tries and fails to hide another wet cough.

"Why can't you just eat what I lovingly made, just for you," you snipped back.

He rolls his eyes at your attitude, but he pipes down. In that silence, he's conceding that you have a point. There was a time were all he had to do was glance in someone's direction, and there'd be some fucking moron to fulfill his every whim.

Now, you're probably the only one in the world that would actually do what you're doing...

Cooking for him, putting your heart into it, for the simple reason that you do care.

Ben takes the bowl of soup from your hands. Raising a brow, you offer him the spoon as well.

He eats without further complaint.

You smile and reward him with a sweet kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back as you do so.

"See? That's not so hard, huh?" you can't help but needle him. "It's okay, baby. I'll take care of you."

He eyes you dryly, but he won't admit that there's a different kind of warmth coiling in his chest.

Boaz Priestly

"Uuuughhh, babe," he groans. "I feel like death on toast."

You're standing beside the bed with a smile playing on your lips. You brush back his for once un-gelled hair back from his face. It's weird to see it all limp and lifeless, slightly damp with sweat.

"Unironically, I should make you some toast," you reply. "What kind of medicine do we have?"

Priestly unearths his head from under his pillow to look up at you with miserable red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling, stuffy nose. "Can we count the tequila in the mini bar?"

"Maybe later," you laugh. "How are we on groceries?"

Priestly struggles to think. He takes your hand and rubs it back and forth across his chest. Maybe your sweet, loving touch has the power to clear away his congestion without him needing Vicks. Too minty.

"We have that pastrami I brought back from the shop," he says.

"That's six days old already," you shake your head.

"Aw, that's still good," he argues. "But uh, other than that, I think I have half a cheeseburger left from last night."

Last night's date at TGI Friday's, he means.

You heave a sigh. "Okay, clearly I'm going to the store. You just stay in bed and rest. Drink your tea."

He grimaces like a child. "I don't like tea."

"I know you don't like tea, but you need to drink it. It's good for your throat and your immune system."

He groans and flops back over onto his stomach. You bite your lip against a smile. He's such a whiny baby when he's sick.

Talk about Man Flu.

"Come on, be a good boy for me," you say, smacking him lightly on the ass. "Soon enough you'll feel better."

A smile creeps across his face where it's pressed against his pillow.

"Know what would really make me feel better?" he hedges. He tries to guide you down to him by tugging on your hand, but you resist him.

"Oh, no. You're not gonna get your germs all over me," you say.

"Hey, what happened to in sickness and in health?" he croaks. Even while under the weather, he's still plenty strong enough to grapple with you. He manages to yank you down. Laughing, you stumble into a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Huh, I don't remember exchanging any vows. You see a ring on this finger?" you tease, flashing your bare hand in his face to try and distract him and weasle out of his grip. "I can jump this ship anytime I want."

Priestly pouts. His arm hooks tighter around your waist. "Huh, guess you got me there..."

He turns his head and coughs roughly into his arm. Your amusement fades into concern and sympathy. You lay a hand over his chest while he struggles.

Once again, he clasps his free hand over yours. He glances up a bit hesitantly into your eyes.

"Well, maybe it's time there should be something on this finger," he murmurs.

You blink your eyes wider. Your head tilts, wondering if you just heard him right. Is this delirium fever talking, or is he serious?

"O-Oh yeah?" you ask.

Priestly tries to gauge your reaction. Seeing your face break out into a cute, shy smile raises the corners of his lips. Hope blooms in his chest, right beneath your hand.

"Yeah," he says, trying to clear his cracking throat. "I mean, if you're okay with that. If it's not too soon--"

You slip your fingers over his plush, chapped lips, and your smile brightens.

"When you're feeling better, you can ask me that question properly."

AN: 😆 I hope you liked the first ever addition of Priestly!! It was so fun to try and write him again (it's been a while lol). Feel free to imagine this vignette in the same storyverse as The Miracle Man and Code Red.

But I also hope you enjoyed the "Big 3," as I call them, even though Russell is starting to give Beau a run for his money on one of those slots. 😂 Let me know which guy you had the most fun reading on this one! 💜

And if you want even more fluff before Valentine's Day, check out my friend @waynes-multiverse who just posted her set of V-Day headcanons with Dean, Soldier Boy, Beau, and Russell: Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Captain's Orders 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, controlling behaviour, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The Captain takes it upon himself to change your life.

Characters: Steve Rogers

Note: I am still dizzy her and there but feeling a bit better.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You wouldn’t call it doom scrolling. That’s not what this is. You try not to search out the depressing headlines or the studies of the human character assuring you of your race’s inherent flaws. Yet, all those boastful posts about engagements, weddings, and promotions still make you feel crummy. 

Jealous? Sure. You don’t have any of those things and it isn’t as if you can hope for as much, either. You’re in a dead-end job, living in cramped apartment with your sister and her irresponsible friend, and your romantic life is next to non-existent; not that you’ve been looking. None of that is meant for you, otherwise, you’d have had some glimmer of interest by now. 

It’s like quicksand. Not very quick but it pulls you down lower and lower. Sinking and sinking until all you can see is the muck. There’s no way out now, you’re waist deep in it. 

You click under your favourite communities and start a new post. You don’t make many. Mostly you read and judge silently. You’re a lurker. Like in many facets of your life. You watch, you don’t do. But you’ve had a shitty day and you need to just let it out. 

Your fingers move as your thoughts boil in your head; your nagging manager, your lazy landlord, and your immature roommates. Nothing ever goes your way. Everyone else has it figured out and you’re just left to rot. You try! You do. Resumes, profiles on friendship apps, online courses; free, of course, it’s all you can afford, but you do try to improve yourself. It just doesn’t work. 

You hit ‘post’ and close the lid of your ancient laptop. It’s as thick as a book. The battery doesn’t hold a charge and the fan is as loud as a jet. You fall back onto your bed and look around your tiny room. That’s all you have. This space is as much as you can call your own and not really. You rent it, it can be taken away with one of those red stamped notices. 

You yawn and drag yourself up. A whole shift and you didn’t bother to have more than the bland break room coffee spewed from the off-brand pod machine and a couple sticks of gum. Tia got herself sushi before her shift but she can just ask her parents to send her money to cover her Door Dash addiction. 

You plod out to the kitchen. Your sister closes the fridge and cracks the tab of a beer can. You’re sure it isn’t her first.  

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Shea bobbles her head. 

Funny since Donna pretty much hollered at you for interrupting her TV show. You all pitched in on the flat screen yet it’s never your turn with it. You shrug and go to the cupboard. It’s not sushi but the spicy shrimp ramen isn’t too bad... 

“You work?” You ask. 

“Pfft, no. Didn’t I say I was going to lunch with Mason?” 

“Did you?” You take down at bowl. She probably did. You never remember. She’s always got a date or a party or a fall back. If she can’t make rent, she’ll smile a cute guy and get some money. 

“He bought me some shoes! You’ll never believe.” 

“Right,” you try not to seethe. 

You’re scraping the bottom of the barrel. You’re eating sodium-laced noodles and holding back tears against old people wanting to print out their life story from a corrupt PDF. She’s pretty. She doesn’t have to try. Shea is all the proof you need that some people are just lucky. 

You put the electric kettle onto boil and the smell of burnt—something makes your lip curl. You pop the lid and look inside. It’s brown. What the hell? 

“What’s wrong with this?” You ask as you flip off the switch. 

“Donna!” Shea yells, “what did you do to the kettle?” No answer. Your sister hollers again. 

A door swings open and Donna stomps out with a huff. Her face is green as she has a mask spread over it and eye masks pasted beneath her lashes. 

“I’m getting ready--” 

“The kettle stinks,” you reach for a pot and find none. They’re all stacked and waiting to be washed. You snatch one off the top and flip on the faucet. 

“Oh, I heated up some bone broth in it. I’m doing a cleanse,” she smirks. “Tasted kinda weird.” 

“Bone broth?” You scoff. See. You try, they can’t even clean dishes. “Great.” 

“I’m sure it’s fine, just rinse it out,” Shea says. 

You scrub the pan and ignore her. You glance up as she slurps noisily from the can. Pre-drinks. Her and Donna are going out. Again. They can afford to because they don’t buy their own drinks. They don’t need to. You went out with them once and paid for all of your own, even though you’d have been happy enough with a single round. 

“Have fun,” you dry out the pan and slam it on the burner. 

“Jeez, maybe you should loosen up?” Donna chides. 

“Yeah, come with us. Dance it out,” Shea drawls. 

“No thanks,” you twist the knob and light the burner. “I have work tomorrow.” 

“Call innnnn,” Shea insists. 

“I can’t,” you sniff and step back to wait for the water to boil. 

“Boring,” she chirps. 

“Yep, I am,” you cross your arms. Your annoyed. When the go out, you’ll have to clean up this mess. You can’t handle another bout of fruit flies. 

You put the noodles in and let them soften. You stir in the oil and powder then retreat to your room with the bowl of boiling cholesterol. You let it cool and put a video on your phone. You don’t want to think. 

You eat deliberately. You savour the processed flavouring. You can’t go out sneak a midnight snack; Donna ate all your cookies. You label all your stuff in thick marker and she apparently can’t read. 

You hear them leave. They’re loud. They leave the television on. At high volume. 

You go out and shut it off. You need to sleep soon. Opening always comes after a late shift. Otherwise, how else would the corporation keep you disempowered. 

You open your laptop. You’ll but on some lo-fi while you charge your phone. Heck, the fan is like white noise on its own. 

The little red number at the bottom of the page stops you. You left the browser open. Someone actually responded to your post. You click and your stomach drops as you read the first sentence. 

‘Sounds like you cause a lot of your own problems. Maybe try some mindful exercises and get out more. You should also consider making some friends.’ 

You read it over and over. You’re angry. Hurt, too. But most that first thing. You can’t stop from replying. 

‘You got all that from me venting? I wasn’t asking for advice. I walk to and from work and I have friends.’ 

It’s mostly true. You do walk. Most days. And your sister is a friend, isn’t she? By association, so is Donna. 

Before you can look up your favourite twelve-hour lo-fi, another notification pops up. 

‘Looking at your post history, your diet could use some improvements. More veggies. And walking is a good starting point but you need to increase your endorphins. I’d be happy to send you some helpful guides. They’re easily searchable on the internet. We live in the age of information, you should consider taking advantage of that.’ 

Wow, what an asshole. He’s smug and obviously better than you. You click on his username and scroll through. Just as you expect. He posts in fitness communities. Not any videos of him but sharing tutorials and recipes for high-protein smoothies and fibre-laced juices. He wouldn’t know flavour if it puked in his mouth. 

You his ‘esc’ and go back to your own post; ‘thanks for the advice. Have a good one.; 

That’s it. You’re not arguing with some faceless douche on the internet. His response is as quick as the first. 

‘A helpful link.’ He hyperlinks the words. ‘You should at least stretch in the morning and go outside on your breaks at work. You might work long shifts but it’s no excuse to be lazy. If you’ve been in that role for so long, you should have more than enough references to move on to something that doesn’t make you miserable.’ 

You don’t answer. You know if you do, you’ll just embarrass yourself. Judging by the few pics of his real life and his cadence, he’s got everything. He just thinks it’s a matter of mindset. There can’t possibly be anything else which could make things more difficult for people. You just don’t work hard enough. Duh, everyone always says so. 

You close out of the page. If he replies again, you’ll block him. Simple as. You put on a lo-fi track and dim the screen. You roll over and tuck into bed. You fall asleep in a ball of stress; you have to wake up, shower, do all that human stuff, then make yourself face another eight hours of hell. 

⭐

“I hate working at the fucking copy desk,” you hiss as you take your bag from the cubby in the break room. “Good luck.” 

Darcy gives you a look as she sits at one of the tables, waiting for her shift to start. You grit your teeth as you should your purse and grip your jacket tight. You punch your employee number into the clock then head out. 

As you march down the aisle of toner, a customer tries to stop you. “I’m off duty.” 

“But I need a keyboard.” 

You ignore them and keep going. 

“I’m going to tell a manager, young lady!” 

You don’t care. Besides, why are they looking for a keyboard in the toner aisle. The signs above with the giant letters clearly show that the computer accessories are in the opposite corner. 

People are stupid. They might be able to read, technically, but they definitely lack comprehension. Just like Donna who can’t keep her hands off your snacks. 

You walk home in a simmer. If you let your temper get away from you, you won’t be able to hold back when you walk into the inevitable shit show waiting for you at home. Shea and Donna hungover, probably having got into more of your sparse groceries, and amidst a brand new mess for you to tidy. You won’t not this time. 

You have a mission. Go to your room and don’t come out. 

As you enter your building, you find the elevator non-responsive. A tiny post-it is stuck to the doors. ‘Out of Order’. Couldn’t have made something a bit more legible? 

You take the stairs. The hallway smells like onion and dirty clothes. You take out your keys as you get to your door, ignoring the rabble coming from the apartment next to yours. Before you can get your key in the slot, the door opens. 

“Heyyyy, she’s back,” Shea greets. You blink at her in confusion. Is she already drunk again? 

“Starting already?” You ask as you try to get past her. 

“Hm, no,” she says tritely, “you have a guest.” 

You roll your eyes, “don’t be a bitch, alright?” 

“No, really,” she grins. You stop and look her up and down. She isn’t falling apart like usual after a Friday night. Her hair is done, her makeup too, and she’s not in her sweats.  

“Is it mom?” You whisper. 

She snorts, “you’re stupid. No, it’s your friend. Steve.” She backs up with a shimmy, “I think some people call him Captain.” 

You make a face. What? 

“Who...” 

“Ahem,” a figure appears by the corner of the kitchen counter, “I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

You crane to see over Shea’s shoulder. The man behind her is tall. And familiar. Steve Rogers. Your expression contorts as your lashes flutter in confusion. 

“Not at all, Stevie,” Shea spins, “I’ll give you two the room. So nice to meet you.” 

She squeezes by him and touches his forearm as she does. He doesn’t react. She giggles and flits off. Her door shuts but you can tell that the latch didn’t catch. She’s listening. 

“Should we go outside? Get some sun?” He asks. 

You glance at him again. You’re lost. 

“Do I know you?” You grimace. 

“After all day under fluorescent, you should really get out--” 

“I-- I’m sorry, can you slow down and explain--” 

“Outside. Privately,” he says. 

You peek past him then look into the hallway behind you. You search your mind for an explanation. The only place you know him from is the internet or a history book. 

“Like I said before, going outside can really help with mood issues.” 

You hesitate and your mouth falls open. It can’t be... 

“Was that you? Last night?” You shake your head. 

“How about I buy you a smoothie?” He offers. 

You snap your mouth shut. He can’t be serious. This can’t be real. 

[yuurei20]

Is it possible for you to provide some insight on Lilias dorm vignette? I want to know what the JP version said (specifically in the 3rd part) to see if its different from the EN. If you can thank you so much!

Hello hello! Thank you for this question! 🦇

Reviewed the third part of Lilia's dorm vignette and it looks okay to me! 🥳 If we want to be very strict, these small parts were technically changed for EN:

Original Lilia: I can't be with you forever. Come on, hurry up and go. EN Lilia: I can't stay with you all night, little one. Move along now.

While the original dialogue says "can't be with you forever/always," this was changed on EN to "all night."

If I were a fanfic writer I think I might be interested in Lilia's use of "little one"! Is it something he maybe used to say to Silver or to Malleus before they grew up? But no, it does not exist in the actual game and was invented by EN.

Original Lilia: Don't overlook when you're supposed to go. This is that time. EN Lilia: This is your time, little one. Don't miss your window.

(Just the return of "little one," again added to EN.)

Original Malleus: With Lilia, I suppose it's also due to his impulsive personality. EN Lilia: But in Lilia's case, he might simply be disorganized.

I could understand someone arguing that "disorganized" doesn't really capture the nuance of Malleus' actual line, which is closer to describing something as "rough" or "lacking refinement."

"Disorganized" sounds a little closer to just he struggles to manage tasks, which could also probably apply since in this scene he was almost late to his gaming date with Idia, but there is more depth to the original word (雑な) that implies carelessness, roughness and an unpolished personality.

And that is all! :> If you are interested in particular in a line that is not one of these, feel free to let me know and I will be happy to revisit and make super sure!

[kazutora-kurokawa]

Uhh Tenjiku or Toman x yapper reader but reader is very insecure about it? If you've done it before then feel free to ignore this 🫶

Tenjiku x Yapper!Insecure!Reader

♡ SFW, fem reader, fluff, reader goes quiet randomly ♡

Characters: Izana, Kakucho, Ran, Rindou, Mucho, Mochi, Shion

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Izana

🎴 Entirely too used to you yapping and running your mouth about the most random things

🎴 He might look like he's ignoring you but he's always paying attention on the low (he remembers everything)

🎴 If you're ever too quiet he'll fold and get all mushy with you

"Why are you so quiet? You know I like hearing your voice."

Kakucho

💗 Listens when you talk and adds his opinion sometimes (or tells you to not do something you were going to do because it's dangerous)

💗 He loves when you go on rants about your interests and the things you love because you look cute doing it

💗 He never tells you to stop talking but will politely inform you of social cues you should recognize when you're around other people

"You know, I think Izana is in a bad mood, maybe you shouldn't speak to him right now."

Ran

💜 Teases you about your yapping even though he doesn't mind it

💜 Has threatened to wring your neck before if you didn't shut up (he swears he was joking)

💜 He gets snippy sometimes if you talk too much while he's trying to sleep, but if he thinks you're sensitive about it he'll apologize

"I'm sorry princess, you know I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just trying to sleep right now...go ahead and finish what you were saying."

Rindou

🩵 Listens to you half of the time, if he's not listening to you he's probably wearing headphones and listening to music

🩵 Argues with you just to piss you off because he knows you'll never shut up about it

🩵 Encourages you to talk to him whenever you go quiet

"You okay? Wanna talk about something?"

Mucho

💙 Loves you very much but thinks you're annoying sometimes

💙 Refuses to suffer alone so he invites Sanzu to hang out with you two, it balances things out since he's so quiet

💙 Covers your mouth with his hand because he's too polite to say shut up (but not polite enough to understand personal space)

"You're loud princess."

💙 Makes sure that you know he loves you, even when you're irritating him

Mochi

🍡 Calls you motormouth (affectionately)

🍡 Will whoop ass for you, only he gets to pick on you for talking too much

🍡 If you're quiet for too long he'll poke fun at you, though he's genuinely concerned

"C'mon motormouth, where's that attitude of yours?"

Shion

♥️ Both of you are yappers, but he's more of a background Yapper who'll add onto what you're saying

♥️ He's basically your hype man and supports everything you say, even when it's questionable

"Honestly, arson shouldn't even be a crime."

"It's not a crime if you get away with it."

♥️ Nips at your lip when you're too quiet (he aggressively loves you)

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies @manji-hoe @southside-otaku @xxchthonicreaturexx @evergreen-endo @hanmaslilslut @dystop4in14nd @mysouleaten @mdsbabygirl

[telephoniii]

HEARTSHAPED CHOCOLATES

☆彡 in which you gift jamil a valentine and things get complicated

jamil viper x gn!reader

word counter: 3.1K

warnings: reader is prefect, possible ooc, miscommunication (kinda), descriptions of servitude

a/n: i wrote this at 2AM but i think it's really cute. i’m definitely biased because jamil is my favorite and i do NOT have any valentines this year whatsoever 😭

i hope you enjoy!! :>

Jamil wiped down the counter with a frustrated sigh. Kalim had, once again, gone behind his word and threw a last-minute party. One that Jamil had to do a majority of the work for. And now here he was, cleaning up after the incompetent boy.

Nothing he wasn't used to, but upsetting nonetheless. Though, he supposed that he’d be lying to himself if he claimed it was the only reason he felt bitter. His eyes flickered toward a calendar that hung on the kitchen wall of Scarabia.

Tomorrow, it’d officially be Valentine's Day.

Now, most NRC students were as single as could be for a variety of reasons— being a celebrity, focusing on grades, etc. Jamil fell under the category of being too busy. So many, much more important matters were always fighting for his attention. And a lot of them are related to Kalim in some way or form.

Being a destined servant to the Al Asim household wasn't an ideal situation. Plain and simple. Especially when it came to romantic relationships.

In middle school, young Jamil had a few girls he was interested in. However, all hopes of those crushes blooming into anything more died when they witnessed Jamil and his family bowing down to Kalim.

It's difficult to explain his role to his peers. Of course, the older he got the easier it became. But for most of his childhood, it was extremely embarrassing to have to say that he was to devote his life to serving the Al Asim family forever.

It was humiliating, giving leeway for others his age to look down on him. Now it wasn't just Kalim who he was lesser than. It was everyone. And it was hardly fair. Jamil was smarter than all of them combined.

He caught on to things quickly and was easily adaptable. When learning magic, his movement was calculated and precise. Yet, because of his last name, the respect he deserved was never given… Needless to say, he never pursued any more crushes.

By the time he was enrolled in NRC, romance no longer seemed plausible for his lifestyle. He wouldn't be able to devote so much time to another person other than Kalim anyway. That man-child can barely do anything on his own to save his life.

Jamil was convinced he’d spend the rest of his youth alone, only really finding a potential partner once he was free from the chains of servitude.

…And then you showed up at NRC.

You and your stupid soft eyes; that genuine empathy you carried on your sleeve. It's idiotic, really. You were bound to get taken advantage of in a school like this. Against his better judgment, Jamil felt drawn to you.

Despite being magicless and from a whole other world, you seemed to understand and empathize with his struggles better than those he had grown up with. And you weren't just all bark, no bite. You helped out a lot.

Many can just say that they feel sorry for Jamil, yet stand idly by as he served Kalim. You, however, saw him through his overblot. Instead of moving on, you forced him to communicate with Kalim about how he was feeling. It would've been so easy to fall back into the status quo, yet you stayed and improved his life for the better.

He’ll never quite get how one person could leave such a big impact.

You eased his worries about servitude. Being around you was naturally calming. It didn't feel like he had to babysit when he spent time with you. In fact, he felt as though he was learning new things— about both himself and others— every day with you.

The feeling scared him to his soul.

It was terrifying to be this addicted to another person’s presence. He wasn't used to having someone to look forward to: someone he wanted to be around all the time.

Jamil didn't know whether or not to pursue you. The last thing he wanted was to drag you into more of his messes… however, you seemed to frequently do that yourself, choosing to be involved for his sake. He was truly infatuated.

Despite it all, he refused to make a move.

You weren't from this world and all too soon he was sure you’d find a way back to where you were meant to be. It’d be selfish of him to pursue you, trapping you in a place you didn't belong. He knows the feeling of being trapped all too well after all.

There were no telltale signs you’d be interested in him back anyway. You were friendly with all and close to many. Who’s to say one of those fancy princes or endearingly dumb freshmen isn’t the one who’s captured your heart?

He purposely doesn't stand out, unlike some other students. Jamil assumed this put him at a natural disadvantage.

Assumed being the keyword.

Of course you, always breaking his expectations, had to crumble his thoughts by gifting him chocolates.

~

“Jamil?”

His eyes moved from his textbook to you in a second. He raised a brow as he watched you stare at him with an unrecognizable glint in your eyes. “Did you need help with something, Prefect?”

Those words made you perk up, grounding you back in reality. “No! No. I’m fine. Just…”

Clearing your throat, you put down your pencil. The homework in front of you was long forgotten as you focused your attention mainly on Jamil— much to his confusion.

“Do… Do you have any plans for Valentine's Day?” You cautiously asked, looking at him intently.

He furrowed his brows at the question, thinking it over. “Kalim will most definitely want to throw a party for the occasion. I'll be in charge of the decorations, cooking, and— well, everything as per usual.”

Jamil answered truthfully, not seeing much of a reason not to. Yet, he felt like he answered wrong as his eyes met your deflated gaze.

“Got it… Yeah, that makes sense…”

Before he could invite you to the party— you’re one of the only people he’d happily cook for— you messily started scouring through your bag.

He observed you curiously, mentally noting that he should help you clean out your backpack sometime. I mean, the amount of loose papers you have in there is absurd—

“Here.”

His mind goes quiet as you pull out a small, heart-shaped box and slide it toward him. Jamil looks at you like you are crazy, making you chuckle.

“I was hoping to give it to you on Valentine's Day, if you're busy then, I’d rather do it now and save you the trouble.” How thoughtful of you… His shock was transparent as he struggled to form words.

You didn't know whether or not to take that positively or negatively.

“Uhh—” It was awkward, the air was tense as you swiftly stood up. You flashed him a nervous smile. “I should go check up on Grim… Good seeing you?”

Jamil had never felt more scatterbrained. So many thoughts racing at once. Yet so little came out of his mouth.

“Good seeing you too, Prefect.”

~

He never did invite you, did he?

Jamil sighs at his ridiculousness. In the back of his mind, he tried to justify it.

The party wouldn't be ideal for you to come to anyway, he’d be working the majority of the time. He doubts you’d enjoy yourself. It might be awkward for you to even come after that exchange.

However, deep down, he knew he should've said something. Anything. Instead, he just let you leave with unsure thoughts.

Jamil didn't want to leave this be. He wanted to make it right. But with so little time, he was stuck.

~

Valentines arrived unreasonably fast, causing him to frown. The students of Scarabia could sense something was wrong, but no one had the guts. Well, no one except…

“Jamil? Are you mad?” Kalim innocently asked.

Although you made Jamil talk out a lot of his issues with Kalim, the white-haired boy’s voice still irked him to his soul.

“No. What makes you say that?” The Viper responded, keeping his tone neutral and calm.

Nonetheless, Kalim squinted at him with a pout.

“Is this about the Prefect?”

He nearly choked on his spit. “Excuse me?”

“Well, you guys like each other, right? Did you fight over something? Aww, I’m sorry if an argument broke out right before Valentine's.”

Jamil shook his head with an annoyed scoff, giving Kalim an unamused look.

“No, what—? Rewind. What makes you think we like each other?”

Kalim tilted his head like a lost puppy. It only served to frustrate Jamil further.

“Is it not obvious? You’re way happier around them than anyone else!”

Not that anyone pointed it out, but Jamil would undoubtedly deny the way his cheeks heated up at that statement.

“We’re not seeing each other romantically. Neither do we think of one another that way…”

He regretted letting his sentence trail and thinking aloud. Whenever it came to you, he was much less organized than he liked.

“…Well, sort of.” Although he merely mumbled these three words, that was all it took for Kalim to spring up ecstatically.

“Oh! So you like them but you haven't confessed? You can do it at today's party! I’ll invite them right now!” “What! No— Kalim, slow down!”

Jamil had to physically grab the other hot by his shoulders to keep him from bouncing away.

“I'm not ‘confessing’ at this party today, or any time soon.”

That lost puppy looked returned to Kalim’s face. Although he had seen it a few minutes ago, it still pissed him off all the same.

“Why not?”

Because he didn't know how to; plain and simple. Jamil for sure didn't want to have his ‘confession’ be too big. He’d hate for himself to come off as ingenuine to you.

Not to mention, Kalim and his antics have more or less ruined any big, dramatic gestures for him. Jamil can't help but find them corny and tacky now.

However, he didn't want to do something too small. A simple note won’t cut it for him. You deserve more. What exactly that entailed, he didn't know.

“Because I don’t want to.” Jamil unenthusiastically answered. He cut off Kalim before he could speak up. “No more questions.”

Not wanting to entertain this conversation any longer, Jamil walked away. Right. He had other, more pressing matters to worry about. Party preparations.

Food, decorations, music, lighting…

Damn it, why won’t you leave his mind?

~

The party, thankfully, went smoothly. Guests were enjoying themselves, there was enough food for everyone, and Kalim was too distracted by a few people to bother him. Letting out a relieved sigh, Jamil leaned against the wall behind him. His eyes wandered around as he started people-watching.

It was important to stay alert when it came to the people at these parties. He had to make sure no one had harmful intentions towards the young Al Asim. Though, as he should've expected, there were many couples here tonight.

Seems like a lot of Scarabian students brought their off-campus lovers here. Jamil can only hope Crowley doesn't chastise them too harshly for doing so.

He perks up as a slow song plays over the party. The lights are adjusted to dim and soon enough, practically everyone was on the dance floor. Couples, friends, strangers, talking stages— you name it.

It’s no surprise Jamil seemed drawn to the dance aspect of this part of the night. Even if he tried to hide it at times, his passion for the art of dancing always had its way of shining through. He glanced through the crowd to see if there was anyone without a partner.

Thankfully for him, it wasn't too hard to spot someone. These types of parties were always bound to have a few wallflowers. As he made his way through the crowd toward the one he had his eye on, he couldn't help but hear a couple of voices over the music.

“Ace, you little—!” That was all Jamil could make out before he felt a person suddenly collide with him. It didn't hurt or anything, and Jamil had enough sense to gauge it was most likely a mistake—

“Uh, hi.”

He didn't expect to turn around and be met with the sight of you. An embarrassed look sat upon your face as you fidgeted with the ends of your clothes.

“Hey.” Jamil curtly replied.

You gave him that stupid little smile of yours that made his heart race. A hopeful hum left your lips.

“Are you busy?”

He couldn't help but chuckle in response, giving his genuine answer.

“Nope.” He stuck his hand out, pretending that his mind wasn't going fuzzy from being in your presence. “May I have this dance?”

He felt you place your hand on top of his.

“Of course.”

With your permission, he let one hand fall to your waist as he gently guided you in a waltz-like manner. He was more experienced than you, precisely moving as the two of you dance.

You couldn't help but feel endeared. Jamil was pretty from close up. Unfortunately— or fortunately— he caught you staring. He gave you an amused look in response.

However, he didn't expect you to abruptly frown and glance away.

‘You couldn't get your hopes up,’ Your mind reminded you, recalling his reaction to your gift. It was for the better you don't get too attached.

Jamil seemed disheartened by the disconnect. His hand on your waist lightly tightened. Shortly after, a mischievous grin found its way on his face.

Suddenly, Jamil’s movement quickened. You gave him a confused raise of the brow.

“Jamil—?”

He doesn't give you time to finish your thought as he spins you, swiftly catching you in his arms afterward. Taken by surprise, you can’t help the laugh that escapes you.

You've never seen Jamil look more proud of himself as he gave you that smug little smile of his. He barely gave you time to react before he was moving the two of you again.

What you didn't expect was for him to dip you so, so low. Instinctively, you squealed. Your arms clung onto him for dear life.

“Jamil—!”

He let out a laugh at your reaction. “What? It's not like I’m going to drop you or anything.”

Your grip tightened after hearing those words. “Great sevens— you better not drop me!”

He playfully rolled his eyes. Jamil leaned in closer, his voice taking a lower tone as he whispered, “You trust me, Prefect, don’t you?”

You didn't respond to that, instead letting your small glance to the side paired with an embarrassed expression speak for itself.

In the next few steps, he taught you some more advanced footwork. He couldn't help but admire the way you’d smile as you caught onto it quickly. Jamil then spun you once more, this time it was less abrupt.

Prepared, you were able to smoothly go along with it. The boy let out an impressed hum, giving you a satisfied look. His eyes practically told you what he had planned next. Another dip.

The dip was more nerve-wracking than the spin. However, Jamil didn't intend to dip you as low as he did before— thankfully.

Your hold on him still tightened like it did before as he dipped you. Unlike before, Jamil let the pose and moment linger.

You’d gaze up at him, admiring the determined glint in his eyes. The way his hair naturally fell, framing his face, was just the cherry on top.

Oh, and how could you forget those breathtaking lips of his...

His thoughts were eerily similar to yours, taking in your features before letting his eyes roam over your lips. Jamil leaned closer, bringing his face mere inches from yours.

You swung your arms around his neck, making it easier for him to get closer… and closer… and…

Just as the two of you closed your eyes, about to connect, you hear the slow music turn to an upbeat, party song. Next thing you know, you felt your body swiftly being pulled up.

One moment, you and Jamil were so close, the next he was acting as though you were toxic. His hands left your hips as he cleared his throat.

It looked like he was planning on saying something before a familiar voice cut through the crowd.

“Jamil! Come dance with me!” The two of you both heard the young Al Asim shout.

You frowned. Right. He’s busy tonight with duties and whatnot. Although you felt disappointed, you gave him a tired smile and nod.

Jamil’s brows were furrowed, his eyes flickering between you and the direction Kalim’s voice came from.

Tonight seemed full of surprises as Jamil’d hand shoots out to your forearm and hurriedly guided you outside in the opposite direction of Kalim.

You were in shock as he pulled you outside, shutting the door behind him with a sigh.

“…You’re not gonna—?” “If anyone asks, you were nauseous from dancing and went outside with me for fresh air.”

Jamil was dead serious as he spoke, looking at you for confirmation. You nodded your head.

“Uh, got it.”

Silence soon filled the atmosphere between the two of you, the only sound being from the night’s wind. It was oddly tense. You were the first one to break the quiet.

“I’m sorry.” Jamil’s gaze immediately snapped up to yours, narrowing in confusion.

“Sorry?” He repeated, looking for clarification.

You fidgeted with the ends of your clothes. “Sorry for the chocolates. That was probably uncomfortable for you since that kinda gift is usually reserved for couples and all…”

Jamil’s expression softened the more you talked.

“Don’t be. It was a lovely gift.” His hands slowly make their way to yours, gently holding you.

“I reacted the way I did because…” Jamil sucked in a hesitant breath. “…Well, you’ve made me feel things. Feelings that I thought I was incapable of feeling.”

He carefully pulled you closer to him, allowing you to back away if you wanted to. You didn't. You just stared back into his gaze as he continued.

“Around you, I feel unburdened by my responsibilities. I feel… alive.” If you maneuvered your hand right, you could feel his pulse practically beating out of his body.

“I adore you like no other. When I received those chocolates, my mind melted. You… you turn me into such a mess.” He lightly scoffed with a small shake of the head. You can't help but chuckle.

“Nonetheless,” He gave your hands a gentle squeeze. You squeezed back.

“I’d never wish this feeling away. Never in a million years.”

Jamil’s hands momentarily left yours as he fiddled with his jacket. He was looking for something…?

“Although it’s long overdue,”

After a few moments, Jamil pulls out a small, red rose. You recognize it as a part of the decor from the party. He slips it into your hand effortlessly, his eyes staying on yours.

“Will you be my Valentine?”