#so it’s really nice that it’s taken until now for it to be a concern

[suzukiblu]

Day one of February’s second weekly WIP behind the cut; “mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kon sighs, then dusts his hands off and eyes Croc’s unconscious body, debating how the fuck he’s supposed to handle this situation. Fuck knows where the cops are, and there’s already a bunch of civilians taking pics and shit of him, so he really doesn’t wanna wait for ‘em. Also, like, explaining why he committed aggravated assault on a giant crocodile dude to the cops does not sound like his favorite time anyway, especially Gotham cops. He technically does have an emergency comm on him, but it’s obviously not tuned into any of the local Bat-channels and he doesn’t really know if he’d be able to sync it up to ‘em. 

Admittedly, Alfred is like, half a block down the street with a cell phone and probably already told his boss literally everything that just happened, but still. 

Actually, speaking of Alfred . . .

Kon refocuses his hearing back towards the limo, and hears–

“Wowwwww,” Jon says from the backseat, sounding awed about . . . something–who knows what, given he’s like ten and Kon doesn’t even know the grown-ass version of him well enough to know what kind of shit the dude thinks is impressive–and Alfred makes a little “hm” sound. 

“Mr. Kent, I do hope you’ve got an ear out,” he says, which even if Kon didn’t would’ve caught his attention pretty quick. “The police have an estimated time of arrival at two and a half minutes, and they were informed to come equipped for Killer Croc. Please do retreat out of the public eye for now, though I’m sure Master Bruce would appreciate the consideration if you wouldn’t mind keeping a bit of an eye on the situation until they have Mr. Jones secured. We’ll rendezvous with you on Pearl Street in seven minutes.” 

There is literally no version of Bruce Wayne that has ever “appreciated” a single thing Kon has ever considered in his life, except maybe for that one weirdo in Hypertime who’d definitely just wanted a Robin that was bombproof this time, but whatever. Kon nods once, short and sharp, and then takes off with superspeed in the opposite direction from Croc and the fucked-up street, if not Super-speed. That he saves ‘til he ducks into a conveniently out-of-sight alley, shoves the security camera over the emergency exit in the back of it askew with his TTK, and then takes off straight up into the air too fast for human eyes to follow. 

He should’ve avoided tearing up the street like that, probably, even if Croc and his boys had already fucked it up pretty bad. Didn’t mean he needed to go making shit worse. He’s maybe a little stressed, but he fucking knows better. 

Ugh. 

Kon hangs out above the heavy gray smog and cloud cover, wishing there were some sun up here instead of just moonless night, and keeps one ear focused on Croc and the other half-paying attention to the limo, just in case. The cops do in fact show up in two and a half minutes, and by then Alfred’s already taken Jon and the limo most of the way to Pearl Street. Kon can hear Jon chattering excitedly about something and Alfred at least making some more little “hm” sounds in response, though he doesn’t focus in enough to eavesdrop. Rude, for one thing, and also a distraction he should be avoiding anyway. 

He waits around to make sure they get Croc locked up nice and secure in the heavy-duty restraints and armored truck they brought without him waking up and taking anyone’s head off or anything like that, and it goes surprisingly smoothly for Gotham, though the cops have a fuckin’ time of it getting Croc’s K.O.’ed ass into the back of the truck. Kon would be more concerned about the possibility of a head injury with the guy staying out for so long, but a quick X-ray glance already cleared him for at least the first-aid level basics, so like, it’s probably that weird “toxic mobility” thing Tim was talking about that time he was explaining Croc’s whole thing to him. Or–no, “tonic”, and “immobility”. Whatever, he just knows Croc usually stays out longer than a baseline human would and it’s not a concern. Just some weird side effect of his whole . . . everything, basically. 

This is not in any way his circus or even his monkeys, but hey, why not be the interdimensional version of neighborly? Like, just while he’s in the reality and all. Lend the local Bats a cup of sugar, metaphorically-speaking. Batman’s gonna bitch about him doing it and how he handled it the first second he sees him, obviously–even after Alfred asked him to do it, he’ll definitely bitch–but whatever. He wasn’t gonna let anybody get hurt just because Batman gets pissy when vigilantes without any Bat-branding exist in his territory. 

So yeah, he waits around.

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

BLOCK ME OUT

rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: haunted by her ex’s cruel words, y/n wishes she could block herself out. but rafe sees her differently—like she hung the stars in the sky.

based on this ask !! thank you for this anon, apologies that it’s taken so long, but i hope it’s what you asked for and you enjoy it :) <3

(check out my other rafe cameron & drew starkey works here !!)

WARNINGS: appearance insecurities, angsty with a soft ending, soft!rafe, rafe thinking violent thoughts (nothing unusual😝), past emotionally/verbally abusive relationship (reader’s ex), crying, cursing, allusions to sex. (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 2k

THIRD PERSON +

Y/N stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, eyes tracing the features she had long since memorised yet never quite accepted. The fluorescent light above cast harsh shadows, making every perceived flaw stand out even more—the uneven texture of her skin, the way her cheeks seemed too full in certain angles but too hollow in others, the faint blemishes she could never quite cover no matter how much makeup she wore. Her fingers ghosted over her jawline, then moved to her lips, hesitating as if debating whether they were too thin or too full.

She sighed, dropping her hand and looking away. It didn’t matter. It never did.

“Y/N?”

Rafe’s voice echoed from the hallway, warm and familiar. He must have noticed how long she had been in here. She took a breath and composed herself before stepping out, her lips pulling into a small, forced smile.

“Hey,” she said casually.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her with that soft yet unreadable expression he sometimes had when he thought she wasn’t looking. His blue eyes flickered over her face, taking in every detail as if memorising it. She knew he was about to say something—probably a compliment, because he always did. And just like always, she prepared to ignore it.

“You look beautiful,” Rafe murmured, almost absentmindedly, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world.

Y/N scoffed quietly, shaking her head as she crossed the room. “No, I don’t.”

Rafe frowned slightly, his brows drawing together in concern, but he didn’t argue. He never did. Instead, he just watched as she climbed into bed beside him, her body curling up instinctively, as if trying to take up less space. He noticed that too.

It had started small, the little deflections. The way she would dismiss any compliment he gave her with a wave of her hand or a disbelieving laugh. At first, he assumed she was just being humble, but the more time he spent with her, the more he realized it was something else.

Something deeper.

A wound that hadn’t healed.

Rafe didn’t push. He didn’t ask. But he noticed.

Like the way her smile always faltered for just a second when someone called her pretty, as if the word physically pained her. Or how she always changed the subject when he told her she was beautiful, shifting the conversation so quickly it was almost seamless. If he wasn’t paying such close attention, he might’ve missed it.

But he was always paying attention.

Y/N knew she should appreciate Rafe’s compliments, knew that he wasn’t just saying them to be nice. But she couldn’t make herself believe them. Not after everything.

Not after him.

Her ex’s voice still lingered in the back of her mind like a ghost, whispering cruel words she could never quite erase.

“You really think you’re all that? God, Y/N, you’re so damn insecure it’s pathetic.”

“I don’t know why you even bother with makeup—it doesn’t help.”

“No one’s looking at you the way you think they are. You’re just… average.”

She had spent so much time believing those words, internalising them, letting them take root deep inside her until they became an unshakable truth. And now, even though he was gone, even though she had someone like Rafe in her life—someone who looked at her like she was the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen—she still couldn’t silence that voice.

Rafe had never once made her feel anything less than wanted. He never criticised, never made offhanded comments that chipped away at her self-worth. But that didn’t mean she knew how to accept kindness when it was given to her.

She felt his fingers brush lightly against her arm, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“You tired?” he asked, voice low and gentle.

She nodded, grateful for the easy out. “Yeah. Just a long day.”

Rafe didn’t question it. He just reached over and pulled the blanket up over her, as if shielding her from whatever weight she was carrying. And maybe in his own way, he was.

She turned onto her side, facing away from him, but she could still feel his gaze on her, feel the warmth of his presence beside her.

For a moment, she let herself pretend that it was enough.

—

The night had started out perfectly.

Dinner was casual, nothing extravagant—just the two of them at his place, sitting across from each other, laughing between bites of food. It had been easy. Light. Y/N had almost felt normal, like the weight of her insecurities wasn’t pressing so hard against her ribs.

Rafe had been extra touchy that evening—his fingers brushing hers when he handed her a glass of wine, his palm resting at the small of her back as they moved through the house. Small touches, each one sending a shiver down her spine.

And now, here they were.

Y/N lay beneath him, the world shrinking to just the two of them, just the warmth of his body and the way his lips moved against hers like he couldn’t get enough. His hands skimmed her sides, slow and teasing, as if memorising every inch of her.

The air in the room had thickened, charged with something electric.

She should’ve been lost in it.

But she wasn’t.

Because the moment his fingers hooked under the hem of her shirt, inching it up over her ribs, that voice came creeping back.

“You think he really wants to see you?”

“You think he won’t notice how bad you look from this angle?”

“God, Y/N, you’re so damn insecure, it’s pathetic.”

She tensed.

Rafe noticed immediately.

His lips paused against her neck, and she felt his breath, felt the slight hesitation in his movements. “You okay?” he murmured, voice laced with concern.

Y/N forced a nod, forcing herself to push through it. Don’t ruin this. Don’t overthink it. Just let him love you.

But then his hands moved again, slipping beneath the fabric, and panic surged through her like a tidal wave.

Suddenly, she wasn’t here anymore. She was back in that old apartment, standing under fluorescent lighting as her ex tilted his head and examined her with a critical gaze.

“Your stomach isn’t as flat as you think.”

“I mean, yeah, you look good from the right angle, but not always.”

“Don’t get mad. I’m just being honest.”

Her breath hitched. The room felt smaller. Her chest ached.

She didn’t even realise she was shaking until Rafe pulled back, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Y/N?” His voice was softer now, laced with something she couldn’t place. “Talk to me, baby.”

But she couldn’t.

Because she was already spiralling.

She shoved at his chest lightly, needing space, needing air. And Rafe—sweet, perceptive Rafe—moved immediately, sitting back on his heels, giving her exactly what she needed. But even with the distance, she couldn’t breathe right.

“I—I can’t do this,” she choked out, her throat tightening. “I just—I don’t—”

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision. She felt pathetic, completely unravelling in front of him over something so stupid.

But Rafe didn’t move, didn’t rush her. He just watched her, eyes scanning her face like he was trying to piece together what had broken.

She ran a shaky hand through her hair, her breaths coming faster. “I just—” Her voice cracked, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t feel good enough for you.”

The confession slipped out before she could stop it, and suddenly, the dam broke.

Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she covered her face with her hands, ashamed of how easily she was falling apart.

“Y/N…”

She felt the mattress dip as Rafe moved closer, but he didn’t touch her. He just waited.

Waited for her to speak.

Waited for her to let him in.

She sniffled, wiping at her tears, but more came. “I—I don’t get how you could look at me like you do,” she whispered. “I don’t get how you could actually—” She sucked in a shaky breath. “How you could actually want this.”

Rafe’s brows furrowed, confusion and pain flashing across his face. “What are you talking about?”

She let out a wet, bitter laugh. “I see myself, Rafe. I see what I look like from different angles. I know what people see.”

Rafe was shaking his head before she even finished speaking. “You don’t know what I see.”

She swallowed hard. “I just—” Her voice trembled. “I worry that… that you’re not actually attracted to me. That you just think you are.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick.

And then, softly, carefully, Rafe asked, “Why do you think that?”

She exhaled shakily, dropping her gaze.

She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want to open that box. But he deserved to know.

“My ex,” she finally whispered. “He… he made sure I knew what was wrong with me. All the time.”

Rafe went rigid.

She saw it—the way his jaw clenched, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. He inhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to stay calm, but she could see the fire behind his eyes.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low and steady, like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart. “Tell me what he said to you.”

Her throat felt tight, but she forced the words out. “He told me I wasn’t as pretty as I thought. That my body wasn’t as nice as I thought. That I only looked good from certain angles.” Her voice cracked. “And I believed him.”

Rafe exhaled sharply, looking away, his hands gripping the sheets like he was barely holding himself together. She could see the anger simmering beneath his skin, the way he wanted to break something, to scream, to hurt the person who had done this to her.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he turned back to her, and when he spoke again, his voice was full of something even stronger than rage.

Love.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone soft but firm. “I need you to listen to me.”

She swallowed hard, nodding weakly.

He cupped her face gently, his thumbs brushing away her tears. “You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. And not just from certain angles. Always.”

She tried to look away, but he didn’t let her.

“You think I don’t notice the way you brush off my compliments? The way you never believe me when I tell you how fucking perfect you are?” His voice wavered slightly, but he kept going. “It kills me, Y/N. It kills me that someone made you feel like this. That someone convinced you that you weren’t enough.”

More tears welled in her eyes. “Rafe…”

“No.” His voice was raw now, his emotions spilling over. “You are everything to me. Everything. And I don’t just want you—I crave you. Every part of you. Every inch of you. I don’t care what angle, what lighting, what bullshit insecurity you think you have—I love all of it. Because it’s you.”

Her lip trembled. “But what if—”

“No what-ifs,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “You are enough. You are more than enough.”

She broke.

Sobs wracked her body, and Rafe pulled her into his arms, holding her like he would never let go. He whispered into her hair, his voice soothing and warm, telling her over and over again how perfect she was, how much he loved her, how much she meant to him.

And for the first time in a long time, she wanted to believe him.

Because when Rafe Cameron looked at her, he didn’t see flaws. He didn’t see imperfections.

He saw the stars.

And maybe, just maybe, she could learn to see them too.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was such a cute and emotional one :’) i had this written up before i went away but finally got to editing it, just spending eh next couple days editing and posting the requests in my drafts !!

i hope this is what you asked for anon !! and as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated :) don’t hesitate to request <3

[the-undeadwriter]

haiiiii if your requests are open could you please write something for the batfam with a he/they reader who's vigilante name is ghost, and who's going through a chronic pain flare up and feels bad about not being able to go out on patrol for a while, and have the rest of the batfam being really comforting and nice about it

ill love you forever

-🦈🔆 (so i can find this later)

Hi yes hello!!! Thank you for the request, hope I did it justice mwah

Requests are open!!

Warnings: mentions of medication! Brief mention of overdosing(once), Reader is masc, reader is a vigilante called ghost, general chronic pain discomfort, a few thought of feeling inadequate due to chronic pain… possibly ooc? Most of this was written before I went to sleep, spelling mistakes

Word count; 1,749 (!!)

Enjoy!

In your defence, you didn’t think it would be this bad.

Yes, you’d spent the past few days feeling shitty, taking as much pain medicine as you possibly could without overdosing or raising concern. Yeah, you’ve had to take so many breaks doing the simple things you love that you usually wouldn’t need to take, but you were sure you’d be okay to patrol tonight!

And, like you expected, you had felt fine before patrol. You suited up fine, double checked your gear and comms, started patrol…

It’s about thirty minutes into patrol that things start to go wrong.

Oracle had buzzed into your earpiece, voice firm and calm as she spoke into her mic. “Ghost, there’s a situation near you. A potential robbery. Think you can handle it?”

And, considering how close you were, it’d be silly if you didn’t try to do something. Isn’t that why you started doing this?

You’ve already changed course when you answer oracle, jumping from the roof to roof as quickly as you could. “Got it, on my way now.”

You hear a breath of relief on her end before the comms cut off again and you can hear the sounds of Gotham’s late night activities all around you as you hop off a roof across from the bank where this supposed robbery was taking place.

It’s easy to find a way in. It’s easy to find the group of two face goons who had been tasked with this crime. It’s easy to take them down.

Until it’s not.

Maybe you landed badly. Maybe the pain meds you’d taken hadn’t worked. But someway, somehow, things had started to go wrong.

You manage to take down the thugs, and you can’t help but feel frustrated at yourself as you open the comms line again. “Robbery’s been stopped, police are on the way. I…” You suck in a deep breath, leaning against your the closest wall. “I’m gonna cut patrol short tonight, Oracle. Pain flare up.”

A sigh. “Go home, Ghost. I’ll notify B.” You can’t handle the concern in her voice.

You mumble a quiet thanks before shutting off your communicator and pulling out your grappling gun and aiming for the skylight.

As you fly over the city, wind whipping past your face, you can’t help but huff. You swore that you could handle this. You told Bruce that you could patrol tonight. And now…

You reach to batcave quickly, at least.

Alfred is waiting for you, with a tray of refreshments and medicine. “Ah, Master [Name], I heard tonight wasn’t treating you well?” You groan, moving to sit on the closest thing— this being the large chair situated by the bat computer.

As Alfred sets down the tray beside you, he speaks up again. “Master Bruce and the boys have all been made aware of your absence, sir.” You curl in on yourself again. Great, can’t wait for that. You snatch up a sandwich and chew angrily, leaning forward and attempting to type up a report.

“[L/N]”

Spinning the seat around, you come nearly face to face with your youngest brother, Damian. Which… is odd, considering he’s supposed to be in patrol right now.

“Damian?” You mutter, standing from the chair and taking a few steps towards him. “What are you doing here, bud?” You notice that Alfred has disappeared, possibly returning upstairs.

Damian scowls, stomping closer and grabbing hold of your sleeve. You’re still wearing your suit, having not bothered to change. “Being the only sensible person in this house, it seems.” He mutters, practically pulling you out of the cave behind him by the sleeve.

You try to protest, citing the report you need to file, but Damian seems set on taking you to your room. He nudges you into the room and stands at the door, crossing his arms. “Get changed and then meet me in the theatre. Take your time.”

And then he’s gone, and the door closes.

Standing in your dimly lit room, you sigh. Guess you’ve got no choice but to listen to him. Little guy can be real stubborn. Just like you, huh?

Most of your clothes are soft. It’s practically mandatory, at this point. It’s times like these that you’re glad that Bruce was so willing to spend money on the people he cares about— your entire closet is filled with comfy clothes suited for lounging and relaxing.

Carefully cracking your door open, you can’t hear any noises. You don’t see Damian either… he must be in the theatre already.

The theatre isn’t too far from your room, just a couple hallways and one large room with multiple doors. It’s as you approach the theatre that the sound of voices reach you. It’s not quiet yelling, just… passionate conversation.

Yeah, let’s just go with that…

Cracking the door open and peering inside, you’re greeted with the entirety of your family arguing, surrounded by blankets and pillows.

Ah, so this was the plan.

Not everyone is here— Bruce and Tim still seem to be out— but there’s enough people in the room to make you feel warm. You still feel upset, of course, but you’re comforted by the fact that no one is upset with you.

You push the door open, stepping into the large theatre. Three heads snap to you immediately, arguing quieting down to a murmur. The others haven’t seen you yet.

They’re all sitting in a semicircle, blankets and pillows arranged on the floor for maximum comfort. There’s a few snacks on the far side of the blanket den, and the giant screen has been turned on, though nothing is playing yet. That must be what they were arguing about.

Cass smiles, urging you closer with a few gestures. Beside her, Damian’s face lightens when he sees that you’ve followed his instructions.

Settling down beside Damian and Jason, the others are finally aware of your presence and the arguing stops briefly for a few surprised exclamations.

Dick completely stops the conversation, moving closer to you and giving you a hug, one you lean into with a hum. As he pulls back, his expression seems unusually soft as he double checks you’re actually fine. “Hey kid, feeling a little better?”

The pain is still there, it never really goes away, but the pain meds seem to be working. If you had a leg compress or something you’d probably feel better, but you can manage without it for a moment. You nod, getting comfortable on the blanket.

Dick’s expression turns sheepish. “B and Tim couldn’t make- someone had to patrol tonight… they’ll get here later, ok?” He settles in next the Damian, Cass shuffling forward to sit with Steph and duke, watching them argue about what movie to watch.

Jason nudges your side, holding out a plate of your favourite snacks with a hum. You take it gratefully, taking a bite and sighing. You notice that Jason has the remote, and he’s started scrolling the movie options without care fore the argument happing to his left.

“Huh… any of these look good to you?” He asks you quietly, gesturing to the list of movies displayed on screen. Most are ones you’ve seen a thousand times, but you can spot your favourite movie. You snatch the remote and hover over it, letting the details pop up.

Jason huffs and takes the remote back, but doesn’t question your choice. Dick snickers and Jason swats at his head angrily. You and Damian share a look. This is why you don’t have movie nights often.

Thankfully, all arguing quiets down when the door opens again and someone clears their throat. You all look towards the entrance and see Alfred standing in the door way, seeming both amused and tired by the fighting.

He walks towards all of you, holding two trays in his hands. He sets one down on the blanket, revealing it to be a plate of cookies. They seem to be freshly baked…

He hands the second tray to you. It’s full of things you might need— a heating pad, a cold compress, more pain meds and sleeping pills, just in case. He lets you set it down before speaking again. “Miss Barbara wishes you well, Master [Name], and Master Tim has requested that I tell you that both him and Master Bruce will arrive within the next two hours.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” You hum, taking whatever items you think you’ll need and getting situated. You don’t take the pain medication— you took some back at the cave— though you do take the sleeping pills.

Alfred bows slightly and walks away again, likely to prepare the cave for Tim and Bruce’s return.

Before anyone can start arguing again, Jason presses play on the movie. Nobody complains as the beginning sequence begins, likely knowing that you picked this movie.

Damian settles against your side, arms loosely hanging around your stomach. Dick leans closer to the both of you, Jason tries to steal your snacks.

It’s perfect.

You manage to watch the first thirty minutes of the movie before the sleeping pills take effect and you slump against Jason’s shoulder. Surrounded by family, watching your favourite movie, you feel perfectly content to fall asleep.

Possibly hours later, you wake up to someone touching your hair.

Blinking open your eyes, you come face to face with Bruce. His expression is unusually soft, smiling gently at you. “Hey sweetheart..” He murmurs quietly, pushing your hair out of your face. His expression is soft, but slightly upset. Or proud? You’re half asleep, you can’t tell.

He stands up, rubbing his eyes and sighing. Behind him, you spot Tim looking over Steph and Cass, both of whom have fallen asleep together. Bruce glances down at you, smiling again. “It’s okay, kid, go back to sleep, okay?”

Humming, you close your eyes again. You hear him walk away, and feel Tim settle down between you and Jason. There’s some muttering and grumbling, but no fights break out.

There’s still a movie playing quietly, though you don’t recognise it. You think you hear a quiet click, but you can’t be too sure…

You drift off before you realise.

Two weeks later, Bruce has a new photo sitting in his home office, the office at Wayne Tower, his wallet, his lockscreen…

It’s a dark picture of his kids. They’re all curled up together, bathed in a pale blue light. They’re all covered in blankets, and pillows are strewn about.

It’s his favourite picture.

I hope this is what you wanted ^^

[officialgleamstar]

Okay so last night wasn’t a fluke and I am definitely feeling violently unwell. I love you flare ups (sarcasm). My roommate told me to stay in bed all day, which is my usual go-to, but I might watch nuwho in the living room instead since he’ll be at work …

[yieldtotemptation]

WISH ft. Giselle

giselle x male reader smut

8k words

"It's a Christmas miracle!" —is how Giselle chooses to make her grand entrance, swinging open the door to your bar, a fresh powder of snow dusting her shoulders. She shrugs it off. "My favourite person in all of Seoul."

You deadpan, "That's very concerning."

She laughs off your quip with the same ease that she does everything else. Sways her hips, saunters over to you, fire engine-red heels clacking against wood as she rushes to take her usual stool. Not like she'd have to fight anyone for it, there's no one else here.

Besides, even if there were—it's always been hers.

You're sliding over her drink before she can even open her mouth to order, because that's what you do for her. Anticipate. Your job in a nutshell, really. Knowing what she wants.

Her thanks is in the blush colouring her cheeks, flushing them a rosy pink, matching her hair in hue.

Just so immediately pretty.

She raises the drink, grinning at you through the glass. Gets a little too dramatic with her gasp.

"Exactly what I wished for! How did you know?"

"Made a list, checked it twice."

That earns you a giggle, has Giselle leaning forward, propping an elbow on the bar, chin in her palm. Her usual routine—just sitting there, all beautiful and flirty and really, really fucking out of place amongst the dim lighting and worn-out leather.

And yeah, you’ve committed it all to memory, seen it in every light and shadow; the smoky liner ringing around her eyes, the gloss that makes her lips look shiny and sweet and oh so soft. The absolutely devastating smile that never seems to leave her—only gets wider, warmer, parting when she laughs and slaps a hand on the table, or lands it on your forearm.

Accidentally, of course.

"Does that mean I get to sit on your lap later?"

It’s a touch early for her to throw out bait so blatantly. That’s more of a three-drinks-in kind of thing.

Still, your mouth answers for you before your brain can catch up, “Depends if you've been naughty or nice.”

“I think we both know the answer to that one,” she says, far too casually for you to handle, daring you to let that thought linger. Let it rattle around your head with all the other loaded thoughts involving her in various states of undress and in all sorts of compromising positions—underneath, on-top, kneeling. Thoughts that are better kept on a tight leash.

Because you know what would happen if you were to give in to them.

How you’d reach over the bar separating the two of you, pull her onto the counter. Send all the glasses, the bottles, crashing to the floor, and just kiss that smile right off her face, right here, right now. Tear off her clothes and leave her bare and exposed to the cold December air, make her yours, fuck her absolutely senseless. Render her nothing but a victim to your fingers, your lips, your cock, to all the need that’s been boiling inside you over the past months and—fuck.

She's got you good.

There's no point in pretending like it hasn't been this way since the first time she found you—at the end of an alley that's at the end of another alley, down the stairs and into the underground proper. Waltzing her way into the hovel that is your whiskey bar; all for reasons that you’re yet to fully untangle.

Months of performing this same dance—it's late, she walks in, typically perfect and bouncy, like some half-remembered fantasy or a libido-driven hallucination. Only, she must be real, because there’s no way you could ever conjure up someone like her.

It's embarrassing, you really should be far more used to it now, built up at least a partial immunity to her brand of charm. But somehow, she still finds a way under your skin. You’re only human, after all. And she’s… she’s Giselle.

Undeniably, in-your-face gorgeous, Giselle.

Dead-set and determined to throw herself at you until you break.  

"Perfect," is her evaluation when she's taken her first sip. It plays out like it’s been choreographed: she licks her lips, flashes that million-dollar smile, lets loose a sigh of pure joy. Looks at you all wide-eyed and impressed; like you're the only person in the world who's ever given her exactly what she wants. Like she doesn't already live in a reality where everyone else falls flat on their faces to ensure that the needs of Aeri Uchinaga are met. “Always perfect.”

And you have your own steps to follow. You're glued to the pulse in the curve of her neck, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the naked collarbone when she shirks off her coat to reveal tits that are much too ample for her dress to contain. All these little things that make her so fucking distracting.

She says, surreptitiously, "You know, I didn't think you'd be open today."

"And yet you came anyway."

"And yet I did."

There's the loaded insinuation stacked on top of her words like a teasing question mark:

('I came looking for you.'

'I was waiting.')

"Like I said, a Christmas miracle," Giselle repeats, softly this time. Barely audible over the Christmas tunes you’ve got on a loop, some self-inflicted torture you’re wreaking on yourself for purposes unknown. Maybe to get into the spirit of things. Maybe to keep the silence at bay. Maybe to make Giselle's efforts feel less effective.

It doesn't work.

It does, however, have you leaning in just to hear her better, and that's a mistake right there. Getting too close that you can follow the lines of the dress she's picked out for the night. A sheer black, strapless number that hugs her figure close, dipping at her chest, giving you just enough of a glimpse to send the alarm bells ringing.

Ending short of the tops of her thighs, because of course she's wearing stockings, and of course they have tiny little bows holding them up, and you're already thinking about how easy it would be to get your teeth in them and pull them apart, and the walls are starting to feel closer and closer with each passing second.

But you don't say anything. You just try to remember to breathe. You chance a look back at her face, aiming for unaffected.

Her eyes instantly undo you.

Giselle uncrosses and crosses her legs. The stockings stretch.

"Like what you see?"

Now seems like an optimal time to pour yourself a drink. Something strong to fortify the weakness in your knees, to maybe bolster the resolve that's threatening to crack like the ice frosting over the windows outside.

You grab a glass, pour a good measure of whiskey and throw it back without even bothering with the usual ritual. You need it. The burn is a good distraction.

You turn her question back on her. Shame on her for asking something so obvious. "What do you think?"

"I think," Giselle smiles, tilts her head, that curtain of bubblegum-pink cascading over her collarbone and down onto the bar, "That it appears that all the effort I put getting into this tight fucking dress was worth it."

You're unable to stop yourself from saying, "Don’t need the dress if that was the intention." It slips out of you, like an idiot, and you decide to busy yourself by pouring two more drinks, because you really don't know what the fuck else to do at this point.

“Duly noted,” she says, likely adding it to some mental file she keeps on you. Ways to get you to drop your guard. Ways to get under your skin. “But don’t you think unwrapping presents are half the fun?”

You’re rolling your eyes, it’s too much, but Giselle’s too good at this whole thing. Got the two of you sliding deep into the easy rhythm of conversation you've found yourselves in many, many times before; when it's just you and her in the waning hours of the night and you're finding excuses not to close up and she's finding excuses to stay.

And the drinks just compound on it even more. All the alcohol really seems to do is blunt her filter and dull your better instincts, bringing you both to that tipsy point where everything that comes out of your mouths can’t help but sound like shameless innuendos; all terrible ideas that you both absolutely must indulge in.

Talking and flirting and drinking until you’re finally crossing that invisible line drawn over the counter of your bar, forgetting about that ethereal wall of separation that keeps you on the straight and narrow; that would normally stop you from doing things like reaching over and brushing a strand of pink out of her face and over her ear.

You keep your hand there, your thumb padding the soft skin of her cheek. She leans into your palm.

“So,” she says, and it’s accompanied by the kind of pause that holds a whole universe of possibility. She takes a sip of her third drink of the night, her eyes fixated on you, studying the lines on your face. Trying to find the cracks.

“So.”

“Why haven’t you made a move on me?”

She might as well have gathered snow from outside your door and thrown it right at your face. You blink, the warmth of the whiskey in your cheeks fading fast. “Very confident of you to think that I would want to.”

“Don’t dodge,” she chides. “We both know you didn’t open tonight for the amazing business rush. So. Spill. Why?"

You’re about to spout off an excuse—something about a Hippocratic oath, or bartender-customer privilege, but Giselle cuts your lie short before it can even leave your throat.

“You’ve been staring at me like you want to eat me alive every night I’ve been here, and you expect me to believe you’re not interested?” Giselle leans closer, her breath warm on your hand. Her eyes piercing through, stripping away every defence you’ve ever had. “You’re barely hiding it you know? How badly you want me.”

There’s an implicit challenge underneath her words. You get the message loud and clear:

Don’t you know how badly I want you too?

"It's—" you start, before course correcting when you catch the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. You swirl the whiskey around in your own glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light and dance. "Complicated."

"Oh really?" Giselle's eyes light up at that, and you're beginning to feel like you're falling into some trap she's set up. It just hasn’t revealed itself to you yet. "I like complicated. I live off complicated."

"I'll bet," you reply, not missing the fact that she's now taken your hand into hers, threading her fingers through yours. "Probably why you're here so often."

Giselle clicks her tongue, runs it across her lips. You'd die for a taste. "I thought I asked you to stop dodging. But, if you really want to know, I come here because I like the company," she explains, before ending her thought with, "and the attention."

"Because being an idol doesn't give you enough?"

"Not in the way I want it."

"And I do?"

"Not yet," she says, with an air of finality. "But give it time."

The silence stretches between you, thick with the weight of the unspoken. The air in the bar feels charged, like the moment before a storm hits. You're reading her, acutely aware of the things running through her mind, because you can see it in her eyes, because they're the exact same thoughts that’s never left yours.

You want her.

You need her.

She’ll give herself to you.

Giselle’s the first to break the pause. “Ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

The corners of eyes crinkle ever so slightly, and that's about where you realise your fate's been sealed from the start. She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. You’re aching already. "What I really want for Christmas."

You don't need a map to know where this is headed. But you still ask anyway. "And what is that?"

"You."

You set down your glass with a clink. "Look, Giselle—"

"Let me finish," she interrupts, and now her hand's sliding up your arm, leaving a trail of static wherever she touches. "For Christmas this year, all I want is for you to do whatever you want to me."

A second attempt, "Giselle—"

"I know you want to. You know I want you to. We've danced around this for too long and I'm running out of ways to subtly tell you that if I don’t get my hands on that perfect cock that I know you're hiding, I just might burn this place to the ground. So," she says carefully, intentionally. Making sure you feel each word coursing through your every nerve ending, winding their way down to your cock, until you’re throbbing in your pants.

Giselle bats her eyelashes. Bites her lip. Leans even closer. Her tits get very close to winning the war against her dress.

"Don't you want to make my Christmas wish come true?"

You never stood a chance. "I do quite like my bar in one piece."

"I do too." Giselle's smile turns devilish. “But I like the idea of having your cum inside me more.”

"Then we better get you out of your clothes."

Only, a slight amendment.

"But keep the stockings on."

—

Giselle kisses you like a woman starved. Messy, sloppy crashes that has her nose bumping into yours and her teeth finding purchase in your lip. She seems determined to leave her mark. You’re more than happy to let her.

It’s a far cry from what you’re used to—the build-up, the slow crescendo where you both pretend that you don’t immediately want to jump to the inevitable—but Giselle clearly doesn’t give a fuck about any of that.

The moment you’ve dragged her over the bar, fulfilled your fantasy and cleared the countertop so the only thing standing between you and her body is the crumpled mess of her dress, she's on you. Moaning, whining into your mouth, desperate. Tongue hunting down yours, pressing into it, trying to wrestle it into submission.

Taking your cheeks into her hands, holding firm, the only thing keeping her steady as you match her hunger, heat against heat. Her taste is everything you've ever wanted—sweet and sharp, like the whiskey burning through your veins, warming you from the inside out.

"God, I needed this," she whispers in the breaths between your kisses, as your hands get adventurous and run down the length of her spine, pulling her closer into you.

You make good on your promise, finding the zip, peeling it down, leaving the fabric to sag off her shoulders. Her skin is cold underneath your fingertips, the curve of her back breaking out in goosebumps. Your touch makes her arch, her back bow, her breasts push up against her dress until it can't hang on any longer and the whole thing pools around her waist.

“Merry Christmas to me,” comes tumbling out of your mouth when you finally get to appreciate Giselle.

The full, round tits, naked and begging for your hands. The smooth curve of her waist, the dip of her stomach. The way her hips flare out, giving way to thighs that you know, just know, will be the perfect grip. And the stockings. Holding up the suspension of your disbelief—she’s so ridiculously out of your league and yet so, so needy for you.

“Fucking gorgeous, Giselle,” you’re telling her, making her sigh, her eyes closing shut as you reach out to fill your hand with her chest. Your touch makes her nipples pebble, stiffen underneath your thumb. She leans back, pushing her chest out even more, giving you as much of herself as she can for you to touch, to tweak, to worship.

And she’s so much smaller than you, so much softer than you’ve ever allowed yourself to believe. The reality of her in your arms is far more intense than any fantasy you’ve ever concocted in the quiet of the night after she’s long gone and left you with nothing but her memory. But she’s giving herself to you now, wanting you to do it all.

Letting you push into her, kiss the skin between her neck and her clavicle, press into her a brand that will linger long after you’ve both unwinded and unraveled each other.

“Just like that,” Giselle whispers in your ear, hands finding your neck, needing you even closer still. “Don’t stop, just keep touching me. You can do whatever you want—tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Just don’t stop.”

Nothing else to do but oblige, to give in to your baser instincts, to bring every fantasy, every lurid thought to life. Giselle’s been living in your mind rent-free. Filled it with thoughts of fucking her into oblivion again and again—so you already know exactly where to go, what to do next.

You know to trace the edge of her stocking with your thumb, pressing down on the bow, watching as the skin around it flushes from your touch.

You know to drag your hand up, higher up her thighs, push the hem of her dress to her waist, slip under the elastic of her panties and hold itself there. Leave her trembling in anticipation of your touch.

“Please,” you’ve barely started and she’s already begging, breathless. Needing for you to explore her.

But first, you need to tell her how.

“I’m going to touch you,” you say, voice gruff, and she shudders, her hands tightening around your neck. “I’m going to get my fingers into your cunt, I’m going to squeeze your tits, I’m going to make you scream my name, and you will, because you’re going to be such a good girl for me. Understood?”

Her eyes flash open, meeting yours. Not an ounce of doubt. Just pure need.

“Yes,” she says. A single word that’s more a plea than a response. “Please. Do whatever you want. Make me feel good.”

She just about collapses when you yank her panties down and push your hands between her thighs.

“God—fuck—” and she’s sobbing already.

“You’re so drenched,” you’re remarking, sliding your fingers higher, feeling the wetness that’s been gathering there for who knows how long.

“For you,” she’s gasping, repeating herself, “For you.”

It’s so easy to find the heat of her, to push in and down on the top her mound. Give just the right amount of pressure on her clit that makes her jerk. Makes the muscles in her face twitch, her mouth open wide and moan. It’s a melody in your ears, and you press down harder, swirling now, and you’re beginning to think you’ve found your true calling.

Fuck making her drinks; making her fall apart is why you were put on this planet in the first place.

Her breasts jiggle with every tremble that runs through her, flickering in reach of you, taunting you with their bounce. You can’t help but lean down. Not when they’re calling to you like that.

You lick a path from the base of her neck to her collarbone, and then lower, to one of those perfect peaks that’s been begging for your attention.

Giselle inhales sharp through her teeth, her chest heaving as you start to suck on her nipple. You work your tongue around it, roll it in your mouth until her knuckles turn white against the edge of the bar, her nails digging into surface. The sounds she’s making, these choked gasps that are so raw, so needy.

Showing how good she feels with every part of her body—pushing her breasts up and into your face, her hands tangling in your hair, legs spreading wider, thighs shaking at the effort of staying upright.

You don’t let up, keep going—tongue swirling, fingers moving at double-time over her cunt, her other tit.

Listening to her turn your name into something filthy, something that sounds like a curse.

You pull back off her, cool air kissing the wetness you leave behind, making her quiver, her high, fuck-me heels knocking against wood.

“Giselle,” you say, taking in this look of bliss on her face. The teary eyes, the trembling lip, her cheeks now so very red. “Gonna make you cum now.”

You don’t wait for permission. You already have it. You step forward, lifting her legs up and trapping her atop the bar, spreading her wide open.

Two fingers at first, all at once, no hesitation. Giselle’s pupils blow wide, shocked, teeth bite down on her bottom lip, muffling a cry that you feel in the pit of your stomach. She’s so soaked that you slide right in with ease, a slow push that makes her whine, the slickness making the sounds of your fucking echo over the din of the empty bar.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” Giselle stutters, all breathy and desperate. Hands flying to your shoulders, nails digging in. Holding on for dear life, writhing as your fingers curl upwards, pushing up against that magical spot inside that has her clenching.

“Such a good girl,” you say, the words slipping out of your mouth like they’ve always been there, just waiting for her to hear them.

The whimper that she makes—the noise alone should be illegal.

“So tight around me,” you tell her, pushing on, focusing entirely on pulling more of these noises from her, doing your best to ignore how hard you already are, how unbearable it is to not be inside her. “So good for me.”

It’s the praise that makes her keen, makes her whine. Pushes herself onto your fingers, trying to get more, trying to get all of you. Just so fucking hot for you.

You can see it playing out across her body, the way she’s losing herself to the pleasure, giving up control of her own functions to you.  So helpless, so beautiful. So fucking delighted to finally have you using her in ways she’s only dreamt of.

You’ve never seen anything like it. You’re addicted before you’ve even had her.

“This cunt is going to feel so good around my cock.”

Giselle's nodding, slurring together a string of yeses and thank yous in response.

Her pussy’s pulsing around your fingers, juices soaking your hand, she’s already so close. So close that you can almost taste the orgasm on her skin.

“You want it so fucking bad, don’t you, Giselle? Want me to fuck you senseless.”

Her eyes are glazed over, barely there. Just stunningly beautiful even in the midst of her desire, and you’re not even sure she’s heard you at all until she’s panting out, “I want it. Need it. So much. Oh, God, please, fuck me with your cock. Make me cum. Make me scream.”

But you get in close, lips to her cheek, a command for only her to hear. “You’re going to cum all over my hand. You’re going to show me how badly you want it. Understand?”

“Yes—yes, please—” is the most she can manage, a harsh whisper that barely gets through. You feel it more than hear it, a shiver running through her, down her spine and up yours. “Do it. Give me more, I need it.”

She’s nothing short of incredible. Writhing under your touch, losing herself to your fingers—there’s never been anything—anyone—like this. Anyone that runs this hot,  that pleads this much, that is so eager for nothing but you, as much of you as you can give.

There’s no excuse for why it's taken so long to get here, why you let every other opportunity skate by. But now’s not the time for regrets. This is all just catch-up. Getting to this moment that’s been burning a hole in your mind. Making up for all the times when you should’ve been bringing her to her knees, should've been marking her up as yours.

“Mine,” you’re claiming, taking her lips once more, feeling the tremble in her chin. “You’re going to be mine, aren’t you?”

“Yours,” her voice quavers back into your mouth.

She kisses you back like she’s drowning, like you’re the very air she needs to breathe. And it’s all you can do to finger-fuck her faster, pressing deeper into her wetness. It’s filthy, borderline disrespectful the way that you’re owning her now. But it’s all necessary, if that’s what it’s going to take to get to feel her shatter in your arms.

But just as you can feel her hips bucking up off the counter and into your wrist, as she’s about to tip over the edge, you pull back, breaking the kiss, leaving her choking for air.

“Look at me,” you tell her, forcing her glassy eyes to refocus, to snap to yours. “I’m going to make you feel so good. You’re going to cum so hard for me. You’re going to look at me when you do.”

Giselle opens her mouth answer, but all that comes out is a whiny mewl when you slide your other hand from her tits to the back of her neck, pulling her into you, hard enough that you can feel her pulse drumming against your palm.

“That’s it, such a good girl,” you say to her, adorning her with all these sweet words that absolutely wreck her. And it’s so easy to because all of them fit. Your good girl, your slut, your baby, your whore. She deserves to hear them all. “Take it, take it all for me.”

“Fuck, please, I’m almost—” She tries and fails to put the syllables together—your fingers are too good, too precise in their frenzy. Playing her body, hitting every key, every beat, rushing to that final chorus.

And then it hits her, without warning, just a sigh and then she’s—

“I'm—I'm—cumming!”

Eyes trying to stay on yours, losing focus, turning wild, until she’s barely even there anymore.

Giselle cums.

Locking her in place, rippling across her body. Every muscle tensing, cunt quivering, hips lifting off the bar as her juices paint your hand.

“Thank you, thank you, fucking thank you—"

Her voice dies out, trapped in her throat, her words becoming nonsense as your fingers have her riding waves. You’re utterly transfixed, watching the orgasm rip across her face, melting her down to a messy puddle. Barely hanging on to you, mouth lolling open, eyes screwed shut, breaths coming in sharp and fast.

She’s limbless, her body goes slack, and you debate giving her the space, or even just a second to catch her breath, to come back to reality.

But you just don’t.

You don’t stop moving, don’t stop working her, because something tells you that the last thing she’d want is for you to stop. Something tells you that she’s one of those girls—the ones who love to chase the high. Who love to be pushed, who love to be told that they’re doing so well, that they’re perfect.

And Giselle is.

“Again,” you press into her neck, and she gives you the closest approximation to a nod that she can muster. “Again and again, I’ll make you cum until you can’t walk straight. Until you forget what it was ever like to not have my cock inside you.”

The nods come faster, insistent, following a whine as your fingers slide out of her cunt, all sticky with her juices. You bring it up to her, hold it in front of her face so she can see the mess she’s made of your hand.

Her breath hitches when she opens her eyes, catching sight of your glistening digits. You don’t even need to prompt her; she takes the initiative—she’s sucking your fingers without a second thought.

Moans when she tastes herself, sucking them clean, tongue flicking across your knuckles, pulling them into her mouth, relishing her own flavour.

“So fucking needy for it, aren’t you?”

You withdraw your fingers, enjoying the cry of protest at the loss, but you’ve got better plans for her. Pressing a kiss to her temple, before backing off completely, leaving Giselle empty, her legs wobbly.

You're quick to lose your clothes, stripping yourself off without much ceremony, tossing them aside with little care for where they end up.

And yet Giselle’s eyes rake over you, following your every move—she’s seen you before, you’ve caught her staring at your arms, your biceps, making no secret of assaulting you with her gaze at any chance she can get.

But now it’s the unbuckling of your belt, the vanishing of your jeans, the reveal of your cock. Springing free, hard and heavy.

Giselle wants it. Mouth salivating, pussy leaking at the sight of it. Oh, how she wants it.

It gives her energy, has her reaching out for a touch, a stroke. But you stop her, gently taking her wrist into your hand before she can make her Christmas wish come true.

She even has the audacity to pout. “Haven’t I been good?”

“Good?” You repeat, and you’re laughing. “You’ve been downright angelic.”

The pout quirks into a smirk, and there’s that familiar mischievous spark returning. “Then don't I deserve a little reward?” Giselle’s fingers go to her folds, spreading them apart. Putting her cunt on display, proud to show off how ready she is to be filled. “Like that big, beautiful cock of yours in my perfect little pussy?”

You don’t bother with the usual finesse, there’s no need for that. This doesn’t land anywhere on the normal spectrum of casual hook-ups to making love. This is about fucking. About need, raw and unfiltered.

“So, would you please—"

You’re yanking her by the waist before she can get started, lifting her off the bar and setting her down in front of you. There’s that thrill rushing through her, at being so easily handled, so effortlessly claimed.

She’s panting, breaths fogging up the air between you, waiting for your instruction.

“Get rid of the dress.”

Her compliance is instant—she steps out of her outfit, her panties. Until she’s just standing before you; the charm, the sex appeal, the big beautiful eyes all in view, so full of hope and desperation for the special kind of bliss only you can provide her.

Just Giselle, her fucking gift of a body in a pair of tight black stockings and high stiletto heels.

“Now,” you say, tilting your hips forward, your cock jabbing into her stomach, pressing a stamp of need into her skin. Giselle preens at the contact, practically vibrating at your touch. One more thing— “Beg.”

“Fuck me,” she says. Simply, honestly. With every ounce of her soul. “Fuck me good. Take me. Please. I need it. I need to feel you inside me. I’ve been dreaming of this, of you fucking me just like this, so—please, make it real.”

“Begging’s a good look on you, Giselle,” you murmur, finishing the rest of the thought in your head. ‘You're going to be doing a lot more of it tonight.’

She yelps when you flip her over, force her to brace herself against the bar. Her lovely ass high up in the air, her pussy drooling onto the floor.

You don't bother warning her.

You stuff your cock into her.

She fucking screams.

So wet, so slippery. Sliding in and out of her, forcing her cunt to mould itself too you. So fucking tight that you have to bite back a groan, have to fight the urge to just pound into her, to fuck her into the counter.

But there's still a pace you're setting, a rhythm that’s not quite as frantic as her needy cries. You’re in no hurry, not yet. You want to savour this. The feel of her clenching around you, the way her back arches with every thrust, her palms slapping against the bar top, leaving little smudges of sweat behind.

“God, this—” Giselle tries, but finds herself lost for words, unable to properly articulate just how good it feels to have you inside her. But the noises she makes—whimpers and gasps and moans and groans—speak volumes.

You complete the thought for her— “You fucking love this, don’t you?” You’re grunting, pressing your body to hers, nipping at her ear. Slurring these dirty thoughts like they're sweet nothings, these words of pure filth into her neck. “Love being fucked like this. Been waiting for it for so long. So goddamn desperate for it that you can’t even fucking talk.”

She’s fucking amazing. Not just the feeling—hot and tight and perfect—it’s the way she moves with you. Pure pleasure ricocheting through her, the slap of her ass against your hips, the sway of her tits underneath her, her cunt desperately trying to swallow you whole.

It’s her, her body, so alive and responsive and sensitive underneath yours. Taking your cock so deliciously, her cunt fluttering around like it’s trying to hold onto it, like it’s never going to let go.

“So, so fucking hard,” she’s found her voice, clawing back some level of composure. Enough to tense her cunt, squeeze her walls around you. Needing you to know every inch of her body, every inch of her pussy, needing you to know that it’s all yours for the taking. “God, it feels so good—doesn’t it? Fucking me here. Tell me. Tell me how good I am. Tell me I’m a good girl. Tell me you’re never going to be able to spend another second here without thinking of my pussy.”

You know she’s right, she’s leaving a part of herself here, branded into the very fabric of this bar that’s been your sanctuary. It has you pushing in deeper, a violent thrust of your hips, a little punctuation to drive her point home.

She swallows as you pick up speed, chokes on a half-formed moan—so, so fucking close. But you’ve only just begun.

Grabbing her hair, winding your fist in pink, pulling her up so she's forced to listen. The details on her face are all hazy, her makeups smudged from tears, from where she’s rubbed at her face, trying to keep the pleasure at bay. But that’s not how this goes. That’s not how any of this goes.

“You want to hear how good you’re being for me?” A harsh whisper for her, and it takes so much effort for her to just nod in response. “You want me to tell you all the filthy things I’m thinking? Everything that I’ve been dying to do to you?”

“Yes,” she pleads back. “Tell me, please—I need to hear it all.”

So you do. You lay it all on her. Every unfiltered, explicit thought you’ve had—every depraved fantasy that’s on the tip of your tongue whenever she’s around. You tell her all of it, how much of a whore you’re going to turn her into; how much of a slut you want to make her.

How this isn’t the last time. No, there’s going to be hours, days, weeks of this after.  Of you fucking her here, of her coming to you just to have another taste of your cock. It’s a revelation, a promise, and it fucking ruins her.

“Every single time you've walked into here, every single time you've sat across form me, I've thought about this," you're grunting now, giving in to the urgency that’s been building up in your chest, the pressure that’s been weighing on you for what feels like an eternity. “I’ve thought about bending you over this very bar. Making you beg for it, making you scream out my name when I fuck my cum into you. Making sure every single person out there knows that this cunt is mine to take whenever I fucking want.”

It’s so fucked, the effect that hearing all this has on her. The sound of your voice, your darkest desires, the harshness of your words, it’s all too much for her, it’s everything she’s ever wanted to be told.

You’re unlocking something in her, something she’s never admitted to anyone, not her closest friends, not her bandmates, not even herself. The way you speak to her, the way you’re treating her like a perfect little fuck doll—and you’re realising that maybe, just maybe, it’s because no one’s ever fucked her well enough to find out.

There’s no room here to be gentle, there’s no way in hell she’d ever want you to be. You tighten your grip in your hair, slam into her harder, skin slapping against skin, mixing with the wet sounds of her pussy taking all of you. Each cry you fuck out of her is music, each one a little higher pitched, a little more desperate than the last.

“This is what you want isn’t it?” You’re demanding of her, even when she’s blubbering, barely able to breathe let alone respond. Just trying to hold on.

But you’re not letting her.

You’re taking her to that place that’s beyond words, that’s beyond thought. The place where all she can do is feel and react. And she’s doing that so beautifully, her body shaking, her cunt quivering around your cock. It’s building and building, the things you’re doing to her, saying to her, making her choke on her own spit, making her eyes roll back and her mouth drop open, until all she can repeat, over and over again is your name.

“Again,” she shapes another word, another plea. She’s a total disaster of need. “Please, again, make me cum again.”

“You'll cum when I say you can,” you growl, forcing her to choke on another whine. The strangled noise goes straight to your cock; makes it throb harder inside her, drive deeper into her. You let go of her hair, only to palm her tit, squeezing into the flesh hard. Giselle jolts, a squeal escaping her lips. “But since you’ve been so good, I’ll let you cum before me again. Just this once. Just because it’s Christmas.”

You’re being evil, you know it, she loves it, but it's the best part. She clearly wouldn't want it any other way.

”Yes.” Giselle’s beaming, shivering with excitement. Getting fucked into utter ruins and thanking you for the privilege. “Thank you, use my pussy, do whatever you want, just let me cum.”

That sparks an idea, “Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want,” Giselle pants, not a single idea of what she’s agreeing to. But maybe that's the whole point. “Anything.”

There’s a grin that splits your face that you can’t help, that you don’t bother suppressing. “I’m not going to ask for permission anymore, Giselle. I’m just going to fuck you the way I want. Make you addicted to my cock. Take you how I want, cum in all your holes, fill you up over and over again.”

Giselle’s eyes go wide, nearly stops breathing entirely. So close. Knowing that the next words out of your mouth are going to decimate her completely.

“Gonna make you start the New Year knocked up.”

She freezes.

“God—” Giselle’s a fucking wreck, on the verge of something explosive, something else entirely. “Oh my God.”

She just needs you to give her that push.

“You love it, don’t you? Being made nothing more than a fucking cumdump for me? That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

You’re fucking her too hard, hammering into her too roughly, it’s a wonder that she can even manage a stuttered, “I—I—”

“Fucking say it, Giselle,” you say, “Spit it out.”

It’s too difficult for her to fit the words together, to form her reply, so it means all that more when she manages to tell you. “I want it.”

“Want what?”

“Your cum in me. All of it. Until I’m, until I’m—” She’s there, lost in it, in the idea of you ruining her in such a permanent, irreversible way. Or maybe completing her, making her whole, making her perfect for you and only you.

But you’re so close too. Right fucking behind her. All she has to do is say it.

“Until you breed me. Fill me with your cum, give it to me. I need it. Make me your permanent cocksleeve and never let me go. Make me yours—completely, forever yours. Make me your fucking whore.”

“Good girl.”

And with that, she’s gone.

Hits her like a fucking meteor. Leaping right off the most intense high she’s ever climbed. Bucking and quaking against your bar, your cock still impaled inside her, mercilessly undoing her. It’s nothing short of fucking pornographic, fucking depraved the way it’s destroying her.

Seizing her entire body in pleasure, her nails digging into the wood, scraping up marks that will prove to be a sweet, everlasting reminder of the exact moment she became yours. Fracturing her, breaking her apart into a million tiny pieces and then remaking her all over again as something purely sexual—something that only exists for your satisfaction.

“So fucking good, your cock, God it’s you, just you—” Giselle’s words dissolve into a keening cry that shatters the remaining silence of the bar. “Breeding me so good—”

Nothing short of a miracle that she’s still on her feet, that she can still do anything at all. One last thing she needs to do in the dying embers of her lucidity, one final goal—choke your cock with her cunt, wring you dry, make you flood her with your cum.

“Cum, cum, fill me, breed me, give me your—”

“Take it,” you exhale, “Take it all.”

And it’s Giselle in her entirety that overcomes you, overloading your senses with the pure, distilled feeling of just her. The smell of her sex, her perfume, the feel of her curves, her softness, the perfection that is her pussy, enveloping your cock, drenching it in her wetness. These things that you’ll never, ever be able to forget.

But it's her words that make you erupt.

“Breed me, Daddy!”

You cum deep into Giselle’s pussy.

Buried inside her, rushing white hot, thick and heavy. Ropes and ropes of it, spurting inside her, painting her insides, coating her walls until it’s just sheer heat and you making her whole.

Her cunt’s clenching around you, she’s begging, slurring moans and whimpers that there’s no fucking chance you have of comprehending—just basking in the knowledge that they’re desperate, needy sounds that are all for you.

She can’t keep it all in. But she needs to.

Something knocks the architecture out of her legs, but you’re quick enough to wrap your arms around her, holding her tight, keep her on her feet. Keeping her from collapsing entirely, just letting her pulse around you, clench and quiver.

You’re kissing her into the shoulder, cooing these affirmations, keeping her with you, telling her the truth of it all, “Such a good girl, Giselle. Taking my cum so well.”

Giselle can’t say anything. She sobs. Face buried in her hands. Not from pain, not even close. You’ve never seen pleasure look so much like agony. So much like release.

It’s overwhelming.

You try to make a move, take a step back. But Giselle flexes her cunt, clutching you tighter. Reaches back with her hand for your thigh to stop you.

“Wait,” she whispers. "Not yet. Don't move. Keep your cock inside me. Don't let a single drop get out."

You give her the time, because she’s just so perfect like this. So unfathomably gorgeous, all fucked up and cum-drunk. In ways no one should ever be. Like you’ve torn the wings off an angel, brought her down to Earth and made her yours.

You revel in it.

“Take your time,” you breathe; the exhaustion, the strain, the adrenaline pumping through your veins all coming to a head at once. Keeping your cock plugging up her cunt. Leaving all your cum inside.

Neither of you are moving anywhere. Not until she says so.

Giselle laughs.

“Perfect,” she sighs, voice hoarse and shaky. “I knew it would be perfect. I knew you would ruin me like this. God, I don’t ever want to go back.”

You’re laughing too, harsh, airless chuckles that feel like they’re being torn out of your chest. You twitch your cock inside her. “You think you have a say in the matter?”

“I guess I don’t,” she giggles.

You look around at the scene of the crime, the evidence you've left on her. The marks on her skin, her shoulder, her neck. The ruins of her dress, her panties. The tearing of her stockings. Her tear-filled eyes, her smeared mascara, her drooling lips.

And her cunt, so full of you, so very yours.

It’s barely believable. She may not have burned down the bar, but there’s certainly a fire that’s been set. One that’s not likely to die down anytime soon.

It has you swelling inside her all over again.

Gisele feels it.

“Say,” she starts, wriggling her hips against you, making you groan. “You didn’t have any Christmas plans, right?”

Your hands slip down to her hips, idly massaging into the small of her back. “None at all.”

Giselle’s laughter subsides into a contented exhale, her lashes fluttering as she looks at you with a soft smile. Her hand reaches back, caressing the side of your face. “And the rest of the year?”

“Nothing that can’t be cancelled.”

“Good,” she says, her breath sweet against your cheek. “Cancel them all. Close up for the holidays. Shut all the doors. Stay inside with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And do what?”

“Get to work,” Giselle answers, pulling you into a last kiss, threatening to undo you all over again. “You did promise to knock me up by New Years.”

[tsukimefuku]

3rd of july ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚ nanami kento

piece written in collaboration with my beloved friend and one of my favorite people, @rahuratna, for nanami's (a.k.a. internet's collective husbando) birthday. 💜🧡 content warning: fluff/comedy/sugestiveness word count: 1k

Nanami wasn't one to make big celebrations on his birthday. Up until he met you, he'd usually go about his work day quietly, saving up a few extra hours to simply go bowling or visit his favorite restaurants for dinner.

After you both started dating, not much had changed. You'd simply tag along for whatever he had planned, and would usually surprise him with something by the time you both got home - a box of dark chocolate, a new set of lingerie, a nice warm scented bath, a new CD album he had been looking for.

This time, however, you decided to push your luck on teasing the poor man.

On his birthday, of all days.

"Kento, how do you feel about surprise parties?" you ask, hiding the smile pulled on your cheeks behind your tea cup.

On the couch by your side, you could feel Nanami holding the urge to flinch the moment you were finished speaking.

"They are not my favorite," he answers in earnest.

"Seriously?" you inquire with a faux disheartened look.

"Yes," Nanami replies, with a tinge of concern to his voice.

"That is... unfortunate, then," you ensue, putting your tea on the coffee table and pulling your robe tighter around your body.

His Adam's apple bobs as he silently gulps.

"Why?"

"Well, my plan was to surprise you when you got home, but I figured you wouldn't want to get instantly jumped. So I told them to wait in the room," you finally say, with a grave finality, pointing to the closed bedroom door.

Truth is, he has no clue what you are really up to.

"Darling…" Nanami sighs, ever so patiently, "I thought it would just be the both of us unwinding, like the past years."

"I… I'm sorry, I really wanted to surprise you with something different this time."

You do sound regretful, and he plants a soft kiss on your cheek in response. Even now, he doesn't quite find it in himself to be annoyed at you, even if the prospect of Gojo lurking around his bedroom is enough to send disgusted shivers down his spine.

"It's… fine. Let's get this over with at once, and then have the house to ourselves."

"Are you sure? I could always go in there and tell them to-"

"No," he counters firmly. "You've arranged something a little different this year, and I'm going to appreciate it."

"Come on, then."

As perceptive as he is, Nanami doesn't notice the mischievous smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. Naturally, since you have successfully planted a seed in his mind, a terrifying image of his pristine suits being tried on by students and his custom made bowling ball being transformed into a disco light by the white-haired menace he calls a colleague.

When you reach the door and step aside for him, he visibly braces himself, fingers almost straightening a phantom tie at his throat.

"Sweetheart, I need to go and fetch a scarf. It's a little chilly in here."

Bless his heart. He's actually playing along.

You raise your voice.

"Oh, I left the blue one on the top shelf. Your closet."

"Right."

Nanami heads in with the air of a man charging from the trenches to face a volley of cannon fire. He stops dead in his tracks, eyes taking in the room.

It is empty of people, for starters.

The comforter on the bed has been pulled back, the white sheets scattered with rose petals. Candles have been placed strategically on the bedside table and vanity, emitting the subtle scent of the ocean. On a corner of the bed, a few ribbon-wrapped gifts await; a small stack of books and a box of his favourite dark chocolate with orange.

You saunter in behind him and he turns to you with a look that is both a solemn reprimand and a loving promise of a punishment you may appreciate later.

"Hmm. It's awfully crowded in here, my dear."

"Well, the rose petals were quite chatty, Kento. They've taken up all the space on our bed."

"They have indeed, you little-"

You laugh as you slip out of his reach, standing coyly in the doorway.

"Have a look at your gifts first."

He narrows his eyes, but approaches the bed, fingers unraveling the ribbon that holds the books together.

"What do we have here? 'The Master and Margarita.' Ah, wonderful. 'Bowling your way home: A salaryman's escape from bondage.'"

He pauses and raises an eyebrow and you gesture airily for him to keep going.

"Fine. What's this one? The-"

His voice cuts off abruptly.

"Kento? Are you all right?"

Very slowly, he turns to you.

"You got me the Kama Sutra?"

"I figured it would make a nice addition to your collection. I may even borrow it, from time to time."

You approach him now, casually opening the book to where you've placed a strategic leather marker within the section on sex positions.

"Since it's your birthday, maybe you'd like to start with the Virsha here?"

He considers the page seriously, before taking the book from you and flipping through it.

"I'm not sure, darling. You've put in enough effort setting all of this up."

Handing it back to you, he watches the flush that spreads upwards, across your neck as you are presented with the Indrani pose he has chosen instead.

"How about you let me do the work from here on out?"

"Well... "

"No, I insist."

His voice has that special intonation now, the husky rumble of desire, the inflection of hushed intimacy, the promise of that playful nature that only reveals itself when you're entangled in the sheets together.

You lay the book down, open to the very instructive illustration.

"In that case, let me present you with my last gift."

"There's another?"

Wordlessly, the robe you've been so studiously arranging around yourself slides to the floor. His kindling gaze takes in the sheer, violet lace, the tiny flowers embroidered strategically over the parts of you that he will discover at leisure.

***

Later, when the gossamer material lies discarded on the floor, when his exhausted limbs entwine with your own, when his golden hair runs like silk between your fingers, you speak into the hush of the bedroom.

"Happy birthday, my love."

His voice is muffled from where his face is pressed against your stomach.

"That was quite the surprise party."

"Maybe we should have one every year."

He snorts indignantly, but his lips curve in a smile against your skin all the same.

[dreamesamu]

THE THINGS HE TAKES FOR GRANTED

in which he takes a moment to justify himself after never noticing your little crush for him

starring. msby!miya atsumu x fem!reader

genre(s): angst to fluff, long scenario sets in post-timeskip!

warning(s): reader is nice and overworks herself. not proofhead i apologize

author’s note: It's kind of not what i had imagined but hope you enjoy it.

choose your character: m. atsumu | k. akaashi

another cliché beginning for the person you are right now - the MSBY team manager - is that you’ve loved the miya atsumu since high school. it’s not like being the team’s manager isn’t your dream, you loved this job and had been dying to do it because you’ve loved volleyball, too. plus, you will have the opportunity to stay close and take care of the team, especially your crush who just merely thinks you are his best friend.

you first laid eyes on him when you were sitting alone on the subway, his dyed-blonde locks caught your attention as he first talked to you about the chase atlantic’s song you were listening to, he was cute, warm and friendly. at that moment, you were verified that he wasn’t the guy who was fond of his fan girls that everybody had been rumoring about. He eventually found out that you guys went to the same high school, so as to start a new beginning of your bonding friendship.

It wasn’t long until you finally realized that you might have adored the pretty setter a little too much than usual. his touches, his smile, the way he calls your name and his genuine characteristics when he was used to you being around seemed a little bit more easy to flutter your heart than every other day. Ever since then, you just hid your feelings and was grateful for what you got right then because you knew that if you confess, you couldn’t get this best friend treatment that you silently fell for for any longer.

You impressed yourself for even keep it until now. you and him are mature and beautiful, but you still can’t help but feel so ‘high school’ when you look at him. the least thing you could do for a friend (crush) is care for him through bottles of flavored electrolyte water, preparing his favorite after-practice snacks and even cool and soft towels to calm the heat down after a match. However, it seems like mr. miya doesn’t notice all of the hard work you did for him, he was so used to be taken care of by you that he accidentally failed to realize the special treatment only for him but nobody else.

“Hey, tired yet? you can call it a day for now if you want?” you smiled, hand over his bottle of water you prepared for him to the softly panting atsumu taking a break on the bench. He is quite preoccupied with his earlier techniques that he need to improve, he only spares you a glance then takes the bottle to drink without saying any words, you assume that he is in a bad mood.

“oh, and” you search for the thing in your bag. “here, your towel”

he nods and takes it, it makes you feel awkward. that’s… all…? You try to not overthink yourself, after all, it was quite a tense match, and the fact that your team will have an important volleyball game the next month proves his concerns are valid.

you watch atsumu leave when hinata shoyo came up to you.

“oh? isn’t that our manager?” you startle at his voice. “hehe, please don’t mind tsumu at all, please, he just got pissed because he made a mistake during practice” the sunshine grins, having him around surely just brighten everything up, because he is just so sweet and comfortable to be with.

“no, no,… I really don’t mind at all, actually” you know atsumu better than anyone so you don’t take his actions to heart sometimes, it’s just…

“oi, oi! I know what you’re thinking, I saw you overthere doing things for tsumu. This guy, honestly…” Hinata sure saw you earlier with enthusiasm written on all over your face while preparing those towels and bottles, he felt bad for you and decided to cheer you up regardless atsumu has just cracked your poor heart a little.

“It’s okay, hinata. thank you for checking on me!” you smile wide, so my efforts wasn’t invalidated at all, gratefully bow down to see the awkward hinata trying to stutter words out.

“no- no, don’t do that, you are our manager, that’s just nothing! besides, seeing you give tsumu so special treatment makes me real jealous!!” he huffs cutely. “I really want that flavored electrolyte water, too! what a shame he wouldn’t notice.”

you laugh sheepishly as you guys return to your dorms to rest. things have been going hard for you like crazy, the work amount weighing on your shoulders make it almost unbearable, but you still stay strong and put a warm smile on your face so nobody would notices. you have been thinking of retiring just in case the situation just got worse to the level of destroying your mental health. but, by thinking of your small joy of seeing atsumu everyday, you hesitated.

your sleepless nights start when the important games take a step closer, you overworked yourself and often feel burnt out, your time with atsumu narrows as you find it hard to start a conversation even in lunch break. atsumu does feel weird. why isn’t y/n sit with us? she is nowhere to be found these days.

“hey, tsum-tsum” said bokuto. “what do you think of y/n?” he said, putting a tray of food on the table while making his way to sit.

“y/n? what’s with her?” the fake blond raises a brow, munching on his food

“I think she’s so cute and thoughtful, base on her affection for you, i betcha she’s completely smitten” the owl laughs as the other teammates giggle along. “you should consider on dating her, what a waste if you don’t, she’s literally girlfriend material, same thoughts huh, hinata?” he winks and the tangerine head give him back a thumbs up.

“dating y/n, huh?” atsumu laughs as if he doesn’t take bokuto’s statements seriously. “I don’t date my friends, you know. besides, y/n is just a close friend of mine, she ain’t my type”

“heartless tsumu… she worked so hard for you these days…” hinata fake crying when talking about you

“I know that she makes snacks and does things for me, but sometimes, that’s just unnecessary, i don’t need it to be all the damn time, it feels a little annoying, i just need to be alone to refresh my thoughts” he sighs. “now you told me to consider on dating her, i wouldn’t know how long i can take it.”

now there is dead silence following his statement, everybody just awkwardly continues finishing their lunch, and you do know eavesdropping is a thing that you shouldn’t do. but you did. before you even notice, hot streams cover your face and you feel your breath hitches. the coach sends you to check on the team at such wrong timing, you can’t face them, the voices earlier destroy your confidence, replace it with angst and hurt. so… what i did is just a bother to him, huh. you realize now, that you were such a dumbass trying to make him catch feeling by all of this. and with the tiniest amount of pride left, you back up a smile and step into the cafeteria, the atmosphere suddenly feels tense as everybody hasn’t been moving on since their last conversation, atsumu feels an uneasy feeling when he sees you behind him, guilt? he thinks.

“hey… coach sent me to check up on you guys, please be well rested at your dorms after lunch, we have practice match at 2pm, alright?” your voice evidently trembles, you try cover it up with some fake coughs. oh, who are you kidding? it’s atsumu miya we’re talking about. he first notices how your eyes are a bit swollen, have you been crying? your tired figure due to sleepless nights, the way you haven’t eaten properly shows right in front of his eyes. he suddenly felt a twinge in his heart, in which moment he never wanted to see you like this, ever again. but, what’s all this for? he doesn’t like you… right? because- you’re his best friend, and caring is what’s best friends do, am I correct?

you left the cafeteria. atsumu feels like his whole head is going to explode, he regrets what he said earlier, knowing seventy per cent that you might have listened to it. he is weak because of guilt and distaste. the group feels uneasy and moody all of a sudden.

“i haven’t told you this before but you’ve seen her now, tsumu… she overworked herself with this huge amount of work with nobody beside her, yet she still maintaining to take care of you with these small gestures.” hinata sighs heavily. “y/n told me not to tell you about her state so you can concentrate on practising, but I’m really worried because now she can’t even hide it anymore. I tried to help, but she pushed me away and told me that i should do my own practices as our game is going to start soon.”

hinata pats atsumu’s back before leaving as if he’s signalling him to make it up to you. atsumu started to cry at this point. how could he be so clueless? he didn’t even know that his best friend was undergoing such pressure, yet why does the term “best friend” sound so irritating? he felt like he had failed to protect you and worse, hurting your feelings and he regretted it, so badly.

The following day comes, atsumu's first task is to search for you. To his astonishment, you are once more nowhere to be found. he was so preoccupied, his spikes aren’t as good, and he could not concentrate on practising, the coach sent him out, and gave him a moment to rethink by himself. and so, he reaches a staff, asking for information about you.

“Y/n? oh… she’s at the infirmary, we noticed her devastated state so we sent her to the doctor a while ago. now think about it I might write a report to the coach asking him to reduce the amount of work she’s handling.”

“thank you, kind sir. may I be the one who’ll write the report? I’m sure I could convince the coach.”

as the man nods, atsumu bowed goodbye to him and sprints to the infirmary where you’re at. he knows, that if anybody should write a report for you, it must be him. he must protect you because he has just realised it now, he likes you a lot more than he could imagine.

“Y/N!” atsumu slams the door open, he faces you with your eyes widened, startled by the bright window.

“tsumu…?��� you softly speak.

atsumu in front of your eyes is the atsumu who tries to hold back his tears, biting his bottom lip as the poor heart lurching somewhere in his stomach but somehow still happy because he has found you.

“hey…” he kneels down on one knee beside you. “i’m sorry, angel” his hand softly squishes the smaller one, it holds back gently on his’

in all of the things you dislike, what you utterly don’t want to deal with is your emotions when you see atsumu looking so vulnerable like this. you instinctually grab a tissue and wipe off the sweat drop on his forehead the moment you see it, atsumu’s worried expression won’t vanish unless you speak up something.

“hey…” you smile. “don’t worry, I’m okay now, tsumu” you fondly touch his face with a hand, and he sinks in your touch, eyes glittering. atsumu intentionally plants a soft kiss on your warm palm and watches you go weak for him.

“i like you, y/n” he sighs. “i don’t want us to be just friends. i want to protect you, want to be the kind of guy who mentally support his girl to help her cope with any pressure.”

he looks up to see your widened eyes, without a response, he continues.

“i’m sorry i said the things i didn’t mean when you were there, I was just…" he gulps nervously and you sigh.

"tsumu... if it's too much for you to bear, maybe i should stop doing those things, okay?" you scoff bitterly, he becomes panic

“no, no, no,... i really like the way you care for me, please, i want your attention. please keep doing it. don’t get tired of me…”

you can feel the pulse bumping in your nerves, your heart flutters, and blood rushes into your cheeks just by hearing his confession. you kneel down beside him, fighting back the tears but then you can’t, so you squish him in a hug. atsumu holds you back as you start sobbing on his white shirt, inhales fondly your intoxicating smell and pats rhythmically on your back

“there, there, my angel. i’m here now. i’m sorry i’m late. let me make this up for you, yeah?” he chuckles.

atsumu loves his girlfriend. after hearing you ramble about your tight schedule, he immediately writes a report based on your experience to inform the coach about your condition so that everyone can share in your responsibilities instead of you having to handle everything alone. it wasn’t that long for the msby mates to realize you guys are together, he wrote in that report that he is your boyfriend, anyway.

“you nailed it, tsumu-kun” hinata bumps him with a thumbs up, atsumu responds with a sheepish grin while bokuto laughs beside him and sakusa just doesn’t really give a shit. 

he spots you standing on the opposite road near the brand new cafe, waving back to him smiling, “nah, gotta run. gonna treat my girlfriend with extra pastry today.”

i guess he is the simp now.

© 2024 dreamesamu. all rights reserved.

a recommendation to cope with your broken heart <3

[skyahri]

Arranged Marriage |Zuko X Reader| HC

Summary: Caught up in his personal conflict, Zuko completely neglects his marriage.

Warnings: Arranged marriage, forced marriage, whatever. Mentions of violence. Angsty Zuko and reader. Fem pronouns.

Masterlist Ko-fi

- - - - -

You'd married Zuko a little over a year into his reign as Fire Lord. You're the oldest daughter from a noble family, and the council decided it was best if Zuko married someone well liked by the community.

He didn't take it well. He was still hoping Mai would come back to him, and you being there completely obliterated those chances.

Not that there was a shot to begin with. Mai had made it abundantly clear that she wanted nothing to do with Zuko, even if she admitted to still having feelings for him.

Your relationship was staged to be perfect in the eyes of the people. Young love against all odds sort of thing.

The marriage ceremony was beautiful. Your robes were elegant, the flowers were perfect, and even your soon-to-be husband was handsome.

Zuko was charming towards the guests, really selling the story and gaining a lot of trust with his people. He was awkward but personable, something everyone ate up.

But he wasn't like that with you.

As soon as the two of you were away from public eyes, he didn't so much as look your way.

You slept in different rooms and ate at opposite ends of the table. He excluded you from as many duties as he could, stating something about him not wanting to concern you.

Life in a palace was pretty isolating. The only people you could talk to were servants, and even then, your topics were extremely limited.

You'd taken to the gardens as much as possible. It felt nice to be outside and even better to see the plants and animals.

Tending to the flowers was one of the few things you were allowed to do without constant eyes on you. The lonely atmosphere felt intentional instead of forced.

But after a year of this, not even the newly budding flowers could heal your disdain. Your once bubbly exterior had been chipped away by the dread and disappointment that lingered in your heart.

You were truly just a shell of your former self by this point.

There was no change with Zuko. He'd made no effort to get to know you or even just not hate you. Any attempt you'd made in the beginning to soften the relationship had been put out the moment it left your lips. It seemed like public pleasantries would be the extent of your marriage.

You'd long given up on trying to befriend the older women who waited on you. They had no desire to be anything more than the people who got you through the day.

You'd given up on trying to sneak away with the kitchen staff to the market. They feared being held responsible for you, even if you claimed to be plenty capable of taking care of yourself.

All that was really left to do was to just stay quiet and look pretty. The sad fate of the Fire Lord's wife.

You'd been laying in bed all morning. It was one of the few days where nothing was planned. No meetings, no guests, no events- nothing.

Well, at least you thought.

"Miss Y/N, Lord Zuko has requested your presence. We must get you ready immediately."

They'd dragged you out of bed and stuffed you into a pair of your nicest robes. They're doing your hair up and rushing to cover your face in makeup.

"Why am I being summoned?"

"The Avatar and his friends have arrived. They were the ones to request you."

"I see."

It made sense. You had met the Gaang at your wedding, and they were everything you'd expected; kind, loud, and passionate. Just like Zuko was said to be.

At the time, they'd promised to come by often, but you hadn't seen them since. You'd heard something about the rebuilding of the air temple and having some unexpected issues arise, so they just hadn't had time until now.

You met Zuko at the front gates. His friends arrived just after, allowing the servants to take their things to their rooms. Without a word, Katara grabbed your arm and dragged you away with the other girls. You turned back to see the same happening with Zuko and the boys.

They pulled you all around the surrounding area. For the first time in a long time, the dread started to fade away.

You'd bought some new incense, hair pins, and seeds for the flower beds. They were small purchases in comparison to the others, who had gone all out with new clothes, trinkets, and a heap of spicy snacks for Sokka.

You'd suggested several times over the last few hours that it was time to head back to the palace, but only now that it was growing dark did the trio actually listen.

Just as you had begun packing up, a string of explosions started on the next block and made its way towards the plaza you were in.

Toph was quick to make a stone barrier, but that didn't stop the cloud of soot from staining your skin and clothes.

A group of men had emerged from the smoke and revealed themselves to be Ozai supporters. Not everyone was pleased with the fundamentals Zuko was running the country on, so rebels had started causing a bit of an uproar.

Katara, Toph, and Suki did their best to take the men down swiftly, but that didn't stop you from getting injured in the process.

Your forearms had been severely burned when you'd covered your face from an attack. Katara offered to heal you, but it'd have to wait until you got back to the palace where her spirit water was.

The trip back was uneventful. Some of the local guards stationed in the city had insisted on escorting you guys back, which at this point you couldn't deny.

Apparently, word had already gotten back to Fire Lord Zuko, who was waiting at the front doors of the palace for your arrival.

He immediately stepped forward and picked up your hand, letting the scorched fabric fall and reveal your burn. He did the same with the other and sighed.

"Please give us the room."

You watched as everyone filed out of the room, the guards towards the exit and your friends towards the south wing.

"These are severe,"

He cupped your face in his hands and tilted your head so he could get a good look. His thumb swiped over some of the soot on your face.

You were confused by his actions, but the pain from your burns created a bit of a blur in your mind, keeping you from thinking too hard about it.

"The others couldn't protect you?"

"They did what they could. I apologize for the hassle-"

"Why are you apologizing? None of this is your fault."

You opted to stay silent. You weren't sure what to say. This is the longest conversation you'd had in private since you'd met, and you were finding it hard to navigate.

It was silent for a minute. The vibe was awkward, and you desperately wanted to hide away from all of it.

His face contorted slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn't. You didn't pry. It didn't feel like your place to ask.

"Why don't you head to your room for a bath, and I'll have Katara meet you in there once you're done."

You nodded and made your way down the corridor. You stripped down and opted to just toss your clothes in the trash. Between the ash and scorch marks, there was no saving anything.

The second the water touched your wounds, you winced. Tears pricked your eyes as you watched small bits of charred skin go down the drain. The pain quickly went from a sharp sting to almost mind-numbing. You sat down and let the water just run down your body while you waited for the brunt of the discomfort to pass.

In your hazy state of mind, you hadn't heard the knock on the door, so you were surprised when Zuko entered in much more casual clothing.

When he saw you hunched over on the shower floor, he didn't say anything. He moved to the side of the tub and went to touch you, but you weakly swatted his hands away.

"I'm not comfortable with you being in here whole I'm naked."

"I'm your husband-"

"You're a stranger."

Ouch. Harsh but fair, and he knew it.

"Look, I know I haven't been good to you over the past year, and I'm sorry. We can talk about it more when you're feeling better, but for now just let me take care of you."

Satisfied with his response, you stopped resisting his help. You let him wash your hair and scrub your skin. His touch was gentle despite how rough his hands were.

He never once made you feel uncomfortable. He was thourough but never lingered. It was almost as if this was a normal occurrence.

When he was done, he offered you a towel and left you alone in the bathroom to get dressed. When you entered your bedroom, Katara was on your bed, but Zuko was nowhere in sight.

"Just me. Sorry to disappoint."

"No, no. I'm glad you're here."

You sat in front of her on the bed and let her examine your burns. She positioned your arms for easy access and opened her canister. You watched the water glow and the skin slowly heal itself. It was amazing, nothing like anything youd seem before.

"So," she broke the silence, "Has he warmed up to you at all?"

You were surprised by her words. You weren't sure how much they knew or what all you should say. Last thing you wanted to do was incriminate him.

Sensing your hesitation to respond, Katara clarified her question.

"I know everything, at least, from his side. You can be honest with me."

"Honest?"

"Honest."

A small smile crept onto your face.

"I think you're friend is an ass."

"I couldn't agree more."

You told her everything; the loneliness, the isolation, the lack of, well, everything in your relationship and life. She listened, something you're eternally grateful for. It felt nice just to get it off your chest instead of suffering silently.

"Today was the greatest day I've had in a long time. I got to leave the palace and talk to people and for once it felt like my husband didn't hate me."

"Zuko doesn't hate you."

"Could've fooled me."

"He doesn't hate you. Just talk to him. I know he has a lot to say, and it seems you do as well."

Once your arms were healed good as new, Katara left your quarters and returned to her own. You'd crawled under the covers and passed out, completely exhausted from the day.

The next day, you took Katara's advice and decided to speak with Zuko. You woke up early, before the sun had risen and made your way to his room.

He was surprised to see you, much less in your nightwear at such an hour. He invited you in nonetheless, where you then entered and decided to sit on his bed. You patted the spot in front of you, and he hesitantly sat.

"Katara said we should talk."

"Okay."

Sensing that he wasn't going to be the one to initiate anything, you decided to get the ball rolling.

It was a long conversation. Zuko confessed a lot of things, mostly about bitter feelings towards life and guilt over his actions. He apologized for everything and listened to everything you had to say. He made a lot of promises to be better.

He stuck to his word. He began including you in anything you were welcome to. Dinners became more personal, and eventually, you started sleeping in his room like a proper married couple.

By the time team Avatar had visited again, things had visibly changed. You were both happier, and your once fake marriage had become real. You meshed into the group just fine, making the pseudo family that much bigger.

All thanks to a simple conversation.

[aurumalatus]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 2.5k

genre/warnings. pixelprincess!au (princess!reader x knight!kinich), one bed trope, princess is nervous to sleep alone with a man (who isn't)

summary.

after a long journey, kinich and the princess finally turn in for the night at an unfamiliar inn. the only problem? there's only one bed.

author's note. i'm finishing this at like 5am so if there's any errors i'll look over it/fix it when i wake up LOL. for now, please scream and cry about knight!kinich with me. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!!

𝐩𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐚𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It’s too warm.

As a princess born and raised in the land of Pyro, you’re accustomed to heat—thrive in it, even. It’s one of the reasons you dread trips like these so much. Foreign nations, even those with the mildest of temperatures, tend to feel a bit too chilly for your taste. Your father often jokes that you could withstand the heat of the Sacred Flame itself.

At the moment, though, you wouldn’t mind cracking open a window or two, even in the dead of winter.

The journey here had been difficult enough, boring as it was. Kinich had threatened to leave you alone in the woods a few times if you kept poking at him, but it was all you could do to not fall asleep. Attending foreign dinners always resulted in long journeys like these, though you know how important it is to maintain close relations with allied countries.

A few bumps in the road made this trek especially long, however—a number of bandits and blocked off paths added an irritating amount of time to your travel, until you and Kinich decided to rest for the night before heading home tomorrow. It had been difficult to even find a place—most inns had been full by this time, but you’d been fortunate to find one with a single open room.

A single, open room containing a single, solitary bed.

That aside, it’s a nice enough room, really. The dark mahogany furniture is carved with intricate nature-like patterns, flowers and leaves that crawl up the legs of the chairs and the foot of the bed. The whole place smells pleasantly of teakwood—a scent that, for better or worse, you tend to attribute to Kinich.

Your knight sits in front of the darkened fireplace, fiddling with a flint until it strikes with a small flame, then enkindles the rest of the wood. A flushing warmth instantly permeates the room. Usually, you would thank him for his efforts—he knows how cold you get—but now, you feel a thin sweat forming at your brow.

Kinich stands, brushing off his hands and admiring the firelight. The lighter strands of his hair glow in its radiance. “That should last us for a bit.”

He tugs at the clasp of his cloak, pulling the garment off and tossing it onto the chair in the corner of the room. It’s a thick fur with ornate green and gold trim; you’d given it to him as a gift during the Winter Festival a year ago. You let your eyes follow the motion, watching the dark cloth drape over the furniture—somehow, you feel too awkward to look at your companion right now. He glances at you, as if wondering what you’re doing just standing there, but doesn’t comment on it.

“Actually, I’m a bit warm,” you say, thumbing at the edges of your sleeves. Kinich raises a brow, genuinely concerned.

“...It’s wintertime,” he says, an obvious statement that seems to ask what the hell is wrong with you.

“Yeah, and I’m warm,” you retort, arms crossed. He looks at you, then looks at the fire, then looks at you again.

“Alright, but if you get cold later, don’t come crying to me,” he says, kneeling down again. Then, under his breath, he mutters, “though I have a feeling you will anyway.”

He toys with the kindling for a bit longer, until the raging flames die into smaller embers and the room cools down. As much as he gives you a hard time, he prioritizes your comfort as much as he possibly can. 

With the temperature now taken care of, there is still one other source of discomfort in the room, you think, glancing back toward the bed. It looks temptingly comfortable, with thick sheets and fluffy pillows, but you can’t fathom sleeping in it at the moment. 

“You realize that we can’t sleep here, right?” you say, staring down at your feet.

The dark-haired knight is busy rummaging through his rucksack, only half paying attention to what you’re saying.

“I don’t see why not. The bed is big enough.”

He’s right; it’s a king-size, and the two of you would have no problem fitting. Still, the thought of sleeping in a bed with him makes your face warm in a way that can’t be blamed on the fire.

“...There’s only one,” you manage.

Kinich looks up at you, deadpan. “An astute observation. Maybe you’ll be able to count to three by next year.”

“You little—”

The nervousness turns to irritation at his nonchalance—honestly, the thought of sharing a bed with a man you aren’t married to seems a bit inappropriate. And though you won’t admit it, you’re a bit offended that he doesn’t seem even slightly nervous to sleep with you. Kinich isn’t a nervous person by nature, that’s true; it takes quite a bit to get him to show any sort of strong emotion. But a small part of you is disappointed that he doesn’t seem to care about the situation at all.

“You realize it’s just us, right?” you say, urging him toward the root of the issue. Even just stating that fact makes an anxious lump form in your throat.

Kinich considers your words for a moment, pausing his ministrations, before meeting your gaze directly.

“I’m not going to do anything to you,” he says, raising a brow. 

The implication makes your face heat up, and you find it almost worse that he had addressed the elephant in the room.

“It’s not that!” you argue hastily. Kinich seems unbothered by your protests, fiddling with the intricate straps of his armor and the laces of his boots. He works about removing them in a fashion that’s so robotic that you’re sure he must’ve done this millions of times. 

“What is it then?” he retorts, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Do you snore?”

“I do not—”

“Sleep talk?”

“No, it’s just—”

“Sleepwalk?”

“No! But—”

“Great,” Kinich decides, clapping his hands together as if to end the discussion. Rising to his feet, he gestures to the bed, even going so far as to pull the blankets back invitingly. “Then sleep.”

It’s hard for you to win against him, especially at times like these—truth be told, you actually are quite tired. With a huff, you begrudgingly climb into bed, nearly hanging off the edge with the ample space you leave.

Kinich doesn’t join you yet; he’s still fixing his clothes and tidying his other belongings. He takes good care of his things, you’ve noticed, almost neat to a fault. There’s a strict routine he follows during the night; before bed, he always takes special care to maintain his weapon.

You watch as he oils and sharpens his blade, brow furrowed in concentration. He’s always been very particular about the thing, as if it was an extension of himself, as long as you've known him. His movements are notably precise and intricate, and overwhelmingly gentle. Lost in watching him, you just about jump out of your skin when his eyes suddenly flicker to you. 

“You know, most people rest with their eyes closed,” he hums, amused at having caught you in the act.

“You’re annoying,” you mumble, sinking deeper into the pillows to hide your embarrassment.

He shakes his head. “And you’re supposed to be sleeping. So I guess no one’s happy.”

You pull the blanket up until it brushes your chin. You don’t need it; your skin feels like it’s on fire, but somehow it feels too vulnerable to be uncovered right now. 

“You’re telling me you don’t feel weird about this? At all?”

He sets the sword aside and finally removes the last of his armor, simply left in his training tunic and loose pants. The shirt is tighter than you remember, you think briefly. You force yourself to look away.

“Should I?” he asks, brushing off his clothes. “Are you going to do something to me?”

The corner of his lip twitches, and you nearly roll your eyes—he amuses himself way too much.

“No!”

“Then we’ll make a deal. I won’t do anything to you if you don’t do anything to me. Then, we’ll both peacefully sleep so that I don’t have to deal with your crankiness in the morning.”

Irritatingly, he’s right about that too. The two of you will have to head out early if you want to make it home for your lessons, as well as Kinich’s other guard duties. And, truthfully, you don’t tend to be a morning person—it’s all Kinich can do to even wake you up on time.

You huff, shutting your eyes. “Fine.”

“Oh?” You can hear the mirth in his voice, and it only makes your irritation grow. “So you were planning on doing somethin—”

“I wasn’t!”

Kinich doesn’t say anything more, likely sensing that you’re on the precipice of genuine frustration—he always knows your exact limits, even when you don’t say so. 

For a few minutes, you really do try to sleep. But your heart is still pounding, and as much as you try to ignore it, it threatens to burst out of your chest. You reason that you would feel this way no matter who you were sharing a bed with—it’s just not a feeling that you’re used to. It’s certainly not because it’s Kinich.

You imagine him sleeping beside you, and your fists tighten until your nails form crescent-shaped imprints in your palms.

Definitely not because it’s Kinich.

Your stomach turns as you listen to your companion move around the room, organizing his things. Everything about him is so calm and quiet, including his footsteps—they’re barely a whisper across the floor. The anticipation nearly swallows you whole, and you wait for something to happen—the blankets to pull back, or even a dip in the mattress.

For several long, torturous minutes, nothing happens at all. In fact, you can’t even hear Kinich anymore, not even a single breath.

Did he leave the room? 

Gathering your courage, you silently will yourself to open your eyes, afraid of what you’ll see. It takes you a bit, too absorbed in the awkwardness, and three silent mental countdowns later, your eyes finally snap open. Instantly, you discover two things:

Kinich is not in bed with you.

Kinich is nowhere near you at all.

Instead, the knight is sitting across the room, back against the door, head leaned back and both eyes shut. His greatsword lays across his lap, fingers already curled around the grip—he’s always ready, as usual. 

“What the hell?”

You don’t mean for it to come out so loud or so aggressive, but your hand is too late to clamp over your mouth.

Kinich cracks one eye open, fixing you with a lazy stare.

“I thought you said you don’t sleep talk,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion.

“I don’t—forget it, what are you doing over there?”

He sighs, pulling a knee to his chest and resting his chin on top. He looks much softer like this, in training clothes and lacking his headband—the curtain of his hair parts a bit as he leans over, and you catch a glimpse of the scar there. It’s thin and silver, barely peeking from his forehead.

“Unless I was mistaken, you seemed uncomfortable with the prospect of sharing a bed with me. I may not have been raised a prince, but even I wouldn’t force something like that on a lady.”

Your teeth sink into your lip. The explanation makes you feel stupid and guilty at the same time. Stupid, because you’re really not sure what you’re even afraid of if Kinich climbs into bed with you. Guilty, because you’d been so argumentative with him, even when he was trying to respect your wishes.

There’s three beats of silence.

“I changed my mind,” you manage to squeak out.

“You don’t have to,” he says, tracing the blade of his sword. An expected answer. “I’m fine sleeping here, really.”

And you know he really would be—he’s certainly slept in worse places. But something about him sleeping there while you warm up under thick blankets leaves a rotten taste in your mouth.

“Well, I’m cold now,” you say, shifting under the covers, “so can you come sleep?”

He looks unconvinced by your plea, head tilted. “Weren’t you the one who said it was too warm?”

You pout in reply. “I changed my mi—”

“—changed your mind, yeah, yeah, I get it.”

Kinich rises to his feet, slow and steady. He seems more tired than he lets on, likely the result of the events from earlier—he had been the one to deal with the bandits, after all. You merely watch as he strides toward you.

“Just remember, you’re the one who offered,” he warns, crossing to the other side of the bed. “So don’t kick me in your sleep.”

You don’t say anything at all, firmly fixated on staring at the wall—you don’t think you could stand to look at him right now. When the sheets get pulled back, you suck in a breath.

To your embarrassment, something warm draws up from your quick-beating heart as Kinich lies down behind you. You chalk it up to natural human reaction—you’ve never shared a bed with someone like this, after all. He’s gentle as he lays down, the mattress barely reacting to his movement. You squeeze your eyes shut as he adjusts, shifting the blankets and pillows, hoping he won’t sense your overwhelming nervousness.

“This okay?”

You chance a look in his direction. His eyes are half-lidded, heavy with sleep, but they seem to pierce right through you. He’s being very particular about the distance between you—close enough that you can feel a bit of his warmth, but far enough that none of your limbs are touching.

This is fine, you think to yourself, drawing in a long, slow breath. This is totally fine.

You nod meekly, and Kinich sighs, shuffling into a more comfortable position as you turn away.

“Good,” he murmurs, warm breath pooling at the back of your neck. It makes you shiver, somehow both relaxed and on-edge, even as he curls slightly closer to you. “Go to sleep then, Princess.”

He’ll be awake for a while, you know. He never goes to sleep before you do—even once you do, it’ll probably be another half an hour before he follows suit. The thought leaves you hyper-aware of his every breath.

So, for the next fifteen minutes, you lie awake, hopelessly thinking of the man laying next to you. And, for the next fifteen minutes, he lies awake too. Your mind grows foggy, begging for rest, but you still feel something tugging at your chest. You wonder if Kinich feels the same way.

“Kinich?” you finally whisper.

There’s a pause, like he’s deciding whether to reply seriously or to scold you for not sleeping. His voice comes out hoarse, a deep rumble from his chest.

“Yes, Princess?”

A yawn crawls out of your throat.

“...are you warm enough too…?”

Your voice trails off as you finally succumb to the clutches of sleep. Kinich listens as your breathing turns to an even rhythm, calm and serene. For once, he’s glad that you’re not looking at him—if you did, you would see the way his skin is flushed a deep red, from his ears to his neck.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, letting his eyes flutter shut. “I am.”

[thewitchblue]

"Do you mind if I sit there?"

You ask Damian innocently while gesturing to his lap. Damian raised a confused eyebrow at you. He was lounging on the couch of your apartment after breaking in despite him having a key. He said in confusion,

"That's my lap, beloved."

You give an acknowledging hum before saying,

"That's not an answer, lovebird."

Damian blushes but quickly looks away while murmuring,

"You...I...I suppose you may..."

You happily make your way to him and lie gently on top of him to feel his warm body against yours and close your eyes with a content smile, finally content in his lap. He slowly snakes his arms around your waist, shifting slightly to make you both more comfortable. You kiss his flustered cheeks with a soft smile on your face.

"Is this payback for breaking in instead of using the spare key you gave me?"

He asks after a moment of silence. Clearly, his brain was trying to wrap around why you suddenly wanted to lie on top of him. You shake your head with a fond smile on your face.

"You're more comfortable than the couch. I swear it's like your body heat is a heated blanket or a hot water bottle."

You look up to look at his face only to meet your very confused and very flustered boyfriend. You lightly kiss his chest before going back to cuddling him.

"I didn't realise you were cold. I would've given one of the hoodies you stole from me or a blanket."

You kiss his shoulder gently. You can tell that he's still getting used to the physical contact, but you're determined and patient.

"Am I not allowed to want to be in the arms of my darling boyfriend?"

You question with raised eyebrows. He blinked rapidly, as if he didn't expect that answer. It breaks your heart to think about all those years he lived without such love that he now overthinks every time you hold his hand or hug him. He continues inquisitively,

"Beloved, you have never once asked if you can lie on top of me."

You laugh, which makes his arms wrap tighter around you. Your hands rest on his chest as you relax against him. You admit softly,

"I like listening to your heartbeat. It's soothing, especially when I get anxious or stressed."

His hand traces patterns on your back while he kisses the top of your head. He asked,

"Did you have a stressful day?"

His concern melted your heart further. You shake my head, placing kisses along his collarbone.

"Despite finding out someone broke into my home only to discover it was my own boyfriend? Not really."

He clicks his tongue but gives into his laughter once yours starts. It's ridiculous, really, how cute he is. You softly say,

"You're so cute, lovebird."

His green eyes seem to gleam like emeralds in the warm lighting as he looks down at you. There was so much unfiltered love and adoration on his face that it leaves you breathless. He pouts, simply replying,

"Cute? I'm a trained assassin turned vigilante."

You click your tongue. You sarcastically reply,

"Oh yes, you have me quaking in fear."

His laughter rings through the otherwise silent apartment with your own laughter following shortly after. He gently flickers your nose with his fingers, making you bite said fingers lightly.

"I have taken down Superman by myself. You have every right to fear me."

You huff an amused laugh. Your eyelids are already starting to grow heavy as his warmth seems to be all-encompassing. It doesn't escape you that you're in probably the safest pair of arms in all of Gothem.

"Are you sleeping over, lovebird?"

You ask while you trace slow patterns on his chest, trying desperately to stay awake despite his calm heartbeat luring you closer and closer to sleep. His hum rumbles through his chest. You can tell he's torn between going back to the manor or staying the night with you. You are still a secret from his family. After a moment, he compromises,

"I'll stay until you fall asleep, beloved."

Pouting, you accept what you can get. You know his hero responsibilities call to him, but it was nice to have some time, just the two of you.

"I love you, Dami..."

You murmur, sleep slowly taking hold of you.

"I love you too, my treasure."

He whispers back to you as he runs his fingers through your hair. You soon subcome to sleep, knowing you're safe in the arms of your vigilante boyfriend.

[box-of-roses]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Can You Keep a Secret? ࿐ྂ

Characters: Tamaki, Kyoya, Hikaru, Kaoru, Haruhi

Warnings: Anesthetic

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy, Ouran was one of the first Animes I watched so I may be a little dusty on the characters -> The request Anesthesia + The Hosts

Tamaki

When you get out of the doctor’s office and into his car he rolls up the divider window and smiles at you

You two have so much fun rambling nonsense to each other

Thinks it’s adorable when you get excited “finding out” that he’s your boyfriend

“You’re so handsome.” You say leaning against him. He made sure you were still buckled before he wrapped his arms around you.

“Thank you my love, you know you’re pretty cute too.” He finds himself so lucky that you’re his.

“Can you keep a secret?” He nods with a smile and an eyebrow lift wondering what it could be. “I love you.” His face grows red at an almost alarming rate. This was the first time you had told him that you love him.

“I love you too, my love.” His voice is a little wavy but he has a dopey smile on his face. “Why don’t you get some rest.” He plays with your hair until you’re fast asleep in his arms

Kyoya

The divider window is already rolled up before you get into the car

Has ice cream already situated in the car because he knows you’ll want it

Blushes at how touchy you are before getting used to it

“Thank you, you’re really pretty.” He smiles as he sets his notepad down. He hands you your cup of ice cream and the smile on your face grows wider.

“I hope you enjoy, maybe it’ll wear off faster.” He knows it won’t but he enjoyed how quick you dug into the ice cream.

“Isn’t your partner jealous that you’re here with me? Giving me ice cream.” You poor soul. You’re so confused.

“I don’t think they’ll mind.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re my partner, honestly what did they do to you in there.” He shakes his head and presses a kiss to your forehead.

Kaoru

Little sweetheart brought blankets with him incase you were cold.

As for snacks, you have your own compartment in all of the cars that holds snacks, hygiene products, hair ties, breath freshener, etc.

by the time you come back out of the office he’s holding your hand and leading you to the car

Kaoru leads you to the car and helps you get in before buckling you up and closing the door. He does the same for himself on the other side. He pulls out a carefully folded blanket and places it around your shoulders before taking another one and putting it on your laps.

“Do you have a partner?” He’s a little taken aback by the statement before he chuckles.

“Yes I do, why do you ask?”

“Cause I think you’re really nice and handsome and I kinda just wanna kiss you.” You pout a little and go back to eating your snack.

“Can I tell you a secret?” You nod enthusiastically. “You’re my partner, cutie.” Your face grows red as you smile widely.

“I’m so lucky.” It’s his turn to blush now.

I headcanon that Kaoru calls you cutie because of the little oranges and that’s how you two got together. (I may expand on that more later)

Hikaru

Teases you about it literally ALL the time

Had his camera set up before you got into car

Thinks it’s absolutely hilarious that you didn’t know who he was

Helped you stumble your way to the car. Don’t be fooled though he was laughing the whole way. Your poor anesthesia filled brain didn’t know why he was laughing and just thought it was adorable.

When you get into the car the camera is already set up and he knows he’ll look fondly on today even if he still thinks it’s hilarious. “You’re really nice.” You say looking at him like he hung the stars.

“Why thank you, so find anyone attractive in there.”

“Well, can you keep a secret?” Well, that made him a little concerned. Why did you not immediately say no and that you thought he was attractive?

“Yeah, I’ve been known to keep a secret or two.”

“I find you attractive. I really hope you don’t have a partner.” He starts cackling at that.

“Sorry to disappoint but I do have a partner.” He makes out between laughs. “Can you keep a secret?” You frown a little but nod. “You’re my partner. And I think you’re the cutest when you’re not in your right mind.” That makes you smile.

Haruhi

Is definitely one of the nicer ones of the bunch

Ask her dad if she could borrow the car/ pick you guys up. Not a problem though because her dad literally LOVES you

Might like you more than Haruhi so he agreed instantly

Snacks are piled high in the car and Haruhi rolls her eyes at the display. “They don’t need this much.”

“Nonsense! Only the best for Y/N! I will have it no other way!” He says as he finishes putting the last bag in the car. Haruhi sighs and gets into the car. When they pull up to the doctor’s office Haruhi gets out of the car to help you. When you reach the car you’re in awe of Haruhi’s dad.

“You’re Mom’s really pretty!” They both laugh.

“Thank you dear! But I’m Haruhi’s father remember? I got you some snacks dear, Haruhi why don’t you sit in the back with them.”

“I was going to do that anyway.” The moment Haruhi sat down and buckled both of you in you had grabbed her hand. You held both of them up and compared hand sizes. Haruhi wasn’t used to you being this outgoing so she got flustered.

“What are you doing?”

“Comparing hand sizes and hoping you aren’t dating anyone and I can have you all to myself.” You say with a smile. You interlock your fingers and lean closer. “Now tell me, am I too late or am I so lucky that you’ll go on a date with me?”

“I’m already dating you idiot.” Haruhi smiles and kisses your interlocked hands.

“Well, that’s just the best news I’ve heard all day!”

RULES NAVIGATION

[clare-875]

Despair (Sanji x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Sanji x Female Reader Summary: You start to skip meals, doubting yourself and your image. Sanji doesn't notice until it's too late. Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Body image, Comparing yourself to others, Not eating enough (TW: eating disorder), Passing Out [One Piece Masterlist] _____

You prod at the food that lies on your plate absentmindedly, telling yourself to eat. It looks delicious; of course it does. Sanji's food was to die for, and you felt your heart sink at your thoughts to not eat what he has poured heart and soul into. But then again, your thoughts haven't been nice to you recently. You have found yourself comparing your image with Nami and Robin and all the other women you come across and you feel buried insecurities rising because of it. You know it's ridiculous; that you should really just embrace yourself and just deal with it. But you can't just deal with it. It's been running your mind rampant. I'm not pretty enough. I should work out more. Why can't I look like her? I should really start watching what I eat. You know the last thought is the most ridiculous; Sanji makes his meals to cater to every necessity your body could need. But you have tried everything, and the beautiful figures of your female companions are overwhelming. What if he realizes... I can never look like them. Will his eyes wonder? Will he leave me?

"Love, is everything alright?"

Your gaze snaps upward at your boyfriend's voice and he looks to you with deep concern in his eyes. The cook eyes you questioningly before looking at your untouched plate of food. "Is the food not to your liking? I could make you something else if you-" You quickly cut off his words, not wanting him to question the meal you know he has prepared so intricately for you and the crew. "No, no, I was just thinking. Thank you Sanji, it looks lovely." You try to undo his concern and make your lips quirk upwards, but you know what you produce is a half-hearted smile. Sanji looks at you, the furrow of his brows not giving way. However, as he goes to ask you something, he is interrupted by the voices of the crew. "Sanji! Another!" Luffy has his now empty plate high in the air, craving more of the meal, Ussop and Chopper doing the same next to him with wide grins on their faces. It has the cook rolling his eyes but he stops when Nami joins the fray. "I wouldn't mind some more too Sanji-kun!" Robin nods along, a soft smile on her face. "Me too!" The cook turns hesitantly from your side then, going to fetch their plates. "R-right, straight away ladies!"

He leaves you to your thoughts again.

In his distraction, you push your plate to Luffy who sits near you. "Here Luffy, take mine, I'm not feeling that hungry." Your Captain turns to you, eyes gleaming as he ponders your words. "Really?" But he has already taken the meal outstretched to him. "Thanks [y/n]!" You find yourself standing as he devours your meal in an instant, and hope Sanji doesn't notice it wasn't you who ate it. Robin perks up at your sudden movements. "Is everything alright, [y/n]?" You freeze as you turn to her, and you are met with her kind smile, the concern in her eyes. But you also see all that you cannot be. It is insufferable: your jealousy. It makes you loathe the depths of yourself and so you force it away and nod. "Yeah, I'm just turning in." You try to ease her concern and you don't know if she believes your words, but you move before she can question you further. You leave the rowdy crew to their dinner and open the kitchen door, not seeing how Sanji turns in surprise at your sudden absence.

You breathe in the crisp evening air, not noticing how desperately you needed it until it hits your face. A single tear slips from your eye but you catch it quickly, shaking your head. What's wrong with me? You move across the ship to the bathroom, hoping that a bath might help wash away your suddenly erratic thoughts. However, when you strip yourself of your clothes, you realise it is a mistake; there are mirrors. Your lips turn downward as you look at yourself realizing how impossible it would be to look like Nami and Robin. How impossible it would be to contort yourself to that image: pretty eyes, perfect smile, lack of waists and slim figures but still with curves where you needed them to be. How do they do it? Your thoughts then turn to how Sanji's face looked as they asked for seconds of his meal. He seemed so happy to cater for the beautiful women; of course, he would be. How long until his thoughts drift away from you? You turn away quickly and continue your tasks until you're wrapped in a towel again, hating your envy and hoping sleep might control it.

However, your insecurities can't disappear that easily.

Your thoughts mingled the rest of the week, and because of it, you found yourself eating less. You found yourself pushing meals to Luffy when Sanji was distracted, desperately hoping he didn't notice. You worked out more, glad that Zoro said nothing when he saw you more frequently in the crow's nest. You slowly started to slip into the rhythm. Skip breakfast, work out, a little lunch, work out, skip dinner. It was becoming easier to ignore your hunger, you told yourself you were seeing progress. You could never hate the beautiful women around you for your sudden revelations, you saw it as your own problem. You told yourself it was for the best. However, what you failed to see was that among your suddenly obsessive thoughts, you have slowly started to neglect your health, and on top of that, you have slowly started to neglect Sanji.

The cook had barely seen you the past week, and he missed you. What hours you would usually spend by his side you now spend in the crow's nest and he wanted your presence by him again. You used to always be in the kitchen as he prepared meals; his personal taste tester always gifting him compliments that made his heart soar. You would always share stories as he chopped and mixed, and he would be blessed by the soft sound of your voice. You would dry dishes you insisted on drying as he passed them to you, and he would hear your sweet laughter at something that had happened earlier in the day; he would have to struggle not to swoon just by the sound of it. You used to hold him gently as he cooked the crew's meals and he would feel your warmth make his heart stutter, make him want to create even better dishes just as a thank you for being his; for being you. Your fleeting touches, your pretty smile, your gleaming eyes, your perfect figure that melds into his; they were all suddenly taken from him and he didn't know why.

Sanji had tried to approach you several times but you had evaded him. "Sorry, Sanji I'm too busy right now." "Sorry Sanji, maybe another time." "Sorry Sanji, I think I'm gonna go to the crow's nest again." Sanji's lips downturned at the thought. Had he done something wrong? His fingers flicked on his lighter as he pulled out another cigarette; he had been going through them like lollipops recently. His heart twisted in slight envy as he thought of you in the crow's nest again, no doubt with the stupid marimo nearby. How had Zoro of all people seen you more than he had? It took all his strength not to (for no reason) go beat up the green-haired swordsman. His thoughts then lingered on an event he had considered over and over; the night when your smile didn't shine as it should as you poked and prodded your food. Of course, Sanji noticed the unusual despair on your face; he was basically a professional at catching on women's true emotions.

Had something happened? Had someone done something?

As Sanji thought on and continued to blow on his cigarette he finally considered something he had yet to acknowledge. Now that he had thought about it, he hadn't seen you much during meal times with the crew. You would either pop your head in for a brief while, leave quickly, or barely even show up at all. Sanji raked his brain harder for answers. He had thought he'd seen you slip something to Luffy during those times, but could it be your meals? He had seen your fleeting figure and he had seen how your eyes had seemed duller, your face a bit paler, your figure a bit more littered with exhaustion. But it couldn't be, could it? Were you skipping meals? He then thought of how your eyes seemed to sadden at the last island you and the crew had gone to. They were saddened by the presence of the women on the island; known for their beauty and charm. And, of course, they were beautiful, but they weren't you. Sanji had toned down his woman-crazed ways the instant he understood what his feelings for you meant. Had he let slip? Had you misinterpreted his care for flirt? Was it all his fault?

"Sanji-kun!"

He snapped out of contemplation as he registered Nami's worried voice as she ran to him quickly. "Nami-san? What's wrong?" Sanji feels his already racing heart pick up pace as the navigator frowns before spilling the words that has her rushing to him. "[y/n]... she passed out. She's with Chopper."

......

When you finally reopen your eyes, you are lost for a moment, not knowing what happened. But then, your memories start to flood back in. That's right, you think to yourself. You had finished your workout again, but something hadn't felt right. As you descended from the crow's nest and went to rest you had suddenly felt dreadful. Cold sweat had started to seep from your skin, your vision had slowly become clouded by spots and you had felt nausea wash over you quickly. You had stumbled, luckily Nami had been walking past as you did. You had felt her arms, heard her muffled voice in the ringing of your ears - something about staying awake - before the darkness had pulled you in. You sigh looking at the tube ingrained in your arm with despondency, before registering a warmth around your hand. You instantly look down to see that it was Sanji, and he had also just realised that you were awake. Your heart beats faster, shame befalls you, but he speaks first.

"Love... what happened? Chopper said you were malnourished..."

Your heart twists as you look at the cook who has utter concern and sadness and determination in his eyes. Why? "Love, please... talk to me." Sanji's voice sounds desperate for answers already lingering from Chopper's diagnosis, but he needed to hear it all from you. You let the silence remain for a moment to try and control your emotions, but your tears let slip and Sanji's eyes widen at the sight. "I-I'm sorry Sanji. I just- I just haven't been feeling like myself and- and I just wanted to feel better. I skipped meals and I guess I trained too hard. I-" You swallow harshly as you look at the man who squeezes your hand in comfort despite your despair causing his heart to ache. "I just wanted to be good enough, I didn't want you to realise that I'm not as pretty as-" You pause as you tear your eyes away from Sanji. "I just didn't want you to leave me." Sanji can't even describe the amount of disbelief that filled him at your words. You were scared that he would leave you?

"Love... How could I ever- What made you think- It's all my fault."

Your gaze snaps upward at his remark as you shake your head about to retort but he continues on. "I'm sorry love. I should've noticed sooner." Sanji feels his heartbreak for you as his lover, but failure seeps in as the cook of the crew. How can he dream of being a renowned chef, when he can't even notice his own partner, clearly having skipped and pushed away his meals. It was his job to make sure all the crew were fed and nourished perfectly, and he had failed to do that with the one person he cared about most in the world. What's more, he hadn't even noticed your insecurities; he had let you wither and deal with your pain alone. He grits his teeth. "[y/n]." Your heart jumps slightly at the sheer will in his eyes. "Believe me. You are beautiful, perfect, you are the only woman for me. Please, let me be there for you, let me help you..." He holds your hand up in his but you eye him hesitantly and so he continues. He presses his lips to your hand and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks; missing the intimate moments you have traded because of your irrational fears.

"I could never love someone else."

Your eyes glisten with his care and you squeeze his hand gently before peering into his gaze. "I'm sorry Sanji, I didn't eat your meals. I- I've been so distracted I haven't even come to see you... I missed you." Sanji's lips quirk upward then into his kind, warm smile.

"I missed you too, love."

In the following days that passed, you made up for the lost time with Sanji. In his kitchen, you went back to your usual routines and he swooned at your presence, also back to his normal self. Almost all the crew, except for those forever oblivious, let out a collective sigh of relief at the sight of the both of you together and back to your usual ways. Nevertheless, even as insecurities may bubble and rise within you from time to time, you didn't find yourself contesting your beauty or his love for you again; more like Sanji wouldn't let you. Each time he saw your eyes wonder, he held you closer. Each time he witnessed your thoughts drift away he brought you back to him. Each time you considered your self-worth, he would be there to reassure you of your beauty, and his adoration; all almost painfully obvious in the way he basically screamed of his love for you each passing day. He never wanted that look of despair in your eyes again, and so he made sure he didn't.

You looked at your boyfriend, the loving, doting, devoted chef of the crew and you didn't doubt him; you didn't doubt his words. You accepted yourself and you accepted his love, letting despair dwindle away; relishing the brighter days that lay ahead.

[mercy-burning]

A Kindness You Can't Afford

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary: Something that started out as 'stress relief between co-workers' is now a little concerning to you, but for some reason you can't help but keep letting Spencer walk through your door... Rating: Mature (18+) Content: Strong language, unprotected sex, rough sex, fingering, blink-and-you'll-miss-it choking, squirting (As always, let me know if I missed anything!) Word Count: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: @imagining-in-the-margins sent me lyrics to Hozier's It Will Come Back to entice me to write something for her monthly challenge (which is themed Friends With Benefits), and then this happened. You can thank her for this. And also Emily Henry, because I read Happy Place and Beach Read back to back recently, and DAMN IT if I wasn't itching to do some romance-writing of my own. Sure, this one is less romance and more porn without plot, but I digress. The inspiration is there and that's all that matters. Plus I've started working on something else that probably won't see the light of day for a long while, but it's nice to feel the motivation. I'm starting to feel like myself again :) I don't know how long this creative sparkling cloud of dust is going to last, but I'm grateful to be living in it, if at least for a little while. It feels good to be there again <3

Enjoy!!

*******

There's a small pit in your gut that only deepens when you hear a knock at the door. A chill permeates your nervous system and sends you off on shaky limbs until you reach it, and as your palm comes in contact with the cool metal of the doorknob, you're disappointed to discover that the contrast does nothing to comfort the hot and clammy skin. Unless the person behind the door turns out not to be who you think, you will not know that comfort.

You open the door anyway, already used to this feeling of unease. It's a feeling you've come to tolerate, and sometimes even crave in desperate moments. Tonight has not seen one of those moments, but you suppose that doesn't really matter because you've already agreed to his terms, and unless you call it off, you're stuck. You've seriously considered doing it a few times, but something deep inside tells you he might not like it very much, and you're unsure of how he'll react.

It isn't a risk you're willing to take.

And so, you meet Spencer Reid with a bright smile, pretending not to know why he could possibly be outside your door past 9pm. He looks a little sleep deprived, but it's nothing new. Your work is exhausting. It was a major deciding factor and is the driving force behind your agreement in the first place. A way to relieve stress. Somewhere along the way, it seemed to have turned into something darker, though in retrospect that darkness has always been there. You often think back to the first time you initiated intimacy— how excited you were that he seemed willing to take you up on the offer... How your head swam through glittering mist and your heart beat quickly at his words.

"God, Y/N, I need you to be sure... Because once we go there, once you let me in... Even after I leave, I'm always going to be there... You're going to feel me everywhere you go, and that's a promise..."

In the moment it even sounded romantic, and in some twisted way, it might still be. But you don't want to let your brain misconstrue this whole situation. You've promptly decided to take it for what it is and accept the fact that he has some deep desires he needs to expel, and you're just a convenient companion for the journey.

"Spencer, you're here late..."

He exhales through his nose. "No later than usual."

"Right... Come on in." You widen the door and confidently step aside like you wouldn't know any different.

Rather than let you close the door, he'd taken your words as an invitation to make himself at home, pushing it shut with his foot and jolting you forward with it, subsequently pulling you towards him. His hands are quick to guide your face to his own, and without a second more in passing, the night has officially begun.

Electricity is immediate, sizzling through your core at Spencer's drive. It's true that when you're alone, it's difficult not to overthink the situation and rope the emotional and logical side of it to the forefront of your mind. But being with him like this dissipates the thinking entirely. All you know is that it feels so good, and it's absolutely worth all the turmoil you put your brain through.

It's worth it when his tongue possesses your own and coaxes the most sinful, desperate noises from the depths of your chest, and when your delicate fingers find purchase in his hair. It's worth it when your back is up against the door with his knee wedged between your thighs. It's worth it when his hand glides down your jaw until each finger curls around your neck, not choking you but simply resting there like a necklace would. He squeezes gently for a second each time you twitch your hips, desperate to feel friction, and you whimper.

You've come to learn that the more noises you make, the more he rewards you with... well, more. So it doesn't take very long for him to decide that enough is enough, and he pulls away from you to turn you around. You brace your arms on the door and lean your head to the left so he can work.

Warm lips attach to your neck as nimble fingers snake around your front and dip below the band of your lounge shorts and underwear. Your insides hum to life, and your legs naturally spread apart a little further, making Spencer laugh against your skin. You half expect him to tease you, but the surprise leaves your body in the form of a rather whorish Oh! when he spreads you apart and glides his fingers through your warm cunt. He explores you thoroughly, circling and spreading and plunging his fingers inside you, until eventually he continues a slow and steady pace running up and down your clit. You can feel it in his breath, in the way it stutters over your neck— He's about to give you your first orgasm of the night. If his skilled hands wouldn't do it (which you know they will), his words definitely would.

"Mmmm, I love how warm you are, Y/N," he slurs into your neck. Then he lightly nips at your shoulder and quickens the pace and pressure on your clit. "And how fucking messy you get for me..."

You know what he wants, but even if you hadn't, it still would have happened. The first time he made you squirt, he'd been determined to do it again. And again. In every different way possible. Over the course of your stress-relief-escapades you've come to learn that this particular way (with his hand down your loose-fitting shorts) is his favorite. He never strives to do it anymore unless you're wearing a pair. Perhaps it's the sounds, or the feeling of your damp clothes and the desperate need to peel them away in favor of something more solid, but it's become your favorite way, too.

Your nails scratch at the door as you pant and sigh your way through an intense building orgasm, and Spencer leans forward with you, using his free hand to assist in holding you up as he furiously works at your clit with the other. His chin rests on your shoulder as he huffs out, "Go on, baby, let it out..."

He knows you're close, and those final encouraging words seem to snap the coil tightening inside you. Your thighs tense for just a second before you feel every wave of pleasure crashing into every limb. And then, you're able to relax and ride it out, letting him hold you up and pull the orgasm out of you like magic. It's wet, it's warm, and it's fucking sensational...

You can practically see the wild look in Spencer's eyes even if you couldn't actually see him at all. His presence is always, as promised, so inherently there, that even now it's a vivid image. His pupils are an empty abyss, and if you look too closely you're sure to fall in. Hell, you're not even positive that you haven't already fallen in, because the thought of calling it all off when it feels this good seems, simply put, wrong. Why would you ever want to deprive yourself of this feeling? His possessive, damn-near monstrous way of loving you as concerning as it is, had taken you to the highest places you'd ever known. Even if it isn't 'love' on paper, you certainly love it anyway. And he must love it, too, otherwise he wouldn't keep coming back.

He only comes back because you let him in in the first place, the rational part of your brain tries to reason, though it can't quite break through the fog of lust. At this point, it's so thick that you aren't sure it's ever going to clear.

Not that, right now, you'd mind...

Once your breathing slows and your legs gather the strength to pivot, Spencer removes his hand from your shorts and gently guides you to turn around. His lips are on yours immediately, and he's tugging at your shorts and underwear to pull them down. They drop to the ground and without a second to spare, he tugs you along through your living room and over to the couch. It's practically a straight shot to the bedroom from here, but apparently time is not a luxury he can afford this evening, because you barely have time to anticipate what his next move might be before he makes it.

Mouths still attached, the two of you nearly fall on the couch, and Spencer's weight covers you like a blanket. His hips pin yours down and his arms have taken to pinning your own above your head. He nips at your bottom lip and pulls away for a moment, but you chase him, trying to lean up and keep kissing him and whimpering when you can't.

A low laugh exhales from his chest. "And I thought I was the needy one in this relationship..."

He shifts then, getting up and kneeling between your bare legs to start undoing his pants. Meanwhile you lift your shirt over your head, grateful you'd already ditched the bra earlier in the afternoon. Less time to waste.

Seeing you completely bare from head to toe and ready for him seems to amplify that animalistic quality in Spencer that's so unlike the aura of the boy you met years and years ago. Whether he had that quality before he'd met you is unknown, but it's hard to imagine. You like to think that you and you alone have single-handedly created this primal sexual being simply by expressing interest in what youcould offer him amongst the joint understanding of the daily hardships that leech onto a BAU agent. Regardless of the truth, the sheer sense of power it fills you with... In every deep stroke of his cock, in every mark left behind, and in every praise sung, there is this irreplaceable strength that you cling to long after he's gone.

No hard truth would ever take that feeling away, and so you can't help the grin that manifests at his urgency. You can tell he wants nothing more than to sink into you immediately; he visibly struggles for a moment before opting to fully slide his pants and underwear off together until they're tossed over somewhere into the abyss. You half-expect him to whip his shirt off to join them, but instead he lunges forward and covers you again, muffling your whimpers with his mouth as one hand guides himself into your slick cunt.

You can feel the rumble in his chest the moment he's all the way in and you clench around him. He rests his forehead to yours and kisses you deeply before asking, "You ready for me, Y/N?"

The low echoing tone in his voice seems to answer in the momentary silence that follows.

You better be... 

It sends a chill down to the marrow of your bones.

You barely whisper out, "Yes," and before the last letter leaves your mouth, Spencer has pulled back and snapped his hips forward, starting a slow and brutal pace inside you. Your legs spread wide naturally, giving him all the room in the world to position himself to handle you however he wants. He opts for holding your breasts in his palms, holding himself steady and pinning you down firmly to the couch cushions.

It doesn't take long for your eyes to start their descent to the back of your head, until they flutter shut and you're seeing stars behind closed lids. His pace quickens, still hard and determined, and yet you know he has more in him. Part of you itches to whine and beg for him to go farther, to push him to his limits and make him fuck you until you're nearly unconscious and delirious. And truthfully, that's still a high possibility, but you also wouldn't mind staying like this forever.

Then, one of his hands shifts and glides up to your neck again. You open your eyes and find Spencer staring down at your body with hair falling down in front of his face and sweat forming on his brow. His mouth hangs open and then grins when he catches you staring, the sight making you sigh out and grip the bottom hem of his shirt with your fingers for any kind of stability.

You're teetering on the edge of another orgasm, and by the way his face is slightly scrunching you can tell that he's not far behind you.

Just the flash-forward thought of him filling you up sends a jolt through your body, and before you know it, your legs are tensing again, and you're yelling out his name in broken syllables as a flood of warmth spreads through your body. For a split second you wonder if you've both come undone at the same time, but this feeling is different and more intense. Familiar.

The sounds filling the room only confirms your conclusion, and then Spencer's words as he pauses and feels you twitching around him.

"Twice in one night, huh?"

You force yourself to look at him, to see the unhinged pride pooling in his eyes as you finish and wait for him to follow suit. It both empowers and frightens you at the same time, an odd combination of feelings that you're sure to have a crisis about in the morning. But for now, you can't help but lean back and watch the ceiling as Spencer grips your hips and starts fucking you relentlessly into the couch.

Finally, he pauses at the hilt inside you and holds himself there, stuttering out expletives and coming. He pulls back and then forwards a couple times, gently rocking himself through it, and then his grip on your body loosens and you're able to pull him down to you.

You wrap your legs around him to keep him still, unwilling to let go of this feeling quite yet. It's there— that strength that he gives you, whether he knows it's there or not.

And in about an hour after you wash up and go to bed, he will be gone, and that strength will slowly fizzle out overnight, and like clockwork, you'll long to feel it again some time after the concern runs its course— After you replay the night in your head, over and over, analyzing every look and every touch and every reaction. After you frighten yourself into believing that he must be in tune with some level of evil to use you for rough sex and then leave you alone during the day and act like it never happened, even though it's literally what you agreed to.

The back and forth will only make living harder, and so you'll push it all away and focus on work. Until Spencer eventually brushes your arm with the back of his hand as he passes you, or hands you a cup of coffee with a kind smile, and then you'll come right back to wondering how such a gentle soul could hold such intensity. It will unnerve you until you tell yourself that it's just the complexities of the human condition and that every soul contains multitudes. You see it every day. It's not uncommon. It's completely normal.

The thought will calm you enough to get you through the rest of the afternoon, and when you get home, you'll settle in for the night without a second thought. You'll make dinner, watch a show, read a book, endlessly scroll online, or talk to Penelope about whatever show she's watching... You'll keep yourself busy.

And then the sun will set. Your house will grow quiet. You'll start to feel it: the small pit in your gut that only deepens when you hear a knock at the door. You'll meet Spencer Reid with a bright smile, pretending not to know why he could possibly be outside your door past 9pm.

So, yes. For now, you will hold onto him a little longer and bask in the afterglow of this exercise in 'stress relief'. Because even if it doesn't mean anything greater, and whether there's even anything within Spencer's motivations to decode in the first place... This moment in time, each time, is the most relieved you ever feel.

Your fingers flex gently over his shoulders, and through the soft, even exhaling of his breath across your cheek, you know for certain he feels the same.

*******

PERMANENT TAGLIST (tags not working are struck out): 

@starrylang @xoxospencerreid @lovejules888 @awesomebooklover17 @yourmisosoup @gubswh0re @venomsvl @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @umbreonwolfy @hotchandspencearedilfs @spencerreidsmommy @abby2661 @youabitchhhh @reidsbabe @shemarmooresfedora @donald4spiderman @moonlight-2-6 @chaoticcatie @flipperpenguins @muffin-cup @centiaaa @foreveryoungxx3 @happymangospot @matthew-gray-gubler-lover

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get on it right away!

[athenamikaelson]

Written in the Stars

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader!Soulmate x Elijah Mikaelson PART 1

Word Count- 4.3k

Warnings- Swearing, blood, death, panic attacks, mentions of the confederacy (ew)

A/N- This will be a slow-burn series.

The reader has a brother, I know it’s not very X Reader, but it’s to help the storyline.

I brush down the black tie my younger brother is wearing, the satin fabric making me slightly cringe. 

“Are you sure you’re not going to go? We can go show those stuffy old bitches how to really party.”

I let out a small huff at Theo’s question, shaking my head amused.

“I’d rather not spend my Friday night with a bunch of Mystic Falls’ elite. Hearing them talk about how they’re so proud of their southern heritage,” Both my brother and I let out sounds of disgust, “the Confederates lost get over it.”

Theo stands in front of the hallway mirror and oggles himself. Where I am rather introverted, my younger brother is most likely the most self-confident person I have ever met. He has called himself, “A gift to the human race,” on more than one occasion. So it takes him about a good 9 minutes to gaze at himself in the mirror before we walk out the front door to the car. 

We drive in silence, or I drive in silence as Theo hypes himself up in the passenger side mirror. 

After a 10-minute drive that seems to have taken at least twice that time, we finally reach the long driveway of the mayor’s house. 

“Why are you even going to this masquerade thing anyways, you hate dances,” I ask him as we wait behind a line of cars.

“Tyler is my football captain, and this thing is to honor his father, I’m here for my fellow man,” Theo presses a fist to his chest and puts on a fake sympathetic look.

“So you’re actually doing it because you want to get on Tyler’s good side so he puts you on Varsity?”

Theo’s look drops and is replaced with a shit-eating grin, “You know me so well.”

As we get to the front of the line of cars, I hum along to the Coldplay song playing on the radio.

“So what are you going to do while waiting for me?”

I pull my car up to the front of the “house” which is really just a mansion. 

“I have a feeling you won’t be here very long, or stay out of trouble so I’m just going to park somewhere and wait for you.”

My brother gives me a look that looks like he agrees about him getting into trouble and nods his head. I put the car in park and Theo unbuckles his seat and gets out, straightening out his suit as he goes.

“Bye nerd, don’t wait up!” Theo yells as he climbs the stairs walking past Mystic Falls’ elite. I let out a sigh and pull away to find a parking spot. 

—

My fingers graze the pages of my book as I glance at the time, Theo has been here for over an hour now and hasn’t shown any signs of leaving. I bring my book up to continue reading when a figure in the distance catches my eye. I lean forward and catch a glimpse of who I believe to be, Elena Gilbert. Elena’s a popular girl in my grade, who I’ve probably had two interactions with in my short time here in Mystic Falls. I don’t know much about her other than that she’s dating some guy named Stefan, her parents died in a car accident and her brother is in the same grade as Theo. Theo and Elena’s brother don’t hang out either because Theo says he’s a “stoner emo.” Theo’s never been one to keep his thoughts to himself. 

Elena seems to walk with a slight limp which makes me slightly concerned but nothing to make me go out and try to talk to her. I hate talking to people in general, especially kids my age. Elena has always seemed nice but I’m not taking the risk of rejection.

 Or at least I wasn’t until I saw a man in a mask start following behind her.

I may hate interacting with people but I would never let another girl get attacked if I had the power to stop it. The next thing I know I’m hopping out of my car and jogging behind them. 

“Elena behind you!” I yell to her, but I freeze as the man hits her and knocks her to the ground. I let out a yelp as I turned to try to get help but a sharp pain hits my skull and everything goes black. 

—-

“Y/N, can you hear me?”

A voice comes from above me and a wave of nausea washes over me. My eyes open and close a dozen times trying to get used to the bright light before I can focus on the person in front of me. Elena Gilbert. Why is Elena Gilbert in my bedroom?  I mean she’s really pretty and all I just thought she had a boyfriend. I’m not a homewrecker. 

“Oh thank god you’re awake!”

Elena whisper-yells to me as she brushes a piece of my hair behind my head and grimaces when she looks at my forehead. She brings her hand back and a wave of fear and disgust washes over me as I see her hand covered in a red liquid. Blood. My blood. I try to bring my hand up but Elena stops me.

“Don’t exert yourself we don’t want it to bleed more, okay?”

She gives me a small smile but something about it makes me feel uneasy. I don’t understand why until I turn my gaze away from her and look at our surroundings. Dirt-covered walls, glass-covered floors, and a mildew stench are what take focus. I’ve always been sensitive to smells but with the addition of my raging migraine, I am fighting the urge to keep down the rising bile in my throat. 

My breathing starts to quicken and I can feel the start of a panic attack starting to make an appearance. 

“Elena, where are we?”

I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t understand what I was saying since my words seemed to be jumbling together. 

Elena glances around us and gives me a solemn look.

“I don’t know, I woke up here a little while ago before I was knocked back out by the people that took us. I’m truly sorry about this Y/N. I would never wish for you to be a part of this.”

I furrow my eyebrows at her last comment as if she were responsible for the reason we were taken.

“It’s not your fault,” I shake my head and start tapping my fingers together one by one, a habit I’ve picked up to ground myself whenever my anxiety gets too strong.

Elena’s eyebrows mirror mine and she goes to say something but a young man with shaggy hair walks in.

“Oh goody, the other ones awake. How are you doing, sleeping beauty?” 

The man starts to walk over to me with a look in his eyes that makes the bile in my throat inch even closer to the surface. But within another second Elena stands from beside me, on what I can see now is a couch, and blocks me from the man’s view.

“I’m the one you want, Y/N is innocent, just let her go.” 

I want to back Elena up and defend her too but with the migraine and the onslaught of emotions I’m feeling right now, being verbal isn’t something I see happening in my current future. 

“You’re right, Dopalicious, she’s not, but I can’t just let her go, what if she were to go and warn those friends of yours? Can’t let that happen now can we?” 

Elena goes to stand her ground but within a blink of an eye she’s shoved backward and lands on the other side of the couch. I flinch at the action which gives the man the opportunity to come in front of me. I start trembling as I look up to him. I try to push farther back into the couch but I’m squished into it as far as I can go. 

“Stay away from me,” Finally able to find somewhat of my voice again. This doesn’t seem to scare away the man, and honestly, I don’t blame him. My voice sounded like it came from a scared 5-year-old. 

“Just a taste, I’m starving.”

My mouth opens to question what he says but a millisecond later I feel myself being grabbed and a sharp piercing attacks the left side of my neck. I’m hyperventilating and screaming at the same time somehow as I hear Elena’s yells from beside us. 

“Don’t touch her!”

Elena’s yell comes from beside us and I’m thrown away back onto the couch. I’m disorientated as I look up to see the man before me rubbing his cheek and Elena standing next to him holding her right hand. She’d punched him. My vision strays from Elena’s red knuckles back up to the man, who has something dripping from his mouth. My chest feels like it locks up as I stare at the liquid dripping, everything seems to be going in slow motion for me as I watch the drops start at the man's chapped lips to the drops of blood falling onto the cracked hardwood floors. Wait, blood. He has blood dripping from his mouth. Had Elena punched him that hard? I start to believe that possibility until I feel a wetness drip between my chest. 

My already shaking hand moves to my chest as I swipe a finger along the liquid. My vision blurs as the red liquid drips from my fingertip down into the palm of my hand. I can’t register Elena’s voice as she kneels in front of me and presses something to my neck. The blood coating my hand is all I can see and smell. 

“Y/N….Y/N! Just focus on my voice ok, breathe. I think you’re having a panic attack.”

A cool hand is pressed onto the side of my face and I close my eyes at the embrace. 

“Ok that’s good, I’m going to stand you up to get a better look at your neck ok?” 

I feel like I’m running on auto-pilot or something else is controlling my body and mind as I stand up and grip Elena’s upper arms to keep myself steady. Elena returns the pink fabric from my neck and leans down to glance at the wound.

“Ok, it’s not as bad as I had originally thought. Just keep this here and it’ll help control the bleeding.” 

I must still be in shock because Elena has to bring the shirt to my hand, wrap my fingers around it, and finally press my hand into my neck. The shock of pain washes through me and brings me back to reality. My vision can’t seem to focus on one thing for too long as my eyes keep darting from the blood on the floor, my blood, to the look on Elena’s face, to the man standing behind us with a scowl on his ugly face. Blood, Elena, man. Blood, Elena, man. Blood, Elena, man. This sequence continues until another person enters the room, a woman.

“He’s here.”

The woman with a pixie cut says, her voice seemingly scared.

The man next to us shifts his scowl into a look of pure fear.

“This was a mistake,” He rushes over to the woman and shakes his head. 

“No, I told you I would get us out of this. You have to trust me,” She tries to talk him down which only seems to freak him out more.

“No! He wants me dead Rose,”

The woman points at Elena, “He wants her more.”

I glance to Elena who is standing in front of me slightly as if to hide me from the two strangers or cannibals. Since I’ve calmed down momentarily and I’ve begun to stop the tears, that unbeknownst to me, had fallen on my cheeks. I’ve also realized that I’ve been kidnapped by cannibals, that being the only reasonable explanation I can come up with.

The two cannibals start arguing about some man but I turn to Elena who looks almost as scared as I feel. 

“What’s going on Elena, who’s coming,” I whisper to her.

Elena turns her head slightly to me and gives me a frown and a shake of her head. 

“A man named Elijah, but don’t worry ok,” Elena grabs my free hand and holds it in her own, “I’m not going to let them hurt you anymore.”

I nod trying to find comfort in her words but the girl in front of me is 17 years old and maybe 110 pounds I don’t see how she’s going to protect us both from two cannibals and whatever mega cannibal these two are terrified of. I don’t know if the other guy is a cannibal but using context clues I’m guessing he is. 

“What are we?”

The woman’s voice brings my attention back to them as I see her grab his arms. This seems to calm the man down. 

“We’re family. Forever.” 

I might’ve found this endearing if it weren’t for the fact the man had my blood drying on his upper lip and they were literal cannibals. 

A loud knock startles all four of us. Elena and I both shoot each other wary glances, our hands still intertwined. I don’t usually like being touched but given the circumstances I can let this slide. 

The woman looks over at Elena and me as Elena slightly turns her head, “You’re scared.”

The woman says something else to her friend and then runs up the stairs.

—

What seems like forever of waiting and pacing around is broken up by footsteps coming from the top of the banister. I can feel Elena freeze up from beside me as we both look up to see a man in a suit staring down at her. The man has dark hair and eyes and a chiseled face.

Why is this cannibal not ugly? Wrong Turn had it all wrong.

We all stand there watching Elena and the suited cannibal stare at each other. I can feel Elena’s shaking hand in my own and try to comfort her by squeezing her hand to let her know I’m right beside her. That is until the man transports himself from the top of the banister to right in front of Elena in the blink of an eye. The movement makes me lose my balance and I fall back onto the couch. 

No one seems to notice me as my panic attack starts to build up as I try to understand how this is possible. How could he have been that fast, it’s impossible.

Oh god, I'm going to throw up. 

“And who is this?”

A deep voice comes from above me and my stomach flips at the sound.

Definitely going to throw up. 

“She’s no one. She has nothing to do with this, just please leave her alone.” 

Hearing Elena’s voice makes me raise my head and I regret it instantly because I lock eyes with the suited monster, who is now standing above me staring down at me. The man’s face instantly goes slack as his eyes meet mine, a look of recognition seems to pass through his dark eyes as they move fast across my face. The man’s mouth opens and closes many times as if he can’t quite find the right words to say. The slack expression from before softens into something that makes my stomach flip again. This guy is so going to kill me when I throw up on his expensive ass shoes. His soft, dark pink lips curve up at the corners slightly.

“You’re real.” 

Everyone else in the room seems to know just as much as me with what he’s talking about because they all have looks of confusion on their faces. Feels somewhat comforting to be on the same page as everyone else for once. 

The man doesn’t once take his eyes off of me this entire time, “What is your name, Elskan?” 

I freeze under his stare and try to avert my eyes, this gives Elena the ability to step in for me. 

“Her name is Y/N,” I look to the man as he mouths my name slightly to himself as if he wants to know how it sounds on his tongue, “Please don’t hurt her Elijah, she doesn’t even know about the supernatural, I’ll go with you willingly.” 

Elena’s words make me freeze up. What does she mean by supernatural?

I flinch as the man, Elijah, brings his hand up. This stops him for a moment. 

“I would never harm you. You have my word on that.”

I can only sit there frozen as he cups my face with his hand and uses his thumb to brush a stray tear away that must’ve fallen during one of my many panic attacks. He seems delighted at the moment until the soft expression he has on his face darkens into something that makes that bile rise even farther up. His eyes dart from the top of my head and drag themselves down to my chest and neck. I try to move away but his hand has a soft but firm hold on my face. 

“Who did this to you?” 

My eyebrows furrow at his question, and I must’ve not answered quickly enough because he turns to glare at Elena, making her flinch.

“The head injury is from the kidnapping and then the bite is from… um,” she glances towards my neck and then to Trevor who looks like he’s about to internally combust. She goes silent again at Elijah’s stare and he turns his attention back towards me. The glare long gone and replaced once again with a softer look.

“I see. Here,” I have to swallow back down the bile as I watch the man rip into his wrist and put it in front of my face expectantly. I sit there in horror and quickly look to Elena, who doesn’t look as nearly surprised as she definitely should be, given that this man just BIT HIMSELF. 

“It’s true Y/N, it’ll heal you.” 

I open my mouth to say something which must’ve somehow been an ok to the man as he presses his wrist to my open mouth. I’m about to push him off, or at least try, but stop at the heavenly liquid that spills into my mouth. Elijah brings his other hand up to brush back my fallen hair.

  “Good girl, Elskan.” 

Elijah removes his wrist and I sit there silently staring at my lap as I realize what I had just done. I just drank fucking blood, and I liked it?!??! Oh god, does this make me a cannibal now?

Elijah seems to be fighting an inner battle as he moves his eyes away from mine and onto the man behind us. Elena and I watch before us as Elijah approaches the scared man/cannibal thing.

“I’ve waited so long for this day, Elijah. Truly very sorry,” Trevor says with a bowed head as Elijah circles him. Almost how a predator circles its prey. 

“Well, no, your apology is not necessary,” Elijah responds but something in his tone doesn’t sit right with me.

“Yes, yes it is. You trusted me with Katerina. And I failed you.”

“Well, yes, you are the guilty one,” Elijah glances at him and then up to the woman, “And Rose aided you because she was loyal to you. That I honor…”

Elijah comes to stand in front of the man, “Where was your loyalty?”

“I beg your forgiveness.”

The oxygen in the room seems to be dwindling as everyone watches the interaction.

“So granted.” 

The deep breath I was to let out is replaced by a scream and I can only watch in horror as Elijah throws his hand over to the man, decapitating him. A heart-wrenching wail comes from Rose and I can’t seem to take my eyes away from the body-less head that is lying in front of me. 

“I’m going to-”

Vomit spurts from my mouth and onto the floor in front of me. Burning from the back of my throat causes tears to build up and block my vision. I feel someone lift my hair and hold it away from my face. I thought it was Elena, until Elijah’s voice sounds from beside me.

“I’m truly sorry, Elskan. I shouldn’t have done that in front of you.” 

I lift my head to stare at him and find him kneeling right next to me. He reaches into his front pocket grabs, a fancy napkin, and wipes my mouth with it. Not seeming disgusted, just disheartened. He wraps his hand in mine and stands me up. 

“We can leave now, we have quite the journey ahead of us,” Elijah leads me over to where Elena is standing and motions for her to follow.

“No! What about the moonstone,” She questions him.

He stands in front of her with a small scowl, “What do you know about the moonstone?”

“I know that you need it. And I know where it is. I can help you get it”

Elijah nods his head, “Tell me where it is.” 

“It doesn’t work that way.”

Elijah’s eyebrow twitches in annoyance as he glances back at Rose, “Are you negotiating with me?”

Rose just shakes her head and tells him she doesn’t know anything. Elijah then turns back around to stare at Elena for a moment before scowling and reaching up to her necklace, then rips it off. 

“What is this vervain doing around your neck,” He throws the necklace behind him and grabs Elena by the neck, dropping my hand in the process. I go to try to get her away but Elijah shoots me a warning look that has me freezing in place, “Tell me where the moonstone is.”

In a monotone voice, Elena replies, “In the tomb underneath the church ruins.”

“What is it doing there?”

“It’s with Kathrine.”

The rest of their interaction is cut short when a glass shatters from somewhere upstairs. Elijah comes over to me and grabs me by my waist bringing me into him almost protectively. 

“What was that,” He asks Rose.

“I don’t know.”

“Who else is in this house?’’

To which he gets the same response. 

Elijah grabs Elena quite harshly with his free hand and guides both of us to the top of the banister. His hand never moving from the top of my hip. Once we make it to the entryway something rushes by us, Elijah pushes Elena off into Rose’s arms but still keeps his hold on me. 

“Up here.”

“Down Here.”

Voices call from the top and bottom of the stairs catching all of our attention. Elijah lifts his hand from my hip and motions for me to go over to Rose.

“Don’t let her out of your sight,” He warns her as he moves to the staircase. 

A moment goes by before something flies through the air and pierces itself through Elijah’s hand. I let out a yelp but Elijah doesn’t even seem fazed. 

My vision is blurred for a moment, when it clears, I realize I’m now standing next to Rose with an unfamiliar dark-haired man in front of us. He motions with his finger to be quiet. Ya as if I was going to say anything anyway. 

“Excuse me,” Elijah’s voice comes from below, “To whom it may concern. You’re making a grave mistake if you think that you can beat me. And you can’t. You hear that? I repeat, you cannot beat me. So I want the girls on the count of three, or heads will roll.” 

The man who has his hands on Rose’s and I’s mouths moves his head to glance at Elijah downstairs. 

“Do we understand each other?” 

“I’ll come with you,” I perk up at Elena’s voice. What the hell is she doing?!? But the blue-eyed man in front of me shakes his head at me telling me not to move. 

“Just please don’t hurt my friends. They just wanted to help me out.”

“What game are you playing with me? Where is Y/N? I won’t be leaving without her.”

Elijah’s skeptical voice questions her. There’s a sound of metal, and then a loud boom, and then I hear Elijah let out a yell. The sound for some reason makes my chest feel like it wants to cave in on itself. Rustling and fighting sounds come from below us before the man holding Rose and I leaves. Rose runs after him, but I can’t seem to get my feet to work so I just sit there on the dusty floor staring at the peeling wallpaper in front of me. 

A few moments pass before I hear Elena’s voice along with two unfamiliar men, one who I’m assuming is the blue-eyed guy from before. 

“Where is Y/N,” Elena asks.

“Are you talking about that girl that smells like vomit?” A snarky voice questions her. If I hadn’t just gotten kidnapped and had one of the worst days of my life, I might’ve taken offense, but I did just get kidnapped and honestly, I do smell like vomit so he’s not wrong. 

“I think she’s over there.” 

Footsteps get closer to me as I look up with tears in my eyes at Elena. She gives me a small smile before kneeling and wrapping her arms around me in a hug. 

“What is happening Elena?” 

“I’ll explain everything if you want me to ok? Let’s just get out of here first ok?”

Elena stands up and reaches down her hand for me to take, and with a deep breath, I do.

[mapis-putellas]

Late night walks

Pairing: Leah Williamson x reader

Words: 1259

Warnings: Some swearing

Summary: is the love of your life really the love of your life if you don’t bicker like an old married couple?

"I could walk with you for hours, you know?" Leah's soft voice breaks the content silence that had settled upon you both as you wonder aimlessly around your neighbourhood. Her hand was tight around your own, warm fingers intertwined as her thumb trails soothing circles over the back of your hand. It was late, but due to daylight savings, it wasn't quite dark out yet, and you both had taken it upon yourselves to get some last minute exercise in after lazing around for the majority of the day.

It was nice and romantic. Well, in theory one would assume it would be anyway. If only you'd chosen different shoes.

"That's sweet and all, lee, but my feet are killing me." You reluctantly pull her to a stop and drop her hand, bending bending down to untie your sneakers. They were new, a gift courtesy of Leah for your birthday that had just passed. Perhaps you should have broken them in before wearing them out of the house. Something of which-

"I told you not to wear them.”

-yep. Leah had already told you, several times in fact.

You look up and see her staring down at you with a smirk, arms crossed against her chest. You roll your eyes at her lack of sympathy as you finally give in and pull off the shoes, your feet crying out in relief. "Wait," she calls as you stand back upright with a shoe in each hand, grabbing your arm to stop you from walking off without her. "you're not walking back with just socks on."

"What else do you want me to do?" You shrug, allowing her to pull you into your arms, chest flush to her own. Her hands settle just above your rear end, your own still hanging by your sides. "Walk on my hands?"

"It would be funny to see you try," she grins, knowing first hand well just now clumsy you were. Just the other day you'd walked smack bang into the doorframe of your shared bedroom because you weren't paying attention, your left cheek still tinged green with quite the noticeable bruise.

You roll your eyes again, lips quirking up into a small smile as Leah gently trails the back of her finger over the bruise before leaning in and softly pressing her lips against your own. "My clumsy girl." The kiss was chaste, the blonde pulling away before you could reciprocate. You hadn't realised you were pouting until Leah was gently poking at your lips, and you huff as you push her hand away.

She allows this, grinning as she kisses your forehead before turning round and bending down slightly, "C'mere, my girl. Hop on." She gestures to her back.

"For real?" You laugh, and Leah nods with a smile prompting you to grip her shoulders as best you could with the heels of your hands before jumping onto her back. She takes your weight easily, her hands gripping your thighs as she bounces you up slightly to get better grip, your arms hanging over her shoulders as you allow yourself to relax against her.

"Am I heavy?" You ask absentmindedly as she begins to walk, shifting your shoes into one hand so you could use the other to brush away the hair that had fallen in her face. You were smaller than Leah by about five or so inches, so deep down you knew she was more than capable at carrying you, but she'd played for over ninety minutes in the match against Chelsea yesterday so you knew her legs must be sore.

"Not at all baby, appreciate the concern though." She reassures, turning her head slightly and pressing a kiss to your arm. You hum in acceptance, knowing that even if you were too heavy for her at this current moment, the last thing she would do is say so. Deciding it would be best to drop the subject entirely, you hook your chin over her shoulder and press your cheek against her own, feeling the way she smiles at the action.

It was only moments before she speaks again, something you entirely expected due to her never being able to keep quiet for more than a few seconds.

"I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry, lee."

"I am not!"

"Are too."

"No I'm not."

"Says the girl who snuck out of bed at three in the morning because she craved, and I quote, some delicious potato smileys. And then you forgot about said smileys and set off the fire alarm." You quip.

"Hey! I'm a growing girl!" She complains.

"You're definitely gonna grow if you keep eating the way you do, baby. But I'm not sure it's quite the way you're thinking." You gently pat her cheek earning yourself a scoff.

"You're so mean to me." She grumbles, slowing slightly when your shared home comes into view.

You roll your eyes as you feel her reach into her pocket to grab the keys, "Oh yes, you're so hard done by my love. A roof over your head. Three meals a day. An amazing girlfriend, fantastic sex and a career one could only dream of. However do you cope."

"It's a struggle." She momentarily lets go of one of your legs and places a hand over her heart, letting out a disgruntled yelp when you slap her upside the head.

"Hey! What is this? Pick on Leah day?" She shoves the keys onto the lock and unlocks the door, stepping inside and slamming the door closed behind her.

"Yes! And don't slam the fucking door, dickhead." You clamber off of her back and dump your does on the wrack along with the others, stopped abruptly on your journey through to the kitchen by Leah who grabs you by the waist and tugs you back against her.

"Don't call me a dickhead, mate. I-"

"You want food, or not?" You crane your head back at her shoulder, eyebrow raised in warning. Leah abruptly lets you go, giving you a less than gentle shove towards the kitchen.

"Yes I do, my beautiful, amazing, stunning-"

You turn to face her after pulling out some bread with the intention of making her a sandwich , "Save it, Williamson." You point at her with the butter knife, watching as she smirks and leans her elbows against the counter.

"Ouch," Leah clutches at her chest. "the last name. What'd I ever do to you?"

"You want a list?" You grin.

Lean mimics it, innocently resting her chin on her fists, "as a matter of fact, yes, I do."

"You can't cook for shit," you start, buttering both pieces of bread. "You don't pick up your kit after training despite me telling you fifty times that the laundry basket is just there. You dutch oven me at least once a week, which, by the way, is not as funny as you think it is. You make me watch hours long football matches with absolutely no entertainment despite knowing I don't like it. You mansplain things to me like I'm incapable of figuring out things for myself. You-"

"Okay okay! Message received," Leah laughs, holding up her hands. You hum quietly, not really too bothered about any of those things -with the exception of the dutch oven thing of course because come on, who in their right might actually thinks that's funny?

"You love all that really." Leah grins, and you laugh slightly as you shake your head.

"Watch it, baby,” you warn. “Don't make me put mayo on your sandwich."

"You wouldn't dare!"

**

Does anyone want to be tagged when I upload?

[blaydie]

ᥫ᭡ LEARNING TO ACCEPT — “If I ever return home, I’d like you to accompany me. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” Dan Heng x GN reader.

Word count: 2.9k

Contains: Dan Heng x GN reader, Dan Heng IL, affection, kissing, making out, cuddling, NSFW content, love bites, scratches, brief (singular) mention of blood, handjob, brief oral, penetration, aftercare

How long has it been? Since completing his duties on the Luofu, Dan Heng has hardly left his room. It doesn’t go unnoticed by any passenger of the Express; even Pom-Pom has begun voicing their concern over the situation. He has always been distant, but not to this extent. Ignoring text messages, leaving knocks on his door unanswered—it’s as though he’s no longer here. 

To say it hasn’t been bothering you would be a lie. You don’t blame him for wanting to be alone. Anyone would feel the same way if they had to relive every torturous memory of a past they cannot control. You just miss him—you never thought it would be possible to grieve the presence of someone who is only a few steps away from you.

Walking out of the parlour cabin, you pass by the archives, noticing the gap from the slightly ajar door. As you were about to carry on, you bumped into someone, unsure of who else could be lurking outside of their room at this hour. It was dark, but regardless of light, you know whose hands are gripping both of your arms to stabilise you.

“Dan?” You kept your voice low, respecting his means of privacy. If he doesn’t want anyone to see him, it would be unfair to reveal he’s finally taken a step outside of his room.

“Hello.” His voice was soft, the grip on you loosening while you find your footing. 

Without thinking twice, you step towards him and wrap your arms around him, your head resting against his shoulder. As though relieved by your gesture, a huff of air exerts from his mouth as he holds you in an embrace. It’s been a while since he last saw you; he had come to forget how you felt in his grasp.

Just as you were about to talk again, he pressed his finger to your lips. You notice a light flick on down the hall, your bodies slowly backing up into the archives. When safety is ensured, Dan closes the door and brushes past you, clearing a space for you to sit down on his mattress.

The lights remained off, giving the impression to outsiders that no one was home. You take a seat, eyes glued to the messy pillows and blankets beside you. Dan stands at the databank, finalising some pieces while you get yourself comfortable. 

“Are you feeling any better?” You inquire, snuggling one of his pillows to your chest.

“Not really. I’ve been trying to take my mind off of things.”

“That’s okay, take your time. Everyone understands, but we all miss you.”

“I missed you too.” Dan smiles to himself, his steps drawing closer. “I left you a gift; it’s outside of your room door. I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“I’ve had trouble sleeping recently. What is it?”

“It’s a teddy bear. I bought it for you when we were in Belebog. I couldn’t find the right time to give it to you—so much has happened since then.”

“Thank you. I’m guessing I’ll be kicked out soon; I’m running all my luck dry.”

“You can stay if you’d like to. Remember to keep quiet about it though, please.”

“I’m good with secrets.”

“I’ve been taking a break from work for a change. I watched all of that series you recommended to me. It was good.”

“Really? You liked it? I have so many more!—”

“Shh.” Dan laughs, keeping his volume down as he places his hand over your mouth. When you settle, he retracts his arm and wraps it around your shoulders. “I did. We can start a new series together if you’d like.”

“I’d like that very much. One that we only watch together.” You beam, poking around his face with your finger until you find his cheek, giving it a light pinch. “That means you have to see me every night. No watching it alone.”

“That would be nice. I’ve been meaning to catch up with you; I’m sorry for leaving your messages unopened. I do see them all. Your words are sweet.”

“Did you see the little kitty plush? It looks just like you!”

“I did. It’s too cute to be me.”

“I think you both look alike. I haven’t seen your face for so long; how do I even know this is Dan Heng? What if you’re a Dan Heng imposter?”

Leaning over you, he flicks on the lamp which produces low lumination, allowing you to gaze upon his facial features. He was in his nightwear, his lips pursed together.

“I know you’re still confused over what you saw on the Luofu. You can ask questions if you’d like.”

“I don’t want to pry. I am worried though.” Upon saying this, his features soften. “You’re not going to leave the Express, are you?”

“Not anytime soon. Don’t stress about that.” Dan reaches for his phone, opening up a streaming app. “I have my reasons to stay.”

“Good. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” You poke your head over, looking at the series he’s selecting to play. “You don’t have to hide your form when you’re with me. I didn’t find it weird; you looked beautiful.”

“Ah, it’s… It’s not like that. I prefer this one. That’s all.” His cheeks flush, eyes flickering up to you then back down to his phone. “There’s too much negativity tied to it. Plus, I don’t exactly blend in.”

“Can I see it again?” You brush your thumb over his hand, a small huff exiting his parted lips.

As your thumb continues to travel his skin, he locks his fingers with yours. Your eyes drift up, the change in his appearance evident. His hair flows behind his back, ears pointy. You instinctively reach to feel the horns crowning his head, but he stops you, holding your forearm in place.

“Let me do it for you.” He speaks in a hushed tone, guiding your fingers around the curve of each horn. The feeling is unlike anything you can think of. They’re much smoother than you imagined.

“Dan, they’re so pretty. Wow…” You’re in awe, captivated by the beauty of the man in front of you. Freeing yourself from his clutch, you tuck a long strand of hair behind his ear and run your finger over the cartilage.

“…” The faint blush on his cheeks darkened, spreading over the ears you have your hands all over. He clears his throat, doing his best to shake the feeling of the way you’re touching him. “Thank you.”

“I think you look amazing. This is who you are; you shouldn’t have to hide it because of a past that’s gotten stuck to you. You’re much better than he ever was.”

As you move back, you catch a glimpse of the wide-eyed expression he’s giving you, his eyes glowing and his mouth twisted into a wide grin. With his arms weaved around your waist, he tugs you closer, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“I want people to see me for who I am. I’ll never be him. I want all of my accomplishments to belong to me. Nothing of mine should be tainted with his name.”

“That’s how it should be.” You bury your hand in his hair, nails scratching his scalp.

“I truly did miss you,” Dan mumbles against your skin, planting a kiss on your collarbone. “You understand me better than anyone else does. I appreciate that.”

“I try my best. I want you to feel that you can come to me for anything. You don’t have to resolve everything alone.”

Planting more pecks along your flesh, he returns to your neck, his tongue trailing up a patch of skin. His fangs graze you, nipping you abruptly. It felt like a needle, causing you to gasp, gritting your teeth while he quickly pulled back.

“I’m so sorry.” He wipes his mouth, a small trickle of blood escaping the puncture. “My teeth are sharper like this. I forgot…”

He places a kiss on top of the small bite mark, lifting you so you straddle his lap. Both of your hands remain on his shoulders, your foreheads pressed against one another. Pulling down his bottom lip, you lean into a kiss. He holds you tightly, allowing you to take the lead. In all truth, he’s terrified of hurting you. It’ll take some adjusting to get used to interacting with others in this form, particularly in more intimate ways.

Your tongue brushes against his, winning the battle and continuing on. It’s clear he’s holding back, but you aren’t willing to push him. Taking things slow will help him; the last thing you want to do is make his discomfort in this form grow worse. You and Dan have established in the past that this relationship has far surpassed friendship, though there’s yet to be an official label. Whatever reason there may be for that is unclear, but you both know your hearts belong together. Neither one of you would look for this with another person.

Fabric rustles while your hips wind against him, too lost in the moment. His hands tremble as they dip under your clothes, index finger gliding around your waistband. You disconnect the kiss, chest heaving. He pulls his sweater from over his head, rolling to the side to trap you under him. One of his knees is lodged in between your legs, pinning you flat to the mattress.

You drag your hands down his torso, dancing over his pecs and down his abs. His breathing turns heavier, eyes half-lidded as he fumbles with undoing the buttons of your attire. Whether it be due to his recent heightened emotions, he almost seems desperate for your touch. Desperate to touch you.

By looking at him, a pang of guilt ripples through your heart. You can’t imagine being subjected to a life like his, having to deal with the sin of something you wish to not associate with. Dan doesn’t deserve to be treated or viewed the way he is. Sitting back up, you wrap your arms around his neck and drag him into another kiss, causing him to fall with you.

This time, you roll on top, holding both of his hands against the pillow. His lips pout, almost as though he were encouraging you to go further. Due to all of the touching, he became hard a while ago. He was waiting for you to be the one to initiate things.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re the only blessing this life has to give me. I must’ve used up any remaining luck I had to cross paths with you.” He rests back against the headboard, breaking his hands free so he can hold you.

“There’s so much more out there for you. We’ll find them together. We have an entire galaxy to search.”

“And much more beyond that.” He adds, the warm smile reappearing on his face.

You nod, returning your focus to his body beneath you. Sliding down his pants, you see his hardness outlined in his boxers, a small damp spot where pre-cum leaked out. His arousal for you didn’t bring him shame; he was pleased to allow you to see him this way. Vulnerability is something you only share with those you trust most.

Sliding them off, you take his dick into your hand, giving it a stroke before rubbing your thumb over his tip. The sensation shoots tingles up his body, goosebumps appearing up his skin. You continue rhythmically stroking his length, focusing your lips on leaving a trail of marks across his collarbone. He leans forward, allowing you easy access to the back of his neck where his hair covers. Swooping it out of the way, you leave a distinct hickey in a place no one will see. The only two people aware of its presence are you and him. It wouldn’t be the first thing you have both kept secret from everyone else.

Since he was already sensitive, it didn’t take him long to build up a climax, edging closer to an orgasm while you continued your motions. He panted, mouth directly beside your ear as you continued to decorate his skin with kisses and elaborately placed bites. A droplet of cum drips down onto your finger and you stop, wrapping your lips around his tip to clean him up. He swallows the lump in his throat, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand while you sit back up.

After removing your underwear, Dan guides you into the correct position, his tip pressed against your hole. He tilts his head to the side, waiting for you to tell him when you’re ready. With a nod, you lower yourself onto him, feeling him thrust up to speed the process. It didn’t take him long to bottom out inside you; your body is already familiar with his shape, fully accustomed to his size.

You both fall into the natural rhythm, your hips grinding against him while he pushes himself in and out. While he never fails to make you feel good, you intend to dedicate this night to him. He deserves the relief more than you. The longer this played out, the harder it became for Dan to suppress his urges, his knuckles turning white from the force he’s gripping your hips. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face, raising your concern. 

“Are you all right?” You whisper, planting a kiss on his forehead.

“I’m—” He bites his lip, suppressing the groan that tried to escape. “—I’m fine. It feels nice.”

Gradually, he begins thrusting into you with more power, your body falling forward, unable to remain upright. He rubs your back, now carefully nibbling the exposed section of your shoulder. His teeth glide over you like a dagger, sending a shiver through your core. You reach the peak of your climax, back arched as he continues to fuck into you, relishing the way you react.

His breathing pattern resembles that of a predator in the wild, the deep grumbles and pants revealing how much of his energy he’s exerting to get you this way. Unable to hold on, you release your orgasm, repeating his name quietly as you ride out the waves of pleasure. His nails dig into you, his final few thrusts sloppy. He held you close to his chest as he came inside of you, refusing to break the connection just yet.

Both of you are gasping, exhausted from the intimacy. Taking advantage of his current position, he litters your arm with kisses, lifting you up to get a look at what he has managed to do to you. Your neck has bruised, alongside a few of the bites on your collarbones; a breathtaking sight to see. You’re marked up by him, completely spent. All his.

The silence between you remains until the sound of heavy breathing dies down. When composed, he slips out of you, watching as his cum spills out of your hole. Reaching for a packet of tissues, he cleans himself and then wipes you down, removing the sticky fluid from your body so you don’t become uncomfortable. You roll off of him, lying on your stomach while he stands. As he’s walking to grab you a more comfortable set of clothes to borrow, he catches a glimpse of his appearance from the reflection of a frame on the wall. He had completely forgotten he revealed his true form, not feeling the horrors associated with the person of his past.

Returning to your side, he helps you up and slips a sweatshirt over your head, readjusting your hair for you. Large scratch marks trail down the length of your back, something he’s too ashamed to tell you about at this given moment. You were a mess, but you’re still as flattering in his eyes as you are usually. 

“Go get your teddy. It’ll look strange in the morning when people pass by your door. I’m going to use the restroom.” 

“I’m tired.” You yawn, pressing your forehead to his chest while he slides back into his pants.

“I’ll grab it for you then. We can watch the first episode of that series while we try to get some sleep. It’s late.” He flashes his phone screen at you, the large numbers declaring 1:01AM.

Silently leaving the archives, Dan grabs the teddy he gifted you from the floor of the passenger cabin as he redirects himself to the restroom. While in there, he can’t help but stare at himself in the mirror, realising he has a smile on his face as opposed to the usual sombre expression when he sees himself this way. A snicker leaves his mouth as he notices in detail each tiny mark you left on him, rendering it equal to the damage he left on you.

Tossing the teddy at you, Dan climbs back under the blankets and rests his head against yours, clicking play on the first episode of a series he had been hoping to watch with you. Even though you were drowsy, you kept yourself awake with small talk, grateful he trusted you enough to allow you to enter his personal space during such a tough time. As the episode plays out, you can see Dan waiting for the correct opportunity to speak.

“If I ever return home, I’d like you to accompany me. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” His tone was matched by the tender smile on his face, squeezing you tighter in the cuddle.

“I’ll go wherever you go. We’ll stay by each other’s side for the rest of time.” You reply, closing your eyes with a passionate flare sparking flames in your heart. You can rest peacefully knowing that no matter how long it takes, you’ll ensure he can live freely in his own body, being able to experience all the joys life has to offer without feeling the need to hide.