#stoic smile mask on the outside

[halinski]

*New show*

Me: i choose this character

*4 seasons later*

Trauma background reveal: abusive family

no one: *is surprised*

[cythena]

REVENGE

ꨄ︎ synopsis . now you're cursed it seemed. maybe it was karma for your relentless attempts to fluster giyuu. they worked out in the end but now he's set on messing with you too.

warnings . oral f receiving, breeding, awkward moments for reader, cowgirl, fingering, messy kissing, really chill tbh

word count . 3k words

notes . part two to this post! since i got a request for it i was a little bit stuck on what to do soooo i reversed the roles now giyuu gets to have fun.

he's doing it on purpose. that evil evil man. there was no way he was that aloof. he's completely aware of what he's doing and he's enjoying it. he loves getting back at you for everything you've done to him.

everything he's done was a calculated move in order to provoke you. whether it was innocently masked questions or touches, they were all done with the intent to fluster you. your words would jumble together and cheeks grow hot. all while he kept that stupid stoic expression like he wasn't messing with you.

you're so upset but can't help but enjoy this game he's started. you even started distancing yourself from him a little. whenever meeting with him, you try to avoid giving him any opportunities. yet somehow he always manages.

he still makes your head dizzy. even from your distance you admire him, his strong jaw, smooth skin, sharp nose. he's so handsome you wish this game would end soon. then you could finally get your hands on him again — or at least even the score.

it's not fair fun anymore. giyuu let your hook up get to his head. you were always hyper aware of how he reacted to you. he avoided you but his eyes lingered. with a gaze so intense and heavy, it was impossible for you not to notice. you relished in his attention and used it as fuel to your advantage.

on mission assignments together, it was nearly impossible to avoid each other. giyuu had suffered previously whenever ubuyashiki made the ignorant and cruel decision to partner you two together. it was undeniable how well you worked together combat wise, but other than that it was insufferable.

the bright side of it was how fast missions were completed. the most time was spent walking together and back, then separating to return home.

"y/n," his voice calls for you from the trees in front. his back is turned to you while he sheaths his sword. when he turns to you, you're flicking blood off the metal of yours with a twirl of your hand.

"yes, tomioka?" your melodic voice rings in his ears. he mentally scowls at the use of his last name once again.

you take few steps to move closer to him, keeping your distance still. he closed a decent amount of the distance to stand in front of you. he bends his neck slightly to meet your eyes.

"we'll stay at an inn for the night."

you're not given time to respond before he's walking to way back to the village. you follow him with a short distance between you until you reach the inn.

the inn is a decent sized place, refurbished and well kept. it's clean and a little busy. a few customers are returning to their rooms with buzzed looks on their faces.

giyuu speaks to the receptionist. he's an older man, sweet faced and kind looking. a woman standing next to him looks to be his tired wife. her eyes are shut and she's wobbles a little.

"good evening. you travelers are out quite late," he smiles and leads you to a room. you trail behind giyuu.

his wife holds freshly steamed yukatas which she hands off to you while a drowsy smile. "have a lovely night you two."

the man shuts the door behind you. from the outside you hear the woman speak again.

"what a sweet couple. the man reminds me of you when you were younger."

your ears perk up now. you glance around the room realizing the circumstances. you were give a single room because they assumed you were together. not that you had a problem with it but still. did you two really look like a couple?

giyuu was already settled near a small table. he begins ridding his haori and sword, placing them on the ground neatly. you remove your outer layers too, opting to be mature about the situation if he is as well.

you face the other direction until he calls your name.

"i need your help, my wound requires bandaging."

"oh, i'll be there in a moment," you reply. you turn your back to him once more to finish taking off your sword.

he takes a seat on the table. his legs spread open, his wrist rests on his thigh and his hand hangs. the other arm props the rest of his body up from behind his back. his collar is loosened and stretched from his neck, revealing his adam's apple.

you swallow thickly at the sight. it's almost...arousing.

you brush it off and focus. "where's your injury?"

giyuu's hand reaches from his thigh and tugs from the opening in his collar. somehow he yanks the buttons open in a single motion. he pulls one side of his shirt away from the center and lets it slide off his arm.

a red wound stretches across the side of his lower torso, next to the eye catching muscles of his abdomen. it makes your mouth water on sight — even though it's nothing you haven't seen before.

your face burns and your eyes go wide. it's inexorable. you notice how giyuu's eyes squint as he watches your face reveal your feelings.

"is there a problem?" he asks, keeping eye contact. "are you able to help?"

that little bastard- you think to yourself.

"yes. just give me the bandages?" you mutter. you try to speed up the process as much a possible.

you kneel down between his legs to reach easier. you're eye to abs with him now. pushing the thought out of your head, you wrap the bandages around him.

giyuu smiles while you're focused on his wound. the sight of your head between his thighs is something he's shamelessly fantasized about. suddenly your head shoots up and you catch the coy smile playing at his lips.

you loose your balance and fall backwards onto your ass. he doesn't react, instead slipping the rest of his shirt off. you take this opportunity to hurry back to your side of the room, far away from him and his stupidly defined abs.

you needed a nice break. finding time in your schedules to meet with mitsuri and shinobu was difficult. a free slot in your schedules aligned on the day of a festival in your town. so the three of you planned a date for that evening.

you all dressed in beautiful clothing, a refreshing change from your corps uniform. you wander the stalls together through the bustling crowds. red and orange lights glow and illuminate your faces. mitsuri stops to sample multiple snacks while shinobu admires handmade crafts.

a cat figure catches your eye and you step to the side for a little.

"i'll catch up with you in a moment," you assure them before heading towards the booth.

it's a cute little wooden cat. you pick it up and examine the delicate woodwork.

"i'd like this. how much?"

"eight yen but for a pretty la-"

an arm suddenly extended over your shoulder and offered what looked to be ten to fifteen yen. the owner happily traded the cat for the generous sum. he gave you the cat wrapped in a pretty box.

you turned to thank the kind person. giyuu stood behind you, shadowing you. he also dorned a deep blue yukata.

"tomioka, i didn't expect you to be the festival type," you said. you both stepped away from the stall and continue walking.

"i'm not." he turned his head and gestured to the three familiar boys and young girl. "tanjiro asked me to come."

"and you were just so willing?"

"it's near your house, i hoped to see you."

his words sent heat to your face once again. such romantic words said so stoically. he was doing this on purpose.

"came all the way here in hopes of seeing me?" you tease.

"if you weren't here," he steps closer to you, "i would've went to your house."

"and if i weren't there?"

"i would've waited." where did he learn this from? he's so forward with his words. he returns to his original position and looks off the the side. his gaze lies on nothing i particular as he speaks again, "but kocho mentioned your plans before."

your path takes you towards a quieter part of the festival. it's just as bright but with more seating and open space available. the loud atmosphere is replaced by a relaxed one. the crickets chirping becomes more apparent now.

you're admiring a particularly beautiful latern when your foot catches an uneven stone in the pavement. you lose your balance and in a flurry of movement, fall forward. giyuu reacts swiftly.

his arms reach out and wrap around your waist and pull you close to his chest. your arms smoosh against his body as your heart races.

"i remember you telling me...not to fall for you," you must be crazy because you hear a chuckle in that statement.

giyuu's soft gaze lingers on you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. you push your palms flat against his chest to get off. before beginning to move, your own lips curled into a playful grin.

"it seems it's too late for me," you whisper.

"y/n!" a high pitched voice gasps.

your head whips to see mitsuri and shinobu joining you and giyuu.

shinobu's eyes close as she brings her fingers to stifle her laugh. "my my, i wouldn't have expected tomioka-san to be so close to anyone, let alone, y/n."

"if you and tomioka-san had a date please don't let us interrupt!" mitsuri's face flushed in excitement at the sight of you and giyuu holding each other.

you quickly push yourself off of him and walk over to them.

"no! we don't have a date, it's not what it looks like." your voice is a giveaway to your humiliation. you hide your expression from all three of them to mask your embarrassment.

a few days after the festival, you don't get any interaction with giyuu. no missions or training sessions bring you together. the distance makes you a bit relentless.

you settle down in your yard, admiring the afternoon. a kakushi calls your attention.

"y/n-sama, i have a letter from tomioka-sama," they say with a bow.

curious and pleased to see some interest from giyuu. you walk over over to the kakushi. they hand you a neatly folded up paper. it's the usual template for any giyuu letter. you'd be concerned if it were longer.

"i need to see you. come to my house as soon as you can - giyuu tomioka."

how dry-

you thank the kakushi and walk back into your house. with no pressing matters at the moment, you decide to visit him immediately. the letter seemed somewhat important.

the journey to his house is quick and you find yourself at his door in no time. you knock firmly. there's a brief pause before the door slides open.

giyuu reveals himself shirtless, his toned muscles and faint scars from battles past on full display. the lighting from the oil lamp highlights the contours of his well-defined chest. he uses his elbow against the frame to hold his head up.

"giyuu what the fuck—" it slips out of you.

his fingers spread through strands of his hair as he gazes down at you. "you're here."

"it seemed urgent," you swallow, trying to keep your composure. he moves aside to let you in. "obviously not that urgent. why are you dressed like this?" you pinch the bridge of your nose.

"is there a problem?" he asks with innocent in his voice.

"when you have guests over—"

"but it's nothing you haven't seen before."

confidence instills itself in you. "so you're dressed like that because i'm here?"

"isn't it more comfortable this way?"

you roll your eyes, trying to hide the heat rising in your cheeks. “perhaps. comfortable or not, it’s still a bit unexpected.”

he chuckles softly, his gaze never leaving yours. “well, if you’re uncomfortable, i can change.”

the playful glint in his eyes tells you he’s enjoying this moment far more than he’s letting on. you take a deep breath, trying to regain your composure.

“no, don’t bother. let's just get to why I’m here.”

as you turn, giyuu steps closer, his presence warm and unmistakable. “if you insist,” he says, his voice low and soft.

he closes the distance between you. your back is pressed against a wall. his lips capture yours in a sudden, fervent kiss. the softness and warmth of his touch make your heart race, and you melt into the kiss, losing yourself in the moment. his hands grasp your face delicately, like glass. you layer your hands on top of his.

he's gentle at first. his lips brush against yours with tender and soft motions. the intensity rises as the pressure of his kiss and fingertips increases. the fervor behind them is fueled by passion, desperation, and yearning. your mouth feels like a fire that only he can cool.

you part with a deep inhale, your chest rises and falls while a string connects your lips.

"that's what i'm here for?"

"not all."

he yanks your shirt off and tosses it. his hands reach to undo your belt while keeping your lips interlocked. you skirt falls onto his floor. he's practically salivating at the sight of your body.

he knew he missed it but not this much.

he pulls back to gawk at your bare body, free from anything barriers. he brings his hands to settle in on your hips.

"nuh uh." you shake your head and gesture to his pants.

he reluctantly pulls away from you to shed his pants. he wastes no time before attacking your lips once again. he trails kisses and bites down your neck until he reaches your nipple. he takes one into his mouth while he tweaks the other with his index and thumb. he uses his other hand to slide across your clit, gathering your slick and then sliding between your folds. his tongue swirls the bud and teeth nibble lightly to tease. you hold onto the base of of his head.

"tomioka," you sigh. you're immediately cut off when he bites harder than usual.

"stop that."

you smile to yourself, pleased with riling him up. you lean back against the wall and sigh. you relax into his touch and in what feels like seconds, you feel yourself tighten around his fingers.

"giyuu! h-hah."

he slows fingers, almost halting your peak completely. your eyes shoot open to see him lowering himself to his knees. you could cum just from seeing his eyes looking up at you. he lets his tongue out before his face disappears between your thighs.

your body doubles over. he matches his fingers to the pace of his unrelenting tongue. he greedily slurps up the heavenly taste of your cunt. you feel the smile pressed against your folds.

high squeals are pulled from your throat. he takes your thigh and rests it on his shoulder. both your hands tangle in his hair and push his deeper.

"oh, i'm cu-mming," you whine.

he spreads your cunt to blow cold air that makes you shiver. his nose pressed against your clit now while his tongue dips into your pussy. a swipe of his tongue is enough to tip you over.

your thighs press against his head while he continues to swallow every bit of you he can get. you're forced to push him away from you. his lips and chin are drenched and all he can do it lick around his lips and fingers.

he looks up you with hazy eyes and uneven breathing.

"ride me?"

you nod, still dizzy. giyuu lies back and rests on his elbows. you straddle him and hover over his cock. your palm wraps around the base to guide him into your hole. he steadies himself by grabbing your hips with a hand.

you slowly rock back and forth, gradually moving to a steady bounce. giyuu lets out soft sighs of relief. his adam's apple bobs with each swallow. he helps you bounce with his hand on you.

"mhm- shit," he groans.

you speed up your pace and steal more sounds from him and force them from yourself.

"hah- fuck fuck, feels good." his breathing grows heavier.

you're practically slamming yourself down on his cock. he reaches that spot that has you squealing every time. you squeeze down on him and your eyes roll back in pure ecstasy.

giyuu pushes your back down so you're flat on your stomach against him. he bends his knees for leverage and thrusts into you.

your head falls into his neck while you relinquish control. his thrusts are dangerously good. your legs are going weak.

"jus' like that...please, i'm gonna-"

he pulls you away and captures your lips in a deep kiss. he holds the back of your neck.

your pussy contracts around his cock. shivers rack through your whole body and you can't stop. "giyuu!" you sob.

your back arches further into him.

"so pretty." his gasp catches you off guard. you're locked into eye contact with him. he whimpers underneath his breath. "can i- cum?"

you're shocked he's asking for permission. a part of you wants to deny and tease but he's been so good to you.

you start to meet his thrusts which pulls a loud gasp from him. you stroke his cheek with your thumb, teasing just a bit.

"you can cum."

timed perfectly, giyuu spurts his load deep inside of you instantly. he refuses to look anywhere else besides your eyes. he's still rocking your hips onto him when he's done.

slowly, he comes down from his high. you settle down against his chest with his cock still inside you.

"hmm, don't wanna get up," you mumble.

giyuu wraps his arms around you. "don't."

[lov-3-rs]

Let’s be Honest

Simon Riley (Bodyguard) x Reader!!

(mdni 18+)

Your father is an undercover investigator working a dangerous case on a human trafficking ring. Unfortunately, they somehow discovered his intentions, and now they're out for revenge. So, they’ve put a bounty on your head, claiming you’re worth millions to whoever is able to find you and sell you to the best bidder. Despite the danger, your father can’t abandon his mission as there were other lives on the line. He’s too close to cracking the case, rescuing the victims. To protect you, he hired someone no one would see coming for them and that was going to be protecting you. He hired a Ghost.

————————————————————————————

The moment you saw the brute, you couldn’t believe it. This 6’3”, 220lb, constantly masked man was supposed to be by your side for who knows how long. The sheer size of him was intimidating enough, but the mask? It kept you wondering what kind of man was beneath it.

You couldn’t argue with your father, though. He wanted you safe, and you weren’t about to be taken and sold off to some creep. So, you dealt with it. But now it’s been two months too long. Two damn months of constant monitoring, endless rules, and the same warnings: 'You need to listen to me Y/n,' 'Stay by my side,' or ‘It’s not safe.' It was honestly getting sickening at the fact he had complete control over your day to day life now.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“I was thinking of going shopping today, get some fresh air,” you say, taking a bite of your breakfast. He stands near the window, eyes scanning the street outside like he always does. “Maybe,” he says, his voice low, almost disinterested. You roll your eyes. “Jesus Christ, why not? It’s just us walking down the street, Simon.”

You started using his real name after weeks of pestering him to tell you. It felt weird calling him “Ghost” all the time—like something out of a video game. What good was being around someone this long if you didn’t even know their name?

He glances back at you, his expression unreadable behind the mask—if there’s an expression at all. Then, just as silently, he turns back to the window. “You never know.” You put your fork down and stop eating, “Simon, I can’t keep going days without stepping foot outside, i’m literally going insane”, he steps away from the window and pulls a chair out to sit beside you. “Everything I do and everything I say is to protect you, that is the whole reason I am here”. you looked into his hauntingly dead eyes. “Please you can’t keep me trapped in these walls”. You say with hesitation in your voice wondering if this will be another useless plea to let him agree for you to get out the house. He paused for a moment before nodding his head in agreement. You smile, “oh my gosh really? we can go?!” you say quickly standing from your chair in excitement. “yes. but the moment I feel something is off we leave, immediately” he says sternly. You were already putting your plate away and running to your room to get ready.

You visited a few of your favorite stores near your house, picking up small items here and there. Simon stayed close, as usual, walking silently beside you. As you stepped out of another shop, he leaned in slightly, his voice low. “We’re going to one more store, then we’re heading home. Do you understand?” You shot him a side-eye but nodded, not in the mood for another argument.

The last stop was the lingerie shop—you had been eyeing their new fall line for weeks. You grabbed a few panties and bras before something else caught your eye: the most stunning, sexy set you’d ever seen. You had to try it on. Walking into the dressing room, you slipped out of your clothes and into the delicate lace set. The fabric felt luxurious against your skin. You peeked your head out, only seeing Simon waiting, his posture as stoic as ever. You stepped out to check yourself in the mirror, admiring the way the set hugged your curves. From the corner of his eye, Simon caught sight of you. His jaw clenched almost immediately as he tried to keep his focus elsewhere, but it was impossible. He’d been around you every day for two months, and he had seen plenty—your tight shirts with no bra, shorts that barely covered anything. He’d always kept his cool, reminding himself that you were off-limits, and he took care of himself whenever you were asleep or when he took a shower. But seeing you now, in something so revealing, stirred something deeper in him that made his jeans tighten. He forced himself to remain still, but the tension in his body betrayed his thoughts. Respect for your father, the job—those were the only things keeping him from acting on what he felt. And he had to keep it that way, or at least he was trying to.

You caught Simon’s gaze in the mirror, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to shift. His eyes were unreadable behind the mask, but you could feel something he wasn’t saying. You quickly looked away, clearing your throat. “What do you think?” you asked casually, but your pulse quickened. You didn’t know why you even asked—it wasn’t like you cared what he thought about lingerie. Or did you?

He blinked, caught off guard. “About what?”

“The lingerie,” you teased, crossing your arms. “I thought I’d get a professional opinion.” His jaw tightened more, but you caught the flicker of something in his eyes. “You don’t need my opinion.” You stepped a little closer, testing his boundaries. “Maybe I do.” He stayed still, but you could see the tension in his stance. His voice, when he spoke, was low. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.” You laughed lightly. “What? Shopping?” His eyes met yours, and for a second, there was nothing but silence between you. “No,” he said softly, almost reluctantly. “This.” The weight of his words hung in the air. For a moment, neither of you moved. His response was a beat too slow. “You should hurry up,” he muttered, his voice deeper than usual. You rolled your eyes, but his tone made your skin tingle. There was something about the way he held himself that made you wonder—did he see you the way you were starting to see him? You slipped back into the dressing room to change, but the tension lingered, thick in the air. When you came out, dressed again, Simon stood up immediately, his shoulders tense. “Let’s go.” The rest of the walk home was quiet, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had shifted.

You walked into the house, setting your bags down and slipping off your shoes. Simon followed closely behind, immediately locking the door and heading to the windows like he always did, scanning the outside for any sign of danger. But your mind was elsewhere, replaying that one word—this—over and over again.

What did ‘it’ mean? You had to know.

“Simon,” you called out softly, still unable to meet his eyes. “What did you mean earlier?” He stiffened immediately, turning to face you. He knew exactly what you were talking about, but he’d been hoping you would let it go. He didn’t mean to let that word slip out, and now he was trying to think of a way around it. “What do you mean?” His tone was even, but there was a slight edge to it, a hint of tension. You swallowed, gathering your courage. “You said I was making this hard. I’m not sure what that means… I want you to tell me.” Finally, you looked up at him, meeting his gaze. For a moment, Simon just stared at you, his jaw clenching and unclenching like he was fighting with himself. His silence hung in the air, thick and heavy, as though he was weighing whether or not to tell you the truth. He turned back to the window, staring outside as if it would give him the answer he needed. “You’re making my job harder,” he said after a long pause, but there was something in his voice—a hesitation. But you had a smirk on your face knowing exactly what it was, “it was the set wasn’t it?” there was a pause, “you thought I looked good, too good right?” you stepped closer to him testing his limits wanting more reaction out of him. “I think you should keep this fantasy shit to yourself” he said quickly snapping back at you, but you kept pushing, “I don’t blame you Simon, I bet it’s been months since you got laid and I won’t lie it’s been a hot minute for me too with you being around me all the time, having me cooped in this house” you can see his brows furrowing. “you’re crossing the god damn line” that’s what he was saying but the raging boner in his pants said completely different about your attitude.

Before you knew it, he was stepping toward you, his hand gripping your arm firmly. “You’re pushing me too far,” he said, his voice low and rough. You met his gaze, feeling a mix of fear and excitement. “Maybe I need you to push back,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The moment was charged, and without warning, one of his hands let go from your arm to lift up his mask above his nose exposing his lips. your eyes widen never seeing anything but his eyes for the last few months. Before you knew it his lips were on yours, It was intense and consuming, leaving both of you breathless and more entangled than before.

He picked you up and put you on the dining table. the kiss became more passionate with his hands tangled in your hair, you could feel your core throb waiting to be touched. Simon pulled away from you and looked into your eyes, “you don’t understand how long i’ve wanted to touch you” he says breathing heavily. “all those times you walked around with no bra and I could see your fucking nipples through your shirt and the times you walked around with your ass out, god I wanted to bend you over, i’d fuck you right there and don’t even forget about the times I could here you moaning in the shower doing god knows what to that pussy, ya fuckin minx” your cunt was practically dripping at his words, your breathing became more heavier, “Then do it Simon, bend me over and fuck me” before you could say anymore he already was turning you over on the counter and pulling your pants down. “already planning on it love”. Simon pulled your pants down then slowly pulled your panties down revealing your wet pussy. he bent down to get eye level with it bring his fingers up to your folds and playing with your clit. You moaned at his touched, “fuh-fuck”. Simon pulled his fingers away and replaced it with his tongue, licking your throbbing clit and making you squirm.

He ate you out till you came on his mouth, “Si please”. Simon got up and looked at your bent over form while he started unbuckling his pants, “please what love?” he already knew what you wanted and he wanted it just as bad. “fuck me hard” he smiled at your words taking his hard cock in his hand rubbing his pre cum all over the top of his head giving it extra lubricant. He aligned his cocked to your hole and slammed into you making you jump, “Shhhhhhhit” you hiss out the word from the painful pleasure. He started to thrust in and out of you hearing your moans made him want to cum already but he couldn’t, it felt too damn good to stop now. Simon bent down to your ear, “All those fuckin times you were playing with this tight cunt in the shower, who were you thinkin about huh?”. You didn’t want to answer out of embarrassment but you did it anyways, “y-you si, I thought about sucking your cock and you cumming all over my tits” that snapped something in him when you said that, his pace picked up he started fucking you harder, his balls slapping against your clit. “what would ya daddy think of the man he hired to protect you fucking your pussy raw?”. You could feel your self about to cum, “Si I’m gonna cum on your cock” his thrust became sloppier feeling himself about to finish too, “cum baby, cum”. Simon thrusted harder into your cunt making your back arch more and your ass jiggle against his hips the sight was pushing him over the edge, “god damn baby i’m gonna to cum” his hands gripped into your hips harder. “Simon cum inside me god please”. He busted a load in you, pushing his cock feel in you making sure nothing came out, “fuckin hell”.

After the intensity of the moment subsided, Simon and you lay there in the aftermath, the room now quiet except for your shared breathing. He gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender. “I didn’t plan for this,” Simon said softly, his voice filled with a mixture of regret and affection. “I never wanted to cross that line.” You turned to face him, your own emotions swirling. “Neither did I, but… it felt right in the moment. I just want to know what this means for us.” Simon looked at you with a conflicted expression. “I don’t have all the answers. This situation is complicated, and I’m still trying to figure out how to balance my feelings with my responsibilities.” he says lowly “I understand,” you replied, taking his hand in yours. “I just need to know where we stand. Do you want to try and make this work, or is this something we need to move past?” There was a pause as Simon considered his words. “I care about you more than I should,” he admitted. “But I also need to focus on keeping you safe. We’ll have to navigate this carefully.” You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and uncertainty. “We’ll figure it out together,” you said, squeezing his hand.

“As long as we’re honest with each other.”

[district4loading]

Just Hold Me

Twice Sana x Male reader

6K Words

Content Warning: smut, fluff, really sappy, mentions of depression and abuse, kinda unrealistic elements

Minors DNI

A/N: I came up with the plot for this one with a friend of mine who I met on here not too long ago. Super cool guy who enjoys my fluffier fics so I didn't mind writing this one.

Please enjoy this really... really fluffy fic. More to come!!!

-

That's what Sana does, and it's why you know that she's the love of your life.

-

It's the sound of the rain hitting the glass, the endless thudding against your bedroom window that has your attention. You stare at it silently, waiting for her to join you in bed as you lay there cold and almost lifeless. There wasn't anything profound about the harsh rainfall outside, you just needed something—anything—to focus on besides your thoughts.

The rooms dark and everything just feels so heavy. It always gets like this when you're alone. You've gotten better at distracting yourself but on nights like these when there's not one single thing that feels right, it gets so hard.

So you find yourself thinking again, your eyes so empty and lost without any purpose. You were in one of your depressive episodes which came around every few months. You've been able to hide it from her for a while now. You kept a smile on your face, you were never not there for her and you found yourself only letting out your true emotions in the shower or any time you had by yourself.

(Usually in the car right after work)

Being all emotional with Sana is something you never want to do. She's too perfect, too precious, and way too pure to have to deal with the absolute train wreck that you are. Something tells you that you need to be the perfect man for her, be strong, be stoic, be a protector. It's in the back of your mind and it's so loud and persistent that you actually believe it.

You can't be there for her if you're crying in her arms about your problems 

So when you see her beautiful face come through your bedroom door, you suck in every bit of sorrow and somehow manage to force a slight smile. She shuts the door behind her and climbs into bed right where she belongs, wrapped in your arms. You get the covers over you and then there comes the warmth that you've been longing for.

Even with her here, your mind is still going and your thoughts begin to swarm. You're too stuck in your head that you don't even notice the lack of words she spoke or the eerie and unusual silence that continues while she's in bed. You only hold her tighter and for the first time tonight you hear her soft voice and it immediately brings you back to reality.

"Y/n"

You only hum in response, staring into the dark room because the position you were in didn't allow you to face each other. You were both laying on your sides, your arms wrapped around her and your chest pressed flush against her back.

Sana brings her hand up and holds yours that rested on her belly "What's going on with you?"

The tone she uses nearly breaks you. It's how concerned she sounds, how genuinely worried she is about you. "What are you talking about?" You really try to make it seem like you have no idea what she means because you know that she shouldn't have to deal with this.

"You've been coming home from work late, you barely eat, and I feel like I haven't seen you smile in weeks"

Your heart sinks as you realize that you may not have been masking it well like you thought you'd been. Not at all.

You force a chuckle "I'm smiling right now" 

She turns over to face you, the side of her face sinking into the soft pillow as she looks into your eyes with serious worry. She doesn't even crack a smile at your joke. "Stop it, I mean a genuine smile. Something's not right... I can see it in your eyes"

"It's really nothing, I promise. Works just been a little stressful"

"Is that all?" 

"I promise, princess" You reach over to move her hair out of her face, then you caress her cheek.

Sana sees the way you nod and how you're looking into her eyes as you speak. She almost believes it but she still has a feeling that there's something you're not telling her. If only you knew how frightened she is about this sudden change in you. She's watched it happen in real time and it brings this uncomfortable twisting feeling in her stomach. One that comes anytime she thinks about it.

But she reluctantly nods after staring into your eyes for a moment "Okay" Is all she says before initiating a change in position. Sana nudges you to lay on your back then snuggles herself into your side, draping her leg just over your lower abdomen. Her arm comes next, landing on your chest. Then she kisses your cheek "I hope you know that I'll always be here for you if you ever need to talk, I love you" She mumbles into your skin.

"I love you too"

Those were the last words spoken before the silence came back and stayed for good. Sana holds you tight like she thinks you might go somewhere and then she falls asleep, leaving you to think about her words. The look in her eyes is now engrained in your mind. They were almost desperate, looking to you for any answer that could give her some knowledge or anything that she can use to help you. It couldn't be more obvious that you need it.

It's killing her and you haven't noticed until now.  

-

You couldn't sleep much at all and by the morning, you found yourself solemnly sitting on the edge of your bed deep in your thoughts once again. It was getting bad. So bad that you didn't even notice when Sana woke up. The moment her eyes flutter open she almost immediately feels it in the atmosphere—the darkness accompanied by the rain knocking against the window. 

She looks over to the digital clock on the nightstand.

Five AM

"Babe?" Sana mumbles through a stifled yawn, sitting up in the dim room. It's still kind of dark out but she can see you clearly. She rubs the sleep out of her eyes and gives in to a short yawn as she waits for you to hum like you always do, or turn around, or do something to at least acknowledge her presence.

She sits up and scoots over "Please talk to me, you're scaring me" She says it in such a cute and wholesome way with her voice as sweet as honey. She's navigated her way next to you, her feet hanging off the bed as she tugs on the hem of her shirt nervously.

It's only then when you're actually snapped out of every bad thought you were having. You look over into her wide eyes and you open your mouth to say something, to lie and tell her to go back to bed. But you can't because there's a lump in your throat so big you're unable to convey any words so instead you swallow and turn your head away.

"Please"

In one last effort to get you to say something, Sana pushes her hand through the space between your arm and your torso, then she holds your hand and interlocks your fingers. She squeezes her hand and you squeeze back to let her know that you're there. You look over to her one last time and she's silently pleading with her teary eyes. "Sana, I..." You pause and swallow again when your voice wavers.

She perks up "It's okay, take your time baby" She comforts you.

"I never told you but... I've been through a lot in the past and I'm fucked up because of it"

Sana gives you a look. It's pity and it's so prominent that you can't even bring yourself to look her in the eye. She's silent for a moment and you start to worry if it's all too much for her to handle. She shouldn't have to deal with someone who's got tons of baggage. "Why did you feel the need to hide it from me?" She asks as a tear rolls down her cheek. That's not the only one though, following it comes multiple, leaving streaks of clear dripping down her face.

"It's a long story and it doesn't matter now. All I'd be doing is wasting your time if you let me sit here and bitch about my problems all day long. You don't deserve that"

You turn your head away from Sana when you feel a tear threaten to fall and you blink it away as quickly as you can. "I will sit here for days and listen to your story if I have to! I'm your girlfriend, I deserve to hear it" She persists but you only keep your head turned away.

"It's irrelevant" 

A heavy, punishing silence follows your statement and you feel Sana let go of your hand and pull it away. You assume that she's going to let it go like you've told her to but instead she puts her palm flat on your back. There's this feeling of relief you get from it and when she begins to rub softly in circles, you feel comfortable again.

Then you look over to Sana because suddenly she's stopped the comforting motions and her eyes have seemed to go empty and there's this look of devastating shock on her face.

The thing is, she's seeing it all. All of your past experiences, the abuse, the negligence, the bullying, everything. Her breaths turn rapid as she sees it so vivid and clear. Graphic images of the torturous violence you've faced when you couldn't have been more than ten years old and then the nasty words they've said that's engrained so deep into your brain.

"Worthless" "Useless" "disgusting" "Kill yourself"

She hears it loudly echoing in her head then she gasps and a new rush of tears falls from her eyes.

You don't know what's happening but it's fucking terrifying and you try your best to snap her out of this trance-like state. "Sana" You call her name and grab her by the shoulders. Then you shake her a bit and with a blink she seems to be back "Are you okay? What happened?" You ask, your heart racing wildly.

Sana comes back, then she looks into your eyes again. But this time there isn't any pity. It's more-so understanding. Something about her gaze feels like she sees you, like she gets it and you didn't even have to say a word. "Oh" She almost sobs, then she whispers "My baby boy" and she wraps her arms around you.

Your heart melts completely and you finally break.

You cry into her shoulder, your tears staining her top but she could care less about it, she only holds you closer and tighter. She runs her fingers through your hair "My sweet prince" She starts, then she has to breath for a moment "You're perfect... you're enough... you're my everything."

"Sana" You shake your head, trying to reject it all, trying not to feel as much as you are right now.

"No" She pulls away from the hug, then makes a quick move to straddle your lap "I fucking love you... I need you" She holds your face in her hands so you have no choice but to look into her eyes. Those beautiful orbs that are so easy to get lost in. So much so that you don't even notice when she leans in to kiss you until your lips are already connected.

Your eyes shut and so do Sana's as you allow this newfound warmth to bind you. The kiss is so slow and sensual, you move your lips in unison with one another. You understand each other like that. If she parts her lips, you know your tongue should be in her mouth. That's exactly what you do. You lick into her mouth with a passion that tells her how much you love her—how much you need her. "I love you" You mumble into the kiss "I need you" then repeat what she said.

You can taste the salty mix of your tears, but neither of you care, you just continue to enjoy this kiss. It feels so good that you actually forget, you actually can't think of anything but Sana right now. That's all you've ever wanted to do. Your hands run up her top and you get a hold of the warm skin of her bare waist then you pull her closer to you.

Sana's hands leave your face, she grabs a hold of your shoulders and begins to push on them. You take the hint and lean backwards until you're laying flat on the bed with her on top of you. You shuffle around so your feet are also on the bed and she helps out with that. Then in no time, your lips are connected again and now you're back to devouring each other. 

"Please... I need..." Sana mutters through the kiss but then she breaks it completely and puts her hands on your chest "I need you" You nod your head and watch as she pulls her top over her head. You need her just as bad right now in this vulnerable moment when you have so much love to give--she's all you need.

So you take your tank top off, almost missing the way her breasts fall free from her shirt. Sana leans over again and kisses you, there's more passion in it this time and you reach your hands over to feel her body. Her skin is always so soft and warm. Moments later you let your hands gravitate to her breasts and you begin to massage them slowly, almost like you're kneading dough but with a bit less rigor and a bit more care.

She moans softly into your mouth and then she pulls away. Sana looks into your eyes for a moment, then scoots herself back so she's sat on your thighs. She grabs the waistband of your pajama pants and begins to tug on them. You raise your hips and allow her to strip you of your pants along with your boxers.

Sana takes your cock into her hand and pumps you to life with her soft hand (There wasn't much work to do because you were already halfway there). You prop yourself up on your elbows so you can watch the moment she lowers her head and sticks her tongue out. She licks the tip softly with her hand still holding the base firmly and then she takes you into her mouth. The first feeling of her soft, saliva coated lips has a low and long groan forcing its way out of your throat.

Her eyes lock with yours and she begins to descend, her hot mouth taking as much of you as possible. Once her lips, come into contact with her fist she comes back up and starts bobbing her head while she strokes you. "Fuck.. Sana - that feels so... good" You sigh while her velvety tongue scrapes against the underside of your cock.

It's one of the best feelings ever, the best part being that Sana won't take her eyes off of you. Although she can't speak, her eyes tell you everything that you need to know. She's looking at you with so much love and care that it brings you some actual comfort, like you two are the only living beings in the entire universe right now. Anything that matters or has ever mattered is now irrelevant, not even your demons could get to you in this bubble.

That's what Sana does, and it's why you know that she's the love of your life. 

You've known it for a while now but never has there ever been a moment like this thats made the fact so apparent. "I love you" There's a shudder in your voice when you say the words because she's doing everything right. Both her mouth and her hand are working together to please you and it only feels better the sloppier everything gets. 

In a moment, Sana withdraws her mouth with a popping sound following and she begins to jerk you off "I love you more" she smiles, then pokes out her tongue to let it rest against your tip so she can lap up the pre-cum leaking endlessly. "You ready for me?" There's a cute smirk that accompanies the simple question.

"Yes please" You nod and then you watch as she takes off her shorts and panties. Now her completely bare body is exposed to you and everything about it is pure perfection. "You're perfect" You sigh as she climbs on top of you.

Sana only giggles "Not as perfect as you my sweet prince." Her smile makes your pupils dilate nearly ten times as big as they already were. You didn't agree with her, but you let her have this one because there's no use in ruining this beautiful moment with something as morose as self deprecation. It doesn't at all change the fact that her words make you so feel warm inside that it might just be enough to make the thick ice in your cold heart thaw. 

She leans over, laying her soft body on yours and she kisses you softly. Your hands find her waist again—because they're supposed to be there—and you squeeze her supple flesh "I need you... so bad" You mumble the words desperately against her lips and Sana kisses you harder, reaching her hand down to find your cock.

It's throbbing in her hold, only for her and you feel her smile when she notices it. Sana lifts her hips and presses your tip into her entrance, wasting no time to lower herself nice and slow. Her tight cunt grips you firmly as she sinks down and you can't help but moan into her mouth as your nerves begin to register the heat. 

"Fuck" Sana breaks the kiss, her face only millimeters away from yours when her thighs land on your lap. Her face twists up, her jaw clenches and her eyes shut as she tries to get used to the stretch of your thick cock. "Your cock is so fucking..." She grits, exhaling a hot breath against your cheek before raising her hips and slamming them back down.

She connects your lips again and then she begins to ride you, moving her hips up and down in this slowed and steadied rhythm. It has you bucking your hips to meet hers half-way because she feels so fucking good. Sana moans into your mouth freely and loudly, struggling more and more to continue the kiss as she fucks you.

Soon enough, her mouth is hanging open and it's you doing all the work, kissing, licking and sucking her plump lips. 

There's something so perfect about being inside of Sana, especially when she's riding you. Her pussy wraps around you just right, like a tight warm hug (only it's sopping wet). With each movement she makes lighting each one of your nerves on fire to make sure that you feel the almost electric pleasure. It's how she moves her hips with such direction and purpose that has your toes curling and your heart pumping. Then it's the way her cunt clenches occasionally when you're completely buried inside.

Sana's an expert at this, she's mastered the art of riding you at this point in your relationship. She knows exactly what movements make you tick, how to moan your name, how to praise you--all to get you reeling with her name on your lips.

She knows you like the back of her hand.

She lifts herself a bit then plants her hands on your shoulders and she begins to roll her hips back and forth in a way that has your eyes threatening to roll back into your skull but you keep them on her. You have to see it. How perfect her tits look bouncing with the force of her motions, the pleasureful look on her face, the lust in her eyes and the sweat beading on her flushed body. Sana looks too perfect right now for you to miss anything.

"Sana, your pussy... feels so damn good" You moan, hands still holding on so tightly to her waist that you're leaving marks. "I fucking love you" 

"You're so perfect, my love" A warm smile shows on her lips, she takes your hands and interlocks your fingers, pinning your arms to the bed. "I can't imagine... fuck" She moans involuntarily and she's getting close already "I couldn't imagine life without you" She admits through her warm haze.

"I'm not going anywhere, princess" You promise with so much conviction it's like God himself is speaking through you.

Because Sana fucking needs you just as much as you need her and you just can't let this depression eat you alive when you have her.

You won't. 

Sana's the opposite of a liability. She only uplifts you, she makes you feel so good about yourself that you'd think you were on top of the world. She makes life worth all the bad and she's probably the best thing you have in this life. She's someone you can brag about without fail or embarrassment.

That is where you find some hope. Some actual hope in the sea of despair you've been floating lifelessly in.

"I-I'm close" Sana warns, snapping you out of your thoughts and it's definitely coming. You see all the signs. The way her hips stutter, how she's just bouncing her petite ass on your lap with her eyes shut and her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. There's also that pulsing inside of her wet heat that you just can't ignore.

She's right there

When she starts struggling to make her movements smooth, you take her waist back into your hands. Then Sana falls forwards, some of her brown hair getting in your face as you hold her in place tightly so she cant move. Before Sana can even complain about it you're using nothing but your core strength to piston your cock into her at a speed so ungodly it has her jaw dropping.

"Yeah - Yeah just like that, princess. Cum for me" Your voice shakes as you sing her praises because your body could give out at any moment if you keep fucking her like this. You begin to break a sweat, your cock burning up as you fuck her soaked cunt. The noise is filthy. Now that she's gone silent, you can hear it loud and clear. Every sticky squelch when your hips meet the backs of her thighs is so obscenely loud in your ears. "Come on, Sana" You nearly heave into her ear.

Then she begins to shudder and you know you have her when "Ah fuck baby I'm cumming. I'm fucking -" she cuts herself off with a vocal moan. Her slick wets your entire lap, spreading everywhere as her hips go wild in an attempt to ride out her high. You never stopped grinding into her either, all deep and slow inside so she'd feel every inch as she cums. "God" She sighs and then she stops moving and you follow suit.

Sana weakly brings her head up and connects your lips again. You kiss back, immediately pouring your entire heart into this kiss because she deserves it. She deserves everything. When she starts moving again you stop her with your hands "Baby" She whines, then your lips disconnect. She pouts at you "I want to make you cum" She tries moving again but you don't say anything.

You flip her over gently, then get yourself between her legs "I want us to cum together" 

She looks into your eyes then lifts her hand to caress your cheek softly "Whatever you want my sweet prince" You nearly melt at the term of endearment because it makes you feel so connected to her. The genuine tone in her voice accompanied by the softness makes it even more intimate and the 'my' signifying that you're hers because you'll always be. 

It's one of your favorites.

Sana notices how your eyes soften as you look into hers and you don't even break eye contact when you guide your tip towards her begging entrance. As you slide in, her eyebrows furrow, but she keeps looking at you with those big beautiful eyes. You lean over to put your lips on hers once more and that's when you begin to move. 

You make sure Sana feels every single inch, the way you fuck her with such a slow, burning passion. It lights her heart on fire. "I can't - baby.. you're so deep" She's losing it at the angle because nothing compares to the way your cock rubs against her walls, just brushing past all of her tender spots. 

The only thing you do is kiss her harder, your tongue exploring the warm confines of her mouth. Kissing Sana has always been one of your favorite intimate acts to do with her and if she'd let you, you'd have make out sessions that last hours upon hours on end.

Sana takes your lip in between her teeth as you pull away and then she lets go, her moans soft when you pick up the pace. You duck your head into her neck and you begin to kiss, lick and suck on the soft skin "Do whatever you want, I'm yours baby" Sana assures you, running her fingers through your hair as you begin to leave sweet marks on her. 

You increase your speed a bit, not so much that it feels punishing but enough for her to know that she feels so good that you almost can't help yourself. "So wet and tight for me, princess" You growl against her skin and Sana begins to lose her breath.

"Yes - right there - fucking hell baby" Sana gasps, her arms wrapping tightly around your body. She stops herself from scratching even if she wants to and in the back of her mind she know's you would never mind it. 

Either way she only hugs your body close to hers.

"Princess... I hope you're almost there cause... I" You almost whimper the words into her neck.

"Shh- I know baby, just go ahead" She rubs the back of your head in a way that feels so good that it's almost like magic. "Inside" and then a small gasp escapes her lips and before you know it, your cock is spasming inside of her and you're filling her tight cunt, painting those perfect velvety walls white. A choked groan escapes your lips and tears begin to brim your eyelids as the pleasure takes over your entire body. It has you nearly shaking, making the most expressive 'O' face you've made in maybe months.

"Fuck" You groan as you keep thrusting, fucking your load so deep it'll probably slip past her IUD. Then when everything else subsides, your cock almost goes numb as you try your hardest to get Sana there no matter what because she deserves it.

"Don't stop" Sana begs, and her voice sounds so desperate when she does because she's so close. All it took was for her to feel your cock spraying your warm cum inside of her to get her there.

When Sana's chest begins to rise you know you've got her "There you go baby, cum for me" You whisper and that's when a strangled—almost sob-like—moan leaves her mouth. You keep the pace to fuck her though it as she shudders through her orgasm.

You stop completely and you two just lay there in that position for a moment. Soon Sana begins rubbing the smooth skin on your back and you take a deep breath "I love you" you murmur.

"I love you" She begins and you give her a moment to gather her thoughts. You'd give her all the time in the world if you could. "I know I said it already but you can tell me anything. No matter what. I don't care how long it is or how fucked up it is, I want to hear your story. I need to"

"You won't look at me the same after" You mutter weakly, still not moving from where you are.

Sana stays silent for a moment "Yeah, maybe you're right" She starts off and it catches you off guard a bit but then she continues "When I look at you, I'll see someone strong. Stronger than who you were before because whatever you went through, it couldn't have been easy to endure. Most people would've already given up"

You finally decide to get off of her and you sit up on the bed. "How would you even know that?" The question might've seemed harsh but Sana knows you don't mean it like that. The reason you ask is because its scary. So scary that she's saying all the right things.

It's almost like she...

"Because I saw it!" Sana sits up as well, kind of regretting how her words come off "Well, glimpses of it" She corrects, then begins to think again and you allow it because you have no clue what to say at all "When I touched you, before we..." She shakes her head "I saw like... small pieces of everything. I saw the abuse, I heard the words.. I just... I couldn't believe it"

You only tilt your head because it's all you can really bring yourself to do. This revelation is nearly bone chilling and so inconceivable that you force yourself to believe that she's lying whether or not if it was out of character for her to joke or lie in a situation like this. "Sana that's not funny" You sort of scold her, but your voice isn't at all cold about it.

"I'm not joking" She insists.

Then, in your bedroom at maybe seven-ish in the morning, with the rain still hitting the window, Sana explains everything she saw in her visions in detail.

That's when you come to really believe that she isn't joking.

-

The warm water from the shower head cascades down your body smoothly and comfortably, nothing like the harsh rain outside. You wrap your arms around Sana and rest your chin on her shoulder "So if you already saw what I went through, why do I need to re-tell it to you?" are the first words spoken for the entire duration of your time in the shower. 

It started off silent, the two of you cleaning each other and kissing as you enjoyed the hot water and each others presence. It was a well needed contrast from the endless talking you did in the bedroom just before. You can see the soft smile on Sana's face in the reflection of the glass door "Well, I didn't see everything" She turns around in your arms "and it'll be good for you to say it out loud, I mean I don't expect you to be better in a day. I get that it takes time but-"

Sana stops talking when you put your lips on hers, leaving a small peck on her lips. "Listen princess, you're not my therapist. I don't wanna dump that burden on you. You understand that it wouldn't be good for us, right?" It's true, treating your significant other like a therapist can lead to many bumps in a relationship. But maybe that's just another excuse as to why you've been hiding everything from Sana.

"Oh? Where'd you learn that?"

"The internet" You shrug

Sana puts her hand on your bare chest and looks into your eyes, with those loving eyes. "Well, I may not be a licensed therapist but it's important for me to know because I'm your girlfriend and I want you to be able to open up to me like I open up to you about everything" You open your mouth to say something else but Sana shushes you then she reaches for the shampoo "Now wash my hair for me, pretty please?" You can't help but smile because she's so adorable.

When Sana turns around and tilts her head back, you grumble "I still think its super weird that you have like... superpowers."

"How do you think I feel? I'm still freaked out about it" She whines playfully as you lather her hair in her shampoo. The scent is warm and floral and you can't help but lose your breath trying to inhale more and more of it. It's one of those scents that only Sana has. So to you, it quite literally belongs to her, no matter who else may use it.

-

"The rain stopped" You mutter softly to the girl laying on your chest with her leg thrown over you. Sana only hums at your realization and you turn over to look at the window. It's covered by your curtains because you've both decided to go back to sleep but you can still see the sun peaking through.

You smile softly, thinking about how you agreed to tell her everything when you wake up. It doesn't feel scary anymore. In fact, you were actually looking forward to getting everything off your chest. You know you'll probably end up crying in front of her again--which you're still a bit embarrassed about--but you also know that she'll be there to hold you and knowing her she'll probably cry too.

That's when you eventually doze off, and for once it's easy.

"Babe?" Sana calls your name but she only hears your heavy breathing and from that she concludes that you're asleep. She innocently shifts just a bit to make herself more comfy and it happens again.

She sees something

At first it's kind of blurry so it's difficult for her to make out but as it gets clearer, she realizes that it's the both of you cuddling in bed together.

Then just like that, it's gone. Sana jumps, a small gasp escaping her lips and it wakes you up. "Whats wrong princess?" You ask tiredly, blinking when you notice the tears running down her cheeks. "Bad dream?" 

Sana only shakes her head "No... baby, it's beautiful" she cries. You try to sit up because you're really concerned but Sana stops you. "Just let me hold you" She sniffles and you reluctantly nod, allowing her to wrap her arms around you the best as she can.

You're put at ease because she doesn't seem sad at all.

It's almost like she's right where she wants to be.

[dreamwavesexploringreality]

Unfinished business (pt 1):

Chishiya x Reader

Requested: Chishiya and the reader, who are in a relationship, face a game together where her toxic ex-boyfriend appears

—

"Ready?" Chishiya asked as he strode into Y/N's room without bothering to knock.

The girl was staring at her reflection in the mirror, trying to tie her hair into a high ponytail that would keep it out of her way during a game where her life might be on the line.

"Almost," she replied, struggling to tame a few rebellious strands that refused to cooperate.

With a sigh of feigned annoyance, Chishiya stepped forward, his hands moving through her hair with practiced ease to help smooth it back.

"Thanks," she smiled, turning to plant a soft kiss on his lips, which he returned without hesitation.

If anyone had ever told Chishiya he would be this affectionate with someone, he wouldn't have believed it. Yet, somehow, through time and relentless effort, Y/N had managed to break down the high walls he'd built around himself, walls he once thought impenetrable, keeping him distant from anything resembling human emotion.

"Shall we?" she asked, extending her hand toward him. He took it, intertwining his fingers with hers.

The pair walked out the door, their steps immediately met by the raucous noise of the crowd in the main hall, ready to face another night of death and pain with false optimism and several liters of alcohol in their systems.

They descended the stairs in silence, and Y/N felt the faint pressure of Chishiya's hand giving hers a gentle squeeze before releasing it. It was a familiar routine; whenever they entered a crowded space, he would always let go. Everyone at The Beach already knew they were together—it wasn't a secret, nor did they try to hide it. Still, Chishiya found comfort in masking his emotions in public, and Y/N didn’t mind. It was enough for her to know that, at the end of the day, he was still hers.

With a quick nod of his head, Chishiya gestured for her to pick up her group number for that night's game.

Approaching the table, she took a folded slip of paper from Niragi, who handed it over with a gaze heavy with desire. Y/N avoided his look as quickly as she could. She heard his laughter, a sound that reminded her of a hyena, and at the same moment felt a hand rest lightly on her lower back. Turning, she exhaled in relief to find Chishiya standing there.

Without a word, Chishiya extended his free hand, and Niragi handed him his slip in a silent exchange, their gazes locking in an unspoken challenge.

The couple moved through the crowd, Chishiya's hand lingering on her lower back, almost imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t paying close attention. With subtle movements, he guided her toward the farthest wall of the room, where they unfolded their respective slips of paper.

"We're together tonight," he noted after glancing at the numbers.

Y/N nodded, though a wave of unease churned in her stomach. She looked at him, doubt flickering in her eyes. His face remained calm and stoic, his gaze fixed ahead on the Hatter, who had begun his usual speech. Chishiya was impossible to read when he chose to be neutral. Was he pleased they were paired tonight? Was he afraid? Or did he simply not care? Y/N brushed the doubts aside, knowing they wouldn’t do her any good, and tried to focus on the Hatter. She didn’t notice the fleeting glance Chishiya cast her way, nor the moment his mask slipped, revealing his grim realization that tonight, he might have to watch her die.

When the speech ended, Y/N felt his hand on her back again, urging her to move. Together, they walked outside, where the cars were already waiting to take the players to their destination. She noticed Chishiya's touch grow slightly more intimate as it shifted to her waist, giving her a gentle squeeze before letting go entirely.

The two entered the car alongside three other players, plunging into the night with their minds weighed down by worries and a bitter foreboding in their throats.

When they arrived at the venue and stepped through the counting laser, they found themselves in a small, nearly empty room. Apart from the five players from The Beach, there were three other men, their faces pale and filled with terror. "Newbies," Y/N thought with a pang of sympathy.

“The game will begin in one minute,” the robotic voice announced.

Y/N leaned against a wall beside Chishiya but kept some distance, a rule he reminded her of almost daily. In front of strangers, especially in a game where emotions could be weaponized, distance was crucial. He always softened his tone when explaining this, his fingers brushing against her cheek as his steely words melted into an apology. He would end his reminder with a gentle kiss, a silent plea for understanding.

Recalling the taste of his lips, Y/N slid down the wall, sitting on the floor with a sigh. She glanced at her phone: thirty seconds until the game started.

Suddenly, the laser beeped again. A new player entered. From her spot on the floor, Y/N looked up, her body reacting before her mind. Her heart raced, blood surging through her veins like fire as her eyes locked with the newcomer. One thought consumed her as those cold eyes bore into hers: Kai.

The phone chimed, announcing the game’s rules.

Swallowing hard, Y/N forced herself to focus on the screen, her trembling hands clutching the device. She tried to stand, but her legs refused to obey, as though cursed to stay still. She hated it—hated feeling so small, so exposed in front of that man. A flood of unwelcome memories swept over her, dragging her back into a pit of insecurity and helplessness she had worked so hard to bury. Only Kai, with his tall frame and piercing brown hair, could ignite that fire, a blaze threatening to consume her from within.

Suddenly, a hand gripped her arm, pulling her to her feet and making her stumble slightly. She looked up, relief washing over her when she saw Chishiya. He held her gaze briefly before leading her after the others into a dimly lit room.

“Three of Hearts,” he said, his tone calm yet firm. “Logic puzzles in glass cubicles via a console. We can share clues or sabotage others by sending codes to their consoles. Ten points to escape. The cubicles explode in forty minutes.”

Y/N swallowed, her mind racing to absorb the information. She’d been so caught up in her emotions that she hadn’t paid attention to the game's explanation. The room illuminated, revealing individual cubicles arranged in a circle with a large console in the center.

She glanced at Chishiya, who was already looking at her, his expression demanding an explanation once the game was over. Nodding slightly, she stepped into one of the glass cubicles as Chishiya entered the one beside hers. The door creaked shut behind her, and she exhaled all the air she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Raising her eyes, she saw him—Kai. He had positioned himself, likely deliberately, directly across from her. His dark, piercing gaze burned into hers, sending a shiver down her spine. She quickly looked away, turning her head toward Chishiya, but his attention was elsewhere. Chishiya’s sharp eyes were locked on Kai, observing him with quiet intensity.

Chishiya didn’t know who this man was or what his intentions might be, but he had a sinking feeling that the game wouldn’t end well.

© 2024 [@dreamwavesexploringreality]

—

Hi hi! 🥰

Sooo, while I was writting the story, I decided to split the idea into two parts!

The concept is just so interesting, and taking a bit more time allows for deeper exploration… Total drama vibes! 😏

Hopefully, the person who made this request is okay with this decision😅…it’s all about doing justice to such a cool idea!

Feedback or thoughts are always welcome because it’s exciting to see how it all comes together. Can’t wait to share and hope it turns out amazing! 🌟

[pedroscowgirl]

unexpected encounter

aaron hotchner x fem bau!reader

Warnings: smut! minors dni! p in v (wrap it up), creampie, power dynamics (he's your boss), teasing ? lmk if i forgot something (i prob did)

summary: You were off duty, enjoying a sunny afternoon in a tight, bodycon sundress that accentuated your curves, when you unexpectedly ran into your boss, Aaron Hotchner.

masterlist

a/n: i know it's fall but i just couldn't get this idea out of my head so here you go <3

(also it's 3 am rn and ill post my hugh story tomorrow for those who were waiting on it cuz now its getting a lil late)

The evening sun casts a warm glow as you step out of the café, its fading rays highlighting your sundress, a snug, bodycon fit that clings to your curves. It’s a casual weekend, far removed from the usual dark suits and crime scenes, and you feel a certain freedom in wearing something that shows off your figure. The dress is vibrant, hugging your waist and hips, and the neckline dips just enough to reveal a hint of cleavage, nothing too provocative, but more than enough to draw attention.

You’re not expecting to run into anyone from the BAU, especially not your boss, SSA Aaron Hotchner. But as fate would have it, there he is, standing near his car across the street, his gaze locking onto you as if he’s frozen in place.

You pause, surprised at seeing him, and the moment stretches out longer than you expect. Hotch, the ever-composed leader, is staring. Not just a glance, but a full-on, wide-eyed stare. His usual mask of professionalism cracks slightly as his eyes trace the lines of your dress, lingering briefly on the exposed skin at your neckline before snapping back to your face.

"Hotch?" you say, your voice light with disbelief, trying to break the tension. "I didn’t expect to see you here."

He clears his throat, his expression quickly shifting into something more familiar stoic, controlled. But there’s no mistaking the way his eyes flicker back to you, like he’s struggling to keep his gaze in check.

“I could say the same,” he replies, his voice a little more hoarse than usual. "I didn’t mean to stare."

You chuckle, trying to ease the tension. “It’s alright, I’m off-duty, you’re allowed to stare.” You give him a teasing smile, knowing full well how rare it is to see this side of him.

Hotch seems to struggle with how to respond, his usual sharpness dulled for a moment. He’s not used to seeing you like this, out of your professional attire, out of the controlled environment of the BAU. He’s not used to seeing you as…anything other than an agent.

“I... uh… you look nice,” he finally says, and you swear you catch a glimpse of something like admiration in his voice, something he’s clearly trying to suppress.

You smile again, feeling a bit of warmth rise to your cheeks. “Thank you, Hotch.”

For a moment, it’s just the two of you standing there, the sounds of the city buzzing around you. It’s strange, he’s your boss, after all. But here, outside the confines of the BAU, things feel different. There’s no case, no profile, no killer to chase. Just Aaron Hotchner, looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“Well,” he says after a pause, breaking the silence, “I should… get going.”

“Yeah,” you nod, not wanting the moment to end. “I’ll see you Monday.”

But as you turn to leave, you can feel his eyes on you for just a second longer than necessary, like he’s not quite ready to break the spell.

And neither are you.

Monday rolls around, and you’re back at the BAU, your professional self once again. You’re dressed in your usual work attire, nothing flashy, just your go-to blazer and slacks. But something feels off. Specifically, Hotch feels off.

You notice it almost immediately during the morning briefing. Normally, Hotch commands the room with his calm authority, making eye contact with every agent to ensure they’re on the same page. But today, he’s avoiding your gaze. Subtly, of course, but after working together for so long, you can tell. When he speaks, his voice is as firm as always, but there’s something different, an edge, a tension that wasn’t there before.

He keeps the briefing short, his eyes barely lingering on you as he assigns the team to tasks for the case. The second it’s over, he quickly retreats to his office, leaving the rest of the team exchanging confused glances.

“What’s with him?” you whisper to JJ, leaning in as everyone gathers their files.

JJ shrugs. “I have no idea. He’s been quiet all morning.”

Emily slides in next to you, overhearing the conversation. “Did you do something to piss him off?” she teases, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

You roll your eyes but feel your stomach flip, wondering if you should tell them what happened over the weekend. You and Hotch didn’t do anything wrong, but there was definitely a moment. One you haven’t been able to stop thinking about either.

“I didn’t… exactly piss him off,” you say, your voice lowering. JJ and Emily exchange glances, their interest piqued.

“Spill,” Emily demands, her tone playful but insistent.

You sigh, looking around to make sure no one else is within earshot. “I saw Hotch over the weekend. Outside of work. I was, uh, wearing a dress.”

JJ raises her brows. “Okay…?”

“A bodycon sundress,” you clarify, feeling your cheeks heat up. “And it was… well, more revealing than what I normally wear around here.”

Emily leans back, clearly enjoying this. “So, you’re telling me Hotch saw you looking all hot and couldn’t handle it?”

You shrug, a small smile creeping onto your face. “I don’t know about that, but he definitely stared. I mean, he was stunned. He couldn’t even look away for a minute.”

JJ’s eyes widen in amusement. “No way. The Aaron Hotchner showed an expression on his face?”

“Exactly!” you say, laughing now that you’re sharing it with them. “I didn’t think much of it, but today? He’s been acting weird. It’s like he can’t even look at me.”

Emily grins. “You broke Hotch’s brain. Well done.”

JJ chuckles softly. “He’s probably just not used to seeing you like that, out of work mode. It might’ve caught him off guard.”

“Off guard is an understatement,” you murmur, thinking back to how he couldn’t tear his eyes away. “But it’s not like anything happened. It was just… a moment.”

“A moment that Hotch clearly can’t stop thinking about,” Emily adds. “You’ve thrown him off his game, and honestly? I love it.”

JJ gives you a more reassuring smile. “I’m sure he’ll get over it. It’s Hotch. He’s probably just trying to re-center himself. Maybe he’s worried about crossing any lines.”

You nod, but part of you wonders if there’s more to it. The way he looked at you—it wasn’t just surprise. There was something deeper, something he clearly didn’t know how to handle.

“Well,” Emily says, grabbing her tablet, “this should be fun to watch. Let’s see how long it takes for him to figure out how to act normal around you again.”

You laugh, but internally, you feel that same curiosity rising. What was Hotch thinking when he saw you? And why does it feel like it’s affected him this much?

The rest of the day drags on, but you can’t shake the tension between you and Hotch. Every time you walk by his office or catch a glimpse of him from across the bullpen, there’s this undercurrent, something simmering beneath the surface. You try to focus on the case, to act as if nothing happened, but it’s impossible to ignore the way his presence feels so much heavier today.

By mid-afternoon, you’ve had enough. You need clarity, or at least to know that this awkwardness isn’t all in your head. So, when you notice Hotch heading for the break room, you seize the opportunity.

You walk in just after him, the door swinging shut softly behind you. He’s standing by the coffee machine, his back to you, shoulders a little more tense than usual. You take a breath before speaking.

“Hotch?”

He turns slowly, his eyes meeting yours, and for a second, there’s that flash of something, surprise, maybe even desire, before he quickly masks it with his usual professionalism.

“Agent” he says, the formality of your title jarring. His voice is cool, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s holding something back.

You step closer, trying to keep your tone casual. “I’ve noticed you’ve been… distant today.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow, but there’s a tightness in his jaw. “I’ve been focused on the case. Nothing more.”

You cross your arms, feeling a mix of frustration and something more personal. “Really? Because it feels like you’re avoiding me.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looks away for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, before his eyes return to yours. “I’m not avoiding you. I just—” He pauses, his expression faltering for the briefest moment. “I want to maintain professionalism, that’s all.”

You blink, caught off guard by the admission. “Is this about Saturday?”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, confirmation, maybe. He looks almost uncomfortable now, like he’s been caught in something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“I didn’t expect to see you outside of work,” he says carefully, his voice a little quieter. “And… I wasn’t prepared for how you looked.”

You feel a warmth rising in your chest, knowing now that you weren’t imagining things. “It was just a dress, Hotch.”

He lets out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, his hands resting on the counter behind him as if he needs the support. “It wasn’t just the dress. It was…” He hesitates again, as if he’s struggling with how much to admit. “It was seeing you outside of this job. Seeing you as… more than just my agent.”

Your breath catches slightly at his words. More than just an agent? You hadn’t expected him to be this honest, to admit that there was something more to his reaction.

“And that bothers you?” you ask, your voice softer now.

“It complicates things,” he says, his gaze finally softening. “We work together. I’m your superior. I have to maintain a level of professionalism, not just for me, but for you, too.”

You step a little closer, feeling a pull between the two of you that you can’t quite explain. “But it’s not just about professionalism, is it?”

Hotch’s eyes search yours, and for the first time, you see the conflict written all over his face. “No, it’s not,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The air feels thick with everything unspoken, everything hovering just beneath the surface. You can feel the distance between you narrowing, both physically and emotionally, and it’s like a magnet pulling you closer.

“I don’t want this to affect our work,” he finally says, breaking the silence. But the way he’s looking at you now, his eyes soft, his expression vulnerable, makes you wonder if he’s trying to convince himself more than you.

“It won’t,” you assure him, your voice steady. “We’re both professionals. But we’re also human.”

Hotch exhales softly, his posture relaxing ever so slightly, like the weight of his inner struggle is easing. He still looks conflicted, but there’s a shift in his demeanor, a sense that maybe he’s not entirely ready to let this go, either.

Before either of you can say anything more, the door to the break room opens, and you both immediately step back into your professional roles as JJ walks in, oblivious to the charged moment she’s interrupted.

“Hey,” she says casually, reaching for the coffee pot. “You guys okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply quickly, exchanging a brief glance with Hotch. “We’re fine.”

JJ looks between the two of you but doesn’t press further. “Good, because we’ve got a new lead on the case. Hotch, we need you in the conference room.”

Hotch gives you one last look before nodding to JJ. “I’ll be right there.”

It’s a warm, sunny afternoon when you arrive at the park for a team’s casual get-together, organized by Garcia, who insisted everyone needed some downtime outside the walls of the BAU. Laughter and conversation fill the air as the team relaxes, scattered across picnic tables and blankets.

You’re wearing that sundress again, the one that hugs your curves, the one that made Hotch’s breath catch in his throat the last time he saw you. It’s a bodycon dress that highlights your figure, with just enough of a neckline to show off a hint of cleavage, and when you walk up to the group, you immediately feel his eyes on you.

Aaron stands across the grassy clearing, wearing a simple polo and jeans that fit him perfectly. The dark material contrasts with the sunlit background, casting shadows across the strong lines of his jaw and the slope of his neck. He’s looking at you, his expression intense, his thoughts seemingly far away.

He’s quiet—Hotch always is during these gatherings—but you know what’s on his mind. It’s the same thing that’s been lingering between the two of you for days, the weight of unspoken words and unresolved tension. His eyes flicker from your face to your body, lingering on the dress, and you can see his jaw tighten. The rest of the team is laughing, eating, and enjoying the afternoon, oblivious to the tension that’s simmering just beneath the surface.

As you settle down near the picnic table, chatting with JJ and Emily, you can feel Hotch’s gaze like a physical touch. He tries to be subtle, to act like nothing is out of the ordinary, but you catch him glancing at you again and again. Each time, his eyes darken with desire, his body language betraying the thoughts racing through his mind.

You shift slightly, adjusting the hem of your dress, and you can almost feel the way his focus sharpens. Every movement you make seems to affect him, his grip tightening around his coffee cup, his posture stiffening ever so slightly. He’s trying to keep it together, trying to maintain that professional composure, but you can see him slipping.

From across the table, Garcia rambles about some new tech gadget she’s discovered, and Reid chimes in with his usual barrage of facts. But your mind is on Hotch, and the way his gaze hasn’t left you for more than a few seconds. You glance up, meeting his eyes from across the distance, and the heat between you is undeniable.

He looks away quickly, but you catch the way his fingers clench slightly into a fist before he releases them, exhaling as if to steady himself. You bite your lip, feeling a surge of confidence as you decide to tease him, leaning forward a little more as you laugh at something Emily says. You know exactly what you’re doing.

Hotch’s eyes flash again, and for a moment, you think he’s going to snap. His hand flexes against his thigh, and his gaze grows even darker, filled with barely-contained need. He wants to touch you, he needs to, you can see it in the way he shifts in his seat, the tension rolling off him in waves. But he can’t. Not here. Not in front of the team.

The rest of the group is oblivious to the magnetic pull between you two, but you know. And Hotch knows. His restraint is fraying at the edges, his focus divided between trying to keep up the pretense of professionalism and the urge to take you somewhere more private.

You catch his eye again, holding his gaze just a moment longer than before, and you swear you see the corner of his mouth twitch, the smallest hint of a smile, or maybe something more primal. His control is slipping, and he’s fighting it with everything he has.

As the afternoon stretches on, the laughter and casual conversation continue, but all you can think about is what’s going to happen when this gathering ends. When it’s just the two of you. When he doesn’t have to hold back anymore.

And by the way Hotch keeps looking at you, his thoughts following every move you make, you know it’s only a matter of time.

As you pack up your things, you notice him lingering by his car, his eyes still on you, and your heart skips a beat when he makes his way over to you.

"Need a ride home?" he asks, his voice smooth but heavy with something more.

You nod, sensing that this is the moment you’ve both been waiting for. There’s an undercurrent in his words, a promise of something more than just a simple ride.

The drive to your place is thick with tension, the kind that makes the air feel heavier, charged with anticipation. Neither of you speaks much. There’s no need to, everything has already been said in the heated looks exchanged back at the picnic, in the way his hand brushed your lower back for just a second too long as he led you to his car. It’s there in the way he’s gripping the steering wheel now, his knuckles white as he tries to keep control, though you can tell that his thoughts are anything but steady.

You glance at him from the passenger seat, noticing the way his jaw is clenched, the tendons in his neck tight as he stares at the road. His usual cool, collected demeanor is crumbling, and you know exactly what’s on his mind. You in that dress. The way he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since he saw you at the park. The way you’ve been teasing him all afternoon, letting your fingers linger on his arm when you spoke, leaning just a bit closer to him than usual.

It’s like a silent game between the two of you—one that’s about to reach its breaking point.

The second the car pulls into your driveway, you can feel his restraint finally snap. The engine is barely off before Hotch is out of the car, quickly making his way around to your side. He opens the door for you, but as you step out, you can see the way his eyes are filled with a hunger that’s only grown stronger throughout the day. His hand is on your lower back again, guiding you up the steps to your door, but this time, his touch lingers. You can feel the heat of his hand through the thin fabric of your dress, and it sends a thrill through you.

You unlock the door with trembling fingers, your heart racing, knowing what’s about to happen. You step inside, and the second the door closes behind him, it’s like a dam breaks.

Hotch’s hands are on you before you even have time to turn around. His fingers curl around your waist, pulling you back against him as his mouth finds your neck. His lips are hot and urgent against your skin, and you can feel the rough stubble of his jaw scraping lightly as he kisses along the curve of your throat. His breath is ragged, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” he growls against your ear, his voice low and rough, filled with barely-contained need. His hands slide up your sides, his fingers tracing the outline of your dress, and the way he’s touching you, like he can’t get enough, makes your body heat up instantly. “Ever since I saw you in that damn dress…”

You gasp as his hands tighten on your waist, pulling you even closer, his hips pressing against you in a way that leaves no doubt about how badly he wants you. His mouth moves along your neck, hot and insistent, as his fingers slip beneath the fabric of your dress, hiking it up slightly so he can grip your bare skin.

“Aaron…” you breathe, your voice catching as you tilt your head to give him more access. Your body is already reacting to his touch, your pulse quickening, heat pooling in your belly. You want him just as badly, have been wanting him since the moment he first laid eyes on you in this dress.

You barely make it to the kitchen before Hotch lifts you up, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as he sets you on the counter with ease. The cool surface contrasts with the heat of his body pressing against you, and you gasp at the sensation. His hands are everywhere now, on your thighs, sliding up to your hips, then gripping your waist as he pulls you even closer to the edge of the counter.

He kisses you hard, his lips crashing against yours with a need that makes your head spin. It’s a kiss filled with everything he’s been holding back, all the tension from the past week finally spilling over. You kiss him back just as desperately, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as his hands continue to explore your body.

His fingers slide under the hem of your dress, hiking it up higher as his hands trace the curve of your thighs. The way he’s touching you is possessive, almost frantic, like he can’t get close enough. He breaks the kiss for just a moment, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. His hands slide up your sides, brushing over the neckline of your dress. “This dress… you have no idea what it does to me.”

You bite your lip, your heart racing as you look into his eyes, dark with need. “I wore it for you,” you admit softly, your voice breathless. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it.”

Hotch groans softly "fuck you're such a slut for me" his hands tightening on your waist as he kisses you again, slower this time, but no less intense. "fuck yes aaron I am" you replied and his hands roam over your body, slipping beneath the fabric of your dress to touch your bare skin. You arch into his touch, your body responding to him in a way that makes it impossible to think about anything else.

One of your straps slips from your shoulder, and in an instant, Hotch freezes. His breath catches as he pulls back slightly, his eyes fixed on your exposed skin. The strap falls, and your breast is revealed to him. For a moment, he just stares, his eyes darkening even more as he takes you in.

“God…” he breathes, his voice barely a whisper. His hands move to your shoulders, gently pushing the strap further down until your dress is hanging loosely off one side. His eyes flicker up to yours, filled with a mix of awe and raw desire. “You’re so beautiful.”

He leans down, his lips brushing softly over your exposed skin, kissing along the curve of your breast with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. But the tenderness doesn’t last long, soon, his kisses grow more urgent, more desperate, as his hands cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive skin.

You moan softly, your head falling back as his mouth finds your nipple, his tongue swirling around it before he sucks gently, sending a surge of heat straight to your core. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter as he continues his assault on your senses, his lips and hands everywhere at once.

“I can’t… stop,” he groans against your skin, his voice rough and filled with desire. “I’ve wanted this for so long…”

His hands slide down to your hips, gripping you tightly as he pulls you against him, his erection pressing firmly between your legs. You gasp at the sensation, your hands gripping his shoulders as he moves against you, his breath hot and ragged in your ear.

“I need you,” he murmurs, his voice low and desperate. “Right now.”

You nod, breathless, as you pull him closer, your legs wrapping around his waist as he lifts you slightly off the counter. His hands slide under your dress, pulling it up higher as he presses himself against you and takes off your underwear, his lips find yours in a heated kiss that leaves you both gasping for air.

When he finally enters you, it’s like everything else fades away. The world outside, the past week of stolen glances and restrained touches, it all falls away as he moves inside you. His pace is slow at first, savoring the way you feel wrapped around him, his lips brushing over your skin with every thrust.

You arch against him, your hands gripping his back as he moves faster, his control slipping as the need between you builds. His mouth is on your neck, your shoulder, your breasts everywhere, as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

The strap of your dress falls completely now, both your breasts exposed to him, and Hotch loses it. His hands cup your breasts again, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as he thrusts harder, deeper, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“You’re perfect,” he groans, his voice filled with awe and desire. “Everything about you… I can’t get enough.”

You moan his name, your body trembling as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. The way he moves inside you, the way he touches you, it’s all too much. You feel the tension coiling in your belly, ready to snap at any moment.

And then, with one final thrust, you’re falling. You cry out, your body arching against him as pleasure crashes over you in waves. Hotch follows seconds later, groaning your name as he shudders, his body tensing as he finds his release.

For a moment, neither of you moves, your bodies still connected, your breaths mingling as you come down from the high of it all. Then, slowly, Hotch pulls back slightly, his hands still holding you close as he looks into your eyes, his expression softer now, filled with something more than just desire.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers, his voice full of awe as he brushes a stray hair from your face. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to keep my hands off you after this.”

You smile, breathless, as you lean in to kiss him again, slow and deep, savoring the moment. “Then don’t,” you whisper against his lips, and the way he kisses you in return tells you that he has no intention of letting go anytime soon.

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added): @looking1016 @pear-1206 @doe-eyed-diva @ssa-aaronhotchner @sweetpinkchampagne @totallyjovialblaze @pastelpinkflowerlife @donttrustlove @actualdeemon @jencole214 @fandomawesomeness @devilslittlehelper

[caplanbuckybarnes]

A Gotham Affair (Bruce Wayne)

Summary: Bruce marries you in front of Gotham's finest.

Warnings: fluff

WC: 950ish

Read on Ao3!

--

Gotham City had seen its fair share of lavish events, but nothing compared to this. The press had been buzzing for weeks—Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s elusive billionaire, was getting married. For a man as private as Bruce, the mere thought of such a public display was almost unimaginable. But he wanted this moment to be seen, to be shared with the world.

Because today, he was marrying you.

The Wayne Manor grounds had been transformed into a scene straight out of a fairy tale. Rows of white chairs lined the lush garden, surrounded by flowers, twinkling lights, and the glow of the setting sun. Gotham’s elite filled the seats, all murmuring with excitement and curiosity, but none could match the nervous flutter in your chest.

You stood just beyond the manor’s grand doors, your fingers gently smoothing the delicate fabric of your dress as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. You could hear the soft murmur of the guests outside, the soft clinks of champagne glasses, the hum of an orchestra playing in the background. It felt surreal—like you were dreaming.

But this wasn’t a dream. This was real.

Alfred stood beside you, his usual composed demeanor holding a softness reserved for only the most important moments. “You look radiant, miss,” he said with a gentle smile. “Master Wayne is a very lucky man.”

You smiled at him, your heart pounding with anticipation. “I think I’m the lucky one.”

Alfred’s eyes twinkled with quiet understanding. “You’ve both found something special in each other. It’s not every day that Master Wayne allows himself a moment of true happiness.”

Just then, the music shifted, signaling the start of the ceremony. Alfred offered his arm, and you took it with a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you. As the doors opened, revealing the breathtaking garden and all the guests in attendance, your eyes immediately sought out the man at the end of the aisle.

Bruce.

He stood tall, dressed in a classic black tuxedo that seemed to fit him as effortlessly as the Batman cowl. But it wasn’t the suit that took your breath away—it was the look on his face. His normally stoic expression had softened, his eyes fixed solely on you, and for once, there was no mask. No walls. Just Bruce.

The world around you faded as you began your walk down the aisle. You could barely hear the gasps and murmurs from the guests, the flashing cameras, the whispers of disbelief that Bruce Wayne—the Bruce Wayne—was getting married. It didn’t matter. All you saw was him.

As you reached the end of the aisle, Bruce stepped forward, his hand reaching for yours. You felt the warmth of his touch, the steady reassurance he always gave you. You handed Alfred the bouquet and turned fully to Bruce, the weight of the moment finally settling into place.

“You look stunning,” he whispered, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

“And you look… unexpectedly calm,” you teased, smiling up at him.

He gave you a small smirk, one that you knew all too well. “For you, I’ll do anything. Even this.”

The officiant began to speak, but your attention was fully on Bruce. You could see the faint tension in his shoulders, the way he held your hand just a little tighter than usual. For someone who valued his privacy more than anything, standing here in front of Gotham’s elite, making such a public declaration—it wasn’t easy for him. But he was doing it for you.

Because he loved you.

When it came time for the vows, Bruce took a deep breath, turning fully toward you. His voice, though steady, was laced with an emotion he rarely showed to anyone but you.

“I never thought I’d find peace, not in a city like Gotham. But you…” he paused, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You brought light into a life that’s been filled with shadows. You’ve seen the darkest parts of me, and yet, here you are. I vow to protect you, to stand by you, and to love you with everything I have, for as long as I’m able.”

You blinked back tears, your heart swelling with love as you whispered, “Bruce…”

“I’ve always had to wear masks,” he continued, his voice soft. “But with you, I don’t need one. You know me—all of me. And today, in front of everyone, I want them to know too. You are my greatest joy. My home.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you took a shaky breath, squeezing his hand. “Bruce, you’ve given me so much more than I ever thought possible. You’ve shown me love, patience, and a strength that I didn’t know I had. You are the man I want to stand beside, not just in the good moments, but through every challenge, every obstacle. I vow to love you with everything I am. Always.”

The officiant pronounced you husband and wife, and in that moment, all of Gotham faded into the background. Bruce leaned in, cupping your face gently in his hands, and kissed you softly. The crowd erupted in applause, but all you could focus on was the warmth of his lips against yours, the way his hand lingered on your cheek as if he never wanted to let you go.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, he whispered, “We did it.”

You smiled, tears of happiness slipping down your cheeks. “We did.”

As you turned to face the crowd, still hand-in-hand, the cameras flashed, and the world watched as Bruce Wayne—Gotham’s most guarded man—stood proudly beside the person who had stolen his heart.

[hazymoonlinh]

Healing for the unbreakable.

Mydei x Gn!Reader.

(Fluff, you offer to treat his wounds, maybe he doesn’t have one. Reader knows healing spells)

Another battle, another death, another pain.

Mydei sat on the edge of his bed, arms crossed, his usual stoic and grumpy demeanor unshaken despite the obvious strain in his body. His amber crimson eyes narrowed as you gently settled onto his lap, holding his gaze with a look of quiet determination.

“I told you, I don’t need this,” he grumbled, his voice low and gravelly, though the exhaustion in his tone betrayed him. “It’ll heal on its own. It always does.”

You ignored him completely, your hands already glowing faintly with the soothing light of a treatment spell. “And I told you, I’m not scared of your bites or your warnings,” you replied firmly, though your voice was soft.

His lips twitched slightly at your defiance, but he didn’t stop you. He never did, no matter how much he protested.

Your magic worked over his bruised and battered body, easing the aches and stitching together the wounds left behind by yet another battle. Mydei leaned back against the headboard, his eyes drifting half-shut as the pain gradually melted away. He wouldn’t admit it, but your magic felt… good. Like fresh air rushing into his lungs after being buried in smoke, or the gentle coolness of water soothing a burn.

It wasn’t just the magic. It was you.

He sighed heavily, his hands resting on your waist as you focused on his injuries. “Stubborn.” he muttered, the faintest hint of amusement creeping into his tone.

“And you’re a big softie,” you shot back without missing a beat, a small smile tugging at your lips, “who loves milk and Honeyed pancakes.”

His grumbling continued, but he stayed still, allowing you to work. He didn’t have the heart to push you away, not when your touch somehow made the unbearable pain recede, not when your presence made the weight of his burdens feel just a little lighter.

As you finished, you sat back slightly, your hands still glowing faintly as you smoothed over the last of his wounds. Mydei’s gaze softened as he watched you, though he masked it quickly with a gruff, “Done yet?”

You smirked, patting his chest lightly. “Done. For now. Try not to die again tomorrow, will you?”

He snorted, shaking his head as his hands instinctively tightened around your waist, keeping you perched on his lap. “No promises,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

As you finished, you glanced up, catching the rare softness in his expression. A warmth bloomed in your chest. Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, lingering for a moment.

His eyes widened in surprise, his gruff demeanor faltering as a faint blush crept up his cheeks. “What… what was that for?” he mumbled, his voice quieter than usual.

You smiled, brushing a strand of his hair back. “A reward for letting me take care of you.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head, though a small, rare smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Pulling you closer, he rested his forehead against yours, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

“You’re lucky I tolerate you,” he muttered, though his actions betrayed his words.

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the weight of the world outside forgotten. Despite his protests and his endless grumbling, Mydei found himself grateful—not just for the healing, but for you. You had a way of making him feel… whole, even when he came back from the brink of death.

And that made you irreplaceable.

———

(I love him)

Veri kuyte. And fierce.

[sarahisslytherin]

duty and honor.

cregan stark x tyrell!reader

summary: it has been decided. you are to wed the young lord stark. you know little of him or the north but will do your duty. this, however, does not release you from your worry of how the union will go or how you will settle into your role as lady of winterfell. luckily, cregan takes it upon himself to make you feel at home.

contains: fluff, people rooting for a bedding ceremony.

a/n: i am so in love with this man i need to be restrained.

word count: 2k

The carriage rocked on the road to Winterfell, your ocean blue gown ruffling as it did. You tried your best to ignore the wild beat of your heart in your chest, tried focusing instead on the growing pines that passed your window with increasing speed. Your mother sat at your side, a stoic presence that soothed you somehow. You took her hand in your own, and when she looked at you you didn’t have it in you to mask your utter fear. 

“You will be alright, child.” she sighed, bringing that same hand up to cup your cheek. “Lord Stark is a good man. I know you will be far from all that you know, but surely you will grow to love your new home as well as your betrothed.”

When you finally came to a halt outside its gates, you felt your heart drop to your stomach. You clutched your mother’s hand like a frightened babe when they drew open. The courtyard was full of expectant faces you knew you would eventually commit to memory. The townspeople were out and about, young rosy-cheeked girls squealing with delight as they spotted your carriage. Their soon-to-be Lady was within it, and you could only hope when the time came that you would not fall short of their expectations. They watched keenly as you stopped before them one final time, and you prepared to be devoured by hungry, prying eyes. You tugged on the fur lining of your cloak as your mother stepped down from the carriage. You quickly followed suit.

Indeed, you could feel their glares cutting clean through you. You had known enough ladies and lords to know they were searching for faults and virtues to remark upon as soon as you were out of earshot, but there were so many faces you could not focus on a single one. 

Instead your gaze swiftly fell upon the mountain of a man that was the young Lord Stark. His chestnut locks fell in such a manner that they delicately framed a rather rugged face, on which a scowl seemed to be permanently etched. But this was to be expected. It was common knowledge that smiles were rare amongst Northmen. Though winter was still months away, he was already cloaked head to toe in furs, an uncommonly large sword strapped across the broad expanse of his back. 

“Lady Y/N, welcome to Winterfell.” he rasped, his voice quite gravelly and masculine for so young a man. You offered him a small curtsy in return, but couldn’t quite muster up the agreeable smile your mother had asked you to perfect on the way here. You tried your best not to gawk as you took in the ancient castle, trailing behind Lord Stark as he strode through Winterfell’s stony halls. The biting cold of the north left your bones as you approached the hearth in the Great Hall. 

You listened as your mother exchanged pleasantries with members of Lord Stark’s court, though your eyes did not leave the dancing flames and glowing embers.

“You’re a long way from Highgarden.” he said as he came to stand beside you. His accent was harsh, the vowels flat and words clipped, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t find it somewhat pleasant to your ear.

You turned to regard him. Gods, he was beautiful. The fire cast his features in a golden hue, the color returning to his cheeks. He was a sight to behold, powerful and perhaps even fearsome, but in this moment so soft. You wondered what your future with him would look like. Would he take a liking to you? Would he hate you? When you eventually gave him children, would they take after their mother or father? Would it be a life worth living?

“Yes, my Lord.” you sighed, rubbing your hands up and down your arms. “A long way indeed.”

The muted ivory of your gown made you appear one with the snow of the Godswood. Your hair was unbound, save for the intricate braiding around the crown of your head. Only the moon’s and torches’ light showed you the way to the weirwood tree. Your father swiftly came to your side, looping your arm in his. He offered you a gentle caress along your icy cheek, a solemn look about his face as if watching a spring rose being sacrificed to the unforgiving cold of winter. Wordlessly, you began to walk.

Despite the North’s fame for brutal winters and even more brutal people, you couldn’t help but marvel at the quiet beauty of the Godswood. So still was it, that you could have sworn you felt its ancientness in your bones, could feel every ring of age around each tree stump. Snowflakes danced on their way down, coming to land upon strands of your hair. It was then that you saw him before the weirwood, his lips drawn into a thin line. He was covered in dark furs and a cloak, his hands clasped behind his straightened back. 

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” The words were spoken by a family ward. 

“Y/N of the House Tyrell.” your father replied. “She comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?” 

You watched as Lord Stark approached, towering over you. You hoped you would grow accustomed to it, to him. You held your breath when he spoke. “Cregan of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” 

You dared to look up, to meet his gaze. You found nothing but gentleness in them. “Who gives her?” Your father spoke his name. And now the ward asked you the question. 

“Lady Y/N, will you take this man?”

You could feel the overbearing weight of watchful eyes, of held breaths and keen ears. But Cregan’s eyes hadn’t left yours, determined to hold your gaze. You could have sworn a flicker of joy shone in them when you gasped out. 

“I take this man.”

Cregan offered you a shy curl of his lips, then took your hands in his. You noted that they were far smaller in comparison to his weathered hands as he led you to the trunk of the weirwood tree. Its face provided you with some strange comfort. Perhaps the gods would heed your prayers. Perhaps they were watching over you as you both knelt before the trunk. Silence fell upon the Godswood as the wedding party prayed. No sooner had the moment passed that you and your now husband rose to your feet. Cregan’s large hands reached around you to gingerly remove your cloak, a golden Tyrell rose embroidered upon it by your mother. 

You shivered as the cold crept into your body, but were swiftly covered once again, this time in a Stark cloak, the wolf sigil stitched boldly enough for all to see. And just like that, it was done.

It was the first time you had seen him smile, truly smile, since you had arrived at Winterfell. From where you sat at his side on the dais, the entirety of the Great Hall stretched out before you. Jovial music filled the hall, and you watched the merry faces of Cregan’s men as they helped themselves to the wedding feast. Their chatter echoed on the stone walls, and for the first time since you had left Highgarden, you felt somewhat at home.

“Has Winterfell begun to grow on you, wife?” Cregan’s husky voice came from your left. When you turned to meet him he was wearing a boyish smirk. He was playing. You didn’t suspect the Wolf of the North had it in him.

“Well, it may be a while longer before that happens.” you sheepishly admitted, struggling to hold his intense gaze. “But I know I will come to love it.”

“Aye.” he said. “I know it will never be your true home, but I promise you I will do all in my power to make it the next best thing.” He placed his large hand atop your own, taking your palm and squeezing it gingerly. You were thankful for the gesture, and couldn’t ignore the flush of your cheeks that resulted from it.

“You’re timid.” he observed, only causing you further embarrassment. “It’s quite charming.”

“You may very well be the only person who finds it to be so. Even back home my soft temper has been known to irritate others. Most times people can barely hear me when I speak. I find it easier to keep to myself and observe.” you confessed. “I truly must grow a thicker skin if I am to survive amongst the wolves.”

“You won’t survive.” Cregan stated matter of factly. You whipped your head toward him with wide eyes at that, not prepared for what he would say next. “You will thrive.”

You felt your muscles loosen up once again, offering him an incredulous laugh.

“I am perfectly serious, my Lady.” he went on. “You will rule the North at my side.”

“I hardly think I am equipped to rule such an – unruly people, my Lord.” you tried to mask the nervous tremble of your hand as you brought your wine to your lips.

“Cregan.” he rasped. “Call me Cregan.” You nodded, eyes crinkling above a smile. He leaned in, as if he were about to tell you a most precious secret. “Sometimes all a beast truly needs is the touch of a gentle hand.” 

You backed away to meet his eyes. They held nothing but truth in them. Nothing but honor. But your moment was soon ended by the clamor of the wedding party. The men began to holler, whooping and howling in unison. “Time for the bedding!”

You had anticipated this, and you now braced yourself for the unpleasant experience of being hauled to a bed with Cregan. You had always known your first time would be like this, and though you loathed the idea, you could not alter tradition. It was a surprise to you when Cregan rose from his chair, planting his large hands on the dinner table before he spoke.

“I am sorry to disappoint you, but there will be no bedding ceremony tonight.” he bellowed out through the hall in a voice so commanding it was an effort not to shrink in his presence. “And I won’t hear any complaints about it. It’s too lovely an occasion to taint with a brawl.”

The men did their best to mask their disappointed groans as they returned to their dinner. You weren’t quite sure what had prompted Cregan to make such a decision. Did he not like you the way you had hoped? Perhaps he thought you fit to rule by him, to be a figurehead, but not someone he could ever desire in earnest. He must have read the emotions as they crossed your face, because he quickly took his seat beside you again. 

“Are you well, my Lady?” he asked. You merely nodded in response. He gently took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing your gaze towards his. “When you wish it to happen it will be just the two of us, husband and wife. No prying eyes or ears.”

Warmth bloomed in your heart at the words. It was as if he had quieted the growing storm in your mind with only the touch of a hand. A gentle hand.

“You are a man of honor, Cregan.” you said resolutely.

He only smiled in return as he brought you in closer, finally pressing his lips to yours. The touch sent sparks down your spine. It was in that moment you knew that spark would soon fan into a flame a thousand northern winds could not snuff out.

tagging: @velvetcloxds @oweninadaydream @spxllcxstxr @lovemesomevesey @shemisseshome @themissgreen24-blog @siriusement @kingdomzeldaquest @gayfordabae @slayis4ever

[tetzoro]

small angsty bite of love for the last episode. spoilers.

jeans hands gently move over your body, taking all the time the world he doesn’t have as he buckles in your straps. the others were rushing to get ready, the sound of leather and metal clashing together — only to be drowned out by the rumbling outside.

“jean, we have to hurry.” you could hardly contain the panic in your voice. his harness was already on, he had thrown it on before turning to help with yours. all he does is look up from where he’s kneeling, quietly buckling the belt before rising back up.

“i know.” he says as he cups your face, worry lacing all of his features. his forehead leans down against yours, taking a steadying breath. “can we just pretend for a minute?”

“pretend?” you breathe back, the sound of everyone else drowning out behind you. jean always had that effect — making you feel like the two of you were the only people in the world. if only that were true.

“that this might not be the last time we see each other.” he pulls back and searches your eyes for something. “that the world isn’t ending and we are just two people who are in love.”

“jean.” you all but whisper, touched by his small proclaimation. your heart breaks as you watch his face show you something so vulnerable, something you haven’t seen in so long. the stoic mask he had been wearing the last few months was washed away by a dose of fleeting reality. “yes. we can pretend.”

without another word, he leans in to kiss you. surprisingly, it’s slow. taking all the time in the world to glide his lips over yours. the horrors from the real world slip away as you walk into this land of make believe.

but reality was cruel. armin clearing his throat breaks the illusion with a look of regret and sorrow. jean casts you one last warm smile, small enough to break through that mask before the walls inside of him are back up and you have to go face certain hell together.

[natsaffection]

I’m sorry if this is too much to ask

I recently went through a breakup with my girlfriend (recently as in last night) and I need some Natty fluff and comfort. For an idea reader and nat are bestfriends and have been through S.H.I.E.L.D for many years before Nat was promoted to an Avenger and reader was left behind as an agent.

Reader broke up with their relationship a day before Nat got home from a mission(clarification that nat n reader share apartments) injured and its just the two worrying about eachother to mindlessly cuddle and comfort eachother.

could add in soft sex for plot but ill let you decide the rest 😞✊

Held Together. | N.R

Warnings: friends brake up, injury

Word count: 2,3k

A/n: Hey you. I know this isn't going to help you much, and I definitely want to lend you my ear if you ever want to talk about things like this. I know how it feels, and I also know that saying it will get better doesn't exactly help. So please don't hesitate to write to me. 🩵

The first time you saw Natasha, you were both in the S.H.I.E.L.D. training facility, hidden deep within the confines of a classified location. The facility was stark, all concrete walls and fluorescent lighting, with the faint scent of sweat and determination lingering in the air. You were new, just another recruit with a mysterious past, handpicked for reasons that weren't fully explained to you. But then again, secrecy was the foundation of S.H.I.E.L.D., and you had learned quickly that questions were often better left unasked.

Natasha stood out immediately. Not just because of her striking red hair, which seemed to catch the light even in the dullest corners of the room, but because of the aura of quiet confidence she exuded. She moved with a precision that spoke of years of experience, each step deliberate, each movement economical. It was clear that she was in a league of her own. But it wasn’t her skill that drew you to her, it was the look in her eyes. Beneath the stoic mask, there was a flicker of something familiar, something you recognized in yourself. The guarded pain of someone who had seen too much, too soon. The training sessions were brutal. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t coddle its recruits, and you were pushed to your limits, physically and mentally. But every time you faltered, Natasha was there, a silent presence at your side, pushing you to keep going. She wasn’t the type to offer comforting words or a reassuring pat on the back, but her actions spoke louder than any words could. She trained with you, sparred with you, and when you were both covered in bruises and gasping for breath, she would sit with you in the quiet moments, a rare smile tugging at her lips.

Over time, what began as mutual respect grew into something deeper. You found yourself seeking her out, not just in training but outside of it. Late nights in the common room, nursing cups of coffee and talking about everything and nothing at all. You learned that Natasha wasn’t just a hardened spy. She was fiercely intelligent, with a dry wit that could cut through any tension. She had a past that she kept close to the vest, but in those quiet moments, she would let slip little pieces of herself, and you would do the same. It was during one of those late-night conversations that you both discovered just how much you had in common. You shared a dark sense of humor, born from lives that had demanded you grow up too fast. You both knew what it was like to be used as a tool, to have your choices stripped away, and to fight tooth and nail to reclaim some semblance of control.

The turning point in your friendship came during a mission in Prague. You had been sent in as backup for Natasha, who was deep undercover, trying to extract a high-value target from an enemy compound. The mission had gone south, bad intel, compromised routes, everything that could go wrong did. Natasha was pinned down, outgunned and outnumbered, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, you thought you might lose her. But you didn’t hesitate. You stormed the compound, using every skill you had learned, every lesson drilled into you during those grueling training sessions. You fought your way to her, the two of you battling side by side, back to back, until you managed to extract the target and make your escape.

When you were safely back at the extraction point, covered in dust and blood, Natasha had turned to you, her eyes fierce with a mix of adrenaline and gratitude. She didn’t say anything, but the look she gave you was all you needed. From that moment on, you were partners in every sense of the word. There was an unspoken understanding between you..a bond forged in the heat of battle, one that neither of you questioned. Over the years, that bond only grew stronger. You became the team that everyone wanted on their mission, the pair that could get the job done no matter the odds. You were the calm to her storm, the steady hand that balanced her fierce determination. And she was your anchor, the one person you knew you could rely on, no matter what.

But it wasn’t all about the missions. There were moments of light in the darkness inside jokes that no one else understood, late-night movies when you both should have been sleeping, and the kind of trust that only came from knowing someone inside and out. You knew her favorite coffee order, the songs she hummed when she thought no one was listening, and the way she always checked her weapons twice before a mission, even when she didn’t need to. And she knew you, knew the nightmares that woke you in the middle of the night, the reason you kept your distance from most people, and the way you always carried that one memento from your past, a small token of a life you barely remembered. She never pushed, never pried, but her presence was a constant reassurance, a reminder that you weren’t alone in this world.

Then came the day when everything shifted. Natasha was summoned to Nick office a meeting that would change the course of both your lives. When she emerged, she looked different, as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, but there was something else too a distance, a sense of something slipping away. She told you about the Avengers, about the offer Fury had made. You could see the excitement in her eyes, the way her posture straightened as she spoke about it. And why wouldn’t she be excited? It was a chance to be part of something bigger, something that could change the world. You listened, nodded in all the right places, and when she asked what you thought, you plastered on a smile and told her how proud you were.

But inside, your heart ached. You knew that things would never be the same. You didn’t want to hold her back, didn’t want to be the reason she missed out on something extraordinary, but the thought of losing the connection you shared filled you with a dread you couldn’t shake. And slowly, that fear began to materialize.

As Natasha got more involved with the Avengers, the calls became less frequent, the visits even more so. You found yourself spending more time alone, throwing yourself into missions to drown out the loneliness. The once unbreakable bond you shared felt like it was fraying, the threads pulling apart one by one. The more you tried to reach out, the more distant she seemed, until one day, you realized that the Natasha you knew was almost a stranger to you now. She had new friends, new responsibilities, a new life. And where you once stood side by side, you were now watching from the sidelines, unsure of where you fit in her world anymore.

But the memories remained. Every time you walked past the training room, you could almost hear the echoes of your past conversations, the laughter that once filled the empty spaces. The ghost of what you had once had lingered, haunting you in the quiet moments. You didn’t know what the future held for you and Natasha, but one thing was certain: the bond you had shared was changing, evolving into something you couldn’t yet understand. And as much as it hurt, you knew that you had to find your place in this new reality, even if it meant doing it without her by your side.

The apartment felt too quiet, the silence oppressive as you sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the empty walls. Your things were mostly packed, boxes lining the hallway, and the last remnants of your life here waiting to be sealed up and carried away. You had made your decision the day before, the weight of it still sitting heavily in your chest.

You had ended it. Ended the friendship, the partnership, the life you had built with Natasha. The pain of watching her drift further away into her new life as an Avenger had become too much to bear. Every day had been a reminder of how much you were losing her, and it had finally reached a breaking point. You couldn’t stand being the one left behind anymore, always wondering when or if things would go back to the way they were. So, you had left a note on the kitchen table, explaining as best you could, trying to make her understand why you needed to leave, why you couldn’t keep living in the shadow of her new world. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it to her face, not after everything you’d been through together, so you had written the words, packed your things, and left the apartment.

But now, sitting in the empty space you once called home, the reality of what you’d done settled in, and it hurt more than you could have imagined. You didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to give up on what you had with Natasha, but you didn’t see any other way to protect your heart from breaking further. It was supposed to be simple. You would leave, and Natasha would come back to an empty apartment, read the note, and understand. She’d move on, and so would you. That was the plan.

Except plans never go the way you expect them to.

The sound of the front door creaking open jolted you from your thoughts. Your heart stopped as you heard footsteps heavy, uneven. Natasha was back. You weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be gone, far away, already beginning the process of moving on. But you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. Not yet. You stood up, feeling your heart race as you heard Natasha’s familiar footsteps drawing closer. When she finally appeared in the doorway, your breath caught in your throat. She looked exhausted, her skin pale, and there was a grimace on her face that she couldn’t quite hide.

But what really terrified you was the blood on her jacket and the way she was cradling her side as if trying to hold herself together. “Natasha..” you whispered, the word barely audible as the shock of seeing her like this hit you. Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, she just stared, as if trying to process that you were really there. “Y/n..?”

“You’re hurt.” you said, your voice trembling as you took a closer look. "It’s not as bad as it looks..” she replied, trying to offer a reassuring smile, but it faltered as she winced in pain. “Stop pretending.” you snapped, though your voice was laced more with worry than anger. “Why didn’t you go to the medbay?”

Natasha shook her head, letting out a strained sigh “I just..needed to come home.” she said softly, her eyes flickering around the room, taking in the packed boxes, the half-empty closet. “I thought you would be gone..?” The words hung in the air between you, heavy and filled with the tension of everything that had happened, everything that hadn’t been said.

“I was supposed to be..” you admitted. “Come here, let me help you with that.” She didn’t resist as you guided her to the bed, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she tried to stay composed. You carefully unzipped her jacket, wincing at the sight of the blood-soaked bandages underneath. It wasn’t the worst injury you’d seen her with, but it was bad enough to make your hands shake as you reached for the first aid kit. She winced as you peeled the blood-soaked fabric away, revealing a nasty gash along her side. It wasn’t life-threatening, but it was deep enough to require stitches.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” you asked, your voice thick with emotion as you began to clean the wound, trying to keep your hands steady. “I didn’t want you to worry..” Natasha replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I guess that plan didn’t work out too well.”

“Damn it, Natasha..” you muttered, blinking back tears as you worked. “You can’t just..you can’t just keep doing this. Keeping things from me. Pushing me away.”

“I wasn’t trying to push you away.” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “I just..I didn’t know how to handle all of this. You, the Avengers, everything. I thought I could balance it all, but I was wrong.” You paused, your breath hitching as the weight of her words settled over you. “Nat-” you started, but she cut you off.

“I read your note.” she said, her eyes glistening as she looked down at you. “I know why you left, and I can’t blame you. I’ve been so caught up in everything else that I forgot about the one person who’s always been there for me. And now I’m scared I’ve lost you.” Tears slipped down your cheeks as you finished dressing her wound, your hands lingering on her skin for a moment longer than necessary. “You haven’t lost me.” you whispered, your voice shaking. “But I can’t keep living like this, Natasha. It’s tearing me apart..”

She reached out, her hand trembling as she cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing away your tears. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice breaking. “I never wanted to hurt you.” You leaned into her touch, closing your eyes as the warmth of her hand seeped into your skin. “I know.” you whispered. “But things have to change. We can’t keep going like this.”

Natasha nodded, her own tears spilling over as she pulled you into a gentle embrace, her arms wrapping around you as if she was afraid to let go. You buried your face in her shoulder, the scent of her familiar, comforting even through the layers of blood and sweat. You both held on to each other as if it was the only thing keeping you grounded, the only thing keeping you from falling apart. For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence was filled with the sound of your combined breaths, the rise and fall of your chests in sync, the steady beat of her heart against your ear. “I don’t want to lose you..” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you hadn’t said.

“You won’t.” she promised, her voice filled with quiet determination. “I won’t let you.” There was a moment of silence, thick with unspoken emotions, and then, before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in, pressing your lips softly to hers. The kiss was tender, hesitant, as if you were both afraid to break the fragile connection between you. But the moment your lips met, it was like something inside you both clicked into place, the distance and the pain melting away, replaced by the familiar warmth of being with each other. Natasha kissed you back, her lips moving slowly, carefully, as if savoring the moment. When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against hers, your breaths mingling in the small space between you.

“I’m sorry..” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Shh..” Natasha murmured, her hand moving to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. “We’ll figure it out.” You nodded, unable to speak as you felt the tears slipping down your cheeks. Natasha gently wiped them away, her touch so soft it made your heart ache. You didn’t know what the future held for you both, but in this moment, with her arms around you and her lips still tingling from the kiss, you felt a glimmer of hope.

Carefully, you helped her lie down on the bed, her head resting on the pillow as you pulled the blanket over her. But before you could move away, Natasha caught your hand, her grip surprisingly strong despite her exhaustion. “Stay with me.” she whispered, her eyes pleading. You nodded, your heart swelling with emotion as you crawled into bed beside her. Natasha immediately curled into you, her head resting on your chest, her arm draped over your waist. You wrapped your arms around her, holding her close, as if you were afraid she might slip away if you let go.

The two of you lay there in silence, the only sound the soft rhythm of your breathing and the steady beat of your hearts. The tension, the hurt, the fear..it all seemed to fade away as you held each other, the warmth of her body against yours a balm to the wounds that had been festering between you for so long. You pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, your fingers gently stroking her hair as she sighed contentedly against you. “I love you, Nat..” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I love you too.” she murmured, her voice filled with so much tenderness it made your heart ache. You tightened your hold on her, burying your face in her hair as you let the weight of the day finally slip away. For the first time in a long time, you felt a sense of peace, a sense of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to each other. And as you both drifted off to sleep, wrapped up in each other’s arms, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

[inkmonster21]

I Don’t Play Anymore

Series Masterlist

Hwang In-Ho / The Frontman x Fem!Reader

.03 The Control Room

As the morning sunlight gradually filtered through the windows, In-ho's eyelids fluttered open, his gaze meeting the ceiling as he slowly regained consciousness. At the same moment, you also stirred from your slumber, your eyes opening to greet the day. It was an unusual and almost eerie coincidence that both of you awakened at the same instant as if your internal clocks had somehow synched.

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you reflected on the restful night's sleep you had experienced in the luxurious surroundings. It had been some time since you felt this peaceful and well-rested, a testament to the comfort and tranquility of the master bedroom. It was certainly a pleasant and unusual experience, and you couldn't help but find it slightly ironic, given the circumstances.

The Frontman, standing outside the master bedroom, had just raised his hand to knock when you opened the door, the timing almost impeccable. There was a moment of surprise as you both stood there, facing each other, the mask still concealing his features once again.

The sudden appearance of the Frontman behind the door gave you a slight fright, causing you to jump with surprise. You were still caught off guard by the unexpected encounter, and the curse slipped from your lips before you could catch yourself, “shit!” The moment hung in the air for a second, the tension palpable.

With a small smile, you spoke softly to the Frontman, addressing the mask on his face. "You don't have to wear that thing in here, you know?" you said gently, walking past him, your steps light and graceful. The words were a subtle invitation, a hint that he could let down his defenses in the privacy of the room. As you continued, the words lingered in the air and you couldn't help but comment, "Your bed is so comfortable." The compliment was genuine, and the memory of the luxurious master bed is still vivid in your mind.

The Frontman's tone was even and composed, his words carrying a subtle sense of sincerity. "I'm glad you slept well," he responded calmly, the mask concealing his facial expressions but not the sincerity in his voice. There was a subtle flicker of warmth behind the mask, a hint of genuine concern for your well-being, despite the cold exterior that he expertly maintained.

You walked over to the large window. The view beyond was a sight to behold, the ocean stretched out before you. With a bottle of water in hand, you took a sip and leaned against the wall, gazing out the window, enjoying the moment of tranquility.

You couldn't help but notice the Frontman still standing at the bedroom door, his presence unwavering. You turned your head towards him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you caught his eye. With a small smirk, you raised an eyebrow, raising a silent question.

In-Ho quickly regained his composure, straightening his stance and masking any emotions that might have been creeping through his stoic exterior. With a brief statement, he announced his intentions, "I am going to get ready." He then walked into the bedroom, his steps purposeful and resolute, disappearing from view behind the closed door.

The sudden sound of your phone ringing shattered the tranquility of the moment, pulling you out of your thoughts. Frowning at the interruption, you pulled out your phone and checked the caller ID, a flicker of annoyance crossing your face as you saw it was your father calling.

You begrudgingly answered the call, the tone of your voice betraying your irritation. "Good morning, Father," you responded curtly, your annoyance evident in your voice. Despite your attempt to maintain your composure, the tension was palpable in your words, a reminder of the strained relationship you shared with your father.

Your father's voice was stern and demanding, leaving no room for argument. He informed you, "I want you up here in 15 minutes. We have to go to breakfast." The command rang in your ears, and you felt a surge of frustration, knowing that you had no choice but to obey his order.

Your response was terse, a mix of resignation and frustration. "Okay," you replied curtly, the word sounding more like a muttered complaint than an acknowledgment. The thought of having to attend breakfast with your father and likely dealing with whatever agenda he had in mind made your stomach churn.

You hesitated for a moment, biting your lip as you considered your options. All your bags were still in the bedroom, and you needed to get dressed and prepare for breakfast with your father. Glancing back at the closed bedroom door, you weighed the options, torn between the need for your belongings and invading the Frontman's personal space.

You knocked on the door but received no response, only the sound of the shower running inside. It was clear that the Frontman was in the shower, leaving you in a state of uncertainty. You stood there, contemplating whether to wait or try again later, aware that you needed to get ready to attend breakfast with your father soon.

You muttered to yourself, "Fuck it," knowing the consequences of defying your father's orders. With a sense of urgency, you quietly opened the door, attempting to enter without drawing attention or disturbing the Frontman. The sound of the shower still echoed through the room, providing some cover for your quiet intrusion.

With a sense of urgency, you quickly unzipped your suitcase and rummaged through the contents. You grabbed the first outfit you could find, not concerned with its appearance, as long as it wasn't blatantly inappropriate. The thought of angering your father further urged you on, and your movements were rushed but determined.

As you stood in the bedroom, clutching your shoes and dress, you noticed a sliver of the shower from the end of the hallway leading to the master bathroom. You couldn't help but glance at the sight, feeling a mix of curiosity.

The sight of his silhouette, dark hair, and well-built physique, was oddly mesmerizing. The shower glass blurred the details, but it was enough to spark a mix of curiosity and attraction. However, you quickly shook your head, forcing yourself to look away, feeling a pang of guilt for the intrusion.

You slipped out of the room, quickly closing the door behind you, feeling a mix of guilt and curiosity after glancing at the Frontman in the shower. Across the hall, you found another bathroom and quickly changed into the outfit you had grabbed from your suitcase. The process was hasty, driven by your need to get ready for the impending breakfast with your father, leaving no room for hesitation.

You slipped out of the room, quickly closing the door behind you, feeling a mix of guilt and curiosity after glancing at the Frontman in the shower. Across the hall, you found another bathroom and quickly changed into the outfit you had grabbed from your suitcase. The process was hasty, driven by your need to get ready for the impending breakfast with your father, leaving no room for hesitation.

From inside the elevator, you waved your hand at the camera, calling out, "Hey, hello! I need to go to the dining hall. My father is waiting." Your tone was a mix of urgency and irritation as you addressed the surveillance camera, hoping for guidance or assistance. It felt like a strange way of asking for directions, but you knew the unseen presence on the other side could hear you.

The elevator silently travels down and the doors slide open silently, revealing a large dining room with an elegant and opulent atmosphere. The dimly lit space was adorned with crystal chandeliers and grand arched windows, creating an elegant and refined ambiance. A long table stretched across the center of the expansive room, elegantly set with fine china and silver cutlery. It was clear that this room was designed for grandeur and sophistication, ready to host the expected meal.

Your father's voice broke the silence, his words directed at you as you entered the dining room. "There she is," he stated with a mix of authority and expectation in his tone, his gaze locking onto you as you approached the table. There seemed to be a hint of relief and perhaps a touch of impatience in his voice, likely expecting your tardiness.

You took a seat beside your father, mustering a small smile despite the mix of emotions churning inside. "Good morning," you replied politely, your tone measured and somewhat guarded. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the weight of your father's expectation and possible disapproval hanging in the air.

Your father's gaze remained on you as you took your seat, his expression impassive but his eyes studying you, likely evaluating your choice of attire amid this opulent setting. The silence lingered for a moment, the room filled with an undercurrent of tension until the sound of footsteps approached. One of the staff members appeared, carrying a tray with drinks and offering a selection of beverages.

The staff member set the tray on the table, offering various beverages, including freshly brewed coffee, tea, and orange juice. Your father gestured for you to choose, "Tea, coffee, or orange juice, darling?" he asked, his tone cordial, but there was an undertone of control in his words.

You responded to your father's question with a simple request, "Coffee." The staff member nodded and picked up the coffee pot, pouring a cup of the dark, aromatic liquid for you. The rich smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, adding an enticing fragrance to the atmosphere. The staff member placed the coffee cup in front of you, along with a small bowl of sugar and a creamer, allowing you to sweeten it to your taste.

As you reached for the creamer, your father's disapproving voice cut through the air, his words a reminder of your oversight. "Where's your mask?" he asked, his tone dripping with displeasure. You froze, realizing your mistake of forgetting to wear a mask in this setting. Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a sudden pang of anxiety as the tension in the room thickened.

With a sigh, you realized exactly where your mask was - in the Frontman's room on the dresser. You stood up swiftly, feeling a mix of frustration and urgency in your movements. "I'm going to get it right now," you stated, your voice tinged with resignation, knowing you couldn't avoid the reprimand awaiting you.

As you walked away, your father's words rang in your ears, a tinge of disappointment in his tone. "Can't follow simple rules in such a fine establishment. Rude," he muttered, his words a reminder of your failure to adhere to the rules of decorum. The weight of his censure lingered in the air, making you feel a mix of shame and frustration.

As you rushed toward the elevator, your frustration and sense of urgency propelled your steps. Just as you approached, the elevator doors opened, revealing the Frontman standing there. You almost ran into him, but he reacted swiftly, placing his hand on your waist to steady you. The sudden touch sent a jolt through your body, and you froze for a moment, taken aback by the unexpected contact.

"I need to go get my-," but your words trailed off as he held up your mask in his hand, cutting you off. The sight of the mask in his grasp left you momentarily speechless. "Your mask," he stated simply, his voice calm and composed, holding the item you had mistakenly left behind.

Your smirk revealed a faint hint of gratitude as you took the mask from his grasp. Your words, filled with a touch of sarcasm and appreciation, conveyed a mix of gratitude and teasing. "Well, look at you, saving me again," you quipped, holding the mask tightly between your fingers, a small smile playing on your lips.

With the mask in place, you walked confidently towards the dining hall, followed closely by the Frontman. As you walked, he couldn't help but appreciate the sight of you walking ahead of him, his gaze subtly tracing your movements. The mask concealed his expression, but the subtle tilt of his head and the slight increase in his step indicated his attention and enjoyment of the view.

You returned to your seat next to your father, now feeling a sense of reassurance with the mask safely in place. Taking a sip of your coffee, you let the rich flavor wash over your tongue, finding some solace in this small pleasure. The tension between you and your father was still palpable in the air, but for now, you focused on enjoying your coffee and trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy.

The Frontman, having followed you back to the dining hall, joined you both at the table. Turning his attention to your father, he addressed him with a polite and respectful tone. "I hope your night was enjoyable," he said calmly, his words carrying a subtle hint of formality. The mask obscured his expression, but his politeness was evident, attempting to bridge any existing rift between them.

Your father looked up from his plate as the Frontman addressed him. Despite the mask, the Frontman radiated an air of authority and command that was difficult to ignore. Your father's response came, "It was delightful."

Your father continued the conversation, trying to maintain a friendly and professional tone, "So, what does the day look like?" he asked, making an attempt to engage in small talk despite the underlying tension. The Frontman, ever composed and guarded, responded calmly, "The day will involve finalizing preparations for the next game if the players choose to stay." The Frontman's voice remained measured, the mask concealing his expressions, making it difficult to gauge his true thoughts or emotions.

Your father expressed his desire for you to be by the Frontman's side, learning from the experience and taking notes on new ideas. "I want her by your side, learning. We could take a lot from this place. I'm already jotting down new things just after a day," he stated assertively, emphasizing the importance of your involvement and learning. The Frontman listened attentively, his mask concealing his reaction, but his focus remained on your father's words.

The Frontman maintained his composure as your father spoke, considering the proposal and its implications. His expression was hidden behind the mask, but his stance was relaxed, suggesting he was receptive to the idea. There was a hint of intrigue in his demeanor, as if he was genuinely interested in the potential benefits of your father's proposition, even if his mask concealed his true emotions. "She will shadow me, at your request," he responded, his tone conveying a mix of authority and respect. There was a subtle undertone of acceptance and agreement, as if he was willing to accept your presence and involvement, in accordance with your father's wishes.

Your father's smile widened as you expressed your gratitude, "Aren't you grateful for this opportunity?" he asked, his voice tinged with a tone of satisfaction. "Very thankful," you replied, forcing a polite smile, trying to appease your father's demand for gratitude. The tension between you and your father was evident beneath the surface.

Your father's spoke, coupled with his laugh, carried a mix of dark humor, mockery, and a hint of cruelty. "I bet your brother is rolling in his grave," he said, the words laced with bitter amusement. The mention of your deceased older brother's name brought a pang of sadness and frustration to the surface, and you struggled to maintain your composure, trying to keep your emotions in check.

You responded with a nod, "He would be...shocked," your words carrying a bitter undertone of resentment. Despite the mask covering the Frontman's face, there was a subtle flicker of concern in his eyes, almost imperceptible to others, but evident to you. He remained silent, the mask concealing any signs of distress he might feel, but his attention was focused on you.

The Frontman, taking a slightly different approach, decided to address your father about your brother indirectly. "Your son," he began with a calm yet deliberate tone, "did he not agree with the games?" His words seemed calculated, subtly probing for information or insights about your brother.

Your father's laughter filled the air, his tone filled with both pride and mockery. "Oh, hell! He LOVED them!" he stated, the words tinged with a mix of amusement and mockery. He then continued, "He wanted to take over once I retired. So I said why not! I sent him in to see if he had what it took." The Frontman listened attentively, absorbing the information about your brother's aspirations and how your father used the games as a test for him.

Your father's mockery continued, his words dripping with a cruel edge as he continued to speak. "And let's just say he found out he didn't have it in him." He laughed again, the sound carrying a hint of disdain and disappointment. The Frontman listened intently, his expression unreadable behind the mask, but his eyes seemed to focus on your father with a quiet intensity.

"I see," the Frontman responded calmly, his tone remaining stoic and his expression concealed behind the mask. There was a subtle hint of agreement in his response, as if he understood where your father was coming from, even if he might not necessarily share the same viewpoint. Your father followed up with a statement, "I just have high expectations. If you can't win it, you can't run it." The Frontman listened carefully, taking in your father's philosophy.

The Frontman's gaze shifted momentarily towards you, and his voice carried a tone of genuine curiosity as he asked, "You play?" There was a hint of intrigue and a subtle implication in his question as if he was subtly fishing for information about your involvement, or lack thereof, in the games.

You responded with a hint of bitterness, your tone carrying the weight of painful memories. "I did. I don't play anymore." The words held a mix of sadness and resentment, as your father had forcefully pushed you into the games against your will. The Frontman's gaze softened momentarily as if he sensed the pain and conflict within your words, but his mask concealed any obvious expression of sympathy or understanding.

The Frontman's eyes conveyed a mix of surprise and sympathy as he listened to your words, realizing that you had been forced to participate in such a harsh and brutal game. Though his expression remained guarded behind the mask, his eyes betrayed a sense of regret and compassion upon hearing that you had won, understanding the sacrifices you had to make to achieve that success.

Your father's laughter grew louder, his words filled with a warped sense of amusement. "You pushed everyone right into the pit!" he exclaimed, relishing in the memory of your ruthless action during the game. The Frontman's eyes narrowed slightly, picking up on the cruelty and ruthlessness of the situation described. A mix of concern and curiosity danced in his gaze, still observing your reaction to your father's unsettling glee.

Your simple statement, "I needed to win," carried a mix of determination and resignation. It was a blunt admission of the ruthless mindset you had to adopt during the games to survive and succeed, a mindset likely enforced by your father's expectations.

Despite the differences in their circumstances and backgrounds, there were definite parallels between you and the Frontman. Both of you had been pushed into a world of brutality and competition, where winning at any cost was often seen as the only way to survive. The Frontman, observing you closely, couldn't help but find a familiar resolve within you, a reflection of his own.

“Ha! Or when you killed that little-“ Your sudden movement cut off your father's words, stopping him before he could finish his sentence, “Stop. Please.” The Frontman watched as you stood up abruptly, attempting to cut off the conversation before it went any further. There was a tension in the air, the atmosphere thick with unspoken words and unspoken memories. The Frontman's eyes followed you, silently observing your actions.

Your father's tone turned harsh as he scolded you, "Don't be rude!" His gaze was fixed on you, his glare filled with disapproval. The Frontman remained silent, his eyes switching from you to your father and back, observing the tension that had arisen between you both. The room felt heavy with the weight of the unresolved issues, but the Frontman remained composed, the mask concealing his true thoughts and feelings.

The Frontman's voice cut through the tension, bringing the conversation to an end. "The players will be awoken soon," he stated calmly, his tone matter-of-fact. His gaze then shifted towards you, his voice softer as he gave you a subtle command, "You may follow me." The Frontman began to stand, his movements measured and composed, waiting for you to follow his lead. The moment hung in the air, the room still tense but with a new sense of purpose as he directed you to accompany him.

The Frontman spoke politely to your father as he passed by, masking the subtle tension that lingered beneath his courteous words. "I hope you enjoy your day, sir. I shall see you for the next game," he said with a hint of formality, acknowledging your father's presence but subtly conveying that he had other matters to attend to. At that moment, the Frontman seemed to be subtly asserting some level of control, leaving your father behind as he made his way out of the dining hall, expectantly waiting for you to follow.

Your father smiled widely, as you walked off he offered the Frontman some advice, “Oh, and if she doesn’t listen don’t be afraid to get stern with her.”

The Frontman remained calm and composed, but his jaw clenched slightly at your father's instruction. Though he kept his expression hidden behind the mask, there was a flicker of frustration in his eyes at your father's words. The Frontman nodded in acknowledgment, "Understood," he replied, his voice cool and controlled. The moment stretched on for a beat as the implications of your father's words lingered in the air, but the Frontman kept walking, his steps confident and measured, waiting for you to catch up and follow him.

You followed the Frontman into the elevator, silently joining him as the doors slid shut, closing off the tense atmosphere of the dining hall. Inside the elevator, the space felt somewhat claustrophobic, the silence between the two of you charged with unspoken tension. As the elevator began to ascend, you and the Frontman stood side by side, your thoughts likely churning with a mix of emotions and questions.

The Frontman, as if sensing the weight of your thoughts, remained silent for a moment, allowing the tension to hang heavy in the air. The quiet in the elevator only seemed to amplify the memories and emotions that were churning within you. It was as if he could sense the weight of your past, the haunting memories of the games, and the actions you had been forced to take. The mask obscured his expression, but his eyes seemed to convey a mix of understanding and empathy.

The Frontman's voice suddenly cut through the silence, his words resonating deeply. "It was not your fault," he said, his tone soft but firm. For the briefest moment, the mask seemed to slip, revealing a hint of compassion and understanding in his eyes. The words were simple, but they carried a weight that seemed to touch upon the very core of your internal turmoil.

The sadness in your tone was palpable as you spoke, revealing a hint of remorse and self-blame. "Yeah, it is," you said with a tinge of sorrow, "I could've given up." A moment of self-admonishment hung in the air, followed by a scoff as you admitted, "But I kept thinking, if I won, maybe he'd be proud of me." It was as if the weight of your father's expectations weighed heavy on your shoulders, pushing you to endure and even win in the games despite the trauma it caused.

As the elevator doors slid open, they revealed a large, black room that seemed to be the heart of the operation - the control room. The space was lined with monitors and cubicles, filled with staff members diligently working, monitoring various feeds and screens. The scale and scope of the room, coupled with the dim lighting, gave it an almost eerie aura, a reminder of the high-stakes nature of the games.

The Frontman's voice echoed through the control room, his words direct and authoritative, addressing the staff members. "Soldiers, this is an ally from the US Games," he announced, his tone firm yet composed. "She will be shadowing our location and learning about how we operate. Be respectful, or there will be consequences." His words were clear and unwavering, leaving no room for argument. The staff members quickly acknowledged the directive with nods or murmured responses, their focus remaining on their tasks with a hint of wariness towards the new presence in their midst.

You followed closely behind the Frontman, stepping up onto the black pedestal that perched above the control room floor. Standing beside him, you surveyed the array of screens that displayed real-time footage from various cameras, capturing the players' movements within their room. It was as if you were witnessing a macabre dance of life and death, each screen a window into the tense world the players inhabited.

“What’s on the walls behind the beds?” You question as you view the simply drawn figures on the walls. The Frontman briefly glanced at the screen your eyes were on, before answering your question. "Those are illustrations of the games the players will be participating in," he explained, his tone measured but not without a touch of dry humor.

As you viewed the screen, you couldn't help but smirk, pointing out a crucial detail. "And not one of them has noticed," you commented in a mix of amusement and anticipation. The players, engrossed in their desperate struggles, had failed to recognize the subtle details that hinted at the larger machinations at play. The Frontman glanced at you, appreciating your perceptiveness.

Your smirk elicited a small smile from the Frontman, as he acknowledged your sharp observation. "Indeed," he replied, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. "It seems their focus on survival has blinded them to the subtleties around them." He observed the players' cluelessness with a mix of admiration and detachment, his thoughts hidden behind the mask.

Your gaze remained fixed on the screen, watching as the guards made their entrance into the players' room. The numbers flashed on the screen, "Out of 456 players, 255 were eliminated, and 201 successfully completed the first game," the announcement boomed. The players in the room reacted with an understandable level of panic, crying and pleading to be allowed to go home. The Frontman stood beside you, watching the chaotic scene unfold, his eyes scanning the monitors with cool observation.

Your gaze was drawn to the screen where a woman was desperately pleading for mercy, getting down on her knees and sobbing. "Mister, please," she pleaded, her voice filled with despair. "I'm sorry. I swear I'll pay what I owe. I'll do it, I'll pay it all!" Her desperate pleas hung in the air, the weight of her guilt and fear evident in her voice. The Frontman watched with an almost detached air, observing the players' reactions with a flicker of emotion hidden behind his mask.

As you watched the scene unfold on the screen, another woman, in a state of desperation, joined the plea. "Please, sir," she cried out, her voice quivering. "I have a child. So young, I need to register, and I need to name my child, sir." The woman's words resonated with sorrow and vulnerability, her love and concern for her child evident in her plea. The Frontman stayed silent, observing the unfolding events with a mix of cool composure and hidden emotions.

Your words carried a hint of disbelief and mockery. "Mother of the year," you remarked, a sarcastic edge to your tone. The irony of the woman's circumstances, with her child not even having a name, was not lost on you. The Frontman glanced at you, his expression obscured, but there was a subtle twitch of his lips as if he agreed with your sentiment.

The guard's words rang out, addressing the players in a firm and authoritative tone. "If you just follow the rules," he stated, "you can leave this place safely with the prize money we promised." The Frontman listened attentively, his gaze shifting between the players on the screen and you, his expression still unreadable.

As you continued to observe the interactions on the screen, you couldn't help but express your admiration. "This is so much better than ours," you muttered, the words carrying a hint of appreciation. The Frontman listened to your comment, his eyes flickering towards you with a mix of amusement and curiosity. Your observation reflected the stark contrast between the two games, a subtle commentary on the differences in management and execution.

The Frontman's response was matter-of-fact, yet tinged with a hint of pride in the organization's efficiency. "Everyone here follows a very strict schedule to ensure every goal is met with satisfaction for the VIPs," he stated, his words carrying a certain level of satisfaction. The mention of VIPs added a sense of exclusivity to the games, suggesting the involvement of high-profile individuals or sponsors.

Your sarcastic comment carried a hint of disdain for the VIPs. "Gotta love those VIPs," you said, a touch of sarcasm evident in your tone, suggesting your own thoughts on their involvement in the games.

One of the guards, momentarily distracted by your presence, turned to look at you, only to be met with your direct gaze. Your words, "I'm not your screen," carried a mix of humor and assertiveness, reminding him that he has a job to do. With a subtle gesture of your index finger, you playfully indicated for him to turn back around and focus on the task at hand. The Frontman observed the interaction with a hint of amusement, his gaze shifting between you and the guard, silently appreciating your quick wit.

The guard in the players' room spoke up, reciting the clauses from memory, "Consent form clause 1. A player is not allowed to stop playing." Your eyes remained glued to the screen, absorbing the harsh reality of the rule. The tension in the room escalated as the players continued to argue against the rules. The guard replied with an ominous tone, stating, "Consent form clause 2. A player who refuses to play will be eliminated."

The player with number 218 stepped forward, challenging the rules. "Consent form clause 3. If all the players agree to stop playing, the games are allowed to end. Or am I wrong?" His words hung in the air, challenging the perceived rules and seeking a possible loophole.

The Frontman, observing the player's attempt to challenge the rules, couldn't help but acknowledge your silent praise. "Smart guy," you muttered, a hint of admiration evident in your tone. The Frontman glanced at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, revealing a hint of amusement. He, too, noticed the intelligence of the player's question, appreciating the cleverness of his attempt to find a way out.

The Frontman continued to provide further background on Cho Sang-woo, reading from his file. "Cho Sang-woo is a graduate of Seoul National University," he explained, his eyes scanning the details of the file. "He was employed at Joy Investments, where he led an investment team and embezzled his clients' money." Your eyes widened upon hearing the extent of Sang-woo's background.

Your chuckle conveyed a mix of amusement and disdain as you commented, "Of course, he did." The Frontman, listening to your comment, couldn't help but share a brief moment of subtle humor amid the tense situation. There was a hint of shared recognition in his eyes, acknowledging the irony of Sang-woo's background.

The guards in the players' room rolled out a large panel with two buttons, one red and the other green, "Leave" or "Stay," respectively. The players, having reduced in number, now had to make a collective decision. The guard's voice echoed through the room, "Before we vote, let me announce the prize money for the game, as promised." The mention of prize money reminded the players of the reason they had been lured into the games in the first place.

A large, whimsical piggy bank descended from the ceiling, adding a dramatic touch to the already tense atmosphere. You couldn't help but scoff at the extravagance, muttering, "All the dramatics here." The Frontman, sensing your reaction, playfully asked, "Do you not like it?"

Your response, "Oh, I love it," carried a tone of dry amusement and sarcasm, hinting at your appreciation for the over-the-top presentation.

The players' attention was captured by the sight of cash money pouring into the clear piggy bank, each note adding to the growing pile. The players watched with a mix of anticipation and disbelief, their eyes locking onto the escalating amount. The Frontman, observing their reactions, remained composed and silent beside you.

The guard's words echoed in the room as he addressed the players, "A total of 255 players were eliminated during the first game. A hundred million won is at stake per player. Therefore, 25.5 billion won of prize money has been accumulated so far." The mention of the potential prize money had a significant impact on the players but with a hint of hesitation. The Frontman glanced at the players, observing their reactions and the tension in the room, as the implications of the guard's words sunk in.

The guard's instructions were clear and steady, guiding the players to make their decisions. "If you wish to stop playing, then please press the red button with the X instead," he instructed. "After you finish voting, move to the other side of the white line and wait until all players have voted." The guards in the players' room moved through the remaining players, guiding them to vote in reverse order based on the numbers on their chests. The tension in the room grew palpable, as the players were faced with a crucial decision to make. The guard's voice was steady and unemotional as he instructed the players to cast their vote

The tension in the room grew as each player cast their vote, with the decision remaining neck and neck. The moment of truth came as it was time for the final player, number 1, to make the call. The Frontman and you watched in anticipation, waiting to see which option the player would choose.

The elderly man moved with a deliberate and contemplative pace as he approached the buttons, his eyes darting between the player's numbers and the choices before him. This was the critical moment where all eyes were on the elderly man, the decisive vote hanging in the air. The Frontman watched intently, his demeanor maintaining the stoic composure he was known for, while you held your breath in anticipation.

As the elderly man stared at the buttons and the players' numbers, the weight of the decision hung heavily in the air. Your hand instinctively moved to grasp the Frontman's arm, seeking a moment of support and reassurance. The tension in your grip was palpable, betraying your own nervous anticipation. The Frontman glanced at you briefly, feeling your grasp on his arm, but his attention remained fixed on the unfolding scene.

The number to leave went up by one, and the relief among the players was palpable. Cheers erupted in the room, as they celebrated knowing that they would be able to return home. The Frontman observed the players' reaction, their cheers echoing in the tense atmosphere. He could sense the mix of joy, relief, and gratitude they felt at the thought of going back to their regular lives.

You quickly realized you had been clutching the Frontman's arm, your grip tight with anticipation. Blushing slightly, you pulled your hand away, feeling a mix of embarrassment and a strange sense of connection. The Frontman, though seemingly unfazed, glanced at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly as if he was amused by your instinctive reaction.

As the tension in the room dissipated with the players' celebration, you turned to the Frontman and asked, "So, it's over?" Your tone carried a hint of confusion, as you hadn't experienced such a democratic process in the games before. The Frontman looked at you, picking up on your question and the implications of your father's control over your previous game.

Your eyes met the Frontman's as he responded, his tone carrying a sense of gravity. "Not entirely," he stated, his words echoing in the air, leaving you with a sense of unease. The implication was clear that there were still unexpected elements at play. The celebration and relief among the players masked the lingering tension that remained, and you braced yourself for the next twist that awaited.

The guard's words carried a blend of regret and a subtle hint of manipulation, his tone tinged with a mix of sadness and anticipation.

"It truly is a pity that we must say goodbye to you like this," he began, his voice dripping with a faux sense of sympathy. "However, we will not completely seal the door of opportunity for all of you." The players listened attentively to his words, their emotions a jumbled mix of hope and uncertainty.

"If the majority of you wish to participate again, then we will resume the game. Goodbye for now," he continued.

“How do you know they’ll come back?” The Frontman calmly looked at you, "Because human nature is predictable," he stated matter-of-factly. There was a hint of certainty in his gaze, and his words carried a sense of knowledge and awareness of the human psyche. "People have a need for money, and often, their greed and desperation overpower reason." He continued, his tone tinged with a mix of analysis and detachment.

The Frontman's analysis hit the nail on the head, and you couldn't help but acknowledge the underlying truth to his words. The players' desperation and debt-ridden lives presented the perfect environment for exploitation and manipulation. It was a harsh reality, but a predictable one.

“So, what do you do until then?”

The Frontman's gaze met yours, his eyes revealing a hint of amusement at your curiosity. "We wait for the majority of them to call the number back," he replied thoughtfully, "we continue monitoring and observing their behavior. There are surveillance systems, psychological analysis, and data collection to be done." His words carried a tone of professionalism, but there was also a subtle hint of curiosity as if he found your questions intriguing.

You nod, “it’s a real exact science, isn’t it? These games. They root directly to their needs. Greedy ones always come back.”

The Frontman nodded in agreement, appreciating your understanding. "The games are designed to appeal directly to people's needs and desires, tapping into their most primal instincts. Greed is a powerful motivator, and we rely on it to ensure their return." There was a blend of scientific precision and calculated manipulation in his words, showcasing the extent of the organization's orchestration.

The Frontman's voice carried a sense of authority as he announced, "We must go meet with your father. There is someone who would like to meet you both." With those words, the Frontman began walking towards the elevator, expecting you to follow him. The mention of meeting someone new piqued your curiosity, stirring an anticipation of what was to come.

As the Frontman mentioned your father and the need to meet with him, you couldn't help but sigh, a mix of resignation and anticipation evident in your reaction. It was clear that the thought of another encounter with your father stirred a range of emotions within you, adding an additional layer of complexity to the situation.

The Frontman observed your reaction carefully, picking up on the subtle tension in your voice. "I do not like your father," he stated simply, his voice carrying a hint of restrained disdain. There was a mix of resentment and guarded anger that lingered beneath his words, his dislike for your father evident yet controlled.

The Frontman chuckled at your response, recognizing your shared sentiment, "Welcome to the club." There was a fleeting moment of understanding and dark humor shared between the two of you, a brief but genuine connection over a mutual dislike for your father.

The Frontman smiled, his normally stoic demeanor cracking for a moment, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly under his mask. "You seem to actually be enjoying yourself, despite the circumstances," he replied, a faint hint of amusement in his tone.

As the elevator doors opened, you stepped out, a smirk playing on your lips. "Yeah. I’m full of surprises.” The Frontman followed, his eyes observing you with a mix of intrigue and amusement, clearly taken aback by your directness and sass.

~

Tagged:

@jspidey5, @angelsukiipls, @mrsyixingunicorn10 , @calistrialynna, @gagaga167, @urlocalsabito @starkeyszn

[reaper2187]

Holiday special : Caitlyn kiramman x female reader

The snowfall outside softly blanketed the streets of Piltover, muffling the usual hustle and bustle of the city. Inside Caitlyn Kiramman’s cozy apartment, the atmosphere was anything but calm. Boxes of ornaments and tangled strings of lights were scattered across the floor, a clear sign of the holiday spirit Caitlyn had wholeheartedly embraced. Y/N stood in the corner, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold with a mixture of bemusement and discomfort.

“Y/N, can you please pass me that garland?” Caitlyn’s voice was chipper, her hands deftly unraveling a string of fairy lights. She didn’t even look up from her task.

Y/N raised an eyebrow and gestured vaguely at the pile of decorations. “Which one is the garland?”

Caitlyn paused, her lips quirking into an amused smile. She glanced over her shoulder at Y/N, who stood awkwardly amidst the festive chaos. “The green one that looks like it’s made of pine needles.”

With a sigh, Y/N reached down, picking up the garland and holding it out like it might bite her. Caitlyn laughed softly as she took it from Y/N’s hands, her fingers brushing against the taller woman’s rougher ones.

“You’re really not into Christmas, are you?” Caitlyn asked, her tone light but curious.

Y/N shrugged, her stoic expression softening slightly as she glanced out the window at the falling snow. “Never really celebrated it. Just another day to me.”

Caitlyn’s smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly masked it with her usual determination. “Well, that just means I’ll have to make this one extra special. Maybe you’ll change your mind about the holidays.”

Y/N gave a noncommittal grunt, her eyes scanning the room. She’d always been more comfortable in the shadows, in the chaos of Zaun’s underbelly, or even in the heat of battle. This…this domesticity was foreign to her. But Caitlyn, with her infectious energy and warm smile, made it bearable—even enjoyable, though Y/N would never admit that out loud.

“Here, help me with the lights,” Caitlyn said, holding up a long strand of twinkling bulbs. “We’ll hang them around the window.”

Y/N hesitated but eventually took one end of the lights. Together, they worked in a comfortable silence, Caitlyn giving occasional instructions while Y/N did her best to follow them. Despite her initial reluctance, Y/N found herself getting drawn into the task. The lights cast a warm glow across the room, reflecting in Caitlyn’s bright blue eyes as she stepped back to admire their handiwork.

“Perfect,” Caitlyn said, a satisfied smile on her face.

Y/N’s lips twitched into a small smirk. “Not bad.”

Caitlyn turned to face her, a teasing glint in her eyes. “See? You’re already getting into the spirit.”

Y/N snorted softly, her arms crossing over her broad chest. “Don’t push it, Kiramman.”

They continued decorating, Caitlyn’s cheerful chatter filling the room. Y/N found herself surprisingly at ease, her usual guarded demeanor slipping away in the warmth of Caitlyn’s presence. When they hung the ornaments on the tree, Caitlyn insisted on handing Y/N the most ridiculous ones, like a glitter-covered poro and a miniature cupcake. Y/N rolled her eyes but placed them on the tree without complaint, earning a delighted grin from Caitlyn.

As they worked, Caitlyn retrieved a small sprig of greenery with white berries tied with a red ribbon. She held it up, her smile mischievous. “And this,” she said, “is the finishing touch.”

Y/N tilted her head, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s that?”

Caitlyn’s grin widened. “Mistletoe. It’s a holiday tradition. You hang it up, and if two people find themselves underneath it, they…well, they…”

Y/N’s brow furrowed. “They what?”

Caitlyn hesitated, her cheeks tinged with a faint pink. “They…kiss,” she said softly, her eyes flickering to Y/N’s face.

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, a rare moment of surprise breaking through her usually stoic expression. “Why?”

Caitlyn laughed, the sound light and melodic. “It’s just a tradition. It’s supposed to be romantic.”

Y/N’s gaze shifted to the mistletoe, then back to Caitlyn. Her mind worked quickly, processing the information. “So if someone’s under that thing, they’re expected to kiss whoever’s with them?”

“That’s the idea,” Caitlyn said, her voice a little quieter now, her cheeks growing pinker under Y/N’s steady gaze.

Y/N nodded slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Seems like a strange tradition.”

Caitlyn laughed again, nervously this time. She moved to hang the mistletoe above the doorway, stretching onto her toes. “It’s harmless fun,” she said, her voice slightly strained as she tried to reach.

Without a word, Y/N stepped forward, taking the mistletoe from Caitlyn’s hands. Their fingers brushed, and Caitlyn’s breath hitched. Y/N easily reached up and secured the sprig above the doorway, her height making the task effortless.

When she stepped back, she found Caitlyn standing directly beneath the mistletoe, looking up at her with a mixture of nervousness and something else Y/N couldn’t quite place.

“So, does that mean we’re supposed to…” Y/N trailed off, her voice unusually tentative.

Caitlyn’s eyes searched Y/N’s face, her lips curving into a soft smile. “Only if you want to,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N’s heart thudded in her chest, a sensation she wasn’t accustomed to. She’d faced danger and death countless times without flinching, but standing here, under a sprig of mistletoe with Caitlyn Kiramman, she felt…uncertain.

Caitlyn stepped closer, her hand lightly brushing against Y/N’s arm. “It’s okay if you don’t,” she said, her voice gentle. “I just…I wanted you to feel included. To feel like you’re part of something.”

Y/N’s gaze softened, her usual stoicism giving way to something more vulnerable. She looked down at Caitlyn, her voice quiet but steady. “I already do.”

For a moment, they stood there, the room silent except for the faint hum of the fairy lights. Then, slowly, Y/N leaned down, her lips brushing softly against Caitlyn’s. The kiss was brief, almost hesitant, but it held a depth of emotion that words couldn’t convey.

When they pulled apart, Caitlyn’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining with happiness. Y/N’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile, a rare sight that Caitlyn couldn’t help but admire.

“Maybe this holiday isn’t so bad,” Y/N said, her voice low but warm.

Caitlyn laughed softly, her hand slipping into Y/N’s. “I’ll make a Christmas lover out of you yet.”

Y/N chuckled, a sound that was both surprising and comforting. “Don’t push your luck.”

As the snow continued to fall outside, the two of them stood together, their hands entwined and the warmth of the season wrapping around them like a comforting embrace. For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt a sense of peace, a feeling of belonging she hadn’t known she’d been missing. And it was all thanks to Caitlyn and her relentless holiday spirit.

Happy holiday y'all. Hope you all had good holidays. Do leave a comment and if you guys have any requests do tell me. BYEEEEEEE

[wandering-winchesters]

After the Battle

Summary: After a grueling hunt, you and Dean share a rare moment of closeness.

The hunt had been grueling, one of those jobs that left you both physically and emotionally drained. You and Dean had barely escaped with your lives, the battle against a particularly nasty group of demons taking its toll. As you finally made it back to the safety of the bunker, the weight of everything that had happened began to sink in.

You dropped your bag at the door, exhaustion pulling at every muscle in your body. Dean was right behind you, his own movements slower, more deliberate, as if he was running on sheer willpower alone. The silence between you was heavy, filled with the unspoken tension of close calls and near misses.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the reality of what you’d just been through too overwhelming to put into words. You glanced at Dean, taking in the way his shoulders sagged under the weight of the burden he always seemed to carry. His face was a mask of stoic resolve, but you could see the cracks forming at the edges, the weariness that even he couldn’t completely hide.

Before you knew what you were doing, you crossed the distance between you and threw your arms around him, pulling him into a hug. It was instinctual, a desperate need to feel him close, to reassure yourself that he was still here, still alive. You felt him tense at first, clearly caught off guard, but then he relaxed, his arms coming up to wrap around you in return.

The embrace was tentative at first, almost awkward, like neither of you was sure if this was okay, if this was something you were allowed to have. But as the seconds passed, Dean’s grip on you tightened, and you felt him lean into you, his head dipping to rest against your shoulder.

You held him close, your heart pounding in your chest as you realized just how much you needed this—how much you needed him. The scent of leather and the faint trace of gunpowder clung to him, grounding you in the present, reminding you that you weren’t alone. He was here, and so were you.

Dean let out a shaky breath, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair, the other resting firmly on your back. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes. You could feel the unspoken words in the way he held you, the things he couldn’t say out loud. Thank you. I’m glad you’re okay. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.

You closed your eyes, savoring the rare moment of closeness. This was different from anything you’d ever experienced with him before—softer, more intimate. For once, the world outside didn’t matter. The monsters, the dangers, the constant fight for survival—it all faded away, leaving just the two of you, holding on to each other like you were each other’s lifeline.

When you finally pulled back, it was slow, reluctant, neither of you really wanting to let go. Dean’s hands lingered on your arms, his gaze searching your face as if trying to memorize every detail.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice rough and quiet, but there was a softness in his eyes that took your breath away.

You offered him a small, reassuring smile. “Anytime.”

He nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There was something different in his expression now—something open, vulnerable, that you hadn’t seen before. It made your heart ache in the best possible way.

“Let’s get some rest,” you suggested, feeling the exhaustion catching up to you again.

Dean agreed with a tired nod, but before you could turn to head to your room, he reached out, catching your hand in his. The gesture was small, almost hesitant, but it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“Goodnight,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

You held his gaze for a moment longer before finally letting go, turning to walk down the hallway to your room. As you closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but smile, a warmth spreading through your chest that had nothing to do with the blankets you pulled around yourself.

It wasn’t just the hunt that had changed things tonight. Something between you and Dean had shifted, something important. And as you drifted off to sleep, you knew that no matter what came next, you had each other. And that was more than enough.

tag list: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester

[onebadassunicorn]

His Blue-Eyed Angel

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: talk of mutilation (clipping of wings)

word count: ~ 4.4k

story tags: @bravo-delta-eccho, @tiredsleepyhead, @tele86

Chapter 1

***************

Chapter 2

Azriel POV

The Summer Court glimmered with its usual brilliance, sunlight dancing on turquoise waves that stretched endlessly toward the horizon. Azriel walked beside Rhysand as the sentinels led them to the beach just outside the opulent palace. The salt-kissed breeze tugged at his dark hair and brushed against his wings, but it did little to quell the quiet tension coiling in his chest.

He didn’t know what to expect. Rhys had only hinted that the visit was important. Tarquin had been unusually cryptic when extending the invitation, but his tone had carried an undercurrent of excitement, as if he were unveiling a closely held secret.

Tarquin was waiting for them, his skin gleaming as he greeted them with a warm smile.

“Rhysand. Azriel,” Tarquin said, inclining his head. “Welcome to the Summer Court. I’m glad you’re here. Come. There’s someone you need to meet.”

Azriel’s shadows stirred faintly, a flicker of unease coursing through him. He exchanged a glance with Rhysand, who gave a subtle nod before they followed Tarquin.

And then Azriel saw her.

She was standing on the beach near the water, the white sand glistening like crushed starlight beneath her bare feet. Her black hair cascaded in loose waves down her back, glinting faintly blue under the sunlight. She was crouched low, her attention entirely focused on a young boy beside her, no older than six, his giggles carried by the gentle breeze. Azriel stopped suddenly, completely captivated by her presence, as she raised a hand, the air shimmering around her as a shape began to form from the water pooling nearby.

A sea turtle, intricately detailed, swam gracefully through the air, droplets of water sparkling like jewels as they dripped from its form. The boy squealed in delight, clapping his hands as the turtle dipped and twirled around him. She laughed softly, the sound warm and melodious, a stark contrast to the hum of power Azriel could sense thrumming beneath her movements.

Her face alight with joy, she conjured another shape: a dolphin that leapt playfully beside the turtle. The boy chased after it, his little feet kicking up sand, and she watched him with a look so tender, so full of quiet affection, that Azriel felt something inside him shift.

She stood up, her dark hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of midnight. The soft sea breeze stirred the strands, catching the light in a way that made them glimmer faintly.

“Y/n,” Tarquin said, as he approached her, his voice warm and coaxing. “Come. It’s time.”

She turned then, and a smile graced her tanned skin, her freckles glittering across her nose and cheeks. Azriel’s breath caught. Her blue eyes, bright and piercing, met his, and something shifted inside him—a pull he couldn’t explain, a tether he hadn’t known existed. 

Mate. 

His mate. 

The bond snapped into place then, a sensation so sudden and overwhelming that he nearly staggered. His shadows, always restless, froze mid-sway before rushing toward her as if drawn to her light. He fought to maintain his ever-stoic expression.

She walked towards them as her gaze flicked to Rhysand, softening with recognition, before returning to Azriel. There was strength in her eyes, but also a quiet hesitation, as though she carried a secret too heavy to hold alone.

“Y/n is family,” Tarquin said, his tone filled with pride. “She’s been protected here, hidden, but the time has come for her to step into the world as she truly is.”

Y/n’s jaw tightened slightly, and her hands fidgeted at her sides, though she masked it well. “Tarquin—” she began, but he interrupted her gently.

“Show them,” he said, his voice kind but firm. “They need to see you.”

Azriel’s shadows stilled, sensing the gravity of the moment as he watched her carefully. She hesitated, glancing toward Tarquin, then Rhysand, before finally turning her gaze to Azriel. Something passed between them in that moment—something unspoken but electric, leaving his heart pounding in his chest.

Then, with a steady breath, Y/n closed her eyes. The air around her shimmered faintly, a ripple of magic that seemed to hum with anticipation. And as the glamour faded, Azriel’s world tilted.

Her black wings unfolded slowly, their dark, feathered expanse catching the sunlight. They were breathtaking—sleek, powerful, and unlike anything Azriel had ever seen. The feathers shimmered faintly, as though black night sky had been kissed by starlight, and when she extended them fully, they seemed to fill the space around her with an undeniable presence.

Azriel could do nothing but stare. The word angel came unbidden to his mind, the sight of her stealing the very breath from his lungs. She was stunning, otherworldly,  a being who seemed to belong to both the heavens and the earth. And in that moment, she didn’t just look like an angel. She looked like his angel, sent to claim him and cast light into the shadows that had long consumed him.

“Y/n,” Rhysand said softly, his voice filled with quiet awe as he stepped forward. “You’re extraordinary.”

Tarquin motioned toward him, “this is Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court.”

Y/n smiled faintly and nodded her heard, and her gaze flickered to Azriel. When their eyes met again, the tether between them tightened, unspoken but undeniable, but only for Azriel.

Azriel took a step closer, his wings trembling faintly at his back. His hazel eyes were wide, his usually guarded expression uncharacteristically open. “You’re…” He paused, his voice catching as he struggled to find the words. “You’re Illyrian?”

Her cheeks flushed, a faint blush coloring her skin, but she didn’t look away. “Yes,” she said softly, her voice like the melody of a soft wave lapping against the shore.

“Y/n,” Tarquin said, gesturing toward him, “this is Azriel. Spymaster of the Night Court.”

She inclined her head, her expression unreadable. “It’s an honor,” she said softly.

Azriel swallowed hard, his shadows retreating slightly as he forced himself to reply. “The honor is mine.”

For the first time in centuries, Azriel felt vulnerable, as though she could see through the shadows that clung to him, past the walls he had carefully built. But he didn’t pull away. He didn’t want to.

Tarquin’s voice broke the moment, though it was gentle. “Now you see why she’s special. Why she needed protection.”

Azriel nodded slowly, though his gaze remained on Y/n. “I see,” he murmured, his voice steady but filled with something deeper.

They all remained still, the weight of the revelation hanging in the air as Y/n folded her dark, feathered wings back against her shoulders. Her blue eyes held steady, though Azriel noticed the slight tension in her posture, the way her hands fidgeted at her sides. She was waiting—for their reaction, for judgment, for the questions she surely knew would follow.

Rhysand, ever composed, stood silent for a long moment. His violet eyes flickered between Y/n and Tarquin, his usually impenetrable expression softening with a flicker of understanding. Azriel, standing beside Rhys, couldn’t take his eyes off her. Feathered wings—an Illyrian female with feathered wings. It was the stuff of legend, of whispers told in the shadows of war-camps, tales of a time long before any of them had been born. And yet, here she stood, living proof of those stories.

Tarquin broke the silence, his voice calm but tinged with pride as he looked to Rhysand. “She is your sister.”

The words struck like a thunderclap, shattering the stillness and sending a ripple of shock through him. Rhysand’s eyes widened, his mask of control slipping for just a fraction of a second before he schooled his features again. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice low and steady, though a thread of disbelief ran through it.

Tarquin inclined his head, his sunlit features solemn. “Your sister, Rhysand. Y/n shares your mother. You both carry her blood.”

Y/n’s gaze darted to Rhysand, her lips parting slightly. Azriel felt the tension in the air shift, a fragile balance of disbelief, curiosity, and the beginnings of something deeper.

Rhysand’s voice, quiet but firm, broke through the heavy silence. “How is that possible? If she is my sister, why has she been here?”

Tarquin straightened, his golden-brown skin glowing faintly in the sunlight. “Your mother,” he began carefully, “was not always bound to the Night Court. There was a time, long ago, when she sought refuge here, in the Summer Court. It was during that time that she and my father… shared a bond.”

Rhysand’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering briefly to Y/n before returning to Tarquin. “She never told me.”

“She didn’t tell anyone,” Tarquin admitted. “Not even Y/n.”

Y/n spoke then, her voice soft but steady, cutting through the growing tension. “I didn’t know who my father was until Tarquin told me. All I knew was that my mother brought me here to protect me.” She paused, glancing at Rhysand. “She feared what the Illyrians would do if they knew about my wings. About me.”

Azriel’s hazel eyes darkened slightly, the mention of Illyrian prejudice sparking a quiet anger in his chest. He had seen firsthand the brutal traditions that still lingered in the war-camps, and the thought of anyone clipping those magnificent wings, of trying to diminish her strength, made his shadows writhe in agitation.

Tarquin stepped closer to Y/n, his expression softening. “Feathered wings are rare,” he said, his voice reverent. “So rare they haven’t been seen in centuries, not since the first Illyrians roamed the mountains. When your mother saw your wings, she knew she couldn’t take you back. She feared what they would do, the jealousy they might harbor, the traditions they might try to impose. So, she came to my father, and he swore to protect you.”

Rhysand’s violet eyes softened, the sharp edge of his expression giving way to something more contemplative. “And you kept her hidden all this time.”

“I did,” Tarquin said simply. “Because she is more than a rarity. She is a connection to a history we’ve all but forgotten. And she is your family, Rhysand. She deserves to be seen.”

Y/n shifted slightly, her wings rustling faintly as she looked at Rhysand. “I didn’t know what to expect,” she admitted, her voice trembling just slightly. “I didn’t know if you would want me in your life. But I… I wanted to try.”

Rhysand stared at her for a long moment, his gaze flicking over her face, her wings, the quiet strength in her eyes. Slowly, he stepped forward, his movements deliberate as he stopped just a pace away from her. “You are my sister,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “And that means you are part of this family. If you’ll have me.”

Y/n’s eyes filled with tears, and she nodded, her voice breaking as she whispered, “I would like that.”

Azriel stood silent, his chest tight as he watched the exchange. He had seen Rhysand command armies, face down High Lords, and wield unimaginable power with unflinching precision. But this—this quiet moment of vulnerability and acceptance—was something else entirely. And as Azriel’s gaze drifted back to Y/n, her wings catching the sunlight like an angel’s mantle, he couldn’t help but think that she wasn’t just a rarity. She was a gift. 

“Come,” Tarquin motioned. “Let’s move to the study where we can talk privately.”

***************

The Summer Court’s private study was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below. Rhysand leaned against the edge of a carved desk, his violet eyes sharp and calculating as he watched Tarquin pace the room. Azriel stood in the shadows, his expression neutral, though his shadows stirred with quiet curiosity.

Tarquin finally stopped, his gaze meeting Rhysand’s, his usual easy demeanor replaced by something heavier, something almost cautious. “I owe you an explanation,” he began, his voice low but steady.

Rhysand crossed his arms, his posture relaxed but his tone laced with steel. “I’d say so. You’ve been keeping a sister I didn’t know I had hidden from me for years. Start explaining.”

Rhysand’s violet eyes were fixed on Tarquin, waiting for him to continue.

Tarquin ran a hand through his hair, gaze drifting toward the moonlit waves. He looked as though he was deciding how much truth to share and how best to shape it. At last, he cleared his throat, his voice low and steady. “Your father and mine were powerful men, Rhysand. They cared about their bloodlines and their courts. They weren’t saints, and neither were the courts they ruled.” He paused, shoulders tensing before he went on. “Before my own mother ascended to her role in Summer—she traveled through other courts, learned their ways. She spent time in Illyria, quietly, to understand the warrior culture there. And what she found disturbed her. That is where she met your mother”

Rhysand remained silent, but Azriel, standing just behind him, stiffened at the mention of Illyria. Tarquin continued, voice growing graver with each word. “Your mother—and my mother—were horrified by how Illyrian girls often had their wings clipped, their futures stolen before they ever had a chance to soar. It went against every principle they believed in. They both decided to risk their safety to help. They developed secret routes, safe houses, and allies willing to shelter those girls. It wasn’t a grand rebellion—too much attention would have doomed them all—but it was a quiet resistance, saving a few at a time. Smuggling them out under cover of darkness, guiding them to places they could heal and grow, unshackled from those awful traditions.”

Tarquin glanced at Rhysand, noting the stillness that had overtaken him. “They both saved dozens over the years. Perhaps more. No one kept count. The best rescues were those never spoken of again.”

Rhysand’s posture remained calm, but his eyes were sharp, thoughtful. He said nothing, silently urging Tarquin to go on.

Tarquin sighed, returning his gaze to the dark, rolling sea. “When your mother realized she was carrying my father’s child—Y/n—she knew that if her daughter had Illyrian wings, if anyone learned the child’s true paternity and heritage, Y/n could face the same fate. Even here, hidden in Summer, there were those who would see a half-Illyrian girl as something to tame rather than to cherish.”

He ran a hand along the stone desk. “So, she hid her own daughter’s existence as much as she could. She allowed my father, the High Lord of Summer, to take care of her because with his title, that pretense offered protection. There would be questions about the wings, of course, but my father’s word as High Lord could not be easily challenged. She trusted my father, keeping Y/n close, safe, and away from the eyes of anyone who might see the clipping of her wings as a necessity or a right.”

A silence fell, broken only by the distant cries of gulls. Finally, Tarquin turned fully to Rhysand. “She did all this long before Y/n ever knew who she was. She saved countless other girls first and, in doing so, learned how to save her own daughter. It was not a perfect life, nor a perfect solution, but it worked. By the time Y/n learned the truth—of who her mother had been, of whose blood ran in her veins—she had grown strong, whole. Untouched by the cruelty that others suffered.”

Rhysand’s jaw clenched slightly, and Azriel’s shadows swirled around him, as if absorbing every bit of this revelation. The High Lord of Night finally inclined his head. “My mother saved her, gave her freedom,” he said quietly. “She may have had to hide her, but your father kept her whole. I will not forget that.”

Tarquin nodded, relieved yet solemn. “Your mother’s legacy lives on in Y/n. She’s the child of a woman who fought for those who had no voice, who refused to let cruelty stand unchecked. And now that Y/n is here, with you, perhaps she will find her own way to honor that legacy.”

Rhysand’s expression didn’t change, but his voice was cold when he spoke. “And you thought it best to keep this from me?”

Tarquin met his gaze, unflinching. “She was just a child when I learned of everything. She didn’t even know who she truly was. I chose to protect her, to let her grow up without the weight of that knowledge hanging over her. And when she did learn the truth, she wasn’t ready to face it. I waited until she was. Until she wanted to meet you.”

Rhysand’s gaze softened, though only slightly. “And now she’s here.”

“Yes,” Tarquin said, his voice quiet. “And now she’s here. She’s your blood, Rhys. But she’s also mine. I’ll protect her, even from you, if I must.”

Rhysand nodded slowly, though the protective glint in his eyes didn’t fade. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

A tense silence settled between them before Rhysand finally inclined his head, his lips curving into a faint smile. “You’ve done well by her, Tarquin. But she’s not just yours anymore.”

“She belongs here,” Tarquin said finally, his voice quiet but firm.

Rhysand turned to him, his expression thoughtful, though his violet eyes gleamed with an unyielding resolve. “She is free to decide to come and live with her family in the Night Court,” he countered, his tone gentle but no less firm.

Tarquin’s jaw tightened as he glanced out over the water. “I’ve protected her for years, Rhys. When she didn’t know who she was, when she had no one else—”

“And for that, I’m grateful,” Rhysand interrupted, his voice sincere. “More than you know, Tarquin. But things are different now. She knows the truth. She knows who she is.”

Tarquin’s gaze snapped to him, a flicker of frustration in his seafoam eyes. “And what exactly do you think the Night Court can offer her that I haven’t already?”

Rhysand sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “A chance to connect with the part of her she’s never known. With the family she didn’t know existed until now. She’s my sister as well, Tarquin. My blood. I can’t ignore that—not now that I know.”

Tarquin’s wings shifted slightly, a telltale sign of his unease. “And what if she doesn’t want to go?”

“I won’t force her,” Rhysand said, his tone softening. “The choice will be hers. But I want her to see Velaris, to meet Feyre, Cassian, Mor, Amren… to know the life she could have with us. I want her to have every piece of herself, Tarquin, not just the part tied to this court.”

Tarquin studied him for a long moment, his lips pressed into a thin line. “And if she decides she’s better off here? With me?”

Rhysand’s expression remained calm, though a flicker of something sharp crossed his eyes. “Then I’ll respect her choice. But I won’t give her up without giving her the chance to know me—to know us.”

Tarquin looked away, his shoulders tense as he considered the High Lord of Night’s words. Finally, he exhaled, his posture softening slightly. “You care for her already.”

“She’s my sister,” Rhysand said simply, a faint smile curving his lips. “Of course I do.”

Tarquin shook his head, his expression torn. “You’d better mean that, Rhys. Because if you take her to your court and something happens to her—”

“She’ll be as safe with me as she’s been here,” Rhysand assured him, his voice steady. “You have my word.”

Another long silence stretched between them before Tarquin finally nodded, though the tension didn’t leave his face. “Fine. Talk to her. But it’ll be her decision. And if she wants to stay… you’ll leave her in peace.”

Rhysand inclined his head, his smile widening just slightly. “Agreed.”

Tarquin turned to leave, his steps heavy, but Rhysand’s voice stopped him.

“Thank you,” Rhys said, his tone laced with genuine gratitude.

Tarquin paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Don’t thank me yet, Rhysand. Let’s see what she decides.”

And with that, the High Lord of Summer walked away. From the shadows, Azriel remained silent, his gaze flicking briefly to the closed door. Y/n was just beyond it, waiting to step into a world that had been hers all along but that she had never known. 

***************

The Summer Court’s ocean breeze carried the faint scent of salt and jasmine as Y/n stood on the veranda, her wings shifting lightly in the golden light of sunset. Rhysand had just finished extending the invitation—his words measured but laced with hope. He stood beside her, his violet eyes warm yet watchful, waiting for her answer.

Y/n glanced at Tarquin, who lingered a few paces away. His expression was carefully neutral, but the tension in his posture betrayed his unease. He had basically raised her, shielded her, been the only family she’d ever known. Leaving the Summer Court meant leaving him behind, at least for a time. 

She turned her gaze back to Rhysand, searching his face for any sign of ulterior motive, but all she found was sincerity. He wasn’t asking for himself—he was asking for her. Asking her to take a leap into the unknown, to explore the part of herself she’d only just begun to understand.

“I’ll come,” she said finally, her voice steady though her heart raced. “To see Velaris, to meet your family. To learn more about who I am.”

Rhysand’s shoulders relaxed, a small, genuine smile gracing his lips. “You’ll be welcome there, always. For as long as you choose to stay.”

Tarquin stepped forward then, his expression softening as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “If this is what you want, Y/n, then I won’t stop you. But if you ever need me, if you ever want to come back—”

“I know,” she said quietly, offering him a faint smile. “Thank you, Tarquin. For everything.”

As the conversation ended and plans began to take shape, Azriel stood in the shadows, watching her. He hadn’t spoken during the exchange, hadn’t dared to. But as Y/n’s words sank in, as the reality of her coming to the Night Court settled over him, a rush of emotions collided within him.

He should have felt relief—gratitude, even—that she would be close, that she’d be in Velaris where he could watch over her. But what he felt was far more complicated.

The bond thrummed in his chest, loud and insistent, a reminder of what she didn’t yet know. Of what she might never feel. It wasn’t just the bond that unsettled him—it was her. The way her blue eyes seemed to hold entire worlds. The gentle strength in her movements. The way she spoke, careful and deliberate, yet tinged with quiet vulnerability.

Azriel’s shadows curled tighter around him, a reflection of his inner turmoil. He was glad she was coming, but the thought of being so close to her, of seeing her every day, terrified him. What if she never felt the bond? What if she did and rejected it? What if she grew close to someone else?

He pushed the thoughts away, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. Protect her. Support her. That was all he could offer; all he would allow himself to offer.

But as Y/n turned, her wings catching the last rays of sunlight, her gaze flicked briefly toward him. Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles—a polite acknowledgment of his presence—and it was like the sun breaking through a storm.

Azriel’s breath caught, his shadows pausing in their restless dance. He inclined his head in response, his face carefully neutral, though inside he felt as though his very foundations were shifting.

She was coming to the Night Court. To his world. And for better or worse, nothing would ever be the same.

Chapter 3

[mivalyn]

☆ Tension unraveled ☆

18+, mdni!

Ghost x fem!reader

Cw: unprotected sex, fingering, smut

Word count: 1,392

!!!Requests are open!!!

After a long and grueling mission, all you wanted was peace and quiet. The kind that felt impossible to find in the chaos of base life with Task Force 141. The shower seemed like a good start, something to help you wash off the sweat, dirt, and tension that clung to you like a second skin. You slipped into the steaming water, letting it cascade over your sore muscles, your head leaning against the cool tiles as the adrenaline from the mission faded.

But when you stepped out and toweled off, you realized the tension wasn't gone. Not entirely. Something still coiled tight in your chest, thrumming low in your core. Maybe it was the stress, the close calls, or just the lingering adrenaline-but you were determined to do something about it tonight.

Sliding into an oversized shirt and a pair of simple panties, you made your way to the bed. The room was dimly lit, the faint hum of activity outside your door just background noise. As you reached into your nightstand and pulled out your vibrator, you already felt a flicker of relief-anticipation winding in your stomach as you settled against the pillows. Tonight, you weren't just unwinding. You were taking control.

As the vibrator hummed to life, you let your body relax, your legs falling apart as you teased yourself through the thin fabric of your underwear. The buzz against your sensitive skin drew a soft moan from your lips, and you slipped the panties off, tossing them carelessly to the floor. Sliding the toy between your folds, you sighed deeply, closing your eyes and letting the pleasure build slowly.

You were so lost in the sensations - the vibrations, the way your hips moved instinctively against the toy - that you didn't notice the faint sound of footsteps just outside your door.

Ghost had been on his way to his own room, intending to grab some sleep, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the faint moan he thought he'd imagined, or maybe it was curiosity. Whatever it was, it drew him closer to your door.

The sight through the slightly ajar door made him stop in his tracks.

There you were, sprawled on your bed, your legs spread wide, your head thrown back in bliss as your vibrator worked slowly inside you. The oversized shirt you wore had ridden up, leaving you completely bare to his view, the toy glistening with your arousal as you moved it in and out with deliberate, lazy strokes.

Ghost felt his pulse quicken, heat rushing through his body as a primal urge overtook him. His cock stirred against his combat pants, hardening at the sight of you. You were so lost in your own world, so vulnerable, and all he could think about was how desperately he wanted to replace that vibrator with his fingers, his tongue - his cock.

Unable to stop himself, he leaned forward, his gloved hand lightly brushing the door as he pushed it open just a fraction more. But that tiny sound - the door creaking - snapped you out of your trance.

Your eyes darted to the door, your breath catching as you saw him standing there, his tall figure shadowed by the dim light of the hallway. For a moment, you both froze. His gaze locked onto yours, his dark eyes betraying the lust that simmered beneath his otherwise stoic mask.

"I - uh - didn't mean to..." he stammered, an unusual crack in his composed demeanor. His cheeks flushed slightly, but there was no hiding the hunger in his gaze as his eyes drifted back to your exposed body.

Your lips curled into a wicked smile. "Ghost," you said softly, teasingly, "are you just going to stand there, or are you planning to help me out?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, the embarrassment melting into something darker, something more dangerous. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

"You cheeky little minx," he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver through your body. "Do you have any idea what you're asking for?"

Your smirk widened as you leaned back against the pillows, your legs still shamelessly spread. "Not really," you admitted, your tone dripping with challenge, "but I'm more than willing to find out."

That was all the invitation he needed. Ghost crossed the room in long, deliberate strides, his intense gaze never leaving yours. The way he looked at you made your heart race, anticipation coiling tightly in your stomach. He climbed onto the bed, kneeling between your legs as his large hands slid up your thighs, spreading you even wider.

His hand moved to yours, stopping your slow motions with the vibrator. "Let me handle this," he said in a low, commanding tone. You let go, and he pulled the toy out of you, his movements slow and deliberate. He studied it for a moment before his eyes returned to your slick folds, glistening and ready for him.

"You taste as good as you look, don't you?" he muttered, more to himself than to you. His lips curled into a predatory grin as he leaned down, his hot breath brushing against your most sensitive spot.

The first swipe of his tongue against your clit sent a jolt through your body, and you let out a shaky moan. He chuckled against you, the vibration teasing your skin. "So sensitive already," he murmured before diving back in, his tongue swirling and flicking in ways that made your head spin.

You gasped when he slid a finger inside you, his thick digit stretching you just enough to make you arch off the bed. He worked it slowly, curling it upward to hit that perfect spot, his tongue never ceasing its assault on your clit.

When he added a second finger, you couldn't hold back the stream of moans that spilled from your lips. Your hips moved against his hand, chasing the pleasure as his pace quickened.

"F-fuck, Ghost-"

His low groan in response vibrated through your core, and the sensation pushed you closer to the edge. "That's it," he growled, his voice rough and full of desire. "Come for me."

Your climax hit like a tidal wave, your entire body trembling as he coaxed you through it, his fingers and tongue unrelenting until you were gasping for breath.

When he finally pulled away, he licked his fingers clean, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "We're not done yet," he said, his tone promising so much more. He stripped off his clothes, revealing a body honed from years of combat and discipline. His cock stood hard and proud, the tip glistening with pre-cum as he climbed back over you.

He climbed back on top of you, removed your oversized shirt, and gazed appreciatively at your exposed body. "You are so beautiful," he murmured, gently pinching and rolling one of your nipples between his fingers. His mouth then descended, and he began to suckle your other nipple, cupping your breast from below. He alternated his attentions, lavishing kisses and caresses on your sensitive peaks.

"Do you feel that?" he murmured then, his cock brushing against your slick entrance as he leaned down to kiss you, his tongue claiming yours in a fierce, dominating kiss. "That's all for you."

And when he finally pushed inside, filling you completely, you couldn't hold back the cry that escaped your lips. The way he moved - slow, deliberate, hitting every spot that made you see stars - left you trembling beneath him.

"Mine," he growled against your neck as his pace quickened, his thrusts deep and relentless. "You're mine."

The way he claimed you - body, soul, and everything in between - left no room for doubt. As you both reached your peak together, his release filling you with warmth, you knew this wouldn't be the last time he showed you exactly how he'd take care of you.

And as you lay in his arms afterward, your head resting against his chest, his possessive grip around your waist, you couldn't help but smile.

"You'll never need that toy again," he murmured, his voice low and firm. "If you're ever tense, you come to me. Understood?"

"Understood," you whispered, closing your eyes as sleep pulled you under, safe and sated in his arms.