#to make himself feel like a better person

[6ronze]

CALEB, THE FARSPACE COLONEL

AT THIS SHIP YOU WILL WITNESS … current!caleb & fem!reader. warning(s) -> MDNI. [18+ only]. needy/possessive caleb, might be ooc caleb, apple as a gag(?), squírtinğ, implied créámpîes, cûm eating, multiple órgáșms, cûnnilingúś, no plot, just smut, not proofread wordcount. 1.6k (kinda short cs idk much ab him yet & i dedicated my whole púśśy into this forgive me) tags. @ljubimaya

𝐻𝐸 𝑅𝐸𝒯𝒰𝑅𝒩𝒮 with single-minded determination to keep you near him at all times. Even with a 180 degree turn of his personality during his interrogation of you before, he assures you that protocol was the only reason for his brief change. Yet in the privacy of his room, he doesn’t exactly change to normal..

You didn’t know what brought you to the current situation you were in. To be more detailed, the situation you were in included you sprawled out on his bed, shirt bunched up beneath your chin with Caleb’s body hovering above you, burying his cock into you with reckless abandon. It all started with an innocent, heartfelt confession. But little did you know that calebs’ feelings would run so deep, so intense, to the point he had to have his mouth latch onto one of your tits, eagerly suckling on a nipple all the while his hips were unrelenting.

“W-wait, Caleb, please, I can’t cum again,” you whine with a sob, hands above you clinging onto his pillow for dearlife as he brought you to the brink of your nth orgasm. Caleb on the other hand seemed better than you despite the fact he would follow you every time you came, spilling his seed into your warm channel as if in sync. In truth, he wanted to cum the moment he slid inside your wet heat, but decided against it, wanting to come with you. “Yes you can, I know you can, sweet girl,” he mumbled persuasively sweet against your flushed skin, your tits aching in the best way in his squeezing hand and warm mouth.

“Caleb, Caleb, fuck—! I feel weird,” you sobbed with a drawn out moan, hips beginning to squirm at the unfamiliar feeling in lower belly. His cock was stretching you out so good, almost too good. You thought you were on the edge of another orgasm but it felt completely foreign to you, fearing that you might embarrass yourself if Caleb kept on going like this. But Caleb himself was undeterred. Instead, a knowing smile of satisfaction crept on his face at your pleas, knowing exactly what was coming. “Of course you are, baby,” he cooed softly, hand fondling your right breast slipping down your back to thumb over the sensitive nub of your clit, rubbing it quick, tight circles that made your body arch into him with a cry.

Your legs quivered and kicked weakly on Caleb’s hip all the while he was fucking into you like it was nobody’s business, eager to push more of his cum into your already fully pussy. He could feel the heels of your feet burying into his lower back, quivering with pleasure that he knew was unfamiliar to you until now. Until he brought it to you.

his touch was precise, coaxing but going above your limits to make sure he makes your mind blank out. And true to his intentions, you cried out, loud, arching off the bed with splutters of profanities leaving your lips along with a wail pleading of his name when the pace of his thrusts into you sopping cunt quickened along with the rub and pinches of the throbbing nub of your clit.

Your lips parted in a silent scream when you felt yourself squirting all over his thick cock, yours juices surely overflowing onto his pelvis and down his balls to drip onto the sheets, making you gasp repeatedly, velvety walls spasming uncontrollably around Caleb’s pitifully hard dick, making him hiss a heavy ‘shit’ before he fucked into you more, prolonging your orgasm to reach his own. His hips jerked erratically into you, balls drawn up tight with his incoming orgasm until he came to an abrupt stop, hand previously rubbing your nub now holding you down by your pelvis all the while his throbbing cock pulsed with each pump of cum into your already filled cunt, making sure to overflow you with his seed.

Caleb’s chest heaved with heavy breaths to catch his breath, pulling away from your boneless, sweat sheened body on the bed, with his length deeply sheathed inside your warm hole still. With a few more shallow thrusts, he finally pulled out, breathing out a moan at the erotic sight of his cum that made a ring around his base, your leaking slit no less sexy.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot like.. Panting like a bitch in heat just for me,” caleb taunted, his own cheeks flushed red all the same along with his body coated with a thin layer of sweat like yours was on his bed, chest heaving from exertion. He couldn’t help the sly smirk that crept up his face, hand sliding down your thigh to pat the plush flesh there twice as if he was praising you, saying ‘good girl’.

Your pants died out and your breathing came back to normal, your limbs weak on the bed after a moment. Your lids felt heavy during the brief period when Caleb wasn’t doing to you, head burying into his pillow beneath your head to succumb to the sleep that called for you. But it seems like your supposed childhood friend had other plans for you.

“Urk..! Caleb.. what’re you doing now..” you slurred, mind still hazy from the mind blowing orgasm he gave you to process the tug he made on your leg. Your head lifted from the pillow weakly to see what he was doing standing off the edge of the bed, other hand moving to wrap around your other leg for another tug until you were close to the edge of the mattress.

“Shh.. get your rest. I’ll clean you up while you sleep, yeah?” the man with violet eyes shushed with a teasing lilt, reaching an arm over to grab one of his red apples nearby to bring them up to your lips, leaning forward to meet your half-lidded gaze. “Try not to be too loud.. I don’t want any of my colleagues coming over for a noise complaint,” he spoke in a near whisper, making the fresh red skin of the apple to kiss your equally succulent lips. You brought up a hand to hold the apple, letting him pull away. Yours brows furrowed at the implication that he wasn’t done, already biting down on the sweet fruit he gave you.

Leaving you oblivious, Caleb knelt between your legs that hung over the edge of his bed, positioning himself so he could lean in close to your pussy which he left in a mess, globs of his semen still oozing out to drip down the delicious curves of your ass. With eyes gleaming with unsated lust, he propped an arm under your thigh, the other hand pushing the other thigh further apart to give him access to your dripping cunt. He stopped pulling you apart when he could see your weakly clenching hole, head dipping to lick a firm stripe up the wet slit, making sure to flick over the clit too before repeated the action once more, though sloppier this time.

The evident shivers you made at his ministrations made him grin at the while he lapped up at the remnants of your juices that stained your folds, alternating between tongue-fucking your slick warm heat and sucking and biting on your sensitive nub for an extra boost of pleasure to shoot up your spine. Caleb’s gaze flickered up to your squirming form whenever he found the strength to peel his eyes off your filled pussy, scooping up his cum that he stuffed inside your used cunt to taste himself, then shove it back into you. The man could barely hear the muffled whines and whimpers you made whenever his slid his tongue as deep as it could go past your entrance, unrelenting with his pace, utterly absorbed in the act of pleasing you along with ‘cleaning’ you.

your earlier boneless body flared up again at the persistent strokes of caleb’s tongue on your wet heat, feeling his hand on your thigh knead your flesh and squeeze it tight whenever he lost himself in your depths for a long while before pulling away to get some air, only when he felt the unforgivable burn in his lungs. The way his nose grazed your neglected clit was equally unforgivable, only offering the nub a few kitten licks that nothing to sate its throbbing need for stimulation. Yet when he sensed your impending orgasm, it was as if a switch went off in his head, his focusing shifting to your pitiful clit to assault it with full force, nibbling and swirling his tongue around it relentlessly. The man was thankful he gave you that apple, or else the volumes of your cries at the delicious orgasm he was about to make you reach again would have escaped his room to the ears of his unsuspecting colleagues.

“For fuck’s sake, Caleb, slow, fuck..! Slow down..!” You thrashed your hips all over his face, grinding for dear life. You could feel your climax coming in, and it was coming in fast. You rocked your hips into his face a few more times before you brought the bite covered apple to your mouth for another full bite, throwing your head back with a hand gripping onto the pillow beside your head, an overwhelming sense of ecstasy washing over your body, barely able to overcome your sobs.

“I could make you cum all the damn hours of the day if I could, princess, fuck.. you did so well,” Caleb grinned against the damp folds of your pussy, half of his face smeared with your cum which he slurped with unrivalled eagerness. He pulled away from between your thighs to look up at you properly, curl of his lips growing only wider at the sight of your utterly passed out on his bed, his earlier praises falling to deaf ears.

[delulupunk]

can you please write batboys (including Bruce) getting jealous when their crush subtly mentions her ex when they do something similar to her ex bf. (e.g. reading a book/watching a show/an activity that her ex used to love etc.)

Of course! Sorry for the late response time, I’ve been in a bit of a writing slump.

Bruce Wayne

He immediately clocks it and he doesn’t feel the need to mention it. Bruce has already been told by his kids that he’s too controlling, it doesn’t seem ideal in his mind to push you away.

Bruce will try to put the activity into perspective, for example if it’s a tv show then he’ll learn to appreciate, that everyone watches TV shows. It’s no surprise that you like a TV show your ex also happens to like.

Bruce himself has had lovers in the past and has also picked up little habits from them.

Occasionally if he’s frustrated about a case that’s not going well, he will feel a twang of jealously for your ex lover. He won’t take it out on you for fear it will push you away. Instead he just acts indifferent.

Dick Grayson

Immediate side eye, and a cheeky comment.

“Oh yeah?” His arms slip around your waist as he buries his face into your hair, “Well they’re not with you now are they?”

He spends all his time proving to you why he’s the better option and by the end of it, you’ll forget your ex’s name before you can blink. It’s all apart of the never ending charm he seems to have in spades.

Deep down though, Dick is happy that you feel comfortable enough to share that with him. After spending years under Batmans controlling wing, it’s refreshing to see freedom, you’re not afraid of what he’ll think. Comfort is a big part of relationships with Dick and he’s grateful that you trust him.

Jason Todd

He’s gritting his teeth by the time you’ve ended your sentence. There’s an instant change in Jason’s demeanour. Luckily this is only temporary and by showing him that you’re interested in the things he’s shared with you too, you’ll have him back in no time.

There’s one issue though. The never ending comments. Every time you mention watching something his subconscious response is to mention your ex’s TV show, in a goading tone. You want to order take out? He’s willing to bet you want it from that place your ex used to take you. You want to read a book, ITS YOUR EX AGAIN.

All you’ve succeeded in doing is giving him material to mercilessly make fun of you with.

Tim Drake

He rolls his eyes but encourages you to continue telling him about it. This man is a chronic napper though, so if he’s not interested he’s going straight to sleep.

To put it simply Tim couldn’t give any less of a shit that you like something else your ex likes. Tim’s life is simply too busy for him to be getting jealous over something so simple and human, that’s not to say he doesn’t get jealous though you’ll find he’s more than capable of doing that.

Tim likes to look into things you’re interested in whenever he’s bored and he’s got time. You’ll be laying together with your head his lap. He looks like he’s just scrolling aimlessly on his phone, but the silence will be interrupted.

“Your ex does have good taste.” He’ll mutter.

Damian Wayne

The great Damian Wayne could never admit this, he’s a detective, he’s meticulous, he knows all the facts. But he forget your ex’s name… It’s all down to a mixture of ego and stress. Damian is such a good lover in his mind, there’s no reason to be jealous of any other person. He’s the only one who’s worth your time. Damian is also incredibly busy and with all the cases he works his brain can only take so much. So if he has to exchange your ex’s name for the potential name of a killer he’s making the sacrifice.

Damian’s happy for you to have hobbies or media you like, so long as it’s not disturbing or something that makes him wonder if you’re mentally ill in the worst sense. Therefore he doesn’t flinch when you mention how much your ex loved that show, because he doesn’t realise your ex is your ex.

Duke Thomas

“Umm ok?” Duke is awkward he isn’t sure how to respond. Do you want him to be jealous, or do you want him to not care? Is he doing too much or too little? Has he not said anything for the past ten seconds either?!

The conversation is turned onto a different topic so he doesn’t have to deal with his confusing emotions.

Later he’ll ask you though if you had more in common with your ex than him, out of sheer nervousness. He wants you two to be on the same page and is secretly worried that you don’t want to break his heart so you’re stringing him along. He knows his fears aren’t the most logical, but it’s his emotions taking over.

However the conversation helps with your communication in the relationship and soothes his seething fears.

[burrowdarling]

Like I Do (18+)

Summary: It had been a rough time for you since the Bengals season came to an end, it felt like nothing could go your way. Instead of letting Joe in, you shut him out. He takes his time showing you what you mean to him the best way he knows how.

Pairings: boyfriend!Joe Burrow x girlfriend!reader

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: oral (female receiving), praise, dirty talk, feeling down, negative talk, definitely missing stuff so MDNI

Note: Hi! Surprise! This was something that came to mind and I just sat and busted it out while watching the games today. I do still have a texting fic coming out in the morning as planned, so take this as a bonus. I hope you all enjoy! (not proofread, apologies!)

Word Count: 3.2k

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Taglist: @burrowbarbie @definitelynotdomanique @one-sweet-gubler @plushkhiii @enchantedinfinity @iosivb9 @hellsingalucard18 @hotburreaux Feel free to comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the list!

You started the week, feeling like you could take on the world. You made a plan, things seemed to be going well enough at work, it was as if nothing could bring you down from your high. Except there was something and that feeling of invincibility didn’t last very long unfortunately. After the games on Sunday, you could feel it in Joe too. The tension in the household was prevalent, making it hard to keep up the peppy act when you weren’t feeling in very high spirits either. Sure, you were used to your mood sometimes feeling low, able to push through the week while you looked forward to the weekend. This week just felt particularly tough. Everything felt like an uphill battle, getting yourself out of bed, managing your workload with being back in the office, and keeping the house together. Joe had been busy himself with some meetings about changes to the team, putting in long days at the facility and drowning himself in workouts at the gym or film in his office. You knew this was typical for him, but with your current state it felt like the world was closing in around you.

As if the tension at home wasn’t enough, you had to hear it from your coworkers, the guys specifically, about the Bengals not making the playoffs. It was as if they knew exactly what they were doing, feigning for a rise out of you. The feeling of your skin heating everytime it comes up while trying to maintain your composure. You knew Joe tried his hardest to get them to even have a possible chance, realizing other people didn’t think the same way. Your social media was flooded too from “fans” making comments about how Joe could do better than you, he was too successful to be with “someone like you”. Making statements about how Joe didn’t need anyone holding him back, acting like they knew him and his best interests.

It wasn’t just what people said though, it felt like anything you wore didn’t suit you. You were usually a confident person, able to brush off any negativity that was thrown your way. Secure in your style, your personality, especially your relationship with Joe. He always made you feel like you were the only girl in the world. Recently, with him being gone as much as he was, it was easy to feel like he was doing it out of spite. Maybe he was reading the same things you were and was too much of a coward to admit it to your face. You knew deep down these thoughts weren’t true, but they were too loud to shut out. You were getting sick and tired of all of the outside noise. Instead of drowning it out like usual, you found it to be suffocating. It was pulling you into a spiral, one you haven’t felt in ages. You felt like you weren’t good enough, pretty enough, capable even.

There were times, when one thing could knock you down by the knees and make you feel weak. It would shut down some of your defenses, making you more susceptible to nitpicking and criticism. You knew what you signed up for when you started dating Joe, willing to persevere with whatever life would throw at you to be the person you loved. Everything else just felt so heavy that you started to believe some of the things they were saying. If everyone says he’s better off, I’ll make sure I’m out of his way.

You tried your best to throw yourself into your work, getting as head as you were able to distract yourself from your thoughts that were swirling. You stopped putting in as much effort to your clothes, wearing anything you could that wouldn’t bring attention to your frame. You stuck to your office, only being around your coworkers when you had to, which even then you tried your best to avoid at all costs.

As the week went on, Joe started to be around more which made him harder to avoid. Things were finally ironing out for a plan for the next season, making him more available and able to start enjoying his offseason with the person he loved. He knew he was being a jerk unintentionally, leaving early and coming home late to get things done. He knew he had a tendency for throwing himself into things and blocking out everything else, the repercussion being that you were caught in the crossfire. He never meant to hurt you, he was trying to do better and be better for you, more present even when it was hard. With the offseason starting, he knew he needed to make you a priority. The only problem was that it seemed like you were avoiding him.

Joe wanted to do better, show you how much he cared for you and everything you did for him. He knew he couldn’t make up for how he's acted or the lost time together, but he could start now by putting his best foot forward. Joe was able to see how much time and effort you put into making your house a home, wanting to do something nice back for you. He knew how much you loved his cooking, a rarity during the season due to his hectic schedule. He made a nice meal for you, cooked your favorite while he set the table with flowers and candles. He waited by the door for you to get home, feeling like an eternity before you finally walked through the door.

He took in your appearance, your clothing a lot baggier than you usually wore. You had dark circles under your eyes, your shoulders were dropped low and were visibly shrinking into yourself. His heart was cracking in two, not being able to shake the feeling like he was the one that did this to you. If he was around more, gave you more of his attention. He could only hope that thing would go up from here.

“Hi hunny, I made us some dinner. I hope you’re hungry, it’s your favorite,” Joe said, opening his arms to embrace you. You stepped into his arms, lightly wrapping your arms around his waist. It was nothing compared to your usual hug, feeling half-ass and resistant. Joe tried to shake it off, wondering if you were just tired.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just a long day,” was all you said, letting him go and walking towards the table where Joe had everything set. You felt tears well up in your eyes, doing everything in your power to hold them back. You wouldn’t let him see you break down, not when you saw just how much effort he put into tonight. The inner voice in your head nagged at you, telling you that you didn’t deserve this, him. You tried your best to stifle it, to get through dinner so then you could take the time to be alone.

Dinner was mostly silent, your responses were short and sweet to any conversation he attempted to start with you. Joe was trying his hardest to pull you out of this funk you were in, bringing up anything and everything to get you to talk. You silently cleared the table, trying your best to stay out of Joe’s reach. You were aware of his attempts, but you were too absorbed in your negative spiral to truly see he was trying.

“I’m gonna go shower” you said quietly as you started to walk out of the kitchen.

“Can I join you?” Joe asked, hopeful to have some time to reconnect with you. He missed you, all of you.

“I’ll just take one myself, take some alone time” your voice slightly wavering at the direct confrontation, your eyes facing the floor not able to meet Joe’s gaze.

Joe wasn’t having any of it, always showering with you whenever he had the chance to. It was something you both enjoyed, treating it as a way to reconnect with one another at the end of the day. He could tell there was something off with you, having a feeling he knew part of what was happening. You were avoiding his touch, sleeping just out of his reach whenever you got too close.You were making sure to keep your distance, though it was painful to do it.

You were stopped short before you could fully leave the kitchen. You felt Joe’s large hand circle around your smaller wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His touch instantly brought you a sense of relief, you didn’t know how much you truly missed him.

“Come with me” Joe said, sliding his hand down to meet your hand while guiding you up the stairs to your shared bedroom. He didn’t let go of your hand until he stopped in front of your floor length mirror that was sitting in the corner of your shared bedroom. He lightly pulled you so that you were standing in front of him, letting him loom behind you, your height difference evident.

“Why am I in front of our mirror?” You questioned, looking at him through the reflection.

“Tell me what you see,” Joe said, looking straight ahead, his voice coming off low and firm. 

You tilted your head to the side, confused “me and you?”

“No, tell me what you see when you look at yourself” he settled his hands on your hips, his grip tender as he stroked your hips gently with his thumbs creating goosebumps across your skin.

Your eyes caught his in the mirror, feeling more comfortable than holding your own stare. 

“Don’t look at me, sweetheart, look at you. Tell me all the good things you see.”

It was hard to hold your own stare when you were wishing you could look anywhere else. Joe could read you like a book, could tell you were feeling off about yourself. He was always the first one to reassure you whenever he got the chance, this time you never gave him one. It seemed like he was taking matters into his own hands.

“But you’re so much nicer to look at” you said with a light laugh, but Joe wasn’t having any of it. His eyes told you everything you wanted to know and directed your gaze back to yourself, I’m not playing games.

“Umm, I like my eyes,” you said, sounding more like you were trying to convince yourself rather than tell Joe.

Joe lightly chuckled behind you. “Why?”

“I like how they change colors depending on what I’m wearing, I can always make them look nice whenever I do makeup.”

“So you like your eyes, how they change.” Joe moved his head so that he was resting his jaw against the top of yours, using you as a chin rest though his eyes never left yours. “Tell me what else.”

“I don’t want to come off like I’m bragging or anything, not like there’s much to-”

“Pointing out what makes you beautiful isn’t bragging, it’s stating facts. Though you could brag about it all you want, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“I guess I like my hair, though I feel like it’s too short for my face since I got it cut.”

“I like it short, it makes it easy for me to see all the cute little faces you make or when I make you blush.”

Like clockwork, your cheeks immediately started to heat at his admission. 

“My boobs could be bigger.”

“Your boobs are perfect, they fit just right in my hands,” he says as his hands slide up your front and rest on your chest. You feel his breath catch in his throat at his discovery. “No bra?”

You shook your head, meeting his eyes again in the mirror, “I have felt like putting one on to be honest, felt like extra effort.”

He dropped his hands to the hem of your sweatshirt, looking at you for permission to take it off. With a soft nod, he slipped the fabric over your head, leaving you shirtless and feigning for his touch to be back on your skin. Joe moaned at the sight of you topless, he always loved your tits.

“I want you to see what I see. A beautiful, sexy woman who I get to call mine. It’s not just your outer beauty either, you have so many other wonderful qualities about you that I fall harder for each and every day.”

Joe moved to be in front of the mirror, turning his body to face me. He gave me a mischievous wink before dropping to his knees in front of me.

“I’m gonna eat you out while you watch yourself in that mirror. You’re gonna see exactly what I get the pleasure of seeing every time I go down on you, every time I get you under me or riding me. The one catch is you have to keep your eyes there, if you stop then I stop. Got it, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t help, but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. It was truly a challenge he was posing, one that made your skin prickle with heat just thinking about it. “And how exactly are you gonna know if I stop?”

“Easy, my eyes will be on you making sure your eyes are on yourself.”

With his gaze never leaving yours, he grabs ahold of the top of your jeans and pulls them down, taking your panties with them as they slip down your legs. Joe paused to slip the sneakers off your feet before completely taking the clothing from your legs, leaving you naked standing above him.

“Absolutely fucking beautiful” he mumbled, with his gaze on your legs as he ran his hands up your bare skin. Joe paused at your knees, moving to spread you open. His hands continued up your thighs to spread you wider, the anticipation burning hotter inside of you. When Joe’s eyes land on your pussy, you sink your teeth into your lower lip to fight back a groan, feeling your heart rate increase by the look in his eyes.

“Look at you, already so wet for me.” Joe licked a quick stripe through your center, immediately making your head fall back. He gave you a quick smack to your thigh, pulling you out of your trance. “All for me?”

“Always for you,” you whispered, a sharp intake of breath hitting your lungs when he trails his fingers gently through your slit finishing his pass with a short brush to your clit. Your body felt electric, his touch igniting you leaving heat in its wake. 

Your comment earned a strong groan from Joe in response,”now that sounds like my girl.”

He placed gentle kisses to both of your hip bones, showering you with praises each time his lips touched your skin. It was like he was slowly putting you back together one kiss at a time.

“Beautiful.” kiss.

“Smart.” kiss.

“Kind.” kiss.

"Funny." kiss.

“Generous.” kiss.

“Stunning.” kiss.

You lost track of how many, the praises continually spilling out of his mouth. Making his way across your belly as he trailed his way to the apex of your thighs at a painstakingly slow pace, at least to you. It felt like an eternity passed before he finally had his mouth on you, 

Everything felt overwhelming, it getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open let alone on yourself in the mirror. It felt like his touch was everywhere, your senses heightened. Everything he did felt amazing, your hands were knotted through his hair as you held on, trying your best to stay standing. His mouth was relentless on your wet heat, taking everything he could get from you. It was hard for you to admit to yourself, but you looked hot like this. You had this god of a man on his knees before you, his mouth devouring you like you were his last meal. You let the feeling wash over you, a moan slipping past your lips as you looked down at Joe.

Sure as shit, his eyes were on you, watching your every move. He smiled against your pussy briefly before getting back into the moment and sucking your clit into his mouth. Slipping two of his slender fingers into you, he began to pump them in and out, slow at first and gradually increasing speed. He arched them just right, hitting your spot with the right amount of pressure time after time. You could feel the knot building in your stomach, finding it hard to hold back any longer.

“I’m not gonna last long,” you breathed out, unsure of your voice.

“You don’t need to hold back, come for me. I want to taste you pretty girl.”

It didn’t take much to fall apart above him, his name falling past your lips in rapid succession as your orgasm washed over you. You rode out your high, pulling his head more into your pussy, earning a satisfied groan from Joe at your actions. He always loved when you would tackle what you needed from him.Your orgasm felt more intense standing up, leaning on Joe for support while you gained your bearings.

When you finally came to, you released Joe from your grip and let him up for air. Your hands trailed down from his hair to his jaw, lifting his chin to meet your eyes.

“I’m sorry for how I acted. Everything just became so heavy this week and I know how hard everythings been for you, I didn’t want to put anything else on your plate,” you said honestly, watching Joe’s eyes soften at your words.

“You can always come to me with whatever you’re feeling no matter how I am, don’t you ever forget that. You’re so goddamn important to me.”

You smiled down at him, following him as he stood up from the floor, his eyes never leaving yours as he towered over you. He brought his hands to rest on your hips, pulling you into him to rest his forehead on yours.

“So how do you feel now, hmm? It was so hot watching you, I could see when you really saw it in the mirror. My girl finally is realizing just how much of a goddess she is.”

A new wave of blush crept up your cheeks, you knew he was right. It was hard to admit that this worked as well as it did. You had a new wave of confidence in yourself, knowing you could take what you want, what you deserved. Joe had a way of making you feel confident in yourself, you just needed a reminder. 

“I don’t want it to go to my head or anything, but there was something about having you on your knees for me. Having someone as strong and powerful as you at my mercy was a major confidence boost. I’d want you with less clothes next time though.”

“Baby, I’m always at your mercy, you're my absolute weakness. I’ll be on my knees for you anytime, anywhere just say the word. You were a good girl and listened to me though and good girls get rewarded. Get on the bed, I’m not done showing you yet.”

[hees-mine]

More Loser virgin heeseung thoughts

NSFW MDNI hard thought/Drabble

Loser virgin hee: who nearly loses his fucking mind cause he must be dreaming someone must be playing tricks on him. There’s no way that you’re actually taking video requests from your viewers, but no matter how many times he refreshes your page, the options still lingers, a blue button waiting to be clicked on with the price tag reading an amount he doesn’t even pay attention to before he clicks pay.

Loser virgin hee: who sends back to back requests for you to do a blowjob pov, and missionary pov with a bigger dildo so he can really get immersed and imagine it’s him and of course, a doggystyle pov. He loves seeing your pretty little hole getting stuffed from behind.

Loser virgin hee: who, when he receives said requested content, will thank you over and over again even though he knows you’ll never see it, but still he’s grateful for these works of art, a perfect canvas for him to paint in his pearly white.

Loser virgin hee: will cherish the fuck out of those videos, religiously busting a nut to each one every single day. He thinks the amount he’s cum in the last week is probably not healthy, but he can’t stop as he watches you fuck yourself with a new dildo, one much closer to his size.

Loser virgin hee: who can’t stop requesting videos of you, and he doesn’t know what’s dryer, his balls, or his bank account, but that doesn’t matter when he gets a notification that you’re live. He tuned in immediately, ready for a night of endless pleasure. He’s cum so many times in just a few minutes that the overstimulation makes him feel like crying, but he just can’t stop himself when it comes to you.

Loser virgin hee: who at three am is so sleepy but so horny that he pulls back his blankets and his sweats along with boxers to snap a dick pick and send it to you with the caption. “I’m so hard for you, wish I could feel your sweet wet pussy gushing and squeezing around my thick cock, bet it’d feel so much better than that stupid dildo” In his tired brain, he hits the send button, not thinking much of it until he sees a response like a real response, not the automated ones he’s used to. “Hmm, I bet it would 👅💦”

Loser virgin hee: who shoots up from his laying position. Suddenly, he’s not tired anymore, and his shaky hands send a text back. “I’d do you so good, beautiful. You’re so perfect. You deserve everything.” he feels his heart race, waiting for your response. He’s ridiculously nervous yet horny at the same time, which is a first for him, and he slowly tugs on his thick length till it’s fully erected, a bead of precum decorating his tip.

Loser virgin hee: that almost busts his load just from seeing your three dots typing. Your response makes his eyes roll in his head at just the thought. “What would you do to me?” “Take my time with you. Kiss every inch of your perfect body, prep your sweet little hole with my fingers make you cum on my face and my tongue before giving you my cock. I’d feed it in real slowly just to watch your pretty face while my thick cock fills you up, stroke every inch of your walls so deep till your begging for more, till you clamp and squeeze around me till you cum from how good I fuck you.”

Loser virgin hee: who would probably lose it if he knew you were rubbing your thighs together as you read his text. You didn’t usually text with your clients, but since he was your highest paying one, you made an exception. You’re not disappointed, especially when he sends you a video moaning your name as he strokes his cock. It’s thick, long, and veiny, and the drop of precum he spreads on his shaft makes your mouth water. When he cums, shaking while whimpering your name, you feel like you should be the one paying for personal videos of him cause seeing his cum dripping down his throbbing shaft was definitely a sight to see.

Loser virgin hee: who feels as if time has stopped when you tell him. “That was so hot you deserve a reward. How about we video call?” The speed to which he replies is lightning fast, and the next thing you know, he’s setting up a time to call you. This is by far the best night of his life, and he sleeps soundly, but this time, it’s not from the back-to-back orgasms.

Link to Patreon!

[admiringlove]

[22:11] . . .

“shit, fushiguro, what the hell are you doing?”

you freeze, the words spilling out before you can stop them, startled by the sight of him at your window. he’s drenched, rain clinging to him like a second skin, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, beads of water tracing paths down his jaw. his hands are raised in mock surrender, like some guilty criminal caught mid-act. but there’s no malice in his eyes—just exhaustion and something raw, something unspoken that makes your chest ache.

you clutch the swiss knife in your hand, your grip tight and absurd now that you realize it’s him. fushiguro megumi, of all people, standing on your fire escape in the middle of a storm. he’s balancing on the slick metal, a miserable silhouette against the downpour, and you don’t know whether to laugh or yell.

“can you help me up?” he asks, voice flat but edged with something fragile, like he knows he has no right to be here. his fingers curl tighter on the windowsill, knuckles pale in the dim light. “i’m getting soaked.”

you narrow your eyes, refusing to make this easy for him. “you do realize you could’ve knocked on my door like a normal person instead of playing spider-man in a monsoon? you look like a wet cat.”

his lips twitch—almost a smirk, but it doesn’t quite land. “can you help me up or not?” he asks again, sharper this time, his patience eroding as his grip shifts.

you sigh, loud and deliberate, setting the knife down on your bedside table. “i don’t know. i’m still mad at you.”

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” he groans, tilting his head back, rain streaking down his face. “not right now. just help me up, and we can talk.”

your arms cross over your chest, a barrier you refuse to lower. “you were mean,” you say, voice clipped. “i don’t know if i want to talk to you.”

he exhales, slow and heavy, the sound caught somewhere between irritation and resignation. “this is exactly why i didn’t come through the door like a normal person,” he mutters, half to himself.

your brows shoot up, sharp. “what was that?”

“i said,” he repeats, slower this time, each word dripping with sarcasm, “this is exactly why i didn’t come through the door like a normal person.”

“oh, so now you’re blaming me?” you throw your hands up, frustration spilling over. “this is exactly what i mean, megumi. first, you shut everyone out, acting all pissy and brooding like it’s your full-time job. and when someone tries to love you—god forbid—you get all pissy and sarcastic. and then, when you do screw up, instead of apologizing like a human being, you double down and make everything worse. every. single. time.”

his fingers slip slightly, and his grip tightens, his eyes narrowing. “so you’re saying i make you miserable,” he cuts in, voice low and biting, “while i’m hanging onto your window for dear fucking life? i could break, like, seven bones if i fall.”

“you’ll be fine,” you shoot back, waving him off. “your 'big feelings' will catch you.”

“that’s not fair,” he says, his tone skating dangerously close to a whine. “i didn’t mean it, okay? you’re not clingy, and i still love you.”

you stare at him, deadpan, unimpressed. “you say that every time, fushiguro. i’m not falling for it anymore.” a pause, and then you go for the jugular. “even gojo-sensei’s better at this emotional stuff.”

his expression twists, caught between offense and disbelief. “you’re comparing me to that idiot?”

“well, he did raise you. and look how you turned out.” you shrug, arms still crossed, daring him to make it worse.

he huffs, a sharp, humorless laugh breaking from his chest. “does that say more about him or me?”

oh. well, now, he has you stumped. you falter, the words catching in your throat. his response hangs there, heavy with a weight you didn’t expect. rain drums against the fire escape, and in the silence between you, it feels like the air shifts.

you notice, finally, how his shoulders slump under the weight of soaked fabric, how his usual sharpness is dulled into something quieter, something fragile. his hands tremble slightly, and you wonder if it’s from the cold or the effort of holding on. it’s hard to stay angry when he looks like this—half-drowned, half-contrite, wholly vulnerable.

you sigh again, softer this time, and extend your hand. “come inside before you catch pneumonia.”

his lips curve into the faintest smile, a flicker of relief breaking through the storm in his eyes as he reaches for you. the rain keeps falling, relentless and loud, but between you, the storm begins to still.

"and stand still!" you call out, the words sharper than you intend, a half-smile curving on your lips despite yourself. "i don’t want to mop up my entire dorm because of you."

there’s a pause, and megumi doesn’t respond. he doesn’t need to. he knows better than to argue. he just stands there, damp and dripping, his expression unreadable. he doesn’t move as you walk past him, head bent as you search through your closet, the air in the room thick with unspoken things. you pull out a cardboard box, old and battered, and set it down on the bed with a huff, the quiet sound of cardboard scraping against fabric the only noise in the room.

you begin to rummage through it, pulling out a white t-shirt, a pair of sweatpants, and a towel—his towel, the one you kept because it always smelled like him. you don’t meet his eyes as you hand him the towel, the fabric soft between your fingers, a strangely intimate reminder of him. he looks at you, wordlessly waiting for an explanation that you don’t offer. instead, you simply sit down on the bed, your back against the wall, eyes closed, pretending not to notice the weight of his gaze.

“i won’t look,” you murmur, your voice softer now, tinged with something like exhaustion. “just… dry off and wear these before you get sick.”

“okay,” he says, his voice quieter than usual, and you hear him shift, the sound of wet fabric against skin as he changes. he doesn’t say anything else, and you don’t open your eyes, focusing on the gentle movement of your thumbs, the small, almost rhythmic action that calms you. the silence in the room is filled with so much that words would only ruin it.

you hear him fumbling with the towel, the dry fabric against his damp hair, and something about the ordinary intimacy of it pulls at you. it’s strange, being here like this—on opposite ends of the room, with so much space between you both. but still… so close.

“why are all my things in this box?” his voice finally breaks the quiet, sharp with curiosity, tinged with something you can’t place.

you exhale softly, the weight of your own thoughts pressing heavy against your ribs. you keep your eyes closed, your lips tight. “i’m giving it back to you,” you say, your voice strangely calm. “you’re the one who said i take too much of your ‘shit,’ and try to smother you. so take all your ‘shit,’ megumi. keep it. keep your space. away from me.”

there’s a soft rustle of fabric as he finishes changing, and for a moment, neither of you speak. you can feel the shift in the air, the subtle way things have changed, irreversibly, between you. you know he’s looking at the box. you know what he’s seeing.

he picks up the first frame, the edges worn from years of handling. the photo inside catches his eye, and for a moment, you almost want to stop him. but you don’t. you keep your eyes shut, your heart a hollow thrum beneath your ribs.

it’s a photo of the three of you. megumi, you, and gojo—your faces frozen in time from a day you’d all spent together. the sunlight was soft then, filtering through the trees, and you were perched on gojo’s shoulders, hands tangled in his messy hair, laughing so freely you thought you might burst. megumi, of course, had been on gojo’s other shoulder, scowling in the way he always did, a lollipop stuck between his lips to silence the world’s noise as he tried to make sense of the chaos around him.

the smile on your face was as wide as the horizon, and even now, you can still remember the way you’d felt—so effortlessly happy, so full of life, in a way that doesn’t seem possible now.

he stares at the photo for a long time, his fingers brushing the glass gently, almost reverently, as if trying to hold onto something that’s slipping away.

there are more pictures, more reminders of you both—of everything you’ve shared. letters, birthday cards, books you’d both laughed over, and others that felt more personal, more like promises you never got the chance to keep. the box, once full of mundane things, is now filled with the soft evidence of what had been, of what he’s going to lose.

he looks up from the box, and his gaze drifts toward the wall next to your bed, the empty space where the pictures once hung. the space you’d cleared, and it’s so painfully obvious now why you’d done it. you’d taken them down because of him, because of what you felt, or rather, what you didn’t feel anymore. he doesn’t need to ask why.

“you were right,” he says softly, his voice hesitant, like he’s testing the waters, unsure of how far he can go. “i made you feel like i didn’t love you anymore.”

you don’t say anything for a long time, the weight of his words hanging between you both. there’s a tenderness in his tone, something unspoken but clear as day. it’s hard to breathe with the words lingering in the space, but you finally open your eyes. you meet his gaze, and in that moment, everything shifts, just slightly, as though the tension that has stretched between you both is finally beginning to unravel.

“it wasn’t your fault,” you murmur, the words slow but steady, as if you’re reminding yourself more than him. “it's okay if you don't want me around anymore. just don't be mean about it, and i'll catch on.”

he doesn’t speak. he just looks at you—his gaze searching, like he’s trying to find the pieces of what was broken, wondering if they can ever fit back together. and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t look away.

you let the silence stretch, comfortable and heavy, and you don’t need words to know that it’s not over. not yet. you’re both still standing in the wreckage, but maybe, just maybe, there’s room to rebuild something here.

"i didn’t say i don’t want you around," he tries, his voice faltering, unsure of how to bridge the gap between the words he wished he could take back and the ones that had already left him. it’s all he can do now—say something, anything, to make the air less heavy, less unbearable. but as his words hang there, your laughter cuts through it, incredulous. you look at him, eyes narrowed, disbelief clouding your features.

"if i remember correctly, that’s exactly what you said."

he freezes, the words bouncing off you, back into the space between you both, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the silence and the bitter sting of what’s been said. he opens his mouth to protest, but the words crumble before they can even form.

"no, i didn’t!" he protests, his tone rising a little, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. "you kept saying things about me, about how i fight like it’s my last time, about me being mean to gojo-sensei—"

you scoff, a humorless laugh slipping out before you can stop it. "you do fight like it’s your last time, megumi. every single time. and you are mean to gojo-sensei. telling him he's not your father when he's the one who raised you was downright horrible," your eyes narrow at him, each word a slow burn, a careful sharpening of the edge you thought you’d put down. "what exactly are you trying to get at here?"

his gaze drops, hands running through his wet hair in frustration, the action almost mechanical. he sighs, the sound heavy, like it carries more weight than it should. "i’m just saying… you kept saying things about me that i didn’t want to admit were true." his voice cracks, just barely, and for a moment, you see the flicker of vulnerability that he’s so often quick to hide. "and that… that made me mad. so i said things i didn’t mean."

there’s a long pause, the tension thick, and you stare at him, your pulse quickening. your gaze softens, but only just. "you’re old enough to control your tongue, even if you're hurt," you say, your voice firm but with an underlying quiet that’s a strange kind of soothing. "i was trying to help you, fushiguro. you had a gash on your stomach, and i was stitching it. what else was i supposed to say? 'go kill yourself'? 'go crazy, go stupid'?"

his breath catches, a ragged sound as if your words have hit somewhere he wasn’t ready to confront. "that’s not what i—" he cuts himself off with a frustrated exhale, the words not coming out right. he’s tired, you can hear it in his voice, tired of explaining, tired of fighting against the truth that both of you already know.

his gaze lifts, meeting yours with something softer this time—familiar, almost desperate. "i'm sorry," he murmurs, the apology thick with everything unsaid, everything he’s never been able to voice. and there it is. the fragile thread between you, stretching, fraying at the edges, but still holding on.

you don’t say anything for a long while, just looking at him—really looking at him—as if seeing him for the first time. you know what he’s trying to say, what he’s trying to admit. it’s not about the words. it’s never really been about the words. it’s about the space between them.

"you’re not alone in this," you finally whisper, your voice steady, but there’s a warmth in it now. "i know you. i’ve always known you. so has sensei."

"yeah, but you judge me for it," he says, his voice raw, steady, like he's finally gathered the courage to say what he’s been holding back. he locks his gaze with yours, and for the first time, there’s no avoiding it—the weight of the words hanging between you. "you judge me for liking it. you judge me for wanting to fight."

you blink, trying to catch your breath, a sharp edge of disbelief cutting through the knot in your chest. "where exactly are you getting this bullshit information?" you ask, the words coming out harsher than you intended. "i don’t judge you for wanting to do things you’re good at. i judge you when you get hurt." your voice falters slightly, a tremor that betrays the calm you’re trying to hold onto. "do you know how scared i was when gojo-sensei called me and told me you were hurt? i couldn't fucking breathe, megumi! i thought... i thought i was the one who was gonna die."

the air seems to shift, a pause between you that carries more weight than the silence should. his pupils widen just slightly, like he's seeing you for the first time, or maybe like he’s never seen you quite this way before. his lips part, but no words come out. he takes a slow step forward, and for some reason, you don’t pull away. there’s no barrier left between you now—not physically, at least.

he sits down next to you, his body close, his back leaning against the wall, and for a moment, you’re both frozen in the quiet. his shoulder brushes yours, and the contact feels more real than anything has in a long time. your heart beats a little faster in your chest, like it’s reminding you it’s still there, still alive, still holding on. you let out a long breath, heavy with everything unspoken.

"i don't ever want to lose you," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. and when they do, they feel like a confession—like a weight you hadn’t even known you were carrying. "even if you don't love me."

his face softens, and you feel him shift, his presence growing heavier in the space between you. he doesn't speak immediately, and you wonder if you’ve gone too far, if you’ve revealed too much, but then he says it. softly, like a prayer.

"i do love you," he says, and there’s a quiet certainty in the way his voice cracks. he closes his eyes, tilting his head back against the wall, as if the admission is a weight he’s been carrying too. "i’m never gonna stop."

you scoff, though it’s a hollow sound, more resigned than mocking. "you sure have a funny way of showing it," you murmur, the words barely a whisper, like they’re too fragile to be said out loud.

he turns to you then, his eyes meeting yours with a depth that stops you in your tracks. there’s no barrier anymore, nothing between you. not even the past. his gaze softens, and for the first time, you realize that what’s in his eyes is something you never expected to see: regret, apology, but most of all, love.

you don’t say anything. there’s too much left unsaid, and maybe that’s all you can give him now. silence, and the space to understand. the air between you is thick with it—unsaid words and all the things you’ve never been able to express, not fully. you sit there, avoiding his gaze, eyes lowered, fingers twisting in your lap. it’s as if you’re scared—scared of saying the wrong thing, scared of the way you might break if you say too much.

but he sees you. truly sees you.

he reaches for your hand then, tentative, like he's unsure whether you’ll pull away. when you don’t, he intertwines his fingers with yours, gentle, the touch almost shy in its sincerity. "i’m sorry i have a shitty way of showing i love you," he murmurs, the apology thick with the weight of everything he can’t put into words.

you don’t reply immediately, not trusting yourself to speak without cracking. instead, you sit there—just breathing, just being. the moments stretch out between you, heavy with everything both of you have been holding back. and you realize, then, that maybe this, right here, is enough. just this moment of him holding your hand, just this one step closer, is enough.

because all he wants now is to make sure you’re still there. make sure you won’t leave his side.

and you... you don’t want to leave either.

you lean your head against his shoulder, the weight of it feeling more like a promise than an accident. it’s as if, for just a moment, all the tension in your body can dissipate, settling into the rhythm of his breath, the quiet hum of the world outside. the room feels smaller, but in a way that makes it safer, like this tiny bubble where the rest of everything—everything that’s hurt, everything that’s unsaid—can stay out. there’s a warmth to the touch of his body against yours, something real and solid in a world that’s felt too fragmented for too long. his thumb brushes over the back of your hand, gentle, almost absentminded, but it’s the kind of touch that says everything: i’m here.

you feel it in the way his body shifts ever so slightly, like he’s anchoring you in a way only he knows how to. and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself rest in that comfort, in that certainty, no matter how fleeting it might be. the air around you is thick with everything unspoken, but the space between you feels like it’s been bridged, like the distance that once seemed so insurmountable isn’t as wide anymore. the quiet stretches on, peaceful, before you finally speak, your voice soft and a little uncertain, like it’s unsure how to follow the fragile peace between you two.

"you should apologize to gojo-sensei, too," you murmur, your words carrying more weight than they should, like it’s the last piece of a puzzle you need to solve before you can both move forward. "he doesn't deserve that. he's pretty much our dad."

he’s quiet for a beat, the sound of his thumb still grazing the skin of your hand, before he shifts slightly, a breath of a laugh escaping his lips. it’s light, but there’s something heavy beneath it, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

"yeah?" he asks, and when he tilts his head against yours, the movement feels almost like a surrender, like he’s finally letting himself be vulnerable in a way he hasn’t in a long time. you feel the shift in him, a softening that pulls you closer, that makes you realize just how long you’ve both been carrying things you shouldn’t have been. "it’s gonna hurt my ego..." his voice trails off, a little teasing, but it’s also real, like he’s letting you see the part of him that he doesn’t usually show—the one that’s afraid of admitting when he’s wrong. you look up at him, your gaze catching his, and you can’t help the slight raise of your eyebrows, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

"oh, i’m sure it will," you reply, the words laced with a quiet affection, a softness that you haven’t allowed yourself to feel in so long. you pause for a moment, before adding, "but you’ll do it, right?"

he exhales slowly, like he’s letting go of something deep inside of him, the exhale almost as long as the silence that lingers between you. and then, with a faint, almost reluctant chuckle, he says, "but i’ll do it."

you breathe a sigh of relief at the simplicity of it all, at how easy it feels to give and take forgiveness, even when it’s hard. maybe that’s the trick—maybe it’s not about having all the answers or solving everything right away. maybe it’s just about taking the first step, even if it’s a small one. you can feel the change in him, in the way he doesn’t just say the words but lives them in that moment. he means it.

"you better," you say softly, a teasing edge to your words, but the sincerity is unmistakable. and you find yourself leaning into him more, if only just a little, as if the distance between you shrinks just a bit more, as if the space between the two of you is finally filling with something warm and real.

and as you rest there, nestled against him, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, it’ll all be okay. the thought lingers, soft like the gentle brush of his thumb across your skin. because sometimes, it’s not about fixing everything all at once. sometimes, it’s just about being here, in this moment, with him, and knowing that even if the world outside is still uncertain, you’ve found a way to stay close. and that, you think, is enough for now.

a/n: once read this fic by @sttoru and i really wanted to write smth about it from gumi's perspective. so here it is. it's been sitting in my drafts for a very, very long time.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[leona-hawthorne]

lorenzo berkshire: how a relationship would be with my favorite male manipulator <3

(@mattnott this came out of the chat we had the other day LMAO ily zoya)

on the surface, lorenzo berkshire is just that guy. he’s effortlessly charming, polite, intelligent, and the kind of person who could convince anyone he’s the perfect human being. he’s the type who walks into a room and immediately draws everyone in—not by being loud or flashy, but by knowing exactly how to make himself seem approachable, kind, and maybe even a little vulnerable. but all of it is just a mask.

enzo is a master manipulator. he knows exactly how to get what he wants, and he does it by making people think they’re in control. he doesn’t argue or beg; instead, he plants ideas like seeds in your mind. “if that’s what you think is best,” he’ll say with a soft smile, knowing full fucking well you’ll second-guess yourself. he makes you feel like every decision was yours, even though he’s been guiding you the whole time. and the worst part? you don’t even realize it until it’s too late.

emotional manipulation and guilt-tripping

enzo doesn’t argue outright, but he’s an expert at making you feel like everything is your fault. when you expresses your feelings or doubts about your relationship, he deflects and twists the narrative.

“you’re overthinking again, love. you always do this—it’s like you’re looking for reasons to fight.”

“after everything i’ve done for you, this is how you see me? it just doesn’t seem fair, babe.”

the constant emotional exhaustion of always questioning yourself and feeling like the villain slowly pushes you to the edge.

subtle isolation

enzo doesn’t tell you to stop seeing your friends or family straight up—that would be too obvious. instead, he plants seeds of doubt about them, turning you against the people who care about you.

“it’s just… don’t you think your friends don’t really understand you? they don’t see the real you like i do. they’re only here for a good time. they wouldn’t stick with you when things are hard, like i do.”

“your sister’s always been jealous of you. it’s kind of obvious when you think about it. in fact… i think i she was flirting with me at the lake trip last weekend…”

over time, you feel more and more alone, with enzo as the only person left in your corner—and even that’s suffocating.

his temper leaks through

enzo prides himself on being calm and composed, but even he can’t keep the mask on forever. when you push back—when you really challenge him—his anger surfaces.

“you think you’re better than me now? after all i’ve done just to make you happy? you should be grateful i’m still putting up with you. no one else would.”

“you don’t get to treat me like this. i deserve better than your constant doubts.”

while he doesn't resort to outright aggression, the quiet, cutting anger and emotional coldness are enough to make you feel small and utterly helpless against him.

hypercritical tendencies

at first, enzo is the type to shower you with compliments. but once he has you, the nitpicking starts. he frames his criticisms as “helping” you or “protecting” you, but they’re really about control. he wants to cut you down until his words are the only form of validation you trust; the only ones that matter.

“that dress is nice, but it’s not really your color, is it?”

“i just think you’d be happier if you didn’t spend so much time on things that don’t matter.”

it’s not that he truly thinks badly of you; it’s just his way of slowly implementing his control. the constant criticism erodes your self-esteem, making you wonder if you’re ever enough for him.

dismisses your autonomy

enzo frames his controlling nature as “taking care of you” or “looking out for you,” but it’s really about stripping away your agency.

he might make decisions for you without asking, like ordering for you at a restaurant or canceling your plans because he thinks you “needs rest.” you simply don’t get a say.

“i only did it because i know what’s best for you. you’d do the same for me if you cared as much as i do.”

over time, you realize you don’t have control over your own life anymore—and that terrifies you.

you start to feel like you’re losing your identity. the things you love—your hobbies, your friends, even your sense of self—have all been swallowed up by enzo’s world.

his fear of losing control turns ugly

when you start pulling away, enzo’s fear of losing you makes him tighten his grip. he might start tracking your whereabouts, showing up uninvited, or trying to manipulate you into staying.

“you’re not yourself lately, baby. i think you need me more than ever right now.”

“are you seriously leaving me after everything we’ve been through? i thought you were better than this. i thought you loved me—was it all a joke to you?”

his desperation exposes just how deeply insane, how utterly selfish he really is—and how dangerous it is to stay—but you still can’t help loving him.

the breaking point: seeing the mask slip

your breaking point comes when you finally see enzo for what he truly is. maybe it’s a moment of anger where his charm gives way to cold cruelty. maybe it’s realizing how isolated you’ve become or maybe it’s catching him in a lie.

“you know what? you’ll never find someone like me again. you’ll never find someone who loves you the way i do—or touches you the way i do.”

“go ahead and leave. but don’t come crawling back when you realize no one else will put up with you.”

and suddenly, the illusion you’ve clung to—the one where enzo is perfect, where his love is worth the pain—is shattered.

enzo doesn’t beg you to stay. no, he’s far more subtle. he sets the stage so that if you even think about leaving, the world around you becomes a constant reminder of him. your friends adore him. “enzo’s perfect for you,” they say, oblivious to his carefully crafted facade, oblivious to the fact that he doesn’t even want them within 50 feet of you. your family loves him because he’s gone out of his way to charm them. “he’s such a gentleman,” your mom gushes after he brings her flowers for no reason at all.

and when you confront him? he doesn’t argue. he doesn’t yell. instead, he sighs, looking at you with those soft, sad eyes. “i just wish you’d trust me,” he says, and suddenly you’re the one apologizing.

and enzo’s love isn’t love—it’s obsession. he doesn’t just want to be with you; he wants to consume you. he integrates himself so deeply into your life that it feels impossible to untangle yourself from him.

he’ll listen to all your favorite songs and tell you how much he loves them too. “this one reminds me of you,” he’ll say, and suddenly, every melody feels like it belongs to him.

he’ll watch all your favorite shows, quote them back to you, and make inside jokes so that even your comfort series becomes a part of his web.

he’ll charm your friends and family until they’re all on his side. “you’re lucky to have him,” they’ll say when you confide in them. and if you ever leave? they’ll tell you you’re making one of the biggest mistakes of your life.

“i just don’t understand,” he’ll say if you call him out. “everything i’ve ever done was for you. because i love you.”

and here’s the thing about enzo: even when he’s truly, deeply in love, he’s still toxic. love doesn’t magically make him a better person—it just changes the way he manipulates you. instead of using his charm to pull you in, he’ll use his insecurities to keep you there. “i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he whispers, and it sounds more like a warning than a confession. almost like he’s saying he’d become worthless without you.

but love does soften him in some ways. his need for control isn’t about power anymore; it’s about fear. he’s terrified of losing you, so he holds on tighter. he’s still manipulative, still controlling, but now it’s because he genuinely believes he can’t live without you.

enzo’s love is messy and overwhelming. it’s the kind of love that makes you feel like you’re drowning, but at the same time, you can’t imagine living without it. and that’s the tragedy of lorenzo berkshire: no matter what he does, you can’t help but love him anyway. even when you see his true colors, you’re already too far gone.

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

navigation. masterlist. lorenzo berkshire masterlist.

[honeyryewhiskey]

crybaby

dean x cupid!reader cw!! just fluff! bc i miss these two 685 words

He didn’t expect the waterworks to start streaming from your big, sad eyes. He should really know better by now, having known you for some time—just how quickly a little cupid can be reduced to tears. 

The slam of the Impala’s door makes Dean wince, irritation prickling at his nerves as he rushes to follow you. His hands find your shoulders, maybe gripping a little harder than he should as he spins you around to face him.

“Hey,” he barks, freezing when he sees your tear-streaked face. For a second, his grip slackens, and his hands drop to his sides. His jaw tightens, fists clenching instinctively as he looks at you with a mix of disbelief and frustration.

He’s still not used to this—not good at dealing with tears, especially yours. Not when your whimpers and that wobbling lip make his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t know how to handle.

“Great,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand over his chin. He steps back, throwing a helpless glance at the garage ceiling as if salvation might come from above. “Just great. Why the hell are you crying?” His tone is sharp, annoyed, but it’s obvious he’s not actually mad at you. He just hates seeing you like this—hates the way it makes him feel completely out of his depth.

Your arms cross over your chest, and your bottom lip juts out in a feeble attempt at defiance. “You’ve been mean and grumpy all day. And then you called me ‘feather brains’ for forgetting to lock the trunk.”

Dean’s brows shoot up, incredulous. “Because it flew open! All the crap we just bought is sitting in the middle of the highway right now. Thanks to you!”

The sharpness of his voice makes you take a step back, eyes wide and glassy. “Stop yelling!” you shout, your voice cracking.

“I’m not—” He cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh, dragging a hand over his face. His patience, never his strongest suit, is hanging on by a thread. Deep breaths. Count to ten. Think of that stupid article he googled the other night: “How to Deal with an Overly Emotional Person.”

“Fine. Fine,” he grits out, trying to sound calm. “Just stop crying, okay?”

But the tears are still flowing, your cheeks blotchy and your whole spirit looking crushed. It’s not just the crying—it’s how completely deflated you look. Like all that annoying, infectious vibrance of yours has been snuffed out, and it’s his fault.

He exhales sharply through his nose, an idea suddenly hitting him. “Ice cream? Movies? Hugs? What do you want? Name anything, and I’ll get it for you.”

You sniffle, blinking up at him as something faint flickers in your expression, making your head tilt. “Anything?”

Dean hesitates, second-guessing himself. “Yes,” he agrees, though his voice is laced with caution. “Within reason—”

“Up.” You cut him off, arms stretched toward him.

Dean’s glare hardens, his eyes flicking between your wiggling fingers and your pitiful pout. Everything in him wants to argue, to resist. He’s not good at this softness. But you’re looking at him with those sad, hopeful eyes, and as always when it comes to you and your demands—something in him gives.

With a heavy sigh, he closes the space between you, his boots thudding against the concrete floor. His hands slide to your hips, lifting you with ease as you practically fling yourself into his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist, your face burying in the crook of his neck as he steadies his hold on you. His arms wrap snugly around your back. His nose is buried in your hair, the sweet scent of something he can’t name, just recognizes as pretty and girly easing the scowl off of his brows. 

“Can I still have the ice cream, too?” you mumble into his shoulder.

Dean huffs out a low laugh. “We’ll see,” he mutters, but his grip on you tightens just a little, and he knows damn well in a moment he’ll be back in the driver’s seat to take you out to get that ice cream.

been writing for angel!reader, who's much more serious than little cupid. so i took a break from the angst to write this cuteness <3 i also want to make some sort of collection post for these bc i have quite a few cupid fics now and there is no organization ugh

[ivyues]

Scars of the Past: Stray Kids' reactions to finding out their S/O was cheated on in the past

Bang Chan

While watching a drama together, the plot unfolds about a cheating scandal. Casually, you comment, "Ugh, I know how that feels." Chris looks over, concern immediately filling his eyes.

You smile bitterly, huffing out a small breath. "I haven’t told you I was cheated on, did I?" Chris’ face freezes for a moment before his expression softens with empathy.

"What do you mean?" he asks, his voice gentle, a hint of worry in his tone. When you explain, his jaw tightens, and he pulls you closer.

"I’m so sorry you went through that. You never have to doubt us, okay? I’ll make sure you never feel that way again." For the rest of the evening, he keeps you close, reassuring you with soft kisses and sweet words.

Lee Know

During a round of "Never Have I Ever" with friends, the topic of infidelity comes up. You casually admit you’ve been cheated on before. Lee Know stiffens but says nothing in front of the whole group.

Later, when you’re alone in the car, he locks eyes with you, his expression suddenly serious.

"I can’t change what happened to you, but I can promise I’ll never hurt you like that. You're too precious to me."

He gently takes your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours, holding them tightly. It's a simple yet meaningful gesture, an unspoken promise that this moment is different.

Changbin

In the middle of a conversation about insecurities, you mention that your last partner cheated on you, and it’s the reason you sometimes struggle with trust. "They did what?" His voice rises slightly, but he catches himself, softening as he sees your discomfort.

He pulls you into a tight hug without hesitation, but there's a flicker of discomfort in the gesture, as if he's unsure whether it's the right move. He pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes.

"I'm so sorry. No one deserves that, least of all you," he says, his voice full of sincerity.

After a moment of silence, he hesitates before asking, "Do you... do you still talk to this person?" His tone is careful, as if he’s afraid of the answer but knows he needs to ask.

Hyunjin

Watching a romance movie together, the protagonist discovers her partner cheating. You murmur, "Yeah, that’s all way too familiar." Hyunjin immediately pauses the movie, turning to you.

"You were cheated on?" he asks, his eyes big and full of sadness. His tone carries a mixture of shock and indignation, as if the idea is almost impossible for him to grasp.

When you nod, he pulls you into a tight hug. "I can’t believe someone could betray you like that. I hope you know you’re worth so much more. I’ll remind you every day if I have to."

Han

During a late-night chat, you mention offhandedly, "Yeah, my ex cheated on me once."

Han freezes, his eyes widening in disbelief. "You? You got cheated on?" he blurts, his tone incredulous. "How is that possible? You're amazing."

You couldn’t help but huff out an unexpected laugh by the seriousness in his voice. He shakes his head, a mix of frustration and sadness on his face. "They were an idiot," he declares, taking your hand. "I’ll never understand how anyone could treat you like that – but I’ll make sure you never feel that way again."

His smile returns, softer this time, as he presses a kiss to your knuckles. "Promise."

Felix

During a cozy night in, a TV show triggers a memory, and you casually mention, "Yeah, my ex did that to me too." Felix freezes mid-bite of his snack, his eyes wide with shock.

"They what?" His voice is a mix of disbelief and sorrow. When you avoid his gaze, focusing on the TV instead, he leans forward slightly, trying to catch your eyes. “Hey,” he says softly, his tone coaxing but serious. When you finally meet his gaze, his expression is earnest, his eyes searching yours.

He takes your hands in his, his thumb tracing soothing circles. "You deserve so much better. If you ever feel unsure or insecure, just tell me, okay? I want to be the one to heal that part of you."

Seungmin

When Seungmin casually mentions a friend he’s been talking to, you freeze, suddenly feeling uneasy. He notices the shift in your mood. "Is something wrong?" he asks, his voice soft but concerned.

You hesitate, then admit, "I know you're not like them, but… I’ve been cheated on before, and it’s hard to trust anyone after that."

Seungmin’s eyes widen in surprise. "I had no idea," he says quietly.

You look down, your voice shaky. "I want to trust you, Seungmin. But the damage is done. I don’t know how to stop feeling this way."

He gently takes your hand across the table, his touch warm. "I’m so sorry you went through that. I want you to know I’m not like them. I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust."

I.N

As a song about cheating plays on the radio, you murmur, "This song really hit hard when I found out about my ex."

I.N’s face shifts from surprise to quiet concern. "Wait, you went through what?" he asks softly, his usual bright demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness.

You nod, explaining briefly about your cheating ex, and he listens intently. "That’s awful. You deserve so much better than what they gave you."

When the song ends, he flashes you a small, reassuring smile. "Let’s make some new memories with better songs, okay? You’re safe with me." 

masterlist

[solxamber]

Can I get the dorm leaders with an Miku like Male Reader? Basically, (M/N) is super carefree and nice along with being a megastar idol in the music industry.

miku mentioned in the inbox, i've prayed for times like these!! It turned out gender neutral, i hope you don't mind!

Housewardens with a Miku! Reader

Riddle Rosehearts

At first, Riddle is baffled by your carefree attitude. You’re so nonchalant about everything, from your fame to the massive crowds you draw, that it’s almost incomprehensible to him. Doesn’t someone as successful as you need structure and discipline?

He respects your talent and hard work (once he understands how much effort goes into your performances), but your breezy approach makes him a little anxious. He might even lecture you about maintaining a schedule or not overextending yourself.

Your kindness and lack of ego eventually win him over. When you casually serenade the Heartslabyul students with a cheerful tune during an unbirthday party, even Riddle can’t help but smile.

If you invite him to one of your concerts, he’ll first attend out of courtesy but secretly marvel at the sheer joy you bring to your fans. Seeing you on stage makes him realize that your carefree demeanor isn’t laziness—it’s part of your charm.

He’d quietly admire your ability to bring happiness to others and might even ask for advice on how to better connect with his dormmates.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona initially pretends not to care about your fame or talent. He’s not easily impressed, and your cheerful energy feels a little too much for his laid-back personality.

However, your carefree attitude intrigues him. You’re a megastar, yet you don’t flaunt it or demand special treatment. In fact, you treat him like any other person, and he respects that.

He might grumble about your music being “too loud” or “too cheerful,” but he secretly listens to your songs when he’s alone. The upbeat tunes remind him of a world where things don’t feel so heavy.

If you casually hum a melody around him, he might mumble, “Tch, not bad,” which is as close to a compliment as you’ll get.

He won’t admit it, but he’d feel a sense of pride if you dedicate a song to Savanaclaw or include elements of his culture in your performances.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul sees you as a walking business opportunity at first. You’re a megastar with an enormous following, and the possibilities for collaboration are endless. Maybe a performance at the Mostro Lounge? A merchandise line?

When he realizes you’re too carefree to be manipulated, he’s equal parts frustrated and impressed. Despite his schemes, you remain kind and genuine, treating him as a friend rather than a business partner.

Your performances leave him in awe. He’s astonished by how effortlessly you captivate an audience, and he finds himself studying your stage presence, wondering if he could apply some of your charisma to his own endeavors.

Azul would eventually see you as a source of inspiration. “How do you make it look so easy?” he might ask, genuinely curious.

You’d be able to encourage him to focus less on overthinking and more on enjoying the process, which is advice he’d reluctantly take to heart.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim immediately becomes your biggest fan. He’s already jumping up and down with excitement before you’ve even sung a note.

Your carefree and kind personality resonates with him deeply, and the two of you become fast friends. Kalim loves joining you in impromptu sing-alongs, whether it’s on stage or during casual moments in the dorm.

He’d insist on throwing grand parties to celebrate your success, complete with fireworks and extravagant decorations. “Your music deserves to be celebrated!” he’d say with a big grin.

Kalim admires how you make people happy through your music, and he’d try to emulate your positivity in his own interactions. He’d also want to learn some dance moves from you, even if he ends up tripping over his own feet.

Your presence brings out the best in Kalim, and he feels inspired to spread joy in his own way.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil is immediately aware of your status as a megastar and views you as a peer rather than a fan. He respects your success but is critical of your carefree attitude, wondering how you maintain such a polished image without a rigorous routine.

Your kindness and humility eventually disarm him. He appreciates that you don’t let fame go to your head and that you treat everyone with equal respect.

Vil might critique your performances at first, offering advice on how to improve your stage presence or vocal technique. However, he’s secretly impressed by how natural and effortless you make it all look.

He’d be a little envious of your ability to connect with your audience so easily, but he’d also feel motivated to push himself harder. “You have a gift,” he’d admit one day. “Don’t waste it.”

If you ever feel overwhelmed by the pressures of stardom, Vil would offer you surprisingly empathetic advice, drawing from his own experiences in the spotlight.

Idia Shroud

Idia is a fan before he even meets you. He’s watched all your music videos, memorized your lyrics, and even owns some limited-edition merchandise. However, meeting you in person is a completely different story.

He’s a nervous wreck, fumbling over his words and avoiding eye contact. “Y-You’re… amazing,” he might mumble, his face bright red.

Your carefree attitude puts him at ease, and he eventually opens up about his admiration for your work. He might even share some of his own ideas for collaborations.

Idia is amazed by how effortlessly you handle fame and social situations. He secretly wishes he could be as confident and outgoing as you.

If you ever perform in the Ignihyde dorm, he’d watch from the shadows, feeling a mix of awe and disbelief that someone as incredible as you considers him a friend.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus is intrigued by your carefree demeanor and megastar status. He’s used to people being intimidated by him, but you treat him with kindness and warmth, which he deeply appreciates.

He’s fascinated by your music and often listens to your performances in quiet awe. He’d describe your songs as “enchanting” and might even compare you to a bard of old.

Your kindness and positivity resonate with him, and he enjoys spending time with you, whether it’s walking through the campus or sharing stories late at night.

Malleus might request a private performance, not because he wants special treatment, but because he wants to experience the magic of your music in an intimate setting.

Your carefree attitude inspires Malleus to relax and enjoy life more. He values your friendship and sees you as a source of light in his otherwise lonely world.

Masterlist

[ihfmseatsoch]

okay so here it goes, imagine this. reader is a hard-working member at pony express and one of the most well liked, looked upon employees there. here it goes, self glazing time, reader is also unfathomably attractive and charismatic and everyone was starting to suspect why they of all people would join freaking Pong express when they could easily get scouted as a high end supermodel.

Now here's the thing, during one of their hauls with the crew, the crew members are just casually going on and about and somehow stumble on to the reader's room, ( think maybe to call them for something ) but the reader isn't there, and the crewmates get a lil nosy and decide to snoop around. and what they find rocks them hard ( quite literally if all goes well )

they find one of those Playboy magazines with the reader literally on the front page and whole sections dedicated to them, and as it turns out the reader used to be a Playboy Bunny/ Gravure Idol. And decided to quit their modelling career to aim for bigger and better things over at space.

What would the crew members reactions be? Would they confront the reader? Would they use the magazine as jork material? Would they use the information to their advantage? ( Iykyk ;)

Tyy! <3

Apologies for the long wait on this !! 💖

warnings/content: nsfw, blackmail, coercion, everyone is a PERVERT!!!!

(gn!reader)

—

Curly –

• I don't think he would confront you because, for one, he's ashamed that he snooped around in the first place. He wouldn't want you to know he was in your personal space.

• And two, it's obvious you've turned over a new leaf, so why would he reprimand you for something you did in the past? He doesn't feel the need to bring up your old job, when that's not who you are anymore.

• Nonetheless, he's a bit more awkward around you now, uncharacteristically stumbling over his words because he just can't get that image of you out of his mind. Curly thought you were beautiful before, but god, now he physically can't restrain his thoughts from running wild.

• Tries so hard to maintain his professionalism. He's your Captain, for christs sake! He can't be fantasizing about his subordinate like this, it's plain wrong. It's perverted, and he's not a pervert.

• Okay, maybe he is. But he's in denial about it.

• He only jerked off to the thought of you ONE time and that was because he was stressed and not in a proper headspace. Nothing more. Mhm. Nothing at all.

• Jk he wants that cookie so fucking bad it's pathetic

Jimmy –

• Literally the worst guy ever about it -_-

• Slutshames you when he first discovers it, but he still pocketed the magazine and beat his dick to it harder than he ever has.

• Confronts you in like. A very creepy and invasive way.

• "So... what was it like in the modeling industry? They really make you eat tissue paper for dinner, or what?"

• "What, you thought we'd never find out? Everyone knows. Why d'ya think Daisuke can't even look at you anymore?"

• "Don't be embarrassed. The crew's fine with it. But... I wonder what the big guys at Pony Express would think. Y'know, that kinda background ain't what you'd call... professional."

• Literally holds it over your head constantly to get you to do what he wants, or else he threatens to report you. It goes from making you do simple tasks he can't be bothered to do himself, to asking you for sexual favors.

• Makes you suck him off and films the whole thing, just so he can have even more against you.

• "Wouldn't want anyone to see you chokin' on your co-pilots dick, would you? Didn't think so."

• Forces you to let him take nude photos of you, even recreating some of your old photoshoots, except you look much more unhappy in these ones.

• He makes your life a living hell, basically. Unless you're into this. Then it's fantastic for the both of you! Yay!

Daisuke –

• Oh lord, his hormones have gone haywire. His downstairs longnose is having a field day.

• Definitely uses the magazine as masturbation material. In fact, it's all he has to get off, given there's no wifi on the Tulpar. He's eternally indebted to you for blessing him with this.

• His rambling is even more nonsensical in conversations with you now. Lots of run-on sentences that just sound like word salad.

• "What would you do if like, um... y'know, like, if you were like, um–" BOY SPIT IT OUT !!!!!!

• His eyes drift down to your chest a lot. It's a subconscious reaction. You can't blame him for being unable to get the thought of your half-naked body out of his head, since it's practically all he thinks about anymore.

• Doesn't know if he should bring it up, even if he reeeaaalllyyy wants to. Not so much in a horny way, he just has a lot of questions he's itching to ask you. Maybe it's best if he doesn't say anything at all, because he'll talk your ear off for hours.

Anya –

• SOMEONE HELP HER

• She gets sooo flustered every time she looks at you now. Actively avoids you for this reason. Tried so hard to push down the memory of the way you looked on the cover of that magazine, which ended up being a futile effort.

• It's not like she wants to push you away!! She wants to remain close with you, but she doesn't know how to bring it up without feeling terribly awkward. She already feels guilty enough for snooping, now she feels even worse for acting weird :(

• It's not that she dislikes you now, it's just that she can't stop thinking about you in ways that are. Y'know. Inappropriate. She can't be thinking about her coworker that way! Mentally smacks herself and goes BAD ANYA BAD!! if she finds herself falling too deep into her fantasies.

• Eventually, she'll get over it. The embarrassment and awkwardness fades over time, and she'll go to her grave without telling you that she knows about your previous occupation.

Swansea –

• Sighs. Shakes his head. Puts his hands on his hips. He's got a less favourable opinion of you now.

• He's not gonna confront you, but he does silently glare at you with more judgement than before.

• He's judging you because he believes you have a lack of self respect, to have done something like that willingly, and allowed yourself to be pornography for random men.

• He's just got an old fashioned mindset. Don't take it to heart.

• Secretly finds you incredibly hot. But he'd rather keel over and die than admit it outright.

—

[gallusrostromegalus]

I simply must know, would the teenage friend groups (dead guys included) of AEIWAM and TPOFATGIF get along? Any standout crossover friendships and/or rivalries?

Ichigo and Tristan recognize the dead-eyed stare of "It's always fucking something" in each other and have a great time standing in the alley and trading their most WTF stories at increasingly loud volume.

Bakura and Orihime are immediate "autistic little weirdo into unexpectedly creepy shit" besties. The rest of the friend groups find them in the local graveyard looking up names on unattended tombstones to see what happened (and pay respects).

Chad immediately gloms onto Joey to be his Emotional Support Human who has conversations with strangers for him. Joey is thrilled to be helpful, and likewise, Chad is his "Remembering the Homework" human.

Serenity smells the violence on Tatsuki and is immediately trying to sign her up for the local SCA. Tatsuki is trying to convince her to attend Karakura High next year so she can beef up the Karate team.

Keigo already knows Rex Raptor and Weevil Underwood from the unhinged web forums they get into arguments on.

Mizurio already knows Mokuba from when Mokuba commissioned one of Mizurio's mob uncles to get one of the BEWD cards through less-than-legal means. Mokuba has immense respect for Mizurio's total disregard for conventional authority and Mizurio the same respect for Mokuba's understated willingness to do violence.

Uryuu and Duke bond over "my dad is completely insane for reasons I can't really discuss with most people" and "it's called FASHION" reasons.

The people who get along best with Seto are Rukia and Renji, because they are used to "autistic bougie severe familial trauma that is fixated on one VERY niche character" nonsense from Byakuya, and know how to auto-translate Seto into Normal People, and also subtly train him to have normal conversations.

The person who gets along with Yami is Isshin- in AEIWAM, Isshin genuinely has amnesia from 1980 onward. He doesn't remember being a captain, and hearing stories about himself is like hearing about a stranger. It's a bizarre feeling of alienation Yami understands well.

Yoruichi sees Mai Valentine and immediately knows that should they go drinking together, it will almost certainly result in major property damage, felonies, and the worst hangover she's ever had, so naturally, she asks the girl to come on a spree with her.

Yugi has always had an easier time making friends with the adults around than his peers- having friends his own age is a very recent development. Due to Grandpa Solomon hanging around the senior center with his peer group of "Old Men With Nothing Better To Do", Yugi is very acclimated to playing board games with random adults. Kisuke Urahara hasn't had anyone kick his ass at Go that hard in a long time, and the kid is strangely canny to things Kisuke *thought* he'd concealed well. Yugi thinks Urahara 's Go game is a little rusty, but whatever the hell espionage game he's playing is REALLY intriguing.

[crossfandomskylines]

His Escape

Pairing: Glen Powell x Female Reader

Summary: When Glen's confidence is shaken after a night of professional disappointment, he finds solace in the unwavering support of the person he loves most.

Word Count: 10,178 (I swear I tried to make it shorter)

A/N: This idea came to me after seeing Glen lose in his category at the Golden Globe Awards. I just wanted to hug and comfort him to make him feel better. And this fic kind of spiraled from there. I hope you guys enjoy! I'd love to hear what you guys think with Hearts, Comments, Reblogs, and Asks!

The soft glow of your living room lamps bathed the space in a warm, golden hue. You were curled up on your couch, legs tucked beneath you, wrapped in the comfort of a thick, knitted throw blanket. The faint scent of vanilla lingered in the air, thanks to the candle flickering on the coffee table, its flame swaying every so often.

The TV screen dominated the room, showing the glitz and glamour of the Golden Globes. Celebrities in their designer gowns and sharp tuxedos glided across the red carpet, dazzling under the flash of cameras. A bowl of popcorn sat mostly untouched at your side, as your attention was split between the broadcast and the phone clutched in your hand.

Your heart swelled as you scrolled through the latest message in your group chat with Glen’s parents. His mom had sent another photo, this one of Glen standing between her and his dad, both of them beaming with pride. 

Glen looked dashing in his perfectly tailored Armani tuxedo, the classic black tuxedo pants paired with a velvet jacket and dark silk shirt. His hair was styled just how you liked it, a little messy but still polished enough for the occasion.

His mom had texted with a string of heart emojis, followed by: He’s so nervous, but he won’t admit it.

You smiled, your thumb hovering over the keyboard as you tried to think of a response: He looks amazing as always. I hope you guys are having fun!

As you hit send, a pang of guilt settled in your chest. You should’ve been there with him tonight, standing at his side as he posed for photos, whispering encouragements in his ear as the nerves crept in. 

But you both knew it wasn’t the right time. Not yet. Glen’s career was reaching a critical turning point—offers were coming in from every direction, interviews piling up, and every move he made seemed to generate more buzz. 

A relationship, especially one that wasn’t yet public, could shift the narrative in ways neither of you were ready for. It wasn’t about shame or secrecy; it was about protecting what you had from the relentless scrutiny of the spotlight. 

Together, you’d decided that attending an awards ceremony like this, arm in arm, might raise more questions than either of you wanted to answer. For now, it felt safer, simpler, to let the world see him as the rising star he was while keeping the quieter, more intimate parts of his life—of your life together—untouched by flashing cameras and prying eyes.

The camera panned to Glen on screen, standing in front of a wall of golden lights as a reporter asked him about his nomination. His trademark smile lit up his face, but you could tell he was deflecting, steering the conversation toward the incredible team behind the project rather than himself. Classic Glen.

Your phone buzzed again with another message from his mom: He’s putting on a brave face, but I can tell he’s feeling the pressure set in.

You bit your lip, the guilt growing heavier. It wasn’t just that you wanted to be there for him—you wanted him to know, without a doubt, how proud you were of him, win or lose. But tonight, all you could do was cheer him on from a distance, wrapped in the quiet solitude of your apartment while he navigated the glitz and glamour of Hollywood without you.

The red carpet coverage cut to commercial, and you leaned back against the couch cushions, staring at the string of fairy lights framing the window. You could hear the faint hum of cars passing on the street below, a reminder that life outside the Golden Globes went on, unaffected by the whirlwind of fame and accolades. 

Your phone buzzed again, and this time it was a photo of Glen sitting at the table during the dinner portion of the show, laughing at something his dad had said. It made you smile despite yourself. 

His mom wrote: We’re so proud of him. 

And you couldn’t agree more.

The TV screen switched from commercials back to the show, and you adjusted your position, clutching your phone tighter as the awards were about to begin. The show unfolded on the screen like a surreal dream. You’d always watched the show in previous years, but this time felt different—personal. Every category, every speech, every camera pan to the glittering faces in the audience felt magnified. Your heart thumped faster with every passing moment, knowing Glen’s category was drawing closer.

The presenters for Best Actor in a Motion Picture - Musical or Comedy strolled onto the stage, their polished banter filling the room. You sat up straighter on the couch, clutching a throw pillow to your chest as the tension in your body mounted.

“And now, here are the nominees for Best Actor in a Motion Picture - Musical or Comedy,” one of the presenters announced with a dazzling smile.

The screen flashed to a montage of clips, each showcasing the nominees in their most memorable scenes. When Glen’s face appeared on the screen, your heart fluttered.

“Glen Powell. Hit Man,” the presenter’s voice rang out, and the camera cut to Glen at his table. He smiled and nodded graciously, his parents beaming proudly in the background. 

You couldn’t help but smile, too. He looked so composed, so effortlessly charming, but you knew him well enough to catch the subtle tension in his jaw, the slight shift in his posture. He was nervous.

The montage continued, the other nominees’ clips playing in turn, but your focus never truly wavered from Glen. When the camera returned to the presenters, your grip on the pillow tightened.

“And the Golden Globe goes to…” One presenter paused for dramatic effect, carefully opening the envelope. The room on screen held its collective breath, and so did you.

“Sebastian Stan!”

Your heart sank.

The room erupted in applause as the camera cut to Sebastian, who stood with a grin and made his way to the stage. 

Glen was on screen for a fleeting moment, clapping politely, the practiced smile on his face flawless. But you could see it—the flicker of disappointment in his eyes before the camera moved on.

You exhaled a shaky breath, a wave of sadness washing over you. You knew how much this meant to him, how hard he had worked for this role, and how much he hoped to win. He really thought tonight was going to be his night.

As Sebastian began his acceptance speech, you couldn’t keep your eyes on the screen. Instead, you stared at your phone, chewing on your bottom lip as you debated what to do. You wanted to comfort him, to tell him how proud you were, but words over text didn’t feel like enough.

Just as you were overthinking your next move, your phone buzzed in your hand. A text from Cyndy lit up the screen.

Hey, sweetheart. I don’t know if you’re watching, but Glen didn’t win. I can tell he’s trying to act like it’s fine, but I know he’s disappointed. I think seeing you would help him.

Your heart skipped a beat. The thought of being there for him, even after such a hard night, sent a surge of determination through you. 

You quickly typed back. I was just thinking the same thing. Where are you guys heading after the show?

Her response came almost immediately. We’re going to an afterparty. I’ll send you the address. I’ll help you get in. Let me know when you’re on your way.

You smiled, feeling a rush of gratitude for Glen’s mom and her unshakeable support. Thank you, Cyndy. I’ll head out soon.

Setting your phone down on the coffee table, you stood and glanced toward your bedroom. The thought of seeing Glen filled you with equal parts excitement and nerves. While you wanted to comfort him, you also wanted to make an impression, to make him proud to have you stand by his side - just in case anyone important saw you with him at the afterparty.

You walked into your closet, flipping on the light and staring at the dresses hanging neatly on the rack. For a moment, you hesitated, fingers trailing across the fabrics as you considered your options. 

Glen had spent the evening surrounded by Hollywood’s finest, women dressed in designer gowns that were probably worth more than your monthly rent. While you couldn’t compete with that, you wanted to feel confident.

One by one, you pulled dresses from their hangers, holding them up in front of the mirror. A black cocktail dress with a sweetheart neckline? Too plain. A sequined number you’d worn to a wedding last year? Too much sparkle. 

You sighed and kept flipping through your wardrobe until your fingers landed on the one: a sleek, champagne colored midi dress with a subtle sheen that hugged your curves and had an exposed back just enough to feel elegant but not overdone.

You held it up and smiled. This would work.

The dress hung on the back of the door as you moved to your vanity, sitting down in front of the mirror. You quickly pulled your hair out of the messy bun it had been in all evening, brushing it out until the strands fell in soft waves over your shoulders. A quick spritz of heat protectant later, you reached for your curling iron, adding a few polished curls to frame your face.

Once your hair was done, you leaned closer to the mirror to do your makeup. You didn’t want to overdo it, opting instead for a soft, natural look. A little concealer to brighten your under eyes, a sweep of blush for color, and your favorite mascara to make your lashes stand out. Finally, you dabbed on a neutral lipstick that complemented the green of your dress perfectly.

Sliding into the dress, you smoothed the fabric over your hips and stepped into a pair of classic black heels. You took a moment to look at yourself in the mirror, adjusting the neckline of the dress and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

���Not bad,” you murmured to yourself with a small smile.

Grabbing a clutch that matched your heels, you slipped your phone, keys, and a tube of lipstick inside before heading back into the living room. 

You double-checked the address Cyndy had sent and tapped out a quick message. I’m on my way now. Thank you for helping me with this.

Her reply came quickly. Of course, sweetheart. Drive safe. Can’t wait to see you!

You smiled at her warmth, then grabbed your coat and headed for the door. The warm California air greeted you as you stepped outside, a sense of purpose settling over you as you climbed into your car. As you pulled onto the quiet streets of your neighborhood, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of anticipation and determination. Glen needed you tonight, and you were ready to remind him that, no matter what, he was never alone.

The valet opened your door with a polished smile, offering a courteous "Welcome, miss," as you stepped out onto the pavement. The warm glow of string lights twinkled above the entrance of the upscale Los Angeles venue, the faint hum of chatter and laughter drifting from the rooftop above. The building exuded an understated luxury, with sleek, modern architecture softened by lush greenery climbing its walls.

Clutching your purse tightly, you took a deep breath and stepped inside. The interior was as elegant as you imagined—soft lighting, marble accents, and tall glass windows that offered a breathtaking view of the Los Angeles skyline. The faint clinking of glasses and the melodic hum of a piano playing somewhere in the background added to the ambiance.

As you made your way to the elevator, you smoothed your hands over the fabric of your dress, trying to calm the nerves that fluttered in your stomach. You weren’t used to settings like this—where the air practically shimmered with glamour and the scent of expensive cologne and champagne filled every corner. But tonight wasn’t about you fitting in. Tonight was about Glen.

The elevator dinged softly, and the doors slid open to reveal the rooftop space. A wave of cool evening air greeted you as you stepped out, the view from up here absolutely stunning. The city lights stretched endlessly, a glittering sea of gold against the dark backdrop of the night sky.

But your attention quickly shifted to the crowd.

Clusters of people were scattered around the rooftop, their elegant attire shimmering under the soft glow of fairy lights and the flickering flames of heat lamps. Actors, actresses, directors, and producers mingled effortlessly, champagne flutes in hand and smiles that seemed almost rehearsed.

Your heart raced as you scanned the crowd, searching for Glen. The nerves you’d managed to suppress in the car started to creep back in, your stomach twisting as you imagined how he might react to seeing you. Would he be happy? Surprised? Would he think you’d overstepped by showing up unannounced?

Your heels clicked softly against the tiled floor as you weaved through the crowd, offering polite nods and tight smiles to the strangers you passed. Every time you thought you spotted him, it turned out to be someone else—a man with a similar build, or a suit that reminded you of Glen’s.

And then, you saw him.

He was standing near the edge of the rooftop, his back to you as he leaned casually against the railing. Even from a distance, you could tell something was off. His shoulders weren’t as relaxed as usual, his posture slightly stiff. He was talking to someone—an older man who looked like a producer—but his responses seemed polite and detached, his smile barely reaching his eyes.

Your heart clenched. This wasn’t the Glen you knew, the one who could charm a room with his laugh and light up any space he walked into. Tonight, he looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Swallowing your nerves, you adjusted the strap of your purse and started toward him. Each step felt like it took an eternity, the noise of the party fading into the background as your focus narrowed in on him.

You stopped a few feet away, hesitating for a brief moment as you tried to find the right words to say. But before you could speak, he turned, his gaze landing on you—and for a moment, the world seemed to pause.

Glen’s expression shifted from surprise to pure, unguarded joy in the blink of an eye. Without a second thought, he turned to the producer he’d been speaking to, murmuring a quick, “Excuse me,” before striding toward you, closing the distance between you in just a few long steps.

Your nerves barely had a chance to settle before Glen was there, standing right in front of you. His hands found your waist, and he pulled you into a tight embrace, one hand slipping up to cradle the back of your head while the other slipped around your waist. You could feel the tension in his body melt away as he buried his face in your hair, his shoulders relaxing for what seemed like the first time all evening.

“You’re here,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion and disbelief.

Before you could respond, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his green eyes scanning your face as if he needed to confirm that you were real. 

And then, as if he couldn’t stop himself, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was tender but unrestrained, a mix of relief, gratitude, and love that made your knees feel weak. The rest of the rooftop faded away—the noise, the people, the shimmering lights of Los Angeles below. For a brief moment, it was just the two of you.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said softly, his hand still gently cradling the back of your head.

You smiled, your fingers brushing against the lapels of his suit jacket. “I had to be here for you.”

It wasn’t until you heard the faint sound of someone clearing their throat that you realized the two of you were still standing in the middle of a crowd. Glen blinked, his eyes flicking around as if he’d only just remembered where you both were.

A faint blush crept up his neck, but he didn’t seem embarrassed—if anything, he looked proud. He tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you closer to his side as he turned to the curious onlookers with a sheepish smile.

“Guess the secret’s out,” he said lightly, his tone warm but unapologetic.

As Glen pulled you closer to his side, the buzz of the rooftop returned, whispers and murmurs rippling through the crowd. You could feel curious eyes on you, but your focus stayed on Glen. His arm remained secure around your waist, a steady reassurance amid the growing attention.

Before anyone else could approach, you saw a familiar face in the crowd: Cyndy. Glen’s mom was beaming as she made her way over, her husband, Glen Sr., right behind her.

“There she is!” Cyndy exclaimed, her voice warm and welcoming as she pulled you into a quick hug. “I told you this would be just what he needed,” she added with a playful wink at Glen, who rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smile.

“You knew about this?” he asked, a hint of mock betrayal in his tone.

“Of course,” Cyndy said with a grin. “She needed a little help getting here.”

Glen shook his head, his smile softening as he glanced down at you. “I should’ve known. You two are always teaming up on me.”

“It’s for your own good,” you teased, earning a chuckle from Glen Sr.

“Well, I think it’s wonderful she’s here,” Glen Sr. said, clapping his son on the shoulder before turning to you. “You look stunning, by the way. Good luck keeping this one under wraps now.”

Glen laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Yeah, I think that ship’s sailed.”

As his parents drifted back into the crowd, giving the two of you a moment, Glen leaned in, his voice low. “You ready to meet some of these people?”

You nodded, your nerves fluttering again. “Lead the way.”

Glen kept you close as he guided you through the rooftop, introducing you to directors, producers, and fellow actors. 

“This is my girlfriend,” he said each time before introducing you by name, the word girlfriend rolling off his tongue with ease and pride.

You exchanged polite smiles and handshakes, offering kind words to those you’d only seen on magazine covers or in movie credits. It was surreal, but Glen’s steady presence kept you grounded.

At one point, you found yourself standing in a small circle with a director Glen had worked with in the past. The conversation flowed easily, but you could feel Glen’s hand lightly rubbing your back, a subtle gesture that let you know he was still thinking about you.

“Glen’s mentioned you before,” the director said with a knowing smile. “He wasn’t kidding when he said you were incredible.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you glanced up at Glen, who looked entirely unbothered by the compliment. 

“She is,” he said simply, his gaze meeting yours with a warmth that made your heart skip.

The sounds of the party started to fade into the background as Glen guided you to a quieter corner of the rooftop, away from the buzz of laughter and clinking glasses. The cool evening air swept past, carrying with it the faint scent of jasmine from the planters lining the terrace.

You leaned against the glass railing, the glittering Los Angeles skyline sprawling behind you like a postcard. Glen stood close, his arm brushing yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, simply soaking in the stillness that contrasted with the lively atmosphere just feet away.

He turned to you, his expression softer now, the guarded mask he’d worn all evening completely gone. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice carrying an undercurrent of emotion.

You tilted your head, your brows knitting together. “For what?”

“For being here,” he said, his gaze locking onto yours. “For coming tonight, even though I know how much you hate this kind of scene. I didn’t realize how badly I needed you here.”

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his voice. Reaching up, you rested a hand against his cheek, your thumb brushing the faint stubble along his jawline. “You don’t have to thank me, Glen. I wanted to be here. I hated thinking about you going through all of this alone.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a brief second. 

“It was a rough night,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, I knew not winning was always a possibility, but...” He trailed off, exhaling deeply.

“But it still hurts,” you finished for him.

He nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah. And trying to act like it doesn’t... it’s exhausting.”

You stepped closer, your hand sliding from his cheek to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. 

“You don’t have to act with me,” you said softly. “You’re allowed to feel however you need to feel. I’m here, okay? Whatever you need.”

His arms came around you then, pulling you into his chest. You melted into his embrace, your face pressed against the soft fabric of his jacket. He held you tightly, like you were his anchor in a storm.

“I feel better already,” he murmured against your hair, his voice laced with a hint of humor but mostly gratitude.

You smiled, tilting your head back to meet his eyes. “Good. You’ve accomplished so much, Glen. You’ve made me, your parents, everyone who knows you so proud.”

A small smile curved his lips, and he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You always know what to say,” he said, his voice filled with affection.

You shrugged, teasing him lightly. “I like to think of it as one of my many talents.”

His chuckle was soft, but genuine, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Well, it’s one I’m grateful for.”

The quiet moment lingered, the world around you dimming as you rested in Glen’s arms. His hands brushed lightly up and down your back, grounding you in his warmth. The skyline twinkled behind him, but all you could focus on was the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

After a while, Glen broke the silence, his voice low and soft. “Do you want to get out of here?”

You tilted your head up to look at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Are you sure? I mean, this is your night.”

He shook his head, a playful glint flickering in his tired eyes. “This party stopped feeling like mine a long time ago. I’d rather be somewhere alone with you.” He paused, his expression turning gentler. “Come stay at the hotel with me?”

Your heart fluttered at the quiet sincerity in his voice, and you nodded without hesitation. “Of course,” you said, your smile widening.

Relief washed over his face, and he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. It wasn’t rushed or heated, just a soft and unhurried moment, as though he wanted to savor every second of it. When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What for this time?” you asked, your smile turning playful.

“Just for being here for me,” he said simply, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

Your fingers intertwined with his, and you gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Always.”

Glen smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he straightened up, pulling you a little closer as he turned toward the door. Without another word, he led you across the rooftop, weaving through clusters of partygoers with effortless ease.

The crowd parted as you passed, some people glancing your way with fleeting curiosity. You caught sight of Glen’s parents near the bar, and Cyndy offered you a subtle wink before turning her attention back to the person she was speaking with. You couldn’t help but smile.

Glen held your hand tightly as he guided you to the elevator, his thumb brushing small circles against your skin. Once inside, the doors closed with a quiet chime, and the noise of the party finally melted away.

He let out a quiet sigh, leaning back against the wall of the elevator, and pulled you into his side. “This is better,” he said, his tone light but filled with contentment.

You chuckled, resting your head against his shoulder. “I’ll take a quiet elevator ride with you over a crowded party any day.”

He laughed softly, his hand drifting up to play with a strand of your hair. “Good. Because tonight, it’s just you and me.”

The cool night air greeted you as you stepped outside, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the rooftop party. Glen stayed close by your side, his hand brushing against yours as you waited for the valet. You felt a flutter of anticipation in your chest, the promise of a quiet, uninterrupted night with him tugging at the edges of your thoughts.

When the valet pulled your car around, Glen stepped forward, handing over a tip and reaching for the keys. 

“I’ll drive,” he said with a grin, giving you a playful nudge.

You raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you insist on driving my car?”

“Just humor me tonight,” he said, flashing that perfect smile that made your heart skip.

You rolled your eyes with a soft laugh but handed over your keys without argument. Glen opened the passenger door for you, holding it until you were comfortably seated.

Your cheeks warmed at the gesture, and you offered him a soft smile as he closed the door and rounded the car to slide into the driver’s seat.

Once he was settled, Glen adjusted the mirrors and pulled away from the valet stand, expertly navigating the quiet streets of Los Angeles. His posture was relaxed, but his hand gripped the wheel with quiet confidence. The faint hum of the engine filled the silence, mingling with the soft music playing from the car speakers.

After a moment, Glen reached over, his fingers brushing against your knee before resting gently on your thigh. His touch was warm, grounding, and the weight of it sent a small shiver up your spine.

You glanced over at him, the soft glow of the streetlights illuminating his profile. His focus was on the road, but there was an unmistakable ease in his expression, as though the weight of the night was beginning to lift.

“You look beautiful tonight, by the way,” Glen said, his voice breaking the comfortable silence in the car. 

The compliment caught you slightly off guard, and you felt the warmth rush to your cheeks. 

“Thank you,” you said softly, placing your hand over his, trying to steady the sudden flutter in your chest.

His fingers tightened gently on your thigh, his thumb brushing slow, lazy circles against the fabric of your dress. The simple motion sent a shiver up your spine. 

“I mean it,” he added, his voice lower now, carrying a sincerity that made your heart skip a beat. “Took my breath away when I first saw you tonight.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out at first. His gaze shifted briefly from the road to meet yours, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he caught the faint blush spreading across your cheeks.

“Glen,” you murmured, glancing down as your own smile crept in, embarrassed but undeniably warmed by his words.

“What?” he teased, his smirk growing. “Just being honest.”

For a while, neither of you spoke, content to simply be in each other’s presence. The city lights blurred outside the windows, and you found yourself memorizing the quiet details of the moment—the way his hand felt against your skin, the gentle hum of the car, the serene look on his face as he drove.

As he turned onto a quieter stretch of road, Glen glanced at you briefly, his smile soft and genuine. “I know I’ve said it already, but...thank you for being here tonight. You didn’t have to, but you did.”

You squeezed his hand. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

The car rolled to a stop in front of the upscale hotel, its glass façade glowing softly in the dim light of the early morning. Glen handed the keys to the valet with a quick thank-you before coming around to your side. He opened your door and offered his hand, helping you out with a small, knowing smile.

The lobby was quiet at this hour, save for the occasional murmur of staff or the faint sound of soft music drifting through the space. Glen’s hand found the small of your back as he guided you toward the elevator bank. You leaned into his touch, your earlier nerves melting away under the warmth of his steady presence.

Inside the elevator, the air felt electric, charged with unspoken anticipation. Glen pressed the button for his floor, then turned to you with a crooked grin. 

“Almost there,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

The soft ding of the elevator signaled your arrival, and the two of you stepped into the quiet hallway. Glen led you toward his room, pulling the keycard from his pocket. The lock beeped softly as he swiped it, and he pushed the door open, stepping aside to let you in first.

The suite was spacious and elegantly designed, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city lights. But you barely had time to take it in before Glen shut the door behind him, letting out a long breath as he slid his blazer off his shoulders and tossed it onto the back of a chair.

His eyes found yours, and without hesitation, he crossed the room to pull you into his arms. His embrace was firm yet tender, his hands settling on your waist as he held you close.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours.

You smiled, your arms looping around his neck. “What’s stopping you now?”

Glen chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, before closing the small distance between you. His lips met yours in a kiss that started out as gentle and unhurried, his touch familiar and comforting.

But then, something shifted. What began as a tender gesture grew more fervent, his hands sliding up your back with a quiet desperation. His fingers splayed against your skin as though he needed to feel you, to anchor himself.

You noticed the change immediately—the way his lips slowed, pressing against yours with an intensity that wasn’t just passion but something deeper. He lingered at the corner of your mouth, trailing soft kisses along your jaw and down the curve of your neck. His breath, once steady, hitched against your skin, and the muscles in his back tensed beneath your touch.

Your hands instinctively moved to soothe him, running up and down his back in gentle strokes, but you could feel the tension coiling tighter in his body with each passing second. Glen’s arms wrapped around you as though he were holding on for dear life, his forehead pressing into the crook of your neck.

“Babe?” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the faint hum of the city outside. “Glen?”

There was no response, only the unsteady rise and fall of his chest against yours. You frowned, shifting slightly to pull back, your hands moving to cradle his face as you searched for his eyes.

“Hey… are you okay?” you asked softly, concern threading through your voice.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. His eyes stayed shut, and his jaw clenched as if he were trying to hold something back. Then his breath hitched again, and he exhaled shakily.

“I thought…” His voice broke, barely above a whisper. “I thought tonight was going to be different.”

The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and unspoken. Your heart twisted at the quiet vulnerability in his tone.

“I thought I was going to be enough,” he murmured, finally lifting his head to meet your gaze.

Your hands stayed on his face, your thumbs brushing against the faint stubble on his jaw. “Glen,” you said softly, your heart aching for him. “You are enough. You’re more than enough.”

His brow furrowed, his eyes clouded with doubt. “Then why doesn’t it feel that way? I wanted it so badly, but it’s like… it’s like I’m stuck. Like I’ll never reach the level everyone expects of me.”

His voice cracked, and you felt his shoulders tremble beneath your hands. You held him tighter, your fingers slipping into his hair as you tried to soothe him.

“Listen to me,” you said firmly, tilting his face so he couldn’t look away. “You don’t need an award to prove anything to anyone. You’re already incredible, Glen. Directors, writers, everyone you’ve worked with—they see it. They know how talented you are. And so do I.”

His eyes searched yours, uncertain and raw. “You’re proud of me?”

You smiled softly, brushing a kiss to his forehead. “More than you’ll ever know. You’re at the top in my eyes, Glen. Award or no award.”

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His grip tightened around you, and you felt the last of his tension slowly melt away as he let your words wash over him. The quiet of the room wrapped around the two of you, and for a moment, there was nothing else—just the softness of his breath against your skin and the steady thrum of your hearts beating in sync.

Glen’s arms loosened around your waist, and he exhaled a long, shaky breath. His forehead brushed against yours one last time before he pulled back slightly, his hands lingering on your hips for just a moment. The vulnerability in his eyes was still raw, his walls lowered in a way that made your chest ache for him.

Without a word, Glen stepped away, his movements slow and deliberate. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers lingering there as though trying to ground himself. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated his face, casting shadows that only seemed to deepen the exhaustion etched into his features.

He made his way to the bed, his steps heavy, as if the weight of the night clung to him with every stride. Lowering himself onto the edge of the mattress, Glen sat with his back to you, his shoulders slumped, his head dropping forward. For a moment, he just sat there, silent and still, like he was carrying the weight of something too big to name.

You stood where he left you, watching him in quiet concern. Your heart ached at the sight of him—at the way he seemed to have shed every ounce of energy and emotion he’d held together so tightly throughout the night.

Without a word, you crawled up onto the bed behind him, your knees sinking gently into the soft covers. You moved behind him, your hands instinctively finding his shoulders, your fingers beginning to work away the tension that had settled there. 

At first, Glen didn’t move, his posture still stiff, his head slightly bowed, but he let you in, letting your hands ease the strain from his muscles.

After a few minutes of working the knots in his back, you softly spoke, “Glen... take your shirt off. Let me help you fully relax.”

He let out a quiet breath, his shoulders rolling in a slight motion of surrender. His fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, each one opening with a slow and deliberate motion, his body still tense under your touch. When the last button came free, he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, the fabric slipping off his arms. You continued your gentle massage, your fingers now tracing the lines of his back, finding the tension in his muscles and working it away, piece by piece.

Glen let out a long, deep sigh as the stress of the evening began to melt away under your touch. He leaned into you, his body responding to your calming presence, and with a final, quiet release, he relaxed completely. His head tilted back, falling softly against your chest, the weight of his head resting there as you continued to soothe him with your touch.

You smiled down at him, feeling his breath steady and slow as you ran your hands up and down his back. The sound of his quiet breaths was a comforting rhythm in the room, the weight of his exhaustion now balancing with the calm you provided.

With his head resting against you, he looked up at you, his eyes soft, almost vulnerable. You smiled at him, your heart swelling as you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“You okay?” you whispered, your fingers still gently running through his hair, the touch tender and caring.

Glen closed his eyes, a small smile pulling at his lips. “I am now.” He let out a soft chuckle, and for a moment, the stress of the night seemed to dissipate entirely, replaced with the warmth and safety that surrounded the two of you.

You rested your chin on top of his head, continuing to hold him, your presence grounding him in a way nothing else could. The room felt peaceful now, as if time had slowed just for the two of you, and for a fleeting moment, everything was right.

You continued to gently rub his back, letting the soothing silence linger between you two for a while longer. Glen’s body was finally at ease, but you could sense he needed more—something to fully relax him after the rollercoaster of emotions he’d been through that night.

“You should go shower,” you suggested softly, your fingers still tracing light, comforting circles along his back. “It’ll help you feel better, relax a little more.”

Glen’s eyes fluttered open, and he hesitated for a moment, his gaze softening as he looked up at you. There was an unspoken question in his eyes—whether or not he was ready to let go of the emotions, the strain, the weight of the evening. 

“Will you join me?”

The question hung in the air, but it wasn’t a forceful demand—more of an invitation. He was searching for comfort, for something to take his mind off the self-doubt that still lingered beneath the surface. The tension was still there, just beneath the calm exterior.

You nodded without hesitation, your heart swelling with affection for him. “Of course.”

Glen stood slowly, pulling you with him as you both made your way to the bathroom. The lights were dimmed, casting a warm, inviting glow over the room. The sound of the shower running softly filled the air, and as he adjusted the water temperature, Glen turned back to you, his eyes still carrying that mix of weariness and something deeper—a need for connection.

His hands, warm and gentle, reached for the zipper of your dress. His fingers brushed your skin as he slowly unzipped it, the motion deliberate, almost reverent. He didn’t rush—each movement was careful, as though he was taking his time to savor this small, private moment. The dress slipped off your shoulders with his guidance, the fabric pooling at your feet.

A soft breath left his lips as he looked at you, his fingers trailing over your skin. You felt his presence like a warm embrace, his touch so tender that it sent a shiver down your spine.

"You’re so beautiful," Glen whispered, his voice low and full of admiration as his lips brushed the back of your neck. The kiss lingered there, a simple act that spoke volumes. He pulled back just slightly, his hands moving to unclasp your bra. As it slid down your arms, his lips found their way to your shoulder, placing gentle kisses along the curve of your skin.

"I love you," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, sending a sense of calm and affection flooding through you. He was careful, slow, making sure you felt every touch, every kiss, his words filling the space between you as much as his touch did. "I love you so much," he repeated softly, as if needing you to feel the depth of his feelings.

With a gentle tug, he guided your underwear down, his fingers grazing your legs as the fabric pooled at your feet. He never once broke eye contact, his gaze full of reverence, his actions unhurried, as if savoring this quiet intimacy between you.

His hands slid up your back, holding you close for a moment, before he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You turned toward him, your hands gently brushing his chest as you reached for his belt. The leather felt smooth under your fingertips, but as you tugged it through the loops, it caught slightly, the metal latch catching on the fabric of his pants. 

Glen raised an eyebrow and, with a smirk, he reached down to effortlessly pull it free, tossing it aside with a soft chuckle. You couldn't help but smile at the playful glint in his eyes, his confidence radiating through every small action. The serious, vulnerable side of him from earlier was still there, but seeing this side of him, the Glen who was comfortable, even mischievous, made your heart lighten. This was your Glen again—the one you had fallen in love with.

His smirk deepened as he caught your eye, and you felt that same familiar pull in your chest. Without hesitation, you popped open the button on his dress pants, the soft sound of the fabric giving way to the cool air in the room. With a quick motion, you shoved the pants down his legs, your eyes never leaving his.

As you moved to slide his underwear down as well, he stepped out of the fabric, leaving the two of you bare before one another. The feeling of the air on your skin, the way his body seemed to react to the same sensations, only deepened the connection between you.

Glen’s hand reached for yours, his fingers curling around yours as he gently pulled you toward him. With a final glance, he led you into the shower, the warm water cascading down as the door closed behind you.

The warm water from the showerhead cascaded over your bodies, the steam rising around you as Glen pulled you closer. He guided you back against his chest, your back now pressed against his solid form. The heat from his skin radiated into you, his arms wrapping securely around your waist, holding you close as the water continued to fall.

You leaned your head back against him, allowing the sensation of his embrace to ground you, and closed your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. It was moments like this, quiet and simple, that made everything else fade into the background. The chaos of the world, the stress of the night—it all seemed distant when you were wrapped up in the warmth of him.

His breath, steady and warm against your ear, sent a shiver down your spine. His lips brushed your cheek, soft and slow, before trailing along your jawline. The gentle caress of his kisses made you feel cherished, like the world had slowed just for the two of you.

As his lips moved to your neck, you couldn’t suppress the soft sigh that escaped your lips. His kisses were light at first, like he was savoring every inch of your skin. Then, his hands slid to your sides, pulling you closer as he pressed a soft kiss to the pulse point on your neck.

You turned slightly, your face now angled toward his, and you could see the tenderness in his eyes—the way he looked at you as though you were everything he needed. His hands moved up to gently cradle your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek, before leaning down to kiss you softly on the lips.

As the steam continued to swirl around the two of you, Glen reached for the bottle of shampoo, his movements slow and deliberate as he squeezed some into his palm. He worked it into his hands before gently lifting them to your hair, his fingers massaging the lather through your strands.

The soft pressure of his hands on your scalp felt soothing, almost like a tender promise. The moment was so serene, so simple, but it filled the space between you with an intimacy that went beyond the physical.

You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment as the lather built up, your hair sliding through his hands like silk. A soft smile played on your lips as you couldn't help but tease lightly, “You know, I was supposed to be helping you relax, not the other way around.”

Glen paused for a moment, his hands stilling in your hair. When he spoke, his voice was low and steady, a quiet affection in his words. 

“Taking care of you helps me relax,” he murmured, his fingers resuming their gentle motion through your hair. “When I’m with you, everything else fades.  All the noise, the pressure… it just disappears.”

You turned your head slightly to look up at him, catching his gaze. The tenderness in his eyes made your heart swell, and you couldn’t help but smile, feeling that quiet joy that only came from knowing you were so deeply cared for.

You and Glen took turns lathering soap and washing each other off. His hands slid over your skin with a gentle care and you mirrored the gestore for him, tenderly tracing over his toned and muscly form.

When the last traces of soap had been rinsed away, Glen’s hands moved from your shoulders, gliding slowly down your sides before they settled at your waist. 

Then, without a word, he leaned in. His lips brushed yours lightly at first, the softness of the kiss almost a question, a gentle exploration. But as his lips coaxed yours open, something shifted, deepened. The kiss became more urgent, more consuming, and you couldn’t help but respond in kind, meeting his intensity with your own.

His hands roamed lower, tracing the curve of your body as his tongue slid into your mouth, eager and searching. A soft gasp escaped you as you felt the warmth of his touch slide over your skin, igniting a familiar fire within. Your hands found their way to his neck, fingers tangling in his wet hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened further.

The sensation of being pressed against the cool wall of the shower was sudden but welcome, sending a shiver down your spine as the contrast of cold tile and Glen’s warmth consumed your senses. His hands found your hips, steady and deliberate, before sliding down to hook beneath your thighs. In one smooth, effortless motion, he lifted you, his strength leaving you breathless as your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist.

His arm cradled your face, the other anchoring you securely against him. You felt completely surrounded by him—his body, his heat, the faint smell of his cologne lingering despite the water. His lips were back on yours in an instant, claiming you with a passion that left no room for hesitation.

As the water streamed over both of you, his lips broke from yours, trailing a line of kisses along your jaw. You tilted your head instinctively, giving him access to your neck, where his kisses grew deeper, more purposeful. Each press of his lips sent waves of warmth through you, his stubble brushing lightly against your skin. When he reached the spot just below your ear, you couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped you, and Glen’s lips curved into a smirk against your skin.

“God, I love you,” he murmured between kisses, his voice low and rough, making your stomach tighten with need. 

His lips traveled lower, brushing over your collarbone before returning to your mouth as if he couldn’t bear to be away from you for too long. Your hands found their way into his hair, threading through the damp strands and tugging just enough to elicit a low groan from him. The sound sent a thrill through you, and you felt him press you more firmly against the wall, as though he needed you closer, as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

His kisses moved lower, trailing along your shoulder as he adjusted his grip, one hand sliding up your back, the other tracing the curve of your thigh. The heat of the water cascaded over both of you, blending with the heat building between your bodies. 

The way Glen looked at you—his gaze dark and intense, yet filled with so much affection—left you completely undone. He paused, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, yet the weight of his words hit you like a tidal wave.

Your only answer was to pull him closer, your lips finding his once more as your hands roamed over his shoulders and down his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch. Glen responded immediately, his hold on you tightening, his kisses growing deeper and more fervent, as if he were pouring every unspoken word into them.

Glen shifted slightly, his hips pressing firmly against yours, pinning you against the cold tile wall, and a soft whimper escaped your lips.

Glen froze for half a second, his eyes locking onto yours, and then his lips curved into a grin that was equal parts mischievous and adoring.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as his lips found yours again, this time slower, more deliberate. He wasn’t in a rush; he wanted to savor every second, every little sound you made, and the way your body responded to his touch.

His kisses trailed down the curve of your neck, lingering in spots he knew would make your breath hitch. You felt his fingers tighten slightly on your thigh, his touch grounding you while simultaneously setting you aflame.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he whispered against your skin, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. The way his words, his tone, his body all combined left you dizzy in the best way.

Your hands slid over his shoulders, down his chest, your fingertips tracing the firm lines of muscle as if committing them to memory. You could feel the tension melting out of him under your touch, replaced by something far more intoxicating.

“You have no idea how much I needed this—how much I needed you,” he admitted, his tone softening just slightly, adding a layer of vulnerability to his intensity. He leaned his forehead against yours, his lips brushing yours in a feather-light kiss.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, your voice steady as your fingers slid into his hair, pulling him closer. Glen closed his eyes for a moment, as if grounding himself in your words, in you.

When his lips met yours again, it was slower, deeper, his movements more purposeful. Every touch, every press of his body against yours, felt like a reminder of the connection you shared, of how deeply he trusted and cared for you.

The moment he began to press into you, your breath hitched, and your nails gently dug into his shoulders. The slow, deliberate stretch was almost overwhelming, a sensation so powerful that it sent shivers through your entire body. Glen let out a deep, unrestrained groan that rumbled from his chest, vibrating against yours.

“God,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his head dipping to rest in the curve of your neck. “You feel... incredible.”

Your body adjusted to him, every inch of him fitting perfectly, as though you were made for this—made for each other. The moment you were fully joined, the air between you shifted, charged with something deeper, something more profound than physical attraction.

You let out a shaky exhale, your hands threading into his damp hair, holding him close. “Glen…” His name was barely a whisper, but it carried so much—desire, love, reassurance.

He lifted his head slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. His eyes, deep and intense, were filled with something raw and vulnerable, a mix of need and devotion. “S-shit sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly.

You cupped his face, your thumbs brushing against the sharp lines of his jaw. He began to move then, slow and deliberate, as though he wanted to memorize every sensation, every reaction. Each roll of his hips sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, but it was more than that—it was connection, intimacy, the kind of closeness that words could never fully capture.

The two of you moved together in perfect sync, the rhythm as natural as breathing. His lips found yours again, desperate and hungry, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Your bodies were slick from the water, your skin sliding against his in a way that only heightened the intensity of the moment.

The rhythm of Glen’s movements grew more intense, the slow, deliberate pace giving way to something deeper, more desperate, as the fire building inside you threatened to consume you completely. Your breaths came faster, mingling with his in the humid air of the shower, each gasp and groan echoing off the tiled walls.

Your hands clung to his shoulders, your nails pressing lightly into his skin as the pleasure coiled tighter in your core. You could feel the tension mounting, like a wave rising higher and higher, ready to crash over you. 

“Glen,” you gasped, your voice shaky, filled with need.

He groaned in response, his grip on you tightening as his forehead rested against yours. 

“I know,” he murmured, his voice rough and unsteady. His eyes locked onto yours, a mix of passion and adoration blazing within them. “I’m right there with you.”

Your head fell back against the tile, a soft cry escaping your lips as the tension snapped and the wave of ecstasy washed over you. Your body trembled against his as you surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure, your hands slipping into his hair, holding him close.

The sound of your release seemed to push Glen over the edge. With a low, guttural groan, he buried his face in your neck, his movements faltering as his own climax overtook him. His body tensed, his arms tightening around you as if anchoring himself in the moment.

For a few moments, the only sounds were your ragged breaths and the steady stream of water cascading over you both. Glen’s forehead rested against your shoulder, his chest heaving against yours as he tried to catch his breath.

You ran your fingers through his damp hair, your touch gentle and soothing as the tension in both of your bodies began to melt away. “Are you okay?” you whispered softly, your voice laced with tenderness.

He nodded against your shoulder, his arms still wrapped around you. “More than okay,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin in a lazy kiss. 

He lifted his head slightly, his eyes finding yours, and for a moment, there was nothing but quiet affection between you. He reached up, brushing a strand of wet hair away from your face, his touch lingering. “You make everything better,” he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity.

You leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “And you make everything better for me,” you whispered against his mouth.

As the water continued to flow over you, Glen shifted, his hold on you gentle as he helped steady you back onto your feet. He kept his arms around you, though, as if reluctant to let you go. 

“Stay like this a little longer?” he asked quietly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

You nodded, leaning into him, your head resting against his chest. The two of you stood there, wrapped in each other, the water washing away everything except the quiet, unspoken connection between you.

Minutes later the warm water slowed to a trickle as you and Glen stood together under its embrace, reluctant to part from the cocoon of closeness you’d shared. But the chill of the air creeping into the shower reminded you both that it was time to leave.

You reached for a towel, wrapping it snugly around yourself before handing another to Glen. He took it with a small smile, his fingers brushing yours briefly. He quickly dried off, his movements unhurried, as if savoring the quiet moment.

As you toweled your hair, you couldn’t help but notice Glen watching you. His gaze was soft, his features relaxed in a way that made your heart swell.

“What?” you asked with a light laugh, arching a brow at him.

He just shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Nothing. Just… you.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you didn’t press him further. Instead, you turned toward his open bag near the bed, slipping on one of his oversized T-shirts and a pair of his boxers since you didn’t have any clothes of your own to sleep in. The fabric smelled faintly of him, comforting and familiar.

Glen was already pulling on a pair of boxers, his toned frame catching the soft glow of the bedside lamp as he moved toward the bed. He crawled onto the mattress with an easy grace, sinking into the covers with a contented sigh.

You finished adjusting the hem of the shirt before turning to find Glen propped up on one elbow, his eyes locked on you. He patted the empty space beside him, then crooked a finger, his voice low and inviting. “Come here.”

You didn’t hesitate, crossing the room and crawling onto the bed beside him. Glen shifted, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you flush against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours as he nuzzled into your neck, his lips brushing softly against your skin.

For a while, neither of you spoke, the quiet intimacy of the moment saying more than words could. But when Glen shifted again, his gaze meeting yours, the sincerity in his expression made your breath catch.

“You’re the best thing I’ve ever won,” he said, a playful smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.

You let out a soft laugh, swatting at his chest. “I didn’t realize I was a prize to be won.”

He chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “You are. The best one.” His voice softened as he continued, the teasing fading into quiet gratitude. “Thank you for being here tonight… for always being here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Your chest ached with love for him, and you reached up, gently cradling his face in your hand. “You don’t have to do it alone, Glen. Whatever it is—disappointments, stress, doubts—I’m here. Always. You don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

His eyes softened, and he gave a small nod before resting his head against your chest. You began threading your fingers through his hair, the soft strands slipping between them as you combed through gently. Glen let out a deep sigh, his body completely relaxing against yours.

The quiet rhythm of his breathing matched the rise and fall of your chest, and as the tension melted from him, you couldn’t help but reflect on how much you loved being this for him—his safe space, the one person he could let his guard down with.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with every ounce of your heart.

His arms tightened around your waist, and he turned his head just enough to press a soft kiss to the side of your ribs. “I love you too,” he murmured against your skin, the words warm and heavy with truth.

And as the night stretched on, you stayed like that—entwined, at peace, and content in the knowledge that no matter what came next, you had each other.

[bookyeom]

birthday mornings - bsk

pairing: seungkwan x reader word count: 0.9k warnings: none really… kissing author’s note: happiest of birthdays, @wheeboo 🥺💓 I know I’m late, and I wish I could have made you something better, but I saw it was your birthday and I wanted to do something. hope it’s your best year yet 🫶🏻

You slowly blink awake, the light from the bathroom just peeking through the dark of the morning. You squint to try and make out something, anything, but you can’t until the bathroom door opens a bit wider. You watch as your boyfriend seems to tiptoe back into the room from his shower, turning the bathroom light off and closing the door slowly behind him as he heads to the closet. When he reemerges, donning a clean t-shirt and jeans, you take him all in. His hair is damp, and you watch as he uses a towel to dry it just a little. He’s so handsome, you think to yourself, and you can’t help the fond smile that spreads across your lips when he catches you looking.

“Hi,” Seungkwan whispers, and you raise your eyebrows. “Sorry.”

“Since when are you quiet in the mornings? And since when are you sorry about being loud?”

You’re teasing, and he smiles, but he doesn’t sass you like you expect him to. You sit up just a little, surprised when he joins you on the bed again. You fall back as he drapes himself over you, pressing his face into your neck. You shiver a little from his wet skin, but you don’t really mind, not when he’s snuggling into you like this.

“Didn’t want to disturb you,” he mumbles against your neck, and you allow yourself to indulge in the feeling of his lips soft against your skin for a moment before you’re pulling him back so you can look at him. 

You pause for a moment, fingers playing with the damp hair at the base of his neck. Admiring. And then you say, “since when do you care about disturbing me in the mornings? What happened to forcing me awake at the asscrack of dawn to try and make me a morning person?”

Seungkwan grins at that before he leans in again, your heart rate picking up as he brushes his nose against yours and says, “Special events call for special circumstances.” 

Your heart is pounding at the proximity, eyes fluttering shut when you feel his mouth brush against yours. You can feel the weight of him settle on top of you as he kisses you again, deeper this time, and you briefly wonder if he’ll ever stop making you feel like this. 

“Happy birthday,” he whispers, kissing you one more time before he’s rolling off of you, crawling back under the covers, and tucking in against your side. He throws his jean-clad leg over yours, arm over your waist as he pulls you in tight. You smile against his chest, eyes fluttering shut as you feel yourself being pulled back into sleep. 

You’re almost back into dreamland when it hits you, and you nearly dislocate your boyfriend’s shoulder as you sit up, scrambling for your phone. 

“Seungkwan!” you cry, and he sits up too, rubbing at the offended arm. He looks so cute as he pouts, annoyed at your outburst, and you can tell he was almost asleep, too. 

“Shit, what?”

“It’s 9:30!”

Seungkwan groans, but instead of panicking and scrambling out of bed like you expect, he flops dramatically back down onto the mattress. “Seriously? I thought something was actually wrong.”

You stare at him, incredulous. This can’t be your Seungkwan — the one who loses his mind when he’s even a second late to anything, the one you always need to remind to slow down. “Hello? You’re a half hour late to work and you don’t care?”

Seungkwan opens one eye to look at you again, and you raise your eyebrows. “I got today off, babe.” 

You can feel your mouth part just slightly in surprise, and you watch as he starts to smile. “I thought you couldn’t—“

“I owe Wonwoo like, eight coffees… but he’s covering for me.”

Your chest suddenly feels so full of fondness that you could burst. “Kwanie…”

“Surprise?”

You crawl back over to him, draping yourself across his chest this time as he falls back with an ‘oof’. He’s smiling, though, absolutely beaming, and you know he’s pleased with himself — and at your reaction. 

“I love you,” you say softly, chin resting on your hands as you look up at him. He scrunches his nose in fake disgust, and you roll your eyes.

“I love you, too.”

The two of you lounge around in bed for a while, sharing memes on your phones and basking in each other’s warmth. You’re always so grateful that it’s you who gets to see this Seungkwan — the Seungkwan who lets you play with his hair while his head rests in your lap (no one else gets to touch his hair like this), the Seungkwan who fidgets and traces patterns into any part of your skin he can reach (he’s confessed that just touching you like this calms him down), the Seungkwan who actually pouts so that you’ll kiss him (though he’ll deny it if anyone ever asks). You love him, your Seungkwan. 

You don’t even care what he’s penciled in for the rest of your birthday together, because this right here? It’s enough. 

(“I promised to buy Wonwoo coffee from the expensive place down the street from work, by the way,” Seungkwan says against your hair later, when you finally get up from the coziness of your bed. He’s latched onto you from the back, arms around your waist as you move to the kitchen. You gasp, turning around in his arms, and your boyfriend nods, eyes wide and serious. 

You resist the urge to giggle as you whisper, “Not the expensive place.” 

Seungkwan squeezes you. “Never say I don’t sacrifice anything for you.”)

A/N: Hope you like, my friend ❤️

tagging a few who might like to see this little guy :) @gyuminusone @minisugakoobies @seungkw1 ❤️

[plethorawrites]

I know a lot of people HC that Damian Wayne would be a terrible dad because of how he was raised and his own trauma keeps him emotionally detached, but imagine if his upbringing did the exact opposite? (1.2k)

He'd be terrified the moment he finds out his wife is pregnant, utterly unable to comprehend it. He wants to be excited, like everyone else in his family is about it, but can't bring himself to get over the fear. He's worried he won't love it or feel attached to it like she already is. Hell, he keeps calling it and IT.

That fear only grows and grows, getting infinitely worse as she's closer to having the baby. He doesn't feel worthy of being a parent, he's got too much blood on his hands to know how to be gentle or caring, especially not to someone as small as a baby. His wife alone had to break through a dozen of his walls before he fully trusted her enough to be vulnerable with her. But then, the baby is born. He's a dad. His wife is alright, which is his first concern, the next being making sure the baby is too.

She is.

She's a she.

He has a little girl and it's like time stops, staring at her little face, her dark skin, her full head of hair, her chubby cheeks. That fear in his chest both grows and disappears all at once. He knows then and there that his worries about not loving her were absolutely ridiculous. He's never let the world hurt her. But the apprehension about being good enough still persists.

He refuses to hold her, claiming his wife should be the first since she did all the work. Which she did. Then, he still refuses. He doesn't want to cradle her when he keeps thinking of all the blood his hands have spilled. His wife can tell and deep down it worries her too, but she doesn't say anything because she knew it would take a while for him to get used to being a dad. His family comes to see the baby a few days after they leave the hospital, they all hold her, but Damian keeps his arms crossed.

He's still terrified from afar that one of his brothers will drop her, though.

One night, after she got to bed, he hears her crying. His wife is exhausted, rightfully so, so he gets up. She's eaten recently so he has no idea why the baby is crying, just that she is. He shushes her while she lays in her crib but she's a few weeks old, so of course she has no idea what that means.

Finally, he reaches down, scooping her up into his arms, just to try to keep her quiet so his wife can sleep. "Shh. Please let your mother sleep," he whispers, his eyes softening as she immediately stops crying.

He puts her back down, the anxiety having already flooded him just by having her in his arms, but the second she's back in her crib, she's crying again. He's forced to pick her back up and the crying turns to soft cooing, staring up at him with wide eyes. He sighs, sitting in the chair his wife likes to rock her to sleep in, holding her close in her blanket. Which wasn't really a blanket at all, just his old cape that she had somehow taken to finding comfort in.

She reaches out, with that iron vice of a grip all babies seem to have, grabbing his finger with her hand. "Such a strong grip for such a small person," he whispers to himself or perhaps to her. "I love you, you know? More than anything. I just...feel like you deserve a better father than me."

She's still staring, silently, with absolutely no recognition of his words and his grips around her tightens as he leans his head back in the chair, falling asleep until morning when his wife finds him in the nursery with her still in his arms. He won't pretend he didn't feel a little bit of comfort holding her. But it was still frightening to him. Even if his wife assured him every other day that he was doing fine and she knew he could be a good dad.

He takes to being the one to soothe her at night so his wife can sleep, both because he's used to staying up at night for work and because he's somehow a lot better at getting her to calm down. He begins calling her 'beautiful' or 'darling' in Arabic, which always elicits a small smile. And he knows without a single doubt that he'd never let the darkness he's seen touch her.

The older she grows the better he gets at it. She's less fragile, he's more confident that he does deserve her. He can raise her better than he was raised. And he does. He can recognize each of her cries, knows what she needs, sometimes before she does. He presses a kiss to her head every night before she goes to bed and even when she starts sleeping through the night he'll still sit in her nursery for a while because he knows he'll never see her this small again.

She turns one and his whole family is there, spoiling her with extravagant gifts, even though he knows her favorite thing in the whole world is the blanket she sleeps with, made from his old cape. She's old to stand and starts babbling, not quite forming words, but it's enough that he knows what she wants when she points in a vague direction and starts getting frustrated about wanting something. He sits on the floor, holding her little hands while she stands, learning to take her first steps and his wife grimaces, worried the baby will fall.

She does.

Damian catches her.

She giggles and he can't help but grin with pride. "That's my girl. Already learning to walk a few months early." She's smart, he knows it. He doesn't boast to anyone aside from his wife or family about it, but secretly judges all the other kids in the group his wife takes her too. They weren't quite as advanced as his daughter.

After all, she responds to some words in Arabic. Her nicknames, mostly. Although she'll turn her head when he says 'look' or tells her 'good job' for finishing her mashed veggies. How many other babies did they know who were bilingual before two? Not many.

After fourteen months or so, her eyes change from blue to green and he finds himself even more transfixed with her wide eyes that track everything he does when he wakes up before his wife to make them all breakfast. He scolds her lightly when she throws the teething ring she loves at him, telling her "That's rude." Before handing it back to her and making her some steamed vegetables, since he always refused to give her store bought baby food.

It wasn't good enough for his child.

Around the time her babbling turns to poorly formed words, she starts calling him Babba and realizing how it makes him smile utters it over and over when she wants to be picked up.

She goes: "Babbababbababba." Like it's all one very long ramble until he lifts her out of her high chair and lets her rest on his hip asking her what she wants. "Stuffed animal?" He questions, pointing at her collection of them. She just repeats. "Babba." again, laying her head against him.

He realizes she just wants to be held and he gladly holds her for as long as she wants.

[bitchface24-7]

Can you make a cute Drabble with Jayce x Milf!Baker reader? Please🩷🩷

SUGAR & SPICE - JAYCE X READER

synopsis: Jayce remembers how hard life was when his mama and him moved into Piltover. He also remembers the first friend his mama made. You.

warnings: age gap (Jayce is 20, you're 42), Jayce thinks mom's best friend is hot, pathetic!Jayce low-key, Jayce is good at following demands, Jayce is friends with your son (random oc but I'll let y'all know I thought about somehow making Viktor your son 💀), infidelity (your oc husband cheats on you), masturbation mention, cut to sex, vaginal sex, creampie, breeding kink

genre: m/f

p.s. Y'all this was fun, I didn't expect to do a reverse age gap but omg… it kinda slays ngl. Hope y'all enjoy!

EDIT: I DID NOT SEE THE WORD CUTE, I SAW THE WORD MILF AND ASSUMED SMUT. MY BRAIN WENT TO HORNY JAIL, MY BAD YALL HOPE YOU STILL ENJOY 💀

Jayce remembers how hard life was when his mama and him moved into Piltover. He also remembers the first friend his mama made. You were a few years her junior, his mama was twenty-eight, and you were twenty-two. He remembers his little eight year old brain being so excited when he first walked into the bakery you owned. You made the best food ever, and it was on the house! Ever since then, Jayce has been infatuated with you.

It’s been twelve years now and that infatuation is still there. When he was younger, his mama teased him. You would just smile and give him a big ‘ol hug and give him an obnoxious kiss on his cheek. When a perfect lipstick stain was left behind, he tried his best to keep it as long as he could.

Unfortunately, he always had to get rid of it before bed. His mama made it apparent that brushing his teeth and cleaning his face before bed was vital to stay healthy.

He remembers you crying when you were twenty-five, telling his mama how your ugly husband was seeing another lady. He couldn't imagine. You're so pretty, and kind, and you make amazing food. Jayce couldn't imagine a better person to marry. You also had a son who was just about to turn three, his name was Xavier.

Now, he tries his best to keep his infatuation with you under wraps, sometimes it doesn't work. You've aged gracefully. A few fine lines, strands of grey hair amongst richly coloured locks. You're beautiful.

You'll always be beautiful.

Xavier is a kind boy, always helping you out in the bakery. Jayce has kinda taken the boy under his wing. He's only eight years older than him but still, it’s the thought that counts.

Jayce's dad died when he was small, and Xavier’s dad is a deadbeat. Sometimes, when Xavier has questions, he goes to Jayce. Which makes sense, Jayce has been Xavier’s babysitter for as long as he can remember.

You always cup Jayce's cheek and give him a small kiss on his other cheek in your thanks. No matter what it is. Helping you in the bakery. Kiss. Helping you with Xavier. Kiss. Keeping you company as you clean the house, even getting Jayce to help you with certain tasks. Kiss.

Jayce swears one day he's going to go insane with all the kisses he gets. He uses the remembrance of how warm your hands are, how soft your lips feel, and how your lipstick no matter the shade; always leaves an imprint behind, to jerk himself raw.

One day, all of Jayce's fantasies come true.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You've known Jayce since he was a boy. So cute, with kind eyes, a squeaky voice, and helpful personality.

He was so shy around you, and it didn't help Ximena teased him. Now, now Jayce is a man.

He looks at you the way a man does.

He's an adult now, tall, broad, handsome. He's the perfect man. He's still kept all his kindness, helpfulness, and sweetness from when he was younger. He's just a stunning man now instead of a cute kid.

Sometimes you feel your panties dampen at his dark looks. His strength when he helps you move things, how good he is with Xavier.

If only you met a man like Jayce all those years ago and had his kid instead. You would’ve been a much happier, and much more satisfied woman.

You always feel so guilty about your thoughts. He's your best friends son, you've known him since he was little, this is taboo. It’s wrong.

You know all these things, so you’re very confused on how things turned out this way.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Xavier is away, staying at a friends house for a sleepover. You’re in your kitchen baking some last minute products for your bakery. You’re in a simple black form fitting dress. Not too restrictive so you can’t move, but not baggy so it hinders your baking or accidentally puts you in danger. You have a simple white apron on, and you have Jayce’s lovely company.

The product is put into the oven, and a fifteen minute timer is set. You huff, trying your best to dust any flour off you as Jayce laughs at you. You shoot him a playful glare.

“You think this is funny? Fine, I guess you shouldn’t get anymore of my treats.”

Jayce whines, slumping onto the kitchen nook, his eyes big and pleading, “I was only joking. Please don’t take the treats away.”

“What’s the magic word?”

Jayce pouts, “I already said it.”

Your tone is firmer now, and Jayce struggles to hide a shiver of arousal, “The other one.”

Jayce gulps, “S— sorry.”

You smile sweetly at him, “There it is.”

The two of you chat some more before a comfortable silence befalls you two. Out of nowhere Jayce asks a strange question, “Have you been seeing anyone?”

You almost drop the tray of hot product as you take it out of the oven, “Jayce! Why would you ask such a question?!”

He shrugs, “Why not? I can’t ever remember you bringing someone along with you for any events.”

You sigh, rubbing your forehead, “Many men aren’t interested in fathering a son that isn’t there’s. I had Xavier to worry about, and I have you and your mum. That’s all I need. Besides, I’m much too old now. Men my age want women in their twenties.”

Jayce looks you up and down, his eyes appreciating every curve of your body, “Men in their twenties want women in their forties.”

You laugh.

Jayce isn’t.

You truly don’t know how you ended up where you did.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Here you are on your queen sized bed as Jayce pounds away at your pussy. You’re in a mating press, your knees digging into your shoulders. Your tits bounce with each thrust.

God his cock is magnificent. It’s thick and long, it’s hitting your g-spot every time. It’s bruising your cervix.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt this good in your life.

Every command you give him, Jayce executes it perfectly. Faster. Harder. Shift a little to the right. Everything is done with an almost insane accuracy. You’re doing to cum all over your best friends sons cock and you don’t feel guilty anymore.

Not while he’s fucking you this good.

“Fuck—“ Jayce groans, his tone a deep rumble, “I wish I was born earlier. I wish I was the one that met you when you were a teen. I wish I was the one who dated you and married you. I wish I was the one that fucked you so good and knocked you up. Can I? Can I cum inside? Maybe we can give Xavier a little sibling, he’s been complaining to me about how lonely he is. Your ex-husband is a dumbass, you’re the perfect woman with the perfect pussy.”

You moan loudly at that, thankful your son isn’t home.

You’re gonna cum, you’re so close.

“Jayce!” You cry out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you pant open mouthed, “Rub my clit. Please rub my clit. Fast rough circles. If you get me to cum before you do, I’ll let you drain your balls dry into my pussy.”

With that declaration, Jayce does exactly as he’s told, his fingers feel like heaven. He doesn’t change the speed of his thrusts, but he goes a hint harder; and you see stars.

You wail as your orgasm overcomes you, your vision blacking out for a few seconds. Jayce gasps at the feeling of your pussy sucking him in, “Can I— can I—“

You grab his face and bring him close, the tips of your noses touching, “Cum inside me.”

With a loud groan, he does. You pull him down and kiss him passionately. The two of you are exhausted, but extremely satisfied.

By the look in Jayce’s eye as he lays next to you, there’s going to be a few more rounds tonight. And tomorrow. And the next day.

You did give him a promise to drain his balls dry after all, and that’ll take a while.

As long as Ximena never finds out, you two will be okay.

… This was F R E A K Y

Hope y’all enjoyed it! This was a blast to write. Love ya ❤️

[scho17]

Undead Twins AU

Knowing that your little brother had family and didn’t think he could trust you with it is a different type of guilt. 

It’s a guilt in knowing that those tires he was going to steal off your fathers car wasn’t just meant for a quick turn around, that it was meant to sustain an entire other person. It’s knowing that Jason had likely allowed himself to be taken in as a trial run before deeming it safe enough for his sibling. It’s knowing that Jason had found it lacking. It’s knowing that the Wayne’s may have held his wellbeing in their hands but they never held his trust.

And maybe, just maybe, Jason was right for that. 

Dick watches a young scrappy thing settle in front of Jason’s grave. The boy looks just like his brother. Only older. Not fifteen. He looks like a Jason Todd who finally grew into his big hands and broad shoulders. Dick could almost pretend this stranger is his little brother. Almost. 

He's sat on the uncomfortable ground. Dick knows its uncomfortable, he’s sat there too on the anniversary that Bruce refuses to leave the manor on. Too busy staring at a suit in a glass case, waiting, listening, hoping for that bell like laughter to chime once again in the stale air of the cave. He knows because he’s sat there in that very spot that boy is in and played music from bands his little brother liked, read him his favorites until his voice went hoarse, the classics that Dick could never quite enjoy with all their complicated flowery language. 

But there that haggard teenager is, tired and still finding it within himself to gently hold a bouquet in his calloused palm placing it on the tomb of his brother like its the most important thing he’ll ever do. There’s a slim smile on the boys lips as he reads over Jason’s engraved name, running his finger tips across it. His smile is small and soft. Private in a way that Dick knows he’s intruding upon just by laying witness.

And then, then he speaks.

He talks casually, like its any other conversation. Like he isn’t in a grave yard. Like Jason Todd isn’t six feet beneath him. He talks about stargazing, talks about Jason wanting to leave behind Gotham, staying because he felt he had to. He talks about daisies and dandelions. He says goodbye to his big brother and Dick thinks that it must feel agonizing to be older than your big sibling. To reach an age they never did and still keep going with out them. 

Jason Todd had a little brother and Dick Grayson never knew. There has always been anger simmering beneath his skin and Dick has always been good at anger but he’s better at grief. Guilt has always come easy and this is no different. 

*

“No, shut up this is so not funny. I don’t even know what I did but now I’ve got a bird on my tail and he won’t stop making sad eyes at me Jay.”

“It’s a little bit funny.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“You are too so I think it might be genetic.”

“Insufferable. Really. By the way, do you know how hard it is to try and lose the Wayne’s attention? I swear it’s like someone left me in a wet cardboard box on the side of the road and they just thought ‘yeah, you’re coming home with me’ like I’m some pathetic half drowned cat.”

“It’s too late for them, I already took you home first. Finders keepers.”

Danny groaned and slumped into his brothers shoulder “tell them that. Besides, isn’t Nightwing supposed to be based in Bludhaven? Whats he doing in Gotham?” 

“Yeah, but he’s Nightwing. He does his own thing. At least Robin isn’t onto you yet.”

“And there you go jinxing it. Watch he’s going to show up while I’m out and about and scold me for being affiliated with you.”

“Well that little shit can go eat rocks. He already stole everything else, he’s not allowed to steal my little brother too.”

“We’re only a few hours apart.”

“You’ll always be a baby in my eyes, Danny.”

“I loathe you.”

DC x DP - Two of a Kind

Danny running away from his home dimension for such and such reasons (GIW, bad reveal, etc, etc) cue him stumbling around Gotham because holy mother of ambient ectoplasm, Batman.

So anyways he’s just chilling in crime alley, as a struggling guy in Gotham does and then. And then there’s someone else. Looks exactly like him. Not like how he and Dani look similar, her features just softer and rounded with babyfat, no, no, this guy looks exactly like him. Down to the barely there scattering of freckles on the nose bridge.

It’s Jason Todd. Danny is his dimensions version of Jason Todd.