#to this day it has never left my bedside

[shoyodon]

Newlywed husband! Katsuki who thinks tattoos are “so fuckin’ stupid.” Says its a waste of money just to put toxins in your bloodstream.

Newlywed husband! Katsuki who rolls his eyes with a huff and mutters a quiet: “Don’t come complainin’ to me when you regret it.” Under his breath after you ramble on about interesting designs you saw online.

Newlywed husband! Katsuki who, as much as he hates tattoos, has an equal if not vastly greater amount of love for his engagement/wedding band. Deep black obsidian band with a ruby red strip running around the center. He scoffed when you handed it to him after the two of you got engaged, told him you got it made specifically for him and said that it reminded you of his eyes. His huffing and puffing was a poorly disguised attempt at not letting the sentimentality make his heart race. You could tell he loved it by the red tinge on the tips of his ears that matched his band.

Newlywed husband! Katsuki who gets into a scuffle at work while on patrol. The villain had managed to catch him off guard, and when he lifted his hands to shield himself temporarily they had managed to slice through one of his gauntlets like nothing. The surprise attack was all the leverage they had on him, though. Once he got his bearings it was over in an instant.

Newlywed husband! Katsuki who reluctantly is pulled into an ambulance; his left arm and hand cut up badly from the attack. He sat on the stretcher with a bitter look on his face, not caring that his fingers nearly were cut off and were getting stitched up frantically by one of the paramedics, all he cared about was the bent, misshapen ring clenched in his other palm, which had to be cut off of his finger due to the injury.

Newlywed husband! Katsuki who denies it vehemently when you ask him if the bad attitude hes had for the past few days is because his ring was ruined, claiming hes “not that sentimental.” but you still see how he keeps the bent piece on his bedside, and how he stays up late at night looking into places he can trust enough to repair it.

Newlywed husband! Katsuki who, amongst watching various tiktoks of people repairing rings on his fyp, discovers someone tattooing their partners initials on their ring finger in lieu of a wedding band.

Newlywed husband! Katsuki who shows up home just a day after his doctor said his hand was completely healed with fresh ink on his ring finger. Your initials permanently engraved on his skin. His first and only tattoo.

-

(Newlywed husband! Katsuki who shrugs, claiming its “safer than having the ring nearly cut my damn finger off,” but still leaps at you when you surprise him with his ring, freshly repaired, on a chain that he can wear under his hero costume.)

((Husband! Katsuki who never removes the chain from around his neck no matter the circumstance, and subtly shows off his tattoo any chance he gets; what could be better than one way to show off that he has the best spouse a man could ask for waiting for him at home? Two!))

[cupidsworstcrime]

70 Things I think about Boyfriend!Jason Todd

(f!reader)

i am so so so normal about him, I swear

1. He doesn’t bring work home

Jason has a strict no Red Hood talk in the apartment rule unless it’s absolutely necessary. You know when he’s been out rough- he limps a little, his knuckles are raw, but he’ll deflect with, “Guy at the bodega tried some shit.”

You don’t ask. He doesn’t offer. That’s the deal.

2. He’s pierced and quietly punk about it

Yeah, his ears are pierced. Probably has been since he was a teenager trying to look cool in Crime Alley. You caught him wearing your tiny silver studs one morning and when you asked about it, he grunted, “Didn’t want the holes to close.” But now? He steals them on purpose. Your favorite heart-shaped pair? Gone. He’s wearing them on patrol.

3. Jumpy as hell

You’ve learned to call his name gently if his back is to you. Sudden touches get a reaction- nothing violent, but fast. Too fast. His shoulders tense. His eyes flick to every exit like muscle memory. Sometimes he apologizes under his breath like he hates that part of himself. You just squeeze his hand and remind him he's safe here.

4. Lives on black coffee, toast, and junk unless you intervene

Left to his own devices, Jason will literally survive off diner coffee and cold toast- or worse an unholy amount of energy drinks. You started slipping protein bars and cut fruit into his bag like you were packing for a grumpy kid. He acts annoyed. He eats every bite.

5. He smells like leather, gunpowder.... and your shampoo

He started using your shampoo one day “by accident” and now he just does it on purpose. You don’t even complain because the mix of him and you is better than any perfume.

6. Stole your bracelet and won’t admit it

A dainty chain bracelet you lost months ago? It's looped around the base of one of his pistols now, dangling like a charm. When you spot it and raise an eyebrow, he just shrugs:

“Must’ve fallen into my bag.”

“You expect me to believe-”

“Guess you shouldn’t leave your stuff lying around, sweetheart.”

He’s never giving it back. That’s his lucky charm now.

7. Clings in his sleep

He’d never admit it, but he’s a stage-4 clinger. Arm around your waist, face tucked against your shoulder, legs tangled. If you get up to pee, he’ll grumble in his sleep and roll into the warm spot you left behind like a human furnace.

8. Won’t say “I need you,” but he shows it

He fixes your sink at 2 a.m. because it dripped once. He tracks your location “for safety” (but it makes him breathe easier). If you’re late texting back, he spirals internally but never shows it- just casually drops by, “coincidentally,” to check on you.

He won’t say “I need you.” But he shows it. Every damn day.

9. Sings along to old records while cleaning

You caught him once deep-cleaning his guns while singing quietly to a scratchy vinyl playing old blues rock. You didn’t say anything. Just listened. It felt like church.

10. Says “I’m not good at this” but is good at this

He thinks he’s bad at love. He thinks he’s bad at being normal. But he kisses your forehead when you’re sick, folds your laundry weird but tries, and reads the same book five times because it’s your favorite.

He’s good at love. In all the ways that matter.

11. “I love a man in leather” ruined him forever

It started as a joke- you said it with a wink, barely teasing. But Jason? He froze. Blinked. Filed it away. And then that night, lying in bed, stared at the ceiling thinking about all the tactical leather he already owned.

The next time he came home from patrol, he stood awkwardly in the doorway, helmet in hand.

“...Do you like it when I wear the jacket?”

You smirked. He blushed. And that was the beginning of the end.

12. He was pretty sure he was vanilla. He was wrong.

Jason always thought he was a “lights off, soft kisses” kind of guy. And he still is- but now there’s rope in his bedside drawer, wrist cuffs under the bed, and a vague working knowledge of Shibari. He’s not saying it’s all your fault.

But it is.

13. He only lets himself explore it with you

You’re the only one he trusts enough to see that side of him. He’s not used to feeling safe being vulnerable- even when he’s the one in control. But with you? He can breathe. He can ask. He can learn.

And when you look up at him with love and hunger in your eyes, he doesn’t feel like a monster- he feels wanted.

14. He absolutely panicked the first time he said “Good girl”

It slipped out. He didn’t plan it. He just said it in the heat of the moment and you moaned. Hard.

Jason’s brain blue-screened.

He froze for a solid three seconds and whispered, “...Did you like that?”

You nodded.

He never stopped saying it after that. Still says it like it’s sacred.

15. But outside the bedroom? He's still the shyest little freak about it

You: *teasing him at dinner with a wink*

Jason: *choking on his water and glaring at you like he’s been caught committing crimes*

You: “Baby, you literally tied me up last night.”

Jason: “Keep your voice down!”

16. Leather jacket is now permanently associated with you getting handsy

It’s your fault. Every time he wears the jacket, you get a look in your eye like you’re about to climb him like a tree.

Now he can’t put it on without a smug smirk and the quiet thought: She’s gonna pounce.

17. He’ll never go to a sex store in person, but he’s got a burner account online

Jason Todd has a burner account with expedited shipping and privacy wrapping because he’s too much of a shy little freak (to everyones suprise) to risk being seen browsing handcuffs in person.

You caught him once comparing reviews on two different floggers, reading so seriously you'd think it was a medical journal. He blushed hard when you snuck up behind him.

18. Aftercare king

No matter how dark or rough it gets, he’s the most tender man afterward. Holds you close. Kisses your shoulders. Runs you a bath and washes your hair like it’s a ritual.

“Did I go too far?”

“No, Jay. You were perfect.”

And he just melts, forehead against your shoulder, whispering: “Okay. Good.”

19. Still folds towels wrong. Still starts fake fights about it.

He'll tie you up with perfect knots but can't fold a towel for shit. You don't know how the two coexist. He’s a contradiction you’re obsessed with.

20. One time he called himself your “bad boy” and immediately cringed

He was trying to be flirty.

He meant it ironically.

He said, “You like your bad boy in leather, huh?” and then groaned halfway through it like he regretted every word.

You burst out laughing.

He kissed you to shut you up.

He's 'Bad Boy 🎀' in your phone now and he hates loves it.

21. He is so dramatic when he’s sick

This man has literally died. He’s been shot, stabbed, blown up.

But give him a head cold? And he is bedridden. Blanket burrito. Groaning like he’s on his deathbed. Whispering, “Tell Alfred… I fought bravely…” before blowing his nose with your nice hand towel.

22. “I’m fine.” - a blatant lie

He’ll cough so hard he bends over double, then straighten up like nothing happened.

“You need rest-”

“I’m fine.”

“You sound like a dying engine.”

“I’ve had worse.”

Yeah. And? That doesn’t mean he should be eating cereal for dinner and refusing to take cold meds.

23. He won’t admit it but he’s needy as hell

He doesn’t ask. Not directly. But his head ends up in your lap. He “accidentally” falls asleep curled against your side. He mumbles your name mid-fever dream, eyes fluttering open and searching for you.

You bring him soup, and he blinks at you like you’ve just saved his soul.

24. Absolutely pouts if you leave the room too long

He’ll be half-asleep, but the second you get up to do anything- laundry, pee, breathe -he’ll grunt, shift dramatically, and mumble,

“…Thought you left me to die.”

You roll your eyes. “I was gone for two minutes.”

“Could’ve been the end.”

15. He’s warm. Like a human furnace

Fevers don’t just make him sick- they make him clingy and overheat-y. He’ll wrap himself around you like a weighted blanket and then get mad when you complain about sweating.

“I’m literally melting, Jason.”

“I’m dying, but go off I guess.”

26. Gets oddly philosophical when medicated

One dose of NyQuil and he’s pondering the meaning of mortality and if souls really go to heaven.

“You think if I died again, you’d still love me?”

“Jason. Baby. Please take a nap.”

27. Claims he doesn’t remember any of it once he’s better

You mention how cute he was? The way he asked for more soup with a soft “please” and big sleepy eyes?

“I don’t recall,” he says.

You show him a video? “Deep fake.”

Catches you giggling? “You’re making shit up. I’m a menace. I don’t cuddle.”

28. But secretly? He loves how you take care of him

He didn’t get this, growing up. No one ever rubbed circles on his back or checked his temperature with a kiss. He doesn’t know how to ask for it… but god, he soaks it up when you give it anyway.

It’s healing in more ways than one.

29. When you get sick later? He panics

Oh suddenly he’s a nurse. Full-time. Soup. Blankets. Calls in favors from actual doctors he knows.

“Baby, it’s just a sore throat-”

“No. No. I’ve seen this before. It starts with a sore throat. Next thing you know, you’re in a Lazarus Pit.”

30. One time he sneezed in his helmet and you never let him live it down

He didn’t take it off in time. It echoed. It was tragic.

You laughed so hard you cried.

He glared at you with the most long-suffering expression of his life and muttered,

“This is why I work alone.”

31. He warns you the first time things get serious

It’s not the mask that’s hard to take off. It’s the shirt.

The first time you're undressing each other, he pauses, hands shaking slightly as he pulls back.

“I should warn you,” he says.

And then quieter:

“It’s bad.”

32. He avoids mirrors when he’s shirtless

Not just because of the usual trauma- but because sometimes he catches his reflection and flinches. The Y-shaped autopsy scar down his chest is brutal. Surgical. Cold.

It reminds him of what he was: a body on a slab. A lost cause.

Not a man. Not a lover. Just evidence.

33. He expects you to look away

Even as he undresses, he’s already bracing for it- for the flicker in your eyes, the pity or horror or discomfort.

He stares at the wall. Waits for the silence. Waits for the shift in the way you breathe.

34. You don’t look away. Not even a little.

Your touch is reverent. Your lips follow the trail of old scars like a prayer.

“You’re beautiful,” you say.

Jason’s chest stutters, and he doesn’t believe you- not really -but he wants to.

God, he wants to.

35. He never turns the lights on during sex. Until you ask him to.

He’s okay in shadows. He’s safe in them.

But one night, you whisper, “Let me see you,” and something in him breaks open.

He lets the light touch all the places he hides.

And your hands never flinch.

36. His scars are sensitive

Especially the big ones. Sometimes they itch. Sometimes they burn.

But when your fingers trace them? It’s grounding. Calming. Makes him feel like maybe he can own this body again.

37. One time, you kissed his chest and he teared up

He didn’t mean to. It just happened.

You didn’t say anything- just held him while he breathed through it. And that silence? That softness? It meant more than any words could.

38. You bought him a new mirror one day. He stared at it for weeks before using it.

It was taller. Nicer. Framed in soft wood. When he finally stood in front of it with you, he didn’t look away.

You stood behind him, arms around his waist, and he whispered,

“…I don’t hate it as much. When you’re in the picture.”

39. He traces your body the same way now

All the places you’re soft, he worships. All the places you’ve ever been insecure- he sees none of it.

“Look at me,” he says.

“If you can love this,” he gestures to himself, “then you better let me love you.”

40. You never treat his scars like they make him broken

Because they don’t. They make him Jason. And you wouldn’t trade a single inch of him- not the roughness, not the past, not the damage.

Because under all of it, is a heart that still dares to love you back.

And that's more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen.

41. Letting it slip about the Waynes

One day, while in the middle of an argument (as one does), Jason just blurted it out.

“Okay, fine, maybe I was adopted by the Waynes!”

You froze.

“Wait. Hold up—WHAT?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a Wayne. Big surprise, right? Have fun with that one.”

"...BABY, FUCK YOU MEAN YOU'RE RELATED TO BRUCE FUCKING WAYNE?!?"

Jason just stares at you, clearly unprepared for this reaction.

“I-”

“JASON. WHAT. THE. FUCK.”

42. He immediately regrets saying it

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Jason wants to claw them back. He’s not ready to unpack that- it’s a can of worms he’s been keeping sealed tight.

But then there’s you, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, looking at him like he just dropped the biggest bombshell.

“Shut up, okay? Just—just don’t bring it up ever again.”

But he knows that’s never going to happen.

43. He insists on not using any of Bruce’s money

The second he found out about the inheritance, Jason made it clear:

“I’ll never touch any of that money. It’s not mine.”

Bruce offered him more than enough, but Jason’s pride wouldn’t let him. He’d rather suffer on his own than take a single dollar from the man who, in his mind, could never truly be family.

Yet, when you need something- he can’t help but slip you a debit card once in a while, eyes narrowing as if daring you to question it.

44. Off-brand snacks and drinks, forever

You’re sitting at home one night, you reach for some chips, and Jason’s hand slaps yours away.

“No. Not those.”

He reaches into the pantry and pulls out a bag of “Chipperoni Crunchies,” not the name-brand chips, but the generic stuff. The ones that come in weird, colorful bags with cartoon characters on them.

“They taste better.”

You give him a skeptical look.

He just shrugs.

“They do.”

It’s the same with his drinks. He’ll turn his nose up at anything with a fancy label on it and will only go for store-brand cola that comes in an off-color can.

“You can’t taste the difference,” he insists, as he sips from a glass bottle, wiping the rim like he's a secret connoisseur of trash beverages.

45. He keeps a stash of “guilty pleasures” in your kitchen

No one else is allowed to see the true extent of his obsession with cheap snacks. If Alfred found out, he'd be disappointed. So he keeps it secret.

When you’re not looking, he’ll stockpile all of his guilty pleasure foods in your kitchen: neon-colored candy, microwave pizza, and prepackaged cupcakes with sprinkles that stick to your teeth in the worst way.

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he mutters, but you both know it’s inevitable.

He’s just Jason. No amount of money or Wayne prestige can make him stop being Jason.

46. The first time you tease him about it, he’s defensive

You laugh at the ridiculously large bag of "fake Cheetos" he’s just brought over.

“Don’t laugh,” he growls. “They’re better, okay?”

“Really? The fake version of Cheetos?”

“It’s called being resourceful,” he grumbles, crossing his arms like he’s trying to defend his honor.

It’s just a bag of chips, but the Wayne pride is stronger than he likes to admit.

47. He will never be caught at a five-star restaurant

You’ve tried. You’ve dragged him to fancy places, tried to get him to “treat himself” to something nice.

Jason? Never steps foot in a place like that unless it's on business- and even then, he’s glaring at the rich patrons like they're the real criminals.

His idea of a perfect date? Fast food, a cheap diner, or just takeout from his favorite hole-in-the-wall pizza place. That’s his comfort zone.

48. If you ever bought him something fancy, he’d get weird about it

You got him a really nice leather jacket once- smooth, premium quality, sleek black.

He took one look at it and immediately said, “You didn’t need to get me this, babe. I’m good with my old stuff.”

But when you weren’t looking, he stroked the soft leather and secretly loved it.

The jacket still sat in his closet, perfectly untouched- just waiting for a moment when he’d admit that maybe he deserves nice things. But he’s not there yet. Not really.

49. He low-key loves your "bougie" (normal) snacks, but won’t admit it

You try to introduce him to your more “refined” tastes. Maybe it’s a fancy cheese, or high-end chocolate, or a real coffee drink that’s not just “instant” powder.

At first, Jason’s all about his junk food. But you catch him secretly swiping the expensive chocolate bar from the fridge.

“I hate these,” he says, but you catch the way his eyes flicker with a guilty pleasure.

“Then why do you keep eating them?”

“Shut up.”

50. He’s proud of his independence

He may hate the whole Wayne legacy, but he’s still proud of how he’s carved his own path. His tastes, his choices- even his snacks -are just another way of proving that he’s not defined by his 'family' name.

And somehow, that’s the part that makes him feel the most like himself. Not the Red Hood. Not “Wayne’s adopted son.” Just Jason Todd.

51. You call him “daddy” in front of someone- an accident to be fair

One morning, you’re in a rush to leave for work and casually call out, “Bye, daddy!” out of habit before heading out the door. You don’t even think twice about it.

But when you shut the door, you turn and see Damian sitting on the couch, looking at you like you’ve just committed the most cardinal sin.

Silence fills the room as you realize what you've done.

Jason, meanwhile, is trying not to laugh while Damian stares him down, and there's a whole "You told her to call you that?" conversation that never gets resolved. Damian just gives Jason the side-eye for the next few days.

52. The first time you meet his family- Oh boy…

When Jason finally takes you to meet his family, you almost choke at the sight of that massive, impressive mansion.

You’d been hearing about them for a while, but nothing could prepare you for the pure opulence of the place.

Jason, trying to play it cool, introduces you to his siblings. But deep down, you can see the unease in his eyes. He’s hoping his siblings don’t completely embarrass him in front of you.

Spoiler: they totally do.

53. Jason’s siblings stealing you away to tell you embarrassing stories

Once they know you’re there, his siblings (usually the most asshole-ish ones) quickly whisk you away to the kitchen or garden, telling you the most embarrassing Jason Todd fucked up stories.

One talks about the time he tried to sneak out as a kid and got stuck in a tree for an hour. Another shares the story of when he lost a bet to Damian and had to wear pink for a week and he cried.

By the end of it, you’re laughing so hard, you can’t tell if Jason’s going to explode or just sit there trying not to die of embarrassment.

54. Jason’s family finds out you’ve been living together for a year- a whole year?!

At a family dinner, you and Jason casually mention you’re planning on moving apartments soon.

That’s when his siblings drop the bombshell.

“Wait, you’ve been living together for a year and never told us?”

Jason looks at them like he’s been caught in a mildly embarrassing situation. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like I owe you a rundown of my life.”

His family is way too interested now, and Jason tries to play it cool, but you both know it’s one of those awkward moments that will haunt him for years to come.

55. Jason’s protective side when it comes to his family and you

If his siblings start messing with you too much or saying anything too embarrassing, Jason’s response is instant.

“Knock it off. You wanna deal with me?”

He doesn’t threaten them, but the way he says it? Yeah, they take a step back.

And when it’s just the two of you later, he’s like, “If they ever make you uncomfortable, I swear, I’ll-”

You reassure him, but you appreciate how seriously he takes your comfort with his family.

56. Jason buys you a ridiculously expensive gift, but it’s low-key, and you’re both uncomfortable

One night, Jason comes home and hands you this insanely expensive necklace with a diamond 'J' charm—way out of your usual price range.

"What's this?" you ask, giving him a confused look.

“Just... because,” he says, scratching his head awkwardly. “I saw it and thought you’d look good wearing it.”

You’re immediately touched, but you can tell Jason’s acting a little weird about it. It's one of those moments where he wants to spoil you, but his pride gets in the way.

57. Jason finds it way too easy to spoil you now though

At first, he fought it. He thought, “Nah, I’m not the type to just throw money around.”

But now? Oh, now it’s second nature.

If you even hint at something you want, Jason’s on it like white on rice.

He knows the moment you mentioned a new phone, you’re gonna find it waiting for you at home. Because Jason was already ahead of the game.

58. His family doesn’t understand his quiet obsession with you

At some point, his siblings ask him directly, “So... when are you gonna admit you’re in love with her?”

Jason almost chokes on his drink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But everyone knows. His family can see how he softens around you, how he’d do anything to make sure you’re comfortable and happy.

And Jason’s so not used to this, so he just acts all defensive about it, even though his family’s already figured it out.

59. Jason doesn’t actually talk about his family that much

It’s not that he’s embarrassed. It’s just that Jason doesn’t want you to see him through the lens of his family’s wealth and drama.

Sometimes he lets little things slip, but mostly, he keeps his family life under wraps.

He doesn’t need you to like them. He just wants you to like him, and to him, that’s what matters most.

60. Jason’s family low-key approves of you

Despite all the chaos, his family starts to realize that you’re a good match for Jason. You challenge him, make him laugh, and somehow manage to keep him grounded when his ego gets out of hand.

At the end of the day, they know he’s better with you.

That doesn’t stop them from occasionally teasing him, of course, but they can see what he sees in you.

61. Jason panics to pick the perfect ring

Jason spends days- days -agonizing over the perfect ring. It’s not that he doesn’t know what you’d like, it’s just that this is a huge decision. He doesn’t want to screw it up. So, of course, he recruits his sister for help, who takes you out on a ‘girls day’ to get your nails done and do some shopping. You have no idea why, but Jason’s silently breathing a sigh of relief the whole time as she helps pick out a ring that he’s sure will make you say yes.

62. Jason cries while talking to his brothers

Jason never thought he’d be talking about marriage to anyone- let alone his brothers. But here he is, pacing back and forth in front of them, confessing that he’s about to propose. And he's... crying. Not because he's weak, but because he's terrified. “I’m actually doing this,” he whispers, shaking his head. “I’m about to propose to the woman I love. Holy shit, I’m actually doing it.”

His brothers? They’re all smiles and a little bit of laughter, making fun of him, but deep down, they know this is a big step for him, and they support him.

63. Jason gets on one knee, and you don’t say anything

When he finally proposes, it’s simple. In the park where you had your first date. Jason goes down on one knee, holding the ring out in front of you, but you’re so quiet that for a second, he thinks you’re going to say no. Panic sets in, and then you start sobbing, whispering over and over, “Yes, yes, yes.”

Jason’s heart nearly explodes, and he kisses you right there, the world disappearing around you both.

64. Hes... a dad?

A few months after the proposal, you show him the ultrasound picture, and Jason freezes, his eyes tracing the dates. He counts back, and a realization hits him like a ton of bricks. “Oh fuck,” he mutters to himself, panic rising. “That was the night we-”

It takes him a minute, but he’s almost certain. That was the night you conceived. It’s terrifying, yet beautiful, but he’s more scared than he’s ever been. He wants to be a dad, but can he actually do it?

65. Jason moves the wedding date up

Jason may not be traditional, but once he found out about the baby, he made a decision. The wedding date was moving up. He wasn’t going to have his daughter born to parents who weren’t married, and damn it, he wasn’t waiting any longer. He wants to make sure that little girl has the kind of family he never had growing up.

66. The wedding is simple but perfect

The wedding is small and simple, just how Jason wanted it. His brothers are both his best men, and they give him so much shit about it, but Jason wouldn’t have it any other way. You agree to let his sister be your maid of honor, and though there are a few moments of tension, everything falls perfectly into place. Jason, in his suit, looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters. You both say your vows, and there’s no turning back now.

67. Jason holds his newborn and sobs

When you give birth to his daughter, he holds her in his arms for the first time, and Jason just breaks. He’s never been so overwhelmed in his life. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and when he presses her tiny body against his chest, he cries. Big, ugly, full of love tears. "I’m gonna protect you with everything I’ve got," he whispers. "I promise."

68. The Wayne family spoils her rotten

It’s not surprising that Jason’s daughter gets spoiled by the entire Wayne family. Every time they visit, she gets showered with gifts, new clothes, toys she doesn’t even know what to do with. Jason watches it all with a soft smile, knowing how much this little girl is going to be loved and protected. They can spoil her as much as they want, because she’s his little princess.

69. Jason being the ultimate girl dad

It’s her fourth birthday, and Jason’s letting his daughter paint his face with play makeup, sitting there patiently as she dabs the brush all over his face. It’s the kind of moment that makes Jason feel like the luckiest man alive. He’s so in love with her. No matter how messy or goofy things get, he wouldn’t change a thing. She’s his little girl, and he’ll cherish every second.

70. Jason Todd has never been happier

As chaotic and sometimes overwhelming as his life has been, nothing compares to this moment. Sitting on the couch with his daughter on his lap, his arms around you, Jason can’t help but think that this? This is happiness. The love he never knew he needed has found him, and for the first time in a long time, he feels like everything is right. He’s a husband, a father, and for the first time in his life...

He feels at home.

And that leather jacket you got him years ago? He's finally wearing it.

RAHHHHHHHH I AM SO NORMAL ABOUT HIM

[nebulaafterdark]

A Tale Of Two Dragons

Summary: After suffering a head injury, Princess Y/N forgets the past two years of her life, including her marriage to Aegon. Who will do anything to win her back.

18+ ONLY MDNI Targcest, Smut, Cheesy, Medieval Romcom

Y/N wakes terribly hot, her head throbs and there is something wrapped round her waist. She peels open her eyes…an arm. She flicks it away.

“What is the matter, my dearest love?” A voice grumbles, from behind her. “The maester says you should remain abed for several days.

“Why?” The word is past her lips before she can stop it.

“You hit your head.”

Y/N reaches up toward her throbbing temple, scraping against the forming scab beneath the bandage. Her fingers come away wet.

“You mustn’t touch,” Aegon chides, “let me see.”

Aegon?

Y/N screams at the top of her lungs, rolling onto the floor.

“What is the matter?” Aegon peers over the edge of the mattress. “Does your head hurt?” He springs from the bed, grabbing a cup off the bedside table. “Here, milk of the poppy.” He attempts to bring the chalice to her lips.

Y/N slaps his hand away, the glass shattering over the floor. “Surely poison.”

“What?” Aegon breathes. “Why in the seven hells would it be poison, my heart?”

“Do not call me that.” Y/N snaps, feeling almost sorry for it as his face falls.

“Look at me,” he crouches down to her, cowering in the corner. “What’s happened?”

“I should be asking you! Why are you being kind to me? Why are you sleeping in my bed? Plotting to kill me?”

“I don’t want to kill you.” He huffs a laugh. Back are the sad, crestfallen eyes.

Y/N forces down the urge to punch him. “Why were you in my bed?”

“To be clear,” Aegon says, motioning behind him, “this is my bedchamber.”

Y/N searches the space behind him, he speaks true. This is not her room. “Why would I be in your bedchamber?”

Aegon’s upper lip twitches, “because you are my wife.”

Y/N laughs, “I am your wife.”

Aegon joins in, anxiously.

“You jest.” She wags a finger at him, “that is the Aegon I know. You have outdone yourself this time.”

Aegon’s eyes search hers for a moment more before he hollers, “guards!”

The doors fly open, “your grace?”

“We must have the grand maester.”

Y/N’s eyes track his movements. Pacing and pacing until the maester appears.

“Is your head troubling you, your grace?” He kneels before her. “I left you with milk of the poppy.”

“She needs more.” Aegon insists.

“She can have no more until the morrow.”

“She did not drink it.” Aegon shouts, “she tossed it away because she thought it poisoned.”

“I would never harm you, your grace. Surely you know that.” The maester addresses the princess directly.

“Not you, me.” Aegon throws up a hand. “She does not know who I am.”

“I know who you are and I do not like you.” Y/N argues.

“That is worse.” Aegon laments, “she does not remember our marriage or our-”

“Your grace,” the maester stops him. “Your lady wife has suffered an injury. It is best not to push the recollection of years past.”

“She will heal then?”

“I cannot say, the mind is unpredictable.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at the maester, “am I truly married to Aegon?”

“Yes, princess. For some two years now.”

“Nearly three,” Aegon corrects him, with a hand to his head.

Y/N’s breathing picks up, unable to calm herself.

“Princess, you must breathe slowly now.”

“I want my mother,” Y/N chokes out.

“I will get your mother,” Aegon offers, “just breathe.”

His command is foreign to her. That he would care. The maester fusses about her as they wait. “All is well, your grace, all is well.”

“I may faint.” She warns.

The maester begins fanning her with his hands.

Rhaenyra appears moments later, with Aegon hot on her heels. “What’s happened, my darling?”

“Mother,” Y/N reaches for her, sobbing against her shoulder.

“Hush now.” Rhaenyra cradles the back of her head, smoothing down her hair.

“I do not know how such a thing could h-happen.”

“What?” Rhaenyra begins swaying her like a babe.

“I woke up beside my sworn enemy, claiming to be my husband.” Y/N tells her, “and worst of all, everyone insists that it’s true. Am I truly married?”

“Yes.”

“To Aegon.”

“Yes.”

“And I am happy about it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Rhaenyra smiles. “You are quite taken with him.”

“To what degree is he hung?” Y/N scoffs. He must be-

Rhaenyra throws her head back with laughter, “I would not know, sweet girl.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, “he speaks true then?”

Rhaenyra nods.

“And we are in…” Y/N forces out the word, “love?”

“Very much so.”

Without warning, the princess faints in her mother’s arms.

————————————————————————

“And though all the realm wished for the princess to deliver a son, she blessed the prince with two daughters.”

Y/N comes to, blinking up at the ceiling. Pleased to find that she is in her own bed this time. She nearly finds herself comforted by the voice beside her, before looking over to realize it is Aegon. Seated in the arm chair with a brown leather book in his lap. She sits up, staring him down.

“Don’t,” he slowly closes the book, holding up both hands, “don’t scream.”

“What do you want?” Y/N groans. “I’ve already told you I don’t remember.”

“I’d like to court you.” His lips twitch, nervously.

“Really?” She huffs a laugh. “You, Aegon Targaryen, would rather court me than go find another well suited lady, of high status, to marry you?”

“Yes.”

“You want me?”

“Very much so.”

“More than anyone else?”

Aegon twists his wedding band around his finger. “Yes, more than anyone.”

“Well…what would we do together?” She crosses both arms over her chest, “I can’t imagine we have much in common.”

“Talk, stroll the gardens, fly together on dragon back, whatever you’d like.”

“You told me this morning, I am to remain abed for several days.”

“That’s why I’ve brought this,” he waves the book at her, “thought it might keep you occupied. That or I could dance for you.”

“How well do you dance?”

“Not very,” Aegon admits, “that’s what makes it entertaining.”

Y/N leans up, trying to catch a glimpse of the book’s title. “What book is that?”

“A tale of two dragons.” Aegon pulls it away, “do you want to hear the story or not?”

“I suppose,” Y/N sighs, sinking back into the pillows. “I’ve nothing better to do.”

————————————————————————

For four days he reads to her from that silly book. With each day that passes Y/N finds herself more invested.

“But if a son is expected of the prince, why does he not want for a son?”

Aegon smiles as he closes the book. “That’s all for today, you must rest.”

“I am not tired,” Y/N argues.

“Your eyes tell a different story.”

“Truly, I’m not tired.” She tells him, toying with her marriage ring. “My head hurts is all.”

“Might I try something?”

Y/N scowls, reluctantly closing the distance between them.

His hands cup her face, moving up to her throbbing skull, running his fingertips over her scalp.

It feels nice, though Y/N will never admit it.

“It will help if you stop making such sour faces, Y/N.” Aegon remarks, smoothing his thumb over the furrow between her brows. “My head aches just watching you.”

“You might wear a similar expression after being dealt my hand.” It is odd, her name on his lips. As though he rarely speaks it, save for when he’s angry with her.

“Yes, how devastating it must be; doted on by the man who loves you.” Aegon muses.

“You used to call me a bastard at family gatherings.” Y/N remembers that clearly.

“I used to do a great many things I am not proud of.” Aegon admits. “But the man I am now, the man I am with you…I take great pride in.”

“It will take time, if I’m to trust you again.”

“I have time.” Aegon assures her, “though at present, there is somewhere else I need be.” He presses his lips to her forehead in parting. “Good night.”

Y/N cups his wrist, at the side of her face, for just a moment. “Good night.”

————————————————————————

On the fifth day, the grand maester allows Y/N to leave her apartments, and by the tenth day, she is cleared to fly. Being amongst the clouds always helps clear her mind, mayhaps she will recall something.

“Good morrow, your grace.” Marcello, the dragon keeper greets her.

“Good morrow,” Y/N smiles. “Might you saddle Stormborn for me?”

“At once, Princess. I’m glad you are well.”

Marcello returns a few moments later with the lilac dragon, whining as she nuzzles into Y/N’s hands.

“Issi ao daor biare naejot ūndegon issa, uēpa raqiros?” Are you not happy to see me, old friend? Has something happened between them that she’s forgotten?

Stormborn hums, nudging at Y/N with her head.

“What is the matter with her?” Y/N turns to Marcello.

The dragon keeper lowers his eyes, “she wants for Sunfyre, your grace.”

“She wants-” Y/N breaks off, clunking a fist to her head, “she wants Aegon’s dragon?”

“They are quite close these days.” The man in question says, stalking up behind her. “I heard you were flying out. I thought I might join you.” Aegon explains his presence.

“This is preposterous.” Y/N scoffs, “you mean to tell me we have become so deeply entwined that even our dragons cannot be parted?”

Aegon’s lips turn downward as his brows rise, “yes.”

“What can be done about it?”

“You loved me once, my hope is, you will love me again.” Aegon brushes past her, resting a hand on her dragon’s snout. “There’s naught to be done about it.”

To add further insult, Stormborn leans into his touch, cooing happily.

“I suppose I should pet your dragon.” It’s meant to be a threat, a means to get even.

“Go on,” Aegon encourages, “you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Sunfyre?”

The golden boy begins to serenade her with a low melody. Y/N rests her temple against his head, glaring at Aegon. It is not the dragon’s fault.

“Your dragon understands English?”

“As does yours.” Aegon informs her, “they are highly intelligent creatures.”

“Pōnta issi mēre rūsīr īlva.” They are one with us.

Aegon smiles, “indeed.”

“Do you not speak-”

“Nyke kostagon emagon naejot…vestragon mirrī.” I can have to…say a little.

Y/N bites back a grin, “I could teach you.”

He starts to say something else, but she covers his mouth with her hand.

“Later,” she leans in, pressing a kiss to the back of her own hand. Had it not been there…it would’ve been his lips. Which means nothing, muscle memory, surely. “I’m sorry.”

He catches her wrist, bringing her hand away.“Don’t be.”

————————————————————————-

Y/N enjoys evening strolls with Aegon in the garden, but on occasion she walks alone, outside the walls, wandering near the woods.

“Wait!”

Y/N whips her head around to see Aegon charging at her, knocking her backwards before the steel trap snaps closed near their feet. Two rows of long, jagged teeth, meant to catch animals. She stares at him, in disbelief.

“They doubled the number of traps round the castle in these past years. I did not know if you’d recall.” Aegon explains, still holding her in the safety of his arms.

“You…imbecile!” Y/N returns the awkward embrace.

“Please, call me husband.” Aegon smirks.

“You could’ve been maimed.”

“Better me than you.”

Y/N groans in frustration, “quit doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Charming me.” She pulls away enough to see him.

No, not the sad eyes.

“I should like to know you better first.” Imbecile, she curses herself.

“What do you say we go back to your rooms and I will read to you?” Aegon suggests, “I’ll even bring cake.”

There it is, that tugging in her chest. “I do love cake.”

“When you were-” Aegon trails off, “there was a time all you would eat was cake.”

Y/N presses a hand to her head, “when I was what?”

“In due time, my dearest love.” Aegon smiles, sadly. “The grand maester says we mustn’t push, you’ve made great progress already.”

————————————————————————

She recalls a great many things over the next weeks. Trying and failing to teach Aegon High Valryian, eating cake with him and laughing until their sides ache. But there are a number of things she cannot recall.

“Where is it you go?” She wonders, “when you are not with me? You said,” Y/N closes her eyes until the words come to her, “you said you want always to be with me.”

Aegon’s eyes widen, “yes, I did say that. You remember?”

“Not nearly enough, just silly things.” Y/N admits, “sometimes…I think I might’ve been with child.”

Oh.

“That’s it, isn’t it? We’ve a child.”

“Two actually, daughters.”

“One after another like clockwork, then?” She arches a brow, resting a hand over her empty womb, “you’re late.”

Aegon grins, “both at once.”

“Efficient.”

“Well, we are nothing if not thorough.”

“With the way you look at me, I’m surprised there are only two children.”

“The birthing bed was not kind to you. I would love any child of ours, but I would not inflict such suffering upon you again.”

Y/N sighs, “you are so in love. I wish desperately to remember.”

“You could love me again.”

“What if it is different than what we shared? What if it does not please you as much?”

Aegon shakes his head, “then it will be different and I will be glad for it all the same.”

“Might I come with you to see them?” Y/N asks, wringing her hands.

“They should like that very much, they’ve been asking for you.”

“What are their names?”

“Dahlia and Visera.” Aegon tells her, “it might be difficult for you to tell them apart at first.”

“Dahlia is a Strong name.” Y/N whispers.

“And Visera was named for Viserys. If we would’ve had a son, we might’ve named him-”

“Laenor.” She breathes, recalling the smile on Aegon’s face as they’d discussed it, over the prominent swell of her belly. Subsequently leading his kisses to trail lower…her cheeks heats up.

“Yes,” Aegon swallows. Mayhaps he is recalling the same conversation.

The twins are playing happily on the floor, with their maids when Y/N enters the room behind Aegon.

“Papa!” They race to him, waiting to be taken into his arms.

“Hello, my darlings.” He holds one in each arm, kissing their little silver heads.

The child on the left sees Y/N first, blinking at her twice, to be sure. “Mama.”

The little girl on the right follows her gaze. “Mama!”

Y/N reaches for them out of instinct, hugging them to her as they are transferred into her arms from Aegon’s. “My girls.”

————————————————————————

Time passes, Aegon and Y/N have long since accepted she will never remember everything. What they share now is different, but wonderful, nonetheless.

Aegon and their children fill Y/N’s days with joy, though she still feels a bit guilty for the life she forgot.

She and her husband sneak out of their daughters’ rooms once they’ve found sleep. Walking back towards Y/N’s apartments with their arms linked.

Aegon bids her good night at the door, with a gentle kiss to her cheek.

“Stay,” Y/N insists, turning her face enough to catch his lips.

“What are you-” Aegon smiles against her mouth.

“It hurts to look at you and not touch you.” Y/N murmurs, reeling him back in and burying her hands in his hair. “If you mean what you say, and you will be happy with me even if I am different, I want to be happy with you.”

“It pleases me to hear you say this, my darling. But are you certain?”

“I want you in my bed, always,” Y/N whispers. “Or to lie with you in yours. To wake with you each morning and spend each night at your side. Though right now there is nothing I want more than your cock in me. Is that certain enough for you?”

Aegon chuckles into her mouth, “that’ll do it.” He pushes open the door, leading her deep into her rooms, until they reach her bed chamber. He unlaces her gown with practiced hands. “Gevie.”Beautiful.

She works him out of his robes, kissing the underside of his jaw. “Gevie.”

He smirks, moving her to the bed. Positioning her sweet head against the pillows, stroking wayward hair from her face. Taking a long moment to look upon her, their gazes locked. Aegon kisses the tip of her nose. “Let us see if you remember this, shall we?”

His lips trail down her neck, across her collarbones to her breasts. Licking and suckling at the entirety of them before bringing a sensitive peak into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Y/N holds him to her.

“Mmm,” he hums, in approval as her hips buck up against his. “Anything coming to mind?”

“I’m afraid not, husband.” Y/N whines as he pulls away, “you’ll need to keep going.”

“Of course,” Aegon latches happily to the opposite nipple, flicking the first between his fingers. Lower and lower his mouth goes, swirling her navel, skating over the skin of her sex.

Y/N nearly faints as he parts her with his thumbs, exposing her pearl to his starved tongue. “Oh!” Her memory of this particular act, does it no justice.

He sighs against her, as though he’s waited the whole of his life to be in this moment with her.

She does not know how to be loved that way, or to give such love in return. But she wants to learn.

Aegon coaxes her through one peak to the next, relishing her breathless giggles as she shoves at his head.

“Enough,” she covers her face with both hands, “enough.”

Aegon chuckles, pressing a feather light kiss to her cunt before retreating, back up to her face. Caging her head between his elbows, hovering over her. “Still nothing?”

“Not a thing, perhaps if you continue.” Y/N reaches between them, taking his cock in hand and stroking, lightly.

Aegon shakes his head, “of course.”

She positions him at her entrance, feeling him slide into her with ease. As though he belongs there. Her hands find his face, stroking his cheeks, reeling him in for sweet kisses or to pant against his mouth. Committing him to memory.

“I love you,” he says, pressing kisses to her fingers, “we’re going to make new memories together, you and I.”

“I love you.” The words fall from her lips, without hesitation. “I love you.”

“I have gone too long without your touch, I will not last.” He warns.

“That’s alright.” Y/N assures him, “I’m nearly there.” Still sensitive from his tongue.

It’s all he can do to hold off until he feels her walls pulse around him, “good girl.” He groans, emptying his spend.

Y/N nuzzles her nose against his. “Aegon?”

“Hmm?”

“Happy anniversary, my love.”

His eyes open wide, meeting her gaze. “You remember?

Y/N nods, feeling tears prickle at the back of her eyes. “I am so sorry, I’ve no idea how I could forget you…us, our daughters, this life together is the world to me.”

“It was not by choice.” He rests his forehead against hers. “If I ever sustain a head injury, I’ll expect you to court me in return.”

“Mayhaps I will court you now, just because.” Y/N wants nothing more than to shower him with affection. “That story you read to me was ours, how did you get it?”

“I wrote it.” Aegon tells her, “to share one day with our children and their children’s children, their children’s children after that.”

Taglist: @21-princess @ladyriverasafepace @oh-you-mean-me @niyahnotnia @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @donalesaa @cookiesnfeesh @barnes70stark

[classyrbf]

pussy inspection with nanami can we have some degradation please and thank youuu 💞💞💞💞

PRINCESS PARTS! — NANAMI KENTO

SYNOPSIS...nanami always has to make sure that he always inspects his pretty princess

INFO...nanami x fem!reader, slight fingering, spanking, degradation, nanami being a tease, pussy inspection, nanami is kinda mean, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

thank you so much for the request pookie I hope you enjoy it!

as soon as you stepped out of the car from running errands all day (the errands being shopping with your husbands credit card) you got a text a from him asking to come to his office. You weren’t sure what the occasion was, but when you finally made it into the house with the millions of bags, you gingerly made your way over to your husbands office.

For some reason you felt a bit nervous. Nanami always calls you if anything important, he rarely ever texts, but you never question him on anything. “Ken?” You softly call out, seeing his office door is cracked, slowly opening it to see him sitting in his chair, sipping on a glass of whiskey. “Hi.” You smile. “I just came back from the store! I got these pretty dresses I think—”

“Come here.” He sternly spoke, his glass clinking on the wooden table as he set it down. His gaze never left yours, like a predator trying to intimidate its prey. “Come here,” he repeated. The silence was deafening bedsides the wood creaking under your feet as you hesitantly stepped closer. And when you got close enough he pulled you over his lap in the blink of an eye, leaving you breathless. “What’s this?” He held up your panties in his hand. You stayed silent looking down in shame. You could feel his large hand rub over the fabric of your sundress, toying with the hem of it as he lifted it slowly. “Ah,” he let out a chuckle, one that had a hit of annoyance.

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could muster. You knew we’re in the wrong. Before leaving to go shopping, you decided to wear any panties, but stupidly enough you left the evidence in the room for him to find. He fully lifted the fabric, exposing your ass to the cool air of his office.

“You left the house without any panties on? What were you planning to do, huh?” He swatted your ass, making you jump. “We’re you playing with my pussy on the way home? Playing with in the dressing room? Cause you’re that much of a desperate little slut.” He slapped your ass again, a small whimper falling from your lips.

“No, no! I swear I didn’t touch myself! I just…” You didn’t really have an explanation as to why you did it, only making it harder for him to believe your words.

“No? You sure? You know I have to check, right?” He squeezed the plump flesh of your ass, spread your cheeks slightly to get a good look at your cunt. He licked his limps, swiping his thumb over your slit. “Gotta make sure my pretty princess didn’t cum without me, yeah?” He spread your legs farther before taking his fingers and spreading your lips, watching the way your pink hole fluttered around nothing. He could see how wet you were getting, gathering some of your slick and rubbing your clit with it.

“Ken,” you whimpered, squirming in his lap. He ignored you, slapping your ass again as a warning to stop moving.

“I just have to make sure, baby. I know how much of a slut you like to be, showing off your pretty pussy. You’re just a dumb little thing who doesn’t know any better.” He slips his thumb into your pussy, moving it around and rubbing against your g-spot before slipping it out. “Why are you so wet?” He slaps your ass again.

“I’m sorry! It just…feels so good,” you explain, biting down on your bottom lip. You look back, staring up at him was such a desperate look, only to be met with his cold gaze.

“Use your words more. Tell me.” He gently caresses your face. “Is it this?” He slips his thumb back in, watching the way your jaw drops and brows furrow. You nod at his question. “Words.” He spanks your ass harder.

“Yes! It’s that! It’s everything! I like when you inspect my princess parts, and make sure I’m not misbehaving,” you confess. Kento hummed in response, slowly massaging your walls with his thumb.

“So you’ve been doing this on purpose? Leaving your panties around the house for me to find so you can get your pussy touched and looked at. What am I going to do with you?” He shakes his head, clicking his tongue at you. He slips out his thumb, rubbing your neglected clit in slow, agonizing circles. “Get up.”

“Wha-why?” You asked, confused. “Ah!” He spanks you once more. You quickly scurry off of his lap, standing in front of him and pulling your dress down.

He hands you your panties from earlier. “Put them back on and sit in your mess. You think being bad gets you rewarded?” He scolds you, watching as you slip your panties over your legs, pulling them up. “And don’t you dare sneak off and try and make yourself cum like the desperate little whore you are.”

“But, please,” you mutter. “I’ve been waiting all day. I know—”

“Do I need to repeat myself?” He clenches his jaw. You shake your head. “Good. Now, go and grab the new clothes you bought and put on a show for me, yeah? I’ll be waiting.”

[unintentionalseductress]

Hold Me Tenderly

Warnings: MDNI, sex, angst Summary: When woken up from a nightmare, you and Caleb are forced to confront some uncomfortable truths. WC: 3075 A/n: This week has been crazy. As I've mentioned in an earlier rant, there's more to Caleb than meets the eye and I'm here for it. I've seen a bump in toxicity since his launch, and I just want to take this space to say, please remember this is all FICTIONAL. Let people like who they like and if you have nothing nice to say, scroll on by.

It’s pitch black. You squint, your heart pounding frantically as you try to get your bearings. Up, down, left, right, direction seemed to have lost all meaning. It was dark. And quiet. Too quiet. The unsettling sound of your blood rushing through your own veins adds to the paranoia building inside you.

“Are you looking for me?” Your body jolts at the voice as you look around desperately for the source.

“Caleb?” You call through the echoing nothingness. He sounded so close but where was he? 

“Right here. Can’t you see me?” He sounded further away this time. You jog through the void, not even certain if there is ground beneath your feet. Were you actually moving? Or were you stuck in place, wasting effort to run through a medium that couldn’t be traversed?  

“Caleb, where are you? I can’t find you!” Your voice calls out, shrill, and panicked into the void.

“Here.” He sounded much farther away now, the faint sound of him disappearing into the dark. You give chase, plunging deeper into the unknown.

“Caleb!”

“Hey.” You’re shaken gently and your eyes fly open, your limbs tangling under the sheets as you thrash to free yourself.

“Whoa, calm down. It’s ok. It’s ok my little mouse.” Strong arms wrap around you and you’re pulled into a tight embrace against a firm, muscled, chest. You swallow, then blink your eyes open. The bedside lamp is turned on, and you feel relief flood your chest as Caleb’s face comes into focus. You sniff, burying your face into the comforting warmth of his skin. 

“Nightmare?” He asks softly, cupping the back of your head. You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. “It’s gone now. I’m here.” He shushes you, patting your back soothingly.

You’re here, but you’re not here.

The thought enters your mind, unbidden, and suddenly, it’s too much. Your eyes squeeze closed, trying and failing to stop the cascade of tears that form. You couldn’t bear it anymore. Caleb came and went like day changing into night - too brief and without a trace. You hated it. You hated him acting like this tension between you didn’t exist, like the events at Skyhaven had been put to rest.

But most of all you hated that whenever Caleb visited, he never seemed to understand that you wanted him to stay. You had never said he was unwelcome, but he treated himself like an unsavory visitor, only packing enough clothes for a day, before leaving the next. 

And you hated yourself for being unable to shake off the question he had asked the last time he had visited. 

“Why didn’t you ask me who kept me up all night? Were you afraid I’d say it was you? Or were you scared I’d say it wasn’t?”

Wasn’t the answer to that obvious? Why else would you keep letting this man back into your life, over and over, like a moth drawn to a flame? Simply put, you were now in a precarious state, knowing you could never go back to a world where Caleb didn’t exist. It was infuriating, the way he thought he was being considerate, never overstaying his visits, when it was so plainly obvious you didn’t want him to go. Your heart broke each time he left without asking if there were feelings that went beyond the bond of growing up together. 

So you cry, and he holds you tenderly. You couldn’t remember the first time you had both done this, years ago, sharing a bed to avoid facing all the past trauma you’d endured together. But all you knew was that you never wanted there to be a last. 

“It’s just a dream baby girl,” Caleb murmurs in your ear. 

Your eyes snap open, and through gritted teeth you say, “It’s not just a dream Caleb.”

His hand pauses. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not a dream.” You sit upright, burying your face in your hands, your body racked with sobs, shaking and trembling on the bed. The sheets ruffle and Caleb pulls you against him, trying to console you. He seems to be at a loss about what to say. You take a shuddering breath and it’s like a dam burst inside you.

“You come when you want. And leave when you want. What about me, Caleb? Did it ever occur to you that I don’t want bits and pieces of you anymore?” You look up at him, tears streaking down your face, your heart skipping a beat as his eyes grow wide with shock. You ramble on. 

“I don’t know how we got here. And I’m trying to fix it but Caleb…I can’t fix it if you won’t stay.” 

You finally admit the things you’d tucked away inside, trying to bury them; now they were crawling out of your throat like ghosts desperate for a rebirth. You swallow, and Caleb grabs the glass of water from the nightstand and presses it into your hands. 

“Drink.” 

The word is said so firmly that you dare not refuse and you gulp, the liquid somehow helping dull the harshness of the lump in your throat. He puts it back before gathering you close to him.

“You realize that’s the first time you told me I could stay.”

“Well, I’m sorry! I thought it was obvious!” You hurl the words, which get muffled by the wall of his chest. 

Caleb huffs. “Well, it wasn’t. And who told you that I didn’t want to stay? I was trying to give you space.” He takes a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me around anymore.”

Your heart clenches, and your hands tighten on his T-shirt. “Of course, I want you around Caleb. You’re my…” Your voice trails as you realize the term ‘best friend’ rang hollow. He was so much more than that. 

Caleb gently leans back so that he can look at your face. He cups your cheek, his eyes gazing at your face searchingly.

“What? What am I?” 

The question snaps the coil that had been steadily winding tighter during his stay. Frustrated, you move to your knees, hands springing out to capture his face. Before he can react, you roughly cover his mouth with yours. The kiss is raw, pouring out every moment of rage and loneliness you have felt since being reunited with him. You had never kissed him before, and a momentary flash of worry crosses your mind at the implications but they’re pushed out as you take what you had been desiring for so long. 

Caleb groans lowly at the feeling of your soft lips against his but his mind is fighting propriety. “Wait. Hang on, wait baby girl.” Caleb’s large hands catch yours and he breaks the kiss, trying to put some space in between you both. 

“Are you sure about this?” Caleb’s eyes are painted with confusion and doubt, but there is no denying the growing darkness at the edges of his irises. Despite everything, neither of you had dared cross that line, the one that threatened to upend your complete understanding of each other. 

“Never been more sure of anything in my life.” 

Your consent brings forth a growl from his throat, and finally, finally, he claims you back. You revel in the push of his body against yours, the hard muscles pressing against your softness as he wraps both arms around you and you’re crushed under his weight as both of you crash onto the mattress. Everything was fair game now, no qualms asked. His mouth, hot and demanding, finds yours, and your hands anchor onto his shoulder blades, trying to pull him impossibly closer to you than he already was. Everything about him was familiar, yet different. 

You’d held his body before, cupped his cheeks, and cuddled him during the bad days, but now, you feel the tension in his body as the boundaries between friendship and something more start to blur. The raging ache in your chest that had been clawing at you since you had left Skyhaven now had a name; possessiveness.

Because he was yours. And weren’t you his? Was it fate that had brought you two together at the shelter after the day of the Chronorift Catastrophe? It hardly seemed to matter but now, the both of you were intricately bound together and you couldn’t figure out where he ended and you started. All that mattered was that he was here. 

A gasp leaves your mouth as Caleb rakes his teeth down your lips, nibbling and sucking the soft flesh. Carding your fingers through his hair, you wait until the sting has passed before leaning up to pepper his face with little kisses, causing him to pause as he catches his breath.

“I was afraid you’d say yes.” 

“What?” Caleb’s eyes knit in confusion as he regards through the haze in his brain.

“Your question. I was afraid you’d say yes.” Your breath hitches as he cushions your head with his arm, gazing down at you with affection. 

“Why?” He murmurs as he dips down to lick and nibble your ear, sending currents of heat down your spine.

“Because Caleb. I’m always afraid. I thought I lost everything during the chronorift. I didn’t want to dare ask for more. Because asking for more means being vulnerable to getting hurt.”

Caleb’s eyes are full of emotion. “I didn’t want to ask you for more,” he admits quietly. “Because I know you are already empty from giving me whatever you have now.” 

The room falls into silence and the only thing that can be heard is the hammering of your hearts, pounding in sync with each other. 

“Take me, Caleb.” You murmur and his heart nearly stops in his chest. “I can never be empty if you’re here. But promise me you’ll stop leaving the way you do.” Your voice hitches. “I can’t do it all over again.” 

Caleb presses kisses to your temples, rubbing your noses together like a puppy and there’s conviction in his voice as he speaks. “I won’t. I promise I’ll never be gone long enough for you to start questioning my position in your life.” 

Your hands start to trace his face and he catches one of them, kissing your fingertips and sighing against your palm. The heat between you threatens to consume you whole. When his mouth touches yours, you open and let in his tongue, exploring the taste and wetness. His hands are now bruisingly dug into your waist like he’s steeling himself from going too fast and rough.

Primal instinct pours into his veins and visions of his past fantasies flood his brain; ripping off your clothes while his hands spread apart your legs. How wet you’d feel as he tasted the sweet nectar of your sex before plunging his cock so deep within you that you’d feel for him for days long after it was over. How long had he held back from acting on those impulses?

He grits his teeth as he rolls you over onto him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to control himself having you pinned powerless underneath him. You’re looking at him in a confused daze, then, with a gesture so cute that it almost made him lose restraint, you raise your arms above your head. He leans up, dragging the pajama shirt off your torso, swallowing hard as you reveal yourself to him. Those soft, inviting breasts, the ones he’d imagined for years now, were perfect. He cups them reverently as he presses kisses to your cleavage, squeezing and enjoying the feel of your flesh. 

Your body reacts naturally to him, responding so strongly that you feel like you might combust from the rising need gathering in your sex. Your clit throbs within its folds, swollen and delicate, as it waits to be unsheathed. Caleb’s erection was straining against the fabric of his shorts, brushing against your crotch and as he pinched and rolled your nipples between his fingertips, you started to grind against him. 

A hiss escapes from him as he looks up at you, crazed with desire, the sight of you rubbing against him pouring fuel into the fire. He sits up, crossing his legs and upsetting your balance before drawing you securely onto his lap. His head dips to suckle, the feel of his tongue and teeth on your nipple sending shocks of pleasure through your system. You struggle against him, finding the hem of his T-shirt and undressing him, amazed at the sight of his bare chest. 

You sigh before running your hands over the expanse, his mouth busying itself with your breast again. There was no shame or reluctance as you took from each other. A sheen of sweat covers your bodies as you tease and stroke each other. Every small gasp, whimper, and moan was part of a private symphony, and he was desperate to hear you sing. 

You could feel the drip of moisture inside your sex now and were growing impatient from the wait. Your eyes lock with Caleb’s, those smokey, purple irises watching you intently. When your fingertips hook into his waistband, he doesn’t question you, but with a show of strength, braces his palms on the bed and lifts his hips. You slide forward slightly but manage to yank off the garments below his knees, watching his cock spring free from its confines, weeping precum from the slit.

“Fuck. Don’t look at me like that.” Caleb’s cheeks are flushed and his voice is gravelly, a soft rumble of barely contained need. He bites back a moan as your fingers curl around his shaft, squeezing and pumping him tantalizingly, and his hips rock against you as pleasure floods his brain. His hand catches your wrist, stilling you as he tries to control the rushes of arousal that shoot through him. His cock felt painfully hard and your willingness was driving him to the edge.

Without missing a beat, Caleb pulls off your shorts and panties, panting as your wet sex hovers over the tip of his cock, your knees sinking into the mattress as you try to settle back on his lap. He groans wantonly as your pussy, moist and warm, brushes against his engorged head, mixing your essence with his. It felt divine, and your hips start to seek friction, dragging the length of his cock in between your folds, gasping softly into his ear each time it hits your clit. 

“That’s right baby girl. Use me. I’m all yours.” Caleb whispers encouragement into your ear and it only makes you want to claim him even more. You whimper as you raise as high as your knees will take you, sliding the slick little bud along his slit, trying to fit it into the little hole that was leaking those milky beads from his shaft. 

“Caleb.” Your voice is a whine as your nails dig into his back, dancing so carefully along the ridge so that your clit doesn’t miss any action. 

“Oh, that’s it little mouse.” Caleb coos at you while his hands stroke down your back. “My sweet girl. Take what you need.” His fingers indent into your hips to help guide your movements and you feel a similar series of small spasms flutter their way into your core. Knowing you’re close you use Caleb, solid and grounding, as an anchor and hump him with abandon, your breasts bouncing with each movement. You’re both in a trance, broken from it when you feel the tension in your clit suddenly start to feel wonderfully light and sublime. You moan as your climax hits you, continuing to stimulate the little bud on his tip as the rest of the orgasm follows, sending ripple after ripple of hot pleasure through you. Your mouth hangs open as you pant from the exertion, then are caught off guard as Caleb cups your face and kisses you.

While he was occupied with your mouth you raise your hips and ease your fluttering hole onto his length. A guttural grunt spills from Caleb’s mouth into yours as you continue to lower your pussy onto him, taking him further into your slick welcoming heat. His cock throbs as it slips further inside you and he watches your face as you settle to his size. You felt so full, the way his cock filled your inner space, and when he rolls his hips, you cling onto him for dear life. You’d never thought he could feel so good, feel so comforting as his meat thrusts up into you before easing back down. 

Your hips start to coordinate a rhythm to his movements, sinking onto him as he pushes up, helping him bottom out each time, and he swore he could see stars forming around him. You were so tight, so inviting, and so unbelievably sexy as you writhed in passion along with him. 

“Fuck little mouse.” Caleb’s vision blurs at the edges as he feels himself on the precipice of a climax. “You feel good. So damn perfect.” He chases his orgasm, his thrusts growing more urgent and sloppy as he did so. Your juices coat his cock and start to form a ring around his length, your walls quivering and sucking him further in towards your cervix. 

Caleb’s abdomen is rigid and he feels every part of him tensing up in anticipation for a mind-blowing finish. He moans, the noise sexily floating into the air, then holds you tightly against him as he finishes, spilling himself messily into your quivering channel, the thick jets of seed coating your walls white. He doesn’t move, savoring the closeness and intimacy of having you pressed up against him, sated and warm. After a few moments, he maneuvers both of you to lay down, his softened cock still nestle within you as you immediately move closer to snuggle into his chest.

“No more running away. Whatever happens, we’ll talk it out. And I promise I won’t leave you unless you’re screaming at me to get out.”

You chuckle quietly, then kiss his chin. 

“Never. Unless you refuse to make your braised chicken wings for me.” 

He laughs heartily and both of you feel some of the awkwardness between you ease. It wasn’t going to be easy but you were both determined to fix whatever had been lost. One step at a time, you reminded yourself, before snuggling into Caleb and finally drifting off into a dreamless sleep. 

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

@tokyorevengersrin @brekkersgf @ladyparamount @otomegamesforlife @shddyboo @supernaturalbaesduh @sweets-kozume @theimmortalbuns @venussakura @prisjean @laddelulu30 @lethargiccryptid @ravenclaw-jojo @redactedbimbo @crypt-0rchid @fattybattysblog @xinnn6

[chilumi-shipper]

A prompt came into mind.. up to you if you're interested.

So, character and reader got married but character cheated because he said he doesn't love the reader anymore. They're technically done, but haven't finished doing the divorce files (because it's expensive and takes a long long time). But.. character got into an accident.. which made him forget everything that happened recently, and only remember the days he loved the reader. Reader's conflicted, the mistress that character has doesn't know what to do either. Character was confused on why he would marry anyone else when he has the reader fo begin with.

I think this fits your styles.

Btw, I LOVE ALL YOUR STORIES! I RE-READ THEM EVERYDAY-

Someone Better

Childe x Fem!Reader

Summary: Childe was a wild spirit, so when he got bored of your relationship, he sought the excitement of another woman. You were heartbroken, ultimately asking for a divorce. But just as your connection was almost severed, he got into an accident, losing every memory of his infidelity and returning to the man that made you fall in love him.

Tags: Cheating, Amnesia, Pining, Angst/No Comfort

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You were staring at the tremendous amount of divorce paperwork sitting on the desk of your hotel room.

It was very complicated, five years of marriage with joined insurance, property, bank accounts, and now you have to meticulously separate all your joined assets, all while constantly on the verge of a breakdown.

Not to mention you had no family to stay with in Snezhnaya. There's absolutely no one you could talk to about everything, you've left your homeland thinking your future in the cold nation with the love of your life would be nothing less that fantasy.

As you rest your head on the desk and closed your eyes tightly to ease the headache, your ears perk up as loud knocks hit your door.

With a groan, you got up and opened it to reveal your two of Childe's older siblings.

"He's looking for you." The older sister said, Alevtina, her seriousness evident, looking at you somewhat panicked.

"I know, big si-" I paused for a moment, closing my eyes and rubbing my temples. "I'm working on the assets, I'll send it as soon as possible."

"No." The chilly tone of the older brother, Alexei, sent shivers down your spine. "You need to come with us."

...

"Big sister Y/N is here?" You hear Teucer's innocent voice as you enter their home. The younger children laid their eyes on you, seemingly eager to come closer, but perhaps they've been told that now would not be the time.

"Honey... Thank you for coming..." Their mother embraced you warmly, still accepting you with motherly affection. "Oh dear, I'm so sorry..."

"Mama, has he calmed down?" Alexei asked from behind you.

Your mother-in-law parts from you slightly, looking at you tenderly. "She will definitely help."

You put your confusion and questions aside, seeing the somewhat tense air within the house.

"Stop staring." You weren't looking at him, but you felt his eyes watching you set down a tray of soup and medicine on his bedside table.

Childe lets out a chuckle. "Sorry, love, I can't help it..." His eyes never faltered, containing a look of admiration that you've been unfamiliar with for so long.

"After the avalanche, I got a pretty bad head injury. When I woke up, you were the first thing on my mind. And when Mama said you weren't here with me, I freaked out."

You sat down on a chair next to his bed, your eyes observing the bandages wrapped around his head. "What did the doctor say about your injury?"

"I'm gonna get some very bad headaches, and I also got a bit of amnesia, I think." Childe looks as if he's in thought. "Do I seem like I forgot something?"

"Maybe some things..."

"But I love you just the same! So I bet what I forgot wasn't even that important!"

...How cruel.

Having to take care of the man that broke you apart, even worse, a version of him that you loved too much to despise.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

It was painful, staying with him.

Childe would keep you close, call you his different pet names, cuddle up to you, all while you were under the pitiful gaze of his family that knew of his infidelity.

On the other hand, he's been feeling the cold responses his advances have been receiving. But to him, he thinks he can solve it by smothering you in more of his love.

He is pretty observant, he's put it two in two together that he may be missing a memory in which he had done something wrong. He just didn't know how much it had hurt.

Though, not only from you, Childe had also felt that his younger siblings seem distant as well, no longer asking him to play snow games outside, or looking up to him as some sort of hero.

One early morning, when he walks up to the kitchen to see you cooking for the whole family, a smile formed on his face.

He steps closer, wrapping his muscular arms around your waist. "Hmmm... Morning, honey..." He basks in the feeling of you.

You remain quiet, letting him do as he pleases. The ginger frowns, however, feeling unsatisfied by your lack of reaction.

"Babyyyy... Loveee meee backkkk..." He whines, nuzzling his face on your neck.

"Ajax, come on..." You stifled a laugh, moving slightly away as his action tickled you. He hears the slight giggle of your words, smiling against your skin.

You compose yourself, pushing him away from you. "Stop." He lets you push him away, and you feel him freeze slightly at the harshness of your tone.

His blue eyes looked at you worried. "...Hey," He starts. "I'm sorry, darling, did you not like that?"

With a sigh, you looked down. "When the others wake up, tell them I already made breakfast. I have somewhere to be."

You walk pass him, but you did not miss the hurt tone of the faint call of your name.

...

You come back to his family's home after doing some more paperwork for the divorce that your husband doesn't even remember, feeling your head pounding as you ready yourself to face him again.

What you don't expect to see this late at night is Childe sitting on the porch with a lantern next to him, his head hung low as if he's thinking deeply.

"Childe?"

He looks up, but he frowns at you. "Ajax, darling..." He reminds you.

Standing up, he pulls you into his warm embrace. "I love you... I missed you..."

His words take you aback, as you reluctantly wrap your arms around him.

"I've been thinking about this morning, about you. You hate me."

"I know I must've done something... you can tell me." He kneels in front of you, staring at your eyes while his sparkle with the light of the lantern. "And even if I don't remember, I'll make it right..."

As you look down at him, you see the fiery passion of love that burned in his eyes as he knelt down to ask you to marry him so long ago.

It scares you...

You might not be able to control yourself...

"It's just hard to take care of you sometimes." You smile ever so slightly, yet his frown only deepens as tears start to escape your eyes.

He stands, his hand finds its way to your cheek. "Love..." His eyes held such conviction that you've not seen for years. "I'm so sorry..."

You close your eyes to hold in the tears, shaking your head and swaying his hand away. "...You're not."

Despite the tears, you tug at his arm. "Come on, let's head inside."

He's filled with questions, but seeing your sad face makes him set all those aside and focus on you for now.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

"Teucer, hey, little man." Childe calls for his little brother.

The little boy looks at him wide eyed. "I don't want to talk to you." He crossed his little arms, turning around to leave with a displeased look.

"What...? Oh come on..." The harbinger pouted, getting down on his little brother's level. "What did I do wrong...? All our siblings are acting so mean to me..." He whined, frowning as he tries to persuade the little ginger.

"But you were also very very mean!" Teucer refused to look at his older brother, the one he used to look up to the most. "We don't like you anymore!"

Childe's playful facade faded as his expression contorted to a confused one. "Hey, what do you mean...?"

"You're so mean to Y/N, you hurt her! She doesn't deserve tha-"

"Teucer!" Just as his brother erupted to a crying mess, screaming at him with all his little heart, their mother walked into the room, grabbing the little boy.

"Don't talk like that to your elders!"

"But it's true, Mama!"

"That doesn't matter, say sorry to-"

"What does he mean, Mama? Why did I do?" Childe looked at his mother expectantly, his voice starting to shake as he saw the fit of rage Teucer had because of him. "W-What did I do to Y/N?"

HIs mother shook her head, trying to ease her expression with a smile. "Nothing..."

"It's not nothing, Mama!" He raises his voice by accident due to his frustration. "I see it, the way she looks at me, it's different. The way you all look at me, like you have a monster inside your house."

Teucer forced his way out of his mother's hold, running to his older siblings room all teary eyed. Childe felt bad, but he desperately needed answers from his mother.

"Mama, please, I need to know why Y/N doesn't... love me anymore..." It hurts him to say, but based on the way you're acting, he could only make the assumption that your feelings have wavered.

"Oh, Ajax... it's not like that..."

The ginger then felt a sharp pain in his head, making him fall down onto the couch. He groaned as he clutched his head.

"Hey... where are you heading off to so late at night?" He hears your soft voice in a static audio playing in his head.

"Out." He then hears himself replying coldly.

"Ohh, when will you-"

He's out the door before you could even finish your question.

"Ajax, honey!' His mother's voice was a hazy blur as he keeps his eyes closed to envision what he's hearing in his head.

He tries to shake the feeling away, but his mind is flooded by fragmented memories.

"You've been going out a lot more recently." Your concerned voice entered his ears.

"I've been busy."

"Busy where?"

He then hears shatters of glass and yells as you sob while trying to talk to him.

He pictures your face, your crying, begging face, asking for some sort of salvation from his cold and merciless actions.

"T-There's someone else?"

"Someone better."

"H-How could y-you do this?"

"When I look at you now... I feel... nothing."

Childe opened his eyes, not realizing that tears had started to flow to his cheeks. "Mama..."

"Y-Yes, dear?"

"I hurt her..." He was in a state of disbelief. "I-I... Why...?"

His tears fell faster, looking at his mother for answers. "W-Why, Mama? Why was I so stupid? Why did I choose to lose her?"

"I don't know, dear, but that's simply what happened, and you could never make her forget that, even if you forgot."

His breathing started to accelerate, feeling like he wanted to punch himself. As his head started spinning, his vision turns black.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You took a deep breath as you walked into the house, feeling everyone's eyes on you as you entered.

"Honey..." Your ex mother-in-law embraces you once again, holding you tight. "I'm so sorry... I didn't want to make it difficult for you..."

"N-No, no..." You returned her hug, sniffling as you start to tear up. "I readied myself for this, I'm just here to drop off the final papers..."

"Could you talk to him?" Alevtina suddenly asked, looking at you hesitantly. "I know he's been a jerk... but he won't eat unless he talks to you."

You parted from their mother, feeling the pressure of their request.

"It's okay to curse him, or to scream, or rough him up, I'll even help you." Alexei placed his hand on your shoulder to comfort you.

You nodded, sighing as they guided you to his room. And as you entered with a heavy feeling in your chest, he immediately sat up, alerted by your presence. You stare at each other for a bit before you muttered a word.

"Hi." You greeted him shortly.

"Hey..." His voice was soft, and his eyes followed you attentively.

"I'm sorry to intrude, I'll make this quick." You breathe deeply, trying to relax yourself. "I finished the papers, split the assets, got the lawyers."

"I talked to her, y-your woman..." You looked down, fidgeting with your hands. Childe seemed unfazed by it, though his gaze seem to falter at the mention of 'his woman'.

"She... umm... wasn't really interested anymore after the accident..." You breathe heavily, feeling small under his gaze. "But... your family's here to take care of you..."

Clearing your throat, you continued. "I do have one request, if I could... I would like a safe boat ride back home." You stepped closer, intending to hand him the envelope that contained all the paperwork to finalize your divorce.

"Take it all." You stopped in your tracks as he spoke.

"The house, the mora, the boat. It's all yours..." He lays back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. "Would you also do me a favor?"

You looked at him, encouraging him to speak.

"Carve my heart out and take it with you."

"...Can we be serious for a second?" You sighed.

"I would like to stay with you. I think that would be a good way to do it without constantly wanting to punch myself." You noticed that his eyes started to flood with tears.

"Ajax... I'm sorry this happened to you..."

"No, Y/N, I'm sorry... I'm sorry for everything." He sat up again, tears falling from his eyes as he looks up at you with genuine eyes. "I don't know why I did that. And I... I regret it so much..." He reached for your hand, and you let him hold onto you for strength.

"Every tear I had in me I already cried when you left me for her." You smiled bitterly, though you remained soft, making him even more guilty as you try to stay strong. "But I appreciate the apology..."

You pull your hand away from him slowly, feeling that he was reluctant to let go.

"I-I still love you..."

You gave him a final smile. "You'll love someone better than me... Childe..." You back away, leaving him alone in his room still yearning for the days where his memory only consisted of loving you.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Hiiii again after quite a while! I think I've been noticing that my recent fics have been angst, I guess I just feel like hurting you guys this season of giving (I give pain :D)

Anywayy, anon, I think at some point I went my own direction and didn't fully stick to your request (I'm sorryyy TvT) but I hope you like it anyway!

[babyleostuff]

writer in the dark

you found working on your manuscript in bed a blessing and a curse at the same time. the blessing: warm covers and soft pillows. the curse: your boyfriend.

🖋️ THEME: fluff, late night conversations, pouty and dramatic cheol (nothing new) 🖋️ PAIRING: idol!seungcheol x writer fem!reader 🖋️ WORD COUNT: 1.1k

the gentle, fruity scent of your freshly brewed tea minghao brought seungcheol from his last trip to china filled your bedroom from where it was standing on your bedside table. of course, that would only last only until your boyfriend came out of the shower, thoroughly sprayed with his favourite cologne he wore even to bed. as much as you enjoyed it during the day, sometimes you felt suffocated with the scent at night, especially when your boyfriend went into koala bear mode. which happened at least five out of seven nights. 

you sighed and rubbed your eyes, feeling tiredness settle in your muscles. your fingers felt tense and you’d go as far as to say sore from the hours you spent typing on your keyboard. but the deadlines were quickly approaching, and your agent would not appreciate another delay in the schedule. the second book in your next trilogy was one of the most anticipated books for the upcoming year, so there was no room for tired and sore fingers. 

even though they felt three taps away from falling off your hand. 

“which chapter are you on?” cheol’s head peeked out from the open bathroom door. 

without sparing him a glance, you reached for the cup and took a sip of your tea, careful not to burn yourself. “not telling you,” you said, scanning through your document for any comments from the editor. 

“oh come on,,” he mumbled, and with a towel over his head, walked over to your side of the bed. ”you never tell me anything. i always play you my music. i even let you help with the lyrics.”

“right,” you nodded. “ i’m still waiting for the credits.”

from the corner of your eye you noticed a small pout forming on his cherry lips. you wondered if he’d even learn that you’d never show him anything before the final draft, if he was lucky. writing was such an intimate thing, and you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to show him something that wasn’t nearly perfect in your eyes. 

he’d definitely claw his eyes out if he saw what your first drafts looked like. 

“look, baby, writing songs and books is not the same,” finally, you turned your head, meeting his big, brown eyes. “there’s no point in showing you anything without any context and how would you feel if i told you the plot twist?”

he sighed and pulled the towel over his face. “i hate it when you’re right,” he groaned.

you got back to reading feedback left by your beta readers and editor, while seungcheol busied himself with the rest of his night routine, providing you with a nice background noise. as much as you loved writing with music, it was nice to listen to something else. 

‘what about the characters though?” he plopped on his side of the bed, fully clad in his baby blue PJs. “one of them surely must be extremely handsome, strong, dependable and smart.” 

a giggle escaped you. “are you sure you’re not talking about yourself?”

“no,” he simply said and scooted closer to you. “it’s just that every successful book has a character like that. just making sure you didn’t forget to write one.”

“thank you for informing me, when i’m 90% done with the final draft,” you said and looked down at your boyfriend, who was making himself cozy between all the pillows. he truly was a princess. 

“see, if we’d talk about it sooner you wouldn’t have an issue,” seungcheol grabbed your computer from your lap and pulled the covers to cover your upper body. 

“cheol, darling, how am i supposed to write with my hands under the blanket?”

he whipped his head, eyes distraught and wide, as if you’d just said the most cancelable thing he had heard in his career. 

“writing? we’re going to bed. you’re definitely going to bed,” he said. 

“i’m not,” you laughed and reached for your computer, but before you could grab it he whipped it out of your reach. “baby, what are you doing?” 

seungcheol gently grabbed your chin in his hand. “you’ve been doing nothing but sit at your pretty ass for hours and hours. i get that writing is your job, but it’s not healthy. what about your eyes? your back?”

“what about you and kkuma?” 

“not the point,” he said, unamused. “the most i’ve seen you this week was during breakfast and maybe in the evening if you haven’t already passed out. you need to rest.”

“but-.”

your head crashed against his soft chest, as he wrapped his strong arms around your shoulders and pressed you closer to his body that you knew as well as your own. 

“i honestly don’t care what you have to say, honey,” he said and pressed his lips against your forehead, then reached to switch off the light. “sleep. now.”

“okay, dad,” you mumbled, but draped your arm over his tummy nonetheless. you weren’t made of stone; obviously you missed him as well. you were just better at hiding it. 

a couple of minutes passed and you could feel your eyelids getting heavier with the second. your boyfriend was right in one thing – you really needed that rest, because not even the cologne managed to bother you. 

“you know,” cheol’s voice gently pulled you out from your sleepy state. “if you need to revise any of the sexy scenes we can do that now.” 

you slipped your hand under his PJs and ran your fingers over his tummy, making him shake with laughter. “you cannot be serious, choi seungcheol.” 

“i’m always serious when it comes to sexy time,” he ran his finger over his cheek. 

“first of all, did you just call fucking sexy time? and second, didn’t you tell me to rest?” 

his quiet giggle made your stomach warm with love. you loved writing, words, and imagining magical realms in your head, but if there was one thing you hated about being a writer was that you’d never be able to convey something as beautiful as your boyfriend’s voice on paper.

“yeah, but i figured you’d have an even better sleep, you know?” 

you shook your head. “you’re delusional.”

“oh, sorry for wanting to make my girlfriend feel good.”

“i already feel good. like this,” you said, and nuzzled further up cheol’s neck, placing a small kiss on his jaw.

“yeah, because your extremely handsome, strong, dependable, and smart man is actually real.”  

“one day i’m going to make you sleep on the couch,” you grumbled. “now let me sleep.”

you could feel his lips widen in a smile against your forehead. “i love you,” he whispered, which was the last thing you heard before falling asleep, enveloped in warmth, fluff, and his cologne.

[rambling-at-midnight]

Please Come Home

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: You never realized how many places there were to hide in your apartment, but you’re pretty sure someone else is in here with you. Whatever they want isn’t good.

Word count: 3.3k

TW: home invasion, violence, curses as insults

Your spare key is missing.

Fuck. You always keep it in this drawer. Where the fuck is it?

When you told Jason he could just grab your keys to take your car instead of his bike to the store, you’d been relying on using your spare to lock up the apartment when you left for work. You never, ever moved it, but it was gone all the same. Did he take it instead of your keychain? Nope, that’s missing from its hook next to the front door.

When was the last time you used it? Not too long ago. Had you been careless about putting it back?

You text Jason, Did you grab my spare key?

Shit. You had to leave for work, like, five minutes ago, and you have no key to lock the front door.

At least you have a fire escape. You bolt the door from the inside, then slip out the window. You can’t latch it from the outside, but it’s a little harder to break in through the window than the front door.

You’re only two minutes late to your waitressing shift. Your manager swipes you in, lets you know that a server called out so you’ll be handling two sections today, and the host runs up to tell you that you’ve already been sat.

In the middle of the shift, when you have a minute to catch your breath, you check your phone. Jason had texted, No, I took your keychain. Is your spare missing?

I think I lost it.

I’ll look for it when I come home before patrol. Will I see you before heading out?

Not looking like it. Things haven’t slowed down at all.

I’ll see you when I get home, then. Don’t wait up.

I’ll have dinner in the fridge when you get back. Gotta get back to work. Love you

I love you, too.

A couple hours later, Jason texts that he has no luck locating your spare. Since he’s paranoid, he’s going out for a new lock tomorrow, but there’s important business with a drug ring that he can’t miss tonight.

That’s okay. It’ll be a pain to climb up the fire escape, but you don’t really mind that much. You’ve been meaning to get more exercise, anyway.

You finish work at six and the walk back to your apartment building is pretty peaceful. Unusual for Gotham.

It lulls you into a false sense of security.

You’re not really in the mood for leftovers, and not really in the mood to cook. You stare between your phone and the pantry. Takeout is easy. So is pasta.

With a sigh, you decide to spare your bank account. Delivery fees are getting ridiculous nowadays.

You text Jason just to see how his night is going. You’re not sure he’ll respond; sometimes, like during stakeouts, he turns his phone off completely so the sound or vibrate doesn’t reveal his presence. He doesn’t respond after a minute, which means he’s busy. You sigh and set down your phone, then change into comfier clothes. As soon as you’re out of your room, you grab a pot and box of pasta. You can’t sit down, or you’ll put off dinner for at least another hour.

The water is set to boil when you turn around to look at your phone, vaguely hoping Jason has responded by now.

Your phone isn’t on the counter.

You frown. You’re pretty sure you left it there.

Maybe it’s in the pantry when you grabbed the pasta?

It’s not.

You must have left it in your room when you changed. You check, and it’s sitting right on your bedside table. “Jeez,” you mutter, picking it up and slipping it into your pocket. After a long day, it’s okay to be scatterbrained, but this is a bit much.

Still no response from Jason.

You walk out of the bedroom to see that the stove turned itself off and the pasta water is barely warm. “Gotham appliances are such pieces of shit,” you mutter. You know what, fine. A shower and feeling clean will make you feel better to try again. The saying is that a watched pot never boils, but hopefully a watched Gotham stove never turns itself on and off randomly while you cook.

The apartment’s a bit chilly, so you take your pajamas with you into the bathroom and sit under the water spray until all the grime of the day washes away. It’s a bad habit, but you bring your phone with you in the shower to scroll through social media until your skin starts to get pruny. You step out, wrapping the towel around yourself in a vain attempt to stop shivering, and… your pajamas are gone.

The pajamas that you’re sure you took with you. You distinctly remember putting them on the sink counter.

And now they’re gone.

Something clenches in your stomach. You text Jason, Hey are you home yet?

He doesn’t respond right away.

Jay, this isn’t funny.

Still nothing.

Is it possible you forgot to bring the clothes with you? No, you distinctly remember the thought process.

Someone moved them, and you can’t think of s single reason anyone you know would do that. That kind of prank isn’t funny.

You text Jason, I think there is someone in the house with me. Then you try calling him.

You go straight to voicemail.

You bite your lip, trying hard not to panic. Jason never sends you to voicemail. He’s answered your calls in the middle of shootouts, voice strained, “Hey, kinda busy right now, is it an emergency?”

His phone is turned off, so who knows when he’ll see your texts. He might not turn it on again for hours.

You text your best friend, I think someone broke into my house. Don’t call me. Please help.

You chew on your thumbnail.

Either she calls the cops, or she shows up with a baseball bat and her scary-ass motorcycle dude boyfriend. He’s secretly a softie, but his appearance doesn’t match his personality.

He’s a lot like Jason, actually. Who would have thought you two had the same type?

You call Jason again.

Voicemail.

Again.

Voicemail.

Your best friend texts, Omw. That’s it, but it’s the best text you’ve ever seen in your life.

Okay. Either cower in the bathroom until someone shows up, or play along with the same game the possibly-real-intruder is playing, that everything is normal.

No matter what happens next, you want to be dressed for it. You peek under the door, but you don’t see anyone’s feet.

Maybe this is all in your head, but you have a terrible gut feeling that it isn’t.

Your heart pounds, but you maintain a leisurely stroll into your room through the kitchen, palming a knife as you go, and locking the door behind you. The intruder may be in your closet, so you hold the knife out as you swing the door open.

Empty.

You throw on the first clothes you see and debate hiding in your room until your friend arrives. But adrenaline is pumping and you think you might shake out of your skin. You sit on the edge of the bed and take deep breaths.

There’s a window in your room, but it only opens three inches and it’s not connected to the fire escape, so that’s not an option. The window that leads to the fire escape is in the main room, so you’d have to walk through the kitchen to get to it, and the intruder may be hiding in the pantry.

You could try the front door, but the storage closet is right next to it: another likely place for someone to hide and jump out at you.

Your room is only as safe as the strength of the door. And the wood is pretty thin.

All of a sudden, your phone buzzes, and you drop it. You snatch it up to see an incoming call lighting up the screen with your boyfriend’s handsome contact photo.

You accept the call immediately. “Jay?”

“I’m on my way,” he rushes out. You hear the roar of his motorcycle in the background. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” You whisper, “I think someone is here.”

“I know.” His voice is strained. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be fine. I’m five minutes away. Can you get out?”

“I don’t know. I’m in my bedroom, I locked my door. I think he’s hiding somewhere in the apart—”

A hand shoots out from under the bed and grabs your ankle.

You scream.

Your phone flies away when he yanks you off the bed. You go down swinging with the knife and make contact, accidentally swiping your own ankle in the process. The man grunts with pain and lets go, and you scramble to the door. You don’t even feel the pain in your ankle, although you’re actually bleeding a lot.

He’s wriggling out from under your bed when you get to your feet and twist the doorknob. “Get the fuck out of my house, you fucking pervert!” you scream. You yank the door open and run…

Right into a stranger’s chest.

There are two of them?

An iron grip clamps over your shoulder. His other hand fists in your hair. “Well, hello, pretty. You’re not the Red Hood.”

You stab him in the stomach.

Unfortunately, that only makes him mad.

“You bitch,” he groans. The slap is so powerful it nearly breaks your neck. You can’t breathe for a second, and then the first man catches up to you. His hand is bleeding. Like, a lot. They transfer you over so the stabbed man can groan about being stabbed. It’s only in his gut, so he should be fine. “Walk it off,” you goad. It’s the Gotham in you.

The first man digs his bloody knuckles into your cheek. “Fucking whore cut me,” he says. “Where’s the Red Hood?”

“He’ll kill you both,” you spit. “He’s on his way to shoot you in the head.” The threat should have scared them, but they were dumb enough to break into the Red Hood’s apartment and beat his partner. They had not been blessed with many braincells.

“Good,” he says. “He’ll get here just in time to see his pretty pet die.”

Someone pounds on the door and everyone freezes. Fear flashes over their face, but Jason wouldn’t have knocked. He would have kicked the door down or gone through the window.

Your best friend calls your name through the door. She’s trying to sound casual, but things are so far past casual.

The man holding you sees you draw in a breath to scream. “Don’t you dare,” he warns. “Do it and I’ll kill them, too.” The barrel of a gun presses to the side of your head.

Where is Jason?

You don’t think he’ll get here in time. He doesn’t deserve to carry the weight of that failure, but he will. Your Jay thinks he’s responsible for every bad thing in the world.

The man’s ugly face explodes.

You register the concussive sound of gunfire half a second later. Your ears ring. You lose your balance.

More gunfire. It’s so loud all you can do is cover your ears. Who’s shooting who?

It stops as suddenly as it started, but you don’t look up. You can’t hear anything. You don’t want to see their ugly faces anymore.

Then hands grab you again, and you shriek. Your kitchen knife is still buried in the second man’s gut, so you have no defense. A man with a gun is going to kill you in your apartment.

Despite all your attempts at fighting, he’s too strong. Iron hands pry your hands away from your head, but you still can’t hear anything. Your ears are still ringing too loud. Your eardrums might have burst.

Then gloved hands cup your cheeks.

You know those gloves.

Jason is kneeling on the ground in front of you, absolutely frantic. His mouth moves, but you don’t hear anything. You don’t even hear your sob, but you definitely feel it right before you throw yourself at him.

Strong arms wrap around your back. Jason cradles you, hugs you so tight you can’t breathe, tries to hide you from anyone that might hear you. You still can’t make out his words, but you’re beginning to hear a muffled voice.

You’re sitting completely in his lap, his legs behind you to support your back. You cling to him, trying not to shake. You’re a pretty unflappable Gothamite, but a home invasion is enough to rattle anyone. You’re supposed to be safe here.

Jason pulls away just enough to kiss your forehead. His green eyes squeeze tight like he’s in pain, and a single tear slips from the corner of one.

You wipe it away.

Jason wipes the blood on your cheek away.

You read his lips when he asks if you’re okay. You nod. You’re alive, and that’s what matters.

Jason holds you still when you try to look around. He says something that you can’t read. He must know that you don’t understand, because he just uses one huge hand on the back of your head to pull you forward. His mouth presses against your forehead, not quite a kiss, just relishing the connection.

You hear the banging first. Then you hear the shouting.

Oh, God. Your best friend.

You scramble out of Jason’s hold so fast he can’t stop you. You stumble past two dead bodies, both with three bullets in their heads. The floor is ruined beyond belief.

Jason helps support you. He needs to touch you somewhere to reassure himself that you’re okay, that you’re alive. You unlock the door, and barely open it a crack before your friend pushes it all the way open.

She gasps at the sight of you. “Oh, my God!” Her arms wrap tight around your neck, and you squeeze her. Jason’s hand remains pressed against your back. Her boyfriend stands behind her in the hallway, and he eyes Jason somewhat suspiciously. The two have never met before.

Your best friend pulls away, and Jason folds you against his side. His hand runs up and down your arm.

“Are you okay? There’s blood all over you.” Her eyes drift past your face and land on the bodies on your floor. Her mouth tightens, but she doesn't scream or call the cops immediately.

“It’s not mine,” you say faintly. “Well…” You look at your ankle. “Most of it.”

“Jesus,” says Jason. “They did that to you?”

"I did it to myself," you admit. "But I stabbed that one." You point.

He kisses the top of your head. "I'm going to teach you how to defend yourself. I never should have left you alone." Jason fixes your friend with a look so stern that she actually gulps. "Can you watch them for a little bit?"

"Yeah," she says. "I'll take care of them."

"Good." Jason takes your face in his hands. His eyes blaze. "I'll be back as soon as I can. You hear me? You're not gonna be alone ever again."

You nod numbly.

Jason carries you to the couch, then coaches your friend through applying pressure to your ankle. He gently places an icepack in your hand, then moves you until it's pressed to your numb cheek. Then he kisses you. Pulls back. Kisses you again. It's not sweet—he tastes like blood, or maybe you do—but it's firm, and it's real, and it's a promise.

He stands up and asks your friend's boyfriend, "You wanna help me with these?"

As far as you know, the other man's never hidden a dead body in his life. But to his credit, he hardly hesitates before nodding.

Jason's already calling someone when he walks out. One of his criminal contacts, you're sure. You don't know and you don't want to know.

They're gone for twenty minutes. You're still in shock when they get back. You know you're in shock, but you can't snap out of it. You don't think you want to.

He gently nudges your friend's hands away to peek under the gauze. "You want stitches for this, honey?"

You shake your head. The cut's too close to bone, and you don't want a needle going anywhere near your bones.

"Okay." He changes the gauze, then tapes it in place, then puts a sticky wrap over that. "I'll change this in the morning. You're gonna be okay."

"I'm glad you're all right," your friend's boyfriend offers. You don't know each other all that well, but he just helped hide two bodies that you and Jason killed, so he must be an all right dude. You nod, give him a shaky smile, try to wave.

Your best friend bends over to hug you. "I'm going to text you in the morning," she says. "You'll be okay with Jason. I'm so proud of you. I'm so glad you're okay."

You hug her back until she puts the icepack back in the freezer.

When they leave, Jason stands up from the couch. You make a pleading, confused noise in the back of your throat, and he smooths your hair away from your face. "I'll be right back, honey," he promises. "I'm gonna lock the door. No one's ever getting to you again, you hear me?"

As soon as he pulls away, you shiver. The only thing keeping you warm was his body.

True to his word, he locks the front door, then heads right back to you.

"Do you want to go to the bedroom?" Jason asks softly.

You shake your head. There was a man hiding beneath your bed tonight. It was worse than any monster you used to be scared of as a child.

"Okay," he says softly. Jason eases onto the couch, but he has so much bulk that it's impossible to lay side-by-side on your backs. Jason twists onto his side, and after a moment, you do too, using one of his massive biceps as a pillow. He smells like gunpowder. You smell like blood. You fit together like two terrible, violent puzzle pieces.

He kisses your forehead again. Pulls a blanket over the two of you, makes sure it's snug around your feet. You enjoy the fussing.

When he has nothing left to fiddle with, Jason sucks in a ragged inhale, then says, voice cracking, "When I saw those texts, I was terrified."

"I'm glad you checked your phone," you say. "For a while, I thought you wouldn't."

"I could feel that something was wrong."

Your throat hurts. "Did you mess up your mission tonight because of me?"

"Honey, I would do anything for you," he says. "I'd abandon a thousand missions to keep you safe. I'd burn this city to the ground."

Another night, you would remind him that he's a hero. That he fights for the greater good. That he is good.

Tonight, you take comfort in the vow.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispers. "You were so brave. You did so well."

Your fingers twist in his shirt. Your nose nestles into the hollow at the base of his throat perfectly, so you hear every breath he takes, every rumble in his throat when he talks. You press a kiss to his chest just above the neckline of his shirt, and his throat jumps.

Jason makes a strangled noise, then wraps his arms even tighter around you. He throws one leg over your hip, completely covering you, pressing you into the couch. You would feel suffocated if it was anyone else.

You fall asleep faster than you ever have before, secure that Jason won't let anything happen to you during the night. The last thing you register before unconsciousness is his dry lips pressed to your forehead again. Making sure you're alive. Reassuring you that he's here and always will be.

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[gtgbabie0]

{Roomate!Vi giving you what you deserve}

!!-18//MDNI-!! //CW// cheating (reader) slightly pervy vi fingering slight dumbification

Violet hates your girlfriend, no, like really hates your girlfriend. It’s stupid, if she’s being honest with herself. There was no actual sense to her hatred, hell she’s never even met the damn women! It’s just jealousy. An ugly feeling that has managed to root itself deep inside her, making her want to snap and just take you for herself— so well, she did.

You deserved better then whatever she was giving you, which clearly wasn’t a lot from the way you’re constantly whining and bitching, and the fact you’re currently taking three of Violets fingers— stuffed deep inside your wet cunt like you were made for it, practically swallowing them up.

Violet had grown sick and tired of listening to you go on and on about how she’s such a ‘horrible girlfriend’, how she ‘stood you up’ or has been ‘ignoring you’ or whatever other bullshit you complain about it. Honestly it was a daily thing.

But you’ve been extra snappy recently, so goddamn annoying with your little taunts and those lingering gazes— practically begging her to bend you over. All you needed was a good fuck and Violet was more than happy to help you out, kinda.

“What time is she picking you up again?” She says it all too casually as if she isn’t currently knuckle deep inside you— fucking you into her mattress with just her fingers.

Your lips part then close, struggling to find the words— if any at all. Nothing comes out just a jumble of needy moans as you try to close your thighs around her hand, writhing against her bed, hands fisting at her bedsheets.

“Can’t remember, huh? You even know what day it is, pretty girl?— or can you not speak, hmm?” She coos, grinning wolfishly, her soft blue eyes darkening as she curls her fingertips up against that spongy spot that makes you see double— head tipping back against her pillows, hips grinding up against her hand clumsily. “My fingers feel that good doll?”

It was a sight, seeing you all spread out for her— not your girlfriend, her. Violet was half tempted to get it on video, show it to your soon to be ex (she’s sure it isn’t gonna last long after this) how you liked to be fucked. Because hell if Vi hasn’t perfected the art of your body down to the fucking T within the span of five minutes.

“Nuh—yes!— just— ughh!” you give up trying to form a sentence. A low chuckle rumbles out from Vi’s chest as her free hand pushes on your thigh, roughly, spreading you back open with a tut— watching in awe as she stretches your greedy hole open with her digits, disappearing inside your wet heat, slick dribbling between her fingers, soaking her hand.

Oh and she so smug about it, and you would fight back, really!— tell her to shut the hell up or something if your mind wasn’t so mushed up by pleasure— but it was and here you are drooling into the pillows and Vi is drunk off of the picture you’re making.

"Look at you, getting fucked silly just from my fingers. Imagine if I had my strap in you, baby.” She leans down, brushing her nose against your flushed cheek, breath fanning across your jaw. “I'd fucking destroy your pretty pussy." her voice low, rough, a filthy promise, a thought that hasn’t left her mind since that time she ‘accidentally’ walked in on you showering— a thought she’s fucked herself to more then once during sleepless nights.

You think you might just let her— sure it’s really messed up, your girlfriend is literally blowing up your phone right now, buzzing on Violets bedside table— waiting outside your apartment and well… you’re too busy getting fucked dumb by your roommates fingers, hitting you in places you need, filling you up. You hate to admit it but you’ve never been so wet before, her sticky bedsheets a testament to that.

“Vi— Vi, Ahh— uh—uh!” Your hips canter eagerly, trying to keep up with her hand as her thumb rubs circles against your hard clit— marvelling at the way you’re desperately trying to grind your cunt against her hand, chasing after what you needed— your gummy walls clenching around her, squelching obscenely.

“Yeah? Bout to cum already—” then she’s pulling back, slick digits slipping out of your messy cunt as that hot tightness in your tummy dwindles away into a devastating nothing, and you swear you could start sobbing— “Girlfriends’ calling babe.” She nods over to your phone with a twinkle in her blue eyes.

“Wha?— god— I don’t— I don’t fucking care!” It’s a pathetic noise that leaves your lips as your hand darts down to try and grab at hers, guiding it back to your throbbing pussy, “Just— please put em back in Vi, please, please.” You mewl, tears trickling down your cheeks.

And she’s half tempted to— rough fingertips teasing along your sticky folds— if it wasn't for the violent banging at your front door that sounds out through the apartment, ripping through this little moment and you can’t help but whine— frustrated. “Well that’s a shame isn’t it baby? Have fun tonight.” A teasing smirk plastered across her lips. God, you hated her.

You spend the night with uncomfortably wet panties, nothing but Violet on your mind— Violet who spends her own night finger fucking her cunt, the same fingers that were in you. What a damn mess you’ve gotten into.

[eraserbread]

megumi's babysitter x dad!jo

"and they lived happily ever after... the end."

next to you, tucked politely under his covers, megumi scowls at nothing, soft cheeks all bunched up and unimpressed. he doesn't like bedtime stories, but his dad insisted he open his imagination at least once a day. come to think of it... his dad has quite a few odd requests he insists upon.

"even you don't believe that, do you, nana?" for his age, megumi is extremely well and thoroughly spoken. he calls you by a nickname, because he prefers it over yours, and his dad introduced you as a nanny, though you were more his babysitter. you just let the kid say what he wants, correcting him isn't what you should spend your energy on.

"in some circumstances, yes," you mutter, kicked up in his big, downy bed. he's so babyish when he's sleepy, trying everything to keep his eyes open so he can hear your response. you laugh softly. "alright, megumi. I'll stop bothering you."

"is my dad home?" he asks as you slip out of his bed, eyes finally fully shut. glancing at the clock on his bedside, you nod.

"he should be. i'm sure he'll come kiss you goodnight."

"don't want him to kiss me goodnight." he grumbles, then succumbs to the throbbing pressure of sleep. it happens so quickly with children, you're almost jealous of how peaceful he looks when he's asleep.

you laugh at his early set pessimism, turning around to leave the room and him to his sleep.

you're humming a tune buried deep in your mind as you gently close megumi's door. the lights in the hallway are off, just like you left them, but towards the kitchen, a warm spill of light coats the expensive wood flooring.

you smile, knowing there's only one person flicking on that lamp. as you approach, familiar laughter booms from around the kitchen, your silent footsteps are strict and strong as they make their way to your... boss.

yeah, boss is easy enough.

"ah, suguru, you know that's not true. i only told her what she wanted to hear." gojo leans over his counter, freakishly long forearms resting on the cool marble. he's yapping about on the phone, messy, light bangs covering his beautiful face.

"look who it is!" he notices you immediately, holding the phone from his ear so he can shoot you a wave. "is megumi asleep?"

"won't be for much longer if you keep yelling like that."

he laughs again, sending a silvery hot wave of shivers through your body. there's something here with you two. something both of you partake in and never mention outside of the headiness. a piece of you knows it's wrong, taboo, almost. but gojo is so well-behaved around his son that it doesn't really matter. megumi could be in the attic, and he in the basement, and gojo would still never utter a curse.

let alone show you any ounce of devotion or sensuality.

you're not quite sure why that concept is barreling toward a change tonight.

maybe it's the way he looks in those pressed, black dress pants or how his gold rings shimmer on his long, long fingers. perhaps it's that special, sharp-toothed smile that does you in, but you're in,

and you're drowning.

"well, that's not a very funny joke."

"i don't joke." you don't mean to sound aloof or off-putting, and gojo understands that. he thinks you and his megumi are very much alike in terms of personality. it seems he reels in the quiet, mysterious kind with his stupid dad jokes and caring archetype.

"'course you don't." gojo mutters, then turns back to his phone conversation. "megumi's babysitter’s in the room, I'll call you back... alrighty friend... see 'ya..."

"he had the rest of his noodles from yesterday for dinner... made sure he did all of his homework and cleaned out his backpack for him, too."

"and you made his school lunch?"

"yes, sir."

"and a nighttime bath? they're his favorite."

you nod. "hair washed, too."

"good, good." he stands up straight, blue dress shirt clinging to his familiar, dewy skin. you can't help but trail your view from his glimmering lips, down to the gold on his neck that runs into the collar of his shirt... so mystifying...

he's getting less strict around you, now. you can tell when he walks over to you, smirking the corners of his lips up. instantly, you're standing up straight, lips parted as he closes in.

he's not usually so careless, but you look so beautiful right now. you treat his baby like he's your own and are thoughtful and motherly to the core. it's based in everything you do, even to the way your hand reaches up to cradle his cheek when he kisses you.

this is your reward for a night well done. a kiss to the lips, his long arms crossed around your waist, and your name in the air. one kiss doesn't suffice, he has to pull you in closer, arching your back with the strength of his grip as he kisses you again.

then, again.

and again, this time. tilting his head so he can deepen it. his tongue is peeking from his lips, sliding against the swell of yours before they're tasting your sweet warmth.

he only pulls away because he's breathless. so are you -- flushed to the core, as well.

"wh-what was that for?" you're looking away, pressing the back of your wrist to your lips as you blush uncontrollably. he's just smiling at you, still holding you tight.

"a bonus for a job well done." then, he's pulling away, leaving you cold and touchless.

he's never done more than that, and that's the most he's done. you understand it's out of respect for you and professionalism, but when you're being pulled into rooms and kissed while on the job, it's inevitable that those lines start to fade together until they dissipate completely.

but you don't want any lines with your boss. you want him on top of you. you want to tangle your hands in his hair and stare into his freakish blues until his gaze feels like home.

"again - great job, today. gonna go kiss my megumi goodnight. feel free to take your leave whenever you're comfortable!"

"uh-" you start, but he's waving you off, back facing your reddened face. "okay..."

[missadangel]

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 2: Cinderella

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Chapter Summary: You didn't expect things to turn out this way when you agreed to go on a second date with Harry. You can’t deny your feelings for him, but now you have a tough choice to make. His great personality makes every moment feel like a fairytale, but deep down, you know it has to end eventually. Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 7k, oops (next chapter will be intense one) authors note: I'm so glad you all showed so much love and interest in this story! Thanks a ton, everyone!

In the morning—just like every other morning—you put on your housekeeper's uniform and got yourself ready for the day. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you let out a sigh. The fancy dress you wore last night was tossed over the chair behind you, a total contrast to the outfit you had on now. You smiled at your reflection, thinking about how nice it was to wear something elegant, even if it was just for a little while. But then, reality hit you, and you sighed again, remembering what had happened the night before.

Your phone buzzed as you pulled your hair back to put it in a bun. But before you could grab your phone, there was a knock on the door. One of the other housekeeper girls peeked in and gave you a look. You could tell right away that Melanie had sent her.

“She wants to see you,” she said with a nervous grin.

“Of course she does,” you muttered, walking over to your bedside table to get your phone. Before stepping out, you unlocked it to check the latest message. You usually kept in touch with your cousin Zoe, who lived in a small apartment in Brooklyn. She was the only one who reached out from time to time. It had been months since you last saw her, and it had been three years since you saw your parents, who lived in the countryside of Atlanta. However, that was okay; you and your dad had never really gotten along after your mom passed away. 

But the message wasn’t from Zoe; it came from a random number. You opened the notification and saw:

“Morning, kitty. Starting my day by hoping yours goes well.” 

It took a second for it to click who it was. 

Harry. 

Seriously? “Kitty?” He was something else, alright.

Just then, you heard Melanie’s voice squeaking out your name—like always. You weren’t in the mood to deal with Harry's message anyway, so you stuck your phone in your pocket and left the room.

Harry held his phone in one hand while sipping his morning coffee in his penthouse apartment, which offered a glorious view of New York. He was so eager for your message that he hadn’t even noticed his personal assistant, Oliver, had arrived.

“Earth to Harry,” Oliver said, snapping his fingers to get his attention.

Harry looked up, set his cup down on the counter, and leaned back in his chair. “Hey, Ollie.”

“Is there a problem? Is it bad news from the market?” Oliver asked.

Harry took a sip of his coffee and shook his head. “Never mind.”

"Looks like you haven't had time to settle in yet, huh?" Oliver commented, glancing around the flat. "Some cleaning staff from the company will be here this afternoon. I've also arranged for you to see Hudson before lunch, as you requested."

“Great, thanks,” Harry muttered, still focused on his phone, a frown on his face.

“Oh, by the way, the matchmaker called me. She wants to know how last night’s date went.”

Harry checked his watch, clearly disinterested. “Nineteen minutes. She must’ve seen my message but still hasn’t replied.”

“What did you even say? Harry Castillo waiting for a text back from a girl? Someone pinch me,” Oliver mocked, widening his eyes.

Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Was your date really that amazing? You weren’t so hyped about it before you left.”

He knew Oliver was right. This was only his second date since coming back from France, and he was starting to feel a bit desperate.

“So I guess miracles do happen,” Harry said with a grin.

Oliver folded his arms and leaned against the counter, looking bewildered. “Are you serious? You didn’t even like that girl’s résumé. You said, if I remember correctly, ‘It seems like a waste of time, but I’ll give it a shot.’”

“Even great Harry Castillo can be wrong sometimes,” Harry replied, grinning as he took another sip of his coffee.

“Wow, that’s definitely not like you, man. What did she do to you?”

Harry smiled. “I don’t know, but whatever she did, I want her to do more.”

“You’ll see her again, then. Should I cancel the other dates, or do you still want to give them a shot?” he asked.

Harry stood up, took his jacket off the chair, and put it on. “Cancel them all. In fact, I want you to clear my schedule for the next three days.”

Oliver knew what that meant. It was the same way Harry had acted the last time he had a crush on someone—clearing his entire schedule for a few days for that special girl. But, in the end, she wasn't the one. He just hoped this wouldn’t end the same way this time; he didn’t want to see him heartbroken again.

"He wants to go on a second date?" Melanie's voice echoed through the room—no, the entire mansion.

"For the fifth time, I'm answering your question. Yes, he does," you said with a grunt.

She stared at you. "Oh wow, look at her. She can joke too!"

"It wasn't a joke, but whatever," you replied, crossing your arms.

"Stop it and tell me how to get out of this," she barked.

"Should I tell you? It wasn't even my plan."

"My plan was solid until you messed it up," Melanie complained as she paced around the room.

"Is it my fault the guy likes me? I told you, this was a risky game from the start."

Melanie stopped and squinted at you. "Do you like him or something? Maybe you were flirting with him."

You laughed hysterically. "Flirting? Believe me, what I did was far from flirting."

Melanie took a moment to think before starting to pace again. "Ugh! Why then? Is it because of my name? Yeah, gotta be. He’s smart; he knows my dad is a big deal. Maybe he’s just after a marriage of convenience."

For some reason, that sounded ridiculous to you. If Harry was like that, he would have married another businessman's daughter a long time ago. He wasn’t the type to be rejected, both for financial reasons and due to his personality. He was a wonderful person. Wait a minute—why were you suddenly thinking that? Did you really hold feelings for him? No, that couldn’t be right. Besides, you needed to focus on solving the problem at hand. But then you suddenly recalled the moment he kissed you; the way his lips brushed against yours, the warmth of his hand on your skin—it was an unforgettable feeling and—

"Aren't you listening to me?" Melanie's squeal pulled you back to reality. 

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks and took a deep breath. "I've been thinking about how to get out of this," you lied. 

"There’s only one way out, and we have to do it fast, or this is going to get out of hand. Dad will be leaving for Europe this afternoon and will be away for a few days. We need to sort this out while he's gone."

That was good news, but you were still uncertain about when Harry would take you on a second date. You hoped it would be this week. Melanie picked up her phone and dialed someone. "Nate, I need you to do something for me. Meet me tonight."

Nate. 

He was Melanie's friend who always cleaned up after her, another guy with a wealthy father. Nate's father was a media mogul, and thanks to him, Melanie's dad, Jack, had managed to keep his daughter's many scandals away from the paparazzi and out of the press—that's how powerful Nate's father was. However, you really didn't like Nate. He was a wild card, the type who would hit on anything that moved. You definitely didn't want to meet him.

Fortunately, Melanie was meeting him at the club tonight, as she often did. Before she left, she warned you to find out when Harry was taking you on your next date.

You might have thought that Jack leaving the mansion would give you a sigh of relief, but his wife was even harder to deal with. She was hardly ever around, typically ignoring her daughter, yet they shared a strange closeness. They seemed more like friends than mother and daughter. Melanie had adopted all her mother’s habits. However, what her mother wanted from you was different.

“Shouldn't you be the one convincing Melanie to meet that guy? Do you have any idea who Harry Castillo is? Ugh, who am I talking to? Of course, you don't. I would love for him to be my son-in-law; it would be so good for our family. Just imagine the look on those snooty society women’s faces when they find out he’s marrying Melanie!"

She went on and on. You had to nod in response to her accusatory speeches; if you said anything negative or, heaven forbid, argued with her, she would start insulting you. Yes, this woman seemed to be aware of everything her daughter did, yet she never found fault with her. You were always the one to blame. Normally, she wouldn’t have engaged in such a long conversation with you, and you were usually thankful for that, but it seemed she was taking advantage of her husband’s absence to be bossy. It stung your pride, and in moments like those, all you wanted was to quit and leave without looking back. But you endured it patiently, surprising even yourself. Over time, you developed a method to pretend you had imaginary headphones in your ears, listening to your favorite music while this woman scolded you. Yeah, there was definitely something wrong with you.

When you finally got to your room, hoping for some peace, you undid your hair bun, letting your hair fall over your shoulders, and lay down on your bed. You took your phone out of your pocket and unlocked it. Another text was sent from Harry’s number at 5:09 PM.

"Gosh, Melanie, so you do like to talk.”

You could almost hear his voice in your head as you read the message and grinned to yourself. But then you decided to call him—not because you missed his voice -of course you did- but because you thought it wasn’t fair to leave him hanging. You needed to find out when he was planning to ask you out again.

It rang a few times, and Harry answered. "The person you're calling is unavailable at the moment, perhaps because you didn't answer his morning message." he sounded mocking and a little offended.

You couldn’t help but giggle and decided to keep it fun. “Should I just hang up then—”

“No, no, no! Please don’t hang up,” he quickly replied, his tone softening. You giggled again and heard him let out a sigh. “I heard your beautiful laugh, so I’m not upset anymore.”

You didn’t respond, but you were smiling. “Well, I didn’t reply because you called me ‘kitty.’ It sounded like you were talking to your cat.”

"That's what I was doing, kitty." He laughed.

“Seriously? Still?” you groaned playfully. “I have a name,” you said, wishing he actually knew your real name.

“But you looked just like a kitten when you were devouring that dessert, licking your lips and fingers.”

Ugh, did he really have to remind you of that? 

“And I can’t forget the way your sweet tongue touched mine.”

You swallowed, and you knew he could probably hear it on the other end of the line.

“Anyway, get ready Wednesday morning; I’ll come pick you up,” he said after a pause.

“Oh, wow. Thanks for the heads-up, Mr. Castillo.”

You heard him chuckle. “Did that sound a little bossy to you?”

“A little,” you admitted, smirking, feeling like he was right there with you instead of on the phone.

“Alright, let me give it another shot,” he said, clearing his throat. “Miss. Johnson, I was thinking of coming to pick you up Wednesday morning if you're free.” His sarcasm was so endearing, you couldn’t help but crack up.

“I know, fail on my part, right? What can I say? I don’t usually talk like that.” You were still laughing, and Harry was smiling along, enjoying your laughter. “If you’re going to laugh like that, then I should talk like this all the time.”

But then your smile faded; every time he complimented you, it hit you with guilt and embarrassment. The reason you met him, your whole situation, was a reminder that knocked you hard each time.

“Anyway, it’s probably time for you to sleep. Be a good girl and get to bed early.”

“Oh, are you gonna give me candy too, mister?” you teased back.

“I can give you all the candy in the world, just say the word, sweet girl.” His tone felt really sincere, and something inside you believed he could actually do it. 

Why was your heart racing all of a sudden?

"Good night, Melanie," he said, and another truth came to the surface that hit you like a slap in the face.

You just mumbled as you hung up the phone, "Good night Harry.”

You lay in bed for a while, phone in hand. This was not a time for dreaming or getting excited. This was not your life; you weren’t Melanie, the rich girl with a millionaire father living in luxury. When Harry discovered the truth, you knew you would be worthless in his eyes. You couldn't blame him; you wanted this and had to face the consequences. You only wished you hadn’t fallen in love with him; otherwise, you knew you would be the one hurt the most at the end of this story. 

You had never been in love before. In fact, you always thought love was something exaggerated. The relationship between your mom and dad was based on respect and loyalty—always had been. Years ago, before starting this job, you had ended a toxic relationship and moved to New York. You felt free and happy to have escaped it. You promised yourself that when you came to New York, you would shed your southern accent, improve yourself, find a proper job, and start saving money to fulfill your dreams. You were determined not to let any man into your life for a while, but you never anticipated things would unfold like this.

Rolling over in bed, you buried your face in the pillow and moaned. Why did it have to be here and not at some other rich family’s place on the Upper East Side? Just then, something happened to justify your misery: your phone rang. You instinctively knew that only one thing could call you at this hour—trouble. Melanie was out again, and you knew she was in trouble before you even answered the phone.

“Melanie?” you said.

“It’s Nate. Babe, I need you to get over here ASAP. Melanie’s totally wasted, and we had a fight. You’ve gotta pick her up and take her home.”

Babe? 

Of course, it was Nate. You sighed and pressed the phone to your forehead. “Fine, I’m on my way,” you grumbled through clenched teeth.

This was nothing new; you’d picked her up from clubs, rescued her after fights, and kept her out of the paparazzi’s sight. You’d gotten pretty good at all of it.

You quickly opened your wardrobe to change, slipping on some jeans and a blouse, fixing your hair, and leaving your room while muttering and swearing under your breath.

When the driver brought you to the club, you felt a wave of nervousness upon seeing the paparazzi gathered at the entrance. Fortunately, you were accustomed to entering through the back door of such venues, where security was stationed, and you had often seen many famous faces. The driver was familiar with the routine, so you told him to wait with the engine running while you stepped out of the car. After explaining the situation to security, you headed inside. The moment you entered, the volume of the music surged, making it difficult to hear your own voice.

As soon as you spotted Nate, you made your way over to him, pushing a few people aside in the process. You noticed Melanie was barely conscious, her head bobbing from side to side. Nate was struggling to hold her up, so you slipped under her other arm to help.

“Why'd you let her drink so much?” you whispered, trying to keep Melanie steady.

Nate shot you a confused look. “Seriously, babe? Don't act like you don't know her.”

“Whatever, the car's waiting outside,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Okay, let’s get this wasted girl out of here,” he replied.

You both managed to get outside, but your heart nearly stopped when you spotted Harry across the street by his car.

“Crap, let’s turn around,” you said, quickly pulling Melanie to the other side of the street.

“What the hell is going on?” Nate asked, annoyed.

“Harry's here,” you explained.

He glanced over and swore. “What’s he doing here?”

“Hell if I know,” you muttered.

A moment later, a guy and a girl stepped out of the same door you had come through and walked over to Harry. The girl looked just as drunk as Melanie, and to your shock, she wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck.

What the hell?

Harry said something to her, helped her into his car, and then hopped in beside her. The guy must’ve been his driver; he got in the front, started the car, and they sped off.

Nate snickered. “Looks like Harry Castillo’s on the prowl. Nice. I envy him.”

You shot him a glare. Just then, Melanie threw her head back, moaned, and violently vomited on Nate. 

Nate screamed in disgust, “Damn it, Mel! Ugh, that's disgusting!”

“Good riddance,” you said with a chuckle, wrapping your other arm around Melanie's waist while you ignored Nate’s curses as you led her to the car.

You woke up feeling a bit down. You’d stayed up way too late the night before dealing with Melanie, and seeing Harry with another woman was really bothering you. It kinda sucked, but shouldn’t you feel relieved? After all, things weren’t serious between you two. Harry was a good-looking guy, and of course, there would always be women around—that was just how it went. But how could he tell you to hit the sack early and then go out to a nightclub? It didn’t seem fair. 

But who were you to judge him, right? Maybe you should’ve just taken it as a sign to end things for good after that second date. That way, you wouldn’t have felt so sympathetic toward him, and you could have ended it decisively. Yeah, you definitely should’ve done that.

You got out of bed, put on your uniform, and styled your hair. Just as you were putting your shoes on, your phone buzzed with a message. Like yesterday, it was from Harry:  

“Wish I could be holding you this morning.” 

You sighed, whispering to yourself, “Oh, I bet you held someone else last night, didn’t you, Harry?”

You tucked the phone into your pocket, but another message arrived:

“Are you missing me? Yes or yes.”  

You couldn’t help but smile and decided to tease him back.  

“You know there are letters N and O in the alphabet.”  

A few minutes later, came his reply:  

“I’ll erase them from today.”  

How could he flirt with you while he was with another woman? Could there have been a misunderstanding? 

When you heard your name called, you stuffed your phone back into your pocket and headed out. After giving Melanie's mom the scoop on last night, you jumped into your usual tasks. You were called to help the cook in the kitchen. This happened a lot; Danilo, the Italian chef, was an amateur, but he knew his way around food.

"I'm telling you, girl, you should quit this job and start that bakery of yours. You have natural talent," he said as you sat at the counter, enjoying the sesame bread you had just baked.  

"Soon, Danilo, very soon," you replied with a smile.  

One of the girls walked into the kitchen. “Danilo, Mrs. Johnson says her eggs are too greasy. She’s watching her calories and wants them cooked low fat again.” 

Danilo sighed and muttered something in his native language. “Maybe you can take me with you when you open that bakery restaurant? Please?” he suggested, looking at you.  

You nodded, “With pleasure, chef.” You gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and helped him prepare the eggs. 

After you took a tray to the mother and daughter having breakfast outside, your phone buzzed again. Just as you came back inside and picked it up, you heard the elevator ding downstairs. One of the housekeepers was taking a big black box with a red ribbon from a delivery guy—it was probably another delivery for Melanie or her mom, like always. But then you checked your phone and saw Harry’s message:  

“Can’t wait to see it on you.”  

You paused for a moment, then turned around and stopped the housekeeper. 

“Let me see it for a minute,” you said, examining the box. It was labeled Ralph Lauren, and a card was pinned under the ribbon. You gasped as you read the carefully written words on the card: 

For my kitty. 

“I'll take this,” you said, reaching for the box. 

The girl shrugged and handed it to you. She was accustomed to this kind of situation, but what she didn’t know was that this box had been sent to you. You felt a thrill of excitement as you walked to your room, cradling the box in your arms. There had to be an elegant dress inside. 

“Hey, stop right there!” 

That was Melanie. You did what she said and turned around, feeling a bit annoyed. Her eyes went wide when she saw the box. 

“Where do you think you’re taking that? Bring it here!” 

“It’s from Mr. Castillo; he must have sent it for the date tomorrow,” you mumbled. 

Ignoring your tone, Melanie quickly tugged at the ribbon and opened the box. 

“Oh my God! This is from the new season! It's part of the special collection! It was in the fashion show in Paris just a few weeks ago!” She pulled out the stunning black dress and held it up. “This is amazing! I have to try it on right now!” 

“But he sent it for me,” you said, frowning. 

“So?” 

“It would be rude not to wear the dress meant for me.” 

“That’s exactly what we’re looking for, silly, let it be,” she said, zipping the dress up and slipping it on. “Oh, the fabric feels incredible.” 

You couldn’t remember a time when her words or actions had hurt you this much. You swallowed hard, trying to keep all the nasty things you wanted to say to her. “So what am I supposed to wear? The great Melanie needs to wear something elegant, right?” 

She narrowed her eyes at you, looking slightly annoyed. The dress was a little loose on her. You definitely had a fuller figure than she did, and you knew you’d look way better in that dress. Maybe that was why she seemed upset. 

“I’ll let you borrow one of the Pradas I got for my birthday last month,” she said before heading over to show her mom the dress. You just stared at her, and then your gaze dropped to the card in your hand, reading again the words that Harry wrote for you. 

For my kitty. 

Wednesday morning rolled around, and you were feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety. The dress Melanie had given you after swiping yours wasn’t as bad as the other one he sent, but it wasn’t great either. It was strapless, a bit tight, and super long, making it tricky to walk comfortably—you could totally see why Melanie had tossed it aside. After getting yourself ready, you checked your bag and saw a text from Harry: 

"I’m outside. Don’t keep me waiting too long, beautiful."

Your heart began to race, and you could practically hear it thumping in your ears. Before you left the house, Melanie handed you a fancy jacket and reminded you, "When you get back, make sure to get rid of him for good." Her words echoed in your mind as you stepped out of the lift. This time, it would definitely be over—but not in the way she intended. You needed to act mature and honest, like a responsible woman. Regardless of what happened, you had to keep your guard up and not let your emotions show.

When you walked out the door, you froze. Harry was leaning against his car, holding a bouquet of pink roses. The moment he saw you, a huge smile lit up his handsome face. So much for not letting your guard down. All the resolutions you had made moments ago felt fragile, carried away by a light breeze.

As you approached him, you felt those promises fading one by one. Your heart raced to the point that it overshadowed your thoughts. When you reached him, his smile widened, and he leaned in to kiss you on the cheek. "Hi, beautiful," he said, handing you the flowers. You smiled and accepted them. 

“Thanks, that’s really sweet,” you replied, enjoying their scent.

Harry paused for a moment, checking you out. His expression changed a bit. “You know, you look fantastic just the way you are, but I have to ask—did you not like the dress I sent you?”

There it was—the question you had been expecting. It was tough to lie when you had so much on your mind. You wanted to say everything to him, everything, but you just couldn't, and you hated that.

“Harry, the dress was really pretty, and I liked it a lot, but I’m so clumsy. I spilled coffee on it, and I'm really sorry.” You looked down, feeling embarrassed.

Harry frowned when he saw the look on your face and grabbed your hand. With his other hand, he opened the car door for you. 

“Get in, kitty; we’ll grab you a new one,” he said, helping you in and shutting the door behind you. He quickly walked around to the driver’s seat, buckled up, and started the engine. 

“Honestly, you don’t need to do that,” you said as you put your seatbelt on. 

“The most important thing you should know about me, sweet girl,” he said, grinning as he began to drive, “is that I always follow through with what I promise.” He winked at you, pressing the gas pedal and speeding down the road. 

“So where are you taking me?” you asked. 

“I’d rather hear your guesses,” he replied with a grin. 

“Considering how fancy the dress was, it has to be the nicest brunch spot in New York,” you guessed. 

He chuckled. “Nope, wrong answer, sweetheart. Want to try again?” 

“Sure, but I want a hint.” 

“Not without a price. Come a little closer.” 

When the car came to a stop at a red light, you leaned in. He leaned over and kissed you on the cheek, right where you felt yourself blush. 

“Now, what’s your guess?” he asked. 

You thought for a moment. When you think of what rich people usually do for dates, a fancy restaurant comes to mind, but you had another idea. 

“Are you taking me out on your private yacht or something for breakfast?” 

He laughed. “Oh, close, but you’re off again.” 

You made a face and pouted. “Fine, I’m out of guesses.” 

“I see you gave up pretty quick.” 

“That’s not true! I just didn’t want to ruin your fun by getting it right,” you teased. 

He raised his eyebrows sarcastically, smirking as he laughed. You shrugged and shot him a cool smile. 

“Anyway, we’re almost there,” he said, looking pretty pleased with himself.

A moment later, your jaw dropped as you realized where you were. "Harry, wait, this is the airport. Why are we here?" 

He just kept grinning and drove away from the area with regular flights. Soon, he stopped the car in front of a private jet. A couple of attendants came over and opened the doors for you both. 

“Mr. Castillo, welcome! Everything’s ready for your flight, sir,” one of them said, then turned to you. “Welcome, Miss Johnson. This way, please.” 

Suddenly, you felt really nervous looking at that private jet. This was something you never saw coming. Harry walked over, putting his hand on your waist. “Come on, let’s not waste time. We’ve got dinner in Paris to get to.” 

You stared at him wide-eyed. “Did you say Paris? I didn’t even bring my passport, and I’m not sure if I'm ready for that.” 

He chuckled as he pulled you toward the plane. “Don’t worry, just trust me.” 

As you stepped towards the jet, you recognized the guy from the other night—you thought he was Harry’s driver. He smiled at you. “Miss Johnson.” 

Harry wrapped his arm around you as you climbed the airstairs and stepped into the jet. You looked around, completely in awe. You had been on a jet before, but that was just to meet Melanie when she came back from abroad. You’d never actually flown in one like this. This jet looked way more luxurious, with seats for ten or fifteen people that looked super comfy. Harry sat you in the window seat and took the one next to you. Once the door closed, the pilot reminded everyone to fasten their seatbelts, and Harry helped you with yours. 

“Feeling nervous?” he asked. 

“Not really,” you lied. It wasn’t the flying that made you nervous; you had been on scheduled planes countless times. It was just that you had never left the States before. But you couldn’t let him know that. 

The jet soon took off, and breakfast was served. It was like a meal from the fanciest restaurant. 

“Dinner, you mentioned earlier. Is it because we’ll be arriving in the evening?”

Harry glanced at his watch. “Yep. The flight’s about seven hours, and Paris is five hours ahead of New York, so we’ll get there just in time for dinner.” He smiled at you. “But enjoy your breakfast now. Try this,” he said, handing you a piece of lemon-flavored poppy seed muffin. You recognized it from Danilo and realized it was just as good. 

With seven hours to kill, you had plenty of time to chat. You also met Oliver, who turned out to be Harry’s assistant. He was nice and friendly, but to you, he was just another guy you had to keep secrets from. 

Even though you were excited to visit one of the cities you’d always wanted to see, the whole situation felt a bit sour. You were scared—scared of getting too caught up in everything and of things possibly getting out of control. The deeper your relationship with Harry got, the harder it would be for either of you to break things off, especially for you. 

You didn’t realize you had dozed off in your thoughts. You were awakened by the pilot’s gentle announcement, and when you looked up, Harry was staring at you. Was he actually watching you sleep?

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We've arrived."

You quickly turned your head and looked down at the magical city below, shining in all its splendor. Then you looked at Harry. “We really are in Paris,” you said cheerfully.

“Yes, we are,” he replied with a smile.

As the jet touched down on the runway, you jolted slightly. When it came to a complete stop, Harry unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up, followed by Oliver, who came to stand beside him.

“Dinner's ready; they're waiting for you,” Oliver informed him.

"Good," Harry replied, holding out his hand to you. "Come on, gorgeous."

You smiled a little and took his hand as you both stepped out into the stunning city.

“How hungry are you now?” Harry asked as the car drove you through the streets of Paris.

“Hmm, a little. Why?”

“Firstly, I promised you a dress, and I have to fulfill that promise.”

You looked at him. “You're not one to give up easily, are you?”

Harry grinned. “You're starting to get to know me; that’s good. But I still don’t really know you, and I don’t like that. We should fix that, don’t you think?”

You sighed and turned your head to look out over the city. As much as you wanted to, how were you going to share your story with him?

The car pulled up to a street full of famous brand-name shops. Harry got out first, and then you followed. The shop that was supposed to be closed at this hour had opened up just for you. Honestly, you should have stopped being surprised by everything when you were with Harry.

Two assistants came over to help and took you to the ladies' department, bringing you a bunch of dresses to try on. You picked out a couple and modeled them one after the other in the fitting room, showing them off to Harry. After a bit, you started to complain about how tired you were of putting them on and taking them off. Harry suggested you just keep the one you were wearing since he liked it best.

“The black one is awesome,” he said. “But honestly, they all look great on you, so I’m getting them all,” he told the shop assistant. 

“Wait, all of them? But—”

Harry put a finger to his lips and gave you a playful smile, silencing you in a way that surprised you. How could he be so incredible? 

Oliver tossed the bags into the trunk, Harry glanced at your shoes. “We would’ve looked for shoes and bags too, but it’s getting late.” 

“Oh, please, I’m so tired,” you whined. 

“Alright, we’ll look tomorrow. Let’s go,” he said, opening the car door for you.

“Man, I really respect models,” you said as you hopped into the car. “They must be wiped out after those fashion shows.”  

“You’d make a great model; you know,” Harry replied.

“I’ll pass,” you sighed.

"That’s a total bummer for the fashion world," he joked, making you giggle.

The restaurant where Harry brought you for dinner was a breathtaking oasis, with the Eiffel Tower standing proudly before you like a sentinel of romance, shimmering under the glow of the city lights. A soft, warm breeze danced around you, carrying with it the sweet notes of a gentle melody that intertwined with the clinking of fine glassware. The table was adorned with exquisite dishes and velvety wine, while a charming gentleman sat across from you, creating an enchanting atmosphere that felt plucked straight from a fairy tale. In that moment, you felt like a princess swept away by magic, but deep down you were aware that when the clock struck midnight, the spell would be broken, and you would return to being Cinderella. Embracing the fleeting beauty of the evening, you allowed yourself to savor every second.

After the meal, you strolled hand in hand to the Eiffel Tower, embarking on an adventure that lovers had cherished for centuries. As you climbed higher, the city below unfolded like a magnificent tapestry, alive and vibrant, each twinkling light telling a story of its own. You couldn’t help but gaze in wonder at the breathtaking view, and Harry, equally entranced, seemed to find the beauty in you as well. Every gentle touch of his hand against yours sent a thrill through you, and whenever you noticed his intense gaze, you instinctively looked away, each moment thick with unspoken words. You sensed he was waiting for your decision, yet uncertainty clung to your heart.

"Have you made up your mind yet?” Harry asked as he surveyed the expansive cityscape laid out before you.

You turned to face him, your heart racing as you searched for the right words. The weight of the moment pressed down on you, intertwining your thoughts and emotions.

"There's something you haven't told me, isn't there?”

You met his gaze again. "What will you do if my answer is no?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Harry offered a troubled smile and sighed deeply. "I’ll be hurt for sure, but you know me—I won’t give up easily. Still, I'm desperately hoping you won’t reject me," he replied, his voice trembling. Your heart ached as you looked into his eyes. For a moment, you simply stared at each other; time seemed to slow, and the city below blurred into the background.

“So what's the matter? Is there something you've heard about me that's holding you back? What happened in the past is really in the past. I'm not that foolish playboy anymore.”

Now that he had brought it up, it was time to confront what was bothering you inside. “Is that so? I bet you never go to nightclubs either.”

He frowned at the tone in your voice for a moment. 

“You were at he club the other night with a woman—only a few minutes after you told me to go to bed early.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute, I never even set foot in that club... Besides,  she was an old friend, not what you think. Now tell me, what were you doing there after you said goodnight to me? After you promised me you’d go to bed early?”

Oh, you were in trouble.

It was a complete misunderstanding, and you wanted to kick yourself. “I didn’t promise anything...” you responded evasively.

He pinched your chin and forced you to look straight at him. "So you've been a bad girl? I should punish you." He said in a husky voice, his fingers tangled in your hair, going for your neck, drawing you close and kissing you.

The kiss was passionate, irresistible, overwhelming; you were about to lose yourself in his hot breath but were able to stop yourself somehow. He noticed your lips remained still, and instinctively, he paused, pulling back just enough to create a breath of space between you. “There you go again,” he said, his voice deep. “You're holding yourself back, but I can see it in your eyes—you want me too.” 

You turned your head, feeling the warmth of tears pooling at the corners of your eyes, your heart racing as the battle within you intensified. 

“Don’t even try to convince me you don’t want this. What we have is real, special.”

"You are right," you said after a moment of silence. "There’s something I didn’t tell you, and it’s really tough to say. Once I open up, how you respond will really shape what comes next, and I’ve got to admit, that makes me a little nervous, Harry.”

He thought about it for a second, and then he gave you a teasing look. "Did you, like, kill someone and bury them in your backyard or something?"

You stared at him in disbelief but couldn't help smiling; he always knew how to make you laugh. After you both shared a chuckle, you took a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

Harry took your hand and looked you in the eyes. "Look, whatever it is you're hiding doesn’t really matter."

"But—" 

"No, really. When I said you were different, it may sound a bit cheesy, but I truly mean it. I really don’t want to lose you, and I know you feel the same way. So why don’t we just enjoy these next three days together? We can talk about everything when we get back to New York. And if you really did kill someone, I can arrange for a good lawyer for you.” He chuckled, and you covered your face with your hand, suppressing your smile.

“For now, just let it all out." He gently brushed your cheek with his knuckles. "All I want is to see you smile.”

You huffed, “Alright if that’s how you want to do it.”

“Yes. Now give me that cute smile of yours.”

You smiled at him, and he returned it with a bright smile. “Perfect. Now let’s head to the hotel; you must be exhausted.” He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close.  

“Okay, thank you,” you whispered, looking at him. “For everything.”  

He drew you in even tighter, brushing his lips gently against the crown of your head. The intoxicating aroma of his perfume enveloped you, weaving an invisible bond between you. The warmth of his skin radiated against your cheek, a comforting heat that seeped through the soft fabric of his shirt, like a hidden treasure waiting to be uncovered.

After Oliver dropped you off at the hotel, he helped you with the check-in before finally answering his phone, which had been ringing for ages. “Go for Oliver."

“Can I talk to Mr. Castillo? It's urgent!”

Oliver glanced at you as you two headed for the elevator. “He's kinda busy right now,” he said. “Actually, it seems like he might’ve finally found what he’s been looking for,” he added with a smirk, admiring the two of you from afar. “We won’t be needing your services anymore.”

“You’re not getting it—our system has been hacked. I have been trying to contact you. He needs to know about this. The woman he’s with isn’t Melanie Johnson.”

Oliver’s face shifted immediately, and he froze. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”  

"I wish I were kidding! I'm not sure how it happened, and we're still figuring it out. If he can contact me ASAP, I can fill him in on all the details. Please reach out as soon as you can."

“Tell me everything first. I’ll let him know.” He said, starting to listen to what the matchmaking agency person was saying.

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate your comments, likes, and reblogs. I'd love to hear what you think about the chapter!

here's the taglist...

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lots of love

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

I need to see dr robby with a yonger gf 😩 the man is so dilf

a funny thought, imagine if you were at a dr appointment and the Dr's like if you'd like your father to step out of the room so we can talk about your test results

They both just stare like.....👁👁

I personally would die laughing

I hope this isn't too specific for a request 😅

He’s My Boyfriend

main masterlist | the pitt masterlist

pairing: dr. michael robinavitch x female reader

rating: R for language, mature themes

word count: 0.5k

warnings: age gap in relationship, concussion

pairing note: the reader is in her mid to late twenties

author’s note: this was so funny, anon, thank you for the request

You assumed bumping your head on the bedside drawer in the night would hurt, but you didn’t expect to wake up with a splitting headache that made your eyes sensitive to light.

“Shit,” you mumbled.

“What’s wrong?” Robby asked.

“Nothing, just a headache,” you said, sitting up in bed. “You headed to work?”

“Yep, I’ll be back at seven thirty probably,” he replied.

“Okay, love you.”

“Love you too.” 

With that, he quickly kissed you goodbye before he left.

You took some Tylenol for your headache before going about the rest of your day.

**

“How long have you had the headache for now?”

“Uhm…two days?” you replied.

His eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, why?”

“C’mon, you’re getting an MRI,” he said.

“Robby, I don’t need an MRI,” you protested, but he wouldn’t have it.

You headed to The Pitt for your MRI. This was a big deal because you’d never been to Robby’s work before. It was a huge deal.

“You must be the famous Y/n!” Dr. Abbott exclaimed when he saw you and Robby walk in together. 

“Yeah, that’s me,” you laughed him off, your cheeks warming with embarrassment.

“She hit her head two days ago and still has a headache. We’re here for an MRI,” Robby told him.

“Yeah, I’d say that’s a good idea,” Abbott replied. “You know where to go.”

Robby put his hand on the small of your back and guided you to the elevator. You two went to the third floor for an MRI.

**

“Would you like your dad to step out of the room so I can give you the results?” the doctor asked. 

“Uh, he’s my boyfriend,” you informed her.

“Oh,” was all she said before an awkward silence fell upon the room.

“And I don’t mind him being in the room.”

“Well, you have a very minor concussion, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Okay,” you replied with a smile. “That’s great, thank you, doctor.”

“Can I see her chart, please?” Robby asked. The doctor looked at you, and you nodded, giving her consent to share your medical information. She handed your chart to Dr. Robby, and he looked over it with concern.

“Okay, that’ll be all then,” Robby said with a nod, handing her back the chart before she headed for the door.

“Sorry again for…” the doctor trailed off. “...You know.”

“It’s no problem, really,” Robby assured her with a smile.

“Damn that’s a first,” you said when she left the room.

“What? The concussion? I saw the results, it’s really nothing to worry about.”

“No, I mean her thinking you’re my dad,” you scoffed a little. “I mean, it was a little rude.”

“Come on, you can’t be that surprised. I’m two decades older than you,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, well, it was still rude.” You shrugged. 

“How about we go grab dinner and forget the whole thing,” he offered. “We’ll go to that Thai place you love so much.”

That made you smile widely.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

and if it all ended tomorrow (would i be the one on your mind?)

ya! katsuki bk. x reader

katsuki is finally discharged from the hospital and returns home to you after nearly losing his life in battle. coming home to you, he realizes all he has to lose. angst/comfort, and huge dedication to my mha-writing mutuals because you deserve all the comfort and love in the world. @crushmeeren @suksatoru @peachsukii @osamucide (i don't think you write for this fandom but love regardless) @whenanafallsinlove

rewatched the bnha ending and thought to write this. this is timeskip! katsuki so its different incidents, but still, slight bnha ending spoilers. i love you, eternal sunshine

song: intro (end of the world)

“its my line of work, idiot.” he’s told you numerous times. “its part of being a hero.”

“that doesn’t mean i have to like it, kats.”

“yeah?” he scoffs, pulling you closer into him, scars littering his muscles, battle wounds he wore proud. he couldn’t care less about some marks on him if it meant he was doing his job right.

“i’m not gonna die. i’m too good for that.” he says, making sure you’re looking at him in the eye. you smile a little at his cockiness. what a dick.

“i love you, katsuki.”

“love you too, dumbass.”

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

even with his words, the confidence you fell in love with, he still almost got himself killed. his life would have drained. you nearly lost him. it still hurts, even if it is just almost.

all your clothes in the closet he built for you. 2am, raging at building manuals, but still managing it because he can’t say no to you.

but right now, you’re only wearing his clothes. the smell of his cologne is fading, but the warmth is still there. if he were here, he’d probably scold you for not doing your own laundry. but when getting out of bed is difficult? laundry is an afterthought. if he were here, he’d understand that.

when you got the news of katsuki’s injury, the world begin spinning faster. the wind picked up, running through branches and leaves, swirling around you and snatching the breath out of your lungs. knowing his recklessness in his line of work left a lingering worry in the back of your mind, a thought you hoped would never come to fruition. but injuries were inevitable, even life threatening injuries ones. the world keeps spinning even when a pro hero gets hurt on the job.

but seeing him in the hospital, with about 10 different wires attached to him, made the world stop.

the day he went into a coma, so did the world. the sun ceased its heat, so did the night and its chill. his heart kept beating thanks to some high tech machine. yours stopped at the sight of him, on the brink of death.

and the worst part? this wasn’t the first time. you were privy to the first incident- the hit he took to the heart, protecting somebody else, that stopped his heart completely. so in a way, this shouldn’t be new. but it still stings the same. because to you? its so much more than losing your boyfriend.

it's knowing that as a hero, he belongs to the world, and not just you. it's knowing that this is what he signed up for after years of training and dedication. its knowing that the best you can do is support him and wait for him at the end of every battle. its knowing that katsuki would live, and eventually, die a hero.

visits started everyday. then once a week. then only when you were missing him bad, and just wanted to hurt yourself by seeing him on that hospital bed, slow breathing and weak grasp.

and before you knew it, a month has passed with nothing. even with all the reassurance from the doctors that he would be okay, based on his health and resilience, you couldn’t believe it if he wasn’t the one telling you.

he’s still alive, but its hard not to mourn his presence in your apartment. because missing katsuki is such a physical thing- it's his absence, felt in every sense. like his hero mask left on your bedside, but never him wearing it. like a song he told you to listen to because its "good fucking music" but cutting it off right before the chorus. like feeling the ghost of his fingertips over your skin, lips kissing over your shoulder, but remembering that no ones there. an embrace that haunts you, long after its gone.

and soon enough, you're crying again.

anything serves to pass the time- tv, sleeping, reading- but the lingering ache in your chest wants to make itself known. and then there's the fact that even if katsuki made a full recovery, this wouldn't be the last time you're choked down with anxiety, fearing for him in his life, feeling it slip from your fingertips. he's a hero and he belongs to the world. but you do also wish he could just be yours. maybe a little selfishly so.

your laptop is blaring with some show you don't care about. you've changed hoodies again- because this one isn't soaked with tears and you want to wear his clothes- even if you took it from the laundry bin. food sits on the stove, maybe a little burnt, but you're probably not going to eat it anyway. you wonder if he's thinking of you, too, somewhere in murky dreams, your smile cutting through the clouds and shining on him. you wonder if he knows you'd be there, even if the world ended tomorrow. that he'd be the one on your mind. and you wonder if you'd be the one on his.

certainly, you are on his mind to some degree, otherwise he wouldn't be banging the front door with his fist, impatiently waiting to see you.

you yell that you're already coming, rudely pulling the door open to whoever decided to interrupt your pathetic crying session. when you see that it's katsuki? the ground beneath your feet dissolves.

"hey." is all he says at first. he peers into the apartment, seeing the obvious signs that you've been alone. he'd be mouthing off about the unfolded clothes and the cheap fast food wrappers in the trash if he wasn't so focused on the sheer fact that he was finally with you again.

his lips almost curve into a smile, seeing how you can't find the words for a moment. you scramble, almost embarrassingly so, to piece together a sentence: "what... when did you get out?"

he shrugs: "maybe an hour ago."

you have maybe a million follow-up questions, but the tears reach your eyes before words reach your lips. and he's quick to see it, practically catching you into a hug, like your legs were about to give up. he lets himself into the house, shutting the door behind him while pulling you into his chest. just 5 minutes ago, you were scrolling through photos and videos, pretending that a screen could be as good as the real thing. now, you're crying in his arms, his bones and flesh wrapping around you like a poignant reminder that he's alive.

"its okay dumbass, i'm here." he says, head resting on top of yours. he's particularly gentle this time around, cradling your face and making sure you see him. his heart winces a little when he sees the physicality of how bad you missed him- slumped shoulders, eye bags and tear stained cheeks. its the determination in him that wants to end that for you. "i've got you. you're fine."

after a few minutes, you compose yourself, taking a deep breath. "they just let you leave? like that?"

"they didn't let me, i made them." he smirks.

you shoot him a look, because of course he left without better judgement, and he has the audacity to laugh. this is the asshole you wanted back so badly.

"it's fine. i feel fine." he reassures you. "why would i spend longer in some hospital when i've got you waiting for me?"

oh, the urge to fall back in love with him at his loyalty. but you know better: "that's not the point, kats. you could stilll be hurt."

"i'm not."

"okay, but... you still almost died."

he takes a deep breath, knowing that you're right but never saying it out loud. he almost died. you almost lost him, and he can see how heavily its weighed on you. the fact that he could mean so much to someone like this, that someone could mourn the very though of losing him? that someone would think of him, even if the world was ending, the way you have?

maybe he's the one falling in love with you, all over again.

he opens his mouth, about to say something. something probably about how its his duty, that its everything he's worked for. but none of that absolves the pain of knowing his heart almost stopped just a month ago.

"i know you recovered and i'm glad you did. but you almost died. again. and don't lecture me about how it's your job."

his expression is something between guilt and resolve. he's never been good with words, unless it was coming up with stinging insults or a series of cleverly strung-together swear words. but he's still determined to try, like he is with everything he loves.

"babe, i know you're worried." he says, stroking your cheek. "and i really fucking love you for that. but it's my job. it's who i am."

and he's also right. he's a hero, the very foundation of the man you fell for. and mas much as it hurts to see, you'd never want him to stop being who he is. because katsuki bakugou, at his core, is a protector. even if its with his life.

you let out a shaky breath, just looking down. apart of you doesn't want him to see you, see how much of a mess you are. though katsuki knows damn well he'd love you anywhere, at any time, all dolled up or crying in his arms. if you can love him at his weakest, when he's knocked out on a hospital bed for the millionth time? he can love you at yours, too.

"idiot, look at me." he says gently, lifting your face back up.

"what?" you whisper, scared tears will fall again if your voice dares to go higher.

"its my job to protect people, yeah. but i'm not going anywhere. not when i've got you to come home, too. you're my reason, idiot. you're the reason i fight."

theres a pang in your chest when he says that, deep sincerity woven into his words as he speaks. every hero has a something to protect, something to live for- and for katsuki, it's you. without hesitation or doubts.

"you're forgetting i'm still here." he says, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckle. he sits you down on the couch, kneeling in front of you so you can really see him- see his breathing, his moving eyes and warm, loving lips pressed to your skin.

"i'm alive. i'm okay. you don't have to worry, dumbass. and you definitely don't have to be a mess 'cause of me."

you crack a fraction of a smile at that. "you think i'm a mess?"

he huffs a bit of laughter, because you both know that mess is one of the only words that encapsulates what its like to miss katsuki- anger, grief, and confusion thrown onto neglected laundry and albums of photos. but more importantly, mess describes what its like loving him: messy morning kisses, hair sticking up and messy, lovelorn fingerprints all over his heart. "yeah, i think you're a mess right now. only a little though."

you roll your eyes, ignoring that fluttering, nervous feeling he somehow still gives you even after all these years. "yeah, well, forgive me for missing you."

"you know i missed you too." he adds, simple words that resonate deeply with both of you. yet, you still can't resist teasing him a little: "how could you? you were asleep."

he chuckles softly. "i felt it in my bones, my dreams, i don't know. all that spiritual bullshit." he gets up from his knees to embrace you again.

"you might not wanna hug me. i haven't showered in like..." you trail off, embarrassed of the answer. he rolls his eyes, offended by the idea that he cares about that.

"yeah, yeah. i've been in a coma for a month, dumbass. i doubt i smell like roses right now."

"is that your way of saying you don't care?" you smile.

"its my way of saying i love you." he smiles back. "idiot."

because katsuki would love you, even if you haven't showered. if the sun refused to shine, you'd still love him. if the moon went dark, you'd still be his. if it all ended tomorrow, you'd still be the one on his mind.

and that's something he'd risk it all for.

"we should probably still shower, though."

"together?"

"obviously, idiot."

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Summer (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

A/N: I can finally wrap up my romcom! Big romantic gesture ahead. Check the masterlist of this series here, if you are new. And to my lovely, lovely readers, thank you for staying wityh me during this madness.

Warnings: My anxious introverted reader being anxious (Shocker) Cregan has self-doubts. Mature language.

YOU ARE HAVING a terrible day. It surprises you because that doesn’t happen as often any longer. Today, you would rather not talk to anyone, much less Cregan, whose hovering would only serve to make you more anxious. Today, you want to crawl under the covers with your comfort book and pretend to be dead. 

Yet, you cannot. Because you can’t find the damn book anywhere. You are sure the compilation of histories of Old Valyria Daemon had given you has to be in your rooms.

You have pulled open all your desk’s drawers, checked the bedside table twice, checked the bed, even beneath it. Not even your chest with linens was spared. It’s nowhere. 

With little choices left, you have begun searching the nursery too, but haven’t quite mastered the courage to search Cregan’s solar. You remember taking the book alongside you to read as you kept him company sometimes, but do not recall leaving it there. 

You feel torn. Cregan and you are getting along now, but you still hesitate going to him with your troubles. Not only you had leftover guilt even though you have both chosen to move on from your rivalry, you also prided yourself on being independent. 

Asking him or anyone for help always makes you feel uncomfortable. You didn’t want others to perceive you as weak. 

Stop. You are being silly, you tell yourself. It’s not like you are about to ask him to solve your life, you only will inquire if he has seen your book. 

Still. What if he thinks less of you for being careless with your things? Or if he thinks you are being overly sentimental to get this worked up over a book? 

Worse, what if he thinks you are accusing him of stealing? 

You let out a groan. You are overthinking. Your bad days often include a lot of anxiety, and today it is a bad day. A terrible one, that will be worse if you don’t find your beloved book. Determined, you march to Cregan’s solar and knock on his door. 

“Aye?” He calls out, northern accent on full display, and you can’t help that your knees get a little weak.

“Cregan? May I come in?” Suddenly, your bravery and determination have deserted you. Your voice comes out squeaky as a mouse. By the Fourteen Flames, to love is to be humbled, it seems. 

“You always may, wife.” You wince at being addressed as such. You suppose it’s a good thing he isn’t calling you by your full title any longer. 

Pushing open the door, you step inside. Cregan is seated on his desk, a frown on his face. He is squinting at some maps, in the way he sometimes does. His frown softens when he sees you, standing on the door. 

“I enjoy how my colors look on you.” Cregan rumbles, a pleased smile forming on his face. Today, you are wearing one of the warmest dresses you own, in a pale gray. It’s made of velvet, and you enjoy how it feels over your skin. You had commissioned it after you arrived at Winterfell, using the generous pocket money that Cregan allowed you. 

You had to give it to the man. No matter how annoying you had been at first, he had never been tight-fisted with your allowance. 

“Thank you.” You feel your cheeks heating up, and fight the urge to fan your face. What you don’t manage to fight is the urge to preen under his gaze. 

Cregan chuckles. You narrow your eyes at him. Is he mocking you? He lifts his hands in surrender, attuned as he is to your moods. 

“Apologies. It’s cute, that’s all.” 

“The dress?” 

“You.” And it’s said with such disarming honesty, you do not know what to say. You search his face, yet his expression is so open, so fond, no hint of mockery can be found. It’s…  Cregan must be thinking of her, for sure. That expression doesn’t mean anything. “What were you here for?”

You clear your throat. 

“Um. I was… I lost my book.” 

“What book?” Cregan asks, shifting his maps aside. He is clearing his desk, you realize. “The one about the conquest?” 

“No, not that one.” Your voice turns shyer still. Secretly, it pleases you that he remembers what you had been reading last week. “It has a brown leather cover and the title is in gold.” 

“The one in High Valyrian?” And his tone is casual. Far too casual. You begin to worry that your book might have met its end. You look him in the eyes, but find little there. Cregan has an impeccable blank face. He gives nothing away. “Check the selves. Maybe it is there.” 

You turn around and begin doing so. But the more titles you check, the more nervous you become. Cregan is an organized man, his books are carefully separated by subject. The servants know to keep to his order, when he rarely leaves them lying around. 

Your book would stand out. You know it. A tight knot of anxiety begins to settle on your stomach. As you reach the lower shelves, you feel tears gathering in your lash line. You cannot believe you are about to cry over a book. 

Cregan will never love you. He will go right back into thinking you are some soft southron, with no spine. No one cries over books. He will think you are ridiculous. 

Despite your back being to him, he seems to sense something is wrong.

“Love? Is everything alright?” 

“I cannot find it.” You whine, losing your battle with the tears. “My book. It’s really important that I find it.” 

You hear him get up, and walk closer to you. He hugs you from behind, holding you to him. 

“Shh… I know. I have been unkind to you.” You are confused about his words, but not enough that you reject the comfort of his embrace. Cregan is warm against your back, and smells faintly of parchment and leather. There is something herbal clinging to his skin, too. His smell and his size make you feel safe. He is tall enough that his form covers yours completely.“I took your book.” 

You flinch. Your hackles begin to rise. Your sadness leaves, clouded by absolute wrath.  

“What?” 

“I wanted to gift you something. It’s being copied by the Maester as we speak. I wanted it to be a surprise, I know how much you love it.” He nuzzles your neck, and it pacifies you slightly. The prospect of a gift entices you, especially if it is a copy of your favorite book. Perhaps Cregan will have it nicely bound.  “I regret it now. Knowing how much you love it, I should have known it would upset you.”

“I wanted to read it today.” You complain, still sad. It has been an awful day for you. “I do not feel so well.” 

“Of course, sweetling.” Cregan drops a kiss to your crown. “I’ll have it delivered to you. Would you mind lending it to me tomorrow? You can recall it anytime during the day if you need it, like now.” 

“Alright.” You whisper, softly. Cregan gathers you in his arms again, and moves the two of you to the loveseat. There, he settles you in his lap. He takes of his cloak and drapes it over you. This way, you are fully surrounded by his warmth and smell.

He calls a servant. True to his word, the book is back in your hands in less than half an hour. You spend the rest of the afternoon reading in his lap. 

Suddenly, your bad day doesn’t seem so bad. 

WHEN HE FEELS like an inconsiderate brute, Cregan tries to think happier thoughts. While grief and self-doubt do not chase him as much as they chase you, he is still a widower with a wife who despised him at first. 

Often, gazing upon Rickon or you is enough to help him feel more settled. More at peace with himself. His son is well adapted enough, he reasons, as he sees him run around the courtyard. You do not despise him, he thinks, as you curl by his side. 

Today, neither is working. Rickon and you are together, a picture that normally would serve to pull him out from his brooding. Of course, since Rickon is on the floor wailing, it isn’t quite working. 

Cregan has a headache. The pain is spreading from his jaw, towards his cheekbones, and from there turning into sharp icicles that feel like they are being stabbed in his skull. 

The day has been long. He had ridden out at dawn to deal with some wildings near Wintertown, and then had to answer his correspondence. The dammed Greens would not stop pestering him to switch sides and hand you over, alternating between threats and flattery. 

As if the Starks were some miserable turncloaks who betrayed their oaths. As if Cregan would just hand over his wife to some usurping cunts. 

The nerve of those Hightowers knew no bounds. What was next? Demanding a Sept be built in Wintertown for those false gods of theirs? 

And if that wasn’t enough to make his day terrible, during the afternoon Cregan had received an outraged Sara. Apparently, for some unknown reason, she had received an offer to become Lady Cerwin And for another unknown reason, it was the most terrible fate. Ever. 

Rickon keeps screaming. He has been that way for a while. Cregan had been alone with him, watching him play on the rug with his blocks, when he had started crying and wouldn’t stop. 

Cregan had tried picking him up, rocking him, walking him back and forth, but nothing helped. One of the servants must have heard and alerted you because you had appeared looking disgruntled.

You had been in the middle of your quiet time, as Cregan enjoyed calling it. Awkward Princesses who hated socializing needed time to recover from hearing petitions during the day. He had realized so when he started teaching you to pass judgement. 

As the time for Cregan to march south to defend your mother’s claim became more imminent, he was giving you more and more responsibilities in Winterfell. That way, you would be prepared to hold the North when he left. Prepared to protect his Kingdom and his son. 

“Tower! Tower!” Rickon wails, as you pick him. Your face is as tired a Cregan feels. His head is heavy. He cannot stand Rickon screaming any longer. By the gods, Cregan is a terrible father. He cannot even calm his son when he needs him. After his many attempts to calm him down were unsuccessful, he had just set him down. 

“What’s the matter, sweet boy?” You ask, holding Rickon close to your heart. Rickon continues to cry. You meet Cregan’s eyes over his son’s head. 

Cregan shrugs. He is unsure of what triggered the tantrum. 

“Shh, all is well. I get overwhelmed too, sometimes.” You say, and Cregan gets the feeling you are talking to him and not to Rickon. “But we can’t rebuild your tower if you are getting all wiggly.”  

This is about the building blocks, Cregan realizes. He feels like a terrible father. A failure. 

Bennard’s words come to mind once more. How can you govern the North if you can’t govern yourself? You failed.

Your swordsmanship is poor, and you still are a pup crying for your parents. You cannot rule. 

He had heard a variation of those words for years, every time he had tried to push his claim. And look, Cregan knows he is not a poor swordsman, and he has tried his best to rule. Men don’t cry, but he does it occasionally. Rarely. His tears never dry out, no matter how old he grows, but it is the only thing of Bennard’s words that came true. That isn’t so bad, is it? 

You have settled on the floor, Rickon on your lap. He still cries, but he has stopped shrieking. You have started building a tower on your own. 

“I think I will place my princess here. And a dragon here.” You explain, as if you are building some great castle. Rickon stares, transfixed by you. Cregan understands the feeling all too well. He remembers the weight of you in his lap, the warmth of your skin against him, your smell. He has been unable to get the memory out of his mind in days. 

It would be pleasant, a session of cuddling with his wife, were it not for the circumstances that lead up to it. All Cregan’s fault. 

“A shame you want to keep crying and won’t help. I suppose I shall have to ask your father to play with me.” Your eyes are coy. You give Cregan a glance, and his lips form a smile despite himself. Of course you would try bribery. 

Of course, it works. Rickon picks up the first block, still sniffling. 

“No! Father isn't a Princess. You are!” 

“You are right, Rickon.” You agree, as if it were the most natural thing. “Silly me. He is a wolf. We should build him a Wolfswood.” 

And so, Rickon forgets his tantrum, settled by your gentle touch and encouraging words. And Cregan’s heart soars. 

“MILADY, LORD STARK wishes for your company.” One of the serving girls says, eyes downcasted. You pause in your perusal of the granary, making a quick note on your ledger. As the Lady of Winterfell, it falls to you to ensure the castle has supplies enough for winter, or so Cregan says. You find the Northern’s obsession with the season a bit much, but considering little grows here, you too would feel better knowing you have enough grain if something happens. 

“Right now?” Considering he had been the one to send you on this errand, it confuses you a little. He must have known taking stock of the granary would take you all day. 

“As soon as you can come. It’s not urgent, but he wishes to see you soon.” 

You feel nerves creep up on you. Cregan never summons you. When he wants your company, he simply appears near you or waits for a meal to invite you to spend time with him. 

You can’t help it. War and grief had frayed your nerves. These days, you feel like everything could be a sign of bad news. 

It’s not urgent, you repeat to yourself. It’s not urgent, it’s not urgent, you chant in your head, but your steps towards the inside of Winterfell are hurried. 

The castle is unusually quiet. The maid guides you to one of the unused wings of the castle, one near Cregan’s rooms. You have never asked, but you know these were the rooms his uncle used to inhabit when trying to usurp him. The man had never dared taking the lord’s rooms from Cregan, lingering near instead, a feeling you understand too well. 

Your husband is a formidable man. You wouldn’t want to cross him, either. 

The serving girl hesitates when the two of you reach a big oaken door. 

“What is it?” You ask her, with a frown. “Why do you linger?”

She doesn’t answer. She simply shoots you a shy smile. Annoyed at her shyness, you push the door open yourself. Your breath catches. 

When you step inside, it is as if you are stepping inside your storybook. The walls are covered with tapestries depicting some of the prettier illustrations, priestesses wearing amethysts, dragons of shining ivory, lovers holding hands. 

The room is decorated in understated creams and golds, the furniture made of the finest woods. Despite the themes of the decoration, it is clearly meant to be a Lady’s solar, even if not attached to your rooms. 

There is a soft, woven carpet that cushions your every step. It is made of pure white fur, to combine tastefully with the rest of the decoration. You can already tell it will feel like heaven on your bare feet, even through your boots. It must have cost a fortune. 

Near two, giant windows, a low table sits. It holds a vase very familiar to you, shaped in the form of a dragon. It is filled with winter roses, though you had seen it before in Dragonstone, full of your mother’s favorite flowers. 

There is a fireplace, as it is customary in almost all the rooms in Winterfell. On its mantle, small toys and mementos from your childhood sit. Near the fireplace, a small sitting area awaits, with comfortable looking armchairs and loveseats, and a low table in which a tea set, painted with Valyrian motives, rests. 

There is a desk in a corner, much bigger than yours, and a small bookshelf, that resembles the layout Cregan has in his own solar. It has sparse books, but all of them are in High Valyrian. Your favorite book has a place of honor, right in the middle of the highest shelf. 

Yet, the true star of the room lies on the back of it. There is a huge round table, like the one from your stories, made of sturdy wood, that resembles the one from the war room from Dragonstone. Not only are the Seven Kingdoms featured, but also Essos, Sothoryos, the Summer Islands and even Great Moraq. Cregan is in the middle of lighting the table, struggling with how one is supposed to do it. 

“How..?” You babble, astonished. To assemble this… You understand now why he had needed your book so many times. The time and care put into building this room, so delightfully whimsical yet honoring your culture at the same time… Your eyes prickle with tears. 

“We can send it back.” Cregan says, alarmed by your tears. “If you…” 

“No!” You say, with an energy that surprises you. You take the candles from his hands and begin lighting the table the proper way. “This is… My home. And my book.”

Cregan’s face is uncharacteristically unsure.

"I hoped it would remind you of where you came from. Of whom you are. A Princess of Dragonstone. My Princess.” 

“You did this… for me?” Your hands tremble as you set the table alight. All the known world, on display for you. In a war table. It is only then that it registers.  

Cregan is willing to go to war for you. Kill in your name. Lay the whole world at your feet.  You have to grip the back of one of the chairs as to not fall down, knees weak. 

“I know you are far from home. And I haven’t… We haven’t always been on the best terms, but you never shied away from your duties. I wanted to give you something that was about you.” 

“I never thought you saw me.” You whisper. “I… I owe you an apology. For everything. For insulting you, when I arrived, for speaking of Lady Arra, for… For not seeing you either, at first.” 

You have been blind, you realize, as you look at your book come to life in this room. The man who had given it to you had shown you that one could form a family with a widow and cherish their sons as if they were your own.

Daemon wasn't a kind man, but he was loyal to family. You were far kinder. If he could do it, and be happy, so could you.

“There is no need to apologize to me.” Cregan gathers you in his arms, and presses a kiss to your lips. His own are chapped from the cold, yet the only thing you feel is his warmth. And for two people as different as winter and summer, you find that your bodies do understand each other. 

It takes Cregan but a week to convince you after that. The first letter you write in your new desk begins as it follows: 

“Dear Jacaerys, I want you to know that I am completely, perfectly, incandescently happy…”

[xoxochb]

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“get these off.” you begin to throw each of the four blankets off one by one. “I never want to see these again in my life.”

“wait! shouldn’t this be a democracy?” percy hurriedly stops your hands in their movements.

your brows furrow. “there’s only two of us.”

“and mini us.” he points to the seahorse and turtle you had placed on your bedside table.

you sigh. “they don’t get a vote. I’m taking three of those off before I get heat stroke.”

you begin to throw each one onto the floor. you’d be washing the sheets tomorrow morning anyways. percy, defeatedly falls back against the headboard of the bed and allows you to continue until only one blanket is left.

you already feel much cooler. you sit up fully into a criss-cross with your legs and let the blankets fall and expose your exposed and burning skin.

percy reaches out and traces your spine from very top to bottom with his index. it’s oh-so light and sends your skin tingling.

“what’re you doing?”

“am I allowed to just touch you because I can?”

you close your eyes. “then touch me.”

percy smirks. “happily, sweet girl.”

your eyes shoot back open and you turn around, taking the blanket with you so he cannot be distracted by your chest. “that’s not what I meant!”

“well it was a very broad statement.”

you slap his head. “I’m leaving now, perseus.” you roll your eyes drop the blanket entirely and stand up from the bed.

“wait I wanna come with you.”

percy scurries off the bed but you’ve already began walking into the bathroom. once in, you turn on the shower and wait awkwardly for it to warm up to your preferred temperature.

luckily, percy enters and waits awkwardly with you.

but he’s also adhd so that only lasts about three seconds.

“how much longer?”

“go in now.”

he shrugs and enters. you enter yourself right after, not bothering to wait as you’re aware he could always adjust the temperature at his own will himself.

you push him out of the falling of the water so you can enjoy the warmth. he loves you so he lets it slide.

“do you know how you hated that new shampoo I got? the coconut one?”

percy grimaces. he’d complained every second of the day after you tried it out. safe to say he did not like it at all. “awful soap…”

“well! I bought the strawberry one again. I actually bought three of them so I won’t run out for a while.”

“you… are an angel, sweet girl.” percy pushes himself impossibly closer to you, cupping your cheeks and kisses your wet forehead.

you stand up on your tippy-toes and peck his lips before pulling back.

you step to the side for a moment to grab said soap. with this chance, percy steps beneath the shower. when you step back so does he.

you open the cap of the bottle and extend it to percy. you let him smell it first since he has complained for soooo long.

“just as delicious as I remember.”

“happy you like it.” you squirt a portion into your hands before running it through your locks. percy takes the bottle and places it back upon the self.

when stepping back he watches/admires your current form. the way the water runs down your body, the one he has memorized both inside and out from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet.

and the way your hair cascades like waterfalls down your back as you rinse through the soap. and the hands he’d give you anything just to kiss for eternity and to hold and to let touch his very own suntanned skin.

suddenly percy wishes he had asked you to stay in med and partake in a second round of love making.

“sweet girl?”

“perce.”

you take a microscopic step back and pull him flush against you to stand beneath the shower. his hands gently find your waist.

he doesn’t say anything but continues to stare at you.

“you called for me? speak!”

percy shrugs. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

you can’t be mad at that. “well you’re hearing it firsthand.”

“and I’m savoring it.”

fundamentally impossible to be angry with this silly boy.

[spiderb00]

REST IN ME

Anora x reader 

“After everything Ani has been through, the universe has finally given her the peace she has always wanted, you.” 

Genre – Fluff       Warnings – Just comfort, my poor girl has suffered enough 

Now playing – Stargazing, by The Neighbourhood 

Anora was awakened by the rays of sunlight that came in through the half-open curtain. It was only seven in the morning, she didn't want to wake up so early, but just not having to wake up with the noises of the train passing practically inside her old house, she was already happy.  

Turning over on the bed, she reached for you, despite the sun streaming in through the window, she was starting to get cold now that you were no longer there to warm her up. She picked up the phone on the bedside table, looking at the time and sighing, where had you gone so soon? 

Ani had known you a two and a half years ago now, you and she met after all the traumatic experience she went through with Vanya. It took a long time for her to trust you after everything that rich jerk did to her, but at some point, she just accepted that she was falling in love with you. At the beginning of your relationship, she was extremely suspicious, always thinking that everything you did for her was an exchange, something dirty that hovered in her mind.  

All of these thoughts stopped after you confronted her, telling her that you understood all the traumas and that you loved her, but you wouldn't continue in a relationship where she didn't feel totally comfortable with you. After that, everything changed, she told you everything, her wishes, her dreams, her achievements, the bad things and the good things. When you asked her if she missed something, the only thing she said was "It was nice to be a trophy wife for a few days." 

So it was done, you weren't as rich as Vanya, but you could give everything Ani wanted. You worked in the real estate business from a very young age, following in your father's footsteps, the older man had left many teachings for you before leaving, and you managed to make good use of everything.  

Ani is the woman of your life, you knew how hard that girl had worked practically her entire life, and you were more than happy to give her everything she wanted. A house in a posh neighborhood? it was hers. A car? it was hers. Expensive trips? she had. Marriage and children? You were working on it. 

In the midst of all this, Ani understood that there was a big difference about how Vanya treated her and how you treated her. She didn't want to make comparisons, but at one point, it was simply impossible to say that she had the same trophy wife experience with the two of you. Despite the expensive gifts and without doing any work, Ani understood that having sex and watching that spoiled idiot play video games was not very well the definition of a trophy wife. 

 You adored Ani, you would lick the floor she walked on if she asked you to, you were devoted to her. Money wasn't the only thing that made Ani look powerful, you made her look that way. Ani had one certainty with you, you were in love with her, you loved her above all, you would do anything for her. 

In the little things, all the little gestures and attitudes were what made Ani sure that you loved her deeply, the peace and tranquility of being loved that she had never received from anyone before, the calm and peace of knowing that you would solve any problem, as an adult.  

Going downstairs, Ani saw your dog lying in the living room, near the couch. Nico had been rescued by you in an alley, while you were going to visit Ani at her old house. You took him along with you to the date you and she would have that day, it was kind of a pretext for Ani to finally come and live with you. 

You and Ani were sitting on the towel, the little ball of fur lying on your girlfriend's lap, his little eyes closing with the caresses she made on his head.  

"Hey, if I knew you would steal my girlfriend's attention I wouldn't have brought you." You said, a whisper loud enough for Ani to hear and let a giggle escape, lightly pushing your shoulders.  

"Stop, it's not his fault that he's cuter than you." Hearing her words, you threw yourself back, your back resting on the thin fabric, which made you feel the grass beneath it.  

"Ouch, I'm dying! Please someone help me, this beautiful woman just stabbed my heart!" You said, a little too loud, making Ani turn towards you and cover your mouth, still giggling at your childish behavior. 

"Shut up, you idiot, do you want everyone to listen to your little drama?" Ani watched your eyes widen and then you tried to scream again.  

Your muffled words could be heard only by Ani, who still had her hand against your mouth, to prevent a scene. Seeing that you had finally finished with your little theater, she let you go, instantly seeing the big smile on your face.  

"You're so stupid." The brunette said, rolling her eyes as she tried to hide a laugh.  

"And you're very BORING!" You shouted the last part, taking Ani – by surprise – by the shoulders and making her lie down next to you. 

Unable to hide her laughter this time, the woman laughed out loud, making the little puppy jump between you and bark. With your attention focused on the little puppy, you supported your weight on one of your elbows, turning to your girlfriend and placing the puppy between the bodies of the two of you. 

 "So, do you have a name suggestion?" You asked, petting the puppy, who was now lying on his back, one of his paws moving when you scratched in the right place. 

"How about Nico?" The brunette said, something in the way she said it made you think she had been plotting this for a while.  

"I like it. But why Nico?" You asked, seeing if you could get something out of the beautiful brunette. 

 "It's just... A junction." Ani said, more shy than usual.  

"Work it out, baby." Her eyes were beautiful in the light of the sunset.  

"You know, my name is Ani, and people call you Conrad, I just thought, it might be kind of silly..." She looked away. 

Some people close to you called you Conrad, it was your father's last name, and you didn't mind carrying it around a little from time to time.  

"I loved it." You said, taking a strand of hair that fell in front of the brunette's face. You loved the little sparkles in her hair, it was so Anora.  "That's it, Nico. I loved it." You said, approaching and kissing Ani. 

Your lips glued to hers for a few seconds, before you pulled away to play with Nico, who was biting your shirt. If you looked twice, you would see the adoring look that Ani had for you. Anora had never said "I love you" to you, but at that moment, she was stuck, that's all she wanted to say. The fear of being scorned once again held him in her tongue, but it didn't take more than a week for her to say it out loud, jumping with happiness when you gave her the key to the apartment of the two of you. 

Petting the dog's ears - who was now grown up - Ani heard the door open, looking in the direction of the sound and seeing you enter with a multitude of bags in your hands.  

"Hey, are you awake?!" You said, leaving the bags on the kitchen counter and running to the couch to talk to your girlfriend. 

 Leaning in slightly, you kissed Ani's lips lovingly, sitting next to her and petting Nico before taking off your running shoes.  

"I can't sleep when you're not there to warm me up." The brunette said, pulling your compression shirt so that you leaned completely against the couch. 

"Where have you gone, baby? Why so many bags?" Ani asked, snuggling on your chest, when you finished taking off your shoes.  

"Well, I went for a run to the gym and then stopped by the supermarket to buy some ingredients for dinner with my parents." You said, kissing Ani's forehead, making the woman raise her head, your kisses going down to her nose and finally leaving a little seal on her lips. 

 Anora adored your parents, and your parents adored her. Ani was very happy when everything went well, she was very nervous before meeting your mother and stepfather. You had a good relationship with your mother's current husband, he took care of you from the age of fifteen until now, and you are grateful for everything he does for you, and if you were happy, Ani was happy. 

"I'm going to make your favorite." You said, kissing the woman's lips once more. God, you didn't want to let go of her ever again.  

"I love you." Ani's eyes looked directly at yours, you felt like you were in the clouds every time she looked at you like that.  

"I love you more." You joined your lips with hers, a calm kiss full of love. The hearts of both of you beating hard in your chest, the burning love and the flame that never went out creating more strength within you. Every moment like this was like a reminder to Anora, a message that she would never be alone again, that she had you forever. 

"I think we have to enjoy it a lot before we have company in the house." the woman said, her hands trying to take off your compression shirt. 

 "You don't even want to eat breakfast?" You asked, knowing the answer your future wife would give.  

"You're my breakfast." Ani said, kissing your neck and jaw, whimpering like a child when she couldn't take off your shirt as she wanted.  

"Anora, you're going to be the death of me." She smiled. Amazingly, she never felt bothered that you called her by her real name, sometimes even preferring it more than when you called her Ani. "Shower?"  

"Let's start the day, baby." 

Hi guys, how are you? I hope everyone is well.

 This is a little different from what I usually write around here, but I've been obsessed with Mikey since scream 5, so when I saw her in Anora my crush for her ignited again (she never went out).

I needed to write about her, I wanted to write something for Mikey too, in the same style, something fluff, but anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. 

Drink water, stay safe and go watch Anora!

xoxo, spider.