#while simultaneously trying to keep her breathing

[rita-rae-siller]

Gahhh working on backstory can be so dangerous. I'm solidifying the pre-story timeline and now there's all these scenes of Alura and Mara being two idiots that don't realize they're in love with each other buzzing around in my head that won't leave me be

[g0dlyunsub]

warm you.

spencer finds you in a state of hypothermia while the both of you are on a case, and he quickly works to warm you up.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: mentions of cryochambers and torture, hypothermia symptoms, weapons, gunshot wounds, partial nudity, scars, general cm themes

word count :: 2.8k

author’s note :: while this isn’t much different from my other sfw fics, i want to be safe and say that this is 18+!

accompanying song :: warm you by matty and mandaworld

“we’re closest to the address. we’ll head there first.” 

“be careful,” you hear hotch’s voice through the speaker, crisp with a hint of concern.

out of the corner of your eye, you see spencer nod and cut the phone call. he instructs you to speed up, so you grip the steering wheel, press down on the accelerator as hard as you can, and turn on the sirens.

“take a left,” he tells you, and you swerve the car. you blurt out a warning as the wheels swivel, and spencer places a hand against the dashboard for support. before you can apologize, spencer points at the house at the far corner of the street.

“right here!” he calls out, and you quickly maneuver the car to come to a halt. you park the car in front of the driveway and unlock your seatbelt before stepping out of the vehicle with your hand positioned on your holster. 

the house is a lot bigger than you thought, four floors altogether. this is where the unsub was keeping a cryochamber to torture his victims?

“should we wait for backup?” spencer asks as his eyes roam the exterior of the massive building, and you stop to do the same. the both of you already know the answer. a girl’s life is on the line, and the unsub could claim her last breath at any second.

spencer nods at you as he knows what your silence entails. you offer a nod back, then move to retrieve your gun and motion towards the front door. you test the doorknob, and to your surprise, it’s unlocked.

with a heavy inhale to prepare yourself, you jerk open the door and shuffle in, spencer following right behind you.

“daniel miller, fbi!” the two of you simultaneously call out, and you silence your steps to hear for any indicators of the unsub’s presence.

after checking the living room and kitchen, you move to the staircase. you point downwards to let spencer know that you’re heading to the basement, and spencer returns a signal that he’ll move upstairs.

you descend with stealthy steps. halfway down the flight of stairs, the platform creaks beneath your shoe, several wood fibers snapping with a splitting crack. the hairs on your skin stand and your flashlight shakes as you try to steady yourself. berating yourself for being so careless, you continue to tread down the rest of the steps with extreme caution.

it’s completely dark in the basement and your flashlight doesn’t illuminate the room as brightly as you want it to. but when you shine it to your left, you see it – a large cryochamber. right as you try to turn around to check if anyone’s behind you, you hear it – the click of a gun, aimed against the back of your head.

“drop it.”

you stand frozen, paralyzed with the realization that the unsub is right behind you, his gun positioned less than an inch from your skull.

you can faintly hear spencer yell clear! from upstairs. maybe you could stall a bit, wait for spencer to register your unusual silence. but the perpetrator has other plans.

“i said, drop the gun.” his tone is controlled and demanding, and your palms start to collect sweat. feeling your gun start to slip in your clammy grip, you decide to give in.

“okay, daniel, i’m going to put my gun down. we can talk about this,” you offer as you kneel slowly to place the gun and flashlight on the concrete floor. you stand back up with raised arms, watching as the shadow of his gun follows your every movement.

daniel kicks your gun to the far corner of the room and orders you to open the door to the chamber. the barrel of his gun knocks into your scalp, eliciting a sharp hiss from you. 

“go inside.”

you swallow your own saliva, feeling the cold gust of air brush against your face and bare arms as you twist the lever to the door. today was decidedly a bad day to wear a tank top. it’s only when the rigid weapon hits your head once again that you take a step into the room. you bite your lip when you realize the girl who’s been kidnapped isn’t in the chamber. where is she? desperately, you turn around to meet the gun that's leveled right between your eyes.

“listen, daniel, we can just talk about this. none of this is your fault, we-”

daniel growls at your forced attempt to reason with him, and hushes you by waving his weapon menacingly. you clamp your mouth shut, and daniel retreats with his gun still pointed at you. he slams the door shut before you can protest further.

there’s an overhead light in the chamber, and it’s lit with an eerie shade of nordic blue. the surrounding walls are all frozen, and the floor’s coated with a layer of ice fractals. you can see marks of blood tainting the sides, and it looks like one of the victims attempted to fight back with their knuckles. after taking a few staggering steps, you slip and fall to the ground, yelping when the painful impact reverberates through your kneecaps.

it’s too cold. you estimate the temperature to be below negative twenty based on estimates from the victim reports you read earlier. you faintly remember spencer stating that death under such conditions could occur in less than an hour. if only you could retrace back to the conversation and ask him how to maximize your chances of survival.

spencer.

where’s spencer?

you start to shake uncontrollably as the panic settles in, your muscles convulsing and your vision spinning out of control. you loosen your bulletproof vest and brace your arms underneath to gather the last of your warmth. trying to breathe on your hands doesn’t help, since the freezing air instantly neutralizes the heat. 

shit. you need to warn spencer not to come down to the basement, or at least let him know that the girl’s not here.

you click the button on your mic numerous times, cursing when nothing works. there’s static running in the background, and you can’t isolate any sound nor tell if a response is coming through. letting out a frustrated groan, you take off the mic and hurl it to the floor. with chattering teeth, you rub your arms as fast as you can to generate friction before giving up and curling into a fetal position on the ground.

minutes pass, and your labored breaths come out with visible puffs of air while your hair feels hard to the touch, like a layer of gel is smothered all over it. your fingers are numb, your jaw remains clenched, and your eyes are sore from the intolerable cold. you’ve stopped shaking now, which could only mean bad news.

then, all of a sudden, you hear the sound of a gunshot. 

was that spencer? 

oh dear god, did he just get shot? 

you don’t have time to further process your thoughts, because the door’s lever starts to rattle and momentarily after, it swings open.

spencer stands right outside, mouth wide open when he sees your still body, your extremities frigid from the cold.

“medic, i need a medic!” you hear spencer yell into his mic as he rushes inside. he hoists you up with a bridal carry, one arm looping under your legs and the other gently supporting your back. as he walks out, you can see the unsub lying on the ground with a gunshot wound in his forehead. a sigh of relief can’t even exit your frosty lips.

spencer sets you down on the other side of the basement and rushes to turn the heaters on at the maximum setting.

“y/n, look at me.” with one hand almost blazing hot cupping your left cheek, spencer tilts your head to the side slightly.

you look at him with heavy-lidded eyes. after a second of assessing your condition, spencer stands and retrieves spare blankets from the worktable before kneeling beside you. he lifts your head so as to not strain your neck, and wraps a dry, warm blanket around it. 

you hear spencer curse under his breath.

“i-i need to take your clothes off.”

you’re convinced it’s brain freeze that’s making you process his words with a delay.

right. no wet clothes when you have hypothermia. 

you don’t respond. you want to tug at his arm to give him the green light, but even that feels like the most impossible task. you can’t move, you can’t feel, and you can’t even blink. 

but spencer doesn’t hesitate. he tears the top that’s stuck to your thawing skin, lumps the fabric to the side, and proceeds to hastily remove your socks. you hear him murmur a soft sorry as he unbuckles the belt around your waist and unzips your jeans. his fingers fumble clumsily as he pulls on the denim, but he keeps a hand on your waistband to prevent your undergarment from slipping. it’s this little gesture that gets you all worked up, butterflies stirring in your stomach.

he reaches to slide each leg out of your jeans, holding you delicately by your heels. you wonder what you look like from his perspective. maybe a lifeless figure blended with the color of the concrete floor, the only sign of life in your moist hair that’s tangled and plastered to your skin. you wonder if his eidetic memory is capturing every imperfection of your body, and if your scars look even more obvious with the melting flakes of ice coating your skin.

spencer doesn’t leave you exposed for more than a second, though, because he places a heated blanket over your body. his eyes don’t break away from your gaze when he removes his vest, and his fixed stare kindles a spark in your core that you wish never set alight. unfortunately for you, he also starts to unbutton his collared shirt. 

in any other setting, you would open your eyes wide and gawk at him if he pulled the same move, but right now, you couldn’t move a single muscle even if you wanted to. he wraps his collared shirt around your exposed feet peeking from under the blanket before turning to face you. it feels illegal to look at him like this, his upper body bare and towering over you. and while you can’t see much due to the dim lighting in the basement, you can feel your heartbeat quicken.

“i’m… i’m going to use skin-to-skin contact, okay? we’re going to try and increase your internal temperature by sharing body heat,” spencer explains, but not much of it goes through your head. like before, you don’t say a word.

spencer slowly lowers himself next to you and gently embraces your body with his arms. he grunts as your body transmits cold onto his skin, while you close your eyes, relishing his warmth that blossoms throughout your core and extremities. 

“i’m sorry i have to do this, but you can’t produce enough heat on your own,” spencer apologizes, but you wish he didn’t feel like he needed to. his voice fills your body up like it’s an empty vial, and you give in completely to his touch. like candle wax, you melt slowly.

spencer shifts to cover his and your body with another blanket, desperately trying to keep your body exposed to as many layers of heat as possible. he releases hot breaths on your neck and his teeth occasionally graze your sensitive skin, making your eyelashes flutter. periodically, he checks your breathing patterns and listens as the painful gasps make their way into your throat. that’s it, keep breathing, you hear him whisper. his fingers spread along your waist as he tries to widen his grip on you. his touch feels so intimate, it sends your brain into overdrive.

you continue to lie in his hold for another five minutes until the medics arrive. the last thing you see is spencer’s face, wisps of hair falling into his eyes. he seems to move in slow motion, and his mouth moves like he’s saying something to you, but everything whirls into darkness.

you wake with an exhausted groan and look down to see you’re wearing a white gown. you’re on a hospital bed, hooked up to an iv line. as you survey your surroundings with your blurred vision, you stop. spencer. he’s standing at the foot of the bed, and he immediately drops his book with a thud when he sees that you’re responsive.

he rushes to your side, smiling weakly as he holds your hand gently. he has dark circles around his eyes and tousled hair furls around his ears. you feel guilty. did he get any sleep this entire time, or was he waiting for you to wake? how long were you even asleep for?

“are you feeling better?” he croaks out quietly with a slight crack in his voice.

“mm. i am.” you force yourself to sit up against your body’s will, and spencer tries to stop you. you insist with the shake of your head.

“it’s okay. i just wanted to say… thank you, spencer. i really owe you one.”

he blinks while his lips stretch into a thin smile.

“no, i-i actually, um, it was my fault. i shouldn’t have split up with you like that, especially when we didn’t have backup.”

you wet your lips and exhale quietly.

“i was the one who signaled that we split up, not you. none of this is your fault. seriously,” you respond firmly.

you give him a smile, which he returns. as his hand moves to rub a soothing massage along your fingers, you ask, “is the girl okay?”

spencer nods almost immediately.

“yeah. i found her on the third floor, and she told me that he was keeping her in the basement until we arrived.”

“i see,” you croon. spencer gets the hint that you’re tired, and he calmly lowers your hand.

“if it makes you feel any better, technically, we didn’t really… um… touch. at the macroscopic level, yes, but at the atomic level, the atoms of our skin aren’t free floating. they’re bound as part of a larger network, and so intermolecular forces keep our atoms from forming strong bonds-”

you let out a weak laugh.

he catches himself and quietly apologizes. “my point is, i’m sorry if anything i did made you uncomfortable.”

you reach for his hand and trace the veins that mark his skin.

“spence, are you kidding? you saved my life. if you hadn’t done that, i wouldn’t be talking to you right now. i’d be dead.”

“don’t say that,” spencer reproves you quietly.

“well, my point is i trust you with my entire life, spencer reid. i really do.”

spencer smiles and takes a deep breath, running his other hand through his hair as he looks at you with tired eyes.

“thank you. thank you for trusting me. i’ll … i should let you rest.” he slides his hand out of your grasp and moves to pick up the book from the floor, but you give his shirt a light tug.

“actually, spence–”

he turns around, curious eyes ready to listen to anything you have to ask.

“do you mind staying a bit longer?” you smile sheepishly.

spencer looks at you for a second, like it’s the last thing he’s expected you to say. but he immediately warms up with a wide grin. “sure, of course.”

you pat the space next to you on the bed as you shift to the edge. 

“come on, have a seat,” you say with an inviting tone.

“are you sure?” he confirms, a surprised expression painting his face. you nod, and he sinks into the bed, gently lifting your arm and lowering it onto his lap.

“you like the color red, right?” spencer asks out of the blue, and you furrow your brows.

“yeah, why do you ask?” you return curiously.

“i got you a new top. to make up for the… other one,” spencer coughs as he finishes his sentence. you giggle, burying your left cheek in the pillow as a blush creeps over your cheek.

“you didn’t have to, i really appreciate it,” you whisper, and you feel his fingers tighten around yours. spencer looks away shyly, but you can see him purse his lips to suppress a smile.

you repeat thank you's to him over and over again, each time feeling the weight of comfort pull on your eyelids and draw you closer to sleep.

[ange1heavensent]

━Steamy Shower Sex━

Pairing: abby anderson x fem!reader

Content Warning: +18 content, minors do not interact, shower sex, making out, fingering (r! receiving), porn with plot

w/c ≈ 1270

Your body ached. You were cold and tired. You had just come back from a team patrol. It was late at night, therefore the hallways echoed with each step that you took. As much as you wanted to close your eyes and let your body fall into bed, you decided to make your way to the showers. The clothes on your body were stuck onto you, fully drenched from the Seattle downpour and mud had infused into the fabric from accidental falls during combat. The fluorescent light in the locker room was not kind to your eyes as you peeled off the soaked fabric off your body.

You stood in the shower, trying to submerge yourself in the warm water. The shower curtain that surrounds you helps to keep the warm steam close. The rest of the shower room was eerily quiet this time at night, the only thing that could be heard was the water droplets echoing as they hit the floor. That was until you heard the door to the attached locker room open and then slam shut, which startled you out from your tired haze. 

Someone stepped into the shower room, without announcing themselves. So, as you scrubbed your vanilla soap against your body, trying to get rid of the dirt from the patrol, you called out to the mystery person. “Hello?” after a beat the other person answered “it’s Abby,” you released a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. “Anderson, you scared the living shit out of me!” you proclaimed, as she stepped into the other shower beside you. A chuckle and a “sorry, Y/n” could be heard from the woman on the other side of the shower curtain. You wondered why she decided to shower beside you, guessing that maybe she felt conversational. Your guess was right as she asked “How are you holding up?” “I’m alright, a couple of bruises here and there, a quite gnarly one on my hip though.” You answered, before turning the question to her, “I’m good, not even a scratch,” she answered back. “Way to rub salt in the wound, Anderson,” you said out loud with a chuckle. Another apology was uttered by Abby before she asked “How bad is the bruise?” “You can take a look at it if you want,” you answered back. 

You didn’t think she would actually do it, but then the shower curtain moved and Abby’s naked figure took a small step inside. Your arms came up to cover your breasts and Abby tried to keep her wandering eyes at bay. You turned so your hip would face her, neither of you saying anything until Abby broke the silence with “Is it alright if I touch it?” You nodded your head, while humming out a consent. She reached her hand to your hip, carefully grazing it against your purple skin, unconsciously stepping closer to your body. You looked at her movements attentively, you couldn’t keep your eyes away from her, and why would you. 

Her body was drawn towards you, she seemed to inch closer and closer, then her hand started moving towards your lower back, wishing to press your body against hers. “Is this okay?” She whispered out, you whispered back a breathy “yes.” You were now fully pressed against her except for your arms still shielding your breasts. Abby gazed into your eyes, it seemed like she was looking for something, you didn’t know what, but underneath her soft gaze you felt a blush and a smile creep its way onto your face. That reaction might’ve been what Abby was looking for, because she started to slowly lean her head closer to yours. Then you felt her lips on yours, the kiss was soft and careful at first but grew to be more messy. Your arms slung around Abby’s neck, and the two of you were now fully pressed against one another. Abby felt your pebbled nipples pressed onto the skin of her chest, which turned her on even more.

Abby moved her head down to press kisses onto your neck, as her hands simultaneously moved to grab at your ass. You moaned into the steamy air, when Abby was lightly nipping at your neck, then decided to mirror her actions. Your head was buried in her neck, still smelling the scent of rain that lingered in her wet hair. Then you were moved around and your back was pressed into the cold white tiled wall, you shuddered. The two of you were dishevelled, both faces red from the shower steam, hair clinging to every surface and both had a growing need of pleasure. 

Abby’s hands had been roaming your body, until her left hand grabbed onto your right thigh moving it upwards to press it against her hip. Abby looked at you again, with that same look from before, you now knew what it was, she needed confirmation that you wanted the same thing as her. You looked at her face, it was flushed from the heat, expression just as soft. One of your hands came to move some wet hair from her face, as you gasped out “Abby, I want, need, you to-” She cut you off by capturing your lips in a kiss, moaning into your mouth, as her right hand which had been resting against your hip moved in between your legs. 

Her fingers brushed against the length of your pussy, collecting your wetness to rub her fingers against your clit. You moaned into her mouth, she parted her lips to whisper, “you’re so wet, baby.” “All for you, Abby” you said, before pressing your lips against hers yet again and Abby couldn’t help but to moan at your statement. She decided to move it along further by moving her fingers down and inserting two of them. Your fingers tensed, digging blunt fingernails into Abby’s shoulders. You gasped as she started to move her fingers, curling them slightly. The pace that she set was slow, it felt really good, but you got impatient and needed more. 

You started to grind and buck your hips against her hand, trying to signal to her to move faster while simultaneously, with a breathy moan uttering “please go faster, Abby,” and she did just that. Abby moved her fingers faster, while you grinded against the palm of her hand. It did not take long for you to build up to climax with her hand between your legs, her warm skin against yours, her moans and her encouragement for you to cum. Your body arched off the wall and your toes curled as the orgasm washed over you. Abby’s fingers moved as your hips bucked into them, but halted as you relaxed against her body. You were slightly leaning against her for support and soft praises were whispered from her lips.

She let go of your leg and you now had both feet on the floor, however you were still leaning against her body, enjoying the way she felt against you. Abby moved the two of you to the stream of water from the shower head above you, thankfully it was still warm. The two of you were basking in the warmth of the water but also in each other's presence. “You smell good,” Abby remarked as her head laid against your shoulder. You hummed, that giddy feeling spreading through your body, “It’s that vanilla soap” you said. She hummed, reaching for it on the shower shelf, “I like it” she said, as she lathered in her hands, then moving them against your body, washing you for the second time today.

:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:

Thank you for reading! If you liked this fic, check out my masterlist for more :)

[dcxdpdabbles]

So, apparently Batman can summon a magical armor when needed to fight supes, but imagine if instead of the weird green thing he summoned the fright knight armor and bonded with it, making him the new second in command for the ghost king.

"Why are you wearing that?" A glowing child demands, appearing mere seconds after Bruce has been able to restain Clark and his kin from the mind-controlled rampage. It had been an intense fight with the puppet master, forcing the Kyptorians to continue fighting despite the Kryptonite poison they suffered.

Bruce's contingency plans all involved defeating and capturing the Justice League but never killing. This meant that his typical plans of rendering Clark and the rest of the Supers powerless weren't working, as the others were actively forcing themselves to fight and coughing up blood simultaneously.

He had to resort to his final plan, which only worked in theory because Bruce had no magical bone in his body. It was from a ritual he found deep within some recently discovered caves in Illinois.

A magical armor that gave him the strength to take Clark, Kara, Kon, and Jon head-on. It was an hour-long battle, the armor taking hit after hit while a green flame sword allowed him to make calculated hits that finally took down his friends.

The rest of his comrades had taken the opening to stick them with the cure for mind control. The rest had rushed the puppet master, calling herself Mind-stress, whose magic web was not large enough to control them all.

She had fallen to Wonder Woman's blade, and the Supers had been able to receive much-needed medical attention when her spell snapped.

At once, the Justice League moved to handle the damage, tend to the wounded, and begin the first stages of cleanup.

Things were finally over.

Bruce's knees buckled under the strain, forcing him to stab the ground with the glowing sword to keep himself upright. His black armor shimmered in the first lights of dawn as the sun rose. It had been a battle all night, and Bruce was ready to go home and pass out.

He gasped through heavy breathing, feeling every ache and bruise now that his adrenaline was no longer pumping through his veins. He allowed his eyes to slowly close when the sword in the ground pulsed, sending out waves of green flames that Bruce had not intended.

His eyes snapped open at once, horror settling in his bones as the flames raced forward and created a portal. Bruce had no idea what was happening, which made him extremely anxious and reminded him why he hated magic.

"B!" Nightwing yelled. "What are you doing?"

"It's not me," He growls back, trying to pull the sword out, but it remains stubborn in the ground. Briefly, he thinks of Alfred's fund and tells of King Arthur. "It's the armor! It's summoning something!"

Before anyone can react to his words, the portal finishes forming, and out pops a glowing child with white hair, a burning crown, and a flowing cape. He was dressed in a stereotypical out of a King of Old.

A King or at least a royal.

The boy narrowed his eyes at Bruce, repeating his question, "Why are you wearing that?"

Bruce tugged on the sword, but it did not budge. He didn't answer, attempting to determine whether the child was a foe or friend, but his silence must have been taken incorrectly.

The boy's crown burns brighter, and his ring glows as his eyes flash. He points at him menacingly, and there is a sudden chill in the air as his voice drops. "I never hired you!"

Bruce has a second to wonder what that means before the boy leaps at him in a screech. Flash races to his position, moving Bruce out of the way of a frighteningly fast blast of green flames, while Wonder Woman launches herself to meet the boy's attack head-on.

Her sword clashes with his fist, a wave of force blowing the slight smoke of his ray attack. She struggles to keep him at bay, being thrown back and bracing against the hard ground as the boy continues to push against the metal.

The green lanterns quickly surround the fighting duo, encasing them in a cage to capture the attacker. With a punch, the boy flings Wonder Woman away and blasts his way out of the green cage.

"I never hired any of you!" The boy sneers

Later, he finds out that the armor belongs to the Fright Knight, the second in command to the boy's army. He's also the Ghost King which makes losing to him a little easier to swallow. Bruce also would like it to be known that the Justice League was bone tired from fighting the Kryptonians.

It still stung that Phantom, Ghost King, had defeated them all and attempted to give Bruce court papers to sue him for impersonating Fright Knight.

When it became clear that Bruce had actually made himself the new Fight Knight but had successfully summoned the amor, King Phantom switched the documentation for a pink slip.

Sadly, that didn't seem to work either, and Bruce found himself with his new title, Fright Knight, trusted upon him much to King Phantom's displeasure.

It was a shared sentiment.

[kombuuuu]

Can I request Miles 42 bullies you at school and is always bothering you but he gets mad and tries to fight someone else who is bullying you because he’s the only one who can be mean to you😩😩‼️

Deflecting.

Earth42!Miles x Fem!Reader

“I would get your hands off her if I were you, homeboy.”

This one is kiiiinda violent, not by Miles mostly be warned C:

PART TWO !!

such a cute wife (throw me on an island to live in my delusions)

You were quiet, silent most days. Not stepping out of the very thick circle you’d made for yourself consisting of just you.

And yet, still.

Still, the mere thought of keeping to yourself as a permanent transfer student would make even the most daft of people scoff.

You weren’t anything special, you were void of attention, and happy that way. Acted appropriately and left anger at the door. Had nothing and no one to complain to, so why make problems for yourself?

You’re entire life was just floating along your schooling and waiting patiently for the day you left. Even if you were the rare case of “Got transferred half way through the year because the school saw potential!” girl, you’d just wanted to be left to yourself.

But even the premise of that seemed almost impossible now.

Because ever since you were pushed by some rushing kid straight into Miles Morales, tripping him over with you. Him and his asshole friends had made it their life mission to bother you.

“The cute new girl?”

“Yeah, the one that—,” The first boy glanced at Miles. “,—tripped on.”

“Oooh, shit—, She’s fucked.” The other man whispered back, laughing under his breath. You could feel his taunting stare at the back of your head, and when you checked your peripherals, Miles was sending a sickening glare your way.

You sighed.

—

The ache in your head was probably the only thing keeping you awake.

The day dragging longer than usual had you right about ready to get home and knock yourself out within a minute of being in your bed. Your hand slowly dragged down your face, taking a deep breath and stuffing your jacket somewhere in your locker. The heat of the school mingling with the temperatures the Summer was providing and then adding on the rain from the prior day? You cursed Brooklyn and its humidity. Reaching to close your locker, you finally fit the jacket in the already cramped space. A little piece of the fabric poked out, and you pushed it in while simultaneously trying to keep everything else in too. Pulling a face before you finally managed to get it shut, and slip your finger out before it can get trapped. You turned the key into the dumb metal and scowled at it before pocketing the key and turning to leave.

Being so engrossed in your feud with the locker, you had failed to realise the very man who’d given you this headache, leering over your frame. Turning straight into his chest and reacting in a pained groan, gripping your forehead in displeasure and glaring up at whomever was standing so close to you.

Which happened to be Miles Morales. Staring down at you with cold, dulled eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” The simmering anger in your voice was made known, and also promptly ignored. He tilted his head down at you, braids shifting with the movement, his expression barely changing. If only he had a conscience. Then maybe you could read his expression, the emotions on his face —, but in this universe? The thought seemed laughable.

He stepped forward, sending you staggering closer against your locker.

“Back off—,” You’re voice shook a little as you swore. Dropping his eyelids into a glare, he spoke, “You keep talkin’ to me like that, and we gon’ have a problem.”

“You keep creeping up on me like a fuckin’—,”

“Like a what?” Miles’s bored, taunting voice grated against your eardrums.

You let out a shaky breath, chest heaving, and clenched your jaw. Shaking out the annoyance in your bones, you kept your calm.

“Don’t get shy on me now.”

A surge of anger rose through you, before you willed it away.

He was antagonising you.

You tried not to instigate him. If you didn’t encourage it, maybe he’d go away.

“Never mind. Whatever, Why—,”

“Miles, my man.” A different man clapped him on the shoulder, giving you the chance to step back and away from him. The other man was tall and lanky, spindly in the way where he looked out of place for a high school. His blue eyes caught sight of you, smirk contorting the bridge of his nose and baring his teeth. “Fuck you doin’ with this thing?”

“What d’you want.” Miles diverted attention from you quick, his companion not getting the hint.

“Fuck, nevermind man,” The man sent a sleezy smile at you, looking you up and down slowly, a short whistle under his breath.

“Shut the fuck up, James.”

You glared are the taller man, something like bile clawing at your throat. The way he was talking about you was sickening, nothing more than a bothersome rodent.

Miles glanced at you, raising a brow, he wanted to see how long it would take before you’d finally fight back. Through the months you’d been at this school, not once had you actually lost your nerve.

On worse days, like this one, you gave him attitude. Snapping at him the moment he showed up, knowing if you didn’t, he’d take the chance too first. He looked forward to those days, where you would engage him. It sent some sick thrill through him. Watching the way your eyes unfocused, urging yourself not to roll them. How your composure surely chipped but never cracked, fingernails digging prints of a fine line when dug into your palms.

He watched your breathing stutter and counted your breaths with you, he’d basically memorised the pattern.

10 beats in, hold for 8, and 12 beats out.

Though, this was only on a good (bad?) day. Other days you just stood and took it. Letting him say whatever he wanted to you, talk shit right to your face. Spread rumours without repercussions and mess with you just because he had the urge.

And just like always. Through the heat of Summer and the full ache in your head, you managed to do nothing.

Just stand and stare as James acted like you were less to a piece of meat.

Miles scowled, dropping his shoulder and causing the man to fall from leaning on him. “Omf— Hey! What the fuck, dude.”

“Let’s go.”

James scoffed, rolling his eyes but following behind nonetheless.

“Miles, what was that shit about?”

“None of your fucking business, homeboy.”

Their voices faded as they walked away, the white noise of chattering people swallowing the scraping of James’s voice.

You wondered what Miles had really wanted this time, as he hadn’t gotten the chance to say anything with James showing up. You hate to thank him, but god. You might’ve lost your mind.

—

Four months in and you were losing your mind. Miles hadn’t stopped, neither had his determination. He seemed so eager to piss you off and do nothing but stare coldly as you composed yourself every time.

Just as that thought brimmed in your head, something kicked out in front of you, sending you flat on your stomach. Hands pressed into the hardwood of the gym below. You groaned, knees being knocked straight to the ground, landing with your arms outstretched in front of you. At least it wasn’t your face.

A voice was heard behind you and you froze, unsure what to do at that moment.

“Get up, [Name].”

James.

“Yeah, I’m—“ You shuffled back onto your feet. Standing up cautiously and checking your uniform was in place.

“Shut the fuck up.” He interrupted you, and you turned around slowly to face him. “Ever since I made it clear how little you were fucking worth, that dipshit Miles has been a fuckin’ dog to me.” He spat at you, the anger rising in his voice, he gripped the polo shirt you wore, dragging your limp upper half closer to his.

You shivered at his breath on your face, wanting to gag.

“Sorry.”

“You’re a fucking freak—.” His group of even more childish people were standing behind him like some sort of team work movement.

“Please let go.”

“I’ll fucking gut you. I needed that motherfucker—,” “Woah.” “,—He’s lucky I don’t beat his ass for ditching me.” Seems like attachment issues. “And you too, cunt. I’ll end your fucking life.”

He pulled you ever closer, using his height to intimidate you, six foot four of an angry man standing over you, no thanks.

A whistle was heard from the main room of the Gym, prompting James to let go of you.

“You’re lucky you’re a looker, call it pretty privilege.”

“..”

“Next time I’ll fucking kill you.”

You dropped from where you had been dragged onto your toes, stumbling a little as James’s group snickered when they walked past, bumping your shoulder and wolf whistling.

—

The lesson ended, and you rushed to get out of there. Making your way to the locker room, and being the first in there, also the first to leave. Changing from your sports uniform and rushing out of the Gym.

You kept looking over your shoulder, Knowing that James wasn’t lying. He probably would kill you, or, objectively worse.

You tripped over your feet before righting yourself again. People around sent curious looks to you which you ignored easily.

Getting to the front of the school, glass double doors shut with a “locked” sign on it, you continued to shoulder forward. Ignoring the shout of the office lady, you pushed against the metal bar and opened the door. You’d already known about the doors being unlocked constantly, having seen many times teachers trying to check no one was watching before slyly slipping out. So when the door opened for you with no trouble, you breathed out quick, and booked it.

You praised yourself for the amount of cardio you could do, the school was three stories for goodness sake, the amount of stairs you needed to climb was insane.

You slid to the side, dodging the occasional pedestrian and making it to the main gate, another shout was heard from the front of the school and you slipped out the gate just as it opened for another teacher, thanking them as you passed.

“Thank you!” You shouted as you ran.

“You’re welcome?— Oh..”

“Kid, Get back here!”

The office lady watched you hit the end of the street and turn, no longer in her sight. She threw her hands in the air and sighed.

“I’m going to get fired.”

“No, Marlene. I’ll cover you.”

“Thanks, John.”

“Why were they running, anyway?”

“Dunno, maybe AP exam.”

—

Miles watched as James was escorted back inside the building. His scowl etched onto his hideous face. Two of their shared buddies trailed behind him, rolling their eyes at the teachers questioning them.

One of the girls in his group was pressing against him, Miles getting more agitated by the minute. His disinterest in her only seemed to fuel her infatuation more, and it was getting annoying.

The guys at his table were all laughing at some—, probably sexist joke one of them made, the ladies giggling along with them, feeding their toxic lovers the attention they so desperately want. It’s not like Miles thought he was above these people. He just was. They were scum, but the only friends he could keep. Hurt people hurt people, and all that sappy shit. So when you hurt so much, only a small portion of people can stand you, and you them.

But when your name was mentioned, he perked up significantly — his ears fine tuning to the conversation. Completely forgetting about the raven-haired girl pressing against him, and focusing on the words spat by James and his two huevos.

“She’s hot though—,”

“Fuckin’ cares ‘f she is? Woulda beat her ass.”

“[Name]?”

“Yeah, [Name]. Miles got all fuckin’ sissy I thought she was hot, and now we don’t talk.”

“So?”

“So—!? Now I lost my chance with Imogen, she’s all fuckin’ over him cause I’m gone.”

Right, Imogen was her name.

“You want to beat her up over you losing a bitch? Just bag her instead?”

James rolled his eyes, debating it. Miles tensed, his relaxed posture straightened quickly, causing him to almost knock Imogen in the face. Too which she squealed at. An awful noise, really.

He quickly stood, chair falling behind him with a loud clang, and strode out of the hall, Glaring at James the entire time. His two friends laughed James’s sudden hesitance to respond, knowing how piss scared he was of Miles.

James stayed silent until the doors to the cafeteria closed, and the whispers started up. Then told his buddies off in a harsh tone.

No one had ever seen Miles do anything too bad. But with the amount of times he’s shown up to school with a busted nose and smug aura, you could tell—, whatever fight he’d had.

He’d won.

—

To say that Miles wanted to have the day away from school, probably wasn’t true. With the stuff he’d heard James and his dogs speil, he’d rather you not be alone.

He was—, worried.

But when his Uncle Aaron called him in for something urgent right at 4 AM, telling his Ma it was a work emergency, he couldn’t refuse his Uncle. He fit his mask onto him, faceplates slotting closed. Claws being turned and clicked into place, he flexed his hands, dragging the window of his room open in the early morning, and left with his Momma sound asleep.

—

The peace and quiet of the day had been rather disturbing. Not having Miles or any of his groupies bother you—. Was off, not unwelcome, but odd.

So when the bell rang for your fourth class, everyone heading from their lunch break back to their assigned classes, it was only by nature you’d be pulled into deserted corner of the school by some unknown figure. A hand placed over your mouth and the other gripping your wrist, pulling you back.

You struggled against the mystery person, a sickeningly familiar voice croaking in your ear.

“Be—,” You kicked your head back, knocking his jaw. “,—Fuckin’ bitch, be quiet.”

Your foot slipped under you, bringing him more leverage to haul you further from the light of the main hall.

You screamed through his hand, tears building behind your eyes when you heard a door unlock.

“Get in.”

“Fuckin—, Open it wider, dipshit.”

“Fuck off.”

James ripped his hand off your mouth before you could realise, pushing the middle of your back so you were forced into a dark, cold classroom.

You fell to your knees, a sense of déjà vu kicking in as you braced yourself with your hands.

Your chest heaved, James slamming the door shut.

“Keith, close those blinds.”

“Fuck are you gon’ do?”

“Beat the fuck outta her.”

—

Miles stuffed his claws somewhere in his locker, uncaring for secrecy. No one was there now, everyone having gone to class. He’d arrived fairly late, not an unusual occurrence considering his occupation, though. So the office ladies didn’t mind.

He slammed his locker shut, an image of you doing the same with a pout on your lips coming to mind. He had class with you now, sat right next to you, actually.

So he made his way towards the back block of the school, where you’d be.

—

A hit straight to your cheek sent you flying to the floor again, Mathew letting go of where he was holding you up.

“Dude your grip is shit.”

“Nod off.”

Keith muttered something about “Fucking brit..” from his seat on the prior teachers desk.

You groaned internally, eyes lolling to the closed curtains, the broken glass of the window letting in a sweet breeze. The only reprise from this entire ordeal was a broken window.

There’s some poetry in that, or something.

Blood dripped from your nose and lip. A cut on your cheek now present too. James, the creep, had rings on his thin fingers that, when used, hurt to no end.

You were picked back up by under your arms, closing your eyes in pain and hissing. You opened your eyes in time to see the small glint of metal in James’ pocket, and the wince on Keith’s face before another fist connected to your temple.

—

You weren’t there.

You had shown up to school, evident by your paper on the lecturers desk, but hadn’t shown up for the period.

And by the empty seats of James, Keith and Mathew. He could only guess what was happening right now.

Miles slammed the door to the class shut, ignoring the panicked yells of his teacher and started towards the darker parts of the school. Where no one used, a chemistry accident setting the safety board director deep in debt and a block of the school unusable.

He flung open his locker when close enough, snatching the prototype version of his claws from the locker. Small, sharp finger coverings that were something close to the claws he had for his Prowler suit. The knuckles were brassed and the wrist latch clasped easily to his skin. He slammed it shut again, not bothering with the lock, and honed in his hearing.

The walls were thin enough.

—

“Don’t you think this is a little too far?”

“Shut the fuck up, Keith.”

“Fuck you gonna do if she snitches—?”

He gripped James’s wrist, holding the knife away from both you and himself.

“—You gon’ ruin your life for this shit, man?”

“She’s been playing my fuckin’ nerves—, yeah.”

Keith gave him a bewildered look while Mathew stared on in disinterest, still holding you at a position you couldn’t right yourself.

The blood had stained your shirt now, bruising littering your face and body.

James had taken to ditching the knife.

“Fuckin—, Whatever man.”

It clattered to the ground with a large clang, the tiled floors of the science room made the echo ring in your head like the growing migraine.

“Drop ‘er.”

Keith glanced down at you, then backed off. An odd look on his face while he kicked the knife away from James, unintentionally pushing it closer to you.

He walked back to his seat.

Mathew let go, watching as you dropped to the ground and started coughing.

Choking on your own blood before you spat it out.

“You know how long i’ve been wantin’ to fucking do this?”

He raised his leg, tilting your chin up with his boot, how demeaning.

He swung back and kicked your ribs, sending you into another coughing fit while you fought the urge to throw up, tears streaming the blood dripping down your chin.

“Your family ruined my fucking life.” Another kick to your stomach, you gagged.

“Taking my dad, then my fucking girl too?”

What is this guy on about.

“Your fucking daddy couldn’t just mind his own business. Had to get involved, then you.”

A harder kick to your stomach, you clenched your abs and covered your head.

A sudden shock ran over you, a familiarity that always sat with James clicking in your mind.

James Ohnn, son of Jonathon Ohnn, a man who had a hand in the collapse of a still-in-construction Kaleidoscope that was said to bring revolutionary science to the new world. It’s framing shattered while the workers on it all went with it.

His father was the lead scientist of that Kaleidoscope, and by turn in of your dad, was promptly arrested.

“I didn’t do shit—,”

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

He kicked your ribs again, and you swore you could feel them crack.

“I’ll kill you, you fucking ruined me.”

He swiped the knife again, Keith shouting something you couldn’t hear amongst the ringing in your ears.

You shut your eyes, crowding your head with your arms.

A slam broke through the muffles of your mind. Panicked voices and accusations being thrown around before a thick accent curled around your head.

Miles Morales.

“I’d get your hands off her if I were you, Homeboy.”

Miles approached slowly, checking your face while keeping his eyes on the three men.

“Fuck off, Miles.”

“No.” His head cocked to the side, eyes slanting while he assessed the situation.

“What, you gonna fight us?”

James’s voice was shaking. He’d never seen Miles looks o absolutely pissed before.

“Don’t think I can, asshole?”

“It’s three against one.”

“Realmente piensas—, sabes que, no importa.”

Miles lunged at him, Keith and Mathew shouting in tandem while you struggled to keep your eyes open. The pain working its way past your adrenaline and into your bones.

He grabbed James by the wrist, twisting it back and listening to the sickening crunch of his Lunate bone in curious satisfaction. James screamed, trying to tear his hand away from Miles. Even with his right hand pulling too, he wouldn’t budge. The metal clicked together every time James shifted, and Miles gave an extra squeeze before letting go. The force James was pulling sending him flying back, he stumbled and tripped over your feet, falling back and smashing his head on the tiles.

The other two boys scrambled for the door, running out the hallway and whining like dogs.

James groaned, rolling onto his stomach, Miles deadpanned down at him. You watched through blurry vision as Miles picked his up, sat him against the teachers desk, almost slumped against it. Grabbed his hair by his crown, slowly bringing his head forward, bending him at the waist. Before slamming his head back against the wood with a dull thud. He repeated this sick, prolonged process until James had fallen unconscious. Standing over him, then going to grab the knife laid a bit from you. You looked at him from your position, not unthankful, but still—, he was evidently a contributor.

“Don’t move.”

“Wha— Why? I have to get home.”

Miles scoffed, crouching down next to you, knife in hand. His limp wrists resting on his bent knees.

“You gonna’ go home with a cracked rib and busted face? Nah, Chiquita. Vente conmigo, yo te arreglo.”

He stuffed the pocket knife down the side of his Nikes and took off his claws, putting them in the pocket of his jacket.

He hooked his arm under your knees and upper back, cradling you bridal style before standing to his full height.

You panicked a little— “Wha—, No. Miles, put me down.”

“No.”

“Hh— Whatdyu’ mean ‘No’!?”

You hooked your hands over his shoulders and gripped him as he made his way through the back exit of the school.

“I said, I’m taking you home.”

—

You groaned in pain, shirt lifted to just under your bra line as Miles assessed the damage.

He had been joking when he said cracked rib, but there was an underlying sense of real possibility. According to him though, nothing had been enough to seriously injure you. Except the disgusting looking bruises littering yourself.

You tried to focus away from the pain. Or Miles in general, he was very distracting, the lingering attraction you had when you met thought to be squished, was bubbling up again.

He had an ice pack pressed to your skin, and if you were a tad less conscious, maybe you would’ve made a joke of how cold his hands already were. The sweltering heat doing nothing to soothe the bruising.

“Keep this here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Watch the attitude.”

You huffed a breath, laugh being painful.

“Yeah, whatever.”

You shifted yourself to alleviate some pain, and took his place holding the pack on your stomach.

He grabbed an anti-septic from the small kit he had for first aid. When he’d pulled it out earlier, you’d questioned it.

“You get injured women on your room often, Miles?”

“Nah, Just you. Usually they can take care of ‘emselves.”

You’d giggled at that, not entirely offended but more so amused he’d decided not to take offence at your jab.

His hands reaching for your face brought you back to the present. Flinching back in surprise, you watched him watch for a moment. “Chill, ma. Just gon’ put this on your cuts. Needa’ touch your face for that.”

You cringed, the twisting of your lip having you suck in a harsh breath. “Yeah—, yeah, okay. Thanks.”

“Mhmm.”

The callouses in his hands were made known the moment he touched you, spreading the cream along the cut on your brow, cheekbone and lip.

His hands were a nice contrast compared to the heat of your cheeks, and the gentleness at which he was using.

When Miles touched your face, leaning his body closer to yours, he wanted to savour the feeling. The softness of your flesh against his own, how he could trace the contour of your cheek without it being awkward. His thumb rubbed a small amount of cream onto your lip and he couldn’t look away. The sight of your blood stained skin under his blemished hands had him stuck in the moment. Unable to answer her last question.

“Miles?”

The way her lips formed around his name sent a burning heat throughout his body.

“Yeah—.”

“Is my lip okay? ‘M I gonna need stitches?”

You poured up at him and he shook his head. “No.”

“Mmh— Okay.”

You looked to the side, addressing his room and Miles watched the way your eyelashes brushed along your cheeks when you blinked.

“Okay, just this left. Gonna be a little cold.”

“Thank you.”

“No stress, Chiquita.”

He grabbed some petroleum jelly, spreading it along the cuts on your face and moisturising the wound.

He then placed adhesive bandages along the places necessary, and placed everything back into his first aid.

“Miles.”

“Yeah, Mami?”

You paused at the name, he’d been using those a lot lately.

“How’d you know to find me?”

He looked down, shuffling up next to you against the headboard. You gazed out the window, ignoring the tension that was eating at the both of you. He did too.

“Gut feeling.”

—

DAMN BABY THIS ONE GOT WILD

tags :3 @gemma42 , @denuparxoume

my gorgeous translator @kissmxcheek !!

[baby-yongbok]

Let It Go

Boyfriend!Seungmin x Afab!Reader

♡ Genre - Smut - soft dom!Seungmin x sub!reader ♡ Word Count - 1.2k

“Listen, m’kay? I’m going to let you cum. I’m gonna let my sweet baby feel good but I need you to do something for me.”

♡ CW - light themes of bondage, use of sex toy(s), reader is called pup, puppy & baby, fingering (f rec.), multiple orgasms (f), [that should be all!] ✧ Masterlist ✧

You’re being so good. 

Seungmin watches you with a keen gaze, eyes scanning over your figure before landing on glistening amber. He loves you like this. Pliable, obedient, and soaking in his attention. It’s been a rough day. You called your lover while on the brink of tears just to ask him to come home to you. Just to ask him to own you. 

“You needed this?” He coos, squatting down to meet you at eye level. You meet his gaze, looking up from where you’re kneeling before him. “My puppy needed me to make her mind melt?” 

You hum, falling into a whine as you blink over at him. You’re biting the tip of your tongue as he watches you tremble against the vibrator laced intricately against your thigh to graze your sensitive bud. “You’re doing so well.” He cradles your cheek in his palm, running the pad of his thumb over the corner of your mouth. 

You smile into the touch, nuzzling deeper into the soft skin. A moan interrupts the moment, escaping your barely parted lips when his other hand moves the wand vibrator against your clit. “Seung.” You pant, eyelids fluttering shut as a jolt travels up your spine. 

“Yes, baby?” He tilts your chin up with the crook of his pointer finger. “What does my girl need?”

“W-wanna…cum.” The intensity of the vibrator is amplified the more he presses it against you. Your arms strain against the rope tying them behind your back, your hands balled into fists. “Please.”

“You’ll cum in a second.” He stands and you try to focus on the sound of his bare feet against the hardwood as he circles around you to distract yourself from cumming without permission. “Trust me, okay?”

All you can do is hum as you adjust your knees against the pillow under them, accidently pressing your clit against the vibe. Seungmin is quiet behind you, so quiet that you jump when his hand crawls over your collarbones to wrap around your throat. “Listen, m’kay? I’m going to let you cum. I’m gonna let my sweet baby feel good but I need you to do something for me.”

His voice is just above a whisper in your ear, coaxing sweet confirmations mixed with whines. “I want you to scream. I want you to scream nice and loud for me. Let go of everything, give it all to me. Can you do that?” 

Your thighs are shaking more and more with each passing moment. Your hands are tugging at the rope restraining them desperately as your boyfriend lightly presses the sides of your throat. “I can.”

Your head falls back against his shoulder. “I can do that.” You breathe out a shaky reply and Seungmin presses harder, giving you entry to the euphoria you’ve been longing for. 

“I know you can.” He whispers, kissing the shell of your ear. “Close, baby?” 

“So close.” Your hips are bucking now, humping into the wand as you try to keep yourself at the edge. “Do it for me.” His fingers press into the flesh of your neck just how you like it. Just how you need it. “Cum, give it to me.”

Your trembling at his command, eyes rolled back and jaw hung slack in a scream that would certainly have your neighbors concerned if they weren’t used to you and Seungmin’s antics. You’re bucking into the air, squirming in his hold while simultaneously spinning in space from the sweet press and release of his hand around your neck. “That’s it, there we go.” 

The overstimulation of the wand still laying against your clit has you thrashing. Tears gather and glisten at your waterline as your high builds all over again. “Sweet puppy had a long day, she can give me another one, can’t she?” 

“M-min, I can’t. I can’t!” You’re still screaming, your body is writhing against him violently, inadvertently hurdling you closer to a second climax. “Seungm- Seung please, please. I can't.”

A tear trails down your cheek and Seungmin kisses it away gently. He watches your every expression. He soaks in your every move. You’re so pretty like this. He finds you absolutely stunning when you fall apart for him. “One more, just one. Wan’ you to get it all out, pup.”

His arm wraps around your mid, draping across your stomach to hold you in place against him. His other hand finds your hole from the back. He presses his middle and ring finger against the sopping flesh of your cunt, sinking in at a torturous pace. “Fuck.” His fingers pump into you in languid strokes while his lips press feather light kisses along your jawline.

“One more. I know you can do it.” He nips at the skin, whispering gentle words against it. His voice makes you gush around him, the wet spot in the pillow beneath you serves as evidence of his affect. 

“Deeper.” You whimper, grinding down into his hand. “Deep, deep, please.” 

“Deeper, baby?” He repeats after you, cooing with a smirk. “Like this?” He sinks in to the knuckle, the pads of his fingers press forward against your g-spot and you’re losing it before he can even move inside of you.

“Holy shit.” With this orgasm Seungmin has to press you hard against him to hold you in place. The dual action of the vibrator on your clit and his fingers buried deep in your spasming walls has you seeing shapes that  you know aren’t real. Your vision is a mere memory as your eyes wander the white space behind your eyelids. 

“Fuck, that’s right, gimme all of it. All that you got, scream it for me.” His fingers fuck into you roughly, echoing the wet sounds of your slick through the room. The lewd squelches are covered up by your moaning and screaming. You allow yourself to melt against him, sinking deeper into his body until your legs come from under you and he scoops you into his lap. His fingers leave you empty, slowly sliding out to rub softly at your clit. 

You hadn’t even noticed the absence of the vibrator until his fingers occupied the space. The toy is discarded next to you, the nicely tied rope is half undone on your thigh. “Breathe nice and deep for me.” Seungmin kisses your forehead while his soaked fingers spread your slick over your swollen nub. 

“Puppy did so well for me. Did such a good job.” Your eyes are closed as he stares down at you. You’re focusing on coming down from cloud nine, trying your best to get your mind to comprehend his words. “Came so hard.” He runs a finger through your folds, collecting your slick. 

“Min.” That’s all you can manage to whimper in your post fucked haze. “I got you.” He reassures, moving to untie your arms and finish off the knots on your thigh. “How’re you feeling?”

He cradles you in his arms, brushing the hair out of your face before moving his hand to rub gentle circles into the swell of your bare ass. “ ‘m okay.” 

“Feeling better?” He nuzzles into you, planting gentle kisses along the bridge of your nose until the tip of it meets the tip of his. He rubs his nose against yours, scrunching up his face to make you giggle softly. “Much better.” He plants a final kiss before pulling back. 

“That’s what I like to hear.”  

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[helluvapoison]

Nice To Eat You

[ii]

The Vees x Cannibal!Reader

warnings: drugs, suggestive, rosie slander, dark themes, violence, security shenanigans and, hello, cannibalism

heads up: if you didn’t know, the people of cannibal town are hellborn; born in hell, never lived on earth, never sinned! their life spans are unknown(?) but seem to age as a human would, unlike other demons

Cannibal town has been off limits to The Vees, courtesy of Vox, ever since the incident with you know who. Meeting you was a suspicious surprise for them. You were kicked out of said town by Rosie for giving cannibals a bad name. Can you fucking believe the irony!?

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Vox ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Suspicious might be an understatement

• For the longest time, Vox is unnerved by you for every other reason than your appetite. Anyone associated with Rosie is an adversary by proxy. If you take Alastor out of the picture, Rosie is still an Overlord and all Overlords will inevitably crumble to The Vees– even if they don’t know it yet

• There’s an expression for that though, isn’t there? Keep your enemies close. That’s exactly how Vox went about dealing with you

• Gives you a job as his security guard. Hell knows he needs one, what with the price of fame and all, those dirty fucking sinners that try and touch him wherever he goes

• It’s a slow development because neither of you initiate conversation

• Vox is beyond used to the rotating door of demons in and out of his life. He abandons the names of anyone that isn’t you, Velvette or Valentino (Angel Dust and Alastor he can’t forget against his will)

• Becoming attached to you while simultaneously waiting for the other shoe to drop is fucking awful. It feels it like a bug in his system, annoys him to the point his screen starts glitching one day

“Just what the fuck are you up to!? I know you’re with Rosie–”

You knew, on some level, Vox didn’t trust you all the way but it didn’t bother you because he hardly seems to trust anyone. So you cut him off with a mix of a snort and a scoff,

“Rosie? Rosie’s a cunt. She gave me the boot years ago, haven't seen her since.”

Involuntarily, he begins to smile, “Years, huh?”

• Trust is another slow endeavor. Now that Vox doubts your motives slightly less than before, he can silently appreciate the fact you do a damn good job of keeping demons away from him. Bonus: if you happen to take a chunk out of them for shits and giggles, blood never touches his pristine self

• “I believe I owe you an apology,”

“Am I going to get one?”

• In a way, sure, but you’ll be sorely disappointed if you thought it was with words. He invites you to dinner. From that moment until you arrive at the restaurant, he’s reveling in the constant state of shock you seem to be in

• Your eyebrows jump when the waiter nervously lifts the lid from your plate and reveals ribs. Real, demon ribs

“Surprised?” Vox asks rather smugly

“Somewhat,” You return his sly smirk, “Most can’t stomach my… indulgences.”

“I don’t have a stomach. I think I’ll be just fine.”

˚✧₊⁎ Velvette ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Vel doesn’t give two steaming shits about Rosie or her backwards, unflattering town so long as it doesn’t interfere with her enterprise. Vox’s grudges are his own. If The Vees got hellbent and demented over each other’s EOTD (Enemy Of The Day) nothing would get done!

• During a pathetic comment war on the her social, a few threats became too detailed for Vox’s liking

• A cannibal wasn’t his first choice– or second, or third– but you’d certainly scare off anyone trying to hurt his business partner!

• Velvette’s far from worried about being lunch when she meets you.

• “You’re my–? No. Absolutely not! I can’t be seen with this.” She gestures to all of you

“You’re not exactly making me drool either,” You mutter under your breath

• Judging by the looks of her partners’ faces, stunning Velvette to silence was impossible. Key word: was

• It didn’t last long and hasn’t stopped since

• She pulled out every trick in the book to get you to quit. She gave you a uniform to wear during your shifts, tossed fabrics at you until you turned into a living clothes rack, forced you to hold her phone during her live streams but criticized and berated the way you did

• For fucks sake, she even screamed at Vox to let her fire you!

• You didn’t need her to like you and that was as obvious as it was infuriating. She was Velvette! Everyone loved her! Having you around was like a black eye; literally bruising her ego and bad for business

• Or so she thought

• She made you stand in the shadows of her studio so you wouldn’t frighten anyone and ruin photoshoots with your “freaky face” she so eloquently put it.

• Velvette was mid fashion crisis, yelling at Joanne for the gazillionth time, when you approached from behind

“I’m taking my lunch.”

“Fucking fantastic! Here, have Joanne since she insists on being fucking useless!”

Playing along, you let a guttural growl rip from your throat, making Joanne jump high in the air.

She squeaked and shook her head vigorously, holding her hands in surrender, “I-I’ll be better, I swear!”

• Her candy cane eyes widened in delighted surprise. How had she been so blind to your potential usefulness!?

• Velvette could get high off the new game she created with you. It was like having a scary guard dog– only better dressed to aesthetics. Paparazzi didn’t dare touch her now, standing at a respectable distance that made her more unattainable and desirable than before

• Her attitude change makes her like-able to you too, she’s heaps more pleasant to be around now. You don’t mind doing the extra stuff that wasn’t in your contract like being a dress up doll, dealing with the pet names or escorting her to events. She knows and takes advantage of this instead of saying how she feels

• “You’re my arm candy now, dollface! You go where I go.”

“I hardly think I qualify as arm candy,” You mumble to her, overtly aware of how she holds you close to her

“If you’re fishing for compliments, fuck off to another pond. I don’t waste my free time with uggos,” She says seriously, abruptly smiling as a camera flashes in her direction, “Now get ready. Fans have been dying to get a picture with me lately and if anyone smudges this dress with their dirty fucking fingers, I want you to bite them off!”

“Anyone that touches you won’t have hands tomorrow,” You promise

• You swear she shivers upon hearing that

˚✧₊⁎ Valentino ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• The easiest by far to get along with. In a mortifying way

• Val is fairly accepting of all Hell’s creatures. It’s typically followed up by something sexual but, hey, you’re not in a position to complain, not when no one else in Hell would willingly sign up to work with a cannibal. Especially one outside the confines of Rosie’s civil town

• Rosie’s loss is his gain

• You would be lying if you said you weren’t expecting him to turn horror-struck but he barely blinks when you explain what you did to get exiled. Your savage methods intrigue him, a plethora of potentials just waiting to be explored. In fact, he goes a step further to praise you for being different

• “Hell would be deathly boring if everyone thought the same way, darling. That’s what makes you so… alluring.” He rolled his tongue with the last word, dragging it out and making it ring in your ears

• You’d been called many things in your afterlife, but never that

• You feel rather useless at the moth’s side. You were supposed to be protecting him but he could take care of himself just fine. Val was about the tallest in every room (if not the tallest) with guns hidden under his coat that he never used

• Later you’d understand he only reached for them as a last resort, when his head was unclouded by blood lust

• If you ever voiced your complaints, he’d be quick to reassure you that you make him look good. What powerful Overlord doesn’t have bodyguards? (Do. Not. Answer.)

• However the day does come when you prove your services have merit. On set of all places! A coked up Hellhound didn’t take kindly to Val’s directions, sending a demon wielding a boom mic flying towards him

• Valentino dodged the demon with ease, whipping around and aiming his pistol to put the dog down. Instead he saw you pushing the mutt’s face into the ground, his arm pinned at an angle. Your sharp teeth were bared at his throat, drool dampening his fur

• But you made no moves without Valentino’s say-so

• There’s a lot he could say about the scenario you provided him and how it made him feel– but he only calls your name, beckoning you back to his side

• Where you belong

• “You’re lucky I don’t like hair in my food,” You growl in the Hellhound’s ear before following after Val

• Valentino may be a mastermind of porn and sex but he knows the real way to a demon’s heart, it’s is the universal love language

• Unbothered by blood, he’ll sit pretty and poised on his loveseat while you tear into the meal he provided you. A thanks for a job well done

• “You’ll never go hungry now that you’re with me, monstruo,” The pet name is dripping with adoration, “I won’t waste you like that bitch did. Look at you, you’re already so special.”

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ i lost the request that went to this but i hope it reaches them. cannibal!reader got that rizz, huh?

[princesssmars]

making abby squirt with the nails she just paid for…nsfw.

you had seen the cutest nail set one of your friends got on her instant story, and after complimenting her and getting the techs account you couldn’t stop your eyes from widening a little at the prices.

but you only get time to pout about it for a few minutes before abby is prodding you about what’s wrong, scoffing at your complaint about the expensive service and telling you that she’ll ’handle it’.

you almost thought she was kidding until she urged you to book the appointment, even driving you to the location and putting the cash in your hand with a kiss.

so what better way to admire your new nails and repay the favor to abby then to make her go crazy with pleasure beneath you?

well, technically in front of you, trapped between your legs as the both of you face your floor length mirror. convincing her to not only completely bottom for a night but to also use a mirror was a challenge, but with some pleading and batted eyelashes she gave in.

it’s funny to think about, how she tried to be so tough and act like she she didn’t want to be on the bottom like she wasn’t currently moaning and twitching like her life depended on it. you bring up a hand that was grasping her large thigh up to her breast, lightly pinching her left nipple and giggling at the broken sob that leaves her lips.

“please, please, ‘s too much.” her begging is raspy, throat strained by the constant use of her voice. her hands are tied up behind her back and you can feel her trying to free them by the jabbing of her shoulders into yours.

“aww, poor baby.” you coo, pressing sweet kisses to the side of her cheek and neck, heart warming when she pushes her head back onto your shoulder for more affection.

“you’ve only had three, and you always give me at least five. what’s wrong, can dish it but can’t take it?”

she lets out a groan as you simultaneously bite her neck while moving your right hand back down to her pussy, not bothering with teasing her further and instantly going to rub over her clit until she’s the one biting into your neck, hips jerking and mumbling words you can’t make out other than that she’s so close, she’s so god damn close-

you have to bite your lip to keep from squealing as a steady stream of liquid ejects from her, squirting onto the sheets, the floor, even the fucking mirror, giving you the perfect view of the sight of her cumming with your hand still rubbing between her legs, too weak to close her legs to stop you.

all too soon her body calms down, sweaty heap of muscles resting into your chest as her chest rises and falls while she tries to catch her breath. her eyes are closed while she tries to bring herself back, only opening when she hears the telltale sign of you sucking your fingers, hoping it doesn’t show on her face that the heat is already growing again between her thighs.

“can i pay for your nails every time if you do this?”

“of course you can, baby.”

“great. really great. geez, what’ll happen if i pay for your hair appointment next?”

“i’m getting you pregnant, is what.”

“wait, what?”

sorry i thought the ending was funny. idk why i’m writing so much bottom abby am i giving fake pillow princess. ok bye.

[uravitypng]

tsukishima kinks?

or choso kinks?

or aizawa kinks?

(sending a few options cause i’m sure you’ve already gotten these suggestions <3)

i've already got a tsukishima one i need to write but .... choso !!! aizawa !!! oh my god!!!! i've never written anything about either of them and i am sooo ready for this♡

choso

mommy/mummy kink- choso is a switch but leans more over towards sub. choso is very whiney in bed and is someone who becomes pussydrunk very easily when he's sleeping with you. during one of these pussydrunk moments he calls you mummy. he always has had the urge but resisted, worried that you won't like it but when he said it and you held onto him even tighter, wrapping your legs around him, a strangled groan came out of his mouth and he speeds up. as he comes he calls you mummy again, "gonna cum, gonna cum! fffuck mummy."

mutual masturbation- loves watching you touch yourself and will commit every gasp, touch and movement you make to memory for if he's ever alone for the weekend without you and most importantly for future reference with you, 'so touching her there makes her moan even louder huh' 'oh that made her toes curl' 'her body's shaking so much'.

choso loves watching your body writhe and squirm as you make yourself come while he's stroking his cock with rapt attention. he's inexperienced but his confidence about how good he is in bed gets boosted while mutually masturbating when you beg for more. beg for him. "please choso, please baby, i need more. want your cock s'bad. need you to touch me."

overstimulation- you milking him multiple times in succession without stopping?? yeah he likes that. he likes when you have control over his orgasms. he simultaneously wants more and wants less. bucking his hips up to meet your touch one second and the next trying to shuffle away, overwhelmed in the best way. tears filling his waterline, fists grabbing onto the sheets tightly. "t-to much!"

"i think you can take it cho"

edging- i mentioned before that he likes you having control of his orgasms so that also involves controlling when he gets to come and how many times you will deny him. "i can't anymore baby, please let me come. i've been good!"

aizawa

bondage- uses his binding cloth during sex!! tying you up in the bedroom and then leaving you there for awhile to do something else just to keep you waiting in anticipation. aizawa ties up your whole body and will also tie up just your arms and wrists on occasions too. he loves restricting your movements and watching you struggle against the binds. "there's no use struggling, you're not getting out until i want you too and before that i'm going to make you come on my tongue again."

daddy/sir kink- aizawa has an authorisation kink in general. loves taking charge and having you call him sir and daddy (sometimes even master) he will also sometimes call you kitten in response to your names for him. "sir please let me touch you! i'll be good! just let out of these binds."

choking kink- whenever he sees your eyes roll back and your breathing becoming gasps it makes him harder than he already was. his large hands wrapped around your throat, keeping you on the edge of consciousness. "so beautiful like that kitten, keep clenching around me."

somno- it's not a surprise that this is one of his kinks is it? all consensual of course but being woken up by you during sex is the best way to wake up. he also enjoys waking you up too but prefers it when he wakes up to you, especially when you're sucking his dick. his tired gravelly voice startling you as well as he gentle but firm hand on your head guiding you up and down. "fuck sweetheart, keep going just like that." you hum around his cock, letting you know you heard him. becoming wetter at the sound of his voice.

dry humping & thigh grinding- loves you being half clothed, only having underwear on, as you desperately hump and grind on him. it's a real power trip to watch you try and orgasm without any help as you frantically and pathetically rub yourself against him while he's still fully clothed and has no intention of changing that

[steddiealltheway]

If someone told Steve four years ago that he would be at a gay bar with Robin Buckley and Eddie Munson, he would have laughed in their face.

Actually, if Steve really thinks about it, he would’ve been nervous that the person found out he was secretly hooking up with Eddie Munson.

But that was forever ago, and although he and Eddie had a nasty falling out, things changed. More like, they both changed. And after practically co-parenting a teenager along with a reunion in a creepy alternate dimension that nearly killed Eddie, it seemed like their fate was sealed and they would always be bonded together.

Steve really didn’t mind honestly. Actually, he has enjoyed getting to know Eddie all over again while not simultaneously trying to get in his pants. Sure, Eddie would flirt with him every now and then (at least a couple times a day), and Steve would maybe flirt back sometimes (most of the time unless the kids were in earshot). But things were different now. Even though Eddie admitted that Steve had changed, it didn’t mean he would ever forgive him for cruelly breaking things off when Steve found himself experiencing actual feelings for Eddie all those years ago.

So, Steve forces him to accept that times have changed and he likely missed his chance. Currently, he settles on leaning back against the bar, nursing a fruity drink that Eddie jokingly bought him before he made his way to the dance floor and eyed everyone around him.

Steve finds his hand tightening around the glass in his hand as he’s rudely reminded of how he’s an unfortunately jealous person. But Eddie isn’t his boyfriend. Eddie really isn’t his anything except a friend. So he's not allowed to feel like his skin is crawling when he finds a few people staring at Eddie with interest.

Steve distracts himself as he glances over to where Robin is in a secluded corner, giving a shorter girl heart eyes as they both get lost in some conversation. Steve smiles and glances away, giving Robin some privacy while simultaneously keeping tabs on her.

When he looks away, his eyes betray him by settling on Eddie who now has his arms wrapped around some man with blonde hair, probably a little older than Eddie but much shorter. All Steve can think about is how Eddie is out of his league and deserves better, and he wishes he could tell him that.

But then, something weird happens. Eddie glances over his shoulder at Steve, eyebrows raised as if he's looking for Steve for approval. So, Steve goes with his gut and shakes his head, and sees Eddie turn back and slowly untwine himself from the man as if taking Steve's advice to heart.

And shit, Steve doesn't know what to do with that so he orders another drink - this time a beer that he's had before so he knows his limit - and sits on a barstool, getting comfortable as he watches over Eddie.

He sees a taller guy with various piercings make his way over to Eddie, smoothly coming up behind him and gently placing his hands on his waist, dancing along with him. Steve takes a deep swig of the beer, trying not to think too hard of the last few weeks of his and Eddie's short-lived almost relationship when Eddie started getting more comfortable with him and would dance wildly around his room to whatever metal album he had on repeat that week. And Steve would just sit back on Eddie's bed and watch him, laughing when Eddie would pause to take a breather, and laughing even harder when Eddie insisted he danced with him.

But now, he isn't dancing in that wild way that used to be familiar to Steve. No, Eddie's leaning into the man's touch, emphasizing the beat with the smooth yet sharp movement of his hips. A muscle in Steve's jaw jumps as he wonders when Eddie learned to dance like that. And who got to witness it and be subject to it after Steve.

He nearly stands up to use the restroom or go outside to get a breather when Eddie looks right up at him, eyes slightly hooded as he takes a deep breath in and raises his eyebrows while still dancing with the man.

And Steve finds himself shaking his head. He can do better. He deserves so much better than the man clearly trying to get in his pants, not even bothering to make conversation other than whatever he filthily whispers in Eddie's ear every so often.

But Eddie does the same as before, and slowly pulls away from the guy, only to gravitate toward someone else.

It's a cycle that's intoxicating to Steve. If he leaves, he risks Eddie ending up with anyone who isn't him, but as he watches, he learns a whole other side of Eddie that he wants to explore on his own. But with it all comes the painful jealousy that Steve is sure is reading across his face and steering quite a few people away from him.

He takes a deep breath and glances back toward Robin's corner, finding that she's moved on from talking with the girl to getting to know her a little more... intimately.

Steve glances away, no longer feeling the same happiness as he did for her before. God, his jealousy is consuming his entire being as it practically courses through his veins. He wants to be like Robin tonight, but he wants the other person to be Eddie.

He feels his heart skip a beat at the realization. Of course, he knew he was jealous of Eddie showing interest in other people, but Steve hadn't realized how much he was still interested in Eddie. And not just the old Eddie but the one he's come to know and has developed feelings for all over again.

Shit.

"Hey."

Steve startles a bit as Eddie practically appears in front of him breathing deeply as if he hasn't quite caught his breath yet. He has a thin veil of sweat covering his face and neck that he wipes at with a napkin he grabs from the bar. "You enjoying the view?"

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s a bit frustrating when I know you can do better.”

Eddie leans against the bar and props up a foot on the bottom ledge of his barstool. “It’s hard when the person judging seems to think that I can do better than everyone in this bar.”

“You're right,” Steve says before finishing off his beer and setting it down on the counter. “But maybe there’s someone here that’s just right for you. That wouldn’t just treat you to one night and leave.”

Eddie narrows his eyes and leans in closer. “And tell me, who do you have in mind to fill that role?”

Steve breathes out, “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Eddie’s mouth twists into a frown before he grabs Steve’s hand and practically yanks him off the stool, dragging him in the direction of the bathroom nearby.

“Wait,” Steve says before they make it to the door. “Let me just…” He turns and glances toward where Robin is, thanking their platonic soulmate connection for causing her to break the kiss she’s in the middle of and glance at Steve. Her brows furrow as she takes in the situation, but Steve shoots her a cautionary thumbs up which she enthusiastically returns before giving a cautionary okay? hand sign which Steve responds to quickly nodding before he turns back to Eddie. “Okay, we’re good now.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re long lost twins or something,” Eddie mutters as he pulls Steve to the bathroom and looks around before locking the door behind them. “Now what the hell was that back there?”

“I was checking in on Robin.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Eddie says, crossing his arms as he stalks into Steve’s space. “The staring and acting as if you’re about to murder anyone who comes into contact with me.”

Steve puts his hands on his hips. “Yeah, maybe I’m a little protective after you nearly fucking died.”

“No, that’s not what this is about,” Eddie huffs out. He runs a hand over his face and states, “We’ve never talked about it - what we’ve been through before all of the stuff with the Upside Down and all that other confidential bullshit. But now you start spewing poetry about people being right for me, and what, you imply that I’m supposed to think of you as that person? If you wanted that so bad then why didn’t you go out there and dance with me yourself?”

Steve lets the question sink in for a moment before he replies, “Because, after everything that we don’t talk about, I thought the last thing you would want is for me to be that person.”

“Then why are you pushing it now?”

Steve runs a hand through his hair and bursts out, “Because I want you to want me to be that person! And I want to be that person."

"And why should I believe that?" Eddie asks, stepping closer to him and Steve finds his back pressed into the wall. "After you told me that I meant nothing to you. That I was just your failed experiment because King Steve doesn't like boys. Do you really think I don't remember everything you said?"

"Do you think I don't remember everything I said, and maybe that I lied, and I've regretted my words since the second I said them to you? Do you think I enjoyed telling you it was stupid for you to think you ever meant anything to me?" Steve asks, leaning into Eddie's space, face scrunching up at the words he remembers saying all too well.

"Then why did you say all of it?" Eddie asks cocking his head to the side, eyes flashing briefly with something that looks like hope that he quickly covers up with anger.

Steve takes a deep breath and gently puts his hands on Eddie's shoulders as he explains, "Because I was scared. I was fucking terrified because I started falling for you, and I couldn't stop it. I woke up every damn morning thinking about you, and I felt like I wasn't okay until I saw you and got to talk to you. I just wanted things to be physical, but they were never that simple. And I was a fucking asshole who didn't know what to do. I just needed to end it somehow, and that was the only way I knew how. And I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm so fucking sorry." Steve feels tears sting at his eyes and he fights to not pinch at his nose. He needs Eddie to know how much he regrets everything.

Eddie stares at him for a few seconds in silence. His eyes search his, flicking back and forth between each eye before he slowly backs away and curses under his breath.

Steve squirms a bit under his gaze and finally sighs and asks, "What are we doing in here, Eds? Why did you bring me here?"

Eddie shakes his head and runs his hands over his face before pacing back and forth. "I don't know," he says quietly. "I don't know!" he practically yells before rambling on, "I know you've changed, and I know you're different. And for some reason, I just wanted to open old wounds and see if I could make you jealous or some shit. Wanted to make you see what you're missing out on, but I don't know!" Eddie sighs sharply and stops pacing to look directly at Steve. "I wanted to know if you felt the same," he says quietly before laughing humorlessly, "But I didn't realize how much old shit it would bring up. You did a fucking number on me, you know?"

Steve looks down at the ground and feels a tear slip down his cheek. "I know, Eddie. If I could go back and change things, I would in a heartbeat." And it's true. God, he wishes more than anything he could go back and change so many damn things. He wipes angrily at the next tear that escapes down his cheek, willing it to all stop.

"Steve," Eddie says gently.

Steve sighs and wipes at both of his eyes before glancing up at him. "Yes?"

"Do you mean it?" Eddie asks.

"Mean what exactly?"

Eddie steps closer and fidgets with his rings. "All of it."

Steve nods. "I'm pretty sure I was in love with you back then, and..." he takes a deep breath before admitting, "I'm pretty sure I still am now." He swallows and continues, "You coming back into my life was one of the best things to happen to me, and I wish it was under better circumstances but... I don't regret where we are now."

Eddie takes a few steps toward him before he pulls Steve into a hug and whispers, "I don't regret where we are now either."

Steve pulls Eddie in tighter, trying to hold onto him as if he never let him go. "I'm so sorry."

"I know, Steve," Eddie says, sounding a bit choked up. "You have no idea how much I missed you. I know we've talked and everything as if nothing happened, and I told you you've changed but... you also haven't." He pulls back and grabs Steve by the shoulders. "The guy I fell in love with is that same guy you are today. You were always good deep down, and god, by the end of everything you were so good to me. I nearly called you out on your bullshit when you broke things off, but instead, I spiraled and thought maybe it was all true."

"Nothing I said was true, but everything we had was real," Steve insists.

Eddie takes a deep breath and asks, "And everything we have now... is that real too?"

Steve nods and cups Eddie's face in his hands. "Yes, and I would do anything to be enough for you and make up for everything I should've done."

"Steve," Eddie says, looking at him questioningly, "Kiss me."

Although it's requested in a weird tone, Steve nonetheless leans in and kisses Eddie, trying to pour into the kiss all of his regret and hope as muscle memory kicks in and he carefully traces a thumb against his cheek, his show of gentle affection and genuine love.

The kiss breaks when Eddie smiles and lightly laughs. It's now Steve's turn to look at him questioningly.

"Sorry," Eddie says still smiling widely. "You used to do that thing with your thumb only when you would kiss me without trying to get into my pants."

Steve sighs and thuds his head against Eddie's shoulder. "I didn't even realize. Shit, I was such an asshole."

"You know, it wasn't entirely bad when you did get into my pants," Eddie flirts easily.

Steve laughs softly, feeling the comfortable atmosphere between them that they've recently built. He glances up and flirts back, "Oh, I remember."

Eddie smiles, showing off his dimples before staring at Steve for a few seconds as if considering him. “Should we really do this again?”

Steve grabs Eddie’s hand. “Only if you want to.“

Eddie huffs out a silent laugh. “I really want to.”

“Well that’s great because I do too,” Steve lightly jokes. “But it’ll be different this time, okay? No hiding. None of me being an asshole or trying to hide my feelings.”

“I like the sound of that,” Eddie says with a bright smile. “And I promise to call you out on your bullshit this time around, and I won’t doubt things.”

"I like the sound of that," Steve says with a wink.

There's a loud pounding sound on the bathroom door that startles Steve and Eddie away from each other. Eddie smiles sheepishly. "Should've chosen a different spot to talk."

"All my important conversations seem to happen in a bathroom," Steve replies with a shrug. He runs a hand through his hair and asks, "You ready?"

Eddie hesitates and replies, "I just need to do one thing." He rushes to Steve and cups his face, kissing him deeply before pulling away with a smile. "Okay, I'm good now."

Steve laughs and grabs his hand before unlocking and opening the door.

To both of their surprise, they find Robin on the other side. She looks at their faces then their intertwined hands and sighs in relief, "I thought you killed each other."

Eddie frowns. "You thought that first instead of thinking we were having a quickie?"

"One, gross," Robin says with a frown, "Two, if you guys were having a quickie, Steve wouldn't have checked in on me first."

"Hey-"

Robin holds her finger up at Steve. "Nope, we both know it's true, but it looks like you guys figured things out?"

Steve smiles and looks at Eddie. "I think we did."

"We definitely did," Eddie confirms with a cheesy grin.

"Thank god. Just a warning that the kids may have been taking bets on when you would finally get together," Robin says with a smile before leaning in and saying, "Give it another week and Max will win instead of Dustin."

Steve asks Eddie, "Are you okay with temporarily hiding things again?"

"To make sure Dustin doesn't win that bet? Hell yeah."

Steve squeezes his hand and says, "Maybe we can take a week to ourselves or something. I don't know if I'll be able to keep it a secret for that long."

Eddie's gaze softens as he squeezes Steve's hand back. "I like the sound of that."

In the end, Dustin nearly wins the bet when Steve finds himself unable to resist calling the kids to tell them the news, but Eddie is able to quickly intercept the call as he blasts his music and dances around to distract Steve. And when he says, "Come dance with me," Steve can only promise to call back Dustin later.

As Steve joins him, laughing as hard as he once did before, he can only wonder what would happen if someone told him four years ago that he would end up with Eddie Munson after all.

He thinks he would be a whole mix of emotions. But relieved is one of the main ones that comes to mind.

[rcmclachlan]

Return of the Mack

For @alchemistc. Hope you feel better soon!

At the fire academy, three things are beaten out of every trainee: fear, a normal sleep schedule, and the social influences that prevent one from intervening in the event of an emergency. Some have jokingly called the third one the Anti-Bystander Effect, because if someone needs assistance—whether it's to stop an assault, run into a burning building, or help a little old lady find a quarter she dropped—a firefighter will immediately rush in to save the day. It's a special brand of classical conditioning that instills an elevated sense of responsibility in every trainee, and it's paid in full by the state of California.

Which is why it's so odd for there to be three capable firefighters standing around doing nothing while there's an old man clearly in need of dire assistance. If the LAFD higher-ups knew they were actively choosing to watch the carnage unfold instead of lifting a finger to help, they'd all be shitcanned. 

Luckily, there's a fourth firefighter on the scene doing the absolute most. 

"I thought we made a pact to keep him from using his powers for evil," Eddie says, taking a dispassionate sip of his coffee. 

"Is it evil if he's actually using them in service of a greater good?" Hen's attention is half on what's going down and half on the Notes app on her phone, where she's typing out the week's grocery list. "You know, the enemy of my enemy is my friend?"

Draped over the railing like his bones have melted, Chimney gives a sage nod. "He's like a one-man Suicide Squad." 

In the apparatus bay, they watch as Vincent Gerrard uses the distraction of B Shift heading home to duck behind one of the engines, most likely to regroup after being thoroughly ambushed the second he stepped into the station five minutes ago. He slumps back and breathes. The moment of weakness costs him: a grinning demon rounds the corner and makes a bee-line for him as though he can taste blood in the air.

"So, which one of you said 'spreadsheet' three times in a mirror?" Ravi sidles up next to Chimney and unwraps a breakfast burrito from Delia's. 

Chimney gives him the stink-eye. "I hope you brought enough for the whole class."

"Nope," Ravi says, taking a cheerful bite.

"None of us summoned him," Eddie says. He leans down to try and catch the conversation being had, but he's too high up. For a second, he thinks he hears the words 'crack whore' but it's probably a trick of the bay's acoustics. "He's everywhere, always, just watching and waiting for you to slip up. Like God."

"Or the Devil," Hen says in agreement.

"Or Santa," Chimney adds.

Ravi chews thoughtfully. "I thought we threw out all the clipboards. Who gave him that one?"

"Tommy," Eddie, Hen, and Chimney say through a simultaneous, long-suffering sigh. 

It's not just any clipboard. It's the king of clipboards. It's the only clipboard that has ever fucked. The thing is a navy blue polycarbonate beast with "Buckley 118" embossed in fire engine red on the back, and the clip looks like it was forged in the fires of Staples HQ. 

At the bi-weekly Beer and Bitch Night last Friday at Golden Road Pub, Tommy had pulled it out of a bag and presented it on one knee like he was proposing, or bestowing a sword to a king. The entire brewery was then given front-row seats to an intense game of tonsil hockey that nearly went into overtime until Eddie threatened to call Athena because Bobby looked like he was seriously reconsidering sobriety.

"Does he know what he's unleashed?" Ravi sounds genuinely curious. 

As if on cue, Chimney's, Eddie's, and Hen's phones chime with three incoming messages. 

T.K. 07:26am: Has it started? T.K. 07:26am: Remember: you promised one of you would film it T.K. 07:27am: I'm offering 3 nights of free babysitting to the first person who delivers

That last one is followed by a gif of J. Jonah Jameson shouting "Bring me Spiderman!"

Hen frowns down at her phone. "Who the hell is that?"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Chimney mutters.

H.W. 07:28am: Why are you so desperate for video?  E.D. 07:28am: What 40-something year old still pinky swears? H.H. 07:28am: Clipboard Buck better not be a weird sex thing for you, Kinard

Tommy's typing indicator appears, then disappears. Then appears and disappears again. Then appears—

"Yeah, no." Chimney hastily pockets his phone. "Those two were made in a lab for each other, I swear to god."

Down in the bay, Gerrard has moved to stand almost directly underneath them. While they can't hear what Gerrard says to Melanie Wu, an electrician so talented she could probably take down the entire grid with her eyes closed, that puts such a dour expression on her face, they can hear it when Buck, popping up behind Gerrard like an insane Jack-in-the-box, says, "Don't worry, Melanie! This is something to bring up during Thursday's workplace conflict seminar."

"What seminar?!"

Buck isn't cowed. He taps his clipboard and says, "The one I scheduled with Chief Alonso. You know, the mandatory one we all need to do in order to keep our certification—well, we'll keep it as long as nothing comes up during the seminar that might call into question our ability to do the job."

There's a charged moment where it almost looks like Gerrard might take a swing at Buck, but then he notices the audience hanging above him like a Greek chorus and shouts, "Someone'd better top off the fuel and DEF or—"

"Already done, Cap." Buck makes a show of turning to the second page on his clipboard and lists off, "All fuel, DEF, oil, and coolant are set. Tires have been aired up. Hoses have been drained and cleaned, and re-rolled. Engines were all waxed yesterday, all medical supplies have been inventoried and stocked, and I've made a list of the harnesses and cutting torches that need replacing. Just need you to sign off on everything. Sir."

The ingratiating smile on Buck's face would fool even the wiliest of senior officers, and Gerrard himself looks like even he's not sure if what just happened was disrespectful, but they know better. 

"Diabolical," Ravi whispers, awed. 

Hissing through his teeth, Gerrard spins on his heel and storms away in the direction of the little office in the administrative section of the firehouse where he's taken to holing up like a miserable groundhog until they get a call that forces him back out. If he sees his shadow on the firehouse wall, it's six more hours of bullshit.

As soon as he's gone, all the firefighters that had stopped to watch the show burst into laughter and applause, and Buck cracks up, taking sweeping bows and blowing kisses to his adoring fans. 

Chimney rolls his eyes and looks to see what Hen's expression is doing, because no one gives good face like she does, but she's holding her phone in a way that clearly means—

"You're filming this?" Chimney demands, betrayed.

She gives an unrepentant shrug. "Three nights of free babysitting? I'm not proud."

"You do know this means Buck's going to get laid and be absolutely insufferable about it, right?"

"Three nights," Hen bites out through very audible regret.

Buck looks up, flashes a grin, and the second he clocks the phone he salutes it with the clipboard. Then he struts after Gerrard, calling almost lazily, "Cap, wait up! I wanted to talk about setting up a mock exam for everyone who's planning on taking the TCFP D/O!"

They all watch him go. Silently, Hen sends off the video with the air of someone about to make a drug drop. 

"So, when does Taylor Kelly's exposé come out again?" Eddie makes a dubious face in the direction of the administrative offices. "Because I don't know that Gerrard won't off himself before it does."

"We win either way," Chimney points out. 

"It comes out next Monday," Hen says, slipping her phone into her pocket and elbowing Chimney in the arm on her way to the stairs. "Karen and I are hosting a watch party that night and you're all invited."

Ravi beams. "Thanks, Hen. I'll definitely be there."

"And you'll be bringing dinner from Taco Azteca—for everybody. Make sure you get enough carne," Chimney calls over his shoulder as he follows Hen. 

"I'm not a probie anymore," Ravi whines. "You can't haze me like this."

Snickering, Eddie pats him on the shoulder and says, "You do this and I'll make sure you're not sitting anywhere near Buck and Tommy when Taylor drops the bomb about Gerrard and Ortiz."

"Extra al pastor and buche it is!"

[princessoflalaland]

Fiancé Nanami

content: fluff and smut, some degradation, oral (m), doggy style (our second fave position), creampie (I told you I want his babies)

a/n: this is reminiscent of how i was raised by a single parent, so that’s why the dad is not involved. thx to @teddybeartoji for giving me the idea based off this post.

surprisingly, your family had only met Fiancé Nanami a handful of times, despite you two practically being joined at the hip. it was those seldom interactions that planted the seeds of doubt in his mind that he wouldn't be able to appease to your mother.

Fiancé Nanami who, while fussing with his favorite tie in the mirror as you two prepared to drive across town to have dinner with your mother, couldn't help but to grow frustrated when his clothes wouldn't cooperate. this caused you step in and fix it for him, trying to calm him down as you do.

"you really don't need to worry, honey. my mom will love you, I just know it." that cliché line managed to soothe the worst of his nerves. he held your hips and watched you earnestly as you tightened his tie.

"thank you, darling. I just...I don't want to disappoint anyone tonight, especially not the woman who raised my beautiful wife-to-be." his deep, silky voice and sentiments made your heart skip.

Fiancé Nanami who, despite your encouragement, still felt worry linger in the back of his mind. he was rigid the entire drive to your mom's place.

Fiancé Nanami who could barely keep his eyes off you as you two made your way up the stairs to your mom's cozy townhome. the way your dress hugged your body, the sweet perfume you wore temporarily distracted him from how his stomach had knotted itself too many times for his liking. you could practically feel his anxiety beneath his warm skin, so you gave his hand a squeeze and offer him a bit more reassurance.

"I need you to look at me," you demanded softly. you two were right in front of the door, crickets beginning their evening symphonies filled the air. your fiancé could feel his heavy pulse in his ears, but brought his attention to you anyway, finding comfort in your steady, gentle gaze.

"everything is going to be fine. even if she doesn't like you, which I doubt because you're the greatest, most respectable person i've ever known, that won't get in the way of our plans. i'm still going to marry you, I'm still going to be Mrs. Nanami and have all your kids." his heart swelled at your words, and he leaned down to kiss you.

Fiancé Nanami who kindly and gently shook your mother's hand when she opened the door. he was a tall individual, so your mother's head moved up and down as she gave him a once over. he swore his tie began to strangle him under her careful stare. after introductions, you two were lead inside to the dining room, his hand still secured in yours.

Fiancé Nanami's articulate speech and gentlemanly mannerisms won your mother over quickly. they engaged in deep conversation about his career as a successful CEO and your mother's career, as well as the current status of your relationship. he took this as his opportunity to gush about how enamored he is with you. your mother would glance over at you from time to time as if to telepathically say: "I don't know where you found him, but i'm glad you did. he's definitely a keeper."

as the night wore on, however, Fiancé Nanami was finding it hard to focus when your hand casually rested on his thigh under the table. what started off as a mere touch of endearment became much more. rubbing your palm up toward his crotch, letting it simultaneously slide inwards, your fiancé had to fight to keep up his respectable demeanor.

Fiancé Nanami who was finding it harder to focus on the topic of discussion because your hand had so callously wandered over his bulge, your manicured fingers tracing the outline. he cut a glance over to you find you completely unfazed; in fact, you looked invested in what your mother was saying. meanwhile, he was doing everything he could to keep his breath steady and the pink tint out of his cheeks.

Fiancé Nanami who looked both ecstatic and bewildered at your mother's offer for the two of you to stay the night. with the way you were teasing him, all he was able to think about was getting you home and ravishing you until dawn. your mother broke through his thoughts: "it's late, and I wouldn't want you two to worry about the drive home. please, stay, I insist." who could turn down that kind, motherly tone? certainly not the two of you.

Fiancé Nanami who only marveled at your girly childhood room and its keepsakes for so long before you threw yourself on him. he returned your deep, fervent kisses, tasting your mom's cooking on your tongue.

"darling, slow down," he huffed against your lips as you fumbled with his belt and he with your dress zipper. "we can't make too much noise..."

you responded with a simper, one that had him straining against his dress pants. "then you better keep quiet."

Fiancé Nanami who was reminded how pretty you looked with your painted lips wrapped around his cock. you left mauve lipstick marks on his thighs, his pelvis, his dick. it was almost like art to him, the way you painted his skin like it was the most lewd canvas. he covered his mouth with his palm, his eyes fading in and out of focus as you slurped him salaciously.

"m-my love," his muffled words managed to reach your ears over the sounds your mouth made on him and your soft moans. "this is so wrong, doing this to me i-in your mother's home. nngh, God- ease up, I-i'll cum..."

Fiancé Nanami who quickly disregarded the risk of getting caught and possibly receiving a tongue-lashing great enough to make God cry, as you bent over your old bed, ass perked up for him. all he could think of now was how wet you must be at this point, how you've probably been thinking of this since y'all left home. hot puffs air condensed around his lips as he rubbed his tip against your slick folds.

"so wet. this what you wanted, love? to be fucked senseless in your old room, your mom just outside?" his husky, carnal voice only made you wetter. "am I really making a woman so slutty my wife?"

Fiancé Nanami who had to fight himself and you to keep you two covert. a big calloused hand was clamped harshly over your mouth that couldn't seem to contain its wanton vocalizations. his thrusts weren't as powerful as they usually are, the sound of slapping skin usually enough to let your neighbors know what you two got up to in the late hours of the night. his deep, slow strokes still had the same effect of making you want to remind those beyond your room walls who you belonged to.

"told me to me to keep it down..now look at you, fuckin cryin on my dick." you loved when he got vulgar, it made you clench around those inches of him inside you. "I know you want it deeper, honey, you want it harder, I know. we can't, c-cant make too much noise though." "but you'll still be a good girl for me right? you'll cum all over me like the good slut you are..." how could anyone resist that gravelly voice in their ear when he's balls deep in you?

Fiancé Nanami who lets go with a shudder and guttural groan, filling you to the brim with his cum, as your tight walls spasmed around his length. you cried behind his palm, eyes rolling back, toes curling. he littered kisses all over your neck and back, not daring to leave marks anywhere visible. with each heavy breath he released, he made it known how much he adored you.

"...love you..y'always so good to me, always make me feel like no one else has...I love you so much, my beautiful, beautiful wife..."

Fiancé Nanami who made sure you two took proper precautions before going to bed. he made you go pee while he bashfully sought out your mother, in his hastily put-on clothes, to see if she had clothes for you to sleep in. when he returned with one your mother's nightgowns, he'd heard the shower running.

"I got you some clothes from your mother, they're on the counter." he informed you before approaching the steamy translucent curtains. "can I join you?"

Fiancé Nanami who held you close after you both have washed up and have dressed as best as you can for sleep. he planted kisses over the crown of your hair, your temple, the corner of your lips. the feel of your fiancé's smooth lips on your skin helped you drift off faster. his low, silky voice was the last thing you registered before you were nestled comfortably in the embrace of sleep.

"sleep well, my love. thank you for tonight and all the wonderful nights to come."

[bbydoll18xx]

I'll Be Your Temporary Fix (Pt 3)

Paige Bueckers x Media Team Reader

Read parts 1 and 2 here: Part 1 Part 2

Part 3 based on this request: 

Could you do a Paige x media team reader. Where Paige and reader are fake dating because Azzi is uncomfortable with the fans shipping her and Paige. Reader does it cus she owes Paige a favor (you can make something up).

Word Count: 1.9k

Hey everyone! Due to popular demand, here is part 3! This part is more angsty and is heavily inspired by my personal anthem 'The Bolter' by Taylor Swift (she really is my muse these days lol)

I hope you enjoy!

--------------------------------------------------------------

You wake up the next morning with sunlight streaming through the windows and a warm blonde cuddled into your neck. Paige is close, so close to you, and you can feel the tangled mess of the both of your legs underneath the blankets. 

It feels a little too perfect, and before you can begin to enjoy Paige’s sleepy affection, a wave of anxiety washes over you. It envelops you; a dark hood pulled over your head and blinding you from seeing the light that was Paige. 

Your chest begins to rise and fall in staccato breaths, and your labored breathing causes Paige to stir. She sleepily looks at you with a small smile. You had always loved the way she looked in the morning; her hair splayed over the pillows and her warmth beckoning to you, threatening to keep you in bed forever. 

Her voice is still husky with sleep, and it rouses you from your slumberous contemplations. “Mornin’ baby.” 

Hiding your blush in the soft blankets, you reply back shyly, “Hi, P.” Her gaze is heated, and it makes every nerve light up with warning signs. The whole situation was paradoxical, and you found yourself wanting to swim in her presence and run for the hills, simultaneously. 

Fighting the urge to jump from the bed and leave without turning back, you snuggle back into Paige’s arms, eliciting content moans from the both of you. 

You stay like that for a while, until a loud grumble from Paige’s stomach cuts through the silence, causing you both to giggle. 

You stumble out of Paige’s bed, reluctant to leave the cocoon of safety and warmth, in search of breakfast. You both sit at the small kitchen table with bagels in front of you, slightly overlooked in favor of your phones. You are scrolling Twitter, while Paige is on tiktok, and you periodically show each other if you see something particularly funny. The public is going wild over your little display at the bar last night. There are already edits galore, and it fucking terrifies you. 

Paige’s eyes are glued to the screen of her phone, and her stony face gives you no glimpse of what she is actually thinking. Until you see her bite her bottom lip, and she darts her tongue out to swipe across it. It brings some blood to your cheeks, and your head feels fuzzy. 12 hours ago you were the one sinking your teeth into the pillowy flesh of her bottom lip, and here you sat across from her, wondering if you’d ever be able to again. 

The questions in your mind have you wanting to bound away once more, and you grip the edge of the table in a feeble attempt at grounding yourself back to reality. You didn't think you’d ever even have a chance to be anything more than friends with Paige. And here you were eating breakfast with her after kissing her and cuddling in her bed. 

You were so fucked. 

You replay the last few days in your head once more. You knew this whole thing was such a bad idea, but you really could not help yourself. Clearly, or you wouldn’t be sitting across from Paige right now.

Trying to pacify your bubbling panic, you ask to see Paige’s phone, wanting to see what the fuss was about. She smirks as she hands it to you, fingers brushing against yours with a kind of sheer electricity you had never felt with anyone else. You shudder at the contact, hoping to blame it on the chill of her slim fingers. 

Avoiding her eye contact and glancing down at the screen, you see video upon video of the kiss, backed with sensual music that has your heart pounding. 

“Oh, my gosh,” you mutter, embarrassed at the amount of views and comments all of the tiktoks had. The bar was not quite as dark as you remembered, giving the cameras of the onlookers the perfect view of your little make-out session. 

You watch yourself kiss Paige a second time, forgetting that the aforementioned blonde was sitting right in front of you. It was your turn to bite your own bottom lip at the sultry music playing, eyes still glued to the way Paige had one hand loosely resting against your throat and the other on your jaw. Your hands were on her waist, pulling her closer and closer into you. 

She would never be close enough. 

Paige clears her throat, breaking you out of the trance from watching that damn kiss. “I think it was pretty believable, huh?” 

It was hard to hear her over the blood rushing in your ears. “Um, yeah. I think so…Listen I’m glad I could help you and Az, but I gotta go.”

Paige’s face is shocked at your sudden excuse, and before she can even attempt to stop you from fleeing, you are already running around gathering up your clothes from last night.

“I’ll return your sweats after I wash ‘em,” you mumble, already halfway out the door. The door closes with a slam, and then nothing but silence. Paige looks around, her beautiful features twisted in a look halfway between stunned and horrified. 

What had she done?

Little did she know that you were a bolter. 

‘The bolter’ was fondly coined to you by your friends. You had craved a real, all-consuming love for many years, but everyone always left. So you learned to leave first. You kept your hopes low, thus ensuring no one could get them up and leave you shattered. And here you were drowning in Paige, and she had all the power over you. And you hated that.

Walking back to your dorm, you vowed to avoid the blonde until your emotions were fully in check; you needed your “ice queen” persona back. You knew it’d be difficult considering your job was to chronicle her life, but you were really fucking stubborn.

You refused to let your intimacy issues and your deep-rooted fear of being hurt ruin Paige’s lively disposition.

You spend the next several days engulfing yourself in schoolwork and your media job. Paige reaches out to you several times, but she gets left on read, causing a pang of guilt to shoot through you. You knew it was for the best. 

But was it really?

You are pulled out of your thoughts a few evenings after leaving Paige by a pounding at your door. Your phone was open to tik tok once more, the images of you and Paige kissing had been like a drug to you; it was getting impossible to avoid. 

With an exasperated huff, you drag yourself off of your chair to open the door, and you are greeted with the harsh expressions of Nika and Azzi. 

Fuck. 

Before you can even attempt to settle their apparent fury, the two girls are barging into your room, gesturing to you to take a seat. Reluctantly doing so, in an effort to avoid pissing them off even more, you look up at them and wait for the diatribe to follow. 

Shockingly, it doesn't come. As you study their faces, they morph into genuine looks of hurt and disappointment. Somehow, that makes you feel worse. 

Azzi starts. “You want to explain to us why you’re ignoring Paige all of a sudden?”

“It wasn’t on purpose…” you trail off. 

Lies. Such lies.

You take a beat to gather your thoughts before continuing. “I don’t want to hurt her. But I can’t let myself get hurt either.”

Nika scoffs indignantly. “Please, Paige would never hurt you. We all know that.”

“I don’t know that,” you stress. “It’s killing me to think that I’m upsetting her, but it’s for the best. I’m terrible in relationships. The lines were already too blurry. I just drew the line in the sand before anything else could happen.”

Azzi flashes her puppy dog eyes at the hurt in your voice, and wraps a comforting arm around you.

“Life is too short to mourn something that’s still living,” she says wisely. “You’re missing out on a lot of happiness with that mindset.”

You knew there was some truth to her words, and taking a deep breath, you promised to reach out to Paige once your thoughts were in order. 

Feeling satisfied with your answer, Nika and Azzi left, but not without several threats. You couldn’t fuck this up this time.

Abandoning every instinct inside your body, you make the familiar trek back to Paige’s apartment. Your mind was racing, trying to find the words to the feelings that had been consuming you for an endless amount of time. Your legs carry you until you stop in front of the same door you had hurried out of a few days prior. A hand reaches up to knock, defiantly separating you from the dread that was attempting to stop you.

A few seconds pass, and you hold in a shaky breath in the anticipation of seeing your beautiful Paige once more. The door cracks open hesitantly, her blue eyes peering around the edge of it. Your heart breaks once your eyes are finally able to fully feast upon her features. She looks absolutely ruined. Her usually bright face was broken and expressionless, and it was hard to miss the darkness under her eyes. 

Tears spring to your eyes at her misery, and you immediately pull her into a hug.

“I’m so fucking sorry, P. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.” The apologies fall out of your mouth like an incantation, desperate to fix your mess. 

Paige sniffles into your hair, and you want to fall apart once more. Moving your hands to her face, you wipe away the tears that had already fallen, silently vowing to never make her cry again. 

“What did I do?” she asks quietly, feeling humiliated that you had seen her in such a vulnerable state. 

“Nothing except give me the best kiss of my life. And I got scared. And when I’m scared, I run,” you whisper, still cradling her head in your small, shaking hands. 

“I messed up, not you. My feelings started consuming me, and I was so worried that once we didn’t have to pretend to date anymore, I would fall apart. Because I need you. I need you, Paige, and that fucking scares me.” 

You were being verbose at this point, hoping you could convince her. 

Paige finally looks at you, her eyes rimmed with red, and whispers “I need you, too.”

You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, and pulled her back into you once more, stroking her hair.  

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, soaking in each other’s presence that had been missed by the both of you. Once yours and Paige’s faces have dried up, and you are swaddled into her warm embrace again, you look up at her with a small smile on your face. 

“You think we could kiss like that again?” 

Paige just grins in response and pulls you in.

She was never letting you leave again, and you were no longer going to be the bolter.

Ta-da! What do we think? Should I write a part 4?

[heartsofminds]

i'm calling just to hear you scream - part i

"She’s tried to be positive. She’s tried to be kind. She’s trying to be the peacekeeper, but all of that falls out the window when her brother is bitching out everything that fucking blinks and breathes and Richie has slung a sledgehammer into the wrong wall that needed to be knocked down." or Natalie gets fed the fuck up and hires a hospitality attorney before everything else turns to shit. 

a/n: i couldn't help myself at all and had to bite by trying my hand at writing for carmy! what can i say? i love men with trauma that need to be cuddled like newborns! please enjoy the beginning of enemies to lovers to enemies back to lovers fic with a workaholic chef and an overly empathetic attorney. angst is my brand! i hope you enjoy!

Being the peacekeeper of your family is never something anyone ever sets out to be. 

One day you’re normal and live blissfully with the rose-colored lenses of naivety tinting life shades of bashful blush and magnetic magenta. The next day you’re diffusing a spitfire scarlett dispute between your anxiety-ridden mother and impulsively crude older brother while simultaneously taming the balloon of battered blue tears your baby brother sheds who observes from the corner; scared yet somehow unaware of the emotions sucking the oxygen out of everyone. 

At first, it feels good. It feels nice to be appreciated and turned to in moments of darkness. Helpfulness defines your livelihood and gives you the nameplate of the gold star child who can never do any wrong and always finds a solution. But then you realize that is what you ever really are, and you’re both hated for your inability to let things sour and for always having an answer despite uncertainty plaguing every course of action. 

Being the peacekeeper of your family is both a Medal of Honor, worn with pride and graciousness, yet a bullet wound wielded by shame and agony. The tenderness and hurt push on it until you can hardly stand it; half expecting pus to be seeping out in pale yellow heaps because the pain feels so real. 

There are no exit wounds. There are no breaks. There is no humanity or personal identity or room for self-discovery. 

A peacemaker is all you will be and all you will ever accomplish, and you’ll never say it out loud but it’s fucking exhausting. 

Being the peacemaker is something Natalie Berzatto never fucking asked for, yet here she is, playing project manager to her haywire (and sometimes freakishly obsessive) baby brother’s blind-eyed throw of a dart that manifested itself in asking Uncle Jimmy for an eight hundred thousand dollar loan with the promise to have it completely paid back within eight months. 

She’s not one to rain on a parade, but it’s hard to keep marching when your entire life has been putting out the fires of overly ambitious business ventures during unmedicated fits of mania. She had seen it with their dad, with their mom, and with Mikey. Carmen is the last needle needed to complete the fucked up haystack that engulfs their family. 

She’s tried to be positive. She’s tried to be kind. She’s trying to be the peacekeeper, but all of that falls out the window when her brother is bitching out everything that fucking blinks and breathes and Richie has slung a sledgehammer into the wrong wall that needed to be knocked down. 

Natalie has never thought of looking into Botox until now; when her face is set in a permanent scowl and her resting heart rate nears triple digits. Pete had been telling her for the past three weeks that she was doing amazing; that this was an impossible task to complete stress-free, and that the stress was “good” because it meant that she cared. 

Sometimes she doesn’t realize that not everyone has a mom who drives the fucking car through the den during Christmas Eve dinner nor does everyone have a mom who moves all the furniture to the backyard before having to leave for their oldest brother’s high school graduation. Not everyone has an older brother who blows his head off and doesn’t leave a note and not everyone has a younger brother who would lose his head if it wasn’t attached to his body and had his mouth that was spewing hurtful insults by the dozen.

Stress does not mean that you care. Stress means that your eyes are staring at the fucking Sun trying to see where the other shoe is getting ready to drop because there’s always another disappointment and always another phone call to make to the pharmacy for more SSRIs. 

Needless to say, Richie calling Neil “lard ass” on an antagonizing loop after he had pointed out the wrong wall was being destroyed was the last straw. Well, that and the fact she found a new patch of white hairs colonizing on her hairline the other morning. Constant shouted insults, gray hairs popping up overnight, and the colossal secret of a new infant making its arrival into the chaos in October weigh heavy on her. And she absolutely cannot afford to lose her cool and become the kind of bitchy and mean she knows that she’s capable of. 

Your phone number sits inside the LED-lit text thread of a friend she had known in high school. Becca was the older sister of Claire Cantor whom her little brother may have or may have not had a pathetic crush on years ago when he was in high school. 

She feels kind of grimy doing what she is; offering up information about Carmy to Becca to give to Claire who apparently thought her baby brother was the bee's knees (which, if she saw the way he was acting right now, Natalie knows she would run the other way). She doesn’t even think Carmen has the capability to think of anything outside of the restaurant and the menu and how royally fucked they all are. 

She can feel the dull ache of guilt in her chest that comes with knowing how unlikely anything is to come from this, and how wrong she is for pretending like her telling Becca where he grocery shops or if he has a girlfriend or if he was currently looking for someone to date would somehow tether Claire to a world where her and Carmen are a “thing” (because apparently “boyfriend and girlfriend” is too permanent of a word for Chicagoan twenty-somethings to use). 

But she’s doing it for the sake of everyone else! It can’t possibly be as gross and low-lived as she feels it is. 

Becca Cantor is insufferable and can only be taken in small doses, but she’s also a big wig junior partner at one of the most lucrative law firms in Chicago. Natalie hates blowing smoke up people’s asses who don’t deserve it (and in Becca’s case certainly don’t need it), but she desperately needs help and knows that she needs to figure something out before she fucks herself in such a deep hole that she couldn’t attempt to unfuck herself if she tried. 

Your official title is “junior associate” and you had been working at Becca’s firm following your graduation from Northwestern’s Pritzker School of Law a couple of years prior. Becca had said you were amazing; freakishly smart, funny, and hardworking. She also mentioned that you were the best kind of junior associate; the ones that know when to shut the fuck up and when to get the fuck out of the way. The addition added before the text conversation ended was how you were looking to get your foot into the hospitality legal field, and how you were willing to do anything concerning that for free fucking ninety-nine if it meant you would have some experience. 

Natalie sits with her lower lip worried between her teeth and her hands one tick shy of shaking. Her heart beats erratically despite lounging on her couch with the lights off and a re-run of That 70’s Show playing softly in the background. She makes a mental note to bring up the high resting heart rate at her next OB appointment. 

It’s because she’s pregnant. Yes. It has to be because she’s pregnant. 

She shouldn’t be nervous. It would be absolutely ridiculous to be nervous. She’s not nervous. 

She already ran the idea past Sydney and she agreed that they absolutely needed a lawyer in their back pocket. With all of the tax records fucked beyond belief, new workers being hired who actually knew their worth and wouldn’t tolerate not having an actual employement contract, and the lack of permits under their belt currently, a lawyer wouldn’t hurt if getting one turned out to not be as helpful as anticipated. Besides, Becca had said you were doing it for them pro bono which in turn meant free fucking nintey-nine. 

But Natalie had lied to Carmen about how much some fluted cocktail glasses cost to ensure that they purchased the cheaper ones so that she could run the numbers and figure out a way to put you on the payroll. Pro bono or not, you’re doing them a huge favor and part of her can’t put the peacekeeping to rest. 

Her fingers type and untype a novel of characters. She can’t seem to relax her mind enough to articulate what exactly she wants to say. She has one shot to not scare you off and not lose her mind in a fit of fiery rage and not have everything turn to shit and it be her fault. She has to be perfect. 

Fuck. She is nervous. 

Hi! This is Natalie Berzatto. I’m one of Becca Cantor’s friends and she referred me to you. I’m working on opening a restaurant and would like for you to swing by and discuss some things about it if you’re open to that! Please let me know. I’m looking forward to hearing back from you soon! 

Nat’s finger hits the blue “send” arrow in the rounded box of her phone screen the same time she pushes a gag to the back of her throat. She used to work at a marketing firm for Christ’s sake. Cold contacting people isn’t anything new and she’s usually not one to shy away from reaching out to anyone in her personal life first. But she can’t help the fact that she’s never been able to swallow the artificial bubble gummy niceness of reaching out to a complete stranger for the first time. She feels stupid and knows that she sounds even stupider but tries not to think about it. 

Besides, keeping everything together is never easy and she knows that she would be selfish for letting her discomfort prevent her from doing what she knows is best. 

Her breath is stuck in her chest as she eyes the open text thread to an unsaved number; her blue text message staring at her menacingly and breeding contempt as the seconds pass. She gasps loudly whenever she sees the gray bubbles pop up beneath it. Pete pokes his head into the living room with a tea towel in his hand and one of the ceramic plates they had eaten dinner on in the other. His eyes wear concern but he knows better than to confront his wife. Natalie was anything but sugary sweet when she was stressed and the influx of hormones as of late have not been helping. 

You see the message as soon as Natalie sends it. The unknown “312” number finds its way into your notifications and your eyes read over the words in a frenzy. You know that you’re intelligent. You graduated from law school for fuck’s sake, but for some reason you absolutely cannot comprehend the text you’re reading. 

Firstly, you were sure Becca hated your fucking guts. She was a junior partner that everyone hated being assigned to because she pushed all her work onto the associates and nothing ever seemed to be good enough for her. Part of the reason you had to take work home tonight was because she sent you an email with enough passive-aggressive undertone to know that these edits needed to be done now; never mind the fact that the time she took to type out the seven and a half page report about the original report probably took up so much time that she could’ve done the task herself. But yet you replied kindly and have been working through your brain fog and finger cramps since arriving home at six in the evening five hours ago. 

Secondly, hospitality litigation was absolutely above your pay grade. You had taken one elective course on it during your 2L year and did a two-week internship before the start of 3L simply because one of your friends wanted to go on vacation and needed to find someone to cover for them. You know jack shit about hospitality law and you don’t even know why Becca Cantor, of all fucking people, would be so willing to recommend you when she couldn’t care less if you lived or died. 

But of course, you can’t say no. You can never say no, and if this Natalie person was desperate enough to reach out to you via text at 11 PM on a Wednesday, she definitely needed help and needed it now. Besides, you would tell her that you do not need to be paid and if whatever she needs proves to be way too advanced for you, you can always help her find an attorney that knows what they’re doing.

Right? 

It definitely doesn’t mean that you’ll pull an all-nighter and research every aspect of hospitality law in Illinois that you can get your hands on. . .Or look up every department dealing with food and management regulations in the state. . .Or try and look at precedent cases. Your firm gave you unlimited access to West Law. Might as well use it for something slightly more interesting than trusts, estates, and contracts. 

You’re unusually pensive for something you know you would love to do. The ongoing battle as of late has been the dispute between seeking joy and wading in practicality; happiness or falsified peace? 

You rub your eyes with a roughness that would make your optometrist cringe. You know that staring at your computer screen five hours after your contracted work hours ended was the culprit for your dry eyes, but the hours you need are not going to bill themselves. Getting up to get your eyedrops will have to wait.

Replying to Natalie cannot. 

Your fingers type and untype; the feeling of texting back an unknown number foreign and unnerving. 

Thanks so much for reaching out and thinking of me! I would love to. What dates and times work for you, and where would it be best for us to meet? 

The text stares at you on your phone screen. Why do you sound so. . . corporate? Boring? Infantile.

She could probably tell you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about at all. The feeling of defeat rises in your throat but you ignore it and hit send instead. You’re trying to be better about that; letting your fear of uncertainty keep you from taking action. You’ve come to realize that the hard part isn’t doing the thing. It’s actually sitting in the aftermath of the “thing” and waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. 

You bite your lip so hard it begins to bleed and throbs with each pulse of watery blood that fills your mouth. The gentle suck you give it to stop the bleeding makes it partially numb. 

Fuck you, Becca. Fuck you, Becca. Fuck you, Becca. 

Natalie chirps when your text illuminates her screen. She gasps and sits up; startling Pete who had settled next to her after finishing the dishes. Her eyes curl up in the same way her lips do. 

Fucking finally. 

The world no longer feels like it’ll fall apart.

[sleeplessdreamer14]

𝔅𝔢 𝔙𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔄𝔣𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔡

fandom: my hero academia

relationship: class 1a x gn! reader (platonic)

summary: you don’t typically use your quirk as to not frighten people, but you wind up using it when Mineta is bothering your girl friends.

contains: mineta being a perv, y/n being terrifying yet beautiful, maybe a little rushed at the end sorry

Upon first getting your quirk at age four, you and your parents initially thought they were merely angel wings. By junior high however, you came to realize there was more to it than that, and after a few small incidents that included you inadvertently making a classmate nearly pass out, you opted to keep your power on the down low most of the time. But your quirk still needed to breathe, so to speak, so you let your first pair of wings out.

Once you reached high school and enrolled in UA, you were still hesitant to use your power to its full extent, and not just for the sake of not frightening anyone, but also because you were fairly certain that if you did, Bakugou would see it as a challenge and become bent on one-upping you. And you didn’t have the time for that.

Either way, it actually didn’t take too long for the truth to come out. From day one, your shortest classmate made a pretty solid impression as a little pervert, and it had you on your toes a lot, not just for yourself, but for your friends. You had gotten used to using your wings to create distance between Mineta and the girls, but you were getting real fed up with it real fast.

There were only a handful of scenarios wherein you deemed it necessary to go the whole nine yards, and when you spotted him trying to sneak up on Momo, Ochako, and Mina, you didn’t even think twice as you speed walked towards them, sliding your jacket off of your shoulders and tying it smoothly around your waist.

You put yourself between him and the girls, activating your quirk so quickly that a gust of wind blew through the room, making the girls jump in surprise a bit and causing Mineta to stumble and fall back and several other heads to turn in your direction.

There they saw you hovering a couple feet off the ground, all three sets of wings out and a soft halo of light surrounding your head. You had opened a few extra eyes, all glowing like the sun. But there wasn’t a trace of mercy in your gaze as you stared Mineta down. You almost didn’t hear the soft gasps of your other classmates as they stared at you in awe.

“Be afraid. Be. Very. Afraid.”

It took a moment for Mineta to snap out of his horrified state, before he quickly scrambled to his feet and booked it away from you, stuttering apologies as he scurried off. And with that, you lowered yourself to the ground and sighed, your halo fading and your extra eyes closing back up. Looking over your shoulder, you looked at your girl friends and offered them a tender smile, in complete contrast to the death stare you were wearing just seconds prior.

“Be not afraid.” you said sweetly before Mina gave you a big hug which you returned.

“(L/n), you’re the best!” she exclaimed joyously. “Thank you so much.” Momo said.

“No worries. I’ve been wanting to do that for quite a while now.” you said, mumbling at the last part. Ururaka went on about how she was sure that you would be an awesome hero some day, beloved by girls everywhere.

Midoriya was already flipping through his journal to add on to the entry he made about you and Jirou had a proud smile on her face, glad that someone was able to scare Mineta off like that. Iida was stunned, but honestly amazed by how gracefully you handled the situation, and Kaminari was simultaneously terrified and impressed as he made a mental note to never mess with you or your friends, even if he was one of them.

Kirishima’s look of shock turned into a beaming smile as he went over to compliment your quirk and how strong you were. Bakugou… wasn’t sure what to think. He was impressed, though he probably wouldn’t tell you that to your face, and maybe slightly intimidated by you upon realizing how much you must have been holding back during training and sparring. Aizawa on the other hand, made a mental note to try and explore this side of your quirk in future training.

[surielstea]

Comfort by Candlelight

Based on this request.

Pairing: Lucien Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lucien comforts Reader during her torturous cycle.

Warnings: Mentions of menstrual periods | descriptions of throwing up | heart wrenching fluff (I need this man badly)

2.5k words.

The ache in my body came in relentless waves, crashing harder into me after the last. I'd barely made it into my room before collapsing onto my bed, curling into a ball and burrowing into the cold pillows, seeking reprieve from the sharp twists in my abdomen as I tucked my legs to my chest and let out pitiful, quiet sniffles.

The knock on the door makes me groan, half of me wishes whoever it was would just go away. Of course, the door creaked open and I was met with a concerned-faced Lucien taking up the doorway with a steaming mug in his hands.

He paced to my bedside, setting the hot tea down on my nightstand. "I made your favorite blend— it's not as good as your brew but, I tried." He mumbles and I smile softly at my mate. His amber eye looks me over, his brows creasing as his concern grows for me.

"Also—" He fishes a small vial from his breast pocket, the clear liquid inside already making me grimace. His eyes softened at my reaction to the pain tonic. "I know you hate the taste but it'll take the edge off." He reassures, placing the vial beside my steaming tea. "So let's sit you up and you can wash it down with some tea yeah?" He says, standing upright and peering down at me.

Slowly, I nod and he moves to help guide me up, putting a pillow behind me as I lean back against the headboard. "Alright?" He asks cautiously and I nod again.

"You don't have to baby me, you know," I remark as he hands me the vial after unscrewing its cap.

"I know I don't have to," He says, grabbing my tea, keeping it warm with the fire at his fingertips. "But I want to." His gaze doesn't falter as he brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. "Now drink, and then you can have the tea." He croons, keeping my mug captive.

I huff a sigh as I bring the vial up to my lips, trying not to breathe in as I downed the oddly thick, syrupy medicine. I groan as I swallow it down and he was quick to bring the rim of the mug to my lips. I drank deeply, the perfectly tempered beverage spreading warmth throughout my entire body. I hum delightfully and take another sip, pulling my legs up to my chest.

"Good?" He asks tentatively and I nod, pulling the drink away.

"You might have to start making my tea all the time," I chirp as if it were a warning. He smiles softly, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of my head.

"Fine by me, just say the word and I'll do anything to make you feel better alright?" He murmurs into my hair, his calloused hand cupping my cheek gently.

He pulls away and I look up at him, tears brimming my eyes. His brows crease. "No, no baby what's wrong?" His hand on my cheek moves along my jaw, wiping the invisible tears beneath my eyes. "Nothing— you're just, so kind to me," I sniffle. He knew full well I was only acting like this because of the imbalance and swing of my hormones but it was still endearing to see me so torn up about his affection. "I don't deserve this," I murmur and his smile shifts into a frown, that, that he had a problem with.

"No." He said sternly. "No, my love you deserve everything good that there is." He reassures. "Now I'm going to draw you a bath, you stay here alright?" He said and I nodded, still sniffing.

Only a minute later he was returning to my side and guiding me into his arms, carrying me bridal style into our bathing chambers. He gave me the dignity of undressing myself while he poured my favorite oils and salts into the bath, stirring it with his hand, simultaneously warming it with the fire in his veins.

Once I was bare he guided me into the warm water, my muscles immediately soothing over at the change of temperature. I let out a soft sigh as I relaxed into the tub, leaning back and allowing the heat of the water to sink into my very bones.

"Are you trying to make me love you more?" I ask through a groan as he moves to lather an expensive-smelling soap along my bare skin.

"Is it working?" He asks with a sly tone, and there was that bantering, foxlike Lucien I loved.

"Maybe, keep going, and then I'll decide," I murmur, leaning into his touch, the familiar sensation of his rough, large hands being so delicate with me. "You know, I could get used to all this pampering," I add, voicing my every thought without any hesitation.

"Mm, good. I'm not going anywhere." He says as he finishes up washing me, not missing an inch.

I craned my neck back to look at him, peeking one eye open and finding his button-up white shirt rolled up at the forearms, but still damp at the edges nonetheless, yet he stared at me like he had no intention of changing until I was asleep.

"Go change, I want to soak for a few more minutes," I shoo him away, waving a dismissive hand.

"I'll be back to dry you off," He says, his tone falling back into that comforting, warm voice.

He shuffles out of the room, leaving the door cracked in case I need to call for him. I released a soft sigh, closed my eyes, and relaxed into the bath. Wincing slightly as a wave of pain shoots up my side. The pain tonic should kick in soon, and then hopefully I'll be able to sleep.

I rub at my eyes, exhaustion from my own body being at war with itself weighing on me with ceaseless pain. If the pain wasn't so intense I think I'd just sleep through the rest of the week.

Lucien came back in, as quiet as a cat on his feet, now changed and styled in only a pair of pajama pants. I admired the view of his bare torso in the candlelight— when I noticed the stack of clothes in his hands, as well as a towel draped over his broad, bare shoulder and a stack of more feminine products in his other hand.

"You want to dress yourself or do you need my help?" He asks as he places everything on the counter. I cringe slightly at the idea of him watching me secure my pad in my undergarments.

"I'll do it," I utter, standing from the tub and he rushes over to hand me the towel.

"Okay, I'll be just outside," He whispers, silently communicating that he didn't care what I asked him to do, and only wanted to help. I nod and take the towel from him, beginning to dry off as he leaves the bathing chamber yet again.

I move to where he had placed my clothes, noticing he had somehow selected my softest nightgown. I smiled and slipped the silky dress over my head, then put on a fresh pair of lined underwear. Once I was done I let my hair down and nearly laughed at the image of myself in the mirror. I looked horrendous, utterly terrifying. I combed my hands through my hair, attempting to create some semblance of being put together.

All the movement was beginning to make me queasy. My breath hitched as nausea began working its way up my stomach. I gripped the edge of the counter, taking a deep breath and hoping it'd fade but my body refused to lose this fight— and suddenly I was rushing towards the toilet with bile rising in my throat.

I hurled, the feeling burning my throat as tears sprang to my eyes. I didn't even hear the door open, or the rushed footsteps before Lucien's warm hand was guiding my hair away from my face and his other was rubbing soothing circles on my back.

I whimpered once the worst of it was over, my body aching as I gasped for air, wiping at my mouth and sniveling.

"I'm disgusting." I huff. "Why aren't you running for the hills by now?" I murmur, looking at my mate lazily.

"I've seen worse. Trust me, this doesn't crack the top thousand." He reassured and I let out a breathless laugh.

"Top thousand, hm? You must've led a very interesting life before you met me." I drawl, my voice weak due to the rawness of my throat.

"I don't remember much of a life before I met you." He said cheekily and I rolled my eyes.

"How can you tell me that when I've just puked half my lunch up?" I scowl.

"Because you're beautiful." He replies without missing a beat.

"Liar." I retort.

"Maybe, but it hasn't stopped me from sharing has it?" His smirk deepens.

"Pervert." I huff.

"I prefer 'Devoted Mate', but whatever you say." He continues and I frown at his insistence on being the best male I have ever met.

"I'm going to bite your face off," I warn, deciding my nausea was done wreaking havoc on my body and stumbling to my feet— which Lucien had guided me to.

"As long as you're not biting any other parts off, we're doing just fine." He jokes as I walk over to the sink, cupping my hands beneath the cool water and rinsing my mouth thoroughly.

"Careful," I cautioned while wiping my mouth. "Or I might reconsider." I smile, wrapping an arm around his bare torso and leaning on him for support as he takes us back over to the bed.

I flopped down onto the warm mattress, curling into the excessive amount of decorative pillows that I was too exhausted to throw off the side of the bed. "Oh, love," Lucien tuts, guiding me to readjust into a more comfortable position, then taking the time to remove the useless pillows from the bed. "Better?" He asks as he sits on the edge of the mattress, helping me pull the blankets higher up my body.

I nod softly. "Much better," I murmur and he smiles, his eyes flicking over to the spot he usually slept in.

"Do you want your own space tonight? I can sleep on the couch— or even the floor if you want me to." He offered after a moment of silence.

I nearly laughed. "I don't want you anywhere but right next to me," I say with a shake of my head and his shoulders slumped in relief.

"Oh good, I really did not want to sleep on the floor," He sighed while slipping into his side of the bed. I giggle, the sound turning into a groan as a piercing pain twists in my abdomen. The corners of his lips tug downward at my clear discomfort. The tonic should've begun working by now, but something told me I hurled that back up only moments ago.

"I wish there was more I could do for you." My mate said with a reassuring kiss to my temple while gathering me into his arms, pulling me into his chest, and encasing me in the scent of a crackling fire and sandalwood, the smell reminding me of being wrapped in a well wore leather coat on a crisp autumn morning.

"There is one thing you could do," I suggest slowly and he looked at me curiously, and even in the dim light I could see the devotion in his eye— the willingness to do anything I asked, silently pleading with me to just say the word.

I reach around to grab his hand that was resting on my ribs. I brought it around, guiding his palm and long fingers to cup over my lower stomach. "Mmkay, now warm it up," I mumble, his brows crease in confusion but he does as I say— and his hand feels like the first rays of the sun after a long winter.

I smile as my sharp pains ebb away from the heat, my muscles relaxing under his loving touch. "Am I just your personal heater?" He asks in a quiet voice, rubbing his thumb over the area of bare skin.

"A damned good one at that," I murmur while burrowing into his neck, craving the warmth there too. I kiss his bare collarbone, delighting in the sensation of his heated skin beneath my fingertips.

He pressed kisses to my hairline, so subtle I wouldn't have felt it if he were anyone else— but Lucien's kisses were different like each one was a piece of himself he was offering to me, heavy with the weight of his love. I pulled back from his shoulder to look up at him curiously.

"Thank you, Lucien," I whispered, my lips ghosting over his.

"Don't thank me." He shakes his head, his nose grazing mine slightly at the action. "Don't you ever thank me." He leaned closer, closing the distance between us. I melted into the feeling of his lips on mine, his hand on my abdomen growing slightly hotter as he got lost in my lips. I hum in amusement, pulling back and for a second I thought he might chase me back onto his mouth, but he remained still, staring at me with only reverence.

"I love you," I profess quietly, my hand coming up to cup his jaw, my thumb brushing over his cheekbone. "So much," I add, leaning in once more, chastely peppering kisses over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, where sun-kissed, freckled skin was.

He smiles beneath my soft kisses, his eyes shimmering with warmth and affection. "I love you too, more than words can ever express," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. The sincerity in his gaze makes my heart swell, the ache in my body momentarily forgotten in the presence of his love.

As I pull back, I rest my forehead against his, letting the moment linger. The world outside seems to fade away, leaving just the two of us cocooned in our little sanctuary. "You're so good to me," I whisper, brushing my fingers through his tousled hair. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'll never have to find out," He retorts, guiding my head back into the crook of his neck. “Rest now, you need it.” His hand soothed through my hair, detangling the ends silently, the quiet intimacy of it all making my stomach twist— this time, in a good way, similar to butterflies soaring.

“Goodnight Lu,” I murmur into his warm skin, pressing one last kiss to his neck. He didn’t reply, just continued to stroke my hair as I succumbed to the warmth of his affection, the darkness of night slowly wrapping around me— and he was the flickering candlelight that lulled me to sleep, my body finally finding rest as I meet a peaceful slumber.

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