#you know what to expect from me by now probably

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 14 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: Life with him is really good...Right?

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder/gore/death, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation and low self-esteem, mentions of sexual activities, loss of identity, threatening, penetration, breeding kink, degradation kink, cockwarming, edging, overstimulation, sleepy sex (both consent!), not beta-read, if I've missed any warnings or tags please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

Life was good.

Uncharacteristically so even.

There was still a tiny part of you that was tense around him and that was for various reasons. One of them being, that you never really knew when his evil persona would take over. So far you could tell, albeit roughly, but there were always moments, when he would simply snap and there was nothing you could do about it. Was that a problem? Probably, but not to you, anyways. Why? Because life was good.

The little trip to the balcony hadn’t been a one-time thing. In fact, it happened more and more regular. Not only to get naughty, because he was a freak, who liked the thought of possibly getting caught – but also because, as he said, you’ve been such a good girl for me all this time. And I told you, sweet girl, I don’t want to keep you locked away. I just needed to make sure you’re mine.

That you were. Quite obviously.

That one time when you told him you wanted to leave, it had been exactly that. One time. The reasons for that outburst were in the past so far. There were still moments when you feared punishment and rightfully so. But to your great relief, you were both learning.

You were learning not to expect a painful blow, whenever you went out of your way to speak your mind (which wasn’t quite as often as you wished, but you were getting there). Slow and steady.

And he? He was learning, too. He was learning to leave you be and control the wild beast that lived inside his mind and soul. The darkness that surrounded him became lighter every day or so it felt to you. Of course he wouldn’t let you downright insult him, without at least some punishment in sight. But he was working on himself and his behavior. He didn’t hurt you without a reason. He didn’t hurt severely. And on some lucky days, he didn’t hurt you at all.

Slow and steady.

What was probably the greatest part of it all, it felt like a relationship. A real one. Two people who shared a life together, doing all kinds of things, sharing an intimate relation, but most importantly, you talked.

You talked a lot.

And now it wasn’t only through games and the fear of punishment. It wasn’t even only you who was forced to talk. No, he talked as well. The important things were still a big issue, obviously. He didn’t have a name, an identity or a past, when it came to you. But you had the great, undying hope that one day he would trust you. Trust you enough to let you know who he was and where he came from, what made him who he was and what was truly important to him.

Sometimes you’d get those tiny, little flickers that shone through his façade, his tight mask. The moments when the look in his eyes became faraway and distant, when his voice became softer and the tension in his body gave way to something quiet. Maybe one day that would be the version of him that you would get. Entirely and without question. Without the filter to rule out his emotions for him.

Until then, though, you would make do with what you had. And what did you have?

His favorite movie? The good, the bad and the ugly. What a question. Actually, anything with Clint Eastwood in it. Haven’t you seen the man?

His favorite musician? Ennio Morricone. Did you watch that scene in Inglourious Basterds, right before the Bear Jew comes out of the cave? That scene – and that composition – it’s reason enough to watch the movie. Aside from all the Nazis getting burned, of course.

His favorite food? Tteokbokki. But they have to be spicy enough to make your tongue fall off.

You smirked to yourself as you stood by the stove, slowly stirring the rice cakes in a black pan. He was talking movies all the time and that was a language you understood well.

In a minute you needed to add the spices and that disturbingly hot, red sauce. It was something you had cooked before, back in England. You had been scrolling aimlessly through one of your countless apps, which you normally used so you wouldn’t have to think and there you found some recipe that had been viral for a while. A Korean recipe with rice cakes in a sauce, topped with sesame and green onions. It had been quite the ordeal to find rice cakes back where you lived, but when you finally did and you tasted the recipe you had so carefully and lovingly prepared, you found it was worth it. It had actually been the first step into the life you were now living.

South-Korea, you had thought. Why not?

You poured the sauce in and wanted to try it, but decided against it in the end. You’d spend the next hour trying to soothe the pain in your mouth with bread and milk. With a soft sigh, you turned off the stove and served the food on two plates. You set the table with the gentle precision of a lovely homemaker. Even the napkins were folded prettily, giving the whole scene the last touch it needed to come off as…thoughtful.

Of course you never mentioned to him that you knew the dish. He had mostly likely thought it was just another Korean word he threw around and you’d forget immediately. And you had made no attempts to make him believe differently. So, when you began to cook this, it was with the intention to surprise him. A short glance at the clock showed you that it was almost ten in the evening, so he would most likely be home soon.

Home. What an odd thought.

You sighed again and washed your hands. A lecture you had to learn only once before in your life – spicy food didn’t quite match well with eyes.

You glanced around the kitchen once more, half-expecting him to be late. After he luckily gave you the books back, you asked yourself if you should go and read something, until he arrived, but that question answered itself, the moment you heard the door creak open. A nervous smile grew on your face and you nibbled on your lower lip. For some reason, a part of you was still afraid. A tiny bit, at least. It was like you expected him to punish you for good things. For being affectionate or caring.

But the moment you saw his head perk through the door, you knew you wouldn’t get punished tonight. Well, at least not, until you gave him a reason to…or asked him to.

His face lit up in surprised delight, his brows furrowed in a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

“Hello?” He murmured as he stepped closer and set the briefcase down on a chair. Your smile grew somewhat and you folded your hands behind your back.

“Hey.” You took a step closer and tilted your head to the side. “I made dinner.”

“I can see that.” He glanced at the lovely decorated kitchen table. You had put in quite some effort, looking through all the drawers until you found a tablecloth, lit some candles and then there was his favorite food. He looked from the table to you and smiled.

“And what exactly did I do to deserve this?” He raised a brow in suspicion. You returned the smile.

“I just felt like it.”

“So, you know Tteokbokki!”

You laughed quietly. “We’ll see about that. You should try it first.”

He hummed softly and stepped closer. You expected him to head for the sink and wash his hands, which he most definitely would, but before that, he stepped close to you, so close that you felt the warmth radiating off him and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. Then your cheek and then your lips.

You closed eyes and leaned into the kiss, immediately aching for more. But a second later he pulled his head back and smiled again.

“I just know I’m going to love it. Thank you.”

You felt yourself blush and so you averted your gaze. He finished up getting ready and then pulled out your chair for you, like the gentleman he was, or well, he could be.

The both of you settled down and you kept a keen eye on him to check his reaction, the second he brought the fork to his lips. You half-expected him to recoil in disgust, but instead, his brows furrowed and he hummed in approval.

“This is perfect.”

You scoffed in amusement. “Stop bullshitting me.”

“No, I mean it. It’s perfectly spicy, just the way I like it. And it’s homemade. Do you know how much that me-“ He stopped himself and cleared his throat. The filter. “I really love it. Thank you.” He squeezed your hand under the table.

You smiled again and leaned back in your chair, taking a moment to simply watch him eat.

When he saw you were staring at him, he cocked a brow. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Now it’s you bullshitting me, huh?”

That made you laugh. God, how beautiful this was. Just simple, plain banter. Back and forth, like normal couples shared. You loved it.

You loved him.

When you laughed, a cocky grin grew on his face. “Mhm. I still have it in me, don’t I?”

You smirked. “Oh, shut up. For an old man.”

His grin widened and he picked up the fork, bringing it to your lips. Wordlessly, you parted them and took the food in your mouth. It was painful, of course, but you tried to keep a strong façade. And failed.

He laughed and held out a glass with milk to you, of which you took a big, grateful sip.

“Why are you making it, if you can’t even eat it?”

“You like it.”

He hummed softly. “And you remembered.”

“It’s not that hard. I collect the few things I know about you like postage stamps.”

He snorted. “Oh, so now we collect stamps, do we?”

You grinned cheekily and gently nudged his shoulder. “Eat your abnormal spicy food and shush.”

He shot you another smirk and eyed you up and down for a moment. It left you feeling oddly comfortable.

“You’re beautiful.” He mumbled before he took another bite. Your brows shot up and you titled your head to the side. You were better now, when it came to this. Compliments and accepting them. After all, he had no reason to lie to you whatsoever, now, did he?

“Thank you. But why are you saying that?” Not as good as you thought, but better.

He brows furrowed. “And why wouldn’t I?”

You shrugged and he shot you a long, suspicious look. “I’m not taking it back.”

That made you laugh again. He sounded like petulant child and you loved him even more when he was like this. Just…easy.

Easy to love.

“Why are you laughing at me?” He joined your laughter.

You smirked and took another sip of your milk. “If you can’t tell, it’s already too late.”

Days passed, weeks even, and life was still good. Very much so.

Every now and then you would ask yourself, when will things take a dark turn again? You couldn’t help yourself. These first few weeks were stuck in your mind like a nightmare you hardly remembered and yet felt in every inch of your body. Even when you didn’t...

Your body remembered.

He had that in him. That dark, that evil. It would undoubtedly come out again at some point. That’s why you always tried to remind yourself, not to dive too deep into what you called your perfect world. At some point, you’d surely be in pain again.

Though, you had to admit, you were hardly in pain nowadays. Your mysterious man was a gentle man, when he wanted to be and that happened more and more these days. Whenever he came home, he’d make a habit of kissing you and asking you about your day. His smile came out, more and more often. On very rare occasions, when you got really lucky, you even heard him laugh. And not the mock-kind of laugh he’d have so well-rehearsed in his repertoire of masks, he had for the world to see, but the real kind. A sound so unbridled and genuine, so warm and endearing, it made something inside of you ache. Why was it so rare?

Of course he still hurt you sometimes, but that was more of a consented kind of thing. In most cases.

Whenever he decided it was time for you to cockwarm him, for example. God, you hated, when he did. Because you loved it.

You loved the feeling of having him inside you on any occasion, really. Sometimes he’d be reading the newspaper and have you on his lap, his free hand on your hip to hold you perfectly still. You always asked yourself, how on earth did he manage to read like that, without even cocking an eye brow, while you were nearly fainting in agony, because all you wanted was for him to move?

On other nights, and you were ashamed to admit how much you enjoyed it, you’d even sleep like that. You’d lay either facing away or facing him, but often clenched around him. He’d nuzzle his face in your hair and after a while he’d usually drift off like that, his breathing slowly soothing down to a soft sound. Sometimes, when he’d wake up in the middle of the night, you felt him move and grind his hips against yours, giving you the friction you so desperately desired. Sometimes it happened quickly, sometimes it took a few hours and sometimes it didn’t happen at all. But when it did and when it did take hours to get to that point, you’d normally be half-asleep and yet desperate. The second you felt him move inside you, it was as though a switch got flipped. You became needy and…

Wicked.

 For you, it didn’t matter how many times he fucked you. How many times he made you cum. When you felt him like that, you needed him. Ardently.

But in most cases you managed to be good for him, just like he asked you to. Good and perfectly still. When you did, you got rewarded. Which, in most cases, consisted of him going down on you and making you feel things with his tongue that made your toes curl and your breath stutter. He made you cum so good that you nearly forgot your own name.

At times, you did forget it. But odd enough, you didn’t really miss it. Names weren’t important. Not with him.

And then there were those other times. The times, when you got too needy, too desperate and, despite your better will, you found yourself moving against him, desperate for any kind of friction. That was when you got punished still.

Sometimes with a firm slap to get you back on track. That wasn’t enough to make you forget about your need for him though. Normally, you’d just fall back into the same pattern, given enough time. And after a while, he got more creative with his punishments. When he realized that pain was something that you were rather immune to, compared to other things, you were fucked.

Quite literally.

When you moved and disobeyed his orders not to…

He fucked you. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Not at all, actually.

That was until…

You came. You came every time with him, which was something you had highly doubted, before you started this thing between you. But to your surprise, you were more than relaxed with him. And so you came.

But he didn’t stop there. No, it was a punishment after all, right?

So, he kept fucking into you, like a feral animal. Even after you came and the pleasure quickly shifted into overstimulation. You got so sensitive, it was close to painful. But he kept going.

And then, oh God, you’d come again. Of course you did. He was good at what he was doing. You came again, shuddering and gasping.

And he still wouldn’t stop.

Even when your body arched into the air and you tried to get away from him, all desperate, he’d continue fucking you, until your mind was a mess and all you could do was stutter and whimper, cry even.

It was one of his favorite ways to punish you.

When he didn’t keep you on edge or withdrew your release for the time being, he made you cum until you begged him to stop, sobbing and whimpering.

Oh, the crying turned him on, you could tell. Because it normally ended with him filling you up to the brim. And then he’d go back to sleep, wouldn’t he? With his length still buried deep inside to keep warm.

Let’s just hope you learned your lesson now, darling. I’d hate to punish you again.

He had done exactly that the night before and so you found yourself lying on the sofa, feeling sore and exhausted. When he came home that night, you were still passed out on the couch, too sleepy to even open your eyes. He regarded your broken frame with a warm, yet subtle smile and set his briefcase down. He took a few slow steps closer and watched over you for a long moment, before he reached for the nearby blanket and pulled it up to your shoulders. You weren’t really fast asleep, just somewhere in-between, so you felt his knuckles gently caress your cheek. You mumbled something in response and you heard the way he smiled, before he vanished to the bathroom and you heard the way the water got turned on.

After a while you slowly blinked your eyes open and yawned. When you saw the blanket, a smile crept onto your face and you hugged the material tightly to your body. Slowly and carefully, you sat up and rubbed your eyes, before you decided to try and cook something for a change. You got better and better at it, considering how little you knew about the Korean cuisine. Yet you had to admit, it seemed healthier than anything you had ever eaten back home.

When you couldn’t think of anything, you decided to be safe and went for Bibimbap. It was a mixture of near everything and also the fastest thing you could think of. But before you even started, you went back to your room to grab a claw clip for your hair. You swiftly did it up and made your way through the hallway, when you saw that the door to his bedroom stood open. You saw his white shirt splayed out on the bed and you just knew it smelled like him. You bit your lip as you slowly tiptoed inside and picked the shirt up, only to bury your face in the material and inhale softly.

If this wasn’t home, what would ever be?

You hummed softly to yourself, before you swiftly slid off your caramel colored skirt and your black tank top, to put his button down shirt on instead. The material hugged your body like a gentle hug and you smiled to yourself as you rolled the sleeves up in the way he would. Of course the shirt looked fairly huge on you. You took a long glance at the big mirror and smirked. It looked like a dress on you, albeit a short one. You twirled around like a ballerina and took in the way your thighs were barely covered by the material. That gave you a wicked idea.

Of course your body was begging you to leave it be, especially after last night, but the devil inside your mind forced you to keep the shirt on and make your way back to the kitchen.

In the meantime, he had finished his shower and now he sat on the couch, with the newspaper in his hand. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants (the damned bastard) and a black shirt. His hair was still damp and hung loosely into his face. He looked delicious.

When he heard you approach, he looked up, ready to greet you, when he hesitated. His gaze roamed up and down your body in a way that made you bite back a smirk.

“Hello, darling.” He murmured, without ever looking up at your face.

“Why, hello.” You purred cheerfully and approached him with slow, tiptoed steps. His gaze wandered up your legs and torso, until he finally met your gaze.

“You look…”

“I thought it suits me better than you.” You teased.

His lips curved up into a slow smile. “I can’t disagree.” He took your hand, ready to pull you onto his lap. But after last night, you felt in dire need to take some action and control.

Not, that you didn’t somehow enjoy it. But still.

You briefly squeezed his hand, before you pulled yours away. You gave him a quick peck on the lips, then took a step back.

“I’ll go cook.”

His brows shot up. “I can-“

“No.”

You hid your smirk, until you had your back facing him. With quick, measured steps, you disappeared into the kitchen, all the while pretending not to hear his frustrated groan.

The next few minutes went by rather quickly. You did a great job cooking up some ingredients and even an egg, Sunny Side Up. You quickly set the table and eventually left some rice on the stove, to slowly simmer. With a soft, exaggerated sigh you made your way back to the living room.

“It’s almost done.” You murmured as you slowly approached him. When you looked at him, you deliberately missed his face and his expression became more and more dour.

“Good. I was thinking-“

“I nearly finished my book.” You interrupted him in a sweet voice, as you sat down on his lap, causing him to freeze for a moment. It only took him a second to relax, though he seemed to have forgotten that you had interrupted him and what he even intended to say in the first place.

“That’s…good.” He murmured.

“Just two more pages. I’ll finish it quickly, before dinner, okay?”

He cocked a brow and shrugged slowly. “Sure. Suit yourself.”

His shirt rode up your thighs and revealed more and more of your skin to his gaze. He didn’t even try to be secretive about it, he was straight-up ogling you. All the while you buried your nose in your book, without reading a single word. You had to save up all your energy as not to smile.

His fingertips brushed over the skin of your thigh and you did your best to keep your expression neutral. And he, he was just…

“Are you-“

“Oh God, I didn’t see that twist coming.” You closed the book and sighed. Then you shot him an innocent look and smiled. “That was a really good book.”

You leaned back against his chest and kept up your innocent façade, all the while the look in his eyes equaled that of a bear with his fish.

“You really-“

“I’d better go and get myself another one. I’m sure the rice needs a few more minutes.”

His hand ended up in the middle of the air, while you practically jumped off of his lap. He let out a soft grunt of frustration, while you slowly swayed your way back to the bookshelf. Of course your hips swayed along and obviously his gaze did the same.

You held a finger against your lips, pretending to think, while you slowly went about the rows and rows of books. And then, what a coincidence, a book in the last row caught your attention. You smiled and bent down, pretending to read.

At the same time, his patience snapped. When his shirt rode up further, exposing just a hint of your rear to him, he let out a low growl.

“That’s enough.” He hissed. You smirked, before you slowly turned and replaced the smirk with innocent surprise.

“What? What’s enough?”

“Oh, stop this.” He slammed the newspaper down on the coffee table and stood up in a swift movement. “Stop acting all innocent. You’ve been parading around here, half-naked and ready to…”

“To what?” You murmured and tilted your head to the side in feigned curiosity. He growled again and ran a hand over his chin. Only then did you see the obvious tent in his grey sweatpants. It cost you half your life not to look down there and trust your peripheral view.

“Don’t play dumb.” He murmured. “Get over here. Now.”

You licked your lips. “But the rice-“

“Now!”

That made you laugh and there went your innocent act out of the window.

“You minx! You’re doing this on purpose!”

You chuckled. “Well…”

The look on his face was near rabid. Only the foam was missing.

“I’ll forgive you this once, if you’ll be a good girl for me and get your ass over here.”

You smirked and took a step back, circling the sofa. “And if I don’t?

He hissed in response. “You don’t want to test me today.”

And for some inexplicable reason, right then and there, you weren’t scared. That tiny part of your brain that had continued to keep up the fear, albeit briefly and barely, was completely silent. And you knew he wasn’t going to hurt you, no matter what you did.

“Make me then.”

His eyes widened and he tilted his chin up. “Oh, that’s a mistake.”

You grinned. “Oh, that’s a mistake.” You mocked his voice.

With a movement so quick that it almost made you wince, he jumped over the back of the couch and stood before you, eyeing you like a predator. You let out a soft shriek and turned on your heel, running and laughing, without looking over your shoulder.

It took him only a second to put his hand on your shoulder, but it took you only a second to shrug him off and circle the coffee table.

“That all you got, old man?”

You could have sworn you saw his lip twitch, but that would have been too easy. He tried hard to keep his expression serious.

“Grew a backbone, did you?”

You raised a brow and smirked. “Oh, boo-hoo. Did I hurt you, oppa?” You hinted a mocking curtsy.

“Oh, you just wait!” He rushed to catch you from one side, but you quickly ran the other way. When he tried the other way, you went the other way, yet again. He gave a frustrated growl.

“What now, hm?” You smirked. “Giving up already?”

He gave you a long, wild look. For a moment you almost thought he was indeed giving up, but then he rushed forward and kicked the table out of the way. It rolled over and crashed against the wall loudly. Your eyes widened in surprise and you took a step back, but before you knew it, your back was already pressed against the wall and you had to tilt your head back to stare up at him.

“You caught me.” You whispered.

He clenched his jaw and reached out a hand. You were sure. You were still sure, that you were safe.

And then…

His hand slowly tangled in your hair and gently grasped the back of your neck. He leaned down so that your lips nearly met.

“I caught you.” He whispered back, before he captured your lips in a bruising kiss.

And you let the rice burn.

A few days later, you couldn’t even tell which day it was, because every day was but a collection of memories you kept replaying in your head, he was off to work.

And to no one’s great surprise, you missed him.

Every waking moment without him was empty. The emptiness was so intense, it left you nearly suffocating. All the while, all you could do was wait. Wait and eat. Wait and sleep. Wait and read.

Sometimes, you wrote. You remembered that one time you told him about your greatest dream.

To become an author one day. You didn’t even care, if anyone knew your real name, you just wanted to touch people with your words. Like the Bronte-sisters.

Ellis Bell, huh? And who would you be?

Hana, maybe. The thought made you equally as sad as it filled you with hope.

But that was about all you did. And after hours and hours, the day neared its end. Eventually it was far past eleven, so you were sure he would be late tonight. Of course you were concerned. As you always were. You had no idea what his job was, but you could tell it was dangerous.

The man in his clean suit and a briefcase full of secrets.

When it got closer to midnight and he still wasn’t back, you decided to distract yourself, by getting yourself ready. You changed into a beautiful, white negligee with a neckline made of pretty, see-through lace. You loved it. The silk made you feel like you were the most beautiful girl on earth. And you were sure, once he saw you in it, he would totally destroy it. Chew it off or tear it down, whatever worked faster.

You did your hair down (it was slowly growing back and you barely thought back to the dreadful day that he cut it) and took a last glance at your appearance in the mirror. You smiled at yourself, something you rarely did, and eventually made your way back to his bedroom to surprise him. On his bed, wearing nothing but the negligee and a pair of…

Where were the handcuffs? You frowned as you glanced around and didn’t immediately find them. You bent down to look under the bed, but still no cuffs in sight. Your frown deepened and you gave another quick onceover, before you decided that they most likely were in the wardrobe.

You opened it and knelt down, finding the knife and several guns in the process. The small shudder brought you back to reality and you exhaled softly, before you sat back and looked at the countless weapons. Had he ever killed someone with them? Most likely.

But for a strange, inexplicable reason, you didn’t really care. Not really. Because it wasn’t real. Not then, not there, not in that moment. What was real, was him and his…

Desires.

You opened your mouth and closed it, before your fingers slowly closed around a small handgun. You swallowed thickly and carefully held it up, only to realize it was far heavier than you always assumed. The material felt cold and wrong in your hand.

Your mind involuntarily wandered back to the day he pressed one of them against your temple or…his. You closed your eyes. The thought of him…

Him…

With a shuddery gasp, the gun slipped through your fingers and landed on the carpet.

There was no thought more painful than that one. You couldn’t lose him. Not ever.

You loved him. And you loved him far too much.

Enough, to be what he wanted.

Enough, to give in to his desires.

You took another deep breath and picked up the gun again, determined to take it back to bed with you. You wanted to surprise him, right?

All you had to do beforehand was to make sure that it wasn’t loaded.

A frown formed on your face, when you realized you didn’t even know how to do that. The thought of accidentally shooting yourself, while waiting for him to come home…It didn’t sound all too appealing, though it did sound like something that could happen to you.

You sighed and already gave up the thought of ever finding the cuffs, when you caught sight of something else instead. It was far in the back of the wardrobe and you were sure, for some reason, you weren’t supposed to see it.

Of course you weren’t supposed to touch his gun, either, but you felt he would forgive you, once he realized you were slowly submitting to his every desire.

Even if it meant him fucking you, while he held a gun to your head. In your mouth…Or, God help you, somewhere else.

You were twisted. You were sure you were. Because you felt it. You felt how the thought did things to you.

But for now you tried to push the thought aside and instead glanced back at the box.

Then again, what terrible thing could be inside there?

Someone’s teeth maybe?

Your soft smile disappeared the second you realized it was possible. You nearly recoiled in disgust. But then you realized, you had to know.

It couldn’t be teeth. It was too sick. Too deranged.

Too…him?

No. No, no, no.

As if in a trance, you picked up the light, wooden box and took off the lid.

No teeth inside. Only…

Fuck.

What was in there was so much worse than teeth.

Your forehead creased into a small frown, which grew further with every second.

And suddenly you felt nauseous.

No.

Oh, no.

You nearly dropped the box and backed away like you’d been struck, the moment you heard it.

“Goddamn it." He sighed impatiently and the door slowly closed behind him. "You weren’t supposed to see that.”

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Tag list 1:

@mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3 @misty-q

Author's note: Did I lately mention that I love you, guys?

Ps. The Tteokbokki and the teasing were anon requests! I loved them and I hope I did them justice!

[earthtooz]

x : HAPPY ACCIDENT :*+ﾟ

in which: you let phainon know the consequences of when he doesn't give you any attention.

warnings: 1.2k wc, fluff, phainon is very golden retriever coded in this and of course very down bad, gn!reader, mydei appears, i already said this but like i said, HE IS DOWN BAD.

a/n: the p in phainon stands for puppy or pathetic, or maybe both. btw i haven't played the story quest thumbs up.

You should feel bad about unintentionally conditioning Phainon like an obedient dog- you just didn’t expect him to take it so seriously!

The incident happened less than a week ago, when you walked into the courtyard in search of the Chrysos Heir, and he was exactly where you expected. The resounding, piercing sound of blades colliding was the first tell that the man you wanted to find was indeed there, and the second was when you rounded the corner to find him shirtless and shining with sweat under the gentle sunlight. He had been there for hours already, and as much as you admire his dedication and diligence, you also wonder if he’s been training a little too hard recently, dedicating substantial hours of the day into refining his skills. 

It’s been making you feel lonely. 

The last time you saw him was before noon, and it's been hours since then! You can only entertain yourself by working and reading and managing affairs for so long.

He spots you in his periphery and waves enthusiastically, a gesture you return with a calmer one before you find a marble bench under the shade to sit on. Even if it’s Phainon’s undivided attention you want, watching him spar is still far more exciting than whatever document that sits unread on your desk. 

Half an hour later, Phainon dismisses the soldier he was sparing with, the two of them chattering briefly before the snow-haired approaches you, his muscles flexing with every step he took. 

“Hey, you,” you greet with a smile before standing up, raising your arms over your head to stretch.

“I missed you,” he murmurs before intertwining his arms around your torso, allowing your arms to fall around his neck comfortably. 

“You should bathe,” you say before parting, his skin still hot and sticky with sweat. 

“Do I smell?” 

“Awfully.” 

He frowns at you. “That’s not very nice.” 

“I’m only kidding,” you giggle, “you smell like a bed of fresh roses, just extremely sweaty and… testosterone-filled.” 

“I shall go wash soon, then. Care to join me?” 

“Do you invite everyone to bathe with you, Phainon?” 

“Only the ones I really like, so, please?” He’s pleading at you with those eyes of his, so bright, so innocent, so hard to say no to. 

Well, normally you have a hard time saying no, especially to an offer as tempting as bathing with your lover, but you remember your petty feelings of how he paid more attention to his claymore today, rather than you, so you decide to give him a piece of your mind. It’s what he deserves. 

You hum in exaggerated consideration, even scrunching your nose to make it seem like you were thinking hard, keeping him on his toes. 

“Pretty please?” The hero insists, anticipation shining in those bright orbs. 

“Depends on how well you behave,” you negotiate. “Now, sit down and change your shoes, I’ll get your clothes.” 

He pouts at you, signalling his dissatisfaction. “Alright.” 

You leave to pick up his outerwear from where he discarded it in the courtyard, probably thrown aside when it got too stuffy. Returning to him, the pout is still as present, and he seems to refuse to make eye contact with you, trying to get you to crack.

So, you drop the pile of clothes beside him and counter with a game of your own.

Standing between his legs, both of your hands go to rest on his cheeks, the skin warm and flushed underneath yours. Gently tilting Phainon’s head up, you think you hear his breath hitch as he obeys, looking up at you with those glossy eyes. Gone was the petulance, back was the puppy-dog expression as he stares at you with wonder, and you’re 90% sure that if he had a tail, it’d be vigorously swishing behind him.

He just might be the most simple man you know. Telling him that would only displease him, though, primarily because he doesn’t like it when you talk about other men. 

You giggle softly at the thought as you gently brush stray strands of hair away from his face. 

“I only accompany men who are good to me to the bathhouse,” you muse.

“I’m amazing to you- the best,” he flaunts. “Right?” 

Instead of responding, you slowly lean closer towards him, minimising the gap between your faces. First, you close your eyes when your nose brushes against his, and you keep going until your lips are so painstakingly close that you can feel his graze yours, skin ghosting against skin as you lure him in. Then, just before you can give him what he wants, you draw back, leaving Phainon to chase after a piece of a paradise you won’t grant. 

When he realises that the anticipated kiss wasn’t coming, his eyes slowly blink open. 

“Good boys don’t let their partner feel neglected by training for hours and hours,” you mumble, brushing his hair back before deserting him completely, letting your hands fall back to your sides before cruelly walking away. “You need to learn your lesson, Phainon.”

Still in a daze, he only just registers what you were doing before shooting to his feet. “Hey!” 

Leaving his precious claymore and clothes behind, he chases after your retreating figure.

Effortlessly, the Chrysos Heir catches up and winds his arms around your waist like a tight coil. “Y/n, darling, my light, I’m sorry, you’re right, I have committed a great dishonour today, I will amend it with my life.” 

Humoured, you turn to face him, a melting pot of determination and desperation swirling in those aquamarine eyes. “Well, you do not need to go that far, Deliverer.” 

“So then… a kiss? Or two? Or three? Please?” 

“How about you kiss that claymore instead? Since you spend so much time with it.” 

He whines in your ear, refusing to let you go when you try to slip away by pushing against his very muscular, very sturdy, and very naked chest. 

You spend a good few minutes rejecting his every plea, utterly amused by his growing desperation and how he offered the most preposterous things on Amphoreus for you to forgive him. So you pushed your luck as far as you could before giving Phainon what he wanted, and he breathed you in like air, insisting on wanting more again and again as he pulled you so close you thought you would merge into him.

When you feel his hands roam down your body, tracing your curves and lingering on your hips, you break away before he could get any more carried away.

“Next time you see me while training, you should know what to do, right?” Was all you said that day before moving on, going back to the courtyard to collect his items for him because he was too dazed to do it himself.

Now, you’re left wondering how hard that sentence hit him as Phainon obediently sits down, staring at you with intense eyes that indicated he wanted something from you. He was sparing with Prince Mydei a mere second ago, how did he drop his weapon as soon as you walked in and just… plopped down on the bench like that was the most natural thing in the world? And the other Chrysos Heir just agreed? 

Was there something odd in the air today? Normally these two would spar until there were chips in their weapons.  

Mydei gave you a firm nod in greeting when he walked past and you returned it with a slight bow, still left wondering what on Amphoreus just occurred as you watch his retreating back. 

Until a certain hero clears his throat, causing you to tear your gaze away and at your main source of bewilderment. 

“Did you send Mydei away because… of me?” You ask. 

He nods. 

“Why?” 

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?” 

Your mouth falls slightly agape before the realisation hits. “I… I guess? I was hoping to watch you two spar.” 

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even blink, only stares you. When you don’t give him what he wants, Phainon impatiently pats his spread thighs and you oblige, stopping before him and letting your hands rest on his face. 

“What am I going to do with you?” You whisper against his lips before sealing the words against his lips.

Well, this was your fault, after all, so you should just do your best to make him happy.

© EARTHTOOZ 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[moonstruckme]

hi !! for sirius requests, what about a whimsical! reader x jealous! sirius?? i think it would be fun to think about what would cause it and whimsical! reader would probably be a little oblivious 🤔

if not, feel free to ignore! i love ur works 🫶🫶

Thanks for requesting angel !

cw: jealousy/possessiveness, Sirius losing it a bit, James and Remus being reasonable but also here for the drama, reader is hit on and is oblivious so I wouldn't call it cheating but beware if that's gonna be weird for you

Sirius Black x whimsical!reader ♡ 955 words

“Sirius, mate.” There’s laughter in James’ voice, a hint of knowing humor. “You’re gonna break a tooth.”

Sirius unclenches his jaw almost reluctantly. He needs a physical outlet for his ire. If he doesn’t grind his teeth, he’s going to break the pint in his hand, he’s sure of it. 

“Can’t glare him out of existence either,” Remus hums, sounding altogether too smug. Remus finds endless amusement in Sirius’ torment, will likely recount it to you later so you can laugh at him together. Sirius makes a mental note to salt Remus’ coffee the next time he has opportunity. 

You’re a funny sight in the rowdy pub, lovely, resplendent, your long skirt with its grass stains a notable contrast to the jeans and trackies surrounding you. You slip between tables like a wood nymph, like a creature plucked from the next world. Sirius wishes he were the only one to notice, to admire you, but often he isn’t. 

You’ve been arrested on your way to the bar. It’s Sirius’ fault for not going to get your drink for you, really, but he wasn’t expecting some bloke to chat you up for so long you sat down with him. Now you’re all lovely and resplendent sitting at the bar with another man, and James is right—Sirius very well might break a tooth over it. His, or preferably someone else’s. 

“Oh god, this is really dire, isn’t it?” James whispers to Remus. He has terrible friends, Sirius thinks. He should get rid of them both. “He’s gone all quiet and broody.” 

“Mm. Might never speak again.” 

“You think?”

“If we’re lucky.” 

“Y/n seems rather fond of him speaking, though. Maybe she will run off with some other bloke then.” 

You smile at something the man says, and Sirius’ chair is shoved back before he knows he’s doing it. 

“Wait, wait.” James is laughing now, the prick. He reaches out to hold Sirius’ arm. “We’re only joking. She’s fine, mate, relax.” 

“I know,” Sirius says, clipped. “I’m going to get her so she can be fine over here instead.” 

Remus hums. “Seems like she’s beating you to it.” 

Sirius turns back around, and you’re headed towards them, smiling with four drinks in your hands. Four large, fruity-looking drinks. 

“Hi,” James greets you, eyebrows lifting, “are these for us?” 

“Mhm.” You set them down on the table, sliding one to each of the boys. “I’m not sure what’s in them, but I asked for something sweet. Is that alright?” 

“More than alright.” James nods enthusiastically, claiming his. “Thanks, lovely.” 

“Did you make a friend?” Sirius asks. He can hear the grit in his own voice, but you don’t seem to. Your head only bobs placidly. 

“Yeah. A man at the bar said he wanted to buy me a drink, but I told him I wouldn’t feel right about it if he didn’t get some for my friends, too.” You guide your straw to your mouth, sipping. “His name is Marty, he seems very nice.” 

“Is that what you called us, then? Your friends?” 

You look perplexed. “Well, James and Remus are my friends. Is that okay?” 

Sirius softens. “Yeah,” he says, tearing his gaze away from Marty to look at you. “Sure it is. C’mere, doll.” 

You know what he wants without asking, moving your drink before slipping onto his lap unquestioningly. Sirius slips his arms around your waist, thumb stroking near your hip. You turn your face so your words brush his cheek. 

“You’re my friend, too, you know,” you say, softly. “Even if you’re also my love.” 

That makes Sirius smile, ignoring the way James and Remus are murmuring and snickering with each other. “Yeah?” 

“Of course.” You touch his arm. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, and you slip a finger inside one absently, running the circumference of his bicep. Little shivers of electricity crackle upwards from your touch. 

“Thanks, angel. I like that you’re my friend, too.” 

Conversation becomes easier after a while. Sirius finds he can talk with his friends, even laugh, so long as he keeps his hold on you and makes sure that every time Marty looks over at you, it’s Sirius’ eyes he meets instead. You seem oblivious to it all, the looking and the touching and the intermittent, silent fury that radiates off your boyfriend every time he remembers Marty making you smile, but after you’ve all finished your drinks you lean back and put your nose to Sirius’ cheek. 

“I don’t think,” you murmur, nosing at his stubble almost absently, “that Marty is going to buy us any more drinks if you keep looking at him like that.” 

Remus, overhearing, turns a smile into his glass. Sirius tries to act surprised. “Me? How am I looking at him?”

“You’re being mean.”

“I’m not.” 

“You are.” You deliver this news ever so gently, with a kiss to his jaw. “I don’t see why. He was nice to us.” 

“He was nice to you,” Sirius says automatically, some of the vitriol returning to his tone. He squeezes your hip just to feel the solidity of you in his hands. “I don’t think he’d have been quite so nice if he knew you had a boyfriend, sweetness.” 

Your brows come together. “Why not?” 

Oh, you’re adorable. Sirius kisses your frown, his fondness for you almost eclipsing his pique. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get our drinks from now on, okay?” 

“Okay,” you say, dubious. “Though I don’t see why we’d turn down free drinks if someone wants to be kind.” 

“Let me be kind to you, doll. Okay?” 

You soften, your eyes going sweet and liquid. “You’re always kind to me.” 

Sirius kisses you again, grinning now. “Damn right.” 

[queervegancryptid]

I would encourage people to try different distros over time to see which one suits you best. I use Archcraft, which isn't beginner-friendly. But the neat thing about Linux is that you can use a USB stick to boot into a "live" OS and try it before installing.

In the olden times, this was more often done by burning a large file to a blank DVD disc, but it's become much easier to do with the USB stick method. But especially in those days, you wanted to try before installing. For one thing, installation used to take a really long time. And without trying it, you couldn't be 100% sure whether all your hardware would work as expected. There are still some issues in that area, but it's a lot better than it used to be.

Distrochooser is a great place to start. I'd also suggest checking out the following:

This is a great resource. Suppose you have a computer, or you're considering buying a new one, and you want to know how compatible the hardware will be with Linux. You can look up the model of the computer and see information on it that's been uploaded by actual users who have that same machine and the distros they tested on it. You can also look up information by specific part, like a sound card that isn't working properly out of the box, as an example.

This kind of thing used to be a much bigger headache, but there can still be some issues. Which is also why I'd encourage most people to dual-boot Windows or macOS alongside a Linux partition. There are a ton of guides on how to do this. You'll have to find one for your specific machine or one similar, like from the same company and around the same year.

You don't have to get comfortable with using a terminal, but it's a good idea. The more you understand how Linux works, you can customize it and make it your own in ways you just can't with Windows or macOS. I really like that about Archcraft. There's a good base, and I can add to it in ways that work for me.

You may also spend a while distrohopping, bouncing around until you find one that suits you, and then you may decide after a while to hop around some more. I've tried dozens of them over the years. It started as a curiosity thing I was messing with in my dorm room. Then my laptop was stolen, and I basically cobbled one together out of spare parts. But it couldn't run Windows XP for more than about 20 minutes before crashing and powering down. So my Linux skills became useful, and I learned to make do with a machine that had only about 35 GB storage. I wouldn't recommend it, but I'm glad I had the skills and knowledge necessary to put that together. When I was stranded at my dad's house during the recession for a year and a half, it was my only lifeline to the world outside my tiny hometown.

Seriously, Linux is amazing. You should explore it, especially if you're a curious person like me. There's a lot to explore, and that's one reason why I like it. I try new or obscure distros sometimes just for fun. But that's probably the autism.

I might add more to this but I'm trying to put together a guide for people who are new to Linux and curious about it, because more and more people seem to be getting sick of Windows all the time. I keep a Windows partition because there are a couple of games I like that work better on that OS, so it's just a matter of practicality. You might need a Windows (or Mac) partition for another reason, like work or something. Once again, it's about finding what works best for you. I think a lot of people would be happier with Linux, and I'm really glad it's more doable now than when I started.

"windows 11 upgrade ready!" "your computer is eligible for windows 11!" "download windows 11 now!"

[tinyfantasminha]

Happy birthday to this grumpy creature and to me 🥳

I didn't plan on making a bday card so I only settled with these sketches but HELPPPPPPPPPPFKGJKDNFJHG HUGE HUGE THANKS TO @amethystjewel01 MY BDAY TWINSIE FOR THIS AMAZING GIFT AND AT THE PERFECT TIMING 😭😭😭😭💕💕💕💕💕AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I LOVE THE BACKGROUND AND HER IDGAF FACE. I LOVE IT SM ITS EXACTLY HOW I IMAGINED

(go hype @/amethystjewel01 and their OCs rn 🫵 )

Voice Lines:

Summon: ...Shut up... Just a few minutes...

Groovification: Aagh, I'm almost late! I need to get this eyeliner straight right now!

Home: .......Nnnnhg.

Swap Looks: The mandatory suffering of the morning.

Home Transition 1: I HATE waking up early. I only start to feel like myself after 10am.

Home Transition 2: Cater and Idia are always super set on sending a happy birthday message to me at exactly midnight. Gee I wonder at what hour do those guys go to sleep...

Home Transition 3: Even though it's a pain, I do my skincare routine and makeup every morning before classes. Can't let anyone see these eye bags...

Home Transition - Login: The boys from Heartslabyul are so sweet, they always make sure to prepare a birthday party for me. Trey-senpai must work to the bone to prepare all of those sweets and treats at the table.

Home Transition - Groovy: Yeah, yeah, I'll catch up with the birthday messages. I just need to prepare my beloved mocha coffee first so It'll help me wake up.

Home Tap 1: ...The hell d'ya want? Urk—! I'm so sorry, that was my morning voice speaking. I-It's no excuse to be rude to you...

Home Tap 2: ''What about my shirt''? Um... It's big and comfy to sleep in. What does it say? ......How about we change the subject.

Home Tap 3: Grim says I'm even scarier than Leona-senpai when I get woken up from my sleep. Haha, there's just no way...! Right?...

Home Tap 4: Jack's memory is so good, I told him when's my birthday once months ago and commented what I would want for a present, and he remembered every last detail! T-That's very sweet isn't it..............What?

Home Tap 5: I was so sleepy this morning on my way to class that I bumped into Leona-senpai and almost tripped but he caught my wrist before I could fall. He then said it to consider his birthday present to me. W-what kind of present is that...!?

Home Tap - Groovy: What's with that stare? Did you expect me to sleep in a frilly nightgown? Haha, I guess I shattered your expectations. Do you still think I look cute?

Birthday Login Message: Hey, thank you for the birthday wishes. The guys in the board game club said they're expecting me there. What are those nerds planning...? Knowing Azul, he probably prepared some game in which I need to win in order to get a present for free. Idia got good taste though, so I'm sure he has something super cool for me like a custom game board. Spending time with them is never dull. Ah, but don't tell them I said this, hehe.

[thesuperiorrobin]

She knew~

pairing: Damian Wayne x Crush!Reader

Warning: Agnsty? Not that much I promise, good ending, maybe, slight swearing? Reader is a bit flirty??? I think there’s a part 2.

There's something about laying in a hospital bed that's so humbling for Damian.

His arm was in a cast and his head was wrapped in bandages. A mission went wrong, that was covered up by a so-called "terrible car accident". Everybody believed it, because why would they believe the truth of Damian taking a bad fall dress up in his Robin uniform? Some of his brothers tease him for what had happened that night, and if he wasn't held back by his position in the hospital he was sure he would have all their heads on a stick by now. His father didn't seem any bit worried about him, that's what Damian thought, after the countless scoldings he's gotten he's sure his father doesn't care.

Damian has spent the last two days in the hospital, on the third day he'll be released. And he can't wait, the smell, the atmosphere the so-called food they serve him-- he can't wait to leave it all behind. But for now, Damian lies on the slightly uncomfortable bed with a book in his good hand. His family hasn't bothered him in a while and he's thankful for that, he's gotten used to soft voices through his room door and soft beeping occasionally that seemed to echo through his hospital room.

There’s a soft knock on the door that catches his attention and he groans—thinking it’s one of his family members coming to visit home again.

Damian prays it’s just a nurse coming to check up on him. He chooses not to answer and after a few seconds the door opens up—the person who steps into his dull white room was not the person he was expecting.

In you go, with a bouquet in your hand dressed in your school uniform.

"Hey" your voice is soft and careful "how are you feeling?"

Damian doesn't answer right away, he pretends to think about his answer before he clears his throat "I feel like I could be doing better at the moment" he places his book down.

"Here, these are for you" you hand him the flowers "I just came to see how you were doing, everybody's worried”

"Only because I'm the son of Bruce Wayne" he murmurs, glaring at you softly—scoffing as he does so.

"That's not true" you frown, He gives you a look "Well Maybe, yeah I guess you're right, but I'm worried Damian. I saw the news and the cars. Damian you could have been killed"

"But I wasn't L/N so there is no need to worry about that anymore"

You let out a sigh as you pull a chair beside him on his bed, It's been a while since you last saw him, two weeks to be precise almost three. Your eyes linger on him for a bit longer. He looks more tired than usual and angry. His hair is messy, with strands of hair spiked up in random directions. Though purple and blue covered his skin from head to toe he still seemed visually breathtaking.

"Did you just come here to just stare at me?" He snaps, and you jump back in your seat, a part of him regrets snapping at you so suddenly, that you clear your throat with a smile.

"Sorry, I'm just used to you being….” You trail off for a moment trying to find the right words to not offend the younger Wayne in his condition. “…so well organized. If I had a penny for every time I've seen you a mess I would have one”

His only response was a hum, and the room was silent between you two. The only sound echoing through the room was the soft voices from outside the room and the beeping of the monitor. “It’s quiet in most of the classes now. Did you know that?”

“How so?”

“Teachers pointed out how quiet the classes are since you’ve gotten stuck in the hospital. We’re known for yapping away in the back of class” You let out a breathy laugh, glancing up at Damian who holds a frown.

“You mean yourself?” Damian raises his brow at you “I normally don’t hold conversations. The teachers were probably talking about you—you do tend to talk a lot”

“Rude” You huff out and a chuckle leaves the injured Wayne's lips, which brings a smile to yours “But I guess you’re right, I don’t have anyone to talk to. You’re usually the only have I have a good laugh within class”

Somehow, your hand finds his. All bandaged and bruised but you don’t mind and Damian says nothing. His green eyes glance down at your face, hoping to meet yours but you keep them focused down at his hand. Despite the thick layer of bandages, he can still feel the warmth of your fingers as they softly glide against his palm.

“I miss complementing your artwork, it’s not the same when I’m looking beside me and see someone else’s artwork”

“You only compliment them when you copy my notes” he hums, “you say it as a thank you when I let you do so”

“Mhm..” you hum “but now, every time I look beside me there’s always a student sleeping with their paper blank”

“Maybe you should start writing your notes….”

“I could…” you trail off, head lifting slightly to meet his eyes. “But what’s the point if I can’t use it as an excuse to talk to you?”

It takes a while for Damian to answer fully. He can feel his skin feel out, and he’s sure you can fill it, too, with a smug smile on your face. He looks away, away from your eyes, as he answers, “True….”

There’s another long silence between you two, a comfortable one and Damian can feel your hand slip away from his—it takes so much in him not to grab ahold of your hand once more. He hears the sudden screech of the chair against the floor, he turns his head—eyes locking in on your form. He wishes you could stay a little longer, your presence is the only thing that doesn’t annoy him as much as others do, and a part of him wants to tell you to stay a bit more but he bites his tongue.

He sees your hand hover over the doorknob, and you seem to hesitate for a moment, he does wish you decided to stay a bit longer. A heavy sigh leaves your lips, turning around to glance back at Damian, who only stares at you confusedly.

"Just because you wear a mask in the middle of the night while playing hero Damian, doesn't mean you're invincible"

huh?

"But anyway ill visit you tomorrow so I can hand you the homework you missed"

you give him one last smile before your figure disapears from his sight. Even after you left, his eyes burn holes at the door for a few more minutes before groaning and pulling at his hair in stress

"She knew?!"

Literally in the middle of my Art history class writing this Because I had nothing better to do.

[somerandomcockroach]

*sets the sofa, sits down* AND WE RIGHT AWAY START FROM THE PROWL IS AND WILL BE A MURDERED STATEMENT. GOOD AHAHAH Love how much Prowl improved in reading emotions. Orion. You ask Prowl something that he probably memorized from the book and he of course will tell you a book definition. Don't cut it with your merely "It's a massacre" Still wonder at the fact of how much functionists had to f*** up the whole situation for the beasts, who are more than capable of intelligent thinking and just different by their mode or different things that can not even appear in them in the first place, for this whole situation to appear that even the "compromise" seems like a hardly reachable option. I understand if other monsters who are, more bests than mechas. But most of them seem to be, decent, normal, minding their business, just trying to find a fuel/food, yeah, this last is easily solvable.

Yeah, Orion, exactly, let me sit with you

Oh, here we are, Orion snaps at Prowl. Do it, he went in a different direction, the one leading to murder and blood, you know. The problems that are solved hard way are never logical ahah, good luck, Prowl *looks at Orion trying to see a glimpse of emotion from Prowl for at least his own death to crack his logic* I need a minute Orion for god's sake could you like, fake laws and give him your own written full of ponies and funsies?? You were giving him official books with laws, I'm sure a lot of written by Functionalists and you expect to break the logic that was based on it??? OH RATCHET. PROWL CAN DO NOTHING. OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAYOKA YAOKAYAOKAY. OKAY. NO ONE SAID RATCHET??? RATCHET, COULD, JUST, ARRRGHHHHHH BASTARDS ORION AND SHOCKWAVE MAXED THE "LOOK AWAY IN TIME" ABILITY BUT NO ONE TOLD RATCHET? OH YES. GETTING RID OF YOUR OWN SIGHT AND LEAVE. I BET THIS IS NOT A LOGICAL THING TO CONSIDER FOR PROWL EHEHHEHEE OH MY GOD sorry I need to sit because. Yes clean floor is an easy goal. But Prowl. You are. About to get such a big and complicated to reach goal that it is so mindblowing to now look at you and consider other golems. (Eh, sudden thought of someone getting off his artefact) Prowl. on which side you play I don't understand anymore. Are you trying to make a god out of Orion to scare functionalists by actually making good for them or what.

PROWL YOU COULD. YOU COULD COME UP WITH SUCH GREAT PLANS OF MASS MIGRATION OR AT LEAST BETTER HIDINGS FOR THEM. TRICKING ALL THE TROOPS. YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO FIGHT EVIL, NOT JOIN IT. oh, CONGRATS, your education went to the point where it became wrong! Congrats, Prowl, we are on a changing point ahah! YES IT IS HIS ARMY. HIS ARMY OF POWERFUL, MAGICAL, SAVED AND THANKFUL BEASTS WHO CAN FIGHT FOR SHOCKWAVE, AND I ACTUALLY WISH THAT THEY DID. I WISH THEY DID BEFORE IT WAS TOO LATE. PROWL CAUGHT HIS BEFORE HE EVEN STUMBLED. PROWL MAKES WRONG THINGS BUT. BUT THE FACT THAT HE ACTUALLY COVERS HIM THIS WAY NO MATTER HOW BAD IT IS. I'M SURE ORION IS NOT HAPPY. SHOCKWAVE HAS NO ONE TO COVER HIM WHERE IT COULD KILL HIM. BUT EVERYTHING AROUND HIM IS BUILT WITH GREEN WALLS THAT ARE MUCH STRONGER THAN DENSE WALLS OF BLOOD.

I have several levels of uncomfortable feelings from this part

YOU DID NOT JUST GO TO SHOCKWAVE'S ACADEMY. THEY ARE NOT THE BEASTS YOU CAN TOUCH. EVER. OH MY FRICKING GOD OKAY HERE I CRY FOR REAL. THE SCENE OF HIM. SWORD AND BOOK. PROTECTING WITH EVERYTHING HE HAS. STANDING LIKE A MOUNTAIN AND THE PRIMUS ITSELF

THE COUNCIL WOULDN'T LET HIM DO THIS.... ..... what...... The burns are from?..

............ I just understand that. That I'm sure the way Shockwave "changed" is so many times harder and more powerful because of who he is and what he is capable of... Get Prowl, Orion nd Ratchet at one table and ask them if what they do will find a punishment from Primus.

............

....................... When Orion is in troubled feelings Prowl searches for Shockwave. All goals are tangled, lost and complicated. His goal became something he cannot reach no more since it evolved too hard. Oh my god I wanna see how... how that goal, something he cannot reach no more, just becomes a part of him, like a self forged motor heart of his, just to keep living. Are they... Shockwave's students?... F** THEY ARE I AM CRYING AGAIN SHIT F** YOU KEF I CANNOT NO MORE DON'T JSHDEDC AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA OKAY BREATH, COMEONE. LAST WILL. *INTENSIFIES CRYING* F*** YOUUUUUUUUUU THEY. EVERYTHING. HE LEFT EVERYTHING TO ORION. SKIDS???? THUNDERCRACKER?? OH DID ORION NEVER HOLD SHOCKWAVE'S SWORD??? or just became too weak from all the events... OH MY GOD THE SCENE OF KNEELING, THE SCENE OF THE STUDENT OF THEIR PASSED MASTER ON THE VERGE OF CRYING AND ALL THE STUDENTS OF HIS DEAR FRIEND KNEELING BEFORE HIM. I AM DEAD NO ONE TALK TO ME. PROWL LOOK. LOOK WHAT AN ILLOGICAL LONG TERM EFFORT MAKES. IT MAKES LITERALLY INEFFICIENT MIRACLE. THE MIRACLE THAT IS WORTH ALL THE PERCENTAGES. YOU DO NOT KILL AND WORK FOR IT TO BE MORE THAN ONE DAY MERCY I mean Ratchet got a boyfriend this way come on

WEHGEHGEWFHWFEWE HELP. I imagined that Shockwave had a score system or something for Skids to actually say "Best student" as something not of a brag level SHOCKWAVE YOU SMART SWEET ROLL I LOVE YOU. HE KNEW HOW TO DO IT RIGHT. SUCK IT COUNCIL AND COUNCIL DARE YOU TO TRY TO USE IT IN YOUR ADVANTAGE.

PROWL I SWEAR TO ALL THE GODS

(side note can I kiss you for just... rotating every possible side of Prowl? Like, I am just, suddenly understood that just a thing of Prowl assuming that Shockwave could betray Orion is something so fittable for him since he considers everything but just... when you look at it from the side of coming up with it. I wouldn't??)

SHOCKWAVE WHAT DID YOU DO.

They are still not executed. So I am sure it isn't about the saving monsters thing. I think Prowl leads the idea in the right direction. I am confused though at why Shockwave turned into demon at this exact time. What was the trigger. I am leaning closer to the dark magic than betrayal anyway

THE GOD MUST BE WRONG

RIGHT DIRECTION, PROWL.

ARE YOU... did you just... led him straight to mimics plotline....

Part 2 of Golem!Prowl AU!

_____________________

“I hate it,” Orion sighs.

“It's understandable. But you can't change the system from the inside without becoming part of it first.”

“I was hoping I could become part of it without becoming a murderer.”

“It's okay” says Prowl ”You don't have to. That's what you have me for.”

Orion twitches.

Part 1. Next->

The fic under the cut⤵️

Orion looks...sick. Worried. Scared.

“Prowl, do you know what the Great Hunt is?”

Prowl tilts his head keeping up with the lists he received from the Council.

“Traditional raids on monsters made to consolidate control over the land holdings of regular Mechs.”

Orion rubs the bridge of his nose

“It's a massacre.”

Prowl twitches his wing.

“It is a measure of intimidation against creatures that cannot be negotiated with. Brutal, I don't deny that, but experience shows it works. The destructive activity of monsters lessens considerably if they know their actions can be followed by punishment.”

Orion stares at him. For a long time. Silently.

Tensely studying him, as if seeing him for the first time.

“You think killing them instead of finding a compromise is...right?”

Prowl thinks he must be treading on unstable ground.

“I think it works. That is all. Monsters do a lot of damage with their existence. They kill, destroy and pillage. If periodically reducing their numbers reduces their damage, it confirms the effectiveness of the strategy.”

“They just want to live. Primus' sake, they want to eat.”

Prowl sighs. More for appearances than for any real effect.

“I suppose I can't judge them for wanting to survive. It makes sense.”

Orion nods.

He looks oddly pensive.

“Ratchet keeps picking up wounded...” he stammers, apparently trying to find a suitable alternative to the word monster “...wounded beastformers. I've been to his house. It's generous, but I'm afraid of what will happen if he gets caught doing it.”

Prowl frowns

“He should have stopped.”

“You wouldn't understand.” sighs Orion ”Him. Shockwave. We want to help. To make things better. I don't need you to chide me for disobeying the rules, I need you to figure out how to change them. Ghosts and insecticons deserve freedom as much as we do.”

“But...”

Orion looks at him angrily.

“No. Whatever you're going to say in response to that. No. I know you're driven primarily by logic, but I need you to remember it well. All sentient beings deserve to live free. Do you understand? All of them. Period.”

Prowl rolls up the lists and interlocks his fingers in front of him. There are small scuffs on his thumbs and index fingers from constant writing. He occupies himself with running his fingers over them, feeling the difference in texture.

“Mech's freedom in such a case ends where someone else's hungry jaws begin. You can't expect monsters and Mechs to just coexist in peace if you give them freedom.”

“No” sighed Orion ”That's why I support Shockwave's idea with creating an academy for magically gifted Mechs. He's helping to show the world that so-called 'dark creatures' can be as civilized citizens as any Mech. He teaches them to find that compromise. We can't just expect centuries of hate and fear to be forgotten once the laws change. We must direct this process. To help the Mechs understand and accept each other. Guide them, you might say.”

Prowl feels a headache coming on, as it always does when Orion requires him to logically solve a problem the answer to which lies in the feelings rather than the intellect. He's not built for this. It irritates him.

Orion stops right in front of him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Tell me what you think of this. If...let's pretend for a second that my morality fiddles don't matter anymore. That the problem of Mechs and monsters coexisting is something you alone need to solve. And solve it in such a way that the outcome is optimal for us as a society. To maximize the number of happy citizens. What would you do?”

Prowl is silent for a moment.

Orion squeezes his shoulder lightly before continuing.

“'Free from my judgmental conclusions, Prowl. From the standpoint of pure logic. What should we do?”

What to do...Prowl's thought process finally finds a direct and understandable train of thought. Monsters make up a paltry few percent of the population of all living Mechs. The numbers fluctuate depending on which region is being considered of course.

In some cities, some types of monsters are considered just fancy Mechs. Some monsters have risen from the status of savages to being respectable Mechs over the course of history. Even Orion's best friend, Shockwave, could be regarded as a mystical creature in some regions due to his gift of flight.

Nevertheless. The percentage is still minuscule.

But even that tiny percentage takes a significant toll on the economy and quality of life, because just one uncontrollable creature can terrorize an entire city.

He notes the weight of Orion's hand on his shoulder. Not judgmental. Orion promised he wouldn't judge.

“I'd get rid of the monsters.”

“Oh” Orion blinks ”Locked them in cages? Chased them away? Killed them?”

Prowl twitches his wings

“Banishment will only move the problem in terms of space, and imprisonment isn't secure enough. It would make sense to get rid of the monsters. Once and for all. It wouldn't be pretty or merciful, but it would greatly improve life for everyone, at the cost of a tiny percentage of living beings who were already of no use.”

“And you believe that would be a good outcome?”

“I believe it would.”

“But you're not a Mech yourself.” Orion reminds “Would you be willing to be exterminated along with the rest of the creatures if your plan were put into action?”

Prowl tilts his head slightly. Just to make it easier to look at Orion.

“You created me to, as you put it, help you make the world a better place. Sometimes in order to improve something you have to cut out the factors that get in the way. It's simple logic.”

“You didn't answer my question” Orion points out ”How would you feel if I decided to take your advice and destroy all mystical creatures, including you?”

“I am not made to feel” straightens Prowl ”My job is to find solutions to problems. I gave you a solution.”

“You don't include yourself in the reckoning.” snorts Orion “Again. You talk as if you will never be affected by anything.”

As it should be, Prowl thinks. He's a conscientious worker and a ..seemingly law-abiding citizen. He does what he can to make Mech's lives better. Even though he may not be a Mech, he's doing the right thing. Why would something happen to him?

Orion removes his hand from his shoulder and shakes his head.

“'Alright. I've heard you. But I want to make it as clear as possible - what you suggested is immoral, cruel, and should never be implemented. Do you understand me? Never. If you want to build a better world, you cannot and will not build it on other people's deaths. Have I made myself clear enough?”

“Perfectly clear.”

“Good.”

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

Ratchet looks...many words could be used to describe him.

He's standing in the center of the trial room with a lot of emotions written all over his face. But if Prowl had to describe - he'd say Ratchet practically radiates rage. Not violent. More of a powerless one.

The rage of a Mech who knows he's cornered, but refuses to even consider giving up and admitting defeat.

Prowl sits in a far dark corner, silently documenting the whole process.

The council is furious. They apparently discovered that Ratchet has been dragging wounded monsters to his house and healing them all this time.

Which is ... very much as expected from Ratchet.

Prowl wants Orion here, but both Orion and Shockwave are now on a diplomatic mission a few days away, so the only support Ratchet has is...Prowl. Who can't help in any way, so he just sits there and meticulously documents the whole process so that Orion can then be informed of every single detail.

The council doesn't look happy. They say that Ratchet is sabotaging the hunters' efforts to contain the monsters by his actions.They are angered by Ratchet's absolute determination to insist that he was doing the right thing.

Prowl would be impressed, if only Ratchet's stubbornness made sense.

It's simple math. Ratchet saves lives. Monsters take them.

Thus Ratchet's life has much, much more weight and is more valuable.

If Ratchet would just accept the Council's decision now and promise to stop curing monsters, the whole problem would be solved as efficiently as possible.

But Ratchet, of course, persists. Probably just because that's his nature.

Ratchet can also afford to be so stubborn because his skill level makes him incredibly valuable to the Council. Prowl knows for a fact that if any other medic were in Ratchet's shoes right now - they would have been sentenced to banishment or execution by now.

When Ratchet realizes exactly how the Council caught him, his rage is instantly replaced by shock.

This revelation is enough to startle him and make him back down. To nod and numbly swear that he will end his "blasphemous hobby."

Prowl carefully folds the scribbled scrolls into the case as the Council doors close behind both his and Ratchet's backs.

“Orion will be happy to know that you were prudent enough to avoid death.”

Ratchet shifts his gaze to him

“You knew? Knew they could see through our optics? Did you know they could find out anything about any Mech at any time?”

Prowl tucks his hands behind his back and nods politely

“Knowing things is my job.”

Ratchet sighs. Heavy. Exhausted. Doomed maybe.

“How does Orion deal with it...”

“Orion has a reputation with the Council. They consider him a decent, law-abiding Mech, so they see no point in keeping tabs on him.”

“Are you kidding?” Raetchet raises his eyebrows “Orion can't do everything he does and remain ‘decent’ in their eyes. He and Shockwave practically cuddle with every possible creature every day and all they get is a little reprimand????”

Prowl tilts his head

“Orion learned to look away in time. And he has me for everything else.”

Ratchet doesn't answer him. He rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly and starts to walk away.

His shoulders look oddly tense. He looks defeated, but not in the way a Mech would describe a slain turbofox. No. There is a deep-seated, angry determination.

A willingness to act dictated by desperation.

The news of the surveillance has thrown Ratchet off balance but not knocked him off his feet as the Council had hoped.

Prowl looks at his back and walks off in the opposite direction. The problems of living, feeling Mechs have always been and will always be mysterious to him.

Ratchet does what no one expects him to do.

He doesn't stage protests. He doesn't accept the verdict.

He leaves silently, taking with him only medical supplies and an old lantern.

The council is furious, turning over every stone in an attempt to find him, but all in vain.

Prowl's daily duties now include “keeping track of any possible news related to Ratchet.“

And then, no matter what he finds, report to Orion that he's found nothing.

Put on a little regular show for all concerned. Show the Mechs in the Council that Orion remains loyal and does his best to find and bring to justice any blasphemer whether it's a friend of his or not.

He is his purpose. But the more time passes, the harder it becomes for him to trace the path to the fulfillment of that purpose. He envies the golems whose only function is to scrub floors. Their lives are understandable. A clean floor is a temporary but easily attainable goal. They are happy to fulfill the goal for which they were created. And then they're happy knowing their job is done well, until the floor gets dirty again.

Prowl is walking towards his goal, but it's not getting any closer. He knows what he needs to do to get there, but the variables are constantly changing and he has to adjust his course of action each time according to new information, conditions, and Orion's opinion on them.

Politics is infinitely more complicated than mopping floors after all.

————————————

Orion doesn't turn around on him as they walk down the hall. But Prowl can physically feel the attention focused on him.

“Prowl. Did you know I was awarded today for my ''outstanding service'' by the entire Council?”

“I did not.

“They've gone through all the reports and discovered that according to the logs me and my mechs are performing excellently when it comes to eliminating mystical threats.”

“Congratulations.”

“It's funny that you feel the need to congratulate me too” Orion continues ”Because I certainly didn't give orders to eliminate anyone.”

Their pacing doesn't falter. They continue to walk calmly down the hallway as if nothing is happening. But Prowl can practically taste the increased tension.

“Prowl” says Orion “Why is the Council rewarding me for murder? And where are the Mechs they think I killed now?”

Prowl checks the scrolls. Not because he doesn't remember. Just to buy some time to formulate an answer.

“They were the inevitable casualties. I took charge of their destruction. On your behalf.”

“You know how I feel about killing.”

“I know.” nods Prowl for some reason. Why? Not that Orion can see it “I also know how the Council feels about Mechs showing suspicious activity. They would have started watching you as soon as they noticed you were letting monsters slip away from you suspiciously often.”

Orion...sounds... conflicted. He sounds struggling.

“You killed them.”

“I gave the order. As any other hunter would have done in my place.”

Orion stops so abruptly that Prowl doesn't catch the moment and bumps into his back.

“We're supposed to be better than other hunters Prowl! How can you still not grasp that concept!!!”

Orion looks furious. Prowl discreetly looks around.

Around them is a relatively empty hall. Windows covered by heavy curtains. The cleaning golems scurrying back and forth.

“I understand” he says “But let me remind you that you cannot test their trust infinitely. Your 'being better' rests on your reputation. And it's my job to make sure your reputation lives up to it.”

Orion looks at him...Prowl isn't even sure how to describe it. Usually he has to argue with Orion's logic, proving his point but this time...Orion is the one arguing with him.

It feels strange. Uncomfortable.

He's doing everything Orion wanted him to do, but for the sake of it he has to do something Orion can't stand.

Orion clenches and unclenches his fists helplessly. Rubbing the fabric of his cloak.

“Shockwave can save lives without killing anyone.”

“Shockwave is one unfortunate act away from serious consequences” shakes his head Prowl “His academy is looking more and more like his own small army every day. His students are not loyal to the Council, they are loyal to Shockwave. And the Council knows that. And will use it. And it won't be pretty when it happens.”

“No...” shakes his head Orion, not addressing anyone in particular ”No no no no no...”

Prowl can understand why Orion is upset. But he also knows he's right this time. Shockwave may look like a fine example of mercy, but he walks on the very edge of the law and any wrong move will instantly turn him from “out of the box thinker” to renegade.

The Council will come for his head and the Council will get his head because Shockwave will have nothing to prove his loyalty with.

Orion will. Prowl made sure of that.

Orion can bend the rules, can borrow the Council's trust, can do all sorts of reprehensible things. He can stumble and fall and then fall a couple more times and find that it doesn't hurt him because Prowl caught him even before he stumbled.

He did it at the cost of lives. Yes.

But Orion's life is far more valuable than the lives of monsters.

Society doesn't need monsters to become better, but society needs Orion. Monsters need Orion. Because if Orion is gone, no one else will care about his idealistic goal.

“Sometimes I forget how creepy you can be...” mutters Orion ”You're going to betray me sooner or later.”

“I could never betray you.” Prowl twitches his wing.

“You've successfully betrayed what I believe in.”

“It's fine with me if you hate me for it. As long as you are alive, safe, and can continue your quest.”

Orion falls silent.

He turns away to stare at a strip of light from a nearby window. There are beautiful, wrought iron grates that cast an intricate, curved shadow on the floor and walls.

A golem janitor hurries past them.

“I hate it,” Orion sighs.

“It's understandable. But you can't change the system from the inside without becoming part of it first.”

“I was hoping I could become part of it without becoming a murderer.”

“It's okay” says Prowl ”You don't have to. That's what you have me for.”

Orion twitches.

Shockwave falls.

Prowl isn't there to see for himself, but a lot of rumors reach him. Lots. Lots of rumors.

The Mechs say the time of the Great Hunt has come.

They say that when the hunters arrived on the Academy's doorstep, Shockwave didn't let them in.

They say. He stood in front of the gates.

With sword in one hand and the Primus Covenant in the other, and declared that his school was a sanctuary for all living beings in need of protection.

Claimed that anyone who dared set foot inside with a weapon would have to go through him.

“And they retreated!” gestures Orion frantically ”They didn't dare test him! They backed away from the walls of the Academy. I don't know how many monsters were left alive in the forests that night, but none of Shockwave's students were harmed...”

Prowl listens with a healthy dose of wariness

“The Council wouldn't just let him do that.”

Orion begins nervously winding circles around the room.

“You're right, you're right. You're right now and you were right back then. They're going to bring him before the Court by tomorrow, and...”

“There's no chance of that ending well,...is there?" Prowl finishes his thought.

Orion looks pained

“They'll be going through everything he's been up to. Every forged document, every enrolled Mech who by all criteria should be considered a monster. Every time he sheltered them from the Council instead of destroying them. They'll realize what he's been doing and they won't like it at all.”

Prowl...trying to sound reassuring.

“Shockwave has tremendous support from his Academy. There's a chance the Council will be afraid of invoking their wrath and won't judge Shockwave too harshly.”

Orion continues to walk in circles

“You think so?”

“There is a good chance.”

Prowl finds Orion in Sickbay. Which is very disturbing and wrong, because Orion was supposed to be at the Trial. Supporting Shockwave and begging the Council to relent.

But Orion is in Sick Bay. When he shouldn't be.

And he's covered in ugly dark burns. From something Prowl can't recognize.

This is all wrong. It's all--

“What happened at the trial?”

Orion sounds. Startled.

“There was no Trial.”

“What?”

Orion sounds as if something inside him has cracked. In every sense of the phrase.

“The Trial hasn't even had time to begin. He...” Orion clutches his trembling fingers, hoping to still them, but it has no tangible effect. His shoulders are trembling.

He looks like his whole body could be torn apart with one careless touch. “They asked him if he would plead guilty to aiding and abetting dark creatures. All they had time to ask was if he realized he was wrong.”

An uncomfortable, prickly feeling settles in Prowl's mind.

"And?”

Orion squeezes his fingers so hard the creaking of hinges becomes audible.

“It...I...Prowl, his very spark began to ooze dark magic. It was horrible, it was like.. it was eating him from the inside. The entire courtroom became darker than night, many Mechs got burned. I've never seen anything like this before! He..It.. started attacking Mechs and destroying everything...it was like it went crazy...it attacked me and I had to...Prowl I had to fight it! I didn't...I'd heard about it happening but I believed until the last minute that I wouldn't have to face it...”

Gears of chaotic detail fall into place in Prowl's mind.

“Shockwave...turned into a demon...?”

Orion nods shakily

“The Council didn't even have a chance to sentence him or spare him or even sort out what happened.....

He stated that he did not consider himself guilty for what he had done and...Primus was the one who made the judgment before anyone else could...”

That's... terrifying really. For a number of reasons. Losing a close friend is awful, being subjected to such merciless punishment is awful, but also...

What sends a chill down Prowl's back is the moral implication that such punishment carries.

Orion, as if reading his thoughts, raises his gaze to him

“Is what we are doing...wrong? I don't...does Primus think helping monsters is worthy of punishment?”

Now that's a really reasonable question.

Shockwave would say that Primus is merciful and would never condemn a Mech for an act of kindness. But Shockwave ended up being condemned.

Ratchet would say that he doesn't care about Primus' opinion because Primus isn't real. But Ratchet isn't here.

Prowl wants to say that it doesn't matter whether or not Primus thinks they're wrong, what matters is that he can at any moment force his justice on any living spark, so his concept of right has to become Orion's too, or else he's doomed. But Orion is definitely in no state to have a philosophical argument. He looks shattered and Prowl almost instinctively is about to go and find Shockwave, but remembers that option is no longer available.

He's not made for this. Shockwave has always been the one to cheer Orion up on a bad day. Not Prowl, no. Prowl isn't sure what to do so he just sits down next to him and gently places a hand on Orion's shoulder. The one where he can't see the burns, so it shouldn't hurt.

“I don't. I'm used to always relying on your point of view as a reference for what's right and what's wrong.”

“I know” runs a shaky hand over his face Orion “But it's not like I'm perfect. I try, god, I try but just like with the logical part - my vision isn't flawless. Have I been...wrong all this time? Trying to disrupt Primus' intended vision? Maybe what I've been trying to fix never needed fixing. Maybe it's just me being so stupid and not understanding things maybe...???”

Orion cuts himself off mid sentence, realizing that he's started raising his voice and waving his arms around again. He sits back down on the medical bed and curls back up into a miserable ball.

“What should I do....”

“I don't know,” Prowl repeats awkwardly.

He is his goal. But his goal ..doesn't exist anymore?

He doesn't know where to put himself.

Golems are made to fulfill requests. But Orion's request system has been evolving and complicating for so long that Prowl can't tell where its boundaries are anymore.

He feels lost.

——————————

Orion stops cold.

“What...”

Prowl, standing at his right hand looks equally puzzled.

They are in a spacious courtyard bordering directly on the Council building. It's a very beautiful, open and spacious place because it was originally built with large crowds of Mechs in mind. There's wide walkways, a massive circular plaza with fountains and statues.

And right now, it's filled to the brim with Mechs, most of whom Prowl is seeing for the first time. They're all wearing knight armor and carrying weapons, however still kept in their scabbards.

They look like a small army. A very, very diverse army, Prowl realizes. Because there are almost no regular Mechs among them.

Orion looks... distraught.

Mechs? Monsters? A few knights separate and come closer, bowing their heads respectfully.

“Orion Pax.”

There is so much grief and disbelief in Orion's eyes that it physically hurts to look at him.

When he begins to speak his voice sounds hoarse, like someone has poured sand down his throat.

“What...what are you doing here...?”

The knight standing in front of everyone ceremoniously places his palm on his spark.

“We are here to fulfill the last will of our mentor and your friend. Shockwave has decreed in his last will that in the event of his death his legacy must pass to you and those of us who wish to carry on his work must publicly pledge our allegiance to your will.”

Orion clutches his hands together to keep them from starting to shake again.

“But...I was there. I...your mentor was slain by my hands...how can you..."

"It doesn't matter. Everything that was his is now yours." smiles the knight sadly "We will make sure his legacy lives on. And even if the Academy falls - you can always count on us."

At the same time as he finishes speaking, the knight in blue armor drops to one knee, pulling Shockwave's sword from its sheath and holding it out respectfully to Orion... who looks like he's about to start crying.

He dazedly accepts the sword, twitching in surprise when it turns out to be heavier than expected and probably tries to say something, but all that comes out is a short sorrowful sigh.

He just.

Clutches the sword to his chest, watching in disbelief as all the arriving mechs get down on one knee following the blue knight. There aren't that many mechs, but at this point - they seem to rival the sea.

Prowl knows some of them. Many of them made their way to Shockwave after Orion found them. There's the harpy over there who nearly ripped Orion's head off the first time they met. A few ghosts he can remember the faces of but doesn't know the names. He'd had a long argument with Orion that day, trying to convince him that he shouldn't take their word for it when they promised to make it up to him.

And now they're all here. In beautiful new armor. Executing their mentor's last will and testament.

Just like regular Mechs, only a little eccentric looking.

The crowd of hunters that has come to find out what's going on looks as speechless and dumbfounded as Orion.

" What" Orion also gets down on one knee to be on the same level as the knight "what's your name?"

Prowl squints warily from behind Orion's shoulder. The blue mech looks normal, but to be honest, there's no way someone coming out of the Shockwave Academy is going to be an normal plain mech. There has to be a catch somewhere.

"My name is Skids," smiles the knight shyly. "I am...was...Shockwave's best student."

"You are very brave Skids" smiles Orion sorrowfully "I promise to do my best to take care of Shockwave's legacy. And you."

Orion drops his head on the table tiredly.

"This is crazy..."

Prowl pulls an important document from under Orion's head

"It's also quite devious. Shockwave told them specifically to swear to you where all comers can see it. So there's no way for the Council to accuse you of purposely swaying an army of monsters to your side. Everyone saw that this gift was given by force. Now you have many allies with unique skills who are loyal to you and the Council won't try to take them away because they are firmly convinced that you are loyal to the Council."

Prowl examines the document for damage before setting it aside.

"It is..."

"Shockwave gave you an opportunity."

"And I don't know what to do with it!" raises his head Orion "Shockwave was smarter than me and made a lot of plans in case of...I don't know...anything?? I didn't...Prowl. We've been down this path for so long and I was always sure there would be something good at the end of it. Or at least better than it is now..."

Orion rubs his chin and shakes his head awkwardly

"...But if there's only the wrath of Primus and endless darkness at the end...I can't ask anyone to follow me there. I'm not sure if I can keep going myself..."

He sighs helplessly

"I'm not even sure if that even matters."

"The chance that Shockwave would try to use you in some way was about twenty-eight percent."

Orion twitches

"What?"

"I understand that you're hurt by his...fate." Says Prowl "But have you considered the possibility that Shockwave was being punished for betraying you rather than the Council?"

Orion doesn't even answer at first. Just looks at him dazed and bitter.

"Prowl...no. He couldn't have."

"I'm just speculating" shrugs Prowl "Shockwave was punished but as far as I know God didn't bother to name the exact charge. We don't know one hundred percent what exactly caused his...sentence. He may have betrayed the Council's ideas, or he may have betrayed yours."

They both just exist in silence for a while. Processing the information.

"If...and I mean if!!! If Shockwave was convicted of harboring monsters, then everything we've been doing all this time can be considered useless blasphemy..." says Orion slowly "...but if he was punished for something else..."

"...then that would mean there's nothing wrong with your idea." finishes Prowl.

Orion frowns

"It would also mean that Shockwave lied to me..."

Prowl nods. The situation is ugly no matter which way you look at it.

Shockwave, as Prowl knows him, would hardly have framed Orion, but Mechs tend to go to great lengths to avoid execution.

If Shockwave had shifted some of the blame to Orion then, it would have partially saved him. Was that what he was going to do? Was this what Primus had stopped him from doing?

Orion's finials twitch slowly

"I don't know Prowl. I don't know what to do. I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of my fantasies."

Orion is hard to read, but right now he's an open book.

Prowl tilts his head

"You're scared."

Orion looks. Defeated. Crumpled.

Discolored.

" I am."

Prowl can't work with that. He's used to solving logical problems and making lists and strategies.

He doesn't know how to get someone to stop being scared.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I don't know." mutters Orion "I don't know, I have no idea. It's too much...All these new knights, this whole council situation and now you're also saying that the mech I treasured the most could actually be a liar and...just leave me alone."

"But..."

"Just go away!" shakes his head Orion "Go find something else to do, find a hobby, I don't know! Get out of my head and out of my personal life!"

Prowl nods silently.

Places a couple papers in their places and silently walks out the door.

Gestures a greeting to some mech passing by.

And is completely unsure of what to do with himself.

Orion's too stunned by everything that's happened to give him a clear purpose. And without a purpose, he...he's gone.

He continues to stand by the closed door.

A thought runs obsessively through his mind.

If Shockwave was sentenced for something no one knew about, then punishing him the moment of that trial was a truly terrible decision and even worse timing.

But if Shockwave was sentenced for helping monsters...Prowl isn't sure why his mind resists the idea.

Maybe he's not being objective because he shares Orion's views and aspirations.

Maybe because he has looked at the entire square filled with dangerous monsters and has seen nothing but sorrow and respect in them.

The idea comes naturally.

Then God must be wrong.

He looks at the cleaning golems again. He envies them.

They are peace and contentment.

They are a clear and simple goal.

Probably the biggest stress that happens to them is random mechs passing by and interfering with their cleaning.

And then there's Prowl, standing by with no meaning or purpose and wishing he could throw something heavy because the one who gets in his way is an indefinable force of nature and a complex system of values and beliefs created by millions of years of cultural development....

But Primus can't stop him, can he?

Prowl is not alive. He has no emotion so that his intentions can be categorized as evil, but more importantly he has no spark so that its magic can turn him into a demon.

He is his purpose. His purpose is his god. And Primus stands in his way.

He turns around and walks away.

[janeyseymour]

A Case of You

Summary: You and a certain redhead are deeply, and undeniably in love- although the two of you don't realize it. Cue Barbara and someone unexpected to fix that for you on Fourth of July.

WC: ~5.4k

(lemme know if you wanna hear my rendition of the song mentioned in this fic :))

It’s an odd situation that you’ve found yourself in. You’ve been living in Philadelphia for a while now. You somehow manage to scrounge up enough money after years of odd jobs, a few investments, and your day job of teaching at Abbott Elementary to finally be able to afford a house. It’s a beautiful little house- one that you’ve been able to turn into something of a quaint little cottage core house. Your backyard is filled with flowers and emulates what some might say is a house in the movies.

And because you finally have a house that you’re proud of, you invite your folks to the city of brotherly love for Fourth of July. There’s no place like the founding city of the country to be in for the day. From the red and blue dyed beers, to the fireworks that burst over the museum of art (and you’ll have a beautiful view of the display room your house), your new city is one of the best places to be.

Once your coworkers find out that you’ll have the view that they’ve always wanted, it’s decided that you’re going to be hosting the holiday not only for your family, but for your work family as well. So, it might be a little crowded, but… it’ll be fun. That’s what you tell yourself. It’ll be fine.

So here you are, on July 3rd, frantically cleaning your house. Not that it’s messy by any means, but you want to impress. Your house is cozy, and you want to give off the effect that it’s well lived in (and it is) while maintaining the sense that you’re clean and proud of the place that you inhabit. It’s not all that hard. There are pictures dressing the walls, beautiful paintings that you’ve done, little knick knacks that you’ve collected over the years. It all feels homey.

But still, you’re making sure that it’s presentable enough that you won’t get ridiculed and lectured by your mother and your coworkers won’t make fun of your home.

That is, until your cell phone rings. Expecting it to be your mother, letting you know that she and your father have landed, you answer the phone, “Hey Mom.”

“Not your mom,” a voice that you’ve been missing comes through the phone.

Your brow furrows as you pause your scrubbing the toilet as you glance at your phone. “Melissa?”

“Yeah, hun. Just callin’ to see if you needed any help with the party tomorrow,” the redhead tells you. “Any cleaning or want me to bring anything or something?”

You bite your lip. You wouldn’t ever admit it out loud, but the person that you’re trying to impress besides your mother is Melissa- the woman that you’ve been hopelessly in love with since you started working at Abbott. “Uhm… I’m just cleaning the last few things now,” you tell her honestly. “But I really do appreciate the-”

“What’s ‘the last few things’? Because you’ve told me that you only have a few things to get done before you head home from work, and then I find out that you stayed at the school so long Mr. J handed you his keys to lock up the building for the night.”

You have to let out a laugh at that memory. You sigh softly as you decide to tell her the truth. “I still have to finish cleaning up the living room and the kitchen. But it really isn’t all that-”

“Jeet?” At your silence, the redhead continues. “I’m bringing over drinks and dinner and helping you clean. I’ll be over in an hour.”

“Melissa,” you try to protest.

She’s quick to cut your argument off though. “I’ll see you in an hour, hopefully less than that.” 

And then you hear the phone line disconnect, and you quietly groan to yourself as you look at your appearance. You’re in your cleaning clothes that are covered with bleach stains, your hair is tied up messily, and makeup hasn’t been applied since probably the last day of school. You look a mess. With a sigh, you head for your bedroom to at least put on your face- you want to look at least somewhat presentable.

The redheaded second grade teacher is knocking at your door less than an hour later.

“Hey,” you smile softly as you open the door. She’s standing there with a case of beer and a bag of what you can only assume is dinner. And somehow, even in just shorts and a tee shirt, she looks as incredible as ever. You find yourself blushing.

“Are you gonna let me in, or should we just have dinner outside?” Melissa quips.

You let out a small, nervous laugh. “No, no, come in. P-Please don’t mind the mess.”

“You’re cleaning, I’m ready to clean,” the woman laughs. “It’s all good. Let’s eat though first, yeah?”

Dinner is nice. The two of you chat about what you’ve been up to since school let out for the summer and potential plans for trips that either of you are looking to take. 

“I just don’t have all that many friends in the area,” you admit shyly. “So, most of my trips are solo.”

“You do have friends in the area,” Melissa refutes. “You got the Abbott group. You got me.” She nudges you with her elbow.

“I do,” you sigh softly. “I just don’t want to be a bother.”

“A lot of people are bothers to me,” the redhead laughs. Then she turns serious. “You ain’t one of ‘em.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “How kind of you to say.”

“If you ain’t doin’ nothin’, I spend a lot of time down at the shore in July,” Melissa offers casually.

You can’t help but smile. “That- that’d be nice, yeah.”

“Well,” your coworker sighs as she sets down her fork and begins to clean up. “This house won’t clean itself. So what do you want me to help you with?”

“You helped enough by making sure I ate dinner,” you tell her with earnest. “You don’t have to-”

“I’m helping, so just tell me what to do, or I’ll start snooping around for cleaning supplies anyway.”

The two of you clean the kitchen and the living room as music floats through your house from your record player.

“You got quite the selection,” Melissa tells you as she dusts the case that holds all of your music. “It ain’t half bad.”

You blush. Your music taste is all over the place.

“Mind if I pick an album to listen to next?”

“Of course not,” you call from the next room over. “Pick whatever.”

You expect her to pick a rock band, so when Joni Mitchell’s hauntingly beautiful voice begins to dance in the air, you’re a bit shocked.

Still, you let the music take over your heart and your soul, and when “A Case of You” starts, you can’t stop yourself from singing along softly. As you sing the words to yourself, you realize that you would drink a case of Melissa and still be on your feet. There’s something about her that is so intoxicating and yet always leaves you on your feet. 

Apparently though, your voice travels more than you were aware of. In the living room, Melissa can hear your gentle melody. Her cleaning pauses as she silently makes her way to where she can hear your voice better.

You’re standing there scrubbing the sink as you quietly echo Joni Mitchell’s vocals. It isn’t until the song is over that you hear a different voice.

“You sing real good,” the redhead compliments quietly.

Instinctively, you jump. You weren’t expecting her to hear you. And then your face flushes as you turn to face her. “I- uh…” You can’t get much out than that. You fumble for words for a few seconds before you just barely whisper out an apology.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for,” Melissa smiles. “I think I like your version more.”

Your jaw practically drops at those words. “Oh, I- uh, thank you. But nobody can sing it like Joni.”

“I think you did it,” the redhead tells you, and you can tell in her voice that she truly means it. “I saw the guitar in your living room too. You play?”

You shrug. “Kind of.” You don’t want to admit that you’ve been playing for quite some time and oversell yourself- better to underestimate than over.

“Well, after we’re finished cleaning, I think I should get to hear it.”

You blush. “Maybe.”

By the time the two of you have the house straightened up to your liking, it’s quite late. If you’re being honest too, with the amount of alcohol that the two of you have consumed tonight, you aren’t necessarily comfortable with sending Melissa on her way.

“So, I believe you owe me a song,” your colleague teases you as she opens up another beer and settles on your couch.

“I was hoping you’d forget,” you laugh as you sit next to her.

“I’d never forget that voice,” the redhead smiles innocently. “C’mon, just one song?”

With a heavy sigh and a dramatic eye roll, you reach for the guitar that you keep in the corner of the room. You tune it up quickly, chuckling when you see the impressed look that Melissa wears on her face when you don’t actually need a tuner.

You strum the guitar a few times to ensure that it’s tuned to your liking before beginning to play.

Of course, you play your own rendition of “A Case of You” to prove to Melissa that you simply can’t do the song justice the way that Joni Mitchell does. Your approach doesn’t work. By the time you’re finished fingerpicking the last few notes, green eyes are wide and in shock.

“What?” you ask weakly. “I told you I only kind of play.”

“That’s a lot more than ‘kind of’,” the second grade teacher says. “You should be teaching Music, not fourth grade.”

You shake your head. “If I had to do it for a living, I’d hate it. But as a hobby, I do love it.”

“Play another for me,” Melissa requests as she leans back and takes another sip of her drink.

Somehow, the two of you end up going through another two drinks as you give the redhead her own personalized concert. Those sparkling green eyes stay mesmerized with your charming voice as you tell her the stories behind why you learned a few select songs, how you wrote a few, and the way that your melodies are nothing but soothing.

“You should be out in LA writing music,” Melissa tells you. “You’re… incredible.”

Your already red and warm cheeks from the alcohol only become more flushed at her kind words. You can only set the instrument down in response.

“I think I’m done for tonight,” you chuckle as you sip your beverage.

The redhead sighs softly. “I guess I should head out for the night.”

“Stay,” you tell her quickly- probably a bit too quickly. “You’ve had more than enough to drink, it’s late, and I don’t want you out there driving.”

The smirk that tugs at Melissa’s lips, along with that mischievous glint in her eyes gets you to look at her curiously.

“Somehow I knew that when I brought drinks over that would be your response, so I packed a bag,” the redhead reveals. “Let me just go grab my stuff from my car."

You can’t help but throw back your head with laughter. “Of course you thought that.”

“Was I wrong?” your coworker teases.

The two of you end up sharing a bed that night, and when your alarm goes off the next morning, despite the fact that it’s July, you find yourself cold. You turn over, only to discover that the redhead isn’t next to you.

But you can hear soft humming coming from downstairs, along with the record player. She’s downstairs. And then once you’ve woken up a bit more, you can smell the coffee and breakfast being made. You make your way downstairs and can’t stop yourself from practically drinking in the sight of Melissa Schemmenti cooking you breakfast.

She must hear your footsteps, because she turns on her heel and smiles at you. “Hope you don’t mind that I made breakfast.”

“I’ll never pass up a Schemmenti meal,” you tease. “You know that.”

It’s only a few minutes before the two of you are sitting at the kitchen table with plates in front of you.

“You know you cuddle in your sleep?” Melissa asks.

You turn a violent shade of red. “S-sorry.”

She shrugs. “Don’t be. It was nice.”

Your heart flutters. You never thought that the rough and tough Melissa Schemmenti would be one for cuddling, but here she is.

Breakfast is nice and warm, and you can’t help the blush in your cheeks as the two of you clean in a comfortable silence. More than once, the two of you accidentally brush hands together or her hand finds the small of your back to guide you out of her way.

The both of you get ready for this party, and by the time you’re making your way down the steps to change the record, your doorbell is ringing.

It’s your parents- of course they show up first. It’s not that you aren’t happy to see them, but you wish the house was a bit more full so that you wouldn’t get the third degree as soon as you see your mother.

“Is it Barb?” Melissa’s voice floats down the steps before she comes into sight. When she turns the corner, she sees your parents still standing on the front step. “Oh.”

“Who are you?” your mother eyes your coworker warily.

“Melissa,” the redhead states. “Just a coworker of Y/N’s.”

Your mother hums quietly before inviting herself in. Her eyes glance around your place with a slight frown. “This isn’t much.”

“It isn’t,” you mumble. “But I very much like where I live and how I live.”

“When you said you could afford to buy a house, I was expecting more.”

“Jane, lay off,” your father cuts in. “Y/N, your house is very… you. I like it.”

You’re not quite sure what to say to that. So you simply smile at your father as a silent ‘thank you’ and direct the conversation elsewhere, praying that your coworkers show soon. “Did you want anything to drink? I have wine in the fridge, or I just have to set out the ice for the coo- shoot.”

“What is it?” Melissa asks, brows furrowed with concern.

“I forgot to buy ice yesterday.”

“Oh,” the redhead rolls her eyes as her arm wraps around your waist. “I can just run to the corner store real quick and grab some.”

Your eyes soften significantly as Melissa Schemmenti saves the day. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem, hun.” She grabs her purse from the kitchen table and heads out with a soft hum, only to pop back in. “You need anything else? Or… do you guys want anything?” she directs that last part at your parents.

All three of you shake your heads, so she smiles that Philly smile of hers and heads out.  You momentarily forget that your parents are present, and you can’t help the shy smile and blush that creeps into your cheeks as you watch her figure leave.

“Your little friend is very pretty,” your mother states once the door is shut.

You turn to her sharply. “Oh?”

“She’s very pretty,” your mom says again.

“Oh, good. I thought it was just me,” you mutter.

“No,” your father cuts in this time. “It’s a fact. You should probably get a move on if you want to do something about that. A girl that pretty won’t be single for long.”

“I was planning on pining from afar for anywhere from two to ten years and seeing where that got me. Probably nowhere, but I won’t know until I try,” you quip cheekily. “

"Your mother and I both saw the way she looks at you- she definitely has a thing for you too,” your father tells you. “Just… think on it. Yeah?”

You roll your eyes dramatically, and sigh. “Just… don’t go doing your meddling, please?”

“I won’t,” your dad raises his hands in mock surrender. Your mother, on the other hand though, stays quietly.

Melissa makes her way into the house again not twenty minutes later, a smile dancing on her lips. “The ice is in the cooler, along with the drinks.”

“Thank you,” you smile at her warmly. You then note that she has three drinks in her hand: a beer for her and your father, and a seltzer for you. She passes them out silently before cracking hers open and taking a sip.

She then leans in and wraps an arm around your waist again before mumbling into your ear, “If my mother said that to me about a house this beautiful, I would’ve lit the trash can on fire.”

The giggle that erupts from your soul is hard to contain. Thankfully, you don’t have a chance to say anything else because your doorbell rings. And when the two of you go to open the door, you’re more than pleased to see the entirety of the Abbott clan. Anything to get your mother’s attention off of you.

As it turns out, your mother and Barbara seem to get along swimmingly. What surprises you is how much your mother likes Janine and Ava as well. Your father quite enjoys Mr. Johnson’s tales, is able to talk sports with Gregory, and even falls for Jacob’s awkward charm. And Melissa is able to meander through your backyard with you as you ensure that nothing gets too out of hand.

When you’re chatting with your father and Mr. Johnson, your mother glances over at you. Melissa has an arm slung around your shoulder, and you don’t seem to mind it one bit.

“Tell me,” your mother implores Barbara. “Melissa.”

“What about her, dear?”

“Her and my daughter.”

“Oh,” the kindergarten teacher chuckles as she sips on her wine. “Those two have been pining for each other for years. If you ask me, it’s just a matter of time before they finally pull their heads out of their asses and get together.”

Your mother sighs a breath of relief. “I’m glad I’m not the only one to notice.”

“Oh, you aren’t, Jane,” Barb laughs. “Don’t tell either of them, but we have a bet on how long it’ll take them to finally start dating. I said by the end of July. Everyone else still thinks they’ll be dancing around it come the beginning of the school year.”

“While I don’t approve of a lot of the choices my daughter has made,” your mother sighs. “Including moving away from us, I do want her to be happy. Do you think she’ll be happy with Melissa?”

“That daughter of yours is never happier than when she’s with Melissa,” Barbara states simply. “And just so you’re aware: your daughter has done a whole lot of good while she’s been out here with us. We are very proud of her, and you should be too. I know she sometimes feels that she isn’t good enough for you.”

Your mother bites her lip, a bit ashamed at how she knows she’s made you feel- both today and in the past. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll mend that.”

“As you should.”

“But for now… my husband promised he wouldn’t meddle in her love life, but I made no such promise. Should we win that bet for you?”

The kindergarten teacher is clearly intrigued as she raises a brow. “And how do you propose we would do that?”

Their plan, as it turns out, is not the most intricate. It’s to simply get the two of you hammered while your mother quietly feeds you comments about how you’re already practically in a relationship with the redhead. Meanwhile, Barbara will plant that same seed in Melissa’s head before daring her to just make a move- Melissa is never one to turn down a dare while intoxicated; that’s how she ended up doing cartwheels on South Street one night after a particularly wild night at Oscar’s.

“You know she spent the night last night?” Barbara asks your mother. “Came over to help clean and ended up just staying.”

Your mother’s perfectly sculpted brow lifts. “I just assumed she was the first one here.”

“Nope,” your mother smirks. “I was supposed to pick her up so all of us Abbott people could come together.”

“Interesting… if you’ll excuse me, I believe I have some snooping to do.” With that, your mother rises from her seat and enters your house. Immediately, her eyes turn to the steps where your room and main bathroom are. She ascends up the steps. Melissa’s things, at least that’s what she assumes, are still scattered around in the bathroom. And… bingo: two toothbrushes. Then her eyes wander into the bedroom. Your mother knows that you don’t typically make the bed, but she is surprised to see that both sides of the bed are disheveled- bodies had clearly been on both sides.

Meanwhile, outside, Barbara makes her way over to you and Melissa.

“Where’d my mom go?” you ask.

“Bathroom,” Barb tells you gently. Her eyes don’t miss the fact that the redhead’s arm is still around you. “You two seem to be having a nice time.”

Green eyes glare at her work best friend, but you just smile and lean into Melissa. That glare washes right off of her face.

“It’s nice,” you smile. God, that smile of yours has the second grade teacher wrapped around your finger. “I’m almost done my drink though.”

That’s all the kindergarten teacher needs to hear to begin her side of the plan. “Let me get you both drinks.”

“Oh, I can get them for us,” Melissa tells your coworker. Her hand slips away from your back, and it’s odd that you feel the slightest bit cold without her holding you.

The kindergarten teacher watches the way that your eyes linger on Melissa’s figure. And when she’s bringing back the drinks, you simply attach yourself to her hip again.

“Cheers,” Barb smiles as she lifts her glass in the air. The three of you clink, and then drink. She makes a mental note to pace herself while raising her glass in your direction often. Melissa and you never turn down a toasted drink. 

When Barbara sees your mother make her way back out, she moseys over. “What did you find?”

“Those two are so in a relationship, even if they aren’t admitting it. They shared a bed and everything!”

“Well, I’ve already initiated them getting drunk,” Barb informs your mom.

“Perfect,” your mother grins. Her eyes glance in the direction that you and your coworker are in. “Those two are idiots if they don’t think they’re in love. Well, time to go start.”

When you see your mother walking in your direction, you simply tap your can with Melissa’s before downing a good portion of it. The redhead follows your actions, although her eyes do widen when she sees how much and how quickly you’re drinking.

“My dear,” your mother starts. “Can I have a word with you?”

With a soft sigh, you nod and allow her to pull you in another direction. 

“What, Mom?”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” your mother instructs strictly. Then she softens significantly, and you feel like you’re a young child again. She used to look at you with so much love. “I just… wanted to apologize.”

“For?” you raise a brow.

“The things I’ve said about your career choices and the likes,” your mother sighs sheepishly. “I- I am very proud of you. I hope you know that.”

You frankly aren’t sure what you’re supposed to say to that, so you just give a sad smile. “Thank you for saying that, Mom.”

“I know that you probably don’t believe me, but I am very proud of you. You’re shaping the future generations, and you’ve been able to make it out here on your own. You seem to have a lovely work life, and… you’re a hell of a lot happier here than you were back home.”

“I am,” you admit. “I love it here, Ma.”

“That’s all I could ever want in this life for you- happiness,” your mom smiles as she squeezes your hand. “My sunshine deserves sunshine.”

“Thank you, Mom.”

“I think I know how you could be happier though.”

“I’m not moving back-”

“I’m not asking you to move back home,” your mother rolls her eyes. “I’m asking you to pull your head out of your ass and get with that little friend of yours already.”

“I thought I told you and Dad not to meddle in my life love,” you smirk.

Your mother replicates your facial expression- one of mischief. “I never agreed to that, dear. But I mean, come on. It’s quite clear to me that you have feelings for her.”

“So what if I do?”

“It’s also quite obvious to me that she reciprocates those feelings for you,” your mother states. “I mean, the two of you act as though you’re already together as it is.”

“We do not,” you blush.

“She stayed at your house last night, the two of you shared a bed, her toothbrush is right next to yours in the holder.”

“Friends stay over at each other’s houses sometimes,” you counter.

“She’s been hanging off of you all day,” your mother points out. “She calls you hun.”

“She calls every one ‘hun’.”

“Her eyes never leave you, and your eyes never leave her. Just admit that you’re in love with her. And she’s in love with you.”

“She is not,” you roll your eyes.

“All I’m saying is: the two of you act like you’re in a relationship already. Just… think about your happiness for your ol’ Ma. I do want grandkids at some point, you know.”

Barbara grabs her work wife by the arm. “Cheers!”

The redhead only throws back her head to laugh before taking a long swig.

“So when are you gonna just tell that girl that you’re in love with her?” the kindergarten teacher probes.

“Never,” Melissa rolls her eyes. “I plan on pining from afar for… forever. There ain’t no way someone like that would ever want me.”

“I see the way she looks at you, Melissa,” Barbara reminds her friend. “She loves you, and the two of you act like you’re in a relationship as it is.”

“No we don’t.” The pointed look from her coworker has the redhead blushing. “Okay, maybe we do. But there’s a difference between acting like it, and actually being in a relationship.”

“I think you should go for it,” Barb says. “Tonight.”

“What?” Green eyes go wide.

“Why not? Nothing is more romantic than fireworks. And, the two of you are drunk, and if it doesn’t feel right you can always blame it on the booze.”

The second grade teacher bites her lip. “I don’t know.”

“Just… think about it.”

No sooner is the redhead back at your side, holding you by the hip again. And while she seems like everything is wonderful and there is nothing but pleasant thoughts going on in her head, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Her mind is swirling with what it would be like to kiss you, to be in a relationship with you.

Maybe, Melissa thinks to herself. 

Well, that maybe turns into an Absolutely I will, when Barbara dares her a few hours later to do something about the mutual pining that is going on between the two of you.

“I dare you to kiss her while the fireworks are going on,” the kindergarten teacher smirks, pretty intoxicated herself. 

“I will,” the redhead chuckles, never one to turn down a dare.

By the time the fireworks start going off, everyone is either on a blanket that they had brought or in a chair that lived at your house. Of course, you’re the last to search a seat due to your expert hosting skills, and you find yourself coming up with nothing.

“Come here,” Melissa rolls her eyes. As if you would find anywhere else to be but near the redhead. You stand beside her, ready to take in the spectacle that is about to light up the sky. And in a daring move, the second grade teacher easily tugs you into her lap. She her arms around your midsection and rests her chin on your back.

Your mother nudges Barbara with her elbow, grinning from ear to ear. “You think it’s gonna happen?”

“I dared Melissa to,” the kindergarten teacher mutters back. “So, yeah.” 

“Perfect.”

As the first fireworks go off, you can feel the excitement practically radiating off of Melissa. It’s adorable when you turn and see how awestruck she is by the lights in the sky. Your coworkers are entirely entranced by the display, and when it’s clear that the finale is about to take place, you expect to see those green eyes focused on the dark night above you. But instead, the redhead is looking directly at you.

“Lis,” you chuckle, and you try to turn her head so she can look up at the last of the fireworks. She doesn’t seem to care about the spectacle. No, her eyes are trained on you. “You’re gonna miss the finale.”

“I don’t care,” the redhead breathes.

“But they’re beautiful,” you whisper.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Melissa tells you quietly. And then her lips meet yours. And… the fireworks in the sky are no comparison to the fireworks in your heart.

Everyone that had gathered at your house is mesmerized by the display in the sky- all except your mother and Barbara. Silently, they high five before turning their eyes back to the finale of the fireworks.

Once the fireworks are over, it isn’t long before your friends and family begin to file out of your house.

“Don’t think that we aren’t talking about that kiss that I saw,” your mother whispers to you as she hugs you goodbye. Immediately, your cheeks flush red. But you can’t say anything, because she’s off of you, and giving Melissa a hug goodbye.

Barbara, on the other hand, doesn’t give any inclination that she knows what had taken place just a few short minutes ago. She heads out with a hug and a kiss to your cheek, thanking you for your wonderful hospitality.

And then you and the redhead are alone. And before you know it, her lips are back on yours.

Fast forward to the end of Summer, and Melissa has been your girlfriend since the Fourth. It’s been a wonderful summer spent down at the beach with her, and all too soon you’re walking back into the halls of Abbott.

Barbara doesn’t say anything when she sees the two of you walk in together or the way that Melissa instinctively prepares your morning beverage for you. No. She chooses to wait until the last of your Abbott family has made their way into the staff lounge.

“So,” the kindergarten teacher claps her hands together with a bright grin on her face. “Where’s my money?”

“Your money?” your girlfriend raises a brow.

“My money,” Barbara states with a smile.

“For what?” Jacob asks.

“The bet.”

“No one won,” Ava rolls her eyes. “Not yet at least. I still got my bet going.”

“That’s where you would be wrong,” the kindergarten teacher reveals. “Y/N and Melissa got together on Fourth of July.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “What?”

“You heard what I said, baby.”

“H-how?”

“While everyone else was watching the fireworks, I saw what I needed to see. So, just confirm it so I can win my three-hundred dollars.”

“Three hundred dollars?” Melissa asks incredulously. At her best friend’s nod, the redhead just continues to flounder for words.

“I ain’t payin’ until one of them confirms.”

You sheepishly smile as you raise the two of your hands from under the table, intertwined.

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead @schemmentits @schmentisgf

[sarahsangelicdoll]

‘𝑜𝒽 𝓂𝓇 𝒸𝓊𝓅𝒾𝒹, 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝒶𝓂 𝒾 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽?’

༯ Summary: After a fight with his dad on valentines eve, mr cupid decides to direct JJ to your house

༯ the cupids enchantings event

a/n: had fun writing this :)) lowk had me smiling giggling and kicking my feet 🤭

༯ Content warning: Child abuse, cringey confessions lmao, descriptions of blood and wounds, possibly too much detail in reader disinfecting JJs wounds 😅, not explicit but just long, overall fluffy.

JJ’s feet were moving. Just moving. He had no idea where he should go, Kiara’s parents would never let him in. John B was gone off wherever for the night. Heyward would maybe let him stay over, but they were too far and it was pouring outside.

Then, while walking he spotted an all too familiar cabin like house. Surprisingly looking nice and in good condition for being on the cut. Flowers decorating the front yard, well kept and cared for grass that seemed to shine a bright green despite being dark and gloomy out.

The window at the front of the house was bright, illuminating a bit of the front yard and JJ could see your form sitting on the couch. As if the light and your presence was guiding him, he found himself just in front of your door without even realizing it.

You and JJ were part of the same friend group, however not particularly close. JJ always tried to keep his distance from you- ‘no pogue on pogue macking’ is what he always said, although he started doubting the rule whenever he was close to you. JJ cared to much for his ego so he would rather ignore you then risk his feelings getting the better of him. Everyone caught onto the fact he was avoiding you- it was painfully obvious. But JJ constantly brushed it off as if they were overthinking.

JJ sucked in a deep breath as he stood outside your door. The pain in his cheek, nose and forehead was overbearing and he had a particularly bad cut on his cheek. He glanced over your figure that was sat on the couch, your knees brought up to your chest as you watched TV and stirred whatever drink you had. He almost felt too bad to knock at your door- you two weren’t particularly close and here he was about to bother you with his issues. But just as his mind decided his body was going to turn and walk away, his body retaliated and knocked on your door, no backing down now.

JJ could hear and see the illuminated light move as you got up, probably confused as to who would be knocking on your door not only in this weather but at this time of night. His breath caught in his throat once he heard the door unlock and open.

Your breath also caught in your throat- not necessarily at seeing JJ of all people at your door, but at seeing the state he was in. Bloody nose and forehead. His cheek bleeding too much to be left by itself. And the realization that this was most likely the work of his father. How a father could do that to their own son? you had no idea.

You sighed, quickly knowing what this situation was, attempting to hide the pity in your eyes as to not bother JJ. “C’mon..” You mumbled. Moving out of the way and motioning with your head for JJ to come in.

The blonde reluctantly walked in. For some reason not expecting you to seem so… calm. Maybe it was just his anxiety talking and saying that you’d be upset at him for disrupting your peace. “Sorry.. just.. had nowhere to go..” JJ grumbled as he took his hat off and fiddled with it in his hands. His hair messily falling over his face.

You walked past him and into your kitchen, not understanding why he was apologizing. “It’s fine, better here than some random place or your house.” You said, giving JJ a soft smile as you grabbed some cloth from a drawer and a variety of disinfectant sprays, followed by bandages. “Want a hot chocolate maybe? Got some strawberry hot chocolate for valentines.” You offered, trying to ease the discomfort in the room.

“Uh.. yeah. Sure.” JJ said, attempting to appear nonchalant despite the fact your presence was making his heart do leaps. The way you effortlessly eased the tension, the way your presence was free of any slight hint of annoyance, the way your presence was filled with silent understanding and care.

“K, made with water or milk?” You asked. Setting the disinfectant items down on the counter to reach up for a cup.

JJ’s brows furrowed slightly at your suggestion. Milk? why the hell would you use milk? “Waters fine.” He said, smiling awkwardly as he shifted his weight onto one of his legs, standing in one place as if you’d get mad at him for moving.

You looked over at him, smiling softly as you chuckled. “You can come over?” You said as if it was a question. Flicking the kettle on. You watched him walk into your rather small, isle like kitchen, leaning your back into the counter and crossing your arms across your chest.

JJ eyed your kitchen. It was nicely organized and had not new items, rather old ones, but you clearly took care of them. He stopped just next you, placing his hat down onto the counter as he mimicked your own position. “So ah uh… what are you watching?” He asked dumbly, as if the sound of mean girls wasn’t very much clear in the background.

You chuckled, leaning up off the counter and towards the cabinet as the water started boiling. “Mean Girls.” You replied simply, well aware of how awkward JJ felt. After all, the two of you weren’t close.

You grabbed a small, pink chocolate heart out of a pack of four, one now two due to your own hot chocolate and JJ’s own, and put the pack away. Turning back to the kettle you pulled out a mug from the rack of drying dishes. “Wanna watch something else?” You asked. At the click of the kettle, signifying it was finished boiling, you took it off its little plate and poured it into a mug, following by dropping the chocolate heart into it.

“No- it’s fine.” He said, watching your movements and how the heart of chocolate, tinged with the flavour of Strawberry, started melting into the cup.

You hummed as a reply. Handing JJ his mug and grabbing your tools for cleaning JJ’s wounds. “Come,” You said simply as you made way for the living room. You stopped at your couch, turning on the lamp that rested on the couch side table. Sitting down you rested your back against the arm of the couch, sprawling out the items in front of you.

JJ sat down on the other side of the small couch, criss-cross applesauce style, looking at the array of bandages and disinfectant stuff. He felt that they were un-needed, but he knew that it’d be useless to say no. So he simply let you arrange your stuff. He took the cloth from your hands once you handed it to him, looking at you questionably. “Hold it onto your cheek to stop or lessen the bleeding.” You said simply with a small smile.

JJ did as you said. Wincing at the feeling but holding down nevertheless. His eyes glanced to the tv that was the only other thing, next to the bedside lamp, illuminating the room. His eyes trailed back down to you. You were pouring a bit of Hydrogen Peroxide disinfectant onto a smaller cloth. The other items you had were baby wipes, bandages and white petroleum lotion. JJ couldn’t help but smirk at your dedication to cleaning his stupid wounds. Always so thoughtful.

After about a minute you pulled out a baby wipe, smiling softly as you reached up to pull his arm down and started cleaning the blood and guck around the wounds, being particularly careful on his cheek. JJ glanced down awkwardly, attempting to ignore how his heart fluttered in his chest.

Next, you picked up the cloth with the disinfectant. “It might sting a bit.” You warned before placing it down onto his cheek. JJ almost flinched away but didn’t, instead hissing in a breath. You gently wiped at the wounds before bringing the cloth down and folding it. Grabbing the bottle of disinfectant and spraying it on all three wounds.

JJ flinched again, moving away from the spray. “Jesus is all that really necessary?” He asked as he ignored the irritation swelling on the wounds that mixed with a stinging sensation.

You chuckled at his words, letting the spray sit for a couple seconds before bringing the cloth up to wipe away all the pus and guck that started forming on top the wound. “Yes it is. So that it can prevent infection.”

JJ couldn’t help the blush that formed on his face as he finally looked at you. Seeing the unyielding focus and care in your eyes. He could feel the warmth of your body on his and you were the closest you ever were to him. His heart did flips when he heard your quiet sigh as you pulled away the cloth and reach down for the white petroleum lotion.

You opened the cap of the lotion and poured a bit onto your finger. Closing the lid with your knee you plopped the bottle back down, dapping your other finger into the small bit on the tip of your right pointer finger, before diverting your attention back up. You smiled as you locked eyes with him; missing the way he was looking at you with nothing but love and adoration.

You gently placed the bit of cream over the wound on his forehead, forming a thin layer. The white petroleum also stung a bit but not as much as the bloody hydrogen peroxide.

JJ watched you, admiring every bit of your face and focused expression. He was feeling himself grow increasingly more confident and wanting to do nothing but just say how he feels out loud in this exact moment.

You moved your finger back down to get a bit more of the lotion before placing it onto the wound on his nose. “Sorry if it hurts a bit, almost done. Just got your cheek next and then bandages.” You said, your voice half distracted with focus.

And that’s when it came out; “I love you.”

Ok, JJ had to admit that was a tad bit of dramatic- but it left his mouth before he could even think about it. The words left him in a quick breath. He gulped as he watched your eyes widen and your movements freeze. Your own breath catching in your throat. It took you a couple seconds to process what he said before you let out a breathy chuckle.

“Bullshit.” You said chuckled, dapping your finger into the lotion again, gathering more this time as you shifted to the wound on his cheek next. “You’re just feeling emotional because all the stuff that happened tonight.” You said simply. Attempting to ignore the way your brain was hoping he was being 100% honest. How much you yearned to be this close to him and hear him say those words.

JJ didn’t know what it was tonight, but he was feeling very bold in this moment. He leaned away from your touch just as you finished applying the thin layer. He took your hand in his as he looked at you with an expression more firm than before. “No. I mean it completely y/n- You just… have such a comforting presence and i’ve actually liked you for a long, long time but i didn’t wanna break my.. “No pogue on pogue macking” rule so i started avoiding you.. but right now i could care less about that stupid rule, honestly.” JJ rambled on, only stopping to catch his breath.

“But i mean it, so so much y/n. I really like you and.. i want to be with you.” He finished, his face flushing once he realized how out of character he was sounding- and how abrupt it was with a tad of dramatics.

You stared at him in shock, letting his words sink in. And once his words did finally sink in you had to bite back a grin. “Really?” You asked, hating yourself for sounding so giddy.

“Really.” He replied nodding. Now attempting to appear nonchalant. But he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face just as a wide one spread on yours and your lips landed on his in a matter of seconds.

Your hands found way to his face. Your touch gentle as to not hurt his bad cheek. JJ leaned into the kiss as his hand found your own cheek, rubbing soft circles onto the soft skin.

Once you two finally pulled away JJ looked down on you, a cheeky grin quickly forming on his face. You quickly grew a matching grin as you pulled away. Grabbing the bandages as you attempted to appear nonchalant. “You seem happy.” You teased. Looking back up at him to place a bigger bandage on his cheek.

“I would say you look equally as happy princess.” he teased back. Noticing the way your cheeks flushed even more at the nickname that he hasn’t used on you in forever.

“Well maybee you’re right.” You replied. Placing a medium sized bandage onto the wound on his forehead, followed by the smaller one on his nose.

Once you finished bandaging his wounds he took your hand in his, leaning down to place a kiss on your hand. “Ain’t nothing to be embarrassed about princess.” He said. Attempting to fluster you even more, however you weren’t having it.

“I guess you’re right. After all i wasn’t the one who rambled on like a weirdo.” You teased back, poking him in the chest with your finger. Smirking as you saw your attempt at flustering JJ work. You got up, throwing the stuff you used onto the couch side table. You then grabbed his hands and dragged him up, making way for the bigger couch that sat a couple feet away from the tv. “Now stop talking and watch the movie with me, I’ll restart it and it can be our own lil late valentines date.”

⟡ ݁₊ . written by sarahsangelicdoll, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

༉ taglist: @hvnlygrl @tashiagalinda @littlxpxtal @starsval @rafestoothbrush @subconsciouscollapse @marleymarleymarleymarley @riaras-everthroner

tagging muts: @rafesheaven @personapeters @bloodibambiidoll @cameronsprincess @moonlightrafe @winnie1emon

[thehighladywrites]

you’re just like me

pairing: cassian x crazy stalker reader

summary: cassian thinks of you as his insanely obsessive ex girlfriend who’s downright crazy. you are obviously cassian’s one true love and will eliminate anything that stands in your way.

warnings: murder, dark romance, cheeky little twist👀, stalking, obsessive behavior, sexual content, knives, nasty sex, um also a sick way of getting off just downright crazy, description of murder… um this is just kinda dark. two psychos encouraging each other

amara’s note: so i might be making this into a series bc i have an amazing idea for azriel next😫😫😫 also guys this was a lil dark lol

You couldn’t understand how Cassian had the nerve to walk away from you. There was absolutely nothing wrong with you, not one single thing. People just didn’t get it; love was supposed to be all-consuming, right? Obsession wasn’t a flaw. It was just proof you cared deeply. So what if you knew his schedule down to the minute, memorized the exact scent of his shampoo, or followed him everywhere he went like your very existence depended on it? That wasn’t weird, it was love. Real, burning, raw love.

Cassian must have been confused, that’s all. Poor thing, probably led astray by some outside influence. Maybe someone whispered lies into his ear or cast some strange spell over his mind. Yeah, that had to be it, because Cassian did love you. He did. He just needed to wake up and realize it again.

And when he did , he’d thank you for never letting go, for being the one person who truly saw him, who loved him without limits.

Seeing Cassian sitting next to some water-wraith makes your heart pound harder and harder, fury bubbling under your skin. That’s it — that’s why he hasn’t been his usual self. That wretched wraith is manipulating him, filling his head with filthy lies about you. Poisoning what was meant to be perfect.

You have to stop this. You have to save him. And the only way to do that is to get rid of her. Permanently.

Your hands itch for action, and you’re already stepping forward when a hand clamps around your wrist.

“Are you about to go over to Cassian?” Feyre’s calm voice cuts through your haze of rage. “Don’t cause a scene.”

You tilt your head, offering her a polite smile. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m simply going to claim what is rightfully mine.”

You tug at her grip, but it holds firm. Feyre’s eyes narrow. “Not so fast. You know Cassian will think you’re crazy if you kill her right here and now.”

Your breath catches. How the hell did she know? Were you that obvious?

Before you can respond, she steps closer, her intoxicating perfume filling your senses. Her voice, low and smooth, sends shivers down your spine.

“If you want that little whore gone, gut her like a fucking fish. I’ll even help you. But not now, it’ll look bad for us.”

Your eyes widen slightly. Never in a million years would you have expected Feyre to suggest murder.

“Why are you so interested in me killing her?” you ask, voice curious.

A wicked smile curls at her lips before she presses a quick kiss to your cheek. “That little bitch tried to fuck Rhys right in front of me. Didn’t even bother pretending she didn’t know who I was. She didn’t care. And now I want her gone.”

Her voice cracks with a manic edge before she smooths it over, composure snapping neatly back into place.

She was just like you, a comfort you took pleasure in, someone who understood that love was meant to be fierce, consuming, and without limits.

—

You did exactly what Feyre suggested — waited until the big meeting with all the courts had ended, biding your time until the wraith was on her way back to Spring. She was alone, vulnerable, just as you had hoped.

Before she could winnow away, you struck. Kidnapping her had been easy, far too easy. And then came the best part: stabbing her over and over until you were drenched in her warm blood. Her look of terror sent a sick thrill down your spine, flipping your stomach in delight. Fuck, it felt good to finally get rid of her. Like being on edge for an eternity and finally getting the sweet, blissful relief you'd craved.

You cleaned up meticulously, disposing of every shred of evidence. No one would ever find her.

Winnowing back to Velaris, you appeared just outside Cassian’s house, dagger still in hand. Breaking in through your usual route was second nature by now. You settled yourself on his sofa, waiting patiently like you always did when he needed a gentle reminder of who truly belonged to him.

The door creaked open, and Cassian trudged inside, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. Normally, you'd feel a pang of sympathy for how hard he worked — how much he gave of himself. But not tonight. Tonight, you were kinda pissed.

His eyes flicked toward you, squinting in the dim light. He hesitated, unsure of who he was looking at until he flipped the lights on.

The color drained from his face as he stumbled backward, eyes wide with shock. “What the hell?” His voice wavered. “What are you doing here?”

You tilted your head, offering a sweet, unwavering smile. “Hi, Cassian. Done being a manwhore? Ready to come back to your senses?”

His gaze darted to the blood soaking your clothes, the gleaming dagger in your hand. He shook his head in disbelief, taking another step back, as if distance could protect him from you.

“I said, what are you doing here?” His voice hardens, sharp and commanding.

Yours matches his, cold and steady. “Well, since you seem to be under some delusion that you can get away from me, I figured I’d burst your little bubble and remind you that’s not the case.”

A calm smile spreads across your lips as you lift the dagger, pointing it directly at him. The weight of it feels right in your hand, steady and sure.

Cassian’s chest rises and falls as tension coils through the room. “You’re insane,” he mutters, disbelief lacing every word.

“Call it what you want. Call it love, call it obsession. Call me fucking insane,” you say, taking a slow step forward. “But you belong to me, Cassian. Always have. Always will.”

You shake your head and laugh, a hollow, unsettling sound. “Gods, Cassian. I don't know why you're doing this to me. Stop being so damn difficult and realize there's no one else for you. That water-wraith slut sure knows it now.”

His face goes pale, a hand pressing against his chest. “W-what are you talking about? You... you killed her?” he asks, horrified.

“Sure did.” You smile sweetly, tilting your head. “And I'll end anyone you think can take my place. Am I clear? Either you realize it now, or I keep killing people. It's all up to you.” You shrug nonchalantly, inspecting your nails as if this conversation were about the weather.

There's a long silence, thick with tension, and then something changes.

His voice drops, lower and rougher. “Took you long enough.”

Your head snaps up, eyes narrowing in confusion. His pale, horrified expression has melted away, replaced by something darker, more primal. His eyes gleam with something unholy, and his mouth twists into a cruel, wicked smile.

“Was wondering when you’d kill that little wraith,” he says smoothly, his voice dripping with amusement. “Gods know it was hard feigning interest.”

A warmth spreads through your chest, almost dizzying. Was this a dream? No way. Cassian matching your intensity, your madness — that was only supposed to happen in fantasies.

“What?” you whisper, barely believing what you’re hearing.

He steps closer, eyes gleaming darkly. “Didn’t think I noticed your stalking? Or the way you conveniently disposed of anyone I talked to?” His smirk widens, sharp and dangerous. “The way you just happened to show up at places I had scheduled? I’ve been onto you since day one.”

Your breath catches, heart thundering. “And?”

“And I knew you were the one the day you snuck into my room and stared at me, thinking I didn’t know,” he murmurs, eyes burning into yours with dark satisfaction.

A shiver runs down your spine, both thrilled and unhinged by his words. “You knew?”

He leans in closer, voice low and possessive. “Of course I knew. Your heavy breathing was a dead giveaway, sweetheart. You looked like you were seconds away from crawling into bed with me.”

You grin, eyes gleaming with madness. “I almost did.”

And it was true. He had been shirtless, skin smooth and golden in the moonlight, hair tied back so his sharp, handsome features were perfectly highlighted. Only years of discipline had kept you rooted to the spot instead of crawling into bed with him like you’d wanted to.

His smile deepens, dark and taunting. “You should’ve.” He steps closer, voice dropping to a low, sinful whisper. “Not the Gods themselves could have pulled me away.”

Your pulse races, wild and electric. This was so not fucking happening. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m not tempting you, my love.” he says, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “I’m inviting you.”

He looks down at you, hands settling on your hips as he pulls you so close. Cassian’s heat makes your brain go fuzzy and for a moment you’re lost. Just as he is about to kiss you…

”Wait. So you felt the same I did? Why did you act all high and mighty when you’re literally worse than me?” You step back and raise an eyebrow at him, arms crossed over your chest.

Cassian blinks, clearly taken aback by your sudden outburst, but instead of guilt or surprise softening his expression, something darker gleams in his eyes — intrigue, even delight. “You’re mad at me, baby?”

“Of course I’m mad!” you snap, practically vibrating with frustration. “You knew I’m bsessed with you, and instead of saying anything, you just sat there, playing with me, making me feel insane.”

Your grip on the dagger tightens in pure frustration. “Do you know how many nights I spent plotting ways to keep you? How much blood I spilled thinking you didn’t care?”

His lips twitch, eyes filled with dark amusement.

“You could’ve just matched my crazy from day one, but nooo, you had to be all stoic and mysterious. Gods, Cassian, that’s infuriating.”

He steps closer, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re adorable when you’re pissed off, ya know? A cute, hotheaded little thing.”

“Adorable? I should stab you,” you snarl, but he only grins wider.

“Do it,” he whispers, his voice dripping with challenge. “I’d love to see what happens next.”

Your breath catches, heart racing as his words sink in. Cassian wasn’t just tolerating your madness, he wanted it, thrived on it, matched it beat for beat.

The realization sends a dizzy thrill through you, but you pout anyway, refusing to let him off the hook that easily. “You’re the worst,” you grumble, turning your head away with a dramatic huff.

He chuckles darkly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “I was only interesed in seeing how far you’d go. Didn’t know if you’d run for the hills when I told you I murdered Helion’s advicer for looking at you yesterday.”

Your heart skips a beat, then thunders wildly in your chest. A sharp, wicked grin tugs at your lips despite yourself. “You did that?”

“Snapped his neck right before breakfast. Or did I feed him his own fingers then strangle him with his insides? Can’t say I remember.”

A sick thrill courses through you. Man, he was fucking perfect. It was so fucking wrong but your knees went weak and you started throbbing. He killed someone just for staring at you?

That was actually hot.

—

With no surprise, cassian fucked you for so long, so hard so fucking deep. It was so nasty, a reaaaal mess. one hand of his grabs onto your thigh, another gripping your waist while he’s glancing down at your sloppy cunt, what a masterpiece. Cassian decided he needed to see better so he pulled out as you whimpered pathetically.

his fingers smear his oozing cum all over you, from the slit all the way to your, swollen, throbbing clit.

“look at you makin’ a damn mess.” Your shaky hands gripping his wide shoulders start to slip. His arm tightens around your waist before you fall backwards. “fuckkkk, baby, look at how good your pussy was takin’ me, see how fucking wet she is?” you shudder as his fingers go knuckle deep into your cunt, giving you a few pumps before he pulls it right out, stringy wetness coating them.

he places two thick fingers inside of your mouth, you suck them clean whilst still moving against him, silently pleading for him to fill you out.

“shiiit, not fair. you got these killer hips that’ll dumb down any man.” Cassian finally fills you up again, his fat cock gliding against ypur wall just right. “oh-fuckkkk thaaat’s it, slow baby. slow, fuck me good, yeah?”

Cassian’s breath hitches as you tighten around him, his arm hurling behind the headboard. the desperation of having something to hold on to gives you an ego boost. was your just pussy too damn good?

“c-cas,” you moan, feeling his big fingers stroke their way against your waist to the very undersides of your thighs. you made sure to go slow, slow and steady just like he wanted. cassian’s got a sleazy grin, feeling the wetness of your cunt take him with all its might. “g-gonna cum!”

“i can tell, ah shit— you’re squeezin’ the fuck outta me,” He grunts in response as he feels you writhing, groaning at the gummy texture of your walls mightily gripping around him tight.

But it’s not enough. The rush lingers, addictive and gnawing, and you want more — need more. Something to cling to, something to burn into your memory for the rest of the week. A painfully sweet reminder of just how far you’ll both go for each other.

Your lips curl into a sly smile, voice dropping into a breathy tease. Finally, you’d lock in one last time to see if he was really as crazy as you. “Do you want to know,” You pause, your breath hitching in pleasure, “how it felt to kill t-that wraith?”

Cassian’s entire body tenses, his pupils dilating as a spark of something wild flickers in his eyes. His pulse kicks up, thrumming like a war drum. Fuck yeah, he wanted to know. Every sickening, twisted detail. Morality be damned—this was love.

“Tell me,” he demands, voice low and raw, filled with a dark hunger.

You grin wickedly, savoring his reaction. “It was beautiful,” you whimper, letting the memory flood your senses. “The way her breath hitched when she realized she was going to die? Gods, Cassian, it was intoxicating. She looked so helpless.”

His breath shudders as he pumps harder, his voice gravelly. “What did you feel?”

A dark satisfaction blooms in your chest. “Relief,” you murmur. “Pure relief. Like I’d been waiting forever and I was free.”

Cassian’s eyes burn into yours, his lips curling into a slow, dangerous smile. “You’re perfect,” he whispers. “Absolutely perfect. Absolutely mine.”

Your heart races as you lean in, lips hovering near his ear. “Next time,” you purr, “I’ll let you watch then fuck me right there.”

That’s it. Those few sadistic words are all the power he needs to finish you both off.

“you’re a nasty fucking girl—ughhhh.”

his speed had the bed creaking louder, and cassian’s grunting in your ear was getting louder as you were feeling fuller than ever. with hot pounds of skin against skin roughly slapping against each other after each second, the two of you felt the same pangs of pleasure and fervent dizziness. “inside, cas—fuck, cum inside me!” before an inevitable flood of heavenly pleasure consumes you both.

your cunt throbs the second he spills an entire whopping load inside of you raw, and you nuzzle your face into his neck. “cas—,” you stammer, and your walls were oh so greedy, adjusting to the way your pussy convulses around him, sharp nails dragging over his back. you both cum together as a surge of electricity pulses through each of your veins.

“fuck… ya better take every drop, s-shit,” he groans before slumping back against the headboard, tugging you closer so your face rests on his neck.

This was absolutely perfect. Cassian was yours now—forever. He could never leave you. And if he tried? You wouldn’t just kill him; you’d burn the entire world down with him. If you couldn’t have him, no one could. He simply wouldn’t exist without you.

That was love.

And Cassian being utterly, unapologetically insane? A gift wrapped in chaos. He understood you better than anyone ever could. Maybe you’d push him, see just how far that darkness in him stretched. Because Cassian didn’t get jealous—he got even. He got murderous.

“I love you, Cassian. So, so much,” you sob into his neck, your body trembling under the weight of the confession.

“I know you do,” he rasps, his voice rough as he grabs a blanket, wrapping it around your shivering form. His strong arms envelop you completely, his touch obsessive, possessive. His hand trails down your hair and back with agonizing tenderness as though memorizing every inch of you.

But something gnaws at you—a flicker of unease. Why wasn’t he saying it back? Did he need more proof that you were his literal wife(even if he didn’t know it yet), his reason for fucking breathing?

As if sensing your doubt, his grip tightens, pulling you even closer until you could hear the rapid, frantic beat of his heart. His lips brush against your ear, his voice low and raw, trembling with emotion.

“There are no words for what I feel for you,” he says, voice breaking. “Love is too weak, too pitiful. What I feel for you—gods, it devours me whole. It’s a sickness, an obsession that digs its claws into me and never lets go. You are everything. My breath, my blood, my madness.”

His words crash over you, wild and terrifying and utterly beautiful. And you know—he belongs to you as much as you belong to him.

Always.

[cognitiveoverload]

Rejection (Aaron Hotchner x reader)

summary: Being Hotch’s favorite is hard, but when he suddenly asks you out, you don’t really know if you’d like to make things harder for yourself.

tags: fem!tech analyst!reader

note: There will be more parts, not necessarily in chronological order. What do you think, what situations will they find themselves in? Send an ask with your idea, and let’s see what will happen.

At first, it was just a casual and genuinely innocent observation from Spencer. “Have you noticed that Hotch calls only you if he needs something?” he asked one day as he sat between you and Penelope in your little den.

But then this comment spread through the BAU like wildfire, making everyone think back of all the times their boss needed information, and look at that, they all remembered the same detail–it’s not just the fact he was always calling you, it was the fact he always called you by your first name.

And that’s how the constant teasing began. Derek, Emily, JJ and Penelope tormented you, with Spencer occasionally joining to spit out some facts about the both of you, while Rossi targeted Hotch as far as you knew. It was mortifying, really, but you got used to it.

What you still can't get used to is the change in your boss’ behavior. Recently he’s been different, although you can’t quite put a finger on what it is that changed. Sure, maybe he shows up a little more often in your office, strictly when Penelope isn’t around, and he brings you coffee when you’re working late or arrive a little too early as he does.

“How are you holding up?”

You turn your swivel chair around to look at Hotch, who’s standing in the door with an almost worried expression on his face. He sent Penelope home a few hours ago when a case affected her too much, and now apparently it was time for another wellness check in your little office. It’s hard to miss the way he’s flexing his fingers, a clear sign that he’s nervous, although you’re not a profiler, so you remain silent before you say something stupid.

Thinking about his question, you realize one thing. “It didn’t really affect me. Does this mean something’s wrong with me?” you ask him.

His lips part as he takes a shallow breath and thinks about what you just said. For a moment you think he’ll not give you an answer, but then he sits on the edge of your desk and watches you with a small smile. “It only means you’re tough. Look, you said, ‘It didn’t really affect me,’ which tells me it did affect you, just not as intensely as it did Garcia for example,” he explains kindly.

Nodding, you look down at your hands in your lap, but your gaze rises when he bumps his leg into your thigh. You expect him to say something, but Hotch remains silent, and he even acts like he didn’t do anything at all. There is one little thing that’s different, though. That barely visible smirk, the one you’ve all seen before.

Times like this it’s hard to comprehend the extremes in his behavior. He can act like this, so kind and supportive, but he can play rough too, especially when he loses control. And times like that, like a few days ago when he yelled at an agent who tried to take a case from him, you can’t help but think about how he could yell at you any time with you even thanking him.

Because, as pathetic as it might sound, an angry Hotch is simply irresistible. You probably have some issues that should be analyzed, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.

“I often wonder how you all can do this every single day. Penelope told me to brace myself when I arrived, but… It’s hard sometimes,” you admit quietly. “Yet, there are cases that don’t really make me feel anything. I can’t really wrap my head around that.”

His brown eyes soften in sync with his expression, and then his lips curl into a smile. “You’re a good person, never forget that. Not feeling anything might be your brain’s way of protecting you. Either way, if you ever want to talk, you know where to find me,” he tells you as he stands up.

You nod, then return to your computer once he’s heading to the door. But then the sound of footsteps suddenly dies, and when you turn around to see if he has just disappeared into thin air, you find him watching you with a thoughtful look. Your brows furrow in confusion, but you don’t say anything, you just wait for him to spit out whatever’s on his mind.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asks casually.

It seems like an innocent, regular question between co-workers. The members of the BAU often team up in pairs or bigger groups to grab something, even Hotch joins them for a drink in a bar or dinner in some restaurant nearby. But he has never, ever gone out to eat with someone alone. Maybe with Rossi, but that doesn’t count.

So, it’s no wonder you have to think about the offer. You would be on thin ice, the team already has a little too much fun with the fact Hotch is playing favorites with you. If you have dinner with him alone, they might think you’ve been in some secret relationship all along.

In the end, the rational–or maybe rather paranoid–side of your brain makes the final decision. “Thanks, but I’d rather go home after I finish this,” you say, pointing at your computer.

He nods, and you begin to think he’s about to leave, but then he gulps and takes a deep breath, as if he’s gathering the strength or courage to say whatever’s on his mind. “I have paperwork that can’t wait, but I can give you a ride home after I’m done,” he offers, and there’s a look in his eyes that you can’t quite identify.

“No need, I’ll be fine, but thanks anyway,” you tell him with a forced smile.

The last thing you need and want is Hotch taking you home. He means well, you know that, but you can’t risk being seen by someone who could easily start a rumor. The problem is, he’s almost as old as your dad, so people would talk about your nonexistent daddy issues, and he’s your boss, which would only make things worse.

So far the whole joke about being his favorite is something that stayed within the team, but if it gets out and reaches HR, you’re both done. You don’t want that, but not because of yourself. Hotch is ambitious, he’s insanely good at office politics, and if he wants to be promoted, he can’t be involved in such scandals.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the sigh that leaves his lips. He looks almost disappointed, which is something you don’t really understand, because you can’t remember anything that could be even remotely rude. What is his problem? Or is there something he wants to talk about, something he wants to get off his chest?

Before you know it, he closes the door and walks back to you. “I’ve been making offers, and you turn down each and every one of them without hesitation. Why?” You can’t help but give him a confused look, because you have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. Well, you know, but why does it bother him? “Is it because we would be alone?”

“It’s just… Wouldn’t it be weird?” you ask.

He inhales and exhales slowly before he suddenly crouches in front of you. “Look, there is a chance it will be weird, yes, but why don’t we give it a shot to see, huh? Come on, just you and me. If you’re afraid someone we both know will see us, we can go somewhere away from the usual crowd.”

You tilt your head to the side as you watch him, observing the look in his eyes, the small smile that makes your heart melt, and you simply can’t get yourself to say no to him. “Why?” you ask, although you know the answer, you just want to hear him say it.

“I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out for you,” he says with a boyish smile.

Gulping, you nod. A date. Aaron Hotchner wants to go on a date with you. But he’s your boss, if you started a relationship, there would be the danger of the aftermath of a breakup. Would you really like to risk it? You love this job, you love this team, you love Penelope, losing them wouldn’t be worth it.

You lick your lips as you push your chair back to build some distance. “I really have to get back to work now, and I’m sure Jack would be happy if you got home before bedtime,” you say, even though it hurts to turn down the invitation.

Hotch lets out a disappointed sigh as he stands up. “If you change your mind… you know. Good night.”

“Good night.”

[mapis-putellas]

𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅/𝑽.𝑴𝒊𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒂

Just a little something for my Vivi <3

Viv hadn’t told you she was sick. You had to hear it from Jill, who casually dropped it into conversation like it wasn’t something that would make your heart clench with worry.

“Yeah, she’s been looking awful all day,” Jill had said over the phone. “Coughing, sniffling. Honestly, I don’t even know how she made it through training.”

Your grip on your phone had tightened. “She trained?”

Jill snorted. “Of course she did. You know what she’s like.”

You did. Stubborn. Independent. Unwilling to admit when she needed help. It was just your Vivi, and whilst you were used to it, it definitely didn’t mean you liked it.

“She didn’t tell me,” you muttered, feeling a little annoyed now.

“She probably didn’t want to worry you,” Jill said, voice softer. “But she looks miserable.”

That was all you needed to hear.

You booked a flight that night.

*

Viv was exhausted. Training had been brutal, and she felt like absolute shit. Her whole body ached, her sinuses were a mess, and her throat felt like she’d swallowed glass. Still, she’d forced herself through the day, unwilling to let something as minor as a cold slow her down. But all she wanted now was to collapse into bed and preferably sleep for the next twelve hours.

What she didn’t expect was to find you there, sitting cross-legged on her bed, arms folded across your chest looking less than happy.

She froze in the doorway, blinking in surprise. “…Liefje?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Hi, baby.”

Her brain struggled to process the sight of you. You were supposed to be in Manchester. Not in her hotel room. Not staring at her like she’d just been caught committing a crime. Which, in a way, she supposed she had.

“You’re here,” she said, dumbly.

“I am,” you agreed, tilting your head. “You, on the other hand, should not have been at training today.”

Viv swallowed. “Ah.”

“Ah?” you repeated, unimpressed. “That’s all you have to say?”

Viv shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

You sighed, standing up and making your way over to her. Up close, she looked even worse. Her face was pale, cheeks flushed with fever, and her eyes were glassy behind her glasses. You reached out, pressing the back of your hand to her forehead.

“Vivianne,” you murmured, your voice softer now. “You’re burning up.”

She leaned into your touch without thinking, her shoulders sagging.

“You should’ve told me,” you said, threading your fingers through her hair and tucking it behind her ear.

She exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. “Didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

You sighed again, but you didn’t argue. This was just how Viv was. Stubborn to a fault.

“You hungry?” you asked instead, nudging her toward the bed.

She shook her head. “Just tired.”

You guided her to sit down before kneeling to untie her shoes. She protested weakly, but you ignored her, pulling them off and then stripping off her socks too.

“You don’t have to do that,” she murmured, watching you with tired eyes.

“I know.” You pulled her legs onto the bed, tucking them under the covers before crawling in beside her. “But I want to.”

Viv exhaled, shifting so she could rest her head against your chest. “I missed you.” She murmured, throwing an arm around your waist.

You pressed a kiss to the top of her head as you gently pulled off her glasses, placing them on the night stand closest to you. “I missed you too, baby.”

Her arms tightened around you, and she buried her face in your neck with a little sigh “Mijn liefje,” she mumbled.

Your softened a little, despite yourself. “Ik hou van jou, Viv.”

She hummed, already half-asleep. “Ik hou van jou, Liefje.”

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 2

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy, seizures and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

By the time Lizzie heard the knock on her door, she was almost regretting inviting Lando over.

Not because she didn’t want to see him—she did. But because she was still exhausted, her limbs felt like lead, and she hadn’t had the energy to change into anything more presentable than this.

Which was how she found herself standing in front of her door, dressed in sweatpants and a vintage Ferrari hoodie that was older than both of them, trying to summon the will to care.

She pulled the door open, and there he was—Lando Norris, grinning at her like she hadn’t texted him less than 6 hours ago to say, Hey, I had a seizure, so can we not do the fancy restaurant thing?

“Hey,” he said, then his eyes dropped to her hoodie. His expression morphed into pure betrayal. “You—Lizzie.” He pointed. “Is that—is that a Ferrari hoodie?”

She crossed her arms, ignoring the amusement bubbling in her chest. “It was my dad’s.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Lando said, still staring at it like it personally offended him. “It makes it worse. It’s, like, vintage blasphemy.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes and stepped aside to let him in. “You’re in my apartment. You don’t get to insult my clothes.”

“I absolutely do.”

“You really don’t.”

"You literally live in Woking," Lando said darkly as he stepped into her apartment. "A stone throw away from the MTC!"

Lizzie rolled her eyes once more, closing the door behind him. "And I'm still a Ferrari girl at heart."

Lando groaned, shaking his head. "You're breaking my heart here, you know that?"

"Is now the time to mention that Mara is also named after Ferrari?" she asked with a grin, as he followed her into the kitchen and sat down a grocery bag on the counter.

Lando blinked. "How is Mara named after Ferrari?" he asked her.

"Well, Mara is short for Maranello," Lizzie said brightly.

Lando's mouth fell open. "You have got to be kidding me," he said, staring at her. "Your dog is named after Ferrari headquarters?"

Lizzie just smiled, not even trying to hold back her amusement. "Yep," she said, popping the p on the word.

"First the hoodie, then the dog... what's next, a Vettel tattoo?" Lando asked her with a sigh.

"I mean, I was considering it," Lizzie said, completely deadpan.

For a moment, Lando actually looked worried. "You're joking, right? Please tell me you're joking."

Lizzie cackled, a deep, full-belly laugh. "Relax, Lando. I'm kidding."

His shoulders sagged. "You're an evil woman. An actual evil woman."

"What is even in there?" she asked with a nod to the grocery bags.

Lando smirked. “Backup nuggets.”

Lizzie frowned. “Backup nuggets?”

“In case yours suck.”

Lizzie snorted. “Wow. True trust issues.”

Lando grinned, but there was something softer behind it. She felt it when he looked at her for just a second too long.

She shoved the nuggets into the oven before he could say anything annoying about it.

"I also brought ice cream. I didn't know what you like..."

"Vanilla," she said immediately.

"Vanilla it is," he agreed. "Where's Mara by the way?"

Lizzie's eyes darted down the hallway. "She's probably passed out in the living room, honestly," she said. "Dad said she barely left my side last night, poor thing. Probably wore herself out."

Lando winced. "I can imagine. Must've been pretty freaked out, huh?"

Lizzie nodded. "She kept licking my face. Apparently they do that to wake you up when you have a seizure."

For a moment, his gaze softened, and he looked at her thoughtfully. "You don't get hurt, right? When you have a seizure, I mean."

"Generally, no," Lizzie said, "I might accidentally bite my tongue, and I'm usually sore and tired after, but I don't get hurt."

Lando nodded, but she could see the concern still lingering on his face. "But you're okay now?" he asked quietly.

Lizzie managed to bite back her smile. "I'm fine, Lando. I promise. This really is normal for me."

His head dipped. "You're sure?"

She softened, touched by the worry in his voice. "I'm sure," she said gently. "No need to look so serious, pretty boy."

“Excuse me, I’m not pretty.” He objected with a disgusted expression.

Lizzie snorted. “Yeah, you aren’t if you pull a face like that.” She shot back immediately.

“Excuse me, that’s not very nice!”

“Mate, make up your mind,” Lizzie said with a snort. “I say you are pretty, you disagree. I say you aren’t, you also disagree. What are you then?”

“I am ruggedly handsome,” he told her seriously.

She could only stare at him.

“If you somehow manage to grow a beard, then, maybe. But with that clean-shaven look you have going on right now? Not in a million years. You’re pretty, and that’s that.”

Lando's eyes widened, taken aback. "Did you just—" he spluttered. "Did you just insult my ability to grow facial hair and then go and call me pretty in the same breath?"

"I absolutely did," Lizzie said, barely able to hold back her grin. "What are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?"

What she hadn't expected was for him to advance and corner her against her kitchen counter.

She froze, eyes wide, her heart suddenly thumping in her chest. Lando planted one hand on either side of the counter, caging her in.

He leaned in, his face inches from hers, expression still tinged with faux offense.

And his eyes...she could spent a whole book describing their colour and Lizzie was quite sure that it was going to fall short. Even in the dim light of her kitchen, they shifted from blue to green and back.

The intensity of his gaze was almost unbearable. Lizzie's mind went completely blank, and she found herself staring at him, a flutter of nervous energy coursing through her like electricity.

Lando was so close now that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. She was suddenly hyper-aware of every nerve in her body, like this new, intimate proximity had set her senses on fire.

Lizzie wasn't even sure who moved first.

All she knew was that suddenly, his lips were on hers. The kiss started gently, almost tentatively. But something shifted in an instant.

It became hungrier, more desperate, like a dam had burst. Lizzie couldn't help herself; her arms wrapped around Lando's shoulders and pulled him closer, every part of her body pressed against his.

One of his hands threaded into her hair, angling her head to get better access, and she made a small, needy sound in the back of her throat. Her fingers curled into the soft cotton of his shirt, clutching at it as she kissed him back, dizzy with the feel of him.

Oh. 

Oh. 

Lando groaned, the sound reverberating through her. His free hand slid beneath her hoodie, seeking out the bare skin of her waist.

Her own hands moved over his back, desperate and urgent. The kiss turned hotter, less controlled as her world narrowed to this, to him, to the intoxicating feeling of his body against hers.

And then the sound of the oven timer beeped. Loudly. She jerked in his grasp, managing to make one of her cookbooks clatter down onto the floor.

A second later, Mara was barelling into the room, clearly thinking that she had had a seizure and destroyed her house.

Lizzie and Lando sprung apart, both of them flushed and more than a little breathless.

Lizzie couldn’t help it; she burst into a fit of giggles, watching Mara skid across the linoleum.

"I'm fine, Mara," she said through her laughter. Her dog whined, clearly not convinced.

Lando was looking like a deer in headlights, his cheeks flushed and his hair messed up from her fingers. He stared at her as if he'd never seen her before, and she bit her lip to keep herself from grinning like an idiot.

"We should rescue the dino nuggets," Lizzie suggested.

Lando still looked stunned. "Right - yeah - nuggets-" he said, blinking.

Lizzie chuckled and knelt down to pat Mara to reassure her. The dog was practically whining with worry, licking her face and nudging her. Lizzie gently pushed her back in an attempt to give herself some space.

"I think you traumatized my dog," she said, looking up at him with a smirk.

He scratched the back of his head, still endearingly awkward. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I wasn't exactly...thinking when..."

She just shook her head, grinning. "Maybe we should focus on rescuing those dino nuggets, don't you think, pretty boy?"

He swallowed, glancing at her briefly before nodding. "Yeah. Nuggets."

Lizzie pushed herself off the floor, giving Mara's head a final pat before she headed over to the oven. Lando joined her in the kitchen, his gaze flickering to her every other second. Lizzie took the plate from the oven, setting it down on the stove top.

"They look fine," she said, inspecting the slightly-singed edges of the nuggets. "All things considered."

Lando leaned against the counter beside her. "Great," he said, but his voice was still a little unsteady.

She shot him a sideways glance, amused by the way his gaze kept dropping to her mouth.

"Was that..." he trailed off and she watched to see a slight blush cover his cheeks.

"What?" she asked, hiding a smile. He was even more adorable when he was embarrassed.

He cleared his throat, looking vaguely flustered. "That was okay, right?"

And just like that, her own cheeks grew warm. They'd just made out in her kitchen, and now he was asking her if... if it was okay?

She studied him, taking in the pink hue on his face. There was something so vulnerable about the way he was looking at her. It was like he couldn't believe it had happened, and now he was scared he had overstepped.

"It was..." she began, only stopping to consider her words."...pretty incredible."

Relief flickered across Lando's face. "Yeah?" he said, a hint of the cocky demeanor returning. "You liked it, then?"

In response, Lizzie just rolled her eyes, pushing the plate of dino nuggets towards him to end the conversation before he could say anything else.

"Try a damn nugget."

Lando raised an eyebrow, but his smile grew even wider as he picked up a nugget from the plate. "Bossy."

She just rolled her eyes again, biting back a laugh. "Eat your nugget before I regret telling you that I liked it."

He chuckled and popped the nugget into his mouth. "Not bad," he said, still grinning.

Lizzie found herself returning the smile. He was impossible.

But then again, she thought as she looked at him, she supposed she wouldn't want him any other way.

"Let's take this to the living room," she suggested.

"So is there even more Ferrari merch there?" Lando asked her. She just rolled her eyes.

"Not Ferrari merch, no," she said drily. “I keep that in the bedroom.” Lando gave a squawk in response. She just laughed. 

Did her living room kinda look like the set of a fantasy movie had thrown up all over it? Yes. 

She had a near life size portrait of Astrid and Ciaran, the main characters of her book series hung over her fireplace, which an amazingly talented fan artist had painted and she had purchased.

Lando was staring at the portrait with something close to amusement. He turned to her, eyebrow raised. "Okay, so who is that guy, and why does he have bat wings?"

Lizzie sighed, taking a seat on the large couch that dominated the room. "That would be Ciaran. Bat wings and all."

Lando took a seat beside her, still eyeing the portrait suspiciously. "And who exactly is Ciaran supposed to be?"

"He is the Dark Prince...The Heir to the throne of the land of Kasharia," she said with a wave of her hand. "He's the love interest in the Seasons of Fate Series."

Lando's eyebrows shot up, turning back to the portrait, studying it with more interest this time. "And the Wings are his thing, I'm guessing? Makes him the 'Dark Prince'?"

Lizzie bit her lip to keep a laugh from escaping. "Basically."

"Right, right." He was nodding now. "What about the woman, then? Blondie with the dagger?"

Lizzie found herself smiling, remembering the story behind that particular piece of art. "That would be Astrid," she said.

Lando looked like he was starting to put pieces together. He leaned back on the couch, eyes on the portrait once more. "And Astrid is, what? The princess or something?"

"She's a handmaiden of the Princess of another kingdom he's supposed to marry," she explained with a wave of her hand. "She ends up married to Ciaran instead."

Lando was nodding along as Lizzie described it, a look of fascination on his face. "Oh, so it's like one of those forbidden romance deals, huh?" he asked, sounding surprisingly invested.

"In a sense, yeah," she agreed, finding herself amused by his interest. "You seem surprisingly interested in this, considering you thought the wings were over the top a minute ago."

Lando shot her a look, his eyes twinkling. "Hey, I can appreciate a good love story, can't I? Besides, million of people adore your books. There must be something pretty special about them."

Lizzie felt a surge of warmth in her chest at his words. It still surprised her, at times, how much her books meant to people.

Lizzie felt a surge of warmth in her chest at his words. It still surprised her, at times, how much her books meant to people.

"I don't know about that, but people seem to enjoy them," she said lightly. "Still thinking you are going to pick one up?" she teased him with a grin.

"It’s probably gonna take me two months to get through the first book, between my schedule and my dyslexia, but the bat wings have totally sold it," Lando told her seriously.

She couldn't help but laugh at that, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. The idea of Lando, who was about as far from a fantasy fan as you could get, actually trying to read one of her books was too absurd. "You are absolutely not going to read one of my books," she said, grinning.

"Hey, I could!" he objected with mock offense. "Don't underestimate me."

Lizzie shook her head, still laughing. "I'm not underestimating you. But let's be honest, you've got better things to do with your time than read about bat winged princes and handmaiden."

"Don't you have better things to do than too watch 20 men in their cars drive around in wobbly circles?" he shot right back. "You created these books. You poured your time and energy into them. I don't think there are many things that are more important than that." 

Lizzie fell silent, taken off guard by his words. He had a point, she thought.

"I suppose you have a point there," she admitted quietly.

Lando seemed pleased with himself, his cocky demeanor falling back into place. "See? I do have some smarts in there."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't keep the smile off her face. "You are insufferable, you know that? Besides, what's with your job," she teased him. "Isn't Miami coming up?"

Lando just snorted. "Yeah, we are all looking forward to hear the Dutch national anthem. Again."

Lizzie chuckled, picturing the familiar sight of the podium at a Grand Prix - the winning driver and the Dutch and Austrian anthems playing. "You are so dramatic. Maybe you'll win in Miami."

He gave her a look, his expression clearly communicating that he thought her words were ridiculous. "Uh-huh. You obviously don't know my luck. Second place is basically my second name."

Lizzie laughed, finding his complaining endearing despite herself. "You sound like Mara when I have a treat, but don't give it to her. Stop whining. Second place is still impressive as all hell, you know that right?"

Mara perked up at the mention of her name and took that moment to jump up on the couch, and once again, not caring at all about personal space, just drape herself all over Lando.

Lando looked startled, his gaze flying down to where Mara was settling onto his lap. "Uh..." he said, his voice full of confusion.

Lizzie tried not to crack a smile at the way he looked like he'd never encountered a dog before. Mara, meanwhile, looked incredibly pleased with herself.

Lando looked up at Lizzie, his expression a comical mix of disbelief and alarm. "What...what is she doing?" he asked, clearly bewildered.

Lizzie couldn't help herself; she burst out laughing. "She likes you," she managed to say through her mirth. "Clearly a woman of excellent taste."

Lando gave her a dubious look, clearly not sure if he was being insulted or not. Then Mara shifted in his lap and let out a happy sigh, and he looked back down at her. Lizzie could see the exact moment he melted. No man was immune to dogs.

"I'll go against my core beliefs and root for the ugly orange car with your number on it if you promise me that you'll believe that you have a chance of winning."

Lando shot her a look, a little surprised at her request. Then his familiar cocky smirk spread across his face.

"You'll root for papaya? Over Ferrari?"

Lizzie just nodded. "As long as that big ego of yours lets you believe you can win," she said dryly.

[delight-angelsbliss]

Hi there! May I request for your Valentine's one, S1 numbers 23 and 30 with Shadow and reader? Thanks and have a great day/night! ☺️

Prompts: "I wish everyday could be like this" + writing a love letter only to throw it away but they find it

Warnings: none that I know of (^-^)

Notes: depressed gamer you're a genius this is such a cute pair!! I was a bit out of ideas while making this cuz of bad cramps but it'll be fine lol my first laptop should arrive today which makes me really happy<3 guys I love Tommy February6 songs too much I'll never let them go.. Guys I totally didn't think of ratatouille when saying your eyes widened with each word because of that one short chef trust Might make a pt2 to this cuz this is such a cool idea but I kinda rushed this cuz of some things I needed to get ready for</3

Shadow was known as a loner who never engages with people unless he knows them well enough and can trust them with everything. He is an emotionally unavailable person with little to no knowledge on how to successfully comfort someone which makes it hard for his peers to engage with him or make small talk since he always gives dry and short responses that are hard to respond to

Since he's so distant to people it felt near impossible to be friends with him, only a few people successfully cracking through his facade and becoming close friends with him

But you wanted something more than friendship, something more, intimate something more romantic, and something more close now of course that was a hard task to achieve

You were certain that if he did reject your advances he couldn't act nice (hundred percent he'd look at you disgusted and degrade you before leaving) which is why it would be hard to face him directly face to face

What you didn't know was that the hedgehog was in fact quote infatuated with you! Stealing quick glances while you're around, getting quiet when you walk in the door, keeping his hands seen whole you're talking to him

It was quite obvious for most, especially Amy and Sonic, instead of teasing him like he expected (even if sonic did tease him a bit) they were telling him to make a letter and how cute that could be

They referred him to some shops that could have cute things and stickers for the letter, even giving him some pointers how to express his feelings in writing (me next please I need a tip or two) after a while of working on the letter, he decided to stop, thinking it would be stupid

Someone as great as you could never like somebody as brooding as him! Why'd he ever try? He decided to go outside and throw it in that dumpster instead if the one inside so no one finds a trade of the letter

What he didn't realize was that he threw it in the wrong trash. The trash was full and if anything else was in there he'd be certain it would fall out. Doubling down he throws it anyway and leaves, going to go sulk in a corner probably

In this hot day he decided it would he best to sulk inside.. As for you, you decide to go take a walk outside since the weather was so nice, while walking around you spot the letter

Like a good pedestrian you pick up the letter and try to throw it in the trash before realizing it was addressed to you! What could possibly be in it? Curiousity gets the best of you, you decide to open the letter and read it... Your eyes widen slowly with each word as you realize it's a love letter from shadow

"I wish everyday could be like this" you say to yourself in surprise. He really did like you?! This felt like a dream come true as more emotions started spiraling in your mind

Now how do you go about telling him you found the note?

[xxchumanixx]

May I please request a fic where the reader (who's a famous singer) falls in love with Tim but is reluctant to fully trust and be vulnerable with him due to bad experiences she's had with men in the past? The reader could eventually write and sing a song about her love for Tim which blows up and even wins awards like Grammys too which makes their relationship stronger and she opens up her heart more? 🥺

Be myself

Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Warnings/Tags: fluff, a bit of angst, mentions of physical abuse / hitting (please look for help if you're in an abusive relationship! Being abused is not normal and it shouldn't be simply endured and viewed as it) Word count: 2.421 Authors note: I don't know if I used the gif before (probably did), but it just fits perfectly. I know you linked Whats love got to do with it by our legend Tina, but I kinda didn't vibe with it. I hope you'll still like it, though (if it was even meant for reference to the song the reader writes). I'm in no way a songwriter, so I'm not at all sure about that small part i wrote there. I know I posted a sneak peak for something different, but this gave me so much motivation to write so i put it first. Enjoy!

He didn't know how he ended up with you of all people.

Not that he'd complain.

Never.

But a famous singer like you and a cop like him? It had to be fate that brought you together when him and his rookie had been called to deescalate a situation at a concert of yours.

He didn't expect to fall for you - hell, you probably didn't either. It just kinda happened after you gave him your number before him and his rookie left.

It had been meant more like a joke - yet he hadn't been able to get you out of his head and neither did you. So he texted you.

Three weeks later you went on your first date.

You had been cautious, bad experiences with previous boyfriends and dates branding you more than you'd have liked to admit.

And so you didn't.

The date went great, leading to another one shortly after.

Tim swore you were playing some magic trick on him. The speed in which he fell for you was shocking. In a few weeks you had him wrapped around your finger.

It didn't take long for him to admit his feelings to you, saying he'd understand if you weren't ready for anything yet, and as he rambled on, you'd cut him off with a kiss.

Because you were indeed ready.

At least that's what you thought.

Not that you didn't have feelings for him - you had, and they were strong. You just had trouble letting yourself be too open, too vulnerable.

To trust easily.

Though, right from the start, you knew he was different. He was interested in your career, yes, but in a way that didn't profit him or made him want to brag about his girlfriend being famous.

Or try and hit you if you didn't spend all your money on him. It had happened once, leaving a mark on your soul you had trouble getting rid of. Getting rid of the douchebag wasn't exactly easy, either.

But that was another thing.

No, Tim supported you, took days off to watch your concerts and be there for you. And maybe to have the time of his life with you in your wardrobe backstage.

For a while now, you had been working on a project - a new song that one day came to your mind when you thought about the past few months and your relationship with Tim.

It had almost been a year now, and you started to question whether your cautiousness was misplaced.

Not that you didn't trust him.

You trusted him more than you did any other man you'd been with, it just was like a habit of sorts. Some sort of protection your mind had put up in the beginning.

It wasn't easy to let that guard down.

It was one of the main parts you included in that song. How he made you want to be more open, to trust and give up that control you so desperately held onto.

To love without the constant fear of it all going downhill.

Your producer, Savannah, supported you all the way. You wrote your song, recorded it over and over again until you were a hundred percent convinced that it did Tim justice in a way.

Or rather his love for you. The way he never treated you differently even though you were famous.

Sure, there were times when his face would be plastered along magazine articles alongside yours - especially the beginning hadn't been easy.

Hiding a relationship wasn't easy and it certainly didn't work in this case, either. The first time it happened it had been on Instagram.

Someone had seen you and him together, taking a video and posting it for everyone to see. Once it reached a certain amount of views, it spread like wildfire, and everyone knew.

Tim wasn't very happy about it.

He understood that it was part of your life, but he didn't like it - and that included him - plastered all over the internet.

When you were shopping and hoarded by paparazzi or too many fans and he'd notice you were overwhelmed, he'd play the 'I'm a cop, please stand back' card, effectively getting you out of the situation.

Another thing you loved him for.

He didn't thrive on the constant attention, didn't suck it up like a sponge and used it to his advantage. Not like other men had tried to do before.

So why was it so hard to let go? Why was it so hard to trust, to let yourself be too vulnerable?

When you published the song, Tim had yet to hear it.

Yes, maybe you should have let him listen to it before publishing it, but you were too nervous. Too nervous he'd laugh at you, tell you that you were crazy for writing and publishing that song.

It would have also meant he'd question the origin - why you had such trust issues, had these problems of opening up.

You didn't want to be judged. After all, you still hadn't told him about it.

Only a few days later, you and Tim were driving in his truck home, when suddenly, the radio moderator announced your new song. Tim's gaze snapped to you - normally you'd show him your upcoming projects, talk to him about them.

He didn't know you'd just published a new song.

Your cheeks heated up as he stared at you in confusion before his gaze fixed back on the street. You knew he was listening, picking up on the lyrics.

Another thing you loved about him.

He didn't just hear the songs, he listened to them. Analyzing them, understanding them.

So it was no surprise he did understand this song, too. About a minute into the song he parked in his driveway, killing the engine but leaving the radio on.

You nibbled on your lip nervously, heart beating wildly as you tried to make out his reaction. You couldn't read his thoughts, so you had to rely on his body language.

And when he understood the song was about him, his gaze snapped to yours right as the second chorus hit.

You let me be myself, and I thank you for that.

You ban all the bad thoughts from my head.

No matter how hard I try, I can't find anything bad about you.

And I hope you see me like that, too.

You support me, give me strength,

It is wrong to hold you at arms length.

I love you and I hope you see,

that your're the best thing that's ever happened to me.

You swallowed, not interrupting him as he listened to the rest of the song. This certainly hadn't been how you'd planned this.

Sure, you wanted him to know about the song and all the things it expressed sooner or later, but when you published it, the thought of him hearing it that soon hadn't exactly crossed your mind.

When the song ended and the next came up, he immediately turned the radio off.

He stared at you, shocked, surprised.

In awe.

You bit your lip as his own parted, though nothing came out. His head tilted slightly, thinking.

"Is it true?" was the first thing he asked. "Or is it just... I don't know, a random love song?"

Your eyes widened slightly, and you shook your head. "No, it's not a random love song." you said. "It... It's about you, Tim."

He nodded slightly, still shocked. "What about the- the trust issues you talk about? Or sing, for that matter." he inquired further. "Or the 'keeping at arms length'?"

You swallowed, sighing quietly as you looked away. "It's all true, yes." you admitted quietly. "And I know I should have told you, and I know you're having a lot of questions right now, but... I'm sorry."

Tim leaned forward over the middle console and placed his finger under your chin to lift your head, his blue eyes meeting your Y/E/C ones. "Hey, you have nothing to apologize for." he said, shaking his head slightly. "Yes, it would be nice to know the details behind it, but I understand that you didn't tell me. Or show me the song beforehand, for that matter. It's great, by the way - just like everything else about you."

You blushed, suddenly feeling undeserving of him. He was way too caring and understanding.

"I mean, I assumed some things..." he continued, tilting his head from side to side for a moment. "But I never pushed you to tell me. And I won't now. Neither did you on the subject of Isabel. If you want to tell me, I'm happy to listen, but you don't have to. Just know that I feel incredibly honored and love you."

Tears burned in your eyes, and suddenly, you knew you could trust him with everything. No more keeping him at arms length.

"I love you, too." you breathed out, smiling through the tears. "I just- I don't know." you shook your head in sudden embarrassment. "Ever since I got famous all the men seemed to want the same thing. Fame, my face as their way into Hollywood. To brag about their girlfriend being famous and make themselves look more important. Or try and hit me for not spoiling them like the ungrateful bitch I am." you grimaced, and his eyes widened before they narrowed. "I know you aren't like that, I do. I just couldn't shake this... habit of closing myself off and trying to avoid another one of these situations. I'm sorry, Tim. I know you are better than them. That song is about you and it is supposed to express how I feel about you."

Tim smiled, cupping your face with his hands. "You're so much more than your career, Y/N." he told you, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. "You're a caring, beautiful and brilliant woman. You're far more than I deserve yet I'm too selfish to ever let you go. I love you more than you can imagine, and I want you to know that I'd never try to get any fame or benefits or whatever from you or your career. Let alone lay a hand on you. I love you too much to risk us - not that I'd need your fame or money. I'm a cop and I love being a cop. My girlfriend just happens to be an amazing singer."

You laughed quietly, blushing more. His words spread a warmth through you like no one else ever did. "You're flattering me." you mumbled sheepishly. He cocked a brow. "I'm not." he said. "You are an amazing singer. You're amazing in general, all over."

You laughed once more, a smile on your lips. "You're way too good for me, Tim Bradford." you said. "I'm the one not deserving you."

He huffed, tilting his head from side to side again. "Debatable." he said. He leaned closer, capturing your lips in a sweet and gentle kiss. "Come on, let's head inside." he mumbled against them. "I want to celebrate this song."

It had been about two weeks until your song seemed to have gained massive popularity, and when the letter landed in the mail weeks later, you screamed.

Tim had rushed into the kitchen, gun drawn as he tried to find out what happened. When he saw you with the letter in hand, pressing a hand to your mouth, he lowered the gun, stepping beside you.

One look at the letter and his lips parted.

You looked up in your excitement, almost headbutting him where he was looking over your shoulder. "Tim-" you breathed out, cutting yourself off with another squeal. He grimaced at the high sound, though laughing as he moved to hug you from behind.

"Baby, that's amazing." he breathed out. "I'm so proud of you." You bit your cheek, heart pounding wildly. "I- I mean, I haven't won anything yet." you said, fingers trembling as they held the letter. "But..." "But you're nominated." Tim finished for you. "That's more than most can wish for. This is amazing, Y/N. God, I'm so proud of you."

You smiled widely, clutching the letter to your chest. You giggled and jumped up and down in his arms, pressing a hand to your lips. Tim laughed quietly, holding tighter onto you, his nose brushing the shell of your ear. In the last few weeks you'd grown even closer, and it all felt more right than ever.

"Told you you're amazing."

Nervous wasn't word enough to describe your current state.

The Grammys.

The fucking Grammys.

Never would you have thought this would happen. Who would have thought you'd make it this far?

Fidgeting with your small clutch nervously, you took a deep, trembling breath. Tim grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers and giving them a reassuring squeeze. You'll be okay.

The wait had been torture.

Waiting for the day to come, waiting for the announcements. It was like a dream come true, yet the wait left you on edge.

You'd been nominated for single of the year. Your song about Tim Be Myself had literally exploded, landing you a spot at the Grammys.

You inhaled shakily as the nominees were announced before the moderator opened an envelope. She drew it out, making the anticipation rise higher and higher until your heart suddenly slammed to a stop.

"Best single of the year goes to... Be Myself!" Your lips parted, not believing what just happened. Tim cheered, the crowd applauded, and you got up on shaky legs.

You couldn't believe it.

This was more than you could have ever wished for, and as Tim pressed a kiss to your cheek, giving you the biggest, most proudest smile you'd ever seen on him before he ushered you to the stage, you knew it.

You knew he was the one.

He was the one that treated you right. The one that loved you unconditionally.

And you'd be forever grateful for that.

Tag List

@laheysfilm @newobsessionweekly @augustvandyne @RookieTrek @dhundhchrih @nachofriess @dtftheavengers @wonderland2425 @skywalker0809 @freyathehuntress @caplanbuckybarnes @sacredwarrior88

[michimichim]

author’s note: yes, yes i wrote 8.2k of pure filth and sin. yes i did that. and you would do it too, for a check?!🧍🏾‍♀️

ningning x g!p reader -> you were so adamant on never crossing the line between coach and client. what changed??

The metro hums steadily, its wheels grinding against the tracks in a low, rhythmic growl that vibrates through the floor and up into your legs. The air is cold, mixed with the distant scent of someone’s coffee and the crisp, sterile smell of the train itself. You’re slouched in your seat, one earbud dangling loosely, the other playing a muted TikTok audio with your duffel bag sitting heavily between your spread feet.

You swipe lazily through your feed—a dog singing Expresso by Sabrina, a chef flipping pancakes, a man tumbling mid-spin—when your screen suddenly goes silent. A notification slides in from the top, muting the video.

For a moment, you think it’s probably Ning announcing she’ll be late again, her schedule bleeding into yours like it does at times.

“the companys gyms closed come to my place instead … i still want my session :( ”

You stare at the message, your thumb hovering over the screen. The gym’s closed? Since when? You tap the notification and type back, “Why’s the gym closed?”

Her reply comes almost instantly, as if she’d been waiting for you to ask. “not the owner idk.”

You let out a small laugh. Typical. You send back a thumbs up, followed by, “Address?”

The response is swift, as expected. An address pops up. Before you can click out of the chat, your eyes catch the last message from her—a view-only-once photo she’d sent a week ago. You hadn’t responded, but the image lingers in your mind like a stubborn song.

It was late that night, after your workout session. She’d texted you out of the blue, asking about squat positions. You’d rolled your eyes, knowing full well she’d already mastered the form. But then the photo came through—a view-only-once shot of her hips, the curve of her waist accentuated by the dim lighting. Her skin had looked soft, almost glowing, the faint shadow of her sports bra strap cutting across her back. The caption read: “sooo sore.”

You hadn’t replied. You never did. But the image stayed with you, popping up at the most inconvenient times—like now, as you sit on the metro. You shift in your seat, bouncing your legs lightly as the train slows into the next station. The address she sent isn’t too far—just five stops past the gym. You exit the chat and pull up the map, double-checking the route. 

You’ve been Ning’s fitness coach for a little over three months now. When she first walked into the gym, you didn’t recognize her—not that you would’ve, anyway. You don’t keep up with pop music or the latest celebrities. But even then, there was something about her that made her hard to ignore.

She’d strutted in wearing a pink tracksuit that hugged her figure a little too perfectly, the zipper pulled down just enough to reveal a sliver of a sports bra underneath. Her hair was styled in loose waves, and her makeup was flawless, as if she’d just stepped out of a photoshoot rather than a workout session. She carried herself like someone who knew exactly how much space she deserved to take up, a cold confidence bordering on arrogance.

Yet, there was a playfulness to her too, something appreciative in her eyes as they swept over you, lingering for a moment too long on your arms, your shoulders, your stomach. It wasn’t subtle—the way she looked you up and down, as if judging you but couldn’t quite decide if she approved.

“Are you my new trainer?” she’d asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a practiced ease. Her voice was light, almost teasing, but there was an edge to it, like she was testing you.

Far from impressed, you’d nodded, your tone flat. “If you’re Ning, then yes.”

She’d smirked, as if your indifference amused her. “Lucky me,” she’d said, dragging out the words like she was savoring them.

At first, you thought she’d be like most of your clients—rich, entitled, and quick to quit when the workouts got too hard. But Ning surprised you. She showed up consistently, pushed herself harder than anyone you’d trained in a while, and never complained. Well, almost never. She had a habit of backtalking, questioning your methods with a snark that made it clear she was just trying to get under your skin.

And she did. Not in the way she probably intended, though.

It wasn’t that you were affected by her. You weren’t. But you noticed things—the way she’d “accidentally” brush against you while reaching for a water bottle, her fingers grazing yours just long enough to make you wonder if it was on purpose. The way she’d stretch in front of you, her movements slow, as if she were putting on a show. The late-night texts she’d send, asking about workout tips you’d already explained a dozen times, only to follow up with a photo that had nothing to do with it.

You told yourself it was harmless. That she was just being Ning—playful, flirty, and a little too confident for her own good. But you couldn’t deny that she had a way of testing your patience, of pushing boundaries you hadn’t even realized were there.

Like the time she’d placed her hand on the small of your back, her touch light but lingering, as she leaned in to ask a question about her form. Or the way she’d laugh at her own jokes, her eyes sparkling as she looked at you like she knew something you didn’t.

You didn’t let it get to you. You couldn’t.

The elevator doors slide open, and you step into the hallway, the plush carpet muffling your footsteps. The air smells faintly of vanilla, mixed with the crisp, clean scent of expensive cleaning products. The walls are lined with modern art, the kind that looks like it costs more than your monthly rent, and the soft hum of the building’s heater system fills the silence.

You follow the numbers on the doors until you reach hers. The gold plaque beside the door reads “Penthouse A” in sleek, minimalist font. There’s muffled music coming from inside—a rap song with a heavy bassline that thrums through the door. Adjusting the strap of your duffel bag, you knock twice.

The door opens almost immediately, as if she’d been waiting on the other side. Ning leans against the frame, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s dressed in a white top that stopped just below her navel and a pair of booty shorts that hugged her curves in a way that felt almost intentional. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, a few strands framing her face, and her lips curved down as she takes you in.

She tilts her head, her gaze trailing slowly from your hoodie to your navy blue shorts, lingering for a beat too long on the exposed skin of your legs. “You know it’s freezing, right?” she says, her voice lilting with mock concern, though the glint in her eyes gives her away. “Did you even check the temperature before leaving the house?”

You shrug, the movement loose and unbothered. “I run hot,” you say, your tone dry. 

Ning steps aside, her arm brushing against yours as you pass her. The contact is brief, almost accidental, but her lips curve into a small smile as she closes the door behind you.

The living room stretches out before you, bathed in the warm glow of a single floor lamp. The city glitters through the windows, a painting of lights blurred by the faint condensation on the glass. A yoga mat lies in the center of the room, flanked by a pair of dumbbells in front of the t.v. The air carries a faint sweetness—vanilla, maybe—mixed with the crispness of clean linen.

“Nice place,” you say, toeing off your shoes before dropping your bag by the mat.

“Thanks.” Her voice floats from behind you, light and airy. She moves toward the kitchen, her steps unhurried, the soft swish of her shorts brushing against her thighs. The muffled bass of a rap song pulses faintly in the background.

She opens the fridge, the cool light spilling over her face as she glances over her shoulder. “Can I get you a drink?” Her white nails tap lightly against the door, a casual rhythm that matches the beat of the music. “Water? Tea? Something stronger?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine.”

You kneel by your bag, unzipping it with a sharp tug. The sound of Ning rummaging in the kitchen fills the silence—the clink of glass, the soft hiss of water from the tap. When you glance up, she’s leaning against the counter, a glass dangling from her fingers.

“You sure you don’t want anything?” she asks, her head tilting slightly. The light catches the curve of her neck, the faint sheen of sweat already glistening at her collarbone.

“I’m good, love,” you say, pulling out the resistance band. The material stretches taut between your hands as you test its give, the snap of rubber sharp.

She hums, low and noncommittal, “Love,”  before pushing off the counter. “That’s new.” Her footsteps are soft against the hardwood as she crosses the room, glass still in hand. She sets it down on the coffee table.

You hum back distractedly. Dismissive.

“So,” she says, turning to face you. Her arms cross over her chest, drawing attention to the way her top rides up just enough to reveal a winking jewel nestled in her belly button. The light catches the piercing, sending a faint glimmer. “What’s the plan for today?”

You stand, the resistance band still in hand, and gesture toward the mat. “Warm-up first. Then we’ll work on your core.”

Her lips twitch, like she’s holding back a laugh. “My core, huh?” She steps onto the mat, slowly , savoring the way your eyes follow her. She pauses, tilting her head slightly, her ponytail swaying with the motion.

“What do you think of my progress so far?” she asks, her voice light but laced with something sharper. Without waiting for an answer, she turns around, her hands resting on her hips as she glances over her shoulder. The curve of her waist dips into the swell of her hips, the fabric of her shorts clinging just enough to emphasize the shape of her ass.

When she turns back around, the outline of her breasts is unmistakable, the peaks of her nipples pressing against the fabric as she shifts her weight slightly. Her stomach is taut, the faint shadow of muscle definition visible beneath her smooth skin. Every movement she makes—the slight arch of her back, the way her shoulders roll as she adjusts her stance—draws attention to the lines of her body, lean and sculpted but undeniably soft in all the right places.

You step closer, the resistance band still dangling from your fingers. Your eyes trail over her body, oh so slowly, taking in what you hadn’t let yourself linger on before. 

You don’t rush. You take your time, letting your eyes roam over every detail, every inch of her. 

When your eyes finally meet hers, she’s still looking at you, lips parted slightly, like she’s waiting for you to say something. Anything.

You don’t disappoint.

“You’ve got the kind of body,” you say, pausing, your voice low and steady, “that makes me want to skip the workout and just fuck you right here on this mat.”

For a moment, she freezes. Her lips part slightly, a soft inhale catching in her throat, and her eyes widen just enough to betray the shock she’s trying to hide. 

She then bites her lower lip—plump, teasing, the kind of mouth that makes you wonder how much work she could put into something if she really tried. The glint in her eyes sharpens, flickering between shock and something darker, something intrigued.

But before she can regain her footing, you’re already pulling away. Your face smooths into cool indifference, like the last five seconds hadn’t just happened, like you didn’t just knock her off balance and leave her scrambling for control. Let her chew on that for a while.

The corner of your mouth twitches, barely noticeable. You lean back, exuding nothing but ease, like you weren’t the one who just set fire to the air between you.

“Let’s get to work.” The sharp clap of your hands slices through the tension, final, dismissive.

For a beat, she doesn’t move. Then, a soft, breathy laugh escapes her—equal parts incredulous and amused. She tilts her head, smirk curling slow and taunting. “That’s it?” she says, her voice thick with mock disappointment. “No follow-through? Figures.”

The taunt is obvious—bait, a challenge wrapped in condescension. She’s used to winning, used to having people scramble to impress her. She’s trying to make it sound like you’re the one who can’t keep up.

You don’t take it.

Instead, you pick up the resistance band, rolling it between your fingers, your grip tightening just slightly. Follow-through? She’ll get it. Just not the way she’s expecting.

“Warm-up first,” you say, tone all business, as if you hadn’t just said something filthy enough to make her breath hitch. “Then we’ll hit your core.”

Her eyes flick to your hands, then back to your face, her smirk deepening like she’s already imagining ways to make you crack.

Good. Let her try.

The workout begins, and it doesn’t take long for Ning to start pushing boundaries.

During side lunges, she sways her hips with every rep, exaggerating the movement just enough to make you notice. The curve of her ass so fucking alluring as she dips low, her shorts riding up with each motion, teasing more skin than they cover. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

She glances over her shoulder, catching your eyes flicker—just for a second. Her lips curl, slow and knowing.

“Am I doing this right?” she asks, voice drenched in faux innocence. To drive the point home, she arches her back ever so slightly, her sports bra straining against her chest.

You twist your lips. “Lower your stance,” you say, voice flat, unreadable. But when you step in to adjust her form, your hands hovering just over her hips, you don’t miss the sharp inhale she takes, the way her breath catches for half a second before she steadies herself. The heat radiating from her skin, even through the fabric, doesn’t go unnoticed either.

She doesn’t make it easy.

During planks, she shifts her weight, her body trembling just enough to make it obvious. As she lowers herself a fraction more, her cleavage pushes forward, a bead of sweat tracing a slow path down her collarbone.

“This is harder than it looks,” she says, voice breathy, teasing. You catch the flicker of amusement in her eyes, the way she’s barely biting back a smile.

By the time you move to resistance band exercises, she’s fully committed to the game. She stands in front of the mirror, positioned just right so she can watch you watching her.

The band stretches tight around her feet, her thighs flexing with the effort, shoulders rolling back. Her breath comes slow, controlled, her lips parting slightly as she exhales. But it’s the way her gaze flickers—to your mouth, just for a split second—that makes your fingers twitch.

“How’s my form now?” she asks, her voice dipping lower, threading with something suggestive. She already knows the answer.

“Better,” you say, tone even, detached. But the slight clench of your jaw betrays you.

And she sees it.

The workout is over, but the tension lingers—thick, heavy, undeniable.

You're sprawled out on the couch, legs spread, back sinking into the cushions, muscles still burning from exertion. Sweat clings to your skin, cooling in slow, sticky trails. Your breathing is heavy, labored, chest rising and falling in deep, steady pulls. Across the room, Ning isn't much better—her shirt damp, her skin glistening under the low glow.

The only sound, aside from your breathing, is Flo Milli playing low in the background—sharp beats and cocky lyrics.

You watch her. Unapologetically now.

Ning stays stretching on the mat, rolling out her shoulders, arching her back in a way that puts her body on full display—whether it’s for you or just because she knows you’re looking, you can’t be sure. She tilts her head as she leans into a side stretch, her hair sticking to the damp curve of her neck, her breath coming out in slow, steady exhales.

Your fingers tap idly against your thigh. But the pressure between your legs is a different story—half-hard, pressing against the fabric of your shorts, aching just enough to make you bite down on the inside of your cheek.

Ning’s eyes flick toward your lap. And for once, she doesn’t smirk. She just watches back, lips slightly parted, chest still rising and falling with exertion.

“Look at me,” you say, voice low, firm.

She does.

And then—

“Take your top off.”

Ning doesn’t hesitate.

She shifts, languidly, sitting up on her knees on the mat, her hands sliding over her thighs as she straightens. 

Her gaze stays locked on yours as her fingers hook under the hem of her top. She drags the fabric up over her stomach, revealing inch after inch of glistening skin, the defined lines of her full waist, the swell of her tits beneath the tight compression of her bra.

She peels it off in one slow motion, arms raising above her head, back arching slightly as she pulls the damp shirt over her head. The movement makes her chest lift, makes the slick skin of her stomach tighten, and you catch the way her breath shudders as the air rushes over her overheated body.

The shirt drops to the floor.

She sits there, on her knees, looking up at you, her white sports bra dark with sweat, clinging to her like a second skin. The fabric outlines everything—the perky buds, the goosebumps.

Her fingers trail absentmindedly over her thighs, nails scraping lightly over damp skin as she holds your gaze, her chin tilting up just enough to look like a challenge.

Your fingers stop tapping against your thigh.

And then—

"Come here," you say, voice rough, thick with something that coils tight in your stomach.

Ning's lips curve, slow and taunting, but she doesn't move. Not yet. Instead, she shifts her weight forward slightly, tilting her head. "That all?" she asks, voice low, teasing, her eyes flickering down, then back up again, like she's daring you to give her something more.

Your patience is razor-thin.

"Now," you say, sharper this time.

And this time, she listens.

Ning moves.

Slow. Cat-like.

She leans forward, pressing her palms flat against the mat, and starts crawling toward you.

Her hips sway behind her with each measured shift of her body, her back arching slightly, the smooth curve of her waist rolling with every movement. She keeps her eyes on you the entire time—heavy-lidded, dark with intent, burning with something teasing, something so fucking sexy.

That look—it sinks into your skin, into your chest, into the heat pooling low in your stomach. 

Her gaze flickers down for a second—just for a second—to your lap, to where your fingers have already moved between your legs, pressing. She sees it all. The way your hand is pressing against the hard, aching shape of your dick in your shorts. The way your thumb drags along the waistband like you’re debating just how far you’ll let this go.

And fuck, the way she looks at it.

She licks her lips—takes it between her front teeth. Then her lashes flutter as she looks back up at you, her eyes molten, her smirk barely-there but devastating all the same.

You don’t stop.

Your fingers tighten around your cock, your palm pressing down, pleased at the attention. You want her to watch.

She keeps moving.

Every inch she crawls forward, the space between you shrinks, the tension growing thick, charged, a live wire stretched between your bodies. You can feel her heat before she even touches you. The scent of sweat, of skin, of something unmistakably hers, seeping into the space between your knees.

And then she stops.

Right between your legs.

Her hands rest on your thighs, light at first, barely-there touches that only make the burn under your skin worse. She tilts her head, eyes dragging over your face, then down—down to your mouth, down to your hand, down to where your cock is begging for something, anything.

She breathes out, soft, amused.

“So impatient,” she laments, her voice sweet and taunting, her nails dragging the slightest bit over your skin. “Didn’t even wait for me.”

But you don’t miss the way her own breath shudders at the sight, the way her fingers flex against your thighs like she’s trying to stop herself from moving too fast.

Like she’s just as desperate as you are.

Your eyes drag over her, taking in every inch, feeling every emotion—she’s close enough now that you can feel the warmth of her body between your legs, her hands still resting lightly on your thighs, fingers tracing barely-there patterns.

You let her sit there for a moment, just looking. Letting the weight of your gaze settle over her.

“Take it off.”

Your voice is low, even, but there’s no mistaking the command.

Ning tilts her head, her smirk deepening, playful and knowing. But she listens.

Her fingers move to the band of her sports bra, gripping the fabric, pulling it up—deliciously slow, enough to tease you. The damp material peels away from her skin, revealing inch by inch, until it drops to the floor beside her.

Your stomach tightens.

She’s so fucking sexy like this – flushed, glistening, every inch of her begging to be touched. Her breasts are perfect, soft and perky, the kind that makes your mouth go dry and your pulse spike. Her nipples are already hard, pebbled from the cool air—or maybe from the way your eyes drag over her, slow and unrelenting. You don’t know. You don’t care. All that matters is the ache in your hands, the hunger curling deep in your gut, the overwhelming need to touch, to taste, to take.

The way she stretches, the way her hands ghost over her tits, teasing pink nipples, knowing exactly what she’s doing. She rolls her shoulders back, letting herself be seen, and you catch the slight rise of her chest as she exhales, the way her thumb and index pinch her own skin, toying, testing.

You let your tongue swipe over your bottom lip, “You like showing off, don’t you?”

Ning moans, dragging her nails down her stomach, slow and absentminded. “You like watching,” she counters, her voice sweet, teasing, but there’s something darker under it now—something just as sharp as the way she looks at you.

And yet—

She looks up at you through her lashes, lips curving. “Do you like me like this?” Her fingers press a little harder against your thighs, a deliberate shift. “A pretty princess like me, sitting on the floor for you?”

She’s high maintenance, that much is clear. A spoiled little thing who knows exactly how much power she holds in a moment like this.

Your breath comes out slow, controlled, but the fabric of your shorts strains against your cock, already hard and throbbing, the tip damp and sensitive where it presses against the material. Every shift of your hips, every breath Ning takes, makes the coil of tension inside your stomach wind tighter, hotter, until it feels like you’re one touch away from snapping.

God, she’s something else.

And you need to take it up a notch. 

You watch her, a smile spreading across your face as you take her in once more. “You want me to like you like this, huh?” you ask, voice thick with amusement. 

You don’t break eye contact as you lean in, “I do love you like this,” you admit, the truth leaving your mouth like a slow burn. “A pretty little thing on your knees, looking up at me like you want to take my dick. Like you’ll do anything for me to fuck you the way you need it.”

Your hand slides from your thigh to grip her chin firmly, tilting her face up to meet yours. You let your thumb trace the curve of her cheek, dragging down to her throat, “But you’re going to have to work for it,” you murmur. “I want to see you begging. See how far you’ll go to make me want you more. If you can do that, then maybe I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Your eyes trail down her form, “Get ready, love. You’re gonna need more than just a pretty face to get me to give in. Touch yourself." Your voice is rough with desire, leaving no room for backtalk as you lean back against the cushions.

Ning’s breath catches, just for a second. She doesn’t move right away—she lets the moment stretch, lets the silence thicken, lets you wait. But then, finally, her fingers start to trail lower, one hand skimming over your lap, and the other continues its trail down her pelvis, teasing herself just as much as she’s teasing you.

Your eyes stay locked on her, dark, but your hands aren’t still either. One slips inside your shorts to grab at your cock, while the other drags under your shirt, up your torso, under your bra, fingers brushing skin before finding your breast. You toy with yourself lazily, rolling a nipple between your fingers, watching the way her gaze flickers—between your hands, your mouth, your eyes.

She’s breathing harder now, her body tense with anticipation, her thighs pressing together like she’s feeling the weight of your stare everywhere at once.

"Show me how you touch yourself thinking of me."

Her lashes flutter, her fingers finally dipping lower, and the moment she touches her pussy over her shorts, the sound that slips past her lips—soft, breathy, wrecked—makes something tighten inside you, sharp and unrelenting.

And still, neither of you look away.

Especially you. Not when her fingers press gently against her shorts, the outline of her pussy unmistakable, the puffy shape of her lips visible beneath the thin material. She rubs herself at a teasing rhythm that makes it clear she knows exactly how much it’s affecting you.

She keeps her touch light at first—  the fabric clings to her, dampening with each press of her fingers, and you watch as she traces the seam of her shorts, feeling the way the pressure makes her hips shift, seeking something—more, more of her fingers. And more of your dick.

Her breath hitches, a soft sound that carries through the room, and her touch grows more urgent, her fingers pressing harder, making circles over her clit through the fabric. The shallow, uneven rhythm of her breath fills the space between you, and you don’t miss the tremor that runs through her thighs, or the subtle arch of her back as she grinds against her own hand, pushing for more friction, more sensation.

“Like this?” Her voice is quieter, breathless, teasing, but with an edge. It’s charged, heavy, and you can feel the way her gaze locks with yours, so hungry. It’s a question, yes—but it’s also an invitation.

You make a low sound of approval, a soft hum that vibrates in your chest, before your hand pats your lap, the gesture clear. And Ning doesn’t hesitate. She settles onto your lap, her body fitting against yours in all the right fucking ways. You feel the heat of her skin, the warmth of her pussy pressing against you even through the barrier of clothing, and it’s enough to make your cock throb, already hard and leaking against the fabric of your shorts.

She feels it too—the way it presses deeper, pulsing, the shape firm and insistent even through the thin barrier of fabric. Each shift, each subtle movement, each brush of the fat head pressing against her.

The music changes. The sound is light, playful, but charged with an energy that mirrors the way you’re both moving. Ning giggles, something light and teasing as she shifts, her hands traveling over your shoulders, fingers lingering at the nape of your neck. She leans in, brushing her lips close to your ear.

“That’s my song,” she whispers. 

You feel the heat of her words settle between you, but there’s a different kind of heat now—the kind you can feel all over, the way her pussy starts sliding over your cock, the friction just enough to make your hips jerk forward instinctively.

“Let’s fuck to it.” Your voice is quieter, and without hesitation, you press your hips closer to hers. It’s a slow burn, a pressure building, each movement of her hips grinding against you sending shockwaves through your body.

“Let’s record it.” You feel her shift again, grinding just a little harder, her body rocking with the beat of the song. Each movement makes your cock strain against the fabric of your shorts—it feels like too much and not enough all at once, every inch of her body pressing against you, her warmth seeping through the thin material. Your cock is leaking at this point, the tip slick and sensitive where it presses against her clit.


Your hands slide down her sides, fingers digging into the curve of her hips as she grinds against you. She’s driving you absolutely wild. The heat is unbearable, but you’re not done teasing her yet.

One hand slips lower, fingers tracing the curve of her ass before you bring your palm down in a sharp, stinging slap, skin on skin. The sound echoes, and Ning gasps, her body jerking forward against yours.

"Mmm," she exhales, her voice unsteady yet laced with something playful. A slow smile tugs at her lips, and her eyes gleam with mischief as she gazes down at you. 

You smirk, your hand lingering on the warm, reddening skin. “You’d like that,” your voice low and rough, “seeing how I’d fuck you senseless to your songs? Watching yourself bounce on my dick while your own music plays in the background?”

Ning laughs, a soft, breathy sound. She shifts her weight, grinding harder against you, her hips rolling in a way that makes your cock throb. “Wouldn’t you?” she teases, her voice dripping with playful arrogance. “This ass was made to be seen over, and over again.”

“Damn right,” you agree, your fingers digging into her flesh as you pull her closer, your lips brushing against her ear. “And this ass?” You give her another slap, harder. “This ass is fucking. perfect.” 

She moans back, high and needy, and you feel her body tremble against yours. Her fingers tighten around your shoulders, nails pressing into your skin as your hands glide over her waist, fingers curving possessively around her sides. With a firm pull, you guide her hips back—against your hard bulge. 

Ning’s breath catches, a sharp inhale before she tosses her hair over her shoulder. Then, without hesitation, she leans in, lips grazing your neck before sucking softly at your pulse. Her tongue flicks out, tracing a slow, heated path from the base of your throat to your ear, the sensation sending an army of goosebumps all over your spine. And just as the warmth of her breath ghosts over your skin, she moves—hips rolling forward, grinding the cleft of her pussy lips right on the outline of your cock. 

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” you reply, your voice steady despite the fire burning inside you. 

“Mmm,” she keens, her voice barely above a whisper. “Imagine what else I can do with my mouth.”

You grin, and your hand slides around to her front, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of her shorts, and she gasps so prettily, her hips bucking against your touch. Your fingers tease and tease her fold through skimpy fabric – and damn, is that a thong? – feeling how wet her pussy is. “You’re making me want to skip all that,” you say, your voice thick with desire to fuck her already. “Skip all of it and fuck you right away.”

Ning’s breath crumbles into stuttered gasps, her eyes locking with yours as she grinds against your hand, and you deliberately slide in one knuckle … then the next, the juices of her arousal giving you easy entrance despite the very tight clench of her inner walls. You can feel them fluttering, soft flesh enveloping your finger and almost sucking it in while she keeps at moaning and grinding. 

Your eyes drop to her tits, the sight of her pert nipples, so hard and begging for attention. You don’t hesitate—you lean in, capturing one nipple between your lips, sucking hard, your tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. The sharp gasp that escapes her lips is music to your ears, and you feel her body arch into you, her hands tangling in your hair, pulling you closer.

This close you can taste the salt on her skin, feel the way her breath hitches, the way her hips grind against yours. She bites her lip, a high-pitched moan slipping past her clenched teeth as you switch to her other nipple, giving it the same attention. Her back arches, her body trembling under your touch, and you can’t resist the urge to slap her ass again, hard.

“Fuck,” she whimpers, her voice breaking as her nails dig into your shoulders, her hips rocking against you, desperate for more friction, more of you. “Don’t stop,” she breathes, her words barely coherent, her body writhing under your hands and mouth.

You pull back just enough to look up at her, your lips glistening, her nipples red and swollen from your attention. Your hand keeps sliding over her cunt and the other still grips her ass, squeezing hard. “You like it when I take what I want?”

She nods, her eyes dark with need, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling, her body pressing into yours, begging for more. “Don’t stop.”

You smirk, your hand coming down on her ass again, the sharp sting making her cry out, her body jerking against yours.

“Oh, God…” Ning says, her voice trembling. She lifts herself slightly, just enough to slip her fingers beneath the waistband of your shorts. The elastic drags against your skin as you help her ease them down, before your cock finally snaps free. Her gaze lowers, drawn between your bodies, her lips parting slightly as she takes in the sight of you— dick resting thick and heavy against the flat plane of her stomach, the contrast making her breath hitch.

The hand that had been teasing her pussy, slick with her wetness, moves to grip your cock, the warmth of her arousal coating your skin as you tap the tip against her stomach. Both of your fluid smear across her skin as you tease her. 

“Think you can handle it?” you ask, cockily, your grip tightening slightly as you drag the head of your cock across her skin. The question hangs in the air, as you watch her reaction, your thumb brushing over the sensitive tip, smearing a bead of pre-cum.

Ning bites her lip, her eyes dark with mischief as she brings her thumb to your lips, pressing it gently against them. Her touch is soft, her nail sliding against your lower lip and before you can react, she pushes your hand away from your cock, her fingers wrapping around you instead. Her grip is firm, her thumb brushing over the sensitive head, and it’s your turn to curse, your hips jerking instinctively.

“I’ve seen bigger,” she says, her voice teasing, her lips curving into a smirk as she looks up at you. Right … It makes you laugh, a light, rumbling sound that vibrates through your chest, but the way her hand moves on you quickly sobers you up.

Thick beads of precum meet her fingers as she delves right up to the head, her soft fingertips massaging your aching gland, rubbing the slit with a precision that makes your breath hitch. You sigh, your hand gripping the flesh of her ass, fingers digging into her skin as she works you with practiced ease. Ning moans softly, her thumb brushing light, curved paths under the very tip of your cock, the sensation sending a shudder through the root of you and pushing up a fresh gush of precum—right onto her waiting hand.

She circles your slit, slowly, before starting a slide up and down your length, her palm slicked with your precum. The wet, sticky sound of her hand moving on you fills the room, mingling with the soft, breathy noises escaping your lips. Her eyes never leave yours, her gaze heavy with intent.

“But I bet,” she murmurs, her voice a sultry whisper, thick with mischief. Her thumb pressing against the sensitive underside of your cock, “you’ve never had this kind of pussy in your life.”


Ning’s words hang in the air, but instead of responding, you decide to take matters into your own hands. In one swift, decisive motion, you flip her onto her stomach, throwing her face down onto the couch. Her surprised gasp is muffled by the cushions, but it quickly turns into a laugh—soft, breathy, and dripping with amusement.

“Let’s put it to the test,” you say, your voice low and rough, your hands gripping her hips as you position yourself behind her.

Ning doesn’t resist. Instead, she arches her back, presenting herself to you. Turning her head just enough to catch your gaze, her lips curve to the side, amusement dancing in her gaze. “Mmm, I hit a nerve?” she purrs, her voice lilting, teasing, as she gives the smallest sway of her hips—just enough to taunt, just enough to push you further.

You don’t answer. She titters once again.

You tug your shirt off in one sharp motion, leaving you in just your bra, the cool air brushing against your heated skin. Your hands move to her shorts, fingers hooking into the waistband and yanking them down the round of her ass. The sight that greets you makes your breath catch—a black thong, barely there, framing her ass perfectly. The fabric clings to her, accentuating the curve of her back dips into the rise of her ass, still red from the marks of your palm. The muscles there are taut but soft, the kind that begs to be touched.

“Jesus.” You mutter, marvelling next at the faint stretch marks that curve along the sides of her hips, subtle and easy to miss. 

Ning glances back at you again, her smirk widening. “Like what you see?” she asks, her hips swaying again – she knows too well what it’s doing to you.

Her breathing hitches when your hand settles on her ass, the warmth of your palm so much better than the with the cool air against her skin. You tug the thong aside, the fabric sliding against her slick folds with a soft, wet noise that makes you shiver. 

Her pussy is a work of art, glistening and swollen, the kind of pretty that makes your mouth water and your cock aches. The lips are full and puffy, a delicate shade of pink that deepens to a flushed red where her arousal pools. The folds are soft, almost velvety, parting slightly, begging for you, the wetness coating her thighs and glistening under the light. Her clit peeks out from its hood, swollen and sensitive, a tiny bead of desire that seems to pulse with every shaky breath she takes. 

It’s so perfect, so hers. You want to ruin it in the best way possible.

A firm push of your thumb, and she stretches open, taking your digit with a low, raspy gasp that almost breaks into a moan. Her eyes flutter shut, her face flushing hot as she tries to steady her breathing, but it’s just not possible with the way your thumb plunges deep, exploring her slowly, dragging out with accurate precision.

And when your thumb slides free, she lets out a faint, protesting whine, but you don’t give her a chance to recover. Instead, you bring your hand down in sharp, stinging smacks—one after the other—each one landing on a different cheek with a satisfying crack, the sound mingling with her breathy cries.

By the time you’re done, she’s reduced to a trembling, sobbing cry-baby, her body arching into your touch even as she tries to catch her breath. You don’t let up. Leaning forward, you press your hips heavily against her ass, your cock grinding against her slick mound from beneath. The friction is delicious, the heat of her body searing against yours as you rock against her, light veins rough grinding against her clit.

“You want this dick? Hmm?” you tease, sliding your cock across her slick entrance, the tip catching on her soft, trembling lips. You can feel her warmth, the way her body quivers in anticipation, and it’s almost too much to resist. Ning tenses, her breath hitching as she fights to hold herself together, but her body betrays her. Her pussy is greedy, desperate, and even the slightest pressure has the head of your cock sinking in, her wetness making it impossible to resist. She gasps, a sharp, broken sound, and you can’t help but smirk. That’s how wet she is—how much she wants you…

She can barely speak, much less think on her own.

She wants you. She wants you. She wants you so badly. So blindly, bad!

She’s barely coherent, her mind a blank slate as she arches beneath you, blindly reaching out, her fingers clawing at the air as if she could pull you closer. Her heart pounds in her ears, a frantic rhythm that matches the way her body trembles. A desperate, whimpering sound escapes her lips, and you know she’s lost in this moment, consumed by the need for you. Everything else has faded away—there’s only you, only this. 

A deep, pulsing ache coils inside her, an unbearable emptiness that leaves her trembling with need. It’s maddening—the way she craves you, the way her body betrays her with every shallow breath, every instinctive movement. She’s drunk on anticipation, on the slow, torturous build of what’s to come, until she can’t help but press back, rolling her hips in search of more.

And then—relief, sharp and so good. The head slips fully inside, stretching her open, and a strangled cry spills from her lips. Her walls grip you instinctively, clinging tight, as if trying to hold you there, refusing to let you go.

The sensation is dizzying, your teeth sinking into your lip hard enough to taste copper, the world narrowing to nothing but the slick, suffocating heat of her cunt.

“Hmm, fuck,” you breathe out, a laugh tumbling from your lips—breathless, almost delirious. Slowly, you pull back, just enough to make her feel the loss, before sinking in again. Her walls yield effortlessly, wrapping around you, in a scorching, velvet embrace that pulses and grips, the sensation so intense it sends a shudder down your spine to your toes. You shift, angling your hips just right, upwards, and the effect is immediate—another broken moan spills from her lips, her back arching as pleasure rips through her.

"Aah—slow down, s-slow d—" she stammers, her voice barely a whisper beneath the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

But you’re not feeling generous. Leaning in, your fingers tangle into her hair, tightening at the roots as you pull her head back, forcing her to meet your gaze.

” But you’ve had bigger?" you murmur against her ear, voice dark and edged with something primal. To punctuate your words, you thrust deep, savoring the way her body reacts—how she clenches around you, how her eyes squeeze shut as she cries out your name like a prayer. And Ning just takes it like a champ, her hole suckling at the base of your cock like a good cunt. Like a good whore. “Hmm? Answer me.”

And to drive the point home, you quicken your pace, each snap of your hips merciless, relentless. Her cries grow louder, more urgent, every stroke pushing her closer to the edge. Your grip in her hair tightens as you lean in, voice rough and demanding—

"Answer."

“No,” she gasps, her voice cracking, barely holding together as she struggles to form words. "Hmm—fuck, no, I lied," She reaches back, fingers grasping at you in a desperate attempt to slow you down, but you catch her wrist with ease, pinning it behind her back. A quiet, defeated whimper escapes her, but it only fuels you.

Your other hand grips the soft curve of her ass, fingers digging into heated skin before you drag her back onto you with a sharp, punishing thrust. She screams—high, broken, the sound raw with pleasure and something dangerously close to surrender.

The room is filled with it—the sharp slap of skin meeting skin, the ragged sobs that spill from her lips, the wet, obscene sounds of her taking every inch of you. Your moans. You don’t let up. You can’t. You drive into her harder, deeper, until her toes curl and her entire body quakes beneath you, pleasure teetering on the edge of something unbearably exquisite.

She’s a mess beneath you—shaking, breathless, her thighs trembling, her ass flushed and hot beneath your grip. And you can’t get enough. Not of the way she clings to you, not of the way she tightens around you like she could die if you let her go, like she’s trying to milk every drop from you.

And she really didn’t lie. It’s the best pussy you’ve ever had. 

The distant thrum of music plays in the background, muffled and insignificant against the raw sounds of her pleasure—ragged breaths, gasping moans, the soft, wet suck of your cock inside of her.

You press her into the couch, your weight a delicious burden, pinning her beneath you as you drive into her with ruthless precision. Every thrust forces a choked cry from her lips, her body arching instinctively, desperate to take you deeper as she starts pleading to keep going.

But you don’t.

Slowly, you withdraw, savoring the way her walls clutch at you, slick and trembling, reluctant to let you leave. The sight of her—stretched, quivering, her body begging for more—sends a dark pulse of satisfaction through you.

And then, just as her fingers tighten in protest, you feed her the tip of your cock, slowly fucking into her. The drag is delicious. 

“Oh, look at that." your grip tightens around the back of her neck, pressing her deeper into the cushions as you claim her. The strain burns through your arms and thighs, but you don’t stop. There’s no stopping this. Your hips drive forward with relentless force, each thrust sending shockwaves through her body. "You're so fucking pretty when you're screaming my name, Ning."

Those moans, broken and breathless, feed the fire curling low in your spine. You're close—so fucking close.

For a moment, you pause, chest heaving, grounding yourself in the sight of her beneath you. But Ning isn’t having it. She pushes back onto you, hips rolling in desperation, her body greedy for more. Her moans come in shattered gasps, trembling with need and you can’t help but groan at the sight of her ass bouncing against your hips, her pussy dripping with every thrust. 

“Hmm, you’re so big,” she whimpers, cries, voice raw, breath hitching as she arches her back, taking you deeper. “Oh, fuck!” 

Your gaze is heavy, hooded, as you watch yourself disappear into her, each lsnguid thrust mesmerizing. The sight of her—sprawled out, pussy taking you so greedily—sends a thrill curling through you.

She rolls her hips on the next drag, making her ass jiggle, thighs slapping against your skin as she forces you deeper, desperate, insatiable. It’s like she’s been starving for this, for you, ever since she first laid eyes on you.

A low, guttural moan tears from your throat as you pull back before slamming into her again, harder, faster. The pace turns frantic, all restraint shattering. Ning’s cries pitch higher, her body bowing against the force of your thrusts. Her thighs shake, her ass reddened beneath your grip, and she can feel herself dripping, her pussy throbbing with an imminent release. She’s dripping, throbbing, falling apart beneath you, and when she whimpers your name, voice ragged and desperate, it nearly undoes you.

She’s screaming now, her body writhing beneath you as you fuck her through her orgasm, fucking her like she’s nothing more than a whore, your hands sliding down from her waist, pressing two fingers to her engorged clit, and she can’t even scream, her pussy clenches around you as she comes, her body shaking with the force of it.  You’re right behind, gripping her tightly as you pulse inside her and fill her with your release, the sensation so intense it leaves you breathless.