#//anyway i'm trying to write a response to someone right now. how to ask for something without looking pushy hit enter in google

[pedgito]

𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 | Harry Castillo x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Five years of being his assistant and five years of failed attempts at finding love with your help, but maybe the obvious answer has been there the entire time. Alternatively, you fucked your boss? Uh-oh.

author's note | harry...randy...who knows. i'll change it if needed but given the name tag, this is what i'm sticking with for now. skip the lecture about not writing until the movie is out, this isn't hurting anyone so don't bother me about it, xo. the horny demons always win. i listened to this song i repeat while i wrote, felt fitting.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, power imbalance (boss/assistant), work wife/work husband type beat, mentions of failed dating, being superficial, mentions of sugar daddy things, expensive gifts, reader is a godly assistant with a will stronger than mine, he smokes, they drink, sex while inebriated, he's down so bad, also oral!, tense morning after, open-ended

word count — 4.5k

You knew him better than anyone.

From his breakfast order down to his specific choice of underwear, like you weren’t making the weekly purchases and filling up his rarely used fridge in the apartment that was way out your price range, arranging his schedule down to the minute, booking his flights, packing his bag.

Really, Harry should just marry you.

…it was more of a joke, but you’ve teased him about it once or twice.

He called you his work wife anyways, but in reality, you were just his assistant.

He did trust you with his life, though.

More importantly, his love life.

“Kim flaked,” he tells you over coffee, perched at his kitchen island as you typed away on your laptop, looking up briefly with eyes that begged for him to explain, he does and makes a show about, mimicking a more feminine voice as he relays the message she gave him, “same song and dance—you’re great and fun but I can’t do anything serious right now,”

“Were you nice?” you ask curiously.

Harry rolls his eyes at that, like it was a stupid question to ask. But, eventually he nods.

“Did you ask questions?” you continue, fingers folding over the screen of your laptop to close it.

“Plenty, she works in finance, loves the color blue, wants to travel,” he could go on and on, throwing his hands up in defeat before they slump to his side, “maybe I should try out a real matchmaker—not that you’re bad at it—”

“You think I’m bad at it,” you smile knowingly, “don’t you?”

“No,” you’re unconvinced, “besides—you’re my assistant, I never meant for that type of responsibility to fall on you, you know?”

“I’m doing both of us a favor,” you remind him, “I think…it just takes time.”

And fortunately, all you had was time.

It felt pointless for Harry to spend a chunk of cash to have someone pair him up with the supposed love of his life, though you knew that money wasn’t a problem, you felt a weird responsibility to protect him, unsure how quickly someone would take advantage of his kindness.

“There’s a gala,” you tell him offhandedly, “next week. I already cleared your schedule for it. I think…maybe you should just peruse this time.”

“Peruse?” he chuckles, eyes creasing in amusement, his crow’s feet deepening with the emotion, “You’re a control freak, you sure about that?”

“That’s just mean,” you retort, “you’re paying me anyways—if you didn’t like it you’d fire me.”

He knew you were right, sipping quietly at his coffee in response.

He was frustrating, predictable, and painfully superficial. 

Every date was an exercise in appearances—perfectly tailored suits, dinner at the most exclusive places, charm turned up to eleven. And yet, none of it ever stuck. He was overcompensating and you weren’t sure why.

He was a good guy, down to his core, and in the five years you had worked with him there was never a moment you thought he didn’t deserve love, he was perfect. Too perfect.

That was the problem.

“You know, you’re like prime age to be a sugar daddy,” you tease him, knowing how he felt about the topic, “there’s plenty of apps that I can—”

“You’re relentless,” he grumbles, “if you ever did that, I’m firing you on the spot.”

“You wouldn’t,” it was a gentle challenge, smirk flashing across your face as he returned it with fondness, “without me you would crash and burn, Mr. Castillo.”

And he knows it.

–

The gala is a bust.

So, as a bandaid to his wounded ego, you order takeout and keep him company in his big, lavish apartment—it wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last.

You knew what the issue was, but there was a sinking feeling in your stomach that told you he wouldn’t receive the information well.

It was after every failed date, every expensive dinner.

They saw him at the surface, the charming man with an easy, warm smile.

You saw the man who kicked his shoes off and stripped himself of his suit jacket the second he walked through the door, who couldn’t resist a late-night binge of his newest streaming obsession, someone who insisted on stirring his coffee counterclockwise because it made it taste better, a man would text you pictures of squirrels in the park that he would feed on his way home.

It wasn’t that you were pining over him. You just knew him better than anyone.

“Why are you so dead set on marriage?” you ask him over dinner, turned toward him on the couch as he reaches for the remote to pause the show on screen.

He’s had this conversation before, but he’s never asked you any questions on the matter.

“What’s your opinion on it?” he’s avoiding, clearly, but you’ll bite.

“I don’t date, I’m not interested, signing a piece of paper isn’t going to signify my feelings toward someone if it came down to that,” you admit, “I’m not cynical, marriage is fine, but this stuff takes time,”

“Well, I’m not getting any younger,” Harry gripes, arms reaching over the back of the couch as he mirrors your position.

“Oh, please,” you scoff, “you’re forty-nine.”

“Almost fifty,” he corrects, “I’m ancient.”

“O-kay,” you sigh, “do you want honesty?”

“I’d hope you were being honest with me all the time.”

“No,” you laugh softly, “like…brutal fucking honesty?”

He’s silent, but attentive. 

“You keep choosing women who treat you like they’re next getaway vacation and you fall for it every time,” his forehead creases at the words, looking hurt by your words, “I see your bank payments every month, the activity—”

“It’s not like money is an issue,” he defends, causing you to sigh dramatically and fall back against the arm of the couch in faux distress.

“This is impossible,” you groan, staring up at the ceiling before you feel his hand circle around your wrist, tugging gently,

“Okay, I’m listening,” Harry says softly, pulling you upright, “I’m sorry—I am.”

“You want it to work so bad,” you tell him, “I see it—every time you approach someone you put on that smile and it works, but you’re giving so much and yeah, maybe some of them like that, but I’m sure a few would just enjoy a nice dinner here, or something simple. I think you forget to realize that someone can just be interested in you, for you, not for what you are or have,”

It’s profound, the way his face softens at your words, his touch still lingering around your wrist.

You’ve never even considered or entertained the idea that you might find Harry attractive or even attainable—for one, you had signed a contract that agreed to a professional work relationship, as a benefit for both of you, not that he ever had any intention to begin with.

You’ve been with him for so long, it feels, a fresh and young mind to help keep him active and busy, constantly refreshing ideas and helping him not feel like he was stuck, and you were damn good at taking care of him when he’s often tended to neglect himself.

The only thing you know is that he’s never looked at you like that.

Like you could see straight through him, all his flaws on display.

But, that was because you knew all of them.

You knew everything about him, even the worse bits.

His bad habits, his self-inflicting ones, everything that he refused to bring to the surface.

Harry’s fingers still lingered around your wrist, the weight of your words sinking in. 

But then, just like he always did, he broke the tension with a huff of laughter and frowns as he brushed you off.

“You just think I’m a sucker, don’t you?”

You shook your head with a faint smile, returning your arm to your lap.

“No—I think you like to see the good in people. So much good that you’re willing to ignore red flags.”

“Jeez,” he chuckled, clutching his stomach like you had physically wounded him, “that hurt.”

You shrugged and reached for the remote to resume the picture on screen, “You’ll survive.”

–

It was your day off—Sunday, the one day.

“Have you seen my cufflinks laying around?” he asked over the video call, “Shit—my tie, too. I can’t find it anywhere. I thought you said you laid it out for me.”

“No, I said I had it hung up and for you to lay it out before you showered,” you correct him, laying tiredly on your couch as you watched him search around frantically, hair damp and his bare shoulders on display, only catching the briefest glimpses of the towel around his waist as he turned the camera around, “Waitwait—go back!”

“There’s no fucking way you saw it,” Harry argues, “I’ve been looking for the last ten minutes—”

“In the pocket of your suit, the tie is there,” you tell him, “and given that you probably tossed the suit on the bed like you always do, the cufflinks are probably somewhere hiding under the blanket,”

He tosses you against the mattress, your screen succumbing to darkness as you wait, some shifting of the sheets before you hear him make a sound before he appears again, cufflinks pinched between his fingers and a look of defeat on his face.

“What would you do without me?” you ask with a cocky grin, finger hovering over the end call button as he shakes his head.

“What was this for again?” Harry asks curiously, laying you down upright as you caught a glimpse of his bare chest as he shrugged the crisp, white button down over his shoulders.

“It’s a charity auction, your favorite,” you chirp, “and you’re flying solo, so—don’t do anything stupid or…crass,”

“If I paid you double a day of work would you go?” Harry asks after a long pause, glancing down at the screen, “Triple?”

“Triple?!” you gawk, “see—you’re insane, this is what I’m talking about,”

He chuckles despite your response, “You’re good at keeping the sharks away,”

There were particular hawking businessmen who made it their mission to hunt Harry down at events and keep him occupied, eager to do business, whatever it may be—you were the unspoken master of redirection, as much as he refused to admit it.

“Can we grab dinner on the way?” 

“Burgers?” Harry asks, perking up slightly.

It was a constant go-to for you and him.

You nod through the screen, “Don’t even bother with the tie either, I’ll do it.”

–

“I can’t believe you roped me into this on my day off,” you whisper at his side, earning a half-smirk from him.

The charity auction was as lavish as you’d expected.

Crystal chandeliers, gold accents, and far too much champagne and hors d'oeuvres. 

Harry’s hand found the small of your back the moment you arrived, steering you through a sea of designer gowns and tuxedos, feeling uncomfortable in the tight dress and stilettos that you only wore on rare occasions, biting at your heels.

“You’ll survive,” he grins, grabbing you both a glass of champagne and pressing it into your waiting fingers, “I’m gonna…peruse, alright?”

“Don’t say it—that just makes you sound like a creep,” your face scrunches up in disgust as you sip at the alcohol, “just go—go, I’ll…handle everything else.”

The evening passed in a blur of small talk and polite smiles, but somewhere between the endless speeches and bidding wars, you found yourself on the balcony, the cool night air a welcome relief in the stuffy ballroom.

You smell him before you see him, the thick and rich scent of his cologne so familiar you swear you could find him on that alone, turning over your shoulder to see him closing the door quietly, cigarette pack tucked in his palm as he approached with a neutral expression.

“You okay?” you ask, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and then plucking a single cigarette from the box, “Honestly? I’m just tired of it.”

“The auctions? Charity?” you inquire, a small smile tugging at your face.

“All of it.” He looked at you, his gaze lingering as he lit the tobacco, “The events, the dates, searching for—I don’t even fucking know at this point,”

“The offer stands…” you say jokingly, though he knows exactly where this is heading.

“If I wanted a sugar baby I’d find one.”

Your eyes roam over his figure as he puffs at the cigarette, pulling a deep laugh from his chest before you’re pushing him away playfully.

“Let’s go,” he tells you with a deep sigh, stubbing out the end of the cigarette and tucking it away for later, tossing his arm over your shoulder as he readied to guide you through the crowd, always protective in spaces like this, another thing that was special to him.

–

The ride home is quiet, like it always is, both of you sitting in the backseat with the partition up, watching as he looked through his phone with a scowl, occasional typing and sending a message.

Eventually, he looks at you.

“Thank you,” He says with a soft tone, “I know this isn’t your favorite thing to do.”

You tilted your head into the headrest and smiled, crossing one thigh over the other as you worked at your heels to remove them, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad—the free alcohol is always a plus.”

He chuckled at that, silently helping you remove your shoes with a soft squeeze to your foot.

That was normal—but, it forces you to pause.

His natural instinct to help, to touch, to comfort you.

Your brow furrows at the gesture before you shake it away, blaming it on the buzz of alcohol in your system, watching as he continues the gesture with the other foot.

“Having you there makes it bearable, is all,” he explains, looking up at you briefly as he undid the tie around your ankle, “you…calm me, I guess.”

You swallowed. Hard.

The warmth of his words lingering in your chest, in his touch against your ankle, “You’d do the same for me.”

And he would—if you ever needed anything, anything, Harry was there.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, “without question.”

The sincerity caught you off guard. 

You turned to study him, the familiar slope of his nose, the line of his jaw. There was something about the way he looked tonight—tired, maybe, but softer. 

And he keeps looking at you, checking.

The car moved smoothly through the dimly lit streets, the city blurring past in streaks of gold and blues and reds. The hum of the engine was steady, the faint sound of music barely audible from the front, through the glass, the back lit up dimly by the trim of lights on the roof and door.

Harry leaned back, one hand moved against the seat, his other hand dragging slowly over his thigh—restless. 

Instinctually, without thinking, you reached for his hand.

It wasn’t purposeful. Just a simple act of absentmindedness.

You’ve done it a hundred times before. 

Tugged at his sleeves to fix his cufflinks, brushed lint from his lapel or pants, adjusted the collar of his shirts. Constantly fixed his hair, touching him wasn’t new.

His skin was warm. Not hot, not cold.

You felt the slight twitch of his hand, like he was debating whether to move. Instead, his fingers shifted, just a fraction, enough that the edge of his thumbnail brushed over the inside of your wrist.

The contact was thoughtless, nothing.

But, in the same moment, it felt like everything.

The way his eyes watched the movement, roamed your body like they had before but with a different implication, his eyes half-lidded and relaxed, wondering how much alcohol he had consumed himself—this wasn’t friendly.

And it definitely wasn’t professional.

Harry’s gaze was on you now, your face, as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his hand.

Then his thumb moved. 

Up. 

Barely. 

A soft drag along your pulse.

It was half a decade of avoidance, defeat in his heart and mind, and fear in your own.

Broken, by the car rolling to a stop outside of Harry’s apartment building.

“We’re here, Mr. Castillo,” the voice of the driver came from the front, a nod of acknowledgement as his hand slipped from yours.

“Oh, hold on,” you were scooting aside to let him out, readied for the next stop as he cocks his head toward the building, “I’ve got something for you—I’ll drive you home, don’t worry,”

“Harry,” you stress, looking down at his hand that waves you toward him, extending out for you to grab, insistently as his fingers wiggle in wait.

Turns out, he wasn’t totally lying.

That something was accompanied by a seven thousand dollar bottle of Leroz Aux Brulees—you knew that because you had purchased it during his trip to France, the supposed city of love.

“I’m going to murder you,” you tell him as he places the bottle on the counter and keeps the closed case of mystery at his side, “hide your body, flee country—I hate surprises, you know that.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he grins, popping the cork on the bottle and pouring two hefty glasses, eyeing the deep red as it glugged into the glass.

“You know, if you wanted company you could have just asked,” you tell him, “I get it, you’re lonely,”

He knows you’re only teasing but it stings nonetheless, both of you taking a long and heavy sip as his fingers swirl over the velvet casing before he’s pushing it over quickly, tapping it with his fingers, “Open it,” he encourages, eyeing you over the rim.

You place your glass down and pry it open slowly, carefully, like you were deconstructing a bomb, but as the piece inside comes into view you find yourself at a loss for words or thoughts.

Your eyes are wide, staring up at him with parted lips that tingled from the lingering alcohol, knowing you should have cut yourself off at one glass of champagne and refused to come inside, that you should have just went home and enjoyed what little bit of the day you had left to yourself.

Now, you were looking back at a necklace so delicate you were afraid to stare at it too long, embedded with a cluster of diamonds and nearly two years of your rent if you were doing the math correctly in your mind.

Always about the numbers, Harry constantly teased.

“I saw how you looked at it the other day,” he admits, “and I owe you a hell of a lot more, but it…I’m trying to say thank you for…being you,”

“I’m not taking that,” you refuse with a laugh of disbelief, sliding back over to him gently, downing the rest of your wine in one go to forget how fast your heart was beating in your chest.

“You are,” Harry insists, “consider it a bonus—Christmas is in a couple months, too.”

“You know…this is exactly that kind of stuff a sugar da—”

Harry makes a noise, shaking his head.

You bite your lip in thought, ignoring his subtle annoyance at your comment.

It was fucking beautiful, really.

You sigh, using one finger to turn the case back toward you, examining it closely.

Quietly, Harry presses his glass into the counter and rounds the edge toward you, his chest at your shoulder as he reaches for the jewelry, working carefully at the clasp before he’s motioning for you to relax your shoulders.

It wasn’t the stillness of the moment, but his touch, again.

He’s methodical in the way he touches you, dragging his hand around your neck as he fits the necklace into place, his fingertips pressing against the column of your throat in a way that tickles slightly, shifting uncomfortably until you hear the faint click and he breathes behind you, hands resting at your shoulders.

You’re not sure why he hasn’t moved, but you find yourself turning to speak.

“I’m just going to call an uber,” you tell him, “probably shouldn’t drive since we’ve both been drinking,”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but it sounds hollow, his eyes not following you as you move.

You hop from the chair and bend down to grab your shoes, but his hand is curling around your bicep and pulling you up and he’s staring again, the charge of his touch sending a jolt through your body as freeze,

“Come here,” he beckons, too natural.

And you listen.

He’s soft, every part of him. Skin, clothes, hair, lips.

He’s kissing you gently, like you might break, but you can tell he wants more.

Needs more.

“Are you going to regret this tomorrow?” you find yourself asking as he parts from you, licking at his lips as you both take a breath, letting the moment settle.

He shakes his head, “Are you?”

“Maybe,” you answer honestly, “maybe…not—fuck, I don’t know,”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he promises, but you knew that was a lie.

Still, you nod in understanding.

–

He’s so tender with his touch, slipping you out of the dress in the dim light of his room.

Even softer as he guides you to your back and spreads himself on his belly between your legs, fingers interlocked with his at your hips as he buries his nose between your folds, his tongue splitting your cunt open in a sharp gasp that has you throwing your head back. His lips traced a slow, deliberate path down your body, igniting sparks along every inch of your skin. 

He kissed along the curve of your thighs, teasing, tasting, until the tension was unbearable and with each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, it pulled you deeper into a haze of heady desire. 

This was reckless, dangerous, but neither of you found the moment to pause and think.

You wonder if things had been building to this for a while—if it was always supposed to happen this way or if he was acting off of greed; lust and companionship, even if just for a night.

You know you can ask him to stop at any point and he would, but even as his tongue brings you to your first orgasm of the night and he’s guiding you to your stomach, reaching blindly into his bedside table for a foil wrapping the crinkles loudly in the silence, you want this.

It was embarrassing how badly you wanted this.

He fucks you slow, too. 

It was torturous, his chest flat against your back as he palms his cock and feeds it into you.

You don’t talk, neither does he.

But, his low moans and stuttering breaths speak for him.

If you could see him, you’d know how furrowed his brow would be, a hand sliding over the curve of your ass until he can reach your thigh, beckoning for you to raise it without speaking.

You oblige, the angle of his thrusts changing on a dime.

“I can’t believe you’re real sometimes,” he admits like he’s confessing a sin.

“Please,” you plead—please stop talking, please keep going, please fuck me.

You couldn’t decide.

You feel him nod where his forehead is pressed between your shoulder blades as his fist curls into the sheet beside your head.

“Another, gimme another,” he pleads, the fingers on his other hand curling under your neck to life your chin, not expecting to meet his eyes as he leans over you.

The expression on his face so raw it makes you flutter around him, his lips parting in a deep, guttural groan, “I know you can,” he nods hurriedly.

And damn, does the praise work.

Your whimper breaks him, breathing out shakily as you locked eyes when he comes, slow and forceful thrusts until you’re nothing but an exhausted pile of tangled limbs.

“Greedy girl,” he comments through the haze, a weak giggle bubbling from your chest.

He pulls out slowly, a low grunt as he does so.

You’re not sure when you fall asleep, but you wake to a startling amount of weight over your stomach, an arm splayed possessively, the faint outline of a ring as you drag your hand over the limb.

It’s only as your eyes pry open that reality hits you, stumbling out of bed quickly.

No…nononono, where the fuck were your clothes? Jesus.

You stumble around half awake, searching for the silk dress on the floor, feeling accomplished when you find it and hastily redressing yourself as Harry stirs in bed, encouraging you to hurry, to slip out before he can say anything.

Your shoes are already on and you’re reaching for the doorknob when the voice comes, the weight of the necklace that still remained on your neck, two empty glasses of wine on the counter, a night of hasty choices and urgency laid out like a crime scene as his voice rings out from behind you, pleading.

“Don’t—don’t go,” Harry begs, “You don’t have to go,”

So much of this was wrong—it complicated everything.

Your life, your job, your relationship with him.

He can see you slipping, fingers inching toward the knob as he approaches you in a hurry, barefoot and shirtless, the kind of scene you shouldn’t be comforted with, like this was all normal to the both of you.

You’ve seen him like this a thousand times, but not when he’s looking at you so vulnerable, heart tore open and stapled to his chest, beating against your own as his hands splayed out over your cheeks.

“I don’t regret it,” he assures you again, “so please—stay, okay?”

“What changed?” you ask, voice trembling, “Five years, Harry. Five.”

“I’ve been running in circles this entire time,” he admits, “you know it—I know it.”

You had been there the entire time, learning every part of him without judgement, cataloging his flaws and skills, learning how he ticked and what motivated him. You had never quite settled on the ideal person to fit in his life as his partner, it surely wasn’t you.

It couldn’t be you.

“Please, don’t go,” Harry echoed once more.

The sick, cruel joke of it all was that this was your job. 

You had nowhere to go. If it was any other morning, you would just be arriving, leaving his breakfast in the kitchen and starting your day.

You nod solemnly, “Of course, Mr. Castillo.”

It was painstaking, forcing the mask back on.

But, you couldn’t deal with this now.

Or ever, even.

Harry looks at you with a confused sadness, thumbs rubbing at your cheekbones before his hands fall to his side.

You’d figure this out, you always did.

[unknownsvoid]

would bro be interested in doing the ass or tits with my goat rin or maybe even sae if you write him 😈

Ahhh... you're freak? But then again so am I so you ask and you shall damn well recieve!

Itoshi brothers getting freaky with your tits and ass!

✮⋆˙ | cw: anal and tit fucking. DUH? Um, I think fem!reader with big enough boobs is necessary for this ask. I'M SORRY MY SMALL TITTY DIVAS! WE LOVE YOU, BELIEVE ME! but your ass size shouldn't matter! Slighty subby rin? This is also kinda rushed idk? ✮⋆˙ | you can tell who i like more in this i think... wc: 1k+

Rin itoshi!

Now, me personally, I believe Rin would hate the whole aspect of fucking someone in the ass or the tits. He for sure believes it's unsanitary and probably would say no when you ask him for the first time, but then would eventually get fed up from several times you ask him.

Surprisingly, he was actually super nervous. So, you decided to let him pick between your ass and tits, saying that you'll try one today and then the other another day. Of course he picked your tits first, finding it the most sanitary out of the two options. But fuck, he had no idea tit-fucking could feel this good. He was sure all the people yapping online were for sure lying, but now? He is fighting back his words! Once he felt those plush tits of yours wrap his cock, it was all over for him. He had to hold himself back from cumming multiple times. Your tits felt like warm clouds around his cock as you guided them up and down the length of his dick. He couldn't even describe how good it felt, not with words anyway, more with whimpers and groans. His knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping onto the sheets below the two of you. He barely lasted ten minutes before his cum splattered all along the surface of your titties, and shit, you looked so pretty with his cum smothered all them. Yeah... he's definitely doing this again.

Now your ass was on another scale. You were in the doggy position when he was very much frozen. He was, obviously, still very much sceptical, but nonetheless you shove the lube into his hand which he sighs but complies to your wordless demand, squeezing the cold, sticky liquid all over his cock and then your asshole, watching it twitch in awe once the coolness of the lube touches it.

He asks you one last time if you're sure, and once you say yes, he's sliding himself in. He made sure to go slow - not wanting to hurt you. His breath hitches once he's fully in, telling you so and also adding on for you to tell him when your ready to move. In his head he was praying you weren't gonna say to move to soon because he was sure to cum right then and there. If it was even possible, your ass was a lot tighter than your pussy was. Thank god for the lube because the two of you would've been fucked.

He shakes his head when you tell him your ready - snapping out of his lewd thoughts. His hands tightened their grip on your waist before slowly pulling his hips back away from your ass before pushing them back against it. His tip hitting perfectly against your prostate, causing your ass to throw back against him, making you both moan in response when you do. A few thrusts later and the two of you are crashing down from your highs. His orgasm pooling inside of you while your slick coats your thighs.

Safe to say Rin would try again... maybe if you beg him to, like hell he'll ask to do so again.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵ Sae itoshi!

With Sae, he was probably more interested than Rin. Perking up and eyebrow when you ask him the question, wanting to try new things in the bedroom rather than the usual pussy-fucking. He shrugged and said yes. He actually seemed somewhat excited, a soft glimmer in his eyes that most people closer to him noticed when he was excited - proving your point. Unlike Rin, Sae actually wanted to fuck your ass first!

Squeezing decent amount of lube on your ass and his dick. He waited for your words of approval before pushing himself in the tight hole, the lube helping himself inside of you. He pats your ass to indicate that he's fully inside of you. Being barely able to speak, you nod. A silent way to tell him he can move, which he did. Going a little too fast to begin with, causing your breath to catch up in your throat. The obnoxiously loud noise of his pelvis hitting your ass filling up the room with each thrust. Your ass is absolutely going to be his second favourite before your pussy. The rim of your ass so eagerly squeezing around his cock, like it couldn't get enough of it. The more you arch your back, the more both of you inched closer to cumming. He sped up the pace, drilling himself in and out of your ass until you both do so. Both of you cumming at the same time.

Once he calms down, he pulls himself out of you. His eyes half-lidded as he watches his cum seeps out of your twitching asshole. Yeah, this is becoming a routine in your sex life.

Your tits he didn't show much enthusiasm for. He's more of an ass man anyway. Though, the lack of enthusiasm boosted to more enthusiasm than one can count once the soft mounds of your boobs wrap his cock. Without a doubt, he's already bucking his hips against your tits, fucking his cock in between cleavage. You followed his movements, guiding your tits up and down him in time of his movements. In no time, he was cumming on your tits. The softness of your titties pushed against his dick was too much for him to bare, so yeah, he came all over them.

Again, your tits were up there on the scale. Coming in third between your pussy and ass.

[thebibliosphere]

Hello! I hope you don't mind me asking, but do you have any thoughts on Howard Schubiner's Unlearn Your Pain, Mind Body Syndrome, treating neuroplastic symptoms, etc.? I was just referred to a pain management group that centers around these concepts, and I'm having some Feelings about the whole thing.

Just wondering if you've had any experiences with this type of treatment, or thoughts about its effectiveness. Thanks!

Okay, so this is going to be long, and I'm going to need you to stick with me through the tangent. I promise it's relevant.

I haven't read Howard Schubiner's work directly, but his colleague Alan Gordon was a key speaker at the Migraine World Summit this year. I found his talk interesting enough to buy his book and do some more research on my own, and I found it worthwhile pursuing on my own.

I know enough from my mast cell disorder to know that the body develops 'bad habits' around pain.

In the case of anxiety, stress, or panic, mast cells become more reactive, and this can make pain worse. This is true for everyone*; it's just those of us with MCAS or some other type of mast cell disorder who have more alarming symptoms like idiopathic anaphylaxis.

So, unfortunately, if I, as someone with MCAS, experience an acute pain from an injury or illness, the inherent stress response of the pain and the out-of-balance response from my nervous system can make my mast cells degranulate. They're little fuckers like that.

Mast cells can also put your body on an inflammatory cycle that is counterproductive to healing. They can literally get trained to anticipate reactions and pre-emptively react, because again, they are little fuckers.

To give you an example of this for me: my major migraines, the ones that land me in the hospital, occur on the dot every ten days. There are no hormonal factors to this that can be found or other consistent triggers or stressors, but I was unknowingly being exposed to an MCAS trigger roughly every ten days for a while. When I realized, I removed the trigger, obviously. Problem solved, right? Unfortunatley no. By then, my mast cells had trained themselves into a new pattern, and the migraine now is both the response and the trigger. It's some bastard thing called Innate Immune Memory. But it's also, partly, my subconscious anticipating the event and priming my body for a reaction, which I am susceptible to because of my MCAS and dysautonomia, which is a type of nervous system disorder.

And this is where the neuroplasticity comes in.

I'm currently in the process of trying to unlearn this response and better regulate my nervous system, which unfortunately makes me sound like a TikTok girly with a link in bio to sell you cortisol healing tea, but I promise you the only thing I'm interesting in shilling is my smutty vampire books. (And this post will be how some people learn I write books)

Anyway, why am I bothering to explain mast cell dysfunction like this in relation to neuroplasticity?

Because, yeah, if a pain doctor handed me a leaflet about 'unlearning pain' and I didn't understand how my body is routinely sabotaging itself on a cellular level in response to acute and neuroplastic pain, I'd also be rolling my eyes and feeling like I've just been handed a bottle of snake oil in the market.

God knows I've been handed 'mindfullness' leaflets by enough shitty doctors who don't actually understand what it means when we say "stress affects the nervous system" and just assume the patient is inventing symptoms to be annoying.

Thankfully, that is not what this is. At least I am hoping the doctor sending you there doesn't think you are causing your own pain. What they are hopefully trying to do is introduce you to something that a lot of chronic pain patients are reporting helps them feel more in control of their lives after many years of feeling at the mercy of their pain.

I don't attend the sessions at my brain injury clinic (yet), but I do know they use neuroplasticity therapy to help amputees with the phantom pain they experience from missing limbs. My physical therapist spent an entire session singing its virtues to me while I was fighting for my life on a balance board. Which is also why I decided to look into it after I heard Gordon talking at the Migraine World Summit.

So, do I think Schubiner's methods are hokum?

No, I think there's a lot of merit to the things he talks about and explains, but I also know the only reason I think that is because of the insight I have into the brain-body bundle through the experiences of my mast cell disease that has taught me there is nothing the brain is incapable of fucking up.

Do I think targeting neuroplastic pain will work well for everyone?

No. I think you need to try it and see if it's a good fit for you.

Some people who attended the World Migraine Summit think it's snake oil/just another way for pain doctors to foist us off into the realm of mental health care. Conversely, other people won't shut up about how learning to break the cycle of fear and panic around their pain has been life-altering for them.

For me, it's been more subtle and is part of a broader spectrum of therapies and medical treatment I use to keep my nervous system in check. It certainly hasn't done me any harm. If anything, I found it quite validating to hear someone say, "Oh, the pain is in your head? Of course it is. Let's try to fix that," and then gave me actionable coping methods. They might not work profoundly in the long term. I'm still a sick bitch with multiple acute causes of my pain. But it's also not harming me the way mindfulness was (many chronic pain patients can find it traumatizing).

I will say, I am concerned that some doctors will use the treatment of neuroplastic pain to dismiss treating acute pain with physical causes.

Just like how mindfulness has been abused by an overworked, underfunded medical system not equipped to handle chronic patients, there's also the risk of neuroplastic therapy being tossed over the fence in a similar fashion as a last ditch Hail Mary to treat patients they don't have time for. But I don't think it's widespread enough yet for that to be the case.

I dunno. Give it a try. If it's not for you, it's not for you.

Personally, I hate anything that revolves around group therapy, but I did find the book "The Way Out" by Alan Gordon insightful in helping me figure some things out. Maybe see if your local library has it before you drop money on any sessions?

_ _ _

*There has also been more compelling evidence recently that suggests that chronic pain conditions like fibromyalgia are also affected by wonky mast cells. Also arthritis.

[pathologicalreid]

litmus test | s.r.

in which Spencer needs your expertise to help solve a murder, but crime fighting is most decidedly not for you

find more chemist!reader here!

who? spencer reid x chemist!reader category: flangst (like. the end is a little angsty and it has case details) content warnings: typical cm violence, science talk, fem!reader, reader is not built for crime, morgan being an older brother, some fun banter!! death by firework is crazy lmao word count: 1.68k a/n: this is one of my favorite fluff pieces i've written in agessss i missed chemist!reader so much i learn so many things when i'm writing her. this was a request! i hope you like it as much as i do!!

“Do you have a second?” Spencer asks, his voice slightly choppy over the phone. Between his ancient phone and being inside concrete police precincts, some disconnect was bound to happen.

Saving your document to your computer, you rest the lab phone between your shoulder and ear, “If you’re asking me if I have any corrosive chemicals in my hands, the answer is no.”

He chuckles lightly, “I never know with you.”

You roll your eyes in response, even if he can’t see you, “It was one time and I needed a new phone case anyway.”

“You fused the plastic of your phone case to the material of your phone,” he retorts far too quickly for your liking.

“Yes,” you acquiesce, “but I know the exact chemical reaction that caused that phenomenon.” You cross your legs one over the other, maintaining your balance on your lab stool as you speak to Spencer over the phone.

He gave a light hum in response, “Speaking of chemical reactions – I need your help.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “You’re asking me for help in chemistry?” There really was a first time for everything, you suppose.

Spencer was more than capable of navigating a lab on his own, even so, he admits, “You have more applied practice than I do.”

Pursing your lips, you nod to yourself, “Fair enough. What’s stumping you, Dr. Reid?” Your inquiry, while innocent enough, garners a wolf whistle from your graduate assistant.

“There’s something burning a hole in these bones, and I’m not sure what would be causing it to happen this fast,” he explains, giving you minor background information on how long the bones were out and if the medical examiner had treated them with something.

You clear your throat, frowning at the notes you had scrawled down in front of you, “Burning or corroding?” What was seemingly a meaningless distinction would actually allow you to filter through approximately half of the possibilities.

“Corroding,” he corrects himself, “My mistake.”

Crossing off some of your notes, you purse your lips at the new possibilities, “No worries. Did you try flushing it out with water?”

You hear papers flipping on his end of the call before you get a response, “That would destroy evidence.”

“Well,” you raise your eyebrows, “It sounds like your evidence is destroying itself.”

“Baby,” Spencer says in a no-nonsense tone reserved for when he was deep in a case. You could’ve sworn you heard Morgan in the background of the call mocking him for the pet name.

Turning back to your notes, you sigh, “Yeah, yeah, all work and no play. Was the body buried?”

“Partially,” his reply intrigues you, “I can have Garcia send you the crime scene photos if you think it’ll help.”

Wrinkling your nose at the thought, you made an unsure sound, “Right, because nothing says lunchtime like getting up close and personal with a homicide victim.”

“What lunchtime? It’s three pm in D.C. right now,” he caught you, a slight chiding tone in his words.

Ignoring his questions, you ask more of your own, “Was the body near water? Did they test the pH of the soil and water?”

There were more papers flipping, likely someone presenting the results of those tests to him, “Yeah, the soil was a five-point two and the water was a seven-point eight,” he listed off for you.

While your knowledge of the pH of the soil in Iowa was limited, you did know that those levels were pretty on par for the northern Mississippi River. “O-kay,” you say, extending your vowels, “and they didn’t find anything else on the scene that points to corrosive materials. Hydrofluoric acid?” You posit, “No, you know what – maybe you should send me those files. My work email is encrypted, you can give it to Penelope.”

He speaks to someone else in the room with him and you resist the urge to ask him if he’s enjoying Iowa, “It’s sent,” he confirms with you.

Pulling up your email only takes a moment, and once you get over the initial shock of seeing a dead body on your computer screen, you lift your lab glasses to the top of your head in order to get a better look. “I mean,” you think for a moment, “those look like alkali burns to me. I’ve never seen them on bones before, but you should do a litmus test to check either way.”

“So, we rinse it with water?” He asks, seeking instruction from you in a way that makes you feel oddly powerful.

Your eyes widen, “No, no, no. If it’s a metal compound then it’ll be covered in a mineral oil, so rinsing it with water would actually make the burn worse.”

Pausing for a moment, you consider the possibility that Spencer didn’t have the luxury of time – he was trying to solve a murder, not do experiments in a lab.

“Alkali burns can be serious, it all depends on what caused them, and most are helped by rinsing with water. So, unless you have the time to test for metal compounds, I’d go ahead and rinse it. You might want to brush the damage to the bones with a dry brush first. If there’s lime on the bones it’ll foam, which not only will corrode the bones even further but it might release a toxic gas,” you have no idea how the corrosion would interact with bone marrow, but something tell you that you don’t want to know

“Wait a minute,” Derek interjects, being included in the conversation now that Spencer put the call on speaker, “I thought things like alkaline water were good for you.”

You scoff instinctively, “Oh, there’s no definitive evidence that shows alkaline water as having any real health benefits. Especially not the benefits that the internet says it has.” Straightening up in your stool, you continue, “In fact, there is evidence from the NIH that says drinking alkaline water could cause kidney damage. There’s a particular-“

“My bad,” he interjects, effectively stopping your rambling before it really took off, “I forgot whose girlfriend I was talking to.”

Groaning at your new vexation, you huff, “Oh, fuck off, Derek. Go kick down a door.”

Spencer quickly switches the phone back, “Thank you, angel.”

Squinting at the photos that were still on your laptop screen, a crude, disturbing thought came to mind, “You know, sparklers can cause alkali burns. It might be something to consider because of the diameter of the burns.”

Your boyfriend was silent on his end of the call for so long that you had to check and make sure the call hadn't dropped. “Did you say sparklers?”

“Yep,” you confirm, “like the ones you can get everywhere this time of year.”

He says something to Morgan, placing his hand over the receiver so you can’t hear, “There’s only one spot in this town, though. I’ve gotta go, see you soon.”

“Stay safe, please! I prefer your bones unburned,” you rattle off into the phone before it clicks, placing the phone back on the stand and deleting the crime scene photos from your inbox.

The front door to the apartment opens and shuts quietly, with Spencer under the assumption that you already went to bed, he was surprised to find you on the couch, nursing a cup of tea. “Hey, baby,” he chirps, unusually peppy for this time of night.

“Hey,” you say half-heartedly, threading your fingers through the handle of the mug.

Your somber tone gets Spencer’s attention, “What’s wrong?”

The slight panic in his voice causes your eyes to snap up to his, “Nothing,” you murmur. “It’s just… the woman who was in those pictures. There- the burns on her bones, they were signs of torture, weren’t they?”

You’d been thinking about the burns ever since Spencer showed them to you, “Yes,” he answers with a reciprocating softness, sitting down next to you on the couch. “The medical examiner concluded that she was burned antemortem.”

That woman had been burned alive by fireworks, sparklers had seared their way through skin and muscle until it finally met her bones. You blink a few tears from your eyes at the thought, “I like my lab, Spence.”

The confusion on his face was palpable, “I know you do.”

“I like my minimal human interaction and my chemicals, and I like knowing why certain things cause certain reactions. I like it when things make sense.” You take a deep, shaky breath, “Killing someone. Torturing someone with fireworks. That just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You had no interest in hearing the excuses that the killer had provided. You had no interest in hearing the psychological breakdown of that woman’s killer. Spencer knows that, “The photos got to you?”

Taking a sip from your mug, you nod solemnly, “I can’t stop thinking about the way it must have felt. Oh, the smell must have been horrible. That poor woman.” In theory, it was a ridiculous notion, killing someone with fireworks seemed neither probable nor possible. Yet here you are.

“But we got the person who killed her,” Spencer reassures you, resting his hand gently on your knee. “We couldn’t have done it without you,” he adds.

Your face warms at his compliment, “I wish I could have helped before she was killed.” You were grateful that Spencer hadn’t passed on any personal information about the woman, it was easier for you if you kept things in separate storage files in your mind.

Spencer hums, reaching out and sweeping a strand of hair behind your ear, “There’s always going to be another one. I’m sorry about the photos, I should’ve made sure Garcia only sent the necessary ones.”

Nodding absentmindedly, you look at him thoughtfully, “This will pass, but for tonight I just feel bad for the victim.”

“I can have Penelope share some of her favorite baby animal videos, if you’d like,” he offers softly, resting his head on your shoulder.

In return, you give him a small smile, “Well, I suppose it really can’t hurt.”

[eriace]

opposite of indifference ; tsukishima kei

oneshot & angst to fluff ↪ in which tsukishima kei pushes away the girl who quietly loves him, only to realize too late that she stopped showing up. he tries to win y/n back but keeps failing until he finally admits his feelings and slowly earns her forgiveness. ↷ tsukishima kei ; haikyuu

↳ an order of iced water + iced chai latte + frappuccino from anonymous in the comeback cafe event !

(author's note: my first three orders in one?? anyway, i don't really know if you wanted a sad ending or a happy one but you picked a "friends to lovers" troupe so i made it a happy ending. I HONESTLY LOVED WRITING THIS, I'M CRYING)

FROM THE VERY start, Tsukishima knew she liked him.

The way Y/n always waited after practice, pretending it was for Yamaguchi even though her gaze would flick to him. The way she'd hand him snacks she claimed were “extras,” or how she always found excuses to sit by him on the gym benches.

She was loud in the way she cared—always pushing, always trying to squeeze herself into the cracks he barely let others see.

And he hated it.

Not because she was annoying. Not even because she was overbearing.

But because she saw him, and he didn’t know what to do with that.

So he did what he always did—push people away.

He was colder than usual. Snapped at her over nothing. One day, when she showed up with two energy drinks and a stupid smile, he told her bluntly:

“You don’t have to keep showing up, you know. I’m not interested.”

The smile didn’t disappear right away. But it stopped reaching her eyes. And then… she stopped showing up.

No more bright greetings after practice. No more quiet cheers when he scored. No more dumb puns scribbled on sticky notes she left behind.

Silence.

Tsukishima told himself that was good. Easier. Less complicated.

Until he saw her laughing with the captain of the soccer team.

Her head tilted back, cheeks pink with cold, clutching some hot drink he didn’t buy her. He didn’t know the guy’s name. Didn’t care.

He hated him. He didn’t even realize he was glaring until Yamaguchi nudged him.

“You’re sulking.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re literally death-staring someone’s thermos.”

Kageyama, being painfully Kageyama, mumbled, “You liked her, didn’t you?”

“Tch. As if.”

But the words stuck in his throat like splinters.

It started to build slowly after that.

He noticed the little things. How her hair was longer now. How she laughed more freely with other people. How she never so much as looked his way anymore.

He hated that.

So, like an idiot, he tried to fix it.

Phase 1: Offer to walk her to class. Her response? “I’m good, thanks.”

Phase 2: Buy her favorite drink. “You don’t have to do that,” she said, not even looking up.

Phase 3: Ask her to the next match. “I’ve got something else planned.”

Rejection tasted worse than it looked.

“Karma,” Hinata sang one day. “You broke her heart and now she’s breaking yours.”

Even Kuroo, visiting during a practice match, gave him a pitying look. “You’re tall, smart, and decent-looking, and yet somehow this emotionally stunted? Tragic.”

Tsukishima wanted to bury himself six feet under.

But then, one night after practice, he saw her alone on the school rooftop.

The wind tossed her hair gently, and she leaned over the railing, face tilted to the sky. She looked tired. Not sad—just… worn.

For once, he didn’t overthink it.

He walked up slowly, standing beside her, keeping his gaze ahead.

“...I was an idiot,” he said.

She didn’t speak.

“You tried. You cared. And I thought… if I kept you at a distance, I wouldn’t have to care back. But I do.”

She blinked. The wind rustled again.

“You don’t get to come back when it’s convenient, Kei.”

Her voice cracked on his name, and it hurt more than any spike to the face.

But he nodded. “I know. I’m not asking for anything. Just…” he reached into his bag, pulling out the stupid strawberry drink she used to bring him, “I’m trying now. Even if I fail.”

She took the drink, hesitated, then looked up at him—really looked.

Her eyes shimmered in the dark.

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

“I’ll earn it.”

It took time.

He started showing up where she was now. Waited after her club meetings. Left her notes. Cheered her on (awkwardly, stiffly, but still). He fumbled through compliments. Blushed when she teased. Took the hit every time she ignored him, only to try again the next day.

He became the version of Y/n from before. Relentless. Hopeful. Quietly burning.

And slowly, something shifted.

She smiled again. Sat by him at lunch. Talked about her day.

And one rainy afternoon, when he wordlessly handed her his umbrella without a single comment, she took it—then leaned in and whispered, “Finally figured it out, huh?”

Tsukishima flushed red.

“Shut up.”

But she laughed, and this time, it reached her eyes.

—

It wasn’t perfect. It never would be. But when she took his hand during a walk home, fingers lacing through his carefully, as if testing if he’d pull away again—

And he didn’t—

He figured, maybe love was worth being stupid for.

And this time, he wasn’t going to let her go.

© eriace ;; don’t repost my works.

[hanniescookie]

i like you, i'm sorry - ljh

pairing - ljh x f!reader

genre - fluff, alternate au

warnings - kissing, fluff, a tiny bit of angst if you squint but happy ending

summary - jihoon is your classmate and crush since freshman year at music school, but when you get to know what he really thinks about you, you can't help sinking in a heartbreak.

author's note - MY FIRST EVER FIC THAT I'M ONLY A LITTLE PROUD OF??? @jjjjeonww // my love, my wifey, my precious faith, here's my first piece of writing on tumblr for you!! you're the first person who made me feel welcomed on tumblr without even trying, and you know exactly why you're so dear to me, so take this appreciation token and have fun w it 🤍 don't let any XY chromosome dull your spark when uji is here <3

-------------------------**~~**--------------------------

You type away the last bit of your lyrics on your laptop, and then sigh out loud. It's been a hectic day — one that has made you cry. Many assignments were piled up that you barely got done at the last minute, and if that frustration wasn't enough, you were belittled by your very own crush.

Lee Jihoon.

The guy you've liked since freshman year. It never helped that he was never mean to you so like the simple girl you were, you always glorified the bare minimum he provided you with.

If he sat beside you in class because there was no other seat available, you'd take it as a sign. How dumb.

He never really shattered these delusions of yours anyway. He took the ice cream you gave him as an excuse just to speak to him. He answered all your questions about the lessons that you had understood well enough and taught you a little bit of piano too when you asked. He even texted first so many times and responded to your texts really well.

So you had no reason not to feed in your bubble of delusion. Well, not until today.

It was a routine music theory class early in the morning when he sat beside you. You felt butterflies flutter in your belly the longer you stared at him (you tried not to). You were determined to try and talk a little more to him today — at least more than the hi, good morning, how was your day, is this seat available kinda stuff.

However, right after class ended, some of your classmates surrounded him, asking him questions about the lesson. It was a known fact that Jihoon was a genius, and was always praised by the teachers. It felt like he was born to make music. Hence, often times, like today, people came up to him for help.

He wasn't entirely pleased with being cornered like that, but he was still kind enough to help. You sat in your place, watching and listening as the conversations slowly shifted from one topic to another. Jihoon's focus was on the many people in front of him, and his back was facing you now. That should have made you feel ignored, or at least insulted, but it didn't. Not at that time. You were busy listening to his voice as he talked to everyone.

Then those words left his mouth — the ones that have now bled in your lyrics, the ones that made you cry and the ones that made you resent him.

"What do you think about Y/N?"

Somebody had asked him — you can't recall who it was, but definitely one of the girls who never seemed to like you.

Jihoon's response had come with a little laugh — like he was joking. "Oh, she's just an annoying classmate."

You didn't wait to notice if he'd notice you leaving after that. You just left, carrying your bag over your shoulder as tears pricked your otherwise soft eyes.

And now here you are, four hours later, sitting in an empty classroom and staring at the lyrics you penned out of your heartbreak. Well, this will pass too, you tell yourself, pressing save on your document.

"Why are you sorry for liking someone?"

You yelp when you hear a voice directly behind you, turning your head instantly to see Jihoon bent over your shoulder. He stands back with a little smile, pointing towards your screen with his chin. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. The words looked interesting."

Baffled, you turn back to see your now saved document still displayed on the screen. The bold title says, "I like you, I'm sorry."

Your face feels warm suddenly, and the tears you had successfully hidden threaten to come out. You grit your teeth, trying to keep your composure when he sits beside you. "You can't just peek in my work. It can be personal."

He looks at you, a little alarmed at your tone — something he's not used to hearing. His expression turns only a little concerned, almost guilty. You can't catch the emotion exactly. "Is everything alright?"

You try not to, but you snap anyway. "Yeah, no. Nothing is quite alright. You don't get to call me just an annoying classmate and then sit here looking all concerned like I mean something to you."

You watch a flicker of uncertainty cross his features, and he looks surprised if you can gauge correctly. For several seconds, he tries to find words and you wait — really wait like you always have. Maybe it's because you're frustrated, but your patience runs out.

You shut your laptop, and stuff it in your bag, preparing to leave. If leaving is what you do best, so be it.

But Jihoon decides he doesn't want to watch you leave. At least not before he even tries his luck. His fingers close around your wrist, pulling you to sit back beside him. You land a little too close to his face, your knee brushing against his.

It's the closest you've ever been to him, and even though you're genuinely very hurt, your heart betrays you. It beats faster, finding comfort in his beautiful eyes that you fell for.

"Y/N," he speaks, soft and slow, and you feel like melting on the spot. He continues, "I didn't mean it."

"Huh?"

He breathes, closing his eyes for a second before looking back in your confused ones. "I didn't mean what I said. It was just– oh god, I'm stupid. I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to say that."

You wait for him to finish explaining, but he's quiet again, just looking at you through his lashes as if he's confused himself. He shakes his head a little, sighing, before he speaks again.

This time, it's a question. "Do I mean something to you?"

Your breath hitches a little, tongue darting out to swipe across your dry lips in nervousness. Any hurt you'd felt in the morning flies out of the window, and you can only focus on Jihoon and his soft voice, asking you a question so intimate.

You can't help it — your head nods itself once, and you're so glad it does because the way Jihoon smiles is priceless. You'd do anything to keep seeing the sight.

"I'm honoured," he says, smile softening. "And so very guilty for hurting you. I always assumed you probably find me annoying because I deliberately come late just to sit beside you, and I text you and I'm always looking at you. I kind of projected my problem on you. I thought that saying that would make me believe it and you'll hate me anyway."

You stare at him in complete disbelief, blinking owlishly for longer than you should. He's starting to chuckle at his own absurdity. "I didn't know how to deal with how much I like you. I also didn't know you felt the same."

You swallow, feeling warmth flood your face the longer you look at him. Slowly, you move a little away, your eyes traveling back to the desk in an attempt to not be any more flustered. Your heart runs a marathon and you genuinely don't know how to wrap your senses around your current situation.

"Jihoon I—" you begin to speak, but he holds your hand softly, smiling. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

If the sky were to fall on you right now, you'd gladly be buried underneath with a smile on your face. Your lips tilt up, curling into the smile that Jihoon absolutely adores.

And you nod again, this time with more firmness than before. His smile widens, but only enough to keep it soft. His eyes flicker to your lips for a second before he asks, "Can I kiss you then?"

This time, you don't nod. You're way too flustered to do that. You simply lean forward, and capture his lips in a sweet kiss.

Just like that, an empty document in your laptop awaits your new lyrics about your newfound experience — one that's too surreal to feel real.

[allthesmutl0vers]

I’ll hope on the train! Draco x Reader!

Yes!! I love some Draco smut. You didn't specifically request smut or any kind of situation, but I will do my best!🫡

A/N: PSA to everyone sending me requests, please tell me if you want Angst, Smut, or Fluff (Or a mix). Otherwise, I'm just going to assume Smut because it's like 98% of what I write. 🫠🫶

MDNI, NSFW, 18+.

Requests: OPEN

Masterlist

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x F!Reader

Summary: Draco has been your arch-enemy since the first year. He was always running his mouth, calling you 'mud blood' or calling your friends 'blood traitors.' But damn, if he didn't soak your fucking panties at the same time. It was your own personal Hell, and frankly, you were burning. How could he be anything besides cruel? How could you possibly want him and hate him at the same time? It should be a felony how much he can turn you on and piss you off in the same breath.

TW: Angst, Hate Sex, Taunting, Teasing, Smut (P! in V! -you're on birth control), Hair pulling, Choking, Name calling, Cursing, Ends with fluff.

Song Inspo: Click here. (Take me back To Eden: Sleep Token)

"Come on, just bloody admit it," Ginny groans across the train car. "You know he's into you, so what's the holdup?" She asks for the millionth time.

I roll my eyes, annoyed by her constant nagging of the subject, and sigh. "I told you, he's vile. I wouldn't touch him if he was one of the last men on the planet," I try not to snap back at her, but do anyway.

"But he's in our house, and he's hot. Who cares if he's a player?" She asks as she tosses more Bertie Bott's Beans into her mouth. I sigh and look out of the window. How can I possibly explain to her that I'm not interested in Cormac because all I can think of is one particularly vile Slytherin?

"I need some air," I brush off her question as I stand up from my seat. I exit the train car and head to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. The cool water does very little to douse the flames under my skin. "Get your shit together," I mutter to myself in the mirror, gripping the edge of the sink so hard my knuckles turn white.

I sigh and stand up to straighten my tie when the bathroom door opens. Bloody hell, Ginny. I turn to snap at her, but instead, I'm greeted by the one person I swore to myself to avoid at all possible costs. "Great," I huff and roll my eyes.

"Now, is that any way to greet your superior?" Draco quips as his eyes narrow down at me.

I can't help but laugh. "Superior? Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. Now, move," I tell him firmly, clenching my jaw so I don't clench my thighs. Honestly, how could someone this hot be so damn infuriating?

Instead of stepping back, he steps forward, coming into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. "No. Don't think I will," he seethes, looking down at me.

I reach for my wand, only to realize I left it in the cabin. Great. Draco tsks and shakes his head with a smirk. "Forget something?" He quips.

I straighten my back. "No. I don't need a wand to kick your ass. Slytherin trash," I spit back at him with venom lacing my voice.

"Mm," Draco hums in response, taking another step closer. "Give it your best shot, mud blood," he says with a brow raised in curiosity.

I clench my fists, bringing one up and back and throwing it right at his face. Draco catches my fist with no effort at all, enclosing it in his ringed hand. "Nasty are we?" He taunts. "Too bad I was feeling generous today," he quips with a smirk and closes the space between us, his chest flush with mine. My heart pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears, and I pray he can't feel it through our clothes.

"What's wrong, love? Dementor got your tongue?" He teases as my mouth hangs open mike a fish. I mentally kick myself in the ass for it.

"Piss off, Malfoy," I spit back at him. I look at my hand, still encapsulated in his, as he smirks. His tongue dips out to lick his bottom lip, and I hate my traitorous pussy for getting wet as he does it.

Draco chuckles and smiles for just a moment before he presses me against the wall of the bathroom, grabbing my other wrist and pinning both above my head. "I do hate it when we fight. Why don't we call a truce?" He says, looking down at me, his free hand trailing my jaw and gripping my chin, forcing me to look up at him. "Hmm?"

"Thought you didn't fuck mud bloods?" I taunt, instantly wanting to take it back, when I realize I didn't say no. Which doesn't go unnoticed.

Draco's grip on my wrists tightens. "I think I can make an exception just once. I didn't hear you say no," he teases. My thighs clench together, and I fight the whimper that wants to break free from my throat.

"And if I do say no?" I swallow hard.

Draco's jaw ticks, and his eyes narrow down at me. "Then I'd say you're lying," he says, leaning into my ear. "Not just to me, I don't care about that. But lying to yourself, and that's just pathetic," he whispers in my ear, his warm breath a stark contrast from the coolness of his fingertips as they glide down my body to the end of my skirt. "You're a lot of things, love. But I never pegged you as pathetic."

My breath hitches in my chest as his fingers dance around the hem of my skirt, only fueling the fire inside of me. "So. you have two choices," he says firmly as he looks into my eyes. "You can walk out that door," he leans closer, our noses brushing. "Or, you can let me give you the best fucking sex of your life. And maybe we stop hating each other so much."

He releases me, taking a step back as my hands fall to my sides. "You have to the count of three. Otherwise, you surrender the choice to me. One," he starts to count.

God, what am I doing?

"Two," he says in a slightly deeper voice. I should run, I should run, and never look back. I should leave him hanging just as he's left me before.

"Last chance, love," Draco says darkly, starting to undo his tie. It's now or never. I swallow hard, and in the last instant, I decide to let him keep me. For now.

"Three," Draco counts, placing his tie on the counter and pulling out his wand. He does a hurried enchantment, soundproofing the bathroom and locking the door magically before he sets his wand down, too. "You're all mine, now."

I open my mouth to speak but am quickly silenced by Draco's mouth, landing on mine in a fevered kiss. His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer, and I can't stop my hands from draping around his neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

Draco groans into my mouth as I part my lips, allowing his tongue to enter for the first time. Sparks erupt under my skin as he licks the roof of my mouth. My hands run through his hair, pulling the silky stands and breaking our kiss as we gasp. "Merlin, I need you," Draco groans as he grips my thighs, lifting me off of the floor and sitting me down on the bathroom counter.

"I need you too," I moan softly. "God, I hate you so much," I pant as his lips land on my neck, kissing and nipping the sensitive skin behind my ear.

"Hate, love, I really don't see the difference. Nor do I care," Draco pants as he pulls back and reaches under my skirt, pulling my panties down and off. "All I care about is fucking you so hard you can't say anything besides my name," he huffs as he undoes his pants, pulling them down and pumping his cock in his hand.

"Then fucking do it," I taunt him, my wetness practically dripping down my thighs.

A low growl escapes Draco's throat as he pulls me off of the counter and spins me, pushing me so I'm bent over the bathroom counter. "As you wish, love," he teases as he thrusts into me, giving me no time to adjust to his large size.

I gasp as he thrusts into me, white-knuckling the edge of the sink. "Fuck, give me some time to adjust; why don't you?" I spit over my shoulder.

Draco wraps my hair in his hand and yanks my head back to look at me in the mirror. "You fucking love it," he spits back. His free hand lands on my hip with a bruising grip. He pulls back and thrusts into me again with a moan. "Fucking tight. Guess you're not as much of a slut as I thought," he taunts.

Draco slams into me with a bruising force, making my eyes roll back as he pulls my hair tighter. "Draco," I moan, unable to stop myself.

"That's it, love. Scream my name," he moans as his thrusts quicken. "Let me hear how much you love it."

I thrust back onto him, forcing myself to take him deeper. Draco lifts one of my thighs, putting it on the edge of the counter and hitting that sweet, spongy part inside of me. "Fuck, yes!" I moan loudly. "God, Draco, yes!"

"Mm, never heard my name next to 'God,'" he chuckles darkly as his grip on my hip tightens.

I groan and moan at his audacity. "Shut up and fuck me, you fucking snake," I spew with venom.

Draco's hand leaves my hip, reaching around me, and his fingers start to circle my clit in fast circles. "Then cum for a fucking snake," he fires back.

I feel myself clench around him as my orgasm starts to crest. "Fuck, yes! Draco!" I cry out as my eyes close.

Draco's hand leaves my hair to grip my throat. "Open your fucking eyes," he demands. I obey and meet his eyes in the mirror, mascara falling down my cheeks. "Look at how pretty you look. Watch me fucking ruin you."

I keep my eyes locked with his as he repeatedly impales me with his stupid, delicious, devil fucking cock. And my God, is he right. I look beautiful, like an angel after they fell from grace. Draco leans forward, nipping my shoulder as he pulls down the collar of my shirt. He pulls me back by my throat, sucking a hickey onto my neck, right where it's the most visible. "Fucking mine," he growls. "Mine to fuck, mine to ruin, mine."

His words throw me off the edge. The possessiveness, the sucking, the stolen kisses, the brutal way he's fucking me all send me spiraling down to where? I have no idea. All I know is it isn't heaven. "Draco!" I cum with an Earth-shattering cry. Draco thrusts into me once, twice, three more times before he spills himself inside of me, filling me impossibly full as he cums with my name on his lips and his head tilted back.

After we both finally come down from our highs, we clean ourselves up and re-dress. "You're on birth control, right?" Draco asks me, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," I nod. "Don't worry, you won't have any mud-blood kids coming," I bite as I move toward the bathroom door.

Draco stops me, grabbing my arm and turning me to look up at him. "I'm tired of fighting," he admits, taking me aback with his sincerity. "I don't want to fight with you anymore. I just want..." his voice falters.

I bite my lower lip. "You really mean that?" I ask cautiously. Sure, he just plowed me, but how can I know it's not just afterglow?

Draco nods and pulls me closer. "My parents be damned," he sighs. "I just want you. It's always been you."

I nod looking down, unable to believe what I'm hearing from his mouth. Did Hell freeze over when I wasn't paying attention?

Draco tips my head back up to his face with a gentle finger under my chin. "I mean it. Whatever I need to do to prove it to you, I will."

"I suppose an apology to my friends would be a good first step."

Draco nods without hesitation. "Lead the way, love," he says, grabbing his wand and undoing the magic on the door. I exit first, and he actually follows me, taking my hand in his. When we get back to the car I share with Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron, he follows me inside. "Hey, guys," I say nervously as their eyes widen in shock. "Look who came to apologize," I say with a smile as Draco steps into the car with me.

"Bloody fucking hell," Ron grumbles.

"You owe me a galleon," Harry chuckles and nudges Ron.

[xiaq]

Would you ever write a story or book about Kuzy? I need more of himmmm ❤️ one of the few characters I'd read MF for though I feel like if anyone would be chill about finding out he was bi and going with it, it'd be Kuzy lol #yeshomo

@rainbowsandcoconut

I don't currently have any substantive plans for a Kuzy story, but if you want some of my brainworms about him/his eventual romance, here you go:

He lives right next to a firehouse and there's a cute, kickass firewoman (cis, leans androgynous) named Nicole "call me Nic" with whom he has occasional banter-moments (I used to live next to a firehouse and if they were out front they'd always chat with me when I walked the dog; I loved that community dynamic).

One night after a rough game, Kuzy is going for a walk and Nic is sitting out on a lawn chair in front of the house processing a rough call, and they have a moment of shared vulnerability together, looking up at the stars. She's the child of immigrants and they bond over how stupid the English language is. Kuzy tells her about Eli/Hawk and she mentions that she loves dogs but can't have one with her work schedule.

Over the next few days, Kuzy can't stop thinking about her. He wants an excuse to see her more often that doesn't feel creepy, so he goes to the shelter nearby and offers to exercise dogs. Now, he has a perfectly good reason to walk past the firehouse (sometimes multiple times a day!) on the off-chance the firefighters are out and he can politely offer a dog's brief company for Nic's enjoyment.

Except he's not super smooth about it because the rest of the folks at the house realize pretty quickly that the giant Russian walking dogs only happens to walk dogs on the days that Nic is on shift.

Convenient.

This continues for longer than it probably should. Until Kuzy is hosting some of the Hounds and one of the rookies does something stupid. Not sure what. I'm thinking gets his hand stuck in an expensive vase. Or maybe his head. And Kuzy very sheepishly has to walk him over to the firehouse like, "hello, this baby is my responsibility, can you please rescue him?" And they eventually get the thing cut off of his hand/head/whatever but one of Nic's bros pulls Kuzy aside and says, "maybe you should just ask her out instead of coming up with increasingly more creative excuses to talk to her—at this rate someone is going to get hurt" and Kuzy is like, “ok, this was 100% not contrived and while I would like to go out with her, she is a goddess who saves lives and I am but a goofy athlete, undeserving of her attentions," and Firefighter Bro like, "you know, I think she'd settle for you."

So, spurred on by this bit of hope, he's like, "I need to do this right, this can't just be some hookup, I like her." And he starts Operation Woo Nic.

And the whole time Nic is like, "would you just fucking take me home, I would like to bang you," but he's trying so hard to be a gentleman about it that she lets him for a while. She's never been woo'ed before. Might be fun. Eventually she gets fed up and when he's dropping off cookies or whatever on his daily dog-walk she's like, "hey, do you want to be my boyfriend? Yeah? Great. We should have sex about that. My shift ends in three hours, what's your address?"

It is possibly the best day of Kuzy's life.

Anyway. As usual, there's no real plot, just vibes. But he is Smitten. And she is hopelessly endeared. And she's certified as a paramedic, so she's constantly ragging him for his little injuries and keeping him honest about PT. At some point she gets injured in the line of duty and he gets to be suitably dramatic and probably make declarations at her hospital bedside. He dotes on her for a while during her recovery.

And eventually he convinces her to move in with him so she can be close to work and she's like, "yeah? That's the only reason? For the ease of my commute?" And he says, "well that but also because I love you more than I thought was possible and when we're not together I miss you like a limb and our schedules are shit enough as it is, I'm greedy for every second I can have with you," and she's like, "yeah, fair enough."

So. Not really sure how it would end, but uh. There you go! Kuzy and his Firefighter Lady. Also he definitely foster-fails multiple times and hires a full-time nanny to take care of all his and Nic's dogs when she's on shift and he's traveling. It's great.

AND I imagine some very funny cultural confusion moments when her family (Japanese) interacts with his family (Russian) but they all generally bond over their shared love of fermented foods and dumplings. And alcohol. There are hijinks.

Ok. The End!

[mrsshabana]

𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫 ✧ 𝐆𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ꔫ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, canon-ish, fluff ꔫ Note Happy New Year! This is a continuation of the Christmas fic I did. I'll link it below in case you didn't get the chance to read it. ଘ( ˊωˋ )ଓ

:･ﾟ✧ Part one

Ever since your secret admirer gave you that beautiful bracelet Christmas night, you've been communicating with him in secret. Leaving notes outside your doorstep every time you went to bed, and when you'd wake up you'd always find a crinkled-up piece of paper with sloppy handwriting in return.

Gyutaro knows he shouldn't be communicating with you. He knows better than that. But when he read the note that you left for him he just couldn't help it. No one has ever been so sweet to him before, even through writing. The way you went on complimenting him, telling him he's so sweet and kind and how blessed you feel to have someone like him around. It almost felt like a love letter, making Gyutaro's cheeks burn the whole time he read it.

He tries to keep his responses brief but he figured it wouldn't hurt to tell you his name, right? Now you know the name of your suiter. Gyutaro~

You like saying it to yourself. Sometimes calling out to him when you feel like you're being watched. Causing him to sink deep into the shadows, trying to calm down as he gets all flustered.

He's in too deep and he knows it. But is it bad that he doesn't really care?

In your last letter, you asked him to join you for New Year's Eve as you didn't have any plans and would like to spend the evening with him. After a double shift, you finally get home after sundown to read his response.

"Listen, you can't see me. How many times do I have to tell you before you understand? Even though I wish we could... we will never meet. Just accept it Y/N.

You don't need to be hanging around a guy like me anyway. It's for the best.

I hope you have a happy new year,

Love, Gyutaro"

The intent of his words was to push you away for your own safety. That much is clear to you so you don't take it too personally. But, does he take you for some kind of idiot?

"Ha, what are you so afraid of, Gyutaro?" you yell up into the air, knowing that he's around, "Are you afraid that I would reject you because you're a demon?"

As soon as that statement leaves your lips you hear a loud thud behind you. And before you can turn around a large hand is clasped against your mouth and pulling you back against a muscular chest.

"Quiet! How the hell did you know?" he whispers in an inhuman voice, confirming your suspicions. It's raspy and harsh, just like his handwriting.

"Mm mm mm!!" You hum behind his hand, unable to speak.

"Oh... sorry," he mumbles and takes his hand off your mouth. Though he still keeps you held tightly against his body so you can't see his appearance.

"You only write me at night! And no normal person would be able to stalk me like you do. You managed to uproot a whole Christmas tree and sneak it into my home without anyone noticing. Not to mention you said that we should never meet, so I just put the clues together," you can't help but snicker as you hear him huff in frustration.

"You're smarter than I thought you'd be..." he mumbles. Though he can't be surprised. He fell for you for many reasons, and your intelligence was one of them. He just didn't think you'd outsmart him so easily. Or maybe it's because he was careless and let his guard down.

"Gyutaro, I don't care that you're a demon-"

"I'm not just any demon! I'm..." he takes a deep breath to calm down, "I'm ugly. And before you say you like me anyway, I'm uglier than ugly. Worse than anything a mere human could ever imagine."

You don't know what to say. Simply just telling him you don't care about his appearance isn't enough, you know it won't satisfy him. He's been alive for who knows how many years, so he's probably heard it all.

You want to see his face, more than anything. But if it's something he isn't comfortable with then you won't force it on him.

"Fine. Blindfold me then."

"What?" he gasps, "You serious?"

"Yes, I'm completely serious. I want to spend the New Year with you so I'll do it blindfolded if that makes you feel more comfortable," you reach down to lay your hand atop his, conveying your sincerity.

"B-But you won't be able to see the fireworks if-"

"I don't care," you cut him off, "I want to be with you, that's all I care about."

A distorted laugh rumbles out of him, "You got a deal, human."

You're honestly surprised that he agreed. But you know he's serious when he wraps some type of fabric around your eyes. You don't know what it is, maybe some type of scarf or ribbon. But he tightly ties it around your head, then lifts you up into his arms.

"Where are we going?" you ask.

"To watch the fireworks. Er- I guess I'll watch them, you'll just listen to them," he chuckles, finding the situation you've put yourself in quite amusing.

You hear the sound of people walking around and talking within a crowd, but you feel the wind blowing through your hair as Gyutaro moves quickly. Surely he isn't running through the crowd of people? No, they don't sound close enough. He must be above them, carrying you onto the rooftops where the two of you won't be spotted.

You get confirmation when he gently sets you down, as you can feel the slates of the roof beneath you.

"A-Are we on top of a building?" you stutter, feeling slightly afraid especially since you can't see anything.

"Heh, wow you really are smart. I come up here every year to watch the fireworks," he smiles, looking up into the sky as it's filled with colorful lights, "Just relax. I won't let you fall off."

He hesitantly reaches over to take your hand, finding himself more confident without the threat of being seen. This actually feels really nice. For once, Gyutaro feels like he can be normal. Not defined by his unsightly face or grotesque body.

"You know what we usually do at midnight, right?" you whisper, looking up to where you think his face is.

"Uh... what?"

"Kiss," you blush and squeeze his hand.

"O-Oh! I see..." he mutters, gulping audibly.

Gyutaro looks down at one of the city clocks. The time is ticking fast and before he knows it it's already almost midnight.

"Shit, do I have to kiss her? Or maybe I wait for her to kiss me... but she can't see. So how is she supposed to know when it's midnight? Maybe I can just pretend it's not midnight yet..." he thinks to himself.

He wants to kiss you, he really does. Deep down at least. Though he knows he shouldn't. He should see you as nothing more than a meal, but you couldn't be further from that. You mean so much more to him than you know, especially now that he's sitting beside you with his hand intertwined with yours.

He wants to be with you. Wants to receive love for the first time in his life. He knows he isn't cut out for it but would it be so bad if he gave in? Just for tonight?

When the clock strikes midnight Gyutaro's body moves on its own. Chasing the one thing he's craved for his entire life, even though he doesn't deserve it. All of the terrible things he's done, all of the people he's hurt, killed, eaten.

But he just wants to be happy.

Your body jolts in surprise as you feel a pair of strong hands grab your face and pull you forward until your lips collide with Gyutaro's.

It took you by surprise, but you quickly relaxed into the kiss. Savoring the moment you've sought after ever since you found out about him.

Your touch feels so good. So addicting.

He knows there's no going back after this. There's no way in hell he'll be able to go on without having more of you. More of your affection, your attention, and the sweet words that come out of your mouth. He needs it all.

So he takes a leap of faith. Removing your blindfold, knowing that once this kiss ends you'll open your eyes and see his hideous face.

He holds you closer, squeezing his eyes tight and colliding his lips harder with yours. Doing whatever he can to lengthen the kiss and prolong you opening your eyes.

Maybe this was a mistake after all.

But you can't help but giggle into the kiss as he desperately tries to kiss you longer.

He's prolonged it as long as he can, and he finally opens his eyes.

Only to see that yours are already open. And... you're still kissing him.

[barleyo]

Build-A-Bride.

Enji Todoroki X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: i can't stop writing broken enji... he's so depressed and lonely i LOVE it ^_^ isn't he just so dreamy? all downtrodden and sad? anyways this is so half-assed, sorry!

Tags: dub-con, forced/arranged marriage (sort of), age gap, mostly plot tbh (minimal smut), brief mentions of dehumanization, breeding, creampie, p in v, size difference, language barrier

Wordcount: 1.8k

Women don't like divorcés. It's a mark of failure. It brings down one's stock value. Enji's mistakes with Rei were numerous. He knew it was for the best, that he had nothing to fight for when she had the papers mailed to him. Why would he argue with her about it? The kids had all grown up and moved out. Their assets were easily separable. She did not ask for much in the split, and even if she did Enji would have given it up without pushing back. 

He was a man defeated. What point would there be in chasing after Rei again? He did not love her; not truly, at least, and she certainly did not love him. They had been living stagnantly ever since she was released from the hospital. It would be a feat for them to even speak to each other over breakfast. Idle chat about the weather or what their adult children were doing was a rare treat. 

Enji's life had slowed significantly. No children to fill his too-big-for-one-man house and no woman to be kept company by. Work had slowed down. Younger heroes took the top spots, slowly but surely. Even his own son was predicted to soon surpass him. Old timers, or "Golden-Age Heroes", as the media titled them, were losing fame and fortune alike. No longer the hot commodity, old was out, new was in.

He expected it, really. His goal was to be the number one hero, and he was for a while. Was it his dream to remain number one? He didn't have time to think about it before he got knocked down to a measly third place in the ranks. 

He had thrown so much of himself into the hero life. It crossed his mind a few times, it all ending, but he never realized that it would come crashing down so soon. What friends he had, using the term very lightly, were less than helpful in his condition. 

None less so than Hawks, of course. That damned fool.

Keigo had been dragging Enji out to these annoyingly quaint cafés for a while now. He'd force piles of biscotti and scones onto Enji's plate while blabbing on about some new excursion of his or the other, taking up the prime hours of Enji's day in the name of socializing. 

Seldom it was that Enji left the impromptu meet-ups with anything but slight annoyance at best and utter exhaustion at worst. He could hardly pay attention to the meaningless drivel Keigo threw his way. Sometimes it was talk of the current hero ranks, which Enji immediately tuned out. Other times it was about a concert or movie Keigo was going to. 

Lately, though, Keigo had an interest in trying to play matchmaker for Enji. 

"You should really get out there," he said, smug little smile plastered on his cheeky face while he sipped his espresso. "You aren't getting younger."

Enji's response was the same as always, in that he was too busy and too old to be worrying about such things. "I do not have time to woo a woman like a schoolboy. I'm fine where I am," he responded with his arms resting on the café's comparably small table. 

Keigo chuckled, curling his lips upwards. "You can only spend so many nights with your right hand, Endeavor."

"Shut your damned mouth."

"If you won't let me set you up with someone," Keigo said, not taking Enji's gruff tone seriously, as usual, "there is another option."

Enji pressed his mouth closed tightly, eyes narrowing into a judgmental squint. "It had better not be online dating."

Defensive hands flew up. "No, no. You've made that pretty clear, man. I'm talking about getting, like, a mail-order bride or whatever they're called."

"You do realize how much that sounds like human trafficking, right?"

"It does not! They still do it, you know. There are websites and everything." 

Enji sighed and leaned his head back to look up at the ceiling. The idea sounded horrible. God only knew how sketchy something like that would be, and besides, how horrible were the moral implications of that? Some old bastard like himself purchasing a young girl like a farm animal. 

It wasn't completely unheard of. Plenty colleagues of his had foreign brides ordered for them. Even his own cousins had done similar things. Hell, he wasn't far off from trying it out to get the perfect quirk marriage before he found Rei. 

But now? It sounded cruel. Unnecessary. He already resented himself for how he treated his family— he didn't need to ruin the life of some other woman too.

"I am not going to order a wife," he said, voice strained, "like a spare part off of eBay. Do you not see how horrible that would look on me?"

Keigo waved his hand dismissively, unbothered. “It’s not like that. These women are looking for a chance at a better life," he explained before teasingly adding, "just like the lonely men who send for them." 

Enji stared at him, trying to decipher if he was serious. “You really think I'm desperate enough to buy some random woman?"

"Don't think of it like 'buying.' Think of it as rescuing. How will the press feel about that, hm? Imagine the headline: ‘Endeavor, the hero with a heart, saves a foreign damsel in distress by bringing her to Japan to live a new life of riches and mind-blowing sex!'"

"You disgust sometimes, you little brat."

Keigo leaned over the table, teeth flashing briefly as he spoke. "Just think about it, okay? I'll send you some links tonight." He got up and pushed his chair in with his foot. "Besides, I'm tired of being your only friend. These little 'dates' of ours are cutting majorly into my work." 

Keigo had compiled a ridiculously long list of websites and companies that specialized in international marriage deals. He had definitely committed to the bit too much or he had researched this topic heavily before presenting it to Enji via text.

Either way, Enji peered at his cell phone screen in distaste. Link after link, scrolling through the masterlist Hawks compiled, he just felt more unsure of the idea. The names of the sites left a strange feeling in his gut. 

GoldenBride, Rose Brides, Latidate. For fuck's sake, UkraineBride4You dot com? "Legitimate & Cheapest Mail Order Bride Sites! Click here for more!" 

He clicked his phone off. The light from the vibrant ads and taglines disappeared from his face as quickly as they appeared, leaving him in the dark of his bedroom. He didn't speak, he just stayed in his bed, leaning on the headboard in silence. 

He had gotten used to his house being quiet. It was never especially loud, but at least when the kids still lived at home, he could hear the sounds of life. Of Shoto's feet padding through the halls. The sound of Fuyumi's books opening and closing. Natsuo's grumbling under his breath. Proof that he had gotten them all this far— that he had done something right for them. 

No. He couldn't stay this way, living in the dark silence, figuratively and literally. He turned his phone back on and clicked the highlighted link with the least concerning name. 

Well, you were just the perfect little thing, weren't you? Young, pretty, doe-eyed, and sweet. After perusing a website that looked less criminal than he thought it would, Enji decided on you. He had to have you. 

You stood out immediately from the pages of other women. All of them were, of course, gorgeous. They would not be advertised if they weren't. You, though. There was something about you. You were small—Enji liked that—but not frail. Built for carrying children was what you were, he decided, with your soft curves and buxom build. 

Your profile did not give much away. Basic information and a little greeting. It intrigued him enough, so clearly it worked. 

The two of you chatted for a few weeks, if you could call it that. There was little getting to know each other and more plane tickets being purchased and pick up times being arranged. To say that you had him hooked was an understatement, especially considering the only tools you had to connect with him were shitty translations of your language to his from Google and emojis. 

Everything about you read as gentle. Docile. Probably the only personality Enji was equipped to deal with. He would just die if married to a combative woman. His enemies would love to see him nestled up with a loud, abrasive one with a temper to match his own. 

No, you would do quite nicely, with your limited speaking and non-provoking nature. You were the perfect escape, a blank canvas onto which he could project his hopes for a new life onto. He could start a family over again. He could fix his mistakes and move on. Maybe, just maybe, he could forgive himself.

The flood of ideas filled him each time his phone buzzed with your messages, even if they were often short and punctuated by misunderstandings and screwy sentences due to poor translations. He found himself counting the days until your plane would take off to bring you to him, to his home. He had plans for you.

Things moved quickly with your new husband. Just last week your flight landed. Then you were saying "I do," and now he had you bent in positions unimaginable. 

He worked fast. His hands were large and rough, but God, they were efficient. Thick fingers rubbed at your clit. A thicker cock  prodded at your entrance. You wriggled beneath him a bit, eyes widening at the stretch. 

You didn't have the words to tell him you were a virgin, but you didn't have the desire to stop him either. 

"Hold still, you," he said, voice gentle in comparison to how rough his strokes were. "You've got to let it adjust." 

Even if you could understand his words, the heat burning your ears drowned out any sound completely. Fullness filled you everywhere. Like a missing piece you never knew you didn't have. 

"Ah, you still aren't broken in yet for me," he muttered to himself. He watched as your struggles to swallow him into your walls. "Virgin, yeah?"

You mumbled incoherently to yourself, feeling his words cast over your face. More or less, you understood the tone of his words and hummed in agreement, hands playing with your tits absent mindedly. 

Pain tinted moans escaped you. Enji felt good, sure, but a warmth of discomfort passed through you with every inch of him. Your mind told you yes, but your body tried to reject him. He was simply too big, and too much. 

Not that it would stop him. 

He spat on his length to ease the friction. A steady hand stayed over your clit, abusing it to the point of overstimulation. He wanted this to be pleasurable for you, but he had a goal in mind. 

The load or two he had pumped into you earlier wasn't enough. He wouldn't dare give up yet, especially not with the adrenaline rush hearing you whine gave him. 

Besides, your plane ticket was expensive. He planned on getting paid back in spades.

[milktrician]

Hello hello! :D

SQH-SY siblings au for the ask game, please?

I'm pretty sure I wrote this after someone wrote a text post about the idea but idk if I would be able to track that down, or if it existed at all and I'm misremembering. Anyway, I didn't really have a set plot in mind after I wrote this short snippet other than it would be very funny for Shen Yuan to try and actively sabotague Shang Qinghua's efforts to become head disciple of An Ding while looking as innocent as possible. I don't think I'm going to write anymore for this idea as I have other wips I want to focus on but feel free anyone to write out their own interpretation! Anyways, here's what I wrote a few weeks back:

[ Activation code: “Dumbfuck author, dumbfuck novel.” System automatically triggered ]

What? What the fuck is this?

[ Host is in the midst of transmigration! ]

No—what? This is a dream, Airplane’s stupid fucking writing must have made me pass out!

Rrgh! I need to punch the fucker IRL!

[ Host would like to see Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky? ]

YES!

[ Beginning transmigration… ]

What?

“Oh! It’s a boy!”

“W-Wait what? Doctor, didn’t you say it was going to be a girl?”

What the hell?

He feels himself get wrapped within a cloth, and suddenly he's enveloped in warmth. He’s being…held?

Any attempt to move his limbs is caught by the cloth wrapped around him. His tongue presses against toothless gums, and his vision is too blurry to make out anything.

No…

“Haha, well surprises always happen! Did you have a name in mind if you two had another son?”

“Ah, well I suppose we never gave any thought to it. A-Yu, you’re always good at coming up with names with your little stories, how about you name your little brother?”

No…

“You…ah, shouldn’t it be up to you two? Like erm. Tradition or something? Like this is a whole baby I sh-shouldn’t be responsible for the name he’ll be called for the rest of his life!”

A woman then laughs above him, 

“A-Yu, I think I’m much too tired to think right now. You’re a smart boy, any name you come up with I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

He…died. 

Transmigration’s real!?

AND HE’S A BABY!

Oh—whoever this person is, please don’t name him something stupid.

[ Don’t worry Host! This System has you covered! ]

“…Yuan?” Whoever “A-Yu” is, he said that like he wasn’t even sure of it himself! Thank god he still has his old name in this life at least.

“Shang Yuan…I like that.”

System…where have I transmigrated?

[ This System operates in line with the design concept “YOU CAN YOU UP, NO CAN NO BB”; we hope to provide you with the best possible experience. It is our sincere wish that during your time, you can fulfill your desires and, in accordance to your wish, ‘see Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky’ ]

[ Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations! Important things must be said three times! ]

What now?!

[ User has completed his wish! ]

I…did?

[ Entering Limited Sandbox Mode! Feel free to explore within the constraints of the plot! ]

[ We hope you enjoy the world of Proud Immortal Demon Way! ]

WHAT?

“Ah! He’s crying, give him here.”

“Ahh. You’re so cute lil bro! Cutest baby in the whole wide world!”

A-Yu, or Shang Hongyu, is his new older brother in this life and is maybe eight or nine years older than him. He’s apparently very smart for his age, and their parents are already tutoring him to take over their father’s business.

He hears his older brother sniffle,

“Too bad you’ll probably never see me again in a few years.” he says, “I’ve gotta head to Cang Qiong and make my way up An Ding in the next few years.”

Hold on a second.

His older brother holds him tight against his chest, and from here he can feel his breath shudder.

“I’ve never had a sibling by blood before.”

He’s brought to his sibling’s bed and his brother lays next to him lazily.

“Just a few more years and you guys won’t have to see me again.” his brother says to noone, “They’re…surprisingly good parents, didi. Once they don’t have me to worry about, they can spoil you as much as you want.”

Geez, what kind of weird complex do you have?

Though. Shang surely is a common surname right? Lots of Shangs to go to An Ding!

System where in the timeline are we?

[ System is currently in maintenance for future updates! ]

Fine. He’ll figure it out his own way!

His own chubby fingers are able to grab onto his brother’s robe.

“Gege.” He says, to the best of his ability with his shitty little baby mouth.

He doesn’t expect his brother to burst out crying and start to hug him tight.

[pluckyredhead]

didn’t that ship already sail before Jason died tho? With the diplomats son and really the entire Starlin 🏃‍♂️

So I'm going to answer this, but before I do, I want to note that this is kind of derailing from my original point. I don't meant this to be a gotcha or anything because I know I do it myself all the time, but my argument was that "Jason was a bad kid" stories are boring and narratively stagnant, and in that vein it...kind of doesn't matter what canon does or doesn't say? I think we take refuge in "canon says this" or "canon says that" because we want to be objectively right, whereas "bad kid Jason stories are boring" is an aesthetic assessment and therefore subjective. Maybe someone out there loves "bad kid becomes bad adult" and finds it riveting.

Ultimately, despite being a huge nerd who loves continuity, I think a good story is more important than canon accuracy. Of course, ideally you have both, but also...takes on characters shift over the decades, and I have been trying to catch myself in those moments when I push my little metaphorical glasses up my nose and say "Well actually if you look at this comic from 1987, you'll find that..." So this is me, catching myself!

That said, I am absolutely going to talk about comics from 1987 now. Anyway the short answer is: yes and no.

(God that was an annoying response. I'm so sorry I'm like this. In my defense, I've been thinking about this ask all day.)

Anyway. The thing is, the way DC writes Robin!Jason now, they really only take a very small number of stories into account. Some writers are just looking at A Death in the Family; others might also acknowledge Jason's post-Crisis origin and/or the Felipe Garzonas story. A lot of them seem to be relying solely on distant memories of those stories, or osmosis; they certainly aren't doing a close reading of the text.

There's also a game of telephone that happens: from the instant Tim first showed up, DC started writing Jason as Fundamentally Unfit To Be Robin. See, if Bruce gets a child killed and then immediately enlists another one, he's irredeemable. But if Jason's death was due to some fundamental flaw in his own nature, a flaw that Tim does not possess, then Jason's death isn't Bruce's fault, and we can keep having Robin. It's really fascinating reading early Tim comics and watching this retcon play out in real time. (And particularly interesting because Tim is so specifically designed to be Just Like You, Tween Boy Reading This!) And that idea has really metastasized over the years when it's not super present in Jason's actual appearances.

So in a way, yes, the ship has sailed, because it doesn't actually matter what Jason was really like - it matters what the people writing and editing today's comics think he was like. And this is what they're basing that characterization on.

On the other hand...this is an ongoing universe, so no ship has truly sailed. When I got into comics, the saying was that "no one stays dead in comics except Jason Todd and Bucky Barnes." You see how well that worked out. Things change.

All it takes is one really good writer looking thoughtfully at Jason's time as Robin and realizing that even Starlin didn't write Jason the way people remember him. Like, in Death in the Family? Jason is not benched because he's too violent. Bruce is mad that he's reckless, but in the opening scene he literally thinks that he'll "let Jason work his aggression out" on the guys they're fighting (who, for the record, are child pornographers, so it's not like Jason is beating up relatively harmless muggers). That is not the reaction of someone who thinks Jason is out of control. In Jason's origin, Jason is angry because Two-Face killed his father - again, a very reasonable thing to be angry about! - but even though he's extremely upset and also only 12 years old, he makes the decision not to kill Two-Face. Again, not the actions of someone who is out of control. (And for the record, how many times has Dick nearly killed Tony Zucco?) And the Felipe Garzonas story is supposed to be ambiguous. We don't know that Jason killed him! (I mean, I think he did, but technically we don't know.)

All it takes is one really good writer recognizing that this handful of stories is a very small percentage of Jason's appearances, most of which were not necessarily retconned out by Crisis except for the ones that were directly contradicted by later stories. Yes, Jason's parents being circus acrobats who were eaten by crocodiles is no longer canon, but that doesn't mean Jason wanting to be in the school play or doing extra credit for fun isn't canon.

All it takes is one really good writer recognizing that at the same time that Starlin was writing his reckless, surly Jason in Batman, Mike Barr and Alan Davis had the sweetest little bean of a boy making Batman '66-style puns and ordering milk in bars in Detective Comics.

All it takes is one really good writer recognizing that most 15-year-olds are surly and reckless, and that's not a reason to condemn them.

I don't know if we'll ever get a writer who does any of that, but there's plenty of material for them to draw from if we do. And at least it wouldn't be the same story we keep getting over and over again, which was my original complaint.

So...here's hoping!

[ivy-loves-chocolate]

Texting them “I need you right now”

Note: hi everyone! So sorry for not posting in months, life wasn't easy on me. I managed to sort things out (hopefully they will stay organised this time, or else I'm starting a new life in Spain), and I plan to write more. I'm also taking commissions again (the financial situation it's not good, so every commission would help me a lot!). Anyway, I haven't written anything since January, so please be kind with me.

He won't see your text right away because he's a busy man. After he has some free time, he checks his phone and immediately opens the chat with you, ignoring everyone else.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"I just don't feel okay. Can you come over?"

The text is demanding, and he knows something is wrong with you, so he tries to finish faster whatever he had planned for that day, which he fails because he is constantly thinking about you. So, he dropped everything and came to you. 

Wesker is a man of his word, so he arrives on time.

"Have you been crying, my love?" he asked as he saw that your eyes were all red and your face was swollen.

"Yeah...petty reason." 

"If it was petty, you wouldn't have called me."

You wasted no time and threw yourself in his arms, sinking into his embrace and burring your face into his chest.

Being busy all the time, you barely see him. Maybe once a month nowadays, and this long wait only contributed to your sadness. You yearned to talk with someone like him because he made you feel safe. You knew he was listening, and you knew he didn't judge. Also, he would comfort you with small kisses and gentle touches and would praise you for being strong.

He moved you to your sofa, made your favourite tea, and listened carefully as you talked about your worries and recent unfortunate events.

During that time, he received a lot of calls and texts, but he turned his phone on silent because his main priority was you.

He hugged you tight, telling you that he'd always be there for you, no matter what. One hand would gently massage your hair, and the other would massage your back. It hurt him so damn much to see you like this and hear you sob in his arms. He wanted to hurt everyone who caused you to end up like this, and he was very vocal about his intentions.

"You can't protect me from the world, Albert. All you can do is be here for me when I need it."

He didn't like your response or agree with your opinion, but for now, he kept you tight to his chest.

He usually stays until you feel better, and then he leaves to do his work. He will be worried all day because you're still on his mind, so he checks on you frequently, promising to take you on a small trip to calm your mind.

The government agent is always busy. He's either stuck in his office completing paperwork, training new recruits, or on a mission on the other side of the globe.

He wasn't away on the field, so when he saw your text, he immediately responded. Even if he was busy doing desk duty or fighting, he would try to respond asap (he will hide in a corner if he had to, if that means he'll get five minutes of peace to text you back because he knows how worried you can get). 

"What's wrong, doll?"

"I don't feel well. Can you come over?"

A pretty demanding text means an urgent need, so he left early, abandoning everything he had scheduled for today. That annoyed some of his superiors, but he got away without much trouble.

Leon tried his best to arrive on time. He was being pressured by time and worry; he drove like a maniac to your place on his motorcycle, but he stopped to buy your favorite sweets.

"I bought you something good," he said, smiling in the doorframe and opening the bag to show the inside. However, his smile dropped. 

"Have you been crying?" he asked, quickly cupping your face and caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. Your face was flushed and very warm to the touch, and your eyes were swollen and teary.

"Yeah...petty reason."

"You don't cry like that for a petty reason," he said as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. You quickly hugged him and burried your nose at the crook of his neck. He hugged you back tight, a trail of kisses caressing your skin, starting from your neck to your face.

He guided you to the bed, where he listened to you and held you tight. His fingers kept brushing over your face, and his lips would occasionally press tiny, affectionate kisses over your skin. His body was glued to yours, and the warmth from such an intimate embrace made you feel safe. You felt safe not only to express your emotions, but you also felt sheltered from the rest of the world.

"You are not alone," he whispered as his hand caressed your back in a gentle manner. "I told you, no matter how hard it gets, we'll find a way to get through it together." 

He usually stays until he makes sure you feel better. After that, he texts you the whole day, asking how you feel because he can't ease his own anxiety. He promised to take you on a vacation.

He noticed your text right away, but he's stuck with his research and can't reply instantly. He will text you back as soon as he can.

"What's wrong, mi bella princesa?"

"I just don't feel okay. Can you come over?"

With much difficulty and a lot of excuses, he manages to leave his laboratory and come to your place.

Upon seeing your red and watery eyes, he quickly came inside and cupped your face.

"Have you been crying?" he asked, worried, his fingers brushing over your warm, red cheeks.

"yeah...petty reasons." You tried your best to smile.

"Querida, you don't cry like that because of petty reasons." He gently kissed your forehead.

He pulled closer to him, and you quickly hugged him, buring your face into his chest. Luis kept kissing you and whispering kind words to help you feel better.

"Just talk to me, ok? There isn't anything in this world that we can't get through."

Despite the firm grip around your body, he managed to caress you with tenderness. His strokes were as delicate as a feather, and every soft kiss felt warm and loving. 

He was so kind and gentle, and his attitude only made you more vulnerable, so you started crying again.

"Please, my love, don't cry. It breaks my heart to see you like this." He whispered.

He guided you to the bed and cuddled with you. His arms were wrapped around your body, and his nose was buried in your hair.

"Is there anything I can do to make it all go away?" He said, hand stroking your back. 

"No, just hold me like this."

It breaks his heart to see you like that, so he kept thinking about making you feel better.

"How about you and I go for a walk?" He said this as his fingers ran through your smooth hair. "Or we can stay here and cuddle; watch that movie you like. I can make something to eat, and we can relax."

"It sounds good," you said, your smile making a shy return. "I'm sorry if I freaked you out."

"it's fine." He pressed a lingering kiss on your cheek. "You know I'm always here for you."

"I know, and I appreciate that." You caressed his face, your fingers exploring every inch, going through his fluffly hair over his beard and over his lips. You two were looking at each other with the same enamoured gaze as in the beginning.

"We can spend some time tomorrow if you want," he added, being enchanted by the shared intimate moment, feeling drawn in by your presence, and wanting to spend more time with you.

"What about work?" you asked.

"Don't worry, as much as I hate it, I will find the lab in the same place I left it today."

Your light chuckle made him feel a little better. Whenever you are sad, he feels his heart shatter into tiny pieces. You mean the world to him, and he'd do anything to protect you.

He was training the new recruits when his phone buzzed in his pocket. After a quick glance, he gave the men a five-minute break so he could respond to you. Jack blames himself for not giving you proper attention since he is always on the field, so when he can, he drops everything and focuses on you entirely.

"What's wrong, beautiful?"

"I don't feel well. Can you come over?"

His subordinates were thrilled to find out that they had the rest of the day off.

He is a punctual man, so he arrives on time and not a minute late, holding a bag with your favourite snacks.

He tried to hide his worry behind a comforting smile. He quickly noticed your puffy face and teary eyes.

"Have you been crying?" he asked in a low tone, coming closer to you. He cups your face and brings you closer to him, pressing small, gentle kisses all over your face. His tenderness was endearing, so much so that warm tears began to drip down your cheeks again.

"It's just...petty reasons." You said it with a trembling voice.

"Bullshit."

He pulled you closer to his chest and held you tight. His hands were stroking your back, his head pressed to yours. His much larger frame swallowed you whole, seeming as if you had disappeared completely.

You felt safe in his arms. It was so warm and comforting, and not only his embrace made you feel this way, but also his reassuring words that he'd whisper constantly.

He carried you to the bed, and as he was sitting close to you, he brushed his fingers over your check and listened closely to what you had to say. It broke his heart to see you like this, and he couldn’t stop asking himself if, if he were there more often for you, you would still end up like this. This type of question tormented him, and you could feel that.

“I’m sorry, maybe it’s a lot too dump on you.” You said this as you caressed his face, your fingers trailing over his scars.

“No, not at all, love.” He took your hand and placed a lingering kiss in your palm. “I just wish I was there for you more often.”

“Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. The important thing is that you’re here now, and that means a lot to me."

You felt his lips kissing you softly once your head was pressed against his chest. 

He still feels guilty, but it doesn't press over his shoulder as hard anymore. He promised to spend more time with you.

[myfictionaldreams]

request: nyx x female reader where they’re matted but don’t know it and reader visits him at the illyrian camps and she gets hurt and nyx loses it

Don't Touch // Adult!Nyx (ACoTaR) x Fem!Reader

A/N: I can't even thank you enough, anon, for this request! I've been desperate to write something like this (especially including my sweet love Nyx; I have an entire headcanon/long-form story of him already, oops). Thank you for requesting! To you or anything else, please request more SJM fics, I am adoring writing them.

Warning: there is a description of visibly seeing the colour of bruising on the skin. Also, intense emotions and responses to situations due to the mating bond.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst, minor injuries, possessive behaviour/sex, obsessive behaviour, over-the-top reaction (or just right depends how you like your partners), threats of violence, aggression, rough sex, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, size kink, intense emotions/sex, sex until passing out :)

Words: 6.3k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

"I've never seen you like this before, Mor" You observe your friend closely as the beautiful blonde woman checks her reflection in the glass of a passing shop.

Morrigan paused, where she was currently trying to perfect her already stunning hair. Trying not to baulk from the intense, fiery stare that turned your way as she raised a single well-groomed eyebrow and attempted to sound as unconcerned as possible, "I don't know what you're referring to. I'm acting completely and utterly sane".

Linking an arm with your friend, you both continued to walk as you sarcastically agreed, "Oh yes, of course. Except that was the tenth time you've stopped to stare at your reflection and tried to fix your already pristine hair, Morrigan".

Mor rolled her brown eyes playfully, moving closer as a brisk wind brushed over the two of you. "You already know I'm vain; why is it such an issue if I want to stare at myself?" she asked, leading in the direction the two of you were walking.

"I didn't say there was an issue. I'm just pointing out that we're heading towards a certain someone's shop, and she's going to love how you look no matter what". Mor hid her face for once, but you could still see the rosy colour deepening in her cheeks.

She quickly recovered by lifting her head and flicking the blonde strands behind her shoulders. "You're one to talk. I've seen you searching over your shoulder 50 times now. Wouldn't it be because of a certain family member of mine, would it?"

There was no hiding the grin that spread across your face as your pulse quickened ever so slightly. "Nyx doesn't even know that I'm in Windhaven. I might not even see him; I'm not here for him."

"Who says I was talking about Nyx? I'm pretty sure Feyre and Rhys are here too", she laughs as you shove your shoulder into hers playfully. As you both calm down, Mor's expression turns more serious. She glances at you, "I'm surprised he hasn't sensed you're here yet. I also don't necessarily think he'll welcome you with open arms; he's attempted to shield you from this side of his life. As hard as we are trying to change the cultures and traditions of the Illyrians, most of them are still unpleasant to be around, especially if you happen to be a female, wings or not."

"You didn't have to bring me here, you know".

"Yes, well, don't make me regret it. Stay nice and close to me, and anyway", Mor paused as she paused outside Emeries shop. "I needed an excuse to come here", she admitted with as much sheepishness as Morrigan would ever allow another person to see.

You couldn't help but grin as you squealed, "Ha! I knew it!"

The bell dinged above the shop door as you followed the blonde through the door. The answer, welcomed by Emerie by the counter, "There you both are! Welcome to Windhaven, stay away from the males, and please have a lovely time", she beams, walking around the counter towards Mor.

Glancing around to give both women a private moment, you admired her shop and eyed some of the winter clothing that would be perfect for the cold weather approaching Velaris in a few months. As you ran your fingers over the lining of a beautiful coat and casually suggested over your shoulder, "If you want, I can watch the shop if you two happen to find your way upstairs. Didn't you say you have some new socks in the back room?"

"Oh yes, thank you for the reminder!" Emerie played with your antics and took Mor's hand, dragging her into the back. Smiling at seeing their happiness, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to the man whom you'd been searching for from the second of landing in Windhaven.

You and Nyx had been friends since childhood. You'd spotted a young boy flying over the Sidra, mesmerised by the freeness of his movements, not watching where you were walking, tripped and scratched your knee on the pavement. Having watched it all from the sky, Nyx landed beside you and helped you home. He hadn't laughed like the other children; he'd shown compassion and kindness.

The son of the High Lord and Lady quickly became one of your closest friends, spending every waking hour possible together when you weren't in lessons or he was in training. Along the way, lines became blurred, and you were infatuated with one another. The relationship was intense, to say the least, and the two of you often joked about being mates, but no sign of the bond had occurred yet.

Not that this mattered to you. You were thoroughly and obsessively in love with Nyx, and he was with you. In fact, his obsession and possessive behaviour were renowned throughout Velaris. Every occupant knew that you were Nyx's; if a single hair on your head was out of place, he would bring all of the power of the Night Court down on them. It was extreme at first, but in truth, you were not much of a fighter, so being able to walk around Velaris with the reputation of belonging to Nyx was a relief.

Now, however, it had been weeks since you saw him as he'd been training with the other Illyrians, and even though he used his daemati skills to talk mind to mind with you or he left intimate little notes throughout your home, it couldn't ease the ache in your chest. So when Mor mentioned visiting Emerie's shop in Windhaven, you jumped at the opportunity to see, hoping you'd run into him, even if he didn't want you near the camps.

Lost in your thoughts of black hair and vibrant blue eyes, you'd not noticed that someone had entered the shop until a male growled from behind you, "Where is she?"

Jumping and turning on the spot, you looked the Illyrian over from the golden-brown skin covered in the darkest black tattoos that stretched up his neck and over the sides of his shaved head, leaving a tuft of hair down the centre. His membranous wings were widely spread as he stood in a defensive stance, fists tightly clenched at his side and armour creased from lack of care.

"Who?" you asked innocently, facing him fully and trying not to let his anger intimidate you even though you could already smell the sourness of your anxiety and fear in the air. The stranger walks forward, the tips of his wings knocking into a collection of hats, all toppled to the floor. "Watch where you're walking!"

The male stops a step away, tilting his head and frowning with even more vigour, "What did you just say to me?" As he took another step forward, you matched his step with one backwards until you were pressed against the wall with him towering over you.

"Just - Just watch it, ok? You're knocking over the display" You pointed to the knocked-over items, but he didn't take his eyes off of you, searching over your body until your skin crawled with discomfort.

"Wherever that thief is, give her this", he shoves the letter that had been screwed up in his meaty hands into your chest. You gasp out loud at the pain that rips through your shoulder, knowing it is going to bruise, and you have to look away to hide the tears that had formed as you grasp the letter and watch him leave.

It was only as the bell rang as the male exited that Emerie and Mor rushed into the room with a dagger in hand as they rushed to your side. If it wasn't for the shock and pain in your shoulder, you would have commented and jested how they both looked flustered with dishevelled hair and swollen lips, but this was the last thing on your mind now.

"Who was just here? Why do you smell of fear?" Mor asked as she rested a hand on your arm, looking at you furiously with concern.

"I don't know his name, but he gave me this for you, Emerie." You held out the letter, ignoring how your fingers trembled as she accepted it with a roll of her eyes.

"His name is Prumlos. He works closely with my uncle, and they believe they have rights to my shop. No matter how often I tell them, they keep coming back. Unlucky for me, he trains here in Windhaven and often brings new threatening letters from my extended family. He's a really brute", she pauses as she eyes you closely, "are you ok? Did he harm you in any way?"

Swallowing the thick lump formed in your throat, you attempt to compose yourself, not wishing to seem weak in front of these two strong females. Maybe you'd been sheltered too much throughout your life, but you didn't want to be emotionally broken just because one arrogant male was rude to you, even if your shoulder throbbed terribly.

"He just gave me the letter", you managed to spit out, not looking either female in the eye.

"Bullshit. I can still smell your fear; what did he do?" Mor demanded, stepping closer.

"Nothing! I mean, he was just an arrogant male and just wanted to scare me. I'm fine, really. But could we go, please? Sorry, I know we've only just arrived. Maybe I can wait for you in the High Lord's mother's home, Mor? I just need to be shown the way". You held your breath, waiting for Mor to answer, hoping she didn't try to question you further, but thankfully, she agreed.

"I'm sorry you've been shaken up; I hope it hasn't deterred you from coming to visit me every so often," Emerie smiled gently while holding your hand.

Thanking her, you and Mor left the store and began walking down the street. "Are you sure you're ok? I can see you're still shaken up; talk to me, Little star", Mor asks a couple of silent minutes later and hearing the nickname the inner circle had named you from a child finally brought a smile to your face.

But then Mor tried to link her arm through yours, and you couldn't help but flinch as the movement caused the pain in your shoulder to worsen. Mor noticed and stopped abruptly, turning you towards her, "He did hurt you, didn't he? Tell me so I can go and deal with him".

"No! Please, Mor, can we just go? You know I hate violence".

"Do you want me to go and find Nyx?" she asked, lowering her voice.

"No!" you say urgently, looking up at her with wide eyes, "Please don't, you know how he'd react. I just want to go to Rhys' mother's home and forget about the day. I'll speak to Nyx another time".

With great reluctance, Mor nods, and the two of you continue the walk back to the home. Once inside and next to the fire, you could finally stop and relax, especially as Mor offered you a hefty glass of wine to help your nerves.

After half an hour of sipping away at the absurdly expensive win, shoes off and feet tucked beneath you, Mor suddenly sat up further in her seat with a smile, informing you, "You're about to be a very happy female".

You're confused by her statement, but then you feel it: the connection in your heart is strengthening, like the missing piece to you was suddenly warming and filling in. The front door opened, and Feyre and Rhys walked in first, followed by Cassian and Nyx.

You're half aware of Cassian's joyful greeting: "Ah, Little star! You've finally come to join the camps. We'll have you trained in no time".

You stand quickly, eyes only on Nyx as he stands in the doorway, not breathing as he stares only at you. One second, you're near the table, and the next, you're running full speed towards him, sliding across the wooden floor with your socks, not that you care as you're suddenly in his arms.

The pain had diminished the second you were reunited with him. All you cared about was breathing him in, the relaxing scents of spice and lavender, the strength of his arms as they wrapped around your waist, keeping you up off of your feet that had tucked around his hips. Your fingers clenched into curling hair at the nape of his neck, not caring that it was sweaty from where he'd been training. He could be covered in mud, and you would have jumped into his arms with as much enthusiasm.

The others in the room pretended to look busy as he continued to hold you, his face moving into the nape of his neck, and he took a deep breath, breathing in your scents. Nyx's voice was like dark silk, wrapping around you entirely as he said, "I knew you were here. I mean, I thought I was losing my mind; an hour ago, the tightness in my chest eased".

You couldn't help but giggle, kissing his cheek, "That was me; I arrived about an hour ago". Pulling back in his arms, the back of your fingers caressed against his cheek, admiring the light stubble that had grown since you'd last seen him. "I like this", you admire.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his thumbs stroking circles from where he still held up your body.

"I came to see my best friend, of course", you claimed, watching his handsome features as his smile grew to a grin, the dimple in his cheek deepening beneath your thumb. "Yes, I came to see my best friend Emerie", you joked as Nyx rolled his crystal blue eyes before moving his face back to nuzzle against your jaw.

"I've missed you", he mumbles, not caring that you both had an audience and your heart clenched tighter at the need in his voice.

"I've missed you too, more than you could ever know".

"If you two aren't mates, I'll eat my trousers", Cassian quips sarcastically over the rim of his glass of wine. Mor slaps his arm for interrupting as you're lowered back to the floor by Nyx, but you still lean on the tip of your toes, pushing your chest against his to remain close.

Admiring the passionate way Nyx is searching your face, you turn to grin as Cass is over your shoulder when the sudden deathly shift in the air has you freezing. The faelights casting a golden glow across the house dimmed as the room became cold, the fire extinguishing in a single breath.

Your head spins as you turn back to Nyx, who is staring at the opening of your shirt beneath your neck.

"What's that mark?" Nyx asked, his voice a terrifying tone you'd only heard on a handful of occasions. Instinctively, you were stepping back, but his gentle hand grabbed yours, keeping you close. You can sense his family moving closer, and Nyx doesn't wait for you to answer his question. He carefully releases your hand and pushes aside the material of your blouse until your shoulder is exposed.

Glancing down, you could see now that where Prumlos had shoved the letter into your shoulder earlier had now formed a deep purple bruise. Nyx leans forward, sniffs your skin, and his spine instantly stiffens.

"Who did that to you?" he asks, voice thick with venom and anger.

You're unable to give him an answer as Mor is suddenly by your side, holding open your shirt to stare at the injury as she gasps, "I asked if he hurt you!"

"He?!" Nyx growls, looking between Mor and you.

Attempting to take a step away from both of them, you try and calm the energy, sensing it is escalating to a level that could not be returned from. It wasn't that Nyx was scaring you; it was quite the opposite, as his protection made you feel safe; you were just frightened that he would do something he couldn't undo and start a war within the camps.

"I'm fine; it doesn't even hurt anymore" you tried to reason, but that only made Nyx breathe heavily out of his nose as he turned to Mor.

"Who did this? Give me his name. Tell me right now, Morrigan!"

Thankfully, Mor didn't answer immediately and glanced at you from the corner of your eye, knowing that you didn't want to cause a fuss, so she didn't respond immediately, which only frustrated Nyx more in his crusade for revenge. "This is why you shouldn't have bought her here! I told you on multiple occasions that it wasn't safe!"

"Nyx, you need to take a breath; maybe you and your father should go outside and release some of that energy" Feyre tried to reason with him, stepping closer, but it was useless; Nyx was like a boiling pot of deathly anger. Shadows pulsed and darkened around him, travelling up the length of his muscular arms and around his neck. Rhys and Cassian finally began to step forward, moving into a warrior stance between Mor, Feyre and Nyx, even attempting to urge you behind them, but there was no way you were being forced away from Nyx.

Stepping toe to toe with him, your fingers moved back to cradling his face, forcing his now icey eyes onto you, and for a fraction of a second, he seemed calmer. "Nyx, please listen to me, I'm fine. Everything is ok, it was just-"

You were unable to finish your sentence because his knees buckled, and he audibly gulped down air as all signs of anger and pain disappeared from his eyes and tears lined the edges. "Nyx?"

"Mate", he whispers in awe, leaning his forehead against yours as his arms come around your waist, holding you delicately.

You could feel it, too, like an elastic band was tied around your heart, strengthening with each passing second. "I can feel it too"," you confirmed with glee, tears beginning to fill your eyes with the sudden realisation of what was happening. You and Nyx were mates. The Cauldron had blessed you both; even after waiting what felt like a lifeline for the bond to confirm itself, you both knew it had only been a matter of time. The relief was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before.

"Finally!" Cassian cheered, loosening his warrior stance to return to his glass of wine, raising it towards where you and Nyx stood in the entryway. "Welcome to the family, Little Star!"

You grin up tearfully towards Nyx, who in turn returns the joy, but that all disappears as the anger and rage return full force as he growls, "Someone hurt my mate". Moving away from you, he faces Mor and demands, "Tell me his name, Mor, I know you know it. Don't make me find it out".

Morrigan shifts, rolling her shoulders back as she looks down at Nyx, which is an incredible feat considering the fact that he is considerably taller than her. "Are you threatening me, Nyx??

"He hurt my mate!" he bellows at her, but she doesn't so much as flinch as she shifts her gaze to you, looking like she's contemplating a hundred thoughts at once. Then, without looking away, she confirms the man's name.

"Prumlos".

Nyx vanishes before you have time to stop him, and seconds pass before the ground trembles and shakes the home's foundation. 

"No! I didn't want violence! Why did you tell him, Mor?!" you gawped at the blond, who didn't look remotely sorry.

As Rhysand grabs Cassian and winnows away, Mor steps closer with Feyre at her side. "I told him because we protect our own. Not only has he hurt you, but he's also threatening Emerie; he deserves what's coming to him. In fact, I shouldn't have faltered with telling Nyx, that is my only regret".

You feel defeated and stare at your feet with a thousand thoughts dizzying your mind. Was Nyx ok? Was he hurt? When would he come back? He was your mate. Nyx was YOUR mate.

A pair of brown leather boots entered your vision as Feyre stepped close, wrapping an arm carefully over your not-injured shoulder as she directed you towards the table, kissing your cheek as she moved, "Welcome to the family, properly that is. You've always been one of us, Little Star. Now, why don't you take a seat and I'll see if we have any healing ointments remaining in the cupboards".

Thankfully, Feyre had found a purple ointment that had already worked enough that the pain in your shoulder was considerably less, and the colour of the bruising was now a subtle yellow. Nibbling nervously on the corner of your thumb as you awaited your mate's return, it finally dawned on you. "Wait, how am I supposed to do this? Aren't mates supposed to have a ceremony or something?"

"There can be a ceremony where you offer Nyx some food; we can organise it once we return to Velaris if you'd like? Or if you'd rather not wait, you could offer him food whenever you'd like", Feyre explained warmly with a gentle smile that matched Nyx's.

"I don't think I want to wait. We've all known we would be mates, and waiting for this bond has been slow, so I don't want to wait to accept his bond.

"Why don't you go and have a look in the kitchen? There might be something here", Mor encouraged with a nod towards the back of the house.

You scoured the kitchen cupboards for any sort of food, but with the house having not been in proper use for years, there was nothing except some stale bread on the kitchen table with suspicious-looking green mould on the edges. Even after ripping away the discoloured sections of the bread, you still eyed it with uncertainty.

Stepping out of the kitchen and returning to the dining area, you were surprised to find that Mor and Feyre had gone, and Nyx now stood calmly in the centre of the room, his eyes watching your every breath.

"Where did everyone go?" you ask, trying to fill the thick tension with some noise.

Nyx smiled, not enough to show his dimple but enough to have your shoulders dropping with ease as he stated, "I don't care where they've gone, as long as you remain". Those blazing eyes lowered to your hands as he sucked in a powerful breath as he looked at the stale bread that you were still holding.

As he took several steps forward, you couldn't help but ask, "What did you do to him?"

"What he deserved". There wasn't a speck of blood on his leathery uniform. "What are you doing with that bread?" he asked in a low voice.

You're unsure why you're so nervous when you answer, "Oh, um. It was meant to be for you. I can't find anything else for the mating bond, but it's stale and has mould over it. Maybe I can find a little shop here to find some proper food and serve that to you- NYX!"

Closing the gap between you, he takes the bread out of your hands and, without taking his eyes off of yours, begins to chew the bread that was so clearly dry and stale as he chewed for considerably longer than he should have.

As he finally swallows, you're reaching up for him, resting your hands on his chest and feeling the racing of his heart beneath your palms. "You're my mate", you breathe in awe, forgetting everything that had happened that day and only focusing on the man before you.

"I am. I'm yours, and you're mine", he states with as much wonderment as you felt in your soul.

Grinning up at him, you remind him, "Forever. You're mine forever". The tension beneath your fingers eases as he takes a steadying breath, and then his eyes lower to the edges of your blouse.

You watch with bated breath as he checks the mostly healed bruise. "I'm sorry if I frightened you earlier".

"Nyx, you could never frighten me, " you reassure and tip a finger beneath his chin so that he has to look at your face, not the injury.

"I've always wanted to keep you safe. Seeing that bruise on you today, I was ready to destroy the world to find out who harmed you".

"I know". You watch as he nuzzles into your palm, kissing the centre as you try to lighten the mood, "You're very intense, you know that, right" you say with a light laugh.

Nyx grins, that precious dimple capturing your attention. "I'm more than intense; I'm obsessed. I've been obsessed for years, and now, there's no escaping me" he chuckles as his hand cups around the backs of your thighs and lifts you up, your arms and legs wrapping around his firm body.

"I thought it was just me with the obsession", you retort whilst curling your fingers into his hair once more. Leaning your forehead against him, you both just breathe the other in, eyes closed and hearing the hearts beating as one.

"There hasn't been a second since you entered my life where I haven't wanted you to be by my side. I think I always knew, even when we were children. And now, you're mine".

"Officially", you joke with a giggle, squeezing your arms and legs more firmly around him.

"Officially, my mate", he agrees and then sighs, balancing your weight on one arm so that he could move aside your blouse and kiss the lightening bruise. "I don't want you to come back here again if you can help it. I don't trust these males".

"That's fine with me. I don't particularly want to return, no matter how lovely Emerie's shop is. I don't know how you can stand to be here, let alone train with them", you agreed wholeheartedly.

"You deserve to be in nice and happy places like Velaris, and I can deal with dreadful places like this. It's in my blood, after all". Nyx took a moment to admire your beauty before he stepped forward and winnowed the two of you into his bedroom in the River House in Velaris. "Finally back where we both belong. Now, you're wearing too many clothing articles".

"Wait, don't you have training?" you ask in confusion.

"Not anymore. They'll have to come here and fight me to drag me back to that shit hole tonight. I have other plans now anyway". As he finished talking, he gently eased you onto the navy silk sheets of his bed, resting his arm next to your head as he looked down at you.

You giggle as his hair falls into his face. Reaching up, you pushed the dark curls back to see him grinning at you with just as much glee. "Mmm, I love that sound", he admires before lowering his face to the junction of your neck, his lips pressing against the sensitive area, causing a shiver to burst over your skin.

"What sound?" you ask in a daze.

"You laughing. Your happiness. It's the best sound in the world", he groans as his lips travel up the slope of your neck before teasing your earlobe.

"You're being extra soppy today, Nyx", you say halfheartedly, secretly loving how open he was with his emotions.

However, the man above you freezes, his mouth next to your ear as he asks, "Say that again".

You know exactly which word he wanted you to repeat as you sigh happily, close your eyes and say, "Nyx".

He moans deeply, his hips rutting into the bed with a thrust as a shiver shakes his large frame. "Again," he asks as he lowers his hands to palm your breasts through your blouse.

It was your turn to sigh before whispering, "Nyx".

He lowers his body, kissing down your sternum as he unbuttons the material, exposing your bra and soft skin to him. Your fingers continue to weave through his hair, subtly scratching against his scalp as he doesn't stop on his journey lower. Next, he removes your jeans and socks until all that remains is your underwear.

He appeared to be a man possessed as he stared at you beneath him, biting your lip in need. With an easy snap of his fingers, he tore through the centre of your bra and pushed the useless straps off of your shoulders and down your arms and then repeated the tearing with your underwear.

Nyx utterly admired every inch of your body, his eyes full of emotions and desires. He seemed conflicted, though, unsure whether to spend his sweet time kissing and tasting every inch of your body. Still, as you spread your legs and directed him where you truly wanted him, he growled lowly, lowering his body until he kneeled next to the bed, arms wrapped around your thighs and feasted between your legs.

"Nyx!" you cried out, eyes closing and back arching from the stimulation.

The two of you had been intimate for years, both losing your virginities together and exploring each other's bodies; you knew one another better than yourselves. Nyx liked to show this off as he perfectly flicked his tongue and held you firmly with his hands; you were begging in a matter of seconds. The man bringing you closer and closer to the edge chuckled as he felt you tremble with restraint, knowing he was only doing enough to keep you on the very brink, loving the desperate little cries you released until it was all too much, and you cried out, "Please! Nyx!"

Sucking on your clit was all that he needed to do to have you spiralling into euphoric bliss. Your thighs trembled as they squeezed around his head, but he would happily be suffocated between your legs, so let the warmth of the press into his cheeks until you'd calmed down enough to relax the muscles.

Breathlessly, you looked down your body to where he was grinning, kissing the top of your pubis before licking his shiny lips.

"You're wearing too many clothes". The armour he was wearing vanished in a flicker of magic. Sitting up on the bed, your hands wound around his toned shoulders,  feeling the muscle ripple and move beneath as you tugged him closer and kissed him with all the desperation you could muster.

Both of you were moving with such urgency that your emotions were overwhelmed, tears spilling down your cheeks as you cried out the words, "Mine!" repeatedly. You'd heard of the frenzy after a mating bond is accepted, but you never anticipated it to feel this chaotic. You needed every single inch of him, wanted to taste his body, feel the warmth of his skin, and hear the moans from between his lips. There was too much to do, and your brain was engulfed with the need to do everything simultaneously.

Gripping onto his arms, you pulled Nyx so that he was now the one lying in the centre of the bed as you moved to straddle over his waist. With your lips still desperately moving together, tongue caressing and deepening into each other's mouths, your hands finally grasped around the thick, veiny length of your mate.

During any other intimate moment, you would have admired the sheer size of him or the beautiful sensation of him throbbing between your fingers, but right now, all you were desperate to do was give him pleasure.

Squeezing your fingers more firmly around the shaft, you moved up and down, using your thumb to smear the precum over the head. He shivered at the touch, his abs tightening and flexing as he groaned in pleasure.

"Need to be inside of you", he pleaded against your lips. You didn't need to tell twice as you roused high on your knees and direct the tip of his cock towards your drenched hole. You only gave yourself a second to adjust to the sheer size of him before you were rotating your hips and beginning to rock back and forth with increasing speed.

Nyx's arms wrapped around your spine, reaching to grasp onto the back of your shoulder so he had a good foundation to hold and fuck his hips up in time to meet yours. The firmness of his strokes had you seeing stars with how deep he felt. You were utterly consumed by Nyx.

The two of you were fucking each other with such a bruising pace that all you could do was dig your nails into his chest and ride him like your life depended on it. It was only a matter of minutes until you were coming, squeezing your walls tightly around his cock until he, too, was tipping his head back and grunting your name with his own pleasure.

You all but collapsed on top of his chest, greedily sucking in air that smelled entirely of him, and you couldn't get enough. It seemed he couldn't for you either as you continued to feel his hardness within you, not softening even after his orgasm.

Before long, with your face still plastered to his sweaty chest, your hips began to roll, his cock nudging deep inside of you.

"I can't fucking get enough of you", you gasp as he throbbed within you.

Nyx rolled the two of you over, so now he was on top, your legs repositioned so that they were against his shoulders, and you were all but bent in half, the angle meaning he could fuck even deeper.

"Yes! Nyx, please don't stop!" you scream, reaching over his shoulders and stroking the sensitive membrane of his wings, watching them flare behind his back.

"Say it", he begs, his eyes glazed whilst looking down at you.

"Nyx!"

"Yes! Say you're mine!"

"I'm yours!" Nyx moves harder, his hand slipping down your legs until his thumb could circle your clit.

"That's right", he grunts between thrusts, "And I'm yours. Forever".

You orgasm so hard you're sure you black out for a couple of seconds because, in the next breath, Nyx is beside you, spooning himself around you, kissing along your collarbones and stroking his palm down your stomach.

"I didn't go too hard on you, did I?" he asks with a rough voice.

You smile softly whilst reaching up to scratch your nails behind his ear, tucking the curls behind his pointed ears, careful not to snag the strands on the multiple silver hoops in his ear. "Not at all, I loved every second".

Nyx grinned, and the starlight that usually glowed in his eyes returned for the first time that day, and he was finally at ease.

"I can't believe you ate that stale bread", you say, laughing at the memory.

"I would have eaten the mould too if you'd given it to me. Whatever food you gave me, I would have accepted it with need in my heart". Those perfect lips of his began to kiss across your cheek and down your throat; however, now that the madness of needing to have sex with him had calmed for a moment, you could actually look him over properly, and that's when you noticed the doting of bruises over his arms and chest, all in different stages of healing.

You tense and ask urgently, "Were these from him? Earlier in the day, I mean?"

Nyx moves away from kissing your throat to look at what you're referring to, shaking his head and casually explaining, "No, they're from training. That asshole didn't have time to make a move against me before I-". You'd lost the ability to hear anything further as a fire burned so thoroughly throughout your soul that it momentarily stole your breath. Red burning anger pulsed in your soul, unlike anything you'd ever experienced.

Before a coherent thought could drift through your mind, you're pushing away from Nyx and climbing out of bed on unsteady legs. Needing to half crawl on the floor before righting your posture, you marched towards his bedroom door.

"Woah, Little Star", Nyx is suddenly in front of you, blocking your exit as he holds his hands up.

You try and push past him, but he just carefully eases you away from the door, "Let me past!" you shout in frustration, trying to wiggle past him.

"I don't think so", he responds gently and calmly.

"Nyx, let me out of this house!" You don't get far through as he moves to press your body against the wooden door.

"And what exactly do you think you're going to do?"

Baring your teeth at him over your shoulder, you continued trying to get out of his hold. "I'll kill everyone who harmed you!"

"Oh really?" Nnyx says lightheartedly and with a slight chortle. "You'll kill them? Miss' I despise violence'?"

You turn around so that you're chest to chest with Nyx, looking up at his with eyes so full of fury he actually bulked and softened his laughter. "Whoever hurt you doesn't deserve to live! They hurt you. My mate. MY MATE. They won't live to see the night!"

Nyx wasn't sure how to calm you down, having never seen you with such anger pulsing through your veins before, but he did what he thought was best: distract you. His fingers clutched desperately into your hair as his mouth pressed against yours firmly enough to cause bruises.

You fight and push against him at first, but then thoughts of anger and pain dissolve into lust and need as you're once more desperately grabbing him. Tearing your mouth away, you kiss down his throat, tasting the salty spice of his natural scent.

"These feelings, they will pass", Nyx reassures as he closes his eyes, thoughts entirely on your mouth as you close your lips around his nipple, biting the sensitive bud.

"So you get to have revenge on someone that wrong me, but I don't get to do the same for you?" you ask whilst looking up at him through your lashes, your nails scratching down his abs before grabbing his once more hardening cock.

He releases another long breath, trying to keep his composure as he thrusts into your palm. "I'm saying that I've had a lifetime of training, and taking care of one pathetic asshole was light work. The mating bond is the intense anger you're feeling, protecting my pride. Everything is so new and fresh, but it will pass Little Star. You'll understand that these bruises were all part of my training in a couple of hours. Everyone has similar marks, making the training brutal and volatile. So this feeling, it will pass. Anyway, you are not leaving this room naked with my cum still dripping down my thighs".

You're finally beginning to relax as your harsh touches soften until you're gently cupping his shaft and looking up at him sheepishly, "I thought you would have liked it if everyone got to see who I belonged to?"

Turning on the spot, you rested your hot cheek against the cool wood of the door and began to grind your arse against his cock, "Mmm, don't tempt me", he growls against the side of your face as he moves closer, bending his knees so he could position his cock into your cunt.

Nyx proceeds to fuck you so hard against the door that it begins to crack down the centre. But neither of you stopped for hours. Not until you were both thoroughly exhausted that neither could stand.

"I love you," he whispers against your lips as you teeter on unconsciousness's edge.

"I love you too", you tiredly say back, eyes drooping, and the darkness of sleep welcomed you into its abyss.

[aealzx]

Manic knew he was adopted- duh. His dad was a bug. Far as he knew, Farrell picked him up off the streets– Farrell held the underworld to standards and stealing kids wasn’t allowed. Someone had supposedly shown up with a kid in the market and Farrell had stepped in. He didn’t really know the details and he hadn’t really wanted to ask.  Underground Reunion Tour CH 2

I'm spoiled and Happ told me a few things about when Farrell picked up Manic, which got me thinking back on this mention in the fic, and I fixated and ended up drawing and writing a fan blurb for thoughts about it.

One extra drawing before the blurb, because Happ said he'd take Manic to Margo for help

And now the writing, partially motivated by Sonic and Tails mentioning they want to talk to Farrell in CH3:

“You want to talk to Farrell?” the old badger repeated, staring down at the kid in front of him with his only remaining eye before giving a mirthless harumph laugh. “Best give up on that idea kiddy. No one talks to Farrell. Not on their terms anyway.”

“Then how does he work?” Sonic pressed, not too put off by once again being told to give up on trying to contact the king of thieves. “It’s hard to believe the person who’s known to be ‘the guy who can get you anything’ does so without talking to any of his clients.”

“And yet that’s just what he does,” the badger chuckled again. “You’ve heard how it works. Just submit your request, and if he’s interested then it’ll be fulfilled. If you’re lucky you won’t even see the guy.”

“Sure. This guy that’s starting to seem like someone everyone just made up to mess with people,” Sonic huffed, rolling his eyes despite his smile never fading. “C’mon. Just give me a hint and I’ll leave you alone about it.”

That earned a slight squint from the badger, eyeing Sonic over as he weighed his choices. Eventually he ended up sighing, and leaned over the barrel between them, resting his weight on his elbows. “Look kid. There’s only two ways anyone talks to Farrell. The one you’d prefer is for him to take a real keen interest in the job you have for him. And from where you came from I doubt you have that.”

That part was at least proving to be true. No matter how many requests they sent to the hidden operator they never seemed to get a response. “And the other?” Sonic prodded, figuring he may as well gather what intel he could.

“You make him angry,” the badger huffed easily enough. “But if you manage that you better hope your will is all in order. Ain’t nobody survived having pissed off the king of thieves. There’s a reason no one ever wants to see him out and about anymore.”

“And yet you’ve seen him.”

The badger paused, narrowing his eye once again. This was a smart lad to have caught on to that.

“Care to add a little story to our transaction?” Sonic prodded, pulling out another roll of bills and resting it on the barrel.

The badger eyed the money, weighed his options again, and deemed it worth his while. “Yeah I seen him,” he admitted, lowering his head and voice. “Got right up in front of him. Dang well wish I hadn’t either.”

“...I’m listening,” Sonic encouraged.

“...I’m sure you’ve heard there are certain things that even this market won’t touch, yeah? A kind of living thing?”

Sonic nodded, well aware of the black market’s unexpected policy about children being off limits.

“Well, a good chunk of years ago some moron showed up with one. Tiny little thing in a basket. Not sure what he wanted, but he’d barely started squawking before Farrell was there, taking care of it….”

—---

If there was one sound that set the entire market on edge even more than the bustle of the police, it was the sound of a child crying. No one knew where this newcomer came from, squawking about an untapped market full of riches while he all but ignored the infant crying in his hands. Everyone gave him a wide berth, not wanting to risk being even considered an accomplice when the inevitable happened.

This time it came as spindly fingers wrapping fully around the man’s throat from behind, a small knife pinching under his chin as the king of thieves loomed behind him. Somehow an even more suffocating deathly hush fell over the market. The man’s wheezed gasp drowned out by the baby’s crying.

Yet Farrell’s voice almost echoed in the stillness.

“Return the child to the basket. Gently.”

A small prick of the blade warned the man not to try anything. So he complied. Shakily resting the infant back in the well made basket he had been brought there in.

When the man’s hands rose to show they were empty, Farrell’s gaze flicked up to the badger standing frozen in his run down shop doorway, trying to pretend he didn’t see anything.

“Take the child inside and wait.”

Farrell’s next command wasn’t to be ignored either. The badger scrambled to comply, forcing his hands to be steady as he picked the basket up with the utmost care and backed up into his enclosure.

Not a second after the curtain fell the badger heard something heavy being hefted, the sound of a body colliding against stone, and a scream of pain. The badger all but held his breath, standing rooted at the half broken entrance, listening to the man give all the wrong answers.

“I DUNNO MAN! I DIDN’T PAY ATTENTION- SOMEONE JUST LEFT IT IN THE OPEN-”

Another scream.

The badger couldn’t hear Farrell’s words.

Not that he wanted to hear the conversation.

Especially since it quickly shifted into nothing more than frantic begging and more screams.

The badger wasn’t sure what possessed him, but he’d started bobbing the basket gently some time during this. As though his subconscious convinced him to try to calm the baby as some attempt to buy his own safety. If he was kind to the child then maybe Farrell’s anger wouldn’t carry over to him as well.

He didn’t notice Farrell approaching; the huge scarab suddenly standing in front of him with an unreadable expression.

“Hand them here.”

Another command that the badger was inclined to obey. Only hesitating when he noticed the spatter of red over the one ordering him.

“....Sir, you have a spot of blood…”

The badger wasn’t sure how he managed to speak at all, let alone with any manner of steadiness. But after glancing down Farrell merely sliced the dirtied part of his scarf off and tucked it away.

There was nothing stopping the badger from holding the basket with the nested child out to Farrell now. Barely keeping from sagging to his knees when the minimal weight left his arms.

As Farrell left the badger watched him lift the baby in one hand, raising him up against his chest, hidden behind his collar. Somehow the baby’s cries calmed, leaving the market in a stressed silence as Farrell vanished as easily as he’d appeared.

—---

“....Never seen the guy since. And I count myself lucky for that,” the badger concluded, plucking the roll of bills off the barrel and tucking it away.

“And the kid?” Sonic prodded.

“Dunno. Not my business. As far as I’m concerned Farrell took care of them, and that’s all that matters,” the badger deflected with a shrug, nudging the bag of trade goods over to his client. “Now scram. You’ve already overstayed your welcome as it is, little scrap.”

[stellar-haikyuu]

love language ☆ ennoshita chikara x reader

synopsis: the team gets together to celebrate captain ennoshita's birthday. initially, you worry about your gift, but quickly find that it's the best decision you've made. details: fluff | friends to lovers | getting together | gift-giving and words of affirmation | ~2.5k words | gn third-year manager!reader | captain!ennoshita | requested by @ennoshitas-princess as part of my karasuno writing event

The winter is relentless at this time of year, you think to yourself as you speed-walk to the Sakanoshita store, tucking your hands into your pockets. Christmas day has just passed, and today is Ennoshita’s birthday. 

The Karasuno members, including the former upperclassmen, have gathered to celebrate their captain’s birthday. What started as a birthday get-together has taken on an extra layer of excitement: Karasuno is on the road to Spring High Nationals once again.

The team’s beloved convenience store comes into view, and you can already hear the chaotic chatter from outside. Sakanoshita was like a third home to you now, the second being the school gym.

As you slide the door open, the warmth embraces you immediately—the warmth of the store and the members.

"Hey! You’re just in time!” Nishinoya yells excitedly at your arrival.

“In time for what?”

"Coach is about to serve the newly steamed pork buns.”

"Ooh! Will there be curry buns?" You lift your eyebrows.

"Of course,” a familiar voice joins in. You turn to see Ennoshita grinning at you gently. “I reminded Coach to add some because they’re your favorite.”

"And Kageyama's always looking for it," Coach Ukai suddenly appears to your right, holding a large plate of steaming buns.

“That’s true,” You respond, moving out of the way. In the process, you bump into someone behind you.

“Ah, sorry- Oh my goodness, Suga-san!”

"Hi! Doing good?" He asks you, opening his arms for a hug that you quickly reciprocate.

"Yes!" You tell him excitedly. "I miss having you around. How's college treating you?"

"Hmm. Lots of general subjects for now, so it's like high school with lots more work." He pauses to think. "But, we'll go observe some elementary classes after break, so I'm looking forward to that."

"Aw, that's great! You'll be such a great teacher. You have experience wrangling the kids, anyway," you gesture to the gathered members.

Suga looks at them with a fond look on his face. Suddenly, he snickers, so you follow his gaze. Lo and behold, Kageyama is closely eyeing the curry buns, waiting for the others to start eating. But it seems that the others have noticed this too.

"Oi, Kageyama, we're here for Ennoshita-san's birthday. We're not just here to eat."

"Hinata! Dumbass! Of course I know that!"

Everyone laughs loudly at the exchange, minus Tsukishima, Kageyama, and the first-years who were failing to hold their giggles in. 

"Hah, just like old times." Suga catches his breath. "Ah, by the way…" he looks at you with a knowing smile before leaning in.

"Ennoshita really asked Coach to prepare extra pork curry buns for you. I’m pretty sure he made it clear that he’d kill anyone who takes them." He whispers in your ear.

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You press your lips together in a thin line to think, but then Suga starts wiggling his eyebrows.

"What do you want me to do with that information, Suga-san?"

"Nothing!" He says with a playful lilt in his voice. "Just dig in, I think that'll make him happy."

"Mm." You hum in response before moving forward to reach for a pork curry bun. With a bunch of huge, ravenous boys surrounding the table, this simple task gets complicated.

After a few attempts of trying to find an opening and failing miserably, you chuckle at your predicament. Is this what Yachi feels like at training camp barbeques?

But there’s a light tap on your shoulder, and you turn back to face Suga- oh.

“Here,” Ennoshita holds out a steamed pork curry bun to you.

“Thanks.” The bun warms your hands a little, but you’re sure the rest of your body is heating up for other reasons.

"You're welcome.” Ennoshita’s calm voice fills your ears, but it does nothing to steady your heart. 

Moments later, there's a sound of the door opening. Kinoshita and Narita make their way in, and they huddle around Ennoshita.

You take that as your cue to return to your spot next to Suga. You can sense that he's dying to ask a question, perhaps the one that you’ve been asking yourself for the past two weeks.

"Spit it out before your eyebrows fall off," you tell him before taking a bite of your bun. This makes him giggle, but he quickly composes himself.

"So, what did you end up getting him?" He says in a hushed tone.

You open the zipper on your sling bag and pull the present out a little bit, making sure no one else sees it.

Suga tilts his head.

"It's- well…I followed your advice to be sincere," you explain. There are a few moments of silence before he responds.

"Well, I won't question it. I trust you had a good reason for your choice. You're one of those people who knows exactly what's in their heart and mind."

"I hope you're right." You inhale deeply, zipping your bag closed.

"I think I usually am." He winks and grins at her. "Now, go be social! I'll go interview the freshmen." He nudges you towards the other members.

"Yes, mother." You roll your eyes playfully.

"Hmmm, you're filling in that role nicely now," he teases, before making his way over to the group of first years.

"Speaking of birthday gifts, let's give them to our dear captain!" Nishinoya declares.

"Ah! Already?" Ennoshita widens his eyes. You look outside to see the sky painted a deep orange.

"Yeah, Asahi-san's gotta leave soon," Nishinoya pouts. "He has one last weekend class and a big project, right?"

Asahi sighs and nods, but Ennoshita reassures him. "It's alright. There will be more chances to see each other again."

"Let's sing Ennoshita-san happy birthday!" Tanaka declares.

The store is immediately filled with a chorus of mismatched tones, which causes Ennoshita to put his head in his hands.

"Geez, no wonder we're called crows." Coach Ukai shakes his head as he starts clearing dirty plates and cups.

Laughter erupts, and as the others start setting their gifts on the table, you can’t help but feel nervous about yours.

You spent all night second-guessing yourself. You even left your morning open for a last-minute trip to the store, just in case. But thanks to the cold weather, you overslept. Now, all you can do is hope Ennoshita likes what you got him.

You believe it’s a meaningful gift, but compared to the neatly wrapped packages and fancy boxes, yours sticks out like a sore thumb.

Luckily, no one seems to notice that you haven’t placed anything on the table yet-

"You okay? You kind of spaced out there." Ennoshita’s voice is gentle, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. When did he get up from his seat?

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m good." You meet his concerned gaze.

"Glad to hear that." He glances at the growing pile of gifts. "Still can't believe there's this much." He starts counting, and your stomach twists in panic.

"I, uh... is it okay if I give you my gift later? I mean, you’ll need help carrying all of this home, right? I could give it to you then?"

His eyebrows lift at your sudden rambling. "Yeah, that's fine. Are you sure you're okay? You got kinda tongue-tied for a second there."

"Yes. Sorry, my thoughts just got a little disorganized."

He doesn’t press further, but as you say your goodbyes to the others, you can still feel his eyes on you—like he’s silently trying to figure you out.

One by one, the remaining members trickle out of the store.

"Okay, kids, go home before it gets too dark," Coach Ukai calls. 

He hands you and Ennoshita two spare boxes for the gifts. Tanaka, Nishinoya, Kinoshita, and Narita offer to help carry them until you reach the point where your paths diverge.

"See you guys soon!" you call out. Their goodbyes fade into the evening air, and soon enough, it's just you and Ennoshita.

"Good thing these aren’t too heavy," he comments. "You okay with yours?"

"Yup. Don't forget how many bags I carry as a manager," you joke.

"Ah. That’s fair." He chuckles, then hesitates. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"Now that it's just us… I wanted to ask if something was bothering you earlier?"

"Oh, well..."

"Is it about my gift?" His voice is careful. "You seemed pretty nervous."

"Ah, I just... didn’t want the others to see what it was."

That definitely catches his interest.

"Oh?"

You hesitate before admitting, "I wasn’t able to wrap it."

He falls silent, and for a moment, all you hear is the crunch of snow beneath your boots.

"Well, whatever it is, I’ll appreciate it," he says at last.

"I figured you’d say that. You’re the kind of person who believes it’s the thought that counts." "You're not wrong," he chuckles.

At this point, you pass your house, meaning his is only a few blocks away.

"Hah. But even then, I really wanted to make it special somehow."

"Special?"

"Yeah. I couldn't decide what to get you. I wracked my brain over it."

"I see. Gosh, is my overthinking that contagious?"

You both break into a fit of giggles as you round the final corner to his house.

"But seriously," Ennoshita says, pushing open his front gate and making space for you to set your box down. "I’d appreciate anything from you."

As he puts his box down next to yours, you take his gift out of your sling bag and hide it behind your back.

His smile softens. "Is that what I think it is? C’mon, don’t hide it anymore."

He holds his hands out in front, and with a quick exhale, you hand it to him. 

His eyebrows furrow in confusion as he recognizes the Campus notebook design.

"Wait, isn't this your volleyball notebook?"

"Well, it was," you admit, laughing nervously. "Not anymore. You'll see what I mean."

You watch his reaction as he reads through the first few pages. It's mostly set numbers and score tallies, even some success percentages of the freak quick duo's new moves. 

There are some rotation notes too, but after that, the content changes entirely. You know when Ennoshita realizes it, because a small gasp escapes his mouth.

If there's one thing you know Ennoshita struggles with as captain, it's the constant doubt that makes him think he isn't enough.

You think back to Karasuno’s match against Wakutani Minami last year, when Ennoshita stepped in to replace Daichi. That was the first time you truly saw him—not just as a player, but as a leader.

After the match, you had asked Narita and Kinoshita where he was so you could congratulate him. That’s how you found yourself waiting outside the bathroom.

His red-rimmed eyes were immediately burned into your memory, and you didn’t think twice before engulfing him in an embrace. At the time, you didn’t understand why he trembled so much, but you didn’t pester him until he was ready to talk.

After accepting his position as the new captain, he seemed to be doing a little better, but you knew another breakdown was inevitable. “Not as good as Daichi” is what he told you after Karasuno lost to Date Tech in the Interhigh finals a few months ago.

Everyone has reminded him, again and again, that he isn’t meant to be a carbon copy of the former captain. Karasuno hasn’t even had a practice match with Date Tech in a long while; the Iron Wall has immensely improved their blocking capabilities in just a few months.

Still, Ennoshita carries the weight of those losses. He pushes forward, keeping the team’s motivation high, but you know that the dark thoughts linger in his mind, preying on him in moments of vulnerability.

So, you came up with an idea, a way to provide proof that Ennoshita is worthy and capable.

That’s exactly what you’ve given him today.

"You..." Ennoshita's voice shakes. "How- when did you-" 

He flips through the pages, back and forth, almost like he can't believe his eyes.

"Today, Ennoshita executed a great dig that helped his team win the set." He reads out loud. 

“Today, Ennoshita offered to help me even if he was clearly carrying more than I did. I’m thankful for his willingness to help others.

“Today, Ennoshita boosted team morale with a simple but sincere speech. His words mean more than he knows.

“Today, Ennoshita saved me from another stray volleyball. I cannot believe this keeps happening to me, but thank goodness he’s always there to protect me.

“Today, Ennoshita did his best to comfort the team after losing to Date Tech. He blames himself for the loss, but I hope he knows that the team truly doesn't believe it's his fault. I wish he could be kinder to himself.

“Today, the second-years told me that Ennoshita was a reliable captain. I agreed with them.”

“Today, Ennoshita…” He trails off, continuing to read the rest in silence. 

Gradually, you hear shaky breaths escape him as he gets closer to the end.

“Oh, what the-” You hear him getting a little choked up as he mutters softly. There are a few more seconds before he closes the notebook and stares at you in sheer disbelief. 

“What on Earth made you think I wouldn’t like this? You- no one's ever, I-" His hands fly to his face and his shoulders shake. “Sorry-”

“Don’t apologize.” You embrace him again; it feels almost natural how well you fit together. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“I like it,” he mumbles into your shoulder, voice thick with emotion. “I like you.”

It takes you a few moments before you register his confession.

You watch the small bits of snow falling around you before gathering the courage to tell him what’s on your mind.

“I like you too, Ennoshita.” You respond, lightly stroking his hair, tears starting to form in your eyes as well.

And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you can breathe. The words that have been caged inside your chest, restrained by fear and hesitation, have finally broken free.

You wonder why it took you this long in the first place. 

After that night, everything changes.

You no longer wait for birthdays to tell Ennoshita beautiful things. You tell him whenever you feel it—what you think, what you love about him, the little things that make you smile.

Sometimes, he scoffs, playfully embarrassed, but you notice the way his ears turn pink. Other times, he just shakes his head with a small, grateful smile.

And when you aren’t there to say it yourself, you find other ways. Sticky notes on his notebooks. Text messages sent before bed. Handwritten letters slipped into his bag, waiting to be found.

You never stop reminding him—because you know how easy it is for doubt to creep back in, how the weight of expectations can make even the strongest person feel small.

One way or another, you always find a way to get your heartfelt words across. That’s your love language, after all.

masterlist