#and besides it's good to listen to something different every once in a while

[marxchxoxo]

TROUBLE

pairing • Carlos Sainz (pre-Williams) x fem!reader (situation-ship to relationship)

sypnosis • Reader is all fire and fury in the middle of a rainy race weekend, but Carlos Sainz is patient and impossibly steady. He’s not supposed to fall for her, but he’s already waiting with an umbrella and a reason.

request • ‘Hi can I request carlos sainz ff with ferrari staff reader’

You were pretty sure the universe had something against you, it was the third race in a row where the weather turned on you right before practice. Which meant: wet banners, angry PR heads, and you, soaked and swearing in three different languages while trying to keep Ferrari’s garage from looking like a crime scene.

This time, it was the sponsor logos. A whole delivery of them, printed crooked. Visibly crooked. You had one coffee in your hand, a radio in the other, and a death threat locked and loaded in your throat when you turned around and walked straight into someone.

Carlos.

Of course it was Carlos.

“You good?” he asked, voice warm, posture annoyingly relaxed as if he hadn’t just witnessed you verbally annihilating a logistics tech ten seconds earlier. You blinked at him, then stepped back before you could breathe in too much of that impossible smell—soap, leather, a little motor oil, and something expensive you’d never admit you liked.

“Oh my god—do you sneak up on people for fun?” you muttered.

“You were yelling,” he said, smiling like he always did, like he knew exactly how frustrating he was. “I stayed back until it felt safe.”

Then, with zero warning, he held out a pastry.

“What’s this?” you asked.

“You looked like you needed a peace offering.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Carlos. I just threatened a man with a Ferrari sticker.”

“That’s why I brought two.”

You hated him. Or at least, that’s what you told everyone. You hated the smirk, the way his eyes flickered to your mouth when you weren’t talking, the fact that he seemed unbothered by everything except, somehow, you. And it was always you. Every media day, every chaotic moment, every time someone messed up a decal or double-booked a press interview, Carlos was suddenly nearby,leaning against a wall, pretending to scroll his phone, waiting for you to explode.

It didn’t make sense. He was famously calm. A media darling. Polite. Predictable.

You were… not.

You were loud and dramatic and always five seconds away from quitting. But he kept showing up anyway. Once, he brought you gelato during a meeting, handed it over with a crooked grin and no explanation. You told him to leave. He sat beside you instead, passed you a spoon, and said, “You don’t eat enough when you’re mad.”

“You don’t listen,” you told him.

“You don’t sleep enough,” he said.

“That’s not your problem.”

“Maybe I want it to be.”

It wasn’t flirting. Not really. He didn’t even say your name like he was trying to be charming. He said it like a secret. Like a promise.

And now it was Monza, and your whole life was coming apart in the form of one ruined Pirelli sticker.

He leaned against the garage wall again, still watching you as you stormed across the paddock in a soaked team jacket. His helmet dangled from one hand, curls falling into his eyes, and he looked so calm you almost screamed.

“Do you enjoy watching me suffer?” you snapped as you passed him.

“A little,” he replied. “You’re dramatic. It’s entertaining.”

“You’re gonna get me fired.”

“You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

You didn’t have time to answer before they called him to the grid.

The race was a blur. Pit chaos, engine data, your headset dying halfway through lap twelve. Carlos placed just outside the podium, but still managed to make the fans lose their minds with a smile and a wave and an arm casually slung around Charles’ shoulder. You barely looked at him. You couldn’t afford to.

But hours later, after the cool-down, when the teams were already halfway into teardown and the sky had opened up again, of course it had.

you found him waiting. Still in his race suit. Still leaning against a crate like he belonged there. You didn’t mean to stop. You didn’t mean to look.

But you did.

“You shouldn’t wait for me,” you said, crossing your arms.

“I wasn’t.”

“Liar.”

He tilted his head, eyes trailing over your face like he was memorizing something. Then he said it again, quiet, low, like it meant something more now than it did the first time. “Mi tormenta.”

You hated how it made your heart catch.

“You really think calling me your storm is going to make me less of a disaster?”

“No,” he said. “I just like the way it sounds when you’re close.”

“Carlos.”

“You’re soaked again.”

You hadn’t noticed the rain picking up. You looked down, then up at him again. His suit clung to his arms, darkened by the water. His eyes were steady.

“It’s always raining when we do this,” he said.

“Do what?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you like he already knew how this would go. You stared back, tired, wired, suddenly so full of static it hurt to speak.

“You want me to kiss you,” you said, not a question.

“That’s why I waited here.”

So you kissed him.

Not because he was hot. Not because he was Carlos. Not because the rain made it cinematic. But because something in your chest had been vibrating since the first time he called you mi tormenta, and you were finally brave enough to see what happened if you let go.

You didn’t expect him to kiss you like that.

Like he was steadying you. Like the chaos didn’t scare him. Like he’d been waiting—not for permission, but for timing.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t desperate.

It was something else entirely.

When you finally pulled back, he didn’t say anything. Neither did you.

But after a long, impossible pause, you whispered, “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

And he just smiled. “Maybe I want you to be.”

i did this because I got 55 followers.

[chvoswxtch]

back up plan

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: when the interrogation doesn't go as planned, matt has to compromise.

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood & violence

word count: 2.6k

a/n: just so you know, part of what takes so long for me to post these chapters is I get stuck staring at gifs of matt murdock, and then I think about all the situations I wanna put him in. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [next chapter coming soon] | [series masterlist]

“So, is there something that makes this rooftop more special than the last one we were on? Or do you just have favorites you like to brood on like a Gargoyle?”

Matt ignored her as he fastened Dimitri’s wrists together with rope, looped through one of the bars of the water tower above. It kept his unconscious body upright, and it would prevent him from being able to go anywhere when he woke up.

“This neighborhood is mostly abandoned buildings and trap houses.”

“And?”

“No one will care if they hear screaming.”

Her brows lifted in surprise, looking him up and down curiously as she watched him expertly weave the rope in a binding labyrinth not even a goddamn boy scout could escape. 

“Wow, you really are a whole other person in that suit.”

“No I’m not-”

“Oh come on, you even change your voice.”

Matt pressed his lips together as he let out a frustrated exhale, tightening the last knot.

“I disguise my voice so I won’t be recognized.”

“And yet you leave the very recognizable lower half of your face uncovered.”

Matt dipped his head back and muttered an annoyed ‘Oh my God’ under his breath, making her amused grin difficult to hide.

“I’m just saying. Your Daredevil voice isn’t that different, and you have a distinct face, even if half of it is covered. Besides, anyone who’s seen you from behind would recognize you in a heartbeat.”

Underneath the cowl, Matt rolled his eyes for the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes and tossed the remaining rope onto the ground.

“Are you done?”

“For now.”

Leaning against the ledge of the rooftop, she crossed her arms over her chest.

“So what exactly is the plan here?”

“Get him to talk.”

“I know that, devil boy. I mean how do plan to do that?”

Matt cocked his head to the side slightly while listening to Dimitri’s breathing and heart rate. He was still out cold. Pulling off his gloves, Matt removed his cowl next, and the breeze that blew past felt even colder when it hit the sweat that had dampened his hair. It was a welcome chill that helped cool down his body temperature.

“You do realize I interrogate people every night, right?”

“I’m aware. But you’re delusional if you think beating the shit out of him is going to get him to give up Tarasov.”

Matt sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand while his other rested on his hip.

“I’m not delusional-”

“You’re over three hundred thousand dollars in debt from law school, and yet instead of committing to your profession, you commit felonies every single night that could get you sent to prison. That’s a pretty goddamn good case for being delusional.” 

Matt pressed his lips together in a disapproving frown as he fixed his hazel eyes over in her general direction. He didn’t have a retort for that. Once again, she was right. God he was really getting sick of feeling so off balance around her. It pissed him off every single time.

“Well it’s certainly a better fucking plan than the one you had.”

There was a serrated bite to his words, and it straightened her spine in an instant. The sharpness of his judgment snapped like a whip, and the verbal lash landed like a physical one. Her fleeting reaction caused a familiar feeling of guilt to rise within him. In his anger, he always took it too far. It was like his brain searched through an arsenal to find the sharpest words he could weaponize, and he’d aim directly where he knew they would cut the deepest. 

He’d spent his whole life trying to tame his temper, and he usually had better self discipline, but something about her drove him fucking insane. It was like he completely lost control around her. Letting out a deep sigh, Matt rubbed his hand down the lower half of his face and then placed his hands on his hips.

“Why was that your plan, anyway? I mean, surely you were taught how to interrogate at S.H.I.E.L.D., or wherever you were before.”

She turned to face the ledge of the rooftop, absentmindedly staring out at the expanse of the city. Another breeze blew past, and when it carried that blend of spiced vanilla and jasmine he’d grown to associate with her scent, he involuntarily inhaled deeply as it hit his nose. He hated how much he liked it. He hated how his body reacted to it.

“That wouldn’t work on him.”

Matt’s brows knit towards the center of his forehead that creased in confusion.

“Why not?”

“Because he spent two years in a prison in Siberia, although, calling it a prison is generous. When he wasn’t being tortured, he was left to starve and freeze to death in his cell. He intentionally got frostbite on his foot so he could break it, pull out one of the bones, and use it to stab some of the guards to escape. He doesn’t respond to pain like a normal human being.”

Matt grimaced at the mental image that painted, and he felt a phantom pain in his own foot that had him clenching and flexing his toes in his boots.

“Christ.”

Letting out a deep exhale through her nose, she glanced up at the sky above. The city lights made it nearly impossible to see a single star.

“But, he is a man, and he does respond as such. Like the rest of you simple creatures, he can’t deny the intrinsic desires of the flesh.”

Matt opened his mouth to protest at being lumped into the same category as someone like Dimitri Sokolov, but she cut him off.

“And he spends as much money on sex workers as he does on drugs. He hires women for these meet ups like clockwork, so I paid off the woman he originally booked to take her place.”

His defense dried up on his tongue at this revelation. She’d shown up as the entertainment because she knew Dimitri was expecting it. She’d studied his habits, and she’d found a foolproof way to infiltrate the poker game without arousing suspicion. 

And now he felt like even more of an asshole.

“Oh.”

It was all he could think of to say. In hindsight, it was a genius plan, and he’d completely ruined it by jumping to conclusions and being a sententious dick. He seemed to keep forgetting that this was her job. This was what she had done for years. She was trained to account for things he wouldn’t even think about. He was a vigilante, but she was a spy. As much as he hated to admit it, he was out of his element. 

But his stubborn pride prevented him from acknowledging that or apologizing for his behavior. Instead, he did what he did best in uncomfortable situations. 

Distraction.

“Look, I’m sure he endured a hell I couldn’t even fathom in my wildest imagination, but that doesn’t mean he’s immune to pain.”

“No, but he has a high tolerance. We could be up here all night.”

Matt knew violence, and he knew how to wield it. He was certain he could get Dimitri to talk. 

“Just let me try.”

Throwing her hands up in exasperation, she let out an exhale of annoyance and shook her head while looking out across the rooftops.

“Fine. Do it your way.”

»»———　　———««

As soon as Matt could hear Dimitri’s breathing getting lighter, signaling his return to consciousness, he slapped him harshly across the face, and Dimitri immediately began to thrash against his restraints, yelling out curses in Russian.

“Sorry, I don’t speak asshole. Can you repeat that?”

Dimitri’s eyes were wild with rage, and his top lip curled in a snarl. When his sights landed on her, casually leaning against the water tower with her arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed and he spit on the ground in her direction before thrashing against the rope again.

“Cyka!”

“Hello to you too, Dimi.”

Matt tilted his head slightly in her general direction over his shoulder.

“You just gonna stand there?”

She casually shrugged her shoulders and gestured towards Dimitri with her chin.

“You wanted to take the lead. Take the lead.”

“I don’t speak Russian.”

“Oh, he speaks English. He’s just being shy.”

Dimitri shouted more curses in Russian, and the old metal of the water tower creaked and groaned under the weight of his hopeless endeavor to free himself. Matt took a step closer and swiftly struck his fist across his face, and the metallic tang of blood permeated the air.

“Where’s Tarasov?”

Dimitri narrowed his eyes as he sneered at Matt.

“Never heard of him.”

“Now Dimi, you know lying is a sin.”

She taunted him with a slight smirk as she took a few steps closer. Dimitri let out a dry chuckle that rumbled deep from within his chest.

“I am not afraid of Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. What is he going to do, call me names?”

Dimitri let out another dry chuckle and gestured his chin towards Matt, his top lip curled in another snarl.

“You hit like girl. You are no real threat. You are no Punisher.”

Matt tilted his head to the side for a moment, a devilish smirk slowly tugging at the edge of his mouth as he spoke in a condescending tone.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Did you want it harder?”

Without warning, he struck his fist across Dimitri’s face again, and this time there was a satisfying crack that indicated a tooth being knocked loose. Dimitri groaned, and he coughed as he spat out blood along with a cracked tooth. Matt gripped Dimitir’s hair and yanked his head back as he took a step closer, his voice dropping an octave lower with a dangerous edge of warning. 

“Now, I’m gonna ask you again, and if you cooperate, I might let you walk away from this roof instead of tossing you off of it.”

Dimitri let out another deep chuckle that rumbled in his chest, causing him to cough, and he looked right into the dark lenses of Matt’s cowl with a bloodstained grin.

“I have counter proposal. Go fuck yourself.”

Matt clenched his jaw and let out a growl of frustration as he gripped Dimitri’s hair even harder and smashed his face against one of the metal bars of the water tower, and the crunch of his nose breaking was audible even to her. 

“You might as well kill me. I will not tell you shit.”

Slipping her hand under the hem of her dress, she pulled out the small knife she kept strapped to her thigh, and she rounded Dimitri before she raised the sharp blade to the rope, speaking calmly in his ear.

“You and I both know death isn’t a threat. It’s mercy. And the devil doesn’t grant mercy to the wicked.”

Dimitri lifted his chin defiantly and spoke through gritted teeth.

“I will die before I talk.”

As she looked over at Matt, he gave her a subtle nod.

“Have it your way.”

Cutting through the rope, Dimitri’s arms dropped from above his head, but before he could even make a move, Matt shoved his boot against his chest in a swift forceful kick that cracked three of Dimitri’s ribs and sent him stumbling backwards. The second he hit the ledge, he fell backwards over the rooftop, and a startled yell pierced through the bustling noise of the city on his way down until it was abruptly cut off with a thud.

Taking a few steps towards the ledge, she peered over it down below, and then she turned to look at Matt over her shoulder, arching one of her brows.

“You know, leaving someone paralyzed in a dumpster isn’t exactly morally superior to a bullet to the head.” 

“It is if you’re Catholic.”

She couldn’t help but let out a snort of amusement at that, shaking her head in disbelief.

“So it was those religious loopholes that prepared you for becoming a lawyer, not Columbia.”

“Bit of both.”

Matt focused his senses on Dimitri down below. That telltale metallic tang of blood was stronger in the air, and he could tell a few bones had been broken by the fall, but he was still conscious. He let out a deep exhale of frustration. He could practically hear the words running through her head that she wasn’t saying. 

I told you so.

God he really hated that she was constantly right.

“We need to change tactics.”

“But you were doing so well.”

Matt grunted in annoyance as he placed his hands on his hips and let his head drop between his shoulders, turning it from side to side to crack his weary bones.

“Can we skip the petty gloating, alright? I get it. You were right and I was wrong. That what you wanna hear?”

“Can I get that in writing?”

Matt grit his teeth so hard it made his jaw ache, and he dipped his head back towards the heavens while clenching his fists at his sides, the worn leather creaking under the force of his frustration.

“For fucks sake-”

“Relax, Matthew. You’re gonna give yourself an aneurysm. I have a backup plan.”

As she started to saunter towards the rooftop door that led to the staircase, Matt turned his head in her direction, completely perplexed by that admission.

“Backup plan? What backup plan?”

“One of many. If it doesn’t work, I have backup plans for my backup plans.”

Matt let out a dry scoff and started to follow after her.

“Sounds like anxiety.”

“It’s called preparation. You should try it instead of just parkouring around Hell’s Kitchen and beating the shit out of everyone.”

Matt pursed his lips in a firm line as he let out an irritated grunt, smacking his gloved hand against the rooftop door right when she started to open it, keeping it shut.

“And were you gonna tell me about this backup plan?”

“No.”

Matt pulled a face at her blunt reply that she could read even with half of his face covered. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Everytime I tell you the plan, you change it and do whatever you want instead.”

Matt couldn’t argue with that. Letting out a deep sigh, he gestured between the two of them with his gloved hand.

“What if…what if we came up with one together.”

“Are you going to actually listen to me?”

Matt grumbled under his breath like a petulant child and rolled his eyes under his cowl.

“Within reason.”

Shifting her weight to her other foot, she kept her arms crossed over her chest and arched one of her brows while staring him down, faintly cocking her head to the side. Letting out another frustrated exhale through his nose, he threw his hands up in defiant surrender.

“Alright, fine. Let’s hear it.”

“There’s one thing that Dimitri Sokolov values above everything. More than money, more than his reputation, even more than respect.”

Matt’s annoyance was quickly replaced by curiosity, and he perked up as he began to wonder where she was going with this.

“What?”

“Loyalty.”

Matt wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by that, but he had a feeling her plan required more brain than brawn. She looked him up and down in his Daredevil suit before turning on her heel.

“Leave the horns at home. I need Matt Murdock for this one.”

tags: @the-swift-escape @lambmurdock @lunakkey @Lfdybadgirlsdiw @devilmurdock64 @moonyinthestars @suits-and-smirks @day-dreaming-goddess @natashasotherhalf @rebel13lion39 @pixelfaery @ebsmind @mattmurdocksscars @ahhhhhhhydbhdg @ayupcap @thepassionatereader @awenthealchemist @zomtart @superrbffun @buckypops @snicksbabe @redroomproperty @angel113431 @18raven @a-sunflower-in-bloom @shadypaperwitch @lizziela @givemylovetoall @dreadfulxives18 @jjprxntiss @bigratbitchsworld @s1xthirty @daisy-the-quake @raven18 @hipwell @scorpiovelaryon @yiiiikesmish @mel-thefrog @ponyosmom35 @daisydark @xoxabs88xox @punkshyteee @abbyhaslongshorts @wolvierinee @snowflames-world @yomnajir @fries11 @groovycass

the devil and the widow soundtrack

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[heavenlybodies333]

Daddy’s Little Assistant - R.C

Rafe Cameron x wards assistant!reader

Tell me again how professional you are while I’m fucking you stupid

Ward had rules. Dress modestly. Answer every call. Don’t touch the bourbon.

You’d followed them to a T since day one—pressed skirts, tight buns, soft yes, Mr. Cameron and no, Mr. Cameron. You’d charmed him effortlessly, outshining Rafe in the only thing that ever mattered to him: his father’s attention.

Rafe noticed. He always noticed.

That morning he’d watched Ward hand you the keys to the family boat—the family fucking boat—and say, “You’re the only one I trust with this right now.”

He nearly snapped.

You were in the study that night, alone. Filing something, probably. Looking like temptation in kitten heels, a white blouse tucked into a high-waisted pencil skirt, lips glossed just enough to shine. You didn’t even look up when the door shut behind you.

“Miss Secretary,” Rafe drawled, mockingly respectful.

You flinched, turning to face him. “Rafe. Can I help you?”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny. That’s supposed to be my line, isn’t it?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he was already crossing the room—casually “You’ve been real helpful to my dad. Filing his papers. Pouring his drinks. Flirting with him like a little—”

“I don’t flirt with your father.”

“Oh?” His tone turned cruel. “Then what do you do? Huh? Smile pretty and bend over every time he drops a fucking pen?”

You backed into the edge of the desk. “You’re out of line.”

“I’m out of line?” he echoed, one hand bracing on the desk beside your hip. “You think you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger? Think a few good manners and tight skirts make you untouchable?”

You held his gaze, sharp and unwavering. “I’m good at my job.”

Rafe laughed, the sound bitter. “Oh, princess. You’ve got every man in this house fooled.”

He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair back into your bun with fingers that lingered too long against your temple. “You play the part so well. But I see through it. I see you.”

You swallowed. “Then what do you want, Rafe? You want me gone?”

He leaned in, “Nah. I want you to admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That you like the attention.” His hand found your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your skirt. “That you like being watched. Liked it when he handed you those keys in front of me.”

Your pulse pounded in your throat, but you didn’t move. “That’s not what this is.”

He smirked, fingers sliding just a little lower. “No? Then what is it? A promotion? A chance to be the new Mrs. Cameron?”

You slapped him.

The sound cracked through the air, sharp and satisfying, even as your palm stung. His head snapped to the side—but he only grinned wider, eyes wild now, feral.

“Touchy,” he breathed, turning back to you. “Did I hit a nerve?”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” you said, trying to sidestep him. But he blocked you easily, chest brushing yours as he crowded you back against the desk.

“Why do you hate me so much?” you asked, voice trembling—not with fear, but rage, confusion. You’d done nothing wrong.

He let out a humorless laugh. “Because he never looked at me like that.”

You blinked. “What?”

“He never gave me the keys. Never said I was the one he trusted. Not once. Not even when I—” He stopped himself, jaw tight. “But you? Walk in here with your shiny shoes and fake little smile and suddenly you’re his golden fucking girl.”

“Because I work,” you snapped. “Because I’m clean, and sober, and I don’t crash his cars or embarrass him in front of clients—”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled, slamming a hand down on the desk beside your hip. “You think he gives a shit about any of that? He just likes that you make him look good. That’s all you are. A little doll he can parade around to show he’s still got taste. Still got control.”

You stared at him, chest heaving. “You think you’re so different?”

Rafe blinked, as if you’d slapped him again.

“You act like you hate him, but every time he walks past you, you flinch like you still want his approval. You practically beg for it.”

He said nothing as you leaned in, whispering, “And you hate that I don’t.”

“You want to be in control so bad, don’t you?”

Before you could answer, his hands gripped your waist—tight, bruising—and hoisted you onto the desk. You gasped as your skirt rode up.

“You think you’re above me?” he sneered, yanking your thighs open.

Then he shoved your skirt up and tore your panties down in one vicious motion. The air hit your soaked heat and Rafe just… stared. Like he couldn’t believe it. Like your body was the final betrayal.

“No fucking way,” he muttered. “You’re this wet for me? For this?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“Slut,” he whispered, almost reverently. Then he spit—right on your cunt. Watched it drip between your folds, his thumb swiping the mess through your slick.

“God, you’re so fucked,” he growled. “You like pretending to be good. Dressing like a little wife. But underneath, you’re just filthy, aren’t you?”

You arched, whining as two fingers pushed into you without warning. He pumped them slow, curling deep, dragging out a cry that echoed off the walnut-paneled walls.

He pumped faster, grinding the heel of his palm against your clit until your thighs were shaking and your moans were desperate.

You came on his fingers, panting, shame burning through your veins as he dragged them out slowly, wet and sticky.

He popped one glistening finger into his mouth and groaned.

"Better than coke."

You were still shaking when he undid his belt with one hand, the buckle clinking, his slacks falling just enough for you to see how hard he was. You didn’t have time to speak before he was fisting his cock, dragging it through your folds, wetting the tip with your release.

“Rafe,” you whimpered, still breathless.

He grinned, feral. “Still so polite.” teasing you as he lined up and thrusted, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal motion. Every thrust hit deep, dizzying. Your blouse had ridden up, your bra askew. You were a mess—moaning, squirming as his thrusts got rougher. Your nails clawed at the desk as he fucked you through your second orgasm, and into your third.

“Not so fucking proper now, are you?” he snarled, snapping his hips so hard the desk shook. “Look at you. Legs wide. Mouth open. Moaning like a whore.”

You scratched at his back, your head tipping as pleasure rolled through you—hot, overwhelming, endless.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “You gonna cum for me again, pretty girl?

You sobbed his name as your walls clenched around him, the overstimulation making your thighs tremble. He bent you in half, your knees pressed to your chest now, his cock drilling into you from above.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Rafe hissed. “Where do you want it, baby? On your back? Your tits? In that pretty little mouth?”

“Inside,” you begged. “Please—inside, fill me up—” 

He let out a guttural groan, hips jerking wildly as he spilled into you, feeling his warmth fill you. He didn’t move for a long moment. Just panted above you, letting your body twitch and tremble under him.

When he finally pulled out, you felt his cum drip down your thighs, thick and hot.

Rafe smirked, brushing your hair from your face.

“Clean yourself up, sweetheart. Ward’s home in ten.”

And he walked out, leaving you half-naked, shaking, and soaked on top of the desk you once called your workplace.

So much for professionalism.

a/n: daddy i promise that ill never disappoint you😩

MASTERLIST

[poisonofthepaint]

total control

after a wild shift, you head back to jack's apartment to hang out like you usually do, but today, something feels different. inspired on the song total control by djo :)

cw: age gap, lots of exposition, kissing, dryhumping briefly, fingering, pet names (baby, sweetheart, good girl, honey,), jack calls reader young lady in a nonsexual way, jack is an old man and it shows, dom!jack, sub!reader, lmk if i missed anything

wc: 3.8k

It wasn’t completely unusual to go back to Jack’s apartment with him after a shift. It had become a habit after the PittFest casualty. You had been put in the red zone with Robby, Abbot, and Samira, and you and Jack had hit it off immediately. You flowed together so easily, it made you switch to night shift. The way he taught was more attuned to you than the way Robby taught. All excitement, all thrills, unconventional medicine, doing stuff you probably weren’t exactly ready for, but Jack was standing beside you the whole time. It wasn’t that exciting surgical stuff didn’t happen on the day shift, because it definitely did. But, when your mentor doesn’t have the boss breathing down his neck every hour, you can get away with a few more things. Jack let you do procedures that you had once believed you would only ever read about. Anytime there was something interesting going on, he’d pull you from the bedside of a patient just so you could perform it.  Ellis joked that he was playing favorites, but he didn’t seem to care.

The first night shift you worked after PittFest, he had let you do a REBOA. The patient had fallen onto a wooden fence after a night of drinking, and he came in with the piece of wood still inserted right next to his pelvis. Jack stood at your shoulder, carefully walking you through everything. How to remove the wood, where to place the balloon, how much to fill it up. He described everything that was happening while you performed it. He was huddled behind you, almost whispering it into your ear. To say Walsh was pissed was an understatement, but after that? You never wanted to work while the sun was out again.

Despite the age gap, it had slowly divulged into a friendship rather than a mentorship. Jack was really, really fucking funny. He had always seemed like a hard ass to you when you saw him for the brief transitions from night to day, but on his shift, he was a lot looser, less tense. There had been times you had to step away to gather yourself. It was mostly that he didn’t bullshit people. He once told a disorderly patient that he was going to give him a spanking if he didn’t stop being a jackass to the nurses, and you thought you were going to die. 

You started hanging out after your third week. At first, you would just go out to a diner after. A lot of time all you wanted after a shift was sugar, and you knew the waitress at the small joint. She would fire up the milkshake machine for you, even though it was seven in the morning. Jack gave you shit for it, but you didn’t care. He was more simple, just some scrambled eggs and sausage, maybe a black coffee if it was an especially difficult shift, and he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping anyway.

But, you two were drawn together, it was a nice friendship. You trusted him to tell you what to do, and he trusted you to listen. And that was that.

The first time you went to his apartment, you were shocked by how empty it was. He was a simple man, to say the least. A recliner, a nice couch, a huge, mounted flatscreen, and a framed photo of some of his army buddies. Eventually, you convinced him to get a small, fake plant for the corner. He told you no at first, saying he didn’t need decorations, but the next time you came over, you saw a big, fake Monstera in the corner. He mumbled a quick, don’t even say anything, and you kept your mouth shut. 

Hanging out with Jack after work in his apartment made you feel like a guy. He would hand you a beer some days, and turn on the TV. He watched old man shit, like Gold Rush, or American Pickers. You realized this was his equivalent to doomscrolling. It was his way to turn off his brain. At first, you found the hangout a bit strange. But then, you also realized that he probably didn’t know how to hang out with a woman half his age, so he just treated you like he would any of his guy friends, which you found inexplicably endearing. You would hang out for a few hours, talk about the shift, and then head home. 

But today was different. Today, you felt the tension between you two. For the first time, you realized, oh, I might actually like this guy. Not in the friend way, not in the mentor way, but in a crush way. Usually, after a shitty full moon shift, you just wanted to be alone, but not today. All you wanted to do was watch American Pickers, drink his beer– well, drink the type of beer that you liked, that he had started buying for you– and sink into his couch. You realized, you didn’t just want company after this shift, you wanted Jack.

You push off the feeling as you exit the hospital together. Jack doesn’t live far, a fifteen minute walk down the street. It was nice out today, the sun shines down on you, it makes the top of your head feel hot. After the horrible winter, it felt really nice to see the big star again. You let out a content sigh.

“Sometimes I think the sun fixes everything.” you say, the vitamin D seeping into your skin. 

“Why the hell are you on night shift then, kid?”

“Dumb question. Because if I work the day shift, then I can’t be outside while the sun is shining, duh.”

He opens his mouth in a dramatic way, raising his eyebrows, “Wow, you finally made a good point.”

You scoff at him, “Oh, c’mon,”

He looks over at you and gives you a small smirk. Like he knows exactly how to push your buttons, and he does.

“I cannot believe how many people were in tonight with dumb shit. Like, how do you even get a whole wine glass stuck in your foot? Literally, how is that possible?”

Jack shakes his head, “I used to think the full moon shit was a joke, but I don’t know anymore.”

The rest of the walk is quiet. You hadn’t even discussed going back to his apartment, it was just part of routine now. 

When you reach the door, he unlocks it, and swings it open, heading to the fridge first to grab the two cans. 

He settles into his recliner, and you go to your spot on the couch. You notice he folded the blanket you always use. You lay it across your body, and it smells, clean? Like fresh cotton.

“Did you wash this?”

“Yeah, you’re gross after your shift, didn’t want it on my couch.”

You scoff again, appalled at his truthful statement. “You’re one to talk, old man.”

“Old man?”

“You heard me.”

“I’ll tell Robby to put you on day shift if you keep talking like that, young lady.”

You don’t want to admit that the nickname makes your face feel hot, “God, please no, I cannot deal with Gloria.”

He huffs out a laugh, the TV is playing low in the background, the volume almost completely mute. 

“Could you imagine if she saw how we dealt with that patient in chairs?”

“I think we would have to get the crash cart for her.”

He laughs again, and you both settle into silence. You want to talk more, you want to ask him if he feels this too– the pull to each other, like the moon and the tides. But you don’t know how far to push it. You want to do something about this crush, you don’t want to shove it down and let it get worse, and then really have to go back to day shift. But, you’re unsure how Jack feels, if he thinks of you that way, or if he just thinks of you as a young lady, as he put it. 

After a while, when you’re almost drifting into a soft sleep, Jack speaks, “Hey, when that teen came in, and needed to be intubated, you didn’t start until I told you to, why?”

While Jack didn’t bullshit patients, he also didn’t bullshit you. He didn’t believe in biting his tongue, in letting things slide, if he wanted to know something; he asked.

“I don’t know, it’s complicated, and weird.” You didn’t want to admit the truth to yourself, much less to your boss.

“What’s complicated? You’ve done a million intubations. What stopped you?”

“Sometimes I feel, um–” You sneak a look at him and he’s already looking at you, his hands locked on top of his head. You notice his biceps bulging through the t-shirt he’s wearing, and it makes your throat feel dry. You reach for the beer, and take a long sip, needing some liquid courage. “Sometimes, I feel like I can’t do something unless there’s someone guiding me through it. I think that’s why I like learning from you so much. You’re always right behind me, telling me what to do. I know that I know how to intubate, but I’m used to being— told by you, I guess.”

He nods, a signal for you to keep talking. You’re sitting criss-cross now, body facing him. You stare straight down at your hands, twisting your fingers together in anxiousness. 

“I just like to be guided sometimes. Maybe that makes me a bad EM specialist.” You leave out the part where Jack is really the only person you want to tell you what to do. If anyone else had told you to intubate when it was obvious to, you would’ve shot daggers through them. You feel the sudden urge to defend yourself, “I would know what to do if you weren’t there, I really would.”

“I know, that’s why it shocked me that you didn’t start.” Jack says, sitting forward a bit, “It doesn’t make you a bad EM specialist. You’re only in the second year of your residency anyway, you shouldn’t be doing everything by yourself.”

You nod, trusting what he says. “Is that weird?”

“No,” he says, and you swear you see his jaw tick. “No, it’s normal to want to be guided.”

“You’re very good at it.” you blurt out. “At guiding– teaching. I always just want to follow your lead, and do what you tell me.” You laugh; shake your head. “Sorry, I think I’m being weird. Maybe it’s the full moon.”

“Not weird, kid. I’d tell you if it was.” Jack gets up from the recliner and comes and sits next to you. “Can I ask you something else?”

You nod, and he doesn’t talk. He lowers his head so you can see him out of the top of your eyelids. You realize he wants you to look at him, so you do. “It’s your turn to tell me if I’m being weird, okay?”

You don’t move a muscle. Like you might scare him away.

“Does that translate to anywhere else in your life?”

“How do you mean?” You think you know, but you want to be sure.

He tilts his head in a quick flick, like he thinks you’re being obtuse on purpose. “In your personal life, y’like to be told what to do? Like to be— guided?”

“I think.” your voice is as low as the television. “I’ve never really done it, though. Never done it, like that, I mean.”

“You’ve never done it?” He has a small smirk on his face.

You groan and dramatically fall back on the couch, hands covering your face. “Yes, Dr. Abbot, I have done it.” You say, muffled, from the palms pressing into your mouth. 

You sit back up. “Just not in the way you’re asking.” 

“Yeah, because the people you’ve been with don’t know jack shit. I clocked it the first time we worked together, during PittFest.”

“I am not that easy to read.” You say it like it’s a fact.

“I hate to break it to you, honey, but you are.” He places a hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing deep circles, and you think you might combust right there, on his couch. “You followed me the whole night. Not a bad thing, it was nice knowing you were right there, ready to follow, to assist.” 

His words are going in one ear and out the other, all you can focus on is his hand on you. 

“Hey, you with me?” He inquires; reading you again. “I want to make sure this is okay, I can stop right now, and we can act like it never happened, okay?” 

“Yes, it’s okay. More than okay.” You nod, locking eyes with him, so he knows.

“I want to treat you right. I want to turn your brain off, so you aren’t thinking about anything but me. Following my orders, doing exactly what I say. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” 

That’s all it takes for Jack to kiss you. 

He isn’t gentle with it. He kisses you hard, like he’s been waiting years to do it, despite only knowing you for a few months. You have trouble catching up at first. It’s true what you told him, that no one else seems to know how to treat you. It’s not that your other partners were necessarily bad, they just couldn’t read you like Jack can. No one else is able to.

He pushes you gently back onto the couch until you lay flat. His chest presses against yours and it’s comforting, like a weighted blanket. You try not to wriggle your hips too much, not wanting to jump too far ahead, but you can’t help yourself, they press up into his growing bulge and he groans into your mouth. He winds down on you quickly to meet you halfway, the lower halves of your bodies mold together. The friction it’s creating makes you think you could come just like this. It’s all so hot. There’s no other way to describe it. 

Jack groans again, this time in dissatisfaction. His hand comes down fast between your bodies to press you back into the couch, his thumb digs into the spot of skin right next to your hip and you whine, the pressure sending a wave of arousal through your body.

“Not yet, honey.” His tone of voice is a lot kinder than the cruel hand pressing you down.

You feel like you’re in a club with the way your heart is thumping, you can’t help but count the beats of it, taking your own pulse into account. Jack moves away from your mouth to your neck, sloppily trailing kisses all the way down. You can’t believe that you were so close to sleep a few minutes ago, now you feel like you’re running a marathon. 

He gets off of you, fully stands up. You’re out of breath, you try to make a noise of protest but nothing comes out, you stare at the ceiling for a second until he clears his throat.

“Are you sure–”

You jerk your head to look at him, “If you ask me if I want it again, I’m gonna scream.” Jack lets out a low laugh. “I’m just regaining my sanity.” you express.

“The whole point of this is you won’t have any sanity left. C’mon, let’s go to the bedroom.”

You stand and follow him back, you realize you’ve never seen his bedroom until now, and it’s the same as the rest of the apartment. Plain, minimalistic. He has black sheets with a white comforter, and his bed is made perfectly, probably a habit from serving.

You stand awkwardly in front of the bed, twisting your hands in front of you.

“Nervous?” 

You hum in response, keeping your eyes on him.

“You know me, it’s the same as working. Just follow me, do what I tell you, yeah? Just be a good girl.”

The praise goes straight to your legs and you feel your knees wobble a bit.

“Take this off for me.” He tugs on your shirt, “And these too, while you’re at it.” He puts his pointer finger into the top of your pants and swipes in across your stomach, the digit edging on the top of your underwear. If you knew this was going to happen, you might’ve tried to wear better undergarments, but this felt better, in a way; more natural. You knew you didn’t have to play it up for Jack. It was nice that he didn’t need all the fuss, he just needed you.

Obviously, you do what he says, stripping the shirt and pants off. You take your bra off too, letting it fall onto his floor. He lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head at the sight of your chest. “So beautiful.” Jack says, mostly to himself.

He walks towards you, until his body is pushing you back onto the bed. You sit instead of lay down, eyes staring straight into Jack’s. Sometimes his eye contact intimidated you, but not today, you wanted to catch every slight movement, every small inclination of what to do. His eyes shoot up to the top of the bed and then back at you, and you move yourself up until your head rests on his pillows. You feel loose, like your body has water running through your veins instead of blood. You feel like your limbs have connected to Jack’s mind, ready to do whatever he asks. Your brain feels a bit fuzzy, and all you register is that he’s climbed on top of you again, his eyes staring holes into yours. His shirt is off now, but he keeps his pants on. The vein on his bicep is prominent and it makes your mouth water. 

He places his hands on the sides of your head. His lips ghost over yours, but he pulls away when you reach up to catch them. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to have you like this. I see how you are with Shen instead of me, how cocky you are, how independent you are. But anytime we’re on a case together, I know you’ll follow my lead. It’s not just about guiding, huh? It’s about me.”

You swallow harshly, knowing he’s right. Knowing that you’re independent when he’s not the one in charge of you. 

“It drives me fucking crazy, sweetheart. Knowing that you only get this docile for me.” One of his hands starts trailing down your body, tracing your curves before it flows to the middle of your stomach. He rests his palm right on top of where you need him most, pressing gently. Your brows furrow, and he smirks. 

He pulls your underwear off with one hand, and you lift your hips to help him. Once they're off, he slips a finger through your folds, feeling the wetness. He doesn’t say anything, just nods his head, eyes still locked to yours.

“I’m gonna make you come so hard that there won’t be anything on your brain after, okay?”

“With your fingers?”

“Is that doubt I hear?”

“No!” You protest. “Sorry, just— usually people care about themselves.”

“I’m not like other people, baby.” He makes a ‘tick’ noise with his tongue. “Thought I made that clear.”

That’s the last thing you hear before he stuffs two fingers in you. His mouth falls open at the same time that yours does. You throw your head back in pleasure, and your hand flies up to grip his arm. Your body writhes below you, like you’re chasing his fingers, making sure they won't stop.

“There you go, just like that.” he says, low, into your ear. “Tell me what you like about this. About us.”

You moan, trying to push out the words through the noises that involuntarily leave your mouth. “I like that you know I want you to take control. I like that you’ll always go to the diner with me, or let me come over when I have a bad shift, even when I can tell you want to be alone.”

“Yeah? What else?”

“I like that you call me sweetheart. Even before this, it’s always made me–god– always made me mad when other people did it. But it’s not condescending from you. I like how you look out for me at work. You can tell when I need a break before I do. I like how your fingers feel inside of me. I like when you take control.”

You pant, the ramblings taking the air out of you. You can feel his hard cock pressing against your leg and it makes you feel even hotter. Your orgasm is creeping up on you, your stomach tightening into a coil before you know it.

Jack moves quickly, so that he’s sitting on his knees. You wonder briefly if it hurts him to sit like that, but the thought leaves your brain when he brings his other hand onto your clit.

“Jesus Christ, Oh—”

“Not him, all me.” Jack says, cockily. You huff out a laugh before it’s taken over by another moan.

“You gonna come for me, baby?”

“Yes, please Jack.”

“God, you sound so good moaning my name. You’re fucking perfect.”

He picks up the pace, and you can feel the pressure building up behind your clit, your all familiar tell that you’re about to finish.

“Please, I need to come, please.”

“Asking so nicely. Of course you can, Go ahead.”

You preen; zero in on the feeling of your orgasm and let it wash over you. 

“There y’go. Yeah, just like that.” His words barely register in your head. 

It takes you a while to come back down, your brain still a bit fuzzy when you do.

“Good?” Jack asks once you’ve regained your breathing.

“Good.” You answer.

He makes you go to the bathroom before you get too comfortable in bed.

When you lay back down, your head falls harshly on the pillows, your body bouncing the bed lightly. He moves up next to you so that his head is on the headboard. He’s stripped out of his pants now, just his boxers on. He took the prosthetic limb off too, so that he could be more comfortable. He opens his arm and you scoot over to lay your head on his chest. He kisses your forehead, in a soft way. In a way that tells you this will happen again, that it wasn’t a fluke.

“Another question.” He says, softly, just loud enough to stir you from the sleep that was trying to take over your body again.

“Mm?” you reply.

“How long have you felt this way?”

“I think I always have, but last night was the first time that it was really obvious to me. You?”

“Yeah, same, actually. It was always in the back of my head but, wasn’t sure how to make it real until today.”

“Must’ve been that full moon.” you say, groggily.

He pets your head and laughs, “Yeah, must’ve.”

[divadepreshawn]

𝒀𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒂'𝒂𝒎

Summary: Aaron Hotchner is not a man of many words — he prefers silence, gesture, subtle care. You have learned to listen. Warning: I don't think this can even be considered a story in itself. It's more about my kink for tough men who obey their wives in silence. Delusions WC: 1 093

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You knew that Aaron Hotchner was not an easy man.

He was – for lack of a more delicate term – emotionally constipated. And the chronic stress of his job made it worse. He is a person who values ​​justice a lot, and yes, he manages to apply it at work. But sometimes willpower alone is not enough, luck is not always on your side – even if he doesn't say it out loud, you know it affects him.

Aaron carried all of this in silence – never showing how tired he was, never asking for help.

He is extremely protective, to an almost suffocating degree. Not only of you and Jack, but of the team as well – which means he takes on more responsibilities than any healthy human being should try to handle.

Even so – and perhaps precisely because of this – he is a great husband.

Aaron Hotchner is the most romantic person you know.

Of course, if you tried to verbalize this to him, Aaron would give a half-smile, mumbling in mockery.

“Tzz, you’re starting to get sleep deprived. Let’s go to sleep, honey.”

But you could see it. You knew.

He didn’t say “I love you” often, or make big public declarations—it wasn’t necessary. You learned to watch the way he loved.

He would show up with a bouquet of tulips every month on the twentieth (the date you got married)— a silent ritual he followed to the letter, whether you were traveling to a case or at home. If a case was particularly difficult for you, he would sit next to you on the jet in silence, intertwine your fingers with his, and with his free hand, place a cup of tea and your favorite candy in front of you.

You mentioned once — just once — that your lower back hurt during your period. It was a casual comment, something so small that you didn’t even remember why it was important to the conversation. But he kept it in mind. In the months that followed, he would pay attention to every phase of your cycle. Every tiny expression on your face—from a slight frown when you bent down to pick up something that had fallen on the floor — didn’t go unnoticed.

Aaron would come to you at the end of the day, placing a quick kiss on your lips and a folded note in your hand.

a voucher for a massage.

And when you were feeling especially needy — which happened more often than you’d like to admit out loud — he’d notice before you could even open your mouth. Aaron would drag you to sit on his lap while he finished his reports.

Even if it was hard to write. Even if his leg went numb. He let you, because it was important to you. And because he loved you.

But there was one thing, one specific gesture, so simple, that melted you like jelly.

He didn’t make any decisions without asking your opinion first.

– After the wedding, you agreed to stay in his apartment instead of buying a house. The apartment was well located, practical, and safe. Besides, with the routine at BAU, it would be difficult to look for a house, deal with the renovation, and move. It was a lot of unnecessary stress.

The only problem is that Aaron is a very practical person, and takes the meaning of the word functional very seriously – things just needed to fulfill their purpose. A couch was a couch. And a curtain was just a piece of cloth that needed to block the sun's rays from coming in.

Worrying about the colors of the walls, matching the furniture in the house? No, that wasn't important to him.

But it was important to you, and that was the first thing you noticed. The wooden furniture in different tones, the three wallpapers in different colors and patterns. Not to mention the biggest affront to good taste, that damn striped curtain.

The decoration of the apartment was, honestly, terrible. But in his defense, Aaron was willing to make the place comfortable for you. In other words, he was so committed to transforming the apartment that he even mentioned changing the tiles in the bathroom if you wanted.

“You can decorate it however you want,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. His arms crossed over his chest, an amused smile on his lips when he noticed your expression of disgust.

“You promise?” , you asked, still staring at the couch as if it were a personal enemy.

“Of course, honey” , he assured, “where do you want to start?”

“I need a metal can.”

Aaron frowned. “What? Why?”

“I’ll start by burning these curtains.”

– Aaron woke up thirty minutes earlier than you every day. It was a deal you made, you take care of breakfast and he gets Jack ready for school. It was the kind of simple but essential deal that made the routine lighter without weighing on either side.

You were still half asleep, sunk into the soft sheets, hugging Aaron's pillow to fill the void in the bed and smell him – a mix of soap and cologne.

“Love?”

“Hm..?” You murmured, your voice hoarse. Opening your eyes slightly, trying to make out the figure near the wardrobe.

Aaron had his back to you, only with the white towel wrapped around his waist, still with small drops of water sliding down his back. His hair was damp and disheveled. He was holding two hangers.

“Gray or navy blue?”

You blinked slowly, trying to understand why the koala from your dream was calling you and your love and asking you to choose between two colors. You snuggled deeper into the bed, burying your head in the pillow. “I think… Navy blue.”

Aaron smiled, seeing your drowsy state. He hung the hangers back in the wardrobe and walked over to the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight, before his lips brushed against your shoulders, leaving small kisses.

“Coffee in ten minutes?”

“Depends, if you want pancakes it’s ten minutes. Now if you want coffee in bed…” Before you can finish your sentence, he lightly bites your shoulder, making you let out a muffled laugh against the pillow.

“I can’t believe you’re flirting with me in your sleep,” he says, his tone full of disbelief – although he was clearly enjoying himself.

“Baby, I would learn necromancy to flirt with you after death,” you retort, turning your face slightly to face him.

Aaron lets out a snort of laughter. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, slapping your ass before standing up. “Come on, Mrs. Hotchner.”

“Call me that later,” you whine dramatically as you sink deeper into the sheets and mattress, “Now give me five more minutes, Mr. Koala.”

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[velvetydream]

꒰ :🥀 [ Like a deer in headlight ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

Summary : After finding out that Alastor indeed had ears atop his head, it was now time for round two of your game - his deer tail.

Pairing : Alastor x Reader

Word count : 3313 Words

Genre : Fluff, Suggestive(?)

Warnings ➵ Possessive and out of character Alastor,

he accidentally hurts and scares Reader

a/n : Continuation of my Alastor x Reader story, > Deer in headlight < , got asked for this by a few people, so here ya'll go! Hope it's as good as the first one!♡

┌───────────────────────── ·  ·  ·  · ♡

It had been a week since you had discovered Alastor's ears and he had let you touch them for the first time. Sneaking on him a few times to caress or play with them, maybe even a little tug or kiss to them when none of the others were looking. The relationship between you two also changed to something different, you couldn't exactly put a name to it, but it was more than friends, but definitely less than lovers. It confused you. Alastor confused you. Once he is nice to you, cooks you dinner, and lets you play with his ears while he writes a new script, the next time he rather distances himself from you, makes jokes here and there as if he himself didn't know what to do nor how to act.

The others also had picked up on the change between you two, Angel was teasing you about it a lot, Husker just warned you to be careful, Niffty was herself like always and Charlie was super happy about how close you two seemed to have gotten now.

So now to your new mission at hand, round two of your self-proclaimed game. Figure out if Alastor has a tail and if yes, get around to touch it! But this time it seemed to be harder than before, Alastor had his guard up a lot around you now, even when he let you play with his ears. Every time your hand wanders away from his ears down to try and peak under his coat, his hand either guides yours back up to his head or he entirely gets up and leaves, making sure you cannot find out if he has a fluffy little tail.

So now you were sitting at the bar, head resting on the counter as Husker slid your favorite drink over to you. "No look yet huh sweets? Was surprised you even got around to touching his ears without injuries." Angel now sat down beside you, softly patting your back as you let out a tired groan. "I just don't get it! I mean he saw that in the it wasn't that bad when I touched his ears! So why is it so bad now if I figure out if he has a tail too!" Pouting, you sit up a bit now taking a sip from your glass. "Maybe he doesn't have one, none of us ever saw one at least. Or maybe if he has one it's a different feeling for him than his ears?" Husker was cleaning a glass now as he spoke to you. Maybe he was right but.. you really wanted to know if he had a cute matching tail. Eyes going around the foyer now as you notice Alastor making his way up the stairs.

"Al! Wait up!" Jumping down from the barstool to follow him up the stairs, he waited for you on the stairs before walking up beside you. Eyes glancing over to him, he looked calm as always, his signature smile adorning his face, staff clutched in one hand as he walked alongside you. "How can I help you today dear?" Looking over at him now, you simply followed him to where he was going. "Are you doing a broadcast today? May I listen again?" Raising an eyebrow slightly Alastor looks over to you, nodding in agreement as he leads you to his radio tower. Over the last week, you had listened to his broadcast live two times already, which made you happy that he allowed you to join him. Opening the door for you, you enter first as you immediately take a seat at the table, Alastor had put up a second chair for you. Still, you noticed how his eyes had a glimmer of suspicion at how you suddenly wanted to listen in today.

Waiting for him to start the broadcast, your head was leaning on your hand as you watched Alastor with a smile. Suddenly an idea came into your head, trying to suppress the grin that was threatening to grow on your face. Alastor was focused on his broadcast, talking about something you weren't even listening to anymore. Reaching your hand over now, your fingertips softly graze his ears, as Alastor lets out a surprised yet quiet yelp, before turning his head to you with a warning glare. Returning his gaze with a smirk now, as you stand up from your seat and slowly walk over to him, he was glaring at you now. You were so close to fucking up, but this was a chance. Reaching your hand out to the back of his coat to pull it up. Quickly the > On Air < sign switched up, as Alastor grabbed your wrist in a rather right grip. Turning his head to you now, his antlers had grown in size, a red X on his forehead, and eyes turned to dials. You definitely fucked up now.

"D̷̢͙̟̼̘̊̒̑͑͝ë̸͇͍͓̲͇͂̾̓͝a̴͙̻̞̫̞̾̑̈́͑̕r̸̖͎̼̳͍̀̉̌̉̒ ̶̜͉̦͔̒̋̌̒̕ͅw̵̛̲̭̰̼͒̑̎͝ͅh̴͚̮̬̜̔̉͗̀̅ͅa̴̭͖͍̩̣͐̀̇͂̿ţ̷̛̪̣̥͓̓̆̕͠ ̴̢͓͓͙̯̂̀͋̀͘w̵̘̣̫͚͛̋͛̊͠ͅë̴̢̡̛̥̦͇́̄̉̈ř̶͓̜̗̻̓̊̐͘ͅẽ̷̮̻͈͕͎̓̌͐̈ ̵̠̝̫̺̲̑́̍̈́̈́ÿ̴̳̩͍͎̙́̌́̿̈́o̶̰̭͎͈̣̅͛͑̌͘u̶̢̝̥̞̪͋́̒̎͝r̶ ̵͕͉̫̻̤̎̐̋̾͘į̴͕͈̮̅̎̈́̀̌ͅn̸̠̳̮̤̻͆͛̔̎͋t̸̖̻̲̘̭̐̎̂̏̕e̵̞͎͎̭̗̓̍̓̉̈́n̶̬͈͎̤͉̈́̈́̈́̇̾ţ̶̱͓̥̲̅̔͋̀̚i̶̡̲͕̤̩̒̏͐̈́͝ǒ̷̗̰̯̩̻́̔̄́n̸̡̧̞̩̥̔͆̎͆̅s̵̪̣̱͔̎͒́̽͠ͅ ̷̝͍͈̥͌͂̿̏͘ͅr̶̹͚̦͉̞̈́̈́͂̋̀i̶̡̨̛͉͇͇̾͐͊̍g̸̨̛͉͎̰̖͋̒͒̓h̴̜̫͕̪͊͊̈́͝͠ͅt̷͉̳̩̰̜͗̈́̓̽̒ ̴̨̬̱̰̠̒͂̍́̏n̸̬͍̬̣̗̿̃̅́͑ǫ̸̠̰̈̊͌͗̚͜͜w̴̧̜̺̖̓́̎͗͆ͅ?̴̠̖̓̀̎̂͆��̤͚"

Gulping once, you try to pull your arm back from his grip, which just makes him tighten it. Hissing lowly, you squeeze your eyes shut, it was slowly stinging a bit from how tight his grip was. "Al.. You're hurting me!" Alastor finally turned back to himself, letting go of your red wrist now, a print of his fingers visible as you cradled your hand against your chest. "I'm going to leave for now.." Head down as you hurriedly leave the room, closing the door behind you as you dart for your room, ignoring Angel's calls who just walked past you. Throwing yourself on your bed now, you looked at your wrist scared now. He had never used his demon form for you, there was no way of denying that he had scared you. Closing your eyes to push away the tears that were slowly building up in your eyes, as your consciousness drifts away.

"Dear, wake up." A hand on your shoulder was softly shaking you awake, lifting your head to take in your surroundings before meeting Alastor's eyes. Sitting up quickly, you scoot a bit away from him as you watch him with wide eyes. "Alastor..! What are you doing in my room?" Watching him now, as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed, making sure to not make you any more uncomfortable by getting too close to you. "I'm sorry about back there, I lost it a bit, I shouldn't have." Despite smiling, you noticed that Alastor was genuinely apologizing to you. "I'm sorry, I crossed a line there, I used your trust in me listening to your broadcast live, I'm truly sorry." Laying your hand near his own carefully, letting him decide if he wants to be touched right now. Looking down, he softly takes your hand, as he presses a kiss against the red fingerprints he had left behind. His eyes were closed right now as his lips linger a second longer than they usually do. "I'll make it up to you, I promise." Raising to his feet now, he gave you a soft smile, before leaving you stunned in your room.

Laying back down against your pillows, your gaze was on the ceiling as your cheeks became a soft shade of red. What was he thinking? Turning onto your side now as you hug your pillow against your chest, looking to where Alastor sat just a few minutes prior.

The next day arrives, as you make your way down the stairs to the others. Charlie was right now explaining something to Angel and Husker, hyper as always. Vaggie was simply sitting on one of the couches with a book right now, while Alastor was nowhere to be seen. "Hey Vaggie, have you seen Alastor?" Leaning over the back of the couch now so the girl could see you as she looks over to you. "He went out rather early today, saying something about Overlords meeting and visiting a friend in Cannibal Town." Raising your eyebrows slightly at that, friend in Cannibal Town? Definitely Rosie. He probably decided to tag along with her a bit after the meeting, as she was also an Overlord. Thanking Vaggie, you go over to the other three to let Vaggie read her book in peace.

"Okay and then when Heaven agrees we could- Oh good morning!" Waving to you immediately now as Charlie noticed you coming over. Greeting them all with a smile and good morning now before Charlie starts to ramble on about her plans. It was nice seeing such a hyper and happy girl in hell, it was definitely a change to how people normally were down here.

"By the way sweets, would you mind tagging along to the city today? I wanted to go visit some clothing stores you would definitely like!" Angel laid his hand on your shoulder now as he asked you, before even thinking you agreed. It had been a while since you had last been to the part of Pentagram City where all the clothing stores were located. Besides Alastor isn't here today to try any of your attempts to see his tail nor to play with his ears. After quickly getting changed, Angel led you to the stores he was talking about. And he sure was right, you found so many good clothes to your liking in many different styles. One thing hell didn't lack was good fashion, probably thanks to Velvette from the Vees.

Leaving the store now with a lot of bags in hand, Angel decided to pull you to his favorite > cheap yet delicious < restaurant as he called it. While looking around a bit, you couldn't help but notice a certain red-haired demon walking down the streets, alongside Rosie, as their arms were hooked together, laughing. You knew they were simply good old friends, yet you couldn't do anything about this weird feeling bubbling up in your stomach. Reaching your hand out, you softly tug on Angel's shirt, head hung low. "What's it, sweets? Ya suddenly don't seem so good." His hand softly raised your chin now to look at you, noticing your pained expression. "Are ya hurt?" Taking a good look at you to make sure you weren't visibly hurt anywhere. Raising your head again, your eyes on the two other demons, Angel's eyes follow yours before letting out a sight.

"I know they're only friends but.. I feel weird seeing them I don't even know why myself!" The bag you were holding dropped to the ground, before hiding your face in your hands. "Sweets, if you ask me that sounds as if ya're jealous.." Angel's hand softly patting your head now as you raise your head, eyes meeting his. "But.. That would mean.. And he would never reciprocate.." Tears were building up in your eyes, before you knew it Angel pulled you into a comforting hug, softly patting your head. "It's going to be okay sweets." Staying there for a good minute or two, before you calmed down again. What you didn't see was a certain dial eyes watching you, as Angel had his arms around you and your body against his chest.

Deciding to head back to the hotel for now, Angel said he would take you to the restaurant another time. Back at the hotel you for now decided to head back to your room for a little rest. The shopping bag is thrown onto a chair before flopping down on your bed. A sigh leaves your lips. The last few days really weren't the best for you and were slowly wearing you down.

"Say dear, I thought we had a deal of you not touching others~" A radio static voice suddenly sounded through your room, sitting up you looked around frantically, eyes stopping on a dark corner of your room. Red eyes watching you, a shadow figure beside them grinning at you. Before you could know it, your body was pressed to the bed with Alastor on top of you. "W-What do you mean!? Angel was simply comforting me! Besides you were also all over Rosie!" Thrashing around now, as you try to push Alastor off of you, but he was simply too strong for you. "Oh, so you're jealous sweetheart? Was that payback then?" Alastor head was lowered as he whispered those words into your ear making your eyes grow wide. "He was comforting me because I was crying! Which I by the way was because of you!" Staring into your eyes now, Alastor was at a loss for words. You were crying? Because of him on top of that? Before he knew it, he watched your eyes fill with tears again daring to flow over. Now he had fucked up this time.. Again.

"D-Don't cry! Dearest I'm sorry." Scooting off of you now, he sits beside you not really knowing what to do, he never had to deal with someone besides Niffty crying. And Charlie, but that was a different story. Your hands rubbing over your eyes now, trying to get rid of the tears. Before you knew it, the culprit of your tears grabbed your hand, leading it to his head. Alastor wasn't great with words to comfort you, but this was his way of trying to comfort you after screwing up, which you deeply appreciated. Looking up at him now, eyes red from crying, as your hand starts to softly rub over his ears. "I meet up with Rosie to ask her for advice on what to get you as an apology for last time." Pulling out a little box from his coat now, he hands it to you. Sitting up, you take the red box from his hands, opening it slowly. Inside was a gold necklace with a red pendant in a tear shape. "It's beautiful.." You were at a loss for words right now, you didn't think he would get you something like this as an apology. "Let me put it on you dearest, turn around." Moving yourself now that your back is to him, you softly move any hair out of the way so he can put the necklace around your neck. Hand reaching down as you take the pendant between your fingers. "Thank-" Your words were interrupted by a soft kiss being pressed to your neck, but as you turned around, Alastor was gone, and only caught a glimpse of his shadow disappearing. Hand reaching to the place you had felt him kiss. Did you only imagine that? No, he definitely kissed your neck.

The next day you wanted to ask Alastor about it, but he was nowhere to be seen, as if he was avoiding you, which made you a little bit sad. Did he regret it?

Till now you also were not able to accomplish your victory in this little game. Making yourself question if you were ever going to figure out if he had a little deer tail. Turning around now, you caught a glimpse of red hair disappearing, making you dart right after him. So he truly was avoiding you! Before he could close his door, you put your foot between the door and the doorframe. "Open the door, I won't go away!" It took almost a whole minute for him to open the door, entering the room, the door is closed behind you. Crossing your arms in front of your chest now, you turn around to face Alastor now. "Are you avoiding me?" Static radio error. "Of course not dear! Why should I?" He was obviously more than nervous to be talking to you right now. "Oh, I don't know, maybe because since yesterday you've been running away from me and not shown your face once?" Looking at him skeptically now, he tried to look composed as always with his smile, but you noticed how his smile was slightly strained and his hand clenched just a bit tighter around his staff. "If this is about the kiss and you regret it just say it please, I won't be mad at you." Your eyes were avoiding his now. Oh if only you knew it was the complete opposite.

"Listen dear, it's not that.. It's.. How do I say, rather the opposite? I have been feeling rather drawn to you, wanting to get closer but.. I don't quite know how to handle these emotions." For once Alastor looked nervous, something you had never truly seen on him, he seemed so unsure. Holding out your hand, waiting for him to perhaps take it, which he did. Eyes locked on your hands, as he was softly playing with your fingers, slowly linking them together. "Listen it's okay, take as much time as you need to figure this out okay?" A soft smile was on your lips now, trying to reassure and calm him, but it had quite the opposite effect on him.

"May I kiss you?" Blurting those words out without even thinking about it, both of you were staring at each other with blown eyes now. You question yourself if you heard correctly and Alastor questions his sanity by asking you this, was he completely going crazy now? "If you want to, I allow you to do anything you want, I trust you." Now this surprised him, he indeed wanted to try this but.. he had never kissed anyone before. Not while alive, and certainly not while dead. Slowly his hand lays on your cheek as he pulls you closer to him, angling your head so you are looking at him. Your hands softly grab onto the front of his coat, eyes closed to give him full control. Alastor could either take his time or pull away entirely, it was all up to him, you let him go at his own pace.

And before he knew it, he was leaning down to capture your lips in a soft kiss. It felt different than he had imagined, it felt warm and comforting. It was a simple soft peck, nothing too spectacular, but for both of you, it was something special. When he pulled away again and you looked up into his eyes, you noticed movement behind him, your eyes lowering and noticing something moving under the backside of his coat. Eyes glancing with interest now, Alastor's eyes following yours to what you were looking at, a sigh leaving his lips. Before you knew it, Alastor was shrugging his coat off, his shadow hanging it somewhere in the room. And there it was, a fluffy deer tail, that was right now softly swishing from side to side, it was adorable. Alastor was a sight right now. His ears were pointed towards you, a blush over the bridge of his nose while his tail swished from side to side.

Reaching out your hand to touch his tail with sparking eyes, his hand stops yours as he watches you. "Once. It's different than my ears, one pat and that's it darling." Nodding in agreement, he turns around a bit as your hand softly pats over his tail once. It was soft just like his ears. Looking up with a smile now, his head was turned to the front, but his ears were turned to your direction, which looked super adorable. "Well since I was only allowed to pet your tail once, I would like to pat your ears again!" Smiling up at him innocently now, he exactly knew how this would end.

And he was correct, he was now lying on his bed with you, his head on your stomach as you were contentedly playing with his ears. Even though it would probably take a while till both of you knew how to call this relationship, you were more than happy that your one hand was busy patting his ears, and the other one was softly held by the red-haired man. You could get used to this.

┌───────────────────────── ·  ·  ·  · ♡

Taglist :

@mysticwitchcraftco @biromanticboba @yellowelectroslime

[feyascorner]

Okay perhaps this sounds odd but imagine Astarion starts to disassociate while intimate with Tav and so he uses their established safe word, only to be bewildered when Tav actually listens to him and stops and asks if he’s okay and tries to comfort him because nobody has cared that much before 😢

OH GODS WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME (i love it) warning for suggestive content :)

For as long as Astarion's been genuinely intimate with you, for no other reasons but simply because of the affection the two of you hold for one another, he has always been in control.

It soothes him, in a way, to be on top. And as much as he enjoys watching you come undone beneath him, there's a more frustrating reason behind why he always feels the need to be the one to push you down onto whatever surface he deems decent enough at the time. From above you, he can see every little twitch in your body, every shift in your expression, and most of all, he can control what's happening, unlike his centuries spent as a seductive tool for Cazador's own needs.

He knows you're not like those fools. He knows you're different, and you're special to him. But the gnawing voice in the back of his head always forces him to pull you in, to hold you closer, to make love to you.

It's fucked up in so many ways.

"I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel."

But when you look up at him with those imploring, loving eyes, the voice seems to go quiet. He swallows the dryness of his throat, unable to think of anything but how wonderful your touch feels on his skin, and he thinks he could drown in this forever. He's putty in your hands, whether he wants to admit it or not.

"Well? Don't be a tease just standing there, darling."

In what feels like minutes, he's a mess. He's making sounds he shouldn't be making, fingertips digging into your hips as if they're the anchors keeping him from finishing too early. He breathes heavily into the crook of your neck, groaning when you caress the sharp tip of his ear between your fingers.

The only thing keeping him from spilling is the impending embarrassment he'd feel for doing so this early on in the night.

Then, everything stops.

"You're so beautiful," you whisper.

They're only words. They're not ones he's heard little of---in fact, he's heard it too much in the past two hundred years. In an instant, memories of the nights he spent under strangers, forced to shove his mind into its darkest corners just to get through their own pleasures, flood his consciousness. The sickening taste in his mouth afterward, and the need to rub his skin till it goes raw were not uncommon. It was routine. A sick part of his life that he'd rather forget.

You don't mean it the same way they did. They only said things like that because that's all they could say. They didn't know him as anything but the husk of a body he resided in. He knows you are saying the words to him. Not to his body but to the very person he is.

But the word comes spilling out his mouth, and immediately, you freeze.

You actually stopped.

Of course, you would. You're you.

"Are you okay? Did I do something?" you reach to cup either of his cheeks, and he stares at you as if you're a star that's fallen from the sky. He blinks, slowly.

"I don't know, I just---" he searches for words. "--you haven't done anything wrong, darling."

You wait for him to finish patiently. Gods, he doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve you.

"I only remembered something I'd rather not," he plasters a crooked grin on his face. "It's quite alright. We can continue now if I haven't ruined the mood."

You pull away from him, and he fears you'll leave.

Moments later, you return with a glass of water. Wordlessly, you hand it to him, and he only stares at it, confused beyond belief. Only once he notices the way you gesture to the glass does he drink it, and you finally climb back into bed, lying down beside him.

"Come here," you open your arm, motioning him to come closer.

"Darling, as much as I'm all for experimenting, that's a strange position to have sex in."

You smile, shaking your head. You don't explain any further, only continuing to hold out your arm.

Hesitant though curious, he slowly lies down beside you, his head just above your chest and slotted between the space below your chin. With gentle hands, you pull him closer and toss the blanket over both of your bodies.

It's warm. Strange, but warm.

"You don't have to wear a mask with me," you whisper.

His eyes grow wide, and his chest stills. He doesn't have many tears left after 239 years, but there's an unfamiliar squeeze in his chest that tells him if he were still 39 and alive, he might have. Astarion wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into where he can hear the steady beating of your heart.

Later, when your eyes begin to droop, he mumbles.

"Tell me I'm beautiful again."

"You're beautiful," you say softly. "With or without your pretty face."

You might be imagining it, but you feel him smile against your skin.

[lumosflairr]

WHAT HE LEFT IN ME - harry j. potter

summary: As Voldemort's influence drives Harry into isolation, Harry grows distant, angry and cruel - pushing away the only girl he's ever loved.

This story contains: angst, Voldemort is alive, sirius lives, harry is distant and rude, fluff at the end so happy ending.

taglist: @ronhazmione @roseidol @h0gw4rtssturn @aouoo

[This fic is LONG!! it contains loads of build up though so i salute to you if you can read this through]

Before everything started to fall apart, Harry had been the kind of boyfriend who held your hand like it grounded him. Like maybe if he let go, he’d float away. He wasn’t always good with words - often fumbling or red-faced when trying to say how he felt, but he didn’t have to say much.

his actions spoke.

He’d sit beside you in the common room with his thigh pressed lightly against yours, fingers brushing, eyes flicking over occasionally like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. He’d shower you in gifts and often you would come back to your dorm with him casually sitting on your bed with fresh picked flowers. The flowers he knew you loved.

He laughed more, back then. Not often - not loud, but just enough to make your heart melt. You’d catch it moments like a wizard chess game against Ron going hilariously wrong or a whispered joke behind Snape’s back, and your personal favorite- when you stole his jumpers and would simply claim it as your own.

Overall, he loved quietly.

He didn’t shout it from the rooftops or have over the top gestures - there was no need to.

You saw it in the way he showed up to your special events, the way he actually listened to you instead of it going in one ear and out the other - which goes with how he remembers every little detail of you down to the bone.

He remembers your favorite books to read in the library in your free time, exactly how you took your tea, even how your eyebrows always furrow and you twiddled your quill on your test lightly when McGonagall gave lectures in words only Hermione could comprehend.

He’d wait for you outside of class even when he pretended he “just happened to be passing by.” His hand would find yours in the corridors, unsure at first, but firmer over time, like he was getting used to the idea of someone choosing to stand beside him.

When you were alone, he was different.

He wasn’t “The Chosen One,” not the Boy Who Lived, Just Harry. Funny, dry, a little awkward sometimes.

Just Harry.

YOUR Harry.

The Harry who would hold you as you both steal kisses under bedsheets and whisper sweet nothings. The Harry who was vulnerable with you, telling you about his dreams to live with Sirius or how his childhood was. Even his fears for the future. He told you things he hadn’t even truly mentioned to Hermione or Ron.

He wasn’t perfect. He could be stubborn and reckless. But with you, he tried. He tried to be better, to be present. And even if he didn’t always have the words, his actions told you everything-

You were safe.

You were Loved.

You truly had a purpose and could be loved.

But that was before.

Before Voldemort’s presence crept under his skin and far deeper in his head - not just in dreams anymore, but in his emotions. The anger wasn’t his, but it settled itself deep into his chest like that’s exactly where it was born and raised. He grew colder without meaning to.

He was always distant. Distracted. Like there was more than just a war going on inside his mind.

The worst part about it?

He stopped trying to protect what he had with you. Because deep down, he didn’t think he could keep it.

It didn’t fall apart all at once.

It unraveled in quiet, small moments where something felt off, but you convinced yourself it was nothing.

The first time he snapped was on a normal Tuesday afternoon in the common room. Hermione was out with Ron at Hogsmeade while you stayed with Harry. You had both arranged to meet there just to enjoy one another’s presence, hoping to find a moment of normalcy. Something where you both can share a smile again.

As soon as you arrived, you noticed him on one of the sofas. His figure slumped over and his eyes focused on the fire burning infront of him. You could feel a knot form in your stomach and a slight ping at your heart from the sight.

“Hey,” you said gently, sliding into the seat beside him.

Harry glanced up, his brows furrowed slightly. “Oh, hey.”

You offered a small smile. “I thought we could study together while we have some time alone to.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess. Sorry, I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

You nodded as you placed your charm books on the table in front of you two gently, trying to ease the tension. “Want to talk about it?”

For a long moment, he just stared at the table, lost in thought. Then finally muttered, “It’s… nothing. Just tired.”

you frowned to yourself. You knew bloody well that wasn’t the case at all, but he was already on edge. You reached your hand out to his, but he snatched it away. Your eyebrows furrowed and your mouth opened slightly as your eyes make their way to his face - confused.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, voice low. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

You blinked. “Snap? What do you mean?”

He looked at you, running a hand through his hair. “I guess… I’ve just been on edge. I don’t want to drag you into it.”

You squeezed his hand. “You’re not dragging me anywhere. I’m here.”

He gave you a small, almost sad smile. Not the smile you were hoping would come out of this. “I know. And I’m sorry. It’s just… sometimes it feels like Voldemort’s closer than ever, and I don’t know how to fight it without breaking everything around me.”

You intertwined your fingers with his and placed a kiss to the top of his head. His eyes met yours and you gave him a smile. you didn’t have to say what words were behind them - he knew.

“im here. you wont break me. i’ll always be here”

It didn’t last though.

The little things began to fall apart.

He stopped waiting for you after class. He didn’t meet your eyes as much when you spoke. When you laughed, he barely reacted — like he hadn’t even heard you. And when he did speak, there was something sharper under his words. Not always. Just enough to make you second-guess yourself.

One morning, you reached for his hand in the corridor between lessons. He let you, but his fingers stayed limp in yours. His grip used to be so sure — like he needed the contact. Now, it felt like he barely noticed. Like you were just there. Like you weren’t holding him steady.

You found him later that night pacing in the common room, eyes bloodshot, fists clenched. He didn’t even notice you at first. And when he did, all he said was, “Don’t start.”

You didn’t even say a word.

It stung the way his guard shot up like a wall between you. And even though he apologized again and again, always just enough to make you stay, something inside you started to ache in a deeper way.

He was slipping away farther and farther and neither you or both of you two closest friends could either.

Its been days, maybe even weeks since then and everything has gone down hill since. Umbridge remained nothing but trouble with her torment towards the students - even staff. You often found dinner to be just Hermione, Ron and you.

You missed Harry. Your Harry. The Harry that would hold you and refuse to let you go. The Harry who would stay up all night if he could just to hear your voice. Now it was like he was invisible.

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m gonna go talk to him” You told Hermione and Ron as you stood up from where you sat.

“Don’t be to pushy - he shouted at me earlier im sure Godric Gryffindor could hear” Ron muttered, going right back into his food.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron and spun around to give you a friendly smile.

“I hope it goes well. I’ll be in the common room if you need to talk after”

You gave her a smile and nod as you made your way out the great hall walking your way to the Gryffindor common room.

You looked around for any signs of Harry, nothing.

You sighed and made your way up to the boys dormitory finding Harry and Ron’s shared room.

You raised your fist up to knock, breath shaky as your arm froze. You let out another sigh and knocked on the door. Two knocks.

“Not in the mood for company.”

“Harry, please - Its me.”

Silence.

After what felt like ages, you had enough. You opened his door and watched him as he sat on his bed in his signature blue shirt and some jeans your sure he’s been wearing almost all week.

You stood a few feet away, keeping space.

He didn’t even look at you when you walked in.

“You’ve barely looked at me all week. Let alone speak to me.” You started off slow, your eyes glued to his figure.

“Maybe I didn’t have anything worth saying.”

ouch.

Your face scrunched up in disbelief as you watched him. Cold and lifeless. Eyes glued to his feet as he twiddled them on the floor.

“Harry, something is wrong. And not just Umbridge, or the Ministry, or — or everything. You’re different. You’re not the Harry I know.”

Harry turned to you finally. You were met with eyes that you were sure didn’t belong to him.

cold. lifeless. dark.

“Maybe I’ve changed”

“I didn’t say that was a bad thing. I said something’s wrong.”

“Well, sorry if I’m not chipper enough for you lately.”

Your breath hitched. You were starting to get pissed off and your voice raised slightly higher than it was earlier.

“That’s not fair. I’ve been patient. I’ve been here. Hell - Hermione and Ron don’t even know what to say to you anymore, especially after you lost your mind on Ron. You keep shutting not only me out but our friends from first year and pretending like you don’t care, like nothing matters.”

Harry gave you a look. a dirty one. One that said so many things you couldn’t even explain.

“Maybe nothing does matter”

You felt like you just got a slap to the face. Your fist balled up in anger and pain as you made your way even closer to him, which he returns with a scoff.

“Do you even hear yourself? You sound like—like someone I don’t even recognize.”

He stood up. voice low and cold as he stared at you. An angry expression all over his face. Your heart broke as you looked at him. This was not the Harry you know and love.

“Good. Maybe if you don’t recognize me, you’ll finally stop pretending I’m someone worth fixing.”

You pushed a finger on his chest and gave him a stern look.

“I wasn’t trying to fix you. I just wanted to be here for you. But you keep pushing me away like I’m the enemy.”

Harry grabbed your wrist and shot you a look. You hissed and looked into a pair of unrecognizable eyes.

“Because maybe I don’t want anyone near me! Maybe it’s easier that way! I’ve got enough people to lose without adding you to the list!

His fists clenched around your arm, words sharp and bitter.

“Voldemort’s out there, and he’s looking for me — always. Every time I close my eyes, it feels like he’s closer, like he’s in my blood, and I wake up furious, like his anger is mine. So forgive me if I’m not in the mood to hold your hand and cry about it like some sad little love story.”

Your eyes narrowed as tears threaten to pour out. You yank your wrist away from his grip and shoot him a deadly grin in return.

“You think that’s what this is about? A sad little love story? I’ve been standing here, trying to fight for you, and you’re acting like I’m just some needy extra in the tragedy of your life!”

“You are if you wont stop always getting in my fucking way! Y’ know what? I’m done. This is over. I don’t need to carry you around when you can’t even function properly without me holding your hand. I don’t need this - I don’t need you.”

Harry practically yelled right in your face with his last sentence. The tears no longer threatened to pour, they simply did. You stopped breathing - only for a moment. You searched in his eyes for something - something to let you know he didn’t mean it. He would apologize. Something that screamed “I’m still your Harry!”

You didn’t find it.

“Is that really what you think of me?” your voice shook as you spoke.

Harry remained silent, the stern look on his face not washing away.

Was he serious? This was how things ended? The boy you’ve loved since your second year, the boy who held you like someone would pry you away, the boy who made you truly believe love was made for you and him, had just ending things like that?

“right. got it.” you muttered as you head straight for the door. As soon as it was swung open, you were gone. You ran down the stairs with tears falling down with what it seems like every step you took. As you ran, you barley even noticed how you completely ran past Ronald.

He didn’t even have to ask what happened to know. He felt bloody bad for you - You were both his mates. While Harry was obviously his best, he really felt horrible for you.

When Ron made his way up to his shared dorm, he was met with harry shaking, jaw clenched as he tossed his robes into his trunk. not even bothering to fold them.

Ron walked to his side, sitting on his bed as he just watched Harry for a moment.

Ron took a breath before he spoke..

“That bad?”

Harry paused for a moment, glared at Ron, then went back to tossing things in his suitcase before he spoke.

“It’s fine. We broke up”

“yeah.. assumed that..” Ron coughed, awkward as always.

He didn’t know what to say. He liked Y/N — really liked them. Not just because they made Harry happier, which they did, but because they were one of the few people who treated Ron like Ron, not just “Harry’s mate.” They laughed at his jokes, teamed up with him to roast Malfoy, helped him with homework when he pretended not to care. He’d gotten used to them being around.

And now it felt wrong not to say anything. But it also felt wrong to say anything.

“She really cared about you, mate.”

“Yeah, well. Doesn’t matter now.”

Ron was baffled at Harry’s response. He knew Harry didn’t actually think it didn’t matter. He saw the two of you everyday and was well aware of how much Harry adored you.

“You don’t actually believe that. You’re just mad. At everything.”

Harry spun around, shooting daggers at Ron.

“You don’t know what it’s like, Ron. You don’t know what it feels like to have him in your head. To feel like you’re turning into something dangerous.”

“Your right, I don’t. What I do know is exactly how it looks when someone’s hurting and pushing every one they care about because they’re scared. I don’t care about how you snapped at me earlier and yelled like bloody murder. But the light of your life is crying her eyes out because of you. I care about that. Pushing not only me and Hermione away, but the girl you would talk about a future with to me won’t solve anything with Voldemort. It’s only hurting you worse.”

Harry’s gaze on Ron softened. His shoulders were now more tense.

‘The light of your life is crying her eyes out because of you.’

The words hit like a punch to the chest — not because they weren’t true, but because they were. Harry sank down on the edge of his bed, his fists clenched in the blanket, jaw tight. He could feel it — the rage crawling just beneath his skin, the familiar cold weight that came with it. Voldemort’s presence, faint but constant, like a shadow just out of sight.

But that wasn’t the part that shook him the most.

It was you.

Crying.

Because of him.

He pictured your face — the way you smiled when he made stupid jokes, the way your fingers found his under the table without thinking. How your voice softened when you said his name like it meant something sacred. How you looked the last time you spoke — blinking fast, voice cracking, like you were trying not to fall apart right in front of him.

He’d done that.

He’d let himself become something that hurt you.

And Ron was right — he’d pushed you away because he was scared. Terrified. Voldemort was always out there, always watching, always closer. And Harry kept thinking that if he distanced himself from everyone he loved, Voldemort wouldn’t have anything to take.

But he never stopped to think about what he was losing in the process.

He thought of what Ron said again:

‘The girl you would talk about a future with.’

He had. On quiet nights. On walks back from Hogsmeade. In the gaps between danger and duty, you were always the person he imagined beside him when the war ended. A future with peace. A future with you.

He’d torn it apart with sharp words and silence and the twisted belief that pushing you away was the same as protecting you.

But it wasn’t.

It was cowardice wrapped in good intentions.

Hermione found you sitting on the floor between your bed and the wall, knees tucked to your chest, face buried in your arms. She didn’t say anything at first. She sat at your side, cross-legged, her hand resting lightly over yours. She hadn’t left since you came back upstairs. She didn’t ask questions at first. She just stayed — offering tissues, brushing hair from your face, letting you breathe.

You didn’t try to speak - you simply just sobbed, the kind of quiet sobs that came from too much held in for too long.

“Im so sorry” Hermione whispered as she rubbed your back trying to sooth you. “Nobody has the right to say things like that no matter whats going on in their lives. None of this is your fault”

Your breath hitched as you tried to somewhat collect yourself so you don’t throw up from all the tears you’ve shed.

“He’s not… He’s not the same. And I don’t know if he’s coming back. I know its not my fault, but I feel like maybe if I’d have done something differently or- or maybe if i hadn’t just said anything at all.. maybe-”

Hermione cut you off with her own sentence.

“If you said nothing, you’d still be crying over this. You did exactly what you should’ve and I’m so glad you did what was right. With Harry..” Hermione’s voice cut off as she collected herself some as well trying to stand strong in this situation. You two were her closest friends and to her, seeing this go down was worse than what Voldemort could’ve done.

“I think he’s scared. Of what he’s feeling. Of what he could become. But that doesn’t mean it’s your job to carry that weight.”

You leaned into her with a shaky breath as you wiped more tears that fell. You wanted to stop them from pouring but you couldn’t control it.

“I just didn’t want him to feel alone.” you whispered out, voice fading in and out from your earlier cries.

Hermione leaned back into you and spoke up again.

“He knows. Even if he’s too angry to show it right now. He knows.”

You were truthfully so blessed for Hermione. As she brushed the hair from your face and spoke with that quiet, unwavering certainty only she seemed to have, something inside you settled, just a little. The ache didn’t vanish, but it no longer felt like you were drowning alone in it.

They sat there for a long time — no more words, just shared silence. Shared heartbreak.

It’s been weeks since everything with Harry and you went down.

Harry was asleep, but it didn’t feel like it.

He was awake - painfully. His body remained stiff beneath his blankets in the boys’ dormitory. What pulled him under this time wasn’t rest.

It was rage. Hunger.

He could feel the stone floor beneath his coils. He could see through slitted, reptilian eyes. He was gliding through the corridors of the Ministry, low to the ground, every movement silent and precise. He could feel the pounding of a heart, but not his own.

There it was: a man with thinning red hair, dozing in a chair beneath the soft golden glow of a flickering light. Arthur Weasley. Alone. Vulnerable.

“Strike now.”

Without hesitation, he lunged.

Harry felt the impact. Felt the fangs tear through flesh and muscle, tasted blood. There was a weak cry - and Arthur fell sideways, clutching his ribs, blood already spilling across the polished floor. Again, he struck. Again.

And then—

“NO!”

Harry shot up in bed, gasping for air, drenched in sweat. His scream had ripped through the dormitory, waking Ron instantly. The curtains around his bed were yanked open. Ron’s voice was frantic.

Harry - what? What is it?”

Harry was trembling, clutching the sheets. “Arthur… your dad. He’s been attacked.”

“What?!”

“I saw it. I was the snake… I was inside it. I bit him - he’s in the Department of Mysteries. He’s bleeding, he’s dying - Ron, we have to tell someone! Now!”

Ron didn’t hesitate.

——————————————————————————

The guilt didn’t settle. It grew. Even after Dumbledore confirmed that Arthur had been found alive, but just barley - Harry couldn’t shake the feeling crawling under his skin.

He wasn’t just seeing Voldemort anymore. He was connected to him. He had been the thing that tried to kill someone he loved.

The worst part? he enjoyed it.

He kept his distance even more after that.

From Ron. From Hermione.

Especially from you.

Because if Voldemort could use him to hurt Mr. Weasley… what would stop him from using Harry to hurt you? It was no longer a fear. It was a possibility.He told himself that he was right all along, and that he did the right thing by pushing you away from him.

But then he remembered the way you looked at him in the firelight. The way you cried the night he let go. The way Hermione said you weren’t just hurting — you were breaking.

And Harry knew then that Voldemort wasn’t the only one doing damage.

He was too.

Grimmauld place was colder than usual, even with the fire lit crackling infront of Harry. He’d been sitting with the weight of it all — the vision, the blood, the connection. The echo of Arthur Weasley’s cries still rang in his ears.

“your thinking to loud again”

Harry startled slightly. He looked up. Sirius stood in the doorway, his coat draped over one arm, looking every bit the shadowed version of the man he used to be — but there was warmth in his eyes. Concern. Familiarity.

“Sirius..” Harry muttered, “I didn’t hear you come in”

Didn’t need to,” Sirius said, stepping in and sinking into the armchair across from him. “You’ve been looking like that for hours.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re blaming yourself for Arthur being attacked. “I know that look. I wore it for years after Azkaban. And my father, well- he’d have worn it his whole life, if he’d had a heart to break.”

Harry didn’t say a word, just looked at Sirius while he spoke.

Sirius leaned forward, eyes softer now. “You think you’re becoming him, don’t you? Voldemort?”

Harry’s silence finally broke.

“I felt it, What he left in me,” Harry finally whispered. “Through the snake. I saw it happen, Sirius, I was it. And it… it didn’t even feel wrong at first. I felt powerful. I felt… hungry. What if there’s something in me? What if I’m like him?”

Sirius was quiet for a moment. Then, firmly..

“You’re not a bad person, Harry. You’re a very good person who bad things have happened to.”

“We’ve all got both light and dark inside us,” Sirius continued. “What matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are.”

Harry’s face softened completely before he spoke again, “What if he takes over again and I don’t know it? What if the next time it’s Ron, or Hermione, or…” He couldn’t say your name.

Sirius’s voice softened, but it didn’t waver. “Then you fight harder. And you trust the people who love you to help pull you back.”

He gave Harry a long, meaningful look.

“Including her.”

Harry looked up at Sirius, his eyes glistening with regret.

“I broke her Sirius. She was trying so hard to reach me.. to help me. I pushed her away and treated her like she wasn’t anything to me. But she means so much to me.”

“Then tell her before its far too late.” Sirius stood up and placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, giving it a pat before he walked away.

You heard it all

You didn’t mean to stop outside the door to be fair.

You were just coming downstairs for tea. A simple excuse to escape the suffocating quiet of the girls’ room, where your thoughts kept swallowing you whole.

then you heard his voice.

Harry, the harry who once was yours.

His voice was muffled , low. Fragile in a way you hadn’t heard it in weeks.

Your hand gripped the banister. The flickering light from the hallway sconce spilled just enough through the cracked door that you could make out Harry’s silhouette inside — curled in a chair across from Sirius.

“What if he takes over again and I don’t know it? What if the next time it’s Ron, or Hermione, or…”

or who? you? your breath hitched with the sudden cutoff. You wanted to pry your hands away and go back to your room, you wanted to ignore it and act like Harry still wasn’t your everything while you felt sure you meant nothing anymore. but your body wouldn’t let you. Your hands remained glued to the banister as you continued to listen.

“Then you fight harder,” Sirius said gently. “And you trust the people who love you to help pull you back. Including her.”

You froze.

Her.

Your heart pounded in your chest, pressing up into your throat.

“I broke her,” Harry murmured. “She was trying so hard to reach me. And I shoved her away like she didn’t mean a thing. But she did. She does.”

You blinked hard. Your throat ached.

There it was. The thing you had begged to hear the night he shut down. When his eyes went cold and his words came out cruel, and you left because it hurt more to stay.

But now — alone in that room with Sirius, Harry was saying it aloud.

He still loved you.

He never stopped.

But your knew deep down it wouldn’t be that simple to let him back in. No matter how many times you believed you would let him walk straight back in. His words still stung. Maybe he was still in there — the boy who used to wait for you outside class, tuck letters in your books, kiss you like he thought you hung the moon.

And maybe he’d have a damn good enough apology.

You made your way back upstairs and closed the door softly behind you, leaning against it like it was the only thing holding you upright. The air in the room felt heavier than before, but in a different way. Not suffocating. Just… full.

Hermione looked up from the edge of her bed, where she’d been reading in the golden glow of a low-burning lamp. She sat up straighter the moment she saw your face.

“Are you okay?” she asked gently, putting her book aside.

You nodded too quickly. Then shook your head.

Hermione was up in an instant, crossing the room to you. “What happened?”

“I… I heard him,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “Downstairs. With Sirius.”

Hermione’s expression softened. “Harry?”

You nodded again, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “He was talking about the attack. About the way Voldemort… felt through him. He was scared. So scared.”

you and Hermione shared a sympathetic look.

“And he mentioned me,” you added quietly, staring at the floor. “He said he broke me. That I tried to reach him and he shoved me away. But that I mattered. That I still matter.”

The words cracked in your throat while it felt like the words hit you even harder this time. Your breath was short and you were sure you were on the verge of tears.

Hermione ran to you and embraced you in her arms. You wrapped yours around her as your breath became slightly unsteady as a single tear fell.

“I never stopped hoping he’d come back,” you whispered. “Even when I hated him for hurting me. I still… I still loved him.”

Hermione pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. “He’s coming back now. Piece by piece. And he’s going to need you — not because he’s broken, but because you’re the one who reminds him who he really is.”

you both pulled away and shared a smile. Though yours faded once again.

“I don’t even know what to say to him when i see him..” you groaned as you smacked your head into your hands.

Hermione let out a little giggle at your actions, pulling your hands away from your face so she can look at you.

“You don’t have to know,” Hermione said. “Just listen to your heart. It’s always known him better than anyone.”

——————————————————————————

The next morning, sunlight streamed faintly through the tall, dusty windows of the corridor, casting a soft golden glow over the creaky wooden floor. The quiet of early morning held the house in a kind of hush, the kind that settles right before something important.

Harry stood outside your door.

He’d barely slept. After Sirius’s words and Ron’s pointed honesty, after Hermione’s quiet look when she passed him late in the hallway - he’d stayed up, thinking. Feeling. Regretting.

really regretting.

Harry knocked on your door. Two knocks.

He heard a quiet shuffle inside. Then the door cracked open, and there you were, hair a little messy from sleep, jumper slipping off one should.

his jumper.

Your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met harry’s. His hair was messier than usual. His eyes were tired - not just from lack of sleep, but from the weight he’d been carrying. Still, when he looked at you, something in his expression shifted. Lighter. Softer. Like seeing you was the first deep breath he’d taken in days.

“I was hoping you’d be up,” he said quietly.

You held the door, unsure whether to lean into it or close it again. “I figured you’d come.”

You didn’t mean it to sound bitter — it didn’t, really. Just honest.

“Can we talk? Somewhere quiet?”

You stared at him for a moment. Part of you wanted to close the door and guard whatever was left of your heart. But the rest of you, the bigger part - remembered the sound of his voice the night before, cracked and vulnerable through the door. Remembered Hermione’s words. Remembered love.

“The kitchen’s probably empty,” you murmured.

He didn’t move immediately. Just looked at you like he was surprised you still had space in your heart for him.

Then he followed behind you.

It wasn’t forgiveness. not yet.

The kitchen was quiet when you entered — dimly lit by the weak morning sun peeking through the grimy windows, and empty.

You sat across from Harry at the long table. The space between you wasn’t far, but it felt like it carried weeks’ worth of words left unsaid.

He didn’t speak at first.

Just looked down at his hands. Twisted his fingers together. You noticed the faint tremble in them.

“I, um…” His voice cracked a little, and he cleared his throat. “I don’t really know where to start.”

You waited.

“I’ve been a right mess,” he said finally. “I was angry. At everything. At Voldemort. At Dumbledore. At the prophecy. At myself.”

You looked at him, and for the first time in a long while, he met your gaze.

“And instead of dealing with it, I took it out on the one person I trusted not to leave.”

Your heart twisted.

“I pushed you because I was scared,” he continued.

“Because Voldemort is looking for me. Because I feel him inside my head some days and it makes me question who I even am. And I thought… if I kept everyone at arm’s length, I couldn’t lose them.”

“But I lost you anyway,”

“I didn’t mean a single bit of the things I said,” he went on. “I only said it all to make you leave. To hurt you before I could hurt you worse. So maybe, you would realize how I don’t want to wake up one morning to you dead because of me. Because of him. What he left in me, i took out on you.”

“I know sorry doesn’t fix everything. But I am sorry. For all of it.”

You sat still, breathing through the knot in your chest.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Harry said, quieter now. “But I need you to know you never stopped mattering to me. You still do.”

You took a fair look at him, you saw the pain in his eyes and how his soul had seemed to be almost entirely sucked out. But beneath it all, you saw him.

Your harry.

The boy who once waited for you outside Potions. The one who snuck you Honeydukes sweets when he knew you were upset. The one who held your hand under the table during DA meetings, because your nerves were louder than your wand.

he was still there. Barely, just barely.. but you saw your boy.

And for the first time in weeks, you let yourself speak without a wall between you.

“I missed you,” you said softly. “Even when I hated you.”

Harry’s breath caught.

“I hated how much I still loved you.”

He blinked hard, and you saw his shoulders shake just slightly as he nodded. “Me too”

You watched him. Not the Boy Who Lived. Not the weapon Dumbledore needed. Just him.

And still, part of you wanted to reach out.

But part of you didn’t trust your own hands yet. So you stayed still. Let the quiet speak for you. Let him see how much it had cost to be hurt by someone you trusted with everything.

“I know I don’t get to ask this,” he said eventually, “but… do you think you’ll ever be able to look at me the same way again?”

you didn’t answer immediately. You took a deep breath before you answered his question.

“I don’t know,” You answered truthfully. “I want to. Its like a part of me does and always will, but you hurt me in ways i’ve never been hurt. And that takes time.”

Harry nodded. He was looking at you. Really looking at you. Like he used to. his face spread with guilt and shame.

“thats fair”

“I’m not asking you to forget it,” he added, voice a little hoarse. “Just… let me earn your trust again. However long that takes.”

The words sat with you. You didn’t move closer to reach for his hand. You didn’t pull back either. That was enough for you.

So you nodded. Small, but real.

——————————————————————————-

The library was tucked away behind thick, creaky doors, the kind that groaned every time someone opened them. so naturally, you chose it.

You weren’t sure if you came to find them or just stumbled in out of instinct, but there they were: Ron slouched sideways in an armchair by the fireplace, chewing on the end of a Sugar Quill, and Hermione curled up with her knees to her chest, a book resting forgotten in her lap.

They both looked up the second you stepped in.

“You talked to him,” Hermione said softly.

It wasn’t a question.

You sank down into the space between their chairs, curling your arms around your knees.

“I did.”

Ron sat forward slightly, watching you with careful eyes. “How’d it go?”

You breathed out a shaky little laugh. “It was… hard. He apologized. Really apologized. But it doesn’t fix everything.”

“No,” Hermione murmured. “It wouldn’t.”

“But I didn’t shut the door on him,” you added. “And I wanted to. But i looked at him - really looked at him. He’s still Harry.”

Ron scratched the back of his neck. “He’s been different these past few weeks. All that anger. It’s not him, not really. But when he talked about you… it was like that part of him came back.”

Hermione leaned over and took your hand gently in hers.

“You don’t owe him instant forgiveness,” she said, her voice strong but kind. “But you also don’t have to keep punishing yourself by pretending you don’t care.”

Ron gave a half-smile. “For what it’s worth… I think he’s finally learning not to run. That’s got to count for something.”

You nodded slowly ans gave them both a smile, leaning your head against Hermione’s shoulder.

The train ride back had been quieter than usual. No sweets from the trolley. No laughter from younger years. Just the four of you — you, Harry, Ron, and Hermione — pressed into one compartment, bundled in scarves and unsaid things.

It wasn’t the same as it used to be. But that didn’t mean it was broken.

Something between the four of you had shifted — tightened, maybe. Like surviving the weight of December had quietly stitched your threads back together. There were fewer outbursts now. More shared glances, longer silences that didn’t feel uncomfortable, and the occasional smile that felt like a promise that things might be okay again someday.

You and Harry didn’t sit as close as you used to. But you talked. You shared smiles here and there. Things started suddenly looking up.

Strangely enough, there was something comforting about the DA meetings.

Despite everything - the tension in the halls, the fear in the headlines, the ache that still settled in your chest when you looked at Harry too long, even Umbridge.. the evenings in the Room of Requirements brought back hope. Like you had some stability.

And Harry was still a fantastic teacher.

Tonight’s meeting had gone exceptionally well - spells flying, laughter bubbling as Neville accidentally disarmed himself, a round of light applause when Ginny nailed a perfect Reducto. It felt normal. Just for a little while. Like everything you yearned for was finally back.

But when everyone started to pack up, laughing and shaking out their arms, you hesitated. You told yourself you were just reorganizing the spellbooks. But your hands weren’t really moving.

And when you looked up — he was still there.

Harry stood near the back wall, wand loosely in hand, watching the last of the group file out. You told yourself you should just leave and tell him goodnight, but you stayed.

He didn’t say anything right away. He locked eyes with you and just took a slow step closer, the distance between you still careful. Still heavy.

“You’re getting good with Expelliarmus,” he said quietly.

You gave a faint smile, not looking at him. “Well, I’ve had a pretty consistent example.”

He huffed a small laugh through his nose. “Yeah, it’s kind of my thing.”

When you finally turned to face him fully, you saw it — that flicker in his eyes. Longing. Regret. All the things he hadn’t been able to say when the world was falling apart and he was pushing you away with it.

“You’ve been doing better,” you said. “In here, I mean.”

His jaw shifted slightly. “This room’s the only place I feel like I still know who I am.”

You nodded once. “That makes two of us.”

Harry looked at you and smiled. “you’ve always been really talented with spells, you still are”

You arched an eyebrow. “Are you complimenting me, Potter?”

“maybe im finally starting to remember how.”

You smirked. “You know, I still remember the first time you tried to teach me Expelliarmus. You were so serious like you were prepping for a NEWT exam and not just trying to show off.”

Harry let out a laugh - a genuine laugh. The laugh that makes your stomach turn in so many ways. The laugh you’d yearned for and missed more than anything.

The laughter faded into quiet smiles, but neither of you looked away. And in that pause, something else started to fill the room, a kind of warmth that had been missing for far too long. The kind that lived in old memories and late-night talks and the way your eyes lingered on each other now, just a second too long.

“You remember that night after the Yule Ball?” Harry asked suddenly, voice lower.

You tilted your head, curious. “When we snuck up to the Astronomy Tower and you nearly got us caught?”

He laughed again.

“Yeah. That one. You told me you’d hex me right after.’”

“right before you kissed me to shut me up”

“exactly.”

Your heart skipped a beat and your sure his did as well. You both help eye contact, shit. It was just like how it used to be. Harry was never angry anymore. He obviously had his moments, but he hadn’t lashed out. never on you. never came close.

“I didn’t know what I was doing back then,” he admitted, stepping a little closer.

“I don’t think either of us did,” you said, voice softening. “But it still felt easy… back then. With you.”

Harry’s eyes locked with yours. “It could be again. I want it to be.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe. You weren’t ready to trust that so easily — but gods, you wanted to. The space between you had vanished without either of you realizing. His hand brushed against yours, tentative, like testing the weight of the moment.

And you didn’t pull away.

“I’m still mad at you,” you murmured.

“I know.”

“And I still don’t forgive everything.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“But…” you stepped closer, your voice barely audible, “I still love you, Harry.”

His breath caught, and the look in his eyes nearly undid you.

“I never stopped,” he said.

Then — slowly, carefully — his hand came up to cup your cheek. You leaned into it before you could think twice.

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect. It was trembling and quiet and real. All the broken pieces trying to fit back together, not because they were forced — but because they wanted to.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, smiling like fools.

You leaned your forehead against his. “Still an idiot.”

Harry grinned. “Yours though?”

You nodded.

“Mine.”

Spring had finally started to sneak into Hogwarts, soft and quiet. The sun was warmer on your face, the air smelled like blooming grass, and for the first time in what felt like months — you could breathe. Things slowly reverted to how they were. This was how it used to be. But stronger now. Wiser. Braver.

You and Harry lay side by side on the slope near the Black Lake, his hand laced with yours, thumb tracing circles against your skin. His other arm was slung lazily behind his head, eyes half-closed, the wind tousling his hair in that ridiculous, untamable way you’d grown to love again.

Ron and Hermione were a few feet away, bickering over some spellwork, though Ron’s grin betrayed that he was only trying to get a rise out of her. Hermione rolled her eyes and pretended not to smile.

“Feels like the world’s still spinning,” Harry murmured beside you, breaking the silence.

You turned to him. “It always was. You just forgot how to feel it.”

He looked at you then — really looked — and smiled like he used to. The one that reached his eyes, made everything feel steady.

“I don’t think I would’ve remembered without you.”

You squeezed his hand. “That’s what we do, remember? You fall apart, I put you back together. I fall apart, you do the same. It’s teamwork.”

Harry chuckled. “So what you’re saying is… I can’t ever break up with you again or I’ll be tragically incomplete.”

“Exactly,” you said, deadpan. “And I’ll hex you if you try.”

“Romantic,” he grinned, and leaned over to kiss you softly.

You let it linger. Not because it was new, or uncertain — but because it wasn’t. Because it felt like home.

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 5: Night Out

You find yourself squeezed into the center of a round corner booth, Johnny to your left and Kyle to your right with John beside him. The bar is relatively quiet, even for a Saturday night. It is early, though. Plenty of time left in the night for more people to file in. Apparently they go out drinking every third week of the month, a day set aside for them to be together and celebrate another month of success. It’s sweet that they invited you, if not a little nerve wracking - you’re not exactly sure how much they plan on drinking and you’ve been known to be rather… sloppy after one too many.

You nervously adjust your top while Johnny yaps about the equipment sales person with the incredible ass. It’s hard not to squirm being packed in between them, hyper aware of the width of your hips and the size of your arms as they squish against far more toned, muscular limbs. A mean itch in the back of your mind lectures you about taking up too much space - about inconveniencing the people around you. About the optics of the pitiable fat girl tolerated by the handsome men around her.

An elbow to your arm finally knocks you out of your daze. “Och! There he is!”

You blink, following Johnny’s gaze to the man climbing into the booth beside him. It takes your brain a moment to catch up, processing the person in front of you. Your eyes turn to saucers as you realize it’s Simon - signature tattoos, piercings and all - just without his usual surgical mask. It shouldn’t make that much a difference, he still has that low brow and big dark eyes that slide over to you and make your stomach flip…but now you get the addition of his crooked nose, broken more than once and not set right, a small cleft scar leading down to a part of pretty, pink lips that quirk up in the corners when he catches you staring. A few scars scattered across his sharp jaw you hadn’t noticed before and a light layer of blonde stubble around each engraving on his face.

“You’re pretty!?” You gasp, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them. You bury your face in your hands while the others (Johnny) burst out in a fit of laughter. Simon’s shoulders shake in that signature, barely audible chuckle as he settles into the booth. Suddenly you feel a little less self conscious about the amount of space you take up in comparison.

John orders a round for everyone. Some light mixers to sip while you talk. You stick to listening, mostly, while the boys talk shop. You pick up a few personal tidbits here and there - specifically about Simon’s apparent sweet tooth as Johnny teases him about going through an entire package of licorice in one sitting. You file that away for later. Apparently John got his start after he enlisted in the military and got several very shitty tattoos during the first couple of years. Dropped out to get an apprenticeship, figuring he could do better. Kyle rolls his eyes, as if he’d heard the tale a few too many times.

“Where ye thinkin’ of lettin’ Kyle ink ye?” Johnny leans in close, breaking out of the group conversation.

You tilit your head. “Haven’t really thought about it. Wherever he’s comfortable, I guess.”

“Givin’ him free reign? Tha’s dangerous, bonnie. Might put it somewhere scandalous.”

“Wouldn’t be the first.” You blurt, regretting it immediately when you see that impish sparkle in his eye.

Johnny dips closer to you, shoulder pressing against yours. “Oh? Thought ye were a good girl, hen.”

“I’ve got a couple you haven’t, and will never get close enough to see, MacTavish.” You laugh.

“Is tha’ a challenge?” He grins, hand just barely ghosting over your thigh.

You shrug, face hot. ”Even if it was, you’d lose.”

There’s probably something deeply wrong with flirting with your coworkers while your boss sits a foot away, but your skin is too warm and your drink tastes to good for you to focus on that fleeing thought for long.

“From the gentleman at the bar.” A woman appears in front of your table, sliding a glass of pink cocktail toward you.

You stare at it before glancing up to meet a pair of dark eyes. He’s handsome, smiles and nods before going back to his own drink. Something cold runs down your spine, the bar warping for only a second. Your lip catches between your teeth before you push it away.

“That’s bold.” John scoffs, a twitch in his brow.

“Not gonnae take a free drink, bon?” Johnny teases, batting at your arm. “He’s no’ half bad lookin’. I’d take a bite.”

“I don’t take drinks from strange men.” You snap, a little harsher than you meant as you push the glass even further. “You can have it if you want.”

There’s a beat where you keep your eyes square on the table, waiting for an insistence that you take it, that you talk to him, that you just do what he wants because he seems nice enough. That you’ve ruined the mood by being sensitive, like you always do. Instead, Johnny grabs the glass and downs whatever fruity cocktail was inside.

“Alright, if I pass out ye have t’ carry me now.” He laughs, the conversation returning to the same pace as before. You just look up at him for a moment - his eyes bright and unwavering.

The more you’re with them, the more guilt you feel for doubting them in moments like this - but, equally, the more unreal they seem. Too perfect of men for you to have stumbled across. Too good for something as damaged as you. There’s a pang of loneliness at the thought.

You’re one again pulled from your thoughts - well, redirected, more like - when John’s arm comes to rest around the back of the booth behind Kyle, fingers brushing against your shoulder ever so slightly. You’d been noticing it more recently - John’s tendency to hover. He doesn’t cling like Johnny but he stays just a hair away. Fingers ghost over your arms and a hand hovers over your back. Sometimes he holds the back of your seat, leaning over you while looking at the appointment book, that wafting scent of leather and petrichor enveloping you.

He doesn’t look at you, talking across the table to Simon about some business thing. At least you think, you really hadn’t been listening. Maybe you should have.

“We should go check out that new place up the street.” Kyle announces, scrolling through his phone. “They’ve got great room for dancin’, apparently.”

“Is dancin’ the mood for the night?” Simon sighs, tilting his head forward. Even without the mask his expression remains placid. Difficult to read.

“Aye!” Johnny wraps an arm firmly around your shoulders. “We’ve got t’ take our little lass out on the town!”

You scoff, cheeks warming at the idea that you’re theirs. Their lass - their girl. Fuck that last drink really good to you, huh?

Johnny walks with an arm sling around Kyle’s waist ahead of you, John laughing and shaking his head at them. Simon hangs back a bit as you walk, taking small, slow steps to stay beside you with his hands in his pockets. The same as when he walks you home every night you close together. You silently revel in the safety of it - of having this massive man in your shadow to block out everything else. You risk glancing up at his face - so new to you despite knowing each other for weeks. His skin glows in the passing street lights.

So not fair that he’s been hiding lips that kissable.

That’s totally the drinks talking.

“Y’alright?” He murmurs, glancing down at you.

You jump a bit, not realizing you’d been staring, eyes wide and hazy. Since when we’re you such a lightweight? “Yeah.”

“Still bothered about that guy?”

You blink. In all honesty, you’d completely forgotten him. Too busy enjoying your time with your boys. Your boys. Your boys. Their girl. That feels really good.

“No.” You shake your head and grin. “Sorry for being weird about it.”

“Y’weren’t.” Simon shakes his head solemnly, lapsing into a comfortable silence as you walk. It’s made up for by Johnny’s forceful cover of Pink Pony Club.

The place is packed when you get there, Simon having to use his bulky form to push through and secure you all a standing table. Not that you really need it, it’s mostly so the four of you can do a few shots - as per Johnny and Kyle’s insistence. Yours too, but it’s more fun to use them as an excuse to down two green tea shots back to back. You’ve never been good at saying no anyway.

“C’mon, luv.” Kyle herds you toward the dance floor and you follow, not unaware of Johnny right at your back. Your head buzzes, the world feeling loose and slow and comfortable around you. That wall you might otherwise have up long gone as you’re safely pinned between two of your favorite boys.

Kyle’s hands trail down your sides to knead at your hips, guiding them to move in tandem with his. Johnny presses closer to your front, hooking your arms up around his neck. If you were any more sober, you might have thought twice about the way you grind back against Kyle and press your chest into Johnny - your coworkers - but as it stands you couldn’t care less. Your body buzzes with a comfortable warmth, the music seems to course through your veins. It’s so easy to let them guide you, to melt into them, to tilt your head back onto Kyle’s chest and grin up at Johnny’s big blue eyes.

It’s the loosest you’ve felt in a long, long time

Johnny says something you can’t hear, his head ducking and lips grazing the shell of your ear. A touch starved part of you wants to whine, to throw yourself into him and burrow into his chest. Bury yourself right between his ribs - surely it’s warm in there. The very sun itself housed where his heart should be.

Maybe you’re reaching the water-only time of the night.

You tilt your head, half-lidded eyes making contact with Simon’s. They’re boring into you, seemingly memorizing the way you three move against each other. Each step and sway stored away for future reference. Surely it’s in your imagination.

Eventually, you shuffle around - trading yourself for Kyle as John’s big hands come to rest respectfully on your waist. The music slows a bit, at least, making it easier to dance with your boss without feeling like you’re crossing a boundary. Not that you would mind crossing that boundary. You’d leap over it if you could - those pretty blue eyes smiling down at you in the multicolor bar light. Leather and petrichor fill your nose. There’s a spice to it that isn’t usually there. Your drunkenness sets your fingers alight as they trace up his strong arms to rest on his shoulders.

“Glad y’came tonight, dove.” John says, barely having to shout over the music. His voice just has that commanding timber to it that makes itself heard no matter the circumstance.

You give him a crooked grin. “Me too.”

John just hums, swaying you carefully. People don’t do this, a small part of you thinks. Don’t dance with their bosses. You look down to where you’re pressed together. It feels good, though. You wonder if you’re more to him than an employee - if he considers you a friend despite your inequalities of age and rank.

“Is it silly to say that I’m really happy?” You mutter, not expecting John to hear over the music.

“Not at all.” He shakes his head, dipping lower so you can hear him more clearly. “I’m very grateful that we get to have you.”

Somehow your face gets hotter and in an attempt to calm down you glance over his shoulder to where Simon still stands, leaned against the wall with a glass in hand. His eyes rake over the crowd, sometimes resting on Johnny and Kyle, sometimes you and John, sometimes they seem to just look off into the distance. A woman walks up to him. She’s pretty. Tall with dark hair. You can’t see her face - can’t tell what she says. A slimy, nosy little part of you doesn't like it, despite having no right to an opinion. Simon’s expression remains flat as he responds and she stomps away.

You turn back to John. “Does Simon not dance?”

John chuckles. “Rarely.”

You pout. “I hate that he’s all alone.”

“He’s fine, love. Promise.”

“I’m gonna ask him.”

“Good luck.” John laughs, letting you push your way out of the crowd as the current song comes to an end.

“Si!” You call loudly over the music, movements sloppy.

“Hm?” He cocks a brow.

You lock your hands around his wrist like a child trying to pull their parent toward some bright thing that caught their eye. He doesn’t pull away like a more sober you might expect. “Come dance with me!”

“I don’t dance.” He scoffs.

“Please?” You beg, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. Not nearly as effective as Johnny’s but they’ll have to do.

“No.” Even in your drunken state you notice the corner of his mouth quirk up before he forces it back down.

“You can’t stand over here all night!”

“Watch me.” Simon huffs.

You pout and let your fingers drift over his forearm, all muscle and so very vascular. His skin is warm under your hands, the ridges of scars dancing across the pads of your fingers - invisible to the eye under his tattoos.

“Well, then, I’ll just have to do what you like to do!” You say with a discerning nod, clambering up onto the stool at the table beside him.

He frowns. “Don’t let me take you away-“

“I don’t wanna leave you alone!” You continue to pout, the cotton in your head only making things fuzzier outside of your new single minded goal: Hang Out with Simon.

He looks you over for a moment, something passing through those dark eyes of his. They’re so mysterious - so deep. Like the Mariana Trench. That’s the really big one, right?

Simon sighs and downs the last of whatever golden drink was in his glass, setting it on the table beside you. “Fine. I’ll give you one song.”

You’re practically preening as you pull him into the crowd, hand firmly around his thick wrist. Part of you briefly acknowledges a few jabs from Johnny and Kyle as you pass them on their way toward the bar.

A squeak escapes you as Simon suddenly turns you around, pulling you close and leading you to the beat. He’s good. Weirdly good. You feel a bit like a floundering fish all of a sudden. It definitely doesn’t help that you’re a lot more drunk than you felt five minutes ago. He smells like spice, too.

“So much for can’t dance!” You laugh.

“I said I don’t dance, bird. Nothin’ about can’t.” An arm loops around your waist, suddenly twisting to dip you low - holding your weight so easily. You fall into a giggling fit, face hot as you playfully push at his chest.

As the night goes on, things get fuzzier. Blurred. There’s one last shot with Johnny and Kyle and all you know is an overwhelming sense of joy.

A/N: Don’t love love this part but it’s cute and this is supposed to be my easy to write fic so I’m not stressing about it. Suuuuper excited for the next couple parts tho🤭

[criminalyapping]

the way you look tonight

the pitt masterlist main masterlist

pairing: michael robinavich x f!reader

a/n: sexy old man mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

and listen fanfiction is what you make it so what i say goes. yes everyone isn't working and no i dont know who's working while they're not there. suspend your disbelief for me, pls. also don't ask me about timelines and how all of these interns and residents still work there i have a very rudimentary understanding of how doctor school works

i learned the difference between discretely and discreetly for this fic

warnings: SMUT (mdni!!!!!!!!), language, also somehow this turned into like dom!reader which is usually not my specialty but there is something about this man with the eyes of bambi that pulled it out of me

Robby was proud of Frank, he really is. He went to rehab, albeit begrudgingly, but put in the work and took responsibility for his actions. Frank had hit the lowest point in his life. Remembering fighting with Dr. Robby, his attending- no, his friend, whom he knew cared about him, and he threw his trauma back in his face. It made Frank sick. So did telling his wife why he was suddenly unemployed and going away for a stint in rehab.

From what Robby knows, Abby hadn't taken it well. Rightfully so. She had taken the kids and moved back to her parents' house in Boston, telling Frank that she would come back when he was clean and employed once again.

Now, almost a year later, Robby is able to sit on an uncomfortable chair in the blazing summer sun, and watch as Frank and Abby renew their wedding vows.

And even better than that, he gets to see you, his gorgeous and radiant wife, sitting next to him and dressed to the nines.

Robby always thinks you're gorgeous; waking up in the morning, taking a shower, unloading the dishwasher, reading a book, all of it. But there's something so special about seeing you in a pretty dress, makeup and hair impeccably done, and hanging off his arm as he chats with his friends and coworkers.

The ceremony had been beautiful, a lovely testament what they had been through together and chosen to work together to overcome. It made Robby misty-eyed, with you sliding him a tissue discreetly.

"Come on, honey," he prompts when the ceremony is over, holding out his arm for you to take as you walk down the aisle together and head toward the reception space.

"Hi! Mrs. Robby!" Mel exclaims, coming up to walk beside you.

"Hi, Mel," you greet with a smile, "how are you doing?" you ask.

Mel was your favorite of Michael's coworkers. You get dinner with her and Becca every Thursday evening.

"I'm good! The ceremony was so beautiful!" she exclaims.

"Agreed, and god, Mel, that dress looks amazing on you!" you compliment.

The three of you quickly find your seats at a round table, surrounded by ED coworkers of Michael's.

"Hi Mrs. Robby!" Samira greets, Jack sitting next to her with an arm thrown over the back of her chair.

"Hi everybody!" you greet, smiling at everyone around the table. Before you can sit down, Dana is out of her seat and giving you a tight squeeze of a hug.

"Good to see you," she murmurs in your ear.

"What am I, chopped liver?" Michael asks, sitting down with a groan.

"We see enough of you at work." Santos tells him.

He puts a hand over his heart and groans like he's in pain at the jab.

He smiles at you in the seat next to him.

"You want a drink, honey?" he asks.

"Yes please, I'll have whatever wine they have, thank you," you agree.

He plants a kiss on you as he gets up to get your drinks.

Jack wolf whistles teasingly, to which Micheal rolls his eyes.

You chat and catch up with his coworkers, giving updates on your own job in return.

"-and then, she looks at me and she says, with her whole chest, that I have to figure it out, even though I didn't even cause the problem in the first place!" you exclaim, laughing at your work woes.

A soft touch on your shoulder alerts you to your husbands return, slowly lowering a glass of wine into your hands.

"Thank you, honey," you smile, taking a sip.

You chat and laugh with the group, grateful for the time you get to spend with them.

As a nice, slow song starts to play over the speakers, Michael gently pulls you away from the conversation you're having with Dana and Javadi.

You grin, standing up and follow the gentle leading towards the dance floor.

You wrap your arms around his neck as his hands go to either side of your waist.

"Have I told you how gorgeous you look tonight?" he asks lowly, face inches from yours.

"Oh, maybe once or twice," you joke. He's told you probably 20 times tonight something to that effect.

"I have no idea how I got so lucky." he says wistfully.

"I think you're selling yourself short there, honey." you rebut, "my husband is incredibly attractive." you purr.

"You're giving a poor man ideas, babe." he laughs.

"Ooo, what kind of ideas would those be?" you tease, knowing exactly where his mind has gone.

"Ideas about you and me," he says lowly, "and finding a place that I can take this dress off of you."

"Well, it might have to be more like lifting it up." you whisper.

You sway slowly together until the song is over, looking at each other with love in your eyes.

"Okay," Michael starts, patting your ass twice, "go find a spot and text me." he instructs.

"Okay," you giggle, walking towards the bathrooms. You find a single stall bathroom with a functioning lock and quickly text Michael.

It's not the most glamorous place to fuck your husband, but believe it or not, you've done worse. While you wait, you fix up your hair and work on reapplying your lip gloss.

The door is flung open a few moments later, and Michael catches you swiping more gloss onto your lips. The door shuts behind him loudly and he clicks the lock into place with finality. You smile at him in the mirror and slowly put the lid back on your gloss and put it into your purse, which you place on top of the paper towel dispenser. You finally turn around to face him, giving him a heated look.

“Come here, baby.” you invite.

Michael jumps at the chance, immediately crowding into your space and laying a hand on the side of your face. The hard ceramic of the sink is digging into your back as his chest pushes against yours.

Feeling impatient, you surge up onto your tiptoes and kiss him hard. He responds immediately, deepening the kiss as you make soft, satisfied sounds into his mouth. You push open your legs as you perch on the edge of the sink, pulling him in by the lapels of his suit jacket and feel him, hard in his slacks, starting to rut against you.

You lift your chin slightly, leaving him to press his face into the side of yours, his glasses askew. You chuckle as you reach down to his belt and begin to undo it.

“You just couldn’t wait until we got home?” you ask teasingly, “You need it right now, at your friends wedding?” you ask, hand slipping down the front of his pants and gripping him, starting to move painstakingly slowly up and down.

“Ye-yeah,” he chokes out at the feeling of you running a fingernail over his tip.

“I got ya,” you giggle as you move your hand faster. Michael puts his fist into his mouth and bites down, his other hand cradling the back of your head.

He’s panting out humid, fast breaths right into your ear as you continue working on him.

“Please, let me…” he trails off, one of his hands now trailing up your thigh over your dress.

“Let you what, hm?” you tease.

“Let me fuck my wife, huh?” he pleads, “what do you expect, walking around, looking like this and looking at me like you do.”

You shiver at the raspy tone of his voice and the desperation in which he’s asking for you.

“Okay, one second,” you agree, pushing him back from you slightly. You hop off of your perch on the sink and turn around, now facing the mirror, and lower yourself onto your elbows.

“Alright, come on,” you urge your husband.

Immediately, his hands are dragging up the silky material of your dress, pooling it around your waist and tugging down your underwear and leaving them to hang around your knees.

You smile gleefully into the mirror and at the expression on Michael’s face and he lines himself up to you and pushes in quickly. His head tips back and his eyes fall closed, lost in the feeling of you.

“God, honey, I love you.” he pants. His glasses are still crooked on his face.

You love seeing the effect you have on him.

He starts moving, quickly, shoving you onto your tiptoes as he pushes you forward with the force of his thrusts.

You gasp out a moan at his quick pace, swiftly remembering where you are and clamping your mouth shut to the best of your ability.

“Mmm,” you hum, still watching him in the mirror as he loses himself in you. His hand comes up to your face and covers your mouth for you. With the size of his hand, it’s more like he covers the entire bottom half of your face, his wedding ring clacking against your front teeth with every movement.

You’re both desperately trying not to make noise, but the muffles and choked off gasps and groans filling the bathroom get you off just as much as the loud noises he makes when uninhibited.

Michael’s hand that isn’t covering your mouth quickly slides between your legs and starts running tight, fast circles over you. You whine out a long sound into his palm, tensing your back to pull you up and towards his chest.

You can tell that he’s getting close, with his mouth open but silent, and the movement of his hips becoming jerky.

You end up making it there first, thrown over the edge by his fingers on you and his deep, quick thrusts. Your eyes roll back into your head as you choke out a moan into his hand as he kisses the side of your head.

“Shit,” he whispers as he comes, spilling inside of you.

He braces his hands on the sink on either side of yours and leans down, resting some of his weight onto you. He pulls his hand away from your mouth, seeing it as well as your chin and cheeks covered in your lip gloss.

“Here, honey,” he whispers, pulling a paper towel from the dispenser and gently wiping it across your face.

“Thank you,” you say when he’s done. He helps you situate yourself; making sure your dress isn’t twisted, fixing the back part of your hair that you can’t see, and wiping the smudged mascara out from the corners of your eyes.

He still somehow looks impeccable, which is unfair.

“I love you,” he praises, pressing exaggerated kisses all over your face that he holds between his hands. “Muah, muah, muah,”

The action makes you giggle, pressing a final kiss to his lips before pushing him away.

“Okay, I’ll see you back out there.” you promise.

You make your way down the meandering hallways and return to your seat at the table.

Robby returns a second later, falling into the seat next to you.

“Robby, man, where’s my drink?” Jack asks him. “Took you forever and you didn’t even get it?”

“Uhhhh,” Michael starts, a blush adorning his face as the members of the table all turn to look at him. “Be right back,” he says, swiftly getting up and walking towards the bar.

You throw your arms up in irritation with him leaving you to this pack of wolves.

You turn around with a grimace to sly smiles and raised eyebrows.

“You know him,” you try lamely, “always forgetting things.”

“Sure,” Dana agrees good-naturedly, patting the back of your chair.

[slutzforbueckers]

dear april- p.b x f!reader

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: angst?

synopsis: what happens when two people— two very different people— meet and fall in love?

a/n: i hope yall like this im not good at angst 😭also i listened to dear april by frank ocean while writing this so its lowk based off that song.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

you never wanted the attention to be on you, you never liked the feeling of all eyes being on you. sometimes you felt like a shadow in your own life. moving through the world unnoticed, quiet, an afterthought in every room you stepped into. you never cared for the attention, never fought for the spotlight, never asked to be more than what you were. you never wanted that, at least not until you met paige.

paige buckers, the golden girl, the prodigy, the name whispered on every sports analyst's lips. paige was the type of person who made you believe in fate, in destiny. she shone so brightly that sometimes you wondered if you'd burn just by standing too close.

you met her on a rainy afternoon, the kind where the sky wept for hours, soaking the streets and forcing people to rush from place to place with their heads down. you had just left the library and you were waiting for your uber to take you to your job.

you had been sitting on a bench outside the library, watching the rain fall, your sketchbook balanced on your knees. you had been lost in a drawing, charcoal smudged across your fingertips, when you felt a presence beside you.

"what are you drawing?" a voice had asked, clear despite the heavy downpour of rain.

you looked up to find paige standing in front of you, drenched from the rain, her backpack slung over one shoulder. she was wearing her team hoodie, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin. you recognized her instantly, but you pretended you hadn't.

"nothing special." you turned your attention back to your drawing, not wanting to stare for too long. you silently hoped she'd go away, you couldn't figure out why someone like her would bother to stop and talk to you. she didn't go away, instead she took a seat next to you, peering over your shoulder at the sketchbook in your hands.

"can i see?" her voice came out smooth, unlike yours which had a slight shake to it. you hesitated for a moment, then slowly passed it to her. paige looked at you for a second before turning her attention to the paper. it was a sketch of the library in front of you. she ghosted her fingertips over the details, careful not to smudge anything. "that's really good, you must see the world differently."

she handed you the sketchbook back, her eyes meeting yours. you shrugged, your fingers picking at the rips in your jeans. "maybe. i appreciate the beauty in things around me."

paige went quiet for a second before she spoke again, her voice softer and a little less confident. "i like that."

you fell together slowly, then all at once. paige, who spent her life surrounded by noise, found something quiet and steady in you. and you, who had always felt like you were watching life from the sidelines, were suddenly in the game. late night drives, secret kisses in empty gyms, stolen moments before and after paiges practices—it was yours. no one else mattered in those moments, just you and her.

you could remember the first time paige had let her guard down. it was the middle of the night, and you had driven out to the lake just outside of town. paige had been quiet the entire drive, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“talk to me,” you whispered when she finally parked the car. you reached over and ran your fingertips over her clenched jaw, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. paige exhaled slowly, staring out at the reflection of the moon on the water.

“sometimes,” she opened her mouth but shut it, not being able to gather her thoughts enough to speak. you waited patiently, staring at the side of her face until she spoke again. “sometimes i feel like i don’t even belong to myself. like i’m just…existing for other people. coaches, my teammates, my fans. everyone has a version of me that they want me to be— sometimes i forget who i am when i try to be me.”

you reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “and who are you when you’re just you?”

“i don’t know,” paige went silent, her chest closing with vulnerability. she took a deep breath and turned to you. “but when i’m with you, i feel like i can breathe.”

but the world wasn’t kind to love like yours. paige’s career was on the rise, she had cameras in her face, expectations weighing on her shoulders, and a future that didn’t leave room for any hesitation. and you? you were just you. no flashing lights, no one screaming your name, no crowds waiting for you, no bright future carved out in headlines. that didn’t stop you though. you tried— god, you tried.

paige whispered promises into your skin, holding you tight like she could keep you both frozen in time. “you’re the only thing that feels real,” she admitted one night, her voice raw, forehead pressed against yours.

you remembered all the amazing moments you had, moments where everything felt perfect, like you had carved out a piece of the universe just for the two of you.

you had snuck into the school’s basketball court, it was nearly 3 in the morning but neither of you could manage to fall asleep. so you sat on the bleachers, a smile on your face while you watched paige dribble a ball lazily.

“i’ll teach you how to shoot,” she said suddenly, jogging over and tugging you onto your feet. you laughed out a squeal and shook your head.

“i have terrible aim, p.” you caught the ball she bounced at you, rolling it around in your hands.

paige rolled her eyes with a smile on her face. “that’s why i said ill teach you.”

“here,” she stood behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, guiding your hands into the right position. “i got you.”

in that moment you believed her but reality was cruel. paige couldn’t keep hiding, she couldnt keep her love for you a secret when the world expected you to be someone else. rumors started, people whispered, and paige—paige hesitated. she let go, just for a second. a second was just enough to make you feel like maybe you had imagined it all.

and in the end, that was all it took. just a second.

it had been months since you last saw her. you hadn’t planned on going to the game, you told yourself you wouldn’t. but something pulled you there anyway, the same way the ocean calls back the tide. you sat near the back of the stadium, expecting to be far enough away that you went unnoticed. the noise of the crowd faded into a dull hum as you watched paige move across the court, fluid and effortless, like she was meant to be there.

you thought you could handle it— just watching, just being one of the hundreds of faces in the stands. but then it happened. paige looked up, just for a second, her gaze sweeping the crowd, and her eyes met yours.

you felt your breath catch in your throat. paige froze for just a fraction of a second, barely enough for anyone else to notice, but you did. you saw the paused in her step, the look of familiarity in her eyes, the way her fingers tightened around the ball before she forced herself to move.

for a moment, it felt like the whole work had stilled. like there were no cameras, no roaring fans, no expectations. just the two of you, locking in a moment of memories neither of you had been ready for.

maybe she would find you after the game, maybe she wouldn’t. maybe you had become strangers again, orbiting around each other but never colliding.

or maybe, in another life, in another version of your story, paige wouldn’t have hesitated.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

[suguru-getos]

"Please- please-" you raggedly breathe, knees scraping against the hard floor as Satoru dragged you by your wrist, a soft whimper escaping your lips. You had no idea why he had gotten so angry. You have been nothing but good. You're forced to stand up next, hard grip on your hair sure to give you migraines. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I don't understand-"

This is the first time Satoru has been so silent, it terrifies you, the very marrow of your bones. He is big, tall, looming and so unwavering when he wants to be. Your hurt and panic breaks into a sniffle, lips parted to utter what he'd call a pathetic excuse of an apology. "What did I say, when I said I would be okay with you going out?" He raised a brow, and your pupils wavered in the bone-chilling coldness of his tone. Harsh blue eyes and pursed lips ready to attack his little prey. "Yo- You- you-" Fuck, you're stuttering. Just like you always do when you're scared and panicked. "Yo- You- you-… what. Did. I. Say?" Satoru hums, after mocking your tone.

You sniffled, "s-said to me to not go out apart from the estate premises."

"Do I need to make sure you listen to me in a different way?" For Satoru, it's simple. You have tried to run so many times that his patience has worn out, the constant fear of you going away is making him the monster he is now. The outside world is filled with curses, and bad things. You, are a non-sorcerer and you should know better. Besides, after today's incident. He is ready to do anything.

"Why the hell were you outside then?" He yelled, Satoru… doesn't really yell. The problem is, a special grade spirit was sighted near the store you decided to go see for yourself. While that's something rare, it's increasing his anxiousness a tenfold. What if you had been there, you had been a bag of fucking bones! "I just- wan' wan' wan'ed you know- I just-"

"Speak to me properly or I will break you in ways you can't take. Wouldn't let you walk for days." That causes you to cry out, why is he overreacting so much! Christ! He already has you here, rotting, against your will. You sobbed, heart racing and breaths shallowing.

Satoru was… tolerable… you wouldn't call yourself the unluckiest person in the world until today. He had abducted you, but he was never… this.

"Can’t talk to her or she will have a FUCKING panic attack." His jaw grits, holding you by the neck and pinning you against the wall. Your hands instinctively hold his wrist, but they're meek, sweaty with fear, and powerless. "If I see you step out again, I will kill everyone you hold near since you love watching me helplessly try to make you compliant, without hurting you, no?" Without hurting you… yeah right.

You nodded, "W- Won't step out." It's getting harder for you to speak with every second, eyes losing focus and fight or flight kicking in. Satoru's harsh expressions are blurring out, you were passing out.

And you do, fall limp against him. His feet impatiently tapping the floor once he sees you collapse. Another reminder of how you could die in an instant and leave him like Suguru did. A soft sigh escapes him once the throbbing headache kicks in. The high adrenaline calming down and kicking in with brutal headache. He lets you fall on the floor, ignoring the slight bruise in your head at the impact. You should know better. At least this is keeping you from not fucking dying.

He walks away to get the medication for his head, looking at himself in the mirror. He doesn't… look like himself. He leans in, watching the colour of his eyes greying. Something's wrong. That's when it kicks in.

Yandere Satoru was influenced by the same special grade curse he had killed. Why else were his thoughts so messy? You had escaped so many times but he always thought you'd just… understand one day.

A cold blood rushes through his spine once his cloudy thoughts clear up, and the idea of you passed out on the cold flooring floods him. Satoru has never been more quick to pick you up, cradling you close. Some part of him is happy, you wouldn't run away anymore. Another part of him is unsure if it's him truly thinking it, or if it's the curse's energy tampering with his own. A small part of him wants to die for putting you through this. Satoru Gojo needed to figure this out.

And then… he needed to build his relationship with you from scratch once he finds out what you did go out to buy. There were ingredients of his favourite Kikufuku. You were trying to make him… Kikufuku.

The small part of him that wanted to die isn't so small anymore. Months, if not weeks, it will take months to get you to love him like this again…

[bisexualiteaa]

Omg! You should totally do one where he’s sexually frustrated. And the reader (female), teases him until he breaks! And when he does they get down to business BIG time if you know what i mean lol. But even when they do start to fuck the reader doesn’t listen to all his demands, making it more spicy once silco finally gets the reader exactly how he wants her.

On edge

AN: Thank you so much for this request!! I loved the idea so much and literally had so much fun writing this! Apologies that it took a few days, I again just wanted to make sure it was good and to what you asked! ♥️ I hope you enjoy and that I’ve done your ask justice! 🥺🫶

CW: no use of y/n, reader has hair, reader is AFAB, female anatomy, MDNI, cursing, teasing, heavy brät/brät tämer themes, Silco is t0uch deprived, r0ugh seggs, unprotected seggs, bïting, cream 🥧, slight dëgradation, p0rn w/o plot, äftercare, possible spelling/grammar errors

Also I’m not sure why, but as I was writing I was listening to this song and I just feel like it fits SO well! So listen along while you read if you’d like!

His forehead head sat in his hand as you entered his office, elbow leaned against the desk as his other hand held a glass, amber liquid and two ice cubes swirling around inside the ornate rocks glass. Whiskey, he only drank on the rougher days anymore, and judging by the cigar that sat in the ash tray on his desk, smoke emanating from it, told you he was having a day. You on the other hand, were in a different sort of mood, a bubbly, perhaps more mischievous mood. You weren’t quite sure what brought it about, whether it was your confidence just hitting a new high today, or what but you could tell from the sassy sway to your hips as you shut the door carefully behind you. Something you didn’t realize had in fact been noticed by him, he was just doing a very good job at hiding it.

“Rough day?” You asked innocently, sauntering over to his side as you stood beside him. The scent of your perfume filled his nose the moment you moved closer, leaving him to inhale its intoxicating scent. Sometimes he wondered if you mixed a sort of drug into it with the way he craved its familiarity, wishing to smell it on his sheets, his jacket. When he did, it drove him wild, the transfer of it from just a simple hug was enough to leave him clutching the large jacket and taking a whiff on occasion when no one was looking or when he was alone in his office. Each time he did, he could feel his cock twitch with excitement as his mind would then drift to you. Sinful thoughts filling his mind of how good you would look splayed against his sheets beneath him, or how you would look bent over his desk as he ravaged you. Shimmer had nowhere near the effects that you had on him, it was almost impressive as much as it was sad. How long had it been that the simple scent of your perfume could cause him to go mad? Or for your fleeting touches to leave him with such carnal need? He couldn’t remember, but you made him feel young again in that sense.

“Quite” he replied plainly, placing the glass down on the desk, trading it for his cigar that had already been halfway smoked. You watched as he took a long drag of it before leaning back and releasing the smoke in an exhale upwards, ensuring he wouldn’t breathe it into your face. You loved the scent of his cigars, something about the tobacco mixed with smoke and his own personal scent left you enjoying being around him as he smoked more than you probably should have. There was something just so alluring about it. “Every time I turn around it feels as if something has fallen apart and is in need of my attention” he finally explained, leaving you to look upon him sympathetically. The lines of stress etched into his forehead and brow spoke truth of this, the bags beginning to accumulate beneath his eyes only further evidence to his unrest. Your hand came to rest against his thigh, rubbing soothing circles along his skin. Something you’d done in the hopes it would help him calm down a little, but you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t have ulterior motives behind it.

You felt his body tense for a moment from the soft touch, looking down at your hand that rested against his mid thigh. It was so close, so close yet so far. He wondered how it would look in your small, dainty hands, how good it would feel. He turned his head and shifted a little to try and erase the thought from his mind, but even as you removed your hand, its heat lingered on the spot like a painful reminder. “Zaun looks to their leader for guidance and aid, but even a leader deserves rest” you said, smoothing your hands along his jacket, flattening any wrinkles that formed from his previously hunched over position. You were bent over as you did, the shirt you were wearing giving him direct sight to your cleavage as your perfume continued to intoxicate him. Did you have any idea the things you were doing to him? Surely you had to, you couldn’t be so oblivious to your effect on him, could you? He was ashamed of the hold you had on him, how weak you made him from just a simple touch. He tried his best to hide it, and hide it well, but as you stood here before him he knew today may very well be the day he reaches his breaking point. “I’m granted no rest when someone walks through my door just about every hour” he replied, making you hum as you stood back up, watching his eyes trail you as you walked back over to the door. He felt himself release a breath he had no idea he’d been holding in as you put a slight distance between you. “Then lock it” you said with a cute little grin, the bolt turning in the door with an audible click before you turned back around, watching him clutch the cigar between his fingers with a fierce grip. His eyes bored into you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine, no one has ever looked at you like that, with such fire in their eyes, with such desire. It made your stomach twist in knots. “No one can bother you if they can’t get in” you finished before returning to his side, this time watching as you boldly sat on an empty corner of his desk.

You couldn’t quite read the look on his face as you did, but you had noticed the way his eyes would flit up and down your body when he thought you weren’t looking. He took in the way your pencil skirt seemed to raise past your mid thigh as you sat down, giving him a flash of your panties from beneath it when you would go to cross your legs, leaving him incredibly hard beneath his pants. You were toying with him, you had to be. There was no way you were doing this all unknowing of the effects you had on him. Pathetically, he was falling for it, and he hated that he was. He caught the glimpse of a grin resting on your sweet, plump lips as your downcast gaze trailed him up and down, waiting for a response. You were teasing him on purpose. “You play with fire” he stated, making you giggle. “I know, I can’t help myself. I like the possibilities of being burnt” you answered confidently, your foot dragging up and down his calf affectionately. Janna almighty you’ll be the death of him, but if that were to be the case, what a hell of a way to go.

You watched him as he stood before you, hands planting on either side of your thighs as his face hovered close to yours. “You think you’re so clever? Waltzing in here with that short little skirt, teasing me and think I wouldn’t notice?” He asked, making you hum as your grin only stretched wider. “Seemed to be working just fine, was it not?” You asked in reply, feeling as his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them apart to allow him a place to stand between before pulling you to the edge of his desk where your hips met his. “You tell me, what do you think?” he replied, leaving you to gasp softly as you felt him pulse and twitch against your heat. “I think I have you wrapped around my little finger” you boldly claimed, your fingers walking up along his jacket before your arms looped around his neck, pulling yourself even closer to him but never fully closing the distance. “You think so?” He asked in response, making you giggle. That same smug grin rested on your lips as electricity thrummed between you, your faces mere centimeters apart, waiting to see if he would cave in. Your gaze flit to his lips with heavy lids, enjoying the mental turmoil you were putting him through as he fought caving in immediately. “You want me so bad? Come get me” you whispered, your breath ghosting across his lips as they hovered so very close to his own. He needed you in ways he couldn’t even begin to try and explain.

So he caved.

You felt his hand come to rest on the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you even closer, finally closing the distance between you as his lips captured yours. The kiss was fiery, passionate and messy, a gravely groan leaving him into it. You could feel the rumble in his chest from it, paired with the way his lips danced against your own told you how long he’d been wanting this, how much he’d been needing this. Needing you. You couldn’t help the smile that stretched to your lips into it, thinking of all the ways that you could push his limits. Your hand smoothed down his chest, toying with his tie as his tongue swiped across your bottom lip, an effort to push the kiss further into something more intimate. You giggled as you denied him, earning an impatient groan in response as his free hand groped your ass roughly, making you moan. The moment you did, he took his chance, his tongue exploring you as it tangled with your own in a messy clash of teeth, tongue and lips. It had you dizzy.

When he pulled back he looked you over, not caring this time if you laid witness to it or not. He took the moment to take in how your chest heaved with each labored breath, how your cheeks were flushed, lips shining with swapped saliva. “Gonna keep staring at me? Or you gonna do something about that problem of yours?” You asked with a cocky grin, making him chuckle darkly. “Oh it will be fixed, but it won’t be me fixing it” he said, yanking on your hair to pull your head back, earning a pathetic whine from you as it made you look up at him, finding yourself unable to bite back in this position. “You caused it, you fix it” he ordered, making you moan as he rolled his hips against your own, brushing his painfully hard cock against your panty clad cunt, allotting you some much needed friction and stimulation. All you could do was look up at him, excitement and anticipation filling your gaze leaving him to chuckle. “No witty come back to that? I give you the smallest taste of how good I can make you feel and you give up just like that, hmm?” He asked smuggly, making your face grow hot with defeat before he let up on his grip in your hair. “Strip” he commanded, making you stand up and work at untucking your shirt before unbuttoning it slowly. He watched as every button came undone, more of your gorgeous body was revealed to him, his eyes raking over your curves. The fabric soon dropped to the floor haphazardly next to his desk, to be forgotten about until later when it would be needed again. Next was your bra. His eyes were trained on you as he watched you unhook the backing, allowing it to slide down your arms and join your shirt in a growing pile. Your nipples had hardened from the temperature change, the exposure to the air and from the excitement coursing through you in anticipation of what was to come next. Then came your skirt, its simple button and zipper being undone allowing it to drop to the floor and pool around your feet with ease, earning a groan from him at the sight of you nearly naked before him. You hooked your thumbs into the sides of your panties, working them down from your hips before they fell to your ankles, leaving you to kick them off to the side with rest of the pile. You watched with much intrigue and entertainment as he seemed to twitch with anticipation and need for you, making you giggle.

“How long has it been?” You asked curiously, a cocky grin on your lips and confidence in your tone as you looked at him, looping your arms around his neck. There it was again, your perfume, overwhelming his senses. “I beg your pardon?” He asked, brows furrowed and sending a rather defensive look your way. “How long has it been?” You asked again, watching as he looked you up and down. “Since?” He asked in reply, not seeming to understand what you were hinting at, or maybe he preferred you just spit it out. “Since you had sex. Can tell by the tension in your shoulders and the way you practically moan with every touch that it’s been a while” you pointed out playfully, making him a little angry that you managed to get beneath his surface and figure him out so well. “You best be careful of that mouth of yours. My kindness, even with you, has its limits” he responded, making you hum. “Then go ahead, be mean. I’m a big girl, I can take it” you challenged making him walk closer to you, inching you towards the edge of his desk. “You want me to be mean, do you?” He asked, the rasp of his voice lowering to a much deeper tone, a crooked smile resting on his lips. He couldn’t lie, the slight tinge of fear resting in your eyes when you felt your back hit his desk, telling you there was nowhere left to go, awakened something dark within him. Something carnal, animalistic. You looked like nothing more than helpless, vulnerable prey, and he was about to eat you alive. You couldn’t deny the predatory look in his eyes certainly worked wonders on you in return. “Don’t look so concerned…” he started, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek gently before leaning in close, leaving his lips just millimeters from yours.

“I’m about to make your day” he finished, his words mixed with the feel of his breath ghosting your lips so closely send a shiver through you in excitement.

It wasn’t long before his pants were around his ankles, thrusting his cock balls deep into your soaked cunt. Your shared panting and moans, paired with the creaking and screeching of the poor desk beneath you that had been slowly inching its way across the floor with each thrust, filled the room. Should anyone walk past his office, there would be no mistaking what was happening just behind the door. Though you supposed your moans could have likely alerted all of Zaun at this rate, with your first orgasm of the night already past you, it’d be a miracle if no one could hear you. Your head was tilted back as he drilled into you, gripping your hips with a bruising pressure as your arms looped around his neck for leverage. You watched as he looked down to the space where your bodies were connected, watching his length disappeared inside of you with ease. He couldn’t help but to notice the little white ring that rested at the base of his length from your previous orgasm as the sound of his hips smacking roughly against your ass filled the room. “Fuck! Oh gods, yes!” You moaned, making him grin. “How long has it been?” He asked, looking to you, waiting for a response from you but your pleasure-idled mind was so foggy you could hardly understand what he was asking you. “Since? Oh fuck! Right there!!” You replied the best you could, tilting your head back again, leaving your tits just inches from his face as your back arched upwards towards him. “Since someone fucked you right. Since someone made you feel this good” he finished, making you whine as his hand grabbed your jaw, squishing your cheeks as he forced you to look back up at him. The cute pout that rested on your face, occasionally morphing into ones of pleasure each time his tip bullied your cervix, had him rutting into you harder. “Never! Not ‘til you- oh!” You managed, making him chuckle as he relinquished you from his grip. “Pathetic. You put up all that fuss, do all that teasing and yet I still manage to get you right where I want you” he said through grunts of pleasure, his neatly slicked back hair slightly falling against his forehead that had a thin sheen of sweat. “Feels so good! Oh gods, Silco!” You moan pathetically, knowing he was exactly right but you didn’t care. You’d spend every night here like this with him if he made you feel this good every time.

You felt as that familiar sensation in your lower belly began to take root again as his lips captured your own in a messy but passionate kiss, your moans raising in pitch and growing closer together a clear sign that you were close. As if on que, his fingers traveled between your bodies, coming to rub your clit to give you that added bit of friction you so desperately needed. You gasped before moving your hips against his and his fingers, meeting his merciless thrusts and fucking yourself on his fingers. “You’re right where you belong. Beneath me like this, cumming on my cock as I please you like no one else ever will” he said, rubbing your clit faster to make up for the way his thrusts were beginning to lose rhythm. You were so close to finally falling over the precipice, your body feeling as if it were catching on fire as your every nerve ending lit up. His words were what sent you there. “You’re mine” he growled, biting into your shoulder as you came together, his bite sending you toppling over the edge into pure bliss, while your walls squeezed him tight, milking him of everything he’d been holding in for far too long. Your body twitched and spasmed with the intensity of your second orgasm of the night, a pleased hum leaving you as you felt him cum inside of you, throbbing repeatedly as he emptied everything into you.

You both sat there for a moment, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms together, fighting to catch your breath. You watched him smooth his hair back with his hand, doing his best to get it out of his face and back to how it was originally styled, or at least the closest he could get it. You smiled as he kissed you softly, leaving you to cup his dance gently in your hands. “Are you alright?” He asked into it, checking to make sure he hadn’t overdone it and hurt you. You gave a hum then a giggle. “I feel wonderful” you said with a bubbly grin, making him chuckle as he continued to kiss you, not wishing to leave your arms or the taste of your sweet lips just yet. “Good, as do I” he replied, making you grin even wider. “Fuck yes you do” you said, playfully yet truthfully, making you both laugh. “Oh is that so? Have I ruined anyone else for you?” He asked, the hint of possessiveness in his tone as his lips traced down your neck. “You might have. Not that I care to find out, you said it yourself; this is exactly where I belong, and it’s exactly where I intend to stay” you said, your head tilted a little to grant him better access to your sensitive skin. You heard him groan next to your ear as his lips lingered upon all your most sensitive spots.

What caught you by absolute surprise was the sensation of him throbbing within you, twitching to life again from inside of you. You gave a gasp with both intrigue and excitement as he looked to you with a grin. Apparently your words had let the monster out, because stay there you would for nearly the rest of the night, getting lost in one another without a care for how sore you’d be tomorrow. It was well worth it when you were with him.

[magicalmatcha]

now playing ♪ for the first time by mac demarco

"it's just like seeing her, for the first time, again"

cw: n/a

The bell above the door let out a soft chime as Yn stepped into the tiny Thai place tucked between a closed-down salon and a 24-hour laundromat. The warm air hit her immediately, the comforting smell of lemongrass, chili oil, and nostalgia swirling together in a way that made her stomach twist.

Yume tugged on her hand, sneakers squeaking against the faded tile. “Can I get spicy rice, Mama?”

“Thai fried rice, darling,” Yn corrected softly, smoothing her daughter’s hair with one hand while guiding her toward the counter.

“Thai fried rice,” Yume repeated proudly, peeking into the open kitchen like she might spot her food being made just for her.

Yn stepped up to the register, voice practiced. “Pickup for Yn Ln.”

The cashier gave a polite nod and disappeared into the back.

She was checking her phone when the voice hit her—low, familiar, edged with that fake cheer people used when they weren’t alone.

“Hey, can I get pineapple curry, chicken tom kha, and Thai fried rice? Level seven spice.”

She didn’t have to turn around. Her spine recognized the sound before her ears did. That voice had once said things like “I’ll come back for you,” and “May 23rd, I promise.”

Her pulse kicked up. She kept her eyes on the countertop, praying he wouldn’t glance around, wouldn’t see her. Maybe she could just slip out—

“Pickup for Yn Ln!”

Shit.

The cashier returned, smiling as they held out a paper bag, and Yume perked up beside her.

“Yn?”

Her guardian angel hadn’t done their job in years.

She exhaled slowly, like that would do anything to soften the blow, and turned around. Subtly shifting her stance, she guided Yume behind her with one hand—casual, practiced. Reflex.

“Fushiguro,” she replied coolly, like it hadn’t been five years, like he hadn’t broken her heart so thoroughly she’d had to rebuild herself from the inside out.

Megumi looked… older. Taller, definitely. The soft edges of boyhood had been carved down into something sharper. The messy hair was still there, just a little shorter now, damp from the drizzle outside. He was handsome, unfortunately, more handsome than the day he left.

That infuriated her.

His eyes scanned her face, like he couldn’t quite believe it, like seeing her was something he thought he’d made up once and never expected to again.

“Wow. You’re… different.” He cleared his throat, tried again. “Good different.”

Yn blinked at him, her face unreadable. “Yeah, well. Sobriety will do that to you.”

That shut him up.

He gave a stiff nod, eyes drifting down to the takeout bag in her hands. “Didn’t know you were still in Kyoto.”

“Clearly,” she said, voice flat, adjusting the bag slightly in her grip.

He flinched at the edge in her tone, but he didn’t back down. Instead, he took a half step closer, rocking awkwardly on the balls of his feet. “I saw you at the show last night.”

“Yeah.” She didn’t smile. “You performed Undressed. Glad you finally finished it.”

Megumi winced, the weight of the years between them suddenly unbearable.

“Yn, listen—I’m—”

“It’s the singer!” a small voice cut through, and both their heads turned.

Yume had stepped out from behind Yn’s legs, eyes wide with recognition, pointing without an ounce of self-consciousness. She clutched her stuffed penguin under one arm, her jacket sleeves too long, nearly covering her hands.

Yn stiffened, her mouth twitching like she wanted to smile and scream at the same time. “The singer, right mama?” Yume grinned, looking up at her like she’d just solved a mystery.

“Yeah,” Yn said quietly, forcing the smallest of smiles. “The singer.”

Megumi’s gaze followed the little girl—her soft curls slightly frizzy from the rain, shoes lighting up with every small, bouncing step. Her jacket was too big, the sleeves nearly swallowing her hands, and her smile was missing one front tooth. She was adorable, wide-eyed, and unbothered by the tension between the adults.

But it was her eyes that caught him.

That shade, clear, and deep like the ocean, was familiar. Too familiar to be coincidence.

He crouched down slowly, leveling with her as she clutched her stuffed penguin close to her chest. “What’s your name?” he asked gently, voice softening in a way he didn’t expect.

“Yume!” she beamed, rocking on her heels.

“Yume,” Megumi echoed, the name strange and sweet in his mouth. “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

Yume let out a little squeal, hiding her face behind the plush in her arms, bashful in a way that made his chest pinch.

Yn’s jaw tightened. “You’re very smart,” he said, still watching Yume with something caught between affection and confusion. “How old are you?”

“Four!” she shouted, holding up four tiny fingers with pride.

Four.

The number echoed like an aftershock. He blinked, the smile slipping slightly from his face as he looked up at Yn.

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

“We have to go,” Yn said quickly, grabbing Yume’s hand a little tighter than she meant to. “Maki’s not feeling well.”

Her tone left no room for questions. Just distance.

Yume blinked up at her, then turned to Megumi with a cheerful wave. “Bye, Mister!”

“Megumi,” he called after them before he could stop himself, the name falling out of his mouth like muscle memory.

Yume lit up. “Bye, Mister Megumi!”

He stood there, motionless, watching the door swing shut behind them. The glass still fogged from the rain. The quiet jingle of the bell above it felt too loud now.

“Sir?” the cashier called again, holding up the bag. “Your order’s ready.”

Megumi stepped forward slowly, but his eyes stayed on the empty doorway.

His food was still warm.

But his hands felt cold.

extra! extra! read all about it (no seriously read it)

yume had a play date yesterday and maki was babysitting while yn was at work. The kid gave her croup but yume got off unharmed

megumi isn't a guitarist and he's not in a band. i got the idea for him when i went to go see sombr so he's heavily based off him (and sombrs not a guitarist)

nobara, yuji and megumi star as the three blind mice

if you didn't get tagged for this post it's because you asked after 12:00 central time and I queued this post to be uploaded while I'm at work

Sorry you'll get on the next one

Not proofread

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[mqdilen]

⭒ .๋ ࣭ ⊹ ˖ 「𝐟𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞.」

fandom.: bungou stray dogs

synopsis.: you play dumb so dazai explains things to you while you get turned on by it (hot mansplaining, basically)

pairing.: dazai osamu x gn!reader

cw.: !nsfw!, no established relationship, oral sex (dazai ⇢ receiving), vulgar language

genre.: one-shot, no second part

word count.: 1.7k (approximate reading time: six minutes)

note.: AGHHH happy birthday to my sweet angel. (i love dazai more than i love myself) it’s been so long since i’ve posted something, but please, bear with me. i’ve been very busy lately! this one is pretty tame ngl and it is slightly different to my usual writing style, but i just wanted to write something lighthearted, since this stuff comes easier. also, to the anon that requested a yosano fanfic where she’s obsessed with reader’s breast, i haven’t forgotten about you, i promise. (i’m actually so hyped to write this, i just need a good opening.) following updates on my profile!

☪︎

ah, yes, the armed detective agency.

a place full of peculiar minds and dangerous talents, wrapped in coats of good intentions. no one who knows this organization would dare say that it is incompetent or that its detectives are stupid. eccentric, though? oh, definitely.

yet their most innocent member wouldn’t be considered unintelligent either. each and every one of them, including you, has something that characterizes them: a keen intuition like no other, to a greater or lesser extent.

naturally, among your coworkers, there are people whose minds surpass average intelligence, and osamu dazai is one of them. even though it is sometimes hard for you to associate mental agility with dazai—due to his constant childish behavior and his obsession with hiding his true personality under a mask of laziness—you can’t deny that he is terrifyingly smart.

and he is smooth at switching his attitude in just a second, too—going from whining to becoming the strategist able to anticipate the resolution of a series of catastrophic events and how to avoid them. it is intoxicating to see when his smile drops to reveal the seriousness and sharpness he pretends not to possess.

at the same time... well, you also can’t deny that you have a bit of a weakness for men who can blow your mind with nothing but their brain. and dazai, with that quiet, terrifying brilliance of his, has made you think about kneeling between his legs while he maps out some impossibly complex plan more times than you’d like to admit.

still, if there is anything hotter than listening to him explain something, it is listening to him explain it to you. the way his voice lowers just a little, how he leans casually against the nearest surface as he patiently walks you through the answer… it always makes you sigh.

it amuses dazai, really. how someone like you, so sharp, so self-sufficient, still gravitates toward him. he’d caught it early on. the way your breathing changes when he stands too close. the look of adoration in your eyes when he does something you deem clever. the way your pupils dilate when his voice drops to explain something. he sees it all. he always does.

he just pretends not to.

but today? today, he feels indulgent. so when you ask him to explain something fairly simple while everyone else is out for lunch, he doesn’t object.

“here,” he says, leaning in just close enough for his breath to fan your cheek, his palm braced on the desk beside you. he immediately notices how you squeeze your thighs together.

“you need to write that the hostage-taker panicked after his ability triggered unintentionally, and that he didn’t understand the full extent of its effect…”

it wasn’t hard for dazai to realise what you were doing, feigning ignorance on a task you have done thousands of times before. a small smile momentarily crosses his lips, thinking of all the times you looked for an excuse to ask him things.

once again, no one is a fool in the armed detective agency, and you are no exception to the rule—usually being a quick thinker. but you don’t even bother to hide the fact that the report is about a case you resolved two days ago. flawlessly, in fact. it is almost as if you want him to notice. or perhaps... you really aren’t all that smart after all.

your head tilts ever so slightly, as if absorbing the information. but your mind is somewhere else. you glance up at him in confusion, your body tense like it is anticipating something.

dazai smirks quietly to himself. you aren’t fooling anyone. not him, least of all. he has seen this game before, and you are playing it beautifully.

playing dumb? just for the excuse to hear his voice this close?

tsk. naughty.

he lets the silence stretch, watching you chew the inside of your cheek and furrow your brows unconvincingly. then, slowly, dazai shifts. his fingers brush your chin, angling your face toward him with surprising tenderness.

“my, my,” he murmurs, his voice low, silken. “you’re not usually this clumsy. and this isn’t your first report, is it?”

you blink up at him, wide-eyed, guilty in the way only someone caught red-handed can be.

he chuckles softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “so… you’re doing this on purpose, huh?”

his tone drops an octave—no longer teasing, not quite threatening, but laced with something else. lust, perhaps?

and just like that, your body betrays you before you even have the chance to stop it. another subtle squeeze of your thighs. a shift in your posture. your composure fractures, and dazai, ever the observer, drinks it all in like fine wine.

before you can respond, he has you standing, pressed up against the edge of your desk with such fluid grace you barely register how you got there. he presses his body against yours, the bulge in his pants noticeable. perhaps he, too, has a weakness for clueless and clumsy pretty little things like you.

“who would’ve thought?” he muses, lips ghosting over your cheek. “our always so independent, so composed newest addition… pretending to be helpless just for a sliver of attention.”

dazai reaches past you, lifting the half-finished report between two fingers. his eyes skim the page like it is some kind of performance. he already knows what it says. he probably knew it before you even typed it out.

“you wanna play dumb, huh?” he says, finally looking at you. his gaze is sharp, piercing. like he can read every secret you try to hide. “then i’ll gladly treat you like you’re dumb.”

“kneel.”

it isn’t an order shouted out loud. it is spoken low, languid, with the cool authority of someone who already knows they’ll be obeyed. he doesn’t force you. he doesn’t need to. it is all there in his voice, in his posture, in the very way he smiles down at you like a man who’s just checkmated someone three moves ago.

“let’s see if that mouth of yours is good for something other than pretending.”

your heart is beating faster in response to his words, and if it weren’t for dazai standing so close—close enough for you to feel him, smell him—you could swear this would be another one of your dreams. but it’s not. so you waste no time lowering yourself to your knees in front of him.

he watches you carefully, breath catching as your fingers work at the buckle of his belt. at least you know how to open this damn thing. otherwise, he might have started doubting if you really are pretending.

his cock twitches as soon as you free it from its confines. the tip is flushed, and he’s already leaking an embarrassing amount of precum. you drag your lips over the length of him, slow and deliberate, pressing a kiss to the vein running underneath before wrapping your mouth around the tip.

dazai bites down on his bottom lip, thighs tensing as he resists the urge to thrust his hips forward and bury himself deep in your throat. instead, he swallows the groan that’s about to escape his lips, reaching out to thread his fingers through your hair slowly, almost gently.

“what a pretty sight you are…” he breathes out, voice wavering ever so slightly. “need an explanation for that too? or should i show you instead?” his grip tightens just a bit as he guides your head forward, working his cock deeper past your lips.

your throat tightens around him, and you let out a sound that’s something between a choked moan and a whine. somehow, the way he speaks to you—gentle, but with that quiet condescension—makes you grow so much more desperate. your fingers dig into the bandages around his hips as you take him fully into your mouth, your lips flush to his pelvis.

he lets out something soft and shaky himself, head falling forward as he watches your throat struggle to adjust to him. his grip loosens, and he strokes your hair gently, silently beckoning you to look up at him. your lashes flutter as you meet his gaze, eyes wide and glassy with tears that roll steadily over your cheeks.

beautiful, he thinks hazily. but even dazai knows this is dangerous ground. if anyone were to see or hear you, you’d never hear the end of it.

he jerks forward suddenly, hips pushing in deeper. he hears you gag around him, more tears spilling as you let out a choked sob. his hand drops, and he caresses your cheek in apology, clumsily wiping away some of your tears.

the sight of you on your knees for him—tear-streaked, lips swollen and wet, jaw aching as you take him down your throat—is almost enough to send him spiraling over the edge. almost. eventually, you begin to move, each time taking him deeper. the wet sounds echo off the walls, making the moment feel that much more intense.

dazai is hardly able to muffle the moan that slips past his lips as the tight knot in his abdomen snaps. black dots blur his vision, and his eyes flutter shut momentarily as he takes a light step back. it’s almost too much for him. his whole body tenses as he cums down your throat, watching intently as you struggle to swallow everything.

“turns out you’re not as dumb as i thought,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “maybe i should explain things to you more often, hm?”

it takes a minute for dazai to regain some semblance of control over himself. by the time he does, you’re standing on shaky legs and tucking his sensitive cock back into his pants. his hazy gaze focuses on your face once more. your lips are wet and swollen, and your eyes are still glassy. he wipes away the remaining tears before leaning in close again.

a faint smirk curls his mouth as he steps back, gaze sweeping over you like he’s still memorizing the moment. and right on cue, kunikida walks back into the office, punctual to the second as usual.

it shouldn’t surprise you. of course dazai kept track of the time. of course he knew. but somehow, that only makes it hotter.

it’s only when you’re fully upright that you realize just how wet you are and how worked up he’s left you.

how cruel of him, really… for not indulging your needs in return, even though you did such an amazing job.

↪thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! MLIST

copyright © mqdilen 2025 all rights reserved.

[soobinsonly1bf]

a simple head can't ruin a friendship, right?

(soobin x m!reader)

warnings: nsfw, sub!loser!soobin, m!meandom!reader, oral (male receiving obviously), degradation, A LOT of dirty talk, a whole lot of cursing, in reality reader is sweet, soob is just a massive freak (and a homosexual)

!!nsfw under the cut, minors dni!!

you were laying on your best friend's bed, like everyday, while he was playing some stupid video game on his computer, also like everyday. he was venting for the last few hours about some girl not wanting to go on a date with him. not like you were exactly listening to him, you were too focused on your phone.

"jeez, soob, all that talking only because of some girl? come on, bro..." you chuckled, not even hiding the amusement over the whole situation.

"hey, it's not funny! she's really pretty... and she was really different over texts. i thought that after our first date she will want to go on another one, but... she just refused."

"she just saw how much of a loser you are and panicked!" you said, laughing. "i bet she realized that even if she would let you hit, she would have to fake her orgasm."

"you're saying that as if you'd be able to make anyone cum." he said, frowning and stopping his game. he turned around on his chair to face you.

"it would be really nice if you could shut your mouth for once, you know?" you said, trying to ignore him and respond to some random person texting you.

"you don't even look like you'd be able to make anyone make a sound." soobin continued, he was the one to laugh now.

hearing that you just put your phone away, looking at him with annoyance painted on your face. "bro, you're a fucking virgin, so don't even try to be so damn cocky now."

"what? i'm just telling the truth!"

"is this a challenge?" you asked, getting up from the bed. "maybe you could shut your mouth if i kept them occupied." you said simply, just ignoring the way the other boy looked at you.

"what if- what if that is a challenge?"

"then you'll lose pretty quickly." you said, chuckling, as if it's the most normal conversation in the world. well, considering how long you know each other, it kinda was the most normal conversation. you knew this can turn out to be fun... or to be the biggest regret of your friendship.

"maybe-"

"on your knees." you interrupted him, genuinely curious of what his reaction even would be. your eyes opened wider at the sight of your friend getting on his knees in front of you, without a second thought, as if his body reacted to your words faster than his mind.

"oh my... you really are that desperate for some action? or maybe you just like dick after all?" you looked down at him, meeting his dark eyes, locked on yours. "which one is it? or maybe both?"

after soobin stayed quiet, you spoke again. "open your mouth for me and be good, yeah?"

once again, soobin without any hesitation opened his mouth, waiting for your next move. with every moment, you were getting more anxious about doing this with him, but if you already went that far... besides, he would tell you if something was wrong, you're sure of it.

you quickly unzipped your jeans, letting them fall to your knees. soobin was keeping eye contact with you non-stop, not even daring to look down at your cock the moment you took it from your boxers and gave it a few pumps.

maybe it was embarrassing, but seeing soobin on his knees right in front of you, ready to obey and please, was enough to make you hard. he was waiting for your cock, his mouth open. both of you already forgot about the whole challenge thing, now the only thing on your mind was what was about to happen.

"you know, you look pretty when you're on your knees... but if that girl saw you like that, she'd laugh in your face. hope you know that." you said and took a small step forward, now touching soobin's cheek with your dick. you chuckled, smearing your precum on his skin.

"you never did this before, yeah? let's just hope that will shut you up for good." you almost put your dick in his mouth, but you spoke again. "if anything's wrong, just pinch my thigh, alright? now, stick your tongue out a bit and keep your teeth away... don't force yourself." you said, putting your cock in front of his mouth, letting him start at his own pace, which he probably would thank you for, if he wasn't already licking along your length.

soobin immediately went to work, excitement obvious on his face. carefulness thrown through the window, he already put your dick in his mouth, trying to take it deeper. you hissed at the too sudden friction.

"jesus christ, soobin, calm the fuck down." you said, taking a handful of his hair and pulling him away. "start slowly or you're gonna hurt both yourself and me. i seriously didn't know you were so damn desperate to have my dick in your mouth." you sighed, your grip on his hair loosening, but still being there, to remind him to take it slow.

he only mumbled something you didn't even catch and licked the head of your cock. "yeah, just like that. don't try to fucking deepthroat me the second you see my dick."

he gave long licks along your lenght and little sucks on the head, his eyes closed. you fully let go of his hair, letting him do what he wants. now enjoying both, the feeling and the sight, you can't help but chuckle. you never expected to have soobin of all people giving you head. you couldn't complain though.

"tell me, have you always wanted to do that? it really seems like it." you wanted to laugh, but to your surprise, a groan was pulled out from you. soobin took your dick in his mouth again and looked up at you.

you felt yourself throb and you weren't sure if it was because of the sight in front of you or the way soobin rolled his tongue around the head of your cock. probably a mix of both, actually. "fuck, is this really the first cock you have ever sucked? you're a goddamn natural, bro. i'm starting to think it would be a waste if you got yourself a girlfriend."

it didn't took long for the taller boy to have his mouth fully occupied, bobbing his head up and down on your length. he wasn't able to take your whole dick, but for some reason it was still completely enough for you to get closer and closer to the edge. you weren't sure when, but your hand was back in his hair, your head thrown back in pleasure. you couldn't care less about staying quiet. god, soobin really was good with his mouth.

"shit, i'm close." you warned him, feeling the familiar sensation in your lower abdomen. at your words, he only started bobbing his head faster. "pull- pull away..." you said, knowing it won't take long till you cum. when he didn't move, you needed your full self-control to do it yourself.

he whined at the burning sensation on his head, caused by you roughly pulling him away from your dick by his hair. you couldn't even say anything and you were already cumming right on his face.

when your cock stopped throbbing, you took a deep breath, trying to calm down your breathing. you finally looked down at soobin, who just sat on his ass where he was kneeling a moment ago.

"i told you to pull away." at that he just shrugged, smiling. you sighed, but an amused smirk appeared on your mouth at the sight of your friend's face all dirty with your release. "god, look at you. you're really fucking proud of yourself, aren't you?"

"hell yes i am, i just made you cum." he said in a "duh" manner, making you chuckle. his voice was a big rough, his face all red and hair messy. you couldn't help but think he looked perfect like this.

"you're really fucking dumb... but you did well, bro. even really well, i'd say." his stupid grin only grew wider at this. "now go clean yourself, my cum is not becoming your new skincare product."

———————

a/n: i highkey want to write a part two where they remember about the challenge and reader shows soobin he can make him make noises he didnt even know hes able to make...