#i'm sure he'd be all for it but after he went through the trouble of removing all of his piercings? and now Aoba wants one (or two >w>)?

[snowande]

My Senior

(Male x Male reader)

[Warning : no minors allowed , putting cum in drinks, somnophilia, just him being creepy]

Lumi's Note : Hi hi hi hope you enjoy this one! btw should I make a part two of this? If you guys want of course, also! If you want to request a fics or ask, my inbox is open! (Please I need to do something :') ).

Ethan was a freshman year on college in art major, on his walk to his class, Ethan catch of glimpse of you and you are a perfect man he ever seen, you were his senior.

You were kind and polite making his heart pumped, you were his muse, his sketch book is full of you, even a naked sketch, he has a art studio on his apartment and the canvas was all you. He was obsessed about you, his muse, his senior. he just want to touch you, to caress you... fucked you...

Ethan is now in class with his colleague, and the other seniors is here, helping his class with a project, and you were here too. Ethan's heart raced as he saw you walk into the classroom. He tried to focus on the project at hand, but his eyes kept drifting towards you.

He admired your every move, your every gesture. He imagined running his fingers through your hair, tracing the lines of your face, and feeling your body against his.

As the class went on, Ethan watched as you moved about the classroom, helping his classmates with their project. He couldn't take his eyes off of you, his heart racing with each glance.

His heart skipped a beat every time you bent over to explain something to his colleagues. He couldn't help but imagine you in that same position, but his hands gripping your hips. He knew he needed to calm down, but being this close to you was driving him crazy.

As you approached his table, Ethan's hands shook slightly as he tried to maintain his composure. He looked up at you with those doe eyes, a small smile playing on his lips. "S-senior... I was having some trouble with this part of the project. Could you... help me?"

You leaned over his desk to look at his work, giving him a view of your back. He swallowed hard as his mind went dirty. "Oh it's like this...." you murmured softly, your face close to his paper.

He could smell your cologne.

feel your breath.

He gets hard.

"Do you get it now?" You asked softly. He snap out from his mind when you ask him and nodded, "Yes, Senior... I got it." He watched you straighten up, his eyes dropping to your backside. He quickly averted his gaze.

As you walked away to help another colleague, Ethan let out a shaky breath. He quickly adjusted his pants under the desk, hoping no one noticed his erection. He tried to calm down, but your scent was still lingering on the air, driving him crazy. Suddenly, an idea popped into his mind.

Maybe... Maybe! he can ask you help him with his unfinished project at his apartment, Ethan hear that you always help your underclassmen, so it's worth a shot, just thinking about you... You! YOU in his apartment, just alone together.

"Senior..." he called out as when you go to his table again, "I'm struggling with this part actually... Do you have some time tomorrow evening? Would you... would you mind helping me at my apartment? I can make coffee..."

He watched your expression carefully, his heart pounding in his chest. "If it's not too much trouble, of course..." He said to you. The idea seemed risky but perfect, having you alone in his apartment was every part of his twisted fantasy. He tried to appear casual, shrugging lightly as if it was a routine request.

You seemed to consider his request for a moment, and then nodded slowly. "Sure, Ethan. I can come by your apartment after class tomorrow. Just text me the address and the time," you said calmly, writing down his project details with a pen. Ethan's heart raced with excitement and anticipation.

OH YOU! YOU!YOU! GOING TO HIS APARTMENT!!!

As the day wore on, Ethan found it impossible to concentrate. Every time you bent over to help another student, his mind would wander, and he'd have to adjust himself discreetly. He couldn't believe his luck, you were actually going to be in his apartment, alone with Him.

Finally, the class ended. Ethan quickly packed his things, his hands shaking with excitement. He sent you a text with his address and the time 6 PM sharp. He spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning his apartment, making sure everything was perfect for your arrival.

He anxiously paced his living room as the clock approached 6 PM. He had set out his unfinished project prominently, hiding the disturbing artwork of you behind closed doors. Glancing at his reflection in the hallway mirror, he smoothed his hair and straightened his shirt, wanting to look his best.

The there's a knock at the his door. His heart races as he opens it, trying to compose himself. "You're right on time," he says, stepping aside to let you in. As you enter, he closes the door behind you, locking it softly.

He leads you to the living room, gesturing towards the unfinished project spread out on the coffee table. "So, as I mentioned, I'm really struggling with this part," he says, his voice barely hiding his nervousness. He sits down next to you on the couch, intentionally sitting closer than necessary.

"Umm would... would you like something to drink?" he asks smoothly, already moving towards the kitchen. "I have water, soda and coffe..." he trails off. "ah can I have some coffee please? if you have any of course," you reply back to Ethan

At the kitchen he brew the coffee and grab a creamer for him but for you, he will give a special 'creamer' to your coffee. He quickly glances back to ensure you're not looking and takes a moment to adjust himself, unzipping his pants slightly. He put your mug under his cock, and he started to Stroke his cock slowly.

he started to go faster and silently groan, and thinking about you, under him moaning his name pathetically. he's almost there, his hand moving faster and faster as he can't wait you to drink his creation. He bites his lip to stifle a moan, his cock throbbing in his hand. Suddenly, he cums hard, shooting thick ropes of cum into your coffee mug.

He catches his breath, wiping his hand on his pants. He stirs the coffee mug thoroughly, making sure his cum is well mixed in. He carries the two mugs back to the living room, acting casual as he sits down next to you, handing you your coffee.

You take a sip of the coffee, oblivious to what he done to yout coffee. Ethan watches you intently, his eyes flickering with a dark satisfaction as he sees you drink his seed. He takes a sip of his own coffee, trying to act normal. "Is the coffee okay?"

You nod, taking another sip. "It's good, thanks," you say, completely unaware of his sickening act. He smiles, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction. "I'm glad you like it" he replies, his eyes never leaving your lips as you drink from the mug.

As the two of you work on the project, Ethan can't help but steal glances at you, his mind filled with dark and twisted thoughts. Every time you take a sip of your coffee, he feels a surge of power and satisfaction.

Ethan leans back, exhaling with relief as the project is finally completed. He glances at your now empty coffee mug with a secret smirk, proud of his subtle yet deviant success. "All done!" You says, Ethan look at you, his heart races with the thrill of what he's done.

He stands up, stretching his arms above his head,he walks over to the kitchen, rinsing out the coffee mugs. As he turns around, he catches you yawning and rubbing your eyes. "Tired?" "Yeah... I should go home now, but it's kinda late... , I don't know if the bus is out now" you reply.

Ethan's eyes light up at your words, barely concealing his delight. He glances at the clock, nodding slowly. "Actually, the last bus left over an hour ago. You're probably stuck here tonight,"

He walks back into the living room, leaning against the doorway"You can sleep in the guest room if you want. It's late, and it wouldn't be safe for you to try and find a ride home now."

"Ah really? I don't want to burden you..." you said to Ethan, He waves his hand dismissively, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "It's no burden at all. Really." He moves closer to you, "Besides, I have extra blankets and pillows. The guest room's pretty comfortable."

You yawn again, your body feeling suddenly heavy and tired. "Okay... You're sure it's no trouble?" You ask sleepily. Ethan watches you intently, noting your tired movements. "No trouble at all," He assures you, his mind buzzing with dark thoughts.

Hours later, as silence settles over the darkened apartment, Ethan slowly opens the guest room door. He peers in at your sleeping form, a glint of madness in his eyes. Stealthily, he approaches the bed, hovering over you. His breathing grows heavy as he watches your chest rise and fall.

With a wicked smirk, Ethan gently moves the blanket covering you, exposing your sleeping form. His eyes roam hungrily over your body, pausing at your neck. He leans closer, inhaling your scent deeply, a shudder of twisted desire running through him knowing you're helplessly asleep.

Ethan's heart pounds in his chest as he watches your peaceful face, his twisted thoughts racing. Without a second thought, he leans down and presses his lips against yours in a gentle kiss. He backs away quickly, shocked at his own boldness, yet unable to wipe the satisfied smile from his face.

His eyes gleam with excitement as he leans back in, pressing his lips against yours once again. This time, his kiss is not as gentle as the first time. He kissed you passionately, his fingers trailing down your neck and collarbone, exploring your sleeping form with his greedy hands.

You unconsciously part your lips slightly, allowing him deeper access. He growls softly, taking full advantage and pushing his tongue inside your mouth. He kisses you deeply, his hands sliding down your sides, your hips. He hoovers over you.

Ethan breaks the kiss, panting heavily. His eyes are wild with lust and madness as he stares down at your helpless form. He traces your bottom lip with his thumb, a dark chuckle escaping him. "You taste even better than I imagined,"

His breath hitches as he releases himself from his pants, his large, hard length springing free. He wraps his fingers around himself tightly, stroking himself furiously as he looks down at your face. He bites his lip, stifling a groan as he pleasures himself to the sight of you. His eyes roam over your body, imagining all the things he wants to do to you. He increases his pace, his breathing growing ragged. He's close, so close... .

He's panting now, his face contorted with pleasure as he looks down at your sleeping form. He's so close to the edge, he can feel it building. He reaches out and touches your face gently with his free hand, his thumb brushing your cheek as he jerks off faster.

"Fuck!" He silently curse, His finger traces your lips gently as he finally reaches his release, hot liquid spurting out onto your sleeping face. He pants heavily, his chest heaving as he looks down at his handiwork, his seed dripping down your cheeks and lips.

He watches you for a moment longer, his eyes wide with amazement and satisfaction, before finally stuffing himself back into his pants. He hesitates for a moment, debating whether to wipe the mess off your face or not.

With a heavy sigh of reluctance, Ethan pulls a handheld towel from his pocket and gently dabs at your face, cleaning off the evidence of his dark deed. He takes care not to wake you, his movements precise yet reluctant. "Such a shame," he murmurs under his breath.

He watches you for a moment longer, his eyes taking in every inch of your sleeping face. He leans down one last time, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before backing away and disappearing into the shadows. "Until next time," he whispers before slipping out of the room and disappearing into the night.

In the morning you woke up, sleeping well in the guest room, your stomach growls in hungry for food, you slowly walk out of the room and go to the kitchen and see Ethan makes breakfast. As you enter the kitchen, you're greeted by the smell of fresh coffee and the sizzle of bacon. Ethan is busy preparing breakfast, humming softly to himself.

He turns to greet you with a warm smile, his eyes lingering on your face for a moment longer than necessary. After eating breakfast you ask Ethan to join you go to college together, just the two of you.

"Sure," Ethan grins, grabbing his bag. He watches you intently as you get ready, his eyes darkening slightly as you bend over to tie your shoes, giving him a perfect view of your backside. He swallows hard. adjusting himself. calm himself and he walks with you to the bus.

During the bus ride, Ethan keeps the conversation light and engaging. He asks about your classes, your interests, and even shares some of his own experiences as a senior. His charm is on full display, making you feel comfortable and at ease.

As you arrive at college, Ethan walks you to your first class, his hand lightly touching your back. He waits until you're inside before turning to leave, but not before glancing back at you with a smile that sends a shiver down your spine. "See you later,"

He watches as you disappear into the classroom, his heart fluttering in his chest. He can't believe how close he is to having you all to himself. He spends the day attending his classes, but his mind is preoccupied with thoughts of you.

Maybe in his next plan he'll have you stay permanently in his apartment. And be his finally. until next time now... My dear senior...

This picture is from Pinterest uzumaki Naruto

Tags list : @nymphea0

[somnoir]

Damian's future husband

Got inspired by this specific line in a Tumblr thread and my brain went to work

Phantom was a strange hero—a vigilante that often worked with Justice League Dark. Constantine was always so antsy around the man, while Phantom himself often muttered about taxes and blasted fragments whenever said trech coat man was in the vicinity.

The Bats were, of course, initially apprehensive of the death defying being that could rip a man skeleton out of their body, manipulate space itself to rip open portals to different dimensions, and vanish better than they did. They were wary, mildly hostile after realising that Phantom had now issue killing.

But then time passed and Phantom was proven to not be a serial killer but only used killing as a last resort. Though Batman wasn't too pleased, he was—begrudgingly—tolerant of that. Because, yes, Phantom was a nice guy, a very likeable person in general. He made sure that the environmental damage during battles were kept to a minimum, he chose civilians over the enemy whenever it came to hostage situations, he was tactile and kind, and he cared so much for the innocent that he was willing to lose his innocence to keep theirs.

Of course Batman was fond of the young man, especially when he found out that Jason of all people had some sort of crush on him. A very big and almost pathetic one that he and Alfred would watch while sipping tea.

Seriously, Jason was his son! Has he not learned anything from his Brucie persona? The poor thing was like a Victorian maiden and would be scandalised at the mere thought of showing an ankle.

It was embarrassing how he'd practically start blue screening the moment Phantom was in the vicinity. As a father, Bruce was gracious enough not to bully his poor son whenever it came to Phantom. His siblings, on the other hand, held no such qualms and mercilessly dug into Jason.

In all honesty, he pitied Jason after hearing that Phantom assumed that Jason just didn't like him.

He really had to talk to him.

"You fucking hypocrite."

And that was a failure because Bruce forgot that he was just as constipated as his son.

"I'm not taking advice from the man who couldn't even try to be softer in his secret crush!"

With that, Jason slammed the door and left.

Okay... Plan B?

But what the hell was plan B?

Right.

Dick Grayson.

Bruce: About your brother...

Bird child #1: OH MY GOD

Bird child #1: THANK FUCK YOU FINALLY MENTIONED IT

Bruce: it's become an issue

Bruce: Alfred has commented that it's pathetic now.

Bird child #1: Wait wait

Bird child #1: I'll add you to the group chat!

And this Bruce Wayne found himself in a GC named 'Phantom of the Watchtower'. Along with all the complaints expressed by both family and friends when it came to Jason's bullshit.

Ah well... At least he wasn't alone in the suffering.

(Jason did not need to know that there was a video of him grappling through Gotham, Phantom passing by and waving at him, and Jason proceeding to hit a wall mid flight.)

Dick knows that his little wing has had trouble in relationships for a long time. His resurrection changed him, changed how he perceived his relationships. Dick didn't have the heart to be mad about it.

Phantom's arrival was a breath of fresh air for them.

But he suspects that Jason's attraction began with the fact that Phantom had died young as well. Fourteen from what was said. He had died much younger than Jason and had came back a hero, willing to protect the innocent and do what was best for those around him. Sometimes Dick suspects that Jason not only wanted to be with Phantom, but also to be similar to him.

Now he's watching Jason fumble with his words again, immediately going quiet once he realized that nothing coherent was coming out of his mouth. The helmet most likely hid how red his face was.

"Are you alright?" Phantom asked, frowning up at Jason. "You don't feel too good. Is the corrupted ecto acting up again? Oh, I knew I should have sped up the process of removing it but then it'd be very painful if I did it at once. And Frostbite recommended that we went slowly so we could monitor the side effect... And, and—"

"I'm okay." Red Hood immediately assured, his hand practically flying to Phantom's cheek then he shoved it down before he could even touch Phantom. "It's been a long day."

"Is the Joker out again?" Phantom's frown deepened.

Another thing Dick has learned about the dead and the undead! The fact that their murderer was still active unsettled then greatly and affected their entire mentality and behaviour.

"No. No. He hasn't tried escaping."

Phantom hummed, "I see. So what's bothering you."

"It's nothing." Jason grunted, sounding a little too much like Bruce for Dick's liking.

Okay, nope, he wasn't going to let this continue if his baby brother was going to continue making Phantom assumed he didn't like him. Nightwing to the rescue!

"Phantom! Hi!" Nightwing quite literally dropped into the alley, running his fingers through his hair and smoothly directing Jason away from whatever catastrophic misunderstanding he was walking into.

"Hello Nightwing! It's nice to see you again? How's Kori? Oooh! I wanted to invite her to a space date again—" He rambled on and on, eyes practically starry. Wait, nevermind. His eyes really were starry.

(Meanwhile, Jason was cursing his older brother for taking the attention from but also very thankful that Phantom didn't have to witness his stupidity again.)

Tim had noticed that the Joker hasn't attempted to break out in a long... Long time.

It's not a bad thing, no. It was great, in all honesty. But of course, Tim was paranoid, almost batshir crazy (pun intended, in the words of his damn boyfriends). The surveillance feed on Arkham was updated a long time ago, watching it very closely until static overtook the screen.

"Replacement," Tim startled, blinking before he saw Jason peering at him with a questioning look. Practically interrogating him on the spot. "The hell is that?"

"I don't know." Tim clicked his tongue, "This hasn't happened after Babs and I updated those damn cameras. Fuck, give me a second..."

"Did the Joker get out?" Jason practically growled.

"No, no. I'm sure he didn't. He would have been causing trouble by now." Tim reassured, clicking his tongue again before the feed went back to normal. Joker's cell seemed perfectly fine, with the Joker fast asleep on his little cot. "See, just some static. Maybe Phantom passed by."

The mere mention of Phantom has Jason blue screening, instincts kicking in as his older brother shoved his helmet over his head again. Then the idiot gets on his bike and speeds out of the cave.

Coward.

Tim whipped his head around, quickly surveying the area.

The static wasn't random. Phantom always had to be in front of the camera to directly affect the feed. So thank fuck when he made friends with Phantom's teammate—Pharaoh—and figured out how to fix any distorted imagery.

He sees Phantom standing over the Joker's unconscious body, plunging his hand into the maniac's chest and pulled out a glowing green orb. A core, from what he remembered. Holy shit, was the Joker a ghost too?

But he saw how Phantom seemed to put restraints around it, literal chains before shoving it back inside.

Slowly, Phantom turned to the camera, his entire figure still distorted, but he could see that fanged grin that his brother seemed to swoon over.

(The Joker was still alive, very much, but no one could understand how he was stuck in an almost permanent coma. Tim wasn't going to give Jason even more reason to start giggling over Phantom, unless he wanted to ruin the entire Dead on Main operation.)

Damian did not quite understand the insanity that was multiple individuals (including those that were not of their brood) attempting to matchmake Todd with Phantom. He didn't understand what was so great about Phantom, in all honesty.

He was heroic, powerful, and quite intelligent. Many people held similar traits. Perhaps it was the fact that he was a deathly being that attracted Todd in the first place.

"Hello, Robin!" Phantom greeted one day, eyes shimmering like the stars in his cape. "Superboy said you had something to tell me?"

Damian shifted slightly, "Yes. Are you aware of the Lazarus Pits?"

"Ah... Yes, of course. My court and I have been trying to destroy all of them. The Lazarus is corrupted ectoplasm that has been mixed with filth of all kinds." Phantom hummed.

"Filth of all kinds... Disgusting." Damian frowned, nose scrunching up at the memory that he's bathed in those pits before. "But I digress. I would like to assist in the destruction of the pits. Father and the rest of the family has fretted over my grandfather's pits for many years and we have barely grazed the surface on what the Lazarus truly was."

"I see! I was planning on asking Batman to help out on that. But since you've already asked, would you like to come to the Realms? I'm sure you can interrogate some of the ghosts your grandfather has wronged." Phantom grinned, already offering Damian a hand. He was floating, while Damian stood in the roof and stared at the hand.

It reminded him of the kryptonians. But Phantom's hand was cold and he didn't yank Damian the same way Jon often did.

No, Phantom took Damian's hand and then proceeded to hook an arm around Damian's waist, pulling him of the roof and into the air. And then they were flying into a glowing green portal that reminded Damian of the pits.

The moment they were in the infinite realms, Damian felt the overwhelming pressure of the dead. He swallowed the bile that rose from his throat as Phantom set him down on solid ground. The entire place felt eerie and strange, of course it was. This was the afterlife.

"Right, I forgot." Phantom cursed, "You're not as liminal as my family. Give me a second, baby bat." He murmured, his hand glowing green before it's gently pushed into Damian's chest. A sudden wave of warmth overtook his entire body and Damian stared at the ghost.

"I'm giving you a bit of Ecto to reduce any discomfort here in the realms. It'll flush itself out in 24 hours so don't worry about becoming overly liminal." Phantom smiled softly, before he offered his hand to Damian again. "Let's go? I have to stop by my keep to check the records of Al Ghuls victims."

"Of course."

And instead of being carried like a cat, Phantom picked him up bridal style and flew past what seemed to be floating islands and towards a large red and purple castle.

Is this was Todd feels? Damian asked himself, oddly enjoying this experience.

The moment they landed—

"Your majesty!" A floating eyeball yelled, rushing towards them. "You've brought an outsider—"

"Away with you." Phantom snapped, a crown and cape of stars suddenly appearing on him. "This is Robin. Ra's Al Ghul's grandchild."

"The Demon's head..."

"Yes, now shoo." Phantom snapped, before leading Damian away from the eyeball. "I'm sorry for my Observants. They're a conservative bunch."

"You are a king?"

"Mhm... Though I don't like to advertise it. The last king was a tyrant and I defeated him a little while after my death. I never intended to be king, in all honesty. But here I am." He gestured to the crown of fire and ice and the cape of stars. His grin was strained and quite troubled but he didn't mind leading Damian towards a large room filled with bigger files.

"Now, would you like to search yourself or do you want me to have someone else do it?"

Damian grimaced at the sight. "I'd prefer for someone else to suffer."

And that's how Damian found himself touring the realms, with Phantom happily bringing Damian to the arena where a ghost named Skulker awaited them. The man was a hunter, respectful towards Phantom yet troublesome as he challenged him. Phantom looked utterly annoyed, before he turned to Damian with sparkling eyes.

"What about you, Robin?"

And then Damian was fighting everyone and everything in the realms at the behest and amusement of Phantom. The ghost king provided him with different weapons each time an enemy switched.

It's only when they returned to the land of the living that he's informed that any weapon he's used is now his.

And he has a cat with him! The ghost of a small yet ferocious kitten that had his under Phantom's cape whilst Damian and other ghosts fought to glorious battle. Phantom kindly offered her to him, naming her Astra with the star shaped pupils in her eyes.

Damian is quite sure he has fallen in love.

Damian returns to the manor, utterly awestruck and infatuated. Thankfully (unfortunately), Todd is in attendance when Phantom carries him out of the portal, still held in a bridal carry with Damian actively clinging to Phantom like he had hung the stars (maybe he did).

"Sorry if we worried you! Robin wanted to help with our Lazarus problems since it's also your problem too." Phantom quickly explains once he saw Batman's troubled expression. "Don't worry about your gifts. I'll figure out a way to make you a dimensional bag."

Damian stared, "May I visit the realms again? If you would be amendable to it."

"Of course! You're my favorite, so why wouldn't I?"

Hah! Hear that? Take that, Todd!

Phantom vanishes into his portal seconds later, leaving Damian with the most beautiful and intricated sword in his hands. Blinking quietly, he whirled around and pointed the sword at Jason, who instinctively went into a battle stance.

"You may be my brother, Todd, but if you have not married Phantom once I am of age, I shall fight for his hand in marriage himself."

(Jason knows very well that Damian isn't joking and proceeds to practically plan the most novel-esque confession to date. Jane Austen might just be proud.)

Masterpost

[kannouo]

Voice of an Angel

fandom: obey me pairing: demon brothers x gn!reader warnings: none summary: the demon brothers react to an mc with a soothing voice. prompt by anon: I have lost my voice and it has sucked 😔 I shall never take the ability to talk for granted ever again. So can I request the demon brothers with a MC with a very soothing voice? Thank you in advance!!! I’m coping. A/N: i hope you feel better by the time this is out anon :( and tysm for this adorable request!

LUCIFER

• Lucifer was taken with your voice from the moment he first heard it.

• As a fan of classical music and a romantic at heart, he often drew comparisons from your voice to his favourite vinyl records — how harmonic and melodious it was, and how even as you bare your rawest and ugliest emotions, your voice still retains that soothing quality, sounding almost like a song. He never put any of this to words, though. At least not at first.

• He had an image to keep up when you first arrived. As the Avatar of Pride, the first-born, and Diavolo's right hand, he needed you to fear and respect him lest you think it safe to stick your nose where it doesn't belong. So, any thoughts that may imply a sense of vulnerability would just have to stay in his head.

• ...Despite his efforts, his tactics of intimidation clearly didn't work on you, so...

• Wounded pride aside, once the two of you get closer, he's a lot more comfortable with expressing his love for your voice. He'll mostly make passing comments about it, leaving you flustered as he proceeds to move on from it right away, pretending to be oblivious as to what he did.

"MC," You tilt your head up at the sound of your name being called and look on over at Lucifer, who lets an uncharacteristically easy smile creep on his face as he approaches you. "I wanted to congratulate you on the speech you delivered today. I'm glad you went through on it after all. A voice as lovely as yours deserves to be heard." "Thanks... I was—" You sputter, his words only now registering as you feel your cheeks burn hot. "—What? What'd you say?" You aren't sure if it's truly clarification you're seeking, or if you simply want him to repeat those oh-so-rare words of praise. His lips quirk into a smirk and he begins to walk away without another word. "Lucifer!"

• Would definitely invite you to his room using the excuse of needing you to lend a hand with his paperwork when literally all you're doing is sitting there and reading some mail out loud to him. He's not that busy, and he's not too terribly interested in what the letters say either, but your voice can make even the most boring subjects engaging.

• Also... Lucifer is stressed. Perpetually. It would definitely do wonders for him if you managed to coax him into laying on your lap and simply talking to him about anything and everything, or even singing a song if that's preferable. He'll act as if he's only doing it to humour you, and it's honestly better to just let him have that one, even though you know he needs it more than anyone.

• He won't admit this, but he absolutely has trouble saying "no" to you at times. You just always ask him in the sweetest voice, he can't help it...

MAMMON

• He thinks he's slick. He isn't.

• Even in the very beginning, he would pull "tricks" in an attempt to make you talk more. Things like pretending he couldn't hear what you were saying so you'd repeat yourself... but you got sick of having to repeat yourself 5 times every time you said anything pretty quickly, so he had to switch it up.

• He starts asking for your extremely detailed opinions on random subjects — honestly, you're not sure how much more he expects you to elaborate on your thoughts on kiwis — or will interrupt ongoing conversations because he's "pretty sure you want to say something". You have to ask him to stop that one eventually. It's incredibly awkward.

• You and everyone else know very well why he acts like this with you, but he'd deny thinking anything was special about your voice to the grave. In front of others, at least.

• If you catch him on a day when he's willing to be vulnerable, he'll be more open about it. No matter what, he's always going to be a little shy about openly complimenting you, but depending on his mood, he might be willing to admit he wants to hear you talk. The subject doesn't matter — you could be saying literally anything, it's all the same to him. He just wants to listen to your voice.

"What's that show you were watchin' earlier about?" An innocuous and, under any other circumstances, innocent question. You had begrudgingly given in to Asmo's pleading to watch The Bachelorette with him, and braced yourself for a long ride when he insisted on starting this journey from the beginning. Mammon must have walked in on you two watching it, but... you have to admit, you're a little sceptical that Mammon gives two shits about The Bachelorette. "...I thought you didn't care about reality TV?" Mammon looks a little stumped at your response. No way is he giving you an honest answer, but... the longer he goes without hearing your voice, the more he feels like the energy is being drained out of him. "...I'm... warmin' up to it?"

• Praise and general words of affection and kindness mean more coming from you anyway, but that coupled with your voice sounding so peaceful and relaxing as you compliment him makes him melt.

• He's also just a smidge more okay with you giving him commands using the pact you two share. Something about it being your soft voice telling him what to do softens the blow to his ego a little.

LEVIATHAN

• I'll give in to being cliché here and say yes, your voice does absolutely remind him of a few anime characters.

• In most anime with a diverse cast, there always tend to be at least one character, feminine or masculine, with a signature calming and gentle voice. He's bound to know at least one or two that sound exactly like you.

• Even if you didn't sound like any characters he knew of, it wouldn't matter. It'd take him a little longer to make the connection, but he'd still think your voice is adorable enough to be in an anime, and to "prove it" will persuade you into reciting a few lines from his favourite shows.

"Beware, evil demons, for I'll plant your rears in the..." You sceptically read through the lines of dialogue Levi handed you and hold up the script. "Isn't this a little...?" "It's fine, the 'demons' in Ruri-Hana are way different from us," Levi shakes his head and waves his hand in front of him in dismissal, looking at you with stars in his eyes. "Anyway, this is Ruri-chan's most famous catchphrase! You need to say it with the excitement it deserves!" You sigh and close your eyes, bracing yourself to get into character. Even if it was embarrassing, you suppose you can at least let him have this... "Beware, evil demons, for I'll plant your rears in the dirt! Ruri-Hana! ☆" "WOOOOAAAHHH!"

• Levi is very prone to falling asleep to your voice too. Not because he's uninterested in anything you're saying, but because it's just so relaxing. He'll get embarrassed and vehemently deny having ever done this if you confront him about it.

• Lowkey wishes he had a recording of your voice to use as an alarm to motivate him to get up in the mornings, but he's way too shy to ask for one. It makes him feel like a creep.

SATAN

• Another romantic here, but not a very subtle one.

• He made a few passing comments about your voice at first — but like most everything he said when you were first getting to know him, it was superficial. It's only when you two grow closer does he truly realise how much he adores your voice and becomes more genuine about it.

• He'll openly compliment your voice and, like Mammon, asks for your your opinion on literally everything. He is slightly less obnoxious about it though. If you're a naturally quiet or shy person, he'll do his best to boost your confidence so he can hear you speak up more.

"Hm? Oh, you're done with it?" Satan asks and turns his body to face you, taking the book from your outstretched hands. He had been kind enough to lend you one of his many, many books after an extremely extensive conversation about your preferred genres. It had taken a while to finish — but you'd finally done it, and it was time to return the book. "Thank you. How did you like it?" "I enjoyed it." You see a pleased smile form on his face. "That's good," he places the novel on top of a messy pile of books that looks as if it's going to topple over at any moment. "Would you like to discuss it with me? I want to know what you liked most about it... and your opinions on the ending."

• Likes to hear you read aloud. He listens to audiobooks quite often, and most of them include people with naturally soothing ASMR-type voices. You remind him a lot of his audiobooks for that reason.

• Hears your voice as his internal monologue when he's reading something with a character that reminds him of you.

• You possess the very rare and valuable ability to calm the Avatar of Wrath's rage with your voice alone. When he's close to entering a fit of fury, in that stage right before he breaks into his demon form, just talking to and reassuring him with that soft voice of yours has the power to ground him. He'll still be angry of course, but at least you can avoid any potential property damage and just have him vent to you instead.

• Another brother who would love to lay his head down on your lap as you thread your fingers through his hair and talk about literally anything at all. He especially likes when you hum or sing softly. He's unlikely to ask for this, but the lack of complaint and the blush on his face as you persuade him into lying down for you tells you everything you need to know.

ASMODEUS

• His voice is similarly pleasing to the ears.

• Of the many, many things he gets complimented for, his voice is absolutely among them. So when he hears you speak for the first time, expect a comment along the lines of "oh, your voice is almost as cute as mine!"

• And as your relationship develops, your voice of course isn't the only thing he praises you for. However, it does make him all the more eager to hear his praises come from your lips.

• He gets showered in attention and compliments from his adoring fans every single day, but when it's you, it's special for two reasons. One: it's you. The one person he deems truly equal to himself and who he willingly shares that pedestal with. Two: that voice does things to him. I'm trying HARD to keep it SFW

"Baby! Oooh, look, look, look!" Your doom-scrolling on your phone is suddenly interrupted by Asmo's excited chanting as he shoves a magazine in your face, nearly hitting you with it. As your eyes focus on what he was trying to show you, you see the fruit of his latest photoshoot; him, in a cropped top and leather skirt, posing elegantly for the camera. "Don't I look adorable? Beautiful? Sexy?" He eggs you on, leaning his face in close. "Go on, tell me how fabulous I look! I want to hear from your mouth what a good job I did~"

• Another one who likes to hear you sing. He's a fan of karaoke himself and has a habit of trying to drag you into singing duets with him whenever there's an opportunity. Even if you aren't a singer at all, he insists your singing voice is naturally lovely, just like his!

BEELZEBUB

• I doubt Beelzebub would particularly care what your voice sounds like.

• Obviously, he notices. Maybe even compliments you about it. But you could have a super calming voice, an extremely high-pitched or nasally voice, or even not talk at all... It wouldn't change that your presence itself is what he finds soothing, not just your voice.

• Most things I have to say about his reaction here would still happen no matter what your voice actually sounded like. Him liking to hear you ramble, him falling asleep to one of your stories, even the compliments he gives, they're all reliant on the fact that it's you, not that your voice actually sounds a certain way.

• That's not to say he's being disingenuous. Quite the opposite. Because it's you, he means all the things he says.

• However I can see him being another one who would just kind of assumes that you're a singer, or have a nice singing voice. He states it like a known fact. You're at an event, karaoke comes on, and he's like "oh, you should go up there." Do you remember that one lesson in the OG game where everyone gets trapped in a karaoke room that'll only let you out if you get a perfect score? Beel asks you if you're willing to participate because "you're a good singer, right?" even if he's literally never heard you sing before.

• I can also see him, like Satan, being easily calmed down from going on a rampage by you just, talking to him.

"Beel..." You begin, your tone much like how one would talk to a scared animal. And for good reason, too. When you joined Beelzebub for a quick midnight snack, this was the worst possible outcome, a day you prayed you would never witness... The fridge was empty. "Beel, it's OK." "There's nothing left," he says, tone so low it sounds almost like a growl. "I'm hungry." "Just close the fridge." You guide his hand away from gripping the fridge door so tightly you're afraid he might leave a permanent indent. "There's snacks left in the drawers. The fridge isn't our only option."

BELPHEGOR

• I hope you enjoy being used as a walking ASMR audio.

• Seriously though, similar to Beel, your presence is what he finds soothing, not just your voice. But, your voice is definitely a plus.

• I imagine Belphie as the type to get annoyed when people are talking while he's trying to sleep, or if they're making too much noise. He isn't a light sleeper by any means so such things won't wake him up necessarily, but they will annoy him if he's still awake and he isn't above brashly telling people to shut up. You are an exception, however.

• He doesn't just not mind when you talk while he's trying to go to sleep, he encourages it. He'll lay down on your lap and tell you to read him a bedtime story, sing him a lullaby, or even just talk about your day. There's no need to worry about him not hearing all you have to say, either. He picks up information in his sleep, so don't leave out any details; he'll remember all of it when he wakes.

You grunt a little as the sudden weight of an entire grown man on your legs pulls you away from your 'me time'. You look down and see Belphie, now snuggled into your thighs with his eyes already half-shut. "What'd you do today?" He asks, and you know he just wants you to talk. "You won't even be awake to hear what I did." Belphie peeked open an eye and grinned impishly up at you. "Yeah I will," he said, stretching his arms above his head. "I heard when you started whispering how much you loved me when I fell asleep last night." "You heard that??"

• He hears your voice in his dreams. Frequently. Then he wakes up missing you. Expect a morning text that is fuckboy levels of needy. "U up?" lookin ass.

[cvnt4him]

Hi! I hope you’re doing well, I’ve been a silent fan for a while and I really appreciate and love your work so I wanted to request how Katsuki and/or izuku would would react to reader flashing them during or after a heated argument If you could :)) you decide if you want it to be smut or not, Thank you!!

ty for your love and support! I giggled while reading this lol

Katsukiᡣ𐭩

during an argument.

Katsuki was really heated this evening and you certainly hadn't made anything better with your bickering. It's not as if you yourself were upset, you were just nagging a bit. Katsuki, as someone who is normally really clean and good at picking up behind himself, just trudged through your front door shedding his shoes in the living room and flopping down onto your couch. Not greeting or saying hello to you, not offering to help or take a load off of you. Nothing.

You understand he's been working today but a hello would've been more than enough for you. You've just missed him a bit more than normal that morning and wanted to feel his touch. You spoke only a word to him about how you felt and he was already giving you an attitude. You could only scoff at his sass and angry voice. Most of the time when he got angry you'd get angry, but this time you couldn't handle him.

You really didn't feel like arguing or just yelling back at him. With a blank face you just stared at him as he spat words out at you while he sat back against the couch. You sigh to yourself and simply lift your shirt and allow your boobs to freely fall out. Katsuki who was staring directly at you watched your every movement as he spoke, not expecting you to do that he suddenly stops speaking.

You raise one brow and try your hardest not to snicker at his surprised expression, a dust of pink brushing his cheeks. You heard a small breath leave his slackened jaw as he stared you up and down for a couple of minutes. You pull your shirt down and clear your throat before addressing him.

“ now then.. are you done? Jesus, katsuki, all I wanted was a hello and for you to not throw your things-”

Before you could finish your sentence he was quick to get up and throw you over his shoulder. You yell out and question what he's doing.

“ if yer so keen on talking over me; let's see if you can even get a word out when I'm through with ya.”

Izukuᡣ𐭩

after an argument.

You just wanted to feel appreciated was all, you did your best with dinner and looking well for him only to get nothing in return. You wish you hadn't had blown up on him, and it really did break your heart having him yell at you...but goodness that angry expression he had, the way he grit his teeth and breathed heavily. You could see a tinge of regret behind his eyes, he isn't one to normally snap so easily.

The two of you took a bit of a break from each other, just taking 5 minutes in separate rooms to cook off. You were never really angry, sure a bit upset but you just wanted your husband. That need for him never went away it only grew.

Izuku, ready to apologize, walked back into your shared bedroom to address the situation. He felt he'd gone too far and that arguing and him raising his voice wasn't necessary. Things could've been resolved in better ways by simply talking them out.

As you heard your husband out, watching as he spoke with his hands as well as his apologetic voice. You simply smiled at him, watching as his sad eyes had trouble staying connected to yours. Your hands slowly brang themselves up to your shirt and you lifted it just as slowly allowing you to tease him a bit. He immediately stopped talking and his eyes flickered from your eyes straight to your bare chest his jaw falling slack as his eyes widened. A small noise leaving him as he completely forgot what he was talking about.

You remove your shirt as a whole and walk towards him in only your underwear, his hand immediately flying to your sides as he gulps down struggling to look at you.

“ I know another way....you can make it up to me.”

“...deal.”

[dokyumms]

make it right

pairing: the8 x gn 14thmember!reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 1k

cw: arguments, making up, minghao is mean, the beach has nothing to do with the fic i just couldn't find any other pics.

a/n: another request finished! will begin writing a long fic soon... be scared... but enjoy this for now my kings even tho the end is kind of bad

it started off as an innocent, simple practice day.

sure, you were struggling a little, but you cut yourself some slack for being sick the day before.

"okay! let's cut it off here, good job everyone!" the choreographer announced with a quick reminder to hydrate and some other stuff that you tuned out. when he finished, everyone said their thank yous and started packing up. you too, began to gather all your belongings when someone tapped you on the shoulder.

turning around, you smiled to see that it was minghao.

"need something?" you asked, getting up and slinging your bag onto your shoulder.

"no, i just noticed you were having trouble on that dance break earlier. would you want to stay back a bit? i could help." he offered.

to be fully honest, you just wanted to go home; your body ached and you were still partially recovering from your fever. but on the other hand, you didn't want to seem lazy, so thinking it wouldn't take too long, you drop your bag on the floor.

"sure, a couple runs wouldn't hurt," you replied, walking toward the center of the room.

"you're not going yet?" chan asked as he made his way to the door.

you shook your head, "just need to fix the dance break, shouldn't take more than 20 minutes,"

he nodded, a little unsurely, but after seeing that minghao was there with you, he left.

however, those 20 minutes soon turned to 45.

you wiped your forehead with the back of your sleeve, catching your breath. "one more time?" you asked, though the exhaustion in your voice made it sound more like a plea than a suggestion.

minghao was already hitting 'play' on his phone, muttering, "if you can actually get it this time," under his breath.

you could barely hear him, but the comment made your stomach twist. you understood his frustration, everyone was getting this except you- and you were supposed to be one of the best dancers in the group. so, determined to get it right, you focused as the music started again, filling the empty space between you two.

but just as you felt the dance break begin, something was off. your timing, your footwork- something. and before you could fix it, minghao had already stopped.

"seriously?" he ran a hand through his hair, frustration seeping into his voice. "do i need to slow it down again? how are you still messing it up?"

the words stung more than they should've. you clenched your jaw, taking a slow breath. "i just need a second, okay? i'm trying."

"we've done this like ten times already, were you not paying attention to anything i said?"

"wow, thanks for the encouragement."

"the music video filming is coming up. if you mess up this much during it, we'll be there all day."

"you think i don't know that? maybe if you stopped nitpicking every little thing, i'd be able to focus."

"i'm 'nitpicking' because i care about this routine. unlike you, i actually want us to do well."

you were taken aback, going silent for a second.

"what? so you think just because i'm struggling means i don't care? why do you think i'm still here?"

minghao doesn't respond, so you kept going,

"i could've went home you know, i don't even need to be here at all! we both know that with maybe another day, i'd probably get it, but you said you'd help me, so i stayed and what do you do? forget it. i'm going home."

and with that, you packed up your things again and left, leaving minghao stunned.

you didn't think he'd show up to your shared apartment that night, probably crash with jun or something, but then you heard the door creak open.

keeping your eyes closed, you intently listened to minghao shuffle around, open a couple drawers, then leave.

huh, so he only came back for clothes? but then you heard another door close and rushing water only a minute later.

well, guess he was really deciding to stay over after that. you sighed, sitting up on the bed.

should you apologize so you both don't have to sleep angry? but you were definitely not apologizing for that. ugh, you hated trying to sleep next to a mad boyfriend, especially a mad minghao.

you considered just leaving the apartment and sleeping over at jeonghan's place, but you heard the shower turn off, so you plopped back into bed, shutting your eyes.

the door opened again, you tried your best to look like you were asleep, but you couldn't tell if it was working. you heard him sigh before saying, "i know you're awake,"

you don't even question how he know, "what about it?" you shot back, almost grimacing at your tone.

opening your eyes, you expected for minghao to shove you off the bed or ask you to move, but instead, an apology came from his mouth.

"i'm sorry, y/n. i really am. you were right, i was the one who offered to help, but i didn't and i'm sorry. i'll sleep on the couch, but i came here to apologize." he said, looking around the room as if he was a little kid apologizing to his mom.

you didn't respond, wondering if you should milk a little more from him. minghao would normally never apologize this early, being the stubborn guy he was. so when he turned around, you stopped him.

"wait- you mean it?" you asked. he nodded in response.

"okay, and?"

tilting his head, he tried to think of what else to say before sighing in defeat.

"and you're the best thing to happen to me, so i owe you dinner for the next week..."

"and?"

"you gotta be joking- and because i love you, i'll buy you that stupid $300 bag, now move so i can sleep,"

you complied, moving over so he can slip into bed. "you're impossible," he mumbled,

"and you're mean," you teased back. he chuckled lightly before wrapping himself around you. "i said i'm sorry," he whined.

"hmm, make it up to me?" you asked, puckering your lips at him. "no." he deadpanned, but after your face fell a little bit, he kissed you.

"no, don't make me buy you something else. we make the same salary, you know?"

"eh, you still get more gifts at fan signs than i do, but i'll let it slide." you replied, giving him another kiss before he nuzzled his head into your neck.

[namilettes]

I loved ur yan!two time headcanons so much oh my days.. I hope it wouldnt be too much trouble if i could also request yan!azure headcanons too, or yan!azuretime x reader hcs (you can choose to just make azure headcanons if you dont know/like to write poly x reader) :D!!

Yan!Azure x reader headcanons

(+ extra yan!Azuretime x reader poly headcanons!!)

Hi anon!!!!! jokes on you I'll give you both!!!

Warnings: yandere content but not romanticized, abuse, manipulation, Azure has a hate relationship with you and doesn't know how to show his love if not with violence, slllight dubcon???

Yandere Azure x reader headcanons

In a way, he has EXTREMELY mixed feelings about you

after the stunt Twotime pulled, he'd already been having super mixed feelings about.. everything really

part of him forgave twotime already- he can remember not fighting back as he loved Twotime oh so much

but another part of him feels betrayed, like he had been sold to some kind of fur market.

When he came across you during a round.. He froze.

His body went through so many different emotions at the same time

hatred

infatuation

Memory.

He wanted to bash your brain in, make sure you never looked in his direction again- your eyes, they remind him so much of the life he used to have- he wants it gone.

another part of him longs to feel something again

after the Spectre took away most of his ability to process like a normal human- not that he really was one anyway, he didn't exactly know what he was. All he knew was that humans didnt have slimy tentacles, glowing eyes and- yeah doesn't really resemble a human besides having four limbs- do tentacles count as limbs?...

longing to feel- anything again.

He takes a long time processing these feeelings, and ''accidentally'' lets you slip out alive each round because ''I'm just merely not sure what this is.'' and uses it as an excuse to analyze himself, and you.

Mostly the reason he feels this way is because whoever, whatever you are; awakened SOME kind of humanity in him, the humanity that got ripped away from him so many times until this was the mess he was left with.

the humanity he swore was normal, turned into an unhealthy obsession as they tried so very hard to grasp more of it, obsession grew into possession.

He felt that maybe- if he got some kind of control over you, then maybe you wouldn't betray him.

wouldn't leave him.

Very much so- of course the Spectre allows this lovely little game of his that ultimately leads to BOTH of your breaking points!

When he finally gets to be around you- his heart rate,, oh how it rises like the once almighty Spawn he looked up to.

his arm reaches forward- but shrinks back in as his mind cowers in fear

his blood is running cold- he wants to hurt you- oh to hear your lovely screams. It's like having control- inflicting pain gives him back the life he had lost.

still- his breath hitches as their hand ultimately reaches back out, his finger brushing against your cheek- he lets out a moan of satisfaction and adrenaline.

his breathing- it becomes radical- the adrenaline flooding his mind- his vision, he breathes out a faint laughter.

''I finally got you.. <3''

He has a rather bipolar mindset around you. He keeps you around because he ultimately needs you

but hurts you because it satisfies him

whenever you cry- he knows just the way to push your buttons and get in your head

As much as you want to leave, overtime he gets exactly what he wants

you.

only you. And the control you give him.

Maybe it's the fact that you're real- maybe he's using you to fill in the void that the false god left after he ultimately came to terms that whatever it was, wasn't real.

now you're his god.

the god that he can hurt and please as he likes.

Mostly he gives you very minimal food- but on some days- some random- some where you behave good, he gives you something you like, maybe even more if you ask nicely

matching stuff matching stuff matching stuff

plucks you flowers and yaps to you about their scientific names and their benefits and poisons

if you complain he'll slice you up with his inhumane strength

''Next time you'll lose more than your epidermis... And here I thought we we're making progress.''

He shuts the door leaving you there to panic and cry

''Until tomorrow, lovely.''

and if you indulge in his interests- he'll still slice you up.

ironic right???

he gets such excitement and happiness from it that he can't process it normally. He just takes out his frustration on you.

The romantic- or the closest to 'romantic' things he does is placing a kiss on your hand at his arrival

if you gain his trust of not escaping to the point he actually kisses or caresses you, its aggressive. like lip bruisingly aggressive.

there are days where he breaks down- crying.

if you have his trust, he'll do it in front of you

he goes through a wide range of emotions- he goes to blaming you for how he feels- to blaming himself and apologizing- frantically kissing you- everywhere; as his tears coat your skin. If you try to fight it away he just grabs you by the hair and forces you to take it

''S-see?! we're happy my dearest.. Y-you even let me touch you.. H-hah!... I'm not a monster!..''

Or just crashes out and starts yelling at you

''I do everything for you and this is how you repay me?! I should've just killed you when I saw you!-''

Sometimes you guys have little dinners while you're tied up. Remember!! one wrong word and its another bruise to your collection!!!

Likes inhaling your scent and whispering odd shit

''My amazing.. pretty little flower..''

Definitely has a thing with corruption, makes you witness horrifying stuff just to comfort you with empty promises, making you believe he's the only one you need.

You're under his palm now.

Yan!Poly!Azuretime x reader where the reader is an old cult member

I love you anon i had a good challenge writing this

I have a feeling this kind of trope would happen with you with twotime having the whole spawn illusion and Azure going through fifty shades of jealousy

I'm mixing my earlier Yan!Twotime + Yan!Azure headcanons into this, this is why i included both in this post ;)))

Early on when you got transported into this purgatory hell, you stumble on Azure and- You guessed it, Twotime!

but things start getting weird overtime

TwoTime will NOT leave you alone, you constantly catch their random spurts of giggles and twitching around you

they cling onto you because you're the last thing they have of their past, the last thing that reminds them of their beloved members- all the people in their life before things went to this. You were once one of them. (no the fuck you werent you dont even know this person)

Brings you random offerings, despite you turning them down multiple times.

but then- you two meet Azure again!

Azure lowkey hates even looking at both of you because it brings back memories for him

But just like in the earlier part, he grows infatuated with both of you, longing for the past where things seemed particularly fine.

that was, before he found out that TWOTIME also had a teensy fatass crush on you.

They often have little fights about you, but ultimately come to the point that as Azure gets you in his hands, Two Time FLIPS OUT and it always just ends up with both of them worshipping you and your entire being.

It's odd because when its you and Azure, he's rather aggressive and distant, but with TwoTime he feels that maybe he finally has a place to be.

Twotime, trailing his touch all over your body often giggles and breathes so heavily that they could qualify for CPR by a medical professional.

''H-haah.. Oh almighty Spawn you're oh so beautiful... Doesn't it feel nice when your followers caress you?..''

even though azure lowkey just looking at them like ''wtf are you yapping about this aint no spawn god :broken_heart:''

but still- he doesn't mind TwoTime's depraved words because in a way he feels like if he breaks the illusion he'll lose the both of you.

lowkey makes stupid excuses to make out with twotime in the middle

''Yo uhhhhuhgfdjhdj the spawn god DEFINITELY told us to show our love for them in this way''

and just starts full on making out with each other infront of you.

but mostly its just them fighting about you.

yeah.

Twotime often brings you offerings and corpses, making those rituals infront of you and always staying by your side.

Azure seems rather hesitant, as if a way to show you ''I'm sorry for their actions.''

If you show too much attention to Azure, even if its literally begging to be let go, Twotime crashes out and forces you to watch as they hurt themselves.

''S-SEE THIS? H-HAHA! I'M BETTER THAN HIM RIGHT? LOOK AT ME- L-L-LOOK AT ME OH ALMIGHTY SPAWN! WATCH AS I SPILL MY BLOOD FOR YOU!''

Azure can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at this thought.

''Oh yes- Dearest Spawn, do look at our lovely TwoTime. Oh how dedicated they are...''

this bitchboy is feeding into his delusions.

This is a very unhealthy love triangle between you three, it's genuinely wearing on you. Overtime you break and become their lovedove.

[flofaiiry]

it's a garden life // michael robinavitch x reader

part two · myrtle ( wc. 1.2k )

↞ prev // next ↠ · [ series masterlist ]

The date went well. She liked the flowers, though she didn’t say anything other than pretty, thank you. Robby started trying to explain what you had told him, but she didn’t seem charmed in the way he expected. After her face twists in confusion for the umpteenth time he just gives up on trying to rationalize the choice.

They made good conversation- even had a few laughs. Something about her dog destroying a couch cushion while she was at work— or was it her cat? He's not entirely sure. His mind was admittedly elsewhere for the duration of the dinner.

All Robby could think about the whole time he was sitting across from a perfectly nice and pretty woman was the kind eyed, crossword-doing florist he promised to go back and see afterwards.

He knew he was in trouble when the first thing he did this morning wasn't texting his date to set up a second, but silently praying he hadn't cancelled his subscription to the New York Times.

Sure enough, he hadn't, and there was a copy rolled up and sitting on his front step. The outer pages were a little damp from last night's rain but the crossword was still doable- thank God.

Robby also had the day off today, he'd traded the shift with the other dayshift attending who wanted a day off later in the month for his daughter's birthday. He went back into his Google search history to find your shop again, scrolling until he found your opening hours. 10am, so he still had to wait a while.

In the meantime he filled in what he could of the crossword and took a shower to get himself presentable. It was stupid- he didn't put half this much effort into getting ready for his actual date. He literally went after work, still covered in antiseptic smell and hospital air. But for you, he thought, this would be worth it.

He heads out around 10:30, not wanting to seem too eager and get there right when you open. When he walks in you're helping a customer, something about a 5th wedding anniversary dinner tonight. You still acknowledge him though, shooting him a quick smile and millisecond of eye contact when he walks in. He returns the informal greeting then moves to linger in the back of the shop while you wrap up their flowers and cash them out, and pretends to look through your selection.

"Hey!" You turn your attention to him as soon as the customer has left the store. “You’re not gonna believe this,” he says, finally stepping up to the counter you’re behind. You quirk an eyebrow, beckoning him to continue.

“She didn’t know about the birth flower thing apparently. Looked like I was speaking a foreign language when I tried to explain.” A little amused look comes on his face when your jaw drops in response. “You’re kidding! Damn, I’m sorry, I thought that would’ve blown her away- maybe even gotten you laid," you wink.

"That's not really my type," he mumbles, trying his hardest to fight off a blush from overtaking his face. "Ah it’s okay," he shrugs, "must not have been that into the Romans.” A smile pulls at your lips hearing that he remembers your little fun fact. "Speaking of the Romans," he continues, reaching around to his back pocket. He pulls out a folded New York Times paper and opens it to the crossword, half of the squares filled with chicken-scratch handwriting the others empty or chock full of eraser marks.

"You wouldn't happen to know what goes in today's 16 down would you?" He turns the paper over to you. The curves and edges of his writing catch your eye first, before your gaze drifts over to the clues. "A senators deputy, as in Ancient Rome," you flick up to look at him, "you think I'm just chock full of facts about Rome?"

He raises his shoulders to his ears in an over emotive shrug, "ohh I don't know. Thought I'd take a chance at you maybe harbouring a few more up there," he raises his eyebrows towards you.

You try— and fail— to fight off a smile before relenting and revealing that you do in fact know many more facts about Ancient Rome. "Equites," you say, "the class below senators in Roman civilization."

"How about this one,” you ask, taking out your own half filled copy of the Times, “Immaculate Steelers play," you read, passing it, "whatever the fuck that means." Robby fishes a pair of reading glasses from his pants pocket and slides them over his ears.

You take a deep breath.

He takes the paper from you and scans his eyes down it, mumbling the clue to himself once more before humming. "It's reception. Immaculate Reception. Some iconic play from '72."

"You that old?" You tease, taking the newspaper back. He scoffs, "sometimes I feel like I am." You laugh at his self deprecating joke before turning to scribble the answer into the boxes.

Robby's too enthralled in the way a few strands of your hair have fallen into your face. He eyes over the texture and the way the sun flows through the shop window and bounces against it just right and- wait, did you say something? Shit. He was too occupied to notice.

"What's that sorry?" He asks, shaking his head quickly like it'll make you forget that you just caught him staring. You smile, "the date," you clarify. "Flowers aside... did it go well?"

"Yeah, it was good." He breathes, stuffing his hands into his pockets with a quick nod. Robby doesn't offer anything else, and you widen your eyes in anticipation. "That's it?" You shake your head slowly, "are you gonna see her again?" He just shrugs, "maybe! Maybe, I- to be honest, I hadn't thought that far ahead."

"Well, when you're ready to think that far ahead, you let me know and we'll get you another bouquet." You smile knowingly. "I'll definitely let you know," he returns your smile and nods his head. You two hold eye contact for a moment- not saying anything just... looking.

Then an all too familiar vibration in his pocket takes him out of it.

His pager.

"Fuck, he mutters, reaching around to pull it out and check the notification. "Duty calls?" You ask, though you already know the answer. He nods- regrettably. "Yup. Classic emergency room. Day off can't even stay a day off." Robby shoves the pager back into his pocket and takes his copy of the Times off your desk and puts that back too.

"Well, if I need any flowers going forward this'll definitely be my place." He says, taking a step back in preparation to leave. "Some may say I'm also good for crossword help- particularly when it's related to the Romans." You add, cheeky grin tugging at your lips.

"Right," he smiles, "that too. I'll keep you in mind-" his natural progression would be to say your name but then he realizes- he doesn't know it.

"Wait, I uh- your name," he says quickly, "I don't know your name." You smile, then tell him. He nods like he's committing it to memory. "I'm Michael. Robinavitch. Michael Robinavitch. Everyone calls me Robby."

You smile, "well then, Robby. I'll see you soon."

thank you for reading!!! plsplspls leave a comment/reblog with your thoughts it means more than you know!!! <3 <3 <3

taglist (comment if you'd like to be added/removed!!) ; @robbyrosierobinavitch @dreamamubarak @disassociation-daydreams @twiddledeedumsworld @pope-codys @beebeechaos @memoriesat30 @vystasea @antisocialfiore @thedamnqueenofhell @blackwidownat2814 @peggyofoz @sabi127 @sanchann @bookoffracturedescapes @jazzimac1967

[idkyetxoxo]

Three | Delicate Claims | Daylight

Pairing - Rhysand x reader

Word count - 2k

Warnings - None

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"I sure hope there are barriers under that dress," Rhys drawled lazily from the doorway, voice like smoke and silk.

I turned slowly.

He was leaning against the doorframe like he owned it and everything beyond it. 

Dressed in all black, of course. His shirt sleeves were rolled up just enough to show off those unfairly powerful forearms, veins like ink beneath golden skin and swirly tattoos. 

His expression was cool, amused, already exhausted by my antics, which only made him that much more delectable.

I spun for him, slow and deliberate, letting the hem of my silver dress flare like moonlight on water. It sparkled with every movement, catching the dim hallway faelight and scattering it across the walls. 

The fabric hugged everything and left nothing to the imagination. Scandalously short. Dangerously backless. And lined with tiny, glimmering jewels that chimed softly when I moved.

It was a dress made for sin. Or, in my case—dancing.

"And if there aren't?" I asked sweetly, giving an exaggerated wink as I bounced over to him and rose onto my tiptoes, arms looping around his neck. 

He didn't touch me at first. He just looked. 

Looked like a man starving for something he already owned. His gaze swept over me again, slower this time. Lingering on every shimmer, every inch of exposed skin. 

When his hands finally settled on my hips, it was with that maddening calm, like he could crush time itself but chose not to.

"If there aren't," he murmured, low and dangerous, "we won't be making it out of this house."

I gasped in mock horror, pressing a hand to my chest. "Rhysand! Are you threatening to ravish me before I even get to show off this masterpiece on a dance floor?"

His hands settled on my waist, fingers splaying over bare skin. "I'm promising it, if you keep looking at me like that."

I giggled and twirled out of his grip before he could catch me, doing a playful shimmy. The jewelled fringe on the dress danced and sparkled, chiming with every twist of my hips.

"Don't be ridiculous," I sang. "I haven't been dancing in forever. This dress deserves to twirl under disco balls and drink in coloured lights. You can ravish me later!"

His eyes darkened, following the hypnotic swing of my hips with a hunger he didn't bother to hide. I could feel his stare like a brand against my skin. It only made my grin widen.

"I didn't even want to go out tonight," he muttered.

"Yes, well, I asked so sweetly," I reminded him with a saccharine pout, already halfway across the room to finish lacing up my strappy silver heels. "You couldn't resist."

Rhys groaned under his breath. "One day, I will say no to you."

"No, you won't," I replied without looking back, my voice sing-song.

He didn't argue about that.

When I looked over my shoulder, he was still standing there, hands in his pockets now, watching me like I was both a blessing and a problem he'd never solve.

Finally, with a heavy, exaggerated sigh, he pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room in long, graceful strides. 

He reached for my hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

"Let's go then, trouble," he murmured. He leaned in slightly, whispering against my ear, "I'll give you until midnight. After that, I'm tearing that dress off with my teeth."

I gasped and dragged him by the hand toward the door, my heels clicking, jewels chiming.

And just like that, off we went, hand in hand, into the night to cause a little chaos at Rita's.

Rita's was already buzzing when we walked in, lights low and pulsing, music thrumming through the floor like a second heartbeat. Fae glittered in sequins and sweat, laughter echoing off the walls. Magic hung thick in the air, drunken, sparkling, seductive.

This was exactly what I needed.

I turned to Rhys, my heels clicking against the tiles. "Be a darling and grab us drinks?"

He arched a brow. "I've been tricked."

"You were warned." I blew him a kiss and twirled away into the crowd before he could complain further.

I found Mor near the edge of the dance floor, hips already swaying to the beat, dressed in deep crimson that shimmered like embers in the low light. 

She looked like a goddess of war, wine and reckless decisions. Exactly how I liked her.

"Look at you," she said, pulling me into a spinning hug, eyes gleaming. "That dress is criminal."

"I know," I said smugly, fluffing the jewelled hem.

She threw her head back and laughed. "So," she said, tossing her golden hair over one shoulder, "where's the brooding High Lord? He let you out of his sight for more than five minutes?"

"At the bar," I replied airily, scanning toward it. "Fetching drinks, as the Mother intended."

But as we both turned toward the bar, the words caught in my throat.

There he was, leaning casually against the counter, impossibly elegant even in the chaos. One hand braced beside him, head tilted slightly as he waited patiently for the drinks. 

But that wasn't what made my jaw tick.

It was the female standing far too close. Draped in barely-there black, hand tracing the inside of Rhys's forearm like it belonged there. Laughing at something he hadn't said. 

She leaned in and touched him again, her entire body angled toward his like she'd forgotten how to take a hint.

Rhys wasn't reacting. At all. No smile. No look. Not even a twitch of that perfectly sculpted mouth. 

Just that unreadable expression he wore when dealing with insects—or emissaries from Keir.

Still. I pouted. "We can't have that, can we?"

Beside me, Mor took a sip from her drink and smirked, eyes gleaming. "You gonna go full mate on her?"

"I am," I chirped, already strutting off, silver heels flashing, jewelled dress jingling in time with my indignation.

I wove through the crowd with purpose, chin high, energy fizzing in my veins like champagne. 

The female didn't even flinch when I approached, clearly assuming I was some overly friendly stranger. A fan. A nobody.

With a glittering smile, I slid in between her and Rhys, all silk and starlight, back to her, palms pressed firmly against Rhysand's broad chest. He looked down at me immediately, as if I were the only thing that existed in the entire building. 

His violet eyes warmed by degrees, and his mouth curved, slow, indulgent and fond.

"Well, hello again," he murmured, voice like velvet-wrapped sin.

Behind me, the female scoffed and crossed her arms. "Uh, what are you doing?"

I whirled on her like a storm in diamonds, beaming bright enough to blind. "He's my mate!" I blurted.

And then I cringed. Immediately. Because that was not the suave, casual announcement I'd meant to make.

"I mean—I am his mate. We're—mates." I attempted to fix it with a breezy wave, like I hadn't just yelled it loud enough to be heard over the music. "Mating bond. Super sacred. Super real. Very much not open for interpretation."

The female blinked. Then blinked again. And then scoffed, nose wrinkling, eyes dragging over me in clear, disbelieving dismissal.

Rhys didn't let me burn for long.

He slid a hand around my waist with slow, deliberate intent, drawing me back against his chest as he finally acknowledged the female. 

"I appreciate the attempt at conversation," he said smoothly, "but I think it's clear where my attention lies." His voice was warm and silken, polite and dangerous. And final.

The female's mouth puckered like she'd bitten into a sour lemon. She turned on her heel and vanished into the crowd, shoulder brushing mine just a little too hard as she passed.

I turned in Rhys's arms, face tilted up, waiting—ready. "Well?" I prompted, grinning up at him. "That was pretty awesome, right?"

"You were feral," he said, deadpan. "Like a very sparkly, very loud little wolf."

"I am a delight," I corrected, booping his nose with a finger. "And I only shouted a little bit."

His mouth twitched as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "You've made quite the impression."

"Good." I leaned up to press a kiss just beneath his jaw. "She'll remember me next time she tries to flirt with a male."

"She should be so lucky," he said dryly, but there was amusement glinting in his eyes and something else, too. Something hotter. Deeper.

"Come dance with me," I whispered, tugging at his hand.

He sighed, long-suffering, dramatic but followed me without hesitation. "You're going to be the death of me."

"And you're going to love every minute of it."

His quiet laugh that followed curled around my heart like smoke.

As we disappeared into the sea of bodies, his fingers threaded through mine, his hand never once leaving my waist.

He belonged to me. And tonight, I was going to make everyone remember it.

The music pulsed around us, a sultry thrum of bass and light, bodies moving like waves under Rita's dim, golden haze. 

Rhysand's hands rested low on my waist, fingers splayed with practised ease, anchoring me to him. He moved with deliberate grace, each step lazy and fluid, like he was dancing through shadows. 

It was unfair how effortless he looked, all rolled-up sleeves and buttoned black silk, eyes like amethyst ink under low lighting.

And I couldn't. Stop. Talking.

"I mean, did you see the way she touched your arm? Honestly. Have you no shame? I get it—your arms are incredible—but boundaries, Rhys. Basic decency. You were wearing black, which is basically cheating, by the way. And that shirt? Those sleeves? How is anyone supposed to behave with that much forearm happening?"

He hummed in response, low and uninterested, his gaze trained steadily on me but his hands slid lower. Subtly. Possessively.

And as I rambled on, he manoeuvred us, slowly but unmistakably through the press of dancers. 

Away from the reach of wandering hands. Away from the males who got too close, whose gazes lingered a second too long on bare shoulders or swaying hips. 

His body was a shield of heat and muscle and quiet dominance, sliding between me and the crowd like it was second nature.

He never looked away from me.

"And her laugh?" I continued, barely noticing how he turned us with a gentle spin, tucking me against his chest like I belonged there. "It was all like 'teeheehee'—you know like—"

"Mhmm," Rhys said absently, his lips brushing my temple. But his eyes flicked, just once, to a male who'd dared glance my way.

And then we turned again.

His hands adjusted on my waist, drawing me tighter until I could feel every breath he took against me.

"She didn't even look that into you," I said, narrowing my eyes as if the memory of her mere existence still offended me. "It was just because you're powerful. And tall. And smell like night and magic and—hey, are you even listening?"

I didn't get an answer.

Because his mouth was suddenly on mine. Firm, thorough, and just rough enough to leave my thoughts evaporating like mist.

It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a tease. It was a reminder.

I blinked up at him when he finally pulled back, breathless and blinking like I'd just stepped off a cliff free-falling.

"You're mine," he said softly, voice low and devastating against the shell of my ear. "You know that, right?"

My stomach fluttered so hard I nearly forgot how to stand.

"Of course I know," I managed to squeak, all breath and sparkle. "But she didn't know."

He let out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. "I think she knows now, sweet girl."

"I hope so," I muttered, then perked up again. "But I wasn't even done telling you about the dream I had last night where you turned into a giant shadow puppy and chased a goose through Velaris while I threw—"

He kissed me again.

Longer this time. Slower. Like he was tasting my words, one by one, and deciding which ones to devour.

When he pulled away, his eyes were lit with amusement and something warmer, deeper, that curled in my chest like a promise.

"You really don't have an off switch, do you?" he asked.

"Nope!" I chirped, unapologetically radiant. "I am always on. All the time."

He spun me again, pulling me flush against him mid-twirl, and I caught the faintest sound of his groan as my jewels jingled.

"Cauldron help me," he muttered into my hair.

"You love it," I grinned, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

"I do," he said, softer now. Like it was sacred. "Every word. Every twitch. Every ridiculous story."

I beamed. And then tripped slightly on the edge of my heel.

"Whoops—"

He caught me with one arm, the other lifting my hand to his lips. He laughed into my hair, and we kept dancing—him the shadow-wrapped calm, me the glittering chaos swirling in his orbit.

Perfect opposites.

Perfectly in love.

A/n - I had to include a Rita's scene in this little series—how could I not?

I love love love jealous men in books. It always makes me giggle, so I thought, why not flip the trope a little and let reader bring the chaos instead :)

Thank you so much for reading <33 

Daylight tag list - @sttvrdustt @thirstyroses-world @coffeebooksrain18 @hyruledemigod20 @historygeekqueen @lexi-in-wonderland @justtryingtosurvive02 @motorsp0rt @xadenswhore @dnfhascorruptedme @laughingismydrug @queenoffeysand @nayaniasworld @sillyfreakfanparty

[bunny-jpeg]

hii! brownies with a side of martini with lando for me please 🤭

bakery menu

want to suggest your own order? look at the menu! i'm constantly writing up orders! i even accept for fandoms outside of formula one!! as for this suggestion, i am really liking that people really want mafia au lando, it's very nice and allows me to think a little more outside the box with the au! i just don't want them all read the same, right? this won't be the last time you'll see lando in a mafia au!! i hope you enjoy this!! <3

brownies ("you're so much more agreeable when you have something to occupy that mouth of yours.") + martini (mafia au) served by lando norris (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, mafia au, enforcer!lando, baker!reader, kitchen sex, oral sex (reader receiving), affectionate!lando, mentions of au typical violence

"these are amazing, honey." lando groaned as he took a bite of the warm brownies you just made. it was comfort food in a way. you always know how to make them perfectly.

you leaned against the counter of the kitchen, you watched your boyfriend devour a piece of the treat with excitement, you sighed, "i don't know. i think it's a little too sweet."

"no way, impossible." he said, "these are going to sell like crazy at the shop. can i have another one?"

you chuckled, and leaned towards him. you wiped a bit of stray chocolate off the corner of his mouth, "you're so much more agreeable when you have something to occupy that mouth of yours."

he beamed at you, "well of course." he then snaked an arm around your waist and kissed you on the cheek, "anything of yours that goes into my mouth would shut me up.

this would look like a true domestic scene. a young couple in love, sharing a late night treat on a thursday. but if someone looked closely at the tattoos on your lover's arms. they would know that he wasn't the prince charming on a full rise scholarship to a university. he was an enforcer for the mclaren family.

lando could fight. that was his whole job, he told you about growing up and the brawls he'd get into. he always told you how many he won and told you not to worry at the number his loss.

when he walked down the street and people saw the tattoos along his arms and the cigarette tucked behind his head. they thought he was big trouble, when you two walked together you often got double-takes from people. why was someone like you, with someone like him.

and while you'd go into detail about how much of a caring lover he was. how much he adored you, all the times he brought you home flowers and kept a polaroid photo on you in the back of his jean pocket. there was something undeniable about lando that made you blush.

he was really good in the bedroom.

not that it was the only good thing about him! he went above and beyond anything any other boyfriend had done for you. he was your ray of sunshine. he made sure his woman was taken care of.

you got up onto the counter after you got your sweatpants and panties off. you knew you should be heading to bed soon for another long day at work. but lando was insistent that he made sure that the love of his life got a proper thank you for making him such a nice treat when he came home.

"double chocolate is great and all." he as he got closer to you. bent over to get between those thighs of yours. he held your legs open and licked his lips, "but, it's nothing like your pussy." he chuckled before he pressed a kiss at your slit.

you held onto the edge of the counter while he started to lick at your sex. his tongue between your pussy lips. he groaned against you as he held onto your hips.

lando was a dangerous man, you had heard whispers through the area you lived in about how evil he was. there was a story about him taking out a guy's teeth tooth by tooth and then smashing his jaw.

he could be intimidating, those eyes could go from friend to sharp in mere seconds. his hands were lined with scarring from other the years and many of his tattoos covered up the other scars.

he'd walk around the main street in nothing but a tank top, loose jeans and a gold chain, his face card never failed and his wit was unmatched. but when he stumbled up the bakery you worked at one day, it was like his entire life changed.

now he was between your legs with his tongue up against your pussy. his nose rubbed against your clit which made you clench up. you held onto the back of his head and guided him up against your pussy. the pleasure was a steady throb that made you flushed.

he was in love with you, if he had to describe the feeling. it was like his heart was whole. that the pieces of him were glued back together by your love. and he in turn wanted to give all his love to you.

"please, lando." you said softly as you ran your fingers through his hair, "you know exactly how to do it." you shuddered at the pleasure in your body.

"only the best for you." he said softly, "only the best." before he gave your thigh a little love tap before he continued to lap at your pussy. you held onto him tighter and his cock twitched in his sweats.

you held onto his curly hair tightly and whined a little. you tensed up as you came, finishing on his tongue. the noises you made had lando feeling good all over. he worked quickly to send you right over the edge. when you nails grazed along his scalp his brain turned off for a moment.

"shit." he grumbled against your slit.

you relaxed after a few moments and panted heavily. you rested up against the cabinets behind you and clung to your boyfriend for a moment longer.

he lazily licked at your sweet slit as he nosed at your clit. he was insatiable when it came to you. you then stroked the back of his head lovingly. he groaned a little at the soft touch.

lando was a mafia enforcer, he hurt people for a living. but his true weakness was his baker girlfriend and her lovely desserts. <3

[delopsia]

honey | bob floyd x reader

Word Count: 13,800 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Succubus!Reader, Virgin!Bob. Shapeshifting, elements of magic, blood, parties, first-time blow jobs, cunnilingus, first-time sex, virginity loss, vague plot twists despite the severe lack of an actual plot. This was a crack warmup that just became...this Brief Summary: "Rich, hot, and a virgin. What's wrong with you?" Or, Bob's coworkers jokingly summon you, a succubus, to take his virginity, but everyone gets a lot more than they bargained for. You included.

Well...

This is new.

"It wasn't me! I promise!" 

"Well, someone drew my symbol on the floor." Folding your arms in front of your chest, huffing. All that for this?

"It wasn't—" He freezes, teeth flashing through an awkwardly stretched smile. "I...my coworkers were playing a prank on me."

Lovely that you learn that after you've planted your ass in his lap. "So you don't want me here, pretty boy?"

Because he is cute. Floppy brown hair and the biggest blue eyes you've ever seen, hidden behind a pair of wireframes that perch on his freckled nose. His partner must be an incredibly happy person, having someone like this walking around their house. 

"N-no!" He blurts. His face falls. "—wait! Well-well, I...uh, I...I don't wanna be rude, but I mean I-I..." Your index finger presses against his thin lips, silencing whatever he had left to say. If history is anything to go off of, you wouldn't have been able to understand what he's trying to tell you anyway.

But...well, you are stuck here, so you'd might as well ask. "What's your name?" 

"Ro-Ro..." A short pink tongue darts out, wetting his lips. "Robert." 

"Well, Bobby," you can't help but say it, a little too eager to watch the blush in his cheeks deepen. "It's a shame that you didn't. You're pretty cute."

Even in the dark, you can see how his face reddens, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows his words. 

"But! I'll be on my way," lifting yourself from his lap before you can become too comfortable there. Something bumps into your ass; you think that may have been his cheek. "Do me a favor and tell your partner that they're a very lucky person, would ya?"

"Partner?" Squeaking.

Your feet freeze. There's no way he's... "Don't tell me you're single."

But Bob nods his head like it's the simplest confession he's ever made. "That's half of the reason why they went through the trouble of making you come here." He pauses, his left eye twitching as a thought visibly crosses his mind. Whatever it is, it's got him looking away from you entirely. "Said I'm...said I'm too old to be a—" 

"Wait, wait, wait." Holding your hands up. Need a moment of silence to understand what the hell you're hearing. "Your coworkers summoned a succubus to take your virginity?"

His lips flatten into a line. "...yeah."

"Well, that's shitty!" That's a new one. Finally, something to top the time a sorority summoned you to party with them for...some reason. Bragging rights, you think. "Do they pay you enough to put up with those assholes?"

It's been a minute since you've run into someone so nonchalant about a demonic creature standing in the room with them, never mind hold a casual conversation with you. 

But here Bob is, shrugging his shoulders like this happens to him every Tuesday. "You learn to deal with it when you're paid a hundred sixty-thousand a year."

"So you're a rich virgin." It shoots out of your mouth before you realize the thought crossed your mind.

Again, Bob is too calm about this. "I...guess?"

"Rich, hot, and a virgin." Modifying your statement. "What's wrong with you?"

Those blue eyes widen. Blinking rapidly. "Huh?"

"Well, there's gotta be a reason why you don't have a line of people out the door." You say, crouching back down in front of him. Sure wish he'd let you do something about that tent in his pajama pants. "If it's not the looks that reel the ladies in, it's the charm, and if it's not the charm, it's the money. And you've got all three, pretty boy."

It's not supposed to be a serious topic, not as if you're about to go and write an article about his non-existent sex life to publish in the weekly paper. But this guy is actually thinking about it. His brows furrowing as he mulls over his thoughts, mouth parting, only to fall closed once more. 

"I think it has something to do with the nature of my job and my severe inability to start a conversation," he concludes, with a little nod of his head. 

You wonder if you could put him in your pocket and take him home.

Now that you think about it, you're pretty sure you're standing on some a ship right now. Is he some kind of cruise captain? "That'll do it." 

Bob doesn't have anything else to say about that, awkwardly closing his legs before you can get another look at what he might be packing under there. Whether or not he caught you staring or he's just become aware of his current state, you're not sure. It's such a shame that someone else summoned you on his behalf; he would have been a fun one to toy with.

Hm.

"Do you wanna fuck with your coworkers before I leave?"

He blinks at you. Not a thought behind those eyes. "Huh?"

"Well, you've already got me here," an excited lilt in your voice, maybe a bit too eager to present your totally thought-out idea. "Believe it or not, I double as a poltergeist on Tuesdays and Thursdays." 

Or whenever you feel like, really. 

"That would be mean," shaking his head. What is he, some kind of saint? 

"They just summoned a demon to fuck you in a locked room," deadpan. 

For a moment, it's quiet, and then.

"...that's a fair point."

As it turns out, Bob lives on the world's shittiest cruise ship. A ship without a pool, a dimly lit cafeteria without a single Michelin-trained chef in sight. Long, narrow, colorless hallways. There aren't even individual rooms, just even smaller hallways stacked high with bunk beds. On the thinnest mattress you've ever seen, might you add. 

Worst of all, rather than allowing personal clothes, everyone is dressed in clothing provided by the ship. Whoever picked the color schemes needs to be introduced to a fucking color wheel. 

How do you trick the head of the United States Navy into summoning you? You have a few choice words about this place. 

You appear in the mirror first. A little flash of your face, and then you're gone, nothing but a figment of the imagination. Again, later in the night, those two coworkers of Bobs have convinced themselves that they had made it up. 

The plan was to end it there and to come back in the morning to turn it up a notch, but there's a chair sitting in the bunk room that's just so comfortable. So what if you lounge there all night, poking through a book Bob had on the foot of his bed? The room just dark enough to allow them to see your vague silhouette, air so quiet that every turn of the page seems to echo.

Not one of them sleeps, but Bob does, snoring away in his bottom bunk. He sounds like a little cat, tiny little noises that sound closer to grumbles than snores.

When morning comes, you show up in their showers right as they turn around. You appear on opposite ends of crowded rooms and in high-stakes meetings with fancy-dressed higher-ups just to get a reaction. Tapping on their shoulders when they think they're alone. Somehow, you managed to get away with swapping the labels on the mustard and hot mustard. Effectively ruined several breakfasts in one fell swoop.

One, this loud-mouthed blonde you forgot the name of, wakes up to you sitting on his chest. Who would have thought that he had such a shrill scream?

But you might take it too far when you chase them down the narrow hallway—five grown adults shrieking like they're in a haunted scream park and not a Navy ship. 

Or at least, you thought you did. 

"I can't-I can't believe you just—!" Bob's laughing into his palms, keeling over with it. His mouth is moving, but he can't get anything out. Bubbly, loud giggles that travel around the tiny little fan room, bouncing off every corner. 

"And here you said it would be too mean," gently mocking, unable to fight off the smile that works its way across your face. So big you can hardly speak through it. 

That should technically be the last of your encounters. 

You should be heading back through your portal and off on another job, but Bob doesn't utter the proper incantations to make that happen. He starts to, but then you ask about his book, and he squeaks at you for spoiling the ending, and then you begin to second guess if you're recalling it correctly.

Then the conversation starts, and suddenly, you've been bound to him for three weeks. 

If it were anyone else, you'd complain and force the portal to open by yourself. There's more than one way to break the spell and go back to where you came from, but there's something about Bob Floyd that keeps you lingering. Maybe it's the way he blushes when you get too close. Maybe it's because you can't remember a time when someone kept you around solely because they liked talking to you.

Maybe it's because he has a fantastic taste in literature. Anything he's reading somehow becomes glued to your hands, unable to be put down until you've reached the final page.

"I can't believe nobody has gotten bold enough to comment on the strange figure reading a book in the corner every night," you giggle, nothing but a misty haze hovering over his head. 

His lips curl into a smile, toothpaste spilling over as he fights not to bite his toothbrush. "I think they're afraid of another hallway incident."

"Are you afraid of another hallway incident?" Appearing in the mirror, if only to get your message across.

"Nah." 

If you had known that the Admiral would be the final person you would get to scare before Bob left the ship, then you probably would have gone all out on it. But at the moment, all you're thinking about is how unfair and rude it was to pin Bob for the mistakes that his pilot made up in the air. The guy can't even fly a jet. How is it his fault that the pilot confused their lefts and rights?

So you show up in the mirror, jump on him, and spiral about the room in a foggy haze before rustling down the hallway in such a storm that it creates a draft. There seems to be a growing trend with men having high-pitched screams on this boat.

If Bob ever catches wind of the incident, he never brings it up.

Hell, maybe he thinks he's left you behind because he sure is surprised to turn around and find you sitting on his kitchen counter one morning.

"Did ya forget about me?"

"Please." Clenching at his heart. "Knock first."

Wordless, you tap your knuckles against the cool marble. 

Knock. 

Knock. 

Knock.

Those pretty blue eyes roll, their color a little more vivid now that he's wearing that deep blue button-down, the sleeves pulled back just enough to reveal the thick muscle of his forearms. They're still swollen from his workout; you wonder if he knows you were watching.

"Got a hot date tonight?" Kicking your foot at him, brushing against his slacks. The last thing you're expecting is for his hand to wrap around your ankle, lightly squeezing, as if to test out the feeling. 

"I got invited to a party and can't get out of it," he hums, letting your leg slip free of his grasp. Then, after a moment. "Wanna come?"

"You're inviting a demon to a party?" Slipping off the counter, batting your eyes at him. 

All it takes is one step forward for him to stumble back, wide-eyed and stuttering. "Is that... am I not supposed to do that? I'm sorry." 

"Hey, I never said no," your hands find their way to his chest, gently pushing—his back thumps against the fridge. "What color do you like?" 

"R-red?" That cute mouth of his wobbles, the slightest hint of facial hair coloring his upper lip. It'll be gone by five, but it's nice to see it for once. 

Red it is.

You think this party was thrown by the same sorority who invited you up to party with them because this is...not what you were anticipating. Shot glasses, shitty beer, and flashing lights, the thump of the music so heavy that your bones really with it. You don't even know where the speakers are, lost to the swarm of people crammed into this tiny bar.

All of a sudden, your long, sultry dress has shed into a short little number that blends in with the rest of the crowd. You can't see him, but you can feel Bob's eyes jump onto your frame. 

"How did you do that?" Tilting his head to the side like that will somehow help him find an answer to his question. 

"Magic, I suppose," there's an actual explanation for it, but you've long since forgotten it. Something about manifestation and energy and a word too big for your tongue to pronounce. "I actually have zero idea how it works."

There's so much going on that you find yourself vanishing for a few minutes. Nothing but a misty haze lingering over Bob's head as one of his buddies shoves a drink into his hand and pushes him down into a cushioned chair. You haven't the slightest clue what kind of golden liquid is swishing around in that cup, but it's got a flavor that has Bob's nose wrinkling.

"Someone's not a drinker," observing aloud, a sudden presence in his lap, your knees caging his hips.  

"Was it that obvious?" Sheepish, with that little sideways smile of his. Whether that's from admitting to his inability to drink alcohol or from where you've chosen to sit, you're not sure. 

"Your little nose wrinkle gives you away," your little tap on his nose makes him blink. "You're almost a little too clean-cut for this place." 

There's nothing special or different that he's done about his appearance, but the aesthetics of the crowd make it look like he's walked into the wrong party. A little bit too put together when you compare his ironed button-down and perfectly gelled hair to the half-drunk faces, trendy, cheap outfits, and that group of shirtless men over in the corner.

At least you have the luxury of changing clothing at the drop of a hat. Otherwise, you would be in the same boat.

"He said it was only gonna be a dozen of us," Bob lifts the glass to his lips once more, his nose twitching at the bitter flavor that greets his tongue. He's trying to hide his reaction, but you can still see the disgust in his eye.

"More like twelve dozen," plucking the glass from his hand, setting it on the little table next to the chair. "You could've convinced me this was a high-end frat party."

Looking around is enough to make you question if 'high-end' was just you being generous because this is looking more like an average party by the second. A myriad of nameless faces lost to the flash of the lights: red, blue, green, purple, yellow, a cycle that never loses its pattern. But even the strain it puts on your eyes isn't enough to distract from the sloppy grinding of bodies against each other, hands in the air, writhing to a beat that definitely does not match the music. 

Something is starting to press against your inner thigh. An insistent pressure that almost feels—

Damn, how long have Bob's cheeks been bright red like that?

"Are you good?" Pressing the back of your hand against his forehead, clammy to the touch. "You're red as a balloon."

"Yep," his voice strained, so tight it may snap at the slightest hint of pressure. And he's looking over at the painting on the wall, one of those uninteresting things with only a few paint splatters to stain the pure white canvas. Not the kind of thing worth staring at so intently.

You shift forward, thumb swiping at the sweat beading at his temple—

"You sure get hard easily." Teasing. You hadn't even been trying, but that's definitely a heavy bulge pressing into you, straining against the thin fabric of his slacks. 

A muscle in his jaw flexes, swallowing hard. "Please don't say it out loud."

"I can fix that, you know." Perhaps curling your hand around his jaw is a little bit too bold, but he isn't making any moves to push you away or tell you to stop. "Some say I'm pretty good at that."

"No, no, that's okay," Bob shakes his head, gently dislodging your hand from his face. "I don't wanna make you do that."

"You're not making me do anything," leaning the slightest bit closer, tapping him on the chest with an index finger. "I'm volunteering. There's a difference."

He swallows again.

Someone calls out his name, waving a hand in the air as if to guide attention to himself as he emerges from the crowd, drink in hand, smile so big that it ought to blind someone. You vaguely recall seeing him back on the ship; name starts with an 'f'.

...shame that you don't remember anything more than that.

But Bob is uttering some Navy jargon that you don't have the capacity to keep up with, and your knees are starting to hurt, skin stuck to the cheap leather cushion. It's much easier to turn yourself around, back leaning against his chest, now free to scan over and watch the part of the room you couldn't see before. 

It's not that you don't feel him pressing into the curve of your ass; you just...well, you kind of forget about it. The moment you lay eyes on the game of beer pong happening behind the pool table, you're invested. Straining your neck to try and get a better look at who is winning, crossing two fingers as a lady in a little white skirt goes up against a guy who looks two beers away from a total blackout. 

Neither of them are good at it. Far from it, actually, but the girl's friends are cheering her on, and the man has missed the cup thrice now, stumbling over his own two feet. He misses. She scores two. He gets another point while she's trying to catch a ball that has rolled off into her crowd of friends.

You don't realize you've been squirming until Bob's forehead thunks against your back, shoulders rising with his inhale. 

"Where did your buddy go?" Chirping in the lightest tone you can muster. As if you're blissfully unaware of what's going on.

"Maybe we should get up," entirely evading your question.

It's a worthy idea that goes down the drain within the same minute it's suggested. What you couldn't see from the couch was how big the crowd actually is. It's a swarm that swallows you whole, someone's shoving into your back, and Bob's stumbling into you, and it's all you can do not to explode into a plume of mist. 

You're only distantly aware of his arm curling around you, cinching you to him as if to anchor you in before the storm can wash you away. Your leg slotting between his is far from intentional. But it happens, and you're nose to nose with him, and the corner of his eye is twitching, and you swear you can hear a dam breaking.

You don't entirely know how you wind up here. Squeezing into this sorry excuse of a bathroom stall, your hands greedily dipping beneath his shirt, chest to chest. Every little meet of your lips has him gasping against you. His tongue tastes like the honey biscuit he was nibbling on earlier, the one that dripped on his shirt and left little white crumbs all over his lap.

You could eat him.

"We shouldn't..." He's whispering. A secret meant for your ears only.

Everything screeches to a halt. "Do you wanna stop?"

Shaking his head. "No." 

He makes it so damn easy. Legs parted just enough to allow your thigh to slot between them, immediately squeezes down around it the moment he recognizes it's there, drawing you right up into—

A shiver wracks through him. So intense that you can feel it.

You don't need to worry about taunting him. He's reacting as if you've already made a remark. Nose scrunching as he tries to steel his face, warding off the softness that once lingered there, taken aback by the sudden pressure between his legs. Such a strong front. Shame that it folds the moment your hand curls against the bulge in his slacks.

"You're bad at this," a teasing lilt in your tone, lazily working your hand against him. No real rhythm or method to it, simply a shifting pressure that you can already feel his hips beginning to follow. 

"It's been a while," muttered like a confession—a sin of the past.

Now that has your attention. "You've done this before?" 

The bathroom door squeals open, the handle cracking against the tile so hard that some of it tears off the wall entirely, shards of ceramic scattering across the floor. A chunk of it rolls under the stall on a one-way track to strike the side of your shoe. You don't recognize the too-loud voices that enter the room, but Bob seems to, eyes rolling for a fraction of a moment. 

"Something similar...once," hardly audible over whatever the hell is being discussed by the sinks. 

You'll have to get the full story out of him when there aren't extra ears lurking mere feet away. Right now, though, you're tugging at his zipper, yanking it down as far as it will go, your hand darting through the gap. 

Good lord.

It's always the quiet ones.

"I'm surprised you can get through security with this thing," there's so much of him that you've got to use your other hand, fumbling to pop open his button. 

"With what?" Bob's brow furrows. You lightly squeeze the base of him. "...oh." 

One of the men shouts. Two laughs chime after it in hot pursuit.

There's a considerable weight to him that you hadn't anticipated until just now, his pretty, flushed cock throbbing in your hand. Muscle memory kicks into gear without much thought, gradually gliding up from his base to his tip—ruby red, almost angry in appearance, such a sharp contrast to your fingers.

His hips follow your motions, subtle little backs and forths that you nearly miss at first, keen on chasing your touch but too shy to allow himself to do it. Teeth sink into his bottom lip, pressing so hard that they leave an indent behind. Breathing hard through his nose, eyes screwing shut like he's fighting something back. 

You know what he's doing. Can't let a single noise escape for fear of it reaching the other ears in the room, but there's no way they can. Not with all that racket they're making. 

It's fifty-fifty if you still remember how to interrupt electricity, your one sure-fire method of making sure nobody can see what you're doing, but there's only one way to find out. 

Getting on your knees in a bathroom stall might be a new one for you, but here you are, blindly sinking lower and lower. Can't quite see what you're doing, your eyes hopelessly locked on Bob Floyd and his pink cheeks. Hasn't even realized what you're doing yet.

There's probably a good minute or two where you just hover there, waiting for the moment he realizes that you've moved. Eye-level with his cock, lazily thumbing each and every bead of precum across his plush head, a little routine to decorate the loose up-and-down of your hand. But his eyelids remain closed, and you're just so damn impatient.

The greet of your tongue has him jumping up onto his tiptoes. His head smacking into the flimsy stall wall. 

"What was that?" 

It's as if the room has morphed into a library. Complete, utter silence. Nothing but the faint breaths of the men gathered outside of the stall, Bob's, and your own. From the gap, you can see a black and yellow shoe taking a step forward. Silently inching closer.

The whites of Bob's eyes are so big that you can hardly see the color that decorates them. Drowned out and lost to a wave of fear that you can feel prickling through his body. If only those stupid yellow shoes would turn around and walk away; you wanted to play this card a little bit longer. 

The bathroom plunges into darkness. 

So you do still remember how to do that.

Someone screams. You're not sure who, but it was far too high-pitched to be the man right in front of you. Maybe it was the loser with the yellow shoes. Audibly stomping across the tile floor, shouting at each other as they fight for the door. The hinge squeals. Someone accidentally kicks the corner of it on their way out. 

And then it swings closed. The room falling quiet as the sliver of light peeking through the gap disappears entirely. 

Your mouth opens, gently drawing Bob into your mouth. Thicker than what you anticipated, uncomfortably stretching your lips around his head, but it's only a slight inconvenience. You can hardly think about it. Especially not when flicking the tip of your tongue across his slit elicits that sort of noise. Pitchy and drawn out, slipping out of him before he can stop it.

"That's—" his palm finds its way to your forehead. Pushes lightly. Jerks away. Lands on the side of your cheek instead. "A lot." 

You have very different definitions of 'a lot'.

You're actually moving rather slowly, gradually working your way down his length. He's only just beginning to touch the back of your throat, but Bob sucks in a sharp gasp of air as if you've just sprung this on him. You'd complain if he didn't taste so sweet. Just can't help but take him as far as he'll go, the tip of your nose kissing the cold metal of his zipper, throat so full of him that your head spins. 

He's trying to say something. Little fragments of words that might or might not be your name. Breaking apart the moment they fall into his mouth, shattered pieces raining down upon you and your eager ears. 

Maybe you're too quick about this. A fraction too eager to draw all the way back, only to fall upon him once more, lazily letting yourself gag around him if only to hear him groan low in his throat and to feel his thighs shudder beneath your palms. 

"I'm—I'm already, I..." Bobby's panting. Pawing at the side of your face. Doesn't know if he wants to pry you off or push your head back down. 

You expected this. You knew he would be a little bit quick, but all of a sudden, he's twitching in your mouth, a rope of cum decorating your tongue and...

Honey.

Why does he taste like honey? 

It feels like a fluke at first. Has you drawing all the way back, sucking gently on his spasming tip, but it doesn't change. Overwhelmingly sweet and thick on your tongue. It doesn't...since when did human men taste like this? Good lord, what took you so long to find one like this?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Bob's abruptly pulling out of your mouth with a sharp 'pop,' the toilet paper roll audibly spinning as he grabs at it. 

The overhead light flickers back on. Damn near blinding. You nearly miss the shade of cherry decorating his cheeks. 

"Has anyone ever told you that you taste like honey?" 

"You can't be serious."

"No, something's gotta be wrong. I've picked something up somewhere," Bob doesn't seem to realize that he's started pacing again, striding back and forth across the room. "That doesn't...it shouldn't taste like honey!"

Your leg kicks off the edge of the exam table, taping him on the hip as he drifts past. "And what? You think a mystery STD will?"

"Maybe there's one I'm not considering," he stops dead in his tracks, looking you dead in the eye. "You should get tested too."

"Hard to catch a human virus if you aren't human," dragging your foot up the side of his thigh, "maybe it's just a succubus thing."

Bob's hand curls around your ankle, bringing it to rest comfortably against the side of his hip. "Huh?"

"I mean, like...maybe I taste it differently based on how much I like the person?" You're already grasping at straws as it is, but it's so hard to think when Bob is rubbing the back of your ankle like that. Diligent fingers pressing into strained muscle, drawing the tension away with every loose spiral.

"No," shaking his head as if to add emphasis to an already firm word. "I don't...no, that wouldn't make sense." 

That was your one and only theory, but, well, if he insists. "Alright, honey cum."

"Please, don't."

You're gone by the time the doctor decides to come back. Doesn't have a whole lot to say, but a few weeks later, there's a neatly folded paper on the counter with a whole bunch of negatives on it. 

Bob catches you looking at them, but he doesn't have anything to say about it. He's more intrigued by your appearance than anything else, brushing the pads of his fingers against one of your horns as he drifts past.

"Have you always had these?" He chirps, on a one-way track back to his coffee maker. His poor heart might stop if he pours himself anymore, but that doesn't seem to be stopping him.

"Technically, yes," it's a lazy reply, but you're not sure what else to say. "I didn't think to hide them today. What is that, your third cup of coffee today?" 

"Fifth," he corrects, unashamed about finishing off the pot. There's just enough left to fill his mug to the rim and then some. How he doesn't spill it, you'll never know. "Do all demons have horns?"

"Depends on the race, really," shrugging. "Succubi have short, narrow horns with vibrant colors, crossroad demons have horns similar to a Texas Longhorn, fallen angels don't have any at all..." You could keep going, but you would be talking for a long, long time.

You probably shouldn't be lingering around Bob's apartment, invisible to the naked eye as you lounge in the soft red couch and gaze out the window at every rise and fall of the sun. He seems to know that you're still here; hums something that sounds like your name when the cushion sinks beneath your weight. 

It's a cute apartment, really. A thrifted coffee table and an oversized bookcase that has already run out of room, excess books spilling over onto the shelves that were once reserved for figurines, and clever callbacks to movies. 

There's a stash of DVDs lurking inside of the TV stand, and in the ottoman, a pair of signed and framed Star Wars posters decorating the hallway. He thinks that he's spread out the anime enough to pass undetected, but you can clearly see the manga lurking in the smaller bookcase in his bedroom. There's a Naruto sticker hiding on the side of the fridge, a Pokemon in the bathroom cabinet, and so far, you have counted four Trigun figurines. 

Five, if you include the one you just watched him unwrap and place next to his model jet. This one kind of looks like him...

"Are you still in here?" Bob calls out from somewhere on the other side of the apartment. It might be the first time you've heard his voice rise above a mutter since he left the doctor's office. 

You're not entirely sure where he is. Haven't exactly moved from the couch now that the sun has fallen again, blankly gazing at the distant ocean as if it's a home you once knew like the back of your hand. 

He appears in the hallway. Fiddling with the edge of his t-shirt, his eyes squinting as he tries to scan the room without his glasses. You're still waiting for him to realize that he left them next to the stove again.

"Come out?" He tries again, ambling forward. "Please?" 

"Looking to terrorize your boss again?" Dissolving into solidity, the chilly air nipping unpleasantly at your skin. Invisible was better. You couldn't feel the temperature when you didn't have a body. 

Or...maybe you're feeling the temperature incorrectly because Bob looks like a shrimp mid-boil. Red in the cheeks, so flushed that it crawls down into his neck, and the sliver of chest showing through the collar of his shirt. 

"Bob?" Tilting your head to the side. 

"I wanna return the favor." Deadpan.

Blink.

Blink again.

Blink one more time.

You don't follow. "Pardon?"

"I mean, I..." his eyes skip around the room. Bouncing off of the coffee table to the poster behind your head, the miscellaneous figurine shelf, and the refrigerator. "You did something for me, and I...don't...like the idea of it being so one-sided?"

"Bob, I'm a succubus," there's supposed to be an underlying hint there because this is kind of the very reason for your existence, but Bob doesn't seem to pick up on that. Or maybe he does and just doesn't react. "Do you even know how?"

A beat passes. 

His head shakes. No.

"I'm a quick learner?" Offering it up like he's bartering. You wonder if you can get him to start offering crops and livestock. "Is that...okay?" 

You're not sure if it's the novelty of the idea or if it's because of that soft, doe-eyed expression he nails you with, but something has you agreeing to it. But just because you're on the same page together doesn't mean you'll be the very next sentence that he reads. 

You're gone the moment he's in front of you. 

"Where did you—"

"But you'll have to catch me first." Reappearing behind him. Walking your fingers up his spine. 

He turns. 

You're gone. Drifting behind his back again. Blowing at his nape. 

"Hey!" He squeals. So shrill and pitchy that it nearly throws you off. Only manage to dissolve into a plume of mist when he reaches for you. 

Bob is already spinning around. Blocks you from getting to his back again. And there must be some kind of 'tell' of where you are because his eyes follow you every which way. You'd might as well be fully human because this isn't working. 

You don't know how you get into the kitchen. But you're on one side, and Bob is on the other before you've even become solid. You stumble three steps to the right; he's already there. You go left. But then he goes left. You dart right—corner to corner to corner. Shit, you've put yourself in a corner. Either way you have to get past him. 

"Why are you so damn quick?" Giggling. Your feet slide against the hardwood. Not as fast as him. This will only last so long.

"Did you forget." He jumps left. "I'm in." Right. "The Navy?" Left again.

"I thought that meant you would be good at swimming!" You're slipping. Grabbing at the countertop before you can hit the floor. "Not—this!"

He breaks the pattern first. Shoots around the corner so quickly that you nearly don't have time to spin back around. His fingertips graze your back as you turn. You're tearing off around the corner. Dissolving bit-by-bit and—

There's a pressure around your waist, and the room is spinning, and you don't remember when or how your feet left the ground. 

"Bobby!" You're squealing, throwing your arms around his shoulders before you can slip. 

It's hard telling when or how things escalate the way that they do. All you remember is the coldness of the floor as he sets you back down, the heat of his arms around you, and the bump of his nose against your cheek. And melting. Fuck, you remember melting into him like snowflakes in July, meeting him halfway, his soft lips melding with yours so easily. 

You do remember when you fall against the couch. Nothing but ruby red cushions and the lingering pink in Bobby's cheeks, settling between your legs with such ease that you almost wonder if you've done this with him before. 

Christ, he could probably convince you that you've already had a few nights together. 

There's no reason why or how he should know that you're sensitive beneath your ear, mouthing at the skin there but never making a move to mottle it with bruises. Respectful. Irritatingly so. Never leaving behind a mark, not even when he bites at the collar of your shirt and grazes the skin that lurks beneath.

He wasn't lying when he said he was a quick learner. Is he sure that he's never done this before? Because he gets your lounge shorts off surprisingly easily. His waist dipping between your thighs, swollen lips finding your lower belly once more, working down, down, down...

"Shit," his tongue has you jolting, entirely caught off guard. "A little sudden there."

It's hard to feel any sort of annoyance when he peeks up at you from beneath his lashes, tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog. "'m sorry."

Your hand curls into the back of his hair, a fraction longer than it was when his so-called friends summoned you right into his lap. Only takes the slightest pressure for him to dip his head back down, licking a slow stripe against you. He misses your clit on the first try, pulls away a little too soon. But he finds it on the second, visibly perks at your sharp inhale, and retraces his steps until you do it again.

Learning should imply that he doesn't know what he's doing beforehand. You're gonna need to steal his dictionary off the shelf and look up the proper definition because you're pretty sure he was lying. 

There's no damn reason why he should know how to point his tongue and trace it around your clit, teasing until your hips lift off the mattress. Temporary relief comes in the form of the hum that rumbles out of him, vibrating through your nerves like electricity. He's settling into it now, laying flat on his belly, arms curled around your thighs as ifhe belongs there.

Fuck, and he's working his way down. Pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses into your dripping pussy, stopping to lap at your entrance before pressing inside. His tongue isn't even all that long, but the wet heat and the tip of his nose pressing against your clit yanks a gasp out of your throat, eyes snapping shut. 

Your thigh squishes against his cheek, leg looping lazily over his shoulder as if that could somehow possibly bring him closer. Fingers twist in his hair, nails scraping across his scalp—

"What the hell?" Your own voice sounds foreign. Detached from your body.

Bob lifts his head, and good lord, his lips are glistening. "Hm?"

"What is this little bump on your head?" Tapping your nail against it, uniquely bony compared to the rest of his scalp. Feels like a perfect circle.

"I don't know what they are," nonchalant, already dipping back between your legs, "'ve had 'em since I was born."

You can see them when you push his hair out of the way, little indentations beneath the skin, solid as can be. One on each side, a few inches above his ears. These kind of look like...

No, that's not right. 

That sweet tongue of his finds you again. Drawing lazy shapes that transform into shock waves on impact, rumbling up your spine and down into your fluttering thighs. Letters. He's drawing letters, and you can hardly decipher what they are, but the voice in the back of your head whispers that he's writing is name into your cunt. Over and over until he's certain that you'll never find pleasure in a name that isn't his. 

"Bobby, I..."

He hums, hands curling around your hips, pulling you in. Doesn't let go of that same lazy pace that he just set for himself, curling through an 'R' and into an 'O' so intoxicating that you find your own mouth mimicking it, too. You don't mean to cum so soon. You really don't, but your eyes unintentionally lock with his, that tiny smile curling the corners of them, and shit—

Your back twitches up off the bed. Crying out so sharply that it rips right out of your throat. Your head might just tumble off your shoulders. Floating up into the clouds, heaven-bound. Weightless. 

The hands on your hips tighten. Anchoring you back down. Bob's burning tongue working you through it like he's done it a hundred times until your body is tensing and jerking away from every little lick.

"Jesus," sucking in a breath, "Christ." 

Bob lifts his head, swollen lips twisting into a cheesy grin. "Wrong name." 

"Nerd," tapping him on the nose.

"Demon," biting the inside of your thigh. 

It's hard telling who sputters into a laugh first. Giggling like school kids as he climbs up the bed, his mouth clumsily finding its way to yours. It's so much easier to hold his face when his glasses aren't in the way; don't have to worry about smudging a lense or accidentally knocking them off his face entirely. 

If you thought that you were bad, then Bob Floyd is another monster entirely because once he's gotten a taste of you, he can't get enough. 

Because he's on you again in the morning, kissing at your shoulder and working his way down your naked belly before his final alarm goes off and forces him to start getting ready for work. His sweet tongue working over your clit, chasing down a vastly different zig-zag pattern as he eases a thick, curious finger into you. Lazily searches for a little spot that steals your breath away and has you babbling for another.

In the evening, he's nibbling and kissing at your thighs while you wait for the pizza delivery guy is on his way. Leaves behind sporadic little marks that gradually acquire a delicious tenderness that makes you gasp when you try to cross your legs later. 

You answer to the sound of your name on an average Tuesday afternoon. An unapproved presence in a top-security Naval building, perched up on the edge of a locker room bench like you belong there. Like you, too, are a pilot with a willingness to perform and just the right amount of crazy flowing through your veins. 

Bob doesn't utter a word about it, but you know that one of his superiors has chewed him out again because his cheeks are pale as can be, eyes only softening at the sight of you appearing before him. And maybe he's a little bit too eager to fall to his knees, peppering your skin with kisses that make their way to where you crave them the most. 

Again and again. An addict who seems to need his fix every time he's overwhelmed. It's your purpose, the very thing you were built for, but the invisible string that draws you into him is unlike any other you've been wrapped up in before. An undescribable something-else lurking behind the charm of those wireframes and his warm, dizzying voice. Never asks for anything in return, all too content with eating you alive.

Your favorite might be the night that he pulls a muscle in his shoulder blade. One little misstep in the gym is all it takes for a night and a half of overwhelming soreness, binding him flat on his back, minding his left side. But even the mix of ibuprofen, Tylenol, and a dash of pain isn't enough to keep him grounded.

"I have an idea." It's been forever since you last heard him speak. The last time you recall hearing his voice was last night when he asked you to pass him his toothbrush.

"Uh oh," not in any particular hurry to lift your head from his chest, naked and oh so warm to the touch. 

"What?" He's trying to act offended, but the attempt dies mid-air. Won't be making a living in acting any time soon, that's for sure. 

Tapping your finger on his collarbone, overtop a thin white scar you've yet to learn the story of. "Don't 'what' me." 

His laugh sounds like thunder. Deep and rumbling into your ears, a tune you didn't know you craved until just now. 

A familiar warmth settles against your cheek, diligent fingers tracing the edge of your jaw. "What if I told you I had another idea?"

One of these days, you'll learn to quit being surprised. 

Today, you're shocked that he asked you to ride his face. 

Shit, but here you are. Knees precariously resting above his head. Trying your best not to let your thighs clamp down around his face as he dips his tongue between your folds, half-lidded gaze fixated on your expression. You've long since lost count of how many times you've felt this. The soft whisps of his short hair tickling your skin, the way he hums when he hears you gasp.

"You've got," raking your fingers against his scalp, anything to distract from the calculated zig-zag across your clit, "a problem." 

"Maybe that's what's wrong with me," muffled. His every word rumbling through your core and reaching up into your chest. 

"Yeah, well..." drinking in a shuddered breath, "you being addicted to eating me out was not on that list."

It's his fault for laughing again. Should have known that the vibration would have twisted into your nerves and sent them firing, thighs impulsively clamping down around his head with no regard for him or breathing. 

Fuck, it takes a moment to remember how to move them again. 

"I'm sorry," and you're about to lift yourself up, let him get a full breath of air, but his hands find your hips, anchoring you into place. 

"'s okay," pausing to lap at your clit, wet and messy, and god, the sound. "I don't mind."

He'd say that if you accidentally suffocated him to death, too.

Your nails drift across his scalp. Dragging just enough to feel the shift of hair beneath your fingertips, disturbing the hardened bump lurking just a few inches above his ear. You know that it's probably because of the swelling, but you swear it feels bigger than it did a few days ago. And maybe it's sensitive too because, for the briefest moment, you catch the whisp of a gasp. A sharp little intake of air punctuating the way he drifts down to toy with your entrance. 

They're worse the following morning.

He's only just beginning to settle between your legs, diligently kissing down the inside of your thigh, when the brush of your knee sends him reeling. Pawing at the sides of his head. Wincing. Yelping at his own touch.

"Did I—"

"No!" He blurts. Pitchy. "I'm sorry, it's, I—it hurts."

Even the delicate pressure of an ice pack is too much for him to tolerate, hissing like a cat the moment the material touches his skin. You're not entirely sure what to make of them. Dissolving into the air around him for a better view, drifting around his head, twisting every which way as if discovering the perfect angle will reveal the secret.

It doesn't...look infected. Strained is the best descriptor you can come up with. As if something is trying to claw its way out from beneath the skin. 

"And you said you've had these since you were born?" Musing aloud, resisting the urge to reach out and touch them.

Hands find your waist as you settle into your human shape once more. "That's what I'm told." Then, tilting his head to look up at you, not making any move to get out of his chair. "Why, what did you see?"

"The same thing you're seeing," you can't help but push his hair back, watching the short strands gradually slip free from your fingers. "Must be a really odd birth defect."

He hums, blinking up at you without a word, perhaps not as concerned about his situation as he should be. Not a trace of worry clouding his features, though the corner of his eye twitches when you unintentionally drift over one of the bumps. 

It's the same kind of gaze that gets you into trouble three nights later. 

He doesn't seem to realize that he's doing it, drowning you in pools of ocean blue every time he looks your way. You don't understand how you make it through the night. He's just so damn distracting. Tapping his foot against yours beneath the table, legs tangling as a nameless mid-forties man in a fancy suit rambles on about the honor of working in the Navy and things you don't care to follow. 

You don't know how you get to the hotel bed. Only vaguely aware of the sensation of your feet leaving the ground, thighs clinging to the sharp bone of his hips. One of his hands is on your ass, and the other is smoothing up your back. Presses just hard enough to have you arching, chests bumping together hard enough to break your kiss.

"Bobby—"

"I know."

The room collapses into a world of pristine white clouds—or maybe you've just fallen onto the bed. You can't tell for sure. Can't be bothered to. Not when a familiar pressure appears against your lips, his firm body settling between your legs with a weight you can't possibly ignore. 

He tastes like the hot chocolate they poured into his cup when he turned down the champagne. Sweet and so warm that you can feel yourself melting, and you must be made of chocolate, too, because he moves as if he's going to eat you alive. Hands rising to cradle your face, settling into a lingering liplock that has you gasping for air.

Your head is spinning. One hand curling around his bicep. The other smoothing up the side of his burning neck. Hardly aware of how your hips lift up from the mattress, but all too aware of him meeting you in the middle. A new pressure forms between your legs. The not-so-subtle bump of a growing bulge against your cunt. 

Curse the layers of fabric separating you from each other. Can't do anything but meet him halfway. Mewling into his mouth like a cat in heat. Legs curling around his hips. The heels of your ankles digging into his ass, urging him closer, closer, closer.

Something trickles across your fingers. Smearing across his neck. 

"What is that?" It's sliding down your palm, scurrying past your wrist and beyond. Water? No, where would it have come from...

Bob draws away, an unusual chill filling the space he once occupied. "What is what?" 

Your hand is crimson. 

Why is your hand...?

"Oh my god." Reeling back. Hands held high as if that can possibly stop the blood that drips from your fingertips, so fresh that you can still feel the warmth of it. 

It's everywhere. Staining the fresh sheets, smeared across the back of Bob's neck, pooling at the shoulders of a brand new uniform that will never be the same again. It's on the shell of his ear and in his hair and—

"Oh my god," you sound like a broken record, but it's all you can say. "Bobby, your head."

Looking back on it, you're thankful Bob booked a room with two beds instead of one. 

There's no salvaging or rectifying the utter disaster going on in the bed that he claimed as his when you first got here. The sheets and comforter torn clean off, lying in a messy pile, waiting for the front desk to call back and tell you what to do with them. From here, they look perfectly fine, still the same shade of pure white, as if nothing has ever happened. 

Your attention meanders across the floor, tracing the lines of geometric shapes, following them on their journey between the beds until they disappear beneath the mattress. Bob's foot still hangs off the edge, a smidge too lazy to try and readjust himself now that he's found home here on your chest.

It's almost strange being here. Snuggling on a hotel bed with a man who didn't even summon you wasn't on the job description. Hell, the last time you even set foot in a place like this was probably years before you realized what you were and fully committed to the whole demonic entity thing. 

"Why don't you ever leave?" Bob's voice rumbles into your collar, a smidge deeper than it was the last time you heard it. 

"You never said you were satisfied with me," darting from your mouth before you can realize what you're about to say. A script so rehearsed that your tongue needs no instruction to utter it.

The room is quieter than it was before.

Which...is odd because nothing about it has changed. The cheap air conditioner still rattles to its own mechanic tune. You can still hear the girl talking on the phone in the hallway. Through the wall behind your head, the neighbor's television still plays the rerun of what sounds like a football game. 

Bob's eyes are open. Can feel the flutter of his lashes against the side of your neck. If you didn't know any better, you would mistake it for the dustings of tiny butterfly wings.

But he doesn't say anything. 

"I'm sorry, I...that may have come out the wrong way."

"'s okay." Says it so quickly that you wonder if he's listened to your apology at all. 

Antsy, you reach for his hair, fingers coming through the still-damp locks. A little bit fried after two full washes, but it was the necessary sacrifice to get all of that blood out. 

You've got to crane your neck to see the culprit, but it's still there, in the same state it was the last time you laid eyes on it. Scabbed over. No longer as swollen as it once was, but there's still something solid lurking beneath the surface. You could have sworn you saw a flash of white in there before it had closed up again, but looking at it now, there's nothing. 

"I think I just like being around you," concluding, after a long moment. 

'Like' may be an understatement, but...

The corner of his mouth is turning upward. You know it is because you can feel it against your chest. "I like being around you, too."

And here you thought you'd figured out what Robert Floyd defines as a party. 

Bubbling glasses of golden champagne, the same shade of the delicate chandelier sparkling overhead, crystals cascading down like a spiral staircase. Enchanting. Beginning three stories up and only ending mere feet away from where you stand, you could probably touch it if you tried. 

Such a stark contrast to the midnight peeking through the windows, twinkling city lights of every color in the rainbow drowned out by the blinding white and gold palette you've found yourself in. Unfamiliar faces and dresses worth more than a car fresh off the lot, wrapped up in the whimsical tune of a live orchestra off to your left.

So many things to look at. Luxury desserts and vivid red couches cozied up beside the fire. There's more to be discovered, entire rooms you have yet to venture into, a custom theater, a cocktail bar...yet, your eyes continue to drift to the only familiar thing here.

And his appear to do the same.

Locking from opposite sides of the room, the buzz of the crowd melting into a distant hum, as if you've just plunged into the very crystal oceans that color his irises. The heat of his gaze is the only thing keeping your head above water, burning across every inch of your skin. It's a wonder you don't go up in flames right here and now.

Glass shatters somewhere to your left. A lady yelps. Someone swears. But you can't bring yourself to look to see what just happened. Captured in a never-ending trance as you move about the room, only able to look away for milliseconds at a time. 

One of Bob's friends are talking to him, mouth moving a mile a minute, but Bob doesn't seem to be listening—Fireball or...something. The name should come to you easier than it does. Bob's told you so many stories of them together, but you fear you've spent too much time lingering on the sound of his voice to actually store and remember the fine details. 

The music swells. 

Heads turn toward the melody, and with it, feet begin to move. It's as if one-half of the party has vanished, opening up the floor enough for you to walk without worry of bumping into anyone. You wouldn't even be in this position if filtering through different forms was socially acceptable and not the quickest way to give someone a heart attack. 

It's like drawing too close to a fire, the flames so bright that you can hardly look at them without being blinded. Except the flames are the open buttons at the very top of his long sleeve, milky white skin peeking through the gap. He's grown a bit since this was fitted, the fabric hugging a little too tightly around his chest, straining already weakened seams. Two of the buttons have already snapped off, unveiling more than he would ever willingly show off. 

He would catch your staring if he weren't already doing the same damn thing. Knows he's been caught, too, cheeks dusting a cherry red the moment he tears his attention away from the slit in your dress, showing off your upper thigh. 

But Fanbase is still talking, rambling on about the subplot of a movie that you've yet to see, and you're simply not interested enough to linger any longer than you have to. Gliding past Bobby as if you hadn't just made eye contact with him, your hand trailing up the side of his arm on your way past. 

The door couldn't come quickly enough, and you disappear through it with nothing more than a wayward glance over your shoulder.

He's still looking at you. 

It's so much quieter in the hallway, all that noise and music vanishing the moment the door swings shut behind you. You're not sure where you're going; didn't plan this far ahead, but you can already see a floor-to-ceiling window that looks interesting enough. A decorative fountain rests in front of it, the water sparkling with the city lights.

The view is better at night. Still breathtaking during the day, but...god, something about the velvet black and twinkling shades of neon really bring out the charm of a city like this. Though you've still yet to figure out why a Navy event is all the way up here, in the tallest building they could find. One of their own venues would have sufficed; then they wouldn't have had to rent all these hotel rooms. 

"Your dress looks awful familiar." Maybe Bob is hiding magic powers of his own because there's no way he could have snuck up on you without floating here.

But there he is. Shoulder resting against the wall, arms folded over his chest. The rolled sleeves are struggling with his forearms, fabric so tight that the threads silently scream. 

"Does it?" Coy. You entirely stole this idea from the front cover of the magazine he had sitting on the kitchen counter. 

You don't mean to step forward at the same time he does, but you do. Nose to nose in the blink of an eye, so close that your vision goes a little blurry and out of focus. 

A door slams down the hall.

The invisible string snaps.

Your hands are in his hair, and his are on your waist, and mouths are clattering with all the grace and elegance of a car crash. The back of your leg hits the fountain. Sends the thing jumping as you all but slam into the window. It's a wonder you don't go crashing through it, plummeting through miles upon miles of midnight neons. 

Because it certainly feels like you did. 

Head spinning as if you're in a free fall. Fingers twisting in his hair before unspoken forces can peel you away, sloppily falling into tune with the bold dance of his lips. Fuck, it's so much more than what you've spent the past fifteen minutes picturing in your head. He tastes like cola and honey, so dizzyingly sweet that a sugar rush buzzes through your veins.

What is it with you and this human? 

It's as if you're one half of a magnet, hopelessly bound to him by forces that you can't quite identify. Yielding to the subtle pressure of his hands, allowing him to gather you into his chest as if you aren't close enough as it is. Heaven, Hell, and Earth could collapse right here and now, and it still wouldn't be enough to drive a wedge between you. 

"And here I thought you weren't the PDA type," that thought was supposed to stay in your head, but it's far too late to do anything about it.

"I think this is a little beyond PDA," Bob's mouth twists into a smile too soon. Teeth smash together with a sound that makes you wince. 

There are voices down the hallway, familiar, but you don't care to try and identify them. Whoever they are, they don't get a chance to see you here because Bob's taking hold of your wrist, and you're falling into the clumsiest run imaginable. Arms awkwardly tangling together. His boots too new to grip the floor. Giggling to yourselves as you slide to the right, fighting to get around the corner before he can be recognized. 

You're already crashing into each other again. And again. And again. Stealing kisses as if you need one for every few steps taken. Can't function otherwise. Winding through the hall, no regard for where you're going or if it's even the right direction, barging through a door and racing up the stairs. You trip on one. Bob falls on his ass on another.

It's a damn wonder how you find the correct door. 

At least, you assume it's the right one because your back all but slams into it; don't even hear the noise that rattles down the empty hall. How are you meant to pay attention to such meaningless things, when a soft pressure appears at your lips? Greedily leaning into it as you all but melt into one another, his breath running ragged.

The key. You need the key. 

It's somewhere on him, your hands blindly smoothing over his chest, searching for the outline of that thin plastic key card. And so what if you momentarily hook your fingers into the top of his shirt? It could have been hiding there, for all you know.

Bob finds it just before you do. Plucking the hunk of plastic from his front pocket, and you can feel the heat of his arm as he reaches past.

Beep.

Gravity tilts on its head. Falling backward. 

Toned arms loop around your waist. Force you to remain upright. Pulling you close like there's a risk of you blowing away. Stumbling backward. Through the door. You don't know how your arms got around his neck, but you're not making any move to let go. Clinging to him like it's the only thing you know how to do. Nose bumping into his cheek as you find your way to his mouth once more. 

One fleeting, accidental brush of his teeth against your lip has electricity bolting up your spine. Shades of gold explode in the depths of your frenzied mind. Fireworks. Tongues tangle for the briefest of seconds. But then he's licking at your bottom lip, and it's parting with a gasp, a little too eager to let him in. Twisting together in a fashion entirely unfamiliar to you, an exquisite dance that has you melting like snow on a summer day.

The mattress greets the backs of your knees, a gentle nudge that has you falling backward without ceremony. He's on top of you within a second, forearms bracing his weight on either side of your head, chests pressing together, and—

"Mmh."  His legs spasm around your thigh, only to push it up into him again, pressing against the growing tent in his slacks. Heavy. 

"What was that?" In the lightest tone you can conjure up, rubbing your thigh against him once more. 

His face flushes red. Eyes darting away like he'll catch on fire if he keeps looking at you, but there's no hiding the way he twitches at your touch. And he knows you've felt it because, somehow, his cheeks get even redder. 

"What, don't like being teased?"  

"I might die if you keep talking." 

You'd like to see how true that statement can be. But that's an experiment for another night; you can only take your mind off of the throbbing heat resting against your thigh for so long. 

Fuck, and it seems he's on the same page. Spit-slicked lips find the corner of your jaw, one of his hands smoothing down your side as he works his way beneath your ear. One kiss after the other, only lingering long enough to lightly suck on the skin there. Teeth scrape against you, and you absolutely shouldn't shudder at such a simple feeling, but it happens anyway.

Just like how you wander to his shirt, perhaps a bit too eager to start fumbling with the buttons. They're just as stubborn as you thought they would be, angrily wedging themselves in the gaps designed for them to fit through. Stupid things. Who ever thought these were a good idea?

Bob reaches past you, his wrist bumping your hand away—

Buttons scatter. Rolling across the floor. Bouncing across the bed. One strikes your chin. Another thunks against the headboard.

"I didn't know you had it in you," giggling. Only have a handful of seconds to admire the broad expanse of his pale chest before he's on you again. Picking up right where he left off, somewhere beneath your ear, where you're most sensitive. 

His hum sounds like it's wrapped around the shape of your name, vibrating up your neck, rattling around in your skull like an earthquake. It's a wonder you don't fall apart. Fingertips biting into his shoulders, squeezing them as tightly as you can. And he just keeps kissing on you. Working down, down, down to your collar, only stopped by the fabric of your dress.

You can make it disappear.

He knows you can make it disappear.

And yet his hands slip behind your back, tugging down the tiny zipper that runs parallel to your spine. 

Takes the time to ease the soft material off your body, impossibly slow, as if he's afraid of ripping it. Past your hips and over your knees. Folds it in half and sets it off to the side. And for a moment, he pauses. Lips shining with the same light that reflects off his glasses, hardly distracting from the sparkle of his eye. 

Kisses find the inside of your knee. Working across the joint and delving into the delicate territory of your thigh. It's a tune he's played so many times that you already know where he's going and what thoughts are lurking in the back of his quiet mind. Tempting, but...

The dog tags hanging from his neck are too perfect not to grab. Why he's wearing them, you're not sure, but they reel him back in so damn easily. 

But Bob freezes the moment you're eye to eye with him, not entirely sure how to tread this newfangled path he's found himself on. And that must be what makes it so easy to push him around. Flipping your positions with a skill you forgot you had, your ass snug in his lap, knees straddling his hips.

The back of his head thunks against the headboard, unnamed shades of red rising to tint his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

"You're sure?" He croaks; for a split second, you're on the ship again, meeting for the very first time. 

"Are you sure?" Countering. The bridge of your nose bumps into his. 

You don't necessarily remember what happens after that. 

It all melts into a blur. Starts with you bouncing a button off his bare chest and ends with the sound of his pants hitting the floor next to you. You don't know who got the lube out. It must have been him because you still don't know where it even came from, but it's the sensation of his slick fingers pressing into you that catapults you back into reality. 

"You remember that I'm a succubus, right?" The intended sarcasm doesn't so much as reach your vocal chords, nothing but a breathy whisper of the obvious. 

A smile is all that he gives in return. "I know."

It's been too long since the last time you felt this. The pressure of thick fingers slipping into your already drooling cunt, knuckles catching on your entrance as they drag past. Coarse fingertips drag against your walls, crooked, running across a bundle of nerves that he has no business knowing about. Knows he's found it too, the corner of his mouth twitching upward at the sound of your whine. 

Yeah. 

It's been too long. 

That's why you're so sensitive all of a sudden.

It's certainly not because of the heavy cock resting against the swell of your ass. Has nothing to do with the pools of blue that lurk in his eye; you reckon you'd drown in them if you were to fall forward. No, you only feel like that because of the never-ending city view that sits just past his head. Broad and expansive, just like...just like his shoulders...

You don't realize what your hand is doing until you overhear his sharp inhale. His body jerks, shocked by the sudden trace of your fingers running up the underside of his cock. 

Impatience will be the undoing of both of you. In such a sudden hurry that lube spills onto the bed in your rush to slick him up, and it's only after that he realizes he's forgotten about the condom. Doesn't matter. The damn thing flies out of his hand when he tries ripping it open with his teeth, landing somewhere on the floor.

"Again," lifting your hips, lazily smacking his blunt tip against your cunt, "succubus."

"I'm sorry," he's yet to realize you're merely messing with him. Condom, no condom, you don't care either way. "I don't wanna make a mess of you."

"Maybe I want you to make a mess of me," countering. And it's the last thing you can say before the pressure of his cock shuts you up. 

If you asked, you're certain he would humbly refer to himself as average, but this is...this is so much better than average. Thicker than usual and wonderfully curved, fitting that a man so intent on pleasing you would also have the perfect cock, too. Stretches you just enough to make your jaw go slack, his fat tip dragging against every little nerve it can find. 

Bob tilts his head back, his chest rising with a heavy inhale, and that may be a whine that you hear. His lashes flutter, visibly fighting to keep them open as you sink down on him. Inch after inch, and it's been so long since you last felt this full. 

And maybe they've sucked all of the oxygen from the room because neither of you can seem to catch your breath. 

"That's..." his eyes drop down, fixating on the sight of him disappearing into you, "shit, that's..."

He doesn't get to finish that thought, and you don't get the chance to bother him about it, entirely distracted by the overwhelming sensation of him bottoming out. Your ass flush with his thighs, so damn full of him that your heart has risen into your throat. 

You've already found the strength to lift your body again. Bracing your hands on his shoulders, using him for leverage as your hips lift, the city lights seeming to twinkle when he rubs into those soft nerves. Can only manage to raise yourself by an inch or two before collapsing down into him once more. 

The warmth of Bobby's gaze crawls up your naked body, slow, like he's trying to take his time before he meets your eye. And when he does...

"You still in there?" Winding your arms around his neck. Can't seem to get him close enough.

His tongue darts out to wet his swollen lips, dry from panting, "uhuh." 

You suppose he's telling the truth because he's present enough to remember how to tilt his head up and catch you with a kiss—breathing hard through your noses. His hands squeezing your hips. Holding them through every rise and fall. 

Lube squelches between your legs. His cock head driving directly into that bundle of nerves again, your pussy helplessly spasming around him. You fear you're going to shatter into a million pieces if he does that again, but there's no attempt to shift your angle. Chasing that sensation again, crying out as a shock bolts up your spine. 

"Bobby," it slips out so easily. Riding on the coattails of a gasp. 

Foreheads knock together. So close that the sight of him goes a little bit fuzzy. Noses bumping when his hips twitch up, snapping into yours so swiftly that it knocks a whimper out of you. Just makes him do it again, and you are not living up to the whole succubus thing by collapsing into his shoulder. 

"Fuck, I can—" he grunts, punctuated by the lewd slap of skin against skin, "can feel you clenchin' around me." 

And you can feel him twitch inside of you. Such a simple feeling that has you getting wetter around him, can only imagine what kind of mess is forming between your bodies right now. You'd look, but it's hard enough pulling yourself back, thighs burning, desperate to work back into the rhythm you just...built up...

Is...that...?

"What's wrong?" Bob has stopped moving at...some point. You don't know when that was. The concept of time passing is a little bit irrelevant right now.

Words don't necessarily come to you. Fleeting chunks of vaguely related sentences that you can't quite stitch together. You don't...that's not...when did...?

The only thing you can think of is to touch one of them. 

His back jerks off the headboard. Sucking in a gasp. Eyes going wide. But then, twitching at the corners, pretty blue irises rolling back, his cock spasming despite your lack of movement. For a moment, not a sound seems to escape him, but then it's all shattered by a barely muffled whimper. 

"So that's what's wrong with you." Deadpan. 

Touching them made him cum. That's... somewhat familiar, actually. 

Bobby's eyes can barely tear themselves open, fighting against them as he blinks up at you. "What?" 

You're almost hesitant to touch them again. Two tiny horns, no more than an inch tall, poking out from where those pesky bumps once resided. 

Horns. Of course. Why did you think you were wrong when you considered that earlier? They're identical to yours! A few inches above the ear, wide at the base and growing narrow as it nears the tip. Jet black for the time being, but they'll develop their color with time. 

The one upside to being a succubus. Uniquely colored horns. 

"Not to bring up family while all seven and a half inches of you are inside of me," because you're not sure about how to start this conversation, jumping on the first half-baked plan that comes to mind. "But are you entirely sure your folks are human?"

His head tilts. "Why?" 

The only thing you can think of is to take a picture. Those two tiny horns poking out like they're part of a cute headband, so ridiculously small in person and even smaller on his phone. As you pass it off to him, you catch yourself wondering if he'll see them at all. 

"...huh." Is all that he can say. 

They're far too sensitive for him to touch, not after what mess you just caused, but he tries. Winces the moment his fingertips make contact with the fresh new bone; you can only imagine this is how you reacted the first time your horns made their appearance, too. 

You wonder if there's anything behind them. You've seen a few variations where a second pair sprouted behind the first, but you can't see anything from this angle. If you just lean a little further to the right—

A whimper twists through the air. Pretty blue eyes squeeze shut.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"No, no, no, don't," his hands are back on your hips, pulling you back down into his lap before you've even moved an inch, and oh, you can feel his cum beginning to spill out of you. Fuck, there's so...there's so much of it. It'll make a mess of the bed if you're not careful, but you can't move. Not with those big hands anchoring you down. 

But he's not done talking. 

"Keep going," he blurts, his chest shuddering with a breath. Horns be damned, those aren't on his mind right now. "Please, I just, I want, I want you to—" 

A swivel of your hips shuts him up. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, already too late to stifle the pitchy little noise that sails out of his throat. God, that's a hell of a sound. Combined with the way his half-hard cock twitches in you, it's almost too much to bear. He can hardly handle it himself, squirming, not sure if he wants to push into you or away from you. 

"There!" Stardust twinkles behind your eyes. "Right there. Don't move."

It's as if the room has exploded into a galaxy. Midnight black and the deepest shades of navy, decorated in a rainbow of distant, twinkling stars. You and him and this big, oversized hotel bed. Weightless. Floating round and round, further and further away, until you're lost to the Milky Way itself. 

The fat tip of his cock drives up into those nerves again. Space nearly swallows you up once more. "Bobby..."

Your eyes must have been closed because you don't remember his head tipping back. Dazed, flushed cheeks, so entirely focused on you that the rest of the world ceases to exist at all. Pitchy whimpers, stumbling off his drooling tongue, overstimulated but making no move to push you off of him.

His lips seal. Hardly manages to muffle his noises, but it's already too quiet for your liking.

One of your hands curls around his cheek. Thumb pressing against his bottom lip, hardly takes any pressure for him to give way, allowing you in. And his poor tongue is right there, practically begging you to pin it down, and who are you to deny such a request?

Heat twists in your belly. Pussy clenching tighter around him. Your motions growing jerky. Sporadic. Sparks of color flash behind your eyelids, growing heavier by the second. And it's so fucking loud in this room. Whimpers. Cries. Blending together so seamlessly that you can't tell who makes what noise. Every motion punctuated by an all-too-loud squelch of cum and lube, fuck, this bed is going to be ruined after this.

"I-I'm—" Bob whines, tongue flexing beneath your thumb. Eyes glassy, one blink away from tears spilling over the brim. 

"Close." Don't know if you're finishing his sentence or speaking for yourself. 

It washes over you with all the strength and violence of a tidal wave. Hips stalling. Head falling back. Cumming on his cock with an unexpected cry, heat racing through your veins, skin prickling, breath hung up in your throat. You think your eyes cross. Can't really figure out how true that is, too busy floating through the cracks in the universe to think about anything but the spasm of his length inside of you. 

And you're vaguely aware that he's cumming, too, his cries vibrating through your thumb and deep into your bones. 

"Still in there?" You find yourself asking after a moment. 

Bob hums and you're only now realizing that his glasses are gone, blinking up at you with unfocused eyes. Where they've gone, you don't know; don't think you could get up and look for them if you tried. 

All of the strength has left your legs. Thighs trembling as you lift yourself from his lap. And they can only hold you up for so long before you find yourself collapsing next to him, greeted by the significantly cooler sheets. 

Those horns are still there. All too present as he tries to snuggle down onto a pillow, inconveniently brushing against the fabric. You're both a damn mess. His lower belly glistens in the light, and you can already feel his cum beginning to spill out of you onto the sheets. 

Sheets that you don't want to change for a cleaner set. 

But the shower is so far away...and Bob is curling his arm around you. Pulling you closer to him as if the six inches of space between your bodies is too much for him to handle. Your nose bumps into his chin, the slightest hint of stubble growing there.

You should hide his razor and see what happens.

"How do I make them disappear?" Bob's voice cracks in the middle, sporadically skyrocketing in pitch. Water might do him good, but...damn, the fridge is by the bathroom. 

"I'll teach you, eventually," your voice isn't doing much better; you can hardly get it above a whisper. "I wanna see them on you for a little longer first."

His eyes roll, shaking his head all the while. Almost like he expected you to say that. But he doesn't call you out on it, content to tilt his head down and shut you up instead. Swollen lips crashing together, lazily tangling. A small explosion would be less messy, tongues licking into each other's mouths and teeth clacking so hard that your even bones recoil at the sensation. 

...but there's pressure on your shoulder, and you're rolling onto your back, his comfortable weight settling on top of you. Half hard against your thigh. 

"Satisfied?" You murmur, though you suppose you already know the answer to that.

His lips curl into a smile. Devilish, even. "No."

You're beginning to think you've swapped roles in this relationship.

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio DP x DC Nobody Knows AU Part 9

Part 8

“Nothing? At all?”

“Nothing, Red,” Barbara's voice repeats through the speakers of the Batcomputer, sounding irritated at this point.

“But- I mean, did you try-”

“She's going to come to the cave and shove a Batarang up your ass if you ask her one more time whether she missed something, Replacement,” Jason drawls off to the side. He's reclining in a chair, feet kicked up on a weapons table.

Tim groans. “I know, I know. I'm sorry.”

He's back in the Cave, and so is pretty much everyone else. Turns out he'd caused something of a panic, and it was all hands on deck for a hot second.

When the engineer had density shifted out of his grasp and heckled him from some nebulous spot midair, it had taken only a few seconds afterwards for Tim’s comms to explode with noise.

Turns out nobody had been able to hear anything from him except a constant low static from shortly before the encounter until after it ended, and his mask camera was borked the whole time too.

Understandably, there was some alarm about that. Bruce had ordered everyone back to the cave for a full explanation and conversation on what the hell happened.

“Sit down and tell us what happened, baby bird. You're gonna wear a hole in the floor at this rate,” Dick tells him, a gentle hand on his shoulder nudging him towards a seat.

Tim groans and throws himself into it like a puppet with his strings cut.

“Well he's definitely a meta,” he grumbles. “I never actually laid eyes on him. Wouldn't have even known he was there if he hadn't gotten ghost busted.”

“Ghost busted?” Jason asks, eyebrows raised. Tim huffs out a reluctant laugh, because in retrospect that part was pretty funny.

“His fucking phone went off. All of a sudden the empty air next to me was blasting the Ghostbusters theme song and an invisible man was swearing like a sailor until it cut out.”

Stephanie blows a raspberry in the start of a laughing fit, and suddenly the whole cave is echoing with mirth. It lifts Tim's spirits a little, makes him laugh too.

He means, come on. That has to be the new record for the funniest botched stealth mission, a position previously held by Damian when a stray dog outed him because it smelled the treats he keeps in his utility belt.

The shade of red the demon brat's face was when he had to explain why the mission went sideways was fucking glorious.

“So you've confirmed that we're dealing with a male meta?”

Speaking of the brat.

“Sounded male, and he at least has invisibility and density shifting,” Tim confirms.

“Density shifting?” Bruce prompts.

“Yeah. After the phone went off I couldn't see him but I was trying to figure out where he was. Then the lockbox disappeared too - he can transfer the invisibility through touch, apparently.”

“Huh. Haven't seen that before,” Duke comments.

“Me neither. But I made an educated guess at where I thought he was and grabbed his arm. Had a damn good grip, and then he just…went through me. Like I literally felt something pass through my hand all cold and tingly and suddenly I wasn't holding anything anymore.”

Jason snorts. “Bet that was a kick in the nuts, huh.”

“Come on, Little Wing,” Dick scolds half heartedly. “Be nice.”

Jason rolls his eyes.

“You said ‘at least’,” Bruce says, brow furrowed. “You suspect he has other powers too?”

Tim purses his lips. “I can't be sure, considering I couldn't see him, but…I think he probably has flight too.”

“Flight?” Dick says, furrowing his brow. He crosses his arms and shakes his head, looking both thoughtful and troubled. “No, that's not possible.”

Tim blinks. “What? Why not?”

Dick ‘Be Nice, Little Wing’ Grayson looks him dead in the eyes and says, “Because according to all known laws of aviation-”

“You-!”

The cave is filled with laughter again, Jason throwing his head back and cackling in a way that's particularly irksome. Tim reaches over and shoves at his boots while he's tipping his chair back and sends him toppling to the floor.

Jason flails and fails to save himself, rolling back to his feet and spitting curses with a hint of green to his eyes. Tim freezes at the sight of it.

It's not that he's scared. He and Jason have come a long way, and everyone knows by now what amount of green is actually dangerous. Jason's nowhere near actually losing it right now, he's just annoyed.

What makes Tim freeze is-

“He's been exposed to the Pits.”

Everyone pauses, confused. Jason blinks at him. “Uh…yeah, fucking duh?”

“No,” Tim shakes his head. “No, not you. The Engineer.”

Suddenly there's no laughter anymore. Everyone has gone tense and alarmed.

“Tim?” Bruce prompts lowly.

“I did see part of him,” Tim murmurs lowly, realizing it himself for the first time. “When I grabbed him, there were two bright lights for a second or two before they faded. God, I should have realized- it was his eyes. Like Christmas lights, bright Lazarus green."

Masterpost

[xxchumanixx]

Hiii! If its not much trouble could I request a tim Bradford and reader fic where she's really shy and sensitive, but still diligent at work and his rookie? He usually had a soft spot for her bcs he has a crush on her but she messes up a case and gets yell at by him?? Calls her a crybaby and all?? But later he comforts her and confesses? Maybe she thinks he likes lucy up until that point?? Just a lot of angst filled with pining and fluff! Thanks sm and I love your workk💕

Headrush

Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Warnings/Tags: language! (Shut up, Steve), fluff, hurt, angst

Word count: 2.523

Authors note: Oh my god, it's been so long, I'm so sorry! Thank you a lot for your request! I really liked the idea and I hope you'll like how I wrote it.

Lots of love! ❤️

Please, as always

Enjoy!

"Shit, shit, shit!" you cursed under your breath, biting your lip as your fingers anxiously fiddled with the belt on your hips.

This was not how this case was supposed to go.

Not at all.

It was like a damn domino effect - one thing went down the hill, and so did the rest one after another.

A whole fucking shitshow.

That your suspect was lying dead on the street was just the cherry on top.

He had tried to run from you, not watching where he went. You tried to warn him, yelled that he should watch out, when a car hit him, and sent him flying over the street.

Tim stood beside you, eyes wide and mouth agape, not really believing what he saw. He wasn't sure whether to yell at you, comfort you, or just get back in the car.

He gritted his teeth, hands balling into fists. He usually was softer with you, than he was with other rookies he had.

You just didn't know that he harbored feelings for you that went far beyond being your TO.

A conflicting thing, really.

"You-" he started, cutting himself off, eyes flying over the scene. The dead man on the floor, the shocked civilians all around you.

The poor woman that drove the car that hit the man.

The ambulance covered the man with a sheet, calling the coroner.

That was what snapped him.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Tim spoke up, rasing his voice as he looked down at you. "What the hell did you think?" You flinched at his tone, some of your usual shyness and sensitivity shining through.

Tim bit his cheek, so hard he almost drew blood.

He felt bad, sorry even.

To yell at you was one of the things he wanted the least, but he had no other choice if he wanted you to be successful.

At least, that's what he told himself.

"Sir, I-" you wanted to defend yourself, but he didn't let you. Once he was in that stage of rage, it was hard to see an escape through the fog.

"No, of course you did not!" he went on, the look on his face both terrifying and breaking you.

To ever think you'd stand a chance with the man yelling down at you seemed like the stupidest thing in the world suddenly.

"How could you let him get this far?" he continued to rage, seemingly not caring about the people around you that started to watch the commotion. "You should have stopped him!"

You swallowed, a bitter pill you'd forced upon yourself by letting the suspect get this far. That you'd fallen pretty badly along the way, most likely spraining your ankle, wasn't important anymore.

Who knew if he'd even seen it?

"I- I'm sorry." you breathed out, doing your best not to lose your face in front of him. The day had started bad, and it got worse the longer it went on. "I shouldn't have let him get this far."

Tim scoffed, hands fisting his belt as he looked around you. "I shouldn't have let you handle this on your own." he spoke, voice a mix of regret and spite. "I should have known better."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You knew you were ready, and damn he knew it, too. Mistakes were normal, no matter how long you were doing the job already. But with your last week as a rookie rolling around, he pushed you more and more beyond your limits.

You felt tears burn in your eyes, the ugly tugging sensation in your jaw when you tried your very best to hold them back.

But Tim had already seen them.

His head tilted in disbelief, eyes widening before they narrowed.

Not a good sign.

"Are you gonna cry?" he asked, voice full of disbelief. "Are you kidding me? What are you? A fucking crybaby?"

Told you so.

You cleared your throat, cheeks burning in shame.

"No, no, of course not." you mumbled, trying to steady your voice. Tim tilted his head more, sending you a look that told you to repeat yourself. "No, I'm not crying." you repeated louder, looking up at him.

To say his behavior hurt was an understatement.

"Get in the car." he hissed, motioning at the shop. You nodded, doing as he told you without protesting.

It wouldn't have done you any good, anyway.

Moral of the story suddenly played in your head, and you couldn't help but think how right Ashe was, as you climbed into the passengers seat.

You had learned a lot about Tim the last year, yet he surprised you with how cold and harsh he was right now.

You should have never let your stupid crush get out of hand like this. Maybe to be hurt like this, to be talked down by him like that - maybe that was your moral of the story.

Like they said: Never fuck the company.

Not that you and Tim had gotten physically close somehow, but that didn't stop your mind from imagining sometimes.

You just were glad you experienced him like this before anything could have happened.

Not that you had much faith in that, anyway.

____

You let out a sigh, as you finally made your way out of the station.

It had been a long day, maybe the longest of your life. After driving back you had to wait before being questioned about the incident. It went on for nearly two hours, in which they decided you weren't responsible for the suspects death.

Yes, he had run from you, but it was his own decision, and you had tried to warn him.

You body-cam proofed it.

You hadn't seen Tim since you'd gotten out of the shop, silently thankful for it.

You didn't know if you'd been able to endure another round of his scolding today without actually breaking down.

Seeing Lucy though, only pressed on your sore nerves more. Yes, you liked her as a friend, but the thought that Tim seemed head over heels for her warred with that.

Only a fool wouldn't see.

The cold night air hit your skin, effectively cooling it down and clearing your head a little. You hoped to get home and fall in bed, only waking up again when you would have forgotten this day.

But someone seemed to have other plans.

"Y/N, wait!" he called out after you, and you only then noticed that his car was still in the almost empty parking lot.

You debated whether to ignore him, act like you didn't hear, but your consciousness said otherwise. You turned around as he stopped in front of you, silently cursing yourself for being such a good person.

He seemed at a loss for words for a moment, lips parted, like he didn't expect you to actually wait. "Listen," he then started, brows furrowing slightly as his gaze drifted away for a brief second. "I didn't mean to be so harsh on you back there."

You frowned, blinking a few times in confusion. Was he a-

"I'm sorry."

You didn't know what to say, now at a loss for words yourself. "I- i'ts okay." you then said after finding your voice, biting your cheek. "You lectured me, and it's not like it wasn't justified, sir."

He gritted his teeth, you could see even in the dim streetlight.

"No, that was too harsh." he gave back, shaking his head, frown deepened. "It wasn't your fault he was hit by the car. You tried to warn him and he didn't listen."

You pushed your bottom lip forward, not sure where his sudden change in mood came from. "Look, sir-" you started, but he cut you off. "Stop that." he demanded, the frown on his face bordering on angry now.

Your lips parted in confusion, not sure what you did wrong now.

"Stop calling me sir." he said. "We both know that's needless. It's not like- I mean, you're one week away from becoming a p2. We both know you'll make it with flying colors. Call me Tim."

He was selfish, he knew it.

But if it meant he'd hear his name from your mouth even once, he'd do anything. He didn't know yet if you'd choose to stay after graduation, and he'd have to take what he got.

He was in way too deep.

You swallowed before you nodded, gaze meeting the ground. Your teeth maltreated your cheek, not sure how to react.

"I've never- I've never seen a dead person like this before." you suddenly spoke, looking back up at him. "I didn't know where my head was, and you yelled at me. I was overwhelmed."

It just bubbled out of you. Maybe the dim lighting made you bolder.

"That's not me." you continued, shaking your head. "I- I'm tidily, I always make sure to give my best, it just-" Without you noticing, tears formed in the corners of your eyes, and you gasped for air.

Tim's own eyes widened, as he realized you were about to panic.

He closed the distance, wrapping his arms around you.

It was pure instinct, every nerve in him telling him to hug you, to comfort you.

To not make him see you cry.

He couldn't.

"It's okay." he spoke softly, as your fingers fisted the material of his jacket. "It wasn't your fault. I'm sorry for yelling at you."

You couldn't help the tears from flowing, not when he held you like this, doing his best to make you feel better.

"I should have known." you sobbed, pushing the shame for crying onto his jacket aside for now. "I wasn't ready."

He shooed you, one hand carding through your hair.

He knew if someone saw you two, this would have ended badly.

But he couldn't bring himself to care.

"You are ready." he gave back. "More than ready. I've seen you out there, you always have yourself under control. You're diligent, something that not every rookie is. You may be shy, and maybe a bit sensitive, but that's something good. You know how to talk to people, you understand them. And I know this wasn't your fault. You did your absolute best, and that's exactly what I told them back there."

You swallowed, cheeks heating up at his words.

You didn't expect him to be so open and soft with you.

"You- you really think that?" you asked, sniffing as the tears slowly subsided. He chuckled softly. "God, you have no clue." he mumbled, gaze flitting over the dark parking lot.

You frowned, not sure what he meant. But before you could have asked, he continued on his own.

"I'm not good at this emotional stuff." he said with a huff. "But you are. And I'm grateful for it, I really am, because I learned to get better at it, because of you. And I'm supposed to be the TO here, not you."

You chuckled, not having expected him to learn something from you whilst training you.

"You should talk to Lucy, then." you suggested, the thought jabbing at your heart. But if he wanted her, he'd be prepared for the emotional talk now, then.

Tim frowned, looking down at you with confusion. He gently pushed you away enough to look in your eyes.

"What do you mean?" he wanted to know, trying to make out what you were telling him. Your cheeks heated up, but you knew there was no turning back now.

Might as well reap what you've sown by digging into his personal life.

"I mean that you can tell her how you feel if you're better at emotional stuff now." you explained, doing your best to look encouraging. He scoffed a laugh, nose crinkling slightly. "Wait, you think I-" he started, but cut himself off with another laugh.

You frowned, suddenly feeling uncertain. "Yes, I mean-" you wanted to explain yourself, but he cut you off, hands on your arms as he leaned a bit down to look into your eyes. "No." he said firmly, a grin on his lips. "I'm not in love with Lucy."

The thought almost seemed absurd to him.

Why would he want Lucy when you were here, standing right in front of him?

Your frown deepened, thoughts running a million miles a minute. "Wait, you're not?" you asked, voice carrying a hint of disbelief and maybe relief. He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. "No." he confirmed. "I'm not."

Silence hung between you like a heavy fog, only broken by a huff leaving your lips. "Well, I'm not as good at reading people as I thought I am." you mumbled, biting your cheek.

He shrugged as if to say I noticed. "If you were you would have known I don't want Lucy." he said, empathizing her name.

You cocked a brow, looking up at him again. "What do you mean?"

He sent you a smile that sent your heart into a frenzy, and for a moment, you thought you'd have a headrush. "I mean," he began, eyes wandering over your face. "That I can't wait for you to be a p2."

You felt dumb.

"Tim-" you started, but cut yourself off, as realization suddenly hit you like a freight train. "Wait, what?"

He chuckled, a sound that seared its way into your brain the first time you'd heard it. "Yes." he confirmed. "I don't want Lucy, because I already want you, Y/N."

It felt like the night sky had decided to let all it's lucky stars rain down on you at once.

A mix of emotions rushed through you, and you felt like you'd actually have a headrush.

"What- How?" you stammered, words escaping your brain. "I- I mean, why me? Why not her?"

Tim cocked a brow at your words. He knew you'd say something like that, a clear sign of how well he knew you by now. "Because you're you." he said. "Because you care. You're smart, funny, cute. You are a good cop, and I couldn't ask for more in a person than you already are. I don't want Lucy, because I'm not interested in her the way that I'm interested in you."

You inhaled shakily, his words like a balm to your wounded heart.

"And if you'd let me, I'd like to take you out once you're officially a p2." he added with hope shining in his bright eyes.

A smile spread your lips at his words. "I'd love to go out with you, Tim." you gave back, causing his own smile to grow.

His eyes fell to the smile on your lips, and suddenly he cared even less about the open space of the parking lot.

"Can I kiss you?" he wanted to know, eyes finding their way back to yours.

Your smile widened, and you nodded. "You can."

It was delicate the way he pressed his lips to yours, like petals of a flower. One hand snaked its way into your hair, cupping the back of your head to pull you closer. Your own hands gripped his jacket, anchoring you.

It was all you could have wished for.

And suddenly, the headrush wasn't so unpleasant anymore.

Tag List:

@newobsessionweekly @laheysfilm @dhundhchrih @augustvandyne @rookietrek @nachofriess @dtftheavengers @wonderland2425 @freyathehuntress @skywalker0809

[copinghex]

3:00 a.m in Birmingham | T.S

Summary: Tommy's wife has trouble sleeping and resorts to a method he disapproves of. As usual, he tries to solve this issue in his own ways.

A/N: I stopped frequently reposting old works because I thought "oh, I'm gonna work on new stuff now," and then I didn't. Anyway, this is one of my favorites

Tommy sighed in relief as he found her car parked in front of their old house at Watery Lane. He's been looking for her for hours and although her whereabouts weren't exactly mysterious, Tommy couldn't stop his hands from trembling with the possibility of her being gone.

The house was dark as usual, even if they had enough money for it, none of the Shelby's saw the point of paying for electricity for a house they barely went to, the only electric light came from the betting shop, since the business place was closed for the day, the house only counted with the light from streets that shined through the windows.

Thomas walked from each to each room looking for his wife until he finally got to their old shared bedroom. She was sitting on the bed staring at the wall, arms resting on her knees while her hands played with a bottle of something he couldn't identify.

"I thought you didn't like this bedroom," Tommy drawled, holding himself from scolding her, she might not be physically injured, but he knew she wouldn't run away if she was alright.

"I don't, it's too small,"

"Yeah, I don't like it either," Tommy agreed and sat by her side, "so we shouldn't be here,"

She peeked at him by the side of her eye and brought her hands near her chest, trying to hide the label of the bottle, "I needed a place to relax,"

"Oh, why didn't you try a spa?"

"Because in case you haven't noticed, it's three in the morning, we must be the only people awake in Birmingham," she humorlessly chuckled, "well, perhaps with exception of the night shift workers,"

"Right, but why here in all the places?"

"...It was our home for many years, I thought the feeling of familiarity would help me relax, help me sleep,"

Tommy arched his eyebrows at his wife's answer, she had problems sleeping for some time since the business started to grow and brought some consequences, but for the last few years he could swear she's been sleeping well, she's been even able to convince him to try to rest.

"You should see a doctor," he spoke softly with a bit of humour, usually, she was the one suggesting that.

"Nah, all doctors are children of rich people who don't actually care about people," she bitterly spat, it was an honest belief of her, however, there was another reason why she refused to see a doctor.

It was because she already did, during the busy weeks Tommy was barely home, she managed to sneak a doctor into the house and the diagnosis wasn't pleasant, stress was keeping her from a well-deserved night of sleep and the recommendation was to absent herself from any stressful situation. Well, being married to Thomas Shelby was very stressful.

She thought of taking a break, perhaps going on holiday with the children, every time Tommy got home though, he seemed to need her more, business related papers, loneliness, a stress relief, she filled all the gaps Tommy turned a blind eye through the day, because he was always sure she'd effortlessly fill them for him.

He needed her, he told her that many times, mostly not verbally, but the way his tired eyes bored into hers when he got home from work, the way his hands pulled her close to him and how he seemed lost when she didn't greet him at the door left no doubts, together with whiskey, opium and cigarettes, she kept the broken pieces of him tightly tied.

Hell, she knew the best she could do for herself was to leave him, Tommy was unstoppable, he had no limitations or limits, he'd never rest and he lived something near fine with it. She was different, she didn't mind doing paperwork or looking after the broken man she called husband, but she needed assurance things wouldn't fall apart at any moment, she needed to sleep knowing her empire wasn't built on unstable land and that was something Tommy couldn't offer.

Trying to solve this impasse, she bought sleeping pills, the strongest she could find. They worked well for the first two years, eventually she became immune to the effect, increasing the dose wasn't an option anymore either, it'd probably make her overdose instead of sleep.

Now, she was sitting near the cause of her insomnia in the old bedroom they shared, refusing to confess the true reason for her sleepless nights.

"What 's that?" Tommy suddenly asked, eyeing the bottle in her hands.

"Nothing,"

"Show me," he offered his hand for her to give him the flask.

"No,"

"What is it? A secret? Show me," he tried to take it from her hand and she pushed him away, "what the fuck are you hiding?"

"It's none of your business, did you come here only to bother me?" she complained.

"Worrying about you it's bothering now, eh? Give me that fucking thing," he forcefully took the bottle from her.

She pressed her lips together as Tommy read the label, "Did the doctor give them to you?"

"No,"

"Who did?"

"I bought them,"

"With whose prescription?"

"Nobody's, Tommy! I just take them to sleep,"

"These are fucking strong, did you take all of them?"

"Yeah,"

"How long have you been taking these things?" he frowned, insisting when she didn't answer, "Hm?"

"Two years,"

"Two fucking years? Does a doctor know about it?"

"What right do you have to scold me, Tom? Do you think I can't smell opium on you?"

"It's not the fucking same, these can be dangerous,"

"Oh, and yours are not?"

"For fuck's sake," he sighed and stood up, adopting a scolding posture, "why didn't you see a doctor?"

"I don't like doctors, Tommy,"

"Neither do I, but I'd see one if you asked, I know what I'm doing, it's what I always did, you got these pills out of nowhere and hid them from me,"

"I never hid them from you, if you got to bed a bit earlier you'd have seen me taking them!"

"Argh, sorry for not keeping an eye on you, you know I have so much free time," he said ironically, "why don't you go around saying how much of a bad husband I am?!"

"Well, I wouldn't be lying, would I?" she snapped, "I went to a doctor, Tommy! Do you wanna know what he told me?! To stay away from stressful things, but guess what? You stress me out, being by your side is stressful!"

Tommy gulped, assimilating the words his wife just told him, he was not by any means surprised by them, he knew it was all true, but he never expected her to throw them on his face like this.

"...you're with me by choice, if you're not happy, leave," his tone of voice was calm, but there was a dangerous challenge in it. After so long together, she doubted Tommy would accept a divorce, it was certain that when she died, the name Shelby would in her grave.

Besides, leaving Tommy was not her true wish, except for the lack of sleep, her life was comfortable, her child went to the best school, she wore the best clothes, drove the fastest cars and drank the best wine. Also, her love for Tommy was undeniable.

"I don't want to leave you," she mumbled, watching Tommy's tense expression change to relief, "but I need to sleep, I need to be alright so I can help you to be alright,"

"I don't want you to be with me for pity," he sat back down.

"It's not pity, I wouldn't be here if it was," she hesitated for a second before confessing, "I love you,"

He weakly smiled, still looking shaken by her previous harsh statement, Tommy always thought of himself as a not good enough husband, now she just crossed all the lines and defined him as a bad one.

"Tommy," she whispered, "nothing in this world would make me leave you, you won't get rid of me so easily,"

"Nothing?"

"Nothing, not even my sleep craving body,"

Tommy nodded, humorlessly chuckling, he stood up and took the car's keys from his pocket, "Let's go then,"

"I came with my own car,"

"I'll tell the driver to bring it home tomorrow, c'mon,"

As Tommy made the way to his car, she followed after him. It took a few minutes until they got on the road.

Tommy drove slowly, at this hour there was no one in the streets but them. The darkness of the night would have consumed the scenario if it wasn't for the car's headlights.

Despite the engine's noise, she relaxed, the car smelled of cigarettes and Tommy's cologne, it was a familiar scent and she felt safe sitting beside her husband. However, the unknown road Tommy was taking strokes an alert light in her head.

"This is not the way home," she warned.

"I know, I've thought of going somewhere else first," Tommy answered, secretly with no idea of where he was driving to, he only knew it wasn't home.

"Where?"

"You'll see when you get there,"

"I can't keep secrets from you but you can keep secrets from me?"

"It's not a secret, it's a surprise,"

"Tsk, I don't believe you set up a surprise at three in the morning,"

"Better believe,"

As the world got silent, she rested her head on his shoulder, allowing her eyes to close and her arms to wrap around his.

"You know, only this time I'll let you put your feet on the seat," Tommy spoke softly.

"Oh, such a gentleman," she took her heels off, "where are we going, Tom?" she peeked the road through her heavy eyelids.

"Right now I'm trying to find a rotary on the way home,"

"Where the fuck are we going anyway?"

"Just wait and see,"

"Go on, Tommy, quit the mystery,"

"Be patient, love."

She sighed in frustration and made herself even more comfortable in the car seat. The shakes caused by the bumpy road worked almost like motherly lulling.

Tommy's plan went exactly like he expected, his wife fell into deep slumber, this time without the need of any pills.

[ippilulu]

what does a golden boy do when he fails? - a Caleb fic

a/n: I'm getting into a bad, bad habit of writing Caleb fanfic whenever life troubles me for longer than usual. Anyways ya girl's graduating and job hunting is stressing me outtt This is inspired by Caleb's 'Pathless Realm' anecdote, and I'm sure I speak for all Caleb girlies when I went 'uhhh Caleb what' when I read this bit. And then the pain of theorising what he'd been through in the lab hit again. Infold when I catch you infold

Caleb tread lightly, his laughter cutting through the nervous chatter that surrounded them- yet another joke of his had fallen flat. If it were not the moment that it was, perhaps the joke may have seen a different fate, but for now all it did was cut a path through the crowd that allowed him to easily get to the front- where the scores of their final tests were there for all to see. He looked from the top, his easy smile tightening as he realised his name was first.

But that wasn't what caught his attention.

As others realised the same truth, the chatter grew louder, now accompanied with stares and fingers pointing at him. Not because of him coming first (which may as well have been a universal truth at this point), but because his scores were perfect across the board, except for one- where he'd failed so horribly it may as well have been on purpose.

Gideon came from behind him, hitting him on the shoulder. "Hey man, did you decide to give a chance to the rest of us too by flunking your mental health evaluations or something? You could have atleast seemed like you'd tried, ya know..." The nervousness of the crowd dissipated into laughter, and Caleb smiled along, nodding and shrugging. "Something came up that day, so I missed the test. Not like I did it on purpose." "Sure, sure, our star cadet could never have failed anything after all!" The laughter became louder, Caleb's smile brighter.

He quickly excused himself, saying that he needed to share his scores with his family. But as soon as he was alone, he frowned at his screen, a mail icon blinking up at him innocently.

'Caleb Xia, you are recommended to sit for a re-evaluation of the mental health examination. This includes:

10 sessions with a mental health counselor

1 session with your academic counselor

A final retest at the end of the sessions

Please report to your academic counselor at the earliest to discuss further details.

Onward and upward!

DAA Adminstration'

What bothered Caleb wasn't the fact that he'd failed (although it did sting quite a bit- after all, he was the star cadet who effortlessly got everything he wanted- something he took pride in even if he always made it seem otherwise), but that he didn't know why he failed. Every other subject he just needed to memorise the text, memorise the angle or the signal or whatever it required and he'd be set. And his practicals were even easier, his Evol and general... himness making it almost effortless. But mental health... all he had to rely on was himself. And that scared him a bit the day of the exam, but he'd shrugged- How bad could it be?

Looking at his grand score of 0/100, apparently- very, very bad.

---

"Caleb, we know you're not the type of student to do these things on purpose. You've been taking your academics very seriously from the start... so what happened here? Why did you choose to write..." His counselor pushed his answer sheet between them, gesturing at his handwriting. He glanced at the question on top of it- 'What do you consider to be the greatest challenge during flight missions?' Below it, he'd written- "It's hard to get home on time."

Caleb took a deep breath, remembering Gideon and Patrick's reactions to his answers. He'd joked around at the time, trying to make it seem a smaller deal than it was, but this bothered him quite a bit.

It was obvious, after all- if he asked someone, Hey, what are the right answers for this one?- he'd get weirder looks and possibly attention he'd rather do without.

"I'm... I'm deeply sorry for this, Professor. I think I'd fallen ill that day... But still, I'll make sure not to repeat this again."

The older lady nodded, her face softening. "Caleb, you're a good kid- you've had your head on straight all this time. But if you ever need help..." Her eyes swam with concern.

Caleb chuckled, tilting his head at an angle that would belie lightheartedness. "That's awfully sweet of you, Professor! But I'm alright, honest. If I ever do need anything though, you'll be the first I come to, I swear."

She laughed softly and gestured him out of her office, assuring him he didn't need to bother with the re-evaluation if he truly didn't feel like it- after all, it didn't even count towards their scores. Plus, one would be hard-pressed to find someone as dedicated to their studies and ambitions as Caleb, so it was all rather unnecessary.

Caleb was relieved as he walked out. Now he wouldn't need to ask Gideon any weird questions that'd make him more concerned, nor would he have to face the test and what it represented once again- that both of them had left something behind in that lab. She, with her multiple deaths and short lives, and him... apparently with what made him human.

---

"Caleb! You're coming home soon, right? I promised all my friends I'd treat them to your braised chicken wings..." He laughed, shaking his head to get rid of his thoughts. "Aren't I the one who'd be making them? How come you're already treatin' people to it?" She whined, and he hid his smile as he walked into the sun. "Caleb, you dummy! Weren't you the one who said you'd be my personal chef last year? This is the least I can do, then. Hmph." "Sure, sure. Whatever you say, pipsqueak. All you miss is my food, I've got the memo."

"I..." Caleb saw his friends wave to him, and he nodded to them, almost missing her soft voice. "Hmm?" "I... I miss you more. Come back home soon, dummy." She quickly cut the call, and he looked at her contact photo- a picture of him and her together, clicked last year when they'd gone to the amusement park- before keeping his phone back inside. Like instinct, his fingers grabbed the dog tag she'd gifted him, touching it to his lips softly like a prayer- before he let it fall back in its usual place.

There was no need to bother with the mental health evaluation scores. It's not like they'd help her if they were better. He was already her perfect Caleb, and that was what he'd continue to be, mental health be damned. He'd manage, as he's always been... Even if it was getting harder.

All he needed to do was become stronger.

Just as he'd always been.

[chaoticbasicallyuselessbisexual]

Your Miracle brought you to me, but it is my Faith that'll make you stay

based on this post by @colorlessjay

fair warning guys: I haven't written anything in quite a while, English is not my first language and it's close to midnight where I live. so... you have been warned.

also not beta read and honestly, I will not take any responsibility for any grammatical mistakes

this will be in more parts, this being the first. I'll try to finish the others as quickly as possible

anyway, have fun

part 2

part 3

☆*: .｡. :*☆*: .｡.:*☆*: .｡. :*☆*: .｡.:*☆*: .｡. :*☆*: .｡.:*☆*: .｡.:*☆*: .｡.:*☆

Castiel was lonely. His father said it was because he was special, his brother Luci claimed it was because he was weird. Castiel preferred the word autistic.

He had trouble making friends and even more so keeping them. Social cues were a living nightmare, he could not make sense of them and he was at least 85% sure they were created as a form of torture.

None of this really mattered in the great scheme of things, because he was still painfully lonely. He's already contemplated getting a pet once or twice, but he always managed to talk himself out of it and disregarded the thought completely. It wasn't until his other brother, Gabriel, came to his little home (and for its size it felt awfully big - thank you once again loneliness) to smack him on the head and tell him to go get a dog.

('Or I swear to God, I'm gonna force you to go make human friends, Cas.')

So there he was, walking through his local pound, looking at different dogs, trying to decide which one to take home with him. He didn't need to look for long, because the moment he walked by this beautiful malamute, the dog started wagging its tail as if it were possessed and immediately started trying to get to him.

This scared Cas for a good second. But when the dog got its big head stuck between the bars of its cage, trying to get head pats, and looked at him as if he was the only one who could solve this problem and get it safe and unstuck again, he folded like a sheet of cheap paper.

So Faith (because as much as Gabriel laughed when he heard this, she did bring Castiel something that he was desperately missing from his life) was coming home with him.

The moment she set her soft little paw through his front door, the small house became her palace. She made bed on the couch and on his bed and on a pile of clothes he forgot to wash earlier. She left dog hair everywhere (it was in his food not even five minutes after they got home) and she begged for his food as if he didn't feed her before sitting down himself (he did). She was pure chaos and a fucking sunshine radiating happiness anywhere she went and Cas was smitten already.

His days now went like this:

Castiel got up (at an ungodly hour) and took Faith for a morning walk to watch the sunrise. Then they came home, and Faith ate her breakfast with Castiel following soon after. After breakfast Castiel got dressed for work contemplating how bad and/or difficult it'd be if he quit his job to be with his dog all day every day, inevitably ending up hating himself when he had to leave her alone at home to go to work (because Faith needed to eat and deserved good quality food, please don't look at me like that, my heart will actually break). After work, he'd rush back home, being just as happy as Faith was upon seeing each other again. Faith would get her food, and then they went out to the (tiny) backyard to play. Whenever it was cold outside, they'd stay in for the day and cuddle, Cas scratching her tummy and behind her ears, and oh dear lord, how is she so soft. He soon learned how to brush her fur so it wouldn't hurt her, what food she liked best, and where that special place that made her melt for scratches was (under her chin).

It was almost weird how quickly they fell into a comfortable routine of cuddles, walks and more cuddles. And Castiel was, maybe for the first time, excited and truly happy about something.

That was until one day, one just awful grim day, there was the loudest car Castiel has ever heard in his life parked in front of his little house.

Faith could just go crazy, barking, howling, scratching and jumping on the door - all because of the damned loud car.

Soon enough, there was a loud, quick, almost desperate knock on his front door. Looking through the peephole, Castiel saw who was so eager to get into his house. On his porch was standing a man, taller than himself, if Castiel could guess, rough looking, with his worn out shirt and a leather jacket that has seen better days, big boots and a light stubble. He was pacing around on Castiel's porch, clearly distressed. If Castiel wasn't so angry with him for annoying his Faith to the point of her going crazy, he'd maybe even think the guy was attractive. Unluckily for the mystery guy, and luckily for Castiel, he was pretty mad with the guy, and so he decided to give him a piece of his mind.

The moment Castiel opened the front door, he was fucked. Not (only) because the guy turned to him and looked at him with those beautiful moss green eyes that could turn Castiel's world on its axis, but mostly because Faith ran right through him to get to the mystery hot guy.

She really went for it, no thought, no hesitation, and so Castiel was sent falling on his ass, seeing as she barreled through right between his legs.

The moment Castiel was able to shake of the shock of the fall, he saw the hot mystery guy, also sitting on the floor with Faith between his legs, sobbing, while she was licking at his face, looking excited as ever when he hugged her close to himself.

"Excuse me, but what the fuck are you doing with my dog?"

And for the second time, their eyes met, and Castiel swore he would not let Faith go without a fight.

[nerdlvr]

you had gone a tiny bit too hard pregaming cause after a couple shots with renjun, he had to help you button up your shirt, carefully taking the time to tuck it back into your skirt claiming:

"nobody likes a messy secretary, they only wanna fuck them cause they're neat."

before brushing your hair out of your face and planting a kiss on your cheek, quickly dragging you outside to meet jaemin and chenle.

as you shut your front door you heard whistling behind you,

"oh wow you look even better in person."

jaemin grabbed your hand to spin you around, getting a full view of your outfit. you gave them a cheeky smile as chenle nodded his head in agreement, giving you a light pat on your butt.

the drive to the party was relaxed. there was occasional bickering between chenle and renjun about the test results of their most recent patient, while you and jaemin laughed as they switched between languages, making sure to use every insult they knew. your buzz was starting to fog your mind, a small smile permanently plastered on your face as you made yourself more comfortable in your seat. jaemin looked at you through the rear view mirror,

"how we feeling back there baby? you're not gonna flash anyone tonight right?"

you nodded slowly as you smiled wide, holding up both of your thumbs for extra confirmation. chenle turned around in the passenger seat to pat your knee,

"you better, cause we're all gonna do our own thing tonight, we can't babysit you, okay?"

you stuck your tongue out at him,

"as if you ever watch me zhong chenle, you always disappear as soon as they give out jello shots."

"chenle don't try to pick a fight with her, we just got here."

jaemin unbuckled his seat belt before nudging chenle to get out of the car. renjun stepped out, extending his hand to help you. as you stepped out and straightened your skirt your eyes met mark's. it was hard to miss him, right at the entrance of the house, bright blonde hair standing out in the crowd. he raised the drink in his hand, greeting you. you quickly turned back to renjun,

"if you guys leave me alone tonight i'm going to get into so much trouble"

𖦹

"dude did she just ignore you?"

haechan let you a loud laugh next to mark, reaching out to grab his arm for support.

"shut up, maybe she didn't see me."

jeno downed the rest of his drink, reaching forward to rip haechan off of mark,

"it's getting cold, lets go in, we finally saw her arrive, happy mark?"

mark let out a sigh before going in, turning his head back one last time to catch a glimpse of you greeting some party guests.

𖦹

as expected, inside the party was insane, the neo theta phi house was notorious for throwing the best parties on campus. free drinks, chicks, and dicks to go around. but tonight mark only had one thing in mind. he'd barely drank the mystery liquid haechan had concocted for him before he set out into the party to find you. hopefully you weren't actually avoiding him, there was no way in hell you were that much of a virgin that some male moaning scared you away.

when mark found you he felt a sour taste build up in his mouth. there you were, hot as ever, sitting comfortably on the leather couch as jaehyun leaned over you, whispering in your ear. he was too close for mark's taste.

mark flinched as someone grabbed his shoulders from behind, slightly shaking him.

"mark, buddy, if that's your girl, now she's not. you know how quick jae is."

mark turned around and was greeted by johnny's lazy smile.

"didn't know you went looking for girls, they usually come to you."

johnny questioned, raising a brow, before briefly looking over mark's shoulder to eye you.

"she's hot dude."

mark moved his shoulders, squirming out of johnny's grasp.

"how much have you had to drink?"

johnny pinched his fingers together, putting them up to his lips pretending to inhale,

"i'm 100% sober, if we're talking about alcohol that is, but we got real good stuff in the back if you want markie."

johnny gave him a sly grin before grabbing his shoulders again, turning him back around to face jaehyun.

goosebump's rose on mark's skin as he felt him whisper in his ear,

"but i think that can wait, cause it seems jae's already pulling the moves on your girl."

jaehyun was no longer leaning over you, but sitting right next to you, hand on your thigh, playfully pulling at your stockings.

mark's feet were already on the move before he processed was he was doing, now standing in front of you and jaehyun as you both eyed him. he saw your teeth shine as you broke out in a smile, getting up to wrap your arm around mark's shoulders, tippy toeing so you could reach.

"jae, this is mark, mark lee, we go wayyyy back, we've been neighbors for yearsss!"

mark could smell the liquor of your breath, as he looked over at you, smiling warmly at the silly grin on your face. jaehyun stood up, grabbing mark's hand to shake it.

"of course i know mark lee, silly girl."

he booped your nose with his free hand, mark felt sick as you giggled. he finished jaehyun's thought,

"we're frat brothers, actually."

he ripped his hand away from jaehyun's feeling a sudden distaste for his so called brother. jaehyun raised a brow at mark's sudden cold tone, biting back a smile as he realized what was going on.

thankfully haechan came to the rescue breaking the tension.

"there you are! i was just looking for you! we're playing a game, come on. oh! and you're definitely coming too"

haechan pulled your arm away from mark, tightly gripping your hand as he dragged you towards the circle of expectant party guests. mark followed after you two, wondering what haechan was possibly up to now.

𖦹

haechan sat you down on the couch next to him before introducing the game,

"tonight to celebrate two very hot people who had sex to make my very beautiful friend right here-"

he gestured towards jeno that sat on the opposite side of you.

"we will be playing 7 minutes in heaven, or what i like to call.... closet quickies! someone will spin the bottle and whoever it lands on has to go with them and spend 7 minutes locked up in a tight space together, soooo sexy. y/n first!"

you sat up quickly, surprised that your name was called. the initial shock killed your buzz, the relaxation quickly leaving your body as you looked around the circle. your eyes landed on mark's as he gave you an apologetic smile for his friend's actions. you smiled back feeling silly for even considering avoiding him tonight, he was just a friend like jaemin or chenle.

you looked towards haechan now, his hand pointing towards the bottle on the floor

"okay, yeah sure."

you leaned forward towards the bottle using your hand to turn it. the crowd watched as the bottle spun and spun, excited to see who the lucky player would be. as the spinning came to a halt it landed directly in front of haechan. you slowly turned to face him fighting the urge to strangle yourself, he smirked at you,

"oh! so lucky baby! but since i'm the host, i'm not playing, so you know what they say! next player is to the right of the dealer!"

he turned to look at his right, already knowing mark was sitting next to him. mark's eye's widened as he realized what haechan meant.

"m-me?"

"anyone else on my right markie?"

mark felt a blush creep past his neck as haechan nudged him suggestively.

"so our first pair for tonight is y/n and mark! lets give a round of applause to give our couple some strength!"

you got up and stood in front of mark, placing your hand out in front of him,

"come on mark, we've spent longer than just 7 minutes together."

the crowd ooo'd and aaa'd at your words, only making mark blush harder. he took your hand and followed behind you as you led him to the closet nearby.

𖦹

when you opened the door, the closet was smaller than you imagined, like a lot smaller. it was full with coats and sweaters, the floor space limited by the boxes that covered it. you pushed some of the hangers back making some space for you and mark, before stepping in and closing the door. you heard haechan from outside,

"okay guys! the timer just started, be careful not to dirty anything in there!"

you both rolled your eyes at his words, laughing awkwardly at the situation you found yourselves in. you and mark lee were chest to chest in a frat house closet, breaths heating up the tight area.

"sorry, my friends kind of an ass, we don't have to do this is you don't want to."

he turned slightly to reach for the door but you grabbed his shoulders to stop him,

"it's fine mark, really, it's just 7 minutes, we can't let donghyuck think we're wimps."

he nodded his head in agreement, big mistake. as he nodded downward his eye's landed on your cleavage. your breasts were plump and shiny, and now that he was conscious of how close you both were he realized how good you smelled right now. he shifted uncomfortably feeling his pants tighten. you moved your hands from his shoulders to his chest, pulling back as he flinched away from your touch letting out a little groan.

"mark are you okay? you look kinda red."

he coughed, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth,

"uh, yeah, yeah, just hot in here."

you let out an airy laugh,

"oh yeah, it is hot in here."

you had just realized the heat that had built up in the closet, bringing you hands up to move your hair from you chest and push it back, revealing more of your cleavage. mark thought he could faint right now. he didn't know if he should be happy or mad at haechan for putting him in this closet with you. he reached forward to help you move some hair from your face, trying to do anything to ignore what was growing in his pants. you smiled at him, lightly patting his chest as a thank you. mark was lost in your eyes, well, not just your eyes, your lips, your smile, your tits. think of haechan lap dancing a pillow, think of haechan lap dancing a pillow, think of haechan-

"do you wanna kiss?"

he would've missed the question if you both weren't literally 5 inches away from each other. it was almost a soft whisper that left your lips.

"we don't have to but, that's the point of the game, and your boner's kinda poking me so-"

"yes, yes, fuckk, yes, lets kiss."

he didn't care if he sounded desperate, you asked to kiss him and his dick was about to fall off he didn't at least get some type of action. he'd deal with the consequences later, he gets to kiss you. he wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you impossibly closer, lips just a breath away from yours,

"are you sure, you're not drunk are you?"

damn that question just made you wanna kiss him more. you didn't know what had come over you. maybe it was mark's new blonde hair, or the spit filling your mouth as you felt mark growing in his pants. or maybe it was heatstroke, but right now mark looked so damn good you couldn't miss this opportunity to kiss him. after hearing all that moaning last night, maybe just one kiss would tame your dirty thoughts.

"just had a couple shots before coming."

he brought his hands up to cup your face, stopping to brush some hair behind your ear. he chuckled,

"how many is a couple pretty girl?"

you let out a sigh,

"are you gonna kiss me or-"

he pressed his lips softly into yours, melting into the kiss. you placed your hands on his chest, pulling his tie. he turned his head deepening the kiss, poking your lips with his tongue, asking for permission. you pulled away from the kiss giggling softly. he chased after your lips.

"don't tease me brat."

his hand went up to the back of your head, pulling you back into the kiss. this time you let his tongue roam your mouth, moaning softly at the warmth spreading through your body. you traced your fingers down his body, stopping at the tent that had formed in his pants, lightly squeezing him. he released your lips, pressing his forehead into yours, letting out a deep groan,

"shit, don't do that, we don't have enough time"

and just like that you heard banging from the other side of the door, you both jumped, backing away from each other like you'd just been burnt. haechan yelled,

"are you both decent, times up, you can come out nowwww!"

you looked at mark, both of your cheeks flushed.

"uh you go first, i gotta get this-"

he pointed at his pants,

"to go down."

you nodded quickly, hand already reaching for the door knob.

"yeah yeah, i'll go ahead."

you turned the knob but stopped yourself, turning back to mark. you reached towards him to straighten his tie, using your fingers to wipe away the gloss that had transferred onto his lips.

"there, that's better."

mark could've melted at the smile you gave him.

"the blonde looks good on you by the way."

he reached up to touch his hair, but you had already walked out of the closet, leaving him to wonder, what the hell just happened?

𖦹 .ᐣ.ᐟ₊ ⊹ cryptic crush — [24] brat

previous — masterlist — next

notes : i wasn't gonna make this kiss but the kitty wants what it wants ifyk what i mean ☝️🙂‍↕️. enjoy this before y/n's intense panic on what the hell is going on between her and mark hahaha

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