#rotate him. faster. faster. in your MIND.

[jellyfishsthings]

The Gravity Between Us

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Summary: Dick yearning for a nerdy girl who constantly talks about her new books or new science inventions, he doesn't understand shit and they have to look stuff up constantly trying to keep up with her

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

Dick didn’t believe in love at first sight.

He believed in proximity. Shared moments. Laughter over mismatched socks and long nights spent brushing teeth in silence. He believed in the slow build—accumulated glances, casual touches, the way someone’s name sounded when said too softly, too often.

But if there was ever a moment that could challenge that belief, it was the first time he saw you.

You were arguing with the Dean of Gotham University’s Applied Sciences Department in the hallway. Over orbital velocity.

You weren’t angry, not really—your hands moved too freely for that. You were passionate. Bright-eyed. Electric. You rattled off calculations like poetry, numbers and terms Dick didn’t understand but wanted to memorize anyway.

She’s speaking Latin, he thought. No. Star-language. This woman is built of solar flares and syllables I don’t know how to pronounce.

He was there for a guest lecture on criminology. You were late to a meeting. You brushed past him, eyes distant, your bag slamming into his side without apology.

Dick fell in love with the sound of your thoughts.

He asked Barbara who you were.

“She’s scary smart,” Babs said, smirking over her coffee. “Don’t get your hopes up, Grayson. I tried to get her to help me debug something once and she built a better algorithm in ten minutes while eating a croissant.”

So of course he pursued you.

Like any normal person, Dick decided to attend your public seminars. Which meant sitting in the back of overcrowded rooms next to grad students who whispered things like Did she really reverse-engineer a nuclear model for fun?

He didn’t understand 70% of what you said. But he liked the way your eyes lit up when you talked about gravitational wave detection or microbial communication. You swore like a sailor when you explained things and always had chalk on your hands, like your mind spilled out of you faster than you could contain it.

He wasn’t your type. That much was obvious.

You liked brilliant, slightly aloof, lab-coated types who forgot to eat dinner because they were too busy decoding the genetic memory of fungi. Not acrobats who carried grappling hooks and read crime scene reports for breakfast.

Still. He wanted to know you.

You met properly during a blackout in the city.

You were in the lobby of your building, trying to coax a neighbor’s ancient cat out from under the vending machine with a laser pointer and tuna.

“Need a hand?” he asked, half-laughing, crouched beside you in the dark.

You looked at him. Really looked at him. Something shifted.

“I’ve seen you before,” you said. “You’re the guy who keeps showing up to my astrophysics lectures and pretending to take notes.”

Dick flushed. “Guilty.”

“You looked very confused during the part on dark matter.”

“To be fair, I was still trying to figure out what the Standard Model was.”

You smirked, tugged the cat out gently, handed it off to a grateful neighbor, and turned to him.

“Buy me coffee and I’ll explain it to you.”

He did. He also fell in love with the way you dunked your biscotti and talked about string theory like it was a romance novel.

Dating you was like orbiting a star.

You were radiant. Intense. Impossible not to be drawn to. You had ten books on your nightstand and a half-finished whiteboard formula in your kitchen. You wore socks with chemical structures on them and got distracted mid-sentence to scribble ideas on napkins.

And Dick—he tried.

God, he tried.

He watched documentaries. Asked Babs for help. Subscribed to every science podcast with a halfway decent host.

You’d curl up beside him, humming as you flipped through papers, occasionally whispering things like, “Did you know Venus rotates backwards?” or “There’s a protein in tardigrades that basically makes them immortal.”

He didn’t understand half of it.

But he loved listening. Because you came alive when you spoke. And every time he saw your hands moving, sketching new ideas in the air, he swore the rest of the world went quiet.

It wasn’t all stardust and poetry.

Dick had his own shadows. Long nights. Bruised ribs. The part of himself that couldn’t always talk about where he was or what he saw.

You didn’t push. But sometimes he saw the questions in your eyes. And sometimes, when you were halfway through explaining a recent breakthrough in bioluminescent engineering, you’d stop, tilt your head, and say:

“You’re not really here, are you?”

“I am,” he always said. “I’m trying.”

You’d nod, but the distance would settle in like fog.

One night, you found his emergency burner phone in the couch cushions. The message on it: “Warehouse raid at 2 a.m. Bring backup.”

He expected you to yell. Or leave.

Instead, you said, “You’re him, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“Nightwing.”

Dick froze.

You looked calm. Tired, but calm. “I’ve cross-referenced your injuries, time away, and your avoidance of any real explanations. You’re either a spy or a vigilante. And given your gymnastic abilities and the way you keep bruising your ribs…”

He blinked. “You figured that out from my rib injuries?”

You shrugged. “The pattern matched a common trajectory of reinforced police batons. I ran the math.”

He laughed. Then kissed you. Then cried a little into your shoulder when you said, “I still want you to be safe. But I’m not leaving.”

One night, you were on the phone with your lab while cooking stir fry with your free hand and explaining CRISPR to Damian, who’d just dropped by to borrow a biology textbook.

Tim was there too, sitting at the counter with a furrowed brow and an empty notepad.

“Wait—wait, can you say that again?” Tim asked, already flipping through his calculus workbook.

Dick walked in and stopped in the doorway.

There you were—hair messy, glasses askew, hoodie half-tucked—and two of the smartest people he knew were hanging on your every word.

Tim scribbled notes while you corrected a theorem. Damian asked about mitochondrial DNA. You didn’t even pause while plating dinner with your foot.

And Dick?

He leaned on the doorframe and watched you—half in awe, half jealous.

Because he used to be the one who lit up when you talked. He used to be the one who asked all the questions, tried to keep up. Now the boys were stealing your brain, your laugh, your look at this cool thing I just discovered!

He sighed a little too loudly.

You turned, eyes wide. “Hey, babe. Hungry?”

“I could eat.”

Tim looked up. “She just explained the Schrödinger equation using scrambled eggs.”

“Of course she did,” Dick muttered, kissing your temple. “Because that’s sexy now, apparently.”

You grinned. “Oh? You jealous?”

Dick looked at your two very eager pupils.

“…Maybe a little.”

Later that night, you found him in bed with a beginner’s book on astrophysics.

You laughed. “Babe.”

“I need to catch up. I don’t want to lose you to Tim and Damian.”

“You’re not going to lose me.”

“They understand your brain.”

You crawled into his lap, took the book from his hands, and kissed him softly. “You don’t have to understand everything I say. You just have to listen.”

“I do listen.”

“I know. That’s why I love you.”

Dick paused. Blinked. “You love me?”

You smiled. “Was that not obvious?”

He pulled you into his chest and whispered, “I’m in orbit, sweetheart. Always have been.”

And you?

You curled up against him, heart steady, mind quiet for once, knowing that no matter how fast your thoughts spun, he’d always be right there—trying, listening, loving you through it all.

[mixingandmelting]

May I request smth like batboys + bruce reacting to their fem!reader gifting them these couple hoodies? 🥺🥺🥺

Bruce:

He smirks and raises an eyebrow. It was one thing to own couple-coded dresswear, but an actual couple’s outfit?

“’Somebody’s problem’?” A mix of amusement and affection underlies his voice as he pulls out the one that’s obviously meant for him and keeps it at arm’s length away.

“What? It’s true! Everyone can agree I’m not the problem ninety percent of the time.” He simply snorts, the teasing tilt and grin a dead give away that you were bluffing.

Eyeing you for a second, he goes back to taking in the sweatshirt. The softness of a mix of polyester and cotton with words sewn in the middle. It’s as if you’ve physically given a part of yourself, warm and soft that he can stay engulfed all day. And the very thought of it is enough to make his heart flutter faster.

It was enjoyable to say the least, when he wore it while staying in the Batcave the next day. While comforted at the thought that you’re with him, it was hilarious to see how everyone does a double-take at it and becomes the hot topic of the week.

Dick:

The second he sees them; he instantly falls in love and nearly squeals.

“What? No. What? Stop. You didn’t” He holds one of the sweatshirts next to his face, his lips stretching into a wide smile.

To think you’d get matching sweatshirts. Is this your way of claiming him? Or telling others, you’re his?

“Well, they were on sale and looked cute-“

“Cute?” His eyes wide, his lips in the shape of an “o” as if you personally offended him. “Just cute? These are more than cute.”

Then, clenching the sweatshirt in his hand, you yelp when he pulls you close and starts twirling you in the air.

“Dick! Put me down!”

“Not until you know this is one of the best things you could possibly give me.”

He was an absolute pain for the rest of the week, rotating between the two sweatshirts every other day (yes, both even if yours is a tight fit) and annoying everyone from making the sign for people to ask so he can brag about them nonstop while reminding you to wear whatever one he’s NOT wearing whenever the two of you head out. 

Jason:

Oh? Oh. Oh-

It slowly dawns to him what exactly he got and, as soon as it clicks, his cheeks flush while the corner of lips curls up into a grin.

You’re cute. So cute. So damn adorable he might die all over again because of it. It’s obvious that they are, the signs clear as day with one in your size, the other in his.

So many thoughts pass through his mind: the fact that it’s a first for him, you wanting to keep you and him tied together, people within and outside of each other’s circles noticing the two of you are a couple. It’s giving him the butterflies, the good butterflies that makes him want to kick his feet.

“…Well? Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” He gulps, trying to tame the excitement and happiness that threatens to bubble out and lose his composure. “Yeah, I really like it.”

“Like” was a big understatement. On top of getting to go around and show off he was yours; he had fun scaring off every person that tried to hit on you as the sweatshirt gave that needed extra push and paired well with his protective-boyfriend-glare.

Tim:

It’s his birthday. Christmas. Both.

Nonstop, his thumbs brush over the fabric of both sweatshirts.

“Where did you get them?” He asks, his eyes glued and unable to look away.

“Online. Couldn’t resist after seeing some of the couples on TikTok wearing them, you know?”

Oh, don’t worry, he knows. What he doesn’t is how you were able to pull this off behind his back, without him even noticing. He may be busy day and night, but he still keeps tabs on you (you know, him being a vigilante and all doesn’t make him the safest person to really date – er, that’s his excuse anyways).  

Then there’s your indirect confession that you pretty much think about him as much he thinks about you, regardless where he and you are. And that’s-

“Tim? You okay? You look like you have a fever.”

The two of you argue over who’s the one that’s problematic. It’s him who ends up, begrudgingly, being “Somebody’s Problem” though he didn’t mind as much after cuddling with you for a whole day with a kiss stamped on his cheek.

Duke:

Only two words: Hell. Yes.

“And it’s for the two of us?” His eyes sparkling and continuously glancing between you and the gift you gave him.

“That is the idea.”

“Wherever, whenever?”

“If you want to…?”

“At school, on dates?”

“You do realize we go to school that requires a uniform-“You huff and raise your hands up at the look he gives you. “Yes, okay, sure. At school and on dates.”

He winces then turns sheepish, rubbing the back of his head apologetically. He didn’t mean to get this worked up, never having thought or needing a couple's merch. He was fine that he got to be with you. It’s once you give him the sweatshirt, he realizes why so many couples buy them or matching anything in general.

He insists that he wears the other only for you to somehow convince him to wear the sweatshirt with “Somebody”. It takes time to get used to, a bit bashful when his family, Bat and biological, and friends teases him though it was nice to hear from strangers you both made a perfect couple.

Damian:

“What’s this supposed to be?” Despite the heavy judgement in the (rhetorical) question, the corner of his lips continuously twitches.

Common fabric. None of the letters are the same size, and worse, in Comic Sans – they’re not cute; it’s tacky at best. Ugly is what he wants to say and he can if he really wants to. There’s only one problem that stops him: you. Two sweatshirts in similar shades including the thread forms the words, there’s no doubt they were meant to be worn as a pair by a certain pair of people.

Add that to him battling every single person to stay away from you twenty-four-seven, it does a lot of critical damage to him seeing you willingly got something to show you people you’re his.

Suddenly, he scowls, placing a hand over his heart that pounds hard against his chest.

“…Damian, do you not like it? I can always return it and get something el-“

“Who said that I didn’t like it?” He ignores your confusion, keeping the sweatshirts out of your reach out of worry you’d actually take it away from him.

He does give you an earful later after realizing which one was meant for him while putting it on with you, wearing it regardless.

[qwuilty]

Postal 1 dude is such a fascinating character to me because i feel like theres so much room for variance in how people interpret him, with enough of a canon voice through his writing to start from but everyone has their own kind of way of moving with it, yknow? Different aspects of him they focus on, ways that voice is taken and understood, personal filters of our own lives that can change how you see him and even coming back to him later to a completely different view of him

Just wanted to like. Vocalize that thought cause ive had it for a while, i love seeing how people take what little what we got and interpet from there. Your own personal postal one dude.

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Yandere Landlord x Reader

You move to New York because you have no reason to stay anywhere else.

After the breakup—after him—there was no home left. The apartment in Chicago had grown cold, not just in winter, but in the way it echoed with silence even when you were still living there. So, when the hospital called with a residency offer, you packed fast and drove faster, your old car chugging like it resented the weight of your regret.

You arrive in Brooklyn with three suitcases, a secondhand coffee maker, and too many scars to count. Internally. Externally, you’ve always passed for composed, professional. Polished even, when you put in the effort. People don’t see what you don’t let them.

The apartment is perfect. Too perfect. That’s the first red flag, but you don’t want to see it. The rent is suspiciously affordable. Hardwood floors. High ceilings. An antique clawfoot tub. When you visit the unit, sunlight pours in like a promise. You pause at the window, tracing the skyline in your mind like you’re sketching a new future.

The landlord is handsome in that quiet, overlooked kind of way. He introduces himself as Andy, says he inherited the building from his grandfather. Says he’s doing some renovations—you’ll hear some noise now and then, hope that’s not a dealbreaker. He smiles like he’s nervous. Like he isn’t used to people looking directly at him.

You don’t ask too many questions. The building feels safe. Andy feels harmless. You’re tired of running.

So you sign the lease.

You don’t notice the way he watches you. Not at first.

The first few weeks are a blur of hospital rotations and late-night subway rides. You’re barely home long enough to unpack. When you do sleep, it’s dreamless, like your mind’s been rinsed clean by exhaustion. You only vaguely remember Andy helping you carry your boxes upstairs, his fingers brushing yours when he handed over the keys. You’d thanked him. Smiled.

Sometimes you hear footsteps in the hallway at odd hours. A whisper of movement. But you tell yourself it’s just another tenant. You haven’t met your neighbors yet. You don’t plan to.

The first time something feels off is when you find your toothbrush slightly damp at 7 p.m. You haven’t used it since morning. You think maybe you’re being paranoid. Then your shampoo is in a different spot. Your towels are folded differently. The window in the bathroom is open when you never open it.

You change the locks.

Andy drops by with a bottle of wine a few days later. Says it’s a welcome gift. You accept it awkwardly, standing half-behind your door. You never drink it.

That night, you hear a thud inside the walls. You tell yourself it’s the pipes. Old buildings do that.

You feel eyes on you when you sleep.

You can’t explain it. It’s like your body knows something before your mind can catch up. You start waking up in cold sweats. You start locking your bedroom door. You stop using the bathtub.

Then one night, you wake up to the sound of breathing.

Not your own.

You freeze, heart pounding. You listen. It’s faint, ragged. Almost desperate. You flick on the light.

Nothing.

You check every room. You look under the bed, in the closet, behind the shower curtain. You find nothing but shadows. Still, you feel it. Someone has been in here.

You go to Andy the next day. You try to be casual, but your voice trembles. You ask if there’s any chance someone has access to your apartment. He frowns, concerned. Says he’ll change the locks personally. Says he’ll install extra security. Says it with the same calm voice a doctor might use before slipping in a needle.

You almost believe him.

Then you find the camera.

It’s hidden behind the vent in your bedroom. You only see it because the grate is slightly ajar. Tiny. Barely noticeable. You wouldn’t have noticed it at all if the wind hadn’t shifted the angle of light on the wall.

You don’t scream. You sit there, your heart slowly collapsing in your chest. Your skin prickles with invisible hands. Every second you’ve ever spent in this apartment flashes through your mind—every moment alone, every private breath.

He’s been watching you.

You leave that night.

You get a hotel. You call the cops. You tell them everything.

But by the time they investigate, the camera’s gone. The vent is closed. The apartment is clean. No signs of forced entry. No fingerprints. Just you and your paranoia.

You try to stay at a friend’s, but you can’t stop looking over your shoulder. You can’t stop imagining him slipping into your room in the middle of the night. You start seeing Andy’s face in crowds. In reflections. In your sleep.

You change your phone number. You quit your residency.

But he still finds you.

He waits for you in your hotel room. You come back from a late dinner, fumbling with your keycard, and he’s just there, inside. Like he’s always belonged there. Like you’re the one intruding.

He doesn’t threaten. He just talks.

He tells you he didn’t mean to scare you. That he just wanted to be close to you. That he fell in love the moment he saw you. That he made your apartment perfect because you deserved it.

That he watched you cry after phone calls and wanted to hold you.

That he listened to your breathing because it was the only sound that ever made him feel calm.

You back away slowly. You have a knife in your purse. You never used to carry one.

You draw it as he steps closer.

He doesn’t stop.

You stab him in the side.

He gasps. Bleeds. Smiles.

And still, still, he tries to touch your face like it’s the last thing he’ll ever see.

AN: I stole the plot from The Resident.

Masterlist

[illyrianbitch]

Breathe

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel has a panic attack. You help him through it.

Warnings: panic attack pov, symptoms of anxiety (heavy breathing, dissociation, bad mean internal narration), lots of talks of fear, breathing exercises, comfort/care

Word Count: 3.6k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel didn’t notice it at first— not really. 

But his shadows did. 

They curled in close, drawn silent and taut, as if bracing for something, getting ready to soothe him like a newborn babe.

It always started quiet. Or, it used to, when it happened more often. Like pressure building— something soft at first, something creeping.

Azriel shifted in his seat at the end of the table, half in shadow as he often was.  

He blinked once. Twice. 

He realized, rather quickly, that he was too warm.

Not the kind of warm that settled into your bones on a sunny day. Not comfort. No, this was the kind of warmth that crawled across his skin. Under it. Sticky, stifling. His leathers suddenly felt too tight, like his chest couldn’t fully expand. 

He shifted again, pushing himself to focus on Rhysand’s voice once more. On the words his brother, his High Lord, was speaking.

Nothing was wrong. Not really.  He was seated where he always sat, in the same chair, in the same meeting room, listening to the same details about the same rotations and intelligence reports. Nothing was out of place. Everything was all as doomed, as dismal, and as hopeless as it had been recently. 

They were losing a war. And Azriel knew it. 

The conversation turned toward intelligence failures– intercepted reports, broken leads.

Azriel couldn’t stop his thoughts from growing louder. Faster. Those were another failure on him. On his abilities, his spies. He’d fucked up. Again, and again. The one thing he was good at, the one thing he was supposed to do— and he couldn’t. 

No, no. Stop. He couldn’t afford to think like that. He’d been doing better. Azriel, deep in his rational mind, knew it wasn’t his fault. Not entirely, at least. Koschei was unpredictable. His devoted followers hadn’t been something anyone could’ve predicted — Children of the Blessed who had found another ruler to worship. Another god to bow to. That wasn’t on him.

But it was… wasn’t it? It felt like a failure.

His shadows stilled around him, began calling to him in the way only they could. But Azriel couldn’t pay attention. His mouth was dry now. His hands were cold.

And there was something curling in his chest. A pressure. A discomfort. A wrongness inside him, like something off-center. He was sure of it. A flaw, like some thread pulled too tight. 

Az tried to anchor himself. Tried to focus on the sound of his brother’s voices, the crinkle of paper beneath his hand. But his thoughts were racing ahead — spiraling. 

The room was too loud.

He gripped the edge of the table. Attempted to draw in a deep breath. When it resisted, when his lungs protested against the strain of his ribs— broken many times before, he opted for flexing his fingers. Uncurled them. Tried to breathe through it once more.

This was pathetic, Az thought bitterly, the sharpness of his own anger swallowing up all other thoughts. The soft voice that tried to tell him he wasn’t to blame for everything was drowned out. It sounded so much like a younger version of himself. And something else, too— a voice that sounded awfully like his mother. 

Azriel had been fine this morning. Hadn’t he? 

So why, now, was he in such pain? Why was his throat tight? Why couldn’t he breathe?

He needed to breathe.

None of this was real. It was all in his head. It would pass. 

He was fine, he repeated in his mind, even as his wings twitched– betraying him before he could catch them. A subtle flex at first, a slight stiffening in his membrane. Defensive, instinctual. 

He tucked them in closer to his back, as if he could subconsciously make himself smaller, less visible. 

He was losing it. Gods, he was losing it and he couldn’t even stand without drawing attention—without someone noticing, without Rhys or Cassian giving him that look.

His wings spasmed again—this time sharper, a visible shudder that raced down the spine between them. Panic, the primal kind, began to bleed into the edges of his breathing.

Not real. Not real. He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

He barely noticed when Rhysand’s voice faded into nothing, when the world outside of his own body dulled to a low hum. His vision blurred, not outwardly—no, that would’ve been merciful—but inside his mind. Thought tangled over thought until all that remained was one screaming, splintered thing: move.

Azriel refused to give in to that weaker, fearful side. He refused.

So, instead, he forced himself to lift his head– to act like he was still present. He gripped the edge of the table harder, forcing another breath through lungs that refused to expand. He forced his body to stay still even as every part of him screamed to run.

His eyes caught yours immediately.

You weren’t speaking. You hadn’t been speaking for a while—Az realized dimly that you’d fallen silent when he had.

You were staring at him, a brow furrowed in confusion, eyes darkened with worry. Real, devastating worry— written across your face like you’d felt his unraveling in your bones, like you knew exactly what he was fighting.

You always did that, Az thought briefly. Noticed things. Noticed him. Even when he tried to disappear, buried himself in shadows and distance and the anger only he knew how to hone, you still saw him.

And you were another thing he’d fucked up. Another thing, another person, he’d failed.

His panic hit him like a punch to the chest.

A wild, churning thing inside him lurched loose—sharp and wrong and too much.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. 

Not here. Not now.

Azriel tried to push to his feet smoothly, tried not to let the room tilt sideways around him. The scrape of his chair on the floor was deafening. His wings flared slightly behind him — a startled, instinctive reaction — before he forced them down again with trembling effort.

He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Couldn’t.

He just needed to get out. Get out.

By the time he stumbled into the hallway, the panic was a roaring thing in his chest. His wings kept twitching, muscles seizing like they couldn’t decide whether to shield or flee. His shadows seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat, gathering in dark, frantic swirls at his feet, then dissipating and flickering against the walls, like they were trying—desperately—to anchor themselves, to pull him out of the fear gripping him.

The world narrowed to the thud of his boots and the pain in his chest. He was shaking now — his hands, his arms, his breath. He couldn’t get a full inhale. He couldn’t slow down. His mind was spiraling. He didn’t know where he was going.

Get out. Just get out. Get out get out get out.

He reached the end of the corridor, but his vision was still tunneling. He staggered sideways, shoulder slamming into the wall. They were getting closer. Tighter.

Get out.

He needed air. Real air.

Needed out.

He winnowed. All instinct, like a broken wild animal on the run from something it knew it couldn’t beat. And then—he landed. He didn’t even know where he was going until the cold hit him.

Dirt. Grass. Night air.

He fell to his knees in it.

Hard.

It knocked the breath out of him. He doubled over, fingers clawing into the earth. Trying to ground. Trying to focus. Trying to breathe.

Stupid. Stupid. This doesn’t happen. You’re fine. You’re not a child.

But he couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t stop the rising panic clawing up his throat.

You’re a joke. You’re unraveling. You’re slipping and they’re going to see. You’re a liability. A fucking mess. You’re going to ruin everything—

He shouldn’t have been like this — he’d trained for worse, he’d handled worse. His shadows crowded him, trying to ground him, to pull him back, just as they did when he was three hundred and covered in blood. Twenty-two and angry. Eight and afraid.

It didn't work. They were just more noise. The pressure behind Azriel’s ribs sharpened. His skin itched. He couldn't tell if it was sweat or fear crawling over him.

A cold wind rushed over his skin, sudden and powerful. And for a second—just a second—it grounded him.

Then the panic surged again. Harder.

His fingernails dug further into dirt, the movement straining and pulling at the tight skin at his hands, the raw tendons and everything that was wrong with him. 

He couldn’t fucking see anything. Couldn’t focus. Azriel was sure his heart was breaking itself against his ribs. He pressed his forehead to the ground, desperate to disappear into it. The skin between his shoulders was buzzing, crawling with invisible ants. The old, familiar impulse to tear his way free, to snap bone and tendon if it meant getting out—getting away—scratching out the thing inside him he couldn't reach.

Somewhere, deep in the marrow of him, the boy he'd once been was crying. Somewhere, even deeper, the soldier he'd become was roaring at him to stay still, stay quiet, get over it.

Azriel was vaguely aware of the wetness on his cheeks. Of a choked gasp that sounded too much like him. His shadows were scared now, concerned, louder as if they were trying to be louder than the voice in his head. But it was no use. 

His body was too small and the panic was too big.

And then—

A sound. A shape.

His name, maybe.

But it didn’t sound right. Didn't sound like anything.

It felt, almost, as if Az was trying to hear underwater— trying to breathe it in and choke.

He jerked away from the voice, instinctual. He didn't want to be seen. Not like this.

But then it came again. Warm. Gentle. Familiar. His shadows darted towards it.

“Azriel?”

And for the first time, he felt it. Felt you.

His eyes blinked open—wild, unfocused—but the world began to sharpen.

Not all at once. Not clearly, at least. But enough. Enough to see you there, from the corner of his eye, approaching him slowly, breath white in the cold air. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, and pressed his palms flatter against the earth. His wings half-flared without permission. 

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

It wasn’t working.

You’re weak. You’re not enough.

Your failures are going to get them all killed. Koschei. Koschei. Koschei. What if he kills them all? 

A flutter of heat brushed against his shoulder. He briefly registered the movement, somehow coherent enough to piece together the fact that you were crouching beside him. He could only imagine how pathetic he looked, a warrior, a spy— a feared male brought to his knees by his own damaged mind. 

For one harrowing moment, he wanted to snarl at you. To bare his teeth and tell you to go where you’re needed, to leave him alone— Because he didn’t want your pity. He didn’t want your help. He didn’t want to admit that he needed it. If he admitted it now, so vulnerable and exposed in front of you— embarrassingly so— you’d realize, for a second time, he wasn’t worth it. 

But he would never do that. He didn’t want to push you away again. 

A wave of shame hit him flat in the chest—flooding his system. Azriel forced his wings against his back until the muscles screamed. He gave a tight shake of his head, managed to say between jagged breaths, "I'm fine. Go home."

Your hand hovered at his back, near his wings. Gently pressed. He was shaking. 

He turned his face away. “Please.”

“Azriel,” you said again. Closer. 

Something crumbled in him when his shadows returned to his wrists, floating in soothing circles. He squeezed his eyes shut. Breathe. He just needed to breathe. Count, like his mother always taught him to. Trace the patterns of his shadows. 

But gods, it wasn’t working.

“I can’t,” Azriel rasped. His voice was barely there. 

A few seconds later, your hand was on his cheek, thumb brushing his jaw. You tilted his face toward yours.

“I’m right here,” you said. Your eyes were wide. Pleading, almost. Like he was lost and you were begging for him to find you again. 

And he would, wouldn't he? Find you, that was. In every lifetime. 

He blinked. It didn’t feel real. He didn’t deserve this tender touch.

 “Az, can you look at me?”

“I can’t—I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” 

You reached up, brushing a hand through the strands of his hair at the front — a soft, slow rake of your fingers like you were trying to soothe him back to himself. The touch startled him. His eyes opened wider, found yours again, even as his chest still heaved with shallow, broken breaths.

“I’m—” he sucked in a breath, but it hitched, harsh and shallow. “I’m not okay.  I’m— I’m scared and I don’t know what I’m doing and I can’t keep pretending—”

He was unraveling. Words spilling out of him like blood from a wound.

“I’m not enough. I’m not—stable. I can’t help with Koschei. I can’t find anything. People are dying. I’m letting everyone down and—fuck—” he squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t breathe—”

You shifted without hesitation, lowering yourself to your knees before him, so you could meet him at eye level. Gently, delicately, you reached for one of his hands — still clawed into the dirt like an animal — and began to uncurl his fingers from the earth. He shifted his position with the movement. 

He blinked again at the sensation, disoriented, his brows furrowing as you guided his hand up and placed it over your chest. Over your heart. And covered it with your own.

“Feel that?” you whispered, taking an exaggerated deep breath. His hand rose with the motion. “All that air coming into my lungs. It’s really nice, Az. Refreshing. Don’t you think?”

He nodded. Or thought he did. It was hard to tell where his body was.

“I want you to breathe with me. Can you do that?”

He swallowed hard. His lungs still fought him. But he would try. Gods, for you — he would always try.

You inhaled again, slow and deep, and he followed — or tried to. Again. And again. Until something in his lungs finally loosened, like a muscle unclenching.

He closed his eyes.

The panic didn’t vanish. But it ebbed. Enough to come back into his body. Enough to feel the weight of the earth, the throb of his heart. The gentleness in your touch. His wings gradually relaxed. His other hand stopped trembling against the grass.

When he opened his eyes, he found yours already waiting.

And for the first time in what felt like hours, he could see you. Not through panic. Just… you.

His hand twitched under yours. You interlaced your fingers, pressing his palm against your skin even firmer. Finally, Azriel took a deep breath. A proper one. Felt the refreshing night air fill his lungs. 

And when you smiled — soft and aching and full of something he couldn’t name — he felt the last of the panic slip out of his bones.

He realized, with excruciating clarity, exactly where he was now. Realized that he was touching you. That you were so close. That somehow, impossibly, despite everything he’d ruined, you were here. 

He almost forgot to breathe again.

You shifted your free hand up slightly, brushing it back through his hair — a tender, absentminded thing, like it was instinct for you now. 

“There we go,” you said softly. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Azriel took advantage of his proximity to take you in— the curve of your mouth, the way the moonlight caught the shine of your hair. How close you were to him, how real it felt. It was almost enough to make him believe he had died after all— that this was some kind of fragile heaven he wasn’t meant to keep, a dream created by a brain deprived of oxygen. 

He let out a breath. His body went lax, sinking into the earth. Into you.

You glanced back at him again, your hand still in his hair, and for a moment, neither of you moved. He studied your face like he could memorize it all over again — the faint crease between your brows, the tremble you were trying to hide in your jaw, the way your eyes softened when you caught him looking.

Something inside him cracked open wider.

His gaze dropped to your lips. Then to your eyes. And then his gaze dropped once more, landing on where his hand still rested over your heart, your smaller one covering his. Without thinking, Azriel brushed his thumb across your skin. A slow, reverent sweep. He felt it immediately— the sudden, sharp skip of your heartbeat under his hand. 

“Your heart,” Azriel whispered, “It’s...beating really fast.”

You let out a small breath, almost a laugh. “Yeah,” you murmured, giving him a sheepish, crooked little smile.

“Why?”

Azriel swore he caught the faintest tint of pink at your cheeks.

“It tends to do that around you.”

Something inside him stumbled, caught on a beat he didn’t recognize. "Oh," he breathed out.

A few moments passed. And then, slowly, you shifted — separating just enough to ease down beside him. Azriel mourned the loss of your touch, of his hand on your skin. He settled into a similar position, watching as you tucked your knees to your chest and rested your head lightly atop them. 

The silence that followed felt easy. Comforting. Azriel was grateful for it, despite his longing to touch you again. His breaths, now more regular, were still slowly coming back to him. 

You turned to look at him, your cheek pressed against your knees. “What happened, Az?” 

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut. Shook his head once, almost imperceptibly.

Out of everyone, you were the only one he'd ever truly opened up to about these episodes. These small attacks — flashes of terror, of helplessness — they'd started creeping back after the second war against Hybern. A strange, ugly pattern.

He hated them. Hated the way they made him feel: weak, broken, like he was still the trembling boy locked away in a lightless cell. But he’d been doing better. He had been. And now — this — it felt like a step backward. Like a fall from a cliff he'd barely managed to climb. He felt like a failure. Like a burden.

“I…I don’t know. I just…”

He looked at you then. Really looked. At the way your eyes urged him to go on. And somehow, his thoughts came easier. More honest. 

The truth was — Azriel had spent most of his life benefiting from the image of someone fearless. The cold, steady blade in the dark. The one who didn’t flinch.

But Azriel was afraid all the time.

He moved through his fear like a second skin — worked off it, thrived off it. Fear of losing someone. Fear of being weak again. Fear of being proven wrong. Fear of being left behind. It sat in him like something feral, something sharp-toothed and restless, always on the edge of recognition.

He knew fear the way an animal knew the shift of the wind before a storm.

And lately, it was starting to take more than it gave. 

He hated it. Hated that for all the years he'd spent learning to master it, it still had the power to master him.

“I hate this,” Azriel said finally. Barely audible. “I hate that I can’t control this panic. That it’s still in me. That I freeze. When I’m needed most.”

“You’re not frozen now,” you said. “You came back.”

He shook his head. “I’m supposed to protect people. I’m supposed to keep our court safe. That’s what I’m for. If I can’t do that... if I’m just afraid…then what am I?”

“You’re still you. Even when you’re afraid. Especially then.”

Azriel closed his eyes for a moment. Nodded, just barely. “I think you’re the only one who thinks that.”

“The fearless don't win wars, Az. They just die faster. The ones who love... the ones who are afraid — they're the ones who survive. They're the ones who save people."

He blinked, like you’d struck him, and a wave of relief ran through his body. Azriel let out a rough breath — almost a laugh. “Since when did you get so philosophical?”

You shrugged, a faint smile tugging at your mouth. “I used to date this guy…”

He arched his brow and you tilted your head, pretending to think. “Taught me a few things about war. About fear. About how important it is to find people worth being afraid for.”

Azriel’s mouth twitched upwards. “Sounds like a piece of work.”

You breathed a soft laugh and the quiet stretched again. He ran his fingers idly through a blade of grass, taking in the calm night surrounding him. 

“How did you know where I went?” Az asked.

Your arms were wrapped around your knees, chin resting on them, eyes tracing his shadows dancing along the grass. “I made a lucky guess.”

“Well… thank you," he said, his heart glowing. "For finding me.”

You glanced at him, your eyes softening as you replied,  “Always.”

Then you tucked your chin back onto your knees, looking up at the sky again. The stars spun lazy arcs overhead. Azriel watched you instead— for a few indulgent moments, at least. 

Eventually, Azriel’s gaze drifted from you, scanning the patch of grass beneath you both.  A soft smile tugged at his lips as the memory surfaced—of the first time he kissed you—here, in this exact spot.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: posting this randomly as i am...crawling...slowly....from the grave.... where uninspired writers.... and my abandoned wips.... go to rot...

as a girl who has suffered w panic attacks my whole life (thank u traumatic events!) i would rather die than have someone like...kiss me for example, but i cannot tell u how intimate those moments are after someone sees you so vulnerable and theyre just like so...casual abt it? so i simply had to write a lil something, idk anyways enjoy this random lazy ass work <3 onto my series i go!!!!

fun fact.... this is actually a scrapped scene from one of my drafted series (anatomy of dependence), that full exes to lovers, second chance romance, best friends to luvers goodnesssss!!!!

permanent tag list 🫶🏻 (im going to revamp this soon, so if you wanna stay on it, let me know!!)

@rhysandorian @itsswritten  @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon  @glam-targaryen 

@cheneyq @darkbloodsly @yesiamthatwierd @azrielsbbg @evergreenlark 

@marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters @starswholistenanddreamsanswered 

@feyretopia @azrielrot @justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli  @mrsjna

@anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound @melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos @acoazlove @paradisebabey @inkedinshadows @mellowmusings

@paankhaleyaaar @curiosandcourioser @thisrandombitch @casiiopea2 @w0nderw0manly

@rottenroyalebooks @jurdanpotter @casiiopea2 @gamarancianne @weesablackbeak

@booksaremyescapeworld @knoxic  @wynintheclouds @dacrethehalls  @louisa-harrier

[lostintransist]

Would love a continuation to your gym antics with maybe possibly Simon meeting Reader and seeing her deliver 23 psychic damage to every creep in the gym.

Then MAYBE they all realize that they’ve all been interested in (respectfully obsessed with) the same person (reader). They witness The Ultimate Douchebag Takedown and watch her do reps with said douchebag’s max weight with so much spark in her eyes. Then they see her be super sweet with a younger beginner or the gym’s dog that roams the shop or some shit

So sometimes stories get away from me and I couldn't figure out why they would all be at a public gym at the same time. My brain kept going, but if they are all together why wouldn't they be on base?? Anyway, my incessant need to answer the unspoken why has led us here. Enjoy! ☺️

If the damn desk jockeys would get off their asses and finish dealing with the fucking problem they would be able to go home. Two weeks in this hotel because the paper pushers wouldn’t approve something more than an economy room in a relatively cheap option. The core of Task Force 141, Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap were nearing blows.

Two queen beds made it hard for any of them to get enough space to stretch out. Everyone took turns rotating who shared with Soap. The man rolled. He didn’t just roll, he would cuddle and then end up sideways in the bed over whoever happened to be sharing with him. Made sleeping rough.

The piss-poor gym/pool set up on the first floor became an outlet for every man. They went in shifts. It wasn’t discussed so much as whoever was the closest to sending a brother through the wall between the bedrooms and the bathroom would nip out to run down their anger on the treadmill or splash laps in the pool.

Now due to the lack of overlapping none of the men knew they had their eye on the same bird. It wouldn’t have helped if they had known.

Price and Ghost ran into you more than once in the hot tub. They would slip into the chilly water and push until their muscles burned and then join you who read or watched something on your phone. Gaz and Soap found you on the treadmill singing quietly as you walked at a speedy clip. Every time the door opened to the gym you stopped singing.

Gaz spoke to you first.

“You can keep singing, don’t mind me. Feel free to turn up the volume on the music too.”

Instead of complying you laugh. Kyle stands near the door, arms folded as he squinted at all the equipment.

“Na, I get a bit shy. Thanks, though.” You offer a smile that is reflected in your eyes. “You here long?”

Gaz laughed through his nose, “Who knows? Trying to get home but the paperwork people at the job are apparently not in the same kind of rush.”

“You too? Damn. What is with them? Do they think I like sleeping on the cardboard they call a mattress?” The animation in your face pulls Gaz in. Bright expressions that show not an iota of mistrust or hiding something.

“They must not travel much for work or they would get us home faster huh?” He crosses the room and points to the treadmill next to you, “Mind if I join you?”

“Go right ahead,” you gesture at the machine. “Conversation would be a nice change.”

The two of you laughed through the last twenty or so minutes of your workout.

Price met you next.

He was one more stupid pun away from unloading his service weapon into his men. He had slammed into the muggy air of the pool room. Without even a glance around he stripped down to his speedo and stomped down the steps into the water. Fucking hotel pools were never deep enough for diving. Five laps and his shoulders burned enough to slow down. Pushing back against gravity he stood. Running a hand over his hair, face, and head, to clear some of the water he looked around for the first time.

There you were, eyes carving lines long his muscles from the hot tub.

“Need something, sweetheart?”

The time it takes you to drag your gaze from the water lapping at his stomach to his eyes sends chills down his spine.

“Na, just enjoying the view. Not often I get a strip tease by accident.”

Price couldn’t help but laugh. He had to have several years on you but the way you look at him has him wishing he were here alone.

“Sometimes a man forgets he might not be the only person in the pool.”

Snorting, you step back and sink lower into the bubbling water.

The bubbles dissipate as you become a floating head.

“Shit,” straightening you look to the wall where the timer is.

“If you don’t mind company I can fix that on my way over?” Price offers, lifting a brow and his cheeks in a smile.

“I would love some company, in fact,” you give him a sultry smile.

Since your face firmly tracks his motion up and out of the pool and to the timer by the time he steps into the heated water his cheeks are as red as his speedo. He is pruned when he finally leaves. You left twenty minutes before he could stand straight without the pressure of his speedo cutting the blood supply off to his everything.

Soap is neck deep in a maladaptive daydream about having a wife and three bairns screeching across the heath as the wind plucks at them when you enter the gym. He moved at a light jog. Feet falling lightly on the belt he isn’t breathing hard.

A clang and ringing of metal is enough to pull Soap back to his body. Glancing over he sees you wincing and pressing your massive water bottle to your chest to stop the metal from singing.

“All good over there?” He lifts both brows as his head tilts slightly.

Your tongue makes an appearance under your top lip as you push a lung full of air from your nose.

“Ever just have one of those days where the seconds take too long to pass?” You looked at him so earnestly that Soap reached out and slowed down to a walking pace.

“Too many damn times. Would a chat help reset the clock watching?”

The fight to keep from your face crumpling had Soap pulling out his threadbare handkerchief and passing it over.

“Time does tricky things to me too,” Soap offered softly.

You pressed the fabric to your nose and coughed to clear your throat and eyes.

“Thanks.” Sniffing you take a shaky breath, “Watching anything interesting lately?”

“Can’t sit still long enough for TV but been seeing the wildest one-person skits on my socials. Favorites have to be a girl’s group chat gone wild and an enemies-to-lovers story with family drama and an ex who won’t get out of the way.”

You light up, hand flying away from your face as you lean toward him.

“Oh my god! Do you think she is the other woman and that’s why she didn’t tell anyone what the hell was going on?”

The time is spent passing back and forth thoughts on stories more interesting than what writers’ rooms had put out in decades.

Ghost meets you last. Well. Yes, he was last but he didn’t really meet you so much as wake trying to avoid being smothered to death.

Falling asleep in the hot tub is not recommended. Even if he could keep his nose above water while sitting at the bottom of the small pool, he shouldn’t fall asleep. He had been the one to share a bed with Soap last night. Instead of swaddling the man like a newborn Ghost had given up on sleeping through the night. Haunted him now.

Eyes snapping open he glares up at you. His head is pinned between your hand and the floor. A quick external assessment tells him that his mask is still on, and the bubbles have stopped. He must have passed out hard.

“Hi,” you study both his eyes before blinking and taking in him. “Since you woke and have normal pupil reactions, I am going to assume you don’t need any naloxone?”

“No.”

“Okay.” The odd look you give him is overshadowed by your fingers sliding off his skin. Damn. Why did that feel so good? “Can you move your long ass legs then so I can enjoy some time in the water?”

Snapping into a sitting position Ghost curses the fact his ears are out. He gets pink in the tips of his ears when embarrassed.

“Sorry.” Ghost ran a hand through his short hair, surprised by the wetness there, “Didn’t sleep much last night.”

A jet caught him in the back. With a grunt he shifted. The pressure from the blasting water left his skin itching. The bubbles were nice though. Stretching his arms along the curve of the tiles he notices your eyes follow his wingspan.

“Do they even make beds big enough for you here?” You question as you step in with a hiss and hand clutching the balance bar.

He doesn’t know why he replies. He isn’t normally this chatty. The lack of sleep must be stealing away his senses and filling him up with a bevy of words.

“I’m not that big.”

You sit across from him. He can feel the drift of your legs in the water above his where they stretch along the bottom.

The glance you send him lands somewhere particular, even with the barrier of the moving water. A slow bob of your head and the lift of your brows accompany your disbelieving tone.

“Must have been the water distortion.”

“Lots of things about me are distorted,” Ghost mutters.

The sputtering laugh you let out has you covering it up with a cough.

“That was terrible. Are all of your jokes that bad?”

“Worse.”

“Ooh, honesty. Well then, let’s hear them?”

Ghost narrows his eyes at you as he tells you the tank joke.

“I see your tank joke and raise you one of my own; two soldiers are in a tank; one looks at the other and says blub.” The waggling of your brows is what tipped him over the edge into snorting.

Back and forth it went until you rub your fingertips together and proclaim yourself cooked. With a smile and a nod you disappear. Ghost spends far too long staring at the ceiling thinking about your hands on him.

They run into you day after day after day. Sometimes in the coffee shop within walking distance or a cafe. But they always run into you alone and never mention you to the others. When orders finally arrive that they can return home each man searched the building over twice looking for you. No luck.

Check-out runs smoothly, leaving them loitering with their gunny sacks in a pile by the complimentary couches and chairs in the lobby. Was there an actual purpose for these couches other than decoration? No one ever seemed to use them. This was the discussion happening between the men that seemed to conveniently forget that their asses sat on the decorations.

Ghost’s eyes widening have everyone looking.

There you are. Backpack over on shoulder and a small suitcase wheeling

Not one of them is confident enough to approach you with the others watching. That leaves all of them waiting and hoping you stop and say hello and here is my number before goodbye.

“Thanks! I had a good stay,” your voice carries over your shoulder to them. Each man tightens up like they were about to breach a building.

Turning a saccharine smile settles on your face as your eyes connect to each man in turn. Striding up to the chair placed neatly between the two couches they sat on you settle both hands on the back, the luggage near your leg.

“Gentlemen, thank you for making the say endurable. I will be sending your warmest regards to Colonel König when I get back to base.” Lifting your hand to your forehead you flick them a bastardized salute and stride out the front door.

The only sound following your pronouncement is the ringing of the phone behind the front desk.

“Did we get fucking honey potted?” Gaz looks at Price, aghast.

“It’s only honey potting if you spill state secrets,” Soap chimes in as he pops his neck slowly.

“Says the man who has been honey-potted before,” Ghost snarked, fingers digging into the weave of his jeans.

“It wasn’t Soap,” Price mutters as his fingers begin to work his mustache, “That John wasn’t SAS.”

“Wait,” Soap looks at each of them with a sharp gaze. “She got all of us? How the hell did she manage that?”

“Looks like KorTac has gotten a better hiring manager,” Price slaps his hands to his thighs, standing. “We will not be discussing this again.”

A chorus of ‘agreed’ and they consider the matter closed.

And other than the time they run into you in the field, that is.

SoapGaz | John Price | Simon | Phillip Graves | Ghost | SoapGaz/Reader NSFW | Phillip Graves NSFW | AO3

Masterlist

[lulunothulu]

“So you think I’m hot?” Pt. 2

Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: After a chase gone wrong, you find your heart softening for Tyler when he comes to your aide.

Contents: in a tornado scene(bad writing lol), mild tornado-related injuries, some blood, kinda gore(?), swearing, fluff

A/N: Everyone say thank you to @thetorturedpoetcalleddez here’s part two for you guys! Enjoy and read part one here!!!

“Y/N, do you have a reading?” Javi asks you from the front of the truck.

You’re currently in the back trying to get the remote to open the canisters of Kate’s “miracle tornado stopper” to work. The tornado in front of the truck is getting closer, wins, picking up its pace. And of course, when you actually need it to work, it doesn’t.

“No, I think a wire in the remote is loose,” you tell him.

“I’ll go open them manually,” Kate tells you.

“No,” you tell her. “I’ll do it. I’m faster than you anyway.”

Kate chuckles before rotating in her seat to watch you hop out of the truck.

Once you’re in the storm, you rushed to trailer Javi has attached to the truck and begin to open the large drum canisters one by one. Your palms are sweaty and handshaking, but you reach the last canister and pry it open. You unhook the trailer just as planned and smile before running back to the back passenger door. You turn your head and that’s when you see the tornado about to hit the truck.

“Go, go, go!” You tell Javi who then begins flooring the truck to the left, toward the field and away from the tornado. But it’s no use, the tornado has a mind of its own and follows the truck.

“Javi!” Kate screams. “Faster!”

“I’m trying!” He yells back.

“Oh my god,” you start. The tornado is right on the heels of the truck and you know what’s coming. “Hold on to something!”

In a span of a few second, the truck turns right and you feel the tornado push and suck you all up and then down.

The world starts spinning now. Flashes of grass then sky and back to grass. Then finally, the truck is upright and all you hear is someone screaming.

Not someone.

Kate.

“Y/N!” Kate screams. “Are you okay?”

You blink and look to the front of the truck to see Kate’s brown eyes wide and looking at your lap then Javi’s panicked expression.

When you look down at your leg, you find a large piece of shattered glass poking out.

“Don’t move,” Javi orders. “Kate, get back there and make sure her leg and that piece of glass are stable.”

Kate does so, hands shaking as she tries her best to keep the glass from moving while Javi drives.

“You’re gonna be okay,” she tells you.

“I can’t feel the pain,” you tell her.

“It must be the adrenaline,” she tells you. “What a freak accident. I wonder why only your window broke.”

You scoff. “Mother Nature must’ve been pissed off I opened those canisters.”

Kate offers you a watery smile before turning to Javi, “Did you have to drive on the bumpiest road?”

“This is the only one that’ll get her back to camp the quickest,” he tells you. “Just be glad the truck works.”

By the time Javi pulls into the base camp parking lot, the adrenaline has worn off and you’re grinding your teeth to keep from screaming in pain.

“Okay imma open the door to grab Y/N’s arms and Kate you’re gonna hold her legs,” Javi instructs.

Kate nods and just as he’d planned, he opens the door and grabs your arms while Kate holds your legs. You yelp in pain at her touch causing her to apologize and look to her left.

You follow her gaze to see Tyler standing on his truck and waving to the crowd of people around him. He smiles at everyone around him before his eyes land on you. Immediately, the smile drops and he’s hopping off his truck and running toward you.

“Let me hold her,” he tells Javi and Kate. He, however, doesn’t let them agree. He simply carries you bridal-style, and begins walking toward the medic camp. “What happened?”

“A tornado, dipshit,” you seethe.

He smiles at you. “It’s nice to know you still have your sass.”

“Fuck off, Tyler,” you groan. Yelping in pain when he sets you down on a table before the doctor.

“Our car rolled and her window broke,” Kate tells Tyler and the doctor. “We got her here as fast as we could.”

“We didn’t want to pull it out just in case it hit a major artery,” Javi adds.

“You did the right thing,” the doctor tells them. “She’s lucky, though. The glass barely missed the femoral artery.”

“So then can you take it out?” You moan. “This shit hurts.”

He smiles at you before nodding and grabbing a vial of something as well as a needle. “This is just for the pain. It’ll numb the area and then we can get it out.”

When he injects the liquid into your thigh, you instinctively reach for the hand next to yours. You squeeze the raspy surface and close your eyes tight.

The hand squeezes back and you hear Tyler say, “I’ll be here the whole time.”

You would pull your hand back, but you kind of liked the way his other hand caresses the top of yours.

“Okay, it’s out,” the doctor tells you. “Now, I’m just going to stitch it and then wrap the wound and you’ll be good to go.”

“Thank you,” Tyler says. Then to Kate and Javi, “I can take her back to her room. You guys go get the truck fixed.”

Kate looks to you and you nod, silently telling her it’s alright. She sighs before saying, “Alright, let’s go Javi.”

When they walk out, Tyler sit behind you on the table and wraps his other arm around you. “I figured you’d like it better if I hugged you while you got your stitches.”

The doctor smiles before saying, “Your boyfriend is very thoughtful.”

You were about to tell him that you two weren’t dating but Tyler interrupts before smiling.

“Yeah, I couldn’t let my girl sit here in pain.”

You almost roll your eyes but that’s when the doctor begins stitching making you squeeze Tyler’s hand again. In your ear, Tyler whispers small praises “You’re doing great.”

“Almost done,” the doctor tells you before adding one more stitch and grabbing some gauze to wrap your leg. Once he finished, he turns to Tyler and says, “Make sure she changes her bandages twice a day. Once in the morning and then right before bed. If the stitches rip, bring her back and I’ll redo them. I’ll get some crutches.”

When he leaves the tent to go get them, Tyler stands, leaving your back slightly cool at the absence of his touch.

“See,” he starts. “You’re gonna be fine. And I’ll be here to nurse you back to health.”

You only sigh. “Fine.”

“That’s it? No sassy comeback?” Tyler’s brows are practically in his hairline at this point and you can’t help but chuckle.

“Yeah, I’m in too much pain to sass right now.”

The doctor walks back in and hands, Tyler, the crutches as well as a bottle of painkillers. “She’s only allowed two per day.”

“Thank you so much, doc,” Tyler says. Before handing you a pill and the crutches and saying, “I’ll carry you today but tomorrow I want you to practice using the crutches.”

“Okay, babe,” you say with an eye roll. Swallowing the pill immediately.

You grab the crutches from him and almost gasp when Tyler carries you bridal style again. You didn’t notice how easily he lifted you before and for some reason, that did things for you.

Heart racing, hand clammy, and cheeks turning red kind of things.

Tyler walks in silence, soaking in the sunlight. It feels like he’d been walking for a while and you suddenly feel the need to speak.

You clear your throat before saying, “My room number is—”

“I know what number it is,” he says quietly.

“How? Did you stalk me?” You smirk.

“No,” he starts. Then smiling down at you adds, “But Boone did.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head. “Of course he did. I assume he did it for you?”

“Well yeah,” he says. “I wanted to apologize for the night before. I didn’t mean to sound like such a dickhead.”

You blink. Tyler has never apologized to you for any of his comments. This was refreshingly new and interesting.

“I just wanted to make you smile,” he continues. “You always smile at Boone and I guess I felt left out. I always get the short end of the stick with you.”

“And here I thought you liked it when I roll my eyes at you,” you tease.

“Did you just flirt with me?” Tyler smiles.

You smile back, a genuine one. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s the painkillers.”

“I think it’s the pain killers bringing out your true feelings,” he shrugs.

Once he reaches your door, you hand him the key. He opens the door, carrying you to the bed and setting you down as gently as he can.

“Well, I hope you recover quickly,” he says, turning to leave.

You stop him, grabbing his hand before he can get too far.

“Stay,” you urge. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“I’m sure Kate or Javi can come over.”

“But, I want you to stay.”

Tyler smiles. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

“Who said I didn’t?”

“Your face does every time I come around,” he chuckles.

“Nahhhh,” you slur. “I actually reallllly like you. I think your ego keeps you from being better. And you smell nice.”

“That’s definitely the painkillers talking,” he laughs.

“Nooope,” you go on. “Just bringing out the truth again.”

“Oh really?”

“Mhmm.” You nod.

“So I’m hot and I smell nice?” He smiles.

“Don’t push your luck, Owens.”

A/N: I feel like this one was long 😂 Part three???

Part 3!!!!

[waitimcomingtoo]

Line Without A Hook

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x Reader

Synopsis: Peeta freaks out when you get hurt in the arena and gets teased for how much he takes care of you (catching fire arena)

Masterlist

Peeta had barely gotten out the words “stay by me” when the cornucopia on the island starting to spin. Tributes flew off and fell into the water as others struggled to grip on to whatever they could.

“It moves?” Finnick shouted to no one in particular as he gripped the first arm he could see through the salt water spray. The arm belonged to Peeta, who looked to his side and panicked when he realized you were no longer there.

“Where did Y/n go?” Peeta shouted over the sound of the waves.

“I think she went over by the weapons.” Finnick shouted back as the dial began to rotate faster. Peeta looked into the center and saw Johanna and Mags struggling to stay aboard but no sign of you.

“Well she’s not there anymore.” Peeta shouted back as his anxiety grew.

“I’m kinda busy here, Peeta. I don’t know where your girlfriend went.” Finnick replied.

“There!” Wiress called and pointed towards one of the arms. Peeta followed her finger and saw you fighting with one of the careers on the edge of a spinning arm. You were winning the fight until another career threw an axe your way and got you right in the rib cage. Peeta just about lost his mind when he saw you go limp and fall into the water. He let go of the center and grabbed the first weapon he could see before sprinting toward where you had been.

“DON’T TOUCH HER.” He shouted as he threw his weapon at the career you had been fighting. It buried in his chest and sent him flying into the water. Peeta then dove into the water and forced his eyes open in an effort to find you. He followed the wavering trail of blood until he found your body floating in the water. By the time he pulled you to the surface, the dial had stopped spinning. Finnick helped him pull you out of the water and tried to give you CPR but Peeta pushed him out of the way. He did chest compressions and mouth to mouth as tears fell from his eyes and onto your face. Finally, your eyes opened and you coughed up some water. Peeta gently rolled you on your side so that you could get it all out and held your hand when you were done.

“Y/n? Are you okay, sweetheart?” Peeta asked as he held your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

“Peeta?” You coughed out.

“I’m here. Are you okay?” He asked again and brushed your wet hair off your face.

“I’m okay. It’s just a knick.” You said and winced from the pain of the wound in your side.

“I watched it happen. It was a lot more than a knick. And you’re still bleeding.”

“It’s fine. I just do that sometimes.” You tried to wave it off but Peeta was not budging.

“Come here. We gotta get you off this thing.” Peeta looked at the cornucopia angrily before carefully lifting you off the ground. He and Finnick brought you back to the beach and helped you lay down on the sand.

“Really. I’m okay.” You tried to assure Peeta once you were on the ground again.

“Let me see how bad it is.” He said and tried to rip your suit around the wound.

“Peeta, I’m fine.” You insisted and pushed his hand away.

“You’re not fine. Just let me see.” He pleaded. You knew he wasn’t gonna let it go so you sighed and unzipped the back of your suit. You’re gingerly rolled it down to your waist, leaving you in the black bikini top you had underneath. It was the least amount of clothing Peeta had ever seen you in so he blushed and adverted his eyes at first.

“How bad is it?” You asked him, making him snap back to the moment. He looked at the wound on your side and relaxed a little when he found it wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought.

“It looks worse than it really is. We just need to get it clean.”

“We?” You raised an eyebrow.

“You took care of me once. And I’m not gonna let you die from infection after everything you’ve survived.”

“But-“

“Just shut up and let me take care of you?” Peeta whined.

“Okay.” You smiled softly. “Fine.”

Peeta returned the smile before carefully picking you up. He walked into the water with you in his arms and went deep enough that the salt water could clean your wound. You winced and arched your back to stay out of the water.

“Sorry. I know it hurts.” Peeta apologized and bent his knees to put you back in the water.

“It really hurts. I want to get out.” You told him and flinched when a wave stung your side.

“Not yet. You have to keep it clean.” Peeta said sympathetically. You gripped his shoulder and hissed in pain as he dunked you in again.

“Look at them.” Finnick snorted and nodded towards you and Peeta.

“You think it’s real?” Johanna asked as she sharpened her axe with another knife.

“What?”

“The whole lovelorn star crossed lovers plot. Think it’s all an act?” Johanna asked as she watched the two of you in the water with the sun beginning to set behind you.

“I used to.” Finnick replied.

“Used to?”

“Yeah. I thought it was an act at first. I think we all did. But that boy loves her.” Finnick said most assuredly.

“Okay. That’s enough.” Peeta decided and carried you back to the shore.

“I can walk.” You chuckled when he continued to carry you up the beach.

“I know.” He said simply and continued carrying you. He gently laid you down by the rest of your group and knelt beside you.

“I need something to cover this.” He realized and looked around but all he saw was sand.

“Can you please get me some leaves from the jungle?” Peeta asked Johanna.

“Get them yourself.” She scoffed.

“I can’t leave her. Please, just help me this once.” Peeta asked again.

“Peeta, it’s okay. Really. You can go.” You assured him by taking his hand and squeezing it. He blushed when you did this and nodded his head.

“I’ll be right back.” He promised before running off into the jungle. He returned shortly after with a couple leaves and water in a coconut shell.

“I got some leaves and water. Can you sit up?”

“Yeah. Thank you.” You smiled in appreciation as you painfully sat up. Peeta held the coconut shell to your lips and helped you sip some water before using the leaves to create a bandage for your wound. The sun had set below the horizon at that point and you were definitely ready to go to sleep.

“You can sleep. I’ll keep first watch.” Peeta said as he read your mind. You usually protested and let others sleep first, but you were too tired to do that today.

“Thank you. Wake me up in a few hours so you can sleep too.” You told him as you laid down on the sand. Peeta sat beside you until the morning came and when you woke up, you realized he was in the same exact position as he was when you had fallen asleep.

“Hey.” You said through a yawn that hurt to complete. You winced and touched your side as you tried to sit up. Peeta put a hand on your back to help you sit up and immediately handed you a coconut shell full of water. You smiled graciously at him and drank the whole thing.

“When did you sleep last night?” You asked when you were done.

“I don’t know. Sometimes after-“

“He didn’t.” Finnick cut him off. You looked at Peeta for an explanation and he was red with embarrassment.

“What? You didn’t sleep?” You asked and smacked his arm.

“I tried to take over after I got a few hours but lover boy didn’t let me. He said he needed to make sure you didn’t bleed out.” Finnick continued as he headed towards the water to fish for some breakfast.

“P, you need to sleep. I was fine.” You said and shook his arm.

“I was too. I wasn’t tired.” Peeta replied and you knew he was lying. You gave him a look but he just looked to the side.

“I’m really okay. The salt water helped.” You tried to assure him.

“Oh, yeah. Salt water. We have to keep it clean.” Peeta remembered and stood up. Before you could protest, he scooped you up and carried you to the water. You didn’t complain this time even though it hurt to be in the water. You knew he just needed to take care of you or else he’d lose his mind with worrying. Once he was satisfied, he carried you back to the beach and gently laid you down.

“Are you hungry?” He asked once you were back on the sand.

“I’m all right.” You answered.

“Are you hungry?” Johanna mocked Peeta’s voice in a high pitched manner. You looked at her angrily as Peeta turned red.

“Instead of mocking me, why don’t you do something to help?” He said to her.

“Help how? No one else can get near her because of you. You should’ve seen the way he was watching you last night. I don’t think I ever saw him blink.” Johanna snorted. You looked over at Peeta and he was looking down at his hands with embarrassment. You put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it endearingly.

“It’s nice that Peeta cares so much. He’s right about infection. A lot of people have died from it in these games before they even realize what’s going on.” You defended him, making him smile at you.

“Oh, give me a break.” Johanna groaned. “Why don’t you two make out some more and get us some sponsors?”

“Yeah. Put on a show so we can eat.” Finnick laughed. Peeta shifted uncomfortably and you felt bad for him. You knew your fake relationship was a sensitive subject for him and now he had to listen to his allies mock it.

“Stop it.” You stated. “We’re not doing that.”

“Please? Just say your vows again in front of the camera. I’m starving.” Johanna whined.

“Then go hunt.” You snapped.

“Come on. What’s the point of being allies with the star crossed lovers if you’re not gonna kiss and get us some parachutes?” Finnick asked with a teasing smile.

“I know. I thought we’d at least get something when Peeta nearly lost his mind after not being able to find you for-what was it- two minutes? I thought his head was gonna explode.” Johanna added on.

“So did I.” Finnick agreed. “If you think about it, we don’t even have to kill the other tributes. Let’s just hide Y/n for a few hours and let Peeta kill everyone while he tries to find her.”

“Leave him alone. No more jokes.” You ordered all while Peeta stayed silently looking out at the waves. Everyone was quiet for a minute and you assumed the jokes were finally done. Peeta looked at you and smiled sadly so you took his hand and squeezed it.

“If they show us how they made that baby, I bet the Capital would send us a feast.” Johanna said to cut the silence. Finnick burst out laughing, making Peeta get up and walk away. You watched him walk into the jungle before looking at Johanna and Mason angrily.

“Look what you did. Why’d you have to tease him?” You asked and smacked Finnicks arm.

“Sorry. Go check on him. Tell loverboy I didn’t mean to make him cry.” Finnick pouted teasingly. You rolled your eyes at him and got up off the floor.

“You guys don’t know him. He’s a lot stronger than you give him credit for. Don’t forget that he won his games.” You said in Peeta’s defense. That left Johanna and Finnick silent as you walked off into the jungle in the direction Peeta had gone in. You found him using the spile to get some more water from you. You weren’t even thirsty from how often he’d been getting you water but you weren’t about to tell him that.

“Hey.” You said as you approached him.

“Hey. I was getting you some water.” Peeta said without looking at you. You could tell he was upset by what the others had been and you hated that you couldn’t even talk about it without the cameras picking it up.

“Thank you.” You smiled softly at him as you took the water.

“If you’re hungry, I can go pick some stuff. I know Finnicks been catching a lot of fish so if you need something sweeter, I can try and go find a berry bush.” He offered and still didn’t look in your eyes. You took him face and turned his head so that he had to look at you. He finally looked into your eyes and smiled sadly.

“Thank you.” You said sincerely. “But really, I’m really okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I know you can take care of yourself.”

“I can. But I appreciate you taking care of me. I just don’t want you to worry about me so much. We all need to be on high alert. I can’t be taking up your thoughts all the time.”

“But you do.” He said with a sad smile. You smiled back before pulling him into a hug. He hugged you back and was careful not to put his hands anywhere near your wound.

“I’m sorry they were teasing you.” You said into his ear.

“It’s okay. I deserve it for being so sensitive.”

“I like that you’re sensitive. It’s one of my favorite qualities of yours.” You told him as you pulled out of the bush but kept your arms around him.

“One of?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I like your banana bread too.” You replied, making him roll his eyes.

“Oh great. She likes my banana bread.” He chuckled. “That’s not one of my qualities.”

“I know. But I think about it all the time. I smell it sometimes in my dreams.”

“I’ll make you some when we go home. Your own loaf.” He promised you.

“I can’t wait.” You said through a sad laugh. You knew there was no possibility of that happening, but it made you happy to imagine anyway.

“Do you think we’ll go home?” Peeta asked after a beat of silence.

“I don’t know. We did last time.”

“Yeah but what are the chances of that happening again?” He said quietly.

“I try not to think about it.” You admitted.

“Me too. That’s why I spend so much time thinking about you.” Peeta replied. You looked into his puppy dog eyes for a while and stayed in comfortable silence. Peeta stared at you and touched your hair to keep himself grounded.

“I killed that guy.” Peeta said suddenly in a quiet voice.

“The one who attacked me?”

“Yeah. Him. I threw an axe at him. I could’ve just punched him but I didn’t. I went for the kill.”

“Why?” You wondered. You weren’t mad, it just wasn’t like Peeta to kill someone.

“Because he attacked you.” Peeta said simply.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you kill.”

“I didn’t either.” He admitted. “Do you think differently of me?”

“No. As long as you don’t try to kill me now that you’ve tasted your first blood.” You joked.

“I would never hurt you.” Peeta said sincerely.

“Oh, I know. I was just kidding.” You assured him.

“I know. I just…I don’t think you understand what you mean to me. I saw that guy put his hands on you and I just lost it. I saw red. I’ve never been so scared in my life. I thought he was gonna take you from me.” Peeta’s voice cracked on the last part so you pulled him back into a hug. You swayed back and forth and rubbed his back to calm him down.

“Hey, hey, hey. I’m okay. You saved me.” You said in his ear.

“I can’t lose you.” He sniffled and hugged you tighter.

“You won’t.”

“I can’t.” He repeated. “So when I’m a pain about keeping your wound clean or drinking some water, please just listen to me. I need to know that you’re okay.”

“Okay. I can do that.” You assured him.

“You better. Because I swear to God, if you die-“

You cut Peeta off by pulling out of the hug to kiss him instead. Peeta stiffened for a moment at the unexpected contact but then melted into the kiss. The kiss didn’t last very long because Peeta got in his head about the motive behind the kiss.

“You don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to.” He pulled away to whisper to you.

“I know that.” You said simply and reconnected his lips in a kiss. Peeta cupped your face to keep you close as he kissed you back. His insecurities melted away into the kiss and he let himself believe you really did feel the same.

“Hey, lovebirds. Get a room or join us for breakfast.” Finnick called from the beach. You pulled out of the kiss and rested your forehead against his.

“I wish he’d leave us alone.” Peeta sighed.

“I got this.” You told Peeta and turned to Finnick.

“I thought you wanted to see how we made the baby?” You called back. You could hear Finnick laugh as he walked back to the water to catch more fish. All while Peeta was a blushing mess over what you were implying.

“You hungry?” You asked Peeta once you were alone again.

“Can we just stay here for a while?” He asked you. You smiled and nodded your head to show him you weren’t going anywhere.

“As long as you want.”

[ebodebo]

Bite to Break Skin

—hear me out: simon as your new boxing coach…

current warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, p in v, mentions of evil nasty men, bad interruptions of boxing lol, cliche as hell, but cutie, boob play, teasing, ghost being a bastard, some fingering, making you be still idk the term, multiple orgasms, & nasty kissing through his mask.

"Goes by Ghost," Mac, the older man who owned the gym you frequented, said, leading you to the back section, where the boxing room was. 

"He's one of the best God-damn soldiers I've ever met, I'll tell you what. Saw him take out some insurgent with just his bare hands," he gruffly laughs out before glancing at your doe-eyed state.

His eyes soften, putting his hand on your shoulder lightly.

"He's a secret softie. He'll take good care of you."

You tightly grip the bag over your other shoulder as he leads you to the room this Ghost guy was in, your nerves getting the better of you. 

Mac grips the handle, but before he pulls on it, he turns to look at you. "He's not so good at casual conversation. Might be a little blunt, but most vets are. Just try to have fun, okay?" 

You nod meekly as he pulls the door open for you to step inside, closing it behind you as you fully step inside.

The room is dimly lit, with the only source of light coming from a few small windows high up on the wall.

You are in a relatively small room with punching bags, speedballs, and jump ropes neatly hung on the wall.

"You the new girl?" A deep, English voice boomed around the room in an echo.

You turn around quickly to be met with just about the hottest guy you've ever seen. 

He was tall, with a muscular build.

He wore a plain white t-shirt, dark gray sweatpants, a simple black Manchester United football cap, and a simple black mask covering his face's lower half.

"I—yes. I am," you stutter out, feeling a sudden surge of nervousness.

"Got gloves?" He gruffly questions, grabbing some focus mitts for himself and slipping off his cap.

"Yeah," you sputter, moving to set your duffle bag down to fumble through it before pulling out a pair of bright pink boxing gloves.

"Cute," he hums lowly as he sees you slip the neon gloves on, nearing back towards him.

You feel your face warm at his, granted dry compliment, but a compliment nonetheless. "Thanks," you murmur, now standing in front of him.

"Let's work on your stance." He demonstrates a broad, balanced stance. "A good stance gives you more power and speed."

"What if my stance isn't wide enough?" You question, awkwardly mimicking him, feeling out of your element. 

"You get socked," he says casually. "Widen your legs."

Oh. Oh no.

There was no flirty undertone whatsoever, though you couldn't help how your stomach fluttered at the ask. 

How the hell were you going to be able to work with him? 

"If you were to break like that," his voice is low, distinctly gravelly.

"Out there," he raises his hand to point out the window. 

"You're gettin' your ass handed to you." 

You nod lightly, inhaling a deep breath, determined to clear your mind and focus on the task.

"Focus," he rasps as you adjust your stance to widen your legs.

"Good. Now throw a jab," he orders, his eyes narrowing.

You raise a brow in confusion. "At what?"

"The air," he monotonously says, raising one of his brows. 

You turn to look over your shoulder. "The bag is right there?"

He lets out an irritated sigh. "And if I wanted you to punch the bag, I would have said so," he mutters in a sharp, caustic tone. 

"Just throw a punch."

You tentatively throw a jab, feeling an odd sense of adrenaline. 

"Rotate your hips," he commands. "Generates power."

You nod, throwing yet another jab, this time with a confident hip rotation, making your punch faster and more powerful. 

"Good girl," he gruffs. "Let's get you to practice your cross."

You spent the next thirty minutes or so reviewing various punch and foot techniques and only slightly googling him, growing increasingly impatient.

Hell, you didn't think you would be doing hard combat at the first go around, but you thought you'd be doing something a helluva bit more interesting than just punching some guys' hands. 

"Is this all this session is going to be?" You grunt out, laying a punch to his mitt. "Punching your hand."

There's a flicker of amusement in his eyes before he shakes his head from side to side. "You're not ready for more."

"Come on," you probe with a sly tone. "The whole point of this is so I learn self-protection. Some guy in an alley could try to rob me. I should learn something more practical."

He narrows his eyes at you before taking a breath. "Fine."

"Wait, really?" You ask with perplexity.

He shrugs. "You want practical? I'll give you practical."

You nod your head because hell yeah.

He's finally going to teach you something you can actually use.

"Block me," he mumbles, tossing his focus mitts to the side.

You let out a dry laugh. "I can't block you."

"Thought you wanted to learn more self-protection?" He clicks his tongue.

"Well, yeah...but I can't take you," you cross over your chest.

He lets out an arid chuckle.

"Sweetheart," he begins. "Most men that prey on women are built; they prey on women because they think they're weak. An easy target."

Your eyes shift to the ground, looking at the dark blue rubber flooring you stand on. 

"How bout' we show them you're not?" He tips his head towards you.

You bite your bottom lip in between your teeth until you taste a coppery liquid coat your tongue.

"Well?" He urges, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You glance up at him, inhaling a deep puff of air, before nodding your head and issuing a crisp, 'Fine.'

He gives you a curt nod, flexing his hands. "Gloves up."

"Don't take it easy on me," you say, raising your hands to assume a blocking position. 

He raises his hands. "Wasn't going to."

You puff out a breath, feeling confident despite your little training.

He threw a jab, precise and fast, to your left side.

You could feel the rush of air as his fist sliced through the space, the sound of his knuckles cutting the silence. 

You raised your arm to block it, but his punch was just a feint, and he quickly followed it up with a cross.

You tried blocking the cross, but his punch was too strong. 

His blow sent you stumbling backward, but you refused to give in, your arms flailing wildly to try and find balance, though to no avail.

As you fell, Ghost tried to grab you, but his own feet got tangled in ropes, and together, you both hit the mat, his hand extending out to rest beside you before his body weight fell on you. 

You both just lay there, panting and tangled.

Your nails dig into the flooring beneath you to suppress your nerves and the hoard of butterflies swarming in your stomach.

He has yet to look at you, his eyes wandering about the flooring as he catches his breath.

His eyes flick to yours already on him. 

"What?" He almost spits, the tension in his voice palpable.

"You—you have pretty eyes," you sputter out, your vulnerability laid bare.

There's a beat of silence.

With your eyes still locked on his, the air thickens, building an intense anticipation.

Until his masked lips, a tempting mystery, dip down and consume your lips in a passionate kiss.

You can feel the outline of his lips on yours, a tangible connection as you reciprocate the ferry kiss with equal fervor. 

Your skin is sizzling.

You're sure if someone took a match to your skin, you would be set ablaze. 

All you can hear is your own heartbeat as he pants through the mask, lips feverishly sucking on yours through the fabric. 

His fingers fumble with the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head desperately as you throw your gloves off to the side.

"Christ," he mutters into your lips as he gropes your breast through your bra. 

You let out a whine at the contact, placing your hand over his, pawing at your breast, holding it tightly so he doesn't move it. 

His hand squeezes your covered breast before his fingers skim down to the band of your bra, slipping his pointer under to skim your sensitive nipple.

Your mouth hangs agape as his fingers prod the sensitive bud, flicking it and moving it against the rough pad of his finger. 

"Sensitive one," he tuts, taking his finger out and instead reaching to unclasp your bra, letting your breasts pour out freely. 

His coarse hand wastes no time fondling your bare breast, pointer, and thumb, going back to roll your nipple between the two fingers. 

You squirm under his touch, equal parts aroused and impatient. 

"You're impatient," he observes, his fingers still tweaking your nipple.

"I just—need you," your voice is already strained. "Can't wait."

The corners of his eyes crinkle, insinuating a smile—what a bastard.

"Oh," he hums in a condescending tone. "Thought you were going to be a patient girl," his finger skims down to the waistband of your pants before he pulls it away. "Was I mistaken?"

"No—no. I can be...patient," you force out, already mourning the contact.

"You sure?" He questions, his tone low and sultry. 

"Because only patient girls get to come."

You release an anguished moan at his words, issuing a hurried, breathless 'Yes.'

"You gonna be a good girl and let me play with you?" He brings his hand back to skim over your stomach.

Your eyes flick to his, full of irritation.

"I said yes," you say through gritted teeth.

He dips his head forward, eyes narrowing at your tone. 

"You're still impatient," his tone is low as he pulls his hand away again.

You shake your head from side to side, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "I—no. I can be patient."

His eyes glaze over your face—sincerity apparent in your eyes. 

He hums in acknowledgment, bringing his hand back to skim the warmth of your body. 

"Fuckin' perfect," he mutters under his breath as he drops to his knees so one of your legs is in between them.

His fingers move to dip under the waistband of your pants before gripping either side and slipping them down over your thighs.

He eyes the fresh wet spot on your underwear, reaching out to touch it with a finger. 

You let out a whine as your body thrusts forward at his touch.

His eyes snap back to yours in warning.

As his fingers rub easily over the fabric, you sink back into the floor. You suck in a breath, fingers balling into a fist as you close your eyes.

"None of that," he gruffs, gripping the sides of your underwear and slipping them off smoothly. "Open."

Your eyes snapped open to meet his dark ones, peering at you.

"Good girl," he praises, his pointer rubbing over your slit that was already coated with your arousal. "You're soaked, Sweetheart."

You hold a whine in your throat as his finger moves to swirl inside you.

He begins pulsing his finger inside you, prodding against your sensitive clit. 

You remain still as his finger moves against you, only moving your mouth to let out an occasional whiney moan. 

"Look at you," he coos. "Bein' so good for me."

His finger picks up pace, moving against your clit with much pace.

"Can you take more?" He grunts out.

You hastily nod your head—aching with the need for relief. 

When he adds his middle finger into the mix, you swear you see heaven—or something very near.

He's panting as his fingers move inside you with urgency, as you let out breathless wails and feel your lower stomach start to tighten.

"I'm gonna—come," you whine, head throwing back as you squeeze your eyes shut.

"Can tell. Squeezin' my fingers so tight," he groans.

It only takes a couple more pumps of his fingers for you to come undone.

Crying out in relief, chest heaving, legs shaking.

His name falls off your tongue as you come from his fingers.

Talk about a wet dream come to life.

You're still panting, coming down from your high, as Ghost reaches for the waistband of his sweatpants and underwear, tugging them down to unveil his painfully erect cock, the tip already leaking some pre-come.

"I won't last too long," you sputter with equal parts anticipation and excitement as he gives his cock a nice tug, hissing a little at the contact.

"Oh, trust me," he wheezes. "Me neither."

"But I need to feel you."

You feel your face warm, your stomach tighten, and your throat dry.

All of a sudden, you're aroused despite having just came.

He positions himself to line up against your entrance, eyes locking on yours. "Ready?"

You nod, gripping his shoulders tightly. "Ready," you affirm.

He pushes his cock into your already-soaked entrance with ease, grousing as his teeth clench.

"Shit. You're tight, Baby," he mumbles, pushing himself into you deeper—still not moving the entirety of his cock in. 

"Sorry," you murmur breathlessly.

"Don't apologize," he says instantaneously, hand moving to rest on the nape of your neck. "Feels fuckin' good."

Your eyes glint at the compliment, though squeeze shut as he starts pumping in and out of—feeling so full, yet empty.

"Need—need more," your voice is coarse. "Put it all in."

His eyes widen slightly. "You sure you can handle it all?"

You hiss out a breath. "I can."

He nods, pushing the rest of his cock inside you.

Your head falls back, mouth opening to make noise before he bends down to capture all the wines he elicits that slip through your lips. 

His mask is soaked.

You can feel the wet fabric against your damp skin. 

It's hot. Really hot. 

You could probably get off to just making out with him. 

The outline of his tongue moves under the mask to trace the outline of your teeth, fabric lightly snagging on them.

You groan into his mouth as you're wildly sucking at the fabric, franticly seeking his tongue and lips. 

"Fuck, Baby," he curses, his pace picking up. 

"You're so good—so good."

You moan into his mouth, mouth hanging open over his masked one, as you feel yet another orgasm approaching.

"I know—I know," he murmurs before you say anything.

He can feel you.

You press your mouth back to his, your tongue coming out to push through the fabric before you tighten around him.

He lets out a gravelly moan as he feels you come, gripping you tighter as he comes himself. 

He lets his forehead fall against yours as both your chests rise and fall almost simultaneously.

A curse falls from his lips as he pulls out of you, easing his underwear and sweatpants back up.

His eyes lock to yours. "Need help?" He asks with sincerity.

Your lip quips, shaking your head. "I can manage."

You pull your pants up, only slightly hissing, before gripping your shirt and pulling over your head.

He helps you to your feet, reaching down to grab your bra.

You shoo his hand away. "Keep it."

His eyes narrow as he smiles under his mask.

Grabbing your duffle bag, you sling it over your shoulder, shoving your gloves in it. 

"That was great—really great, but what if someone does try something?" You ask, your concern evident in your tone.

"Don't need to worry about that," he simply says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"What? But what if—" You begin before he interrupts. 

"Just...listen to me. Yeah?" He murmurs. 

You narrow your eyes before your eyes soften up. "Yeah. Okay, okay."

"Come back tomorrow. Show you some new moves," he shrugs. 

"Similar to today, yes?" You cheekily ask. 

He lets out a dry laugh. "If you want."

"Can't wait," you chirp. "See you."

He gives a curt nod as you approach the door. You offer him a bright smile as you turn back, pushing the door open with purpose.

Stepping outside, you leave him to reflect on your interaction, giving him time to reminisce about the encounter for the next twenty-four hours until he feels you again.

You still wanted to learn how to protect yourself independently, but it didn't hurt that you had unexpectedly attained your very own guard dog, who wasn't scared to draw blood.

Just give him the command. 

a/n: i can’t believe i haven’t done this before...we also don't need to talk about the logistics of this, okay?

divider!

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[dreamdragonkadia]

Hey!! I hope you’re doing GREAT! I was just wondering if you were going to do a part 2 to your Xaden x Tauri!reader fic? Have a great day!

I hope you are doing well!! I'll happily write a part two! x.riorson x tauri!reader Part one

Was it right, what you were doing?

Gods, no. It was cowardly. Shameful. You could admit that much, at least in the quiet dark of your own mind.

Avoiding everyone for a full week? Not answering a single knock on your door? Not even saying goodbye to Xaden before he left?

Pathetic.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” you’d said. Like a liar. Like a coward. You hadn’t meant it. You would’ve said anything to run, to just breathe.  

Then you’d climbed straight onto your dragon’s back, whispered a single word—“Fly”—and she hadn’t stopped until the mountains blurred below you like water.

The Swordtail hadn’t said a word at first. Just kept flying. Far. Fast. Away. And you’d let her, curling into yourself as the sky turned from near night to morning.

She didn’t take you back until she felt the Blue Daggertail had left campus airspace the next day. Only then had she banked, circled low, and landed with a bone-shaking thud on the edge of the quadrant cliffs.

“You are being a coward,” she’d said flatly, her voice crackling in your mind like embers on wind.

You shoved the bond aside. Hard.

And she let you. For now.

You didn’t expect to get cornered so soon after. And certainly not by him.

Not Imogen, not any of the other third years.

No, it was Bodhi.

Which felt almost worse.

He caught you just outside the mess hall, grabbed your arm without preamble and yanked you into a shadow-drenched corridor, the one near the war college that always smelled faintly of damp stone and full of suggestive memories.

“Crown princess?” he hissed, his eyes dark and wild with disbelief. “And you weren’t just going to mention that to anyone?”

You ripped your arm from his grip. “How did you—?”

“How do you think?” he snapped. “Xaden. He’s barely said five words before he had to leave and two of them were your name.”

Your heart twisted. A fresh wound over a bruise.

“Look, I didn’t—I never meant for any of this to happen.” Your voice came out quieter than you wanted. “I wasn’t trying to lie. I just…”

“No,” he agreed, crossing his arms. “But you sure didn’t stop it, either.”

You swallowed hard, guilt clawing up your throat. “Do you think I wanted to be found out like that? In front of him?”

He looked at you then—not with anger, but with something that felt almost like pity. “He loved you. Still does, I’m sure. But you’ve got to know what this looks like to him. To all of us.”

“I never used him,” you said, firmer now, stepping closer. “I never once used who I was to gain anything. I kept it buried so deep I forgot what it even meant. I bled beside all of you. Fought beside all of you. Earned my place like anyone else.”

“Yeah,” Bodhi said, voice low. “You did. But now we all have to ask ourselves—was she an ally, or was she a royal pretending to be one?”

That landed like a punch to the ribs.

You didn’t have an answer.

He stepped back, eyes narrowing. “Fix this. Or at least talk to him before he starts thinking it was all a game.”

You stared at the wall long after he left.

Because it wasn’t a game. Not to you.

It never had been.

So really, what other choice did you have?

Your dragon knew before you did. Before your hands even reached for the flight jacket still slung over the back of your chair, before you shoved the nearest things into a pack with little care for what you grabbed. Before your feet started moving—fast, frantic—toward the flight field like the wind itself might carry you there faster if you just begged hard enough.

It was Violet you spotted first.

Tairn’s black form casted a long shadow over the clearing. The outpost rotation. Fourteen days. You’d nearly forgotten. Or maybe you’d tried to.

Fourteen days apart. It had already been that long?

Gods, it felt longer. Like the air had been thinner since the moment he left.

You moved before you could think.

“I’m coming with you.” The words left your mouth as your hand closed around Violet’s forearm.

She blinked at you, startled, brows knitting. “You—what? Are you even allowed to—?”

But the Red Swordtail landed with a heavy thud beside Tairn before she could finish the sentence, the wind from her wings blasting across the clearing like punctuation.

“I’m the Crown Princess of Navarre,” you said, too tired to flinch from the truth now. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

It wasn’t a threat.

It was a fact. Mostly. One you’d spent your whole life trying to outrun, and now, for the first time, you were owning it. Because maybe the only way to fix the damage was to stop hiding what you were.

Violet looked at you like she wasn’t sure whether to hug you or deck you.

She hesitated, then glanced over at the dragons. Tairn eyed the other like he’d expected this exact kind of trouble, and your dragon simply lowered herself to the ground in a clear, get on with it motion.

Violet turned back to you. “This… isn’t just about the outpost, is it?”

“No.” You met her gaze. “It’s about Xaden.”

“Thought so.” She sighed. “You ready for that conversation?”

You swallowed hard. “Not even a little.”

“Well,” she said, already moving toward her dragon again, “then it’s going to be a hell of a flight.”

And a hell of a flight it was.

Your thighs were screaming by the time Samara came into view, the cliffside outpost jutting from the mountains like a jagged secret. You could already see the dragons circling lazily above, familiar shapes in unfamiliar sky, and—

Gods.

You definitely weren’t expecting to land and be met with the unmistakable bark of Violet’s older sister.

“Princess?!” Mira Sorrengail hissed the moment your boots hit the stone.

You winced.

Violet landed seconds behind you, clearly bracing for impact.

“Mira,” you greeted, barely managing to keep your voice level.

“What in the actual hell are you doing here? Does Command know you’re—”

“It’s a long story,” Violet interrupted, stepping neatly between you both like a shield. “That I will explain. Later.”

You could’ve kissed her. Honestly. If you weren’t already in love with a certain moody, infuriating, shadow-wielding ex-wingleader, you would have kissed her. Right then and there.

But you didn’t have time.

Not when you felt it.

The pull.

That familiar gravity sinking into your chest like a second heartbeat.

Your eyes lifted, and there he was.

Xaden Riorson. Standing in the stone archway of the fortress like some damn storm god had carved him from shadow and control. Arms crossed, jaw tight, unreadable.

And his eyes?

Locked on you.

Seeing you.

Not just looking—seeing.

Your feet moved before your brain could catch up, walking fast, maybe too fast, trying to play it off like you weren’t practically sprinting. Like your legs weren’t trembling with every step, like your heart wasn’t thundering loud enough to echo.

You didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t let him say a word.

You reached him and grabbed his arm, the familiar heat of his skin through his leathers nearly undoing you right there. “We need to talk. Now.”

His brow lifted, and you heard the softest huff of breath—almost a snort, like he couldn’t help himself—but before you could yank him toward some direction that only felt right, he moved.

Fast.

His fingers slid down your wrist, trailing fire in their wake before his hand settled low on your back. Firm. Right. Possessive in a way that shouldn’t still make your breath hitch, but gods, it did.

“Wrong way,” he murmured, voice low and maddeningly calm. Then he tugged you with him, pulling you against his side like it was how it was meant to be. Like your body belonged right there, pressed to his.

You stiffened, instinctively resisting the pull for half a second—because how dare he still touch you like that after everything? After Alic? After the truth?

But you didn’t move away.

Couldn’t.

Because, saints, you’d missed this. Missed him. Missed being seen and known, even when it hurt.

He guided you through the inner halls of the outpost without another word. No fanfare. No audience. Just the two of you, your steps too in sync for how fractured things were.

And when he pushed open the door, you didn’t even wait for it to close.

It wasn’t a decision. It was second nature.

You reached for him like you were starving. Like the absence of him had left something cracked open inside your chest and only this—only him—could make it stop hurting.

Your lips found his before the door even clicked shut.

There was no pretense. No buildup. Just fire.

Your hands cradled his face, fingers sinking into the dark curls at the base of his skull, holding him like you were scared the world might end if you let go. And maybe it would.

His hands were on your hips, not rough, just there. Holding. Desperate. Like he was terrified you’d vanish again. Like if he let go, it would all unravel.

You felt the shudder in his chest before you heard it, the way he breathed you in like he didn’t believe you were real. Like part of him thought this was a dream, and any second now, he’d wake up cold and alone.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered against his mouth, voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

And still, he didn’t speak.

He just kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, with all the careful reverence of someone trying to memorize every shape and sound of something he thought he’d lost.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breath ragged, shadows curling faintly at the edges of your vision like they couldn’t stand to be far either.

His voice, when it finally came, was hoarse. “You left.”

You closed your eyes. Gods, that hurt more than it should have. “I know.”

“You ran.”

“I know.”

He was quiet for a long moment, and then—so softly you almost didn’t catch it:

“I thought I ruined it.”

Your heart cracked clean down the middle.

“No,” you whispered. “You didn’t. I just— I didn’t know how to be everything at once. The rider. The liar. The princess. The girl in love with the one person I should’ve stayed away from.”

His breath caught. You felt it more than heard it.

He pulled back just enough to see your face, eyes searching yours like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. Like the floor had just shifted beneath him.

“You love me?” he asked, quiet, stunned.

You let the silence hang for just a heartbeat longer, let him feel the truth of it. Then you said it.

Not soft.

Not shy.

But clear.

And honest.

“No,” you said. “I’m in love with you.”

His eyes widened, barely perceptible, but it was there. That break in his walls. That flicker of something real and raw.

“Every part,” you continued, voice gaining strength now. “The asshole side, the protective side—even when it makes me want to gut you on the spot. The soft side you pretend doesn’t exist, the one that leaves chocolate on my bed and carries me to the med ward like I don’t weigh a damn thing.”

You stepped closer, if possible, pressed your palm against his chest, right over the heart you weren’t supposed to have. Right over the part of him that you’d fallen for, piece by infuriating piece.

“I love the side of you that growls at anyone who gets too close,” you whispered, your hand curling into his shirt, “and the side that looks at me like I might be the only thing holding you together. I love the way your shadows curl when you’re worried. I love that you care, even when you pretend you don’t.”

He still hadn’t said anything. Just stood there, breath shallow, like you’d knocked the air out of him.

You gave him a crooked, watery smile. “So actually, yes, Xaden. I love you. And it’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever felt. But gods help me, I do.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, his mouth crashed into yours again, and this time it wasn’t careful.

It was want and need.

No hesitation. No restraint. Just heat—raw and unfiltered, like a storm finally breaking after holding itself back for far too long.

His hands found your waist again, but this time they didn’t just hold. They claimed. Fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt, calloused palms dragging along bare skin, bracing and igniting all at once.

You gasped into his mouth as he walked you backward, slow and sure, never breaking the kiss. One step. Another. Until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you had no choice but to fall back.

He followed you down, towering over you, shadows curling behind him like wings made of want. His pupils were blown, jaw tight, and he was breathing like he’d just come off a battlefield.

“Say it again,” he rasped.

Your heart stuttered.

“What?” you whispered, even though you’d heard him perfectly.

His hands were on either side of you now, caging you in, his mouth brushing your jaw, your cheek, your throat—never quite kissing, just close enough to set your skin on fire.

“Say it again,” he said, rougher this time. “I need to hear it.”

You looked up at him—really looked—and felt your chest ache with how much you wanted him to believe it. To feel it. To know he wasn’t alone in this.

So you reached up, slid your hand to the nape of his neck, and pulled him down until your lips barely touched his.

“I love you, Xaden Riorson.” you breathed.

He groaned like the words undid him.

And then he was kissing you again—deep and hungry, like he was trying to memorize every part of this moment. Like he didn’t want to just feel you, but devour you. Like he’d spent weeks trying to forget the taste of your mouth and was punishing himself for ever letting it go.

You barely had time to breathe.

His hands slid under your thighs, shifting you back further onto the bed with ease, his body pressed flush to yours in a way that left no space for doubt—or anything else.

He kissed you like a man losing his grip on restraint, like someone who’d been holding back for too long and had finally decided to let go. His mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, to the underside of your throat, where he lingered—breathing you in, brushing his nose against your pulse like he could feel the truth of what you said there.

His hands found the hem of your shirt again, tugging this time—not demanding, but asking. A silent question pressed into your skin.

You lifted your arms without hesitation.

Because this—he—wasn’t something you feared.

His eyes flicked up to yours once the fabric cleared your head, like he needed one last confirmation. And what he saw must’ve been enough, because he exhaled a curse against your collarbone and ran his hands up your sides like he was relearning you by touch alone.

Every brush of his fingertips sent heat racing along your skin, and when his mouth returned to yours, it was slower, deeper—possessive in a way that made your spine arch and your breath hitch.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips, voice frayed and low, like confession and apology wrapped in one.

And you, already left dizzy by his touch, whispered back, “Then don’t let go.”

He didn’t.

[booksandteaandtears]

A much needed conversation

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!prosecutor!reader

summary: You and Robby have a serious talk about a subject you've been hesitant to bring up.

read how they met! | Masterlist

I was flabbergasted when I found out how much someone in Robby's role would be earning so this is me expressing my own ignorance. (Go get that bag though, 'cause those therapy sessions don't pay for themselves)

genre: don't worry, yet more fluff for this sweet couple, I could never do them harm 😉

about 1k words

You had been worried about something for a while, but had been hesitant to bring it up, because you did not want to embarrass Robby. It had been gnawing at you for a while though, so you knew you'd have to broach the subject someday. It was at a nice restaurant, some months into your relationship that you decided a conversation was needed.

"So, are you going to let me pay this time?" You asked. Robby looked at you, confused. He had never once let you near the waitress to pay, always faster than you to get his card out. "No? I can pay, I want to pay." He answered you. You sighed at him and tried to smile encouragingly. "Just let me pay Robby, I earn more than you." You tried to put it out there fast and soft. A laugh escaped him. "What?" You said, "You obviously don't even have the money for nice clothes. You can't be spending all this money on me, I am more than capable of paying. I know you doctor types are always massively in debt from med school. I was talking about it with my colleagues last week and I heard the average is about 350k of debt for doctors."

Robby couldn't stop his laughter from growing. "Do you really think I'm poor, based on the clothes I'm wearing? I didn't realise you were so close minded." Your cheeks grew red and you scoffed at him, "Well not poor, but you have been rotating the same three shirts for our dates these past months and some of the furniture in your apartment is almost falling apart. I didn't want to bring it up, because I know you men have complex feelings about your women earning more than you, but I think it's quite simple in this case. I earn more, so just let me pay." Robby took a sip of wine. "Firstly, I only own three nice shirts 'cause I have no time and desire to go shopping. I'd rather spend my precious free hours with you than in a mall. And secondly, even if you earned more money than me I'd have no issue with it. You've worked hard your whole life, you deserve the salary you earn. But again, don't just presume I don't earn more than you."

You sought eye contact with the man in front of you. "I'm a deputy district attorney, that's one of the highest paying jobs in the country." Robby just blinked. "I'm the chief of emergency medicine at a big hospital, do you not know how much a senior attending gets paid?" You scoffed, "What, like a $100.000 a year probably, $120.000 maybe as chief? But again, you're probably still paying off your student debt." "Try roughly three to four times as much. And no student debt. I'm getting close to sixty years old, if I was still in debt I'd be paying 'till I diead." Your mouth shot open. "Excuse me?" Robby finished the wine in his glass and nodded, still unable to stop laughing at your confusion. You blushed at the man in front of you. "Right, I feel stupid now. I genuinely thought you earned okay money, but this is just crazy. You are loaded." You looked at him, still in disbelief. "You know what," he answered, "We're going shopping tomorrow, I'll buy myself some different shirts and then I'm paying for those shoes you've been looking at for a month."

The next day Robby had made good on his promise and the afternoon had ended in the park with coffee and pastry. "So," Robby said while you were mid bite. "Are you going to tell me why you were so weird about the money yesterday? Did you really think I'd mind?" You almost chocked on your almond croissant. You'd had a hard time falling asleep the night before, going over the conversation in the restaurant several times before dreaming about it again.

You focused on a child running through the park and Robby put a hand on your thigh to pull your mind back to him. "Sorry." You murmur at him. "I shouldn't have had the conversation like that yesterday. I was wrong to presume anything about your financial situation. It's just been a painful point in some past relationships, so I thought I would lighten the blow a bit this way. I was wrong though."

Robby took a sip of coffee and you could see that he was overthinking what you had said. "What do you mean, a painful point in past relationships." He asked after some consideration. You shied away from the eye contact, looking at a dog nearby. "At some point they'd find out that I was earning more than them. They wouldn't tell me outright that they didn't like it, but they kept grumbling about it. It was never the main reason why things ended with my exes, but it was certainly a factor."

"They weren't sure enough of their masculinity that you out earning them was a point of friction? I see why women have so little trust in men. I thought we left being jealous of successful women behind in the seventies." You laughed at him, relief flooding your body from the ease of his reaction.

He turned to face you. "But why were you scared to bring that up with me? You didn't think I'd react the same, did you?" A flush crept over your face. "I should have known better, but yes, I was scared you would." Robby pulled you closer to him, your head leaning on his shoulder. "It's kind of strange for you to worry whether I'll still love you depending on your income," He murmured into your hair, "When last week you asked me if i'd still love you as a worm and my answer was yes." You giggled at him, content that the worry was off your mind and fully at peace with him in the moment. His hand reached up to your face and he pulled you in for a sweet kiss.

[sturnioz]

☆ . . . beneath you, matt's body trembles with need, his hips rocking up involuntarily as he desperately tries not to give in. he wants to listen to you — but his body has a mind of it's own.

he whines, frustrated tears brimming in the corners of his eyes as he stares up at you, silently begging for more than just being buried still in the warmth of your puffy cunt, your walls fit snug around him.

"don't" you shake your head in warning. "you either stay like this inside, or you get nothing at all."

matt whimpers as you refuse him once again, his eyes closing tight as he slowly nods his head. he knows he should feel lucky that you — his best friend — is even on top of him like this, despite it not being exactly what he wanted... but it was something.

he takes in a deep breath, trying to calm down his trembling body as his hands move up to grip your waist. "please..."

you glare down at him, even though his pleading made your stomach flutter, and you remain still above him as you decide to slowly trail your hand up his chest, heading towards his throat, and matt's breath hitches, his lips parting with a silent gasp.

he tilts his head back, exposing more of his skin for you to touch, desperate for any stimulation from you that you are willing to give.

you wrap your fingers around his throat, and matt's breath comes out in strangled gasp, his body arching up into your touch as his hips instinctively press up against you, his cock sinking deeper in the warmth of your walls, seeking any kind of relief from the pressure building in his body.

he struggles to speak, his words replaced with moans and whimpers as he desperately tries to find the right words.

"p-please..." he manages to strain out, his hips rocking up against you needily, completely forgetting your earlier request for him to not move.

you hum softly, fingers squeezing tighter around his neck as you slowly start to rotate your hips, and matt's eyes roll to the back of his head, letting out a strangled moan. his back arches, his body being gradually overwhelmed with pleasure and need, making his brain fuzzy.

"how's it feel?" you hum, tilting your head to the side as you loosen your grip and matt's chest heaves as he gasps for air, the brief lack of oxygen only serving to make his body more sensitive to every touch.

he peels his eyes open to glance up at you, a slightly dazed look in his eyes as he takes in the feeling of pleasure coursing through his veins, his breath coming in shuddering gasps as you move your hips faster.

he tries to force out his words, but all he manages is a strained moan, his hips still rocking up against yours in a desperate plea for more — harder, faster.

you tut, "talk to me, matt."

"i — i can't," he mewls, trying to force his mind to focus through the haze of pleasure, "it — s'too much, i can't — i — shhhiiiiit."

© sturnioz

[harrystylesfan2686]

First time

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Summary: Reader experiences 2 base for the first time. Aftercare.

Warnings: MDNI Cunnilingus. Smut.

A/N: Hope you like this😚🤭

Masterlist

●○●○●○

He lays on his stomach, spread out between her naked legs. Looking up at her flushed face.

"Ready love?" She nods, feeling excited and maybe a little scared, not having done this ever before.

They'd been kissing when she suddenly felt the need to have more, her mind blurry and fingers clenched in need of something, anything greater than this. Kissing wasn't enough for her now, she wanted more. And when she told him this, he only smiled and said to her that he knew of a way she could feel satisfied.

So now, here they were with her spread out on her bed and him between her legs. He had told her to remove her outer clothes before, leaving her only in her underwear.

He softly grazes his lips on her inner thigh, trying to get her used to the touch. She exhales, her skin tingling with anticipation. She might be inexperienced, but she wasn't naive. She knew what he would do and how he would do it—had spent a good amount of time reading and watching and imagining those crude scenes—She just didn't know how it would feel.

"May I?" She looks at his devilish expression as he holds up the band of her knickers. She nods once more and he let's go of it. She feels confused for a moment before he bites down on the band, pulling it down her leg as he goes.

She lets out a gasp when he pulls closer to her now entirely naked bottom. He spreads her legs a little wider and lips his lips, admiring her. Her entire body feels hot, him looking at her like this is making her feel nervous. Her blush spreads across her face and neck as the seconds go by.

"Don't keep me waiting now, please?" She begs, her voice laced with desperation. He looks up at her face and notices her breathing coming out in small impatient puffs.

And smirks.

Not breaking their eyes contact, his lips part, his tongue swiping out to Lick a clean swipe across her clit and she flinches at the sudden pleasure. His smile widens and he moves his tongue across her again, adding a little more pressure. Her eyes leave his as she lets out a low moan.

He keeps moving his tongue in slow, delicate motions and she can't stop panting.

She moans loudly when his tongue slips slightly in her gaping entrance, teasingly, just a little and pulls back to her clit once more. His movements are a little faster now, increasing pressure by each swip.

Her legs twitch and he tightens his hold on them, not giving her much room to move. Her mind feels dizzy and she can't focus on anything other than the pleasure he gives her.

She can't stop her moans now, the pleasure not giving her time to even think. She bites down on the back of her right hand, trying to keep her moans.

But then the pleasure stops, the weight of a tongue leaving her. Her eyes open and she frowns, arching her head to see him pulling back and sitting on his knees.

"Why-?" She goes to ask but he clicks his tongue, silencing her.

His hand reached out to grasp onto the hand she bit, the redness and irritated skin already forming the shape of her teeth. He gently kisses the area and looks at her with disappointment in his eyes.

"Why did you try to keep your moans at bay, darling?" He let go of her hand and leans down to softly peck her lips. "I love to hear you. Won't you let me?"

And sudding the pleasures back again. She looks down to see him using his thumb on her nub, rotating in small circles. The feeling is electrifying and this time she doesn't conceal her voice.

His busies himself in kisses her skin, moving his lips from her neck, down her collar bone, kissing and nibbling along the way, leaving a trail of small red love bites here and there.

He uses her other hand to pull down her bra, she gasps, her nipples hardening in the cold air of her room. He immediately wraps his lips around it, circling his tongue at the tip. He sucks on it before releasing and repeating the treatment on the other one.

She lets a sound very close to a sob, his thumb hadn't stopped at all and now his lips continuing their ministrations. He works, both of his thumb and tongue in a rhythm, overwhelming in the finest way possible.

Her muscles contract and a deep arch starts at her core, like a rope tightening into a knot. Her fingers twitch, in need to hold something, noticing this he takes her hands, interlacing their fingers of one hand and puts the other in his hair, encouraging to pull as she needs.

"I— think— I'm gonna—" Her words a broken whisper but he understands exactly.

"Let go, my love."

He kisses her lips, moving his tongue with hers passionately. His hand now moves even faster and her hips buck up. The knot in her core tightening and tightening and it finally breaks and she cries out into his mouth. Her eyes fall shut as white explodes behind them. Her mind completely quiets, only focusing on the pleasure that runs through her veins.

She loses herself in the haze of euphoria, floating inside her mind as he gently lays kisses on her body. She doesn't know what time it is when she finally comes to, her body still buzzing with excitement. She opens her eyes to see his gazing down at her. He smiles when she does.

"There you are, darling." His clean hand comes up to cup her cheek, and she instinctively nuzzles into it, eyes falling again. Exhaustion finally weighing down her body. He sighs. "Not yet, love." Referring to her almost falling asleep.

He gets up and puts each hand behind her back and knees, gently lifting her in his arms. She whines softly in protest, wanting noting but to go back to sleep. "We can seep after darling, first thing to do is clean you; Don't want you getting an infection now, do we?"

He walks into the bathroom and sits her down on the sink counter, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her deeply for a few seconds before gently releasing her and taking off her bra that somehow stayed on the entire time.

She finally feels a bit awake and smiles at him, her skin glowing in the after sex glow. He smiles back and moves to turn on the cap of tub, getting ready for the bath. She notices the bulge in his pants and frowns.

"What about you?" She asks.

"What bout me?" He looks at her, leaning closer to hold her again after removing his clothes too.

"Do you want me to suck you off?"

He freezes, widening eyes taking in her innocent ones. The image of those doe like eyes looking up at him with his dick in her mouth pops in his mind.

He laughs at her in disbelief. Adorable, he thinks.

"Not now, darling. I don't think you'll be able to handle it." A wolfish grin spreads across his face and she tilts her head in confusion.

She hadn't done it before but surely it can't be that hard no?

He pecks her nose once more before lifting her from the counter. They sink into the full tub, and she immediately feels herself melt in the hot water. Tenseness leaving her muscles as sleep once again tries to embrace her.

She's so lost in the relaxed feelings that she doesn't realise when he wraps his arms around her waist and rests her back on his chest, only when he lightly kisses her shoulder from behind, does she angles her head a little and pulls him into a slow gentle kiss.

When they pull back, she beckons her head on his shoulder and he rests his forehead to her neck. His fingers trace and move in delicate movements, massaging the caves in her hips and she sighs.

"I love you." She whispers into the silence.

"I love you too." He kisses her shoulder.

Few moments of peace before his fingers suddenly curl into a tight fist and she frowns.

"Is something wrong?" She tries to turn but his arms tighten their hold, enabling her to move. She feels his lips form into a smirk and he lifts his head just enough to look her in the eyes and say, "I can't seem to get your moans out of my mind." Which earns him an adorable blush and a slap on his cheek.

[dovesdreaming]

Like a real family

Summary: You find a family in the thunderbolts, especially yelena who becomes like a sister to you. (1k words)

Requested

Masterlist

-

The new Thunderbolts base wasn't a military compound or a prison or a bunker. It was a sleek, slightly too modern high rise with reinforced windows, panoramic views. A building that just so happened to be the old avenger’s tower. It was weird seeing the inside of such a famous building especially one that had so much security your suprised the building didn’t burst at it’s seams.

You stood in the living room, duffel bag slung over your shoulder, watching as Alexei loudly rushed and jumped over the side of the sofa declaring it his “throne” only to be half pushed off by Bucky with the calmness of a man who looks like he’s used to living with the chaos of so many roommates. You wondered what he felt like being back here after so many years but now with a different team.

Yelena Belova strolled past all of it with a duffel slung across her back, inspecting all the surfaces her eyes could land on. “You’re quiet” she said, stopping in front of you.

You blinked. “You’ve known me for what.. three minutes”

“Three minutes too long for someone who hasn't insulted Walker yet”

You snorted despite yourself. “I’m pacing myself”

Her smile was quick and mischievous. “Ah. A slow-burn hater. I like it” This was going to be a lot to get used to.

After living with a team of volatile assassins, soldiers, and supers for a few months you could definitely say it was exactly as chaotic as you'd expected and also a little sweeter than anyone would admit. Alexei cooked every Sunday night and insisted on everyone complimenting him. He referred to it as “family dinner” and always wore those cringey, maybe, slightly endearing aprons apron that said things like “mr good looking is cookin”. The dinners went smoother than expected, you would all chat to each other across the table and even have group discussions (which sometimes could get slightly out of hand). They always brought a warm fuzzy feeling to your stomach though because as you looked around the table at the people you met only a matter of months ago you could say that it felt somewhat like a home now. Everyone had their little quirks but it’s what made them feel more like a real family.

Walker had tried (and failed) to establish chore rotations and was then was ruthlessly mocked into only managing the trash.

Ghost phased through walls constantly. You stopped flinching after the third time she appeared beside you holding a bowl of cereal at 2 AM like a haunting.

Bob beat everyone in Mario Kart. Every. Single. Time. Now that annoyed you, you swore he was cheating, there was no way he couldn’t be.

Yelena… well, Yelena made herself at home in your space faster than anyone else. She’d drape across your bed without asking, steal your hoodies, and text you memes at 3 AM. She once sent a photo of Alexei snoring on a beanbag with the caption: “we have lost father. funeral at dawn.”

You never had a sister. Not a real one. But somehow, Yelena slipped into that role before you could define it. Well you assumed this was how sisters were with each other from what you had seen. She teased you constantly.

“You organise your socks by color? Psychopath behaviour”

“You're using that serum-enhanced shampoo again, aren't you? Your hair is aggressively shiny”

You gave it back just as hard.

“At least I don’t name my throwing knives”

“They all have different personalities! ‘Stabby’ is very misunderstood”

But when it mattered when a mission left you too shaken to breathe, or your past clawed its way into your mind, Yelena was there. She didn’t hug people often. But she’d sit with you, shoulder to shoulder, offering silence when words were too heavy.

“I know what it’s like” she once said after a bad mission. “To be used. To feel like your scars are instructions someone else left behind” You stared at her, eyes glassy. She looked forward, voice soft. “But they’re not. They’re yours now. You get to decide what they mean”.

You’ve change your mind. Yelena gave the worst advice.

“Text your crush and say ‘I could kill you in 47 ways but I won’t.’ It’s romantic”

“Fight the mission commander. Establish dominance”

“You are too emotionally stable. Go slash some tires”

You never took it seriously… unless she said it in her soft voice. The voice that came out when she was being real. Like the time you doubted yourself before a mission. Too many failures stacked behind you. You’d nearly stayed behind. Yelena found you in the gym, tossing knives at a target with clenched fists.

“You do not have to prove anything,” she said. “Not to them. Not even to me”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to be the weak link”

She crossed the room, stopped just in front of you. “Then don’t be. You’re not broken. You’re building” She handed you a knife. “Come. Let us show them what we’re made of” You walked into that mission stronger than ever.

One night, you sat on the balcony outside your room, knees pulled to your chest, staring into the city lights. Yelena had let herself into your room and slid down beside you, legs stretched in front of her, hair up in a mess behind her.

“Is it weird” you asked, “to be happy here?”

She tilted her head. “Yes. But good-weird.”

You looked at her. “Feels like if I let myself believe this is real, it’ll disappear again”

She nodded slowly. “That’s the curse of people like us. We were made to lose things”

Then she leaned her head against yours.

“But I’m not going anywhere, little shadow”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat.

“You’re annoying, you know that?”

She grinned. “I love you too”

[arbitrarykiwi]

Just thinking about Namgyu laughing in your face as he holds a vibrator to your cunt😖. Like you’re fully bare and vulnerable while he’s fully clothed, casually leaning on his side as you shake with pleasure.

Play Thing

anon!!! I LOVE THE WAY YOU THINK 😩😩😩 This was wayyyyy too fun to write. I just had a think that he would love to buy all sorts of toys for you and use them until you can’t take it 😗😗

Warnings: smut (18+), sex toy use (f receiving), orgasm denial, dirty talk, name calling (slut), degradation, squirting, read at your own risk

If there’s one thing Nam-gyu loves to do is to play with you. He’s damn near sadistic about it too. He will spend hours with his hand between your legs, fingers practically finger painting with your wetness. He adores how you writhe against him and how your breaths become ragged as you try to act like he’s not affecting you.

He lives for it.

You were just so cute! The way your eyes would well up with tears as your hips rotate mindlessly into his fingers, trying your best to move his deft digits up to your throbbing clit- where you needed it most. But he would always pull away. He couldn’t let you cum too soon, that would ruin all the fun!!

That being said, that brought you right to your current position….writhing against your bed, tucked into Nam-gyu’s side as he gives your new toy a test run. You can’t remember how long you’ve been like this, curled into Nam-gyu’s side, completely naked and oh so soaked while he is composed as ever, clothed completely and smirking down at your pathetic state. All you know is you’ve been so close to cumming 10, 12, maybe even 13 times, and each time he’s ripping the vibrating wand away from your abused cunt and running the nirvana you were so close to.

Your cunt is throbbing, your legs are shaking, and your back hurts from how hard it is arching off the bed but it feels so fucking good. Nam-gyu is smirking down at you, taking in every movement you make, analyzing every reaction you have. Anytime a moan falls from your lips he can feel his cock strain painfully against his jeans but he wouldn’t dare to undo the button and zipper.

There was something about having you tucked into his side, writhing- nearly sobbing as you moan his name, completely naked and spread open for him- Just for him- that gave Nam-Gyu such a rush of pleasure, a feeling of complete domination over you. You were his and his alone to play with.

You were so adorable too! Choked whines of his name and curses flow from your lips with such ease you’d think it was a song you had memorized. You’re looking up at him doe eyed and desperate, hips moving against the vibrator in frantic swivels as you mumble something incoherent about how good it feels. Nam-gyu would never get over the image of your reddened eyes and wet lashes, tears falling down your flushed cheeks as you beg for more.

“More?!” He laughs, “How greedy can you be?” His hand releases your breast to run up your sternum and neck, cupping your jaw and cheek. “Over here cryin’ and you’re still asking for more?” His tone is sickly sweet, his thumb smearing a fresh tear that falls down your cheek.

Your head nods up and down, a silent plea for him to give you more of the exhilarating pleasure you so desperately crave. You hear a scoff, an entertained sound as his finger clicks the button to the next level of vibration.

Immediately the feeling of electricity is amplified tenfold. A wanton cry is ripped from your lungs, the continuous thrum of the vibrator making your mind fill with static. “Nam-gyu~ F-fuck!!”

The way you say his name has him grinding his cock harder into the side of your thigh. It’s such a sweet, needy tone and it’s all for him to hear. In a quick motion he’s increasing the speed, click after click the speed gets faster. All you can hear is your own moans, the thrum of the wand and the lewd, wet sounds that come from between your thighs.

If your eyes weren’t busy fluttering back into your skull you would be able to see how he looks down on you- like you’re a meal waiting to be devoured- and, you are. Much like a delicacy displayed before him on rumpled bedsheets, you deserved to be savored. He deserved to savor you.

Wracked cries and sobs come from your body, you’re so close- but he knows you like the back of his hand- every time he knows your just close enough, he’s pulling his hand away, ripping the feeling of the thrumming vibrator away from your aching clit.

“I-I wanna cum.” You babble out, back bowing and legs shaking. “You can’t.”

You gasp, eyebrows knitting together in a near pained expression, “P-please I need it!” You try to reason, maybe begging will sweeten him up, you think it worked when you feel yourself reaching closer and closer to that exhilarating high that you craved and he doesn’t pull his hand away.

Right as the precipice of your orgasm begins to bloom in your lower stomach, a white hot heat radiating down your spine and legs, Nam-Gyu adjusts his hand and pulls the vibrator away, clicking it off. “Nope.”

Tears pour out of your eyes as you shake against the bed, a sheen of sweat layering your body, you can hardly catch your breath as you lay in the aftermath of being denied your orgasm once more. “Spread your legs wider.”

Nam-gyu’s gruff tone snaps you out of the haze you were in, the tone is domineering- it wasn’t an ask or a request, it was a demand. You whine, knees falling open. He takes this opportunity to trap your leg closest between him, between his own legs. He’s keeping you spread open for him just by trapping your one leg. Sure, you could try to move your other leg but it wouldn’t get you very far.

He places the vibrator back onto your sopping cunt, the head of it even just touching yourself clit- it’s not even on- it makes you jump. You expect him to gradually turn the speed on like he had been for the past hour, work you up to that rapid speed that has your body and mind going numb…

He doesn’t. Nam-gyu’s finger clicks against the ‘increase speed’ button and gets the speed to the highest one possible before he’s placing the vibrator back on your pussy. A creaky, high pitched whine is ripped from you, you’re gasping out his name and jolting against the mattress. Your leg that was trapped between his legs is twitching violently, trying to meet your other thigh to close your legs. “’s t-too much!” Even though you sob out, you don’t make any real effort to get him to stop or slow the vibration down, your hips are even grinding down onto the vibrator.

“Oh come on…” Nam-Gyu muses, it’s slow sardonic, mocking tone, “I wouldn’t have wasted my money on this toy if I knew you couldn’t take it.” He spits, the whirring head of the wand smearing your arousal on your thighs. Anytime he moves the device a wet ‘Schlick, Schlick’ sound echos throughout the room, just more testament to how badly you’re coming undone.

“I-I’m.. hah! I can t-take it!” Your voice gives you away so easily, ten times higher than normal and broken up by sobs of pure pleasure. If you were the least bit more with it you may have felt embarrassed. Here you were so broken, writhing and vibrating with pleasure, your body slick with a sheen of sweat. And you’re tucked so nicely into Nam-gyu’s side. His arm is hung lackadaisically around your shoulders, massaging and groping at your breast- just adding to the overwhelming pleasure you were receiving. He’s fully clothed and the only way you can tell he’s as turned on as you are is the way he grinds his thick, clothed erection against your thigh.

“I-I can t-take it!” He mimics, mocking your tone of voice before laughing down at you. “Ya gotta try harder than that if you wanna lie, princess.” He presses the button on the vibrator, increasing the speed. You let out a yelp, your hands flying to grip at his arm around your shoulder, trying to find anyway to ground yourself. “You’re making a fuckin’ mess of the sheets and your cunt is soaked- I haven’t even made you cum yet sweetheart. I dunno if you can take it.” He huffs, beginning to click the down button on the wand, the speed decreasing.

At risk of him stopping completely, you turn more into him, nearly sobbing into his chest. “I can!” You plead, nodding into his shirt, surely wetting it with your drool and tears. He chuckles, it’s so nonchalant that it makes your insides twist. He’s so composed, breathing steady, face calm and smug, just watching you come undone. “Can you?” Nam-gyu hums, pushing the wand harder against your aching clit as he clicks the speed back up.

You grip harder at his wrist that cups your jaw, nails making crescent moon shaped indents in his flesh. With every ‘click’ of his finger on the increase button, your mouth is hanging farther open and you’re shaking against him. Drool is pooling out of your mouth at this point, he’s driven you so close to the edge of your release more times than you can count- only to pull away right before you finally reach your climax.

“Mhm! F-fuck! I can! P-pleaseeee!!” The wanton cry is drawn out so sweetly, you really want it. You need it. You can feel how messy your cunt is, dripping down the valley of your ass and pooling under you in a sticky puddle on your sheets. He’s been playing with you for over an hour at this point, maybe even longer you can’t even think straight enough to tell at this point.

“Oh?? Begging now!?” He’s cooing at you like he’s talking to a baby, rubbing it in just how gone you were. Completely at his mercy like a puppet and the thrumming wand in his hand was the string that made you dance and sing so prettily for him. “Pleasee~” Nam-gyu mimics your voice, laughing as he looks down at you.

Your teary eyes meet his as you turn your head, trying to burrow your face into the fabric of his shirt. You pout, face red and eyes puffy, lashes clumped together. Fuck you’ve never looked better. You pout, a sound resembling a whine coming out of your throat in response to his mocking. “What??” He asks, his sadistic grin never leaving his face as the sarcastic question falls from his lips, “‘s how you sound right now, sweetheart. Ya can’t be mad at me for just repeating you~”

He mimics your pout and shakes his head playfully, his hand holding the wand, shaking back and forth. White hot fire erupts in your lower stomach, you know you’re getting close again. How could you not be?! You can barely register Nam-gyu’s laugh, the motion has your eyes fluttering back and your legs closing around the vibrating head of the wand. “You better not fucking cum.”

His words are low, nearly a hissed growl. Nam-gyu pulls you closer to him, his grip on you tightening. “Don’t you fucking dare.” It’s a threat. It always was. If you reached your sweet release before he was through with playing with you; he would make sure you paid for disobeying him.

“It’s- ohmygod- it’s s-so good…” your words come out in pathetic babbles, your head buried in his chest as he works the vibrator over the sloppy mess that was between your thighs. No matter how hard you squeezed them together, trying to close off your puffy folds and throbbing clit from the onslaught of the wand, his hand is not moving. The humming head of the wand he bought for you moves back and forth, in circles, up and down- anyway it can move, Nam-Gyu is making sure he does it.

When he was coming home from work and saw that new sex shop finally opened up after construction, it didn’t take but one time of him seeing the ‘grand opening’ sign to practically throw the car in reverse and pull into the parking lot. He did think he should wait, maybe he’d go home and tell you about it so both of you could check it out together…the thought of coming home with a new little toy for his princess as a surprise was much more enticing though…so Nam-gyu turned the car off, shoved his wallet in his pocket and walked into the store.

He came out of the store with the toy he was using on you currently, bringing it home and wasting little to no time to slide into bed next to you, get you out of your clothes and play with you.

“I know, sweetheart~” He coos, a tone so drastic from the demanding one he was just previously using, “but you don’t cum until I tell you too…” he punctuates his words by pressing the vibrator harder onto your clit, his tone teetering from sweet to harsh, “I will make you cum over and over until it fucking hurts.” He speaks through gritted teeth, his hold on your jaw tightening.

Your eyes flutter open, your bottom lip becoming caught in your teeth as you try to keep yourself from cumming. You nod, letting out a muffled, ‘Mhm! Mhm!’

“Yeahhh, ‘s right, you know ya gotta listen to me if you gotta cum…” He muses, an almost twisted grin on his face as his eyes scan over your body. His pupils focus down, watching as you’re creaming around the wand, your cunt soaking the sheets below you even further than it already had been. “You hear how wet you are? So fuckin’ messy. Pretty pussy’s just greedy ain’t she?”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, they do nothing but drive you closer and closer to your edge and he knows it. You open your mouth to speak, eyes fluttering back open to look at him. You can’t form words, your mind is completely fucking blank from being edged and played with for so long…but it’s so fucking perfect.

Nam-gyu leans down to capture your mouth in a messy, filthy kiss. It’s full of spit and tongue, he’s swallowing every moan that falls from your lungs, in every way he’s just as greedy as you.

His hand drops from your jaw back to your tits, pinching at one of your nipples while moving his hand faster, rolling the vibrator in circles that blend seamlessly with the fast thrum of the vibrations. Your toes are curling and your legs are shaking so violently, you’re trying your best to hold out on your orgasm.

Nam-gyu pulls away breathlessly, placing his forehead on yours as his eyes trail up and down your form. “When I tell you to cum…you’re gonna make a fuckin’ mess f’me right?”

You nod and whimper. Eyes rolling back as your chest heaves with every shuddering breath.

“Gonna cum hard to thank me for spending my money on this toy f’you?”

You nod again, you’re sure you’re going to cum any second whether he tells you or not. You just really hope you can hold on until he allows you to cum.

“S’right pretty girl…” Nam-gyu kisses you again, “Cum for me, show me how good the toy is.”

“Ohmygodohfuck!! ‘M cumming!” You instantly cry out, words slurred and babbled. He could almost laugh at how instantly you jumped on your cue. With a final sob of his name you cum harder than you think you’ve ever cum before. Your back arches to the ceiling, your vision is blurred over with white and your ears are ringing.

Your orgasm gushes out of you in a thick stream and Nam-Gyu doesn’t let up on his ministrations, his hand moves the wand back and forth, splashing around your cum in a lewd display that mimics a fountain.

“There it is~” he coos, working you through your orgasm completely, watching every minuscule expression you make when you cum. “So pretty when you cum…so fuckin’ pretty.”

When you come crashing down your body is vibrating almost as fast as the vibrator that Nam-Gyu subsequently clicks off. He moves, releasing your one leg from the trap he had it in and begins to brush the hair that’s sticking to your forehead back and out of your face.

Your mind is filled with static, your body still on overdrive, yet a blissed out smile spreads across your lips. “S-so when can we go to that store….” You stop your words to draw in a large breath, “Go together. Maybe we can get s-something for you…” you lazily giggle.

He rolls his eyes and adjusts you so you’re tucked properly into his side once more, hand drawing lines up and down your back, “We can discuss that when you’re not fucked dumb. Doubt you could remember a plan if you made one right now anyways.”

He expects you to retort with a smartass comment like you normally do, but you don’t. When he looks down he sees you’re passed out, snuggling into his chest. The vibrator literally fucked you to sleep- it was a great fucking purchase. “Told ya~” He chuckles softly.

I hope you guys liked this one!! I’m sorry my posting schedule has been wonky!! This was the first of my WIPs that I have been working on. Also plz forgive me if this one is a little short 🙏🙏🙏

Every request I get just drives me to continue writing so thank you guys!!! Love yall so much! - <3 kiwi

[nyaagolor]

Ranking the Ace Attorney main cast on whether or not I think they'd be a narc

I was making a more coherent, serious post about the different approaches to justice each of the characters have and how that is shaped by their backstory... and then I realized a funnier question is what they would do if they saw you eating a weed brownie so I made this post instead

Phoenix: In the trilogy era, yes. He trusts people, but believes that trust has to be built on pursuing justice and always accepting the harsh reality. He'd be sad about it, but a narc nonetheless. In his Beanix era he's making his money through "totally legal gambling" and on the hunt for questionably legal evidence so I have no doubt in my mind there's a pot farm under the WAA for supplemental income. He gives up his narc ways and for that I salute him

Apollo: If I were to pick a single member of this cast who is NOT invited to the rotation it would be him. He had zero hesitation throwing Kristoph to the wolves after working for him for years so I know he has absolutely zero qualms about ratting out his friends or coworkers. Loyalty means nothing in the eyes of justice and it means nothing to him. He's a narc.

Athena: She's gonna lecture you and look all sad about it, but she's no snitch. She's been through the rounds with Simon so she gets it. Having to know you hurt her feelings is enough of a punishment in her eyes

Edgeworth: He's not a narc but he IS obsessed with being right, so if you don't immediately fess up with exactly what you're doing he's going to send your stoned ass to the chess dimension and honestly I think that's worse

Franziska: Unfortunately she is a cop. Narc.

Godot: Diego-era yeah he's a narc, but after the coma? I feel like he has better things to worry about, he would just ignore you. He has some soul searching to do and some grief complexes to unlearn he doesn't have the time to be a lil snitch. Post prison I think he's stoned somewhere in Kurain and chillaxing, as is his right

Klavier: Don't let his rockstar attitude fool you he's a narc and extremely annoying about it. The gavinners tour bus is dry as hell and it's all Klavier's fault. Daryan offers him a line and he gets all uppity and says "the only LINE i want you doing is the third line in the prechorus, you keep messing up the syncopation" and that's the end of that discussion

Simon: He's been in prison so he knows what's up. Not a narc. Might glare at you until you share though

Nahyuta: He's a narc and will lecture you so long about it you're tempted to turn yourself in to get out of earshot. He also never forgets and never forgives. Datz is trying to reform him but it isn't going well

Sebastian: Yes, but I think the idea of him having to turn in someone for it would make him cry so they end up comforting him instead. Kay thinks he needs to try a weed brownie

Maya: I want you to look at me and tell me she doesn't smoke weed. Not a narc

Pearl: I think if she found out that her big sister figure smoked weed she would have a heart attack. Def a narc

Trucy: I can say with absolute certainty that if you really wanted weed she could find you a dealer faster than anyone in the cast. Trucy is a magician and has grown up around a variety of people involved with some seedier institutions, she knows better than to snitch. Has not been and will never be a narc

Kay: Will help you shoplift. Not a narc

Gumshoe: A narc on principle, but would feel really bad about it and would probably let you off with a warning if you started crying or acting upset because I think he's a softie. He's not unreasonable

Ema: If you think she has even the tiniest sliver of respect for cops you're lying to yourself. Not a narc and will actively help you evade police out of principle. A homie, honestly

Fulbright: Not only is he a narc but he definitely runs the DARE program at the local highschool and is printed on half the posters they put up in the precinct. I'm also like 80% sure he doesn't actually know how weed works