#<- That’s the tag I’m gonna be using for this thing going forward.

[magicalqueennightmare]

Got You- Pt 1/3

John Walker x Reader (nicknamed Talon with black canary style powers)

Trying to ignore your feelings for one of your teammates is easier said than done when you’re assigned to play spouses on a mission

Mention of violence? Dirty thoughts?

You were stretched out across one of the mats in the gym, cooling down after a workout. You’d already done your stretches and was considering whether or not Bucky would actually carry you to your room again if he found you asleep here like he did last time when the door opened. You turned your head to the side to see it was in fact not that super soldier walking in but one of the other ones that resided in the watchtower alongside you.

John stopped as soon as he was in the room, a smirk slipping onto his face “Talon, are you awake?” you waved a hand to let him know you were indeed conscious “Just cooling down before I talk myself into going to my room to shower”  “Let me guess, you didn’t bring a second water bottle despite knowing you always drink twice as much as any of us because of your powers” he scolded and you rolled your eyes “You’re not the boss of me Walker”

He shook his head and you watched as his broad frame got closer to you, blocking the overhead light as he leaned down and placed his water bottle next to your head “Cool down. You need it more than I do” it was true his serum did help his body regulate temperature a bit more but he could still dehydrate and you had already drank one water bottle worth. “It’s fine John” you assured him with a smile. He raised an eyebrow “Take a swig or two. At least” 

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, staring up at him. He was a sight indeed. Those damn work out shorts he wore around that he definitely didn’t need to along with that black compression shirt. He’d be stripping the shirt off soon enough and you really needed to be gone before then. That damn serum gave him and Bucky both fairly good hearing. 

“You don’t mind drinking after me?” you teased, reaching for the water. He winked at you “I’m confident you don’t have any spreadable diseases. Hell with the way you and Yelena share food she’d be dead by now” you laughed and took a few long swigs of his water. He nodded approvingly then took the bottle back “Good girl”  you were glad you had already swallowed the water by then or you probably would have spit it out. Damn him. He held his hand out once he was sure you had the water down,  “I’m not carrying you to your room like Bucky but I will offer you a hand up” you slipped your hand into his “I’ll take what I can”

He easily pulled you to your feet, thumb tracing circles onto the back of your hand. You felt your face warm slightly before the moment broke and you both pulled away from each other “I’m gonna go shower” you mumbled and he nodded “I’m gonna work out.”

You headed for the door of the gym, just barely stopping to grab your empty water bottle and towel on the way out of the door. You’d developed a crush of sorts on John. You hadn’t meant to, lord knows you’d fought it. When this rag tag team had first formed everyone had their opinions on each other but then Valentina fucked up by shoving all of you together. 

The whole lot of you slowly learned how your broken pieces fit together. How one of your jagged edges may meet up with the others. Three super soldiers, an enhanced human, a former assassin, Bob who held two extremely strong beings within his form and you, a metahuman who never knew you carried the gene until you were mugged as a teenager and accidentally leveled three city blocks. Shield had a field day with that one.

Over the time all of you had inhabited the same place, worked the same missions and just came to be a unit. John had peeled away that arrogant persona he tried to push forward. He wasn’t really that man. You noticed from day one that man never failed to put everyone in front of him where he was in the line of fire first. He came back for his team, he did things like spot cactus berries while Ava and Yelena were talking and offered to share with all three of you.

He’d done wrong, he’d made mistakes but a lot of his mistakes stemmed from the fact that the government trained him to do a job and when he did that job well they praised him to no end. When he was no longer a useful tool and needed mental help they threw him away. 

He cooked for everyone, even making separate dishes if one person just wasn’t up to actual food but still needed sustenance. The plus side was he was actually a good cook. He made sure he kept up on his child support to Olivia, even if she still wasn’t confident in his mental state enough for him to see JL. He called Lemar’s mother every sunday if he wasn’t on a mission and if he was he called her as soon as he could once the mission was wrapped.

You hadn’t ever downright hated John like a lot of people had simply because of the amount of people that had judged you for something that happened when you were a teenager. You had so much blood on your hands before you could ever legally vote. All any of you could do now was try to move forward.

When it came to you, John was sweet? Nearly soft but not enough to make you feel like he was handling you with gloves like so many people had. Your friendship had blossomed over nights where neither of you could sleep, snatching phones out of each other’s hands when bad articles came out so neither of you could drown in it, unconsciously defending each other. 

When you made it back to your room you shoved the door open and slipped in before letting it slide closed with a hiss. Yeah you just needed a shower and to get your mind off the resident blonde haired super soldier.  

John knew he was beginning to feel more than friendship for you and he didn’t know how to feel about that. He accepted that his divorce had long since been finalized, that his marriage was over but it felt… almost like cheating. Not to mention, you were gorgeous and sweet. You truly cared about people no matter what you’d gone through at Shield’s hand. You had no issue jumping in front of your team to protect them. Your sonic scream was nothing short of amazing to witness at times. It stunned multiple enemies at once, incapacitating them. He’d even seen you use it to shatter objects like weapons being wielded, damage buildings and once use it as a sonic barrier.

The only downside to it was your team had to make sure you had a partner because you would push yourself to the point of exhaustion in every single fight if need be to give them the advantage, no matter the cost to your own body. He’d had to carry you back to the jet more than once.

Why would he tangle you up in the train wreck that was him? No, he’d never do that to you. He cared about you far too much. 

“Bucky, what the actual fuck?” you sat across the table staring down the metal armed super soldier who was one of your closest friends on this earth. “It’s him or Alexei darlin” he offered with a shrug and you groaned, running your hands down your face. “So, it’s an undercover. We’ll be going in as buyers for some missiles” he nodded “Buyer is a sucker for the good old fashioned American couple” you rolled your eyes “Has John been debriefed on this?” “Debriefed on what?” came from the semi open door behind you and you damn near jumped across the table, a hand covering your mouth on instinct as a reaction to getting spooked.

You wordlessly held out the folder in your hand. John took it with a raised eyebrow, you could see his eyes moving as he skimmed over the page. “Doesn’t seem like it should be too big of an issue Talon. I mean is it really that hard to act like you like me for a couple days?” you cut your eyes at Bucky who smirked “Yeah Talon, is it?”

You rolled your eyes “I’ve had enough training to pull off damn near any act” you didn’t miss the slight fall of John’s shoulders but he kept the playful grin on his face “Good, honey. Then I guess we need to hit the jewelry side of the armory to pick our wedding bands” you groaned inwardly at the idea. Valentina kept a small vault within the armory that consisted of enough jewelry to stock a small store. It was for galas, undercovers and any situations she didn’t want all of you “looking like you’re avengers yet too poor to have proper accessories”

“I like silver” you offered with a shrug as you stood, taking the folder out of his hand and brushing past him to leave the office. You heard him chuckle low and heard Bucky say “Good luck. We’ll give you two the first day to settle and make initial contact then we’ll set up our surveillance nearby to move in once he trusts you enough.” “Copy that” you hollered over your shoulder considering you were damn near to the elevator. John shook his head and barely had to jog to catch the door with one hand before it closed.

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to tuck yourself into the far corner. He stood about half a foot away from you and was quiet for a moment before reaching over to hit the emergency stop. “John, what the hell?” you pushed yourself off the wall, going for the emergency stop but he moved in front of you, blocking your path. “Why are you so mad you have to pretend to be my wife for a week tops?”

“Because I hate these kind of ops” you muttered, eyes dropping to not fall into those damn blue eyes of his that seemed to reflect even the least amount of light. He scoffed lightly “You didn’t mind when you were Ava’s girlfriend or Bucky’s mistress. Why the sudden attitude at being my wife?”

You lifted your eyes to his, a shiver running through you when you realized just how close your bodies were “I don’t want to trudge up any bad memories for you John” you admitted finally and his face softened “Oh” “Yeah, oh” you whispered, sliding around him to hit the emergency stop so the elevator would lurch back to moving.

He remained silent when the elevator stopped on the armory floor. You stepped out and he followed you to the vault, waiting while you typed in your code and let it run your prints. Once it clicked open you waved a hand “After you husband dear” he grinned slightly “Yes ma’am”

He walked in so you followed him. The wedding bands were on a top shelf so he had to pull them down. He sat them down on the counter and opened them “Your pick honey” you shook your head and looked into the small chest. You ran your fingers over them until you found an elegant looking silver band in your size. “This will work. What size is your ring finger?” he told you so you looked through the men’s until you found one that matched yours. You closed the chest back but then he was pulling another one down. You knew your confusion was plainly written across your face so he tapped your finger “You need a diamond too. I’m not exactly gonna give you just a band. I didn’t even do that when I was in my early twenties” 

You shook your head “Fine, go ahead” he nodded “What size?” you told him so he shifted where you couldn’t see what ring he was picking. He closed the chest and put both back up on the shelf. He reached for your band and you rolled your eyes again “John! I can put my own rings on” 

“I know” he teased, holding your left hand a little too gently as he slipped the band on first, followed by a gorgeous diamond. Your eyes widened “That thing is beautiful” he seemed proud of himself at your words “Nice to know I can still pick a ring” 

You laughed and reached for his hand “Well I might as well do this” when your hand brushed against his larger one you felt him shiver slightly. “You ok?” you asked and he smiled “Yeah” you sighed and opened his hand, laying the ring in the palm of it “Why don’t you just wait and put this on at the last moment? I’m used to wearing a lot of rings so a couple more isn’t gonna bother me too much”

He smiled softly “It’s nothing to do with you sweetheart” you nodded “I know” but still reached down to shift your rings from your left hand to your right. When he noticed you shrugged “Just until we get everything together”  “Let’s get on that. Our reservation to check in for the suite is a nine” “And in Paris?” you asked and he nodded “Yelena is gonna drop us. We’ll take a car in” 

You trudged into the suite after John, grateful he’d grabbed all of the bags. You hated these style of heels, this style of dress was annoying you and you just wanted a hot shower and some sleep. “Mr & Mrs Lewis” you wanted to drown yourself in the damned shower and the op was just starting.

“You good?” John asked, eyeing you after he sat down the luggage. You nodded, toeing the heels off, a little moan of contentment leaving you when your bare feet sunk into the soft rug that took up a good amount of the floor. A light blush graced his cheeks and it was only then you realized what you’d done. “I’m um, I’m gonna go shower” “I’ll be out here” he waved around the room so you went to walk past him and he went to move to the other side of the room and that kind of resulted in both of you crashing into each other.

His hands came out to steady your waist, your hands going to his chest and christ why were his eyes that freaking blue? “Thanks” you whispered and he nodded “Yeah” you untangled yourself from him and grabbed your smaller bag before heading into the bathroom.

John watched you go, until the door closed behind you and was already mentally kicking himself. Why had that little moan affected him the way it had? Because it was you. Because he was watching your hair fall down, the little wiggle you gave once your feet was free of those heels. The way you’d had to walk with your hand in his through the lobby. How you’d been calling him baby and he wanted that to be true.

He couldn’t. Fuck he couldn’t. He sank down on the edge of the bed, head in his hands until the sound of the bathroom door cracking open made his head fly up. It was open only enough you could pop your head out and you looked downright embarrassed. “What’s wrong?” he was trying to think of what could have that look on your face. Had that time of the month popped up unexpectedly and you assumed he’d be an ass? Hell he’d do a store run if you needed him to. 

“I forgot to pack anything to sleep in. I have the undercover wear. I have my suit. I don’t have anything else and I really don’t think either of us want me sleeping in just my bra and panties” his mouth went dry because now he was getting the mental image of the two of you having to share the king size bed he was currently sitting on with you… nope not going there. “Want one of my shirts? I packed a couple extras” he offered and you smiled hesitantly “Are you sure?”

He grinned “I’m sure” he stood up and walked over to his bag, digging around until he found a couple of his shirts “Want a button down or a tee?” you rolled your bottom lip between your teeth and pointed to the blue button down in his hand “That one” he laughed and tossed it to you “How did I not know? You’re always accidentally forgetting a jacket whenever I wear that one” you shrugged “It’s soft and always smells good” you disappeared back into the bathroom before he could overthink the fact that you just told him that one of his favorite shirts always smelled good. 

A few moments later the door opened and he had to think about damn near anything to not get hard. Fuck he hadn’t thought this through either, had he? You walked out the bathroom like it was no big deal, like your hair wasn’t falling around your shoulders like a damned halo, like your legs weren’t bared showing that birthmark on your thigh, like seeing you wearing his shirt wasn’t hitting some sort of deeply possessive streak he had no right to feel towards you.

You finally looked up after a moment and smiled “The shower’s empty. Good water pressure too��� he nodded dumbly “Good to know” and grabbed some clothes before heading into the bathroom.

You watched John retreat to the bathroom and was wondering if you’d done something to upset him. He was acting a little weird. Maybe it was jet lag? You were damn sure beat. You crawled onto the bed, sliding under the covers and hoping you and John slept on different sides so an argument over that wouldn’t ensue.

You were almost asleep when the bathroom door opened and when you leaned up your thighs clenched together. Fuck. He was wearing a pair of black joggers, riding low on his hips. No shirt, blonde hair darker from the water and a few droplets finding their way down his chest as he towel dried his hair. 

You had to swallow twice before you managed to get out “Um is this side of the bed ok?” he looked up and smiled “Of course. Honey, I can sleep anywhere” you nodded and laid back down, trying to ignore the super soldier in the room with you that looked like he walked straight out of every wet dream you’d ever had.

You felt the bed dip under his weight after a moment and when he slipped under the blanket you sighed contently which caused a low grumble of laughter out of him “What was that? Sounds like I got a goddamn cat in the bed”  you felt your face warm “I was a little cold. You got under the blanket and it was like a rush of heat”

“So, you’re calling me hot then?” he teased and you shook your head “Fuck off” “That’s no way to talk to your husband” he spoke close to your ear and you titled your head to realize the two of you were close enough one good breath would put your lips touching “Considering none of my relationships have ever lasted. It’s apparent I don’t care about that” he laughed and pressed a kiss right below your ear “Night Talon”

He rolled over so his back was pressed against yours. You wiggled just slightly closer to him, despite yourself “Night John”

You and John had to meet your seller Pierre Jonan around noon at a cafe. He wanted a “casual” meeting to get a feeling of the two of you. You knew what that meant. He wanted civilians around so if you weren’t who you said you were it would be harder to take him. You weren’t interested in just him however. You needed those damned missiles.

At least you had boots on today. The dress and boots were Yelena and Ava approved. Fucking versace, thank you Valentina. You walked along the sidewalk, John slipping his arm around you to shift you around so you were next to the buildings and he was between you and any traffic before he tucked you into his shoulder, fingers tracing patterns on your shoulder like he’d been doing it for years. You knew he could feel your eyes on him but he gave nothing away except for that damn smile. 

The fact that when you woke up he’d had one arm tucked around your waist and your legs were tangled together under the blanket definitely wasn’t helping your already muddled brain where he was concerned.

You slipped your arm around his waist, laying your head over on his shoulder as you walked. You had to look the part of marital bliss. Even if part of this particular marital bliss was making your fortune off selling weapons of mass destruction. “Easy there sweetheart, might look like you like me” he whispered, featherlight.

You shrugged “I’m a good actor” his laughter rumbled against you.

When the two of you got to the cafe, John held one large hand at your lower back. To any passerbys it would simply look like he was leading you through the crowd, ensuring you don’t get separated but no, it was because you had a gun at your lower back. All he had to do was slip his hand into the small separation between the top and lower part of your dress and he was armed. Same reason your hand hovered towards his side, he had a gun and a couple of your knives on his body.

He spotted Pierre first and tugged you into his side “Barnes mention he’s famous for flirting with the wives?” you glared at him and he grinned “I’ve got you” 

The two of you walked over and Pierre stood along with his two bodyguards “Mr Lewis, it is a pleasure and this divine creature must be your wife” he reached for your hand and when he bought it to his lips to press a kiss on your knuckles it took every last thing inside of you to suppress a full body shiver. 

You tried to gingerly pull your hand away and he held on. Before you had to say anything John’s large hand was covering yours, calloused fingers wrapping protectively around yours. “Yes, she is my wife” he pulled your hand free and Pierre chuckled low “No disrespect of course Mr Lewis” John nodded “Of course. Let’s get down to meeting each other properly”

John kept his arm around your shoulders the rest of the meeting and you tucked yourself fully into his side. Here? You would have no choice but weaponry or hand to hand. Too many people in the cross hairs, too much collateral damage.

The two of you played the part perfectly. The meeting went over well. He invited the two of you to his estate. He was having a “get together” you knew that meant a bunch of rich assholes that did a bunch of illegal shit that their money always got them out of. “It would be our pleasure” John told him with a smile as all of you stood. John and him shook hands and he simply winked at you “I see your husband is quite territorial Mrs Lewis, so I will simply bid you adieu” 

“Was a pleasure” you assured him with a sweet smile. John pulled you into his chest as the two of you walked out of the cafe. You needed to get back to the hotel and update the team. You moved next to the buildings so he wouldn’t have to move you and felt his hand slip down to lace his fingers with yours. You looked down at your interlocked hands then back up at him “Gotta play it in public” he offered with a shrug. You didn’t exactly mind but your heart was in for a beating.

John knew he was playing a dangerous game and that game damn sure wasn’t this op. He got pissed when Pierre didn’t let go of you. He wanted to break the bodyguard's face when he saw his eyes linger on your cleavage. When he woke up before you and realized you’d fallen asleep in the damn rings? That had done things to him that it shouldn’t have.

Now? Walking down the street with your hand in his as you pointed out different landmarks and leaned in to tease which ones would be easiest to knock down with a scream he knew the game was getting more and more dangerous because it was getting more real with each moment that passed.

“Sweetheart! Are you listening?” you laughed and he blinked, a grin slipping onto his face “Yeah honey. I’m listening”

The plan was that you and John would go to the “get together”, confirm the missiles then the team would move in to back all of you in taking Pierre down. That also meant that you and John had to be packed so Ava could phase in for your bags and you had to get her to hide your suits somewhere on Pierre’s estate because your evening wear didn’t exactly have the benefit of being slice proof and harder to hit.

You were getting ready in the bathroom while John got ready in the bedroom. You knocked on the door and he whistled to let you know he was decent. You stepped out, holding your shoes in your hand and froze. Damn, why did he have to go with that suit? Navy blue, tailored and good lord he looked amazing. “You look good” you breathed and he grinned “You too honey” then tilted his head “Must say though, I think your zipper being down is a distraction”

You rolled your eyes “I need help with it” “I got you” he assured you, walking over and motioning with his fingers for you to turn around. You did so and felt his fingers brush your skin before he tugged the zipper up into place. He patted your hip gently “All good”

You turned to face him, bracing one hand on his shoulder to slip your shoes on. He shook his head with a laugh “Now I feel like your husband” you winked at him “Naw, I would kiss you for your effort at least” 

John wasn’t sure where the filter between his brain and mouth went but he managed to stick his foot squarely in his mouth by saying “I’m not turning down a kiss for my efforts” he half expected you to slap him but no, you got your other shoe on, straightened your dress then leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek “There ya go”

He grinned “Good enough. Let’s go Mrs Lewis” you slipped your arm into his “After tonight I’ll no longer be” he laughed “Add another divorce to my pile” you swatted his chest playfully “Oh hush”

You didn’t have time to get to your suit, your weapons so plan B. You hit the com in your ear and spoke over it “Cover your ears boys and girls” you waited until you heard everyone’s response then ran to the highest point of the hill and took a deep breath. The waves going off of your scream made every guard on the premises drop to their knees, windows shattered and a few people just keeled over. 

You could only keep it up for so much longer and Yelena had to land the jet. You spotted the black shadow over head and heard Bucky calling for an evac. You could feel yourself starting to drift but right before you fainted a set of strong arms grabbed you and you were against a firm chest.

John wasted no time moving towards the jet. Ava had grabbed your suit, the missiles were secure. This place would be up in smoke in five minutes time. “John?” you spoke his name softly and he whispered “I got you” you smiled and curled into him. When he got onto the jet he sat down with you in his arms. No one said anything besides Ava asking “Is she ok?”

He nodded “Just wore out from using her scream that long” “She just needs rest and food. She’ll be ok” Yelena assured them and he nodded “I know”  he adjusted himself in the seat and you adjusted with him. “So is this a thing now?” Bucky asked and when John glared at him he held up his hands “Just asking man” and walked to the front of the jet.

“I can move” you offered in a small voice and he shook his head “Only if you want” “I don’t” you admitted, eyes dropped like you ashamed of wanting to be in his arms and he understood that. “Hey, it’s ok. I’ve got you” he assured you yet again. You smiled “Thank you” and curled up to his chest. You ended up sleeping most of the way back to New York in that position.

Part 2

[zillasafe]

Layton Fear and Hunger Crossover AU

Because the brain rot is terminal and I can’t stop thinking about it. More info and doodles under the cut!

So why’s the gang in the Dungeons of Fear and Hunger?

Initially, the dungeon was a harmless ruin that was of passing interest to archeologists. However, one Clark Triton realized that some of the architecture in the structure was similar to a previously thought unrelated artifact, the Cube of the Depths. And so Clark got a little team together, sent Layton a letter saying where he was going, and set off on a little expedition to investigate the possible connection. Unfortunately, bringing the Cube within the vicinity of the Dungeon was like throwing a lit match on a powder keg. Time travel shenanigans ensue, plunging the Dungeon, as well as Clark and his team back in time to the 1500s when shit was crazy.

After several days of no contact from Clark, Layton takes Emmy and Luke to investigate.

By god should Luke not be there. There is so much wild shit in this dungeon and Layton spends a good chunk of time trying to shield Luke from all of it. They do try to get Luke outta there asap, but discover that they’ve already delved too deep. There’s no escaping the way they came. They’re trapped. The adventure soon becomes just as much about finding a way out as it is finding Clark.

Luckily Luke proves to be quite the asset. His ability to talk to animals comes in handy many times. He’s able to talk down the hounds at the entrance, he can speak with birds and insects to gather information, and he manages to get Moonless to join the crew. (Maybe he can even talk to the Crow Mauler? Who knows…) However, obviously the trip through the dungeon is the hardest on him. They’re here to find his dad, and the further they go, the more hopeless it all seems…

Eventually they run into Descole. Because of course he’s here too. Fortunately he’s eager to join the team. Not even Descole can handle being in the Dungeon on his own. While he’s certainly helpful, he’s just as enigmatic and morally dubious as ever. How long was he here before Layton and co. showed up? Perhaps the Darkness is getting to him…

Anyways that’s all I’ve got for now! Not sure how much of an overlap there is between Layton and Funger enjoyers, but if you’ve got any ideas or questions, lemme know!

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 55-56

Chapter; Highlights, Notes, Tags, etc.

The Thirteen were on edge. They hadn't yet decided where to go. And hadn't been invited to travel with the Crochans to any of their home-hearths. Even Glennis's.

None of them, however, had looked his way when they'd prowled past. None had recognized him.

Dorian had just completed another walking circuit in his little training area when Manon stalked by, silver hair flowing. He paused, no more than a wary Crochan sentinel, and watched her storm through snow and mud as if she were a blade through the world.

Manon had nearly passed his training area when she went rigid.

Slowly, she turned, nostrils flaring.

Those golden eyes swept over him, swift and cutting. Her brows twitched toward each other. Dorian only gave her a lazy grin in return.

Then she prowled toward him.

Another assessing stare. "I would have thought you'd pick a prettier form."

He frowned down at himself. "I think she's pretty enough."

Manon's mouth tightened. "I suppose this means you're about to go to Morath."

"Did I say anything of the sort?" He didn't bother sounding pleasant.

Manon took a step toward him, her teeth flashing. In this body, he stood shorter than her. He hated the thrill that shot through his blood as she leaned down to growl at him. "We have enough to deal with today, princeling."

"Do l look as if I'm standing in your way?" She opened her mouth, then shut it.

Dorian let out a low laugh and made to turn away. An iron-tipped hand gripped his arm.

Strange, for that hand to feel large on his body. Large, and not the slender, deadly thing he'd become accustomed to.

Her golden eyes blazed. "If you want a softhearted woman who will weep over hard choices and ultimately balk from them, then you're in the wrong bed."

"I'm not in anyone's bed right now." He hadn't gone to her tent any of these nights. Not since that conversation in Eyllwe.

She took the retort without so much as a flinch. "Your opinion doesn't matter to me."

"Then why are you standing here?"

Again, she opened and closed her mouth. Then snarled, "Change out of that form." Dorian smiled again. "Don't you have better things to do right now, Your Majesty?" He honestly thought she might unsheathe those iron teeth and rip out his throat.

Half of him wanted her to try. He even went so far as to run one of those phantom hands along her jaw.

"You think I don't know why you don't want me to go to Morath?"

"Tell me to stay," he said, and the words had no warmth, no kindness. "Tell me to stay with you, if that's what you want." His invisible fingers grew talons and scraped over her skin. Manon's throat bobbed. "But you won't say that, will you, Manon?" Her breathing turned jagged. He continued to stroke her neck, her jaw, her throat, caressing skin he'd tasted over and over. "Do you know why?"

"Because while you might be older, might be deadly in a thousand different ways, deep down, you're afraid. You don't know how to ask me to stay, because you're afraid of admitting to yourself that you want it. You're afraid. Of yourself more than anyone else in the world. You're afraid." For several heartbeats, she just stared at him.

Then she snarled, "You don't know what you're talking about," and stalked away.

His low laugh ripped after her. Her spine stiffened. But Manon did not turn back.

Afraid. Of admitting that she felt any sort of attachment.

It was preposterous.

And it was, perhaps, true.

But it was not her problem. Not right now.

Manon stormed through the readying camp where tents were being taken down and folded, hearths being packed. The Thirteen were with the wyverns, supplies stowed in saddlebags.

Some of the Crochans had frowned her way. Not with anger, but something like disappointment.

Discontent. As if they thought parting ways was a poor idea.

Manon refrained from saying she agreed.

Even if the Thirteen followed, the Crochans would find a way to lose them. Use their power to bind the wyverns long enough to disappear.

And she would not lower herself, lower the Thirteen, to become dogs chasing after their masters. They might be desperate for aid, might have promised it to their allies, but she would not debase herself any further.

Manon halted at Glennis's camp, the only hearth with a fire still burning. A fire that would always remain kindled.

A reminder of the promise she'd made to honor the Queen of Terrasen. A single, solitary flame against the cold.

Manon rubbed at her face as she slumped onto one of the rocks lining the hearth. A hand rested on her shoulder, warm and slight. She didn't bother to slap it away.

Glennis said, "We're departing in a few minutes. I thought l'd say good-bye."

Manon peered up at the ancient witch. "Fly well." It was really all there was left to say.

Manon's failure was not due to Glennis, not due to anyone but herself, she supposed.

You're afraid.

It was true. She had tried, but not really tried to win the Crochans. To let them see any part of her that meant something. To let them see what it had done to her, to learn she had a sister and that she had killed her. She didn't know how, and had never bothered to learn.

You're afraid.

Yes, she was. Of everything.

Glennis lowered her hand from Manon's shoulder.

"May your path carry you safely through war and back home at last."

She didn't feel like telling the crone there was no home for her, or the Thirteen.

Glennis turned her face toward the sky, sighing once. Then her white brows narrowed. Her nostrils flared. Manon leapt to her feet.

"Run," Glennis breathed. "Run now."

Manon drew Wind-Cleaver and did no such thing. "What is it?"

"They're here." How Glennis had scented them on the wind, Manon didn't care.

Not as three wyverns broke from the clouds, spearing for their camp.

She knew those wyverns, almost as well as she knew the three riders who sent the Crochans into a frenzy of motion.

The Matrons of the Ironteeth Witch-Clans had found them. And come to finish what Manon had started that day in Morath.

The three High Witches had come alone.

Rushing steps crunched through the icy snow, halting at Manon's side just as Dorian's scent wrapped around her. "Is that—"

"Yes," she said quietly, heart thundering as the Matrons dismounted and did not raise their hands in request for parley. No, they only stalked closer to the hearth, to the precious flame still burning. "Don't engage," Manon warned him and the others, and strode to meet them.

It was not the king's battle, no matter what power dwelled in his veins.

Glennis was already armed, an ancient sword in her withered hands. The woman was as old as the Yellowlegs Matron, yet she stood tall, facing the three High Witches.

Cresseida Blueblood spoke first, her eyes as cold as the iron-spiked crown digging into her freckled brow. "It has been an age, Glennis." But Glennis's stare, Manon realized, was not on the Blueblood Matron. Or even on Manon's own grandmother, her black robes billowing as she sneered at Manon.

It was on the Yellowlegs Matron, hunched and hateful between them. On the crown of stars atop the crone's thinned white hair.

Glennis's sword shook slightly. And just as Manon realized what the Matron had worn here,

Bronwen appeared at Glennis's side and breathed, "Rhiannon's crown."

Worn by the Yellowlegs Matron to mock these witches. To spit on them.

A dull roaring began in Manon's ears.

"What company you keep these days, granddaughter," said Manon's grandmother, her silver-streaked dark hair braided back from her face. A sign enough of their intentions, if her grandmother's hair was in that plait. Battle. Annihilation.

The weight of the three High Witches' attention pressed upon her. The Crochans gathered behind her shifted as they waited for her response.

Yet it was Glennis who snarled, in a voice Manon had not yet heard, "What is it that you want?"

Manon's grandmother smiled, revealing rust-flecked iron teeth. The true sign of her age. "You made a grave error, Manon Kin-Slayer, when you sought to turn our forces against us. When you sowed such lies amongst our sentinels regarding our plans— my plans."

Manon kept her chin high. "I spoke only truth. And it must have frightened you enough that you gathered these two to hunt me down and prove your innocence in scheming against them."

The other two Matrons didn't so much as blink. Her grandmother's claws had to have sunk deep, then. Or they simply did not care.

"We came," Cresseida seethed, the opposite in so many ways of the daughter who had given Manon the chance to speak, "to at last rid us of a thorn in our sides."

Had Petrah been punished for letting Manon walk out of the Omega alive? Did the Blueblood Heir still breathe? Cresseida had once screamed in a mother's terror and pain when Petrah had nearly plunged to her death.

Did that love, so foreign and strange, still hold true? Or had duty and ancient hatred won out?

The thought was enough to steel Manon's spine. "You came because we pose a threat."

Because of the threat you pose to that monster you call grandmother.

"You came," Manon went on, Wind-Cleaver rising a fraction, "because you are afraid."

Manon took a step beyond Glennis, her sword lifting farther.

"You came," Manon said, "because you have no true power beyond what we give you.

And you are scared to death that we're about to take it away." Manon flipped Wind-Cleaver in her hand, angling the sword downward, and drew a line in the snow between them. "You came alone for that fear. That others might see what we are capable of. The truth that you have always sought to hide."

Her grandmother tutted. "Listen to you. Sounding just like a Crochan with that preachy nonsense."

Manon ignored her. Ignored her and pointed Wind-Cleaver directly at the Yellowlegs Matron as she snarled, "That is not your crown."

Something like hesitation rippled over Cresseida Blueblood's face. But the Yellowlegs Matron beckoned to Manon with iron nails so long they curved downward. "Then come and fetch it from me, traitor."

Manon stepped beyond the line she'd drawn in the snow.

No one spoke behind her. She wondered if any of them were breathing.

She had not won against her grandmother. Had barely survived, and only thanks to luck. That fight, she had been ready to meet her end. To say farewell.

Manon angled Wind-Cleaver upward, her heart a steady, raging beat.

She would not greet the Darkness's embrace today. But they would.

"This seems familiar," her grandmother drawled, legs shifting into attacking position.

The other two Matrons did the same. "The last Crochan Queen. Holding the line against us." Manon cracked her jaw, and iron teeth descended. A flex of her fingers had her iron nails unsheathing. "Not just a Crochan Queen this time."

There was doubt in Cresseida's blue eyes.

As if she'd realized what the other two Matrons had not.

There—it was there that Manon would strike first. The one who now wondered if they had somehow made a grave mistake in coming here.

A mistake that would cost them what they had come to protect.

A mistake that would cost them this war.

And their lives.

For Cresseida saw the steadiness of Manon's breathing. Saw the clear conviction in her eyes. Saw the lack of fear in her heart as Manon advanced another step.

Manon smiled at the Blueblood Matron as if to say yes.

"You did not kill me then," Manon said to her grandmother. "I do not think you will be able to now."

"We'll see about that," her grandmother hissed, and charged.

Manon was ready.

An upward swing of Wind-Cleaver met her grandmother's first two blows, and Manon ducked the third. Turning right into the onslaught of the Yellowlegs Matron, who swept up with unnatural speed, feet almost flying over the snow, and slashed for Manon's exposed back.

Manon deflected the crone's assault, sending the witch darting back. Just as Cresseida launched herself at Manon. Cresseida was not a trained fighter. Not as the Blackbeak and Yellowlegs Matrons were. Too many years spent reading entrails and scanning the stars for the answers to the Three-Faced Goddess's riddles.

A duck to the left had Manon easily evading the sweep of Cresseida's nails, and a countermove had Manon driving her elbow into the Blueblood Matron's nose.

Cresseida stumbled. The Yellowlegs Matron and her grandmother attacked again. So fast. Their three assaults had happened in the span of a few blinks. Manon kept her feet under her. Saw where one Matron moved and the other left a dangerous gap exposed.

She was not a broken-spirited Wing Leader unsure of her place in the world.

She was not ashamed of the truth before her.

She was not afraid.

Manon's grandmother led the attack, her maneuvers the deadliest. It was from her that the first slice of pain appeared. A rip of iron nails through Manon's shoulder. But Manon swung her sword, again and again, iron on steel ringing out across the icy peaks.

No, she was not afraid at all.

Around him, the Crochans thrummed with fear and dread. Either for the fight unfolding or the three Matrons who had found them.

But Glennis did not tremble. At her side Bronwen hummed with the energy of one eager to leap into the fight.

Manon and the High Witches sprang apart, breathing heavily. Blue blood leaked down Manon's shoulder, and small slices peppered the three Matrons.

Manon still remained on the far side of the line she'd drawn. Still held it.

The dark-haired witch in voluminous black robes spat blue blood onto the snow. Manon's grandmother. "Pathetic. As pathetic as your mother." A sneer toward Glennis. "And your father."

The snarl that ripped from Manon's throat rang across the mountains themselves.

Her grandmother let out a crow's caw of a laugh. "Is that all you can do, then? Snarl like a dog and swing your sword like some human filth? We will wear you down eventually. Better to kneel now and die with some honor intact." Manon only flung out an iron-tipped hand behind her, fingers splaying in demand as her eyes remained fixed on the Matrons.

Dorian reached for Damaris, but Bronwen moved first.

The Crochan tossed her sword, steel flashing over snow and sun.

Manon's fingers closed on the hilt, the blade singing as she whipped it around to face the High Witches again. "Rhiannon Crochan held the gates for three days and three nights, and she did not kneel before you, even at the end." A slash of a smile. "I think I shall do the same." Dorian could have sworn the sacred flame burning to their left flared brighter. Could have sworn Glennis sucked in a breath. That every Crochan watching did the same.

Manon's knees bent, swords rising. "Let us finish what was started then, too." She attacked, blades flashing.

Her grandmother conceded step after step, the other two Matrons failing to break past her defenses.

Gone was the witch who had slept and wished for death. Gone was the witch who had raged at the truth that had torn her to shreds.

And in her place, fighting as if she were the very wind, unfaltering against the Matrons, stood someone Dorian had not yet met.

Stood a queen of two peoples.

Yielding only those few steps, and nothing more.

Because Manon with conviction in her heart, with utter fearlessness in her eyes, was wholly unstoppable.

The other two witches had fallen back, as if waiting to see what might happen.

But she yielded no further ground. A wall against which the Yellowlegs Matron could not advance. The crone let out a snarl, attacking again and again, senseless and raging.

Dorian saw the trap the moment it happened.

No one seemed to breathe at all as Manon plunged Bronwen's sword into the icy earth beneath and bent to take the crown of stars from the Yellowlegs witch's fallen head.

He had never seen a crown like it.

A living, glowing thing that glittered in her hand. As if nine stars had been plucked from the heavens and set to shine along the simple silver band.

The crown's light danced over Manon's face as she lifted it above her head and set it upon her unbound white hair.

Even the mountain wind stopped.

Yet a phantom breeze shifted the strands of Manon's hair as the crown glowed bright, the white stars shining with cores of cobalt and ruby and amethyst.

As if it had been asleep for a long, long time. And now awoke.

That phantom wind pulled Manon's hair to the side, silver strands brushing across her face.

And beside him, around him, the Thirteen touched two fingers to their brow in deference.

In allegiance to the queen who stared down the two remaining High Witches.

The Crochan Queen, crowned anew.

The sacred fire leaped and danced, as if in joyous welcome.

"Go."

The Blueblood witch blinked, eyes wide with what could only be fear and dread.

Manon jerked her chin toward the wyvern waiting behind the witch. "Tell your daughter all debts between us are paid. And she may decide what to do with you. Take that other wyvern out of here."

Spared by the Crochan Queen on behalf of the daughter who had given Manon the gift of speaking to the Ironteeth.

Within seconds, the Blueblood Matron was in the skies, the Yellowlegs witch's wyvern soaring beside her.

Leaving Manon's grandmother alone.

Leaving Manon with swords raised and a crown of stars glowing upon her brow.

Manon was glowing, as if the stars atop her head pulsed through her body. A wondrous and mighty beauty, like no other in the world. Like no one had ever been, or would be again.

And slowly, as if savoring each step, Manon stalked toward her grandmother.

Warm, dancing light flowed through her, as unfaltering as what had poured into her heart these past few bloody minutes.

She did not balk. Did not fear.

The crown's weight was slight, like it had been crafted of moonlight. Yet its joyous strength was a song, undimming before the sole High Witch left standing.

So Manon kept walking.

She left Bronwen's sword a few feet away.

Left Wind-Cleaver several feet past that.

Iron nails out, teeth ready, Manon paused barely five steps from her grandmother.

A hateful, wasted scrap of existence. That's what her grandmother was.

She had never realized how much shorter the Matron stood. How narrow her shoulders were, or how the years of rage and hate had withered her.

Manon's smile grew. And she could have sworn she felt two people standing at her shoulder.

She knew no one would be there if she looked. Knew no one else could see them, sense them, standing with her. Standing with their daughter against the witch who had destroyed them.

Her grandmother spat on the ground, baring her rusted teeth.

This death, though ...

It was not her death to claim.

It did not belong to the parents whose spirits lingered at her side, who might have been there all along, leading her toward this. Who had not left her, even with death separating them.

No, it did not belong to them, either.

She looked behind her. Toward the Second waiting beside Dorian.

Tears slid down Asterin's face. Of pride- pride and relief.

Manon beckoned to Asterin with an iron- tipped hand.

Manon raised a hand. "Let her go."

When there was no trace of the Matrons left but blue blood and a headless corpse staining the snow, Manon turned toward the Crochans.

Their eyes were wide, but they made no move.

The Thirteen remained where they were, Dorian with them.

Manon scooped up both swords, sheathing Wind-Cleaver across her back, and stalked toward where Glennis and Bronwen stood, monitoring her every breath.

Wordlessly, Manon handed Bronwen her sword, nodding in thanks.

Then she removed the crown of stars and extended it toward Glennis. "This belongs to you," she said, her voice low.

The Crochans murmured, shifting.

Glennis took the crown, and the stars dimmed. A small smile graced the crone's face.

"No," she said, "it does not."

Manon didn't move as Glennis lifted the crown and set it again on Manon's head.

Then the ancient witch knelt in the snow.

"What was stolen has been restored; what was lost has come home again. I hail thee, Manon Crochan, Queen of Witches."

Manon stood fast against the tremor that threatened to buckle her legs.

Stood fast as the other Crochans, Bronwen with them, dropped to a knee. Dorian, standing amongst them, smiled, brighter and freer than she'd ever seen.

And then the Thirteen knelt, two fingers going to their brows as they bowed their heads, fierce pride lighting their faces.

"Queen of Witches," Crochan and Blackbeak declared as one voice.

As one people.

[mcrdvcks]

— love language

summary: You and Matt are now dating, but you haven't told anyone. How long will it take your friends to notice?

word count: 3.4k+

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

notes: i had this idea after writing goodnight n go (which is technically the first part, but you don't need to read it to understand this). anyways, here's a bunch of fluff

warnings/tags: after endgame but date is not specified, best friends to lovers, reader works at stark industries, matt is a cocky little shit, making out

Things moved on normally, the only thing that had changed in the past month was that you two weren’t just friends but dating.

You didn’t realize it, but you were already quite close to Matt.

Matt chuckled, his arm hooked around yours as the two of you waited in line for coffee. “Really?” He asked sarcastically.

“Ugh.” You elbowed him. “You’re an ass.”

“I’m just saying, what kinda friends have a toothbrush at their place?” He tapped his cane against the floor lightly.

You tilted your head. “Uhhh… pretty sure at one point Foggy had a toothbrush at your place.”

“That he never used other than one time.”

You scoffed, nudging his side again. "Still counts."

Matt smirked. "Does it?"

"Yes, because that means I’m not the weird one here. You just have a habit of letting people leave their stuff at your place."

Matt tilted his head slightly, feigning thoughtfulness. "Interesting theory. Except you’re the only person whose toothbrush has stayed."

You opened your mouth to argue, then paused, realizing he was right. "Okay, fine, but that’s only because—"

"You stay over all the time?"

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are," he teased, squeezing your arm lightly before stepping forward to order.

---

Foggy opened the door to Matt’s office. “Hey, did you ever finish the deposition for the Martin case?”

Matt put down the fork to his Pad Thai, leaving it in the Styrofoam container. “Yeah, I did.”

You took the opportunity, snatching the fork from his container and stealing a bite of his Pad Thai. Matt huffed, but you could hear the amusement in it.

"Really?" he murmured.

"You put it down," you said, chewing. "That means it's fair game."

Foggy barely glanced up from the papers in his hand. "She’s got a point, Matt. You know the rules."

Matt exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he blindly reached for the fork still in your grip. You dodged, keeping it out of his reach as you took another bite.

Foggy flipped a page. "Anyway, judge pushed the hearing back a week, which is good because it gives us time to go over the new witness statement. Karen’s taking a look at it now."

Matt hummed in acknowledgment, still trying to reclaim his fork. You smirked, shifting slightly in his lap. He retaliated by sliding an arm around your waist, pinning you in place.

"You gonna give that back?" he murmured.

"Maybe," you teased, holding it just out of reach.

Foggy sighed, still not looking up. "If you two devolve into a full-on fork battle, at least take it outside. I don’t need Pad Thai in the depositions."

Matt smirked, finally managing to grab the utensil from your grip. "Noted."

You huffed but didn’t move, resting your elbow on his shoulder instead. "Fine. I got what I wanted anyway."

Matt chuckled, shaking his head as he twirled the fork back into his food.

Foggy snapped the folder shut. "Alright, well, since you two seem busy, I’ll go see if Karen needs help."

"Let us know if you need anything," Matt said easily.

"Yeah, yeah," Foggy muttered, already halfway out the door.

---

Josie’s was loud and crowded as always, but at this point it was like a second home. You were telling Karen about an incident in the lab. “—Levi somehow hooks the string around the sprinkler and pulls. I get an alert on my tablet and rush over to the lab. Turns out, when he pulled the sprinkler, he also pulled part of the main water line. All for a tiny qubit that got stuck on the ceiling.”

Karen snorted, shaking her head. "Please tell me this guy got fired."

"Nope," you said, sipping your drink. "Because technically, it worked. The qubit came loose. He just, y’know… flooded half the floor in the process."

Karen groaned. "God, Stark Industries sounds like a nightmare sometimes."

"You have no idea," you muttered, setting your glass down.

As you kept talking, you felt your shirt strap slide down your shoulder. It wasn’t anything major, just a slight shift, but before you could adjust it yourself, Matt did it for you.

His hand found your shoulder with ease, fingers brushing your skin as he hooked the strap with two fingers and guided it back into place. It was quick, thoughtless, something he’d probably done a hundred times before without even realizing.

Karen barely blinked.

You didn’t think much of it either, continuing on. "Anyway, Levi tried to convince me it was an 'engineering breakthrough' and that 'technically' he proved a new method of remote retrieval—"

"You’re kidding," Karen deadpanned.

"Oh, I wish."

Matt smirked beside you, listening quietly. His arm was resting along the back of your chair, close but not overbearing.

Karen leaned forward, taking another sip of her drink. "So what’d you do?"

You grinned. "Told him if he ever did that again, I’d make sure the next thing he got stuck was his own head in the centrifuge."

Karen burst out laughing. "And let me guess—he immediately backed down."

"Pretty much," you said smugly.

Matt chuckled, shaking his head. "You really are terrifying sometimes."

"And yet, here you are," you teased, echoing the same words you’d said to him earlier that morning.

Matt tilted his head slightly, smirk deepening. "Guess I have a thing for danger."

Karen rolled her eyes but didn’t comment. She was too used to the way you two interacted, and nothing about tonight seemed different from any other night.

---

“You didn’t have to come.” Matt murmured, as your hands combed through his hair. “It’s just a mugging case.”

“And yet,” you pulled your hands away. “You were goin’ to walk in there with hair like that.” You gave him a grin. “I helped you devil boy. Oh, wait.”

You pulled his red-lensed glasses off before cleaning them with your shirt. Matt huffed, tilting his head slightly. "You know, most people don’t manhandle my things without permission."

"Most people aren’t me," you shot back, flipping the glasses open and sliding them back onto his face.

Matt’s lips twitched, but he didn’t argue.

Foggy sighed from beside you. "How do you two have time for this while standing outside a courtroom?"

Karen smirked, arms crossed. "Multitasking."

You grinned. "Exactly. I’m helping him and annoying him at the same time."

Matt let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You really do take your job seriously."

"Obviously."

Before Foggy could reply, the courtroom doors opened, and the previous case let out, lawyers and reporters filing into the hallway. The four of you straightened slightly as Matt rolled his shoulders, settling into courtroom mode.

"Alright," Matt murmured, adjusting his tie. "Let’s get this over with."

You reached out instinctively, running a hand down the front of his suit, smoothing the fabric. "You’re good."

Matt caught your wrist before you could pull away, his thumb brushing over your pulse for just a second longer than necessary. “You going to stay?”

“Yep. I’ll be sittin’ in the front row looking pretty.”

Foggy snorted. "Sittin’ pretty? That’s your plan?"

"Someone’s gotta balance out Matt’s whole intimidating blind lawyer thing," you teased, adjusting your bag over your shoulder.

Matt smirked. "Intimidating, huh?"

"You know what you do," you muttered, patting his chest once before stepping back.

Karen chuckled, shaking her head. "Alright, let’s get in there before we miss the good part."

The courtroom was already filling up when you and Karen slipped into the front row, Matt and Foggy making their way to the bench. You crossed one leg over the other, leaning back slightly as you pulled your phone from your bag, muting notifications.

"You know, sometimes I forget you don’t actually work for them," Karen mused, watching as you settled in.

You glanced at her. "Why?"

Karen shrugged. "You’re here so often, always involved in their cases, bringing them food, making sure Matt doesn’t walk into court looking like he just crawled out of a dumpster—"

"Hey," you cut in. "I don’t make him look good. He just listens to me when I tell him to fix his tie."

Karen smirked, tilting her head. "Mhm."

You rolled your eyes, looking toward the front of the courtroom. Matt and Foggy were talking in hushed tones, Foggy flipping through a stack of papers while Matt leaned slightly toward him, nodding at something he said.

Karen was still watching you, but you ignored her.

The judge entered, and the room settled as the proceedings began.

---

The hearing wasn’t long, but it was long enough for you to notice Karen sneaking glances at you every so often. You didn’t say anything, keeping your focus on the case.

Matt and Foggy handled it well, as expected. You knew Matt’s confidence in the courtroom was unmatched, and even though you couldn’t see his eyes behind the red lenses, you knew he was completely locked in, analyzing every shift in the judge’s tone, every heartbeat in the room.

By the time the judge adjourned the hearing, you were stretching slightly, rolling your shoulders as you stood.

Matt and Foggy approached, gathering their things. "Well," Foggy said, stuffing papers into his briefcase. "That went about as well as it could’ve."

Matt hummed in agreement. "We should have a decision in a few days."

Karen exhaled. "That was exhausting to watch, so I can’t imagine how you two feel."

Matt smiled. "Used to it."

You reached out, fixing the fold of his pocket square before he could tuck his cane under his arm. "You did good."

Matt turned his head toward you slightly, smirk playing at his lips. "Yeah?"

You huffed. "Yeah, Murdock. Try not to look so smug about it."

Foggy raised a brow, gaze flickering between the two of you for a second. Karen, too, was watching, something unreadable in her expression.

Neither of them said anything.

"Alright," Foggy finally broke the silence, snapping his briefcase shut. "Lunch? Please? I need food after all that legal jargon."

"Agreed," Karen said.

You nodded. "Sounds good to me."

Matt tapped his cane against the floor once, falling into step beside you. Karen shot one last glance between the two of you but still said nothing.

---

You pulled out an expired container of milk. “Matty, I seriously don’t know how you, of all people, didn’t notice you had 2-week expired milk in your fridge.”

Matt smirked from where he was leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. "You think I make a habit of sniffing my milk cartons?"

You made a face, waving the expired container in his direction. "Considering you should be able to smell the rotting dairy in your fridge? Yeah, actually, I do."

Matt huffed a quiet laugh, stepping forward as you popped the lid open and took an experimental sniff—only to gag immediately.

"Jesus Christ," you muttered, shoving the carton at him. "Smell it. I dare you."

Matt wrinkled his nose, taking a slight step back. "I’ll pass."

"Uh-huh, that’s what I thought." You shut the carton and tossed it in the trash before opening the fridge again. "When’s the last time you actually bought groceries?"

Matt leaned against the counter, lips twitching. "Don’t know. You usually do it for me."

You shot him a look over your shoulder. "That’s not the win you think it is, Murdock."

"I don’t know," he murmured, stepping behind you, hands settling at your waist. "Feels like a win to me."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in slightly, lips brushing just behind your ear. You huffed, pushing him back lightly with your elbow. "No, you don’t get to distract me. Your fridge is a disaster."

Matt let out a quiet chuckle but didn’t let go entirely. "I’ve survived this long."

"Yeah, because I keep you alive," you muttered, pulling out a sad-looking bag of spinach and holding it up for him. "This? This is a crime."

Matt smirked. "Pretty sure I deal with actual crimes for a living."

"You’re so lucky you’re cute." You tossed the bag onto the counter with a sigh. "Alright, that’s it. We’re going grocery shopping."

"You say that like I have a choice."

"You don’t," you said, shutting the fridge and turning in his arms.

Matt smiled, fingers brushing over your hip before he dropped his hands. "At least let me buy you dinner after."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "Bribing me with food?"

"Wouldn’t be the first time."

You rolled your eyes, but the smirk you tried to suppress still made its way onto your lips. "Fine. But you’re carrying all the bags."

"Deal," Matt murmured, reaching for his cane.

You grabbed your coat, glancing at him as he adjusted his watch. "And I’m making sure you don’t buy anything that will expire in two days."

Matt chuckled. "Now that’s just cruel."

---

The grocery store was relatively quiet for a Friday night, the kind of late-evening lull where the only customers were people grabbing last-minute dinner ingredients or, in Matt’s case, replacing an entire fridge’s worth of expired food.

You pushed the cart while Matt walked beside you, his hand resting lightly at the crook of your elbow. "Alright, first things first," you said, steering the cart toward the produce section. "You’re getting actual vegetables. Not just things that used to be vegetables before they died a slow, tragic death in your fridge."

Matt smirked. "I resent that."

"You resent having to eat vegetables," you shot back, picking up a head of lettuce and tossing it into the cart.

Matt tilted his head slightly, like he was considering. "That might be true."

You sighed dramatically. "It’s like taking a toddler shopping."

"You did sign up for this," Matt pointed out, casually trailing his fingers over the display of apples as he passed.

You side-eyed him. "Did I? I don’t remember agreeing to supervise you."

"You knew what you were getting into," he teased, reaching past you to grab an apple and setting it in the cart.

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, adding a few more. "What else do you need? Other than everything."

Matt hummed, fingers tapping lightly against the handle of the cart. "Bread. Eggs. Coffee."

"Obviously," you muttered, already steering the cart in that direction.

As you walked, Matt’s hand slid from your elbow to your wrist, fingers idly tracing over your pulse before his hand found yours, linking your fingers together like it was nothing.

You squeezed his hand slightly. "If you think holding my hand is gonna distract me from making you buy actual groceries, you’re wrong."

Matt huffed a quiet laugh, thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "Worth a shot."

"Mm-hmm," you mused, scanning the shelves as you walked. You paused near the coffee aisle, reaching for a bag of Matt’s usual blend.

"That one’s good," Matt said, nodding toward it.

You smirked, holding up a different one just to mess with him. "What about this one?"

Matt tilted his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. "That one’s decaf."

Your lips parted in mock surprise. "Wow. Look at that. Guess you do pay attention to your groceries."

Matt exhaled a laugh, leaning in slightly. "I pay attention to you."

Your stomach flipped, but you covered it with an eye roll, tossing his usual coffee into the cart before dragging him toward the next aisle.

---

By the time you made it to the checkout, the cart was full. Probably more food than Matt had ever willingly bought for himself.

"You’re never gonna finish all this," he mused as you unloaded onto the conveyor belt.

"You will if you actually cook," you shot back. "And don’t tell me you can’t. I’ve seen you do it."

Matt smirked, handing the cashier his card before you could stop him. "Guess I have no choice now."

You squinted at him. "That sounds suspiciously like a challenge."

Matt tilted his head. "Maybe it is."

You grinned. "Alright, Murdock. Guess I’ll be the judge of whether or not you can actually cook."

Matt chuckled, grabbing the grocery bags as the cashier finished bagging them. "I did offer to buy you dinner."

You crossed your arms. "I thought we were talking restaurant dinner, not Murdock’s Mystery Kitchen dinner."

Matt smirked, shifting the bags in his hands. "I never specified."

You rolled your eyes but reached out, grabbing a couple of bags from him. "Fine. But if you burn anything, I’m taking over."

"Noted," Matt said, leaning in just slightly. "But I wouldn’t underestimate me, sweetheart."

You huffed, shoving a bag at him before walking toward the door. "We’ll see about that, devil boy."

---

“Where’s my shirt? You know, the soft blue one with a star embroidered on it?”

Matt, who was sitting on the couch, fingers tracing a braille legal document, tilted his head. “…Where are your clothes?”

“My—that’s what I’m asking you.” You replied, hands on your hips, leaning against his bedroom door.

Matt’s lips twitched, setting the braille document down on the coffee table. He turned his head slightly, his attention fully on you now. "You’re asking me where your clothes are?"

"Yes, Matty." You sighed, crossing your arms. "I took a shower, and now I can’t find my damn shirt. The soft blue one? The one with the star embroidered on it?"

Matt hummed, pushing himself up from the couch, his movements slow, deliberate. "And you think I did something with it?"

"You have a habit of stealing my clothes," you pointed out. "So yes, you’re my prime suspect."

Matt smirked, stepping toward you. "Interesting accusation, sweetheart."

You didn’t flinch as he closed the distance, his fingers barely brushing along your forearm, trailing up to your shoulder before settling against your jaw.

"You’re not wearing any clothes."

You rolled your eyes. "I am wearing clothes. Just not the ones I want."

Matt exhaled a quiet chuckle, tilting his head slightly. "Bra and underwear don’t count."

"Tell that to every guy who’s ever seen a Victoria’s Secret ad," you muttered.

Matt grinned. "Is that what this is? A show?"

You huffed, lightly swatting at his chest. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are," he teased, echoing your words from earlier, his fingers still lazily tracing the edge of your jaw.

You narrowed your eyes but didn’t pull away. "Are you gonna help me find my shirt or not?"

Matt’s lips twitched. "I’m starting to think you just wanted an excuse to walk around like this."

You scoffed. "Matty, if I wanted to walk around half-naked in your apartment, I would. I don’t need an excuse."

Matt grinned. "Good to know."

You rolled your eyes, stepping back. "So are you gonna help or—"

Before you could finish, Matt turned toward his dresser, fingers trailing over the top before he grabbed something and held it out.

Your missing shirt.

Your jaw dropped. "You knew where it was this whole time?"

Matt shrugged. "You left it here last week. I thought it was mine."

You squinted at him. "Since when do you own a soft blue shirt with a star embroidered on it?"

Matt smirked. "I don’t, but you leave your stuff here so often, I figured it was fair game."

You snatched it from his hands. "Unbelievable."

Matt huffed a laugh, crossing his arms. "You gonna put it on, or do I get to keep enjoying the view?"

You shot him a look, but the heat in his voice sent something warm curling in your stomach. You turned away, slipping the shirt over your head, and when you glanced back, Matt was still smirking.

"Happy now?" you muttered.

Matt hummed, stepping closer again. "Not yet."

Before you could respond, he leaned in, catching your chin between his fingers before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

When he pulled back, his smirk deepened. "Now I’m happy."

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way your heart was hammering in your chest. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you love it."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue.

---

It was late at night when Matt convinced you to stay. Foggy and Karen were out of the office for the night, leaving just you and Matt doing your separate work.

The office was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of paper and the distant hum of the city outside.

You were perched on Matt’s couch, cross-legged, a set of blueprints spread across your lap while he sat at his desk, reading over a case file. Neither of you spoke, lost in your own work, but there was a comfortable ease to it.

"Are you even getting anything done over there?" Matt asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

You didn’t look up. "Are you?"

He hummed. "I was. Until I realized how unfair this is."

You sighed, already knowing where this was going. "What’s unfair, Matty?"

"You get to sit all comfy on my couch, while I’m stuck here, hard at work."

You snorted. "Hard at work, huh? I didn’t realize whining counted as work."

Matt pushed his chair back, standing slowly. "I think I deserve a break."

You barely glanced up. "Then take one. I’m actually doing something productive."

Matt made his way toward you, hands in his pockets. "Are you?"

You narrowed your eyes, lifting a brow. "Yes. Unlike some people, I have deadlines to meet."

Matt hummed, stepping in front of you. "And yet, you’re still here. With me."

"Because you asked me to stay," you reminded him, flipping a page. "You coerced me."

Matt smirked. "Did I?"

"Yes, you—hey!"

In one swift motion, Matt plucked the blueprints from your lap and set them aside. Before you could protest, he leaned down, hands bracketing your sides as he caged you against the couch.

"Take a break with me, angel," he murmured.

You exhaled, glaring up at him. "You are so—"

Whatever insult you had lined up died in your throat as Matt leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw. His lips brushed over your pulse, deliberate, teasing.

"Annoying?" he murmured.

You swallowed hard. "Distracting."

Matt grinned against your skin. "Mm. I’ll take that."

Your fingers curled around his tie, tugging slightly. "You are so lucky I like you."

Matt chuckled, dipping his head until his lips were just barely grazing yours. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You closed the distance, kissing him properly.

Matt exhaled against your lips, deepening it immediately. His hands skimmed down your sides, gripping your waist as he pulled you flush against him. You barely noticed when he guided you backward, until the edge of his desk dug into your lower back.

"Matty," you murmured between kisses.

"Mm?"

"I thought we were taking a break."

"This is my break," he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your throat.

You huffed a quiet laugh, threading your fingers into his hair. "Productive."

Matt grinned against your skin, hands slipping under the hem of your shirt. "You’re the one distracting me, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t stop him, tilting your head slightly to give him better access. His lips trailed back up, capturing yours again in a kiss that left your head spinning.

Neither of you noticed the sound of the front door opening.

At least, you didn’t.

Matt either didn’t hear it, or—more likely—just didn’t care.

"Hey, Matt, I left my phone—"

Foggy’s voice cut through the air like a record scratch.

You froze.

Matt, however, barely reacted. His lips left yours just enough for him to let out a quiet sigh—like he was annoyed—before pressing one last kiss to your jaw.

"Should’ve knocked, Fog," he murmured.

Your entire body was on fire. You didn’t dare turn around. Foggy, for his part, just stood there. Silent. Karen was the one to break it. "Uh."

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back against the desk. "Jesus Christ."

Matt still didn’t move. He just turned his head slightly in their direction. "You left your phone?"

Foggy blinked. "Yeah." A beat. "But now I kinda wanna leave it here forever."

Karen coughed, her voice tight with suppressed laughter. "Should we leave?"

You groaned, covering your face with your hands.

Matt just smirked. "You could, but I doubt you will."

Karen cleared her throat. "Y’know what? I suddenly really need a drink."

"Yeah, me too," Foggy muttered, grabbing his phone off the desk and speed walking toward the door.

Karen cast one last glance between the two of you, shaking her head before following. The second the door shut behind them, you finally shoved Matt away.

"You knew they were coming, didn’t you!?"

Matt grinned, shrugging. "You said it yourself—I have a habit of coercing you."

You gaped at him. "Murdock."

He just leaned in again, lips ghosting over your ear. "You gonna finish what you started, angel?"

Your face burned. "I started!?"

Matt chuckled, nudging his nose against yours.

"You’re impossible," you muttered, still flustered.

"And yet," Matt murmured, smirking, "here you are."

[thereoncewasagirlnamedjane]

PAIRING | Robert “Bob” Reynolds x f!Reader

TAGS/WARNINGS | angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, non-sexual intimacy/nudity, Bob’s sadness and self-deprecating thoughts.

SUMMARY | Four times Bob lets his true feelings for you go unaddressed, and the one time he doesn’t.

WORD COUNT | 3.3k

NOTES | You know, I was actually gonna take a break from writing (again, I know, I’m sorry) but I somehow managed to bang this out today at work so here you go, my first ever Bob fic 🫶🏻 Happy Wednesday!

⋆ ˚｡⋆˚ NAVIGATION | | BOB REYNOLDS M.LIST ˚⋆｡˚ ⋆

I do not do taglists. Please follow my sideblog @ficsbyjane for notifications whenever I post.

✧.* Truth Be Told

The first time he touches you, he does it almost without hesitation.

Normally, Bob makes a point to keep a respectable distance. He doesn’t touch anyone or anything without the most careful of considerations first—even though he wants it, craves it.

But when you’re this close, when you’re leaning into him instead of away, when you’re looking at him like he’s just Bob and not the same guy who almost let the Void inside him swallow New York whole, his hands can’t help but ache for you.

He’s restless with it, his palms itching as though something was missing. He wants to know what your skin would feel like under his fingertips, whether your eyelashes would flutter under his touch, and if you’d sigh just the way he would whenever he imagined closing the distance between you.

So before he knows it, Bob’s already reaching for you.

His heart leaps to his throat the moment he makes contact, turning his hand over, using the blade of his finger to brush away the crumbs at the corner of your mouth.

You look up from your plate, the box of pastries you’d bought for the entire team as an early afternoon pick-me-up still laying open on the table, your eyes widening a fraction when they meet his.

“You’ve got a little bit of…” he trails off, not really caring or even knowing what it is. Bob’s never had much of a sweet tooth, but right now, you smell like almonds and raspberry jam and a touch of something that’s uniquely you… and he suddenly wants nothing more than to taste.

“Oh,” is all you say, staying still as he lets his hand linger instead, his knuckles brushing along the curve of your jaw. You smile, your eyes softening, and for a fraction of a second Bob swears you lean into his touch. “Thanks, Bob.”

He nods, not trusting his own voice or the temptation of your name on his lips, before very reluctantly breaking the connection. His fingers are already twitching with the need to touch you again by the time he puts it back down onto the dining table.

And although you never talk about it, there is an easing of invisible barriers after that. Now that he’s had a taste, Bob can no longer resist the warmth of your skin against his—no matter how chaste or innocent the contact is.

“You’ve got an eyelash,” he’d say, pointing to his own face, his lips twitching with the fib, and you’d simply lean forward at the same time he did, allowing him to swipe the tip of his finger down your cheek. Trusting, unsuspecting, and oblivious to the yearning expanding like a balloon in his chest.

What if, one day, he could lean in just like this and let his lips find their way to yours?

Impossible, but a man could dream.

But sometimes there isn’t anything there at all, but he still dips slightly at the waist, beckoning you with his hand before removing the imaginary thing from your cheek, your nose, or the aching perfection that is your cupid’s bow.

And when you smile up at him expectantly, even when Yelena catches him in his little white lies one day, lifting a skeptical brow when she meets his eye over your head, Bob just carries on.

Truth be told, he can’t even bring himself to feel guilty about it.

—

The first time he ever holds your hand is on a Thursday.

It’s unseasonably cold for the time of year, and Bob’s shivering under his sweater. You have been sent out on an errand to restock the Tower with food and supplies, and Bucky insisted that Bob go with you.

“Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you out there,” Bucky said to you, slapping a hand down onto Bob’s shoulder before turning towards him, “Right?”

“Right,” Bob mumbled, feeling his cheeks going red because evidently his feelings were written all over his face, and now even Bucky, of all people, was taking it upon himself to nudge things along.

“Plus Bob can help carry your bags,” Yelena joined in, not looking up from the game of Scrabble she was playing with Alexei. “Dad, that is not a word!”

“Says who?” He said, gesturing to the gibberish he’d placed on the board, full of X’s, M’s, C’s, and V’s, but not a single vowel in sight.

Ava scoffed, her face scrunching up in both confusion and annoyance. “She can take care of herself. Just last week she kicked John’s ass—”

But then John nudged her, maybe a little too hard, almost sending her tumbling out of her chair. She glared up at him, before she caught the meaningful look on his face.

“Oh… yeah… erm, nighttime in New York is practically the Purge. Might as well take him with you.”

You gave them all looks of thinly veiled suspicion, but then you just shook your head and turned to Bob as you were winding a scarf around your neck. Smiling, you asked him, “Do you mind, Bob?”

As if he would.

Venturing outdoors is still rather daunting, which is probably another reason why the team’s been so eager to get him out of the Tower. The thought that someone might recognize him makes him sweat, despite the mid-morning chill.

And then the two of you approach a particularly crowded spot on the sidewalk, and Bob’s footsteps falter slightly. You stop as if you sense his hesitation, turning to him just before disappearing into the throng of New Yorkers. As naturally as breathing, you hold out a hand.

“Come on,” you prompt with a shake of your hand when he just stares for a few seconds.

Bob holds on quickly before you can change your mind. You tug him along, squeezing his hand tighter as you reach the thick of the crowd. Bob emerges on the other side of it with pink cheeks that should be almost numb from the biting wind, but instead they are warm with something else.

And even as the horde dissipates, the sidewalk opening up with more than enough space for the two of you to walk side by side, you don’t let go.

He catches your reflections in the glass windows of the nearby shops, you with your head turned away to admire the displays of a flower shop, but your hands still joined together.

Bob wonders what others think you are to him.

He wants them to know you’re special.

He hopes you know, too.

—

The first time he falls asleep next to you starts with him sitting in the dark of his room, his shoulders slumping a little further forward with each passing minute. The others have left on another mission without him, and Bob just wishes he could do something to help.

But he still can’t control his powers well enough yet; it’d be too dangerous for him to be out in the field with them. He understands this better than anyone—the last time he tried tapping into full extent of his Sentry powers, he almost murdered somebody (even if Alexei would argue that that person, Valentina, had deserved it), that god-like sense of superiority leeching ominously into his mind.

He is hopeful when Yelena says he’s improving, slowly but surely, tries to believe it when Bucky tells him that it will happen soon. He just needs a little more time.

But Bob can’t help but feel like a burden, someone they have to take care of rather than a part of the team. The voice in the back of his mind comes back, a few notes lower than his own, that slight taunting lilt of it latching onto the edges of his subconscious.

You’re worthless, Bobby.

You think they care about you?

You will always be alone.

It will always be just you and me.

He doesn’t know how long he's sat there like that, but the room remains dark now even though someone draws the curtains. Bob shrinks back, as though the beam of moonlight spreading across his lap hurts him, doesn’t even look up when someone calls his name.

“Bob?”

He sighs, closes his eyes against the habitual burn of shame, that familiar heat creeping up his neck. Because he’s never wanted you to see him like this—so sad, so pathetic, wallowing in his own self-pity.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask carefully, and he doesn’t know if it’s better or worse when he hears you kneeling on the carpet in front of him.

He shakes his head.

“Okay,” you tell him gently, patiently, so kindly, “do you want me to leave?”

Please don’t. Don’t ever leave me alone, he wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he just shakes his head again. Despite himself, he’s somehow relieved when he feels the mattress dip slightly next to him, the warmth of your thigh dangerously close to his.

When he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees in the periphery of his vision is your hand, lying face up on your lap. It’s an invitation that’s too sweet for him to deny, and he slides his hand into yours, watching with a strange mixture of disbelief and euphoria as your fingers close around him.

That you would still want to touch him after seeing him like this. That he would find such comfort in the simple meeting of your palms.

His chin lifts when you turn, your other hand coming up to tuck a curtain of his hair behind his ear.

“Is this okay?” You whisper.

Bob nods, and for one treacherous moment he lets himself believe that you unconsciously seek him out too, that your hands itch to touch him just as his own do for you. And then you’re gathering him into your arms, and he follows without hesitation, falling into your embrace and burying his face into your shoulder.

He doesn’t know when he fell asleep but when he wakes, you’re still there.

“Hi,” you breathe, as though afraid you’ll disturb this peace if you speak any louder. Bob doesn’t tell you that he thinks he’ll only find peace if you’re around.

“Hi,” he whispers back, a smile lifting his lips as though you’re breathing life back into him. “Thank you.”

You don’t even hesitate. “Anytime.”

—

The first time you undress in front of him is, well, it’s not like that.

Because the entire time, Bob is furious. He wants to break something, feels the frustration crowding his lungs and resists the urge to just scream it out.

The whole team had frozen when he appeared in the doorway when they got home, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of you. One of your arms was slung around Ava’s shoulders as she propped you up, and your other hand was pressed gingerly to your ribcage.

There was a bruise blooming along your temple. Your lip had split in two places, and there was dried blood along your hairline. He could smell fresh blood in the air, even though he couldn’t see any open wounds.

John took a step toward him, one hand up in what seemed to be a placating gesture. “She’s okay, Bobby.”

“Okay?” Bob asked shakily, “she can barely stand.”

“She made it home alive, that’s all that matters,” Yelena reminded him, and while it was somewhat reassuring, it did little to quell the fire in his throat.

“She just needs to rest now,” Bucky told him, inhaling sharply when Bob’s jaw was clenched so tight it looked like his teeth might crack under the pressure.

“I’ll be fine, Bob,” you said quickly, smiling at him through your pain.

That was somehow worse than your physical injuries. Bob wanted to know then and there who did this to you, because he would unleash the full and unrestrained wrath of his powers if it meant avenging you, consequences be damned.

For the first time, he wanted to see something burn.

Ava cursed under her breath when Bob’s eyes flashed gold, but then you were asking him, “Help me to my room?”

Just like that, his eyes returned to their natural blue, and the room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

And now, as he stands in your room, his hands are shaking as he pulls a clean set of clothes from your dresser. You limp toward the en-suite bathroom, leaning one hand on the counter and breathing deeply through your nose as you try to peel off your soiled tact-suit.

The second you let out a hiss of pain when the movement tugs at your stitches, Bob is at your side in an instant. He pushes down the panic clawing at his throat, the one that won’t quite settle down even though you’re right here, alive and breathing.

But he can spiral later; you need him now.

Bob gently, so gently, brushes your hand away so he can reach for your zipper. You make eye contact with him in the mirror, nodding, and he swallows the lump in his throat as he slowly helps you out of your bloody clothes.

“I’m going to be fine, okay?” You repeat and he just nods, his hands skimming over your shoulder blades, down your arms, as he helps you undress. His breath hitches as your suit falls into a heap around your feet, when he finds the square of gauze taped over your midsection with a spot of dreaded crimson seeping through. There’s a matching one on your opposite side. “It was a through and through. Missed all vital organs, the doctor said. It’s basically a flesh wound.”

“I should have been there,” Bob finally says when he finds his voice.

“Hey…” you turn to face him, “this happens. It’s part of the job.”

“I can help,” he almost pleads. He presses your hand to the side of his face, trying to hide the sting of tears. “If I’d been there, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. None of you ever would.”

He hates it, that feeling of helplessness as he’s forced to stay behind in the Tower. But what he hates even more is the thought that one day, you or Yelena or any one of the team could die out there—and he’d be here, safe and sound even though he was the strongest out of all of you, twiddling his thumbs waiting for you to come back.

“Don’t say I’m not ready,” Bob bites back a sob as he drops his forehead to your bare shoulder, “I’m ready. I’ll always be ready to protect you.”

He’s just found you.

He can’t lose you now.

“I know,” you turn around and your eyes shining just as brightly as his are. “And we’ll protect you, too. I promise.”

Bob’s never doubted you before.

He won’t doubt you now, either.

—

The team never leaves Bob behind after that, and when he first tells you what’s in his heart, it’s a quiet, almost unassuming thing.

He hadn’t intended to, although he’s always wanted to.

He wanted to tell you when you all boarded the jet, full of nervous but cautiously optimistic energy now that Bob was with you. He found his spot next to you, ignoring John’s teasing quip and Alexei’s beaming smile, his arm pressed to yours on the armrest between your seats.

He wanted to tell you just before stepping off the plane, when you gave him a reassuring smile and a confident nod, like you were saying you’ve got this. He wanted to call it after you as you rushed into the fray, weapons raised and ready, the others following closely behind you.

He wanted to tell you when he stepped in front of you, absorbing the impact of a bullet aimed straight at your forehead. It bounced harmlessly off him with a high-pitched ping, didn’t even leave a single dent or red mark on his skin, but you still gasped behind him and cried out his name.

But he couldn’t think straight in that moment, could only think about eliminating anything and anyone who’d try to take you from him.

He wanted to tell it to you on the plane ride home, when you brushed his hair back to double and triple check the spot where he’d been hit, undeterred by the splatters of someone else’s blood on his suit.

Bob thought about the man it belonged to. He hadn’t set out to kill anybody, but if that was the price he had to pay to keep you alive… well then, he’d pay it again and again.

“It didn’t hurt at all?” You asked. “Are you sure?”

He smiled, full of affection, exhaling on something of a laugh, “I’m invincible, remember?”

“That we know of,” you didn’t return his smile, “please, don’t do that again.”

Bob didn’t answer, because he knew he couldn’t promise that. Even if he could, it’s not like he ever would.

He wants to tell it to you when you pull him into your room the second you get home, standing close enough that he can count the stars reflected in your eyes.

He wants to tell you everything right now, everything he’s held onto so tightly all this time because he didn’t think that he ever deserved this.

Bob’s been made his whole life to think that this was never in the stars for him. The Void in his chest, the one that he manages somehow to keep at bay most days, still whispers it to him. Still sneers at him for even entertaining the idea he could ever have it, let alone with someone as good as you.

Then you kiss him. Just a peck, the briefest meeting of lips at first. You look up at him searchingly, waiting for him to push you away or say this is a mistake, but he would never. So long as you want it, he’d give you anything.

He’s the one to initiate your second kiss, more firmly this time, with the reverence of a man who believes he would never get to do this again. You wrap your arm around his shoulders, pull him closer and closer until your chests are touching.

“Invincible, maybe,” you whisper once you pull away, your voice wobbly as you breathe the words into the quiet space between you, “but not replaceable. Not to me.”

Bob feels something crack open inside him then. He buries his nose in the junction of where your neck and shoulder met, hot tears dripping down the delicate curve there and soaking into your shirt.

He wants more, to let his body tell you what he can’t yet bring himself to say, but finds himself almost afraid of it. It has been a while since he’s been this close, this intimate, with someone he genuinely cares about. Maybe even longer since he’s done it with a clear head.

But you seem content to just hold him, like that first time, as though it doesn’t make him near desperate with want and weak with affection all at the same time. And later, before sleep can claim the both of you, he carries you to the bathroom to wash up. The two of you stay in the tub long after you are clean.

Steam curls into the air, hot water rippling as Bob sits behind you, caging you between his arms as you lean back comfortably against the sturdy planes of his chest.

He says it to you then, murmurs into your skin that he’s found love here.

Bob almost can’t believe it when you say it back.

That night, he falls asleep in your arms again, the side of his head pressed to your chest, listening to the steady beating of your heart against his ear.

The darkness in his own begins to recede that much further with each reassuring thump, as though chased away by the dawning of the morning sun.

And you.

Always you.

FIN.

Notes: There’s been a lot of discourse lately about how Bob’s character is or has been written since Thunderbolts* came out. I only hope I did him justice somewhat; there’s so much we still don’t know about him. Choose kindness when interacting with each other. (I will not budge on the stutter thing, though. Note that having a stutter and the occasional nervous stammer in high-tension situations are not the same thing.)

© 2025 by thereoncewasagirlnamedjane. Do not repost, translate, or copy to third party sites. No part of this work may be fed into any AI software or websites. Minors are asked not to interact with my blog; you are responsible for your own media consumption. Blank/ageless blogs will be blocked.

[dollishmehrayan]

# BATBOYS WITH A SUNSHINE!READER ── .✦ ( basically batboys with a optimistic reader )

a/n: this was requested by anon (here) but anywayss i think I’m gonna do the world tour thing after my winter inspired fics/hcs end on like February 28th! (Dw i’ll still do the world tour thingy in between) but yahh also I desperately need writer mutals + mutals I mssg daily like I’m a very kind person idm if you dm me at like 4 AM, tags: (batboys x fem!reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Absolutely smitten. Your optimism is like a magnet for Dick, who thrives on positivity.

He calls you his “little ray of sunshine” (even if you roll your eyes at the nickname).

If he’s feeling down, your relentless optimism is a game changer. “How do you do that? How do you make the world seem so… bright all the time?”

Constantly teases you, especially if you’re being overly cheerful during random moments. “Are you seriously smiling right now? We’re getting ready to head to bed!”

But secretly, he loves it. Your energy balances his occasional doubts && insecurities. (he lovesss positive people who live in their own world)

Dick starts picking up on your habits leaving little notes of encouragement, giving random compliments to strangers and realizes how much better it makes his day.

JASON TODD ── .✦

At first, he’s skeptical. He’s not used to someone so genuinely cheerful, and he might think you’re putting on an act.

“How are you this happy all the time? What’s your secret? Coffee? Dark magic?”, “I just like seeing the world differently, I’m a poet in my mind.”

But over time, he warms up to your positivity and even craves it (to a point he gets sad if you aren’t around for more than 4 hours). You’re the light that cuts through his darker moments and more sulking personality.

“I don’t know how you do it, but you make me feel like the world’s not completely screwed.”, “what did you say?-“, “Nothing go back to sleep.”

He pretends to be annoyed when you try to cheer him up after a rough day, but he secretly loves when you coax a laugh out of him.

Jason starts jokingly calling you his “emotional support sunshine.” He’ll tell Roy, “Yeah, they’re like my personal antidepressant.”

Will protect your positivity at all costs. If anyone tries to dim your light, they’ll have to deal with him.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Finds your optimism so refreshing. Tim can be a little too caught up in stress and overthinking, so your energy is like a breath of fresh air.

He’s constantly asking, “How are you so happy all the time? Teach me your ways.”

If you leave him little notes of encouragement, he’ll treasure them forever. He has a drawer full of them and pulls one out whenever he’s having a bad day.

Sometimes, your cheerfulness makes him feel a little guilty. “You’re so good, and here I am being a grump.” But you always remind him it’s okay to have bad days.

Tim loves how you bring optimism even to his most chaotic moments. “Yeah, sure, we’re being late, but hey, at least it’s not raining, right?”

He’d be a little overwhelmed by your energy at times, but he admires you deeply for seeing the good in everything.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Damian does not know what to do with you at first. Your cheerfulness is a complete mystery to him.

“Why are you smiling? We are surrounded by incompetence.”

He pretends to be annoyed, but deep down, he finds your positivity oddly comforting.

Over time, he starts looking forward to your optimistic take on things. “Yes, fine, maybe there is a silver lining. Stop gloating.”

You have a knack for breaking through his tough exterior. If he’s grumpy, you’ll say something so genuinely kind that he can’t help but soften.

Damian secretly loves how you see the good in him, even when he doesn’t see it himself.

He starts to mimic your habits, like giving Alfred small compliments or trying to look on the bright side, but he’ll deny it if you call him out.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Bruce admires your positivity but doesn’t always understand it. “How do you manage to stay so cheerful in Gotham of all places?”

At first, he worries your optimism will make you naive, but he quickly realizes it’s your strength.

Your energy is a stark contrast to his brooding nature, and he starts leaning on it more than he cares to admit.

When he’s stuck in his head or doubting himself, you always know what to say to pull him out of it.

“You make it sound so simple,” he says after you give him one of your pep talks. But he smiles because somehow, you do make it simple.

You bring a sense of warmth and nostalgia into the Wayne Manor. Bruce finds himself more relaxed when you’re around, even in the middle of chaos.

He’ll never admit it to the others, but your optimism is one of his favorite things about you.

[sleep-0-deprived]

Sirens touch~! (Kyle Garrick x male siren reader) 𓊝

WC:.2.1K

Tags: pwlp, anal sex, sex on a boat, monster x human, pheromones used as drugs, fish anatomy mentioned, bottom male reader, seduction themes, siren songs, handjobs, neck biting, blood mentioned 𓇼

A/N: this one is for @creepy141dollie hope Y’ like it, forgive if M’ descriptions of sirens are inaccurate, this was jus my thought process <33

Taglist: @kimisbunny @asher-is-hotxp @silvern1006 @unstab1eperson2 @yyuinaa @dewday1 @blond3ang3l @creepy141dollie @m4r13ll @ihavezeropancreas @sooobiinn @just-ignore-them @fuckingmxonlight @nightwinglover101 @chasingknives @littlelilithsposts

𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟𓆝𓆟𓆝

The air was fogged over and cold- rigidly so, you could almost taste the salt in the air when you breathed in the mist. Kyle wasn’t happy about this in the slightest, the moment price caught wind of makarov supposedly hiding somewhere across the sea, he had the whole task force on a ship on the ocean waters, that included Gaz too. Gaz walked around on the deck, he’d peek his head over the rails and stare into the nearly black abyss of water— god he could only imagine how cold that water must’ve been.

His eyes slowly widen when he sees something beneath the sheets of liquid, it was probably just a dumb fish swimming around. Garrick wasn’t made for the waters nor did he like them, sea sick was the only thing he ever got from it— and was that a person laying on that rock?…oh god the sea must be getting to him.

“I don’t see how sailors manage”

Gaz diverts his gaze to the passing soap, walking by and across the ship watching the other end- like what he was supposed to be doing but something felt off he couldn’t explain it, it all felt weird like bugs churning around in his stomach. He’d just cut it down to the waves giving him motion sickness.

“Are you gonna make it there gaz?”

He nearly jumps when ghost sneaks up on him standing behind him with his mask on letting his gaze pierce through the other male.

“You shouldn’t be so damn quiet- you’re gonna give someone a heart attack these days”

“Relax, I was just gonna ask if ye wanted to swap tasks- ye go to the lower deck N’ keep an eye out”

The man’s British accent creeping through his words only making Gaz sigh and nod, making his way down to the empty deck, his body felt a reaction the closer he got to the waters almost like something compelling him forwards. When the rock he had seen earlier came into view he could’ve sworn he saw a man with H/C hair laying there with a deep blue webbed ear. Before he knew it he felt his chest ache at that sight- why did he feel so much need over a man that probably was a figment of his lonesome imagination.

He leans against the rails, blinking once and frowning when he sees nothing on the rock, he almost feels sadness as the disappearance but before he can mourns it a hand is placed up on the ship from the loading area a few feet from him.

“Who’s there?!”

His voice rings empty in the fog, you slip your way up onto the deck while laying sprawled with a little grin. Tilting your head over almost like a curious cat— you weren’t used to not having your tail but you’d make having legs work. Gaz was practically lovestruck standing in his military gear and yet he felt just as defenseless as a common man before a gun.

“Aren’t you just a mean one?”

Your voice was angelic and he knew that you knew that, the way you slithered up on the deck like some serpent ready for its mean had him in a state of pure lust looking at you— Gaz was a weak man and the years of solitude without touch only made him weaker. Your prime prey, you liked a sweet man who was good at heart but had desperation— you could feed off the lust in his eyes alone.

Gaz started approaching you almost in a trance but you haven’t even used your song on him yet, this was pure free will.

“What the hell are you— a damn talking fish?”

“I’m not a damn fish— I’ll have you know I’m a siren”

You hiss your words at him growing irritated with it all, reaching your hand out to grasp hold of the man and pull him down with you having him beneath you on the deck. your body nude and cold from the see, your cock pressed flat down on your thighs while you click your tongue slowly tracing your cold fingers over his skin, humming your own siren song.

“Fuck, what the hell are you doing”

“Don’t pretend you don’t want me, everyone wants me.”

Your hands grip his shoulders speaking statements not questions, your cock was stiffening up when his bulge pressed to your plush cheeks almost giving it a friendly greeting making you push back down against his clothed member, Gaz’s hands roam down grabbing your hips instinctively gripping at the flesh with vigor while he stares up at you in a glossy eyed trance watching how your hands slid off his shoulder down his vest and to his cargo pants, pulling them down with a thud when you undo his tack belt letting it fall on the deck.

Your nails were sharp and pointed leaving chills on his thighs when your nails graze over the tip of his cock having it all wet and coated in pre cum when you finally get it out of his boxers. Your eyes narrow slightly glowing under the dim fog of the late noon sky, the ship rocking back and forth against the waves having Gaz feeling completely under your spell when you hum against his ear and press your lips to the side of his neck.

“God you’re…”

He wanted to say so many things in that moment but his lips quivered and stopped, all men acted that way— you couldn’t count the number of sailors who uttered those exact words to you. Gaz felt different you didn’t want to lure him into a seductive demise, you actually wanted him all for yourself.

“I already knoww~”

you hush him silently with your lips pressed to his Adam’s apple rubbing your sharp teeth to the flesh feeling tempted to just take a bite out of him. Your hand plays with his cock stroking the base and rubbing your thumb flush against the under side of his tip, right where you knew it was most sensitive.

“O-h fuck you’re good at this”

Kyle’s moan comes out strangled like a half laugh when he takes a gulp for the first time in his military years feeling nervous by something that looks so frail, your skin practically glowed sticky from the salt in the sea having your damp body in his lap feeing your bare ass on his thighs making his half lidded eyes just stare at it, he only looks away when he feels the sharp pain in his neck— you just bit him?

“Mhm, you just taste good enough to eat”

“Oh fuuck”

His groan just make you smile having his blood over your teeth like a fresh candy coating making your slit pupils dilate, licking up the blood off his neck leaving him with the mark of a siren when you aim his cock between your wet cheeks, grinning at his expression when his eyes clamp shut from the cold feel of your skin pressing to his manhood. You rock your hips back and forth letting go of his cock and reaching up to his jaw and gripping it tight while you lay hunched over him pressing your bitter and blue lips to his mouth kissing him- making him taste his blood off your tongue while he lays on his back on the deck.

“You want this so bad don’t you?”

“…yes…”

He mumbles mindlessly under you just staring you blankly in the eyes, his lips sloppily responding to yours with your cock standing barely stiff leaning a small pearl of pre cum with your blue webbed ears looking almost like a fin when they flick back and forth in satisfaction. His cock head rubbing between your cheeks and all up and down your crack rubbing against your twitchy ring of muscles.

“Tell me you want inside me- tell me now”

“…I want you, I wanna be inside you so bad”

Your mouth nibbles at his neck some more littering it in red marks having blood smears on his skin while his hips buck up under you making you let go of his jaw when he hisses from how your nails dug into his skin. Gaz presses into you slowly pushing his way inside of your vice, being a siren producing pheromones and natural lubricant around your rim, your holes weee designed to take— you were a being of lust- a Adonis of sex in every way but the name.

“Fuckin, please-“

If it wasn’t for how desperate Gaz was in this moment he may have passed out of humiliation, he hated the way his voice cracked when he begged for you sitting desperate with his cock half inside you prodding its way into the bunny tavern trying to spread and spear you open on his dick, you sit in his lap having your mouth latched on his feeling his moans muffled by your tongue when you bite on his bottom lip leaving little drops of blood mixing into the shared spit.

“Think you may be the biggest man I’ve taken in a very long time sailor”

You lift your hips up and slowly lower them back down on him while you let your hand find its way to his shoulders digging your nails through his gear and clawing a hole in the back of his shirt leaving marks on his rich skin. Your rim milks out the pre cum from his mushroomed head having his hands trembling on your hips while he pushes his spit down your throat.

“I’m not a damn sailor— I’m a captain”

His words come out strangled beneath you when he pulls his lips, tearing them away only to gasp for air. Your nails dig harder letting out soft moans when his cock rubs your prostate just right making you feel warm shrills up your spine having you feeling in a state of euphoria when you ride the man.

Your eyes creep back and you grow slicker around his cock taking it with ease, Gaz lets out heaved gasps beneath you. Not having fucked anything in a few solid years due to his job, his orgasm is on edge but he does his best to hold back not wanting to come too quick but boy if your insides weren’t practically begging it out of him right now.

“Stop or I’ll—“

Before he can even finish his sentence your hand creeps up off his back and over his mouth hushing his groans when you feel his cock start pulsing inside you reaching his high and flooding your insides with his semen leaving a warm feeling inside your ice cold body.

“Now you’re gonna be good and help me get off right?”

“Y-yes ofcourse”

He nods his head when you hum your song to him not even giving him time to come down from his orgasm when you remove your hand off his mouth and reach to the hand off your hips when you guid it down to your hardened cock, letting out a hiss when he touches the base. Gaz slowly starts stroking your cock and giving it a firm touches under your tip.

He starts stroking your cock a little faster gripping the base with your cock leaking a mess in his palm having you instinctively pushing your hips back down on his cock with the semen inside

“I’m getting close”

Gaz starts stroking your cock faster making you arch your back getting closer to edge with his hand snaking off your hips to your ass giving it a squeeze in time with his strokes. Pre cum starts oozing drink you all down your shaft making a mess when your voice cracks and your orgasm rushes over you, you grip his shoulders tight with your

“Oh fuck—“

“What is it fishy? You’re actin like this is your first orgasm”

You sneer down at him frowning when he says that, ropes of thin liquid shoots from your tip leaving stains on his gear. Your chest raises and falls rapidly practically glowing with your eyes rolling forwards to look down at him under you, sitting on top of him on the ship, you slowly raise up off of Gaz, semen starts oozing out of you and onto the ships deck, your rim twitches all puffy.

Before Garrick could even say anything to you, you were gone. The water flashed and it was like you were an imagination? Your figure lurked under the water then disappeared into the fog, sirens were never known to stick to one prey forever.

“Gaz? Mate what’re you doin?!”

There stood a flabbergasted soap, his mouth agape standing next to price with their eyes focused on a ruin captain kyle Garrick ‘Gaz’ laying covered in come with his pants around his ankles laying on his back, his cock limp and his eyes lidded clearly worn out.

[inseobts]

Hey Princess pt.2

zoro x fem!reader

part 1 - part 3

you find freedom, love, and a true family among pirates—only to risk everything, even your life, to protect them from the chains of your past.

words count: 3.6k

tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, banter, mystery backstory, angst and fluff

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“I’m a real princess.”

Your voice is quiet but everyone hears it.

You hear Luffy suck in a soft breath, like that part still surprises him even after the poster. But no one interrupts.

You keep going.

“But I never felt like one. Not really.”

You swallow.

“They dressed me up like one. Taught me how to walk, how to speak, how to smile. I was perfect, outside. Always so perfect.”

You laugh. It’s bitter.

“I was whatever they wanted me to be. Sweet. Smart. Silent. A trophy. A ghost.”

You glance at Franky “No offense… but I started to feel like a robot.”

He raises both hands, eyes gentle “None taken, sweetheart.”

You smile, just for a second.

“Every day, I played the role. And every night, when I was alone again, I’d stare at the mirror and see a stranger looking back. A doll. A puppet with gold strings.”

Zoro’s hand tightens around yours slightly.

You don’t look at him. Not yet.

“I’m an only child,” you continue “No siblings to take the spotlight. No one to pass the weight to. Just me and the kingdom. And their expectations.”

You glance down again.

“Whenever it hurt too much, I’d run to my room. Lock the door. Breathe in silence.”

Your lips quirk “Guess that’s why I still do it now.”

Brook leans forward “Why made you choose to officially leave?”

You go quiet for a second. Then you answer “They arranged a marriage.”

Sanji goes still, just like that. You feel his body shift across the table. Controlled tension. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to.

You understand each other now more than ever.

“A prince I never met. I didn’t even get his name before the engagement was official.” You laugh softly “I was gonna be queen. Or a prisoner. Same thing.”

Zoro doesn’t say anything. But you feel the subtle jerk of breath he takes.

His grip on your hand grows firm, almost possessive, and it makes something stir inside you.

“At the thought of it… I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t even know what love was supposed to feel like. But I knew it wasn’t that. I knew I didn’t want to spend my life as someone’s ornament.”

You take a shaky breath.

“So I ran.”

They’re all silent now. No gasps. No protests. Just wide eyes and quiet, raw attention.

“I ran and never looked back. And then I met Luffy.”

He grins at you from across the table, mouth full “Told you I wanted a spy princess on the crew!”

You actually laugh. A real one. Brief, but real.

Then your voice softens.

“I just want to be free now. Free to live. Free to find love on my own. Free to make my own choices. My own mistakes. Free to just… be myself.”

Silence stretches.

You finally look up. Your eyes shine. Full. Glassy.

But you smile a wide, honest smile.

The kind that reaches your eyes, even if your tears stay where they are, right on the edge, refusing to fall.

No one says anything right away. But you feel Zoro’s thumb brush once, gently, against your knuckle.

Not a question.

Not a comment.

Just a quiet I’m here.

The silence doesn’t last long.

You’re still blinking back tears when Chopper climbs into your lap, curling his little arms around your waist. You don’t even know when he got up but he’s there, warm and soft, and suddenly everything feels a little more bearable.

“I’m glad you ran away,” he says simply “You’re better here.”

Nami sets her drink down and walks over, brushing your hair gently back behind your ear “I used to hide in my room too. And I wasn’t a princess. Just… trapped.”

You reach out with your free hand, the one not still held tight in Zoro’s, and take hers.

Robin gives you a soft, knowing smile from across the table “Choosing your own life is always the hardest path. But the most important one.”

Franky wipes his eyes dramatically “That was… beautiful. You’re suuuuper brave.”

Brook nods, eyes shiny “May I write a song about your freedom, Princess?”

You laugh and nod “As long as I don’t have to sing it.”

Luffy stretches back in his seat and grins like the sun “I’m glad I asked you to join.”

“Me too” you say, and you mean it.

Usopp slams his hands on the table “You know what this means? You’ve got a backstory! That’s crew material right there.”

You snort.

Eventually, one by one, they start leaving the kitchen. Some with yawns, others with smiles. Chopper hugs you again before slipping off. Sanji is last, giving Zoro a long, slow look. But he doesn’t say anything. Just nods once and walks out.

Now it’s quiet again.

You and Zoro.

Still hand in hand.

Still sitting close, like if you let go, the moment will snap.

You finally speak, voice soft “So. ‘Princess’, huh?”

Zoro glances at you sideways, his mouth quirking slightly “Didn’t know it was true when I started calling you that.”

You hum “I figured.”

He tilts his head “You never told me why you hated it before.”

You pause, fingers brushing lightly against his.

“I used to hate it and you because of it,” you admit “Because you kept reminding me of that life with it. Of what I was supposed to be. Not what I am.”

He nods, watching you closely.

You glance down at your joined hands.

“But now…” Your voice dips “Now it doesn’t sound like a cage anymore. Now it sounds like... like love.”

Zoro stills.

But then… his brow furrows.

He looks almost confused.

“You mean that prince they picked out for you?”

Your head snaps up.

“What?”

“That guy. The one you were supposed to marry. Is that who you’re talking about?”

Your heart drops.

You yank your hand away, face flushing with heat, not from embarrassment, but frustration. Maybe a little hurt.

“Are you seriously that dense?”

Zoro blinks.

“Do you think I’d be sitting here holding your hand, telling you that, if I was talking about him?”

His eyes widen a little.

Before he can say anything, you start to push your chair back, about to stand but he grabs your hand again. Firm. Strong. Not letting go.

Then, slowly, he reaches up with his other hand and touches your chin, tilting your face toward him.

His touch is gentle. Unshaking.

You stop moving.

Your eyes meet his.

“I’m not good with… this,” he says, voice low “But I’m listening now.”

Your breath catches.

You stare at him. At the serious set of his jaw. The sharp focus in his eye. The way he’s looking at you, not like a joke, not like an opponent, not like a crewmate.

Something else.

Something closer.

Something dangerous, but not in a bad way.

He still doesn’t let go. And for the first time… you don’t want him to.

His hand is still on your chin, his fingers warm and gentle, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks too long.

You don’t move and neither does he.

The room feels like it’s holding its breath, like the Thousand Sunny itself knows something’s about to change.

And then… his gaze dips to your lips.

It’s slow. Intentional. Obvious, even. But not cocky.

There’s no smirk, no sharp comment. Just Zoro, looking at you like you’re something he didn’t realize he needed until this second.

You smile, soft and full of something you haven’t felt in years.

Peace.

Hope.

Home.

“Well,” you whisper, eyes flicking from his lips to his eyes, “Can I check off finding true love from my bucket list now?”

He lets out a small, stunned breath. Like he wasn’t expecting that from you. Like something just cracked open in his chest.

And then you lean forward.

Your lips brush his, gentle at first, barely there.

Zoro doesn’t rush. Doesn’t grip tighter.

He just kisses you back, slow and warm, like he’s finally figured out the answer to a question he didn’t know he’d been asking.

Your hand slips to his jaw, thumb tracing the scar under his eye.

He sighs softly into the kiss. And then you pull back, just a breath away.

“Okay,” you murmur, looking straight into his eye, “I’m feeling a bit too heated now.”

You dive back in.

This time, it’s not soft.

It’s hungry.

Zoro’s hands fly to your waist, gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. He pulls you forward, easily, smoothly, until you’re on his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, chest against his.

Your fingers thread into his green hair as your mouths move in sync, heat rising with every second.

He groans low into the kiss, one hand sliding up your back. And for a second, there’s no past, no poster, no titles. Just this.

Just you and him.

When you finally pull back, barely breathing, still close, he blinks once, like he’s trying to re-enter reality.

Then he frowns a little.

“Wait… During that game we played, you said you kissed a prince once. Who was that?”

You freeze.

Your whole face twists into offended betrayal as you push off his lap with a huff.

“Why,” you ask dramatically, “are you asking me that while we’re kissing like that?!”

Zoro blinks “I was just—”

“Way to ruin the mood, idiot…” you say, leaning down with a sigh.

Your face is inches from his.

Your nose brushes his.

Then you press a quick, teasing peck to his lips.

“Goodnight, swordsman.”

You turn, still smiling, and wave over your shoulder as you walk out of the room.

Zoro sits there alone, completely dazed, jaw slightly dropped.

And somewhere, deep down, he realizes something dangerous.

He’s already too far gone for you.

The next morning, the kitchen is full of the usual chaos.

Luffy’s already got rice stuck to his cheek. Usopp is mid-exaggerated story about “almost being crushed by a sleeping Sea King”, and Sanji’s serving eggs like he’s choreographing a dance, twirling plates from counter to table.

You sit between Robin and Zoro, still flushed from the night before. Every time your shoulder brushes his, you feel his arm tense, but he says nothing. Just keeps eating like it’s any other morning.

(Except he isn’t eating like normal. He’s glancing at you. Often.)

And for once, you’re okay with that.

You’re smiling. You’re full.

You’re home.

But then...

“I’m really sorry to ruin the mood,” Nami says suddenly, her voice serious, cutting through the buzz of conversation, “or remind you of it, Y/N… but we have to talk about it.”

Your stomach drops.

You already know what she’s about to say.

She sets her cup down slowly “That poster… it means your family is looking for you. And they want you back.”

The room goes quiet.

Jinbe nods solemnly “We should prepare ourselves. This isn’t something we can ignore. A bounty that says ‘Only Alive’ changes everything.”

Your heart slams once in your chest.

They’re right.

You were so caught in last night’s warmth, in the acceptance, in him, that for a little while, you forgot what it meant.

Forgot that the bounty poster wasn’t just a piece of paper.

It was a warning. A message. They’ve found you.

And now the whole world is going to know who you are.

The room is still silent, but the air has changed.

You feel it and they do, too.

Zoro turns his head toward you slightly, his eye focused on your face now, not his plate.

Luffy’s not eating. Even Brook isn’t singing.

You straighten a little, biting the inside of your cheek “I… I didn’t think they’d go this far” you whisper.

Robin speaks next, her voice calm “Royal families have influence. That kind of bounty means they’ve contacted the World Government directly. This isn’t about money. It’s about ownership.”

You flinch.

That word, ownership, crawls under your skin.

Sanji lights a cigarette but doesn’t say anything, his jaw tight as smoke curls slowly from his lips.

Zoro doesn’t speak either, but under the table, his hand brushes yours again. Not fully taking it. Just a touch, a reminder that you have someone now, that you’re not alone.

Luffy leans forward, grinning slightly “Hey. We’re not giving you back.”

Your head jerks toward him.

He grins wider, rice still stuck to his cheek “You’re part of my crew. That means you don’t belong to anyone else.”

Brook nods “Yohoho! We already claimed you, dear princess.”

Franky slams a hand on the table “Super claimed!”

You laugh. Or maybe choke. It’s hard to tell.

You nod, looking around at each of them, trying to take this in “Thank you. All of you.”

But there’s still a weight in your chest.

This is more than just a past catching up to you.

It’s a future that may try to pull you away from this. From them. From him.

You grip the edge of your plate tighter.

Zoro notices.

So does Nami.

But no one pushes you to say anything more. Not yet. Not until you’re ready.

And Zoro, quietly, under his breath, only for you, leans in and mutters “They can try. But they’re not taking you. I’ll cut through kingdoms if I have to.”

You don’t say anything but your hand finds his under the table, fingers curling into his like a lifeline.

Because that’s what this crew is and you’re not ready to give it up.

Not for anyone.

It’s been days since your poster was revealed. Since your story came out. And still, they treat you the same.

Luffy laughs just as loud. Nami scolds just as sharply. Zoro watches you with a kind of quiet fire, like he’s waiting for someone to try and take you again.

You haven’t left the Sunny much.

Even when they dock at a new island, a small one, peaceful-looking, filled with smiling villagers and white-sand roads, you still hesitate.

“I’ll stay on the ship,” you say again, standing near the railing “Just in case.”

“You said that last time” Nami reminds gently.

Franky grins “This island doesn’t even have a Marine base, sister!”

“They look nice...” Chopper adds, waving at a child on the dock who waves back cheerfully.

But your gut twists.

“I just…” You glance toward the village “I have a bad feeling.”

Zoro walks up next to you, arms crossed.

“You can protect yourself. I know that.” He speaks low, just to you “But I can protect you too.”

You blink, startled.

“And besides…” he adds with a smirk, “how am I supposed to flirt with you if you stay cooped up here?”

You roll your eyes “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“What, flirting? You kissing me on my lap wasn’t exactly subtle, Princess.”

You snort and shove him lightly.

He grabs your wrist with ease, pulls you close enough that your nose brushes his “Come with me.”

He’s not one who usually does that in front of other people, this means he’s really trying his best for making you feel comfortable.

You hesitate for a breath.

Then nod.

The village really does seem safe.

Warm smiles. Free bread. Laughter from a marketplace where Robin is already browsing books and Luffy is trying to trade seaweed for meat.

You and Zoro walk side by side, bickering gently.

He mocks the way you squint at fancy fruit names.

You tease him for walking straight into a barrel.

You laugh harder than you have in days, maybe even than you ever did in your whole life.

His hand brushes yours again and again, but doesn’t hold it.

Not until you stop to look at a little stand selling handmade earrings.

You turn to make a joke.

He’s gone.

At first, you’re just confused.

Maybe he walked ahead? Maybe someone called him?

You spin around “Zoro?”

No answer.

Just kind eyes. Curious smiles.

Too many.

And then pain explodes at the back of your head.

Darkness swallows you whole.

You wake up in silk.

Your old room.

The room you ran from.

You sit up too fast and your head spins. The walls are familiar and terrifying.

The windows are locked. The door is barred from the outside. The guards are right out of your door, you can hear their armor shifting with every breath.

You’re trapped.

No escape this time.

No Sunny. No Zoro. No crew.

Just this life you fought so hard to leave behind.

Meanwhile, on the Sunny

“She was right behind me,” Zoro says again, fists clenched “She was right there.”

Nami grips the map in her hands like she wants to tear it in half “Those smiling bastards... this was a setup.”

“They separated us on purpose,” Robin says quietly “They waited until she let her guard down.”

“I knew she didn’t want to leave the ship,” Sanji growls, slamming his hand on the table “We pushed her to go.”

“It’s my fault.” Zoro says suddenly, standing at the edge of the deck, eyes locked on the distant island.

Everyone falls silent.

“I told her I’d protect her,” he says, voice tight, low, barely controlled “I promised her.”

No one corrects him. Because he’s right.

He did.

“She trusted me.”

And now you're gone.

You’re not sure how much time passes after you wake up in that cursed room.

Could be minutes. Could be hours.

Everything feels surreal. Like a nightmare someone wrapped in velvet and perfume. The room is exactly how you left it, nothing out of place. Not the canopy bed. Not the chandelier. Not the golden-framed mirror you used to stare at with dead eyes.

Then you hear the heavy footsteps. The familiar rhythm.

Your parents.

The door opens. Two guards stand beside them like statues. Your father walks in first, cold, stern, commanding. Your mother follows, all grace and distance, like a statue come to life.

You don’t stand.

You don’t bow.

You don’t speak.

“So,” your father begins “You’re finally awake.”

You glare.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” your mother says flatly “You managed to embarrass us in every corner of the world.”

“Good to see you too” you mutter.

They ignore it.

Your father’s voice sharpens “You are a princess. You are not a pirate.”

“Don’t tell me what I am” you shoot back.

“This charade ends now,” he snaps “You’ve had your fun. But it’s time to return to your life. To your duty.”

“Even if I hate it?” you ask “Even if I don’t want it?”

Your mother’s gaze hardens “You don’t have a choice.”

“I made one when I ran,” you say, rising from the edge of the bed “And I’ll do it again.”

He laughs once, a bitter one “You won’t get that chance. You think running away once means you’ve won? You’re locked in now. We made sure of it.”

They turn toward the door. But before they leave, your father pauses.

“You should also consider what will happen to the pirates you’ve chosen to throw your lot in with.”

You freeze.

“What?”

He turns back, face unreadable “We found you. We can find them. And unlike with you, we won’t be so gentle.”

Your hands curl into fists.

“You can’t.” you breathe “You don’t know them. They’ve fought worse people. They’ve defeated warlords. Marines. They won’t let you take me.”

Your mother tilts her head “And yet… here you are.”

That shuts you up.

They see it. They enjoy it.

“And now,” your father continues, “you’ll do what you were always meant to. The Prince of Albourne arrives in three days. The wedding will take place before the month’s end.”

“No.”

Your voice is clear, firm, slicing through the tension.

Your mother’s eyes narrow “Don’t be childish.”

“I said no.”

Your father moves closer, towering over you “You will marry him. You will do your duty. You will save this kingdom’s future and your own reputation.”

“I don’t want to!” you snap “I can’t... because…”

You trail off.

They wait.

“Because what?” your mother presses.

You take a breath, then blurt it out.

“I have someone I like.”

The room stills.

Your father laughs, low and bitter “Like?”

“You LIKE someone?” your mother echoes with disbelief “How quaint.”

“That’s not—” you start.

“And who is this one you LIKE so much?” your father mocks “Another pirate? A brute? Or maybe the idiot who let you get taken?”

Your heart stings. But you don’t let it show.

“You’re unbelievable...” you whisper.

“You’re a child chasing fantasy,” your mother replies, cold “There is no love for girls like you. Only expectation.”

Tears threaten to rise. You shove past them.

You open the door of your room signing them to leave and they do, as you slam the door behind them.

And this time, when you hear the lock click from the outside it feels like a piece of you locks away too.

Three days.

You count them by the sunlight on your window.

Three days locked in your room. Three days of no freedom. Three days of silence, of pressure, of growing panic.

Tonight, you’re to meet the prince.

Tonight, your life will be locked away in a different kind of prison.

Unless…

Your hand tightens around the silver butter knife you’ve kept hidden beneath your pillow. Not much. But enough.

Lunchtime

Like always, the guards knock once and open the door.

“Your food—”

You strike.

It’s fast. Messy. One gets the knife to his arm, the other a tray to the head.

You tumble past them, their surprised grunts echoing in the corridor.

You don’t stop.

You run.

Blood trails down your leg, one of them caught your thigh with a dagger in the scuffle, but you barely feel it. The adrenaline burns hotter than pain.

Corridor after corridor.

Hall after hall.

You burst through the side doors into the garden, past the royal courtyard, across the outer walls and finally, out.

You’re outside the palace.

Free.

Almost.

You breathe hard, turning a corner and then freeze.

[leriexoxo]

Don’t Bite The Hand That F*ngers You

Bf! Leeknow x Fem reader

Tags: dom!Minho, bratty!reader, established relationship, power play, oral (f receiving), fingering (intense), subspace (first time), aftercare, emotional softness, filthy and tender

Word count: 2k

Summary: You’ve been teasing Minho all day, and foreplay only makes you brattier. One wrong bite leads to punishment. But when he pushes you a little too far, something unexpected happens—you slip into subspace for the first time. Minho is the one who brings you back.

A/N: This was requested by @ihrtlix 🤭. Enjoy!

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You knew the look.

He didn’t have to say a word. Didn’t need to lift a brow or purse his lips or mutter a warning. Just that look—head tilted, tongue poking his cheek, dark eyes skating over your frame with the kind of lazy, controlled hunger that made your skin crawl with heat.

And right now, Minho was giving you that look across the couch.

“You gonna keep staring or actually say what’s on your mind?” you teased, twirling the drawstring on your shorts.

He leaned back, one arm slung over the back of the couch, legs spread just a little wider. “You want me to say it?”

You blinked. “Maybe.”

“I was thinking…” he exhaled, voice already dropping low, “…you’ve been a brat all day. Maybe you want attention. Is that it?”

You smirked, knowing exactly what he meant. You’d pushed his buttons since noon—stealing the last bite of his food, sitting on his lap and then getting up like nothing, leaving your panties “accidentally” on the bathroom counter where he’d find them. Now here you were, curled up in your sleep shirt and tiny shorts, toeing the line.

“Maybe I just like annoying you.”

“Mmh.” He leaned forward slightly. “You like the consequences more.”

You shifted, biting back a grin.

The thing about Minho? He never snapped. He simmered. Controlled, patient, terrifyingly calm until he had you exactly where he wanted you—writhing, overstimulated, babbling into his hand.

And tonight, you felt like poking the bear.

⸻

You were already in his lap, practically purring.

One thigh slung over his, your sleep shirt hitched up just enough to keep his eyes dropping every time you shifted. You’d been like this all night—touchy, clingy, squirmy. Not desperate. Not really. Just bored. Dangerous.

Minho’s hand was on your leg, thumb tracing the inner crease slowly like he was debating whether to keep playing nice.

You leaned forward, dragged your lips down his jaw, and whispered, “Still mad I stole the last dumpling?”

His only response was a hum. Quiet. Calculated. You recognized the sound. That was the “I’m letting you dig your own grave” hum.

So, naturally, you kept going.

You let your fingers trail up his arm, over his chest, playing with the chain he hadn’t taken off. Then your hand slid under his shirt, nails dragging lightly over his stomach. You kissed the corner of his mouth—just a little messy—and waited.

“You done?” he asked, eyes flicking to you. Calm. Too calm.

“Dunno,” you said, straddling him properly now, grinding down once with just enough friction to get a reaction. “Depends. You gonna do something about it?”

His hand caught your hip so fast you gasped.

“Baby,” he said, low and close, “if I touch you right now, you’ll regret running your mouth like that.”

“Oh yeah?” you breathed, playing innocent. “What’ll you do?”

He smiled. “Start with my mouth. Then maybe use my fingers until you forget your name.”

That shut you up.

Minho kissed you once—slow, claiming, hand tight in your hair—before gripping the backs of your thighs and standing. You squealed, legs wrapping around him instinctively as he carried you down the hall.

By the time your back hit the bed, you were soaking.

He peeled your panties off at a glacial pace, watching you the whole time like a predator. His tongue dragged up your inner thigh, then his lips brushed your folds—just a tease, just enough to make you twitch.

“Still wanna be a brat?” he asked.

You smiled sweetly. “Always.”

His mouth was on you before you could blink.

Minho devoured you like he had nowhere else to be. Messy. Focused. His tongue circled your clit, then sucked, firm and slow, until your back arched off the mattress. You reached for his hair—he let you, for now.

“Min—fuck—Minho—”

His arms pinned your thighs open, mouth locked on you like he was drunk on your taste. When your moans pitched higher, when your legs started to tremble, he pulled off with a wet pop.

You whined.

“Not yet,” he said darkly, crawling up your body. “You haven’t earned it.”

You let out a breathless laugh, body flushed and squirming. Your fingers found his again. You brought his hand up to your mouth—and bit it.

Playfully.

Just a little nip against his knuckle.

Minho froze.

“…You did not just—”

You looked up at him through your lashes, lips still wrapped around his fingers. “Oops.”

He didn’t say a word.

Just grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand. The other?

Oh, he gave you what you asked for.

Two fingers shoved inside with zero warning, deep and brutal, the stretch enough to punch the breath out of you. Your body jerked violently, knees kicking up.

You didn’t even get time to adjust—his fingers were moving instantly, fucking up into you fast, hard, unrelenting.

“Minho—Minho, oh my god—!”

“Bite me again,” he growled, mouth hot against your jaw, “and next time, I’ll make you come with your mouth stuffed so full you forget what biting feels like.”

Your moan broke.

He didn’t let up. His pace was savage—each thrust precise, fingers curling deep as your body convulsed under him. He leaned in, watching every twitch, lips brushing your ear.

“You’re already shaking,” he mocked. “You wanted this, right?”

You couldn’t even nod. Couldn’t speak.

Everything started blurring. Sounds dulled. Your limbs felt heavy—too hot, too soft, too slow. The only thing you could feel was him.

“Eyes on me,” he snapped. “Don’t float away yet—”

But you were already slipping. Your vision hazy, your muscles limp, your mouth open in a silent moan. You couldn’t feel time. Couldn’t think. Just this warm, heady fog flooding every inch of you.

It felt like falling.

Like being completely, blissfully gone.

And Minho saw it.

His rhythm slowed immediately. His grip shifted—from control to care. His hand left your wrists. He pressed kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your temple, whispering your name like it was the only anchor in the room.

“Hey… hey. I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice soft now. “You’re okay, baby.”

You blinked, barely. Your lips were numb. You felt like you were floating above yourself, heart pounding in slow motion.

“First time?” he whispered, brushing your hair back.

You gave the tiniest nod, and his face changed. Melted.

He slipped his fingers out with care and settled beside you, wrapping your body in his arms. One hand cradled the back of your head. The other rubbed slow circles into your spine.

“You did so good,” he whispered. “So fucking perfect.”

You were too far gone to respond. All you could do was bury your face in his chest as he held you tighter, whispering soft praises until the room stopped spinning.

He stayed like that for a long time. Kissing your forehead. Letting you breathe. Making sure you didn’t fall too far.

And when you finally came back, when your eyes cleared and you looked at him?

He smiled, brushed a knuckle along your jaw, and said:

“Still think it was worth biting me?”

⸻

The room was still spinning.

Not violently. Not fast. Just this slow, syrupy drift—like your limbs were weightless and the world was too far away to grab hold of.

Your face was pressed into Minho’s chest, the skin beneath your cheek warm and damp, rising and falling in a rhythm that kept you tethered.

He hadn’t let go. Not once. His arms were still wrapped around you like your body was something precious. Like if he loosened his grip, you’d slip right through the mattress and disappear.

“You back with me yet?” he murmured into your hair.

You tried to answer but all that came out was a whimper.

Minho smiled softly against your temple. “Thought so. It’s okay. Take your time.”

His fingers—clean now—were stroking your spine slowly, over and over in hypnotic passes. You didn’t know when he’d wiped you down or tucked the blanket around your legs. Everything between then and now felt foggy. Warm. Safe.

“Can I ask you something?” he whispered.

You blinked against his chest and nodded.

“Was that your first time going under?”

Your throat caught. You managed a small, “…Yeah.”

Minho’s hand paused on your back. Then pressed a little firmer.

“I knew,” he said softly. “Could feel it. The way you went so quiet, so fast. You didn’t fight me. Didn’t even flinch when I kept going.”

You swallowed thickly, still floating.

“I didn’t know it was subspace,” you murmured, voice weak. “Just felt… gone. But good. Like nothing mattered except you.”

Minho exhaled slowly, then kissed your forehead. “That’s exactly it.”

You felt him shift. Just enough to look down at you properly.

His tone dipped—gentle, but firm. “You need to tell me next time, okay? I’ll always take care of you, but I need to know when you’re drifting so I can bring you back.”

You nodded. His words landed somewhere deep, somewhere raw and open. You felt your eyes sting.

Minho noticed immediately. “Hey,” he whispered, cupping your face, “look at me.”

You did.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “You let go for the first time. With me.”

That made the tears spill.

Not sobs. Just a few silent drops. You felt exposed in a way you never had before. Not humiliated—held. Like someone had reached into the quietest, kinkiest, most vulnerable corner of your mind and stayed there with a flashlight and a blanket.

Minho kissed you. Slow. No heat. Just reassurance.

Then he sat up, still holding you.

“Stay right here,” he said. “I’m getting you water and something sweet.”

He came back in less than a minute—shirt off, hair a mess, handing you a glass of cold water and a piece of dark chocolate. You took both with shaky fingers. He sat beside you, rubbing circles into your thigh as you drank.

The chocolate melted slowly on your tongue. Grounding. Comforting.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he whispered, eyes never leaving you. “Your color’s coming back. That floaty look is fading.”

You gave a soft laugh. “I still feel a little stupid.”

Minho turned fully toward you. “Why?”

“I don’t know… because I bit you like a brat and ended up a puddle, drooling on your chest.”

He smirked. “Yeah, and it was hot as fuck.”

You choked a little on your laugh. “Minho—”

“I’m serious. You trust me enough to go there. You gave me that part of you. That’s not stupid. That’s everything.”

Your heart stuttered.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours.

“And for the record?” His voice dipped lower, teasing now. “Next time you want to bite me, I’ll make sure your mouth is too full to even try.”

Your thighs clenched instinctively. He grinned.

“Ah-ah,” he said, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You just came down from your first subspace trip. I’m not touching you again unless you ask. Clearly. Loudly. And after at least one nap.”

You sighed. “You’re so responsible.”

“I’m the responsible one you begged to finger the soul out of you,” he quipped.

You swatted his shoulder, but he caught your hand and kissed your knuckles.

Then he laid back, pulling you with him, letting your body settle on top of his chest like it belonged there. One hand slipped into your hair. The other traced your spine again, soft as ever.

“Sleep,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And you believed him. Entirely. Because even after everything—after all the filth, all the fire—Minho still held you like you were his to protect.

And god, you were.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Hi guys, I’m here again. So i think i will be closing the requests temporarily for now because i wanna go through all the prompts you sent and deliver the ones ill pick to write.

If youre new on my Blog, then WELCOME! Its absolutely unhinged in here but youre gonna love my MASTERLIST so please give me a follow, a like and a reblog!!

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000 @sammhisphere @nebugalaxy @cutecucumberkimberly @chancloud8 @sunflwerstar @shxdowofdarkness @aeyla @annyeongffs @beppybeesnuggets @iamwritteninyourstars @crisle19

[twijaxx]

chat… don’t get me started on Nerd isagi.. imagine this.

Isagi is just playing his video games, like he always does when he has some free time. He was currently playing Val, which involved him screaming at his teammates for planting spike on the wrong site… And since the only thing u knew about Val was that it had voice chat, u decided to use that against Isagi today.

He was in the middle of ranked match u think, but u got reallyyy bored of the shit u were watching on your phone and wanted him to pay some attention to you. So you got up out of his bed and walked over to him slowly.

“babyyy… i’m boreeed, how long is this gonna takeee???” you said while stroking his biceps with your finger gently. The next thing u could hear is some dudes yelling “is that a girl??” “Ivsaagii u got a gf?” Well… that was interesting.

“y/n just a sec.. like 15 more mins.. U COCK SUCKING MOTHER FUCKER FIX YOU FUCKING AIM WHAT THE FUCK!!!!” You really had enough of him yelling, so u took matters in your own hands. Moving him slightly away from his desk so you could fit under it. Isagi just shoot you his ‘what are u doing??’ slightly annoyed look, but u had no intentions in stopping what you started.

You started playing with the waistband of his sweats and by now he already knew what u had in mind, who is he to not agree to some free head tho??

As his bulge grew larger u went from playing with his waistband to palming him thru his sweats as you could slowly see the wet stain forming on them. Breathy moans started escaping from him as soon as he was fully hard, he was still focused on his game tho and u didn’t want that.

You told him to lift his hips a little and then u removed both his sweats and boxers in one swift motion. Pearly white drops of pre were already visible running down his shaft. You took the base of his cock in your hand and in the same time licked his sensitive slit. He left out a whimper and looked down at you which only let him to his downfall.

You on your knees looking like the only thing you had in your mind was making him absolutely pussy drunk. He wasn’t wrong tho, u did want that. The next thing he knows, you are taking him into your mouth inch by inch which earned you a high pitch sound you didn’t even know he was capable of making.

“shit!- don’t stop!! hah~” You could feel the heat in your panties growing larger as he continued to moan into his hand, forgetting he was actually playing a game two minutes ago. Eyes rolled back as he couldn’t stop his hips from moving forward every time you went up to circle your tongue around his tip.

You could feel him getting closer as his length twitched when it meet the back of your throat. U hummed with the intentions of asking him ‘are i close ichi?’ and fuck the way your hum sends jolts of pressure through his whole body, he was on the edge.

“fuck.. fuck- i’m gonna cum!! ahhh! y/n- imcummingimcu-“ His words were cut off by how intense his orgasm was, mouth parted as tears dripped down his face, spilling his seed down your throat making you swallow automatically.

You pulled off to look at his fucked out expression better, and boy the second u looked at him u wanted to suck him till the sunrise.

he’s gonna get another afk warning tonight…

i was 100% thinking with my pussy as i was writing this…. let’s just say im down bad for this version of isagi (white haired sagi better tho) SORRY FOR ANY MISTAKES ITS LIKE 1AM FOR ME I BETTER GO TO SLEEP after i get rid of the insanely big bulge in my pants LMAOOO

Tags: @iqxatlantic @yutamy1beloved @blu3-l0v3r

[ruesol]

DISLOCATION - one shot

(SUKUNA x FEM/AFAB! READER)

PLOT:

Sukuna, your best friend, (begrudgingly) helps you no matter what hurdles you face in life. Even when that hurdle involves getting a sexual fix after your ex cheats on you.

AO3 LINK

CW & TAGS: bffs to lovers, tattooist sukuna, yearning, (hinted) reader with low self esteem, shitty ex, kissing practice, lots of build up, angry confession, explicit sexual content, oral (f receiving), piv, stiff dirty talking, (honestly this fic is just me trying to get my smut writing practice in)

fanart: @/r5x95r13ros on tumblr & insta

wc: 6.8k

—

It was like resetting a bone after a fracture. Painful, but unavoidable. The idea has finally cornered you, setting a dark shadow over your sanity.

Your tongue is thick and heavy as soon as the words leave your mouth, the hypothetical shards of broken bone poking you from the inside of your body, the sting reminding you of how stupid you sounded.

Sitting before you was your best friend with his mouth hanging open, remnants of his half-chewed lunch falling out.

“You made me push my client an hour forward to tell me that you’re going to engage in casual sex?” Sukuna asked while resuming to chew with his mouth open, barbecue sauce smeared on his chin. Any other person would’ve grimaced at the sight, indirectly tossing him a comment about using a napkin. Still, the relationship between you two has gone on long enough for each of you to eat like it’s your last day alive in front of one another. However, you still sigh and grab a napkin, wiping off the sauce for him.

Sukuna goes cross-eyed when your hand reaches his chin, following its motion even when you retract it to your side.

“I-yeah, kind of, but it’s more like…” You uneasily trail off, staring at your glass of water instead. You imagine a race between the condensation droplets to buy some time to think about how you’re going to tell your friend that you want to have sex with him, so that you can get over your ex.

“Like what? Spit it out,” Sukuna impatiently said as he grabbed a fry off your plate. You couldn’t be bothered to be annoyed at him for it. Not when your little idea had been eating you alive since you’d received a breakup text from your ex.

‘Hey, I’m not in the right headspace to continue our relationship. You’re too good for me, and I don’t deserve you.’

The jerk was a grade A phony, blocking you on everything as soon as he saw that you replied to the text, hoping that you could meet him in person.

When you used a fake social media account to see what he was doing, you discovered that he had moved to another country to be with a woman he’d been dating online for six months.

Meaning that your one-year relationship meant nothing to him.

So, feeling used and abused, you decided to rip the band-aid off for one last session of wallowing via sex.

“I want to have sex with you so I can get over my ex,” you rambled out as fast as possible.

You sit with a bated breath, the sound of the restaurant soon ceasing to static because of the barrage of thoughts fogging your mind.

The burger falls out of Sukuna’s grip, his eyes trained on the plate. A vein in the middle of his forehead highlights itself as his frown deepens, his eyebrow piercing shifting positions.

“And why me?”

About eighty percent of your brain had assumed that he’d either groan out a disgusted ‘no’ or blush and look away while politely rejecting you, but that was not the outcome you expected. It’s like discovering that you’re a millionaire but not knowing how much you’ll need to pay in taxes every year.

“Look, we’ve been friends for a while, and you get me better than anyone else. It’ll be a one-time thing, of course—if you consent, that is.” Sukuna still doesn’t look up from his plate after your answer. “No pressure at all, I can totally understand if you don’t want to—“

But Sukuna interrupts you before you can vomit out any more conversation buffer. “I need a minute or an hour. Maybe a day. Or two. I don’t know. I’m gonna be late for my appointment,” he rambles as he abruptly gets up, swiping his leather jacket off the booth’s seat in a flash and bidding you a quiet farewell before briskly walking out of the diner, door slamming shut loudly. The other customers sharply turn their heads at the sudden ruckus.

Sukuna’s greasy, flat, half-eaten burger had been left behind because of his urge to escape.

A part of you feels bad for throwing your concerns on him if his feelings aren’t important to consider in this matter. But the wounds your ex left on you have been running deep, festering, and aching for a salve. You just need one good fix from someone who cares. Nothing more, nothing less.

Which is why you figured it would’ve been easy for Sukuna to grant it to you, especially given his history of having many friends with benefits in college. But his sudden aversion to the idea was understandable. At least he was taking time to contemplate his answer.

Well, it was either that or he would ghost you for good.

—

The needles punch and poke the skin as the black ink seeps into the first layer, swollen skin puckering as Sukuna’s hand moves along his client’s back. The dragon tattoo that was given to him was an intricate design. Something he needed to practice for days so he could get the details down to a T, in contrast to his memory of the time you two went skinny-dipping.

He repaints the canvas every time the memory visits him like a rising star, distancing itself from him as the years pass, yet ever sparkling.

The moonlight was shining down on the lake, and he was tipsy with you in his grandfather’s old cabin. He still didn’t understand how he never made a move that night, especially after seeing how you’d filled out your hips, and how perfect your breasts were.

It’s a memory he’s not proud about recounting, yet he does so anyway to soothe the perpetual ache he’s had since his brain first rewired itself to see you as the love of his life.

The first instance of him being aware of his feelings was when you were babysitting his nephew with him, and how easily you meshed with his family. Jin still recalls your jokes and, without daily, cackles to himself even when Sukuna does not find your humor to be as amusing.

His feelings for you have him collared and tethered to you, heart easy for yanking, and mind filled with nothing but silent yearning.

Sukuna knows there’s no coming back if he has sex with you.

The question rattles in his brain, leaving him periodically discombobulated during the entire work day, often bumping into corners and nearly writing the first letter of your name while tattooing his client. Like a fish in a bowl, the thought of having sex with you has nowhere to go but to swim into the different spaces of his mind.

The amygdala is already forcing him to imagine what your heady wetness would taste like on his tongue. His ears ached to find out whether you were unabashed with your voice or you’d only whimper when he was balls deep in you.

“You seem distracted,” Choso, one of Sukuna’s only two friends, calls out while lying on his stomach on the tattoo bed.

“How can you tell?” Sukuna mumbled, wiping sweat off his nose with his free hand. He was working up a sweat just thinking about you.

“You’re sighing a lot. What’s up?”

Sukuna didn’t want to tell Choso about his mental anguish. It was embarrassing, like he was a teen all over again, staring at you across the classroom, and sleeping in for the entire weekend after he heard about you going on a date. Though his condition barely changed even after he had entered his twenties. It’s a fact that’ll make him bite his tongue off before he ever acknowledges it to himself.

Even then, he tells Choso about your request, making the obsidian-haired nearly jump in surprise. Luckily, Sukuna held him down with a single palm to prevent ruining the tattoo.

“You’re gonna do it, right? It’s what you’ve been waiting for.”

“I don’t know. I’ve been waiting for her to notice my feelings, not the fact that I wanna bone her.”

“Come on, don’t be stupid. It’ll be like getting a fix. Maybe you’ll get over her if you just sleep with her once.”

Sukuna pulls away from Choso momentarily and stares at the mirror across the room. He sees a traitor–a man who conceals the truth for his gain. The buzzing of the needle fades into nothingness when he begins to imagine your face when he finally confesses to you.

Would you be uncomfortable? What would happen to your weekly movie nights if you rejected him? 

And most important of all: what would he say to Yuuji, his six-year-old nephew, when you stop visiting during babysitting nights?

“Start with a chemistry test; kiss her. If it feels weird, don’t sleep with her. If it feels good, then do it. Easy as that,” Choso continues.

‘Easy as that’

Easier said than done. However, the thought of kissing you has never felt odd. He’s imagined the scenario too often–you’re wearing that one sundress he secretly likes, and the sun is setting. You’re both eating ice cream, and you get some on your lip. He tries to wipe it off, but instead of using his thumb, he swipes his tongue across your lip. You’re flushed, lashes fluttering as you try to look away, but Sukuna turns your chin just in time, and kisses you deeply before you can further protest.

“So, what do you think?” Choso asks, pulling Sukuna out of his heavenly daydream. It’s a rude awakening, his eyelids pressing shut in annoyance when he sees Choso’s swollen, naked skin with a halfway done tattoo.

“I’ll try it,” Sukuna says as he returns to working on the tattoo after rolling his stool closer to the bed.

“Good. I’d like updates, please.”

“I will knock down the price of your tattoo by twenty-five bucks if you don’t ask anything more about my situation.”

—

Awkwardness sits heavy in Sukuna’s living room and the back of his throat. He was sure his voice would crack if he initiated any kind of conversation, so he kept his mouth shut, watching what was left of Lilo & Stitch. Yuuji was sleeping in Sukuna’s room. The boy was tired after running around, playing board games with you, and watching the movie's first half.

You were sitting on the floor, collecting all the toys Yuji had brought and putting them in his bag (all while Sukuna burned holes into the back of your head). It had been three days of no words spoken between you two, except for when Sukuna called you to let you know that Yuji missed you.

“Oh, he got a new Sulley plushie,” you mumble as you put a fuzzy blue toy back where it belongs. The television was playing the movie on mute so Yuji wouldn’t wake up, your shuffling being the only noise echoing in the living room.

“Yeah, I lost a bet to the little shit.”

You giggle before turning around, a small smile growing into a larger one.  “What was the bet about?”

Your lips are plush, and when you lick them, your saliva leaves a sheen.

(Strawberry jelly, ripe cherries–maybe that’s what your lips would taste like)

He cannot stop staring at them—and you, like you’re right where you need to be. You fit like a puzzle piece in his apartment. Right at home, in his living room and his heart.

“Huh?” Sukuna’s ears grow red at the slight crack in his voice, and he prays you cannot sense his embarrassment. He was glad his hood covered his ears. He wore it like armor.

“The bet—what was it about?” you speak out again, adjusting your hair back into place, making sukuna dig crescent indents into the skin of his palm, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he imagines touching your hair and adjusting it for you instead.

“Nothing exciting. Just had to beat him in Mario Kart, and unfortunately for me, he’d been practicing.”

Your giggles grow into laughter, and Sukuna follows suit with a slight smirk, looking away towards the window instead. His heart was racing fast enough, and if he saw your laughing face, he was sure it would simply leap out of his chest.

The awkwardness sets in again when silence returns. You break it once more. “I’m really sorry for what I said three days ago,” you sheepishly say as you look up at him from your spot on the floor. You could feel yourself sinking into the ground while replaying the memory of Sukuna bolting out of the restaurant.

“No, it was my fault. I should’ve acted like a grown man and just told you I was caught off guard and needed time to process.”

‘What’s there to decide?’ his heart yelled. It’s simple: have sex with you, get you off his mind, and then he can be on his way, and so can you. Like Choso said before, it’s all about getting a fix. Sukuna reasoned with himself, maybe it’s like smoking weed for the first time–exciting, kind of addicting, but you know won’t do it again.

(That is until you end up saying the same thing the second time.)

“So…have you decided then?” You maidenly wring your hand in your lap, almost like a vestigal virgin, and his cock nearly swells at the thought.

“Ah…” Sukuna rubs his hand across his face. The words were present in his throat, but they refused to come out—a final silent protest. To save one’s friendship also means choosing to lose one’s mind; a frustrating juxtaposition.

“Look, again, there’s no pressure. I totally understand if you’re not comfortable–”

“No! Let’s kiss,” Sukuna would’ve yelled, but Yuji was still sleeping inside, and he’d be damned if the nephew he loved so much interrupted an almost life-changing conversation for him.

“Oh, like, right now? Cause Yuji–” Your face grows warm immediately, and you get the sudden urge to pull your sweater off, but the context of your conversation with Sukuna wouldn’t help the situation.

“Shit, no, I meant that we should kiss to see if, uh…having sex is gonna be…you know, weird.” Choso’s voice rings in his head like a bell. “Kind of like a chemistry test.”

You frown at Sukuna’s words. “Chemistry test?”

“Yeah, like the shit actors do in romance movies.”

Sukuna assumes that you think he’s an idiot when you shake your head and laugh sarcastically as you zip up Yuji’s bag.

That is, until you get off the floor and sit beside him on the couch, your thigh touching his muscular one. “Okay, let’s kiss.”

It was Sukuna’s turn to be surprised. “What? Just like that?” he asked as his brows rose.

“You’re the one who suggested it,” you reason. Though your tone sounds confident, your body language says otherwise as you had folded your arms while sitting upright on the comfortable couch.

“Okay, then, I guess I’m gonna kiss you,” Sukuna says while staring into your eyes, searching for a smidge of hesitation, but he sees nothing. He turns his broad shoulders to you as his hands reach your face, touch so delicate that it feels feather-light.

Looking at him through your lashes, you lean closer, palms flat on the couch, as you stabilize yourself. He notices your elbow trembling and pulls you onto his lap. You gasp in surprise, and Sukuna rolls his eyes to push through his and your flustered states.

“You’ve sat on my lap before. I’m just doing this so it’s convenient.” It’s hard not to sound strangled when the woman of your dreams stares at you with her dewy lips parted.

“Yeah, but that was when we were in a tiny car with a bunch of other people and there was no space for me to sit,” you counter while playing with the strings of Sukuna’s hoodie. You stop when Sukuna’s large hands engulf yours, and he slowly moves them, securing your hold around his neck. He pulls his hood off and looks earnestly into your eyes.

“Let’s just do this, okay?”

You nod, close your eyes, and lean in first, but are taken aback when Sukuna doesn’t mirror your actions. You lean in further, your breath hitting his lips, but he still makes no effort.

It’s petrifying, this moment. Having you on his lap alone felt like something far away from reality. Living as your lover was his ultimate fantasy, and he hoped that he’d be kissing you under those circumstances, but this was the closest he could ever get. It was all his fault, really. He never wore his heart on his sleeve like the rest of your exes, and could never get over his pride to confess to you, so he was in this predicament by his design.

It frustrated you not to see him make any effort to kiss you, so you pulled away. “This is so stupid–”

He wraps his hands around your waist and neck and pulls you to him before you can continue. “I was just mentally preparing.” His lips brush against yours when they move, and you gulp.

“Oh,” is the most you can muster up. His palm is warm against the thin fabric of your tank top. When your breathing is finally steady, you realize he’s lightly squeezing your waist.

Nothing he hasn’t done before, of course.

He starts slowly, testing the waters with a small peck to check if you’re real or want to stop. He nips your bottom lip. “Open your mouth a little, feels like I’m kissing a statue.”

“R-right,” you choke out, parting your mouth, shivering when Sukuna’s lips brush against yours to brace you.

When he finally kisses you, it feels perfect. His lips were meant to be on yours as fate intended them.

Your lips do indeed faintly taste of strawberries. He thinks it’s because of the remnants of your lip balm. Your smell, taste, and skin all feel intoxicating. His five senses have been taken over. The groans that escape your throat egg him on to kiss you deeper, making you arch into him. His fingers snake into your hair, and you gasp when he tugs it.

His hot tongue explores your mouth with no decency, a clash of saliva and teeth.

‘Temporary paradise, temporary paradise, temporary paradise’–it’s all that echoes in Sukuna’s head as his mouth devours yours. Years of pent-up feelings and frustration were being let out.

His mouth begins to stray away, leaving kisses on your chin and cheek instead. You sigh when he kisses the spot just beneath your jaw’s hinge, and you tighten your hold on his shoulders.

“Sukuna, I think–”

“Little more,” he mumbles in a drunken haze against your skin, nipping your neck while also trailing kisses down to your collarbone.

He simply cannot stop himself. Not when the person he’s wanted for years is finally in his grasp. He will clutch onto you like a vice if he needs to. However, judging by how you’re squirming and gasping in his lap, it does not seem like you want to escape.

“Ahem.”

When you hear Jin, you’re quick to harshly push Sukuna off you, nearly falling out of his lap.

“Sorry for interrupting, but I’m here to pick up my son.”

You adjust your rumpled tank top from where Sukuna almost sneaked his hand under it, and you awkwardly cough as you walk over to Sukuna’s room to get the little boy.

“Finally grew a pair, I see,” Jin snarkily remarks as he picks up his son’s backpack off the floor, and Sukuna throws a pillow at him. “Fuck off.”

“I’m happy for you, idiot. It’s about damn time.”

Oh, if he only knew. Jin, the lankier of the set of twins, would challenge Sukuna to a fight if he knew what was going on between you. As frustrating as it was for Sukuna to have unrequited feelings for you, it was even more frustrating for Jin to watch his brother endlessly pine over one woman for years. With his sanity sacrificed, Sukuna’s head was only filled with thoughts of you, going as far as basically integrating you into his little family because his heart knew that you’d fit in just right.

“Yeah, about time.”

You abruptly leave Sukuna’s apartment after Yuuji wakes up, and Jin does not say much when you only send Sukuna an awkward wave before rushing out the door.

–

The following days after the kissing experiment were bleak–at least for Sukuna. The man was glued to his phone whenever you’d update your social media with a picture of you and your girlfriends at brunch or some club. Avoidance being obvious, he decides to take the first step again. It’s either talking to you or awkwardly skirting around each other till you slowly exit each other’s lives.

He shoots you a seemingly harmless text.

Forgot my leather jacket at your place. I’m coming to get it tomorrow at 3.

–

Cameras don’t do justice to Sukuna’s devilishly handsome looks. Being a natural-born charmer with Adonis-like features makes him the center of attention in every room, so he never feels self-conscious. Of course, that also goaded people around him because those features only fueled his narcissism and rude and repulsive personality.

But still, he checks his face in his phone’s front camera before knocking on your door. Lookwise, he was the polar opposite of what your exes looked like, but he still had some confidence in himself that you didn’t completely disregard how conventionally attractive he was. He runs his hands along his chin to rub off any extra crumbs from his lunch earlier, and then he finally knocks on your door.

“In a minute!” He hears muffled shuffling and stumbling before you open the door in a frazzled daze.

“Hey,” you say as you let him in. Your apartment looks the same except for the three pairs of shoes, two bags strewn on the floor, and your ransacked coat closet beside your door. “I looked everywhere but couldn’t find your jacket,” you huff out breathlessly.

“Of course you couldn't. I lied about it. I wanna talk.”

“Right now? I’m kind of running late for something,” you say, avoiding eye contact by tidying up your place, hands placing your shoes back on the shoe rack. That’s when Sukuna finally gets a good look at you. You have more makeup on than you usually do, but it’s not like the kind you wear on girls’ night, no, it’s the type one wears to make their features naturally stand out. You’re wearing a baby pink sundress that ends just above your knees, and it flutters around your smooth and freshly-shaved legs as you shuffle quickly around your living room.

His eyes narrow as he scoffs at the realization, the thought hitting him hard between his ribs. “Are you going out on a date?”

Like a deer caught in headlights, you freeze, your head slowly turning to face Sukuna in shame. The increased tension in your shoulders was enough of an answer for him. “Would you be mad if I said yes?”

Sukuna isn’t sure whether what’s currently fueling his anger is jealousy or resentment. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

Flashes of the incident that took place a few days ago invade his mind, more vivid than before. You look so devastatingly beautiful that he nearly convinces himself that he should accept whatever escapes your pretty little mouth. You fold your arms, and your cleavage presents itself, making it even more difficult for him to handle the sight in front of him. Oh, if only you got dolled up for him instead.

But it’s now or never. Sukuna either tells you how he feels, or you go ahead and give some random bastard a chance.

“Don’t go,” he blurts out before he can stop himself. Finally saying what’s on his mind feels liberating and mind-numbing at once—anticipation and insecurities at war.

“What? I’m not gonna do that. I have someone waiting on me.” You roll your eyes as you try to walk past him, but he grabs your arms, large hands basically encircling your biceps as he holds you in place in front of him. “Sukuna, let me go.”

“No, I won’t. Not until you listen to me. You can’t just fucking makeout with me and go out with some other guy. You can’t just make me have all these…complicated feelings and skip away like it was nothing.”

Your eyes widen as you try to twist out of his grip, but he pulls you flat against him, his chest against yours, just like a few days ago.

“You think I didn’t notice how something had clearly changed between us? Did the thought of us together feel too real for you? Well, you know what? It felt damn real for me. And the way you kissed me, fuck, it’s like you knew how I felt!” His red eyes bore into your glassy ones. Sukuna’s confession started to feel more like a rude admonition, but he didn’t care. Having his words weigh heavily on your shoulders was cathartic for him. You looked positively guilty, and it fueled something deplorable in him.

“H-how you felt?” you rasp out, still in shock, fear-stricken yet pliant enough to relax in Sukuna’s hold.

“Yeah. How I felt, how I feel. I fucking love you and I always have for the longest time,” he replied without missing a beat. His grip on you has loosened, yet he still keeps you close, the scent of your intoxicating, musky sweet perfume grounding him to earth. The man you were going to meet tonight did not deserve even to catch a waft of it. A part of him wished you’d smell exactly like this when you both would do nothing but watch movies at his house on the weekends. The wish scratches his ribcage like a desperate request, but he contains himself with a shuddered exhale.

“I didn’t kiss you to amuse you or help you escape your dry spell–no! I kissed you because I’m a selfish and arrogant asshole who wants someone who probably doesn’t feel the same way.”

Adrenaline courses through your veins in amounts that rival oxygen, making you feel lightheaded. You tightly clutch onto the bottom of Sukuna’s denim jacket to stabilize yourself. Noticing this, he leans down, his forehead against yours as he whispers one last time.

“Tell me none of it was real or that it meant nothing. Tell me so I can leave and forget this ever happened.” His breath hits your lips like a puff of smoke, menthol suffusing in the back of your mind. 

It’s all becoming too real: his hands on your arms, his mouth near yours, and the hunger in his eyes.

And then the world, as Sukuna knew, ceased to exist, heaven’s light shining on his head, the heat so real that if he ran his hand through his hair, it would be oddly warm. Despite not being religious, the man always had a vision of what heaven could be.

And your lips tasted exactly like the first fruit he imagined having there.

Your lips are sweet, tart strawberries when you crash them into his. He smiles to himself as he relishes the taste, divine blessing coating his tongue as he licks into your mouth. Reward does not come easily to the greedy, but Sukuna would gladly sin for a thousand lifetimes if he could kiss your lips in each one. And to think that some undeserving asshole almost got a taste of what has belonged to him since the day he set his eyes on you.

Sukuna’s body melts onto yours as his hands haphazardly move around your waist and pull you closer to him. The kiss gets deeper as he pulls your chin down with his thumb, lapping up all the gloss you had put on for your little outing, which he was hoping you still did not plan to go to.

“Don’t go,” he gasps against your mouth. “Don’t go on that date, fuck, do you even know what you do to me?”

You try to pull away after he leaves another smacking kiss on your lips, but he continues to stay latched to your bottom lip, nipping it as he squeezes your waist. “I’ve waited years. Don’t take this away from me just yet.”

“Sukuna, you’re crazy if you think I’m gonna go out on that date after what you just said. I’ve always loved you, too.”

Your confession makes Sukuna abruptly pull away. Unlike how rough he was before with the kiss, he gently caresses your face as if touching something priceless.

“Then why’d you date all those stupid guys?” he interrogates with a gravel-rough voice.

You slide your hands up his firm chest to his neck, wrapping them around, before answering. “I thought you never liked me. You were always messing around with a different girl every week. Not to mention, I was nothing like them.”

Sukuna scoffs before pulling you back into him, the bare skin of your legs in contrast with the rough denim of his jeans. He leaves a chaste kiss on your lips, mainly because he still cannot believe what’s in front of him and because it’s a stamp of reassurance. 

(Still, it was more for him than for you.)

It’s the guilt that bites. Of course, he never gave you an in. He kept you at arm’s length to get over you, and of course, that miserably (and fortunately) failed. “I fucked them cause I was trying to get over you. You are everything they weren’t, and I was afraid that if I let myself be selfish like now, I would fuck everything up between us.”

He cannot bring himself to face you, so he looks around your apartment instead. Memorabilia of your friendship are scattered everywhere: Polaroids of the two of you as kids stuck on your refrigerator, a vase he had gifted you on your birthday, and a fuzzy blanket you had always kept for him on your couch. The answer to his age-old question had been staring at him right in the face. Years of yearning reciprocated, but he was too blind to see it because of his insecurity.

He moves his hand to your cheek, almost covering the entire space, before he tips your head back slightly. “But now, I’ve been waiting so long that it’s impossible for me to think about anyone but you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. “Me too,” you whisper against his mouth before giving him a heated kiss. You push your tongue into his mouth, and he groans at the feeling of your slick muscle against his. Enveloped in gooseflesh, your knees nearly buckle when Sukuna squeezes your plush hips before snaking his hand to your ass. He walks you back to your bedroom, lips still on yours as he haphazardly unzips the back of your dress. It’s easy for him to move with fluidity, like it’s a script that he’s been practicing for ages, synapses firing each time your hold tightens on him when he sips a kiss from you.

Your dress, his pants and t-shirt are on the floor. The two of you are only clad in your underwear as Sukuna lowers his body on top of yours, the delicious heat of his abdomen on yours.

“Been dreaming of this for so long.” You can only whimper in response when Sukuna nips at the column of your throat. He kisses the spot where your necklace rests between your breasts as he slides the strap of your bra down.

He pauses for a moment, looking up only to find the most beautiful sight of all–you with your rubicund cheeks, glossy parted lips, and half-lidded eyes. Your hands stroke up the back of his neck, into his pink hair, where the buzzed hair above his nape is slightly darker than his crown. The groan he lets out when you scratch his head reverberates within your ribs, making you arch your back. Sukuna takes that as a sign to take your nipple in his mouth, and his mind immediately takes him back to the day you two went skinnydipping–when he first laid his eyes on your perfect, pert breasts.

That night has fueled his fantasies for many months following it. The way your nipples glistened under the firelight, how they’d wrinkled because of how you were shivering after the swim. A gross part of him didn’t even want to wash the towel you borrowed after the swim.

He feels like he can taste the freshwater of the lake when he sucks on the sensitive flesh. Only this time, your skin is dewy with sweat, and some body lotion that smells intoxicatingly sweet. He grinds his bulge onto your clothed pussy, and you gasp at the pressure.

“Sukuna, please, I need you now,” you grind up to him, and moan out when he pinches your nipple, making you firmly flex your thigh at the sting.

“Let me take my time, needy girl.”

He kisses down your body, savoring the smoothness of your skin, dragging his nose along the length of your abdomen to the center of your mons. Your panties are soaked, the gusset saturated with your juices.

Sukuna’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head when he peels the fabric down, the sight of your pussy, making his heart race sinfully.

“Do you know what my ultimate fantasy was for the longest time?” The man wasn’t even looking at you when he asked that question, eyes hypnotized by the sight before him.

When you don't reply, he bites the flesh of your inner thigh, his canines leaving a deeper imprint than expected. You whimper at the brazen expression of possessiveness, but Sukuna seems unapologetic about being the reason behind your surprised state. “Don’t be quiet with me, pretty girl.”

“What was it?” you whisper.

“Taking you on the forest floor that night. Rubbed my cock raw for months after that day. Thought about eating this pretty pussy out after pulling you out of the water, with your hair wet and clinging to your body.”

It was filthy, disgusting, and gross. You could only grimace at the overstimulation of feeling leaves and twigs poking you from all angles, and the water only making the forest soil stick to your body in crevices that would be a nightmare to clean in just a single shower.

But there was something so heady and hot about the whole situation–how you imagined him eating you out like he was a starved beast who’d just had his first meal after days after hunting, your cunt’s juices being his only sustenance, his tongue deep in your pussy, pushing you to the edge with every lick and suck.

“You’re fucking disgusting.” Your voice comes out broken when he licks up your slit, tongue circling your little clit, nub too swollen and sensitive to be directly touched.

“Don’t fuck with me right now. You wouldn’t be laying with your legs spread open like a slut if you didn’t want my cock that night.”

Sukuna was not wrong. He never was. Especially when it came to you. Your best friend was scarily tuned to your wants and needs, and how your mind worked, almost like he was programmed to be the perfect man for you.

When you didn’t reply, he smirked against your pussy before sucking your clit, leaving little kisses on it after your thighs jolted at the sensitivity. His rough, tattooed hands stroked your thighs to calm you down, but your cries only egged him on to further overstimulate you.

He imagined being on that forest floor, taking from you what he deserved, what belonged to him since the dawn of time, since your atoms came into being and combined. Forever intertwined within nature and cosmic law.

You see stars on your plain white ceiling when you cum, involuntarily grinding into Sukuna’s mouth as he continues to flatten his tongue and drag it up your cunt. “Sukuna, please, I can’t wait anymore,” you breathe out, legs shivering as he pulls away.

“You want my dick?” Sukuna cockily asks, as he pulls his boxers down, his cock standing red and proud. Nothing you hadn’t seen before, but the context changed your feelings about it.

You could take it.

 (Well, maybe.)

You nod, babbling about how you were wet enough, but that still wasn’t enough for the egotistical tattoo artist. His pecs glistened with sweat as he leaned over you, his dog tag necklace meeting your pendant as he kissed your neck.

“Tell me how bad you want. Tell me how bad you want your best friend to fuck you,” he whispered against your skin, and your brows furrow at his command. His assertive gaze quickly urges you to spit out what you’d been wanting for years.

“I want your cock to stretch me open, Sukuna. Stretch me good and fuck me till I scream,” you bashfully ramble, looking away, but Sukuna tips your chin back with a finger, staring deep into your eyes. There’s something so beautiful yet sensually arousing about how shy you are, a heady juxtaposition that only rushes more blood to his thickened cock.

“Good, now, tell me you love me, baby girl,” his deep voice rumbles against your warm cheek, and you comply.

“I love you, Sukuna,” you gasp when his hands sneak down, playing with your clit once more.

“Again,” he commands as he kisses your earlobe.

“I love you.”

“Again.” He kisses down your neck, sucking the thin skin by your collarbone.

“I love you, Sukuna Ryomen. I always have and always will.”

He looks up at you this time, and kisses you square on your lips, your heady wetness still fresh on his tongue.

“I love you, too, beautiful.”

It doesn’t take him any effort to split your legs open; you’re needy and pliant, already wet for two of his thick fingers to easily slip inside. You whine when he pumps them in and out a little, just to prep you for his ruddy cock, the tip already dripping beads of precum.

The head of Sukuna’s cock is warm, stretching your pussy good as you slowly take in every inch. Your wet walls cling to his phallus, already spasming when he adjusts himself on top of you, leaning over as his dog tag dangles above your head.

When you nod, he kisses you before slowly rocking his hips against yours. Your eyes follow the hypnotizing pendulous movement of his necklace, and you bite your lips as his hips move at a relentless pace.

“Shit, my gorgeous girl, all you needed was your best friend to fuck you. Look at you–fit so well around my cock.” Sukuna leans back, his pace uninterrupted as he slots his hands under your knees and places your legs on his shoulder. He kisses your ankle in hopes to soothe you, but you only grow more restless, hips moving up to keep up with him.

You know he’s reached his limit when his hips begin to stutter, spurts of his cum painting your walls white, its warmth making you shiver as Sukuna groans. He rubs his hand down to your flank, patting it to check in on you, and you nod as a reply.

Sukuna nearly topples over you when he lies back down. You decide that you can wait a couple of minutes before washing up, relishing being held in his muscled embrace.

Only when you’re finally pulled out of your post-sex haze do you notice a small tattoo on the inner side of his bicep–a word, in Japanese. It looks new and completely unrelated to his usual, harsh, and brutalistic art style. His body was basically a canvas covered in doodles. Whatever spare skin he had was used for practice during his apprenticeship days. Your fingers are drawn to the inked patch of skin, tracing along the unfamiliar letters.

Sukuna opens an eye, still tired, but amused at your curiosity. “Your name,” he roughly mumbles as he pulls you tighter to his chest. His cock aches from how sensitive it is considering that it softened up inside you, though, he’s too comfy holding you to do anything about it. (There’s also something so filthy about plugging you up with his cum.)

“Huh?” you ask, still busy tracing the tattoo.

“That tattoo–it’s your name but in Japanese script.”

There’s not a lot that Sukuna has been passionate about growing up; art was always more of a hobby for him than his passion. He never imagined himself working hard, or going through mentally or physically strenuous labor to make money, but your smile? He’d do anything for it, no matter how arduous his effort to bring it would have to be.

Especially for the deeply lovesick look you had on your face, right now.

[ashthesalamipiece]

No Time Like a Bad Time

Pairing: Bakugo x Reader

Rating: Mature / Explicit (soft smut, implied sex)

Setting: Bakugo's bedroom, evening

Tags: NSFW, semi-public risk, parental interruption, heavy makeout, implied penetration, humor

---

You never made it to the bed.

Your back was against his bedroom wall, legs around his waist, shirt lost somewhere near the door. Bakugo’s mouth was hot and possessive, hands rough as they slid up your thighs, pushing your underwear aside without a second thought.

“Couldn’t wait,” he growled, voice hoarse as he pressed his hips forward, teasing you with slow, maddening friction. “You come over lookin’ like that and expect me to keep my hands to myself?”

You moaned into his neck, fingers tangled in his hair. “We’re gonna get caught…”

“Don’t care.” His hand slipped between your bodies, and the next thing you knew, he was inside you in one slow, claiming thrust.

Your breath hitched, head falling back against the wall as he rocked into you, steady and deep. “Fuck,” you whispered, digging your nails into his shoulders. “Katsuki…”

“That’s right,” he growled, picking up the pace. “Say my name again.”

You were gasping against his mouth, trying to keep quiet, trying and failing. The heat between you was dizzying, his breath ragged in your ear, the sound of skin on skin filling the room—

And then the door slammed open.

“Hey, Katsuki, have you—”

Mitsuki’s voice froze mid-sentence.

You both froze too. Bakugo still inside you, your legs locked around him, his hand gripping your ass, both of you wide-eyed like deer in headlights.

Masaru’s horrified gasp came from behind her.

Bakugo didn’t even turn around. He just rested his forehead on your shoulder and let out the most exhausted sigh of his life. “…Fucking hell.”

You scrambled to yank the nearest blanket off the bed to cover yourself, but there was no real saving this moment.

Mitsuki’s scream could’ve shattered glass. “ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?! IN MY HOUSE?! WHILE I’M HOME?! WHAT THE FUCK, KATSUKI?!”

Masaru was already halfway down the hall, muttering something about trauma and therapy.

“OUT!” Bakugo barked, voice cracking like an explosion. “GET OUT!”

“YOU BETTER BE USING A CONDOM!” she shrieked before slamming the door shut with enough force to shake the walls.

Silence.

You blinked up at Bakugo, still inside you, still panting, both of you stunned into stillness.

“…So,” you said, barely able to look at him, “do we finish… or cry forever?”

He groaned. “Gimme ten seconds to reset my soul.”

---

You woke up in Bakugo’s bed tangled in sheets and shame.

The sunlight coming through the window was soft. The room still smelled faintly of sweat and skin and sex. Katsuki was still asleep, one arm draped lazily across your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

You considered pretending you were dead. That seemed easier than walking downstairs and facing the two people who had literally walked in on you mid-thrust less than twelve hours ago.

But then—like a horror movie jump scare—you heard Mitsuki yell from downstairs:

“BREAKFAST’S READY, YOU TWO! AND YOU BETTER COME DOWN FULLY DRESSED!”

Bakugo groaned and pulled the blanket over his head. “Nope. I’m faking my death. Tell my mom I’m gone. Left the country.”

You shoved his shoulder. “We have to go. If we don’t, it’ll somehow get worse.”

“I literally had my dick out when she walked in. It can’t get worse.”

You were wrong.

It got worse.

The moment you stepped into the kitchen, Masaru nearly choked on his coffee and refused to make eye contact with either of you. Bakugo kept his head down like a dog in trouble. You sat across from Mitsuki, who smirked like she’d been waiting her entire life for this moment.

“So…” she began, sipping her tea. “Did we have a good night?”

You choked on your juice.

Bakugo snapped, “MOM.”

“Oh relax. I’m not mad anymore,” she said cheerfully, piling eggs onto your plate. “Traumatized, sure. But it’s not like I didn’t know my son was sexually active. He’s loud enough when you’re not here.”

Masaru made a whimpering noise and physically left the room.

You wanted to melt into the chair and disappear.

“Katsuki, I hope you’re not just going at it raw like some idiot. I didn’t raise a dumbass.”

“I—what the hell kind of conversation is this?” Bakugo snapped, ears red. “Stop talking about my dick at the breakfast table!”

“I wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t been using it in front of me!” she shot back.

You slowly, silently put down your fork. “I’m… gonna go. Pack my stuff. Change my name. Maybe flee the country.”

Mitsuki smiled sweetly. “Take your time, sweetheart. You were excellent under pressure.”

You didn’t come back for breakfast again for two months.

[dearlenore]

HIS FAVORITE DOCTOR • S.REID

SUMMARY: when Spencer realizes just how serious his diuladid addiction has become, he requests the help of his favorite doctor to get through the withdrawal process.

PAIRING: fem!reader x spencer

tags: angsty fluff, established relationship (not romantic yet) flirting, addiction, drug usage, withdrawal, vomit, suicidal ideation, usage of baby, angel, love and honey

a/n: medical reader is my favorite and I’m gonna be writing a lot more spencer addiction content because omg…I’m rewatching season 2-4 and I’m obsessed with this concept.

w/c: 1.6K

THE LIGHTS IN the BAU’s bullpen buzzed faintly, flickering just enough to give Spencer Reid a headache. He blinked hard and focused on the papers in front of him, but the lines blurred together. His fingers tapped anxiously against the desk, a nervous rhythm he couldn’t seem to break.

He hadn’t slept much the night before. Or the night before that. Each time his head hit the pillow, memories clawed their way to the surface — the cold rush of a needle, the dizzying relief that followed, and the shame that always lingered after. He’d fought so hard to distance himself from that part of his life, yet lately, the temptation had been gnawing at him with a sharpness he couldn’t ignore.

“Reid?”

He startled, his pen clattering against the desk. J.J. stood beside him, concern etched into her face. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said too quickly, forcing a tight smile.

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press. “Hotch wants to see you in his office.”

Spencer swallowed hard and nodded. The last thing he needed was a conversation with Hotch right now, especially when his mind felt like it was unraveling thread by thread.

Hotch’s office felt colder than usual, the blinds half-drawn to block out the morning sunlight. Spencer stood stiffly by the door, clutching the strap of his satchel like it was an anchor.

“Reid.” Hotch’s voice was steady but firm. “Have a seat.”

Spencer hesitated before sinking into the chair across from him. His chest felt tight, his breath too shallow. He wasn’t sure where to begin.

“You’ve been… distracted lately,” Hotch said carefully. “Your reports are late. You’ve been zoning out during briefings. Something’s going on.”

Spencer’s heart pounded. He could lie — say it was stress or exhaustion, maybe blame it on too much caffeine — but the words caught in his throat. He couldn’t keep doing this.

“I need some time off,” Spencer said quietly.

Hotch’s brow furrowed. “Time off?”

“I…” Spencer faltered, his fingers curling into his palms. “I’ve been struggling.” He took a breath, pushing past the shame. “With… Dilaudid. Not — not using it,” he added quickly. “But thinking about it.” His voice cracked, and he hated how small it made him sound. “I thought I was past this. But lately, it’s been… harder.”

For a long moment, Hotch said nothing. His expression didn’t soften, but it didn’t harden either. He just listened.

“I haven’t relapsed,” Spencer added, his voice almost desperate now. “But I’m scared I will. I don’t want to put the team at risk.”

Hotch leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk. “I’m glad you told me,” he said quietly. “That’s not easy.”

Spencer felt his face flush. “I should’ve said something sooner.”

“You’re saying something now,” Hotch said. “That’s what matters.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I think you’re making the right decision. If you need time, take it. Whatever it takes to get your head clear.”

Relief hit Spencer like a wave — unexpected and overwhelming. The tension in his chest loosened just enough to breathe.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“You’re part of this team,” Hotch said firmly. “And I expect you to come back when and only when you’re ready.”

Spencer nodded, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “I will.”

He stood, clutching the doorknob for a moment longer than necessary before stepping out into the hallway. The bullpen buzzed with the usual noise — agents chatting, phones ringing — but for the first time in weeks, Spencer felt like he could breathe.

He wasn’t okay yet — not even close — but for now, he’d taken the first step. And that had to count for something.

The knock on your door came late — so late you almost didn’t hear it. The sitcom buzzing from your TV masked the sound until you caught the faint tapping and glanced at the clock — 11:27 PM.

You walked to the door, clutching your phone just in case. But when you peeked through the peephole and saw Spencer’s face, you gasped.

“Spencer?”

He barely looked like himself. His hair was tangled and messy, his eyes glassy and red-rimmed. His skin — normally warm and golden — looked sickly pale, and the dark circles beneath his eyes seemed carved into his face.

“Hey…” His voice cracked, and his weak smile faded before it fully formed.

“Oh my gosh!” You yanked the door open, grabbing his arm when he swayed on his feet. “Spence, you look awful.”

“Thanks,” he muttered dryly, but his voice was barely above a whisper.

“You know what I mean,” you huffed, pulling him inside. His legs nearly buckled beneath him as you guided him to the couch.

“Did you eat?” you asked.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Did you drink anything?”

He shook his head.

“Honey…”

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he murmured, eyes flicking downward. His fingers trembled in his lap, curling against his thighs like he was holding something invisible.

“Talk to me,” you said softly. “What’s going on?”

“I… I asked Hotch for time off.”

Your brows shot up. “Wait, you asked for time off?”

“I needed it.” His voice was barely there. His hand dragged down his face, fingers twitching against his jaw. “I… I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You knew what it was. The Dilaudid.

“Spence…” Your chest tightened.

“I was fine,” he said shakily, his voice breaking. “I was doing fine. But I can’t stop… I can’t stop wanting it.” His hand clenched against his knee, knuckles white. “I was just sitting there… staring at it. For hours. I couldn’t — I couldn’t stop thinking about how easy it would be.”

His voice trembled. “I almost did.”

Your heart sank.

His breathing hitched, and his face twisted — like he was trying to swallow down something ugly.

“I thought about just… ending it,” he mumbled, barely audible. “If I couldn’t stop thinking about it, what was the point? What’s the point in fighting if I’m never going to win?”

“Hey,” you said firmly, reaching out and gripping his face with both hands.

His bloodshot eyes blinked up at you, wide and scared.

“You are not alone,” you promised. “I know it feels like it, but you’re not. I’m here, okay? I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

His face crumpled, and you barely had time to pull him against your chest before he broke. His fingers twisted into your shirt, clutching like you were his lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out.

“Don’t say that,” you murmured, rubbing his back. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His body shook against you, his breathing ragged. You didn’t rush him — you just held him tight, whispering soft reassurances into his hair.

When his sobs finally faded into quiet sniffles, you gently pulled back. “Let me help you, okay?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know,” you cut him off with a soft smile. “But I want to.”

He nodded weakly.

“You’re sweating,” you pointed out, brushing his damp hair off his forehead. “I’ll grab some towels and a change of clothes. You’re about to feel pretty gross for a while.”

He grimaced. “Great.”

“Don’t worry,” you teased, squeezing his knee. “I’ve seen way worse.”

After setting him up in the bathroom with clean towels and a shirt that was at least two sizes too big, you filled a glass of water and grabbed a bucket — just in case.

When Spencer emerged, his hair still damp and clinging to his forehead, his skin looked even paler. His hands were shaking worse now.

“I’m fine,” he said weakly, but you didn’t believe it for a second.

Less than an hour later, he wasn’t just shaking — he was shivering. He lay on your couch beneath three blankets, his face scrunched in discomfort.

“I…” His voice was thin, barely audible. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“I’ve got you, angel.”

You knelt beside him, bucket at the ready. He barely made it upright before his body lurched. You rubbed soothing circles on his back, murmuring soft reassurances as he retched.

“I’m here,” you whispered between sobs and coughs. “I’m here. You’re okay.” You continued, more for yourself this time.

By the time it was over, his entire body was shaking. His face was pale, and his breaths came in shallow pants.

“Hey,” you said softly, pushing damp hair from his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Don’t.” Your hand moved to his cheek, thumb brushing against his fevered skin. “Don’t apologize. You’re doing so well, love.”

His tired eyes blinked up at you. “You’re really sweet, you know that?”

You laughed quietly, smoothing the blanket over his chest. “I try.”

“I mean it,” he mumbled. “You’re like… an angel.”

Your heart melted.

“I guess that makes you my favorite patient,” you teased, brushing a hand down his arm. “But you already knew that huh?”

He grinned — weak, but real — and something in your chest tightened.

“Seriously,” you murmured, “I’m really proud of you.”

“Because I didn’t die on your carpet?” he joked dryly.

You shot him a look. “Because you’re fighting, Spencer. Even when your brain’s screaming at you to give up, you’re still here. That takes strength.”

His fingers fumbled for your hand beneath the blanket. “I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t…” His voice faltered. “I trust you.”

Your heart squeezed painfully.

“You’re safe with me,” you promised, tightening your hold on his hand. “And you always will be.”

He gave you a tired smile, eyes drooping. “Thank you, angel…” he mumbled as he drifted off.

Your breath caught.

“Love you, Spence,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair as he finally fell asleep.

[manicmanuscription]

P.1. Saturday Nights

PolySJM Week: Day Four

Prompt: Alternate Universe

Pairings: Mafia!BatBoys / Reader

Summary: You're a clueless waitress working in a mob restaurant, unknowingly catching the eye of its ruthless leaders. Surely a simple cut won't send them into a panic.

Heavily, Heavily inspired by @ jacfrostisreal clueless waitress series on TikTok!!

Tags: glood, gore, stitches, gullible reader

Word Count: 2059

A/N: Y'allllll I tried rewriting it like six times but ended up here so don't be holding it against me.....

PolySJM Week 2025 Masterlist | Acotar Masterlist | Series Masterlist

ೃ⁀➷ next part

I pressed the rag to my hand with a shaky inhale, watching as the white fabric turned pink from the cut, unable to stop the tears from spilling over. 

This was the worst shift ever. 

First I had to come in early to cover the host stand all because Esmeraie was having car troubles and I had a customer scream at me because I wouldn’t seat him and his wife as if I could magically make a table available. Then my very first table of the night ended up being absolutely horrendous. It was so damn busy tonight I’ve been running around like a chicken with its head cut off. I didn’t even realize I had cut myself on the plate I’d dropped until Chef pointed it out. 

I’ve had no time to even think, Sevenda’s was a high end restaurant known for excellent service and even better food. I usually thrived in high-pressure situations but tonight was another bad night in an awful week and I was reaching my breaking point. 

I let out another choked sob, my vision blurring with tears, I was hiding away in the thankfully empty break room. My coworkers had tried to help with the cut but I’d refused, snatching the rag out of Thane’s hand and running out of the kitchen before I started crying in front of them. 

God it hurt like a fucking bitch. My hands were starting to shake and I tried to focus on finding a first aid kit but my mind was buzzing with the weight of my emotions, overstimulation setting in and making my breathing hitch my nerves felt like they were on fire.

I let out a painful whimper, digging the rag further into my skin as if it would erase the prickling pain that was seeping down to my bones.

I stayed like that for a few more minutes until the rag turned fully red, trying and failing to breathe only to cry harder. It didn’t help that the sight of my own blood made me lightheaded. 

I didn’t even notice the door had opened until someone was standing right in front of me. Rhysand's citrus and sea scent invaded my senses and I tilted my head up to look at him. 

Mortification instantly washed over me upon seeing my boss, and I reached my free hand to wipe away the tears. Hopefully I didn’t look too much like a mess.  “H-Hi.” 

There was a dark look in his gaze as he took me in. “What’s happened?” He demanded, his silky voice making shivers run up my spine. “I’m Fi-Fine.” I stammered out, trying to stabilize my voice but speaking only made more tears burst forward, when I calmed down I was going to strangle myself for appearing like this in front of the freaking owner. 

My words seemed to have no effect on him and his large hands gently grabbed my injured one. I instinctively hissed in pain when he removed the rag from my palm. “I’m not gonna hurt you darling, I just need to see what’s going on so I can help you. Is that alright?” 

He brushed his thumb soothingly against the uninjured skin of my wrist and I nodded. Biting on the inside of my cheeks to hopefully keep the tears at bay. It was really sweet that he took such good care of his employee’s but guilt slowly crept in, he had been meeting with some of his friends in the back offices.

Before I even had a chance to apologize for ruining someone’s meal and hiding from my tables the door opened again and two familiar men walked in. Rhysand’s brother’s helped him manage the restaurant occasionally. Apparently thing’s must really be crazy because they’ve spent more time here.

“Marissa told us what happened.” Cassian said practically shoving his brother aside to take a look at my hand. I winced at his rough touch and Rhysand shot him a glare. “Be careful.” He snapped under his breath. 

Azriel was standing a few paces behind them, that intense stare settled on me and I wasn’t sure the male was even breathing. I could never get a good read on him. “I’m sorry for breaking the-the plate, I’m honestly fine, just need a bandage and I’m good to go.” I hiccuped, wiping my eyes again and taking a shuddering inhale. Doing my best to calm down and look presentable. These were my bosses afterall. 

“We don’t care about that.” Rhysand said, softening his tone as he shot me a charming smile that had my insides melting. Cassian’s brows furrowed as he inspected my wound. “She needs a stitch or two.” 

As soon as those words left his mouth it’s like someone doused my body in ice water. I snatched my hand from his. “No-No. It’s not that bad.” I spoke fearfully. Cassian stepped in front of me, blocking my view so it was just him and placed a new rag back on my hand, adding gentle pressure. The touch made my toes curl and I immediately banished those thoughts. They just didn’t want me to accidentally pass out, it was already bad enough I broke company property -again- was bleeding on the floor and hadn’t checked in my tables in fifteen minutes. “Really, it’s ok. I have tables. I promise I’ll get back to work- No hospital needed.” 

“You will do no such thing.” Rhysand said from my side, his eyes still on my trembling hands. His tone leaves no room for argument. “Don’t worry sweetheart.” Cassian said softly, brushing a piece of my hair behind my ear. 

His large muscled chest blocked my view so I didn’t see that Azriel had left the room but he returned with a small briefcase, setting it on the counter beside me and revealed what looks to be a small stash of high-grade medical supplies. I whimpered and stepped away, accidentally pressing myself to Rhysand’s side. 

“Y-You are…You’re gonna stitch me up. H-Here?” I squealed out, nausea rolling in my gut. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” 

“We have numbing tools, it’ll only hurt for a moment I promise.  Will you let us take care of you? We can take you to the hospital if you’d prefer. But either way you are not going to be walking around here with an open wound” Azriel finally spoke, that deep voice instantly soothing my nerves. 

“Not to be rude…But do you know what you’re doing?” I eyed the small army of supplies suspiciously.

“Yes.” The three brothers shared a look I didn’t fully understand but Cassian looked like I just kicked his puppy and Azriel’s confidence helped me calm down. 

“I didn’t know owning a restaurant was such a dangerous profession.” I quipped trying to distract myself. 

Rhysand chuckled underneath his breath, making me realize how truly close I was standing to him. I tried to take a step back to at least keep some of my dignity intact but he pulled me even closer, heart spread across my cheeks. “You’d be surprised.” 

Well.. That’s true I’d seen Roman with countless bandages, for someone who worked in the kitchen of a high-class restaurant you’d think he’d be better with a knife, he’d only told me it was ‘Part of his charm.’ 

A hospital scared me even worse, plus I would feel guilty. I nodded my agreement and Cassian lifted my wrist removing the rag. Both him and Azriel started cleaning it and I let out another whimper, black dots dancing in my vision at the sight of my own blood coming out of my body. 

Rhysand titled my chin to look at him, those dark blue eyes almost looking violet in this lighting. “Talk to me about something.” 

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, anything.” 

I paused, suddenly all my thoughts emptying when prompted. I opened my mouth to respond but suddenly a sharp burning sensation spread throughout my entire hand and I squealed in pain, pressing my head into Rhysand’s shoulder. He shushed me comfortingly, running a hand up and down my spine in soothing motions until all the pain just…disappeared. 

I pulled away to try and look at what they were doing to my hand. But he captured my attention with conversation once again. We talked about me losing my keys, my annoying neighbor playing loud music throughout all hours of the night, then eventually the rude customers at the host stand and the annoying tables I’d had. It was an easy conversation, making me forget all about my cut. Then I realized I was speaking badly about my job to the person who signed off on my paychecks. 

God this blood loss was making me lose my damn-minded. The way they were taking care of me softened something inside of me. It made my walls slip and I made stupid mistakes like thinking they liked me or telling my bosses bad things about my job. They were respectful to my coworkers and I tried to force myself to remember I was just an employee.

It did however warm my heart how much they cared about their employee’s well being and I tried to tamper down the jealousy that they might’ve taken care of my coworkers like this as well. 

We were extremely well taken care of here. Plus the tips were good which was surprising seeing as everyone knew rich people were monsters -Marisa told me it would be disrespectful to Rhys if they didn’t-. So they obviously had a good reputation for a reason.

So no, I was not going to risk a good job just because Rhys’ voice did things to my insides. That Cassian was making me laugh even as they sutured my hand and Azriel’s touch sent sparks down my spine. I tried to remind myself they were just good employers. Tried to not let it all get to my head 

This really was just not my night. 

Even if I would replay this moment in my head before I go to sleep every night in utter embarrassment, these were my freaking bosses and they had seen me crying and in pain. Not my best moment. 

“Sorry…This is your restaurant. I like my job. Don’t fire me.” I spoke, playing it off with an awkward laugh but Rhysand just gave me another of those dazzling smiles. “Trust me, we’re not going to fire you.” 

“All done.” Azriel spoke gruffly and I hadn’t even realized how much time had passed until I was staring at my newly bandaged palm. “Wow…Thank you guys! I truly am sorry about all of this. I promise to be more careful. It won’t happen again. I’ll get back to my tables.” 

“You’re not going back to work.” They all spoke at the same time, those dark eyes settling on me until I squirmed slightly. They really were too attractive for their own good. Maybe I really did need to find a new job because god the things I wanted to do to these men was anything but professional. 

“It’s a busy Saturday night, I’ve already been avoiding my tables for a long time. Marisa is going to kill me.” 

“Wasn’t negotiable Darling.” Rhysand said in that demanding tone again. 

“Rhysand, Sir-”

“We’ve talked about this. It’s Rhys.” 

“Alright…..Rhys.” I appeased him even if it felt wrong, the nickname tasted unfamiliar on my tongue and way too intimate. “I promise I’m fine. You don’t have to do that.” 

I had bills to pay after all, and as if he was reading my mind- “You’ll be reimbursed for the injury.” 

I bit my lip anxiously, of course I was excited to go home and rest, maybe catch up on some trashy tv show but I would feel horrible leaving my coworkers all alone on a busy night like this. “Are you sure? If you need me I’m happy to stay, plus the injury was my fault-”

“We’ll see you next in a few days, get some good rest.” It was Azriel who spoke this time.

I nodded, giving them a soft smile. “Ok..well thank you so much guys I really appreciate it.” 

After grabbing my things and going over how to take care of my wound with Azriel I left, thanking them again for their help. They really were great bosses. 

── °ꨄ︎｡ /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ｡ꨄ︎° ──

ೃ⁀➷ next part

[brainddeadd]

Quinn and Luke watching Jack fall in love

The First Game You Attend

The arena is buzzing with excitement, but Jack’s focus has narrowed down to a single point: the section where you’re sitting, bundled up in his team’s colors, eyes bright as you look down at the ice. Jack sneaks glances every chance he gets, his usually cocky demeanor giving way to a barely-hidden softness.

Quinn, catching his little brother’s gaze flicker to the stands, nudges Luke. “He’s practically looking for her approval every shift,” Quinn murmurs with a smirk. “Bet he’d trip over his own skates just to impress her.”

When Jack scores, his grin spreads wide, and the moment he gets off the ice, he looks up, finding you in the crowd. Luke snickers. “Did you see that? He’s totally gone.”

Back in the locker room after the game, Jack’s still riding high, but Quinn and Luke are ready to bring him back to earth.

“So, Jack, didn’t know you were out there just playing for her,” Quinn teases, feigning a concerned look.

Jack’s cheeks redden instantly, but he tries to shrug it off. “Nah, it’s just another game.”

“Oh, sure. Just another game. That’s why you looked like a love-struck puppy every time you looked up in the stands,” Luke snickers.

Jack rolls his eyes, but he can’t keep the smile from his face. And Quinn and Luke, for all their teasing, can’t help but be a little thrilled to see him so happy.

The Double Date Disaster

The evening’s supposed to be relaxed—a casual double date with Jack, you, Luke, and his own date. But when Luke’s date cancels last minute, he shrugs and decides to tag along anyway, figuring he’ll grab a drink and keep an eye on things. But as soon as he realizes how smitten Jack is, he pulls out his phone and quickly texts Quinn.

Within twenty minutes, Quinn’s at the bar too, claiming he “just happened” to be in the neighborhood. Jack glares as his two brothers settle in at the table, turning what was supposed to be a romantic night into a full-blown family gathering.

“So, did Jack ever tell you about the time he tried to jump off the roof pretending to be Batman?” Luke starts, leaning forward with a mischievous grin.

Jack groans, turning pink. “Luke, don’t.”

“Oh, come on,” Quinn cuts in with a grin. “You should know what you’re getting into.”

You laugh, completely charmed by the stories, and Jack, despite being mortified, can’t help but melt a little at the sight of you genuinely enjoying yourself. He lets out a resigned sigh, finally surrendering to the chaos as you smile at him, his heart skipping a beat.

The Teammate Gossip

Practice is winding down, and the team is gathered around the benches, catching their breath when Quinn overhears a few of the guys teasing Jack.

“I swear, man, he’s always texting,” one of them laughs, glancing over at Jack, who’s grinning down at his phone. “Guess he’s got a mystery girl.”

Quinn can’t resist, striding over with a smirk. “Oh, she’s real alright. Trust me, he’s got it bad. I’d bet good money he’d trip over his own skates next time she’s around.”

Jack’s head jerks up, a mix of embarrassment and irritation flashing across his face. “Come on, man,” he mumbles, trying to defend himself. “I’m just—texting.”

Luke chimes in with a smirk, walking up with his stick over his shoulder. “Guess you’re in love if you’re making us look like the stable ones, huh?”

Jack just groans, but the flush in his cheeks doesn’t go away, and the guys all laugh, patting him on the back as he looks away, still smiling.

The Midnight Confession

It’s a rare night where all three brothers are home, sprawled out on the couch with pizza boxes and empty soda cans littering the table. They’re laughing, sharing stories, but Jack’s mind keeps drifting elsewhere, and his phone screen keeps lighting up with your messages.

Quinn notices first, nudging Luke with a knowing grin. “You gonna tell us, Jack? Or are we supposed to guess who’s got you smiling like that?”

Jack sighs, fighting a smile. “I don’t know, guys. She’s just…different.”

Luke leans in, intrigued. “Different how?”

Jack shrugs, searching for words. “She makes me feel like I don’t have to be anything but me, you know? Like I can just…show up, flaws and all, and it’s enough.”

For a moment, his brothers are silent, sensing the depth in Jack’s words.

Quinn clears his throat, breaking the quiet. “Well, I’ll say this—don’t screw it up. ‘Cause I think she’s got you in a way no one else has.”

Jack chuckles, looking down, but there’s a look in his eyes that tells Quinn and Luke this is more than just a passing romance. As they drift into easier conversation, both brothers can’t help but feel happy to see Jack falling, finally finding someone who makes him feel at home.

[cherrynflowergarden]

જ⁀➴ we listen and we don't judge || matt sturniolo

sturniolo masterlist taglist

it started with an innocent suggestion. “babe, let’s try this tiktok trend,” she said, holding up her phone as she settled onto the couch.

matt raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “what trend?”

“you know, the ‘we listen and we don’t judge’ one. people tell their unhinged stories, and we just… don’t judge.”

he smirked, leaning back with his arm lazily draped around her shoulders. “you’re gonna judge them. you’re the queen of side-eye.” “i will not,” she said indignantly, though the hint of a smile gave her away. “come on, it’ll be fun!” “fine.” he adjusted his hoodie and nodded. “but if this gets outta pocket, don’t look at me like it’s my fault.”

she clicked record, grinning at the camera. “okay, so we’re doing the ‘we listen, we don’t judge’ challenge. i have a bunch of these to say. ready?”

“born ready,” he replied, though the confused glint in his eyes suggested otherwise.

she took a deep breath and said aloud “‘i used to fake passing out during pe class so i didn’t have to run laps. one time, they called an ambulance, and i had to pretend to wake up ‘confused’ just to keep the lie going.’”

he blinked at her, then let out a sharp laugh. “nah, that’s crazy. you’re telling me they had the whole ambulance rolling up, lights flashing, for fake fainting?!”

“babeeeeee! we’re not judging!” she scolded, though she was giggling too.

“i’m not judging—i’m… i’m admiring. yeah. that’s commitment. but also, imagine having to keep that up for the rest of the semester.” he mimicked a dazed expression. “‘oh no, i can’t run laps. what if i pass out again?’”

she shoved his shoulder playfully. “stop. your turn”

“okay so one time in high school this girl won’t stop asking me out, so to avoid her i pretended to be nick.” she blinked, shocked at this revealed fact. “…woah?” matt laughed at her stated and gestured her to continue.

“fine so you remember your favourite hoodie that ‘got lost’? yeah well it’s lying in my cupboard right now and i use it whenever i miss you.” she said innocently. matt gasped loudly, “you thief! but it’s kinda sweet actually.”

“moving forward, i became obsessed with your skincare products after you did my skincare once.” he confessed. she let out a huge dramatic gasp hearing this. “so this is the reason i keep running out of the products!”

“hey no judgement.”

“urg so i keep on raiding your secret chocolate sash and blame it on chris every time you ask me” before he could even react and loud “what” was heard behind the camera from the youngest brother. the video cut to next scene where matt sided eyed his girlfriend before he said the last confession of the challenge.

“i download your voicemails and listen to them when i—”

before he could finish the sentence, a flying pillow was thrown his way cutting off the inappropriate thing he was about to say.

“mattew there are children on the app” she gasped. “you said no judging” matt said, faking confusion.

“that was before you broke the rules of decency.” was the last thing the camera could capture.

view comments

user1

HELLOOO THE LAST PART????????

→ user2 RIGHT LIKE MATT EXPLAINNN🌝

user5

mama y papa

user6

user7 could be us but you playing me😔

→ user7 i'm just playing video games?

→ user6 still playing me😔

→ user7 i'm so confused babe?

yourusername

user6 n user7 are my otp😇

chrissturniolo

dada

→ yourusername ...woah?

→ chrissturniolo 😹

user13

faking fainting is insane

→ user12 so is faking identity

user4

they're so 😕😕😕😕💔💔💔💔

user8

do you need a dog i can bark WOOF WOOF

→ user9 dude?

→ user8 grETA GET OUT

mattsturniolo

🫶🫶

user3

i hate happy couples 🤗🤗🤗

an; it's 5 am rn and i had the sudden motivation to write just now :D

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