#agile met

[yumecarnival]

erm.. evil evil timeline where . erm . aj just picks off slate from the stragglers and tries to use him for her own gain . [too bad he's useless and stupid]

absolutely abysmally cooked ... i call them glass cannon

[twogriffons]

ok standard poodle for saturday!

[fallingskiesandrisingseas]

But what was most baffling to all that met the Pevensies after they came back was that they were kind.

Really. Not pretending, not because they were insecure. True, empathic. Far too understanding for children their age. They all have music in them.

Peter’s hands feel too small for him, but he shakes hands all the same. Gentle pressure. There is nobility behind those eyes. Eyes that always border on the supernatural sort of blue, especially in the dark.

He plays the guitar, gently coaxing otherworldly sounds out of an instrument that did not know it could be played like that. He helps his siblings with their homework, is taller much faster than his peers. Seems to take up more space, even though no one understands how a teenage boy manages that.

He doesn’t like doing nothing, ever. He instructs his classmates in grammar, gives away figures he cuts from wood with a knife that seems too sharp for a boy that small. He never hurts himself, though.

As the years pass, Peter grows strong. But he is gentle. He does not seem to be brash, even when many of his friends are. Peter keeps his emotions in check. Noble. Not undangerous, but not belligerent. Peter only ends fights, and only with people that deserve it.

He offers advice, a pat on the back. Teachers wanna dislike him, some do not like the look behind those eyes. Most find they cannot. Peter is popular with both adults and children, speaks sense and laughs often.

Peter is kind. Pious, devout. His faith is unmovable like rock. Did the kids meet God on the estate of their uncle?

Edmund plays the violin. A sad Edmund is a rare sight, but when he plays sad he can keep his whole floor awake. Somehow, Peter always finds h him quickly, effortlessly attuned to his brother’s moods. They play chess, then. Their chess master must have been a champion, Ed beats people with ease. He’s usually not smug about it.

Ed speaks politics and war in earnest, accepts critique graciously, is elegant in a way Peter never manages. Peter speaks frankly, but Edmund can wrap words up real nice. He doesn’t mince words, but his classmates grow into liking the sound of his voice. They appreciate that Edmund does not lie, even when speaking tactfully. Edmund can dial the temperature in a room, change it to suit himself.

He, too, laughs often, but Edmund is known to smirk. He likes being right and he often is. He’ll entertain anyone with a good story, always seems to have the right information to help you out. Remedies to illness, connections, job openings, how to sneak out of PE.

He’s a spider in a web. A bit reserved for a 11 year old, and oddly well-connected. A real ghost when he wants to be, but he never scares people with it.

Aslan would not approve of that. He believes in God as well, but much more intellectually. He’s got the intelligence to back it up and wit to match. A scholarly belief, but not lacking conviction.

Teachers like his enthousiasm, remember a moody nagging child when he left and see a secure young man come back.

Edmund will stand up for what is right. He gets into some trouble like that, but his verbal agility saves him always. Edmund has strong principles and will not bend them for anyone. No matter the trouble he gets in.

The bond with his brother is unbreakable. They even walk the same, chest out, left hand on their belt. They seem most at ease when fencing.

Susan was always warm and tenderhearted, but when she comes back there is a difference.

She seems to have gained authority. It’s real strange watching a 13-year old use her beauty like a grown woman, but Susan has learned to wield it, to stun people so she can creep under their skin. People LISTEN to her now.

Her wit is like a knife, but she avoids cutting deep. Susan is reasonable, and strong, and principled. The little drama others get involved in does not bother her, and she seems immune to petty insults. She has killed before, with her hands.

She will do it with kindness now. She is not very approachable ( that would be Lucy ), but she is kind. She used to mother over her brothers and sisters, but now that they have raised each other in a court full of magic she has gotten more relaxed. They listen to her on important issues, trust in her judgement. Her brothers does not deem himself more important, she is both well-spoken and well-respected by her siblings. Equal. It baffles the old men that teach her. Irritates them, too.

There is an air of mystery around her. Half a look is enough to get what she wants, Susan’s friends laud her security in herself, her Mona Lisa smile. She seems to temper moods easily, makes people feel at ease.

She most of everyone exudes royalty. It’s the grace. Susan plays the harp, her long fingers dancing across the strings like she’s had a lifetime of practice. She’s elegant, never caught off guard. Jamais faux pas.

She does not get angry. She knows who she will be. She is anxious to become an adult, yes, but she only wishes to look how she feels. Not to look differently. Yet the wish to be taken seriously, to have someone see you as an adult, it makes her surprisingly similar to her peers.

Her friends have not been old yet, is all. But Susan is calm and collected. People see her as someone you can tell a secret to. She never hurts someone, is usually a neutral party, speaks sense to adult and kids alike. She is not ignorant, however, will use every trick in the book to keep the peace. She knows when to go nuclear. Vis pacem para bellum.

Lucy is a sun in human form. She has a joie de vivre that is unmatched, is gay and golden-haired and never in a bad mood.

Lucy is kind by default, does not turn it off, does not turn it down. She’s witty and funny and quick on her feet. She has been grown before, yes, but enjoys being young for a few years more. She dances, sings old tunes. Her voice is her favorite instrument, you can usually hear Lucy coming.

Whistling a tune in the halls is known to improve the moods of everyone who hears it immensely. Young girls need to figure out who they are, but Lucy knows, knows what she’ll be and who she likes and what kind of people she wants to be around. She is not pretending, never moody. She can get sad, of course, but her older brothers and sisters are always nearby when that happens.

Lucy is genuine and fierce and convinced, immovable at times. Admired for her drive, but respected for her empathy. She speaks to everyone, often distributes flowers. There’s no naivite in her at all, she simply wishes to be like this so that the world may imitate her. She likes to see people prosper, is the first with praise.

She will go far, is the consensus. There’s steel beneath the soft exterior, Lucy has fire below the flowers. She’s well-liked and well-loved. She has love in spades, it seems, animals and stragglers and misfits and outcasts. She’s popular, her room is a good place to get a cup of tea and someone who will listen to you for some time. After a while she no longer bothers with the door.

That a heart that size fits in a girl that small is a mystery to many. Lucy does not think it is a mystery at all. It is the heart of a lion.

Her faith is as vocal as the rest of her, she sees it confirmed in all that is beautiful, all that is kind. She never tries to convert anyone but there are several people who have told her that version of God is someone they would like to know.

The Pevensies often see each other at parties, where they like to stand together. Edmund knows about everyone, everyone knows Peter, everyone likes Susan, but it is Lucy who knows everyone.

They are kind, but not weak. Peter gets his knuckles bloody sometimes, Edmund does not abide by the rules of unjust teachers. Susan and Lucy solve their problems differently but no less effective. Kindness is their usual way of operating, but they are still kings and queens. They will not allow cruelty, will not let bullies go unpunished.

They are sure of what they are and sure of what comes after death and this makes them kind. Kind , not harmless. Kind, not spineless. Kind, not ignorant. Kind, not naive.

Kind despite. Maybe kind because. The kings and queens of Narnia are proud of what they are, honour the teachings of their lion friend. Kind.

When the crash happens and three siblings die, everyone they know mourns deeply. Without them, the world is less kind.

[nxrvqna]

newlywed!sylus who couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into your plush skin that had him entranced the entire ceremony. seeing you in white made him dizzy.

after bidding goodbye to your guests and leaving, all that could be heard in your hotel room was the sound of heavy breathing and kissing. sylus had all but molded himself to you, his hands travelling everywhere all at once. clad in your white veil, lace garter belt and stockings; sylus in his dress shirt, tie, and dress pants that were tightening by the minute.

his lips grazed the curve of your neck, his hands coming up to move your veil aside so he could latch his lips onto that sweet spot just behind your ear. you carded your fingers through his white tresses whilst squealing at his movement. he purposely pulled up to gauge a reaction from you. “leave your tie on, sy.” you whispered him, with your honeyed voice, avoiding his gaze. sylus looked down at you, a small tug of his lips. “why’s that, sweetie?”

“so i can do this.”

you pulled down suddenly on his tie to bring him back to your level and gave him a searing kiss, your grip never faltering. you felt sylus’ smile against your red lips. you broke apart and sylus looked at you with a tenderness in his carmine eyes, your lipstick smeared. “whatever the wife says.”

“i have to reward my wife for her courage, don’t you think?” he spoke aloud, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt and loosening his tie. he gently guided you until your back met the wall and he got on his knees. running a hand up your leg, his agile fingers fiddling with the sheer material of your stockings. throwing one leg over his broad shoulder so that he was met with your bare pussy, swollen and glistening under the light of the room

without warning, he glided his fingers between your folds, making sure the cold metal of his wedding band made contact. your legs buckled. his hand moved with ease, manoeuvres unchallenged from how wet you were. he sighed, warm breath fanning against your clenching hole, before licking one long stripe against your wetness. “can’t believe this cunt is mine for the rest of my life. i could die a happy man.”

sylus would put down his gun, leave his life of violence behind and write poems about you. your hair, your skin, your smile. he’d follow you to the ends of this world and the next, worshipping the very ground you walk on, the air you breath. his to hold and cherish, for better or worse, in sickness and in health.

[jester-lover]

What if the dorm leaders had a clumsy, klutzy, forgetful, and lazy female s/o that somehow knows how to do impossible tasks (like cooking up a feast, repairing a car, play 10 different instruments, getting good grades, etc) without even trying?

Dorm Leaders with a Talented yet Lazy Girlfriend

CWs: a tinge of jealousy, fluff and a little insecurity. Fem! Reader, s/o is basically one of those overpowered anime protags lol.

Riddle

He adores you so much as his girlfriend, but Riddle can’t help but be a little jealous of you. The sheer lack of effort you put into anything and everything you do compared to the overall success you have goes against everything he was raised to believe.

Riddle might push you to be a little more studious but ends up finding it meaningless. You simply have a talent for beating people who’ve put in considerably more effort than you have.

Those miraculous acts of preparation you do, such as preparing full meals and such, come in especially handy when his dorm is in chaos before a tea party.

Seeing you whip up the tea, set the table, and paint all the roses in record time, it was like seeing a phoenix rise from the ashes. He was so bewildered he just stood there, mouth slightly agape.

The klutzy nature you display fits right in with his dorm, so he isn’t put off by it at all.

“S/O, remember you’ve got a history test today…I know you’ll do great…”

Leona

At the start of your relationship, there is a comfort the two of you have in your shared sense of calm. You’re both chill people with slow lives, living comfortably. The second he learns how effortlessly you succeed at life, though? He can’t help but be a little jealous.

Very verbally supportive, but silently fuming until he realizes just how ridiculous he’s being. Then he’s bragging about you to anyone who’s even a little curious. 

Leona’s event planning skills are…unfortunate to say the least. So whenever the two of you have guests over or are hosting some type of event, you take over. 

Clumsiness is also something he isn’t used to; lion beastmen are agile in nature, so he tends to help you in terms of holding things and overall balance. Leona insists you hand over any heavy or easily breakable object to him.

“Do you want me to carry that? Your hands are shaking again…”

Azul

You two definitely met because he deemed you an easy target for one of his contracts, only to be embarrassed and slightly enamored when you broke apart each aspect of it and tried to negotiate a better deal for yourself.

He respects how multifaceted you are, especially when it comes to your talents. Azul might even employ you to play light background music for the lounge. 

If your talents extend to sports, he’s going to beg for advice.

“So you don’t even practice or anything? And you made the team? What do you mean you’ve never played—

On the topic of grades, he gets a little freaked out. You’ve been here for like a month, and you’ve learned all of Twisted Wonderland’s history already? Are you some kind of malfunctioning robot?

Azul also doesn’t care about your lazy nature; nap around his office all you want.

Kalim

You two are quite similar in disposition and overall vibes, but when it comes to grades, you’re way better off than he is.

The amount of stress you both put Jamil in before you locked in and cleaned out that entire dorm was unbelievable. I mean, a full-course dinner that he didn’t have to make; he’s begging you to marry Kalim at this point.

He would be the type to leave you sticky notes reminding you of your tasks and goals, with little encouraging messages.

“Don’t forget you have a presentation today! How’d you do all 20 slides in ten minutes? Who cares? You’ll do great! :)”

Vil

This would be a tricky situation.

Vil believes in pushing yourself to reach your ideal goals; to sweat and tire is to prove your worth to him. So to see you basically lose at every step of the way and still win at life is unbelievable. I mean, you forget every quiz date you get and still score hundreds every single time.

Vil also appreciates your musical skills; he’ll encourage you to play complex melodies as he gets ready in the morning, waking him up for the day ahead.

His own schedule takes time from his studies, but he also scores high on everything. He thinks your grades come from a good sense of intuition.

“Schatz, how could you possibly have scored a hundred on this when you skipped all but 2 classes?”

Laziness is something he dislikes overall, but he can’t help but find you adorable when you drift off to sleep in his dorm room as opposed to getting some job done for Crowley. He likes making you feel safe.

Idia

He thinks you’re a natural good luck charm; I mean, everything you do seems to fall into place! 

Idia is also kind of lazy, so he won’t complain about your work ethic. Your clumsy nature, on the other hand, worries him because of all the one-of-a-kind tech in his room.

Once Idia finds out how good you are at, well, practically everything, he’ll get a little self-conscious. I mean, you don’t even have to try, and you just kinda win? Why stay with a shut-in like him?

You shut that down pretty quick, and he learns to just enjoy your talented self. He’s got a girlfriend; he’s already like, halfway more successful than most of his internet buddies.

Idia would adore it. If you played some type of electric instrument, like a synth or an electric guitar, he’d buy you the best one on the market just to hear some of his favorite intro songs played by you.

“S/O, how does a keytar sound? Of course, you already know how to play that.”

Malleus

Grades and all that don’t really matter to Malleus, as he’s also just naturally talented at everything, similarly to you. It's your clumsy, human nature that enchants him. Fae like him are naturally balanced, elegant, and refined; they don’t just fall over or knock things down like you have a habit of doing.

“You’ve just done what humans call ‘eating dirt,’ did you not, Beastie? Intriguing…”

The concept of laziness is also new to him; he would have fun dragging you along to your tasks and seeing the looks of shock on people’s faces as you come riding into class on the Prince of the Briar Valley’s shoulders.

Malleus is also probably trained in several instruments, and he’d love to play duets or help you acquire more rare, niche musical tools.

People who’ve been around as long as he has don’t often deem things impossible, but the shocking speed at which you managed to fix the decaying Ramshackle dorm, cook dinner each night for Grim and yourself, and deal with everyone’s problems, including your own, has him questioning if you’re human at all.

[callsign-datura]

a/n: sorry for the long wait! 4.7k words, the result of my last poll, simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected p-in-v, creampie, hair-pulling, degradation, talking to the pussy

ghost didn't have many hobbies, but he did have a few he liked the most. His third favorite was being at the shooting range, his second favorite was cleaning his guns, and his first favorite was sparring.

he often sparred to ensure he wasn't getting rusty with certain hand-to-hand techniques. usually with soap, or gaz. late at night when he had energy to expel, or unwanted emotions to get out.

that's why he found himself in the gym, this time off the mat, wrapping his busted knuckles with bandages. he was dressed in gray sweats, a black wife-beater, and the mask. he flexed his fingers as he tucked the edge of the bandage beneath the edge of another at his wrist, bringing both arms above his head. he stretched, grunting quietly before letting his arms drop to his sides, squinting at the way the fluorescent lights made his head ache.

the door creaked open slowly. he tilted his head, watching you enter. you looked up and met his gaze, and he turned his head away and began wrapping his other hand with the same bandages.

you and ghost were cordial at the very least and hostile at the most. it wasn't that you got along-- sometimes his demeanor just pissed you off. so closed off, and for what? working with another person was better than working alone, to you, and you didn't understand why in the hell he was so rude to you.

you huffed under your breath, not expecting him to be in the gym so late. you watched his shoulders flex, the wife-beater a darker shade around his neck with the sweat that dampened it. he looked like he'd been hard at work for a few hours, the bandages around his knuckles tainted with a deep shade of red.

"what's the point of wrapping your hands after you've busted them on the bag?" you call, watching his shoulders shift a bit as he stops wrapping.

"i forgot to do it before." he retorts, not bothering to face you.

"didn't nurse sullivan tell you to do it before?" you put your hands on your hips. your tone is concerned, and partially, you are, but the other part of you is just looking to get on his nerves. you came here to train yourself, but messing with him seemed a bit more fun. "thought you'd remember what a nurse told you to do."

"didn't ask ya to remind me what sullivan said, i know what m'doin'." he finishes wrapping his other hand and goes back to the bag, getting into position and bringing his fists up. he starts throwing punches, the jangle of the chain and the thuds of his fists hitting the bag echoing in the room.

you approach him. "you know, sparring might be better than boxing." you offer, folding your arms behind your back as your gaze flickers over his stature. he's by no means a small man, and it's been a while since you've had the chance to spar with the other guys on base.

ghost's hands shoot out to still the bag, and his head tilts to the left. brown eyes peer at you from beneath the mask, and he huffs through his nose, looking you up and down. "tch. y'got a death wish? i've got a few inches on ya... not to mention pounds."

"i know you do. it'd be good training for me." you hum, looking to the side, then back to him. "for you too, maybe. having an agile opponent might be a bit challenging for someone so... lumbering."

"lumbering?" he asks, tilting his head as he turns to you completely. "and you... agile? got an ego, don't ya?" though he's excited at the prospect of sparring at all, so he's considering it.

you can tell you're piquing his interest, so you push it, ignoring the little jabs. "maybe a small one. sounds fun though, doesn't it? I heard it's been a while since you've got the chance."

he sighs. he feigns resignation, but there's a sparkle in his eye that you don't miss. he considers it for a few moments before he starts skulking in your direction. "you're gonna regret that," he huffs, stopping just short from you. "i've got some rules. one, you lose after i've pinned ya for 10 seconds. two, no dirty shots. i don't pull y'r hair, you don't kick me in the nuts. got it?"

he sounds so serious, you chuckle. "alright," you nod, agreeing to his terms. then you take your position on the furthest end of the mat while he takes position at the other end.

"ya ready?" he gruffs, and you nod, putting your fists up.

"alright then, you get the first shot."

"really?" you tilt your head, taking a few steps forward as you begin circling in the center of the mat.

"mm-hmm." he hums, rubbing his arms before putting his fists up. "wanna see what you can do."

you huff, then you go towards him, side-stepping and reaching out to grab his arm. you yanked on it, and he barely moved. he almost paused, somewhat amused that you even tried that. you let go and move away from him and he follows-- throwing a few punches without expecting them to land.

they don't. one disadvantage of him being so much bigger than you is the speed difference. you're so much faster than him. you can dodge faster, but if he finally gets his hands on you, you're done.

you're moving around the mat, dodging his punches and dodging it when he reaches for you, and he's growing increasingly frustrated.

"godammit, quit fuckin' moving." he hisses, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you in. he lets go to grab you by the shoulders, but before he can, you duck and use most of your strength to kick his shins, trying to debilitate him so you can get away. it doesn't work. you scramble away and he follows, grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and pulling you close. he turns around to throw you off before shoving you to the ground and pinning you there by your shoulders, his body coming down on yours as his knees cage you in on either side of your hips.

you're squirming, hips lifting and hands clawing at his wrists in an effort to get him to let you go. his eyes narrow, getting some sort of satisfaction at seeing you squirm beneath him.

"one," he begins counting, signaling to you that you only have a few seconds to get away. his grip on you tightens, and you're almost sure he's gonna win when you get an idea. your grip tightens on his wrist before you drag your hand up it, digging your nails into the surface of his skin. you apply enough pressure to cut the skin, and his grip releases at the same time he hisses. he doesn't let go, but you take the opportunity to throw his hands off of you and turn around in his hold, tucking your legs in against yourself and pushing the bottoms of your feet against him to throw him off. then you scramble out from beneath him, getting up and putting distance between the both of you.

"hmm," he says, eyes focusing on you before he gets to his feet. "slippery fuckin' thing." he laughs, looking at the arm you cut up. crimson dribbles from the thin red lines you've left behind, and he rolls his head, cracking his neck as he goes towards you again.

there's something different in his eyes-- he's surprised that you're putting up such a fight.

"never expected a little thing like you to fight so dirty." he says, his voice low and husky as he stops a few feet away from him, intense eyes following you as you circle him. it's obvious to him you have no intention of making the first move again, so he opts to play with you a bit instead.

"y'r crafty too, huh?" he says, his voice mocking somewhat. "didn't expect you to claw me up like that. i mean, it worked..." he turns as you do, and your eyes narrow.

"i'm enjoyin' this one, that's for sure. maybe i should make sure that you're gonna keep comin' back?" he says, his voice husky again. there's a tone in it. it's almost like he's taunting you, or-- no, that isn't it...

"it's a shame they won't scar, though." he takes another step towards you, and you look behind you to gauge how much space you have until you step off the mat. you stay where you are.

"i like having trophies from my fights... reminds me how much i enjoyed it." he keeps rambling, and you're not sure what the point of all this is. it makes you feel fuzzy inside, kind of, like he's complimenting you.

he gets closer, and his eyes narrow further. you know he's smirking beneath the mask. you look meek-- is he flirting with you? is your lieutenant flirting with you? is simon "ghost" riley flirting with you??? he throws a few lazy punches, knowing you'll dodge them.

"not at all. it's a compliment, actually. small, nimble. i bet you rarely get into any sticky situations, huh? like a rabbit," he chuckles, his voice amused as he lets go, then shoves your shoulders hard enough to make you stumble. then, to make you lose your footing, he kicks your feet out from under you.

"ain't very often i get to fight people like you, after all." he hums, not even sounding like he's taking it seriously. you're visibly nervous, and you hold your fists up defensively. he leans forward, grabbing your arm and pulling you close. the rational part of you is laughing at your idiocy, but the other part of you is melting because-- he is flirting.

"ugh-- people like me? is that an insult?" you say, your chest close to his as he leans down. his face is inches from yours, and you can feel his breath against you.

you yelp, and you fall on your ass. the sudden tone shift is enough to send you spiraling. the way he talks to you makes something heat in your stomach. he gets on top of you again, one of his legs between yours and the other on the outside of you. he puts his hands on the mat between your arms, and he stays leaned over you.

"well... not really fighting back now, are you? that's a shame..." he huffs, his gaze drifting from your face down... your chest is heaving, and your eyes are shut. your hips shift, and he moves his leg up at the same time. the curve of his thigh bumps against your clothed cunt, and it makes you jolt.

"hey!" you hiss, not expecting the contact or the look in his eyes when you finally look at him.

"what?"

"i... i thought you said no dirty shots," you retort, your voice somewhat weak. you look away, your body flooding with some sort of warmth that his closeness produced in you.

he snorts, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. "ain't a dirty shot if you're already on the ground and you've already lost. it's just... overkill." but he stays over you, despite the fact he just won. his gaze rakes over you in a hungry manner, and you can hear him suck in a breath when your back arches up off the ground.

"...you can get off me now," you murmur, avoiding eye contact. you feel shy, all of a sudden, and kind of pissed. he just won because he was toying with you on purpose to win. he was messing with your feelings! "get off me." you hiss, trying to get out from under him.

his eyebrows go up, sensing your sudden hostility. his eyes narrow. he lifts a hand and pins your shoulder down. "ah ah ah, the fuck are you doing? did i say you could get up?" he was enjoying this before, but now that you're fighting back like this he's a bit irritated.

your squirming just results in you unintentionally grinding yourself against his thigh. you suck in a breath when it happens, and your eyes narrow.

"you're such an asshole" you grumble. despite your arguing and your resistance, you press yourself against his leg.

he looks down when your hips shift. he watches the way they move, and when you finally relax, he moves above you and intentionally moves his leg to see your reaction.

your face flushes, and you whimper, looking away.

"well... look at that." he murmurs, his voice lilted and knowing. he looks up at you and makes eye contact, pushing it against you again to elicit another noise from you. you moan once again and your lips curl, eyebrows knitting in response to the jolt of pleasure he causes.

"isn't that cute?" he teases. "does that feel good?" he says, his voice almost mocking as he lifts his thigh and presses it against you, gently pushing it against you in an even motion to make you squirm even more.

"g-god, you're such an ass," you moan, body falling limp and losing whatever ounce of fight you had. you still mouth off. "do you do this with everyone you spar with? i-is that why soap is always asking you to spar with him?"

he rolls his eyes. "shut up, girl. i'm surprised you have the audacity t' speak to me that way when you're gettin' off on my fuckin' thigh." his voice is almost scolding, but he doesn't grind his leg against you any harder. just goes slow... it's almost torturous. you can already feel yourself drenching your panties. it's a culmination of this entire thing. the way he smells, how close he is to you, the way he's staring at you so hungrily... all of it is making you salivate, except your mouth isn't the only thing drooling.

your head falls back, and your breathing is already so heavy. he tilts his head forward, and his lips are on your neck. you feel the wetness of his lips, the itching brush of peach fuzz, the fabric of his mask rolled up over his nose against your neck-- all of it makes you shudder beneath him. he nips at the flesh of your neck, pulling gently and kissing at the reddened flesh afterward. he puts his leg down, and places himself between your legs, one hand cupping the back of your thigh and lifting it to press himself against you. you feel the outline of his dick through his sweats, semi-hard but at attention. the girth of it catches your attention, and when he feels your body stiffen he chuckles.

"hush. we'll make sure it fits, doll." he murmurs, his voice husky and low, sending shudders through you with how close he is to you. he doesn't grind into you from that position. rather, his hands travel up and down your sides as he kisses your neck, sucking small hickeys and trailing them down. his hands shove your shirt up and over your chest, doing the same with your bra. he's intense, and very aware of what he wants-

you.

his eyes focus on your tits. round, perky and the perfect size for him to hold. so he slides one hand up to cup and fondle your tit, his thumb quickly traveling over your nipple. it pebbles and perks beneath his touch and against the cool air, and he hums. he salivates. he wants to taste your skin. drag his tongue over your flesh, feel the goosebumps that raise beneath his tongue. but he can't. he has to make sure you come back for more and that's exactly how he will.

and as always, he'll get what he wants, one way or another. you squirm beneath him, and noises attempt to claw out of your throat but you keep quiet. you don't want to let on how much you're enjoying this, but the subtle rock of your hips gives it away.

"tsk tsk tsk. are you really this impatient? haven't even done anything yet." he snickers, pulling back to look down at you. he pulls his mask back down before you can see anything, and he leans forward with his hips a bit. your legs still hover against his hips, your knees drawing together as a result of your embarrassment. your lips part and you pant, chest heaving once again.

his other hand slips down to your hip, lifting your legs up and together, over his shoulder so he can pull your pants and panties up your thighs.

"such a pretty girl. you know, i've had my eyes on you for a bit..." he starts. once your pants are around your thighs and he has enough access to you, he brings the hand that was on your boob, to your mouth. he eases his pointer and middle finger into it and your eyebrows knit at the taste of sweat. "suck," he instructs. you do, cheeks hollowing briefly as your tongue laves along his fingers, coating them in spit.

"hmm... always wondered whether or not you were the obedient type, but i never got a chance to break you in and find out." he chuckles, withdrawing his fingers from your mouth and bringing that hand between your legs. he drags the tips of his fingers through your folds, humming when he feels how wet you are. you can hear how sloppy it is, and he laughs.

"i guess i wouldn't be breaking you in as much as her," he snickers. your face reddens and you look to the side, panting once again as he starts easing those two fingers into your sopping cunt. you comprehend then that the her was your pussy.

"mm-hm, tight, as i thought. are you that nervous?" he teases, tilting his head as he scissors those two fingers inside you. the feeling knocks the air from your lungs, and you gasp, bringing both hands to your face to hide how embarrassed you are. despite that, your body gives away how excited you are, your hips shifting and your back arching as his thick fingers curl inside you.

if you're moaning, your pussy is screaming. the wet noises of his fingers working you out is embarrassing and brings heat to your face, but you can't really focus on that.

it sounds so lewd, and it is. you let out a gasp as he pushes them deeper, the sheer girth of his fingers causing your gummy walls to strain. your thighs clench and your hands ball into fists. his other hand pulls your pants and panties off completely, humming as your legs fall apart.

"s'it that good, doll?" his voice is husky and low, teasing. he's getting off on your reaction to his touch. "c'mon, girl, look at me..." his fingers stop, and you whine, shifting to look at him. they start moving as soon as your eyes fix on his, and your lips part. you moan again, your lips curling.

"c'mon, talk to me." he encourages, and his touch is downright sinful in comparison to his tone. "does it feel good? this what you wanted when you started grinding yourself on my leg?" he chuckles to himself. "never woulda thought you were this kinda girl if i hadn't of seen it myself..."

his thumb moves, and flattens over your clit once he turned his wrist over. he rolls circles over it slowly, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on the outside of your thigh.

you squirm and whimper, and it takes everything in him not to just pounce on you. instead he opts to listen to your moans and the sound of his fingers inside you. he curls his fingers and inches them deeper until your body jolts, and he hums in approval at your reaction.

"s'that the spot...?" he asks, leaning forward as he curls his fingers against that spot again. you jump, the coil in your stomach growing ever tighter as you moan in affirmation. the pleasure is making your head feel light, your eyes fluttering shut again and your head falling back against the mat. you're squirming and shifting again, and you feel sweat on your neck and chest. you whimper a bit, the air feeling sticky and humid between you both. it's hard to tell whether that's just your body heat, or it's him.

and you whimper at him. you can feel your orgasm encroaching, and he can feel it too. your cunt squeezes around his fingers and he can feel you throbbing. your body tenses, and your orgasm is right there--

he removes his fingers. you slump down, tilting your head to the side and huffing in frustration when you feel so suddenly empty.

"...this proves that you're just... an asshole..." you grumble, bringing your legs together.

he's thick. slight upward curve, blushing tip and definitely not lacking in length.

there's silence on his end, and when you look at him, he's pulling his sweats and boxers down.

"can't be much of an asshole if m'gonna dick you down," he purrs. you don't look, but you feel his cock hit the side of your thigh once he takes it out. a hand wrapped around the base, he gives a few lazy pumps, smirking to himself beneath the mask when you lift up to look.

"hmm? s'this good enough for you? such a rude girl, calling me names," his voice is teasing. he shifts forward a bit and then lines himself up with you before he moves both hands to cup the back of your knees and lift them. he moves you just a bit closer. He shifts his hips, then without warning, pushing himself into you up to the hilt.

you gasp. he's big, and you wish he had told you he was going to do it so quickly, because you weren't expecting it. his size takes a bit for you to adjust to, the sting and the stretch causing you to squirm once again. he grips your hips to still you, and he hums. "shh... you can take it, can't you?" you continue to whimper, and he laughs. "so pathetic. s'it too big for you?" he mocks, leaning over you once again.

"so fuckin' messy. look at you, girl. maybe this-" he emphasizes that with another particularly hard thrust that causes his tip to attack your g-spot-- "is what you wanted all along. maybe you asked me to spar cause you wanted me to fuck the shit out of you," he huffs, his voice low and raspy and his movements aggressive. you can barely speak aside from squeaks and squeals, the feeling of his hips slamming into yours causing your vision to go white. you couldn't respond outside of gasps.

god. yes. yes, it was too big-- and it took you a while to adjust to it. he started moving once your hips started shifting into his. he tilted his head forward, tucking it into your neck and grunting quietly. you're still sensitive, so when your lips part in a moan, it all feels so intense. your back arches and your legs push apart, welcoming him. his thrusts are shallow, yet careful, (for now), and he grunts into your ear. you squeeze around him, and your head tilts back as you moan out, hands finding his shoulders and digging your nails into it. Your eyebrows knit and you whine.

"y'r pussy's noisier than you are. listen to her," he goes quiet and fucks into you harder just to emphasize the paps of his hips hitting the back of your thighs and the squelches of your pussy clenching around his cock. your slick dripped down your cunt, getting his sweats damp a bit with it-- he moved one hand up to pull your hair, tilting your head back so he could talk in your ear.

"fuck," he cursed, pulling your hair again and chuckling when you cried out. you were lost in the feeling. the feeling of him, the feeling of his cock and how roughly he fucked you.

"hah!" you mewled, your back arching up off the mat. you grabbed at his shoulders in utter desperation. your eyes crossed and you tilted your head to the side, your body jolting with each thrust he offered you- getting gradually rougher.

"y'sound so slutty, moaning for me like that... keep doin' it, pretty," he hummed, staying close as he rutted into you with a force that might as well have caused you to shriek. he let go of your leg, and both of them closed around his waist, ankles locking at his lower back.

"m'gonna cum," you whimpered, your voice soft and meek. he chuckled, and his movements got a bit more aggressive. he lifted himself up onto his hands, keeping them just over your shoulders and looking down to where your bodies met. his fat cock was pounding into you over and over, the squeezes of your pussy enough to make him moan a little bit himself. he looked up, meeting your gaze.

when he finally came, you were still on cloud nine, wailing and squirming beneath him when his hips slammed into yours and he spilled spurts of hot cum into your pussy. the sensation was almost enough to make you cum again-- especially when he ground his hips into yours, his tip grinding into your g-spot. plus his lovely groans were sending you straight to heaven. the noises he made were mostly groans as he fucked into you, making your entire body shudder from the feeling and the sensations flooding your body.

your eyes were glazed over. visibly lost in the pleasure and focused on nothing but your impending orgasm, he took that as encouragement. he took your legs again, sitting up and pulling them together but pushing them against your front. the angle allowed him to get impossibly deeper. each time he slammed into you, his tip hit your g-spot, applying enough pressure to graze the plug of your womb and create more tingling, burning pleasure.

"oh! oh, fuck--" you gasped, folding a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans. your heart was pounding in your ears, and you swore you almost fainted when your orgasm finally fell over you. the feeling of the pressure releasing had you seeing stars, shaky crying moans leaving your mouth. your back arched and tears pricked the corners of your eyes. you were sure you'd be bruised on the inside by the next day.

"that's it baby," he hissed, his grip on your legs tightening. "atta girl..." he purred, his tone tense with his own incoming orgasm. he wanted to help you ride out yours first, so he did. his hips kept that brutal, hungry pace, slamming into your drooling pussy with a fervor he didn't even know he had. he wasn't much of a talker in the midst... you didn't notice that he'd gone quiet, though, too absorbed in the aftermath of your orgasm.

he groaned out, his eyebrows knitting beneath the mask as he tilted his head forward to watch himself pound you. "take it... that's it, fuck..." his tone was still encouraging, but it faded as his pace started to slow. your entire body was still ebbing with pleasure and tingling with the overstimulation of your orgasm, and you were almost struggling to come back to the earth. you were both still panting.

when he pulled out of you and tucked his cock away and fixed his sweats, he looked at you-- his tone was full of pride. "well... fuck... look at you, huh?" he tilted his head, sounding awfully smug. he retrieved your pants and panties and helped you get re-dressed.

"you know... that wasn't the kind of session i was expecting, but damn... i think that was the best i've had in a while." he stood up and helped you to your feet, patting your ass once or twice as he held you up while you regained your bearings.

"...whatever, ghost," you grumbled, still holding onto your stubbornness even after you'd been sent to heaven and brought back.

"you know where to find me. don't be afraid to come get some if you're in need," he hummed, "not like i'm in a position to deny ya."

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ When they are your guardian/teacher figure

(This idea has been requested by several lovelies and anons who wished something along those lines. It was a long while back, so I apologize if I couldn’t tag or respond to one specific ask.) 

(Platonic, gn reader is a child. Short domestic satire)

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Tartaglia (+ small Arlecchino bonus)

✧ Due to some mysterious circumstances that were too irrelevant to reiterate, Pierro was known to attend to all matters regarding your well-being. Though the Jester himself seldom graced the Palace of Snezhnaya, the sight of a diminutive, silent child was even rarer. That small, elusive child – was you.

“As your knowledge blossoms, so will you understand the merit of growth. The more hunger for knowledge you possess, the greater your intellectual progress shall become.” – The Jester spoke formally, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed off into the snowy horizon behind the window. “To withhold knowledge is to forsake power, and thus, you must wield it as a weapon.”

But when Pierro turns to face his audience, all he can see is your peering eyes barely peeking from the enormous desk. Sitting on the armchair that is way too big for you, your short legs barely touch the ground. And it doesn’t help that Pierro’s words are perhaps too… eloquent for someone your age. 

“That is to say, little one, I am telling you forgot to do your homework. Again.”  

You blinked.

“Little one,” – Pierro began carefully, his eyes narrowing. He knew your innocent silence was a cunning sign. Sensing his suspicion, you hopped off the armchair with agile speed and darted away. “Little one-! Return here at once!”

But your small form carried you off in the palace hallways, hopping under tables and chairs, you tested Pierro’s resilience as he chased you. Panting and screaming that you’ll “never succumb to the enemy” that is your homework; you refused your academic tasks and yearned to be what you truly are - a menace to the Jester’s sanity. 

Yet despite the countless times you ran away like a little criminal and the many times that the Harbinger caught you swiftly in his gloved arms, he could never raise his voice at you. His scoldings would be met with sulking. Your woeful expression always softened his sternness, leaving him with two outcomes: either you would tire him out by running, or he would tire you out by following you.

And as the night wore on, the result always remained the same. Both of you found yourselves dozing in an armchair, wrapped in a cozy blanket, and lulled into slumber by the crackling fireplace. Pierro nodded off gracefully, his head resting gently on his knuckles, while you, enveloped in sleep and warmth, lay cradled in his arms, protected from guilt in the peace of Pierro's private sanctuary. Running around does tire one out, after all. 

✧ Impressive in his ominous stature, Il Capitano towered above the smaller child. Despite your shy demeanor, you still stuck closely to Il Capitano's side, often hiding behind his coat; your hands clutching the fur as you shielded yourself from the intimidating Fatui troops working alongside him. 

Capitano, however, harbored reservations. The training grounds were no suitable habitat for a small one like you. He was hardly a natural caregiver and yet, he knelt beside you, his pitch-black visage peering straight down at your awestruck expression. He expected his unwelcoming helmet would frighten you off, yet all you did was place your tiny palms on his helmet and exclaim: “Capi!”

“This place is not for a child like you. You shouldn't wander around these parts, darling. They are dangerous and you're much too small for the many sharp weapons stored here.”

You smiled at him, curiously trying to reach for the golden chains around his helmet. It seems you weren't afraid of him.

“You may be a fearless little warrior, but you must stay on your guard. What if an enemy came to swoop you up, small one?” - Capitano lifted you high, his armored hands careful so as not to poke your smaller figure. You just emitted a small happy “wee!” in response.

How easy it is to crack a knight's exterior solely with a childlike smile. 

That's how you found yourself under his protective wing, never once heeding his warning as you continued to follow him diligently. Whenever the Harbinger was training, you watched. Whenever he did his usual warm-up push-ups, you tried to mimic. You obviously failed and quickly plopped onto the floor by the second push-up. 

“Easy there,” - Capitano offered you to sit cross-legged on his back while he continued his pushups. You were much smaller anyway, so whether you hung on his forearms whenever he lifted weights or did pushups, it barely posed a physical challenge. You, however, were beyond gleeful to be involved in his training, your face awash in wonder as he hoisted you up with ease while you perched serenely on his back. 

It's comical how this captain's reluctance turned him into now a caretaker of a small wee one; and an excellent one at that. He often carries you around, ensuring you are eating well after he is done with his morning training, and silently relishing your little yawns whenever you fall asleep by resting your head on his shoulder. 

✧ Il Dottore sat behind his desk, the solitary glow of the desk lamp casting long chiaroscuro shadows that slithered across the lab. It was another silent night, save for his swift scribbling over scientific reports. Suddenly, The Doctor felt a tug at his leg. Humming in response, he glanced down to find none other than you looking up at him with a small bundle of your favorite comforter clutched tightly in your tiny hands. 

“Hm? Can't sleep?”

You nodded. 

With great care, Dottore lifted you to his chair and placed you beside him. One hand resumed its task, grasping his pen to scrawl his intricate research calculations, while the other rested securely on your back, ensuring you were steady on his lap. With a sleepy haze, you observed his writing - so many big words and different numbers. You pointed at one and inquired:

“Dottie… what is this word?” 

“This is pronounced ‘metamorphosis’. To describe a transformation or change from one form to another, like a caterpillar changing into a butterfly.”

“Meta-fofis…” - you imitated to the best of your comprehension.

"Meta-morph-o-sis."

You parroted in a murmur, to which The Doctor rewarded you with a hair ruffle. While his reports were nearly complete, he paused, pointing to another word on the page: “And this, little one, how do you pronounce it, remember?” 

“Um, axono-trophy.” 

“Indeed, well done. And what is the meaning of Axonotrophy?”

“A condition where axons are destroyed due to disease.” 

A prideful gleam graced Il Dottore's features. Your answers reflected not only a keen absorption of the various biological terminology but also his own success in mentoring you. Perhaps for regular children, such tedious topics are far from entertaining, yet The Harbinger saw the way your eyes beamed with curiosity at the many tomes of books, reports, and vials. And he would never forbid your curiosity like his homeland once did.

“A brilliant scholar in the making, little one. Excellent job,” - he patted your hair, letting you comfortably settle on his lap to rest. You hugged your comforter as he continued to work, a big yawn escaping you. Unaware of when you succumbed to the lulls of sleep, you drifted off, cocooned in warmth and security while Dottore silently finished his reports. 

✧ Scaramouche released a vexed sigh, his patience being tested. He wasn't on a Fatui mission by any kind, yet his solitude began to wane as a smaller figure kept following him around in a less inconspicuous manner. 

“You know you're not being sneaky, right? Stop following me around, kid.”

You flinched. The Harbinger turned to glare at you and you felt even smaller as he scolded you. You hid the item you brought behind your back, trying to conceal your bruised knees and scratched little fingers.

“I’m… I'm not following around, mister,” - you defend meekly, but Scaramouche only crossed his arms. “I made you a gift!” 

What sort of present could a child even muster for a Fatui Harbinger, Scaramouche mused to himself. You looked so unkept, hair tangled, and dirt stuck to your sandals as if you stumbled somewhere around a grassy hill. The Balladeer raised an eyebrow but reluctantly obliged. He kneeled before you – “Spit it out, kid. What do you want?”

You stepped closer and with naïve determination - you handed him a crocheted little toy. It was far from a professional mastery, with some knots uneven, but the vision was clear. This little toy resembled Scaramouche, with short dark hair and a funny flat hat. 

“I made this for you! Mister looks very pretty, like a doll! So I tried… to make one.” 

Scaramouche stared silently, his lips parted. The black buttons of the round doll stared back at him. A brush of a certain memory swept him like the gentle breeze of early autumn; your bright determination, so radiant while you were so small, left him frozen. He saw all this before when he donned a different name, a different time. And although he wished to scowl and say ‘Why the hell would I want a doll?’ - he never dared to. 

Instead, he held it up carefully and muttered – “Hm, I suppose it looks like me. Not bad. You did this all on your own?” 

You nodded eagerly. The Harbinger decisively offered his hand, your smaller one clutching onto him as if he were an older sibling.

“Come on, kid. Let's get you cleaned up and tidied. Goodness knows when you last had a good meal, too.” 

✧ What a jubilant day it was for Pantalone. He has just returned from a shopping venture; his servants aiding him with bags of newly ordered accessories and state-of-the-art attires. Little you sat plopped on a soft cushion, yet even to someone as minute as you comprehend the Harbinger's energetic pacing. It was one of those days when the 9th would go on some tangent about Mora. Again. 

“You see dear, Mora is the true physical leyline of the human world,” - he stood behind you, busying himself with styling your hair delicately while you sat in front of a dresser. “It is what ensues power, gaining influence of the world's machinations.”

You watched as he proudly brushed and styled your hair, spending more time picking up the newly brought ties and accessories than actually styling.

“But there is more to it!” – Once satisfied with your tidy appearance, the Regrator picked you up in his arms, lifting you to his level. “I am not speaking about monetary gain, my little gem. I am speaking of what you value most in your life. 

With one arm securing you, his second arm reaches for various items. He sets out some precious jewelry on one side, their shiny gemstones gleaming with pristine silver. Then he set down some soft plushies. Even the Fontainian toys he purchases are of foreign mastership with unique designs. And on the other side of the dresser, the last item he placed was stacks of your favorite books and pencils. 

“Say, little one. Of all these things, which is most important for a young gem like you?” 

Pantalone held you securely in his arms, a thoughtful look on his expression as you blinked in wonder. It seems he tried to give you some sort of speech about the difference between monetary gain, hedonistic lifestyle, and the value of work. Shiny riches, toys, or books. He waited patiently for you to choose, hoping that the simple representation of items would convey the seriousness of his questions. 

You, however, simply blinked and peered at those jumbles of items. Instead, you turned to inspect him and decided on a straightforward answer: “Pantalone!”

So you just wrapped your arms around him. 

The Harbinger tried not to weep. He never considered himself an option when comparing his value to Mora. He embraced you tightly in response, you were already wiser than him in many regards.

 ✧ the 11th of The Fatui Harbingers, Tartaglia, was no more. Now there is only the Greatest Toy Salesman in Snezhnaya. Or so would be his title if it was a synonym for beating bad monsters because you believed it most earnestly. 

Eagerly, you followed whenever Childe was training, thinking that the shiny big weapons were something of joyous intrigue. The young harbinger would drop everything at once and swoop you in a hurry before you touch the sharp blades. 

Interesting gauntlets worn by Anemoboxer Vanguards? Touch. 

Interesting pyro-infused rifles held by Pyroslinger Bracers? Touch. 

Dual blades gleaming whenever Pyro Agents tossed them? Also must touch.

All that and more were followed by Tartaglia’s hurried ‘No!’ as he rushed to your side. You were a small bundle of energy. And suddenly Childe realized how much of a nuisance he must've been to his dad when he was younger.

“Kid, how many times have I told you,” - he sighed, pulling you up over his shoulder. “Touching is a no-no if something is sharp!”

Hence, to put your curiosity into use, Childe made a miniature wooden bow for you, your new toy. Decisive in teaching you the baby steps of handling a bow, Tartaglia considered himself to be well off in the art of shooting lately; his posture even became better when aiming the weapon. This will be a good start to mentor you.

You were ecstatic, even if your arrows would plummet to the ground or way behind the shooting range. After all, similar to your curiosity, Ajax was also once a restless child like you. 

✧ You stared up at the red crossed-out pupils boring into your soul. The tall lady stared back, her gaze locked into a cold narrowed shape. Arlecchino regarded you carefully, seeing your hesitation when you noticed her ashen black hands. Was it your child-like curiosity or fear that struck you to freeze still? Because the 4th of Fatui Harbingers knew the scent of gullible reticence.

“Go on now. Why the hesitation, child? Something struck your curiosity or is it fear?”

You stayed still, mustered up your courage, and stated: “Eyes… pretty! Red and black.” 

Father’s narrowed gaze falters. It seems she misjudged you, you weren’t skittish like the usual little youngsters. A spirit of curiosity at such a young age must be nurtured. Thus, The Knave offered her hand, and your smaller one eagerly held onto it, inspecting the unique markings on her fingers. 

“Hm, if it's a curiosity of the unknown you are displaying, then you must be a brave little one. But if it's flattery you’re trying to achieve, then know that it will get you nowhere.”

You obediently picked up the pace, walking alongside her, hand in hand, while Arlecchino’s heels clacked against the floor. Her shadow cast upon your smaller one, enveloping you like an unassailable eclipse against the world. 

(as always, thank you everyone for the kind words and messages! Dw I see and read your asks❣)

[brooke121000]

hot chocolate • Spencer reid

In which Spence and Reader attempt to make hot chocolate, but get distracted. (oh no!)

warnings: cute smut, oral (f recieving) softdom!spencer, v little plot, p in v

a/n: first time writing smut!

———————————౨ৎ———————————

“mmm-“ you sipped the cocoa, passing him a mug. “Top tier, really-“

“See? Half and half wasn’t a bad idea.” Spencer grinned, happily accepting the tacky porcelain snowman mug and tasting the hot chocolate inside.

“I admit.. you’re a genius.” 

It rarely snowed in Virginia. You personally had never seen snow- so even heavy rain you would accept as “wintery”, insisting on staying in with Spencer.

He lazily stirred the pot of cocoa, wrapping an arm around your waist, which you happily accepted. “You know-“ he began. “There’s a lot of dispute about when hot chocolate was popularized and by who.” 

You quirked an eyebrow in interest.

“Some say it was brought to the French by Spanish conquistadors.. that seems to be the general consensus.” He mused.

“Huh..” you tilted your head. “I don’t buy it. What’s my other option?”

He smiled, letting the spoon rest against the pot as he turned to you, hands on your waist and oaken eyes trained on yours with a gentle warmth that seemed to calm you from the inside out. 

“..Jamaica.” He answered.

“Now, that’s an origin I can get behind.”

“Well- wait makes about Jamaica makes it more believable?”

“It.. sounds cooler, mostly.” You admitted, hands wrapping around his neck.

“You’re silly.”

“I know..” you said, your voice softened. “you don’t seem to mind.” His grip tightened gently on your waist, fingertips massaging into the soft skin as your lips met. Your pre-relaxed body sunk into his embrace, a painfully familiar heat rising and lingering within you.

“you’re.. beautiful.” He said quietly- breathing strained.

“you’re not so bad yourself.”

That arose a tiny chuckle from him and he steered your hips, pushing you gently back against the counter. Your lips fell into another impatient kiss- and you swear you felt your knees falter. It killed Spencer to pull away again- but you whispered:

“here? Spence-“

“Where else? The bed?” He furrowed his brows, eager to hear your preference. You gave a tentative nod.

He scooped you up away from the counter, and you felt the smell of hot cocoa fade as he turned down the hallway. He tossed you among the pillows, situating himself overtop of you. 

You tilted your head up, exposing your neck. He trailed soft kisses up and down the delicate skin, teeth ghosting against you as his lips traveled downward. 

“May I?” He murmured, fingers wrapped under the straps of your tank top.

Not can I, may I. So polite. No matter how many times you told him he could do whatever he wanted.. you could scream “fuck me” till you were blue in the face- and he would still ask every time. That was what you liked about Spencer, he had to be sure about everything. 

“yes- yes, please. Spence.” You nodded fervently, and that was all he needed.

His agile hands made quick work of your clothes, tossing his pants to the floor but keeping his shirt on the bed- knowing you’d be wanting that later. When you were bare in front of him, He began to leave messy kisses up and down your chest, stopping to nip at that sweet spot under your jaw that made you shiver. 

“fuck, Spence..” you breathed.

“I know, baby.”

Firm hands took hold of your thighs, parting them. He situated his head in between, mousy brown curls ruffling against the plush skin of your leg as he trailed up and down your thighs, leaving you impatient and trembling in his wake. Not one to tease, he finally moved his lips where you wanted him to, placing a soft kiss to your clit.

All your nerves awoke at once, fluttering under him as he licked a stripe up your core, flattening his tongue. It swirled, driving you insane- pulling ribbons of shaky moans and whimpers from your lips. 

Your pulsed flushed and your hands gripped the sheets around you, an unconscious motion he wasn’t unaware of. Your occupied hands, now trembling, intertwined with his hair, gently situating themselves among the soft strands. He brought his hands back between your thighs, a finger prodding at your entrance. You eagerly accepted, pressing your back into the sheets as you gazed down at him. 

A chorus of whines, gasps and pants escaping you only motivating him to speed up, his tongue swirling and flattening as another digit joined the first. He pressed the pads of his fingers against the sweet spot inside of you, coaxing out more noises and shakes.

“mm- Spence, god-“

It was clear he wasn’t going to be responding anytime soon, seeing as his tongue was thoroughly occupied. He continued his ministrations, working you up to a point as your thighs clenched around his head- a long whimper dragging out from your lips. He seemed determined to make you cum- so when your hands tightened in his hair, he groaned lowly, the vibrations sending you over the edge.

The warmth fizzing up in your core boiled over, leaving you a whining, trembling mess.

You attempted to babble out some feeble show of gratitude as he worked you down. When he finally came up to the surface, pulling his fingers out and raising his head with a big, stupid smile. His chin was wet and his pupils blown out.

“that feel good?” He asked simply, earning a curt nod.

“I wanna hear your voice, baby.”

You shifted your hips, staring up at him as he wiped his chin. “I’m- so, so good, Spence.”

He licked his fingers clean and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, hand planted on your waist.

“more-“ you murmured. “please?”

You didn’t need to beg with him. He quickly did away with his boxers, tossing them- well.. somewhere. Face flushed and brows knit together, he kneaded the plush of your thighs, pushing your legs up to meet your chest as he planted another soft kiss on your forehead, aligning himself with your entrance. 

“you okay, angel? With me, still?” He whispered.

“Yeah- yeah, all here.”

“breathe.”

He gently pushed into you, inch after inch, a small groan escaping his lips when your walls fluttered against him. Lost for words, he pinched your waist, a small reminder to relax. He finally bottomed out, your back lifting off the mattress just slightly.

Desperate to relieve some of the pressure, you shifted your hips- which garnered a breathy gasp from him. “Don-don’t move, not yet. don’t wanna come.”

you whined at his pleading, unsatisfied and trembling. Your hips shifted once again. “Sorry, sorry- can’t wait, Spence, that’s all.”

He pulled in another breath, face flushed. “It’s- okay. ‘m gonna move now.”

He slowly pulled his hips away from yours, tugging at the invisible chord between you and taking your breath away all in one fluid motion. When he pushed back inside you again, you released a moan you didn’t know you were capable of producing. With one hand on your thigh, holding your knees up, he pushed into you again, slowly gaining a steady pace even with your consistent trembling.

“Please, more- fuck!”

As if to escape the stimulation, you threw your head back- on the cusp of yet another orgasm. You babbled out a string of please’s, more’s, and ‘don’t-stop’s, pressing your hips into him. 

“just, fuck- just a little more, angel.”

His words were practically lost to you, mixed in with a cacophony of your own breath, your moans, whimpers, and the rising tension in your stomach as you approached your second time around. 

He pressed up against your cervix- and the gentle pressure was all you needed to go flying off the edge. Your hands intertwined behind his neck, hips lifting off of the mattress as you cried out, lost in the sensation. It was only a few more seconds before he came as well, slowing his movements with desperate, panting breath. 

He withdrew from you, joining you on the bed, tugging the blanket over you two and pulling you close to his chest. 

You stayed there for a while, your heart rate calming as he stroked your shoulder, calming your frazzled nerves.

“Shit- the hot cocoas gonna get cold.”

[cheriladycl01]

Joy Ride - Charles Leclerc x Reader SMUT

Plot: Charles shows you what he can do in the backseat of his Ferrari

Warnings: SMUT, fingering, hand job, p in v, car sex, 18+ Minors DNI

It was the typical date night with your boyfriend Charles, he'd taken you out for a dinner in Monaco after you guys had a little flutter in the Monte Carlo Casino. Now he'd driven you guys out of the province and into France.

The windows were rolled down and the sea breeze was whipping through your hair. Charles couldn't keep his eyes off of you, not just right now but for the whole night you guys had been together. You were in this dress, it must have been new as Charles had never seen you in it and he'd stayed in close contact all night not enjoying the prying eyes from the other men that had been around on the streets.

However, the road and getting you guys safley to the destination he had in mind was his top priority.

But fuck you looked incredible and his grip on the steering wheel was getting tighter and tighter.

"You okay baby?" you ask with a honey dripping from you voice that nearly had Charles head rolling back. You turn to him, looking at his tensed up expression and how rigid he seemed in the car.

"Mhmm" he answers with a tight lipped smile, keeping his eyes forward on the road, only glancing in the rear view mirror a few times just to keep an eye out.

"Are you sure, you seem tense. I didn't want to say anthing earlier but now im just worried" you offer, placing a gentle hand on his thigh that has his whole leg cramping up from tensing it.

"Okay what the hell is wrong?" you ask a little bit of aggravation in your voice.

"Nothing, I said i was fine" he awkwardly laughs, shaking off the growing feeling in his pants.

"No, something is wrong. Tell me!" you beg thinking its something that you've done wrong.

"It's okay, I promise" he says, but you can still hear the grit in your voice.

"No, stop the car right now" you say, looking over at him.

"What?" he asks in shock looking over at you.

"I said stop the car Charles!" you say, some grit in your own voice from annoyance that you felt towards your usually calm and open boyfriend.

He pulls the car up into a safe side layby a gulp as he makes sure its in neutral and turns off the engine. He runs a hand through his hair, shocked at your tone before turning to look at you, only to be met with a sight he'd never seen before. Your arms were crossed and a pout was held tightly on your lips.

"Whats got you upset? Was it something i said?" he asks now more concered for you than anything.

"No, but i know you arent being honest with me about something! What is it? Please just tell me!" you ask turning in your seat, a look of concern flashing across your own face, seeing him now look forward at the road, only a streetlight a couple of yards down the road lighting up the surroundings.

"You've been teasing me all evening and i just want to get home without crashing this car because I'm so distracted by you" he groans his thumb hitting the centre peace of the wheel, close to the horn as his knuckles tighten around the edges of the wheel.

"All night, Charles you should have said" you coo at him as a hand goes to his thigh making him tense and look at your hand that even looked pretty to him. Even your nails that you'd had freshly done with your friends two days ago that he'd not yet felt scrape down his back creating little red lines of lust that he loved feeling.

"Baby, stop! Lets just get home" he groans out his head cocking to the side to look at you.

"So irritable Mr Leclerc" you coo looking across at him before taking your seatbelt off.

You move with the agility of a cat, making your way onto the back seat before twisting over and beckoning him to follow you though. The car, as a sport car, was in fact smaller than others so saddling up in the back was harder than it would in something like a 4x4.

Charles held eye contact with you in the rearview mirror as he took his seatbelt off. He turned to look at you, eyes now blown wide in excitement that he was finally getting what he'd been craving all night.

"So pretty" he sighs as he takes a seat in the back, dragging you to sit on top of his trousers. He toughs with the edging of the dress you were wearing where the slit reached the top of your thigh. His hands slip under, feeling the edge of the lace panties you knew to put on for the events you hoped would happen later that night.

"Can i? Please?" he asks waiting to touch you further.

"You don't have to ask, the answers always going to be yes" you moan as he leans up to kiss across your jaw and down your neck. His fingers slip into your underwear feeling the wetness before slipping in with ease.

Clearly he wasn't the only one who had gotten worked up.

"Do you want me as much as i want you?" he whispers in your ear making you shiver and grasp as his fingers make a scissoring motion that has you rocking your hips against his hand for more friction. The feeling of his trousers rubbing against your thighs as you move back and forth has you leaning into his neck, leaving open mouthed kisses across his skin.

"Yes, please Charles" you moan into his skin as he speeds up the movement of his fingers his thumb toying with your clit despite the ache in his wrist from the awkward angle you guys are currently at.

"Come on touch me too, im just as desperate as you" he gasps as your hips rocking forces pressure against him that he needs to let release.

Your hands reach down undoing the button as clasp of his back trousers pulling them and his boxers down just enough to have his cock spring up. Your hand grasps it, starting in a slow and steady motion dragging your thumb over the top having the most whiny moans come from his as you do, his hips thursting up in approval.

"I cant wait any longer please" he moans moving the skirt of your dress behind you. He pulls your underwear to one side holding the base of himself as he eases in. A sigh comes from the pair of you as he bottoms out, holding you against his for a second.

"Been waiting on this all night" he sighs breathing heavily agaisnt your neck as he feels you start to move up and down. He thrusts up meeting yours in the perfect tandem, loving hearing the moans and breathy gasps that were coming from you. Your hand grabs his chin forcing him to look at you.

"Why didn't you say anything" you scoff out a laugh a little bit.

"Didn't wanna rush or ruin the - the night" he moans as he feels you tighten around him.

"You've not ruined the night at all" you moan as you clentch around him. The feeling has him thrusting up into you, getting as deep as possible.

"I'm gonna cum baby" he moans as he grips your hips tighter.

"Me too, fuck.." you moan as your eyes close and you feel the coil in your stomach snap.

"Fuck" Charles moans as his eyes close and he relaxes back as you help the both of you ride out your highs.

You slow down and cuddle againt him, listening to him get his breath back.

"We could have waited until we got home" Charles says smiling at you a little.

"Mmmmm but that was fun! We should do it again" you grin at him, placing a light kiss on his cheek.

And with that you guys drove home, both getting in the bathroom for a much needed shower.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[xichilie]

Dropping by to say that I absolutely live for your Phainon/Mydei X reader stories!! IDk if youll be interested in this idea but hear me out.. Since reader is so oblivious, what do you think would be our reaction to Mydei trying to flirt with reader in a Kreamnoan way? Sparring, Gifting weapons, ect. And would Phainon pass out from laughing at his attempts or actually try to be a wingman in this situation?

I love this idea, phainon would enjoy this. He would definitely tease Mydei, but he would help him, too.

Mydei x (fem)reader

The sun hung high over the training grounds, its golden light reflecting off the polished steel of the weapons scattered around. The air was thick with the scent of metal and sand, the rhythmic clash of blades ringing through the open space as Mydei and Y/N sparred.

Mydei’s golden eyes were sharp, focused entirely on Y/N as she lunged toward him, her form precise but still just a little off-balance. He deflected her strike with ease, the weight of their swords meeting with a satisfying clang.

“That all you got?” he teased, stepping back smoothly, effortlessly avoiding her next swing.

Y/N huffed, rolling her shoulders before gripping her sword tighter. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Mydei’s lips. Good. He liked a challenge. More importantly, he liked watching her fight—it showed her determination, her will. And in Kremnoan tradition, strength was everything.

Any other Kremnoan would have immediately understood the significance of his actions But Y/N?

She just thought he was a good friend.

So now he had to resort to a different method.

His grip tightened on his own blade as he surged forward, his movements deliberate—not aiming to overpower her, but to guide her into a rhythm, a dance of steel and instinct. Y/N met him head-on, eyes bright with determination, and for a moment, Mydei nearly forgot his original goal.

Then she grinned, dodging one of his strikes with surprising agility.

“You almost got me there,” she teased.

Mydei exhaled sharply through his nose, willing down the warmth creeping up his neck. Focus.

He moved fast, catching her sword with his own and stepping in closer, their faces mere inches apart. “You fight well,” he murmured, voice lower than usual. “But you still have much to learn.”

Y/N blinked up at him, momentarily caught off guard. But before she could register anything, he took a step back, lowering his sword slightly.

“You should learn from me,” Mydei continued, his tone calm, almost… inviting. “I can teach you properly.”

Y/N brightened, nodding eagerly. “Really? You’d do that?”

Mydei barely resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Yes. Obviously. That’s the whole point. Instead, he simply nodded, expression unreadable.

On the sidelines, Phainon leaned lazily against a wooden post, watching the scene unfold with an amused glint in his blue eyes. He took a slow sip of his drink, barely holding in his laughter.

Y/N had no idea what was happening.

And Mydei was suffering.

Their blades clashed again, the force of the impact sending a small vibration up Y/N’s arm. She was getting better, Mydei noted—not as easy to push back, more sure-footed with each step.

But she was still a step behind him.

He decided to test something. Instead of countering her next strike, he let her sword glance off his, shifting his weight so she overextended just a little—just enough for him to use her momentum against her.

In a swift, precise motion, he hooked his foot behind her ankle, pivoted, and swept her legs out from under her.

Y/N let out a startled oof as she hit the ground, blinking up at him in shock.

Before she could move, Mydei was already on her, one knee pressing lightly against her thigh, one arm braced against the dirt beside her head. His other hand grasped her wrist, pinning it to the ground in a firm but careful hold. His golden eyes locked onto hers, sharp and unwavering.

For a beat, there was only silence between them, the weight of his presence pressing down like an unspoken challenge.

Then, Y/N grinned.

“That was awesome!” she exclaimed.

Mydei’s eye twitched.

She wriggled her wrist slightly. “Okay, so how do I get out of this position?”

By Nikador, give me strength.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, tightening his grip just slightly as he leaned in closer. “That depends,” he murmured, his voice lower than usual. “Do you want to get out of it?”

Y/N tilted her head, considering his words. “Well, yeah? I mean, what if someone else does this in a fight? I need to know how to counter it, right?”

There was a very long pause.

Somewhere off to the side, Phainon let out a choked sound that was definitely not a cough.

Mydei’s jaw clenched. He didn’t need to look to know Phainon was watching this disaster unfold with way too much amusement.

Still hovering over Y/N, he inhaled slowly, trying to push down his growing frustration. “It’s not just about the fight,” he said carefully, watching her expression for any sign of recognition. “It’s about…” He searched for the right words, ones that she would understand.

Y/N blinked up at him, expectant, curious—completely and utterly unaware of what he was trying to say.

Phainon made another barely contained sound from the sidelines.

Mydei’s eye twitched again.

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling a slow breath before finally pushing himself off her. “Forget it,” he muttered.

Y/N sat up quickly, dusting herself off. “Wait, did I miss something?”

“Yes.”

“…What was it?”

“Nothing.”

Y/N frowned but shrugged it off, already stretching her arms, completely unaware of Mydei’s silent suffering.

Meanwhile, Phainon was practically vibrating with barely suppressed laughter, his blue eyes gleaming with pure schadenfreude.

Mydei shot him a murderous glare.

Phainon smirked.

Oh, this was too good.

Y/N stretched her arms over her head, rolling out her shoulders as she caught her breath. “Man, I really need to work on counters,” she mused. “You keep knocking me on my ass.”

Mydei ran a hand through his hair, barely restraining a sigh. “You’ll improve,” he said, though his tone was a little strained.

Not at this rate, he thought to himself.

Phainon, still perched nearby, was doing his best to smother his smirk behind one hand. He was failing miserably.

“Alright, I’ll clean up,” Y/N said, already moving toward the weapon rack.

“No need.” Mydei stepped in front of her, reaching down to pick up her sword instead. He turned it over in his hands, the blade catching the light.

Y/N tilted her head. “What?”

He exhaled slowly. Fine. If words don’t work, maybe actions will.

“This isn’t good enough for you,” he said, inspecting the sword with mild disdain before looking back at her. “It’s too light. Not balanced properly. You need something better.”

Y/N blinked. “I mean, I like it—”

“It’s not good enough.” His voice was firm, brooking no argument. “Come with me.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and started walking toward the armory.

Y/N hesitated for only a second before following.

Behind them, Phainon slow-blinked before standing as well. “Oh, I have to see this.”

The moment they stepped inside, Y/N’s eyes lit up. The rows of polished weapons, the gleaming suits of armor, the scent of oiled leather and sharpened steel—it was beautiful.

Mydei didn’t waste time. He led her straight to a display of swords, scanning them with a critical eye.

“This one.” He reached for a blade and held it out to her.

Y/N took it carefully, her fingers curling around the hilt. It was heavier than her old one, the craftsmanship finer. The weight felt solid in her grip. “Whoa… This is nice.”

Mydei nodded in satisfaction. “It’ll suit you better.”

She grinned. “Thanks! I’ll make sure to train hard with it.”

Mydei’s expression remained unreadable as he stepped slightly closer, lowering his voice. “It’s not just about training.”

Y/N blinked up at him. “Huh?”

Mydei exhaled slowly, as if willing her to understand. “Weapons are important in Kremnos. They’re an extension of yourself. You don’t just use them—you rely on them, trust them.” He paused, his gold eyes steady on hers. “Giving someone a weapon is a sign of trust. Of something deeper.”

For a moment, the air between them shifted.

Then—

“Ohhh, this is fantastic,” Phainon’s voice cut in, absolutely thrilled.

Mydei tensed visibly as Y/N turned to look at him.

Phainon leaned against a nearby rack, arms crossed, grinning like he had just found his new favorite thing in the world.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to do this,” Phainon continued. “And yet—” he gestured vaguely at Y/N, who was still just smiling in appreciation, utterly unaware “—she still doesn’t get it.”

Y/N frowned. “Get what?”

Mydei gritted his teeth.

Phainon snickered. “Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing at all.”

Y/N huffed and turned back to Mydei, giving the sword a few practice swings. “Anyway, this really is amazing. I love it. Thank you, Mydei.”

For a fraction of a second, Mydei felt his composure slip. Her words—simple as they were—settled deep in his chest.

“…Good,” he muttered, looking away.

Phainon grinned wider. Oh, this was never going to get old.

The streets of Okhema bustled with life, filled with merchants calling out their wares, the scent of fresh bread and spices filling the air. Y/N strolled ahead, glancing at the different stalls with interest, occasionally stopping to admire something or chat with a vendor.

Phainon and Mydei trailed behind her, the latter watching her carefully, as if contemplating his next move.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Phainon asked, smirking.

Mydei barely spared him a glance. “Thinking about what?”

“Your next attempt.” Phainon stretched his arms behind his head. “It’s honestly fascinating watching you try.”

Mydei ignored him. This time, he had a new approach. If direct gifts and sparring didn’t work, perhaps a more… personal experience would.

Ahead of them, Y/N had stopped at a fruit stall, eyes lighting up at the sight of some unfamiliar fruit. “Oh, these look amazing.”

The vendor grinned. “A rare specialty! Grown only in the far southern regions.”

Y/N hummed in thought. “I wonder what they taste like.”

Before she could reach for one, Mydei had already stepped forward. With a single sharp glance, he picked out the best-looking fruit, tossed a few coins onto the counter, and turned to her.

“Here.” He held it out, his expression unreadable.

Y/N blinked. “Oh, wow! Thanks, Mydei!” She accepted it without hesitation and took a bite. “Ohhh, this is so good.”

Mydei watched her reaction carefully, the smallest bit of satisfaction creeping in. Finally, progress.

Then—

“So, this is your next strategy?” Phainon’s voice practically purred from beside him.

Mydei’s eye twitched.

Y/N, still savoring the fruit, turned to them. “Strategy? What are you talking about?”

Phainon casually leaned against a nearby stall, his smirk widening. “Oh, nothing. Just admiring Mydei’s… tactics.”

Mydei clenched his jaw, barely restraining the urge to throw Phainon into the nearest crate of cabbages.

Y/N, still blissfully unaware, happily chewed. “You should try one too, Mydei! Here.”

Without hesitation, she grabbed his wrist and pressed the fruit to his lips.

For half a second, Mydei froze. His gold eyes locked onto hers, and the world tilted just slightly.

She had no idea. None at all.

And then, as if to torture him further, Phainon let out the most obnoxiously loud snort of laughter Mydei had ever heard.

“You—” Mydei turned his head just slightly, glaring.

Phainon held up both hands, but his shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Oh, please continue. This is beautiful.”

Meanwhile, Y/N was still waiting. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing. Everything.

Slowly, Mydei leaned forward, taking a small bite from the fruit she still held up for him. The sweet taste lingered on his tongue, but the warmth of her fingers against his was far more distracting.

“Good,” he murmured.

Y/N beamed. “Right?! We should buy more!”

She turned back to the vendor, already discussing how many she wanted, completely missing the way Mydei exhaled sharply, reining himself back in.

Beside him, Phainon wiped a tear from his eye. “You are so down bad, it’s actually painful.”

Mydei didn’t even respond. He simply took another slow breath, clenched his fists, and prepared for his next attempt.

Because he would succeed. Eventually.

Maybe.

The evening air in Okhema had cooled, the market’s liveliness gradually settling into a more relaxed hum. People wandered at a slower pace, street lamps flickering to life, casting a warm glow over the cobbled paths.

Mydei sat alone on a bench near the marketplace, arms crossed, his golden eyes narrowed in deep thought. The interaction from earlier still lingered in his mind—the way she had unknowingly flustered him, the way Phainon had nearly died laughing at his expense.

This isn’t working.

He had given her a sword. He had sparred with her, tested her strength, tried to offer her food—all of which were clear, meaningful signs of courting in Kremnos. And yet, she remained completely, utterly oblivious.

He exhaled sharply, his frustration barely contained.

Then came the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps.

Phainon.

Mydei didn’t even have to look up to know it was him.

“Sulking already?” Phainon drawled, dropping down onto the bench beside him, stretching his arms behind his head. “Didn’t think I’d see the great Mydei looking so defeated.”

Mydei scowled. “I’m not defeated.”

“Oh?” Phainon smirked, turning his blue eyes toward him. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sure looks like it.”

Mydei exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. He hated this. Not the challenge—he lived for challenges—but the sheer absurdity of this one.

“What else am I supposed to do?” he muttered, more to himself than to Phainon. “She doesn’t understand what any of it means.”

Phainon’s smirk widened. “Well, yeah. That’s the best part.”

Mydei turned to glare at him, and Phainon held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Look,” Phainon continued, clearly enjoying himself. “If she doesn’t understand Kremnoan courting, then maybe it’s time you try something… else.”

“…Else?”

Phainon nodded, shifting to lean forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You’ve been treating this like a battle—strategizing, making moves, all that. But Y/N’s not Kremnoan, Mydei. She doesn’t think like one.”

Mydei frowned, considering this.

“So.” Phainon grinned. “Lucky for you, I happen to have a very brilliant idea.”

Mydei arched a brow. “You?”

Phainon placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “I’ll ignore that. Because this idea? Foolproof.”

Mydei sighed. “Let’s hear it, then.”

Phainon’s grin widened.

“We make her fall for you,” he said smoothly. “The way she’d understand.”

Mydei narrowed his eyes. “And how, exactly, do you propose we do that?”

Phainon leaned in slightly. “Simple. We play by her rules.”

Mydei remained skeptical, but Phainon only laughed.

“Oh, trust me,” Phainon said, clapping a hand on Mydei’s shoulder. “This is going to be fun.”

Phainon’s grin had only grown wider as he observed the skepticism on Mydei’s face. The Kremnoan warrior looked utterly unconvinced, his golden eyes scrutinizing him as if trying to gauge whether this was another one of his ridiculous ideas.

Spoiler: It was.

But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t work.

“Alright,” Mydei said at last, arms still crossed. “I’ll bite. What’s your plan?”

Phainon leaned back, tapping a finger against his chin. “Well, first of all, let’s establish something—you’ve been trying to court Y/N your way, right? Sparring, weapons, food, all that.”

“Yes.”

“And she has no idea what’s happening.”

“…Yes.”

Phainon clapped his hands together. “Which means it’s time for a new approach. One that makes sense to her.”

Mydei gave him a flat stare. “You keep saying that. What does it mean?”

Phainon grinned. “It means we’re going to romance her the way she understands.”

Silence.

Mydei stared at him as if he’d just suggested storming a fortress alone and unarmed.

“…What?”

“Oh, you heard me,” Phainon said, far too pleased with himself. “If she doesn’t understand Kremnoan courting, then we do it her way. Flirting, compliments, maybe even gasp—” he feigned a dramatic pause “—a date.”

Mydei visibly stiffened. “That’s—”

“Not your style? Obviously,” Phainon cut in, waving a hand. “But that’s the point. You need to do something different.”

Mydei looked like he was regretting every choice that had led him to this conversation. “…A date.”

“A casual one,” Phainon said, nodding sagely. “Something low pressure. You don’t have to call it a date if that makes you want to run into battle instead.”

Mydei still didn’t look convinced.

Phainon sighed. “Listen, Mydei. Do you want her to see you as more than a sparring partner, or do you want to keep swinging swords at each other forever?”

Silence again.

Then, Mydei exhaled sharply through his nose, golden eyes dark with reluctant acceptance.

“…Fine.”

Phainon smirked. “Great. Step one: You’re going to ask her to spend time with you—outside of training.”

Mydei narrowed his eyes. “Like…?”

Phainon shrugged. “A walk. A festival. Even something as simple as grabbing food together.” He smirked. “You do eat, don’t you?”

Mydei rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Good,” Phainon said. “Now for step two—compliments.”

Mydei looked even more reluctant at that.

Phainon grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you out.” He cleared his throat, adopting a dramatic pose. “Y/N, your strength in battle is admirable, but it’s your presence that truly sets the battlefield ablaze—”

Mydei promptly shoved him off the bench.

Phainon howled with laughter as he hit the ground.

“You deserved that,” Mydei muttered.

“I absolutely did,” Phainon wheezed, sitting up. “But you get my point.”

Mydei exhaled, rubbing his temple. “…Fine. I’ll try.”

Phainon beamed. “That’s the spirit.”

Now, he just had to see how Mydei would pull this off.

It took Mydei two full days to actually work up the nerve to put Phainon’s ridiculous plan into action.

It wasn’t that he was scared—he was a warrior, after all. He had faced countless battles, endured rigorous training, and held his own against some of the strongest fighters in Okhema.

But this?

This was an entirely different kind of battlefield.

Phainon, of course, was enjoying every moment of it. He was leaning against a nearby wall, arms crossed, watching Mydei with way too much amusement as he approached Y/N.

Mydei shot him a warning glare before he turned his focus on her.

She was standing in the courtyard, stretching her arms after finishing some light training. The late afternoon sun caught in her hair, making her look…

…Tch. He wasn’t going to let himself get distracted.

“Y/N.” His voice came out sharper than intended.

She blinked and looked over at him, smiling. “Oh, hey, Mydei. What’s up?”

Mydei cleared his throat. Okay. Casual. Just ask her to spend time with you.

“…Would you like to join me?”

Y/N tilted her head. “For what?”

Damn it, Mydei, specify.

He clenched his jaw. “To—” He barely stopped himself from saying train. “…For food.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh! Sure! I’m starving.”

Phainon, from the sidelines, gave Mydei a double thumbs-up.

Mydei ignored him.

It wasn’t a date.

At least, Mydei wasn’t calling it that.

But sitting across from Y/N at the bustling market eatery, watching her happily pick at the food, he couldn’t ignore the… different feeling settling in his chest.

This wasn’t sparring. There were no weapons, no battle strategies.

Just… her.

“This place has really good food,” Y/N said between bites. “I’m surprised you suggested it.”

“…Why?” Mydei asked.

She shrugged. “I dunno, I figured if we were hanging out outside of training, it’d be something warrior-like.” She grinned. “Like arm wrestling or hunting a beast or something.”

Mydei’s grip on his drink tightened. “I can do things other than fight.”

“I know, I just—” She laughed. “It’s just funny seeing you in a setting like this.”

“…Is it?”

“A little.” She smiled. “But I like it.”

Mydei’s brain shut down for a second.

Phainon, who was conveniently sitting at a table nearby (acting as the world’s worst ‘subtle observer’), nearly choked on his drink.

To Y/N, it was just a casual statement.

To Mydei?

It felt like a damn victory.

…Tch. Focus.

“Your form has improved,” he said suddenly, the words coming out before he could stop them.

Y/N blinked. “Huh?”

Mydei set his cup down. “Your footwork. I noticed it earlier. More controlled.”

Y/N perked up. “Oh! Thanks! I’ve been working on it.”

Encouraged by the way her face lit up, Mydei pushed forward.

“Your speed, too. Faster than before.”

She grinned. “You are paying attention.”

“Of course I am.”

Y/N laughed. “Wow, Mydei. That was almost a compliment.”

“…It was a compliment.”

She giggled. “I know, I know, I just like teasing you.”

From across the room, Phainon wiped a fake tear from his eye. He’s learning.

After their not-a-date, Mydei realized something.

Compliments actually worked.

And so, he tried again.

The next day, they were walking through the city streets when he noticed Y/N adjusting her outfit, fixing the loose fabric.

It was a simple gesture. Nothing unusual.

But Mydei—remembering Phainon’s words about flirting in a way she understands—decided to speak.

“That suits you.”

Y/N blinked up at him. “Huh?”

“The color,” he said, a little gruffly. “It looks good on you.”

Y/N looked down at herself, then back up at him with a surprised smile.

“Oh… thanks!”

She was happy.

Which meant he was satisfied.

But just as he was about to move on, Phainon—who had been lurking (again)—whistled.

Mydei turned sharply to see him leaning against a stall, watching with barely contained laughter.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Phainon said, waving a hand. “I’m just so proud.”

Mydei clenched his jaw. Ignore him. Ignore him.

But Phainon wasn’t done.

“You’re really improving, Mydei. Soon you’ll be a natural at this!”

Mydei grabbed the nearest fruit off a vendor’s stall and chucked it at him.

Phainon dodged (barely) and ran off, laughing his ass off.

Y/N, completely oblivious to all of it, just smiled at Mydei again.

“…You’re being really nice today.”

I am always nice, Mydei wanted to say, but that would be a blatant lie.

Instead, he muttered, “Tch. Don’t get used to it.”

And somehow, that made her laugh.

Mydei had never taken Phainon’s advice before.

Mostly because Phainon was an idiot.

But after their last conversation—where Phainon insisted that “small, casual touches” were an effective way to fluster someone—Mydei found himself considering it.

Ridiculous, he had thought at first. Pointless.

And yet…

Here he was.

They were walking back through the marketplace again. The setting sun cast warm orange hues across the stone streets, and the air buzzed with the chatter of vendors closing up for the day.

Y/N walked beside him, talking animatedly about something—he wasn’t even sure what. He was distracted.

Because a strand of her hair had come loose, falling in front of her face.

This is it, Mydei thought.

Phainon’s voice echoed in his head: Just brush her hair back. It’s a smooth move. Works every time.

Dumb.

But effective?

There was only one way to find out.

So he did it.

Mid-conversation, he reached out, fingers brushing lightly against her cheek as he tucked the stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Simple. Quick. Just as Phainon suggested.

But the reaction?

He hadn’t expected that.

Y/N froze. Mid-step, mid-sentence.

Her words died in her throat as her eyes widened slightly.

For once, she was flustered.

She blinked up at him, a little stunned, her mouth opening like she wanted to say something—but nothing came out.

Mydei stared back at her, and for a brief moment, he felt a rush of satisfaction.

Then it hit him.

Oh.

Oh no.

What if she realizes? What if she figures it out?

He hadn’t thought that far ahead.

So, naturally, he did what he always did in unfamiliar situations—he defaulted to stoicism.

“…Your hair was in your face,” he said gruffly, looking away as if it was nothing.

Y/N blinked again. “Oh. Uh—right. Thanks.”

She laughed, a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck.

Mission success?

Mydei wasn’t sure. But he was sure of one thing—

Phainon, who had been watching from a nearby rooftop (because of course he was), was howling with laughter.

Mydei shot him a glare so deadly it could’ve killed a god.

Phainon just wiped a tear from his eye and gave him a dramatic thumbs-up.

Later that evening, when Y/N had gone off on her own, Mydei found himself regretting everything.

Because Phainon was never going to let this go.

“Oh Mydei,” Phainon sang, throwing an arm around his shoulder as they walked. “You absolute natural. Did you see her face? She froze. I almost fell off the roof trying not to scream.”

“Shut up.”

Phainon ignored him. “The hair move was perfect. Subtle. Smooth. I’m so proud.”

Mydei exhaled sharply, shrugging him off. “It was nothing.”

“It was everything,” Phainon countered. “You’re actually getting somewhere! Now you just need to—”

“I don’t need your advice.”

“Sure you do,” Phainon grinned. “Because I know you’re going to try again.”

Mydei said nothing.

Because, damn it, he wasn’t wrong.

After Phainon had finally stopped laughing, Mydei swore to himself that he wouldn’t take his advice again. Ever.

And yet, here he was.

Again.

Y/N walked beside him, completely oblivious to his internal struggle. The sun had set, and lanterns flickered along the streets, casting a soft glow over the marketplace. She hummed quietly as she admired some trinkets on display, utterly at ease.

Meanwhile, Mydei was not at ease.

Phainon’s words still echoed in his head: You need to build tension, Mydei. Do something that’ll make her think about you when you’re not around.

Mydei had no idea what the hell that even meant. But after the small success earlier, he figured a slightly bolder approach wouldn’t hurt.

Probably.

As they walked, Y/N turned to say something—he barely even heard what. He just saw an opportunity.

So he reached out and—without thinking—lightly brushed his knuckles under her chin, tilting her face up to his for just a second.

The second their eyes met, he let go.

And kept walking like nothing happened.

Y/N stood frozen in place. Again.

Mouth slightly open. Completely, utterly stunned.

Then—

Did her face just turn red?

For a brief, glorious moment, Mydei almost smirked.

And then—

A very, very loud choking sound came from behind them.

Phainon.

Mydei didn’t have to turn around to know his so-called friend was probably on the ground from laughing too hard.

Y/N, still dazed, finally snapped out of it. “Uh—what was—”

“Nothing,” Mydei said quickly.

Y/N frowned, confused, but didn’t push it. “Right. Okay…”

And just like that, she kept walking, muttering something under her breath.

Mydei exhaled slowly.

Was it perfect? No.

Did he get some kind of reaction? Yes.

And that? That was a victory.

Phainon finally caught up to him, barely holding himself together. “I—I can’t—I can’t breathe—”

Mydei shot him a sharp look. “Say another word and I will throw you off this bridge.”

Phainon wiped away a tear, gasping between laughs. “Worth it.”

Mydei sighed. He’d deal with Phainon later.

For now…

He just glanced at Y/N ahead of him—still slightly pink in the face.

Maybe, just maybe, he was finally getting somewhere.

[neoheros]

there are very little things in this world that sakusa deems valuable enough to not risk – his game, his career, his reputation, his name.

he isn’t a gambler but he is an athlete and when you’re in his shoes, playing in the big leagues, thousands of people watching, looking, judging, there are a lot of risks you have to look out for.

he has to be quiet, polite, say the right thing, say it in the right tone, say it in the right time, otherwise, he risks his job and reputation.

he has to be focused, agile, ready for any change in the volleyball world the minute - the second - it happens, otherwise, he risks getting left behind, getting replaced by someone better, newer than him.

he has to be a lot of things and the risks of not being any of it puts him in a corner - cold and confining.

all of it, he hates with a passion, he hates with an effort. so he doesn’t take any risks at all. not when it comes to his game, his career, his reputation, his name.

but you – you are probably the riskiest person he has ever met.

i mean, you guys work together for god’s sake. it’s an HR crisis waiting to happen. it puts everything he’s worked hard for at risk — his game, his career, his reputation, his name.

but still.

you always know the right things to say to him, always know the right time he’s gonna be there or the right place to sit where he sees you so clearly even in the middle of the court.

everytime you talk to him, everytime you touch him, everytime you say his name or bring him coffee, everytime you watch him play or everytime he sees you outside of work — there is a feeling in his chest and he almost hates it.

“there’s a new ramen restaurant in miyagi that i’ve been wanting to try…” sakusa clears his throat, standing a few inches away from the lockers as everyone gets their shoes on.

it’s a little bit after 4pm, practice for the day had just ended, and well, meian always tells him he needed to socialize more with the rest of the group.

the locker room is stuffy and sweaty and to be honest, he’s never really been fond of the smell wafting in the air, so he always makes it a point to be the first one out the door after he’s done changing.

today though, he stays, hangs around everybody, and even if he hates it, he goes, “does anyone want to come with me tonight?”

hinata looks up at him from his shoes, “sorry omi, gotta take natsu to the dentist after practice, i dunno how long it’ll take us.”

he gives hinata a short nod — that’s fine.

“kaashi and i are seeing a movie around 7, but next time, man, i promise.” bokuto says, his hand on his neck, apologetic, almost.

another nod — that’s fine, too.

well, at least now, sakusa couldn’t say he didn’t try to socialize more. it’s the preferable outcome for him anyway, he’s better going off on it alone.

atsumu’s voice tears him away from his thoughts, loud and too cheerful for someone who just performed 4 diving laps, “i could go with ya, omi!”

and out of instinct, he replies “no, thank you.”

his blond teammate looks like he’s gonna say something after his response but you speak before he gets the chance to.

“well, i don’t mind coming, omi.” you say, and he blinks - how long have you been there?

there’s a knot in his stomach. “tonight?”

(he thinks, please say no, please say no, please say no.)

you nod at him, “it’s gonna be snowing so some ramen would be perfect.”

he nods at you - unable to say anything else, really - and he clears his throat, looking at atsumu, who he’s now just been really appreciative of for existing all of a sudden.

“then it will be you, me, and miya?” he asks, and he wants to keep his voice quiet now, untrusting of it.

(in the corner of his eye, he sees hinata step on atsumu’s foot and he goes “ow, whaddya do that for!” bokuto gives him a look, similar to the one hinata has, and atsumu catches on.)

sakusa gives the three of them a warning look, begging, actually begging, anyone who’d listen in that silly head of his for them not to do anything stupid.

“sorry man,” atsumu flashes him a grin, and he feels his knees go weak. “i forgot i had some plans tonight, i don’t think i’ll be able to go.”

lord, forgive sakusa kiyoomi for he’s gonna kill somebody.

he wants to say something, but before he could, you beat him to it.

“perfect.” you smile, “more for us then. right, omi?”

sakusa swallows the lump in his throat, and gives you a short nod, “yeah.”

you gather your things in your hand, “i’ll come over to your place, then?”

(words that make his knees feel even weaker.)

another nod. “yes, that’s fine.”

and he regains his composure, the worst of it over, but before you turn to leave, you flash him another one of your smiles, and he wishes you would just go so he can feel his pulse return to normal again.

“it’s a date.” you say, and you’re out the door.

sakusa’s face has a whisper of a light pinkishness to it and unable to think about it too much, he blames it on the open window letting the cold in.

the second the door closes, the locker room erupts in cheers, “way to go, omi!” “you’re going on a date!” and “it’s finally happening!”

there’s a knot in his stomach, and atsumu claps him on his back.

he rolls his eyes at the group, shaking his head as he whispers something along the lines of “whatever” or “its not a big deal.”

but his face feels hot and his pulse feels like its drumming against his skin, but, he can blame that on the cold too.

the sun goes down quicker than sakusa hoped it would, it’s 6:47pm now and you’ll be arriving in no later than 13 minutes.

he takes a good look at his apartment, ransacked and messy, the complete opposite of its usual state.

there’s a knock on his door and he feels his heart beat out of his chest at the sound.

he opens it with a fervor, “i asked you to come 30 minutes ago.”

“it’s a 30 minute walk.” behind the door is atsumu, sheepish smile on his face, hands shoved into his pockets as he pushes past the brunette and into the apartment.

“woah, this place is a mess.” atsumu says aloud, even him surprised at the disarray.

“i didn’t know what to wear.” sakusa admits, and he feels embarrassment course through his skin.

“i’ll say.” the blond replies, but he doesn’t tease. “you alright, omi?”

sakusa sighs – he really isn’t. his nerves are killing him and there’s an intense nervousness that pools in his belly. you make him nervous, did you know that?

“maybe i should cancel.” he says, and he looks at himself in the mirror again — coat, scarf, gloves, check, check, check.

“what? don’t do that.” atsumu shakes his head, “it’s five minutes ‘til 7.”

he’s probably right, sakusa thinks, you’re probably on your way by now, and even with the chilling weather outside, he feels way too hot for his own good.

he takes off his gloves to alleviate some of the warmth, placing it on his dresser as he paces.

“you’re an asshole, right?” sakusa says suddenly, “punch me in the face, take me to the ER, and i will reschedule whatever this night is to when i’m readier.”

(he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready, to be honest.)

“even if i do really want to punch you in the face right now, that is so not gonna happen.”

“being your friend is useless to me.”

“yet, i’m the one you called over here.”

the doorbell rings and the both of them freeze in their places, sakusa looks over to the clock and how is it 7 already? and must you be on time for everything?

you’re already here and his place is a mess and atsumu freaking miya is standing in the middle of his apartment.

he says the first thing he can think of, “hide.”

atsumu looks at him, “what?”

he insists, “hide now.”

“are ya nuts? your apartment is a shoebox, where the hell am i hiding in here?” atsumu shakes his head, and he follows sakusa’s eyes in response as he tilts his body to look over to the bed.

“no fuckin way, nuh uh.” he backs away, “i am not hiding under there.”

the doorbell rings again and atsumu feels the nerves getting to him too.

“please. i’ll owe you.”

and atsumu wants to say no - really, he does - he’s not some teenager caught with his pants down and has to be stashed away under a bed, but sakusa looks at him in a way that makes him unrecognizable.

sakusa may not know it, but everyone can tell, every single one of them on the team knows, just how much this means to him.

(after all, the only people in msby black jackals who don’t know that sakusa likes you are sakusa and you.)

so he relents, and he gets on his knees near the bed before he scurries off under it. “you so owe me for this.”

sakusa feels embarassed – ashamed, really. he’s actually invested in this - in this date, and he wishes he was kidding, but he’s not, and he hates it.

he opens the door, and you’re there, and it’s always nice to see you outside of work.

“hi.” he says, and he doesn’t know what else to say.

“hi.” you say back, and for a second, it’s quiet.

another second passes, “can i come in?”

and he wants to kick himself, “yes. of course.”

“it’s freezing tonight.” you make polite small talk, “good thing i wore my coat.”

“it looks nice.” he nods, and he is grateful you don’t say anything about the mess of his apartment. it takes him another beat to realize what he said, and he feels embarrassed, although he doesn’t know why, so he follows up, “the coat.”

he wants to hit himself. he sounds like he’s just talking about the coat.

“you as well.” he says again. “not just the coat, i meant to say. you and the coat are nice looking. both of you.” he wants to stop talking – why is he still talking?

he looks at you, “where’d you - uh - buy it?”

great, now he sounds like he wants to take the fucking coat.

there’s a sound almost like snickering coming from under the bed but before you could look over to it sakusa clears his throat again.

“i’m ready to go,” he says suddenly, “are you?”

you haven’t been able to get a word in all night it seems, but it makes you smile - amused, and you nod, “yes.”

the night starts off okay, it’s quiet though, and he thinks, are dates supposed to be quiet?

“you okay there, omi?” you break the silence, and he wonders if you can tell what he’s been thinking.

“yeah.” a short reply, “just cold.”

you nod, “ah.”

in an effort to keep the conversation going, and the sudden realization that he may be the reason why it’s such a quiet evening, he looks to the side, and tells you, as the two of you walk the pavement to the train station:

“i forgot my gloves.”

there’s a pink hue on his ears, and he’s grateful you don’t tease him about it.

you stop walking for a moment, so he stops too.

he watches you as you work, taking the left glove on your hand off and he says nothing when you ask him to give you his left hand.

“here.” you slip on your left glove on his left hand, and it’s a snug fit, but it is warm.

then you say, “do you mind?”

and he doesn’t know what you’re talking about until you put your - now, ungloved - left hand to his -also, ungloved - right hand. fingers interlacing.

“this way, it’ll stay warm, don’t you think?”

he doesn’t trust his voice and he’s more grateful for the snow now as he finds it being his excuse for how red his ears are getting. he can only nod his head, keeping his nose tucked in under his scarf.

his lips tremble and he’s not so sure if it’s from the cold or from you.

sakusa doesn’t gamble. he doesn’t like the risks of it all. he always feels there’s always gonna be too much to lose rather than gaining anything beneficial for him.

so no – there are very little things in the world he cares enough about for him to risk anything for.

“better?” you say, and he tries harder to focus on your voice rather than your warm hand.

“yes.”

you smile and he thinks it’s really nice. “so, why was atsumu under your bed?”

his face feels hot now, his first instinct to deny that there ever was any man named atsumu under his bed, but he knows that look you’re giving him, and he knows it would be pointless to lie.

still, he doesn’t know what to say to you.

“omi?”

but then again, he never knows what to say to you.

“… i asked him to come help me get ready.”

you tilt your head, “get ready for?”

the silence becomes your answer and sakusa feels his face burn. it feels like embarrassment – but it also feels like something else.

“oh.”

and unexpectedly, you laugh, and when he hears it, for the first time all evening, his nerves finally cool on him, and he laughs too.

you bump your shoulders with his, playful, “if it helps to know, i was nervous too.”

“because of me?” he doesn’t really believe you, he doesn’t think anything can make someone like you nervous, but you, on the other hand, make him nervous all the time.

“well, you don’t really talk to me at work,” you shrug, your voice sounding teasing, “i didn’t think you liked me all that much, to be honest.”

“sorry.” he says in quiet laughter, and he can’t bring himself to look at you.

you look at him though, and he wishes that you wouldn’t. he can hear the smile in your voice still, “for what?”

“for this shitty date.”

that makes you laugh even more and he feels like it’s gonna make him fall over.

“well, we haven’t even gotten to the restaurant yet so jury’s still out on whether it’s shitty or not.” you squeeze his hand, teasing.

(and he rolls his eyes, nerves gone, and feeling much better now that he’s talking to you.)

you are probably the riskiest person he’s ever met. you put everything on the line.

by all things considered, he should stay far, far away from you — you jeopardize it all, you could take all he’s ever worked for away.

but everytime you talk to him, everytime you touch him, everytime you say his name or bring him coffee — there is a feeling in his stomach that envelops his entire body and the corner he’s been backed into doesn’t feel as cold or as confining.

you smile at him and he wants it all: he wants to wake up next to you, he wants to fall asleep and you’re the last person he sees, he wants to drive you to work and he wants you to come home with him after the day is over.

“besides,” you say, and the snow may be cold, but his face feels warm.

your voice is soft, “you can just keep taking me on them until we get it right.”

the risk is you could take everything he’s ever worked for, his game, his career, his reputation, his name. but you smile at him and your hand is warm against his and your laugh feels like it’s gonna make him fall over, and he thinks, okay — take it all, it’s already yours anyway.

[akisteahouse]

Soulmates. A concept where in a world of magic, talking direbeasts and overblots, were believable enough, with families passing down tales of romance and tragedies generation to generation. Some describe meeting their soulmate like a love-at-first-sight encounter, others say it feels like finding a missing puzzle piece, an instant click.

So… what do the Savannaclaw boys think of meeting you, their soulmate, for the very first time?

Jack Howl! Who had been fed all the fantastical stories of soulmates ever since he was a child - constantly begging his parents to tell him the tales over and over again, before repeating the tales as bedtime stories to his younger siblings, to the point that they had long gotten sick of it, asking him to read them something else for once, please? So, of course, Jack had expected - no, waited - for his soulmate to come, eventually. Hopefully, by the time he’d graduated Night Raven, opened up maybe a gym, with a nicely furnished apartment of his own, with a small balcony to put his cacti… but fate had other plans. You. Just another student walking the vast halls of Night Raven. And yet. Just the sight of you made his face burn hotter than the many days of running track under the sun ever could, the blood roaring louder than waterfalls in his ears, the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart beating against his chest… oh, and his tail thumping on the floor. Wait, what? Thanks to you, he simply can’t focus on any of his classes and club activities anymore… what a bad influence! >:( As his soulmate, you ought to take responsibility… By following his principles, of course! Which means he’ll have to be around you to make sure you follow them! Whatever shall you do… ;)

Ruggie Bucchi! Who never really thought much of it. Sure, sure - he’d meet his destined soulmate, and then what? Partners were costly, and he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be worth it. Besides, what kind of idiot would want to date, much less marry, some poor street rat? No one, he supposed - and he really couldn’t blame this mysterious soulmate either. Sure, granny would nag him constantly for this belief, telling him to ‘Have a little whimsy!’ But he couldn’t. Because whimsy took up time, and time was something he couldn’t afford. Until he met you, that is. It was a complete accident - you were simply yet another unassuming person who had just bought a sandwich from the school’s canteen, the same sandwich that everyone wanted. Which meant Leona had to get it and sent Ruggie to steal it for him. So, Ruggie did what he always did. He sneaked up to you, snickered, and was about to use his unique magic when - oh. You heard him. Well, that didn’t happen often. Your eyes locked into his, and he felt his knees weaken, his tail twitch, and his hands tremble. “Y-You - Laugh With Me!” Who then proceeded to run away with non of the limbless agility he usually possessed, face burning pink. Ohnonononono - absolutely not. Unless? But you - agh, he forgot Leona’s stupid sandwich! Hey, soulmate - help him out here, pleaaaaaaaaase? ;)

Leona Kingscholar! Who wasn’t really fond of all that soulmate crap. After all, his parents weren’t soulmates, and the only soulmated pair in his family were Falena and his wife, and that was just a lucky fluke. Besides, even if he did meet his soulmate, if they weren’t royalty? End of that relationship. Who was he to say that he’d even meet his soulmate? Hundreds and hundreds of people lived in Sunset Savanna, much less the entire world of Twisted Wonderland, so the chances of finding them realistically were slim. The thought had never really bothered him much - after all, he couldn’t miss someone he don’t know. And then, you happened. Just another fool who’d stumbled upon him napping in the botanical gardens, with the luck of accidentally waking the prince up. He had lazily cracked his eye open, tail twitching in annoyance when - huh. His heartbeat raced, eyes boring into yours with an intensity. Great Seven. His ears twitched for any sounds from you, tail unconsciously curling around your ankle. Soulmate. He’d actually managed to meet his soulmate. What kind of cruel prank was this? (Do expect to get trailed and used as a human pillow now. Sorry not sorry. ;) )

[lovepotionsz]

Mark & Mark Variants x Viltrumite GN!Reader (Mohawk-No Goggles) (Suggestive)

CW: Minor pet death (not caused by you, mark or variants) , dubious consent from reader on the variant parts.

WC: 2.9k

You were sent to earth by the Empire as a child, to gather intel and return to Viltrum when you hit 25 in human years. You did as you were told, you did your best to be this cold-hearted, brutal strong viltrumite, but you couldn’t be what they wanted in the end. Your family was so loving, your friends were too precious, you got to learn what compassion and empathy felt like. You cried, you smiled, you felt your heart drop to your stomach, you laughed with your friends drunk out of your minds near a 7/11 at 3 am, and laughed so hard you threw up. You felt your heart get torn to pieces when you saw your first crush kiss another person, you grieved when your family cat passed away, and you felt anger at the drunk driver that took your precious cat — no, friend. 

You felt more alive than you ever could back in the Empire. You didn’t care about that selfish mission anymore, couldn’t give two shits about conquering and ruling, earth was amazing as is. Yes, it was full of corruption and suffering, but it also harbored love so undoing you never even thought to fight back. That’s why, when you were offered to protect the beauty of this world, you agreed instantly. Your parents were apprehensive, worried about you, but you convinced them after a heartful crying session on the family couch– the same couch that your parent had wrapped a bandage around your ankle so worriedly, not knowing your twisted ankle had already healed. You didn’t tell them that it did. Your canvas of this world was already full of colors of all the emotions you have lived through.

Though, somehow, the colors on the canvas shined brighter than any sun the day that you met him. 

“Hey, name’s Invincible, let’s do some good together, yeah? God was that– was that too corny?,” he awkwardly rubbed at his neck, you could sense his body temperature rise up without skin contact – viltrumite genes – you had chuckled at his awkwardness, introduced yourself and you two hit it off that day. Your missions together always went well, your quick wit and strategies plus your durability complimented his agility and strength– dancing with you as defense and him as offense, a powerful, impenetrable waltz to any enemy.

You went to shitty fast food places after missions, ate melted ice creams at 3 am close to that same 7/11, he stayed at your place until sun rose up playing video games and reading comics – you learned he was a huge seance dog fan as well – you went to huge comic cons, helping each other get into cosplay.

He looked deep into your eyes as you applied a tiny bit of blush on his cheeks, he honestly looked stunning, however the eye contact wasn’t helping your fast beating heart, and you’re pretty sure he can hear it. You don’t know where his powers come from yet, but, you just know he can hear your heart leaping from your ribcage every time your eyes catch his.

“I know I’m gorgeous, but you’re staring, Grayson,” you managed to roll out with a sarcastic tone, you watched as he blinked himself out of a trance– did he even know he was staring that hard?

“I’m so– so sorry, I just- I uh,” his eyes going everywhere but your eyes now, caught and too embarrassed to admit he was staring. 

“You can keep going, sorry uh– for the staring,” you chuckled softly at how red the tips of his ears had gotten, feeling a warm sensation envelop your whole being as you add the finishing touches to his makeup, you got your face closer to his so close that you saw how his eyes widened, and his pupils dilated just a bit– that made you smile softly, “you can look as much as you like, pretty boy,” you laughed despite yourself at how red his whole face was now despite the makeup, stopping yourself and apologizing softly as you heard him grumble. You teased him all day about it though, after all, the feelings you’ve harbored for months were not unrequited, for the first time since meeting him, you felt elated once again. 

After that, he asked you out after a particular rough mission where your comms were broken, and you couldn’t talk to him for almost the entire mission– he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you to a freak accident on the job, and he really couldn’t lose you to his cowardice by not asking you out and watching you slip out of his hands. Your first date went as you’d expect– fighting a titan like being as you flirted with each other and stole a kiss or two in the air.

You both decided that you deserved a cheap, sugary and salty meal and grabbed food from burger mart, eating on the rooftop of a skyscraper, watching the sun set.

You laughed as he tried to stuff the fries into his mouth before they went cold and soggy, you let him have a sip of your soda– he drank from the same straw you used – your hands inching closer with each passing minute before they connected together with your lips, the sun was just setting, his mouth tasted like cheap burger and soggy fries, his lips soft and inviting as he followed your lead. The kiss was clumsy, filled with awkward chuckles and giggles, trying to angle yourselves properly, but it was yours. The moment, the kiss, each other's touch, it was all yours, he was all yours, the man that mad every hour of training and fighting villains worth it was finally yours.

Then he opened that stupid – pretty – mouth, 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you this, but– are you a Viltrumite?”

You felt boiling water spill on your head, down to your whole body when your brain registered his words. 

He knew! He knew and he–

“How– How do you even know that?”

Without realizing, your entire body went rigid, your eyes wide and your heart was beating so fast it threatened to burst Mark’s eardrums, “I… guessed? Your powers are so similar to mine, the way you use them, the way your body moves in battle– and uh a gut feeling, you could say,” his explanation only made you realize how sloppy you had gotten around him, something a Viltrumite should never be, it’s all your fault, they’re going to find you, you need to get away now. 

You hadn’t realized how frantic your breathing had gotten, how much your body was shaking as your brain took a few seconds to realize you were being hugged and Mark was trying to talk to you. You took a breath and pushed him away, watching as his face contorted in worry, his eyes frantic as his mouth opened to say something, but you interrupted him,

“Are you going to take me to them? Why did you even let me kiss you if you knew– why did you let me so close if you knew? Oh god, I need to–”

“I’m a Viltrumite too!” 

His voice rang in your ears, his words ricocheting around in your brain as you finally process them, and you look into his eyes, “You… are?” you saw his form relax, and he shifted his body closer to yours, taking your hands in his as gentle as he could– god he’s so warm – “yes, that’s why I wanted to know if you were one as well, I’m not going to tell anyone if you don’t want me to–” he exhaled a shaky breath, “I could never allow anything to hurt you, and if you think this information is dangerous I will take it to my grave,” he pulled your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, “you’re safe with me, baby, always,” you couldn't form words, you could only let him hug you as your body shook with each sob escaping from you, his soft words and gentle touches comforting you as you feel the weight of the world release from your shoulders.

He knew, he didn’t care, he still loved you. 

His face held such a gentle expression as he kissed you again, you felt like your body would shatter then and there.

Yet, your newly blossoming relationship wouldn’t have peace for long as they were here, the so-called Variants. 

Mark warned you to hide, that surely they would target you. However, you had a family to protect, a lover to defend, you simply couldn’t stand still and do nothing.

You leaped through the air like a bullet, your sight zoning on the variant not far from you as you took a deep breath and leaped down.

Mohawk Mark

His cackle as he was stomping some guys head in got cut short with a pained groan as you your feet landed on his back, the momentum from your leap making the hit more affective.

You squinted as the dust and the debris hit you in the face, along with the variants blood, your face scrunched up in disgust as you leaped back when you felt him move. He grunted as he got up, you turned your eyes to your back for a second to confirm that civilians were being evacuated. Good. You could fight properly, then. Your attention snapped back to him as he exclaimed your name with an astounded shout.

“Holy shit! You’re on Earth!?” 

When your expressions turned to a puzzled one, he sighed and put his hand on his hip– like you were the stupid one between the two of you.

“Y’know, you’re from the Empire, you never left, and you were sent to stop me but fell in love with me instead, duh!” 

“What the fuck are you talking about, spiky?” 

He barked a laugh at the nickname, “as foul-mouthed as always, aren’t you? Fuck, I missed that,”

You rolled your eyes, using the ground to gain momentum, bending your knees, forming an X with your arms in front of your face before leaping at him with full force. You both grunted in effort– well you did, his was from was pleasure unbeknownst to you – as you both went through the prison, concrete, debris, and the glass had you closing Yorubas to avoid damaging said organs, you really need them right now.

You coughed a few times while your eyes adjusted to your surroundings, breath ripping from your throat as you feel him kick you right on the stomach, which sends you violently flying through the building to the outside of it once again. You shake your head as you get up, it didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would, this fucker was holding back, he was underestimating you. Your eyes locked on his with as much anger and spite you could muster as he whistled with that damn fucking smirk on his face, taunting you.

“Damn, you look as hot as I remember when you get angry like that,” 

You huffed, trying not to let his taunts get to you as he stepped closer, taking one, two as he sped up, and you blocked the incoming kick with your arms, hissing in pain as you got pushed onto your back to the ground, you planted your hands on the ground on the either side of your waist as you willed your body to get up, god your arms were burning– a gasp left you as the variant sat on your pelvis, planting himself there, unmoving even as your legs kicked. 

You finally looked up at him, his cheeks were dusted the faintest shade of pink as he looked down at you, his breathing hard as his chest moved up and down, pupils blown as wide as they could while drinking up your expression and how your body was twisting and turning to get away from him– he pinned both of your arms above your head with one hand, making you finally look at him fully instead of around him to look for an escape.

Fuck, “you look so fucking hot like that, I could get off just like this, what do you think hm?”

He cackled when he felt your entire body go rigid, “what, you a virgin?” he joked as his gaze never left your eyes, when your expression turned to one of shock and embarrassment, he felt his cock throb inside the spandex suit, “shit, you are!” he cackled once again when you looked offended but didn’t retort. He was right.

His face got so close to yours, your lips a breath away, “well, that dumbass should’ve been faster, then,” your eyes widened as he closed what was left of the distance between you as his lips latched onto yours. This wasn’t sweet, soft, or gentle like your Mark, it was rough, it hurt, it felt like he was tearing you apart in the best ways when his fang nipped your bottom lip– you groaned in pain as you felt him licking the blood seeping from the injury he made, your lips moving on their own as the smell, presence, and voice of Mark enveloped your brain, put a curtain over your judgment as said brain turned off, and your body took over.

You exhaled a breath when you felt his tongue enter your mouth, your body arching closer to him as you felt his chest rumble with approval. Your teeth and lips crashing into each other as your legs still kick at him as much as they can, he groaned every time you managed to hit him, the fucker likes it.

He chuckled breathlessly at your stupidly cute expression when he broke the kiss, he didn’t need to breathe but feeling your lips on his again felt so cathartic he didn’t give two shits about what Angstorm wanted from him anymore. You were as submissive, pliable and adorable as he remembered, with a lot less rough edges, but he could never complain when it came to you.

He’s taking you home.

No Goggles Mark

He squeaked in surprise as he felt your kick, hissing in pleasure as soon as he smelled you, disappointed when you bounced off from his back and landed in front of him with that expression that looked so sexy on you– he hasn’t blinked yet and that’s freaking you the fuck out. 

You watched in absolute confusion as he started giggling, biting down on his bottom lip so hard that it started bleeding, he didn’t seem to care about it though, getting up from the ground as those wild eyes never left yours. Okay, yeah, you were freaked out.

“Why the hell are you looking at me like–”

“How could I not? God, that was so fucking good, c’mon! Again! Again!”

You blinked a few times,

“You’re just gonna let me hit you–”

He groaned with impatience, “yes, yes I am! Fuck, come ooonnnn!” 

Well, if that’s what he wants.

You ran up to him and landed a kick right on his chest, he didn’t even blink, just watching you with as much attention a living organism could muster. It went on like this for a good 5 minutes, you hit, he moaned – which, hearing Mark moan that whiny did something to you that you do not want to unpack right now – you punched he begged for more, god you just looked and felt so fucking good. Your hits hurt so much, you actually broke a bone or two and the noise of them made you cringe, but they just made his cock throb and leak even more pre-cum inside the spandex suit.

You finally stopped to catch your breath as your foot planted him to the ground, his chest heaving and his body trembling with pleasure when you press your foot down harder on his chest, arching his body to get closer to yours. He looked down right mad, his face was bloody – his own, per his request – his hands now holding onto your leg, trying to reach your thigh as he slid himself up to get away from your grasp, he wants something more than this, and he wants it now. 

He yanks you down by the leg he was holding, – his heart rate spiking as he hears a sharp breath escape from your lungs – then, he does something that has your brain in alarm and your sex interested as he nuzzles your crotch with a groan. You try to push his head off of you, struggling to find words to make a retort or say something, as he pouts while looking up at you. 

“Whaaat? Don’t I get a reward for letting you have your fun?”

His fingers went to your waist, his nails digging in as you hiss from the sting and see him smile with those wide eyes looking up at you–

“The you from my world always let me have my fun when they were done with me, so c’mon,”

You swallowed thickly as you bit down on your lip, thinking of anything to say as you heard him huff and bit down a scream of pain when he dug his nails in to your sides and rake them down so he could see you bleed as he went down on you–

“Hmm, your body was always more honest,” he giggled as you hissed in pain when he dug his nails in the freshly made – by him – scratches, as he lapped on the crotch of your spandex suit like a dog. His eyes never leaving yours, just like how you’re never leaving again. Angstorm could go fuck himself, he got what he wanted, he’s taking you back after this.

[missadangel]

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 3: Happily Never After

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Chapter Summary: They say the liar's candle burns until nightfall, and the truth eventually comes out. But if the liar had to say the lie without wanting to, can she ever be forgiven? Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 8k, explicit MDNI, smutty, fluffy, and angst... authors note: I'm so glad you all showed so much love and interest in this story! Thanks a ton, everyone!

An elevator ride towards the topmost floor brought you to a spectacular view of the city below, glass panels surrounding almost every inch of the suite. The elevator’s soft ding startled your body into action. Stepping through, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the moment. Luxurious surroundings of rich blacks, silvery grays, and gleaming gold details captured your attention, soothing your nerves. However, it was merely a distraction that served nothing, not when you could feel his every movement, his graceful steps moving to and fro.

The suite was larger than you thought, and the hallway was strewn with flower petals. The shopping bags filled with clothes he had bought for you sat on the large table to your right. You stood there, -your gaze fixed on them but avoiding his face- feeling a wave of heat intensifying throughout your body. You were startled by Harry's gentle touch as he helped you remove your coat. He did it slowly and lingeringly, letting his fingertips glide along your neck and shoulders. You glanced at him shyly, your heart racing as your eyes finally met.

Damn.

His eyes burning you to the core.

You felt a lump form in your throat, but you took a deep breath and swallowed it down. Just as he was about to turn, you caught a quick glimpse of his lips moving—was he smiling? Crap, he must have picked up on how nervous you were. Of course, he did; you were acting all jittery like a bride on her wedding night. But this wasn’t a wedding night, and you weren’t a bride, so why were you feeling this way? It had been a while since you’d last hooked up, but that wasn’t what was stressing you out. You really needed to calm the chaos going on in your head, and fast.

His words echoed in your mind: "For now, just let it all out."

And you did.

In that moment, you made up your mind. Deep down, you admitted that you wanted him.

Yes.

You wanted him so badly that you didn't care about anything else, so badly that you swallowed your pride in an instant.

You turned to him and your eyes stayed glued to him.

To his back.

The way he moved, the way he touched, grabbed and placed your coat over the chair. The way his eyes locked with yours, and with just a look, he understood.

Then he lunged.

Brought your face into his, your lips melded as one, devouring one other, clashing with hunger released from the confines of your heart. You couldn't hold back this madness any longer, opening up so gloriously, so effortlessly to his probing tongue, tongue that feverishly explored every inch of your mouth, wanting, no, needing, to brand every inch with his taste. And you pushed back, wanting the same thing: for him to taste you. 

He pushed you back with even more passion than you did. You did trip, but he was agile enough to catch you before you fell, pinned you against a wall. His lips met your jaw, teeth scraping down to your neck while your hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, needing to feel him, desperate to touch...

Your sudden growl got his attention, and he surged up, kissing your mouth again, helping you with the damn shirt. Once it came off, you wasted no time. Your hands roamed with eager curiosity, enchanted by the velvety warmth of his skin despite the strength of his body, at the solid ridges your palms found, the sculpted lines of his chest, the tightness of his rippling biceps, his abs.

He was a magnificent sight, a living dream, and you were completely committed to exploring every inch of him.

Then, with a swift and eager move, he found the zipper of the dress, lowering it until it finally gave way, the straps on your shoulder falling helplessly to their sides. He took a moment to appreciate the stunning sight of the dress gracefully cascading from your body, elegantly flowing to the floor and pooling at your feet. His gaze lingered on every detail, from your bare legs to the delicate strands of hair framing your face. A proud smile spread across his lips, accompanied by a playful growl of approval, clearly delighted by the breathtaking vision before him.

Eagerly, he reached out with his hand to help you step over the dress, and then he placed another burning kiss on your lips.

He was quick to grab you by the hips, quick to pin you against the wall again. One arm encased you within his grip, the other harshly split your legs open and found your clit beneath your panties. You gasped, bucked against him, against his hold, his crotch. He wouldn’t budge, his mouth scraping, tasting you, your neck despite your jewelry, leaving behind delicious bites that left your body mindless, numb to everything but him.

“You have no idea how much I've been hoping for this moment,” he finally said, sucking, biting your shoulder a little too hard, rubbed your clit a little too slow, and yet. You whined for him, because of him, craving all he had to give, indifferent to whether it was right or wrong. And despite how overwhelming it was, his fingers still moved so slow, so softly against your clit- you couldn't help the desperate moan that escaped your lips, in desire to get closer, to- He growled, “Just like this, kitty, I want you just like this. Pliant, desperate for more.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

His words didn't help; instead, they only made you squirm more. You knew he was doing it on purpose, yet damn it, you needed more; so desperate for this delicious torture to end.

“Please,” you said, whimpering.

“Please what?” He rubbed his nose teasingly against yours, a smirk dancing on his lips as he awaited your answer. With his grip, he pressed you against him a little more until your pussy was pressed against his clothed, hard cock. "Is this what you want?"

"Y-yes."

He laughed harshly.

You couldn't help it, you blushed hard after he said, "So you finally admit you want me.” He nibbled on your ear, whispered against it. "You will get what you want sweetheart, no rush. There’s something else I want to do first.” 

Without lowering you from the wall against which he was pinned you, he lifted you up and caught you in his arms. He wrapped your legs more tightly around his waist and carried you to the bed.

Gripping his shoulders, yourt heart racing. Maintaining eye contact, he leaned in and gently set you on the edge of the bed. You scooted back, feeling excited, biting your lips. "Not yet," he said, his voice low and husky as he quickly grabbed and pulled you by the thighs towards the edge. The way he slid you across the bed, this easy and a little roughly, took your breath away and was definitely a big turn-on for you. He leaned over, slipped his fingers into the hem of your panties and pulled them down your thighs too roughly, tearing your lace panties, but neither of you cared at that moment.

“I want to taste you, all of you,” he growled, and brought his mouth back to your core.

Thanks to this position you were completely exposed to his wanting mouth, and he fucking knew it, his fingers back inside your cunt, mouth insistently sucking on your clit.

"Shit!" You loudly exclaimed, back arching off the bed. 

He held you still by the hips with one arm while his other hand kept going, thrusting into your clenching pussy.

One hand gripped the sheets while the other held the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his curls, closing your eyes in utter ecstasy. The feel of his mouth devouring your pussy was a relentless, powerful pleasure unlike anything you'd ever felt before - the way he tore through your opening with his appendage, the way his nose bumped and his mustache tickled, the way his lips found their way to suck so sweetly on your clit. And God, the way it sounded - you would feel pretty embarrassed if you weren't overwhelmed by pure lust-, you were soaking his face, but neither of you cared enough to stop.

You forced your eyes to open, you didn't want to miss out on memorizing him kneeling before you, eating you out. The moment you managed to look at him, you realized it was a mistake.

He was looking at you.

At your face.

Your eyes.

Taking in your reactions. And goddamn, his eyes, were completely blown away in lust. He was more than enjoying having you all over his mouth. “Fucking delicious,” he grunted, diving his fingers back in.

It was your undoing.

You could feel yourself silently screaming with pleasure, your body trembling and mind blank, but for the waves of delight that kept coming through you, he hadn’t stopped his movements despite how tight your cunt gripped his fingers in your end.

"You're gorgeous," he purred, biting your calves and making you yelp. He licked away the sting once he'd marked you. In the haze of the moment, you felt the bed shake and his hands on your back, fingers unclasping your bra.

Before he settled, he took care of the rest of his clothes, impressive girth hard and throbbing and already wet with precum finally out of his pants.

The sight sent you reeling.

“Like what you see?”

Was he kidding?

He was fucking beautiful.

You bit your lip, nodded.

He smirked and was quick to get in position, harsh lips taking your breath away, body pushing you on your back. Holding onto him, you let him open you up, let him guide his cock right to your cunt.

Now the moment was definitely urgent.

He gave it a couple of flicks around your core, then he pushed in. He took you in, your gasp and moan filling the air. When he moved, it was a slow yet sure thrust that had you seeing stars, and you keened.

You mewled, "Yes."

He held you by the cheeks, lips barely a hair's breadth away, while his grip shifted and tightened around your waist.

“You feel so good," he breathed, speaking against the valley between your breasts.

Harsh, hungry hands on your breasts, on all over your skin made your flesh pleasantly crawl. Your breaths mingled when lips melded as one. Small mewls came from your throat while his hips moved against yours. And then he sped his movements while his mouth drank more of you up, the only air you took in his.

The only air he took in yours.

He tightened his grip, surely leaving marks where he groped. Harder, faster, not giving you a chance to take everything in and commit it to memory, he finally angled his hips differently.

“And you are tight, wet, warm,” he added, kissing you again.

When he heard you shout with pleasure, he made sure to keep going at it, hard and fast, so that you couldn't catch your breath, your body tensing up with the force of his hips, his cock stretching your pussy out so deliciously. You helped him by locking your legs behind his back, making him go impossibly deep, throwing your head back in ecstasy. It left your neck bare for his hungry lips and teeth, and he mercilessly marked you with them, soon after meeting your tits with his mouth again, showing them devotion while keep thrusting mercilessly, the sound of flesh against flesh was like a delicious symphony to his moans and groans, and your mewls and moans.

His lips released your breasts and trailed your jaw all the way to your ear. His pace shortened, quickened. So you begged him not to stop, not even thinking about it, and he promised he wouldn’t, couldn’t, not until he felt you gripping hard around his cock, not until he broke you.

He had a promise to fulfill, after all.

He growled the nickname he had given you, with fervor, with passion. He was close, and so were you but, you needed more, needed a bit of a push to send you reeling again. And you weren’t quite sure how, but he found your clit, and stroked it enough to give you just what you needed.

The bastard was an expert.

Your orgasm crashed through you, sight gone into utter darkness, muscles tight with tension released in such a perfect, bittersweet way, raking your nails down his back.

“Fuck,” he cursed loud and long, holding you in place while his own orgasm filled you up to the brim.

The raging fire was now extinguished, its gentle flame still brushing against your veins in slow, tender strokes. It was similar to the way you both touched each other, hands softly trailing up and down wherever they could reach. His touch felt different from before, while yours was a promise of what could be. A whispered kiss. Eyes brimming with post-coital contentment.

That moment was so special—the way all the passionate sounds of love just a moment ago faded into peaceful silence. You couldn’t fight off sleep anymore as he softened and pulled away, collapsing onto the pillow. Before you dozed off, you thought you heard him mumbling something, though you weren't really sure.

If you were more awake, you could have sworn he whispered, “Te amo.”

The morning light poured into the room like liquid gold, seeping through the tall glass panel and gently warming your face. The curtains, drawn only halfway, allowed the sun to flood the entire space, casting a soft, radiant glow that danced on the walls. From your position, you had a breathtaking view of the iconic Eiffel Tower, towering majestically in the distance, a reminder of the enchanting city around you.

You were lying with your back to Harry, and there was something strangely nice about the sound of his breath right behind you. It felt like forever since you’d woken up next to someone.

One of his arms was draped around your waist, resting on the sheet, and his warmth felt like a cozy shield. But even with the calmness of the moment, there was a twist of unease in your stomach. Last night had been incredible, full of passion, but the uncertainty about what was coming next hung over you like a dark cloud.

You were carrying this secret in your heart that felt like a heavy anchor, and you knew you had to face it eventually.

As Harry shifted behind you, his lips brushed against the top of your head. “You were talking in your sleep,” he said quietly.

You were taken aback—how long had he been awake? Wait, did he just say you were talking in your sleep?

“Are you serious?” you asked, curious about what you might have said. “You didn’t get it wrong, did you?”

“I definitely heard my name,” he said with a teasing smile.

“Okay, I didn’t know I even did that,” you replied, a little embarrassed. “Did I say anything else?”

“Sort of, and you even meowed a bit. You’re such a little kitty,” he laughed.

You rolled your eyes. “I think you’re just making that up.”

“Nope, not at all. It was real, just like you did last night. It was like; meow, meow, meow,” he joked, imitating a cat's sound.

Heat rushed to your cheeks. Those moments were fresh in your mind—he was right, ugh. You nudged him playfully in the chest.

“Come on. Stop exaggerating.”

“Want me to prove it?”

You gasped as the hand that had been wrapped around you slipped inside the sheet and between your legs.

“Don't, don't, don't, please,” you struggled, squeezing your thighs together with all your strength, resisting. His other hand found your armpit and tickled you, causing you to immediately release the pressure in your thighs.

Oh, that was too much.

He leaned over you and when his hand touched your folds, forcing his fingers inside, your heart began to race.

“Okay, okay, you win! I give up!” you giggled, punching his chest, and he laughed.

He playfully teased you for a little while longer as you both giggled. But then, your eyes met, and suddenly the mood shifted. With his gaze deepening, he leaned in and kissed you, sending a rush of warmth through your body. Just as the moment felt perfect, his phone began ringing. But he didn’t care; he kept kissing you. The kiss broke only when the phone rang insistently. He sat up, grabbed his phone from the bedside table, checked the screen, canceled the call, and tossed it back down.

“Maybe it’s important. Why didn’t you answer?” you asked.

He turned to you, “Nothing is more important than you right now.” He then pulled the sheet off you, and you quickly grabbed it to cover yourself.

“What are you doing?” you asked, surprised.

"We need a shower; we're a bit dirty, don't you think?" he replied, tugging at the sheet again, this time overpowering you.

You felt completely exposed, instinctively wrapping your arms around yourself. He chuckled, put his knee on the bed, and scooped you up into his lap.

“Stop! I can walk by myself,” you protested.

“Nobody said otherwise,” he grinned.

With a smug look, he carried you to the bathroom, clearly enjoying the moment. The bathroom was huge, with a big jacuzzi, a spacious shower, and a tall vanity cabinet. Harry set you down and followed you into the shower. It was nice that he was giving you so much attention, but it also made things trickier. You didn’t want to say anything that might hurt him, especially since you knew you’d have to come clean eventually. For now, you just had to play along until that moment came when there would be no more secrets.

After you both got out of the shower, he handed you a robe from the closet and slipped one on himself. You asked him to excuse you because you needed to use the bathroom. Finally alone, you settled onto the most luxurious toilet seat you’d ever sat on, putting your head in your hands and thinking. You knew you had to tell him soon; it was better for him to hear it from you directly. The longer this charade went on, the messier things would get. Sooner or later, you’d run into someone who knew -real- Melanie, and that scared you. Before last night, you weren’t worried about that, but everything had changed.

You could feel a strong connection between you two, and it scared you how intense it was.

It just didn’t feel right.

This had to end.

Suddenly, a sharp pang gripped your heart, urging you to stand up. You stood before the mirror, the figure in the robe felt like a stranger, unfamiliar. This life felt foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. But deep down, a hopeful part of you whispered that this could actually be your life, and that Harry would accept you just as you are.

You really wanted to believe that.

With all your heart.

But this was no time to be naïve; you had to think rationally.

You had to.

You turned on the tap, splashing cold water on your face to shake off the feelings. Just then, you heard a light knock at the door.

“Are you planning to spend the whole day in there?” Harry joked, his tone playful yet warm.

A smile spread across your face and you sighed deeply as you opened the door. Stepping into the room, you saw Harry already dressed in a cream long-sleeved shirt and black jeans - casual yet stylish, which suited him perfectly. As he put on his watch, he looked at you, "Breakfast will be here soon."

“Really? In the room?” you asked, your eyes lighting up in surprise.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying your excitement. “Yes, in the room.”

Just then, a knock on the door interrupted you two, and you both turned to see Oliver standing there, looking a bit flustered.

"Why didn't you answer the phone?" Oliver asked quickly, his eyes darting over Harry's shoulder to you.

Feeling uneasy under his gaze, you instinctively blushed and stepped further into the room.

"Is something wrong?" Harry asked.

“Well, I… I was just checking,” Oliver said, his voice trailing off awkwardly.

Harry raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Checking?”

Oliver cleared his throat. “I meant— if you need anything. Oh, and they called, they're expecting you today.”

“Awesome, thanks,” Harry said.

“No problem.”

"Anything else you want to say?"

“N-no, I’ll be in the lobby,” he replied, turning around.

As Harry closed the door behind Oliver, he turned to you, looking lost in thought.

“Is everything okay?”

He shrugged slightly. “It’s just Oliver acting a bit weird. But it’s probably nothing.” He looked at you and asked, “Why aren’t you dressed yet?”

“It’s just... the dresses you bought are gorgeous, but…” You glanced down at the shreds of your panties on the floor. “I need some new underwear.”

With a cheeky grin, Harry placed his hands on his hips. “Well, that’s my bad. But don’t worry; I’ll fix that.” He went over to the closet and came out with a white shirt. “Here, wear this.”

“But it’s your shirt,” you frowned.

“It is, yes.”

“You want me to wear this?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, still grinning.

“Why?”

“Because you’ve got no other option. Unless you want to walk around naked,” he smirked. “I’d be totally cool with that, though.”

You squinted as you took the shirt from him. “You’ll be waiting forever for that to happen.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door. He chuckled as he went to open it.

After enjoying a delightful breakfast on the balcony with a breathtaking view of the city, everything Harry ordered for you arrived in the room. After all, it was he who had torn your panties, so he owed you. You glanced at the bag, and picked up a stylish black lace bra; it was exactly your size.

He was behind you, leaning against the closet with his arms folded and watching.

“How could you possibly know my exact size?” you asked.

He opened his mouth to reply, but you silenced him with a gesture of your hand. “Don't answer that.”

He laughed. “Come on, get dressed. We need to get going.”

You shot him a glare. “Not with you watching—turn around!”

“Seriously?”

“What do you think?”

He frowned. ’I already saw all of you last night, what's the point of hiding it now?’

“That was last night,” you snapped.

He blinked in astonishment, clearly impressed. “You truly are an extraordinary woman.”

"Yes I am. Now turn around, Mr. Castillo,” you said, twirling your finger at him.

He sighed, a little defeated, but gave in. “Fine," he murmured. "But just so you know, tonight I’m going to make you beg me to take your clothes off.”

“Did you say something?” 

“Nothing at all,” he replied, a cheeky grin forming. His mind raced with bold ideas, and your attitude and stubbornness only fueled his eagerness.

It was a challenge, and he was ready to accept it.

"Oh my God!"

You almost fainted from excitement as you stared at the sports cars in all their splendor, your mouth agape. The welcoming team at the luxury rental place truly made you feel at ease, sharing in the exhilaration of these remarkable vehicles.

"Are you telling me I can drive one of these beauties if I want to?" you asked, still unable to take your eyes off the amazing cars. A huge smile spread across your face, reminiscent of a child who had just found a stash of candy.

Harry chuckled, "I've gotten you flowers, clothes, jewellery - but I've never seen you so excited about anything"

"I'm sorry, but how could I not be? Just look at them!"

He placed his hand on your shoulder. "So which one are you going to choose? I'm really curious."

Your eyes scanned the lineup until they landed on the car that truly stole your heart. You walked over, gently brushing your hand along the sleek bonnet, and declared, "This one—the Mustang GT500."

"American muscle, huh? Nice choice."

"You mean I can really drive this?"

"That's why I brought you here, kitty," he smiled.

He had listened to your many conversations about cars, enjoying your passion for them. Apparently, he never grew bored of your car talk, and he wanted to surprise you like this.

You felt unworthy of such a thoughtful man

As you gripped the steering wheel of the red Mustang on the track, a huge smile spread across your face - it had been a long time since you had felt this good. Every time you stepped on the gas, the engine roared and you took the corners like a pro, the tyres screeching on the tarmac. Harry looked a little nervous, but he couldn't help praising your driving skills, saying how well you handled the car.

When you reached the end of the track, you lingered for a moment, reluctant to say goodbye to this baby.

"Harry, thank you. That was even more amazing than I could have imagined."

"You've never driven a sports car before?" he asked.

"I have." It wasn’t entirely a lie. You had driven it once—Nate's Lamborghini. It was one of those days when you were cleaning up after Melanie. While Nate was in the backseat making out with her—they were both drunk, and sometimes it turned into lust—yes, it was really shitty and disgusting. But the only good thing about that day was that you got to drive his car. "But not for long."

"I'm glad I made you happy," he replied.

"Yeah, you definitely did. Thanks, Harry." It was the truth. As you looked into his eyes, he leaned in closer and whispered, running his fingers through your hair, "Be mine, and I’ll show up at your place in the morning with any car you want. Just think about it."

"Harry," you murmured.

"Listen, I don't want to pressure you, but I need a clear answer. I'm a straightforward guy—doubt and uncertainty aren't something I handle well. I've waited this long because of this undeniable feeling I have for you. My instincts have never led me astray, and I’m sure they won’t this time either. So tell me, don’t you think it’s about time? Don’t you think I deserve an answer?"

His brown eyes sparkled like gems. You wanted nothing more than to be with him always, to plead with him to never leave and to make you his. But there was something you had to sort out first.

"You deserve so much more," you said, your voice shaking a bit. You took a deep breath."Tonight, I’ll give you my final answer, okay?"

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it. "All right," he said, smiling as he brushed his lips over your knuckles.

When you got back to the hotel, it was dark, and you couldn’t stop thinking about how you were going to deal with tonight. It was making you super nervous. Harry was outside, talking on the phone, while you were in the lobby, buried in the couch and lost in your thoughts. Oliver noticed you were alone and came over to talk to you.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” you replied, caught off guard.

“Look, I found out everything; the dating agency called me.”

You froze.

“Don’t worry, I know it’s not your fault, but this can’t go on. You understand that, don’t you?”

You nodded, tears beginning to well in your eyes.

“I wanted to talk to Harry, but he’s way too attached to you. I think it’s better if you tell him yourself. He has a reputation to maintain—you know he’s well-known. The longer this goes on, the more it messes with his image. Just tell him before things go further, or I’ll have to, and the head of the matchmaking agency might get involved. And trust me, that’ll hurt him a lot more. He should hear it from you.”

“I’ll tell him, I promise. Tonight.”

“Thank you. Oh, he’s coming. Wipe your tears,” he said, handing you a tissue from the table before standing up.

What?

Were you actually crying?

You took the tissue and quickly dried your eyes, sniffling while trying to pull yourself together.

“Melanie, look who’s here,” you heard Harry’s voice.

You almost had a heart attack when you turned around. Jack, Melanie’s dad, was standing right in front of you with a forced smile that screamed trouble.

“I just ran into Jack,” Harry said, looking at you. But then his face changed as he noticed how frozen you were, shaking a bit. “Are you okay?”

“Harry, can you give me and my daughter a minute?” Jack said, still staring at you.

Harry paused, frowning as he sensed something was wrong. Oliver put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s give them some privacy,” he suggested.

Harry nodded, looking unsure, but his eyes were still on you. “I’ll be in the room,” he said, clueless about what was really going on. He thought it was just a father-daughter thing. You wished it was that simple.

As they walked toward the elevator, Jack made sure they were out of earshot and pointed to the seat behind you. “Why don’t you sit down? We need to talk.”

“Jack, I—”

What were you even going to say?

Damn it.

“Sit down, please.”

You did as he said, and he sat across from you, looking at you. “I know everything.”

You raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“Do you think my daughter has someone handling her secret affairs and I don't know about it?”

Of course, he should have. Jack was smart and clearly one step ahead of you.

“But if you knew—”

“Why didn’t I stop you?” He sighed. “I wanted to handle this when I got back to New York, but then I found out you were here. I was already in Marseille, so I flew in last night to talk to you.”

“Why didn’t you just tell him?”

“Harry? I could have, but honestly, it’s embarrassing for me. I’m not mad at you; it’s my dumb daughter who messed everything up. I can only be upset with you for not telling me sooner. We wouldn’t be in this mess if you had.”

“Jack, I’m sorry.” Your voice cracked.

"No, I don't blame you. But you have to take responsibility for this. You need to finish things with Harry—trust me, it’s for the best. Go talk to him right now and just explain.” He stood up. “I’ll be outside, waiting for you. Just go and do what needs to be done.”

You watched him walk away, your head spinning with thoughts, and didn't even notice Oliver coming over.

"What did he say?" he asked.

"The same thing you told me earlier. He said I should just end things with him."

"Are you going to do it?"

You looked at him, wiping a tear from your cheek with your hand. You nodded firmly.

He nodded back. "He's in the room, waiting for you," he said. You were glad he looked at you like a friend, the last thing you wanted was pity.

You felt enough pity for yourself; you really didn't need any more.

Harry was pouring himself a whisky when his phone rang. He took a sip while glancing at the screen. It was a number he didn’t feel like answering. When it rang again a moment later, he shook his glass, listening to the ice cubes jingle, and finally sighed before picking it up.

“There you are,” said the voice on the other end.

“What do you want, Lucy?”

“Hey, slow down! I’m only calling because I’m worried about you. I just found out what happened; it’s horrible.”

Harry paused, taking another sip. “What in God’s name are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the mess with the matchmaking company. That’s what you get for choosing someone other than my agency. You should really sue that woman.”

“Wait, what are you talking about? What woman? What mess?”

At that moment, you opened the door and walked in. Harry’s back was turned to you as he was still on the phone. When he heard you come in, he turned to face you, his expression hardening.

"What the... Didn't you know? I'm talking about the girl who pretended to be Melanie Johnson and tricked you. Given your social status, her intentions were pretty obvious. People like her are dangerous; you should get rid of her before something bad happens. Oliver should have informed you by now; I can't believe he didn't. Maybe you need a new assistant. And just so you know, starting a new dating service would be a good idea—something like that would never happen with my---" He hung up angrily, keeping his eyes fixed on you. The intensity of his gaze startled you; you had never seen him like that before.

“H-Harry,” you stammered.

“Is it true?” His voice was cold.

You swallowed hard. Had he found out everything?

He took a step toward you. “Your name isn’t Melanie. Is that true?”

You closed your eyes and sighed. “That’s right. I’m not Melanie Johnson. I’m—”

“Why?” he said, taking another step closer. “Why did you do it? Is this what you’ve been hiding from me? All this time you’ve been lying to my face. But why?”

“Harry, let me explain. I—”

“What a fool I was. I thought there was something special between us. I thought it would be different this time, but it was all a lie.” He seemed to be speaking to himself.

You stepped closer to him. “Let me explain. I am—”

“Get out."

You froze. “W-what?”

His eyes were icy as he looked at you. “Didn’t you hear me? Get out.”

You frowned. “You said you'd listen to me. Why won't you let me explain?”

In a fit of rage, Harry threw his phone against the wall, and it shattered into pieces upon impact. Startled, you watched as he opened the door and pointed outside. “Get out now.”

Frustration bubbled inside you as you fought to suppress the tears threatening to fall. You walked to the door and glanced back at him, but he wouldn’t meet your gaze. “I knew you'd break my heart. Thanks for proving me right,” you said in a cracking voice before leaving the suite.

He slammed the door behind you with a loud bang, making you jump, but it only urged you to run toward the lift. You had to get out of there immediately.

You ran out of the lift and hurried to the hotel’s exit. You couldn’t stop sobbing, and people turned to look at you, but you didn’t care. Your mind was spinning; all you wanted was to escape, to disappear forever. Oliver recognized you and started to call your name, but he didn’t even know it. Instead, he just watched as you dashed out through the hotel’s revolving door, then headed to the lift to check on Harry.

As soon as you were outside, you kept running, desperate to get away from the hotel. But after a few minutes, the cold wind hit you, and you realized something terrible: this wasn’t your city, New York; it was a completely foreign place. You didn’t know the streets, didn’t know the people. The short dress you were wearing left your shoulders exposed, and without your coat, you shivered. Passersby looked at you strangely, their gazes lingering on your expensive dress, high heels, flashy necklace, and earrings. You wanted to shout at them, “I’m just an ordinary girl with an empty wallet!”

Suddenly, Jack came to mind; he said he would wait for you outside. “Oh, what an idiot I am,” you thought.

Forcing yourself to ignore the stares, you walked back toward the hotel street, searching for Jack. Where was he? Then, suddenly, you heard a voice behind you. A man spoke to you in French, but it was clear from his tone that he wasn’t friendly.

When Oliver walked into the room, he was shocked to see pieces of a smashed phone and glass all over the floor. Harry had his back turned, staring out the window at the city. Oliver approached him carefully, knowing deep down that his worst fears had come true. Harry caught his reflection in the glass and turned his head slightly.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” he asked, sounding frustrated.

Oliver had been expecting the question, but he didn’t know how to answer. “Man, I’m really sorry. I found out yesterday and was going to tell you, but I thought it would be better if she told you.”

Harry turned to face Oliver. “You should have told me, Oliver. I should have heard it from you, not from my ex, dammit.”

“What did you say? Wait a minute, did Lucy call you? God damn it, I thought she was the one who told you.”

“What difference would it have made?” Harry shot back, his voice tinged with anger. “She’s a crook—a serpent in disguise who’s deceived me all this time. How did she pull it off? She even fooled Jack. What exactly was her scheme? Is she a gold-digger or something?”

“What do you mean? She didn’t give you the full story? They spoke to Jack, and she was supposed to fill you in.”

“Does she know him?” Harry asked incredulously, disbelief etched on his face.

“Of course she does. She’s working as a housekeeper at his house. Jack’s daughter, Melanie, forced her into this. The real Melanie didn’t want to meet you face-to-face, so she used her friends to hack the system. Jack must have been too embarrassed to come down here himself. But like me, he wanted her to tell you—”

In a sudden burst of emotion, Harry seized Oliver’s collar, their eyes locked in an intense stare. “What did you just say? What do you mean she was forced?”

“You heard me. The poor girl is like Melanie's puppet; she had no choice in the matter. It’s all part of a twisted game to keep you from marrying Melanie I guess. She’s trapped in it.”

Time seemed to freeze for Harry as he absorbed the weight of Oliver’s words. “What have I done?” he muttered himself, his heart ached.

“But I thought she told you. Didn’t she?”

Harry shook his head, his heart sinking. “She was going to, but I lost it—I was furious, and—”

“Dude... What have you done?”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, a wave of regret crashing over him, as if he were drowning in his own foolishness. “I told her to get out,” he muttered.

“Geez, isn’t that a bit harsh? No wonder she ran out of here in tears."

He shot Oliver a sharp look, panic flashing across his face. “What? Where is she now?”

“I don’t know. She just bolted from the hotel and disappeared into the streets."

Harry's gaze darted to the coat abandoned on the chair, a symbol of the moment he now regretted. He snatched it up, determination igniting within him, and rushed toward the door.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Oliver called out, his voice filled with worry.

“I’m going to find her!” Harry shouted back, his heart racing as he sprinted toward the elevator, desperate to make things right.

“Look, dude, I don’t get your language. Just back off, alright?”

But the guy kept closing in on you. You didn’t need to understand him to figure out what he wanted. As you stepped back, your heel caught on the cobblestone, and you went down. At that moment, a fancy car pulled up, and a man got out and walked over to you while the other guy turned around and took off. The man in the suit offered you his hand.

“Are you a New Yorker too?” He smiled.

You took his hand and got up. “Yeah, you too?”

“Yeah. I heard your accent when you told that guy to ‘back off.’”

You chuckled nervously, saying, “He really freaked me out; he was coming right at me.” 

“But you were ready to fight him. I guess it’s not the first time you’ve had to run from creeps, right?” he replied with a grin. 

“True,” you laughed. “There were definitely some in New York.”

He chuckled and offered his hand again. “I’m Alan.”

You shook his hand. “Thanks, Alan.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

Just then, someone called your name from behind. You turned and saw Jack.

About time. You felt a wave of relief wash over you.

“I’ve been searching everywhere for you! Where have you been?” He was worried.

“I—I got lost and—”

“Jack?”

“Alan!”

They hugged, and you were surprised to see that they knew each other. Jack turned to you and said, “You get in the car, and I’ll be right there.”

You nodded and did as he instructed. Alan watched you intently while getting into the car, then turned to Jack.

“I thought you were in Marseille,” Alan said.

“I was, but then I came here. I had some urgent matters to take care of,” Jack replied.

“Is this pretty lady your daughter or something?” Alan asked.

Jack sighed. “I wish she were, but no. Let’s just say she’s someone I know. Listen, Alan, I really have to go now. See you.”

“See you, man,” Alan responded.

Jack hopped into the car beside you and instructed the driver to head to the airport, where his private jet was waiting to take you back home. Your phone buzzed insistently; it was Harry calling -actually it was Oliver's number but you knew it was him-.

You ignored all the calls.

“Do you have feelings for him?” Jack asked, his tone direct yet gentle.

You looked straight at him, then averted your gaze, unable to deny the truth in your heart. He picked up on the unspoken words and nodded slowly.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t go there if you care about yourself, you silly girl.”

You nodded.

“What about him? Do you think he has feelings for you?”

You shook your head. “I don’t think so. Even if he did at one point, he doesn’t anymore.”

Jack nodded. “I’m sorry about what happened. But when we get back, I can’t let you work in my house anymore. You understand why, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course,”  you murmured.

“I want you to know I’ll provide a good severance package for all your service up to now and for everything you’ve been through. If you ever need help in the future, you know my number.”

Jack was hot-tempered but had a noble soul. He considered those he trusted as family, regardless of their social status. You looked at him, feeling grateful.

“Thank you, Jack,” you said with a smile.

He nodded. “Sure.”

All the while, your phone was ringing insistently, and you were ignoring Harry’s calls.

Why the hell was he calling?

Did he want to curse at you or something?

Finally, Jack held out his hand. “Give it to me; let me talk to him.”

You hesitated at first, but eventually, you handed it over. As he spoke on the phone, you looked out the window, feeling nervous about hearing his voice.

"Harry, it's Jack. Please stop calling her; I will be your point of contact on this matter from now on. I'd like to invite you to an apology dinner when you return to New York, and I'm willing to provide compensation as well. I'll be in touch with you soon." Then he hung up.

“Damn it, Jack,” Harry snarled.

He stood in front of the hotel’s front door, then something glittering on the floor caught his attention. He bent down and picked it up; it was one of your earrings—the one he had given you as a present.

“She must have dropped it while running,” he muttered.

Oliver came running toward him from across the street, panting. “They saw Jack leaving, but I couldn’t find any trace of the girl. Did you manage to reach her?”

Harry continued to stare at the earring in his hand. “Ollie.”

“Yeah?”

“Call the pilot; we’re heading back to New York.”

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate your comments, likes, and reblogs. I'd love to hear what you think about the chapter!

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[beloveds-embrace]

rugby player Simon and his pretty little balerina partner. Thats it. Thats whats currently plaquing my mind

Now that you’ve said it I’m thinking about them too because YES 😩 i tried a more headcanony style for this, really had no idea what to write as a drabble

• You first met Simon “Ghost” Riley during an injury rehab session. He’s there nursing a rough tackle, while you’re recovering from an overworked ankle. Despite his intimidating size and silence, he notices how gracefully you move even while stretching, and you can’t help but admire his sheer size even if he’s making the nurses nervous.

• Ghost is, honest to god, shy about approaching you at first; why would delicate, lovely you want someone of his type and build to approach you? But he still gets roped into conversation when you tease him for struggling with a basic stretching exercise. “I’m built for smashing into blokes, not folding like you do.” he grumbles, but he doesn’t sound truly bothered. You are sure you can even hear the amusement. And this is how you end up exchanging number and texting, until he finally asky you out on a proper date.

• He’s genuinely amazed at your discipline and talent, often catching himself zoning out while watching you rehearse. You tease him for staring, but he’s truky awestruck by how effortlessly you glide across the floor, almost looking weightless.

• You love watching him play rugby. Seeing him control the field with raw strength and precision is hot. You start attending his matches, cheering louder than anyone else when he tackles an opponent or scores. His favorite cheerleader- his best girl <3

• Ghost introduces you to his gym routines, and you try (unsuccessfully) to keep up with his weightlifting. You love the view of his muscles flexing, though, and you don’t try to hide it. You also love sitting on his back while he does pushups, giving him a kiss ever so often in encouragement.

• In return, you teach him some basic ballet moves to improve his agility to help him. The image of this massive, intimidating man attempting pliés is hilarious, but he’s surprisingly nimble. “Don’t tell the lads, yeah, doll?” he huffs, though his amusement is clear and it has you giggling.

• Simon loves how tiny you feel when he wraps his arms around you. After games, he picks you up effortlessly, spinning you around as you laugh and lean down to kiss him much to the whistles and hoots of his teammates. Neither of you care anyways.

• After a game, he’s all adrenaline and intensity, body taut. You tease him by saying, “Don’t you dare bring that sweaty self near me, Simon Riley.” but he pulls you into a heated kiss anyway, pinning you gently against a wall in the hallways of the stadium.

• He loves when you practice in front of him wearing your ballet leotard. The combination of your grace and your form-fitting outfit gets his heart and more racing, though he keeps his composure… mostly.

• Simon is also your biggest cheerleader during your performances, sitting in the front row with a bouquet of flowers that looks comically small in his massive hands. He always looks proud, even if he doesn’t say much. And he absolutely glares or shushes anyone who is causing a ruckus and taking the spotlight off you.

• He joins you most of the time in the backstages, and when you’re feeling nervous before a performance, he cups your face in his big, warm hands and whispers, “You’re the most talented person in the room. Show ‘em who you are.”

• You return the favor by helping him relax before games. You massage his shoulders and give him little pep talks, which he pretends not to need but secretly loves. Sometimes of them are even recorded on his phone for the very rare occasions you can’t make it to his games.

• Said it before but I’ll say it again: you love how his body feels next to yours- rugby has made him all broad shoulders and powerful muscles, and he loves how delicate your hands feel running over his skin. Likewise, he loves caressing your skin and rubbing creams and ointments to your aching feet muscles.

• He calls you “Twinkle Toes” which sounds sarcastic at first but is said with so much affection that it melts your heart.

• You call him “Big Softie” because, despite his tough exterior, he’s the sweetest with you. He pretends to hate it, but he secretly loves when you use it in private. Had a stupid smile on his face when saw it was how you had your contact for him saved.

[prosypepper]

growing old with kento nanami

word count: 2.8k

warnings: post-shibuya arc, descriptions of: surgery, recovery processes, depression, insomnia, trauma, therapy, coping mechanisms; pregnancy, marriage, crying. (18+ mdni!)

notes: this WILL have a part 2 and maybe 3! it will be very long so i'm splitting it up. even though the warnings seem kind of sad i promise it's a happy story :)

part 2 | masterlist

“marry me.”

proposing to you was nanami’s first conscious thought after being in a coma for 5 days after shibuya. you were reading a book, peacefully keeping him company in his hospital room, not even noticing he was awake. your eyes fluttered up from your book, back down, and then up again.

“marry me, please,” he repeated. you stayed silent for a moment, eyes widening and mouth dropping. he wasn’t supposed to wake up.

“kento, oh my god,” you yelped, dropping your book and rushing to the hospital bed to look at him. his eyes were open, only slightly, and the weakest smile he could bear rested on his lips. you gently settled your hands on each side of his face, barely hovering over the charred skin. he looked so tired, and yet, he was asking you to marry him.

kento groaned when you hugged him, but you couldn’t stop yourself, you squeezed him gently and with care. a weak hand rested on your back, in between your shoulder blades. he was too weak to repeat his question again. but the only thing on his mind was if you would be his wife.

“yes, yes, i’ll marry you,” you cried into his chest, wetting the fabric of the hospital clothing.

neither you nor nanami himself understood why he proposed to you in that moment. after waking up, his journey to recovery began with slow but steady progress. it took several months of intense rehabilitation and support from both sorcerers and doctors for him to regain his mobility. with their help, he was able to walk and move with a surprising degree of agility, nearly returning to how he was before shibuya. he also had a few cosmetic surgeries, in an attempt to minimize the scarring from all he had been through. within a few months, he was able to see his skin smooth out and hair grow from the side of his head. he wouldn’t look the same, ever; but you didn’t care. you loved kento, as he did you, the fact you were able to celebrate his recovery made you feel like the luckiest woman on the earth.

the loss of his previous strength and abilities weighed heavily on him, casting a shadow over his spirits. yet, amidst the struggles, he found solace in small victories and the support of those around him, your support meaning the most to him. although kento was deeply troubled by the realization that he could no longer pursue his life as a sorcerer, he came to accept it as the best possible outcome given the circumstances. this acceptance marked a pivotal shift in his perspective, allowing him to focus on rebuilding his life in new ways. before he turned in his resignation, he had made sure to recommend ino for a promotion. it was his last wish as a sorcerer.

after the almost year-long recovery process, kento surprised you with a beautiful ring, one of the ones you had talked about before he went on his trip. he proposed again, in the place you first met, this time without weak hands and barely audible words. he was able to find a job, one not nearly as draining as his job from before he returned to jujutsu – and began making plans for your wedding. the planning process didn’t take long, he wanted the wedding to make you happy.

your and kento’s wedding was outright beautiful. it was a stunning venue on a beach, hundreds of guests attended, friends and family alike. kento shed a few tears when he saw you walking down the aisle, clad in the most gorgeous attire he’d ever seen you wear, as his bride. his voice shook as he said his vows – vows that he wrote, almost a good 1,000 words – and he made you a million promises. promises he wouldn’t dare to break, promises to grow old together and live the life you both deserve.

at the reception, you told kento you had a surprise for him, and ran off to go get something from one of your bridesmaids. he was confused at first, because he didn’t need any more surprises, he was the happiest he’d ever been. a newlywed, married to you. but when you came back to the table, two small pieces of paper in your hands, he didn’t think it would be possible to be more joyous.

“we’re going to malaysia, for our honeymoon, kento,” you excitedly told him, showing off the two plane tickets scheduled in a week.

nanami was speechless, a huge smile with teeth plastered across his face, and he gave you the tightest hug he’d ever given anyone.

when the two of you traveled to malaysia, kento was at peace. he had never seen a place so charming and breathtaking, he remained entranced by the culture and landscapes. the two of you spent your time hiking in nature, watching waterfalls and having lovely picnics wherever felt right. kento was so ecstatic, a smile constant on his face as he watched his surroundings with never-ending wonder. he thanked you a million times over.

you had never seen him be so alive. he promised you that one day, he was going to build a house, right on the beach, just for the two of you.

once you were back at your shared apartment, the reality of the past year and a half hit kento like a train. so much time had been spent recovering, constantly in and out of the hospital, planning for your wedding and improving both of your lives, he never had a chance to reflect on the genuine trauma he went through.

you didn’t notice for a while, but kento grew depressed, and restless at the same time. he began to spend his nights awake, insomnia brewing like piping hot tea, staying conscious until the early hours of the morning, doing any exercise or meditation to calm himself down and go to sleep. yet the visuals replayed over, and over, and over. the blood, the curses, the flames, the death. it hadn’t bothered him before, he thought, but he just never gave himself the time to soak it all in. and the depression – the depression was an all-new low for him. when kento wasn’t working, he was at his house, in the bed, while you were working or off running errands. you only noticed his new behavior when you woke up in an empty bed at 4 a.m. one night, 3 months after your honeymoon.

“mm…kento?” you called, footsteps heavily plopping down the hallway towards the bright lights of your kitchen. when you entered the room, you saw kento sprawled out on the floor, knees bent, with sweat rolling down his forehead. stepping over towards him, you kneeled down to look at him, and his head rolled to the side to look at you, too.

kento’s eyes looked so tired, the eyebags you hadn’t seen in years were full-fledged, his eyelids were droopy and exhausted. just by the emotion his eyes conveyed, you could see he was silently suffering, and he had been that way for a while.

“kento, what’s wrong?” you asked, bringing a hand to the side of his face to rub a thumb over his sweat-glistened cheek.

“i don’t…know,” he replied, defeat in his voice, “i can’t sleep. i haven’t slept. i don’t know.”

your husband always had a plan. he always knew everything; he always took care of the unknown and intimidating parts of life. for kento nanami to say “i don’t know” meant something was wrong, seriously wrong.

“sit up,” you softly demanded, gently pulling his shoulders off the floor. you sat on the ground, crossing your legs, and kento mirrored your actions, slumping when he finally sat up. “kento, honey,” you began, taking his hand in yours and resting it on his knee, “what’s going on?”

he was never one to talk about feelings, to talk about emotions felt deep down, because he wasn’t sure how to convey anything that would make him vulnerable. but as he sat in front of you, chest slightly heaving, such a burnt-out expression on his face, you knew there was something he wasn’t saying, but that something needed to be said.

“i can’t…” kento muttered, stopping himself for a second, “i can’t stop thinking.” he finally admitted, causing you to furrow your eyebrows with concern.

“about what, honey?” you sweetly asked, thumb caressing the back of his hand, tenderly rubbing back and forth.

“everything.” he stated, eyes flashing away from you to look at the floor next to him. you knew what he meant, though, but you had never seen him so pained from his work, especially from something that happened so long ago.

“tell me, baby,” you soothed him. you grabbed his other hand, causing him to look back at you pitifully. kento stayed silent for numerous moments, unsure as to what you could handle. but you were his wife, someone he was supposed to be able to confide in.

“so many people…died…” he mumbled, “i almost died. i saw what it looked like, i faced death.” his words began to come out quicker, “i’ve never seen that many people die, not even in shinjuku, and there was so much blood, and gojo almost, he almost-,” kento’s voice began to get shaky and uneven, a crack in his words as tears stung his eyes. “gojo almost died, too, and…i almost died, i saw it,” he repeated, “and yuuji – looked so upset, and takuma got hurt,” he clenched his eyes shut, words still coming out as a single string.

you moved closer, shifting onto your knees and wrapping kento in a comforting embrace. he clung to you immediately, his hands gripping the fabric of your shirt as if trying to anchor himself in reality. his body shook with the intensity of his sobs, each breath coming in ragged gasps. the rawness of his anguish was palpable; his cries were filled with a pain that seemed almost too immense to bear. the image of the carnage replayed in his mind, a relentless cycle that he couldn’t escape. kento’s tears soaked through your shirt, repeating with his incoherent murmurs of horror. his face, once so composed, now twisted in an expression of deep, unrelenting despair.

kento wailed into your chest for hours that night, unable to stop his shuttering and repetition of the same phrases. he only calmed down when the sun began to rise, slowly illuminating the insides of your home. once kento parted his head from your chest, he looked you in the eyes, asking for help without saying a word. you wiped away his tears and grabbed the sides of his face, promising him you will get him anything he needs. kento fell asleep around 7 a.m. that morning, with the help of you running your fingers through his hair, shushing him and telling him it will all be okay.

he believed you. kento nanami put all his faith in you, his wife, to help him fix his problem he hadn’t an idea on how to mend. and so, you did everything in your power to help him. you spent countless hours on research, finding therapists that specialized in helping people like him, and you came across different mechanisms to help him cope. most of all, you continued your duties as a supportive wife, constantly telling him to get up and go to the supermarket, or out to the library. little by little, these smaller things combined together to work out, and kento began to get better. it was a breath of fresh air, as well as a weight lifted off both your and his shoulders, when he began to smile again, and shifted his view of life to a more positive outlook. he was alive, he began to feel alive again.

kento nanami was finally beginning to live the life he desired and deserved, all with you by his side.

a couple of weeks after kento’s 30th birthday, you came rushing into his office, tears of joy — and anxiety — pricked in your eyes. soon as his eyes landed on your seemingly upset expression, he was concerned.

“what’s wrong, dear?” he asked, pushing his chair away from the desk to stand up. you quickly closed the door behind you, leaning against it, and you dug around in your purse to pull out a small plastic baggie. when you tossed them to kento, it only took him a few seconds to realize what you were there to tell him.

“…you’re pregnant?” kento beamed, rushing over to you to wrap his arms around your waist. he quickly lifted you up in the air, grip so tight as if he never wanted to let go, your feet kicked happily.

kento always wanted to have kids, but being a sorcerer, he always thought it was too dangerous. you had some conversations about it after shibuya, and the both of you agreed that if it happened, it happened. and your children would have the best life possible, of course; but the glimmer of hope you had for having kids slowly burnt out over time with both of you increasing in age. in that moment, though, kento had so much hope and pure happiness, just at the thought of growing a little family with you.

the first few months of your pregnancy were hectic. between doctor’s appointments, mixed with morning sickness and fatigue, you thought it would never end. although you were happy to start a family, negative emotions easily overcame you, and kento noticed. he tried his best to be there for you, but his work schedule conflicted with your lives, and he soon realized he needed a change in his life. he needed to change your life and his, because he would be damned if he was going to return to the same boring life as he had before.

using his savings and bonus money from his job, he bought you a house. a real house, with acres of land and space for your family to grow, so much bigger than the previous apartment you shared with him. a house that he owned, a house that would contain all the joy for your future. he made sure it was grand, with a huge kitchen, and multiple bedrooms – not caring if only two of them were filled, or if all of them housed someone. before kento showed you the house, he set up a nursery.

“where are we going?” you inquired for about the 50th time that day. you had been in the car for hours, and all kento would say in return is, “you’ll find out.” nonetheless, you were excited, kento had always given you the best surprises, but you had never driven so far with him.

“we’re here.” kento stated, pulling into an empty concrete driveway big enough to fit 6 cars.

“where are we? did satoru move?” you asked, the huge display of a home proving to be a bit intimidating for you. kento didn’t reply this time, he only scurried out of the car to come and open your door, helping you get out with a kind hand.

you didn’t even understand what was going on until you walked up the front steps, and a few keys jingled in kento’s hands until he found the right one to unlock the door. the door to your new home.

“wait...wait. kento,” you said, standing still as your husband strode inside, “what is this?” the familiar tears of joy rushed to your eyes, and you just stood there with a shocked expression plastered on your face.

“this is our new home, honey,” kento chimed, reaching a hand out again to welcome you inside. you took his hand, albeit a little hesitantly, and stepped inside your house.

“oh, kento,” you blubbered, throwing your arms around his neck, tears beginning to trickle down your face.

you and kento explored the house for hours, marveling at all the space and beauty he bought for you. you thanked him a million times over, crying at each new space you discovered in the house, you felt sheer gratefulness for your husband and all he did for you. and kento, well, he did all of it to thank you, to thank you for never losing hope in him, and to thank you for the joy you’d made him experience. he was so undeniably in love with you, just as he had always been, and he promised himself he was going to do everything in his power to live the life he deserved with you. he was going to live up to every word he made in his vows, every promise he made with you, each and every word he had spoken to you was going to show in your lives.

even from the moment he met you, he knew he was going to spend his life with you.

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