#and try to be more open minded and less...ANGRY

[mieldreams]

Pure Imagination

Summary: Come with me and you'll be in a world of pure imagination

or where Vader delivers sweet torture in cruel dreams

pairing: Darth Vader x reader

word count: 4,912

warnings: smut smut smut, minors DNI (as the title suggests, dream stuff and I'm not too sure abt how comprehensible this is ngl), inappropriate use of the force etc.

a/n: 5k of pure filth, wasn't actually planning on releasing this cuz I wrote it so long ago but...oh well. it's the first time I'm posting a full fledged smut fic, hope y'all like

You're in a rare deep slumber when you hear it, the unmistakable mechanical inhales and exhales coming from a dark silhouette in your mind. “You again.” That almost droid-like voice is hard to misidentify and all your senses freeze at once. Panic builds inside you but on the outside, you somehow remain asleep. “Vader? What the fuck?” You weren't exactly unfamiliar with the infamous Sith lord, having run into him on more occasions than you'd like, which established you on at least a ‘he can recognise me by face’ basis – much to your displeasure. But why in the kriffing hell were you hearing his voice in your mind right now? Hadn't you just gone to sleep? Fuck, had Vader found your secret base and infiltrated it? Had he taken you hostage and was he planning on torturing you through his weird mind fuckery? “Your inability to comprehend the ways of the Force does not make it absurd or a deception.” His hoarse voice echoes in your mind once again and you scoff. “Do not patronize me in my own mind. What the fuck do you want? Why are you here?” “You tell me, Rebel.�� He spits out the word like it's venomous and putrid. You're losing patience, you're not sure what is happening – last time you checked you were supposed to be asleep in your room, so how was Vader manipulating your mind? “Your mind could be penetrated in my sleep, though I doubt I'd find anything of use.” His voice booms, emotionless as always, “However, it seems you have something rather interesting to show me.” You're starting to get pissed off by this giant fucking leather-wrapped tin can. “Hmmm, your tongue is sharp. If only the same could be said about your intellect.” He spits out, “After all, which perfect little rebel would want something like this.” Suddenly, an image flashes in your mind and your face immediately pales, appalled by what appears before you. In a quick flash you see yourself, lying on your back, goosebumps spreading across your skin as your bare breasts stiffen in the air. You hear your laboured breathing; see the way your chest heaves up and down. And then, you see him. The Darth Vader – in between your legs. His head over your most intimate area. You don't see his face, and the image cuts off right below his shoulders, but the way you're clutching him, pulling him in, and the way his head moves, the way your legs quiver and the way your mouth remains dropped open in pleasure very well lets you know what is going on. You gasp, your own horrified voice echoing in your mind, “What the fuck is this? What the fuck are you doing to me?” His tone would be teasing if he were speaking with his natural voice, “Would you like me to give a descriptive narration?” You growl, “What are you trying to do? Some new perverted mind trick your kind have come up with?” Despite the angry words thrown at him, on the inside you feel terrified. Because where even is this ‘him’? You're shouting at him in your mind but he isn't appearing to you. Just his hollow voice echoing endlessly in your brain with seemingly no origin. “Do not forget your place, Rebel.” It seems you have pissed him off now, or whatever weird body-less voice version of him at least, great. “These fantasies are a creation of your mind. Not so much a perfect rebel now, are we?” You're not going to just let him bullshit his way into your mind no matter what. “Your lies won't work on me.” “You think this is a lie?” He flashes the same image in your head again. This time you appear even more desperate in the filthy act he shows you, hips moving wildly as you moan and pull his head closer to your cunt. “A pity you fight against the want. Your subconscious betrays you.” “You're a kriffing liar!”

“Silence!” His voice booms in your head and you flinch. “A lie? You think I am lying? What about this?” Quickly the image changes, this time showing a close-up of your most intimate parts. Heat pours into your cheeks while anger burns through your veins. A black gloved hand comes into the frame, teasingly snaking up your thigh to caress your folds. You watch, frozen in horror, as it catches your clit, rubbing circles on the nub before dipping lower to tease at the slit. It does this a bunch of times till your empty hole is pulsating in demand, all the while your desperate little pants and whines colour the background. “Vader– want you inside me, please...” Your voice echoes through the dream. The hand, his hand, gently smacks your cunt to silence you before two of his long, gloved fingers enter you. Even through the image you can tell that they are thick, and to your surprise they move slowly at first, yet expertly, delivering deep thrusts that send shivers up your spine. “Stop this! Stop it! Why are you doing this?” You scream at him and his angry voice answers, “Why? Isn't this what you want? Isn't this what your body craves? Or do you still think this is a lie?” The image before you quickly shifts again, this time showing his fingers moving fast and hard inside you. He removes them to rub and pinch at your clit, before pressing on your slit again, this time with three fingers. “What do you want from me? Stop this! You're lying!” “Is that so?” The three fingers swiftly plunge into you, this time your loud moan sounds and your own hand comes into the picture, grabbing his wrist, holding him there. Vader's voice taunts you in your mind, “So this isn't what you want?” You watch as his hand quickly shakes yours off and the same hand that was inside you delivers a loud slap to your cunt, your hips jerking up in reaction but Vader's other hand pins them down. He delivers another wet slap to your cunt, then another and another, each one getting messier and messier as you get wetter and wetter. His fingers finally enter you again and it doesn't take long before you're gushing your release all over his hand. He prolongs your high by rubbing on your already sensitive clit and it has the dream-you begging, “Vader, please...” You shout in your head once again, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Stop this! Get out of my head!” “Do not assume that I am here by pleasure,” he clearly means to taunt you more, alluding to the embarrassing state you just saw yourself in, “it is your mind projecting this.” If you could, you would stab him. “So tell me, Rebel, am I to believe this is not something you want?” “I don't care what the fuck you believe. Get. out. of my fucking head.” He continues, “So you wouldn't want me to do this?” Out of nowhere, you feel a small pressure on your neck, one that steadily grows, as if someone were holding you by the throat. You panic – you had heard about the Sith Lord's preferred method of quickly disposing of his enemies – choking the life out of them as their flailing bodies struggled to get enough oxygen, limbs convulsing and face paling till they eventually died. He was going to kill you in your sleep. Your mind is on high alert, yet your body remains unconscious in bed. “Tell me, Princess, what does your body tell you.” “—If you think that is not enough, what about this?”

The next image he projects in your mind absolutely destroys you. You see your bare back facing you in the fantasy, though your torso is not enough to hide Vader's wide built silhouette in front of you. You are straddling him, but this time too the image is cut off just below your waist. However it doesn't take a genius to figure out what is going on when you can so clearly see the way your body moves on top of his, swivelling your hips sensually as you move up and down. The way your back arches, the way you cling to him, nails digging into the leather over his chest, the breathy moans that escape you. The you in the image grabs Vader's gloved hand and places it on your throat and the real you – or at least your consciousness in your mind gasps in mortification. “How scandalous. The proper princess of the rebellion wants me.” He mocks, “worse, she wants me to want her.” This whole time you had been angry, mad at the evil Sith Lord for showing you these lies – these perverted images that you don't understand the purpose of. What is he trying to achieve? Does he hope to shame you? Provoke you? Therefore weaken your mind's resolve and obtain some information from you? But then you watch yourself in the fantasy – your hips quickening their pace as your breathy moans become raspier and louder, Vader's huge hand roams your naked back, running the middle finger of his gloved palm down your spine before moving to your front again. He caresses your breasts, toying with them and it makes the dream-you mewl. Suddenly the Vader in the projection grabs your hips, stopping your movements entirely, making you whine. He lands a stern slap on your ass in warning before pulling you in by your waist, guiding your arms from his chest to lay over his shoulders.

You can only stare in horror and regretfully–arousal, as Vader takes full control, thrusting up into you with such precision it has you screaming. You still cannot see anything below your waists and yet the lewd sounds that now echo in your mind, mixed with your own traitorous mouth chanting his name in pleasure, asking him, begging him to make you cum, has a certain humiliating warmth pooling in your centre. You want to look away, you want him to stop showing you these cursed dreams – but you have no idea how. The images are directly showing in your head and Vader doesn't seem to actually be in your room. So how do you stop this? Before you get to shout at him again, the previous pressure on your neck, one that you had nearly forgotten about, grows stronger again, pressing more on your throat till you can hear your own heartbeat echoing in your head. You realise then that the pressure on your throat is definitely not something imagined and that somehow, Vader was actually choking you physically in your sleep. Were you wrong about your assumptions? Had Vader really somehow broken into your quarters? But the others would know. They'd wake you – they'd try to stop him. Wouldn't they? Or had they all already tried – and failed to stop him. Is that why you could physically feel his hands on your throat? “You think too much.” His voice echoes after a long time, “Tell me, Princess – after everything I've shown you – do you still dare to think of this as a deception?” You don't know what to say, you have always wished for Darth Vader's defeat in every battle you have been a part of, always hoped that the tyrannical rule he was a part of would end. And yet you also knew that there was something weird– something wrong here. Every time you had encountered the Sith Lord you had felt an odd sort of feeling in your mind, as if something was amiss. You had always been wary of the force-users and weren't entirely convinced of its powers– or better yet, its presence in the universe. Yet every time you ran into Vader, you had always felt a certain presence in your being – like a pull, a connection that wasn't quite complete. Like two wires of a running circuit that occasionally rubbed together and created sparks. But what does it mean? What does any of this mean? You still cannot believe that whatever Vader showed you was some sort of prediction of the future. However, he told you that it was your mind that projected this.

But can you believe him? You would scream and fight and argue that he's a cruel perverted liar and that none of this is true. But then why is there a part of you that suddenly feels heavy with need? You almost want to strangle yourself when you realise the wetness in your pants. And you suppose you really should just jump off a cliff when you realise that Vader can and probably is reading your mind right now. “I do not need to read your mind to know your desperation, Rebel.” Or maybe you could throw him off one instead. “While it would surely be amusing to see you attempt, right now, Princess, tell me – are you still convinced that all I've shown you is a deception?” With his words he slowly moves the pressure down your neck, tracing your collarbones to your breasts, cupping them as if they were naked. He fondles them, pinching and pulling and you whimper. “—that you don't want this?” His hands ghost down your torso, caressing your hips before moving further south. You freeze when you feel him slip below the waistband of your pants, going lower and lower before stopping right at your slit – the same way he had in the vision he showed you. He mimics the same actions from the fantasy on your body – running his fingers up and down teasingly before pausing on your clit to rub slow circles. “Tell me to stop, Princess.” He slips his fingers lower again to put pressure on your slit without actually slipping inside and you're not sure how to answer him. You want him to stop because this cannot be right – you already don't know how he's even doing this, and surely you don't want to fuck Vader? But then you don't want him to stop because the expertise with which he's teasing your tits and rubbing your clit is making it hard to think. Vader can tell that you're at the edge of your limits. He flashes all the images he's shown you once again, repeating them in your head as he lures you, “Look,” he can tell that you're trying to fight him, trying to break off his connection and stop him from showing you these visions. Too bad he's a Sith Lord and much better at controlling. Brats like you really need to be tamed. “I said look.” The images flash much quicker now, all of them with you naked and begging for Vader to take you. He uses the force to toy with your body once again �� phantom lips kiss their way from the corner of your mouth and up your jaw to nibble at the sensitive spot right under your ear. He shows you your own face in the visions where you climax in his mouth, on his fingers, on his cock – your mouth dropped, brows scrunched and naked chest heaving as you whine and moan. He makes you listen to your own screams of pleasure, of begging – begging to give you his cock, to let you cum, to do it all over again.

The real Vader puts a steady thrumming pressure on your clit, one that would've had you immediately buckling at the knees if you weren't still asleep in your bed. You can't help the whimper that escapes you. “Vader, please...” You feel ashamed when you find yourself repeating the words from the dream, though you're not sure if you're pleading him to stop or asking for more. “What's the matter, Princess? Surely a proud rebel like yourself wouldn't want a Sith Lord?” His voice continues mocking you as the humming pressure turns into full vibrations over your clit and that combined with the way he pinches your nipples has you melting against your own wishes. Or is it? Is this really against your own wishes? You can lie to him, but can you really lie to yourself? And it seems Vader's presence in your mind is as attentive as ever as he soon questions. “Tell me to stop. You said I was lying – so why aren't you stopping me?” Vader can feel the steady build of a climax in you, you are right at the brink and he can tell that all it would take is one push to send you over the edge. Suddenly, he stops all his actions. Every way he was touching you–it all disappears in a second. It happens so quickly it's like your body gets whiplash. You feel naked despite the fact that your body is still fully clothed and tucked in bed. You sob, “Vader—” “What is it, Princess?” When your own inner turmoil keeps you silent he continues his provocation, “Surely, you do not want me–a Sith Lord, to fuck you?” He mocks with a surprised tone. “Surely you do not want something like this,” he once again flashes another image in your head. This time you're on your back again, fully naked, but the sight doesn't shock you after all that you have seen in the past few minutes. Your hair is strewn over the surface, nipples hard as your half-lidded eyes twinkle up at him, a teasing smile pulls on your lips as your nails dig into Vader's stomach, dragging them up before spreading your palms over his chest. You tug him to you, and Vader's wide frame covers your body.

He is still clothed and his cloak falls over his shoulders to drape over the two of you. You watch as he squeezes your throat, but unlike the panic that grows in you every time you feel Vader's hands over your neck, the you in the dream smiles. She smiles and puts her hand over his as if encouraging him and fuck that shouldn't make you drip even more but it does. Vader shuffles back a little and for the first time in all of the visions he's shown you do you get to see any part of him. The real parts. And it's his cock – thick and long, slightly curved–and heavy. Heavy as you watch yourself take him in your palms, heavy as Vader slips his hand under yours to pin your wrists above you before thumping his cock on your button, making you whimper. Heavy as he runs it up and down your slit before he hooks the fat head in your hole. The dream you hums in pleasure as Vader's thick cock parts your walls, except suddenly he stops. He stops halfway in, running his possessive hands up and down your hips and legs. The pause makes you whine, instinctually clenching around him to pull him deeper and it almost knocks the breath out of Vader. He leaves a stinging hand print on your ass as a reminder to behave before one of his hands comes down to where the two of you are joined. Watching his hands–it makes you think. Even during such an intimate act Vader never takes off his gloves, in fact he doesn't even take off his clothes. In every dream you have seen tonight he is always fully clothed and it almost makes you yearn to see what he actually looks like. The dream you was always busy being fucked senseless by Vader but you couldn't stop wondering about how he was underneath all that leather. How would it feel if he were to touch you, really touch you. Would his hands be warm to touch? Or would they be as cold as his voice? Your contemplation doesn't last long as that same vibrating pressure grows stronger on your clit, just as the pleasure blooms in your core. Every time Vader touches you, really touches you–with whatever weird sexual Force abilities he possesses, your mind goes entirely blank. It's like he quickly takes over every string controlling your body and all you can do is give in. You give in as Vader cups your sex and palms your throat–it's as if he's right there behind you, broad chest to your back, slow and deep breaths exhaled right next to your ear, tickling you and somehow arousing you further. When you start getting fussy he tightens his grip on your throat, “Watch.” He commands before directing your attention to what he's projecting in your mind. You stare in embarrassment and arousal as the dream Vader first makes you come on his tip, using his fingers to pinch and pull and rub on your clit, pushing you to your high till you're pulsing around the head of his cock. It makes him dig his nails into your plush thighs, slick fingers moving up to grip your ass and lift your hips up to use for his pleasure. Vader pulls out of you to tease you again. You had been whining the entire time he was playing with your body and it entirely distracted you from the way Vader was actually toying with you in reality. Or was this all a dream too?

Your thoughts are cut off as Vader lines his thick fingers to your slit, circling and circling till you're dripping and surely staining your pants. Your hips move on their own to get him to finally push inside. You're embarrassed but also glad that you have separate quarters and that you sleep alone. “You want it that bad, Princess?” His deep voice rumbles in your mind. Wasn't the bastard supposed to be able to read your mind? You don't answer, instead, you try to reach out to whatever it was Vader was using to toy with you, focusing in your mind on that odd sensation that seems to be the source of all this. Maybe it's Vader's own distracted nature that allows you to sense his presence so quickly in the Force, especially when he doesn't do anything to stop you as you reach out to him, to the feeling of him. You connect to his presence, as if gently caressing the very fabric of his being. It feels somewhat weird; you've never done anything like it before. It feels like you're weaving yourself into him as you concentrate on the feeling of him in your mind. Even his presence feels intimidating–strong and dark, imposing and fearful. Yet, you reach out, gently, a little unsure but determined to get him to do something, anything.

You wonder why Vader isn't doing anything to stop you, especially when you know he can, being all-powerful and all that. Did he want this just as much as you? Your contemplation is cut short as you feel a steady pressure on your entrance and you throw your head back, thinking fucking finally. You think you hear something like a deep chuckle echoing in your mind before the same dream from before flashes at the forefront again. This time, dream Vader lines his cock up with your hole just as you feel the force touch grow stronger on your cunt, and simultaneously you watch as Vader's cock swiftly enters you and you feel a thick length bury deep inside. A loud moan echoes in your mind and you can't tell if it was the dream you or you. This time Vader doesn't waste a second before he starts thrusting, both in the dream and inside you. You watch as Vader fucks you fast and hard and feel as the heavy girth parts your walls, before pulling back to deliver sharp and precise thrusts, making you feel so full that it steals your breath and renders you speechless. “Hmm, nothing to say now, Princess? No accusations of lies or deception?” When you say nothing Vader slows down his pace, again both in the dream and in you, and this time even if the dream you says anything it goes completely unheard as you whine out. After watching yourself come apart so many times, hearing your whines and begs, the lewd sounds of fucking, you were downright aching, desperate to have your want fulfilled and your cunt stuffed. “Tsk, tsk tsk, such filthy wants you have, Princess.” His mocking voice booms, “and here I thought you wanted me defeated and dead.” You did, you swear you did, just....after you were done with whatever this was. Because fuck Vader feels so good inside you, so big and so deep, especially as he grinds into you without pulling out. In the haze of your pleasure you barely notice Vader picking up pace again and in retaliation he delivers a slap to your ass and it's so much worse. It's so much worse because it feels so so good, your hole pulsating around nothing desperately. “Watch.” He echoes the same word again as he forces you to concentrate on the dream he's showing you. It's a struggle to focus as Vader expertly fucks you into the mattress, pleasure coursing through your veins as he hits that deep spot inside you again and again. It becomes so much more difficult when he makes you watch the way he fucks you, the way his broad frame covers you entirely, practically dwarfing you, the way you greedily swallow him, stretched to your limits as his thick cock thrusts into you – hard and fast, not showing any mercy. Holy shit, you realise, Vader was showing you how he would fuck you, and he's making you feel how he would fuck you. All without fucking you at all.

He's ruining you, absolutely ruining you as the lewd sounds of him thrusting hard and deep into your wet pussy echo in your mind. As sweat runs down your forehead, as your chest heaves, and as your cunt leaks and leaks, surely ruining your sleepwear. As you sob in pleasure and you can’t even tell if it’s from the dream or you.

You feel the pressure on your neck return and it makes you heady, your eyes roll to the back of your head as Vader toys with your clit again, not faltering in his pace of fucking you.

You’re barrelling towards the edge at record speed, but you would never admit to Vader that no one’s ever fucked you this good, not even the best sex of your real life came close to whatever Vader was doing to you now.

Did you feel guilty about it? Immeasurably so. But it wasn’t at the front of your mind when you could also feel the way you were so close. So so close – just one more deep thrust, just one more flick of your button, just one squeeze of your throat and you’d be—

Suddenly every bit of touch disappears from your body.

The long length inside you is no longer there, the wide palm on your bare throat has vanished and the thrumming pressure on your clit has faded into nothing.

You can’t help the cry that escapes you, calling out his name in desperation.

There is no reply. You writhe on the bed, your desperation showing in the way your knuckles protrude as you fist the bedsheet, your hips squirming and cunt pulsing in need for what was so cruelly stolen from you.

You quickly sit up as your mind awakes and your eyes shoot open. Your quick pants are the only sound you can hear in the pin drop silence of your separate quarters.

Your voice is shaky as you call out, “V-Vader?”

Still no reply. You let your head fall into your hands, a silent sob escaping you as you come down from the high. Your cheeks feel warm, in fact, your whole body feels on fire and you just can’t seem to get enough air into your lungs.

The tears that slip down your face, dry and cool your heated skin but it’s not enough.

Every encounter with Vader always made you feel like something was missing, and tonight that feeling’s stronger than ever, carving out a chunk of your being and wringing your stomach into knots.

You feel hollow. Unsure. Unsafe. And yet you want to forget all of this. There is no physical evidence of anything other than your ruined underwear that you’re more than willing to ignore. Maybe this was all just a dream. A very very bad dream. Nothing more.

Just as you’re about to chalk this all up to some weird way of the universe fucking with you, a deep inhale echoes in your mind.

“The temple is where our business will be finished.”

And just like that you’re once again left alone in the silent darkness of the room.

a/n: welp folks, here we have it. weird way to say it ig but happy star wars day! may the force be with you

(ignore that this is a day late and also absolutely not proofread, both becuz tumblr was being a bitch and I lost this fic like 6 times and I almost don't care anymore lol)

[happy74827]

Say Yes to Heaven

[Logan Howlett x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Sometimes all it takes is one look. One gesture. One word. One action. To remind them that not everyone sees them the same, and It's enough to send a person over the edge.

WC: 3690

Category: Fluff, First Kiss, Logan’s POV

Another Grumpy!Logan x Sunshine!Reader because it’s my comfort trope ✨🫶

『••✎••』

He never realized how much he wanted someone to care for.

It was something he didn't know he desired. A year ago, he didn't care for a single thing. He felt nothing. He was so numb. So empty.

He was an angry man. The kind of man people kept their distance from. Wade ruined that; he aggravated him so much that Logan started actually caring about his life. And for as much as he despised his fugly ass, he was internally grateful for him. He started to open up more and more.

Wade had a part in taking him out of rock bottom, as they say, but you… you aggravated him in the most endearing way possible. You were so bright, so happy, and full of life. Logan couldn't understand how someone could be like that, and he hated you for it. He thought it was so ignorant of you.

"I mean, come on, how could she be that happy all the time? It's fucking dumb. She doesn't even know me!"

That's what he said to Wade, but his roommate only laughed. He found his frustration hilarious and made fun of him constantly.

And don’t even get started on the way you spoke. Never once have you raised your voice at anyone. You always talked softly, and even if you were pissed off, you still found a way to make your words sound gentle.

The man couldn’t wrap his mind around the way you acted, you weren’t a mutant, but you damn well could have been with that forever customer service smile you wore every day.

The level of patience and understanding you held for people was insane to him, especially the amount of patience you held with him.

He was constantly telling you to fuck off, and you took no offense; you just returned that stupidly kind smile and told him that if he needed anything, you were there for him.

You had no clue what he’s done, what he's capable of, and yet you treat him with the utmost respect. And being a mutant, respect, and kindness were two things he hadn’t received in a very long time.

It made him realize things—about himself and others. He started noticing you a little more—the way you looked and the way you acted. It started out as simple confusion and disgust… the typical reactions one would have when one sees an overly happy person.

But it evolved slowly into intrigue and curiosity.

Then something else. Something he couldn't describe.

His first instinct was to push it away. To try and convince himself, he was disgusted. He did this with everything he felt, but he couldn’t keep lying to himself.

It wasn't disgust.

He couldn't name it; he wasn't ready to, but he knew it wasn’t that.

Wade had noticed the change in him, the way he looked at you, the way he started being a little less rough with the words he chose to say. He didn’t bring it up, but the shit-eating grin he gave each time Logan walked in and saw you was more than enough proof that he had picked up on it.

Of course, it only resorted to grins because the one time he opened his mouth, Logan didn’t restrain himself. He popped his claws and had to go couch shopping the next day.

Whoops.

So, with Wade keeping his mouth shut after being chewed out by Blind Al and Logan trying his best to push away the foreign feelings, it finally reached a point where he could no longer ignore them.

He didn’t understand why, of all nights, it had to be this one, but it was.

It was 3 am, and his old nightmares had come back to haunt him. He was restless, sweaty, and couldn't take another second of sleep.

It took a rinsing of the bathroom sink and a pitiful glare at his reflection for you to return his gaze.

He froze for a second.

You were wearing a large T-shirt, with a pair of shorts underneath. Your hair was messy, but it looked so soft, and your face was clear of makeup, leaving the imperfections of your skin that made you all the more beautiful.

Always wearing a smile. Always greeting him with a soft voice, sometimes a little raspy if just waking up, butnonetheless soft.

But once he rubbed his eyes and let out a tired yawn, you weren’t there anymore.

Because you were never there, you lived across the street. You were in your apartment, sleeping, with no idea that, at that moment, the man who constantly told you to fuck off realized he couldn't stop thinking about you.

The same man who would grunt, scoff, and throw away every kind gesture now realized he secretly cherished them.

He stood there for a moment, just pondering his thoughts. His eyes were still on the spot he saw you in.

His head turned to the right, seeing the digital clock that rested on the nightstand.

3:02 am.

You were asleep…. most likely asleep. You would be unhappy if he came over and woke you up, wouldn't you?

He looked back at the sink.

You could be upset, but you could also be happy. You could give him that smile. That sweet, warm smile.

It would be worth it, right? Just for that?

3:04 am

He didn’t think about it. Not even for a second. Ironically, it started raining as if to test him, but the man was determined.

He put on a jacket to cover his bare chest, threw on some random shoes, and was out the door before his mind could stop him.

3:13 am

He knocked on your apartment door. He was completely drenched from the rain. His hair was messy, his jacket sticking to his body, and his shoes were so wet that the squelching sound they made was the only thing audible.

He heard shuffling. Soft steps coming closer. He could smell your scent. It shocked him how easy it was for him to recognize it.

You unlocked the door. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

His mental image of you being in sleepwear, messy hair, no makeup, had been confirmed. You were beautiful.

You had a tired look, one of the many looks he wasn’t used to. But it was still a good look, and it still held your signature kindness.

He had a feeling it would.

You didn't look too shocked, just tired and confused.

You spoke. "Logan, is…? Are you okay?"

Your voice was even softer than usual, the raspiness it held only making it more comforting.

You were genuinely worried about him, and it hit him then that he was being an asshole. Making you wake up in the middle of the night, and for what? Just because he wanted to see you?

Just because of that, he should’ve given you a reason. An explanation.

He should've asked. He should have done so many things differently, but he didn’t.

His head was in the clouds, and all he could think about was you.

You. That was all.

But his expression gave away that he was in a daze, and your worry only grew.

"Logan? What's wrong?"

You stepped out into the hallway and reached a hand to him.

His heart jumped a bit when you did so. It was just a gesture—one simple act of compassion.

He wasn't worthy of that, but he couldn't resist. He didn't want to.

Your fingers barely brushed against his upper arm before he moved. He grabbed your wrist.

His grip wasn't hard. His hold was gentle, as he had no intentions of hurting you. You could’ve easily pulled your arm away if you wanted to, but you didn't.

His eyes locked with yours. He wasn't sure what possessed him, but it felt so right, so he followed his instincts.

He tugged at your wrist, causing your body to fall into him. Your chest pressed against his. His arms wrapped around you, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other resting on the small of your back.

The embrace was so sudden, and he knew the situation was far from ideal, but his senses were overflowed by your presence, your scent, your softness.

His chin rested atop your head, and his eyes fluttered closed.

It wasn’t the first time he ever hugged someone, but it was the first time he hugged someone in such a way. He held onto you tightly, his grip possessive but not painful.

He was afraid to let go.

He felt your hands press against his chest. You were probably going to push him away, he thought, and he tried to prepare himself. He told himself he would let you go because it was the right thing to do, yet he didn’t need to.

You hugged him back, and he almost lost his footing.

How long had it been since he last received a hug? Since the last time, someone held him and showed him affection?

Too long.

Your hands went inside his opened jacket and held onto him. Your fingers pressed against his skin, and your soft, warm breaths caressed his neck.

He could stay like this for eternity, and he would never grow tired of it.

Your voice reached his ears.

"Logan, did something happen?"

He had been standing there for quite a while. He wasn’t aware of how long. Time seemed to freeze around you, but he didn’t mind. He wasn't one to believe in such nonsense, but when it came to you, he was ready to accept it.

Your hand rested on his arm, and he knew you were subtly prompting him to move, and so he did.

He pulled away from the hug just enough to look at you.

Your lips were turned upwards. The corners of your eyes creased.

"Logan?"

It was then that his actions registered—how utterly close the two of you were, how intimately you were holding each other. He was already warm just from genetics alone, but now he felt everything around him heat up.

"I-"

He didn't know what to say. It was like he was back in that bar, drinking away every thought. He couldn't think. There was nothing. Nothing but the feel of your body against his.

But what truly sealed the deal was when he felt your thumb gently caress his knuckles. It was a small movement, barely noticeable, but it was centered exactly on the scars his claws made.

That little movement made his brain short-circuit. His hands twitched. His grip tightened. He held onto you with his entire body as if scared to let you go.

"What happened?"

You were patient with him. The fact that he hadn’t even answered any of your concerns said enough.

But, eventually, he did find some words to respond with. It wasn’t the answer you were searching for, but it was a response.

"Why are you always being so fucking kind?"

It was such a simple question, and yet the amount of pain it carried was overwhelming. He knew you could hear every word behind it. Every word he couldn't bring himself to say.

He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t a good man. He did horrible things, and sure… he made an attempt to make up for it. To be better, but it couldn’t have been enough, could it?

You were still here, looking at him with those soft eyes.

Why couldn't you look at him the way he deserved to be looked at? Like he was a monster.

Why did you have to look at him with those goddamn beautiful eyes?

"You deserve kindness, Logan. We all do."

And then, your voice became even softer and a little shaky. Your hands went back to massaging his knuckles. His scars.

"Just because you see yourself a certain way doesn’t mean the rest of us do. I see the good in you. Always have since we first met."

You spoke so softly, yet your words were heavy with emotion.

"I know it's not easy, but try to have a little more faith in yourself."

You didn’t deserve the harsh words he always threw at you. You didn’t deserve any of his anger. You didn't deserve him.

"Why?" He repeated his question, his voice strained, and you didn't miss the way his jaw clenched. "Why should I?"

His arms loosened their hold around you; his hands moved down your sides, and his touch feathered light. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he couldn’t quite let go just yet.

You paid it no mind. Only staring back into his eyes with the same kindness he was so used to, the one he had grown to treasure.

"You have a right to feel the way you do, Logan. And I can't claim to understand what you've been through. I can't begin to imagine. But you are a good man. A little rough around the edges, maybe, but you’ve shown me time and time again that you're trying."

A smile crept its way onto your face, and a soft giggle escaped past your lips.

Now, to be fair, he was used to hearing your laughter. With your… odd sense of humor, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. But, this would be one of the firsts to add to his collection.

The one reserved for him and him only.

Your laughter wasn’t loud, or annoying, or anything like Wade's. It was soft, sweet, and oh-so pleasant.

You were looking at him. Staring up at him with such love and warmth. You didn't even realize it, but he did.

"Besides, who wouldn't be a little grouchy waking up to that handsome face every morning?"

And, now, he was repulsed by the unwelcome vision of a certain masked man making his way into his head. He was so disgusted by the thought he didn’t bother responding. He didn't want to.

So, instead, he moved.

He had a habit of moving on his own and not thinking about it. It went from his hands going to your sides, and now, his hands reaching out to press against the door behind you.

You were pinned against the door, and the way you looked at him didn’t change. Of course, it didn't. Your eyes were always kind. They always were.

You were leaning against the door. Looking at him, waiting.

And he stared back.

He was so close, and he was tempted to pull away. To take a step back and leave. It would be the best for both of you; at least, he thinks so.

He couldn't give you anything.

He had nothing.

There was only himself. His body. His mind. His past.

His claws, too, if that counted for anything.

But, besides those, there was nothing.

He wasn’t a bad man, but he wasn't good either. Not like you were. He couldn’t possibly begin to match you, not even if he tried.

Which is why he had no intention of trying.

Yet, even as he thought that, his body moved even closer. The dog tags he had never taken off since he was given them hung loosely, dangling in front of your face.

One of your hands was on his chest, the other gripping onto the material of his shirt.

"Logan."

You spoke his name so softly. Almost a whisper, and yet, the sound of it was all his senses were focused on.

Your gaze shifted between his eyes and lips, and the hand that had been holding onto his shirt moved, reaching up to his shoulder.

The touch was light, as if hesitant, and it caused him to lean even closer.

It was so close. You were so close. You had been before, but never like this. Never in the way he wanted.

He wanted you so badly.

And you were right there. Looking at him with those eyes, with a soft, tender smile, and with an expression he didn't recognize.

He knew that was an invitation. You were always an open book, and your body language was no different.

And it wasn't the first time you did so.

There were many times when you looked at him. Your eyes trailing over his face. Your gaze went downwards, lingering before you snapped out of it and looked away.

He always saw it, always knew it was there, but he just chose to ignore it. He wasn’t in the right mind, then. He was just another broken man, struggling to get by, trying his best.

Trying to find some meaning in his life.

But, even now, he was still hesitant. Even after coming all the way here and making his intentions clear, he struggled with it.

"Are you sure?"

Because you were so much better than him.

Because he could still remember the day the two of you met. How much of an asshole he was, how rude, how angry.

It wasn’t until the seventh time you approached him that he realized that he had met someone who genuinely, wholeheartedly cared.

It wasn't until the twentieth time you approached him that he finally accepted it.

He could never forget the way you smiled and spoke to him, even though he had given you no reason to.

"Hi, Logan!"

You would say.

"Good morning!"

You would wave.

"Have a nice day, Logan."

You would nod, even though the man himself chose to ignore you. Goddamn it. You were so much better than him.

Much purer. Much more innocent.

You had a heart of gold, and a soul as white as snow. You were so good, so kind, and the thought of soiling you, of ruining your light with his darkness, it scared him.

It was the sole reason he didn't give in, even now, with you offering yourself to him.

He didn't want to ruin you.

"Yes."

No hesitation. No second thoughts.

Your eyes were so kind. So full of love, and the same emotion reflected back in his own.

But, even with the clear sign of assurance, he still felt the need to create one last line of defense.

With the hand against the door, he peeled it back enough to have your eyes catch sight of the fist it made.

In a millisecond, he unleashed his claws and slammed his fist against the door, the sharp adamantium easily slicing through the wood, causing the door to crack.

And, yet, no reaction. Not a single flinch, not a wince, not even a hitch of breath.

You weren't afraid. Not at all. Even as the claws were mere inches from your face, you weren't scared.

The corners of your mouth twitched. Upwards, and it soon bloomed into a bright smile.

He retracted his claws, and gave you another once-over, just to be sure, and you responded by lifting your hand, grasping the metal chain hanging from his neck.

Your fingers grazed against the cool metal, and your smile softened before turning into a small grin.

"For a man who states he isn’t scared of anything, you sure have a lot of defense mechanisms, Logan."

Teasing. That was a new one for you.

He liked it.

"Say it again." Now, finally, you showed a different expression. Confusion mixed with curiosity. You were wondering what he meant. "My name."

"Logan."

For you, his actions were mere seconds. You had no time to process the feeling of his breath against your lips. The feeling of his stubble tickling your skin. The feeling of his warm, dry lips pressed against yours.

But, for him, it was a slow, steady motion. He took his time. He pulled you closer, his hands moving from the door and cupping the back of your head and your waist.

The kiss was soft. Gentle. Nothing rushed.

He held you like you were fragile. Like you were made of porcelain and could break at any moment. He could, theoretically, but he would rather go through Cassandra’s entire repertoire of torture than hurt you.

He lifted you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and your arms around his neck, his own pulling you closer, his fingers digging into your skin.

You tasted exactly how you were. Pure. Sweet.

Like heaven.

He was sure he was leaving that of the bitter alcohol he had downed on your lips, but you didn't seem fussy about it.

Not that he could focus on anything else, anyway.

He was too distracted by the way his tongue danced with yours.

Too focused on the taste of your mouth.

Too distracted by the way your hands made themselves a home in his wet hair. They would tug every once in a while, releasing a groan he hadn’t known was there.

He was too distracted to care.

He was too lost in your scent. Wade always called him that character from that shity vampire movie due to his nose.

He always disagreed until you happened to mention the resemblance. Then, and only then, did he see the logic.

And you saw the logic here, too—the logic of how good you melted together. Experiencing it now made him question his decision to stay away.

If it was always going to be this good, this intoxicating, he should’ve done it a long time ago.

He should've taken the chance.

It would've saved the two of you a lot of frustration, and a lot of headaches.

But it didn't matter. He was here now.

And, as his foot broke into the door, mouth still latched onto yours, with him figuring his way about your apartment, he thought:

It doesn't matter.

As long as I’m here.

As long as you’re in my arms.

It doesn't matter.

Fortunately, that meant he didn’t have to wake up to that toupee-stapled face every morning, as he had so dreadfully imagined.

Unfortunately, it also meant that the next time he saw Wade, he would have to deal with him talking his ears off about what had transpired.

But, for now, he could live with that.

He was more focused on the fact on making sure you weren’t regretting your choice.

Because he sure as fuck didn’t.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: noncon/dubcon, bullying, reader wears glasses

♡ gn reader

Thinking about jock bully hunting you down after the bell rings...

You hurry – haphazardously shoving your books and pens into your bag before slinging it over your shoulder – ready to get out before the chimes are even done singing.

Thankfully, it seemed fine for now as you couldn't hear the roaring of buzzing students in the hallway just yet, only your own class packing up their belongings with movements rather lazy compared to yours. 

But you couldn't afford to take your time – even with the free period following the end of your class. You needed to leave before he could find you.

"Where’ you off to in such a hurry, Specs?"

You ought to have knocked on wood before finishing your thought – you admonished yourself with eyes squeezed tightly shut and a punishing bite to your lower lip.

It's funny – you winced – how his voice is so casual, so breezy and laidback, all cool and friendly – funny how it sends such spiky goosebumps down your spine.

You ignore him, trying to squeeze past him – quick and dexterous as you attempt to slip away and disappear out the door – maybe be so lucky to lose him in the crowd.

"Whoa, whoa- you tryna run off on me?" He joked. His large hands held up to block your way. 

You watch the rest of your classmates leave – leaving you to fend for yourself. But you couldn't really blame them… none of you wanted to explain new bruises to worried parents at home.

He was like a shark circling, and if he smelt blood in the water, you were as good as done for. And you were like an open cut.

"Now, what did I do to deserve a disappearing act, huh?" He pouted. His head tilted, blocking out the lights in the ceiling, shadowing his already scary face. 

You nearly squeaked instead of speaking. "Please- I- I-"

"Calm down, will yah?" He dismissed. Flashing you a wide smile – the one that nearly fooled you into believing he was a good and decent guy. "I ain't come to pick on yah…"

You didn't listen. Once again, you bravely tried to push past him with your bag squeezed tightly to your chest – trying to rush to the door.

But his size was like the door itself. Big and squared. Muscly and tough as he blocked your way effortlessly. Though, no less bothered with your insistent attempt at running away from him.

"Now, when I tell you to do something-" He laughed passive-aggressively as his hand reached out to clutch the handle on your bag, yanking you back. "You should perk up and listen, yeah? Use that head of yours for something useful for once."

His knee rode up between your thighs – making you whimper where you stood, caged between his thick arms and the desk behind you.

"Wouldn't wanna make me angry now, do yah?"

His breath tickled your face, and you bowed your head under his gaze – unable to take your eyes off of the veins flexing along his beefy arms as his large hands gripped the table’s edge, sleeves rolled up like usual – the sight of his knuckles whitening, making you queasy with unease.

You tried ducking away once again. "Please, I need to-"

But he just clicked his tongue at the measle effort. Cutting you off yet again. 

"You don't need to do anything but stand here and entertain me." He decided with a voice a bit more biting than before.

You jolted, your eyes round and wide as you looked back up into his glare.

He laughed out a lighthearted chuckle before his hand broke off from marring the desk – scratching the back of his neck with an apologetic smile – serving a small effort at easing your worries where you stood tense and rigid in your place in front of him.

"Thing is…” He started once again, his tone back to normal – or whatever he wanted you to think was his normal. “Coach is gonna kick me off the team if I don’t get my grades in order.” He explained. “So’s thinkin’ since you’re such a good little nerd, you wouldn’t mind helpin’ me out.”

His hand reached out to tickle your chin.

“M’sure havin’ a cute little nerd-tutor like you is exactly what I need.”

Your throat was so tight you thought you might just choke. “I don’t-”

“Good!” He boasted over your pitiful protest. “Since y’got nothin’ better to do, how ‘bout we just head straight for my dorm right now?” He asked – though you knew better than to think it was a question. “Le’me carry that for yah-”

He yanked your backpack from your chest, ripping it out of the tight hug before throwing it over his own shoulder.

“I can carry you too if yah want?” He posed – smirk loud on his face as he placed his large paws at your waist – followed quickly by you shooting your arms forward to shove him off in protest.

But though you thought you’d put in some strength behind it, the boy in front didn’t budge at all. 

He just arched a brow as though asking if that was really all you had. And you hoped dearly he couldn’t see how the stiff muscles of his shredded chest had actually strained your wrists instead.

“What do you say, short stuff?” He leaned in, his breath foggy on your glasses and hot on your cheeks, as his hands clawed themselves into the fat of your waist, pulling you off your feet just a bit.

“N- no, thank you.” You stuttered out, stumbling a bit as you braced yourself against him. Your eyes squished close as you bowed your head away from him in a mix of fear and embarrassment while you suppressed the mortifying feeling of nearly pissing yourself.

But the tall boy realized little of your inner turmoil – rather enjoying it as he scoffed out an amused laugh at you. “A'ight then, come on.”

He yanked you along – his large paw gripping your arm as you struggled to keep up with his long strides. Nearly needing to resort to jogging where you otherwise tripped when the gap between the two of you became so large you had to skip a step or two to catch up – and before you even realized it, you were already standing outside the boy’s dorm waiting for him to find his keys.

He unlocked the door and welcomed you inside with the same grace of a warden showing a prisoner to their cell – with the weight and breadth of his warm hand on the small of your back as he nudged you inside.

The room had an overwhelming dank scent of both bodyspray and sweat and other things you’d only expect to smell in a boy’s locker room.

“Yo.” Came another voice from inside.

“Sup, roomie.” Your bully replied lazily. Grinning at how you gripped his shirt, all but jumping into hiding behind him. 

You’re cute…

“Who’s that you got there?” His friend arched a brow at you, where you peaked at him from behind your bully’s sleeve.

“I’mma need the room.” He announced, not really answering the question.

The roommate then scoffed with a grin, beholding you with slim eyes for a moment, then scoffed once more before he got up to leave.

“Don’t hit the books too hard – Coach’ll have your ass if you don’t bring your A-game later.” He warned, pulling his gym bag up on his shoulder as he excused himself.

You looked around once he was gone, spotting dumbbells and other equipment – and quickly realized how there must be many more muscles beneath his shirt than what you’d already borne witness. 

“So- uhm-” Swallowing the lump in your throat, you awkwardly turned to the boy. “Where're your books?”

Your bully smiled, taking a casual step toward you. “My books?” He asked, nowhere near even trying to sound the least bit genuinely confused.

“Your- uhm...” You paused, feeling uneasy. “Textbooks?”

His smile sharpened. “That’s cute.” He mocked sweetly while buttoning up the small black buttons of his white uniform shirt, giving a flash of those muscles you’d been anxiously anticipating. “You actually thought we were gonna study?”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kuro, Bokuto, Iwaizumi, Sakusa, Miya twins, Tendou, Ukai ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ WB – Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

Full fic with smut available here:

[gatorbites-imagines]

Idk if you do n/sfw alphabets or yan! Alphabets but if you do can you do one for remmick?

Remmick Yandere alphabet 

I want to eat this man whole. Sinners had no right being so good and have so many hot people in it, where my Bo lovers at?

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get? 

Remmick seems like the kinda guy who can be like traditionally romantic, like bringing you flowers, gifts, something like kissing the back of your hand. But he also seems like he has moments where he will bite you, feed on you, or hurt you as like “affection”. He can get very intense, like, would break your ribcage open and crawl inside if he could, intense. 

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling? 

Bro, I don't think there's a limit to how bloody he would get when it comes to his darling. Anybody that stands in his way needs to be gotten rid of. 

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them? 

I think it would be something like when you keep a pet mouse or rabbit. He might coo at their struggling or crying, but there's no way he would be scared of them. Maybe mocks them a little bit in an “awww so cute, you want to leave? Adorable” 

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will? 

Honestly? What wouldn't he do against his darling. Hes willing to hurt them, their families, the innocent, so on and so forth. 

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling? 

I think his vulnerability is used for manipulation. Like, Remmick going on about how empty he was before his darling showed up, how they are meant together, etc etc. 

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back? 

He finds it adorable, and just kinda thinks his darling is being silly. When he's turned you, then you'll understand what he feels, don't worry love. 

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape? 

Very much a cat and mouse situation, or maybe more like, lion and mouse. Thinks its endearing. 

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them? 

Probably Remmick killing their entire family, all their loved ones, their entire town, etc, etc. He seems like the kinda weirdo who would turn your loved ones as a manipulation tactic. 

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling? 

Wants to be like, a power couple, super romantic, constant honeymoon phase. You are his other half, his light, his sun when he cant see the real deal, you just need to understand. 

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope? 

Very jealous, very possessive. His darling belongs to him and nobody else. Might hurt you as punishment for making him jealous, but lashes more at the perceived threat. 

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling? 

So charming and manipulative like 90% of the time, always meeting your needs and turning your own mind against you kinda manipulation. The 10% is when he gets angry or you press him just far enough, where you feel true terror. 

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling? 

Stalking, so much stalking. You would feel yourself being watched for like, months, maybe even years. Hes got all the time in the world, so why rush it. You will start finding flowers, gifts, and so on, by your front door. Love letters that start out cute but become so creepy and uncomfortable as time goes on. Any man you might have something with go through accidents or go missing. 

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else? 

I don't know honestly. Part of me believes Remmick would think he's doing the right thing so he doesn't act too different, but he might be a little less all over you around others, mainly because no one else deserves to see you smile or pleased. 

Naughty: How would they punish their darling? 

Does the “I'm not mad, I'm disappointed”. Def a bone breaking yandere. So much psychological warfare, you'll think your own mind is betraying you. 

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling? 

Uses it to manipulate you, allows you more freedoms when you follow the rules and behave, but just as easily takes them away as punishment. 

Patience: How patient are they with their darling? 

Very patient. Hes got all the time in the world, so there's no need to rush. Might even play the extra long game and make you actually fall in love with him before he springs all the yandere tendencies on you. 

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on? 

Ha, bold of you to assume he would ever let you die. You will only die when he kills you to turn you. And escape? I wish. You might think you have escaped, but Remmick is simply lurking in the shadows, letting you enjoy your make belief freedom for now. 

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go? 

No, he would not. You aren't being let go, and he would not feel guilty about it. Maybe feels a little bad when you scream and cry, but you'll understand with time darling. 

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)? 

His known backstory, with him losing everything and being oppressed. And then being a vampire for who knows how many years. 

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves? 

Thinks its cute, would wipe your tears away and coo at you even when you try to punch or claw at him. 

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere? 

Would feed on you if he hasn't turned you. Like mentioned earlier, Remmick would turn all your loved ones to push you to accept him quicker, which I feel is very different from the classic yandere. 

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape? 

Honestly? I don't know, I can't think of much outside of normal vampire weaknesses. But you also won't get the chance to have access to any of those things. I think your own escape would be taking your own life if you ever escape long enough to do so. 

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling? 

Yes, but he sees it as a necessary evil for you to behave and understand. It hurts now, but you'll agree with his actions later. 

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over? 

I don't think he worships you the same level as one would a God, but he does make you feel like a king when you do get turned. He would still revere you, but not enough to give you passes or give you access to his weaknesses. 

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap? 

I think he's snapped from the start tbh. Homie has never once been normal since he got turned, what is there to snap? He could stalk you for years though, before he swoops in and takes you. 

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling? 

Oh yeah, no doubt about it. Does the most horrible psychological torture too. Physical too. When he turns you, that also counts as breaking his darling I think, cuz you two just kinda mesh into one being and all that. 

[xenteaart]

the hard way

pairing: vampire!chris x to be vampire!reader genre/warnings: dark romance, mean chris, angst? kinda dead dove, mentions of death, blood and a lil gore (not too graphic tho imo), it's okay in the end??? and they're in love plot: reader is getting turned into a vampire and it's not as cool as she imagined author’s note: obvsly heavily inspired by railway and that SPITTING SCENE. idk it's prolly gonna flop but i wanted to picture that process and a not so hot side of it

“no.” “why not?!” “because i told you so a million times already. we’re not discussing this.” chris spits out and furrows, growing more agitated with each passing second.

“what, you don’t want me to be equal to you?” you ponder desperately while your mind searches for any, any reason at all as to why chris won’t turn you. it’s been getting to you for the last couple of months, and you’re sure you’ve gone through every possible explanation your troubled brain could come up with: he doesn’t love you. he doesn’t wanna spend eternity with you. or maybe it’s a power thing. or, or, or...? this endless cycle of worry and uncertainty has been keeping you on edge for way too long to think clearly now. “gosh, it has nothing to do with equality,” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “what is it then?” “drop it.” you snap. “we’ll have to find out the hard way, then.”

you grab the nearest kitchen knife, and it turns out to be the one you use for cutting meat, a chef’s knife as they call it. how fitting. chris barely has enough time to catch up with your madness infused impulse, and when he turns his gaze back to you, the knife is already deep in your guts.

you thought it was gonna be romantic or somewhat dramatic at least. something from the movies where he sinks his vampire teeth into your neck, and just like magic — your eyes flash bright red, announcing the beginning of a new life.

“you dumb bitch,” he exhales shakily and somehow manages to catch you in time because the sharp pain in your stomach makes you lose your balance instantly. you’re still bitter and angry in the heat of the argument and you expect him to be the same way, but when you glance up, chris looks nothing but panicked. “that’s a new look on him,” you think, and it confuses you.

chris growls and sinks to his knees, carefully holding you and trying to move as fast as possible. what you don’t know is that turning can only be done in around thirty seconds since fatal injury. that might explain the rushing and chris’s pure bambi eyes panic but your consciousness is already starting to drift away to hold onto that train of thought.

chris bites into his wrist with unmasked fury, tearing and ripping his own veins even though using a knife would have been much cleaner. probably less painful, too. “swallow. now! come on, don’t you fall asleep on me now, focus!” he grabs your face and presses hard on the jaw joints, making you open your mouth like a puppet doll.

the sickly metallic taste of your own blood at the back of your throat from the internal bleeding mixes up with chris’s thick blood that he generously spits into your mouth, and you want to throw up. your head feels dizzy as your eyelids are getting heavier, your hearing suddenly fails completely as if someone turned the volume down from ten to zero. limbs are falling weak, and the pins and needles in them are so, so far from pleasant.

the thing about turning is... you actually have to die first. be fully, completely gone to be able to come back changed and corrupted, turned to the extent of your DNA having been violently rewritten. that you did not think through enough. the muscles in your throat contract almost on reflex, swallowing and gagging on the gooey salty substance, making your chest heave while coughing strangles you further. the tingles and nausea are so overwhelming and all consuming you actually catch yourself thinking dying would be a relief now. and then it follows as you wished.

you doze off for god knows how long but, by the looks of it, it can’t have been more than a few minutes because as you regain consciousness, chris is still looming over you, his own blood fresh on his lips. he’s blurry, though, everything is.

“come on, suck on me. c’mon, baby, there we go,” he coos as he brings his wrist to your lips, forcefully pressing it into your mouth and leaving you with little to no choice. the phrasing, unlike usual, doesn’t sound dirty or hot now, more like a life-saving command while you’re still so out it. it feels good, though, chris’s blood.

it doesn’t taste so metallic and gross anymore, and the texture feels almost soothing on your dry throat, like hot honey milk on a friday evening. suck, gulp, suck, gulp, suck, it almost lulls you back into serenity, some primal instinct of being attached to your only life line, finding comfort in someone’s warmth and touch and taste.

you wonder how much you’ve drunk already and whether chris will have anything left but you’re so, so thirsty you can’t even bring yourself to care.

what finally makes you stop is the sudden sharp ache in your gums. it feels so piercing the aftershocks are almost reaching your brain and eye sockets, and as you feel your old teeth fall out, a pair of longer fangs cuts through and settles into the upper teeth row. hot tears are stinging your eyes and you whine like a wounded deer, still unable to speak properly. it’s all too much, and you start to regret what you’ve done, and maybe, just maybe that’s why chris so passionately refused to put you through it. this kind of hunger and the animalistic, blood thirst driven rage were never something he wanted to inflict upon you.

your entire body is shaking but it’s not really a fearful tremor, more like restlessness, a new sort of “itch” somewhere deep, deep inside that you’ve never experienced before, the feeling so intense and soul wrenching you simply can’t disobey it. it makes you want to jump up and run.

“don’t worry, i’ll teach you how to handle it.” chris cups your face after taking off his leather gloves so you can feel the comfort of his actual skin. the touch is calming, but barely enough compared to that growing desire and need to satisfy the itch. “you stupid crazy cunt, why do you never listen,” he whispers into your forehead, his lips lightly brushing over your cold sweat covered skin, as he holds you closer, squeezing you against his chest in a protective manner, though the real danger to yourself is now planted within you.

[kenobers]

what would a bat do | jason todd blurb

or jason finds you crying and decides to shoot first and ask questions later. gn!reader a/n: could be read as romantic or platonic

Jason is a lot like Bruce. He does not see this as a positive.

To be fair, "You're acting like Bruce" is the verbal equivalent of hitting below the belt for him and his siblings. Being compared to your parent is a devastating below in any sibling argument, but with their...respectively unique relationships with Bruce, it's downright lethal. Especially for Jason, who still hasn't found complete security with their father.

So, Jason only compares himself to Bruce with blinders on. He does it every time he snaps at someone just to get them off his case. He cringes every time he decides to go off the grid and shut everyone out instead of confronting his feelings. "You're acting like Bruce" echoes in his head as he draws a mental Venn diagram and desperately fills the opposing sides.

The worst is when he catches his reflection glowering back at him; if he had a nickel for every time he mistook it for Bruce sneaking up on him…

He only sees his father in himself when he's angry. When he's so blinded by the nauseating need for vengeance that the line between Hood and Bat start to blur. When all he can see is the mission. When he realizes just how much he’s chosen to isolate himself.

One of the reasons he hides as much of his face as possible is because then no one can tell him he looks just like a bat when he bares his teeth. He wears his emotions on his sleeve instead of leaving it to anyone's guess. He makes absolutely sure that there's no mistaking him for Batman.

All of this to mixed results, of course.

Because despite all of his valid issues with Bruce, deep down Jason knows that Bruce Wayne is still a good man.

And although he doesn’t quite realize it, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to admit that Bruce Wayne raised Jason Todd to be a good man.

Bruce is why Jason always holds the door open for the person behind him. Every time Jason buys a coffee, he pays for the next handful of customers, something he consistently watched Bruce do. Whenever a child talks to him, Jason always crouches to their eye level…that’s Bruce too.

That’s not to give Mr. Wayne too much credit. Jason Todd has had a good heart from the moment he was born. He never needed anyone to tell him to leave the world a better place than he found it. Just because he has an anomalous method of doing so doesn’t make that any less true.

But there are certain things, instincts, that Bruce cemented in his mind. Like knowing when to ask questions first and when to ask them later.

Like when he finds you crying just now.

He’d sent you a text earlier in the day. Something completely unrelated to your well being, something incredibly unimportant actually. Still, your lack of response made him anxious, so he went to check on you. Just to make sure you weren't, like, dead or something.

There's a split second of awkward silence as you both stare at one another. But you hardly have time to wipe your tears and blubber out, "Oh, hey, what's up," before Jason's engulfing you in a bear hug.

That's when you know you don't need to hold it together. That's when you know it's safe to completely fall apart.

Jason doesn't need to ask questions just yet. You don't need him asking questions. You both know he'll get answers, whether from you or his own investigation. For now he'll stay quiet, sans a few whispered comforts. He could try being a man of many words. He’s more than capable of waxing poetics. It’s just that he knows he can come across as mean and abrasive, even when he’s trying to be kind and soft.

Another way he’s like Bruce.

Nevertheless, he’s got two big strong arms that can speak for him. They’ve got you. They’ll protect you from whatever’s got you feeling like this.

One large hand anchors you to him. It holds you steady as your body shakes with sobs. The other cradles your head, every so often moving to pat your back whenever you hiccup.

You can hide your face in his chest. Ride along with the subtle rise and fall of it. Let the gentle sound of his heart beat drown out the sound of your stressors. He doesn’t care about the damp spot you’re leaving on his shirt. He just cares about you.

Jason is a rock, an absolute pillar of a human being. He can stand there for as long as you need. He can support your weight and hold you up if you’re too exhausted to do it yourself.

When you decide that you want to talk about it, then he tries to be all ears. He sits you on the couch and wraps an arm around you as you rest your head on his shoulder. Occasionally, his thumb drifts up to wipe your stray tears away.

He listens as best he can. He definitely would've dealt with your issue differently if he were you. In a different era, he would've let you know exactly what he would do - more likely, he would've just gone and done it for you. But he can recognize that this is probably a healthier way to deal with whatever upset you. And you know what, he can respect that too.

After you've vented until there's nothing left to say, Jason stays with you. It's that nagging voice that tells him that he has to make sure you're really okay, that you're not about to do something stupid as soon as he takes his eyes off you. After all, that's what he would do.

So he puts something on the tv. A show, a movie, a YouTube compilation, video essay - something he knows you like. He doesn't look away from you the entire time. He sits at the ready to catch any stray tears or soothe any sudden bursts of rage.

Until you fall asleep on his shoulder. He sits like that for another few minutes before he finally transfers you to your bed, tucking you in with so much care. The only sound he makes is a sharp gasp when he catches his reflection in your window.

Then he sits some more, still watching you closely. He watches until he's certain you're sound asleep, ignorant to the things that hurt you.

Then he slips out the window without a peep, off to get your justice.

That's exactly what Bruce would do.

[engenlvr]

some random girl | alexia putellas

summary : you go to test alexia and she fails miserably

tags + a/n : age gap, implied smut, downbad!alexia, spelling mistakes cause this was rushed, i don’t think there’s anymore to add but idk. anyway a quick little fic while i finish my other one. also two posts in less than a week who am i

word count : 1k

everyone knew that alexia didn’t have a huge social media presence.

if she posted it would always be about club or country, the world barely saw alexia do a media dump and when she did the they went crazy. you’ve been begging alexia to post more ever since you met her but still nothing.

the two of you never posted a picture together so when the fans thought you two were together it was all speculation. either from a picture of you at one of barcelona’s games but you were never seen talking to her only some of the younger girls.

you’d post a story on instagram of the two of you but it would be your hands or a picture of you guys standing next to each other waist down.

and alexia well there was only one post of you that she tagged you in and that was when you first became friends other than that she’d post what like a picture of your hand that’s it.

what you and alexia posted was enough for them to speculate but not nothing concrete.

you guys were careful cause well alexia could be paranoid cause she knew what her fans were like. if you guys went out it was in the parts of barcelona that people didn’t really know about unless they were locals.

after being together for a while you both decided that if one of you wanted to post the other they could. at first you thought a soft launch would be perfect. drive the fans crazy a little seeing as nothing could make them say that it was alexia confidently.

but when you saw the new tiktok trend you just had to do it with her, skip the soft launch you started and skip right to the hard launch.

everything was set up, phone on alexia’s kitchen counter all you needed was for her to come back from training. when you heard the familiar sound of door opening followed by the sound of a her bag being thrown to the floor you knew it was her and that it was time.

“ale baby, come here for a second”

she didn’t reply but the sound of her footsteps becoming louder was confirmation enough and soon enough her figure appeared.

the second you could see she was in the frame you knew it was time.

“think fast i’m some random girl” rushing out the words as quickly as possible before throwing yourself at her. placing your lips on hers in hopes that she push you away or something literally anything.

she done the opposite, in fact she pulled you closer deepening the kiss. making you forget about the video completely. her hand went under your thighs lifting you up from the ground and placing you on her kitchen island.

it wasn’t until she moved from kissing your lips to your neck that you remembered only cause the camera was in your eyesight again. the kiss almost made you forget again but you pushed through the pleasure you were feeling.

her kissing your almost made you want to forget about it “ale—alexia, you were meant to push me away” trying to sound as angry as possible but failed as you laughed and well you could never be mad at her.

“mhm, okay”

that was her only response before getting back to it.

in all honestly it didn’t even seem like she fully heard what you said, she saw you come towards her to kiss her and then the kiss was all that was on her mind. making her forget what you said immediately.

you tried hard to push her away but she only held on tighter.

“i’m serious”

she pulled away “you think that when i have an opportunity to kiss you i wouldn’t take it.”

“but you heard what i said and ignored it so you failed”

“amor, all i saw was that you were going to kiss me and i’m not saying no to that. and am i really failing if i got to kiss you”

you looked at her for a second, taking in her appearance. hair still damp from her shower, a pair of shorts that did her justice and simple top that you swore she made look designer with how good she looked in it.

but now all you could think about was kissing her.

placing you’re hand on her cheeks as you pulled her in for another kiss that was ten times more needy that the last. you felt her hand tug at you’re shirt which you gladly took off and her soon following suit.

your hands now in her hair tugging at her roots each time she’d kiss you with more desperation. she slowly made her way down between your legs, placing kisses on the way.

you threw your head back already anticipating the pleasure that you were about to feel, and just when she was about to touch you where you needed it most. you remembered.

you remember about the camera set up on the counter and how this couldn’t be posted if you let her continue.

you pushed her away from you causing her to groan in annoyance, hoping down from the counter to grab your phone and turn it off. before talking alexia’s hand and going to her bedroom to finish want you started.

you didn’t post the tiktok till a day later. and it was safe to say it was a hit getting over a million views in an hour. the comment made you laugh. you haven’t even told alexia that you were posting it not really caring about what would happen afterwards, and to be fair she did say you could post whatever of the two of you now.

wosofc : people called me crazy for thinking that we’re together but i was right

ellie : alexia i don’t blame you if she was my gf i’d be the same

vickyyylopezzz._ : tell me how you get alexia to do tiktok’s with you now

vickyyylopezzz._ : i’ve been begging her to do a tiktok for a while and this was not what i meant i’m now scarred for life now

barcafem4life : omg i’m never gonna shut up about this

steph : how did you get alexia to do this. she barely had any social media presence and now this

kat : i don’t know who i want to be more

janafernandez3 : i’m coming over we’re doing a tiktok right now

alexiasgf : this is the hardest soft launch i have ever seen it’s like she ditched it completely and was like alexia’s my girl and i’m gonna show the world and i don’t blame her.

the next day at training alexia didn’t hear the end of it as the team especially the youngsters wouldn’t stop teasing her. when they first talked about it she was beyond confused and then they showed her the video and the all teasing made sense. this definitely wasn’t the alexia they knew.

all alexia knew was that they wouldn’t shut up about it for a while but it was worth it if you were happy.

[killerpancakeburger]

Well-placed Trust

As soldiers unpromptedly walk in on a maskless Ghost and you, your solution to protect his face is to shove it in your chest.

Tags: f!reader (boobs involved), civilian!reader, protective!reader, fluff + smut, Praise, Ghost is a menace (positive), boobs worship, 1k words.

Gaining Simon Riley's trust was not something you ever planned to achieve. However, now that you've had it, you were fiercely protective of it.

This would explain why, when you heard the door to Ghost's room randomly opening, and your eyes flew to the skull mask laying on his desk— barely a meter away but it might as well have been on the other side of the ocean—, your first instinct was to launch yourself at him. Bluntly shoving his face into your chest without warning, in hopes to conceal it from the newly arrived trespassers, and wrapping your arms around his head in a desperate attempt to hide his hair as well.

Nevermind that he's trapped right between your breasts.

You throw a mildly accusatory stare at the entrance, and coarse laughs ring out, followed by a barely believable apology.

“Oops, sorry. Wrong door. Didn’t mean to interrupt!”

You let out a relieved sigh as the door closes. However said relief is quick to vanish as you realize Simon hasn’t reacted at all this whole time. Not a word, not even a grunt; not a move, not even to repel you. 

You let go of him like you've been burnt, even raising your hands in surrender.

“Sorry! Are you mad? I panicked, I was just trying to—”

Your waterfall of apologies brutally ceases when, after attempting to back away, you're stopped short by his embrace. You don’t know when he wrapped his arms around your waist. His expression still out of sight, anxiety nags at you, despite the logical part of your mind emphasizing that if he was actually angry, there's no way he'd demonstrate it by hugging you. 

So you insists.

“Ghost?”

“Mmh.”

The sound is raspy, unbothered. He idly rubs his face against your torso, and the motion is enough to make your crotch throbs with arousal. Inhaling sharply at the unexpected sensation, you clench your thighs together.

“Simon,” you call again, trying to sound severe this time.

You have absolutely zero reservation in granting all the hugs he might crave, but surely they could be performed in a less… compromising position. Lest you end this cuddle session squirming with want. And a burning face. And the imperative need to never cross the lieutenant ever again, for fear that you'd spontaneously combust with mortification otherwise.

“‘M not mad.“

The gruff, familiar voice appeases your tension a little— the emotional one, that is. Not the physical one.

“You're not? You have a right to b—”

“I trust you.”

Your heart skips a beat at the confession. You suspected it, hoped for it— but hearing it out loud is another matter entirely. Simon Riley is a man of few words, but the ones he does pronounce are always sincere, to the point of bluntness. For him to feel the need to spell it out loud, it has to be important.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You've put my comfort over yours, no questions asked. Couldn’t be more pleased, love.”

The gravel in his voice does funny things to your stomach— why, why, why? It never had that effect before.

You try to ignore the signals sent by your body, instead passing a hand behind your neck in self-consciousness. 

“Oh… well. It was nothing. I'd do it again in a heartbeat—”

“You've been so good to me, sweetheart. Don't ya think you deserve a reward?”

Your brain short-circuits. Your skin gets even warmer. Surely you misheard him.

He finally unsticks his face from your chest, resting his chin above your sternum, only to stare with the start of some impatience drowned out in warmth and fondness.

He's a vision, one that takes your breath away and causes heat to pool in your stomach.

Heavy-lidded eyes, disheveled hair, ardent stare, he's a languid, lascivious mess.

“I need an answer. Preferably in one word. Yes, no, fuck off…”

In other, normal circumstances, you would have stayed mute from the shock, or helplessly stuttered, but the imperative desire to not disappoint him, to preserve the contentment he displays, takes over.

“Fuck. Yes.”

The low chuckle that escapes him in reaction to the eagerness of your reply makes you bite back a moan. Your hands close into fists on the back of his shirt.

He lifts your shirt— "hold this for me, love"— and effortlessly frees your chest from your bra. The second your skin is bare, he presses his face back into it, nuzzling against it with a blissful sigh.

With one hand busy grasping your top, and the other clinging onto his shoulder for balance, there's nothing you can do but submit yourself to his ministrations.

It's your turn to sigh in pleasure as he proceeds to kiss an invisible line between the bottom and the top of your breast, fingers stroking the curve between your ribs and your nipple.

“Never dreamed you'd let me get my face on those, love.”

Groggy, it takes a conscious effort on your part to register what he's saying.

“Such a generous thing. It's only right you get payback.”

“You're very… talkative all of a sudden.”

“S'that a problem? Think I'm not putting my tongue to use enough?”

Right after that, said tongue swirl around your nipple and you can feel yourself clench around nothing.

“Or maybe that's just not your thing,” he adds, casually, as if he hadn’t been shamelessly gropping, kissing, licking and sucking your chest.

“I never said that.”

Your reply had been straight off, out of fear that he'd take offense and puts a stop to all this.

“You know what to do to shut me up, anyway.”

You don’t react to his provocative tone, but you’re tempted by the invitation nonetheless— to muffle that smart mouth with your bust…

Just as his focus on your breasts threatens to not suffice you anymore, his thumb insistantly rubbs the apex of your thighs, and you push back against it openly.

“Easy there, sweetheart,” he soothes you, but you can see how pleased he is by your eagerness. “M just gettin’ started.”

Soon enough he disposed of your pants, and he's parting your knees to nuzzle against your inner thigh the way he was against your chest mere moments ago. You can’t help but close them partially, and instantly he's staring you down, eyes brimming with taunt.

“Gonna smother me with your thighs, sweetheart? Like you did with your tits, mh? Better be prepared in case we get ‘interrupted’ again.”

“Fucking hell, Ghost,” you groan, half exasperated, half even more aroused, as he finally steers his head towards your crotch.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

suguru wakes up, with a jolt, to the sound of a thud and a meek little yelp.

his eyes blink open, like the shutter of an old camera, raven lashes fluttering along — met only with the dim darkness of your bedroom. not quite pitch black, the light of something soon to resemble dawn bleeding in through the closed blinds, a blue kind of hue that doesn’t do much for him. everything is still dark.

but he can make out shapes, see the ceiling above him, and when he turns his head to the right he can see the contours of shoko’s face; fast asleep, snores building up in her throat and spilling from her lips.

(ridiculously cute.)

sadly, suguru doesn’t have time to savour the sight. because it takes him no less than a moment to notice that his other sleepy baby isn’t there at all — he barely even has to look, just feeling the mattress below him, knowing something is missing. he can’t feel at ease unless you’re weighing it down.

”baby…?” he rasps, deep and groggy, body moving on its own. elbows digging into the mattress, lifting himself up — a tug of alarm stirring his heartstrings.

the thud, your absence, the unmistakable yelp.

his muddled mind puts three and three together — and he sluggishly, steadily pulls himself up, almost desperate to locate you, but careful not to wake shoko. he moves elegantly, like a panther, slipping out of bed, bare feet meeting the cold floorboards as he stands up to his full height. hair a mess, a raven’s nest, sweatpants close to slipping off one side of his hips. absently wiping at his bleary eyes.

as soon as he regains his vision, stands up straight — he sees you. lying on the floor, like an abandoned plushie, while the adorable culprit is sprawled out peacefully on the mattress above you. you’re trying to get up, all disoriented and sleepy, and suguru thinks his heart might just melt down to the marrow.

this is exactly why he makes sure to sleep on the edge of the bed, most nights. exactly to prevent this — prevent his lovers from rolling over, tumbling right off. he doesn’t mind sleeping in the middle on days you want one arm each to latch onto, of course not; nothing warms his heart more than having both his babies on either side of him. but it feels good, to be the shield between you and the hardwood floor — making sure neither of you could ever fall off. it feels good, to watch you both nuzzle together like a pair of sleepy kittens. left side, middle, he’s fine with either.

just as long as he can prevent this. having to watch your small, sleepy form paw at the floorboards in search of stability. it breaks his heart in two.

”oh, baby,” he croons, deep and dripping with honey, crouching down beside you. effortless, as he scoops you up into his arms, one of his palms curling around your back — running down your spine.

and your eyes flutter open. hazy eyes, blinking at him, gaze almost absent, like you’re not quite sure what you’re looking at; but you’re already leaning into his touch, muscles softening, as if your very essence knows you’re safe. in his arms, in his lap.

it makes him want to cry.

(it makes him want to give you everything.)

he wastes no time in securing you, arms under your legs and behind your back as he stands up again. cradling you close, letting out a quiet coo, as if shushing a disgruntled child. the fall must have woken you up, poor thing. he wishes he could be angry with shoko, but she looks too sweet, when she’s so deeply asleep; drooling a little, groaning out something that sounds like a name. he only shakes his head, still rubbing gentle circles into your back.

”what a little bully, huh…?” 

no response. you’re already starting to nod off, again, and so he gets back into bed — guiding you to rest against the wall, safe and secure, where no sleepy girlfriends can get to you. tucking you in under his chin, making sure you’re comfortable against him.

(your shield, always. that’s all he wants to be.)

his lips find their way onto your forehead, pressing a gentle kiss between your brows. soft and chaste, holding you snugly, so eager to dote on you. his heart is still bleeding with tenderness, he can’t keep it in, it’s leaking all over the mattress and urging him to hold you tighter against his ribs. he thinks of how confused you must have been, waking up on the floor, wonders if you hurt your head on the way down — pressing another kiss there, for good measure. 

sweetly, sleepily, your lips curl up into a smile. 

a yawn slips past your lips, as you nuzzle into him, cheek all squished against his cushiony chest. looking so pleased that he almost wonders if this was your plan all along, a way to get all his attention.

suddenly, a weight drapes itself against his spine.

while he’s busy coaxing you back to sleep, he feels it; a sleepy murmur, muffled right against his bare skin, as a pair of lanky arms wrap around his waist. her voice is so raspy he just barely picks up on it, but his ears are attuned to every sound she makes.

shoko stirs behind him, fingers digging into his hips.

”… give ’em back…”

… his brows furrow.

”thief,” she yawns, again, all groggy and gruff. so, so silly. ”give them back… you’re so greedy…”

a raise of his brow, as he breathes out a scoff. ”you kicked them off the bed, you know…”

shoko only breathes out another groggy grumble, in response; her lanky arms tugging at his shoulders, using them as leverage to drag herself over his body and closest to the wall. he only lets out an amused huff, letting her manhandle him a bit — letting her snuggle up to you, warming your back. suguru feels himself smiling. watching you squirm, when her short, auburn strands tickle your sensitive collarbone, when she sighs into your neck. right in the middle of the two, right where you should be.

right where you belong.

he leans forward, brushes the curtain of your bangs away from your face, plants his lips against your forehead; smears a kiss against shoko’s cheek. he can’t help himself but to fall into you, breathe in the scent of your moisturizer, fading citrus drops and coconut oil. can’t help himself but to love you.

(his angels, he thinks, the word stuck on his tongue. his reason to be.)

suguru hugs you both close, now separating you fully from the edge of the bed, the chilly mahogany floor just waiting for impact. like the steady wall he always yearns to be, your ever-eager guard dog, even in your sleep. he’d like to jump into your dreams, make sure they treat you kindly — but he can’t. 

so this will have to do.

with a sigh, his lashes flutter shut. eyes drooping, every muscle in his body beginning to relax, sink into the mattress below. you’re safe, and shoko’s safe. that’s enough to put his heart deliriously at ease.

with the dark blue shade of the almost-morning sky bleeding in through the window’s glass, the city fast asleep beyond it — suguru closes his eyes. he whispers, breathes a silent prayer into the top of your head. he hopes you can still hear it, that it can bring you both solace, that his wish will come true.

”sweet dreams, my angels.”

(that’s all he could ask for.)

[aethercoreheart]

sylus | 2:07 PM

"Breathe, kitten, you're too tense."

Sylus tries to soothe you through the comms unit in your helmet. You hadn't realized it, but you're gritting your teeth, your jaw is clenched tight and you're holding your breath.

"And watch out, you're going to rip a hole through my jacket."

You're gripping his biking leathers so tightly, you had lost feeling in your fingers. Your arms are wrapped around his waist, elbows locked, afraid that if you moved even a little bit, you would fall off his bike.

"Maybe if you didn't drive like a maniac, I'd be able to relax a little," you manage to mutter.

He laughs into the comms, and you feel his sides move against your arms. He's thoroughly entertained, but you're fearing for your life. Sylus had promised you a relaxing afternoon ride, but all he'd subjected you to was him weaving in and out of traffic at ridiculously high speeds while you clung to his back like a terrified koala.

"We're almost there. And I drive like a dream, if I do say so myself."

You roll your eyes inside your helmet, wishing he could see it. He continues to speed along the freeway, but you notice that his swerves are a little smoother, his moves through traffic a little less daring.

Eventually, you exit off the freeway, and thankfully, Sylus slows down as he nears a set of traffic lights. He pulls up next to a car, also waiting at the lights. The driver of the car rolls his window down and motions to Sylus. Sylus flicks his visor up, and looks at the driver.

"Hey, buddy, nice bike! Compensating for something?" the driver chortles. He then looks at you. "And with a pretty little thing on your back too. Leave some for the rest of us, won't you?"

You feel Sylus tense up beneath your arms, and you're immediately worried for the driver. But instead of responding to his taunts, Sylus reaches over to the car. He goes for the rear passenger door and pulls it open. Then, he reaches to the front, and pushes the side mirror into the car. The driver, initially bewildered, realizes what Sylus has done and starts cussing both of you out. In the next moment, the lights turn green and while the driver is still dealing out a barrage of insults, Sylus flicks his visor down again and speeds off through the intersection. You hear a series of angry honks, no doubt the other cars behind that driver annoyed that they're held up at the set of lights. You can't help but giggle, and you imagine Sylus is smirking underneath his own helmet.

---

"Look after Natasha," Sylus had said, while removing his helmet. He had headed off, leaving you to clamber off the motorcycle.

"Natasha?"

"That's her name. The bike."

"Of course he'd name it Natasha," you grumble to yourself. He'd left you outside with the bike while he went inside the motorcycle workshop, your helmet in hand. He promised he'd be no more than ten minutes, but the late afternoon heat is starting to get to you. You are leaning against it, sorry, her, while you scroll on your phone mindlessly. To be fair, she is a beautiful motorcycle. The bikes that the Hunters use to get around Linkon are swift and silent things, only as big as they needed to be. But Natasha is large, she is impressive. Sleek and dark, she was beautifully designed, modeled after older motorcycles that used to run on a primitive source of energy - petrol. She drew the attention of people walking past the workshop. You would just smile at them, slightly uncomfortable at their stares. One young man had asked if he could take a picture. You agreed, hoping that Sylus wouldn't mind, but then decided you didn't care if he did anyway.

Sylus, please hurry up, you plead silently. You see a man walking in your direction, and he looks like he is trying to get your attention. You groan internally - if he had any questions about Natasha, you know almost next to nothing about her. He locks eyes with you, and you give him a brief, forced smile.

"It's gorgeous," he tells you, breathlessly, as he approaches.

You nod. "Isn't it?"

The man gives you a lopsided grin. "What's a precious thing like you doing driving something so big?"

You frown, and you open your mouth, about to tell the man to piss off, when you feel a sudden presence at your side. Sylus looms over the man, staring him down.

"Can I help you?" Sylus all but growls.

The man frowns. "J-just making conversation," he stutters.

You watch as Sylus's eyebrow twitches upwards. "Well, now, make like the wind and be gone."

The man scurries off, muttering under his breath, and you watch after him, still frowning.

"I could have handled him," you tell Sylus, annoyance tinging your voice a little.

"Of course you could have," Sylus chuckles. "But I don't want you doing the dirty work I should be doing."

You've lost count on how many times you've rolled your eyes today. Before you can come up with a witty retort, you glance at Sylus's hands. He's carrying something wrapped in a canvas bag.

"What's that? My helmet? Was there something wrong with it?"

He hands it to you. "Open it."

It's hefty and solid. It takes a bit of a balancing act, but you manage to unwrap it without dropping it. You gasp, and marvel at the object in your hands. It's a motorcycle helmet - obsidian black, so dark that instead of light bouncing off of it, it seems to absorb it. The helmet is covered in intricate gold carvings - it's a dragon, surrounded by blossom petals. You're entranced, and it takes you several seconds before you can address Sylus again.

"What is this, Sylus? I already had a helmet."

Sylus shrugs. "I had it custom-made for you. It's one of a kind, and fits you perfectly. Here."

He helps you put it on. He's right. It felt heavy in your hands, but light on your head. Your head feels secure and comfortable. The visor display lights up ,showing today's weather, time and traffic updates. You feel Sylus tap the top of the helmet, and the display turns clear, his red eyes peering in.

You remove the helmet, stunned. It must have cost a fortune. Sylus watches you admire it, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

"I couldn't have you riding around with me with just an old spare helmet," he says, so nonchalantly.

You cradle the helmet in your arms, suddenly feeling how precious it is to you. You clear your throat before you speak. "Thank you. This is beautiful."

The corner of Sylus's lips twitches upwards as he puts his own helmet on. "There was one thing I forgot though," he says as he climbs back onto Natasha.

"What's that?" you ask, climbing on after him.

"I forgot to get the word 'Kitten' engraved at the back."

[k3n-dyll]

☆F.U.C.K

Warnings...18+, wlw, not proofread, also, written at 2am, established friends with benefits, self-indulgent smut, dom!Abby, shower sex, strap on (r!receiving), strap referred to as a dick/cock Word Count:2.08k || MDNI Banner Creds. || Donations 4 Palestine

Notes ☆ The next fic I have based on a song will not be as fun! Just a heads up. Also, two works back to back within a few hours? We're so back

FWB!Abby who isn't known to be very open about her sexuality. Sure, there are rumors, and there are people she's told that she's lesbian, but that list is pretty limited to close friends. It's not that she's trying to hide it, anyone with working eyes who takes more than a second or two to look at her can tell, she just doesn't feel like it's anyone's business but her own.

And yours of course.

Abby's never been particularly sappy or romantic. Still, despite how intense her day-to-day is - fighting Scars, killing infected, being on high alert at every turn because there's no way of knowing what will be the next thing to try and kill her first - she's a bit of a thrill seeker in her own way. The idea of doing something seemingly forbidden, the rush of nearly getting caught doing something less than savory, has never failed to be a turn-on for her and it's something that, over time, you've become acutely aware of. She's gotten into the habit of dragging you into bathrooms, and storage closets, sometimes even taking it upon herself to get handsy underneath tables when in the presence of others just to see that nervous look you get.

It should be no shock to you that she'd do something like this and yet, you're still baffled.

The showers were peaceful today, it was late and most people were either asleep or just waking up for their own shifts. After a long patrol, all you wanted to do was turn on the hot water and let it soak over your aching muscles, washing the blood, dirt, and sweat that had accumulated on your skin down the drain. You weren't expecting to feel a large pair of hands gripping at your waist in the shower, and if you hadn't known better, you might have started swinging.

"Abby, what the hell?" You flinch a little under her grasp, and while you try to sound angry, the amused chuckle that forms with your words is hard to stifle.

"Nice to see you too" Abby mutters, already beginning an assault on your neck with her lips, trailing wet kisses down your skin as she speaks.

"I thought you said you were tired" You try and turn to face her but you're only met with a tightened grip on your body, forcing you to face the glass shower wall.

"I lied."

Before you can think up something snarky to say, Abby presses her front up against you further and you stiffen completely, the sensation of something that definitely isn't normally there now flush against your ass.

"What is that?" You question, turning your head in attempt to get a look at whatever it is she's got rubbing against you, but again she forces your eyes forward, grabbing your chin to make you face the wall again.

"I want you to guess." She purrs, nipping at your earlobe, unable to stop herself from letting out a low chuckle. "C'mon, baby, I know you remember. That shop we passed by the other day? You were all curious about it, but we never got the chance to really look around."

In order to somewhat jog your memory, one of her hands releases its grip on you, wrapping around what she has and pressing it between your soaked thighs, shallowly thrusting it between them. Your breath hitches at the feeling and the memory comes flooding back into your mind. It was a few days back - Manny had pointed out an old sex shop and being the man he is he just couldn't shut up about it. Mostly he'd bragged about how, as much as he'd like to experiment, his own hands and body got the job done just fine.

In the moment it was funny, and a little stupid. The three of you managed to catch a quick glimpse of the interior, seeing some of the different toys that hadn't been looted or destroyed and joking about all of the time people in the Old World must have had to be so experimental with their sex lives. Unbeknownst to you, one toy in particular had caught Abby's eye. She didn't point it out to you or Manny, but right before you all had to leave, the rest of your patrol group having already started packing up to head back to base, she'd hidden it so that she could go back for it later. And she did.

"Figured it out, pretty girl?"

Abby's voice snaps you out of your head and you nod, coaxing another low chuckle out of her.

"You wanna see it?"

The moment her hold on you loosens you turn around, eyes panning down her toned, naked frame to the black harness that was fixed around her hips and landing on the toy that had just been sliding up against your cunt. Your eyes widen at the sight of the thick, purple silicone toy dangling from her body, and as much as you'd like to deny the immediate heat that rises in your belly at the sight of it, you can't.

"I don't think that's gonna fit. And...and what if we get caught, Abs you can't just hide that thing"

You say it without much thought, your words forcing a genuine laugh out of your 'friend'. She shakes her head and playfully rolls her eyes.

"You worry too much, baby. I locked the door. If someone comes knocking, I can just get out and tuck it in my bag before we open the door" She reassures as she gently guides you by your waist to the fogged-up wall, pressing you against it. "And trust me, once I get you nice and warmed up, it'll fit"

Abby sinks to her knees in front of you without another word, settling herself between your legs and dragging her tongue along your slit. The doubt that was once present in the front of your mind quickly starts to fade as she laps at your dripping heat, your hands weaving into her wet hair and holding on to keep her in place. You feel the tip of two of her thick fingers dip into your pussy, coating the digits with your arousal before slipping them into you completely.

She never failed to have this effect on you, and if it weren't so sexy, it'd be frustrating. Your mind is so quick to go blank under her touch, hips unconsciously grinding against her tongue as she swirls it along your puffy clit. Abby's unusually slow about it at first, curling and scissoring her fingers in and out of you, making sure to prepare you as best she can, but by the time she slips in a third finger her impatience and excitement makes itself known. You're practically teetering at the edge of an orgasm when she pulls away from you entirely, a whine escaping you as you're denied a release.

"Abby..."

"Shh, baby I know" Abby murmurs, standing back up, smiling softly as she watches your brows fix together. "I want you to cum on my cock, not my fingers. You can do that for me, can't you?"

Something about the way she refers to it as her own, as if she'd grown it herself sends a shock of electricity through you, and you answer her with an eager nod.

"Atta girl, now be good for me and turn around" She instructs, pushing you flush against the glass when you obey her command.

Abby knows how badly you must be aching at this point, her own precum leaking down her thighs as her eyes rove over your back. Even so, she takes her time, fucking your thighs, calloused palms spreading your ass a bit to get a better view. She groans at the sight of your essence combining with the water, making the dildo glisten in the fluorescent lights.

"God, you're so fucking wet" She whispers. "So ready to get split on my fuckin' dick, aren't you?"

The desperate little whines and the way you wiggle your ass back onto her is all the confirmation she needs to slowly push in, though, to neither of your surprise with how soaked you are, it proves to be rather easy. The difference is almost funny to her. You looked so nervous when you'd seen it initially, and now you were sucking her in like you were used to it.

"There ya go, slipped in so fast baby, fuck"

The way Abby moans when the toy is all the way inside of you, the way she struggles to keep at a slow pace to make sure you're well adjusted to the girth - you'd think she could feel it. It's an adjustment for both of you, the task of keeping it from fully slipping out of you when she pulls back proving to be a tad more annoying than she thought it would be, but she figures it out. And, God, if it isn't fucking worth it when she does.

Each thrust is like a shock to your system, Abby's pace only increasing as she loses herself in the moment. She could probably - and likely will end up - cumming from this alone. It was already a bit of a fantasy in her mind, having often wondered what it would be like to fuck you like this, but she didn't think she actually could. Her vivid blues are transfixed on the way your ass jiggles with each hard thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin only made more intense by the water flowing along your bare bodies.

"A-Abby I- oh my god, please!" Words barely come out of you, and when they do, they're choppy breathless rambles with no real substance. Normally you were so careful about volume, but there are always times when she'd fucked you so stupid that you stopped caring. This, for example, being one of those times.

"So fuckin' pretty...you look so fuckin' pretty trying to take it for me" Her grip on your hips is bound to leave bruising, but all you can think about is how grateful you are for that fact. If not for her hands, you'd be on the ground by now, legs shaking and unable to hold your weight any longer.

Abby knows your tells well enough to see when you're about to explode - the incoherent sobs, twitching legs, your hands desperately trying to grab onto everything - anything that could possibly help ground you even a little bit. It only eggs her on, her arm snaking around your body to rub feverishly at your aching clit, almost impatient in her need to watch you come apart for her.

"Fuck, don't stop Abby, please, 'm so close...so fuckin' close" You manage to blurt out, damn near crying at the intensity, eyes rolled into the back of your head, head lulled forward against the wall. It's taking everything in you not to fall apart this instant but you want to drag it out for just a little longer.

"Almost there, honey, I got you... C-c'mon, be a good girl and cum all over my fucking cock"

The white-hot intensity of your orgasm sends you reeling, a string of curses and choked cries spilling from your lips, arousal further wetting your inner thighs as it spurts out of you. Abby can't help but moan loudly at the sight, continuing to pump in and out of you to let the base of the toy bump against her clit more, her own climax following soon after yours.

Somehow, Abby manages to stay upright despite her legs feeling like putty, knowing full well that if she falls you'll go down with her. Her strong arms wrap around you tightly as she pulls out of you, her sweaty forehead resting against your back as you both work to catch your breath.

"Fuck..that was..." She trails off, the actual strain of her actions hitting her body, making it difficult for her to get a word out between breaths. You giggle at the sound of her struggle, though you aren't doing any better.

"So fucking good.." Is all you breathe out, your mind still too fuzzy to think of something better to say.

Abby just nods, lacking the energy to say something snarky in response, the only sound remaining being the now cold water from the showerhead pitter-pattering against the ground, though eventually, she does force herself to speak up once more.

"Once I....catch my fuckin' breath...we're so doing that again"

Reblogs are appreciated ☆ tags: @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery,

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 Cupid Walks Right.

Coworker!Reid x Avoidant!reader

series mastelist | main masterlist

Summary: You've been hiding your attraction to your coworker for a long time, until a few pictures of him kissing a celebrity in a pool unleash emotions you can't control.

Words: 1,6k.

Warnings & Tags: fem!bau!reader. mentions of crime and arms. spoilers for s1 e18 ("somebody's watching"). hurt+comfort. two idiots in love. lots of jealousy. fluff. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: The reader is simply me every time I watch that episode but with a lot more drama to make it interesting.

One bullet after another hit the paper meters away from you, with each shot more accurate than the previous one. You had lost count of how many cartridges you had already spent because your mind was full of thoughts that only the sound of the shots echoing in the shooting room managed to silence and give you back a little control of the situation.

Memories of one of the last cases still lingered in your mind, and you couldn't understand why. It hadn't even been something relevant enough to stick in your mind that much, it was just a crazy stalker obsessed with a celebrity and more of the same old same old in terms of creating a profile. It was nothing you hadn't seen before, and it had ended well, with a happy ending that included Spencer kissing the victim he was supposed to be protecting.

That was the crux of the issue, the root of your problem.

You saw some photos that captured the moment in vivid detail and wanted to run out and throw up in the nearest trash can. You held back to avoid answering embarrassing questions, blaming your bad feelings on the last thing you ate and insisting that you were just satisfying your curiosity. But as they say, curiosity always kills the cat.

Maybe it was because it was unprofessional and unnecessary, maybe you were in a bad mood and needed to relax, maybe you were upset that the guy with the germ problem had shared saliva with a stranger, maybe you didn't like Lila Archer because of her performances, or maybe you just wanted to be in her shoes and have him kiss you like that. And for heaven's sake, maybe you've had a few inappropriate dreams about it lately.

You were just about to fire again to get the thoughts out of your mind when someone tapped you on the shoulder. You turned around, ready to defend yourself with the gun in your hand.

“Wait, wait, it's me. I'm sorry.” Spencer raised his arms in a sign of peace and took a few steps back. “Just me.”

“What are you doing here? You scared me.” You lowered the gun and placed it on the table, trying to sound less abrupt. “I thought everyone had gone home.”

He approached you again, checking the open shells and the pile of bullets on the ground. He was quite surprised to see how many times you had hit the target with perfect shots, and how you still seemed intent on continuing, even though it was almost two in the morning. It wasn't practice, because you didn't need it, it was something else, and you seemed quite angry about it.

“I spent the hour going through some papers and saw the light on in here. I thought I'd come and have a look.” He explained, trying to follow your gaze, which seemed to elude his. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, perfect.”

You started gathering your things and cleaning up the space you'd been using, planning to leave as soon as possible because of his presence. It had been weeks since you'd been alone with him because you'd managed to avoid seeing him as best you could. You'd even managed to convince Hotch that it was time for him to pair you up with someone else during the cases to experiment. You didn't even know why he'd listened to you, but it had been a great relief.

“You're leaving already?” Spencer asked, and you just nodded. “Can I take you home?”

Usually he drove you home, because your car was still at the mechanic and you refused to buy a new one. You always used the minutes you spent together to talk about something other than cases, they were moments of relaxation that you both appreciated. The big difference was that now you couldn't afford that luxury without feeling strange.

“Don't worry, I'll call a taxi.” You grabbed your jacket from a nearby locker. “I'm fine.” You added, with the intention of heading for the door until he stopped you by the wrist.

“Is everything okay...between us?” He asked as you looked up to meet his eyes. “Are you mad at me?”

“I'm sorry, what?” You said, feigning confusion. You always knew it was only a matter of time before he figured something was off with you. After all, he worked in profiling.

“Are you mad at me?” He asked again, in a lower voice, sounding a little more vulnerable than he'd intended. That instantly made you feel bad, you didn't want to hurt him with your confusion.

“No.”

He let out a sigh at your automatic response. His shoulders slumped a bit, and he felt a wave of relief for a few seconds. But then he looked into your eyes for a moment and hesitated, biting his lower lip.

“So...why are you looking at me like that?” He asked, sounding a little shy and with a hint of apprehension in his voice. “Or not looking at me at all.”

“I'm not doing anything.” You make excuses.

He got the chills when he heard your voice, which came across as cold and distant.

“You're giving me that look.”

You gave a little frown and folded your arms, as if to say you didn't agree.

“What look?"

“You look at me like I've done something wrong, like you're disappointed or angry...I think both. You barely look me in the eye, you walk away every time I want to talk to you, you don't sit near me on the jet or want to work with me anymore. And you've been like this for a week.” He paused for a second, remembering when your strange behavior started. “Ever since the L.A. case.”

The room was suddenly filled with silence and a palpable tension. You had been foolish to think Spencer wouldn't notice your remoteness, given his perceptive nature. But you didn't have a choice. You didn't want to appear jealous when you didn't even have feelings for him, you were just ovulating or something like that.

“Is it because...because of Lila? I heard Morgan say some things, and you haven't treated me the same since.” His wavering voice sounded more and more confident, as if he still had to convince himself of his point of view. “I want to know what you think, please.”

You could only curse Derek for exposing you like that. He was the only one who knew about your strange attraction to Reid because he had caught you looking at him several times and you had confessed it to him once in a bar after several drinks and a ridiculous game of cross questions. Since that night, the jokes and suggestions about making out with Spencer under a tree had begun.

But a beautiful actress did it before you, in her pool, with lots of pictures to prove it.

“I'm not one to tell you what to do, but I think your actions were unprofessional and most of all risky.” You spoke after a few seconds, clearing your throat and trying to contain the burning you felt. “It could have ended badly.”

Come on, you would have done the same thing. You often thought about what it would be like to kiss him in the middle of an investigation, especially when he kept giving important details. So you were a little hypocritical.

“I'm only saying that because I care about you.” You added, noticing how confused he looked.

“I know, I care about you too.” He replied calmly, taking a step toward you to touch your arm. “This has been bothering you?”

You froze at his warm touch and the implications you thought he was making about you, nodding as if hypnotized. Had he realized that you had been jealous all along? That you wanted to go back so he could kiss you and not her? That you wanted him to put his hands on your cheeks and kiss you deeply until you were breathless?

“I think I understand, but don't worry about me. I won't do anything dangerous anymore.”

Oh, he hadn't noticed.

Spencer really thought that you were just concerned about his safety because he was your friend and your partner on cases, that you were just frustrated that you weren't there to back him up in case things went wrong. It didn't even occur to him that it was something much deeper and more heated than that.

“So, all good?” He gave you a small smile that made your heart beat a little faster.

“Sure.” You lied, with a strange lump in your throat at the guarded words. “I just didn't know you liked blondes.” You added in a fake teasing tone.

Despite your clearly suspicious tone, Spencer laughed sheepishly. “Actually, I like your hair color.”

A strange bubbling sensation reached your stomach and made you smile.

“Mine?” You asked, lowering your gaze to the floor.

“Yes, it's like it's perfect for you.” He carefully brushed your hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear, causing the feeling in your stomach to identify itself as butterflies fluttering nonstop.

“You're telling me because I have a gun?” You tried to change the subject with a nervous laugh. “I'm not a celebrity, after all.”

“You don't have to be one to be as pretty as you are. But you could be if you wanted to, and...” He started to talk about statistics and a bunch of data you didn't even know, but strangely enough you didn't listen to him this time because you were stuck on the first sentence.

Spencer really thought you were pretty.

It was only then that you realized something had changed. The only successful shot had been Cupid's arrow to your heart.

Because, damn it, you were totally in love with that man.

[bimbodolllll]

۶ৎ The Girlfriend Effect!

۶ৎ auth: <3

۶ৎ Summary: The boyfriend effect; you adopt your boyfriends mannerisms. However, the girlfriend effect, they adopt what you do.

۶ৎ: drabbles | gender neutral reader | fluff

۶ৎ Characters Included: Manjiro “Mikey” Sano, Ken “Draken” Ryuguji, Keisuke Baji, Chifuyu Matsuno, Kazutora Hanemiya, Izana Kurokawa, Nahoya “Smiley” Kawata, Souya “Angry” Kawata, Takashi Mitsuya, Hajime Kokonoi

۶ৎ Manjiro “Mikey” Sano

• Style Upgrade: Starts wearing cleaner, more polished outfits. He never cared much before, but now his clothes are less wrinkled, and he smells faintly of vanilla and fresh laundry.

• Emotional Maturity: Slowly learns to communicate better, though he still struggles with opening up completely. Your patience teaches him that being vulnerable doesn’t mean weakness.

• Healthier Habits: Starts eating more than just junk food because you remind him he needs proper meals.

—

Mikey sat on the couch, legs sprawled, watching you move around the kitchen. He had a plate of curry in front of him—a meal you made, light on the spice because he hated too much heat.

“Y’know,” he mumbled between bites, “I don’t even like curry that much.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So why’s the plate almost empty?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, looking away. But you caught it—the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. “It just tastes better when you make it.”

۶ৎ Ken “Draken” Ryuguji

• Style Upgrade: His hair stays neat, and he’s more mindful of keeping his tank tops clean. He even switches to cologne instead of relying on the scent of motor oil.

• Ambition Boost: Becomes more serious about expanding the shop because he wants stability for the future.

• Better Communication: He starts explaining his feelings more instead of bottling them up, thanks to your influence.

—

Draken stood beside his bike, wiping the grease off his hands. You watched him, arms crossed, eyes narrowing slightly.

“What?” He smirked, but there was a softness in his eyes.

“Did you… clean the garage?”

He shrugged, avoiding your gaze. “Thought it was about time. Can’t have you breathing in dust every time you come around.”

You tilted your head. “Since when do you care about dust?”

“Since you started coming by.” His voice was quieter now, almost shy. “Can’t have my girl dealin’ with all that.”

۶ৎ Keisuke Baji

• Style Upgrade: He still wears his leather jacket, but now it’s less ripped, and his boots aren’t caked in mud. He’ll never admit it, but he likes when you compliment how he looks.

• Healthier Habits: He cuts back on junk food (a little) because you nag about it.

• Emotional Maturity: Learns not to blow up when things go wrong, trying to stay calm because he knows you hate yelling.

—

Baji leaned against his bike, arms crossed, waiting for you after class. His usual wild grin softened when he spotted you.

“Yo.” He handed you a drink, your favorite.

“Since when do you remember what I like?” You teased, taking a sip.

“Since I started actually listening,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t make a big deal outta it, okay?”

But the way his eyes lingered on you a little longer than usual? That said everything.

۶ৎ Chifuyu Matsuno

• Style Upgrade: He switches from mismatched outfits to more coordinated ones—sometimes even matching your color palette without realizing it.

• Ambition Boost: Becomes more serious about managing the pet shop, thinking about the long-term future.

• Better Communication: Learns to be more honest about his feelings, not just brushing things off.

—

Chifuyu stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his hoodie. You leaned against the doorframe, watching with an amused smile.

“New fit?”

“Uh… yeah.” He glanced at you, cheeks flushing slightly. “Figured I should stop looking like I just threw on whatever I found.”

You stepped closer, fingers brushing over his sleeve. “Trying to impress someone?”

“Maybe.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the look in his eyes told you exactly who.

۶ৎ Kazutora Hanemiya

• Style Upgrade: Starts wearing softer colors because you told him he looked good in them.

• Healthier Habits: He’s more mindful of sleeping enough and eating better because you’re always worried about him.

• Emotional Maturity: Learns to control his impulsive outbursts, wanting to be a calmer version of himself for you.

—

Kazutora sat beside you, his head resting on your shoulder as you scrolled through your phone.

“Hey,” you murmured, “you’ve been quiet.”

“Just… thinking.” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

“About what?”

“About how… I’m lucky you stuck around.” His fingers brushed lightly against yours, his grip hesitant. “I’m trying, y’know? To be… better.”

And he was.

۶ৎ Izana Kurokawa

• Style Upgrade: Starts paying more attention to how he looks, favoring neutral tones that complements your outfits.

• Better Communication: He opens up about his fears and insecurities, something he never thought he’d do.

• Ambition Boost: He works harder to stabilize Tenjiku, not just for power but to build something stable for the both of you.

—

Izana stood by the window, staring out at the city below. You walked up behind him, resting a hand on his back.

“Lost in thought again?”

“Just… thinking about the future.” His voice was distant, but there was a softness in it.

“You’re not alone in that anymore, you know.”

His hand found yours, squeezing gently. “I know. That’s why I want to make sure… it’s a future you’d want, too.”

۶ৎ Nahoya “Smiley” Kawata

• Style Upgrade: His clothes get a little less chaotic, matching his accessories to his outfits (sometimes).

• Emotional Maturity: He learns to read the room better, understanding when to dial down the jokes.

• Healthier Habits: He cuts back on staying up all night because you nag him about taking care of himself.

—

Nahoya sat beside you, legs stretched out in front of him.

“Yo,” he nudged you lightly, “notice anything different?”

You glanced at him, noticing his shirt wasn’t as wrinkled, and his nails were… clean?

“You… took care of yourself?”

“Figured I’d start lookin’ decent since I’m always standing next to a goddess.” He winked, but there was a hint of sincerity behind the playful grin.

۶ৎ Souya “Angry” Kawata

• Style Upgrade: Starts wearing softer fabrics because you said they feel nice when you hug him.

• Better Communication: He opens up about his emotions more instead of bottling them up.

• Healthier Habits: He starts drinking more water and taking vitamins because you remind him.

—

Souya sat at the kitchen table, quietly sipping the tea you made for him.

“Did you… put honey in this?”

“Yeah,” you smiled softly. “It’s good for your throat.”

He glanced away, cheeks slightly flushed. “Thanks… I, uh, started taking those vitamins you gave me, too.”

You blinked, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah.” His eyes met yours, softer than usual. “You… worry about me too much. I don’t wanna make you worry more.”

۶ৎ Takashi Mitsuya

• Style Upgrade: Starts incorporating subtle hints of your favorite colors into his designs.

• Ambition Boost: He becomes more focused on expanding his brand, wanting to create a future where you’re both secure.

• Emotional Maturity: He becomes more expressive, showing affection in quieter, meaningful ways.

—

Mitsuya sat at his sewing machine, fabric draped across his lap.

“What’s that?” You leaned over, curiosity piqued.

“Something… for you.” He didn’t meet your gaze, but the blush on his cheeks was impossible to miss.

“For me?”

“Yeah.” He finally looked up, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Wanted to make sure you had something that… reminds you of me.”

۶ৎ Hajime Kokonoi

• Style Upgrade: He starts wearing softer tones that match your style, even ditching all-black sometimes.

• Ambition Boost: His business ventures become more personal, focusing on stability rather than just money.

• Emotional Maturity: He learns to prioritize love over material gain, valuing your presence more than anything.

—

Kokonoi sat across from you at the café, his usual suit replaced with a sweater in a soft shade of cream.

“New look?” You teased, eyeing him with a raised brow.

“Maybe.” He sipped his coffee, avoiding your gaze. “Figured… I should try something different.”

“Because of me?”

His lips quirked into a small smile. “Because I want to be someone… who fits into your world.”

[calwoso]

disappointment part 2

you finally tell your sister and Marta why you’re here

Caro hasn't spoken a word to you the entire ride back from the match. She hasn't so much as glanced at you as you sit sullenly in the back seat as your first couple of attempts at making conversation were shot down by silence. Even Marta doesn't seem willing to chat for once.

When Caro finally pulls into the parking lot and switches off the engine, your hand immediately flies to the door handle, pulling at it impatiently to free yourself. It doesn't budge and you huff in annoyance.

"Child lock, really?" You say snippily at your sister who glances at you once in the rearview mirror.

"We're not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on." She tells you plainly, crossing her arms and continuing to face forwards.

You groan dramatically, trying the door once more in vain, "I told you, I just wanted to visit."

Your sister remains silent, staring stubbornly ahead even though you can see the clench of her jaw as she tries not to start the argument again. Getting no joy from her you try her partner who is shifting uneasily in her seat.

"Marta, come on, she's being ridiculous." You half-whine.

Caro's head twitches every so slightly as Marta takes a deep breath and remains quiet.

"You want to get out, you tell me why you're here. And you tell me why Mamma sounded so pissed off on the phone this morning too." Caro repeats herself.

Tipping your head back against the seat you try to out wait your sister. She's always had less patience than you, and maybe if you just shut up and say nothing she'll let you out of the damn car.

It's barely two minutes of silence before Marta says, hesitantly, "Caro, maybe we should just-"

"No." Caro says sharply. "She wants to act like an adult then she can sit there and tell me why she's here."

It's the guilt, you think, of being the cause of Caro snapping at her partner. You like Marta, you never meant to cause such an issue.

"Fine! You want to know why I'm here and why our parents are so furious? It's because I'm not you, Caro. I'm not you, I don't have anything ahead of me to go and achieve." Your voice is too loud for the enclosed space but it only gets louder as you grow more upset. "Because they spent two hours yelling at me yesterday about how I have no prospects, no path forward! How I'm wasting my life and...and how I'll never be you and instead I’m just a disappointment. And I knew you wouldn't get it but I thought at least my sister might have my back in all this."

You hate the way you cry when you get angry.

"And I know I should have called ahead, but I just needed out of there. You don't know what it's like to live under your shadow. But I thought I could go to the one place someone might actually be pleased to see me!" You're sniffling pathetically now, swiping at your cheeks furiously. You feel like a kid again begging your sister not to move away because you'd miss her.

"But I get it now, so open the fucking door so I can get out of here!" You yell.

Caro sits stock still as only the sound of your heavy breathing and sniffling remains. Eventually it's Marta that presses a button on the centre console and you hear the locks disengage. You're out of the car like a shot, slamming the door behind you a little more than perhaps necessary.

You turn and stomp away down the street. You can't help the way your ears strain for the sound of Caro's voice in case she calls out for you. But it doesn't come.

Back in the car, Caro sits rigid. the keys dangle uselessly in the ignition. Marta's hand hovers above her own door handle, caught in two minds about what to do. Her gaze darts between Caro’s frozen profile and the spot where you had disappeared around the corner.

“Amor” she says softly, reaching to brush her partner’s shoulder. “We can’t just let her—”

Caro doesn't say anything but her head nods jerkily and Marta is opening her door and running after you, leaving her partner stuck in the driver's seat.

You haven't gotten too far, but you have managed to cross the road and duck into the park opposite.

"Wait! Please," She calls out to you from across the road, just as you're about to disappear further into the greenery.

You stop at the sound, and Marta doesn't miss the way you seem genuinley shocked she's come after you. The Spaniard isn't sure how long you'll stay still as she bounces on the balls of her feet waiting for the lights to change so she can cross the busy road.

The light to walk flickers on and she jogs across the street and up to you, not giving you a chance before she's sweeping you into a bone crushing hug.

You try not to melt into it. Your family aren't known for being the most outwardly affectionate and you had wondered how your sister had ended up with someone who seems to love so freely.

But it's hard not to give in as Marta runs a hand up and down your back and hugs you closer. Your tears that had barely stopped, start again and you sob like you're a child again.

Marta doesn’t let go until your sobs taper into shaky breaths, your forehead still pressed into her shoulder. When she finally pulls back, she keeps her hands on your arms, studying your face with concern. “Okay, two choices,” she says, “We either go home, or we sit on that bench over there so we can talk properly.”

Going back and facing your sister after having a full blown meltdown in the back of her Cupra does not fill you with joy.

So you collapse onto the sun-warmed wood, and Marta plops down beside you, close enough that her knee knocks against yours. For a moment, she says nothing, just lets the park’s chatter fill the silence. When she finally speaks, her voice softens. “Your parents… they’re wrong, you know.”

You pick at a splinter on the bench. “They’re not entirely wrong. I don’t have a plan. I just, I don’t have a passion, I’m not like Caro, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Marta snorts. “Your sister does not know what she’s going.” She bumps your shoulder. “You think Caro’s got it all figured out? Dios mío, I promise you she doesn’t.”

A laugh hiccups out of you, unexpected. Marta’s grin widens.

“But still, at least she always knew what she wanted. Had something to aim for. I’m just…stuck, with no idea what to do.” You sigh, kicking gently at a loose rock underneath your foot.

Marta hums in quiet agreement. She can’t argue against that, nor can she imagine not knowing or at least having an idea of what you want to do.

She doesn’t really know what to say to you, doesn’t have a way to take away your worries. So she settles on assuaging them as best she can.

“I don’t mean to sound patronising, but you’re young. You have time, despite what others may say. Comparing yourself and being compared to Caroline isn’t fair.” Marta pauses for a beat. “Your life isn’t made in your teen years or even your twenties. Or even your thirties I suppose. I mean, what am I going to do when I retire? I haven’t got a clue!”

You still don’t look wholly convinced which the Spaniard supposes is fair. You’re clearly still hurt and downtrodden from your argument with your parents and feeling raw at the way Caro took your sudden appearance as an intrusion rather than a request for help.

She really needs to have a word with both Norweigans about actually speaking to one another when everyone has had some time to calm down.

“We’ll figure it out. We can brainstorm ideas for what you want to do and you can stay with us for as long as you need.” She assures you.

“Doubt Caro would want you saying that.” You mumble a little pitifully even if your heart warms at the obvious care from your sister’s partner. “It’s hard enough getting her to respond to my texts, she didn’t even tell me you’d moved in together. I know I’m younger than her but she used to always have time for me.”

Your bottom lip wobbles and you bite down on it until it stops.

“I know it’s awful but she was so miserable at Wolfsburg and so she was always calling home and then, then she moved here and met you and it’s like she forgot all about me.” You confess, hastily adding. “I don’t want her to be miserable and I really like you and you clearly make her happy. But I was just left behind and all our parents could see was how little I achieved in comparison to her.”

Marta doesn’t really know what to say to that, a little pit of guilt forming in her stomach as she wonders if she’s taken Caro away from someone who needs her. But you keep talking before she can figure out how to respond.

“Is it so bad for me to just want to be average and not high flying and just live a stupid boring life?” You bury your head in your hands. “I never asked to have a sister who’s a footballer, I never wanted to be one either, so why am I being compared to her?”

“I know,” Marta pulls you against her side. “I know, it’s not fair. You can do whatever you want to do and that can change as much as you want.”

You laugh wetly and with a self deprecating little snort, “I don’t think I’ve cried this much since I was a kid.”

Marta doesn’t think you’ve cried that much at all, really. She reckons she would’ve cried an awful lot more if her parents had said those things to her at 18. It’s easy to forget with you, given your general sunny disposition, but you are very much Caro’s sister and the pair of you clearly both struggle with difficult emotions.

"Let's go home for now." She settles on, tugging you to your feet. "We can deal with everything else later. We have time." She suggests, not really giving you too much time to think about it as she already begins to steer you back the way you came.

You like the sound of having time, though. The idea that maybe you have enough time to figure everything out with Marta's help, if not your sister's, that maybe everyone will back off enough for you to breathe.

It’s silent when you and Marta arrive back to the Spaniard’s home and your heart drops at the idea that your outburst may have scared your sister off from her own home. But there’s a muffled sound from further inside and you frown at Marta before following her through towards the master bedroom.

The door is shut but as you near the sound becomes clearer and you realise it’s your sister’s voice, your sister’s extremely pissed off voice speaking rapidly and agitatedly in Norwegian. It’s Marta’s turn to frown at you, unable to keep up with the language at this speed.

“She’s still practically a child, definitely still a teenager! She’s not supposed to know what to do.” Caro snaps and although you’ve heard and been apart of enough arguments with your sister to know her temper, it still makes you wince. “No, Mamma you’re not listening. How I was at 18 wasn’t normal. She’s a good kid, she’s smart, funny, friendly, everything I wasn’t at that age. She has time. She doesn’t have to figure it all out.”

You swallow thickly as you listen, you had honestly thought you were all cried out but maybe not.

“And to call her a disappointment is unacceptable. Whether you were worried or not about her future or whatever it may be. She’s a good person, her own person, and she’s your daughter.” Caro’s voice despite being loud cracks a little and you hear Marta sniff too and you want to check on her but you’re also rooted to the spot. “She can stay here for a while until you’ve remembered what a wonderful child you have and she can use it as a holiday. Goodbye Mamma.”

There’s silence after that, aside from the sound of the blood rushing in your ears. You don’t think you’ve heard your sister yell at your parents, not out of true anger. And certainly not on your behalf. When another few seconds pass and you still hear nothing from the other side of the door you tentatively knock on the wood.

“Just a minute, amor.” Caro calls back in Spanish.

You can’t help but snort and reply, “Try again, it’s me.”

The door swings open almost immediately afterwards and Caro sighs, relieved, when she lays eyes on you. “Don’t run away like that.” She tells you sternly, the effect somewhat ruined by her own tear tracks.

But she sweeps you into a tight hug before you can point that out. You honestly can’t remember the last time your sister hugged like this. Not since you were much smaller instead of the inch of height difference between you both now.

“You yelled at Mamma.” You say, muffled against her shoulder.

“She was wrong about you, and cruel.” Caro explains as if it’s simple. “You can stay here, and lounge about and enjoy the sun for as long as you want. There’s no rush. At all.” Her arms squeeze tighter around you and you believe every word.

————————————————

might write some little one shots within this universe at some point in the future but for now this is where it ends

[youryanderedaddy]

Tw: captivity, obsessive behavior, made up fantasy lore, mind fuck (?)

He never calls for you - he only ever sends his servants, poor, confused little creatures of the night once lost just like you. They gather at your door like an army of darkness, scratching and biting at the delicate wooden frame, howling piteously with full chest until you're faced with the choice of either opening the door, or suffocating yourself with the fluffy white pillow. You give in after what feels like an appropriate time - not too soon as to feed his ever - growing ego, yet not so late that the creatures' heads start to roll under your nose.

You slowly walk down the endless corridor, refusing to look at anything for longer than a second - even as it calls to you with the sweetest voice of desire. Everything is enchanted to the very last candle on the wall. The countless paintings depict wealth and opulence beyond your wildest dreams, an adundance of riches upon riches, of honeycomb amber and pure green emeralds. The silk carpet is as soft as a dandelion just before it bursts open, and the crystal chandelier embarks such a soft light the human eye can never properly adjust to the tender shades of yellow and blue. The castle is tempting you with every passing breath - begging you to stay here forever. Begging you to love it, and everyone inside - especially His Majesty, the Lord.

You try to calm your disheveled thoughts as you carefully open the heavy gates to the throne room. Your breath hitches deep into your throat as your eyes gaze upon the feast spread out before you, and suddenly you're starving like a wolf. By now you should know better than to let yourself be lured in by magic - but the pull is too magnetic and you quickly find yourself stepping closer to the piled up table. You take in the smell with unsatiated hunger - golden apples baked inside fine sugar crystals, tender deer fillet dripping with berry sauce and smokey mushrooms, the sort you can only find inside an enchanted forrest. Cream puffs and mountains of stripped ice soaked in jam and vanilla essence upon stacks of fruit and more goblets of red wine than you can count. And yet he remains ever the centerpiece of the vision.

"You're late, mona grece tide*." His voice slowly fills the room with its overbearing softness, always on the verge of dropping into silence. It's painful to look at him - as if everything about the mythical man was created a touch too symmetrical, to the point where the sharp features all blend together. His lips are too full, his eyes - if the golden slits beneath his brows may be called that, are way too bright under the sun, and they reflect a time you don't wish to remember. And his hair is so long and pale, so very white and smooth, you have to stop your hands from reaching into the wounded transparency of his wild locks, less you want to lose a finger or two.

"Tidea." Khaal snaps his finger more aggressively when you don't respond to his call the first time. You squint in an attempt to block the light coming from the tiny cracks in his face - the birth lines of his dragon. "Sit down. Don't make me come to you."

Tide. Tidea. Love, as you eventually learnt the meaning of the word in Lohemian. My little love, the words still rest on his tongue, because what are you if not a small, fragile human?

"I'd hate to inconvenience you so, my Lord." You eventually bite back, breaking out of the trance. Slipping in and out of consciousness and constantly guessing your surroundings is taking a toll on you, but you'll lose your sanity before you give into his madness. "Touching a filthy human like myself will surely sully your pretty golden flakes." You smile with venom, tearing into the nearest sun-pear. He watches the juice drip down your chin with angry narrowed eyes, and with another swift snap of his fingers he's standing before you, towering above.

"Insolent child, you are." He grips your face carelessly, inspecting it from all sides before finally materializing a clean cloth and wiping you clean. "You're foolish just like any other human." His brows twist together with anger, but his expression remains angelic to the untrained eye. "I can give you everything you've ever wanted. The sun at your feet, the moon on your shoulders. All the knowledge of the world." His fingers suddenly stop rubbing along your jawline and his gaze falls upon your cold, quivering lips. "All I ask in return is your loyalty." His sharp nail begins stroking your lower lip. It doesn't draw blood, but you wish it would. You can't stand the anticipation - the moment before the violence entails.

"Don't let your eyes wander. Gift me your warmth." The dragon king pulls you closer to his chest, and all fight leaves you. His form is perfectly defined with thousand metal - like flakes, one on top of the other like a flawless shield. It's probably a great weapon on the battlefield - but it lacks the naked vulnerability of human skin, and it's so cold it hurts to stand close, much less touch it directly. "Look at me!" He suddenly roars, and you fall back from the sheer power of his voice.

Everything hurts - as if the floor is suddenly melting, you feel like you will never stop falling down.

"I can't. It's too painful." You whisper weakly between hoarse broken sobs threatening to tear off your heart in two. "I wasn't made for this world, f-for your... world." You bite your lips, averting eyes to the ground. "Everything in you wants me dead. Your love will kill me." You whimper, squeezing your left hand to your chest. The dead weight of the broken bone is pulling you down, luring you deeper into sleep.

"I'd like to see you try, mon'tidea." He sinks down to your level, quick as a shadow. Stealing a kiss as light as a sparrow, he pushes you down. "Die as many times as you want. You'll always end up here in my arms." His lips are grazing your ear, warm breath hitting your neck. Another illusion, you realize - his body can't create warmth. It's simply reflecting your warmth back to you. "Because once you enter my realm, there's no coming back."

[isetfiretomyself]

Yandere Male Boxer X PR Manager Reader (G/N)

This idea was my main reason I started a Yandere blog so I hope you enjoy! (Pssss if you like this one check out my other stuff :3)

Trigger warnings! Violence ,Obsessive behaviour , Yandere behaviour, This is all fictional I do not condone any unhealthy behaviour irl !!!

🦷 Yandere Boxer who's an actual beast in the ring. He's known for being a one hit wonder if the opponent winds him up enough in the build up to the match.

🦷 Yandere Boxer who's been accused of cheating multiple times with how hard he can punch, which is never true. He's just too strong!

🦷 Yandere Boxer who's so aggressive in the ring and hates interviews so the public mainly see him as some thug! Which Yandere Boxer didn't mind and till opponents will drop out or avoid fighting him. Now that's an issue...

🦷 That's when Yandere Boxer's team gets a PR manager, you.

🦷 Yandere Boxer felt a little bad for you, you definitely had a challenge ahead but you seemed determined.

Yandere Boxer was in the gym lifting dumbbells. His music blaring in his ears till he noticed a smaller figure stand next to him. "What are you doing?" Yandere Boxer asked, an eyebrow raised. "I thought this would help us get to know eachother!" You say with a smile before starting to lift your weights. Yandere Boxer couldn't help but noticed how small yours were compared to his, it was cute.

You struggled a little to lift your dumbbells above your head. Closing Your eyes you try and push through, your shaking arms suddenly feel supported. You open your eyes to see Yandere Boxer gently holding your arms. "Your form is wrong, you're going to hurt yourself." He said but it was less rude more....caring. "Here. Like this" He guides your arms down and up again slowly "remember to breathe" Yandere Boxer said way too close to your ear, had he been getting closer?

🦷Since then Yandere Boxer likes you being at the gym with him. Even if you just talk to him instead of working out. (Though he loves watching your small form struggle to keep up with him)

"That's it!" You say while taking notes sitting on the floor next to the boxing ring. Yandere Boxer hooks the guy he's sparring around the face fast, knocking him to the floor. Walking out the ring quickly. "What is it?" Yandere Boxer asked his voice is so deep it's hard to hear emotions but you can tell he's eager. "We show your passion! Make you more human!" You say excitedly.

🦷 Yandere Boxer doubted it would work but he's not big in social media so he let you take the lead. And oh boy where you right!

🦷 Yandere Boxer who went viral with his new campaign before a fight. A lot of people found him quite attractive, there was even thirst edits of him!

🦷 Yandere Boxer who was feeling the happiest he had been for awhile! And till he found out you managed other people D:

"Who are they?" He doesn't sound angry but he's definitely in your space. "Influencer mainly... you're my most famous client!" You say trying to calm him down. "I'll pay double." He said too fast. "Elijah.. it's not about the money." You say quietly. "Then is it me!? Am I too boring!? Too quiet!?" He yells, you've never heard him yell. You covered your ears in pain. "Oh (name) forgive me, It's okay I'll fix this" Yandere Boxer pulls you close rubber your back. You were so surprised at this sudden change.

🦷 Yandere Boxer who's got another match. You lay of your sofa with some snacks watching the start, to your absolute horror when he takes of his robe there's a tattoo on his collarbone. With your name on it!?

🦷 Yandere Boxer that when he won took the microphone "(Name) I just wanted to say I love you and I'm going to do better and be the best for you."

While the whole crowd cheers you're on the edge of your seat completely stunned.