#better install that without a second thought

[blueequin0x]

I'm almost always very cautious when downloading anything or clicking almost any link, if anything I'm probably too anxious about it

But then the second it's any utau files that someone recommends, I'll instantly trust the most sketchy looking dropbox site and then unzip a random folder called "plugin.zip" that was uploaded 14 years ago without any fear

(in my own defence even the official utau software stuff looks like it hasn't been updated since speaking in catlol was a thing)

[mostly-imagines]

Guard Dog vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka don’t fuck with jason’s gf pt. II

3 in 1 blurbs

warnings: mild standard gotham violence, in the 3rd section: attempted sexual assault and panicky thoughts afterwards from reader

“Sweetheart, this is…not good.”

You turn your head over to him, where he’s frowning, hands on his hips as he inspects your bedroom window.

You tilt your head, looking it over from your place on the couch. “What’s wrong with it?”

He sighs, “Well for one, the lock is broken. But even if it weren’t, this thing would be so easy to break.”

“It’s the lock the place came with.” You shrug. At least it has a lock. In Gotham that’s kind of asking a lot.

“Yeah, I can tell.” He frowns at the window once again, moving over to stand behind the couch. “I’m getting you better locks.” He looks to you, “I can install them tomorrow?”

You tilt your head up to look at him, “You don’t need to get me new locks, Jay…”

“Okay.” He kisses your head, “I’m getting them.”

You sigh in defeat, though your smile makes it lose its credibility. “Tomorrow’s fine. I assume you’re staying the night, then?”

He makes his way to the kitchen as he says, “Well, I’m not leaving you alone here with this piece of shit the only thing between you and Gotham.”

“I’ve lived here for two years.” You say flatly.

“Don’t remind me.” He mumbles as he moves behind the counter. “Actually, your door chain’s broken too, isn’t it?” It is, but that’s his own fault.

You had a long day a couple weeks ago and had a very long, very hot shower the second you got home. Unfortunately, it had slipped your mind to text him that you were home safe and he’d broken through the chain in one try to make sure you were okay.

You hum, “It wasn’t doing much anyways.” Clearly.

He grimaces as he heats up the stove for dinner.

You laugh lightly, “What?”

He looks back at you with a frankly adorable frown, “I don’t like that.”

You’d never thought much of it. You hadn’t had any—well, many—problems living here before, and you still had your deadbolt and handle lock.

“It’s okay. I’m safe here.”

He looks like he strongly disagrees. He comes back over, sitting next to you, taking your face in his hands. “Will you please let me set up some security measures around here?”

“Did Jason Todd just say please?” You say in faux-shock.

He rolls his eyes at you, “I’m serious.”

You sigh, contemplatively. “I don’t want my apartment looking like the Home Alone set.”

He laughs at that, “It’s not going to. You won’t even notice most of them. Just do it for me, please?”

“I’ll agree, but only because I know you’re going to do it anyways and I’d like to pretend I have control over this.” That’s not true, you’d agree to literally anything if he said please that sweetly again, but that’s your business.

“Fair enough.” He smiles, kissing your cheek.

No, it’s not fair at all.

It’s late. You’re not even sure how late but the city has calmed from its usual noises, indicating that your boyfriend will be home soon.

You’re coming up heavy on cramps tonight and according to the mockingly empty spot in your medicine cabinet, you’re out of ibuprofen. Yeah, it’s late, but the store on the corner is a three minute walk and fuck your stomach hurts. Jason wouldn’t like it if you went out without telling him though, so maybe you should wait until—

The sound of the living room window sliding open breaks you away from your thoughts, followed by a clatter of something hitting the ground.

You walk back into the dimly lit room, finding your boyfriend sliding the window shut again, holsters abandoned on the ground. He turns and collapses onto the couch face first, body immediately gone limp.

“Hey, baby.” You bite back a laugh, coming over to rub his muscled back from behind the couch. He groans into the cushion in response. “Why don’t you go get in bed?”

He hums almost imperceptibly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes roughly with his palms.

He stands and takes your hand in his as he passes by, tugging you towards the bedroom. The deep ache in your abdomen reminds you of your earlier train of thought. You pull your hand back, stopping in your tracks.

He turns back to you with a frown, wanting to know what could possibly be getting in his way of falling asleep, holding you close.

“I gotta go pick up some ibuprofen. I’ll be right back.” You say quietly, not wanting to disturb the quietness of the night for him. His frown deepens as you head towards the door, watching you.

You’ve got your purse in hand and are reaching for the handle when you hear his footsteps following in suit. “Hey, it’s okay. Stay here, I’m just going to the 24 hour store on the corner.”

He shakes his head, “You’re not going out in Gotham alone at two in the morning. Put your coat on, it’s cold.”

You do as you’re told, shrugging the coat on as you glance over at him. “Jason, it’s okay. You’re exhausted, go to sleep.”

He ignores you, throwing a sweatshirt on to cover up his armor, and follows you out the door; albeit far more sluggish than usual.

He was right though, the night air is bitter and slaps your face with every step forward you take. He lingers a few steps behind you, honest to god almost falling asleep mid step a couple times.

Frankly, you’re not even sure what kind of fight he’d be able to put up in this state. Though, he’s surprised you plenty of times before. In any case, his head snaps up every time there’s any sign of movement around, instantly on alert.

He trails behind you as you browse through the narrow aisles, hands stuffed in his sweatshirt.

As you’re standing at the store counter paying, his neck is craned forward, resting on your shoulder. You rub soothing circles into his hand with your thumb, though you’re sure it’s not doing anything to help his exhaustion.

You’re walking back home, the bite of the air a bit more forgiving in this direction. There’s another man walking down the sidewalk approaching, hands in pocket.

Jason’s too tired to bother with subtlety, glaring directly at the passerby before he could even think of trying anything. And it works, because the guy averts his gaze real quick and speeds up past you.

He continues working at his post from just behind you all the way until you’re back inside your apartment.

He takes the medicine container out of his pocket and cracks it open for you, wordlessly filling up a glass of water after. You gulp down a couple of the pills, and he takes the glass and bottle out of your hand the second you’re done, setting them on the counter.

He turns to you, eyes barely open, mumbling, “Can we sleep now?”

You smile at his fatigued state and take his hand, leading him to the bedroom.

Your neighbor likes you. You know it, Jason knows it.

The worst he’d done was flirt with you, badly, and shut his mouth real quick whenever your boyfriend emerged from your apartment.

And Jason let that go; he knows better than anybody that you’re heavenly and sweet and clever, of course this fucking guy likes you. Jason set an unspoken rule with himself, that he won’t get violent with any guys unless they put their hands on you. Something he knows for absolute fact your neighbor has not done.

At least he hadn’t until a couple of hours ago. You’d been in the hallway at the mailslots, your boyfriend nowhere in sight, when he decided it was the perfect time to make a move. Make several moves, actually.

You’re sitting on the couch, knees to chest, still trying to wrap your mind wround what had happened when Jason sees you. You stopped crying a while ago and you’ve entered the phase of…well. That happened.

Your hear keys jingling outside the door, followed by your boyfriend's entrance. He’s carrying some grocery bags and has a book tucked under his chin.

He lets the bags slide off his arms, and sets the book on the counter with them, beaming, “You’re never gonna guess what b—“ His smile drops when he sees you. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, “Nothing.” But your blinking feels off all of a sudden, and you can’t remember what you usually do with your face when you’re not lying. It doesn’t matter though, you could be an academy award winning actress and you’re still sure Jason would be able to see right through you with a single glance.

He frowns, “Don’t lie to me.” He moves towards you, kneeling down in front of you. “Please. What’s wrong?” His eyes are worried now, more than usual.

You don’t want him to worry about this. He already worries about you too much and he’s got all his vigilante stuff and…you just want to believe that this is a manageable situation and not a problem. Not something that affected you.

“It’s just…it’s not a big deal, okay? I can handle it—”

His posture stiffens and his voice suddenly goes low and serious, “What happened?”

You know where this is going. “Jason. Promise me you won’t do anything.”

His brow furrows, and his frown turns to something closer to anger. “Did someone put their hands on you? Who?”

“Jason—”

“Who did it?”

“The neighbor, b—” he immediately snaps to a stand and starts towards the door. You hurry to grab onto his hand before he can escape your proximity, “Jason. Please don’t.”

The break in your voice is enough to make his rage falter and turn back around to face you.

“Baby, if he touched you—” His eyes are pleading, begging you to let him go take care of this. If not for you, then for him.

“It wasn’t—he didn’t do anything. He didn’t get to. I hit him and he backed off.” Which is…sort of true.

He stares at you. “In the hallway?”

You blink. “…Yeah?”

He takes off towards the bedroom wordlessly. You follow quickly on his tail, watching him sit on the edge of your bed, opening his computer and clicking through it quickly.

You slide over next to him, and see that he's pulling up a file under the name of your building and today’s date. It takes you two seconds too long to realize what he’s doing, the thought only sinking in right as you see the hallway security camera footage on the screen.

“Jason—” you try to close the computer but he bats your hand away.

He forwards through the footage, as you scramble trying and failing to reach past him, various building occupants coming in and out of frame rapidly.

“—please just listen to me.” But he did listen to you, and he heard that someone tried to hurt you. That was all he needed to hear.

He stops when he sees you enter the frame, watching closely. He sees you flipping through the mail. He sees your neighbor slither out of his apartment and stand far too close to you. You take a step back only to be met with two steps forward by him. He says something to you, probably asking where your boyfriend is.

The angle doesn’t show his face, but it does see yours, and you look incredibly uncomfortable. You don’t answer him, which evidently was enough of an answer in itself.

Your neighbor tries to brush some of your hair out of your face but you snap your head away, stumbling back a little. He uses your lack of balance as an “excuse” to grab onto your waist, pulling you close to him.

Your hands are out in front of you and you’re shaking your head as he pushes towards you. His lips land on your neck and you try to move backwards, but he grabs your wrists and holds you in place.

You fight against his grip, and upon realizing that your struggling doesn’t matter to him at all, you dig your nails into his wrists so hard you draw blood. He groans in pain and his grip on you loosens.

You snap your hands away and push yourself away, locking yourself in your apartment. Your neighbor lingers for a moment, shouting something at the door before trudging back into his apartment and slamming the door.

Jason snaps the laptop shut, coming to a stand once again. His fists clinch at his sides. “That was not nothing.”

No, it wasn’t. But you feel so helpless right now. You sure as hell felt it in the hallway, and it keeps lingering in you and you’re not sure why. You couldn’t do anything then, you can’t do anything now…it feels like all the bad things in the world are closing in on you and you just have to let it happen.

“I…I don’t want anyone to die because of me…” your words aren’t quite matching your thoughts, but this is the closest you can get right now.

He pulls back to look at you, brows furrowed. “It’s—it’s not because of you. It’s because of him. Baby, if I were on patrol and saw him grab some other girl like that I’d do the same thing.”

You know that. You know that. But communication seems impossible right now even though it’s the only tool you have to stop things from closing in.

“No, I know that. I know…it’s just…” Things are closing in anyways. Alright, this is happening now. Your eyes start watering and your voice trembles.

“Fuck, baby.” His hand flies to the back of your head, other arm wrapping around your middle, pulling you to him.

You feel a bit silly, crying over the potential death of someone who tried to hurt you, in front of the Red Hood of all people.

“I’m sorry, I—I don’t know. It’s—it’s too many bad things. I can’t…”

“Okay. Okay. It’s okay. I’ll stay here. I’m staying here with you, okay?” You nod into his chest, tears dampening his shirt.

This is a temporary solution, you know that even now. But you think once it expires, it might be easier to accept whatever Jason’s going to do later.

He’s quiet for a few minutes, holding you in his arms as you sway back and forth lightly.

“Will you forgive me if I kill him?” He whispers into your hair.

You roll your eyes but smile nonetheless. “Don’t.”

“Is that a yes?”

You pull back to look him in the eyes, face setting. “I’m getting the feeling you’re going to do something regardless of how this conversation ends.” He says nothing. “Just, please, don’t kill him.”

He holds you tighter and you do the same, laying your head against his chest again. You feel him press a kiss to your head as he takes a deep breath.

You think on it for a moment, figuring it needs saying, “And don’t get in trouble.”

Your neighbor comes home late that night, trudging through the front door with a perpetual frown. He opens the door to his notably unlocked apartment. He drops his bag on the ground with a thump and flicks on the lamp next to the door. He shuts the door and turns the lock when the red elephant in the room pipes up.

“Hey, bud.”

He jumps, spinning around, “Who the fuck—oh, shit.” He freezes the second he sees him, sitting in the armchair across the room. The Red Hood nods, loading the gun in his hand.

Your neighbor stutters, “What—what are you doing here?”

He looks up at him, cocking the gun. “You put your hands on your neighbor, yeah?”

He looks fake-shocked at the accusation. “What? No, I would ne—which neighbor?”

He can’t see it, but Hood’s face drops into a deadpan. “That is really not helping your case.”

Your neighbor eyes the gun nervously.

Hood sighs, “I’m not going to kill you. I’ve been told it’s bad manners to execute someone the first time you meet.” He glances down the nail marks on his arm and steels his jaw. “No. What’s going to happen is you’re going to break your lease and move out. Within the next week.”

The neighbors eyes widen, “A week? Are you insane?”

Hood tilts his head a bit before shaking it, “Nah, you’re right. By tomorrow night.”

“This is my apartment. I live here, I’m not going anywhere. And unless you’re secretly Saul the landlord under there, you can’t do anything about it.” He crosses his arms, clearly feeling very proud of himself. Well, killing him isn’t the only option, is it?

Hood stands, making his way across the room casually. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” He clocks him hard on the head with the frame of his gun. He goes down quickly and loudly, clutching his head, groaning. “The alternative is getting beaten half to death and hoping whatever hospital you end up at knows what they’re doing.”

Honestly, neighbor boy is pressing his luck as is. Maybe it was a bad idea for Jason to bring the gun.

“Fuck! Fine! I’ll go!” He wails.

Hood kicks his abdomen with the side of his boot, though not nearly as hard as he wanted to. “Shut up. You’ll disturb the neighbors.”

The neighbor groans again, quieter. He mumbles something about Hood being crazy but it gets lost under the grunts of pain.

Hood crouches down next to him, patting him on the head with the barrel of his gun. “Don’t worry, bud. I’ll check up on you. And if I ever see you so much as look in the general direction of another girl I’ll put a bullet in your head. Sound good?”

Your former neighbor drops his head to the ground, hand still clutching the growing swell on his forehead.

[sigilcatt]

Hii

Sebastian x Reader where they don't have enough data so they just ask if they can pay w/ a kissy?

zomg this is so cute???

{reader is GN}

So far, the totality of this expedition sucked.

Signing up to fetch some stupid crystal for your freedom sounded like a flawless idea, sure. If you dismissed the plethora of creatures making an effort to kill you along the way. (Not like the people who sent you here cared, mind you.) You were chastised for any mistakes, even though they refused to even inform you about the opposing dangers to begin with. It was more of an…inconvenience if you happened to fail.

Regardless, between having to avoid possesed lockers, shadowy figures, and whatever those god-awful anglers were, you thought you were pretty damn good at this.

You’d managed to stay alive so far, approaching yet another door, this one marked “43.”

Hopefully this one would be easier than the last..

Gently slipping a thin, blue keycard inside the reader that had been installed into the door, waiting for it to hiss open with a scowl on your face. The door parted and swept aside, revealing yet another dark hallway before you.

Dammit, You thought with a groan, fumbling around in your bag to retrieve your flashlight. It was already low on juice, and of course, you had no batteries on you. Just your luck. Shaking it awake, the warm golden light illuminated the absolute mess of the corridor; large crates looked as if they’d been violently thrown across the room, one even appeared to have left minor damage to one of the many thick pipes lining the walls to your left.

Plus the considerable ragged clawmarks that laced the floor, but it was better to ignore those, no?

Taking a few deep breaths, you forced yourself to stray deeper into the space, your light scanning over each and every crevice. You weren’t about to risk letting anything jump out at you.

Except for the vent grille, apparently.

An earsplitting smash reverberated throughout the chambers as it rammed against the nearby wall, bouncing back for a mere second before collapsing onto the floor.

“What the hell-?!”

Out of shock, you dropped your flashlight, the generous amount of light you’d been given now gone as it rolled away from your feet. As you scrambled to pick it back up, a voice echoed through the vent opening.

“Got something for you.”

You narrowed your eyes at the small gap, quickly realizing who it was with frustation bubbling in your gut.

Sebastian. That 10ft sea monster that lingered around these areas, offering you useful supplies in exchange for data. You rolled your eyes with a sigh as you got on your knees, wincing with discomfort as you made your way through the vent to see him.

Of course it was him. Who else would it be? As much as he annoyed you with his unwarranted attitude and sass, he was still…nice to be around. Made things less lonely.

“Ah, you, welcome back.” He greeted, though of course laced his voice with sarcasm. “Really thought you’d be dead by now.”

“I’m more capable than you think, Seb,” You retorted, crossing your arms as you glared up at him, almost actually insulted he doubted you.

His long, grey, scaly tail sat curled against the wall, his selling items neatly attached to it. He scowled right back at you, demonstrating his usual toothy grin as his fins twitched slightly. “Sure.” He hissed softly.

You ignored him, browsing his wares with tired eyes. You approached his tail, ripping off a silvery flashlight and examining it. Without a second thought, you stuffed it into your bag and began to leave.

“Where are you going?” Sebastian scoffed. Abruptly, his wide tail clasped over the vent opening, preventing you from leaving. “You haven’t paid. You must actually be stupid, huh?”

“You owe me!” You exclaimed, throwing your arms into the air. “You scared me and made me drop my first flashlight. Now its’ broken, thanks.”

“Oh dear, really?” Sebastian hissed, feigning concern in his voice.

You groan in frustration as the sarcasm hit you, yanking your bag open to find any data you’d collected along the way. You were hoping to get this interaction over with, if he was going to be this sassy.

“Oh..damn..”

You stared into your palms, which held a few scraps of data, some of which were even broken during your travels. Whatever it was, you definetly did not carry enough to afford anything.

Sebastian laughed softly, seemingly observing this as well. “Too bad, then. That’s really embarrassing, I might add.”

“Wait, seriously?!” You clamored, desperate to leave here with something. “I can figure something out!”

“We had a deal. One you agreed to, in case you forgot. Either you pay, or you get nothing, sweetheart.” He added the taunting nickname with a scoff, reaching to take your bag from you.

You leapt away, knowing he’d tear it to pieces with his claws, even if he was trying to be gentle. Which he wasn’t, of course, but still.

“Wait, wait, I can-” You protested. An idea struck you suddenly. Not a very easy one, but it was something, at least. Oh well, what did you have to lose besides your life and freedom?

Sebastian pulled his hand away, narrow eyes boring into you as he waited for you to finish.

“How would you feel about some sort of…romantic gesture? Like, I don’t know, a fucking kiss or something?” You offered, preparing to be screamed out of the room.

But, to your surprise, that didn’t happen. He simply kept that narrow-eyed glare. At first, you thought he might not have heard you, so you drew in a breath to speak again. “I mean, come on. You think I can’t tell you at least like my presence a little? You’ve given me discounts and let me just sleep in here whenever.”

It was silent for a minute. The events you’d listed were true, however. You could recall moments when you’d just been so drained that he reluctantly allowed you to use his tail as some sort of pillow to rest with, along with the discounts on items he claimed were just him being in a “good mood” at the time.

“That desperate, are we?” Sebastian laughed, his voice yanking you out of your daydreams. He thought on your proposal for a few agonizingly long seconds before letting out a deep sigh. “…Fine.”

You let out a breath you didnt know you’d been holding, practically gripping your newfound flashlight as if it were your only lifesource. (It might as well be, considering your conditions, honestly..)

You opened your mouth to continue, though all that escaped you was a startled gasp as Sebastian lifted you off the ground. Cold, sharp claws grasped onto you with a gentleness you didn’t know he was capable of as he held you, level to his scaly face.

Your hands grabbed onto whatever part of his claws you could in order to keep yourself from falling as you stared at him with wide eyes.

“So?” He remarked with a frown. You cleared your throat with a deep breath. “Right..”

You leaned in further, pushing your hands against the side of his face as support before pressing your lips against him. Your body seemed to heat up as you did so, finding an odd sense of comfort as you let it linger for a few extra seconds.

“Mmh.” A satisfied hum escaped Sebastian as he gently curled his claws further around your body. Though the fear of falling wasn’t an issue for you right now. All you could seem to think about was the current situation, and the way it made you feel.

Eventually, you pulled away, wiping your mouth as you cleared your throat. You stared up at him, taking in the slight smirk being thrown your way.

“Good enough for you?” You asked, your voice softer than usual.

“Very,” He sighed, placing you down carefully. Your legs trembled as your feet finally touched the ground, due to the being held midair like that, and also maybe the fact that you had just kissed a sea creature you were told to avoid at all costs.

You tightened the hold on your flashlight as you stared off into space, thinking on your recent actions. Of course it earned you something, but holy shit.

In an attempt to take your mind off this, you sat down, arms wrapped around your legs as the lack of energy finally got to you. Sitting against the wall, you let out a sigh.

“Could I stay for a bit?”

“…For a few hours.” Sebastian exhaled, arms crossed as he glanced down at you.

You smiled, a silent ‘thank you’ as you let the well-deserved sensation of rest overcome you.

This was going to be an odd story to tell when you got back.

so sorry if this is shit, /gen , I haven’t written in forever , plus im much better with hcs 💔

[artdagz]

First and foremost, Jazz prowl mecha AU is so fun and I'm reading so much of it and sometimes I really just want to share something.

As most probably already know this was started by @keferon and this AU is so fun, I really can't, everyone is so creative and there's so much to learn and see everywhere, the angst, the evolution and cheesy romance mix with hurt comfort is just🤌

So please, it's just some idea, but I hope this gives somebody something ><

(First part is big hurt, second part is rescue. So prowls death and not being treated like a human, when his conscience is in the mech, but he gets safed/saves himself with jazz. )

What if prowl becomes somewhat like Vortex in the mecha au, but with the downside of now being a supercomputer trapped in a mech that won't move without a pilot.

And as they notice he can still calculate stuff for them but is no longer a fragile human and also conveniently can't say no to requests, they use that without remorse. Prowl is allowed to move freely in the field when fighting quintessons but used in his spare time to do all sorts of administrative tasks that commanders are too lazy to do..

It happens along these lines:

Tarantulas notices Prowl won't be able to be doing the whole upgrading forever.

He's failing more and more, getting worse.

So next time he has him under his knife, he's doing something so in case prowl won't make it There is a safety backup of prowl in his mecha, so that's how prowl becomes a mech.

When Prowl suddenly stops in battle and all jazz can do is get them out of there, back at base there's nothing they can do for human prowl anymore.

While the battle is still raging around them, Jazz just sits next to prowls mecha hoping prowl will make it.

But it's as everyone feared and jazz is just sitting there close to prowls mech knowing his friend will never return and nobody dares to come closer.

Tarantulas approach being met with a visor that dares him to get any closer.

They organize a small funeral, one of the other pilots inviting jazz. Jazz goes, out of his suit for once, to attend.

When jazz is back his suit informs him that someone had been in prowls mech.

And it was Tarantulas.

Jazz thinks about confronting Tarantulas, but instead goes into prowls mechs cockpit, looking around to find out if he did anything.

And there's this button that's blinking, it's the startup button and jazz just absentmindedly pushes it, the mech whirring to live around him and the cockpit closes.

Text is running on the screen that looks like startup of a computer, then there's just text that's scrolling down further until it gets to the bottom.

The little blinking bar indicates the last line is just blinking for a while as jazz stared at it.

Then suddenly it moves again.

One word catches his optic

Jazz

Written on the screen.

And another line appears.

Help.

So, prowl is stuck in his mech, which wouldn't be as bad if he could move.

Jazz hacks the programming that makes it necessary for there to be a pilot and everything is a 100% better cause he can move.

Still unlike before, prowl can't just get out of his mech and walk around and that's so frustrating, cause his health isn't an issue anymore but now he got military breathing down hus neck, who are ecstatic at not having to worry about prowl being human anymore and prowls workload suddenly becomes so much that even if he was allowed to move he doesn't have time.

The programming and the reinstalled tacnet making it so he can't say no even though he wants nothing but a break.

Jazz being in Prowls mech trying to talk to him and more often than not he'll be sitting in the cockpit and prowl suddenly cuts off and his vents kicking on, as they use prowl to calculate scenarios like a piece of equipment.

Jazz noticing this installs a blocker that prowl can use to deny dumb requests and suddenly prowl can hear his own thoughts again.

When military gets on jazz’ case about doing that, threatening him to reverse what he did, prowl interferes.

He threatens them back he'd go with jazz and if they do anything to him he'll do the same to his own mech (himself).

Now prowl and jazz get to go out on walks together.

And prowl finally comes to realize that he actually died and everything just feels so much in a robotic body that is all built for efficiency but not for expressing oneself or even just feeling anything.

[spurbleu]

john price as a handyman yet again making me feral.

a jack of all construction trades in the small town he retires to. called occasionally for a small household additions; installation of roof tile, grout placement, wall painting and railing mounting.

with a collection of busyworks under his leather belt, he decides to pursue a renovation project.

it’s a kitchen. feels fitting for a man like john, enjoying his second year of retirement with good whiskey and better food, sinewed by the heartiness of his last meal that layer years in service.

he lumbers up the stairs of the porch, knocks on the oak door, and waits.

and waits some more.

when he’s finally ready to call it, the door creaks open to reveal…you.

unexpectedly young, or at least you appear to be. fresh eyes that glow in infant spring. a franticness about you, one attributed to people who forget they have ages of time left. gorgeous.

you smile, and john’s jaw clicks. “hello, you must be john price.”

when you say his name, a fossilized part of him is uncovered and brushed off by your manicure hands.

“yes maam.”

he follows you into the house, which is barren. white walls, scarcely decorated floors, and windows that gleam without the evidence of life in the moldings or panes.

“excuse the…emptiness,” you clear your throat, “we just moved in.”

his eyebrows lower. “we?”

you nod. “my husband and i. newlyweds.” you laugh, and he resists the urge to recoil.

“which reminds me- he’s on a work call right now, and unfortunately I know very little about the project,” you send him a sheepish look, “so…can i get you anything?”

he stares at you for a long moment. accessing his feelings, the house, the ring on your finger and the lacking presence of its intended pair. swallows it all, and politely asks for a water.

when you return, your husband is close behind. he does not measure up to the man john thought he’d be. shakes his hand, and it’s weak.

he wonders if he fucks you with it.

“nice to meet you john, excited for you to help us settle in!”

john looks at your husband, boyish smile and an ounce of charm. then to you, the potential of this empty house, and it’s rootless marriage.

he smiles and squeezes the weak hand that will loose its wedding ring in under 2 months.

“can’t wait.”

[vunblr]

A Hand in the Dark (#3)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Hurt/Comfort. Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Suicidal thoughts (neither Bucky nor Reader). Canon-Typical Violence.

Summary: In a brief moment of lucidity, Soldat makes a choice. And some choices echo across time, shaping the future in ways no one could predict.

Word Count: 5.1.k.

notes: More tags will be added in the future.

Previous Chapter - Masterlist

The pills went down with a scratch in his throat, caught for a second like they didn’t want to be there. The Gatorade was warm now, too sweet, but his body wanted it. Needed it. He could feel the burn of the heat in his skin, the pulsing ache where she’d stitched.

He stared at the blister pack again. Paracetamol. 1g. A simple anti-inflammatory. Fever reducer. She wasn’t trying to burn out his thoughts or dull his mind.

She wasn’t trying to sedate him.

Not yet.

He glanced down at his hands. No restraints. Just trembling fingers and the heat of the infection deep in his muscles. She had stitched him. She had approached without force. No gloves, no commands with venom behind them.

Maybe she was trained.

Maybe she’d been embedded, meant to recover him in the chaos of what happened. HYDRA didn’t always pull from within. When she spoke, her voice had slipped into something just firm enough to obey without thinking.

No shouting. No touch. Just… an order dressed like a request.

Just a quiet line in the air: I need you to take it. So you can get better.

He hadn’t understood that part.

Why did she need him to feel better? Was he meant to protect her? Perform for her? Was there a mission coming she hadn’t yet named?

Some of the handlers had never set foot inside a base. He remembered bits: Waking up in unfamiliar kitchens, basements, and laundry rooms, watching as faces changed, voices changed, but the orders remained.

No one helped the Soldat just to help it.

Maybe this was one of those occasions. Where other services would be required.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

He'd passed through hands that hadn’t precisely needed his combat skills. A different kind of usage. They’d stripped him like an object, and then used him like one.  

After all, he only knew how to comply.

And yet-

I won’t touch you. Not unless you ask me to.

If this were another mission, she played it unlike anyone else he remembered. And if it wasn’t… he didn’t know the rules.

He coughed once, shallowly, catching it behind his teeth. He was soaked in sweat. Still feverish. But the pressure behind his head had shifted. Not much. But enough.

----

Once the door to his room had clicked gently shut behind her, she let herself sag against the wall.

Ok. He was in the spare room now. Installed there like a volatile machine, wounded, half-operational, with uncertain wiring. And hopefully, hopefully, medicated.

But he couldn’t stay in those boxers. Not in this weather. Not with how filthy they were, grime soaked into the seams, blood crusted along the waistband. And she wasn’t about to toss that shredded tac suit into the washer for him to use it again.

No. He needed clothes.

So she grabbed her coat and keys and changed her slippers to a pair of sneakers. She hesitated with her hand on the doorframe.

“I’m going out,” she said, loud enough to carry down the hall, soft enough to sound like she wasn’t afraid of startling him. “Just to a store. I’ll be back in a bit.”

No answer. Not even the creak of floorboards, a cough, a footstep. Just silence.

Still, she waited a beat longer. Just in case. Just in case his silence meant no, or wait, or I’m not okay. Even if he didn’t know how to say it.

Nothing.

So she left, locking the door behind her with soft fingers.

----

The store was dimly lit and half-stocked, exactly the kind of place that sold underwear in zippered plastic and plain black sweaters for five dollars. She grabbed what she could fast, two pairs of sweatpants, two long-sleeved shirts, a hoodie with a stupid logo, and a pack of boxers and socks that proudly proclaimed value size on the label.

Cheap. Soft. No tags. Nothing he could read as a uniform. Nothing too tight, stiff, or binding. Just warm fabric. Just comfort.

She added a small bottle of shampoo, a travel toothbrush, and a stick of unscented deodorant, because, well, because it felt right. Because if he stayed another night, he might need something to remind himself he was allowed to exist as a person. A real one. A clean one.

She paid in cash and walked back quickly.

When she opened the front door again, the apartment was -unsurprisingly- quiet.

She called out gently, “I’m back.”

No reply.

Still. She didn’t push. Just walked to the threshold and gently set down the plastic shopping bag beside the door to his room. Close enough to be seen, far enough not to breach the invisible line he’d drawn. She hesitated, then cleared her throat.

“There are clothes in the bag,” she said, trying for casual. “For you. New. Clean. They might be a little big, but better too big than too tight, right?”

No answer. She didn’t expect one.

She shifted her weight, rubbing her palm against her thigh, in the way she always did when she had more to say and didn’t quite know how to say it.

“I don’t usually work on Saturdays,” she added, speaking a little louder now. “But I’ve gotta cover the afternoon shift. My coworker’s out sick for a few days.”

Still nothing. Just the quiet beyond the door, heavy but listening.

“You’ll be alone,” she continued, softer again. “Use the time to take a hot shower. Put on the clothes. It’s too cold to be in, well, what you’ve got on. You’ll feel better. I mean��� not just from the fever.”

Her fingers curled against the hem of her sweater, gripping it tight for a moment. Then she made herself let go.

“I’ll leave the front door unlocked. Just in case you… want to leave.” She swallowed. “If you do, please, use the spare key. It’s in the flower pot outside the door. Lock it behind you so no one comes in if the apartment’s empty.”

She stood there another breath longer, like she wanted to say something else. Then thought better of it. Her hand hovered once more near the doorknob, then dropped away.

----

He didn't move until he heard the sound of the front door closing. That was when he finally uncurled from the corner of the room. His legs complained, not used to that position. The blankets were still pooled on the old rug, where he’d dropped them when the heat started to break. Sweat chilled on his skin. The boxers stuck damply to his thighs. His hair clung to his neck in curls gone too long without care.

He stood up carefully and angled his head toward the hallway, testing. Still no sounds. She was gone.

He made it near the door -slowly, soundlessly on the wood floor- and stared at the bolt. It was… open. Just like she said it will. And in the flowerpot, a flash of metal half-buried in dry soil: the key.

A choice.

If you leave…

The rest of her words blurred. He didn’t know what she meant by that. Didn’t know if she meant freedom or a trap. Extraction or abandonment. No one ever gave him a choice like that, not without a leash hidden somewhere. If you disobeyed, you were punished. If you walked away, they found you. If you stayed, you were used.

He didn’t touch the key, instead, he went to the bathroom.

The light in there was too warm. Too yellow. It made his reflection strange, sunken eyes, dull with fever, patchy bruises across his ribs. Hair too long, unkept scruff, dirty with old blood.

The steam built quickly, rising in clouds, curling like fingers toward the ceiling. He waited too long to step in. Even now, the luxury of the action felt… dangerous.

But he did.

And when he did, the water scalded.

Not a hose. Not a punishment. Not a command. It stung down his spine, hissed over healing wounds, and softened the blood-caked threads on his stitches. He didn’t scrub right away. Just stood there, staring down at his hands, at how the water was dripping from the tip of his fingers. Flesh hand. Scarred. Left hand: dulled, but his now. Not a weapon someone else activated.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t know how to anymore.

But his chest hurt.

Years. He didn’t know how many. No soap. No heat. No kindness. Just missions and freeze, freeze and missions, the stink of old sweat layered like armor on his skin.

The water kept running.

And when he finally reached for the soap, he used it like it might disappear if he hesitated. He then reached for the shampoo with unsure fingers, not knowing how much to use. The bottle sloshed too fast when he squeezed, too much at once, dripping down his wrist before he could tame it.

He blinked it out of his eyes, working his fingers through the tangled mess of his hair. It felt wrong, doing this without urgency. Without someone barking a command or watching him from behind a screen.

He dried off with a thick cotton towel that scraped over bruises and caught on the stitches she’d sewn. Each sting connected him to the present. This was real.

The sweatpants were soft. Dark blue, unbranded. Interchangeable. Like uniforms, but meant to comfort, not control. The shirts were equally plain, one black, one grey. He picked the grey. It clung a little at the shoulders, but didn’t feel wrong. The socks were new, too, and warm.

And then came the boots.

Still by the door, caked with dried mud from wherever he’d crawled out of. He carried them to the sink, braced them under the faucet, and scrubbed with his thumb until the worst disappeared. The water turned brown in the basin, swirling into the drain.

He didn’t know why he needed to do that. Only that it felt… necessary.

He put them on last.

When he stepped into the kitchen, the floorboards creaked. The apartment still smelled like whatever she had cooked, something savory, spiced. Not chemically balanced for nutrition. Not portioned for macros. Just food.

A container sat on the counter, sealed tightly. Steam fogged the inside. And a note, short, scribbled.

Eat <3

His body obeyed.

He pried open the lid, and the scent hit him like a punch. Meat. Rice. He didn’t even look for utensils at first, just took a bite with his fingers, too quick, too hot. His jaw stung where a bruise was forming. He didn’t stop. By the time he found a fork in the drawer and sat down properly, the container was already half empty.

The last bite stuck a little in his throat. The animal part of him had quieted. Full stomach, warm limbs, boots on, body clean.

He glanced toward the door.

Still unlocked.

“Just in case you… want to leave.”

He stared. Like it might open on its own, like he might be tested. That someone would be watching for his choice.

He didn’t move.

He didn’t know what to choose.

----

The water steamed again, this time from the kitchen sink. He stood over it, with sleeves shoved up to his elbows, slightly hunched, like his body was still braced for a hit. The container clinked dully in the basin, plastic against porcelain. He scrubbed it with the sponge until the sponge began to fray. Not fast. Not sloppy. Just… thorough. Precise. No trace of food. No film of oil. No mistake left behind to be found later.

Mess meant punishment. Always had. Not scolding, not disappointment. His hair twisted in a handler’s fist until his knees hit the tile. A baton snapped across the cheekbone, the lip, the ribs. A mouthful of copper while someone barked that dogs don’t deserve kitchens.

He rinsed it twice. Dried it with the cleanest towel. Folded that too.

Then he froze. Palms pressed flat on the counter. Breath low, chest tight.

The flowerpot still had the key.

She had said it, If you decide you want to leave.

His jaw clicked as it clenched. That couldn’t be right. That line wasn’t meant for him. Not really. Because there were only two outcomes to that kind of offer.

Either it was a test.

If he touched the key -if he dared to leave- the punishment would be swift, savage, and absolute. And worse, it would be deserved. That’s what they’d taught him: disobedience was betrayal. And betrayal meant reconditioning.

Or.

She meant it. Meant the words just as she’d said them. That she had pulled him out of the street like a broken thing, stitched him back together, handed him a meal and clean clothes and an unlocked door, and expected nothing in return.

He didn’t know which was worse.

Because if it were the first, he could brace for it. He could ready himself for the pain, for the correction. He knew that script. He knew how to survive it.

But if it was the second…

Where would he even go?

There was no next mission. No extraction point. No coordinates in his head. No handler waiting for a report. Just silence. Just fever and stitches and a woman’s voice telling him to eat, to rest, to heal.

He hardened his grip on the counter.

Stay. Stay and watch. Stay and wait. Just a little longer. Just enough to see if the leash ever tightens. If the door stays open.

----

She dropped a stack of paperbacks, and the spines thudded dully on the counter. Her manager didn’t notice, too busy chatting up a regular at the register. Good. She needed the moment.

All the shift her mind had spun like a scratched record, the same thoughts, over and over.

Was he still there, or had he vanished like a ghost?

Was it wise to leave the note as she did?

Eat. Just that one word and a crooked little heart at the end. It did sound like an order. What if he’d forced it down out of compliance, and his body rejected it? He’d looked so pale. Hollowed out. Running on fever and instinct and not much else.

She pressed a palm to her forehead, forcing a breath through her nose as she restocked the romance display. New arrivals, bright covers with women in windswept gowns and men whose shirts had clearly lost a battle. Usually, unpacking shipments was one of her favorite parts of the job. Touching the smooth covers, flipping through pages no one else had yet. But now the titles blurred together -swirling pastel, muscles, corsets, and distant eyes, none of it remotely appealing.

----

The thoughts accompanied her during her bus trip home. The vehicle jolted over a pothole, making her sway in the plastic seat. She clutched the metal pole, blinking past the reflection of herself in the scratched window.

If he’s still there, she told herself again, I’ll talk to him this time. Really talk.

She’d tell him about Granny. About that night at the beach, when he’d thrown himself off a cliff to break the fall, saving her life. About the metal plate of his arm in the little pouch.

Maybe he wouldn’t remember, most likely he wouldn’t, considering what Seth had told her about the memory wipes, but maybe it would still mean something.

Maybe it would help him see she wasn’t a threat.

----

The doorknob turned easily beneath her hand.

Unlocked.

Her stomach flipped. He was either still inside… or he’d gone, and left it open behind him. No trace but the ghost of fever, sweat, and disinfectant.

She shrugged off her coat and hung it, followed by her purse. The apartment was still.

She moved to the kitchen first, needed a snack a while ago. She noticed the sink was empty, and the food container sat clean and drying on the rack.

He’d eaten.

She gripped the counter, just for a second. Okay. Good. Good sign.

She grabbed some yogurt and sprinkled some cereal on it, twirling the spoon idly as she considered what to do. After a while, she thought she heard the barest sound coming from his room. Ok, she thought as she munched the last of the yogurt. Time to talk.

She clicked on the hallway light, and its yellow glow pooled out toward the room. The door creaked under her hand as she pushed it open wider. It was dark inside, quiet. For a breath, she thought she had misheard, and he was gone.

Then she saw it, his silhouette, sitting on the cot, still as a photograph. Clean clothes, more or less combed hair. Staring at her.

“Hi,” she managed, “I… see you decided to stay.”

No response. But he didn’t flinch when she stepped in. That was something.

“I want to tell you something,” she said, slowly. “And then I’ll leave you alone. I should’ve said it this morning, but everything felt like a bit much.”

Still nothing. He just watched her with unreadable eyes, tilting his head the barest inch.

“I know who you are,” she said, quieter now. “What you do… or did. Sort of.”

His shoulders drew higher, tighter. Like a trap snapping shut.

“I found you yesterday behind the building. You must’ve wandered after falling into the river. You collapsed.”

Now his gaze sharpened, narrow and assessing, suspicious.

She raised a hand in a loose, nervous gesture. “It was on the news. You and Captain America. The helicarrier going down, the explosion… all of it.”

His jaw clenched.

“So yeah, that’s how I know. And- also.” She glanced at the floor, then back at him. “I’m not stupid. I didn’t just bring a spy and assassin into my house because he looked hurt and handsome in an alley.”

His expression twisted, something like confusion, maybe insult.

“Well, you are handsome,” she muttered, heat prickling her cheeks, “but that’s not the point.”

His brows furrowed like her words made no sense in his internal lexicon.

“I don’t have a second agenda,” she continued. “I didn’t bring you here to use you, or because I wanted something from you.”

Still no response.

“I brought you here because I owe you.”

That got something. A flicker of reaction across his face, subtle but sharp. Confusion again, but laced now with something else. Disbelief.

“You probably don’t remember. It’s not your fault. I know what… what they did to your mind.”

His metal hand twitched on his knee.

“A long time ago,” she said, softer now, “my grandmother tried to kill herself. She was going to jump off the cliffs near the shore. She slipped. Fell.”

His head tilted forward slightly, as if squinting into the dark of a memory.

“You were there. You jumped after her. Took the fall. You weren’t there when she woke up, but she remembers. She remembers your body breaking the impact. The blood. The way you disappeared.”

He was utterly still.

“She found a piece of your arm, part of the plate, broken off in the fall. She kept it. Hid it in a pouch she crocheted herself.”

His eyes dropped to the arm in question. His brows pulled tight, like he was trying to reach back into a void.

“She never told anyone,” she added. “But she told me. And I knew. When I saw you yesterday. I knew.”

The silence thickened around them, almost unbearable. She didn’t know what he was thinking. What part of him was reacting, the soldat, the wounded man, a mix in the void where memory should have been.

He had no memory of the cliff, or the woman, or her scream as she fell. No image, no sound. But his body knew. Somewhere deeper than thought, beneath even reflex.

He must’ve done it.

He’d let her live. Been seen. Intervened. That wasn’t his mission. That wasn’t his role. And that meant punishment. He didn’t know what form it had taken. Couldn’t picture the cell or the screaming or the blade or the ice. But he knew it had come.

They always made sure it came.

His jaw tensed, and the faint tremble that moved through his flesh hand disgusted him.

The woman wasn’t lying. He’d watched her eyes, her mannerisms. The scent of fear and sweat and courage on her skin. She wasn’t playing. Not like the handlers did. Not like the men who smiled before they put the bit in your mouth and the volts in your head.

He'd hurt himself. For a stranger. Damaged the arm. Let evidence be taken. Metal missing. That was never permitted. That was reportable, punishable, correctable.

He felt it now, just below the skin, the way they trained him to feel it. Every time he broke code. Every time the mission slipped. Guilt and revulsion and a choked, animal panic that curled like smoke in his lungs.

Why?

Why had he done it?

But because it was in him. Somewhere… before them. Some wrong wiring that hadn't been ripped out completely. The remnants of a man who wasn’t allowed to exist.

She said she owed him. That she brought him here because of that. Not because she was an agent. Not because she wanted to barter or use him or send him back.

But it didn’t make sense.

No one did things for nothing. Not in his world. Not in any world he could remember. She was speaking like he was a person. Like he deserved to be repaid for… mercy. But that couldn’t be right. He wasn’t built for mercy.

He didn’t know how to process the words she’d said. Didn’t know what she wanted from him now. But she hadn’t called anyone. She hadn’t screamed at him. She hadn’t ordered.

She wasn’t a threat.

Not yet.

But his chest ached with something worse than threat. Worse than fear. The burning, stupid question he didn’t want to ask himself:

If I saved her grandmother, what else have I done they made me forget?

And -quietest of all-

Who was I supposed to be?

She rose from the floor in one slow, fluid motion, unhurried, deliberately slowly, like someone approaching a wild animal, not out of fear, but with respect for its teeth.

“Wait a sec,” she murmured, mostly to herself, not expecting a reply.

She vanished into her bedroom, rummaged through the dresser with trembling hands. It was in the back corner, where she always kept it. Wrapped in tissue paper, then tucked into the crocheted pouch like a secret.

When she stepped back into the doorway, she made sure the little pouch was visible in her palm, hanging loose for him to see. Her voice was soft. Calm enough, even if her insides weren’t.

“Um- this is the proof of what I told you.”

He didn’t move, not right away, but his gaze found the pouch instantly. Locked onto it. Widened in a way that unsettled her. Not surprise. Something sharper. Like recognition was trying to claw its way up through a thousand layers of programming and pain.

She stopped a few feet from him. No closer than necessary.

“Honey, no offense,” she said gently, “but you know now that I have no power over you. You could kill me the second I step into your reach and I can’t do a damn thing about it.” Her voice cracked on the last word. Not out of fear, just the strain of honesty. “I should be the one scared here.”

He didn’t flinch, but there was something brittle in the air now, something held so tightly it might shatter.

She took another small step and extended her hand, with the pouch dangling between her fingers like a peace offering. Not a weapon. Not a bait. Just history. One he’d made, even if he couldn’t remember it.

He took it.

Slowly, silently, his metal hand rose until his fingers, unnaturally smooth, made a soft sound against the yarn as he pinched the pouch from her hand. She didn’t move. Not even to breathe.

He opened it like someone disarming a mine.

The scrap of metal inside it caught the hallway light, uneven edges where the plate had torn free. Titanium alloy, Hydra-issued, old make. His thumb brushed the surface once, then again. This wasn’t a replica. It wasn’t even just familiar. It was his.

Unmistakably his.

No one could fake it. Not the texture, not the weight. Not the fractured edge where it had been wrenched from him, where something had broken hard enough to do damage even to that.

He clenched it in his hand like it might vanish if he let go. Like someone might rip it away, call him a fool for believing any of this.

Then he looked at her.

Still at a safe distance, with no pressure, no smugness on her features.

He didn’t know what to do with that. Didn’t know how to match the piece of himself in his hand to the story she’d told. Didn’t know how to believe her. But more than that, didn’t know how not to.

His throat worked around nothing. His brows pressed together, not quite frowning. Searching.

There were no protocols for this. No Hydra script to follow.

He just stared at her. A breath ghosted out through his nose. Quiet. Almost confused.

Still didn’t speak. But didn’t let go of the metal.

“I’ll let you be now,” she said softly, her voice was gentle, careful, like she was backing away from a wounded animal and not a man holding the sharpest piece of his own past in one trembling hand.

“I know what I told you... what you’re going through is too much. A lot.” She glanced at him again, uncertain if he even heard her, but needing to say it anyway. “I’ll go do some things and then, I’ll make dinner. I’ll bring it here.”

She paused in the doorway, resting her fingers against the frame, not looking back this time.

“Is not necessary for me to say, but you can... you can join me whenever you want. Outside.”

And then she was gone, her footsteps a soft sound down the hallway, leaving him alone with the silence, the pouch, and the past clutched in his palm, a memory he hadn’t known he’d lost.

----

A week passed by, and he stayed. That alone felt like a miracle, she was careful not to startle him.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t roam. She left meals by the door on a tray and they always vanished eventually, reappearing rinsed in the sink. He took the medicine, too. Not in front of her -never that- but the blister’s contents shrank, day by day.

He trusted her, in a way. Not with words. Not with eye contact. But as a caretaker, maybe. A non-threat. A fixture of the space he now cautiously shared.

He didn’t come out often. Just the soft click of the bathroom door now and then. No footsteps in the kitchen. No wandering. Until the day the chair tipped.

She hadn’t meant to stand on it, not really, but the lightbulb had gone out again, and it was just one quick reach, and then she slipped. A short yelp, the clatter of wood on tile, the thud of her hip hitting the floor.

She barely had time to curse when he was there. Silent and swift, like smoke, crouching at her side with sharp eyes and purpose.

His hands were careful. He touched her ankles, rotated them in his palm, brows pinched in faint concentration, as if her joints might tell him something her words couldn't.

"I’m okay," she said, managing a weak laugh. “Really. Just startled myself.”

But he didn’t stop. Not until he was sure. His thumb brushed just below her knees, pressing once, twice until he seemed satisfied. Then, he stood and slipped away without a sound. Just a brush of clothes, the creak of the hallway floorboard, and the soft hush of his door closing behind him.

“Thank you!!” she said earnestly, hoping he had listened.

The lightbulb still dangled dead above her head. But she didn’t move. Her skin was sensitive where he had touched her, and her heart thudded a little too loudly in her ears.

----

He stood with his back against the door for a long moment, tense, with his gaze fixed on nothing. The silence inside the room wasn’t peace. It pulsed. Swirled inside the hollow thing his mind had become.

He’d touched her.

Not under orders. Not to silence or subdue her. He’d touched her because she’d fallen. Because she’d looked up at him from the floor with surprise, not fear, and his instincts had dragged his body forward before he could bury it back down.

He sat heavily on the edge of the cot, with his metal hand open on his knee, like it didn’t belong to him. Not a tool. Not a weapon. Just metal and wire and sins.

He couldn’t shake the feeling.

The weight of her legs. The heat of her skin. The throb of her pulse under his palm, her soft voice saying she was alright. That he didn’t have to keep checking. But he had. He couldn’t stop. Not until he’d been sure. Until his fingers traced her shape and found no breaks, no blood.

She hadn’t pulled away.

Even now, that made no sense.

He leaned forward, threading fingers through his hair. The inside of his mind was a bag full of bad wiring: crackling electric thoughts, slippery half-memories, orders screamed into silence. The protocol would’ve punished him for hesitation, for contact outside the objective, disobedience, and softness.

They would’ve punished him for her.

A beat of nausea rolled through his stomach. He clenched his jaw. He remembered the rooms, filthy-white, always white. The bite of restraints, the shock when he misstepped, when he showed weakness. The dark between cryo sleeps, cold so deep it cracked thoughts apart like ice on a lake.

He’d touched her.

He’d helped.

And she’d looked at him like he was a human being.

He stood too quickly and paced. Four steps to the corner. Turn. Four steps back. His titanium hand flexing open, shut, open. Like he could scrub away the warmth of her skin.

She wasn’t afraid.

She should be.

He pressed his back to the wall and sank slowly, drawing up his knees and lowering his head. He didn’t trust himself. The part of him that moved to catch her. What was that? Soldat didn’t know kindness. But some part of him had.

Was that the man? The ghost left behind Hydra’s probing?

He didn’t know. But her voice was still in his head.

It’s alright. I’m okay. Thank you.

Like he wasn’t a thing.

Like he could be something else.

----

She’d sat on the couch long after he disappeared into the room again. Her ankle throbbed faintly, but she barely noticed it. All she could feel was the ghost of his hands on her. One warm and rough, the other cool and smooth, gentler than it had any right to be.

He’d helped her. He had listened to her fall and come out of that room with a purpose. Like something in him had recognized her pain and answered without stopping to ask why.

This time, he had come to her.

And he’d touched her.

It was the first contact he’d initiated.

A signal that he didn’t see her as a threat. That he felt safe enough -no, not safe, not yet- but compelled to leave that room for her.

She kept thinking about his eyes.

She’d seen them every day, in glimpses. Watching her without looking, flitting away if she stared too long. But when he crouched in front of her, inspecting her ankles and knees, the afternoon sun had caught his face just right, and his irises… they weren’t just blue. They were luminous. Like riverglass. Polished by time and weather. No less sharp, but still beautiful.

Even if he didn’t look her in the eye, not yet, she saw it. That flicker. The part of him that wasn’t just survival or training.

She leaned back against the cushions, breathing slowly. He didn’t say a word. He never did. But that action told her something, and she was relieved.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @civilbucky @pandaxnienke @queergalpal97 @mrsalexstan @escapefromrealitylol @bodhisattva11 @kittieboo @iyskgd @stell404

[tedsies]

i caved and bought the legacy collection out of curiosity

i bought it on steam by the way, no way am I going anywhere near the ea app

random thoughts as i go along:

game loaded up straight away with no issues (what a strange feeling)

got into pleasantview within 2 minutes (obvs I have no cc installed right now so its gonna be faster anyway)

a bit of a jumpscare to see the game again without reshade ngl

straight into the lothario household. don you look... different without all my defaults

screen resolution defaulted to the right size without me having to change anything by the way, which was nice

turned up all the graphics setting to max and going to visit the goth household as that always gives me lag, even vanilla

this experience is already making me realise I need to cut down my 12gb downloads folder, cos man this is so smooth and fast without all of that in my game

well everything is working perfectly straight out of the box. had no issues with multiple sims on the big goth lot

going to quit and load up again with my ui mods and defaults next (along with hugelunatic's ikea pack as cc)

legacy collection has an entirely different file path by the way, so won't mess with existing ultimate collection installs (i wouldn't have dared to do this otherwise)

okay all my defaults, ui mods and some others are now in (downloads folder is up to 3.64gb now) and everything is working fine still

ikea items as cc don't seem to be fully appearing in the catalog though? that might be a me problem but i dont know

adding in all my cas cc now, along with hood defaults and hood deco cc (downloads folder is up to 6.5gb now). i'm also adding in anything else I can think of like camera mods, user startup cheat etc etc

getting into pleasantview in less than 2 mins still

heading into cas for the first time now...

... and it loaded up within 10 seconds even with ALL of my cas cc? and this is the first time too so I would've expected major lag. normally cas takes about 60 seconds to load in my game

update on the ikea pack as cc... the build items are definitely there, but not the buy for some reason?

biting the bullet and adding in the remaining 6gb of my 12gb downloads folder

all of my cc is now in the game and loading times were about 30 seconds longer than before. still no issues

took darren dreamer to a community lot and there were no crashes/issues/lag. normally going to a community lot is very dangerous for me cos its where I get the most crashes or issues, its why all my community lots are incredibly small lot sizes

also I have the hood deco view set to extra large... normally I have to have it set to extra small just to play in a small household

i dont think I'm being delulu here to say things are running better

next up is adding in all of my mods, then after that I might dare putting in my mega populated uberhood save, and try reshade?

another ikea update: everything is showing up now. it was me being an idiot

so all of my mods are now also in (so my entire downloads folder now) and i haven't been able to trigger any crashes or pink soup yet through normal gameplay? even with extra large hood view from lots

reshade keeps crashing my game on startup... damn, what am I doing wrong

RESHADE IS NOW WORKING (ver 6.1.1)! thanks to this guide

I finally added in my uberhood save (which is packed with hood deco and and has 35 playable families).... and it's working! I also played with a household for a bit and everything was working fine

final update before I go to bed (as its gone midnight here lol)

i now have all of my mods, cc, saves, and reshade installed, and I've yet to have any pink soup or crashes (apart from the crashes when I was *incorrectly* trying to install reshade). honestly... i'm surprised. i dont want to speak too soon obviously, but things seem better. i was just playing in a household with extra large lot view on and that would usually IMMEDIATELY crash my game, but nothing happened. tomorrow i'll actually play for an extended period of time, so i'll be able to tell more for sure then.

i hope this has been helpful to at least a couple of people, and i'll leave with you a shot of my pleasantview newly loaded up in the legacy collection 😅

[takes1]

final part. one night stand aftermath with needy!tsukishima

sorry for the wait :0 this is a looong one. last installment! thanks for supporting ya'll. if you want more tsukki, just let me know

warnings. nsfw. minors DNI

details. fem!reader / rough sex / counter sex / porn with plot / flirting / one night stand aftermath / trust issues!reader / needy!tsukki / timeskip!tsukki / apartment setting / communication / a deal being made / 3.1k words

links. my masterlist. [part one, part two.] more haikyuu. my ao3. requests OPEN.

Your breath grew shallow under the weight of his hand on your upper thigh.

It was funny, your confident, split-second choice not to wear anything under your skirt this evening suddenly all you could think about.

Tiny glances. To and from the glint of his glasses in the sunset, the dashes on the road zipping by as he took you back to his place, the tendons working on the top of his hand as he squeezed your supple flesh, hungry- though his eyes gave no indication.

His car was not impressive, but it was exceptionally clean and maintained well. It helped more than anything else, more than any of his mannerisms in particular, to put you at ease.

The first and last words you had exchanged was about the music about six minutes ago. It was kept at a low enough volume to talk over, but no such conversation got off the ground. So, it was quiet and you sat alert, tummy in knots (some good, some bad) with clammy palms and a racing heart.

This state of uncertainty didn't get much better as you made your way upstairs into his apartment.

Where was the kind-of-sweet guy working part-time at the museum? Every time you met him again, it was like his personality had done a complete 180 and you needed to relearn how to talk to him.

You both stood a moment in the doorway, slipping off your shoes. He grew about four inches taller and immeasurably more imposing. You caught a tiny smirk on his jaw.

"Why wear heels?" He asked, toneless.

You squinted across the entryway, careful to not be accusatory nor provide any reference of height to boost his ego, "Because they're cute."

When you decided he was attractive that Friday night, his height was secondary.

Tsukishima lingered for a moment, a faint smile on his mouth, all wrapped up in something you said or how you said it. He shook his head and walked towards the kitchen without inviting you.

Yeah, his height was trivial compared to the complexity behind his eyes.

Again, you were left wondering what to do- you followed, of course. But it was out of hesitant assumption and not because he made it easy.

His head turned away when you entered.

You didn't have time to guess if he was waiting or not before he asked, "Would you like anything?"

It was vague, but since this was the kitchen, you settled on water.

The way he sank and slid, slow and tedious from his spot to grab you a glass made you hold yourself in doubt. But, he was smiling.

"What's so funny?" You had to ask.

Worry was apparent on your brow. He couldn't see it turned around.

"You still don't trust me, do you?"

You couldn't clean up the shock on your face before he saw it. It was exactly what he was looking for, apparently. He still thought that was funny.

You struggled to craft a response that was both articulate and true, "I guess I don't. I don't know you."

It lingered in the air for a few seconds. In fact, those seconds felt so long that you began to question your choice to come here. You thought to exactly where you put your shoes.

He looked contemplative. He crossed his arms, but not to close himself off. "But we still fucked."

You laughed at him, at the absurdity.

"I know."

You repeated, shaking your head, "I- I know. What, are you trying to guilt trip me over leaving? I know I hurt your feelings, but I don't owe you anything."

The island separating you felt bigger.

He blew a breath, brow raised. You regretted saying it that way. He just made you nervous.

But he laughed again, "Jesus, uh..." He picked up your glass and closed the distance, arm up as a little surrender to your words, "I guess you're not wrong."

He settled next to you, side flush against you when he handed you the glass.

You stared at it, tapping, and considered your options. You opened your mouth and took a breath to apologize.

"Don't say sorry," He stated. He met your eyes for a moment, then shook his head with a little smile, "I like that."

Heat crawled up your neck and inspired you to down all the water in your hands. You set the empty glass aside and wiped your mouth with your forearm. He thought it was cute, but kept it to himself.

The facts were as out there as they were going to get for you; he didn't do one night stands, he was convinced he had met a 'nice girl' and took you home, got his feelings hurt when you left, he probably thought it was fate that you met at the museum, but... now, what did he want?

"I don't trust you either," He admitted, moving slow to pin you between his arms, against the counter.

His eyes gave you no indication of what he meant by that. He looked mean. Like he could really hurt you, or your feelings at a minimum.

A flash of apprehension spread across your face. You looked to the left and right, then back at him, who found your little panic charming.

His indescribable intensity was why, when he closed the distance to kiss you, you paused.

He sighed against you for a second, then slowly straightened out. It took you a second because you were dumbfounded by how out of place his sudden affection felt, but thought it preferable to his ominous and vague nature.

At least when he was kissing you, you didn't have to guess.

Before he could take your hesitation to heart, you stretched up, hands clasped on his shoulders, in his hair, to return it tenfold.

His tongue was familiar and his lips were comforting. He leaned into you, trapping you against the counter, but it steadied you both.

God, why didn't he start out with this?

A soft moan shared between your lips sent him spiralling- his hand clutched your waist, under your flimsy little shirt, and his thumb rubbed against your tummy, rendering you a little weak in the knees.

His body felt perfect against yours. No room for second guessing.

He parted for a moment, and you caught the strangest look in his eyes. An intensity that making out shouldn't have warranted- a pain that was beyond an overdue erection.

"I...ah, I can't-," You gasped between his extra kisses, "Figure you out-!" Your hand flew to support yourself when he lifted you off of your feet from your hips.

You locked your legs around his waist, and nearly missed when you grabbed for his shoulders. It didn't matter much, but it startled you. In your panicked searching, you couldn't even find the brown in his eyes.

He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth at the feeling of you through his pants. That little no-underwear detail didn't go ignored earlier.

"Mmnyou don't have to," He muttered dismissively.

There was no chance to question further before he took your lips hostage once more, his hand firm against the back of your head.

Though logically, his evasiveness was concerning, it did nothing short of send an addictive current straight down your spine. Thinking grew tough, quickly.

His tongue was easier to deal with than your doubts. After all, you were always just a hook-up, anyway.

A squeak caught in your throat at the way he pushed you into the cold counter, the way he loomed over and blocked out the overhead light except for the tips of his golden hair, the way he made sure you didn't bump your head on the way down.

It was difficult returning his rough kisses. For the most part, you focused on just taking them instead, but that became nearly impossible when he started to roll his hips into yours.

Perfect, warm waves crashed over you and kept your legs heavy and weak. It was all you could do to keep up with him.

"F-uck," A choked sigh against the shell of your ear made you twitch, "I'm not gonna last for shit."

You giggled at his soft, disappointed admission. He put his face in the curve of your neck and wrapped his other arm around you. It was tight. Secure, as you rolled your hips over the outline of his cock.

"We'll go a few rounds tonight, yeah?" Your voice was weaker than you wanted it to sound.

A long inhale, taken from in your hair you couldn't help but notice, and he gave an approving hum against your neck in a long, tingly kiss.

He freed an arm to hold your wrists above your head, the other tracing up your shirt to tease your chest.

That little pout you gave him earned you a quick, rough kiss into more possessive ones all along the side of your neck- it paired well with the cruel pinching under your shirt and his heavy burden between your legs.

Soon, you were panting, dizzy and sweaty with just one thought in your head.

"You're-- ah-h, optimistic," He was just short of asking.

His little moan made your hips automatically buck- you couldn't wait around to take him again. His grip, once you expressed the desire to free yourself, was laughably light.

The metallic sounds of his belt coming undone and his zipper lowering percussed your sultry, sarcastic tone well, "Stop trying to figure me out."

Shuddery breath caught in his throat as you pulled him out. It hadn't been too long since the last time, objectively speaking, but the feeling of his warm cock in your hands was one you desperately missed.

It slowly started to feel more right after that.

You didn't have a grasp on who he was, what he wanted, what he was thinking- but when he pulls back to at least press a slow, longing kiss to your soaked pussy under your skirt, it feels right.

It feels simple. Something you were more comfortable with, more used to. Certainly an easier feeling to navigate than this serpentine man, holding you with devoted fingers, but staring you down like you had wronged him.

He got carried away, mouth sticky and hot around your aching clit, big hands shoved up your shirt to scour every inch of you he hadn't remembered well enough the first time. Now he'd never forget it.

"Mm-! Ok-ay, okay, please--," Your whine, your squirming, was tended to immediately.

His hand slid and covered so much of your neck, jaw- the whole side of your face, in fact, that you felt your skin burning underneath it. He smothered you in a wet, sloppy kiss.

When he pushed into you, you couldn't help but think of the first time.

"Oh-h," You seethed at his size, only finding that it made him grip you harder, like he was holding you together, scared you might break apart.

Your squeak at the sensation was higher, your eyes wider, as you found his gaze low and almost plaintive.

It was different from that night. You were both a little drunk, but still. He was excited, confident, more twitchy. Faster, in a lot of ways. It came across as rushed to you and it helped justify leaving when you did. It wasn't that you didn't enjoy the passion, or the absurdness of being carried up the stairs like that, but you figured he was a one-trick pony. Like most guys.

Now you felt like you were the one rushing things. He held you still by the fat of your hips when you tried to get some friction.

His kisses were softer. Deliberate and savored. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

He was perfect, beating slow and smooth between your thighs, your bodies intertwined like you wanted, but it left something to be desired. You wanted his expression to be that of lust, not whatever this was.

"What's- ah-h--, what's'wrong?" You whispered against his lips.

He pulled away to look at you, glancing around your features with that same pitiful look. Where was the passion? His charming, kinda mean, -but impressive, nonetheless- one liners?

"Do you want me?" Was a whisper right back, the mix of warmth and minty coolness in his breath a tingly shock across your face.

He didn't look in your eyes for very long once he realized the answer was not quite ready for him.

Scanning your body instead, he found many worthy things to distract himself with. Chief among them was in the form of making you take even longer to give him a response.

A gentle, slippery prodding around your clit made you gasp.

"Mm-! God," You whined, eyes rolled back as you fought to understand what he meant by that, "I want- ah-!..."

He was biting the inside of his lip with a quiet chuckle, memorizing your pretty frame twisting, writhing underneath him as you struggled to take him and get played with at the same time. Like a tired old art critic, waiting to understand the meaning of a masterpiece.

"I want you-," You sighed, luring his attention to your face again, "I- I want you to- tell me-,"

He finally laid off for a second, his hands instead grabbing at your hips to bring you further down on his cock. Your neck looked a little too plain, now that he was thinking about it. If you left, he wanted you to leave with something of his. He started working deep marks on your throat.

Your low, approving moan encouraged him.

You sighed, honest and plain, letting your nails scratch through his fluffy hair, "Tell me- you won't hurt me."

"I couldn't hurt'you," He quickly muttered against your bruising skin.

You were almost, not quite but almost, as fast. "Make me a deal, then."

He liked the sound of that. It was more practical than a promise. More real, something you could both risk for a perceived reward each. You didn't know it yet, but you really knew how to appeal to him.

His long fingers stretched over your thighs, lifting them to tease you a little from a different angle. Part of him wished he had waited to take you upstairs. You couldn't do much on the counter.

"I- ah, won't leave," You seethed as he stretched you out like that, brow furrowed at the addictive intensity, "As long as you don't hurt me."

The way he held your words in his head before he responded was unexpectedly attractive. Contemplative, he traded one of your thighs for your needy clit again and grinned at how you tightened around him.

"Deal," He leaned up to kiss you, like a handshake, of sorts.

If he kept this up, you wouldn't be able to last very long. You loved how he took care of you himself, and didn't leave you to figure out your own pleasure.

He clearly wanted to tick every box, make sure you noticed it, too, so that you could be grateful to him.

You were both smiling more after your little agreement.

Before you could get too lost in it, there was some low thudding just above you.

Everything stopped for a scary moment.

You instantly looked at him when you didn't understand the sound right away, for some sort of reassurance it was just the apartment settling, or a cat upstairs. His brow was still furrowed, concerned as he looked up, his eyes tracking the sound in the ceiling.

"What the hell is that?" You whispered, a little harsh, but justified.

His face fell seconds after your question was left hanging, unanswered. He looked defeated.

"My-," He sighed, grimacing as you adjusted under him, "My roommate, I... forgot he was here."

It seemed so stupid for a guy you pegged as so intelligent. The raw reaction in his eyes made it clear that fucking you right here wasn't deliberate.

Your body relaxed again. You were wholeheartedly glad it wasn't a criminal or a ghost. It made way for confusion as he started to explain that his roommate doesn't usually come out of his room at this time, but that you should both probably head upstairs anyway.

Though it pissed you off on the surface, it doubled down and validated the realization that he didn't have everything so figured out. Taking you on the counter wasn't something he sketched out and made a reality- he just wanted you that badly.

He tried to pull out, but you locked your legs around him so he couldn't move. His jaw worked, his eyes searching yours, his brows upturned. God, he looked like he'd fall apart like that.

Your chest tightened with shock and the raw, tingly pride that came with feeling special.

Your fingers laced around his neck; he didn't offer up any resistance as you pulled him in close.

Warm breath spilled across the side of his face. He couldn't help but lean into it.

"Well, don'tstop now," Egged him on; echoed in smaller, more desperate pleas the closer he fucked you to completion. When he was just beginning to think he could get any more obsessed with you.

His lids lowered at your words, his eyes rolling back in the sockets as he put the weight of his head in the nook of your collarbone.

Though he seemed to soften in the face, his thrusts got stronger. It felt like he was filling you up more and more, leaving you gasping and clawing at his wide shoulders.

"Mm-n-Ah! Fuck-!" You whined, with no regard for his roommate, while he shoved you off the edge.

Your orgasm was well-deserved- the delay, the conversation, made it that much more intense. You felt like you could actually start to trust this guy, so you let him have the best of you.

When he came, warm and sticky all over your tummy, you didn't even think about how your shirt and skirt were still half-on, meaning he had effectively ruined all the clothes you brought with you. Normally you'd be pissed off.

But you just wanted to watch him cum, too.

His little whiny noises he thought he had covered up were loud, his gasps and little curses flattering, leaving your head buzzing.

His body became heavier for a minute, now that he was tired, before he stood back up and pulled you with him.

Everything was quiet again, as you both looked to the ceiling, then at each other, and waited. No sound.

"Sorry," He mumbled, clumsy, reaching for his glasses so he could see how bad he ruined your outfit.

Now you took the time to notice the difference in how his glasses made him look; a little nerdier, a little cuter.

You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and put your forehead to his chin.

"I'll just steal some of your clothes, if that's okay with you."

♕VIP♕

@integers @yuchacco

series taglist!

thanks for supporting!

@little-stitious-studios @lord-hqcifer @sharkubi @imiqz

@hrts4hanniehae @fallenangelsthings @sunshinesx-264 @ushijimaschubbs

@andeechan @velmaer @sweetnans @whaleshark111 @ruecka

@lamiin @oikawaweon @kei-tsuki21 @tine1603 @animemensblog

my masterlist.

request more nsfw or sfw haikyuu or mha here: request box

[ma1dita]

healing touch

'between certainties and doubts' installment & part of the mean!remus agenda, aka a moment from a terrifyingly convoluted teenage situationship between remus lupin and an unidentified Hogwarts student (x fem!reader) wc: 2k  a/n: there’s a lot of him that needs healing, but remus has got to start somewhere. MDNI! this is very much touchy-feely smut, protected p in v, cockwarming… feel free to send requests for them!

—

It’s the sound of the front door rattling off the hinges that wakes Remus from his nap on the couch. Rain is pouring down in heavy sheets outside—falling against the downspout like strikes of lightning.

And then you’re coming through the threshold of his house in a vision of white light, backlit with the sounds of roaring thunder. He rubs at his eyes slowly to see a much better ending to the romcom he fell asleep to earlier. Toeing off your rainboots and shaking your umbrella off in the foyer, you see he’s nestled against his mother’s throw pillows with the TV casting a glow over his tired face—the only light in the dark room.

“Hey,” you coo, shuffling onto the worn carpet that looks like it’s seen better days. Rainwater drips down your face and he blinks up at you because for a moment he finds himself worried that you’re a dream he’s about to wake up from.

“You’re soaked, lovie,” he slurs, voice scratchy with sleep, “Told you not to come up here in this weather.” But still, he tugs at the denim that’s stuck to your body like a coat of paint, the damp seeping through the new cracks in his skin that’s bandaged poorly. It hurts to touch you, but he doesn’t falter, not even for a second.

“It was barely a ten minute walk up the hill, Rem. Wanted to see you,” you mutter, caging your legs over him, afraid of being too much for him to hold onto in his moment of respite, “your mum feeling better? She upstairs?”

He pulls you onto his lap in an effort to warm you up. 

“At work. Been too long without you,” he mumbles, nuzzling into your touch when you brush his hair out of his eyes. 

“It was only three days, baby. Care for a cuddle?” 

You press soft kisses along his jaw until his lips chase after yours, lazy but with intention. He mutters against your lips incoherently, half sleep and half desire, “Want more than a cuddle, lovely girl.”

You gasp, pretending to be scandalized, then laughing at the grin that grows on Remus’s face, “But I’m all wet!”

“N’that the point?”

You smack his face lightly and he closes his eyes and massages your hips, trying to memorize every bump and curve. Remus opens them again when you start to stand up.

“Gonna change. I’m stealing your clothes.”

“Gonna take ‘em off anyway, silly thing,” he smiles, throwing an arm over his eyes at the flash of lightning that comes through the window. He hears you scoff, and then you’re on your feet, slinging your bag over your shoulder and walk off. Remus listens to you move through his house like it’s your own. His mind wanders in the short moments that you’re gone—the sound of a jar hitting the kitchen table, soft pads of your feet going up the stairs, and the creak of his bedroom door. The familiarity you have with his home is as close as it gets to the real thing, he thinks.

And without meaning to, he basks in it, just for a short while.

Trying not to doze off, his brain spirals into thoughts of you—how this…thing would be if it were anymore real than this. The idea is fleeting, but like chasing smoke it comes and goes, without his permission. All he can do is lay there and take the blow. Blinking at the shifting weight on the couch, you’ve come back down the steps in a ratty t-shirt of his and not much else. He smiles, looking surprised even though he was already expecting you.

Remus groans as you settle upon his lap and every bone in his body is aching right now---but he won't dare push you away. He'll gladly carry the weight, and he does, his fingers grasping as much skin of yours that he can—thumbing through the softest parts of your thighs and traveling up past the seat of your underwear, squeezing the flesh of your ass and tugging you where he aches most, now hard and filled with the need for you to kiss him better.

“So now you’re awake, huh?”

“S’like being brought back to life. C’mere,” the sound of his voice comes out muffled as he’s plopped his face between your clothed tits and takes a deep breath of you through worn cotton.

“You sure about this?”

A small foil wrapper is dangling between your fingertips like a prize, swinging in his view like a pendulum of pent up desire—he kisses the hand that holds it, and then nods, “Think it might cure me, actually.” There’s a mischievous grin on your boy’s face now—revitalized just by having you here and your heart skips an extra beat.

Looking at him closely, there’s a new scratch on his cheek about the size of your palm. When you graze it, he grimaces.

“What happened here?”

Remus is already pushing down his joggers and shrugs his shoulders like it doesn’t matter to him anymore. His cock is standing upright, a single bead of precum leaking onto the shaft and trailing down the vein that covers it. There’s much more interest in how heavy it feels resting against your stomach and the idea of fitting so snugly within you is on the forefront of his mind.

“Nicked myself with mum’s garden shears. Tried to fix the trellis out back while she was sick,” Remus mutters. His thick lashes hide the green of his eyes that look anywhere other than your face right now, bandaged hands scrunching up the shirt that adorns your body, to focus on now instead of his few days without you.

“And this?”

Your hips are moving slowly over his cock, moisture from your underwear slicking up the sides and he shudders, eyes fluttering back open when you grasp his chin. Your other hand is holding his poorly bandaged one, pressing soft lips against his injured skin.

“Uh…Had a…” he swallows dryly, “duel against a carrot for the stew a few nights ago. Got me good.”

“Who won?” 

The deadpan expression he gives you is your answer, and he reaches around to smack your ass.

“Clumsy boy. Must’ve been a nightmare growing up.”

Remus laughs stiffly, only remembering how to breathe after he feels your fingers roll the condom onto his cock. Your movements are languid like falling sand in an hourglass. Pulling your panties aside, your eyes lock onto his, shifting slowly like you have all the time in the world—everything else doesn’t matter when you’re here. Not the full moon, not the uncertain future; he has you in his hold and Remus doesn’t feel so empty for once. Sinking onto him, neither do you—the friction beckons him to fill you up in the way that only he can, in the way that only he has.

You are his. 

This is a fact that neither of you want to admit, for very different reasons—but as you begin to rock back and forth on his length, bucking your hips to feel all of him, it feels like an unspoken agreement. It doesn’t need words, though if you could find them, they come out in hushed sighs and tender touches. A caress of your breast, and you leaning down to let him cage yourself against his chest. You kiss it through his shirt, damp with sweat as he hugs you close. 

His heartbeat pulses under the touch of your lips. This isn’t lust anymore, this is…

“My love…my lovely girl…” he gasps, finding the strength to plant his feet onto the couch cushion that is swallowing you both the more you move.

“Rem…mmh! Yes!”

He’s thrusting up into your sopping hole, the squelch proving to be music to his ears. You’re gripping onto his biceps, leaving marks of your own on his skin, the ones left by the moon long forgotten.

“So good to me…Want to be with you all the time.”

Remus is needier than usual, more candid in the way the words slip off his tongue. You groan into his neck, hips stuttering over his and the discord of your efforts—the feeling of you both crashing into that crest has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“You like it when I take care of you?” 

The words come out in a whine, sending shockwaves to his brain and he can’t do anything but hang on to the base of your scalp to see your face. He can’t do without looking at you anymore—can’t forget you now that he has you. There’s a white hot sensation that runs through his core the more he buries himself into you, and it almost feels like he could walk to the ends of the earth despite it being a day after the full moon.

Remus would do anything—especially since you feel this good.

“That’s my girl, that’s it…” he huffs, rubbing your back as you convulse. Your pussy tightens dramatically as you come down from the high; watching your pleasure makes him spill into the condom with a final groan.

Life resumes again when you open your eyes and push up on his chest.

“Feel better?”

The both of you start laughing like this is normal—perhaps for the both of you it is. Propping yourself onto your knees, you almost topple back onto him when he doesn’t let go of your waist.

“Wait…” he whispers, closing his eyes. Birds chirp outside the window and you notice the rain finally stopped. “You okay? Too much?”

It’s inexplicable to him how happy he’s been since you came into his life this summer and much more confusing to him that you haven’t left. Here you are, sat on his softening cock, and still looking at him with such care that can’t be labelled. It’d be a dishonor to you if he gets it wrong, he thinks, and this can’t last forever, but for now…

“Stay a bit longer.”

His hands press down on your back so you can lay on his chest, and with it comes a kiss that fills you with something much deeper than how he is now. You want to hold onto this and everything that comes with Remus Lupin for as long as you can.

Later, Mrs. Lupin opens the door to see you both asleep on the couch and tucked under a blanket. The sound of an opening window makes you stir.

“Sorry to wake you dear, want to stay for dinner?”

Nodding sleepily, you get up from the couch with a smile. She recognizes her son’s joggers tied tight around your hips and the t shirt he got from when she dragged him to volunteer at church.

“Glad you’re feeling better! Left some tiger balm on the kitchen table for you to not feel sore,” you say through a yawn. Squeezing you into a hug, she tosses a throw pillow at her son, who groans and rubs at his eyes. When you’re in the bathroom, they speak in hushed tones.

“Remus John, I swear to God if you get her pregnant—”

“Mam! No, not—” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “We’re…safe.” The look of relief on the older woman’s face is her response. Turning to pull ingredients from the fridge, she continues, “Is she your girlfriend now?”

Her son shrugs, taking a seat at the kitchen table, “Something like that. Probably a bad idea,” he mumbles. Hope hits him with a towel, the thwack against his arm making him wince, “And why is that? I like her for you!” The sound of the toilet flushing down the hall makes them pause, and Remus’s fists clench uncomfortably. The reality is that he doesn’t have to say anything for his mother to understand, and there’s a weight in the silence that follows. 

Remus grabs the tin of salve you left on the table and opens it with care. There’s a lot of him that needs healing.

He has to start somewhere.

—

i don't do taglists anymore! follow @ma1dita-mail & turn on post notifs :)

[thebunnednun]

Still Human

★Pairing:Aged up!Pro Hero!Boyfriend!Tenya IIda x Secret Girlfriend!Reader

Synopsis: It's Valentines Day and what better way to celebrate with your uptight boyfriend than driving him crazy and knocking the self control out of him?

Warning: MDNI!!! Extreme Flirting/Fluff, suggestive themes, sexual nudity, touching and kissing, undressing together, preditor and prey, teasing Wc: long, No ageless blogs!

Make sure you read till the end! This is the 3rd installment of a Valentines day series. I also want to clarify that the pictures are to give inspo as to what your relationship looks like. They in no way shape or form are to indicate what you 'should' look like.

Taglist from both of my master lists because I need to feed the cats: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, @the-dumpster-fire-of-life, @raendarkfaerie, @bunny-b34r, @icey-wonders, @adherethecomingofage, @karaartioli-blog, @meoweoeoeosme, @faithisxreading, @faithisidking, @oh-kayyy-stan-bts, @shortie-chocolate, @rosaline756. @sweetlike-sugarplum. @aespie, @dancingqueen276, @erensbbg, @lillizxzz, @1chaerry,

@valscodblog, @willnetries

The air in your office was thick with unspoken words, the dim glow of the city skyline casting long shadows across the mahogany desk where you sat, legs crossed, fingers lightly tapping against the polished surface. Iida stood before you, arms rigid at his sides, his jaw tight, eyes scanning your every movement like a detective analyzing a suspect.

“This ends tonight,” he declared, voice laced with authority, but you only tilted your head, watching him with cool, unreadable amusement.

“Does it now?” 

You leaned back in your chair, the silk of your blouse catching the light as you regarded him with the kind of detached confidence that made even the most seasoned officials wary. 

“Because from where I’m sitting, you look a lot more rattled than you’d like to admit.”

His lips parted slightly, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he caught himself, rolling his shoulders in a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation. Control that was slipping through his fingers like sand.

You’re always like this. Always two steps ahead, always so collected, always able to see through the cracks in his armor. 

It’s infuriating.

"You think this is a game?" he asked, voice sharp.

You hummed, tilting your head as if considering. "Not at all, Turbo Hero Ingenium," you said smoothly, watching the way his brow twitched at the title. "I just find it fascinating how you always seem to end up here, in my office, at ungodly hours, demanding answers I have no obligation to provide.”

He inhaled sharply, hands balling into fists. 

"You—"

But before he could finish, your mask cracked, the slightest quirk of your lips betraying you, and then—

He groaned. "You're doing it again."

You leaned forward, resting your chin in your palm, a slow, wicked grin stretching across your face. 

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Toying with me," he grumbled, finally stepping out of his stance, the tension in his shoulders loosening as he pinched the bridge of his nose. You laughed, warm and full, the cold councilwoman persona dissolving into something far more teasing. 

"I wasn't sure how long we were going to keep the act up, but you lasted a lot longer this time," you mused, pushing yourself up from your seat and stepping around the desk to meet him. He sighed, shaking his head as you smoothed down the lapels of his jacket with a little too much familiarity. 

"This is the last time I let you talk me into roleplaying our first confrontation," he muttered, but you could hear the way his voice softened, the way he let you press close without a second thought.

"You say that, but I know you'll let me do it again."

"Only because I have no choice," he shot back, though the way his hands settled at your waist told a different story.

You smirked. "See? You're learning."

His jaw clenched, but it was less out of frustration now and more out of something else. Something that made you feel victorious every time you teased him past his limits.

"Are you going to be difficult all night, or will we actually pursue this date?"

You pretended to think. "Depends. How badly do you want to take me out?"

He exhaled sharply, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting off a smile. 

"You drive me insane."

"And yet, here you are," you teased, running your fingers up his tie, straightening it with practiced ease before stepping back. Tenya looks at you for a long moment before sighing. "Fine. But if you so much as smirk at me at dinner—"

"You'll do what, exactly?"

He didn't have an answer. He never does when it comes to you. 

And that was exactly how you liked it.~

Tenya, ever the gentleman, gathers your belongings with practiced efficiency, straightening the strap of your handbag and ensuring your coat is neatly draped over his arm before turning to you with that unwavering sincerity of his.

"Will you be taking your car, or shall I drive you this evening?" he asks, adjusting his glasses.

You glance up at him, amused by the formality, before shaking your head. "I took the subway this morning." His eyes narrow ever so slightly, just enough for you to know he’s displeased. 

"You what?"

"You heard me."

"You should have called me," he says, voice tinged with mild frustration, but you can hear the concern beneath it. He shifts his weight, glancing at you like you’d personally offended his entire lineage.

"Tenya," you start, reaching to take your coat, but he keeps hold of it, waiting for a real answer.

You sigh, leaning against the desk. "I don’t feel like hard-launching our relationship just yet," you admit, watching the way his shoulders tense at your words. "The public’s opinion of us is fragile as it is. We are fragile in their eyes. If they found out I was dating you, I’d never hear the end of it. And if they found out about the other thing..." You trail off, leaving the weight of your past unspoken.

He exhales, adjusting his cuffs. "I understand," he says carefully, but you can tell he doesn’t like it. 

"I only wish you’d allow me to make your life easier where I can."

"You already do," you assure him, reaching up to smooth the line of his tie, feeling the warmth of his chest beneath your fingertips.

Typically, the public eats the two of you up. The fights, the passionate arguments, the well-televised spats—it’s a miracle no one has figured out you’re dating yet. An even bigger miracle that no one has put together that you, the ‘quirkless’ city councilwoman who refuses to move up in politics because you love the public too much, are the very same Black Widow villain that keeps slipping through the cracks.

Nope. 

To them, you’re just the sharp-witted politician who constantly butts heads with their beloved Ingenium, and he’s the perfect poster boy hero trying to put you in your place. If only they knew the truth—if only they knew that the hero commission had thought sending their most well-spoken hero against you would be their best bet at keeping you quiet.

They were wrong.

So very wrong.

Because from the moment you saw him—tall, broad, blue-eyed, built like an absolute dream—

You wanted to devour him. 

Not in a metaphorical sense, not in a political sense, but in a very real, very inappropriate sense.

You wanted to knock those glasses off his face, mess up his neatly combed hair, tear his cute button up and sweater vest combo, and send him back out into the public looking like he had been utterly ruined by you.

And you will.

Eventually.

But for now, you settle for fixing his tie with an extra little tug, just to remind him that no matter how much he tries to maintain control, you will always be the one to throw him off balance. Tenya clears his throat. 

"Then I’ll be taking you home to change," he says, finality in his tone, as if that somehow settles the matter. You smirk. "You’re awfully demanding for someone who just got roped into driving me around."

His fingers tighten slightly around your coat, jaw clenching as he exhales slowly. "You are insufferable."

"And yet again, here you are."

His glasses slip just slightly down his nose as he glares at you, and god, it takes everything in you not to reach up and finally bite him the way you so desperately wanting to all day.

"Come on, our reservation is at 8 sharp, and I am not rushing my bath again." You tug Iida toward the door, trying to keep him moving. "Getting sparked by electricity every time you sneeze because of wet hair is not as fun as your little Pokémon friend makes it seem."

He sighs, long-suffering, but still stops in his tracks to help you into your coat and scarf, pulling it up over your shoulders with practiced ease. His large hands smooth down the fabric of your shoulders, ever the gentleman, making sure you’re properly bundled up before gathering your things without a second thought. The small gestures don’t go unnoticed, even if you like to pretend they do.

With one last glance around your dimly lit office, you flick off the lights and lock the door, the sharp click echoing through the quiet hallway. The two of you take the back stairs down to the parking garage, heels tapping lightly against the concrete as the chill of the underground lot seeps in.

And then, with a sudden, mischievous glint in your eye, you tap his arm and bolt.

"Tag!"

You hear him exhale through his nose, fully expecting him to launch into a lecture about your ‘immature behavior’—but instead, there’s no sound of protest. 

No scolding. 

No stern reminder about the proper decorum of a public official and a hero.

You turn your head mid-step, only to see him already sprinting past you, heavy bags in hand, like the whole thing was effortless.

"Are you serious?" you yell, pushing your legs harder as you try to close the gap.

Iida, ever the show-off, doesn’t even break stride. "If you insist on playing, then you should at least know how to win!"

Oh, hell no.

You dig deep, pushing yourself forward, arms pumping, ignoring the way your heels weren’t exactly made for this. Just as Iida is about to reach his car, you lunge forward in one final burst of speed and—barely—make it to the door a fraction of a second before him.

"Ha!" you crow, slapping your hand against the side of the car as you catch your breath.

But victory isn’t enough. Oh no. 

You want to rub it in.

So, before Iida can react, you quickly punch in his door's lock code—the one you’d memorized long ago despite his attempts to keep it from you—and hop straight into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut and immediately locking it.

Tenya skids to a stop, rolling his eyes as he watches you settle into the seat like you belong there. Because you do, he has several photos of you adorning the sun blockers in his car. A handmade charm bracelet you made him is draped around his rearview mirror. His expression is unimpressed as he exhales, shaking his head. He makes a show of patting his pockets, expecting to find his keys—

Only for his eyes to suddenly widen.

Slowly, he looks up at you, and you’re already grinning, dangling his keys between two fingers as you wave them teasingly.

"Looking for these?"

"Open the door, lady!" Tenya exclaims, exasperation dripping from every word. You lean back into the seat, tossing the keys into the air and catching them effortlessly. 

"Hmm... I dunno, Tenya. I could... but where’s the fun in that?"

His brows furrow, lips pressing into a tight line as he crosses his arms, his entire stance radiating judgment. 

"This is childish."

"You love it," you counter smoothly.

Tenya inhales deeply, clearly trying to summon patience.

"I swear to all things holy, if you do not unlock this car right now—"

"What? You gonna spank me?" You smirk. "Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I’m in your car. With your keys."

His glasses slip slightly down his nose as his eye twitches. You know you’re pushing him—teetering right on that very fine line of his patience.

And you love every second of it.

Tenya doesn’t argue. Doesn’t sigh. Doesn’t launch into a lecture about how this—of all things you do—is wildly inappropriate behavior for a woman of your stature.

No. Instead, he just… sits.

Right on the hood of his car.

And damn, if he doesn’t look good doing it.

The deep blue remodeled 1978 Cadillac Coupe DeVille gleams beneath the dim garage lighting, a beast of a car that suits him in an old-school, timeless way—elegant, powerful, built to last. And yet, despite how imposing the vehicle is, Iida perches himself on the hood with ease, crossing one ankle over the other, arms folded neatly across his broad chest.

Like he’s prepared to wait you out.

You narrow your eyes, huffing as you lean forward and honk the horn.

Nothing.

So, you push open the door, stepping out with dramatic flair before marching right up to him.

You poke his side. Then again. And when that earns you nothing but a quiet glance downward, you tilt your head with a pout.

"Tenyaa," you whine, dragging out his name like a spoiled child.

His brows twitch, lips pressing together to keep from smiling. But you see it—oh, you see the struggle in his eyes.

"You just want me to die so you can eat me," he accuses, voice laced with dry amusement.

"Well, yes," you say without hesitation,

"But not for a good long while!"

That earns you a deep, exasperated sigh. A small shake of his head.

Then, finally, finally, he moves—sitting up and properly turning to face you. You smile up at him, beaming, before pressing his keys into his palm.

"I promise to behave until we get home. How does that sound?"

Tenya exhales again, softer this time, before nodding.

"I trust your word."

It’s a simple statement.

Honest. Unwavering.

And damn if it doesn’t do something to you.

Before you can react, he’s already standing, already moving with that fluid grace of his, towering over you naturally as he escorts you toward the passenger side. He opens the door effortlessly, one hand resting protectively above the frame as you slide in.

"Careful," he murmurs, guiding you in like you’re made of something precious.

Oh, you really do want to eat him.

But not yet.

All in good time.

You’re a patient woman.

You can wait.

Tenya makes sure you’re settled, smoothing the coat over your lap, brushing his fingers over the hem with absentminded attentiveness before shutting the door gently behind you. You watch as he rounds the back, carefully placing your things into the back seat, his meticulous nature evident in every precise movement.

Finally, he slides into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors, starting the engine, rolling his shoulders like he’s unwinding himself from the games you play.

Poor thing.

He really doesn’t stand a chance.

The low hum of the Cadillac’s engine fills the space between you, a comforting sound against the quiet lull of the city outside. The streets blur past in streaks of neon and dim streetlights, and for a moment, it’s just you and Iida—Tenya, the man who was supposed to be your greatest thorn but somehow became the safest place you’d ever known.

You stretch your legs out before tucking them up beneath you, slipping off your heels and wiggling your toes in relief before shifting to face him.

"So," you begin, eyes flickering to the road ahead. "This new villain incident—let’s hear your thoughts."

Tenya glances at you from the corner of his eye, adjusting his grip on the wheel. "The details are inconsistent. The patterns don’t match. Every crime scene is staged differently, but there’s a thread tying them together—an underlying familiarity in execution." 

His large hand would look really pretty on your thigh right now. 

You hum, resting your head back against the seat. "Sounds like multiple people under one directive. A smaller group, maybe three or four. Not a gang—too clean. No wasted movement, no unnecessary violence. They’re professionals, trying to look like amateurs."

His fingers flex against the leather of the steering wheel. "That’s what I suspect as well." A pause. 

"It amazes me, you know. How respected you are in both worlds."

You smirk, stretching a hand over to rub slow, lazy circles along his beefy forearm. He works out and it really pays off. "Well, it helps that I never got caught," you tease, watching as the tips of his ears burn red. "And helping the hero commission out with your little robbery-slash-murder charge gave me some brownie points."

Tenya stiffens, lips parting in reflexive protest before shutting again with a quiet exhale through his nose. His grip on the wheel tightens for just a moment before he forces himself to relax.

"Hey, it’s okay," you murmur, smoothing your palm down the length of his bicep. "I wouldn’t have believed that lie for a second."

A beat.

"Oh, really now?" he finally says, voice lighter but still carrying that edge—that stubborn little thread of indignation.

"Yeah," you nod, tilting your head.

"And why is that, my pearl?"

"I told you before," you reply, voice softening. 

"You just aren’t that kind of guy. I can see it all in your eyes."

Tenya exhales through his nose, but there’s something softer in the way he holds himself now, in the slight curve of his lips. You grin, reaching up to comb your fingers through the dark strands of his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. 

"Besides," you add, 

"Who would be a cold-blooded killer with those eyebrows?"

Tenya lets out a breath that might have been a laugh if he wasn’t fighting so hard to keep his composure. But you see it, the way his eyes blink and his nose does that cute twitch thing when he’s trying not to laugh. His grip on the wheel tightens again—reflexive, instinctive—before he forcibly loosens his fingers.

"You are an impossible woman," he mutters, but he leans into your touch despite himself.

Your nails—long, sharp, painted the deepest red—drag gently against his scalp again, and he shivers before tilting his head ever so slightly into your touch. It’s a distraction, one he’s warned you about before. 

But this time…

This time, he allows it.

He clears his throat, straightening in his seat before muttering, 

"I love how sharp your nails are."

You glance down at them, flexing your fingers slightly, watching how the streetlights catch the glossy crimson polish. They’re wholly inappropriate for your workplace, long and pointed, an elegant danger at your fingertips.

"You used to hate them," you remark, amused. "I did," he admits, voice quieter now. 

"But now I can’t help but love everything about you that I once found to be a pet peeve."

The car rolls to a stop at a red light, and without thinking, you shift, curling into his right side, cheek resting against the firm, warm muscle of his shoulder. Your arms wrap around his right arm, holding it hostage against your chest, and you peek up at him through your lashes.

Tenya exhales sharply through his nose, glancing down at you, his glasses fogging slightly from the heat of the car and the warmth of your body against his.

"Is that so?" you murmur, fingers lightly tracing circles over the fabric of his sleeve.

His jaw tightens for half a second before he nods.

"Yes," he says, voice steady, unwavering. 

"Completely."

—

Your living room is a masterclass in careful arrangement, a space that doesn’t just exist—it flows. 

Everything is connected, each piece guiding the eye seamlessly to the next, like an intricate web spun with intent.

Because it is.

At the very center of it all sits your couch—a deep, blood-merlot velvet piece with subtle curves that seem to invite rather than demand attention. It is the anchor, the heart of the room, and from it, everything extends outward in perfect balance. The coffee table, an oval of black glass, rests in front of it, its delicate golden legs branching out in twisted, spindly patterns. It holds scattered trinkets—an untouched glass of wine, a ring left abandoned beside it, a worn book edged in gold leaf with a spiderweb pressed into its cover.

From there, Tenya’s gaze is drawn to the shelves that frame the room, dark wood stretching upward in asymmetrical lines, bending around the space like the edges of a silken thread. The books stacked within them are placed with deliberate chaos, some upright, others lying flat, their spines a mix of deep, moody colors. Among them, small trinkets glint in the low light—brass figurines, a glass paperweight that holds a frozen crack of lightning inside, a single golden spider perched atop a candleholder.

The lighting is subtle, almost deceptive. A single, low-hanging chandelier with twisting, branching arms drapes from the ceiling, its glass teardrops refracting light like dewdrops caught in a web. The space is too fluid, too perfect in its asymmetry—it almost feels like an illusion. His eyes follow the lines, from the gold-threaded rug that sprawls beneath his feet to the marble side table that holds an unlit candle in a glass lantern. 

Every element is positioned with intent, guiding the gaze in a way that makes it impossible to focus on just one thing for too long.

And yet, despite all of that, he only sees you.

You, standing in the very heart of it all, as if you had orchestrated this space to pull him in, to tangle him in your threads without him even noticing. Bookshelves line one wall, filled with literature spanning politics, law, and fiction that has no place among them but stays anyway. There are vinyl records stacked neatly beside a vintage turntable, the soft hum of jazz still crackling through the speakers from earlier, a song left unfinished.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city, their heavy black curtains drawn back just enough to reveal the neon-drenched skyline, the glow casting shifting shadows across the polished wooden floors, bending as if they are alive. A few steps away, your dining area is visible, set with antique wine glasses that sparkle like starlight over the circular table. A bar cart stands nearby, stocked with top-shelf liquors, everything organized yet effortlessly casual, as if a party could start at any given moment.

And then, there’s him.

Standing near your couch, Tenya’s fingers flex subtly at his sides, the sharp inhale of his breath barely audible. He has always been well-mannered, always collected. 

But tonight? 

You are testing him.

His hands had just been looking for your zipper, his touch careful and precise, the slight drag of metal against fabric going to fill the silence between you. It was routine, something he had done before, yet when he stepped forward, intending to settle his palm at the small of your back—he found nothing.

Nothing but warm, bare skin.

His throat tightens.

You glance at him over your shoulder, adjusting the fur shawl draped around your arms, the soft white contrasting the deep, ink-black of your dress. Deceptive in every way—a turtleneck, long sleeves, stopping mid-thigh, paired with opaque tights that promise just a hint of what’s beneath. 

But the back? 

Completely open. 

A sinful scoop that leaves the whole curve of your spine exposed, down to the very arch where his hands ache to settle.

Tenya adjusts his glasses, a habit, a tell. He knows you notice.

Your lips match your heels, deep red and glossy, perfectly painted, perfectly smug. Your nails are still sharp, tapping idly against the clasp of your purse as you watch him, knowing.

He should say something—anything—but he can’t seem to find the words when your eyes, lined with a perfectly sharp cat-eye, flicker up at him through the dimness. A soft shimmer dusts your cheekbones, catching the dim light just enough to make you glow.

He should be focusing on the night ahead, on the reservation, on the politics of your relationship that dictate restraint.

But all he can think about is how easy it would be to pull you back into him, to trace the length of that backless dress with his fingertips, to dip his head down and press his lips to the delicate expanse of your skin. To press his face into that small curve and become well acquainted with the natural scent there.

You are going to be the death of him.

And he cannot wait.

You smooth your hands down your dress, a subtle invitation, and catch the way his gaze follows the motion— the way his jaw tenses just slightly, the way his fingers twitch like he’s restraining himself.

"Do you like it?" you ask, voice honey-sweet as you shift your weight onto one foot, the motion making your backless dress dip just enough to tease.

Tenya nods, but it isn’t enough for you.

With a playful smirk, you reach out, curling two fingers around the knot of his tie and tugging him down to your level. He barely stumbles, ever the perfect balance of poise and control, but the surprise in his eyes is unmistakable. You tip your head just slightly, brushing your lips featherlight against the corner of his mouth before murmuring, 

"Don’t be shy… I only bite a little."

His breath catches—just for a second.

Then, before he can find his words, you cup his face between your palms, your thumbs dragging along his cheeks, nails just sharp enough to poke into the hidden dimples you know are there. 

"You’re just too cute," you muse, and the warmth in your voice is almost too much for him. Tenya clears his throat, desperately grasping at control, but you can see it in his eyes—how dizzy you make him, how he’s barely holding back. 

"Dinner," he states firmly, like an anchor, like something to ground himself. And you hum, tilting your head, letting your fingertips drift from his cheeks to trace along his jawline. 

"Mmm, yes… I am very, very hungry," you admit, deliberately letting the words curl with meaning, just enough to make his breath hitch before you pull away. "I’m ready when you are."

You can tell he’s struggling to gather himself—his hands curling, relaxing, curling again at his sides—before he inhales deeply and squares his shoulders, standing tall. A true gentleman, even in the face of his undoing. 

"You are stunning," he says, voice rich and smooth, every ounce of sincerity laced into his words.

"And you are handsome," you counter, stepping in close and pressing your ear against his chest, right over his racing heartbeat. Your lips curve as you listen, pressing your palm flat against him. 

"I always did love the pretty little pattern your heart makes."

Tenya exhales sharply, and for a second—just a second—he imagines how easy it would be to hold you here forever. To fall back onto your couch with you in his arms, your face tucked beneath his chin, his hands tracing your form, not out of greed, but pure admiration.

You are unlike anyone he has ever known. 

No one makes him feel the way you do. No one ever will.

So he’s going to hold on.

Very, very tight.

Even if you act like a bad girl. And maybe you are.

But he can handle it.

Before you can pull away completely, Tenya leans down, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. You blink, just slightly caught off guard, before he gently takes your hand and regains control of the moment, escorting you toward the door with quiet determination. He guides you down the steps, leading you toward his car.

Valentine’s Day is just beginning.

—

The click of glass against marble is the only sound in the kitchen as Tenya places two wine glasses on the counter, his movements slower than usual, almost calculated.

He’s loosened his tie, unbuttoned the first two buttons of his dress shirt, rolled his sleeves to his elbows, and abandoned his shoes and coat at the door— a sight that makes your lips curl in quiet satisfaction.

Poor baby.

All night at dinner, you played your game masterfully.

You spoke to him in that slow, mature voice, low and warm like silk sliding over bare skin. You brushed your foot against his ankle, just enough to make him stiffen—especially whenever the waiter came by, forcing him to act natural while you hid a smirk behind your wine glass.

Then there was the French.

“Mon cœur,” you had purred at one point, your voice dropping into something thick and saccharine. You leaned in close, your fingers teasing at the stem of your glass, whispering words far filthier than the fine dining atmosphere deserved.

And then—as if you hadn’t just threatened his entire career—you smiled sweetly, sipped your wine, and carried on like nothing happened.

Tenya had barely survived the night.

And now, here you are, perched at the kitchen counter with an air of false innocence, watching him fumble for a bottle of wine like you didn’t just spend the last two hours tearing his restraint to shreds. His tie is crooked, his shoulders are tense, and his breath has been uneven since the car ride home.

And you? 

Oh, you’re enjoying every second of it.

With deliberate slowness, you slip off your fur shawl, draping it over the chair before sliding off the counter. Your heels click softly against the floor as you move toward him, steps light and smooth, a predator approaching its prey.

By the time you reach him, he’s bracing himself against the counter, his head tipped down, fingers curled like he’s trying to keep himself from shaking. You gently press yourself against his back, arms slipping around his waist, careful—so careful—not to smudge your lipstick on his pristine wait coat.

He goes rigid.

And then, slowly, he turns to face you, his expression a battlefield of emotions. You blink up at him, tilting your head ever so slightly.

"Are you okay, baby?"

‘Baby?’

Oh, you’re testing him now.

No— he realizes,

You’ve been testing him since the moment he met you.

Tenya lets out a shaky, unsteady breath, his chest rising and falling under your touch. He’s trying—trying so hard—to regulate himself, to keep control, but the second you start rubbing soft, soothing circles into his chest, his composure nearly shatters.

Any other time, he would have melted into you.

But now?

Now?

His hand moves before he can think. Gently, but firmly, he takes your smaller, dangerous hands in his own. He lifts them, brushing a delicate, reverent kiss across your knuckles, but his breathing only grows heavier.

"I'm sorry, cara mia," he murmurs, his voice strained, frayed at the edges. "I feel… strange."

Your eyes sparkle with mischief, but your smile is nothing but honey. "Oh, that might be the special chocolate I gave you earlier."

…

"WHAT!?!"

Tenya jerks upright, his entire body snapping to attention, eyes wide and alert like you just told him the building is on fire. You blink at him innocently, then lift your hands in mock defense. 

"You were sooo tense," you drawl, tilting your head. "I just wanted you to loosen your tie a bit."

Oh. 

Oh, it all makes sense now.

The warmth flooding his veins, the sluggish yet hyper-aware feeling humming beneath his skin, the way he hasn’t quite felt like himself since dessert—it wasn’t just you. Tenya swallows hard, then drags a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling just slightly.

Never take food offered by a spider woman.

His mind is whirring, piecing things together at full speed, but his eyes never leave you.

He stares at your sexy little, devious figure standing before him, taking in the curve of your lips, the sharpness of your nails, the glint of something dangerous yet intoxicating in your gaze.

And suddenly, he realizes—

He doesn’t want to run.

He wants to chase.

Your instincts fire off just a second too late.

The moment you take a small, cautious step backward, tilting your head just slightly, something in Tenya’s expression changes. You don’t know what it is exactly, but you feel it.

"Tenya…?"

Your voice is soft, questioning, but it doesn’t stop him.

Because he moves.

Fast.

You barely get a scream out before you’re bolting, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

He lunges, just missing you by a breath, and you take off so quickly that you nearly slip on the tile. Your heart is hammering, your laughter spilling into the air as you sprint into the dining room, dashing around the table like a panicked little rabbit.

But he’s right behind you.

You risk a glance back and regret it immediately.

Tenya isn’t surprised.

No, he’s grinning.

It’s not his usual measured, polite smile. This is something else. Something wilder. 

Hungrier.

And you realize with a thrill of fear and excitement—

He likes this.

So you do the only thing you can—you run faster.

You dart out of the dining room, legs burning, nearly tripping as you tear through the hallway and up the stairs. Your chest is heaving, your heartbeat a frantic rhythm against your ribs, but he’s right there.

Too close.

You shove through your bedroom door, throw yourself inside, but—

He’s already there.

Your breath catches in your throat as you spin, wide-eyed, watching as Tenya steps forward.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Like he knows he’s already won.

And you?

You’re stepping back, step after step, breath after breath, until—

Your calves hit the edge of your mattress, and you fall. The second your back meets the sheets, you realize—

You lost a heel back there.

And judging by the way Tenya is looking at you, taking in your breathless state, the way your hair has fallen out of your bun over your shoulders, your legs still half-twisted from trying to escape—

He doesn’t care one bit.

The soft click of the bedroom door shutting is the only warning you get before Tenya turns to you, watching, waiting.

His movements are calculated, gentle, but the tension in his shoulders betrays him—he’s holding back.

Still, he kneels, reaching for your ankle, careful, as he helps you slip out of your remaining heel. His fingers graze the curve of your foot, tracing lightly before setting it aside. He exhales through his nose, shifting to take your hand, his own swallowing yours in warmth.

Then, he lifts it.

A kiss.

Soft, reverent.

Then another, a slow trail along your wrist, your forearm, his lips brushing along the delicate fabric covering your inner elbow before pressing against the crook of it. He does the same to your other arm, his mouth mapping out devotion along the path of your veins, his breath hot against your skin.

"Forgive me," he murmurs, low, rough, almost strained, before tilting your chin upward, his fingertips pressing just enough to angle your face where he wants it. You feel the drag of fabric as he tugs at your collar, exposing the line of your throat.

And then—

Another kiss.

Soft at first, featherlight.

Then another, deeper, lingering.

Then another, his lips parting just enough for his tongue to flick over your pulse point, teasing. His teeth press against your skin, not quite biting, just enough for you to feel the gentle scrape. You sigh, a sound so pleased, so sweet that he shudders against you.

His large, warm hands splay over your stomach, the fabric of your dress smoothing beneath his palms as he bends you backward, laying you out like something delicate and divine. Your lashes flutter as you look up at him, your room casting a soft, ambient glow over the space. The room is yours, but the moment? 

The moment belongs to him.

Tenya kneels back, eyes raking over you with such intensity that you reach for him, fingers curling into his tie. You pull him closer, undoing the knot with slow, deliberate movements, but just as you reach for his glasses—

He stops you.

He shakes his head, readjusting them with a slight push along the bridge of his nose, breath unsteady.

"I want to see you," he admits, voice hushed.

You smile, thumb brushing against his jaw as you promise,

"I’ll be gentle with you."

His response? A sharp pinch to your hip. You yelp, laughing, breathless, utterly in love.

Your hands fist into the fabric of his dress shirt, fingers slipping beneath to press against the taut muscle of his waist. You pull him down, drawing him into your space, where he belongs. And he lets you.

For a moment, he hesitates.

But then his full weight shifts, pressing into you, enveloping you in warmth, security, want. A sigh escapes you, lashes dusting against your cheeks as your eyes flutter shut.

Tenya watches you, panting, unraveling, waiting.

You undo more of his buttons, fingers brushing over the heat of his skin.

But he pulls you closer, closer.

"May I touch you?"

His voice is hoarse, pleading, but his hands stay rooted where they are, waiting for your word.

"You have all my permission."

The groan he lets out is pure relief, a sound deep and rich, vibrating through his chest. His fingers tremble only slightly as they cup your cheek, his thumb dragging slow, soft, worshipful over the apple of it.

Then, finally, he kisses you.

Deeply.

Thoroughly.

Like a man who finally has what he's been chasing.

Tenya drinks you in, savoring the way your lips mold against his, the way you sigh into his mouth like you were meant to be here, with him, beneath him. His body is so warm, radiating heat through the crisp fabric of his dress shirt, the material still tucked neatly despite his tie being discarded somewhere behind you. 

His hands are careful, reverent as they skim your jawline, one remaining at your cheek while the other finds the curve of your waist, splaying over the thin, form-fitting fabric of your dress. He’s breathing so hard, chest rising and falling with a rhythm you’ve never quite heard from him before, uneven, desperate. 

He holds himself just above you, though his body is already pressing you into the plush bedding beneath you. He’s trying so hard to be respectful, to stay in control, but you feel the way his fingers flex, gripping the soft fabric of your dress just a little tighter like he's trying to ground himself.

You hum against his lips, one hand curling into his collar to bring him impossibly closer, the other brushing through his hair. His glasses are still in place, slightly crooked now from the way you’ve been touching him, and you reach up, fingertips lightly grazing the arm of the frame. He shudders, a quiet noise slipping from his throat, but he doesn’t stop you this time. Instead, he leans into your touch, eyes lidded, lips parted as he breathes you in.

He kisses you again, deeper this time, and you feel the full weight of him, his warmth pressing into every inch of you, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the room. You let your hands wander, trailing down the lines of his shoulders, over the broad planes of his back, fingertips slipping beneath the fabric again to feel the taut muscle beneath. His skin is hot to the touch, burning under your palms, and when you shift beneath him, he groans, barely holding himself together.

“You’re trembling baby,” you murmur, lips brushing against his as you speak, voice low and sweet, a whisper just for him. Tenya swallows, his grip at your waist tightening for a fleeting moment before relaxing. 

“I…” He exhales sharply, eyes flickering over your face like he’s trying to memorize you in this exact moment. “I feel…” His words trail off, his brows knitting together as if he can’t quite find the right thing to say, but you know. You know because you feel it too.

Your fingers trace over the nape of his neck, nails just barely scraping over the short hairs there, and you feel the full-body shiver it sends through him. He exhales a ragged breath, his forehead dropping to rest against yours for just a moment before he shifts, pressing soft, lingering kisses to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the line of your throat. His lips are unbearably gentle, moving slow, deliberate, as though he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

“Tenya,” you breathe, tilting your head just enough to give him more room, encouraging, inviting.

His hand slips lower, the pads of his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip, trailing so slowly it makes you dizzy. He’s not rushing, not pushing, just taking his time, like he wants to worship you with every careful touch.

“I can’t help myself,” he admits, voice barely more than a whisper against your skin.

“You… you undo me.”

His confession sends warmth flooding through you, a soft ache blooming in your chest at how utterly wrecked he sounds, like he’s struggling to hold himself together, to remain the ever-composed, respectful man you know him to be. And yet, here he is, eyes dark and hungry, breath uneven, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thigh as he lets his mouth explore every part of you he can reach.

Your hands slide back up, cupping his cheeks, tilting his face toward yours once more. He meets your gaze, his expression so full of something raw and unspoken that it steals the breath from your lungs. You brush your thumb over his bottom lip, watching the way his eyes flutter shut at the touch, the way his lips part slightly as if craving more.

“You don’t have to hold back,” you whisper, pressing the words against his mouth in the barest ghost of a kiss. 

“Not with me.”

Tenya lets out a shuddering breath, his resolve crumbling as he finally—finally—lets himself sink into you completely.

The heat between you is electric, palpable in the air as your hands glide over the girth Tenya’s body, his breath hitching with every touch. His waist coat is halfway undone now, hanging off his broad shoulders, and you take full advantage, slipping your nails over the fabric, your fingers scratching over the firm muscle that tenses under your touch. He’s so warm, so solid, and you relish the contrast between his gentlemanly restraint and the raw need you can feel simmering just beneath the surface.

Tenya watches you with hooded eyes, his lips slightly parted, his breathing uneven. 

Your red lipstick is smudged now, streaked across your own mouth and staining his skin where you've kissed him. It's like modern art—messy, intimate, a declaration that you were here, touching him, marking him in a way that makes his head spin. 

In a way that belongs to him only. 

He’s always been fascinated by how you manage to keep your lipstick perfect, how even after a night of teasing and whispering sinful things in his ear, it remains flawless. But now, seeing it smeared, evidence of how much you’ve already taken from him, he wonders how much more of himself he’s willing to give.

Everything.

Tenya trembles as your fingers find his hair, tugging gently, messing it up the way you know he secretly loves but would never admit. He sighs into your touch, his body relaxing against you even as his grip on your waist tightens, his thumbs pressing into that spot on your hips that makes you gasp and arch into him, seeking more. His lips are hot against your throat, alternating between soft, reverent kisses and firm, lingering nips that send sparks down your spine.

His voice is rough when he finally speaks, barely above a whisper. 

"How could you love someone like me?"

You tilt your head, fingers still threading through his hair, nails dragging lightly against his scalp. 

"A man?"

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. 

"No. A hero."

That word. That title. The one that sets him apart from you, from your past, from everything you've ever known. He says it like it’s a curse, like he’s unworthy of the love you so freely give.

You hum, letting the word roll off your tongue like silk, letting it sink into his skin the way your touch does. 

"My Hero."

Tenya gasps, his whole body shuddering at the way you say it, the way you wield your voice like a weapon designed to break him. His fingers dig into your hips, a groan slipping from his lips as you work his dress shirt off completely, letting it drop somewhere beside the bed. You finally get your hands on him, all of him, the broad chest and sculpted muscles that he keeps hidden beneath his pristine clothes, the ones he hones every day as a Pro Hero. 

He’s a perfect balance of strength and discipline, and yet, here, with you, he’s unraveling at the seams.

"You're so cute," you murmur, sighing contentedly as your fingers trace the dips and curves of his torso. 

You giggle as his hands disappear beneath your dress, his touch firm yet possessive as he grips your hips like he owns them, like he’s memorizing the way you feel beneath his hands. His thumbs find that spot again, the one that sends white-hot pleasure pulsing through you, and you let your head fall back with a quiet moan, granting him full access to your neck.

He takes it, pressing his lips to your pulse point, then lower, dragging his teeth lightly over the delicate skin before soothing the spot with his tongue. 

"Well," you pant, breathless from his touch, from the way he’s holding you so tightly like he never wants to let go. You grab his jaw, making him meet your gaze, your nails grazing the sharp angles of his face. 

"How could you fall in love with a villain?"

Tenya groans, a sound so deep and desperate that it makes your stomach tighten with heat. His fingers find yours, entwining them together, his grip firm as he brings your left hand to the headboard, pressing a lingering kiss to your wrist before doing the same to your right. His glasses slip down his nose, and when he looks at you again, you’re met with those impossibly bright blue eyes, wide and trained solely on you, full of adoration and something deeper, something primal.

"You're not a villain anymore," he murmurs, voice thick with emotion.

You smirk, tilting your chin up.

"Mm, old habits die hard, my love."

His expression shifts, darkening with something intense, something authoritative, and you shiver at the way he leans in so close, his breath fanning against your lips. His presence alone commands your attention, and heat pools in your belly as you watch him study you like a puzzle he’s determined to solve.

"Then what am I?" you ask, your voice nothing more than a whisper as you slowly wrap one fine leg around his waist, pulling him closer.

Tenya’s gaze flickers down, taking in the way your leg hooks around him, the way your body curves into his as if you were molded for him. He exhales through his nose, then looks back up, his lips ghosting over yours, teasing.

"Once in a lifetime," he murmurs, his voice low and full of meaning.

Him and his mushy heart. 

You whine, rolling your eyes playfully before clicking your tongue at him. Before he can react, you use your leg to yank him forward, making him fall onto you with a startled grunt. He props himself up on his forearms, his glasses slipping even further down his nose, and he gives you that scolding look—the one that drives you absolutely insane, the one that makes you want to irk him even more.

You smile wickedly, reaching up to push his glasses back into place.

"I didn’t put anything in the chocolate," you confess, voice full of amusement.

"But it’s always nice to play with you.~" You press your lips to his cheek, your lipstick leaving a harsh mark against his flushed skin. 

"And I really do want you around for a long time."

Tenya stiffens, his whole body going rigid as the words sink in. His eyes widen, his lips parting slightly as he just stares at you, his face red, his expression utterly wrecked.

And then he kisses you, hard, like he’s trying to convey everything he can’t put into words. You melt into him, your hands roaming, helping him shed the rest of his clothes just as he helps you out of yours.

Soon, you’re bare beneath him, your breasts pressing into the mattress as he hovers above you. His lips trace along the expanse of your spine, his hands mapping every curve, every dip of your body as though committing you to memory. You steal his glasses, perching them on your own nose as you grin back at him, and he groans, utterly undone by the sight of you.

"You make me feel depraved," he murmurs, his voice hushed and strained as his fingers trail down your arms. 

"Like the lowest possible form of human."

You roll onto your back, smiling slyly as you reach for him, your nails scratching down the length of his arms, making him shudder. 

"You are still human, Tenya."

"Mon amour," he practically cries out before flipping you over again, pulling you into another desperate, searing kiss.

Neither of you notice the small ring box lying forgotten near the edge of the bed, the delicate script of your name etched onto its surface as it waits, watching, biding its time.

I DON'T OWN THE IMAGES!!!!

For Valentines day, I hosted a poll about the fic's I have cooking in the oven from my mha 'Fuck it, I got you,' series and this was the 2nd winner. As promised, some info about the relationship between you and Iida:

As a former villain turned councilwoman, your past is something the public never gets to see. Despite working tirelessly to improve the city, you're constantly at odds with pro-hero Ingenium, who sees you as a nuisance at best and a dangerous liability at worst. The two of you have a habit of arguing in the media, and your sharp tongue has knocked Iida down to the rank of Japan’s 8th top hero. But when a string of high-profile robberies sweeps through the city—each crime marked by a spider-like calling card—both of you find yourselves tangled in something bigger than political squabbles.

During an award ceremony, Iida notices something strange—your ring, an elegant but subtle piece of jewelry, looks suspiciously familiar. Slipping it off your finger in a moment of clever misdirection, he later has it analyzed by Momo, and Jirou, only to confirm his suspicions: It’s a stolen artifact, linking you directly to the Black Widow thief. Before he can act, the entire hero awards ceremony erupts into chaos. The police and hero commission storm the event, proclaiming Iida as the true culprit in front of the press. His career is on the line, his private life exposed, and suddenly, he has no one to trust.

And with nowhere else to turn, he calls you.

This fic takes place after all that, where You and Tenya have been secretly dating for a while, and tonight, you were testing out a scenario before heading out for an actual date. You live to get under Tenya's skin, matching him in wit and intellect, always pushing his buttons in a way that leaves him flustered yet drawn to you. Despite all his efforts, you always seem to be one step ahead, and deep down, he loves it.

For a man who thrives on structure and order, you are chaos incarnate.

And he wouldn’t have you any other way.

~~

My master list is a work in progress but there's plenty more fic's and other characters if you request them. Ao3 is sexy too. I haven't posted the story yet because I need to Finish my Katsuki one first at least, but all the support and comments I receive help give me the motivation to finish!

You can also tip me a coffee if you want.

Remember: Comments and likes, really help. Don't be afraid to leave me a sexy little reblog too.

Stay tuned for the rest!! If you wanna be tagged, lemme know.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!! <33

-Angie (✿^‿^)

I do not own My Hero Academia or its characters. However, the original plot, storylines, and any original characters in this work are my own creation. Please do not copy, repost, or claim my work as your own. Respect the effort and creativity that went into this story—thank you!

[flickering-chandelier]

In Real Life

Pairing: Azriel x Real world! Reader

Summary: Reader's life in the real world is wearing down on her. So when she accidentally ends up in the world of ACOTAR and in Azriel's arms, she starts to wonder if she even needs to get home at all.

Based on this request! 🩷

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, light smut (I did NOT know where this one was going when I started 😂 😭)

Word count: 4.5k

The stress of the last few days eased significantly as you walked into the library that you knew better than the back of your hand, the one you had practically grown up in.

Your lips curled up into a small smile as you lightly traced your hands along the familiar spines of the books, taking in the atmosphere.

As a kid, your mom had often told you stories about how this library was magical. That it could take you to new places, places that wouldn't normally be within our reach in the real world.

Of course, now you knew that she was referring to the magic of books, how you could be whisked away somewhere entirely different without leaving your chair. Still though, you often thought about the stories she told when you came back here, about how reading near the old well out back could transport you into the book you were reading.

You had tried it countless times as a kid, and unsurprisingly, it had never worked.

Today, though, you were feeling just nostalgic enough and just stressed enough that you thought it couldn't hurt to give it a try, for old time's sake. Surely wherever you could end up would be better than here.

After skimming the shelves for a bit, you picked up the second installment of a fantasy series that you had started a few weeks prior. You couldn't deny that you were intrigued.

You checked out the book and took it out to the garden that very few people ever frequented, in your experience. It was completely empty today, so you enjoyed the peace and quiet as you settled in on the bench near the well, your back pressed up against its side.

The birds were chirping, the tree branches rustling lightly as you dove into the story, and pretty much immediately, you were hooked, thrilled by the characters and the setting.

“I would not mind taking a trip to Velaris,” you murmured, eyeing the well conspiratorially.

For a moment, nothing happened. But then the wind picked up suddenly, sending the pages of your book flying, the pages turning faster and faster, and you just watched, memorized.

It was a sensation you had never felt before. You truly couldn't avert your gaze to anything else.

Then the wind died as suddenly as it had started, and your trance was broken.

When you looked up, your breath was completely caught in your throat. You weren't in the library's garden anymore, that much was clear.

You staggered back against a wall as people bustled around you. Beyond them, you could see a river, and just beyond that were jagged mountains.

Surely, it couldn't be…

You tried your best to focus on the people in front of you, and when you did, you noticed the pointed ears, the elegance that everyone who passed you possessed.

Somewhat self consciously, you reached up to your own ears, only to find that they were now pointed as well. Were you technically one of the fae now?

It was completely impossible, and yet… It was the only explanation.

The well had taken you to Velaris.

You wandered the streets somewhat aimlessly, trying to take it all in, and yet hardly believing your eyes.

Before long, your eyes locked on a man with large black wings, the siphons strapped to his body glowing blue, shadows dancing around him.

Your heart thundered in your chest. Azriel.

It hadn't occurred to you until then that not only had you been taken to this place, but the characters were here, too.

It felt completely impossible to tear your eyes from him. He moved with an assurance you could never hope to achieve. It was breathtaking, really.

The breath was completely stolen from your throat when those gorgeous hazel eyes locked with yours.

He cocked his head to the side slightly, like he was trying to place you.

Azriel seemed to change his course, heading for you, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration.

He towered over you, his eyes assessing your face. You tried not to squirm as he asked, “Do I… know you?”

How were you supposed to answer that? Did he somehow recognize that you were the reader, that you knew him?

This was getting way more complicated than you had ever intended.

Finally, you just said, “I don't think so?”

His eyes narrowed, his shadows curling up towards his ear, most likely communicating with him. Informing him that you weren't completely telling the truth.

“Try again,” he said after a moment, his eyes not wavering from yours.

You sighed anxiously. “Okay, the truth is I don't know if you know me. But I do know you.”

He stared at you for another moment, his eyebrow raised as he scrutinized you. “You're not from here, are you?”

“No,” you said quietly.

As his eyes continued to pierce yours, you understood why he was the spymaster, why he was the one sent to get information out of people. He was foreboding as hell.

“You seem so familiar to me,” he murmured so quietly that you honestly weren't sure if he was even talking to you.

“I'm not sure if I can explain that,” you winced.

He looked at you quizzically, then seemed to come to some kind of decision.

“If I ask you to come with me, will you do it willingly?” He asked.

“The alternative being?”

The side of his mouth turned up into the slightest smile and your knees went slightly weak. “I sling you over my shoulder and force you to come with me.”

You honestly debated longer than you should have. Maybe you should have him carry you out of here, just for fun. Azriel was an intriguing and gorgeous character, after all.

But you also were a little afraid of pissing him off, especially since you had no idea how long you would be here or how to get home.

Decisions, decisions.

Fuck it. When else would you have the opportunity to flirt with a hot Illyrian?

Your lips curled up into a smile and you blinked up at him, fluttering your lashes a little. “I think I'll take option two.”

He just looked at you for a moment, but then he laughed quietly, his eyes lighting up and you felt so proud that it was you that made him look like that.

Shaking his head as if in disbelief, he carefully wrapped his arm around your waist… and then you were inside a house.

Damn it. You forgot about winnowing.

You arched your brow at him and he smirked at you. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes at the shadowsinger, you took in your surroundings and came to the conclusion that you must be in Rhysand’s town house.

You couldn't help but take a step back as Rhysand, Cassian, and Feyre walked into the room, looking at you curiously.

Shit, they're intimidating in real life.

As their eyes seemed to scrutinize every inch of you, you took another step backward, running right into Azriel’s taut body.

He steadied you with a hand on your waist, but you didn't exactly feel comforted. This wasn't really what you had in mind. What had you gotten yourself into?

“Why did you bring her here?” Rhysand asked Azriel, his brow furrowing as he studied you.

“She seems… familiar,” Cassian said, his eyes lighting up slightly with recognition. “Have we threatened you before?”

You let out a shaky laugh. “No, not exactly.”

“That's why I brought her,” Azriel said, looking down at you. “There's something off about her, like she shouldn't be here.”

“Look,” you sighed, trying not to shrink back under the weight of so many powerful people. “I don't mean any harm. I'm here by accident.”

They looked between each other, like they were trying to decide if they believed you.

“Explain, then,” Rhysand said, in what must have been his high lord voice. “How did you get here?”

Your mind whirred, trying to find the words. “You wouldn't believe me if I told you…” but he would if he saw it.

You sighed. You weren't sure what the repercussions could be for you in the real world, but you were here for now, and this might be the only way for them to actually believe you.

“You can look,” you said quietly to Rhysand. “I can't explain it, but you can look.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised, but he took a step towards you, his eyes locked on yours.

“Just look,” you clarified.

He smirked at you. “Smart girl.”

Then you felt the black talons at the edge of your mind, searching inside your head, and you showed him the library, the book, the well, and you showing up on the streets of Velaris.

Rhysand took a step back the moment he exited your mind, his eyes wide in surprise, his body tense.

He just stared at you as everyone watched him curiously, waiting for him to explain.

“I told you,” you said quietly.

Feyre’s eyes widened slightly. Clearly she received the message from Rhys.

“She's not from here,” Rhysand told Cassian and Azriel, his eyes narrowing slightly as he continued to stare at you like he was trying to make sense of it all. “I … think we should sit down.”

Despite everything, you couldn't help but laugh. You had stunned the high lord into silence.

The five of you sat around a large table, everyone's eyes fixed to your face now. You tried not to shrink back from it.

“A… book,” Azriel said slowly, his eyebrow raised in question.

You nodded slowly. “In my world, you're all fictional characters. And Velaris, Prythian, magic … all of it is fictional.”

Cassian let out a snort. “You expect us to believe that magic doesn't exist in your world, and yet you showed up here?”

You opened your mouth to retort back, but quickly clamped it shut. He had a point.

“And everyone is human?” Feyre asked somewhat skeptically.

You nodded.

“Sounds dull,” Rhysand mused.

“It can be,” you laughed. “That's why we read books about… you,” you gestured at them.

For what seemed like hours, you talked through it, what had happened at the well, details about your world that they wanted to know. They mused and debated for ages about how you could possibly get back home, but not coming up with any real answers.

It was getting late by then, and when you had yawned several times in a row, they seemed to take pity on you, and Azriel was given the duty to lead you to your room.

He leaned against the wall outside your room, looking down at you with an unreadable expression. “Are you okay?” He asked.

“I think so,” you said cautiously. You hadn't really let yourself think about it yet, how you would get home, how long it would take. “Who knows, maybe I'll wake up at home,” you shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

Azriel's mouth quirked up into the ghost of a smile. “That would be a shame,” he murmured.

Heat rushed instantly to your cheeks and his smile widened slightly as he cleared his throat. “If you need anything, I'm next door, okay?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice to speak.

His eyes held yours for another moment before he backed away, disappearing into his own room.

You did not, in fact, wake up at home, and you honestly couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.

After raiding the armoire, you got dressed in a black tunic that was way more comfortable than the clothes you were used to, and wandered downstairs, where everyone was eating breakfast at the same table where Rhysand told everyone your story last night.

They looked up at you expectantly.

“Still here, huh?” Cassian asked, nodding to the seat in between him and Azriel.

“I guess so,” you said, gratefully sitting down at the table and piling food onto your plate.

You felt Azriel's eyes on you and you were suddenly glad that you were still here.

After a minute, they started conversing as if you weren't there at all, and it was surreal to find yourself a fly on the wall during a conversation from people you knew so well, yet were seeing in a completely new way.

Azriel's eyes met yours as breakfast came to a close. “So, in the stories that you were told, about the magic in the library, no one ever mentioned how to get back home?”

“No,” you said. “That part didn't seem important when the stories were just fairy tales.”

“Fairy tales,” he repeated, raising a brow.

You laughed. “Right. I'm literally in a fairy tale.”

He just looked at you for a moment, amused. “I can help you,” he said quietly. “If you want.”

“Help me?” You asked.

“Get home,” he clarified. “Or at least, I can help you look for answers.”

“You would do that?” You felt a swell of emotion in your chest that was nearly impossible to stomp down.

He nodded. “I have an idea.”

Your curiosity definitely peaked as you followed Azriel into a massive underground library, where the priestesses took their refuge.

“If we have the answers, they'll be here,” Azriel said softly over his shoulder.

You hung back slightly as he spoke quietly with the priestess at the front desk. It warmed your heart to see his demeanor change in the library: his voice was remarkably soft, his body language made him look almost gentle, rather than the merciless shadowsinger.

The priestesses brought you a few books and the two of you got settled in comfy chairs, reading in comfortable silence.

A few hours later though, you weren’t any closer to finding answers, and you found yourself more and more frustrated.

You sighed, resting your head on the back of your chair, shifting your gaze over to Azriel, who looked very focused on what he was reading. He was distracted enough that you allowed yourself the time to study him a little longer than you would have otherwise. Your gaze caught on his biceps, on the veins on his forearms, his hands holding the book in his lap.

He looked up at you when your breath caught, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Let’s take a break,” you sighed, blinking away the hearts in your eyes. “We’re not getting anywhere, and I want to see more of Velaris before I figure out how to get home anyway.”

“You want company?” he asked.

You couldn’t help but smile. “Of course I do.”

The streets weren’t as busy as they had been the previous day, and Azriel had more room for his wings, you noticed.

He turned to you as you watched him. “The wings can be tricky when it’s crowded,” he explained.

“Have you ever hit anybody accidentally?”

Red dusted his cheeks slightly and he looked away. “No comment.”

You threw your head back laughing, picturing the scene, and when you finally looked back at him, he was smiling at you in a way that made your heart race.

Azriel took you all over the city, but the artists’ quarter was what really took your breath away. You stopped at the edge of the Rainbow, taking in the scene before you, letting the beauty wash over you.

It was somewhat overwhelming as you walked through the quarter, Azriel’s shadow never far behind. Your attention was consistently being pulled from one side of the street to the other, and you heard Azriel laugh quietly behind you as you gasped and beelined to an artist weaving a gorgeous tapestry.

It was nearly two hours by the time the two of you made it out of the Rainbow, and your heart felt lighter than it had in months.

“That was amazing,” you beamed, and Azriel steered you away from a group of fae walking in the opposite direction with a hand on your waist. You hadn’t even noticed them in your excitement. “That was what I needed. That’s why I made the wish to the well in the first place.”

Azriel looked at you quizzically. “Things aren’t going well at home?”

You sighed. “It’s not that exactly. It’s just… exhausting. And life doesn’t look the way that I always thought that it would.”

He nodded, his shoulder bumping into yours momentarily as he worked to avoid running into some clearly inebriated fae. “I know the feeling.”

That shouldn’t have surprised you, you supposed, based on what you knew about him, but still. He seemed so in control all the time, it was difficult to believe that he had ever felt unsteady.

“Can we stop and get a drink?” you asked suddenly.

Azriel blinked in surprise, but agreed, leading you to a bar closeby.

You looked quizzically at the drink menu, unfamiliar with any of the offerings. “I don't know what any of this is,” you whispered to Azriel.

He laughed and ordered for you when the bartender came around.

As you looked around the bar, you subconsciously leaned into Azriel a bit, noticing that there were plenty of male fae eyes on you.

Azriel's hand found its way to your hip, pulling you in even closer to him. “It's okay, they won't bother you as long as I'm here,” he murmured against your ear.

His breath on your neck made you shiver, and you placed your hand over his arm where it rested on the bar. “Thank you,” you said quietly.

Your eyes met for a moment and you could have sworn that you saw some heat there, but then he blinked and it was gone as the bartender put your drinks in front of you.

Azriel watched you intently as you took a tentative sip of the mysterious cocktail, which immediately had you coughing and sputtering rather embarrassingly.

He laughed as he watched you, sliding the hand that rested on your waist up to your back. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, trying to control your breathing. “Did you purposely get me the worst thing on the menu?”

Azriel raised his eyebrows in amusement. “That's the most tame drink we have in Velaris.”

“It is not,” you countered. “I'm not exactly a lightweight, but this…” you scowled. “It tastes like lighter fluid.”

“I don't know what that is, but I promise that's the one that should be least likely to make you hurt in the morning.”

You sighed, and eventually worked up the nerve to take another sip. It was still awful, but since you were prepared for it, it went down a little easier.

“Nicely done,” Azriel said, and you could've sworn there was a hint of real pride in his voice.

The two of you talked nonsense as you got towards the bottom of your glass, his thumb tracing small circles on your back.

There must have been something serious in that drink, because by the time you had finished it, you were feeling pleasantly buzzed.

You smiled at Azriel and he grinned back at you, tightening his grip just slightly. “Feeling good?” He asked.

You nodded, letting out a mortifying giggle and laying your head on his shoulder.

He surprised you when he laid his head gently on top of yours. You had half expected him to pull away from you.

This was crazy. You were drinking and flirting with Azriel in Velaris. Why did you want to go home again?

Azriel shifted slightly next to you, and pressed a light kiss to the top of your head before cuddling into you again. It was so gentle, so unexpected, you suddenly wanted to cry.

“Why do you think I seemed familiar to you?” You asked quietly, trying to calm your racing heart.

“I don't know,” he said. “Maybe I could sense you when you were reading the book?”

“Hmmm. Maybe,” you said, unable to resist running your hand lightly over his arm.

“Or maybe you were meant to end up here,” he said even quieter, like he was unsure if he should be saying it at all.

You detangled yourself from his arms to look up at him. “You think so?”

He smiled a little sadly. “Maybe it's wishful thinking on my part.”

It felt like a jolt of electricity rocked your body. “Azriel,” you murmured.

He gazed at you for another moment before he slowly leaned forward, kissing your lips with such gentleness that you could hardly believe it.

You could hardly believe any of this.

After a moment, you leaned into the kiss, opening your mouth to him and he instantly took advantage, slipping his tongue against yours with a quiet groan, his hands weaving into your hair.

“Az,” you moaned quietly, “we should go home.”

He grunted, fishing money out of his pocket and slamming it on the table without breaking the kiss.

He stood up then, his eyes locked on yours and your hand cradled in his, and within the blink of an eye, you were standing in his bedroom at the town house.

You blinked, looking up at him in surprise. “God, I wish we could do that at home.”

Azriel chuckled, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you again.

You ran your hand down his chest, heat spiking through you as you felt each toned muscle tighten and flex at your touch.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, tangled up in each other, until you started tugging at his shirt, desperately trying to raise it above his head.

He stopped your hands with his, breaking the kiss to look at you, his expression suddenly serious, his eyes softening. “Are you sure you want to go further? You were drinking --”

“Azriel,” you said firmly, and he blinked in surprise. “You are my biggest fictional crush, the man of my wildest fantasies, except now you're not fictional, and we're in your bedroom and …” you trailed off, your breath escaping you as he smirked at you, his eyes shining with a bit of wonder and no small amount of smugness. “Just -- please take your shirt off.”

He laughed and the deep rumble of it went straight between your legs. He stepped back, out of your reach, his eyes not wavering from yours as he tugged his shirt up and over his head.

Silently, he looked at you expectantly, still just out of arm's reach.

You were pretty sure you were actually drooling. His muscles… you had never seen a man look like that in real life before. His enormous wings stretched out behind him, and you never thought you would be the type of person who was into that kind of thing, but with him standing there like that -- it just made him look all the more formidable, untouchable.

But for right now, somehow, he was all yours.

You gulped audibly and his smirk only grew. “And… your pants.”

Without breaking eye contact, he let his pants drop to the ground, and you felt the air completely leave your lungs.

Holy shit.

His eyes softened, “We don't have to--”

“Stop saying that,” you breathed, rushing forward to kiss him.

“This feels a little unfair,” he mumbled against your mouth, sliding his hand down your fully clothed side.

“Then fix it,” you replied, occupied with running your hands down his back, kissing anywhere on his chest that you could reach.

He wasted no time, stripping you bare in a matter of moments.

Slowly, like he was trying to memorize you, he traced the lines and curves of your body with his scarred hands, his eyes tracking their path.

You had never felt like this before, so wanted, so important, and it made your heart ache.

He kissed lightly up your neck while his hands continued their exploration of you, murmuring with a low gravelly tone as he reached your ear, “the man of your wildest fantasies?”

You flushed, suddenly embarrassed. “Is that what I said?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, his lips still against your ear, his thumb lightly circling your nipple.

“Well,” you tried to form a coherent response, but it was impossible when he was touching you like that. You leaned your head back, giving him access to lick across your collarbone, your back arching.

“What happens in these fantasies of yours?” He asked, sliding his hands down to grip your ass, then effortlessly lifting you up into his arms, bringing the two of you face to face as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“Mmm… about like this,” you said breathlessly, leaning in to kiss him.

“Yeah? What else?” he murmured between kisses.

You groaned, burying your face in his neck.

He chuckled, squeezing your ass teasingly. “Oh, c’mon, don't get shy on me now.”

Your cheeks heated, even though he couldn't see it.

“Something like… this?” He asked, lining himself up so his tip was teasing your entrance.

You gasped, raising your head to gawk at him.

“What?” He laughed.

“You're not gonna fit,” you blurted dumbly, immediately clamping your mouth shut in regret.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Trust me, I'll fit. I'll go slow. Unless you want to stop--”

Azriel pulled his hips back, leaving you aching. “No,” you cried.

Slowly, he brought his hips back to yours, gently teasing your clit with his length, a contrast to the sweet kiss he placed on your forehead.

He backed you up against the wall, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly, slowly, pushed himself into you inch by inch, giving you time to adjust with sweet kisses until he was fully inside you.

He was heaven.

And you couldn't get enough.

Hours later, exhausted and content, you laid in Azriel's bed, your head on his chest, sleepily tracing the lines of his tattoos.

“Tell me about your world,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss into your hair.

You hummed, trying to think of something that might interest him. Finally you settled on trying to describe transportation. Cars and planes fascinated him, and you felt bad that you weren't equipped to answer all his questions about how those things actually worked.

You told him about your house, your job, your life. He asked endless questions, and it warmed your heart that he cared at all.

Eventually, Azriel either ran out of questions or noticed how tired you were, and he stroked your hair gently until you fell into blissful sleep.

In the morning, you woke before Azriel did, and you watched him sleep, his eyelids fluttering slightly now and then as he dreamed.

God, he was a dream.

You had no idea how to get home. In this moment, you weren't even sure you wanted to.

For now, you had Azriel and his friends looking out for you in the beautiful city of Velaris.

And for now, that was enough.

@loving-and-dreaming @birdsflyhome @sheblogs @iambored24601 @thalia-as-blog @evergreenlark @ecliphttlunar @bookloverandalsocats @melmo567 @headacheseason @sillysillygoose444 @yourqueenlilith @mariamay02 @halibshepherd @azrielshadows1nger @cigvrette-dvydrevms @andreperez11 @lilah-asteria @marina468 @hanuh @owala678

[kawhh]

dark quinn w/pregnant reader pls bc you awoke something in me with that last one

Warnings: I went a bit off the edge. dark!Quinn usual warnings. Possession, obsession. Thoughts about restrictions. Cameras, control. Spiralling.

Dark!Quinn with someone who's purely his that he needs to protect? He's insane.

Something pure that he has with you? Only you? A part of him that will only know him, will look up to him. He can be a role model. He'll have someone he can protect and defend fully without complaint.

A baby that binds you to him further, stopping you from EVER leaving him. A part of both of you. A mix of everything perfect about you with him. He'd never love anyone more. There's nothing he wouldn't do to protect the both of you. To build a safe haven for you. To keep you both where he can see you 24/7.

He spirals at first— everything is a threat. Things he hadn't considered a problem before are suddenly blaring in his mind, a constant red alert.

The fact that you're still working? He was okay with giving you that. Giving you the freedom. But now it's a concern. You could get hurt there. You could get hurt on your way there. It can't be good for the baby. He can't have you putting extra stress on yourself.

What if he can't pick you up from work one day and you have to get yourself home? What if a creep picks you up? He's almost tearing his hair out in stress.

What if you get hurt while he's at practice? At a game? When he's stuck there for hours. He can't sabotage his career and stay home— he's considered it but he needs to provide for you and the baby now.

You'll be like this for months and that's before you give birth. The max time he could buy himself off is a week if he's lucky. He's never hated every life choice outside you more than he does now.

He also can't just keep you with him. The travel would be bad for the baby. The loud noises would be bad. Everything would be bad. It makes him even more obsessive.

He needs to make sure he can keep you in the apartment, all safe. He needs to restrict your freedom— you're independent, he knows this, he loves this, but right now he hates it.

He can't leave things in the fridge now. He can't let you do any grocery shopping. You probably don't know what you shouldn't eat. You might think you can risk it— risk his baby.

It should alarm him, how out of control he is. How he hovers over you in the middle of the night, resting his head against his growing baby.

How he loses sleep, stuck there all night. His eyes focused on your growing body. Afraid to miss every second. Afraid to blink. He's scared you'll turn over too fast in your sleep and crush the baby. He doesn't even know if that's a valid concern. He can't think straight.

He has no time to work out a solid plan. He just needs locks installed. An alarm system. Cameras. Controlled food. Controlled drink. Better furniture, lower furniture— higher furniture? — he doesn't know what's best. He doesn't have enough free time to research. He'll have to start searching on the bench.

He's even scared to fuck you now, even if it drives him even further off the ledge. He can't hurt the baby. He can't hurt you. He'd eat you out but he's scared of your hips thrashing.

He needs to get his shit together, fast. For his baby.

[writingouthere]

Wait neighbor Sukuna is cuteeeeee I need a story pleaseeee🥹🥹🥹

another neighbor!Sukuna drabble. your first unofficial date.

cw: fluff, single parent reader, Sukuna is a good neighbor but a bad dude

The first time that Sukuna took you out happened on accident.

He'd been keeping track of your comings and goings so he could start being in the hallway at the same time as you to give a casual hello. His favorite times were when you had time to just chat without you needing to rush off to work or to daycare or one of the many activities you always were taking your daughter to.

It was a Saturday morning and Sukuna's ears perked up when he heard you talking to your daughter down the hallway. You couldn't clearly hear what you were saying but the tone seemed soothing and he thought he could even make out some sniffling from your daughter, unusual since she was usually so cheerful.

Sukuna grabbed his mailbox key so he had a purpose for stepping outside and slipped some shoes on before going into the hallway.

"Morning, neighbor," you managed cheerfully and Sukuna looked down to see that your daughter had tears on her face. The sight had his hackles up immediately.

"Are you all okay?" He tried to sound nonchalant and he wondered if it worked as you wiped away some of your daughter's tears.

"We're okay, it's just," you paused here and looked at your daughter. "Her dad was going to take her to the aquarium but something came up and he's not going to make it. I know he's really disappointed he can't go." The touch of anger in your eyes made him think that this was you just trying to make your daughter feel better.

Sukuna had been planning to wait a little longer, to build more of a rapport with you before trying anything, but he couldn't just see you or your kid look like this over some loser who couldn't be a real man for his family.

"Well I don't see why that means we can't go to the aquarium," he said and he finally got the kid to stop crying for a second and look up at him.

"We don't have a car and it's over two hours by subway," you said reluctantly and Sukuna couldn't contain his sly grin.

"I have a car, and I wouldn't mind taking you. If that's okay with you, of course."

"Yes, yes, yes, can we go mommy, please?" Sukuna had never heard your toddler say so much before and you bit your lip before looking back at him. Sukuna could barely keep his eyes off your mouth but he knew if he looked he'd kiss you and this wasn't the place for it.

"Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to do it, sweetheart." You blushed a little at that and looked down at your daughter.

"Alright bug, we can go. But make sure you tell Mr. Ryomen thank you."

"Thank you, Mr. Ryomen," your daughter echoed dutifully and he knelt down to ruffle her hair.

"No need to thank me, and I told you, you can both just call me Sukuna."

"Thank you, Sukuna." Sukuna really wanted to kiss you. But he knew that if he did it now it would ruin this perfect chance for you to see what he could be for you, for both of you.

You bring out a car seat that you have in your apartment and you show Sukuna how to install it. Sukuna pays attention because he plans on going on many more trips with the two of you. Maybe the car seat can even just stay here(not yet, not yet, not yet he keeps telling himself).

He encourages you to choose the radio station you listen to on the way over and you choose a throwback station that has you and the kid singing along to. It's nice and warm and Sukuna knows every person he's ever met would be baffled at the scene but it feels too fucking right to care.

He pays once you get there, waving off your protests and you spend all day looking at the exhibits. When you get to the pool where you can pet the stingrays, he lifts your daughter up so she can reach them and shows her how to hold her fingers so the animals will come up to her. He can feel your gaze on him, but this isn't even just for you. The more time he spends with your daughter, the more he feels like she's supposed to be his too.

Finally though, the toddler being a toddler gets hangry and you all stop at the cafe for a light lunch. He watches as you try to persuade your daughter to have some fruit in addition to the cookie she has her eye on and Sukuna pops some of the grapes in his mouth with an exaggerated noise of pleasure, making mini-you copy him.

"Thanks," you tell him as you watch your daughter finish up her fruit. "It was one thing when it was just the vegetables she didn't like but now she's got beef with fruits and I'm worried she's going to end up with scurvy."

"No problem, happy to help." and the thing is, Sukuna is happy to help. He remains happy as you finish going through the aquarium. When your daughter gets too tired, he picks her up and carries her so you can make your way back to your car.

"All tired out, bug," you say, affectionately rubbing her back. He hoists her up higher on his hip as you enter the lobby when an older woman stops you.

"Such a beautiful family you have here," she says waving at the sleepy toddler on Sukuna's hip and he nods as you blush.

Neither of you speak about it, but he wonders if it's on your mind as much as his on your way back to your apartment building. He lets you say your goodbyes as the sleeping girl on your shoulder drools in her sleep.

When Sukuna enters his apartment he leans back against his door and just lets the warmth of the day wash over him. He had known before what he wanted, but now he felt almost desperate.

His days spent in this quiet apartment alone were numbered, and he was going to make sure you knew his intentions as soon as possible.

After all, he still had your car seat.

[imjustdreamingig]

If you want forever, and I'll bet you do

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

summary: Feelings are out, you're still rambling, and Steve thinks you're wonderful.

A/N: when the world thought i abandoned them, i came back... HORRAY!!!! so this is probably my last instalment to this little series, what a joy it has been to write. i'm really proud of this one and am so excited to see how I'll continue to progress in my writing journey. thank you for all the love the last 3 fics got, you have no idea how much my hear soared when I got a notif from this site. i adore you all. pls lmk if you have any suggestions for future fics!

warnings: sfw, swearing, fluff, making out

You don't think your posture has ever been better than right now, sitting in Steve Harrington's living room, hands firmly clasped and placed in your lap. Your eyes quickly scan the beige colored walls, noting the lack of family pictures. In fact, the decor of the entire living room seemed to be more staged than personal, almost as if wanting to give the illusion that this was indeed a home, but not quite hitting the mark.

Steve walks back in from the kitchen carrying two glasses of water and places them on the table in front of you. As he's about to take a seat beside you, he lets out a shocked gasp before hurrying to the cabinet next to the window, pulling out two coasters.

He chuckles nervously as you eye him contemplatively. "My mom is a real stickler for these," he says after he sits back down, running an anxious hand through his hair. "She'll notice the rings the water make the second she walks through the door."

You let out a hum in acknowledgment, not quite sure how to continue the conversation without making him more tense. You notice his shoulders are sort of hunched in, and he's running a hand through his hair again.

Without thinking, you reach out to grab his wrist, pulling it away from his brown locks. Steve looks at you in surprise, mouth slightly parted.

"You're going to ruin your hair even more and I know for a fact you spent at least half and hour on it this morning," you say, reaching out to fix a piece that has fallen into his eyes. Steve laughs, "Hey, I'll neither confirm or deny."

You feel yourself becoming a bit more relaxed with the friendly environment that Steve's presence brings, slowly sinking into the couch rather than sitting as if the Queen of England was going to walk in at any second. That's the vibe you were getting from his house; meticulously clean to the point you almost questioned Steve if someone actually lived here.

When Steve picked you up earlier, you surprised yourself by not feeling those intense fight-or-flight instincts as you watched him run up to your front door.

Aside from accidentally making fun of his music taste on the car ride over, "Of all people Steve, I did not expect you to like Blondie." "What!? They're great!" and you hitting him with the car door as you opened it because he wanted to open it for you, "Your face! I'm so sorry, I didn't even see you there!" "You barely touched me I swear, I just wanted to be nice!" you waited for the usual rush of anxiety to fill you whenever you were near Steve.

You waited for it to appear during the car ride, you waited for it to appear as you walked into his house, and you're waiting for it to appear now.

It didn't.

That doesn't mean that you're not nervous, but it's more of an excited-nervous. The kind of nervous you felt before doing a big presentation in front of your class or performing in the school play. Steve knows how you feel about him and you know how he feels about you, there's no reason to be nervous around him anymore.

Now it's all about what's next. And because you think you can predict the outcome of this study/talk-it-out session, you feel a a flutter of emotions overtake your body, but instead of causing you anxiety, it's causing you excitement.

However.

You absolutely were not going to be the one out of the two of you to address the elephant in the room (aka the reciprocated crush thing). If Steve wanted to talk about it, he would have to start that conversation. Steve was eager to talk about it yesterday, so he should be eager to talk about it right now... Right?

"Listen, I would say we should get to work on the project, but I don't think that's gonna happen today," the boy in question says.

You direct your gaze to your bag thats on the floor and eye your copy of Pride and Prejudice before glancing up to look at Steve, who was already staring at you. He looked so at ease, one elbow leaned against the couch cushion with his fist pressed against his cheek.

He is so pretty.

You turn on the couch to face him and match his pose before saying, "I don't think so either." You didn't realize until this moment how close the two of you were sitting.

Steve says nothing for a moment as he just stares. You note this is the first time in a while that you're not blabbering nonsense at the boy, you usually talk a lot. Steve notices it, too.

"You know, I never took you to be a quiet person," he comments. "I'm usually not," you respond, "I just feel— I don't know, for once I don't feel like talking, I don't feel the need to fill the silence."

"Woah, who knew you could be so poetic." You lightly smack his leg as he teases you. "Oh, shut up, Harrington!" Steve's laughter subsides quickly and he peers down at your hand that's still on his leg. He swallows down the lump in his throat before picking it up, slowly caressing your knuckles with his thumb.

"You make me so nervous, did you know that?" he whispers before looking up at you again. You feel your cheeks heat up even though you know no color is showing on your face. The look that he's giving you is one that you've never seen before, and you've spent too much time of your time staring at him according to Robin.

"I've made the Steve 'the Hair' Harrington nervous? Wait 'till the girls hear about this." You try to lighten the mood a little, but Steve barely cracks a smile, getting a mere tiny lift of the corner of his mouth in response. His thumb never stop caressing your hand.

"I hope that isn't how you see me, at least not now." You shake your head, "Of course not, I'm sorry, not really sure why I pulled that joke right now." Steve shakes his head fondly and wags a finger at you. "You're something else, you're so different. I can never tell what you're thinking." You blink twice. "Uh, is that a bad thing?" you question.

"Absolutely not!" he exclaims. He suddenly lets go of your hand and flops back on the couch, now laying horizontally, with both hands covering his face as he lets out an sigh. "Steve!" you laugh.

"I've never met someone like you before, usually I have girls just throwing themselves at me—before you say it, I know how that sounds just gimme a sec— but you, god, the more I saw you and the more I learned about you and through Robin and your insane excuses, the more hooked I got."

Your heart is beating way too fast that you're positive it can be heard from three houses down. Holy shit, am I getting my own love confession? Steve sits back up straight and his face is one of amused exasperation. "You've made me go crazy, what have you done to me?"

You suck in a gasp. "Well, my mom says the same thing whenever we fight actually," your mouth is spitting out an answer before your brain can fully catch up. You have no idea how to respond to this love confession—oh my god a love confession—that your mouth is just running on autopilot. "Lately, she's been on me about organizing my bookshelf, but like it's my bookshelf in my room, she doesn't have to look at it, and I'm categorizing and cataloguing my books, so of course it's messy, but she wants to pick a fight when I'm actually cleaning for once, so I do-"

Steve lets out a bark of laughter, "Oh Jesus Christ, just shut up."

And all of a sudden, you're being kissed. Passionately. With two hands holding the sides of your face. Your eyes are wide open while Steve's are closed, both your arms are raised slightly not quite knowing what to do with them.

The kiss ends before you can even process that it was happening. The only way you knew it occurred was because of the warmth on your cheeks left behind by Steve's hands and the slight sheen his lips have from your lip gloss.

"Steve," you start and in real time, you see his face flush with a lovely shade of pink, covering his face and creeping down his neck. "I'm sorry! You were just rambling and I didn't know how to help you calm down and I've wanted to do that for a long time but I should've asked you first before-"

It's your turn to cut him off as you lean in and capture his lips into yours. For a second Steve freezes before his mind and body catch up. He lets out a groan before manoeuvring you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your waist and his hand cupping your cheek. One of your hands is gripping his bicep which holy fuck he is so strong and the other is resting with the hair at the nape of his neck.

His lips are soft and warm and you can taste the mint of the gum he had been chewing as you deepened the kiss. You can actually appreciate this kiss, having had some time to properly process it and melt into it. Fuck, he's such a good kisser.

Unfortunately, because the need to breathe starts to affect you more with each passing second, you separate his mouth from yours with a soft sigh. He leans his forehead onto yours, both arms gently holding your waist now. You stay like that for a few seconds, basking in the afterglow of the most intense kiss you've ever had in your life, especially considering it was with Steve.

Once you put just enough space between the two of you so you're able to see his entire face properly, you let out a small giggle, which turns into two, which turns into three, and eventually your whole body is shaking with laughter. Steve is looking at you incredulously as you place your head on his shoulder before he's joining you, you're laugh just being too contagious.

"What!?" Steve exclaims. "Am I that bad at kissing or something?" In between fits of giggles you shake your head. "No, on the contrary, it's because you're an incredible kisser." The full blown laughs have finally ceased to a few chuckles and you pry your head away from Steve's shoulder, only to look at him, feel the bubbles of laughter resurface, and place it right back in the same position.

Steve kisses the top of your head and starts running his fingers down your back, causing goosebumps to appear wherever they trailed. "You'll have to fill me in then, babe." The nickname earns another tiny giggle on your part. "Not everyone has that crazy mind that you do." He can practically feel you rolling your eyes at him.

"It's just crazy to me that the one thing I wished would happen to me this year actually happened. I wasn't worried about grades or whatever, I just wanted this. And look! It happened!" You remove yourself from your hiding place to look at Steve. "Me from three months ago would probably go into cardiac arrest if I told her this happened."

Steve smirks. "So basically, your solid plan of running away from the guy you liked to make sure this," he gestured between the two of you, "happened was a success."

You let out a squawk of indignation. "Hey, I was gonna say something to you eventually!" Steve is making a face that can only be translated as are you serious? before relenting and admitting, "Ok fine, maybe I wasn't. But the thought was there! That counts. Right?"

Steve snorts, "Sure babe, of course it does." You let out a pleased hum before a glaring at him seriously. "Just to make sure, this means we're dating right? Because I don't want to get the wrong idea and then mark this day as our anniversary and then our one month comes up and I want to do something small, but cute, and you're all like confused because we never explicitly said that we were a couple, and then I'm all mortified so yo-"

Needless to say, it wouldn't be the only time Steve would stop your ramblings that night with a kiss. And he planned on doing it a whole lot more.

[surftrips]

BAD REPUTATION | LUKE CASTELLAN

HEARTBREAKER — CHAPTER 02

pairing luke castellan x fem!ares!reader

summary y/n is challenged by campers and her growing feelings for luke castellan.

author's note thank you for all the support on this series! i made a masterlist here so you can easily find the parts <3 as always, comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the taglist and lmk your thoughts :)

→ installment of this au read for context

Luke Castellan found it increasingly harder and harder to hide his feelings for you. He could no longer make eye contact with you without his face turning an embarrassing shade of red. In fact, he could hardly look at your face because somehow his eyes would always end up darting toward your lips, or even lower if you were wearing a certain tank top that day. 

“My eyes are up here, Castellan,” you quipped at him once. 

Quite frankly, it was ruining his own reputation around camp as the best swordsman and a stoic warrior. If word got out that he fell to his knees at the hands of an Ares girl, what would people think of him? 

As stories of your excellent skills got around, so did rumors about you. Everyone was interested to hear whose heart you had broken next, all because of that first fateful incident with a camper named Connor. 

Connor, son of Apollo, thought that he could challenge you to an archery competition. He had bet that if he won, he could take you out on a date. How could you resist the urge to prove him wrong?

A small crowd had gathered to watch the two of you. Some people rooted for Connor, trusting that his combat skills would be stronger because of his father. However, the innate strength and talent from your own godly father allowed you to become familiar with the bow and arrow rather quickly. 

“Careful, or one of your siblings will have to heal you later,” you warned. 

“Oh, I think you’re the one that’s going to end up at my cabin later,” Connor responded snarkily. 

You hated losing. It wasn’t an option for you. You didn’t care that Connor technically had the upper hand here, you were going to beat him regardless. 

The rules were simple: there were four targets. Whoever hit the most points, won. 

Connor went first, hitting an impressive 34 points. 

“Beat that, pretty girl.”

You tried not to cringe at his nickname for you, and confidently walked up to the front. You quickly scanned the crowd, eyes landing on the brunette-haired boy you didn't realize you were looking for. Luke smiled at you, and suddenly everyone else faded away.

Turning back toward the targets, you lined up your bow and arrow and took the first shot. You hit eight points, which was not bad, but you were going to have to do better in order to win.

Trying to hone in on your training, you closed your eyes for the next shot and trusted your instincts. You heard the arrow hitting wood and before you could open your eyes, cheers had erupted from the crowd. Bullseye. 

With 17 points left to beat Connor, you had to hit at least another bullseye. And you did just that. 

Turning to Connor, you said, “Any last words before I take this final shot?” 

“What time am I picking you up tonight?” he said, not losing hope just yet. You had to give it to him and his tireless persistence. 

Your eyes focused in on the last target, until all you could see was the gold center. It kind of looked like the sun, and reminded you of a certain someone. You released the arrow, but at the last second felt your finger flinch.

Shit, you thought. But the crowd had already begun cheering again, and you breathed out a sigh of relief. You had hit eight on the last one, just enough to win. 

“Okay, who’s next?” you declared triumphantly, not missing the disappointed look on Connor's face.

After the competition, Luke walked over to congratulate you on your win. 

“Hey, that was sick!” He placed his hand on your shoulder. 

“Hey, thanks!”

“You’re not beating yourself up over that last one, are you?”

“Wh- how’d you know?” You were silently cursing yourself for not making that last bullseye and blowing Connor completely out of the water. 

“I know you, Y/N. Don’t look so surprised.” 

“Okay, well, what am I thinking right now?”

“Hmmm,” he pretended to be lost in thought. “Dinner?”

“You know me so well.” 

Ever since then, various people at camp had challenged you to their own duels in an effort to ask you out, just for you to beat them time and time again.

You weren’t sure why anyone thought you would be interested in them, when you had not once expressed a want for any sort of romantic entanglements. Because that’s all they were to you, entanglements. Complicated messes that were hard to get out of.

“Okay, I need boy advice,” Annabeth announced.

“No,” you responded. This was the first of many sleepovers you, her, and Clarisse would have together. 

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“That’s my advice, do yourself a favor and just don’t.” 

“Okay, what’s the story?” the young girl asked. 

“I dated this guy once. Long story short, all men do is disappoint you. It’s not worth it.” 

“I second that,” Clarisse joined in. 

“Wait- who do you like?” you asked, processing Annabeth’s original question.

“Oh, forget it. I’m not gonna tell you guys now,” she responded.

“No, you have to tell us!” Clarisse insisted. 

When Annabeth didn’t respond, you and Clarisse began throwing pillows at her. 

“Stop! Stop!” she giggled. “Fine, fine. I’ll tell you guys.” 

You and Clarisse waited with baited breath as Annabeth formed his name in her mouth. “Percy.”

Chaos ensued. You’re pretty sure that you squealed loud enough to break glass and Clarisse nearly woke up the cabin on the other side of camp. Luckily for you guys, it was a weekend that many of the campers had gone home for. 

“Why are you guys cheering?” Annabeth asked, confused.

“Because we’re happy for you! Your first crush is so exciting!” Clarisse said.

Annabeth had always been like a younger sister to you and Clarisse, and you couldn’t help but be happy for her, despite your personal feelings about love. 

“Y/N, what do you think?” Annabeth turned to you. 

“I think you don’t even need our advice. Just be yourself, I’m sure he already thinks you’re amazing.” 

The young girl beamed at you. “I thought you were anti-boys.”

“I am, if it were up to me, there would be no boys here.” 

“Not even Luke?” Annabeth asked, feigning innocence.

“Well, is he a boy?” you responded.

“Yeah, but not just any boy….” Clarisse joined in.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you sat up on your elbows in bed. 

“Y/N, just admit it! He’s different!” Annabeth said.

“No, he’s still just a boy,” you said, trying to convince them, or yourself. 

Annabeth and Clarisse looked at each other knowingly, but dropped the subject before upsetting you further. 

The truth was, the thought of Luke Castellan terrified you. 

At first, you didn’t want to admit it. There was no way Luke Castellan liked you, and there was absolutely no way that you liked him back. Not in any universe, above or on earth. Not after you had made it your whole mission to swear off boys completely. 

Sure, you constantly picked each other as partners in Capture the Flag, sat next to each other over bonfires, and talked to each other everyday, but nothing friends didn’t do. 

You tried to be oblivious to his longing glances at you, the way his face lit up when he saw you, but Annabeth and Clarisse were not shy in pointing out each time he smiled at you like you hung the moon and stars. 

For years, Luke had repressed his emotions for fear of being perceived as weak. But each time you came around, he wondered if love could even be equated to weakness if he had never felt anything stronger. 

Liked by lukecastellan and 170 others.

tagged annaaabeth and clarisse

ynuser with the girls 🏹💕

view all comments.

annaaabeth love youuu

clarisse so much fun!

lukecastellan ur foul for that last pic

ynuser whose side are you on

percyjackson second pic is me to you when i don't get invited to the sleepover :(

—

TAGLIST: @ravisinghs-wife @jules-loves-lukecastellan @favreader23 @clydeisalsoellie @yuminako @luxreziaa @eddiesdrummergf @whataprettyshadeofred @grace-928 @girls-and-guts @supercutszns @noodlesketchbook @birdiewriteslit @mitskiswift99 @idontevencare1223 @randomnpc456 @lucycarlisleswife @angelicdanvers @imguce @anitatvd (please lmk if you want to be added or i missed you!)

[harfanfare]

Idia drabble, fluff, lots of couple banter

Your wishlist containing released games is empty.

In the next several minutes after saving a title to one, you can expect a notification that the game is getting downloaded, and a mere seconds after that—several messages from your boyfriend.

“thought u would never play it lol”

“weren't you supposed to be studying??”

He sends a meme degrading your hierarchy of values as if he were any better. It is followed by a request.

“stream it to me when you play it”

And you do, after thanking him yet chiding him for wasting too much money on you without a second thought. His reply was a string of emojis and guarantee that he is doing it all for himself, because “educating you on the topic of latest games is his duty” and he cares about “the boyfriend points”.

“I hope my love’o’meter for u was broken by all that pampering lmao”

“waiting for my cg to load up…”

[NAME]: “not enough affection points”

“damn”

“i need a walkthroughyt to this route”

Idia has you join a voice channel, with you sharing your screen. Playing a game in a separate dorm is a whole different experience than having him beside you, with his hands almost trembling to grab your controller if you couldn’t get past a certain level.

He would always wait for you to ask him for help, though. Then he could let the feeling of self-satisfaction sink in as he easily guided your character to another enemy to slash.

If he only has you on the voice chat, you might be able to finish the game almost fully by yourself.

You can hear the soft sound of his keyboard as he plays something as well. He divides his attention between you and his entertainment, and he throws in commentary to your playthrough, teasing you when you can’t find a secret key to the special gate, bullying you when you find the puzzles too hard, or when you pick the wrong dialogue option.

At some point, you might try to (playfully) mute his microphone, but you can only have eight seconds of silence before he hacks into the options.

“No need to be jealous of my gaming knowledge,” he exclaims, and you know he has that big stupid grin on his face. You huff, and he hums. “But if you want me to help, all you need to do is just ask.”

“I want to go through this game myself!”

“Okay, sure. But you know you have already missed the opportunity for the best ending, no?” He laughs. “That’s what you get for muting me, kitten.”

No need to spoil the ending just to get back at me, you’d love to say, but you learned that the shy boy who couldn’t hold your gaze several months ago is actually a big tease. You must’ve grown too much on him, as he would have continued the bickering even if you showed up in his room. No social anxiety towards you—that’s a bit of a shame, he was cute when you first started dating.

…Well, Idia you know now is a cutie as well, even if he can be very annoying sometimes.

“Enough. I’m going to play my otome games, bye.”

You log out, and shut the stream, chuckling all the time. A funny feeling tingled your heart, like always when you won (or have you?) in banter in Idia: your heart is warm enough to probably melt through the ribcage, but a subtle alarm rings in your head. Idia will probably take revenge for this.

He must already be in distress. He doesn’t like you playing otome games alone, as if you could have ever preferred a 2D boy over Idia. The thought makes you laugh.

You plop on your bed, unlocking your phone and tapping an icon of the name game you’ve installed. Although playing it with Idia would have been funnier, you are going to play him just out of spite.

…And after that, you will send him a wall of text about those handsome characters, because he needs to be updated on your current obsessions.

The title screen appears before everything crashes and the screen goes black. Several messages in neon-blue futuristic font colour appear one by one.

An error has occurred.

Caught exception:

Traceback (most recent call last):

File “characters”, line 46, in script

File “stats”, line 153, in script

File “story”, line 665, in script

File “achievements”, line 411, in log.1

File “backup_data”, line 139, in log

To continue:

“[Name]-san. Please come to our dorm. My brother is moping (so he won’t be finishing his project anytime soon, which is, really bad) and I would appreciate you having mercy on him.

Once you come, I will restore your data! It’s a promise :>

— ORTHO”

…Damn those Shrouds.